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Published:
2020-03-16
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2024-01-25
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37/?
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The Chain

Summary:

*Previously titled "A Beautiful Lie"
. . .
. . .

Head Down. Mouth shut. Quiet. Survive.

Peter knows the drill. Richard Parker has been carving it into him for years now. Follow. Repeat. Do as you're told. But things get complicated after Germany, after Tony Stark. And suddenly the line starts getting blurry.

Meanwhile, with the Avengers scattered and the Accords in pieces, Tony's a mess who's ready to crash and burn. Enter Spider-Kid, complete with bruises, excuses and a deep, dark secret that stretches far further than Tony first thought.

Disjointed, dysfunctional, disastrous.

Nothing can seem to describe the sheer catastrophe in waiting that lurks closer every second they spend together. Tony's depressed. Peter's afraid. They're both wrecks apart. Imagine the chaos that would come by putting them together.

Still, who better to help a hero than another hero?

Notes:

Character Sheet 1: Team Iron Man

 

All artwork done by me over on my blog for this story, The Chain Blog

(See the end of the work for other works inspired by this one.)

Chapter 1: PART I

Chapter Text

Part I

The Spider on Springshore Drive


 

(Everyone lies.)

 

(It's not a sad fact, I don't think. Barely even a fact at all. Just...a reality. Something that was always true and will always continue to be true. It's something we all accept, whether we want to admit it or not.)

 

(We all lie. Every one of us. And it's not just a one-time thing either. It's constant. We do it over and over again. And why wouldn't we?)

 

(Parents lie to their kids, teach them how to lie right back to them, breeding a new generation of people born into distortion, born into a world of deceit and falsehood disguised as reality. And what can you expect from them? Can you really expect them to turn out pure and innocent when they're constantly being fed their parents' inventions, their teachers' stories? They pick up on those things. I did, at least.)

 

(Maybe it was just me, though.)

 

(It's not something you grow out of. As you get older, you keep on lying. You lie about everything, to everyone, at one point or another.)

 

(You lie about your career when your parents ask how happy you are staying in your dead-end office cubicle counting down the seconds until you can go home and start the cycle of monotony over again.)

 

(You lie to your spouse promising you'll love them till the end of time, not realizing that sooner or later, that love will run out. And not just for them, for anyone and anything. It never lasts. Nothing does.)

 

(You lie to strangers when they ask you what you believe, what you pray to, what you curse when things don't work out, spouting some scripted verse you learned as a child and stapled into your head, reciting lines you don't really understand to people you don't really care about, if only to convince yourself that you really do have a clue, that you aren't just flying blind in a sea of the unknown.)

 

(And then there are the lies that stand out over all the others. The lies we tell ourselves.)

 

(There's something different about them, something...bitter.)

 

(Lies you tell to other people, they breeze in, announce themselves and then float right back out. They never linger in your head for longer than it took to talk to the person, discarding themselves as unimportant the second that person leaves your line of sight, never to be seen or thought of again.)

 

(But the lies we tell ourselves, they don't leave. They don't breeze right back out. They linger, hover before your eyes, tracing over each and every detail until it's burned in your head, until you can recreate it over and over again with perfect precision, not a single word out of place, until that lie has completely overtaken you, washing away anything and everything until it is all that remains. Until it is nothing but the truth.)

 

(Those lies are the most powerful...the most dangerous.)

 

(Because unlike the lies we throw at others, the lies we tell ourselves are so much louder, so much brighter, so much more painful. When you can't live with what's in front of you, so you have to create something else, a new reality for you to live in and accept as truth.)

 

 

 

(Because it is the truth. It's the truth you want. And at the end of the day...what else matters?)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Certainly not the little fib you woke up telling yourself.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(After all, what harm can come from one little lie?)

 


 

Friday - February 26, 2016

Queens, NY - 2764 Springshore Dr. - Parker Residence

03:14 p.m.

One...

The soft jolt tensing through his stomach signaled the elevator's ascent, familiar and uneasy. He nervously patted the side of his leg, the thick black wire of the cable cord thumping up against his thigh as he firmly held onto the dented DVD player, rescued from the dumpsters outside the apartments lining 32nd street.

Two...

Apart from the whirling of the elevator motors, the only other sound in the cold compartment was the quick, sharp thumps of his foot tapping against the floor.

As usual, the ride up to his and his father's floor was calm and uneventful and much too short.

Three...

Peter's tongue felt dry and puffy as beads of sweat rolled down his temple, seeming to ignore the sharp, cold blasts of AC that swirled through their building. His fingers frantically tapped up and down against the side of his pants as his eyes shifted from one place to another, never resting on a single detail for too long before leaping to the next.

Four...

With his eyes closed, Peter could name you every single dent, scratch, and imperfection in the elevator's surroundings, not that there were many.

His father prided himself on perfection.

Five...

He tried to ignore it, tried to pay no mind to the involuntary twitches and nervous shufflings of his feet back and forth against the floor below. They meant nothing, related to nothing, no more than his usual annoying jitters and nerves making a repeat appearance.

Six...

. . .

Well, perhaps there was one reason.

One reason why he found himself counting the seconds it took to reach the top of their townhouse floor, counting and praying the elevator would slow, that each second would carefully wind to a crawl, grind to a halt, never reaching those final ticks.

It was Friday.

His father came home early on Fridays.

Seven...

Any hopes of a work emergency or traffic on the roads were always expelled the second he caught sight of his father's expensive car parked outside their building, seated comfortably in the same spot as usual. And no matter how many times he blinked, it never disappeared. (Though it did make spotting the other expensive-looking car parked near it that much harder to do.)

Eight...

He tapped his fingers in time to the whirring of the elevator motors, matching each click with his movements. It wasn't fair of him to wish his father away. He knew the man worked hard, put effort into giving his son everything he could. And Peter did appreciate it, that was for sure.

Nine...

But sometimes...he really wished he could appreciate it from a distance.

A great distance.

Ten.

The elevator stopped.

Peter took a breath and the doors slid open.

Long, expensive couches stretched out into the huge penthouse sweet on the left, a fully stocked bar to the right. The walls were round-about windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, letting in the light of the midday sun.

Peter, always one for silver linings, had to admit having an entire building to yourself was pretty cool. And the view wasn't too bad either. The teen couldn't help the small smile that formed on his face as he took in the sight of New York City.

Their building resided on the upper west side of Queens, allowing a stellar view of the East River and the bright lights of Manhattan just beyond it. Even from a considerable distance, the life of the central borough could be felt from here.

Quickly blinking back to reality, Peter reflexively lowered his gaze and began to make his way over to the bar. Judging from the silence in the large suite, Peter could only assume that his father was down in the basement working in the lab. If that was the case, then he probably wouldn't see him or the others until dinner.

Setting his backpack and DVD player down on the polished surface of the bar, Peter pulled his phone out of his back pocket and quickly opened it up, noting that Ned had sent him five new messages. If the emojis were any indicators, Peter could only guess that his friend had just bought a new Lego set and was raving to him about it.

Feeling a small smirk settle onto his face, Peter leaned back against the bar and folded his arms, quickly typing a message back to the boy when the sound of someone clearing their throat caught his attention.

Snapping his head up, he nearly dropped his phone in shock as he caught sight of his father sitting on the couch in the center of the room, staring straight at him.

The man was tall, well over six feet, with broad shoulders highlighted by the suit he was currently wearing. He must have just gotten home. His dark brown hair was slicked back, framing his squared jaw and the discoloration on his cheeks. A chemical accident (or at least that's what he told people it came from) had left the man with a set of pale white spots that splashed over his cheeks in an almost unnoticeable look and set a faint, off-color film over one eye.

A set frown was drawn onto his face, the usual stoic emotion he exhibited, if one could even call it that.

"D-dad!" Peter stuttered out instinctively.

An uncomfortable prickling sensation washed over his body as an ache settled into his muscles, a familiar feeling when he was in the presence of his father. Speaking of, Peter quickly swallowed the lump in his throat like a daily pill to swallow and choke down. "I...I didn't know you were...uhh..." he said quietly, the words trailing off as he caught sight of something strange.

Peter's father, Richard Parker, was the owner of Parkstem Labs, one of the most successful enterprises in the city - despite its small size - specializing in engineering high-tech machinery to be sold to other multi-billion dollar corporations. His work often involved consultation and evaluation, so Peter was quite used to seeing strangers in their building. Heck, the first two floors of their townhouse were used to house some of his father's associates. But never in his life had Peter expected to see in his house the man he was currently staring at.

There, with one arm resting on the lip of the couch and another brandishing a glass of scotch, with two feet propped up on the coffee table, was none other than Tony Stark: famous (or infamous, depending on your perspective) genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, sitting on his couch.

Talking to his father.

Shit.

Peter's quickly felt the air leave his lungs, like he's just been punched in the stomach. Despite the jarring chill that ran up his spine at making eye contact with the billionaire, Peter found he couldn't look away.

A moment or two of awkward silence passed between the three of them, but Mr. Stark seemed to just brush it off with a flick of his hand as he cleared his throat. "Well, look who finally decided to show up." He rose up from the seat, straightening out the buttoning on his suit. "Mr. Parker," he greeted with a cool smile and a slight nod of his head.

Peter watched as his father rose up to his feet as well, the movement making his eyes quickly snap over to him to survey his body language. Hands folded behind his back, shoulders relaxed, feet still. Nothing too obvious...

"Umm...h-hey," Peter murmured lamely, unsure if he should be speaking or not. Probably not. "W-what...what are you, uh...doing here?" he asked, voice quiet and unsure. He folded his arms over his chest, trying to resist the urge to fiddle his hands together.

"Well, I believed it was about time we met." The man said casually, swirling the golden-colored liquid around his glass. "You've been getting my emails haven't you?"

The flurry of winks the man sent his way afterwards were anything but subtle. But Peter knew a signal when he saw one.

Why would Tony Stark be sending him signals though? What was happening here? Did his father know? Probably not? Then, what didn't he want his father to know?

Speaking of, Peter quickly stole a glance over to his father again. Now that he wasn't facing Mr. Stark, his posture had changed somewhat. His shoulders were tighter, back straight. Richard's face was pulled back into a cool smile, but Peter knew his father well enough to see when he was hiding his annoyance, if the man's twitching fingers told him anything.

Whatever Stark was playing at, he obviously didn't approve.

Peter knew he should ignore Stark's hints, refute whatever it was he was saying, if only to appease his father's wishes. But he felt his head moving in a nod before he could think twice. "Y-yeah, yeah...the...the emails r-regarding the, uh..."

"The September Foundation."

"The September Foundation. R-right, right..." At least, he hoped he was doing this right.

Tony took a small sip from his glass before setting it back down on the coffee table. "Yeah, remember when you applied?" He asked, not bothering to wait for a reply. "Well, I approved. You're in, kid. So...now we're in business."

Peter opened his mouth to reply, only to jump at his father's sudden movements, the man having stooped down to grab both his and Tony's glasses. "So, Peter..." He said evenly, voice calm and collected "Any particular reason for why you decided to hide this from me?" He asked, walking over to the bar and depositing the glasses in the small sink. "I mean, this is pretty big and instead of hearing it from my own son, I have to hear it from our city's resident billionaire."

Instantly feeling the familiar cold claw of dread squeezing around his lungs, Peter quickly tried to squash it down as he fought to come up with a suitable lie that would fool the man. Luckily, Tony seemed to notice the boy's nervousness as he walked over. "Ah, don't pluck the kid too harshly. This particular grant is a lot more private than our other ones considering it's so hands-on and personal, so when kids apply, they usually keep it on the down-low, at least until something's guaranteed."

Peter quickly shut his mouth and nodded his head vigorously.

Richard glanced between the two of them for a moment before nodding his head as well. "I see." He stated simply, lowering his head as he turned on the faucet, a steady stream of water falling into the glasses in his hands. A smile broke into his face as he turned back to them. "Well Peter, I must say I'm pleasantly surprised. Though, I suppose I shouldn't be. After all, I know you're always working hard."

"Yes, well I'm sure that's to be expected from the son of one of the most prominent scientists in the manufacturing field. I must say, your work was pretty impressive, and it takes a lot to impress me." Tony quipped.

Richard's lips pulled into a tight smile. "Yes, I'm sure it does."

A thick tension hung heavy in the air, so much so that Peter was finding it difficult to breathe as he stared back and forth between the two men. Mr. Stark didn't seem fazed by it, however as he placed his hands into his pockets as he turned to glance at Peter. "I guess that's a lot to live up to, huh kid." He asked, Peter's shoulders tensing as he gave a stiff nod.

Richard gave a small chuckle. "Yes well, while I'll admit my work does take up a considerable amount of my time, I'm still very proud of you, Peter. I'm sure you've earned this." He turned to continue cleaning the glasses. Peter didn't get to see his face as he said the words. He was almost positive the man wasn't smiling.

"Speaking of which," Tony continued, raising up his hands as he gestured to the boy next to him. "You think I can speak to Peter alone for a second?"

Richard nodded his head. "Of course. Peter, show Mr. Stark to your room. You can talk about whatever you need in there."

Peter mutely nodded his head as he hesitantly grabbed his backpack and hastily slung it over his shoulder before picking up the DVD player and shuffling down the hall, Mr. Stark following close behind.

As the footfall of their steps slowly tricked down into silence, Richard turned away from the hall and back down to the glasses, the rushing of the water now the only sound in the room.

His fingers curled around the last remaining cup tightly until the glass suddenly gave way, shattering into dozens of pieces. Richard didn't even flinch as the glass sliced his finger open. He merely watched as the water ran across the wound, washing the blood off of the skin and down into the drain below.

 


 

Tony's eyes scanned the hall as they walked swiftly and silently, the billionaire thankful the kid wasn't yapping his ear off as he'd been expecting. The house was as he'd expected: lavish and dripping with expenses and riches from the fine art lining the walls to the expensive liquors stashed in the bottles by the bar all the way down to the sheer size of the building itself. Seemed about right for a billionaire and his son. Speaking of...

The man glanced back over towards the kid, who was fiddling with his hands as they approached the final door at the end of the hallway. The teen opened it and moved aside to let Tony through before following him in.

Stepping through, Tony turned to watch the kid enter, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he let a smirk quirk onto his lips. "Well...your father seems like quite an...interesting man." He watched the kid's face to gauge a reaction.

Peter shrugged and folded his arms over his chest. "I-I guess..." he mumbled softly as he glanced down at the floor.

Tony gave a small nod of his head before turning back to gaze around the room, despite his attention being elsewhere. He stared down at the boy's desk, taking note of the various VCRs, DVD players and other old, probably abandoned sets of machinery. Each and every one had been cracked open, various chips and wires strewn about the desk. "So...you've been busy." He plucked6trg a small wired chip up off from the messy table, Peter tensing slightly at the action. "Where'd you get this crap anyway?" Tony asked, glancing back at the kid. "Something tells me most kids aren't lining up at the nearest game station to buy this junk."

Peter merely shrugged his shoulders. "You'd be surprised by the kind of stuff you find in the trash."

"You're a dumpster diver?"

"Well, I-I don't...I mean I-" The kid's face quickly went flush from either nervousness or just plain embarrassment before he was glancing away with a little huff. "Okay, umm...listen, I know I didn't sign up for...for a-any grant or-"

"Ah, ah, ah!" Tony snapped sharply, waving his hand for added effect. "Me first."

"O-okay..."

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. "Quick question of the rhetorical variety..." Tapping his fingers across the device, a small holographic screen materialized above the surface, facing out towards Peter.

"That's you, isn't it?"

The video showed a suspicious man walking up to the side windows of a car, only for a masked man dressed in red and blue to swing out from the corner of the screen. A strange line shot out towards the man, wrapping around his ankles and dragging him to the ground as the masked figure swung back out of frame. But not before the video paused right as his face flashed next to the camera, revealing a red hoodie with large black goggles.

The teen's eyes trailed from the hologram up to meet Tony's, if only for a second before he was glancing away again, rubbing the back of his neck as his shoulders stood stiff, voice strained. "Uh, no. No, what do you...what do you mean?"

"Yeah..." Tony corrected before switching to another video, this one showing the same masked figure zooming in front of a speeding car. "...yeah, look at you go." Quickly landing on the ground, the figure caught the vehicle before it could slam into the side of a fully-loaded bus.

"Whoa, nice catch," he mused. "Three thousand pounds, forty miles an hour?" He flipped the phone and quickly retracted the hologram, pointing the end of the device at Peter. "That's not easy. Guess you have a bit of skill, huh kid?"

He could see the kid beginning to flounder, shuffling his feet back and forth as he struggled with where to put his hands. "Well, I mean, y-you found that all on YouTube though, r-right?" He asked, glancing over at the man before staring down back at the desk. "I mean, that's where you found it? Cause you know that's all fake," he rambled, never noticing the way Tony rolled his eyes and began to mill around the room.

As he scanned the bedroom, his eyes fell upon the thin, barely noticeable lines etched into the side of the bed headboard, creating a long vertical rectangle.

"Like, that's all done on the computer. It's like that video-"

"Uh-huh, you mean like those UFOs over Phoenix?" Tony called out as the kid continued to mumble, tracing his fingers over the lines before he pressed his thumb into the center of the rectangle.

The entire piece pushed in slightly before extending outwards from the headboard, revealing a secret compartment containing what the billionaire could honestly say to be the most ghastly costume he'd ever seen.

"Well, what do we have here?" He asked as Peter rushed forward, thrusting his arm into the compartment before ripping the pile of clothes out, tossing them into the open closet in the span of a few seconds.

"That's uh...ummm..." the kid's voice trailed off into nothing, his back rigid and posture tense as his eyes continued to flicker up and down, like he was debating whether or not to maintain eye contact before deciding to simply keep staring at the floor.

"So..." Tony sighed, turning to face the boy. "You're the Spider...ling. Crime-fighting Spider. Spider-Boy?"

Peter's fingers twitched against his arm. His eyes flittered around the room, landing anywhere but on the man before him.

"S-Spider-Man..."

Tony couldn't help but scoff. "Not in that onesie, you're not."

He noticed the kid's nose scrunch slightly in annoyance, the only real tell of emotion he'd seen on the teen's face. "It's not a onesie," he muttered as he walked back the man and back over towards the desk. Noticing how some of the circuit chips were out of line, he reached down and quietly adjusted them, straightening them out once more.

"Can't believe this." He muttered softly. "You know...I was having a...a really good day today, Mr. Stark. Didn't miss my train. This...perfectly good DVD player was just sitting there, and algebra test..." He tapped the end of a screwdriver down onto the desk. "...nailed it."

Tony regarded the boy in front of him for a moment before opening his mouth once more. "Who else knows? Anybody?" He asked, watching as Peter glanced over at him before lowering his head once more, giving a small, barely noticeable shake of his head. "Nobody important." He whispered.

"Not even your...exceptionally wonderful father?" Tony scoffed, only to blink in shock as Peter rounded on him, eyes blazing. "No! He can't know about this! He can never know about this!" he practically screamed, eyes glazing over in a wash of panic. "About the crime-fighting, about the suit. He can't know any of it! They can't know any of it!"

Tony stared at him, trying to process the words that had been spat at him. He narrowed his eyes slightly in thought. "'They?'" He parroted.

Peter's head snapped up to him as they made hard eye contact for a brief moment. Whatever fire had entered the kid's system quickly died down as he lowered his head pressed his palms into the surface of his desk, hair falling down to cover his face as he let out a tired sigh.

Tony knew that sigh. Tony owned that sigh.

The billionaire couldn't help the bubble of confusion that grew larger with each passing second he spent in the house. He knew Richard Parker, not personally, but he knew of him. The city practically drooled at his feet, what with his constant donations and repeat appearances at this or that charity ball.

Everyone else seemed to lap up the "White Knight" appeal, but Tony could see right through it, could see the tricks of a con man that only another liar could find. He knew Richard Parker was a douchebag in disguise, and he'd fully expected his son, superpowered or otherwise, to be exactly the same.

Which was why he was so confused right now.

Peter Parker, from what the man had seen so far, was nothing like his father. Richard was cool and calm, a master of wordplay and conversation, exuding confidence and style and money. But his son? His son was obviously shy and soft-spoken. Just his body language, the way he constantly fidgeted with his fingers or averted his gaze or wrapped his arms around himself in a blatantly defensive manner, told Tony the kid was nervous...a lot. In fact, they hadn't managed to maintain steady eye contact the entire conversation. The kid always looked away in...in...fear?

The whole thing left a bad taste in Tony's mouth. However, knowing he'd come here with a single goal, he quickly tried to refocus back on the mission. He didn't have time for distractions.

He cleared his throat and glanced back over at the boy, who was staring down at the ground looking as if he'd much rather be anywhere else.

"You know what I think it really cool?" He called, Peter not even bothering to look at him. "This webbing." He lifted his arm and flicked the small metallic casing over to the boy, who caught it without even lifting his eyes. "Tensile strength is off the charts. Who manufactured that?"

Peter let out a small sigh and reluctantly lifted up his head, fingering the cold casing in his palm. "I did," he mumbled before tossing the case into his closet, where it effortlessly flopped into his hamper. "What do you think all this stuff's for?" He pointed down to the scrapped parts and loose wires of the machines strewn about his desk.

Mr. Stark sat down on the computer chair resting next to the boy's dresser, reaching back into the closet to pull out the kid's suit. "Climbing the walls? How are you doing that? Adhesive gloves?" He asked as he ran his fingers over the sewn material of the boy's costume.

Peter bit the bottom of his lip and turned away. "It's...uh..i-it's a long...long story," he mumbled.

"Lordy!" Peter jumped at Tony's cry. "Can you even see in these things?!" He asked as he stared at the goggles attached to the suit, Peter quickly yanking the costume out of his hands as the man mocked him, cheeks burning red as he opened up the compartment in his headboard and thrust the suit back inside.

"If you're all done mocking me," Peter snapped, glaring over at the man before he seemed to remember who he was snapping at and took a small step back, face glazing over in regret as he bit his lip and stared nervously at the man, like he was waiting for some sort of retaliation. Tony quirked a brow and Peter glanced away with a new hint of red on his cheeks.

The teen swallowed thickly and spoke again, but his voice was much quieter this time. "When...w-when whatever happened happened...it's like my senses have been dialed up to eleven. T-there's just...there's way too much input for me. So, these...they just help...help me focus...is all." He continued to shuffle away before tentatively plopping down onto the corner of his bed.

Tony stared at the kid currently fiddling with his fingers, small curls falling into his eyes. The man let out a sigh as he shook his head. "You're in dire need of an upgrade, kid." He muttered. "Systemic, top to bottom. 100-point restoration. That's why I'm here."

He watched the boy continue to fiddle with his hands, refusing to even meet his gaze. If he didn't know any better, Tony would never guess that the kid in front of him had anything to do with the new vigilante running around the streets of New York. There had to be something he wasn't seeing, something he was missing.

"Why are you doing this?"

Peter's head lifted at that, brows furrowing in confusion.

"I got to know. What gets you out of this room in the morning. No, actually...better question: why the hell is your room so clean? You're what - fourteen? Shouldn't you have...I don't know, piles of clothes mixed with half-eaten apples and finger painting sets strewn about all over," he asked. After all, the only "mess" he could detect in the room was the pile of tech on the boy's desk.

"Finger pain...? What kind of kids have you been hanging around?"

"I don't know. It's not like I have much practice with this kind of stuff. You really think I look like the kind of guy that lurks around daycare centers all day long?" Tony muttered before his eyes widened slightly. "...that came out wrong."

The kid snorted softly and let out a little laugh, Tony leaning back slightly in his seat. "Oh, so you do smile. And here I thought your face muscles couldn't do such a thing. What are they, out of practice or something?"

The kid smiled softly before glancing back up at the man, noticing the way he was staring at him. Quickly realizing he was still expecting an answer, Peter let out a small sigh and stared back down at his fingers. For a moment, Tony wondered whether the boy would simply refuse to answer, but after a moment, Peter let out a small chuckle.

"You know, everyone around here has heard of the Avengers. I mean, after the aliens, you'd have to try really, really hard to stay oblivious you know?" He asked, not bothering to wait for a response. "People nowadays know about superheroes, about those amazing people with amazing powers and amazing lives. And...and you'd think that having people like that out there...people to protect you out there...you'd feel safe. You think...'nothing bad is going to happen. We have people watching out for us. Strong people. Good people."

He paused, the smile quickly slipping off of his face. "But...every day, there's a bank being robbed, there's a guy being mugged. There's...someone who needs help, who's calling for help, for...for someone to just scoop them up and...and take them away from it all..." He paused, his face taking on an almost bitter look. "...but it never comes."

Tony watched him silently, leaning forward slightly in the chair as he listened.

"You start to wonder...how...how people with such powers and such amazing skills can just...sit by and do...nothing while you're suffering right under their noses. If...if they can do such great things...if they can save the world over and over and over again...then why couldn't they save you?" He paused, Tony making out the way Peter's chest seemed to heave slightly before his breathing evened out.

"The people around here have realized something. In the grand scheme of things, when it comes to people who have made it their job to save the world from harm...they don't matter. They're not...important enough to be saved."

Peter stared down at his hands, paused for a moment to run his fingers over his palms. Tony noticed they looked rough and scarred. In the back of his head, he couldn't help but wonder how long the kid had been flying under his radar without him even knowing about it.

"That's why I do this," the kid finally said. "So those people who think they're alone know there's someone out there who's with them. So those people who...who are scared know there's someone there to protect them. So those people who think..." He swallowed thickly before continuing. "...who think they'll never be saved know there's someone there to look out for them...there's someone that cares about them."

Tony narrowed his eyes as he took in the boy before him, letting his words sink in as Peter glanced up at him.

"Cause...cause those people down there..." He gestured over to the window. "Those people who work from sunrise to sunset...those people who wake up every morning, have breakfast with there family and kiss their loved ones goodbye as they go to work or...or to school...those people like me...they don't need someone to save the entire world...they just need someone to save theirs."

Tony said nothing as the kid turned away, simply pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he let out a little breath. He leaned back in the chair once again, tapping his fingers against his knee. "So...you wanna look out for the little guy, you wanna...do your part...make the world a better place, all that right?"

The kid spared a hesitant glance up before giving a little nod.

Tony let out a sigh as he slowly lifted himself up out of the chair and made his way over to Peter. Walking across the large room, he stopped beside the kid's bed before slowly lowering himself down on it, noticing the way Peter's muscles instantly tensed, though his eyes stayed glued to his fingers.

Tony lifted his arm hesitantly, thinking of patting the kid on the shoulder before deciding against it. The kid was already shifting from his seat on the bed as if he were trying to get as far away from the man as possible. Tony filed it away as odd, just another strange thing about Peter Parker.

Oh, well. He could use a little strange right about now.

"Got a passport?"

"Uhh...umm, no. N-no...I don't...I don't even have a driver's license"

"You ever been to Germany?"

"Uhh...no?"

"Oh you'll love it!"

Whaa-! Peter reared back,

"I can't go to Germany!" He exclaimed loudly.

"Why not?

"I...I-I..." Peter stuttered out, now much more unsure of himself. "I got...homework."

Tony paused for a minute before shaking his head. "Alright, I'm gonna pretend you didn't say that." He muttered as he rose up from the bed, ignoring Peter's sputtering protests, knowing full well the kid actually wanted to go. He was merely trying to keep up with the façade. Still, Tony just needed one more thing to confirm that Peter was really who they needed...

"It'll probably be a little dangerous. Better tell World's Greatest Dad that-"

The words were cut from his throat as he watched Peter spring up to his feet faster than humanly possible, thrusting his arm forward as a line of webbing flew outward, wrapping around Tony's hand and effectively trapping him to the door handle.

The billionaire stared down at the sight before lifting his gaze back over to Peter, who for the first time since he'd met him was now staring Tony straight in the eyes, a determined look adorning his face. He slowly lifted up his finger, pointing it threateningly at the man before him. "Don't tell my father." He growled out.

Tony leveled a stare at the kid, his confirmation now staring him dead in the eyes. This was the kid he was looking for. "Alright, Spider-Man." He said calmly. In the back of his mind, he knew bringing a fourteen-year-old kid along on what could only be assumed to be an incredibly dangerous mission probably wasn't the best of plans, but he'd run out of options. Besides, the kid needed something to help him out in his endeavors, who was to say Tony couldn't be that something, if only for a little while.

"Get me out of this."

"So-sorry...sorry!"

In the end, he knew he probably wouldn't worry about it too much. The kid would get a new suit and he'd get a new recruit. Win-win. Perfect. After this was all over, he'd drop the kid back home, give him the suit permanently and be on his merry way, undoubtedly forgetting the kid after a few weeks. After all, this would simply be a one-time thing. Get in. Get out.

Meet the kid. Help the kid. Forget the kid.

It'd be simple...

...right?

. . .

. . .

. . .

(In hindsight, we both should have known it could never be that simple.)

 


 

Rule 1: Everyone lies. Trust no one.

Chapter 2: The Impulse Game

Summary:

Tony finally turned away from the stairs, lifted his head to gaze back to where Peter had disappeared to. His arm burned, he could feel it eating away at him.

("This isn't gonna change what happened.")

. . .

. . .

. . .

No...it wouldn't.

The office door closed behind him as Tony reentered the room. "I want Peter to come intern for me at Stark Industries."

But he did it anyway.

Chapter Text

 

Sunday - March 6, 2016

Queens, NY - Jackson Ave - en route to Parker Residence

09:46 p.m.

The car ride was silent. Tony didn't like that.

Normally, when he found himself being dragged one place or another, he'd crank the radio up as loud as it could go, blaring music that drowned out everything around him, including his thoughts. He liked it. He was used to it.

He wasn't used to silence.

And yet, as the car sped down the bumpy and pothole-filled roads of Queens, there was no noise save for the dull tapping of the kid's foot against the car floor, a constant beat that filled the otherwise silent backseat.

It was honestly getting to be pretty annoying.

Tony spared the teen a small glance from the corner of his eye, the image distorted slightly with the yellow tint of the sunglasses he'd refused to take off, if only to hide the bruise he'd yet to acknowledge.

There were a lot of things he was electing to ignore right now.

Parker's kid...Peter was quiet. He hadn't said anything since they'd met up at the airport, Tony greeting the kid as soon as he'd gotten off the plane from Germany, where he'd stowed the kid away in his hotel room for the better part of the trip, truly embracing the concept of out of sight, out of mind.

But now the kid was very much in his sight, very much at the forefront of his mind, no matter how much he disliked it.

Looking at the kid, it was hard for the billionaire to connect him to the loud-mouthed, confident hero he'd seen fighting alongside him.

The boy next to him was silent, knee bouncing and posture stiff against the seats. He'd pulled his sleeves up to cover overtop his hands, where he fisted the remaining fabric in a tight grip. His head was turned towards the window so Tony couldn't get a read on his face, but if he had to guess, it assumed it wasn't calm and collected.

Tony lifted his gaze towards the front of the car, where he locked eyes with Happy in the rearview mirror. The man angled his gaze to the side, obviously just as lost with the kid as Tony felt. The billionaire gave a little shrug of his shoulders, to which Happy just rolled his eyes and stared straight ahead again. Tony scoffed, not surprised that Happy hadn't been any help. The guy was just about as proficient with children as Tony was, which was to say not at all.

Still, the silence was starting to make him itch.

He reached a hand out to touch the boy's shoulder. "Hey-"

He couldn't even get another word out before the kid was jolting back at the touch, letting out a strangled yelp as he rammed his back into the side of the door, eyes flinging over to stare at Tony like he'd shocked him. Said man reared back as well as the jump, whipping his hand away as he choked on his spit.

"Jesus, kid," he breathed, letting out a little cough as he cleared his throat, Happy throwing a quick glance over his shoulder.

"Everything okay back there?"

Tony turned to his driver before glancing back at the kid, whose cheeks were slightly redder as he fiddled with his sleeves. "S-sorry. I...I wasn't expecting...I mean I...j-just...sorry."

He blinked, cleared his throat again as he shifted in his seat.

"Yeah...we're fine."

The billionaire readjusted his glasses and gave a little shake of his head, stilling for just a moment as he squinted his eyes slightly in thought. The kid looked at him strangely before jolting as Tony finally moved again, shrugging his shoulders as he did so. "Well, now I don't remember what I was going to say. Must not have been that important. Anyway-"

He removed his glasses and gestured towards the kid with them. "I can't get a good read on you, you know."

Apparently, the teen didn't know, for he tilted his head and gazed at him with a perplexed squint. "I...I'm sorry?"

"Yeah, I'm sure you are. But like I said, you're just...weird. I don't know how else to phrase it. I mean, if I didn't know any better, I would just peg you as an ordinary kid with no connection to superhero life whatsoever. Like, the thought wouldn't even cross my mind."

Peter continued to give him confused looks. "But...isn't that a...good thing?"

Tony stared at the boy, stared at his hunched form, the way he kept pulling at the sleeves of his shirt, tugging them overtop his hands as he meddled with the fabric, eyes darting back and forth across his face like they were scanning him for a certain emotion, a specific reaction.

For some reason, it made Tony uneasy.

"I guess."

Peter blinked for a moment before turning away again, going back to staring out the window. Tony did as well, brows furrowing slightly.

What was the point of that conversation?

. . .

Right. Silence.

"So, what'd you think of Germany?"

The kid seemed startled that the man was still talking to him, twisting around slightly in his seat so he could better face him. "It was good. I=I mean, I didn't get to see...see much of it, b-but the parts I did see were cool. T-their airports are nice, at least. Well, I mean...I...I only saw the one. But it looked pretty...nice. At least, you know...before we started blowing it up and...um...I-I mean, it was...and, uh...s-sorry."

Tony squinted at him, mouth parted slightly as he cocked a brow. "You...don't have to keep apologizing, you know."

"S-sorry...?"

The man blew out a long breath as he turned back around to face forward, placing his sunglasses back onto his face. Screw it. He'd take silence over whatever this was.

Peter said nothing more, just turned back around to face the window. Tony threw him a quick glance before shaking his head, forcing himself to face forward once more. He'll be fine, he muttered to himself. After all, he had bigger problems at the moment than worrying about whether or not he'd hurt some kid's feelings.

His arm twinged in pain, almost as if reminding him that it was still there, that it hadn't gone away.

He'd taken the sling off as soon as he'd touched down in Germany again, the medical team that Pepper had dispatched for the rescue jet forcing him to wear it until he'd broken free from their annoying grasp. Not that he was ungrateful to them for plucking him from the middle of fuck-knows-where Siberia, but their constant poking and prodding hadn't done much for his already rocky temperament.

Of course, having to explain to Pepper what the hell had happened wasn't much better. Sparing her the gruesome details, much to her annoyance, Tony had brushed her off with the promise to tell her everything once they returned to New York after dropping off Spider-Man, a promise they both knew would go unfulfilled.

But at least the kid was already proving useful as a get-out-of-jail-free card.

Tony reached a hand out to rub at his wrist, the shots of pain rocketing up the limb in sharp twinges. He gritted his teeth and tried to push it down, push it all down. Now was not the time, not the time to think about Siberia, or Pepper, or St-

He huffed and faced the window, driving the thought out before it could even fully metastasize in his mind.

Needing something to distract his eyes, the man stole a quick glance back over towards the teen, who hadn't moved from his position of staring out the window.

He had to admit, Peter had been a fairly big help in Germany. Granted, with how pitifully small their team had been, Tony would have been grateful to anyone for sticking around.

At least he didn't double-cross you.

Needless to say, the bar was low in terms of Tony's ideas of good teammates.

Still, the kid had more than proven himself with that fight, at least enough to prove to Tony that he was responsible enough to handle the suit. He hadn't put much thought into it if he were being honest, but how much trouble could the kid cause? He seemed nice enough, responsible, smart. What else was there to consider? Not like there was much point in Tony keeping the suit, anyway.

The drive lasted longer than Tony had anticipated, or desired. After a few sharp exchanges between him and Happy on which route was better to take while Peter sat back in the awkwardness, they finally arrived at the kid's place.

The three-story townhouse was on the corner of the busy street, dark wooden paneling combining with strong concrete shapes to create a modern feel and sharp design. Large windows adorned most of the walls while the top penthouse floor consisted of almost nothing but the glass panels. Down near the parking awning sat a row of cars.

Tony cocked a brow. He didn't remember seeing this many cars when he'd first requited the kid. Speaking of, he turned to glance over at Peter, who was staring at the house with an unreadable expression on his face. His knee hadn't stopped bouncing though.

"Company?" Tony asked.

The boy didn't turn to look at him, just kept staring past him at the dark looming house across the street. "Family." His voice was quiet, quieter than before.

"I thought it was just you and your dad."

"They're not biologically related to us. They're just some of my dad's friends. They're really close and they've been taking care of me since I was little and my dad was busy with work, so they're basically aunts and uncles at this point."

He wasn't stuttering. And there was something about the statement that seemed strange, like it was too carefully planned. Scripted.

Tony leaned back slightly in his seat. "You guys get along?"

The boy blinked and finally lowered his gaze. "I guess. As...as well as we can, all things considered. M-my friend and I usually just call them the Cons."

"And that's because-?"

"Because more than half of them are ex-convicts who spent more than ten years in maximum-security...prisons."

The teen faltered at the end of the sentence, eyes widening ever so slightly as he glanced around like he regretted saying what he'd just said. Tony turned back towards the window. "Right. Well, nice to know you have plenty of upstanding role-models to take after."

Tony counted four adults, three men, and a woman. And he didn't like the looks of any of them.

Two men sat on the top step. One was large and bulky with short brown hair and a green striped shirt. Even though he was sitting, it was obvious the man was well over six feet tall. His hands were large and calloused, his face hard and menacing. The man next to him seemed to be even taller and was almost sickeningly skinny, but the malicious smile plastered on his face was enough to warrant caution. His eyes were small and beady and his face was pale and sickly, bony fingers tapping against his knee rhythmically.

Leaning up against the door was a woman with jet-black hair that matched her jacket and stretched down to her neck, contrasting her pale complexion. Sharp blue eyes stood out, as well as the cruel smirk that adorned her lips as she chatted to the others. Her eyes fluttered between each of the men, sharp nails curling around her crossed arms.

Finally, standing by the bottom was one final man dressed in a loosely buttoned black shirt that revealed toned, dark-colored muscles underneath, a multitude of rings adorning his fingers. His face was littered with numerous scars and his eyes shifted dangerously between each of the others.

In each of their hands was a bottle of beer, matching the other empty ones that were scattered along the steps.

Safe to say, they all gave Tony uneasy vibes. Apparently, Peter too, for the kid still hadn't stopped fidgeting.

"So they seem...interesting..." Tony joked, only for Peter to shut his eyes tightly and run a shaky hand through his mop of curls. Tony glanced down at the teen, stealing one last look at the group, appropriately nicknamed the Cons before leaning forward to address his driver. "Hey, Happy. Think you can give me and the kid a second?"

The man twisted around in the seat and gave Tony an incredulous look. "You want me to leave the car?"

"Yeah. Oh, and you can go ahead and get Peter's case out of the trunk."

Peter instantly froze at that, Happy letting out a grumble as he opened up his door and stepped outside, slamming it shut with a little more force than needed. The kid didn't seem to notice, however, as his eyes stayed locked onto Tony. "I-I get...I get to keep the suit?" He whispered out.

"Well yeah. It's not like it fits me. Besides, the red and gold suit is enough already. I don't know how the public would react if I suddenly traded it in for red and blue spandex."

"I don...I-I...but you...and I-"

"What's so hard to believe about this, if I may ask?" Tony said, cutting the kid off from his stutter-fest, knowing they might have been there for a while if he'd let it play out.

Peter furrowed his brow. "Well...I mean...I understand why you gave it to me...before. You n-needed some help and...and now that it's finished...I just a-assumed that-"

Tony shook his head, holding his hand up. "Look, kid. I gave you the suit to help you. Did it come in handy in Berlin? Sure. But that's not the only reason why I gave it to you. I wasn't lying when I said I would help. Ergo, the suit."

Peter continued to stare up at him with wide eyes, the sight quickly making the billionaire uncomfortable as he shook his hands in front of himself. "Look, kid, don't make this any more awkward than it already is. Just take the suit, alright?" He muttered.

This seemed to snap Peter out of his daze as he nodded his head. "Umm...r-right. O-of...of course, Mr. Stark...T-thank...thank you." he finally stuttered out.

Tony stared at the kid before nodding his head in satisfaction.

Great. Cross that off the list.

Just then, Happy knocked on the window, both turning their heads to look at him as he heaved the case up. "Where's this going again?!" He called through the glass.

"Uhh...I'll go ahead a-and take that. You don't need t-to worry about it." Peter called, Happy nodding as he unceremoniously dropped the case back onto the floor before moving back over to the trunk.

Tony rolled his eyes at the man's antics before his eyes were slowly drawn back over to the Cons still currently chatting amongst themselves on the steps. The uneasy feeling in his gut had yet to go away. In fact, it seemed to have amplified in the few minutes he'd been talking to the kid.

He opened his mouth to speak once again, only to shut it violently, reprimanding himself instantly. There was no way he was thinking of getting involved. No way. This kid was not his problem, his alter-ego was. There was a big difference, as this car ride had proven. He had no reason to burden himself with such a task. Who was he to get involved in something like this, something that didn't involve him?

He tried to ignore the fact that Peter had yet to get out of the car, like he was stalling for some reason.

This wasn't his place, plain and simple. It wasn't his problem.

Still, as he glared out the window at the Cons, the feeling in his stomach refused to go away. There was something off about all of this. He just couldn't put his finger on it.

. . .

Well...it couldn't hurt to just check, right?

"Hey, kid?"

Peter lifted up his head and glanced over at the man, eyes wide and nervous. Tony stared at the boy for a moment, wondering whether or not he should actually go through with this before he finally let out a sigh. "Is everything..." He paused for a moment before taking a deep breath. "Is everything okay?"

He honestly didn't know what to expect. He didn't even know what he wanted to expect, what he wanted the kid to say. It was obvious whatever relationship this kid had with his..."family" was unorthodox, but that didn't necessarily mean it was...bad, did it? Maybe the kid was just the nervous type. Who really knew?

Whatever he'd been expecting Peter to say definitely isn't what he got.

The teen let out a breathy laugh as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay? Y-yeah...yeah, everything's fine. Actually, things are better than fine." He gave a small smile.

"T-this was...I mean it was so...cause like when...and then the stuff with the..." The kid glanced over at Tony and gave a nervous smile. "This w-was really cool, Mr. Stark. A-and I know you...you didn't have to bring me along...you didn't have to give me a new suit...so...so I just...I guess I'm trying to..." He trailed off, a grimace forming on his face before it was replaced with an exasperated look. "I'm not really the best at this in case you can't tell."

Tony couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Really? I hadn't noticed." He mused, Peter cracking a smile as he rubbed his neck, cheeks flushing red.

The teen let out a small sigh before turning back to Tony. "But really, Mr. Stark. Just... thank you...f-for...for all of this."

The billionaire stared at the kid for a moment longer before giving a small nod of his head. "Don't mention it." He said in a much softer tone of voice than he'd expected, never registering the fact that the kid had just deflected his original question.

Peter gave a nod of his own before reaching for the car handle, pushing the door open before stepping out. He grabbed hold of the case currently sitting at his feet before glancing back into the open car, giving a small hesitant wave.

For a second, Tony almost returned it.

Almost.

Closing the door behind him, Peter lifted up the case and took a small, shaky breath. Exhaling slowly, he lifted his gaze across the street, where the Cons were still laughing away at whatever inane thing they were discussing.

Tony watched with a careful eye as Peter made his way across the street, the sound of a shutting door making the man jump slightly. "You ready to go?" Happy asked, glancing over his shoulder. Tony instantly felt his stomach churn slightly as he watched one of the Cons finally take notice of the approaching Peter. "Hold up for a second, Hap." He said softly, rolling down the window to better hear what was being discussed. "Just...hold up."

The woman was the first to notice Peter's approach, pulling the beer bottle from her lips as she smirked. "Well, look who's here! It's our favorite guy." There was a slight slur to the end of her words, her smirk remaining steadfast though.

The kid said nothing as the others noticed him as well.

The man in the striped shirt spoke next. "So, you're back from your little Stark Industries Indoctrination Camp." He leaned forward, letting his elbows rest on his knees. "Was it fun? You learn how to swindle and cheat your way to the top?"

"I think that's part of the more advanced classes," the skinny man replied with a grin as he took another swig of his drink.

Tony could see Peter's fingers drumming against the handle of the case, his head down as he refused to meet their gazes. "I'm...a little tired. I think I'll-" As the boy tried to move past, the woman latched a hand onto his wrist and yanked him back down, the teen catching himself just before he could fall down the steps. "Aw, we're just joking around. Don't be such a priss."

The larger man finished off his drink and threw the bottle to the floor, where it shattered into numerous little shards against the cement below. "So, you make any friends?"

"Friends? Come on, Flint. This is Peter we're talking about. He doesn't even know how to string two words together without wetting himself."

The skinnier man sneered. "Cut him some slack, Sandra. He's perfect patsy material. That counts for something, huh?"

She scoffed in reply. "You got a point there." She reached forward and placed her hands on either side of the boy's face. He tried to pull away, but her grip remained tight. "Look at this adorable face! Who wouldn't want to walk all over him? It's just so easy."

Peter finally wrenched himself away, only to run into the only other man who hadn't spoken yet: the dark-skinned, tattooed man. He glared down at the boy, the look in his eyes much different than the others, completely sober.

"What about Stark? Did you see him?"

The teen stared up the man with a new look in his eyes and a new stiffness to his posture, like he was more on edge facing off against him. "He...he was around."

"Did you talk to him?" the man growled impatiently.

Peter lowered his gaze to stare down at the floor. "He was...really busy. I-I didn't really get the chance to-"

"Bullshit," the leaner man scoffed with a narrowed gaze. "You want us to believe he didn't make time for you, a kid he took time out of his day to personally come by and meet?" He leaned closer, a little smirk revealing yellowed teeth. "That's what your dad told us, told us Stark crawled all the way down from his little tower just to come say hi to you. You must have done something awfully interesting."

The man took a step closer. Peter took one back. "Interesting indeed. Interesting enough for you to hide it from us." Another step closer. "I don't like that. And your dad doesn't either. He said as much while you were gone. Did you know that?" He leaned down, closer to the boy's face.

Peter turned his head away, his grip on the case shaking. "I'm really tired..." His voice was little more than a whisper. The man barreled right past it.

"We talked a lot while you were gone, Peter. Talked about you bringing Stark into our house, bringing him around our business, all the while keeping silent about it, covering it up, hiding it from us, your own family." His shadow was dark and imposing, stretching overtop the boy. "Is there anything else you're trying to hide, Peter? Or was that all?"

The teen tried to take another step back, only for the man to roughly grab his arm, keeping him from retreating. "More importantly," his eyes narrowed and he pulled the boy closer." Why didn't we hear about it from you?"

They watched from the car, watched and listened.

"Tony..." Happy murmured with a soft, strained tone, face taking on an uneasy look as he watched the exchange, eyes glued to the group across the street. Tony said nothing, just kept his gaze on the kid, on the kid being surrounded by a gang of drunken adults twice his size.

He said nothing.

The woman approached Peter and the other man, leaning closer to the former. "Max, not here..." she whispered, casting a few glances down the street, most likely to watch for anyone passing by The man - Max, growled and curled his lip before roughly letting the boy go, Peter stumbling back as he whisked his arm close to his chest.

"Fine. Then you're gonna tell us about the conference. In detail

Peter ducked his head and merely shrugged his shoulders, ripping his arm out of the man's grip, their words making his fingers curl tightly around the metal handle. "I-I ... I guess...I mean...I do-don't really-"

He cleared his throat.

"Maybe w-we can talk a-about this in...in the morn-" He started as he reached towards the door, only for the leaner man to grab onto the back of his hoodie, dragging him back down the steps once again.

A small, shocked yelp escaped the teen as he stumbled against his feet before quickly righting himself. "Come on! What's the rush? We're only curious about how your little trip went." The man sneered, face leaning closer towards the kid's. Peter flinched and turned his head away, sidestepping away from the man, only for his back to run into the chest of another.

"It...it was fine, alright." He finally choked out. "There w-was... I mean it was...and there w-was...a... a lot of inventions and robotics blueprints to work with...and...a-and-"

"What's in the case?"

"...W-what?"

The dark-skinned man - Max, stepped closer, eyes narrowed as he locked gazes with the kid. "The case," he repeated, gesturing down towards the object Peter was now trying to hide slightly. "What's in it?"

Tony watched on, eyes narrowed, hand poised on the car handle, waiting for the kid to begin floundering as he tried to sputter out a lie. Though he could only blink in shock as Peter merely shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing really interesting. Just a couple of spare parts and blueprints we received to work on later," he answered softly yet convincingly.

The billionaire felt his eyes narrow as he continued to stare at the scene before him. So you can lie. Tony mused to himself. Then why don't you do it more often? He wondered, recalling just how terrible the kid had been when lying to him. How the hell could he pull a flip like that? What was with this kid?

The woman narrowed her eyes, folding his arms across his chest. "So...now what? Was this shit like a one-time thing or something, or are we supposed to expect Stark to keep showing up on our doorstep every other month?" she muttered, glaring down at the kid who was currently using the base of his palm to rub his wrist up and down.

"Actually..." Peter mumbled. "I-I don't...I don't really know. T-the details weren't t-too...specific exactly...s-so I...I don't really know when the next...um...next meeting is." He finally muttered out.

The leaner man rolled his eyes, leaning back against the step as he scoffed "Ugg...God, you're useless. You can't give us anything? They seriously didn't tell you shit?"

"They were pretty...p-pretty tight-lipped about...about everything, so...so I don't know."

"Of course you don't. What a fucking surprise."

The kid ignored their chuckles as he began to shift his weight back and forth between his feet. "Can we maybe...m-maybe go inside and talk? I don't-"

"Just spare parts, huh?"

The kid lifted his eyes up to meet Max's gaze as he leveled a hard look at the kid. "I...I'm sorry?"

The man glanced down at the case. "Just space parts?" he repeated. "That's it?"

Peter glanced down at the case for a second before giving a vigorous nod of his head.

"Kid says it's just fuckin' science shit, man," the striped-shirt guy muttered. "What about it?"

Max didn't seem inclined to let it drop so suddenly. "I'm just curious," he muttered as he stepped closer. Peter, in return, took two steps back, grip tightening around the handle. "Yeah, l-like I said. They're just parts and blueprints f-for a new project that we n-need to start working on."

"So, they give you a project to work on, but no specific time for you to return and show it off or report your progress?"

Peter glanced around, grip tightening. "Um..."

The man continued. "Also, it seems pretty sketch of Stark Industries to just let a bunch of strangers walk off with their design prints and tech, wouldn't you say?" He turned towards the others, who were giving him strange looks. He ignored them and turned back to Peter, face hardening. "Especially if they were as tight-lipped about information as you say they were."

The woman shrugged her shoulders. "I guess,"

"I know." The man didn't relent. Peter took another step back, only to find himself backed up against the pillar at the bottom of the steps. He pressed his back hard against it as Max leaned closer. "So I'll ask you again. What's in the case?"

Tony could actually hear his heart hammering against his chest, felt his hand tightening around the handle of the car.

Peter met Max's gaze for a fraction of a second before ducking around him, slipping past the others as he turned to quickly face them. "Yeah...y-yeah, sure. I just need to get the access code for the lock out of my backpack first so... Hey, actually, have you seen my...my dad anywhere c-cause I actually...have to talk to him about something. So, i-if you can just...just hold up for a sec-"

Before he could push the front door open, however, a large beefy hand was curling around his wrist, dragging him down the stairs as Max stepped between the boy and the road so Tony couldn't see exactly what was happening.

But he could see the look on Peter's face. And he could hear the words Max said next.

"I didn't say you could fucking leave."

Tony stared at the scene for a second longer before making his move.

He'd seen enough.

"Stay here," he muttered to Happy before slamming his door shut, the driver sputtering in shock at his actions.

The billionaire quickly straightened out his suit and realigned his sunglasses as he crossed the street and moved closer to the front of the townhouse.

One of the Cons must have noticed him, for them quickly tapped the dark-skinned man on the shoulder before turning towards him. Max glared down at a wide-eyed Peter for a moment longer before letting him go and whirling around. "Hey, kid," Tony called. "Just forgot. I wanted to talk to your dad about something real fast before we left." He explained, staring at Peter's shocked face.

The kid seemed frozen, baffled as to why the man was still there. "I...umm...I-I..." he stuttered. Apparently, his mouth was as frozen as his brain. However, that was not the case with the other adults.

"Well, well..." The woman chimed, a new smile adorning her face. "Tony Stark. Just what do we owe this little visit?" She asked, though her eyes gave away the annoyance her voice hide perfectly.

"Like I said, sweetheart. I just need to have a quick little chat with the kiddo's dad," he stated casually, reaching forward to wrap an arm around the kid's shoulder, effectively pulling him away from the others. He felt the boy tense up in his grip, but he didn't pull away and Tony didn't release his hold.

"If that isn't too much trouble."

The Cons exchanged glances before Max let out an irritated sigh. "Fine," he muttered darkly, motioning with his head for the others to step away from the door.

Peter blinked the shock out of his eyes as he cast a nervous glance at Tony before stepping forward, walking up the stairs, and wrapping a shaking hand around the door handle.

Taking a shaky breath, Peter pressed his thumb against the top of the handle, a click reverberating through the air as the locks slid apart before he pulled one of the twin doors open. The lights were already on as they walked inside.

Stepping through the short, narrow hallway, the walls opened up to reveal a spacious, designer living room, complete with twin sofas facing a large flat-screen TV mounted to the wall over a brick-work fireplace. The flooring was a deep, mahogany that matched the mantlepiece and the bar counter off to the side, a wall of liquor and booze decorating an entire section of the room. Above their heads was an ornate-looking, modern chandelier that bathed the room in a warm, yellow glow.

To the left of the front door sat a kitchenette with a similar expensive appearance, though it looked like it had never really been used before. Further down as a hallway most likely housing a couple of bedrooms. And across from the front door, down the hall that separated the living room from the kitchen, sat a pristine, polished elevator.

Peter shuffled on his feet once more as he glanced over his shoulders as the Cons, who were currently displaying various looks of annoyance, disgust, or indifference.

"Um...w-where-"

"His office," Max muttered before folding his arms over his chest.

Peter said nothing, just gave a small nod of his head. Tony narrowed his eyes at the scene but said nothing as Peter began to make his way across the first floor and over to the stairs. Slightly relieved by the fact that they all wouldn't have to cram inside the slow-moving elevator, Tony followed the shuffling kid up the stairs before they reached the second floor.

This floor was similar to the first, except the dining room and kitchen were much bigger, meaning this floor was probably used mostly for eating and cooking. Though as Tony looked around at the Cons, he severely doubted any of them were big bakers.

Upon arriving on the floor, they followed Peter down the hall, where he entered in upon another sizable room, though this one was much more ornately decorated.

The walls were still a deep, dark brown, only now they were covered in large bookshelves that stretched near to the ceiling, each filled with thick volumes of row upon row of books.

Counters situated against the walls held small statues, awards, sculptures, cigar boxes, anything and everything that could possibly scream money. On the back wall, above another fireplace similar to the last, sat a large painting surrounded by an expensive-looking frame, twin vases perched on either side of it.

Finally, in the center of the room sat a large executive's desk, matching the dark coloring of the wood paneling, a mess of papers scattered across the top. And sitting in the chair, going through said papers, was none other than Richard Parker. A pair of glasses sat perched on the tip of his nose, an irritated frown set firmly on his face as he glanced between folders.

The sound of their footsteps made Richard glare up from his papers, only for his eyebrows to raise in slight surprise at the sight that greeted him. There was no discernable expression on the man's face as he pushed his chair back and stood up, removing his glasses from his face before gently setting them down on the table.

"Peter..." He greeted coolly, the teen quickly lowering his gaze to the floor. He said nothing, not even as the woman stepped forward "Mr. Stark said he wanted to talk with you about something," she explained, her voice tight and strained.

Richard glanced at her then at Stark before a small smile set on his face. "I see you met my associates."

Tony turned a stare over at the Cons, who were currently watching the exchange with unreadable expressions. "Sort of...we haven't really had the chance to speak."

Parker gave a small nod. "Well, allow me to introduce you to them," he said as he moved over to the others.

"This is Flint Marko, head of security over at Parkstem Labs," he explained, placing a hand on the man with the striped shirt before moving over to the leaner figure standing next to him. "This here is Dr. Curt Conners, one of my top scientists and close friends." The man - Conners - fixed Tony with an unsettling grin. Now that they were closer, Tony realized that one of the hands sticking out of the man's shirt sleeve was plastic. A prosthetic.

"Over here, we have Ms. Alexandra Deel." He gestured towards the woman, who flashed Tony a dazzling smile that didn't match the look in her eyes at all. "Just call me Sandra"

"She's head of shipping and manufacturing," he explained before moving over towards the final man. "And this here is Mr. Maxwell Dillon, our financial adviser and my second in command"

Tony stepped forward and shook each and every one of their hands.

He'd definitely have to wash them later. Really, really well. With like a lot of soap.

"Please to meet all of you." He flashed them a grin, one that didn't match the unsettling feeling he was beginning to feel in the pit of his stomach.

"Max," Richard called. "You think you can take Peter and the others downstairs while I talk to Mr. Stark?"

"Uh-huh." The man called, wrapping a hand around Peter's shoulder, the teen wincing at the touch. "Besides, we still got a whole lot of catching up to do, don't we, Peter?" He called, the others smirking at the teen's pained face.

Tony watched out of the corner of his eye as Peter was all but dragged back down the stairs with the others behind him. Realizing he had more pressing matter he needed to deal with, Tony wrapped his hand around one of the chairs placed in front of the desk and pulled it out, taking a seat as Richard sat as well, shuffling his papers as he did so.

"So...what did you want to talk about?"

The billionaire usually would have instantly jumped into conversation, all of his wants and demands sitting neatly in a corner of his mind as he'd spin an intricate web of conversation and charm, weaving them through the dialogue effortlessly and seamlessly until everything he'd planned and accounted for were already at his fingertips.

This time, however, something was different.

He had no plan whatsoever. Getting out of the car had been on impulse alone, and now that those impulses were gone, he was left with...what exactly? A suspicion and no evidence? What was he supposed to do with that? What was his level of care here?

More silence. He hated it.

"So your associates..." he started, not really knowing where else to begin.

Richard leaned back in his chair, a smile working its way onto his face. "They're more like family, really. They've stuck around through all the hard times. really helped me out with Peter when he was little and I would get stuck at the office. You know how it is."

"Not really. Kids aren't really my thing."

"Of course. My mistake"

Tony chewed on his cheek, knee beginning to bounce as he glanced around the room, hoping the answer to why he felt so unnerved would be written on the walls somewhere. It wasn't.

Richard stared at him for a moment before furrowing his brow, folding his hands atop the desk. "is there...something you wished to discuss with me, Mr. Stark?"

Was there?

"No. Not really. I just wanted to see the kid off."

The man nodded. "Right. Well, speaking of such, I wanted to thank you for granting Peter this opportunity." The man let out a little chuckle as he pushed a few of the papers aside. "I hope he wasn't too much trouble."

"Nah, kid was a delight."

Why was he here?

Richard hummed. "I'm glad to hear that. I know he's a bit shy around newcomers, so I was worried when you first approached. But hopefully, this whole experience was a positive one for him."

Tony drummed his fingers against his knee. "Yeah..."

Richard waited for a moment, presumably to see if Tony had anything more to say, which he surprisingly didn't. The awkwardness was near palpable as the man cleared his throat and picked up a few papers, shuffling them around a bit. 'Well..if there isn't anything else...thank you again for everything you've done for us, Mr. Stark," he said as he stood back up from his chair.

Tony, thankful that there was at least one person with their brain still intact in this conversation, followed his lead and stood up as well. They shook hands as Tony took a step back. He needed a drink.

Several drinks, actually.

"It was no trouble at all, Mr. Parker," he smiled, antsy to leave and put the whole mess behind him.

And go where?

He faltered at the thought for a second before giving a little shake of his head and stepping around the chair. Richard gestured towards the door. "Let me show you out."

Tony lifted a hand and waved him off. "Oh, it's alright. I'll find my way."

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

He didn't wait for a response before he was pulling open the door to the office and taking a step out into the hallway. He breathed a deep sigh as he glanced around, running a hand down his face as he scoffed.

What a ridiculous stunt he'd just pulled.

He should have just had Happy pull off and drive away the second the kid was out of the car, as the plan had been.

He swallowed thickly before stuffing his hands into his pockets, glancing around at the Nancy set-up and cosy living arrangements. This was a family house. He didn't belong here, that much was obvious. Whatever was going on didn't involve him. This family was weird, sure. But as he'd said in the car, the kid himself was just as weird. Maybe that's what normal looked like around here. Who was he to judge?

He blinked back into reality and rolled his eyes, making for the stairs.

It was time to stop putting it off.

It was time to go back home.

(Why? Not like anyone's waiting for you.)

He pushed past the thought and kept walking...only to falter as he heard the sound of laughing from downstairs, loud and boisterous. Not a moment later, a figure was rushing up the stairs, head down and clothes ruffled.

Peter almost didn't even see him, he was too busy focusing on climbing the stairs. But when he finally did raise his face, their eyes met for just a moment.

The boy's cheek was red, chest heaving and shoulders shaking as he stared back at Tony. His eyes were glazed over with an emotion the man couldn't place, but the way his lip trembled ever so slightly didn't leave much up the imagination. Peter stared at him for another second before he was squeezing his eyes shut tightly, ducking his head as he used his shoulder to push past the man and race up the stairs to the third floor, disappearing from sight before Tony could so much as utter out a single word.

Tony gazed after him in silence, listening to nothing but the sound of a TV playing downstairs and the beating of his own heart, the same sound he'd heard in the car as he'd watched the kid get surrounded.

Something about this was...wrong. Something that was connected to the strange heaviness he'd felt the second he'd stepped foot in the house. Something that made his skin crawl whenever Richard so much as looked at him.

He turned his head to gaze down at the stairs that led to the first floor, the stairs that led him out. They were so close, so tantalizingly close. Just a few feet away from him, a few feet away from the car that was ready and waiting to drive him away, away towards the Tower, the big, huge...empty Tower.

Keep walking. Keep walking. Keep walking.

("If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose.")

He had a choice. He had a choice right now, and he knew what the right decision was. Just like he knew then.

Keep walking. It's not your problem. Keep walking.

("If I see a situation going south, I can't ignore it.")

Tony wasn't like him, not even close. He would come in guns blazing, rationale aside, reasoning aside, nothing but stubborn arrogance and stupidity-fueled violence. He would make things worse as he always did, as he loved to do. Tony wouldn't.

Steve would get involved. And Tony wasn't like him. He wasn't.

Just leave. Stairs are right there. Leave and don't come back...just like the others. Just like him.

Tony finally turned away from the stairs, lifted his head to gaze back to where Peter had disappeared to. His arm burned, he could feel it eating away at him.

("This isn't gonna change what happened.")

. . .

. . .

. . .

No...it wouldn't.

The office door closed behind him as Tony reentered the room. "I want Peter to come intern for me at Stark Industries."

But he did it anyway.

"What?" Richard looked up from his papers, seemingly surprised that Tony hadn't left as he said he would. He blinked his eyes quickly in shock before clearing his throat. "Um...could you repeat that?"

"I want to offer Peter a full internship at Stark Industries. No strings attached. No payments necessary. No sign-ups required," he explained before he could think better of it, before his brain could fully process what was coming out of his mouth. "Every other weekday after school, Monday, Wednesday and Friday from 3 pm to 8 pm. I'd have one of my drivers pick him up and drop him off so transportation wouldn't be a problem."

His heart was beginning to pound again. He could hear the blood in his ears, hear it pulsing against his skull. The pain in his arm was dulled by the sheer adrenaline now beginning to work its way through his system.

No going back now.

Richard stared Tony down for a moment, eyes hardening as he lowered his gaze, scanning the papers still scattered around the table. Reaching down, he gathered the paper together before neatly shuffling them into a pile. Tony watched the man work, neither saying anything. More silence. Tony swallowed his nerves.

Finally, after a moment, Richard stared back up at Tony, cold eyes burrowing into the man's gaze. "Tell me, Stark..." he said, eerily calm. "Just what about my son has you so intrigued, huh?" He placed his elbows on the table, folding his hands in front of his face. "Why him?" he murmured darkly.

Tony narrowed his eyes slightly at the shift in tone. Richard was now staring at the man with a suspicious glint in his eyes. The only explanation Tony could surmise for it was that the man suspected he was simply trying to unlock secrets about Parkstem Labs through Peter. After all, the Cons had been right before in saying that Parkstem was a major competitor for him alongside Oscorp.

However, he couldn't care less about uncovering their secrets.

Tony leaned closer, matching Richard's hard stare. "I was keeping an eye on Peter throughout the convention. From the record I was able to pull on him as well as his application into the Foundation, he was an intriguing case," he explained. "As I observed him, I noticed he seemed to be much farther along in terms of intelligence compared to the other students at the meet. And I'm talking college undergrads. People that should be years ahead of him looked like they were partaking in a second-grade science fair compared to him." He waved his hand through the air. "With this internship, he'd be allowed to shadow some of the scientists and professionals at the company as well as learn about the robotics and invention processes involved," he explained. "A process that you undoubtedly use every day in your own company."

Richard listened with narrowed eyes as Tony continued. "However, at the convention, I also noticed that Peter seemed to be very...anxious and nervous. He didn't talk much to anybody else. Seemed more content to stick to himself."

Parker gave a little nod, pursing his lips slightly. "As I said before, he's had some issues with that in the past." He twisted his chair around so that he was now facing the wall of books. His hands remained folded in his lap. "He concerns me sometimes, Stark. Don't get me wrong. There's nothing wrong with a little obedience, but he's just so..." he shook his head, eyes narrowing. "...weak. So small."

He sighed, ran a hand through his hair. The speckling pattern splashed across his cheek was well-hidden in the dim light of the office. "He worries me. As a father...he worries me." He pushed himself out of his chair and walked over to the shelf, realigning a few books that had shifted out of place. Tony watched him as he moved.

"The world's been changing, Mr. Stark. Changing in ways nobody could have predicted, ways nobody expected." Tony said nothing, just watched as the man turned to gaze back at him, eyes sharp and unsettling. "I fear...I fear he won't be able to handle it, at least not on the road he's currently taking."

The billionaire leaned forward in his seat. "I can help with that."

Richard narrowed his eyes and turned to fully face him. "Can you now?"

"I think so. Put him in an environment he can excel in. Give him the confidence he's been lacking. It could work."

"And you think you could provide that sort of environment?"

Tony took a breath, let it ous slowly. "At least let me try."

Richard watched him for a moment, seemed to scan him up and down. Tony resisted the strange, overwhelming urge to fidget under the man's gaze. Finally, when he spoke once more, his voice was low and dangerous, hinting an edge of aggression. "Stark. I won't tolerate games. Especially not with my boy. If you have an issue with my company, you bring it up with me, but you leave my son out of it. I won't have him become a pawn for you to use, you understand me?"

Tony didn't release the man's gaze. "Perfectly. But this isn't about our companies. This is about him. And I want to help him."

Richard didn't move. "Why?"

. . .

. . .

("This isn't gonna change what happened.")

"...because I can."

Richard gave a small nod of his head before lowering his gaze back down to the papers below, his brows furrowed in thought. Tony watched on, anticipation and a flutter of nervousness stirring in his gut. He could only hope this worked, hoped it didn't backfire and get the kid in some sort of trouble. Lord knew he didn't need that on his conscience.

But finally, after a moment, Richard's hard gaze seemed to soften slightly as he gave a small nod of his head. Lifting his gaze, he met Tony's eyes. "Stark, if you think this little...program of yours can help my son, then so be it." He uttered softly, an almost unsettling smile setting on his face.

Tony felt his stomach churn once again as he began to feel the same vibes he'd gotten from the Cons, but quickly pushed it down as the two men rose up from their seats and shook hands. Richard cast a small glance towards the door. "I should probably go and tell Peter," he muttered none too kindly.

Before his brain could catch up to his body, he was jumping in front of the man, holding his hands up with a shrug of his shoulders. "Don't worry, I'll go and tell him." He said, the words falling out before he could stop them.

You are just on a roll, aren't you? He grumbled to himself as Richard nodded his head, motioning towards the stairs. Tony bit back a sigh as he seriously began to consider getting a CAT scan when he got back to the Tower, trudging up the stair to the top penthouse floor.

Something about the floor seemed much different in the dark than it had when he'd first seen it. It felt much...colder. Quickly remembering which hall the kid's room was in, Tony counted the doors until he came to the last one.

He paused at Peter's door, biting the inside of his cheek in hesitation as he wondered whether he should just send Richard up instead. But after remembering the look on Peter's face as well as the annoyance in Richard's, Tony let out a small sigh and gently tapped his knuckle against the door.

After a few moments passed of silence in which Tony began to feel his old-self bubbling back up to the surface as his patience wore thin, the man called.

"Kid? You in here?"

Silence.

Furrowing his brow, the man glanced down at the door handle before giving a roll of his eyes. "How the hell did I end up here?" he muttered as he turned the handle and pushed the door open slowly. The hinges gave a soft creak as the door slowly swung open, the darkness of the room hitting Tony hard as his eyes fought to adjust to the lack of lighting.

The room was as he remembered it. The teen's bed right in front of the door, corners tight enough to pass military inspection, a bathroom right across from the head of it, a desk further back, and a bookshelf with row after row of thick science textbooks pressed against the back wall. But it wasn't what was in the room that made Tony's face pinch in unease, it was what wasn't in the room.

There was nothing adorning the walls, no decorations, posters, signs. There weren't any gaming consoles or clothes strewn about all over the place. It looked like nobody lived in this room, it was so...empty.

How had he not noticed it before?

Tony blew out a breath and tried to push the thought from his head, eyes catching on the glass doors on the far end of the room, seemingly leading out to a balcony.

As his eyes adjusted, Tony made out a figure standing against the railing, seemingly unmoving as they stood leaning against the barrier, their back to him. But the mess of brown hair and the familiar oversized jacket were big enough clues.

It was impossible for him to see the boy's face, but the sunken, tired posture he stood with and the way he did nothing but stare out over the view told Tony all he needed to know. The billionaire let out a small breath and grasped the metal handle of the door, sliding it open.

Peter jolted violently at the noise, whipping around and pressing his back into the railing behind him as tried to locate the source of the noise, only to pause as he caught sight of who exactly was at his door.

"M-Mr. Stark?" He whispered softly, voice hiding none of his disbelief.

"Hey kid," Tony called casually as he stepped out onto the floor. The wind gently brushed past his face as he made his way over. Peter watched him with wide eyes for a moment, mouth agape as the man strolled up to stand next to him. Tony didn't look over at him, instead choosing to take in the view.

The townhouse rested on a large hill, elevating the view substantially till Tony could basically stare out above some of the surrounding buildings. From a distance, the bright lights of Town Square could be seen glowing brightly in the night sky, illuminating the waters of the East River in bright washes of red, yellow, and green. The moon hung in the sky above the buildings, shining brightly as it seemed to compete with the lights of the city. As usual, the sky held no stars. With all the bright lights and shining flashes, the chances of ever even noticing the faint pinpricks of white in the sky were slim to none.

He noticed Peter steadily watching him from the corner of his eye, the boy warily approaching to lean over the balcony as well. Tony could hear him shuffling back and forth on his feet, fingers tapping nervously against the railing.

He kept his gaze elevated to the sky. "Light pollution's a bitch, huh?"

The boy glanced away, seemingly unsure of something before letting out a little breath. He didn't turn to face Tony, but his eyes would occasionally dart over in his direction. "W-what?"

Tony rested one elbow against the railing, using his other arm to gesture up towards the sky. "No stars."

Peter followed his movements, looking up at the sky above their heads. He said nothing for a moment before a small smile worked its way onto his lips, faint and hesitant, but present. "I...I used to have these...stick-on glow in the dark stars on...on my ceiling. That...that was always good enough for me."

Tony hummed, but didn't say anything in response. He kept his gaze focused on the scenery, on the lights shining before his eyes.

"Um...M-Mr. Stark?"

"What's up?"

Peter glanced down at his hands, pulling at his long sleeves once more to cover his hands. Tony noticed he liked to do that a lot. "N-not that I-I'm...complaining or...or anything, but...b-but...umm...I-I don't ...I m-mean...wh-"

"Why am I here, exactly?" Tony asked, realizing the kid couldn't seem to choke out the last few words. Peter glanced up for a second before giving a nod of his head. Tony gazed back out at the view as he shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, you know, just chatting with your Dad about a few things here and there. Nothing too interesting."

"...Oh, and I also got you an actual internship at Stark Industries if that's of any interest."

Peter's eyes grew twice as wide as he whipped around. "You what?!" he nearly shouted before letting out a little scoff, blinking his eyes rapidly as his jaw dropped. "B-but...but I thought y-you said we...we were just g-gonna use that as a cover."

Tony shrugged once more. "Yeah, well, I changed my mind kid. You're gonna wanna get used to that, by the way. It's a pretty common occurrence."

Peter said nothing, just continued to flouder next to him, stuttering on words that refused to turn into anything more than garble. Tony let out a little chuckle at the display, throwing the kid a humored look. "take your time here. I do have that effect on people."

The teen lifted his gaze to stare at him at that, letting out a little breath as he switched his gaze towards the floor, rubbing a hand against his neck as he smiled. "I mean...this is...t-this is insane! It's...there's no other way to put it...I just...this is amazing!"

Tony smiled. It surprised him, and not because it was there...but because it was real, if only slightly

The kid grinned, letting out a chuckle as he turned to glance back out over the balcony. However, after a moment, the boy's smile slipped, his gaze lowering to the ground in thought. He swallowed, brow furrowing slightly. "H-how did...m-my father take it?" He asked quietly, a different tone of voice entering the words.

Tony glanced over at him before waving his hand in the air dismissively. "Ah...he was a little hesitant at first, but I was able to convince him to go along with it." He explained, Peter blinking up at him in surprise. "Huh..." He murmured softly.

"What?"

"N-no, nothing. I-it's...it's just that...well, it's not the easiest th-thing in the world to convince my...my dad, you know?"

Tony pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he glanced over at Peter before turning away. "Yep...I kind of got that vibe from him." He muttered.

Before he could delve any farther into his suspicions of the boy's father, he whipped around and clapped his hands together. Peter didn't turn to look at him. "But, enough of that. Now, this internship will be every other day after school from three to eight. Now, judging from how long an average drive from the tower to here will take, that should leave you with about a two-hour window for patrolling and whatever other nonsense teenagers like you get up to in your free time."

The kid still hadn't responded. Maybe he was just soaking it all in.

Now we'll probably meet on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, but if I decide I like having you around, I might just let you hang a little more." The man paused to twirl his hand in the air. "I'll just make something up about you having 'big projects to finish' or some bullshit like that. You'll probably have some stuff to help with and I already know Pepper's gonna have some work lined up for you, but you'll probably have time to finish up your homework sprinkled in there as well. Plus, if you get on my good side, " He explained, pointing a finger towards the kid. "I might even help you out with improvements to your suit. I'm thinking we start with-"

"Did he put you up to this?"

Tony paused in his rambling at not just the sound of Peter's question, but the tone of voice he'd used. It sounded strange, teetering on the edge of suspicion.

"What?"

Peter narrowed his eyes and finally lifted his head to look at him. His gaze was hard and pointed. "My dad. Did he put you up to this? Are you two working together? Is that what this is?"

Tony blinked and scrunched up his face at the sudden hostility dripping from the kid's words. "What are you talking about? Of course he didn't."

The kid scoffed slightly and turned away. "What? I'm just supposed to believe you're doing this out of the kindness of your heart? Why...I don't..." Peter bit back whatever it was he was going to say as he shut his eyes, shoulders slumping slightly as he rested his elbows on the railing. "Look...it's not...it's not that I'm...ungrateful, alright? You helped me, g-gave me the new suit and I'm so...thankful for all of it."

He trailed off. Tony furrowed his brow and took a small step closer. This kid was so unpredictable it was making his head spin.

"I...I just don't understand why you're...why you're offering this to me if you're not working with my dad. I mean...y-you said we would just use the internship as...as a cover. That it wasn't real, so...so what made you change your mind?" The boy stared up at him, wide brown eyes gleaming in the light from the city beyond. "Why are you doing this? I...I don't understand."

. . .

Neither do I.

Tony opened his mouth, only for no words to come out. He sucked in a breath, closing his mouth again as he cast his eyes away, furrowing his brows as he fought over how to handle this. But it was difficult when not even he knew his real motivations behind his decision. Impulse. Impulse alone was the answer here. So what would happen when the adrenaline finally decided to leave his body?

Where would they end up then?

The man decided on staring out over the water in a similar manner to Peter, who had gone back to leaning against the railing when Tony had remained silent. Neither of them really turned to face one another, not even as Tony began to speak.

"You know...your dad reminds me a lot of mine. He was never really good at the whole 'supporting your kids' thing. He never really knew how to...handle me." He didn't know what he was saying at this point. Just anything to fill the silence.

"I never really felt like I could talk to him, you know? I just thought that whatever I did wasn't good enough for him. That every word that came out of my mouth was another reminder to him that I wasn't what he wanted. Granted I didn't really help my case by going to a ton of college parties, getting wasted a bunch of times, and partying with whatever girl crossed my path but-"

He glanced down at Peter, the boy blinking up at him with those wide eyes of him.

"I don't know where I'm going with this. I think I had a point."

"If you did, then...I don't get it."

The man sighed, running a hand over his face. "I am so not cut out for this," he muttered to himself before he turned around, leaning his back up against the railing of the balcony, folding his arms over his chest. Peter followed him with his eyes.

"Listen, kid. It's true that this is...unorthodox for me to be offering this. And it's also true that there are plenty of other people I could offer this to." He started, watching as the kid lowered his gaze back down to the ground. "But, I chose you for a reason, Pete." He explained, the nickname popping out before he could even think about it. "I think you got a lot of potential kid. Hell, it's obvious just by the way you were able to make those web-shooters just by scraps you found in the frikkin dumpster," he scoffed, a small smile forming on his face.

"And hey, I get it that you're a bit unsure of this. Hell, I'm a little unsure myself..." He paused and unfolded his arms, slipping his hands into his pockets as he leaned back against the railing.

"But I need you to understand this, kid. You do deserve all of this. I don't know about you, but I haven't come across any other kids swinging around the city with basically no proper equipment whatsoever helping people just to help them, just because they can." He explained, Peter glancing away as a slight red tint began to fade onto his face.

"You're a good kid, Peter," Tony said softly. "That's why I'm offering this internship to you. Plus, you know, Spider-Man kind of, is my responsibility considering I just armed him with a multi-billion dollar suit, you know? Would be kinda reckless to just let you go off all willy-nilly without any sort of supervision."

Peter slowly lifted up his gaze, blinking up at the man once more as Tony pulled away. "So what do you say, kid?" He asked, a smug smile forming on his face. "You wanna join me over on the dark side, or would you rather stay here and work at boring, old Parkstem Labs?"

Peter let out a small laugh. "They're not that bad, you know," he murmured softly, a smile forming on his face.

Tony turned a serious look towards him. "Alright, if you're gonna be working for me, you're no longer able to give any sorts of praise, adoration, or compliments to that place, got it? Nothing except seething remarks or hate letters, alright?" He said, Peter letting out a full-blown laugh at that, the man chuckling next to him as they walked back through the glass doors and into the teen's dark room. He liked the kid's laugh. It sounded right.

Walking back out towards the common rooms, Tony noticed Peter's demeanor instantly shift back to quiet and reserved as they made their way down the stairs and back down to the first floor, where the others were congregating. "Well, it's a done deal," Tony called, the others glancing up at the pair as they made their way down the stairs.

Richard gave a small nod of his head as the pair reached them, the Cons letting out small huffs behind him. "Very well. And you said transportation would not be an issue?"

Tony nodded. "Yeah, I'll have a driver pick him up and drop him off," he explained as the large group began to make their way over to the door.

"Then I see no problems. As long as this doesn't interfere with his schoolwork," Richard murmured, stealing a glance down at Peter, who was now standing at his side, his fingers twitching nervously.

"I doubt that'll be much of an issue," Tony smirked as he began to make his way outside.

"Well, it was a...pleasure meeting all of you." The man called as he gazed at the Cons, who seemed to be trying not to roll their eyes.

However, before Tony could begin his descent down the stairs, he heard someone call out his name. Turning back, he watched as Peter quickly stepped outside as well, rushing up to meet the man. "Hang on a second..." He called as he stared up at the man, large brown eyes once again staring up at the man, but this time, there was something different about them. They didn't seem as desperate, as searching. Instead, they seemed almost...bright.

"Before you leave, I just wanted to say thank you," Peter said softly. "For everything."

Tony stared back at those large brown eyes, seemingly lost in them for a moment as they stared at him in awe before he blinked back into reality, a smile forming on his face. "No problem, kid. See you tomorrow," He said with a wink as he began to make his way down the stairs, the smile lingering on his face as he turned back around and noticed Peter giving him a little wave.

This time, he couldn't resist the urge to return it.

Tony reached the car and silently stepped inside. "Well, you took your sweet time, didn't you?" Happy muttered as he cast a small glare behind him. "You know I'm only doing this as a favor, right? I'm not your driver anymore. I have a very serious job now-"

Tony knew Happy was talking, but as usual, he wasn't really listening. Instead, his eyes were trained on the kid currently standing on the front step of his house, gazing at the car with wide eyes before a large hand was placed on his shoulder, jerking him back to attention. Peter glanced up nervously at his father and the awaiting Cons, casting one last glance at the car before ducking back into the house, the door slamming shut behind him.

Tony furrowed his brow before leaning back in his seat, a tired sigh tearing its way through his lips. Only now did he realize how exhausted he actually was. Though he shouldn't have been surprised. It hadn't exactly been an easy weekend for him.

After a moment, he realized the car was moving. Happy must have realized the man wasn't listening and had decided to just drive back to the Tower. Tony let out a small moan and rested his head back.

"You good?" Happy called from the front, his earlier agitation dissipating as he took in how bedraggled his friend looked.

"Yep. Yep, I am...stellar." Tony muttered softly as he shut his eyes. The man desperately wished that were true. He wished he really was alright and that it had just been another long weekend (partying with his friends, staying up watching movies with them, arguing about trivial things). He wished everything was fine and that he could look forward to coming back home and relaxing. He wished...

He wished for a lot of things that just weren't going to come true anytime soon.

Tony winced as he shifted in his seat, his arm letting out a small shout of protest at the movement. He wrapped a hand around his wrist, flexing and unflexing his fingers as he felt his arm groaning in protest. At least with the kid distracting him, his mind has been elsewhere. But now that he was alone, there wasn't much for him to think about other than-

No, Nope! He was not going there. Tony knew if he even began to think about St- about... what happened, he would lose it. And he did not want to have a breakdown in the car. Just breath... Tony muttered to himself as he shut his eyes once more, concentrating instead on taking deep breaths and slowly letting them out. He repeated the mantra in his head throughout the car ride, shutting out every and all outside noise.

This time, he embraced the suffocating air the silence brought.

He never saw the way Happy glanced at him through the rearview window, concern evident in his usually cold eyes.

 


 

Sunday - February 28, 2016

Stark Tower - Lower Level Sub-Garage

10:54 p.m.

"Tony?"

The man's eyes snapped open as his name was called. He let out a small groan as he sat up, rubbing his sore neck as he glanced over at Happy, the man staring at him from the front seat. After a moment, Tony realized they were in the Tower's garage. How long had they been there?

"You sure you're alright?" The man asked.

Tony slipped a smile onto his face. "Careful, Happy. Keep acting like that, and I might actually suspect that you're worried about little ol' me."

Happy rolled his eyes and turned back around in his seat. "Yeah, I know. I must be insane," he muttered, but he couldn't help the nervous frown that fell onto his face as Tony exited the car. Though he knew it was pointless to ask the man again if he was alright.

Tony was silent as he entered the Tower elevator, felt the doors shut and floors begin to move after another second. It took him a moment to realize he'd told FRIDAY to take him up to the labs, a response that had fallen from his lips automatically, a conditioned response. The man let out a tired groan as he rubbed his face, his head pounding painfully.

"Sir, might I suggest you go and get some rest instead of working in the labs tonight?" The automated voice called from above.

"I'm fine, FRIDAY," Tony called as the elevator doors opened. "And no, I don't want to hear your list of reasons as to why I am not fine." He said quickly after a second thought, the voice falling silent as he entered the lab.

The lab, with its messy tables and clicking, hissing robots roaming the floors and the multitude of miscellaneous projects lying in heaps all over the place usually brought him a sense of peace in the chaos. Because it was his chaos.

(Chaos. All you bring is chaos.)

His stomach rolled at the sight of it all, the sight of mounds of work that he suddenly had no energy for. Not even Dum-E, as he accidentally scattered a few papers across the floor, could elicit any sort of scolding from his creator as Tony aimlessly walked past it without so much as a glance.

He could feel his feet moving, felt his body floating through the aisles, like in a dream, like he wasn't even there. But there had to be something. This was the thought that ran through his head as he scanned over the different projects half-finished on the tables. There had to be something that could make it better. Something that could take it away, take away the thoughts threatening to drown him. Something that could stall him from going back up to the penthouse, that horribly quiet floor.

He walked, and he walked, and he finally stopped walking when his eyes caught sight of it.

The Iron Man armor he'd taken to Siberia looked even worse than he remembered it.

The number of gashes and dents seemed too numerous to count, stripping off huge chunks of paint. Loose circuits and bare wires could be seen poking out of the plating, and a large, open maw sat in the very center of the suit.

Tony felt his heartbeat quicken, felt his breathing hitch and his fingers curl. He swallowed thickly and turned his head away from the sight, only to feel the remnants of his jackrabbit heart plummet right down to his shoes.

Cap's shield sat dormant underneath one of the work tables, silent and still on the surface.

He thought he'd stored it away somewhere. He thought he'd gotten rid of it.

Tony felt his lips part slightly, felt himself take a step back, and vaguely noticed the sound of crunching underneath his feet. He exhaled a sharp gasp of breath and watched a plume of frost swirl before his face. He blinked in shock at the sight, only to suddenly feel the bone-chilling cold beginning to wrap around him. Another step back, another sound of crunching. Snow. It was snow. Why was there snow under his feet?

Right. It was snowing. Of course, it was. Siberia was cold.

And now so was he. So was everything. So much so that he could barely even feel his body anymore, feel his arms, his legs, the tips of his fingers. He couldn't feel any of it. Because it was so cold? No. Because they were metal. He stared down at his arms and saw the metal plates melting out of his skin, fusing to his bones as circuits began to loop around his muscles. He could hear gears shifting inside of him, oil pooling heavy in his gut, smoke burning against his lungs as they turned to steel.

The suit - no, he was blaring loudly in his ears, warning signals flashing before his eyes. There was a hand digging into his chest. Obie, no Barnes. No, it was Steve. He could see him. He could see the blue of his eyes behind the HUD screen now embedded into his own retinas. He could see the hate pouring from the soldier's gaze, felt it frying his circuits and supercharging the metal of his chest plate. He reached out, grasped onto the soldier's wrist, tried to pry him off as he frantically scanned around, looking for something, anything, anyone who could help.

But nobody could. Nobody would. Rhodey was too busy falling from the sky. Pepper had learned better, had disappeared for her own good. And his team...his team stood off to the sides, watching and waiting in silence.

He shut his eyes and felt everything grinding to a sudden, violent halt as the world tipped on its side and rushed towards him, rushed towards his face, a shield gleaming in his eyes, poised to strike, slicing down like a final execution.

Tony snapped his eyes open with a sharp gasp and a sputtering choke of air. He felt his chest heaving as he lifted a hand to fist at the front of his shirt, which he could feel was now damp with sweat. His eyes wildly whipped around the room, searched the air for flecks of snow, searched the walls for signs of his teammates, felt at his chest for any life-ending wounds.

Nothing. He was alone. And he was on the floor for some reason, back pressed against the wall.

"-unday, February 28, 2016. You are currently in Stark Tower, in private lab 1A. There is no threat. It is Sunday, February 28, 2016. You are currently in Stark Tower, in private lab 1A. There is no threat. It is Sunday-"

He cast a small glance towards the ceiling. FRIDAY's soothing voice echoed softly around him, a grounding noise in the otherwise deathly silent room. He listened for a moment, listened as he let his heart settle and the feeling of the floor differ from the snow-covered concrete of that prison in Siberia.

He wasn't in Siberia. Not anymore. He was in the Tower. He was alone in the Tower.

The thought wasn't as comforting as he'd hoped it would be.

FRIDAY kept speaking. Tony knew he should stop her, cease her protocols for his panic attacks, but he didn't want to. He wanted to keep listening to her voice, wanted to pretend for just a little longer. Pretend that he wasn't alone. Pretend that everything wasn't falling apart around him. Pretend that his friends hadn't abandoned him, hadn't given up on him. Pretend that there was still something to fight for.

But even he had his limits. And not even he could lie that well. Not even to himself.

So he finally silenced her with a simple, soft "mute", leaving him to sit in the silence once more. His back pressed against the wall as he stared out at the mess of a lab before him. He didn't make a move to get up, didn't wipe at the sweat covering his face, nor at the drop that slid down his cheek as a bead of sweat got into his eye.

He just sat there in the silence and let the thick black wave of grief wash over him in a steady stream of weight, pooling heavy around his limbs, his head, his heart.

It wasn't the first family he'd grieved. But he was more than certain that it would be the last.

What else could you expect from Tony Stark: the man with everything...and nothing?

Chapter 3: Governing Dynamics

Summary:

"He should be getting here after school."

"Uh-huh . . . and are you expecting the kid to walk all the way here, or are you sending a driver?" She asked, stopping in the doorway.

Tony's face grew thoughtful for a moment before a mischievous grin broke. He reached down onto his pocket and pulled out his phone, tapping a few buttons before bringing it to his ear. After a second, the other line answered.

"Hey, Happy?"

"Yeah?"

"You're not doing anything right now, are you?"

"Uhh..."

Chapter Text

Well? Did you find a good recipe?"

Peter felt a smile split his face as he looked up, loose teeth beaming as the toddler held out the cookbook, pressing his finger against one of the laminated pages. "Dis one!" He babbled out cheekily.

Mary felt a laugh bubble out of her chest as she reached down, plucking the almost three-year-old out of his chair and holding him against her side. She gently wrapped her hands around the book and examined the page. "This is roast turkey pot pie, sweetheart."

"Yeah!"

"We don't even have turkey."

"Yeah!"

Mary let out another laugh as she lowered her head, rubbing her nose against the boy's, Peter letting out a giggle as he pressed his tiny hands against the side of his mother's face, a large grin splitting his face.

The woman set the toddler back down onto the ground and turned back to the pantry. "Alright, let's see if we can actually find something suitable to eat, huh?" She smirked, her smile faltering as she gazed at the poorly stocked closet. A small sigh escaped her lips as she glanced at the dented cans and numerous boxes of colorful cereal.

Peter glanced up at the woman and noticed her smile wasn't there anymore. He didn't like that. He liked happy Mommy. Happy Mommy made him smile.

The three-year-old gazed into the pantry. There was something in here that was making Mommy sad. As he scanned the small closet, his eyes fell upon the cereal boxes resting on the floor, where he could easily reach them. On the covers, there were many different mascots, each smiling happily as they stared back at the toddler.

Peter giggled. His cereal friends would make Mommy happy. He pushed past his mother's legs and grasped one of the boxes, holding it out to her. "Bweakfast soup!" He cheered, pushing the box up against his mother's knees.

Mary gazed down at the boy in surprise before a humored look appeared on her face. No matter how many times she tried to explain it, the boy just never seemed to be able to grasp the concept of "cereal". To him, it would always be "breakfast soup". She guessed in a sense he wasn't too far off. It kind of was like soup...

"Breakfast for dinner, huh?" She asked aloud, taking the box from her son's hands.

Peter jumped up. "Yeah, yeah, yeah!"

Mary laughed, leaning down to blow a raspberry on Peter's cheek, the boy giggling maniacally as she did so before pushing away, ready to help his mommy.

"Alright, why don't you go and get me the eggs from the refrigerator?"

 


 

Monday - March 7, 2016

E Eighth Avenue Local line - en route to Midtown

06:35 a.m.

Peter awoke, not with a gasp, but with a moan as his eyes slid open. The last whispers of his dream tickled his ears as they drifted away, dripping past his eyes as the warm kitchen was replaced with the cold neon lights of the packed subway car. The smell of stale coffee and cheap perfume wafted around the crowded space, making Peter's eyes nearly water at the pungent, overwhelming smell. Someone shifted closer to him. He scrunched up tighter in his seat, leaning closer to the wall.

He turned his head away from the crowd and pressed his forehead up against the cool glass window, the heat radiating from his body making the surface fog up ever so slightly as sweat trickled down his temple. An unsettling prickling sensation tingled down his arms, like an electrical current coursing through his veins, a familiar feeling that arose whenever he dreamed of her.

Peter didn't like to dream about her.

He licked his dry lips and let out a soft groan as he felt a headache bubbling in the back of his mind, something he just knew was going to bother him for the rest of the day. Great.

A low rumbling met his ears as a familiar twinge of pain shot through his stomach. The boy winced and wrapped an arm around his torso as his body protested.

Peter liked to consider himself fairly strong-willed when it came to staving off his hunger pangs. He had accepted the feeling of never having a full stomach, used to the constant aching thrums that were always present, no matter how much he ate. It was never enough.

Still, he never passed up the opportunity to at least try to fill himself up as best he could. And realizing he probably couldn't wait until school like he'd planned, Peter reached down to his backpack sitting between his legs, zipping it open to reveal the apple he'd stashed away.

It wasn't anything spectacular. A browning fruit with dark red skin and a small bite taken out of the side. Sandra had thrown it away this morning, apparently realizing she "wasn't in the mood for apples" after she'd already taken a bite.

Peter hadn't hesitated in fishing it out of the trash can when nobody was looking.

Ignoring the poor state the fruit was in, he took a small bite out of the side. The growling of his stomach urged him to inhale the thing as fast as possible, but he knew he had to make this thing last, considering it was the most food he'd probably get until dinner, unless of course, Ned packed him an extra sandwich, which he usually did despite Peter's protests.

The teen was quickly jolted from his thoughts as he felt the subways pulling into the station. Rising up from his seat, he slung the backpack over his shoulder and crumpled up the paper bag, tossing it into the trashcan next to him.

Reaching behind him, he grasped his hoodie and pulled it up over his head, effectively shielding his face. Just how he liked it. He glanced down and grimaced slightly at the dark marks running up and down his arms. They were still fresh. He quickly tugged at the bottom of his sleeves and pulled them down to cover his wrists. Muscles tensing as he slid and bumped past people with the occasional squeak of apology, Peter stepped off the car and began to quickly walk through the crowded station.

The many people pushing and shoving past each other made the boy's fingers twitch nervously as he instinctively began to fiddle with the ends of his jacket sleeves, pulled them up over his hands as he tried to draw as little attention to himself as possible. Luckily for him, his small stature allowed for him to basically slip through the sea of masses unnoticed.

It was only a short walk from the station to the school, but long enough to allow the teen some time to mentally prepare for what lay ahead.

Midtown School of Science and Technology.

Peter's safe haven.

it wasn't glamorous to say the least. The halls were crowded and noisy, the work was tedious and the occasional taunt from Flash was always something he could look forward to. But at least it was something...somewhere to go that wasn't home, and that was enough of a reason for him to love it.

At school, the people around him were strangers, uncomfortable presences, but they weren't threats. He wasn't in a constant state of panic and fear, looking over his shoulder or straining his ears to listen for the sound of footsteps coming down the hall towards his room.

At Midtown, Peter was uncomfortable, sure. But he wasn't afraid.

Slowly trudging up the steps, he wrapped his hand around the handle and yanked the door open. Around him, kids milled around like ants running through a colony. There were people loitering by the bathrooms, kids huddled on the floor surrounded by piles and piles of unfinished homework, girls standing around tapping away on their phones, boys sitting against the lockers leaning side to side as they tried to beat the final stage in their games, couples pressed into the corners as they kissed, seemingly oblivious to the mess of students around them.

Yep, typical morning.

It wasn't hard to spot Ned. As usual, he was sitting down on the floor next to Peter's locker, finger swiping against the cracked screen of his phone as his dark hair hung down over his eyes.

Peter felt a genuine smile form on his face as he approached, Ned perking as he caught sight of him. The chubby boy grinned and stumbled to his feet, shoving his phone in his pocket as he stretched out a hand, Peter doing the same as they commenced in their traditional handshake.

"How'd your weekend go?"

"Terrible. I had to go to Kayla's soccer game. I don't know who created a ten and under division for little girl's soccer, but they must have been mental cause it literally made me want to rip my eyes out just to feel something."

Peter cracked a grin at Ned's usual exaggerated manner of speaking. He tried to ignore the way his friend's eyes traced over him, lingering on his covered arms. Ned knew what that meant. The boy didn't comment, though. Instead, Peter leaned in a little closer. He'd been itching to tell Ned his latest development for the past three days. After all, Ned knew everything there was to know about him.

Ned reached towards his backpack and pulled out his water bottle. "So what about you? Anything interesting?" He popped the cap and took a swig as Peter grinned.

"I'll say. On Friday, when I got home, Tony Stark was at my house."

The boy's eyes grew wide and he doubled over as he gagged, coughing up water as it leaked down his nose. Peter blinked down at him with large eyes before glancing around with a sheepish smile at the onlookers currently giving them strange glances. He turned back towards Ned and reached out a tentative hand, only for the other boy to lurch forward and nearly come nose to nose with him. "Peter Parker, I know you didn't just say what I think you just said."

"I-"

"Tell me you didn't say what I think you just said!"

"Well, I-"

"Speak these words and confirm to me that-!"

"Ned!" Peter grabbed onto the teen's jacket, pulling him closer. "Stop talking and let me explain," he laughed, watching the boy continue to stare at him as if he'd just started glowing bright pink.

"W-well...what did he want, man?!"

Peter opened his mouth, only to pause as he felt the words get lodged in his throat for a fraction of a second. So maybe there was one tiny little thing that he'd forgotten to mention to his best friend.

"He, uh...h-he came by to offer me an internship at Stark Industries...?"

Ned didn't know about Spider-Man.

For a second, Ned said nothing, just continued to stare at him with eyes larger than dinner plates and for a moment, Peter was afraid the boy was about to call him out on his lie. But before the fear could truly manifest, Ned was pawing at his arms, leading Peter to shy away and try his best to defend himself from the onslaught of excited jabs.

"You got an internship at Stark Industries?!" Ned screeched, slapping Peter's shoulder with each shouted word.

Peter couldn't keep the smile off his face as he tried to block his friend's pawing. "Would you calm down? And maybe try shouting a little louder. I don't think the football team heard you."

"Oh, they definitely did. And probably the cheerleaders too."

Both boys turned away from their current impromptu battle as the newcomer sauntered up.

She had dark caramel skin and thick, long, curly brown hair tied up into a messy ponytail that left numerous curled strands dangling before her sharp amber eyes. "So does this explain why you weren't at the Decathlon meet on Saturday?" She quirked a brow and threw him a pointed look.

Ned threw him a sidelong smirk, to which Peter elbowed him in the shoulder and nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "Y-yeah, sorry about that, MJ. I...I meant to text you guys, but we were...k-kinda busy. Plus this was sorta out of the blue, you know?"

Michelle rolled her eyes. "Whatever, nerd. It's fine. Though I assume this won't get in the way of any more of our meets?"

The boy held out his hands in assurance. "No, no, no! Don't worry about that. The internship's only on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, so Tuesday and Thursday are still free for practice." He explained hurriedly.

MJ regarded him for a moment before deciding his answer was satisfactory, giving a small nod of her head.

Letting out a small internal sigh of relief, Peter watched as Michelle bopped her lunchbox against the side of Ned's head and moved her hand in a "shoo" motion, the other boy hurriedly stepping out of the way of her locker, which was right next to Peter's. Hence how the two of them had met.

It had only been around eight months since the two of them had met Michelle, right around the start of the year. And while they weren't as close as Peter and Ned were, going off of a four-year friendship, the three of them seemed to find themselves in each others' company more times than not, especially considering Michelle's role as head of the Decathlon team.

Now, apart from Ned, MJ was one of the only people Peter talked to at school, one of his only friends...at least he thought they were friends. It was hard to really get a read on the girl.

"Got to say, I'm mildly surprised you're interning with Stark Industries and not with your dad's company." She pointed out, giving the boy a questioning look as she pulled out her Biology textbook and shoved it into her backpack.

Ned threw Peter another sidelong glance at the mention of his father, the boy pointedly ignoring the look as he gave a stiff shrug. "I thought it was a little weird, too. But...I'm not complaining."

Michelle held his gaze for a moment before turning back to her books, seeming to drop the subject, much to Peter's relief.

"Seriously? Penis Parker got an internship with Tony Stark? Yeah, and I'm Spider-Man."

All three friends had to swallow down their simultaneous sighs as they turned around, meeting the smug expression of one Flash Thompson. The boy threw them a cocky grin as he rolled his eyes. Ned frowned as he glared at the approaching boy. "What do you want, Flash?" He muttered.

The boy smirked back at them. "Nothing. I'm just showing an interest in our fellow classmate's endeavors. So...you're buddy-buddy with Tony Stark, huh?" He asked, elbowing Peter in the ribs. "That's surprising considering you barely ever open your mouth, let alone around someone like Stark."

Peter took a step back and leveled the boy a glare. "What do you care?" He mumbled, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Flash shrugged his shoulders. "I'm just shocked is all. I never knew you were so desperate for attention that you'd make up such a specific lie," he chided. "That's usually how ya' get caught, you know. Everybody knows the key is to keep it simple."

Peter rolled his eyes and tried to step around the boy only for Flash to jump back into his path. Ned narrowed his eyes and stepped forward. "Leave him alone, would you, Flash. It's none of your business."

Flash let out a laugh as he caught sight of the annoyed glared he was getting. "Oh come on! You can't actually believe that Parker got an internship at Stark Industries!"

"It's more believable than you getting one," MJ muttered as she slammed her locker closed. Ned tried to stifle a laugh while Peter retained his tight-lipped stiff stance. Flash let out an indignant scoff before narrowing his eyes and violently shoving past Peter as he stalked away.

The teen let out a little sigh and threw Michelle a look. "Thanks. I'll be paying for that later."

"Bill me." Without another word, the girl threw her bag over her shoulder and made her way down the hall, the two boys sharing a look before quickly running after her.

As they shoved past kids trying to make their way to their classes, Peter found his mind wandering. Usually, he dreaded the end of the day, loathed the days of the week when Decathlon wasn't scheduled, knew there was nothing stalling him from getting home.

There, it was nothing but hours upon hours of diligently doing as he was told and trying his best to stay out of the line of fire. Sometimes he was successful. Sometimes he wasn't. Sometimes he couldn't help but stare down the clocks, praying the minutes would tick by faster until he could finally find solace in his mask and web-shooters.

But today, for the first time in a long time, was different. Today he didn't have to wonder about which path to the train station would take the longest. He didn't have to stress about whether or not they had enough alcohol at home to satiate the Cons and keep them safely incapacitated.

Today he didn't have to worry about any of that.

Today was going to be very different.

And for once, Peter wasn't upset by the change.

 


 

Monday - March 7, 2016

Stark Tower - Private Lab 1

11:23 a.m.

Tony was very upset by this change.

At least, upset enough to have it be the only predominant thought swirling through his head at the moment.

The man was currently working down in his lab, which really meant he was just resting his head down on the cold metal surface of his work table as he tried to remember the reasons why he'd gotten out of bed that day.

So far, he hadn't come up with anything past making sure the liquor cabinet was still stocked.

He turned his head, allowing his cheek to press down against the steel below as he gazed over at his phone resting a little ways away.

One call.

One call and it would all be over before it'd even begun.

And yet, despite the fact that he'd been hounding on that piece of information for the better part of the day, he still hadn't made a move for it, hadn't put in the effort to actually pick it up off the table.

There were plenty of excuses he could use to justify it too. He could say he was drunk that night one week ago, or say that he'd double-checked with HR and realized they didn't have the capabilities to take on another employee, not even an intern The longer he thought about it, the more excuses - nothe more legitimate reasons he came up with for why he should back out and call up Parker, tell him to fetch his son, and explain that the deal was off, that this wasn't happening, that his brain had decided to reboot and correct itself from the malfunction it had clearly been under.

And yet...his phone remained untouched.

He sighed, folded his arms, and rested his head on them. It was too late to back out now, he knew that. There was no ignoring it. For the past week, he'd been filling his head with different schematics and updates he could make to Rhodey's new braces, which, to add a silver lining, were already allowing the man to walk fairly normally, well enough for them both to pretend that everything was fine, that nothing had even happened. At least, for a short while.

But, in usual Tony Stark fashion, his attempts to distract himself from whatever he didn't want to deal with could only last so long.

Whether he liked it or not (and he truly did not), the kid...Peter was coming to the Tower today. Tony was going to see him today, would have to talk to him and everything. What the hell were they even supposed to talk about? Tony barely even knew anything about the kid past his name and his vigilante extracurriculars. Everything else had been irrelevant, and that was exactly how he'd liked things.

So...why had he changed everything? Why had he offered an internship in the first place? Why had he gotten involved?

He'd been mulling over those same questions for hours now and he still had no answers.

Tony groaned, lifting his head and pressing his palms into his eyes. "God, maybe I'm just losing it."

"That implies that you had it to begin with."

He didn't look up at the new voice, didn't have to. He just held in another sigh and dropped his hands back down to the table. "I thought you still weren't talking to me."

Pepper waltzed into the room professionally, heels clicking against the tiles below as she held a folder close to her hip. Her face showed no discernable emotions as she approached. "I'm trying to run a company. I don't have time for immaturity." Her voice was curt.

"Right. How is it that we were even in a relationship?"

She didn't respond to the jab, slapping the folder down on the table in front of him. Tony didn't bother looking at it, just kept his eyes on his phone, which still hadn't moved. "I need you to look over the forms for the MIT research budget. I think we might have overestimated how much we'd need to allocate for the donation."

Tony scoffed and dropped his head. He could feel the beginnings of a migraine creeping up his spine, making his body ache. "I..." he blew out a rough sigh. "I don't care about all of this right now, Pepper."

The woman pursed her lips, eyes narrowing slightly. "Well I do. And unfortunately, I still need your input on a lot of this."

"It's your company."

"It's your name on the building." She snapped, bit back whatever it was she'd been going to spit at him before folding her arms over her chest. "Just look them over. I don't have time to be indulging you."

Tony, once again, didn't look up. He just kept staring down at the table, hands folded underneath his chin. "Fine," he murmured softly, voice tired and uncombative.

He waited for the sound of her heels once again, waited to hear them clicking away, fast and annoyed. He waited, but when he heard nothing, he couldn't help but spare a small glance up. She was gazing down at him, the previously frustrated look on her face having softened just slightly.

"What's wrong?"

"Hmm?"

She glanced over to the side, seeming to hesitate slightly before turning back to him. "You seem more frazzled than usual. Did something happen?"

For some reason, Tony felt a flare of annoyance in his chest at the comment. He chewed on his cheek as he shook his head and leaned back in his chair. "A lot of things have happened, Potts, in case you forgot. Or would you like me to run you through them again?"

He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth, more so as he caught the look on Pepper's face morph back into anger. She narrowed her eyes and tightened her lips into a thin line. "Sorry I asked," she muttered before spinning around on her heel and making for the door.

Tony shut his eyes, gritting his teeth for a moment before leaning forward once more. "Sorry."

Pepper paused.

"I...sorry. I'm sorry. I...I didn't mean that." His tongue felt heavy, the words sticking to the sides of his throat as he tried to get them out. "I just..." he trailed off, unsure of what to say. Maybe it would be better if she did leave after all.

She already sort of had.

But she didn't. Pepper slowly turned back around to gaze at him. Tony twisted his chair around to face the side wall of the lab, back pressing into the cold surface, uncomfortable enough to keep him awake during his late-night lab sessions. He heard her shoes once again, heard them approaching, softer this time.

He felt her beside him, felt her aura emanating around him. He shut his eyes, let it surround him, let it remind him of what they'd previously had before everything had blown up around them. she said nothing for a moment, seemed content to stand in the silence between them.

Finally, she sighed, rested against the corner of the table as she pressed her hands into the cold surface. "What's wrong, Tony?"

He turned his head to look at her, watched her piercing blue eyes gazing back at him.

Tony knew her shortness with him didn't come from a place of mystery. Ever since he'd returned from Siberia, ever since he'd decided to keep what had happened a secret, things had been different, even more so than before. For hours, days, she had begged, pleaded with him to tell her something, disclose what had happened. But he knew he couldn't, not even with her. He couldn't dredge up those thoughts to share, couldn't wade through them once more.

Saying them aloud just made it more real.

Of course, his silence had led to another fight, just one of the thousands they seemed to always be having nowadays. But any hope that Tony had had about salvaging his relationship with the woman had all but dripped down the drain the second he'd decided to stay silent, the second he'd decided he couldn't trust her with this weight, couldn't trust it with anyone.

They had both known after that final fight that things truly were over between them.

Didn't make it any easier.

Still, as he gazed at her, gazed at a face that still hadn't left despite everything he'd put her through, he couldn't help but feel the same twinge of guilt he'd felt when he'd refused her the first time. Pepper didn't deserve his mistrust. Plenty of people did, but not Pepper.

He hesitated for a moment, glanced down at his hands as he tapped his fingers together.

Finally,

"I...t'k n'ntern."

She blinked at him, scrunching her eyes slightly. "You did a what now?"

He sighed, resting his head against the back of the seat. "I took an intern."

Yep, saying it out loud was even worse.

The woman blinked. "You took an intern? As in...like an actual physical human being?"

"I assume yes."

She let out a little scoff, more out of shock than anything else, shaking her head. "Why? We stopped the internship program after Stane. We stopped almost everything after that. You said yourself that you didn't trust-"

"I know what I said, Pepper," he cut her off a bit harsher than intended. He sighed. "The circumstances have changed. Besides, it's just the one kid."

The woman gazed at him in silence for a moment. The previous tension slowly dissipated as she walked over. Tony didn't look up, not even as he felt her move closer, felt her comforting presence near him.

"What's going on, Tony."

He drummed his fingers against the table. "It's...hard to explain."

"What isn't with you?" The comeback wasn't as sharp as before. In fact, it almost had an edge of a smile in it. The man glanced up. "Look, I know this isn't something I'd usually ever do, like...like ever, but..."

He trailed off, suddenly unsure as to how to continue. Pepper cocked a brow, leaning in closer. "But..." she coaxed.

Tony stared down at his hands, felt the familiar uncomfortable buzz he'd felt back when he'd first seen the kid off, back when he'd first seen those...people.

"You know that feeling you get when you just know something is really, really, wrong, but you just can't...explain it?"

Pepper stared at him for a moment, seemed to consider his words carefully before folding her arms over her chest. "You're suspicious."

"Yes."

"Of what?"

"I don't know...yet, at least. All I know is that his kid is...he's..." how could he explain this? He didn't even know the answers himself. "I think I can help him."

The woman let out a deep breath, gazing at him in confusion. "You can help a lot of kids, Tony. You just did with that MIT donation to their research projects. Why are you interested in this specific kid I..." she paused, gaze suddenly turning much sharper as she narrowed her eyes. "Who called you?"

Tony scoffed and rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair as he threw her an exasperated look. "Nobody called me, Pepper. Christ, he's not mine."

"Well, with your track record, can't blame me for assuming."

He waved a dismissive hand. "Whatever. Look, the fact of the matter is that the internship's happening and I don't know what to do...like at all. I barely even know any kids, let alone interact with many. And when I do, I usually do it with a thoroughly vetted teleprompter in front of me. How am I just supposed to do it one on one?" He hesitated for a moment, brows knitting together in worry.

"How am I supposed to...talk to him?

He let out a deep sigh and ran a hand down his face, suddenly feeling the full effect of skipping those days of sleep. He could feel a deep thrumming in the back of his skull, the beginnings of a migraine working their way around his head. He suppressed a groan and shut his eyes, trying to fight back the spots beginning to dance before his vision. As if he didn't already have enough to deal with right now.

However, as he heard the silence remain unbroken, the man blinked open his eyes once more, having been expecting the woman to give some advice in that moment. He glanced at her and noticed that she was staring at him intensely, almost...inspecting him. He cocked a brow.

"What?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. It's just...you're actually concerned about this...aren't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean...you actually care about this."

He winced, tilting his head slightly. "Care seems like too strong a word."

"Fine. You're invested."

"Eh, better."

The woman shifted her weight between her feet for a moment before lifting a hand, gently resting it against his shoulder. Tony was surprised by the motion, but didn't move out of her reach. She gazed at him gently, her eyes softer than they had been for the past couple of weeks. "Listen, I know you don't think you can... I know you think you have to do this all alone..." she paused for a moment, seemed to really consider her words. "...but you can rely on me, on Rhodey. That's all we've been trying to tell you, Tony." She smiled wistfully. "You just seem to have a hard time listening."

The man lowered his gaze, didn't feel like seeing the look of pity crossing over her face. She continued nevertheless.

"I know you don't want to talk about it."

She was right.

"But...if you ever do...we're here." She squeezed his shoulder. He shut his eyes and tried to control the sudden ache in his chest. "I'm here."

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Before the air could become too thick, however, she was pulling away, clearing her throat. "So, what time is this intern of yours supposed to be getting here."

Tony quickly readjusted his mask of indifference as he leaned back in his seat and folded his arms. "After school. Around 3."

"Uh-huh . . . and are you expecting the kid to walk all the way here, or are you sending a driver?" She asked as she began to make for the doorway.

Tony's face grew thoughtful for a moment before a mischievous grin broke. He reached down onto his pocket and pulled out his phone, tapping a few buttons before bringing it to his ear. After a second, the other line answered.

"Hey, Happy?"

"Yeah?"

"You're not doing anything right now, are you?"

"Uhh..."

 


 

Monday - March 7, 2016

Midtown School of Science and Tech - Outer Courtyard

02:25 p.m.

Peter smiled and gave a small wave as he watched Ned pile into his mother's car before driving off. The teen watched his best friend's car pull away from the curb before letting out a sigh, trotting down the last few remaining stairs of the school entrance before hopping up onto the stone pillars that flanked the doors.

The boy reached behind him and unzipped his back, pulling out one of the many notebooks he kept in his bag. But instead of his other books which were filled with notes on Shakespeare and population growth, this particular notebook had a little spider doodled in the corner.

Scrawling past the first twenty pages, which were filled with normal school notes in case the Cons ever decided to check said book, Peter stopped at the last page that had work on it. A multitude of different sketches were scattered across the page, new designs for web-shooters and chemical formulas he was itching to try the next time he had a chance in Mr. Mitchell's class.

Creating new webs in his high-school chemistry lab wasn't ideal, nor was it the safest, but it was the only option really available to him, unless he was willing to steal from either the school of his father. Neither of those were very appealing options, so the classroom was his best bet for the foreseeable future.

Speaking of future, Peter couldn't stop his eyes from occasionally flitting to the street. A small, nervous frown set upon his face as he pulled his legs up, crossing them underneath him as he rested his elbows on his thighs, holding the open book close to his body as he tried to focus on the page, tried to figure out the best configuration to store as much webbing as possible.

It would be here.

Kids milled past the stairs next to him as he tried to concentrate, different cars pulling up to the side, swallowing up one kid or another before driving off again. Each car that stopped made the boy's eyes drift up, instantly earning a silent berating before he'd try to focus back up again. What was he so worried about, anyway?

It wasn't a dream.

He continued to relay the words over and over again in his mind. His thigh began to bounce up and down as his fingers drummed against the edge of the page, the paper tensing with each movement. Peter let out a steady breath through his mouth, nibbling on his bottom lip as he cast another worried look up towards the sidewalk.

It would be here.

After another few minutes of rereading the same formula for the tenth time, Peter sighed and snapped the notebook shut, realizing he'd never get anything done like this. But as his eyes drifted away from the pages, he noticed the sleek black car pulling up to the curb, standing out like a sore thumb against the sea of busted minivans and old hand-me-downs.

Peter was used to cars that screamed 'look at how much money I have', considering that was all his father seemed to drive, but it was still an unusual sight seeing one stopping outside of his school. So the boy simply stared at the car as it stopped, the passenger window rolling down slowly, revealing the face of one not-so-happy man.

"What? You just gonna keep staring at it? Let's go!" He shouted before rolling the window up once more.

The words and the sharpness at which they were barked quickly had Peter nearly tumbling from his seat atop the pillar. He practically threw the notebook back into his bag, not even bothering to zip it up before he was quickly hurrying over to the car, sliding into the backseat wordlessly.

The man, whom he was pretty sure was ironically named Happy Hogan, threw him a look from the rearview mirror. The coldness in his gaze made Peter squirm, an uncomfortable itch slinking up his arms as he felt the sudden need to shrink up and become as small as possible. Thankfully, Mr. Hogan's gaze quickly fell away with a huff of annoyance as he twisted the wheel and pulled away from the school.

Peter tried not to hear the murmured grumblings of the man as he drove, realizing he probably wasn't meant to hear them at all. But it was hard to ignore, what with it being the only other noise in the car.

"Can't believe...Tony I swear I am going to rip you a new one when I, ugg...As if I don't have anything better to do than drive some kid around..."

The teen didn't say anything, knew it wasn't his place. The best bet he had was to sit quietly and try not to piss the man off even further. (It was always better to just be quiet, anyway.) So with that, the kid let out a soft sigh and turned towards the window, resting his cheek against a propped-up fist.

As the two fell into tense silence, Peter felt his stomach beginning to churn nervously, though - shockingly - it wasn't from the man currently driving. It was from where they were driving to. It was a familiar feeling, a wiggling mass that sat heavy in his gut. He felt it every time he walked home, a permanent weight in his stomach that made him feel like his footsteps were leaving indents in the sidewalk.

Throughout all of his classes, he'd felt nothing but excitement fluttering in his stomach. But now, with nothing standing between him and Tony Stark save for a short car trip, he could feel his anxiety crawling back into his body like a rabid animal trying to hide from the sun. Just like that, all of his worries from before were slowly beginning to eat at him once again.

Cool it, Parker. You're fine. Everything's fine. Everything's...fine.

The words sounded right in his head, but for some reason, he couldn't get them to reach his stomach, which was still churning dangerously. He knew it was stupid. He knew it was ridiculous to still be freaking out about this, especially considering the fact that Mr. Stark had already explained himself the day before. And yet, Peter couldn't stop himself from comfortingly rubbing circles into the back of his hand with his thumb as his thoughts ran wild.

What if I do something stupid? What if I...what if I blow something up? Something super important? What if I annoy him? I do that sometimes, don't I? That's what Sandra says. That I'm annoying. Spider-Man's annoying, too. No, that's different. Spider-Man's different.

You're no Spider-Man. Not right now. Not without the mask.

Peter instinctively banged his hand hard against the window to smack himself out of his thoughts, to which Happy stole a glance from the front seat. The teen quickly averted his gaze, foot tapping quickly against the floor of the car. The man rolled his eyes and turned back around, but thankfully didn't say anything. Peter blew out a small breath, tracing the lines in the leather seats with his eyes to slow his beating heart and calm himself.

He'd been doing that way too much recently. Getting buried in his thoughts.

Peter didn't have much time to dwell on them as he felt the car slow. Blinking back into reality, the boy stole a glance outside the window and couldn't help his jaw from dropping open. If he'd been paying attention, he would have caught the small smirk on Happy's face at his reaction.

Instead, his focus was on the humongous building in front of him. Stark Tower was easily one of the largest buildings in the city, nearly rivaling the Empire State building in terms of greatness. Sure, he'd seen it from afar plenty of times, heck, his balcony had a pretty clear shot of it. But he'd never seen it like this before.

The sleek metal exterior glinted in the sunlight, the numerous windows plastered along the sides adding to the building's reflective quality. From below, the tower seemed to reach all the way up to the clouds, a huge balcony and landing pad visible near the top floors.

The entranceway was just as impressive, Peter noted as the car began to pull up to the building with perfectly sculpted hedges flanking the road and a large pond with matching fountain in the center of the roundabout just outside the front doors.

Peter didn't even register that the car had stopped until his car door suddenly swung open.

He jumped back slightly before realizing that Happy had exited the car and was now staring at him expectantly. Blinking back into focus, the boy fumbled with the seatbelt before tossing his backpack over his shoulder, mumbling a strew of apologies to Happy as he quickly stumbled out of the car.

Peter kept a steeled grip on the strap of his backpack as his fingers fiddled with the hem of his jeans. Happy didn't seem to take much notice as he walked past him, Peter quickly falling in line behind him.

But if he thought the outside of the building was impressive, then the inside was beyond anything he could have imagined.

The lobby was huge, stretching from the entranceway and the surrounding glass walls to the back, where a security checkpoint had been set up, preventing anybody from proceeding deeper into the building without proper clearance. In the center of the room stood the circular receptionist's desk, complete with a holographic projection of the company logo hovering a few meters overhead. Along the glass walls that made up the sides of the first floor were rows of plush leather chairs and tables, most likely a waiting area of sorts. But it was really the sight above them that was one to behold.

The ceiling stretched far overhead, most likely by a few hundred feet. The upper floors could be seen from where he stood with metal bridges creating pathways across the gap. It was as if the floors stretched up for infinity.

Peter couldn't keep the small excited grin off of his face as he stared up at the sight. He'd only ever been to his father's building a handful of times, and it had nothing on this!

The kid was jolted from his thoughts as Happy turned to look at him. "I'll be right back." He muttered as he began to head towards the security checkpoint, which led down a large hallway, glancing back over his shoulder as he did so. "And don't touch anything." He called.

Peter watched the man walk away before fiddling awkwardly with his fingers, unsure of what to do. Around him, people continued to mill around, different clipboards, charts and/or papers filling their hands as they did. Realizing he was more or less in the way, Peter took notice of the chairs sitting up against the far side wall.

Slowly making his way over, he took a seat and watched as the workers skimmed by, each looking incredibly busy. I wonder if it's this busy over at Stark Industries. The boy thought to himself. After all, this building wasn't the company's main location, and yet it seemed just as busy as one.

Peter probably shouldn't have been so surprised. After all, Stark Industries was one of the most widely known companies worldwide. Obviously, they couldn't deal with having just one point of business.

And yet, watching the crowd of scientists and workers whizzing past in a constant flowing rate, Peter couldn't help but feel slightly overwhelmed. The chattering of colleagues, the whirring of machines and the beeping of computers all seemed to jumble together into a massive wave of cacophony that threatened to bowl the kid over. Peter felt his knee bouncing up and down as his fingers clamped down around the edge of the seat. The chaos around him didn't help to alleviate his past anxieties at all. In fact, they probably were just making them worse.

Get a grip, Parker. You're fine. Everything's fine. Nothing bad is going to happen. Mr. Stark's going to come and everything is going to be alright. You're going to do whatever he says and keep him happy. Do NOT make him mad. Just...don't do anything stupid.

Once again, Peter felt himself falling into a trap of repeating the same words over and over again, continuously fighting to convince himself of the things he was saying. And yet, the boy couldn't help the slight twinge in the back of his head that wondered if whether or not this was actually real; that any minute now, his father was going to spring out from behind the walls, fury in his eyes at his son's Spider-Man antics before dragging him home to his impending doom, a laughing Tony Stark in the background.

That's not gonna happen. He's not gonna tell. Mr. Stark wouldn't tell him...

 

. . .

 

...unless you make him mad. What's to stop him from spilling it then? Or blackmailing you into doing whatever he wants? How safe are you with him, Peter? How do you know he's not lying to you?

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

("Everyone lies.")

 

"Hey, kid."

Peter let out a loud yelp, flinging himself backward in shock, the chair scraping painfully against the tile floor at his movements. Tony's reaction was all too similar, the man leaping backward as he retracted his arm.

"Jesus Christ," he huffed, placing a hand over his heart. "You're gonna have to stop doing that," he muttered, casting the boy a strange look.

Peter gazed at the man for a moment before a light blush fell over his cheeks. "S-sorry...y-you scared me."

The billionaire opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he just sucked in a breath and clamped his jaw shut, like he was trying to decide how to proceed. Peter noticed this, but quickly lowered his gaze, deciding not to comment and to just let the man take the reigns here. Better safe than sorry. He wrung his hands tightly before moving them behind his back, suddenly unsure where to put them. He twisted the tip of his shoe against the tile underneath, a soft squeak sounding from the movement.

"Soooo..." Mr. Stark breathed, seeming to draw out the word as long as he could, perhaps to buy himself some time. "How was school?"

Peter scrunched his face slightly at the out-of-the-blue question before lowering his gaze. "I-it was fine, I guess. We...we had a test in calculus. I-it was...easy..." he murmured, unsure as to how much he should say? Was that enough? Or should he add more?

"It...was on derivative chain rules. You know? Differentiating composite functions?"

"I know."

"Right, course you do. A-anyway. It was mostly on Lagrange's notation, but you got extra credit for adding in Leibniz's notation, which I actually prefer with the fractional variations, so I, uh...I did...that."

Stop talking. Stop talking right now. Oh, my god.

"Uh...right..."

The man was staring down at him looking very much like he'd rather be anywhere else in that moment. Peter honestly couldn't blame him, though the thought did make a furious blush of embarrassment rush over the teen's cheeks as he ducked his head.

Still, despite his hidden gaze, the teen was still able to make out the slight shifting of the man before him, the way his weight bounced back and forth between his feet, like he was unsure of himself. But that couldn't be. Tony Stark didn't get nervous...right?

The question was enough to get Peter's eyes flickering back up, catching sight of the man's similar hesitant stare. And for a second, as the two gazed back at each other, one lone thought seemed to permeate through both of their heads, equally loud and equally as daunting.

This was going to be rough.

Mr. Stark shook himself out of it first, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a laminated security badge, extending it out to the teen. Peter hesitated for a moment, to which Mr. Stark gave it a little shake. "It's not going to bite you, ya know? Hurry up. Take it."

Quickly snatching the card away with a new heat flushing over his cheeks, Peter twisted it over in his hand as the billionaire continued to speak. "You need a badge to get anywhere in this place. Tons of security checkpoints around here. Occupational hazard, I guess."

Nothing about the card was too notable, it included everything he'd been expecting, but the words printed along the top of the badge had the teen's brows quirking.

"Head Intern? Aren't I your...only intern?"

"Yeah, but that technically means you are the Head Intern," Mr. Stark said with a smirk as he winked down at the kid. Peter didn't say anything, nor did he express anything at the gesture. The man cleared his throat awkwardly before glancing away again. "Right...so I should probably...show you around."

With that, the man turned and began to walk towards the security scanners. It was a row of three-foot metal bollards that reminded Peter of the ticket scanners down in the subways. Only, there didn't seem to be anyplace to scan a badge. The apparent simplicity of the security measure had the teen's face scrunching slightly in confusion. It looked as if anybody, badge or no, could simply waltz right through the scanners and into the main building.

Mr. Stark must have noticed his doubtful look, for he gestured towards the badge now pinned to Peter's chest. "These things are packed with all sorts of sensors. You're scanned for badges, weapons, radiation, stuff like that."

He gestured to the floor just ahead of the scanners, where Peter noticed there was a small, almost indiscernible slit in ground that stretched along the entire floor from one wall to the other. "If anything abnormal or potentially dangerous passes through the sensors, the security walls go up, blocking any access to the rest of the building," he explained as he walked through the entrance to the hallway.

"Welcome back, Boss."

Peter jumped slightly at the new voice, Mr. Stark glancing over at him before lifting his head to the ceiling. "Relax. That's just FRIDAY. The AI system around here." He raised up his hands before gesturing towards Peter. "Mr. Parker, FRIDAY. FRIDAY, Mr. Parker."

"Hello, Mr. Parker. It's a pleasure to meet you." The feminine voice called down from the ceiling.

Peter blinked up in shock for a moment before clearing his throat. "Um...h-hello?" he stuttered out, Tony leaning down towards him. "I suggest you get acquainted with her." He said as the kid continued to flit his gaze around the ceiling.

"Well, let's get started, shall we?" the man said casually. Though there was something about the stiffness of his posture that seemed more inclined to say "let's get this over with."

They started down the halls, coming across an open floor-plan with a waiting area and adjacent meeting rooms, each with glass walls that allowed a clear view of the giant monitors, round tables and chairs gathered around.

"First floor. Mainly waiting areas, board rooms, blah, blah, boring shit. I almost never come down here."

Peter quietly followed after the man, hands wringing together as he gazed around at his surroundings. Despite the fact that the man before him seemed a bit on edge, and despite the rather tepid surroundings, he couldn't help the feeling of awe that coursed through him, though perhaps his good mood stemmed mainly from the fact that he wasn't home. Still,

"I got to say, Mr. Stark," Peter stuttered out as they ascended the escalator to the second floor. "T-this is all super impressive."

Mr. Stark actually snorted a bit at that. "Please. This is nothing."

The escalators were fast, too fast for Peter to ask what he meant before they were on the second floor. Still, as he opened his mouth to enquire, they walked towards the railing and his face slackened into stone-cold shock.

"Woah..."

Below them, there were at least a hundred people milling around the room, passing papers, sharing holographic images or simply typing at their stations. The space reminded Peter of a hockey rink, both in size and in shape. Different tables lay scattered around the room, each projecting different holograms into the air a few inches above the surface. The computers atop the hundreds of desks were all of a similar fashion, the rapid taping of keys reaching Peter's ears. Along the back wall, he noticed the floor dipped down and converted into a staircase that led to a lower level.

However, despite the chaos below him, it was the sight in the center of the room that really had him captivated. A large transparent cylindrical tube, around the same diameter of a hot tub, stretched up from the floor all the way to the ceiling. Inside, a bright stream of blue energy crackle and sparked violently as it flowed through like a waterfall.

"I-is that..." Peter asked hesitantly, glancing over at the crackling energy in the tube below.

"Yep. That's the arc reactor. Powers this whole joint. Well...it's the energy from it. The reactor itself is under the building."

Peter nodded his head before turning back to look out over the sea of workers. He felt his lips quirking into a smile, wide enough to stretch across his face.

From somewhere behind him, he heard a little chuckle, perhaps from Mr. Stark. He turned to glance back at the man and noticed a humored smirk on his face. The billionaire, upon noticing Peter's eyes back on him, cleared his throat and wiped the look away. But Peter could still see hints of a chuckle in his dark brown eyes.

"Come on, enough of this boring stuff. We got better things to look at," the man called, turning away from the railing as Peter's eyes widened.

"There's more?"

Tony turned back towards him, posture seeming to loosen a bit as he winked. "Much more."

 


 

"This is, single-handedly the coolest thing I've ever seen."

"You've said that eight times in the past hour. For reference, is this more or less cool than the 3D printers making steel-fiber nanotech?

Peter didn't bother responding, seemingly too focused on trying not to drool as he stared through the glass outside the upper-level RD departments.

Inside, a handful of the company's higher-tier engineers were working away on integrating the tech from downstairs into more applicable inventions. This specific floor was more medical-focused, the team closest to the window currently working on the latest prosthetic arm prototype, complete with nanochips in the brainstem for fine motor movement through neural messaging.

Variations of different robots either rolled, flew or walked through the room as well, dropping off papers, conducting small electrical corrections or simply organizing files along the back wall.

Tony stole a glance over at the kid and found his lips quirking into a reluctant smile as he watched the boy's eyes gleaming like a toddler staring through the glass of a candy store.

The billionaire had to admit, this was going a lot differently than he'd imagined.

Such a shame, too. For he'd spent the better part of the morning coming up with a pretty solid-fire plan.

He figured he'd meet the kid, show him around some and then find one of the RD workers to pawn him off on. After all, he said he'd make the kid an intern. But that didn't mean he'd make him his personal intern. Lord knew he didn't need nor want a teenager following at his heels like a little lost puppy all day.

It was the perfect solution, too. Whatever mental malfunction he'd gone through that night at the Parker Household would be fixed up no problem. The kid could just be a paper jockey for one of the lower-level labs and Tony would never have to interact with him again aside from occasionally fixing his suit or hearing about his web-headed adventures from Happy.

He'd be close. But not too close. Which was exactly how Tony liked it.

"These guys have the best jobs in the entire world," Peter breathed, watching the workers with a starstruck smile on his face.

So why was Tony still here?

Why was this tour lasting much longer than he'd expected?

Why was he dragging it out?

The billionaire regarded the teen next to him for a moment.

Tony Stark was good at a great many things. But interacting with children was not making the top twenty list. He could barely interact with adults in a healthy and mature manner. Add in some young and very impressionable lumps of emotionally charged, hormonal messes? Tony knew his limits, no matter what his friends said. And children were far, far past said limits.

But Peter Parker was quite the anomaly.

Sure, the super-strength and wall-crawling were a bit strange, but that wasn't really what caught Tony's attention.

It's almost like he wasn't a kid at all. At least, not in the sense of making Tony's skin crawl with the adolescent drawl of mundane high-school drivel. Sure, the kid could ramble a bit, but it seemed more nervous habit than a sign of vapid self-absorption.

He hadn't complained once in the two hours they'd been walking, nor had he really spoken up without Tony first initiating the conversation. There was no phone in sight, no roll of the eyes, no scoffs of dismissive attitude or snark or anything else Tony would have been displaying at the kid's age.

For all intents and purposes, Peter was incredibly well-behaved. Polite. Quiet.

("There's nothing wrong with a little obedience.")

Tony shifted, felt a tiny little tingle shoot up his skin. He grimaced, rubbing at his wrist to try and dispel the feeling of….whatever that was.

"Come on, kid," he called as he turned away from the windows and started down the hall again. He could hear the teen's hurried footsteps as he followed behind him.

Tony would be lying if he were to say those uneasy feeling's he'd first felt in the Parker house had gone. If anything, as the hours had ticked by with Peter, they just kept churning, bubbling up against the sides of his stomach, flaring hotter whenever the kid flinched if Tony spoke too loudly or how his eyes would always avert if their gazes met. Subtle little clues that gave the man pause.

"You're probably hungry by now, huh? I usually just live off the vending machines. There's a few on each floor, but I figured that's probably not the best example to be setting. Especially since I just break into them and grab whatever I want. I'm not paying two dollars for a bag of chips in my own goddamn Tower, you know?"

Silence.

The footsteps had stopped.

He paused and turned back around, noticing the Peter was no longer right behind him. Instead, the kid had stopped a little ways away, staring out the huge floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown Manhattan below.

The teen's face was drawn into a guarded look of calm that Tony couldn't quite read. He seemed to be at ease, but there was a certain wariness in his eyes, a cautious gleam. It seemed to always be present, a shield of sorts that seemed ironclad.

Tony was familiar with the look. Less familiar with seeing it on a child.

The sky was slowly beginning to turn a lighter shade of purple, streaks of golden-pink clouds cutting through the sea of color. Streetlamps were only now beginning to flicker to life, adding a dull orange light to the mix of hues.

Peter continued to stare out at the scene as Tony made his way to stand next to him, sharing the sight as well.

"Nice view," the teen murmured softly, eyes never leaving the glass. Tony noticed him rubbing circles with his thumb against the back of his hand.

"You should see it from the top floor. It's unbeatable."

He heard the teen take a breath, heard how unsteady and wobbly it sounded. Peter chewed his lower lip before casting a nervous glance over towards him. "M…Mr. Stark?"

The man swung his head to gaze down at him.

"I….I-I just…" the boy seemed to hesitate for a moment, hands continuing to fiddle together. "I….I just wanted to…..to thank you."

Tony blinked, slightly taken aback at the sudden declaration. "For what?"

"For all of this." The teen's face cracked into a small smile as he gestured at the halls around them. "I mean…t-this is….this is more than I could have ever asked for. I'm pretty s-sure this has been the single greatest day of my life," he scoffed, smile growing as he continued. "And…a-and I know you're probably super busy, cause I mean, you're Tony Stark. Hello? When are you not busy? But…b-but you still took the time to actually…like….show me around and stuff. I figured you'd just hand me over to one of your workers and be done with it."

Tony swallowed the awkward cough he felt brewing in his chest at that.

"But you….I…." the teen ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know. I-I'm not really good with my words and I don't know what I'm trying to say. Just…thanks." With that, he caught the man's eyes for just a second before dropping his gaze back down to the floor. The smile remained though, even as he continued to fiddle nervously with his hands. "Thanks for…all of this."

Tony stared down at him for a moment, took a second to simply digest the kid's words.

Usually, he was not one to indulge people's nervous babblings. No matter how starstruck the average pedestrian was running into him on the street, he'd usually cut off their incessant ramblings, sign a hat or something, and be on his way leaving some lucky Joe smiling like an idiot after him.

"Don't mention it, kid."

He didn't sign anything this time. Nor did he cut anyone off.

But the telltale smile was the same.

He didn't mind it as much this time.

Not even as Peter continued, jabbering on about the Tower and the labs they'd seen, falling into step behind Tony as they continued down the hallway again. Peter's voice seemed to grow stronger and stronger the longer he talked, words becoming sharper and more full of energy as he spoke.

"I mean, you have robots working as fully-fledged automated assistants without any AI interruptions, system malfunctions, code errors, or any other obstacles that almost every company that ever tries to automate its workers has. If it weren't for the fact that most of the people here are super-smart tech geniuses that have to come up with unique, creative ideas for new prototypes and blueprints, you could probably have the first fully automated staff that does more than just assembly-line manufacturing."

Tony actually found himself falling into a lull with the kid's voice as they walked, wondering where to go next. Med-bay? More RD? Maybe the prototype schematics for the latest StarkPhone?

"-and having a viable arc reactor energy source running through the core of the building is probably one of the most ingenious ideas for renewable energy I've ever seen cause I mean you've got a built-in power source and an absorption-based tubing system that allows the actual transport system itself to have a hand in retransmitting the energy from the periphery tubules back down to the main core and-"

"Jeez, kid. Didn't know you were such a motor mouth," Tony chuckled with a smirk, deciding to try his hand showing off the latest prototype models. Seemed like the biggest wow-factor they'd yet to see and-

He stopped walking again.

Because Peter wasn't talking anymore.

He turned back around again, wondering what had caught the kid's attention this time. Only, there was nothing. Peter wasn't staring starstruck at anything this time.

Instead, his face had gone bare, the carefree expression from before replaced with a tight look of apprehension as he started to wring his hands together. His eyes were wide, cheeks flushing red as his pupils darting back and forth like he'd just realized something and that something was about to reach up from the floor and swallow him whole.

Tony actually felt his stomach flip at the sudden change.

"Kid-?"

"Sorry."

He blinked.

"I….I-I'm sorry. I didn't…I mean, I….I didn't mean to….to talk so much. I-I know I can kind of…just, um…." He ducked his head, face going even redder. "…sorry."

Tony stared down at him, trying to keep from twisting his face in absolute, what-the fuck shock.

"Kid…I was joking."

Peter spared him a small little glance, complete with a full gleam of confusion in those big brown eyes. And Tony actually found himself unable to hold in his look of absolute disbelief.

Did this kid seriously not understand the concept of JOKES?

Tony scoffed a bit. "Listen, Parker. You're a nice kid and all but you have got to start loosening up, you know? Relax a bit. Breathe. You're making me antsy just by being around you and I really don't need that sort of energy. I've already got enough to deal with just coming from me so I definitely don't need to start outsourcing," he chuckled as if it wasn't one hundred and ten percent true.

Peter didn't chuckle though. Instead, he dropped his gaze again as his cheeks began to burn a deeper red, fingers fiddling with the hem of his sleeve as he inched away just a tad. "S-sorry..." he whispered again, the word trickling from his mouth and spilling onto the floor with a pathetic little splat.

Tony watched as the kid practically deflated, posture going tense and hands clenching behind his back. He grimaced at the obvious regression before a bout of confusion bubbled up inside him.

He'd chided people before and never once had he regretted it. Whatever embarrassment or shame they felt was their own problem to deal with. At least, that was always the mentality he adopted in said circumstances.

But something about how unsure and embarrassed the kid looked made a drop of regret puddle in his stomach, a feeling he very much didn't want. There were plenty of valid things for him to feel regret over and this was not one of them.

So...why did he feel so bad all of a sudden? It was just a joke…

("We're just joking around. Don't be such a priss.")

Tony felt his fingers twitch at the memory, felt an even stronger twitch in his chest. A prickling of shame. It was obvious Tony wouldn't be able to just ride easy with this kid. He'd have to play this carefully, whether he wanted to or not.

The billionaire bit the inside of his cheek, debating what he should say next. After a second, he sighed and gave an exasperated shake of his head as he decided to continue his two-hour streak of 'winging it' when it came to this kid. What were the chances he could make things worse anyway?

"Kid..." Tony called, grimacing as he noticed how hard his voice sounded, emphasized by how the boy flinched ever so slightly, refusing to meet his gaze. He bit back another sigh. God, screw eggshells. This was like walking on shards of glass...and just as painful, too. "Can you..." He tried again, lowering his voice. "Can you...um, just...here me out for a sec, kay?"

The boy's fingers curled around the hem of his jacket like a lifeline before his eyes were carefully lifting, light hazel meeting dark brown.

Tony stared down at the kid for a moment before he let out a small sigh. "In case you can't tell, I'm not very good at this sort of thing," he muttered with a smirk, the look not reflected in the boy. "And I'm pretty sure I'm the last person who should be lecturing you, kid. After all, I barely even know you."

"But-" he added quickly as he saw the kid's face starting to fall. "I'm hoping to maybe...you know, change that in the future. And I don't want you to think you can't say what you want or voice whatever you're thinking, kid." He noticed the boy grimace at his words, like they made him uncomfortable.

Tony narrowed his eyes, but continued, nonetheless. "I'm not gonna... punish you or whatever just for saying what's on your mind."

He reached out and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, painfully aware of how violently Peter flinched at the contact but didn't pull away. Tony tried to pretend he hadn't seen it. "Listen, kid. Nobody here is out to get you, despite what you might be expecting. So, try to lighten up. Cause there's nothing to be afraid of here."

Peter stared up at him for a moment, a brief little second before his eyes were drifting away. But it was enough for the billionaire to finally get a good look at the kid's eyes. That wariness was still there, that wall of tension and guarded caution.

But something seemed to shift slightly at his words, a change in his gaze. It wasn't anything drastic, in fact it was barely even noticeable. But Tony could see it, could see the slight twitch in the boy's face as his shoulders lost some of their tension and his hands dropped back down to his sides. His eyes...they seemed to brighten just a tad.

The teen let a small smile fall onto his face as he rubbed the back of his neck. "You're not as bad at this as you think," he murmured quietly, flashing Tony a tiny little grin.

The billionaire felt a chuckle bubble out of his lips as he patted the kid's shoulder. "Yeah, well I'll change your mind soon enough."

The two began to slowly make their way back down the hallway, Peter now walking with his head held a little higher. "You know, you really should ramble on about nonsense more often." Tony remarked. "Your word vomit is actually kind of full of smart ideas once you sort through it." He mused, thinking back to when Peter had spoken about the labs, giving small suggestions and remarks that had actually impressed the genius.

"Woah, hold up! Tony Stark genuinely complimenting someone else without bursting into flame or melting into a puddle of goo?" The pair turned suddenly at the new voice that sounded behind them. "What planet have I landed on?" Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes slowly made his way over to them, a large smirk plastered onto his face as the soft whirring of his leg braces filled the air.

Tony couldn't help but roll his eyes at the comment, anything to keep them off the braces that seemed to fill his ears with their horrid whirring. "Ha, ha. How long you been brewing that comment, huh?"

"Couple years," the man chuckled as he stopped before them. "How's it been, man?" Rhodes asked, taking the time to actually look at the man. Apart from a few scratches and a couple bruises that were still visible, it was hard to tell Tony had even been hurt in Siberia at all.

But Rhodey knew. He knew all too well.

Tony gave him a small smirk. "Can't complain, Platypus."

The colonel rolled his eyes but said nothing. Tony supposed the man was used to his deflecting. But he knew sooner or later, his friend would be back, hounding him to discuss things he'd much rather forget. Best to hold that off for as long as possible.

"Uh-huh," Rhodey muttered as he shook his head, his eyes falling on a sight just behind his friend. He glanced over at Tony and gave him a questioning stare. The billionaire didn't have to wonder what the man was looking at. he could practically feel Peter hiding behind him.

"Who's the kid?"

Tony stepped to the side, allowing his friend to get a good view of the strange kid before him. Rhodey, ever the adult he was, put on a warm smile and stepped closer, offering out a hand.

"Nice to meet you. My name is Colonel James Rhodes. But most people call me either Rhodes or Rhodey." He said calmly.

The teen stared at the man's outstretched hand before flicking his gaze up to meet his face. "I...I-I...um, I'm...I'm P-"

"Peter." Tony finally interjected, placing a comforting hand on the kid's shoulder. "Peter Parker." He stepped closer towards the colonel, cupping his hand so the kid couldn't here. "Would it kill you to stop looking so intimidating? Kid's already freaked enough as it is."

Rhodey gave the man a strange look before glancing back over at the kid, who was now furiously staring at the ground like his life depended on it. Tony silently prayed the man would let it go, not too keen on seeing the kid freak out over some impromptu interrogation.

"What are you doing here, anyways Rhodey?" he asked, hoping to direct his friend's attention away from the kid. "Not that I don't enjoy every living, breathing second I have with you."

"The meetings in DC finished earlier than expected. I was going to swing by the compound when I got back, but Pepper asked me to just come straight here."

Tony's eyebrows furrowed at that. "Pepper?"

"Yes, me."

Once again, heads turned at the new voice.

Pepper smiled as she walked over to the three boys, red hair swishing past her shoulders as she did so. Tony threw her a mock glare. "So, what? You just decided to call in my babysitter?" he muttered, not trying too hard to hide his displeasure.

The woman, as usual, ignored the snark. "Well someone has to watch you, and I don't have time in my schedule to bottle-feed you anymore," she muttered, stopping next to the colonel as the two long-time friends exchanged quick pecks on the cheek.

Tony rolled his eyes at her words, the motion causing him to catch a small glimpse of Peter. The boy was shifting his weight back and forth between his feet, tightly gripping onto the bottom of his jacket so hard his hands were shaking. The look in his eyes told Tony the increasing number of people in the room wasn't doing anything to alleviate his nerves.

Nevertheless, he knew he'd have to introduce the kid to his two closest friends eventually, especially since the kid was going to be at the Tower often.

He might as well get used to them now. Tony thought to himself as he gently pushed the frozen Peter closer towards the two others. The squeak of the teen's heels skidding against the tiles filled the air with a tense screeching.

Pepper gazed at the wide-eyed boy for a moment before a soft smile graced her lips. "Hello, young man," she said, gently. "My name's Pepper Potts. I work over at Stark Industries, but you'll often probably see me around here, too. What's your name?"

Peter held the woman's gaze for a second before quickly glancing over towards Tony. It took the man a moment to realize the kid was asking for his approving nod. Blinking back his millisecond of surprise, the billionaire gave a nod of his head, prompting the kid to speak.

The teen gulped before turning back towards Pepper. "P...P-Peter. Parker."

If Tony's eyes hadn't been on the kid before him, he would have seen the way Pepper stiffened, eyes flashing for a brief moment as she registered the name. "Peter Parker?"

"Yep, Pete here is our newest intern," he said with a smile. "Actually, he's our first intern, but you get the idea."

Rhodey's eyes widened. "Intern?" he asked, casting Tony a questioning look. "Intern?"

"Yep, intern. Now, considering we still have around another hour and a half before little Peter here had to head on home, I suggest we go ahead and check out a few more of the upper-house labs for-"

"Hold up! You're telling me that you, Mr. If I Wanted Some Idiot Following Me Around I'd Just Head Up Over To Oscorp, are taking an intern? Willingly?!" Rhodey questioned, his tone voicing his shock.

"Yes, pay attention." Tony muttered with a roll of his eyes. He placed a hand on Peter's shoulder as the pair began to make their way back over toward the elevators, the billionaire continuing to chat up a storm while the teen simply followed in silence.

Rhodey watched the two disappear into the elevator, face still clearly showing his shock and confusion as he turned back to Pepper. "Alright, what the hell is going on around here?" he muttered, only to furrow his brow as he caught sight of the woman.

Pepper was currently staring at the ground, eyes narrowed as she chewed on one of her nails, obviously deep in thought. She jumped as Rhodey placed a hand on her arm, turning back to look at the man. "Hey, are you alright?"

The woman stared back at him for a moment before grabbing his arm, quickly dragging him over towards the elevator. "Come on. I have to check something," she said quickly as the two stepped into the elevator.

"What are you talking about? What's wrong?"

Pepper glanced over at him before shaking her head. "I don't know yet. But I have a bad feeling about something."

Rhodey furrowed his brow. "What do you mean. Bad feeling about what?"

The woman tapped her fingers nervously against the side of her leg. "That kid. Peter. I know I've heard his name before," she explained, the elevator dropping them off on her desired floor.

Quickly stepping off, Rhodey hurriedly followed her as the pair made their way over to the office Pepper used whenever she had work to do at the tower. Stepping inside, the woman quickly sat down at her chair and typed in her password, her computer quickly lighting up.

Rhodey watched with narrowed eyes as the woman began to search through her files, the uneasy feeling in his stomach worsening when she began to dig through the encrypted files. Something was definitely off, then.

"A few months before this whole mess with the Accords, Tony asked me to keep tabs on a growing figure on the internet and social media." She started pulling up the videos she'd saved. "Anything that had to do with this guy was marked."

The video showed a red and blue clad figure swinging across the frame. Even though the costume was atrocious and the video was blurry, Rhodey instantly recognized who it was. "Hold up. That's the kid that helped us in Leipzig." He gaped, narrowing his eyes as he tried to get a better view of the figure. "Still don't know where Tony found that guy, but I have to admit, he did help us out. But what does this have to do with this intern?

Pepper turned back towards the computer. "Well, at around the exact same time, Tony also asked me to pull any information I could get on a Peter Parker."

Rhodes watched as a picture of the kid from before popped up on the screen, as well as his birth documents, school records, and other sensitive information. "I didn't really understand what the fascination with this kid was, but I didn't question it." She muttered, narrowing her eyes as she stared at the screen, the split view showing both images of Spider-Man and Peter.

"But the main thing that struck me was the coincidental timing between both of these people Tony wanted record of." She turned towards Rhodes. "After all, Tony might be a bit...eccentric at times, but everything he does, he does for a reason. Meaning there was a reason he wanted to know about this kid. There was a reason he wanted their files not only kept together, but also locked with some of our most complicated encryptions and firewalls. I knew there had to be a connection. I just didn't know what." She muttered. "I still don't."

Turning back towards the screen, Pepper stared at the images before her. The image of Peter was the same image they'd used for his security pass, a recent yearbook photo. Pepper rubbed at her temple, feeling the start of a headache working its way through her head. She flicked her gaze over towards the frozen image of Spider-Man.

Rhodey let out a small sigh as he rubbed the back of his neck, moving over towards the seat across from Pepper's desk. He winced as he lowered himself into the chair, his legs protesting loudly. He cracked open his eyes for a moment to steal a glance towards the image of the hero before shutting his eyes once more, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "God, that costume is horrible. It wasn't like that in Berlin, thank God. It looks like something a kindergartner would make," he sighed, resting his head against the back of his chair, the weariness from his flight finally getting the best of him.

Pepper, however, was now fully awake. Rhodey's words echoed in her mind as she switched her gaze from Spider-Man to Peter and back.

Or something a teenager would make.

"Oh, God..." she breathed softly, chest constricting at the possibility running through her brain.

"What? What is it?" Rhodes asked, lifting her head to stare at her.

Pepper stared at the screen for a moment longer before blinking back into reality, closing down the files with shaky fingers as she focused her gaze on her desk. "Rhodey…" She called, not bothering to lift her gaze. "In Berlin, when you were fighting with Spider-Man, did he...maybe...seem a little...young to you?"

The colonel was now rubbing his eyes again. "Um...yeah. Yeah, he seemed really young. In fact, if I didn't know any better, I'd have said he was around, maybe… I don't know...about-"

"About fourteen, maybe fifteen?"

The man furrowed his brow for a moment, opening his mouth to reply before realization hit him harder than a freight train. He instantly shot upright, eyes going wide as he turned to stare at Pepper.

"Oh, no he did not!"

Pepper placed her head in her hands as she resisted the urge to groan. "I think he did," she whispered.

Rhodey shook his head, rising up to his feet once more. "No. No, no, no. Tony may be a little crazy at times, and sure he can be a bit impulsive. But there's no way he'd ever be stupid and irresponsible enough to-"

 

. . .

 

"...son of a bitch."

Chapter 4: Rule 3

Summary:

3) Don't Make Eye Contact. We Are Not Equals

Chapter Text

Monday - March 7, 2016

Stark Tower - Lounge and Dining Area

04:32 p.m.

"Whoa...seriously?"

"Yep! I took his call when I was right in the middle of working."

"That's...wait - why were...why were you making a new coffee machine anyway? Isn't that a little below your average priority?"

Tony let out a huff as he narrowed his eyes. "Not when the old one wouldn't stop cutting me off. Like, really? Who is it to judge how many cups of coffee I can have? It's a damn machine!" He pouted.

Peter giggled beside him, Tony suppressing the urge to do the same as he continued to mope. After the two left Pepper and Rhodey to continue the tour, the billionaire caved and decided to take the teen over to the cafeteria, where Peter confirmed his past suspicions that nothing - BUT nothing could make a cafeteria any less depressing than it usually was, not even Tony Stark.

That's how the pair found themselves sitting on one of the lounge couches near the eating area, staring out the window at the setting sun while sipping on milkshakes. The billionaire had nearly sputtered in shock when Peter had nonchalantly stated he'd never had one before. Not two seconds later, there was an extra large chocolate shake being thrust into his hands.

For the past ten minutes, the two had simply been sitting quietly while Tony chatted away about this thing and that. Most people would have submitted to the urge to roll their eyes and fall asleep out of sheer boredom after five minutes, but not Peter.

Peter was happy to listen.

Tony was currently recounting all of the conversations he's had with the President over the past couple of years, as well as his annoyance at his appliances for ganging up against him. He still had a sneaking suspicion Pepper had tampered with the coffee machine somehow, but he still didn't know for sure. . .

Just as the man was about to delve into how he'd accidentally "dropped" the old coffee machine out the window on the sixty-third floor, he heard the earpiece on him beep quietly. "Hold up for a sec, kid." He called, raising up his hand as he pressed down on the piece.

"Tony, we have to talk."

The man grimaced slightly at the tone of voice Pepper was currently using. That was the "you've just fucked up big time and now it's time for me to whoop your ass" voice.

"Pepper, I'm a little busy here at the moment." He called back, glancing back over towards Peter, who was fighting with his straw as he tried to trap the cherry down at the bottom of his glass.

"It's important."

Uh-oh. Rhodey was there, too? Then he'd really fucked something up. He let out a reluctant sigh as he stood up, Peter's eyes following him as he did so. "I'll be right there." He muttered in submission before ending the call.

A small guttural groan escaped his lips as he lowered his hand once more, turning his head to look at Peter, realizing the boy was now gazing up at him. Upon noticing the man's attention was back on him, the boy quickly averted his gaze, hesitantly lifting his eyes to focus on the collar of Tony's suit.

That was something else the billionaire had been quick to pick up on. Apart from the kid's stutter, the other obvious tick about him was that he never really made eye contact with anyone, especially not Tony. At most, he'd get a fleeting look, which quickly disappeared as soon as Tony noticed. Usually, the teen's gaze only ever reached up to stare at the collar of his shirt.

Once again, Tony didn't really know how he felt about that.

"Is...is everything...okay?"

Tony was jolted from his thoughts as Peter spoke softly. The man regarded the boy for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. "Actually, I have to go and talk to Pepper and Rhodey about something and-"

"Oh, right. I-I'm...I'm so sorry." Peter stuttered out, quickly rising up to his feet. "I didn't m-mean to take up your time, Mr. Stark and-"

"Ease up, would you? You're not keeping me from anything. It's just this one thing that's come up right now."

"Oh...o-okay." The teen whispered out quietly. "Umm...I-I can...I can just wait...wait here for you while you go and...do what you have to."

Tony stared down at the boy in thought, his words leaving a sinking feeling in his stomach. He already knew the kid would not be alright sitting by himself around the heavily-traversed area. The only reason he assumed the boy hadn't noticed the sheer amount of people constantly walking around them was because he'd been talking to Tony for most of the time.

The billionaire could still remember the look of sheer anxiety on the kid's face when he'd first met him in the lobby, surrounded by all those strangers. And from what Happy had told him, the kid had only been down there for five minutes!

Well, he can't stay here... Tony muttered to himself as he glared around at the numerous people walking through the hall, either leaving the cafeteria or entering with colleagues. Loud voices and shrill laughter could be heard between them as they walked.

Apparently, Peter had begun to notice the others as well, for his arms were now tightly wrapped around himself and he was rubbing little circles against the back of his left hand with his thumb, another tick Tony had picked up on. Occasionally, the boy would steal nervous glances around himself, as if he were waiting to be jumped or something.

The last thing I need is for this kid to have a panic attack in the middle of a group of strangers. Tony growled at himself. But then where could he put the teen, exactly? It wasn't like this tower had a daycare center or anything!

"Umm... M-Mr. Stark?"

Tony jolted as his name was called. Glancing back down, he met Peter's gaze for a second before the kid pulled away, eyes falling back to his collar. "Um, are...are you okay? You've k-kinda just been staring out i-into space for a while." He murmured unsurely.

"Yep. Fine. Just trying to find a good place to put you, kid."

"...put me?"

"Mm-hmm." Tony mused. "Can't exactly just leave you here with all the weirdos, now can I?" The billionaire explained as he began to lead the boy over to the elevator.

Peter's eyebrows furrowed as he glanced up at the man. "Y-you don't have to do that, Mr. Stark. I'll be f-" The kid winced as a large group of workers walked particularly close to the pair, brushing up against his arm for a moment. Quickly regaining his composure, Peter flashed an embarrassed look to Tony before lowering his gaze back down. "I'll...I'll be fine." He whispered in a much softer tone.

Tony couldn't help the sympathetic look that washed over his face for a fraction of a second before he quickly recomposed himself. "Yeah, I'm sure you would be." He decided to play along. "Just humor me, 'kay?" He asked with a small wink.

Peter gazed up at him for a moment before giving a small nod,

"Tony. We need you here, now."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming, Rhodey! But in case you didn't realize, I kind of have an influential minor on my hands, so if you could just give me a frikkin minute here, that'd be very much appreciated!" He called back as he began to lead the kid towards the elevator.

"Tony, we're not fucking around. Now get your ass over here before I come over there and drag you here myself!"

As Rhodey continued to yell into his ear, Tony couldn't suppress his sigh as he began to rub his temple. "Hey, FRIDAY?" He called.

"Yes, Boss?"

"Go on and take junior here someplace private." He called, grimacing as he heard Rhodey continuing to yell at him. Something about death threats and face punching or something like that. He wasn't really listening anymore.

"Anywhere, FRI. I just... can't deal with this right now." He growled out as he turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose as he felt a migraine beginning to work its way forward.

"Right away, Boss." The AI called.

"I'll come find you in a little while, kid. Alright?" He called, not even bothering to wait for an answer as the elevator doors shut once more. He let out a small sigh as he moved over towards the next elevator and stepped inside. "Pepper's office, FRI." He called as the elevator doors slid closed.

He groaned and ran a hand through his hair, leaning back against the metal bar that wrapped around the elevator walls as he ran through a list of everything he'd done in the past two weeks and just which one of those events he was about to be scolded for.

He hadn't done anything too bad lately...right?

 


 

Peter blinked curiously as the elevator doors opened up onto a new floor. He hadn't seen this place yet. Have we not come to this part of the tour yet? Peter wondered to himself as he stepped out of the elevator.

Everything was dark, and yet, even with the lack of light, Peter could tell whatever room he'd just entered was big. Really big.

"Umm...hello?" He called, heart racing at the idea of bumping into a stranger while he couldn't see them. It was bad enough dealing with people when they were actually in his line of sight.

"Hello, Mr. Parker."

Peter jumped at FRIDAY's voice filtering in through the ceiling, a nervous smile working its way onto his face. "Jeez...I don't think I'm ever going to get used to that." He murmured to himself.

"Uhh..." How do you talk to a computer, again? "Excuse me...but it's...uhh...it's a l-little dark in here and..."

"Of course. Allow me to turn on the lights."

Peter blinked as sharp lights quickly illuminated overtop his head, momentarily blinding him.

After taking a second to readjust, the teen lifted his head once more, only for his jaw to nearly hit the floor at the sight before him.

"Holy crap..."

 


 

Monday - March 7, 2016

Stark Tower - Main Offices

04:31 p.m.

Never in a million years would he admit it, but Tony's heart was beating considerably faster than usual. He was used to Pepper scolding him. He was used to Rhodey scolding him. He was even used to the two of them scolding him together. But there was just something about the sound of Pepper's voice through the earpiece.

It hadn't been the usual exasperation of him skipping an important meeting or blatantly ignoring something she'd specifically told him to do. This...this was different. This was a resigned, foreboding ring that had his chest tightening the same way it had right before she'd ended things between them.

That alone had Tony's stomach churning in slight nervousness. But just like then, he took it in stride with a nod of his head and a shrug of his shoulders that didn't reveal the turmoil boiling in his gut like a frothing mess of anxiety.

"Alright, I feel like I've just been dragged into the principal's office." The man mused with his typical smirk as he entered the room, instantly taking note of the heavy air hanging around the three.

Pepper was currently sitting at her desk, elbows propped up and hands folded in front of her face, concealing any and all expressions from his line of sight. Rhodey stood up against the side of the desk, arms crossed over his chest as he simply stared down at the ground, face hard.

Tony ignored the itching burn beginning to spread over his skin at the notable tension as he took a seat, resting a cheek on his fist. "So what'd I do? Spray-paint a few lockers? Put some bugs in the teacher's desk? At least tell me it was yearbook-worthy."

Usually, the two would brush off the man's words and get right down to business, but this time Rhodes let a smile fall onto his face as a scoff flew out of his mouth, though something in Tony told him the man definitely wasn't laughing because he found it humorous.

Rhodey simply shook his head as his exasperated smile turned into a sigh. He raised his head and glanced over at Tony. "So...new intern, huh?"

The billionaire's fingers drummed against the chair armrest, a soft little noise that carried heavily in the otherwise silent room. He clicked his tongue before leaning back. "So that's what this is about? You all are still debating whether or not I'm crazy to take an intern? Gotta say, jury's still out. But my decision's pretty final at this point."

"Really? So you don't want to explain how you met this particular kid, Tones? Cause something tells me you wouldn't just pluck up some random teen off of the street. Or am I simply believe that you just went to the closest high school you could find and picked the first face you saw?" He growled.

Tony could feel his hackles raising at the aggression in his friend's tone. He narrowed his eyes. "What's to explain? I met the kid through his application to the September Foundation. His file intrigued me. I went to see him. I liked what I saw so I offered him an internship. What more is there?" He growled out, nerves getting the better of him as his anger started to swell in response.

Rhodey either didn't pick up on the shift in tone or - what Tony more likely assumed - he simply didn't care, for he let out a humorless chuckle. "Yeah, you liked what you saw all right. But it didn't end with an internship did it, Tony?" He growled out, eyes narrowing as he stalked forward. "That kid never applied for a scholarship, did he?"

"Didn't you hear what I just sai-"

DON'T BULLSHIT ME, TONY!" Rhodes snarled, eyes flaring in fury for a moment as Tony quickly jumped up to his feet. The colonel glared at the man in front of him for a moment longer before he shut his eyes, allowing a calming breath to sweep through him as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Pepper, who has stayed silent throughout the ordeal, finally rose up from her chair. "Tony…" She called slowly, eyes hard and jaw clenched as she gazed back at the man.

Tony turned a solemn gaze to face her as Rhodey took a step back, arms crossing back over his chest. "We just need to know one thing," She said slowly, eyes never leaving the man's face. Finally, the words Tony had been dreading ever since he entered the room finally drifted into the air.

"Is he Spider-Man?"

Any other time, Tony would have simply barked out a laugh and quickly denied the statement. But the looks that were laying into him told him they already knew the answer. Lying to them would do him no good now, not that his lies ever usually fooled them.

"...yeah."

Pepper lowered her head and sat back down while Rhodey let out a sharp breath, slapping his arms down in frustration. "Jesus Christ, Tony. I-I...I just…" The colonel seemed to be at a loss for words as he ran a hand over his face. "What the hell is the matter with you?!"

"Long list. You got time?"

"You know...I've stuck by you on some stupid things, Tony. Some stupid, crazy, irresponsible things, but I think this takes the frikkin cake!" He shouted.

"How can you allow him to be...to be going off doing who-knows-what all by himself?" He asked. "No! Even better! How could you possibly think it was okay to drag a goddamn baby to Germany to fight Captain frikkin America?!"

The colonel began to pace back and forth. "I mean, you said he was young, but...but I- I never thought you would stoop so low as to drag innocent children into things that shouldn't concern them!" He snarled out, whipping back around to face the man.

Tony's face remained stoic as he watched his friend pace. He glanced down, watching his fingers tap against the side of his leg. "It wasn't ideal-"

"Ideal?! It's fucking criminal!"

"What did you want me to do?!" Tony shouted, fists clenching at his sides as he glared back at him. "You know how bad things were. We had to do something right then and there. We were severely lacking in numbers and time. It was either we did something or Ross was going to kill them." He folded his arms over his chest as he glared down at the ground. "So I made a choice."

"Yeah, a really stupid one."

"What's done is done, Rhodes!" Tony barked. "We can't go back in time and change anything, so we might as well just move on."

"Move on?" The colonel repeated. "Oh no. You do not just get to walk away from this scot-free without any consequences, Tony! I mean...did you even think of the ramifications, here? Of...of what would have happened if that kid had gotten hurt? Or worse?"

"He didn't."

"But he could have!"

"But he didn't!" Tony snarled, the ferocity behind the words making Rhodey and Pepper gaze up at him in slight surprise. The billionaire stared back at the two for a moment before the fire burning in his chest began to dwindle, leaving an uncomfortable itch that sat against his chest.

He let out a tired sigh as he shut his eyes, slowly falling back down into his seat. He propped his elbow upon his knee as he rested his forehead on his hand. "And I didn't drag him into anything...he was already in."

Rhodey and Pepper exchanged glances before the woman rose up from her seat, slowly walking over before kneeling down in front of the man. Tony's eyes blinked open before connecting with hers.

"Tony...you need to tell us the whole story."

He stared back at her, stared into those bright blue eyes that once made him feel so good. Now he had to turn away for fear of crumbling to bits under their sheer force.

"Kid popped up on my radar a few months back." He started softly, rubbing at the back of his neck. "There had been some videos and a couple sightings of a new hero around the city, so obviously I wanted to know about it."

He paused, glanced down at his hands. "Now, I don't know how this kid got his powers, but...they're impressive. He can do some pretty incredible things with them. Not only that, but he's smart as shit, too. Made his own tech with nothing but garbage he found in the dumpster." He muttered with a small shake of his head. "But, he was severely under-equipped. So...that's where I came in."

Rhodey regarded the man and his words for a moment. "He was doing this before you even came into the picture?" His voice was wary, still full of distrust. Tony pretended not to notice.

Instead, he nodded. "I knew the kid wasn't just going to stop doing it...not after I heard why he was doing it in the first place. So…" He paused to pinch at his eyes. "I upgraded his suit, and - despite my better judgment - I brought him to Germany to help us fight. I know it was stupid."

Rhodey's narrowed eyes stayed locked on the floor beneath them for a moment longer before he lifted his head, letting out a loud sigh. "Hate to admit it, but that kid really did help us out." He muttered.

Tony couldn't help but let out a scoff at that.

The colonel paused. "Well, wait. If there's one thing I remember about that Spider-Kid, it's that he never stopped talking. It was like...just...it was insane. Honestly, I don't know how I didn't pick up on the fact that he'd like, twelve"

"Fourteen."

"Whatever." He paused once more. "And...and that kid I just met...that kid out there...he was nothing like that." Rhodey said , eyebrows furrowed. "I mean - hell, when I started talking to him, it was like he was about to burst into flames at any second. I have never seen a kid look so scared of...talking."

Tony tensed up at that, something both Pepper and Rhodey instantly picked up on.

"Tony..." Pepper called suspiciously, warning the man to not even try to hide anything from them.

The billionaire kept his gaze focused on the ground as he debated whether or not to actually tell them the whole truth. After all, this was a pretty touchy subject.

The man thought back to Peter. Judging from how the teen usually acted, Tony doubted he wanted anybody knowing about his personal life. Though, he also hadn't wanted anybody to know he was Spider-Man and welp

But this… this was different.

On the scale of sensitive subjects, this was about as high as one could go. Tony didn't feel comfortable just thinking about it. But actually talking about it...confronting it head-on...

That made it real. And if it was real, then it was just another thing for him to screw up.

"Hey..."

His eyes jerked upwards at Rhodey's voice, the man currently leaning closer to place a hand on his shoulder. "You okay? You're kinda spacing out."

Tony continued to gaze up at the man before his eyes flickered over to Pepper, who was currently giving him the same worried look.

It wasn't his place to speak about this. After all, Peter's private life was just that. Private.

And yet, Tony couldn't help but long to throw the words out, to open his mouth and just spew out what had been plaguing his mind throughout the night, hang it on someone else's shoulders to bear.

Rhodey cocked a brow. "Does this have anything to do with why you offered the kid an internship? Seems more your style to just monitor him from afar or something."

Tony rubbed his neck anxiously. If there were any people he could talk to about this, it was the pair currently standing in front of him. He could count on them to keep this between the three of them while simultaneously creating an outlet for Tony to vent his frustrations to.

And if the past few hours were any indication, Tony was willing to bet he would encounter many new frustrations when it came to Peter Parker.

And yet...something held him back. Something made the man pause and rethink what he was about to do, a black seed of doubt that curled around his ribs.

A month ago, he never would have hesitated to tell Rhodey and Pepper something. Of course, he'd usually disguise it with thick layers of sarcasm and snark, but they usually uncovered the truth fairly easily.

They were the people he trusted with everything.

Then Siberia happened.

He glanced back up to meet the gazes of his friends once again. His head growled at him to swallow his fear and just spew whatever it was he wanted to say, but the phantom pain in his chest made him pause, a sharp pain, a familiar pain. Like the feeling of a shield-

No.

He trusted them.

He had to trust them.

If he didn't...then he really did have no one.

Tony let out a sigh as he rubbed his eyes, reaching into his pocket. Rhodey and Pepper watched as the man pulled out his phone, tapping a few buttons before a projection appeared in front of them.

It showed a picture of a man with dark brown hair and matching cold eyes. He had a strong build and a handsome, charismatic face, even with the slight discoloration on his cheek. The skin around it was a nice olive tan, but the left side of his face was dotted with white spots, almost like healed chemical burns. They were almost unnoticeable from a distance. But up close, it was near impossible not to recognize him.

"I met his father," Tony growled.

Pepper's mouth fell open. "Richard Parker? That's his son?!"

"Richard Parker?" Rhodey echoed, eyes widening. Anyone who worked at Stark Industries knew his name almost as well as they knew Norman Osborn's.

Pepper stared at the image for another moment before her gaze hardened, falling back onto Tony. "Oh, do not tell me you're only keeping this boy around simply to keep tabs on his father." She whispered darkly.

Tony glared up at her. "Of course not, Pepper! God, I couldn't care less about Parkstem!" He snarled, the notion she was implying wounding him much more than he let on.

"I…" He hesitated, wondering just how to explain everything that had happened. Honestly, he didn't even quite understand it himself yet.

"The kid lives with his father and… and his 'associates.' I...I don't know much but it's...it's strange," he ran a hand through his hair. "I was only in there for a short time and I could tell something was...off. Wrong. I...he was scared of something. And I think I have a pretty good guess of what it was."

He didn't need to say anymore. Understanding crept onto their faces like shadows along a wall.

Pepper took a breath, shutting her eyes as she gave a small shake of her head, carefully crossing her arms, as if she didn't know where to put them. "Did...did you see anything?" She whispered softly.

Tony glanced up at her for a moment before giving a shake of his head. "Nothing physical." He muttered, folding his arms. "But I saw enough to raise some flags. And now...now I don't know what do to with them, cause nobody else seems to have any."

Pepper drummed her fingers against her arm as she gave a slow nod. "Richard Parker is one of the most beloved men in the city."

Rhodey sighed and leaned against the desk. "Everyone's got something to hide."

The woman grunted and raised a hand to her head, brushing her fingers through her hair and pushing it out of her face as she turned back towards Tony. "This is...I...I don't know, Tony. Parker's a staple figurehead. And as far as I know, there's never been any public accusations made against him, at least nothing big enough to ripple any waves. Just..." she hesitated, face pinching slightly. "...are you sure?"

"No." His answer was instant. He wasn't sure. The fact of the matter was that he hadn't seen anything, nothing that could be construed as immediate danger, nothing concrete. He was just going off of gut feeling, a hunch more than anything. And recently, gut feelings had been getting him into more trouble than he cared to admit.

Still, there was just something...different here. Some internal drive that left him feeling incredibly wary of that house, the same feeling he remembered from when he was young.

He had grown up with Howard Stark, after all.

"No, I didn't see anything. But I did see a kid who could use some help. At least...you know, at least with his web-slinging side job. And I do have some responsibility there, at least enough to offer what I can. A suit, some pointers, whatever. Enough to keep me from feeling guilty for giving a kid a multi-billion dollar suit as a play-thing." His quip fell flat. Or maybe he just wasn't in the mood to laugh.

"This is serious, Tony." Pepper said softly, letting out a deep breath.

The billionaire's shoulders jerked at his scoff. "Thanks for the news."

"What are our options here?" She ignored his snip and turned to Rhodey.

The colonel sighed as he shook his head. "Without hard evidence...nothing," he huffed. "Especially since we don't know for sure if something even is happening. Besides, with someone like Richard Parker, we can't exactly start throwing around wild accusations."

Tony paused at the man's words, brows furrowing slightly. "What if...what if they weren't accusations? At least, not blind ones."

"What're you talking about, man?"

"I mean...what if, err- why don't I just ask the kid straight out?"

Rhodey threw him an unsure look. "Doesn't really seem like something he'd be comfortable talking about. I mean, that kid doesn't seem comfortable talking about anything, really."

He rose up to his feet. "But we don't know that for sure." Tony shook his head and rolled his eyes, hoping the aura of distain he was presenting was strong enough to cover the lingering unease still churning in his stomach. "Look, I don't have time for guessing games anyway. I'm just gonna ask him straight out and demand a real answer here. Simple as that."

Pepper approached as he made for the door. "Tony. Hold on now."

He sidestepped her. "I'm not about to become some open-door shelter for every sob story in the city, alright? And I'm certainly not going to entertain the idea of beating around this bush." Tony didn't know what he'd been thinking. There was only one right thing to do here and it certainly wasn't to keep goofing off in his tower with some random kid. Giving him the suit upgrades had been one thing, but offering a full internship was taking things a step too far. He could see that now, could feel the assurances flooding his system as he strode across the room.

Pepper got in his way again, this time planting herself firmly between him and the door. He swallowed his annoyances and allowed her to speak. Her eyes narrowed and her voice was firm. "You'd better behave yourself, you understand? Don't you go and traumatize that boy just because you can't handle simple human decency. For once just pretend to have a semblance of empathy."

He threw her a tight smile and stepped around her once more before walking out the door, the two of them watching him leave with matching looks of hesitance and discomfort.

"Trust me, Pepper. If there's one thing I know, it's how to pretend."

 


 

Monday - March 7, 2016

Stark Tower - Private Lab 1

04:45 p.m.

Of all the things Peter had imagined he would end up doing that day, exploring Tony Stark's personal lab definitely wasn't one of them.

For the first couple of minutes, the teen had only been able to stand there gaping as he tried to drink in every single thing he possibly could about the incredible lab.

The room was huge, extending out into a large open floorplan that sloped up into a staircase leading to a second level.

Around him numerous monitors and machines flashed and illuminated the already bright room in their own hues of light. In the center of the room stood a holo-table complete with projections and unfinished projects on the surface. Numerous metallic tables surrounded it, some holding small metal pieces and wires while others held parts as big as a car tire.

Farther in the back sat another arc energy tube similar to the ones down in the other labs, only there were multiple around the room and they were all much more slender, snaking along the walls like circuit lines and power wires.

But it was the numerous Iron Man suits on the second floor lining the walls that really made Peter drool for the longest duration of his awe-fest.

It had taken a lot of mental slapping, but Peter had finally been able to snap out of his stupor, which is what found him sitting on the small couch that sat up against the wall of the first floor.

The teen's legs were folded underneath him as he merely continued to look around the room with a small grin still plastered on his face. The gentle humming of computers and the whirring of distant machines met Peter's ear in a gentle concoction of bliss as he let out a contented sigh, shutting his eyes as he rested his head against the back of the couch.

VRMMM!

The teen yelped loudly at the startling noise, jerking his head up only to blink in surprise at the sight in front of him.

A large robot with a long metallic arm-like crane was currently sitting in front of him. The claw connected to the arm slowly stretched forward towards Peter's face, the teen leaning back slightly as the machine seemed to 'take him in', or whatever the robot version of that was.

After taking a moment to realize the robot meant no harm, the teen couldn't help the small chuckle that bubbled out of his mouth. "Huh,...you're kind of cute." He uttered, pressing a hand against the cold metal of the robot. His eyes caught the large white letters printed onto the machine's side. "DUM-E, huh? Why do I feel like there's a story behind that?" He teased the machine, which simply let out another hum in response. He opened his claw and grabbed at Peter jacket, pulling the teen forward slightly before letting go.

The teen giggled. "What exactly are you anyway?"

"That is DUM-E, Mr. Parker."

Peter visibly jumped a few feet as FRIDAY spoke, his eyes darting nervously up towards the ceiling as she continued. "Mr. Stark created said robot as well as others to function as assistants in and around the lab." She explained, DUM-E seeming to hum in confirmation.

The teen stared up at the ceiling for a moment longer before letting out a nervous chuckle. "Heh...umm thanks...FRIDAY."

"You are quite welcome, Mr. Parker."

Peter wrinkled his nose. "Umm...can...c-can you just call me Peter?" He asked hesitantly.

"Of course, Peter." The voice replies cheerily.

The teen let a loose smile fall onto his face at the AI's relaxing voice, the tone relieving some of the tension in his shoulders.

"So...you're Mr. Stark's AI?"

"That is correct. I run the main parts of the tower and also act as an assistant to Mr. Stark during missions in his suits." She responded.

Peter nodded. "Cool." He called before the room settled into silence once more. For some reason, the feeling made the teen feel a little awkward as he coughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. "S-so...do you...like...being an AI?"

. . .

. . .

What?

The teen's mental berating was cut off as the voice responded. "I find it to be quite enjoyable."

Peter coughed nervously once again. "R-right…" He breathed before letting out an annoyed groan. "God, Peter. You are so stupid." He muttered to himself, falling back down against the couch.

. . .

"I do not think you are stupid, Peter."

The words caught him off guard as he blinked in surprise. The teen slowly sat back up as he glanced at the ceiling, replaying the words over. Had he heard that correctly?

After almost ten years of constantly hearing such words on a loop, Peter had basically fallen into a routine of berating himself the same way, repeating the words he heard at home in his head over and over again. He didn't think much of it. It was just habit nowadays.

So safe to say, the AI's words caught him extremely off guard.

Peter felt a small smile fall onto his face as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Umm...thanks, FRIDAY."

 


 

Monday - March 7, 2016

Stark Tower - en route to Private Lab 1

04:53 p.m.

"He's where?!"

Tony's eyes were practically bulging out of his head as FRIDAY repeated what she had just said moments ago.

"As I said before, Peter is currently in your worksh-"

"Yeah, yeah! I heard you the first frikkin time, FRIDAY. But why the hell is he in there?" He shouted as the elevator moved underneath his feet.

"You said to take him someplace private."

"Yeah, I meant like an unoccupied room or something. Not my private lab."

"Perhaps you should have been more specific."

"Alright, I do not need any attitude from you, m'kay?" He muttered. If it was possible, Tony was sure the AI would have been smirking at him.

The billionaire was baffled. FRIDAY knew better than to allow strangers and newcomers into his private lab. Those rights were restricted to himself, Pepper and Rhodey, and even then he hated when they interrupted him in there.

Maybe she's malfunctioning. He thought to himself, though something in the back of his head told him the AI was functioning perfectly fine.

The man let out a sigh as he felt the elevator slowing. "I swear, FRIDAY. If this kid's broken anything in there, I'm going to give you such a virus…" He voiced the threat, though he was sure the AI was practically rolling her nonexistent eyes at that.

The doors slid apart and Tony quickly stepped out, briskly walking down the short hall and into the open doorway of his lab.

Safe to say, he definitely didn't expect what he saw…

Peter was currently sitting crisscrossed on one of the many swivel chairs around the room, lazily spinning around slowly. Next to him stood DUM-E, who was currently humming loudly, something Tony found he only did whenever he was...happy? At least that's what he assumed.

Everything else around the lab was in the exact style of messiness he'd last left it in, not a single crumpled piece of paper out of place.

But that wasn't even the strangest thing. No...it was Peter himself, or more specifically, what the kid was doing at the moment.

"You know, your vocal processors are really super advanced. Though I guess I shouldn't really be surprised. After all, you were made by Tony Stark. You know, I've always wanted to build something like you. Well...I guess not exactly like you. Probably more something along the lines of DUM-E, cause I mean, who wouldn't want their own little robot friend to hang out with? Of course, it's kind of hard to come by triple-wire electrical output sensors whenever you're digging through dumpsters. That's not usually the kind of thing people are messing with. Though I guess some people over at Oscorp probably use those kinds of things. Huh...you think Oscorp has any cool things in their dumpsters? I should really go and check those out sometimes. Maybe I'll even find some multi-repulsion circuits. That would be great."

He was...talking. A lot.

"Your projects sound very interesting, Peter. I'm sure they will turn out wonderfully."

"Thanks, FRIDAY. But I can't even begin to name all the projects I've had to scrap. I just don't have the tools to make anything out of them." He sighed before perking slightly. "But I have been able to make a few. You know, when I was ten, I built a little flying drone that could drop my garbage in the trash can without me having to get up." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess I could probably update him to better suit my needs nowadays though."

The kid was so engrossed in speaking to the AI that he hadn't even noticed Tony's presence. The man opened his mouth to alert the kid but decided against it at the last minute. Maybe he could learn something from this little opportunity of his…

Peter pushed the ground gently with the tip of his foot, the chair sliding against the floor until he was up next to the arc energy tubes along the wall.

"You know, this is super awesome," Peter called up to the AI. "I've always wanted to learn more about Mr. Stark's arc reactor and the science behind it, but my dad's not too keen on letting me learn up about that kind of stuff." The teen murmured with a little shrug.

Tony cocked a brow at the boy's supposed interest. Arc reactor energy was still a new concept being passed around in the field, Not many kids his age were probably all that into it. Then again, most kids his age also weren't swinging around the city in the middle of the night, so Tony had to assume Peter was an outlier in more than just one sense of the word.

"Well, what can you infer about the reactor, then?" FRIDAY asked, the billionaire blinking in slight surprise before throwing a perplexed look up at the ceiling. Was FRIDAY...egging him on?

Peter furrowed his brow and scrunched his nose in a moment of thought before shrugging his shoulders. "Well from the little I have read on it, I know the original had a palladium core and that it's a sort of fusion reactor." He said before going back to slowly spinning in the chair, Tony quickly ducking back behind a large metallic suit piece set up on one of the tables as to not alert the kid of his presence.

"But the thing is, one of palladium's isotopes, Pd-107, produces silver when it undergoes beta decay." Peter pointed out. "So when the neutron becomes a proton, you get an electron remainder. But there shouldn't be an electrical current when the electron is released because it balances out the proton count between the palladium and silver." He announced as he continued to lazily spin. "So Mr. Stark would have had to come up with some kind of way to capture the electron that's released, which would generate that electrical current."

"And how do you believe he did that?"

Peter stared up at the ceiling for another moment, ceasing in his spinning motions as he thought. After another minute, he proceeded to spin once again, only in the opposite direction this time.

"I guess he found a way to utilize the beta decay of Pd-107 ions as an electron source for the electron capture of Pd-103, which would produce an electric circuit between two different radioactive isotopes. After that, the electron capture process would cause an influx of gamma waves to be emitted towards the center of the reactor, while high-energy electrons are emitted from the center out towards the rim. Because the electron-proton counterflow creates a deficit of electrons in the core, a massive electrostatic potential is developed and the palladium core attracts lower-energy electrons from the suits wiring. The ejection of electrons from the core produces an electrical cell capable of generating enormous voltage and current."

The teen paused, scrunching his nose. "Of course, that was before Mr. Stark took out his reactor..."

He began to spin once again.

"Anyway, that energy outflow could still be used, which is what he did." He murmured with a small tone of awe dripping through his words. "Basically, all you have to do is increase the size of the reactor itself and balance out the same ratio of electrons to protons to fit the new size and you're basically good to go." He explained.

"Then you can adapt that new energy to flow into the building's main generator, which can then be used to power up the rest of the building. Plus, assuming the tubing they used is able to reabsorb the excess electrical currents and shift them back down towards the core, that gets you a continuous renewable energy inflow going throughout the entire building." He finished, before pausing in his spinning once more. "At least, that's how I think he did it. I'm probably way off base."

Jesus Christ. Tony breathed as the kid finished up and began to ramble on about how FRIDAY compressed her systems to switch between the tower mainframes and the suits' systems.

Tony knew the kid was smart. He'd been able to develop his own designs for functioning web shooters but...this? This was ridiculous. Here he was, nonchalantly figuring out mechanics and procedures that not even the top scientists and engineers had been able to figure out, and that was with the actual blueprints in front of them!

You're just full of surprises, aren't you? The billionaire breathed as he watched the kid laugh to himself, speaking freely to the AI. From what the teen had just been able to figure out, Tony wondered why Peter hadn't skipped a few grades, or hell, why he wasn't in college already just on his scientific knowledge alone. Although, the billionaire knew from experience that putting that much pressure on a fourteen-year-old wasn't always the best answer.

Does his dad know about this? He wondered to himself, curious as to just how smart Richard assumed his kid was.

Finally, after watching the teen continue to chat to the AI while teasingly poking at DUM-E, Tony grew restless of hiding and decided to make his presence known.

Stepping out from behind his hiding spot, he strode over towards the teen. "Hey, kid."

Peter let out a yelp and jerked backward, the chair skidding out from underneath him as he floundered to the floor. Tony blinked in shock as the teen quickly rushed up to his feet, nervous smile adorning his face as his cheeks blushed red, his hand rubbing at his neck. "Hehe...h-hey, Mr. Stark..." He mumbled out.

Tony resisted the urge to reply with a usual quip as he walked over. Peter lowered his gaze. "Umm...d-did...did everything go...okay?" He asked softly, Tony realizing with interest that the teen's stutter had returned.

He shrugged. "Yeah, nothing to worry about." He replied, Peter nodding his head as he folded his arms over his chest and looked away. Tony rested against the side of the nearest table as he glanced down at the schematics laid out around it. "Bit surprised to find you in here, though."

Peter furrowed his brows and gave a small tilt of his head before his posture suddenly grew tense and his eyes filled with a certain apprehension. "Am...um...a-am I not...supposed to be in here?" His voice was small.

Tony stared back at him, the reply he'd been preparing seeming to die in his throat for some odd reason.

He didn't like people in his lab. Plain and simple. He didn't like people in his lab. Nor did he have an issue letting that fact be known loud and clear to everyone and anyone who crossed his path. His lab was just that - his lab. Not Pepper's, not Rhodey's, the one place he could claim as a shelter of sorts, the one place he knew he could relax and unwind with his inventions, his projects, his machines.

Peter wasn't supposed to be there. That was fact.

So why couldn't he say so? Why was he having such a hard time letting that piece of information be known?

Peter was watching him with a new wary look in his eyes, shuffling on his feet and inching away bit by bit, rubbing the side of his arm with a tight, white-knuckle grip he tried to hide.

Tony knew that posture. He knew that body language. He knew it all too well.

("Anthony, you get in that room and you wait for me to sort you out! Jesus Christ, you better pray I'm feeling a bit more forgiving before I get up there, you hear me?")

Punishment. Peter was waiting for punishment, waiting for Tony to punish him.

He swallowed the sudden bile rising in his throat. He opened his mouth and the words he'd been forming changed as they passed his lips. "No. It's...it's fine, kid. I, uh...I told FRIDAY to bring you up here."

The change was instantaneous, the kid's muscles slipping out of their tenseness as his face relaxed and his smile hesitantly returned. "Oh. That's...t-that's good, or, uh...that's nice. T...thank you."

Jesus, Stark. What the hell are you doing here? Tony pushed the voice to the back of his mind as he approached the kid. Peter took a few steps back but didn't outright flinch away from him as the man stepped forward. Tony stopped next to him and placed his hands in his pockets, staring out over the lab as he took a deep breath, trying very hard not to spare the kid another look.

Being this close together, it was a bit easier to notice the faint scar running up the side of the kid's neck, mostly hidden by his hair but still present nonetheless.

Ask him. Ask him now and get it over with. That's why you're here. That's why he's here. You need to ask him and then this whole shitshow will be over and he'll be out of your hair. Just ask him. Ask him now.

Tony paused for a moment before glancing down at the boy by his side. "You want me to show you around?"

Peter blinked before turning to look up at him, giving a little smile and a nod. Tony nodded in return.

"Super."

Mistake. Another on the list.

 


 

"This is literally the coolest place I have ever seen in my entire life..."

Tony couldn't hold back his snort as Peter's eyes practically dripped with starlight. The two of them were currently on the second floor of the extensive lab, leaning up against the metal railing that separated it from the small five-foot drop down to the first floor.

Throughout the duration of the tour, the teen's mouth had been hanging open, eyes in a constant state of shock as they explored. The first visual sweep he'd done the moment he'd entered had nothing on this! Peter's elbows currently rested on the top bar of the metal railing, arms resting on top of the cool steel as he gazed out over the rest of the lab.

Tony walked over and stopped beside the boy, taking in the view for a moment as a small smile slipped onto his face as well.

THUNK!

Both boys jumped at the loud noise. Whipping their heads down to peer over the railing, they both noticed DUM-E, who was currently bumping up against the small wall underneath them as he backed up and rammed it again and again, no particular purpose in sight.

Tony let out an irritated sigh as Peter chuckling next to him. "I swear that thing's basically an overgrown Roomba. Worse, actually, cause he doesn't even clean anything." He muttered while Peter continued to smile.

"Aw come on. He's cute." The boy chuckled as he continued to gaze down at the struggling robot.

The billionaire quirked an eyebrow at the teen. Usually, most people who met and had the displeasure of working with the robot were quick to voice their annoyances, as well as their desires to scrap the robot for parts. Tony, of course, would never allow it. Despite his scathing comments about the robot, he still considered it a close friend. Everyone knew he'd never get rid of it.

Still, that only made the fact that Peter enjoyed DUM-E's company all the more surprising, though Tony probably shouldn't have been. He'd only known Peter for a short time and most of those meets had been private, but the billionaire had a feeling the kid wasn't one to be mean.

Tony glanced down at DUM-E before gazing at Peter once again. He'd noticed the kid's speech had drastically improved as time had passed. Time to test it out even further.

"You know, I overheard you talking with FRIDAY on arc reactors." He began. "You interested in them?"

The teen's eyes lit up as he spun around, curls tossing around his forehead as they tickled his skin. "Yeah!" He breathed out. "It's only the most successful example of renewable energy out there today." He exclaimed with a smile. "I know a little bit about the science behind it, but I've always wanted to know more." He murmured wistfully.

Tony couldn't suppress a scoff. "A little? Kid, you know more than most of the smartest engineers out there," he said, Peter blushing as he ducked his head slightly.

"No, I don't. I just...you know...I...I just thought it was mostly common knowledge...you know? I mean..." He trailed off before giving Tony a shy, almost searching look."...really?"

Tony blinked at the hopeful tone in the teen's voice before giving the kid a smile. "Definitely. But there's still a bit I could teach you if you'd like." He teased, throwing the teen a knowing look.

As expected, Peter's eyes lit the room as he beamed. "Seriously?" He gasped out. "That's...I mean...I-I don't...and-" His tongue literally seemed to tie itself into a knot as he tried to speak. Tony, thankfully, cut him off before he could pass out. "Of course I will. Not every day I meet someone who's as interested as you in this type of stuff. Plus you're not a total pain to talk to so I might actually look forward to it."

Turning his gaze back towards the extensive lab, the teen chuckled softly. "Really, Mr. Stark..." He breathed out. "I'm pretty sure I've had dreams about this place. Like...my father's lab doesn't hold a candle to this." He awed.

Tony's smile fell as Richard came to his mind. Instantly all of the distracting thoughts he'd been culminating while showing the kid around seemed to dissipate, allowing his brain to finally think clearly.

What the hell was he doing? Making plans with the kid? After today, he'd probably never see him again and that was how he liked it. All he had to do was get the information he needed and work from there. No distractions. No emotions getting in the way. No annoying teenagers adding more to his plate than he needed.

It was time to get this over with. He'd wasted enough time as it was.

. . .

So why did he suddenly feel so nervous?

"Hey, kid?"

The teen turned back towards him, his smile disappearing as he took in the sight of Tony's troubled face. "Y-yeah...?"

Tony struggled to suppress his groan of turmoil as he quickly took in the shift in moods. But he knew this needed to be done, should have been done days ago. The man stared down at the boy for a moment longer before letting out a sigh of acceptance. Time to get this over with.

"I know I asked this before, but I've come to notice I never really got a straight answer..." he began slowly, watching Peter's face for any signs at all. "So I'll ask again. Is everything alright at home?"

The teen let a smile fall onto his face once again as he let out a chuckle. "Yeah...yeah, everything's fine, Mr. Stark." He said with a grin. "I mean, it can get a little crowded at times, but it's mostly fine."

His voice was so steady, so calm, so...unlike the Peter he'd known for the past few hours that Tony was almost convinced right then and there that maybe he had jumped to conclusions; maybe he'd been wrong. The words were spoken with such an air of confidence, such a tone of amusement that Tony really could believe that Peter found it funny. He could believe that Richard was a modern-day businessman with a successful company that took up most of his time. He could believe that Peter needed some people at home to make up for the absence of his father. He could believe that Peter was simply a shy, soft-spoken boy; a shy, clumsy, soft-spoken boy.

He maybe even would have believed it...if not for the way Peter's hands had curled into tight, shaking fists almost completely hidden behind his leg.

Goddammit, he wished he could believe it.

Tony's gaze hardened. "Don't lie to me, Peter. I want a straight answer." He said in a firmer tone. "I need to know if everything is alright."

Peter's smile was now faltering and he blinked up at the man in surprise, as if he was shocked he hadn't just let it go and accepted his first answer. Honestly, Tony was just as shocked.

"I...I umm..." He stuttered out, hands fisting the denim of his jeans. "...why wouldn't I be?"

Tony took in the sight of the teen, noticing how his hands were beginning to tremble. He suppressed the urge to sigh. He should have guessed this wouldn't be easy. Well, he wasn't about to drop it now, and he certainly wasn't about to play any games.

"Stop toying with me, Peter." The man said tersely, a certain firmness slipping into his tone against his better judgement. "I need to know the truth. I need to know if you're alright." He continued as he took a step forward, noting how Peter, in response, stumbled backwards. "I...I-I'm fine."

"I don't think you are."

"Well, I am! I...I-I..." Peter could feel himself choking on the words as he always did whenever he got flustered. As usual, it only aggravated him even more, which made the stutter worse.

"Peter..." Tony called, taking another step forward. "I need you to trust me, kid. If you're in trouble, I can help you. I can protect you. But I can only do that if you tell me what's going on."

"N-nothing's going...on. I..I-I..." He struggled to take in another breath. The man moved closer as Peter's hands wrapped around his arms, fingers gripping the limbs so tightly that Tony was sure it would bruise almost immediately. "Kid...are you afraid of someone in that house?"

"N...no...no, I'm..."

"Peter...are they hurting you?"

"Stop."

"Is your father hurting you?"

"Stop."

"Is he?"

"NO!" the teen roared, fists shooting down to his sides as he screamed. Tony actually found himself rearing back at the sudden explosion. "No! He's not! He's a good man. He's a good father. He would never do anything to hurt me! They're not doing anything to me. He's not doing anything to me. He loves me! He would never. How dare you accuse him of that? How fucking dare you say that?!" Peter's eyes gleamed as he took a threatening step forward, face flushed. "You don't know him. You don't know me. You don't know anything about our family, so don't pretend that you do, alright? Because we're fine. I'm fine!"

Tony's felt his back hit the railing as Peter leaned closer, fists shaking by his sides. "He's not a bad guy. He's not a bad person. He only ever wants what's best for me. He takes care of me, takes care of us, our family. He loves me. I love him and...and he loves me, alright? He loves me!"

The teen held the man's gaze with a burning glare of his own before his head whipped away and he took a few steps back, chest heaving slightly as he glared viciously at the ground, hands continuing to tremble against his legs. The billionaire continued to stare back in shock. He knew the teen might respond poorly, but he never thought he'd get so...angry. But at the moment, Peter looked like he wanted to throw something...particularly, something heavy. It was unnerving, seeing such a foreign emotion as rage in Peter's eyes.

After a moment of harsh, ragged breathing, Peter shook his head and glared at the man before him, gritting his teeth. "Believe whatever the fuck you want, but my dad...my dad's not a bad guy, alright?" The kid fully turned away at that, bringing his arms to wrap tightly around himself. "He's not a bad guy. He's...he's not a bad guy, okay? He's...not the bad guy..." his voice trailed off into little more than soft whispers at he slowly sat down on one of the work stools near the railing, the venom he'd been spewing seeming to dissipate from his voice fairly quickly, replaced by a sudden resignation, a tired ache that left his words hollow and empty.

Tony took a breath, took two, and when he found it still wasn't enough to satiate the burning in his chest, he took a few more. He flexed his fingers against the sides of his legs, the tips hot and numb against his palms. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, any noise to clear the air wavering in thick tension, but found he had nothing to say. What could you say after that? Was there anything? Anything that could be said to solve something like this? Some magic words to fix everything, make the issues float up and disappear? There had to be.

But Tony didn't know them.

What he did know, however, was that his situation had just become a lot more complicated.

There was no denying what was right in front of his face, not now, not anymore. Peter's denials had, ironically, been exactly what he needed to confirm it. There was obviously something going on in that house that had Peter afraid and whatever it was, Tony knew it wasn't something simple words were going to fix. He couldn't just throw money at this either. This was a real, actual problem. And this kid right in front of him was at the root of it all.

Tony let out a sigh and rubbed at the back of his neck. Nothing he could say would make this all better. Nothing he could quip or snark about would make this kid feel better...so he'd have to try something else.

Peter's body visibly tensed as Tony stooped down and took a seat on the floor next to the stool, next to the kid. But he didn't shout again. Instead, his lowered head cast a tired, weary glance his way, eyes dull.

The billionaire tapped his fingers against his knee, waited for Peter to say something. The boy drifted his gaze away from him and stared down at the floor below him, hands clasped before him as his elbows rested on his knees. "I can leave...if you want me to." His voice was small, just like his form, hunched and defensive in his seat.

Tony didn't look at him, just rested the back of his head against the railing behind him. "I don't want you to leave." Shockingly, it was the truth. "I'm not mad, you know…"

"You should be."

"Why? Cause you called me out? You had the right idea."

"I spoke out of turn."

"Kid, I'm not some tyrannical dictator here. You have the freedom to speak."

Perhaps not all that surprising anymore, Peter didn't say anything else, just kept his head down and his eyes on the floor. Tony licked his lips and let out a little sigh. "I believe you. If you...if you say nothing's going on, then...then I believe you."

No response. No movement. Tony felt his skin prickling with nerves.

"Pete...kid, look at me."

Still no response. Not even a twitch of the fingers or a tilt of the head.

The man sat up a bit and turned to fully face the kid. "Come on, now. It's alright. Why don't, uh...why don't we just put this behind us and get back to where we were before, huh? We can just forget about the whole thing."

Tony watched the teen's fingers slowly curling together and for a moment, he thought the boy might speak. But Peter's head still refused to turn, his eyes refused to lift. He remained silent.

The man sighed and turned away with a tight expression, feeling a bubble of frustration welling up inside of him. He had no idea how to handle this, no idea how to even attempt it. How was he supposed to get the truth out of this kid if he couldn't even get him to look him in the eyes?

His eyes trailed around the lab, mind briefly wondering how he'd even gotten here, sitting up here begging with some kid rather than tinkering away all by himself in his lab, surrounded by peace and quiet and the occasional disturbance from his skillfully-challenged robot.

His eyes caught sight of the machine over in the corner of the lab and slowly Tony sat back up again. He blinked, mind whirring. An idea, small and uncertain, flickered into thought. But maybe...

. . .

"Everyone always asks why I keep him."

Peter, for a moment, didn't even seem like he'd heard Tony speak. But after a second, the boy sighed, shut his eyes and lifted a hand to rub at his neck. "...what?" He asked softly, voice barely above a whisper. He still didn't lift his head or his eyes.

Tony gestured over at DUM-E. The robot was currently working on picking up a coffee mug that had last been left on one of the tables. He was quick to run into the corner of the table and knock the mug down, running over the shattered pieces of it as well just for good measure.

Peter glanced over at the robot with a cocked brow. "With all the accidents he causes, all the miscalculations he makes and just the sheer annoyance of him alone makes him a worthy candidate for the trash-heap or the local college." He muttered, waving his hand dismissively in the air. "At this point, most people just consider him a waste of space."

Peter lowered his head once more, fingers curling tighter into a singular fist. "Why don't you then?" He muttered bitterly.

"Cause that's not how I see him."

The teen furrowed his brows slightly but still kept his gaze down.

Tony continued. "I made DUM-E when I was just a kid. Back then, he was considered a marvel, especially considering I'd been so young when he'd first been built. He helped me work down in my father's labs and became almost like...a friend. " He murmured out.

"As time went on, technology advanced and machines became bigger, faster, smarter... DUM-E couldn't really keep up anymore, you know? Nowadays, people are always bugging me to get rid of him. To just toss him out or upgrade his circuitry and wiring. But...I already know I'll never do that."

Peter listened in silence, foot tapping against the floor as the man spoke.

"DUM-E was always there for me when I needed him, so who am I to not do the same for him? I mean, just because everyone else sees him as...a nuisance, or a waste of space, or just a lost cause...doesn't mean I have to see him like that as well." He smiled down at the teen by his shoulder. "I'm never going to give up on him."

Peter took in the man's words carefully, chest twinging strangely at them for reasons he did not know. After a moment, the teen let a soft smile form on his face. "I like DUM-E."

Tony smiled beside him. "Yeah...I think he likes you too." He answered. "He hasn't run over your foot yet, so that's usually a good sign." He muttered, smile increasing as he heard Peter huff out a laugh beside him.

The teen blinked at the floor, eyes seeming to trace over the etched tiling, following the grooves with his gaze. He blew out a little breath, fingers twitching. "Mr. Stark?"

"Hmm?"

"...Why did you become Iron Man?"

Peter looked up as he spoke, eyes finally meeting Tony's with a look of pure sincerity, of longing and questioning and a million different emotions the man couldn't even begin to understand.

Tony paused at that, paused at the sight, paused at the question, though it wasn't new. It had been asked of him nearly a million times. Every press conference, every meet and greet, there always seemed to be somebody who wanted to know why he did it. This shouldn't have been any different.

However, there was something that made him hesitate. Something in Peter's voice, something that wasn't present in the voices of everyone else who had ever asked the question. This wasn't the voice of some sleazy reporter who wanted to see who could get the biggest scoop on Tony Stark. This wasn't the voice of some obsessed groupie who simply wanted to claim they knew more about their idol than anybody else.

No...this was the voice of someone genuinely curious, someone who was actually slightly afraid of the answer they'd receive.

This was the voice of someone who wanted confirmation on whether or not being a hero was actually worth it.

Tony paused for a moment before lifting up his hand and pulling his tie off of his neck, tossing it down towards the floor. "You know I was a weapons manufacturer before all of this, right? Before Stark Industries got into renewable energy?"

Peter nodded his head as Tony had assumed he would. "Well, when I got back from Afghanistan after being in captivity for three months - you know about that too, right? Good, anyway, when I got back, I discovered that my weapons were being dealt under the table to war activists and third-world terror parties. It was then that I realized I could do so much more than just create weapons of destruction. I...I could help people...in ways my weapons never could. I could...become something more than just another billionaire making money off of the suffering of others."

He passed before turning towards Peter. "I had the power to do something more - help people. So I guess the better question is: Why wouldn't I become Iron Man?"

Peter stared at the man for a moment longer before turning his gaze back down to the ground, nose scrunching slightly in thought. After a moment, the teen couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out of his mouth, Tony turning to look at him at this.

"You know...everyone always says that you're just a stuck-up, arrogant prick who doesn't really care about anything else other than money and business-"

"Flattery will get you nowhere, kid."

"-but I knew you were my favorite Avenger for a reason."

Tony froze before glancing over at Peter, who was smiling warmly at him. His fingers weren't twitching anymore. His body wasn't shivering.

His eyes were staring right back at him.

"You're not what everyone says you are. And...and I know I haven't known you for very long so I really have no right to be saying stuff like this, but...you're way better than what I was expecting, too. And I guess that's saying something…" His eyes seemed to shine even brighter than before. "...cause you were already pretty great to me."

Tony simply stared back at the teen, at a loss for words for around the fifth time that day, something the teen seemed notorious for.

Before either of them could say anything else, a small knock over by the door alerted them to another presence. Turning around, they noticed Happy standing in the doorway. "Hey...if you don't want the kid to be late, I suggest we leave now." He called in.

Tony glanced down at his watch and grimaced at how late it actually was. Damn...when did that happen? "Uh...right." He said before turning quickly rising to his feet, reaching down to help Peter up.

The teen's face had dimmed considerably, his face twisting into a look of slight pain as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He jumped slightly as Tony bumped him in the shoulder, a gentle tap that caught his attention.

"Hey…" The man called, hesitating for a moment. He felt his fingers beginning to curl in his pocket, felt them twitching against the fabric, but he kept his face calm even as the words in his throat left him feeling breathless and unsure.

They still had to be said. He knew that now.

"I'll see you Wednesday, alright?"

The words seemed to make Peter happier as he perked up slightly, a small smile forming on his face. He gave a small nod of his head adjusted the straps on his backpack before ducking out the door, Happy following after him.

 


 

Tony watched through the window with a look of unease as the car pulled away from the building and drove out onto the street. His gaze followed the car for as long as possible before it disappeared, a small sigh fluttering from his lips as he shut his eyes.

"I'm taking it things didn't go too well…"

The billionaire let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah…let's just say things went a little south of 'well'". He muttered out before turning around, meeting the concerned gazes of Pepper and Rhodey. "Is this going to be our new unofficial-official club hideout or something?" He smirked, gazing around Pepper's office. "Should we get matching capes?"

Rhodey rolled his eyes but held back a biting retort. He knew the man was upset, hence the excess sarcasm. Thankfully, he was fluent in the language of Tony.

"What happened?" Pepper asked softly as Tony took a seat.

The man stayed silent for a moment before clicking his tongue and shaking his head. "In hindsight, I probably should have expected him to resist what I was saying, but I didn't really think he'd freak out like he did and-"

"Whoa, whoa! He freaked out?" Rhodey repeated, a new sense of unease returning to his stomach. That was not a good sign.

"Yep. I've literally never seen him get so mad before...granted, I've never really seen him do anything before." He muttered before letting out a growl. "That's the problem, right there."

"What?" Pepper asked, furrowing her brow.

"We don't know anything about this kid. I don't know anything about this kid. I mean...of course he wasn't going to tell me anything. Why would he ever trust me? He doesn't even know me!" He shouted out angrily.

His eyes softened slightly as he came to remember something. "H...He doesn't trust me...but for some reason...he...looks up to me." He murmured out softly, remembering the look on Peter's face, the light in his eyes when they'd spoken.

Tony let out a sigh and rested an elbow on his knee, propping his chin up with his fist. Rhodey rubbed at his eyes before turning back towards the others. "Look...the only way we can help this kid is if we get his cooperation. We need him to tell us straightforward that something's wrong, otherwise, we got nothing." He took a breath. "Maybe you can try again. Or...maybe one of us can try and-"

Tony shook his head, remembering the desperation hidden behind the anger in Peter's eyes during their argument. "He's not gonna spill, Rhodes. You didn't see him. He wasn't just being stubborn. He...he wasn't just being abrasive. He was furious. He...he was...terrified."

Pepper stepped forward. "Well..is there any way we can gather some evidence ourselves and-"

"No," Tony growled out. "Anything we find out, Peter is sure to just deny. And if we do get the police involved and it turns out they can't do anything…" He paused. "I don't know what they'd do to the kid." He murmured out darkly.

Pepper and Rhodey exchanged nervous glances.

"No. Peter is the key to all of this. The only way we can do this is if the kid helps us do it." He explained.

Rhodey narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, but how? You said it yourself this kid isn't going to spill. So what's going to change his mind?"

Tony shook his head and shut his eyes, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. His mind wandered back over his conversation with Peter, right after their fight. He'd somehow managed to calm the boy down, even got him to open up just a little bit. He seemed to be able to do that by talking quietly and even exchanging a few jokes.

Yeah, but that isn't enough… He growled to himself. He needed the teen to explain everything.

He needed something bigger.

His eyes shot open as he instantly straightened up in the chair, Pepper and Rhodey jumping slightly at the rushed movement. "Me." He whispered out, a small smile falling onto his face.

"What?" Rhodey asked, only to jump once again as Tony rushed up to his feet. "Think about it. Earlier today, that kid would barely even utter a single word, but right before he left, his stutter was gone, he wasn't shaking and he was looking me right in the eyes."

"Okay, so…" Pepper urged him to continue.

"So...if I can get him to relax that much after only a few hours with him, imagine what it'll be like after a few-."

"Months, man," Rhodey said soberly. "A few months. Rapport isn't built so easily, especially for something like this." The Colonel slowly furrowed his brows, arms folding over his chest. "This isn't just a little thing that can be fixed on a whim, now. This is a serious issue that needs serious attention. Are you really willing to give it that? Cause if not, then don't even bother keeping the kid around, you'll only confuse him.

Tony paused at that, turning his head away slightly as his eyes trailed to the ground in thought. His friend's lack of faith, while slightly painful wasn't all that unjustified. He wasn't known to be the most reliable, even for important things. More often than not, his priorities were just that, his, nobody else's. And with something like this, he knew he couldn't afford to mess around, couldn't afford any mistakes, not when the stakes were this high.

Could he really trust himself with this?

Pepper stepped forward after a few more moments of his silence. "Tony."

He turned to her.

"Are you willing to do this? We need an answer now."

He flexed his fingers, felt his knuckles popping. He had to do this. He had to prove it to himself. He was Iron Man for a reason. Steve couldn't take that away from him.

Tony paused for a moment before turning to stare back at the pair. A simple silent nod said more than any words could.

Rhodey nodded as well. "Alright, new plan: earn the kid's trust..." He paused. "And just how are you going to do that?"

The billionaire stared at them for a moment before turning away, glancing back over towards the window. "I don't know." He finally said. "We'll just have to take this one step at a time."

Tony stared down at the city below them, eyes trailing over the area where he knew Queens was located. Now that the sun had gone down, it was obvious where the rundown low-level area was, considering how dark it was compared to the other numerous lights surrounding it.

And somehow, despite looking out over that very same view countless other times, the city just felt...bigger, heavier. He could feel it staring back at him, cold and unwavering. It made his heart beat softly in his ears, echoing around his head in a tuneless melody. He took a breath, took a few more after that.

This was certainly going to be interesting.

 


 

Monday - March 7, 2016

Parker Residence -  Driveway

07:21 p.m.

"Um...bye, Happy."

The man grunted before rolling his window back up and pulling away from the curb, disappearing down the road. The teen gripped the strap of his backpack tightly as he took a deep breath and turned around, taking in the dreaded sight of his house.

Now that it was nighttime, the building seemed to loom even more ominously, waiting to swallow up another victim in its open maw, dragging them in before consuming them completely, never to spit them back out again.

Ignoring the usual shudders that racked his small frame whenever he'd approach his house, Peter let out a sigh and began to trek over, only to pause as he heard the sound of an opening door. To his relief, the sound didn't come from his own house, but the one across the street.

While the houses on his street were all high-end and expensive, the houses on the neighboring streets and the surrounding neighborhoods were anything but. Usually, they were nothing more than small apartments and rundown tenements.

Peter would usually pay no mind to the neighbors, who were all-too-happy to turn a blind eye whenever the situation called for it.

However, there was one exception.

"Peter!"

The teen felt a grin split his face as an older woman in her early to mid-thirties began the descent down her apartment stairs, grasping a large garbage bag in her hand. She had dark brown hair that stretched down to her shoulders, large, round, aqua glasses, and a warm smile.

Peter walked over with a grin. "Hey, May."

May Brenner had been living across the street from him for as long as he could remember. The woman had always been a warm, kindly soul, always ready to give a smile or hug.

The woman tossed the trash into the bin and walked over, wrapping her arms around the teen - as she always did. Peter tensed slightly at the touch merely out of reflex, but May was used to the reaction.

"How are you, sweetie?" She asked kindly, to which Peter shrugged. "I'm good. How 'bout you? You doing okay?"

May took a moment to take a deep breath, face going thoughtful for a moment before she gave a small nod. "Can't really complain."

Peter gave a small smile at that but didn't press it.

They both were avoiding it.

Neither of them really wanted to talk about it anyway. Peter didn't even like thinking about him nowadays. (It was just easier to avoid thinking about why May now lived by herself.)

"That's good." The teen said gently, to which May gave a nod of her own. "Speaking of good, whose car was that you just stepped out of? I've never seen that one around here before." She asked with a tilt of her head.

Peter let out a small chuckle. "Yeah, that was one of Tony Stark's private cars. I'm interning over at Stark Industries now."

May's eyes widened and a smile split her face. "That's wonderful, Pete!" She beamed, dragging the kid into another hug, to which Peter let out a nervous chuckle.

Pulling away, the woman placed her hands on the teen's shoulders. "Stark Industries, huh? Pretty impressive, baby. Though I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You always were a smart one." She chuckled, gently elbowing the teen.

Peter felt a light blush fade onto his cheeks. "I...I mean I guess..."

"Oh, don't be so modest." She smiled, the look falling after a moment of consideration. "Though I am surprised at your choice. I would have Parkstem Labs would be a more...mandatory choice for you." She muttered darkly, glaring across the street at his house.

Another thing about May: she had always been very observant.

Peter's face grew uneasy as he gave a small shrug. "Yeah...I thought so too. Guess Dad had other plans…" He murmured quietly. "I...I should really get home.

May gave the boy a sympathetic look and gently squeezed his shoulder. "Alright, Pete. I'll try and bring you back some leftovers from the diner tomorrow, kay? Just...promise you'll be careful, alright?"

Peter ignored her question as he pulled away. "Bye, May."

The woman watched him go sadly before turning back up her stairs, giving the teen one last parting look before heading back inside.

Peter slowly trudged up the stairs to his own house, slowly pulling his keys out from his pockets, the jingling sound grating painfully through his ears as his hand shook.

Trembling fingers fought to push the key into the lock before they finally hit home, sliding into place before the sound of clicking locks snapped in his head. The harsh sounds made him wince as he grasped the handle and slowly pushed the door open.

He was met with total darkness, the sight making him furrow his brow in confusion. They are home...aren't they? He wondered to himself as he slowly stepped inside. His muscles coiled in tension as he tried to make out any movement in the darkness, but found he couldn't see anything.

Unease began to fill his gut as he slowly began to feel his way along the wall, hoping to gasp onto the light switch. As he searched, a loud scraping met his ears, making him freeze in place. "Hello?" He called out, whipping his head behind him as he struggled to find the light.

His question was met with a series of small bumps and bangs sounding out around him. "Flint?" He called hesitantly. "C-Curt? Sandra?"

As another bout of silence met his ears, Peter narrowed his eyes. Maybe this was just the opportunity he needed. Gripping the strap on his backpack even tighter, the teen ducked his head and quickly began to make his way over towards the elevator, carefully trying to remember the placement of the furniture as to not trip.

Suddenly, he felt a tingling sensation shoot down his spine. But before he could even try to figure out what it meant, he felt a mountain of water come crashing down over his head as something metallic and hard slammed into his temple. A shout of pain fell from his lips as he slipped on the wet floor, crashing down to the ground, landing painfully on his wrist.

Before he could even begin to try and understand what had just happened, loud laughter filled his ears as the lights came flooding on. He winced at the harsh change in lighting before blinking open his eyes.

Flint and Sandra were currently standing above him, faces adorning scornful looks as they laughed. The strong stench of alcohol wafted off of them in waves. Peter himself was now drenched from head to toe in water, the liquid spreading out around the wooden floor. Next to him, a metal bucket sat at his feet.

"Welcome home, Pete!" Sandra beamed, harshly patting the teen on the head. Peter winced as she slammed her palm into his now-throbbing temple, which now had a small trickle of blood trailing down. The teen hissed in pain as he felt more water trickle into the cut. Gazing down at the puddle underneath him, the teen realized there were little flecks of soap in it.

"What the-?"

"You know, we realized something while you were gone. Who's gonna do the chores around here now that you got your fancy internship, huh? Us?" Flint slurred, words tumbling into one another as he kicked the bucket. The metal container slammed into Peter's side, the teen grunting at the blow, but otherwise remaining silent.

"Jesus, I didn't think you two were actually serious."

Peter turned at the new voice, catching sight of Curt coming around the corner. He gazed at the scene in mild contempt, metallic fingers clicking together. The sound rang in Peter's ears, a harsh noise that made him want to curl his hands over his ears. The man cocked a brow. "How drunk are you two anyway?"

Sandra scoffed before flipping him off, the man throwing her a toothy grin before leaning up against the bar, prosthetic continuing to click as he watched. Click...click.

"I don't like this internship," Flint growled, reaching a hand up to scratch at his jaw. "Seems like a waste of time. Besides, I like having him around." He turned his gaze to Peter. "What are we supposed to do now if we get bored?"

Click.

Peter slowly began to crawl to his feet. "I have homework to do." He lied as he rose up The teen tried to make his way over to the elevator without being seen, only for Sandra to grab his sore arm and yank him back, Peter yelping in pain.

"I don't think so, honey!" She called before narrowing her eyes, tossing the teen back into the soapy, watery mess at their feet. "Thanks to the bad mood your little escapades put us all in, I'd say you owe us something."

Peter stared down at the ground, fists trembling as his hair fell down around his eyes.

"So...since we're all so antsy, maybe we should play a couple games, huh? Might do us all some good."

Click. Click.

"What do you say, hon? We'll even let you pick!" She grinned down as Flint approached, stretching out his hand to grab his arms, only for a lone voice to cut through the chatter.

"Enough." Max called with a huff as he entered the room As usual, his button-down shirt was barely even buttoned at all, save for the few at the bottom, revealing a black toned chest underneath. The man was currently holding a glass of scotch, which made Peter guess the man had been talking with his father...wherever he was.

Out of all the Cons, Max was the one Richard seemed to trust the most.

Sandra clicked her tongue. "Come on, Max. Little son of a bitch deserves it after the shit day we had." She grabbed the man's shoulder, fluttering her eyes. "You know you want to." She said in a sultry voice.

Max, however, didn't fall prey to the trap so many had fallen into as he rolled his eyes and pushed her away. "Shut up, Sandra. You're drunk," he muttered, the woman pouting at his dismissal.

Peter, however, decided now as probably the best time to make his escape as he began to slid past them. "I'm going upstairs," he whispered quietly, not bothering to wait for a response as he kept walking.

Suddenly, he felt a hand grab the back of his shirt and throw him backward. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" Max snarled as Peter stumbled back into place. "Did I say you could leave?" He growled out, narrowing his eyes as he glared at the teen.

Click. Click. Click.

Peter felt his chest begin to heave slightly as Max let out a growl. "You know, I told him this internship was a bad idea." He muttered as he stalked closer. "All it's going to do is confuse you, and Lord knows it doesn't take much to do that." Peter flinched as the man smacked his chest with the back of his hand. His shaking hands slowly began to clench into fists.

"Well don't let this little romp with Tony fuckin' Stark get your head all in a twist, alright? Just cause that asshole is wasting his time with you doesn't mean you get to forget all of our rules, got it?" He snarled darkly, the other Cons moving closer.

Peter felt his teeth grinding together as a new foreign emotion began to bubble up in his chest. Usually, their words never phased him as much, not anymore at least, He'd gotten used to the harsh insults and dangerous threats. But today...something was different.

Maybe it was the fact he'd gotten a taste of respect today. Maybe it was Mr. Stark's words echoing through his mind, reassuring him that everything was okay. But whatever it was...he was tired of this.

"Do you even remember the rules? Must be hard with all the shit running through your system." Peter muttered as he glared defiantly at the ground.

. . .

"What?"

Click. Click.

Peter continued to glare for a moment longer before he seemed to blink back into reality, his words instantly flickering back. Oh, shit.

"Did you just get smart with me?!" Max shouted, stalking forward. "I think he just sassed me." He turned towards the others.

"He definitely just sassed you." Sandra muttered with a grim smile as the other boys moved towards Peter, placing strong hands on his shoulders.

The dark-skinned man pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he grinned. "Heh...alright, alright…" He murmured softly, glancing down at the glass still in his hand.

Suddenly, his hand flew up as he reared his arm back, chuckling the glass as hard as he could. With the Cons restricting his arms, Peter could do little more than turn his head to the side as the glass slammed into him, shattering into a million different pieces.

He shouted in pain and dropped to the floor, warm liquid dripping down the various cuts now spread out across his face. "What the hell is the matter with you?!" Peter shouted out before he could think better of it.

He suddenly felt the breath leave his body as a foot met his gut. He grunted and fell back to the floor. Another kick sent him sprawling onto his back. He grunted in pain as a heavy boot fell onto his chest "G...g-get off!" The teen groaned in pain as he felt his ribs protesting angrily at the added weight, hands scrabbling against the shoe.

Max suddenly crouched down over him, placing a meaty hand around his throat as he pressed his head into the floor.

Peter turned his head to the side and gasped at the pressure around his neck, Max glaring darkly at him as he reached one hand behind him in an expectant gesture.

Curt grinned as he handed the man his knife.

Click. Click. Click.

Peter gazed wildly around the room as he fought to pry the man's hands off of his neck, his eyes rising up to meet the man's gaze as alarm bells exploded in his head, the scent of alcohol heavy on the man's breath. Max blinked in shock at the teen's stare before his lips parted in a snarl.

Peter gasped in pain as he felt the knife slash at the skin underneath his eye. Max leaned closer, squeezing his throat even tighter than before. "Did you just fucking look at me?" He growled darkly before slashing Peter again.

"Don't you ever fucking look at me, you piece of shit!" He roared, banging Peter's head against the ground. The teen gasped as he fought to blink back stars and dark spots. Suddenly Max's face was in his vision again.

"You listen, and you listen good you little bitch." He snarled. "Don't let this Stark guy get in your head, alright? Cause no matter what he says, no matter what you do...you will always be nothing." He snarled. "You're a waste of space. Nothing but a science experiment we like to keep around to play with, alright? You aren't worth shit."

He leaned down closer, his lips just above Peter's ears. "And you will always belong to us."

Peter gasped for breath as Max finally released his hold on his neck. Quickly sitting up, the teen wrapped his hands around his now bruised and bloody neck as he coughed and hacked for air that could not fill his lungs fast enough. He could feel blood dripping down his face, mingling with the tears that had begun to stream down his cheeks.

"Come on," Max growled out, wiping the knife clean before handing it back to Curt. "Your father's waiting down in the lab. And I'm sure he'll have much more to say than I do." He grinned.

Peter stared at the floor for a moment longer before numbly rising up to his feet. Shakily wrapping his arms around himself as he tucked his chin against his chest, he slowly began to follow the Cons to the elevator

He couldn't feel his arm move, but he watched as it wiped at his face, blood smearing against his jacket sleeve. As it moved against his face, the sleeve was pushed up slightly, revealing the bruises on his arms, which were barely even noticeable anymore.

Peter didn't even bother to curse his accelerated healing anymore as he rolled his sleeve back down. Nobody listened to him. And even if they did, it's not like he could ever tell them.

He could never tell them.

He couldn't even look at them.

Click. Click.

 


 

3) Don't Make Eye Contact (Unless Tony Stark is Present)

Chapter 5: Night Life

Summary:

Time to go to work.

Chapter Text

Monday - March 7, 2016

Parker Residence - Third Floor

11:34 p.m.

The sound of his door slamming shut behind him echoed out around the darkened room, mingling with the sound of Peter's harsh, ragged breathing. The teen pressed his back against the solid wood and shut his eyes tightly, willing his heart to stop pounding as his body shook.

After a moment of tense silence, Peter slowly felt his lungs unclench, his chest evenly expanding in and out once again. The teen let out a small sigh and pressed his hands against his face, wincing as his palms brushed up against the numerous bruises and scratched now marring the pale surface.

At least they were quick tonight. The boy murmured to himself, though that didn't change the fact that the tests had, in turn, been that much more excruciating. The teen simply tried to shrug off the fact as best he could.

He was used to it by now.

Gingerly wiping the blood off of his face and arms, Peter glanced over at his bedside table, the digital clock on the table telling him it was finally time to get the hell out of there. Letting a smile fall onto his face, the teen rushed over to his bed and undid the small side panel on his headboard.

Reaching inside, his fingers wrapped around the smooth, strong fabric of his suit. Pulling out the uniform, Peter paused for a moment and stared at the vivid red and blue design. The bright red contrasted the dark blue perfectly, the sleek black lines stretching out around the entire piece tying the two together. He ran his finger against the smooth eyepieces, blinking down in awe at the suit in his hands.

The fact still amazed him that this incredible suit was actually his. He had made do with his old suit, sure, but it didn't hold a candle to Tony's design. Of course, Peter had taken the liberty of transferring his web-shooters and incorporating them into the suit itself, combining it with the already present web-tech that had been included.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Tony's engineering, it's just that Peter had already worked so hard on those specific designs. Plus, it was nice to have something that truly felt like him incorporated into the high-tech multi-million dollar suit.

It was comforting.

Shaking away the distracting thoughts, Peter quickly changed into his suit, fingers brushing against the spider emblem in the center of his chest, the material conforming to perfectly coil around his muscles in a skin-tight suit.

The teen let out a small breath as he paused for a moment, turning his head to glance at himself in the mirror.

Peter Parker was nowhere in sight.

The person standing in his room was nothing like Peter. He wasn't weak and nervous. He wasn't cowardly and shy around everybody he met. He wasn't afraid to open his mouth and stand up for himself.

No, this was Spider-Man.

This was the protector of New York City. This was the guy that wouldn't hesitate to jump into the line of fire to do the job most others couldn't do. This was the guy that stood up for the people that couldn't stand up for themselves. This was the guy worth knowing. This was the guy worth being.

Peter felt a smirk form on his face as he stole one last glance towards his closed bedroom door before yanking the mask down over his head. Skittering over to the balcony, Spider-man yanked open the doors and jumped onto the railing, balancing perfectly on the thin metal pole. He stared out at the bright lights of Manhattan farther in the distance, a large smile forming underneath the mask.

Time to go to work.

 


 

Tuesday - March 8, 2016

Upper Manhattan - East Harlem

12:56 a.m.

"Would you fucking GET THEM already?!" The man snarled as he pressed his foot as hard as he could into the gas pedal.

His partner reloaded the gun before sticking his head back out the car window, a hail of bullets shooting out of the machine. The cop cars speeding behind them swerved to avoid the oncoming attack as best they could. "What the hell does it look like I'm doing?!" He shouted back as he grit his teeth and aimed towards the windshield.

"Well I don't know about you, but to me, it sure looks like you're doing a real good job of missing."

The strange new voice as well as the sudden screech of shock from his partner had the man turning to glare, only for his eyes to widen as he caught sight of a red and blue-clad figure now crouching on the hood of the car casually. Spidey gave a small wave. "Sup?"

The two men stared at the figure for a moment longer before the driver whipped his head to stare at his partner. "Well don't just sit there, idiot! SHOOT HIM!"

"Ooo! There we go! Thinking on our toes aren't we?" Spider-Man quipped as he flipped up onto the top of the car. "No wonder you geniuses haven't been caught yet!"

Leaning towards the side to avoid the stream of bullets that shot out of the top of the car, Spidey let out a laugh as he glanced behind him at the cops still chasing. By this point, they were sticking their head out the window to get a clear view of just what the heck was going on.

He gave another wave.

. . .

They tentatively waved back.

Turning back towards the cars, he ducked underneath another wave of bullets and scooted closer towards the front. Rearing his fist back, the teen punched through the glass, eliciting another bout of shrieks from the thugs. "Oh, your war cries! Terrifying!"

His hand wrapped around the barrel of the gun, where he promptly crushed the metal underneath his grip, smoke sprouting from the end. The man yelped in shock and threw the smoking device to the ground as he whipped his head back up, only to scream as Spidey grabbed the front of his collar and lifted him out of his seat, literally throwing him from the car.

The man shrieked loudly as he prepared himself to splat against the asphalt underneath, only to balk as he landed in something sticky and bouncy. Opening his eyes, he found he was now trapped in a large web suspended in the air between two light posts.

Not five seconds later, the man saw his partner be ejected from the speeding car in the exact same fashion. Suddenly, bright flashing red and blue lights entered his vision as he caught sight of the approaching cops.

"Shit..."

 


 

Tuesday - March 8, 2016

Central Manhattan - East  Midtown

01:13 a.m.

"Hurry up and put it in!" The woman growled as she fired off another round of bullets. The employees all whimpered in fear as they pulled their hands up over their heads from their positions on the ground.

The man behind the bank counter shakily grabbed another handful of cash before stuffing it into the brown bag being thrust into his chest. The masked woman held the gun close to her body as her two male partners watched the hostages closely to make sure none of them tried to press any emergency buttons.

"Huh...they're really cracking down on security checks in these places haven't they?" Spider-Man called as he crawled in through one of the windows before promptly taking a seat on the ledge. "You gonna try and pat me down, ma'am? Cause I gotta say, I will not tolerate you getting frisky." He muttered before jumping down to land next to the armed woman.

He suddenly found the barrel of a gun being pointed at his chest. "Get on the ground, you freak!" The woman shouted.

Spidey stared back at her, glanced down at the gun pointed at his chest and then lifted his head once again. "Can't these people ever get more creative with their weapons?" He turned to ask one of the hostages currently cowering near his feet. "I mean, seriously? I know it's efficient and whatever, but you could at least try to be a little more original. Like, nobody's ever been held at laser-point before."

The man gave him an incredulous look before wondering whether or not the hero wanted him to actually answer. The woman holding the gun held a similar look of bewilderment, Spider-Man taking the opportunity to grab the barrel of the gun and yank it out of the woman's hands before decking her in the chin, sending her sprawling to the ground. "See? That never would have happened with a laser."

Leaping over her, Spidey quickly slid underneath the legs of one of the two men and grabbed his ankles, yanking him to the ground as he did so. The other man charged over, only for Spidey to shoot out a low-lying web string, tripping the man before he could even get within range of him.

The teen watched with a bored eye as the two crooks slammed into each other before falling to the floor, groaning loudly. Shaking his head, Spidey noticed the numerous bills currently strewn about the room from when the woman dropped her bag.

Next to him, one hostage eyed a stack of bills next to him. He tentatively reached a hand out towards them only for Spidey to slap his hand and wiggle a finger in his face.

 


 

Tuesday - March 8, 2016

Upper West Side - West 59th Street

01:35 a.m.

The man let out a harsh breath as he gripped the purse in his hand tighter and continued to sprint, the woman's indignant cries sounding off behind him as he ran.

He felt a malicious grin form on his face as he glanced over his shoulder and found that nobody was giving chase after him, only to turn back forward and shout in shock, skidding to a stop in front of Spider-Man, who was slowly clapping. "Mmm...congrats, man. You have officially become the most unoriginal crook in the history of ever." He snickered.

The man blinked in shock for a moment before balling his fist and swinging it towards the masked vigilante. Spidey barely even moved, simply leaning back to avoid the hit before crossing his arms behind his back as he gave a small sigh. "You know, it's guys like you that give crooks and robbers a bad name." He scolded before taking another step back as the man threw another punch.

Spidey quickly caught the man's third punch and fired a web at the robber's chest, flipping him backward as he proceeded to wrap the man entirely in the sticky fluid. "What the hell, man?!' The crook shouted as he fell to the ground in a cocoon of webbing.

The teen casually grabbed the purse off of the ground and pulled out a stick of gum. Leaning down towards the downed crook, the hero quickly stuck the candy into the man's mouth, much to the robber's shock.

"See? It's much easier to chew that when you're not walking at the same time, isn't it?" He called before leaping back into the air.

 


 

Tuesday - March 8, 2016

Lower Manhattan - East Village

01:54 a.m.

"I thought you said he was a cat!"

The teen's eyes widened behind the mask as he caught sight of a large white and orange snake that was currently curled around one of the tree's higher branches and...was it glaring at him?!

Oh, it totally was.

Spider-Man stole one last glance at the little girl currently staring up nervously at him before he let out a small sigh and crept closer to the reptile. A loud hiss sounded out through the air, to which the teen reared back, arms flailing in shock.

"Jesus, this is the scariest thing of the night!" The vigilante grimaced, ignoring the sad fact that he'd been held at gun-point not even half an hour ago.

Exhaling loudly through his nose, the teen wrapped a hand around the snake's body and carefully unhooked it from the branch. "Ew, ew, ew, ew..." He breathed softly before letting out a high-pitch, almost inaudible cry as the snake began to coil around his arm instead.

Carefully jumping back down to the ground, the teen quickly rushed over to the little girl and thrust the reptile into her open arms. "Fluffy" She called as the snake wrapped around her.

"Fluffy? Seriously?"

The girl gave him a deadpanned look. "Give me a break. This is the closest thing I'm ever getting to a cat, alright?"

 


 

Tuesday - March 8, 2016

Central Manhattan - Upper East Side

02:07 a.m.

Peter stared out over the bright lights of the city, legs swinging happily as he sat on the roof ledge of the tall building. His mask lay next to him as he took in the sight of the bright lights and flickering neon signs. The sound of honking horns and wailing broadcasts met his ears as the teen let a content smile fall onto his face.

Lifting his hand to his mouth, he took another bite of his churro.

He'd have to remember where that lady lived so he could bring her some pastries later.

The teen finished off his latest form of repayment and stepped away from the ledge, jumping back down onto the main rooftop. Peter had been coming to this exact building for as long as he could remember; before he'd ever even considered the idea of Spider-Man.

Blue Booth Theatre had never really been a booming tourist spot, not even in its hay day. A small little one-screen theater that could only hold seventy on a good day. Now it was abandoned, the screens blank, the popcorn booths empty and the seats torn, shredded, and dusty. It had been closed for about ten years now and the building seemed to grow more and more decrepit with each passing day.

Peter still came here, though. He didn't know why. Something about it just felt...comforting.

("Where do wanna sit, baby? Careful, don't spill the popcorn.")

Before Spider-Man, Blue Booth was usually where Peter would go to escape. The building was condemned so there was nobody ever around. The interior was falling apart, sure, but it suited his needs as best it could. After all, it still had a roof, semi-sturdy floors, and most importantly, it wasn't home.

The empty manager's office served as a functional bedroom whenever Peter wanted a night away, complete with pillows and blankets stashed underneath the desk that he'd stolen from home. Peter didn't sleep there often anymore, but the option was always open, which made him feel a little better.

But tonight, he didn't go inside. Instead, he sat on the rooftop overlooking Central Park and the farther-distanced Town Square, the bright lights and loud sounds acting as a sort of beacon for the bustling center.

The teen leaned forward and placed his elbows on the ledge, resting his cheeks on his clenched fists as he felt the cooling breeze wrap around him, blowing his hair in all directions. As usual, the sky was a mixture of deep blues and dark blacks, harsh grey clouds of smog and smoke scattered throughout. The bright lights of the city below shone throughout the sky, breaking any chance of the stars to be seen. The small pinpricks of twinkling light simply couldn't compete with the sheer magnitude of NYC.

However, Peter couldn't help but smile softly as he caught sight of the moon peeking through the thick clouds, its pale white glow illuminating the rolling grey hills in the sky a painted silver. As his eyes trailed over the moon's glow, they caught sight of another, equally bright symbol in the distance.

Stark Tower shone brightly despite the numerous other lights surrounding it, acting as a sort of beacon in the distance. Peter's smile faltered slightly as he caught sight of the building, his mind running through everything it represented and reminded him of.

This is a horrible idea... Peter mumbled to himself. You know this is only going to end badly, Peter. You know it. So why the hell are you even debating this?

It was true. He knew this tie with Tony Stark could only end disastrously, his interaction with the Cons earlier tonight simply confirming that. Despite what his father and the others assumed, Peter wasn't stupid. In fact, he was quite the opposite. He knew exactly why his father had agreed to the internship.

He was using him...again.

Peter had known it the second Mr. Stark had come up to his room that night. He'd known it the second he'd heard that his father had agreed. He'd known it the second Mr. Stark left and he was left alone with them...

I never should have agreed to this...

He should have just refused Mr. Stark's offer. He should have just made up a lie to his father saying the billionaire had retracted his offer. He should have lied. He should have simply shaken the man's hand and forgotten about him. He had enough he already had to deal with. This was not going to make things better.

. . .

And yet...

Peter's eyes flitted back over to Stark Tower. The teen would be lying if he said today hadn't been one of the best he'd had in...forever. Sure it'd had its ups and downs, but the teen knew if given the choice, he wouldn't hesitate in doing it all over again. Despite the numerous people, despite the uncertainty of unfamiliar territory, despite the nervousness that ate at his stomach...

With the robots, with FRIDAY, with the inventions, with Mr. Stark...he'd actually been...happy.

Peter honestly couldn't remember when he'd last felt comfortable around someone he'd only recently met. Sure Mr. Stark could be intimidating, but Peter got a strange feeling that the man simply put up a façade to deal with the kinds of people he had to on a daily basis.

He couldn't be too sure, but the teen wondered if maybe he'd seen something in the man that not many others had seen before. After all, it wasn't often someone was concerned enough to pry into his life.

He quickly disregarded the notion with a scoff, berating himself with the fact that someone like Tony Stark wouldn't actually be concerned about him. The realization of said fact made the teen's hands clench slightly. Just what was Stark playing at? What did he hope to accomplish in offering him an internship? What was he planning?

The teen relayed over the man's words from the previous night.

("...he was a little hesitant at first, but I was able to convince him to go along with it.")

Peter tried to settle the queasy feeling forming in his stomach. Did you convince him...or did he convince you? he wondered to himself, knowing better than anyone that when his father wanted something, nothing could stand in his way. Nothing.

As the thought swirled around his head, a worse one appeared. Are you working with him?

Peter felt himself shaking at the thought that Mr. Stark was actually working alongside his father, that maybe this was all a great big ploy. Nothing more than another one of his tricks, another one of his tests.

And yet...as Peter recalled his talk with Tony from a few hours back, he couldn't help but linger on the expressions on the man's face whenever his father was brought up. They weren't tense. They weren't afraid.

They were...disgusted.

Peter couldn't help but hum in thought. It was strange, he had to admit. Seeing someone react to his father's name in disdain rather than spewing out compliments and appraisals.

As he recalled the man, Peter found himself dwelling back to their conversations. They had been...interesting to say the least. It'd been a while since Peter had blown up like that. The teen was still berating himself for slipping like he did. But there was something...strange he'd felt when he'd done it back there. It was different from all the other times he had slipped up in a lie or an excuse.

For the first time in a long time, Peter had felt...hopeful? He couldn't be too sure of what it was he felt exactly, but the teen knew it was strange. It was the same feeling he got whenever someone else other than Ned noticed his bruises or the fact that he was limping down the hallways. It was the same feeling he got whenever he was out with his father or the Cons in public.

It was the feeling of freedom, of salvation. It was the hope that someone...anyone would finally stop being so blind and help him mingled with the fear of that exact same thing happening, a constant battle between hoping for someone to notice and dreading the idea of anybody actually finding out.

But something had changed that day. Something had caused that hope to somehow spark just a little stronger, washing out the dread for a fraction of a second.

...You're an idiot, Parker.

Just as it had before, just as it always did, the feeling vanished. It was an unwarranted feeling. Freedom? Freedom from what? His father was a good man, he'd said so himself earlier that day. Sure, he made mistakes, but who didn't? The fact of the matter was that his dad was his last piece of family left and he couldn't afford to be picky or whiny or dramatic or whatever else Richard would tell him he was being whenever he cried or complained.

He'd made his peace with it long ago, and he had promised himself to never let himself feel those ungrateful feelings ever again!

. . .

. . .

So what happened?

What exactly caused him to lash out like that?

("It's alright, Peter. I promise it is.")

Peter felt a small smile spread on his lips. He knew he couldn't trust Mr. Stark. He could idolize him. He could adore him. But he couldn't trust him. He couldn't trust anyone but his father, childhood hero or not. And nothing, not internships, not jokes, not even kind words would ever get him to trust the man. He just...couldn't, for Tony's sake.

. . .

. . .

But still...it had felt nice to have someone to sit with.

Peter held his gaze on Stark Tower for a moment longer before lowering his head with a tired sigh. "Uhh...what have you gotten yourself into, Pete?" He muttered to himself.

Suddenly, his ears picked up a small, low-sounding boom that resonated through the air. Whipping his head up, his eyes could make out a flashing light farther up in the distance, near the center of the city. One that stood out from the others.

Rising up from his seat, Peter leapt up onto the edge and crouched down, narrowing his eyes as he strained to get a better visual. Judging from how far the boom had sounded as well as where the light was flashing, Peter lined it up with being right near. . .

"Oscorp? But what's-" He paused mid-sentence as his eyes widened. "Shit..." He gaped out before quickly seizing his mask and yanking it over his head. There's a hit tonight?! How the hell did I not realize? The teen mentally screamed at himself as he leapt from the ledge, shooting out a line as he began to swing through the air. God, this is what happens when you don't pay attention to them when they're planning, you idiot! He snarled as he swung as fast as he could towards the lab.

Sure, his father was a good man who made mistakes. But that didn't mean Peter couldn't clean up those mistakes.

"Alright...correction: what are you getting yourself into, Peter?"

 


 

Tuesday - March 8, 2016

Midtown West - Oscorp Central Labs

02:15 a.m.

His feet made no sound as he landed on the rooftop. He slowly crouched down and began to move along the edge as he craned his neck to gain a view of what was happening below.

The bright lights that lined the outer edge of the Oscorp building shone brightly, though even their luminescence did little to light the alleyway with which one of the building's back doors was connected. But Peter could see all too clearly.

There were three of them, two men and a woman. They were dressed in all black, including the masks adorning their faces. Narrowing his eyes, Spidey couldn't help the grimace that formed as he saw the insignia etched into the left cheek of each of the masks.

A small butterfly.

Yep, should have known. Oh, Dad... the teen sighed to himself, the light of hope that this little heist wasn't what he thought it was quickly dying.

He noticed a hidden van deeper into the alleyway, concealed by the numerous shadows. The masked people were exiting out of a perfectly clean hole in the building wall, hauling case after case of what Spidey could assume to be worth millions out towards the truck.

He could just make out the sound of hushed yelling, watching as the woman turned to glare at one of the two men. She then marched over towards the wall and pulled something Peter couldn't make out from her belt. Holding the unidentifiable object in her hand, Peter watched as four small metallic devices shot away from the corners of the hole in the wall and attached to the device. As they were ripped away from the wall, the hole sealed up perfectly, leaving no trace of it ever having existed.

Quickly realizing the group was soon to make their escape, Spider-Man narrowed his eyes and raised himself up, firing a web at the wall before him as he leapt from the building, swinging down towards the group.

A shout of shock escaped one of the man's lips as Spidey slammed his feet into his side, sending him flying as the teen landed on the ground. The other two remaining thugs stared at him as he did so, the teen giving a small wave. "Hey, you guys. Out for a midnight stroll? Man, I love those too. Mind if I tag along?!" He shot his fist forward, ramming it into the masked face of the second man, who fell backwards.

"Ugg! It's the Spider-brat the boss told us about!" The woman snarled, eyes narrowing as she dodged the teen's next punch. "So now what?" The first man asked as he rose back up to his feet from farther down the alley.

Spider-Man narrowed his eyes as he met the gaze of the woman. Despite the fact that she was wearing a mask, the teen was almost certain a smile was growing on her face. "What he ordered..." She answered slowly as she clenched her fists, eyes glowing a pale green.

Spidey faltered at this. Shit...

Without warning, the woman's palm whirred and opened up as she raised her hand, a bright green blast shooting out of the newly formed gun. Spidey narrowly dodged the blast as he leapt out of the way, rolling along the ground as he heard the blast slam into the wall behind him. A spray of shattered pieces of brick and stone pelleted his back as he whipped his head back up, only to see a huge boulder hurtling towards his face.

"CRAP!" Spidey shouted as he flattened himself to the ground, the boulder sailing over his head. Leaping up to his feet, he shot a web towards the woman, the fluid catching on her arm...gun...whatever. However, the first man jumped forward, thrusting his hands out as an onslaught of large rocks followed his movements, shooting down towards the teen.

Flipping back, Spidey landed on the ground and fired another two webs, sticking them to the man's feet before yanking hard. The man shouted out as he fell to the ground, where the teen fired another round of webs, trapping him to the dirty concrete.

Suddenly, Spider-Man shouted out in pain as he felt metal connect with his side, sending him skidding backward. Letting out a hiss of pain, the teen lifted his head to see the second man glaring at him through the mask. However, Spidey's eyes were trailed to the man's arm - more specifically, his skin.

It was solid steel.

The teen sighed. "I knew it was gonna be a bad day today." He muttered to himself as he slowly rose back up to his feet, narrowed eyes trailing on the three enhanced forms before him.

"Our boss is getting real tired of you interfering with our jobs, you brat." Peter heard the first man say. He was just gonna call him Rocky.

"And I'm sure he'd love to hear we were finally able to take you down." The cyborg woman grinned while the last metal man - Steel - clenched his fingers, the hard steel grating against each other. "Guess it's about time we remedy that little problem."

Spidey smirked. "Bring it on, stooges."

Two boulders were instantly carved out of the ground, hurtling towards him at bone-breaking speeds. Leaping into the air, Spider-Man leapt on top of one boulder, flipped onto the other, and finally landed on the shoulders of Rocky, swinging around the man to kick Cyborg's side, the woman shouting out as she was sent hurtling backwards.

Feeling a large hand wrap around his arm, Spidey watched as Steel charged for him, only to drag Rocky down to the ground with him, allowing the two men to trip over each other.

Suddenly, the teen felt a white-hot searing pain flare up in his shoulder as he let out a shout of pain. Ducking towards the ground, the teen glanced over his back and noticed his shoulder was now smoking along with the barrel of the woman's arm.

Narrowing his eyes, Spidey fired a web at one of the large smashed rock pieces around him and flung it towards the woman, who fired another beam at the projectile, blasting it into dust. However, it was enough of a distraction for Spidey to surge forward, ramming a punch against the woman's side.

The cyborg grunted but didn't back down as she threw a punch of her own. Spider-Man ducked below it and kicked his leg out, sweeping her feet out from under her. A sudden tingling in the back of his head caused him to flip out of the way as three more boulders shot past his head, only for the teen to groan as they swung back around and began to gun for him once again.

Turning on his heel, he noticed Rocky maneuvering the rocks with his hands while Steel reared his arm back, connecting a punch with the ground beneath him.

A large shockwave rolled through the concrete, rock, and asphalt waves unbalancing the teen, who grunted as large boulders slammed into his back.

"Ugg, come on, guys! It's a school night!" He shouted before firing a web at Steel, who grunted as the fluid slapped over his eyes, effectively blinding him.

Swinging forward, Spidey landed a hard kick on Rocky, the man flying back into Steel. The two collapsed in a jungle of limbs

A sudden humming behind him made him whip around, only to mutter another string of curses as he watched a handful of missiles fire off from the woman's shoulder. "You have missiles too?!" He growled before firing off numerous small bundles of web.

The small blasts connected with the tips of the missiles, driving them off course, where they exploded against the walls, the ground, the...the fire escape above...crap.

"Shit…" Peter muttered as he heard the tell-tale creak of metal snapping. The melting material began to separate from its binding as the entire metal structure began to fall to the ground.

Diving backward, the teen was barely able to avoid being crushed by the tangled metal as it crushed the van below it, effectively destroying the vehicle and shrouding the alley in a plume of dust and smoke. Taking a second to catch his breath, the hero slowly rose back up to his feet.

"GAH!" He shouted as he felt another hot blast slam into his chest, sending him flying out of the alley and into the street. Whipping his head up, he watched as the three enhanced charged for him, now looking even angrier than before. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he'd just crushed their escape vehicle and most likely whatever it was they had inside.

"So...I'm guessing you guys don't have car insurance…?" He tried, only for them to completely ignore his words. "Right…"

Lifting his arms, the teen blocked the aerial kick the woman threw, pushing her back just in time to duck and counter a punch by Rocky before throwing him into Steel. Now that they were out of the confines of the small, compact alleyway, they had much more room to space out.

Taking advantage of the spaced surroundings, Spidey fired a web at one of the nearby buildings and propelled himself forward, ramming his feet into the faces of both the cyborg and the metal man.

Safe to say, Peter assumed the move had hurt him much more than it'd hurt them.

Letting out a hiss of pain as he dropped back to the ground, Spidey fired another bout of webbing at the woman, only to have her blast right through them before hitting him in the shoulder. Shouting out in pain as he was flung backward, Spidey let out a yelp and rolled away right as a metal fist connected with the cement where his head had been moments ago.

The teen lifted his head, only to feel another boulder slam into his chest, sending him skidding backward against the asphalt. Letting out a shaky breath, the teen placed a tentative hand on his chest, wincing as he felt his ribs shift slightly.

The teen groaned in pain as he lay on the asphalt, the tree slowly approaching with harsh glowing eyes.

Turning his gaze towards the side, Spider-Man took notice of the fact that there were people on the street either watching or filming what was happening with tentative faces and nervous expressions.

Alright, Pete. No more fooling around. He growled to himself. There were too many people here to continue fighting. They had to end this now.

Narrowing his eyes, the teen slowly rose back up to his feet as he glared back at the three in front of him. The woman let out a chuckle. "Aww...would you look at that? Little baby's still trying."

Rocky scoffed. "Welp, we've already lost our score. Might as well have a little fun with him, now."

Clenching his fists, Spidey flashed them a grin he knew they couldn't see. But he was sure they could hear his smile in the way he said his next words. "I'm pretty sure I'll be the one having all the fun from here on out."

Steel smirked. "Oh really? Well, let's just see about that."

Cyborg raised up her arm once more, firing another blast at the teen. Spidey barely moved as he twisted his body to the side, narrowly missing the beam. Lifting his hands, Rocky shot three more boulders towards the teen while Steel charged him once again.

Spidey jumped into the air as he landed on each boulder as they flew past, leaping off as he fired a web at the last passing rock, swinging it forward with his momentum. The rock slammed into Steel's side, sending him barreling through the glass front doors of Oscorp, a loud alarm sounding out through the air.

The two remaining thugs blinked in mild shock at the display before refocusing back on their prey. Cyborg lifted both of her arms this time, however, her other arm didn't simply open up. Instead, the skin around it began to separate, pulling backwards as a large blaster appeared from the metal underneath her pale skin.

Letting out a growl, the woman began to fire a barrage of blasts at the teen while Rocky continued to hurl boulder after boulder at him.

Spidey clenched his fists as he tensed his muscles. Skirting past the boulders, the teen ducked and leapt over the blasts as they whizzed by, feeling their heat through his suit as he did so.

As he continued to duck and dodge the projectiles and blasts, he began to make his way towards the two until he was a mere few feet from them. Leaping up, the teen tackled Rocky to the ground, the boulders falling to the floor as the man lost his concentration.

Letting out a furious roar, the man wrapped his hands around the teen's wrists as he tried to overpower him, only to find he was not the strongest one out of the two.

Spidey growled as he threw a hard punch towards the man's face, effectively disorienting him enough to pick him up and hurl him towards the woman, who gasped and leapt out of the way before her partner slammed into the ground. He didn't get back up.

Letting out a snarl, the woman raised u her arms once again, only to gape in shock as Spidey shot forward, clenching her forearms in his grasp.

She narrowed her eyes and lifted her leg to kick out at him, only for the teen to twist her around and flip her onto the ground. Before she could retaliate, she screamed out as she felt circuits and wires snap as the teen squeezed her arms, the guns whirring and screeching as they died. "Sorry, sorry, sorry!" The teen cried as he continued to squeeze before finally letting go, leaping away from the fuming woman as she glared down at her arms before throwing the teen a deathly look. "Oh come on! You so asked for it!"

The woman had no time to utter a retort before a large metal fist was slamming into the teen's chest, sending him skidding backward into one of the nearby stores. Spidey felt something crack as he crashed into the wall, falling down to the floor with a groan where he let out a harsh cough of pain. "Shit…" He uttered for about the seventeenth time that night. "I forgot how much that hurts." He whined softly as he fought to blink back the dots blazing in front of his face at the pain in his chest, which felt like he'd just stabbed white-hot knives into his ribs.

Quickly remembering where he was and what was happening around him, the teen slowly - very slowly began to sit back up, arms shaking as he did so. He could feel glass shards poking into the suit, thankful that the strong material didn't allow the sharp edges to nick his skin as he pushed the wooden beams and brick pieces off of him. He painfully pushed through the debris and leapt back onto the street, only to let out a groan of frustration as he realized the only people on the street were him and the shocked bystanders.

Crap… He muttered to himself, the sound of approaching police sirens reaching his ears. Taking a moment to run back into the alleyway, Spider-Man cautiously moved through the mess of tangled metal that had once been the fire escape. Careful to avoid the small fires that burned around the mess, the teen moved over toward the back of the crushed truck, the doors bent and crushed together.

The fact did little to phase him, however, as he gripped the door handle and yanked the doors clean off their hinges. Inside, the teen saw numerous metal cases lining the crushed walls of the van. Yanking them out of the back, the teen carefully stacked them up against the alleyway wall before sticking them together with webbing, making sure nobody else could stumble upon the little goldmine.

As he heard the sound of cars pulling up, the teen knew he had to take his leave. Leaping up towards the wall, the teen quickly began to scale the brick structure before flipping over onto the roof of the building right next to Oscorp.

Fumbling for his mask, Spidey yanked it off the second he was out of sight, allowing a relieved breath to pass through his lips as he took a second to relax. Peter let out a small groan as he rested the back of his head against the ledge, the injuries sustained in the fight now beginning to show through as his adrenaline wore off.

Peter opened his tired eyes as voices met his ears. Blinking back his exhaustion, the teen strained to make out what was being said, though with his advanced hearing he could pretty much make out every single word.

"It's over here! . . . Shit, what the hell is this stuff made out of anyway?!"

"I don't know. Just be grateful this crap's even here at all. This is - what - the fifth tech robbery in the past three weeks?"

Actually, it's the seventh, but who's counting? Peter muttered to himself.

"What's the word from the civilians?"

"Apparently there were three suspects dressed in all black with...I think they said masks...Anyway, they were apparently fighting Spider-Man before all four fled the scene."

"Well, they made one hell of a mess."

"Like I said, Morgan. Just be grateful this tech is still here. These psychos could make a shitload of money selling this crap to god-knows-who."

"They said a group, right?"

"Mm-hmm."

"You know, every report we've gotten on these robberies describes a group of people in all black with strange masks. You think maybe we're dealing with a gang or something?"

"I don't know...I guess it'd make sense. But all anyone's been able to get on these guys is that they all wear these weird masks with some sort of symbol on them. Every robbery they conduct is either identified the next morning or broken up by this Spider-guy. For some reason, they never trip any alarms, security protocols, nothing!"

"So they're smart..."

Peter clicked his tongue. No...their boss is smart.

"Well that at least separates them from most of the criminal gangs around here, so that's a start."

The two cops chuckled slightly before falling silent, Peter taking it as a sign of their departure. The sound of more engines revving told him that more officers were now arriving on the scene, meaning they could handle everything from here.

Pulling his mask back on, Peter slowly rose back up to his feet, letting out a barely audible groan as he did so. Could be worse, Parker. He muttered to himself. Just be grateful he didn't send out the elite squad tonight or you'd be more than just sore. He grumbled.

Still, it was hard to ignore the way his shoulder and chest shrieked in protest as he fired off a web at one of the taller buildings in the distance, nor the fiery pain coursing through his abdomen as he swung through the air.

That's enough for tonight, Spidey...

 


 

Tuesday - March 8, 2016

Stark Tower - Private Lab 1

06:47 p.m.

Tony hissed in pain as he ripped his hand away from the device, glaring down at the circuits that had shocked him.

The man let out an annoyed sigh as he forcefully slammed the screwdriver in his other hand down on the metal table in his lab. He ran a hand through his hair before dragging it down his face. He could feel his exhaustion pulling at his muscles as if trying to drag him towards his bed, but the man knew there was no point. He wouldn't be able to sleep anyway.

The sound of whirring off to the side as well as a soft banging made his lift his head. DUM-E was currently running back and forth into one of the other nearby tables. Thankfully, the only thing on top of the metal surfaces were papers and blueprints. Nothing breakable.

Rolling his eyes at the antics of his malfunctioning robot, Tony was about to delve back into working on the piece for his new suit when his eyes caught a glimpse of the TV hanging above DUM-E's head.

"FRIDAY, turn up the volume."

"-and we're now getting confirmation that Oscorp has now been the the seventh of a numerous string of different robberies plaguing the technologies manufacturing companies of New York. Live at the scene is Robert Malshaw. Robert?"

"Jen, we are here at Oscorp, where earlier this morning, an exciting battle took place here with different eyewitnesses placing local hero, Spider-Man at the scene. Reports describe the masked vigilante fighting off against three masked individuals. But, Jen, one of the most shocking developments is that many people are now saying the suspects were perhaps...enhanced individuals.

However, despite the fact that the suspects were able to flee the scene of the crime, police have confirmed that all the stolen tech was accounted for behind the back alley of Oscorp, secured in a web-like substance that many around here can safely assume came from our local hero.

At the moment, police have still been unable to crack down any key points or suspects in the robberies, there are rumors that each of these cases are somehow connected. But one thing is for certain, the people around here are pretty certain the police won't be alone in this little endeavor, if those webs have any indication. Jen?"

Tony lowered his gaze, running his fingers over the screwdriver in his hand before lightly tapping the handle on the table. "Not bad, kid." He murmured as he glanced back down at the new suit piece before him. He'd have to make sure to check up on the kid on Wednesday. Make sure he didn't do anything stupid to get himself hurt.

He checked his watch. There weren't any notifications or alarms coming in from the kid's suit, so he had to be alright.

Shaking his head, Tony tried to push the kid out of his mind. He'd wasted enough time today thinking about the teen. He didn't need to use up any more.

He was about to ask FRIDAY to turn the volume back down, only to freeze at the next words he heard.

"In other news, it has now been a little more than two weeks since it was officially declared that Captain Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, James Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, Scott Lang, Clint Barton, and Wanda Maximoff were fugitives of the nation and wanted criminals."

Tony hesitantly lifted his head back up.

This development sparked after the controversial signing of the Sokovia Accords. After refusing to sign the new laws, Captain America aided in the escape of wanted fugitive James Barnes as well as resisting arrest with the aid of numerous other Avengers.

Not long after their imprisonment in an undisclosed location, Steve Rogers was responsible for the escape of his allies before their disappearance."

Tony felt his grip on the screwdriver in his hand tightening.

"This situation has been the center of many bouts of controversy among people of the world, including our own New York. Here with you now, we have several local statements about the unfolding situation."

The screen changed to a new person - a woman - on the streets, a large microphone being held up to her. "If you ask me, I say this whole thing is a load of shit. The Avengers were designed to protect us, not squabble like children. I say you just throw them in a room together and force them to make up or something. I mean, like...come on!"

A new person appeared. Male.

"If you ask me, I'd say it was about damn time. You know, I lost my house in that damn alien invasion a few years back. Who do you think had to work two jobs after that, huh? Definitely not that Tony Stark I'll tell you that! So if these Accord things drive a little responsibility into that damn group, then I say go for it."

One by one, more people popped up on the screen.

"This has to be some sort of misunderstanding. The Avengers are heroes. They're not the bad guy. They FIGHT the bad guys!"

. . .

"I say they finally got what they deserve. Those freaks had it coming. All they do is stir up trouble and act without any consequences! It's about time someone put them in their place."

. . .

"This is definitely that Tony Stark's fault! He's always been a pompous douchebag and now he's gone and dragged the rest of those heroes down with him! Why doesn't he get thrown in jail? He causes just as much damage as the rest of them! If you ask me, he's the worst out of all of them."

. . .

"I just want to say...Captain America saved my life once. I wouldn't be standing here if it wasn't for him. So I don't care what the news says. I don't care what anybody says. He'll always be a hero to me. They all will."

. . .

"You know what? Tony Stark can go and-"

"Turn it off."

The furious man's words were cut off before he could finish his thought, but the fact didn't make Tony feel any better.

The man fiddled with the screwdriver for a moment before taking notice of the fact that it was now bent slightly. Letting out a sigh, the man carelessly tossed the tool over his shoulder, a soft clatter reaching his ears.

He'd known it was a bad idea from the start.

Bring together a group of extraordinary people to do extraordinary things. On paper, sure. Maybe it could work out. Maybe things would go as planned.

But they never did. With people, there were always one too many variables. Now add a superhuman element to those people and you're looking at a real problem. Add an attitude issue and internal squabbling and you're looking at a disaster waiting to happen.

Well...guess they weren't really waiting anymore.

He knew it never would have worked. But...for a while there, things had looked as if they actually...might.

After New York, after people saw what they could do together, things had looked up. Sure, they hadn't exactly liked each other during that little situation, but even with their fighting, they'd still been able to come together to do something amazing.

Sokovia had done even more so. Once again, they had fought. But just as before, they'd moved past it and came together to do something great.

Well, here they were now.

As he'd said before, on paper...sure. Maybe they could have found a way to work through it. Maybe they could have compromised to find a solution to the Accords. Maybe they could have moved past it.

Maybe things would have gone as planned.

But they never did.

They had fought. But this time, there was no moving past it. There was no coming together. There was nothing great, nothing amazing, nothing...extraordinary.

No, this time it was just...broken.

Tony had known it was a bad idea. But he'd still found a family in the group. He'd found a family in those new friends, in those...extraordinary people.

He'd found confidants in Natasha and Bruce. He'd found friends in Clint, Sam, and Thor. And he'd almost found a brother in Steve, something he'd only ever seen in one other man, and that was because he'd known Rhodes for most of his teenage and adult life.

He'd trusted them.

The man glared down at the machine in his hands, picking it up as he traced his fingers over the metal and wires.

And then, the one time he'd actually been a hundred percent sure of his actions...the one time he'd needed his friends...his family behind him… they turned their backs on him.

His grip on the device tightened.

They betrayed him. He betrayed him! The one person he'd begun to count on to always have his back. The one person he'd finally begun to enjoy having around...talking to. The one person he'd valued as a friend the most.

The billionaire clenched his eyes and grit his teeth tightly as he fought to gain control over the erratic beating of his heart. But even the sound of blood rushing through his ears as well as the piercing whine shooting through his skull wasn't enough to drown out the words swirling around his head.

(You did this.)

Tony could feel the metal beginning to dig into his skin as he clenched his fist around it.

(You drove them away. You drive everyone away.)

Steve had simply thrown it all away. And for what? For an askew moral compass? For a secret he had no right to keep?

(Of course they left you.)

This was all Roger's fault. All of it! The Avengers falling apart. Rhodey's legs. Ross's insistence on making his life hell. His nightmares of one of his closest friends driving a shield through his heart!

(Everyone does.)

With a roar of rage, Tony reared his arm back and chuckled the metal device as hard as he could at the nearest wall. The piece exploded on impact, sparks, and wires flying everywhere as the shattered pieces fell to the floor.

The man heard his ragged breathing more than he felt it. He lifted a shaking hand towards his chest, rubbing at the faint scars his old reactor had left him. Slowly, the rage left his body like air from a balloon. His exhaustion and grief made him literally fall back into his chair out of his lack of energy. The man rested his arms on the table and placed his head on top of them as he let out a sigh. Fuck the nightmares. Let them come. His refrigerator was stocked and loaded for them anyway with those cure-all bottles.

Tony had known it was a bad idea.

So why did it hurt so much to be proven right?

 


 

Tuesday - March 8, 2016

Parker Residence - Second Floor Kitchen

07:45 p.m.

Peter fought to keep his gaze locked on the bubbling pot in front of him. Dinner had to be ready in fifteen minutes. He didn't have any time for distractions.

The teen cast a small glance over towards his math textbook currently lying on the kitchen table, waves of gratitude rolling off him at the fact that they'd had time after Decathlon practice to finish up their homework that day.

God knew he wouldn't have time for it tonight.

"Jesus! How the hell did you let him damage you this badly?"

"I didn't let him do anything! The little shit was stronger than we thought he was!"

The teen kept his gaze locked on the frothing pot as he shakily reached a hand towards the box of noodles on the side. He watched as the long thin strands pooled out of the box before disappearing beneath the water.

"We told you. We fucking told you, Tonya!" Max snarled from the doorway. "We needed those cases. Now we're going to have to send another team out to retrieve them. But of course, now we're going to have to wait until this dies down because you fuck-ups managed to almost get caught!" The man roared out in fury.

Despite his better judgment, Peter hesitantly glanced upwards at the counter where Curt was currently sitting. The man was unscrewing one of the plates on Tonya's arm as the woman glared elsewhere. Farther into the room, Max stood off against Rocky and Steel.

Peter had never bothered to learn their actual names. They never stuck around long enough.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Who the hell do you think you are, huh?" Steel snarled as he stepped closer. Now that his skin wasn't metallic anymore, the man looked much less intimidating. That, however, didn't stop him from getting defensive.

"We didn't sign up for fighting superheroes, alright? You said it would just be a simple mission in return for the upgrades you gave us!" He countered, morphing the skin on his hands in emphasis.

Max glared down at him. "That's because it was a simple mission." He snarled. "I just shouldn't be surprised you three somehow found a way to fuck it up!"

"Hey!" Steel barked. "We're the ones that were out there risking our necks. We're the ones who had to face off against that little freak. We're the ones that-"

"Failed. You're the ones that failed."

All heads - even Peter's - turned to watch as Richard emerged from the elevator. Peter was the only one to quickly turn away as he concentrated on stirring the pot.

(Head down. Mouth shut. Head down. Mouth shut.)

The man stalked into the room with a disgusted expression as he stopped next to Max. "We gave you one simple job. And you couldn't even do that."

Rocky and Steel exchanged glances before the latter stepped forward, getting right into Richard's face.

That's a mistake. Peter murmured to himself as he watched the noodles spin in the pot.

"Alright. Listen here, you stuck-up, rich boy. I don't need this. None of us do. We were perfectly fine without you and your little…" He paused to glance down at his hands, watching as they turned to steel before flickering back to normal. "...upgrades. And we'll be fine without you! In fact, I'd say you need to watch what you're saying and how you're saying it. Hate for someone out there to grow wise and get a little suspicious of you"

Richard leveled him a cold stare. "And just what are you saying exactly?"

Steel smirked at him. "I'm saying I think you should treat me with a little more respect. The things I know about you...about this place. Well…" He paused and glanced down at his fingernails before smirking. "I'd hate for somebody to...hear something."

Richard stared at the man for a moment longer before he let a small smirk fall onto his face as well. "Yes. I suppose you're right."

Faster than anyone could react, Richard whisked a gun out from behind his back and fired two shots at the man's chest. Steel barely had any time to gape in shock before another bullet was fired right in between his eyes.

Peter jerked at the noise, biting the inside of his cheek as he screamed at himself to keep his gaze locked on the pot before him.

Tonya's stared with wide eyes as the man fell to the ground with a thud, only to whisk back around as she felt a strong hand - one that hadn't been that strong a second ago - latch onto her already damaged wrist.

Whisking back around, she noticed a large scaly green hand was now wrapped around her arm, long black claws digging into the circuits. Lifting her head, she met Curt's now black eyes as the man grinned at her. "You might wanna sit down, honey." He said sweetly. "Cause you're not getting out of this now."

Richard glanced down at the body at his feet in disdain before glancing back up to Rocky, who was now being held against the wall by Max. "Now...do you share in your friend's sentiment?" the man asked as he leisurely twirled the gun back and forth.

Rocky was quick to shake his head back and forth.

Richard gave a smile. "Good. Now go join the others downstairs and I don't want to hear a word about this anymore. Do you understand me?" He asked darkly as Max lifted his free hand toward the captive man's face.

Rocky watched with wide eyes as Max's fingers sparked with electricity, dancing dangerously close to his eyes. "I...I-I understand...s-sir."

Max released his hold on him and the man floundered towards the elevator.

Curt's hand slowly transformed back as he stood up, Tonya doing the same as she watched the man cautiously. "Come on. I'm going to have to fix this down in the lab." He muttered, gesturing toward the woman's crushed arms.

She obeyed without complaint. They all did eventually.

Richard gazed down at the body for a moment longer before he glanced over at Max. "Deal with this, will you?"

The man nodded his head as Richard walked back over toward the elevator.

The dark-skinned man glanced down at the mess by his feet before letting out an annoyed huff. "Peter, get over here!"

The teen felt his grip on the spoon tighten for a moment before he released it, slowly and hesitantly walking over towards Max. He was careful to keep his eyes away from the steadily growing pool of blood.

The man gripped the back of Peter's neck. "Clean this up." He growled out before shoving the boy closer towards the mess. The teen caught a glimpse of the crimson pool and thrust his head away. He could feel his stomach churning. "B-but I have to...have t...d-dinner and-"

He gasped as Max lifted him up by the front of his shirt. The hold jostled Peter's still sore ribs as the teen floundered in the man's grasp. "Did you just talk back to me?"

The teen clenched his eyes shut as he turned away. "N...no sir." He sputtered out. A shocked gasp fell from his lips as Max tossed him to the ground, the teen landing on his side in the pool of blood, warm liquid splattering up against his cheek. "I don't want to see a single speck of blood on this floor when I get back." Max snarled darkly as he grabbed one of Steel's legs, dragging him over towards the elevator. A thick smear of blood followed after him, but Peter wasn't even paying attention anymore. His gaze was locked on his shaking, blood-covered hands.

"Oh...and you have ten minutes till dinner," Max called back with a sadistic smirk adorning his face. "Make sure that's ready." The elevator doors closed around him, leaving Peter alone in the room.

The teen stared down at his red hands before his resolve shattered as he struggled to smear the blood off of his hands, terrified sobs escaping his lips as he haphazardly wiped the blood off of his cheek with the back of his sleeve, panicked tears rolling down his face as the red liquid refused to come off of his fingers.

Peter didn't even notice when the pot of noodles boiled over.

Chapter 6: Rule 9

Summary:

9) Never Ask For Help. Nobody Cares

Chapter Text

 

 

Peter winced and let out a pained whimper as the sound of shouting from downstairs grew louder and louder. He threw his hands over his ears and tried to bury himself in his covers, tears leaking from his eyes.

Mommy and Daddy were fighting.

Again.

He didn't like it when they fought. They were loud. And they got angry. It was scary.

The four-year-old tried to ignore it as he pulled the covers tighter over his head. Cracking open his eyes, he could just make out the light brown fur of his teddy bear tucked further under the covers. Reaching out a small, shaky hand, the toddler grasped onto the matted fur of the stuffed animal and pressed it close to his chest.

His fingers brushed up against one of the many different stitches along the toy's lining from where his Mommy had had to fix him up and make him all better.

His Mommy could make anything better.

Another shout rose up from the floor, causing a panicked wince to sound from the boy as he curled up even tighter, scrunching his eyes closed as he buried his face in his bear.

Eventually, the shouting died down before trickling off into nothing, but Peter didn't look up. He simply continued to rock himself back and forth. He didn't even move when the door to his room slowly let out a familiar squeak, the tell-tale sign of a new presence in his room.

It wasn't until he felt someone gently wrap their arms around him that he finally opened his eyes. Mary gingerly rearranged the child until he was now sitting in her lap, his head resting against her chest as she gently swayed him back and forth. Peter made no sound as he curled his fingers into his mother's shirt.

"Fighting?"

"No. No more fighting." Her voice was soft, but it still carried in the otherwise silent room. She grabbed one of his little hands and began to draw little circles with the tip of her finger on the back, something that always seemed to calm him down.

Peter blinked up at her, fresh tears still coating his eyelashes. "Is Daddy mad again?"

Mary stared down at the child in her lap, taking in his quivering lip and shaking hands before letting a small smile form on her face. She gently cupped her's son's cheeks in her hands. "No. He's not mad anymore. Mommy and Daddy were just talking about some grown-up things," she murmured with a smile. Peter, however - despite his young age - was not as oblivious as his mother thought he was, for he still caught the way she hastily wiped at her eyes with the back of her sleeve.

Mommy was sad again.

Peter felt more tears welling up in his eyes as he buried his face back into his mother's shirt. He didn't like this. Mommy and Daddy were always fighting now. He was always mad. She was always sad. He didn't understand.

The four-year-old peeked out at the room, his eyes catching sight of the bookshelf lined up next to his bed. On the bottom shelf (the only one he could reach) there were numerous picture books, each with colorful illustrations and happy characters.

Why weren't things like his stories? Why wasn't there some big strong hero to beat back the bad guy? Was there a bad guy?

There had to be. He just needed a hero to beat up the monster making his Daddy mad and his Mommy sad. He knew they were out there. His stories were full of heroes. One of them had to be coming soon, right?

Peter cracked open his eyes again, peeked his little head away from his mother's arms, and gazed out at the room. Despite the darkness that shrouded the walls, the little boy wasn't afraid. He couldn't be, not while he was safely tucked in his mother's embrace.

Still...

"Is Daddy gone?"

Mary seemed surprised by the question. She said nothing for a moment, cast a small glance towards the door before combing a hand through her boy's curls. "Daddy just...stepped outside for a bit to calm down. He'll come back soon."

Peter curled himself back into his mother's arms, glanced down at the bear still clutched tightly to his chest.

"What if he doesn't?"

"...what?"

He lifted his eyes and stared back at her. "What if Daddy doesn't come back?"

"I...baby-"

Peter curled his head down again, kept fiddling with the stitching on his bear. "Are you gonna leave too?"

He felt his mother shift, felt her tense. For a moment, the boy feared he'd somehow made her mad, prepared for more yelling, for more anger. But instead, he felt his mother's arms curl tighter around him as she sucked in a shaky breath. He furrowed his brows and lifted his head, caught sight of his Mommy's eyes, big and watery as she gave him a gentle smile.

"Baby...Peter, listen to me, honey. Mommy isn't going anywhere."

His face pinched slightly and he glanced away. "Daddy-"

"Hey." She cupped his cheek and guided his eyes back towards her own. "I'm not going anywhere, okay? Mommy and Daddy are working some things out, some grown-up things, and we may get a little loud sometimes, but Mommy isn't going anywhere, alright? I'm not going anywhere."

Peter hesitated for a moment, perhaps to let the words truly sink in before he was lifting his little head once again, bright brown eyes meeting his mother's. He blinked up at her before letting out a little sniffle.

"Promise?"

Mary smiled, ran a hand through his hair one more time before lifting up her hand and extending a pinkie.

"Would I ever break a pinkie promise?"

Peter grinned and excitedly looped his finger with hers, the woman shaking her hand up and down, dragging his little fist along with her. He giggled and let out a loud squeal as Mary wrapped him in a bear hug and began to assault his face with a wash of kisses, the toddler's laughs echoing off the walls of the otherwise silent house.

 


 

Friday - March 11, 2016

Parker Residence - Sub-Level Labs

05:26 a.m.

Peter grunted as he was forcefully slammed into the wall, head hitting the hard surface painfully before he fell down to the ground with a thud.

He clenched his fists and let out an irritated sigh. Lifting his head back up, the teen narrowed his eyes and watched as the Lizard swished his long tail back and forth. His tongue flickered out of his mouth before disappearing once again, dark black eyes blinking down at him as he lunged.

Muscles coiling, Peter rolled to the side and leapt back up to his feet as the monster collided with the wall. Rushing forward, Peter pulled himself up onto the creature's back before slamming his elbow hard down on the reptile's head.

The monster roared out in pain before Peter felt a heavy tail slam into his side, sending him flying back down to the floor. Before he could raise himself up again, he felt a large claw slam down on his chest as the Lizard crouched over him.

The teen screamed out in pain as he felt long talons dig into his shoulder and chest, kicking out blindly with his back leg. The hit was enough to knock the Lizard off balance, which allowed the teen to ram a fist in the monster's face, sending him flying backward.

Taking a second to catch his breath, Peter placed a tentative hand on his chest, wincing as he felt warm liquid come off of his fingers. He groaned in frustration. Can we please wrap this up? I'm gonna be late for school...

Sliding his feet back into a defensive position, Peter clenched his fists as the reptile let out a loud hiss, crouching down on the floor as it readied to pounce once again.

The Lizard shot forward, snapping his teeth loudly. Peter reared back and send a kick towards the monster, his foot slamming into the creature's head. The Lizard staggered back at the blow before countering with one of his own, slashing a claw towards the teen. Peter ducked underneath the attack before sliding across the floor in between the reptile's legs.

Jumping back up to his feet, Peter curled his hands around the monster's tail and pulled back. The monster hissed as it lost its grip on the floor, falling to his stomach as Peter used all of his strength to hurl him clear across the room.

The reptile slammed painfully against the training room walls, the white surface rippling as it absorbed the shock of the impact. Peter let out a strangled breath as he placed his hands on his knees, fighting to drag in a breath as he huffed. Peter didn't know how long they'd been going at it, but he knew he was running out of steam.

He could only hope his father was feeling merciful today and would call it soon.

The teen stole a glance back at the one-way mirror on the wall before turning forward once again. Doubt it.

Before he could take in another breath, the Lizard reared back up once again, a loud roar tearing its way through his throat. Peter flipped out of the way as a large claw slammed down into the ground where he'd once been standing. However, as his feet came to land on the floor once more, the creature's long tail whipped through the air, hitting him in the side once again.

The force sent him flying into the side wall for around the sixteenth time in the past ten minutes.

If he were being honest, it was really starting to get old.

The boy struggled to rise up to his once again, only for a large scaly claw to wrap around his throat, hoisting him up into the air before slamming him into the wall.

The teen lifted his hands as he fought to pry the claw from his neck while he tried to land a solid kick, only for the reptile to squeeze harder. A strangled gasp filtered out of Peter's mouth as he struggled to drag in another breath of air.

The Lizard let out a loud hiss as he raised his other hand, poised to strike his claws down.

"Enough."

Both heads swiveled towards the back wall as a large door slowly materialized from the white surface. Richard calmly stepped into the room, Max standing next to him with a clipboard and a stopwatch in his hands.

"23 minutes, 17 seconds." The dark-skinned man reported before writing something down on the clipboard. "8.5 times longer than the control group." He murmured.

Richard gave a nod that was something akin to approval as the Lizard haphazardly dropped the teen in his grasp. Peter collapsed onto the ground as he wrapped a hand around his throat and coughed harshly. Through the pained tears in his eyes, Peter could just make out the Lizard stepping back slightly as his green skin and long tail slowly disappeared into the usual pale complexion of Curt Conners, minus one amputated right arm. The man sneered down at the boy by his feet before going over to stand by the other two.

Max silently handed the man his prosthetic, the three men conversing quietly as Curt re-attached his limb, but Peter he wasn't really paying attention anymore. Instead, the teen was just focusing on taking in deep, steady breaths as he struggled to get his heart back under control. His muscles screamed at him in protest as his body shifted and the whining in his ears slowly faded away.

But the teen didn't have much time to process before he was roughly hauled to his feet. "Let's go," Max muttered as he tossed him towards the door. Peter steadied himself before he could faceplant on the floor, hastily walking out the door before they could change their minds and decide to go another round.

Stepping out of the room, Peter couldn't help the queasy feeling that built up in his gut as his eyes scanned over the large room he'd grown to hate with all his might.

The Station...

It wasn't even a room at all. In fact, as the name suggested, it had once been an active subway platform, long since abandoned. But of course, his father had found a way to repurpose it.

Huge, domed, vaulted ceilings stretched high over their heads, faded brickwork and tiling all that remained of what the room had once been. Now the crumbling brick walls were juxtaposed by the sleek metal tables and high-tech machines lining the edges. Cables looped overhead, wires trailed the floor, weapons of varying shapes, sizes and models covered one wall. Stairs both leading up a level and further down into the station sat against the far end of the room, and the long black empty subway tunnel created a gaping maw along the back of the Station.

With how the room was structured, the domed ceilings created a haunting echo that left Peter's ears constantly filled with the distant sounds of life and danger, leaving his nerves on edge each and every time he entered the lab.

Peter followed Max and his father across the Station, trying hard not to make much eye contact with the few stragglers milling around the room. It was rare for the teen to come down to the lab and find it empty. There were always a few bodies keeping it full. Whether they were men in long lab coats, grizzled looking thugs, or sometimes even sharply dressed business folk, Peter never paid them much mind. It wasn't like they mattered.

Curt, who had broken away to converse with two men holding a couple of clipboards, noticed their approach and motioned them over. "We got the results back on the Vercillium samples. They're testing at a much more volatile rate than we were expecting."

Richard took the clipboard from his hands and glanced down at the papers, flipping through a few before his lips pulled into a firm frown. Peter watched with little interest, knew his father's work wasn't something for him to be listening to anyway.

The man grunted before turning towards the other two strangers Peter couldn't be bothered to scrutinize closely. "Take the boy down to the testing site and prep him for batch C31."

"C31, sir?"

"I need to see how it reacts to mutated genes and I'm tired of waiting for willing volunteers to test it out."

Peter didn't look up as his father spoke. He didn't do much of anything, really, just watched a trail of ants marching silently along the ground, disappearing underneath the cracks in the floor.

The two strangers nodded and made towards the stairs leading further down into the Station. Richard turned to Max.

"Oversee."

"Right."

Peter didn't wait for a shove as he began to follow the other two across the Station, the lab fairly quiet this early in the morning. They marched silently towards the stairs, four individual sets of footsteps. Peter might not have bothered to mark the two researchers' faces, but he filed away their footsteps: soft, hesitant, faint shuffles, light tread.

The walls got darker and darker the further down they went, the lights flickering pathetically as they struggled to push back the shadows creeping along every surface. Faded graffiti letters dripping dark colors lined the wall, the faint ingrained smell of chemicals making Peter's nose twitch.

The four of them finally entered in upon another large, vaulted room with domed ceilings and crumbling tile walls. But this room was much smaller than the first, with a line of hard metal cots and various tables lined with sterilized syringes, knives, scalpels, and anything else they used for their experiments. Monitors, medical equipment, and long strings of wires stretched along the walls, the high-tech modernism a stark contrast to the faded brickwork of the past.

Peter sat up atop one of the metal cots while Max folded his arms and leaned up against one of the back walls, looking genuinely disinterested as the other two workers began to mill about the room, prepping various syringes and vials. The teen felt his fingers curling into the metal surface of the cot, listening to the faint creaking as his fingers carefully began to dent the metal.

His face remained neutral. He was used to this.

One of the workers, a woman, approached. She held an empty syringe in one hand and a sterilized cotton ball in the other. Peter lifted his arm, let her rub the cold alcohol against his skin. The smell was pungent and strong, but he didn't flinch, not even as she slid the needle into the crook of his elbow and began to draw his blood.

Her technique was at least adequate, for it barely pinched as she slid the needle back out. For a second, as he glanced up, Peter almost thought he saw her try to smile at him. But the teen was turning away before he could really judge it, probably just a trick of the light. He didn't smile back. Instead, he just wiped at the little dot of blood bubbling onto his skin as she walked off with the freshly-drawn sample.

Peter glanced down at his finger, at the smear of blood now coating the tip. He rubbed it against his thumb until it was gone, nothing more than a blush of color against his pale complexion.

It didn't always use to be like this.

He remembered when this wasn't normal, when this wasn't nothing more than a daily part of his routine, when the Cons weren't a part of his life and his father...was different.

He couldn't remember the first time his father started the tests, but he remembered what the man used to say.

("It's for your own good, Peter. So I can protect you. So you can protect yourself.")

He couldn't remember his first meeting with the Cons, but he remembered the cold feeling of the floor underneath his bed, quivering fingers and shaking cheek pressing into the wood.

("Come on out, Petey! You can't hide forever, not when we have a game to finish!")

He couldn't remember which spider it was that bit him, but he remembered the feeling of the glass breaking against his back as he was thrown into their enclosure, the small, inconsequential bite lost to him among the sea of shards that had sliced his skin that night.

("Maybe next time you'll remember to clean the goddamn lab when I tell you to. Now sweep up this glass and round up those spiders. That experiment was a failure anyway.")

He couldn't remember the exact day it had all changed, maybe there hadn't been a single day. Maybe it was gradual, a slope of change.

But what he did remember was waking up one day and realizing he didn't want to.

The other researcher, the male, approached him this time, wheeling a smaller table with him. On the sides, there were multiple thick leather straps attached to the steel surface. Peter placed his arm down onto the table without a word, ignoring the cold bite of the steel even as the man began to pull the straps over the teen's arm, one going across his wrist while the other looped around just underneath the bend in his arm, leaving the underside of his forearm completely exposed.

Peter tried not to look at the long, old, ugly scar that already ran up the skin, pink and faded but everpresent. He tried not to look as the man began to strap on a pair of surgical gloves and turned towards the woman, who handed him another syringe, this one filled with a miscellaneous greenish liquid. And he tried not to look at the faint look of sympathy the woman shot his way.

He tried not to get angry at it. Somehow, that was harder than anything else.

In hindsight, Peter had to admit he was fairly lucky. The Cons' power acquisition had been much more gruesome from what he'd heard, more so than his two-day stretch of nausea, hallucinations, and near-fatal fevers.

But that's what they'd signed up for.

At least they'd had a choice.

The man picked up a scalpel from the table and began to inspect the tip as the woman grabbed the worn leather bar sitting to the side. They didn't like it when he made too much noise. As per procedure, Peter opened his mouth and the woman gently placed the bar in between his teeth, the teen biting down on it as he swallowed down his thoughts.

Now was not the time for them. No time at all.

"Serum C31. Trial 1"

("We'll make you better. We'll make them all better.")

 


 

Friday - March 11, 2016

Parker Residence - Third Floor

06:35 a.m.

The cold water splashing against his face made a shiver shoot down his spine, the now wet strands of hair clinging to his face as he lifted his head to stare at himself in the mirror.

The sight didn't shock him. It merely made a tired sigh flutter out of his mouth.

There were dark purple bags hanging underneath his eyes, which were red and bloodshot. His skin was pale and pasty, making the harsh red scars marring his face all the more prominent. His hair was messy and unkempt and the small cut on his bottom lip stung as he exhaled.

Running a hand across his wet face, Peter grabbed one of the last clean towels and wiped his face. His eyes drifted down to the mound of blood-soaked towels and wipes that littered the floor before he turned away, crouching down as he opened up the sink cabinet.

Pulling out a large roll of gauze, Peter stepped over the bloodied cloth and sat down on the closed toilet seat. He hissed in pain as he jostled his arm while resting it on his knee. He hesitantly scanned his eyes over the injury, which was still bleeding slightly. As usual, the scalpel had cut over the same scar line that had run along the arm before.

Even with his powers, Peter knew that scar would never heal. Not anymore.

He fought to keep his arm still, knowing that if the skin flaps jostled slightly and parted to reveal the muscle and bone underneath, he would just lose it. Still, the wound always closed quickly, too quickly to bother with stitches.

Gently, the teen placed the gauze packet in his mouth before pulling on the flap with his fingers, the packaging opening to release the soft, white material inside.

He winced as the gauze gently grazed the slash before he began to fiddle with the wrap near his feet. The teen took a steely breath before firmly pressing the end of the wrap on his arm. Biting back a scream, Peter began to tightly wrap the limb, careful not to cut off the blood flow as he finished off the wrap and pinned it to the cloth.

Letting out a ragged breath of relief, Peter slowly rose back up to his feet. Cautious in his movements and careful not to move his arm too much, the boy removed his blood-stained shirt and tossed it into the bloody pile in the corner.

He'd have to remember to do laundry tomorrow.

Wincing as he noticed the new scars and bruises littering his body courtesy of his training with Curt, the teen made his way over towards the medicine cabinet. He grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen and released ten pills into his hand. He knew it would barely make a dent in the pain, but it would at least be enough to take the edge off for a while. Quickly downing the caplets, the teen exited the bathroom before making his over towards his dresser.

Carefully dressing in his usual loose-fitting clothes and baggy jackets, the boy checked to make sure everything he needed was in his backpack before making his way over towards the door.

Even before he opened it, he knew the Cons were in a bad mood. Just by the way their angry voices carried up through the floors was indicator enough. Peter let out a tired groan as he pressed his back against his door.

I so cannot deal with them today... He murmured to himself.

Testing had dragged on for longer than usual that morning, not to mention the added poking and prodding courtesy of their new serum. He did not need to add mixing with the Cons to his morning.

Biting his lip, the teen cast one more wary glance towards the door before narrowing his eyes. Walking back into the room, Peter grabbed his backpack as he walked past before making his way over towards the glass doors. Walking out onto the balcony, the teen cast one more glance behind him before activating his web-shooters, firing a web towards the neighboring building.

He swung off the railing and propelled himself onto the roof of the next building. His arm shrieked in protest, but he was too relieved to care. He'd worry about the Cons and his father's wrath later.

For the time being, for the rarest of moments, he didn't think about them.

 


 

Friday - March 11, 2016

Midtown School of Science and Tech - Cafeteria

12:14 p.m.

"Come on, Peter! Spill it! Open that big brain of yours and give me the good stuff!"

"That sounds...strangely creepy."

"Ignore it."

Peter let out a snort as he lowered his head and glanced back down at the homework they'd just been assigned last class. "Dude, I already pretty much told you everything. There's only so many times I can go through this story again before I go insane." He stole a side glance down their lunch table and added in a hushed tone, "And maybe keep your voice down this time."

Abe, Charles, Sally, and Cindy, the other Decathlon members, all sat a little ways away, talking and chattering amongst themselves. Even though Peter had grown a bit more comfortable with the group, it still didn't mean he wanted to blab his entire social life to them. (Not like they'd believe it anyway.)

The sounds of loud laughter, noisy chewing, and bellowing voices of the cafeteria did little to drown out Ned's excitement (and lack of guilt) as he bounced in his seat. "Oh, come on! You've been feeding me nothing but bread crumbs, dude. I need a meal here!"

"I don't know what that means."

"Tell me more!"

"Maybe if he'd stop trying to dodge your questions, we'd actually hear something concrete and not just backhanded wish-wash."

Both boys turned to Michelle, who didn't look up from her sketchbook. "Is there any particular reason why you seem so hesitant to share with us?"

Peter shifted slightly in his seat. He'd always hated how perceptive Michelle was, so much so that sometimes it made him wonder why he'd thought making friends with her was even remotely a good idea.

Still, her words held some truth. It wasn't that Peter didn't want to tell them about the internship. It's just that he was having a hard time understand it himself at times. So how could he possibly explain it to his friends?

Still, that did little to deter them.

MJ turned away from her book and rested her elbow on the lunch table. "For starters, you still haven't told us about Stark yet."

Peter fiddled with the corner of his notebook as he stared down at the words, which seemed to grow harder and harder to read as they continued to speak. "What about him?" He asked, still not looking up.

Ned didn't seem to notice the uncomfortable aura around his friend as he nearly began to bounce in his seat. "What's he like? Is he as cool as everyone thinks he is, or is he mean? I don't think he'd be mean, cause he's like...a superhero. Superheroes can't be mean, right? What's the point of being a hero is you're just gonna be a jerk about it? I guess you could be a jerk before falling into a vat of toxic waste and just come out of it a mean superhero but at that point, I feel like it's more of a supervillain origin story than a hero's. Cause, I mean, it's like-"

MJ slapped her hand over the boy's mouth with a roll of her eyes before glancing back over towards Peter. "Well..."

Peter let out a small sigh as he closed his book, knowing he wasn't going to be able to refocus back on it anytime soon. For a moment, he didn't say anything and not because of reluctance, but from the sheer simple fact that he didn't know what to say. What was Mr. Stark like?"

"He's...nice?"

Michelle raised a brow at the teen's words, hand not leaving Ned's face as the boy continued to stare excitedly. "He's...nice?" She repeated. "Him? Tony Stark? Infamous playboy douchebag? The media's favorite puppet? He's nice?"

Peter didn't know why that rubbed him the wrong way. "Didn't think you were one to judge someone by their cover."

MJ narrowed her eyes. "I'm one to judge someone by their pages. And his read like an issue of Playboy magazine," she muttered. "He's like the poster child of narcissistic rich white guys with way too much power and too little brains. Or in his case, modesty," she sniffed with a roll of her eyes, finally removing her hand from Ned's mouth.

Said boy gaped at her with wide eyes. "Seriously?" he breathed. "This is the same guy who literally saved the city from not just an alien invasion, but also flew a frikkin nuke through a wormhole!" he huffed indignantly.

MJ seemed unphased. "He's also the same guy who supplied over a million weapons and guns to overseas forces just to bolster up his company name. He was a literal war mongerer for the sake of lining his pockets. Not to mention the fact that he's probably given a fair share of reporters 'exclusive pieces' on him." She scoffed and rolled his eyes. "His whole persona screams asshole, through and through."

"Oh come on! That's-"

"He wasn't like that."

Both Ned and Michelle were disrupted from their argument at Peter's soft voice. The teen was fiddling with his forearm, eyes hard. "What?" MJ asked as she turned towards him. Peter let out a sigh before turning to face them. "He...he wasn't like that," he repeated. "Not with me."

The girl rested a cheek on her fist and cocked a brow. "No offense, Peter, but you've literally only spent like...three days with the guy."

He narrowed his eyes. "That's three more days than you."

They stared at each other, eyes hard and faces tense. Ned flicked his gaze back and forth between them, eyes shifting uncomfortably as he scrunched his face in confusion at the sudden tension that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Peter broke his gaze first, turning away with a sigh. "Look, I don't really know what I was expecting when I agreed to this internship thing. I just thought I would be doing work around the Tower, and since Mr. Stark's always so busy, I didn't really think we'd even cross paths," he confessed.

"But on Monday...I...it was...different. He showed me around, talked to me. And...and I actually...talked back." He breathed.

Ned blinked in shock at that. MJ took note of his reaction and narrowed her eyes. "I didn't know why...I still don't actually. It's just that..." He trailed off and gave a small shake of his head. "I don't know, it felt...easy. Talking to him, I mean." Peter glanced down at his hands and gave a small smile. "He didn't seem to mind it, either. So I...kept going."

The teen shrugged his shoulders. "I guess there's your answer. He didn't seem to mind...me. So, yeah. He's nice...at least I think he is."

Ned and Michelle sat in silence for a moment as they took in the teen's words. Finally, MJ lowered her gaze as she glanced down at her sketchbook. "If you say so, loser." She murmured, though both boys knew she held no malice behind the tease.

Peter rolled his eyes with a small smile as Ned turned back towards him. "Well if all that's true, then it must be even better getting to work with someone like Tony Stark." He practically gushed, eyes twinkling in excitement. Peter opened his mouth to reply, only for a snarky voice to cut through the air.

"You're still on about that bullshit?"

All three teens gave a collective sigh as Flash and a few of his friends walked over, a smug smirk plastered onto his face. Peter merely gave him a bored expression. "What do you want, Flash?" he sighed as he fiddled with the fork in his hand, his other coming to rest on his forearm. Why was it hurting so much all of a sudden?

The boy showed a cocky grin. "I wanna know why you're so adamant about trying to convince people of this blatant lie. It's so... how do I put this...?"

He leaned closer, lips curling into a sneer. "Pathetic. Even for you, Penis Parker," he quipped, his friends snickering behind him.

Peter merely rolled his eyes at the comment, but Ned seemed to get annoyed for the both of them as he narrowed his eyes. "It's not a lie, Flash. He really does have an internship at Stark Industries." He growled out. As Peter expected, however, the boy merely scoffed. "Oh god, Leeds! You are so naive! You honestly expect me to believe that someone like Parker could get something like that? Nobody can get an internship with Stark Industries."

"Nobody or just you, Flash? Cause honestly, those are two very different groups." MJ muttered, not even bothering to look up from her book.

Flash threw a glare her way as he clenched his fists, cheeks growing a slight reddish hue.

The bully turned to gaze over at the other Decathlon members. "Come on, you guys. You can't tell me you actually believe Parker's all buddy-buddy with Tony fucking Stark," he huffed. "I mean, seriously?"

("You're a waste of space.")

Peter felt his hands twitch as he continued to fiddle with the fork. He didn't look up. His arm was starting to hurt.

The teens seemed reluctant to join in on the conversation. Whether it was because they just were uncomfortable with it or because of Flash's routine annoyance - most assumed the latter - they didn't say. Nor did they stay silent. Sally rubbed the back of her neck as she fiddled with her fork. "Umm...I...I guess it is a little shocking," she mumbled.

"But Peter's not one to lie," Abe said quickly, shooting a glance over towards the other three teens as he seemed to choose his words carefully. "So...so I don't really have any reason not to believe him."

Charles averted his gaze. "Y-yeah. What...what they said."

They were lying.

("You aren't worth shit.")

He pressed the sharp tips of the utensil against his fingers. He still didn't look up. His arm burned.

However, Flash didn't seem to take their rejection of his idea too hard as the boy was quick to throw an arm around Peter's shoulders. The teen instantly flinched at the touch as a growing uncomfortable shiver ran down his spine, the same feeling that overcame him whenever anyone even attempted to touch him.

(Getoffgetoffgetoffgetoff-)

"So you planning on keeping this up for long, cause we were thinking of starting up a bet to see how long it'll take until you admit this is all fake, and I got to say I have a lot of money riding on your delusions, Parker," he snorted, with an added jeer from the group behind him.

Ned clenched his fists. "Why is it so hard for you to believe that Peter's not making this up?!"

"Uhh...cause Tony Stark's Tony Stark and Penis Parker's..." He paused before another triumphant smirk fell onto his face. "Well, I think the name says it all."

("Nothing but a science experiment we like to keep around to play with.")

He could feel the fork beginning to give in his hand as his grip tightened. He didn't move. His arm was on fire.

Michelle stole a small glance up. "No, it's because that would mean accepting the fact that Peter's better than him at something, and we all know Flash can't have that," she muttered sarcastically as she glared up at him. "Honestly, Flash. Can we not do this right now? I'd really rather not have to deal with you until I need to shoot down your wrong answers at Decathlon practice."

Alright, there were a few well-placed snickers at that.

Flash, however, paid no mind to them as he leaned closer, accidentally tipping over his water bottle, the contents dribbling out onto Peter's shoulder. The teen jumped slightly at the wet feeling, only for Flash to move closer. "Might as well drop the act, Penis," he scoffed. "Cause there's no way in hell someone like Stark would ever waste his time on a nobody like you."

("You will always be nothing.")

SNAP!

Peter shot up from his seat faster than anyone was expecting, including Flash as the broken fork pieces clattered against the table. The teen whipped around to stare the bully straight in the eyes, something that startled Flash, Ned, and even Peter himself. Peter never looked people in the eyes. However, the intensity of the stare alone was enough to make everyone go quiet, and by everyone...it meant everyone. Nobody in the entire cafeteria made a single sound as they all turned to watch the spectacle.

For a moment, everyone held their breaths as they waited for Parker to make a move, to come back with a retort, to do...something. But all he did was reach down, grab his backpack, and shrug his jacket off of his shoulders. "You have a nice day, Flash," he said softly and with complete sincerity before turning and walking out of the cafeteria without another word.

Not one person noticed the small speckles of blood staining the teen's sleeve as he left.

Nobody said anything for a moment before the soft hum of chatter returned to the once silent cafeteria. Flash stood still for a second longer before blinking back into reality, a cocky laugh bubbling out of his throat as he turned back towards his friends, the group slowly walking off. "What a freak," someone muttered, to which the group wholeheartedly agreed.

Ned and Michelle glanced at each other before turning their concerned looks towards the door.

. . . . .

Peter slammed the stall door shut so forcefully, he was lucky he didn't rip it off its hinges right there in the bathroom.

The boy fought to steady his hands as he hastily rolled up his sleeve. But the horrid burning sensation that was currently shooting through the limb was making it just a little hard to concentrate.

The teen blanched as he noticed the bandage wrapped around his arm was nearly soaked with blood, the crimson color contrasting the pale white of his skin...skin that wasn't usually that pale. The teen's eyes, however, remained on his arm as his shaking fingers unsteadily undid the wrap and exposed his forearm.

It was still there.

Why was it still there?

("23 minutes, 17 seconds.")

The wound was still open and bloody, almost as if it'd just happened moments ago. Usually, by now, his powers would have kicked in and the wound would have at least stopped bleeding. At most, it would have already scarred. But not this time. This time, it was acting...normal.

Only he wasn't normal.

So this wasn't, either.

("8.5 times longer than the control group.")

Peter could feel his chest constricting as he fought to remain calm and dropped his backpack onto the floor. Hastily unzipping it, the teen reached in and yanked out another roll of bandages as well as some wipes. The teen hissed in pain as he ran the wipe over the incision.

("I'd hate for someone to...hear something.")

Peter felt a whimper bubble out of his mouth as he watched the blood quickly spill out over the cut once more. His hands began to shake violently as he continued to wipe at the blood, only for more to take its place each time, bubbling out of the incision like magma spilling from cracks in the ground.

("Yes...I suppose you're right.")

As the wipe slowly became saturated with the dark liquid, Peter noticed the crimson pearls soaking onto the tips of his fingers, staining them red.

(BANG!)

His shaking hands accidentally hit against the cut, making the teen cry out sharply before he bit his tongue to silence himself, shutting his eyes tightly He could taste blood in his mouth, but he didn't care. He needed to keep quiet.

( They didn't like it when he made too much noise.)

Throwing the red-soaked wipe to the floor, the boy hastily grabbed another and continued to try to clean the cut, only to freeze as he caught sight of the skin around the incision.

Peter felt his breath catch in his throat as he saw the harsh dark veins snaking underneath his papery-white skin, the burning sensation returning full force as the veins seemed to glow ever so slightly. Oh god. Oh god, what did they do?! He screamed at himself as he began to scratch at the skin, fearful whines filling the stall.

In his panic, the teen didn't even register as his nails raked across the incision, ripping at the skin and tearing at the limb as he fought to stop the burning. God! It hurt so much!

("Serum C31. Trial 1)

(Trial 1)

(Trail 1 of 100)

(Trial 1 of 1,000, 10,000, over and over, it wouldn't stop. It'd never stop.)

Panicked whimpers escaped his throat as the teen continued to tear at the limb, fighting to push and scratch and stop! Why wouldn't it stop! Make it stop! It felt like millions of white-hot needles were piercing his skin, digging underneath muscle and bone to puncture the veins, tearing and stretching them into nothing but shredded ribbons. He couldn't speak. He couldn't think. If he could, he would have told himself that he was just making it worse. He would have told himself to be quiet. He would have told himself that this happened almost every time they tested a new serum.

But he couldn't. So he didn't.

Peter barely felt the tears streaming down his face, dripping down onto the floor below. All he could feel was the burning in his arm...and in his chest. Was he even breathing anymore? That would explain the burning. Despite the alarm bells ringing in his brain, Peter couldn't bring himself to care. All he cared about was the burning. And he had to make it stop.

So the boy never noticed as he began to hyperventilate. He never noticed the pained gasps that forced their way out of his throat. He never felt his body curl in on itself as his back hit the stall door and he wrapped himself into a ball, rocking back and forth as he cradled the limb to his chest. All he knew was that the burning wouldn't stop.

As he panicked, he noticed a growing whine sounding in the back of his head. He could hear the dripping of the faucet outside the stall. He could feel the fabric of his sweater brushing up against his skin, coarse and uncomfortable. He could even smell the blood that was now staining his jacket. All of it bombarding his senses in an overwhelming wave of heat and fire and agony.

It wasn't long before the teen couldn't choke back a sob, resting his forehead on his knees as he hugged his arm close to his body, the overwhelming pain and irritation making him want to curl up and hurl as he cried, steady tears flowing down his cheeks, dripping onto the bloody mess that was his arm.

("We'll make you better.")

It wasn't until the end of lunch that the burning finally ceased, the veins disappeared, and the blood stopped flowing.

19 minutes total. He knew. He'd counted.

He'd have to remember it for his debrief.

 


 

Friday - March 11, 2016

Stark Tower - Main Offices

03:12 p.m.

"I want them found and captured."

"Yeah, well I want a coffee machine that doesn't cut me off after four cups but I don't see that happening anytime soon either, so..."

"You're saying you won't help?"

Tony couldn't help the annoyed sigh that bubbled past his lips as Ross' condescending voice filtered out of his earpiece and ingrained itself into his brain. The man felt a headache blossoming as he rubbed his eyes. "I'm saying this isn't my problem." He growled out.

"You signed those Accords, Stark-"

"Uh-huh." The man cut him off. "So until the UN calls to tell me they're setting me up to track those convicts of yours, I don't see why I should care about this." He muttered. "It's not my job to clean up your messes."

There was a pause. "Yes, well...I suppose I can't expect that of you considering you can't even clean up your own."

Tony grit his teeth as he narrowed his eyes. "What the hell do you want, Ross?"

"Ahem..."

"I already told you what I want. I need those fugitives. Meaning I need information, and you're - sadly - my best bet." His angered voice cut through the line. Tony rolled his eyes as he sat back against the edge of his desk. "Hate to break it to you, Ross, but if that's what you're looking for, then you're not gonna get much from me."

"Are you refusing to cooperate?"

Tony scoffed. "You'd just love that, wouldn't you? No, I'm saying I don't know anything."

"Tony..."

It was Ross' turn to scoff. "You honestly expect me to believe that in the four years you knew them, you didn't learn anything about them? Where they might go? Who they might talk with?"

"Tony...!"

The billionaire narrowed his eyes and folded his arms as he glared at nothing. "As shocking as this might be to you, I'm not necessarily the easiest person to get along with. So, no. No, I don't know where they are. I don't know where they're going. Because honestly... I don't know them!" He snarled.

"TONY!"

"WHAT?!"The billionaire shouted, whirling around towards the doorway. He paused as he noticed Pepper standing with her arms folded, obviously the one who had been trying to get his attention, while a shuffling Peter Parker stood next to her. He was fiddling with his fingers again as he stared at the ground.

"Stark? Stark! Are you hearing me ri-"

The man quickly pressed the mute button on the earpiece as he took in the teen's bedraggled form. His hair was extra messy today, at least more so than the last time he'd seen him, and his face seemed sunken and pale save for the dark bags hanging under his eyes. The teen stole a quick glance up before lowering it once again, rubbing his arm nervously. "Um...I..I-I can...g-go if you...uh..."

"No," Tony said much too quickly for his liking. "No, it's...it's fine, Peter. I'm just dealing with a douchebag to end all douchebags," he muttered with a roll of his eyes. Peter simply gave a small nod of his head as he continued to rub at his arm.

Tony's face scrunched in thought as he debated whether to end his call with Ross right then and there. After all, it wasn't like he particularly enjoyed their little chats. But, like it or not, he was still the Secretary of State.

There would always be consequences.

He glanced back over towards Peter. What was he supposed to do with the kid in that time? Just send him on his merry way around the Tower. For some reason, sending an unsupervised kid to mill around a building that housed some of the most expensive tech in the world left a bad taste in Tony's mouth.

His little dilemma was solved, however, as Pepper stepped forward. "Actually, do you think I could borrow Peter for a while? I have some work I need to do and there's a mound of files on my desk I need to sort through," she explained, sending a knowing look Tony's way.

God, what did I do to earn this woman? "Uh...yeah. Yeah, that's fine," he said before glancing back down towards Peter. "Go ahead with Pepper for a while, kid. I'll come and get you when I'm done, 'kay?"

Peter said nothing as he gave another nod.

Pepper tried to place a hand on the teen's shoulder, only to quickly retract it when she noticed the teen flinch away. She glanced back over towards Tony, mouthing a "be quick" before leading the boy out of the room.

Tony watched them go for a moment longer before letting out a small sigh, lifting his hand back up to the earpiece.

"Yeah, yeah. I'm back. Oh, you heard that douchebag comment, huh? Well, that just makes me feel so warm inside."

 


 

Friday - March 11, 2016

Stark Tower - Main Offices

03:58 p.m.

"So...how was school today?"

Pepper looked up from her computer when she received no response to the question. Peter was currently sitting at one of the smaller desks lined up against the side of her office, a large stack of yellow files piled next to him.

He was quick in his work, opening one file as he logged the information into the computer before turning to the next. He was fast and efficient, more so than Pepper would expect a teenage boy to be. Not once in the near hour they'd ben there had he said a word. He also made no indication that he'd even heard her.

"Peter?" She called again.

This time, however, his reaction was obvious. He started in his seat as the pages in his hand fell to the desk. He whipped his head around to give the woman a wide-eyed stare before quickly averting his gaze. "Umm..s-sorry. D-did you...need a-anything?" he murmured quietly.

Pepper stared at the teen for a moment before blinking back into reality, clearing her throat as she pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "I was just asking how school went today," she said in as soft a voice as possible.

Peter regarded her for a moment before giving a small nod and glancing away. "It was fine."

The woman tilted her head as the teen rubbed circles into the back of his hand, something she'd seen him do more than once. Well, he's not much of a talker. She thought to herself.

For a moment, Pepper simply took in the boy's appearance. The bags under his eyes were enough to tell her that he hadn't slept in a while, a fact that made her curious in itself. He also seemed to be favoring one arm over the other, something he did well in hiding.

Probably cause he's had some practice with that... The woman growled internally. Her mind wandered back to the conversation she'd had with Tony and Rhodey earlier that week. This boy was obviously in some sort of trouble. Hell, one of the main reasons he was here was because of that. The stuttering and nervousness only did more to solidify that fact to the woman.

And yet, she couldn't help but linger on something Tony had said before. ("He's...he's a good kid.")

Lord knew Tony was never one to associate himself with children. But if the eccentric billionaire could see something like that in a child he'd only met a handful of times, then there had to be something more to this kid. She just had to find it for herself.

Pepper looked up at the clock before turning back down towards her computer. Quickly making up her mind, the woman pushed her chair back and rose up from her seat. The action made Peter jump slightly, his muscles tensing as the woman walked over. "Come on, let's take a break," she called, holding her hand out.

Peter stared at her for a moment before glancing down at her hand. Pepper noticed the wariness his eyes held, as if he were judging whether or not it was a trick or not. The thought made Pepper's heart clench slightly. She leaned down, moving closer as she gave him a warm smile. "It's okay," she coaxed gently.

The teen hesitated for a moment longer before he slowly slid out of his chair. He didn't take her hand though. In fact, he kept his hands carefully tucked close to his chest. Pepper, however, took no offense to the action, simply happy the teen had accepted her offer.

She motioned for the boy to follow her as the pair made their way over towards the elevator. Neither of them said anything as they descended and Pepper led the teen into the cafeteria. Lunchtime had long since passed, something Pepper had been sure to check, seeing as the large room was now mostly empty. "Go sit down, alright, Peter? I'll be right back," she called as she motioned for the boy to take a seat at one of the nearby tables. Peter gave a small nod as she moved off.

The teen quietly sat down, bringing his thumb to rub against the back of his hand, the calming motions of his fingers rubbing against the skin seeming to soothe his jittering nerves as he shut his eyes.

A sudden noise in front of him had him jumping for what felt like the twentieth time in the last few minutes. Opening his eyes, he noticed there was now a salad, a bottle of water and a chocolate chip cookie in front of him. He blinking in surprise at the new meal before glancing back up towards Pepper, who was sitting down with an identical spread set up in front of her.

"I...um..." Peter stuttered, to which Pepper only smiled. "You looked like you hadn't eaten all day, sweetie."

The teen blushed as he lowered his gaze. "Y...y-you didn't have to do that," he whispered softly.

Pepper leaned forward. "It's alright, Peter. I wanted to. It's my treat," she smiled before leaning back, picking up her fork before digging it into her salad. "Besides, you can pick up the next tab," she smirked, giving him a teasing wink.

Peter stared at her for a moment longer before he gave a small grin in return, turning down towards his own meal. Only then did the teen finally begin to realize just how hungry he really was. He hadn't really eaten anything since lunch since Ned had packed him an extra sandwich.

Pepper watched the boy wrap a tense hand around the rim of the plastic bowl as he warily shoved a bite into his mouth. The way his shoulders were hunched as well as the tense coiling of his muscles made it seem like the kid expected the bowl to be ripped away from him at a moment's notice.

The woman had been quick to notice just how small Peter seemed for his age. He was fourteen, yet he barely reached past her shoulders. Not to mention the fact that he also looked like he might blow away if you just glanced at him a certain way. The baggy clothes and loose-fitting sweaters didn't do much to help either.

Hard to imagine there's a superhero hiding in you, sweetie. She thought to herself. Though if she really thought about it, the teen most likely hid some impressive muscles underneath those baggy clothes, which led her to believe that was the reason behind them in the first place.

At least...she hoped that's what he was covering with those clothes.

The thought made her tighten her grip on her fork.

Nevertheless, she hid her unease in her comforting smile as she glanced back over at Peter. "Well, I'm assuming I'm going to be seeing a lot of you around here. So I guess I should probably get to know you, huh?" She grinned.

Peter, however, didn't seem quite as enthusiastic as her as he stared at a piece of lettuce on his fork. "You...don't have to. I'm not much," he murmured softly, so softly that Pepper wondered whether or not she was meant to hear it.

Pepper Potts, however, was nothing if not persistent. She shook her hand dismissively. "I'm sure that's not true. You found yourself on Tony's radar, after all. I'd say that's an accomplishment in itself, Peter."

The teen glanced up at her for a moment before giving a small shrug of his shoulders. "I...I guess so..."

"I know so." She continued. "I've known Tony for years, Peter. And if there's one thing I know about him, it's that he's never one to waste his time on things he thinks aren't worth it." She said with a smirk. "That and his caffeine addiction is through the roof."

Peter gave a small smile at that.

"And in all the time I've known him, he's never once even considered the idea of hiring interns to work around here." She explained, Peter lifting his gaze to stare at her. "But here you are. Not only have you become the first intern to ever work here, but you've also managed to pique the interest of one of the most powerful people in the world."

God she hoped Tony never got wind of this. His head was big enough as it was.

"So I'd say that counts for something." She said with a grin, Peter's large brown eyes boring into her. "Cause you're obviously worth something to him."

For a moment, Peter could only sit in silence as he took in the woman's words. He opened his mouth, but found nothing would come out. His eyes glanced down to flicker across the table, barely catching a hint of Pepper's hand moving to graze against his comfortingly.

("Would I ever break a pinkie promise?")

He jolted out of his seat, the chair falling back at the sudden movement as he whisked his hand away like he'd been burned. Pepper shot up to her feet on instinct.

"Don't!" It was out of his mouth before he could even think about it, the words pouring out on autopilot. "Don't touch me. Don't touch me!"

Pepper blinked in shock. "Peter-"

"Don't ever. D-don't...you can't...y-y-you can't touch me. Don't ever touch me! Ever! You never touch me!"

The woman stared at him, mouth agape and heart pounding as she watched him grab his wrist in a vice-like death grip, face twisted like he was in pain. She wanted to move forward, take a couple steps towards him, but she found herself afraid to.

Peter's eyes stayed locked onto her, watching her as if he expected her to leap at him. And suddenly, like a wave of realization washing over him, Pepper watched the boy's eyes glaze over with a new sense of clarity, a heightened reminder of where he was and who he was talking to and the sheer look of dread that fell onto his face nearly made her stumble.

"...sorry. I...I-I...I didn't mean...sorry. I'm...I-I'm sor..." his voice was weak, the words unable to even be finished before dying right there in his throat. He gazed at her with a fear Pepper wasn't used to seeing pointed at her.

And she hated it.

"Peter-" She took an automatic step forward. Peter took three back.

Quickly thinking up a new tactic, the woman slowly lifted her hands in peace. "It's alright, sweetie." She said as softly and gently as humanly possible. "It's okay. I know you didn't mean to, alright? I just startled you is all. It was my fault, alright. I'm sorry."

Peter eyes her warily as she spoke, but didn't say anything against it, so Pepper continued. For a moment, the woman considered reaching out for him but decided against it as she took in his tense posture and coiled muscles.

She understood now. She understood why the teen barely ever spoke, and when he did, it was like pulling teeth to get him to say anything more than a few words. She understood why he never really looked at her. Why he seemed to curl in on himself, as if he were waiting for an attack that would never come. It was obvious now.

He was afraid of her.

The woman could only stare back at the shivering boy in sorrow, eyes filled with pity as she lowered her hands and let out a small sigh. God, Tony. You really weren't kidding. The woman thought to herself as she slowly lowered herself back into her seat. Peter gazed at her for a moment before hesitantly doing the same.

Pepper glanced down at the salad before her before quickly realizing she'd lost her appetite. Gazing back up at the teen, the woman noticed that the boy was rigid in his seat, hands folded tightly in his lap as he stared down at the table, silent, unmoving.

She bit her lip in thought as she fiddled with her fork, the two falling into a silence that neither knew how to break, if at all. The woman finally let out a deep breath as she reached across the table, slowly pushing the cookie towards the teen.

Peter blinked in slight surprise at the action before taking notice of the baked good. His eyes shifted towards the side in a moment of thought before he slowly reached forward to grab the pastry, lowering his gaze back down to the floor as he popped a small piece into his mouth.

Pepper gave a small nod in satisfaction, deciding that was probably all she would be able to get out of the teen that day.

"Thank you."

The woman lifted her head as the small voice reached her ears.

Peter was currently fiddling with his fingers once again, eyes furrowed in concentration as he spoke. "Y...you didn't….didn't have to do t-this." He stuttered out softly. "But I...and umm…" He rubbed at the back of his neck as his face grew a slightly darker shade of pink. "I'm still not very good at this."

The woman gave a comforting smile.

"Just...thank you...for...for this. And for, you know...not freaking out on me." He mumbled, the pink quickly turning a deep shade of red.

Pepper stared at the boy in front of her as she soaked in his words. The genuine gratitude for such a small, trivial act as paying for a lunch made a small grin formed on her face. "It's true, you know," she finally uttered.

Peter glanced up at her in confusion.

"What I said before. About Tony seeing something in you." She paused for a moment before continuing, giving the boy a gentle grin. "I get what he means now."

Peter blinked up at her with wide eyes, slowly opening his mouth to speak once more, only to squeak as a new voice filtered through the air loudly. "There you are!" The pair turned towards the entrance, watching as Tony walked over. "Did you really have to make me search all over the goddamn tower for you?" He mumbled, throwing a small glare Pepper's way.

The woman didn't back down from the challenging stare as she folded her arms. "When you take an hour to finish your work, then I'd say yes I do." She smirked back, Tony giving a roll of his eyes at the woman's comeback.

"Whatever, I want my intern back."

Peter couldn't help the amused grin that fell onto his face as he watched the pair exchange light glares before Tony finally caved, moving over towards the teen. "Come on, Peter. We know when we're not wanted." He grumbled, Pepper letting out a scoff as Peter rose up from his seat.

Following Tony over towards the exit, the teen glanced over his shoulder, giving the woman a small wave.

Pepper couldn't stop the smile that formed on her face as she gave a wave of her own, watching as the teen disappeared.

 


 

Friday - March 11, 2016

Stark Tower - Private Lab 1

04:24 p.m.

Tony fought to ignore his throbbing headache as he led Peter down towards the labs. Safe to say, his little chat with Ross had left him a little miffed and annoyed, not to mention he now had a wondrous desire to bludgeon himself to death with a blunt object.

Ever since their escape from the Raft, Ross had been all over Tony's ass, barking at him to track and locate his ex-teammates.

Of course, Tony had no plans in mind to try finding the Rogue Avengers. Cause finding them meant he'd have to see them, and he wasn't about to be doing that anytime soon.

In all honesty, Tony really just wanted to forget about them.

But of course, Ross couldn't have that. So every other day, Tony either had to dodge, ignore or reluctantly indulge the man in his little rants about how those felons deserved to be strung up or shot. He'd also try his hardest to convince Tony to help in the search.

Really, all those conversations did was empty Tony's medicine cabinet of all the migraine medication they had. That and one certain special fridge in the back reaches of the kitchen.

However, Tony had come to realize something in all the conversations he'd held with Ross. Each and every time the man asked him for information, Tony always denied him that pleasure. And even when he did give him something, it was usually more times than not, a lie.

He didn't know why he did it. In all honesty, simply telling the Secretary the truth would most likely be the easiest thing for him. It'd get Ross of his back and he would have the pleasure of dropping this irksome topic from his mind.

So why did he always lie?

The man simply told himself that he didn't want to give Ross the satisfaction of getting to him. Might as well make it a bit of a challenge for him in finding the Rogue Avengers. It couldn't be because he was protecting them.

They didn't deserve that.

No. It was just to screw with Ross. Just that. Nothing else.

It couldn't be anything else.

"Mr. Stark?"

Tony blinked back to reality as the small voice dragged him from his thoughts. Glancing around, the man noticed they'd arrived at the lab without him even realizing it. He cleared his throat before placing his usual smirk onto his face. "Right, we should probably be doing some actual work, huh?" He glanced down at Peter.

The teen blinked up at him.

"Right…" Tony muttered as he led the boy into the room. "Take a seat," he instructed, the boy instantly obeying as he sat down at one of the workbenches. "I'll be right back."

The man moved away from the teen as he walked further into the lab. Quickly entering the restricted area of his lab, which was cut off from everybody but himself, the man moved over towards the back wall and brushed his fingers over the small keypad installed into the sleek surface.

Punching in the ten-digit code, Tony watched as the wall opened up to reveal a secret room inside the structure. Walking inside, the billionaire rummaged around until he found what he was looking for.

For a moment, Tony stared down at the plans in his hands, debating whether or not he really wanted to go through with this. The man craned his neck out to gaze back out over the lab. His eyes fell on Peter, who was patiently sitting where the billionaire had left him, twiddling his fingers as he sat silently.

Tony let out a sigh as he rolled the plans up. Screw it, why not? He muttered as he exited the secret room, punching in the code once more as he stepped away.

Peter perked as the man fell into his line of sight once again, jumping as Tony slammed a pile of papers down in front of him.

"Wha-"

"You said you wanted to learn. Well no better way than to do it yourself." The man cut him off with a smirk as he pushed the main plans into Peter's hands.

The teen fumbled with the papers for a moment before clearing them in his hands, spreading them so that he could read what they said. It didn't take long for his eyes to widen. "No way…" He breathed before turning towards Tony. "Are these…?"

"Plans for a miniature arc reactor? Yes, I think they are." The billionaire snarked as he moved to sit across from the teen.

Peter blubbered in his seat as he stared wide-eyed at the pages. "B...but I...I-I…"

"You did say you wanted to learn, right?"

"Well, yeah! But this is...and I mean…" He trailed off before turning to stare at the man. "Can I really?" He asked in such a genuinely hopeful voice that Tony almost laughed.

"Like I said, kid. Best way to learn is to do it yourself." He murmured before his eyes widened. "Uh, with my supervision of course. I doubt your father would be very happy if I deliver home a pile of charred skin and burned clothes that was once his son."

Peter gave a small laugh, a welcome substitute for the usual uncomfortableness he displayed whenever Richard was mentioned.

The teen glanced back down at the plans displayed before him before tilting his head back up at the man. "Is this a test?"

"Yep." Tony said without hesitation. "Just think of it as a pop-quiz to earn my respect and reverence."

Peter gave a small smile. "And just how many people have passed that quiz?"

"Very few, actually. So the bar is low."

Tony watched as the teen smiled, a notion that almost made the billionaire do the same. Almost. "Well, why don't you go ahead and get started on that? You can use whatever you need to around here once you finish up with your calculations. Take as much time as you need," he explained as he stood up. "And please do try not to blow yourself up. I'd really hate to-"

The man paused in his long-winded remarks as he caught sight of something on the teen's sleeve. There, on his left forearm, the sweater sleeve seemed to be stained with something that almost resembled-

"Are you bleeding?"

Peter looked up at the man, following his gaze to his forearm. Tony watched as the teen's face quickly morphed into one of dismay and fear as he hastily tried to hide the limb from the man's line of sight. "Uhh...it's...i-it's nothing."

Tony quirked an eyebrow as he moved closer. "Come on, kid. There's A med kid over here." He motioned for the teen to follow him over to the side of the room. The boy must have just accidentally cut himself without realizing.

Peter, however, seemed to have other plans as he gave a nervous smile. "T-that's alright...M-Mr. Stark. I'm okay. Y-you don't n-need...need to worry about it."

Tony shook off the remark as he pulled the red medical bag off of the wall - a device which had been forcefully installed in his lab by the conjoined forces of Pepper and Rhodey in July of last year. Safe to say, there had been many explosions that month.

"It's fine. Just let me check it out so Pepper doesn't chew my head off for letting out bleed out all over my Tower."

The teen shook his head. "Really! I'm...I'm good, Mr. Stark. It's...it's nothing big. J-just a little scratch. It'll...b-be gone in a sec, anyways."

Tony narrowed his eyes. The teen was very adamant in refusing his help. Too adamant. He thought to himself as the teen continued to deflect. Unfortunately for him, Tony was the resident champion of deflecting. So his pathetic attempt only made red flags flare up in the billionaire's mind, red flags that he immediately wanted answers for.

"It's fine, Peter. Come here," he said a little more forcefully.

"Seriously, it's not a b-big deal. I can just-"

"Peter."

Tony didn't miss the way the teen flinched at the harsh tone he'd used, nor did it make him feel very good. Nevertheless, he continued on. "Come here."

The teen's face quickly scrunched in nervousness as he ducked his head and slowly crossed the room. Tony motioned for the teen to sit down on the table surface so that he could have good access to the injury, whatever the extent.

However, Tony wasn't expecting to roll up the teen sleeve to find a sloppily-wrapped bandage soaked in blood. His eyes furrowed in confusion as he stared at the wrap. "What the hell…?" he breathed as he moved to unwrap the bandages, taking notice of the slightly panicked look on Peter's face as he did so.

As he finally pulled the bandage away, his eyes widened and his mouth fell open at the sight before him. "Holy shit!"

The teen's arm looked like a mangled piece of meat. The skin was rubbed raw, flaring a bright red color that contrasted against the pale papery white of the teen's natural complexion. Various scratches marred the skin and a deep, harsh slash mark stretched from the teen's wrist up to the base of his elbow. And the blood. Fresh and dried blood mixed together as it coated the teen's limb.

"What the hell is this, Peter?" he shouted, forgetting to mind the volume of his voice as he stared back up at the teen, who winced underneath the man's gaze.

"I..I-I…"

Tony stared at him for a moment longer before moving to grab some of the antiseptic wipes and medical-grade bandages that made the previous ones look like cheap toilet paper.

Peter hissed in pain as the man carefully dragged the cloth along the arm, clearing it of the fresh and dried blood that had covered the limb. As he worked, the man's face held a look of anger and confusion, something Peter did not miss.

"You better start explaining, Parker." Tony growled out, glaring back up at the teen, who looked like he might throw up. "How the hell did this happen? Was it something on patrol?"

Peter hesitated for a moment before giving a small nod of his head.

Tony turned his head away as his eyebrows furrowed in thought. "I didn't get any messages from the suit…" he murmured more to himself than to anyone else. "And shouldn't this have healed by now if it happened on patrol?" he asked the teen harshly, racking his brain to remember the extent of Peter's powers the teen had told him about. Super healing was one of his powers, right?

Peter kept his gaze locked on the ground as his voice shook. "Well, I-I...I haven't really….r-really, umm...gotten much sleep….l-lately and I didn't...eat too much y-yesterday or today s-so….so my...my powers aren't really….really at full strength right...right n-now." He stuttered out, seeming to choke on the words as he spewed them out.

Tony regarded the teen for a moment before he huffed, giving a shake of his head as he went back to working on the teen's arm, eyes hard and frustrated.

It took a moment of deep breaths before he spoke again. "If something like this happens on patrol again, I need to hear about it, alright? Cause Peter Parker may not be my responsibility, but Spider-Man sure as hell is," he snapped before giving a scoff of disbelief. "God, what the hell were you thinking? I mean, this isn't just some little scratch that'll heal in a blip like this." He snapped his fingers, the teen flinched at the noise. "This is an actual, wound, Peter. This is serious!"

The teen took in a shaky breath. "I...I thought I c-could handle it."

"Yeah, well you obviously couldn't!"

He shook his head as he continued to clean the arm, his frustrations that had been building throughout the entire day, the entire week all boiling over. "Christ, how could you be so stupid?" He threw the soiled, blood-stained wipe to the ground before picking up another one.

"You do not keep things like this from me, you understand?" he growled. "I don't need to be wasting my time chasing some kid around the city because he wants to play games and keep secrets from me, cause it's not happening. I don't have time for that shit. And if you ever think of trying to lie to me about something like this again-" He glared up at the teen, only to pause in his rant as he finally took in the sight of the boy before him.

Peter's eyes were shut tightly, his chest heaving slightly as the teen's breath wavered. His shoulders shook as his free hand dug into the metal edge of the table. He literally shivered in the man's grasp, body tense and muscles coiled, ready for a fight, ready to defend himself.

"I'm sorry…"

The words were so broken, whispered so fearfully that Tony stopped working.

The man stared at the shivering teen before him for a moment longer before he let out a dejected sigh, silently going back to work on the boy's arm. After he finished cleaning the blood off, he carefully wrapped the arm in bandages before gently setting it down, Peter quickly whisking it close to his chest as he seemed to curl up defensively, waiting for another onslaught.

Tony said nothing as he silently packed up the bag, placing it back on the hook on the wall before turning back to the teen. For a minute, the man simply stood there, unsure as to what he should do as he shifted his weight between his feet. After a moment, he blew out a breath, sitting down beside the boy as he rubbed at his eyes.

"Why didn't you just tell me in the first place?" he asked in a much softer voice than before, the anger in his chest dwindling into a dull ember now, uncomfortable but manageable.

Peter blinked his eyes as he carefully took in the man before him. After a second, the teen slowly lowered his head as he stared down at the arm in his lap.

"I…I didn't think you'd care."

The billionaire's eyes widened slightly at that. The words shocked him, but not as much as the tone of voice behind them. There was no malice, no hate, no judgment in the words. It was the genuine shock behind them that made Tony rear back. It was almost as if the teen was confused at the man's concern.

"I…" He trailed off, unsure as to how he should even respond. "Of...course I...care, kid," he started, awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck as he deliberated how to handle the current situation. After a minute, the man sighed and rested his elbows on his knees as he hunched forward. Peter pulled his knees up onto the table so they were curled against his chest. He rested his arms on top of them.

"Look...I get this is kind of...new for you. To be honest, it's kind of new for the both of us," he confessed. "But I can't have you lying to me, kid. Not about stuff like this, alright? If you get hurt, I need to know about it. I need to know so...so I can help you."

Peter stared back at him. He said nothing.

"I don't know how you handled this stuff before, but things are gonna have to change. I don't want to see you dealing with this crap by yourself anymore, because you don't...you don't have to, alright?" He said, hoping the uncertainty he felt wasn't coming across in his voice

Peter lowered his gaze. "I didn't want to bother you."

Tony blew a breath out. "It's...I'm not gonna lie, it's gonna take some adjusting. But...I'll get used to it. We'll get used to it, kid. Just…" He trailed off for a minute. "Don't be afraid to talk to me, alright? I'll listen. I might not be good at it, but I'll try," he said. And surprisingly, he found he actually...meant it. At least a bit. He continued before he could think too hard on it.

"But no more hiding stuff like this, okay? Spider-Man may be my responsibility, but...considering him and Peter Parker are one in the same..." He paused as he wondered where he was really going with this. What his point was, if he really even had one. He dragged a hand down his tired face. "God, this is so messed up..." He mumbled more to himself than anyone else.

"Look, kid. Like it or not, we're in this together now. And if you get hurt...if you're out there with the suit I made you, fighting criminals I allowed you to fight...and you get hurt..." He hesitated for a moment. "I feel like that's on me."

He lowered his gaze for a moment before clearing his throat. "Next time you get hurt on patrol, be it a...sprained ankle, a dislocated shoulder, or heck even a sore muscle, I need to hear about it."

Peter nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Ah, none of that." Tony muttered. "No, 'sirs'. I already put up with the 'Mr. Stark' nonsense. I do not need to be reminded of my father whenever I'm talking to you, 'kay?"

The teen nodded, Tony giving one of his own. "Good." He breathed out, a wash of relief flowing through him.

For a minute, the two sat in silence, simply taking in the other's presence as they took a moment to relax. Finally, after a second, Tony folded his arms over his chest. "I really can't have this again. Pepper will kill me if I break my new intern. I literally just got you. He glanced down at the tiles below. "Besides, we just got these floors redone."

Peter couldn't help but smile at that. "Yeah...I'd hate to dirty up your pretty floors with my blood."

Tony let out a small breathy laugh at that as he turned towards the teen. "Was that an air of sass I just detected? Are my ears deceiving me?"

Peter grinned and turned away. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he smirked before hopping off the table, Tony quickly doing the same.

"Mm-hmm...just watch yourself, Parker. Don't go getting all cocky. That's my job" Tony muttered with a smirk as he moved over towards his desk, Peter going to sit with the blueprints once more. The teen couldn't help the smile that formed on his face. "And I must say, you do it wonderfully," he whispered out with a grin as he turned towards the prints.

Tony couldn't help but smile at that.

 


 

9) Never Ask For Help (Unless Special Circumstances Apply.)

Chapter 7: Evasive Maneuvers

Summary:

Peter couldn't help the small amused scoff that fell from his lips as the man continued. "Anyway, I already have plenty of meeting I have to attend every other month. I think she can handle these ones without me." He folded his arms over his chest. "Besides, I have better things to do with my time."

Peter furrowed a brow and cast a small, questioning glance around him. "You mean like hiding out in broom closets?"

 

"...yes."

Chapter Text

Wednesday - March 23, 2016

Midtown School of Science and Technology - Gymnasium

11:44 a.m.

"This is the worst. I'm calling it right now, this is single-handedly the worst thing to happen to schools since they decided to take Monday's tatter tots off the menu."

Michelle cocked a brow as Ned marched over to the bleachers, folding his arms as he sat down with a huff, joining the other kids that gazed apathetically at the commencing game.

"That was last month. I'm pretty sure dodgeball's been around for longer than that," the girl muttered as she watched another face get pegged in as the coach lounged in his seat in the corner, scrolling aimlessly through his phone as his whistle hung limply from the corner of his mouth.

"Well, the tatter tots were a welcome distraction that I no longer have, so life has gotten a whole lot worse," Ned scoffed from his seat.

"You're pathetic."

"Hence, my aversion to this garbage."

Nobody was really taking the game seriously save for a few of the athletes, who really seemed to be using the game for exercise more than anything else. The majority of the students were simply loitering near the back walls on opposite sides of the dividing line, either half-heartedly avoiding limply-thrown balls or purposely getting hit so they could go sit down.

And, like everybody else sitting on the bleachers, Ned pulled out his phone not two seconds later, scrolling through his messages for a moment before a worried frown set onto his face. Michelle took note of it before turning back to her book, fiddling with the corner of the page as the sound of shuffling sneakers and rubber balls bouncing against the wood floors filled the gym.

"He's late."

Ned startled slightly as she spoke, glancing over at her for a second before turning back to his phone, frown firm. "I know. I texted him when the bell rang, but he still hasn't responded."

Michelle kept her eyes on the page. "Did you see him before school?"

"No. But I'm pretty sure he's here today. Otherwise, he would have told me t-"

"Parker!"

They both looked up at the apathetic scolding, watching the back doors swinging shut as Peter walked through, fingers curling around the edges of the long-sleeved shirt he was wearing underneath his gym uniform.

"You're late. Two more tardies and that's a detention." Coach Wilson didn't look up from his phone as he said this. Peter didn't respond. He just kept fiddling with the sleeves of his shirt, pulling them up over his hands as he wordlessly made his way over to the bleachers, silently taking a seat on the bottom level without so much as a searching glance for his friends.

Ned furrowed his brow in confusion before quickly making his way over. They were only one level above him, so it wasn't too long of a climb. The chubby boy plopped down next to him, staring at him with an expectant look in his eyes.

"Hey?"

Peter glanced at him, blinked slowly a couple of times. "Hey."

The teen scoffed, giving a light smile as he shook his head. "Where you been, man? You were five minutes away from being marked absent."

For a moment, too long to be normal, Peter just stared at him, stared, and blinked like he was trying to comprehend what had just been said. After a second, he seemed to jolt slightly before averting his gaze.

"I was in the bathroom."

Michelle cocked a brow. "For fifteen minutes?"

"I...didn't feel good."

Ned perked up a bit at this. "Well, why didn't you come to me, man? I always got Ibuprofen in my bag. You know how paranoid my mom gets. She's refilling that thing before it even gets half empty. If you want I-"

"No, thanks. I'm good." Peter stared at the ground.

"It's no big deal, dude. A couple of those and I usually feel a lot-"

"I said no, Ned." His voice was clipped. He scratched at his wrist, pushed the sleeve up just a tad. Michelle narrowed her eyes.

"What's your problem?"

Both boys lifted their heads as she spoke, turning to look at her from her seat above them as she propped her cheek up against a fist.

"What?"

"Why are you acting so weird?"

Peter shifted in his seat, face tightening slightly as his mouth pulled into a guarded frown. "I'm not...acting weird."

Michelle sniffed. "Yes, you are. Why?"

The teen stared at her for a moment, mouth open like he wanted to say something. But whatever it was going to be died on his tongue as he clamped his jaw shut and bit the inside of his cheek. "I don't really wanna talk right now, MJ."

"Does it have something to do with that bandage on your hand?"

He grabbed his sleeve and pulled it up over his hand, covering the thick, white wrapping coiled around his palm and down his wrist. He ducked his head and turned back around, turning his back to her once again. "Please leave me alone." He spoke softly, so much so that it was hard to hear over the noises of the game commencing not too far away.

The girl straightened up slightly in her seat and opened her mouth, only to pause as she felt something grab her arm. She glanced down, noticed Ned's grip and followed the arm up to meet his gaze, which was hard as he stared at her gruffly.

Stop, he mouthed to her, fingers tightening around her arm for just a second before he was letting go and turning his back to her as well, readjusting his seat so that he was comfortable situated next to Peter, blocking him from her eye-line just a bit.

She took a breath, kept her eyes on the boys sitting below her as the tips of her fingers ran along the edges of the page.

Michelle Jones was nothing if not observant.

After years of loitering through halls filled with friend groups she had no interest in joining, the girl spent her time with her books, her drawings, and her thoughts. But between these moments to herself, she caught certain things, noticed little details that only an artist would see, things that only one with a keen eye could notice.

It made for great entertainment on the slowest of days, peering into the private little worlds of her peers, peeking through at their innermost thoughts laid bare on their sleeves. But despite this, she was surrounded by teenagers in a hoity science school. Nobody around her really piqued her interest. Nobody was worth her peering eye. Which was why she usually kept to herself.

Not this year, though. Because this had been the year she'd met Peter Parker.

Her fingers kept tracing the edges of the page as she watched Ned leaning close to Peter, whispering into his ear as the other teen remained despondent and still as he sat with his hands in his lap, shoulders tight and muscles coiled against a strain she couldn't see.

She'd known of him for years. A lot of the kids attending Midtown had gone to the same middle school down the street, which had also been a science-oriented magnet program for gifted learners. Michelle's scholarship from that school was the only reason she could afford to attend Midtown, but that was another matter entirely.

She remembered him back then, remembered the boy that never spoke in class despite the encouraging words from their teachers, never raised his hand despite knowing all the answers, never showed his intelligence despite being the smartest kid there. She had never talked to him back then, though nobody really had. Nobody except for Ned, of course, who seemed to be the only person willing to hang out with the boy who never spoke.

After that, Peter went from the boy who never spoke to the boy who rarely spoke when Ned wasn't around. It had been an improvement, but still nobody talked to him, not even her. She just watched. And she noticed many things.

Peter got better at hiding them over the years, but every once in a while, Michelle would still catch them. The bare hints of a bruise peeking out over the collar of his shirt, the slight limp in his step whenever they had a particularly rigorous day of gym, the brief winces and retreating steps he would take whenever anybody spoke too loud or got within arm's length of him.

Michelle wasn't stupid. She knew what it all meant, especially since Peter didn't play any sports or did anything even remotely physical in his after-school curriculars. And something told her it wasn't just run-of-the-mill clumsiness, despite what he had tried to convince her of that one time in January when he came to school with a broken nose.

There were all the pieces to a pretty obvious puzzle. But for the longest time, it was a puzzle Michelle ignored and pushed off to the corner of the closet, discarded and forgotten about. There were plenty of stories like Peter's, and from her keen eye, she could say fairly certainly that there were one or two stories just like his roaming around the halls of their own school.

So what did it matter? It wasn't like it was her problem.

And yet, those stories like Peter's were still so different. In the halls, they were aggressive and angry, shoving past people with their heads down and their jaws set into permanent scowls, visceral and raw and so full of rage.

Peter was different. Peter was different in a lot of ways.

He wasn't aggressive. He was soft and shy, speaking in a tone of voice so quiet and so gentle that it was hard to ever feel anything other than peace when he spoke. He didn't shove or throw his weight around. He flowed past people, weaving in between bodies like water through a glass, never touching anybody, never bumping a shoulder or grazing an elbow. And his face...it was never angry.

He was just so...gentle.

Despite this, it had surprised her just as much as it had Ned and Peter when she'd taken a seat right between them one day during Decathlon practice, making herself at home as the two boys sat in stunned silence.

Neither of them said a word of complaint when she abruptly introduced herself while taking out a book to read, never even looking them in the face as she did so. They still didn't complain when she sat with them at lunch the next day, albeit at the end of the table. And Peter specifically didn't complain when he finally noticed that the girl that had suddenly started to hang around him also had the locker right next to his.

Safe to say, their introductions hadn't been the most graceful, but they'd stuck. And for the first time in a long time, Michelle had found herself with friends she didn't know what to do with.

Those feelings had not subsided, not even now. Doubt still clung heavily to her chest like a weight she couldn't remove, a fog she couldn't wave away.

But Michelle Jones was nothing if not observant. And with this came a newfound responsibility, a responsibility to the friends she now found herself with, friends she wasn't too keen on leaving to rot in a corner of the closet.

So without another word, Michelle loudly shut her book and placed it down onto the bleachers beside her. She stood up from her seat and climbed over the bottom bleacher before silently grabbing a seat on Peter's other side. Both boys turned to look at her as she sat, Ned with a suspicious glare and Peter with a hesitant wince.

Michelle folded her arms over her chest and watched the dodgeball game currently commencing, never even turning to look at the two sitting next to her.

"Ten bucks."

The boys blinked, glanced at each other, then back to her. "What?"

"That's my bet. Ten bucks."

"On...what?"

She smirked. "On how long it'll take someone to nail Flash in the face. I'm saying ten more minutes."

Ned kept staring at her with a confused furrow of the brows. But Peter, after a moment of silence where he stared intensely at the look in her eyes, slowly let a smile slip onto his face. Michelle did the same.

"Yeah? That's a lot of confidence you're putting in him."

She shrugged. "More like regretful understanding of just how sucky the other team is."

Ned, finally understanding the levity she was trying to bring, grinned and bounced a bit in his seat. "Nah. I'd say fifteen more minutes. He's pretty good at cowering behind the bigger guys whenever a ball even rolls his way."

Peter glanced over towards the game, watching with a newfound glint to his eyes, a look that hadn't been there prior. "Twenty bucks."

Michelle tilted her head. "On what?"

"On you being able to hit him within two minutes." He turned to her with a smirk.

Michelle leaned back a bit, a new look crossing her face as she slowly rose to her feet, lifting her arms as she tightened her ponytail while Ned whipped out his phone, scrolling to the camera. "In the face?"

"I'll accept general vicinity."

"I'm going for the nose."

Michelle Jones was nothing if not observant. But she supposed she could add impeccable aim to her list of talents.

 


 

Wednesday - March 23, 2016

Midtown School of Science and Technology - Building 3

1:27 p.m.

"Alleged reports place The Falcon circling over the outer buildings of Brooklyn at around 11:23 p.m last night. The images that were sent to us are fuzzy, but multiple eyewitness accounts verify that the recently-named fugitive was spotted."

Nobody in the classroom made a sound as they stood around Betty Brant's desk, the phone in her hand angled for them all to see as it replayed the news clip that had been buzzing across every single media platform for the past few hours.

"Nearly a month has passed since the controversial decision to name many members of the Avengers as international fugitives, a choice that has led to a wave of backlash and protest. Nevertheless, police assure that they are doing everything in their power to bring down any and all lawbreakers, Avengers included."

"This is such bullshit," Flash muttered with a roll of his eyes as the video ended, voice slightly more nasally than usual, most likely because of the bandage pressing overtop the brim of his newly-bruised nose.

There weren't many students in the class considering the bell for fifth period's start hadn't rung yet, only a handful of the early arrivals that Betty had beckoned over when she'd gotten the notification on her phone. Said students slowly began to find their seats as Flash took a seat atop his desk. "How could the police actually consider them the bad guys? I mean, how stupid are they? No wonder Spidey has to do all the work for them."

Betty leaned back in her chair and glanced down at her nails. "I know, right? They're making such a big deal over nothing. I mean, so what if the Avengers broke one little law? It was a stupid law anyway," she flicked a piece of dirt away from her cuticle. Some of the students nodded their heads while others looked a bit more unsure.

Peter, however, kept his head down as he doodled fractal patterns into Sierpinski triangles in his notebook.

Nothing about the conversation, despite how topical it was to his situation, truly interested him. He'd heard plenty about the issue from the news reports his father and the Cons always had playing in the house, analysts and experts screaming and yelling back and forth at each other about who was right or who was more right. It was annoying.

Another girl, Kelly quirked an eyebrow as she stared at the picture still being displayed on the board. It was a horrible grainy picture of the sky, a small fuzzy winged figure flying above a number of buildings. "Are we sure that isn't just a picture of an actual falcon?" She asked.

Flash ignored her as he continued to rant. "How long are they going to keep pretending that the Avengers are the bad guys?"

"As long as they are."

All heads in the class turned towards Michelle, who was lazily sketching in her book. Peter tilted his head. MJ usually wasn't one to speak up about this sort of thing. It wasn't that she didn't have anything to say, it's just that most of the time, she didn't care enough to. That didn't seem to be the case today.

"What are you talking about?" Flash muttered, narrowing his eyes.

MJ lifted her head, sharp eyes trailing onto Flash. "I'm talking about the fact that the Avengers broke the law. Stupid or not, it's still the law. So, of course, they're criminals. They did what every other criminal does. Disregard all rules and regulations and go their own way," she explained. "The only difference this time is that the law decided to push back."

Ned, who usually always joined Peter in getting to class early, furrowed his brow. "So are you saying they deserve to be treated this way?"

The girl shrugged her shoulders. "They're being treated like every other criminal. I don't see the problem."

Flash grit his teeth as he turned fully around to face her. "The problem, Jones, is that they aren't your average rule breakers. They're the frikkin Avengers!"

"They've saved the world like a bazillion times." Another kid, Jason Ionello, chimed in.

Sally, a member of the Decathlon team, rolled her eyes. "It was like, only two times, man."

"Still!"

Peter glanced up at the clock hanging up over the classroom door. Still a few more minutes until class started, another few minutes of listening to their ranting. The teen sighed and kept his eyes on the pages of his notebook, aimlessly letting his pencil roam the surface.

Honestly, the only reason Peter didn't just wait until the last minute to head to class to avoid listening to their nonsense was because roaming the halls with the rest of the crowds always made him uncomfortable.

More kids were dwindling in now, but the conversation didn't die down. If anything, it seemed to grow more heated with each new kid that showed up to listen.

Another member of the Decathlon team, Charles, lifted his head. "I don't know. She kind of has a point. Even superheroes shouldn't be above the law."

Flash glared at him. "So you're saying they should be treated like the other scumbag robbers and thieves?" he snapped. "Look, the point is that they're superheroes! This stupid law is just messing with them. They're not the bad guys here."

"So who is?" Betty Brant asked, now addressing the rest of the class.

"Duh, the government! They're the ones that split the Avengers up and are trying to have them arrested. They're obviously behind all this!"

Peter let out a sigh as he rested a cheek against his fist. Where the heck was Mrs. Hallaway?

Gwen Stacy, a well-known girl around school, narrowed her eyes in thought. "That's another thing I'm still a little confused on. If what you're saying is true-"

"It is."

"If it is-" She continued, throwing a glare in Flash's direction. "-then how come the other Avengers aren't doing anything to prove their teammates innocence? If they were as wronged as you claim they were, then how come we aren't hearing from people like Tony Stark about how we need to rally behind them?"

Nobody said anything at that.

It wasn't a secret that Tony Stark hadn't shown much of his face to the media after the announcement of the Sokovia Accords as well as the update on the status of the Avengers. The usually exuberant and flashy media mascot had been noticeably quiet. That alone had people talking. In fact, there were even some bogus conspiracies online that claimed Tony Stark had died during the skirmish with the other Avengers and that that was the reason they were on the run and that the government was trying to cover it up with the Sokovia Accords.

Peter had to give people props. They could really be creative when they wanted to be.

However, he was pulled from his thoughts as the back of his neck tingled in warning. He ducked out of the way right as the pencil flew by his ear. He turned back around to glare at Flash, who was smirking triumphantly at him. "What do you want?"

The teen narrowed his eyes. "I've been calling your name, Parker. What, you high or something?"

"Isn't that more your thing?" Peter muttered before his brain could catch up with him. Flash had obviously heard him, for the dark-skinned boy glared at him and clenched his fists angrily as Peter silently cursed his big mouth.

However, Flash was quick to replace the angered look with a smug one as he grinned. "As I was saying before, I wanted to know if Tony Stark has told you anything about this stuff," he said, his voice holding an air of contempt and superiority.

Peter quirked an eyebrow. "Why would you think that?"

The teen shrugged his shoulders. "It's just that you're such good friends with him, I thought maybe he told you something on this." He gave Peter a knowing look. "Unless of course...he doesn't tell you stuff." He fiddled with another pencil he'd fished out of his backpack. "But the only way he wouldn't tell you stuff is if you weren't there to hear it! But I mean, that's clearly not the case, cause you have your internship, right?" He asked, the words dripping with sarcasm.

Peter could practically see the bait Flash was dangling in front of his face. A quick glance around the classroom told him that everyone was now staring at him, wondering how he would respond. The numerous sets of eyes on him made an uncomfortable prickle run down his spine, but he quickly swallowed his nerves down. The last thing he needed was more backlash from Flash, which is exactly what he'd get if he chickened out now.

Instead, the teen simply shrugged his shoulders. "No. He hasn't said anything about this to me. Though I doubt this is the kind of thing you talk to your employees about anyways."

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ned and MJ giving him proud smiles. The uncomfortable prickle settled down at that. Flash, however, did not. "That's bull, Parker. You just don't know cause you don't know him!" He growled, frustrations bubbling at the fact that Peter hadn't taken the bait.

The boy, in return, merely folded his arms across his chest as he glared down at his desk. He was really getting tired of this today "As shocking as you may find this, Flash, deep personal problems are not the kind of thing interns fix for their bosses," he growled. "Not that you'd know anything about that." He muttered under his breath, though it was obvious that everyone had heard it if only by the way a collective snicker sounded out around the room. It wasn't a secret that Flash had applied for an internship at Stark Industries loads of times. Safe to say, he'd never even come close to getting accepted.

Peter was quick to realize just how open he was being, hastily shutting it down even quicker. The last thing he needed was that defensive attitude following him home. However, Flash seemed very opposed to letting it go as the teen hastily stood up from his seat. Once again, Peter took note of the slight blush around his cheeks as the class continued to snicker. "You got something you want to say to me, Penis?!" He snarled, eyes blazing as he threateningly stepped closer.

"Alright, alright, kids. Let's settle down." Mrs. Hallaway called as she strolled into the room, the bell finally ringing its saving graces as she moved to her desk. The last few lackeys strolled to their seats, Flash sending Peter one last hateful look before slumping in his own chair.

Peter let out a breath, berating himself slightly for the way he'd prodded the other teen. There was no point in getting mixed up with Flash. All it would do was set a bad precedent of speaking out of turn that could potentially follow Peter home, which was the last thing he needed.

The teen ran a finger over the fresh bandages wrapped around his palm, could practically feel the scar tissue forming from where the shards had sliced his hand. A fresh bout of shame rose in his chest, flanked by deep loathing and annoyance.

He should have been faster. He should have ducked out of the way the second he saw that plate leave Sandra's hand. Maybe then he wouldn't have had the sounds of their laughter still ringing in his ears hours later. He wouldn't have the stinging throb of his new wound distracting him from whatever the teacher was prattling on about.

Still, one thought remained steadfast in his head, strong enough to push him to open his notebook to a fresh page to try and take decent notes, to try and put some effort in.

Today was Wednesday.

Thank fucking god.

 


 

Wednesday - March 23, 2016

Stark Tower - Main Lobby

3:02 p.m.

Peter placed his badge on the scanner and watched as the blockades shot down into the ground, allowing him to slip through the metal barriers.

"Hello, Peter. A pleasure to see you again."

The teen smiled up towards the ceiling as FRIDAY's comforting voice filtered down. "Hi, FRIDAY. Nice to...uh...hear you? I guess..." he mumbled unsurely before walking farther into the building.

"You still haven't found him yet?"

Peter's ears perked at the recognizably annoyed voice sounding from one of the waiting rooms. He blinked in mild surprise, hesitating slightly before deciding to continue on.

"No. I swear, that jackass better still be in the building, or I am going to-" Peter watched the Colonel's jaw clamp shut as he walked into the doorway and they made eye contact with each other, something telling the teen the man's next words weren't exactly going to be child-friendly. Pepper turned as she noticed her colleague's silence and blinked at Peter, who was now currently fiddling with his sleeves.

Suddenly feeling very out of place as he cursed his brazenness, Peter glanced over his shoulder before meekly facing the once more. "Umm...am...am I interrupting something? I'm sorry...I just, uh..."

"No, no, Peter. It's fine. Come on in," Pepper said quickly, taking a moment to smoothen out the wrinkles in her skirt as she took a deep breath, placing a new calmer look on her face, but it didn't do much to settle Peter's nerves. She sheer tension still lingering in the room was near palpable. He shifted his glance towards the Colonel before averting his gaze.

"Right, well...I was just wondering if...i-if you knew where Mr. Stark is."

Colonel Rhodes let out a small scoff as he folded his arms. "Yeah, that's what we'd like to know," he muttered. At Peter's confused look, the man elaborated. "We're trying to find him, but so far, we've had no luck."

Pepper let out an aggravated sigh as she turned to the teen. "We have a meeting today with some important people and your boss has mysteriously disappeared."

Peter jolted slightly at that. "Should we be worried?"

The woman shook her head and held out a placating hand. "No, no, sweetie. Nothing like that. He's just, uh..." She glanced over at Colonel Rhodes for a moment of thought.

"He...has a unique way of handling the things he doesn't want to deal with." The man finished for her.

Peter flickered his gaze back and forth between the two of them before awkwardly rubbing at the back of his neck. "Right..."

The woman pushed a strand of hair behind her ears. "Anyway, we're pretty sure he's just holed up somewhere in the Tower, so we're trying to find him."

"Why, uh...why don't you just ask FRIDAY?"

Rhodey huffed with a pointed annoyance that Peter hoped wasn't aimed at him. "We tried that." With a stern frown still set on his face, the Colonel lifted his gaze towards the ceiling.

"Hey, FRIDAY. Where's Tony?"

"Mr. Stark is currently in the process of 'Not Giving a Fuck' and has left Dum-E to take all of his messages until his return."

Peter hid his smirk behind a well-placed cough.

The Colonel rolled his eyes, muttered something about checking the labs again, and disappeared down the halls a moment later.

Despite their irritated looks and constant grumbling, Peter could pick up a trace of something else behind their annoyed faces. The twitching of Ms. Pott's fingers and the way she kept straightening out her already-pristine hair led him onto the fact that she was nervous about something. But what exactly remained a mystery to him, a mystery that was not his place to solve.

Fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket, the boy shuffled slightly on his feet. "I can go and...check the office floors if you want."

Pepper, having been staring distractedly at her phone, glanced up at Peter's voice. Taking a second to register his words, the woman smiled. "Thank you, sweetie." She called as Peter began to make his way over towards the elevator. "Just notify FRIDAY if you find him and I'll come and maul him myself." She muttered.

The teen gave a small smile. "Guess I have that to look forward to, then." He mused before stepping into the elevator. With a few kind words to FRIDAY, the elevator was quickly ascending. Peter stepped out into the quiet, empty hallway as the doors opened up.

He remembered the floor from when Mr. Stark had shown him around on his first day, and just like then, it remained empty.

The massive expanse housed a glass dividing wall stretching down the center of the room, splitting the offices themselves from what appeared to be a reception area of sorts. Further down, Peter made out what seemed to be a meeting room and a conference center. But other than that, the room seemed to hold nothing but two very lavish, very expensive-looking office spaces: Mr. Stark's and Ms. Potts', if Peter had to guess.

Upon further reflection, Peter felt a tight ball of anxiety beginning to bounce around his stomach as he wondered whether or not he was allowed to be in what seemed to be a very restrictive and exclusive floor of the Tower.

The fact that FRIDAY had allowed him up there without any issues was a little reliever, but the anxiety still lingered in the back of his head, the possibility of doing something he wasn't supposed to sticking uncomfortably to his chest

Quickly deciding to check the rest of the room and bolt, the teen began walking down the rest of the long hallway. As he did, Peter thought back to what Pepper had said. He found it hard to imagine Mr. Stark hiding out in some random corner of the building just to get out of going to some meeting so the chances of this being about something else continued to grow in his eyes.

He could only wonder what it was about though. Clearly, if the billionaire was going to such lengths to avoid the issue, it was something bad. But then, what could it be?

("They're not the bad guys here!")

Peter furrowed his brows as he fiddled with the sleeves of his jacket, pulling them overtop his hands.

The conversations from hours earlier replayed in his head like they were being broadcast over the loudspeakers, in his face and unbearably repetitive.

Everything he'd said in class was true. Mr. Stark hadn't told him anything about what had happened with the other Avengers. Peter had never thought to ask, knew it wasn't his place. He was just some lowly intern who'd been given a lucky break, and he wasn't about to jeopardize that by sticking his nose into places it didn't belong.

But even with his keen eye pointed elsewhere, it was obvious what kind of effect the whole situation had taken on Mr. Stark. Hell, Peter had to hear about it at school almost every day and it annoyed him. And he wasn't even a part of this. Tony Stark was right in the middle of it. Worse, it involved people Peter assumed he'd thought of as friends. Maybe even family, teammates at the least.

He thought back to when Mr. Stark had met him at the airport when he'd finally returned back from Germany. Few words had been shared between them, but Peter had immediately noticed the bruises on the man's face and the look in his eyes that hadn't been present when he'd first been recruited.

Mr. Stark hadn't spoken about what had transpired after leaving Leipzig. Peter hadn't ask.

Something told him it hadn't been good though. After all, Colonel Rhodes had braces on his legs now. Captain America and half of the Avengers were now gone, and Mr. Stark...he just looked...different.

The teen thought of Ned. He'd only met MJ that year, but Ned? He'd known Ned for years. Never in a million years would he assume his friend would ever do anything to hurt him. Peter loved him the only way you could love a best friend.

He wondered if Mr. Stark had thought the same thing of Steve Rogers.

As Peter reached the end of the hallway and brushed his hand against the closed door of the janitorial closet situated on the side wall, he pushed the thoughts from his head. This wasn't his place. This wasn't his problem to be getting involved in. He had bigger things to worry about, first of which was figuring out how to be a good intern when his boss was constantly going missing.

Lazily spinning around on his heel, the teen debated on whether or not he should go down to help Rhodey search the labs. They were pretty big with plenty of nooks and crannies to hide. But then again...that would mean interacting with the Colonel.

. . .

Hmm...maybe the cafeteria?

Yeah right. Like he'd ever step foot in there.

Before the teen could deliberate with himself any longer, the sound of a door opening to his left sounded right as a strong hand clamped down around his arm. Peter yelped in shock as he was dragged into the janitor's closet, the door closing behind him as it plummeted him into darkness...with a stranger.

The teen instantly lashed out with a gasp of shock, only for the hands to move to his wrists. "Whoa whoa! Ease up, happy-slapper!" A new, recognizable voice scoffed. Peter had to take a second to blink away his shock, but it came through in his voice anyway.

"M-Mr. STARK?!"

He felt one of his wrists slip from calloused fingers as the lights suddenly burst on. Peter winced at the harsh change before blinking back up, taking in the sight before him.

Mr. Stark was still holding on to one of his wrists while the other hand was just now leaving the newly flicked light switch. "Yeah, hi." The man said casually, like he wasn't standing in a small, cramped closet with a teenager surrounded by cleaning supplies, mops, and questionably-stained brooms.

"I...I-I don't..." Peter could barely even speak as he pressed a hand to his forehead. "What are you doing?!"

"Standing here. Talking to you."

"No, I-" The teen paused with an exasperated sigh. "I mean...w-what are you doing here? Why are you in a closet?"

The billionaire shrugged his shoulders as he reached behind him and pulled out a half-eaten bag of chips from who-knows-where.

"One downfall to owning one of the most successful companies in the nation is that you have to deal with a ton of bullshit brown-nosers who feel obligated to tell you what to do and how to do it. Cue SI Board of Directors meeting." The man said, pointing a finger at nothing. "Yeah, well...I pay people to do things I don't want to do and that person just so happens to be Pepper. But of course, she insists I attend those meetings. Says something like 'it's your company' and 'be responsible' or 'would you just listen and-'"

He popped another chip.

"...and what?"

"Hmm...? Oh I don't know. I wasn't listening."

Peter couldn't help the small amused scoff that fell from his lips as the man continued. "Anyway, I already have plenty of meetings I have to attend every other month. I think she can handle these ones without me." He folded his arms over his chest. "Besides, I have better things to do with my time."

Peter furrowed a brow and cast a small, questioning glance around him. "You mean like hiding out in broom closets?"

"...yes."

He watched as the man moved over towards the door, revealing that on the shelves behind him, there were a couple of blankets and...and a sleep mask? Just how often did he hide in here?

The man casually cracked open the door slightly, clicking his tongue disapprovingly at something outside. "Welp, looks like Joe finished up downstairs earlier than usual," he muttered before closing the door once again.

"Who's Joe?"

"Our janitor." The man pushed the bag of chips into Peter's unsuspecting arms, the teen floundering for a second before gaining a good grip. Lifting his head back up, he noticed Tony was now holding one of the brooms off to the side. Lifting it up into the air, he watched as the man easily pushed the end of the broom against the air vent cover above them.

It was obvious the vent had been moved and opened before because it slid off with little resistance. And all the while, Tony was whistling. Whistling, like this wasn't the weirdest thing Peter could have imagined himself to be doing at the moment.

"Uhh...do you do this...often?"

The man shrugged as he repositioned a small step stool with the toe of his shoe. "At least twice a month," he replied as he climbed onto the stool. "I've just never had an accomplice before."

He casually swung himself up into the vent, Peter watching with wide, unbelieving eyes. It wasn't long before Tony's head popped back out, the man giving him a questioning look.

"Well? You coming or what, kid?

Peter could only gape up at the man with wide eyes, mouth parted slightly in shock at the sight unfolding before him. In all honesty, this was not what he'd been expecting to do today, especially not with how his day had started out. Tony noticed the teen's hesitance and rolled his eyes, lowering his hand towards the kid.

The teen stared at the outstretched limb for a moment, brain trying to catch up to what was suddenly happening before him. He closed his previously-gaped jaw and swallowed, casting a small glance towards the door where outside he could make out the sound of footsteps approaching.

Mr. Stark let out an impatient huff. "I'll leave without you, ya know. And it'll be incredibly entertaining listening to you trying to explain to the janitor why you're camped out in his closet."

Peter lifted his eyes towards him again, took a small step back as the man waved his outstretched hand once more, beckoning the kid to follow. He expected his hand to reach for the doorknob, for his feet to move back and take him out of the closet, for his mouth to form around the words 'No, thanks sir' as he bolted from the scene before it could get any weirder, resigned to deal with the consequences of saying 'no' to a superior later.

So when none of that happened, when instead, Peter found himself dealing with a new feeling churning in his stomach that he would later discover to be excitement, he was very much surprised.

Before he could dwell on it, however, he noticed the footsteps getting closer. He gazed up at the man's outstretched hand, eyes flashing with a new determination.

He could use a little distraction.

So with a slight tilt of his head, the boy gave a little smirk. "No, thanks. I got it."

And without another word, he jumped up, stuck his fingers to the underside of the vent shaft, and swung himself into the duct with the grace of a professional dancer.

Mr. Stark watched with pursed lips before he rolled his eyes.

"Show-off."

 


 

Wednesday - March 23, 2016

Stark Tower - Labs L1-K9

3:34 p.m.

"Still nothing?" Pepper asked incredulously, glaring up at the ceiling as Rhodey's voice filtered through the Bluetooth earpiece. "I'm telling you, Pep. The guy's not here."

The woman growled and began to rub the bridge of her nose. "Great, and now we can't find Peter."

"Knowing Tony, he probably kidnapped him."

Pepper let out a long annoyed sigh. "...I know."

"Look, maybe he circled back to the offices or something. Didn't we find him napping in a storage closet last time?"

"It's worth a shot. Send some of the boys to go and check the upper levels. Come and meet me back in the lobby and we can try and regroup. Maybe I can coax him out by leading a trail of coffee grounds on the floor to a cardboard box propped up with a stick..." Her voice faded away as the woman rounded a corner and disappeared.

Not even a few moments later, both Peter and Tony poked their heads out from around the corner wall they'd been hiding behind. The former had a look of unease plastered on his face will the latter looked like he was having a grand old time.

"Got to admit, the coffee plan doesn't sound half bad."

"Seriously?"

"Don't you start judging me, Mr. Parker," he scoffed as he straightened out the hem of his suit. Peter merely gave a small shake of his head as he glanced down at his shoes. "Good thing I don't have much homework today." He muttered more to himself than anyone else. Nevertheless, Tony still heard.

"Oh, right. School. That's like...a thing you have to do. I always forget you're, like, ten years old."

"Close enough."

"How's that going anyways?" Tony asked absentmindedly as he checked around the corner for any signs of approaching guards or one furious redhead. So far, the coast was clear.

Peter gave a small shrug. "It's...it's fine, I guess. It's..." He paused, trailing after Tony as the man began to walk through the empty labs, grateful that break would last for another couple of minutes. "I don't know...it's kind of boring."

Tony hummed. "Yeah, I get that. Too young to drive and yet probably smarter than most of your teachers. Must get mind-numbing."

The boy's cheeks flushed at the compliment, hands wringing the edge of his jacket. The action made Tony wonder whether or not the boy was used to receiving such words of praise. He was willing to bet on the negative.

Peter shook the words off and continued on. "Well I mean, half the stuff they teach me is crap I already know, and the other half is stuff I'll literally never have to use ever again." He ranted, Tony listening in with an amused smirk. "I mean, unless, you know, I go to a store and just happen to buy 38 jars of peanut butter and want to figure out what the total ratio of peanut to butter is to the tenth degree." He muttered with a roll of his eyes before falling silent, coming to rub at the back of his neck. "Sorry...I'm rambling."

Tony couldn't help the humored huff that fell from his lips. "You're good, kid." That was another thing he was beginning to pick up on whenever Peter was around. The teen could actually be pretty cheeky when he wanted to be.

Of course, it was usually immediately followed up by a few long-winded apologies, which Tony was quick to brush off. The billionaire was just happy the teen was finally beginning to relax around him.

He smirked. "But I don't know, kid. Those seem like some pretty valuable life skills if you ask me."

Peter merely rolled his eyes once again as he continued to follow the billionaire down the halls with the occasional glance over his shoulder. Tony quirked a brow as he tried to recall something. "Aren't you a part of some club thing? Chess? Mathletes?"

"Oh, Decathlon." Peter corrected for him. "Yeah, yeah, I joined around a couple of months ago. I...it's cool. I like it. It's not that hard, plus the kids in there are pretty nice so..." He shrugged his shoulders. Tony paused as they reached the end of the hall, craning his neck to check the next, finding it empty as well. Despite his focuses mainly being concentrated on not getting caught, he was surprised to find that he was listening to everything the kid was saying. He barely even did that with Pepper.

Probably didn't mean anything. he was just looking for whatever distractions he could get his hands on, and the kid happened to be a good source of it.

"You go to compete with that thing, right?" He asked, turning to glance back at the teen.

Peter nodded. "Yeah, we're pretty good actually." He paused for a moment. "Well...our team captain's pretty good. H-her name's...Michelle, but we just call her MJ."

Tony quirked a brow as he noticed Peter stutter for the first time in a while. He also picked up on the slight shift in his tone at the mention of the name and- wait!

...Michelle was a girl name.

The billionaire blinked for another moment before a small devious smile fell onto his face.

Oh...this is gonna be good.

 


 

Wednesday - March 23, 2016

Stark Tower - Cafeteria Staff Kitchen

4:14 p.m.

"Are we even allowed in here?"

"Probably not, but I'm the boss so it's cool. Plus, you're with me so I'm sure you're fine, too."

"Oh, great…"

Peter ducked underneath the tray of carts that whizzed past him, the hustle and bustle of the active kitchen making him shift just a little closer to the billionaire at his side.

Tony was currently swiping a few apples from one of the back walls while simultaneously sparing a glance over by the counters. He watched with a smirk as Pepper and Rhodey walked past, disgruntled looks on their faces as they talked.

Moving back over towards Peter, the man shoved one of the apples into the teen's hands, Peter giving him a small "thank you" as they continued to duck and dodge between chefs and cooks, all of whom gave them confused looks.

"Anyway, what were we talking about before?"

Peter furrowed his brow before opening his mouth, only for Tony to cut him off. "Ah, right. The suits. Anyway, I've been toggling with the idea of incorporating some nanotech into the new designs. You know, holding capacitors, conform factors, all that jazz."

Peter tilted his head up in thought. "Well, you wouldn't have to carry around a suitcase all the time to call your suit if you had that."

"Exactly. Anyway, nanotech's always a little finicky, so it's gonna take some time."

The teen nodded. "I'd figure as much. "He took a bite of the apple. "The regime it deals with can't really be defined by either quantum chemistry or the classic laws of physics."

Tony huffed. "Yeah, I know. So it's kinda going to suck trying to configure the collective energies of the suit." He muttered, biting into his own apple before waving the fruit around gesturally. "The electronic states of the matter and the energy levels of all the electronic states are going to have to find some kind of harmony. But of course, the energies of the electronic states depend on-"

"On the 1/L2 and the dimension of the system in that particular direction."

Tony spared the boy a small, surprised glance before letting out a small chuckle. "Forgot you're a mega-nerd."

Peter gave him a smile as the teen continued. "Well...the spacing between successive energy levels also varies as 1/L2. Hence the variation in the length scale of a system which will result in a significant change in the energies and the energy separations of the individual electronic states. So you're dealing with particles ranging from 1-100 nanometers, which is about 10 to 1,000,000 atoms or molecules per particle.

"Plus, you can't forget that as the size decreases, the energy bands will become substantially narrower than in bulk solid, leading to distortion of normal collective electron properties in the quantum confinement.

"Then there's the semiconductors, the structure variations, the magnetic materials, the optical properties, reactivity, and even the heat changes to take into consideration so…"

The boy paused in his rambling when he noticed Mr. Stark being strangely quiet as they walked. He lifted his head to glance over at the man and noticed the billionaire was giving him a humored look.

"What?"

"Nothing, just...not many people I get to bounce ideas off of around here."

"Not even Dum-E?"

"Surprisingly, he's not the best conversationalist."

Peter chuckled. "Well, I've read a few papers on this stuff. Nobody's really come close to actually running any successful trials on this except for a scientist a while ago names Pym somewhere in California, but the info on that's classified and I didn't really feel like hacking into any sealed files just for the sake of it."

"Where's your sense of adventure, Parker?"

"Trying to stay off the FBI's watchlist."

The billionaire scoffed and waved a hand. "Details, details."

 


 

Wednesday - March 23, 2016

Stark Tower - Air Vents?

4:38 p.m.

"Alright, you know, I'm all for avoiding your problems, but isn't this just a bit much, Mr. Stark?" Peter asked incredulously as he continued to crawl forward.

Tony merely gave a small wave of his hand. "Oh come on. Don't pretend like you're not having fun."

The teen rolled his eyes.

"Anyway, you were telling me about...something?" The billionaire asked, glancing towards the kid. Luckily the vents in the building were wide enough to accommodate two people side by side. Almost as if it had been built for secret getaways.

Peter huffed. "Sorry, guess I lost track of what I was saying while I was climbing into an air duct for the second time today, something that's apparently a normal occurrence for you."

Tony snorted. "Alright, Sassy Sally. Why don't you go ahead and untangle your curls and drop the 'tude."

The teen blushed and lowered his gaze. "Heh...sorry."

Tony merely gave him a light shove. "I'm just joking kid. You really need to loosen up. Anyways, I asked about what you do when you're not Spider-ing around the city or basking in the light of my presence."

Peter chuckled at that as he continued to crawl across the cold metal surface. "Well, nothing near building suits and running a company and all the cool stuff like that." He murmured before giving a small shrug, or, as close to a shrug as you could get while crawling on your hands and knees. "I don't know. I mostly just tinker in my room with different scraps I find in the dump or I try to configure new ideas to try in my Chem class for stronger web fluid and-"

"Wait a minute...you mean to tell me you made your web fluid...in a high school Chemistry lab?" Tony asked with a cocked eyebrow.

Peter nodded. "Yep, anyway I sometimes also try and come up with some new designs for my web-shooters themselves and-"

"Hold up! Are you actually saying you made webs that you rely on to hold your body weight as you swing twenty, thirty stories up in the air...in a room where people fail tests and play with crayons?"

"I - play with...I'm fourteen, not four."

"What's the difference?"

"I have the sense to be careful when I make my web fluid in between naptime and recess."

The billionaire gave the teen a glare. "Alright, Mr. I Stake My Life On The Dependability Of High-School Chemicals, new deal. Any and all web creation will be done here. You know, with actual top-market materials." Tony said mockingly.

The teen gave a small pout before rolling his eyes and nodding his head.

"Good, now you were talking about how boring and meaningless your life is without me. I'd like to revisit that."

Peter smirked. "Well, I don't know about all of that, I mean, I've got plenty of books to keep me company. My dad's always keeping me stocked with plenty of biology textbooks and mathematical analysis reports, but I've just started getting into thesis papers of-"

"Okay, stop right there. Tell me now that you don't read textbooks for fun."

The teen gave a tilt of his head. "Well, my dad doesn't like it when I read other stuff. Says there's no point filling my head with nonsensical drivel and if I'm going to be reading I might as well make it something intellectually beneficial."

"Jesus Christ."

"Hey, I've learned a lot." He shrugged. "Besides, every once in a while, my friend MJ sneaks me one of her books and I'll read it during my patrols so they don't find it." He gave a little smile. "I wouldn't mind having some of my own though. Despite what my dad says, they're not half bad. They're good at...filling the silence."

The billionaire watched as a look washed over Peter's face, one he couldn't quite read. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone with a blink of the eyes.

"How come you don't just go and get some new books yourself?"

Peter shrugged again. "I can't keep them in my room. They'd find them and take them away. So there's no point in wasting my nonexistent money on something I won't even be able to keep."

Tony regarded the teen for a second longer. The boy's eyes remained focused on his hands as he crawled, expression well-guarded and untraceable. Peter continued. "Umm...do you...read a lot?" He seemed uncomfortable. It was a sudden shift.

Deciding that pointing out the sudden switch in demeanor probably wouldn't go over too well, Tony decided to ignore it in favor of shrugging his shoulders. "Ehh...not as much as I used to. I'm pretty busy nowadays. After all, how could I possibly let reading get in the way of this?" He asked, gesturing around him at the metal walls surrounding them.

Peter scoffed lightly. "It's...hard to argue with that. Nothing better than crawling through dangerous air ventilation systems."

Tony threw him a light glare. "Oh, don't be a baby. These vents are perfectly saf-"

"Ahhh! "

Tony's eyes widened as Peter suddenly disappeared from beside him, a newly formed hole now situated in the metal from where the paneling had dropped away. The man simply blinked in shock for a moment before lightly clearing his throat and calling sweetly, "You okay down there, kid?"

. . .

"...can I please just get you coffee and stale donuts like a normal intern?"

"Sorry. Not really my thing. Now get back up here before we're compromised."

"Alright. Oh, I'm fine, by the way."

"Good to know."

 


 

Wednesday - March 23, 2016

Stark Tower - Upper-Level Roof

5:34 p.m.

"Can we please GOD just drop this?!

"What? What's so wrong with asking about your little friends?"

Peter pushed open the door in front of them as he huffed, letting it swing wide as he turned back to face the man coming up the stairs. "Look, it's not that big a deal. Like I said before, she's just one of my friends. That's it. End of story."

"Well, is she pretty?"

"What?"

"You heard me."

Peter sputtered as Tony folded his arms over his chest, gazing back at the boy with an expectant and knowing smirk. From the deep blush suddenly spreading across the boy's cheeks, Tony knew he probably should back off the subject if it was making the teen so uncomfortable. But he couldn't help the feelings of mirth seeing the kid get so worked up over something so trivial. It was a good reminder that Peter really was still just a kid.

The teen glanced down at the ground, wringing at his hands as he scuffed the toe of his shoe against the ground. "She's...s-she's n...she's not not pretty."

"...uh-huh."

Peter bristled. "What? What's that supposed to mean?"

Tony chuckled as he held up his hands. "No. Nothing. Nothing at all," he called over his shoulder as he turned and began to walk further away from the stairwell. Peter turned to follow him, only for his eyes to widen as he finally seemed to register just where they were.

"Whoa..." He breathed out as his eyes widened, his legs taking him towards the railing lining the edge of the roof.

Tony grinned beside him. "Yeah...it's a bit better than the view from your balcony."

A sea of buildings lay scattered before him, each glowing brightly like a billion fireflies lighting the skyscrapers and spires that surrounded them, each dwarfed by the height of the tower they currently stood on. Golden lights shone back at them, twinkling like the stars Peter had never seen, these being the closest he'd ever gotten to them. Rivers of speeding red lights swam through the roads, twisting and curving through the city like a living, breathing entity, reaching out to infinity, where they touched the darkening horizon. The sky was a pale blue, edging towards white. Near the horizon, the colors melted into a warm orange, like spilled paint dripping across the edge of the sky. The soft colors reflected back up into the sky via the distant waters of the Hudson River, acting as a mirror to the softly fading colors.

Peter couldn't help the small huff of disbelief as he stared out at the skyline, hands clutching the railing tightly in awe.

"Not bad, huh?"

He didn't even seem to notice Tony come to stand next to him. He didn't look at the billionaire as he gave a small nod.

Tony gave a nod of his own as he rested his elbows on the railing and stared out at the scene as well, the pair falling into a lull of silence. It wasn't forced. It wasn't awkward. It was just...silence. He wasn't used to tolerable silence. It felt...strange.

The billionaire rested his elbows against the metal railing, let the breeze brush up against his cheeks, a welcome breath of air he couldn't seem to find indoors, not in his room, not in the labs, not even in his own lungs.

His wrist ached. He was starting to get used to it, the dull throb of pain that was constantly present, a persisting pressure that made his hand shake every so often when he wasn't paying enough attention to his movements. The only time it didn't seem to hurt as much as when he was a couple of bottles deep in his stash downstairs.

("Tony. Jesus fucking Christ, man. What the hell are you doing? How long have you been drinking?")

He hadn't planned on Rhodey coming back from DC early. Hadn't planned on his friend walking in on his binge-session, his little pocket of time to do nothing but sit and drink and forget, a blissful chunk of space where he didn't have to worry about what was happening past the reaches of his fridge.

("Are you trying to fucking kill yourself?")

Of course, now that he was sober enough to stay conscious and Pepper was back from her meetings in Japan, they were planning on tag-teaming him as they always did when he did something stupid and irresponsible.

After the meeting.

The meeting he was now electing to skip.

("Tony. What's wrong?")

If this was what it would take to keep them at arms reach, to keep them oblivious and unaware, then so be it.

("Why won't you talk to us?")

If this was what it would take to keep those memories at bay, then he'd do it.

("What happened out there?")

To push it all down, to bury it deep, suffocate and choke it out, it wasn't real, it didn't happen, it never existed at all. They never existed at all.

("What happened to you?")

His wrist burned. He gritted his teeth and pressed his fingers into the railing as the blood in his ear roared louder than the winds stinging against his eyes.

"What happened with Captain America?"

It took Tony a second to realize that the last question hadn't just been in his head.

He blinked, tried to comprehend what had just been said, and slowly turned to face the kid next to him, the kid who just looked like he'd been punched, like the words had escaped and broken free from a hold he'd suddenly lost.

"What?"

Peter sucked in a breath as he took a frantic step back. "Oh, god. I - shit - I...I-I I'm s-so...so sorry, Mr. S-Stark. I...that's a r-really personal question a-and...and I don't know w-what I was think- I just..." He raised his shaking hands out before him. "y-you don't h...h-have to answer that...I mean...I'm w-way out of...out of l-line and I-"

"Enough," Tony snapped, shocked by how level his voice sounded.

Peter's jaw clamped shut. He watched Tony with a timorous look in his eyes, silent and still.

The billionaire gazed at him for a moment before turning away with a sharp breath, finding his lungs much tighter than before. He continued to tap his fingers against the railing as Peter continued to shift his weight on his feet, looking painfully uncomfortable as he fiddled with his hands. Tony didn't rush to reassure him, found that he couldn't.

The previously light air suddenly turned tense and thick, as always seemed to be the case around Tony nowadays. He was starting to hate it even more than the silence, even more than the looks Pepper and Rhodey currently always got on their faces whenever he entered the room.

It was a shitty question, out of line and out of bounds. That much was certain, that much was clear simply by the way Peter was now refusing to look at him. It was a question they both knew he had no obligation to dignify with an answer, especially since he hadn't even revealed as much to people who'd been asking the same for weeks now, people who deserved much more than this kid did.

Forget about it.

It's not important. Forget about it and move on. Kid slipped up. We all do. Brush it off and move on.

Simple, easy. He'd been doing it for weeks now. What was one more person to duck and dodge with? What was one more conversation to kill before it even had a chance to take a breath? Peter wouldn't mind. He was sure of it. And even if he did, what did Tony care?

("Not many people I get to bounce ideas off of around here.")

And yet...

The billionaire hesitated for a second before casting the boy a small glance.

The teen was chewing on his bottom lip, running a hand up and down the side of his arm as he cast a side-long glance over towards the view, body tense and muscles rigid like he was prepped for a fight, psyched for a confrontation.

He didn't look happy. For some strange reason, Tony found that this bothered him.

Peter has been much different today, different from the boy he'd met a few weeks ago, definitely different from the boy he'd first recruited, even different from the boy a few days ago. He was smiling, cracking jokes, walking, and talking with an ease Tony had never seen in him before.

That had to mean something, right? It wasn't just his imagination?

Peter had been trying. The deeper he gazed back at the day's events, the easier it was to tell. The sarcastic comments, the sass he'd throw right back in Tony's face, the trying smiles and desperate chuckles, desperate to please.

Peter had been trying to make himself comfortable, to open up just a little more. He'd been trying to allow Tony in...just a little bit. And while the billionaire could tell they were far from any real progress on that front, he knew it was a start.

Tony let out another tired sigh as he dropped his hand back down to his side, turning back towards the teen, who still refused to meet his gaze. He couldn't just let this day go to waste. Not with the progress they'd made. Not when Peter had been trying so hard to make said progress.

If he was ever going to get Peter to trust him, he had to show the kid that trust first. It was a two-way street, after all.

The billionaire licked his lips in deliberation, hesitating for a moment longer before a new determination set in his eyes.

If he wanted Peter to let him in, he'd have to let the kid in first.

Peter flinched back violently as Tony rested a hand on his shoulder, the movement making the billionaire rear back slightly. As he met Peter's fearful gaze, the teen's face went red and his eyes lowered. The billionaire decided to just keep his hands on the railing.

"You know...I never really did explain it to you when I recruited you, did I?" He asked, making sure to keep his voice low and steady.

Peter hesitantly met his gaze before shaking his head.

"Yeah...then I guess an explanation is long overdue anyway."

Peter shook his head, dropping his eyes to the floor once again. "You...you don't have to do this, M-Mr. Stark." He whispered out meekly.

Tony took in the teen's words in a moment of hesitation. You really don't.

"...Yeah, I do."

Peter watched as Tony turned back to stare out at the skyline, his arms resting on the railing once again. Peter mimicked the action after a moment.

"Well...I'm assuming you've heard of the Accords."

The teen nodded his head. "Yeah, we talk about them in class a lot."

"Then you know what they were about."

He nodded once again. "They said the Avengers would be placed under the supervision of the UN to safeguard the wants and needs of the public while also maintaining peace and assuring safety through more control."

It sounded scripted. A phrase to memorize, a definition for a test or an exam. Not an agreement that would tear his world apart.

"Yeah, well...apparently not all of us...agreed on those terms," He drummed his fingers against the railing, focused on keeping his breathing even and his voice level. "Only half of us ended up signing. Cap and a few of the others refused," he explained, choosing his words carefully as he debated just how much he wanted to share with the kid.

Peter listened on in silence, wide eyes staring straight into the man.

"Anyway, three days later, there was that bombing at the UN meeting."

"In Vienna?"

"Mm-hmm." Tony nodded. "Police identified the bomber as The Winter Soldier." He watched Peter give an affirmative nod. No doubt the teen had seen it on the news. Everyone had seen it.

"Yeah...I kind of kicked him off a balcony..."

Oh right. The teen had fought him too. Tony tried to ignore the sick feeling that arose in his stomach at the thought.

"Well, it certainly didn't help that the Winter Soldier happened to be Cap's best friend during the war."

Peter furrowed his brow. "Yeah...I remember reading about him. He was an assassin for...H-Hydra?" He stuttered, trying to recall the name.

Tony gave another nod. "Anyway, after that little skirmish in Leipzig, I went after Cap and Barnes. Figured it would be better if I went to talk to them instead of a government sniper squad" He muttered. "And..." He paused debating on how much he wished to truly reveal. "Some...some pretty bad shit went down."

The teen's gaze was currently locked on the floor, his face hard in thought, lips parted slightly. "So...they...they just...left you there? They just bailed on you?" He asked incredulously. "I...I don't understand. How...why...w-why the hell would they do that?" He asked, Tony noticing a hint of anger edging the teen's words. "I...you were just trying to help them."

Okay...that left a bad taste in Tony's mouth.

"No, I-" Tony paused. Just what was he planning on saying. Nope. It was on me kid. I lost my temper and threw the first punch. My bad! Don't blame this on Cap. He's totally innocent here!

His eyes hardened and his jaw tensed. "It's...complicated."

That wasn't good enough for Peter. "Wha...what's complicated about it? You were trying to do the right thing and he repaid you by..by trying to kill you? He's not the victim here! You a-"

"Peter!" Tony shouted, fists clenching at his sides. The teen instantly flinched at the hard tone. "It's not...it's not like that," he whispered, voice unsteady. He felt his arm twinging in pain and resisted the urge to grab his wrist.

Scratch what he'd said before. All of this left a bad taste in his mouth. How could it not when he was basically creating an anti-Cap minion right here and now.

It was hard to ignore the fact that when he'd recruited Peter, he'd conveniently left out Cap's side of the argument, instead deciding to explain how he'd simply broken the law. Tony honestly couldn't say what side Peter would have been on had he heard both sides of the story. He really didn't want to think about that.

He glanced over at Peter, the teen turning to look at him as well. Just by looking in his eyes alone, Tony could see the raw purity in the kid's gaze. The praise he felt for Tony. The admiration. It was obvious Peter didn't assume Tony had done any wrong. So far, all he knew was that Captain America had gone crazy. To Peter, Steve was the bad guy.

Maybe that's what Tony wanted...

He'd be lying if he said it didn't feel nice to speak to someone who didn't at all hold him accountable for the mess that was the Accords and the Rogue Avengers. And he knew that if he just continued on with that story, continued to tell Peter the barest of details, that Cap had simply gone crazy, then that admiration, that praise, that look - absent of all hate and judgment - would remain.

But for how long? How long until Peter heard the truth, heard both sides of the story? He'd inevitably realize that Tony had been lying to him. And it wouldn't just be the look that disappeared, it would be Peter himself. The kid would never trust him then.

Tony scrunched his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as he let out a deep, regretful sigh.

He'd have to let Peter decide for himself whether he deserved that look of admiration.

"It's not like that...because I'm the one that threw the first punch."

Peter reared back in shock, brows furrowing as his lips parted. "What?" He whispered in disbelief.

Tony rubbed the side of his face. "Barnes, he...he did some bad stuff, kid. I mean...I mean some really bad stuff. And I was...I was angry. I knew he'd been used. I knew he'd been brainwashed. I knew he didn't have full control of his actions. But...I was just..." He paused. "I was angry."

"So...I threw the first punch. And we fought. It...it was bad, kid." He sighed, resting back on the railing once again as he lowered his gaze. "After...after the fight, neither one of us looked good. We were both pretty fucked up. Anyway, Cap left. He and the others...they're gone," he said softly, resisting the urge to steal a glance towards Peter.

He just wanted to remember that look of praise in his eyes for as long as possible before he had to accept the new one that had to have replaced it by now.

"I...this entire mess...in a sense, we all had a hand in it. None of us were innocent. We were all responsible. So...so don't go writing Cap off as the bad guy, kid. Cause..." He swallowed the bile that had suddenly risen up the back of his throat.

"Cause I'm just as bad as he is. Maybe worse"

. . .

. . .

. . .

"No."

Tony blinked in shock at the simple word, turning to look at Peter, only to rear back in surprise. The teen's fists were clenched tightly by his sides, eyes narrowed into thin slits as he glared back at Tony. He'd never seen the kid look so mad before.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Stark, but that's bullshit!"

...or sound so mad before.

Peter let out a small breathy laugh, one Tony knew held no joy. "You want to stand there and tell me that you're just as bad as Captain America. NO! That you're worse than him? I mean, a-are you fucking serious?!" He growled out, teeth grinding.

"Yeah, I read about the Accords. Even I can tell they aren't perfect. But that doesn't mean you abandon them, doesn't mean you choose your fists instead of words. Not when that means the Avengers are disbanded. No. You work through it. You compromise. That's how this world works! We're not in 1945 anymore! The world isn't black and white. It's not America: good, Nazis: bad," he scoffed. "This world, today the only way to get anywhere is through compromise! That's the only way things will ever get done."

Tony stood in shell-shocked silence as Peter continued, the teen running a hand through his hair. "And...and I know you made a mistake, Mr. Stark. But if we're being honest, everyone did. Everyone has something to feel guilty about. The only difference is that you're standing right here. Right fucking here! You're not off hiding in some safe house like a coward, shielding yourself from the destruction you caused!" He snarled, his words filled with venom.

"You actually stayed to make things work. Meanwhile, Captain America fled at the first sign of trouble. You stayed to fix your mistake. He didn't. He left! He left you!" The teen was practically screaming now.

"I mean...I...I thought you guys were friends. Teammates? How could..." He trailed off for a moment. "How...how could he just leave? You...you don't do that to your friends, your...your family." His fists shook. "No. No, Mr. Stark! Don't you try and convince me that you're somehow worse than Steve Rogers, alright? Because at the end of the day, he's the one who abandoned you...abandoned all of us, and you're the one who stayed! You're the one who's fixing all of their messes! You're the one who's actually trying!"

Tony stared at the teen with wide eyes, his mouth slightly ajar as he struggled to form words. He watched the boy glare at the ground for a moment, face red and cheeks flushed as his fists shook. The teen closed his eyes tightly as he turned his head away, taking a few deep breaths as he seemed to try to calm himself down. Slowly, the billionaire watched the anger slowly seep from the kid's bones.

Very quickly being replaced with disbelief.

Peter blinked open his eyes, mouth falling slightly ajar as he swallowed and hesitantly lifted his shocked gaze towards Mr. Stark. The teen sucked in a shaky breath and took a hesitant step back and Tony could suddenly see the fear now overtaking the kid's features.

"Hey, hey, hey..." Tony breathed, finally able to speak once again as he saw the kid teetering on the verge of panic. "Take a breath, kid." Tony stared at the teen for a moment longer, taking in the shocking sight before him as, for a minute, the two simply just stared at each other, neither sure of what to say.

Finally, Peter broke the silence as he grimaced slightly. "You're...not mad?" He whispered meekly.

Tony couldn't help the scoff that fell from his lips at that. "If anything, I'm more surprised." He muttered before letting a small smirk fall onto his face. "I didn't even know you knew how to curse."

Peter blinked up at the man for a moment before letting out a small laugh. "Yeah well...that just makes it all the more effective."

Tony stared at him for a second longer before huffing in amusement, shaking his head as he turned back to the railing, resting his elbows against the steel as Peter slowly sidled up to him and did the same.

"You are one strange kid, you know that?"

Peter hesitated, seemed to think for a moment before he gave a small smile. "Yeah, well...I guess that's a good thing." He shrugged. "If I was normal, I wouldn't be here with you." Tony glanced down at him as he continued.

"So you know...silver linings."

The billionaire stared down at him for a quizzical second before letting out a light chuckle. "Yeah...silver linings."

The pair continued to stare out at the skyline for a while, time passing without them even realizing it, which is what made Rhodey tackling Tony to the ground all the more shocking.

Peter yelped in surprise as he watched the colonel basically wrestle the billionaire to the ground, Pepper pushing her way through the heavy roof door at the same time. "Geez, I didn't think you were actually serious." Peter heard her mutter as she stared at the two men.

Meanwhile, Tony stared up at the fuming lieutenant with a smirk. "Hey, platypus. Why the face?"

"Oh shut up, you son of a bitch." Rhodes practically snarled, though even Peter could tell Tony wasn't phased at all by the harshness of the man's words. "Do you know how long we've been looking for you?"

Tony smirked at him. "Probably the same amount of time I've been hiding from you." He quipped. "Ah, correction: we"

Both Pepper and Rhodey turned to glance at Peter, who gave a small, nervous wave. The Colonel rolled his eyes. "Did you really have to go and corrupt the kid?" He muttered.

Tony shrugged as Rhodes hauled him to his feet. "It's in the job description."

Peter chuckled in the corner.

Pepper stalked over to him, meeting his nonchalant gaze with a look that Peter assumed held more fire than he'd ever seen before. "You and I are going to be having a very, very long conversation after this meeting."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Great. Can't wait," he muttered as Rhodes began to practically drag him to the door. "You know these board directors have been waiting for you all day? If you thought they were grumpy before, just wait until you see them now." The man snapped.

Pepper shook her head as she watched the two men disappear through the door before turning back towards Peter, who shrugged his shoulders. The woman rolled her eyes and extended a hand towards the teen. Peter only hesitated for a moment before accepting it. "You don't mind waiting for a little while, do you Peter? Something tells me your boss is going to be pretty busy for the next few hours." She all but growled.

Peter gave an amused nod. "Y-yeah...I'll be fine. Although, I'm assuming I can't say the same for Mr. Stark."

"You assume correctly."

 


 

Wednesday - March 23, 2016

Stark Tower - Waiting Lounge

6:25 p.m.

Peter let out a small sigh as he continued to brainstorm different chemical formulas he could try to enhance his webs. He supposed he should have been excited at the prospect of creating new web fluid in a legit billion-dollar lab, but in all honestly, he was just trying to pass the time.

The teen glanced up, scanning the lounge for a moment. He hadn't heard hide nor hair from Pepper, Rhodey, or Tony, though he assumed the latter had been dragged to the pits of Hellnever to be seen again.

Letting out another sigh, flapping his lips in the process, the teen turned back his notebook and began to doodle new designs for his web-shooters. Maybe Mr. Stark would have some suggestions on how to improve them.

Before he could even get halfway through designing the exterior, though, he heard the door to the room swing open.

Lifting his head, Peter furrowed his brows as he watched Mr. Stark straightening out his jacket, casting suspicious glances over his shoulder as he walked up. "Welp. Up and at 'em. Let's go."

"Wha-?"

Without another word of explanation, Mr. Stark was quickly heading towards the elevator. Peter blinked in shock for a moment before shaking his head, stuffing his notebook into his backpack as he scurried after the man.

They entered the elevator casually, without a word. However, Peter couldn't help the confused look spreading across his face as he glanced up at the man. He opened his mouth, only to pause as he heard a shout come from farther down the hall. He was just able to make out the angered faces of Colonel Rhodey and Ms. Potts before the elevator doors slid shut.

He sighed.

"Did you skip your meeting?"

"No, I went."

"Oh?"

"I skipped our post-meeting scolding."

"Oh."

Quickly finding himself in a parking garage, he followed the billionaire towards one of the more casual cars near the back of the lot. Still, as he slid into the passanger seat, he had to assume it still cost more than his entire school, people included.

"Umm...am I allowed to know where we're going?" Peter asked cautiously, glancing at Tony as the man sped out of the garage. The man threw him a knowing smirk.

"Where's the fun in that?"

"I was afraid you'd say that."

All in all, the drive didn't take longer than maybe ten minutes. Though with the speed Tony was driving at, Peter was sure they could have gotten anywhere in ten minutes, regardless of distance. Throughout the drive, Tony mostly complained about his meeting, Peter choosing to remain silent, save for the occasional laugh. He was content with just listening.

The car came to a screeching halt which sent Peter jolting forward, his face slamming painfully into the dashboard. The teen covered his face with his hands as he groaned in pain. Tony hissed beside him. "Yeah...in hindsight, I probably should have reminded you to put your seat belt on. Hmm...am I a responsible mentor yet?"

Peter didn't respond, just kept prodding at his nose.

After taking a minute to make sure nothing in his face was broken, Peter lifted his head to find Tony already out of the car, standing next to his door. The teen gave him a small quizzical look before stepping out of the car as well, lifting his head to see where they were.

The expensive car was parked on the curb right outside a large, antique building, one Peter recognized instantly. "I...w-what are we doing here?" He asked, turning back towards Tony. The man gave a small shrug. "You said you needed some new books, right?"

"Y-yeah, but-"

"Well, here you go. Problem solved. You can just store them at the Tower," the man claimed nonchalantly, folding his arms over his chest.

The billionaire fully expected the teen to go rushing towards the store, his excitement bubbling through his body. However, Tony could honestly say he was surprised when Peter made no such move, instead choosing to fiddle with his hands as he lowered his gaze.

"Y-you don't...you don't have to do this, Mr. Stark." He murmured quietly.

Tony blinked down at the teen before letting a small grimace fall onto his face as he realized how this must have looked to the kid. More likely than not, Peter probably saw this as a form of charity, an act of pity.

But that is what it is, isn't it?

Why else would you be here?

The man bit the inside of his cheek in thought before letting another smirk fall onto his face, pushing the voice to the back of his head to deal with later.

"I also didn't have to play hooky all day with my intern, but...I don't know...I guess today's the day for trying new, slightly crazy, things." He shrugged his shoulders. "Besides, I guess I could use a few more books in my own collection." He murmured with a wink to Peter. "Can't hang out in the air vents all day after all."

Peter let out a knowing chuckle as he continued to debate whether or not to take the man up on his offer, the teen's face revealing his lingering hesitations. "So...got anything you recommend?" The billionaire asked. That seemed to be enough to dissolve any remaining doubts in the boy as a large grin split his face.

Quickly motioning for the man to follow, the teen practically fumbled up the steps, jumbled ramblings falling out of his mouth at how much the man was going to love the books inside.

As Tony felt himself getting dragged into the store, albeit with the beady eyes of the lady behind the counter trailing them, he couldn't help the strange feeling settling into the pit of his stomach, curling around his chest, something that had been present ever since Peter's little outburst on the roof.

You're taking this too far.

He swallowed, but the thoughts remained, clinging to the forefront of his head like a virus.

This is too much.

It wasn't that much of a stretch. After all, Peter's little rant had only reinforced the fact that Tony had a whole mess of problems he still had to deal with. Now pile on the problems Peter was bringing to the table, and they were looking at a full-blown disaster. And yet, as the billionaire watched Peter become engrossed in his surroundings, a huge dorky grin splitting his face, Tony found himself doing something he hadn't been able to do since Siberia.

He relaxed.

He didn't think about Ross. He didn't think about the continuous cycle of new and revised Accords he continuously had to go over. He didn't think about Cap, the Avengers, the betrayal.

No, right now...all he cared about was finding a good book to read, with some input from the bubbling teen bouncing at his side.

Chapter 8: Incubus

Summary:

Rhodey had stopped speaking too. Tony finally cast the man a small glance and tried not to throw up at the look of resigned disappointment etched onto his longest friend's face.

He turned away again, fiddled with the batteries now in hand, guilt rising. He crushed it down, packed it away to deal with later.

"You act like nothing bad has ever happened to me before."

Chapter Text

Peter's eyes snapped open as the sound of a loud boom pierced his ears, dragging him from sleep with a vicious tug.

The child sat up in bed and rubbed at his eyes. Taking a second to orient himself, the four-year-old grasped for the teddy-bear lying next to him as his eyes tried to adjust to the darkness of the room. Above his head, the faint glow of the star stickers on his ceiling provided little light, but a great deal of comfort in the otherwise dark room.

Before the child could begin to wonder what it was that had awoken him, he heard another boom from outside. He whipped his head towards the window and noticed that it was pouring down rain, the thick black drops clinging to his window, staining the glass a dark inky color. He sucked in a cold breath and clutched his bear tighter as another BOOM sounded.

But this one sounded strange. It was different from the others, sounded sharper. More like a BANG.

Before the boy could listen for the sound again, his door swung open. It slammed against the wall, causing him to jump in shock before he realized it was just his mother. However, any sense of ease that had begun to form was quickly extinguished when he saw the look on her face.

"Peter? Come on, honey. We gotta get up."

She looked scared.

"M'mmy?" Peter mumbled, tongue still slow and sleepy against the roof of his mouth.

She rushed over to him and ran a hand through his hair, plastering a small, quivering smile onto her face. Peter noticed that it was bruised and a trail of red liquid was running down her nose, similar to when he got hit in the face one time in the playground. He remembered her picking him up, holding him close, and giving him kisses all over his cheeks. She wasn't doing that now.

Before he could ask anything, she was lifting him out of his bed and carrying him towards the door. Another BOOM rolled from the clouds outside.

"Where we going, Mommy?" He wasn't supposed to be up past his bedtime. Why was she taking him out now?

"We're gonna go on a little trip, sweetie," she said quickly, her voice shaking slightly. Peter could feel her shivering as she held him close. Was she cold? The child glanced over his mother's shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around her neck. Daddy wasn't anywhere to be seen. He was coming with them, right? Peter liked it when they all went on trips together. Mommy and Daddy didn't fight.

He loved it when they didn't fight.

"Where's Daddy?"

They were on the first floor now.

His mother gave him a frantic look before giving a little shake of his head, plastering on another smile. "Daddy's at work, sweetie. It's just us."

Peter frowned. It was dark and Daddy was still at work? His mother never liked that. She always yelled when he came home and the sun was down. Was she going to yell at him this time?

Another weird-sounding BOOM rang out around the house, only this time, Mark ducked down to the floor, clutching Peter to her chest as tightly as she could. Peter squirmed in her grasp. She was hugging him too tightly.

Before he could say as much, however, his mother was back on her feet, nearly sprinting towards the front door. He bounced in her arms, tightening his hold around her neck as he wrapped his legs around her torso. However, Peter felt his mother give a sharp gasp as she stopped suddenly and stiffened, tightening her hold on him.

Peter noticed she was staring at something and he tried to crane his neck around to peek at what she was looking at. He noticed a dark figure standing by the front door, the shadows of the darkened house hiding their face.

A monster. He'd never seen one in real life before.

He stared at it with wide eyes, watched it gazing back at them, still and silent. The monster had something in its hand. Something shiny. Something it was now pointing straight at them.

Just as suddenly as they'd stopped, his mother was running again, Peter jolting in her arms. "Mommy, I don't like this!" Peter wailed, burying his face into the crook of her neck as more weird BOOMS rang out around the house. It was too loud. He didn't like it. It was loud and his Mommy was scared.

Now he was scared, too.

But before he could say anything else, he felt his mother slow down. She let out a hard, heavy pant as she stopped by the hallway closet. Peter kept his coats in there. He would hide in there whenever they played hide and seek. His mother always found him, though.

Wrenching the door open, she all but threw the four-year-old inside before closing the door behind them, Peter letting a pained whine sound in his throat.

His mother was by his side in an instant, gently shushing him as she carded a hand through his curls just like she did whenever he was sick. "Shh, shh, shh, baby. It's okay. Everything's going to be okay," she whispered, a new, calmer smile adorning her lips. Peter slowly quieted down, small tears dripping from the corners of his eyes.

"Now, listen to me, Peter. We're going to play a new game, alright? It's like Hide and Seek. You're going to hide in this closet and not make a single sound, okay? You're going to be really quiet. You think you can do that for Mommy?"

Peter, usually excited by the prospects of a new game, shook his head. "I don't wanna play. There's a monster out there!"

He reared back slightly as his mother placed a hand to his mouth, glancing over her shoulder for a moment before slowly dropping her hand. "I know, baby. But I really need you to do this for Mommy. I have to go and help the monster."

"NO!"

"Shhh!" She cupped his cheeks and pulled him close to her chest. "It's alright. The monster's not bad. Mommy just needs to talk to him, alright? But I need you to stay in here and be really quiet so he doesn't find you, alright?"

Peter sniffed and wrapped his fingers around the fabric of his mother's pajamas. She'd been sleeping, just like him. Had the monster woken her up? What kind of monster was this?

Slowly, the boy gave a little nod. He heard his mother give a deep sigh of relief as she grabbed his cheeks once again and pressed her nose against his. Unable to resist the sudden giggles that escaped his throat, he smiled and curled up in her lap. His mommy was here. Everything was going to be okay.

Which was why he was so confused when he felt tears dropping onto his arm. He glanced up and noticed them streaming down her face.

"Why are you sad, Mommy?"

She stared at him and said nothing for a moment. Peter continued to blink at her with his big amber eyes. Slowly, she carded a hand through his curls once again and smiled. "I'm not sad, sweetie. I'm...happy. I'm happy that you're safe," she breathed before wrapping her arms around the child, bringing him into a tight hug as more tears dripped onto Peter's neck. She placed a kiss against his forehead and stroked her fingers along her cheek.

"Peter, listen to me, baby."

He stared up at her.

"I love you, and nothing is ever going to change that." She whispered before raising a shaky hand. Peter looked down and noticed that his mother's pinkie finger was extended towards him. "Promise me, Peter. Promise me you'll always remember that."

The toddler stared at the shaking hand before lifting his own, smiling brightly as he intertwined his finger with his mothers. "I will, Mommy. But you're acting silly." He giggled as he wiped the moisture off her cheeks. "Can we play this game again in the morning? Maybe with the monster? Maybe we can be friends."

Mary let a fresh wave of tears spill out over her cheeks, but her smile never wavered as she combed a hand through the child's hair. "Of course, sweetie. W-whatever you want." She murmured, shutting her eyes tightly as she let out a shaky breath. Slowly, the woman rose up to her feet as she grasped at the coats hanging above Peter's head. Quickly repositioning them so that they concealed the child from view, the woman turned towards the door.

Peter could see his Mommy's chest shaking as she breathed. She looked back at him one last time and gave a shaky smile before quickly opening the door, stepping out before closing it once again, leaving the child by himself in the darkness.

Peter was instantly greeted with the sound of those weird BOOMS once again, only this time, they were painfully loud. The child raised his hands and cupped them over his ears as he tried to block out the harsh noises. Eventually, he couldn't differentiate between the loud thunderous BOOMS from the raging storm outside and the sharp BANGS coming from right outside the door.

Peter didn't know when, but at some point, he'd started to cry. He didn't like this game anymore. He wanted his Mommy to come back. He wanted her to be happy, smiling as she held him, telling him everything would be okay as she rocked him back and forth.

BOOMMM!

He wanted to see his Daddy happy, too. Daddy had been sad for a while. Sad and grumpy. Mommy said Daddy was just a little tired and sometimes it made him sick. But he never heard Daddy sneeze like he did when he was sick. Maybe grown-ups got a different kind of sick. He'd have to ask his Mommy when she came back.

BANG! BANG!

More tears began to stream down his face as he openly cried, soft whimpers falling from his face as the loud noises shot through the air, piercing through his skull painfully. He hated storms. They were always too loud. But this one was worse. This was louder than any of the others.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

He scooted back as far as he could, his back hitting the wall as he sobbed, his cries getting louder and louder as he began to call for his Mommy to come back. He didn't like this game anymore. He wanted his Mommy. Where was his Mommy?

CRRAAACCCKKKKK!

Peter nearly leapt off of the floor at the horrendously loud clap of thunder that had rolled through the air, shaking the entire house. He sat in silence for a moment, blinking in the darkness as he waited for more BANGS to ring out.

He waited a minute.

. . .

. . .

Two...

. . .

. . .

. . .

Three...

. . .

None came.

All he could hear was the sound of rain hitting the roof of their building, the soft hiss of water running along the walls. The child bit his lip as he wrapped his arms around himself, unsure of what to do. He wanted to go and see his Mommy, but she'd told him to wait here. He didn't want to make Mommy angry.

However, after another five minutes had passed of no movement whatsoever, Peter slowly rose up to his feet. He didn't care about winning the game anymore. He just wanted to see his Mommy.

Quietly, Peter stepped over the different shoes that lined the floor of the closet as he made his way over to the door. Stretching his little arm up, the boy wrapped tiny fingers around the handle of the door and grunted with effort as he pushed it open.

"Mommy?" He called, having expected to see the woman standing right outside the door, waiting for him. When he saw no such thing, the child hugged himself tightly and began to slowly move down the hallway. Thunder could still be heard rolling outside, each crack making Peter wince and walk faster as he searched for the woman.

As the child trudged down the hall, his eyes began to adjust once more to the lack of lighting in the house. He was able to make out the disarray around him. hallway tables were overturned. Picture frames lay cracked and shattered on the floor, and streaks of color were smeared over the walls. Peter blinked at the harsh red coloring of the markings, a new sense of worry bubbling in his stomach. Someone drew on the walls? Weren't they going to get in trouble for that? He would if he ever did. He hoped his Mommy didn't think he did this.

"Mommy?!" He called again, now even more agitated and nervous than before. He could feel new frustrated tears welling up in his eyes as he quickly began to pick up the pace with each passing second, so much so that he was nearly running when he finally made it to the living room.

He froze in his tracks when he caught sight of the room.

The table was broken and lay in pieces on the floor. The TV screen was cracked, a harsh bright glow flickering on and off as the machine fought to stay alive, illuminating the room in a startlingly bright light while simultaneously casting darkened shadows around the room.  The walls were cracked and darkened, different holes littering the surface on each wall around the room. Even the carpet was now messy and stained, puddles of dark red splattered across it.

Of course, the biggest puddle was in the center, stemming from the limp body now laying on the floor.

BOOM!

Peter stared wide-eyed at the scene, unsure of what do to. Hesitantly, the child began to make his way towards the center of the room, his legs seeming to move as if independent from his body.

He could feel his chest slowly heaving as he tried to suck in a breath, tiny fingers curling into the hem of his pajamas. Small, bare feet inched closer, stopping when his toes sunk into the wet carpet.

BOOM! CRACK!

Slowly, the child looked down at the sight by his feet. The figure lay unmoving as the flickering TV cast periodic bright flashes of light onto the still form. Limbs were sprawled out randomly as if they'd simply collapsed to the floor suddenly. And in the center of their chest, there were three small dark holes, each bubbling with the same dark liquid that was staining the carpet.

Peter stared at the figure for a moment longer before he finally found his voice again.

"Mommy...?"

Before he could even take another step, a soft creak met his ears. Whipping his head back up, Peter felt a gasp fall from his lips as his eyes fell on the same shadowed figure from before. The child felt himself stumble backward, his frantic gaze meeting that of the monster.

He felt himself freeze as two glowing eyes pierced right through him.

CRRAAACCCKKKK!

 


 

Friday - March 25, 2016

Parker Residence - Third Floor

05:54 AM

His body was moving before his eyes had even fully opened, jerking from the bed as a startled gasp flew from his lips. A choked brick of air lodged in his throat as Peter spiraled out of bed, landing with a harsh thud against the hardwood floors. He let out a muffled grunt as his cheek pressed against the floor, legs still tied up in the sheets as he laid half-sprawled on the ground.

He felt his heart racing as he remained on the floor, felt the sweat on his face beginning to drip onto the wood as he slowly began to position his arms underneath himself as he pushed into a sitting position, carefully untangling his gangly legs from the sheets. Once he was in a semi-comfortable sitting position, Peter rested his arm in his lap and took a deep breath, felt it rattle around in his chest like loose change.

He swallowed, or at least tried to with the feeling of sand coating his throat, and brushed the back of his hand against his forehead, which as he'd noted before, was plastered with sweat, his hair matted and wet against his skin.

Breathing out through his nose, the teen blinked the last foggy remnants of sleep from his eyes and glanced over at the clock, the lights blinking back at him. 05:55 AM. His alarm hadn't even gone off yet.

Slowly rising up to his feet, Peter padded over and pressed his hand down to silence his alarm before it had the chance to go off. As soon as he did, he glanced over towards the door, focusing on his senses as he took a deep breath and listened.

No noises. No breathing aside from his own.

The house was empty.

Despite the fact that it was a part of his morning routine to check for any signs of life in the house the second he was awake, and despite the fact that more times than not they would be gone by morning, Peter still found himself breathing out a little sigh of relief.

He tried not to feel too grateful for their absence, but sometimes it couldn't be helped.

Without sparing another thought on the matter, Peter gathered up his clothes for the day and headed for the shower, ready to rid himself of the sweat-drenched pajamas currently sticking to his body. Within a few moments though, the near-scalding water of the shower was washing it away, washing it all away, including the last few traces of his dream.

He let the spray hit against his face, holding his breath under the pressure.

He'd noticed it again. In his dream. When he'd looked at his mother's face, the details were becoming fuzzier. It was harder to tell whether her eyes were green or blue, whether her hair reached her shoulders or stretched to her back.

He knew what it meant. And for some strange reason, he couldn't pin down an emotion to connect with it.

Sure, forgetting the details of one's own mother seems like a fairly cut and dry recipe for despair and self-loathing, but if Peter was being honest with himself, he couldn't really feel anything other than a sense of vague apathy, a gnawing emptiness sitting heavy in his stomach.

It was like forgetting the name of a stranger he'd met on the street. A little bit of embarrassment, sure, but nothing truly crushing, nothing that could imply anything between them other than cordial pleasantry.

Was that what she was to him now? A stranger? A face to forget on the street?

Peter turned away from the water, silently reaching a hand to shut it off.

He didn't want to think about it anymore.

Instead, he grabbed a towel and stepped out of the shower. Taking a second to dry himself and put on his clothes for the day, he turned towards the mirror and carefully smeared his palm against the fogged glass, a clear, watery patch reflecting himself back.

The marks were gone. Thankfully, with his family out, a full night's rest had allowed his healing factor to successfully wipe away last night's remnants, discard and throw them away, like they'd never happened at all.

Hanging his damp towel up on the back door hanger, Peter mentally added laundry to the list of chores he'd need to do when he returned from school as he exited the bathroom.

It only took a moment to collect his papers, notebooks, and pencils, (as well as to catch a glimpse of the message that had popped up on his phone while he'd been in the shower stating 'We'll be back by tomorrow morning. The house will be perfect when we return'), and as soon as they were haphazardly shoved into his bag, he was throwing it over his shoulder and making for the door.

Peter stepped out into the hallway. Once again, the sound of comforting silence met his ears, and he chastised himself for how good it made him feel.

Making his way down to the second floor, Peter hesitated for a small second before doubling back into the kitchen. He knew it was pointless, knew what to expect, but still. He wanted to be sure.

And sure enough, just like yesterday, just like the day before, and the week before and the eight years before then, the big metal lock on the refrigerator door remained, identical to the one on the pantry closet and the front door downstairs.

Peter didn't sigh, didn't grumble or roll his eyes or anything. He simply took a small breath, swallowed the feeling in his stomach that he reminded himself was not hunger and continued on down the stairs.

Thankfully, unlike the lock on the fridge, the locks on the front door were already opened for him. Grabbing his keys out of the bowl by the counter (keys that only ever let him get into the house, never out), Peter pushed open the front door and stepped through. He hoisted his bag higher up his shoulder as he turned back and locked up.

The sky was still dark overhead, but despite this, Peter felt a strange and inexplicable optimism in his bones, perhaps because they didn't ache that morning. With the house empty, he could finally invite Ned over to finish the last touches on their Death Star that the other teen had been dying to complete. Peter began to make his way down the steps as he let a small smile onto his face. Maybe if he played his cards right, he'd be lucky enough to keep said optimism throughout the day.

And right as he made to take the final step, the street roared as one of their neighbors tore down, horn blaring as they let loose a stream of grit and ash into the air. Peter jolted at the sudden noise hard enough for his foot to miscalculate its final step, twisting painfully underneath him as he landed awkwardly on the pavement below.

He grunted as his back made contact with the steps, blinking up at the sky above him as he slowly rested his head against the bottom step, letting out a long, deep breath.

That's more like it. When are you ever lucky, Parker?

 


 

Friday - March 25, 2016

Stark Tower - Main Offices

11:42 a.m.

("Everyone has something to feel guilty about.")

Tony ran his fingers along the sides of the pen in his hands as his eyes traced over the words on the document below him. It might as well have been in an alien language of some kind though because no matter how many times he scanned the lines, they registered in his head as nothing but a garbled mess, too tangled to decipher.

It didn't help that the clock above the doorway seemed especially loud that morning. Or maybe it was just the headache throbbing behind his eyes. Either way, he leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose as he let out a deep breath. He could feel the blood rushing around his ears, loud and uncomfortable as he tried to focus on anything else.

Attempt number four of trying to find a suitable distraction was on the cusps of failure, just like its previous predecessors. And even though SI paperwork was fairly high on the list of desperate measures he usually wouldn't bother with (made obvious by the stack of untouched papers cluttering his desk that should have been handled months ago), Tony was quickly finding that he was running out of options.

("The only difference is that you're standing right here.")

The kid was still in his head.

Two days and the words were still beaming in the forefront of his mind like a neon sign in Times Square, blinding and annoying and impossible to look away from. Two days of going over the events on replay in his head, wondering for the life of him how he'd ended up on the roof of the Tower with a kid he'd spent the entire day with.

Looking into the situation from an outside perspective, Tony would have cocked a brow and laughed in his own face at the ridiculousness of it all. But considering he was stuck on the inside, stuck in a position he couldn't afford to laugh at, he remained pensive and silent, continued to fiddle with the pen in his hands.

It was hard to brush the image away, though, discard the sight he'd seen. A small little glimpse was all he'd caught, but even a peek into what the real Peter Parker was like seemed to be a valuable nugget of information. After hours upon hours of deliberation, that was what Tony had finally chalked it up to, had finally concluded that outburst on the roof had been. It had been Peter, the real Peter. The Peter he'd met in Berlin, the Peter he'd heard on the comms, laughing it up and swinging around without a care in the world.

The Peter hidden deep under layer and layers of...not-Peter.

And real-Peter was very, very different from not-Peter.

("You're not off hiding in some safe house like a coward, shielding yourself from the destruction you caused!")

Real-Peter could get pretty loud.

And it had to have been real-Peter. It had to have been what the kid could be like if he was ever given the chance, what he'd be like if he lived a normal life with a normal family in a normal home.

The stuttering, and hand-wringing and profuse apologizing of not-Peter couldn't really be him. Not after seeing what he'd seen on that rooftop. Not after seeing him in Germany.

There was a real-Peter in there. He'd just been hiding this whole time. And Tony had finally caught a glimpse of him.

("You stayed to fix your mistakes. He didn't.")

In the midst of a conversation he'd rather have avoided. Go figure.

Tony's fingers traced the edges of the pen as he twisted it around in his hands, pressed the tip against the end of his finger. The clock kept ticking above his head, loud and obnoxious. Had it always been so obnoxious? How had he never noticed it before?

He twisted his chair away, turned to face the window instead.

The longer he thought about it, Tony realized, the longer he wanted to know more about the kid he'd seen on that roof, the kid he'd seen in Germany. A glimpse of the kid he'd seen on the day he'd recruited him, peeking through when he'd explained to Tony why he was Spider-Man, why he did the things he did.

("So those people who think they're alone know there's someone out there who's with them.")

That kid wasn't afraid, wasn't shy to standing up and speaking out, and he certainly wasn't quiet when it came to defending people he believed to be wronged, as was evidenced by that night on the rood. Perhaps that was the most shocking thing. Real-Peter had emerged not to tell Tony off, not to fight or defend himself, but to defend Tony, to defy the man's own words and say point-blank why he was wrong.

And the ferocity that had hidden behind his words, the raw anger and defiance concealed beneath them almost made Tony believe that it had been Peter in Siberia and not him.

Instantly, his grip on the pen tightened, phantom pain shooting through his wrist.

("You're not off hiding in some safe house like a coward, shielding yourself from the destruction you caused!")

The teen's words rang like bells in his mind, crawling through his head in a self-pleasing wave of righteous anger.

He knew Peter still didn't know any better. He knew the kid still didn't have all the information. Even with Tony's explanation, Peter was still looking at the situation with a biased lens of admiration for Tony, a skewed view based solely on his desire to keep his idol in a mounted position of awe. Tony knew this. Tony could accept this.

And yet, hearing someone repeating what he'd been craving to hear for weeks now did feel a little good (even if it did come from a teenager with as much knowledge on the political inner-workings of the situation as a tortilla.)

But validation always felt good, no matter where it came from. And it only fueled the anger that had been brewing in his gut, keeping him warm since Siberia.

It hadn't taken long for not just Steve, but for all of the other Avengers to break away from everything and crawl underground like cockroaches hiding from the sun.

Tony's fingers traced the edges of the pen, the smooth surface gliding across the calloused skin. He took a breath, felt how hot it was as it escaped.

Here he was, busting his ass off, trying to get the Accords under control, trying to keep them as practical and sane as he could with Ross breathing down his neck, dripping and drooling to slap it with as many strict protocols and breaches of human rights as he could possibly get away with. Even before things had taken a turn for the worst, he'd known the documents would have to be revised, would have to be worked on and amended.

He'd been prepared for that battle. But then Cap had to go and drag him into an entirely different fight.

So here he was now, left to pick up the damn pieces while the others gallivanted off elsewhere, hiding from the mess they had created, not even bothering to lend a hand of aid.

Well, you're not likely to get shot the second someone sees your face.

Instantly, the thought was buffered by a new flare of rage as he gritted his teeth and tossed the pen away. "Well, they fucking deserve it!" He snarled to himself at that thought of sympathy. It's not like they needed any more of that. The media already gave them plenty.

And yet, even as the words left his mouth, he could feel the bitter taste they left, despite his best efforts to ignore it. Even as his mind tried to stay focused, tried to convince him that he was merely frustrated at the devastation and work his ex-teammates had inconvenienced him with, he knew, deep down, that that wasn't even close to the true reason he felt so much hate.

No...the real reason was much simpler, but that much more devastating.

("He left. He left you!")

Tony took a deep breath, fought to still the shaking that had suddenly started in his hands.

"You actually planning on doing any of that or is it just there for decoration?"

The breath instantly morphed into a sigh as he twisted his chair towards the new voice, hiding the tremble in his hand underneath his desk. Rhodey's arms were folded against his chest as he leaned against the doorway. The clock above his head ticked on, seemed to be even louder than before.

"You know I'm more of a Predock, Tschumi-style connoisseur." He tapped his foot against the floor, watched how his friend's eyes meticulously scanned him up and down like an anatomist before dissection. He tried to squash down the sudden annoyance beginning to bubble.

"Got a reason to be here or did you just want to lecture me some more? Cause I gotta say, my schedule's pretty booked."

"I can tell."

He couldn't do this again. He couldn't sit and listen to them again, couldn't hear all their reasons as to why they were concerned, reasons why they would be better off leaving instead of staying around to watch his inevitable destruction.

His hand was still shaking, wrist throbbing with spikes of pain flaring up and down his arm. He rubbed against the skin, didn't look the man in the eyes.

"Why are you here, Rhodes?"

The man spoke softly, in the same tone of voice he'd used alongside Pepper when Tony had returned from the library that night. "Why do you think I'm here, Tony? I came to check up on you."

"I don't need a babysitter."

"I never said you did."

"You don't have to say it." He used the toe of his foot to spin the chair towards the window once more. "There's a reason why I always kick the crap out of you whenever we play poker."

He heard the Colonel's footsteps as he entered the room, heard the soft creak of the desk as the man sat against the corner of it. The clock was still ticking. Those things were battery-operated, right?

"We're worried about you, Tony." There was a hand on his shoulder now. He still didn't look up, didn't solidify it with eye contact. "I'm worried about you."

"So I've noticed."

The hand disappeared. "And yet you don't seem to care."

Tony pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek before suddenly rising up to his feet as if he could outrun the sickening tightness now growing in his chest. "I have everything under control," he said as he walked over towards the doorway. He glanced around, eyes settling on one of the stationary chairs lined up outside the room. He made to grab it.

"Yeah, you say that. But how long until I catch you in a repeat performance of last week, huh, drinking with no limits? Tomorrow? Two days from now?"

He sat the chair right underneath the doorway and ambled atop it, grabbing the clock off the wall and stepping off with a sigh.

"We keep having this conversation for any longer and I'll book you a seat for an hour from now." He set the clock down on the desk and flipped it over, removing the covering and quickly pulling out the batteries.

Silence. For once, he welcomed it.

Rhodey had stopped speaking too. Tony finally cast the man a small glance and tried not to throw up at the look of resigned disappointment etched onto his longest friend's face. He turned away again, fiddled with the batteries now in hand, guilt rising. He crushed it down, packed it away to deal with later.

"You act like nothing bad has ever happened to me before."

He slid them into his pocket, didn't know what else to do with them. "No. But I know how you act when bad things do happen." Rhodey took a step forward. "Why do you think we're so worried?"

Tony scoffed and rolled his eyes, turning his head away. "I'm getting tired of saying it to you two, Rhodes, but I can take care of myself."

The Colonel's face pulled into a sterner expression, guarded with a look of genuine care that made Tony want to curl away and hide.

"That's the thing, Tony. I'm getting tired of telling you that you don't have to."

He took a breath, took several, felt them all swirl around his lungs carefully before blowing back out. He'd have to take some painkillers. His wrist was killing him.

"Yeah, well...gotta give you something to do, right?"

With that, Tony brushed past the man and headed for the doorway once more, but this time he didn't stop right outside of it but instead kept going. He heard Rhodey's footsteps once more, but they didn't make to follow him.

"Where are you going?"

"Wherever you aren't."

The Colonel scoffed, but Tony could hear the undertones of amusement, similar to those that had been in his own statement.

"Isn't the kid coming by today?"

"Not till later." He turned and started to walk backwards down the hall so he could keep looking at the Colonel as moved. "You should talk to him. Get him to stop being so intimated by you. I'm getting tired of acting like a human shield."

"And how do you suggest I do that?"

"Get creative. You won me over, didn't you?"

Another scoff. "Yeah, and look how great that turned out."

Tony grinned as he made it to the elevator, the doors closing before his friend could reconsider letting him go.

It didn't take long to reach the penthouse, but it took longer for Tony to feel comfortable enough to enter. For the past few weeks, he'd been spending most of his time in the labs, electing to either stay up throughout the night or sleep on the couch he stored there.

There was just something about how quiet it was up in the penthouse now.

Maybe that was what he liked about having Peter around. Whenever the kid did feel open to talking, it was at least something to fill the gap.

At the very least, the kid was a good listener.

Perhaps that was the difference between talking to Pepper and Rhodey and talking to Peter. The listening...

He thought back to the roof. All things considered, he supposed it could have gone a lot worse. For a topic he'd been avoiding like the plague, letting it finally come out into the open hadn't been the soul-shattering, blood-curdling experience he'd imagined it to be.

And maybe that had something to do with who he'd told it to.

When Peter had listened, when he's stood there, fists clenched and eyes blazing with a defense Tony couldn't even muster for himself, there had been no signs of pity, no shows of sadness. No, Tony had seen something else when Peter had looked at him. It hadn't just been awe. It hadn't been sympathy or cloying smiles of assurance mixed with empty words of empathy.

It was understanding.

Peter had understood. And for some reason, the thought made Tony's stomach churn uncomfortably.

You really couldn't have picked a worse time to pull something like this, huh. He thought to himself as he walked onto the penthouse floor and made his way towards the couch.

Peter Parker's case was a sensitive one, this much Tony was sure of. Never before had he found himself meticulously choosing his words, careful to avoid saying anything that could make the kid nervous or panicky or downright terrified.

It was exhausting, thinking two steps ahead of everything he was going to say and do when usually he acted first and dealt with the consequences later, usually by throwing some money around.

He took a seat on the couch, shocked by how comfortable it was. Or maybe he was just tired.

(You're only going to make this worse.)

The words were in his mind before he could stop them. And with them came a new tight feeling in his chest, an uncomfortable weight that made him focus a little harder on taking a deep breath, on getting enough air to fill his lungs.

(You destroy everything you touch.)

He was being ridiculous. The kid had made it abundantly clear just what he thought of Tony Stark. It was obvious the teen idolized him, and they had already been making progressive strides, if their little stunt through the Tower had been any indication. His plan was going to work. A little more time and he'd be able to get the kid to open, to tell him about what was happening and get him out of there, away from those people, away from that house.

(Let him go before you destroy him too.)

He could do this. He could figure out a way to help the kid he now suddenly found to be his responsibility, the kid he now found himself itching to see, if only to assure himself that he was still there, that he was alive and existent and real. He could do this. He could find a way to help Peter. He would find a way to help Peter. He could do this. He was Tony Stark.

(The man with everything. And nothing.)

 


 

Friday - March 25, 2016

En Route to Stark Tower

02:56 p.m.

Happy glanced up towards the rear-view mirror, catching a glimpse of the teen currently staring out the window, cheek resting on his propped-up fist. The man furrowed his brow before turning back towards the road. "You good, kid?" He called, forcing himself to keep his eyes forward.

Nevertheless, he caught a glimpse of Peter lifting his head. "Umm...yeah. Y-yeah...I'm fine." He murmured softly before turning back towards the window.

Happy stole one last glance towards the teen before giving a small shake of his head, turning back towards the road.

He should have been grateful. He should have been relieved. He should have been, well...happy. After all, the man was sure that had it been any other teenager, they would have been yapping his ear off or rambling on about some inane new topic on their phone, and god knew the ill-tempered man didn't need any of that crap.

But, there was just something...off about the way Peter acted.

Maybe it was the hunched shoulders. Maybe it was the way he never seemed all that comfortable around him. Or maybe it was the fact that Tony had finally filled him in on what the billionaire assumed to be happening in the Parker Residence behind closed doors.

He was willing to bet on the latter.

Happy couldn't say he was a very...loving person. His social circle consisted of a group of people that, for the longest time, had been nothing but colleagues and employers. And, sure, while Tony, Pepper, and Rhodey had, over the years, surpassed the barrier of common workplace acquaintances to fill the slots of his only willingly-maintained friendships, he wasn't what one would call nurturing.

However, he just couldn't shake that unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever Peter flinched every time the driver spoke. He couldn't help but squeeze the steering wheel just a little tighter every time Peter apologized for something he didn't need to apologize for. He couldn't help the way his brow furrowed every time the teen huddled in on himself.

No, he wasn't a loving man, but he wasn't heartless either.

"Are you sure you're alright, Peter?" He called once again, peeling his eyes away from the road to stare at the kid from the mirror.

Peter lifted his head to look up at the man, surprised he'd actually used his full name. He'd only ever heard the man call him "kid". As he stared at the man, he noticed the shift in his eyes. They weren't as cold and uncaring as usual. In fact, Peter almost thought he was a small hint of concern in them. He shook it off, surmising it as a mere trick of the light. Nevertheless, it made him smile just a little bit as he gave another nod of his head.

"I'm sure. T-thanks...Happy." He said softly, giving the man a small, reassuring smile.

Happy continued to stare at the teen for a moment longer before giving a satisfied nod of his head, turning back towards the road. Got to say, Tony. You sure know how to pick 'em. He muttered to himself, though he couldn't really tell whether he was being sarcastic or not.

As his mind drifted over the billionaire, Happy couldn't help the small sigh that fell from his lips. It wasn't much of a secret that Tony was struggling. It didn't surprise Happy. He'd seen the man when he'd returned from Siberia. It...it was bad. Like...like really bad. Of course, with him being Tony, the man easily played off any and all concerns towards him.

Happy had been with the man long enough to know when he was lying and when he wasn't. And this was nothing more than another lie. Just another cover to deflect any and all comforting words or pitying looks. He knew Tony couldn't stand being pitied.

Despite their constant squabbling, Tony had long stopped being 'just a boss' to Happy. It pained him seeing his friend struggle like this. He'd fully been expecting the man to shut himself off, to refuse any help and delve into a downward spiral, something he'd had the misfortune of experiencing before.

But something was different this time.

Two days ago, he'd had to help Pepper, Rhodey and most of the staff search the building for their missing employer. At first glance, Happy had assumed that the man was off drinking in private somewhere. But much to his shock, Pepper had explained that the man was actually roaming around the tower with Peter!

Somehow, the teen had done something that not even Tony's closest friends had been able to do. He got him to relax, open up, have fun, even if it was only for a couple hours.

He'd distracted him.

Happy glanced back up at the mirror, taking in the teen sitting in the backseat once again. At first glance, the teen didn't seem like anything special, but somehow he'd been able to basically do the impossible. He'd somehow gotten on Tony Stark's good side.

Happy could honestly say he didn't know all that much about Peter, other than that he had a pretty shitty life and he wasn't all that comfortable around strangers. But there was obviously something else there. Something else that Tony had seen, something he connected with.

Somehow, this kid had been able to penetrate the billionaire's sharp, thorny exterior, if only for a little while, and he'd brought out something brighter. He'd brought out a little bit of the old Tony, something they'd feared had been killed off in Siberia

I don't know what you're doing kid... Happy thought to himself. ...but I suggest you keep on doing it. For Tony's sake.

 


 

Friday - March 25, 2016

Stark Tower - Living Quarters

03:34 p.m.

The fact that Tony barely even moved as Rhodey draped the blanket over his sleeping form was enough to send a jolt of concern shooting through the colonel. However, taking into consideration the number of days he assumed the billionaire had gone without sleep, Rhodey could honestly say he shouldn't have expected anything less.

Didn't mean he had to like it, though.

Tony looked pretty awful now that he wasn't hiding behind forced smiles and purposely avoiding their gazes. The bags under his eyes continued to darken, his hair was messy and unkempt and the lines on his face seemed to deepen with each passing day.

Rhodey glanced down at his watch, brows furrowing as he took in the time. Assuming Tony had fallen asleep shortly after their little talk, then that meant he'd been asleep for around four hours. Knowing Tony, Rhodes assumed the man had only meant to close his eyes for a few minutes at the most. Of course, Rhodey wasn't about to wake him up. Any sleep was good enough when it came to his idiot best friend.

Glancing over towards the glass coffee table in front of the couch, Rhodes took notice of the Stark Pad sitting on the surface. With a small sigh, the colonel reached down and plucked up the device, flipping it open as he tapped his fingers across the screen, pulling up the most recent files.

As he'd expected, they were files of info on the upcoming meetings with the Senate and the UN delegates regarding the newest revisions to the Accords, the earliest of which being a conference set for next weekend. The man let out a tired groan. It seemed that with each passing day a new revision or law was being added to the Accords.

Of course, Tony had to go over each and every one of these changes, speaking out whenever one took things a step too far in regards to individual rights and freedoms, something that happened all too often.

Scrolling down on the screen, Rhodes skimmed over the papers and documents being displayed as he mulled the information over in his head. He stole a silent glance over towards the exhausted man sleeping on the couch before narrowing his eyes, tightening his grip on the pad as he made his way over towards the elevator, the soft whirring of his leg braces filling his ears. Tony wouldn't have to concern himself with this particular meeting.

"D-wing, FRI." He called as he turned his attention back to the screen.

"Right away, Colonel." The elevator immediately began to descend back down to the occupied floors as Rhodey scrolled back up to the very first file as he began to fill himself in on the information he would need while taking Tony's place in this upcoming meeting.

As the elevator slowed to a stop, Rhodey wordlessly stepped out, intent on making his way over towards the large, usually empty West Lounge located on this floor. It was generally unoccupied, most of the employees unaware that it even existed, making it the perfect place to do his work uninterrupted. The office he had in the Tower was always too cramped for him nowadays, the positioning of the desk too difficult for him to maneuver around with his new accouterments. (And even though he knew Tony would rip out a section of the Tower just to build him a new, triply-sized office if the colonel voiced said problems, he kept his mouth shut. Nobody else needed to know.)

His braces whirred as if to remind him of their existence, of the inconvenience they now constantly embodied.

Rhodes let an annoyed scoff fall from his lips as his eyes scanned over the files, focusing on something other than the crushing anger that seemed just as constant as the braces and the pain nowadays.

Geez, how can they seriously expect this to fly with us? he thought to himself as he re-read some of the new implications they wanted to add to the Accords. The documents were already a mess of rules, regulations, and injunctions that needed to be cleared. Of course, all the drama with the Rogue Avengers wasn't much help in the matter.

The colonel felt his grip on the pad tighten at the thought of the other Avengers, an involuntary jolt of pain flaring in his legs. He gritted his teeth and swallowed the grimace building in his throat. After a moment, the pain calmed back to its usual levels.

He still remembered that day, remembered when Tony had first introduced him to the idea of the Avengers. At the time, they'd both chalked it up to some crackpot comic book fantasy some weirdo in an eye-patch had conjured up, as far from reality as gods and aliens.

Then the gods and the aliens had shown up. And suddenly reality became much less concrete.

But one thing that Rhodey had remained steadfast in believing was that adding Tony Stark to a team requiring trust and cooperation was just asking for catastrophe. And anybody else who knew the man would have probably said the same thing...but for much different reasons.

It was no secret that Tony was a difficult personality: headstrong, arrogant, narcissistic, and just a tad full of himself. Just a tad. However, while most people blew off this behavior as just something that evolved in a person born of such privilege and wealth, Rhodey knew that wasn't the case.

When Rhodey had first met him, he hadn't met Tony Stark, the billionaire philanthropist that had people eating out of the palm of his hand. He'd met Tony Stark, the fourteen-year-old genius, alone and out of place surrounded by the looming walls of MIT. The only connecting string between said kid and the other students who all sized him up and wondered to themselves why some high-schooler was in their lecture hall was his brain, and even in that department, he was different. One conversation was all it took to let people on to the fact that they were no match for him or his intellect.

And in a college where some of the "best and brightest" went to shine, this didn't sit well for most. Because of this, there were days where Rhodey wondered what might have happened to Tony had he not been assigned as his roommate.

At first, budding freshman James Rupert Rhodes had been less than thrilled to be starting his new college experience babysitting some bratty kid. He'd worked his ass off just to get his application looked at and here comes this annoying fourteen-year-old who most likely just had his father call up the dean for a shiny new acceptance letter. It was no wonder why nobody liked him.

However, after a few weeks (weeks where no words were shared between the two of them, with Rhodey spending as little time in his dorm as possible and Tony barely ever leaving it) the colonel had quickly begun to understand the true reason as to why his roommate was there in the first place. With only a few words, he could make the teachers and professors look like babbling idiots playing with chalk. Of course, this made him even more of a target, but now not even the teachers would defend him when the tormenting raged on.

And after one particularly crappy week of studying for midterms, Rhodey had found a strange new study partner in his underaged roommate, who may or may not have helped him study for and pass his very first real exam, albeit shyly. (When Rhodey had later thanked him after receiving the highest score in the class, Tony had shrugged and insisted he hadn't done much. Rhodey had immediately deemed him alright from that moment on.)

Being his only friend at that school, Rhodey had quickly fallen into the slot of unofficial bodyguard. Most kids had the brains to leave the scrawny boy alone whenever his 6'2 roommate from Philly was with him. Quickly become something of a big brother to the kid, Rhodey and Tony quickly became an inseparable pair. But it still never seemed to be enough

With the constant berating and bullying, Rhodey watched as that shy, nervous teen began to evolve into something else. His quiet demeanor shifted into a snarky, prickly exterior with a large mouth and a cocky attitude, with the skills and the brains to back it up. Every insult thrown at him was instantly hurled back with a dazzling smirk and a snarky retort.

Throw in the fact that Tony's father all but barely even looked at him right up to his untimely death, and you had the makings of a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.

Team player? Not so much.

So, of course, watching Tony become so close to the Avengers had been an extreme shock, one that both delighted and worried Rhodey all the same. He watched as his best friend began to finally emerge from the shell he'd created in college and reach out towards other people, reviving just a little bit of that young, trusting fourteen-year-old Rhodey had met.

But as it turns out, Rhodey had been right to be worried. For as he'd expected, things hadn't lasted. Of course, he'd never expected it to affect Tony as badly as it had.

Safe to say, Rhodey had seen both the best and the worst from Tony Stark. He'd seen him at his highest and at his lowest, and he'd been with him through it all. He'd protected the kid. He'd comforted the orphan. He'd even fought alongside the superhero.

But he'd never expected to have to console the grieving teammate.

Honestly, there were days where Rhodes was surprised his best friend was still alive. There seemed to be more attempts on his life than the President's. But each and every time somebody threatened him, whether it was schoolyard bullies, psychopathic businessmen, or government assholes, Rhodey could honestly say he'd had a very strong urge to punch each and every one of them in the face.

But he'd never wanted to punch a face more than when he thought of Steve Rogers and the other Avengers.

Quickly taking a calming breath, the man pressed two fingers to his eyes as he sighed loudly, mentally taking note of the fact that he was approaching the lounge. However, he felt himself pause and blink in mild surprise as he caught sight of the room's other unexpected occupant.

Sitting in the corner of one of the larger couches was Tony's intern, Peter. The teen was surrounded by different papers and folders, a large textbook open in his lap as he scribbled in a notebook. Beside his feet sat an open backpack that seemed just as messy as his workspace. The teen was so absorbed in the work around him that he never even noticed the colonel enter the room.

Well, at least until Rhodey cleared his throat.

Peter's eyes flickered up towards the new sound and instantly blew to twice their usual size. In the blink of an eye, the kid was leaping to his feet, papers sliding to the floor as the large textbook landed awkwardly with a loud thud. "M-Mr. Rhodes. I mean, C-Colonel Rhod...uh...Colonel, sir..." He spared a small glance towards the mess at his feet and stumbled onto his knees, frantically beginning to pile them up. "I was just...I mean, I-I didn't think anyone else used this room and...well, FRIDAY said t-that, uh..." He grabbed another paper, crushing it in his grip as he refused to meet the colonel's eyes.

"S-sorry. So sorry, I'll just clean this up a-and get out...out of your way. I really didn't mean to, um..."

He paused in his ramblings as he noticed one of the pieces of paper now being held out to him. He spared a small glance up at the man holding it out to him before quickly whipping it out of the man's hands and tucking it close.

"It's alright. You don't have to go anywhere," Rhodey said slowly, suddenly feeling a bit hesitant for reasons unknown

Peter, if he was relieved by the words, didn't let it on as his cheeks burned red. He crammed the papers into his hands and haphazardly deposited them on the couch, shifting his weight between his feet as he continued to switch his gaze between the couch, the entryway, and the colonel as if debating how to proceed.

But after a second, the boy slowly settled back on the couch, now as close to the far end as possible, as distant from Rhodey as he could get. He grabbed his pencil and stared hard at his notebook once again, but the red blush now creeping through his ears and down his neck didn't go away. If anything, with each passing second of silence, it grew redder.

Rhodey stood still for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. Should he leave, or was this what Tony had been hoping for. I'm guessing he didn't mean scare the teen out of his wits, he thought to himself with an internal roll of the eyes.

Before he could decide, Peter hesitantly voiced his own doubts. "What are...uh...w-what are you doing here?"

Rhodey glanced down at the teen, opening his mouth to respond, only to be cut off as Peter turned his wide-eyed gaze towards him once again. "Not that...that's not like, I didn't mean that in an invasive way or anything. I was just...you don't have to...I was just trying to...um..." He seemed to forcefully snap his jaw shut before he could vomit out any more garbage, cheeks deepening in their harsh red color as his curls drooped down to cover his panicking eyes.

"S-sorry..."

Not for the first time in his life, Rhodes was shocked silent, barely reserving enough sense to keep his jaw from hanging open. Jesus, Tones. You really weren't kidding." He thought to himself as he stared at the teen who seemed to be inching closer and closer to passing out with every breath he took.

Finally, taking another second to clear his throat (wincing slightly as Peter flinched back at the noise), Rhodey gestured lamely towards the pad in his hands. "I was just coming down here to do a little bit of work." He explained, Peter trailing hesitant eyes on him. "How 'bout you, kid? What are you doing down here?"

Peter blinked up at him before glancing back down. "I, uh...well when I came in here, I...I asked FRIDAY if she knew where Mr. Stark was and...and she said that he was asleep and that s-she could wake him up for me if I wanted her to." He fiddled with the pencil in his hand. "I...I told her no, I-I don't really know if I was a-actually allowed to do that but...but Mr. Stark looked really tired the last time I saw him s-so...so I thought I'd just let him sleep." He flicked the piece of paper in his grasp. "I have enough work to k-keep myself busy anyway."

Rhodey regarded the teen for a moment before glancing down at the pad in his hands. After reassuring himself that the kid wasn't about to pass out or anything, the colonel tilted his head towards the unoccupied cushions next to the boy. "You don't mind if I sit, do you?"

Peter bit his bottom lip as he dropped his gaze, silently shaking his head as his grip on the pencil tightened. Giving a small nod, Rhodey moved around the couch and gently took a seat next to the noticeably tense teen.

Flipping open the tablet once again, Rhodey began to bring up the files, only this time, his attention was anywhere but. Instead, he opted to watch the teen next to him out of the corner of his eye.

Peter's leg was now balancing on top of his knee, his foot bouncing nervously against the cold tile floor. Resting on his leg sat another folder, sheets of crumpled paper laying on top. Locks of wavy brown hair drooped down in front of the teen's eyes, but he didn't seem to pay it much attention as he fought to keep his hand steady while focusing on his work. Actually, now that Rhodey looked at them, he could make out some little faded scratches adorning the kid's knuckles, like cuts from a knife. Before he could double-check to make sure he wasn't imagining anything, Peter subconsciously pulled his sleeves down, the skin disappearing underneath his layers.

Rhodey bit his cheek in deliberation as he wondered once again about what the best course of action was regarding the boy. He could opt to stay silent and respect the teen's obvious wishes to be left alone. But he knew that such a thing would do nothing in easing and settling the tension that already existed between them. Plus, he just knew he would have to hear it from Tony about how he'd "chickened out" of talking to a fourteen-year-old kid.

With a small annoyed sigh, Rhodey set the StarkPad down and rested his elbows on his knees, turning his head to look at Peter. "Calculus, huh?" He asked with a slight tone of uncertainty.

Thank god Tony's basically unconscious right now or I would never live this down.

Peter blinked in slight confusion, obviously not having been expecting the colonel to wish to speak to him. "...huh?" He asked softly.

Rhodey gestured towards the papers in Peter's lap. "You know, I thought Calculus was saved for upper-classmen. Tony told me you were just a freshman."

The teen blushed slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "M-my teachers thought I should move up a...a couple of levels. " He murmured quietly, not elaborating any further than he had to.

His foot began to tap faster.

"Right..." Rhodes breathed out, unsure of how he should continue, if at all. "Uh, so...how is school going for you, anyway?" He hoped the uncomfortable grimace he could feel in his chest wasn't present on his face.

He expected the teen to flounder a bit, stuttering on an answer like he'd been doing before. He didn't expect him to stare down at his notebook for a moment of silence Rhodey was hesitant to fill, fiddling with his pencil for a second before tapping against the paper. His face took on an unreadable expression. He didn't look up, not even as he let out a sigh that almost sounded...exasperated?

"You don't have to do this."

The colonel furrowed his brow. "Do what?"

Peter glanced over at him, never sparing him more than a second of eye contact before redirecting his gaze back down to his work. His jaw tensed slightly before relaxing once more. "This. The 'pretending to be interested' part. The 'getting to know me' spiel." He sniffed, turned his head away again. "It's unnecessary."

Rhodey blinked in confusion for a moment before cocking a brow. "What are you talking about?" He asked with genuine befuddlement before swallowing, rubbing at the back of his neck as he tried to display a confidence he didn't feel. "I...am interested," he added with less certainty.

Peter seemed a little amused by the man's pathetic attempt, for he let a little smile fall onto his face. "No you're not." he shrugged his shoulders. "It's okay. I don't expect you to be. I...I know Mr. Stark probably put you up to this."

True.

"Probably told you to try and warm up to me,"

Also true.

"In fact, you probably wouldn't have tried at all had he not said something."

Potentially very true. Rhodey found that, with this third realization, a sudden feeling of shame began to grow in him.

"But you really don't have to. I...I know it's a pain." Peter glanced down at his notebook again, began to mess with the corner of the page. "And it's probably...really inconvenient for you to...t-to suddenly have some random kid roaming around your building nowadays, especially when you...probably had no say in the matter."

Rhodey blinked down at him, said nothing as the kid glanced towards him, and smiled once again. It didn't quell the uneasiness stewing in the colonel as the kid probably intended it to do.

"So, you don't have to do this. You...don't have to talk to me. You don't have to...pretend to care. I'm sure you have better things to be doing, anyway. But I'll tell Mr. Stark t-that you dropped by so you don't get in trouble."

Rhodey shook his head, tried to find something to say. But his mind was drawing a blank. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. "It's...not like that," was all he managed to get out. But there was little else to say when he knew for a fact that the kid was at least somewhat close to the truth. His apprehensions about sitting down hadn't been well-hidden, that much he could now admit. He just hadn't expected the kid to be able to pick up on it.

Peter blew a small huff of air through his nose, almost amusedly. "No offense, sir, but it's always like that. It's just, this time, you're my boss's friend and not one of my dad's competitors trying to get all buddy-buddy with me so I can be their little trump card in winning him over." He swallowed and focused back down on his notebook. "It happens all the time. It's...it's okay, really. It's not me they're interested in. It never is."

Rhodey watched as the kid fiddled with his pencil for a second longer before letting out a little sigh, shutting his notebook as he began to shove it back into his backpack. "Anyway, I...I'm sorry for taking up your time, sir," he murmured softly as he hoisted the bag over his shoulder and stood. "I'll...I'll leave you alone now." He said nothing else as he began to make his way over towards the exit.

The colonel watched the teen begin to leave, his words making a familiar feeling rise up in his gut. A feeling he hadn't felt in decades. A feeling that had him opening his mouth before he could think better of it.

"You know he used to say the same thing."

Peter stopped in the doorway. Rhodey could see him tense as he deliberated whether or not he should actually stay. Thankfully, after a moment, the teen hesitantly turned back, a look of confusion marring his features.

The man let out a small sigh as he stared back at the teen. "Back when we were kids, or well...back when he was a kid. I was, you know, the proper age to be when you're in college," he said with a light chuckle.

"M-Mr. Stark?" Peter asked quietly, remembering reading up on something that had confirmed that Tony had been around his age when he'd gone to college.

Rhodey nodded his head. "Yeah. Tony was...well, I guess...a little like you." He watched as Peter continued to stare back at him with his large hazel eyes, unsure and doubtful. "He was...quiet, reserved, kind of reclusive, definitely nothing like the jackass he is today," he muttered, a small hint of satisfaction flaring in his chest as he watched Peter give a small chuckle.

"Anyway...when I met him, he thought a lot like you, too," He mused, watching as Peter slowly dropped his bag back down on the floor, hesitantly taking a seat on one of the armrests of the nearby chair.

"Considering who his father was, it was safe to assume that a lot of people out there wanted to use him, and on some level...it was true. Kids would use him, teachers would try and blackmail him, even business hacks would try and coax him into revealing some of his father's secrets. There was even a point, when we first met, that he assumed I was using him too."

Peter glanced down at the floor, expression blank, face unreadable.

"Yeah...he thought a lot like you, kid. But it wasn't true then and it still isn't true now."

The teen's eyes quickly lifted back up, Rhodey walking over slowly. He noticed the kid paying particular attention to his movements so he made sure not to get too close this time. "I know where you're coming from, kid. Considering who your dad is, it's not surprising that people try that shit on you all the time."

By the way Peter ducked his head away, Rhodey assumed he'd hit the nail on the head.

"But like I told that bumbling idiot in college, I couldn't give a tiny rat's ass about who your dad is," he scoffed, Peter giving him a strange look. "I'm not doing this for money, or fame, or to avoid getting in trouble with my best buddy - whose ass I could totally kick by the way so I don't know where you're getting your information. I'm doing this...because I want to, because I want to know about that kid standing next to me, whether he's a college kid who's way out of his depth or a new intern working for my friend. Cause to me...he seems like someone worth getting to know, at least enough to ask about how school's going." He winked.

Peter stared up at him, large brown eyes blinking up in a way that made Rhodey understand everything Tony had been rambling on about since he'd first met the teen. "Now, I'm like Tony on this one, kid. This whole thing is a little new to me, so you're just gonna have to be a little patient with me." He smirked. "But I promise I'll get the hang of it sooner or later."

The teen hesitated for a moment, glanced down at the floor in thought as he seemed to absorb everything the colonel had just said. Rhodey actually found himself holding his breath as he watched the kid deliberate. There wasn't much he'd be able to do if the kid didn't feel like giving him a chance to prove himself. However, after a moment, Peter gave a small chuckle as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe you guys should get a book on this or something. I...I think it would save you a lot of hassle."

Rhodey scoffed and rolled his eyes. "What? A How to Talk To Your Company's Newest Child-Intern? You know, I think that's a best seller this year," he muttered while Peter gave a scoff of his own.

"Yeah, you're definitely a friend of Mr. Stark."

"Hey, I take insult to that."

The teen gave a laugh while the Colonel chuckled. The tense feeling that had settled over the two slowly began to evaporate as they sat together, and for the first time, Rhodey finally began to see what both Tony and Pepper had been talking about.

Maybe this kid was as interesting as they said.

"You wanna hear some more embarrassing stories about Tony?"

. . .

. . .

"Yeah."

 


 

Date: L$wD *0

Location: 7?#hGt&

Time: 2gl%*5sk

There was a song playing. He knew it. He knew he knew it.

Tony's eyes snapped open as the music filtered into his ears. He knew this song. It was his mother's favorite. It would basically play nonstop in his house all the time. He could rely on it to be playing whenever he would wake up or visit.

But he hadn't heard it in decades. Not since what happened. He just couldn't. It was too painful.

Of course, that wasn't the only strange thing going on around him.

He currently sat in the backseat of his father's car, the familiar feel of the weathered handle where he would scratch nervously felt underneath his hands. He could still feel the fingernail imprints carved into the wood.

He turned towards the front of the car, his hands curling as he took in the sight of his mother and father sitting quietly, not saying a word. He prayed they would remain like that. God forbid they try and speak to him.

Ripping his eyes away from the sight, he gazed around the rest of the backseat and noticed the strangeness of it. While most of it was familiar, there were many things that didn't belong. The various empty bottles of scotch, the tools and inventions strewn about the floor, the red and blue shield lying propped up against the door.

Tony blinked the shock from his eyes and instead turned back towards the seat in front of him. He noticed there was a piece of paper stuck in between the folds of the leather.

Tentatively reaching a shaky hand forward, he wrapped his hand around the paper and pulled it out, revealing it to be a newspaper. Turning it towards him, he noticed it had a large picture of Steve, Bucky, and the Rogue Avengers on the front with a tattered Iron Man suit lying at their feet, a large main headline printed above it in dark, bold, permanent letters.

CAPTAIN AMERICA ENDS THE MADNESS - IRON MAN TURNED TO SCRAP METAL
American Savior kills destructive billionaire in stunning victory

He could feel his fingers curling around the paper, his breath coming out in strangled gasps. Throwing the paper down as fast as he could, Tony ran a hand through his hair as he fought to steady his breathing, though he knew it was a losing battle.

"What's wrong, dear?"

He whipped his head up, meeting his mother's gentle gaze as she turned around in her seat to stare back at him. "You seem a little pale."

Tony couldn't hold back his bitter scoff as he glanced over towards his window. "Yeah, well...that's rich...coming from a dead woman." He growled out, his fingernails cutting into his palms as he clenched his fists. He could hear a small huff sound from the front. "And we just can't disappear fast enough for you, huh?" His father muttered.

Tony narrowed his eyes, his teeth grinding together as he turned fully to stare out the window, only for his eyes to widen at the sight. Before him lay the tattered remains of Sokovia, the city burning before him as bodies lay scattered around the road, charred, bloody, and broken. A large plume of black smoke billowed out into the air, turning the sky a deep shade of grey.

"What is this?" He whispered out, his voice shaking as he stared back up at his parents. He watched his mother stare at him with sadness in her gaze. "You know what this is, baby." She murmured lovingly, gently touching his hand. "This is your legacy."

He turned to stare back out the window, at the paper lying at his feet, at the stained shield next to him. He ripped his hand away. "No...no, I never wanted...this. I just...I tried but..." He couldn't finish. He let out a soft groan as he rested his head in his hands. "I don't even know why I'm talking to you. You're dead." He growled, mostly to himself than to anything else.

"Are we dead? I don't know. I feel pretty real." Howard quipped from the driver's seat.

Tony let out an annoyed sigh and glared back out the window. However, the obvious dismissal did little to deter his father. "I can't say I'm surprised by all of this, son." He muttered from his seat, eyes never leaving the road. "It's the same thing over and over again. You screw up. You try and fix it, and in the end, you just screw it all up even more."

"Gee, thanks, Dad," Tony muttered, trying not to let the true effect of the words show on his face.

"And now you're going about it again."

As he continued to stare out the window, Tony couldn't help but sit up a little straighter as he caught sight of something in the distance, standing next to the road. He narrowed his eyes as the car drove closer, inching himself towards the window as he placed a hand against the glass. As they quickly approached, his eyes widened in shock as the car sped past Peter, Tony catching the empty look on the teen's face as they shot past.

"You honestly think you can help this boy?"

He whipped back around towards the front, where his father was still speaking. His mother had turned back around to face the road, her loving eyes now nowhere in sight, leaving him alone to the mercy of his father's words.

"Come on now, Tony! You can barely even help yourself! And you certainly couldn't help us."

The billionaire furrowed his brow, never even noticing as the surroundings outside the car began to change, the burning city being replaced with a dark, silent road, no other cars in sight save for the lone motorcycle coming up behind them.

"You couldn't even catch our killer."

BANG!

Tony slammed painfully into the side of the car as it jerked back, the treeline along the side of the road speeding closer.

CRRAAASSSHHH!

 


 

Friday - March 25, 2016

Stark Tower - Living Quarters

04:13 p.m.

Tony jerked awake violently, his eyes wild and his chest heaving as he fought to remember where he was. taking a second to drink in the sight of the sleek walls and clean furniture, he slowly began to realize he was in the Tower. Blinking away the last remnants of his dream, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, placing his head in his hands as he concentrated on keeping his breathing even and steady.

It had become sort of a routine after every nightmare he had. Safe to say, he was basically a pro at it by now.

Still, such a thing didn't make the dreams any easier to deal with. Dragging a hand down his face, the man rested his hands against his mouth as he stared down at the floor, the sound of crunching metal and fading music ringing in his ears.

He didn't know how long he sat there, staring blankly at the tiled floors, thinking of how many bottles he could down before Rhodes or one of the others came to check up on him. Finally, a tired sigh fell from his lips as he rose up to his feet, the blanket that had been situated on his lap falling to the floor.

Absentmindedly, he reached down to pick it up, only to take note of the fact that it hadn't been there when he'd first fallen asleep. With a furrowed brow, he stared down at the cloth before realization finally pinged in the back of his mind. And to think he didn't even bring me my sleeping mask. He thought to himself, unable to keep the small smile from his face.

Folding the blanket quickly, he placed it down on the couch and glanced over at his watch. I should be able to get those reactor blueprints out before Peter gets here and- His eyes grew as wide as saucers as he stared down at the hands on his watch, shaking his wrist frantically as he wondered momentarily if his watch was broken.

He'd been asleep for nearly FIVE hours!

And Peter was already here...

Shit.

He was in the elevator before he could even blink, shouting at FRIDAY to take him to whatever level the kid was on while simultaneously cursing out his best friend for not waking him up, any and all warm feelings he'd been having towards him quickly going up in flames. He tried to ignore the ringing echo of his father's words as the elevator doors opened up onto the new floor.

Combing a hand through his hair while simultaneously placing a pair of sunglasses over his assumingly dead eyes, Tony slid his hands over his suit in an attempt to rid his appearance of any and all traces of the sluggishness he was feeling as he approached the lounge corner.

The sound of Peter's voice met his ears. He opened his mouth, a snarky quip on the tip of his tongue as he made to round the corner, only to freeze as he took in the sight before him.

"No, he did not!"

"I swear! I swear he did! Anyway, it was easy for him to get the cow up the stairs, but nobody could get it down. So all in all, the school had to call in a crane just to get it out of the stairway."

"And nobody ratted him out?"

"Well I mean, once people figured out it was him, his street-cred in the school basically skyrocketed. Nobody was gonna ruin that. The respect was real. Besides, everyone was just having a good time watching the dean go into hysterics."

Peter couldn't help the laughs that spilled from him, his hands going to cover his mouth as his eyes shut, his body hunching over on the couch as he fought to take a breath. It was a losing battle. Rhodey sat on one of the adjacent couches, a similar smile on his face while Pepper stood behind him, an amused glint in her eyes. Happy sat on the armrest of another couch, his eyes rolling in exasperation while a small smile graced his lips.

"You think that's bad?" Pepper scoffed. "You haven't lived until you're in a meeting with the Senate and your boss hacks the PA system to loop the Macarena throughout the entire building."

"Are you serious? Peter gasped, mouth ajar as more giggles spilled out.

"They called the meeting out early. He only did it cause he was hungry and wanted some Chick-fil-A." Happy muttered

Peter exploded into another fit of laughter, only this time, the others were quick to follow. Honestly, Tony didn't know whether to be happy or annoyed. Probably a little of both, with a sprinkling of pride. Those really were some of his best moments.

"You say that like I should regret those actions but don't pretend that you weren't ordering a breakfast sandwich right alongside me."

He watched as all four people turned to face him, a strange feeling sparking in his chest as he watched Peter's already cheery expression grow even happier as he caught sight of his mentor, a large smile spreading on his face.

Judging by the looks Pepper, Rhodey and Happy were giving him, they had caught the teen's shift as well. He cast them small glared of warning before turning towards the teen, clapping him on the shoulder. Peter only tensed for a moment before relaxing. "What's up, kiddo? Been looking all over for you."

Peter showed no signs of annoyance at having to wait for the man, simply beaming up at him as he glanced back over towards Rhodey. "I was just talking to Colonel R-"

"Rhodey, kid." The colonel corrected, folding his arms over his chest as he threw the teen a smile. "It's just Rhodey."

"Heh...Rhodey. I was talking to Rhodey. He has some...interesting stories about you," he said, choosing his words carefully as he gazed back up at the man. "Does he, now?" Tony asked, casting the man a look to which Rhodes held up his hands innocently.

"Well, I might just have to return the favor sometime. After all, I'm not the only one with a colorful history." He scoffed, smirk growing as he caught sight of the colonel's pale look.

Pepper let out an amused huff as she smoothed her hands along the hem of her skirt. "Well, I, unfortunately, don't have time to play games and swap stories like you boys." She teased, the men throwing her light glares as she patted them on the shoulder before resting a gentle hand on Peter's head. The teen ducked slightly before letting a small smile rest on his face. "I'll see you later, Peter." She called sweetly as Happy began to follow her out, patting the teen on the shoulder as he left.

"See you later, Happy. Bye, Ms. P - Pepper." He corrected, remembering how she'd chastised him in a similar manner to Rhodey.

Said man rose up to his feet, the soft whirring of his braces meeting their ears. "I have some work to do as well. So if I'm excused from Babysitting Detail..." He murmured, sending a wink Peter's way while the kid just chuckled.

As he walked over, he and Tony shared a silent look. Rhodey gave a small smile to the inquisitive look on his friend's face, nodding his head in a knowing fashion. Tony glanced back down towards Peter before giving a smile of his own. Told ya' so. His gaze seemed to say.

"See ya' Tones." The man said, clasping a hand on his shoulder as he began to make his way out of the room. "See you later, Squirt."

Tony turned to watch him leave, his chest feeling much lighter than it had in a while. He rested his hand on Peter's shoulder as the teen looked up at him expectantly. "Well, you ready to go to work?" He asked with a smirk.

Peter grinned once again, his hazel eyes seeming to glow with anticipation as he began to bounce around on his feet while Tony lead him towards the elevator, the action reminding Tony of an excited puppy. "Yeah! I was thinking about those designs for the reactor and I came up with some new ideas last night!"

"Last night? You mean when you should have been sleeping and dreaming like a good little Spider-Child?" He scolded in a mocking tone.

"What makes you think I didn't dream about these designs?"

Tony couldn't help but snort out a laugh at that, Peter doing the same by his side as they walked. After a minute, Peter's face grew thoughtful, his nose scrunching up slightly, something Tony had noticed only happened when he had a question he was a little unsure of asking.

"I know that look, kid," he called, Peter glancing up at him. "What's on your mind?"

. . .

. . .

"In your junior year of college, did you really get your hand stuck in a vending machine?"

"...I paid for my Doritos. I was getting my Doritos."

 


 

Friday - March 25, 2016

NYC - Upper East Side

08:05 p.m.

The sky was dark and clouded. There was no moon tonight.

Peter stared up at where he imaged the moon could be, crumpling up the sandwich wrapper in his hands, a remnant of his latest reward from the nice Chinese family whose tire he'd helped fix earlier that night.

Stomach pleasantly full for the first time that day, Peter let out a deep breath and shut his eyes, letting his legs dangle over the rooftop ledge as he let the late-March breeze hit the only parts of his face that were exposed, mask now pulled up over the bridge of his nose.

It had been a relatively quiet night, save for a couple carjackers and an ATM robbery here and there. So, finding himself with little to do, Peter had taken up one of the nearby rooftops to survey for anything else that needed his intervention while taking a second to relax.

Peter lifted his head to glance up at the muggy sky overtop, the dark swatches of muted color hovering just above him. Something about the sight reminded him of that night, standing on his balcony talking to the last person he'd ever expected to meet. He hadn't lied to Mr. Stark that night. With how severe the light pollution of New York was, Peter had never really seen a sky full of stars. He'd seen movies, paintings, pictures online, glow-in-the-dark ceiling stickers from an age long past, but never with his own eyes.

He tiled his head, let his gaze drift past the lights of the Hudson River. If he squinted, he could just make out the silhouette of his house in the shadows.

He could feel his fingers twitch slightly as he stared at the building before silently turning away. Mr. Stark had allowed him to head out as Spider-Man straight from the Tower that night with the addendum of making sure to save at least one kitten. Peter had chuckled, promised he'd do his best and had headed out, completely bypassing his house since nobody was there to miss him.

It was nice putting his suit on without constantly looking over his shoulder.

Recently, he'd taken to stashing his suit on the rooftop of his building inside the compartment of their large air conditioning unit. Keeping it in his room was too risky now that Mr. Stark had displayed how easy it was to find his suit, even with his newly-built secret compartment. God forbid the Cons ever do their monthly sweep of his room and find it stashed away.

God forbid they ever figure out he was Spider-Man.

Peter let out a sigh, cast a wary glance around to make sure nobody was present, and pulled his mask off, relishing in the immediate sweep of air that brushed past his face. He rested it in his hands, glancing down at it as he brushed his thumbs over the lenses. His suit was so different now from what he'd first started with. And even then...it hadn't started with a suit at all.

("Why are we doing this, Dad?")

("We're going to help people, Peter. We're going to help you.")

He remembered a lot of it. Not all - there had been too many to count - but the more invasive tests he remembered. He remembered how frustrated his father used to get, seeing no results in his own son, nothing but failure after failure. Peter remembered feeling so helpless, so useless, unable to do anything to cease his father's growing anger. So he'd taken the tests without complaint. It was the least he could have done.

Still, his father worked. He'd work into the night, throughout the mornings, leaving Peter alone for hours, days, weeks even. He'd see nothing of the man save for an occasional glimpse of him as Peter would bring him his dinner (or at least, the dinner May and Ben would bring over for him). He remembered the confusion, the loneliness.

But most of all, he remembered when the Cons first showed up.

In the beginning, they were nice, sweet even. They would work with his father for most of the day, but sometimes they would play with Peter, listening to him talk about his neighbors across the street, the new toys they'd bought him, the shirts they'd gotten for him that were almost exactly like what his mother used to by.

Then they'd started to watch him whenever his father would be busy and May and Ben were working.

They stopped being so nice after a while.

Then they really stopped being nice.

Thinking back on it, Peter supposed he couldn't be too angry, not with his father. He had finally gotten fed up with Peter's lack of results so he'd brought in people who could do something, people he could work with, and they had produced. He remembered watching them test out their new powers, watching how happy his father seemed, how satisfied.

Of course, that was right around the time when his father stopped letting him work under his desk, stopped ruffling his hair when he passed, stopped looking at him with anything but pure disdain.

And Peter knew why. He'd failed his father. He'd failed where the Cons hadn't.

Which is why when Peter pushed through those two days of near-fatal fevers after being shoved into his father's failed spider-serum experiment to find that he'd finally acquired powers, he'd immediately assumed that things would finally go back to normal.

They didn't. If anything, they got worse.

Peter stopped asking his father questions, stopped trying to treat the Cons as anything other than threats to hide from, stopped wondering about what his father was always doing in his lab.

So when his father included a newly renovated lab beneath the floorboards of their revamped house, Peter had remained silent. When he started to see strangers, workers, new scientists all milling around in the sub-levels, Peter had remained silent. When he watched his father's workers bring in their first haul of stolen goods, Peter had remained silent.

("There's only so much my company can specialize in, Peter. Sometimes we need to...branch out. Find materials elsewhere. You understand?")

That was before he'd stopped talking to Peter. Before he'd started to expect nothing but silence.

And for the longest time, Peter remained silent. There was nothing for him to say, nothing for him to do. His father was trying to help people, that much he was sure of, had been sure of since he was little. And the mistakes he made along the way? What could Peter do to stop them? What could he do to help?

Of course, that was before Ben. Before the suit. But Peter remembered when it first came into the picture.

("You wanna grab some ice-cream, bud? You look like you could use it. Maybe then we can talk about that shiner you got there.")

Peter was grateful the mask was off, for suddenly the air around him felt muggy and humid. Suffocating.

Ben was always trying to make him feel better. He and May. Where his father had sunken into his work, his neighbors had risen into the roles that were sorely lacking. He remembered them cooking dinner, shopping for clothes with him, surprising him with gifts on Christmas morning when he'd snuck out first thing that morning (before the lock on the front door existed) to be with them.

And even as his father continued to change, they never did. They would sneak him over for dinner once his father had implemented the fridge lock (at the Cons' suggestion), helped him with homework he could easily do on his own, cleaned up the cuts and bruises he would "get at school", sharing concerned looks about the cuts and bruises he'd definitely not gotten at school.

(He remembered listening to them scream at his father from his room, remembered watching May cry the next time he came over with a bloody nose, remembered how angry Ben had looked. But most of all, he remembered the fact that after that last talk with his father, they never tried to again. And it was then that Peter had learned that he wasn't the only one who was scared of his father.)

And despite their attempts to get Peter to spill something about his father, despite how annoyed he would grow to become whenever he'd have to fend off their inquiries, Ben and May Brenner had quickly risen to fill the hole that had appeared when his mother had died and his father had disappeared down in that lab forever.

Then Ben was killed.

Because he just had to move in front of Peter, in front of the bullet.

He just had to talk to the monster.

("You're my champ. You know that, right?")

May didn't blame him like he blamed himself. But how could he not blame himself? It seemed that everyone he loved, everyone who ever tried to protect him just ended up suffering because of it, because of him.

He looked at that alleyway the same way he looked at the hallway closet. With guilt.

Peter glanced down at his hands, at the mask resting in his grip.

It was then that he swore to never be the one being shielded behind someone else's bravery, someone else's courage. Instead, he would be the one protecting others. He would be the one in front of the closet, in front of the bullet, in front of the monsters. He would be the one to make sure nobody ever cried for their mom or mourned their husband.

He would be the one to make sure nobody ever felt the way he felt. Because nobody deserved to feel alone.

Saving his father from his mistakes was just a bonus. Because now he could do something. Spider-Man could do something. Spider-Man could help.

And even though Peter knew of the dangers of living as Spider-Man under the same roof as the man whose work he was constantly interfering with, he knew he had no choice. With each robbery he stopped, each haul of chemicals he prevented his father from stealing from this plant or that, he knew he was helping him, helping the man, even if he couldn't understand it now.

With each mistake he made, his father turned deeper and deeper down a road Peter couldn't let him get lost on. Every bad decision, every questionable choice was just another step down that path.

So, Spider-Man was an obstacle. A diversion keeping him from sinking too deep. His father would make his mistakes and Spider-Man would fix them. He would keep him from getting lost.

A car engine roared in the distance. Peter's ears twitched at the noise as it echoed against the buildings before fading from his senses. He took a deep breath, held it in his lungs for a moment.

Sooner or later, his father would learn. He would grow and move on from his work, his experiments that seemed to have no point, no end in sight. He would stop sending out goons to rob the nearest chemical plants, stop forcing Spider-Man to go out and stop them. The Cons would leave, walk out of their lives forever and it would just be the two of them again.

("You know I love you, Peter.")

Richard Parker was a good man.

Peter knew it. And Spider-Man would help keep it that way until he came to his senses.

Peter stared down at the mask for a second longer before shutting his eyes, a tired sigh slipping past his lips as he simply focused on breathing for a moment. Just in and out. Back and forth. Repeat. His fingers twitched against the mask. The wind blew strands of hair across his forehead. A scream tickled his ears.

...Wait.

Quickly jolting into action, the teen shoved the mask back onto his head and rose up to his feet. In the distance, he could see a haze of glowing orange light crackling and illuminating the darkened sky as a plume of grey smoke rose up. Narrowing his eyes, he raised his arm and fired a web at the nearest building, leaping off the ledge as he began to swing towards the explosion.

Within a few moments, the teen was jumping on the roof of the building next to the explosion. Glancing over at the front of the building, Spidey took notice of the fact that he was standing before one of the larger chemical plants on the East Side.

Great.

That most likely meant the explosion came from inside. Turning back towards the building itself, Peter noticed that the bottom half of the structure was glowing a bright orange, the windows shattering as flames poured out. The rest of the building itself looked as if it'd just been hit with a category four earthquake. The people who had been lucky enough to escape before the front door was compromised stood in front of the building as the structure whined in protest. The walls were cracked and crumbling. The windows were shattered, glass littering the floor like a glittery carpet and the metal foundations creaked ominously. From inside, more rumbling explosions could be heard.

Something tells me this thing isn't gonna hold for much longer. Peter thought to himself as he fired a web at the most structurally sound part of the wall before him and swung forward.

Leaping through one of the broken windows, the teen rolled along the ground of the second floor, which thankfully didn't seem to be on fire yet (though the warmth of the floor below told him he didn't have much time) before hopping back to his feet. Inside, small flames smoldered in the corners of the room, not big enough to cause him concern, but the loud creaking and groaning underneath his feet was.

Quickly spotting two employees huddled in the corner, the ground splintering underneath their shivering feet, Spider-Man leapt into action. Glancing back over towards the window, he noticed two lampposts situated right outside the window. Firing a few webs, he successfully created a hammock out of the sticky substance, hoisted between the two posts.

Without another thought, the teen fired another two webs at the employees, tugging them forward just as the ground fell away under their feet. He could still hear them screaming as he hurled them out the window, where they landed safely on the webbing.

Moving from room to room on that floor, Spidey continued the process with every employee he found, hurling them to safety before moving on to the next one. As he continued to work, he could feel the air becoming thicker as smoke from the lower levels continued to filter through.

On the third floor, the vigilante entered the last room he'd yet to clear, webbing up the man on the floor and yanking him to safety seconds before the huge filing cabinet could land on him. Hoisting the unconscious man into his arms, Peter shuffled over towards the window and smashed it with his elbow, webbing up another safety net before hurling the man out as well. He watched the paramedics hoist him down from the webs as he turned away.

Racing towards the stairwell once again, Spidey felt his heart thudding in his chest as he caught sight of the smoldering flames that seemed to blanket the bottom floor. He felt an unsettling feeling settle into his stomach at the sight but pushed it away, realizing there were most likely more people trapped down there. People who needed him.

However, before he could launch himself down towards the lower level, a sharp tingling erupted in the back of his head. Eyes widening, he had just enough sense to launch himself towards the nearest window before another explosion shook the entire building. He could feel the heat prickling at his back as the force of the explosion propelled him through the window.

As he tumbled through the air, he could just make out the approaching roof ledge he was hurtling towards. Bracing himself to tumble against the rough concrete, Peter did not expect to careen into another large warm force as he fell. However, the grunt of pain (that didn't come from him) that sounded on impact let him know that it was definitely another person that he'd just rammed into. However, he didn't have much time to process that as he rolled along the roof, shards of glass and gravel piercing his skin painfully as his limbs twisted incorrectly.

As he rolled to a stop, the teen simply lay there for a moment, struggling to catch his breath as he scrunched his eyes in pain. His ears rang painfully in his head, a sharp grating noise that made him want to grab at his temples.

Pushing down the nausea that had suddenly sprouted in the back of his throat, Peter let out a pained groan as he slowly pushed himself to his hands and knees. As he tried to fight through the blistering pain thudding against his skull, he vaguely tried to recall what it was he'd rammed into on his way up. He didn't think he'd thrown any civilians onto the roofs, but perhaps he was wrong.

As he slowly began to crack open his eyes once again, his senses flared once more as the sound of a clicking safety pin tickled his ears. Snapping open his eyes, he couldn't help the strangled gasp of shock that fell from his lips at the sight before him.

But what reaction could one expect when they were staring down the barrel of a gun, held by none other than one Sam Wilson in full Falcon gear as he leveled a steely-eyed glare.

To be honest, not how he'd imagined his night to go.

Chapter 9: Birds of Prey

Summary:

Wilson said nothing, just kept staring back at him as he spoke, even as the teen shrugged his shoulders and scoffed.

"But hey. I've been wrong before. And I'm sure once in a blue moon those news outlets actually do get something right, so maybe that's the case this time." His voice hardened and he took a step forward. "What do you say? Who're you gonna prove wrong?"

Another step. Wilson didn't lower the gun, didn't lower his gaze nor his frown.

"Go ahead."

Another step. The gun rested against his chest now.

"Shoot me."

Chapter Text

Friday, March 25, 2016

East Town Engineering/Chemical Manufacturing - Rooftops

08:24 p.m.

Despite what most fourteen-year-olds would claim, despite what most people would claim regardless of age, Peter Parker was fairly familiar with the sight of a gun pointed right at his face.

Spider-Man dealt with it on almost a daily basis from criminals who assumed their petty thefts and late-night misdemeanors were granted some security with the presence of their pistols. It wasn't even the most impressive gun he'd ever seen. (No, that award would have to go to the genius who felt the best choice of weapon to use while carjacking the McLaren dealership on 52nd street was a freaking bazooka.)

Even without the mask, Peter was no stranger to such weapons. And while he wasn't completely sure that the Cons were even legally allowed to own said weapons, he'd never really felt the desire (or the total lack of self-preservation needed) to ask.

Of course, just because he was familiar with the sight didn't mean he could stare down the barrel of Sam Wilson's gun with nothing but a shrug and a "well, ain't this a pickle."

Peter could feel his heart beating all the way down to his fingertips as they pressed into the ground below him. The gravel dug painfully into his palms and his knees but he didn't make a move to relieve the pressure as he stared at the offending weapon before him. Considering he hadn't had much time to recover from the blast, the beating of his chest was fast and erratic, thrumming in frantic beats as his gaze never left the weapon before him.

("Yes. I suppose you're right.")

His ears echoed with the remnants of a bang, the noise causing him to wince involuntarily. This was a mistake, for instantly the gun inched closer as the Falcon's grip tightened. "Don't you even think about moving or I swear I will blow your freaking brains out," he growled, eyes narrowed into thin slits.

But while the sight of the gun made Peter's muscles freeze, the person holding said weapon didn't bring about such a reaction. If anything, he almost wanted to laugh at the brazen statement, suddenly reminded of the old 80s action movies he used to watch with Ben and May.

While having an Avenger hold a gun to your face could warrant cause for hesitation, the fact that it was a freaking Avenger holding said gun wasn't lost on Peter. His repeat interactions with Mr. Stark had done well to lessen the sense of phantasm of it all, but it was still a strange feeling being in the presence of heroes, people he'd only ever seen on TV, people who could very well be just an illusion, nothing but myth and legend. Seeing the Falcon standing before him a hair's breadth away, only solidified the thought in his head.

The gun was a bit of a dampener, though, he did have to admit.

However, now that he was getting a good look at the man in front of him, it seemed like he was just as unnerved as Peter. His unoccupied hand was resting by his side, clenched tightly into a shaking fist. Sweat trickled down his face, disappearing behind his cracked goggles before dripping down his cheeks. His uniform looked like it had seen better days, covered in a thin layer of dirt and grime. Not only that, but his wings also seemed to be slightly damaged. Add in the fact that he was shifting his weight back and forth between his legs and Peter could safely assume the man was basically thinking the same thing he was.

They were both in some serious shit.

Of course, taking into consideration the mask adorning his face and the sheer confidence he could proudly portray with it on his face, Peter - Spider-Man decided to take the first step.

"Well...I guess this means you remember me." Vaguely, the faint image of shattering glass and metal hitting metal rang in his ears as the airport terminal wavered in his memories.

Obviously, something similar was happening to the Falcon, for the man's grip on the gun tightened and his eyes narrowed. "Yeah, you could say that," he growled out, his voice cold and hard. Peter's eyes remained locked on the gun before him as the man stepped closer. "Now, I'm only going to ask this once," the man said, his words slow and precise, just articulated enough for the kid to get the message across that what he was saying was not to be taken lightly.

"Who sent you?"

Spider-Man furrowed his brow, tilting his head slightly. "W-who...I-I don't...I don't under-"

His answer didn't seem to be good enough as the man took a few more steps forward, so much so that Peter had to flip over onto his backside as he began to scoot backward on his hands, his gaze never leaving the approaching weapon. "Hey! I asked you a question! And I'm going to get an answer, you got me?" The man snarled, his posture stiff and rigid. The teen couldn't tell whether it was from anger or stress. He was willing to bet on a combination of both.

Peter didn't bother nodding. His silence seemed to be enough of a confirmation.

"Alright, now who the fuck sent you?! Was it Stark?"

Spidey felt his fingers twitching against the concrete below him. "No...nobody sent me." He finally spoke, surprised at how level his voice was.

"Did you call anyone?"

"No."

Falcon narrowed his eyes and glanced away for a second, placing a hand over his mouth as he dragged it down his face, moving it to rub at the back of his neck as he kept his gun trained on the vigilante before him. "Alright. Does anyone else know I'm here?"

Spider-Man took in the man's agitated stance as he took a breath himself, taking a second to calm himself down. However, his eyes never left the gun on his face. Every second that passed with it still trailed on him was another growing bout of anxiety building up in his chest. However, he held onto his cool as he cocked his head. "Umm...not unless you count anybody in New York who watches the news."

The man gave him an odd stare. Peter cocked a brow under the mask at the man's supposed ignorance. "Nearly every station in the city is broadcasting the live footage of you flying around all willy-nilly," he scoffed, fighting to keep his voice as flippant and unconcerned as possible, fighting to keep himself from simply slapping the gun out of his face.

"You know, for someone who's supposed to be laying low, you sure don't seem to have a problem posing for the cameras. And I don't know how I feel about having to share my spot in The Post's weekly Superhero Crime Blotter. No offense, but you're kinda stepping in on my turf."

His attempts at a joke went unappreciated as the man continued to glare at him. The gun didn't trail away from his face, a fact Peter was all too painfully aware of as he began to count all the different ways he could disarm the man in front of him, seven of which requiring little more than a broken bone or two.

Was that too harsh? With each second he spent staring down the barrel of the gun, it seemed more and more reasonable.

"So, if you weren't sent, then what the hell are you doing here?" he asked, fingers thrumming against the gun.

Taking note of the opportunity, Peter raised up his arms, careful to watch the man as he tightened his grip on the gun as he gestured towards the burning building below. "Umm...hellllooooo?"

Exactly as expected, the man glanced away for a split second to follow the teen's gesture. And as soon as he did, Peter shot a web out, connecting it to the hilt of the gun before yanking it out of the man's hands.

The Falcon yelled in response as he moved his hand towards his hip. Assuming another gun was stashed away there, Spider-Man leapt into action, ramming into the man's chest, sending them both rolling to the ground.

The illusion was gone. This wasn't a myth or a legend anymore. This was a real-life man standing before him now, a man who just so happened to have the entire US government looking for him with his newly acquired criminal status.

There was no decision to be made.

"So, listen." Peter rolled away and crouched along the ground, the tenseness of his body contrasted by how light-hearted his voice was. Wilson gazed at him fiercely. "I was sort of in the middle of something so if we can wrap this up quickly please, I'd really appreciate it."

Not waiting for a response, Peter shot another web out. The man dipped to the side to avoid it, only to balk as the teen lunged for him, kneeing him under the jaw before rolling away again. Peter hopped back up to his feet a few paces away and shrugged.

"I mean, don't get me wrong. I don't wanna sound disinterested or anything." Falcon threw a punch. Peter ducked under it and delivered one of his own at one-fifth his usual strength. It was still enough to send the man skidding backward.

"Getting to fight an Avenger - not once, but twice, is definitely going in my super-secret Spider diary tonight."

Whipping his head to the side, Falcon took note of the gun that had been whipped from his grasp. Leaping forward, he stretched to grab it, only for Spider-Man to shoot two more webs towards his outstretched hands, latching one securely to the concrete below.

"By the way," he leaned up against the air-conditioning unit sitting idle on the rood. "How do you spell your name again? No crazy silent x's or anything in there, right?"

The Falcon whipped a knife from his pocket and sliced through the webbing keeping him trapped, whipping the knife towards his assailant when he finished. Peter barely dipped to the side, allowing it to sink into the metal of the unit. "I feel I have to ask. Superheroes can sometimes go a little crazy with their names you know? You seem pretty down to Earth, though-"

He ducked another punch.

"- So I'll hold out on my hopes that I won't have to search up your wiki page to figure it out. You have one of those, you know."

The man dropped to the ground and swept his leg forward, knocking Peter's out from underneath him. He went down but landed on his hands, springing backward as he fired two more webs. The man rolled out of the way just in time, springing back up right next to his discarded gun. He lunged for it and wrapped his fingers around it just in time to duck another set of webs.

"Hey, how long until I have one of those, by the way? All you Avengers have a wiki page and I'm starting to feel a little left out."

There were bullets now. Peter felt his movements picking up speed as they whizzed past him. "So how long do I gotta be at this until I get my own Spidey-themed page? Or do you think it's more about quality of superheroing over how long you've actually been doing it?" One particular bullet whizzed close enough for him to hear the whine as it shot past his ear.

"Like, you think I could get me one of those by next week if I rescue the President's favorite dog or something? You think he has a dog? He seems like the kind of person who would have a dog-"

"Would you shut up?!"

Peter restrained the sudden desire to grin underneath his mask as he crouched atop the air conditioning unit, taking a second to catch his breath as the hail of bullets halted just long enough for the man to deepen his glare, which seemed more aggravated rather than downright hate-fueled.

"Am I annoying you?"

"So much." The gun cocked again.

Peter leapt off the unit and slid underneath the man's legs, mouth flying all the while. "Then it's working. People get real sloppy when they're angry."

As if to prove his point, as soon as the man turned to find him again, a glob of webbing was flying through the air, blocking up the muzzle of the man's gun and rendering it useless. Peter straightened back up and shrugged his shoulders as the Falcon's wide eyes stared at his smoking weapon. "Just ask the guy at Subway who made my sandwich last week. He was obviously having some sort of personal crisis cause that thing was a travesty."

Peter choked on whatever else he was going to say as a knife was suddenly back in his face, slashing millimeters from his nose. He grunted and took a step back, lifting an arm to block the blow before ramming his fist into the man's gut.

The man stumbled backward, falling to the floor as he grunted in pain. Righting himself, the kid raised his arm, web-shooters poised. He knew that if he really wanted to, he could snap the man like a twig. God knew he had the training to do so, courtesy of the Cons. Of course, that didn't mean he actually wanted to hurt him. He barely even wanted to hurt the common thugs and lowlifes he encountered on a daily basis.

Still, this fight was starting to droll on. Plus, there was a building that was kinda...you know...on fire.

Before he could fire any more webs, Falcon's hands went to his side and a new pistol was in his hands. Dang. Forgot about that one. Peter cursed as the man raised up the weapon, bullets firing his way.

Senses tingling frantically, the teen ducked below the oncoming hail and rolled to the side, firing another bout of webs at the man, hitting him in the legs. Yanking on the webs, he watched as Falcon dropped down to the ground.

Rolling along the concrete, the man raised up the gun once again, continuing to fire as the vigilante dodged and approached. He hissed as a bullet grazed his arm, leaping to the side to avoid the barrage before lifting himself up once again, Falcon doing the same.

Before either of them could make another move, a huge BOOM sounded through the air, the roof shuddering at the noise. Peter crouched down to the ground to steady himself, catching Falcon out of the corner of his eye doing the same. Against his better judgment, the teen turned away from his combatant and gazed down at the building below.

The fire was beginning to spread, the upper-level floors now aflame in a similar fashion to the ones below it. The building exterior looked as if it could crumble away in a matter of minutes, constant shudders shivering throughout the foundation as burning flames shot through the windows and cracks. But the thing that really caught Peter's attention was the faint sound of screams coming from the lower levels of the building.

He bit his lip as he felt his fists clench before tightly shutting his eyes. Whipping back around, he found that Falcon was still trailing his gun on him, but a new bout of unease was settling into his eyes.

Peter clapped his hands together and shrugged his shoulders nervously. "Umm...do you think we can put a pin in this?"

The man cocked a brow. "Are you serious?"

More screams. They sounded even more frantic than before. Suddenly feeling all bouts of carefree flippantness evaporating from his person, Peter straightened up and stared down the gun once more. He hesitated for a moment, felt the same familiar sickening churn in his stomach at the sight, but he pushed it down. It was quickly replaced with annoyance.

"Look, as of right now, I have much more important things to be worrying about." He was surprised at the harshness of his tone, and even more surprised by what he said next. "So if you wanna run then run. Get out of here and keep on hiding wherever it is you've been stashed away. Pretend the rest of the world doesn't exist anymore. But I'm not afforded that luxury."

He didn't give himself a moment to gauge the man's reaction as he turned and leapt up onto the roof ledge. He prepped to swing down, only to feel himself tensing, felt the hesitations in his muscles before his brain could even register it. And then he was turning around again.

"You know...I used to look up to you. To all of you."

Sam Wilson stared back at him. So did the gun.

"There was a time when I bet a lot of people thought they could count on you." He met the man's gaze head-on, hoped he could at least give him something to think about other than the bruises he had just acquired. "Guess they gotta settle for me."

Without another word, without checking to see the man's reaction, Peter leapt off the ledge, swinging down towards the burning inferno.

Spotting another shattered window, the teen swung through the small opening and landed on the shuddering floor. Instantly, he was bombarded with a wave of heat that nearly made him stagger backward.

Shaking through the fog that had quickly settled in his mind, the boy raced into the hallway, finding that the entire floor was now ablaze, bright orange light illuminating the rooms while simultaneously casting darkened shadows along the walls, floors, and ceiling.

Pinpointing the faint sound of cries and whimpers, the kid began to make his way towards the stairs. Wincing as he pressed his hand against the super-heated metal of the handrail, Peter jerked back and glared down the stairwell. Large flames blazed on either side of the pathway, including in the center of the stairs.

Craning his neck, the teen noticed that farther down the stairs, there was a path where the flames had yet to reach. Taking a steadying breath, Spidey took a few steps back before running forward, leaping into the air as he aimed for the safe spot. Feet touching down on warm metal, the teen rolled along the ledge before righting himself.

It didn't take him long to find the door leading into the next hallway. Pushing through the doorway, the kid gasped and rolled away as a huge burst of flame rushed the door, roaring loudly as it whooshed past him. Taking another steadying breath, the teen pushed through the door and landed on the floor, the roaring flames seeming to reach for him as he entered.

Above his head, the fluorescent lights flickered on and off, sparks cracking from the shattered bulbs. Wires hung down around his face, feeding the already growling fire that blazed through the hall. Pressing his hands against the closest door, Peter leaned closer as he tried to make out whether the sounds of crying were coming from nearby.

Detecting the sound of frightened voices beyond the door, the teen took a few steps back before ramming his shoulder into the door. The already crumbling material gave way to his strength as it crashed to the floor, loud shrieks of shock meeting his ears.

Lifting his head, Spider-Man made out the shape of two huddled figures in the corner, though it was hard to see through all of the smoke billowing around the room. Feeling the familiar tingle shivering up his spine, the boy glanced up and noticed that the ceiling above their heads looked ready to collapse any second.

Rushing forward, Spidey grasped the two workers and caught sight of the window pressed up against the wall, seemingly leading into the next room. The ceiling creaked and whined ominously above their heads as Peter shot forward, the two workers in tow.

Their screams rang out around him as he shot them all through the window, the group landing painfully on the other side as the ceiling caved down around where they had once stood. A harsh cough passed through his chest as the teen slowly rose back up to his hands and knees, the other two slowly doing the same. Glancing around, Peter took note that they seemed to be in a lab of some sort. On the other side of the room, there was another window only this one led outside.

Before he could push the pair towards safety, however, he grabbed onto the closest one, a man. "Doesn't this building have any protocols in place for something like this?" He asked, fighting to be heard over the roar of the flames.

The man stared at him frantically for a moment before licking his lips, shakily nodding his head. "Y-yeah, the...the sprinklers were supposed to go off. They're a high-powered model to deal with these kinds of chemical fires, b-but they didn't go off for some reason." He spared a frantic glance around the room. "The system operates from down in the basement, but it's probably all up in flames by now. You'll never make it down there. Without another word, he began to push his coworker towards the window.

Peter could still hear the flames roaring around him as he watched the pair begin to climb out the window, the man's words making his heart sink. He still had an entire floor to clear, but judging from how the ceiling had collapsed not only seconds before, it wouldn't be long until the entire building did the same. The only other way to get around it would be to put out the flames by activating the sprinkler system.

"Hold on, you said the system was in the basement, right?" He called as the man glanced back at him. "If I can get down there, can I restart it?"

The man shook his head, eyes filling with unease. "It's a dual system. To restart it, you'll have to manually override the switches and it takes two people to do it." He explained, casting one last glance towards the teen. "You can't do it alone." He said before disappearing behind the ledge.

Peter felt despair begin to clench around his heart before a new voice made him jump in surprise. "Guess it's a good thing you aren't."

He whipped around to watch as the Falcon stepped through the doorway, eyes narrowed as he folded his arms over his chest. "Now can we get a move on with this before we're both char-grilled?" He growled.

The kid didn't take the time to acknowledge the flutter of relief that washed through him at the man's presence, for he knew there was no time for such things. "We have to get down to the basement. But considering the stairwells are starting to melt right about now, we're gonna have to find another way in." He explained, casting a nervous glance towards the doorway, watching with bated breath as the fire inched closer.

The man nodded, seemingly trying to avoid glancing at the approaching flames as well as he gestured towards the door. "Come on, I think I have an idea." With that, he bolted through the opening without sparing a second glance behind him. Spidey was quick to follow as the pair quickly maneuvered towards the flaming stairwell.

The rising smoke and ash that plumed around the air was enough to make their eyes water, even Peter's, despite the mask covering his face. While he knew his suit had a filtration system for stuff like this, even it was having a hard time pushing through the thick blanket of ash flying around him. With that, he cast a nervous glance towards Falcon. He knew the man hadn't been exposed to the toxic fumes as long as he had, but it was still a concerning thought.

Shaking it from his head, the pair stopped as they entered the stairwell, the dark, black clouds even thicker in the enclosed space. Yet, through the smoke, they could make out the form of the entrance door at the bottom of the stairs, a roaring patch of flame blocking their path. Not even Peter could make the jump over that, and considering the space they were in, he doubted Falcon would even be able to open his wings, let alone fly them over.

Nevertheless, Peter watched as Falcon lifted up his wrist, quickly pressing a series of buttons on the screen before him. Before the teen could question what he was doing, he felt the man roughly grab his arm before hauling him back just as a pair of small missiles shot out of the man's shoulders, flying above their heads.

The missiles hit the ceiling above where the fire roared, a loud explosion rocking the small room as they hit their mark. Spider-Man winced at the loud BOOM, watching as a pile of debris and tile fell from the ceiling before landing on the flames, extinguishing them for a brief moment with the huge mess of concrete and ceramic smothering it.

"Come on!" Before he could voice his shock, the Falcon was dragging him forward. After taking a second to find his footing, the teen was racing just behind the older man, slamming his shoulder into the door as he and the ex-Avenger stumbled in, falling to the floor for a brief moment to pause and take a breath.

Bad idea.

If they thought the stairwell was bad, then this room was ten times worse. The metal pipes and shiny surfaces all reflected the flaming orange lights in such a way that it looked like the entire room was just one big fire. The roaring flames seemed to cover every inch of the area, thick grey smoke hanging in the air above their faces. Off to the side, Peter noticed a sparking electrical circuit that seemed to have been ruptured from its safety tubing, igniting the nearby vats of flammable chemicals.

"Guess we found out where this fire started." He called, glancing at the man, who narrowed his eyes as the sparking circuit before coughing behind his hand. Doing a quick scan of the room, the kid noticed the separate system circuits and routers lined up against one of the back walls. Gesturing towards the older man at the levers, he received a nod of confirmation before they began their move.

If the fire before had been bad, then the smoke in the basement made it ten times worse. Through the tears in their eyes and the thick layers of grainy, ash-filled air filling the room, it was nearly impossible to see anything. Going more by feeling than by sight at this point, the two pushed through the smoke and crashed against the back wall.

Cracking open his eyes, Peter shook the fog from his brain and caught sight of the mechanisms. Sitting against the back wall was a desk-like panel with an assortment of flashing buttons and warning lights flaring like firecrackers. Along the walls on either side of the panel were two levers connected to the circuits and sprinkles above their heads.

As Spider-Man caught a look at the mechanism, he quickly began to understand why the man said the machine would only work with two people. After activating the panels, you needed to turn the levers at the same time. And taking into consideration the distance between the two, it would likely be impossible without two people.

Falcon glared down at the panels before casting a nervous glance over his shoulder at the approaching flames. "Alright, so how the hell do we do this?" He asked, the hoarseness of his voice drawing attention to the fact that the smoke was not doing them any favors at the moment.

Peter said nothing as he roughly pushed past the man and went to stand before the operating system. He could practically feel just how slow his brain was moving with the sheer smoke hovering around him, but he was quickly able to orient himself with the system and frantically began to tap his fingers along the buttons. It only took a second to manually override the short-circuit that had disabled the sprinklers and reroute the system to focus full power onto the downed unit. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Sam gazing at him in mild curiosity as he finished up the program.

"Got it!" He called as he plugged in the last series of codes. "Get to that lever over there!" He shouted as the flames inched closer, the roar filling his ears like cars on a freeway. Falcon quickly made his way over, hissing as his arm brushed up against one of the super-heated pipes. Tightly gripping the lever, Peter cast the man a small glance. His eyes widened as he caught sight of something above the man's head.

With a small grunt, the teen shot his arm out as fast as he could, his webs grabbing a hold of Sam's arm. Falcon yelped in shock as he was dragged down to the ground right as a huge portion of the ceiling cracked and gave out, showers of debris raining down around him, including a particularly heavy-looking piece of concrete that seemed to have been aiming for his head. Instead, it crashed down against the pack on his back as he floundered on the floor.

"Shit!" The man gasped as he ducked his head while the last few bits of debris rained down, small sparks cracking from his pack. He cast Peter a small, wide-eyed stare before the teen made a frantic gesture towards the lever. Coughing harshly against his hand, the man rushed back up to his feet and stepped around the newly formed pile of ash and concrete, grasping the lever tightly.

"Now!"

Instantly, the sound of shifting gears filled Peter's ears as the levers were cranked down. A loud rumbling filled the air followed by a hissing noise that seemed to reverberate throughout the entire room. After a second, a strong burst of water shot out of the sprinklers above their heads, cascades of water raining down around them.

The flames flickered and flashed in protest as they tried to fight against the onslaught, but as the water continued to pour, they eventually began to dwindle. As the suffocating heat of the room began to die out, Peter felt a burst of relief flood through him as he shocked out a gasp of relief, pressing his palms against his knees as he hunched over and tried to suck in a breath, but he was finding a great deal of difficulty in doing so.

For a moment, the teen forgot there was even anyone else in the room, at least until the sound of sirens reached his ears. "Fuck..."  Whipping his head back up at the man's curse, Peter watched as Sam disappeared back up the stairwell without another word.

The teen hesitated for a moment, wondering whether or not he should aid the man. He glanced behind him at the levers, both now in the down-position as water continued to rain down around him. He narrowed his eyes and followed the man up the stairs.

Entering the first hallway, he caught sight of Falcon standing in the doorway, glancing uneasily at the front door farther down, flashing red and blue lights flaring behind the glass. "Can't let 'em..." the man trailed off, running a hand against his sweat-covered forehead.

Without a second thought, Peter latched onto the man's wrist, a loud shout meeting his ears. "Hey, what the-"

"Just shut up and follow me!" The teen hissed as he dragged the man down the hallway, sprinting as fast as he could against the slick tile floors, water pouring around them. Bursting out of the hallway's back door, the cold night air slammed into him forcefully, the kid resisting the urge to stop right there just to drag in the first clean breath of air he'd gotten in the past ten minutes.

Instead, he fired a web up towards the building they'd previously been atop, wrapping an arm around the Falcon's waist. Ignoring the man's indignant shouts, the teen blinked the hazy dots flickering across his vision at the clenching of his lungs as he webbed the pair into the air.

The sky wavered slightly as they quickly approached, Peter unceremoniously dropping Flacon on the roof alongside himself as he rolled along the concrete. His muscles screamed as he flopped to the floor, panting heavily as he tried to drag in as much clean air as possible. His lungs protested as he did so, harsh coughs tearing through his throat as he slowly began to shift.

Panting heavily, Peter shakily pushed himself onto his hands and knees as he blinked the black dots currently swimming along the edges of his vision out of sight. He let out a pained groan as he sucked in a breath through his clenched teeth, eyes snapping open as he heard the familiar click of a gun sounding from in front of him.

You gotta be kidding me right now.

He glared up at Wilson as he leveled the gun back at him in a frighteningly similar manner to earlier that night. But after crashing through a blazing inferno, Peter found that all his cares had mysteriously burned up. He sighed. "Are you serious right now? I literally just saved your life."

The man's face remained serious. "Yeah, well don't think that changes things, man. We're still on opposite sides of the playing field." He shifted the gun in his grip. "So don't think for a second that I won't blow your brains out if you even think of calling anybody out here."

Peter stared up at him for a moment, listened to the sounds of his own breathing, slightly wheezy and thick from the contaminated air he'd inhaled. The gun glared down at him, heavy and gaping. And as he stared at a sight he'd seen countless times, stared down a weapon that had been pointed at him more times than should have ever been reached, Peter noticed something interesting happen.

The usual unease and tension he should have been feeling weren't arising, weren't forming to weigh in his stomach. Maybe it was the last lingering remnants of smoke hanging around his head making him foggy and dazed. Maybe it was the sudden ache he could feel in his bones, tired and heavy. Or maybe it was the fact that his senses weren't screaming at him, shrieking and ringing in his ears and down his spine, warning him of impending doom.

Whatever it was, Peter found himself staring at the weapon with a slight intrigue, a low-level curiosity one would feel staring at the fish behind glass in an aquarium. But it wasn't fear. Whatever it was...it wasn't fear. And that was enough for him.

So with a little sigh, he began to push himself up. "Okay..."

"Hey. Did you not hear what I just said, freak?" Wilson took a threatening step forward. "I swear I'll kill you if you try anything."

Peter rose up to his feet and began to dust off his hands. "No, you won't."

"Excuse me?"

He angled his head up. "You're not going to shoot me, so let's just stop pretending cause I'm not all that great at acting. Just ask my old theater teacher. He's probably in the phone book."

Wilson glared. "Enough with the stupid jokes already! Do you not see the gun?"

A new irritation began to replace the strange intrigue from before. He wasn't afraid. And he didn't appreciate the man's attempts to make him so. He got enough of that on the daily. He didn't need it here. So with that, he folded his arms over his chest. "Yeah, I got that. But it's not as important as who's holding it."

The man huffed, didn't lower the weapon. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I know who you are. You're Sam Wilson. The Falcon, an Avenger. You're a hero."

He scoffed bitterly, a new sour tone ringing in his words. "You watch the news lately? Cause that's not exactly the word people have been throwing around."

Peter nodded. "Yeah. I know. It's not like you don't deserve it, either-"

"Hey-"

"But that's not the point right now."

The man growled impatiently. "Then what is the point?"

Peter let out a little breath, uncrossed his arms, and let them hang down at his sides as he stared back at the man through the mask. His words were strong, his voice steady.

"Right now, it doesn't matter what they think of you. What matters is what you think of yourself." He pointed down towards the previously burning building below. "If you believed everything they're saying about you, then you wouldn't have helped me save those people. You would have flown off the second you could, leaving me and them to fend for ourselves."

He swallowed, took another breath. "But you didn't. Cause you don't believe what they're saying. And neither do I. Not enough to believe that you'd shoot another hero in cold blood, at least."

Wilson said nothing, just kept staring back at him as he spoke, even as the teen shrugged his shoulders and scoffed.

"But hey. I've been wrong before. And I'm sure once in a blue moon those news outlets actually do get something right, so maybe that's the case this time." His voice hardened and he took a step forward. "What do you say? Who're you gonna prove wrong?"

Another step. Wilson didn't lower the gun, didn't lower his gaze nor his frown.

"Go ahead."

Another step. The gun rested against his chest now.

"Shoot me."

The man leveled him a hard glare as he held the gun to his chest, staring the vigilante straight in the face. His eyes were cold as he held the teen's gaze behind the mask. His hand never once shook. The gun never once flinched. His body remained stiff and rigid as his finger hovered over the trigger.

With an angered sigh, the gun dropped down to his side as the man turned his head away, pacing the weapon back into his holster.

Unbeknownst to him, Peter was finally allowing a breath to enter his lungs at the sign of surrender, the sudden implications of what he'd just done finally seeming to hit him.

Oh my god...that was the coolest thing I've ever done.

For not the first time in his Spider-Man career, Peter wished with everything in him that he could tell Ned.

Beside him, Wilson uttered curses under his breath as he clipped the leather pocket back over the gun. "Who the hell are you anyway?" He muttered as he removed his goggles with a sigh, letting out a small grunt of pain as he plopped down and took a seat on the ledge of the roof.

Without the mask blocking most of his face, Peter could see the smoot and grim that was smeared across his cheeks and the small trickle of blood that pooled from a scrape above his eye from when the debris had fallen.

Peter couldn't help but roll his eyes at the question. "You know, I was worried the red and blue spandex was going to be too subtle. I really need to expand my PR branch. Do some charity gigs. Organize a marathon."

Wilson stared back at him. He gestured towards the spider emblem on his suit. "Uh..."

"Right, right...Spider-dude."

"'Man' actually but I'll take what I can get."

Falcon reached behind him and tugged his pack off of his back, hissing under his breath as some of the sparks burned his hand. Placing it down on the ground in front of him, he undid one of the circuit panels and glared down at the frayed wires before lifting his head back up. "I read about you. You're that vigilante that hangs around here."

Peter took a seat against the air conditioning unit situated behind him. "I don't like that word."

"What word?"

"'Vigilante'"

"That's what you are."

"I prefer the term 'superpowered neighborhood watchman'. Just think of me like an overactive Home Owners Association that does more than just fine you for leaving your trash cans out for too long."

The man stared back at him for a moment, head tilted in mild intrigue. "You like to talk, don't you?"

"Usually more on Mondays, Mr. Falcon sir."

Wilson stared at him for a moment longer before he turned back down to his pack, tangling his hands in the wires as he huffed. "It's Sam," he muttered after a moment.

There was a little stretch of silence as Sam continued to curse as he tangled himself up in the mess that currently was his pack before he was letting out a frustrated sigh and angling his head back up.

"I don't get it, man. You fought against us in Germany. You were with Stark. He backed up the Accords, something that should stop you from doing hero work like this unsupervised. I mean, have you even read those things, or did you just go into that battle completely blind?"

The contempt in the man's tone made Peter fold his arms back over his chest. "Unlike your teammates, I like to go in knowing exactly what I'm going to be punching, so yeah, I did read them." He elected to leave out the part where he read about them after the battle in his AP Government class and continued. "And last I checked, my endeavors don't end up with buildings collapsing and thousands of people dying."

He shrugged "Plus, the closest I've ever gotten to going international with my affairs was last week when I stopped some dude from robbing the French bakery on 41st street."

Sam threw him a dark glare, seemingly unamused. "We were doing our jobs."

"And what a wonderful job you did, dude."

The man gritted his teeth and glared back down at his pack. "Fuck off, man. Who the hell are you to judge us?"

Peter cocked a brow and gestured back down to his costume. "You're kidding me, right?"

Sam wasn't convinced. "Putting on a stupid costume doesn't make you a hero."

"Neither does refusing to take responsibility for your actions."

"Yeah." The man threw him a look. "I'm sure that's a lot easier to do with a mask."

Peter bristled and jumped down from his seat. "Why do you think I'm still here, genius?He stormed over to the edge of the building and pointed down towards the people who were still being evacuated, checked over, and fitted into ambulances.

"I don't leave until I know my work is done. Cause, believe it or not, it doesn't end when the bad guy's knocked out or the fire's gone. It ends when I know everyone's okay."

He leaned closer, lenses to the mask narrowing. "Same with every robbery I stop, every cat I pull from a tree, every family I help. My job's not done until I'm 100% sure they're okay. Whether they need medical assistance, a helping hand, or just someone to talk to while they deal with whatever's just happened to them, I'm there."

He folded his arms once again, felt his voice take on a sarcastic tone. "Tell me, just what do you Avengers do besides expect other people to pay for your mistakes?"

The man's hands clenched by his sides as he glowered. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" Peter took a step forward, felt his voice rising. "Tell me, just what have you been doing all this time you've been hiding, huh? Building orphanages? Saving babies?"

The man was getting angrier. Peter found that he didn't care.

"No, how could you have time for all of that when you're too busy hiding from the messes you made? No, you leave all of that on Mr. Stark, don't you?"

He hadn't meant to bring up the man. But his name was out before he could think better of it. And as soon as it was, Sam reared back slightly, blinking at him with a newfound look in his eyes that slowly morphed into realization. He let out a cruel scoff and shook his head.

"Mr. Stark'. Jesus, no wonder you're so skewed." He smirked. "You're his patsy, aren't you?"

Peter narrowed his eyes but didn't dignify his question with a response. Something told him the man wasn't looking for one anyway.

Sam continued nonetheless. "Listen up, rookie. Despite what he's probably drilled into you, Stark is just as guilty as the rest of us."

He swallowed, heard his own words from days ago ringing in his ears. "I know. But at least he's doing something about it. Which is more than I can say for all of you," he spat with a pointed venom.

For a second, the man didn't respond. He just kept staring at him with a strange look in his eyes, scanning him up and down. Peter fought the urge to shift underneath the man's gaze and held his glare full-force. He wasn't backing down now.

Suddenly,

"Do you trust him?"

He blinked.

"What?"

"Stark. Do you trust him? Do you rely on him to have your back?"

"I...what are you-"

"Can you with one hundred percent certainty say that you can depend on him to stick up for you when the time comes?"

Peter stared at him, felt a dull humming starting up against the back of his neck. He didn't say anything.

Sam turned away, glanced down at the building down below, smoke still rising up into the air despite the extinguished flames. "You think all of this matters to him? You think all your hard work, all your good intentions will mean anything to them, to people like Stark, like Ross?" He narrowed his eyes, face taking on a cruel snarl as he glared. "People like them don't care about anything unless it somehow benefits them. And anything that does usually ends up biting people like you and me in the ass, right before they toss you aside."

The man scoffed and gave a little shake of his head, staring back at the kid with mixing looks of disbelief and contempt. "So it's only a matter of time before he throws you away, too."

Peter glared, if only to cover up the sudden churn that swirled in his stomach. "What is your deal, man? He wouldn't-" The words cut off sharply in his throat and he fought to swallow them down. He turned away for a moment, shuffled on his feet, and returned the man's contemptuous look, thankful the mask hid the unease beginning to spread onto his face.

"He wouldn't...Secretary Ross doesn't matter. He's too busy to concern himself with the likes of me, not when he's got a rogue group of superheroes to track down."

That earned him a glare.

"The only way he'd have heard of me is through that fight in Berlin, but compared to everything else, I'm just small fish. Barely even worth a mention." He shifted again, struggled to keep his arms folded over his chest as the desire to fiddle with his hands began to strengthen. "And anyway, Mr. Stark wouldn't expose me. It's...he knows how delicate my situation is. The circumstances...are special."

The words sounded right in his head. So why did his chest feel so tight all of a sudden?

Sam scoffed and shook his head. "Like that matters, man. You seriously think someone like Stark is going to back you up when it comes to Ross and his personal agendas of whatever? You think he's not going to rat you out and expose you to that government douchebag the second you start to be too much of an inconvenience?"

The man gazed back at him with an almost pitying look. "Come on, you can't be that naïve. Stark doesn't care about anybody other than himself and he's willing to do a lot to prove that."

Peter took a deep breath, felt it catch in his throat. He clenched his fists. "You're wrong."

The man's gaze softened ever so slightly, but it wasn't enough to wash away the obvious scorn still present in his voice. "I'm not. Cause you're just another blip to him, kid. He'll tell you what you want to hear, give you what you want to see, but the second he can't use you any longer, that's it. You're done. Cast aside like an old blanket."

"Oh, shut up! That's-

"Hate to break it to you, man, but that guy isn't what you think he is. He didn't care about us and he certainly doesn't care about you." Sam took a step closer. Peter took one back. But his words followed. "He can't. It's just not in his nature."

"Enough. Stop it. I don't want-"

"We trusted him too, you know. And look where it got us."

"Stop-"

"Take some advice: don't be as stupid as we were to trust someone like Tony Stark!"

"Shut up!"

Suddenly Peter's hands were up, slamming into the man's chest as they shoved him back. Sam grunted as he fell to the floor, hands instinctively reaching for his gun only to falter as he noticed the vigilante hadn't continued his attack.

"You don't know what you're talking about." Peter's voice was tight, dripping with barely restrained fury as his hands trembled and his ribs cracked in his chest. "You don't know anything! He would never do that. He would never do that to me! He wouldn't rat me out. He won't. Cause unlike all of you, I'm still here. You all left but I'm still here."

The oxygen was gone from the air, but somehow the words still found their way out. "He needed you and you left cause it got too hard so don't stand there and tell me not to trust Tony Stark cause he's not the one who stabbed us all in the back. He's not the one who left us all!"

He took a step forward, felt how shaky it was. "So you just...you don't, you don't know what you're talking about, alright? You don't...it's...you don't get it." His tongue felt thick and swollen in his mouth all of a sudden. "It's not...it's complicated. You don't get it. They don't get it. I...nobody-"

The smoke was back, wrapping around his head, his neck, his lungs. He could feel a gun pressing against his forehead, against his temple, pushing up his hair as the muzzle buried itself into his skin. He felt the fire burning against him, hot and muggy with the scent of alcohol swirling around him, their breath lingering as they grinned and laughed and waved their guns and he could do nothing but skitter back, pressing himself under the tables, under the beds, hiding from their eyes, from their grins and their breath, hot like fire burning all around him, burning the whole building down around him. Everything was swirling, liquid down the drain as black dots danced before his eyes, blinking in and out of existence, bright flashes and dark undertones. He could hear them ringing in the back of his head, gunshots and flames mixing together into a cacophony of unending noise that made him grit his teeth and shut his eyes against all of it, any of it, all of it, all of it, all-

"-ear me?...an you?...ome on, now, man. Give me something?"

There was something else now, something else besides the whining. Someone was talking to him.

He dared to open his eyes once more and saw that he was now on the floor, back pressing up against the rooftop ledge. And crouched before him was Sam, gazing down at him with the unmistakable gleam of concern, though he was trying his best to conceal it with tepid indifference.

He must have noticed Peter was now staring at him fully, for he straightened up just a tad and cocked a brow. "You with me, man?"

The teen blinked at him, took a second to make sure he wasn't a hallucination before giving a silent, muted nod.

"How long were you in there before I showed up?"

He opened his mouth and it took even longer to find his voice. "I...I don't know. Long enough."

He let out a little groan and pushed his knee up, resting an arm against it as he leaned his head back against the ledge. He could feel the man watching him, felt his eyes scouring him up and down. His face was hard as he spoke, but that didn't diminish the words themselves.

"Are...are you okay?"

It took Peter a moment to realize the words were genuine. He lifted his head back up to stare at the man. For a minute neither of them said anything, simply took in the sights before them. Finally,

"I'm fine."

Sam didn't stop staring and after a second his gaze seemed to shift. A new suspicion began to gleam behind his irises as he sized the kid up once again. When he spoke, his voice was low and his words were slow.

"How old are you?"

Peter stiffened.

"Tell me you're an adult. Tell me you're over eighteen."

The words were out before he even had to think about them. "I just turned nineteen like three months ago, so relax dude. I'm legal. Can drive and everything. Just can't buy beer yet. But if anything, now you don't have to worry about me swinging while drunk."

The lame excuse for a joke seemed to be annoying enough for the man to roll his eyes and drop it, much to Peter's relief. The man let out a tired sigh, grabbing a seat on the ledge once again. He stole a small glance over his shoulder at the cops still milling around the building. The teen assumed he was stuck there until the police presence died down a bit. And considering Peter was still slightly woozy from that little spiral he'd just had, the thought of swinging away willy-nilly into the night wasn't looking so hot yet.

So they'd have to make do with each other for a little while longer.

Peter pursed his lips in a moment of thought before reaching over and plucking the man's pack out of his hands, inspecting the wires inside while Sam let out an indignant sputter.

"What the hell-?"

"Do you know anything about fixing severed wires and circuit plates while not causing any more damage to this thing?"

Sam paused for a moment before letting out a huff, Peter taking that as a sign of submission as he began to work on repairing the pack. "Where the hell did Stark find you anyway?" He asked, resting his cheek against his fist as he propped his elbow up on one knee.

Peter glanced up at him before turning back to the pack. "It was a couple days before Berlin. He showed up at my house, said he knew who I was and that he needed me to help him stop...well, you guys." He explained, Sam giving a small scoff. "Anyway, he updated my suit and whisked me off." The teen paused for a moment. "I thought it was just a one-time thing, you know? I'd help out a little, do what I could, and then he would take the suit back and dump me right back where he found me."

The Avenger folded his arms over his chest. "Didn't he?"

"No...no he didn't. I mean, that's what I thought he was gonna do and that's certainly what I was expecting...but he didn't." He stared down at the wires, his hands pausing in their movements. "I-I don't know why he's bothering with me. I don't know why he's keeping me around but..." He trailed off for a moment before he began to continue working on the pack. "But he is. And I'm grateful for that."

Sam stared at the teen before giving a small shake of his head. "I don't get it, kid. Why are you so hung up on this asshole? I mean, from what you're saying, he basically just used you to get what he wanted.

Peter gave a little glare "You know...I'm trying to be nice and keep this little conversation just between you and me. And if you want to keep things that way, I suggest you cool it with the insults. " He growled before ripping out another wire much harsher than he needed.

Sam stared at the teen before turning away. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to piss this kid off anymore, especially considering he probably had Stark on his speed-dial or whatever. He rolled his eyes to cover up his insecurities before the teen began to speak once more. "Can I borrow that knife of yours?"

At the man's mistrusting glare, the kid rolled his eyes. "Yeah, it's the final point in my master plan of luring you to this remote building, stealing your pack, killing you and then stealing your sweet knife. I'm a genius, aren't I?"

The man scoffed and pulled his knife out once more, tossing it to the vigilante. Peter caught it and used the sharp tip to pry one of the panels away from the rest of the metal, digging through the newly exposed wires.

He sighed as he continued to twist the wires of the pack. "My job is to help people, so helping Mr. Stark, despite his less-than-stellar-methods of approaching me, don't bother me. The only difference is..." He let out a small sigh. "He's the only one who's ever bothered to help me in return."

Sam blinked and leaned forward slightly.

"He...I don't know, he listens to me. Somehow, he finds time in his unbelievably busy schedule to make room for a stupid kid like me. I don't know...I guess I just interest him. I'm sure it can't last but..." He gave a small smile beneath the mask. "But I'll enjoy it while it does."

Peter didn't say anything after that and Sam didn't push him to. The pair simply sat in silence as Peter continued to work on the man's wings, the sound of sirens blaring from the distance, an occasional flash of red and blue streaking past.

After a few more minutes, he closed up the metal panel on the pack and turned back toward Sam. "There. That should make do until you get back to wherever it is you've been holding yourself up." He rose up to his feet and handed the man his pack.

Sam took the pack with a small nod of his head. "Thanks..." he murmured quietly as he silently slipped the wings onto his back. As he did so, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that Spider-Man was staring at him, not even trying to hide the fact.

"What?" He asked with a cocked brow as the teen continued to stare. Peter said nothing and for a moment, Sam wondered whether or not he would speak at all. After another second, he finally opened his mouth. "Why did you let them film you?"

"Huh?"

"Those people." Peter continued. "I've read your Wiki page." He uttered, ignoring the man's eye roll. "You used to be Para-rescue. Stealth is right up your alley. And those pictures weren't shot by professionals hiding in trees, disguising themselves as squirrels and whatnot. So that means you let them take those pictures on purpose. Why?"

Sam stared down at the teen for a minute before a small humored huff fell from his lips. "Not bad, kid." He uttered quietly as he gave a small smirk. "Misdirection. The Rogue Avengers would never stay near a city where they've just been spotted, right?" At the kid's nod, he continued. "They'll assume we high-tailed it out of here as soon as possible"

Peter hesitated before giving another small nod. "So you're...hiding in plain sight?"

"Exactly."

Spidey gave a small chuckle as the hero nodded, the man's gaze turning back to the sky as he scanned the area for the clear way. Peter stared after him, fingers twitching by his sides as he debated whether or not he should keep his mouth shut. Finally, after a few more moments of internal debate, the teen realized he couldn't keep silent any longer.

"He's not what you think he is."

The Avenger knew who he was talking about without him having to even say the name. He let out a small scoff and turned back towards him. "Trust me, kid. You don't wanna know what I think he is."

Peter narrowed his eyes. "Look, I know things are kinda bad with you guys, you and all the other Avengers...but you're not the only victims here, you know." He growled out, folding his arms over his chest. "This has been hard on him too."

Sam glared back at him. "Oh, yeah? I don't see him having to hole himself up in some abandoned warehouse just to make sure they don't throw you back into a cell." He snarled darkly, fists clenching.

Spidey returned the glare just as fiercely. "At least you're free."

The man continued to glare, although his expression became more one of confusion at that. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Peter let out a sigh of exasperation. "Oh come on. You honestly don't think Mr. Stark doesn't have the capabilities to track you guys down? He had some of the most advanced tech in the world. You think he doesn't know how to trace you guys? You think he hasn't had the opportunity to turn you in already?"

"If you're trying to get me to warm up to him, I hate to say you kinda suck at it."

"You're missing the point," Peter snapped. "If he has the capabilities to turn you in, why do you think he hasn't done it yet?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Probably cause he's waiting for the right opportunity to tell Ross that suits him best." He uttered, trying not to acknowledge that small spark of uncertainty that had entered his mind.

Peter seemed all too quick to pick up on it, though. He didn't say anything, but the simple tilt of his head seemed to be enough.

The man let out a small sigh as he turned away, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. "Hate to break it to you, kid, but the last time Stark saw us, he wasn't exactly too pleased. I know for a fact that he doesn't care about any of us."

He expected the teen to go off again, which only made him blink in surprise as the vigilante instead just kept staring at him. After a second of prolonged silence, he spoke.

"I think you know that's not true."

Sam stared at him. He said nothing.

"You know, growing up, you were one of my heroes." Peter glanced away, glanced down at the last of the ambulances beginning to clear away. "The other Avengers too. And...and you all still are."

He took a breath, let it out slowly. "I know you're not the bad guys." He stared straight at the man. "But neither is Mr. Stark."

Sam stared at the teen, the wind whipping around them as distant sirens continued to wail. "So then who is?" There was no malice in his voice, no hatred. Only a sense of defeat.

"Does there have to be a bad guy?"

Sam sighed. "There's always a bad guy, kid."

Spider-Man said nothing, could say nothing as he stared down at the ground. He let out a tired sigh before moving away. Sam stared at the vigilante as he went over to sit on the ledge, glancing down at the departing cops and paramedics. The man continued to stand, blinking down at his feet as the teen's words continued to ring in his ears.

Sam lifted his arm and ran a hand across his face, now truly feeling just how exhausted he was. He glanced back over towards Spider-Man, a flash of hesitation sparking in his brain before he waved it away, letting out a small sigh.

Walking over, the man placed a hand on the teen's shoulder. Spidey shrugged him off immediately, but Sam didn't take offense as the teen turned towards him. "Listen, I need to warn you about something."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Tony Stark's going to kill me in my sleep. Just-"

"No, that..." He paused with a loud sigh. "that's not what I was going to say. I mean, I'm trying to warn you about the reason why I'm here." He explained. The vigilante shut his mouth and turned fully around to face him. "We've been stationed out around here for the past few weeks. There's been hints of an underground organization that's been hijacking government trucks loaded to the brim with stolen alien tech."

"Alien tech? Where the heck are they getting alien tech?" He asked.

Sam shook his head. "Damage Control is still trying to clean up the mess from when the Chitari invaded a few years back." He explained "Anyway, they've been stealing the tech and manufacturing it to make weapons."

Peter nodded his head slowly. "Alright, alien weapons." He furrowed his brow after a second, though. "I'm sorry but doesn't an underground gang making weapons seem a little, I don't know...below your pay grade? Especially considering you guys kinda have to keep a cover?"

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Not when their buyers are suspected Hydra officers."

Peter's eyes widened. "Oh..."

The man nodded. "Yeah, oh." He turned away. "Anyway, we don't know if their buyers are here, but we do know this is where the weapons are being made. So...just keep a heads up for stuff like that, alright? And definitely don't try and take out anyone you think might be Hydra-affiliated, kay? You are definitely not equipped to handle people like that."

The teen folded his arms over his chest. "I can take care of myself just fine, thank you very much." He muttered indignantly, the lenses of his mask flaring out a bit not unlike a pouting toddler.

Sam couldn't help but give a small scoff at that. "I'm sure you can, kid. Just..." He paused for a moment. "...try not to get yourself killed, alright? I'm just...I'm just warning you so you'll be careful, m'kay?"

Peter couldn't help but smirk. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say that sounded like concern in your voice."

"Aannnddd...it's gone. Great job."

The teen let out a chuckle as the man began to walk over towards the edge, his wings flaring out from the sides of his pack. He barely caught the teen whispering "Awesome" under his breath, but it was enough to have the man smirking.

Still, he wiped the look from his face as he turned back around. "You're not gonna tell Stark about this, are you? About...me being here?"

The kid said nothing for a moment and for a second, Sam felt a flutter of concern pass through him, but it was dispelled as the vigilante finally looked up. "He already has enough to deal with right now. I don't need to worry him about this, too," he sighed before glaring back up at the man. "Just do me a favor. Don't become something that he needs to worry about, alright?"

Sam stared down at the teen before letting out a small breath. "No promises, kid."

Spidey glanced down at the ground before giving a small shrug of his shoulders. "Just as well. Any promises you make are probably worth as much as a two-week-old street taco," he muttered.

The Avenger couldn't help but smirk at that. "Now you're learning," he called as he leapt up, his wings instantly catching the wind as his propulsors took him soaring into the air, disappearing from sight after a moment.

 


 

Friday, March 25, 2016

Springfield Blvd - en route to Parker Residence

09:12 p.m.

The city's heart beat steady and strong as Peter landed with a small grunt on the rooftop, exhaling loudly as he fought to take a steadying breath. His chest still felt tight and muggy, like the air being sucked in was as thick as the milkshakes May served at her diner.

He only stopped for a moment to strain his ears, senses pricked and honed to trace any signs of distress, any outgoing calls for help, or cries of fear. When he picked up on no such sounds, the teen took a running leap and flew off the ledge once more, shooting a web to catch his descent, and up he was soaring again.

Over and over he repeated the pattern, falling into a steady rhythm of movement...and thought.

Sam's words still clung heavily to the back of his head like a wad of gum he couldn't quite shake. His warnings left him a bit more on edge, his muscles coiled just a tad tighter and his body prepped for any for of diversion or threat that could come flying out of nowhere, dawning fully-stocked military-grade gear and those terrifying Hydra masks he'd seen in his textbooks, aiming tanks and missiles that could shoot him right out of the sky.

Okay, maybe that was going a bit too far. But the threat was there. And as such, Peter's thoughts stayed there too.

Much to his begrudging realization, the teen's knowledge on the organization was fairly lacking. They'd covered it in World History back in seventh grade; the usual middle-school baseline levels of knowledge, enough information for him to pass a test or two, but nothing that really stuck outside of a couple of things. He supposed it was a bit easier to remember topics from his textbooks when they took the time to blow up Washington DC.

So...that helped.

But other than the little blips the TVs had shown after the disaster, a few documentaries here and there that could cash in on people's intrigue and fear, and some articles online that were quickly shut down once people realized they contained classified documents that had somehow been leaked, there wasn't much info Peter could safely rely on when it came to something like Hydra.

Except, of course, for the insider info he'd just gotten word of that night, courtesy of one ex-Avenger.

Peter shot out another web, felt it snap taut as he fell through the air before whipping him back up. The moment he'd finally left the rooftop next to the burned-out building, his first instincts had been to go to Mr. Stark (a realization that would later make him chew through one of his nails). The billionaire was way more equipped to deal with something like the ex-Nazi organization, much more than Peter himself was.

Of course, that was assuming Wilson hadn't been lying to him. Or that Mr. Stark wouldn't question where Peter had gotten his information.

It was these assumptions that would send Peter swinging towards home rather than towards Stark Tower.

He couldn't just outright believe the words of Mr. Wilson. For all he knew, the man had just been trying to get him to follow blank leads just to get him off their case, away from their trail and his nose out of their business. And despite the fact that Hydra-based weapon dealings didn't seem like the kind of thing a former Avenger would be lying about just to cover their own ass, Peter still decided it would be best to keep his eyes peeled. He'd confirm for himself exactly what was going on before bothering Mr. Stark with his wild goose chases.

And as for that second hang-up?

Peter felt the corners of his mouth twitch behind the mask, took a semi-deep breath (as much as his currently smoke-injured lungs would allow, anyway) and focused on swinging. He couldn't help but wonder what would happen if the man found out about him talking to the Avenger, or better yet, what he would do if he came face to face with Sam.

He wanted to believe that Mr. Stark would keep a level head, that he would be rational and calm enough to deal with the situation smartly, smoothly, exactly how he handled everything else: with confidence.

And yet, Peter couldn't help but remember the pain that had been etched onto the man's face up on that rooftop when he'd confessed to Peter, the betrayal in his tone of voice, the anger behind his clenched fists. And even if the man could stay calm and keep his emotions in check, the Accords were still another standing obstacle.

("You think all of this matters to him?")

Peter faltered on his next swing, miscalculating his trajectory and rolling along the rooftop underneath him to keep from splatting against the upcoming wall of the next-door apartments. He jumped up this his feet, taking a shuddering breath as he blinked and tried to figure out what had just happened. It had been a while since he'd messed up a swing like that.

("The second he can't use you any longer, that's it. You're done.")

He winced as the words shot through his ears like an ice pick to the brain. He felt his stomach flip painfully as his chest gave another uncomfortable twinge, grunting as he tried to clear his throat of the imaginary fluff starting to clog up his pipes. He moved towards the ledge and shot out another web before his muscles could freeze over entirely, swinging off into the air before he could lose his nerve again. But it still wasn't enough to outrun the thoughts now plaguing his mind.

Mr. Stark could turn him over, betray him, sign him away, ship him off with a wave and a smile.

The possibility was there. It had always been there, a neon sign that flared before his eyes in a blinding flash of warning lights that told him to stay away, to get out and listen to his instincts. The Accords were too dangerous. The present threat was real, and that threat was Tony Stark.

("The only thing you can trust in this world, Peter...is family.")

His father had been saying that for years, even before the Cons. It was a fact of life now. A staple that couldn't be questioned, an immovable force that would forever stand the test of time. Peter knew it was true, knew there was no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

His family was all he had.

But he had to admit, Mr. Stark was making a strong case for himself.

He'd felt it earlier, with Pepper and Rhodey and Happy and especially when Mr. Stark had shown up. It was hard to ignore, like the neon sign. But this wasn't as intrusive, wasn't as painful to look at. It was a strange feeling. It left him breathless and kept his heart racing. But in a strange sort of way. In the same way web-swinging did, flying through the city from one web to the next, the feeling of free-falling mingling with the certainty that he would rise back up, the stability of knowing that he was safe.

Peter landed with a thump on another rooftop, making note of how far he was from home. He didn't make a move to shoot out another web though. For a second, he just stood there, let his eyes linger over the nearby buildings, let his ears soak up the noise, let his mind wander.

Peter wasn't one to opening himself up to strangers. The thought of being left alone with people he didn't know made an uncomfortable itch crawl up his spine, a chill that made his frame shiver, and an illogical need to curl up and hide burst in his head. But with Mr. Stark, hell, even with the man's friends, the itch wasn't as prominent. It was there. It was always there. But it wasn't a clawing dread that sank in his stomach, more of a background noise, a soft hissing that he could only really make out if he strained his ears and listened for it.

He couldn't help but get excited whenever he thought of Mr. Stark. Hell, just earlier that evening, he'd practically bounced out of his seat when the man had entered the freaking room.

He knew it probably wasn't the most tolerable thing. If anything, the billionaire probably found it annoying, but he just couldn't help himself. For some reason, he found himself unexplainably excited, strangely...happy whenever he was with the man. And he had no idea what for. He just was.

Such a thing should have scared him.

He wasn't used to not knowing. He didn't like not knowing. But for some reason, with Mr. Stark, it seemed...okay.

Maybe it was the carefree tone he always used. Maybe it was the cocky smile and lackadaisical attitude. Hell, maybe it was just the fact that he seemed...not angry when Peter opened his mouth and began to babble on about the dumbest things. It was like the man didn't care when the teen looked him in the eyes.

He didn't care when Peter was...himself.

The teen lowered his gaze as he fiddled with his fingers, hesitant to continue moving, to continue his trek home. As he continued to mull over the thoughts swirling around his head, he slowly began to piece the fragmented bits and pieces together. And as he did so, the slow conclusion he was beginning to move towards made his heart hammer.

He was starting to understand, if only a little bit, why he seemed so comfortable with Tony Stark.

He seemed trusting.

And that scared Peter more than anything.

That was rule number one. That was the one rule you could never, ever break. Not fully, at least. There were a few things that could slide: getting close with Ned, revealing his identity to Mr. Stark (well he kinda had no choice in that), accepting the man's internship offer. Those things...those things he could get away with.

But then there were the things he absolutely could never ever reveal.

He stole a small glance towards his house before a small sigh fell from his lips. There was only a small handful of people who knew what life was like for the teen at home, including Ned, who only truly knew because he'd been with the teen since middle school. Ned wasn't stupid. Peter had shown up with enough bruises and broken bones for him to figure it out.

Still, those rules burned brightly in Peter's head, carved in like a marker. Bold. Permanent. It was the reason he never openly told his best friend. He never spoke about home if he could avoid it, and for the most part, Ned respected such things and they left it at that.

Safe to say, Mr. Stark would not leave it at that. On the off chance that such affairs even mattered to the billionaire, Peter couldn't risk the chance of him trying to do something about it, or worse, going to the police.

Peter felt his heart begin hammering and his mind splinter painfully as a thrumming headache blared behind his eyes, the mere thought nearly sending him into a panic.

No. He couldn't have that. He just couldn't.

As much as he enjoyed being around the billionaire, he knew that he could never, ever trust him with this.

Peter shut his eyes and took a deep breath, repeating the action a few more times as he fought to tame the throbbing pain blaring in his head. After a moment, he was finally able to push it back. Running a hand through his hair, the teen let out a small sigh and leapt up to the building edge, firing another web as he began to swing closer towards home.

Despite that crushing truth ringing in his ears, he knew that it couldn't stop him from enjoying the billionaire's company, if only for a little while, in the time they had together before Mr. Stark finally got sick of him. Landing on the roof of his own house, the kid couldn't help but chuckle at one of the billions of jokes the man had snarked earlier that night.

With only a moment of hesitation barring his actions, Peter reached behind him and pulled his mask off, staring down at the large reflecting lenses as he ran his thumb over the material, a small smile forming on his lips.

("You are one strange kid, you know that?")

Mr. Stark had made this suit for him. Just for him. He'd decked it out in a blaze of awesome gadgets and cool sensors, most of which saved him from some pretty painful injuries that he was sure would fall upon him had he not had the suit. Safety features the billionaire had installed to make sure the teen didn't get hurt.

("Look, kid, like it or not, we're in this together now.")

Such things made the fantastical thought that maybe the man truly did care for him breeze through his mind like a lovely dream. Such things had that dream seeming more and more like a reality, if only a little bit.

("Yeah...silver linings.")

Peter took in a deep breath as another breeze flew past him, the cool air helping in clearing and loosening up his lungs, the air freely flowing through them now. The teen lifted his head and glanced in the direction of where he'd met up with Sam.

("Hate to break it to you, man, but that guy isn't what you think he is.")

The kid gave a small smirk.

No...he's not

He shoved the mask back into his pocket. He's better.

If what Mr. Stark said was true, if those private moments had meant anything, then Peter had to believe that the man would have his back when it came to the Accords. He would have to have faith.

Peter pushed down the fear that such an idea created.

Letting out a small breath of preparation, the teen glanced down over the edge of his building and noticed that there were no cars in the driveway. A sigh of relief bubbled past his lips at the realization that he wouldn't have to dodge the Cons for at least another night. Crawling down the side of the building, his feet created a small thump as he landed on his balcony.

Sliding the glass doors open, Peter entered the room and threw the mask onto his desk, flipping over his bed as he landed on his desk chair, shooting a web towards the now open door to slide it close once again. Reclining back in the chair, the teen pressed his fingers against his eyes as he let out a tired groan, his muscles aching as he finally took a second to relax, with no new surprises jumping out at him.

A small squeak from the others side of the room had him cursing his big mouth as he startled in his seat, whipping his head up as fast as he could. There, sitting on the couch in front of his TV was Ned, the teen staring at him with wide, unbelieving eyes as he held the pieces to an unfinished Lego structure, his mouth hanging open.

Peter instantly shot to his feet, Ned doing the same thing as both boys pointed incredulously at each other, unintelligible moans of disbelief falling from their mouths at the same time.

"Duhhh..."

"Y-Youu..."

"Nuh-uhh..."

"Yeah-huh..."

Peter felt his heart jump up to his throat as he stared at his best friend. "N-Ned, what are you doing here?!" He practically screeched.

"You said your dad wasn't home tonight so you invited me over!"

"I did?!"

"Yeah!"

"...Oh..."

With each new crisis popping out of the blue, this was turning out to be one long-ass night.

 


 

Friday - March 25, 2016

Stark Tower - Private Labs 01

09:45 p.m.

"Eyewitness accounts place the time of the explosion at approximately 8:15 tonight. The fire supposedly erupted from one of the lower labs and quickly spread to the rest of the building."

"Nearly two dozen employees were still inside of the building when the fire began, but miraculously, they all emerged with only minor injuries. Eyewitness accounts and multiple statements from victims place Spider-Man at the scene, where he went on to pull out fifteen employees to safety."

"While is it still unclear as to the full damage done to the inside of the East Town Chemical Plant, it's safe to say that these employees won't be forgetting the face of their Friendly Neighborhood Web-head anytime soon. This is Jamie Holmes bringing you live feed from the East Town Manufacturing Division. Back to you, Todd."

"Thanks, Jamie. In other news tonight-"

"Mute."

The voices filtering in through the screen were silenced as Tony glanced back down at the work desk he currently sat in front of. He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek before tapping the handle of the screwdriver in his hand against the metal table. "Not bad, kid. Not bad at all," he murmured with a small sigh. He glanced up at the bottle of half-empty scotch on the table. Reaching over once again, the man poured the amber-colored liquid into the small glass beside it and took a quick swig before setting the glass down once again.

Twisting the tool back around, he once again began to fiddle with the metal paneling on one of his suit plates. He'd have to remember to ask Peter about this little event the next time he saw him, make sure he came out of it unscathed. He knew he likely had, considering the teen wasn't banging at the tower window asking for assistance, as Tony had instructed him to do.

Of course, the thought didn't escape his mind that the kid had just decided to ignore what Tony had told him, but he decided to try and give the teen the benefit of the doubt for the time being, or at least until he had reason not to.

Tony furrowed his brow and shook his head. It wasn't like he was worried or anything. He just remembered that the filtration system on the suit could be a little finicky sometimes. He just wanted to make sure such things were working properly is all. Perfectly normal responsible mentor concerns. Not concerns at all, really. Merely precautionary measures.

He was so engrossed in his ideas on expanding said precautionary measures to include a build-in fire extinguisher and maybe another parachute or two, that he didn't even notice the sound of approaching footsteps. Of course, it didn't help when the stranger was trying to mask said footsteps. Nonetheless, Tony jumped slightly as a new voice entered the room.

"Keeping tabs on your latest invention, huh Stark?"

He knew who it was without even having to turn around.

The sudden shock of dread that shot through his heart was a big enough clue. His grip on the screwdriver tightened as he lowered his head, his shoulders tensing and muscles coiling underneath his shirt. He shut his eyes, felt his teeth grinding as he fought to keep his breathing under control, even as he felt the phantom spasms of pain return to his arm.

"FRIDAY?" His voice was low. He didn't bother to turn around, to look up.

"I'm sorry, Boss. She hacked into my system and disabled the alarm protocols."

A scoff fell from his lips, humorless and with distinct traces of bitterness that lingered on his face as he finally turned in his chair. "To be honest, I really shouldn't be surprised." He folded his arms over his chest and focused on keeping his expression from revealing just how hard his heart was now beating. "You've never really been one to ask for permission."

"What? And you have?" Natasha didn't bother looking shameful as she quirked a brow and let a loose smirk play on her lips.

Tony didn't return the casual look as he scanned his eyes over her.

From first glance, he never would have been able to tell anything was different. Her clothes were casual, enough for him to simply assume he'd run into her in the middle of the Common Floor, easy-going conversations on the tips of their tongues. The only notable thing was the hoodie over her head.

As if sensing his gaze, she reached up and flipped it off, revealing fiery red hair that draped down over her shoulders, a dead giveaway as to her identity.

"I was expecting a blonde."

"Not really my color."

He watched her gaze lift above his head towards the muted TV on the wall. He swallowed thickly, eyes narrowing as he watched her staring at the news report of Spider-Man still playing on the screen.

Her demeanor was so calm, so casual, like her appearance wasn't causing a deep dark maw to open up in the pit of Tony's stomach, threatening to suck him in and never let him go.

"You know, I only got a few glimpses of him in Berlin, but I've seen plenty of news footage of him." She walked forward. Tony watched with a new ferocity in his gaze, a hunger to soak in every movement, every twitch as he watched and waited for her to make a move. "He's not bad."

She met his gaze and he stared back into those piercing green eyes. He knew that look. He'd lived with that look for years, chatted with that look, joked with that look, fought with that look. Now, he wanted nothing more than to blast it off her fucking face.

"I'm only going to say it once, Romanoff so you better nail it down now before it slips out." He finally pushed himself up to his feet, removed his hands from the surface of the table so she couldn't see how badly they were shaking. "I don't want you dragging him into all your bullshit." He narrowed his eyes, focused as much venom and hatred into them as he possibly could, felt it dripping from his words as he spat them. She watched with a passive expression, a neutral gleam in her almost disinterested gaze.

"And if you even think of going after him..."

He leaned closer, his voice low as it rattled around in his throat like a savage growl. "I swear I'll kill you."

He wanted to throw up. He could feel it bubbling in his stomach, but he choked it down in favor of holding the woman's stare. She took a deep breath, never even flinched against his glare. "I get the picture," she said softly. "You have my word, Tony."

"Your word," he echoed, finally breaking their stare as he turned back around. "Your word means jack-shit to me." He took a seat again, picked at a loose screw and spun it around. He watched it blur into a steady ring of motion, drumming his fingers against the table.

"What are you doing here? Got tired of playing Seek-and-Find with the national government?" He flicked his finger and sent the spinning screw flying across the room. He picked up his scotch glass and took a sip as he heard the clatter of the screw somewhere in the distance.

Natasha's eyes flickered to where the noise had come from before taking a couple of strides that placed her up against the other side of the table. She set her hand down on the surface. "I came to check up on you." He noticed her gaze drift towards the bottle next to him.

Tony said nothing for a moment as his fingers twitched. "Check up on, or scope the perimeter? Whatever spy lingo is for...well, spying," he muttered before swiping his hand across the table, knocking her hand off as well as she took a step back. "Cause if you think for one second I'm gonna buy that bullshit, then you must be losing your edge."

"Tony-"

"Do the others know you're here?"

The question must have caught her off guard (or at least as much as anybody could catch her off guard), for she hesitated a fraction of a second long enough for Tony to notice.

"They do."

"Hmm...guessing they weren't all that happy with it, were they?"

Natasha narrowed her eyes as she blinked back at the man. "They don't want the risk of me blowing cover."

"Geez, and I thought you were good at lying through your teeth."

"Tony-"

"And...uh...what does Mr. America think of your little charity outreach program?"

The shift was instantaneous. The already tense air darkened, weighted down by the pressing unease lingering thick around them. He watched Natasha swallow, watched her shift her weight. He watched his own fingers beginning to shake so he dragged them down underneath the table, out of sight.

She sniffed, glanced away for a moment. "He's the one that suggested it."

He scanned her up and down, took note of each detail and minuscule movement. He lifted his steadier hand and propped a fist up against his mouth, giving a little nod of his head as he turned his gaze to the ground. "Right..."

His tone, saturated with deep contempt, must have finally struck a chord, for she let out a little sigh and leaned against the table once more. 'I'm telling the truth, Tony. He..." She trailed off.

He lifted his gaze and noticed her eyes seemed troubled now, the corners of her mouth twitching downwards as she pressed her fingers down against the table. She seemed agitated. Once upon a time, Tony would have found himself curious as to why.

But what she said next instantly reminded him as to why those days were far behind them.

"He was worried about you. He still is."

The chair topped over with a sickening clang as Tony shot to his feet, fury gleaming in his eyes as his lips curled into a snarl. "Well, you can tell him to blow it out his ass, alright! Cause how fucking dare he try and play the righteous card here when he doesn't even have the balls to come and say sorry to my goddamn face?" He could feel the heat spreading through his face, felt his tongue burning with each word he spat, smoldering and shriveling up on the ground as they landed.

"No, fuck Rogers! Fuck his bullshit apology! No amount of false faces and fake words of recompense are ever going to fix this, and the fact that you think showing up here out of the blue is going to do anything other than make me want to spit in your face and blast you straight of my goddamn tower is so laughably naïve that I almost can't believe how stupid you must be."

The threatening step he took forward was instantly cut off as he caught sight of her hands moving towards her hip. His eyes followed her movements and were just able to catch the traces of the holster by her side before her shirt brushed overtop it, shielding it from view once again.

It was obviously instinct, for Natasha seemed just as surprised with herself as Tony was. But he didn't let the hurt he felt at the action show on his face. Instead, he just sniffed and narrowed his eyes as he turned away.

"You can go ahead and tell him that." He stooped down to pick up his chair once again, taking a seat as his shoulders slumped in exhaustion.

Tony sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

He knew it would go down like this. He fucking knew it. This was the whole reason he had avoided talking about stuff like this. This was why he refused to talk to Ross. This was why he dreaded even the very thought of talking to any of his old teammates. Cause as soon as he did, all the hurt, all the anger, all the pain, it would come bubbling back up to the surface and he wouldn't be able to hold it back. It would be Siberia all over again.

His words to Peter began to echo in his ears, making him grip the edges of the table even harder.

("None of us were innocent. We were all responsible. S-so don't go writing Cap as off as the bad guy, kid. Cause...cause I'm just as bad as him...maybe worse.")

He knew it made sense. He knew they were all to blame. He knew it wasn't just Cap's fault, it was his as well. But it didn't stop him from hating the man with every fiber of his being. Steve might not have been the bad guy, but he definitely wasn't the hero. Certainly not Tony's at least.

He reached over and took another swig from his drink, emptying the glass. He poured himself another.

The man let out a tired sigh as he stared down at the table. "And what about you? I'm sure he had to bribe you with something to get you over here," he muttered as he tossed his hand, waving it dismissively in the air.

Why was he still talking? Why was he even humoring this? Why did the feelings of being alone suddenly make him feel so sick?

Natasha let a small smile fall onto her face as she dared to move closer once again. Tony kept his eyes trailed on her but tried to mask it as best he could. "Actually, I'm the one that offered to go." She grabbed one of the nearby stools and pulled it towards the opposite side of the table. Tony watched but didn't say anything, not even as she slowly settled into the seat.

"He's not the only one who's worried about you, Tony."

His gaze narrowed and he curled his lip before turning away. "Bite me."

"I didn't come here to fight."

"No, of course not," Tony sneered as he took another swig of his drink. "You're just the delivery girl for late, soggy, flavorless apologies." He glanced down at his watch. "Well, you weren't here in 30 days or less so does that mean it's free?"

Natasha didn't say anything. He watched with a sickening twist of his stomach as her gaze softened, so much so that he finally had to look away once more.

In the back of his mind, he almost wished she would say something, say some magic words that would erase everything that had happened, say some phrase that could fix everything, repair everything they'd destroyed, regain that friendship that had been irreversibly damaged in the span of a few days.

His arm gave a twinge of pain. He reached over and gripped his wrist tightly, rubbed at the skin and the muscles underneath as they groaned in protest.

Natasha had never been one he'd call friendly in any sense of the word. Granted, their first-ever interactions had set a fairly strong bias against each other. But looking past the Palladium-poisoning, life-ending super-spy lying, Tony had honestly found something in Natasha that he'd never expected from her: a friend.

She wasn't warm. She wasn't compassionate or cuddly. And she certainly wasn't open with her feelings. But then again, neither was Tony. Perhaps the most important thing was that she never asked him to be. Just as he never asked the same of her.

Somehow, the two of them seemed to understand that there were things that couldn't be shared with anyone, not on the matter of trust, but on a matter of sheer soul-crushing confrontation. Some things were better left unsaid. Natasha understood that in a way that nobody else on the team had.

At least...he thought she'd understood. But that fight had proven that he'd gotten a hell of a lot of things wrong.

Natasha leaned her elbows against the table. It looked like she was debating reaching a hand out, but ultimately decided against it. "Listen Tony," she said softly, the man refusing to look her way. "I'm sorry things turned out this way. I never wanted this. I...none of us did."

She leaned back in her chair, brushed a strand of hair away from her face. "I was only doing what I thought was right. That's all any of us could do." She shrugged. "And, as it turns out, things went to shit pretty quickly."

Tony scoffed at that, but still didn't respond.

"But it happened. It's here, and we can't change that now." She let out a breath, eyes hardening with a new gleam. "All we can do now is decide how to move on."

She hesitated for a moment before moving her hand closer. She still didn't touch him, which he was grateful for. But it was closer nonetheless. "I didn't want to hurt you, Tony. And neither did Steve. But I'm sorry that we did," she said in a tone of voice that almost made him look up. But he didn't. "I know it will take a while. I know it'll be hard. But..." She paused. "But I hope with time...you'll be able to forgive me."

Tony stared down at the amber liquid sloshing up against his glass. He could practically feel her waiting for a response, a glare, a glance, something. He took another swig of his drink.

Natasha stared at the man for a moment longer before turning away to stare back down at the table. She noticed another empty glass sitting next to the bottle of scotch and reached over, pouring herself a small drink as well. Tony glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, but still said nothing.

She took a sip of her own glass before Tony noticed her glancing down at the papers laid out on the table before them. He saw her hand rifle through a few, pushing the ones on top to get a glimpse of the files below.

"Plans for the arc reactor? What are you doing thinking about this again?"

Tony lifted a finger, ran it around the lip of his glass. She was waiting for a response again. And for a moment, Tony was content to not give her one, to let her sit and stew and suffer in the silence, desperate to get from him something he was not willing to give up. But the strange achiness in his chest was back and the desire to go and find some more painkillers was buffered by the fact that this little impromptu visit would probably be extended if he didn't at least give her something.

"It's...for my intern."

. . .

. . .

"Geez, if you don't wanna answer then don't answer. You don't have to lie to me an-"

"He's real." Tony sighed with a small glare before glancing back over to his glass, swirling the liquid inside around. "Okay, well, I'm like 97% sure he's not a figment of some super intense mid-alcoholic coma, but whatever." He fell silent once more, staring hard at the glass in thought for a moment, hesitation clear on his face.

"His name's Peter. Peter Parker."

"Parker?"

"Yes. That Parker. And before that judgmental look deepens, he's not here cause of that," he mumbled, glancing down at his glass once again. "I'd been considering taking in a few interns before this all started and he just happened to be at the top of the list. So, I'm testing the waters. Seeing how this plays out. If it goes well, I might start opening up Stark Industries to taking in more interns, outreaching more scholarships, all that jazz." He took another drink.

Natasha's eyebrows remained furrowed as she gave a small nod of her head. "Anything in particular that brought this up?"

"Yep."

"...care to share?"

"Nope."

"Alright, well can you at least give me a clue as to why this mystery intern has somehow gotten his hands on plans that you're hesitant to let your top scientists look at? Seems like a bit of a weird start-up project."

Tony traced the lip of his glass once again. This wasn't a good idea. It wasn't a good idea to start letting her know things she had no right knowing. She didn't even had the right to be standing there talking to him! So...why was she? Why was he letting her? Why was he suddenly remembering all the times he'd once talked to her like a friend, discussing stupid things, important things, things that didn't matter, and things that mattered a lot. He remembered when he could count on her to give him the type of advice only a friend could give.

He wondered what type of advice an enemy could give?

"He's...weird."

Natasha quirked a brow, obviously not having expected the short, sudden, and quite frankly, disjointed answer.

"'Weird...'" she parroted, tilting her head as she folded her arms over her chest. "Define 'weird', cause that ranges from giant, green rage monsters to liking ketchup on your eggs."

"I hope you're still giving Wilson flake for that wherever you guys are."

"Literally every time we see it happen."

Tony chuckled, a real genuine chuckle that he cut short the moment he realized how real it actually was. He blew out a breath, ran a hand through his hair. "Let's just say he's not like any kid I've ever met before."

"Have you met a lot of kids in the time we've been gone?"

"Don't be cute, Romanoff. You know what I mean." Tony pursed his lips and glanced away, drummed his fingers against the table. "He brings with him certain...issues."

Natasha leaned forward a bit. "What do you mean?"

The man paused for a moment before taking another sip of his drink. "I don't want to talk about it. And Peter definitely won't, so don't you even think about bringing it up with him unless you want a panic attack on your hands."

Natasha let out a breath. Tony matched it with one of his own. "I don't know what else I can say about him other than that he's...I don't know. He's...quiet. Soft-spoken. He's probably smarter than half of the people I got working here but he doesn't show it off, not until you get him working on something. He's just..." Tony swallowed, drummed his fingers again.

"Weird," Natasha finished for him.

He glanced over at her for a second before lowering his head towards the glass once more. "Yeah."

The woman twisted the glass in her hands around, taking in the grooves and lines etched into the smooth surface before a small smile fell onto her face. "He sounds like a good match for you."

Tony threw her a questioning look before rolling his eyes, leaning back in his chair as he folded his arms over his chest. "Did you literally not hear any of the words that just came out of my mouth?"

"If that were a power I possessed, I would have started using it a long time ago."

He rolled his eyes.

The woman gave a little smile. "It sounds like you could learn a thing or two from each other."

Tony stared at her for a minute longer before turning away, staring back down at the table. "I don't know..."

Natasha blinked back at the man before her eyes flickered over towards the still-muted TV. Along the bottom of the screen, the time flashed in the corner, small print that was just big enough for her to make out. She let out a small breath as she placed the glass back down on the table, Tony taking a drink from his own. "I can't stay," she said softly. "I have people waiting for me."

Tony waved his hand dismissively as he rested a cheek on his propped-up fist, staring down at the papers before him. "Yeah, go. Run off. Have fun in your hidey-hole. Don't get shot. Or do. I don't care either way."

If the small smile that formed on the woman's lips was any indication, then she could somehow sense the lack of sharpness in his voice that hindered any truth to his words. "I'll be sure to drop by often, though. I gotta see Wonder Boy for myself," she called as she pulled her hoodie up once more, rising from her seat.

"Feel free not to," Tony called, not even lifting his head.

Natasha stared at him for a moment before placing a hand on his shoulder. He felt himself shudder at the touch, but found he couldn't pull away. He just didn't have the energy for it.

"I'll see you, Tony." She glanced warily at the bottle on the table. "Take care of yourself."

The man still didn't look up as the footsteps departed, dwindling before ceasing altogether. He turned away from the papers and lifted his hand to rub at his wrist once again, a tired sigh falling from his lips. He glanced behind him at the doorway before turning back towards the table. He reached over to pour himself another glass, only to find that the bottle of scotch was empty.

He glared at the offending object before dropping it back on the table. Rising up from his seat, he slowly walked over towards the side of the lab, his vision slightly hazy around the corners.

But not hazy enough.

Reaching the back wall, the man stooped down next to the small cabinet and pulled out another bottle from his secret stash. Moving back over to the table, he plopped back down in his seat with a huff. Popping open the bottle, he poured himself another glass before setting it down once again.

He swirled the liquid around, watching as he splashed against the smooth glass walls.

He took another drink.

 


 

Friday - March 25, 2016

Parker Residence - Third Floor

09:12 PM

There weren't many people in his life whose company Peter enjoyed. Other than a few rising candidates at Stark Tower, the pathetic number could be counted on one hand with a few fingers to spare. However, for the longest time, one of these slots had had a name scribbled in with permanent marker.

Ned Leeds had been a staple in Peter's life that he'd been grateful for more times than he could count.

Tonight was not one of those times.

"Oh my god. Oh my god. OH. MY. GOD!"

"Ned-"

"You...you're...really? Like, you're serious with me right now? There aren't any cameramen about to jump out and punk me? Cause that'd be cool too, but compared to this, it'd probably be a bit of a letdown."

Peter felt his heart racing, could feel it in his fingertips. "Listen to me-"

"I...this is...my brain cannot comprehend this right now." Ned was pacing. His eyes weren't on Peter, couldn't see the dread spreading across his friend's face in waves of sheer unadulterated panic.

"I know Spider-Man. I actually know Spider-Man! And not even like a nonchalant little 'oh, Spider-Man? Yeah, I've seen him around. Said hi a couple times.' NO! This is full-blown 'I have pictures of Spider-Man at my twelfth birthday party posing with me next to a life-size lego replica of Luke Skywalker' levels of crazy!"

"Please, you gotta-"

"Oh, my gosh!" Ned spun around. "Flash is literally going to pee his pants when he figures out that the guy he's been picking on since middle school is his idol! I'm definitely going to videotape his reaction to hearing the news and-"

"Ned! Stop!" Peter was suddenly very glad the house was empty, cause he was pretty sure he heart it rattle at his shout.

Ned whipped his head towards the noise, eyes wide as he truly caught sight of his friend since he'd begun his excitement-fueled pacing. Peter felt his hands in his hair, felt his eyes staring down at the floor.

"You can't...you can't do this. I can't...you don't understand. This is...oh god."

This was it. Everything he'd ever tried to avoid was crashing down around him. They would find out. His father would find out. It was all over for him. They'd lock him up forever, leave him to rot, or beat him until his bones were splinters and his muscles were nothing but ribbon. They'd put him in the ground. Stuff him down a deep, dark hole and bury him. He'd be able to hear their feet walking overtop him, but no amount of screaming would be enough. He'd be trapped, forever and always. He could feel it now, the dirt pressing around him, filling his mouth, his ears, his nose, his eyes, sticking down his throat and coating his lungs.

Maybe that's why he couldn't breathe anymore. There was no air underground.

He felt his back hit the wall, felt his body slump to the floor. But more importantly, he felt Ned materialize beside him. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Peter? Come on, man. You gotta calm down, alright?"

He could see the features of Ned's round face, his big brown eyes, and the tufts of matching brown hair drooping down over his forehead. He could see the concern on his face. It took him a moment of panic-induced starting to finally realize the concern was meant for him.

"Look, come on. Look at me, dude. It's alright. Everything's alright. I-"

Peter shot a hand out, felt it wrap around Ned's forearm. The boy stopped talking as Peter leaned forward and suddenly found enough strength to spit the dirt from his mouth and speak.

"Ned, listen to me." His voice was low, eyes blown wide. "You cannot tell anyone about this. Nobody can know. If my father finds out about this, if he finds out that I've been doing this, that I've been lying to him for all this time, he's going to kill me. He's going to-" His voice suddenly choked off again as he felt the dirt returning, felt it pressing down against his chest once again, stealing the air straight from his lungs. "He's going to...oh, god. What's he going to do?" There was too much. He couldn't see anymore, couldn't hear, couldn't breathe.

"What's he going to do to me?" He couldn't get out.

"Hey!" Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder, pushing through the dirt, clearing it away. Peter blinked his eyes into focus and watched the dirt and mud and clay slowly receding back into the shadows, leaving him alone in his room once again. No. He wasn't alone.

"Peter, look at me."

His eyes met Ned's. The boy gazed at him with a new ferocity in his eyes. "He's not going to do anything to you." A ferocity matched only by the viciousness now in his voice.

"What-?"

"He's not going to do anything cause he's not going to find out." Ned's voice was hard, his eyes firm. "In case you've forgotten, I'm pretty good at keeping secrets. I've been keeping a pretty big one for you all this time, haven't I? What makes you think I can't keep another?"

Peter gazed back at him, didn't say anything as he focused on listening to his heart, feeling it slowly pumping the last traces of dirt out of his bloodstream.

"You shouldn't...you shouldn't have to do this."

Now, Ned was smiling. "Dude, Spider-Man needs my help keeping his secret. I would be pissed if you didn't include me in this." He leaned back on his haunches, grin spreading wider. "It's even cooler this way. Kinda like a super-secret superhero mission. Totally undercover. Under wraps. Very hush-hush. I love it."

The smile softened, diminished into another serious look. "I would never tell your dad, Peter. You know that, don't you?"

The teen blinked at him, their gazes meeting in a locked stare of emotion neither of them could name. Peter felt his friend's words ringing around in his head, banging up against the walls, bouncing around the room.

Ned knew more than most. Ned knew about the Cons and his father, knew more than the cameras and the papers did. Knew more than the people at school did. Knew more than most people wanted to know.

And shockingly, despite his knowledge, nobody else had ever figured it out. Nobody else had ever heard a little rumor or a seed of gossip. Ned had never started the sparks of one, had never even entertained the idea.

He lifted his eyes away from his hands and drifted them over to his friend's face. He searched every corner, every dimple, every crease on his face. But he could see no malice, no ill-intentions.

All he saw was Ned.

Ned, his best friend since sixth grade, the same kid he loved to be around, the same kid who got him excited over Star Wars and comic books and movies and TV and everything his father would have never even bothered to expose him to.

Peter swallowed, hesitated for a moment before giving a small, muted nod.

Ned had the power to destroy his life, but Peter was still there, still standing. That had to mean something. That had to be worth something.

His friend seemed satisfied by his answer, for he blew out a little breath and leaned back, resting his weight on his arm as he brushed his hair back and gave a shake of his head. "When did this happen, dude? How did this happen?"

"I was eight. Got bitten by a radioactive spider down in my dad's lab." His voice was quiet, apprehensive. He spared a wary glance over to Ned, who was staring at him with a blank look on his face.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Dude! that's like...comic-book levels of awesome!"

Peter finally let a small smile grace his lips.

"So, is this why Tony Stark gave you that internship? Cause he knows about you being Spider-Man?" Peter gave a now, which nearly sent his friend into another spiral of bubbling excitement. "I can't freaking believe this. You have the coolest life in the entire world!"

Ned let out a small laugh as he stood up, the excitement becoming too much for him to sit still any longer. "This is the most amazing thing ever, man...I mean...you're a superhero! A real-life superhero! And-" He paused, eyes going wide. "Are you an Avenger now?"

Peter let out a small scoff. "I don't think I'm quite there yet, Ned." His face grew thoughtful as he glanced towards the ceiling. "But I did happen to run into one of the Rogue Avengers tonight so.."

Predictably, Ned practically fell into his lap as he leaned closer. "You...I'm sorry, you did WHAT NOW?!"

Peter let out a small laugh and pushed his friend away, the teen going back to sit next to him. "I'll explain it all later. It's...it's kind of a long story."

Ned opened his mouth to keep talking but paused when his eyes landed on the ash dusting Peter's face, a visible cut slashed across the teen's forehead that was already beginning to fade.

Instantly, the joyous fire that had been burning inside the boy diminished as he glanced back down at the floor, his brows furrowing slightly. "And you do this every night? You...you go out and...and fight crime?"

Peter glanced over at him, confused as to the new unsure tone in his friend's voice. He gave a small nod. "Yeah, why?"

The other boy stared back at him, face twisted in concern." Is - isn't that...dangerous?" He murmured, wringing his hands slightly as he stared back at Peter.

"In case you hadn't noticed, I was kinda already used to that before I even started doing this," he said with a small smirk.

Ned didn't seem to share his amusement. "I'm being serious, Peter! This, I mean...I always hear on the news how Spider-Man is saving people from fires and stopping bank robberies and catching muggers and...and all that crap sounds super dangerous and I..." He trailed off, glancing back down at the floor. "I just, I'd hate to see you get hurt."

Peter stared back at the teen, that same strange feeling he'd been thinking about before returning in his chest. That same feeling he'd gotten with Mr. Stark, with Pepper and Rhodey and Happy. After a moment, he let a small smile fall onto his face. Maybe he couldn't be certain of what the others thought of him, but he knew for a fact what Ned thought, the teen's words only solidifying his resolve.

There was a reason Ned was his best friend.

Lifting his arm, the teen placed his hand against Ned's shoulder, the teen glancing back up at him. "Look...I know this is all super weird and totally unbelievable..but I do happen to know what I'm doing. I've got crazy powers, man! I can catch a bus with my bare hands, I can crawl along the walls and the ceiling, I can take out five armed guys with practically nothing but a can of high-tech silly string attached to my wrist without even breaking a sweat!" He scoffed. "Plus, I have Mr. Stark watching my back now, too. It's not like I'm alone in this. For the most part, I have him for help."

Ned grew silent for a moment and Peter leaned closer, hoping his words had done something to soothe the teen's worries. The last thing he needed was Ned going off and telling someone about his secret simply because he believed he had to do it to keep his friend safe. However, he blinked in shock as Ned stared back up at him, smirking widely. "Well, now you have me, too."

Peter stared back at him for a moment, mouth going dry as he swallowed. For a moment, all he could do was blink back at his friend. Finally, after a second, the teen felt a smile form on his face as he chuckled. "Yeah...guess I do."

Both boys glanced down as Ned's watch beeped. "Crap..." The kid muttered as he rose up to his feet, Peter doing the same. "I have to get going or I'm not gonna make it back home before curfew."

Quickly lifting his arm, the teen pointed a stern finger Peter's direction, said boy raising up his hands in surrender. "And don't think we're done with this. I'm texting you with any and all questions I have on this and trust me, there are a lot." He exclaimed.

Peter laughed. "Okay, okay. Just make sure to text it on the E.X. Chat, m'kay?" He said. With how nosy the Cons could sometimes be, it had become sort of like a mandatory thing for him to create a secret text group on his phone that only he could access. Considering the topic up for discussion, it went without saying that they would have to use the private chat.

"Pshh...of course. What do you take me for?" Ned responded, though he could tell from the look Peter gave him that it was not something to take lightly. "Plus, don't expect me to hold back when I see you at school, either."

"Seriously, dude? School? Isn't that a little risky?"

"Hey! I reserve the right to be curious about this! My friend is literally an example of a Ripley's Believe It or Not exhibit."

Peter rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless as the two boys made their way over towards the door. Ned turned the handle and stepped out into the hallway, turning back as he held out his hand for their signature handshake.

Peter stared down at the outstretched hand, but decided against it. In a display of relief that he didn't realize he'd been holding in - something the teen would come to question later on that night - he leaned forward, wrapping his friend in a hug. Ned was obviously taken aback by it but was quick to return it in a display of strength that perhaps might have even rivaled Spider-Man.

Though, he supposed he had good reason. After all, Peter was never one to divulge in personal contact like this. At most, Ned could get a high-five out of him, perhaps a comforting shoulder pat. It was rare that the large boy could ever actually hug him. But now it was Peter hugging him, and not the other way around.

Safe to say, both boys realized just how momentous the seemingly small gesture was, so much so that either boy wanted to be the first to pull away.

 


 

Friday - March 25, 2016

51st Street - Back Alleyway

10:02 PM

Natasha stole one last glance at the building behind her before pulling her hood up tighter, continuing to walk down the narrow sidewalk until she came to the next alleyway.

Turning down the darkened path, she continued to walk along the dirt, stopping at the end. She leaned her back against the dirty stained brick wall, propping one foot up against the bricks as she folded her arms over her chest.

She let out a small sigh as she began to thrum her fingers against her arm, small strands of red hair falling down into her face as the brisk winds blew past her. After another few minutes of waiting, the soft sound of whooshing met her ears. Lifting her eyes up to the sky, she watched Sam descend down into the alleyway next to her, his wings quickly retracting back into his pack.

She noticed his face was dirty and his arms and uniform seemed to be covered in dirt or ash. She quirked a brow, the man letting out a soft growl as he folded his arms. "Don't ask," he muttered, the woman holding her hands up in surrender.

"I didn't say anything."

The man scoffed. "Yeah, yeah. I just had a little run-in with a spider pest."

Instantly, the smirk was washed off of her face as he turned her hard gaze towards him. "Did you hurt him?" she asked, her voice low and intense.

Sam cocked a brow, his face twisting into one of confusion as he shook his head. "No, he's fine. A real pain in the ass, I'll say that. But...no. He's...he's alright, I guess," he murmured before turning back towards her. "Why so concerned all of a sudden?"

"I'm not. Stark is."

Sam narrowed his own eyes at that and turned away with a small scoff. "Yeah, sure," he muttered before lifting his head. "How'd that go anyway? You wish you'd listened to me and Clint yet about just staying away and letting that asshole deal with his own shit?" He growled.

Natasha let out a small sigh as she watched Sam unstrap the pack, moving over towards the wall she was leaning against as he pulled out a raggedy backpack they'd stashed there earlier.

"No, actually. In fact, I plan on going back."

Sam threw her an incredulous look. "Come on, girl. You can't be serious."

One look from her told him she was as serious as can be.

He let out an annoyed groan and shook his head. "We already have enough problems to deal with, Nat. We don't need to be adding his to the pile! Stark's a grown man. He can handle himself."

Unzipping the bag, he pulled out a jacket, a baseball cap, and a pair of sunglasses before he placed his own wings inside the bag, zipping it closed so that it looked like a regular old backpack. Undoing the jacket, he quickly wrapped it around himself and zipped it up, flipping the hoodie over his head as he placed a baseball cap under it, sliding a pair of sunglasses over his face as well.

Natasha watched silently before turning away. "You can spare me the lecture, alright? I already know I'm gonna have Clint up my ass for this. But you honestly think Steve's just going to want to drop this?"

It was obvious what Sam's answer was as he scoffed and glared up at the sky.

Before either of them could say any more, the sound of distant sirens had them quickly straightening up. Moving back over towards the end of the alley, Sam walked over to the rotting wooden fence blocking their way and pried one of the panels of wood away from the rest of the structure, revealing a human-sized hole that they could easily slip through.

Quickly and quietly moving past it, the pair began to walk along the darkened, shadowed path back to their safe house once again. They knew it was unlikely anyone would recognize them if they walked along the street, but they weren't one for taking chances.

Nat glanced over towards her partner as they walked. "So...Spider-Man, huh?"

"Yeah, the kid's a little shit."

The woman smirked. "Yeah? Well, I got a kid of my own I need to scope out. I'm sure I can get a bit of fun out of that."

Sam chuckled as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "Heh...there aren't enough prayers in the world for that poor soul."

Natasha let out a small huff of amusement, but didn't say anything to correct him.

Chapter 10: Rule 5 Part I

Summary:

5) Do Not Take Food Without Permission; Stealing Will Not Be Tolerated

Chapter Text

Wednesday - March 30, 2016

Parker Residence- Second Floor

06:12 a.m.

Stars danced before his eyes for a brief flash before he was suddenly falling. A grunt of pain fell from his lips as he slammed down hard against the wooden panels below.

"Serves you right, you little bastard! You can't even do one single thing right without fucking it up, can you?"

Peter didn't respond. He let his hand hover over his throbbing eye as he stared down at the floor below his hands, resisting the overwhelming urge to sigh and roll his eyes, a newfound sense of apathetic annoyance flooding out any potential nerves he could have had.

But what was there to be scared of anyway? Just another morning. Just Flint being Flint.

He flipped over onto his backside and glanced up at said man with an almost disinterested look as Flint loomed over him, brushing his hands over his newly wet shirt.

"Jesus, fucking look at this. Ridiculous!" He growled, pinching his fingers around the damp fabric as he glared down at it.

From the bar counter, Curt and Sandra watched with a humored gleam in their eyes. Plates of freshly made eggs and matching strips of bacon sat in front of them, cruelly untouched in the face of their pint-sized chef's growing hunger. The former took a drink from his own glass of juice before setting it back down with a smirk. "You doing okay over there, Flint?"

Sandra leaned against her partner. "Having some trouble, hun?"

Flint turned his snarl onto them. "Hey, suck my dick, you two," he snapped before whipping back around. Peter's previously passive look turned into a wide-eyed grimace as Flint reached down and grabbed a fistful of his shirt collar, hoisting him up to his feet.

The man's breath blew back hot and humid into his face, carrying with it the thick scent of alcohol and dip.

It's six in the morning. How are you already drunk?

Peter didn't voice this question as Flint gave him a little shake. "You. Go and get me a new shirt." He dropped him to the floor, Peter stumbling to catch himself on his feet. "And clean up this mess, would you? God, how hard is it to carry a glass of fucking juice?"

Peter turned away and grabbed at the tower hanging off the nearby rack, stooping down onto his knees as his face scrunched into an annoyed little scowl. It wasn't the first time Flint had blamed him for his own self-endowed clumsiness, and it certainly wasn't going to be the last. Maybe it was this thought that made Peter scrub at the floor a bit harder than necessary.

Obviously pretty hard since you couldn't seem to do it yourself.

It only took a second to think the thought.

It took two more seconds to realize he's said it out loud.

"What?"

Peter resisted the urge to click his tongue as he shut his eyes and pulled in a hiss of air through his teeth.

Freaking brilliant.

As expected, Flint's chair fell back onto the floor as the man shoved it aside, rounding on the boy below him with shocking speed for someone of his size. His beefy hands wrapped around the collar of Peter's shirt once more as he shoved him against the wall.

"Are you seriously mouthing off to me, huh? Is that it!" The hand slammed down hard against the side of his face, spittle flying from his mouth as his head whipped violently to the side at the smack. Peter felt his ears ringing as another smack slapped against his face, the high-pitched noise mingling with the sound of snickering in the background.

At least some people were enjoying themselves.

Flint dropped him back to the ground and raised his hand to strike out again only for Peter to duck underneath the punch, the man's fist plowing a hole through the wall behind him instead.

All four of them – including Sandra and Curt – stared at Flint's hand now embedded in the wall, thoroughly shocked.

Peter wasn't one to dodge. He usually just took it on the chin, stepping through it in stride to get it over with and move on with his day, like a daily routine that becomes boringly tedious after a while, brushing your teeth or fixing your bed in the morning. Cleaning his blood off of the kitchen floor emitted the same level of daily apathetic casualness as fixing a bland cup of coffee.

So, the dodge? That was new. To all of them, Peter included.

Later on, when thinking back on this sudden sequence of events, Peter would chalk it up to a baseline realization that it was a school day and a fresh set of bruises would be very hard to explain away with a wave of his hand. But even with this logical reasoning buffering against the situation, Peter wouldn't be able to shake away the strange sense of confusion that would linger on the memories of this day for weeks to come.

Why the dodge? He wouldn't have an answer to this for a long while.

Nor was he about to waste any time right then and there trying to think of one.

Without a second thought, Peter ducked underneath Flint's legs as the man remained dumbfounded staring at his hand in the wall. His backpack sat up against the counter Curt and Sandra currently leaned against, watching the scene with amused grins on their faces.

The scientist reached down and plucked up the bag and held it out as Peter ran past, the teen yanking it out of his outstretched hand as he did while the man chuckled with a malicious gleam in his eyes, turning back toward Flint who was just now beginning to blink back into reality to find that there wasn't anything to pummel anymore.

"Hey! Where the hell do you think you're going?" The man shouted after him, his morning entertainment quickly disappearing from sight.

Peter didn't say anything as he turned and headed for the stairs. The sound of footsteps led him on to the fact that he was being followed.

"Go get him, Flint! Attaboy!"

"Show that baby who's boss!"

The sarcastic jeers of his friends echoed against the walls as Peter climbed the stairs up to the third floor. There was no point in heading down towards the front door. Nobody had unlocked it yet. He wouldn't be able to get out anyway.

So, he made for his only other viable escape route.

"You fucking…huff…come here, you brat!"

He shoved the door to his room open and ran towards the balcony doors, sliding them open without a second thought before bursting onto the awning. With one last quick glance behind him, Peter jumped out onto the fire escape attached to the side of the building wall and began to climb.

He was already more than halfway down when he heard Flint finally burst out onto the balcony, leaning over the railing as he let a stream of curses spit from his mouth. Peter paid him no mind, just jumped off of the final step and broke out into another run as he turned the corner and took off down the street, the sounds of Flint's angry yelling following him the whole way.

. . . . .

It was always strange. Seeing himself like this.

His cheeks were sunken in, not enough to be noticeable if you weren't looking for it, but enough for Peter to see, enough for his eyes to linger for a second longer. The bags under his eyes were dark and gray, matching the darkening purple that was spreading around his eye like ink dripping through paper, seeping out to the edges to cover it in nothing but black.

The discoloration stood out like a sore thumb compared to his skin, which was near translucent from how pale it was. He glanced down at his hands and noticed how vividly his veins stood out against his bony hands, like someone had taken his skin and stretched it as far as it could go, holding it up to the light to see right through it. He ran a thumb over the lines, traced the bumps of the bones and blood as if his hand were nothing than a group of brittle sticks covered in rice paper.

It was always strange. Seeing himself like this, looking like this. Because Peter could remember a time when he hadn't.

He turned away from the windows of the subway right as his stomach gave a sharp flare of pain, sharp enough to have him doubling over as an arm wrapped around his midsection. The subway car jostled around him and Peter shifted further into his seat. He shut his eyes and pressed his temple against the glass, cursing his own stupidity at the morning's events.

He'd cost himself breakfast with that little stunt he'd pulled.

An error on his part regarding a forgotten section of the lab to clean had cost him dinner last night. Which meant he'd been counting on breakfast that morning to make up for it. And considering Max had been out with his father, the chances of getting something to eat doubled without the presence of their resident stickler.

Curt and Sandra were always lenient. Unless he did something to piss them off specifically, they usually allowed him a plate. Flint never really cared and didn't bother to scold when Peter went ahead and served himself something. But Max? Max's hatred for him was no subtle suspicion. It was loud and clear to everyone in the house. And he would search for any reason to deny him a morsel, whether that be a 'forgotten chore' that Max had imagined up in that exact moment or conjuring up a task for Peter to do that would send him away from the kitchen for an hour or two, coming back to an empty skillet and no chance to eat.

The fridge was always locked. His father and the Cons had the only keys. So, Peter had to be smart.

Well, he'd been nothing but stupid that morning. And since Flint would probably rat on him to his father about that day's antics, he could scratch the chances of dinner off the list as well.

The realization that he'd most likely have to wait until tomorrow morning for a chance to eat anything sent another bout of pain shooting through his gut. He swallowed it down and stared out the window at the scenery that flashed by too fast to register.

It wasn't the first time he'd gone without food. And because of this, Peter had come up with certain…backups.

it was Mr. Delmar sneaking him a few extra sandwiches from the bodega, Ned packing some stash-away snacks, MJ throwing the occasional apple at the back of his head or hell, sometimes he'd score something from the dumpsters behind some of the 24-hour buffet restaurants that frequented many of the city streets.

More often than not, his go-to guy for making sure he didn't pass out in Chemistry Class was Ned, who would always forcefully shove a sandwich or two into his hands whenever he looked a little peaked.

However, Peter knew such a source wasn't going to be available to him for the next couple days.

Safe to say, Ned had been particularly chatty over the last few days. Peter couldn't really blame him. When you find out your best friend is a part-time vigilante, swinging around the city in red and blue spandex while fighting crime, you're sure to come up with a couple questions.

Over the weekend, Peter estimated the boy had sent him over two hundred texts, not to mention they'd Facetimed on Saturday for about an hour. Even after all of that, Ned had promised on Sunday that he'd arrive at school with a bucket-load of new, probing questions.

However, come Monday morning and Peter's phone had been blown with a whole new assortment of texts, only this time, they weren't about Spider-Man. Instead, it was Ned warning him of his impending absence from school for the week, complaining about the stomach bug he'd caught from his little sister.

So option one was out.

Not only that, but for some reason, MJ had been absent on both Monday and Tuesday. Of course, the girl was much more discrete with her details. When he'd texted her, all she'd replied was something about visiting some family upstate before practically threatening him with murder if he didn't study for their upcoming Decathlon meet, promptly ending the conversation.

Nix on option number two.

Perhaps if he'd had the energy for it, Peter would have felt some sort of panic as to his limited options, but at the moment, the only thing on his mind was keeping the nausea down in his stomach and the spike driving through his skull as subdued as possible.

He was content in just feeling the vibrations of the train as it skidded by on the tracks, eyes shut tightly as he counted the seconds tick by. Thankfully, not too many people had boarded that particular car, so it was mostly silent.

After he'd lost track of his counting for the fifth time, Peter decided to stop. Apparently, the train did as well.

Cracking open his eyes, the teen winced at the brightness of the fluorescent lights overhead and glanced out the window, watching as the station came into view.

Taking a second to reign himself back in, the teen reached into his pocket to check his phone, wondering if maybe Ned had flashed him a text. As the screen lit up once again, for a fraction of a second, Peter wondered if he'd see a text from his father or one of the Cons.

(He still remembered when they'd had to tell him. When they'd have to remind him of the rules.)

("You were messing around and fell down the stairs. Understand? If I get a message from your school about this, we're going to spend some time in the Dark Room.")

(Peter didn't need reminders anymore.)

With a small groan, the teen pushed himself off the window, biting his lip as a fresh wave of nausea raced through him, his head wincing painfully. Taking a second to make sure he wasn't about to start dry-heaving, the teen wrapped a shaky hand around the straps of his backpack and hoisted it over his shoulder, slowly stumbling off the train.

His legs moved sluggishly as he trudged up the stairs. He had to look back more than once to make sure there weren't any weights tied to his feet as he moved, the sheer exhaustion of the action making him blink in shock.

Hmm...maybe sprinting all the way to the station wasn't the best idea. He murmured to himself as he stepped off the station stairwell. Any energy reserves he'd been saving had been all but used up in his little master escape.

Whatever. He'd worry about that later. Right now, he had another monster to deal with.

Swallowing the last remnants of bile that had caught in his throat, the teen let out a shaky breath and pushed through the doors of the school. He still had about ten minutes before the first bell rang, but the hallways were already crowded.

The noise washed over him like a wave lapping at his feet, dragging him along the sand and down into the depths. The lights overhead blurred into frothing colors that slid and mixed into one another, glaring down at him with a pointed hatred he could feel in his bones.

Peter gritted his teeth and pressed an ear against his shoulder, trying and failing to suppress the sudden whining ring that was now beginning to rise up in the back of his head. He kept walking, feet on autopilot, as if he could outrun the overwhelming urge to kneel down on the floor and curl his arms over his head in a silent plea to tune the world out and declare a universal time-out.

As the initial pain of noise began to subside, Peter stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and ducked his head, shuffling towards his locker.

For once, he was actually glad that both Ned and Michelle weren't around. The amount of energy needed to smile through his teeth and grind out lie after lie was more than he currently had.

Instead, he could just focus on making it through the day in one piece without having to put up a facade for anyone. The relief that came with said sentiment was almost enough to crack a smile on his face. He reached for his locker.

"What's up, Loser?"

Of freaking course.

Remembering at the very last second about his bruise, Peter resisted the urge to spin around to face her as Michelle walked over. Instead, the teen kept his head facing his now-open locker as he braced his hands against the sides of it. "You better have studied like I told you to otherwise you're going to get to know the shovel in my backyard very well," the girl muttered as she folded her arms over her chest and leaned up against the lockers beside him.

He ducked his head away as casually as he could manage. "Of course I studied. I always study." He tried to replicate his usual tone. His mouth tasted like ash.

MJ rolled her eyes as she blew at a stray strand of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes. Glaring at the offending piece of hair, the girl stole a small glance over towards the boy, who continued to look anywhere but at her, his long brown curls falling down in front of his face, concealing it in shadow. "I...I didn't think you'd be back...today," he murmured softly.

The girl scoffed. "Glad to know I was missed."

Peter instantly tensed as his grip on his textbooks tightened. He still didn't turn towards her. "I-I...I didn't mean-"

"Relax, Parker. I'm just messin' with you." She scoffed and Peter had to try very hard to keep from snapping at her. He'd been messed with enough that morning.

Instead, he felt the girl's piercing stare continue to bore into him as he continued to rearrange the textbooks in his arms, grabbing some from his locker while putting away others to save for later. He could practically hear the way her eyes burned in her skull as she scanned him up and down.

"You're being weird. Why?"

His grip tightened as he finished collecting his books. He didn't close his locker though, just kept staring into the dark void of the metal container, imagining himself locked up in its metal walls, crushed and bent like an empty bottle. "I'm not being weird."

"Yeah, alright. Your lying isn't getting any better."

"I'm not lying," he tried to add a hint of humor to his tone. Michelle saw right through it.

"Mm-hmm…then why won't you look at me?"

Peter took a breath. Took multiple breaths. He continued to tighten his grip on the textbooks, felt the spines beginning to creak under the strain. He kept a hand on the door to his locker, felt the metal pressing up against his fingers, cold to the touch.

"Hello? Earth to Peter? You tuning me out?"

She wasn't going away without a fight.

Why was it always a fight?

Without another word, Peter gave a little sigh and shut the locker with a little bang, turning on his heel as he faced her head on. He knew the exact moment when she caught sight of the bruises, for her eyes widened in a show of emotion that was very unlike Michelle.

"Long weekend."

He took a small step forward, only to press his back up against the lockers behind him as Michelle stepped in front of him, eyes dark and cold. "What the hell happened to you?" She asked, her voice tight and controlled. She seemed…angry. He hoped it wasn't directed at him.

The teen shrugged. "I had a little accident in the kitchen yesterday."

Michelle cocked a brow. "What kind of accident?"

He stared back into her, back into her calculating gaze.

What were his lines again?

Peter cracked a small smile and rolled his eyes as he rubbed at the back of his neck in an almost embarrassed manner. "A pretty unbelievable one, honestly," he chuckled. Michelle didn't return the smile so he continued with a shrug of his shoulders. "We were having spaghetti and I was helping out, you know? Chopping vegetables. Prepping the water. Well, as I was going to strain the noodles, I guess some water spilled onto the floor, and when I go to turn around again, guess who gets a face full of counter?"

He grinned and shook his head, whisking his hands back into his pockets to hide how they shivered. "My dad said I was lucky I didn't pop my eye out of my skull. Just got some nasty bruises instead.

"It looks worse than it is." He tried to reassure her. "Really all it did was set me back ten minutes for dinner, so that was kinda annoying."

He was getting too good at this.

At least his father would be proud.

Michelle continued to stare at him, eyes continuing to scan him up and down as if the truth were tattooed onto his skin. For a moment, Peter had to wonder whether Michelle had super hearing as well, for if not, there was no way she could hear the frantic beating of his heart. But the look she was currently giving him said otherwise.

However, after a moment, the girl let out a small scoff. "God, you are such a loser," she muttered, Peter hiding the small sigh of relief that flew from his lips at that. The feeling was short-lived, however, as Michelle rounded on him again. "Alright, so I get that. But it doesn't explain why you look like a freaking ghost. Or why you look like you're gonna pass out any second."

Peter felt a grimace form on his face as he glanced away. "I just...don't feel all that good today," he finally said softly, pressing his back harder against the lockers as a small wave of dizziness washed over him. It was gone a second later, but by the look MJ was currently giving him, she'd seen the way he'd swayed.

He threw her a small, nervous smile to which the girl responded with a scowl.

This was not going well.

"Yo! Penis Parker!

And...that was worse.

Peter could suppress the small groan that escaped him as Flash swaggered into view with all the confidence of a CEO strutting the halls of their building. Peter subtly pushed himself up against the lockers, keeping one hand pressed up against the metal, if only as a support.

Michelle's eyes narrowed in annoyance as the boy stopped in front of them, folding his arms as he threw them both a smirk, though it was pointedly aimed more at Peter.

"Where's your boyfriend? You two go at it too hard last night?" The sneer was evident in his tone of voice.

Peter didn't dignify it with a response, leaving Michelle to do it herself as she gave a scoff of her own. "At least then, he can say he got some action. Maybe next time they'll invite you if you ask nicely."

Flash's face contorted into a glare at the rebuttal, obviously expecting Peter's usual response of just standing and taking it in silence. Peter cleared his throat, switching his gaze back and forth between the two of them. "Ahem…not that this conversation isn't the greatest, but for your information, Ned's as home. He caught that bug that's been going around for the last couple weeks."

The other boy held Michelle's glare for a moment longer before seeming to realize she wasn't about to back down anytime soon. So instead, he just scoffed and rolled his eyes, and blew a "whatever" past his lips.

"What do you want anyways, Thompson?" MJ muttered, a new look of indifference masking her features, the previous anger now gone.

Flash shook off whatever annoyance he'd been feeling as he stepped closer to Peter, jamming a thumb in his direction as Peter prayed the kid wouldn't take the few extra steps needed to actually make physical contact.

He might just scream at that.

"Just thought you should know that Penis here really dropped the ball at Decathlon practice yesterday," he sighed with mock sympathy. "You should have seen him floundering around, guessing all the wrong answers. It was so…sad."

Both Peter and Michelle shared annoyed looks.

Flash Thompson had had a problem with him since middle school ever since Peter's project on photon conversion had beat him out in the sixth-grade science fair.

One-upping the kid had been Flash's one and only goal for the past four years it seemed. And his most recent attempt at this culminated in booting him from the Decathlon team.

Said attempts still hadn't amounted to anything more than a couple of eye rolls and some jabs at him to sit down and be quiet from the other members of the team, but Peter had to give him points for persistence.

"Anyway, just here to remind you that the team's been wondering when you're going to do what's best and kick him off," Flash concluded with a pearly smile and another wicked smirk sent Peter's way.

Michelle pursed her lips and folded her own arms. "Really? The 'team'?" She quoted with a raised brow. "You mean the same team I talked to half an hour ago? The team that's run by Cindy when I'm not here, who gave me a debriefing on the practice yesterday a half an hour ago?"

Flash's smile faltered.

"The same girl that said Peter – as usual – got every question right while you were spending your time scrolling through your phone in the corner?" Her eyes narrowed as a small smile formed on her lips. "Yeah, I heard. Thanks for the heads-up, though. It's nice to be reminded that we made the right choice in keeping you as an alternate." She turned and made to walk away at that.

Peter, relieved that the conversation might be ending, had to bite his tongue to keep from letting out a bone-deep groan as Flash jumped in front of her and continued on.

"Come on, Michelle! He stomped his foot not unlike a toddler, Peter noticed with a faint smirk. "I already knew those answers anyway! Besides I can't very well prove just how much better I am than Parker over there when I'm not even given a chance!" His gaze narrowed and he curled his lip. "Doesn't matter anyway. I know I'm smarter than him. You can't stand there and tell me you think otherwise!"

MJ slowly turned back around as she held one of the straps of her backpack, her other hand hanging limply by her side. "I don't think he's smarter than you."

Peter glanced up.

"There! You see? I-"

The girl leaned closer, eyes narrowed. "I know he is. And the rest of the team does, too."

Flash's jaw tensed shut.

Michelle continued. "Face it, Flash. The only way you're moving up from Alternate is if you change your attitude and maybe jump a few IQ points. But I don't see that happening anytime soon. So I suggest you stop wasting my time and give this whole ploy a break, cause it just proves you aren't going anywhere anytime soon." With that, she spun on her heel and walked away, curly hair swishing around her shoulders as she did.

Peter and Flash both watched her walk away just as the bell rang above their heads. Peter swallowed, grimacing slightly at how disgustingly dry his mouth was. Pushing himself off the lockers, he turned to silently make his way to class.

What he didn't expect was for his backpack to be grabbed and forcefully pulled back. He yelped, sneakers squeaking against the linoleum as Flash suddenly appeared right in his face, features twisted into a seething look of frustration and anger.

"Don't think this is over. I deserve that spot way more than you do." He pointed a sharp finger into Peter's chest, causing the teen to wince and take a step back, feeling like his ribs would shatter if the teen so much as breathed wrong.

"The only reason they give it to you is cause they pity you, Penis," Flash snarled with a pointed hatred that Peter was tired of seeing in people's eyes every time they looked at him. "Why wouldn't they? Everyone in this school knows you're nothing but a loser." Flash took a step forward. Peter took one back. The ringing was back, pulsing loud and erratic in his ears as the halls lit up with noise from students pushing and shoving to get to class. The lights were blurring again. His stomach twisted. This wasn't good.

Flash obviously didn't notice the teen's distress, for he simply took another step closer. "Well, once they get tired of you, you're out of there! It's only a matter of time." With that, Flash jerked forward, taking a fake-out step forward that had Peter slamming his back into the lockers behind them, obviously Flash's intended effect.

What he hadn't intended was for Peter's legs to buckle underneath him, sending him crashing down to the ground in a heap of gangly limbs.

It was like a switch. The second he made contact with the floor, the world exploded.

The lights dialed up to ten thousand, shrieking and screaming inside his head, blinding him with a searing heat he couldn't get away from, seeming to melt the skin right from his bones, which crackled and splintered under each throb of his head. His ears were bleeding. They had to be. It was too loud and the world was splitting apart right there in his head., making his nails scratch against the tiles below, fists shaking as he scrunched his eyes shut, willing and praying for the noise, the heat, the lights, everything to shut off, to slink away and leave him be, leave him to wither there alone in silence.

Gritting his teeth, the whining refused to leave his ears as he dared to crack his eyes open once again. Somewhere nearby, he could hear the sound of people shouting. The words were garbled and warped, swimming through his head as if he were underwater, a building pressure behind his eyes making his stomach flip and bile churn up his throat.

He lifted his eyes, staring out through scrunched eyes at the blurring hallway, colors mingling and shapes blobbing up into slowly definite images. Michelle was there again. He could identify that curly brown hair of hers even in a half-lucid state. But when had she gotten back? Peter couldn't remember. She was yelling at Flash, whose hands were held up as a shocked look marred his features.

Suddenly, Peter noticed a new figure push through the crowd. It took him a moment to recognize the man through the painful whining in his skull as Mr. Harrington. Once again, the words were foggy and muffled, but Peter watched as the crowds slowly began to disperse, leaving him alone with the teacher, Michelle, and a still shocked-looking Flash.

Peter blinked groggily as a hand was being placed on his shoulder and fingers were holding his chin, forcefully lifting his face. Wincing slightly as the whining spiked before dying down, Peter noticed that Michelle was now kneeling in front of him, holding his face in her hands as her lips moved. Peter assumed she was speaking, but he couldn't really drag in the energy to care about what she was saying. At least the whining was quieting.

"-er? -eter! C..n ear...me?"

He blinked at her again. There was something in her face. Her features weren't as hard as usual, and her eyes held none of their usual cold indifference. For some reason, they looked...softer. Concerned.

"M-MJ?" he murmured. Was that him speaking? It didn't sound like him. It sounded...weird. Weaker.

The whining slowly began to taper off until all he could hear was the soft clacking of people's feet. The lights began to recede, and the blobbing shapes continued to define until the hallway in all its muggy clarity stood before him once more. He noticed it was just the four of them left.

Mr. Harrington knelt down beside MJ, who was now helping Peter sit up against the lockers. "Peter? Can you hear me?" He asked softly.

The teen winced as he pressed his head back against the cold of the lockers, giving a small nod. "Y-yeah...yeah, I can hear you," he sighed. "I...I'm okay. I...I didn't mean to freak everyone out. I'm...I'm fine."

Michelle and Mr. Harrington shared a look before turning back to Peter. "You're fine?" The girl echoed, crossing her arms. "You literally just took a nosedive in the middle of the hallway."

Peter shut his eyes and swallowed. "I'm good. R-really. I...I just got a little dizzy."

Mr. Harrington's face darkened as he let out a sigh and rose back up to his feet, leaving Michelle to kneel next to him as the teacher now turned to Flash, who was still watching the encounter with a genuine look of confusion on his face. "Mr. Thompson. I'll need to have a word with you-"

"Wait."

All three of them turned back to him. Peter struggled to get back up to his feet, Michelle holding onto his arm as he did so, leaning hard against the lockers as he shakily stood back up. "He…he didn't do anything."

"Peter-"

"Really! I just…tripped is all. Honest." He glanced over towards Flash, who was now throwing him a strange look. "He didn't do anything."

From the look on Mr. Harrington's face, it was obvious he didn't quite believe it. However, casting one last glance at Peter, the teacher sighed and turned towards Flash. "Get to class," he murmured with a gruff voice.

Flash didn't need to be told twice, sparing one last freaked glance Peter's way before disappearing down the hall.

Mr. Harrington turned back to the two remaining teens. Facing Peter once more, he asked, "Do you want to go the nurse?" Peter noticed how his eyes lingering on the teen's bruised face.

Peter shook his head, his gaze staying locked onto the tiled floor beneath him, if only to avoid the stares he was getting.

The older man stood there for another minute before he let out a small, tired sigh. "Alright. If you're sure you're alright," he murmured, rubbing at his chin as he cast a few glances around the hall.

Peter gripped one of his backpack straps tightly with both hands, curls falling into his face. "You two should probably get to class," Mr. Harrington said with a hum. "Peter, if you start feeling worse, don't hesitate to head on down to the nurse, alright. We have class together later anyway, so I'll keep an eye out."

Peter gave a muted, controlled nod as Michelle gave a curt nod of her own, grabbing roughly onto his sleeve. "Yeah, thanks Mr. Harrington. We'll see you later," she mumbled before practically dragging the boy in her grasp down the hall. Once they rounded the corner, she all but jumped in front of him, eyes seething.

"Alright, Parker. Slip. What the hell was that all about?"

Peter stared up at her. She was only an inch or two taller than him, but he took a step back nonetheless. Her gaze was intense and nothing short of furious. Peter didn't respond, though, simply tilted his head towards the floor and tensed his jaw.

Michelle obviously wasn't satisfied by this.

"Peter-"

"Look, I don't wanna talk about this right now so can we just fucking drop it?"

He clenched his fists, felt the same unbearable tingling from before tightening around his chest. Michelle stared back at him, her gaze never softening, never relenting. For a moment, Peter thought she was going to yell, but at that moment, he sucked in a little breath and it audibly shook as it entered his throat, wavering with a pathetic lilt as it slithered into his lungs.

He watched her face change, watched the twisted features suddenly begin to unwind, eyes dimming in the harsh glare of the fluorescent lights above them. Peter felt himself starting to shake, so much so that he wrapped his arms around themselves and ducked his head to his chest, feeling very small all of a sudden.

At least, more so than usual.

Still, from their encounter with Flash, Peter knew Michelle didn't take kindly to being spoken to that way, so he prepped himself for her comeback, for the verbal lashing that he more or less deserved.

However, he quickly jumped in surprise as he felt something slide over his face. Crackling open his eyes, he found that the harsh lights from before were now covered with a calming bluish tint from the sunglasses now perched on the bridge of his nose.

Before he could react, he felt something being pushed into his hands. Glancing down, the teen saw he was now holding three small orange pills.

Blinking in mild surprise, he turned back up to face the girl in front of him. Michelle's arms were folded over her chest once more as she stared at him with her usual intense look. "You're lucky I carry around my migraine medication, idiot. You should have just told me that's what it was in the first place. I get them all the time," she muttered with a roll of her eyes.

"Take these with some water. They should kick in in around half an hour. Think you can keep from passing out till then?" She didn't wait for a reply as she turned on her heel and began to walk towards her class.

Peter stared down at the pills for a moment longer before his brain finally caught up with him. He lifted his head once again. "MJ?" He called after the girl, the teen turning at the end of the hallway to glance back at him.

He gave a soft smile, feeling just a shade lighter for the first time that day. "Thank you."

The girl stared at him for a moment longer before hoisting her backpack farther over her shoulder. "I'll see you at lunch. Try not to die before then or I'll kill you." She muttered before rounding the corner.

Peter stared after her before turning to look at the pills, the same strange familiar feeling he'd been noticing often twinging in his chest once again. Only this time, there was something different. There was something off about it. It felt...stranger. He'd felt it as Michelle's dark brown eyes had been staring into him. He'd felt it as her fingers brushed up against his cheeks.

. . . .

That should have worried him, too.


Wednesday - March 30, 2016

Location Unknown

03:52 p.m.

"You can't be serious. You can't be fucking serious!"

"Relax, would you? You're gonna pop a blood vessel and we don't have health insurance anymore."

Clint Barton stood with his arms folded, face curled into a look of barely-restrained agitation as he stared back at his longest time friend. "Natasha, you can't actually be considering this. I mean, please. Tell me right now that you aren't. That this isn't…" He scoffed. "I mean…it's just-"

"You might want to consider your words carefully, Barton." Natasha Romanoff finished slipping the new shirt overtop her head and smoothened it down with a pointed look leveled at said man. "Because I really hope you're not about to tell me what I can and cannot do." She smirked. "You know better than that."

The walls creaked around them, loud and ominous as it echoed against the concrete floors stained with years of age and mistreatment. The smell of stale water and salt wafted through the air, seeming the rust the metal of the roof right before their very eyes.

Neither of the two paid any mind to their surrounds, and neither did their spectators, who silently watched the back-and-forth match like a tennis game, going on half an hour now. Sam Wilson and Scott Lang sat side by side on a pair of heavy-duty wooden crates that had been pushed to the center of the room as makeshift seats while Wanda Maximoff leaned up against the back wall, arms folded and eyes sharp as they watched. Not that there was much else to do.

As Scott had put in within the first fifteen minutes of their arguing, it was the closest thing they had to TV.

The warehouse was somewhere in the shipping district. The details had been left sparse, as was needed nowadays. The building itself was large, large enough to house the types of storage containers carried on the backs of industrial shippers that would pull into port back in the days. It extended out into a massive clearing devoid of anything save for a few wooden crates, metal rafters and some garbage left over from people long since gone. Above their heads was a catwalk that followed the four walls of the warehouse, circling around to a metal staircase that creaked in the corner of the building.

But now there were some new fixtures to the warehouse, including a few dusty mattresses, a couch that had been scrounged up from a dumpster out back, and discarded piles of clothes, tech, and weaponry propped up against the walls.

AKA – the new Avengers HQ.

Clint folded his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes at Natasha as she continued to change her clothes. "I think you forfeit the right to go off and do whatever when it involved visiting one of the assholes that got us into this mess in the first place." He scoffed and tossed up a hand. "No, you go right ahead. What right do we, your actual trusted teammates, have to put out say into the matter?"

"He's right, Natasha."

Said woman paused in whatever she'd been going to say and turned now to Sam, who sat with one leg crossed over the other, elbows resting against his knees. "This mission would be dangerous all on its own. We all know going out in broad daylight isn't really an option for us anymore But you'd actually be willing to compromise our position for what? To see Stark? Just to visit one of the people who dumped this mess on us?" He narrowed his eyes, face hiding what his tone could not, an anger that identified itself simply in the tense posture the man currently sat with.

"What makes you so certain he will not turn you in the second you show up?" Wanda voiced from her spot against the wall.

Natasha didn't lift her head as she pulled a jacket from the pile of clothes. "He didn't the last time."

"Yeah, and he's been known to be such a valuable and trustworthy person in the past," Clint muttered, shaking his head as he began to pace back and forth, the soles of his shoes scuffing up against the concrete floors. "He's probably just waiting for you to make the same mistake again, the very same mistake you're about to make right now."

Natasha lifted her head, staring at the man with her calm, piercing, unwavering gaze. "I'm going, Clint." Her voice was just as calm as her stare. But there was a certain intensity. A surefire determination that made them all tense up a bit more.

This tension seemed to be enough for Wanda, for she didn't waste any more time in pushing herself off of the wall, stepping closer as she shook her head and stared at Natasha with a disgusted scoff. "You'd be willing to place him above us, your own teammates? You're choosing him over us?"

"Don't be such a child." Natasha rolled her eyes, Wanda's flaring indignantly in response. "I'm not choosing anybody over anyone. I'm simply going to check on a friend."

Clint folded his arms. "Shockingly, I don't think that's the word he'd use to describe you."

"Better than what he'd use to describe you."

That earned her another glare.

"Umm...c-can I just say...something...here?"

Four heads turned towards Scott, the man hesitantly lifting his hand into the air like a seventh grader asking a question. He cleared his throat before continuing. "Look...I don't really know this Stark guy all that well. Actually...I don't really know any of you all that well if we're really being honest here and-"

"The point, Scott," Sam muttered.

"Right, right! It's just..." He rubbed as the back of his neck. "All I'm saying is that this seems like a pretty risky operation. And like, I don't know if I should be mentioning this to you or whatever, but I was kinda a pretty good burglar back in the day and uh...one of the main things you always had to remember was to avoid any unnecessary risks, and that's kinda what this sounds like. An unnecessary risk."

Natasha lowered her head once more as she began to unzip the jacket. Sam glanced over towards the man. "You were a robber?"

"Burglar, actually."

"Is there a difference?"

Scott let out an annoyed huff. "'is there a difference?' As a matter of fact-"

"Can we focus please?" Clint puffed with a well pointed glare towards the two bickering men. He turned back towards Natasha, who was shrugging the jacket onto her shoulders. He stepped forward and grabbed her arm. "Natasha-" He stressed, only for her to wrench her arm out of his grasp and lean forward, eyes sharp as they glared back at him.

"I'm going," she growled, her voice taking on a deadly tone. The already tense air strengthened with a newfound weight, freezing over as a chill seemed to crawl up the walls, thick and uncomfortable.

Wanda narrowed her eyes and took another step forward. "Stark doesn't care about you," she spat with a venom that was too potent to be anything other than genuine. "He doesn't care about any of us. He made that perfectly clear when he betrayed us." She paused for a moment before folding her arms over her chest and throwing the other woman a contemptuous look. "You honestly think he is worth all of this? You think he deserves your care?"

"No."

All heads turned upwards towards the catwalk platforms above their heads, the new voice grabbing their attention as they instantly silenced.

But this was always the case when Steve Rogers spoke. Everyone listened.

"In all honesty, he deserves a lot more. But this is all we have right now." Steve moved over towards the stairs. "So, we're gonna have to make it work."

"Cap, come on, man!" Sam called as the large figure began to descend the metal stairs as he joined them on the ground. "You of all people have to be against this."

"You cannot trust him. You have to understand that," Wanda stressed. "He is not our ally."

Steve stopped in front of them. Similar to the rest of them, he was dressed in casual clothes, his actual uniform safely stashed away with the rest of theirs. He shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe not," he murmured. "But he certainly isn't our enemy."

Clint scoffed. "Wanna bet?"

"Barton, shut your mouth for one fucking second before I shut it for you," Natasha murmured in a low voice, eyes practically burning in her skull. Clint narrowed his eyes but said nothing else.

Steve let out a sigh. "Look, I know this isn't ideal. And I know tensions are a little high right now a-"

"A little high?" Sam echoed, crossing his arms. "You're kidding, right?"

The super soldier leveled him a hard look. "But you all have to stop seeing this as black and white. Cause things aren't like that. Not anymore." He paused for a minute, lowering his gaze as he blew out a small, almost unnoticeable sigh. "Maybe that was the whole problem."

The others each shared small glances in the silence that followed. Because they did notice. They'd been noticing it for the past few months now. Steve never talked about it. They never asked. It was an unspoken agreement to never bring it up.

Siberia was almost a fantasy, an imaginary event that had never taken place.

Everything else, though? That was all too real.

After Steve and Barnes had broken them out of the Raft, they'd all fled. Wakanda had been the safest place for them at the time. Cap hadn't said much about what had transpired between him and Tony, other than that they had gotten into a fight, and a pretty bad one judging from the fact that Bucky's arm was...well, nonexistent.

Sam had been furious, of course. After all, the only reason he'd disclosed the man's location in the first place was because he'd made him promise to go as a friend and he'd done just the opposite. Steve assured the man that it wasn't like that. That things were much more complicated, but Sam - the others - didn't see it that way. All they saw was Stark hammering the final nail on their coffin.

They were fugitives.

And it was all his fault.

They just couldn't understand why Steve didn't see it that way.

"Look, I know this is hard. And I know none of you are in quite a forgiving mood right now." More glares were passed around. "But you need to understand that Stark isn't the bad guy here."

"Well, he certainly isn't the good guy," Clint muttered.

"What, and we are?" Natasha shot back with a narrowed look.

Sam let out an angered huff, shaking his head as his face scrunched into a look of frustration. "He lied, Cap. He lied to my face. He promised he'd have your back in Siberia and instead, he tried to stab it-"

"Sam." Steve cut in. "Just...just don't," he grunted with a similar tone of frustration. "A...a lot of things happened in Siberia that neither of us are proud of."

Wanda shook her head, taking another step forward as she scrunched her eyes in confusion, the anger from before melding into disbelief. "Why do you keep defending him?"

Natasha narrowed her eyes and cocked her head slightly, placing one hand on her hip. "I'm surprised you can't relate, Wanda," she called. "After all, you should know what it's like to let your emotions cloud your logic and dictate your actions. Regrettable actions, I'd like to add." Her eyes were sharp.

Wanda clenched her fists, but said nothing, turning her head away.

"Listen, I know this is risky. That's why I'm sending Nat. She's the least likely out of all of us to stir anything up. But you have to stop thinking that we're the only ones who got the short end of the straw." He stressed. "Whether you all want to admit it, Tony is still our teammate. In a way, we were lucky."

"How do you figure?" Scott mumbled.

Steve's brows furrowed. "We still have each other. We're still together. We still have each other's backs." He paused. "Tony...he doesn't have that. Not anymore."

It looked like Clint wanted to comment, but one well-placed glare from Natasha had him shutting his mouth, obviously thinking better of it. Steve turned back towards Natasha. "She's doing this. You don't have to like it. You don't have to agree with it." He stared back at them. "But you do have to accept it. Cause we're not changing our minds."

With that, the man turned and walked out of the large room without another word. Without looking back.

It was final.

Clint stared after him before letting out a disgusted scoff. He glanced at Natasha one last time, his eyes hard and pained before he shook his head, leaving the room as well. Sam let out a small sigh as he followed him out, giving Natasha's shoulder a light pat before he left.

Scott stared after them, turning back to Natasha before letting out an awkward cough. He hesitantly stood up and jabbed a thumb in their direction. "I'm just gonna...yeah..." He murmured before quickly darting out of the room as well. That left just her and Wanda.

She paid little mind of the young woman as she rummaged through her own personal collection of things stashed off to the side, fiddling with her pistol slightly before placing it back into its holster.

"This is still a mistake."

The woman shut her eyes for just a moment before letting out a soft breath, raising herself back up as she turned to face Wanda, the girl's arms folded once again as her dark brown eyes leveled Nat a hard look.

The assassin was not fazed by the look, however, as she stepped forward. "Listen, I know you and Stark have your issues, and I get that. I'm not asking you to like him. But he's my friend." Her eyes instantly iced over as her fists clenched. "So, unless you have an actual reason for being here other than to spew out more garbage…"

She leaned closer, their noses almost touching. "I suggest you shut your mouth and keep your head out of my business. M'kay, kid?"

Without another word, the woman turned and walked out of the room, leaving Wanda behind to glare after her before silently shaking her head and walking off.

Natasha didn't spare any of them a glance as she made for the door. She could feel their eyes on her, but she didn't look. She just kept her head down, her breathing level and her eyes sharp.

She knew why they were against it, and in all honesty, she couldn't really blame them. Aside from Steve, she'd known Tony better than they had. Sam and Wanda were still fairly fresh on the team while Clint was usually off with his family. And Scott? He'd never even met Tony prior to everything. They didn't know him like she did, like Steve did.

They didn't know that this was never a part of the plan, part of his plan.

Natasha threw a small glance behind her at the large warehouse.

Scott was laying in his corner on a bundle of dirty blankets he'd shaped into a bed, his leg propped up on a knee as he bopped his foot along to the rhythm of some nonexistent music. Sam was sorting the deck of cards for about the millionth time. Clint was wordlessly cleaning his bow, though he'd been doing it so often that the weapon now gleamed like steel, and Wanda had gone to sit above them on the catwalk, staring out one of the windows situated above them.

They were angry. They had a right to be angry. Natasha couldn't take that away from them. Sitting on the outskirts of a city with the garbage and the rust, hiding from the very people they'd once risked their lives to save? She couldn't help it. She was angry too. She was angry at herself. Angry for letting things get this far. Angry for predicting the trouble that could have come from the Accords and letting them happen anyway. Angry for what she'd done. Angry for what she hadn't done.

But unlike the others, she didn't want this anger to feed her, didn't need it to motivate her. They did. Living on the run hiding their faces and their lives, they needed something to keep them going. And right now, it was that anger boiling in their chests, in their bones, driving them on. She understood this. Not everybody was cut out for the a double-life, a life of lies and deceit.

She supposed she'd been made for this very situation.

The assassin stared at the scene for a moment longer before lowering her head, stepping outside.

Didn't mean she had to like it, though.

The brisk March air hit her hard as she opened the back door out of the warehouse. The sound of soft waves graces her ears, mingling with the far-off distant sounds of the city. The sky was gray overhead, adding well to the dark, garbage-filled waters that rolled in the Hudson. Their little warehouse was just one of many in the lot, a horde of different buildings sitting discarded like skeletal remains in an elephant graveyard. The creaking of metal filled the air, a soft, moaning sound that mingled with the air itself.

It didn't take her long to spot Steve.

He stood up against the railings posted along the edge of the bayside walkway. The Hudson was as dark and dirty as ever, but it still shone the weak light of the sun overhead, white through the overcast clouds. He leaned against the metal railings; his elbows pressed down against the rusted metal as his hands hung limply over the edge.

Silently, she walked over, her shoes crunching on the gravel underfoot. He didn't turn to look at her as she stopped beside him, resting her own hands on the cold railing below. The thick scent of rotting fish filled her nose, but her face remained passive and calm. Steve didn't seem to smell it either, staring out at the waters before them.

"I don't need to tell you what we're risking in sending you out."

Natasha didn't turn her head. "I know."

Steve said nothing for a moment up for a moment before letting out a deep sigh, dropping his head as he shut his eyes. She turned to glance at him, taking note of the heaviness in his shoulders and the added stiffness to his posture. "Steve..." she called, moving closer. "It's going to be alright."

He hesitated for a moment before letting out a little scoff, lips curling into a little smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He glanced over to her and aimed it at her, the usual warmth of his features failing to make her feel better for once. "Things haven't been alright since we started this shit," he said softly before his gaze hardened into a frustrated scrunch as she opened her mouth. "And I swear, if you say language one more time..."

Natasha turned away with a chuckle, Steve returning it with one of his own. He gazed down at the water, the soft, rippling currents lapping up against the side of the concrete walls. The man's smile slowly disappeared as he watched the small waves. "How was he?" he whispered. "Last time you..." He trailed off, but it didn't matter. Natasha knew what he meant.

The woman glanced over at him before staring down at the water as well, her fingers tapping against the cold metal of the railings as she debated how to play things. "He...he was how you'd expect." She finally decided on. "Depressed, angry, bitter...sad."

She shook her head before turning to face the super soldier. "Steve, it's...it's not good. I'm actually a little worried," she confessed.

The man stared at her, his eyes full of the pain and regret Natasha had been seeing in them since he'd returned from Siberia. He shut his eyes and turned away, lowering his head once again. She tapped her fingers.

"And yet..."

He glanced back up.

"There was something else. I've seen him at his worst before. Trust me. But...there was something different. I was fully expecting to either find him on the floor in the corner of his lab, surrounded by empty bottles and covered in his own vomit-"

"Thanks for that image."

"Or I was just waiting for him to straight up attack me on sight." She paused, wetting her lips as she furrowed her brows in thought. "But...it was different. Sure, he was just as bitter and frustrated as I'd expected, but it was like...it was like he was holding off for some reason."

Steve quirked a brow. "Pepper?"

Natasha shook her head. "No...no, as far as I can tell, they're still apart."

"That makes this worse," Steve grunted.

"Yeah, but I'm telling you, Steve. There was...it...it's like he was holding on to something...something else." She shook her head. "I just don't know what it could be."

Steve's face hardened in thought as he turned his head back around, his eyes scanning the dark waters as he took in the woman's words. He glanced back over towards her as he recalled something she'd told him a few days ago.

"Didn't you mention a kid before?"

Nat glanced at him, shrugging her shoulders. "Yes, but...I don't know if that's what it is. I mean, he said the kid was just an intern."

Steve scoffed. "Well, let's not forget who we're talking about. Tony's not one to disclose what he feels or who he feels it for. Maybe this kid's more than he let him on to be."

Natasha furrowed her brows in thought. "Maybe..."

She glanced back over at the man as he turned away, his hand coming to rub at the back of his neck as he sighed tiredly. She didn't need to be a world-class spy to know the man had been skirting by these past few weeks with only a few hours of sleep each night, if he even did at all. She could tell it was starting to take a toll.

She swallowed and turned away again, the two of them falling into silence once again.

It had been nearly two months since they'd returned to the city.

Half of the team still held that it was close to the worst decision they could have possibly made, electing instead to just stay in Wakanda where it was safe, but just the hint Hill had dropped on them that there were suspected HYDRA forces moving into the city had been enough for Steve to rally them back home.

By day they spent their hours attempting not to bite each other's heads off, while at night, they made good on the tips Hill sent their way, hoping against hope that they'd maybe find some evidence as to how, where, and why the supposedly-dead organization was back in action.

So far, nothing. And with each day that passed of continued failure and ignorance, Steve seemed to sink deeper and deeper into the silent turmoil he'd returned to them with.

"I know this has been tough on you, Steve," she murmured softly, placing a hand on the man's shoulder.

His eyes scrunched tighter for a second before he opened them, keeping them locked on the waters below. "I just...it's..." He paused, unsure of where to go.

The woman stared at him before pressing her tongue against her cheek. "I know you don't talk about Siberia. It's...alright. You don't have to." Her voice was quiet, gentle, very unlike her.

Steve's hands clenched tightly around the metal railing, the soft sound of creaking filling the air as the rails bent like tinfoil underneath his grasp. Judging by the look on his face, the man didn't even realize he was doing it as he stared out over the bay. As the two sat there in the silence for a minute, Natasha wondered if he would say anything else or if he would maintain the tight-lipped silence he'd held up since rescuing them.

Finally, after a moment, the man let out a small breath as he glanced up towards the sky in exhaustion.

"I couldn't lose him, Nat," he finally whispered, his voice almost too soft to even hear. Natasha leaned closer. He didn't look at her. "I couldn't lose Bucky. Not…not again. It's just…" He shut his eyes, fingers tightening around the railing before suddenly releasing, leaving it a crumbled mess as he opened his eyes back up and stared out over the waters below. "I never thought I'd be losing Tony in exchange."

She hesitated for a moment before gently squeezing his shoulder. "You did what you could, Steve," she sighed, only for the man to pull away, glaring down at nothing. "Yeah, well it wasn't good enough. In...in protecting my friend, I was just hurting another. And now they're both..."

He stopped, the words catching in his throat as he paused, tightening his grip on the mangled metal before releasing his hands, turning away. "I just wish I could..." He tensed his jaw and sighed, shaking his head as he lowered his hands once more.

He didn't go on.

"I know you want to talk to him, Steve." She finally said. "But right now, I think that might do more harm than good," she sighed, remembering with a wince how Tony had reacted at just hearing the man's name. She didn't want to think about what would happen when they came face to face. If they ever did.

Somehow, the thought that they never would was even more painful.

Steve said nothing more as he continued to watch the small waves. Natasha knew she wouldn't get any more out of him. With a soft pat, she gave him a small smile. "I'll watch him, Steve. For the both of us."

The man turned to her before giving a nod. He watched as she pulled away, tightening the straps on her jacket as she began to make her way down the walkway, Stark Tower shining against the sun in the distance.

"Nat..." He called, watching as the woman turned back. Without saying anything, they both knew what was being said.

Be careful.

She stared at him for a moment longer before giving a nod of her own.

"I know."


Wednesday - March 30, 2016

Stark Tower - Main Offices

04:21 p.m.

Natasha liked to consider herself a calm person. It took a lot to shake her, and it took even more to make her feel even a fleeting glimpse of nervousness. However, underneath the piercing gaze of one Pepper Potts, she could somewhat understand why her fingers were suddenly twitching by her sides.

Rhodey and Happy didn't really make things any easier, she'd like to add.

When she'd entered the office, she'd fully been expecting to see Tony not working at his desk. So, when she entered to see not just one of his slightly irked teammates, but all three, she couldn't help but be a bit cautious.

"Ms. Romanoff," Pepper called coolly, her eyes revealing none of the shock that had been there when the woman had first entered the room. Happy, on the other hand looked like someone had just scratched his car with their keys while Rhodey seemed to be trying to keep his face neutral. It wasn't working all that well.

"What are you doing here?" Pepper continued, either not noticing her friends' displeasure, or choosing to ignore it. Her nails tapped against the desk, the sharp sounds radiating around the room.

"Yeah, In case you haven't noticed, there are quite a few people who are pretty keen in talking to you," Happy muttered. "And uh...it ain't us." Natasha noticed him sizing her up, eyes catching on the bulge at her side where her gun sat under her shirt. The man's gaze darkened and he subtly started shuffling closer to Pepper.

Natasha took a small breath, refusing to back down. "I came for Tony."

"Mm-hmm..." Rhodey nodded, his eyes narrowed. "And uh...just what do you want with him, huh?" He growled. "Here to tie up some loose ends for you and your gang of criminals?" She couldn't remember the last time the Colonel had spoken to her with such venom.

"Rhodey-" She started, her voice calm. She hadn't been prepared to deal with this monster of an issue today.

"Don't," he snapped. "Alright, I don't need another reason to reach over there and dial up Ross, kay?" he muttered, glancing over towards the desk where the company phone sat. Pepper's hand was already sliding closer to it. Natasha made sure to keep the woman in her sights.

"So why don't you go and actually do something good for Tony for once and get out of here? Cause God knows we don't need any more problems, and that seems to be all that you guys bring." Rhodes gripped the arm rests of the chair he was sitting in as he stood up, his leg braces whirring softly.

Natasha couldn't help but glance down at them before meeting his gaze once more.

"Problems for us to fix. Problems for him to deal with, alright? You've already done enough to us."

The woman took a small step back as she glanced down at the side, a sigh falling from her lips as she hesitated in bringing up the elephant in the room. This was not gonna be good. She could already tell. "Look..." She said softly. "About Leipzig, about...about your legs, you have every right to-"

Rhodes stalked closer. "I'm not talking about my legs." His voice was eerily quiet. Natasha couldn't help but listen intently. The pit in her stomach cracked open even more.

"He trusted each and every one of you. And you tried to kill him."

This...this was worse.

"So, excuse me If I'm not jumping up to welcome you back," he snarled as the tips of Pepper's fingers grazed the phone.

"I'm not asking you to."

They turned back towards her as she lowered her gaze. Pepper's hand paused.

"I know better than anyone just how badly we screwed up, alright?" she said with a pointed frustration in her tone.

"Hmph," Happy sniffed. "You sure about that? Try spending a couple hours around here, you'll see just how badly you screwed up," he growled, glaring back at the redhead.

"But-" She stressed. "That doesn't mean I don't want to try and fix this. I know it might not seem like it, but I care about Tony. And I hate how things turned out." They watched her carefully, eyes piercing as they stared back at her and waited, the tension in the air thick and humid.

"I know we messed up. I know you all were just trying to do what was right. I know...and I'm sorry." She took a breath. "I'm sorry for what's happening now."

Pepper, who had remained quiet for most of the conversation, let out a small sigh as she ran a hand through her hair. "We all are," she said softly. The other two men glanced over towards her before the anger in their faces seemed to die down a little.

Realizing she'd have to make the most of their small moment of calm, Natasha stepped forward. "All I want to do is try to make things right. I know it'll take a while. I'm willing to try. And I know I have no right to ask this..." She couldn't help the small spark of hesitation that silenced her for a second before she found her voice once again. "But I'll need your help."

Happy couldn't help the scoff that fell from his mouth. "Oh, jeez. You gotta be shitting me."

"Look, I know you don't trust me." She pushed on despite the looks she was getting. "Tony doesn't either. I can't blame you all for that. But I do know that you all want this to end just as badly as I do." Judging from the way their faces all twisted into looks of remorse, she was certain she'd hit her target. "I can't work towards that unless I have your help."

She knew it was true. Tony's circle of trusted allies was diminishing greatly and if there was even a chance that she' be able to make things work with the man, she'd need inside help. These three were her ticket in, but she couldn't do much if they started putting up a wall. Tony was already trying to do that. If they joined him in the endeavor, she could forget about her plan to make things right.

Rhodey folded his arms. "And what are we supposed to do, exactly? It's not like we can apologize for you."

"No, but Tony still trusts you," she explained. "You're some of the only people that can help him now. can only do so much."

Pepper stared at her, drinking in her words. It was hard to get a read on the other woman, a fact in itself that made Natasha wary. Still, she said nothing as she waited for her to come to her own conclusion.

"You're here at least," Pepper finally murmured after a second. "That's more than I can say for some members of your team," she growled, eyes narrowing as she thought of one particular star-spangled pain in her ass.

Natasha quirked a brow. "Do you really think I'd be a good idea to have him here?"

Pepper let out an annoyed sigh as she lowered her gaze to stare at the surface of her desk, which was littered with papers. Out of the corner of her eye, she could tell that both Rhodey and Happy were giving her small looks. She had been in enough board meetings to know what those discreet looks meant. They were asking her what she thought. They were waiting for her word.

The woman stayed silent for a moment as she traced her fingers along the edges of the pen in her hands. "I hate seeing him like this." She finally said.

Natasha watched as Rhodey gave a slight nod at the woman's words, apparently finding more meaning in them that she had, for he turned back toward her, a new resolve showing in his face. "We all do. And considering you're one of the reasons he's like this, I'm still incredibly tempted to grab that phone."

The assassin couldn't help the way her muscles tensed slightly at that.

"But...if you're serious. If you actually want to try and help him work past this..." The man trailed off for a moment before letting out a sigh, running a hand down his face. "Then we'll see what we can do." He glared back up at her. "Don't take this as an agreement. We still don't trust you. It's just a consideration."

However, the woman let a smile fall onto her face at his words. "That's all I'm asking for." She murmured softly before turning to glance at the door behind her. She opened her mouth to speak once more, but apparently the Colonel knew what she was about to say before she'd even said it.

"Down in the lab. That's usually where you'll find him nowadays."

The woman nodded softly before turning around.

"Natasha."

she glanced back over her shoulder, one hand coming to rest on the frames along the doorway. Pepper stared back at her, green eyes strong and sharp as her face tensed in a hard look. "Don't hurt him again."

Natasha stared at her for a moment, before glancing around at the others in the room, seeing a similar statement reflected in all of their faces. She said nothing, merely giving a tight nod of her head before briskly walking out of the room.

They stared after her for a few moments, saying nothing as they wondered whether or not they'd just made the right choice. The last thing they wanted was for one of the Rogues to get anywhere near Tony. They knew the man wasn't in the best place emotionally and that could sometimes lead to him making some pretty rash decisions. Decisions he could come to regret later.

However, they also knew that someone had to do something. Someone had to take the first step. They just weren't expecting it to be one of the Rogues, let alone Natasha. But...if there was a chance, if there was hope that the assassin could somehow put them down the road of resolve, then maybe that was a chance they'd have to take.

Happy folded his arms over his chest, quirking an eyebrow as he glanced over at the others.

"Isn't it Wednesday today?"

. . . . .

Natasha exited the elevator, noticing how FRIDAY's voice had been particularly short with her. Could AIs even be annoyed with you? Considering she'd been built by Tony, the assassin wasn't willing to bet against it. In fact, the billionaire had probably ordered her to be extra sassy to the Russian.

The thought had her rolling her eyes. Well, at least he hasn't lost his sense of humor.

As she rounded the corner of the lab, she felt herself stop short as she noticed someone sitting by one of the main worktables. Taking into mind whose lab it was she was entering, most would assume the figure was just Tony. The fact that it wasn't added a whole new level of shock to the woman's mind, effectively throwing her off.

This was not her day, was it?

The figure was small. So, definitely not Tony. Considering he was wearing both a sweater and a jacket that were too big for him, it was difficult to really get a good read on him, but the woman was willing to bet he was at least a little skinny. He had wavy brown hair that draped down over his forehead, and light hazel eyes. However, the most noticeable thing about the boy was that he was nearly as pale as the paper he was writing on, which made the dark bruise on his face stick out all the more.

For a moment, the woman could only stare at the boy, who she was willing to bet was only around thirteen, maybe fourteen. She couldn't tell what he was working on from where she was standing, but she could make out what looked like textbooks on the table as well as a raggedy backpack sitting at his feet.

The boy obviously didn't notice her as he continued to work, his brows furrowed in concentration and his nose scrunched slightly as the tip of his tongue poked through his mouth while he scribbled down on the paper, seemingly lost in his work. Natasha had to admit, the dead concentration in his features was nearly a mirror to how Tony was whenever he worked.

She was moving closer before she could think better of it, ideas as to who the child might be speeding through her head. She liked to think that Tony wouldn't be able to hide the fact that he had an illegitimate child from her, but it was hard to ignore what was in front of her, that being a child that looked very much like a certain billionaire she knew.

However, as she moved closer, the pages around the teen became clearer and clearer until she could read the large print embedded on one of the plans. Her eyes widened slightly as she lifted her head back up.

No way. Not possible. This couldn't be-

"You're his intern?"

The kid whipped his head up at the noise, eyes widening as he caught sight of the woman standing before him.

Okay, in hindsight, maybe not the best introduction.

Chapter 11: Rule 5 Part II

Summary:

5) Do Not Take Food Without Permission; Stealing Will Not Be Tolerated

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Wednesday - March 30, 2016

Stark Tower - Private Labs 01

04:32 PM

 

Silence echoed like a gong around the room, thickening the air with a newfound tension, a tightness to their stares that left them silent and breathless.

Nobody said anything. They just kept staring.

Except, of course, until the woman finally took a small, near-unnoticeable step forward.

Peter noticed, though. Peter noticed enough to rear back and stumble from his chair, papers scattering onto the floors as he floundered to his feet and began to backpedal.

The woman stopped. She kept staring. Her eyes were cold. They gazed back at him with a penetrating complexity, deep and dark and enough to have his skin tingling with nerves he was all too familiar with. Because he was familiar with that look, too.

 

("Look into my eyes, Peter. Do I look like I'm fucking joking?!")

 

Mr. Stark had only been gone for around half-an-hour now, grumbling something about taking calls with an 'asshole to end all assholes', with stern instructions for Peter to keep working on his homework and to 'not touch any of the fun stuff till I get back'.

Well, it seemed the "Fun stuff" had found him, strolling into the room with fiery red hair and a gun holstered to her belt.

Oh, yeah. Peter clocked that, too.

He stared back at her, muscles tense, ready to spring into action. What sort of action he would go along with if he had to was another question entirely, but one he didn't feel like confronting at the moment as he kept his eyes trained on the woman in front of him. He had to be ready. She could make a move at any moment.

"Stark's taken on babysitting detail, now? What, he need the money?"

Okay, different move than he was expecting...

Nevertheless, Peter didn't let his guard down, didn't relinquish the hard stare he was throwing her way. The woman didn't seem to mind the tense looks, for she finally turned her eyes away from him and down to the papers by her feet instead.

She cast a little humored glance up and slowly bent down, lithe fingers wrapping around the edges of the paper and carefully picking it back up. She flipped it over and scanned the page. "Spanish homework, huh?" She quirked a brow, smirk playing on her lips. "Nice handwriting. Boys like you love their chicken scratch." She set the page down onto the table before her eyes were shooting back up, freezing Peter in place once more.

She must have noticed the continued tenseness to his stance, for she cocked her hip a bit and folded her arms. "I'm not going to hurt you, you know. You can relax."

Peter had no intentions of doing anything of the sort. Instead, he continued to stare at her, waiting for something, anything. A lunge, a reach for the gun, an aggression in her eyes. He cracked open his mouth, felt how dry his throat was all of sudden, the words sticking to the sides.

"You're...y-y...you...y-" He grimaced and swallowed the rock building inside of him before trying again. "You're N-Natasha Romanoff. T-the...Black Widow...aren't you?"

It was a pointless question. He already knew the answer from years spent watching the TV, watching and bouncing from his place on the floor, watching the action unfold on his screen, watching the team beat back monsters and toss bombs into the sky.

The woman continued to stare at him before giving a small shrug of her shoulders, fiery red hair bouncing up and down at the movement. "Sometimes."

He eyed the gun on her hip once more, felt his fingers beginning to twitch at the mere sight of it. He made sure to keep an extra eye on her hands, to flag whether or not they'd move towards her holster all of a sudden. "There are...t-there's people looking for you," he murmured softly, voice wavering in unease. "You're a criminal."

She didn't seem too annoyed at the sentiment, merely tilting her head a bit. "Depends on your definition."

"I mean it. Y-you...you could get in a lot of trouble if...i-if someone found you here." He noticed her cat-like stare still scanning him up and down like a piece of meat. He took another step back. "I...why are you here? W-what do you want?" He didn't know if she'd answer or not. He hoped she would. The longer he stood there with no information, the more antsy he began to feel, shuffling back and forth on his feet as he ran through the list of possibilities in his head. Why was she here?

The woman seemed to take notice of the way he began to shift, for she gave a little sigh. "Listen-" She stepped forward.

That was enough to send Peter reeling another five or six steps. "Don't!" He all but shouted, wide-eyed stare boring back into her as he tried to stop the sudden shakiness that had come over him. "D-don't...just...stay there."

It did get her to stop, but now she was looking at him with a new perplexity to her gaze, resting a hand on her hip as she pursed her lips in what Peter hoped wasn't annoyance. "Relax, would you? I'm not going to hurt you. I don't even know you."

Peter paused at that, her words seeming to jolt him in place. He stared back at her, back at a face he'd seen countless times before, standing next to a team of the world's most well-known superheroes. A team that included-

"You know Mr. Stark, though..." he whispered.

He noticed her face change, noticed it twist into a more serious frown.

"Is...is that why you're here?"

Again, silence. She didn't say anything. So, Peter decided to fill the space with his thoughts.

Germany was a bit hazy for him, the adrenaline he could still feel tied to the memories leaving them jumbled and messy. But he remembered her. He remembered that fiery red hair, remembered Mr. Stark telling him to keep his distance from her, warning him to stay off her bad side.

"You...you were in Germany. With him."

He remembered seeing her out of the corner of his eye as they'd fought, seeing her tassel with some of Captain America's other teammates. He'd seen her fight with them, alongside him and Mr. Stark.

"I...you were on his side. You were...supposed to help him. You were supposed to..."

He remembered watching the Quinjet take off into the sky, remembered the yelling that echoed off the floors of the tarmac, remembered seeing her argue with the man in the black suit.

But more importantly, he remembered seeing Mr. Stark stare at her afterwards. He remembered the look in the man's eyes. He remembered seeing her on the news, her headshot lined up right alongside Steve Rogers, right alongside the other Rogue Avengers, the other Avengers who had-

"You...betrayed him."

She tensed. Peter did as well. When he spoke, his voice was light and breathy, face scrunched in thought as he tried to search his memories, dredging through the thoughts as the woman stared back at him with an unreadable expression. "He trusted you...and you...betrayed him. How...?" He lifted his head, lifted his eyes away from the floor and stared back at her, the words soft, almost whispered. "How could you do that?"

His face twisted. And suddenly he wasn't whispering anymore. "How could you do that?!"

His hands curled into shaking fists at his sides as he stared at her with a newfound anger, the tingling he'd felt overtop his skin melting into something hotter, something more intense and raw. The antsy nerves he'd felt jolting through him since that morning, since the night before when he'd gone to sleep with those familiar pangs in his stomach made his jaw tense. His eyes gleamed with a bitterness he hadn't been aware of as he spoke, and it took him a second to finally realize that he was yelling.

"He trusted you. He trusted you! Does that even matter to you? Do you know how important that is? How hard that is? He trusted you...put his trust in you and you just threw it away! You threw it away like it was nothing! Like it didn't even matter. Like it didn't even matter!"

She looked shocked, or at least as shocked as she could look, which seemed to only constitute a cocked brow and a slight widening of the eyes. Peter found that this passiveness only made him angrier. He gritted his teeth and actually found himself taking a step forward, the new burning inside of him seeming to put him into autopilot. It felt weird, felt...off somehow. Letting out the tightness he'd been feeling in his chest all day, the frustrations he'd held in since that morning. It felt...good...letting it out on someone. Someone who deserved it.

Even if it wasn't his family.

"At least your teammates had the common courtesy to show us all who they really were right from the start, but you didn't even have the decency to do that! You strung him along, strung us all along, and for what? For some sick little game? To get the most out of your double-cross? Is that what it was?

His face was red. He could feel it in his cheeks, in his skin. Or maybe he was just dizzy. Whatever it was, he had to focus very hard all of sudden to keep standing upright. His heart hammered in his chest, blood rushing through his ears, leaving the air pulsing with a tension he couldn't focus through, a haziness he couldn't blink away. The lights were blurring again.

"Listen-"

"And now you have the gall to just stroll in here like everything's alright, like you didn't stab him in the back? You think you can just pretend everything's okay after all of that? Like you didn't break the most important thing a person has?"

Why did he feel like crying all of a sudden?

"Kid-" She looked annoyed.

"Shut up!" The nausea was back, churning deep and dark inside of him. "I can't believe you. I can't believe the sheer audacity you have! I mean, who the hell do you think you are?!"

And suddenly it was like a switch. She was in front of him all of a sudden, mere inches from him. Peter's eyes widened, the heat burning against his chest extinguishing like mud on a bonfire as he choked on a gasp and stumbled backwards. Her eyes darkened, glossing over with a dangerous film of silent menace as she leaned closer, catching him tight in her captivating stare. Her face was dark, her voice darker.

"My name...is Natasha Romanoff. And I came here to talk to Tony."

 

("You wanna fight, Peter? Is that what this is? You wanna fight, tough guy? Well, come on! I got all day to enjoy this! Now get over here! Curt! Sandra! Get his arms!")

 

He heaved out a breath, felt it rattle in his chest as he stared back at her, stared back into those eyes, Max's eyes, Sandra's eyes, his father's eyes. They were dark. And they were dangerous. And they told him to run.

Only...his feet wouldn't move. They were rooted to the floor. His heart jolted and stuttered, but it didn't force his brain into action, didn't shout out a command to move, to bolt, to run and hide and pray nobody would find him. They left him there, left him standing underneath her gaze, withered and shaking...but standing nonetheless.

"N-no..." he finally choked out, nothing more than a whispered plea, but it was said. It was there. "You can't"

Her eyes didn't relent. Only now, they were accompanied by a wicked smirk, a twisted curl of the lips. "Really? And who's going to stop me? You?"

Another breath. Two more. Three. They were barely enough to fill his lungs, but they were enough to keep him from buckling under the weight of her eyes. He was shaking, his hands, his legs, his whole body vibrating with a teeming sense of danger not even three feet from him. But he stood. And he kept standing. Because Mr. Stark was in danger too. And that was enough to keep him there.

"Y-yes."

"That's cute." The smirk disappeared. Her eyes remained. "Sit down, kid. This doesn't concern you."

He tried to grip onto the anger from before, the righteous courage he'd dug up from nowhere. "I mean it! I...I won't let you! You might be used to pushing and shoving and tossing the law aside to get whatever you want, but it's not happening this time! You're not getting anywhere near him!" His voice cracked a bit, but it was stronger this time, strong enough for him to match her glare with one of his own.

She took another step forward. Peter reflexively took one back. Only she didn't stop. She kept advancing, stalking and prowling slowly, like a cat in the grass, lurking and looming over her prey. Peter kept backpedaling until his back pressed up against the wall of the lab. She didn't stop though, not until she was towering over him, leaving him scrunching up against the wall, shoulder pressing into the sleek surface as he shivered, heart bouncing off the walls of the lab. He was sure she could hear it.

"I won't say it again." Her voice echoed in his ears. "Sit. Down."

Peter swallowed. Swallowed the bile beginning to burn in his throat. Swallowed the tingling shooting up the back of his neck screaming that he was in danger, screaming that he had to run, that he had to do something, anything to get away from her.

But he couldn't leave Mr. Stark.

So instead, Peter sucked in a shallow breath and slowly straightened up, back still pressing into the wall as he tried to meet her stone-solid glare. He held his breath and glared right back at her, felt the roaring returning to his ears, the blood in his fingertips.

He leaned closer, their noses almost touching.

"Make me."

Silence. The lab sat suspended in it, hovering in the air, hovering in a state of bated breaths and wavering gazes. Peter heard his heart rather than felt it, heard it beating against his skin, leaving it teeming with anxiety, pooling with dread. He knew what was coming. He readied his fists, curled them tight as he tensed his muscles and braced to dodge the oncoming attack.

Natasha Romanoff did no such thing, though. Instead, she gave a little sniff of her nose and blinked, leaning away from him with a shrug of her shoulders, the previous tension evaporating like darkness in a newly luminated closet. "Not bad. Does Tony store any snacks in here or something?"

Peter blinked. Blinked a few more times after that. Slowly, his lips parted, shaky breaths continuing to expel out through them like bullets from a gun. "I...what?" There was no way. No way she'd landed a head injury on him that fast. But that was his only explanation for what he was seeing right now.

"Pretzels or crackers or anything? I'm not too picky."

Like, major concussion territory.

"No, I...what's happening right now?"

Natasha gave a little smile at that, different from the one before. It wasn't malicious or cruel. In fact, there were no traces of her previous wickedness from before. It's like she was a completely different person. She folded her arms over her chest and gazed back at him with a softer gaze as well, still sharp and perceptive, but calmer than before.

"You're cute," she chuckled before casting a bored glance around the lab. "I like you, Mr. Parker."

His brain was rebooting, looping through a recharge that left him stuttering in place, staring with wide eyes as he tried to make sense of what was happening. "You know my name..." his voice was slow, but it was about as fast as his smoking brain could manage. "How do you now my name? I'm so confused right now. Am I, like, about to die? D-do you always mess with your victims right before you kill them?"

"Yes. But that's not what this is."

He watched her start to move once again, strolling around the table he'd previously been working on as she continued to gaze curiously at her surroundings. Her body language showed no more signs of tension or aggravation. She walked calm and cool like the lab was nothing more than a beach at sunset. Peter slowly pressed a hand to his forehead and carefully lowered himself back into his seat at the table as she spoke.

"I'll have to admit, when Tony told me about you, I definitely wasn't expecting this."

Peter said nothing for a second, too focused on making sure he was awake and lucid as he pressed a hand to his mouth and concentrated on breathing. But once the words clicked in his head, he furrowed his brows and turned back to her. "He...t-told you...about me? Wait, you...you've already talked to him?" A gnawing pit began to open up in his stomach and he grimaced. "As in...he let you talk to him?"

As in, my little tooth-and-nail debacle with you was completely unnecessary?

"Well, he wasn't jazzed about it, but more or less."

Peter felt a new warmth growing on his face. Only it was embarrassment rather than anger this time. "Oh god."

Natasha smiled at him. "You're maybe a week late, kid."

He groaned and pressed his hands to his face, the fact that he'd just yelled at someone that Mr. Stark was apparently fine with finally crawling its way up his neck in a shameful display of hot cheeks and a burning face. "Oh, god. I...I'm sorry. I didn't know...I just thought that...that you were...a-and that..."

The woman put a hand in the air. "Relax. It's fine." She leaned her elbows against the table. "I deserved it. I was mean. I just wanted to see what you'd do." The smile on her face was replaced with a mischievous smirk.

Peter pulled his hands away from his face, nose scrunching in confusion. "'See what I'd...' Wait...that was a test?"

"Mm-hmm."

He paused.

"Did I...pass?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Okay, I just..." He lowered his head and rested it back into his hands. "Just...j-just give me a minute here," he groaned, pressing his arms down into the table as he rested his head on top. "This is a lot to process."

Now, in his defense, Peter figured he might have had an easier time dealing if he'd been having a good day. But sadly, that was not the case. On the other hand, at least his head wasn't currently fighting to detach from the rest of his body like it had been that morning.

The migraine pills that Michelle had given him were strong, even for him and his stupid-fast metabolism. So while they weren't as effective as they would have been for a normal person, they were at least better than the run-of-the-mill painkillers that did all but nothing for him.

The girl had given him more at lunch, after nearly shoving half of her sandwich into his hand. He'd protested, but the half-sandwich was a compromise. She'd wanted to give him the whole thing. Peter hadn't wanted her to give up her lunch and go hungry. Half was the middle ground.

Now that he thought about it, Michelle and her overbearing, forceful attitude were probably the only reason the boy hadn't collapsed sometime earlier in the day. Of course, now that a couple more hours had passed, Peter was beginning to feel the effects of his hunger once again.

He glanced up and noticed that Natasha was now sitting across from him, staring intently. He felt a chill run down his spine at her gaze once again, the feline sharpness that made him shift uncomfortably in his seat. She tilted her head at him, scanned him once before folding her hands underneath her chin.

"What's your name?" Her voice was softer this time. Quiet.

"You...already know my name."

"I know. But I want you to tell me."

This time, it was Peter who scanned her up and down. She didn't seem tense. She wasn't shifting or flickering her gaze around the room nervously. He strained his ears and listened to her heartbeat: steady and even. The boy wet his lips and sat up a bit more in his chair. He didn't release the subtle tenseness to his posture, but he did at least unclench his fists and rested his hands in his lap.

"Peter."

She smiled. "Nice to meet you Peter." It sounded genuine. "I'm Natasha."

He hesitated for a moment before giving a polite nod of his head, thankful that she hadn't extended out a hand for a shake.

"How old are you?"

"Fourteen," he said without looking up at her, choosing instead to draw little circles into the table with the tip of his finger. "Um...s-so did...did Mr. Stark...tell you anything...else about me?" He asked, trying and failing to be nonchalant as a spike of gnawing anxiety began to worm its way up his stomach.

Perhaps something web-related?

The woman tilted her head and her smile turned mischievous once again. "No...why? Is there something else?"

Peter glanced up at her for a second before pursing his lips and glancing back down. "No..."

Natasha chuckled, her eyes going to the papers and pencils still scattered around the desk from when Peter had been working on his homework. He flinched as he saw her hand reach out, only to calm as he watched her grab onto a spare pencil, dragging it towards her along with a fresh sheet of paper. "I'll be honest, when he told me he'd gotten a new intern, I don't really know what I was expecting." He watched her start drawing on the paper, furrowing his brow at the action. "It didn't really seem like something he'd do. And I have to admit, you are definitely not what I imagined."

"W-what were you imagining?"

"Some pasty-faced college kid looking to pad his resume and kiss as many asses as possible."

"Well, you got the pastiness right." He cast a silent glance down at his hands. They were still as white at the papers around him. The woman gave a little hum and continued to draw.

"So, how'd a..." She paused and threw him a questioning look. "...middle schooler?"

"High school."

She lowered her head once more. "Right. How's a high schooler get himself on Tony Stark's radar?"

Peter hesitated for a moment, chewing on his lower lip as he kept tracing circles into the table surface. She was fishing. That much was obvious. Entertaining her wouldn't do him much good. This wasn't just a run-of-the-mill teacher or stranger that was satisfied with half-assed attempts to lie. This was a world-renowned super spy. He'd have to be on his top game to fool her and with how he was feeling today, the chances of a world-class screw up were on the table. He wondered where Mr. Stark was, wondered when he'd be back. Blowing an internal sigh at the fact that he'd have to entertain this for a while, Peter gave a little shrug of his shoulder, running her question back through once more to come up with a good enough fib.

"I, uh...I guess he took a liking to my application. I don't know...I...I-I've tried not to ask too many questions."

"It's good to ask questions."

"Not when you're not too keen on the answers."

She spared him a look at that. Peter noticed and hesitated once more before blowing out a sigh past his lips. "I-I just...I don't really think I want to know why Mr. Stark keeps me around. I'd like to think it's because he enjoys my company but...I-I think mostly likely it's just cause he's bored."

It took Peter a second to realize that it wasn't the lie he'd planned to say.

It wasn't a lie at all.

He squirmed a bit at that.

Natasha herself gave a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders and went back to doodling. "Give yourself some credit. I think he's taken a liking to you."

Peter scrunched his nose. "What makes you say that?"

"You see anybody else in here?"

He blinked at that, face twisting in thought as he spared the room a small glance. Natasha lifted her head once more and rested her elbows on the table. "There's a reason for that. But I'll let you figure it out," she said with wink before lifting up her drawing and flipping it around for Peter to see.

It was a a crudely sketched doodle of Iron Man stuck to a magnet hanging off a high-rise, dangling in the air with a string of expletives curling from his mouth. He couldn't help but give a little chortle at the drawing, Natasha giving a cool smile of her own as she set it back down and flipped the paper over before continuing her doodling.

For a while, Peter just watched her. She didn't seem to mind his stares nor the way he kept watching and waiting for her to do something else, to make a move or to suddenly shift back over into the threatening persona she'd taken earlier. After a few more minutes of calm and silence, Peter took a small, little breath, letting it out slowly as he chewed the inside of his cheek. He reached for another nearby pencil, if only to give his hands something to do.

"M-Ms. Romanoff?"

"Natasha."

He lowered his gaze, felt a new uncomfortable prickling along his arms. He rolled the pencil along his fingers. "I...know I already asked this, but I'm n-not too sure what I should take seriously from our previous conversation, so...I'll ask again...and like, you don't have to answer if you don't want to but, um...w-why...why are you here?"

She stared at him for a moment, face cool as she glanced towards the door. "I just wanted to see a friend."

"I thought Captain America was your friend."

He noticed her head snap up a bit more forcefully this time, almost in surprise. He supposed it was fitting considering his previously meek demeanor had suddenly taken on an almost bitter quality. He didn't look up at her, just pressed the graphite tip of the pencil into his finger.

Her fingers tapped against the table. "Not a fan?"

"Not anymore."

She sighed. "Listen. It's...it's-"

"Complicated?"

She met his gaze. He stopped fiddling with the pencil. She hesitated before casting her eyes back down to the paper. "Something like that."

Peter scrunched his nose again, only this time more out of frustration than confusion. "Yeah. T-that's what Mr. Stark said. Doesn't seem all that complicated to me," he muttered, glaring down at the papers scattered on the work bench. He noticed out of the corner of her eye that Natasha had set her own pencil down, pushing the papers away as she folded her hands onto the table.

He hesitantly spared a glance up and noticed she was now giving him her full attention. For a moment, he wanted to shift and squirm under the gaze once more, but was held still by a new urge in his stomach, the same urges from before, steady and warm. He blinked back at her, taking in the details of her face. Her heartbeat was still as constant as before.

"I meant what I said before," he murmured softly, letting his eyes linger on hers. "It's...not easy to trust someone. And he trusted you. He chose to do that. And...a-and you threw it back in his face." His eyes hardened. As did his voice.

"That's not complicated. That's wrong."

And in that moment, staring back at her, staring back at an assassin feared all across the globe, staring back at a woman who could probably kill him in a hundred and thirty-seven different ways, Peter noticed her face shift. He noticed the details morph and twist into something else. It was subtle, almost enough to miss, almost enough to look over without a second glance. But Peter saw it. And he knew.

"I know."

You couldn't fake that kind of remorse.

He sighed and glanced back down at the table. "But you're here."

She blinked in surprise. He continued.

"I...I guess that counts for something. As long as...you're not here to like, you know...assassinate him or something."

She pursed her lips and threw him an exasperated look. "How many times do I have to say I'm not here to kill him before you start to believe it?"

At this, Peter felt his jaw tense and his eyes narrow. "I'm supposed to believe you?"

She paused, staring back at him for a moment before giving another hum of thought. "Guess not."

Peter gave a tight nod and glanced away.

"But can you at least answer me something?"

He bit back a groan. Where the heck was Mr. Stark?

"Depends," he murmured coolly.

"What's the story behind that shiner you got there?"

Instantly, Peter went tense. He had enough sense to mask it as best he could, but if the way she straightened up a bit in her seat was any indication, then it was clear that Natasha had seen it. He swallowed the immediate defensive snap he wanted to throw at her and instead took a deep breath, reminding himself that it was just a question. Not an accusation. Not an interrogation. Harmless.

"Just...school stuff." He shrugged. It was stiff. "Nothing interesting."

She tilted her head up a bit, chin sticking out as she stared him down before murmuring something under her breath. "Uh-huh. What kind of school stuff?"

This time, it was harder to wrestle back the retort he felt bubbling in his throat. "Nothing that concerns you," he finally settled on, noticing the slight bite it had on the edge of his words.

"Does it concern Tony?"

At that, Peter finally clamped his jaw shut, leveling her an annoyed glare. She held up her hands in defense. "Alright, alright. I get it." She leaned up all lax against the table once more. "Touchy subject?"

Peter forced his eyes to roll, forced himself to play the part of the defenseless school nerd. It wasn't hard. He had the look already down-pat. "Believe it or not, I...don't really like talking about me getting my ass kicked in the halls."

Natasha gave a scoff and thankfully seemed to accept the performance, finally. "Ah, I'm sure you got a couple good licks of your own on the guy."

Peter sniffed and glanced away. "Believe what you want. The evidence speaks for itself."

She hummed again. Peter noticed she did it often. He watched her reach across the table again and instantly tensed up once more, watching her like a hawk as she grabbed at the blueprints Mr. Stark had left for him to look over after he finished his homework.

"That, it does. So what sort of conversations is this evidence telling me?"

He furrowed his brow and watched her scan her eyes over the documents. "What...w-what do you mean?"

She smoothed them back out onto the table. "Tony doesn't let just anybody touch this stuff. Aside from his oh-so-precious suits, this reactor is like his baby."

Peter opened his mouth to contradict her, to spew out another lie that seemed more believable than Tony leaving him to tinker with his blueprints. Something that would be more acceptable for a low-level intern like he 'supposedly' was to convince her of the internship-scheme they'd conjured up together.

It's not for me.

Mr. Stark's just re-working those designs himself.

I'm just a totally normal, average, not-worth-mentioning, totally not hiding a secret-identity intern. You think those are for me? Ha!

But he didn't. He couldn't. Cause he was too hung up on her words. Was she serious? Did Mr. Stark truly think so highly of his invention? was he really so protective?

"R-really?" Was all these questions came out as.

"Oh yeah."

He stuttered in his seat, giving a little shake of his head as he furrowed his brows. "T-then...why...w-why is he letting me work on it?"

Natasha leaned closer against the table, letting another smirk spread onto her lips.

"You tell me."

Peter snapped his jaw shut at that. He scoured his eyes over the table as if the answers themselves were written into the metal surface. But they weren't. He was only met with a reflected image of himself in all his pale, hollow-eyed glory. He tensed his fingers against the table, felt the cold surface pressing into his skin. Natasha was still watching him. But in that moment, Peter didn't really care.

Instead, he slowly lifted his head and stared right back at her, the same hard conviction from when she'd first come in shining back in his eyes.

"You swear you're not here to hurt him?" He asked slowly.

Natasha met his hard gaze with one of her own. Her face was serious, lips pressed into a firm line. "I swear."

Peter held her stare for a moment longer before giving a tight nod, turning away with a sharp sigh as he shut his eyes and pressed his fingers into the bridge of his nose. Maybe those pills really were starting to wear off now cause he could feel his head beginning to throb once again.

Or maybe this conversation was just dragging on for eternity.

Natasha didn't seem too concerned with the kid's supposed distress, for she turned to the side and folded her arms over her chest, rolling her eyes as her voice took on a sarcastic tone. "Does that mean we can be friends now?" She asked with a smirk.

Peter glanced over at her from between the fingers pressing into his eyes. "How about...loose acquaintances?"

"I'll take it."

He groaned and shut his eyes once more, thankful that at least one thing seemed to be going well that day.

. . .

. . .

"You wanna hear some embarrassing stories about Captain America?"

Without another word, Peter was twisting around in his stool with lightning speed, elbows pressing onto the table.

"Tell me everything."

"FRIDAY?"

"Yes, Boss?"

"How high up are we?"

"The 99th Floor of Stark Tower currently stands at 1,667 feet or 508 meters."

"And what are the chances that someone, oh I don't know say a certain Secretary of State, would survive a fall like that?"

"The chances are low, Boss. Though I must recommend you only resort to first-degree murder should no other options be available."

"Yeah, yeah..."

Tony let out a bone-deep sigh, felt the cold glass of the windows behind him pressing into his palms. He shut his eyes, resting the back of his head against the panes running along the hallway walls.

It was almost interesting, a strange feat of sorts just how draining Secretary Ross' mere voice was to Tony's will and stamina. Half an hour was all the veteran needed to completely throw off Tony's entire day to the point where he had to take a second to just breathe in silence in the empty hallway to settle his nerves and lower his temper back down to semi-tolerable levels.

He could feel his hands beginning to twitch, felt the achy soreness in his muscles. He wanted a drink. His body wanted a drink. That much was clear as he stared up at the ceiling and felt the workings of a migraine beginning to thump underneath his skin.

("Your teammates are rampaging around the city and you couldn't give a damn?")

("Glad we're finally on the same page. Only took a couple months-")

("Enough with the bullshit, Stark. You need to get on this. You-")

(Actually, I don't. All I NEED to do is finish this call and check my blood pressure again cause I might start giving Banner a run for his jolly-green money.")

Tony lifted a hand, wearily pressing his fingers into his eyes as he finally pushed away from the windows and slowly started to make his way back down the hall. As much as he'd delight in swapping out the three-fourths of his body's water contents with pure-grade alcohol, he couldn't. Not yet, at least. Not while he was still on the clock.

He'd left Peter with strict instructions to finish up his homework, to which the teen had given no complaints, not that Tony was surprised. There were times when Peter reminded him of an overexcited police puppy. Ready to follow orders and nothing else. It was unsettling, if he were being honest. Especially the distant thought that if Tony told him to jump off a building, he was frighteningly positive the kid would only give mild hesitations before strapping on a pair of skydiving goggles.

Despite this, Tony couldn't help the feeling of relief he felt growing in him at the prospect of wasting the day away with the kid. No distractions. No accords. No mind-numbing phone calls with contestant number three on his 'people to blast into space as soon as another wormhole makes itself known', right under Steve Rogers and Richard Parker.

He had to admit, that third slot was new but wholly deserved, especially after catching sight of that ugly bruise marring Peter's face. Regardless of Peter's insistences that he was just a 'clumsy sideshow' as he'd put it, Tony had his doubts. Very strong doubts, at that. But before he'd been able to ask about it, he'd been pulled away, much to Peter's relief, he'd noticed.

He knew he should ask about it. Knew it was important to learn as much as he could despite the kid's strong-boned resistance to ever even mentioning it. But he'd noticed a certain weariness in the kid's eyes that day. A heaviness to his movements that were usually so spry and bouncy. The kid was tired. Honestly, Tony was right there with him.

He supposed they could both use a break. Both from invasive questions and pushy government officials.

So with that, Tony ran a hand through his hair and quickly tried to wash away the exhaustion pulling at his face, straightening out his shirt to at least try and maintain the image of 'semi-functioning adult.'

His footsteps slowed, however, as his ears picked up a voice. Female. FRIDAY? Peter loved engaging her in conversation, unlike a majority of common folk who were forced to speak with his AI. Instead of clunky, awkward small talk like most of his employees, Peter spoke to her like he'd known her all his life, carefree and cheery.

The smile that had started to work onto Tony's face at the thought quickly ebbed away though.

That wasn't FRIDAY's voice. That was-

That was-

Oh, she wouldn't fucking dare-

Tony rounded the corner with a speed he didn't know himself capable of without the suit, freezing in the doorway as his eyes blew wide and his heart seized into a tiny little piece of crumpled tin.

What the-?

"So, at this point, the shield's been stuck in the ceiling of our training room for two days and we're a few hours away from a mission that requires all hands - and shields - on deck. The workers are stumped. Rogers is no help since he's basically holed himself up in his room from sheer embarrassment, and at this point the suggestion of just throwing shoes at it until it fall back down is starting to look more and more like an inevitability."

"Oh, my gosh...couldn't you have just asked Mr. Stark to help?"

Natasha scoffed and leaned back in her seat, folding a leg overtop the other while Peter looked on with nothing less than absolute elation in his eyes. "Stark was away from the Compound at the time, at least until the mission got closer. And anyways, Steve begged us not to tell him cause you can bet Stark would've used that for blackmail for the rest of the century. I mean...we did, too. But in the choice between us or Stark, he went with the lesser of two evils.

"Eventually, we had to have Sam fly Rogers up to the ceiling, where he proceeded to try and yank the stupid thing back out with the same force he used to get it stuck in the first place."

"Did he get it down?"

"Yep. Along with a fifth of the ceiling tiles too. All in all, it served as a very valuable lesson for him to learn on the care that must go into training. A lesson that served him well when the exact same thing happened a week later."

Peter's jaw slacked, smile widening. "You're not serious."

"Nobody helped him that time," the woman smirked. "He just sulked until he finally caved and called Stark to help him. And even from a few floors away, we could all hear Tony laughing his ass off."

Tony watched Peter start to laugh, watched the kid hunch over the workbench with a full-face grin and he felt a sudden lurch in his chest. A twitch that snagged against something...hard. Unsettling. He didn't like it. He didn't like this one bit.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything!"

They both looked up at the voice, and to Tony’s annoyance, neither of them had the decency to look guilty. Peter smiled and flipped to a new page of his notebook. “Hey, Mr. Stark. I finished all my work and you said we’d start working on the external wirings for the arc reactor today, right? Well, I came up with a few plans that I wanted to try out, not that your original plans are bad or anything, but you said you wanted me to get a little creative with it plus the added bonus of a smaller-

“Can it, Happy Meal. We’re not doing anything until you tell me just what the hell you think you’re doing with her?”

The teen tilted his head, hesitating like he didn’t know who Tony was talking about. He glanced up at Natasha. “Who? Your friend?”

“My what now?”

“Oh yeah! I wasn’t really expecting her to show up but she’s actually kinda nice once you get past the whole murder side hustle thing she’s got going on.” He pointed a pencil in Tony’s direction. “Did you know she speaks fifteen different languages? Like, where are you supposed to find the time to learn fifteen languages? Is there that much down-time in the assassination gig? I’d probably get bored. I suppose there are worse things to do with your time than-“

Tony shook his head. “Peter – I…you’re killing me.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and felt his patience dripping away. “Just answer the goddamn question. What are you doing with her?”

“Talking?”

“Why?”

“Cause she…wanted to talk to me?” For the first time, the teen finally looked uneasy. He hesitated for a moment, brows furrowing as he glanced between Tony and the clearly amused woman. “I…thought you knew she was here…”

“When did those words ever leave my lips and somehow work their way into your clearly malfunctioning head?”

The teen grimaced, shrinking in on himself as he balked. “I…wait…didn’t…” He rounded on Romanoff. “You said he knew you were here!”

“I never said that. I said we talked.”

“Yeah, and I assumed you meant like an hour ago or something!”

“You assume incorrectly.”

“Wait, I…” He shook his head, face crumbling into a look of fear and uncertainty. “Does that mean you’re not supposed to be here.” He swallowed. “I…you lied to me?”

At this, the smile on her face finally disappeared, replaced with a sigh. “I said we talked, kid. I never said it went well.”

“Damn right it didn’t,” Tony muttered.

Peter frantically glanced between the two of them again before shutting his eyes with a groan, pressing his palms into his face. “Oh god,” he groaned. “I am such an idiot…”

“Right again!”

He lifted his head and stared at Mr. Stark for a moment as his face took on a sickly green color and his eyes dripped with panic. “I’m so, so sorry, Mr. Stark! I…I thought you two were…cause she said that…and I assumed that…I didn’t mean to, to like…fraternize with an international war criminal, I swear! And I know everyone who does fraternize with war criminals probably says that exact thing, but I really do mean it! I- are you going to arrest me? I mean, I can’t really blame you cause this is like…I think this goes against the Geneva Conventions but going to federal prison will really look bad on my high school transcripts and I don’t think I can-“

“Would you-?!” Tony reached out and yanked the kid towards him, effectively cutting off the manic ramblings as he growled. “Jesus, you’re making my head spin.” He shoved the kid to stand behind him, effectively blocking him from Romanoff’s view. “I’m not putting you in prison. Otherwise I’ve have to arrest myself and while I love making my fair share of spectacles, I think that’s pushing it a little too far.”

“I…you’re not mad?” Peter asked with the hesitancy of a child in the time-out corner.

“Oh, I’m mad. But I’ll deal with you later.” He turned his glare onto Romanoff, who throughout all of this, still had the gall to look relaxed. “YOU on the other hand are looking like a great candidate to take our places behind bars.”

“Wait.”

He turned at the tug on his sleeve, staring down at Peter as the kid shuffled on his feet, looking like all the world were glaring at him. The teen’s mouth quivered up and down, like he couldn’t quite force the words out. He spared a glance at Natasha before finally speaking in a hushed voice. “I…I know I….don’t really understand what’s going on here, but…b-but couldn’t you maybe…I don’t know…” He spared the man a glance. “…let her go?”

Tony stared. Blinked.

“I mean, I know she’s a war criminal and all that and a total liar by the way.”

“Says you,” Natasha scoffed.

“Liar by omission, then. Whatever,” the teen muttered. “Anyway, the point is…she…s-she didn’t try to…hurt me or anything.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Yeah? And?”

“Doesn’t that…I don’t know – count for something?”

“If it does, then your bar for judging character is frighteningly low.”

“Besides the point. If she wanted to do something bad, couldn’t she have done it already?” He shrugged his shoulders, angling his gaze towards the ground as he scuffed the toe of his shoe against the floor. “She had the time. Instead, she just…talked to me. And not about getting secrets or government hacks or whatever.”

She scratched her chin. “If I wanted government hacks, there are better places I can hit up than a high-school freshman with a pac-man lunchbox.”

“Trying to save your life, here.”

“Right, right.”

Tony watched the kid fidget with his hands, face scrunched as he stared up at the man. “I’m just saying…couldn’t we, I don’t know…give her a break? Just this once?” He smiled, the same gentle smile Tony had only seen a handful of times. “She was…nice.”

The billionaire reared back at that, staring at the kid with a cocked brow. “Nice. I…she was nice?” He glared at the woman. ‘What the fuck did you drug him with? Let me see your neck” He reached out and yanked the kid closer, tilting his head so he could inspect his neck. The kid floundered with a yelp. “What kind of needle did she stab you with? Was it big and thick or small enough to go between your toes? Toes…right! Take off your shoes!”

“Tony, relax. I didn’t hurt him. We were just talking.”

“Zip it, two-face. You.” He glared at Peter again. “Can you taste color yet?”

The teen, bastard that he was, merely laughed at Tony’s attempts to save his life. “I’m serious, Mr. Stark,” he said as he gently pushed the man’s hands off. “She really did seem pretty cool. And she said she could teach me some new languages sometimes.” He hesitated for a moment before pursing his lips into the hints of a smirk. “That seems like it would be pretty difficult from behind a cell…don’t you think?”

Tony twisted his face into an exasperated frown, eyeing up the kid’s pleading look with an annoyed huff before he was pressing his fingertips into his eyes. After a second, he turned around to face Natasha, who was staring at him with the most infuriating little grin.

“Kid. Do me a favor and head up to the second level. I need you to grab something for me.”

“Um…okay? What do you need me to get,” the kid started, only to jolt as the billionaire began to push him towards the stairs.

“I don’t know. Something. Anything. Just make sure it takes you a long time to find.”

The billionaire waited until he could no longer see the teen from the corner of his eye before turning  back to Natasha with a muted sigh. “This kid…” he muttered under his breath.

Natasha gave a small chuckle. “He really is something, I’ll give you that.”

Tony did not return the smile. He might have been bluffing on that prison threat, but he certainly wasn’t jazzed about her presence. He stepped closer, trying with all his might to look intimidating. “Didn’t I specifically tell you to stay the hell away from him?”

Natasha, of course, was not moved by his attempts. “No. You told me to stay away from Spider-Man. You said nothing about junior over there.”

Tony tightened his jaw in annoyance.

Stupid secret identities.

Stupid superhero loopholes.

“Well, I assumed you’d be courteous enough to include anybody who’s in the middle of this little skirmish of ours,” he scoffed as he turned away and plopped down at the workbench. It was unnerving how much better he felt now that Peter was far away from her.

He gazed down at the blueprints and papers scattered on the table, the remnants of Peter’s homework tucked dutifully away in the corner while the arc reactor blueprints sat beside them. It was not lost on him that there were no hints of anxiety about Natasha having seen them.

Though he wasn’t sure how he felt about the exploding Iron Man doodles drawn beside them.

“What’s wrong with him, Tony?”

The billionaire sharply turned to look at her, eyes searching her face. There was no malice behind her words but Tony couldn’t help the bubble of indignant anger that immediately rose up.

“I…what the fuck is that supposed to mean? There’s nothing wrong with him.”

“Stop trying to pick a fight.” She gazed back at him with that same telltale look of calm, a film of steady surety that unwittingly made him feel the same. “There’s something off about him and you know it. I sensed it the second he looked at me.”

She twitched her lips into a frown and Tony noticed a new expression subtly blooming on her face. It was hard to read, which wasn’t unusual. But it almost looked…solemn. A hint of understanding. Empathetic. Her voice was soft. “No child should have eyes like that.”

The billionaire remained silent, turning his head away as he twisted a pencil between his fingers.

“Regardless…”

The pencil paused.

“I like him. He’s…genuine. And very protective of you.”

He frowned. “What?”

She didn’t elaborate, merely rested her hands in her pockets and angled her head towards the stairs, where the kid had last disappeared.

The man chewed on the inside of his cheek. Natasha was one of the last people he wanted to talk to about this stuff. But he couldn’t stop a small part of his mind from wondering – about what she’s say, the advice she’d give. She was a level-headed observer. Never acted with emotion. Maybe she could give an unbiased opinion, show an unseen option they’d never considered.

Still…was he really ready to trust her with this?

With anything?

He swallowed.

“It’s not what happened,” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully. “It’s what’s happening.”

Natasha stared at him, drinking in his words carefully. “Does it have anything to do with that bruise on his eye?”

Tony’s face twitched. He said nothing.

His silence was answer enough.

She gave a small nod of her head, perhaps realizing that that was all the information she was going to get. He watched her approach, felt her hand patting up against his shoulder. Surprisingly enough, he didn’t pull away. Not even as she spoke.

“I’m sticking around, Tony. Whether you want me to or not. Cause I don’t care what’s happening with the others, with Ross, with…hell, with all of this.” She gave his shoulder a small squeeze. “You’re still my friend. Even if I’m not yours.”

Tony stared down at the workbench. There were a million responses swirling through his head.

You’re right. You’re not my friend and never will be again.

I can’t afford to be picky when it comes to the people I love so I guess I’m stuck with you.

Please don’t hurt me again.

In the end, he remained silent, and the moment passed.

She gave his arm another pat and moved away. He heard her shoes clicking against the tiles, only for them to pause in the doorway. He glanced over his shoulder. She was staring up at the second floor again.

“What? Miss him already?”

“He hasn’t eaten.”

He blinked at that, brows furrowing as he turned in his seat. That was random. “What? What are you-?”

She cut him off. “He’s hungry, Tony.”

The previous humor in her voice was gone. And as she turned to him, Tony could sense an eeriness in her gaze, an uneasy dread that reflected itself in his stomach, churning it around back and forth like an uneasy tide. His frown darkened.

And she was gone.

Tony stared after her for a moment before his gaze returned to the floor, his face twisted in thought. He stayed like that for a while before he heard footsteps approaching. He lifted his head, watching as Peter hesitantly walked down the stairs, a white-knuckle grip on the railing. In his other hand, there was a small, rusted wrench.

The teen reached the bottom step with a loud exhale, eyes shutting in exhaustion. "Okay..." he panted. "I g-got...something? I got something." He murmured, holding up the little wrench for the older man to see.

Tony approached and plucked the wrench from the kid’s hands. “Cool. Thanks.” He gave it a once-over before tossing it over his shoulder. It clattered along the floor somewhere.

Peter stared after it as the billionaire turned on his heel and stepped up to the workbench again. “So what was that about new external wiring? I’ve always thought these plans could use a few upgrades.”

The teen gave a shaky grin and took a step forward, only for his knee to buckle a bit, causing him to lean heavily against the stair railing. Tony startled at the sight, instantly straightening up.

“You good, kid?”

Yes! Yeah,” he said a bit too quickly, smiling through the grimace now twisting across his features. Tony noticed the beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. Had he been this run down before? Had he simply not noticed?

He shook the thought away and turned back to the blueprints, ears perked for any sounds as the kid slowly approached.  “By the way, could you do me a favor and maybe not tell your dad that I left you with a wanted war criminal babysitter?”

“Yeah, don’t worry. He won’t be hearing about this anything soon.”

“Super.”

For a few moments, they dove back into the work and Tony forgot all about his concerns. In his element, the kid could fly through circuit schematics and draw up testing data like there was no tomorrow, regardless of the shade of his skin or the sweat on his brow. In fact, it wasn’t until they were pushing away from the work bench to get some extra circuits that Peter finally grimaced.

He swayed in place for a moment as he stood, and it took the billionaire a moment to realize the kid was not following behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and threw him a questioning look. The teen lifted his head for a moment and threw him a not so reassuring smile. “Just…catching my breath. I think I…stood up too fast.”

“It’s a wonder you don’t get motion sickness while you’re swinging,” the man joked, uneasy smile slipping from his face as he watched the slight shiver in the boy’s steps. He moved forward warily, hands up. “Uh…on second thought, maybe you should sit down for a minute.”

“No, no. I’m…I’m good. I’m so good right now. Don’t even worry about it. Let’s just…uh…the insulation. Let’s…let’s work on that next.”

He took another step forward, but this time when his knee buckled, he couldn’t stop himself. Instead he yelped as he suddenly toppled forward.

“Hey!” Tony shouted, quickly shooting forward right as the teen collapsed into his chest. Strong arms wrapped around his waist (which in his mind he registered as being unnervingly small) and tried to steady him.

Peter gritted his teeth and grunted. “Darn it…darn it, darn it,” he murmured over and over as Tony carefully lowered him into a sitting position. The kid collapsed onto his backside with an exhausted sigh and Tony noted with more than a little alarm how pale the kid’s face had suddenly become.

“Sorry.” Was all he managed to squeak out.

“Jesus, kid,” Tony muttered as he too lowered himself to the ground, ignoring the ache in his knees as he knelt in front of the kid. “What the hell was that, Peter?” His voice was tense.

The kid stole a quick glance his way before turning his head down. “Nothing. N-nothing, I just got a little dizzy. I…might not have gotten much sleep last night,” he said with a little chuckle, but the noise died in his throat as he caught sight of the man’s expression.

Tony stared hard at him, not even trying to hide it as he scanned the kid up and down, scouring him over and taking note of each detail. After a second, he silently cursed under his breath. “God, I hate it when she’s right.”

Before the kid could ask what he meant, the billionaire was straightening, a new terseness to his tone. “Have you eaten today?”

Peter blinked up at him dumbly, almost like he didn’t understand what the man was saying. Tony narrowed his eyes and snapped his fingers in front of the kid’s face, eliciting a wince. “Hey. Answer me, kid. When was the last time you ate something?”

“I, uh…” The teen gazed back at him with those big honey-colored eyes of his, a confused gleam shining through as he tilted his head and furrowed his brows a bit. “It’s been a little while, but it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Clearly not. You almost just cracked your head on my shiny new linoleum.”

“Sorry.”

“No, I-“ Tony cut himself off, biting back the automatic snippy retort that bubbled up, almost on autopilot at this point. This kid took jokes way too literally sometimes, he reminded himself with a deep breath. “Didn’t we talk about this, kid? The whole ‘tell me when you need something’ talk? The ‘no more bleeding out in my lab’ talk? Is any of that ringing a bell?”

Peter blinked up at him, looking so genuinely lost that Tony could feel his annoyances dwindling. “But…this…I thought that only applied to stuff that happens on patrol?” The lab filled with the telltale sound of a rumbling stomach but Peter didn’t even flinch, almost as if he hadn’t even heard it. “This…isn’t a Spider-Man thing. This is a Peter Parker thing.”

“So?”

“So…it doesn’t matter. Right?”

Tony opened his mouth but found he had nothing to say. The kid was staring at him with such genuine emotion, such innocent certainty that the billionaire almost had to look away.

“Peter…how’d you hurt your eye?” His voice was soft. Dreadful.

Peter stared back at him and Tony could see the rippling of his muscles tensing under his sweater, the stiffening of his shoulders. The teen wet his lips and slowly averted his gaze. “I, uh…I slipped. On some water. Hit my head…against the counter.”

Tony swallowed, bringing a hand to rub against the side of his neck. It was an obvious lie, almost painfully so. But he didn’t call him on it. What was the point? The kid wouldn’t respond well to it, especially not in this state.

Peter didn’t say anything else, didn’t fill the silence with anymore colorful babblings or science talk. That was long gone. In its place stood a shell, a hollow husk of withered emotion. He stared at the floor with a dejected look of emptiness, a blank expression of nothing.

 

(“No child should have eyes like that.”)

 

Tony stood, Peter following his movements as the billionaire brushed the nonexistent dust from his knees and straightened his back. He stared down at the kid for a moment before offering a hand.

It took a moment of hesitant stares and wary glances on the kid’s end. But finally, perhaps realizing that he didn’t have the strength to really move around on his own, Peter cautiously placed his hand into Tony’s, the billionaire hoisting him back up to his feet. He monitored him with a hovering hand, watching the kid sway in place but ultimately remain standing.

They shared a silent look.

“Come on.”

The billionaire held a steadying hand against the kid’s arm and led him out of the lab and down the hall. It wasn’t until they were stepping into the elevator that Peter finally asked, in a meek, quiet voice, “Where are we going?”

“To get some food.”

Another moment of hesitation.

“…why?”

Tony sucked in a deep breath. Flexed his fingers against the skin of Peter’s wrist.

“Because it does matter.”

 


 

Tony hadn’t been on the Communal Floor much. Not much point. It was usually empty nowadays. But when deciding on where to take Peter for some much needed food, he’d surprisingly pressed the floor’s button on instinct. The food court was not an option considering how buggy the kid was right now and the only thing on the penthouse floor was a couple bottles of 100-year-old whiskey lying in wait for him and their midnight antics.

So instead, the elevator opened up on a floor that had been dead quiet for the better part of a month now. Even in all its titanium, billion-dollar, luxury glory…it was still a difficult sight for Tony to swallow.

The designer couches and plush living room furniture sat unused and untouched. The dining tables and adjacent bar were polished and dust-free, courtesy of the weekly cleaning crew that swept through, but it still felt lifeless and hollow. Even the floors, once upon a time covered in loose shoes, discarded books, and the occasional piece of live ammo, sat clean and empty.

Tony swallowed and focused his energy on guiding the teen behind him over to the bar counter overlooking the kitchen.

The teen folded his arms on the surface of the table and rested his head down, eyes fluttering shut. Tony spared him a quick glance before shuffling over towards the industrial-sized fridge.

It wasn’t until he opened it that he finally began to wonder if they should have just braved the food court, after all. No occupants on this floor meant no reason to keep ready-to-eat meals at hand. Instead, the fridge was stocked with bare ingredients and a few cans of soda, juice, and water.

Back in the day, it would have been overflowing.

Tony pursed his lips and snagged a few cans of soda. Peter blinked open his eyes as the billionaire dropped the cans in front of him. “Do me a favor and drink these while I…pshh…I don’t know. Breakfast is easy enough, right?” He muttered while eyeing the fridge again, more specifically at the carton of eggs he noticed peeking out of the door.

In hindsight, it probably would have been easier to just order something, or hell have something sent up from the food court. But for some reason, it felt…wrong. Like he’d be shirking off responsibility to someone else. He spared a glance behind him at the teen currently finishing off his first can.

This was the first time Tony actually had to…do something for the kid. Something he needed.  It felt wrong to flake on it now.

No. He could do this himself.

Just crack a few eggs. Easy.

He pulled out the carton of eggs and a couple empty mixing bowls from the bottom cabinets and got to work. He noticed Peter watching him in silence from the kitchen counter and for the first few minutes, he was able to tolerate the silence. It wasn’t until he was cracking his first egg and subsequently picking the pieces of shell out of the bowl that he finally snapped and spoke up.

“So you wanna tell me what’s different about today?”

The teen blinked at him, as if registering that the billionaire had, in fact, spoken to him, and tilted his head.

“Why are you showing up to my lab on the brink of starvation? Am I not paying you enough?”

“You don’t pay me at all.”

“I pay you in wisdom.”

The kid cracked a smile, which forced Tony to avert his eyes back down to the pieces of shell refusing to leave the bowl.

“Well, my friends weren’t at school the last few days and they usually share their lunches with me cause I don’t have much time to pack one at home. So, I guess I’ve been relying too much on the vending machines.”

Tony grabbed a fork and started to awkwardly whisk the eggs. “You don’t have a butler at home to pack you lunches? Your dad’s rich enough to afford an either staff of employees.”

Now that he thought about it, Tony couldn’t remember seeing any maids, drivers, cleaners, nothing the last time he’d visited the man’s home. An odd departure from his own childhood experience, which was usually filled with nothing but servants.

Peter shrugged his shoulders. “My dad believes in self-sufficiency. So he prefers for me to do things on my own. Plus he doesn’t really like having too many people coming in and out of the house.”

“This is in spite of the handful of thugs that live with you?”

“That’s different. They’re family.”

“Are they?”

Peter blinked. Tony met his gaze for a moment before shaking his head. “Sorry. It’s…not my business.” He turned on the stove glanced down at the yellow sloshing mixture in the bowl. “Your house is pretty massive. Who cleans it?”

“I do.”

“Cooking.”

“Me.”

“Laundry.”

“That’s me, too.”

He poured the liquid into the pan with a furrow of his brows. He pressed his tongue against his cheek and forced a steady tone into his voice. “So when your dad said self-sufficiency, he really meant shoving all the work onto you?”

Peter gave another shrug of his shoulders. He didn’t even look all that bothered. “It’s not a big deal. My dad’s a really busy guy and the others are always at work, so I do what I can to take care of the house. All kids have chores, don’t they?”

Tony grunted but didn’t say anything specific. Instead, he began to rummage through the drawers in search of a spatula. He’d occasionally spare a frantic glance towards the stove.

No fires yet.

“So…how long has it been like this?”

“Like what?”

“You running a one-man servant show?”

A-ha! Spatula!

“I guess since my mom died, but I haven’t really been keeping track.”

Tony floundered to get a good grip on the spatula as he winced, casting a hesitant glance over his shoulder. Peter was staring at the counter, lazily drawing little circles into the marble surface. He didn’t look like he was on the verge of breaking down into sobs, which was good.

One crisis at a time.

“Uh-huh…” he said cautiously, turning stiffly back to the mess on the stove. It was starting to bubble, which may or may not have been a good sign.

He’d done his fair share of research on the kid, including his family. And while there might not have been much, if any, mention of the Cons, there were plenty of news stories about Mary Parker. More specifically, about the brutal murder of Mary Parker.

Now Tony might not have been good with children, but even he had the good sense not to ask the teen about his dead mom, especially since the papers had made explicit news about the kid witnessing said murder.

Talk about touchy subjects.

So, instead, the billionaire kept rummaging through the counters, if only to have something for his hands to do and grabbed an armful of random spices. Best to just avoid the topic entirely. Yep, that was the way to go. Just ignore it and move on.

He popped open the pepper bottle-

“Wanna talk about it?”

-And promptly dropped it all over the counter.

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

What.

The fuck?

Peter seemed equally as surprised by the words, for he straightened in his seat and gave the billionaire a strange look.

Tony pointedly turned his back on the kid and stared down at the eggs on the stove, eyes wide and mind racing.

 

Idiotidiotidiotidiot-----

 

This was bad.

This was emotion. This was heartfelt conversation and sensitivity, which he was pretty sure he was mildly allergic to. He hesitantly reached for another bottle of spices, didn’t even bother reading the label as he shook it into the pan.

Tony Stark was not good at dealing with his emotions. Siberia was a prime example of him losing control and he definitely wasn’t about to take that risk again. Or worse, make Peter ris that. Having only caught a few glimpses of the teen’s true anger, he hated to wonder what it would be like if the teen ever did lose control like he had. Deep in his gut, the billionaire couldn’t imagine the kid getting violent, but still…

He snuck a glance over his shoulder.

Peter was staring blankly at nothing, brows furrowed, and lips parted ever so slightly in thought, as if mulling over Tony’s question. But more than that, the man noticed a certain…emptiness in the boy’s face. A weary sense of isolation. Lost.

Tony knew that face.

Tony recognized that face.

It was the only one he’d worn for months after his parents died, the only thing that ever stared back at him in the mirrors, back before he’d smashed them all.

Back before he’d begun to cover it up with booze and drugs and whatever else he could get his hands on. Whatever else could fill the gaping hole within him. Whatever else could make him feel a bit less empty. A little less lost.

He thought of the bottles of whiskey waiting for him upstairs.

 

. . .

 

…Then wondered how Peter filled his holes.

He took a deep breath and turned to face the kid. Show he was listening. And he was.

Peter glanced up at him for a moment before averting his gaze once again. It took a minute for him to finally speak. He fiddled with his hands. “There’s not…there’s not much to say, Mr. Stark.”

“Say whatever you’d like.”

He pulled his face into a frown stared off at the living room in the distance. “I just…um…my dad doesn’t like it when I talk about her.”

Tony stepped forward on reflex, entering the kid’s line of sight with a set frown on his face and a determined glint in his eyes.

“Your dad’s not here.”

Peter blinked at him. Held his gaze for a moment before swallowing.

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

“She liked Legos.”

Tony stared. Paused. It wasn’t…the most riveting piece of information. But for Peter, it very much looked like the most important thing he’d ever said in his entire life. The teen took a moment to think on it before his lips twitched into a ghost of a smile.

“She…she liked to make random things. Never followed the instructions. Just made them crazier and crazier.” The smile grew, a hesitant sprout with tiny budding leaves. “She…s-she had this one…sculpture thing. Just a mess of random Lego pieces mashed together. Called it the Jumble. And every time she’d get a new set, she’d add it onto the Jumble. Like…like those rubber band balls. Just adding more and more so it gets bigger? Yeah, she’d…s-she’d do that…”

He trailed off, voice sinking into silence. The smile remained though. It was a wistful smile, but a smile nonetheless.

“I like Legos…” he whispered.

Tony stared at him. And gave his own little smile.

…Right before the fire alarm went off.

“Shit!”

He whipped back around towards the stove and gaped at the grease fire flaring out at him. Peter stared with wide eyes as the billionaire grabbed the pot lid and slammed it down onto the inferno, trapping the flames behind a wall of glass and metal. They both stared at the roaring mess for a moment before it finally put itself out.

Tony silently reached up and shut the stove off.

“Mr. Stark…?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you…know how to cook?”

“…No.”

Peter walked up and peered over the man’s shoulder. They both stared at the smoldering pile of ash on the pan. Tony grabbed the handle and flipped it upside down.

It stuck to the bottom.

He gave it a shake for good measure.

Nothing.

“Would you…like to learn?”

 


 

Natasha wasn’t sure what she was expecting as she walked up onto the Communal Floor with a goodbye for Tony, but it sure wasn’t this.

“What are they…?”

“No idea,” Pepper muttered while peering around the corner with the intense observation skills of a professional wildlife surveyor.

“They’ve been at it for like…twenty minutes now,” Rhodey said with a cocked brow, arms folded over his chest. Happy stood by his side, chin just overtop the man’s shoulder as he watched. “It doesn’t even look like anything…”

Natasha peered out.

“I think it could use some more red over here.”

“There’s a couple extra in the box, I think. Right now I’m in the middle of green territory and I’m making some good strides.”

Peter grabbed another few Lego pieces off the counter and added some more to the big ball of jumbled pieces in front of him. Tony sat across, his own horde of green pieces cupped in his hand as he added one by one to the…”sculpture?” Though it looked more like a ball of crap than anything else. Next to them sat plates of omelets, scrambled eggs, bacon, oatmeal, and even some pancakes off to the side. Something was still flying on the stove.

“So how big are we thinking of making this thing anyway?”

“The world record for the largest Lego sculpture is a replica of the London Bridge with over 5 million pieces. Ned and I looked it up one time.”

“Pshh…child’s play. You think we can make an Iron man suit out of Legos?”

FWOOSHH!

“Shit! The stove’s on fire again!”

“Damn it. Where’d you put the fire extinguisher?”

Pepper, Rhodey, Happy and Natasha watched in stunned silence as the billionaire hastily grabbed at the fire extinguisher while Peter nonchalantly continued to fiddle with his Lego pieces, blissfully ignoring the man’s string of profanities as he struggled to control the stream of high-pressure foam.

“Did you get it all?”

“I…fshhh…yeah I think so.”

“Hmm. You’re getting better. That’s your first fire in twenty minutes.”

“Thank you. And don’t touch my Lego pieces, you little thief.”

“You snooze, you lose, Old Man.”

Natasha blinked and leaned back a bit. The others continued to watch with narrowed eyes and uneasy frowns, like a couple of parents fearfully watching their child discover finger paint for the first time.

She smirked and patted them on the shoulders.

“I’ll leave you guys to it.”

Notes:

* This is fucking bullshit.

*Fuck you, this is the only good thing going on in my life right now.

Chapter 12: The Criminal Code

Summary:

"But that's the job." He continued. "If we sat back and did nothing, when we knew what was happening, when we had the chance to stop it, then that really does make us the bad guys." He murmured.

Clint stared at him incredulously. "Us? Seriously? No, no, no. We are not the bad guys here. We were never the bad guys!" He shouted.

Sam shook his head. "Then how come we're the ones who've gotta hide?" He muttered, glaring down at the floor.

"Cause we're the ones that lost."

Chapter Text

Thursday - March 31, 2016

Gramercy, NYC

DayBreak Cafe and Bakery

08:54 a.m.

"Catherine With A 'C'! Your order is ready!"

Piercing blue eyes flicked upwards to gaze at the barista currently holding up a styrofoam cup and a small brown bag, a bored expression glazing her face as she passed the items to the blonde woman approaching the counter.

His leg bounced rhythmically as he turned away, his thumbs tapping against the sides of his cup in a steady, calming manner. Tap, tap, tap, tap...

The soft noise was enough to keep him focused, which was difficult when taking into consideration the environment around him. The loud hissing of the espresso machines in the background mingling with the beeping of machines he'd never seen before, nor knew what they were for. The overpowering scent of coffee, sugar and milk wafting through the air, seeming to assault his senses. The unbelievably loud drones of the conversations going on around him, voices twisting around each other as people fought to be heard over each other by constantly growing louder and louder. The noise grated through his head, piercing his skull painfully as it seemed to bare down on him from all angles in an overpowering wave of shrill voices, loud hisses and nauseatingly sweet scents.

Tap, tap, tap, tap...

Taking a deep breath, Steve shut his eyes and focused on the feel of the cup underneath his fingers, the rough texture rubbing up against his skin. Slowly, the wave began to settle as the waters grew calm once more, the noise eventually settling into a steady drone in the background.

His leg bounced rhythmically underneath the table while the soft sound of his thumbs tapping against he sides of his styrofoam cup were enough to distract him from the sound of people talking and cars honking outside. The scent of coffee and warm muffins was nearly overpowering in the building, though the many people occupying the space didn't help aid the already-cramped feeling.

Even when he'd been younger, as in pre-serum young, he'd never been comfortable surrounded by crowds of people. Something about the cramped feeling of being clustered and crowded made his skin crawl in a manner he'd often forget. Then again, he'd forgotten how a lot of things felt after the serum. So he supposed it was somewhat comforting to know that there were still some things that hadn't changed.

Of course, it just happened to be one of the things that made him uncomfortable...

Tap, tap, tap, tap...

Quickly allowing the soft noise to drag him back into the present, Steve narrowed his eyes as he quickly refocused. Taking a second to adjust the sunglasses on his face, his fingers brushed up against the baseball cap atop his head as he reached for the earpiece.

His voice was quiet and barely detectable to anyone around him, though he was sure he wouldn't have been heard by anyone even if he'd been speaking at a normal volume given how loud it was in the cafe.

"Any sign of the target?"

He had a job to do, after all.

He could practically feel the vibrations of the earpiece rattling against this skin as a voice broke through the fuzz. "Negative so far."

Making sure to keep his head low, Steve twisted around slightly in his seat, making out a slim figure standing near the back of the shop. She had a jacket on with the hood up, shrouding her face in shadow save for the slight gleam of her sunglasses glinting against the bright lights of the cafe. Keeping her gaze upwards as she pretended to silently read the menus up above the baristas' heads, Natasha reached a hand upwards to seemingly brush a stray strand of hair out of her face, her fingers pressing against the earpiece as she did so. "But it's still early." She said softly.

"Nothing from up here, either." Sam's voice cut through the feed, Steve's gaze instinctively lifting towards the ceiling, where the man was currently keeping watch from above. The super soldier narrowed his eyes. He'd expected them to show by now.

Tap, tap, tap...

"Okay, now...just how sure are we that they're actually gonna show?"

Steve sighed as his gaze traveled to the other end of the store, where a man in a dark jacket and a similar baseball cap to his sat by the window, fiddling with a packet of sugar while a bored expression marred his features. Clint adjusted his hat as his hand shifted down to tap the earpiece. "I mean, I can't be the only one who's wondering whether or not this is a lost cause."

Natasha rolled her eyes from her position. "No, but now I'm wondering why we decided to bring you along." She muttered, though her voice still filtered through the coms.

From across the room, Steve could see the archer fold his arms and lean back in his chair. "Well excuse me. But same of us maybe don't want to be tossed back into a cell. A cell, I'd like to add, that neither of you had the pleasure of experiencing, thank you very much." He snapped before adding, "Sam, back me up here, man."

There was a pause before Sam's voice cut back in. "If you had to listen to Scott's god-awful singing in there, you'd be pretty pissed too, you guys."

Clint gave a small victorious huff.

"Can we maybe focus here, please?" Steve interjected, casting small glares to both Clint and Nat, who turned away with slightly disgruntled looks on their faces. He let out a small sigh as he pressed his fingers against his eyes underneath the glasses.

"Look, I know this is risky. But we've been tracking these guys for months. We know they meet up in public areas to try and hide in plain sight." He explained, Natasha's voice cutting in as well. "And from what we were able to get from those two guys we caught a week ago, they said the next meeting was gonna be here." She said, Steve's mind snapping to when they'd taken down one of the smaller plants of workers, squeezing the small hint of information from one of the guys before the police had arrived.

Clint scoffed. "Right. Cause criminals have been known to be such trustworthy people in the past."

Natasha stole a small glance over toward the man. "We trust each other, don't we?" She asked, her face unreadable.

Clint's, however, was not as he glared back at her, hands clenching slightly. "We're not criminals." He growled, the anger tangible in just his voice alone as it shot through the coms.

"We are to the people who matter." The woman shot back.

The archer turned towards her, teeth gritted. "Like we should-"

"Enough."

Steve's voice was enough to silence both of them as they held their gazes for a moment longer before turning away, instantly becoming ordinary customers of the cafe once more. The super soldier continued to tap his fingers against the sides of the cup. Upon noticing the tense posture of both of his teammates, the man couldn't help but let out a breath as he continued in a more resigned tone, "We'll talk about this later."

"Oh, great." They all startled as Sam piped up. "We have that to look forward to. The Clint/Natasha Wars, Part 53." If they could have seen through the coms, they were all positive Sam would have been rolling his eyes. "I'll be sure to save a seat."

Steve lowered his head with an aggravated sigh as he opened his mouth once again, only for Natasha to beat him to it. "Hold up. I got something."

Instantly, the others were silenced at the woman's harsh tone, Steve's muscles reflexively coiling as he lifted his gaze, eyes scanning the room for any sign of strange movement or suspicious characters.

Tap, tap, tap, tap...

"Side entrance. Dark hoodie. Sunglasses."

The super soldier washed his eyes over the crowd as the description thudded in the back of his head. After another minute of searching, he rested his gaze on a shadowed figure making his way over towards one of the back tables in the corner of the cafe. He was average height with a muscular build, the hoodie hiding most of his face save for small tips of dirty blonde hair poking out.

Sitting at the table already, there was a man with common reading glasses perched atop his too-long nose, his dark brows knitted together as he stared down at the newspaper laying on the table next to his steaming cup of coffee, which from what Steve could tell, didn't seem to have been touched at all.

He had long black hair that stretched down to his shoulders and a long jacket reaching down to the floor, covering his crossed legs. He didn't look up as the first man approached, silently pulling out the chair across from him as he took a seat.

From where he was sitting plus the added noise of the busy coffee shop, it was impossible to hear what the two were beginning to say as their voices were drowned out in a sea of other swelling noises and shouts.

However, with a small swish of red hair, Steve already knew Natasha was on the move.

Casually walking away from the wall she'd been perched on, the woman moved forward and began to weave around the bustling crowds of people, slipping past the table their suspects were sitting at. Steve was just barely able to detect the woman's hand carefully reaching out as she attached a small round disk about half the size of a penny onto the back of one of the men's chairs, moving away just as casually.

Silently, she walked past Steve as well, pausing as she reached the chair opposite from him at the table. Pulling it out, she quickly sat down as she reached into her pocket and retrieved another small device. This one resembled the communicators already in their ears, if not much smaller.

Pulling out the comm set already lodged in her ear, she carefully attached the new device to the communicator before slipping it back in her ear, the dim blue glow of the device quickly being covered up as she brushed her hair over her ears.

A small flicker of static made Steve cringe slightly as the noise was amplified through his eardrums, but it eventually settled down as the sound of nearby voices began to fill his ears. And they weren't his teammates.

Flickering his eyes up for a moment, he was able to make out the two men at the back table. The last to arrive had his arm propped up on the back of his chair while the other continued to stare down at the newspaper.

"Anything interesting happenin' today?" The first man asked, gesturing to the paper with a lopsided smirk on his face. Now that he was seated, Steve could make out more details. His face was scratched up and his chin was covered in stubble, as if he hadn't shaved in a while. The look resembled that of a homeless man. His nose was crooked, like it had been broken many times over, and there was a small scar running through one of his eyebrows.

The other man let out a small sigh as he set the paper down, resting his elbows on the table as he folded his hands together in the air. "Nothing much, honestly." He replied with a shrug. The slightly more serious nature of his tone and face gave Steve the impression that he had more authority in the situation, if only slightly.

He glanced back at Natasha as the woman gave him a similar look, confirming his suspicions.

The man who'd originally started out at the table removed the glasses from his face and tossed them down haphazardly onto the table, making Steve wonder whether or not he actually needed them, or if they were just another part of his disguise. He was willing to bet on the latter. "How are we doing, Mark?" He asked, his tone taking on a hushed quality as he stared back at his partner.

The other man - Mark - as he had been called, gave a small smirk as he gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "I got the boys working full-time now. They were a bit testy to start, but operations are running smoothly and we're getting plenty of clientele so they've settled." His voice carried over through the coms.

His partner didn't seem to feel the same sense of lackadaisical content as he gave a firm frown, pressing his fingers against his lips as he furrowed his brows tightly. "Nothing but a bunch of low-life thugs and common street criminals." He muttered.

Mark cocked a brow as he tossed one hand dismissively into the air. "Well...yeah. I mean, who else would we be selling to?" He asked. "It's not like we can just go tossing this shit out to whoever, you know."

"See, that's your problem, Mark." The other man said as he pointed a finger at him. "You're not thinking big enough. We're dealing with some serious tech here, man." He murmured quietly, though the hidden speaker was still able to pick up on each and every word. "You really think there aren't thousands of people who want to get their hands on some of that stuff?" He leaned closer, eyes narrowed. "People with a lot more money than a bunch of fucking gang members."

Mark stared hard at the man before him, letting out a breath as he gave his partner a hard look. "What are you pickin' at, Nicky?"

Nicky leaned back in his chair as a large grin split his face, revealing a row of stained, crooked teeth. "I'm saying I think I got us a job. A big one."

Steve narrowed his eyes as he glanced back at Natasha, who stared at him with a knowing look in her cold eyes. From across the cafe, he could just make out Clint tapping his fingers against the table he sat at, brows knitted together in concentration as the archer listened in.

Turning away, Steve stared back down at his cup as the voices of the two men filled his ears again.

Tap, tap, tap, tap...

"I'm still working out the details, but if I can hook this guy, it'll be a huge profit for us." Nicky grinned. "These dudes mean business."

Mark raised a hand and scratched at his chin. "How so?" He muttered, still looking a bit unconvinced.

Nicky paused for a moment before letting out a sigh, shaking his head slightly as he ran a hand through his greasy hair. "I don't know, man. They're pretty hardcore, if you know what I mean." He grimaced slightly, Mark letting out a sniff.

"Well do you have any idea who they are?"

"That's just it, Mark. Never seen any of their faces." He scoffed. "They're always wearing these stupid masks and..." He trailed off for a moment before continuing. "...there's gotta be some shit in those things that makes their eyes glow or something." He muttered, glancing down at the floor as he mulled it over.

"Weird..."

Steve furrowed his brow as the words filled his ears. Masks... He thought to himself, mind subconsciously drifting to the dark black colors and harsh markings of the masks the German Hydra soldiers had adorned back on the battlefields. Maybe...but it seems like a bit of a stretch. He murmured, realizing that wearing such a thing nowadays in modern business might be a bit off-putting.

Quickly shaking the thoughts from his head, he quickly tuned back into the conversation, eyes hard as he glared down at the table.

Nicky snorted. "I know, right?"

His partner curled his lip as he leaned his elbows onto the surface of the table. "Hold up. IF you don't know anything about these guys, then how do you eve know they're legit?" He snapped.

Nicky narrowed his eyes. "Look, man. All I know - and all I need to know - is that their main guy's a high roller." He muttered with a sickening smirk.

From across the table, Steve could make out Natasha furrowing her brows at that. He glanced up at her, giving her a small questioning look, to which she responded with a narrowed look of her own. He's have to ask her about it later.

"I don't know which one it is. There's plenty out there nowadays, but that means he's got big bucks to pay us." He explained, tapping one of his knuckles against the table softly. "So we gotta be ready to grant him a nice little shopping spree if you know what I mean." He snickered.

Mark let out a sigh as he ran a hand down his face, resting it against the side of his cheek as he rubbed his fingers against the lines of stubble. "We'll need to start getting the other stations up and running if that's the plan, Nicky."

"Well, Mackview is still our biggest operator yet so the keep focus on there." The man responded with a dismissive wave of his hand. "For now, keep grouping in the small fish - thugs, gangs, crooks - all that shit until I can wrap this deal down. Got it?" He muttered.

Clint lifted up his head from the other side of the cafe, Steve catching his eye as he did so. The archer's eyes hardened as he mouthed the word "Mackview" to the super soldier, Steve giving a small nod. It was a start.

Mark lett out a small scoff as he rested his cheek against his propped-up fist. "You better be right about this, man."

"Trust me, if things goes down the way I plan, this'll set us up bigtime." He sneered.

Mark paused for a moment as he seemed to drink in the other man's words before he let out a small breath, giving a nod as he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. "So how are you gonna get in contact with this group? I mean if they really mean business-"

"Guys. We got a problem."

Sam's terse tone cutting into the coms had all three fugitives sitting up straighter, regretfully pulling their focus away from the conversation still filtering in through the earpieces. "What is it, Sam?" Steve hissed, glaring at the pair of suspects before glancing up towards the ceiling, switching the link on the coms away from the conversation and back onto their private channel, cutting off what the two had currently been speaking about.

"We got company." Was all he had to reply to have all three Avengers staring at each other for a split second before they each stood up from their seats, fighting to keep their motions casual and calm as their hearts raced and their muscles coiled in anger and frustration.

"How many?" Natasha growled, her tone low and dangerous.

There was a beat of silence before Sam's voice picked up once again. "Roundabout patrols are coming into the area to do a sweep. Four police cruisers. Two vans. Twelve guys in total. Four FBI from what I can make of them." He answered as Steve slowly tossed his cup in the trash as Natasha moved closer to him, taking his arm as the pair once more disguised as a couple. Of course, Steve was used to the woman's faux advances nowadays and simply wrapped his arm around her waist, fighting to keep his fingers from clenching into a fist as he grit his teeth.

"They spot us yet?" Clint asked, rising from his seat as well, adjusting the glasses on his face.

"I don't think so. They're not making any advances towards you guys. But their scoping the area and making their way closer to ya'll so you better get out of there now if you don't want them to make you." He instructed, the frustrations he was feeling coming through in the words he spoke.

Barton threw Steve and Natasha a glare before turning to glower at the tabletop. "We're finally starting to learn something." HE growled, the true unspoken words hanging in the air - you really think we can just leave now?

Natasha caught his look and narrowed her eyes. "We won't be able to do anything if we're caught."

Clint said nothing as his eyes burned, his head lowering as he turned away. Steve took a deep breath. "We need to move. Sam, meet us at the rendezvous point. Don't get spotted. Whatever it takes." He ordered as he and Natasha began to make their way towards the entrance. He paused at the door, keeping his head forward as he spoke again. "Wait two minutes, then follow us out."

Barton didn't look at him as he gave a small nod.

Taking a deep breath, he stole a small glance at Natasha, who said nothing. She simply blinked at him and gave a small reassuring squeeze of his arm. Nodding to himself, he steeled his heart and opened the door to the cafe.

The heat circling through the walls of the cafe only made the brisk air outside all the more colder. Chills ran down his spine as he and Natasha walked down the steps of the cafe and onto the concrete below. Despite the warning bells in his head, Steve couldn't help but steal a glance up.

Across the street, police cars were lining up along the sidewalk up the block and farther down the street. Cops were willing about the bustling crowds currently walking about, eyes peeled and heads swiveling. Farther down the street, he could make out the large black vans that Sam had pointed out, no doubt housing some pissed off FBI agents.

Ripping his eyes away, Steve focused back in on keeping his movements casual as he walked down the street, Natasha by his side. Thankfully, the street was pretty busy with other occupants bustling and shoving past each other.

Then again, on a less positive note, there were also officers milling about the crowds as well, eyes scanning for their faces. Faces that were extremely recognizable.

Subconsciously pulling the lip of his hoodie down just a little more, Natasha leaned closer to him as she kept her eyes peeled on the street. "I thought we had Sam go public on the east side so this exact thing wouldn't happen." She muttered.

It was true. The entire reason they'd even humored the idea of purposely being spotted was so the people who wanted to catch them would be thrown off. If they thought they'd caught a whiff of the "Rogue Avengers" trail, then they should have assumed that the group would bail on the city as fast as possible to try and get away, thus leading the search parties away as well.

Obviously, that was not the case.

He leaned down. "Guess they're not taking any chances." He growled, eyes narrowed.

Instinctively turning his head away as a cop walked by, a little too close for comfort. We need to get off this street. He thought to himself, realizing they were much too exposed walking where they were. The rendezvous point was actually an old storefront that appeared to have been closed down for quite some time located a few blocks away from the cafe. They'd stored their bikes in the back lot of the store, away from any prying eyes. Finding such a spot hadn't been all that tricky.

Getting back to it, however, would prove to be much more difficult.

Watching another pair of cops walk closer, Natasha whipped out her phone from her back pocket and lowered her head and kept her eyes locked on the screen, hiding her face from view as Steve looked over her shoulder, hoodie shrouding his features in shadow.

His muscles would remain tense even as the cops walked past, mainly due to the fact that the officers had lingered on the pair for a moment before moving on. Natasha glanced over her shoulder before making out another officer walking slightly ahead of them. "We're too exposed out here."

Steve didn't bother in nodding as the cop moved closer. Scanning the immediate area, he noticed a bus stop a few feet from them near the street. Grabbing Natasha, the two quickly stepped away from the crowd and pressed up against the back billboard of the bus-stop. Leaning his head out slightly, Steve watched the officer walk past, fingers twitching against his side.

He grunted as he felt Natasha elbow him in the side, turning back around to face her. She angled her head to something across the street. Narrowing his eyes, the super soldier could just make out the large green sign and the steel metal handrails leading down into the underground tunnel. The Subway. Of course!

"Come on. Hurry up." He whispered as they quickly moved away from the bus stop and made for the street. The sharp sound of car horns sounded as they haphazardly crossed the street, not even bothering to wait for the crosswalk. Steve leaned down as they moved. "You know, I distinctly remember you telling me that when you're on the run, you gotta act like there's nothing to run from." He muttered, throwing a look over his shoulder as drivers flipped them off.

"I'm not really getting that impression right now."

Natasha didn't bother looking up at him as they stepped onto the other side of the street. "That was when there weren't two dozen cops stepping right on our tails." She shot back. "You really want to try and act like there's nothing to hide, Mr. Number One Fugitive?"

He threw her a small glare but said nothing, begrudgingly realizing she had a point. The last time he'd run from the law with her, the public hadn't known about it, merely a few - albeit corrupt - SHIELD agents.

That was not the case this time. This time, the entire world knew about their status. The entire world was looking for them, which made it much harder to try and simply blend in considering the people he was trying to blend in with could reveal him at anytime. All it would take is one fan staring at his face for a second too long.

"Can't believe I'm starting to miss the days where the only people out to get us were a couple of HYDRA goons." He muttered as Natasha threw him a small smirk. "Well, wait a couple hours. You might get your chance at them again."

He said nothing as they approached the subway tunnel, only for their steps to falter as they turned the corner.

"Shit..." Steve growled, Natasha not even bothering to tease him, for she was thinking the same thing.

Standing right at the entrance to the tunnel were two cops, each individually checking people before they descended down into the tunnel. Quickly moving off the main sidewalk, the two pressed themselves into one of the nearby alleyways between the two storefronts outside the subway.

"We need to get down there. It's the only way we're getting through this without being spotted." Natasha growled, realizing the number of cops quickly filling the streets was too much, even for them. Even for her. "We need something to draw them away. A distraction."

Steve leaned his head out to stare at the two cops, nearby officers catching his eye as well. He pressed his hand to the wall, the cold brick grazing his fingertips. He narrowed his eyes as he realized the wall belonged to a popular department store. A department store with a security alarm. A pretty loud one.

"Or someone to cause a distraction."

Natasha turned to him at that, eyes dark. "No." She hissed instantly.

"When they leave, you get down that tunnel as fast as possible and meet up at the point. Clint will probably already be there when you do." He explained, completely ignoring her remark. "I'll meet you both there as soon as I lose them."

Natasha wrapped her icy grip around his arm. "Rogers. I swear to God..." She snarled. "It's too dangerous. We'll find another way around."

He turned to her. "Natasha. More and more officers are starting to patrol as we speak. And the second they're done here, they'll move onto the next block. And the next. How do you propose we avoid them? Better question: how are we supposed to avoid all of them?" He asked, gesturing to the crowds of people still walking down the streets.

He pulled his hoodie down farther over his face. "This is the fastest way we're getting out of here without blowing our cover. We still have to meet up with the others and tell them what we've learned. And we can't do that from a jail cell." He growled.

"Which is why this is a stupid idea." Natasha seethed, though she knew it was useless to argue. Unless she had concrete evidence that there was another effective way around this, there was to be no stopping him. Steve was dangerously stubborn at times. Almost as much as he was reckless. She knew that almost as well as anyone could.

He moved closer to the street, glancing over his shoulder. "I'll meet you two in ten minutes."

She glared back at him, folding her arms over her chest. "Not if they catch you." She muttered.

Steve rested his hand on the cold wall once again as he stared out at the crowd. "They won't." He murmured before moving out of the alleyway. Natasha walked him with narrowed eyes before letting out an annoyed huff. He was right. They wouldn't.

It didn't take long for the cops to whip their attention to the suspicious hooded figure, especially when he threw a trashcan through a department store window. Unbeknownst to the cops, Natasha was rolling her eyes as she leaned up against the back alley wall, muttering something about an over-dramatic idiot under her breath.

Well...I got their attention. Steve muttered to himself as he quickly began to push and shove past pedestrians as he ran. He could hear the sound of shouts behind him as well as the distant sound of sirens slowly approaching. Stealing a single glance over his shoulder, he was just barely able to make out a single head of red hair swishing around the crowd, quickly making its way towards the subway.

Giving a satisfied nod, he turned back around and hissed in frustration at the approaching intersection. Thankfully, the light turned red just as he approached, his arms slamming down onto the hood of one of the cars as he slid himself overtop it.

Rolling along the ground as he dodged past the others, he quickly jumped back up to his feet and continued on. The shouts behind him continued to grow both in size and number as he ran, his eyes sliding back to catch a glimpse.

Shaking his head, he narrowed his eyes and began to pump more into his legs, realizing he could easily outrun the officers without even breaking a sweat. Still, he had to keep them distracted long enough for Natasha to escape, meaning he had to keep them on his tail for as long as he possibly could.

He was thrown from his thoughts as two police cruisers shot forward from the street, blocking his path along the oncoming intersection. Cursing under his breath, the man noticed the break in the building walls just a little farther up ahead. Running towards the cars, the officers shouted at him as he hid his face and squeezed through, entering the long alleyway.

He grunted as he jumped over the rotting piles of wooden boxes, officers rounding the corner as they began to fill the alleyway behind him. Eyes catching the tall chain-link fence on the other side of the path, Steve thew another small glance behind him before leaping up, fingers wrapping around the cold metal as he began to pull himself up. Flipping over the top, he landed with a grunt on the other side, fingers still latched around the metal as he stared out at the other side, the officers quickly approaching.

Blinking in realization, he turned his head away before they could get any closer, turning back around as the officers reached the fence. "Stop right there or we will open fire!" One voice rang out clearer among the others.

Steve couldn't help but growl in frustration before staring back down at the path. At the fence, the dirt path sloped downward to a lower level of the street, which was much less crowded than the main street.

Leaping away from the fence, Steve felt his feet slide against the mud as he sloped down the path. He winced as gunshots began to fill his ears, instinctively curling himself in tighter as he tried to make himself seem as small as possible.

Another cruiser pulled up along the street where he'd turned up, two more officers stepping out, their guns raised. "Put your hands in the air! Do it!" One of them yelled before Steve rushed past them, leaping over their car as he rolled along the ground right as the bullets shot past.

After another second, his legs were pumping once again, the wind whipping past him as he ran, stinging his face and making his eyes water at the sharp slap. Rounding the corner, his eyes made out the noticeable shape of the nearby fruit stand sitting near the street. Pushing forward, he reached his hand out and slammed his arm down against the wooden posts of the stand, fruit and wooden splinters flying behind him.

He winced internally at the action, having become acutely aware of just how much damage he and his teammates actually caused in their endeavors, an action that didn't not stem from the entire Accords mess. Still, couldn't say he didn't have good reason. In fact, Steve was beginning to suspect this had gone on for long enough.

Eyes scanning for another route, the man noticed another break in the buildings across the street, similar the alleyway he'd just popped out of. Only this one had a fire escape leading up to the rooftops.

Narrowing his eyes, the man pushed off and began to make for the building, realizing Natasha had to have made it underground by now. The officers were still in hot pursuit from what he could hear, but it didn't matter much anymore. Gunshots continued to ring out around him as he tried to run in a haphazard manner, ducking and dodging with no real set pattern as his movements became more and more sporadic.

Finally, he reached the other side of the street, his breath billowing out around him as he eyed the fire railing. The shouts were growing louder now. The cops from before must have finally found a way around the fence.

Gritting his teeth Steve jumped up and wrapped his fingers around the rusted railing of the fire escape. The metal creaked and groaned underneath his weight, but he was able to pull himself up fairly quickly.

He hissed as a bullet grazed his leg, but continued on nevertheless. Pieces of brick flew out from the wall where the bullets were beginning to hit it, but he kept climbing until his hand wrapped around the very top ledge of the building. Flipping himself over, he brushed his fingers against the ground before leaping back up, running along the rooftop before coming to the ledge once again.

He didn't even pause before he was launching himself from the rooftop, soaring in the air for just a second before he was rolling along the roof of the next building over. He continued to leap from one building to the next for what seemed like forever until the sound of gunshots no longer met his ears and the sirens were nothing but a distant cry.

Landing on one final rooftop, the man rolled along the ground once again, the gravel sticking to his arms and legs as he crouched there, small pants escaping his lips as the cold air gripped his lungs tightly. He took a small breath as he slowly rose back up to his feet, chest heaving slightly.

The wind blew past him, sharply blowing his hoodie off of his head as his hair whipped along his face. He stared out over the city, the sun steadily rising in the sky despite the numerous dark clouds slowly rolling in.

Despite the small nag in his head refuting the idea, Steve couldn't help but reach his gaze farther, making out the distant sight of flashing red and blue lights as well as the numerous officers still milling around the streets.

He stared at the sight for a moment longer before he let out a deep, pained sigh. Turning away, Steve slowly lowered himself down to the ground, resting his forearms on his knees as he plopped down, leaning the back of his head against the ledge as he closed his eyes, a deep pang of disappointment settling in his chest that seemed to cause much more damage than any bullet fired at him.

Bullets that were fired by the good guys. For despite the fact that they hadn't seen his face, it was impossible to forget that he - Captain America - Golden Boy of the United States - National Hero in the eyes of millions - was now a criminal.

 


 

Thursday - March 31, 2016

Location Unknown

10:03 a.m.

The sharp crimson glow coming from her eyes cast long shadows along the concrete floor of the warehouse as Wanda opened her eyes, her body settling back down onto the dirty surface from where it had once been hovering.

She let out a small breath as she stole a small glance towards the main entrance door of the warehouse. From where she was sitting in the far left corner of the structure, she could make out the steel door from across the room had yet to be opened.

She turned away, having been expecting as much. After all, their mission was not to be a short one. Stakeouts could be long and tedious, so there was truly no telling when they would be back.

Still, she couldn't help but peek over at the door from time to time in between her meditations, despite the constant flare of annoyance that spiked within her every time. Stop being so ridiculous.She scolded herself as she shook her head and closed her eyes once more. They'll be fine. They're professionals. She thought, trying to resist the small pang of hurt that sparked at that thought, realizing it was probably the reason they hadn't brought her or Scott along.

With a final growl of frustration, the young woman tightly squeezed her eyes closed as she took another deep breath. She had to refocus. Now that she wasn't fighting or going on missions as constantly as she had been before as an official Avenger, she'd had less and less reason to use her magic.

Without a proper discharge, the energy was starting to build up inside her, something she knew could be extremely dangerous if not treated properly. Meditation seemed to help.

Of course, if she could only focus long enough to actually do it...

Slowly calming her nerves, the girl released the tension in her eyes and her muscles as she inhaled deeply, feeling the cold air seep into her lungs as she flexed her fingers once again. Crossing her legs, she focused on feeling each and every breath she took, noting how her chest expanded before falling loose once more.

Gently, she began to twirl her fingers around in the air, the familiar burn of her magic culminating in her chest. Slowly, small wisps of red trails began to rise up from her fingertips, seeping through her skin and pooling around her chest.

Her hair began to flare out slightly, blowing around her shoulders as her body began to levitate off of the ground, the wisps of red swirling around her gently in a whirlwind of crimson energy. She could feel it in her heart. In her fingers, her skin, her eyes. The comforting warmth of her magic flowing through her body. The gripping sensation of her nerves pulsing loudly as every cell in her body seemed to glow with fire. Her eyes burned underneath her eyelids, the skin glowing a faint red through the skin.

Instantly, all the tension she'd been feeling before seemed to evaporate as she was enveloped in the comforting touch, her magic seeming to wash away the frustrations, the anger, the pain.

She let out a small breath as her body relaxed, fingers flying effortlessly as her hair gently billowed out around her. For a single moment, for the first time since everything had turned rotten, Wanda felt at peace.

Until Scott started humming.

Closed eyes twitching slightly, she tried to concentrate on the swirling tendrils of magic, only for his humming to rise an octave. With a small growl of frustration, she opened her eyes and dropped back to the ground, glaring over into the corner, where Scott currently lay sprawled out on his dusty mattress, one leg propped up on his knee, arms folded underneath his head as he hummed.

She let out an exasperated sigh as she placed one elbow on her knee and propped her cheek up with her fist. "Do you have to do that so loudly?" She muttered with a cocked brow.

Scott pushed himself up onto his elbows and threw her a look. "Well what do you expect me to do?" He tossed one arm out dismissively. "I feel like I'm going crazy over here!"

Wanda shook her head. "Why don't you try meditating?" She asked as she turned away and closed her eyes, concentrating back on her magic once again.

"Is that what you were doing? I thought you just took sleepwalking to the extreme or something."

The girl let out a loud sigh as she dropped her head, her chin nearly hitting her chest. The thought of tying up and gagging the man with her magic had just entered her mind when the soft sound of engines reached her ears, her head shooting back up. She met Scott's gaze. They'd both heard it. And the noise was steadily growing louder.

"Someone's coming." She voiced what they both were thinking, the words barely having left her mouth before the two of them were on their feet and moving towards hte center of the warehouse. Along the center spine of the structure stood five large cement pillars that were nearly as big around as small cars, the space between them about as far apart as three of said cars.

Quickly rushing to stand behind the large structures, both Wanda and Scott shared confused glances. The others weren't due to be back for at least another couple of hours. SO who else could have possibly found them?

Wanda was already pooling crimson magic into the palms of her hand when the main door to the warehouse opened up with an ear-piercing shriek, the steel door swinging hard into the wall with a BANG!

The two winced at the noise, but instantly relaxed once they saw who it was coming in through the door. Of course, the looks on their teammates faces made a small twinge of unease course through their guts, so that was a slight negative.

"You're back? Already?" Scott asked, cocking his head as he and Wanda stepped out from their hiding places. Cling brushed past them as he shrugged his jacket off and practically threw it onto the metal racks bolted to the wall. "We kinda didn't have much of a choice." He growled.

THe two confused parties turned to Natasha as she moved closer. "The cops showed up." She sighed, moving to the rack as well to remove her jacket. Scott's eyes widened. "You serious?" He gaped.

"Dozens of them." Sam muttered, removing the metal pack from his back. "Apparently, they're doing patrols along the major city streets trying to flush us out."

Wanda stepped forward, eyes hard. "They didn't see you, did they?"

Natasha gave a small scoff. "No. Captain Moron over here took care of that." She motioned her head towards Steve, who brushed past her to remove his own jacket. "We're here, aren't we?" He muttered, throwing her an annoyed look, to which she responded with a roll of her eyes.

Wanda watched the silent exchange between the two and chalked it up to a spat that had occurred during their mission as she folded her arms over her chest. "I thought we send Sam out just so this didn't happen."

Steve shook his head. "Well, apparently that didn't work all too well for us." He sighed.

Scott glanced back at the others before taking a step forward. "So, do they really think we're still in the city?" He asked, glancing around. "Or do they think we've already moved on and are just looking for any clues as to where we might have gone?"

Several glances were exchanged before all eyes landed on Steve. The man stared back at them for a moment before shaking his head and lowering his gaze. "I don't know."

Natasha pursed her lips as she moved past the group. Near the back wall, they'd pushed up an old, abandoned wooden table they'd found out back against the side wall, a few rusted chairs leaning up against it.

Taking out her gun, the woman placed the weapon on the table as she took a seat in one of the chairs, pulling a small rag from her pocket as she began to wipe the cloth over the metal of the pistol. "Well, that's gonna determine just how far we can push our missions now." She explained, glancing back towards the others as they all moved to stand around the table as well. "If we have every cop in the city looking for us, then you can pretty much erase any and all plans of us stepping two feet from this place unless we want the entire police force up out asses." She muttered.

Scott let out a humorless scoff. "Well, that's just great. That's...that's fantastic."

Steve raised a hand and rubbed his fingers against his eyes as Wanda spoke up once again. "Did you at least find anything out? Anything we can use?" She urged.

"We think we might have gotten their main base of operations for now." Sam explained. "They mentioned something about Mackview. I'm assuming that's the name of the city area it's in, but I've never heard of it before." He sighed, glancing over at Steve, who shook his head as well, signifying he didn't know either.

"I'm guessing it's a warehouse of sorts. Kind of like this one." The super soldier interjected. "It'll have to be big if it's their main base."

Scott lifted his head back up. "Well, did you find out if they really are working with that...Hydra-thing?"

Steve gave him a strange look at the name as Clint responded for him. "Nope. The cops made sure of that." The archer muttered back with a sharp look in his eyes. A look that had been growing ever-more persistent with each day that passed.

"What do you mean?" Wanda asked as Steve slowly moved over towards Natasha and took a seat next to her, propping his elbow up on the table as he let out a deep sigh, running a hand down his face. "They were talking about some sort of deal. A big one." He started.

"The buyers are apparently a group of shady characters that might be what we're looking for." He leaned back in the chair, folding his arms over his chest. "I mean, this kind of stuff would be right up their ally. Ever since SHIELD fell, most of the HYDRA sleeper agents had to go undercover just to remain in hiding, so they'll more likely than not, jump at the opportunity to score some mass weapons like these."

He grimaced slightly. "Of course, we had to leave before we could actually get any more out of them."

"So we're pretty much back to square one." Sam chided as he moved over towards the back wall and slid down to the floor, not bothering in reaching for a chair as he simply sat down on the ground resting his back against the cold concrete wall.

Scott glanced around at the others, taking in their faces holding looks ranging from worry to disgust to frustration. He quirked a brow as he tentatively raised his hand. Clint eyes him strangely as he tossed his hand in the air. "Why are you always raising your hand, man? Just speak!"

He blinked at the response before lowering his hand. "Right, right...um...I- sorry, but I was just...like, can you tell me again what's so special about these guns?" He asked, tilting his head as he awkwardly folded his arms behind his back as to avoid raising them once again.

Natasha glanced over at him. "You remember that alien invasion in New York back in 2012?" She asked, Scott instantly nodding his head. "Yeah! That shit was crazy! For the longest time, we all thought it was some sort of practical joke or publicity stunt until every news station in the frikkin universe started reporting on it." He scoffed.

"Yeah well, these weapons are made from the same shit as that alien tech." Clint muttered as Natasha piped up once again. "Meaning if handled correctly, it could slice through steel like warm butter and blow up three city blocks. And that's just for starters." She growled.

Scott blinked at them for a moment before giving a small nod, smacking his lips together awkwardly. "Mkay. So...weapons bad. No weapons. Got it." He gave a small thumbs up, most of the others rolling their eyes as they turned back towards Steve.

"So what do we do now? If everybody's on watch like you said, then it's gonna be a while until you can get any information about these guys again." Wanda stated, placing her hands on her hips as she gave the man an inquisitive look.

Before he could respond, however, Clint was standing back up, placing his palms down on the surface of the table. "I'll tell you what we do." He narrowed his eyes. "We say here and remain low until this all blows over."

The others glanced over at Clint, eyes wide in shock at the man's claim. Steve shook his head, eyes hard. "That's not an option." He exclaimed, his tone rough.

Clint turned to him. "Cap, come on!" He exclaimed, leaning closer. "It's suicide to go out there now and you know it!" He snapped, jabbing a finger in the man's direction.

The soldier didn't back down. "We can't just stop now. Not when we know what we do. Now when we can do something." He replied, fingers twitching slightly at his sides.

Scott shook his head. "Yeah, nuh-uh. That's a terrible idea." He interjected, eyes wide.

"So that's your plan? You're just going to hide here like cowards?" Wanda hissed, eyes narrowed as she curled her lips, not understanding in the slightest why they seemed so adamant in staying hidden and away from danger.

Clint stared at her for a second, eyes hard as he opened his mouth to say something, only for Scott to beat him to it. The usually-chipper man was now excreting an aura of anger as he glared down at the girl. "No. We're hiding like guys with something to lose." He muttered, tone dark and grim. "And I'm not going to jeopardize any more by going out there and trying to catch some common thugs that may or may not have had a few dealings with some ex-HYDRO agents."

"HYDRA." Sam corrected.

"Whatever. I have way too much to lose." The man sighed, folding his arms as he turned away, eyes glaring hard at the concrete floor below.

Steve hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond to the man's sudden shift in behavior. In the short amount of time he'd known him, Steve had never seen Scott react in such a way. Though, of course, he knew the exact reason why he had. Wanda had struck a nerve. A pretty sensitive one by the looks of it.

"Look, I know this is risky." Sam cut in, stepping forward. "And if it were anything else, I would be right there with you guys, Clint." He started. "But coming from someone who's experienced what these guys can do firsthand, I have to agree with Cap." He sighed. "We can't take that chance. Not with HYDRA."

"So why do we have to do this then?" The archer asked, eyes narrowed as his fingers curled slightly. "Why is that our responsibility?"

Steve raised his head, eyes hard. "Cause it's our job." He stressed, slightly surprised at the words coming out of the man's mouth. "Whether people want us to do it or not, it's our duty as heroes. This is what we signed up for."

Wanda shook her head, hands shaking. "No. I didn't sign up to be chased like a rat by the very people we are trying to protect." She snapped. "I didn't sign up to be treated like a criminal when we haven't even done anything wrong."

"There's plenty of people out there who would disagree with that." Natasha muttered, staring at the girl with an unimpressed look.

"So then why don't we just leave this to the assholes who put us in this situation in the first place?" Clint growled. "Why don't we let them take care of it?"

Steve stood up from his seat by the table. "How could they possibly know about this?" He asked. "The only way they could find out is if one of us let them know." He explained as Natasha tilted her head, jutting in. "And I don't think any of them would be too keen on listening to the word of a couple of criminals."

"We aren't criminals!" Wanda glared, Clint seething right next to her.

Natasha stood her ground. "We are to them." She scoffed, glancing over towards the exit.

Before anyone else could shout in a few more arguments, Scott was raising up his hand again, quickly putting it down when Clint glared at him. "I don't know about that." He added anyways. "If any of you ever bothered to get on social media, you'd see for yourselves." He scoffed with a roll of his eyes, continuing when the others gestured impatiently for him to go on. "There's tons of people on Twitter who side with us, and I'm sure there's plenty more on Facebook and Instagram and all those other sites, too."

Sam couldn't help but snort as he waved his hand. "Oh, that's great! That's just what we need. An army of teenage, geeky, hormonal fans backing us up." He rolled his eyes. "We're a force to be reckoned with now!"

Steve narrowed his eyes. "Enough." He growled, the grumbling scattering around the room instantly silencing at the word. "I know this is dangerous, especially for you two." He glanced over at Clint and Scott, the former folding his arms and looking away while the latter glanced down at his feet, a regrettable look marring his face.

"But that's the job." He continued. "If we sat back and did nothing, when we knew what was happening, when we had the chance to stop it, then that really does make us the bad guys." He murmured.

Clint stared at him incredulously. "Us? Seriously? No, no, no. We are not the bad guys here. We were never the bad guys!" He shouted.

Sam shook his head. "Then how come we're the ones who've gotta hide?" He muttered, glaring down at the floor.

"Cause we're the ones that lost." Natasha sighed. "I know it isn't fair I know it isn't right. And I know you're all angry." She looked around the room at all of them, the tensions mounting with each new person that threw out their opinion. "But at the end of the day, that's what this all boils down to. We're the ones that came out on the bottom. So this is the consequence we have to deal with." She explained, leaving out the part where she believed they kinda deserved it, realizing it would probably just make things worse.

Clint leveled her a cool stare for a moment, silence ringing out around the warehouse before he spoke again, his voice low. "Even realizing that, you still wanna try and get through to Stark."

The atmosphere instantly froze over as tensions rose to insurmountable heights at the mention of the man's name. Steve glared back at the archer. "Clint, don't start." He warned, tone low and dangerous.

"No, seriously!" The man continued, realizing he'd struck a nerve and digging in deeper. "I'm sure you didn't tell him about this little mission of ours, huh, Nat?" HE asked, the mocking tone of his voice making Natasha curl her fists, grateful her gun was now sitting on the table surface, slightly out of her reach.

"Doesn't surprise me." Wanda muttered, eyes glowing a pale crimson as she spoke. "Stark doesn't care about anything other than himself." She spat out the name like it physically burned her to speak it. "He probably thinks this is beneath him, which is most likely why he isn't even doing anything." He growled.

Steve took a step closer, fists clenched. "This isn't about Stark."

"It's all about Stark!" Clint snapped. "Cause this all leads back to him! If he hadn't sided with those government asshats, if he'd actually gone along with his, oh I don't know - teammates, then we wouldn't even be in this mess now!" He shouted back.

"Enough, you guys." Nat tried to start.

Wanda glared at them. "Why should he get to be the one who comes out on top?" She snarled. "You said it yourself," She glanced over at Steve. "We all made mistakes here, so why is it that he still gets to show his face without getting shot at?!"

"You-"

"Because that's how it always it." She continued, deciding to answer the question herself. "No matter what. All he has to do is wave around a few dollars, flash a couple grins and whatever consequences he might have faced are mysteriously washed away." She growled, glancing over at Sam, the man having said nothing yet. He stared up at her, switching his gaze towards Steve and Nat before his eyes fell back to the floor, a deep sigh falling from his lips. "She's got a point." He muttered, Scott giving a small nod from his position near the wall.

"Exactly!" She shouted. "It's happened before and it'll keep happening. Cause that's what people like Stark do. Whatever they want to whoever they want to do it to!" She snarled, the sharp red tint of her eyes growing more and more piercing.

Steve stepped forward. "Stop trying t-"

"No way, Cap!" Clint growled. "Don't try and tell me we're the ones at fault here. Cause at the end of the say, this is Stark's doing. He's the one who did this to us."

"I know!"

Five heads whipped around to stare at Steve, his voice still ringing around the room as he glared at them. "I know that! I know what he did. I know it was wrong. I know the Accords were just as dangerous then as they are now." He growled. "But we also did this to ourselves. You can't possibly think, Clint, that when you willingly joined us to fight against the Accords that there wouldn't be any repercussions. I warned you before you joined up." He snapped, glaring at the archer. "You're the one that came along. Nobody forced you. Not even Stark."

"Oh, give me a fucking break!" Clint snapped.

"No you know what-"

Instantly, the room was swept up in a frenzy of angry shouts and furious words as the group tangled themselves up in a whirlwind of arguing, the room filling with the sound of everyone's voices as they struggled to be heard over the others, battling for dominance.

The only person who seemed to be incredibly unsure of himself t the moment was Scott, who was staring at the frenzy with wide eyes, mouth hanging slightly open. He winced inwardly at some of the comments he could hear as he lifted a finger and opened his mouth, trying for a moment to get a word in, only to sigh and curl the finger downwards when he realized there was no point.

He turned away just as the back door to the warehouse creaked, his body going rigid as the door slowly cracked open. His eyes stayed locked onto the sight as he turned his body slightly. "Uh...guys?" He called, voice shaking slightly. Judging from the continuing whirlwind that was going on behind him, he was pretty sure the warning had gone right over their heads.

"Guys?"

The door was now fully open now, the new figure standing in the open doorway as the sunlight spilling inside from the new opening shrouding the figure in darkness as the flooding lights cast their long shadow along the warehouse floor. Scott stared for a moment longer, the shouted finally making his hands curl.

"GUYS!"

"What?!" Clint shouted as he whirled around, the shouting instantly dying down as they all turned and caught sight of the figure. However, before any of them could truly react, the new person was already talking.

"Jesus Christ. No wonder Fury's getting more and more in-touch with his name nowadays." The woman muttered as she walked inside, a large silver briefcase hanging from her hand. Moving away from the door, the lighting adjusted against her skin so that they could now see just who they were dealing with. She had light pale skin and dark brown hair that was tired back into a ponytail, one hand casually stuffed into her jacket pocket.

"You all really are acting like idiots." Hill grunted as she walked over.

Steve let out a small sigh as he saw her. "Sorry. You...kinda caught us at a bad time." He moaned as a few tense looks were shared around the table. Maria caught all of them as she raised a brow. "Really? You know, I didn't really get that. The screaming and shouting were so subtle." She scoffed as she set the case down onto the table before turning back to the others.

"Extra food and clothes are in the trunk, as usual." She explained, Steve nodding as he glanced over at Sam and Clint. Sam gave a nod of his own as they moved to go and get the new supplies from the car, the archer lingering for a moment as he leveled Steve a hard stare before letting out a soft growl and stalking out.

The soldier let out a soft sigh as he lowered his gaze before focusing it on the two remaining Avengers. "You think you can give us a second?" He asked, staring back at their most recent additions.

Wanda and Scott shared small looks with each other before letting out frustrated sighs of their own, leaving the table to stalk off to their respective corners of the warehouse. Maria watched them leave, making sure they were out of earshot before she turned back towards Steve and Natasha.

"What the hell was that all about?"

Steve hesitated for a moment, casting Natasha a small glance, to which the assassin merely raised a brow. He shook his head. "Nothing you need to worry about." He finally settled on as he moved over towards the table, sitting down once again.

"Just the usual bullshit that you morons are always bickering about nowadays." Maria corrected him as she moved to sit as well, Natasha grabbing a chair on her other side as the woman leaned closer. "And by the way, you're kinda making me worry about it. Which, I'd like to add, is a major inconvenience." She muttered, straightening back up as she folded her arms over her chest.

"Do you know how hard it is to convince Nick that I'm actually on mission right now?" SHe asked, not bothering for an answer. "That man is more paranoid than you guys." She scoffed.

Natasha cast the woman a look. "So he still doesn't know you're helping us?"

Hill let out a soft snort. "God, no. Do you know what he'd do if he found out? He'd make me bring him along the next time we meet just so he could beat some sense into you." She threw the pair a small glare. "And quite frankly, I'm a little tempted to let him", she added.

Steve glanced away, an exasperated look marring his face. "Maria, look w-"

"Don't bother, Steve." She cut him off as she lifted a hand, the other currently resting against her hip. "I don't want to hear your excuses." She muttered. "Why do you think I'm staying away from Stark Tower? If I wanted to get involved in your little hissy fit, that's the first place I would have gone."

Natasha lifted a brow. "You say that...yet here you are." She smirked

The other woman twitched her lips."Yeah, cause stupid or not..." She trailed off for a moment before continuing. "...I still don't want to see you all locked up." The small look of concern was quickly replaced with another annoyed look as she spoke again. "You just make it so goddamn hard, though! I mean, sending Sam out as a red herring? Come on! Seriously?!" She snapped, tossing her hands out before slapping them down on the sides of her legs.

Steve grimaced at that. "Alright, not our best move..." HE moved closer. "But we're still grateful to you. For everything you're doing for us." He added, eyes conveying a look of sincerity Hill was pretty sure nobody could truly mimic. Not even the best con. And she would know, for she really did know the best con.

The woman looked away, giving a small nod as she folded her arms over her chest once again. "I brought what you asked for. Along with the usual stuff." She said right as Sam and Clint returned through the main doors, lugging in arm-fulls of boxes.

As they moved closer and dropped the boxes on the floor near the table, they noticed an assortment of rolled up papers sitting atop of of the large containers. Reaching over, Hill plucked up the paper roll and dropped it onto the table, unfurling it along the surface.

The two recent presences moved closer to the table as Sam cocked a brow questioningly.

"A map?" He asked, glancing up at the others. "What the hell do we need a map for?" He asked. After all, Steve had grown up here. Sure that had been around seventy years ago, but he was still pretty sure the man at least knew most of the basic in's and out's they needed to be familiar with.

As if he knew the question was directed at him, Steve stared down at the map as he spoke. "Well, we might not have gotten their buyers, but we did manage to figure out where their main export center is." He explained before pointing down at a specific spot on the map. "Mackview. I knew that name sounded familiar. I just didn't remember from where." He straightened himself back up and crossed his arms. "Mackview Shipping and Storage Center. It's right by the docks." He stated.

Natasha continued for him. "We'll have to wait till nightfall, then we can suit up and take this place down." He explained. At the skeptical looks that were created from the statement, the super soldier took the lead again. "I know this isn't much, but they said it was their main center of production. So if we can take this place down, we can at least slow them down for a little while." He reasoned.

Clint shook his head, but said nothing as he looked away. His unspoken words still hung in the air, however. Steve narrowed his eyes, but took a calming breathe and moved closer, placing a hand on the man's shoulder.

"Listen, Clint. I know how you feel about this. I know how much you're putting on the line here." The archer didn't look up. "But I promise you that I will try my hardest to make sure this team stays safe. I will not let you all get locked back up in that prison." He stated, his words strong and clear.

The surety of his voice, however, seemed to have little effect on Clint as he turned to give the man a cold stare. "There won't be much you can do about it when you're locked up right alongside us." He muttered softly before pulling away, striding past the table and its occupants and he stalked off.

Steve watched him go, a small sigh of despair sliding past his lips. He knew Clint would stay by their side, no matter what. They'd come this far. He wasn't going to just back out anytime soon. He'd proven that time and time already. Still...Steve wasn't blind to the fact of just how much resentment, frustration and sadness the archer was holding in himself. Feeling that all came down to Steve and his past actions. His past mistakes.

He didn't even bother turning his head as he spoke once more. "Did you check on Laura?"

Maria nodded. "Just like you asked."

"And?"

Both Natasha and Sam also looked towards her as the woman sighed. "She misses him. They all do." She revealed the obvious statement before continuing. "But...they're doing alright. Laura's a strong girl. She can handle herself." She reassured them.

Steve shook his head all the same. "She shouldn't have to."

Natasha glance back at her. "And Scott's?" She asked, remembering the other family man on their team.

"They're fine, too." Hill explained. "His daughter misses him, though. SHe's a cute kid. Nice girl." She smiled, before the calm look evaporated from her face. She turned back towards the super soldier. "Steve, you have got to fix this." SHe stressed. "I don't care what you have to do. You have got to meet with Tony. You two have to work this out." She growled, stalking closer.

"I didn't fill you in on the suspected HYDRA coup just because it's...well you. I did it so you'd come back to the city. Cause this isn't going to go away if you just ignore it, no matter what Stark seems to want to think." SHe muttered with a roll of her eyes.

"Cause it's not just this team who's suffering. The national crime rate has spiked since the Avengers disbanded. Terrorist sightings and attacks are becoming more frequent and the number of enhanced individuals stirring up trouble is beginning to become a problem." She breathed. "I mean, Rhodey's the closest thing to a defense line the government's got nowadays. The people still trust him, so that's about all they can use. And SHIELD..." She paused.

"Well...let's just say we're still trying to find out bearings since..."

Cap held up a hand. "Yeah...I know." He muttered.

Hill raised him her hands to tighten the hold on her ponytail. "That's the only way I was able to leak those files on he dealings to you guys. I mean, SHIELD's so busy nowadays trying to deal with the boost in enhanced people as well as actually try and stand back up on our feet after the shitstorm a few years ago to some things are bound to slip through the cracks. Especially when they're given a little push." She scoffed.

Steve gave a small nod. "Well, even rebuilding SHIELD from the ground up seems easier than this." He sighed. "It's...complicated."

"Well, un-complicate it." Hill growled. "And fast. Cause the world's not gonna wait until you two kiss and make nice. And it sure isn't getting any better. Not without the Avengers."

The remaining three around the table all shared knowing glances. Of course, they'd already come to realize such a fact. But having someone actually say it out loud...it just made it all the more real to them.

Maria noticed the looks before letting out a sigh of her own, rubbing at the back of her neck as she shut her eyes. "I have to go. Nick's expecting me to report in in about two hours, and if my broadcasting signal isn't pinging from Miami like I told him it would, I'm gonna get a drone following me everywhere I go." She muttered.

With that, the woman silently made her way towards the door she'd originally come in from. Casting one last look over her shoulder as the disheveled gang that had once been the world's most formidable team, she let out another small breath before turning back around, pushing past the door as it slammed behind her, the sound echoing throughout the empty building.

Steve stared at the door for a moment before turning back towards the table, running a hand down his face as he groaned tiredly. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder, the small glance he cast recognizing it as Natasha.

The assassin gave him a pat and a small smile. "You're lucky she hasn't kicked your ass yet." She scoffed with a smirk.

With that, Steve actually gave a surprising huff of amusement. "It's only a matter of time." He muttered. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose from the other side of the table. "Alright. So, you all wanna explain to me just what exactly we're gonna be doing tonight?"

"To all of us."

The three whipped around to find that Wanda and Scott had returned, the looks on their faces making it clear that they weren't leaving again. Behind them, Clint stood off to the side, looking resigned.

Steve stared down at the map of the city while Natasha lifted up the silver case Hill has dropped off, placing it down on the table. Flipping the latches, the opened the large case to reveal the numerous assortments of newly loaded weapons, arrows, guns and any other tech that could possible give them any semblance of a chance to survive.

The super soldier didn't look over at the weapons, and neither did the others. Their soul focus was on him. He stared down at the map, the names, the street ways. He narrowed his eyes as he replayed Sam's last question over in his head. What are we doing? He repeated to himself.

He could feel the stares of the others as they gazed at him. Looking at him for the answers. For direction. For instructions. He knew they didn't have to. They knew they didn't have to. But they'd followed him into this. And they'd be damned if they weren't going to follow him the rest of the way.

He let out a small breath as he raised himself back up, turning around to face the others.

"We do what we can."

 


 

Thursday - March 31, 2016

Location Unknown

06:02 p.m.

The sun was nothing but a frothing ball of warm tones and dulling rays as the sky melted into a warm swirling mix of deep purples, light pinks and bright yellows, a sight that was reflected perfectly in the shimmering waters of the bay.

The window he currently sat next to blew small guts of brisk spring air into his face. The creaking metal of the catwalk shifted and groaned with every twitch he made, but Steve didn't really care. His back sat pressed against the wall, the window allowing the cool air to filter in next to him, blowing his hair gently across his forehead, licking his skin in soft, calming strokes.

The warehouse ceiling above groaned softly as the building settled, the noise mingling into the background as Steve stared out at the view before him. Ever since their "banishment", each of his teammates had chosen a particular spot they'd frequent the most, and his just happened to be the metallic catwalk hanging above their heads. In all honesty, Steve was more surprised that Clint hadn't claimed this spot.

Lord knew that guy loved his fair share of heights. Or even more than his fair share.

At the thought of the man, Steve's face twitched in slight agitation as his mind jumped back the conversation that had taken place a few hours ago, when he'd gone over their plan.

Without any true information on the mysterious buyers, there was a pretty low chance they'd be able to locate their sale point at the time. So, they'd have to go with their next best option: hitting their main place of manufacturing.

Considering their activities were considered slightly "illegal" nowadays, the team would have to make their move after dark, when they were less likely to be spotted. It'd be a simple mission. Infiltrate. Incapacitate. Bolt. In and out. It would at least buy them some time to come up with another plan to catch up with their buyers as they tried to relocate their supplies and manufacturing point.

In hindsight, the mission seemed to be a simple one. Or...it would have been simple back in the day. At least, that was what his teammates continued to scream at him.

Clint and Scott were still adamant in keeping to the shadows, reluctant to put themselves out there once again considering their stakes in this. Sam was hesitant, but Steve knew the man would follow him into anything, so he at least knew the man had his back in this. Natasha, well...he was pretty sure she was on board. Then again, you could never be too sure with her. She wasn't one to wear her emotions out on her sleeve. And Wanda...Wanda was just angry. Angry at Stark, at their predicament, at them for hiding in the first place, for herself for being one of the reasons for said concealment. But as Steve had told her before, might as well put that anger to good use.

Steve wasn't stupid. He wasn't an idiot. He knew just how dangerous it was to be putting himself and the others out there considering how many people wanted to hang them out to dry. But...he couldn't just stand around and do nothing with the chance that HYDRA was still on the rise. SHIELD had done that, and look at where they were now.

He knew what they were capable of firsthand. He knew how dangerous they could be if they were left unchecked, if they were allowed to grow and fester in the shadows until it was too bad to handle and contain.

He wasn't going to let that happen again.

The man let out a sigh as he stole a glance away from the window and cast his gaze down at the ground below, where his teammates were either resting, training, or ambling restlessly to pass the time.

He just wished they could understand.

Staring down at the broken group below him, it was obvious that something was missing. Someone was missing. The same someone who could either lighten people's spirits, or drag them even further down by being such a deliberate asshole, and even then, he still managed to at least make someone smirk.

Despite the torrent of hate and repressed anger that most of his teammates were holding for him, it was obvious that Tony was a crucial piece their machine was sorely missing, something that was taking a toll on all of them, on the Avengers name itself.

The worst part about all of it was that he knew it was him. He was the reason this was all happening. Granted Tony wasn't exempt from blame, but Steve wasn't either. None of them were. Steve gave a small shake of his head as the regrettable actions morphed into even more regrettable thoughts.

He should have listened. He should have reasoned. He should...he should have stayed.

But he hadn't. They hadn't. And the Avengers were taking a hit for it. Because they couldn't just sit down at talk to each other. The super soldier closed his eyes and rested the back of his head against the wall. It sounded simple enough. Sit and listen for once, from both sides, and maybe they'd have a chance of reviving everything they'd lost.

But Steve knew what would really happen.

They'd sit. They'd talk. The talking would turn to yelling. The yelling would turn to fighting. And the fighting would lead to an unfixable relationship rather than a broken one. IT was painful to think about, but it was true. When it came to the two men, Tony and Steve couldn't be more different other than the fact that their stubbornness was on an equal plane, which just made things worse.

So...maybe that was why Steve dreaded the thought of even getting close to Tony. Cause as long as they stayed away from each other, they'd couldn't make it any worse. They couldn't hurt each other any more than they already had.

THe super soldier gave a small shake of his head, fingers twitching by his sides. He couldn't think about this. Not right now. Not when there was a mission that took priority, though in all honesty, he would have taken anything to distract him from his previous thoughts.

Stealing one last glance down at his teammates, the man turned away and instead focused his gaze on the setting sun across the bay. He had a job to do. He had a duty to fufill. And nothing would stop him from completing it.

Not even Tony.

 


 

The bag caved slightly as his fist slammed into the rough, scratched leather surface. The chains hoisting it to the ceiling rattled loudly as it swung back slightly before diving toward him once more. Clint narrowed his eyes and drove his other fist in, tucking his arms close to his body as he repeated. Punch after punch; hit after hit. Sharp. Precise. Cut.

The sweat trickling down his temple made his skin crawl slightly, but wiping it away would have meant stopping, so he just gave a small shake of his head and kept going. He furrowed his brow, gritting his teeth as he punched harder.

His muscles tensed and snapped with each punch and lash, coiling tighter and tighter with each lunge. He could feel his knuckles beginning to peel, seeing as how he hadn't bothered in wrapping them before he'd started. He'd been too pissed off for that.

What the fuck were they thinking? No - scratch that - they weren't thinking! If they were, they never would have even agreed to go on this suicide mission.

They were basing their whole operation, staking their entire setup, on...on a hunch! They didn't even have all the facts and yet they were still gonna go and risk everything just because there was a chance that it could lead to something bigger.

He slammed his knuckles against the hard leather.

No, all they were doing was putting themselves in even more danger. Being even more reckless than they already were, which was saying a lot.

He knew how much this meant to Steve. He knew how much the man had lost to this group, and he knew just how much it pained him to see that they were still active and fighting after everything he'd tried to do to prevent it, to stop it from ever happening again. But he had to know that this wasn't going to do them any good! All it would do was endanger everything they were trying to accomplish. After all, it wasn't like they'd be able to do much to help from prison cells

Loud huffs fell from his lips as he pushed on, his chest heaving slightly at the added strain.

Like it or not, they were fugitives now. Criminals. The law was no longer on their side. Nobody was on their side. The constant FBI surveillance patrols and Special-Ops teams constantly searching for their trails was evidence of this. Things could not be more tense, more dangerous than they were not. Yet here they were, about to try once again to prove that they still had something to give!

The chains rattled loudly above his head, matching in time with each and every hit the bag took.

This wasn't their job. Not anymore. Not when the punishment for getting caught was a lifetime locked away in a floating metal prison. Not when there were other, more capable people who could actually do something about it. Not when there were people who deserved to trouble themselves with dangers like this. Not when it risked him never seeing his loved ones again.

With a loud, final snarl, Clint hurled his fist into the bag, the leather walls buckling as it swung backwards haphazardly, chains squeaking obnoxiously as it rattled off in protest. Letting out a tired huff, the man stepped away from the bag as it swung back towards him, watching it glide past him before continuing on its swinging path.

The man simply stood there for a moment, watching the bag sway back and forth as he breathed heavily, dragging in large gulps of air as he curled and uncurled his fists, feeling each and every individual tear in his knuckles rip even more with each twitch. Reaching a hand up, he wiped away the trails of sweat pooling around his forehead, wincing slightly as some of the liquid dripped onto his scratches.

Turning away, he paused as he caught sight of Scott leaning in the doorway, casually eating chips out of an obnoxiously bright blue bag. Catching sight of Clint now staring at him, the man gave a small wave, crumbs sprinkled around his face.

The archer let out a small huff and rolled his eyes as he moved over towards the side of the small, cement room. "What do you want?" He muttered gruffly as he reached the long wooden table sitting up against one of the back walls. Plucking the small white towel off of the surface, he wiped it over his face and down his neck.

Scott gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "Nothing. But, this is the closest thing to TV we got around here so..." He shook the bag of chips before grabbing another handful.

Clint stared at him for a moment longer before blowing a sigh past his lips. "Whatever." He muttered as he reached up and unhooked the sandbag from the ceiling hook. The weight dropped to the floor with a loud bang, the archer walking around it to grab onto the thick chain attached to the front. he tried to ignore the stares of the other man as he dragged the weight over to the back of the room.

Unfortunately, the fact that he was ignoring the man did not seem to be obvious enough as Scott cleared his throat awkwardly. "Hey...can...can I ask you something?" He asked, his tone of voice reflecting his uncomfortableness with the situation.

Clint suppressed the urge to drag a hand down his face as he cocked his head, throwing the man an annoyed look. "What?" He huffed, his aggravations still having not left his body, despite the recent beating he'd just unleashed.

Scott rubbed the back of his neck as he began to speak, glancing over towards the side of the room. "So I was thinking about the mission later tonight. I...I still have some major doubts about that, by the way. But, I was just thinking about all the things we've been doing recently and...and all the snooping and sneaking that's been going on, and..." He grimaced slightly. "And I was just wondering something that I've kinda never asked before. Do...do you think..." He trailed off for a moment before clearing his throat once again. "Do you think this is gonna blow over?" He finally asked.

Clint didn't turn to look at him as he moved back over towards the table, grabbing the towel once again. "I mean, don't get me wrong," Scott continued. "I know we kinda, like...majorly broke the law." He puffed out a small huff of amusement that didn't seem to hold any real humor. "But...I mean-" His expression shifted, morphing into a look of unsuredness and slight desperation. "-you guys are like...the Avengers. You gotta have some pull somewhere!" He gave a small shake of his head. "There's gotta be some way this can get fixed."

The archer's face twitched slightly as his furrowed eyebrows contorted even more. "That doesn't seem to be happening anytime soon." He uttered darkly, tone grim and cold.

Scott either didn't pick up on such a fact, or chose to ignore it. Clint was willing to bet on the former. "Well, we can't just be on the run forever. I mean, it's kinda not fair." Scott sighed, throwing his hands up in slightly frustration.

Clint's gaze remained locked on the table below him, his eyes hardening at the man's words. His fists clenched around the edge of the wooden surface, his knuckles beginning to whiten as he dug his nails into the old wood. The thick haze that had shrouded his mind whilst he'd unleashed his fury on the punching bag slowly began to creep back into the corners of his mind, growing sharper and darker with each word that spilled out of that idiot's mouth. At least he was right about something.

It. Wasn't. Fair.

Their newest recruit placed his hands on his hips. "Cause, I don't know about the rest of you, but I kinda miss...good food." He cracked a small smile. "Like, I haven't been to a Baskin Robbins in forever, man." He sighed with a grin. "You know, I could probably still get us a discount if I talk-"

Clint slammed his fist down against the table, the wood splintering slightly under the blow as the man whirled around, Scott's words dying in his mouth as he stared back, wide-eyed at the archer, who's eyes blazed.

"God, do you ever take anything seriously?" He snapped, glaring back at him.

Scott cocked a brow, face scrunching slightly at the sudden rage. "I'm just trying to-" He started, only for Cling to cut him off.

"-make a joke out of everything, like you always do." He growled, stalking closer. "Seriously, just do us all a favor and shut the hell up for once." He snarled, fists shaking at his sides.

Scott's face instantly darkened as he narrowed his eyes. "What the hell, man?" He snapped, not understanding why the man was exploding on him all of a sudden. "I know you're pissed, but you don't have to be an ass about it." He growled, suddenly feeling a lot less cheerful than he had been a moment ago.

"Pissed?" Clint echoed. "Ho, no. I'm way past pissed. I'm fucking furious. And you waltzing around, babbling like an idiot isn't helping!" He snarled, shutting his eyes as a pained look marred his features for a flash. "I should be home, with my family." The look vanished just as suddenly as it had appeared. "Instead, I'm here, staking everything on...on suicide missions, talking to some moron who shouldn't even be here!"

"You know, you're the ones that came to me." Scott snapped with a growl, fists clenching slightly. "This was your fight, and you dragged me into it! So obviously, I'm here for a reason."

Clint folded his arms over his chest. "We were desperate."

Scott let out a harsh scoff. "No, you're still desperate. And you're angry." He tossed his hands up into the air. "And instead of dealing with it like everyone else around here is, you're just holding it in and exploding on the first person you see like a major douchebag." He snapped, pointed an accusatory finger at the archer before him. There was no way he was letting this prick get away with talking to him like that.

However, before he could let anything else slip from his tongue, he quickly reigned himself up, sucking in a deep breath as he cut himself off from his next scathing remarks. Running a hand through his hair, the man let out a small sigh.

"Look...I get it. This...this sucks. Everything about this sucks. And...and I'll give it to you, I can be a bit of a handful." He let a small smirk fall onto his face for a brief moment. "But that's just how I cope."

Clint said nothing as he continued to glare down at the floor, silently seething in his own frustrations.

"I talk myself through it." The former burglar gave a small pause as he rubbed the back of his neck. "And then, I guess I just keep on talking, which I realize can get pretty annoying. But taking your frustrations out on your teammates isn't gonna help, man," he stressed.

"You staying angry isn't gonna help."

The archer, once more, said nothing. He merely stood there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, something Scott could admit he'd never seen the man do before. He couldn't decide whether it was a good thing or a bad thing. Judging from the look Clint gave him when he finally lifted his head back up he was willing to bet on the latter.

"Yeah, I'm angry." Clint spoke, voice dark and tone cold. "I'm angry...and I'm frustrated...and I'm desperate. You wanna know why?" He spoke softly, but his tone held no shortage of venom as it seemed to drip from each hate-spewed word. He slowly stalked forward. Scott slowly stepped back.

"Because this whole thing - this...this whole feud, those suit-wearing assholes, that titanium fucker - is keeping me away from my family." He spat, eyes blazing.

Scott swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

"My wife has no idea where I am. My children don't know why their father isn't coming home. My baby son doesn't know why I'm not there holding him!" He roared, the pain in his voice rubbing his throat raw as his eyes stung slightly.

"I don't care that you think I'm an ass. I don't care that you don't appreciate my methods." He stepped forward until he was only a few paces away from the other man, eyes narrowing. "All I care about right now it them. They are my life."

He leaned back, allowing Scott to breath once more as the man continued to stare back at him, barely revealing any sort of emotional clues as to how the words were affecting him. But that didn't deter the archer from continuing.

"I know this must be hard for you to comprehend seeing as how you have the attention span of a squirrel." He muttered with a roll of his eyes. "This split took something from all of us, but it took everything from me." He clenched his fists once again. "So don't you try and lecture me about 'dealing and coping', alright? Because you have no idea what this feels like!" He snarled, face flaring red as his words slashed through the air.

For a moment, all was quiet. The only sound in the room was the last dying echoes of the archer's final cries. Scott said nothing. He simply stared the man straight in the eyes, face calm and body rigid.

Finally, the man slowly took a few paces forward, glancing down at the ground as he licked his lips. Clint raised a brow, but didn't move.

Faster than any of them could anticipate, Scott's hand was in the air, his fist slamming into Clint's jaw, sending the archer's head whipping to the side at the powerful impact.

Ignoring the harsh stinging in his jaw, Clint reached for his belt and wrapped his fingers around the knife stashed away there, poised to draw it out.

However, Scott made no more moves to attack, the tenseness in his body seeming to dissipate right alongside the punch. Instead, the man seemed much more...tired. Defeated.

Walking closer, Scott reached into his back pocket, making Clint tighten his grip on the knife, only to grunt as a small, square piece of paper was jammed against his chest.

The archer glanced down for a brief second before his eyes flashed up to meet Scott's, which were red around the rims and slightly glossy. But it was blatantly obvious the amount of rage and despair locked behind them. When he finally spoke, his voice was hard, nothing like the man that had begun the conversation.

"Her name is Cassie. And she's the life you all took away from me."

Without another word, Scott turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, leaving Clint to the cold, cramped surroundings, the man's last words echoing in his ears. For a moment, all he did was stare, the burning fire that had been crackling in his chest slowly dwindling. Sucking in a small breath, the man ran his fingers along the edges of the photo and glanced down.

It was obviously old, the crinkled edges and darkened smudges evidence enough of such a fact. But it didn't mar the subject of the actual photo, which was of a little girl, around eight-years-old. She had long brown hair that drooped down past her shoulders and a beaming smile that stretched from cheek to cheek, eyes crinkled in joy.

The bitter taste of the words that had spewn from his mouth seemed to taint his tongue. In his fury, it was as if his mind had released all of its restraints, throwing out whatever insult, threat or curse he'd been holding in for what felt like forever, no reasoning, no thought behind any of it.

The thought of his children growing without him there to see it, his baby son forgetting of his very existence, the idea that if anything were to happen, he wouldn't be there to protect them, it had all been too much. And the fire crackling in his heart, the burning rage that had masked and hidden such fears had boiled over, crashing into the other man without even a moment's notice.

But now that such fury was gone...the full force of his words was hitting him blow after blow.

The man stared down at the photo, gently smoothing out the wrinkles in silence. 'You have no idea what this feels like!'

It couldn't be farther from the truth.

Letting out a long sigh, Clint ran a hand down his face and folded the picture up once again. He cast the punching bag behind him one last glance before stepping out of the room.

It didn't take long to find Scott, for he was where he always was. In the back corner of the warehouse, distant from all the others, the man had set up an old, beat-up mattress along the back wall, a single shattered window resting on the wall adjacent to it, the dwindling sunlight streaming in softly. He sat atop the mattress, back pressed up against the wall as his wrists rested atop his propped-up knees, face resigned and sullen.

The archer hesitated for a moment, something he'd assumed had been trained out of him years ago. Hesitation meant missing your window. It meant missing your target. It meant failing your mission. Yet despite the mantra rolling through his brain, he still felt himself hold back for a second. HE shifted his jaw, wincing slightly at the sharp pang that shot through it.

Steeling himself, the man moved forward.

Scott made no indication of noticing him as he approached. He didn't even look at him as Clint leaned down and sat on the mattress next to him. For a moment, the two men said nothing. They merely stared up at the shattered window above, the distant sound of water and screeching birds echoing around them.

Clint let out a small sigh as he ran a finger over the folded picture one last time before handing it to Scott. The man glanced down at it before gently reaching up grasping it softly before unfolding it, staring down at it himself. He still said nothing.

Clint watched him for a moment before letting his head rest against the cold concrete behind them. "She has your smile."

Scott blinked for a moment before letting out a small scoff. "Yeah, with the snark to go with it." He chuckled softly, fingers delicately tracing the edges of the picture.

"How old is she now?"

The man gave a small huff as a smile graced his lips, eyes misting slightly. "She just turned nine." His face grew pained, the smile forced. "It was the first full birthday I'd gotten to spent with her in the last three years." He murmured softly.

Clint shut his eyes tightly, massaging the bridge of his nose as he let out a sigh. "Listen, Scott. What I said back there...I... I didn't mean all that shit. I was just-"

Scott waved him off before he could finish. "Hey, don't worry about it." The man said softly. "I get it. Contrary to what you might believe, I do know what you're going through." The man gave a small smile. "You actually kinda remind me of Cassie. When she was five, the cable box blew and we had no TV for about a week." The man let out a loud laugh. "Man, she was crawling the walls. I was actually surprised so much anger could fit inside that tiny little body."

Clint didn't share in the man's cheer. In fact, he stared back at him with an unreadable expression before he shut his eyes once again. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?" Scott echoed, raising a brow.

Clint's eyes drifted back over to him. "How do you stay so...calm, so-so relaxed through all this?" He ran a hand through his hair and blew out a breath from his lips. "I...I've been on missions before. I've been away from my family before. Weeks, months at a time I'd be gone. And...and I could handle it because...because I knew I'd see them again." The archer blinked and stared down at the floor, eyes hard. "Despite whatever horror, whatever asshole we were taking down that week, I knew I would see them." His fingers curled. "I would do whatever it took to see them. And...and I was fine."

"But this? I just...I have no idea what's gonna happen. The Accords...Stark...everything's...it...

"Everything's kinda shit right now." Scott finished.

Clint furrowed his brows. "To put it mildly." He muttered. "I don't know whether we'll have to stay on the run forever or if we'll be arrested eventually and sent back to the raft but...either way means I never see my family again. And I just... can't do that. I can't think about that without..." He stopped when his voice wavered slightly. He cleared his throat harshly before picking up once again. "So how are you so...alright?"

It felt strange saying what he'd been feeling out loud for the first time in...well, in a long time. What he'd said was true. He'd been on millions of missions. And sure, some were harder than others. Some were...some were really bad, and there were always times where you just had to talk about what you'd seen. Id didn't matter if you were the hardest, toughest person alive. If you could see some of the things that he had seen, holding it in would not seem to be an option.

Of course, Clint couldn't really describe himself as the most "open" person, especially when it came to personal stuff. Usually, he would go to Natasha for such matters. She was the person he trusted more than anyone on the team, maybe even one of the people he trusted most in his life, excluding his wife, of course.

And yet, for some reason, he just couldn't see himself talking to the woman about this. He knew he could trust her with it. Hell, Sott didn't even know his family. Natasha did. But...but despite how close they were, despite how well she knew his family, Natasha...couldn't understand. She could sympathize, but she couldn't feel what he was feeling. She couldn't know what he was thinking.

Scott did.

He was the only other person on the team who had the same gaping hole sitting in his stomach, pressing on his chest and gripping his lungs in a vice-grip. He was the only person who truly had something to lose that was more precious than their actual lives.

Scott understood.

But what made Clint feel worse was that he'd doubted Scott's feelings. He'd accused him of not understanding when he was the only one who really could. Scott knew about Clint's family, and Clint had never once stopped to ask about Scott's. He'd never even thought about it.

Considering all this, Clint was pretty sure he would have punched himself too if he'd been Scott.

Speaking of, the man - who'd been staying quiet in thought for a moment or two - finally spoke.

"Well...'alright' isn't the word I'd use but...I just...have a lot of practice with this." He sighed. "I don't know if you guys know this, I mean, you're the Avengers, so you probably don't take your background checks very lightly or whatever but, back in 2012, I kinda...did some shit." He muttered. "Stole some stuff I wasn't supposed to; did some things that weren't allowed and...I got booked."

He ran a hand through his hair, face resigned and tired. "I was sentenced to three years. And you know..." He angled his head towards Clint." ...the biggest problem I had wasn't that all the guys looked like they could take on Cap over there and give him a run for his money. It wasn't that the toilets looked like a bunch of five-year-olds did arts and crafts with scrap metal to make them. And it wasn't even that the food looked like glue mixed with whatever shit they found in the arts and crafts toilets."

Clint couldn't help but scoff at that.

"No...it was that my wife refused to allow Cassie to visit me. I had to go three years without seeing my daughter."

The archer stared back at him for a moment before blinking in shock. "God...how did you do it?" He breathed, not even able to imagine going so long without seeing his family.

Scott gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "I guess, ironically, it was her. Cassie was the reason I was able to survive because she was my incentive to survive."

Clint said nothing. Scott glanced down at the picture in his hands, a small passive smile gracing his lips.

"I figured, after all the shit I put her through, the least I could do was make sure she'd still have a worth-while father when I got out. So, I pushed through it. I focused on her and only her." He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. "So...I guess I have a little practice with this feeling. I know what it's like to leave the people you love, worrying about whether they're okay and when you'll see them again."

He waved the picture slightly. "But, as long as I have this, as long as she's still out there, I have a reason to fight." And in that moment, Scott's face morphed into a look of such determination that Cling almost had to do a double-take. She sheer seriousness on the man's face made him blink as Scott stared straight at him. "And I swear to God, I'm not gonna stop. And neither should you."

Clint stared back at him for a moment before turning away, staring down at the ground as he licked his lips. "When I, uh...when I left, Cooper was still struggling with his Algebra. I...I promised to help him study for his big test at the end of the quarter." His voice wavered slightly. He didn't bother in clearing it. "L-Lila's been recording the episodes to this new show she's been crazy about." The man smiled, his eyes glossy and misty. "I don't even know what it's about. Ponies, princesses? Still, she recorded them so that we could watch them together." The words cracked as his hands curled into fists against his knees.

"And...Nathaniel, my youngest, was...w-was just starting to...t-to stand on his own. H...He's gonna start walking...and...and I'm...not gonna be there. I'm not gonna be there to catch him on the other side of the room. I just-"

He couldn't finish as the words were swallowed up, his throat closing as a few stray tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes, his hand going up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He didn't even care anymore. He didn't care that in all his days of working in the field, he'd never once shed a tear. He didn't care that he was being so emotionally vulnerable in front of a man he didn't even know considered him a friend. He didn't care...because it was his family.

For a moment, the two men said nothing, the silence engulfing the pair as the last few traces of light began to disappear behind the horizon, the sky melting into a pool of deep blue, faded pinks and glossy purples, the last traces of orange and red fading.

"I'm not saying this is easy." Scott finally spoke. Clint cleared his throat and stared hard at the ground. "I mean, Cassie's not the only one I left. My..." He paused, seemingly unsure of himself for a moment. "My...friend, Hope probably didn't even know this happened until she saw my name being plastered on the news. I only hope Cassie didn't find out that way."

He took a deep breath, seeming to steel himself before continuing. "Still, there's only one thing we can do. There's only one thing you can do. We stick together, we don't back down, and we keep fighting. And I promise you, I promise you, I am going to make sure you get home to catch your son when he greets you at the front door." He placed a hand on Clint's shoulder, flashing the man a confident smile, eyes mirroring the pain flashing in Clint's.

The archer stared back at him for a moment before giving a small smile of his own. "I'll make sure it's not another three years before you see her again."

The two men nodded before turning away, each staring out at the darkening sky as the echoes of the distant city echoed faintly, the soft lapping of water drifting into the warehouse.

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

"We should form a club."

"No."

"Like, 'Dads United', or something."

"You're ruining the moment."

"We can get T-Shirts printed! Ooh! Ooh! Come up with a cheesy dad joke and we can put it on the back!"

"It's ruined."

 


 

Thursday - March 31, 2016

Mackview Shipping and Storage Center

10:05 p.m.

The moon hung high overhead, silvery wisps of light bouncing off the waves below in a trail of melted silver mixing with the ink black of the bay water. The stars lay covered behind a thick veil of smog and clouds, the moon pulling back the curtain just enough to cast a bright glow.

The soft sounds of waves lapping up against the sides of the docks filled the air, muffled only slightly by the distant sound of whirring metal and the even fainter scuffle of footsteps racing along the rooftops of the lined up storage facilities.

The shadowed figures crouched low to the roof, nearly concealed except for the slight shine of the silhouettes the moon cast upon them. They leapt across the remaining rooftops before stopping atop the one building in the center of the row, the largest of the five others. They silently crept to the center of the rooftop, where a transparent glass portion of the ceiling allowed them a clear view of the area below.

Conveyor belts that should have long since been deactivated were active and running, gleaming metal parts and circuits cruising atop the metallic surfaces. Large cranes lifted up huge wooden crates and deposited them to certain corners of the room and high-tech guns of various sizes and makes were being loaded into said boxes by near two dozen men and women. It was hard to miss the bright glow of the weapons, the advancements installed in each obviously not from Earth.

"So...I'm guessing this is the place."

The others glanced over at Scott, who shrugged his shoulders. "Just making sure."

Cap glanced back down at the workers before resting his fingertips against the comm unit in his ear. "Any movement, Falcon?"

There was a moment of silence before the transmission broke through on the rest of their comms. "Negative. No outer forces moving in. If anyone's coming to relieve these guys, it won't be for a while." He responded, Cap stealing a small glance towards the distant storage crates near the docks, where Sam stood on lookout.

The man nodded. "Alright, just keep us posted. We can't afford any mishaps here."

"Copy."

Steve raised his head to glance back at the others, silently asking if they were ready.

Natasha rested her hand against the top of her gun, cocking it in preparation as she fiddled with another strapped to her side.

Scott pressed a button near his neck and the helmet to his suit folded over his face, the lenses glaring bright red in the light of the moon overhead.

Clint raised his bow and gripped an arrow from behind his head, resting it on the top of his curled finger as the string began to shiver with each movement of his hand.

Wanda narrowed her eyes, the irises instantly glowing a bright crimson red as her hands lit with the same energy, the ground around them shining slightly with the bright light emanating from her.

Cap raised his hands slightly and pressed a trigger installed into the sides of his gloves. Instantly, the metallic bands wrapping around his forearm disbanded and raised up to form twin long gray shields that stretched from the tips of his elbows to cover his hands. He had still yet to get used to the new weapons T'Challa had bestowed him in place of his usual red and blue alternative, but it was better than nothing.

Their answers were clear. Steve narrowed his eyes.

"Let's move."

 


 

The men milled about unperturbed, going about their usual business of unloading and packing boxes, checking newly crafted weapons and inspecting them for shipment. The sounds of machinery filled and air as well as the soft whirring of the conveyor belts around the room.

One man moved away from the machines and picked up a stray clipboard laying one one of the remaining crates, flipping through the pages as he narrowed his eyes. In his concentration, he took no notice of the soft thump of a body hitting the ground near the back of the warehouse, nor did any of the other men. Two more thugs went down in silent heaps without any notice, their disappearances flying past the radar.

In fact, it wasn't until one of the nearby machines fizzled and exploded did they finally take notice that something was amiss. The stray arrow attached to the now-steaming metal made them all freeze.

Glass shattered above their heads as Captain America exploded from the rooftop, the sharp shards raining down around them as he landed on one man's shoulders, the figure folding like wet paper as the soldier rolled along the ground and rammed his fist into the chest of another thug, sending him flying backwards where he hit the wall hard, a clear difference than going straight through the wall, had the soldier not been holding back.

Hawkeye and Witch were next as they shot through one of the warehouse windows in a burst of crimson light, arrows draw and hands clenched.

Widow revealed her position behind one of the larger crates as she leapt over and wrapped her legs round the nearest man dragging him down to the floor as she jabbed her wrist against the side of his neck, sparks of electricity exploding from the minuscule taser. The closest man whipped out his gun and aimed it at her, only to gasp and watch as the gun was suddenly jerked out of his hands, his neck snapping backwards as an unseen force punched him in the chin. Ant-Man suddenly appeared from seemingly out of nowhere, ramming his foot into the man's face, knocking him unconscious.

For a moment, a wave of silence rang out through the warehouse as everyone froze, eyes locking onto eyes, muscles coiling in either shock or preparation. The whirring of machines died down to a soft droning in the background.

Instantly the stupor shattered as the men lunged for their guns, whipping them out as fast as they could, the building exploding into a cacophony of noise before anyone could blink.

Cap narrowed his eyes and brought his shields up just as a handful of bullets shot towards him, the dull sound of them making contact with the metal before dimly falling to the floor briefly met his ears for a split second as he made up the distance between him and the assailants, his fists shooting out faster than the bullets.

He felt one man's ribs crack as he rammed past him, groans of pain filling the air as he crouched low to the ground, sweeping the feet of the nearest thug before throwing his falling body towards another, the two rolling along the ground as he leapt over a third, bringing his elbow down onto his shoulders, a resounding crack meeting his ears.

Raising his shields to block another round of bullets, the man grabbed hold of one of the nearby hand rails along the wall and swung himself around it, feet connecting with the shoulders of another man, who flew backwards at the force of the hit.

More shots rang out as another pair of goons filed towards him, his shields instantly going up once more as he blocked himself off from the impending projectiles. as he covered himself from the barrage of bullets, one of the two thugs lunged for the nearby conveyor belt, grabbing hold of one of the newly made guns, a holder with an unusually large barrel that split off into four separate branches.

Without even a second thought, the man pulled the trigger. The backlash from the force sent his arm jerking to the side, along with the projectile of the gun's aim. A bright flare of blue light shot from the weapon, hitting a couple of filled crates, the boxes levitating up into the air as the gun raised back up, the crates following the movements of the barrel.

The man stared at the now hovering boxes while his partner continued to fire upon Cap, the man's eyes widening slightly at the now flying crates. However, the sound of a clicking trigger and the cease of loud bangs of gunshots dragged him back to reality. "Shit." The thug cursed before his partner swung the gun forward, the boxes following in his motions as they shot towards Cap.

He narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on the shields in hand as he leapt into the air, feet pushing against the closest box, launching him onto the next. Wrapping his hands around the sides, he reached for the next one, leg flying out as his foot connected with the final crate. The force of the kick sent the box shooting towards the two men, who screamed as it connected full force, sending them flying across the room, the weapons stored inside scattering everywhere.

The man rushed towards the box, grabbing one of the newly broken wooden planks from the sides as he ran alongside another group of men, whipping the plank forward, where it connected with the back of one person's head, sending them toppling to the ground. There, he leapt forward, sliding along the ground as he caught the leg of another, dragging him down while also twisting around back onto his feet before kicking the knee of another man, the sharp crack that followed eliciting an shrill shriek of pain that was instantly silenced as Cap threw a punch to the side of the man's head.

Pressing his hands against the cold concrete ground, Cap thrust himself upwards, feet connecting with the chin of another man, who reeled backwards, staggering into another oncoming pair of thugs, the group toppling to the ground together.

A sudden sharp whine filled the air as the man's eyes caught sight of a harsh glow. Glancing back, he noticed a woman holding one of the newly crafted weapons, the sides lighting up brightly as it charged up.

Cap ducked down as the charge shot over his head, the noise blaring through the air like a sonic cannon as the blast ripped straight through the wall behind him.

He narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on his shields, sprinting forward. He twisted around the oncoming blasts, pausing to lift up his shield as a particularly strong blast tore through the air. He could feel the heat from the blast pressing against the metal of the barriers attached to his wrists, his feet sliding against the floor, his teeth gritting together as he fought against the beam currently driving him back. The air around him seemed to crackle and pop at the electricity and energy emanating from the beam. It almost reminded him of the same feel that Wanda's energy put out.

Narrowing his eyes, the man gave one final push of his shields before dropping to the floor, the beam shooting past overhead. Twisting around the oncoming blasts, he slid along the floor and ducked underneath another shot, ramming the woman in the chest with his shields before snatching the gun out of her hands, tripping her off her feet before knocking her out with another blow from the metallic bands.

He resisted the urge to crush the weapon right then, for he had no idea the kind of backlash such a dangerously charged device could release. He briefly thought back to Tony, realizing the man could probably have a reading out for them within a split second.

In his distraction, Cap never noticed as another goon reloaded and took aim at the back of his head. The sound of a loud scream of pain met his ears, causing him to whirl around, fists curled, only to pause as he caught sight of Natasha standing over a now unconscious form. She threw him an unamused glance. "Get your head in the game." She muttered before pulling out her gun, firing a couple shots before moving back into the fray.

She felt someone grab her from behind, large arms resting around her neck as the grip tightened. She wrapped her hands around their wrists and ducked down, flipping the man onto the floor in front of her as she laced a short cord around his neck, the sound of choked gurgling reaching her ears as she looped around and kicked back another pair of guys lunging for her.

Releasing her hold on the now limp body, she raced along the edge of the room and skidded past another two guards, releasing two small disks as she slid past, the huge burst of electrical charge running up their legs as they fell to their knees, the woman ramming her elbows into the sides of their heads before leaving the still bodies.

Pulling her guns out once more, the woman began to go on the offensive, covering whoever the thugs were taking aim at, incapacitating them before they could even let off any shots. The sound of distant cries of pain and choked off screams were the only indication of her hitting her targets as she fired. She noticed another large group of thugs lining up along the catwalks above their heads, guns drawn at they took aim on the heroes fighting below them.

Widow narrowed her eyes as she pocketed her guns once more, moving along the shadowed edges of the room where she wrapped her hands around the rusted metal of the ladder leading up to the walkway.

Quickly and quietly racing up it, she crouched low to the ground and charged the group, extending out another short cord as she slid underneath their legs, wrapping the steel-laced wires around their legs before pulling taut. Three of the thugs came crashing down while the remaining handful aimed their guns at her.

Instantly taking note of the cramped quarters of the catwalk, Natasha wrapped her hands around the thick wires attaching the walkway to the ceiling and looped around it, dodging the bullets as she swiped her foot at the nearest goon, the man letting out a startled shout as he toppled over the edge of the railing.

The remaining two didn't have time to react as the woman leapt over their heads and wrapped her legs around their necks, dragging them down to the ground where she attached another round of electrodes to their shoulders, bright sparks of electricity exploding into the air as they seized on the ground the woman gripping the previous wires tightly as she slid down them towards the ground below, rolling expertly along the stained ground before pulling out her pistols once again.

The woman let out a grunt as she felt someone ram the but of their gun against her chin, her head snapping back painfully as she reeled backwards. Eyes narrowing, the woman took notice of the lady now glaring at her, hair tied back as she threw her a disgusted snarl. She also noticed the shining gun tightly gripped in her hands, the glowing gun.

A small grunt fell from her lips as Natasha dropped to the ground, avoiding the sharp blast of the gun as the lady fired upon her. Placing her hand on the ground, Widow twisted her legs around and caught the woman in the back of the knees, dragging her to the ground.

However, instead of folding, the woman dropped onto her knees instead and whipped back around, driving her elbow forward. Natasha caught the limb as it flew out, pushing back against it as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a sharp, serrated knife, whipping it forward.

The woman reeled backwards as the weapon flashed before her, her hands reaching for the gun in her possession. Widow wrapped her free hand around the woman's shoulders as she dragged her down once again, the knife slashing along the woman's wrists as she reached for her gun once again.

She screamed out in pain and gave one final shove, knocking the woman off of her as she rolled along the ground and grabbed her gun once again, the sharp familiar whine filling the air as she let off a huge blast. Widow dove to the ground as the shot fired overhead, her grip on the knife tightening. Rushing forward, the woman ducked underneath the oncoming jab and rammed her shoulder into the woman's gut. The woman shot out a choked breath right as Natasha made a grab for the gun.

Wrestling it out of the woman's hands, Natasha shot a punch forward, her fist connecting with the center of the woman's face as her head snapped backwards. The woman didn't even watch as the thug crumpled to the ground, for she was already looking for her next target.

The woman barely even flinched as an arrow whisked past her face, an explosion sending wood chips and splinters flying from behind her, screams echoing out as the smoke shot forward. She caught sight of Clint standing atop a pile of crates in the corner of the room, face hard and eyes narrowed as he loosed another arrow, the projectile shooting across the room faster than she could follow.

The archer fired another once the previous shot hit its mark, his next target consisting of a group of machines still working in the corner of the room. The man reached behind him and pulled out a handful of connected arrows, placing all three against the taught string of his bow.

The sharp whistle that slashed through his ears as he released filled the air for a brief moment before the projectiles hit their mark, flashes of light illuminating the air as the metal machines parked and crackled before dying down, extended limbs dropping towards the floor as their electrical charges fizzled out.

Hawkeye reached behind him once again, only to wince as he heard a bullet whiz right past his ear, ducking down instinctively before leaping off of the boxes, breaking towards the group currently taking aim at him.

After a split-second analysis of the situation, the man dropped his bow and ripped his knife out from its holster around his waist, the weapon much more equipped for close-quarters fighting.

The thugs raised their guns, bullets hailing down around him as the man leapt forward and rolled along the ground, slashing the knife upwards through the air as the serrated edge sliced through one of the men's arms, blood spurting into the air.

He screamed out in pain, the sound instantly being cut off as Hawkeye swept his legs out from underneath him and rammed his knee into the man's chin, effectively knocking him out before dropping his limp body back onto the floor, kicking it forward as it threw the other three goons off balance.

Reaching into his belt, the man tightly grasped onto three flat metal prongs, hurling them forward, where they embedded themselves into the men's arms and shoulders, not deep enough to be fatal, but serious enough to elicit shouts and screams of shock and pain.

Utilizing the momentary distraction, the man raced along the ground, whisking up his bow as he ran and twirled it around in his hands, hands running along the metal edges as the bow melded back into a plain, long bow-staff.

Spinning the weapon over his head, the man swung it forward, the metal catching the back legs of one thug while ramming into the shoulder of another, digging the metal pins in deeper than before. Blood dripped onto the concrete, smearing across the ground as the men stepped and slid in it.

Thwacking one man in the head while conking out another woman, Hawkeye twisted the last man's arm behind his back before driving him down to the ground, foot colliding with the side of his head before his body went still.

The archer whipped the staff hard, the metal transforming back into that of his normal bow. He reached behind him and gripped another arrow, eyes scanning the warehouse for any signs of his teammates in distress.

Across the room, Clint could just make out Ant Man seeming to appear out of nowhere as he punched a man out before disappearing once again right as another woman tried to attack him from behind.

She whipped around wildly, trying to make out the man's presence, only for her arm to twist around behind her back all of a sudden as the man reappeared, driving his elbow into her shoulder, effectively driving her down.

Loud pops and shots fro the nearby gunmen rang out, an approaching group firing heavily on the man who seemed to keep disappearing and reappearing. Ant Man shrunk down right as the bullets shot forward. Despite not being able to see the man, the group continued to fire, hoping to blindly hit the man out of pure luck.

Suddenly, one man's gun was knocked from his hands, the weapon clattering down around his feet, followed by another and another until all their guns were either knocked away or destroyed. Before any of them could whip out any more weapons, Scott grew before their eyes, fists flying out faster than they could counter, the group falling to the floor as they clutched broken noses or nurses shattered jaws.

The familiar crackling of the comms rang in their ears as Clint's voice broke through. "Ant Man, you see that big machine over there in the corner?" He asked, said man glancing behind him as he dodged another attack. "Yeah, what about it?"

"I think the exterior is impervious to my arrows' electrical currents, I can't get it to shut down."

The man nodded. "Say no more." He called back before pressing a small button on the side of his helmet, mind instantly focusing as he'd been trained to do. Not even a second later, a large Carpenter ant landed before him, wings extended as its antennas twitched.

Wasting no time, the man leapt up onto the bug's back as the familiar buzz of their rapid wings filled his ears, the ground disappearing from sight as they took off.

It only took a few seconds for Ant Man to locate the machine that Hawkeye had been talking about. It was obviously the biggest one out of the other machines, most likely the most important one as well, which would explain why it was proving to be so difficult to disable it.

Leaping off of his ant right as they flew above the machine, the man tucked his legs underneath him as he rolled along the metal surface, cushioning his fall slightly as he took off running, eyes scanning the metal paneling for any sort of cracks or lines that could mean his way in.

Finally, Scott caught sight of a break in the metal between the panels and the wiring. Narrowing his eyes, the man leapt forward, sliding in between the panels easily before landing down between the wires and the circuit panels. Slowly lowering his arms, the man cautiously glanced around, movements purposely slow as to not trip anything that might make the entire machine explode. After all, he was kinda...inside of it.

His heart beat wildly in his chest, his adrenaline still spiked high and dangerous. He ran his hands along the wires tracking the walls of the circuits, glancing at the outlets they connected to and the slight sparks of electricity that ran through them.

Taking a deep breath, the man tightly gripped one of the wires before giving a hard yank, the machine jerking violently for a moment before falling still once more. He could still feel the vibrations of the motor underneath his feet. It was still active. Taking hold of another two wires ,the man let out a grunt as he ripped them away from the sides as well, the machine letting out a loud whine and fritz as the vibrations increased for a second before dying away altogether.

The man smiled behind his mask before climbing out of the metal paneling once again. "Machines are down." He called over the comms as he hooked an arm around his ant once more and hoisted himself up, the ant taking to the skies once again.

Wanda barely paused in her movements as Scott's voice rang out through the transmission, her hands twisting out in front of her as she hoisted two men into the air and slammed them together, loud grunts falling from their lips as they collided before promptly being thrown back down to the ground.

THe continuous ringing of gunshots firing across the building made it difficult to deduce when a particular shot was being aimed at you, which was why Wanda didn't notice the guns being drawn on her until one bullet grazed her shoulder, the heat of the metal burning her skin as it ripped through her clothes.

The girl whipped around and caught sight of the group trailing their guns on her, pistols raised and hands shaking as they watched their numbers begin to die down around the room. Wanda's eyes narrowed as a slight reddish glow began to emanate from her irises.

With a grit of her teeth, the girl propelled herself off of the ground, hovering in the air as she fired down upon the group, spirals of crimson energy raining down around them faster than any bullets they hd previously fired, explosions of red-tinged light blinding the thugs as they shielded themselves from the heat swirling around them.

The girl curled her fingers into a fist, the energy trails trailing around them suddenly constricting as they grabbed hold of the group, hurdling them together into a tight circle. Wanda extended her palms fired another single shot at the group, the projectile exploding out around them, knocking them out instantly as they all collapsed to the floor.

Wanda dove back down to the ground as more bullets rang in the air. She landed on the ground near another group and opened her hands, slamming them together as a shockwave of crimson light shot forward, knocking the group off of their feet.

She high-pitch charge of a new weapon caught her ears, the same sound that had been ringing out around the building throughout the fight. The girl ducked to the ground right as a bright green shot fired straight over her head, destroying the roof above them. Showers of concrete and debris littered the floor as it fell, the girl's eye catching sight of the man currently wielding a large weapons resembling a bazooka, only smaller and more compact.

The girl steadied her feet as she faced off against the man, fists curling at her sides as pools of energy dripped down towards her fingertips, the barrel of the gun lighting up in green fire as it readied to shoot.

The click of a trigger was Wanda's only warning before the gun fired, a steady beam of green energy charging forward. LIfting her hands up, the girl countered with a blast of her own, green and red colliding together in an explosion of white light as the two beams fought one another for dominance.

Wanda could feel her feet sliding against the concrete as the beams pushed her back, her eyes narrowing into slits as her teeth gritted together, a loud grunt passing past her lips as she shouldered the full force of the attack, her hands shaking slightly as she took a step forward, driving her shoulders down as she fought back. Step by step, the girl began to gain more ground on her opponent as the red beam began to eat up more and more of the green.

As she attacked, she caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye.

Another shadowed figure stood near the corner of the warehouse, only he seemed much smaller than the other thugs and goons that were currently dropping like flies, even if his attire was the same. As the figure inched his way along the back wall, Wanda was just able to make out his face, instantly recognizing the features of a teenager, no older than eighteen. The boy stared at her, eyes wide and lips parted as his frantic eyes glanced over towards the emergency exit. He cast the room one last glance before disappearing out the back door.

The girl's first instinct was to go after him, realizing that leaving even one person free could jeopardize their entire mission, but a particularly strong push from the gun's blast had her mind focusing back onto the present.

Finally, with one last thrust of her hands, the energy swirling from her hands engulfed the blast from the gun, encompassing both the weapon and the man, who shouted in pain at the scalding sear of her energy wrapping around him.

Cutting off the attack, the girl watched as the man crumpled to the ground, the smoking remains of his gun clattering in pieces around him.

Taking a second to catch her breath, Wanda glanced around as she realized she could actually hear the sharp intakes of her breath, something she hadn't been able to do while the battle was at full peak. Glancing around as she took notice of the unusual calm, she realized that there were no thugs left to take down. The room was full of writhing bodies or still forms, smoking machines and cracked holes in the walls of the building. The remaining Avengers stood scattered around the room, inspecting their work or the weapons lying around the room.

Nobody looked seriously injured. The girl let out a small breath at that.

Her teammates stepped over scattered bodies as they met up in the center, Cap stooping down to pick up one of the weapons. The metal casing was blackened and burnt, but the alien tech infused inside still let out a faint purple glow. The man narrowed his eyes. "Damn.." He muttered, having still held onto hope that perhaps the rumors had been wrong.

"How many more do you think they have?" Scott asked, flipping the visor of his helmet up to reveal his worried face.

Natasha gave a small shake of her head as she snapped her pistol back into its holster. "After the Chitari invasion, there was alien tech scattered all across the city. There's no telling how much these guys got their hands on, but judging from this I'd say it's enough to cause us some trouble."

Clint let out a grunt. "Great, cause we can't seem to get enough of that." He snapped, strapping his bow to his back once again.

The sound of distant sirens faintly reached their ears, making the all snap back to attention. Sam's voice filtered in through the comms. "Guys, you might wanna wrap this up. We're gonna have some company in a couple minutes. Five top."

Wanda snapped back to reality as she turned towards Cap. "There was another criminal near the back of the warehouse, a boy. He go away before I could stop him." She sighed, voice revealing her frustrations.

The others shared concerned looks, realizing that such a mistake could lead to their reveal. Steve glanced behind him at the back of the warehouse, the faint light of flashing red and blue lights making him narrow his eyes as he turned back towards the girl, resting a hand on her shoulder. "We'll worry about that later. But we're not done here yet."

The girl stared hard at him for a moment before giving a slight nod of her head. It didn't take long for the others to round up the unconscious or disarmed thugs, collecting them in the center of the room. The men who were still conscious glared at the heroes, teeth grinding as they shot venomous looks at the rogues.

"We've seen your faces!" One man snapped. "You better let us go or we'll tell them cops everything! We'll tell everyone!" He grinned.

The remaining Avengers shared looks as Wanda stepped forward, trails of crimson energy beginning to pool in her hands as her eyes began to mist over in red light. As her fingertips began to twitch, the red mist slowly began to encircle the men, reaching long tendrils of energy towards their eyes. Natasha gave a small smirk from where she stood. "Tell them what exactly?" She folded her arms over her chest. "Somehow, I don't think you'll find it quite so easy to remember what happened here."

Wanda's face grew hard as she glared down at the group, who were now staring at her with wide eyes as they were encircled by her energy. She narrowed her eyes. "And you won't be telling anyone anything." She growled before the room exploded in crimson light.

Chapter 13: Thunderstorms

Summary:

"They aren't going to tell anybody, you know."

"Yeah? H-how can you be so sure?"

"Cause I know them, kid." Tony shot back, turning to look at the boy. "Look, Pete. This...this isn't my secret to tell, alright? If you don't want people to know, then I won't tell them anything." He explained. "I promi-"

"Don't!" Peter snapped, eyes suddenly flashing. "Don't use that word. It means nothing." He growled out. Tony said nothing at that.

Chapter Text

Saturday - April 2, 2016

Parker Residence - Sub-Level Labs

06:12 p.m.

A sharp hiss of pain flew from his lips as he felt the knife slice his cheek, blood splattering the wall behind them as he reared back, quickly stepping out of range of the woman as she flipped the knife into her other hand.

Peter felt his chest heaving, positioning his feet to face off against her as Sandra threw him a crooked smile, her ponytail swishing behind her as she lifted up her arms, shining knife in hand. Peter narrowed his eyes and gripped the knife in his hand a little tighter right as the woman charged him.

Tensing his muscles, the teen ducked underneath the oncoming slash and elbowed the woman in the side, a grunt falling from her lips as she bent, Peter swishing forward as he swept her legs out from underneath her. Sandra, ready for this, twisted onto her side and fell to one knee, swinging the other leg forward as she caught Peter in the back of the knee, the teen buckling right as she leapt forward and rammed her elbow into his shoulder.

He yelped and rolled away as the knife slashed the air right in front of his face, missing his nose by mere centimeters.

Quickly leaping back to his feet, Peter raised his arm and blocked the oncoming blow, dropping his knife into his other hand as he slashed upwards towards her chest, kicking the hem of her shirt before the two broke away again, her leg swishing out once more. Leaping over the kick, Peter surged forward and rammed his shoulder into her gut, driving her backwards as he cut her arm before he felt a similar feeling slice through his upper shoulder.

He hissed and backed up right as the knife flew forward once more, slashing his forehead before a fist slammed into his cheek, whipping his head to the side right as Sandra shot her knee upwards, catching the bottom of the boy's chin.

He grunted and fell to the floor as Sandra twirled the knife in her hand. "What's wrong, Petey? Tired already?"

"Considering we've been doing this for over ten minutes, just a little bit." He muttered, not even caring about what punishments could ensure for his sarcasm before he narrowed his eyes and curled his fingers even tighter around the knife in his hands, teeth grinding.

He had been fighting all day. Curt, Sandra, Max, Flint, even some of the new cadets. Each bringing with them a new trial for him to overcome, a new enemy to face. And for each exercise, his father stood to the side, measuring his reflexes, his stamina, his strength, face ever stoic and eyes as cold as always, his expressions never shifting into anything other than displeasure as he watched his son get pummeled, stomped, slashed and thrown all over the room.

But what else was new?

However, as he faced off against Sandra for the third time in the last four hours, he couldn't help but feel his frustrations beginning to burn brighter. Each taunt. Each blow. Each crooked smile made his teeth grind and his fists clench just a little harder. It had been such a long day, and he was ready for it to be over!

With a growl of fury, the teen rushed her once again. Preparing for this, Sandra prepared for the teen to strike low once again. However, she was not ready for him to flip over her, slashing her back as he leapt, landing on the ground for just a moment before surging back towards her, sliding underneath her legs as he slit the back of her knees, the woman letting out a growl of pain as she buckled, only for the teen to ram his fist into her face and flip his knife into his other hand, striking it forward as the woman countered with her own, their arms clashing as the tips of their knives pointed threateningly towards their throats.

If it weren't for the inhibitor cuffs tacked onto his writs, Peter would have easily overpowered the woman. However, seeing as he'd prepared for such an event, the teen ducked underneath her outstretched weapon and hit the woman's arm from underneath, catching her by surprise as the knife fell from her grasp, the teen gripping it in his hands as it fell and whipping it forward.

However, before the weapon could reach the mark that was her neck, he felt a powerful force stop his movements cold, seeming to freeze him in place as a cold wash of energy flooded his senses and paralyzed him where he stood.

Eyes widening at the sudden situation, the teen was just able to look around enough in his frozen state to recognize the purple energy now encompassing his body. A feeling of dread fell into the pit of his stomach like a stone sinking in a lake as he tentatively glanced back towards Sandra. The woman was glaring at him in fury as her eyes glowed a deep violet, which matched the energy pooling in her hands as well as the aura hovering around the frozen boy.

Suddenly, with a flick of her wrist, Peter was sent hurtling backwards, his head hitting the back wall with a sickening thud before he crumpled to the ground, a loud groan floating up from his shivering form.

"Sandra..." His father scolded as he entered the training room, the doorway opening up from the bare white walls. The woman folded her arms and glanced back at him. "What? He got me all frustrated." She muttered with a bored expression. "Serves him right for snapping at me."

Richard let out a small growl of annoyance, a clear sign for the woman to stop talking as she exited the room before she had the chance to tick the man off even further. Richard rolled his eyes at the scene but said nothing else as he strode across the room towards his son, who was slowly beginning to rise to his hands and knees.

Peter shakily raised his head, hair falling into his eyes as he stared up at his father. "Up." The man commanded, Peter following through in a second's time as he followed the man out of the training room, the lights falling dim as they exited.

Outside the simulation room, the man swiftly turned on his heel, Peter nearly running into him as he abruptly stopped and held out his hand. The teen blinked for a moment, unsure of what his father wanted him to do, only to jump as he realized the inhibitor cuffs were still attached to his wrists. Cautiously placing his hands into his father's, the man reached into his pocket and pulled out a key, undoing the locks on the cuffs as they released the teen's wrists. Richard pocketed the cuffs and the key as he turned away without a word.

As usual when following up their daily training sessions, Peter went off towards the back of the huge command center to tend to his wounds while his father and the Cons met in his office - which was a suped-up renovation of the inside of one of the abandoned subway cars - to discuss the outcomes of the day.

Plopping down in one of the uncomfortable chairs, Peter winced and let his head fall against the back wall as a sigh fell past his lips, his eyes gently fluttering shut as the full weight of the day's events drained at what little energy remained in him.

Lazily cracking his eyes back open, the teen glanced to the side and gazed down at the rag, bandages and the bowl of water situated on the small table next to him. A wave of exhaustion flowed through him at the idea of moving any more, but he knew he had to clean himself up or the others would get annoyed at him for taking so long.

Heaving a small sigh, the teen groaned as he pushed himself up to rest his elbows on his knees as he reached over with a wince and picked up the towel.

Knowing that he could really only tend to his smaller wounds at the moment, the boy dipped the towel into the bowl of water and dabbed the cloth against his cheek, wincing as he felt the harsh sting of the liquid seeping into the ripped skin, gently dabbing the rag until drops of water began to pool down his cheek, dripping onto his pants.

Moving on to the cuts on his arms and collarbone, the teen bit his tongue against the sting of the cuts and rubbed the sweat and grime out of the scrapes before dropping the towel back onto the table and going for the bandages. Ripping off a small piece of the adhesive, he placed a tiny rectangle of tape onto the cut on his cheek and began to wrap the slashes present on his biceps and wrists, including the scarring marks left by the inhibitor cuffs, which always seemed to rub his skin raw.

Just as he was finishing up, the teen felt his stomach give a loud roar of protest, gnawing painfully at his insides as he shut his eyes in discomfort. Rolling the dates through his mind, Peter quickly remembered that it was Saturday, meaning he had to go out and buy groceries today.

Fun.

The teen supposed he shouldn't complain. After all, it was during these rare occasions that he was able to buy something for himself to eat, granted without the knowledge of his father or the Cons. But what they didn't know...

However, with the benefits of such endeavors came the equally horrid part of asking his father for money. Despite the fact that the man had assigned Peter to grocery shopping detail years ago, the man still couldn't seem to wrap his head around the fact that in order to do so, Peter needed money, meaning he needed his father's money.

Peter cast a morose glance his father's way, the light from the subway car spilling out into the rest of the room. Quickly sucking in a steadying breath, Peter slowly hoisted himself up from the chair, muscles screaming in protest as he grimaced in pain, forcing himself to move nonetheless.

As usual, the teen made an effort to avoid any and all contact with the other people in the room. Some he'd never seen before while others were already frequent suppliers and cadets. Nevertheless, Peter knew that if they were down there - if they were mingling with his father and his crew - then they were bad news.

And Lord knew, Peter didn't need any more of that.

After ducking and dodging past the others in the massive workroom, Peter hesitantly stared at the train car looming ahead of him. The warm orange light seeping from the windows and out the front entrance seemed to creep across the ground, stretching and clawing towards Peter's feet, threatening to drag him in.

The teen shook the thoughts away and took a steadying breath before entering the car.

The base skeletal structure of the car was the same. Large windows that stretched along the top half of the train, and a long narrow pathway flanked by said windows. However, the seats had been gutted out in favor for larger, comfier couches while a desk sat pushed up against one of the side walls and the other hoisted a bulletin board complete with multiple pins and files attached to the surface. His father sat behind the large counter, eyes scanning over the papers spread out over the desk while Max and Sandra put up new pieces of paper onto the bulletin board and Curt read out random information from a clipboard in his hands. Flint was...well, Flint was passed out on the small couch, an empty bottle in one of his large hands.

They hadn't noticed his arrival.

Realizing he'd have to get a move on if he wanted to reach the store in time before it closed, the teen cleared his throat and gently knocked on the metal surface of the closest wall.

Immediately, four heads shot up towards the noise, save for Flint, who was still passed-out drunk. Curt curled his lip before glaring back down at the clipboard. "What the hell do you want?" He muttered, as if his mere presence was a major inconvenience for them.

Peter opened his mouth, only to pause as he glanced over at his father. Richard was staring at him with his usual stare of displeasure and annoyance as he waved his hand in a motion that meant 'Explain. Quickly.'

Peter jerked out of his silence as he lowered his head and began to wring his hands out like wet towels. "Umm...i-it's Saturday. I-"

"Boy, thank you for the update!" Sandra snorted before tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Any other shocking news you'd like to proclaim?" She muttered, Max elbowing her in the side in disapproval while Curt snorted into the back of his hand. Richard rolled his eyes at their words but continued to stare back at Peter, dark black eyes boring into hazel-gold.

The look made Peter shiver.

"I...It's just that...I gotta g-go get groceries t-today." He murmured quietly, tensions mounting inside him on how his father would react. More often than not, it depended on the man's mood. It was almost always impossible to predict his father's reactions.

However, as the words left his mouth, Peter heard his father mutter a sigh of irritation before beckoning the teen over. Peter was quick to comply, sliding past Flint's sprawled-out body before coming up to stand beside his father's desk. The man ripped a few bills from his wallet and shoved them at the boy, Peter quickly floundering to get a better grip on them. "Don't dawdle." The man muttered before leaning closer to the teen, threateningly pointing a finger in his direction. "And don't get any more than needed. Understand?" He growled, eyes narrowed in malice and disgust.

Peter hastily nodded his head. "Y-yes, sir." He exclaimed quietly, moving to dart back out of the cart, only for his father to clear his throat as he stood up from his desk and began to shuffle a few papers into place. His hard stare remained locked on the folders as he spoke. "We won't be here when you get back." He uttered in his usual hard tone before looking away, the small piece of information obviously the only thing he wished to disclose.

However, in his haste, Peter couldn't help but furrow his brows in involuntary curiosity as he tilted his head "Where are you going?" He asked on reflex, before his brain could catch up to the words spilling from his mouth.

As soon as the words were out, the teen realized the mistake he'd made as his father rounded on him, backhanding him across the cheek before roughly grabbing the teen by the side of the neck, aggressively tilting his head back to stare the man straight in the eyes. "That's none of your goddamn business, you hear me?!" He snarled, face pinched in anger as Peter grabbed his father's wrist, hoping to pry the hand off of his neck. "You don't ask questions. You do as you're told and you keep your mouth shut! You understand?!"

The teen did his best to nod, eyes scrunching as he gritted his teeth together. Richard curled his lip in disgust before dropping the teen to the floor, glaring down at him with a scowl. "How many times are we gonna have to do this before you start getting it through your head." He muttered before swiftly walking back towards the desk.

The Cons hadn't even bothered to look up.

Peter said nothing as he scrambled to his feet and quickly bolted from the subway car, not stopping even as he exited into the open station once more, dashing straight for the elevator near the back of the building.

He panted heavily as the elevator doors slid closed around him, his back pressing into the cool metal behind him as he wrapped a hand around his throat, heaving at the throbbing pain in his cheek and shoulder. The soft whirring of the elevator slowly began to help his heart calm, the frantic beating dying down to a rhythmic thumping as he blew a sigh past his lips.

Idiot. He muttered to himself, glaring down at nothing. Why can't you ever just shut up? He growled bitterly,resting the back of his head against the wall behind him as he shut his eyes.

"I'm not gonna punish you or whatever for saying what's on your mind, you know."

The teen paused as Mr. Stark's words echoed in his mind, a lump forming in the back of his throat as he anxiously continued to rub at the back of his hand. Perhaps taking Tony words of advice wasn't the best idea for him. After all, it was already beginning to get him into more trouble than usual, Threatening to instill in him a confidence that the Cons and his father had been adamant in crushing. Besides, it wasn't like he could really apply such words to his life at home.

That was likely to get him killed.

Still...

"I want you to feel like you can be yourself here, alright?"

Couldn't hurt to dream.

The teen jerked out of his thoughts as the elevator doors slid open onto the penthouse floor he shared with his father, his shoulders sagging slightly at the sight. Nevertheless, Peter sucked in a small breath before stepping out. A hot shower seemed to be calling him, and he wouldn't stave it off any longer.

The setting sun was a frothing ball in the sky, warm orange tones seeping out around the clouds, flaring bright yellow and cool pink as its bright rays were reflected down onto the moving city below, shining on each glass pane and metal surface. The street down below was busy as always, people milling the curbs and flashes of light beginning to bloom as the neon signs of New York's night life began to flicker into existence, clashing with the warmth of the sky and the harshness of the neon glow. Yet the warm tones could not mask the dark clouds gathering near the horizon, cold gray beginning to seep into the yellows and reds, clashing violently against the bright backdrop.

Peter stared out at the sight, the warmth dripping onto his face as he felt the sun's rays hitting his cheeks before he turned away, hazel eyes drifting towards the floor. Without another word, the teen slowly ascended the nearby staircase up to his room.

The silence around him was a welcome departure from the usual fighting and shouting that commonly occurred downstairs. They were always arguing about something. Peter thought it best to avoid them at those times.

After entering his room, it didn't take the teen long to whisk off his shirt and sweatpants and hop into the shower. Though exiting was a whole other story. The warm water soaking into his bones made it near impossible to step away. But after he felt the tips of his fingers beginning to wrinkle, Peter let out a small sigh and turned the water off, small drops falling from his cheeks and the tips of his hair as he stepped out and grabbed a towel from the sink, scrubbing it through his hair, which quickly stuck up all over the place.

Reaching for the clothes he'd dragged in from his dresser, Peter quickly pulled up the long, dark-blue jeans and grabbed his shirt before pausing, taking in the sight staring back at him in the mirror.

His abdomen was a swirl of dark blues, purples and blacks, trails of deep red and light yellow sprinkled in here and there. His ribs were clearly visible and his pale skin tone only enhanced the bruises. Deep scars ran up along his sides and across his chest, some old and fading while others were still relatively fresh.

He blinked back at the sight, a small sigh escaping his lips. Other than that, his reaction was minimal. Such a sight didn't really bother him anymore. He knew it should have, but he just couldn't muster up the energy to care about it anymore. Besides, it wasn't like it would change anything if he did, so what was the point?

Shaking his head, the teen pulled the shirt down over his head, wincing loudly as he pulled at the newly scarring wounds he'd acquired earlier that afternoon, the air sucking in between his teeth as the skin pulled taught and the harsh red lines stretched painfully. Nevertheless, he yanked the T-shirt down all the way and walked back out into his bedroom, a warm cloud of stream following him as he opened the bathroom door.

Walking over to the dresser, he grabbed the money his father had given him, shoved it into his pocket and tossed a jacket over his shoulder as he stepped out of his bedroom, running a hand through his lightly damp hair before steeling himself, moving over towards the elevator once more.

The light sound of voices met his ears before the elevator had even stopped, the doors opening to reveal the first floor and the Cons, who were lounging in the living room, eyes blearily staring at the TV as they smoked...something. Peter averted his eyes. They didn't like it when he snooped on their business. He could hear the tell-tale sound of liquid swishing around a glass bottle and the sound of Curt's prosthetic fingers tapping together, the soft noise echoing in the air just loud enough for Peter to make out.

He hated that noise.

Click. Click. Click.

He lowered his head and stiffed his shoulder as he rushed for the door, praying they either didn't notice him or didn't care that he was even there. He was willing to bet on the latter as he reached the door and quickly exited, slamming it behind him with a satisfying THUD!

Releasing a small breath, the teen reached behind him and flipped up his hoodie as he glanced up at the sky, which was now beginning to melt into a pale pink with tones of purple, the darkening storm clouds creeping ever closer, sucking in all the colors from the sky into their gray embrace.

The teen fiddled with the money in his pocket, making sure it was still there before reaching for his earbuds.

However, Peter caught sight of something out of the corner of his eyes and turned his head as he saw his neighbor, May, standing on the front steps of her porch, a large potted plant in her arms as she shakily tried to take another step up the stairs, grunting at the weight of the plant in her arms.

She gritted her teeth as she tried once more to steady her foot on the next step, pushing herself up before she felt her toes slip back, a small yelp falling from her lips as she felt herself falling backwards.

Suddenly, she felt two hands grab her back and steady her as she slipped back to the cement sidewalk, eyes blinking in shock at the fact that she wasn't currently being flattened on the ground by the large pot, only to grin as Peter popped his head over her shoulder, bright eyes staring at her in concern. "You okay?" He asked breathlessly, obviously having just run over at the sight of her struggles.

The older woman beamed back at him with a warm smile. "Yes, Peter. Thank you." She murmured, setting the pot back down to the floor with a huff as she gave the plant a slight kick. "This damn thing seems to get heavier and heavier every time I try to lift it." She muttered, brushing a strand of chocolate hair out of her eyes.

Peter let out a soft chuckle, tilting his head mischievously. "And you seem to get clumsier and clumsier with each attempt." He teased, the woman giving him a light swipe on the shoulder, to which he easily avoided with a smirk.

The woman let out a small sigh before glaring up at the sky. "Well I wasn't planning on moving this stupid thing anytime soon, but it looks like it's gonna rain this evening and these things aren't meant to take much water." She explained, lightly kicking the pot once again to prove her point.

Peter glance down at it before shrugging. "Well, I can help you if you'd like." He offered.

May quickly shook her head. "Oh, it's alright, Peter. That thing's pretty heavy. I wouldn't want you to hurt your-" She started, only to pause as Peter bent down and easily lifted the pot into his arms. "-self" She finished after a pause, scrunching her nose as the teen walked up the steps and deposited the pot next to the woman's covered doorway. "Where are you hiding all that muscle, Pete?" She teased, lightly poking him in the arm.

Peter ignored the uncomfortable tingle that twinged through him at the touch and shook his hands in front of his face. "I'm an enigma." He joked with a smile, May laughing beside him. "That you are, kiddo. That you are." She mused as the boy hopped down the steps once more. "SO what're you doing out here anyway? Waitin' around for opportunities to save me and school me at the same time?" She smirked.

Peter chuckled and shook his head. "Nah, I'm just heading to the store. Grocery run." He explained.

She furrowed her brow and glanced up at the darkening sky. "Now? It's near ready to pour, honey." She expressed with a hint of concern edging her voice. Peter noticed it, but said nothing about it as he shrugged once more. "Dad's orders."

He meant it as a joke, but from the way his neighbor's face quickly darkened, it was obvious she saw the truth behind it, Peter's hands clenching slightly in concern. May seemed to quickly realize the uncomfortableness on Peter's face, for she quickly brushed it away, though it was hard to mask the anger burning in her chest. "Right, I know how that feels. I had to run quite a few chores back when I was your age." She tried to lighten the mood, which was easy considering Peter was all-too happy to change the subject.

The teen tilted his head nonchalantly. "It's no big deal." He sighed, content with the fact that he wasn't tripping over his words. He usually never did around May. There was nothing to be concerned about with May. Nothing to fear.

The woman stole another glance at the sky as a small grumble of thunder echoed around them. "At least let me drive you, Pete. I don't want you catching a cold if it really does start to rain." She said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Peter brushed it off politely, masking his immediate reaction of escaping the touch with a shrug of his shoulders. "I'll be fine, May." He reassured her, ignoring the concerned look on her face as he decided to try another tactic. "Besides, you need to head to the diner soon anyway."

May's eyes widened slightly as she whipped her head down towards her watch, cursing under her breath as she caught sight of the time. "Damn." She muttered before throwing the teen a stink-eye. "How is it that you know my work schedule better than I do?" She scoffed, Peter chuckling as she ruffled his hair.

"Just promise me you'll be careful." She murmured softly as she began to tie her hair back into a bun. As usual, a few stray strands escaped her grasp, falling down around the sides of her face, framing her cheeks perfectly. Peter gave a small nod. "I'll be fine, May." He grinned back as he stepped off of the step and back down to the sidewalk.

The woman lingered at her door for a moment longer before letting out a sigh. "Alright." She murmured, clearly not happy at the current events, but realizing there wasn't much she could do to fix it.

Peter waved back at her. "See you later, May. Oh! And remember to bring your notebook for class tonight!" He reminded her, the woman slapping her forehead with a groan. "Forgot I had that too. You're a lifesaver, Peter." She called before racing back into her apartment, intent on seeking out her journal for her night classes down at the medical center.

Peter gave a small smile and shook his head at his neighbor's forgetful mind before rubbing at the back of his neck. May was a wonderful woman, and was great at getting Peter to talk.

Too good.

One of these days, she'd get him to say something he didn't mean to say. Something he wasn't allowed to say. That made her dangerous. Not dangerous in the same way that Curt and Max and his father were, but dangerous nonetheless.

Dangerous in the same way Mr. Stark was.

He narrowed his eyes and shoved the headphones into his ears more forcefully than needed, sticking his hands into his pockets as the soft roll of thunder milled in the background. Hopefully she was wrong. Hopefully the rain would hold off.

Peter jolted slightly as he felt a cold drop of water land on the tip of his nose.

Of course...

 


 

Saturday - April 2, 2016

Stark Tower - Main Offices

07:21 p.m.

"Tony, are you even listening to us?!"

"Nope." The man popped out nonchalantly as he continued to lazily spin in his office chair, Rhodey and Pepper sharing exasperated looks as he turned and threw them a weird look. "Wait - so...why are you in here again?" He asked with a bored tone, head tilting down to gaze at the open manila folder in his lap, indistinguishable papers fluttering in-between his fingertips.

Pepper gritted her teeth slightly, but otherwise held her cool as she narrowed her piercing blue eyes. "I just got off the phone with one very angry Secretary Ross." She started as her face twitched. "Apparently, you missed another on-call session with him this afternoon."

Tony didn't even bother in lifting his head as he continued to stare down at the papers in his lap. "Missed...avoided - you know these things are so ill-properly scheduled that it wouldn't be too much to wonder if maybe it was Ross who missed the call and me who was stiffed." He tossed out casually as he lightly kicked his feet underneath his desk.

Rhodey let out a small growl as he stalked forward and slammed his hand against the surface of the desk, the loud bang finally catching the billionaire's attention as he lifted his gaze. "Oh would you cut the bullshit for one fucking second and take something seriously for once?!" The man snapped.

Tony barely seemed phased as he flipped the folder closed and lifted his head. "Sorry, not really in my repertoire." He muttered back with a challenging look flashing in his eyes.

The colonel opened his mouth to spit out a retort, only to shut his eyes tightly as Pepper placed a hand on his shoulder, the man stepping back as he raised a hand to his face, blowing out a sigh as he ran a hand down his chin.

"Tony, you cannot keep blowing him off like this." Pepper stared up for him.

"Mmm, I'm pretty sure I can. It's pretty easy actua-"

"He is the goddamn Secretary of State, Tony!" Rhodey snapped, glaring down at the man who was now tapping his fingers against the closed file. "What do you think's gonna happen when he gets tired of your shit?" He growled out, shaking his head in exasperation.

"Well, shocking as it may be, I'm not his number one priority right now." Tony muttered, left arm twinging with the same bout of phantom pains that had been plaguing it for some time. "And honestly, I don't give a shit who he is, alright?" He snapped back. "He's a twit-faced asshole who could use a power check every now and then." He scoffed, waving his hand dismissively.

Pepper pinched the bridge of her nose while Rhodey clenched his fists and sucked in another breath through his teeth.

"Besides, he only needs me for one thing, and I've already made it abundantly clear that I want nothing to do with it."

Rhodes narrowed his eyes at that. "Why?"

Tony threw his eyes back on the colonel. "Why what?" He muttered.

"Why are you so reluctant to help catch them?" Pepper finished.

"Because it's not my fucking job, that's why!" The billionaire snapped back, eyes flashing. "They're international felons, meaning their capture is up to the United Nations, meaning the Accords are in play here. And since those pencil-pushing douchebags refuse to agree on the revisions, we're on stagnating waters with those documents. Meaning I'm off duty for the time being." He explained with a cross look marring his features.

He curled his hand into a fist and lightly pounded it against the armrest of his chair before glancing back up towards the others. "Look, Ross is on the forefront of the revisions process regarding the Accords, meaning all this shit stems around him."

"They why the hell are you pushing him so much?" Rhodey scoffed. "Just give him what he wants and he'll stop making your life such a hell!"

Tony rolled his eyes. "You kidding me? That's exactly why I'm fucking with him. The second I give into his little demands is the second I show him that I'm willing to bend and crawl for him and the day that happens is the day I blow my goddamn head off!" He snarled, fighting to ignore the way both Pepper and Rhodey winced at the self-harming comment. He averted his gaze and glared down at the ground.

"I'm nobody's fucking lap-dog."

Rhodey let out another exasperated breath before turning back towards the man. "So, what? You're just gonna avoid him for the rest of your life?" He scoffed.

"That, or until they catch those idiots. Honestly, whichever comes first." Tony shrugged, masking the obvious tensions that were building inside of him at the topic of conversation. The twitching in his fingers and the burning pain in his left arm were a dead giveaway, however.

"Goddamn it, Tony." The colonel cursed. "This isn't something that you can just ignore and hope that it goes away. This is serious. This is national secutiry we're talking about here and-"

Tony groaned and rolled his eyes as he flipped his head back. "Oh, don't give me that! That's-"

"What!? What is it, Tony! What?!"

"That's bullshit!"

"Why?" Rhodes snapped, more infuriated with the man than with the actual words coming from his mouth. "Are you denying that they're dangerous, that they're criminals, that they broke the law?"

"No! God, fuck - that's n- that's not what I'm saying!" Tony growled, brushing a hand over his forehead as he tightly shut his eyes, a growing pressure building up behind his eyes. He gritted his teeth together as the pressure steadily turned into a harsh thumping.

"Then what are you saying, Tony?" Pepper finally chimed in, placing an appeasing hand on Rhodey's shoulder as she gestured for him to take a breath, interfering before things could get out of hand. "Because to me, it sounds like you're avoiding this because..." She trailed off for a moment, eyes shifting slightly in her uncertainty before continuing. "...because you don't want them to be caught."

"Oh, for the love of-" The billionaire groaned.

"Why is Natasha still here, then?" Rhodey countered. "You have the capabilities. You have the tech, the resources. You know they're near. You know they're close. One search. One...and you could get them off your back for the rest of your life. No Ross. No Rogues. Done." The man explained, ignoring the bitter taste the words left in his mouth. He quickly dismissed it in favor of gauging his best friend's reaction.

Tony said nothing. He simply stared hard at the surface of his desk and shook his head, lips pressed into a firm line. The twinging in his arm made him squeeze his eyes shut once more as his head gave another loud throb.

Pepper carefully leaned forward, her movements slow and precise, almost as if she were dealing with a wild animal. "Tony...please think carefully about this. Once Ross gets sick of all those dead ends, he's...he's gonna come for you." She breathed. "You'll be his next target."

Tony continued to shake his head, the pain he was feeling now beginning to show on his face as he grimaced, barely even registering the woman's words. "No...n-no...I sign...I signed those Accords." He said softly, his voice breathy and distracted as he sucked in a breath through his teeth, gripping his forearm tightly.

"Yeah, you did." Rhodey sighed. "But Ross will find a way to turn this around, to claim that you're obstructing justice, breaking the regulations." The man leaned forward, willing his friend to take in the gravity of his words. "He'll come after you, Tones."

For a moment, the billionaire said nothing, rubbing his forearm in a pointless attempt to quell the soreness. He lowered his head, realizing the file from before was still sitting in his lap. His eyes traveled over the heading on the folder before his brows knitted together, his face hardening as he grabbed the file and stood up from his seat.

He angrily threw the folder down onto the desk, a loud slap reaching their ears as he glared back at them. "He'll try." He finally growled out before stepping away from his desk and brushing past the others.

"Where are you going?" Pepper asked, her exasperated tone making Tony's fingers twitch once more.

"Out." He called over his shoulder, never even breaking his stride as he made for the elevator.

Rhodey narrowed his eyes. "Tony-" He warned, only for the other man to cut him off. "What?! I'm taking your advice. You're the ones who said I shouldn't stay cooped up in this damn tower all day!" The words bounced off the walls as the man disappeared behind the corner.

The colonel let out a frustrated grunt while Pepper ran a hand down her face, her head slowly swiveling towards the desk, Rhodey's doing the same as they caught sight of the name on the file that had been in the billionaire's lap moments earlier.

Peter B. Parker

 


 

Saturday - April 2, 2016

Midtown East - 42nd Street

07:54 p.m.

His hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were ashen white. He could hear the sound of the leather material squeaking as he squeezed, hands shaking under the extreme duress of his death grip.

The sound of the engine roared around him as he felt the revving of the car while it sped down the street. Lights from the tall buildings around him flared before his eyes, flashing brightly with neon yellows, greens and pinks bright enough to rival the sun. Shooting past, they all blurred into bright lines that whisked past his line of sight.

He could feel the tenseness of his jaw as he clenched his teeth and tried to resist from banging his palm against the dashboard. His tight grip allowed him to feel the blood flowing around inside his hands, the sound of his heart beating making his ears ring. He pushed his foot down harder on the pedal as the car sped up another notch.

Where he was going? He didn't know, nor did he care.

Tony grimaced slightly as he felt the usual twinge of his arm flaring back at him, but he chose to ignore it, focusing back on the road ahead of him, which was now slick and shining with the rain falling around him.

The sky was pitch black, large dark clouds concealed in its inky depths as thick grey raindrops fell, clinging to everything in dark black stains as the streets, the buildings and the surrounding cars were all coated in a glossy shine. The streets around them were milling with multicolored umbrellas, only adding to the wave of color that filled the city at night.

But the billionaire was a bit too preoccupied to really notice.

His fingers tapped angrily on the rim of the steering while as he drove along the road, silently conveying the anger radiating off of the man in vibrant waves. The echoing voices of his friends bounced off of his ears, making his grip tighten as he gritted his teeth and glared out the side windows for a moment, taking in the steady stream of cars whisking past him before focusing straight on once more.

It wasn't that they weren't right.

That was the first thing Tony came to realize as he drove, the melodic humming of the car underneath him lulling him into a mindscape of silence and self-reflection that only made his hands tighten and his muscles tense. Everything that they'd said had made sense. All of it. And he knew that. He knew it as they'd said it and he knew it now.

But hearing reality from someone else was as pointless as telling it to himself, so he didn't bother in listening anymore. He knew how dangerous it was to keep messing with Ross, the Secretary of State, someone with the power to change the Accords at a moments notice just to screw with his life.

Still, that didn't change the fact that Tony could barely stand the man, let alone cooperate with him.

Throughout his life, Tony Stark had developed an impressive skill of letting people he didn't like know such a fact without him ever having to say it. Whether it was through snarky comments, underhanded acts of pettiness or some other show of superiority. If he didn't like you, you and everyone around you knew it.

Yet, despite what some would rather believe, Tony didn't just go around disliking people for no reason. Whether it was a valid reason was up for debate, but the point still stood. If Tony Stark didn't like you, then there was an explanation for it.

And his reasons for hating Ross were primo.

He'd met dozens of assholes who'd rubbed him the wrong way, but Ross just seemed to have a funny way of doing it that made the billionaire want to blast that mustache right off of his idiot face. It was as if the secretary wasn't even trying to hide the fact that he enjoyed watching Tony squirm.

Not only that, but Ross had been on Tony's radar before the Accords were even an idea. He'd had tabs on the man ever since he'd learned of his interest in capturing the Hulk. And ever since Tony had become great friends with the alter-ego of said Hulk, Ross quickly turned into a man he'd rather not see or hear from on a daily basis.

But nothing took the cake more than the fact that the Accords and the shitstorm that came with them all circled back to Ross.

Now, Tony knew that it wasn't just the mustached-douchebag that had drummed up those damn papers. No, over a hundred countries had agreed to them, and the billionaire had to admit that he had too. In fact, he still did. And he was sure he could have gotten the other Avengers to agree to it as well.

If it hadn't been for Ross.

Ever since Thor and Captain America had shown up on the ranks alongside the already loose Hulk, Tony could tell that Ross had quickly taken a dislike to..."enhanced individuals", which meant the creation of the Avengers hadn't necessarily been his favorite development. Now, SHIELD and Fury had taken it upon themselves to act as their makeshift government liaison as their team had begun to form and their bonds had begun to knit together, meaning that Ross and his little schemes had never been able to get through to them.

Or course, once SHIELD fell, the floodgates were opened.

Tony had known it was only a matter of time before their actions caught up with them and the consequences were held over their heads, but the fact that it was Ross dangling them had not helped convince the others of the benefits of the Accords. All they'd seen was someone like Ross pushing a new agenda onto them.

And the billionaire just knew that Ross relished in the divide that the Accords had sliced into the Avengers, so much so that he did nothing to mend it. He only added to the fire, digging his hands into the wound and ripping it apart even more until Tony had no choice but to go after the Avengers himself, to follow Ross's orders and try to save his family before they were slaughtered by the very government that was supposed to be on their side. And it wasn't like they could fully fight back. After all, those were good men on those teams. Men who were just following orders.

There were no bad guys in a situation like that. No justification for killing. They would have been cornered. So Tony had bitten the bullet and agreed to catch his teammates himself, to try and give them one last out before Ross had his way with them.

And they all knew how well that turned out.

Tony yanked roughly on the wheel as he turned down another lane, the tires skidding against the slick roadways.

Now, the billionaire in no sense of the matter excused the Rogue Avengers for what they had done. They'd made a choice and now they'd have to live with the consequences of said choice. But...but he knew deep down that the breaking up of the Avengers could have been avoided. It could have been avoided if Rogers had gotten his head out of his ass and decided to do something smart for once. It could have been avoided if those idiots had listened to him at the airport. And it could have been avoided if Ross had butted out and let them deal with one another themselves without the overhanging threat of a kill squad coming in to obliterate half of the team.

A flash of red above his head had the man resting his foot against the brakes as the car came to a stop at the red light. He somehow managed to unhook his hands from the steering wheel as he pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his face as a long tired sigh bubbled past his lips. No...he would never take orders from Ross again.

Cause the last time he did . . . . it cost him his family.

For a moment, all he did was sit there, feeling the coarseness of his calloused fingers rubbing against his face as he felt the oncoming throbs of a blooming headache spreading along the back of his head. With a small breath, the man lifted his head back up, watching the people milling the street pass over the crosswalk in front of his car.

The billionaire was glad that even in his fury of exiting the tower, he'd been aware enough to take his most inconspicuous car. The last thing he needed right now was some paparazzi mob harassing him, especially when there was a high chance of him punching somebody out at the moment.

However, as his tired eyes glazed over the crowd, he couldn't help but catch sight of a figure weaving through the crowd. Normally, Tony doubted he would have picked him out at all, but considering he was the only person walking with no umbrella, it made him pretty noteworthy.

The man couldn't help but scoff as he watched the figure, which he could assume was a teenager from the short stature, mill between people while looking very much like a drowned rat, complete with two armfuls full of groceries.

"What an idiot..." He muttered to himself with a smirk and a roll of his eyes, only to pause as he took in a better look of the figure, which...now that he was really looking at him...was incredibly skinny...with pale white skin and a mop of brown hair...

The billionaire leaned forward as he squinted his eyes and tried to take in as much of the "stranger" as possible. "That can't be..." He murmured to himself, the words dying as the figure twisted around and exposed his face towards Tony's car. A face with unnaturally-bright brown eyes.

The man squinted his eyes shut and let out a very long sigh. "Shit, that's my idiot." He groaned to himself as he watched Peter finish crossing the street and disappear around one of the building corners.

Watching as the last of the pedestrians finished crossing the street, Tony pressed his foot on the gas and rounded the same corner, quickly catching sight of the boy as he walked, sticking as close to the edges of the buildings as possible, as if he were trying to cover himself with the small concrete outcroppings. Though considering how he looked like the victim of a drowning attempt, it was safe to say he wasn't succeeding.

The teen hoisted two grocery bags in his arms, which seemed to be filled to the brim if the bulging of the paper bags was any indication. For a moment, Tony just sat their, the car pulled off to the side of the road as he watched and wondered what the best course of action was. After all, it was Saturday, meaning Tony was the last person Peter would be expecting to see, let alone the last person to offer him a ride home. That made his chances of getting shot down much higher, knowing the teen would probably give some lame excuse and say he didn't wanna inconvenience him.

Besides, if the kid said he could handle himself, then who was Tony to disagree? Besides, with the mood he was in right now, the billionaire doubted it was a good idea to bring Peter into the mix with the threat of saying something insensitive to the teen. The last thing he wanted was to take a step back in the progress they were making.

A loud roll of thunder clapped overhead, Peter jumping slightly as he hugged his body against the building wall for a moment, his form tense and uptight.

Tony watched for another moment before making up his mind. It was best to just leave the kid be. It wouldn't do either of them any favors to jeopardize the slow progress they were making. And throwing their little routine off balance might do just that. It was only logical.

That was that.

Leave the kid be.

Drive off.

. . . .

. . . .

His tires screeched as he sped up and quickly caught up to the teen, his passenger window rolling down even faster.

God dammit...

Peter quickly spun around at the loud noise, dripping face scrunching in slight confusion as he watched the car pull up. However, his eyes quickly widened as he caught sight of who was driving.

"Amazing who you run into on the streets these days, huh?"

"M-Mr. Stark?"

"Yeah. Hi. So are you enjoying your afternoon stroll? You know, I hear they can be incredibly relaxing, especially when you're not encumbered by useless things like...umbrellas...and working immune systems."

"Mr. Stark?"

Yeah, two for two, kid. Anyway, correct me if I'm wrong but I'm almost 75% certain that walking around in the pouring rain when it's fifty degrees out perhaps isn't the best idea you've come up with."

The teen couldn't do more than stutter for a moment as he tried to process whether or not the person in front of him really was Tony Stark?

"We gonna make it three for three? Here, I'll save you the trouble. Yes, it is me, Tony Stark."

He certainly sounded like Mr. Stark.

"I...w-what...what are you...doing here?" The teen was finally able to choke out, now unconsciously trying to hide the shivers traveling up and down his body. The billionaire cocked a brow as he simply looked the teen up and down.

Apparently it was enough for Peter to get the message of 'I could ask you the same thing' as he let out a nervous chuckle and shifted his feet, stealing a small glance at the covered tarp-overhang he was inching towards. "Ah, just...p-picking up some g-groceries." He chuckled uneasily.

Tony noticed the slight stutter, but he was willing to bet it was more from the cold than anything else. "Uh-huh. And...you decided that the middle of a hurricane is the perfect time for you to get all excited about the Buy One Get One 25% off Cheetos or something?"

Peter gently tilted his head side to side in thought, something Tony was quickly picking up as another one of the boy's quirks.

"Actually, a storm like this wouldn't really be considered a hurricane considering the top wind speeds haven't topped the minimum for just a Category One storm and it's actually not all that uncommon for people to be out and about in weather like this cause it usually means the lines at the more commonly traversed places like malls and stores aren't as crowded as they usually are so people aren't as bothered by the huge swarms of people and can just slip in and out relatively faster than they usually can on a day with more calmer weather patterns and-"

He stopped as a small crumpled-up gum wrapper was thrown at his nose, harmlessly bouncing off before falling to his feet. However, it did the job of effectively shutting him up.

He stared at it for a moment before turning back up to look at Mr. Stark, who was shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose once more. "Kid, you're killing me here. All I'm asking is why you're out here at this particular time of night in this particular type of weather. Isn't there a better time to be doing grocery shopping? And don't give me the statistics. Cause I know for a fact that anyone crazy enough to be out here willingly would at least have a small semblance of sense to bring an umbrella."

Peter quickly seemed to tense for a moment before falling limp once more, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. "I d-didn't know it was gonna rain. Besides, today's Grocery Day. Meaning I need to get groceries today. Not tomorrow. Not the day after that. Today. Dad's orders." He added with a small smile and a shrug.

Judging from the look Tony gave him, it didn't have the effect he'd hoped for. He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the puddle pooling at his feet as he finally found a slight reprieve from the pouring rain as he stepped underneath the overhang he'd been eyeing before. However, without the continuous stream of rain pouring down onto him, he was finally able to feel just how soaked he truly was.

"Look, I wouldn't be out here if I didn't have to be, alright?" He muttered, glaring down at the ground as he felt his cheeks begin to grow warm underneath the scrutinizing stare of the billionaire before him. His fingers curled slightly behind his back as he prayed the man would just accept his answer and drive off.

Tony remained silent for a moment before cocking a brow. "Mm-hmm. And just where is your father, exactly?"

Peter shrugged. "Said something about business. I don't know. I'm not supposed to - I didn't ask." He faltered slightly before correcting himself, hoping Mr. Stark hadn't picked up on his slip.

If the billionaire caught his trip up, he didn't let it on as he glanced away and pressed his tongue to the side of his mouth. "So, nobody's expecting you home right now?"

The kid shook his head. "Nobody'd be there to notice." He explained. "Which I g-guess is a blessing. I can only imagine what the Cons would say if they saw me like this." He muttered with a roll of his eyes as he gestured to his soaking form, already imaging their laughs echoing in his head.

The man stared at him for a moment longer, taking in his waterlogged figure and shivering frame as droplets of water splashed down onto his papery-white nose, which only made his tawny eyes stand out even more. Finally, after a second of hesitation, the billionaire let out a long, exasperated sigh before leaning over towards the passenger side and throwing open the door.

"Get in."

Peter faltered slightly at that, cocking his head as strands of hair pressed against his forehead. "W-what?"

"We're closer to the tower than we are to your house and - why is that? Aren't there a ton of grocery stores near your house?" The man asked with a tone of confusion.

The teen shrugged his shoulders. "The stores near my house d-don't have the kind of beer the C-Cons like and-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! How are you getting your hands on alcohol when you literally look like a ten-year-old?" The billionaire gaped, ignoring the indignant look Peter threw his way.

Choosing to ignore the remark, Peter huffed slightly. "I k-know the store owner out here. He knows how to keep a secret."

Tony couldn't help but scoff in disbelief as he shook his head and ran a hand down his face. Peter rubbed his arm slightly, the grocery bags jostling as he did so, unsure of if he'd made the man angry or not.

"Okay, I...whatever, just get in the frikkin car."

The teen shook his head, face growing distressed. "You r-really don't have to do that, Mr. Stark. I'm fine w-walking home."

"It's a thirty-minute walk." The man deadpanned.

"Not . . . .if I ignore the crosswalks and all safety precautions?"

They exchanged silent looks for a moment before Tony shook his head. "Nuh-uh, get in."

"Thank you, really. B-but I swear I'll be fine." Peter started, only to sigh as Tony cut him off once more.

"If by fine you mean great at catching pneumonia, then yeah. You're super. In. Now."

"R-really, it's alright."

"It's really not."

"I don't w-wanna...ruin the seats in your car."

"I literally have five of the exact same car, all in different colors."

"I...geez, you have way too much money."

"Eh."

The exchange swapped back and forth a few more times before Tony slammed his hand down on the steering wheel. "Damn it, kid! Just...get in the frikkin car! You're holding up traffic!"

Peter cocked a brow and craned his neck to look behind the car, taking note of the empty street before glancing back at the man. "You know what I mean. Just get in the car before I drag you in here myself."

"I think that technically counts as kidnapping, Mr. Stark."

"Peter, you're soaked to the bone."

The teen, in a rare feat of frustration, shook the bags in his hands and lightly stomped the ground before him with his foot. "Mr. Stark, I appreciate the offer. Really I do. But I'm perfectly capable of walking home by myself. Besides I-"

Before he could finish his statement, a loud ripping sound was heard as the tarp-covered overhang above his head finally gave way underneath the pressure of the water it was holding, releasing a torrent of rushing water flooding overtop Peter's head like a waterfall holding gallons of water.

Tony said nothing as he watched the scene unfold, merely rested his cheek against a propped up fist and enjoyed with a relaxed smile on his face.

As the water finally emptied out, Peter stood still in his place, fists still tightly gripping the grocery bags as if his life depended on it as his face held a look of annoyance and resignation. "- couldn't possibly get any wetter." He finally finished with a strained voice.

Without another word, the teen trudged over to the open car door, socks squeaking at the water filling his shoes as he sat down in the plush leather seats, dropped the grocery bags onto the floor and slammed the car door shut, not even bothering in feeling nervous as his body was filled with nothing but annoyance.

Tony couldn't wipe the smirk off of his face as he reached behind him and grabbed a spare towel he kept in the back for emergencies, throwing it over towards the teen, who caught it without even looking up. "Thanks." He murmured softly as he began to scrub his face, only to pause as Tony reached into the back seats once more and pulled out a small pink cocktail umbrella, opening it up with his thumb and forefinger before handing it over to Peter.

"Never wanna be caught unprepared."

"What? For rain or surprise cocktails?"

"Either."

"Why do you even have this?"

"You have no idea the things this car has seen, kid. Trust me, you don't wanna know."

"Noted."

With that, the car began to speed off towards the tower, now with two passengers in tow.

The rain had lightened slightly to the point where you could actually see the road in front of you. The thick drops of water continuously streamed overtop the windows and windshield as the car sped down the road, the soft hum of the engine mingling with the gentle lull of the heater, which helped make the car warm and toasty inside.

Peter tapped his fingers against his knee as he stared out the window, chin propped up on his fist as he lazily watched the cars and pedestrians passing by on the street. He could feel the warmth of the heater blowing hot air around him, slowly drying his soaked clothes and dripping hair until they were left damp and slightly uncomfortable as they stuck to his skin, but much dryer than when he'd first entered the car, which he was grateful for.

However, the uncomfortableness of his clothes mirrored the uncomfortableness he was beginning to feel inside.

He'd resisted the urge to steal glances at Mr. Stark throughout the ride, keeping his eyes locked onto the raindrops sliding down his window, but he could almost feel the man looking at him from time to time, scanning him, observing him. It made his skin prick up and his hands curl slightly into the hem of his shirt.

He hadn't been expecting to run into the man today. Usually, he was able to plan out a little more before they met, their scheduled meetings allowing him to do just this. Running scenarios in his head usually helped him ensure that he wouldn't slip up whenever he talked to the billionaire, a tick he revealed whenever he was frazzled, say...like walking home alone in the pouring rain.

At least when he was prepared, he was...ready to meet the man. Assured slightly of their interaction and the confidence that he woudn't slip up and reveal something he wasn't supposed to.

At least when he was prepared, he knew not to let his guard down.

This, however, was an entirely different story. There had been no planning. No internal debates and monologues. This had been sudden. Unexpected. Unprepared. He had no plan. No backup plan. No backup to the backup plan. He had nothing. He was just a kid sitting in the car of a man who threatened everything he'd been hiding and working to perfect for almost ten years now.

However, as he sat there and absentmindedly counted the raindrops as they appeared on his window, he couldn't help but think that maybe his nervousness came from something else. That maybe it wasn't just the threat of spilling something he wasn't supposed to that had him all jittery. That maybe...it was the threat of jeopardizing their progress.

Peter wasn't an idiot. He knew that Mr. Stark was trying to get him to open up, trying to get him to ease and warm up to him. Why? He had no idea. He was still trying to figure out why the billionaire even wanted him around, let along wanted him to relax around him. But, the teen would be lying if he said it wasn't working.

He could see it in the way he walked, lifting his head more instead of tucking his chin near his chest. He could see it in the way he spoke, not tripping over his words as much around the billionaire as with other people. He could see it in the way he acted, smiling and laughing without restraint, checking and correcting himself on a much smaller scale compared to when he was home.

He was...changing. And that was dangerous.

And he knew this. He knew it was dangerous just as he knew it was dangerous to stay so close to May. And yet, with every joke he laughed at, every invention they brainstormed together, every...meeting they had, Peter found himself craving their interactions just a little bit more each and every time.

So maybe that was why he was so nervous about interacting with the man without any sort of plan or preparation. Because the more he left it up to change, the higher the risk of saying something stupid or doing something dumb that made Mr. Stark realize just how useless it was keeping him around.

Without a plan, he ran a risk of jeopardizing their progress.

Not able to restrain himself any longer, the teen stole a small peek at the man sitting across from him. Tony hadn't said anything since he'd entered the car, simply keeping one lazy hand on the wheel as he rested the other one on the side of his door, resting a cheek against his fist in a similar fashion to the teen.

Peter stared at him for a moment longer before lowering his gaze to stare down into his lap.

Whatever you do, Parker. DON'T blow this... cause it's the only thing going right in your life right now.

Tony glanced over at the boy right as he turned away and stared down at his lap. The billionaire noticed the tenseness of his hands and the stiffness in his shoulders and tried to suppress a sigh. He hadn't even said anything yet and the kid was already nervous.

Having decided it would be best to keep the car ride quiet to avoid any awkward conversations they couldn't escape from seeing as how they were both in a moving vehicle and he really didn't feel like jumping out of a window anytime soon, Tony silently listened to the raindrops splatter onto the roof of his car, tiny drumbeats rhythmically dancing around the metal.

Resisting the urge to glance back at the kid next to him, he decided to try and take his mind off of him as well.

Pepper and Rhodey probably wouldn't be expecting him back so soon after he'd stormed off, so they'd probably have the penthouse to themselves. He supposed this little meeting had its silver linings considering Pepper and Rhodes would refrain from lecturing him anymore tonight while Peter was around.

The raindrops began to fall harder as Tony started to devise up an impromptu plan.

The kid was still pretty...drippy so he'd grab him some dry clothes (considering how small the teen was, they probably wouldn't fit him well but dry was dry) and maybe force him to eat something before getting Happy to drive him back home.

Short and sweet. Right to the point. After all, that was all he really needed to do. Dry him up, get him food, then send him on his way. Hopefully, he'd be able to fulfill that plan better than his previous failed plan twenty minutes ago, which had resulted in a soaking teen ruining the seats in his car.

The rest of the ride was completed in silence, neither party wanting to stir up the already tense air between them. Instead, they simply listened to the soundtrack that was the rainstorm currently showering down around them. The clouds overhead had begun to fade into the background of the already deepening sky now that the sun had officially gone down and nighttime was stretching over the skies. Black melded with black and the atmosphere above resembled a pool of spilled tar with swirls of dark grey that slashed and twisted between each other in intricate dances.

The rain hissed in the air as the car drove past, water splashing up along the sidewalks, the storefronts, the windows. Thick black drops clinging to everything like spilled ink dripping from a pen made the city around them dark and bleak with rare sheens of light from the water-slicked metal surfaces reflecting the lights of Town Square behind them.

The wavering atmosphere and dark undertones seemed to fill their senses to a degree so high that Tony barely even realized when they were approaching the tower, nearly missing his turn.

Nevertheless, the car quickly pulled into the tower's pathway, the restricted gates automatically opening from the sensors on his car as he quickly sped past, the telltale electric hum behind him notifying him that the blocker had once again been activated as they'd passed. With that, they pulled around towards the back side of the tower, dipping down onto the path towards the parking garage.

As they approached a covered awning that led to the garage, the pouring rain suddenly ceased as they reached cover, the thick silence quickly muffling their ears in a stark contrast to the pounding hissing from before.

Quickly pulling into his usual parking spot, Tony quickly shut off the engine, the car falling silent once more. Peter, who seemed to have been zoning out for most of the ride, jumped as Tony opened the door and stepped out of the car, the teen quickly fumbling with the handle as he did the same.

Now that he was moving again, the teen was annoyingly aware of just how damp and uncomfortable his clothes still were, shivering slightly at the cool atmosphere of the underground garage. Eyes falling on the billionaire as he walked past, Peter fell into line behind him.

Making their way over towards the elevator near the back of the garage, Tony moved to the side and allowed the younger charge into the elevator before stepping in himself, the doors closing behind them.

"Take us up to the penthouse, Fri." Tony called, the elevator humming to life without a sound, the AI quickly doing as she was told with no hesitation.

Peter said nothing as he shuffled slightly from one foot to the other, casually trying to wrap his arms around himself as to not let Mr. Stark notice while also trying to gain a little bit of warmth back into the air-conditioned space.

Despite his best efforts to conceal it, Tony obviously took notice of the teen's shivering, for it wasn't even a second latter before he called out once more. "And cut the air conditioning while you're at it, Fri."

"Yes, boss."

Peter cast the man a meek glance but quickly looked back down towards the floor, deciding it best to just keep his mouth shut. It was safer that way, he told himself as he simply stared at his shoes, the toes scuffing against the metal floor.

If Tony caught on to the teen's nervousness, he said nothing about it, which Peter was grateful for.

After another minute or so, the elevator slowed to a stop before the doors opened onto a floor that Peter now recognized as the floor Tony had brought him to on Wednesday, everything looking exactly the same.

Tony wasted no time in stepping out of the elevator, Peter quickly following after him. He jolted to a stop, however, when the man whirled around to face him. "Hold up here for a sec, kid. I'll be right back." He murmured, the teen staring at him for a second before nodding his head, watching as the man turned on his heel and disappeared down the hallway next to the kitchen, leaving Peter along in the grand room.

For a moment, the teen simply stood there, unsure as to whether or not he was allowed to walk around the penthouse floor. Considering he'd already bee up here before, he could very well assume he was. Then again, Mr. Stark had been present then, so maybe the man didn't want him snooping without him to supervise where he did and didn't stick his nose.

Nevertheless, Peter couldn't help but let his curiosity get the best of him as his eyes caught sight of the large glass walls exposing the city below them. His shoes squelched against the cold floor below as he walked over, peering out of the transparent walls and down towards the street below.

The rain hadn't let up on their drive. If anything, it was coming down harder than before. The sky above looked like the world below was on fire and all of the ash and smoke had caught in the atmosphere, shrouding the land in complete darkness, save for a few swirled of dark grey clouds and deep blue trails. The rain splattered hard against the glass, thick drops sliding down, mingling together before falling back down towards the Earth in large sheets of water.

Peter's bright hazel eyes drifted upwards as he caught sight of a bright flash of light that split the sky, crackling to life as it illuminated the clouds and sparked through the air like sparklers shining in the night before it instantly disappeared as quickly as it'd come.

The teen tore his gaze away after a second, turning to take in the penthouse once more, only to jump and let out a small yelp as a clap of thunder shook the floor and tore at his eardrums, the entire tower seeming to quake at the full force of the explosion-like cacophony.

Peter stumbled backwards and gripped the nearby couch, fingers curling tightly into the material as his wide eyes stared out towards the window, watching the raindrops continue to pound against the glass like wild animals clawing at their cages, desperate the reach the inhabitants on the other side. He panted slightly, breathy gasps dribbling from his lips as he tried to get his frantic heartbeat under control.

Another roll of thunder cracked through the atmosphere, Peter flinching violently at the sound.

It's...it's just thunder. It's just thunder.

He repeated the mantra to himself as he rubbed circles into the back of his hand, determined to calm himself from his ridiculous panic. Still, it was hard not to envision the telltale crack of gunshots in his mind as another bang rattled around the tower. Nevertheless, he couldn't let Mr. Stark see how childish he was being. So the teen quickly sucked in a breath, shut his eyes tightly as another roll of thunder sounded, and forced himself to release his grip on the couch.

You're fine. Everything's okay.

"Shh, shh, shh, baby. It's okay. Everything's going to be okay."

Peter couldn't help but let out a small sigh at that as he finally opened his eyes once more, folding his arms protectively over his chest as he seemed to deflate, sliding down to sit on the ground with his back leaning against the couch.

He'd been afraid of thunder every since he was four-years-old.

Suddenly feeling more more exhausted than he had been before, Peter shut his eyes and rested his head on his knees, muscles coiling with each crack of thunder that rolled past, though he continued to keep his breathing under control.

Tony watched from the corner of the room, his shoulder pressing into the side of the wall as he stood, half-concealed in the hallway. He stared at the boy, who tensed and curled in tighter with each roll of thunder, looking absolutely miserable, his soaked appearance not helping in the slightest.

The billionaire couldn't help but sigh at the sight, running a hand down his face as he suddenly felt just as tired as Peter looked to be. For about the hundredth time since he'd decided to make the kid his intern, Tony once again wondered what he'd gotten himself into as he rounded the corner and approached the teen.

He fully expected Peter to bolt to his feet and act like he'd never even moved from his original spot in the first place. However, he was genuinely surprised when the teen did nothing but wearily lift his head, eyes heavy and dull as he stared up at the billionaire.

For a moment, the two did nothing. They simply stared at one another, drinking in the looks on each other's faces. Their eyes, similar in color, held so many differences. One's weak and faded, pain and anguish flowing through the hazel irises while the other held emptiness, loneliness, a missing elements of sorts. Something that had once been there, but was now gone.

Unable to bear the reflections they saw in each other, they turned away, Tony extending out a sweater towards the boy. Peter hesitated for a moment before taking the article of clothing, a soft murmur of gratitude falling from his lips as Tony directed him towards the nearest bathroom so he could change.

The boy's retreating footsteps echoed softly throughout the room, painfully reminding Tony of the emptiness that was once a full and bustling tower. Glancing over at the rain sliding down his windows, the man trudged over to the kitchen and plopped down in one of the chairs, resting an elbow on the counter as he placed his head into the palm of one of his hands.

The dreary weather outside perfectly matched the storm brewing inside of him. Today had been nothing but one shitty thing after another. Getting hounded by Ross, lectured by Pepper and Rhodey, and now Peter, as if today hadn't been enough of a roller coaster.

As he thought back to it, Tony couldn't help but drift back over Ross, his argument with the others echoing in the back of his mind like the soft footsteps around the tower.

It wasn't over. Not by a long shot. Ross was used to getting what he wanted. So the longer Tony refused him, the angrier and more desperate he'd become. But still, was it worth giving into Ross's demands? Doing his dirty work? Getting him involved with the people around him?

He froze at that last thought. There weren't many people around him at all nowadays. Mainly just Pepper and Rhodey. Happy usually got dragged into whatever they'd do and Vision...well, Tony didn't know if the android was even in the states. He assumed not. He didn't really ask too many questions. The android never really gave too many answers.

But still, if today's recent encounters had taught him anything, it was that his list of people had just expanded, cause now he had Peter. Now, he knew that Pepper could hold her own against even the scariest bureaucrats, and Rhodey was a pro at handling the politics and lawmakers nowadays. But Peter? Peter was just a kid. A kid who was involved with him now.

That already put the teen at a disadvantage.

Still, it made Tony realize that with Ross came the threat of having the Secretary closer. Having him snoop. Having his watchful eye on him and those around him, including Peter.

The man dwelled on the thought for a moment longer before quickly resolving himself to a decision.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't help Ross. Not because it'd mean stepping off of his pedestal and falling under the orders of another. Not because it threatened the safety of his ex-teammates. Not even because he absolutely despised the man with every fiber in his being.

But because he couldn't put Peter in danger like that. He refused to. Ross would have to fight him tooth and nail just to get a glimpse of the kid. And even then, Tony would never budge. Cause Ross had already messed with him, messed with his friends, his family.

But he wasn't getting Peter. He refused to give him the satisfaction.

Before Tony could question why he was fighting so hard for a kid he'd only known for a short time, Peter returned.

A large AC-DC logo was plastered onto the front of the large black sweater, the dark color only making the usual paleness of the teen stand out even more, save for the light flush of pink around his nose and cheeks. However, the sweater was obviously made for someone much bigger than him, for it drooped past his waist and swallowed his hands, the sleeves extending out past his fingertips, the fabric flopping around with each move of his arms.

Tony couldn't help but let out a snicker at the sight of the boy, who now looked to be even younger than usual, if such a thing were even possible. "Geez, kid. You look like you should be selling cookies for Cub Scouts or something."

Peter couldn't help but scrunch his nose at that, the look losing much of its intimidation as he flopped the sleeves of the sweater around. "You're the one that gave me the sweater that looks like it was made for the Hulk."

"You're warm, aren't you?"

"Yeah, a warm Cub Scout."

Tony scoffed in amusement before beckoning the teen over, Peter slowly making his way over as the billionaire hopped off of the stool and Peter replaced him. The man moved to enter the kitchen before turning back towards the kid. "Now, I'm not much of a betting man, mainly cause I've been banned from nearly all the casinos in Vegas, but I think I'm safe to assume that you haven't eaten anything recently, hmm?

Peter opened his mouth, only to pause as his stomach gave a loud gurgle. Tony cocked a brow while Peter gave a nervous chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck. "I...I was gonna eat s-something when I got home." (He knows you're lying.)

"Right. Well, what'll it be, kid?" The man asked, ignoring the fact that feeding this kid now seemed to be a regular thing. Whatever. He had food to spare. He had a lot to spare.

Peter thought about it for a moment, seeming to only hesitate slightly before answering with a tilt of his head, brown curls draping to the side. "Do you have any cereal?"

Tony furrowed his brows at that and leaned towards the kid as he rested his elbow on the counter. "Cereal? Really? You...do know I'm a billionaire right? Not even, like, gourmet cereal?"

Peter let out a small laugh before shaking his head. Tony blew out a sigh and shrugged his shoulders. "Whatever you say, kid," he mused before heading over to the clouded doors near the back of the kitchen. Knocking his fist against the glass, the clouded effect instantly dissipated, leaving clear glass that allowed him to see inside of the large space.

Seeming to find what he was looking for, Tony opened the door and grabbed a few boxes from the upper shelves of the pantry, shutting the door with the back of his foot as he dropped the boxes in front of the sitting teen. Grabbing a few bowls and a couple of spoons, he returned and watched as Peter inspected the boxes for a moment before grabbing the Coco Puffs.

Pouring himself a bowl, Peter couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. Tony looked up and threw him a look. "What?"

The teen shook his head. "Nothing. It's just..." He trailed off for a moment unsure as to whether or not he should continue before shrugging. "...I wouldn't have expected someone like you to have Coco Puffs and Fruity Pebbles in their pantry."

Tony couldn't help but huff in amusement at that before roughly jerking the box of Fruity Pebbles into his hand. "What? Just cause I'm a billionaire means I can't like Fruity Pebbles. Their magically delicious, Peter!"

"That's Lucky Charms."

"Same difference!"

The teen laughed as he poured some milk into his bowl, sliding it over towards the man before stirring his spoon around in the liquid. Tony did the same before glancing back up towards the boy. "So." He plopped the milk carton back down onto the counter, Peter lifting his head to look at him. "What's with you and breakfast?"

The crack of thunder that rolled outside timed up perfectly with the teen as he tilted his head and furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"

The billionaire shrugged as he stirred his cereal. "Well I'm just saying. For the last couple times you've been over here, it's been like a breakfast bar in a shitty hotel." He shrugged. "We even had a traumatic kitchen nightmare experience where breakfast was my doom and downfall." He pointed his spoon threateningly at the kid. "Thanks, by the way, for making me hate anything to do with eggs now."

Peter chuckled at that. He thought about the man's words for a moment, taking that time to place a spoonful of cereal into his mouth before swallowing. He tapped the spoon against the side of the bowl, a soft tinking sound reaching their ears before the boy finally responded.

"Back when I was little, w-we didn't really have a lot of money. P-Parkstem Labs hadn't really expanded into anything big so...b-basically we just kinda scrounged by." He explained, the billionaire across from him listening intently. "And considering we were kinda living from paycheck to paycheck, our pantry wasn't always...fully stocked."

He shrugged his shoulders, swirling the spoon in the cereal once more as another rumble of thunder echoed outside. "M-my mom would have to figure out how to make the best out of what we had, which was usually a few leftover eggs, some miscellaneous meats and tons and tons of beat-up discount cereal boxes."

"I-I was pretty young at the time so I didn't really notice that we'd constantly be having...like, breakfast for dinner or egg sandwiches or cereal buffets as my m-mom would call them." He chuckled. " She'd basically just line up all the boxes we had and pour me a little bit from each one, which now that I'm thinking about it...k-kinda seems a little gross."

"A little?" Tony echoed with skepticism, smirking as Peter let out a humored huff.

The billionaire couldn't help but grow just a little happier as he saw Peter's face crack into a grin as the teen laughed to himself. "You know, actually...n-now that I'm thinking about it...she'd do a lot of stuff like that. She'd dress t-the vacuum cleaner up like a monster and let me chase it around the house, she'd make little origami creatures and string them all around the house, she'd even make little forts with me in the k-kitchen using the dining room table." He chuckled.

Tony couldn't help but smile himself at the happiness spreading on the boy's face.

Peter continued to stare down at the swirling bowl of milk in front of him before letting out a small sigh and shrugging his shoulders. "It seems stupid now, I guess. I mean, breakfast had always been my favorite meal of the day and I love those little origami things and building forts is still the coolest thing so I guess it's c-cause of stuff like that, but...I don't know. Just d-doesn't seem like the type of thing you'd remember." He murmured. "Just seems...so small, like...like such a little thing."

He lowered his gaze. "But...I guess it's t-the little things I remember the most, you know?"

Tony stared at him for a moment, unsure as to how to respond. The boy didn't seem to want to say anything more, for he grabbed his spoon and lifted more cereal to his mouth, effectively shutting himself up.

The billionaire said nothing in return, too lost in his own thoughts to really put anything into words. For a moment, he simply stared down at the swirling flakes of cereal swimming in the bowl of milk on the counter. The soft clinking of metal spoons reached their ears, the only sound in the empty tower save for the pounding of rain on the windows and the occasional crack of thunder from outside that left low rumbles shivering throughout the kitchen.

"They were for the team."

Peter startled in his seat at the sudden words, lifting his head to stare at the billionaire. "What?"

Tony seemed to hesitate for a moment before giving a shrug of his shoulders, leaning back in his chair. "All those boxes of cereal...the only reason I have them is cause the other Avengers used to eat like, twenty boxes a week." He murmured with a shrug. "Figured I had to be stocked at all times. But nowadays, there aren't many people to finish them off." He twirled his spoon around. "So they just kinda sit there collecting dust."

Peter stared at the man for a moment. To anyone else, Tony would have seemed as indifferent as always, leaning back, posture relaxed, eyes watching the spoon and the trials it left in the milk. However, Peter noticed the small details. The slight tenseness in the man's shoulders. The way his fingers twitched ever so slightly. The tapping of his foot against the floor.

It was obvious the man was uncomfortable in sharing what he'd just shared.

So why had he? It wasn't like Peter had pressed him on it or anything. He'd shared it by his own volition, as if he'd made himself to it out of some sort of obligation. Despite the confusion the teen obviously felt on the subject, he couldn't help but be a bit curious. After all, it wasn't everyday that Mr. Stark brought up the Avengers, meaning such a topic was now open for discussion, if only for a moment.

"W-which Avenger would eat what?" His small voice chimed in.

Tony glanced up at him, drinking in his question. Peter was right in thinking that opening such a topic had been uncomfortable for the billionaire. In fact, it was about his least favorite subject nowadays right alongside the Accords and Ross. And yet, hearing the boy open up about his mother, a topic Tony was sure could he a definite sore spot for the boy in certain circumstances, Tony couldn't help but feel...obligated to share something as well. After all, if the boy could trust him enough to share something painful, then maybe Tony could as well.

Even if it was just cereal preferences.

With that thought in mind, the man smirked. "Well, Natasha, or Black Widow as more people know her by, would usually just stick to some black coffee. But there were days where I'd catch her with some Coco Puffs." He chuckled, Peter smiling across the counter. "Clint, or Hawkeye would usually fight over the Fruity Pebbles with Sam. Wanda, whenever she wasn't attempting to make biscuits that weren't burnt black would typically go for some Honey Nut Cheerios, and Thor, on the rare occasions he was here, loved eating Lucky Charms." The billionaire rolled his eyes. "He said something about them bringing him fortune throughout the day or some shit like that."

Peter couldn't help but laugh as the billionaire chuckled alongside him.

The teen quieted for a moment before glancing back up. "And Captain America?"

Tony paused at that, falling silent for a moment as his face fell neutral. Peter winced inwardly for a moment, fearing he might have stepped to far, only to let out a breath as Tony shrugged his shoulders. "Basically what you'd expect. An all-round stereotypical American breakfast: eggs, bacon, white toast, orange juice, and like thirty bowls of Frosted Flakes." He scoffed, Peter letting out a chuckle.

The billionaire let out a sigh of annoyance as he waved a hand in the air. "Yeah, well. Now I got like a hundred boxes of cereal with nobody to eat them." He muttered with a scoff that tried to convey more frustration than sadness.

Key word: tried

Peter was quick to pick up on this, however, as he paused for a moment before letting a smile slip onto his face. "Well, I don't know , Mr. Stark. I-I have a pretty big appetite, so I should be able to help you out there."

Tony stared at him for a moment before letting a small smile of his own pass over his face. "I'll hold you to that."

The two stared at each other for a second longer, each understanding the underlying messages passing between their words. Tony, not one for emotional moments, was quick in pulling away and clearing his throat. "Yeah, well, just steer clear of the Cinnamon Toast Crunch, alright? Pepper and Rhodey are still pissed about the whole 'Spider-Man not even being old enough to drive' thing. I'd hate to see what they'd do to me if I let you eat all their cereal."

"...what?"

Tony lifted his head at the small voice. "Huh?"

Peter stared back at the man, fingers twitching as his muscles coiled, eyes filling with dread and fear. "W-what did you say?" The boy whispered out, voice shaky and terse.

Tony, who was now reading the back of the Fruity Pebbles box let out a humored huff. "Alright, fine. I'll just buy some more Cinnamon Toast Crunch if you're so set on it. But honestly, I don't know what you guys see in that tasteless garb-"

"N-no, no. W...what was t-that you said a-about P-Pepper...and Rhodey...a-and..." Tony finally looked up as he caught wind of the boy's stuttering response, such a thing never a good sign. Neither was the fact that the boy's face held a look of resigned terror.

"T-they...they know? They know I'm Spider-Man?" (I told you.)

The man stared back at Peter for a moment, masking the unsettled feelings passing over him at the looks on the teen's face by shrugging his shoulder and hoping his calm demeanor would somehow reflect off of the boy. "Just the stuff I told them and-"

He didn't get to finish as Peter let out an audible choke of air. "G-god, you-" He stuttered, hands curling into fists as he stared with wide, fear-filled eyes. He licked his lips, a small breathy chuckle falling from his lips. Though from the pained look on his face, it was obvious the boy wasn't amused at all. "You...I-I...I thought you...y-you said you w-wouldn't..." None of the sentences ever made it to completion however as the teen found himself short of breath all of a sudden.

"Y-you told them." It wasn't a question. (You did this to yourself.)

Tony quickly picked up on where the situation was headed, standing up from his seat. "Wait a minute now-"

However, as soon as the man made to move closer, Peter was stumbling out of his seat as well, the metal stool clattering to the floor with a loud clang. Tony winced at the sound as Peter shakily backed up, the rumbling thunder outside doing little to calm his frayed nerves as he pointed a shaky finger towards the man. "I thought you...and t-the...oh, god."

He was lying. The man was lying. He had to be lying. There was no way he'd done it. None. He couldn't believe it. He wouldn't believe it.

"You seriously think someone like Tony is going to back you up when it comes to Ross ad his personal agendas or whatever?"

Sam's words rang painfully in the back of his head as he tried and failed to convince himself that he was overreacting. That the man hadn't just jeopardized his one sense of calm and security, that he hadn't just broken the small semblance of trust the teen was starting to feel.

The doubt that had been plaguing his mind ever since his run-in with the Falcon slowly began to bubble to the surface. The fears that had been plaguing him ever since he'd wondered about what the Accords would mean for him, what they would entail with his identity, the danger that would come from exposing it. The more people that knew who he was, the greater threat it was to him.

He'd taken solace in the fact that Mr. Stark had been around the only true person who knew, the only person he'd hoped to trust with such a secret.

But, of course, he'd been wrong. So. Fucking. Wrong. (You've just jeapordized everything. They'll find out. They always find out eventually.)

Kid just listen to me for a second here." Tony tried to say, but he wasn't too sure Peter had even heard him as the teen let out another laugh of disbelief, face pale and cheeks red as his body jerked with another crash of lightning igniting from outside, illuminating the darkening tower in piercing white light for a split second before falling dim once more.

"I...I-I thought you...How could you?!" Peter exclaimed, shaky voice slowly building up as the teen's fearful expression began to morph into one of anger and his shaking hands slowly curled into fists. This wasn't happening. He refused to believe that his once source of levity was beginning to crumble around him. His past suspicious were now coming to light. (Rule 1, Rule 1, Rule 1)

And yet...something strange began to happen. Instead of the usual feelings of sadness and sorrow that usually followed such disappointments, Peter was shocked at the feelings of heat and anger that began to pool in his chest.

"You think he's not gonna rat you out, expose you to that government douchebag?"

He was tired of it. Tired of getting let down all the time. Tired of having the things he cared about messed up and ruined by people he wished he could trust. He was sick and tired of things always going wrong.

But this time...this time he wasn't staying quiet. This time...he was upset, and everyone was going to know it. For the first time, the ones to blame would know exactly what he was thinking, what he was feeling. And he didn't care what it cost.

What the hell did he have to lose anyway?

"Peter-" Tony called, reaching out to rest a hand on the boy's shoulder. (Get away. Get away.)

Please! You can't be that naive!"

"NO!" Peter roared, wrenching his arm back as his eyes blazed and his hands curled into fists. Tony reared back at the sudden shout, only to falter as the teen glared daggers at him. "I knew it! I knew it! I knew I couldn't trust you!" The teen snarled, fists shaking at his sides as he screamed. "I knew you'd do this! I knew you'd lie to me! That you had been lying to me!"

Tony stared at the teen with wide eyes, mouth agape at the screams being thrown at him. He'd only ever seen the teen shout in such a manner once, and even then, it had been more out of desperation than true anger. But this time...this time it wasn't just anger. It was pain. Fury.

The teen pressed his palms into his eyes. "God, I am such an idiot!" He snarled. "I never should have listened to you. I never should have agreed to all of this in the first place!" He lifted his head back up once more, eyes blazing. "Was that your plan all along? Drag me along and get my secrets?" He let out a bitter scoff as he gestured towards himself. "Well, now you got 'em! Congratulations, Mr. Stark! What's next? Blackmail me into doing whatever you want? Or did you just want insurance for when you finally get tired of me and decide you want me gone?!"

In the back of his head, Peter knew that the things he was thinking about perhaps weren't pure truth. After all, there was a big gap between disclosing secrets between colleagues and disclosing secrets between government officials. But the teen couldn't shake the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was obvious that Stark considered his secret open to disclose. And that was enough to have the boy spiraling into a panic.

After all, the more people who knew, the higher the chance of something happening...of his father...He couldn't even finish the thought. So he settled for anger.

"P-Peter..." The man could barely even speak, at a loss for words at the sudden turn of events.

"Shut up!" The boy snapped. "God, I can't believe it! I can't fucking believe it! Just when I was finally beginning to open up to you...is that what you wanted...?" His voice wavered slightly at that. "Get me to warm up to you just to turn around at the last second? Is that what you fucking wanted?" (runrunrunrunrun)

The man shook his head in disbelief. "No, kid listen I-"

"Save it. It's obvious now that I can't trust you. Not with this. Not with...not with anything." The boy stared back at him for a moment before shaking his head and glaring down at the ground. "I don't know why I'm so surprised. I guess it just means you're a pretty good actor. Had me fooled." He growled before clutching his head. "God...god, god, GOD!" He shuddered. "You're gonna tell him aren't you?" His body was suddenly racked with shivers as another flash of lightning rocketed through the tower.

"Peter-"

"Y-you're gonna tell him and it's all gonna be over!"

"Peter!"

"How could you do this?!"

"Peter! Listen to me!" Tony shouted, suddenly appearing right in front of the boy as he gripped his shoulders tightly, not even caring if the boy approved or not. Peter, too distraught to even seem aware of the contact, stared up at the man with wide, fear-wracked eyes, hazel irises wavering in anguish.

"Kid..." The man panted, heart pounding from the sudden events that had unfolded. "...I didn't tell them."

Peter stared up at him, chest heaving as he fought to keep from collapsing to the floor in complete and udder exhaustion from the energy he'd expended from his screaming. And yet, he was still aware enough to hear the man's words, muscles tensing as they reached his ears. "...w-what?"

Before Tony could answer him, another crack of thunder shook from outside, Peter tensing underneath his grip. The billionaire growled at the noise before glaring up at the ceiling. "FRIDAY, deal with that damn noise."

"Yes, boss." The AI responded, quieter than usual. Peter wondered if he simply imagined it.

As the windows turned a slight tint darker, Tony turned back to the boy, staring down at the kid who suddenly looked much younger, with his cheeks and nose red from unshed tears and his curls unruly and messy as they flopped down around his eyes.

"Ah geez, kid..." The man sighed, tightening his grip on the boy's shoulders in an attempt at assurance. If anything, they just made Peter wince.

Tony dropped his hands and slowly ambled his way over towards the couch, plopping down on the seats with a loud sigh. Peter stared at him, distrust gleaming in his eyes. His heart ached painfully, but the boy resisted releasing any tears. Anger was one thing, but he refused to break down into an emotionless wreck in front of the man again. Ever since that first day in the lab, the oath had hung in the back of his head.

Nevertheless, he watched as Tony rested his head in one hand as he used the other to rub the back of his neck. "It was when you first came to visit the tower. The first time they really...met you." He murmured. "They figured it out for themselves."

Peter stared at him, body remaining motionless as he stood, eyes falling over the man as he sat hunched on the couch, the teen feeling his fingers twitch at his sides. "H-how'd they find out?" He had to know. Was it something he did? Something he said? Was his secret at a much greater risk of discovery than he'd first thought?

Tony blew out a small breath. "When I was first looking into you, researching Spider-Man and all that crap...I had Pepper keep tabs of all your activities, anything and everything mentioning you. I had her store them on an encrypted file database." He explained before wincing. "Which...is also where I kept the information on one Peter Parker."

Said boy felt his stomach clenching in unease at the man's words. "Pepper pieced it together from that, Rhodey from his encounters with Spider-Man in Germany." He continued. "They approached me. Told me they'd found out and..." He trailed off for a moment. "I couldn't exactly lie to them. Not when they already knew what they knew. So I told them the rest."

Peter stood still for a moment longer before taking slow, small steps over towards one of the seats adjacent to the couch, quietly sitting down as he folded his hands together and hung his head down to look at the ground. After a few moments of silence, he finally spoke up, voice quiet. "Does anyone else have access to those files?" He whispered.

Tony shook his head. "Nobody."

If the teen was reassured by such a fact, he didn't show it as he ran both his hands down his face and blew out a long, tired sigh. Suddenly, the tower seemed much colder, darker, tinged in grays.

"They aren't going to tell anybody, you know."

"Yeah? H-how can you be so sure?"

"Cause I know them, kid." Tony shot back, turning to look at the boy. "Look, Pete. This...this isn't my secret to tell, alright? If you don't want people to know, then I won't tell them anything." He explained. "I promi-"

"Don't!" Peter snapped, eyes suddenly flashing. "Don't use that word. It means nothing." He growled out. Tony said nothing at that.

Peter felt his hands tighten as he continued to stare at the floor, the look turning more into a glare at the man's words. "And what about Secretary Ross?" Even though they weren't close to each other, Peter could have sworn he felt Tony tense nonetheless. "If...if he were to ask...what would you tell him?" He asked, lifting his head to stare the man dead in the eyes.

Tony held his gaze, dark brown eyes boring into light hazel. For a moment, neither said anything, once again caught in the other's gaze. Tony was the first to blink back into reality as his gaze hardened. "I'd tell him to go fuck himself."

Peter stared at the man, face never changing in its neutral look before he lowered his head down once more, eyes hidden by his curls as they fell down overtop his forehead.

Now that the windows were soundproof, there was nothing to fill the silence that quickly overtook the two, the tower settling into absolute silence as the atmosphere instantly thickened into a palpable uncomfortableness that neither knew how to remedy. It was hard to ignore the obvious problems that had plagued both of their minds for the few months they'd been in contact.

Trust.

Peter still refused to grant the man any sort of faith, display that he felt any semblance of confidence in the man. If anything, the previous scene had just displayed how much he didn't trust him.

And yet...it had also displayed how angry he'd become at the notion of betrayal. If Peter hadn't been planning on trusting the man at all, then his supposed "betrayal" shouldn't have evoked as much emotion as it had. And yet, the teen had been visibly upset to the point where he'd ignored all inhibitions and had simply let go, as if he hadn't been expecting to feel betrayed. As if such a thing truly did shock him. Maybe...just maybe he really did want to trust the man. Tony couldn't help but linger on such as fact as he glanced over at the boy.

Peter stared at the ground for a moment longer before lifting his hands to his face, a loud groan escaping his lips, muffled by his palms. "God, I...I'm so sorry." He murmured out, muscles tense.

Before Tony could even open his mouth to respond, the teen was speaking again. "It's just...this...this is all so messed up." He sighed, leaning back as he rested his head against the back of the chair, body slumping in defeat. "There's so much I wanna get over. SO much I wanna just forget and toss away, start to relax and unwind and whatever else you wanted me to do here. It's just...that's a lot easier said than done." He grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

The billionaire decided to remain quiet, allowing the boy to ramble his thoughts away. Maybe he'd slip up and disclose something important. God knew the kid would never tell him purposefully. So he'd just have to hope for an accident.

"I do like it here, you know." Peter murmured. "The tower, t-the cool robots, the inventions, the suits, even y-your friends. All of it is just...so much different from what I'm used to. You're all so...open and...trusting." He sighed wistfully. "I just...I can barely even understand it most of the time." He added with a small huff of amusement. Tony couldn't help but grimace at the meaning behind the teen's words.

"And...and I like our whole 'intern' thing. I...I like coming to...t-to work with you. I like...being with you. I just...I don't know. I feel...something. I-I can't really explain it. It's just...there. And I like it. I like that feeling I get when I come here, when I'm with you. It makes me feel...safe."

The small smile that had appeared on the boy's face quickly morphed into a look of exhaustion as he leaned forward once more and rubbed his face. "God, that's what makes this so much harder."

"Makes what harder?" The billionaire finally spoke up.

"This. Talking to you. Being...being around you. You're just like May!"

At that, Tony cocked a brow and tilted his head. "May?" he asked, wondering the the teen had meant to disclose the information. Judging from the way the teen's face didn't instantly lose all remaining color, Tony was willing to bet he had.

"May." He sighed. "She's been my neighbor for...ever. S-she was friends with my mom. She...she's nice." He mused with a small, warm smile that Tony noticed as genuine. Whoever this woman was, Peter obviously felt comfortable around her. "She cares about me, has cared about me for the last ten years or so. Other than you, she's...basically the only other adult I talk to on a regular basis...you know, of my own free will."

The teen stared down at his hands. "I love May. I love being with her, talking to her. She reminds me of my mom...in a good way, I mean. It's just...s-she..." He trailed off before throwing Tony an unsure look "I...don't really know how to explain it."

"You don't have to, kid." The man reassured him.

Peter nodded. "The point is...whenever I talk to May, I feel...relaxed. Calm. I'm not nervous about anything. And because of that...I talk more. And that's...bad."

The billionaire shook his head. "No it's not k-"

"Yes, it is." Peter shot back. "Alright? You...you don't get it, Mr. Stark. The more...comfortable I am with someone...the more likely I'm gonna say something I shouldn't. The more likely a slip-up is. And I can't afford slip-ups, alright? I just can't." He stressed, resting his head in his hands once more.

"And that's what I'm afraid of here. I'm...I'm scared I'm gonna say something I'm not supposed to, something that end up causing a lot more trouble than its's worth. But..." HE sighed, shaking his head. "You're...y-you're just..."

Tony leaned forward. "Just what, kid?"

Peter stared at him for a moment before licking his lips. "You're just so easy to talk to."

"And why's that?"

The teen paused for a moment before letting a small smile crease his lips. "I don't know. I guess it's cause you seem as lost as I do."

Tony blinked at the teen, unsure as to how to respond to that. Thankfully, Peter continued, sparing him from speaking. "Well, I mean, I'm not one to really talk much to new people and...and it doesn't seem like you have much experience talking to kids a whole lot."

"Geez, thanks kid."

Peter couldn't help but chuckle a little at that, shaking his head. "It's just...comforting knowing you and I are kinda the same in this. Like...like we both need just a little bit of help here and there."

Tony stared at the teen before letting a smirk fall onto his face, hoping the look would hide the silent desperation he was beginning to feel towards the teen. "Well, we could always help each other fumble through this, huh?"

Peter turned away at that. "Well, that's just the thing. It's a little...too comforting." He sighed. "It's so easy to talk to you that it's also easy to share something bad. Say something wrong. The possibility of such a thing seems to skyrocket every time I'm in the same room as you!"

The billionaire blew out a breath and shook his own head. "Peter, there is no...wrong, alright? I've said this before, kid. You're not gonna get in trouble with me for saying what's on your mind."

"It's not you I'm worried about."

At that, Tony couldn't help but clench his fists, eyes narrowing. Peter shook his head and rested his forehead into his palm once more. "Who am I kidding? You wouldn't understand this?"

The billionaire froze at that, the words sinking in as he stared at the teen across the way. The boy continued to scrunch in on himself, almost as if he believed that if he made himself as small as possible, he'd simply just disappear. Of course, the cloud of negative emotions radiating from the boy was nearly big enough to fill the entire tower.

With a final thought and a shake of his head, Tony made up his mind. He was done with this. Done with dealing with the same cloud he'd been trying to fight through for the past couple of months. Tired of having this kid tip-toe around him.

He was fixing his once and for all.

"Let me guess. Nothing you do is good enough for them."

Peter jerked his head up at that, Tony continuing. "Everything is met with some sort of criticism, some exposed flaw, some detail that you missed. Whenever you do something good, it's immediately followed with questions about what you did wrong, about what you will do wrong now or in the future. And it doesn't seem like anything you could possibly do will ever live up to their expectations."

Peter stared at him, eyes wide and mouth parting as his brows furrowed slightly in mild confusion. "How...h-how do you-?"

"How do I know that?" Tony finished for him. He let out a small humorless chuckle. "Cause that's exactly what my dad would do."

The teen never let his eyes leave the man as he continued. "But you know, when I was your age I has just met Rhodey." He explained." For the longest time, I had assumed that most families were like mine. Cold, distant and unforgiving." A small smile crossed his lips. "But...when I met Rhodey, when I met his family for the first time, I realized just what I was missing."

Tony turned to look at the teen, eyes filling with an unreadable look. "Peter...you come from a family that doesn't always appreciate you, don't you?"

Peter swallowed and cast his eyes to the floor, hands wringing around themselves. That gave Tony the answer he needed. The billionaire sighed as he leaned closer. "Well, I'm here to tell you that it does get better, you know. But not if you go at it alone." He stressed. "You gotta reach out to other people, kid. They aren't all gonna bite back."

The teen couldn't help but give a light scoff at that. "I've met plenty that do."

Tony gave a reluctant nod of his head. "Yeah, some of them might...but not all of them. And I can assure you, I haven't lost my bite, but I'm very particular about who gets the honor of being mauled by Tony Stark."

Peter couldn't help but chuckle at that, the small bout of merriment morphing into a look of resigned sadness as the boy stared down at his hands. "Mr Stark...I...I really really wanna believe you." He murmured.

"Then do it. What's stopping you?"

The teen let out a breath, eyes shifting as he tried to find the words. "I w-wanna believe you...but I...I can't trust you."

At the look of shock and slight unease passing over the billionaire's face, the teen backtracked quickly. "No, j-just...listen." He sighed, unsure as to how to explain. "It's not you. It's me. I just...and it's hard because I want to...and with all the the...I-I just..." The words continued to trip over themselves so he just stopped talking, running a hand through his hair.

He was so tired of this, of...of all of this.

He glanced back over towards Mr. Stark, the man staring at him, concern and confusion etched into his dark brown eyes. He could see the hints of caring in those eyes, the hints of a man who really did just want to...help him.

But he couldn't afford to accept it. Not when there was so much he had to mask.

"Maybe this was a mistake." He murmured softly.

Tony sucked in a sharp breath. "Peter-"

"No, I'm sorry, Mr. Stark for making you go through all this trouble tonight." The teen suddenly began to ramble, shooting up from his seat as the billionaire quickly did the same. 'I'm so sorry for taking up your time but I really should be getting home anyways." He grinned nervously, rubbing at the back of his neck as his heart began to beat just a little faster, especially when Mr. Stark took a step closer. "Thanks again for all of this, but i really should-" He quickly jumped out of reach of the man and made to walk away back towards the elevator, only for the man's voice to stop him.

"Peter!"

The teen froze at the man's voice, though his didn't turn around to face him. Instead he simply lowered his head, fists clenching as they shook at his sides, body stiff with tension that seemed to drip from his muscles and coat the floor beneath his feet. He clenched his eyes shut, chest stuttering slightly as he tried to suck in a calming breath.

He didn't hear any footfalls on the floor, which meant Mr. Stark hadn't walked after him, which meant he still had a good chance of making it to the elevator without the man being able tot catch up to him. And yet, despite his obvious window of opportunity, the boy found himself ignoring it. Instead, it felt as though his feet were rooted to the ground, ceasing any and all movement. Before he could think better of it, his mouth was opening.

"You're not stupid, Mr. Stark." His voice was hard. "You know there are things going on that I can't tell you about. I just can't."

He immediately regretted the words as soon as they were out, realizing he'd just etched another crack in his mask. Whatever suspicions the man had been holding he'd all but just confirmed them right then and there. He mentally screamed at himself for his stupidity, but still found himself frozen to the spot.

All he could do was stay silent and listen for the man's response, hoping and praying that maybe he'd misheard him.

. . . 

"Then don't"

Peter jolted at that, eyes springing open as he whirled around to stare at the man, lips parted slightly.

Tony stared at him with a look of resigned acceptance. "You don't have to tell me anything. You don't have to tell me about it. You don't have to confess to me. Hell, you don't even have to trust me, kid." He sighed, dark brown eyes seeming to bore into the teen, who was still having difficulties comprehending the man's words. "But all I'm asking is that you give this a try. Just...just try and let this be a place you can relax in, try to find something to stay for, try to be yourself. T-try to believe that everything I said is true."

Peter blinked up at him, face holding a look of pure shock as he slowly but surely found his voice. "I...I-I don't have to tell you about it? Y-You're not gonna push at it?"

Tony sighed. "Not if you don't want me to." He murmured. "You don't have to think about it, you don't even have to mention his name whenever you're in this tower. You don't have to...do whatever it is you do with everybody else. You don't have to worry about slipping up and saying something I'm not supposed to hear cause I won't fault you for it. I won't pry. I won't snoop. Nothing you don't want."

He rubbed at the back of his neck as he felt fatigue wrapping around him. "I get it, kid. Believe me, I do. You don't know who to trust so you don't trust anybody. You...put up walls, barriers, masks. The act is what people see. Richard Parker's son. that's who greets them, avoids eye contact, hides the truth."

He stepped closer, Peter too stupefied to truly react as the man placed his hands around the teen's shoulders. "But you don't have to do that with me, kid. Cause I prom-" He stopped himself from using the word. "I guarantee I'm not looking for Richard Parker's son, alright. I didn't ask to have Richard Parker's son as an intern, okay? I asked for Peter Parker. So while Richard Parker's kid may put up an act, a front for people to see, Peter Parker doesn't have to do that. You don't have to do that. Not here. Not with me."

Peter stared at him, blinking rapidly as he slowly began to digest the information being thrown at him. He lowered his gaze as his mind swirled around Tony's words. Slowly, he began to piece together what the man was saying, realizing exactly what the man had just figured out.

There were two of him.

There was Peter Parker - Richard Parker's son. He followed the rules. He obeyed without complaint. He kept his eyes down and his mouth shut and he knew just what he could and couldn't say. The things he could and couldn't reveal. He tripped over his words, he flinched around everyone. He had secrets. Secrets that nobody could know. He was a mask.

Then there was Peter Parker, the boy underneath the mask. He came out for Ned and MJ occasionally. He was pulled out by May before quickly being hidden away by the mask again. He wasn't afraid to complain about the rules. He went against them when the time came. He fought back against them when he had to, in a mask of a completely different degree, a mask that ironically uncovered his true self, a mask that let him help people in ways Richard Parker's son never could.

Peter Parker was who he really was. Peter Parker was the person he hid away from his father, the Cons...everyone.

And yet, as he stared up at Mr. Stark's calming chocolate eyes, the teen felt a strange tug in his chest, a longing feeling that had only ever been present in the man's presence, a feeling he hadn't understood before, but truly did now.

A feeling of longing...of freedom.

Tony stared down at him, feelings of anxiety bubbling in his chest at the boy's prolonged silence. "Kid? Heh...umm...could you maybe say something? Just, like...give me a ballpark range here. How high are the chances of you jumping out that window to escape right now?"

Peter lifted his head, staying silent for a moment before letting a small smile grace his lips, the smile growing wider until it turned into a soft chuckle, which grew into a full-blown laugh.

Tony blinked down at him as he cocked a brow, still unsure as to whether or not this situation was really 'under control'. "Alright, I'm still confused. Are we happy or just delving into the first stages of a mental breakdown?"

The teen glanced up at him with a smile. "Probably a little of both."

"Cool. We're on the same page then."

The boy scoffed at that, before swallowing the slight lump in his throat, Tony noticing this as he leaned closer once more. "I meant what I said, Pete. No more masks. No more hiding. Just you."

"Just me." The teen echoed back in a whisper, said more to himself than to Tony. "I think...I think I can do that." He said with a soft smile.

Tony let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding as he clasped the teen on the shoulder, Peter giving only small flinch at the touch. "Alright, good. That's...t-that's good. These are...these are good things." Tony rambled, as if trying to find his train of thought, which had quickly left the station.

Outside, another flash of lighting lit the sky, but it was much duller this time. Father away. A soft sound of rumbling thunder echoed through the building as FRIDAY disabled the soundproofed windows now that the storm was getting farther away. But this time, the noise didn't make Peter tense. It didn't make his heart light with panic.

This time he heard no gunshots.

A sense of silence settled over the two once more, but this time it wasn't like before. It wasn't suffocating and cold. This time it was...calm. A sense of peace flowing through the two. A feeling of...comfortableness washing over them.

And for the first time ever, Peter wasn't afraid of it.

It was a feeling he could get used to.

"You know, you never told me about yours."

Tony cocked a brow and turned towards the teen. "Never told you about what?"

"What you'd eat for breakfast with the others."

The man stared down at him for a moment before letting out a humored scoff, Peter giggling next to him. The man shrugged his shoulders and lifted a hand to gesture. "Literally, i could have eaten bricks and razor blades and it wouldn't have mattered as long as I had my coffee." He muttered, Peter snorting at that.

"You mean with the coffee machine that cuts you off?"

"We don't talk about that."

Peter laughed while Tony continued to ramble on and curse out the machine that brought him both so much pleasure and pain in the form of dark black liquid while outside, the dark storm clouds were beginning to dissipate, revealing the clear black sky above, the moonlight seeping through as it illuminated the air and seemed to expel the darkness as light reached out to brighten everything it could touch.

Chapter 14: INTERLUDE

Summary:

Meanwhile...

Chapter Text

Saturday - April 2, 2016

Parker Residence - Sub-Level Labs

06:32 p.m.

Richard watched with a scowl as Peter turned and quickly dashed out of the subway car, disappearing from his sight with crumpled bills clenched in his tight fists. The man rolled his eyes with a slight huff as he slouched back down in his chair, glaring at the papers before him.

"He's such a little spaz." Sandra muttered from the side as she made her way over towards the bar and pulled out a few glasses, reaching down to take out a bottle of scotch as well.

Curt let out a snort. "I think the word you're looking for is 'idiot'."

"He can be both." She called, pouring the amber liquid into the glasses.

"Knock it off, you two." Max called with a stern look, Richard grateful he didn't have to say it himself. Then again, there was a reason Max was his right-hand man and not any of the others. He always seemed to know what Richard wanted before even he did.

"He usually doesn't do that anymore."

The others - sans Flint who was still passed out drunk on the couch - turned to look at him. "What do you mean?" Max called.

Richard narrowed his eyes. "He's gotten better at keeping his mouth shut. He usually doesn't ask questions anymore." He muttered just loud enough for the others to hear. "I thought he'd gotten smarter than to blatantly ask me something as stupid as where we're going." He growled.

Max rolled his eyes. "Ch'yeah. But you seeing the kind of people he's been in the presence of recently?"

Richard lifted his head at that.

"Stark may be rubbing off on him in all the wrong ways." Sandra noted, reaching the same conclusion as her colleague.

Curt narrowed his eyes. "Plus, we have no idea the kinda things they talk about in there. Maybe...we should be cautious about this."

Richard hummed in thought, only for Max to huff off to the side. "We should never have agreed to let him intern for him, Richard." He muttered. "I knew this was a bad idea from the start, letting him go off, learning who-knows-what from that asshole. I mean, come on! The longer he's there, the more he'll start to think and-"

Richard held up a hand, the dark-skinned man instantly falling silent at the gesture. When the subway car was quiet once more, he spoke. "I know what I'm doing, Maxwell." He said in a cool voice, the warning tone to back off evidenced more in the use of the man's full name. "I have Peter in there for a reason. And when the time calls for it, we'll exploit it for what we need." He stood up and pushed away from the desk, grabbing the extra glass that Sandra had pulled out.

Quickly filling the glass for her boss, the man swiveled the glass in his hand, the drink sloshing about gently "Now, I'll admit. I don't like the idea of him going around with as much free reign as he's recently been doing." He murmured. "A boy like Peter needs to understand that he has a place and that it's set in stone. I take up the mantel of reminding him of that, of showing him the good that can come by following the rules and staying in line." He explained while grabbing the other glasses, the others nodding as if it were as simple to understand as two plus two.

"However, I have taken my hands off the wheel for a change to let him...explore. Let him get a feel for the waters." He murmured, passing Curt a glass.

"And Stark was the right choice to start out with?" The man called with a cocked brow.

"Stark is the perfect choice for this." Richard countered. "That bumbling oaf doesn't care for anything other than himself. But Peter's so starved for attention that he'll glom onto whoever's nearby." He scoffed with a roll of his eyes, the others snickering at that. "Of course, once Stark shows the true asshole that he is, Peter will understand just who he can rely on around here. He'll learn that you really can't trust anyone. All he can do...is what he's told." He grinned with a devilish glint in his eyes. "He'll learn just who he belongs to.

Max stared down at the ground, arms folded over his chest. "I don't know, man. Peter's so...weak." He sneered with a disgusted look. "You're honestly telling me there's any hope of salvaging him? Of, of...making him...one of us? Besides, we still have the issue of being in the dark about what he's doing over there at Stark's."

Richard stared hard at the man for a moment. "A plan is underway, Max." He swished the drink and passed Max a glass. "A plan is underway. As for what he's been doing, we have a solution to that too."

He glanced down at the glass. "Our...little bird will be here in a couple of months and-" It was hard to miss the groans of annoyance that drifted from the others at the comment. He ignored them and continued on. "-and Peter will tell her a lot more than he'll tell us. Whatever secrets he has to tell about Stark, she will be the first to know. And that's our ticket in."

Curt grunted from his place. "That girl is so...just...ugg." He muttered, unsure on how to describe the girl, just knowing he disliked her in about the same fashion as the others. "She's a little bitch, is what she is." Sandra snapped, tapping her long fingernails against the sides of the glass. "Even so I can't understand why that little shitface would talk to her."

"He has to talk to somebody." Max muttered. "So it's either her or some imaginary friend."

Richard narrowed his eyes at that, but continued on as if they hadn't spoken. "We must be patient. Peter is...strange. But he's held out for this long." He stared down into the amber liquids before him, catching the dark color of his irises in the reflection. "That boy has secrets. And I don't like that. But we must be patient. Keep all our cards hidden. And when the time is right..." He lifted a glass.

"We crush him. Snap and shatter and destroy him...and take those pieces and mold our perfect little soldier out of the dust."

The others smirked and raised their glasses before joining the man in a drink.

 


 

Saturday - April 2, 2016

Somewhere in East Harlem

12:21 a.m.

The distant shriek of police sirens mingled with the dull muffled murmur of TVs from the nearby apartment complexes that were still a comfortable distance away that anybody peeking from their windows would have a hard time making them out. The underpass they were currently situated near shrouded them in shadow and the entrance to the alleyway let in no aiding light considering the large van they'd parked was situated in such a way that it blocked the alleyway from the view of the sidewalk, meaning anybody passing by would see nothing but a van parked in a random alleyway and nothing else.

Which was exactly what they wanted. The less people who saw them the better.

Mark anxiously shifted from one foot to the other as he clenched and unchecked his sweaty palms against his sides. Nicky stood up against the back wall smoking a cigarette. Though it was obvious from the slight shake in his hand as he grabbed it that he was nervous as well. The two armed men who stood next to them did little to aid in their reassurances.

He glared over at Mark, throwing the cigarette down on the ground. "Would you stop moving around so much?" He snapped before crushing the bud underneath his shoe. "You're making me nervous."

"You should be nervous." Mark growled back, lifting his gaze to meet his bosses. "From what you told me about these guys, they mean serious business. So how the fuck are we supposed to tell them we don't have their shipment of supplies, which by the way they already fucking paid for?!"

Nicky glowered at that, attempting to hide the slight grimace that involuntarily sparked at the man's words. "Look, it ain't like it's our fault alright? Those damn Avengers messed with our main point of production so...you know...of course we're a little behind. I'm sure they'll understand that."

Mark shook his head. "I don't know, man. The kind of people we got around us...they aren't known to be so understanding."

"And just what is it that we'll supposedly be needing to understand?"

Both men jumped at the new voice that echoed down the alleyway. All four people already situated turned their heads at the voice, Mark grimacing while Nicky attempted to hold his ground as they approached.

There were five of them this time instead of the usual three from before which made the man a little nervous. Now they were outnumbered, a fact he wasn't all too pleased about.

From the builds he could make out, they were all men except for a woman that was now sauntering next to them. She was a slim figure with short black hair cut into a bob with just enough length to kiss the sides of her neck as she walked past. The mask covering her face shielded her features from their view but it did little to hide the dull purple glow emanating from where her eyes should have been.

In fact, all five figures had the same piercing glow emanating from their masks, all with different hues and undertones.

All four gang men quickly righted themselves, the guards off to the side straightening up as they tried their best to look as intimidating as possible. Though considering the newcomers also had two men that were much taller and buffer than the guards themselves, the futility of it was quickly recognized. Nicky cleared his throat before leveling the man in front a cool stare.

"Mr. Monarch, sir."

The man, apparently dubbed Monarch said nothing. In fact, his eyes weren't glowing at all, revealing the dark black color of his irises against the stark white of his eyes. However, such a fact didn't stop him from nodding. "Nick." He said, his voice a steely steady thrum as he echoed back the only name the man had given him.

He gestured over towards his associates. "You already met Lizard and Sandman." He announced, gesturing towards two of the masked figures, one with glowing yellow eyes and the other dull green. "I'd like you to meet Shriek and my right-hand man, Electro."

The woman - Shriek - cocked her head to the side, a gesture made even creepier at the fact that they couldn't see her face, only the expressionless black of the mask, illuminated slightly by the pale purple glow of her irises, matched by the whitish-blue of Electro's, his dark-skinned hands curling slightly as he folded his arms over his chest, remaining silent.

"Now-" Mr. Monarch turned back to face them. "Just what is it that we'll be needing to understand?"

Nicky's face twitched but he remained silent as Mark took the lead. He cleared his throat once more, confused at the slight lump in it before speaking. "We've...had a bit of a complication."

He could see Monarch's eyes narrow behind the mask.

"Our main point of production was...attacked on Thursday and we've recently discovered that nothing was salvageable from the sight cause there were already cops swarming the place when we got wind of it."

"Do we know who the attackers were?" Electro murmured from the side, his voice thick and deep.

Mark hesitated at that before glancing over at Nicky. His employee licked his lips before stepping forward. "We have reason to believe it was the Avengers."

The mood instantly darkened in the cramped alleyway, the guards shifting at the sudden change. Monarch stared at them, dark eyes boring into their faces so intensely, Mark almost wished his eyes were glowing if only to block the stares of his black eyes. "What?" He seethed, voice shooting out like a poisonous dart with enough force to have them take a small step back.

"But-" Mark quickly jumped in, hoping to alleviate some of the tense mood. "-but...we're already ramping up production in our other major areas so while we may not have your ordered supply tonight like we originally planned, we-"

"That doesn't change the fact that the Avengers somehow found out about you." Mr. Monarch cut in, voice terse and cold, his accomplices moving in another inch. "Do you even understand the repercussions this could reap? The consequences? Not just for you, but for anyone and everyone who's had a dealing with you?"

Nicky couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance and indignation at the tone the man was using with him, as if he were speaking to a child. "Yeah, we get that. It's just-"

"Just that you were too incompetent to go about this intelligently? Yes, I think I have to agree with you there." The man muttered.

Nick narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists as his teeth ground together.

"Look, man." The thug growled out, patience having worn thin. "Why don't you just calm the heck down and get off your high fucking horse. I don't see you risking your neck out here every night by supplying these weapons. I don't see you having to fend off the cops, detectives and Avengers to top everything off! We're putting out necks on the line to help psychopaths like you! So why don't you just keep your goddamn mouth shut and we'll get you your weapons when we get to it!"

Mark's face twisted into a look of unsure anxiety at what his boss was snarling. But the man didn't seem to be ready to stop anytime soon.

"Besides, none of my other customers are snapping at my neck for their orders. What makes it your business to interfere with our processes, anyway?"

Monarch's voice remained as neutral and cold as it had been before, despite the words now being flung towards him. "You make it my business when your actions threaten our very livelihoods."

"Yeah well...there's a lot more than just the Avengers that could threaten your livelihoods, you know." Nicky muttered more under his breath than out loud. Nevertheless, the closed-in walls of the alleyway caught every syllable.

Behind him, Monarch could feel his companions tense behind him, their postures stiffening. His eyes bore into the thug's, black and menacing. "I'd be careful of what you say." He murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

Mark obviously picked up on the underlying threats laced in the man's words, but Nicky didn't seem quite so keen as he rolled his eyes. "Why's that? From where I'm standing, I have enough information on you and your little posse to have you locked up for good." He sneered. "Cops are always looking for an inside-eye, and since they're so desperate to get these weapons off the street, they'll be more than happy to allow me the position." He smirked, deeming the silence of the group as signs of victory.

"Really?" Was all Monarch replied.

"Yep. So I'd watch your step there, man." He grinned, stalking forward just a slight, sensing his power increasing over the situation. "Cause I got plenty of other customers I can rely on here. Besides, it's so easy to scrounge up a little dirt on someone when you look hard enough." He winked at the man before him. "Best not do anything to get my eyes wandering if you know what I mean."

Monarch tilted his head to the side, posture remaining calm and passive. "Is that so?" He asked, voice reflecting the relaxed nature of his body. "You know, I believe you should treat your customers with a little more respect." His voice slowly began to take on a deeper tone.

Mark took a small step back as he seemed to become aware of this. Nicky, however, remained completely oblivious.

"Oh yeah? And why's that?" He scoffed with a wave of his hand. "I got the weapons here, and without me you got nothing but empty pockets and-"

His thoughts were stopped short as Monarch lifted his hand and gave a small snap of his fingers. Before anybody could so much as turn their heads towards the small noise, Lizard was charging forward almost on some silent command. Nicky didn't even have time to scream as claws were digging into his neck, ripping away the skin and muscle to reveal the bones and throbbing arteries now spraying blood all over the walls and floors of the deserted alleyway.

The two armed guards off to the side jolted to alert at the attack, but were still much too late. Shriek's hands lifted and lavender tendrils of light shot towards one of the men, wrapping around his limbs before ripping them from his torso like pulling toothpicks out of a Styrofoam cup. Meanwhile, the other guard couldn't so much as run as Electro charged up his hands and wrapped them around the man's face, his skin screeching and bubbling as the heat literally seemed to melt the flesh from the bone.

Mark screamed and backed away towards the side walls of the alleyway as Nicky fell to his knees, a choked gurgling sound emanating from him as he tried and failed to speak.

Monarch stepped closer, eyes gleaming in the dim lights of the alleyway. He said nothing as the man gave one last blood-filled gasp before collapsing to the ground, a pool of crimson liquid spreading across the alleyway from not just one, but three freshly-killed bodies.

Mark stared in horror at the sight of his boss' mangled body, only to yelp as Monarch turned towards him. "Congratulations, Mark." He murmured with a small kick at the limp body lying next to him. "Looks like you just got a promotion." The man stalked forward and gripped the man's collar with his fist, dragging him closer. "And I suggest you take this job very seriously." He whispered as his eyes seemed to flash in the orange lights.

Mark couldn't even stutter out a response, not even when Monarch tossed him to the ground, the man sliding in the freshly-pooled blood. He gasped, his body shaking as he quickly rose to his feet, completely ignoring the blood now staining his clothes as he turned on his heel and bolted down the alleyway, disappearing from sight after another second.

Monarch watched him go, body tense and rigid as the others milled about behind him, inspecting the bodies they'd left.

"Well that was fun." Shriek called as she licked a drop of blood off of her finger, hair swishing around her neck as she moved from body to body, inspecting their handiwork with a gleam in her eyes.

"What'd you want us to do with these?" Sandman called with a wave towards the victims.

The man didn't turn around, instead keeping his gaze locked on the end of the alleyway. For a moment, the others wondered if he would respond at all, only to jerk as he finally spoke. "Leave them." He muttered. "Keep the cops around here as busy as they can be. Besides, nobody'll really care about a couple of common street thus getting involved in things they shouldn't have."

Electro reached towards his mask and yanked it off, face revealing his frustrations. "And what about the Avengers? You can't put it off any longer. We have to deal with them now."

The other shook his head. "No. Not yet at least. For now we stick with the plan. Keep everything running smoothly." He turned to face the others.

Shriek was off to the side, dancing around each of the bodies without a care in the world. Lizard was now tearing into one of the discarded limbs that his female counterpart had left for him, flesh catching in his teeth as he ate. Sandman generated enough pillars of sand to reach the nearby lampposts, destroying the lights inside to mask the alleyway in darkness as Electro raised a hand of his own, lighting their path in bluish-white light.

Monarch tapped his fingers against the side of his legs, his palms igniting slightly in orange light as his eyes did the same.

"We'll get to them soon enough."

Chapter 15: The Girl Next Door

Summary:

"You...you are May Brenner, right? I've got the right house?"

He waited for her to reply, only for her mouth to give no twitches of movement. Instead, she continued to stare at him, her hips cocking out slightly as she folded her arms over her chest. "I was wondering when you'd finally show up." She murmured softly, voice sharp and hard despite its quiet characteristics. Tony felt like a teenager about to be scolded by a parent or a teacher.

Safe to say, the feeling was not one he enjoyed.

Chapter Text

Peter couldn't help but smile from his seat on the carpet as his Mommy let out a laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners as she stared over at their neighbors, May and Ben.

The former was sitting on the couch with a smile on her face while the latter was crouched down next to the TV, sorting through all the old albums his Mommy had stored up over the years. Peter knew their neighbors. Peter liked them. They were nice; funny; they gave him toys and candy whenever they came. But most of all, they made his Mommy really, really happy.

"I mean, how many of these things can one person have?" Ben chided as he glanced through all the assorted music.

May rolled her eyes from the couch. "Don't listen to him, Mary. This loaf has over two hundred CDs just strewn about all over the place. And they aren't even in their correct packages. I have no idea how he finds anything in there."

"Hey! I have my system. I don't question how you find anything in that shoe closet of yours, now do I?"

Mary let out another laugh as she shook her head, playfully pushing Ben to the side as she glanced over his shoulder to browse through the CDs. Her eyes seemed to stop on one in particular as she beamed and reached down.

The four-year-old currently stacking his Legos together watched as Mommy straightened back up, now holding a new CD in her hands, turning it this way and that as she let a smile fall onto her face. "This is my favorite album in the whole series, you know?"

Ben sat down on his haunches and glanced up at her with a funny expression on his face. "Seriously? 'Revolver' is your favorite album? Honey...we gotta have a serious talk about this." He joked, Mary tapping him with her foot as she rolled her eyes.

Ignoring the man's comments, she walked over towards the CD player next to the TV and popped in the disk. "Just you wait, you two. We'll make little Pete here a fan of the 80s soon enough."

"The Beatles weren't from the 80s, you know."

"Details, details."

The married couple rolled their eyes with large grins on their faces as the fuzzy muffled noises from the loading machine cleared way to a bright tune. Mary stooped down and scooped Peter up in her arms, the boy shrieking in joy as his mother twirled him around as if he were her dance partner. The music bopped along merrily in his ears as he gripped his mother tightly, grin stretching from cheek to cheek as she laughed.

Out of the corner of their eyes, they could make out Ben hauling May to her feet, the latter giving a small shout of protest before succumbing to her husband's charm, sinking into his arms as they danced around as well, joining the mother and son as the group happily twirled around the room to the instantly recognizable harmonies of the Beatles.

"What is this, Mommy?"

"The best music in the world, baby. And don't you forget it."

 


 

T hursday - April 7, 2016

Midtown School of Science and Technology - Building 1

03:11 p.m.

"You wanna be my what?"

Ned practically bounced in his seat as he leaned closer to the confused boy. "You're 'Guy In The Chair'!" He beamed. "You know-"

Peter shook his head. "No, no. I...I heard you the first time. It's just...what?"

The larger of the two rolled his eyes. "Come on, man. You know what I'm talking about. Like in all those spy action movies where the heroes are out doing their thing, there's always some guy on the sidelines giving him all the directions and opening all the trap doors and turning all the street lights green?"

Peter stared at him, blinking slowly. "...yeah?"

"Well, that could be me!"

Peter couldn't help but scoff and roll his eyes. "Ned, I-"

"Plus, then you'll have someone to talk to whenever you're out swinging around putting out fires and stopping floods." The boy whispered, Peter throwing him a weird look.

"Dude, I'm Spider-Man. Not...Jesus."

Ned threw him a light slap on the arm, Peter chuckling as he lightly punched his friend right back.

Over the past week, Ned had been flooding him with questions and inquiries on his "extracurricular activities", begging and pleading to let him get involved with it in one way or another. Of course, Peter was more than hesitant to allow the boy to do such a thing, knowing firsthand just how dangerous it was. After all, the closer he got the more threatening it was. And not just to him. To Peter as well. (He can't know. Can't know. Can't know.)

Still, that didn't do much to quell his friend's excitement.

And it didn't stop Peter from enjoying it as well. With all the seriousness surrounding Spider-Man and the dangers involved, it was easy to forget the sheer joy of being his spider-persona. Ned brought that joy and excitement back, the same feelings he'd felt when he'd first donned the mask and had swung around the city, free-falling and whooping like a child at Disney World.

So, with that gratitude in mind, Peter couldn't help but smile back at his friend. "I'm sure we could set something up." He murmured with a chuckle, especially when Ned practically started squealing in his seat.

The other decathlon members threw them strange looks but thought nothing of it as they went back to chatting amongst themselves, waiting for Michelle and Mr. Harrington to finish their brief discussion in the middle of their practice session.

The auditorium was all but empty save for the few tables and chairs that they usually set up for their practice meets. MJ and their sponsor teacher were near one of the back walls, having taken a break from their drills as the girl went to discuss something with the teacher while the rest of the members relaxed for a few short minutes.

Taking advantage of their brief rest along with the rest of their teammates, Ned had gone right into the questions and talks about Spider-Man once again, which was what led them to their current discussion.

However, Peter's mind drifted as he glanced over towards where Michelle was talking with their teacher. The girl's messy, curl-filled hair was tied back into a ponytail as usual, a few strands falling down around her eyes as she folded her arms over her chest and continued to converse with the older man. Peter couldn't help but watch the girl as she silently and almost unnoticeably shifted her weight from foot to foot, something she usually did whenever she was annoyed or upset by something but didn't wanna say it out loud, which was rare considering the girl was always quick to voice her opinions.

Of course, before he could question why he was focusing on the girl so much, Ned was tapping him on the shoulder. The teen jerked slightly before turning to face the boy, who - if his facial expressions were any sign - had just said something.

"Huh?"

"I asked if you think you'll run into any other Avengers anytime soon." The teen repeated quietly, confused as to where the boy's mind could have gone but ignoring it nonetheless.

Peter thought about it for a moment before giving a shrug of his shoulders. "I don't really know. I mean Tony and Rhodey I see on a daily basis and that little run-in with the Falcon was kind of an accident. Plus, I don't know if the Black Widow is gonna be making those tower visits a weekly thing and-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Ned whispered frantically before pointing a shaky finger towards his best friend, Peter rearing back slightly with wide eyes. "Don't tell me you met Black Widow. Peter Parker, do not tell me you met the Black Widow!" He basically whisper-screamed.

"...uh..."

"When did this happen?"

"About...I don't know, two weeks ago?"

"Two-! Two weeks ago?!" He was practically vibrating at this point. "You've had this little secret stored up for two weeks and you're just telling me about this now?!"

Peter shrugged his shoulders once more, a nervous smile on his face. "Well, I don't know, man. Things have been kinda...hectic for me right now. Seriously. I just...it just slipped my mind is all." He murmured.

Ned shook his head. "I am sorely disappointed in you, Mr. Parker. You gotta tell me everything now. In excruciating detail, too, just to make up for it."

Before Peter could roll his eyes and snort out a reply, their attention was drawn elsewhere. "Yo, Losers. If you're about done over there."

They jerked slightly in their seats before realizing that all of the other members had quieted down and were now glancing over at them. Lifting their heads, they noticed Michelle was back, Mr. Harrington now taking his usual seat at one of the back tables, content to stay out of the way to allow the students to handle themselves. The girl in question had her hands on her hips and was looking at them with a cocked brow.

Ned gave a small smile while Peter shrunk down in his seat slightly at all the looks. "Sorry!" His friend called.

Michelle rolled her eyes but quickly dropped it, turning back to address the rest of the Decathlon members. "Alright, so Mr. Harrington and I were just talking and we've gotten word of a rumor floating around the other Decathlon teams around the county that the topics for this next meet are gonna center around Africa."

A collective number of groans drifted up from the students, Michelle narrowing her eyes. "Don't give me that. I don't care if these questions are on Africa, micro-sciences, or fucking Star Wars."

"Language." Mr. Harrington's voice called out from the back, Michelle and the others promptly ignoring it as she glared at her team members. "We are not losing this next meet. Got it? You're all on this team for a reason. You all excel in your individual studies. We have members for math, history, literature, sciences, robotics, the works." She explained, folding her arms over her chest. "So whichever area of testing you're in, just be sure to study up on African areas of your fields, got it?" She snapped, the others quickly giving sharp nods, none too eager to mess around with the strict girl.

Quickly falling out of her disciplinarian mode, the girl slowly melted back into her usual sassy drill mode, pulling out another round of question cards for their next session.

"Alright, so with that in mind, we'll try our hand in a few." She murmured before flipping a few of her cards around and stepping up to their makeshift podium. "In the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, what luxury item was exported on a large scale from Africa by the Portuguese?"

The light tingle of a bell being rung sounded from the table over as Abe, their resident history star, chimed in. "Ivory."

Michelle gave a nod of approval before moving onto the next. "The title for Things Fall Apart comes from a poem from which writer?"

"Yeats." Sally rings in, earning another nod from Michelle.

Over the next half an hour, their questions mainly stemmed around African culture, earning most of their responses from Abe, Sally, and Charlie, who were more culturally knowledgeable than Peter, Ned, or Cindy, who were more mathematics, physics, and science. Of course, with each randomly thrown in math equation, science calculation, or statistical function, their bells were ringing just as much as their other teammates.

However, for once, Peter's bell wasn't ringing as often as their usual meets. It wasn't that he didn't know the answers. It's just that his mind seemed to be...elsewhere. This upcoming Decathlon meet was the qualifier for the regional championships coming up in a few months. Midtown almost always qualified so there was a significant reputation to uphold. The number of people attending this upcoming meet would be substantially larger than usual.

Such a fact didn't really...bother Peter, per se. Sure, it made him a little more anxious than usual being confined to a room with so many eyes on him, lights shining in his face. But he had gotten used to such events in his time on the Decathlon team.

With each meeting, each face-off against a new school, new opponents, the teen began to feel a little more comfortable. He got used to the bright lights, the quick questions. He even got used to the feeling of not knowing a question, learning to rely on his other teammates when he was lost.

However, with each and every new meet that came up, there was always one thing that remained the same. One thing that stood as a constant.

Usually, the first few rows of the auditoriums where their meets were held were reserved for the family members of each of the students, one name after another scrawled onto white pieces of paper before being draped over chairs, reserved and marked for proud mothers and boastful dads. Of course, when it came to Midtown's reserves, there was always one empty chair.

Richard Parker never bothered in showing up for their meets.

Sure, on occasion Sally's mom would have to work late or Ned's dad would have some holdups at the office or a family emergency would hold up Michelle's parents, but one time or another, parents always filled in those seats. One meet or the next. They were there.

But not Peter's. His seat was always empty. Always reflecting that name right back up at him as he spouted off one right answer after another.

This had led to more than one instance of teasing from Flash, the others either throwing Peter looks of sympathy or Flash looks of annoyance, but they never outright said anything. Abe had asked a few times where his parents were and Sally had volunteered her mom to loan his parents rides if transportation was the problem, but each and every time Peter just declined with a smile and a polite thank you, simply saying his dad was usually just busy and would show up if he could.

He never said anything about his mom.

They never asked. He hoped it would stay that way.

But as the absences grew less and less noticeable, Peter began to wonder if his father would ever show up for a meet, or if the man even knew about Decathlon at all.

(Of course he does. He just doesn't care enough to come.)

Still, Peter felt a strange gnawing at the idea of his father missing what could potentially be the most important meet of the season, save for the championship. And sure, he'd missed them before and Peter couldn't exactly be too sure what he'd feel if the man actually did come, it didn't stop the teen from wondering if the man would ever say yes to coming and seeing him. Witnessing his son in a setting where he actually thrived, somewhere he could actually make his father proud.

Maybe he should ask him. (Don't do that.)

Maybe he could mention the meet and how important it was. (He doesn't care.)

Maybe if he knew just how important it was to Peter...maybe...if he was in a good mood...then...

Maybe he could finally prove that he could make his father proud.

(Don't bet on it.)

"Yo, Parker!"

Peter was jerked out of his thoughts for the second time that day by a loud voice calling out to him. Only this time, it wasn't laced with good-natured snark like Michelle's. In fact, everyone turned to look at Flash as he threw the boy a smug look, sitting up from where he'd been lounging against one of the tables, a magazine now resting on his lap.

"What's the matter? No answers today? That brain of your finally short-circuit?"

Michelle glanced over at the boy, a glare and a reprimand at the ready, only for another voice to interfere with her snap. "Yeah, you're pretty quiet today, Pete. Everything okay?" Cindy asked, long black hair swishing as she turned her head to look at him.

Peter blinked a few times just to snap himself fully back to the situation at hand, only to falter slightly as he realized that they were all staring at him now. Shifting slightly under the scrutinizing stares, the teen blew out a small breath as he gave a nervous grin and rubbed the back of his neck. "Y-yeah. Yeah...I'm fine. Just...a little out of it today, I guess."

"Well, you better snap back into it soon, Parker. This meet is in a little over one week and you're my header for mathematics so get on it." Michelle chided from her seat by the podium, Peter blinking at the girl's usual snappiness with a frantic nod of his head.

The others looked ready to let it go at that, but Flash apparently had other plans. "Really, people? We can't see what's happening here?"

"No, but I'm sure you'll enlighten us," Michelle muttered as she rested an elbow on the podium surface and propped her cheek against her raised fist.

"This is just more proof of what I've been telling you. Penis here couldn't tell you the difference between an integer and a fraction and it's gonna cost us the match. This here is just more evidence."

He rose up from his seat and began to make his way over towards Michelle and the podium. "You all know I'm a better choice for his spot and if you don't wake up and realize it, then this match is as good as gone."

"Flash, come on-" Abe started, only for the other boy to cut him off.

"No, you know what? This moron hasn't answered one single question today and I'll prove it to you." He called with a smug grin as he reached over and swiped the trivia cards out of Michelle's hands.

"Hey!" The girl snapped, Flash ignoring her as he rifled through them, obviously trying to find the most difficult one. All the while, the others turned to glance over at Peter, who was sitting as stiff as a board as he watched Flash rifle through the cards. To them, it perhaps looked to be out of nervousness, but inside, Peter was feeling nothing but a burning sense of annoyance and resentment. A new feeling of tiredness washed over him as he thought over all the times Flash had made a mockery of him, had tried to degrade him, bully him.

School was Peter's face haven, but Flash just reminded him that nowhere was really...safe. Everywhere he went, there would always be someone like Flash, like the Cons, like his father.

(You can't escape.)

Well, he was tired of it. If this was the game Flash wanted to play, then-

He stopped himself from finishing the thought, muscles falling limp as the boy swallowed the lump in his throat, the swirling thoughts quickly dissipating with a small sigh.

No.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't push it.

Cause everywhere else, all it ever did was make things worse. So who was to say that it wouldn't be the same here? If Flash truly was like his father and the Cons, then who was he to act any differently? Oh sure, Flash couldn't exactly hurt him (physically at least) without serious repercussions, there was still a substantial power off-balance in the school, and like it or not, Flash was a lot more popular than Peter. And that meant power.

And just like every other person he knew with substantial power over him, Peter did what he knew best.

(Head down. Mouth shut.)

He survived.

So if that meant Flash thinking what he wanted, then so be it. He knew the truth. His friends knew the truth. His teammates knew the truth. Wasn't that enough?

But then again...they didn't really know the truth, now did they?

Did he?

("You're a waste of space.)

Did he even want to know the truth?

Before he could really even formulate an answer, he heard a victorious shout. Flash, apparently finding a question he liked, threw Peter a cocky smirk. "Alright, Parker. If you're so smart, then answer me this. A satellite is orbiting Earth at an altitude of 250 miles. Taking into consideration the measurement of the Earth's tangent horizon line, what is the distance from the satellite to the horizon when the radius is approximately 3,959 miles?" He finished by snidely whipping the card back down to glare at the boy in front of him.

His other teammates glanced at Peter unsurely before reaching for the pieces of scrap paper in front of them, deciding to do the problem as well just in case. Peter stared down at Flash, the teen's words slowly sinking into his mind, weaving themselves together in a jumbled mess Peter couldn't really pull apart, not when he already had so much clutter he was trying to sort through.

(You aren't worth shit.)

However, his troubles must have shown on his face as Flash sneered. "Seriously? You can't even set it up?" He called, noticing Peter wasn't even writing the problem down. "God, you are such an idiot, Penis. Why are you even on this team, man? You're like, completely useless."

("You will always be nothing.")

With those last words, Peter felt something inside of him bend. It didn't break, just shuddered. A small scratch in the glass walls holding in the torrents of black sludge always occupying his mind. It was just a tiny scratch, almost unnoticeable.

But it was enough to have his fingers curling as he glared down at the smirking boy below him. The boy that - for the first time in a long time - didn't look as intimidating as usual. His muscles weren't large and threatening. His face - while annoying - wasn't terrifying. And his eyes...weren't glowing.

Hands clenching, Peter came to realize something. Yes, Flash was like his father, was like the Cons. But he wasn't...them. So while Peter couldn't see himself slugging the teen in the face anytime soon considering the thought of fighting back making a bout of nausea slink through him, he could prove something right here and now.

He was worthy of his father's praise. At least here. At least at Decathlon.

"Come on, Flash. That's way out of li-" Ned began to shout, only for Peter to effectively cut him off.

"1,429 miles." He murmured, voice quiet but sharp. Everyone fell silent at that, even Mr. Harrington, who had been about to intervene once he caught sight of Flash overrunning the practice...yet again.

"And if you want that in yards, it's 2,515,040." He continued, voice cold as he retorted back. "Or maybe in feet, which would make it 7,545,120." He folded his hands together on the desk. "Wanna go for inches?"

Silence filled the auditorium, wide eyes boring into Peter's skin as the teen continued to meet Flash's stare, the latter of whom now finding himself at a loss for words. It wasn't so much the answer that Peter had given, nor the fact that he had a surplus to give considering each and every one of the members on the team could have figured out that particular problem.

No, it was the fact that Peter hadn't even needed to write anything down, hadn't needed to set it up. He just...knew. With only a few moments of thought he knew.

"Well?" Michelle asked with a knowing smirk now plastered onto her face as she glanced over at Flash. "Is he right?" She called, though she already knew the answer to her question. They all did. Even Flash.

Said boy tore his eyes away from Peter, glanced over at the other team members for a split second before turning down towards the card. The unsureness that had washed over his face at Peter's answers quickly morphed back into detached annoyance as he tossed the card over his shoulder. "Doesn't matter. This doesn't prove anything." He snapped, though his voice betrayed his unease.

"It proves one thing." Ned laughed from his seat.

"That there's a reason he's on this team," Abe called from his seat.

"And why you're first alternate," Cindy smirked as she folded her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair.

Peter could feel his face heating slightly at the praise his teammates were giving him, shrinking in his seat slightly and throwing them all small smiles as they beamed over at him. Flash, on the other hand, looked like a teapot ready to burst from the inside, fists curling at his sides as he glared at them. "Whatever. You'll see for yourselves next weekend. I'm right. I know I am." He sneered before stomping back to his seat.

"Ch'yeah. That ain't the only thing you are." Michelle muttered from the podium, the others snickering at that before the girl threw out another question and practice began once more, Peter now feeling no chains of hesitation as he buzzed in right alongside his teammates, Flash decidedly staying quiet for the remainder of their session.

 


 

Thursday - April 7, 2016

Queens, NY -  2765 Springshore Dr.

03:20 p.m.

The car screeched ever so slightly as Happy pulled up alongside the street, Tony craning his neck to glance out the back window. He stared up at the building before him and couldn't help but scrunch his face slightly in confusion.

"You sure this is the place, Tony?" Happy called from the front.

"...uh, sure."

Springshore was known for housing some of the richer, more well-off residents of Queens, numerous CEOs, entrepreneurs, and other high-end rollers settling in the neighborhood which was known for its fancy townhouses and extravagant architecture.

One such example of this would be Richard Parker himself, whose house was situated just across the street from where Tony was parked. The billionaire resisted glancing behind him at the tall building, the structure - though dark and empty at the moment - still giving him a strange vibe that made his stomach curl slightly.

So it was for this reason that Tony stared at the houses on the other side of the street in mild confusion, the side of the street he was currently parked on. Contrasting the lavish, top-tier houses on the other side of the road, these houses were anything but. In fact, they resembled more of the commonly-found apartments and run-down tenements that littered the streets of Queens. And the house he currently found himself parked outside of was no different.

The white paint was stained and peeling, matching the weary, chipped tiles and straining slats of the roof alongside the creaking window panes. The brick steps were dark and dirty, and the wooden banister outside the door had definitely seen better days. Still, there were a few flowers planted along the grass and newly sprouting buds growing in the flower beds underneath the windows, pushing past the melting snow to reach the sun.

If he were to sum the house up in one word, Tony would probably describe it as...quaint. Definitely not something he'd ever stay in, but functional nonetheless.

He took another moment to simply stare at the building before opening the car door and slowly stepping out. "Stay here, Hap. This shouldn't take too long."

"I don't know, Tony. Maybe I should come with you."

"Oh, yeah. You know what? I think you're right. Lord knows how I'll manage to defend myself against the little old lady on the other side of that door. She could have a cat in there. She could have two cats in there."

The man smirked down at his driver as Happy threw him an unimpressed look before reaching over to the passenger seat and pulling up a magazine, flicking it open more harshly than needed before pointedly turning away from Tony as he began to read it.

The billionaire couldn't help the chuckle that rose out of his throat.

With all that had changed in his life over the past few months, it was nice to have a few consistencies, mainly that bugging Happy never got old. Like...ever.

Currently dressed in jeans and a plain black T-shirt with a thick leather jacket overtop, Tony hoped the outfit was casual enough to not draw any unwanted attention as he walked up the steps and stopped in front of the door.

Feeling a strange sense of unease wash over him, Tony found himself hesitating as he stared at the worn-down door in front of him. His fingers twitched at his sides and he could hear his heart thumping just a little bit louder. Stealing a deep breath and shaking the ridiculous notions out of his head, the man lifted up his hand and curled his fingers into a fist, reaching out towards the wooden structure.

The door swung open before he could so much as graze it, the man rearing back slightly in surprise. The woman standing on the other side of the door was obviously just as surprised as he was, jumping in shock as a strangled gasp fell from her lips and she pressed a hand to her chest.

Taking a second to catch his breath, Tony stared back at the woman and found himself mildly surprised. She wasn't what he'd been picturing. Instead of a sweet older lady in her mid to upper sixties, this woman was on the younger side, probably only in her early thirties. She had chocolate brown hair that swept past her shoulders, clear, ivory-tanned skin, and light hazel eyes that reminded the billionaire of his intern's.

She didn't look like the sweet neighborly soul. She looked...hot.

Now, the old Tony Stark probably would have made a move on her right then and there, catching her attention with some cheesy pick-up line and waving around his money. But his affinity for women had taken a sharp decline after Pepper. There just wasn't much...motivation there anymore. Not when every woman he met couldn't hold a candle to his ex.

Besides, he was here for another matter entirely, one that took top priority.

"May Brenner?"

The woman, having taken a second to compose herself as well, lifted her head to meet his gaze, neither of the two saying anything for a second as they simply stared at one another. The billionaire waited for the plain shock in her eyes to transform into awe, confusion, or any of the other starstruck looks that people always got whenever they suddenly found themselves in his presence.

However, he was not expecting her look of surprise to morph into one of resignation and...frustration?

The woman straightened up, not frantically as if she were trying to correct herself for him, but slowly and with precise movements, never taking her eyes off of him as if he were some wild animal about to pounce on her the second she turned away.

Suddenly finding himself feeling even more awkward than before, Tony decided to try and initiate the conversation once more. "You...you are May Brenner, right? I've got the right house?"

He waited for her to reply, only for her mouth to give no twitches of movement. Instead, she continued to stare at him, her hips cocking out slightly as she folded her arms over her chest. "I was wondering when you'd finally show up." She murmured softly, voice sharp and hard despite its quiet characteristics. Tony felt like a teenager about to be scolded by a parent or a teacher.

Safe to say, the feeling was not one he enjoyed.

"Sorry?" He asked in a confused tone, cocking a brow as he tried to play off the uneasy nerves currently prickling at his skin. It wasn't very hard to do, but the fact that he had to do it at all was what bothered him.

The woman - May, he'd have to presume, considering she hadn't told him otherwise - said nothing once again as she simply stepped aside and gestured for him to come inside the house. After taking a second to process the current turn of events, the man found himself walking inside of the little building. Stepping into what he could assume to be a living room of sorts, the man tried not to make it obvious as he glanced around and scoped out the area.

The living room was small, with a two-person couch pushed back against the wall and a plush recliner with a few tiny rips in the corners, small pieces of felt dribbling from the holes and onto the wooden surface below. The kitchen could be seen farther into the room and a hallway off to the side led to a few wooden steps that trailed off towards a second floor before disappearing from sight.

May gestured towards the couch. "Make yourself comfortable. I'm sure it's not all that hard for you." She called as she walked over towards the kitchen. "Anything to drink? Water? Tea? Coffee?" She asked as she opened up her fridge.

The itching call of coffee made Tony's mouth water, but deciding to just get this meeting over with as soon as possible considering the tense atmosphere that was obviously present, the man decided not to prolong their talk. "No, I'm fine. Thank you." He murmured as the woman walked back over with a glass of water for herself. She sat down on the edge of the recliner and took a sip before setting the glass on the side table next to her.

She pursed her lips and turned to face him, eyes sharp and calculating as she stared at him. Tony stared at her as well only to jolt slightly as he realized she was waiting for him to say something. Geez, what was with him?

"So, you were expecting me?" He asked, hoping to lighten the mood somewhat. "You often get a lot of billionaires showing up on your doorstep?"

The woman shrugged her shoulders. "Too many for my tastes, if I'm being honest," she muttered.

"I can appreciate honesty. Though I think I'm safe in assuming you mean Mr. Parker across the street, right?" Tony asked, tapping his fingers together.

May didn't say anything outright. Her face remained neutral and passive. Tony had to admit, she was good. Over the years, he'd developed a fine eye when evaluating those around him, some people easily being read like an open book and others reserving themselves to deeper chapters and pages that he had to file through just to get to the crux of their personalities. But eventually, he'd always find it. Even if it took a second.

However, with this woman, he could honestly say he wasn't getting anything from her. Nothing but a strange sense of agitation with him that even he couldn't understand. As far as he knew, he'd never even met this woman before today.

Of course, lately, he hadn't been the media's favorite icon so perhaps that had something to do with it.

However, before he could dwell on it anymore, May opened her mouth once more. "So, Mr. Stark, to what do I owe this little visit?" She asked, though her tone of voice let on that she already knew to some degree. How? Tony had no idea.

Maybe leaving Happy in the car was a bad idea.

Still, this was not the time to be hesitant. Not when he'd finally found a lead on the case that was Peter Parker. Ever since their little argument on Saturday, the man hadn't been able to stop thinking of a little tidbit the teen had let him in on in the heat of the moment, mainly concerning one lifelong neighbor.

He cleared his throat and adjusted his position on the couch. "Yeah, well, I wanted to talk to you about Peter Parker."

With that, the woman pursed her lips and nodded her head slowly. The cross look, however, quickly melted into a smile as she lowered her head and chuckled under her breath. "Right..." She breathed softly, fingers tapping against the glass in her hands, the sharp clicks as her nails made contact with the hard surface echoing around the small room as her body seemed to take on a new tense posture.

Tony could already feel something bad was about to happen, if it wasn't already underway.

"Tell me, Mr. Stark," The woman started, harping on his name for a moment too long for it to be casual. "Just what about him would you like to know, hmm? Or more specifically, just what about him do you want me to share with you?"

It was obvious the woman was eluding to something, but Tony, perhaps just hoping to skirt by on feigned ignorance for as long as possible, chose to ignore it as he continued on. "Well...I guess whatever you can give me is good enough."

May nodded as she wet her lips. "Of course. Of course."

She set her glass down on the table before her and crossed her legs. "Well, I suppose there are a number of things I could tell you about him." She started. "I have known him for quite some time. But I'm guessing you already know that." She narrowed her eyes at him and threw the man a small smile.

It only made him squirm.

"I could tell you that his favorite color is yellow of all things, or that he'll eat anything you put in front of him as long as there's a salt shaker nearby, of that he's capable of falling asleep almost anywhere you put him, but..." She trailed off, voice darkening as her face hardened, eyes sharpening. "...something tells me that's not the kind of information you want to know, am I right?" She snapped.

Realizing things were worsening by the second, Tony realized he could no longer keep his mouth shut. "M'am, I-" He started, but the woman was not done. Far from it, actually.

"No. See, I think you're looking for something just a little more specific. Something just a little more useful." She hissed, uncrossing her legs as she leaned forward, the atmosphere in the room so palpable it was almost hard to breathe. Of course, that might have just been Tony.

"Tell me, are you wondering about the kinds of things he tells me? Do you wanna know what he shares with me? Do you wanna know if he's ever told me something that might just be a little too secretive to find anywhere else?"

She was out of the chair now, body tense and rigid as she stood stiff as a board, eyes boring into the man before her. "Do you wanna know if he's told me any secret passcodes that one could use to hack into the database of Parkstem? Do you wanna know if he's told me about the newest models and latest inventions his father's concocted?" She leaned closer, Tony rearing back slightly as she approached.

"Do you wanna know if he's a good enough tool for you? Do you wanna know if it's a waste of your time to trouble yourself with him, or if you're actually gonna get some useful information to use against Parker out of him? Huh?! Is that what you wanna know? Is that what you wanna hear, Mr. Stark?!"

The woman quickly turned on her heel, Tony blinking in shock as she snatched the glass of water off of the table below her. The billionaire slowly and cautiously rose up to his feet as she grabbed the glass and tipped it back violently, the contents draining down her throat before she pulled it away once more, the remaining liquids sloshing around the sides as she slammed it back down onto the table.

Tony knew where this was going. He knew what she was talking about, and it made him sick. It made him just as sick as when Rhodey and Pepper had insinuated it back when he's first gotten into this mess. It made him just as sick as when he'd questioned himself over why he'd agreed to mentor the boy, wondering the same things this woman was for a brief moment before dispelling the thoughts from his mind, assuring himself that such notions couldn't be farther from the truth.

However, convincing the woman before him of such a fact was going to be much harder than it had been to convince himself.

Taking a second to steel himself, Tony finally seemed to find his voice. "Mrs. Brenner, I-"

"You know...I am so sick and tired of people like you." She muttered, effectively cutting him off as she didn't even bother in turning around. He could see her fingernails thrumming against her crossed arms, however, displaying her boiling emotions.

"Rich billionaire assholes who think their money acts as some sort of shield, some...some sort of barrier against any and all consequences that your actions can drum up. Thinking that you can get away with anything because you have the money, the power, and the pull to do anything." She growled, whirling around to throw her glare straight at the man. "But you know, at least Parker tries to cover it up. At least he's a good enough liar to fool those idiots out there into believing that he's some white knight, that he's the best thing to have ever happened to this city as if he's some saint that graces us all with his presence and his multi-billion dollar smile that says 'i can do no harm'!" She snarled, fisting her hands together as she gritted her teeth tightly.

"But you...you just strut around, flashing your money, your power, your name all over the place without a care in the fucking world cause you're Tony Stark and your name says it all! That's all you need!"

Tony couldn't say anything as the woman stalked closer. Couldn't move as her eyes blazed with a fury that burned so pure it could only have been brewing over years of time. It had been years since a complete and total stranger had ever spoken to him with such conviction, such...such rage that the man couldn't do anything but freeze.

And Tony Stark didn't freeze. But these past few months had been full of surprises, so what was one more?

"Well I've had it. I've had it with you people. And I've had it with monsters like you and Parker thinking they can use a little boy however they want! Using him however they see fit without even giving it a second thought, without regretting their actions, without even thinking about him!"

She let out a loud breathy laugh, filled with venom, with pure unadulterated rage. "No. Fuck that. I've had to sit here and watch that psychopath across the street do horrible things to that boy for years without being able to do one goddamn thing about it because that's Richard Parker and I'm some no-name waitress down at the local diner who could definitely use the cash and publicity that would come from making such a claim, which is actually what people would think I'm doing it for. And Peter would be caught in the crossfire."

With that, she leaned forward, their noses nearly touching as she stared at him without flinching, without blinking, without a single care crossing her mind of the repercussions that might come from threatening such a high-power figure like Tony Stark.

"But if you think I'm gonna keep quiet as you come in here and do the same...then you have another thing coming, motherfucker. I may just be one person, but I will do whatever it takes to keep you away from that boy." Her eyes seethed as her words flew from the tongue like daggers cutting through the air. "I won't let you hurt him." With that, she roughly grabbed onto the man's wrist and jerked him towards the door.

"Now get the fuck out of my house."

At her touch, the man seemed to snap out of whatever stupor he'd fallen into as he blinked back into reality and dug his heels into the ground, whirling around to face the woman. "Now hold on a second here-"

"No! I don't wanna hear whatever lies you have to spew, you son of a bitch!" The woman snarled as she raised a hand, seemingly done with restraining herself as she took a swing at him. Tony yelped and ducked under the first, latching onto the woman's wrist.

She growled in response and aimed a kick at the man's shin. Tony buckled slightly but kept his grip tight as he twisted her arm around her back, the woman thrashing as she let out a long string of curses that would make even him real back slightly.

"Would you calm down for one goddamn second here?!"

"I'm calling the cops, you fucker!"

He could feel her nails digging into his skin as he tried to keep her subdued long enough to say what he needed. "Just listen and-"

"Fuck off! Don't you dare hurt that boy!"

"I'm not trying to hurt him! I'm trying to help him!"

Her struggles seemed to weaken slightly at that, but after a second of hesitation she was thrashing about once again. "Oh, shut up you little weasel! Don't pretend that you're doing him any favors! I know you're just biding your time until you get exactly what you want and-"

"I KNOW ABOUT RICHARD!"

May froze, her body going rigid in Tony's grasp. The man panted heavily behind her, grip tight on her wrists as he studied her movements, or lack thereof. He couldn't see her eyes considering he was facing her back, but judging from the tight coiling of her muscles, the man could tell she was struggling with some sort of internal debate.

"What about him?" She asked, voice tight and sharp, though it was obvious she was searching for a particular type of answer.

The man let out a small sign as he released the woman, May quickly whirling around to face him. Tony tensed for a brief second, wondering if she would leap onto him once more, but after a moment passed with no such attack, the man shut his eyes and let out a deep breath.

"I...I know about him. About...what he does."

The woman stared back at him, unmoving and silent as his words rang clear. She swallowed thickly, eyes never leaving the man's face. "And...and just what is it that you know about him?" She asked, though her voice faltered slightly.

Tony gave a small shake of his head. "Not as much as I wish I did, but...I know what he's doing to Peter. Well, at least I think I have a pretty good theory." He growled under his breath just loud enough for the woman to hear. She blinked at him, eyes suddenly filling with something other than anger. "D-did...did he tell you about it?" She whispered, her voice reaching a volume Tony hadn't even known it could reach considering all the yelling that had just taken place.

Assuming she meant Peter, the billionaire shook his head with a small scoff. "No, you kidding? When I tried to pry it out of the kid, he nearly bit my head off with denials. Though that pretty much gave me all the confirmation I needed."

May let out a small bitter laugh at that. "Yeah...I know how that feels." She sighed, rubbing at the back of her neck that Tony noticed was extremely close to what Peter did whenever he was nervous of uncomfortable. May lifted her head to stare back at the billionaire, face falling into a look of solemn confusion. "So you're not trying to exploit him?" She asked softly.

Tony stared at her for a moment before letting a sigh bubble past his lips. "I think we should start from the beginning."

 


 

A few minutes later found May walking back out of the kitchen, now wielding two glasses of a liquid that was definitely not water if the amber color was any hit. But at the woman's words of "If there was any a time to drink, I think now seems to be about right", Tony raised no arguments.

She handed him a glass and sat down in the chair opposite him, a loud sigh of exhaustion falling from her lips as she leaned against the back of the chair, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of her face with her one free hand. "I guess everything started around twenty-five years ago." She began. "My husband and I had been great friends with Mary, Peter's mother. We'd gone to college together. She'd studied genetics while my husband had studied engineering and I had worked down in the nursing department."

"Did you know Richard too?"

May tilted her head from side to side. "Not as well as Mary, but...yeah. We knew each other." Her eyes grew thoughtful for a moment. "He was different back then. Nicer. Still a bit of a loner but...nice."

"So...different from the two-faced asshole he is now?"

The woman scowled and shook her head in exasperation, confirming his statement before continuing.

"Anyway, this was before he became this big-shot manufacturer. Before all of that, he was actually a lepidopterist."

"A leper-what now?"

"Lepidopterist. He studied butterflies."

Tony's scoffed in disbelief. "Seriously? That hard-ass used to flit around flower fields all day with a butterfly net in hand?"

May shrugged her shoulders. "It's true. Maybe wasn't the most flashy thing on campus but it sure got Mary's attention." She muttered with a roll of her eyes. "They fell for each other our sophomore year and stuck to each other like glue after that." She sighed, a look of sorrow morphing her features before she blinked back into reality and took a sip of the scotch. "After graduation, we all went our separate ways and it just happened to be random chance that we all ended up in the same neighborhood years later. But...things had changed. Richard had changed."

Tony's eyes narrowed, the similar sinking feeling he got whenever he noticed Peter trying to cover up a bruise or stutter out a choked-up response settling into his stomach. "Changed how?"

May scowled. "More like how he is today, only less...severe." She waved a hand before her as she spoke. "Apparently - and this is all from what Mary explained to me - after college, Richard moved into genetics with her. I guess her passions rubbed off on him or something," she explained. "In fact, I actually think I remember her saying something about them working for Oscorp for a time."

Tony cocked a brow. "Oscorp? Really? Or all the places-" He started before trailing off with a shake of his head. "Well, how do you get from working within a 'supposedly' great company to starting one of your own in little less than a year's time?"

May nodded her head at the man's words, swirling the glass in her hands so that the liquid slashed against the sides. "Apparently, there was this huge scandal. Something or other revolving around stolen tech and fraudulent research, but whatever it what, it got Richard fired from Oscorp and his name slandered through the mud. Mary left not long after that." She narrowed her eyes. "Loyal till the end I guess." She muttered.

Tony blinked at the new information he was receiving, information he never would have even begun to think about, let alone search for. All he'd known about Parker was his involvement with Parkstem Labs. All the other record were either inconsequential or sealed and Tony hadn't thought anything of relevance would have been stashed in said files so he'd ignored them.

Obviously, that had been a mistake.

"It wasn't long after that that Peter came into the picture."

The billionaire cocked a brow. "Doesn't really seem like the best time for a baby all things considered."

May let a small smile fall onto her face at that. "That's what I thought too, but...once you saw him...you didn't really care," she chuckled, a small gleam of happiness entering her eyes. "He was just...he was so..." She shook her head. "This was after Richard had been fired so money was pretty tight for them but...Mary made it work. I don't think Peter ever really knew about it cause of how well she hid it," she sighed wistfully.

Tony shifted uncomfortably in his seat, dreading the answer to the question now forming on the tip of his tongue. "And...and Richard? How was he with Peter?"

May shrugged her shoulders. "I wouldn't know. He was always locked away in the basement or out trying to clear his name."

The billionaire felt his fingers tighten around the glass in his hand, stomach churning. "So you don't know if he ever..." He didn't even want to finish.

May's eyes sharpened at that, an intense fire burning within her irises. "Mary would have never let him lay a hand on her son. Not while she was around."

Despite the woman's harsh tone, Tony couldn't help but feel a small piece of the weight hanging in his stomach chip away at that. At least there was some good news in all of this. May swigged another drink before letting out a long sigh. "A few years passed and eventually Richard discarded the genetics field altogether and began to go into manufacturing tech...I guess sort of what you did a couple of years ago."

Tony furrowed his brow. "Yeah, but I have...money. Starting up your own company like that isn't something you pay for out of pocket, especially when you've just been fired from your job and have a wife and kid to look after."

"Well, that's just the thing," May interjected, face twisted into a look of confusion. "Apparently Richard got some funding from an outside investor that helped him with launch."

"Outside investor?"

The woman shrugged her shoulders. "That's all Mary ever told me. Maybe all she knew about it."

Tony glanced away at that, eyes hard in thought as he tried to rack his brain for anybody with the money to invest so much into a risky company. The man made it a point to know people with the money and power to ever interfere with his endeavors, and he could only think of a handful that would maybe try such a thing. Still...the whole thing seemed a little...off to him.

"It wasn't long after that...maybe a month or two that..." May's voice seemed to shift, taking on a much softer tone. "..t-the incident occurred." She cleared his throat before turning to look at him. "Did...did Peter-"

"He told me a little," Tony admitted. "Something about a break-in."

May bit her lower lip before ducking her head away. "I was never told the details." Her voice was almost too quiet for Tony to hear, but interrupting her wasn't something he was about to do."Nobody really was. All I know is that there was an intruder in the house when Mary and Peter were home. Richard told the police he was probably after some of his newly designed models or something like that...but apparently, he found Mary instead."

The woman fell silent for a moment. The billionaire bit the inside of his cheek, unsure of what to do as his fingers tapped nervously against the side of his leg. What he'd told Peter was still valid now: emotions really weren't his strong suit. Thankfully, before the man could dwell on what his next course of action should be, May cleared her throat and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

"She was taken to the hospital with two gunshot wounds to the chest and pronounced dead a little while after." She let out a small sniff. "We didn't even have time to make it over there before..."

Tony watched her clear her eyes once more before deeming it safe enough to ask a question. "How did Peter take it?"

"How you'd expect a four-year-old to take it. He didn't really understand it. All he knew was that his mother was gone and that she wasn't coming back."

"And Richard...?"

The woman took another sip from her glass. "We didn't really see much of him. We showed up to the funeral and he didn't say anything," she murmured. "People went up to him, shared their sympathies and condolences and he'd nod along, say a thanks here and there, but...something was off." She growled, voice straining slightly as she continued. "He was sad, you could see it on his face. But...he wasn't sad enough. He was just too okay. He was too...normal, like they weren't putting his wife into the fucking ground. There just...there was just something...wrong about it."

Her grip on the glass tightened as her face turned into a scowl. "He wouldn't even hold Peter's hand."

She blew out a breath and her face calmed. "After that, things...things didn't get better. Those assholes he calls associates moved into the house a little while after that when he was finally making enough money to expand the house. We started seeing less and less of him and more and more of Peter...including some things we didn't want to see on Peter."

Tony felt the weight in his stomach sink even further. "Mary was gone..."

"...so there was nobody to stop him." May finished with snarl. "Don't get me wrong. As soon as we caught wind of it, Ben and I were on it like that." She snapped her fingers, the sound nearly making Tony wince in the otherwise silent room. "But..."

The billionaire narrowed his eyes. "Let me guess. Richard has a way of shaping things exactly how he wants it?"

"People only know what he wants them to know." May growled out. "Besides, he has enough friends in high places to ensure his free reign. Plus, I'm sure you've become aware of Peter's skills in...twisting the truth?"

The man nodded. "Yeah, I've been meaning to ask you about that. It's just that...he seems to be a little pro at lying about...you know." He muttered. "In fact, it's almost not surprising that most people haven't taken any notice cause he's so good at keeping them off his trail. But...when he tries to do the same thing with me...it's like..."

"Like he couldn't talk his way out of a wet paper bag?"

The man raised a brow, a small smirk appearing on his face for the first time since entering the house. "I take it you've noticed too?"

May let out a small snort. "He used to be the same way with me and Ben. He'd come over at night looking absolutely miserable and just...stand there. Tongue-tied and flustered...as if he couldn't form a coherent sentence." Her face grew thoughtful. "It's almost as if...he didn't want to lie to us...so he couldn't. Almost like he...wanted us to know...wanted us to see the truth."

As the woman dwelled on her words, Tony couldn't help but do the same, specifically something she'd said at the beginning.

"Used to be?"

May blinked back into reality and turned to face him. "Huh?"

"You said he 'used to' be the same way with you. Did something happen?"

Considering the woman had been quick to share so much the past hour, Tony was genuinely surprised when she turned her head away and remained silent. Despite the fact that he was desperate for any information he could get in regards to Peter, he knew that he was asking for a lot, especially considering the kind of memories he was making the woman dredge through.

"You don't have to tell me, Mrs. Brenner. I-

"Ben."

The man quickly shut his mouth, watching the woman seem to have some sort of internal battle with herself before deciding to continue. "It...it was around two years ago. Peter had had a particularly rough evening at home and had come here for a little break." She started off, her voice low and slow, almost as if she didn't trust herself to be able to continue. "Ben decided to go and take him out for ice cream to cheer him up. I...I was at work."

Her fingers curled around the glass and around the armrest of the chair she sat in, hands shaking slightly. "Along the way...along the way there was a-a man. A mugger. H-he had a gun. Ben...pushed Peter behind him."

Her voice trailed off after that, more tears spilling down her cheeks as she silently brushed them back.

"I'm sorry." Tony murmured quietly, unsure as to what he could really say. He didn't think there was anything.

It took little longer than before for May to compose herself, but Tony didn't push her. She brushed a strand of hair out of her face and cleared her throat before continuing, red eyes staring into the glass in her hand. "After that, something changed with Peter. He stopped coming over here. He stopped talking to me and...whenever he did, he wouldn't have trouble lying right to my face, as if...as if I were just another stranger he had to convince.

She swallowed thickly before turning to face him. "Peter's a good boy, Mr. Stark." She murmured softly. "Maybe that's why he stopped telling me things. I don't think he wants me to get involved with this anymore. Doesn't want me to be a part of this. Might explain why he gets so frantic any time I bring up exposing his dirt-bag father." She growled, grip tightening on the glass once more.

"It's just...that madman has the power to do whatever he wants whenever he wants without any restrictions, consequences, anything!" She growled. "He can do whatever he wants to that boy and get away with it! Peter used to be such an outgoing, energetic little angel! Now he's some...obedient tool that only ever says what his father wants him to say without question, without any resistance because that asshole has beaten it into him and-"

Before she could say anymore, the glass in her hand shattered, the noise startling both her and Tony as the pieces littered floor beside her foot. She grunted in surprise before stooping down onto her knees, shaky hands attempting to grasp the tiny pieces as she placed them in her palm.

As her trembling hands struggled to pick up a particularly small piece, another, more calloused hand grabbed it instead. Her tear-streaked face lifted to stare into Tony's, the man holding a look of resignation.

"He's just a baby." May whispered as another tear rolled down her face and splattered down next to the glass. "He's just a...j-just a..."

She didn't say any more as the pair continued to collect the glass, brushing the shards onto the table before them. After a moment, Tony seemed to find his voice once again. "Peter...has made it very clear to me that he doesn't want me to get involved with his father's...business." He explained. "Doesn't want me snooping around asking questions."

May shook her head with a sigh. "Sounds like him."

"So...I made a deal with him." Tony continued, unsure as to how the woman before him would respond to such information. "I told him he doesn't have to tell me anything about what goes on in that house and that I would never ask about it and-"

"You what?" May shouted, blinking in shock as she reared back. "How can you expect to help him if you just gave him a free ticket to never talk about it?!"

The billionaire held up his hands. "I know it sounds crazy, but just hear me out." He asked, waiting for May's shoulders to release some of their tension and for her face to fall neutral once more as she sat back on her haunches and motioned for him to go on. The man hesitated for a moment, contemplating what he was really going to say before letting out a long sigh and rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, I know what it feels like to not be able to trust anybody, to...to wonder whether anyone around you is who they say they are or if they're just using you in some way, manipulating you to get what they want." He muttered, mind reeling to decades past. May said nothing as she sat and listened.

"I know what it's like to be...afraid of everything around you," he murmured, glancing down at his hands as he clenched and unclenched them back and forth. "So...I made that deal. I made it so that he won't have to be afraid around me...around the tower." He explained. "He won't have to fear spilling something he shouldn't say, something he shouldn't do. Maybe that way..." He paused for a moment, sucking in a breath before continuing. "Maybe that way he'll actually start taking of his own free will. If...if I can get him to do that...if I can get him to trust me, then..." He lifted his head to gaze back at her. "...then I'll finally be able to help him."

May stared at him for more than a moment, bright hazel eyes boring into dark brown as she seemed to soak up the man's words, searching his face for any and all traces of lies, deceit or malice. Finally, after a moment, she rose up to her feet, Tony quickly mirroring her actions as the two stood off against each other. Licking her lips, the woman gave a small nod of her head.

"I'll do whatever I can to help."

Internally, Tony let out a strained breath. Though, it wasn't all that surprising to find that he'd been nervous about the woman's reaction. After all, taking in Peter's intimate relationship with her, gaining her trust would just be another step on the road to gaining Peter's, a journey that would be all the more difficult if someone the boy trusted and valued didn't hold the billionaire in a certain light.

Nodding his head, the man let a small smirk fall onto his face. "I guess the best thing you can do is...not badmouth me to the kid if you can." He only half-joked.

May smiled as well, lowering her head before giving a small nod. "When Peter told me about this...about this little internship," she started, gesturing to the billionaire. "I was...incredibly skeptical." She muttered before her face softened and her eyes crinkled slightly. "But...you should have seen the look on his face. It...it was a look I haven't seen there for a while." She smiled. "He actually looked...he almost looked...happy." She swallowed the small lump forming in her throat before turning to face the man seriously. "It's been nearly ten years since I've truly seen my baby happy, Mr. Stark. If you can bring that back...if you can bring him back..." Her voice faltered and trailed off, eyes growing misty once more.

Tony stared back at her before giving a nod of his head. "I'll do what I can," he said, his voice more serious and determined than it had been in a long time.

And for the first time since Siberia, Tony felt something change in him, something shift and morph. The anger and sadness and pain began to crack and pulse, transforming into something else, something greater than him: determination. If he could do something good with that despair in him, if he could use it to do something other than make things worse (like he usually found himself doing), then he'd do whatever he could to make it a reality.

He wouldn't fuck this up...no matter what.

He cleared his throat and turned away, the sheer force of emotion filling the room nearly sweeping him off his feet. "I should probably get going. I have somewhere I need to be, actually."

May nodded as they began to walk back over to the front door. "Of course. You know..." She paused once they approached the entrance, Tony already halfway outside as he turned back at her call. "...you're not who I thought you were, Mr. Stark." She murmured, her lips creasing into a smile. "You're not what they say you are. I hope you know that."

His chest pulsed again and his arm gave another phantom twinge of pain as an indistinguishable feeling began to form in his stomach, but the man pushed it back before he could really acknowledge it. He smiled back at her and extended out his hand. "Call me Tony."

The woman stared at him for a moment before sliding her palm into his. "May."

Quickly separating, Tony began to descend the steps of the run-down apartment, making a mental note to bring his city renovations organization over to this side of the city to help transform such buildings. However, as he began to reach for the handle to his car door, the man turned back around. "Oh, and before I forget...is there anything else about Peter than you can think of that I might need to know? It doesn't have to be like...life-altering, but...anything that might come in handy?"

May furrowed her brow in thought, pondering the question for more than a moment where Tony nearly decided to forget about it, until her face lit back up and her mouth curled into a knowing smirk.

"I might have something..."

 


 

Thursday - April 7, 2016

Midtown School of Science and Technology - Building 1

04:13 p.m.

"Alright, guys!" Mr. Harrington called from his chair, rising up as he adjusted his glasses. "That's enough for today. Great session, kids." He said with a large grin as he walked over and clapped a hand on Michelle's shoulder, the girl placing the index cards on the podium as the teacher lent a hand of aid. She took it and stepped off the podium, moving over towards the others as they walked off the stage and approached.

"Well this is just great," Charlie muttered as he threw up his hands in exasperation. "It's bad enough having to know all about the literature of Western culture. Now we gotta study up on Africa, too?"

Michelle couldn't help the smirk off her face. "Apparently."

Ned shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. I don't think it'll be that bad." He chimed in.

"Well, that's kind of easy for us to say, man," Peter said softly. "Physics and math are the same in Africa as they are here." He chuckled, the others doing the same as Abe, Sally and Charles all gave fake pouts of annoyance.

Nevertheless, the teens quickly moved off the topic as they moved over towards the back of the room, where their backpacks and stuff were all strewn about, none of them actually having had the motivation to organize them when they'd first started practice.

"Well, I don't know about you, but my parents sure are excited for this next match." Abe said with a smile, his faint accent leaking through in his words, which had all the other teens nodding their heads along with him...well, almost all the teens.

"I know, right?" Cindy beamed. "My mom is so pumped for this, probably more than me, actually." She rolled her eyes. "Bringing the camera and everything. Probably gonna post it online or something."

Michelle shrugged her shoulders. "Not necessarily a bad thing. We could always use the sponsors and the more people that see us the better so..."

"Yeah, but I don't want hundreds of thousands of people watching me screw up any questions!" She protested.

Peter cocked his head to the side and raised a questioning brow. "Welp, it's a high-school decathlon match, so 'hundreds of thousands of people' seems like a bit of a stretch." He teased, the girl playfully swatting him in the arm.

"Nah, I feel you, Cindy. My parents haven't shut up about this stupid thing. Honestly, I think they just want more stuff to brag to their friends about." Ned mused with a smile, the others chuckling before shrugging their shoulders in agreement.

"I don't know, guys. I think it's safe to assume that we'll have at least one extra chair..." Flash chimed in, the others turning to look at him as he approached, a nasty grin on his face as he stared over at Peter. "...right, Parker?"

The mood instantly shifted as the boy approached, the group seeming to quiet as they all deflated to some degree. Dealing with Flash always seemed to have that effect on them. Peter glowered at the boy. "Leave me alone, Flash."

"Ah, come on, Parker. I'm just playing with you." He grinned as he walked over and placed a tight arm around Peter's shoulder, the boy flinching violently at the touch, his face contorting into a look that almost resembled pain. "It's not like it's your fault your dad doesn't seem to care enough to come to these meets. Maybe he's just trying to save you the embarrassment. I mean, it's gonna be hard enough messing up in front of a crowd of people and your peers, the last thing you need is your dad witnessing it, too. IF anything, he's a pretty realistic guy." He sneered, tightening his hold on the boy. Peter grunted, resisting the urge to push Flash as hard as he could just to get those hands off him, off him, off him!

Thankfully, Ned seemed to pick up on his friend's discomfort, pushing Flash away himself. "Shut up, Flash. Stop being such an ass!"

"Yeah, man. What's your deal?" Charlie growled, face scrunching in annoyance in a similar fashion to his peers.

If Flash noticed the looks, he didn't let it on as he shrugged his shoulders. "Come on, guys. You all know it's true. Parker's old man just doesn't give a rip. Perfectly normal reaction when your kid's below average in pretty much...well, everything." He gave Peter a punch in the arm.

(He's right. He's right. He's right.)

Michelle's hands quickly met her hips as she pursed her lips, eyes blazing in a silent anger seen only in the slight twitching of her fingers. "At least Peter's dad would have something to watch. Your parents have to just sit there knowing their kid isn't good enough to make it on the actual team, so he has to settle for First Alternate." She smirked up at his shocked face. "I'm sure they're very proud."

The boy blinked at her for a few moments, the sounds of the other teammates giggling filling his ears, which were quickly growing red. His face, however, quickly began to match that shade as he glared at her before turning his sharp eyes towards Peter. "At least my parents care about me enough to show up." He snapped with a vicious grin, knowing he'd stuck a nerve when Peter took a small step back.

Instantly, the voices of Peter's teammates rose up in indignation, only for Mr. Harrington to walk over. "Alright, alright, calm down you guys. Save some of this energy for next week." He chuckled, obviously unaware of what their voices had been raising for.

Peter, however, didn't feel like sticking around to listen to the boy's words anymore. Twisting around on his heel, he stooped down and began collecting things into his bag.

"Peter, come on, man. Don't listen to him." Ned called, glaring over at Flash as the boy grinned victoriously. But before Peter could even open his mouth, Flash was speaking once again. "Hey, you know what? Since you keep striking out with your dad, how 'bout you try changing it up? Why don't you go ahead and ask Tony Stark if he can come to the meet." He sneered with a laugh, the other teammates, besides Ned and MJ seeming to back off slightly at that.

Considering most of they were still unsure as to how the whole Stark Internship really played out, their options on defending their teammate were sorely limited.

Peter stared down at his bag, not lifting his head at Flash's words despite the boy's goading. "What's the matter, Penis. Scared your idol won't show up either? Afraid he'll think you're worthless too?"

Peter instantly shot up to his feet, throwing his backpack over his shoulder as he wordlessly began to make his way over towards the exit doors, ignoring the calls of Ned and his teammates, the only voice he could really make out being Flash's.

"Go ahead and face the facts now, Parker! A loser like you won't ever be anything! And everyone around you already knows it!"

The doors slammed shut behind him, the teen letting out a shaky breath as he clenched his backpack straps tightly, hands shaking ever so slightly. He scrunched his eyes shut and gritted his teeth, blinking back the slight veil of mist now covering his irises. Flash was wrong. He knew he was. He always was.

(Not about this.)

Peter ran a hand through his hair as he shrugged his backpack off his shoulder and leaned back against the wall behind him, head resting against it. He'd be lying if he said Flash's words hadn't got to him. But the main point of issue was that they had. That jerk had been bullying him for years, and usually Peter was easily able to block them out. To ignore them and keep on moving.

But today...something about them. Something just made him squirm, made that room too suffocating to be in. And the sad thing was...Peter knew why, despite what he tried to convince himself.

Flash was right.

He was right about his father. Every word. There was no way his dad would ever want to come to the meet. To him, it wasn't even a blip on his radar. Not even worth glancing at...just like him. It always seemed like the things he was good at...his father never seemed to care about. Mathematics, physics, building Lego sets, cooking...none of it seemed to click with his father. None of it was worth noticing.

No...all he seemed to notice were the things Peter couldn't do. He noticed every time Peter stumbled during training. He noticed every time the boy was late coming home. He noticed every time he took one step out of line.

Sometimes it made Peter wonder...if the bad stuff was the only thing his father would ever notice...then what was the point of trying the good stuff?

Why bother?

The boy sighed and pulled his backpack up onto his shoulder once more, scrubbing tiredly at his face as he pushed off the wall and began to shuffle across the lawn of the school, head down as he made towards the sidewalk.

A sudden honk by the road had the teen jumping near out of his skin. He whipped his head up and balked at the sight of a sleek car pulling up beside him. The back window slid down, revealing the smirking face of one Tony Stark.

"Feel like playing hookie?"

Peter blinked at him before cocking a brow. "School already ended...like, two hours ago."

"...Feel like doing some extra-curricular activities?"

"You mean like Decathlon? You know...the thing I just finished and-"

"Just get in the car, kid."

Peter couldn't keep the grin - albeit a confused one - off his face as he walked over towards the door on the other side of the car and opened it, sliding into the seat next to Mr. Stark, the man currently scrolling on his phone with one leg resting atop the other. "Step on it, Happy." The man called to their driver, the car pulling away from the curb before Peter could rethink and go back on his decision to enter.

The teen quickly strapped on his seat belt before awkwardly glancing over at Tony. "Umm..." He murmured, rubbing the back of his neck as he threw the window next to him a sidelong glance. Tony set his phone down and looked over at the teen, unable to suppress the small smirk that grew onto his face at knowing exactly what the boy was thinking.

"Not that I'm not...happy to see you, M-Mr. Stark, cause I am! I mean, it's...it's cool and all you coming to my school...especially after hours so nobody sees me with you and- Not that I don't wanna be seen with you! It's just..." The boy seemed to bite down on his tongue as his face grew a little redder.

The billionaire gave a small roll of his eyes. Despite the growing amount of times the two had spent together, Peter still couldn't stop acting like a stuttering mess at times.

"Relax, kid. I'm not about to kidnap you or anything." The man finally said.

Peter opened his mouth to reply, only to tilt his head at the billionaire's words. "Well, I mean...you still haven't really t-told me where we're going so...I kinda think we're on the verge of a kidnapping." He murmured with a cocked brow a a small hint of a smile.

Tony scoffed and rested his arm against the lip of the seats. "Trust me, kid. If I wanted to kidnap you, I'd do it in a much more original way." He noted. "Something that lets you know you're definitely being kidnapped by Tony Stark."

Peter couldn't help the small snicker that escaped his lips before clearing his throat, his face now noticeably brighter than when he'd first entered the car, something Tony took small pride in. "Alright, so why are you...almost kidnapping me?"

Tony inwardly winced at that, realizing he hadn't really come up with a great excuse as to why he'd been near the school. He couldn't just say he'd come from the tower cause that drive alone was nearly half an hour and Peter would ever believe that he'd driven all that way just to pick him up from school on a day where they weren't even meeting at the tower. Hell, Tony would never believe that cause it's something he'd never do.

Then there was always the option of telling Peter the truth; telling him the real reasons for him being in the neighborhood. And yet, something told him that such a conversation wouldn't go over well with either of them. After all, not even a week ago, he'd promised the kid he wouldn't go snooping into his life and he was literally only there because he'd been trying to dig up information on the kid from the only person he semi-trusted.

Yeah, so that was definitely out.

"What? I can't just drop by for a hello?" He hoped the pure confidence he was exuding would be enough to fool the boy.

Unfortunately for him, however, Peter was a pretty smart kid.

Peter furrowed his brow and tilted his head. "Something tells me Tony Stark doesn't just drop by places for a friendly hello?" The teen murmured as his body shifted slightly, Tony just barely picking up on the twitching of Peter's fingers against the leather seats as his eyes narrowed ever so slightly

The billionaire hesitated for a moment before deciding to stick to the confidence route as he shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "Yeah, you got me there, kid. Truth be told, I was already in the neighborhood."

With that, Peter's posture shifted even more as his face fell into a shroud of distrust as he fully narrowed his eyes and scrunched his nose, staring the man up and down as if the answers themselves were tattooed to his skin if he could just find them. His hands now fully curled around the edge of the seats as his muscles coiled underneath his shirt sleeve. "Uh-huh..." His voice practically dripped unease. "...And, uh...why was Tony Stark in the neighborhood and not at his Tower?"

Tony turned his head and stared down at the boy, Peter seeming to shrink ever so slightly underneath the man's gaze but still holding his own as he waited for the man's answer. Knowing now was not the time to start backing down, the billionaire narrowed his eyes as well, almost seeming to challenge the teen as he answered. "Avengers stuff." He finally answered. "Secretive Avengers stuff, actually. Secretive as in 'not the type of thing you share with nosy interns'." He said.

Something about the man's answer seemed to flick a sort of switch in Peter, for the boy immediately lost whatever fire had begun to burn in him as his eyes glanced away towards the ground and his shoulders loosened and sagged ever so slightly. "Right..." He murmured softly, fingers continuing to softly twitch against the leather.

The man silently cursed himself for the answer, wondering if maybe he could have handled the situation better before shaking the thoughts out of his head. Since when did Tony Stark doubt himself? Maybe he really was just having a bad day.

Nevertheless, there was a reason he hadn't just gone straight back to his tower after meeting with May and he planned on fulfilling such a task.

"But now that you mention it..."

Peter glanced back over to him as Tony spoke again.

"...super secretive Avengers shit can really work up an appetite." Tony let out a loud melodramatic sigh before shoving Peter's shoulder, the teen jumping slightly as the sudden touch. "So you know any good places to eat around here?"

Peter stared at the man for a moment, mind reeling from the sudden shift both he and Tony had just performed within literal seconds, going from slight tension to lackadaisical joking. It was...strange to say the least, but Peter couldn't say he wasn't revealed by the shift in focus.

The teen felt a small smile form on his face as he gazed at the man before him.

"Yeah...I might know one."

 


 

Thursday - April 7, 20

57th Street, Queens NY - Delmar's Deli-Grocery

04:32 p.m.

"You know, Pete. When a place claims to have the 'best sandwiches in Queens' you'd think they'd be able to afford tables."

Peter couldn't help but giggle as he glanced over at Mr. Stark, who was grimacing at the curb they were currently seated upon, heir legs stretched out in front of them. Tony murmured a silent thanks that he wasn't wearing one of his more expensive outfits today considering the amount of potential gum and grime they were now seated upon.

The teenager beside him, however, didn't seem all that bothered as he simply shrugged his shoulders. "It adds to the ambiance."

"Thinking it adds more to a health code violation."

Peter threw the man a crooked look. "Mr. Stark...Rhodey told me that when you were in college, you got drunk and ate a burrito you found stuck to the bottom of his car floor for three bucks."

"Hey, I got three bucks. If anything, I won that scenario."

"Apparently, you also won a week's worth of food poisoning, too."

"Fucking...I'm never letting you hang out with Rhodey anymore. He's tarnishing my image in your impressionable eyes."

They both were unable to suppress their laughter that time right as Mr. Delmar walked out, a bag in hand. "What's up with this, little Boss-man? You making friends with people other than me? How could you?"

Peter glanced up at him and gave a smile of his own. "Sorry, Mr. D. I'll be sure to buy extra sandwiches to make up for it."

The older man gave a fake grumble of annoyance. "Yeah, yeah." He muttered as he shoved the bag into the teen's hands. "You say that now. You know, I should charge you extra now that you got a billionaire for a friend."

"Fair enough," the teen said with a shrug, Delmar cracking a smile of his own as he shook his head and walked back into the store.

Tony stared at the kid and blinked while a smirk made its way onto his face. "My, my. Look at you. Seems little Peter isn't as shy as he appears." He teased as Peter handed him his sandwich.

The teen merely shrugged his shoulders. "I've known Mr. Delmar for as long as I can remember. He's practically family at this point."

"Hmm...seems like a happy guy."

"Uh, yeah...speaking of happy...Are you sure Happy's alright with just sitting in the car like that?"

"Nope. I'm sure he's hating every second of it."

"Mmm...you're a good friend."

"Mm-hmm" The man mumbled as he unwrapped the sandwich Peter had given him before taking a bite. The teen beside him couldn't withhold the smirk that spread onto his face as he watched Tony's eyes grow comically wide at the first taste.

"I'm buying this restaurant."

"Wha - no. It's not even a restaurant."

"I'm buying this - what is this place?"

"It's a bodega."

"I'm buying this goddamn bodega."

Peter laughed and gave a small shake of his head before going back to his own sandwich, taking a bite right as Tony turned towards him. "So, why were you staying so late after school today?" He asked, ignoring the fact that he already knew the answer in favor of getting the kid to speak.

"We had Decathlon practice today. We have it every Tuesdays and Thursdays to prepare for the different types of meets and tournaments we have every couple of weekends."

"Decathlon. Isn't that just like Jeopardy but in club form?"

The teen chuckled. "Basically. I mean, everyone on the team specializes in one main thing, chemistry, literature, history, all that jazz. So we don't have to know everything about everything. Just...everything for your specific specialty."

"Uh-huh. So what do you specialize in?"

Peter shrugged. "Math and physics."

Tony took another bite of his sandwich. "How many people are on this team of yours again?"

"Uh...seven, with one alternate in case one of us gets sick or anything."

The billionaire furrowed his brow. "Right, so with all those nerds-in-arms, how come I only ever hear two names leave your mouth when you talk about friends. What are they again? Ted and CJ?"

"Ned and MJ."

"Whatever. My question still stands."

Peter glanced down at his sandwich for a moment before giving a small shrug of his shoulders. "I...I don't know." He murmured, voice growing much softer than it had been moments ago, almost as if he were less sure of himself. "I mean, those guys are great, don't get me wrong. They're...they're really nice and - well, most of them are really nice but let's not get into that." He quickly added when he saw Mr. Stark look as if he wanted to ask about that.

"It's just...I don't know. People...people aren't really my...strong suit."

Tony furrowed his brow. "Not making a whole lot of sense, kid."

Peter gave another hurried shrug of his shoulders, seeming to tense slightly. "I don't really know how to explain it. It's just..." He seemed to struggle to find the right words. "People are so...unpredictable."

The billionaire paused for a moment. "Alright..." He said slowly, coaxing the teen to continue.

"It's like...okay, look. You deal with numbers all the time, right?"

"Pretty crude way of describing it, but yeah. I guess you could say it like that. I prefer 'rocking bomb-ass mathematics into super cool robot suits', but whatever floats your boat."

Peter turned away once more. "Well, either way, you gotta know what I'm talking about, right? Numbers, equations...they're just so...stable. So steady. Numbers, infinite as they may be, are still so finite at the same time. So absolute. They never change. They never falter. There's never a surprise, never a shock when you're dealing with formulas and patterns. Everything is laid out nice and neat. The answer's always there if you can just find it. There's always a pattern there if you can just pick it out."

Tony said nothing as Peter glanced down at the ground, eyes seeming to fill with something unreadable.

"Numbers don't lie...People do." The teen murmured softly. "Math, physics, all that is just...safer. I guess I'm just...better suited for a lab than a house party."

Tony stared at him for a moment before turning away. "Sounds pretty lonely, kid." He murmured.

Peter said nothing for a second before giving another shrug of his shoulders. "Lonely's not always bad."

"No...but it can get pretty exhausting. Trust me. I know." And he did know, cause everything Peter had just said was exactly how he'd used to feel in college, when he was locked in his dorm room ignoring Rhodey's pleas for him to get out and socialize. He'd given the same excuse, albeit with a lot more snark and rude hand gestures while locking himself in the bathroom as his roommate threatened to break down the door if he didn't go out to Shauna Murphy's party.

Peter continued to stare down at the ground, face hardening slightly as he scrunched up his nose in displeasure. "Yeah, well. Even if I wanted to, most people at school would only wanna hang out cause they know my dad's got a ton of money and there's no way I'm dealing with that so..." He glared down at a crack on the concrete. "I don't have much choice now, do I?"

Tony reared back ever so slightly at the teen's harsh tone before Peter backpedaled. "Sorry...I don't mean to be rude."

The billionaire scoffed. "Kid, I don't think your definition of rude really matches up with mine," he chuckled, falling quiet when he noticed the teen's face remained passive and downcast. The man blew out a small breath, rubbing the side of his face before shrugging his shoulders, hoping his casual and laid-back posture might encourage the boy next to him to do the same.

"But, I know how you feel, Pete. Anyone at MIT who didn't hate me for my attitude was trying to suck up to me for my money. It was either one or the other. There was never any happy medium. Just two sides of a pretty fucked up coin."

Peter fiddled with the paper wrapper of the sandwich. "How'd you deal with it?"

"Same way you're dealing, I guess. Focusing more on math and science than on people. Figured it was just easier that way." The man paused for a moment. "Of course, there were also staggering amounts of drugs and alcohol thrown into the mix so maybe there are some slight deviations in our stories."

"I don't know, Mr. Stark. You don't know what I do behind the dumpsters during lunch."

The man threw a weak glare over at the boy currently giving him a small smirk, Tony shoving the teen lightly in the shoulder. "Ha ha, Parker. Trust me, if I ever catch whiff of you doing even half of the shit I used to do, you'll be scrubbing the oil off of each and every surface in my lab for months. And you'll need a ladder cause DUM-E gets that shit everywhere."

Peter chuckled. "Okay, okay. Message received."

Tony gave a small smile before drifting back to the topic at hand. "Like I said, back then, I basically did what you're doing now. And I can admit now, it wasn't the healthiest thing for me."

The boy said nothing as he let out a small sigh and glanced over at the man beside him, hazel-brown eyes flashing with so much emotion held within that Tony nearly had to look away as they fell on him, each and every flicker of gold hidden within them seeming to pierce his chest with each shift. "So...what did you do?"

Tony swallowed the small lump that had formed in his throat at the realization that Peter was asking him for advice, in his own subtle way. He wanted the man's help. Even if it was for something minuscule as to how do deal with social pressures that come with school and their suffocating hallways.

Still...it was a start.

The man smiled. "Welp, I guess I took a page out of your book. The few friends I did have, I stuck to like glue. Or course, your current friend group of a whopping two people technically is double what I had in college so I kinda can't fault you for that."

He hesitated for a moment before reaching ha hand out to place on Peter's shoulder. Expecting the slight flinch that he felt underneath his fingers, the man tried not to let it bother him too much this time. "People are complicated, kid. I'll give you that. But that doesn't mean you cut them all out." He murmured, feeling the thick irony of his words hitting him full force as he thought back to the bottles of liquor in his lab sitting and waiting for him.

"And yeah, it's hard branching out. So much so that I never even bothered back then. So if it seems like a bit much now, then that's fine. But you still need people you can rely on. People you can depend on. So whether that's two people or twenty people, any number is good enough. Or, how 'bout this? Any positive number is good enough." He added with a wink.

Peter smiled up at him. "I get the picture." He murmured before crumpling up the piece of paper than had been in his hands. "Thanks."

Tony removed his hand from the boy's shoulder and let out a small sigh as he turned back to stare out at the street before them. "Don't mention it, little Boss-man."

The teen chuckled and shook his head, only to think back to earlier in the afternoon when he'd been fidgeting in his Decathlon seat. The teen bit his lower lip and twitched his fingers slightly as he contemplated asking what was resting on his tongue.

(Don't do it.)

(Why would he care?)

"You know..." He started before he could think better of it. "For Decathlon...t-there's...um...ther- we have a championship meet c-coming up...coming up in a week, in case...if you wanted to...go."

Tony glanced over at the teen in mild surprise, obviously not having expected the teen to fumble out an invitation. Peter's face flushed red as he fiddled with the bottom of his shirt. The billionaire gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "Nerd tournament, huh? I'll see if I can squeeze it in."

Having been expecting an outright refusal, Peter's eyes lit up in surprise at the man's response before he ducked away again and hastily nodded his head.

A small ghost of a smile fell onto Peter's face, only for him to jump in shock as he saw something flash before his eyes. "Gah!" He grunted as he hunched over and rubbed his fists against the skin over his eyes, trying to blink back the dots that were flashing before him.

"What the -" Was all the man next to him had time to say before more flashes were going off in their faces, along with a growing number of voices all increasing in volume as people seemed to flood in from each and every direction.

"Goddamn it." Tony growled right as another flash made him duck his head away. He'd been hoping the casual look of his clothes and of the car they'd been driving would be enough to stall the paparazzi storm long enough for him and the kid to have a quiet time together before booking it out of the public eye, but of course, that wasn't the case.

The flood of unintelligible questions began to float around the air as the crowd of people with flashing cameras continued to grow around them. "Is this how it always is for you?!" Peter shouted over the hysteria as Tony stepped in front of him, hoping to shield the teen from the flurry of lights around them.

"Pretty much, kid!"

"This sucks!"

"Could be worse! They could be snapping pics while you vomit uncontrollably after winning a three-dollar bet! Still counting that as a victory, by the way!" He shouted back while Peter laughed into the back of the man's shirt.

A large force pushing and shoving past the mob had Tony visibly relaxing in relief as Happy smacked a camera out of one extra-pushy man's hands. Reaching the pair before him, Happy latched onto Tony's wrist while the billionaire grabbed onto Peter, the three forming some sort of human chain as they began to fight their way back to the car.

The voices around them continued to mingle and mix right up until they were nearly leaping into their car, the slamming of the doors effectively locking the screaming voices outside with their owners as the mob tried to push their cameras as close to the windows as possible. The frenzy didn't die down as they pulled out of the parking lot and sped away as fast as possible.

Peter watched through the window as the mob slowly got smaller and smaller as they drove away before sitting back up in the seat once again, glancing over at Mr. Stark, whose face held a mixture of annoyance and resignation, as if he'd dealt with such scenarios for all his life.

Peter was almost sure he had been.

"Should...should I be worried about that?"

Tony glanced over to him and gave a small shake of his head. "Forget about them, Pete. They were more focused on me than you anyways." He murmured, Peter giving a small nod of his head in reassurance. He remained silent for a moment before glancing back up at the man. "Um, Mr. Stark? T-thanks for taking me out today. It...it was nice." He threw the man a small smile. "I liked it."

Tony stared at him for a moment before giving a small smile of his own and lightly punching the teen in the arm. "Yeah? I liked it too, Underoos. Nice to get away from five-star dining and enjoy a good sidewalk sandwich."

Peter chuckled at that as Tony leaned forward and knocked on the barrier currently up between them and Happy up front. After a second, the screen came down and Happy glanced at them from the mirror.

"Parker residence, Hap." The billionaire called, to which the driver gave a small nod of his head. "Oh, and play some music while you're at it. What are you driving? A hearse?"

The man up front gave a large roll of his eyes before lifting up the barrier once more. After a second, a light melody began to play through the car, Peter nearly doing a double-take as he heard just what it was.

He quickly turned towards Tony, brow cocked as an incredulous smile worked its way onto his face "Are you listening to Wham!?"

Silently praising his own victory while also giving thanks to May and her know-how when it came to her faux-nephew, the man feigned an innocent look. "I'm more a Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath kind of guy, but I'm willing to mix it up every now and then." He made sure to hide his distaste well as he heard the disbelieving scoff the kid let loose. In all honesty, Tony would have never been caught dead listening to crap like this, but in that moment, he was willing to make a few sacrifices.

The truth was that the man didn't like listening to music that threatened to put him to sleep. In reality, he really only liked those other bands because their music was loud, jarring and more likely to keep him up whenever he pulled his all-nighters. Anything else was just too...calm.

Of course, the teen next to him didn't pick up on the man's well-hidden displeasure, for he was too busy trying to stifle a chuckle. "Sorry. It...my gosh, it just...it reminds me of my mom fighting with our neighbors."

"Yeah? How so?" Like he didn't already know.

"Well, they were always bickering about music. They were both super into it, had CDs stacked miles high with all sorts of bands from the 70s, 80s, you know, old people music."

"Gee, thanks."

The teen threw him an apologetic smile. "Sorry. You know what I mean. Music like this. Where the music videos feature people in leg-warmers with frizzy hair, neon lights and mandatory seizure warnings at the beginning."

Alright, the billionaire gave a little chuckle at that.

The teen smiled, face growing thoughtful for just a moment. "Anyway, they were always going back and forth, arguing which band they should introduce me to, which ones I would like more, stuff like that. Meanwhile, I was four so I wasn't really interested in anything that wasn't brightly colored or shaped like a crayon. I always thought it was dumb back then, listening to all their stuff. But now...I don't know. I guess it's not so bad."

Tony gave a small chuckle. "Guess we'll have to make you a playlist in the lab, then."

The teen's smile grew wider at that as he gave an eager nod of his head before tuning back into the song. As the car gently rolled down the busy New York streets and Peter silently tapping his foot to the melody, Tony found himself slowly doing the same. In fact, it was hard to keep a grin off of his face as the man witnessed a rare moment of genuine joy spreading across Peter's face, wishing with all his might that such a look could be a permanent fix on the teen's features.

But for now, a single fifteen-minute car ride would do, with music he had to admit...he didn't totally hate.

Chapter 16: Theory of Mind

Summary:

He glanced down at the jacket before his face scrunched ever so slightly. "...I can't." It was barely more than a whisper. Though apparently, it was loud enough for May to hear and disagree with as she clicked her tongue. "It's getting no use just sitting in the bottom of a box. You know he'd hate to see it discarded like that and I can't just...throw it away." She murmured, fingers rubbing delicately across the surface. She sniffed softly before her smile reappeared, eyes slightly misty as she pushed it into Peter's hands

"He'd want you to have it, honey."

Chapter Text

Saturday - April 9, 2016

Queens, NY - Middle Village

02:43 a.m.

Peter stared up at his handiwork, watching the ex-car thief dangle from the lamppost by his feet as he swayed back and forth, the string of profanities he most likely would have loved to spew being held back by the wad of webbing currently plastered over his mouth.

"Next time, maybe control that potty mouth of yours and you can avoid that little detail." The hero called as he leapt up onto the building. "What kind of example are you setting for future car thieves?"

With that, Spider-Man shot a web at the nearest building ledge and propelled himself up, sticking to the side as he swung himself over. With a few more webs and a couple of well-placed swings, the teen was on his way, flying through the air as the wind whipped around him.

The city flared with life beneath him despite the late hour. Of course, that was to be expected. New York City wasn't really known to sleep.

The bright lights glittering around him mixed with the constant cacophony of engines, horns and the roar of late-night club crowds created a mix of stimuli that continued to remind the teen of just how exhausted he was.

He could feel the heavy pull of sleep tugging at his muscles as he swung, the realization of just how much energy it took to swing through the sky hitting him hard, a fact that usually evaded him whenever he was spending the night beating up robbers and busting potential drug deals.

His day had been a long one, what with two back-to-back tests in Chemistry and English that he was pretty sure he at least passed, which was a feat of its own considering English was about as far from his strong suit as one could get, a couple of hours with Mr. Stark, where he'd continued to mess around with the designs and blueprints that the man had given him in regards to the arc reactor project he'd taken on, and finally, a long round of training with the Cons coupled with extra experiments to make up for the time he'd missed hanging around with his newfound mentor.

After such a day, Peter had been ready to call it one and collapse into his bed, rolling under the covers and shielding himself from the outside world as a five-year-old imagines their covers can do with monsters.

However, as he'd entered his room, his eyes couldn't have helped but drift to the window, his mind instantly roaming around the city, picking up every instance of trouble that could flare in his absence. Every car that'd get stolen, every purse that'd get snatched, every Ben who'd get hurt.

Safe to say, Peter had been stripping on his suit before the guilt could even manifest.

Still, after spending near three and a half hours swinging around the streets of New York, Peter could honestly say he was near his limit. As he swung onto a building that was only a few paces away from his house, Peter absentmindedly wondered whether or not Mr. Stark received updates on his suit and whenever it was active; whenever he was active.

Considering the man had given away a multi-billion dollar suit to a random fourteen-year-old with spider-powers and a knack for recklessness, Peter was willing to bet a lot on the answer being 'yes'.

The teen briefly entertained the idea of what Mr. Stark would think about him swinging around at such late hours of the night. Or...really, early hours of the morning considering what time it currently was. The man would most likely abash on the behavior, citing some fact that teenagers needed a certain number of hours to sleep.

As he prepared to fire off a web and swing off once more, Peter wondered what he would do if Mr. Stark told him to stop crime-fighting to such hours.

Would he listen?

If anyone else told him to, he knew he would blatantly ignore them. Peter Parker wouldn't hesitate in obeying to the letter. But Spider-Man...Spider-Man was his own person. He didn't have to take orders. He didn't have to obey.

So, then...why couldn't he answer his own question?

The teen shook his head. He was too tired to entertain such confusing notions. Instead, he lifted up his arm and prepared to fire off again.

"Jesus Christ, Pete. Could you fit any more primary colours onto that suit of yours? Swear it's like you swallowed the Fourth of July and spit up the American Flag."

Spider-Man whirled around so fast he saw the world blur around him as he instantly tried to pinpoint a body to match the words. He quickly got his answer.

"Must 'ave been one 'ell of a fight between you an' Captain America in the fabric section of Michael's." Danny chimed with a smirk and click of his tongue.

The bout of shock that has seized the young hero's body quickly melted into a lopsided tilt of the head as he approached with a wary look. "Danny? Is that you?"

"In the flesh."

Peter let out a small sigh of relief as he moved forward towards the older teen. "What the heck are you doing here, man?" He asked as he gave a quick scan of the streets below for any nearby signs of life before safely removing his mask, face flush from the recent crime-fighting. "I...I haven't seen you in, like, forever."

Danny gave a shrug of his shoulders. "You know I ain't one to stay in one place for too long, cuz. But spring's not too far along so I figured I might as well move more towards the city center again." He chimed, London-born accent seeping through with each word as he stretched his arms above his head and folded them underneath his neck.

Peter tilted his head and cocked a brow. "Yeah, well it's still pretty cold out here. You really shouldn't be strolling around without a jacket on."

"Ah, bugger off, mate. Can't feel a twitch. I ain't even shiverin'."

"That's...not a good thing."

"Well if you're expectin' me to be concerned 'bout that, you're gonna be sorely disappointed, bruv."

Peter chuckled under his breath and gave a small shake of his head. "Nice to see you haven't changed, Danny."

The teen threw him a scrunched face before flicking him off, Peter rolling his eyes at the gesture.

Peter hadn't been lying when he'd said it'd been a while since the two teens had seen each other. After all, it's been nearly a year since Peter had last caught a glimpse of the homeless boy currently standing before him. Still, despite the gap, Danny still looked about the same as the last time Peter had seen him.

The sixteen-year-old was still tall and lanky, taller than Peter by a good margin, with long black hair that stretched down to the base of his neck and piercing blue eyes that could halt you in their tracks with their captivating burn. However, despite the boy's drifter status, he disguised such a fact fairly well, his clothes not giving away outright that he roamed the streets. With a minimal number of holes in the plain red t-shirt and dark black jeans he wore, Danny could just as easily pass for a normal teenage boy that neglects to listen to his parents when they tell him to do the laundry

"Welp, doesn't much look like you've changed either, mate." The older teen called as he hopped up onto the edge of the rooftop, balancing on the ledge as he glanced over towards his long-time childhood friend. "Still goin' 'bout with the ol' rooty-tooty-web-an'-shooty gig, huh?" He maneuvered his fingers to mimic Peter's whenever he fired a web.

Peter couldn't help but scoff at the wording before placing his hands on his hips. "Goin' on a little more than a year now." He nodded. "But you'd be surprised with just how much around here has changed since you were last here, D."

The older boy's eyes seemed to light up at that. "Well don't keep me beggin', you cheeky little skank. Spill."

 


 

The constant blaring of car horns and the deep thrumming of distant clubs grew less and less vibrant as the night weaned on, though they never ceased. The noise of the city never stopped, merely shifting in volume throughout the hours of the day and the lulls of the night.

Nevertheless, the ever-present noise served as a constant reminder that the city continued to flare with life as the time passed around the two boys, who continued to pace the rooftops of the nearby buildings.

"Hold up, cuz. You're tellin' me that you didn' bother to check your room for anybody before waltzin' inside on the bloody ceiling in full costume?!"

"What the heck did you expect me to do? I didn't know anybody was gonna be in there!"

Danny threw him a strange look before shaking his head and pressing the cigarette between his fingers against his lips. "Bloody hell, Pete. It's a wonder you've managed to keep as many secrets as you have."

Peter scrunched his nose in indignation. "Whatever. I've done pretty well so far, man. Barely anyone knows anything!"

The older boy cocked a brow in Pete's direction before he gestured to himself. Peter huffed and folded his arms as he sat down on the edge of the rooftop, legs hanging off the side. "Oh, don't give me that. You hardly count. The only reason you know anything is cause ten-year-old me didn't know how to keep secrets."

"I feel like the more pressin' concern should be that ten-year-ol' you didn' know not to talk to strangers they find on rooftops."

Peter threw him a look to which the teen shrugged his shoulders. "I'm just saying, mate. There are more concernin' issues in that statement."

The spider-teen huffed out a laugh under his breath before letting out a sigh and resting his hands on the sides of the rooftop ledge, taking a second to just relax and breathe. He hadn't taken the time to think about Daniel Willis in nearly a year, and despite the flame of guilt that burst at the idea of having forgotten one of his longest friends so quickly, Peter knew he couldn't really blame himself.

Danny didn't really run in the same circles as he did. It was sad, but Peter had to admit it was true. Just the fact that they'd ever even met in the first place was astounding. Despite the fact that it had been nearly four years ago, Peter could still distinctly remember the feel of the bricks against his fingertips as his little ten-year-old body had climbed up the side of the building right next to his room, desperate to get away from his father and the Cons for what little time he could.

The young boy had simply climbed up to the rooftop for some much-needed peace and quiet. He hadn't expected to find another boy sitting on the rooftop as well, one who was much more nonchalant in starting a conversation and before he'd known it, little Peter had been spilling his guts to a complete and total stranger about...everything. His powers, his dad, anything and everything he could.

It was the one chance he'd ever get and he couldn't waste it.

To his credit however, Danny had taken it fairly well, only responding with a slightly impressed look and a "wow".

Of course, that had been before Peter had become acquainted with the Rules, before he'd learned to keep his mouth shut. He supposed his father was lucky he'd only spilled to one random homeless kid who didn't really have the capabilities to do anything. Especially considering Peter had made him swear a million times up and down never to tell anyone.

However, after their initial meeting, Danny had stuck around Peter's neighborhood. The teen had simply shrugged it off by claiming "rich people throw out the best shit" but Peter liked to think it was cause Danny had wanted someone to talk to as much as Peter had.

Danny had explained once upon a time about how his family had moved over from London shortly before his parents had died in a car accident. Peter didn't ask him about it and Danny never asked about his mom. It was almost like a mutual agreement they shared by not sharing.

However, with Danny's high-risk lifestyle, the gaps between their visits had grown longer and longer until Peter barely ever had contact with the boy. After all, it had nearly been a year since he'd last seen him. There were times when he'd wondered if Child Services had ever caught up to him or...he didn't like to think about the other options.

The other options always seemed to become the only options when he thought too hard about them.

Still, with all that had been going on in his life over the past few months, what with the Cons, his father, the Avengers, Tony Stark...it was nice to just...catch up with an old friend. Familiar. Safe.

Danny ran a hand through his matted hair before glancing over towards the younger teen. "So, how have things been on the home front lately?"

Peter grimaced slightly as he tried to come up with an answer for a question he didn't get to share honestly all that often. "Ehh...they've been...they've been something I guess. Same old, same old."

"Hmm..."

"I just..." Peter trailed off at that, letting out a disgruntled sigh as if the words were simply too hard to spit out. He scrunched his nose and shrugged his shoulders slightly. "I don't know, Danny." He murmured softly, hunching over to rest his elbows on his knees as his hands hung down in the air. "I'm starting to get worried. He's been sending out a lot more new recruits lately, hitting up all these tech firms."

The other teen nodded and leaned back slightly as if his suspicions had just been confirmed. "I had a feelin' that was him."

Peter turned and blinked in mild surprise at the other boy. Danny shrugged his shoulders and tossed a look towards the clouds above them. "Nah, I saw it on the headlines of a newspaper some bloke was readin' whilst I was down in the Bronx. What's he want with all that shit?"

Peter shook his head. "That's just the thing. I have no frikkin idea!" He said with an air of exasperation. "He's never sent out so many people to do jobs before and-" He paused, lowering his head slightly in thought as he bit the inside of his cheek.

Danny leaned forward slightly at that. "What?"

"It's just...if he was really relying on these jobs to come back as successes. If...if he really needed the materials that he's been sending out these thugs to get for him...then he'd send out an elite task force. He wouldn't send out the rookies, the...the new recruits. He'd sent a team he knew could get the job done."

The older teen narrowed his eyes slightly and leaned back, sucking in another bout of smoke. "So what ya' thinkin'?"

Peter glanced over at him before swallowing thickly. "It's like they're...test runs or something. Trials for the new recruits to either pass or fail. If...if they pass then they move up one more ring on the hierarchy he's created with almost every single thug on the criminal undernet. And...if they fail..."

Danny grimaced and blew out a puff. "Let me guess...it's one less thug the police have gots to be worryin' about, huh?"

"Something like that. I don't ask too many questions. But I do know there are plenty of new faces I see down in The Station all the time. Some I see more than once. Others...others aren't seen by anyone again."

"And you said he's never done this kind of stuff before, right?"

Peter let out a sigh and placed a hand to his forehead. "Usually he targets chemical plants. Labs. Things that have the ingredients and materials he needs to experiment and adapt his serum." Peter explained, blinking as Danny let out a groan and stretched his arms, pushing himself up to his feet.

"He's still workin' on that?" The teen asked as he popped his back and made to walk along the ledge again. Peter swung himself off of the ledge and stepped back onto the rooftop floor, making way for the other teen as he balanced along the edge once more.

"He's been working on that for years, D." Peter muttered. "He's not gonna stop till he figures out what made me so 'perfect' as he says." He growled.

"Aw, that's nice."

Peter cocked his head and threw the teen a strange look.

"What? That sorta counts as a compliment. At this point, you gotta take what you can get."

Peter ignored him and glared down at the ground. Danny watched him out of the corner of his eye and sighed, stopping his pace along the ledge as he turned to face the teen fully. "You still haven't told him where you actually got your powers from?"

The younger teen clenched his fists slightly as he stared at the cracks along the ground, tracing the ridges with his eyes as the words poured from his mouth, mind seemingly on overdrive as it spat out thoughts he'd been replaying over and over again for the past decade. "The longer I can keep him away from finding out the truth, the better. He can already be dangerous enough. Could you imagine what would happen if he finds out how to replicate the work that gave me my powers? Do you know how much damage he could do with an army of Spider-Mans and Captain Americas at his side?!"

"Michael's is gonna have to restock on red and blue fabrics, then."

Peter glared hard at the teen. "Danny!"

"Alright, alright..." The teen called, holding his hands up in peace as Peter let out a frustrated sigh and turned away.

"Come on, cuz! You gotta stop freakin'." The drifter called as he jumped down from the ledge and approached, flicking the cigarette bud down to the floor. "You've handled this shit all by yourself for - what? Seven...nine years? Point is...you're basically an expert in keepin' your dad in line from the shadows. Monitorin' him from the sidelines! Keepin' him reigned in." He explained, moving closer to press his hands into the sides of Peter's shoulders.

The teen reared back slightly at the touch, but Danny's grip was too tight for him to want to resist it. It was easier to just go with it. His eyes drifting along the lines of the teen's arms revealed that there were in fact no goosebumps along his skin. Peter filed it as odd but forgot about it before it could truly even register.

"You obviously know what you're doing or we would have been fucked a long time ago, mate. You've been doin' this all on your own forever now and you're pretty damn good at it, I'd say." He smirked and tossed his hands out to the sides to emphasize his point.

Peter soaked in the teen's words as the boy stepped back and turned to face the city skyline once more. He wasn't wrong, Peter had to give him that. It was true, as was the case with most things Danny stated in his long-winded rants.

Peter had been sabotaging his father from Day 1. It had started with simple things. Messing up a formula, changing a four to a three on a paper, adding a few drops of Chloride when it called for Acetamide. But as the years progressed and his father's work had grown to more dangerous levels, Peter's efforts had equally grown larger and larger up to Spider-Man.

Peter could say over and over again that Spider-Man had become who he was to help the little guy. To keep people safe on the streets that were too small for the Avengers, too overcrowded for the cops. He could say over and over again that Spider-Man had been created to help out the city. But he knew that wasn't entirely true.

Spider-Man hadn't been created to help out the city. He'd been created to save it.

Spider-Man was the epitome of Peter's fullest efforts to keep his father's work from hurting people, from letting it get too out of hand.

For the longest time, Peter had resigned himself to the fact that he would be alone in his endeavors. Lord knew he couldn't go to the police for a number of reasons and he hadn't really known any other people with the power or capabilities to help.

At least...not back then.

"Well..." He murmured, a slight smile gracing his lips. "...I'm not that alone anymore."

Danny turned around at that, eyeing Peter's face for a moment before his eyes narrowed slightly and he pursed his lips. "Right, right. Tony Stark. Forgot about him." He murmured, the surface tone of his voice light and casual. But the undertones...they had Peter turning to face him.

"What?" The younger teen called, sensing the mood shift slightly.

Danny paused for a moment, lips pulling into a thin line as he seemed to contemplate something. "How'd ya'll come by meetin' again?" He asked as he lowered his head and reached into his pocket, pulling out his pack of cigarettes.

Peter blinked for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. "He needed my help dealing with the Rogue Avengers in Germany and he'd figured out I was Spider-Man so he asked for my help."

"'Asked' for it?"

"Alright, so he might have...blackmailed me into it - just a bit, though!"

Danny pressed his tongue against the side of his cheek as he kept his eyes glued on the pack as he tapped it against the side of his hand, a small roll falling out between his fingers. "Uh-huh, and just what is it that you do with him anyway?"

"I...I help him out in the lab with different projects and on Spider-Man and...wait, where is this going?" The teen asked as he shook his head and gave the teen a strange look.

Danny didn't answer his question, instead choosing to pose one of his own once more as he twirled the cigarette between his fingers. "And you said he just...gave you the suit? Didn't say anythin' else 'bout it?"

"No - Danny what are you getting at?"

The older teen stared at him for a moment before answering. "Just how sure are you of him, Pete?"

A sinking feeling began to pool in the bottom of his stomach, one that the boy tried and failed to quell. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, have you given some thought as to why Tony Stark suddenly took such an interest in you?"

"I told you. He needed my help and-"

"And nothing else, Peter." Danny cut him off as he tossed his hands up in exasperation, popping the bud into his mouth and pressing it into the corner with his tongue. "He needed you. Bottom line. He needed you that one time and now that that's over..." He trailed off, seemingly unsure as to how to continue for a moment before he reached into his pockets and pulled out a lighter. Peter flinched at the noise of the small device flicking open and watched as the flames licked at the top of the cigarette. Danny blew out a puff of smoke before glancing at Peter with a cocked brow. "Do you really know who he is?"

The feeling continued to worsen as Danny spoke, Peter shifting from one foot to the other as he began to grip the mask in his hands a little tighter. He tried not to let the discomfort show too much on his face but judging from the look Danny was throwing him, it wasn't really working.

He really needed to practice.

"Yeah, it's b-been like...like two months since-"

No, no. Do you know who he is...like really?"

"I don't-"

"Cause from what I'm hearing..." The older boy mused, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he took a small step forward. "...we aren't talkin' 'bout the same Tony Stark here. Cause the Tony Stark I know has shown up in the news more times than I can count with stories that were more or less not great publicity. The Tony Stark know is kinda reckless and selfish. The Tony Stark I know drowns all his problems in booze and partying. The Tony Stark I and a lot of other people know, Pete...isn't a good guy." He blew a puff of smoke out from between his lips and tilted his head slightly.

Peter stared at the teen before him with wide eyes, watching as Danny pursed his lips together and shook his head. For a moment, Peter just stood there, letting the boy's words drift in and out of his mind. Words that had been repeated from the Cons after training sessions when they thought nobody was around to hear ( though secretly they hoped Peter would), from MJ and her condescending looks, from Falcon, and from May, though she tried her best to hide them.

Words that he had allowed to enter his mind more times than he'd want to admit. And just like all those other times, Peter shook his head and forcefully pushed them away, drowned them out with all of the things Mr. Stark had proved to him, all that he had done for him. They were wrong. They were all wrong. So he said the one thing he'd told them all.

"He isn't like that." He ground out, teeth clenching together slightly as his grip on the mask tightened just a little bit more.

Danny cocked a brow. "Isn't he?"

"No, he isn't!" Peter snapped, eyes flashing for just a second as his frustrations began to boil over. He was so tired of this. Of having to defend himself to the people around him. Of having to repeat over and over and over again the same defense, the same rebuttals that only he could truly understand cause only he'd spent time around Mr. Stark. But judging from the way Danny squared off against him, the other teen wasn't done voicing his thoughts.

"Then riddle me this, Peter." The boy scoffed. "He obviously knew about Spider-Man beforehand. He'd seen all the videos from what you say. That's probably where he found out about you. From all that crap on the internet from when you first started this, swingin' 'round saving people left and right in what could pass as a Home Ecs. project!" He sniped, Peter rolling his eyes and turning away.

"So if he knew all this, if he knew you were out there riskin' your life in doin' the right thing...then how come he only started to help you when he needed you for somthin'? How come the buddy-buddy friendship you got goin' on only bloomed when he wanted somethin' from you?"

Peter shook his head, shutting his eyes. "I-"

"Man, I see this all the time with the junkies and snitches 'round here. The cops get some fresh lead and they bring in whatever street rat they can get to spill somethin'! They don't care about them, they only contact them when they need somethin' from them."

"That's got nothing to do with this!"

"Come on, Peter! How can you not see it?!" Danny shot back, throwing his arms into the air in exasperation.

"Maybe cause I don't like to assume everyone around me is scum like you do?! Maybe cause I like to give people the benefit of the doubt unlike you!" Peter shot back, eyes locking on the teen in front of him. Danny seemed to pause at that, face morphing as his expression became unreadable. For a moment, Peter wondered if maybe he'd offended the boy, but when Danny cocked his head to the side and threw the boy a perplexed look, he assumed otherwise.

"Is that what you think you're doin'?"

Peter stared at him, unsure as to what he was pawing at. He furrowed his brow and glanced away as Danny shook his head and blew out a sigh from past his lips, running a hand across the back of his neck as he trudged over to the edge of the roof once more and sat down.

"Peter..." He called, said boy hesitating for a moment before reluctantly lifting his head. "I'm not tryin' to ruin this for you, cuz."

"Really? Cause that's not what I'm getting from where I'm standing." Peter grumbled, arms folding over his chest as he threw the older teen an unimpressed look.

"Believe me, I'm not. It's a good thing that you're startin' to...to..." He trailed off for a moment before lowering his head, glancing at the cigarette before placing it back in his mouth.

"It's just...you have a knack for seein' the good in people." He murmured softly. "For...for focusin' on that tiny little spark that you can somehow find in...in everyone and zeroin' in on it, as if it eliminates all the bad. As if you can somehow bring out that spark by concentratin' hard enough and putting' all your effort into it." He shook his head. "You've been doin' it ever since I met you. Hell, you've been doing it with your Dad since Day 1!"

The younger boy reared back at that, eyes narrowing in disbelief. "That's not true."

"Really?!" Danny snapped, anger suddenly morphing onto his face once more as he rose to his feet, ripped the cigarette out of his mouth and glared at the teen before him. "Then tell me right now that your dad is an evil scumbag. Tell me he's the lowest of the low and that you hate his guts." He took a threatening step forward, squaring his shoulders as Peter took a reflexive step backwards. "Tell me that you wish he was dead, Peter. Huh! Go on! Tell me! Tell me you want him to suffer the same way he's made you suffer. Tell me you want to see him hang, see him fry, see him endure the same pain he's inflicted on you day after day for years!" He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, nearly pressing his nose against Peter's. "Tell me you want him dead! Go on, Peter! SAY IT!"

"NO!" The boy snarled, shoving the teen back a few steps as he shuffled backwards and wrapped his arms defensively around himself. "NO! I don't...! I...he...n-no."

Danny breathed heavily from where he stood, watching the boy before him for a moment before giving the tiniest shake of his head. "You can't, can you?" He murmured softly, Peter glaring down at the floor as he did so. "Cause even after everythin' he's done to you...after every horrible thing he's subjected you to...every ounce of torture and pain...you still insist on seein' the good in him." He paused for a moment. "You still love him."

Peter traced the cracks with his eyes once more, intent on keeping his eyes away from his friend's face. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, wild and erratic despite the eerie calm he held himself in, his muscles coiled and ready to pounce at the unforeseen danger in the teen's words, the threat embedded in them. It was one thing to think such thoughts himself. It was a whole other to hear them from someone else.

"He's my dad." The same thing he'd been repeating for ten years.

Danny couldn't help but raise a brow. "Is he?"

Peter ground his teeth together and shook his head with an annoyed growl. "What does this have to do with anything?" He snapped, glaring back up at the older boy.

Said teen moved closer as he spoke. "You're blindin' yourself, Peter. You're tryin' so hard to focus on the good here, to..to ignore everythin' else and only concentrate on what you want to see in people like your dad, people like Stark." He reached forward and grabbed Peter's shoulders, the boy wincing at the touch.

"Not everyone deserves that, Peter. Not everyone deserves to have you reachin' for that spark. Cause...not everyone has one." He murmured, releasing the boy as he stepped back, Peter lifting his head to stare at him. "Whether you want to admit it or not, some people...some people have no good in them. Some people are just bad. You can't explain it. You can't predict it. You'll go crazy tryin' to figure out why. But...there is no why, Peter. There is no answer. No matter how hard you try..." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fresh cigarette, extending it to the teen before him. "...you can't save everyone."

Peter stared down at the offering before tentatively grabbing it with his free hand. He could hear the words as they were being spoken, but something in him would just not allow them to sink in, would not allow them to enter. He stood there for a moment, opening and closing his mouth as he tried to find the words, only to blow a breath from his lips and glance down at the mask in his hand and then at the cigarette in the other.

The cigarette was small, only about the size of his pinkie, and it was greatly dwarfed by the mask in the other hand. And yet, despite the differences in size, the small roll seemed much heavier in his hand. He gently ran his fingertips against the paper edging, small sprinklings of black powder falling into his palm. The lenses of his mask glinted in his eyes ever so slightly, making him turn to take in the tight stitching and cleanly woven fabrics, like a comforting blanket enveloping his hand, nothing like the prickling feeling of the roll in the other palm.

He glanced between the two before slowly curling his hand into a fist, effectively crushing the cigarette into fine dust. "No...you don't know him, Danny. Mr. Stark is...he's different. He's funny and kind and smart and...he makes me feel like it's okay to be me. Like...like I don't have to be afraid anymore." He gave a small hint of a smile.

Danny didn't return in as he gave the boy a solemn look. "We should always be afraid, Peter. It's just safer that way."

The boy narrowed his eyes and clenched his fists together. "Well, maybe I don't want that anymore!" God he really didn't want to fight again.

Danny obviously felt the same as he threw up his hands and sighed. "Look, listen to me or don't. You're gonna do what you want. All I'm saying is...watch your back, Pete." He straightened up and looked the teen in the eyes. "And watch the company you keep."

Peter leaned back to gaze at the boy, reading his face for any signs of malice or anger. He found none.

The teen wasn't going to lie to himself. Daniel Willis wasn't what he would call a very reputable source. The teen had been back and forth on the streets for years, bouncing from foster house to foster house, avoiding Social Services, and getting hits where he could. 'Opportunist' simply wasn't enough to describe him. So with those standards, taking the word of a homeless teen with any sort of seriousness would seem very far-fetched to most people.

Peter knew they were friends. They'd been friends for years, but...but Peter knew Danny was far from a good guy. He stole, he lied, he cheated, and for the most part, Peter let him off for it.

He knew he couldn't really judge. Life was hard for a kid on the streets and he was sure Danny just did what he needed to survive, but...but Peter knew such experiences had to have had their effects. Led to a shift in perspectives, viewpoints.

He didn't trust Tony Stark cause he wasn't too far off from being him, a miniature version with far less money, at least.

Danny was first and foremost, a con artist. He knew the game, knew how to play, and he most definitely knew how to spot other con artists. It's why he could tell Peter was telling the truth about his father, who was a grade-A champion at the game. And it was most likely why he was so hesitant about Tony. He recognized all the makings of a con on him.

But...that didn't mean he was right.

That didn't mean Peter had to believe him.

Still, Peter couldn't help but take in the look of slight concern marring the boy's features. The younger teen knew such a look probably wasn't a common one on Danny's face. He knew firsthand just how difficult it was to express concern for others when your own life warrants all the concern you can get. But despite that, Danny still seemed worried. He was still concerned for him, despite his best efforts to mask the feeling with snark and disinterest. Almost like someone else he knew...

So with that, Peter couldn't help but give a small scoff as a hint of a smile crossed his face. "Does that include you?"

Danny's eyes drifted over the teen's face, obviously searching for traces of resentment. Finding none, the teen returned the smile as he shrugged his shoulders. "You should always watch out for me. Never know when I'm gonna find ya." He called with a wink as he flicked the remaining bud to the ground once more

Peter smiled and shook his head. "I'm glad your back, Danny." And he was, despite the conversation which still seemed to steam in the air over their heads.

"Yeah, well...looks like I'm just in time. Seems to me like you're gonna need all the people you can get on your side." He turned and began to walk over the edge of the roof once more, eyeing the catwalk that led down to the streets below. "I'll be around."

Peter watched as the teen bent down and wrapped his hands around the rusted metal of the steps, twisting himself around to position himself to walk down. However, as he began to lower himself down, Peter couldn't help the nagging feeling itching at the base of his neck, prickling and prickling until he couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer.

"He does love me."

Danny glanced up.

"My dad. He does."

. . . .

. . . .

"That's what you should be afraid of."

 


 

Saturday - April 9, 2016

2765 Springshore Dr - Brenner Residence

04:23 p.m.

"Jesus Christ, May. Do you even own a garbage can? Cause, they're like fifty cents at the Dollar Store. I can get you a nice pretty one with flowers on it and everything." Peter called as he glanced down at the box before him, turning a questioning gaze to the horde of shoes inside that seemed to fit in much better with the leftover tuna casserole and day-old spaghetti still in the kitchen garbage bag.

"Oh, it's not that bad, you big baby."

Peter leaned down and plucked out a shoe with more holes than the moldy Swiss cheese in May's fridge, throwing the woman an unimpressed look.

She shrugged as she picked up one of the large brown boxes. "What can I say? I'm sentimental."

"I'd go ahead and leave out the 'senti', May."

She pursed her lips and gave the teen a light kick as she walked past with the box, Peter grinning as he watched her drop it off near the front door where all the other boxes of a similar make stood.

For the past two hours, boxes were all Peter had been able to see as the pair cleaned out May's apartment after months and months of the teen hounding her to do so. After the sixth time tripping over her knitting kit that hadn't been opened since being bought at a garage sale two years ago, Peter had finally worn the woman down. So for the past few hours, the two had been making quick work going through the ol' "Keep or Toss" routine, Peter having had to explain that there had to at least be a few things in the Toss pile, much to May's reluctance.

"When did I even buy this?" May asked herself as she stared down at the cookbook in her hands. She shrugged her shoulders before tossing it into one of the Keep boxes.

"Seriously? Are you even trying?"

"You never know when you'll need to learn how to cook."

Peter couldn't help but roll his eyes as he wrapped a few candlesticks in bubble wrap. "So how's school going?" He asked as he placed the tightly wrapped sticks into the box before him. May dropped in some linen table liners before closing the box with a small smile. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

Peter shrugged his shoulders, to which May laughed and shook her head. "It's a lot. Juggling that and the diner are a handful but...I'm managing. And you? Your big Decathlon tournament's next Saturday, right?"

The teen ducked his head away slightly as a faint blush rose to his cheeks. "Yeah. You...don't have to come to that thing if you don't want to, May. I...I know they can be kinda...boring."

"You kidding. I wouldn't miss it for the world." The woman beamed, Peter glancing up as he threw her a grateful smile. Even if his father never showed up to those things, May always had his back, always filled a chair or at least tried her hardest to.

The teen gave a slight grimace as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I kinda...might have...invited Mr. Stark too...if that's alright."

May looked surprised for a moment before her face changed into an expression Peter couldn't really read. It almost looked like a smirk but she turned her head away before he could really tell. "Really?" She asked, though the surprise in her voice somehow seemed...false.

"Yeah...it kinda just...slipped out."

"We'll have to save a seat for him then." The woman called, still not showing her face to him as she picked up another box and moved towards the front foyer again.

Peter glanced down at his shoes, the toe scuffling against the carpet rug. "I don't know. He's...he's probably not gonna show." (Of course he won't, you idiot.)

The woman paused for a moment to place the box down on the ground before blowing a breath past her lips and pushing a few strands of hair out of her face. "Well we'll just have to wait and see, huh?"

The teen threw her a weird look, but shrugged his shoulders and went to go collect another box. He glanced at the Toss pile, which had gotten suspiciously smaller than the last time he'd seen it, and shook his head. "How long's it been since you cleaned stuff out around here?"

The woman scrunched her face in thought. "I guess it's been a while."

Peter stared at the horde of boxes they'd filled in the past few hours and threw her a look. "You guess?"

She scoffed and turned away. "Aren't teenage boy's supposed to love hording stuff?" May called with a wave of her hand as she piled a few old books she'd long since given up on trying to read into one of the bigger boxes.

Peter shrugged his shoulders. "Aren't old ladies supposed to love tidiness?" He called with a cheeky grin, May narrowing her eyes as she tried to slap him in the shoulder with a grin, the teen ducking out of the way at the last minute. "Alright, you little punk. There's another pile of boxes in the corner. Move your little butt and bring those over. I think those are the last of the few we need to take to the storage pad."

The teen let out a small chuckle as he walked over and stooped down to pick up the box. However, as he took notice of what was inside, the teen quickly halted in his tracks and felt his mouth go dry, lips parting slightly as he felt his throat clamp shut. He could hear May shuffling around the room, but whatever she was saying quickly muted into cotton in his ears. His eyes remained glued to the contents of the box as he felt his legs lowering him down to the ground. Kneeling on the hard tile floor that desperately needed to be swept and mopped, Peter felt his hands shakily reach out into the box, fingers wrapping around the soft leather of Ben's favorite jacket.

His ears softly rang with the quiet voice of someone teaching him how to tie his shoes, someone vowing they'd be the first to teach him to drive, someone whispering kind words as he gently cleaned the scrape on his knee. Someone who wasn't there anymore; wasn't there because of him.

The room suddenly seemed too hot and too cold all at the same time as he felt chills rake his lithe body, muscles coiling slightly for a fight he could do nothing about, a fight that solely took part in his mind. A fight to keep himself together, a fight he'd been battling for two years...and one he was slowly losing.

He swallowed thickly, face contorting into an unreadable expression of restraint as his eyes remained glued to the fabric in his arms, hands seeming to vibrate with how violently they were shaking. He could feel his heart thumping in his chest, the noise drowning out everything around him, even the sound of May's movements. It was fast and choking and loud. Too loud. He wanted to raise his hands to cover his ears but they wouldn't seem to obey. Instead they stayed locked onto the jacket.

"Hey, tough guy, what's the hold up over the-" May felt the words die in her throat as she caught sight of Peter sitting on his knees, dark brown jacket clutched tightly in his hands as he stared down at the worn leather.

The teen didn't hear her speak, just rubbed his fingers against the material seemingly lost in his own head. Peter barely even moved as May rested a hand on his shoulder, the kid wondering when she'd even approached. Despite the gnawing unease of having foreign hands on him, Peter couldn't really bring himself to pull away for fear that his focus might stray away from the jacket.

"I miss him too."

With her words, Peter felt himself suck in a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. It was shaky and wet and made the teen clear his throat slightly as he sniffed and ducked his head away. The dust around the room must have been more concentrated where he was, for he could feel his eyes growing red and wet.

He opened his mouth, but quickly shut it with the realization that if he spoke now, there was no telling what he'd really say and he couldn't afford that uncertainty. It was best to just wait it out till he regained some form of self control. May, however, didn't seem to pick up on his raging internal battle as she reached out for him again. "Peter, please. Just...just talk to me." She pleaded, the tones of desperation in her voice making the teen want to rip his own ribcage out.

Suddenly realizing he was in irreparable danger of imploding in on himself, the teen dropped the jacket and immediately shot up to his feet. "I should go bring some of those boxes outside. Makes it easier to transfer them to your car." He gasped out, forcing a quivering smile onto his face as he turned away and moved towards the door.

"Peter-!"

"I'll be right back." It was all he could say without wavering.

He was outside before he could even register it. The boxes that had somehow found themselves in his hands were quickly dropped to his feet as he rested the back of his head against the closed door and sucked in a shaky breath, eyes stinging. Peter glanced down at his hands, the skin suddenly feeling stretched and foreign. As if his skin didn't fit his body.

He turned towards the boxes and took a breath before hoisting them back into his arms. He pushed the jacket to the back of his mind along with anything and everything connected to it. Two years was too long of a streak to break and he wasn't about to start today. He wouldn't lose this fight. He couldn't.

So with that, the teen brought the boxes to the back of May's car and dropped them on the cracked concrete beside it. Resting his hand against the rusted metal exterior, the teen ran a hand through his hair and sighed as he glanced back over towards the front door of the house. He was glad the door was closed, shielding his eyes from whatever look of anguish May was most likely wearing on her face. (Can't bear to see what you're doing to her, huh?)

The guilt spread like a wildfire, but Peter didn't really have the energy to acknowledge the burning as he made his way back over towards the stairs. (Just push that to the back of your mind too, you coward)

Praying that perhaps May had moved off to another room, Peter stilled another deep breath and readjusted the smile on his face, hoping it was realistic enough to pass as he opened the door. "How long have you had that car outs-" He started, only to grunt in mild surprise as something was suddenly shoved against his chest.

The teen blinked and glanced down, hands instantly catching the stacks upon stacks of CDs now precariously balanced in his palms, eyes warily crawling up to meet May's. Peter couldn't help but shake his head in compete surprise as he caught sight of the smile on May's face as she stared at the CDs. "Music!" She cried with seemingly too much enthusiasm to be a hundred percent real.

"What...?" Peter asked hesitantly, afraid that if he cracked her facade in anyway, it would come tumbling down.

May gave a small shake of her head as she chuckled. "Sorry. I just mean...you said Mr. Stark wanted to know what kind of music you like to listen to. And I have basically every CD Ben ever collected just sitting in my closet taking up valuable shoe space-"

"Please no more shoes, May."

She gave him a mock pout. "Whatever. Anyway, I figured now was as good a time as any for them to start getting some use." She faltered slightly as she turned away and tilted her head. "That is, if you want them of course. I mean, you don't have to take them if you don't-"

"NO!" Peter shouted, reeling back slightly as he took note of just how loud he'd been. "I mean...I'd love to take these. I'll show them to Mr. Stark."

"Yeah?" The woman asked with a small nervous smile.

Peter blinked before returning one of his own, bumping the woman with his shoulder seeing as how his hands were full. "Yeah. Thanks, May. I...I really love these."

Her smile grew at that, the woman patting him on the head as she turned away once more, kneeling down over a couple more boxes. Peter turned to the couch next to him and dropped the load onto the cushions, taking note of just how many CDs there actually were. And considering CDs weren't even used all that much anymore, there were quite a few.

"You must have like...every CD ever made here."

"What can I say? Ben was pretty sentimental, too. And I think we can keep the 'senti' in that." She called with a smirk.

Peter couldn't help but give a small chuckle at that as he rummaged through the pile, glancing at covers and song lists. "Yeah. You do have enough 'mental' for a small group." He laughed, only to pause as he noticed the woman approaching once more. "If it's more CDs, then I think you can keep them. I have plenty here." He said as he turned around, expecting to find more CDs in the woman's arms.

He faltered slightly as he took in the sight of the jacket once more, now resting gently in the woman's arms instead of his own. He swallowed and felt his chest tighten ever so slightly, but was able to keep a level stare this time. Apparently the same went for May as she stared him in the eyes, a small smile on her face. "This was his favorite jacket, you know."

He knew. "Yeah...I know."

The woman stared down at it for a moment, seemingly lost in thought for a second as she stroked her hand over the worn leather. Peter blinked in silence as he wondered whether or not the woman was waiting for him to say anything. However, May quickly lifted her head to look at him once more. "You should have it."

The teen stole a small breath, opening his mouth before closing it again after realizing he didn't know how to respond to that. He glanced down at the jacket before his face scrunched ever so slightly. "...I can't." It was barely more than a whisper. Though apparently, it was loud enough for May to hear and disagree with as she clicked her tongue. "It's getting no use just sitting in the bottom of a box. You know he'd hate to see it discarded like that and I can't just...throw it away." She murmured, fingers rubbing delicately across the surface. She sniffed softly before her smile reappeared, eyes slightly misty as she pushed it into Peter's hands

"He'd want you to have it, honey."

She let go of the jacket before Peter could refuse her again, the teen stuck with the cloth in his hands as he stared down at it. He knew he should give it back to her again, say it didn't belong to him because it didn't. He knew who it belonged to and so did she. And...Peter wasn't him. Not by a long shot.

Still, with a small glance up, Peter could see the look on May's face, the silent plead for him to take the jacket, to accept her offer. To do this one small thing for her. He turned away and stared down at the jacket once more before a hint of a smile spread onto his face. "Isn't this the one he spilled coffee on?"

May shook her head with a chuckle. "Nah. That was another one."

"I'm sure you still have it somewhere in this mess." The teen murmured with a smirk, May pressing her tongue to the inside of her cheek as she threw him a dirty look before throwing her hand over her shoulder as she turned away. "Whatever. This place is basically like a thrift store. I have one of everything in here. I'm pretty sure I could score my hands on some crown jewels if I just look hard enough in the back of my closet." She called as she walked into the kitchen, her laugh mirroring Peter's.

The teen moved to sit on the couch, a small sigh escaping his lips as he realized it was probably the first time he'd sat down in the last two hours. Pulling one of the empty boxes closer to him with the toe of his shoe, Peter opened the flaps and grabbed a handful of the CDs, stacking them inside neatly and orderly until they were all situated inside.

In the corner of his eye, he could make out May grabbing a glass of water as she reached for the newspaper she hadn't had the time to look at during their little impromptu spring cleaning session. However, his focus quickly returned to the jacket sitting next to him. He hesitated for a moment before reaching over and pulling it into his lap. Running his hands over the leather, Peter could feel each and every imperfection in the stitching where Ben had had to make numerous repairs. Still, in the back of his mind Peter could remember a stubborn voice refusing to buy a new jacket, saying this one was special.

Peter let a smile stretch across his face as he neatly folded the jacket up and placed it on top of the box of CDs.

"Uh, Peter...?"

The teen looked up at his name, watching as May walked over, newspaper in hand. He opened his mouth to ask what was up, only to pause as he caught sight of the look on May's face. Instantly feeling a small pit opening up in his stomach, the teen narrowed his eyes and rose up to his feet. "What's wrong?" He asked, fearing the answer as May got closer.

"Did you happen to catch a glimpse of the front page today?"

"No...why?"

The woman threw him a concerned look before flipping the newspaper around so that the front page faced him. It was easy to pinpoint the exact moment when the image clicked in the teen's brain, for it perfectly coincided with the spreading look of absolute shock washing over the teen's face like a tidal wave.

"Shit..."

 


 

Saturday - April 9, 2016

Stark Tower - Main Offices

05:08 p.m.

TONY STARK'S NEW MYSTERY KID

Budding intern, secret love child, or shiny new toy?

Tony stared down at the paper in his hands for a moment before roughly throwing it down onto the desk and glaring back up. "Okay, so did they just decide to have a competition down at the post to see who could come up with the most horrific title? Cause hands down, they're pulling out all the stops on this one."

Rhodey shook his head with a scoff from where he stood near the corner of the office. "Yeah, you got that right. Similar stories are popping up on almost every newspaper out there. New York Times, Washington Post, even the Daily Bugle. And that's just print. We haven't even gotten to the online hits this is getting." He called with a shake of his head.

"No. No! What I want to know is what sicko decided the headlines for this? I mean, that is a fourteen-year-old kid on the front page of your newspaper!"

Both men raised their heads as Pepper walked into the office, hand pressed against the earpiece she was currently yelling into. Judging from her tone of voice and the pinched look of barely-restrained frustration, the conversation was not a pleasant one. "Yeah, no I got that. No, it's just- I'm saying..." Her voice suddenly cut off as she blinked in shock and moved her hand away from the earpiece.

With a loud groan, she pressed her fingers against the bridge of her nose as she moved to sit on the corner of Tony's desk. "That's the third newspaper that's hung up on me in the last twenty minutes." She muttered.

Rhodey snorted and turned a disgusted look upon the others. "Figures. They're trying to make as much headway with this as possible which means they're gonna avoid you like the plague. At least until the media storm begins to settle."

The woman narrowed her eyes. "If they have the balls to paste stuff like that and spew it around the city, then they should have the balls to answer for it."

"Yeah, well...last I checked, 'accountable for their actions' isn't usually very high-listed on journalist resumes." Tony scoffed, only for Rhodey to lift a brow at him.

"Glass houses, Tones."

"...shut up."

The man lowered his head to glare back down at the paper before him. The image above the words was that of Tony and Peter from a few days before, sitting on the curb outside Delmar's. The picture obviously must have been taken before the two became aware of the media presence because their faces were lax and natural, identical grins on both of their features.

When Pepper had walked into his office early that morning with a mixed look of anger and worry, Tony had quickly realized that his sub-par morning was about to take a dive. Of course, his suspicions had been confirmed and the woman had shown him the article that damn near made him spit out the coffee he'd been sipping.

When the cameras and reporters had first found them on Thursday, Tony had known it would only be a matter of time before papers began to get published about the little encounter. The man just hadn't expected them to be so...well, like reporters. Vulgar and gross with a dash of conspiracy.

"What kind of damage are we looking at here?" Tony asked with a sigh.

Pepper moved off of the desk and turned to grab at some of the papers that currently rested on the desk. "Right now, it shouldn't be too bad considering they're basically working with nothing. All they have is his face."

With that, Tony spun around in his seat so that he was now facing the window. The sun still hung in the air above the skyline, but it was slowly making its way down, casting the sky around it in a nice golden hue that didn't really reflect the internal screaming that currently echoed off of Tony's rib cage as he continued to mull over the same situation he'd been thinking about for the past two hours.

The man let out a tired sigh and rubbed his face. Rhodey seemed to take notice of the man's slumped form as he walked over and placed a hand on the billionaire's shoulder. "Why don't I call up some food for us? If we go any further on an empty stomach, we're gonna start getting snippy."

"Start?" Tony quipped back, only for his friend to roll his eyes.

"So what's it gonna be?"

"Anything swimming in grease."

The colonel nodded his head. "Pizza it is, then. Be right back." He murmured before pulling his phone out of his pocket and walking out of the room.

Twisting his chair back around, Tony let out a muffled groan as he rested his elbows on the desk before him and placed his forehead down on the cool mahogany surface. Media storms were never fun to deal with. Never had been, no matter how used to them he was. He'd had his fair share considering his first exposure had been when he was four and the experiences ranged from boring interviews to god-awful 'night after' photos that still haunted him to this very day in a worst-of list that seemed never-ending.

Still, thinly-veiled hints of pedophilia were quickly making their way to the top of that list.

The tell-tale clack of Pepper's heels against the tile floors reached his ears before he felt her lay a gently hand over the top of his head. If he was feeling the effects of this, the man could only wince at how Peter would react when he finally saw it. The thought made a pit open up in his stomach that seemed to threaten his very intestines. Tony straightened up as he met Pepper's gaze.

"What are the chances he hasn't seen it yet?"

Pepper thought about it for a moment before she opened her mouth, only for the two to turn towards the door as they heard the sound of shoes scuffing against the floor getting closer and closer. Before they could question what the noise was, Peter was rounding the corner and standing in the doorway, face red and flushed as he panted heavily, hair slick against his forehead.

"Survey says...not great."

From behind the teen, Happy came into view as well, leaning up against the door frame as he wheezed, seemingly having run behind the kid the entire time. "Sorry...I was gonna call...tell you." He puffed. "Kid's fast."

"Peter?" Tony said the name with a hint of confusion. It was Saturday. Kid wasn't scheduled to come back in till Monday.

Suddenly realizing what their office currently looked like, the billionaire quickly pushed all the articles currently strewn atop his desk into the drawers and out of sight. "Yeah, hi." The teen gasped out, venturing farther into the office as he greedily gulped in more mouthfuls of air.

"Not that I'm not always happy to see my pasty-faced hormonal charges on unscheduled days of the week but what are you doing here and - did you run here?"

The teen didn't respond, only lifted a finger and waved it in a sort of gesturing motion before giving up on trying to convey whatever he was and simply giving a shaky thumbs up. He rested his hands on his knees as he gave the 'one minute' signal before inhaling a large breath of air and straightening back up.

"Right, so sorry for barging in like this. I know you probably weren't expecting to see me here today and if I'm really being honest I wasn't expecting to be here either and considering the circumstances I kinda wish I wasn't here but I am which kinda sucks cause I was actually helping out May today and - do you know how much of a hoarder she is? Right, of course you don't. Why would you know that? That's weird. But anyway I'm kinda losing where I'm going with this and-

"Kid, kid." Tony called, raising his hands to get the teen to shut up. Peter did with a snap of his jaw. "Can we just skip to the important part?"

"Right, right." Peter reached up to rub his neck. "So, I know you said I shouldn't be concerned about anything back when we were at Delmar's but..." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, one Tony didn't have to really look at to know what it was. "...I have some concerns anyway."

Tony glanced over at Pepper and noticed the concerned look she was now giving him. Turning back towards Peter, the billionaire stood up and threw him a smile. "Yeah, we were just talking about that now, right Pep?"

"Uh-"

"Yeah, so we were talking and Pepper was just telling me that she see's stuff like this all the time, kid. All the time. It's nothing to worry about. Just another run-of-the-mill scoop here, huh Pep?"

"I-"

"It's just a little thing, kid. Nothing to get all concerned over and-"

"Mr. Stark?" The kid called, effectively cutting the man off as he threw him an exasperated look. "I know that's not true. I mean, just look at this place." He murmured with an uneasy look, glancing around at the papers still lying on the floor by his feet. "Just give it to me straight here."

Not a good idea. "Kid I don't know if that's a good idea."

Peter shook his head. "Look, I don't wanna be sidewinded by this thing, alright? I don't wanna be in Home Ec on Monday and pull out my phone to see I'm the leading story on Good Morning America or something!" The teen sighed and ran a hand through his hair before glancing up at the man before him. "Just...just tell me the truth. Tell me what's going on."

Tony stared down at the teen, the swirling unease in his stomach not settling as he caught the pleading look on Peter's face. Still, as he looked over towards Pepper and saw her shrugging her shoulders at him, the billionaire couldn't help the sigh that bubbled past his lips once more. Lying to the kid was probably gonna cause more problems than just telling him the truth right now, he had to admit, no matter how uncomfortable it was going to make them.

He turned back towards Peter, only to pause as he caught sight of Rhodey in the background, phone pressed up to his ear as the colonel spoke to whoever was on the other end of the call, most presumably the closest pizzeria to them.

The billionaire felt a smirk fall onto his face. "You hungry, kid?"

"Always. Why?"

 


 

"What kind of state doesn't have legal laws prohibiting the release of information on a minor? It's the 21st century here! I thought kids had rights nowadays!"

Tony threw the kid a look of resigned frustration as he watched Peter pace back and forth in front of the couch he currently sat on. "New York, apparently. Trust us, that was the first thing we looked into."

Tony, Peter, Pepper, Rhodey and Happy all currently resided in the penthouse above the office they'd previously established. Boxes upon boxes of pizza currently sat opened on the table before them, different slices of different pizzas all held in their respective hands. Tony was grateful he'd asked Rhodey to order two extra pizzas for Peter considering the teen ate almost as much food for three separate people.

For the past hour, they'd been going over the details of the story as well as whatever they were gonna do to counter it.

Tony could honestly say he didn't want Peter to be a part of this conversation at all. He didn't want the kid involved in this matter in the first place so having to share the gorey details of their grizzly situation wasn't exactly primo.

But the billionaire also knew it wouldn't sit too well with the kid if they hid anything from him, which was what led to them all sitting around the living room horking down pizzas while spitballing the worst of their situation.

"Eventually people are gonna recognize you as the same kid from all those pictures with Richard Parker." Rhodey pointed out as he gestured with the pizza slice in his hand.

Happy furrowed his brow from his seat across from them. "And they'll probably have some questions as to why Parker's son is hanging around the top name for his rival's company."

"Right..." Peter murmured, glancing down at the slice in his hand. He stuffed the rest in his mouth before glancing over towards Tony. "So how do we counter that?"

Tony let out a groan as he sat up and rested his elbows on his knees, letting his hands hang down. "We...well actually I am gonna have to make sure our cover is flawless here, just in case people start to sniff around and get suspicious. So that means verifying all of your fake files, kid and getting started on the works for the new internship program."

Pepper furrowed her brow. "What 'new internship program'?"

"The one I'm gonna make."

All three adults turned to look at each other before turning towards the billionaire as if he'd just announced he was gonna jump from the top of the tower in nothing but Iron Man pajamas. Peter's head swiveled back and forth between the group and Tony, unsure as to what they were all confused about.

"Tony, are you serious?"

"You gotta be joking."

The man stared back at them as he raised his hands. "What? Why is that so hard to believe?"

Pepper threw him a deadpanned look as she pursed her lips. "Cause you're you. The same guy who thinks - and I quote - kids are useless snot-nosed little gremlins wadding around in their own vomit and bad ideas until they finally hit a growth spurt and become adults that can do something useful with their previously pointless lives'."

Everyone in the room grew silent at that. Peter turned to look at the billionaire, wide eyes blinking back at him. Tony stared at him before shaking his head. "I didn't say that."

"You always say that."

"I - they're paraphrasing...I didn't say exactly that." He waved his hands in the air, seemingly dispelling their words from the atmosphere as the others smirked behind their hands and Peter continued to stand there confused. "Anyway, I'm opening it up to college students, alright? Jeez, you really think I'm gonna let some beady-eyed, sweat driven little fourteen-year-old brats who can't even operate their own bodies let alone expensive equipment in here ?"

. . . .

. . . .

. . . .

"Ahem..."

"Damn, I keep forgetting you're here. Well, you're the exception anyway, kid so whatever!"

The other three adults didn't even bother in trying to hide their snickers this time, only Peter joined them with a toothy grin as he glanced down at the ground before turning towards the billionaire. "Well thanks. And if it means anything, I do like to think I have pretty fine motor skills. Well enough to crime fight, at least."

"Yeah, yeah..." Tony muttered with a pout before throwing a garlic knot at the kid's head. The kid caught it, obviously, popping it into his mouth afterwards as Tony turned to face the others once again. "Look, it's not ideal. If I could help it, I'd keep any and all people under the age of thirty out of my tower - don't even start with me again, Parker - but this is what we're dealing with."

The teen stared down at his hands, fingers flexing slightly, almost as if they were sore. He felt Mr. Stark turn to look at him, but the man didn't push him to speak as the teen merely traced the lines in his palm. After a moment, he finally spoke.

"Look, my dad...my dad is all about image, okay." He murmured. "That's why he's always making me go to those stupid gala things or donating to whatever charity of the week he thinks will garner up more support in the public eye." He said with a sigh, resting his cheek against a propped-up fist. "It's just...PR is gold to him. And if this gets worse...I don't know how he'll react, you know?"

He lifted his head to look at the adults around him, only to find they were staring at each other sharing mixed looks of concern, anger or frustration. Tony's fingers were curled into a fist that Peter knew had something to do with the words he's just spoken. Immediately feeling the same bout of indignant fire he'd felt with Danny, Peter glared down at the floor before him. "Don't take that the wrong way, alright? It's perfectly reasonable for any dad to get concerned when their son is making font page headlines with - let's face it - his top competitor." He growled out.

He could feel Tony turn to look at him, the teen inwardly cringing as he wondered maybe he'd been rude again, only for the man to speak before he could think about apologizing. "No, no. I understand, Pete. I got you."

The teen lifted his head to look at him for a moment before ducking away and giving a small nod, shutting his mouth and locking his jaw. Tony inwardly cursed, but said nothing about it. No point in making it any worse.

"Okay, so we got what we're gonna do once this gets bad, but what are we gonna do about it right now?" Happy asked, crumpling up the napkin in his hands before tossing it into his empty plate, thankfully shifting the topic once more.

Rhodey leaned back in his chair, watching as Peter continued to pace back and forth in front of them. Nobody told him to stop. If anything, it was better than watching the nervous energy spread to his face. "So far, it seems to be contained mainly to the papers. I haven't gotten word of any news channels running with it."

Pepper pursed her lips slightly. "Probably waiting for more info to leak through."

"Yeah, hopefully bad info on me. Lately, I seem to be their favorite billionaire-flavored chew toy." Tony muttered from his seat as he angrily ripped another slice away from the box.

"So, they're not working with a lot right now, right?" Peter asked, the others nodding. "Then that means they'll probably be even more eager to find more pictures."

"Exactly." Rhodey said from his seat. "Which is exactly why the two of you need to lay low for a while." At Peter's look of mild concern, the man continued. "Okay, not really you, Pete. Just...right now they're starved for more information, so they're gonna be on the lookout for the two of you together, okay? So, until this dies down a little more, I suggest the two of you avoid going out in public spaces for a little while. Together, at least."

Tony nodded along as his friend spoke, shrugging his shoulders as the man finished. "Seems easy enough. Though I must admit, your little plan to get me out of the tower more is gonna take a little bit of a dive I'm afraid." He said with a mock pout, Pepper rolling her eyes while Rhodey flicked him off.

The billionaire chuckled and turned his head to gauge Peter's reaction, only to pause as he noticed the kid rubbing his arm, glancing down at the ground as a look of resigned disappointment made its way onto his face. Tony cocked a head in mild confusion, for the teen had been taking everything else they'd been saying fairly well. Why now was he looking so...upset?

Nevertheless, the man stood up and made his way over to the teen, placing his hands on the kid's shoulders. Peter jumped slightly at the touch but lifted his head as Tony stared down at him. "Hey, it's gonna be fine, kid." He said with a small smile, assuming the teen was just upset about the whole ordeal. "We've got your back on this, alright?"

Peter stared up at the man before glancing over towards the others, who were all making their way over as well. "I know it's all a bit overwhelming, Peter." Pepper said with a sad smile. "But we've been dealing with stuff like this for a long time now. And our PR team's the best money can buy."

"I'll be there to drive you to the Tower, alright kid? If anyone ever gives you trouble, I'll be right there waiting for you." Happy said with his usual frown in place. Though Tony had known the man long enough to notice that his frown held small traces of a smile at the corners of his lips, his eyes not quite so hard as usual.

Rhodey patted the teen on the back. "It's gonna be fine, Peter. All we gotta do is get through to Stage 5 and we're in the clear."

At that, Peter pulled away to stare at the man in confusion, tilting his head slightly. "Stage 5?" He asked before turning to face all of them. "What's Stage 5?"

"Stage 5's what we're shooting for here, kid." Tony said with a small sigh. "The little light at the end of the tunnel so to speak."

Obviously, the explanation didn't do much to help Peter, for the kid continued to scrunch his nose and narrow his eyes in thought. "I don't get it. There's stages? Are they like steps or something?"

"Kinda?" Tony said with a shrug of his shoulders. "We've dealt with so many media storms in our lifetime that we started to see a repeating pattern with all of the ordeals we encountered. After a while, we were able to organize them all into stages of sorts."

Peter seemed to perk slightly at that. "Oh, so...like a lifespan?"

Tony nodded his head. "Yeah. Stage 1's what we're dealing with now. That initial little drip of information that leaks to the masses. Usually the info itself is small but it's enough for them to get the scent of blood in the water. This is the step with that first bout of excited drabble."

"Stage 2 is the initial aftermath." Pepper chimed in as she moved back over to the table and began to pick up the empty pizza boxes. "After the information begins to taper off, the masses are left starving with that one tiny bit of news they did get, the excitement bubbling down to nothing as the story is seemingly lost in the sea of Hollywood bubblegum that usually overrides it." She passed some of the boxes to the boys and motioned for them to follow her over to the kitchen

"Stage 3 is the release of more info." Happy said as he dropped the boxes onto the counter, doing the same with the boxes Peter handed to him. "In our case, it'll be when people find out you're Richard Parker's kid. It mainly just covers the extra information that revitalizes the original story."

Rhodey wiped a napkin over his grease-covered fingers. "Stage 4 follows and is undoubtedly the worst. It's the tsunami of mass hysteria that comes after the story drops. People tweet, news stations gossip, conspiracy sites open up. Basically all the shit you could associate with a media storm can be summed up in Stage 4."

Peter hopped up onto the bar, watching the others talk with a look of slight concern. He blew out a sigh and rested his cheek against his fist. "Great. So I have that to look forward to."

"Well, hold on there." Tony called as he leaned up against the bar beside the kid. "That brings us to Stage 5, the heaven send. That's the final aftermath. When the hype dies down and everything starts to go back to normal. People get bored and move on to someone else to hound. Stage 5 ends it."

Peter turned to look at him before letting out a small chuckle. "Well then Stage 5 can't come soon enough." Tony smirked and lightly tapped the teen in the shoulder with his fist.

It didn't take them long to finish cleaning up the rest of dinner, despite the number of pizza boxes they'd actually managed to go through. Tony stood over by the sink, depositing the last of the dishes in before mentally reminding himself to set the dishwasher later that night. Behind him, Peter spoke with Rhodey and Happy. Judging from the occasional deep chuckles and higher-pitched giggles, the trio were entertaining themselves fairly well.

The billionaire was so preoccupied with the dishes before him that he barely even noticed when Pepper walked over and rested a hand on his shoulder. The man turned to look at her as she spoke. "Does Peter need to be home soon?" She asked in a hushed tone, even though the two knew it was basically pointless. If he wanted to, Peter could probably hear them even if they went into a different room.

However, stealing a glance over towards the kid, Tony noticed he didn't look up from where he was laughing as Rhodey showed him pictures from his phone. Tony cringed slightly, realizing there had to be quite a number of incriminating photos of himself on his friend's phone. Nevertheless, he leaned closer to the woman before him and shook his head. "Said his dad was working late tonight."

The woman gave a nod of her own before turning to watch the three others from where they sat at the bar. It was hard to really get a read on the woman's face, but the small smile that spread onto her lips was indicator enough. For a moment, the two said nothing, simply content with watching silently as a calming atmosphere settled over the room in a way that hadn't been present for some time now.

She watched for a moment longer before leaning closer to the man next to her. "You're doing a good job, Tony."

He said nothing for a moment, watching Peter smile as he giggled at something Rhodey said, Happy grumbling off to the side that made it seem like the joke was at his expense.

Tony had to admit, Peter was doing better. The teen hadn't stuttered once in the time they'd been together, not to mention he also seemed much more relaxed talking to them as a group rather than just individually as they'd had to do in the first few weeks of meeting him. Whatever Tony was doing, as horrible as he felt he was at this, it seemed to be doing...something.

The billionaire let out a small chuckle of his own. "Yeah, well...kid does most of the work for me, really." He murmured, feeling a small weight on his chest lift away as the teen threw his head back in laughter when Happy reached over to smack the colonel in the arm at whatever they'd said to each other.

Still, it was hard to ignore the looming obstacles gathering just outside the comfort of the Tower, a fact that made itself known on the frown that quickly spread onto the man's face. "We're gonna have hell to deal with soon enough, Pep." He murmured softly.

The woman said nothing at that, turning to glance back at the others before smiling once more. Tony blinked in surprise as he watched the woman hold up a couple of glasses of champagne. "Well then, let's make the most of this then, shall we?"

Tony stared at her for a moment before allowing the smile to return to his face, if only for a little while. He could enjoy it while it lasted. Holding up a 'one minute' sign, the man dug around in the fridge for a moment before pulling out a juice box, Pepper rolling her eyes as she silently mouthed 'oh my god' to him. He returned it with a cheeky grin before they made their way over to the others.

The other two guys stared at the drinks before growing smiles of their own, looks that grew even larger as Tony handed Peter the juice box. The teen stared down at it with a cocked brow and a deadpanned look before snatching it out of the billionaire's hands. "I hate that I love this kind." He muttered, the others cracking even wider grins as he removed the little plastic straw.

Nevertheless, Peter held out his little juice box - complete with bendy straw - as the others held out their glasses. Despite the less than ideal circumstances that had brought them where they were, they couldn't hold back the smiles that spread onto their faces, not even Happy, who despite his best efforts, had a small upturn to the corners of his mouth.

Tony glanced around at all the people before him. People who, to anybody else, should be nothing more than work companions. A military and government liaison. His company CEO. A chauffeur, bodyguard and security manager wrapped in one. And finally, a high-school intern that moonlighted as a teenage superhero. It was almost like a demented version of the Breakfast Club, sans the 80s clothes and questionable haircuts.

Still, the man could honestly say that each and every person standing before him meant something more. He couldn't exactly put it into words, per say. If anything it was more of a feeling. Something deep in his gut that told him everything he needed was right there in front of him.

It was a gut feeling that had hidden itself away the second he'd felt a shield break his chest.

But in that moment, Tony didn't think about the media. He didn't think about Ross. Didn't think about the Accords, or the Avengers, or Steve. All he could think about was the glass in his hands and the smile on Peter's face.

"To Stage 5."

"TO STAGE 5!"

 


 

Sunday - April 10, 2016

Queens, NY - East Flushing

01:13 a.m.

"I'm gonna tear you to pieces, you little freak!"

"What? For stopping your little shopping spree? You know you're a heavy spender, girl! If anything, I just spared you from some serious shopper's regret later on!"

Spidey couldn't really say anymore before the blast was slamming into his chest, sending him careening into the alleyway wall behind him. He fell to the ground and couldn't suppress a groan as he placed a hand to his head.

Okay, so maybe he did talk a bit too much during these battles.

He didn't have anymore time to contemplate such a thing as a fist came swinging for his face. Ducking out of reach and flipping backwards right as the reinforced fist slammed into the concrete wall where his head had been, the hero leapt away and clung to the wall above the two thugs.

They were both dressed similarly, with dark clothes that seemed a bit scraggly and ragged. One of them was a woman who had a fairly large stature with defined muscles and a strong chin despite her young features. The other was a much skinnier man.

However, neither of the two seemed like anything impressive. They just seemed like your average run-of-the-mill thugs looking for a score.

Albeit, they did seem...pretty young.

Or at least, they would have if it weren't for the blaster in the skinny man's hands and the high-powered metallic gloves reinforcing the larger girl's arms and hands, making her punches all the more lethal.

The large metal crates presumably filled with stolen tech from the manufacturing building they were fighting next to sat discarded near the back walls, seemingly forgotten about as the thugs faced off against the masked arachnid.

Peter leapt off the wall right as the skinny man fired off a blast from the smoking gun, skidding along the ground as he slid under the man's legs and kicked them out from underneath him, flipping backwards as the man's partner punched the air where he'd been seconds earlier. Catching one of the nearby trash cans in his webs, Spider-Man swung it around before hurtling it towards the gloved woman.

She slammed her fist into the oncoming projectile, the can exploding into bits of flaming metal and garbage as the gloves hissed and the metallic plates shifted before falling still once more.

Peter mentally cursed the gloves, summing them up to be one of Curt's new inventions before flipping away from another punch, only to land right in the path of the gun's new blast.

He shouted in pain as the blast him him in the shoulder, sending him skidding backwards. His feet slid against the concrete before he gained traction once more, leaning down to press a hand to the cold floor as he hissed in pain and fought to catch his breath, only to dodge to the side as the woman slammed her fist into the concrete, leaving cracks and dents in the stained ground.

He slid against the ground once more and whipped back around, body poised and low to the ground as he watched the woman stand back up, small pieces of gravel falling away from her hand. "We're just trying to do a job." She finally spoke, thin strands of brunette hair falling down around her face as she stared back at him.

Peter felt the sensors on his mask's lenses shrink and narrow. "So am I."

She narrowed her own eyes at the hero before gritting her teeth and charging.

Having been ready for her attack, Peter flipped over onto his back, performing a backwards hand stand before shooting his legs out where they connected hard with the girl's chest, driving her backwards.

She quickly recovered, twisting around with a reared back fist, only for Spidey to spring up and fire a barrage of quick-fire webs at her, the substance wrapping around her midsection, trapping her arms to her sides.

Skidding to a halt, the woman glared down at her trapped form before letting out a loud grunt of effort, the metallic bindings on her arms glowing slightly as the plates shifted once more and she snapped her arms up, the webbing ripping right along with it.

"Shit..." The teen muttered underneath his breath, only to yelp as another bright blast shot right over his head. Ducking down to the ground, he decided to switch tactics.

Focusing on the gauntlets in the larger woman's hands, he dodged another blast from the gun and leapt up onto the wall, springing off of it and towards the girl.

"You know what? This is getting too graphic for you. I don't want you watching this." Firing a glob of webbing towards her eyes, the thug grunted as it made contact, effectively blinding her.

However, before Peter could get a good shot at her gauntlets, the woman swung around wildly, causing him to leap backwards right as another blast shot forward, hitting the teen in the side and sending him hurtling backwards.

Hitting the stone floor hard, the hero grunted and quickly rose back up to his feet before he could be blindsided once more. The familiar burn of the weapon's blast could be felt through the suit as his skin pulled taut once more. He choked back the whimper of pain and instead blew a harsh breath past his lips.

The woman reached up with a snarl and ripped the webbing in her eyes away from her face. Whipping around, her gaze landed on the hero once more, but not before he was already making his way towards her.

With that, Peter leapt up above the woman's head and landed on her shoulders, webbing up her legs and yanking hard, the thug letting a shout fall from her mouth as she slammed into the ground face-first.

Her skinnier partner seemed to panic slightly as he saw his partner go down, especially when Spidey started to web up the large woman's arms to her sides and render the gloves useless as they were covered in the goo-like substance.

Nevertheless, he charged up the gun again and fired a huge green blast towards them.

"Whoa!" Peter shouted as he leapt out of the way right as the blast tore a huge hole in the wall behind him, bricks and stones clattering to the ground. Rearing back up, Spidey stared down the man as his hands shook. "Watch where you're pointing that thing, man! You're gonna shoot your eye out!"

The man chose to ignore his comments as he continued to fire blast after blast while Peter ducked and dodges, bright green lights lighting up the alley like a demented Christmas lights show.

Faintly picking up the soft sound of police sirens in the distance, Spidey realized he'd have to wrap this up quickly if he didn't want the cops to interrupt them, increasing the likelihood that someone would get hurt.

Twirling right by another blast, the teen shot a glob of webbing at the man's feet. Off balance, the thug fell onto his backside, eyes staring fearfully at the vigilante as he approached. Before he could think better of it, the man's shaking hands reached towards the dial on the side of the blaster, praying there was some sort of setting that would help him.

"WAIT!" Spider-man shouted as the blaster began to hum loudly, the glow emanating from inside beginning to fizzle and grow brighter with each second. The man obviously had no idea what to do as he whimpered and stared at the gun in his hands, seemingly frozen.

Rushing forward, Peter ripped the gun out of the man's hands and wrapped it as thickly as possible in webbing before whipping it as far as he could up into the air. A second of silence passed before the gun exploded in a hail of green light and burnt webbing.

The two remaining fighters ducked down as the blast blew right above their heads, warily glancing back up as they took in the sight of smoke billowing around them

Peter and the trapped thug stared at the sky for a moment before the former turned to the latter. "You know, that would have been great to Instagram. Why don't I ever have my phone when I need it? That ever happen to you? Frikkin sucks."

 


 

The sirens he'd heard before in the midst of the fight were steadily growing louder as Peter moved the webbed up thugs over to the back wall of the alleyway, lifting the heavy metal crates of stolen goods over his shoulder like they were nothing.

Placing the boxes down next to the thugs with a loud thud that reverberated through the ground and made his toes twitch in the suit, he webbed up the crates and positioned them next to the two criminals like a nicely wrapped present for the officers.

"And...there! Don't you two just look lovely? Now play nice for your ol- pal Spidey, huh?"

"Come on, man! Just let us go! We won't tell nobody!"

The teen turned to face them with a shrug of his shoulders and a playful smirk spreading across his face underneath the mask. It was always fun pleading with criminals after the fact, seeing just what they were willing to do in order to gain their freedom.

One guy offered to buy him dinner. The guy only pick-pocketed some guy's watch which Peter returned, so he settled for a milkshake and a slap on the wrist.

"See, now if I did that for you, I'd have to do it for everybody and that just doesn't seem very productive for a crime-fighting vigilante, now does it?" He chuckled before turning away. "No, I think I'll let you try that one out on the cops. Who knows? Maybe they'll have a different answer if you're nice enough."

The woman glared down at the ground and locked her jaw, seemingly realizing she wasn't going to get anywhere with the teen. Her partner, however, had a much different reaction.

"They're gonna kill us!"

Peter paused at that, glancing unimpressed at the thugs. "Oh, please. I think you're being a bit dramatic. Just don't mention anything about donuts to them and you'll be fine. Seriously, apparently they hate that. Guess they're more scones people."

The man shook his head, glaring at the hero with wide fearful eyes as the teen turned and began to walk away. "Not the cops, you idiot! Monarch!"

Peter froze in his tracks, a deep stone dropping in the pit of his stomach, nearly making his body drop at the sheer weight of it as it plunked down into his gut like a boulder smashing into steady waters below.

The teen felt a shaky breath leave his lips as he slowly turned to stare back at the two thugs, who were now throwing him looks of desperation.

Despite the fact that he'd known these guys had been working for his father the second he'd seen the weapons they'd been using and the products they'd tried to steal, he still couldn't help the gut feeling that dropped at the borderline terror edging the man's voice.

He knew that fear. He'd grown up with that fear.

(Forget about them.)

(They brought this on themselves.)

(They deserve it.)

He turned back around and didn't bother in facing them as he continued to walk towards the end of the alleyway. The lights above his head seemed to flicker with each step he took, seemingly leaving the alleyway darker and darker the father he went, like shadows stretching from his retreating form, reaching out dark icy claws towards the two people he'd left.

His body poised to spring up and web away, but for some reason...his hand just wouldn't obey.

"We failed him. He won't let us go."

(Just jump. Just jump and swing away.)

"Once the cops get us, he'll send people after us, that is if the cops that get us aren't already in on it too. We'll be dead within the week!"

(So what? So what if you know that's true? Doesn't matter!)

"That's what happened to everyone else!"

(Fucking LEAVE!)

"Please...I-I don't wanna die."

. . . .

. . . .

He pushed back the shrill shrieking of the voice in the back of his mind and turned to face the thugs. Now that the battle was over and the adrenaline was no longer spiking in dangerous intervals, Peter could see what he hadn't been able to see before.

He saw the softer edges of the girl's face, the large brown eyes in a face that hadn't even been granted a mask.

The fresh meat were never given masks. As if their existence was already so inconsequential that their faces provided the perfect mask already.

He saw the scars on the man's face, faded and white but still visible. He saw a man that wasn't ready to be called a man yet. He couldn't have been much older than nineteen.

In fact, neither of them could have been older than 25.

. . . .

Too young to die.

(They all are.)

He knelt down to face the pair, the boy shrinking back slightly as Peter leaned closer. The teen tried to ignore the sound of encroaching sirens as he faced off against them, the harsh glare that had been marring the girl's face no longer present. "What's your name?" He found himself asking before he could think better of it.

The boy stared at him for a second, eyes narrowing slightly as if he were trying to get a read on him. He opened his mouth, only for the girl to nudge him and shake her head. He glanced over at her before turning back to face Peter.

"Bobby. M-my name's Bobby."

The teen stared at him, taking in his shaking form and terrified face. He could still hear the voice in the back of his head, condemning him for his actions, but he just couldn't stop looking at the boy's face. He couldn't stop hearing the fear in his voice, the pleading desperation he'd come to know so well.

"That's a nice name."

The pair blinked in surprise at the vigilante in front of him, the few words being the only real dialogue they'd shared not counting quips and banter.

"S-short for Robert..."

"Figured as much."

Peter knew speaking to such people perhaps wasn't the smartest thing to do, then again, neither was what he was about to do next. And yet, the teen couldn't really bring himself to care as he reached into one of the compartments on his belt, removing a vial of clear liquid.

"Listen to me." He said, his voice now strong and commanding, a sharp contrast to the quiet tone it had taken on. "You have to leave the weapons. You are to never see your boss again. Never interact with them, LISTEN-" He snapped his fingers near their faces to make sure they hung onto his words. "They will try to find you once they realize you've split. You need to lay low and stay in the shadows. No deals. No bangers. No nothing. You understand me. If you show your face to anyone on the inside, you will die. Do you understand?"

They frantically nodded their heads as Peter began to pour the liquid onto the webbing, a soft hissing filling the air as they instantly began to dissolve. As soon as it was gone, the girl leapt up to her feet, tore off the straps on her arms and sprinted down the alleyway, disappearing into the shadows before Peter even had a chance to open his mouth.

The teen stared off at where she'd disappeared to, the noticeable lack of shuffling sounds notifying him that Bobby hadn't tried to do the same.

Letting a small sigh fall from his lips, Peter slowly rose up to his feet and turned around, meeting Bobby's wide-eyed stare. The boy stood just a little taller than him, Bobby's fingers twitching nervously at his sides as he angeled his eyes towards the end of the alleyway where the sound of sirens continued to grow.

Still, he made no moves to escape, simply staring back at Peter with wide blinking eyes.

. . . .

"Why?"

Peter stared at him for a moment, the flashing of red and blue lights dimply growing stronger on the walls of his periphery. The teen swallowed down the bile rising in the back of his throat and curled his sweaty fingers into fists as he shut his eyes and turned to stare at the wall beside them where the crates still stood stacked and webbed safely. "You should go. They'll be here any second."

The boy glanced once more to the alleyway exit and then back to Spider-Man. He opened his mouth, only to grit his teeth and throw the hero a look that conveyed more than words ever could before he turned on his heel and disappeared.

Peter stared after him for a moment, body seemingly numb as his fingers twitched at his sides, almost seeming to hope the small movement would awaken the nerves in his muscles. However, the bright flashing of lights jarred him from his thoughts.

Quickly shaking his head, the teen turned and fired a web above his head.

Lifting off into the air, Peter found the numbness didn't leave. Not as he fired another web, not as the tell-tale weightlessness of free-falling grabbed his throat and punched his gut before he pulled back up, and not as the wind whipped around him like wild banshees clawing at his bones.

Despite the stimuli that flared in New York City's night life hours, Peter found none of it could warm the freezing numbness that seemed to have settled in his chest. None of it could wake him from the dream-like state he found himself in, a state he could only hope wouldn't last past morning.

And as he swung and his house drew nearer and the numbness grew, Peter found he still couldn't answer the boy's question.

(Why?)

Chapter 17: Go For The Gold

Summary:

He nudged the boy back. "Thanks, Ned."

"If both teams would please make their way to the starting tables. The match will begin in five minutes."

"Don't mention it, man. Now...let's go kick some nerdy butts."

"Ned...we're nerds."

"Exactly! And let's make sure they don't forget it!"

Notes:

Character Sheet 4: Midtown's Finest

 

 

All artwork done by me over on A Beautiful Lie Blog

Chapter Text

Saturday - April 16, 2016

Parker Residence - Third Floor

04:44 p.m.

The steam from the bathroom seemed to fill the entire room as Peter stepped out, the towel he was currently rubbing against his scalp making his hair stick up at odd angles. He draped the towel around his shoulders as he moved farther into the room, the bottom cuffs of his jeans now damp as the last few bits of water dripped down his legs and pooled into the denim fabric.

After whisking away enough of the dripping water from his bare midsection, Peter tossed the damp cloth onto the floor and moved to pick up his shirt. He draped it over his head and pulled it down taut before glancing over at the bright yellow Decathlon jacket that hung on the back of his closet door.

The teen walked over to his desk and picked up his phone from where it was charging. Glancing at the time, the teen gave a small nod. He still had plenty of time before Ned came to pick him up.

So with that, the teen finished dressing and attempted to run a comb through his hair, though he knew it was a pointless endeavor. His hair always ended up looking fluffy and slightly messy no matter how many times he tried to tame it down.

Walking over towards the entrance to his bedroom, Peter cracked it open just a bit and peeked his head out to look around the corner. There was no sign of his father, which meant he was probably downstairs talking to the Cons if the voices drifting up from the room below were any indication.

Letting out a small sigh of relief, the teen stepped back and closed the door, resting his hands against the smooth surface as he shut his eyes for a moment.

Ever since the story about him and Mr. Stark had leaked to the press, neither his father nor the Cons had made any mention of it. Now there were a number of options for their lack of reaction. The first was that they simply hadn't heard of the story, which Peter found hard to believe. The second was that his father had instructed the others not to say anything.

Peter didn't know what that could mean, but he knew no good could come out of it. If anything, the suspense was more terrifying than anything else...at least for now.

Still, the teen tried to shake such thoughts from his head as his eyes caught the calendar hanging on the back of his door. Today's date was circled in red marker multiple times, Peter grinning slightly as he felt the same bout of excitement that had gripped him when he'd done such a thing returning. A full bout of nerves that always plagued him before a meet mingled with the familiar surge of excitement that reminded the teen of why he was on the team to begin with.

"Oi! What's got you all prissy an' ready to go?"

Peter jerked at the sudden voice, only to let out another more annoyed sigh as he turned on his heel and faced his open balcony window, Danny now resting on his bed with his arms folded underneath his head. Peter rolled his eyes and threw the teen a smile. "I have a Decathlon meet today."

"Oh, your nerd fight?"

"Yes...my nerd fight."

Danny nodded his head with a click of his tongue. "Sounds brutal. Make sure to pack plenty of inhalers and antiseptic."

Peter scoffed and turned away, opening up his closet door as he let his eyes drift over the pairs of shoes he owned. "What are you doing here anyway, D? What do you want, food?"

"No. But if you wanted to give me some..."

Peter turned and shrugged his shoulders with a smirk. "Sorry. Kitchen's occupied so neither of us are leaving here with full stomachs." Peter turned back around and crouched down when he found the pair of sneakers he was looking for.

"Nah, I'm joking'. I'm just here to crash for a sec."

Peter hummed but said nothing to insinuate that such a thing wasn't allowed as he sat down on the edge of the bed and lifted up a leg, slipping the shoes on one by one before crouching down to tie the laces. "Uh-huh? And your little impromptu visit has nothing to do with the latest news articles that have been making their way around the city."

The teen craned his neck to glance over at Danny, the older boy staring back at him for a moment before he shrugged his shoulders. "Well...now that you mention it..."

Peter shook his head. "It's nothing, Danny. Some reporters just happened to catch us together that time."

Danny cocked a brow as he brought up one leg to rest on the bent knee of the other. "You say that like it's not the last time it's gonn' happen."

Peter felt his face scrunch up slightly as he shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I mean...they're inevitably gonna snag more pictures. Mr. Stark likes to get out of the Tower sometimes, and sometimes it coincides with when school lets out. No big deal."

"Yeah, but why would a billionaire be eatin' at Delmar's?"

Once again, Peter turned to the boy and shrugged his shoulders. "He asked where the best places to get food were around here."

"And you said Delmar's?"

"You wouldn't say Delmar's?"

"Sub Haven's pretty good."

"You know how I feel about Sub Haven. We are not getting into this again."

Danny turned away with a grin on his face while Peter chuckled on the edge of the bed. The younger teen ran a hand through his hair as he finished the last knot on his sneakers, purposefully keeping his eyes from meeting Danny's as he continued. "Who knows? I might even see him today."

There was no response for a moment as Danny turned back around. "What do you mean?"

"I might have...invited him to my Decathlon meet."

The homeless boy let out a scoff as he rolled over onto his side and used his elbow to prop himself up as he stared over at Peter. "And he'd go for that? Why, is there gonna be an open bar or somethin'?"

Peter threw him a look before glancing back down at the ground. "I think...I think he...likes spending time with me." He said slowly as if the words themselves were hard to spit out. Hard to believe. "I think he...likes being with me." Peter glanced down at his hands for a moment, letting the words ring in his ears for a moment before turning a tentative look towards his friend. "Do you think that's crazy?"

Danny stared at him for a moment before pursing his lips and tossing his head back lazily. "Maybe, but crazy seems to be a pretty big norm 'round you so I can't really say." He lifted a hand to look at his nails. "You already know how I feel 'bout the guy so I won't rehash it." He picked some dirt from in between his cuticles.

"You really should give him a chance, Danny. He's a good guy once you get to know him." Peter said with a smile as he turned back towards his friend. "Why don't you come to the tournament today? Maybe you could meet him." He folded his arms and scrunched his face slightly. "And if not, then you could at least meet Ned. I've been friends with you guys since middle school and you two still haven't met!"

Danny cringed slightly at the words, though not so much out of nerves than pure reluctance. His face then melted into a look of resigned indifference. "I'm not really a people person, cuz. Besides, watching nerds duel to see who's the nerdiest isn't really how I saw myself spending a Saturday."

Peter would have responded had he heard what Danny said. But he didn't.

Instead, his eyes were trained on the calendar once more, staring at a date he hadn't realized was as close as it was. It was a little less than two weeks from the mess that was today's circled date.

Well, this box wasn't circled. It wasn't marked in any way, shape or form. To anyone else, the date would seem to hold no importance, at least not to Peter.

April 28th.

In the background, Danny called out his name, but once again, Peter gave no indication that he heard. Instead, his fingers continued to twitch, tapping up against the side of his leg before they gripped the fabric so tightly it was a miracle they didn't rip. The teen tried to swallow but found that his mouth had gone dry all of a sudden.

He was jerked from his trance as a pillow connected with the back of his head, causing him to jerk violently in shock. "Ey! What's up with you, mate? You spacin' on me or somethin'?"

Peter turned towards his friend and blinked his eyes. He felt a breath leave his lips so forcefully it took him a moment to realize it was because he'd been holding his breath. He licked his dry lips and turned away from Danny's scrutinizing look. "I should go." He said quietly, rising up from the bed.

"Alright. You don't mind if I crash here for a little bit, do ya?"

The teen shook his head as he grabbed his Decathlon jacket and pulled it onto one of his arms. "Nah, go ahead. Just be careful, alright? Last thing I need is my father catching whiff of you here."

Danny threw him a two-fingered salute. "Can do. Good luck in your nerd war. And say hi to Tony Stark for me."

Peter smiled and gave a nod before grabbing his phone and moving over towards the door. He stared down at the calendar for a moment before shaking his head and pulling open the door a little harder than he needed if the groan of the hinges was any indication.

He couldn't think about it now.

As the door closed, Danny couldn't help but turn a curious gaze to the calendar before finding nothing interesting about it and shrugging his shoulders, folding his arms underneath his head as he let out a content sigh on the comfortable bed.

 


 

Shaking the last of the troubling thoughts out of his head, Peter walked down the spiraling staircase that led to the second-floor kitchen. The sound of voices growing larger indicated that most of the Cons were there right now, most likely meaning his father was there too.

Stepping off the stairs and into the large kitchen, his suspicions were confirmed. Curt and Sandra were sitting at the bar, bottles of miscellaneous liquid in their hands as they chatted away, while Max sat at the kitchen table with Peter's father, both men glaring down at the papers strewn across the surface. Flint stood over by the fridge, currently rummaging through whatever contents it held.

Sandra spotted him first, cocking a brow as she took sight of the jacket around him. "Where you going?" She called with a lazy uninterested look in her eyes as she swirled the bottle in her hand a bit before bringing it to her lips.

Peter groaned, having hoped he'd be able to slip by them without their notice. Instead, he fiddled with the bottom hem of the jacket as he shrugged his shoulders. "I have a Decathlon meet today. N-Ned's picking me up...soon." He stuttered out, eyes downcast.

Curt rolled his eyes and snickered over towards the woman he sat beside. "God, sometimes I forget just how much of a loser you are, kiddo. Then lo and behold, you throw us something like that and bring it right back up to the surface again." He tilted the bottle in Peter's direction. "Nice to know you're consistent."

"Thank you...?"

Max lifted his head and threw a glare in the teen's direction. "How long's that gonna take?"

Peter once again gave a shrug of his shoulders, body twitching as bouts of uncomfortableness seemed to shiver up his spine, making him want to squirm underneath the man's scrutinizing looks. Max could sometimes be just as bad as his father. Perhaps that was why he was Peter's least favorite by means of the Cons. Of course, such a title wasn't really anything impressive considering the thugs all held similar places of resentment in Peter's heart.

"I...I don't know. They vary, you know? C-could be a while...I guess." He tapered off, too nervous to continue lest he say something wrong. Chances of that were high whenever Max was in a bad mood.

The dark-skinned man curled his lip in disgust before glaring back down at the papers, roughly picking up a pen once more. "Get out of here, then. Go bother some other idiots for a change."

"Hey!" Sandra and Curt called from their seats. Max ignored them as he continued to scribble down notes on the papers. Richard had yet to look up, a pair of glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

Peter's eyes drifted over to his father's huge form. Even sitting down, the man was startlingly large, with broad shoulders and defined muscles that revealed themselves even through the refined fit of the dress shirt he currently wore. Swallowing thickly, Peter turned and glanced over at the stairs that led down to the bottom floor of their building. However, he made no move towards them.

An itching feeling in the back of his mind had the teen pausing, eyes lingering back over to his father, whose head was currently being held up with one hand as he used the other to scrawl on the pages of the work before him, dark eyes hard and narrowed.

Peter could practically see his heart attempting to burst from his chest as he took a small step closer to the others, the thrumming in his ears so loud, he was surprised it didn't shake the entire house. Sweat began to leak through the skin of his palms as he nervously clenched and unclenched his fists against the fabric of his pants, toes curling inside his shoes as he grimaced ever so slightly.

Practically every nerve n his body screamed at him to get out of there. To take the free ticket Max had offered him and book it before Sandra and Curt got any drunker and began to mess with him, before Max's mood shifted and he decided to take it out on Peter, before his father let them.

And yet, the image of an empty seat sitting in an otherwise full gymnasium kept him rooted to the spot, the sounds of Flash's jeers and the pitying looks of his teammates culminating in his chest and freezing him where he stood.

It was then that Max lifted his eyes and noticed the teen was still there. He narrowed his eyes and glared. "The hell you still doin' here?"

Peter felt his mouth opening before he had any time to think better of it, which meant before he had any time to come up with an answer. "I...I-I uh...I was just wond...wondering if...if um...I mean, I'd assume you're busy but I...I uh..."

It was then Richard Parker lifted his head and closed his eyes with a loud inhale through the nose. Peter instantly quieted at that, the other Cons glancing over at the man as he set down the pen in his hands and took the glasses off of his face, setting them down onto the table as well. He slowly exhaled before opening his eyes and turning towards Peter.

"What is it?" His voice wasn't necessarily angry. It was just cold...disinterested. Annoyed.

Immediately feeling bubbles of regret floating up through his intestines with the threat of bringing up whatever food he had in his stomach (which wasn't much if he were being honest), Peter licked his lips and clenched the fabric of his jacket hard. Staring into his father's eyes made him feel like he was literally pooling into his own shoes, melting away under the intense look.

Nevertheless, he swallowed the bile that loomed in the back of his throat and lifted his gaze. "It's just...at t-the last meet, my teammates were...were asking about...were asking about you and I was...um, I was just wondering if maybe...m-maybe you wanna...come with me?"

He regretted the words as soon as they were out there. But there was no taking them back now.

Silence filled the kitchen, Sandra and Curt staring at them as their bottles lowered, Flint glancing up from his fridge raid and Max watching him with a cocked brow.

Then laughter. Howls of it.

Sandra and Curt doubled over as they practically fell out of their chairs, faces scrunched and red as they gasped and chortled while Flint snorted from his place by the fridge, his loud nasally laugh seemingly making the whole room quiver. Max said nothing, merely sneered before turning back to the papers below him.

But Peter's eyes weren't on them. They were on his father, whose face had yet to emote any sort of emotion. They just continued to stare at each other, seemingly locked in a battle of wills that Peter found he couldn't look away from. Despite the shrill shrieks of laughter, the sounds of pens scribbling on paper or the clinking chink of a bottle cap popping off the top as Flint finally slammed the fridge door shut, Peter could do nothing but stare into his father's eyes, so deep and brown they were more black than anything else.

However, all noises instantly quieted as the harsh sound of Richard's chair scooting against the wooden floor screeched through the air. Slowly, quietly, the man lifted himself out of the seat, Peter instantly taking a step back as the man moved forward, seemingly before him within a footstep.

Peter had been wrong before. Now he wanted to melt into his shoes.

Expecting a smack, a punch, something, the teen braced himself for a blow of some sort, any type of punishment for stepping out of line. That made it all the more surprising, then, when his father reached behind the teen and grabbed a folder that had been sitting on the counter behind him. Peter released a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding as his father flipped open the folder and glanced down at it, never even looking at the boy as he spoke.

"What do you tell them?"

What?

"What?"

"Your teammates. What do you tell them about me not being there?"

"Oh...I...I usually just tell them that you're...that you're working late or s-something..."

The man loudly shut the folder with a resounding slap as he narrowed his eyes and stared at his son. "Then why the fuck are you bothering me with this?"

And there it was.

Peter cringed under the man's harsh tone, seemingly curling in on himself as he shrank back. "I...I-I was just...j-just..."

The man paused and pressed a hand to the bridge of his nose, seeming to take a breath. He licked his lips and glanced down at the papers below. "Peter...you know you're important to me, right?"

That's...not what he'd been expecting. Unsure of how he should respond, the boy decided not to. Richard didn't seem to mind, for he continued anyway. "You are important to me because you're important to my research." He stated, folding his arms behind his back as he turned to stare down at the boy. "And my research means everything to me...meaning you, by extension, mean very much to me as well."

The room instantly seemed to darken as the man narrowed his eyes and leaned closer. "But do you see us doing research right now?"

A tight lump began to form in the boy's throat. "No..." He whispered almost inaudibly. His father picked up on it, however.

"No. We aren't." He growled, lifting himself back up. "We aren't working meaning you aren't of use to me meaning doing such things would be a complete waste of time and you know how I feel about wasting my time!" The man snarled as he turned back to the table, slapping the file down onto the surface, the papers already there fluttering slightly at the small breeze.

Peter instantly took a step back as Richard's temper flared for just a brief second before the man shut his eyes and seemed to flip a switch, instantly reverting back to normal, his voice so calm it made Peter's skin crawl. "So...why on Earth would you ask me such a question?"

Okay, on second thought, perhaps he would have preferred the slap.

The man shook his head and blew out another breath, Peter resisting the urge to hightail it out of there before the man could speak once more. However, he rooted himself in and cautiously lifted his head as he watched the man lean back down into his seat, perching his glasses back atop his nose. "I have business I need to attend to upstate. I'll be back on Thursday." He turned to look over at his son. "You have till then to get yourself in order. I don't want to hear any more stupid questions leaving your mouth after this."

He narrowed his eyes. Peter was sure a plant behind him burst into flames. "Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir." Crystal.

"I'd better be. Now get out of here before you really piss me off."

He didn't need to be told twice. He ignored the snickers of the Cons that followed him down the stairs, feeling them bounce off the door as he slammed it behind him. A deep breath deflated out of him as he leaned up against the front door to the building, eyes shutting as he leaned his head against the smooth surface.

In all honesty, that went better than expected.

Gently fluttering his eyes open, Peter took in the sight of the quiet street before him. Only a few cars lay parked on the road, the sidewalks empty of any and all joggers, walkers or anything else of the sort. His street was always pretty quiet. Or maybe it was just around his house.

The neighbors always did try to avoid them.

Slowly stepping down the few steps leading up to the front door, Peter stopped and crouched down on the last one, sitting up against the railing as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. It would still be a couple of minutes before Ned came to pick him up.

Shoving his phone away, Peter ran a hand through his now-dry hair and let out a tired sigh. He could still feel his heart pounding from his previous conversation, the pulse beats slowly dimming down as he tried to take a couple of deep breaths.

Bad idea. Bad idea had practically been written all over it. The teen shook his head and glanced down at the cracked concrete below his feet. "God...such an idiot." He murmured under his breath.

And he was. Plain and simple. There was no other way to explain it. He was, in fact, just a huge idiot.

His father only ever took interest in him when the topic of his DNA was on the table. In the lab, under the microscope, during training, Richard Parker's eyes were always trained on him. Down there...Peter was important, Peter was coveted...because Peter was the key.

But away from the lab, out in the real world, the real world with families and parent-teacher conferences and birthdays and holidays and just about anything and everything that made up what a real father-son relationship looked like...Peter Parker meant nothing, and his father had no qualms about making it known.

Somewhere in his head, Peter knew this. He'd known this ever since he was four years old and his little hand had remained without another to hold at his mother's funeral. He'd known this ever since teachers stopped asking him about when his father would be available for conferences. He'd known this ever since the Cons entered his life and ultimately made it ten times worse.

Somewhere in there, in the amalgamation of ideas, nerves, and thoughts that constantly circulated through his mind, Peter knew this.

And yet...in that sea of noise, Peter couldn't help but be hit with wave after wave of hesitation, the water slamming into him like a slap to the face, knocking the breath from his lungs. It came in the form of memories. Memories of Peter sitting at his father's feet while he worked, of helping him in the lab as they went over Peter's unique DNA structure, of his father telling him that one day, Peter would be incredibly important in helping the human race thrive.

("We aren't working meaning you aren't of use to me...")

With every reminder of who his father was becoming, Peter was slapped by the waves, the distant crashing of memories he refused to let go of. The water was just too strong. The current wouldn't let him go.

He was trapped. And he was drowning.

A loud roaring filled his ears, the familiar deep-throated growl of an expensive car's engine. Peter's eyes instantly flung open as he leaned forward on the concrete step, craning his neck as his eyes strained to catch a glimpse of a sleek expensive car with one very grumpy driver at the wheel, putting an ironic twist on his "Happy" name.

However, Peter visibly deflated as he watched one of the neighbor's cars pass him by, the wind it stirred up making his hair lick his cheeks as it blew past him. Get a grip, Parker. He isn't coming. He growled at himself.

It wasn't that he was surprised. Peter had known from the second it'd left his mouth that inviting Mr. Stark to his Decathlon meet had been a very big stretch. With everything the man was dealing with - the Accords, government officials, the media, the Rogue Avengers - it was a miracle that Mr. Stark even had time to see him on a weekly basis.

Peter was just grateful for that, for the opportunity to see the man on a regular schedule. So he'd been a hundred percent prepared for the man to decline his offer, to say on no uncertain terms that such a thing was way below his standards.

Therefore, Peter shouldn't have been upset that Mr. Stark wasn't coming today. He should have been prepared for it, just like before. Last week during their impromptu pizza night, Mr. Stark had made it abundantly clear that laying low and keeping out of the public eye was in everybody's best interest. The man was right. The man made sense. He wasn't trying to make Peter feel bad. If anything, he was trying to help him.

So why did it still feel so...bad?

In the back of his head, the image of an empty chair in a filled auditorium made his fingers twitch against his sides once more.

No, Peter wasn't surprised...and that's what made him feel so disappointed. Because in the months that he'd known Mr. Stark, in the talks that they'd held, the connections they'd developed, the bond they'd created...Mr. Stark always surprised him.

He surprised him in the way that he genuinely seemed happy to see him. He surprised him in the way that he made him laugh and giggle and smile in ways he hadn't for years. He surprised him in the way that he actually seemed...interested in his dorky intern.

(We aren't working meaning you aren't of use to me...)

So, no. Peter wasn't surprised. And perhaps that was what surprised him the most.

Before the teen could dwell on the subject anymore, the sound of a car horn snapped in his ears, making him jolt in his seat. He whipped his head up and felt a smile crawl onto his face as a large blue minivan pulled up along the curb. The back window rolled down, Ned popping his head out as the large boy beamed. "Guess who's got the latest issue of Super Mario Party and is gonna play it all the way to the convention center?"

"No way! When'd you get that?!"

"This is no time for questions!" The teen shouted as Peter opened the door and Ned forcefully shoved the bright red controller into his hands, adjusting the miniature screen so that they both could see. "We have a tournament afoot and nothing says mental preparation like beating Mario's ass around a Star Map."

"Language." Mrs. Leeds called from the front seat, shaking her head with a smile as she turned around. "How are you, Peter?"

The teen gave her a smile in return. "Apparently about to get savagely beaten in the span of thirty minutes." He said as he waved the controller around in his hand, the woman chuckling before turning back around in her seat.

"You guys are such dorks." Peter blinked before craning his neck to see Ned's sister in the passenger seat in front of him, the eleven-year-old twisting in her seat to gaze at them with disdain Peter didn't know an eleven-year-old could possess.

Ned glared at her. "Shut up, Kayla."

"You shut up, nerd."

"We are not doing this for the next half-hour you two." Mrs. Leeds said with an air of exasperation that made Peter think such a thing happened often, which - considering he'd known Ned for years- he knew it did. "Kayla, stop bothering your brother."

"I'm just saying. You made a nerd, mom. Really dropped the ball there."

The woman pursed her lips, Peter guessing she would have pinched the bridge of her nose had she not had both hands on the wheel. Ned rolled his eyes and Peter let out a laugh before the other boy was nudging him in the shoulder.

"Whatever. Forget about her. All you need to know is we have thirty free minutes and a game to beat."

"Show me what you got, Leeds."

"Bring it, Parker."

. . . 

"Shit, I wanted to be Yoshi."

 


 

Thirty minutes and one heated Mario Party game later found the group stepping out of the car and walking in through the front doors of the convention center. Having been cleaned up and organized for the school function, bakery booths and drink sales were lined up in make-shift tables along the walls, banners and streamers hanging from the ceiling, both in their respective school's colors: Midtown's yellow and blue and George St Luke's green and white.

"Alright. I'll see you two inside. I need to buy Kayla some snacks to keep her preoccupied through this." Mrs. Leeds said with a roll of her eyes before pinching Ned's cheeks. Said boy whined and pulled away, pushing Peter towards the auditorium doors while the other boy waved goodbye to the older woman.

Stepping in through the doors, they were instantly greeted to the sound of numerous voices all overlapping each other, people either sitting down in their seats or walking along the aisles talking to others.

"Man, Decathlon's really heating up this season. I don't think there's ever been this many people." Ned breathed from beside his friend with a large smile. Peter scanned the crowd, taking in the different faces, voices, smells. He took a few deep breaths to ground himself, feeling his heart pound just a little faster than before.

As the two teens walked along the far aisle closest to the wall, they approached the curtain that led them backstage, whipping it back as they stepped in the dimly lit area.

Quickly spotting the other members of their team, the two fell in line as MJ scanned her eyes over them. "About time you two showed up." She muttered, Ned shrugging his shoulders. "We aren't even late. We're ten minutes early."

"Next time, make it fifteen."

The boy rolled his eyes but said nothing as the other members of their team nudged their hellos with winks and quick smiles. Both Peter and Ned returned them, neither of them noticing Flash in the back, his arms folded and his face pulled back into a disapproving sneer.

MJ cleared her throat and began to speak to the team. "Alright, people. This is it. We've been preparing for this meet for the past month and I expect it to show out there."

Mr. Harrington walked over and placed a hand on her shoulder before glancing at the kids before him. "Just do the best that you can, guys. You'll do great!"

MJ threw him a look before turning back to the group. "Losing is not an option."

"But...it's okay if you do. I'm still proud of you guys anyway."

"Earn my pride. Win this thing."

"Okay...well..."

The team members glanced back and forth between the teacher and the girl, eyes darting left and right. Peter could still hear them talking in the back of his head, but his eyes drifted away from her and over towards the black curtain separating them from the audience. The curtain was peeled back just enough that a crack was visible among the dark fabric.

Through the crack, Peter could see the audience as more and more people sat down to find their seats. In the front few rows, each and every chair was reserved for a specified number of family members. One one side of the auditorium, green name cards sat for the family members of the other team while light blue cards sat on the chairs for Midtown.

He could make out several familiar faces, faces he saw every time there was a meet. Ned's mom and little sister, Cindy's dad, Charlie's parents, Abe's siblings, even Flash's butler. As his eyes continued to drift, he could make out May sitting in her usual seat, rummaging through her bag as she pulled out a bag of almonds she'd smuggled in through the doors, completely ignoring the rule that no food other than stuff bought at the complex was allowed.

May always smuggled in food. She lifted her gaze as she snuck an almond into her mouth, her eyes suddenly reaching Peter's. She did a double-tack just to make sure it was him before giving him a little wave and placing one finger over her mouth as she gingerly held up the bag of almonds and shook it for him to see.

Peter smiled and shook his head in return, only for his eyes to drift to the seat next to May. The usual name it always displayed sat and stared back at him, only this time, it was crossed out with permanent marker and a new name was written underneath it, just large enough for Peter to make out.

His stomach churned slightly at the sight of it.

Feeling a gentle nudge sway him just a bit, Peter turned and saw that Ned was now standing next to him, watching the crowd as well. Behind them, MJ's "motivational" speech had finished and the other teammates were milling about backstage either glancing over flashcards one last time or chatting amongst themselves.

Ned gestured with his head towards the empty chair. "You think he's gonna show? Cause, not gonna lie, I think I would die. Right there. On the stage. Just...dead."

Peter stared at the chair for a moment longer before letting out a sigh. "Well, I think you're safe for tonight, Ned. With all the media buzz that's been going around, he's probably gonna wanna keep a low profile. Besides, the last place he'd want to go to tonight would be some lame Decathlon tournament."

Ned didn't seem so convinced. "Well, he didn't outright say 'no' when you asked him the first time so he obviously hasn't totally dissed it."

"Or he was just being nice."

"Nah. I'm sensing no dissing."

Peter scoffed and rolled his eyes, Ned nudging him again in the shoulder with a small smirk. However, both boys let out surprised grunts as they felt arms loop around their necks. "Gotta say, Penis. You're really going all out with this little charade of yours but I mean..." Flash glanced over towards the empty chair. "This is getting a little sad." He threw the boy a mock pout.

Peter ducked underneath the teen's arm while Ned threw it off a bit more forcefully. The loud jeering had caught the attention of the other Decathlon members, who were now glancing their way. Noticing their looks, Peter ducked his head slightly and lowered his voice. "What do you care, Flash?" He muttered.

"I'm just saying. If your own dad didn't wanna come to this thing, then what makes you think Tony Stark is a better option?" He smirked as he folded his arms over his chest. "It's pathetic, Parker. You're pathetic."

"I'll tell you what's pathetic. Having your butler sit in for your parents at a Decathlon meet you aren't even participating in." MJ said in her usual deadpanned tone of voice as she smoothly strode over, the other members of the team drifting closer as well. Flash clenched his fists and rounded on the girl. "My parents have jobs they need to worry about. They'd be here if they could." He growled out before rounding on Peter once more, desperate to get the attention off of him. "Not like you can say the same 'bout Peter's dad."

Cindy cocked a brow. "Peter's dad is one of the biggest manufacturing giants in the entire city. I'm pretty sure that counts as an important job."

"Whatever." Flash jeered. "Puny Parker just can't handle the fact that his dad's embarrassed by him, so he decided to throw in a last-ditch effort to make himself look worthwhile by pretending Tony Stark might actually come to his Decathlon match" He leaned closer to the boy, Peter narrowing his eyes and averting his gaze. "As if, loser."

The small spark of fire that Peter had felt back during their practices at school did not reignite at the boy's words. For it was hard to gain a sense of indignation when Peter knew he was right.

Mr. Stark wasn't coming. Flash was right. (Told you this was a bad idea, idiot.)

However, Ned didn't seem as ready to let it go as Peter was, for the teen bunched up his fists and got right back in Flash's face. "I wouldn't be so sure of that, Flash. There are pictures going around the whole city of Peter and Tony Stark together." He scoffed before folding his arms. "It's everywhere."

Flash scoffed and waved a hand at that. "As if. Those pictures are just of Tony Stark hanging out with some kid. There's no way that's Penis in those pics. You're just as delusional as your friend, Leeds."

Ned gritted his teeth and glanced over towards the other team members for some sort of backup, only to deflate as he caught sight of their doubtful looks. None of them would ever say anything outright, but it was obvious they weren't convinced of Peter's supposed relationship with Stark.

Flash seemed to notice that things were shifting in his favor as he let a victorious grin slid onto his face before he leaned closer to Peter. "What's the matter, Parker? Got nothing to say?"

Nobody said anything as all eyes slid to Peter. Ned threw his friend an apologetic look, while MJ's remained as passive and neutral as ever. Peter's eyes remained locked on the ground by his feet. as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "No."

MJ narrowed her eyes and looked away at that while Ned turned to glare at Flash once more. "That's what I thought." The teen scoffed as he pushed past Peter and made his way over towards the chairs lined along the backstage wall. "Good luck, loser. You're gonna need it."

The other Decathlon members said nothing, shifting uncomfortably as they kept their eyes averted before walking away to hover by the front curtains. MJ stalled for a moment, throwing her gaze over towards Flash before turning back to the two boys. "Match starts in a few minutes. Make sure you're ready." She said before walking over towards the others.

Ned glared at her as she left before turning back to Peter. "Don't let him get to you, man. He's just a jackass." He said as he placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.

Peter blinked down at the ground for a moment before turning to gaze at his friend.

( We aren't working meaning you aren't of use to me... )

He might not have had his father. He might not have had Mr. Stark. And he might not have had the support of his classmates. But as he gazed at his friend's shining eyes and his bright beaming smile that always made his cheeks look even bigger than they already were, Peter could honestly say that at that moment, he didn't even care.

He had Ned. And that was good enough for him.

"Yeah. Yeah, he is." He nudged the boy back. "Thanks, Ned."

"If both teams would please make their way to the starting tables. The match will begin in five  minutes."

"Don't mention it, man. Now...let's go kick some nerdy butts."

"Ned...we're nerds."

"Exactly! And let's make sure they don't forget it!"

 


 

Saturday - April 16, 2016

Stark Tower - Business Room 1

06:20 p.m.

"So...was there any point to this little chat other than for you to yell at us, or- to be more specific- me?"

"Tony-"

"No, I feel like it's a valid question," the billionaire muttered, glancing back towards Rhodey before turning to stare at the holograms before him once more. "You even got your little goon squad to come and make an appearance. Really, I'm touched," he scoffed, throwing Ross an unimpressed look.

In reality, only three people actually physically stood in the room, those being Pepper, Rhodey and Tony himself. The other four they were currently staring at were merely holograms, including two older men, a woman and Ross. Tony didn't know the names of the others. He was sure they'd told him before but he hadn't bothered to remember them.

"Mr. Stark," the woman began. "We are only here to discuss the strategy and outcome of apprehending the rest of your team-"

"Ex-team."

She sighed. "-Ex-team in order to ensure they do not cause any more damages to the city or those surround it and to protect the lives they would inevitably be placing in danger," She said, eyes narrowing as her pointed face lowered, gaze piercing through overtop the rim of her glasses.

Pepper furrowed her brow and stepped forward, tied-back hair swishing as she moved. "I'm sorry, but haven't they been pretty quiet since they disappeared?"

"For now," Ross interjected from his seat on the end. "But it's only a matter of time before they do something catastrophic."

"Catastrophic?" The woman echoed, shaking her head with a scoff. "Don't we seem to be exaggerating this just a little?"

Tony scoffed and stood up from where he'd been sitting on the corner of his desk, turning his back on the projections as he reached over towards the bottle of scotch sitting in a glass dish. "So basically, you're just gonna sit there on your asses and twiddle your thumbs hoping for them to blow up a city block or derail a subway train so you can finally make your move and hop on out there with your butterfly nets?" He poured some of the amber liquid into a glass and turned back around, swishing it around for a moment before taking a sip. "Gotta say, not a great plan from where I'm standing."

One of the holographic men straightened out his jacket. "Things would go much smoother if you were to assist us."

Tony lifted a finger away from the glass and pointed it towards the projection. "Nuh-uh. See that's not gonna happen. You know why?"

The other man shook his head and lifted a hand in exasperation. "Do enlighten us, Mr. Stark."

The billionaire took a step closer. "Cause while you all are running around New York City playing a nation-wide game of Where's Waldo with a who's who list of the FBI's most wanted, I'm trying to forget about them. No, better yet. I'm trying to shape up the Accords. You know...the job you should be doing?"

Ross narrowed his eyes and sneered, the look reflecting perfectly through the pixels. "The Accords are perfect the way they are," he snapped, failing to notice the sidelong glances the other senators threw his way.

"The Accords are a ticking time bomb created with a chemical combination of paranoia, fear, and bruised feelings," Rhodey muttered from where he stood with his arms folded along the back wall. Tony turned and lifted his glass to the man, Rhodes rolling his eyes and shaking his head at the gesture.

Nevertheless, the Secretary didn't back down. "Last I checked, your signatures were on those papers."

"Yeah, cause it was either a pen or a prison cell," Tony growled, taking another swig of his drink before setting it down on the table and letting out a small sigh, lifting a hand to rub the bridge of his nose as he suddenly began to feel how much two hours of sleep could mess you up.

"Look," he started softly, dropping his hand again as he stared down the senators. "I understand what you're trying to do, what the Accords are trying to do. And I still believe that we need something like those Accords. Something to hold us and people like us accountable. But the Accords that we have right now are associated with the disbandment of the most recognizable group of superheroes out there."

Ross let out a small chuckle. "I wouldn't hold yourself on too high of a pedestal, Stark."

A flare of heat ignited in the billionaire. This prick... "Okay, you know what-!"

Before he could say anything though, Rhodey was grabbing onto his sleeve and pulling him back, grip on his wrist tight and grounding. Tony glared up at his friend, only for Rhodey to stand his ground. It was hard to miss the bags under the billionaire's eyes or the deepening wrinkles on his face, letting the colonel know just how close to the end of his rope his friend was.

Still...pissing off Ross was the last thing any of them needed. The look he shot Tony said it all, the billionaire taking another second to glare at the ground before shutting his eyes and sucking in a deep breath, releasing it again after a moment before twisting back around on his heel.

Ross opened his mouth once more and with the look on his face, it wasn't going to be anything good leaving his mouth. Thankfully, Tony noticed this and shot off right away. "I'm not excusing them," he started, effectively cutting the man off. "Not even a little bit. But no new superheroes are gonna want to sign something they associate with the Avengers breaking up," he said.

The senators glanced over at each other before seeming to individually mull over what the billionaire was saying. Ross glared over at them but said nothing either.

"So no. I'm not gonna help you find those assholes. I'm not going to stop you, that's for sure. You can do whatever you want. Chase them, jail them, heck, you can blow them into last year and I won't care," he scoffed, folding his arms over his chest. "It's the least they deserve." His tone shifted at that, both Rhodey and Pepper sharing looks behind his back.

"But I'm not going to help. cause I'm dealing with something bigger here. Something that will hopefully prevent this in the future. Cause right now, the Accords are shit. At best, those things are in Stage 1 of what will no doubt be a long and grueling process that I have the benefit of looking forward to."

Once more he turned to the glass on the table and lifted it into the air. "So...if we're done here, I have your job to do," he toasted with a smirk before taking another sip.

The three senators all displayed varying looks of uncomfortableness, frustration, uncertainty, or a combination of all three. They shared looks with one another before the woman spoke up once more. "That is all, Mr. Stark," she said, removing the glasses from her face. "But this conversation isn't over. And you can rest assured we will be discussing this further, especially next week when Mr. Secretary accompanies us to visit your Tower."

"Joy." The man deadpanned with a cock of his eyebrows and another swig of his drink.

Rhodey nudged the man once more before turning towards the projections. "We'll see you then."

With that, the projections slowly began to fade down into the floor, the glass cases physically displaying the images sinking into their respective slots. However, the person Tony wanted gone the most had elected to extend his chat.

"So you don't know where they are?" Something about his tone of voice made the billionaire suspect Ross already believed he knew the answer. Nevertheless, Tony would sooner die before giving the man any sort of satisfaction. "You know, they do say hearing loss is a side effect of old age so don't feel too bad about it."

"Tony." Rhodey sighed, a hint of warning in his tone.

Ross, however, was not fazed by the jab. "Cut the crap, Stark. I know you could find them if you wanted to." The man accused, face scrunching slightly as his eyes narrowed.

Tony rolled his eyes and set the glass down, folding his arms. "1) they have more than one capable super-spy who I'm pretty sure need to take basic classes in how to stay off the grid if they wanna graduate from whatever assassins university they come from. 2) And this is a big one...I don't care."

Behind him, Tony could practically feel Pepper and Rhodey throwing him exasperated, agitated looks. Ross, on the other hand, didn't seem all too fazed. In fact, a smirk was beginning to spread across his lips, a look that made Tony wanna figure out the math on how to slap a holographic projection.

"You will," Ross scoffed from his seat in whatever cave he usually crawled to whenever he wasn't trying to blast Tony's ass off. "Once they start to wreak havoc on this city, you'll wish you'd helped us."

He rose up from his chair and folded his arms behind his back, eyes growing darker if such a thing were possible. "Those people are dangerous. They're a menace to the nation and to this government and they must be stopped by whatever means necessary."

The two men locked eyes with each other, neither saying anything for a moment as their gazes held tight, an internal battle of wills as they stared each other down. Tony could feel his hands clenching and unclenching around his arms from where they were crossed over his chest. To hell with this asshole.

"Well, whatever means those happen to be...you won't be getting them here." His voice was low. Dangerous.

Ross lifted his chin at that and straightened out his jacket. "We'll see." With that, the projection began to fade, Tony's eyes never leaving the glass as he watched each and every particle dissipate.

"I guess we will, won't we?"

As soon as the glass disappeared in its slot with the others, Tony twisted around on his heel and let out a haggard sigh, dropping down into the chair behind his desk. "Jesus Christ. I need a Popsicle."

Pepper walked over, patting the man on the shoulder as Rhodey rubbed the back of his neck. "One week, huh?" the woman sighed. "Guess we're gonna have to Ross-proof this place."

Tony shook his head. "How do we do that? Put Avengers merchandise on all the walls of this place? Cause I'm pretty sure I have some Hawkeye mugs and a couple of Captain America bobbleheads that we can put on the desks down in the offices."

The others smirked at that, a new voice cutting through the space. "Captain America bobbleheads? Now those I gotta see."

All three of them turned around and whipped their heads towards the doorway, Natasha leaning casually against the frame with a smirk spreading across her lips. Tony blew out a breath and placed a hand to his heart. "Fucking...god, Romanoff. What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, trying and failing to get his heartbeat back to a normal rhythm.

"Don't you have some government assholes you should be avoiding?" Rhodey asked with a cocked brow as he watched the woman walk further into the room. "I feel like it's probably not the best idea to come over here when we're literally video-chatting the very people who wanna put your head on a spike and pin it outside the capital building."

The woman didn't seem all that fazed by the graphic imagery as she shrugged her shoulders. "What can I say? I'm a spy. I like to have all the information," she said as she took a seat at the conference table, propping her feet up onto the surface.

"Right. So you're here to know what he knows." Tony muttered from his chair, one fist propped up against his cheek as he glared lazily at the other woman.

Said woman either didn't notice the look or - the more believable option - she just didn't care to respond to it. "And right now, he knows nothing."

"Mm-hmmm."

Pepper and Rhodey once again shared knowing looks before Pepper blew a somewhat amused huff from her lips, patting the side of Tony's cheek. "Well...we'll just leave you guys to it."

Tony straightened up at that, throwing the others incredulous looks. "Hold up. What? You're abandoning me with her?" He asked, gesturing wildly at the woman who still hadn't moved from her relaxed position. If anything, she simply raised a brow at the comment.

"You want that Popsicle or not?" Rhodey muttered.

"...I do want that Popsicle."

Rhodey smirked as both he and Pepper moved towards the exit. "Then have fun. Now stop complaining or I'll bring you back a grape-flavored one."

And with that, the two left and both Tony and Natasha were alone. For a moment, Tony said nothing, simply content with glaring after his two retreating friends before he let out an annoyed sigh and dropped his head, swiveling his chair so that he was now facing Natasha. After a second, he lifted his gaze and threw the woman a disgruntled look. "What?" he asked with a grunt.

Natasha seemed to pick up on the subtext behind the word as she gave another small shrug of her shoulders. "Nothing. Just checking up on you."

"Yeah, right," he scoffed as he stood up once more and reached over towards the now-empty glass, pouring himself another drink. "Save the spiel. You're just here to make sure your asses are still covered." He lifted the glass and gestured it in her direction.

"I'm multitasking."

Tony huffed, bringing the glass to his lips. "Yeah, you're great at that."

Natasha watched him swig down a gulp of the liquid, Tony purposefully avoiding looking at her so he didn't have to see whatever expression she was making at the action. After a moment of silence where Tony sat down on the corner of the desk and placed the glass next to him, Natasha removed her feet from the top of the table and leaned forward in her chair. "How are you?" she asked quietly.

"Aside from the large Ross-shaped tumor growing on the side of my head...pretty damn good I must say."

The woman stood up and began to mill about the room, glancing at files and papers strewn about the tables. "You getting enough sleep?" she asked, purposefully avoiding the man's gaze.

Tony tapped his fingers against the glass, familiar burn of annoyance flaring in his chest at the question. "Don't see what that has to do with anything," he muttered, narrowing his eyes at the assassin. Did she really think he didn't know what she was trying to do?

She gave a curt nod of her head, picking up one of the nearby files as she opened it up and began to flip through the pages, once again avoiding the man's gaze. "And you're still drinking-"

"Natasha!" Tony snapped, slamming the glass down onto the table, the woman stoically lifting up her head. "If you're just gonna stand there and criticize me like your little war criminal buddies love to do so fucking much, then there's the door," he growled.

The woman set the papers down and took a step closer. The man scoffed and turned his head away as the woman rested a hand on his shoulder. She didn't wanna say it hurt when she felt him tense underneath her fingers. But it did. "I'm just worried about you, Tony."

He lifted his eyes to meet hers for a moment before shrugging out of her grasp and standing up, walking past her. "Well don't be. I got plenty of people who are actually around for that, thanks," he said, grabbing the papers and files that Natasha had been looking at before, stacking them into piles on the conference table. He stopped moving for a second, eyes glaring down at the polished surface for a moment before he started back up again, tone slightly different.

"You'd better stay away from the tower next week. It'll look bad for me if Ross sees you in your pajamas strolling around the kitchen with a smoothie and bunny slippers." He said offhandedly, shrugging past the woman with files in hand, but Natasha noticed the hint of genuine concern lacing the words.

She let a small smile form on her face. "I'll be sure to take that into consideration."

Tony glanced back at her before huffing and continuing to put the files away into the cabinet. "Just...don't make things any more difficult for me than they already are. I know how much you guys love to do that so if you could resist the gleeful urges you must get...I'd appreciate it."

He closed up the cabinet door and plopped back into his chair with a loud sigh, twisting it around so that he could look at her once more. "Now, was that all or did you have any other annoying little topics you wanted to run by me?" he muttered.

With that, Natasha felt her stomach twist ever so slightly. It wasn't that she was nervous. Just that she knew this conversation could quickly take a turn for the worst with what she was about to bring up. Still, it needed to be said. She needed to know.

Tony noticed a slight shift in the woman's posture, her usual confident stance deflating ever so slightly. It was almost unnoticeable, as he was sure the woman wanted it to be. But the man was used to dealing with his micro-mannerisms enough to pick up on when others were doing the same thing. He felt his stomach twist slightly at that, but opted to settle it instead of just leaving the room entirely as he probably should have done.

"No, there was something else I wanted to talk to you about."

Hearing her put it into words, the man stared at her for a moment before letting out another sigh and lifting his hand, gesturing for her to continue.

The woman hesitated for just a moment before speaking up once again. "I wanted to talk to you about Spider-Man."

Instantly, Tony had to fight to keep his face passive, his fists quickly tightening their hold on the arms of his chair as a shiver ran up his spine. He was sure Natasha had picked up on the slight changes, but if she did, she didn't mention it. "What about him," he responded, noticing his tone was a bit colder than before.

Natasha leaned up on the corner of the conference table, arms stretched out beside her as her palms lay flat on the smooth surface. "I just wanted to see how much you actually know about him. I mean, I know you recruited him and all that, but that's as far as my information goes."

And that's how I like it. Tony thought to himself, having to physically bite his tongue to keep from spitting it in the assassin's face. He knew she'd already had an encounter with Spider-Man back in Germany. And he also knew she now liked to see Peter whenever they were both at the Tower. However, that didn't mean Tony was just going to open the door for her to sidle up next to both of them.

Tony knew Nat. He knew what she could do. And if she spent any more time around Spider-Man, then it wouldn't take long for her to figure out the secret between him and Peter; that they were one and the same. And if Peter found out that the reason she knew was cause Tony hadn't done enough to stop her...well, the billionaire wasn't about to let this backstabbing double-agent mess up what he was trying to accomplish here.

If she did that, then she could practically kiss their "friendship" goodbye.

Of course, Tony being the suave little shit-eater that he was didn't let any of this show on his face as he simply twisted and turned in his swivel chair, hands folding over his lap. "Why the sudden interest?" he asked, eyes zeroing in on Natasha's face, ready to pick up on whatever micro-expressions she displayed.

The woman seemed to think about it for a moment before shrugging her shoulders. "No particular reason. I've just seen him swinging around the city sometimes. Wanted to know a little more about him."

Yeah, right. Tony scoffed to himself, quickly feeling that biting resentment for the woman beginning to bubble back into place. "Yeah, well that ain't happening this time. I know you like to have all your little ducks in a row when it comes to smuggling information out of unsuspecting victims but you aren't getting anything here, alright?"

"Do you know his identity?"

"I - are you even paying attention to me, Nat?! I said no. I'm not telling you anything!"

The women put on a small smile, raising her hands up innocently as she smirked at him. Tony clenched his fists at the look. "Alright, alright. If you don't wanna share anything with me, I get it."

However placating the words were intended to be, Tony didn't pick up on any of it. He knew that tone. He knew the meaning behind her words. He knew her. He knew what she was gonna try and do and he couldn't let that happen. So with that, the man slowly lifted himself out of the chair and took a steadying breath, pointing a shaky finger in her direction.

"Natasha...I know what you're thinking and you better stop right this fucking second. Don't you even think about looking into him, alright. It's none of your business," he growled out at her.

At that, Natasha's eyes narrowed and her arms folded over her chest. "I think you made it our business when you recruited him to fight in Germany." She shook her head and let out a small scoff." I already know the identities of all the other supers in this city. Why should he be any different? Just cause he's like, your little personal plaything at the moment? Your newest obsession?"

She slapped her arms down in exasperation. "Besides, what the harm of me knowing more anyway? As I said, I already know the identities of the other Supers around and I haven't sent out any kill hits on them yet," she smirked, hoping the look would mask the feelings of hurt that bubbled in her chest at what the man was insinuating. Did he really think she was going to hurt Spider-Man?

However, Tony wasn't about to budge. Not on this. Not with Peter.

"Nat...listen to me. You cannot go looking into him, alright?"

"Why not?" she grunted, Tony realizing she wouldn't let it go unless he gave her an actual reason.

He balled up his hands and pressed them to his forehead. "Y-you...you just...you just can't alright?!" He shook his head and dropped his hands back onto his hips, sucking in a breath as he tried to find a way to explain himself. But just what was he supposed to say? Hey, sorry Nat. I can't tell you about this because I promised Spider-Man that I'd protect this secret of his at all costs and I really, really need this kid to trust me for a whole other set of reasons that I won't tell you cause If I'm being honest, I really don't trust you and doubt I ever will again!

That last thought made him pause for just a second. Did he really believe that? Is that really what he thought? He lifted his gaze and stared back at the woman, Nat seeming to notice the slight change in his eyes as her hardened expression softened ever so slightly as she sighed, lowering her gaze to the ground.

She seemed just as tired of the fighting as he did.

Tony glanced away, eyes narrowing in thought. He didn't know what was going to happen with Nat. To be honest, he didn't know what was going to happen with any of the others, or if he even wanted anything to happen. Still...there was a small part of him that enjoyed seeing the woman, that missed stumbling into the kitchen at 3 in the morning only to have her sitting there too, both victims of early morning insomnia. He missed sitting with her in the silence, neither asking the other if they wanted to talk about it. They never did.

His mind drifted back to when Natasha had first reappeared in the lab a few weeks ago, her words from before ringing out in his ears. "I know it will take a while. I know it'll be hard. But...I hope with time...you'll be able to forgive me."

He lifted his gaze back over to her, Nat meeting his stare as well. For a moment, neither of them said anything, eyes scanning each other's faces for any hints as to what they were thinking. Finally, Tony approached.

"Listen, you wanted me to trust you, right?" he started slowly, voice softer than before. "Then do this for me now."

Nat opened her mouth, only for Tony to cut her off with a shake of his head. "Look, I can't explain all of this to you right now, alright? It's just...this guy, Spider-Man...if any more people find out who he is...it isn't like other secret identities. He's not just wearing the mask to separate superhero from normal life. This is a matter of life or death."

"Oh, come on Tony-"

"I'm serious," he stressed, reaching out to grasp onto the woman's shoulders. For a moment, he expected her to rip out of his grasp and knee him in the gut, only for her to widen her eyes and stand rigid. "Listen, Natasha...please. Please don't look into him. Don't try to figure out who he is, don't even wonder who he is. I'm being serious here. This isn't for me. This isn't some little power trip I'm making here. This is for him. This is for his protection." He stared back at her, hoping his desperation was evident enough to get through to her.

"Please...do this for me."

Natasha couldn't say anything for a moment. All she could do was stare back into the man's eyes, which nearly oozed their silent plea. Her heart beat erratically in her chest, the only grounding feel being the grip Tony had on her shoulders. Not painfully tight, but present nonetheless.

Honestly, her reasons for wanting to know more about Spider-Man hadn't been what she'd told Tony as he'd most likely figured out. In actuality, the only reason she wanted to know more about the kid was to observe. And not observe Spider-Man. She wanted to observe Tony.

From the second he'd told her to stay away from him, Natasha had known the Super obviously meant something to the billionaire. Now, what that was, she'd been unsure. After all, was he really just looking out for the kid or was he still just angry at her?

She wanted to know what the kid meant to him. She wanted to know just how important this hero was to Tony. How much the billionaire would do for him. She needed to know just how much of a close eye she'd need to keep on this kid. After all, if he really meant a lot to the billionaire, then she couldn't exactly just let him roam around the city going after thugs and criminals without checking up on him.

But now, seeing just how desperate he looked, just how scared he'd become at the prospect of her using her skills to find out who he was. If she were being honest with herself, it only made her more curious as to who this mystery super was behind the mask. Not just anyone could get Tony Stark to care about them this much. After all, the only other people Tony was this protective over was Pepper, Rhodey and Happy. And maybe that new intern of his.

But Natasha couldn't question the look in the man's eyes, in his face. He obviously wasn't doing this just to fuck with her. He genuinely cared about this...Spider-Man. So that meant she did too.

And that was enough for her.

"Really means that much to you?" It wasn't really a question, but she let it hang out there nonetheless.

Tony stared back at her, dropping his hands. "You have no idea."

The billionaire watched as she sighed and took a step back. "Fine...but I can't say I'll be able to control the others if they get any suspicions."

He shrugged. "That's fine. You're really the one one who might be able to undo the precautions I've already taken to hide his identity," he murmured, thinking back to all the firewalls and viruses he'd created in order to protect any and all information about either Peter Parker or Spider-Man on his servers.

"You flatter me."

Tony scoffed at that and turned away, moving to sit on top of the desk once again, resting his elbows on the tops of his knees as he glanced over at Natasha, suddenly feeling much more tired than before if such a thing were possible. "You'd better get out of here. It won't be safe to hang around for the next couple of days," he murmured.

Natasha couldn't help but smile a bit as she noticed the gentle tones in the man's voice, no malice or snark present. "Yeah, yeah," she said, waving her hand in the air dismissively. "I got it." She brushed the hair out of her face and made her way over towards the door, hand gripping the frame as she turned back around. "I'll see you, Tony." She called before walking out into the hallway, a full-blown smile making its way onto her lips as she heard the man's response, low and quiet.

"...sure."

Tony stared after the woman for a moment before sighing and running his hands down his face, letting out a load and tiresome groan as he leaned back and laid down on the surface of his desk, papers fluttering to the ground at the movement, but he didn't really care. God, he was so tired. His talk with Ross had already drained him of whatever energy reserves he'd stored up and Nat had basically siphoned off whatever extra he'd had.

However, no matter how tired he felt, the man knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. He'd crawl into bed, stare up at the ceiling and end up in the lab after ten minutes, wasting the rest of the night away tinkering on useless inventions. Still, the thought of working alone in the cold lab for the next few hours made his stomach churn again. He couldn't tell why. Usually, tinkering was the best for his insomnia, but today he didn't seem...in the mood for it.

Still, that left him with the rest of the night to fill with...something. Something to keep his mind busy and occupied.

He blew out a breath and turned his head, glancing over at the clock on the wall. It only took a moment to trace the two hands and read the time, the man blinking up at the ticking mechanism before he slowly lifted himself back into a sitting position. He narrowed his eyes at the clock before lifting his head. "Hey, Fri...today's Saturday, right?"

"That is correct, boss. Saturday, the 16th."

Tony said nothing, staring at the clock for a moment longer before a smirk began to spread across his face. Quickly forming up a plan in his head, the man hopped off the desk and grabbed his suit jacket hanging off one of the backs of the chairs, exiting the room and entering the common room next door, where Rhodey, Pepper and Happy were all sitting and talking quietly, each munching on different-colored Popsicles.

Tony walked over and plucked the extra Rhodey was holding out of his hands, discarding of the wrapper before popping it into his mouth. The others glanced over at him and cocked their heads at the mischievous expression morphing onto his face.

This wasn't good.

He pressed the Popsicle into the side of his cheek, picking his sunglasses out of his suit pocket before perching them onto his face. "You guys wanna stretch your legs?"

They each shared confused looks as Tony grinned.

"I know a place..."

 


 

Saturday - April 16, 2016

Upper East Side - Lake Hill Convention Center

07:24 p.m.

"Which of the following was NOT a major trade route for the African slave exports between 1500 and 1800?"

DING!

"Midtown Tech?"

"South Africa"

"Correct."

Grins were passed around the table as Abe retracted his hand from the button, winking back at his teammates.

For the past hour and a half, both Midtown and George St Luke has been going back and forth, three completed rounds of questions with the fourth and final coming to a close. In the crowd, Peter could make out May sitting on the edge of her seat, biting her nails like she usually did whenever she was nervous and nobody was around to slap her hand away. She looked more nervous than Peter was, to be honest.

Michelle glared over at the others from her seat at the front of the table, the team quickly falling back into their poised positions as more and more questions were thrown their way, the clock before them slowly winding down.

"The Greek historian who offered valuable insights about Africans in the Nile region's diets was?"

DING!

"George St. Luke?"

"Herodotus"

"Correct."

"The German author of Philosophy of History that served as a source of Western fantasies about Africa was?"

DING!

"Midtown Tech?"

"George Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel"

"Correct."

"Scenes of violent death dissolve into landscape in the 1993-94 animated drawings of?"

DING

"George St. Luke?"

"Nam June Paik"

"Incorrect. Midtown Tech?

"William Kentridge"

"Correct"

Peter couldn't help but grin as Charles pumped his fist underneath the table, Ned and Sally grinning right along with him right as time was called. All fourteen competitors lifted their heads at the noise, eyes drifting over to the Officiator as she adjusted the microphone attached to the podium in front of her. Adjusting her glasses she leaned closer. "That concludes the fourth portion of the free-response questions. With Midtown leading by five points."

Grins and silent whoops were passed throughout the table as Michelle readied to stand and walk up to the podium, assuming that meant the competition was finished, as it usually was. Four rounds of free-response was the traditional format.

However, all seven of the Midtown students shared confused looks as the woman continued. "However, the judges have elected to add one final portion to the competition this year," she started, confused murmurings drifting throughout all of the students now, including those backstage. The Midtown students glanced towards the curtains where Mr. Harrington was standing, the man's face now considerably paler than before.

Nice to see the confidence was there.

"For this final round, which is worth twenty points, teams will choose one of their own players to represent the entire group. The two players chosen, one from each team, will come up and receive the question. They will not be able to receive any help or hints from their teammates, otherwise ending in an immediate disqualification. Whoever answers the question first and correctly will win." She lifted the glasses from her face and placed them down onto the podium. "Any questions?"

Peter glanced around at his teammates, who were all doing the same. What the heck was this all about? They hadn't been prepared for this.

The woman nodded. "Very well. The question you'll be answering will be centered around..." she trailed off, gesturing towards the curtain behind her as it lifted up, revealing two blank whiteboards positioned behind each of the team tables. "...mathematics. Choose your player wisely, for you will not be able to switch afterward. You have two minutes to discuss and choose. Clock starts now."

Instantly, Peter reared back in his seat as all of his teammates crowded and leaned towards him. "You gotta do this, Pete!" Sally basically crowed, their noses almost touching.

"What?" he nearly shouted, heart leaping into his throat.

"Yeah, man. You're dominating the Algebra and Calculus questions!" Ned beamed, rising up from his chair. "You're perfect for this!" The others nodded along as they pushed in closer.

"I...I-I.."

"Aw, man. We are so gonna win this thing!" Abe cheered.

Charles grinned and nudged Peter with his shoulder. "Yeah, it's practically in the bag, now. We're gonna have to make room for that big fat trophy!"

The teen felt his heart-rate beginning to quicken as all of their eyes seemed to bore into him. He rose up from his own chair as well and raised his hands in a placating manner. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Cindy is just as good at math as I am! Ned too!" he tried, only for the others to groan and shake their heads in response, including Cindy and Ned.

"Please! I'm not nearly as good as you. You're like, on a whole other level, Pete!" The girl scoffed, Ned nodding along as he stepped closer. "Besides, you know I'm more of a computer/physics kind-of guy. But you're knowledge of this crap is way more extensive than mine. Unless that question was specifically physics-based, I'd be lost up there and you know it! All of us would!"

"One minute."

Peter grimaced and took another step back, the others continuing to crowd him nevertheless. "I don't know guys. I mean...what if I mess this up? I might-" he started, only to yelp as he felt something whack him upside the head.

The others quieted down as he turned to face MJ, his face scrunching up in slight indignation as he reached up to rub at the back of his head. "Shut up, nerd. You haven't got a single question wrong all day. You're doing this." she muttered, walking up.

"But-"

She leaned in closer, the others quickly taking a step back out of slight fear. "Your. Doing. This." She said, leaving little room for arguments. Peter felt any and all retorts die in his throat as he let out a small sigh, practically feeling his back bump up against the metaphorical corner he was being pushed into.

Perhaps MJ saw the look of resigned distress crossing the boy's face, for she let out a small breath and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You're gonna be fine. You're one of the strongest players on this team. Just do what you've been doing all day up there and we shouldn't have any problems."

Peter lifted his eyes to look at her, taking in a breath as he let a small smile spread onto his face.

"But you'd better win this thing or I'm gonna kill you."

With that, she shoved him hard towards the podium, the teen tripping slightly over the force and slightly over the words. That wasn't very reassuring.

Still, when MJ said you were gonna do something, there wasn't really any way to get out of it. Swallowing what could have possibly been bile, Peter stole another glance back towards the table, most of his teammates giving him thumbs up (MJ threw him a middle finger), before gulping and walking slowly towards the podium.

It wasn't that Peter wasn't used to his teammates relying on him. After all, they'd been relying on his all day. They relied on him for every meet, every tournament. He knew they trusted him, and for the most part, he was alright with them.

But this...this was a whole other ballpark. Before, Peter had been relying on them just as much as they'd been relying on him. It was a shared burden, a passable load. It was a team, after all. This...this put everything on him. No backup, no crutches, no assistance, just him. It was as if his team wasn't even there.

No, actually that would have been better. At least if his team wasn't there, he wouldn't have to worry about letting anybody else down. But now...

HE stole another glance towards his teammates, who were still grinning wide from ear to ear.

Now he had to win this. Not for him, but for them. And the thought of letting them down only made the bile return.

"Time is up. Would the two chosen contestants please make their way towards the podium."

Swallow it. Swallow it now! Quickly gulping down the acidic grossness, Peter took another breath and walked over, glancing over at the other kid. It was a girl with short brown hair tied back into a ponytail and thick round glasses perched on the tip of her nose. She was taller than Peter, her green Decathlon jacket bunching up around her elbows.

The low murmuring that had been passing through the crowd during the two-minute deliberation quickly quieted down as the Officiator spoke once more. If the two of you would please make your way over towards your boards, please. There you will find a marker for you to do whatever work you deem necessary."

She paused for a moment to let them both make their way over before continuing. "Also by your sides, you should see a stand with another buzzer on top. When you think you've figured out the answer, buzz in. Whoever buzzes in first with the correct answer wins for their team," she said once again, as if she hadn't just explained the rules five minutes ago.

"If the two of you are ready..."

The girl from St Luke gave a firm nod of her head, Peter saying nothing as he continued to stare at the clean white surface of the board, mind seeming to run at a million miles per minute as he milled through all the possible questions they could ask.

He took another breath, forcing himself to stop as he narrowed his eyes and tightened his fists.

This wasn't training. This wasn't fighting or working or even socializing. This was math. Numbers. He knew numbers. He knew how to work numbers. This was what he did. This was what he'd been doing all his life. This was where he thrived, where he found his element, where he was comfortable. This was the one thing he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, he could do.

(We aren't working meaning you aren't of use to me...)

This was there he proved his father wrong.

Charles was right. This thing was in the bag.

"Midtown Tech?"

"I'm ready."

The woman nodded. "Alright. The final challenge of the night begins now." And with that plus the press of a button, the auditorium projector screen lit up with the image of an equation.

F(x) =  -1^(x2) X ln[1 /(1 + t^2) dt]

SOLVE FOR F(x)

In the back of his head, Peter could head his teammates groaning, whispering about how they hadn't gone over math like that or that a question like this wasn't fair or that nobody could get this or something like that. In all honesty, despite his hearing, Peter didn't really absorb any of it. His eyes were simply glued to the projector screen.

Across from him, the St Luke girl had paled, taking one look at the equation before glancing back at her teammates with a look of panic, which was mirrored in her group as well. She turned back around and stared at the whiteboard before her, shaky hand reaching out for the marker as she began to write the problem out on the board.

As she worked on breaking down the problem, Peter still hadn't moved. He hadn't walked towards the board. He hadn't written anything down. Heck, he hadn't even picked up his marker.

A minute passed of him simply staring up at the equation. A low murmur began to drift through the crowd, people leaning over to ask their neighbors either about the problem, about who they thought was going to win, or about why the boy wasn't even moving.

MJ narrowed her eyes as she stared over at Peter, ignoring her teammates as they spoke.

"Uh...why isn't he moving?"

"I don't know. Maybe he just doesn't know how to set it up."

"He could still write it down or something. Maybe that'll give him something."

"Cut him some slack. None of us could figure that thing out. At least not as fast as they're expecting us to."

"Quiet." Michelle hissed at that, the other quickly quieting as they glanced over at her before moving their eyes back over to Peter.

The girl for George St. Luke continued to write across her board, which was filling up with squiggles, lines, dashes, numbers, and just about anything and everything she could think of. As she moved farther and farther down the board, her numbers seemed to get more and more precise.

The Officiator glanced between the two students with a confused frown and a furrowed brow. Was she missing something here?

St. Luke's girl stopped writing, stepping back from the board with a scrunched face, pressing her hand to her cheek in thought as she stared at her work, shaking her head in confusion.

Peter still hasn't moved.

"Midtown Tech?" The woman called, wondering if the boy simply was stumped. She glanced over towards the boy's teammates, who were all shrugging their shoulders, sans MJ and Ned.

"Do you forfeit the question?"

The teen still didn't respond. He didn't even turn around to look at her. She turned back towards St. Luke who was still staring dumbfounded at the messy board. The woman adjusted her glasses once more. "I need an answer, teams."

The young girl let out a groan as she slapped her hands against her thighs and turned around with a disgruntled look of disappointment. "I don't k-"

"F(x) = du/dx = 2x[1/(1+x^4)]"

The auditorium fell silent as every wide eye turned towards Peter, who was now looking towards the Officiator for confirmation.

MJ smirked. Ned snickered under his breath.

The woman at the podium stared at the boy blinking up at her before glancing down at the card in her hands before adjusting her glasses and shakily clearing her throat. "T-that is correct," she breathed, a loud murmur rushing through the audience and over Peter's teammates as they leaned forward to hear her next words.

"Midtown Tech wins!"

Roars roared through the crowd as they rose up from their seats to give applause. Peter barely had any time to turn around before he was being barreled over by his teammates, who practically dog-piled him as they screamed in his ear and howled in joy. Despite the fact that he was acutely aware of each and every touch, Peter couldn't help the smile that spread onto his face as his friends squished their cheeks against his and laughed in his ears.

With a grunt and a reminder to restrain his strength, the teen pushed them off of him before lifting his head and noticing MJ off to the side, arms folded across her chest as she smirked down at them. Charles and Abe grinned at each other before reaching up and each grabbing onto one of her hands, dragging her down to the ground with them.

Her eyes widened slightly before she found herself crumpling on the ground with her teammates as they wrapped their arms around her and all but forced her into their dogpile. Peter couldn't help but giggle at the look of constipation making its way onto her face as she tried not to smile. Behind him, he could hear Flash running up and down the stage, holding the trophy up above his head in celebration.

The others couldn't even get mad, they were so happy.

Shoulders shaking with chuckles, Peter craned his neck to scan the crowd, eyes falling on May as she stood from her seat and waved at him. Seeing as how his arms were being pinned down by the bodies of his teammates, the teen could do little more than smile back at her.

It seemed to be enough as she gave him a thumbs-up, her face falling slightly as she gestured towards the back door. Peter gave a nod of his head and a reassuring smile. May had already taken enough time out of her night shift to be here. He couldn't take up any more of her time.

After a few more minutes of trying and failing to calm his classmates down, the team shook hands with the Officiator and the other team, took pictures, and made their way offstage, all smiles and laughs.

"Dude, that stunt you pulled is going down in the history books as the greatest feat of all time!" Ned practically gushed, spinning around on his heel to face his friend.

Charles laughed and pressed a hand to his forehead. "You didn't even write anything down, man! You're like superhuman or something!"

"And that lady's face when you just blurted out the answer. Right after she asked about forfeit? Priceless!" Cindy howled, eyes scrunching as she wiped away a mock tear, Peter nudging her with his shoulder as the others all smiled.

Peter yelped, however as he felt a hand slap his head once more, rolling his eyes as Michelle came into view, trophy in hand after having wrangled it out of Flash's. "Yeah, yeah. Let's not get too excited here. After all, now that we've won this thing, people are gonna be expecting big things from us. So now we gotta start prepping for next year's match cause I am not losing."

Ned placed a hand on her shoulder. "Aw, come on, MJ. We just won Regionals! I think we can afford to take a break."

"Ned right, MJ." Mr. Harrington called, walking over with a grin. "You guys really worked yourselves out there. Peter, that was incredible, kid. Great job out there. But you kids more than deserve a break after all that," the man said as he patted Sally and Ned on the shoulders.

Out past the curtains leading back to the main hall, loud voices and laughs could be heard behind the curtains, the teens groaning ever so slightly at the noises. "Man, my parents are never gonna let me get out of here, we'll be taking so many pictures," Cindy muttered, Abe nodding along with her. "I know right. They're gonna call all of my relatives over this."

The others began to gripe about similar issues, Peter nodding along with a couple of chuckles here and there as he heard of some extents parents were willing to go to boast about their children to others.

The teen stole a small glance over towards the curtain, where anxious friends and family waited to greet their kids. Peter felt his smile fall slightly at that, knowing he'd have nobody to go to once they walked outside. Then again, that was usually the case with these meets so he couldn't say he wasn't used to it by now.

He turned back towards the others, only to notice Flash's eyes on him. And from the look on the bully's face, he'd seen Peter's expression. The boy smirked at him and placed a hand on his hip. "What's the matter, Parker? Sad your little buddy Tony Stark isn't here to congratulate you?" he asked, though the usual levels of spite and malice seemed to have been dialed back ever so slightly, seeing as how the boy was still pumped over their win to be too much of an ass.

Peter rolled his eyes and glanced away, the others scrunching up their noses, about to tell the boy off for trying to put a damper on their celebrating, only for a new voice to beat them to it.

"Seems reasonable. I mean, I assume anyone who knows me gets depressed when I'm not around to brighten up their lives." All seven kids plus teacher turned to stare as Tony Stark strode over, removing his sunglasses from his face as he rested his hands inside the pockets of his suit pants. He also had a...Popsicle stick in his mouth?

"Or is that just Happy?" he asked, glancing behind him at the other three who followed, including Colonel Rhodes, Pepper Potts, and Happy Hogan, the latter throwing his boss an unamused look.

Peter felt as though his eyes were about to pop out of his skull as he stared, mouth agape. "M...M-M...Mr...Ssss...St-st..." He stuttered, seeming to literally puff smoke from his ears as his brain caught fire. The billionaire couldn't help but smirk at the boy's reaction as he placed his sunglasses on the perch of the teen's nose, pushing them up into place as Peter's face remained slack.

"Nice job up there, kiddo. Gotta say, your ability to leave people speechless almost rivaled mine for a second. Just for a second, though mind you," he smirked, patting the teen on the shoulder as he took out the Popsicle stick and flicked it onto the ground. "But I knew I hired you for a reason."

Pepper reached forward and pinched the boy's cheek. "Peter you were amazing out there, sweetie," she gushed while Rhodey clapped him on the back. "Very impressive, little man."

The other students had yet to say anything, all of them holding expressions that matched Peter's to a tee, except MJ of course. The girl simply stared at the man with a bored look, rolling her eyes at her teammates' reactions.

Flash blinked up at him before raising up a shaky finger and pointing it in his direction. "You're Tony Stark."

Tony raised a brow at the boy and felt a humored huff fall from his lips, Rhodes scoffing behind him while Pepper and Happy continued to check over their shoulders, seemingly scanning for anybody with a camera out.

"That I am, child I don't know nor care to find out about," he replied, MJ finally giving some sort of response as she smirked.

"You're Tony Stark."

The man shook his head and lifted his head towards Mr. Harrington. "Hey, teach. You don't mind if I take Pete here off your hands right?"

The teacher hesitated for a moment before shaking himself out of his stupor and letting out a nervous chuckle. "No...o-of course not, Mr. Stark...sir."

"Great." With that, he latched onto Peter's wrist and began to guide the teen farther away from the still speechless group. Glancing back, Peter gestured for both MJ and Ned to follow him, the former having to push the latter forward, seeing as how the boy had yet to speak or move. Or breathe probably if his red face gave any indication.

"That was Tony Stark!"

Peter tried to block out the sounds of his classmates practically vibrating behind him as he reached up and removed the sunglasses from his face, turning up to face the billionaire. "W...w-what are you doing here?" he breathed, blinking up with wide eyes.

The man scoffed and accepted the glasses back. "Well I don't know if you've ever done this before but when you invite someone somewhere, chances are high that they're gonna show up."

Behind the man, Peter could see Pepper and Rhodey smiling at him, Happy continuing to gruffly keep watch for paparazzi hounds. The teen let out a small breath as he felt his face scrunch slightly. "Well, I get that. It's just...I...I didn't think you'd actually come."

"Why? Think I got better things to do?"

"Well...yeah."

The man waved a hand dismissively. "Please, I live for these things. Every Saturday night you'll see me scouring the streets of New York desperately searching for any Decathlon tournaments to pop into."

Peter scoffed and shook his head, reaching a hand up to rub at the back of his neck as a lopsided grin made its way onto his face. "I mean it. Why would you waste time on something like this when you obviously have more important things to deal with?"

Tony paused for a minute before smiling and bopping Peter gently on the head with the folded up sunglasses. "Cause you wanted me to, kiddo."

Peter opened his mouth to say something, only for the words to die in his throat as a smile formed on his face. Tony smiled back, only to blink rapidly and clear his throat, roughly patting Peter's shoulders as he averted his gaze and stared at the two other teens behind his intern. "So, you gonna introduce me to your little nerd friends, kid?"

Pepper and Rhodey rolled their eyes at the not-so-great cover-up.

Peter straightened up at that and turned to stare at his friends. "R-right, right. Mr. Stark, this is M-"

"I can introduce myself thank you very much, Loser," the girl muttered, taking a step forward. "It's Michelle. Michelle Jones."

Tony nodded. "So you're MJ."

"To some people."

He smirked. "Well nice to meet you, Michelle," he said as he extended his hand. The girl stared down at it with an unimpressed face before lifting her eyes to throw him a look. Alright then...

The billionaire moved to face the other boy, only to grunt as he felt two sweaty hands clasp onto his own, his arm practically being ripped out of its socket as the chubby boy shook his arm up and down. "Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod! Mr. Stark, it is so great to meet you. Peter's told me all about you and I can't believe I'm actually standing here looking at you, talking at you, shaking your hand and everything. I mean it is a dream come true for me I've been waiting for this moment to come ever since Peter told me about you and its everything I dreamed of and more and I just, I can't, I mean I-"

It took both Peter and MJ wrapping their arms around Ned's waist and tugging with all their might to get him to unhook himself from the billionaire's hand, Tony staring with wide eyes as the three teens stepped back, Ned's face red and beaming as the boy grinned. "I can't feel my legs!"

Peter groaned while MJ scoffed in disgust, the former turning back to his boss. "S-sorry about him. He's...well...he's not used to being approached by people like...well, by people like you."

Tony took a breath, shaking his now sore hand as he gripped his wrist. "Uh...no problem. I'll just...have to be prepared next time I see your little friend. Ted, was it?"

"Oh my god! He remembered my name!"

"That's not even - you know what?" Michelle muttered, releasing her hold on the large boy and watching as he crumpled to the ground by her feet.

Tony and Peter watched them before they both shook their heads, the billionaire turning back to the boy. "Anyway, I don't know about you but watching you kick some nerdy butt has made me crave some nutrients. So...ice cream?"

"Now?"

"Either that or next winter. My schedule's pretty booked."

Peter grinned before the smile faltered, his eyes moving towards Pepper and Rhodey. "But...but I thought we were supposed to be lying low. You know, the pictures?"

Rhodey shrugged his shoulders. "We figured the last place the paparazzi would be looking is some random Decathlon tournament so our bets were pretty safe here."

"And out there?"

Pepper shrugged. "Drive-thru."

"Oh."

Tony turned back towards the others. "You kids wanna join us?"

Ned's eyes grew even wider at that, if such a thing were possible. "Mom...waiting...me...go..."

"He'll take a rain check." Peter translated, placing a hand on Ned's shoulder before forcefully spinning the teen and pushing him back over towards the other teammates. Michelle shrugged her shoulders. "I gotta go make sure those idiots don't burn down a taco stand or something while they're celebrating."

Peter grimaced slightly at that. "Right. The others. Listen...you think they'll mind if I go off and-"

"Peter." She held up two hands. "Getting stale grimy tacos from a stand that could double as a mobile garbage dump...or ice cream with a billionaire." She let a smirk fall onto her face as she patted him on the shoulder. "I think they'll understand."

He smiled at her. "Thanks, MJ." He called as she turned away, getting a middle finger in response. He only chuckled at the sight, Tony, Pepper, and Rhodey cocking a brow and tilting their heads at the gesture before the billionaire shrugged his shoulders. Teenagers.

Rhodey glanced behind him at the curtain that blocked off the backstage area fro the main hall. "Now, as lovely as it would be going through the sea of sweaty dads and sob-happy moms waiting for us behind those curtains, you know if there's a back entrance to this place?" he asked, Happy already having left to go and get the car ready.

Peter grinned at that and motioned for them to follow him.

A few minutes later had the four of them dashing through the rusted metal door leading to the alley behind the convention center, Peter jumping over the railing while the others took a more human approach and climbed down the few stairs leading to the ground, a sleek black car pulling up right as they landed. Jumping into the car, Pepper, Tony and Peter climbed into the back while Happy and Rhodey took the front.

"Where to?" The driver called from the front.

Tony looked down and glanced at Peter, the teen giving him the brightest smile he'd ever seen, Tony chest expanding in a strange way at the sight. He couldn't resist the smile that grew onto his own face as he patted the teen's shoulder and turned back towards the front.

"Happy, find the crappiest ice cream place around here."

Peter perked at that. "I know a place where Ned once found a thumb in his bowl."

"Perfect!"

Chapter 18: Bad Blood

Summary:

"Still...you're my son and I won't let you be buried."

The Cons tensed their muscles.

Peter's heart stopped.

Richard raised his hand and pressed two fingers together.

"So I'll break you myself."

Notes:

WARNING: This chapter contains graphic descriptions of violence and abuse

Chapter Text

 

Thursday - April 21, 2016

Parker Residence - Sub-Level Labs

07:27 a.m.

"This is starting to get out of hand, Rich." Max slammed the newspaper down onto the table, the loud slap that resonated through the subway car making them all tense slightly. "I know you said to keep our mouths shut about this, but I don't think I can anymore," he muttered, folding his arms over his chest as he glared down at the ground.

All of the Cons currently sat strewn about their conference center, the Subway car down in the labs. Max sat on the corner of Richard's desk while Sandra and Flint sat on the seats across from him, Curt resting atop one of the bar stools.

Sandra propped one leg up and rested her elbow on the side of the seat. "This is going too far."

"He's getting too involved. You can even see it in the way he talks to us nowadays," Max continued. "The way he acts. Stark's rubbing off on him, chipping away at everything we've done," he snarled, eyes glinting a shade of blue before dimming back down to their usual brown.

The sound of a crinkling bag made them all turn towards Flint, who was currently digging around in the remains of a bag of chips, face scrunched in concentration. Sandra narrowed her eyes at him and curled her lip as she whipped her hand out and slapped the bag to the floor, Flint straightening up in surprise. "Are the answers we're looking for at the bottom of that bag, Marko?" she snapped.

"The answers I'm looking for, anyway," the man muttered as he stooped down and scooped the bag up with a pointed look thrown at the woman. He tilted his head back and allowed the last few crumbs to dribble into his mouth, crumpling up the bag before tossing it over his shoulder. "Besides," he said, voice muffled from the mouthful of food. "What's the big deal? So the kid's hanging out with Stark? Isn't that what we wanted in the first place?"

Max growled from his seat. "The big deal, you fat fuck, is that that billionaire asshole is messing up our work." He scoffed and rose up from the desk. "I knew this was a bad idea from day one," he said, beginning to pace up and down the aisle while Curt and Flint rolled their eyes. "For ten years, we've been successful with Peter. The training, the lessons, the experiments. Everything clean-cut, quiet and perfect. And the little brat never uttered a word of rebellion. Not one. He was smarter. He knew better."

He curled his hands into fists and spat out the next few words. "And then Stark waltzes right in here flashing big bucks and dripping narcissism all over the place, infecting the little rat with his charm. Peter's weak. He's falling right into that son of a bitch's hands."

The sounds of a crackling screen made them all turn their heads up to the screen above their heads, resembling a small flat-screen propped up into the top corner of the car. Across the bottom of the pitch black screen were the words AUDIO ONLY.

"Well, the big question here is...why did you let him go off with Stark in the first place?"

The voice that came through was airy and young.

"Fuck off you little tart," Sandra growled at the screen. "Drop the condescension. You know why."

The screen crackled once again. "Remind me." The voice came through, sparking with sarcasm.

The older woman curled her lip, continuing to glare up at the screen as if her gaze could pierce through to the person on the other end. "We want him to know what Stark knows. We want him in a position we can use if and when the times comes for it." Sandra flicked her hand through the air. " He's literally crawling through the mainframes of Stark Industries. And that means we can tear it down with a snap of our fingers."

The woman suddenly stopped and pointed to the newspaper sitting on the desk. "But this...this is not that. This has bad news written all over it."

"Literally," Curt chided with a smirk.

Sandra narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm serious. And Max is right. That prick is rubbing off on Peter. You can see it just in the way he carries himself nowadays."

Flint couldn't suppress a scoff as a small smirk fell onto his face. "Come on. Aren't you guys exaggerating a little bit here?"

The older woman glowered at him before whirling on her heels and turning towards the dark-skinned man. "Max, how many years has it been since Peter talked back to you? Six? Seven?" She didn't wait for him to respond. "Well, he broke that record after spending one week with that asshole. One. Imagine what'll happen if we let that slide, if we let that go any longer. Imagine what he'll start to think."

Max grit his teeth together. "He'll start to think he can get away with it."

"I don't know about you guys," Sandra started again, "but I spent a good few years of my fucking life making sure that little brat was nothing but putty in our hands and I'm not about to let that smug rich asshole mess with it!"

For a moment the car was quiet, the gravity of the woman's words hanging heavy in the air, seeming to take all of their voices with it. The tension settling over the group had scents of rage, annoyance and irritation permeating all throughout as they each took a moment to contemplate their next move.

"Sounds to me like you're a little jealous."

The Cons all turned their heads to stare up at the TV screen above them, Sandra's eyes narrowing into icy chips as she gnashed her teeth together. "What did you say?" she practically hissed.

"What? You...you don't see it? Oh, this is great!" The voice chirped, seemingly giddy with amusement. "Think about it. You guys spend years breaking him down into what he is today, crushing and molding him into your perfect little puppet, dancing around as you jolt and jab at his strings, tightening them, tubing them. And then Stark comes into the picture and in - what, about two months - basically undos nearly all of your work, frays all your strings. Either Stark's a lot smarter than you guys first thought, or-"

"Bite your tongue, whore!" Sandra screeches, fingertips crackling with violet energy as her eyes take on the same ethereal hue.

The voice didn't seem all that perturbed with the comment, simply chuckling. "I'm just saying...the proof's in the pawn."

Curt stifled a yawn as he glanced lazily between the group. "So what are we supposed to do about it? Take him out of there? I thought we needed him on the inside."

"We do."

They all turned their heads towards Richard's desk, where his computer monitor had been turned to stare out at them. The screen showed the interior of a private jet, Richard himself sitting comfortable in one of the chairs. He'd been quiet for the majority of the video call, simply content to hear his allies thoughts on the matter.

"Peter is a valuable piece to this little puzzle of ours. If not, I would have killed him years ago," he murmured with a flick of his wrist. "So if he's valuable enough to keep alive, then I don't plan on losing this tool so soon." He narrowed his eyes. "You all know just how much I hate to lose."

The others all averted their gazes ever so slightly as their postures became just a bit more rigid.

"Sir?" The TV crackled overhead, the voice sounding much more eager than before. "Do you need me to come in early? I...I could help you."

The man shook his head. "No. No, you have your orders. Now you stick to them, you understand me? Stay on schedule. You'll come into play later."

"But I-" They didn't get to hear any more as Richard motioned something with his hand, Max pressing a button on the remote by his side, the audio quickly cutting out as the TV shut off. As he set the remote down again, Max turned towards the monitor. "So what do we do, man? We can't stop him from seeing Stark. The whole point of this was for Peter to get Stark to trust him."

"Obviously that worked." Flint remarked to which Sandra folded her arms and added, "Yeah, a little too well. Now the real problem is making sure Peter remembers the Rules, especially number one."

Richard folded his hands on his lap, sitting in silence for a moment as his eyes narrowed in thought. After a second, a sigh passed through his lips and he leaned back in his chair. "Peter's known who he can and who he can't trust for quite some time now. Stark has been messing with that."

He pressed his hands into the armrests of the seat and leaned forward. "So here's our situation. We have a dog who's forgetting its lessons and disobeying once again." He righted himself and straightened out his suit. "Now, we're not going to kill the dog, obviously. Now when we've spent so much time on it."

A smirk worked its way onto his face. "No...I think there's a better option."

One by one, large smiles began to spread on the faces of the Cons, each of them letting out different chuckles as the man's words began to seep in, the underlying tones hitting deep.

"Do nothing for now. I should be on the ground in a couple of hours. I'll deal with it then."

Flint scrunched his face. "Uh...we get to help, right?"

"He'll need all of us for this little lesson," Richard announced, to the pleasure of the Cons. "His leash has been a little too lax for too long now. I think it's time we tighten it."

 


 

Thursday - April 21, 2016

Stark Tower - Penthouse

06:54 p.m.

"You should have seen the look on his face! It was priceless. I wish I'd taken a picture of it. I would have had it framed," Peter laughed from where he sat on the kitchen counter. Natasha sat on one of the bar stools, arms crossed and legs perched up on the next nearby stool, a content smirk on her face as she listened to the boy rattle off his latest pieces of news. "Not to mention the fact that Ned just about slipped in his own puddle of drool."

The woman let out a small chuckle before propping an elbow on the counter and resting her cheek on the closed fist. "Are all your Decathlon tournaments this exciting? Cause if so, I might just have to see one of these things," she murmured with a wink.

Peter waved a hand dismissively and smiled. "Just the ones Mr. Stark crashes. It was probably one of the greatest moments of my entire life."

Natasha had found the boy doing homework when she'd arrived about an hour or so. After a few moments of awkward greetings and shy smiles, she'd finally coaxed the boy to disclose anything new happening in his life, see if maybe she could figure out any more information on him. Her promise to Tony still hung in the back of her mind, something she wasn't planning to break. Still...it couldn't hurt to be a little informed.

Having expected the same shy-spoke, quiet boy to give her one-word answers, the woman was shockingly surprised when Peter immediately began to rattle off about his so-called Decathlon tournament and everything that had taken place. Natasha was even more surprised to hear about everything Tony had done afterwards. She'd known the billionaire for many years and not once had he ever acted in the same manner that Peter had described to her.

Still, taking note of the boy's excited ramblings and the lack of stuttering, Natasha couldn't help but wonder if maybe this new side of Tony was doing something good. Even though Peter was still far from the most outspoken boy she'd ever met, what with his voice still retaining a quiet-like demeanor even in his most excitable states, the woman still felt a smile tugging at her lips as he happily chatted away, homework seemingly forgotten about for now.

"And then we went for ice cream at McKreamy's and Happy found a shrimp in his Rocky Road. Which is kinda strange considering they don't even serve shrimp...or any type of seafood for that matter but I mean, it could have been a lot worse."

The woman cocked a brow. "Was it at least cooked?"

"...no."

She chuckled, teeth showing as she smiled and shook her head. "Now I really wish I'd been there."

Peter pressed his hands into his knees and leaned forward. "You totally should have. It was literally the best." His feet began to kick out excitedly as he continued to talk. "Even MJ was a little starstruck. I mean, she didn't really show it on her face cause MJ never shows stuff like that on her face but I could totally tell. She does this thing where she curls her finger around a strand of hair and pulls on it whenever she's excited which makes it more frizzy but honestly her hair is always frizzy which is kinda hilarious cause all the other girls at school are always in the backroom fixing themselves up but she always has her hair up and messy. But not the kind of messy that makes you look dirty, just the kind of messy that makes you look like you don't care without making it seem that you want people to know that you don't care. That's a whole other thing and...what?"

The boy trailed off from his ramblings as he caught sight of Natasha giving him a humorous look.

She shook her head and motioned with her hands for him to continue. "Nothing. Nothing. Go on, tell me more about this...MJ," she smirked, a noticeable glint in her eye that Peter was oblivious to as he smiled.

"She's the best. She's the captain of our Decathlon team so she's like, super stupid smart, but not in the whole braggy kind of way, just the kind where she could be sitting in the back of the class minding her own business when all of a sudden someone challenges her or something and she's just like BAM! Knowledge Drop!" Natasha reared back slightly as the boy's hands emphasized his words. "-and then just walk right out without saying another word. She's just so cool and awesome and - okay, you're definitely giving me some weird looks," the boy murmured, trailing off as his eyes darted over to the woman.

"What is it?" He asked before deflating ever so slightly, face scrunching in unease. "I'm boring you, aren't I? I'm sorry, I just-"

"No, no. It's not that." Natasha said quickly before the boy could completely shut down on her. "It's just...funny," she chuckled, only for Peter to tilt his head slightly at her words. "You this passionate about all your friends?"

The boy shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I only have the two so...kinda." His eyes widened again in excitement as he leaned forward once more. "You wanna hear about Ned? He's great too!"

"Don't take that bait."

Both Peter and Natasha turned towards the new voice right as Tony made his appearance, striding into the kitchen wearing black sweatpants and a dark gray T-shirt, holding a Stark pad that he'd occasionally glance at and scroll through as he walked up. Pepper and Rhodey followed up behind him, similar Stark Pads in their hands as well.

Natasha took note of the way Peter's smile grew wider as the man entered, Tony setting the pad down on the counter as he turned towards her. "I've fallen for that trap and was stuck hearing about these friends of his for the next two hours," he muttered, jerking a thumb in Peter's direction.

The boy threw him a shy smile and shrugged a shoulder. "You asked. I answered."

"Yeah, you answered all right."

Natasha rolled her eyes as she turned to Tony. "Peter here was just telling me about how you crashed his Decathlon meet and took him for ice cream at a very questionable establishment."

The man scrunched his face. "Hey, he recommended it. So if anything, the whole shrimp debacle is his doing."

"Please not the shrimp thing again," Pepper muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose as Rhodey shuddered beside her. Natasha shook her head in disbelief. "How'd you even end up at a place like that with a billionaire in the car?"

Tony scoffed at the question, as if such a thing were trivial turned towards Peter. "You wanna take this one?"

The boy glanced over at the man before turning towards the others, who all gave him expectant looks. He cocked his head to the side. "It's Queens. You can't splurge in Queens. You gotta eat at the dumpiest of the dumps and the crappiest of the crap-diners. That's how you find the best hole-in-the-walls. Like Delmar's. That place looks like a garbage heap on the outside, but it's still got the best sandwiches in all of Queens," he twirled his hand in the air for added emphasis. "Sure, you get your stomach pumped a few times along the way, but that's just the Queens experience."

Tony nodded along, leaning up against the counter next to Peter. "Yeah, if you're not puking your guts out and picking rat droppings out of you food, you're not doing it right."

"Exactly."

Rhodey shook his head. "Classy."

"Authentic is what you mean," Tony smirked with a loving pat to the man's shoulders before clapping his hands together and resting them on Peter's shoulders. The boy jumped at the sudden contact but let a small smile fall onto his face nonetheless. "Now, if you all don't mind, I'm going to be stealing my intern away."

Peter glanced over at the man. "Why? Is something wrong. Do you need me to do something?" he asked, pulling away from the man's grip and turning to face him.

Tony waved him off. "Relax, kid. World's not ending. Just follow the leader, would you?" he mused before poking the teen in the ribs. Peter yelped at the touch before rubbing at his side with a miffed grin, Tony conveniently not noticing the look as he walked off. Peter turned back as he hopped off the counter and began to follow the man out of the room, waving back towards the red-headed assassin. "Bye Natasha."

The woman couldn't help but raise a hand back to him. "See you, kid," she murmured before watching him disappear around a corner. The remaining three adults stood in silence for a moment, staring at where the two had left before Natasha turned back to the others and folded her arms over her chest. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but Tony doesn't really willingly leave the tower much anymore, right?"

Pepper and Rhodey exchanged looks before nodding.

"Right. So tell me something. How is it that the thing that finally got him to leave was a Decathlon tournament?"

Pepper let out a small sigh as she walked past the woman and over to the counter, sitting down at one of the stools. She rested an elbow on the marble surface and rubbed her face. "That's what we've been trying to figure out for the past few days." She murmured as Rhodey walked over as well, leaning up against the counter instead.

The man stared at Natasha hard for a moment, eyes searching her face almost as if he were looking for any shades of distrust in her features. He hesitated for a moment, jaw squared as he seemed to ponder whether or not discussing the matter was a good idea with the woman. But after a moment, he relinquished and rubbed the back of his neck. "He's struggling. Like...like really struggling," he finally admitted. "The last time I saw him like this was back in 1991, when..." he trailed off, throwing the woman a small look. "You know."

"Yeah...I know."

"And I'll admit," the man sighed with a shrug of his shoulders. "There's a lot less hookers and drugs involved this time but...he's relapsing again." With that, the man glanced behind him at the nearby trashcan. If they angled their heads just right, the lights from above would catch on the empty glass bottles inside, reflecting small gleams back into their eyes.

Natasha gave a small nod of her head, eyes remaining fixed on the garbage. "Saw that when I came in."

"Hard to miss, really." Pepper murmured. "He at least has the sense not to do it in front of us. But..." she trailed off for a moment, face growing pained as she turned to look at them, fingers twitching on the counter. "...I don't think he sleeps. At least, not enough." All three of them were used to the idea of Tony not getting enough sleep. Even back before everything happened, the man worked off of single-digit hours of rest and remained functioning somehow. So the idea of him seemingly getting less sleep than usual made them all shudder slightly. Pepper continued. "And all that time he spends...not sleeping, he's down in that damn lab, working and...not working." She glanced back over towards the bottles.

The woman ran a hand through her hair nervously. "I'm worried. I'm so worried for him. At this point, all it'll take is one thing. One more thing going wrong and..." she grit her teeth together and curled her fingers around the knobs of her knees. "I don't even want to think about it."

Rhodey placed a hand on her shoulder and rubbed it comfortingly, the woman reaching up her own hand to set atop his. Natasha watched their interaction and let out a sigh of her own, grabbing the seat next to Pepper and sitting down. It wasn't often that something rattled the strawberry blonde. In all the years Natasha had known her, she could honestly say that Pepper Potts was one of the strongest and scariest women she'd ever met. She had to be considering everything that happened around her. So to see her shivering while on the brink of tears rendered Natasha speechless for more than a moment.

"I was so afraid of this," she finally said after giving Pepper a minute to compose herself once more. "Of all of this happening. But...I have to be honest, I was prepared for him to be worse."

"Worse?" Rhodey echoed, shooting the woman a dirty look. "Worse than this?"

Natasha shook her head. "Remember back a few years ago, the Palladium incident in California?"

Judging by the grimaces stretching across their faces, she was willing to bet they did.

"I saw him at his lowest, at his worst. This...this isn't it," she murmured. "I was ready to see it again, expecting it. But...something's holding it back. Something's keeping him...stable. And I think it has to do with that Decathlon meet." She paused and glanced up at the others, noticing they were now staring down at the ground. "Judging from the looks on your faces, you've picked up on it, too."

Pepper remained silent for a moment before letting out a sigh. "I'll admit, Tony acts a lot different around Peter than he does with us. For the longest time, I thought it was just because he was trying to get the kid to warm up to him. But now...I think it's...he's genuinely happy when Peter's here. I can tell. His smile isn't forced, He's relaxed. He's...he's himself again. Heck, Peter wasn't even supposed to be here, today. He's really only 'scheduled' to come in on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, but Tony picked him up for lunch after school again, completely out of the blue!"

Rhodey folded his arms over his chest. "Peter...Peter was never meant to be a crutch, Natasha. Tony only adopted him as an intern to keep an eye on him. To...to..." He seemed to struggle with what he was about to say before abandoning it altogether and diverting onto another track. "Just...Tony's supposed to be helping Peter. I never expected it to be the other way around.

Natasha furrowed her brows. "I don't think it is. Not completely at least." She folded her own arms. "Look, I'm not blind. I know there's something off about Peter. Something you all are probably not supposed to tell me."

"Nor are we going to," Rhodey shot back, throwing her a challenging look.

She held up her hands. "And that's fine. I won't pry. I already promised Tony I wouldn't." The others looked surprised at that. She pretended not to notice.

"But from the little I've gathered offhandedly, Peter's obviously got some problems. Big problems from what I can tell." She noticed the others beginning to look uncomfortable and quickly shifted. "And Tony...well, that speaks for itself." She pointed towards the overflowing trash can. "I won't claim to know what Tony's feeling...or Peter for that matter cause...cause I don't." She pushed herself off of the stool she'd been occupying and faced the others fully.

"But what I do know is that these two seem to be...helping each other, in some way or another. Just look at how they interact with each other. Peter's way more relaxed than when I first met him, and I'm willing to bet it's the same for you guys. and as for Tony, well...I think we've found our reason as to why he's not passed out drunk right this moment."

She shrugged her shoulders and ran a hand through her hair. "I don't know if they're just distractions for each other or something more, but whatever it is it seems to be working.

Rhodey said nothing for a moment before uncrossing his arms and staring back at the woman. "Yeah, but for how long? Distractions are only effective for so long."

Natasha shook her head. "Hopefully they figure out what they are to each other before that happens."

"And if they don't...?" Pepper asked softly.

All three looked at each other, an unspoken feeling of tension immediately weighing down heavily on their shoulders, for they all knew the answer. But none of them had the courage to put it into words. After a moment, Natasha finally spoke, voice soft.

"I don't know...and I don't want to think about it either."

 


 

"You know, I've been thinking. Next time I come and visit your little nerd squad, you think I should just come straight out of the iron man armor?"

"You are definitely going to make one of them explode if you do that. And I'm just gonna say here and now, I'm not liable."

Tony smirked over from where he was currently working on said armor, glancing over at Peter who was hunched over his mini arc-reactor project that he'd been working on for a while now. The teen threw him a smile as the billionaire rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Those teens could use a little excitement in their lives. What's the most exciting thing you guys do anyways?"

"Well I mean, I stopped a gang that was robbing a bank with water guns yesterday so..."

"Oh quiet, you don't count." Tony muttered, throwing a screw over towards the teen while easily ducked underneath the projectile with a chuckle. "Alright, alright, non-superpowered activities? I mean, once we got two roombas and had a death match."

"Had a...wait, what?"

"You know, just tie a balloon to the back of each of them, tape a knife to the front and see who can pop the other's balloon first?"

Tony lifted his head and blinked over at his intern, who shrugged his shoulders. "It got pretty intense. Ned had to get stitches."

The billionaire just stared at him for a moment before shaking his head. "Hard to top that, now isn't it?"

"Hey, don't knock it till you try it. We had bets going and everything."

The man chuckled and pulled at a loose wire. "Well my point still stands. Your pasty-faced little dork crew could probably live with a little more fun."

Peter tilted his head back and forth as he pressed a small miniature laser into one of the crevices of the device he was currently working on, bright white light shining into his eyes. "You're not wrong. I'm not exaggerating when I said Ned had to take like three pumps of his inhaler that night from what MJ said," he laughed, Mr. Stark doing the same from his seat across the table.

The two fell into comfortable silence after that. It was nice, a comforting blanket of quiet that washed over the both of them, the only real noises being the whirl of the laser, the clink of metal tools hitting the table or wires being snapped and yanked. If the same situation had arisen only a month prior, both Peter and Tony would have been feeling the crushing effect of awkwardness, neither sure what to do in the other's presence.

But in all the time they'd been spending together, the two of them could honestly say that such pleasantries were no longer required. They didn't need words to fill the silences between them. Simply sitting in each other's company seemed to be enough.

However, tonight, Peter couldn't help but feel a little uncomfortable. He glanced up from his work to gaze at the man sitting across from him before turning back down to the mini arc-reactor, which was near completion. Still, every so often, he'd glance back up towards Mr. Stark, as if unsure of something. And if the man noticed the teen's little secret looks, he didn't say anything. He didn't even look up from his work.

Finally, Peter let out a small sigh and threw the man a sheepish look. "M...Mr. Stark?"

Tony lifted his eyes at that, noticing with a little hesitancy that Peter had just stuttered, something he'd been improving on. Immediately, the man noticed that he looked incredibly unsure of himself, fidgeting in his seat and playing with the deactivated laser in his hands. The billionaire furrowed his brows but decided to let the boy speak on his own terms instead of prompting him to speak.

Peter nibbled on his bottom lip, staring down at his hands before taking a deep breath. "I, uh...I just..." He cleared his throat, setting down the laser and running a hand across the back of his neck, eyes firmly staying glued to the table. "I just wanted to s-say...thanks...for, uh...for..." He swallowed, his throat seeming unnaturally dry.

Scrunching his face, the boy shut his eyes and took another breath, blowing it out slowly between his lips. All the while, Tony looked on in silence, itching to say something but deciding that it was best to let Peter work up the confidence to say whatever it was he needed to say himself. Lord knew the teen needed as much confidence as he could get.

Finally, the teen lifted his gaze and stared the billionaire in the eyes. "I wanted to thank you...for coming to the tournament. For...for making good on what you said. I...it..." The teen's gaze dropped for a moment of hesitancy before lifting once again, a sheepish smile accompanying it. "It was really cool of you." He let out a small nervous huff of laughter.

Tony stared at the boy who was obviously stepping outside of his comfort zone saying something as intimate as a heartfelt thank you. After a moment, the man returned the boy's smile with one of his own, warm brown eyes meeting hazel. "No problem, kid."

He blinked his eyes and cleared his throat, glancing down at the little project in the teen's hands, turning back to focus on his own work. "How's it coming along over there anyway?"

Peter glanced down at the arc-reactor in his hands. "Actually...I think I'm done."

"Whoa, seriously? Already?" Tony asked, immediately lifting his head and rising to his feet. He hadn't expected the kid to finish up with his little project for another few weeks or so. Maybe even a month or two. After all, arc-reactor technology wasn't exactly an easy subject to get down.

Peter shrugged his shoulders as Tony walked over and began to inspect the little device. "Well, yeah. I mean, the only thing I think I'm missing is the power source, but I don't really have any Euridium on hand with me."

The billionaire finished inspecting the device and glanced over at the kid, throwing him a smirk. 'Well, lucky for you, you know somebody who does."

He set the reactor down on the table and motioned for Peter to follow him. Not bothering to check behind him to see if the kid was following him (as he was almost positive he was), Tony made his way onto the upper levels of the lab. He walked over towards the back walls, where a private section of the lab - about the size of an office - stood with frosted-over glass walls to prevent prying eyes from looking in. Motioning for the kid to stay where he was, Tony raised a hand to the panel next to the door of the restricted room, the glass clearing as the door opened.

Stepping inside, Tony moved towards the back cabinets and drawers. Kneeling down, he revealed the keypad installed into the wall. Pressing in the familiar ten-digit code, the man pulled the drawer open. Eyeing the extra copy of the arc-reactor plans stored inside, he brushed them aside and eyes the small box stored in the corner of the drawer, about the size of a textbook.

He gently removed the box from the drawer and closed it up with his foot, the drawer sliding back into the wall with a soft hiss, the small button atop the keypad going from green to red as it locked once more. Stepping out of the room, Peter watched with curious eyes as Tony led him back down into the main open layout of the bottom floor of the lab.

He set the case on the floor as he went about clearing the table. As he did so, he couldn't help but glance over at Peter, who was now helping to gather the random papers strewn about, stacking them neatly in his hands and setting them on one of the other nearby tables. The man furrowed his brows in thought as he continued to haphazardly toss junk and gadgets over his shoulder, not nearly as conscientious of the stuff as his intern was. His mind remained on the Decathlon meet. After the tournament itself, their little group had gone on to actually have a pretty great time. Peter had been as calm as could be, even cracking a few jokes here and there with the others. Something about it, something about seeing the kid outside of their usual routine had stirred something in the boy, made him loosen up.

Of course, Peter could have just been riding the high of his team's victory, but Tony suspected it was more than that. Going to his tournament...that was the first time Peter had seen that the billionaire was willing to go out of his way, willing to put in effort for him. Perhaps that was what did it, that little sense of validation, of reassurance.

After another moment of hesitation, he spoke. "Listen, kid."

Peter glanced up from the pile of screws he was collecting in his hands and stared at the man. Welp, no going back now.

"I just, uh...I just wanted you to know...if you..." He paused. Even after nearly two months of this, he still wasn't very good. Nevertheless, he carried on. "If you ever need something...or have something you want me to come to...just let me know. And I'm there."

He expected the kid to smile and delve into 'thank you's', but instead the teen just shrugged his shoulders and went back to collecting the little screws and placing them into the ever-growing pile in his palm. "You don't have to do that, Mr. Stark," he said casually, as if the man had just offered to help him with his homework or something trivial like that. "It was really awesome of you to do it that one time, but I don't want you to think I expect anything of you."

Tony blinked at that, opening his mouth to speak but finding that no words came out. Peter didn't seem shocked by his own words at all, simply brushing the collected pile of screws into one of the trays stacked on the counter.

Nu-uh. Nope. He was biting this in the bud right now.

Immediately, the man walked over and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. Peter jumped at this and instinctively tried to pull away, only to calm as his brain caught up to the fact that it was just Mr. Stark. The man spun him around so that the teen was fully facing him. "But you can expect things from me, Peter," he stressed, the teen staring up at him with curiously confused eyes. "It's not a burden."

Realizing the confused look on the boy's eyes wasn't going away, Tony let out a sign and decided to bite the bullet, lifting his free hand and resting it on Peter's other shoulder. "You're not a burden."

As if those words were some sort of secret code, Peter quickly slumped his shoulders, eyes trailing down to the floor as the toe of his shoe scuffed the tiled floor. He bit the inside of his cheek and lifted his gaze.

"Really?" Peter whispered, his voice so quiet and wistful that Tony wanted to drive straight over to the kid's house and slug Richard Parker right in the face.

But instead, he simply threw the teen a reassuring, playful smile. "Wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. Besides," he added, removing his hands from the boy's shoulder and shrugging. "It was fun. And if future events are anything like that Roomba death match, then put me down for some money cause I want in on that action."

Peter stared at the man for a moment before blinking and letting a sheepish smile crawl onto his face as well. "I mean, we're broke high schoolers so we really only bet Cheetos and goldfish crackers."

Tony had already walked back over to the table and was finishing up swiping random objects to the floor, too lazy to figure out where their proper storage places were. "Hey, look at me." He called, pointing to his face. "Do you think I got where I am today by sleeping on Cheetos and goldfish? This goddamn company was founded off of cheap vending machine snacks and I'll thank you to appreciate them."

Peter laughed as he grabbed the last few tools off the table. He smirked and threw the man an amused look. "Sometimes we even threw in some fruit snacks."

"Goddamn- you're just taunting me now, aren't you? Next time you're having one of these death matches, if I'm not the first person you call, I'm suing you."

"What?"

"Taking it right out of your paycheck."

The boy chuckled and finished cleaning the table off. "Alright, alright," he murmured, setting the stray screwdriver and torch on the counter. He stared down at the objects before glancing over his shoulder at the man that was now stooping down and grabbing the case, setting it down on the now cleared-off table.

"Mr. Stark?"

"Mm-hmm?" he called, not looking up from the case.

Peter walked over and placed his elbows on the table across from the man. "Thank you...for everything."

Tony looked up and met Peter's eyes, large and brown and pure. He smirked, effectively hiding the twinge that sparked in his chest and waved him off. "Forget about it. Now go get your little baking soda volcano and bring it over here so I can pour in our radioactive vinegar, huh?"

The teen chuckled, but turned and did as he was told, walking off to fetch the device.

Tony's eyes trailed after the kid before dropping down to the table, the smile on his face slowly slipping off as his chest tightened uncomfortably. His mouth was dry and the skin on his hands felt too tight. His mind relayed over his words with a bitter tang, a swell of regret washing over them.

Who was he to say he was reliable, dependable? That's what the kid thought of him now, and it was a big fat lie.

All in all, the kid thought a lot of things about him and the majority of it wasn't true. He wasn't responsible. He wasn't trustworthy. He wasn't some incredible figure to look to for guidance. But Tony let him keep believing these things, despite the fact that the man knew them to be untrue. Maybe it was nice having someone look at him with awe in their eyes instead of the usual pity or aggravation. Maybe it was nice feeling that sense of accomplishment again. But whatever it was, Tony knew it wasn't fair. Not to Peter. Not when the kid believed he could now rely on the billionaire.

After all, could he honestly say that he was a responsible enough person to handle that kind of promise.

Promise. Peter didn't like that word. Tony was beginning to see why.

The billionaire began to trace through everything that had happened over the past two months, to see where and when he had begun to dig himself so deeply into this lie. Running through the tower hiding from Pepper and Rhodey, visiting the library, working on the reactor, even the Decathlon meet. All of it had been for Peter's sake, to help the boy open up and relax. To get him to trust Tony just a little bit more.

And yet, as his mind ran through all of the events, the billionaire felt a noticeable pang of guilt stabbing into his chest, though he couldn't pinpoint why exactly. It was true. All of it had been to help Peter...right?

The man furrowed his brows, trying to recall the past events with more clarity to see if somehow he was missing something that was now making him taste a bitter tang in his mouth. Each and every time he and Peter interacted, the boy seemed to be a little bit happier, a little more relaxed. However, as he ran through the memories, Tony began to realize something else: he was distracted.

Every time he'd done something stupid with the kid, working in the lab, eating lunch at Delmar's, plotting against the press, his mind had been on Peter and only Peter. Not on Ross. Not on the Rogues. Just Peter.

Immediately, a sinking feeling began to gnaw on Tony's gut as an uneasy sense of dread pooled in his chest.

Was that why he'd done it? To distract himself?

Before he could even begin to tackle the question, Peter was walking back over, arc-reactor in hands. Shaking his heads of the thought, Tony blinked back into reality. Now was not the time. If he was going to have a breakdown, he could at least wait until Peter clocked out for the day.

It was the polite thing to do, after all.

Walking back over towards the table, Tony whipped out a pair of tough, protective gloves as well as a pair of tongs and goggles from below the bench. "Put these on," he instructed the teen as he did so himself.

After making sure the kid was ready, the man carefully opened the box, revealing a bright glowing blue light that immediately made Peter wince and turn his head away slightly on account of how violently bright it was. Tony, however, didn't seem fazed by the light as he positioned the tongs in his gloved hands and reached in, pulling out a small glowing triangle-shaped object, no bigger than a quarter: Euridium in its purest form.

"Whoa..." Peter breathed from beside him, the billionaire trying his hardest not to crack a smile at the teen's reaction. Instead, he reached over towards the arc-reactor and carefully slid the piece into place, readjusting the metal plates to comfortably fit the Euridium inside. As soon as it was in, the man closed up the case and removed his gloves, leaving the goggles on as both he and Peter turned to look at the reactor.

As soon as the Euridium was in place, the device began to glow and spark, the table almost vibrating as the reactor began to integrate its new power source. One particularly violent flash of light made Tony reach out and tug on Peter's jacket, pulling the kid to stand behind him just in case anything went wrong.

However, after a moment and one final surge of light, the glow of the device began to dim to tolerable levels until it finally evened out and ceased to vibrate, leaving a glowing blue arc reactor in its wake, now fully functional.

Both Tony and Peter said nothing, merely staring at the arc reactor for a full minute before the billionaire huffed out a chuckle, removing his goggles and glancing behind him at the still-gawking teen. "Well...color me impressed, kid. Looks like you can stay." He reached out and picked up the arc-reactor. Everything looked completely in-line. The plates, the wiring, the circuits. Everything was exact and precise, as if he'd made it himself.

Peter didn't even move as Tony reached over and pulled the goggles off of the kid's face, the teen's eyes remaining glued to the reactor. "This is the coolest thing I've ever done..." he breathed. "And I fought Captain America."

Tony scoffed. "Flattery will get you everywhere." He clapped his hands together, Peter jumping at the sudden noise. "Well! Now that the preliminary rounds are through," he gestured to the functioning device on the table. "I'd say we can move you up to the real projects." He walked over towards the table where they'd moved all the stuff and picked up a small device that looked like a high-tech playing card. Flicking his wrist, the card let loose a holographic projection that immediately enveloped the entire room, Peter gasping at the sudden lights surrounding him.

"Nanotech."

A sea of blue projections seemed to literally swim around them, connected link chains of hexagonal electron tunnels hovered in the air, floating by ever so gently, spinning and revolving around the room. An ocean had just opened up before their eyes, waving and lapping at the walls of the lab while little particles swam through in schools of nanites. It rippled and shifted ever so slightly, like unsteady waters. The tables, floors and metallic surfaces all reflected the same deep blue color, making it look like the entire room were nothing but one big orb of glowing blue light.

Peter's eyes were as wide as saucers, the bright brown irises reflecting the glowing blue holograms like small pools. A smile slowly began to creep onto his face, growing into a full-blown laugh as he reached up and touched one of the nearby clusters of electrons, looking very much like a kid in a candy store as it phased through his hand, leaving a small tingling sensation behind. His head continued to slowly turn back and forth as he walked backwards through the lab, trying to take in as much of the sight as humanly possible.

Tony couldn't help the smile that formed on his own face as he watched the boy move through the lab. He was reminded of when he first discovered Euridium, the smile that had lit up his own face at watching the projected plans of his father's creation.

As he watched the boy take in the sight, Tony took a seat on the workshop bench, blowing out a small sigh as he ran a hand down his face, suddenly feeling extremely tired.

Things had certainly gotten a lot more complicated in the last few months, Peter only being a small factor in such complications. Still, Tony could honestly say he enjoyed having the teen around. Now whether it was because it felt good to help the boy out or because it was nice to distract himself from his problems, Tony didn't know nor did he want to dwell on the fact. He would have liked to think that it was the former, without a shadow of a doubt, but he knew it was untrue.

Whether he liked it or not, he was quickly becoming a mentor in the teen's eyes and it was a role he'd have to take seriously...even if he had no idea how to even begin. Nevertheless, Tony knew it would help the boy immensely.

Now, would he also get some benefit out of it by keeping his mind off of the Avengers? Possibly. But what was wrong with that? What was wrong with getting his mind off of his problems for a while? Isn't that what he was basically doing with Peter? Distracting him from his problems at home? If so, then why couldn't he also do the same with himself?

Even as he thought it, another shot of guilt cut through him but the man quickly pushed it down. No, it was fine. Everything was fine.

He glanced back up at Peter, who was now rambling on about nanotechnology and how "awesome" it was. The billionaire cracked a grin as the boy began to delve into a full-blown rant session. Ultimately, the man took a breath and pushed the thoughts away. It wasn't anything he needed to worry about. Peter was getting an environment he could truly thrive in and Tony was given just a little time to forget.

Everything would be fine...so why wouldn't the bad feeling in his stomach go away?

 


 

Thursday - April 21, 2016

Springshore Dr. - Parker  Residence

08:02 p.m.

Peter waved to Happy as he stepped out of the car, the man not returning the gesture as he rolled up the window and sped off. Peter didn't mind. It was just Happy being Happy.

Giving a small roll of his eyes, the teen turned and made his way up the stairs to the large townhouse. Thursdays were usually pretty quiet, the more rigorous training happening on Fridays to allow for maximum recovery time before school on Monday. And yet, for some reason, Peter felt a sense of unease begin to spread throughout his body, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge as his muscles coiled to fight an invisible enemy.

This wasn't the usual reluctance he felt to enter the house. No, this was...different. It was the same tingling feeling he always got whenever he was fighting as Spider-Man and something was coming for him. It was the same sense that alerted him to danger, the same one that blared for him to get out of the way, dodge some oncoming attack, avoid something coming for him.

The teen stared up at the large red double doors of the house, feeling a lump beginning to form in his throat as he slowly and cautiously began to ascend the stairs, pushing down the tingling sensation. Whatever it was, he was sure he could handle it. He handled everything else, after all.

However, before he could even open the door, it was opening from the other side. Peter jumped at the sudden movement, eyes meeting Max as he stood in the now open doorway. He was wearing loose-fitting jeans and a black button-down shirt that only had the first two buttons actually fastened, leaving the rest of his bare chest exposed, revealing the numerous tattoos on the dark skin. In his hand he swished around a glass of whiskey.

Quickly lowering his gaze, Peter felt his skin begin to chill as the tingling sense began to grow stronger.

"M-Max?"

"Come with me."

With that, the man turned on his heel, not even bothering to check and see if Peter was following. He was, of course. He didn't dare do anything else.

Peter watched with morbid curiosity as Max swigged down the rest of the whiskey in one gulp, hissing through his teeth as he set the glass down on the counter as they walked past, not even breaking his stride. The elevator doors opened automatically as they approached, Peter reluctantly stepping in next to the man.

The doors shut and they were immediately on their way down.

Great. What do they want now?

In the corner of his eye, he could make out Max reaching down and beginning to button the rest of the shirt, even going as far as to roll the cuffs even farther up his arms, revealing even more tattoos. Peter filed this as odd considering Max always liked to have his chest bare but disregarded it as unimportant.

In hindsight, he should have taken it as a clue.

As soon as the elevator doors were open, Peter immediately recognized clue number two: the Station was empty.

The Station was never empty. In a secret lab about the size of a football stadium, filled to the brim with experimental machinery, thugs, criminals, cages, animals, the works, it was always bustling. But now...it was completely void of any and all people. The only things that remained were the huge subway car still fixed to the tracks and a few empty animal cages lining the back wall.

The entire Station was barely even lit. The usual fluorescent lights that illuminated the dark tunnels like a doctor's office were now shut off, leaving only the swinging lights that could barely light a closet let alone a huge space like the lab. The disgusting sickly yellow hue of said lights bathed the lab in long dark shadows that stretched along the stained, puddle-filled floors and up the browning walls. Occasionally, the lights would flicker on and off, leaving the Station lit only by the eerie red emergency lights running along the track at times.

Usually, there were so many people in the lab that Peter could barely hear himself think. But now that it was empty, every little noise and creak met his ears as if they were being amplified by surround-sound speakers. The rusted metal of the lights overhead creaked loudly as they swung around, mimicking the noise of a child rocking back and forth on a swing set. Along the back walls stood three large circular drains. The floors sloped down towards said walls ever so slightly, leading to a small, carved out canal for water to pool and run through, leading straight towards one of the three drains. The water seemed much louder than usual, the echoing splashes of each drop hitting below echoing through the large room.

Peter stared at the scene with furrowed brows, turning to hesitantly ask Max what was happening, only to freeze as he realized the man was gone as well. He was alone.

At least, he thought he was alone.

The teen blinked, goosebumps forming along his arms as the tingling sensation at the nape of his neck began to scream, nearly making him wince in pain at the blaring pulse going through his brain.

Immediately sensing something was incredibly wrong, the teen whipped around to race back to the elevator, only for a bright purple blast to rush forward, slamming into his chest and sending him careening backwards.

He tumbled along the dirty ground before coming to a stop, letting out a loud groan of pain as he pushed himself up onto his elbows. Blinking back the tears of pain from the heat of the blast, Peter whipped his gaze around to try and pinpoint the location of the blast, only to pale and instantly freeze up in horror.

Sandra stood up along the catwalks positioned overhead, hands bathed in bright purple energy, her eyes reflecting the same hue. She wore the deep-black body suit with white trim that she only wore on missions and covert operations that only highlighted the intensity of the violet glow. The leapt up and over the railings of the catwalk and began to fall to the ground, thrusting out her hand as a wave of purple energy slowed her descent. She touched down silently and stared at the boy on the ground before her.

Curt crouched atop the subway car, eyes gleaming and lips spread in a chilling grin as he rose up while simultaneously removing his usual white lab coat. Clenching his fists together, his skin slowly began to sprout with small green scales that swam up and down his body, his muscles bulging and ripping before strapping themselves back together again. His grin became a snarl as his eyes took on a yellow tint until finally the Lizard stood before them. Like Sandra, he leapt off the car and down to the floor below, only his landing wasn't quite so silent. In fact, the very ground shook from the cracks he left in the cement where he landed.

Peter stared with wide eyes at the two before him, only to gasp as he felt the ground below him beginning to shift and move. He lifted up his hand and saw that the small specks of dirt were beginning to vibrate and swirl together. They flew out from underneath him and began to take shape next to Sandra, slowly building itself up higher and higher until it began to take the shape of a large burly man. Two bright green eyes flashed out at him from the mound of sand until two arms, hands and legs went to match. Finally, Flint stood his ground, his usual green shirt still in place as he flexed his newly formed hands.

Peter, who had quickly found the sense to move, leapt to his feet and stared out at the three before him. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest as his hands shook at his sides. The tingling sensation had switched to full-blown waves of distress as he flicked his gaze back and forth between the three.

Wait. Three?

As soon as the thought entered his mind, a bright flickering blue light entered the corner of his eye. Whipping his head around, Peter reflexively took a few steps back as he noticed Max emerging from the darkness, trails of electricity flowing from limb to limb, matching the sparks that flew from his bright cyan irises. His suit was similar to Sandra's, trails of electrical lines etched throughout, containing the natural flow of his electricity. The man stared him down as he slowly made his way over to stand in front of the other three Cons.

"Do you know why you're here, Peter?"

His father's voice echoed throughout the entire Station, Peter's eyes flickering throughout the lab to try and pinpoint the man's location. The sound of heavy footsteps on metal made him look towards the catwalk again. Richard Parker slowly strolled along the walkway, eyes distant and calm. "You're here...because of this."

With that, Peter noticed the man casually toss something over the side of the railing. It fluttered through the air before falling a little ways away from Peter's feet. Still, it was close enough for the teen to see what it was.

A newspaper. With a picture of him and Mr. Stark.

The tingling could be felt in his fingertips, in his toes.

"You're here...because I'm very concerned about you." Peter trailed him like a mouse watching a cat pace back and forth, his heart hammering so loud it was hard to hear what the man was even saying.

"You seem to be forgetting your place. A place I have so painstakingly taught you about, taught you to respect, to obey."

The teen glanced back over at the Cons, who hadn't yet moved, although the Lizard's tail swished back and forth along the ground, the scraping noise it created grating Peter's ears. However, a loud bang made the boy nearly leap out of his skin and whip his gaze back towards Richard, who was now leaning over the rails and glaring daggers at the boy below him. "You're here because you seem to be in need of some...refreshing."

Peter opened his mouth for the first time, noticing the staggered sounds of his breathing. "I...I-I don't-"

"Don't try and argue with me, Peter," the man murmured, straightening out his suit ever so slightly. "Discipline is a common factor in parenting. And in our very special circumstances," he gestured around him at the Station. "...we require some very special forms of discipline."

The Cons took a step forward. Peter took a step back. The tingling strengthened. He tried again. "L-listen...this is all...t-this is a-all just a big...misunderstanding."

"Oh, I'm sure it is. I'm sure it is," Richard nodded. "It's just...well, you can understand my worries now, can't you?" His voice was sweet and reassuring, like a man talking to a little boy about something clearly too complicated for a child to understand. "Everything I've taught you seems to be fading from your mind."

Was he breathing? He wasn't sure anymore. "It's not! I-It's not, I promise!"

Richard's eyes hardened. "What have I told you about that word?" he snapped, losing his temper slightly for the first time in their little conversation before taking a deep breath and sliding right back into a veil of composure, like he was hosting a business meeting.

The tingling was so strong he had to grit his teeth together.

"It means nothing, Peter. Nothing. The only thing you can be sure of is hard work and discipline." Peter hated that word. "Discipline, my boy, is the backbone of success." The man let a smile fall onto his face and motioned to himself. "How do you think I got to where I am today? Everyone around me tried to break me, tried to bury me and dance on my grave. Lucky for me, I was strong enough to fight back. I was strong enough to pick up the pieces and build myself up better and stronger. But you...you are not."

His eyes gleamed as he leaned closer again, resting his elbows on the railing. "Still...you're my son and I won't let you be buried."

The Cons tensed their muscles.

Peter's heart stopped.

Richard raised his hand and pressed two fingers together.

"So I'll break you myself."

Snap.

With that small noise, the Cons surged forward. Peter barely had time to blink, let alone dodge the sand-guarded fist that shot forward and rammed into his face.

"And I'll make you stronger!"

He shouted in pain and fell to the floor. Immediately snapping his eyes back open, he flipped out of the way of the claws that scored the concrete where he'd just been, pressing himself to the floor once more as a huge tail swiped overhead. Peter braced his arms and flipped back, landing on his feet as he slid backwards, hands held out to the approaching Cons, their eyes lighting the Station as the lights above them flickered on and off.

"Please..." he said softly, eyes heavy and tired.

It was no use. It never was. He wondered why he even tried anymore.

They didn't say anything. Max curled his fingers together and shot his arm out, a trail of electricity flying forward, illuminating the lab in fiery blue light.

Peter whipped to the side, the heat from the passing blast burning his skin. Crouching down to his knees at the second sand-covered fist that flew by him, he tried to wrap his hands around the outstretched limb, only for it to completely crumble away in his grasp, reforming around his arms, locking them in place.

He narrowed his eyes as Sandra whipped forward, hands aglow in bright purple light. He ducked underneath her fist, hands still restrained as he began to backtrack, the woman following with each jab and kick she sent forward.

She kneed him in the gut, causing him to double forward where she kneed him again in the face this time. His neck whipped upwards violently, only for him to steel himself and wrench his locked arms forward, hitting her underneath the chin and sending her flying backwards. The sand around his limbs dissolved at the force of the hit.

The teen didn't even have a moment to breathe before he felt Lizard's tail wrap around his midsection, lifting him off the ground. He grunted at the pressure, only to gasp and narrowly whip his head to the side right as another bout of electricity whizzed right by his ear. Gritting his teeth, he curled his leg back and kicked Lizard in the shoulder, causing the monster to drop him to the floor. Peter quickly slid underneath the creature's legs and leapt onto his back, ramming his elbow into the back of his neck.

The reptile roared in pain, his tail lashing furiously to try and unbalance him. The long limb wrapped around Peter's ankle, sending him flying backwards where he smashed right through one of the glass animal cages lining the back wall. He groaned and pushed himself back up, wincing as he felt the shards pressing into his palms and arms. He shook them off, ignoring the blood now bubbling up to his skin, only to be encased in violet light and hurled across the room once more. He slammed into the concrete and rolled along the ground before skidding to a stop by some of the tech equipment. Eyeing one of the metal staffs used for training, Peter quickly wrapped his fingers around it right as he felt himself being encased in the same energy again. Only this time, when Sandra drew him to her, he reared back and swung the staff as hard as he could.

The woman ducked underneath, but was distracted enough that her magic dissolved. Peter lunged forward, ramming the metal staff against her collarbone and pressing her down right as a huge boulder slammed into his side.

Miraculously, he kept his grip on the staff as he skidded backwards, kneeling down on the ground to catch his breath right as another boulder sailed through the air. Peter swung the staff forward again, breaking the rock into dozens of tiny pieces that scattered along the ground. He did this again and again for the second and third boulders that Flint created and hurled towards him, his arms aching from the force it took to shatter each rock.

Max leapt forward as Peter destroyed the last rock, electricity flowing throughout the man's entire body. Peter leapt over the man and whirled the staff in his hand, slamming it into the Con's shoulder. Max snarled and whipped around, firing a high-voltage blast right at the boy.

Peter side-stepped the attack and swung out with the staff again, Max ducking underneath the blow and right into the path of Peter's knee, which collided with the man's nose with a satisfying crunch. Max howled in pain and reared back right as the Lizard leapt forward to take his place, catching the underside of Peter's legs, sending him sprawling onto the floor. The monster pressed one set of claws down on the teen's chest as he snapped his teeth, the talons sinking into the boy's skin, blood bubbling up from the wounds.

Peter gritted his teeth against the pain and brought the staff up right as the creature lunged again, the bar catching in the reptile's mouth, preventing him from closing his jaws around Peter's face. The teen grunted and felt sweat beading down his cheek as the creature pushed against the staff, saliva dripping down from its teeth onto Peter's clothes, mingling with the growing red stain on Peter's shirt from where the creature's claws continued to sink into his chest.

Suddenly, the teen felt a violent course of white-hot electricity shoot through his body. He let out an involuntary scream as he lost his grip on the staff, Lizard shaking it free and snapping his jaws around the boy's shoulder. Choking back another scream, Peter jammed his knee into the reptile's gut and pushed with all his might, heaving the beast off of him, his teeth scraping against the bones in Peter's shoulder, ripping the muscle.

Hastily rising back up to his feet, Peter pressed a hand to his now-bleeding wound and glared out at the Cons standing before him. They cracked their necks and rotated their shoulders, throwing each other pleased grins and amused chuckled.

They were just getting started.

Peter could feel blood dripping down his face from a cut above his eyebrow. His eyes flitted up towards the catwalk. His father was gone, but probably still in the lab somewhere. He wouldn't miss this.

The teen's eyes then trailed down towards the elevator a little ways away. There was no way he was winning this fight. The only chance he had was to make it to the elevator, pray he could get out of the house intact and...and...wait for them to cool off? Was that even likely at this point? They didn't really seem angry. Just amused, happy even at getting to fill out an order.

That's what this was. An order. A job.

For a moment, the teen thought of Mr. Stark, wondered what the man would say if he could see him now. Could he go to Stark Tower? Find safe refuge there? Peter had to admit, the idea was tempting. But just as quickly as it had entered his mind, he was shaking it out. No, there was no way he was going to Mr. Stark with this.

His eyes flitted over to the Cons, their eyes flickering in bright glowing light.

It wasn't like the man would be able to help anyways.

No. He just had to reach the elevator and get out of the house. He could think of something to do once he was safely away from them. It was a crappy plan, he could already tell. But it was the best he could come up with.

He'd have to at least try.

Narrowing his eyes, he slid his feet against the concrete and curled his fists. The Cons must have noticed his silent signal, for they charged forward again. He slid underneath the purple blast and flipped out of the way of the pillar of sand that shot forward, leaping over Max's outstretched fist and rocketing underneath the Lizard's tail. His feet pounded against the floor as he set his eyes on the elevator.

Something latched onto his ankle, dragging him to the floor and pulling him closer to Flint and the Lizard. The teen growled and glanced around his surroundings, noticing one of the nearby steel tables. He wrapped his fingers around the leg and held fast, his leg jarring at the sudden movement. Flint narrowed his eyes and made a motion with his arm, the sand pulling harder. His ankle strained painfully, the teen's eyes widening as he caught sight of both Sandra and the Lizard rushing him. He let go of the table, the force of the sand whipping him forward.

He rammed into Flint and punched him in the face, leaping to the side as the Lizard leapt at him, the reptile dog-piling his comrade instead.

Peter jumped back up to his feet, only to receive a blast to the stomach. He fell to the floor and groaned, pressing a hand to his gut right as Sandra launched herself into the air, the energy around her crackling like fire. Her eyes burned as she zoomed forward. He ducked underneath her, grabbing her arm as she flew past and throwing her down.

She grabbed his arm as he did so, hand burning with energy. The teen screamed as he felt it begin to burn through his clothes and into his skin, instantly stumbling back as the woman rose up to her feet. She landed back down on the ground and reached behind her, pulling out her signature knives, each about a foot in length. She twirled them around her fingers before running forward.

Peter ducked underneath one, the other slicing his cheek before he grabbed her arm and threw her over his shoulder. She was ready, however, landing on the ground carefully and twisting around, her legs wrapping around Peter's own. She rolled her body, her legs bringing the boy down as well. He grunted as he hit the floor, biting back a scream of pain as his shoulder landed awkwardly, twisting himself around the knife that now came for him once more.

It cut into his neck before he was able to block it, the sound of blood hitting the concrete meeting his ears before it was coming for him again. He choked down another cry of pain as he felt the knife stab into his thigh, Sandra ramming it through the muscle and twisting it in for good measure before he was able to swing his free leg forward, hitting the woman in the shoulder. She loosened her grip on the other knife, causing Peter to wrench it from her grip and elbow her in the nose. She reared back as a spurt of blood escaped, dripping down her face as she fell backwards. Peter quickly latched his hand around the hilt of the knife still embedded in his leg and yanked it out with a shout, tossing it away while keeping the other close to his chest.

The teen pushed himself back up, chest heaving and blood dripping from everywhere, his face, his leg, his shoulder, his chest. The warm, sticky substance greatly contrasted his pale complexion, like drops of blood in the snow. He could feel the energy draining away from him, the pain from his wounds slowly beginning to creep through him. His eyes trailed back over towards the elevator.

He had to get out and he had to do it now before he was too weak to escape.

He twisted the knife in his hands as the Lizard stalked closer, claws scraping the ground, tongue flicking in and out of his mouth. He let out a deafening roar before dashing forward, tail whipping. Peter ducked underneath the projectile and slashed at the monster's arm as he ran by, grunting as one of the creature's legs caught him in the side. He hit the floor and twisted around, barely missing the claws that racked the ground by his head, kicking up dirt and mounds of pebbles. The monster snapped its teeth at him, head darting in for another bite.

Peter tightened his hold on the knife and whipped his arm forward, the steel slicing across the Lizard's face, ripping through scales and skin. The beast roared in pain and stumbled backwards, Peter quickly skittering away from him as he heard the crackling of electricity in his ears once again.

Sucking in another painful breath, the teen gritted his teeth and gripped the knife in his hand tighter right as Max made eye contact with him. Peter narrowed his eyes as the man turned to fully face him. Well, as long as he was here...he might as well let out some well-placed aggression.

With a shout, the teen ran forward, Max coiling his muscles as the boy approached. The man shot his hand forward, sparks of electricity coursing through them. Peter, however, ducked underneath the blow and leapt away from the second one that followed, sliding under the man's feet before kicking his legs out from underneath him. Max went down in a heap, twisting around to face the teen who swiped the knife forward.

The steal sliced Max's outstretched arm, the man hissing in pain before glaring heatedly at the teen. He grabbed Peter's arm and tried to hurl him over his shoulder, only for Peter to hold tight, wrapping his legs around the man's midsection and twisting the knife around, jamming it right into Max's back, just below the shoulder blade. Max screamed in pain and stumbled backwards towards one of the back walls, ramming Peter into the hard concrete surface.

The teen grunted in pain and released his grip on the man, Max whipping around in fury. He curled his fist and punched Peter in the face, his head whipping to the side as the man grabbed a fistful of his hair and slammed his face into the wall again and again. Peter pressed his hands against the wall and pushed back, Max letting out a grunt as he strained to overpower the boy. Peter kicked his leg out backwards, catching the man in the shin.

Max stumbled backwards, allowing the teen to slip free from his grasp and sprint away.

He was close to the elevator now. Just a few more paces and he might just have a chance of getting out. However, a large wall of sand emerged in front of him, effectively blocking his path. He let out a small groan and turned back around. Flint glared at him as he curled his fist, the sand behind the boy surging forward.

Peter raised a hand, trying and failing to block the sand that blew past him, effectively blinding him. Soon enough, the entire lab was engulfed in the sand storm, which whipped and howled around him, leaving him practically deaf and blind.

The teen whipped around, heart hammering as he tried to locate the Cons. Blood was beginning to soak into his clothes, slogging him down as he blinked his eyes, clearing the wave of dizziness that overtook him for a second. He could feel the breath in his chest stuttering as he heaved and panted. His hair was matted to his forehead from blood and sweat mingling together.

The elevator was nowhere to be seen. He couldn't see anything! Before he could even begin to estimate where his escape route was, a fist shot through the sand, ramming into his cheek. He grunted and stumbled backwards, catching himself from falling just in time. He lifted his head again, only for a bright purple blast to fly through the sand as well, hitting him in the leg.

He fell to the floor, catching himself on his hands right as a tail soared through and whipped his back. He collapsed to the concrete with a shout of pain, coughing violently as his breath seized for one terrifying moment. He couched and hacked again, blood dribbling down from his nose and the corner of his mouth. He absentmindedly wiped it away with the back of his sleeve, shakily pushing himself back up right as the sandstorm began to die down.

However, before Peter could find the Cons again, a hand was grabbing onto his arm and painfully wrenching it behind his back. .

Peter heard the electricity before he felt it, the sharp mechanical crackling that made his hairs stand on end. At first it felt like ice-water being poured over him, freezing his muscles solid and holding his body in place. Then the heat came. Peter didn't even hear himself begin to scream over the sound of fire coursing through his brain, burning his nerves and lighting his muscles aflame. He could nearly feel his bones splintering, the smell of burning flesh vaguely hitting his nose as white-hot waves of excruciating agony pierced his skin and tore through his very being, stealing the air from his lungs and tearing him apart from the inside out.

He could feel his legs buckling underneath him, but the grip on his arms remained firm, holding him up while simultaneously releasing wave after wave of electricity into his body, which seized uncontrollably in deep painful spasms in the man's grip. He could feel his heart stuttering in his chest, thrumming with the deep hum of electricity crackling around it.

And just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. Peter gasped for breath as Max released his hold on him, pushing him forward. The teen couldn't even finish inhaling before Lizard was leaping forward, whipping his tail hard into the boy's side.

Peter's limp body went sailing through the air until he hit the concrete walls of the lab with a sickening crunch before he fell to the floor in a heap...and didn't get back up again.

A muffled silence followed, the noises around him deep and garbled, like he was underwater. He tried to move his body, coil his muscles, get back up again. He was defenseless like this. He had to get up, he had to get out. He had to move!

But his body wouldn't respond. Every twitch of his muscles sent blinding agony through his core, making large black and red spots dance before his eyes, which were glazed and hazy. Though whether it was from pain or exhaustion, Peter didn't know. He could literally feel the adrenaline beginning to leak from his body as if it were his blood, which was now starting to spread along the concrete floor, a deep black stain that stretched out from underneath his chest, growing in size with each passing moment. It was warm and sticky and quite uncomfortable.

He could feel the burning sting of his wounds rising to the surface as he tried to suck in a rattling breath. He could almost feel his chest caving in with each wheeze, his lungs burning as he tried and failed to calm his stuttering heartbeat. His head pounded, threatening to crack open right there from the pressure of each throb, matching in time to the frantic beating of his heart.

For a moment, Peter just laid there in the silence, cheek pressing into the cold concrete below. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on breathing, on dragging in as much air as he possibly could, making use of the small respite he'd been granted. They were coming. He could hear their footsteps, feel the vibrations in the stone below him.

He breathed, opening his eyes and catching sight of his hand. It was in the pool of his own blood, flecks of red splattered against the white of his skin, pale blue veins visible on the bruised forearm. He blinked and flexed his fingers, watching them disrupt the steady flow of blood and sending small ripples through the pool. It was warm, sticky.

He breathed.

Suddenly, he felt two beefy hands wrap around his arms and hoist him into the air. His shoulder cracked and squelched and he could feel his ribs grinding together. He gritted his teeth as a wail of anguish tried to bubble from his throat. Instead, all that came out was a harsh cough that made his chest rattle and blood dribble from the corner of his mouth.

Max and Flint were none too gentle as they held him up, his own legs too weak to support him. His chin hit his chest, dirty dripping strands of hair falling into his face, grime rolling down his forehead. He could hear more footsteps through the ringing in his ears and blearily lifted his eyes enough to make out the well-polished shoes approaching, coming to a stop in front of him. He shut his eyes again.

"I-if...you didn't want me...t-to be around him, then why did you...agree to the...the internship in the first place?"

Richard narrowed his eyes and stared at the boy in disgust. "Because we need to use you. Maybe not now, but eventually. We finally have an eye on the inside. And when we need you to cut the wires, when we need you to swipe the codes and steal the secrets, you'll be obedient. But this-" He thrusted the newspaper into his face. "...this better not get to your head." He tossed the paper down where it landed in the puddle of blood. The red quickly soaked through the pages, coating the print in black.

"He doesn't care about you."

Peter clenched his fists together. God, he was so tired. "You're lying!" He snapped with what little strength he could muster. "You don't know him."

Immediately, he felt Max drive a fist into his stomach, the teen gasping in pain before coughing up another bout of blood. His ribs shifted again. He breathed.

Richard sneered at him. "What? And you do? Look at you, Peter. He's already getting to you." The man folded his arms behind his back and began to pace back and forth. "You know the rules, Peter. Do you need me to repeat them? Don't you ever forget where you belong." He grabbed a fistful of Peter's hair and wrenched his head up, neck snapping painfully as blearily eyes took in the sight of his father, the man's eyes gleaming maliciously as he growled. "You belong to me, you little rat. And that will never change, no matter what men like Tony Stark say." He spat out the name like it was poison on his tongue before letting a contemptuous sneer fall onto his face. "He can't help you. He can't even help himself."

He roughly let go of the boy's hair, Peter's head falling limp once more. Richard turned away and began to walk off, only to pause as a small, pathetic little whisper of a voice met his ears.

"Why...do you do this? W-why are you so horrible?"

The man glanced over his shoulder before turning. "You think I'm horrible, Peter." His voice was calm, eerily so. "I'll tell you who's horrible. Those people." He pointed out towards the elevator. "Those people out there in the real world. They're horrible. They watch and they wait for you to fail and they pounce on you when you do. They're horrible, Peter. Not me. Not when I'm willing to prepare you for what you're going to face out there, training you for what you'll inevitably have to do."

He narrowed his eyes and glowered at the teen, words sharp and deadly. "So don't you stand there and pretend that I don't care." He scoffed and gestured around him at the Station. "I care enough to train you, feed you, shelter you. I care enough to do this! To teach you the lessons you'll need to learn in order to survive. That to get ahead, you have to make the tough choices, that there will always be people around you who will try to break you, grind you to dust."

Peter could feel his body shaking. "So what? I'm just...s-supposed to break them first?"

"Something like that, yes."

Richard stared at the boy before letting out a long and tired sigh. He made some sort of gesture with his hand and suddenly Max was letting go of his arm, meaning the only thing keeping him upright was Flint's grip on his other arm. However, Richard walked forward and roughly grabbed onto his free wrist, staring the boy down.

"Fun fact, did you know that when a bone breaks..."

His stomach churned. "...once it mends, it mends much stronger than before..."

Richard tightened his hold on the teen's arm.

"...so that it's that much harder to break."

He pulled his hand down, the bone bending along with them before finally snapping altogether. Peter strangled back a cry of pain, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as his father released his hold on him. Flint did the same and he was suddenly falling to his knees, cradling his now-broken arm, eyes hazy and unfocused as he stared down at the blood soaking into his pants from the puddle below.

He breathed. His father continued.

"That, my dear boy, is human evolution trying to tell us something."

The man crouched down, resting his arms on his knees as he stared at the boy. He reached out and carded a hand through Peter's matted hair, painfully tugging through the curls with his large fingers. "I know this must not make sense now. But it will in the future. Every order I make you follow, every rule I have you stick to. It's all for your betterment. To help you learn. Learn the lessons you would have learned later on in life in a more painful manner. Lessons that would have grinded you to nothing had you learned them in the future."

He moved his hand down and wiped Peter's tears away with his thumb, leaving a streak of blood on the boy's cheek. "I will break you, Peter, before the world has a chance to break you first. And from those little pieces, I will create something better, stronger." He let a smile fall onto his face. "See? I do have a reason for all of this. I do care. And do you know why I care?

"Because you're my son...and I love you."

More tears streamed down Peter's face. They were not of joy.

Richard stood back up and wiped his hands together. "Now...what do you say?"

Peter stared down at his knees, vice grip on his wrist bruising the skin pink. Drops of water dripped into the puddle below. He didn't look up.

"...thank you."

The man seemed satisfied at that, glancing up at the Cons standing around the teen. "Make sure he never forgets it," he muttered before walking towards the elevator and disappearing from sight.

Peter didn't remember much after that.

 


 

His eyes were open. At least he thought they were. It wasn't dark, but he didn't know where he was. Was he supposed to? It was blurry. Were his eyes okay? Were they still open? He blinked.

His feet were moving but his legs weren't. The ground was moving. It was gray and dirty and hadn't been cleaned in a while. His feet were still moving. How were his feet moving if his legs weren't. He tilted his head down slightly. He could see his toes scraping along the ground as they dragged behind him, trails of blood following in his wake.

Dragged. He was being dragged. Why?

He blinked again and tried to lift his head, finding it to be quite heavy. So he lifted his eyes instead, catching sight of two large men on either side of him. They were holding his arms, dragging him forward. They weren't saying anything. Was he saying something? He listened for the sound of his voice but was only greeted with the sound of scraping. What was that? He glanced down.

Oh yeah, his feet.

The hallway was long and barely lit. Peter could hardly see two feet in front of his face but as his mind cleared and the fog around his thoughts slowly dissipated, the teen quickly realized where he was going. Despite the sinking pit of dread that hung heavy in his stomach, he didn't fight Max or Flint, didn't struggle in their hold.

What was the point?

He tried to block out the waves of pain that thrummed through his body with each step the men took, roughly hefting his body in between the two of them. His clothes were soaked by now, hanging off of him in tatters, revealing pale flesh and deep red wounds. He could taste blood in his mouth, dripping between his lips and down his nose.

He breathed. It was hard.

Eventually, the two men stopped, dropping Peter to the ground. He landed with a thud. His body screamed, he didn't. He didn't move.

His eyes blearily creaked open, the hallway around him hazy and unfocused. He could see the walls though, after a deep moment of concentration, he could see them, see their details. The perfectly drawn sketches, dioramas and models of hundred upon hundreds of butterflies. Boxes sat against the floors, holding old taxidermy kits, housing units and terrariums.

His father wasn't usually one for sentiment. But with his old life's work, he couldn't seem to get rid of them. So down here they went, and down here they would stay, along with everything else in his life he'd shunted to the side for bigger and brighter things.

Down here, Peter would stay.

Max approached the door before them and gripped the large metal locks fastened to the sides. Unbolting them, he heaved the massive door open, the large black maw of inky darkness spilling out before them.

Flint stooped down and grabbed Peter by the back of his shirt collar while Max held the door open. He breathed. He didn't fight.

As soon as they were inside, Max moved over towards the side of the door and flipped a few switches. Instantly the room was bathed in bright fluorescent lights that made the men squint their eyes.

The room was fairly spacious considering its purpose, about the size of a full walk-in closet. But there were no clothes draped on hangers. There were no shoes lining the floors or belts swinging on hooks. There was nothing but the walls, four steel masses pressing against each other, matching the cold steel floor underneath. But it wasn't what the room housed that was its main star. It's what it created

And as soon as he was tossed in, the door closed and the lights shut off, Peter was left alone with the Dark Room's creation: complete and total emptiness.

There was no noise. There was no light. There was nothing but the feel of the floor underneath him and the slowly growing pool of blood adding a sliver of warmth to his shivering form. Peter felt his eyes twitching, couldn't tell if they were open or closed. He felt his lungs rattling against his chest as he breathed, the only sound his ears could hear, the only hint of life in the otherwise desolate cage.

And that's what it was, really. Not a sensory deprivation tank, or a holding cell, or anything else he could have imagined laying there on the blood-stained floor. The Dark Room was none of that.

It was a classroom. A place to learn his lessons.

Peter dropped his head once more, chin resting on his chest which expanded painfully, ribs grinding against each other with each inhale. His shoulder ached with the full weight of his body pressing down on it, but he didn't make a move to relieve himself of the pain. He felt something streaming down his cheek. He didn't have the energy to wipe the tears away, but the sound of them splashing down onto the cold steel was a small reprieve from the looming silence around him, an oppressive ringing in his ears.

It was hard to imagine that just a few hours ago he'd been enjoying himself in the company of Mr. Stark. He wondered what the man would think of him now.

He closed his eyes. Outside, he could hear the butterflies. Hear them come to life off of the pages, breaking through the glass cases, crawling along the walls outside. But they couldn't get out. There was no sky to fly free to, no garden ready and waiting to accept them. They were trapped in those looming walls, confined to those shadows forever, flying endlessly in a stone prison.

He breathed. He didn't want to...but he breathed.

Chapter 19: The Butterfly Effect

Summary:

"Peter...tell me what they did to you."

He breathed, soft and fast. He could hear his heart hammering against the walls of his ribs, painfully loud in his ringing ears.

"I..." His throat was thick, the words sticking to the walls.

Tony didn't back down. This was it. This was the moment they'd been building to for the past two months. They couldn't wait any longer. He couldn't wait any longer. He had to lay it all down on the table now. There was no going back.

Chapter Text

Date Unknown

Parker Residence - The Dark Room

Time Unknown

It was the silence that really got to him.

After the first few hours, the muscles in his arms would go numb and he'd lose feeling in his knees as well as the cold became too much to bear. The darkness made his eyes sore, he could feel them burning in his skull from the sheer strain to see anything in the shadows, make out any details, an outline, a shape, something. But they would see nothing, nothing but darkness both when his eyes were open and when they were closed. There was no difference. But even that paled in comparison to the silence.

Ever since he'd acquired his powers, Peter had gotten used to the steady hum of noise that accompanied him wherever he was. Even in the quietest of classrooms he could hear the scratching pencil of the boy on the other side of the room, the breaths of the girl across from him and the heartbeats of the teens behind him. In his room, he could make out each honk of a car horn from a block away, the footsteps of people walking in the lab. Everywhere he went, there was noise. And despite the fact that, at times, it was grating both on his ears and on his nerves, he had to admit there was a sense of comfort in the constant murmur of voices, the hushed whisper of activity, letting him know that there were others around, people living and breathing right alongside him.

It was silent in the Dark Room. Utterly and horrifyingly silent.

It weighed heavy in the air, thick and suffocating in the freezing atmosphere. It dripped onto his skin like a poison, seeping into his bones and curing around his lungs, a toxic nothingness. It was a void, cruel and looming and bleak, sucking in everything and anything and leaving nothing in its wake. He could see it oozing from the walls, dripping down in thick black drops that spread along the ground and pooled underneath him, staining his clothes and stretching all around him. He didn't have to see it to know it was there. He could feel it.

He wondered how long it had been since they'd left him there. A few hours. A few days. He didn't know. There was no way to tell time. There was no way to tell anything.

His brain was thick and foggy, pulsing with the steady thrumming of pain that pounded against his skull and threatened to shatter it. Colorful spots had long since danced before his eyes and the uneasy waves of nausea had led to him vomiting long ago. He could still smell it on the floors, bitter and sour. The clicking of his eyelids with each blink was a small respite from the quiet, but they did little to clear his thoughts. Everything was jumbled, disorganized. At times, he forgot where he was and had to try hard to figure it out.

His stomach had long since stopped hurting and he couldn't even feel his throat anymore to tell how dry it was. He supposed he was lucky in that sense.

His body shuddered, an involuntary response that went off every so often. He closed his eyes, lids heavy and thick. His stomach rolled. He opened them back up.

There were moments, as he lay on the cold floor, blood long since caked, as he closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of his breathing, Peter imagined he was floating. His body would slowly rise from the ground, a weightless nothingness that left him breathless and still. He could feel the wind around him, licking against his skin in a new comforting lull. His thoughts drifted out. His heartbeat became a muted drum in his ears and the silence wrapped around him, a cocoon building up in thick layers, leaving him safe and warm inside.

But then a chill would shoot down his spine or another bout of nausea would send him retching up nothing but bile and he'd be back on the ground, back in the darkness. And it was during one of these times, one of these violent descents back to Earth that Peter first heard it.

It was quiet and delicate, like someone rubbing the tips of their fingers together.

Wings, fluttering wings.

Had he imagined it? No, it was definitely a sound, that much he knew. He'd been craving one ever since he'd arrived. His half-lidded eyes flitted around the room, but even that was exhausting. There was nothing. No detail or blob of amorphous shadow that stood out against the black.

He closed his eyes. Another shiver. He opened them back up.

Silence.

 


 

The fluorescent lights overhead came on with a sharp buzz, shrouding the room in fiery white light that made Peter shut his eyes against the blinding wave of burning pain. The loud creaking of the door opening slashed through the silence in loud shrieks of metal against metal. His ears rang. His head continued to hang.

He felt hands loop around his arms before he was being hoisted up and dragged out of the room. He let out a small groan and cracked open his eyes, watching the ground as it slowly slid past him. They didn't move very far before stopping, a hand coming to rest on the back of his head and grabbing a fistful of his hair, wrenching his neck up as his eyes took in the sight of his father.

They were still in the hallway leading to the Dark Room, the walls dark and gray with a few swinging lights overhead casting deep long shadows on the butterflies. His father gazed down at him, a calm gleam in his eyes as he took in the sight of the dirty and delirious boy before him. His mouth moved and it took Peter a moment to realize the man was talking. It was garbled and muffled in his ears. He simply blinked at the man, face empty.

However, the sound of fingers snapping in front of his face had him finally jerking back into reality. "Guess it worked a little too well." He heard someone say behind him. A murmur of laughter. Richard silenced them with a look before turning back to the boy. "Well, Peter? Have you had enough time to yourself to think?"

He blinked.

Richard didn't seem to mind the silence. "Very well. In any case, I'd like to make myself clear. Your position is one of great importance, as I'm sure you know by now. Tony Stark is a wild card that we'd very much like to keep tabs on, which is exactly what you're going to keep doing. Whatever you have to to get that man to trust you."

He leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "But just remember one thing, Peter. That man doesn't care about you. Not. One. Bit. So don't let him fool you into a false sense of security."

He knew he should have felt something at that. He wondered if he should be concerned over the fact that he didn't.

He blinked, let his eyes wander over the butterfly sketches. They were the only source of color in the otherwise dismal hallway.

The man seemed satisfied at his silence, straightening back up as he smoothed the wrinkles on his suit. "Take him upstairs and patch up what you need to. You're going to school tomorrow so you better sleep while you can." He turned away, only to pause as he seemed to remember something, glancing back over his shoulder with a glint in his eyes as he reached into his suit. "Oh, and one more thing."

He tossed a newspaper down onto the ground where it skidded along the concrete until coming to a stop at Peter's feet. "Thought you might like to know."

 

TONY STARK'S MYSTERY KID REVEALED!

Stark Industries VS Parkstem Labs?

 

He blinked. The butterflies said nothing.


 

Monday - April 25, 2016

Parker Residence - Third Floor

04:22 a.m.

Peter opened his eyes to darkness and immediately thought he was back in the Dark Room. However, the dreaded feeling in his stomach didn't last long as he realized he wasn't on his knees but on his back, his eyes staring up at the ceiling of his room. He blinked a few times to make sure he wasn't hallucinating, as he was prone to do whenever he spent time in the Dark Room before slowly trying to sit up from the coarse carpet floor.

Instantly a fiery pain shot through his entire body, making him bite down hard on his lower lip to keep from screaming out. He settled back down onto the floor and greedily sucked in a breath, ignoring the screaming of his chest as he did so. Now that he was slightly more aware of where he was and what was happening, he wished he wasn't.

His entire body was on fire. His shoulder and thigh throbbed with each beat of his heart, matching the pounding of his brain that thrummed just below his eyes. Every breath he took rattled his no-doubtedly cracked ribs and just the thought of trying to move nearly made him vomit once more. He doubted anything would come up though. He glanced over towards his bedside table and made a note of the time on the clock, as well as the date blinking in the corner of the device.

Monday.

Two days. He'd been in the Dark Room for two days. He hadn't eaten or drank anything for two full days. His eyes fluttered over towards the door, where a small plate of bread and applesauce sat. The sight made him nauseous despite the fact that he hadn't eaten in so long. They must have forcefully poured some water down his throat as he slept, for he wasn't thirsty either.

For a little while, Peter just laid there on the floor of his room, listening to the sound of his own breathing and tracing the imperfections of his ceiling with his eyes, making note of each crack and bump of texture. An air of tension hung around him, heavy and thick. Each breath he took was a privilege, a prize he'd won, that much was certain. That much he'd realized in the Dark Room.

He didn't think too much of the Dark Room. He didn't allow himself to.

He turned his head and stared down at his arm, the majority of which was bandaged. However, the bandages stopped at his palm, leaving his fingers exposed. They were dark, stained brown. Trails of electrical burns traced their way through the skin, disappearing underneath the bandages, an intricate dance of thick lines and thin etches of slightly raised, reddish skin.

He knew he should feel something. Some sense of horror, or disgust at what had just happened, at what he'd just been through. He should be terrified, panicked, crying rivers. But all he did was stare at his fingers, gaze at the dried skin, the flecks of blood caked onto the surface, soaking into the fingerprints in detailed little grooves of soft rounded spirals.

Peter turned his head again, glancing over at the clock on his table once more, reading the flashing numbers. School was only a few hours away.

He hadn't done his homework.

Finally, the boy let out a sigh and slowly began to shift his muscles. He fought against the shriek of his body and managed to push himself into a sitting position with his back resting against the side of his bed. It was at this time that Peter realized he was shirtless, his chest and shoulder swathed in bandages just like his arm. Granted, they were haphazard and obviously done with the barest of care, but they were enough to allow the wounds to heal if only a little bit. Luckily for him, he'd been fairly well-fed before everything had gone down, meaning his healing factor had just enough juice to keep him from bleeding out in the Dark Room, but had little energy for much else, meaning his wounds would be far from fully healed for quite some time.

His mind slowly and hazily began to drift over his father's words, eyes still trailing the newspaper that seemed to hang before his eyes.

They knew. Everyone knew who he was.

Peter Parker, son of white knight Richard Parker and heir to Parkstem Labs was hanging around the figurehead of his father's top competitor.

Phase 3. God, they were gonna have a field day with this.

Over the years, his father had kept him sparse in the eyes of the media. People knew who he was, but it wasn't being blasted on every bulliten and newspaper. At least...not usuallyUsually, Peter was barely ever mentioned. His father liked to keep most of the attention on himself, which Peter was immensely grateful for. The most the media would ever see of him was at charity balls and galas that his father would drag him to. It boosted his image having his happy, smiling son underneath his arm for most pictures.

Lucky for Peter, this meant it would be a lot harder for the media to find any information on him. Where he lived was a given but aside from that, his school and personal files were the main things that were commonly kept under lock and key by his father. He had a few days, at the most, before they found out, however. They always found out eventually.

Peter wondered if Mr. Stark was already starting to get flack for this.

Mr. Stark.

Immediately, the numbness he'd begun to start feeling warmed and ebbed away as he thought of the man. In that moment, in that one instant, Peter wanted nothing more than to find the man and talk to him. He didn't know what he'd talk about. He didn't know if he'd talk about anything. Right now he just wanted to see him, hear his voice, feel his hand on his shoulder or ruffling his hair.

He wanted it so bad it made his heart hurt.

But he knew he couldn't. He couldn't see the man right now, not like this. Because he just knew if he saw Mr. Stark, he'd completely lose it. He'd lose it right in front of him and he'd sworn to himself that he wouldn't break down in front of the man again, not like when they'd first met in the lab. He wouldn't do it. He couldn't. Cause if he did, he doubted he'd be able to put the pieces back together again. And that meant his father would do it for him.

He shuddered.

No, he couldn't be around him right now. Not after everything his father had said to him, everything he'd revealed. He was just a tool, a pawn to use against Mr. Stark. A weapon to use on him when the time was right, to hurt him.

He squeezed his eyes shut and took in a shuddering breath. He couldn't hurt Mr. Stark. But he couldn't disobey his father. The thoughts swarm around each other, battling for dominance in his brain before he banished both and quickly felt himself growing cold once again. He couldn't do this right now. He had to clean himself up.

So, after a few minutes of gritting his teeth and dragging up alongside the bed, Peter was standing. As soon as he tried putting weight on his injured leg, it buckled underneath him and he nearly fell back to the floor, thankfully catching himself on the railing of his bed. He squeezed his eyes shut and found his footing again. It took another couple of minutes for him to finally shuffle his way into the bathroom.

The bathroom door began to swing closed behind him, only for him to shoot a hand out and grip the sides, nearly splintering the wood at how tightly he was holding on. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest at the thought of being confined in another small room. He took a breath and gently pushed the door back open, eyes trailing it until he determined that it wouldn't close again.

He quickly made work of undoing the bandages, taking out the medical scissors from the drawer and gently cutting through the thick gauze. He carefully removed his pants, grunting as he brushed up against the wound on his thigh before gingerly sitting on the edge of the tub. He grabbed a few towers from the rack nearby and started the water.

He reached one of the towels in underneath the spray, allowing it to grow completely soaked before pulling it out and wringing it, leaving it damp but not dripping. He then began to slowly run the wet cloth over his skin, cleaning away the dirt and grime from his face, his hands, his neck. He winced as he felt the fabric rub overtop the cut on his neck but continued.

After cleaning the parts of his body that didn't contain any open wounds (which weren't many) with soap and water, the teen turned to the task of cleaning out the wounds themselves. He rested a new damp cloth on his shoulder, gritting his teeth as he began to apply pressure before moving on to his chest and his leg, which were the three worst areas.

He then leaned back over towards the towel rack and pulled out a small rectangular box. Opening it up, it revealed two sets of tweezers and a small bottle of medical-grade alcohol. It only took a little while for him to sterilize the tweezers and set to work picking out the little bits of debris and dirt lodged in the wounds. In his shoulder, he even found a small triangular tooth about the size of a quarter.

Awesome.

He threw it in the trash with a grimace.

Setting the towels and tweezers aside, Peter gingerly rose back up to his feet, now wearing only his boxers as he moved back over towards the drawers as he pulled out a needle and some medical-grade thread. As he did so, his eyes drifted up towards the mirror. He paused in his movements and slowly straightened back up.

He was barely even recognizable anymore.

His skin had no color. Not even his eyes, which usually held bright big purple bags underneath held no semblance of hue other than the ashy gray of the rest of his skin. His nose, cheeks, forehead. All held the same pale shade. It was like looking at a corpse. In fact, the only color anywhere was around the wounds.

His chest was black and blue, deeply contrasting the white of his skin with the bright red of the claw marks. His shoulder held the same crimson hue, a large gash shaped like a semi-circle looping overtop the skin, large circular indents following the trail from each tooth that had sunken into the flesh. His thigh throbbed painfully, the long stab wound from the knife was only about two and a half inches long, but the skin was flayed and risen, purple and red mingling together.

Finally, along the rest of the skin, the same electrical burns and fractal scarring he'd seen on his fingertips trailed up his arms, just as he'd predicted, centering mainly on his wrists and wrapping around his arms, and snaking up his spine, like lightning bolts or the limbs of a hundred-year-old oak tree, spindly and stretching all across his skin, bright and puffy and red.

He stared at the sight for a while, lips parted ever so slightly as he breathed deeply, ignoring the sharp twinges in his chest with each inhale, face barren and eyes sunken.

It wasn't until he felt something wet sliding down his cheeks that he finally realized he was crying.

 


 

Monday - April 25, 2016

Stark Tower - Main Offices

07:01 a.m.

"We're finishing up another round of preliminary discussions regarding the Accords here in Washington, which should be done by tonight at the latest and - are you listening to me, Stark?"

"Not really, no."

Ross let out a long, audible sigh, his projection bringing his hand up to rub the bridge of his nose as Tony smirked at the look of restrained annoyance on the Senator's face. He currently sat at his desk, glass in hand and feet propped up on the mahogany surface as he stared at the frustrated hologram before him. He had to admit, these mandatory on-call sessions were much more enjoyable with a glass of scotch and a perturbed Senator.

On the desk sat a newspaper Pepper had dropped by earlier in the morning. He tried not to look at it.

The man continued nevertheless, voice notably more strained than before. "We should be finished by tonight and ready to continue our meeting there in person by tomorrow night."

"Can't wait. Gotta say, a hologram just doesn't compare to the real thing," Tony said with a smile, holding the glass out to Ross. The man didn't seem very amused as he narrowed his eyes and folded his arms. "This is serious, Stark. And I'll expect you to take it as such. These are matters of national security we're talking about. And you can be sure the matter of the Rogue Avengers will be a heavily discussed topic."

Tony hummed and took another sip from the glass. "No. Not happening. What will be happening is me talking about the Accords with the rest of your sane coworkers. So you can twiddle your thumbs in the corner while the grown-ups talk if you want. I'm sure I can have a chair set up for you if you'd like."

This time it was Ross' turn to smirk. "'Grown-up?' Is that what you believe yourself to be?"

Tony shrugged. "If not then New York is gonna have to lower its drinking age."

"Make all the jokes you want, Stark. But it doesn't change the fact that these are life-threatening circumstances we have on the tables here. Those team-" He took a breath and corrected himself at the deadly look Tony shot his way. "...EX-teammates of yours are nothing but trouble. Wreaking havoc and stirring up the local nut-jobs, like that Spider-Man character."

Tony expertly hid the way his fingers curled by taking another swig of the glass. "What do you have against nut-jobs? Been looking in the mirror too often?" His face quickly grew more serious as he thrummed his fingers against the arm rest of the chair. Ross took notice of this. "Besides, Spider-man follows all the guidelines of a probationary hero."

"He hasn't sighed the Accords."

"The Accords aren't official yet. And they only apply to permanent international-level heroes."

"He hasn't revealed his identity."

God, screw this man. "Nor does he have to." Tony was getting increasingly annoyed by this point.

Ross stared long and hard at the man before fiddling with the cuffs of his suit. "You seem awfully concerned with this Spider-Man? Getting lonely up there in that Tower of yours, Stark?"

Tony stared him down hard. Their eyes met and even through the hologram, the thick air of tension was near palpable as neither was willing to back down. He gripped the glass tightly, face serious. "Just like to have all my chips in a row."

Ross continued to stare at him before blinking. "In there lies our similarities. We'll see you tomorrow, Stark. It'll be much harder for you to avoid me when I'm right there in the room with you."

The man huffed. "Wanna bet? FRIDAY, end call."

With that, the projection instantly shut down. Tony let out a long sigh and twisted his chair around, turning to stare out the glass walls of his office and down at the city below as he often found himself doing nowadays.

It was much easier to watch the city from so high up, where everything looked so small and meaningless as the people below all went about their days, oblivious to the troubles of those around them. As he watched the people milling around going through their early-morning routines, grabbing coffee from the local shops, making the commute to work, jogging along the sidewalks, Tony couldn't help but think back to the only common New-Yorker that ever took up any space in his mind.

Peter hadn't come in on Friday.

He'd texted Happy late on Thursday that he was sick and that he'd be staying home from school and skipping his Tower visit that day. Happy had then gone on to relay this information to Tony, grumbling about how he was now the messenger to an annoying Spider-Child, but Tony had waved him off with a smirk and a pat on the head. Happy did not appreciate the gesture.

Upon getting the information, Tony had been a little confused considering Peter hadn't shown any symptoms of sickness when he'd seen him earlier that night. Immediately, the man had gotten an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he quickly chalked it up to silly paranoia. Even superheros got sick sometimes. Maybe the kid was just pushing himself a little too hard nowadays.

He glanced over at the newspaper on the desk, glaring daggers at the limp pieces of paper. According to Pepper, the story had broken late last from a small local news station and had quickly blown up from there. He was sure that if he turned on the news right now, it wouldn't be five minutes until he heard something mentioning it. He hadn't looked at any of the stories. He didn't want to see the angle they were taking it. Most likely, the media would split it down the middle, some focusing on Richard and questioning how he could allow his son to associate with his rival competitor, wondering if he was using Peter to spy on Tony, while others would lean more towards him, questioning why he was focusing on his competitor's kid, wondering if he was using Peter to spy on his dad.

One main thing held little doubt in his head: they all would think Peter was being used one way or the other. A pawn in a nonexistent game. Tony would have to try extra hard to convince the boy he wasn't should he be having any doubts. No doubt the kid would be stressed about this, as any sane person would be. The media storm was just beginning. It was already spreading. Soon enough, it'd be everywhere.

Tony was sure Richard had already heard about it, meaning Peter most likely had as well. In the upcoming days, it was going to be very hard for all three of them, not that Tony really cared how hard it was for Richard. Nevertheless, Peter wouldn't even be able to escape it at school with all his friends and classmates hounding him over it.

The billionaire let out a sigh and rubbed his forehead. Phase 3, soon to be Phase 4. It was going to be rough, but hopefully it wouldn't last long. With everything that was currently happening withe the Accords, the Rogues, even those random tech robberies happening around the city that Tony was secretly keeping tabs on, the press had its choice of juicy topics to cover. Hopefully, this little romp wouldn't last more than a week or two.

But it was sure to be a tough week. He could already feel it.

Nevertheless, the man knew they were going to be okay, Peter was going to be okay. They'd prepared him for this. Still, it was going to be stressful so it wouldn't hurt for Tony to talk to him about it when he saw him today, a smile falling onto his face at the thought.

He found himself doing this more often, small smiles growing on his face when he thought of the teenager. It was hard not to feel just a little happier around the boy, despite his less than stellar situation. Maybe it was the fact that Tony was constantly surrounded by snooty, stuck-up assholes who either hated his guts and let him know it or hated his guts and covered it up by kissing ass all the time. Maybe it was the fact that he was starting to get tired of Pepper and Rhodey's constant lectures. Or maybe it was the fact that Ross' earlier statement held some sparks of truth.

Whatever it was, Tony honestly found himself enjoying being in Peter's company.

Nowadays, the teen always seemed to be ready with a smile and a gleam in his eyes. Despite the fact that he was still shy and soft-spoken, Tony always seemed to be laughing around the boy, Peter doing the same around him. It was...strange, to say the least. Then again, Peter was a strange boy. Not that there was anything wrong with that.

Once again, the small twinge of guilt bubbled in his chest ever so slightly at the idea that he was getting more out of this than Peter himself, but he quickly pushed it back down. Peter was obviously doing better. He was happier, at least he seemed to be. He was stuttering less and growing more used to small bits of physical contact (granted, Tony was always the one who initiated it.)

Tony glanced down at the drink in his hands, swishing it around and watching the amber liquid gently splashing up against the sides. His talk with Ross had left him feeling just a little more frazzled, which was saying something considering frazzled seemed to be the one perpetual state he was constantly in nowadays. He could use a little bit of relaxation.

The guilt bubbled back up. He ignored it.

 


 

Monday - April 25, 2016

Midtown School of Science and Technology - Building 3

07:34 a.m.

The halls were empty when Peter finally made it to school.

Getting out of the house had been a challenge. The front stoops had been swarming with reporters, all eager to catch a glimpse of any of the house's occupants to hound them with questions and beg for comments. Peter knew the Cons would be annoyed, but his father wouldn't mind. He loved the media because they simply adored him. He could do no wrong in their eyes.

No doubt he'd go down after breakfast and answer any and all of their questions with a pearly smile and a warm chuckle.

Peter, on the other hand, didn't feel like interacting with harpies. He didn't feel like interacting with anybody at the moment, but knew he didn't have much choice. So he simply crawled out the window, which was no easy feat considering the majority of his limbs had numerous freshly inserted stitches and he was currently running on virtually nothing in the tank.

Nevertheless, he'd made it to the subway in one piece, receiving a text from his father as he did so.

I don't wanna receive any calls from the school, today.

I don't care what you tell them. Just make sure they believe it or there will be consequences.

Peter had then turned off the phone, slipped it into his pocket and tried not to hurl.

He'd ignored the pointed stares of people in the car and pretended not to notice people snapping pictures of him. He'd hidden the bandages on his arms with a long sleeved shirt and baggy jacket with the hood currently up over his head to mask his face. With each passing minute and pointed stare, his hatred for the media continued to grow.

They just had to make things extra difficult, didn't they?

Case in point, making it to school had been no easy task. Every step he took sent fire down his legs, which had buckled more than once on his journey there. Luckily each time he managed to catch himself on nearby objects. Now he just stayed by the walls just in case they wobbled again. His shoulder was throbbing again and his chest felt like it was going to explode. Not to mention the fact that a steady thrumming fear pulsed through him that somebody would accidentally brush up against his shoulder or jostle his broken arm.

Luckily the hallway was empty, so his fear couldn't be recognized right that minute nor could any students hound him with questions as he was sure they would have had he gotten to school in time for the early morning crowds that roamed the halls before first period.

Because of this, he limped to his classroom door in silence. He was currently over ten minutes late to class, but he couldn't really bring himself to care. Everything was foggy and there as a constant steady ringing in his ears that made him grit his teeth and narrow his eyes to try and tone down the level of stimuli around him. He was only running on a few hours of sleep, a cup of water and a few bites of the bread he'd managed to keep down. He shouldn't have been surprised at the way the walls around him continued to spin.

At a shambling pace, he finally made it to the door. First period: AP Biology with Mr. Harrington.

He lifted his unbroken arm and gave a soft knock on the door. He could hear the teacher's voice through the wood before it even opened.

"Ah, Mr. Parker. So glad for you to join us tod-" The teacher's words died down in his throat as he opened the door and took in the sight of Peter Parker before him. His hood was still up so from where the rest of the students were sitting, they couldn't really get a good look at him. But that didn't stop the murmur of excited whispers that began to rise up now that the source of all the media buzz was finally there to answer all their questions.

But from where he was standing, Mr. Harrington got a perfect look at the teen, more specifically his face.

Peter had done well to mask the bruises, a skill he'd picked up over the years. But there as little he could do about the skin itself, which was a deathly white, plastered over his nose, cheeks, everywhere. There was not one speck of color throughout the skin or his eyes, his usually bright brown irises covered in a pale glossy film, contrasted by the bloodshot lines. There as only one bandage on his face, surprisingly, a horizontal patch that crossed over the bridge of his broken nose. The rest of the scratches around his face were too small for bandages, but they did add a nice splash of crimson to his otherwise dead cheeks and chin.

The teacher stared at him for a moment, mouth opening and closing as he tried and failed to find something to say.

Peter beat him to it, however, as he gingerly brushed past the man. "Sorry I'm late, Mr. Harrington." His voice was tiny and hoarse after two days of disuse.

Mr. Harrington watched as Peter wordlessly walked over towards his desk, straining not to limp and feeling slightly proud at how well he was able to hide it. He pointedly ignore the stares of Ned and MJ from their seats next to him as well as those from the rest of his classmates. A few students tried to ask him questions, mainly on whether or not the stories were true.

He didn't say anything.

Flash glared over at the teen from his seat, scoffing under his breath as he folded his arms over his chest. "What's the matter, Parker? Too good to answer a few questions, huh?" Michelle whirled on him, eyes gleaming. "Flash, do us all a favor and shut your mouth," she hissed, effectively making the teen as well as everybody else quickly back off. Michelle just had a way with that.

"Michelle..." Mr. Harrington called in a half-heated disapproving voice, but his eyes still remained on the student, who was now staring at the board like everything was completely normal. The man swallowed and hesitantly walked back over to the front of the room. It took him a moment to find his voice before he shakily continued the lesson, unsure and incredibly uncomfortable. After a few minutes, he was back into the lecture.

But the class was nothing but whispers now.

Peter pretended not to hear. He was getting good at pretending.

 


 

His phone must have buzzed in his pocket over twenty times in the span of the class period. He knew they were from Ned if the way the boy continued to stare at his phone and then pointedly at Peter was any indication. MJ merely doodled for the majority of the class, but Peter could see her sneaking sidelong glances his way throughout the lecture. Small pieces of paper landed on his desk every few minutes, which he'd just brush to the ground. He didn't read whatever was inside of them.

His stitches itched.

It was hard writing with a broken arm as Peter would come to find out. After the first ten minutes, he switched to his other hand. His notes suffered greatly, but he didn't really care. He had no idea what he was writing at this point, nor did he bother to check and reread them to see if they made any semblance of sense. It was something to do at least, something to focus on. He watched the lead press into the paper, leaving deep grooves and dark trails.

He traced the lines over and over again with his eyes, seeming the pencil shake ever so slightly in his non-dominant hand, leaving soft line strokes on the white surface, tiny little ridges and bumps from the unsteady grip. He could hear the scratching of the graphite rubbing painfully against the paper, mirrored all around the room with each open notebook and scribbling hand.

The chairs creaked as students shifted in their seats, papers fluttering as they moved their hands. Someone sniffed. The air conditioner turned on. His heart was beating, he heard it more than felt it. Something shifted near his ear, brushed up against his skin.

Wingbeats.

The pencil in his grip snapped in half.

A few people turned to stare at him. Ned reached out and tapped his shoulder. It took everything in Peter not to leap up and scream his lungs out. "Peter...you okay?' he whispered quietly.

Peter was saved from answering when the bell blared over head, ringing throughout the entire classroom.

How long had he zoned out?

Everyone jumped slightly before gathering their things and quickly making their way over to Peter's desk. However, before any of them could begin to question him, Mr. Harrington was clearing his throat. "Uh, Peter? Can I see you over here for a second?"

The boy glanced over at the teacher before slowly packing up his things and hoisting the bag over his uninjured shoulder. The teacher turned to throw a hard look at the rest of the students. "The rest of you hurry up and head on out. And close my door on your way out."

The low disappointed murmurings drifted through Peter's ears. He caught sight of Ned and MJ lingering back slightly, the last two students to leave the classroom. Mr. Harrington shooed them out, albeit in a much gentler tone of voice than he'd used with the rest of the class. His friends shared concerned looks before begrudgingly walking out, the door shutting with a soft click.

Peter shifted uncomfortably between one foot and the other, fingers drumming against the strap of his bag. "W-what did you...want to talk about?"

The teacher stared at him for a moment before shrugging his shoulders and making his way over to his desk. "Nothing." He sat down and pulled out his breakfast, a small bag of dry cereal.

The teen furrowed his brows and lifted his head. "Then...why-?"

"Figured you could use an excuse to get away from the crowd."

Peter blinked at him for a moment before letting a small smile slip onto his face for just a moment. "Thanks," his voice was still coarse. He could hear it in the soft graveling.

The teacher set the bag down and leaned forward, propping his elbows onto his knees. "Are you alright, Peter?"

"Fine. Why?" His voice wasn't defensive, but curt. Tired.

Mr. Harrington gave him a disbelieving look. "You...you look pretty sick, son."

Peter shrugged his shoulders, masking the grimace as he felt his stitches shifting. "It's been a pretty stressful couple of hours for my family."

It made sense considering everything that was currently buzzing around the city, but something about it didn't sit right with the teacher. He ignored the prickling anxiety and gave a small nod of his head. "I can only imagine as much. But if you're not feeling well then maybe-"

"I feel fine."

The man furrowed his brows, not convinced in the slightest and watched the teen shift onto his other leg. He seemed to be favoring one over the other.

It wasn't unusual for Peter to walk into his class not looking his best, usually with bruises or bandages, commonly connected to some excuse or another about lab accidents or trips down the stairs or into door jams. And for the most part, Mr. Harrington was willing to let them slide for Peter never seemed to be in too much distress when he told the teacher such stories. They were always accompanied with a reassuring smile and a dismissive wave of the hand.

But today no such smiles were on the boy's face. His voice was light, but still held the soft notes of disuse. His eyes were pale, almost vacant. He knew the kid had to be stressed with everything that was happening in the news. He knew he had no idea the kind of pressure his student was facing, but still...something was wrong. He could just feel it.

"If you're sure..."

"I am."

The teacher gave a small nod and Peter began to make his way over towards the door. "Thanks again...f-for clearing them out."

"...no problem."

However, Mr. Harrington was quick to stand and put a hand on the boy's shoulder, noticing immediately when Peter grimaced and scrunched his eyes shut. He retracted the hand. "Peter, I...I just..." His tongue seemed to tie around itself. "If you ever need to talk...about anything...my door is always open."

Peter stared up at him, blinking large brown eyes. Mr. Harrington couldn't read the look on his face. Before he could say anything else, the teen was turning and hoisting the bag higher up onto his shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He didn't wait for the teacher to respond before he walked out the door...and right into the clutches of his friends.

The normal joy he would have felt at seeing them was nothing but frustration now. How many people was he going to have to lie to today?

For a moment, the three just stared at each other, the loud rumblings of the students passing around them echoing through the halls. They were on break, meaning they had eight minutes until the bell for next period rolled around. Meaning Peter had to dodge their questions for the next eight minutes.

Luckily for them, nobody seemed to have noticed Peter's presence yet, so the three of them were able to slip around the sea of students and make it outside on the front steps leading up to the entrance to the school. Only one or two kids were outside, the majority of them engrossed in their phones or not caring enough to make a fuss about Peter being there.

As soon as they were alone, MJ folded her arms over her chest. "Alright, Parker. Start talking."

Ned, always the pacifist, decided to take a bit of a gentler approach. "Peter...what happened to you? You didn't show up to school on Friday and today you look, well..."

"Like Death came knocking on your door at three in the morning and punched you in the face."

Ned grimaced. "Something like that."

Peter didn't meet their gaze. He stared at the floor, counted the cracks in the cement. Five long ones, two short ones. "Nothing's wrong, guys."

Michelle scrunched her face. "Do you think we're stupid?"

"No, of course not. I just...I'm just tired."

Ned shook his head, face growing more and more concerned. "I've seen you look tired before, Peter. This isn't it. Something's wrong. I can just tell. Something's really wrong."

"No, there isn't." He started counting the stairs themselves. There were seven, all a light cream color that had darkened with age.

"Is it the news story? Cause I know it's pretty bad but it'll die down eventually."

"I-"

"Did Stark do something? Did he say something to you?"

"No, I just-"

"Was your dad angry about the press?"

"GUYS!" He finally shouted, glaring up at them before taking a breath and feeling the look whither into a more pathetic pleading gaze. "Please...I said I'm fine."

Michelle wasn't swayed, however. Her face tightened. "Yeah, we know. We heard you, and we still don't believe you."

Ned placed a hand on her shoulder. "MJ..."

"No, Ned!" She shouted back, shrugging his shoulder off and glaring down at the shorter boy. "He can't just waltz into school looking like he's three seconds from passing out and not expect us to be conc- to not say anything." She tried to reposition her mask of indifference, but it didn't work. Her worry practically oozed out of her eyes.

Peter let out a sigh and gazed back up at them, eyes hard. "Look, you wanna know what happened? I went home on Thursday. I didn't feel good. I stayed home the next day and slept in. I still didn't feel good. This damn news story broke on Sunday and now my dad's annoyed, the Cons are grumpy and I still don't feel good. That's it. End of story."

MJ didn't look satisfied. Neither did Ned for that matter, but it was the girl to first voice her doubts. "Uh-huh? So...what's with your nose?"

"I ran into a door jam."

"The bandages on your arm?"

"I fell down the stairs."

"The scar on your neck?"

"I spilled a pot of water."

"Peter!" MJ shouted, throwing her hands into the air. Peter flinched back at the yell, eyes firmly glued to the girl's shoes.

They were blue.

"Are you hearing yourself right now?! It's just excuse after excuse! And the worst part is you're acting like you want us to actually believe them! I mean, what's next? You fall off a moving truck and get run over by a bulldozer? Is that what you're gonna say tomorrow when you come in and your face is black and blue and you're in a wheelchair?"

Peter swallowed, his throat dry. "What do you want me to say, Michelle?" He didn't use her first name often. If she was surprised by it, she didn't let it on.

She stared at him, hands fisting the legs of her pants tightly, pulling at the fabric as she let out a small huff, eyes glancing away for a moment before gazing back at him, full of something Peter couldn't identify. "I want...I want you to tell us the truth. I mean, don't you trust us?" Her voice was small, quiet, so...unlike Michelle. Peter felt something in his chest. He was pretty sure it was guilt.

Ned stepped forward at this, seeing that both of his friends were beginning to get agitated. He moved closer and Peter threw him a wary look. The shorter boy raised up his hands in a placating manner, showing he wasn't going to try and touch the boy. It was obvious Peter wasn't ready for it right now. "Peter, listen. I know you're going though something right now...and I know you're scared."

The taller boy shifted on his feet again. His nails were beginning to dig into his palms, the pinch of pain keeping him grounded, level. Ned continued. "But you can talk to us. Please, we're your friends. We only want to help you. And we can't do that when you keep shutting us out." Ned took another step closer. Peter took one back. His head swam, his shoulder throbbed and his arm hung limply by his side, unable to move. "Please, just...tell us the truth. What do you feel?"

Peter lifted his head at that, staring his two best friends down. Ned's face was one of anxious energy as he wrung his hands together and bounced on his feet. He never was good at containing his emotions, both the good and the bad. He stared at Peter with soft eyes, exuding comfort and sympathy and everything that made Ned who he was. Michelle's face held something different. Anger? Regret? Whatever it was, it looked like she was in pain. Maybe she was.

His breath stuttered, startling him into a jolt. His eyes flickered in between the two teens, each of which were worrying themselves sick over him, because of him. He'd done this to them. He was doing this to them. His stomach churned and his head gave another vicious pound, this one making him wince and blink his eyes hard to clear the blurriness that had encroached.

They were still looking at him, waiting for an answer.

"I-I...I feel...like...I'm gonna-" He wasn't able to get another word out before he was rushing over to the trash can behind Ned and Michelle. The two teens stared with wide eyes as Peter hurled into the garbage, thin shaking frame leaning over the can like his life depended on it. Each wave was more violent than the last despite the fact that his pitifully empty stomach didn't have much to reject. After only two bouts of vomiting, he simply began to dry heave.

Ned began to move back over towards the door as Michelle moved to the can to hover over the boy. "I'll get the nurse."

"NO!" Peter shouted, instantly whipping his head around to stare at Ned only for the rapid movement to make his head spin. He gripped the sides of the trash can tightly, the metal denting slightly underneath his hands. Thankfully, Michelle didn't notice as she scrunched her eyes at the boy, who shook his head. "No. Please...please don't."

The girl moved her hand out to touch Peter's shoulder before thinking better of it. "Peter, you need to go home-"

Peter lifted his head again and glared at the both of them, eyes burning with something they'd never seen before. "You want the truth?!" he spat. "Well, the truth is if I go home, they're gonna kill me! They're gonna pound me and break my other arm! The truth is I want you to leave me alone!" The words were hot and angry, the boy's face flush as he seethed. Both Michelle and Ned could only stare at him, blinking in silence. Peter had never once snapped at them before, leaving them stunned and unable to speak.

Peter, however, quickly reigned in his anger and dropped his head, gritting his teeth together as he sucked in another breath. "Please...please, before I say something I'll regret...something I don't mean...please, just...just leave me alone." His voice tapered off, breaking at the end as he let go of the trash can and sank down onto the top step. He sat and cradled his arm close to his chest.

God, he was tired.

. . .

. . .

"Your arm's broken?"

He shut his eyes. He couldn't do this again. "MJ, please..."

He suddenly found he wasn't alone on the step anymore as the girl plopped down next to him, face holding its usual look of stoicism and disinterest that he'd come to know as Michelle. "Your arm's broken and you didn't even put it in a sling, you moron. Do you want it to set wrong?"

Before he knew what was happening, she was taking off her jacket. It was her usual dark green jacket that she wore everyday. She carefully moved her hand forward, gesturing towards one of Peter's arms with a questioning look. He nodded, signifying that it was the right arm before she was gingerly picking it up. He winced, both in pain and discomfort over the touching itself. Without a word, she was wrapping her jacket around the forearm, securing it snugly into a makeshift pouch before looping the arms of the jacket around his neck and tying them together. Her fingers brushed the fractal scars. He let her trace them down to the nape of his neck before she was shaking her head and pulling her hand away. In this time, Ned had made his way down to sit on Peter's other side.

Peter stared forward, watching the road as the cars drove by. "I can't wear it too long. Too many people will see me with it and ask questions."

Michelle said nothing for a moment, seemingly adjusting to the news she'd received, news she'd suspected for a while but had never gotten confirmed until just then. She wet her lips and stared out at the road alongside the boy. "Just wear it for a few hours. You can give it back to me at lunch."

Peter blinked and glanced over at her. "I..."

She stopped him, shaking her head. "Don't thank me. Just...just don't." Her voice was empty. There was nothing to thank her for.

So he didn't. His friends didn't feel better. He didn't either. They just sat there on the steps in silence, watching the cars drive by until someone came to collect them.

 


 

Monday - April 25, 2016

Location Unknown

10:43 a.m.

"Are we completely sure we aren't just wasting out time here?"

Natasha sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Clint-"

"No, don't get me wrong. I love taking down manufacturing plants with the threat of federal imprisonment breathing down the back of our necks and forty-year jail sentences dangling in front of our eyes but are we really making a difference here?"

The archer currently sat at the makeshift table they had set up for themselves in the center of the warehouse, arms folded over his chest and he glanced around at the others. Natasha stood over by the wall, polishing one of her guns while Wanda meditated in the air near her and Sam and Scott sat next to Clint around the table.

Wanda's face scrunched from where she hovered, letting out a long sigh as she opened her eyes and threw them a bored look. "Not again with this..."

"You know, he's got a point." Sam murmured from his seat. "Every plant we take down, another seems to just pop right back up to take its place."

Natasha's eyes narrowed as she continued to run the cloth through the mechanisms of the pistol, the others eyeing the weapon cautiously as the woman spoke. "So what? You're suggesting we do nothing, then."

Sam sighed and ran a hand down his face. "No, of course not. But obviously what we're doing right now just isn't good enough."

Scott, who was organizing the pack of cards on the table surface, looked up from his work, fingers running along the edge of the card. "So, what's the alternative then?"

"I might just have one."

They turned towards Steve as he approached. His arm was raised, hand gripping a now-vibrating phone. They all moved over towards the table as he placed the phone down in the center and accepted the call. "Hill, talk to us. Tell us you found something we can use."

There was a beat of silence before they got a response. "I've been doing some research into the weapons you've confiscated so far and I've found something that might just help you out."

Wanda took another step closer. "What is it?"

"Four years ago, after the battle of New York, there was alien weaponry everywhere. And I mean everywhere. Of all kinds too, with different power cores as energy sources. When clean-up began, Damage control devised a system. And since nobody knew much about the alien cores to begin with, least of all how the different alien cores would respond when stored with each other, they created a clean-up order where weapons with certain energy signatures and power cores would be stored in the same storage area."

Clint leaned forward in his seat. "Hill."

"Yeah?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

An exasperated sigh could be heard on the other end before she continued, voice snappier than before. "Look at the weapon you all still have."

Sam stood up from his seat and glanced over towards the back wall, where the loading rack sat. Atop one of the tables was a sizable lump, concealed with a thick brown tarp. Quickly jogging over, the man removed the tarp, revealing the numerous alien weapons they'd decided to save in their possession for examination. Each were constructed of thick shining plates of fused metal and bright purple electrical lines that winded throughout the entire device, leading to a larger glowing mass in the dead center of the weapon. Carefully picking up one of the larger guns, he walked back over towards the table and set it down.

Cap spoke up once he did. "Alright?"

"See that bright purple power source?"

"Yeah?"

"That's the core. All of the alien tech has it. It's what makes them so dangerous. Take out that core and add a little radiation and you have a ticking time bomb that can take out a city block in the right conditions."

Their eyes all trailed down to the gun, muscles coiling and stomachs filling with dread. Just how much raw power was being distributed throughout the city, power that could kill hundreds of thousands if used incorrectly?

Steve was the first to speak again, glancing back down at the phone. "What about this particular core?"

"All of the weapons you've retrieved so far share this same core type. Damage Control calls it C-13. And all alien weapons that share a C-13 core are stored in a DDC storage facility in Washington DC."

Clint leaned back in the chair, pressing his tongue into his cheeks as he spoke. "Alright, so they're obviously acquiring their parts from this facility."

Sam folded his arms over his chest. "Question is, why would they go through the trouble of stealing from the DC division of Damage Control when there are closer DDC storage facilities for them to access?"

"Better yet..." Natasha murmured, setting her gun down and tossing to lay across her shoulder. "...how are common street thugs and gangbangers overpowering and taking over government-run and protected armored trucks without anybody noticing?"

Steve was quiet for a moment, eyes hardening as he glared at the gun sitting in the table, the violet glow pulsing in short intervals that illuminated the air. "There's something more going on here. And I think it's time we found out what." He reached out and grabbed the phone off the table. "Hill, thankds for the info. We'll keep you updated."

"Don't get blown up...or arrested."

Steve rolled his eyes before ending the call, setting the phone back into his pocket before dusting his hands off and turning back to the rest of the team. "Everyone get prepped. We're gong to DC."

Their eyes widened at the announcement, Clint and Scott both sharing incredulous looks with each other. The former stood up from his seat, looking ready to protest, only for Natasha to grab his shoulder and give him a hard look. He glared right back and began to speak to her under his breath, the two assassins going off to the other side of the room, whispering furiously.

The others, however, remained around the table, watching as Steve pulled something else out of his pocket and began to fiddle with it. Sam exchanged confused glances with the rest of the team before clearing his throat. Steve didn't look up from whatever it was he was doing. "And just how do we plan on getting there? Something tells me we aren't going to be allowed on any trains for the time being and my car got repossessed months ago."

The Captain continued to fiddle with the device, speaking as he did so. "It helps to know the right people. And lucky for us, a certain royal family seems to have grown quite fond of us."

He held up his hand once more, revealing the communicator in his grip. It crackled for a minute before a high-pitched accented voice cut through the silence. The excitement in her voice wasn't hard to miss. "Heard you're going on a trip."

Scott sighed, tossing a hand up into the air. "Sounds like it."

Cap angled his head towards the communicator. "Shuri, we don't have a lot of time with this. What do you got that's fast?"

There was a moment of silence. "Depends."

"On what?"

"How strong are your stomachs?"

 


 

Monday - April 25, 2016

Building 2 - First Floor Boys Bathroom

2:28 p.m.

There were 195 tiles that made up the ceiling of the boys bathroom. Peter was sure. He'd counted thirty-two times.

He wished he could say the day had improved after his talk with his friends, that he'd started to feel better. But the stares had continued, the whispers had hovered. In the hallways he'd literally brushed up against the walls trying to stay as far from the other students as possible. But there were still a few instances where a rushing teen had brushed up against his arm or knocked into his shoulder, making him stop and lean his head against the lockers to manage the pain before starting on his way again.

Eventually, the constant eyes and low buzz of words had begun to get to him. By lunchtime, his friends and some of the Decathlon members attempted to keep the worst of the crowds at bay. The first half of lunch, Michelle and Ned made him choke down a few pieces of fruit and a quarter of a sandwich. The last half of lunch he spent in the bathroom puking it back up. It was obvious something was definitely wrong, but Peter continued to wave off their concerns, saying he would eventually gain his appetite again and that it was just stress.

They sat with him in the bathroom after that, not bothering to go back to their table. None of them felt like dealing with the crowds again and Peter had to admit the cool tile of the bathroom floor was somewhat relaxing. Eventually the bell had rung, but the thought of going back and being around his prying classmates had made the teen feel nauseous again. Michelle didn't suggest he go home again, instead offering to skip class with him and Ned to head down to Delmar's to relax.

Peter thanked her for the offer but declined, knowing Michelle had a report due in one class and Ned had a presentation. He'd already messed with their day enough. It took a lot of convincing, but finally he'd been able to convince them to leave him there with the promise to answer their texts whenever they shot him one along with the threat of Michelle to come back down there if he didn't.

So that was how he found himself sitting against the wall of the handicapped stall in the boys bathroom, injured leg splayed out in front of him with his other bent up close to his chest, balancing his bandaged arm on his knee as he stared up at the tiled ceiling.

The bell had rung nearly ten minutes ago but still Peter remained. He'd gotten texts from both MJ and Ned asking him if he wanted them to walk him home. He'd declined once again. He didn't really trust himself to be around them at the moment, not after that morning. Everything was starting to become too much for him and it was beginning to bubble over onto his friends.

They didn't deserve that. They didn't deserve any of this.

So he sat and he waited as the hallways cleared out, students rushing to get home, pushing and shoving their way through.

Peter glanced down at his phone, which sat on the floor next to him. No new texts had come through, meaning his friends must have reluctantly abode by his wishes and gone home without him. He glanced through at the other texts he'd sent recently, eyes catching Happy's number.

He found the texts that had been sent through his phone on Thursday night saying he was sick and wasn't going to the Tower the next day. His father or one of the Cons must have sent it out. He had reluctantly followed in their footsteps and shot out a similar text a few hours ago. His excuse this time was something or other about a school project he had to work on. He didn't really know, Happy hadn't responded either way so he figured the man bought it.

Once again, the urge to see Mr. Stark flared back up in his chest, but he quickly pushed it back down. He thought back to that morning. If he'd been that unstable around his friends, imagine what might happen if he was near Mr. Stark? The things he might say, might reveal.

He couldn't afford it.

Peter sat for another few minutes before deeming it safe to head out. It took him longer than he cared to admit to get up from the floor. With a few shambles and grimaces, he was walking out the door. Thankfully, the halls were near empty save for a few groups of students casually walking to their cars or teachers milling about with their coworkers.

Nobody spared him a glance as he limped to the door, no longer needing to hide the weakness in his leg. He pushed the doors to the front entrance open and slid out, glaring down at the steps like they'd personally offended him before blowing out a huff and slowly hopping his way down.

"Bout time you showed up!"

Peter was so startled, he nearly toppled down the last step, catching himself just in time with the stone walls before whipping his head up and making eye contact with the last person he wanted to see right now.

Mr. Stark smirked from where he leaned against the side of the car, raising a hand to remove the sunglasses from his face. "Thought you might have been kidnapped or something. Nice dance moves there, by the way."

Peter said nothing for a moment, simply staring at the man with wide eyes as he contemplated maybe just sprinting down the sidewalk and booking it to the subway before the man could catch up with him. But considering the look of the most likely expensive sports car and his banged up legs, he doubted he would make it very far.

The billionaire didn't seem to mind filling the silence himself. "What took you so long anyways? Happy said you're usually the first one out those doors."

He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, fingers gripping the fabric of his pants so tightly he was surprised they didn't rip. Blood was rushing through his ears and he was surprised he could hear anything over the roaring. He must have given off a look of distress, for Tony furrowed his brows and straightened back up. "Kid?"

Knowing he had to at least say something, Peter sucked in a breath and hesitantly moved closer. "S-sorry. I, um...I was...t-talking...to a teacher about...about something." The words were janky and haphazardly cut. This Tony noticed, for he quickly moved closer. "You alright, Peter?"

"Fine." He stepped back, ducking his head to the side as he tried to avoid the billionaire's piercing stare. Tony didn't say anything for a moment as he looked the boy up and down before taking a step back. "Right, well you coming or what?"

Peter lifted his head and stared at the car he was gesturing to. Somehow he found his voice again. "I...I texted Happy. I-"

"I know, I know." The man waved his hand with a smile. "We're not going to the Tower. That place is swarming anyway. You have no idea how many reporters I had to dodge just to get out of there." He chuckled, obviously expecting Peter to do the same. He didn't.

"Right...well, I needed a bit of a break from the chaos and I figured you might need the same." He moved to stand around the other side of the car. "Come on. This won't take too long." He got into the driver's side without another word. Peter flinched at the sound of the car door closing. He glanced sideways towards the street. Was there any way he could convince the man otherwise? Convince him to just leave him alone?

He jerked his head back as Tony leaned across the seats and opened the passenger door from inside the car. "Well? I haven't got all day, you know"

Peter swallowed the growing lump in his throat, stomach knotting up once again. "I...um..." He tried to form the words, politely decline and be on his way. Just turn and walk down the street. But he couldn't force them out. It was like they were lodged in his throat, choking off his airway and making him dizzy. Finally, he just settled for nodding his head and cautiously settling inside the car, if only to sit down to avoid the danger of passing out in front of the man.

That wouldn't end well.

With that they were off, pulling away from the curve and jumping onto the busy street.

Peter's hands rested in his lap and he had to fight hard to keep them steady. His foot, however, was thrumming up a storm bouncing against the floor of the car about as fast as a hummingbird's wings. His eyes remained glued to the window, refusing to glance over towards the billionaire next to him, who he just knew was giving him strange looks.

Tony watched the teen, feeling a full wave of confusion continuing to crash into him with each little mannerism the boy displayed, habits he hadn't portrayed in just about two months. He was jittery, an air of nervousness surrounding him as he stared out the window. Not to mention the fact that he was stuttering, almost as badly as when they'd first met!

When the hell did this happen?

Tony quickly squashed down his panic, simply summing it up to nerves over the media storm brewing in the background. Of course! Anybody would be panicking, especially a fourteen-year-old boy who was prone to nervousness. That's what it had to be...right?

He had to admit, when Happy had come into his office earlier in the day saying Peter had cancelled again, he had been shocked and somewhat perplexed. Peter's reasoning had been something about a project he had to work on, which Happy hadn't found much fuss in. Tony, however, immediately felt something off. Peter had been doing his homework at the Tower for months now with no complaints, plenty of projects and papers that he'd mumble and complain about under his breath while Tony tinkered next to him, snidely bragging about his adulthood and consequential freedom from said assignments.

The more he thought about it, the more it was starting to sound like excuses. But excuses for what?

"You sure you're okay over there, kid? You're being awfully quiet." And it was true. Usually, Peter would be talking his ear off by this point, rambling on about something or other, something exciting that happened at school or a project he was working on or questions upon questions about what he was working on back at the lab. But today, he was oddly silent.

Peter threw him a quick look before instantly averting his gaze. "S-sorry..."

The unsettling feeling returned to his stomach. "It's...no problem, kid. You know it never is..." Peter hadn't apologized for something trivial in a while.

The boy gave a shaky nod of his head. "R-right...right."

Tony decided not to say anything else after that, afraid of what the boy might say or display. Instead, he reached over and turned on the radio. His mind didn't register what was playing, nor did he really care enough to find out. At least it was something to fill the silence.

Another unnerving feeling...he hadn't felt a desire to fill the silence in a long time. He glanced over at Peter.

Something was definitely up. And he planned on figuring out what sooner rather than later.

 


 

Peter got out of the car and stared up at the trees stretching up to the sky, closing the door with a soft thud. It had been a long time since he'd visited Central Park.

He noticed Mr. Stark already walking away and hastened his stride to follow behind him. His leg twinged in annoyance but he ignored it in favor of lagging after the man, who didn't seem to be in any particular rush to get anywhere. He simply shoved his hands into his pockets and began to walk down the stone pathway.

Around them, the trees loomed, thick black branches stretching up into the sky. With the month of April also came the blooms, bright and pink and soft, dotting each and every dark branch in a cape of baby pink flowers, blotting the sun and dotting little spots of light onto the stones below. They billowed in the breeze and fluttered to the ground in small little swirls. The grass rustled with each breath of wind and the soft creaking of the branches above filled the air. Around them, a few people jogged past or walked their dogs or chatted idly on the benches scattered around the park. Nobody payed them much mind, for they didn't glance their way long enough to make out who they were.

"So how're you getting along, kid?"

Peter jumped, not having been expecting to be pulled into sudden conversation. He continued to lag behind the man, who had now glanced over at him. "W-what do you mean?" he asked quietly.

Tony tried to slow his pace to allow the boy to catch up with him and walk by his side, but noticed the teen seemed determined to walk behind him. "Are you getting any flack at school with the story?" He'd have to start using his detective skills here. See if he could piece together why Peter was acting so much like the scared kid he hadn't seen in months.

He shrugged, Tony noticing he moved one shoulder more than the other. "I...I guess a little bit? Some p-people had questions. I...I answered them. Nothing...too crazy y-yet."

Tony tried to keep his voice light. "That's good at least." He blew out a sigh between his lips. "I wish I could say it improves from here but the truth is it's probably gonna get a lot worse before it gets better."

Peter scoffed. "What else is new?" he mumbled under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing."

He could feel the billionaire staring at him and pretended not to notice, keeping his eyes on the tulips sprouting up along the edge of the grass before he felt the man turn away. "Pepper did some checking and so far they don't know what school you go to yet. Guess your dad did something right in keeping your files so guarded." Mr. Stark grimaced slightly, puffing out a bit of air between his lips. "But it's probably just a matter of time before they figure it out. Maybe a coupe of days. A week at the most."

"Right..."

"It'll be alright, though. I'll have Happy show up earlier to help you get to the car. It'll be fine. He's had a lot of experience dealing with pushy reporters. Honestly, I think he kinda likes it. Makes him feel important," he huffed out a chuckle, glancing over towards the teen again.

Peter's face didn't change. He simply nodded his head. "Mm-hmm..."

Tony swallowed, somehow feeling incredibly awkward. "...Your father seems to be dealing with the news well." he added quickly, jumping right back into conversation, hoping that maybe he was just imagining the tension and Peter would smile or crack a joke and prove that he was just overthinking things. "He's basically got them eating out of the palm of his hand. Lucky for us, he's what they consider a 'credible source' so they're most likely to believe whatever it is he tells them."

He looked. Still nothing.

"And since for the most part everything he knows about our little program is everything we've told him, we should be in the clear in terms of them checking up on us and corroborating his story. Pepper's got the internship program up and running and we're already taking in applications. College applications of course. I got lucky with you. Any other high schoolers and I'll be running the world's most highly-funded daycare center on the planet."

Silence.

"Peter?"

The boy startled slightly, lifting his gaze for the first time since they'd begun walking. "Huh?"

Tony stopped walking and turned to fully face the boy. He was hunching over, hands fiddling with each other. His right arm hung a bit more limply than the other, as did his shoulder on the same side, sloping down a bit more than the other as if it weighed more. He also seemed to be favoring one leg over the other, shifting his feet constantly as if he were trying to relieve it of some pressure. His face was tired and pale, a few fading scratches marring the skin which wasn't an unusual sight given how the teen spent his nights.

Still, something about the sight made Tony's stomach churn. "Are you okay?"

Peter blinked at him, not seeming to understand the question before gently running his fingers over the limp arm. "You...already asked me this." He murmured sheepishly.

"I know, but you kinda look like you're struggling a bit." Peter scrunched his nose at this. "You wanna sit down?" The billionaire gestured to one of the nearby benches. The teen hesitated for a moment, feet scuffing the stones underneath before reluctantly shuffling over and almost collapsing onto the bench. Tony pretended not to notice as he sat down next to him. He immediately felt Peter tense.

He pretended not to notice that, either.

"So what's up, kid?" He finally asked, tired of dancing around the subject and simply deciding to bite the bullet. "Did you hurt yourself on patrol cause you know I said to come to me if you get hurt. I need to know about these kinds of things," he said a little sternly, hoping beyond hope that Peter was just anxious because he had gotten hurt on patrol and was just nervous about Tony being mad at him.

Peter said nothing for a moment. Their walk had taken them around near the lakeside, the soft sound of water lapping against the shore filling the air. He was reminded of earlier in the day, of Ned and MJ's constant worrying, question after question of whether or not he was okay. He'd barely been able to keep his composure with them. If the same happened now...

The teen simply stared at the water before shaking his head. "Nothing's wrong, Mr. Stark. And I didn't get hurt. I'm just...a little tired today, is all. I...I didn't really sleep well last night and I'm still fighting off...the last of that little b-bug I caught on Thursday."

Tony felt a spark of annoyance flare in his chest that he quickly tried to stamp out. The words of the promise he'd made to Peter began to ring in his head, the promise he'd made to let things go. To never question the boy about things he didn't want to talk about. He felt his fingers begin to twitch against his sides. He could hear the ringing, but he just couldn't help himself. He was so tired of this.

"Right...right..."

Peter must have picked up on the tone in Tony's voice. He narrowed his eyes and felt his nose scrunching. "What?" he asked, his own voice taking on a defensive ring against his will.

"Nothing, it's just...that bug really came on suddenly, huh? I didn't even notice any symptoms when I saw you that night."

"Yeah, well...guess it was an extra strong strain," he muttered, eyes hard.

"Guess so."

Tony matched his gaze head on. He wasn't backing down this time. "So what's this little project you're working on for school?" he asked, tongue poking into his cheek as he pretended not to notice how Peter was tapping his fingers in annoyance.

"It's...just an English assignment. I need to w-write an essay. It's pretty important. Counts as...half of our quarter exam."

Tony shrugged his shoulders and leaned back against the hard wood. "You could always work on it in the tower. You've worked on others there before. How come this one's different?"

Peter shrugged, once again favoring one shoulder over the other. "I don't know. Just didn't feel like working on it in the tower today. What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing."

Tony was about to continue prodding the boy, only to pause at he caught sight of Peter shifting on the bench, accidentally bumping his arm against the wood. The teen winced and pulled it back. Immediately feeling all annoyance ebb away, Tony sat up straighter and leaned closer, reaching a hand out. "You alright there, kid?"

Peter didn't seem to notice the tones of concern in the man's voice as he jerked away from him and glared. "Yes, I'm fine! God, how many times do I have to say it before you stop asking and leave me alone?!" he snapped, the words coming out before he could stop them.

Tony quickly reared back and lifted his hands up, a flare of anger sparking in his chest. "Alright, calm down. Why are you getting so angry?"

"I'm not-!" Peter seemed to almost bite down on his tongue and shut his eyes, sucking in a deep breath as his hands shook by his sides before he opened his eyes once more, letting out a quiet sigh as he seemed to deflate in his seat. He lowered his head. "I...I'm not angry. I'm j...I'm just tired. That's all. I'm just tired." He ducked his head away in shame and seemed to curl in on himself, voice tapering off at the end to little more than a whisper.

Quickly feeling the spark of anger extinguish like water being dumped over a candle, Tony scooted closer and quickly lowered his own voice. "Peter, look at me."

It took longer than he would have liked for the boy to relent and lift his eyes.

"You're starting to concern me a little here, kid. You're stuttering again. You're fidgeting. You haven't done all this in a while. Did something happen at school? Did someone say something to you about the story? Did you get harassed by any reporters?"

Through each of the questions, Peter shook his head. "No, nothing like that. I said it's nothing, Mr. Stark."

"Yeah, well. I don't believe it is. Look, if you don't want to tell me, it's...it's fine." He had to force the words out of his mouth. They tasted bitter. "You're just...you're kind of freaking me out a little bit here."

Peter wrapped his left arm around his midsection, looking a bit sick. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to."

Tony sighed. "I know you don't. Don't apologize, it's okay. I guess I'm just a little worried, believe it or not."

The teen shook his head and met the man's gaze. "Don't be. I'm just...working through something right now." He turned away once more, staring down at his feet. "It's nothing important." He couldn't talk about this anymore, not when his emotions were running so wild and the threat of blowing up on the man rang so prominent. He had to shut this down now and hope that Mr. Stark would somehow get the message and just drop it.

Still, Tony hesitated for a moment, reluctant to just brush off the exchange and forget about it as Peter obviously wanted him to. But it was obvious just how uncomfortable the kid was and judging from how he looked, he didn't need anything else to be stressing over. So, against his better judgment, the man gave a small nod of his head. "Alright. If you say so then...then I believe you."

Peter let out a breath he seemed to have been holding the entire time they'd been talking. But Tony wasn't done just yet. He rested his arm on the lip of the bench behind the teen's back, Peter blinking in confusion at the move before meeting Tony's gaze once more. "But Peter, I need you to know...I just...I just want you to know that you can talk to me if you need to, alright? I think it's safe to say you've got a lot more on your plate than the average teenager."

The boy glanced away at that, for it was fairly obvious the man was talking about more than just Spider-Man.

"So I think you're entitled to a couple of rant sessions every month. Lord knows that's what I use Pepper and Rhodey for, or even DUM-E if it's something super embarrassing," he muttered before growing a grin as he caught sight of the small smile on Peter's face. "So...if you need to talk about anything, then don't hesitate alright?" He paused for a moment, chewing on his words before continuing. "I like to think that you like being at the tower, doing all this..." he gestured towards the park. "...random stuff with me." Another pause. "Am I wrong to think that?"

Immediately, Peter was jumping forward. "No! No, not at all!" He rushed, eyes wide and sparking with a hint of life that Tony had been searching for the entire time. "I love it at the tower, believe me. I..." He glanced around the park before letting out another small sigh, this one followed up with a soft smile. "I...like doing this stuff, too."

Tony stared at the boy for a moment before smiling back, turning away as he leaned against the back of the bench again. At least the boy finally seemed to be relaxing. "Good. I like to think this is working on the both of us, honestly."

Peter furrowed his brows in confusion, tilting his head towards the man. "What do you mean?"

"Well, ! don't know about you, but taking a leisurely stroll through Central Park isn't really something I do on a daily basis," he scoffed, Peter letting out a soft chuckle from beside him.

The billionaire shrugged his shoulders. "But I mean, it's nice to do this after a day of yelling at bureaucrats and stuck-up politicians. Taking a little time to unwind away from all the crazy shit I usually have to deal with is pretty therapeutic, or at least that's what Rhodey says. I don't really know. I usually stop listening by that point," he smirked, thrumming his fingers across the rough wooden surface. "I guess he's right. Back when he was working alongside more military personnel, he'd say one of the best ways to relax is to find some sort of diversion, a distraction to keep your mind off of your real problems." He waved a hand dismissively in the air before huffing in amusement, glancing around at the fairly empty park. "I guess that's sort of what we're doing here, huh?"

The man began to say something else, but Peter found he wasn't listening. Tony's words were ringing around in his ears, deafening him to whatever else might have been said as his thoughts became much too loud. Something about the words themselves wasn't sitting right with him, made him squirm ever so slightly in his seat. He tried to ignore it but found that one specific word continued to pop up before his eyes each time he tried to refocus.

Distraction.

He stared down at the ground as Mr. Stark continued to speak. He had to admit, working at the tower, eating lunch at Delmar's, even the Decathlon meet, all of it had been fairly distracting to everything else going on around him, which is what he'd assumed the man was attempting to do, distract him from everything happening with the Cons, with his father.

But he had never assumed that's all it had been...at least for him.

Throughout everything that had happened, Peter found that he wanted to be around Mr. Stark, he wanted to do all these things with him, and it wasn't just because he wanted something distracting to keep him occupied for hours upon hours on end. If that's all he wanted he could just as easily go to the library and pick out a book or three or even start diving for spare parts in dumpsters again to tinker with at home. Those were distractions, random inane tasks that didn't do anything other than fill the space in his head, leaving little room for anything else that might try and slip in.

Is that what he thinks of me? Just something to fill the space?

He felt his heart beginning to hammer, shaking his body with the full force of each thud.

Is that really why he's been doing this? Just to divert his attention? Keep his mind occupied?

His fingers began to curl into the bench, the wood splintering with each twitch.

Is that all I am to him? Just another tool?

("He doesn't care about you.")

The wood flew up with a harsh crack, splinters flying into the air from where Peter's fingers had literally crushed them. Tony's eyes widened in shock and he quickly forgot whatever it was he'd been saying as Peter shot up to his feet, panting heavily as his eyes held a look of unrestrained horror.

"Peter?! Hey, are you alright?"

The boy didn't look at him, simply brought a hand up to wrap around his throat, body shivering in place as he heaved. "I...I-I can't b-breathe..."

Instantly, Tony's eyes bulged even wider and he was rushing forward. "O-okay, okay, alright umm..." How the hell was he supposed to do this? He didn't know how to help someone through an attack like this. He didn't even know how to help himself through one!

"Just...j-just sit back down and try to focus, alright? Just...just focus on my voice and try and take deep breathes." He didn't even know if Peter was hearing him as the boy stood frozen, eyes wild and face ashen-white as he literally gasped for breath. "Focus on the air moving through your lungs, Peter. Alright? It's okay."

The teen shook his head. "No...I-I...I just..."

Tony reached out to try and gently guide the kid back onto the bench, only for Peter to rear back with a yelp of pain as the billionaire touched his arm. Seeming to snap himself out of his stupor, Peter rushed back and cradled the arm to his chest, eyes finally landing on Tony. Only they were wild and scared.

The man stepped closer, his own heart pounding as he recalled the feeling of bones shifting underneath his grip. "What's the matter? What's wrong with your arm?"

"Nothing!"

He moved closer again, Peter stumbled backwards. "Here, let me see it."

"I..I-I..."

He reached out and latched onto Peter's hand, effectively shortening the distance between them as Peter literally cowered away from him. He brushed the boy's jacket sleeve up, eyes widening as he caught sight of the thick bandages coating the shivering limb. He could feel ice beginning to seep into his veins. "Peter..." He breathed, fingers running along the bandages "Peter, what is this?"

The boy shook his head, breaths coming in short gasps. "N-nothing. It's nothing, Mr. Stark. P-please, I just-"

"No, it's not nothing, Peter!" his eyes scoured over the boy's hands as he flipped them over in his grasp, noticing the bright red scars puffing up against the pale white. He followed the trail to where it disappeared underneath the bandages, gaze lifting to the boy's neck. "Look it goes...is it on your neck, too?!"

"No...n-no...I just...I-"

"What the hell is this, Peter?! Are these burns?" He squinted his eyes at the wounds before rearing back with a look of sheer dismay, a shiver running down his spine as he felt his limbs locking up, brain seeming to blitz to a complete and grinding halt. "Fractal scars...these are electrical burns..." he breathed, voice shaky and horrified. Peter stared at him with the same shaken look in his eyes as Tony shook his head in disbelief. "Where the hell did you get this badly hurt?! There were no messages on the suit and I-"

"Please stop...please!" Peter practically begged, chest stuttering as the air refused to move into his lungs. "Really, it's nothing! It's just a few burns, that's all!"

Tony's eyes blazed, he didn't even know what he was feeling right now, everything was happening too fast and the kid was looking at him in fear and pain and he didn't know what to do! "These aren't just a few burns, Peter. These are electrical scars. Fractal trails. Do you know how many volts of electricity it takes to get that kind of scarring? People get these after getting struck by lightning, kid! And it's not just a one time thing. These kinds of scars are built up over and over again with..." he trailed off, heart sinking right into his churning stomach as he felt his hand begin to shake, his grip on Peter faltering. "...w-with repeated exposure."

Peter shut his eyes, turning his face away as he shook his head, tears brimming but refusing to fall as he repeated the same mantra over and over again. "It's nothing. It's nothing. Please just...just let it go."

Tony stared at him, voice much quieter than before. "They aren't nothing, Peter."

"Yes they are. Y-yes they are."

The man stood there for a moment, eyes seeming to burn holes into Peter's face before he removed his hand from the boy's wrist, Peter quickly cradling the arm to his chest once more, only for the teen to pause as he watched Tony begin to roll up his sleeve, revealing the small winding trails of fractal scars that looped around the billionaire's forearm and disappeared under the fabric of his sleeve. They were much paler and less pronounced than Peter's, but there were there and it looked like they'd been there for a long time.

He stared at the sight, chest heaving and breathing quick and erratic. He didn't say anything for a moment before he slowly lifted his gaze to stare at Mr. Stark, the man gazing at him with a resigned, tired face. "No...they aren't." Tony murmured softly before folding the sleeve down once more to cover the scars. He stepped forward again, causing Peter to backtrack as he approached. "Peter...Peter, look at me," he called softly, hand coming to rest on the teen's uninjured shoulder.

Peter turned his eyes away again, biting down on his bottom lip as he clenched his eyes shut. "Please don't do this..." he whimpered.

"Peter..." The man's voice was soft, warm, comforting. Dangerous. "...tell me what happened."

Dangerous. Dangerous. "You seem to be forgetting your place."

"No. Nothing...N-nothing happened. Why?! Why can't you understand that?!" He practically sobbed, eyes wet with unshed tears.

Tony continued to move forward, unswayed. His face remained calm, his voice level. "Tell me, Peter."

("We require some very special forms of discipline.")

"I can't. I won't!"

He thought about running, of turning and sprinting away as fast as possible before the man got close enough to catch him. But suddenly Peter's eyes were springing open as he felt two warm hands reach up and cup the sides of his face, gently turning his head so that his eyes were now staring at Mr. Stark's face. The man's own brown eyes were dark with worry, soft and practically begging Peter to talk, to give up and give in, to dive right into those deep brown pools and get swallowed up in the comforting warmth, safe and secure.

"Peter...tell me what they did to you."

He breathed, soft and fast. He could hear his heart hammering against the walls of his ribs, painfully loud in his ringing ears.

"I..." His throat was thick, the words sticking to the walls.

Tony didn't back down. This was it. This was the moment they'd been building to for the past two months. They couldn't wait any longer. He couldn't wait any longer. He had to lay it all down on the table now. There was no going back.

"Look at me. I can help you. I can protect you I - yes I can." He cut in as Peter shut his eyes and pitifully shook his head. "Hey, yes I can. Peter, I can help you, I promise I can...but you have to let me. You have to tell me what happened. Tell me what they did to you. Let me help you."

Peter could feel the tears in his eyes. They didn't fall. "M-Mr. Stark..."

"Peter...trust me."

Everything seemed to freeze at those two words, those two little words that might otherwise seem so inconsequential. two words that were uttered every single minute of every single day with no real weight. But for Peter, those two little words made everything stop right then and there. For a moment, he could do nothing but stare back at Mr. Stark's face, concerned and pleading.

The words were building up in his throat before he could stop them, pounding against his head and beating behind his eyes. He was choking on them as they fought to push past his lips. They were heavy. They were heavy and they hurt and he was so tired of carrying them.

But he could let them go right now.

Just open his mouth, let the words out, let them do all the work. He could give in and let go and finally rest. Mr. Stark...Mr. Stark could do this. He could help him. He'd been doing it for months. He'd been by his side for months, waiting for this exact moment. And Peter could finally give it to him, finally give him what he'd been after all this time.

He sucked in a breath. It was cold and burned his throat, burned his lungs.

. . .

His eyes were shining, wet with tears.

. . .

His hands were shaking, his whole body was shivering.

. . .

He opened his mouth...

. . .

He saw it.

The butterfly was small, no bigger than his hand. It was pitch black with tiny white spots and a long lithe body that matched the broad speckled wings. It fluttered in the breeze, small and insignificant as it weaved between the branches of the blossoming tree above. Yet it's bold black wings seemed to latch onto the petals like a leech, blotting out the color entirely and coating the petals in inky black drops.

It watched from above.

("You're a waste of space.")

"Nothing but a science experiment we like to keep around to play with.")

("Stark doesn't care about anyone other than himself and he's willing to do a lot to prove that.")

...Watched

("You're just another blip to him, kid!")

("He'll tell you what you want to hear, give you what you want, but the second you're no longer useful to him he'll throw you away!")

("He didn't care about us and he certainly doesn't care about you.")

...Watched.

("A loser like you won't ever be anything!")

("And everyone around you already knows it!")

("You belong to me, you little rat. And that will NEVER change, no matter what men like Tony Stark say.")

Waited.

("He can't help you. He can't even help himself.")

Peter blinked and swallowed his heart. "I can't."

"Peter."

"I can't do this." He wrenched himself out of the man's grip and began to back away. "I...I have to go." His voice was ice. His veins filled with cement.

Tony reached out for him as the boy continued to stumble back. "Peter, wait-"

"No!" Peter snapped, raising a hand to the man. It shook in the air like one of the petals in the trees above, fragile, delicate, ready to drop on a whisper of a breeze. "Don't...please don't." His voice cracked and he could feel the air stuttering in his lungs. "I...I'm sorry. Really, I-I am. It's nothing, Mr. Stark. I p-promise...I promise it isn't."

"Peter I-"

But the boy was already turning away. "I need...I-I need to go. I'm sorry for taking up your...your time but I really need to-"

"PETER!"

He froze, shoulders tight as he slowly turned to stare at the man. Tony looked like he was about to run forward to the teen again, but knew that if he tried, Peter would just run. He held out his own hand, extending it towards the boy. Peter watched it, swallowing down the bile rising in the back of his throat. He couldn't break down. He couldn't do it. Not here, not now. But he couldn't look away from the man's reaching hand...reaching for him.

"Please...please stay. Just..." Tony seemed to struggle for the words. His hand started to shake. He didn't retract it. "Just...j-just talk to me."

Peter stared at him as a singe tear fell down his cheek. He didn't wipe it away. "I'm sorry..."

And he ran. He didn't know how but he ran. He ran and he didn't stop, not even when he felt his stitches tear and blood dripped down his leg.

Tony could do nothing but stare as he watched the boy disappear into the trees. His hand still hovered in the air. He blinked, slowly drawing the air through his lips, shaky and jagged. His arm slowly lowered. He brought it to his chest, clutching his wrist as the phantom pains returned full force. But he didn't look down to check on the arm. He just stood, stood and stared.

A slow frozen shard of ice began to form in his chest, crawling over his ribs and around his lungs. Two months...and it still wasn't good enough.

He still wasn't good enough.

He stood and he didn't move, not even when a small black butterfly flew down and landed on his shoulder.

It watched.

Chapter 20: The Lonely People Part I

Summary:

"In case you haven't noticed, I already have enough issues to deal with without bringing some stupid brat into the mix." He narrowed his eyes and leveled the man a hard stare. "But the second this kid stops being useful, the second I don't need him anymore, he's out, alright? Gone. You'd forget him like that," he muttered with a snap of his fingers. Ross watched him with a thoughtful look.

Tony let out an annoyed sigh, glaring down at the floor. "Trust me, there's nothing special about that kid. Soon enough, he won't even be worth my time anymore."

Chapter Text

Saturday mornings of SpongeBob. It didn't get any better for a four-year-old.

Peter wiggled from his seat on the floor to the tune of the song as he blinked up at the TV, watching the bright yellow sponge dance around the screen. He giggled before lowering his head and continuing his work. He currently sat in the living room, legs folded underneath him as his fingers grazed over the assorted multi-colored beads scattered across the coffee table.

The four-year-old plucked a bead up, rolling it between his fingers with a smile before picking up the half-finished project in his other hand. It took a few tries, but he finally managed to line the hole in the bead up with the string in his hand, watching as the string slipped through the hole and the bead slid down to connect with the other beads already lined up on the wire.

It only took a few more beads before he was finished, clumsily tying the end of the strings together. He beamed at the finished craft before hastily rising up to his feet. Checking to make sure his Mommy wasn't nearby, the boy quickly forgot about the show playing on the TV as he raced to his room. Closing the door behind him, he went over to his closet and pulled out an empty shoe box from the back. Opening it up, he slid the now-complete necklace into the box and placed the lip back on. He leaned back to gaze at it before scrunching his little face.

Something was missing.

After a second, the boy grinned in realization and back up to his feet. Moving over to his little toy desk, he rummaged around the tiny drawers, pulling out a long red ribbon from the bottom of one of them. Taking his plastic scissors, the boy fumbled to place them in his little fingers before snipping the ribbon away from the roll, whisking it up into the air and running back over to the shoebox. He looped the ribbon around the box and tried to tie the ends together. It took a few moments of fumbling but Peter finally got the ends to loop into a lopsided bow.

Taking a step back to admire his work, the little boy nodded in satisfaction before sliding the box back into his closet, piling a few clothes and shoes on top to hide it from view.

He shut the closet and leaned against the now-shut door. His hands raised to cup over his mouth as he tried to silence the giggles pouring out, hoping his Mommy wouldn't hear. He didn't want to ruin the surprise. And wouldn't she be surprised when she found out what he'd managed to do all by himself. He couldn't WAIT to show her!

The boy blinked back into reality and rushed out of the room as he realized he was missing the rest of his show.

 


 

Wednesday - April 27, 2016

Parker Residence - Third Floor

05:42 a.m.

He stared down at the necklace.

Despite how fragile he knew it to be, it felt like it weighed a thousand pounds in his hands. The beads, which had once been colorful and shiny were now dull and glassy. The string was thin and frayed in certain areas, making his movements extra careful for fear of snapping the thin line. Bits of dust had settled on the orbs, the teen brushing his fingers gently over the beads to clear them of the specks. All in all, the necklace had seen better days. Though he supposed he should have suspected it.

After all, ten years is a long time to wait in a shoe box.

Peter stared down at the long-forgotten gift, his body seemingly frozen as he simply watched the light filtering in through his window catch on the glass beads, shimmers of colored specks dotting the walls of his bedroom.

He currently knelt right beside his closet, the shoe box open beside him, lid resting against his feet. The aching of his knees against the carpet was the only indicator for how long he'd been on the ground. It felt like it'd been only seconds, but it was obvious from the pain that it must have been longer...much longer.

It was hard to describe the feeling bubbling in his chest. He knew it was there simply by his shaking grip but he couldn't place it into words. Whatever it was, it was cold and sharp and prickled against his skin like a million tiny needles slowly pressing into his body. A dark gaping maw that had opened in the very center of his stomach, harsh and black and suffocating, sucking in another piece of himself with each passing second. It curled around his lungs, squeezing tight in a vice-grip of metal wire that cinched the blood and left him white and breathless.

It was like he was in a dream, everything around him seeming to float, hazy and pale like the world was hidden behind a thin white veil.

Unreal.

That was the word he'd been looking for. He felt unreal, fake...pretend.

A high-pitched ringing made him jerk in surprise, his heart seeming to jump-start like a car battery. He whipped his head around towards his phone, which was vibrating on his desk, sending a thin rattling noise reverberating through the air.

Peter blinked and sucked in a breath, feeling it rattle around his chest like coins in a jar. He let out a ragged cough and sucked in another bout of air, cursing himself mentally for being so dramatic as he hastily struggled to his feet.

He moved over towards the bed and gripped the straps of the bag already packed and waiting for him. It was already almost a quarter to 6. He'd have to hurry up if he wanted to make the train on time.

He hoisted the bag over his uninjured shoulder and turned back towards the door, his feet kicking up against something as he took a step. He glanced down and paused as he caught sight of the shoe box. It was old, the sides dusty and curling from age, the logo from a company that no longer existed faded and pale, printed on the side.

Peter took a moment to just stare at the box, fingers twitching as he blinked. He glanced down, eyes meeting the necklace still clutched tightly in his hand. His fingers grazed over the beads once more, cool and smooth to the touch as they kissed against his skin. He hesitated for a moment, turning his head towards his desk, more specifically, towards the trash can situated right next to it. As soon as he laid eyes on it, however, his throat hitched and he felt his skin beginning to freeze over, a dull thrumming vibrating just underneath.

Letting out a small sigh, the boy turned away. He spared the necklace one last glance before stuffing it into his pocket. He kicked the empty shoebox off to the side and quickly left the room without even sparing a glance towards the calendar, without even looking at tomorrow's date.

He knew what it was. He knew it was best not to think about it...

...anymore than he already had.

The house was cold so early in the morning. Peter could feel his body aching ever so slightly as he made his way onto the elevator, the floor jolting under his feet as it began to descend. He gently ran a hand over his forearm. It had been almost a week since it had broken...been broken and with his appetite slowly returning and his strength right alongside it, his healing factor was finally kicking in. The bruises on his face had faded into an almost unnoticeable discoloration, his leg had mended with little less than a small limp in his step and his shoulder had finally closed up and stopped bleeding.

Still, Peter pushed up the flopping sleeves of the too-big jacket he always wore, taking in the burn marks still stretching up along his skin. They had faded considerably, to the point where they almost went unnoticed with a passing glance, but one well-placed stare was enough to uncover them. Peter knew they most likely weren't going to go away. Not this time, not with how severe they'd been.

No, they were simply another addition to the mess of scars and marks that ran up his arms. It was no wonder why Peter always wore the same jacket overtop all of his clothes, no matter the weather.

He simply had no choice. After all, it wasn't like he could bare to look at them.

Still rubbing his arm, the elevator slowly came to a stop on the bottom floor, the doors opening onto the dark level. The entire floor was barely lit, only a few of the lights on in the small kitchenette off to the side. Still, even in the dark lighting, Peter could make out the Cons strewn about the floor. Considering most of their work took place during the night, they usually spent their days...enjoying themselves.

Today, Flint was sitting by the mini-bar, piles of miscellaneous white powder spread across the polished surface and across the skin of his hands and face. He gave a big sniff of empty air as Peter passed, not even sparing the boy a glance as he pinched the bridge of his nose and grunted.

Max and Curt were on the couch together, the former holding a smoke of some sort. The wafts of pungent air made Peter wrinkle his nose and turn his head away as the man puffed a bloom up over his head as he leaned back against the sofa. Curt, on the other hand, seemed content to simply swig a couple sips of beer as he flicked his lighter cap off and on again, the distinct metallic clinking filling the air as he lazily stared at the TV. The glow illuminated the room in eerily blue light.

Sandra was on the couch perpendicular to the one her colleagues were using, sitting on the lap of a mystery woman. The two moaned passionately as they made out, a pile of multicolored pills sitting on the table in front of them. Peter didn't bother checking to see who the mystery woman was. Sandra was known to bring home tons of strays of all shapes and sizes, ages and genders. Whoever the woman chose on a particular day, Peter never saw them again. He tried not to think too much into it.

Thankfully, the Cons were either too drunk, buzzed, loaded or...preoccupied in Sandra's case to take any notice of him. Of course, it might have just been the way he slunk in the shadows, his small figure slipping through the gleams of light and sliding out of their lines of sight.

Years of practice and Peter had finally gotten the knack of being invisible.

Realizing that the front door would be swarmed by reporters, even at this early hour, the teen cautiously made his way towards the back door, which lead through the garage and out onto the street behind their house. He case a wary glance behind him at the mound of cars and vans parked outside his house before giving a small shake of his head and beginning his walk down the street.

The sky overhead was still dark considering the time with a few pale streaks of color beginning to spread as the sun just barely began to emerge. The teen continued to keep his eyes on the street however, making sure to watch for any other vans of TV cars pulling up alongside him just in case one of the stake-out groups had made him during his escape.

Luckily, no such thing seemed to happen as the street remained fairly empty. Peter blew out a small sigh of relief, fingers drumming against the straps of his bag as he wondered whether or not the reporters had decided to focus on Stark Tower instead of their regular old townhouse.

The thought almost made Peter break his stride before he was clearing his throat and continuing on his way. His skin prickled ever so slightly as he recalled the feeling of a hand latching onto his wrist, grip desperately tight.

He hadn't heard anything from Mr. Stark since that day in the park two days ago.

Immediately, a bout of anger flared as Peter thought back to the encounter, to that disaster of a day. So far, he'd been doing well to not think about the ordeal, but inevitably, a thought or two would slip through and he'd sink into a sea of overwhelming emotion and anger now that he finally had the ability to step back and think over the entire exchange.

And every time he thought about it, he got angrier and angrier.

How could Mr. Stark do something like that? How could he deliberately and with such...disregard just go against everything he said he wouldn't do?! He'd told Peter that he'd never push, never demand an answer. He'd said that Peter wouldn't have to worry about keeping secrets from him because he'd never ask about them! And what does he go and do? Practically cause a scene in the middle of a public fucking park and almost made him spill his guts!

Peter could remember with disturbing accuracy the unadulterated terror that had shot through his body that day, the paralyzing fear that had swept through him as he saw someone get inches...millimeters away from the truth.

Even now, as the teen walked down the sidewalk, he could feel himself getting angry.

Why had the billionaire been so adamant in the first fucking place?! This had never happened before. Sure, over the years there were always people who had gotten suspicious, people who had noticed a few things here and there, a few who might have begun to piece some things together. And maybe even a few of them tried to push Peter about it, get him to spill something. But the boy was steadfast, even back then, and as soon as he'd show that he wasn't about to crack under their pressure, they'd backed off. They'd left it alone. They'd given up. But Mr. Stark hadn't g-

Peter slowed his walk as the thought entered his mind.

Mr. Stark hadn't given up. He'd seen...and he kept pushing. He didn't shy away or avert his gaze and pretend he hadn't seen anything. He hadn't let Peter lie his way out. Everyone always just accepted the lies, even if they were obviously just that.

Peter didn't...he didn't know how he felt about that. He knew it should have worried him. After all, having someone sniffing around was dangerous, especially when said someone had just proven themselves to be determined, to not be swayed easily. But...whatever feeling that was churning around in his stomach...it wasn't dread. He didn't know what it was.

The teen furrowed his brow and pulled the jacket tighter around himself.

Despite his persistence in the park, Mr. Stark had been quiet for the last few days. Peter figured it was a good thing. The man was giving him some much-needed space and Peter could take the time to straighten himself out, which was obviously needed considering the complete lapse in judgement he'd suffered.

Even if Mr. Stark had proven to be just a bit more persistent than some from the past, that didn't mean he was suddenly the answer to everything. Peter was a fucking idiot for even entertaining the notion for a fraction of a second. Ten years of hard work were almost flushed away just by talking to the man for a few minutes. The teen would have scoffed at the hilarity of it all if it wasn't so infuriating.

All these years of lessons, of keeping his mouth shut, hiding his wounds, throwing out excuses, coming up with lie after lie after lie and he'd almost spilled his guts to somebody just because they were nice to him? What a fucking joke.

What right did he have to start pouring things out to Tony Stark? Did he want to get them both killed?

Peter stuttered in his stride at the thought.

The full severity of the situation began to crawl up along his spin, making his movements stiff and his breath falter ever so slightly before he was clearing his throat and continuing down the path.

Everything was beginning to fall apart, Peter could tell that much. The walls he'd so painstakingly built up were beginning to crack ever so slightly and the boy could see exactly what was causing said destruction. He could see his own downfall right before his eyes.

He took a deep breath, hands fisting into the hem of his jacket. He had to breath. He had to keep his head and calm down, cement down what he knew and roll with what he was being given. Ten years he'd been learning and he couldn't just throw away those lessons now, not when they were so vital to his survival. And if that meant taking a couple of days away from Mr. Stark, then so be it. It was worth it as long as he remembered everything that was at stake, everything he'd been taught, everything that was right.

He knew the rules. He couldn't forget the rules. He couldn't let Tony make him forget the rules.

After all, it wasn't like he wanted to see the man or crack a few jokes to lighten the sour mood that had been plaguing him the entire week or just sit and talk to someone he had grown so comfortable around or-

Peter bit his lower lip tightly, scrunching his eyes shut as he focused on the sharp sting of pain that came as he broke the skin instead of the thoughts that had begun to ring, allowing them to be drowned out as he raised his sleeve and wiped away the drops of blood that had formed.

He needed to focus. He needed to stay sharp. And he had to follow along.

Peter spotted the subway sign not too far off and began to make his way over, knowing it wouldn't be long before school started. The familiar blight of frustration and nausea settled into his stomach as he thought of the crowded halls of the place that had once been his safe haven. Now it was nothing but prying eyes and grating whispers from nosy students and concerned friends.

Ned and MJ had practically hovered over him yesterday, much to his annoyance, but he'd bitten his tongue and held back any sharp retorts he wanted to fling, worried of a repeat performance of Monday's fiascos. Pete knew they were likely to do the same today, despite his frustrations and a sharp longing to just be left alone.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets, fingers grazing over the small beads of the necklace. They were cold, smooth. He liked the feeling of the polished surface against his skin.

MJ might not know what tomorrow was, but Ned did. And usually, the boy was smart enough to give his friend plenty of space on said day, knowing kind words and reassuring pats on the back would be met with either stoic disassociation or biting fury. Neither Peter or Ned truly knew which it would be until said day came. It was pretty much a toss of the coin.

So with that in mind, perhaps the bubbly boy would be wise enough to convince his female counterpart that it was best to give Peter his space for the rest of the week.

Peter almost perked at the idea. Perhaps today would be different. Perhaps today, he'd finally be left alone with nobody prying to know how he was feeling. He sighed at the thought, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips.

Who knew? Perhaps wishful thinking would finally pay off today.

 


 

Wednesday - April 27, 2016

Midtown School of Science and Technology - Student Services

09:32 a.m.

"So how are you today, Peter?"

"Wishful thinking"...what a laugh.

The teen shifted slightly in the seat, grimacing as the hard backing of the wooden chair pressed uncomfortably against him. "Fine, I guess," he murmured, already feeling a bout of unease drifting over him.

The room was cold, unbelievably so. He could feel goosebumps already spreading up along his arms even from underneath his sweater and jacket. In fact, he was almost shocked he couldn't see his breath swirling around him every time he exhaled. But he shouldn't have been all that surprised.

Ms. O'Hara's office was always freezing.

Said woman sat behind her desk, hands folded neatly overtop some papers as she leaned forward. She had pale blue eyes and brunette hair that stretched down to her neck and curled upwards at the ends. She was incredibly thin, almost as if her skin was simply stretched overtop her bones. Her hands were bony and brittle, like sewing needles pinned together to form a claw. Her lips were ruby red and stretched wide into a bright smile.

"Yeah? You feeling alright? Getting enough sleep?" Her voice was honey sweet with a slight Mississippi drawl laced on the back end of her words.

"Mm-hmm."

She nodded, staring at him in silence with that same bright smile. It never wavered, not even as the seconds ticked on in total silence. Peter shifted again. He cleared his throat softly, lifting his gaze for a moment before dropping it back down. Finally, the woman blinked and leaned back ever so slightly. "Well, I called you in here today because Mr. Harrington seems to be quite concerned about you in his class."

Here we go.

"Is something...w-wrong with my grades? Cause last...last I checked-"

"Oh no, sweetie. Nothing like that. You're one of Midtown's best and brightest." She chuckled, smoothing her hands along the front of her dress. It was white with pink flowers that were so obnoxiously bright Peter couldn't look directly at them.

"No, his concerns aren't exactly academically inclined so much as they are emotionally. He expressed to me that you've been acting a bit off this week." Her face finally changed, taking on a more sympathetic glimmer, though her smile remained. "Quieter than usual, not much participation in classes you're usually so astute in. I talked to a few of your other teachers and they confirmed this with me." She tilted her head. "Any of this ringing a bell?"

Peter shrugged, tracing the carpet pattern with his eyes. "I guess? I mean...I-I haven't really...noticed anything."

He should have seen this coming. This wasn't the first time he'd been summoned by Ms. O'Hara. In fact, this was the third time he'd seen her this school year. Usually, it was Mr. Harrington that initiated such meetings, much to the boy's chagrin.

Her office hadn't changed much since he'd last seen her. Lots of potted plants and pictures of happy smiling students. Diplomas and numerous certificates adorned the walls behind her. She even had some motivational posters here and there. And it was always...always cold.

Ms. O'Hara squeezed her curled hands ever so slightly and leaned closer to the boy. "Is there something you want to talk about Peter?"

He didn't beat around the bush. "No."

"Any problems with your friends? Maybe some issues making friends?"

"Nothing like that."

She paused for a considerable moment before speaking again. "Perhaps some trouble at home then." Peter instantly noticed the slight change to her tone. It was sharper, more pressing. He lifted his gaze for just a flash right in time to see her eyes narrow ever so slightly. Her smile never wavered. "I know this media storm must be quite hard on you and your father. Are the two of you dealing with it alright?"

He shifted in his seat again and rubbed at his arms, careful to be gentle with the wound still lingering underneath the sleeve. "About as well as we can...I guess. H-he doesn't seem too...worried about it. Thinks...thinks it'll blow over in a couple of w-weeks."

She giggled, the laugh ringing in her throat like a bell. "Well, he would know best, wouldn't he? I'm sure he's no stranger to dealing with these news hounds. Though, I must say, these stories I'm hearing about are quite shocking. I never would have imagined you'd be hanging around people like Tony Stark."

She leaned closer and put a hand up to one side of her mouth, like she was whispering a secret to him. "It's no secret that his and your father's companies don't exactly get along." She hummed before bouncing her shoulders and straightening up. "I don't mean to pry but I'm surprised your father allowed it."

He shrugged, eyes still tracing the carpeted design of the rug underneath her desk. More flowers.

Peter had never liked their little meetings. Something about them just made his skin crawl. Something about her just set him on edge. Her chipper, southern-sweetness never really settled the wave of uncomfortable air that washed over him whenever he was near her. Peter didn't really know what set it off. After all, Ms. O'Hara was always so sweet, so...cloyingly sweet. Whatever it was, Peter always assumed he was the only one with such unease towards the woman, for nobody else ever really said anything.

She was the school's golden child. They were always making announcements over the PA about some other award she'd one or a certificate of recognition she'd received from all her charitable work. And from the outside, Peter could see why. To anybody else, any passer-byer, she seemed like the happiest, sweetest person to ever set foot in the school. She skipped around with a bright smile and a wave of her dresses, passing out compliments and handing out advice like candy on Halloween.

Peter was probably just being awkward...again.

Ms. O'Hara blinked at him for a moment before unfolding her hands, resting them on the surface of the desk as she brought her chair closer and leaned in once again. "Peter...are you sure everything's alright? I know it's not my place to say, but I'm feeling quite concerned. It's never wise to get caught up in the news, and hanging around people like Tony Stark can only bring trouble." She gave a little shudder as she said the billionaire's name.

Peter felt his fingers curl into his palms at the obvious dismissal. He didn't know why.

"And not just trouble for you, you know. This can affect your father just as poorly!" She leaned in even closer, so much so that the teen began to squirm underneath her gaze. "You wouldn't want that for your father, now would you?"

Peter grimaced and sat up in the chair, lifting his gaze to her. "No...I just-"

"And it's no secret what people are saying about you in all the papers and on TV." Her sweet voice swept right overtop his, effectively silencing him as she continued. "Now, I'm sure the majority of it is just a bunch of bubble gum, but maybe you should think about stepping back, getting out of the public eye." She leaned back and nodded her head. "It might just be causing you more stress than it's worth."

The teen sighed and slid back down in the chair. He knew the woman was just trying to help him, but something about her words...or maybe it was her tone...? Whatever it was, it made him bounce his leg against the floor, eager to get up and excuse himself.

He said nothing, though. If he wanted this to be over as soon as possible, it was best to just let her finish and think he was soaking in everything she was saying. Soon enough, she'd be talking about colleges and AP classes and whatever other nonsense counselors thought made kids feel better.

Absentmindedly, his hand slid into his pocket and he pulled the necklace out just a tad, fingers grazing over the beads. It calmed his heart ever so slightly, which had begun to pick up in speed as soon as he'd entered the cramped room. It took him a moment to realize the woman was talking once again.

"-don't know, Peter," the woman said as she pushed her chair back away from the desk. She reached down towards the floor and pulled out a small watering can, no bigger than a coffee pot. "Perhaps this is some case of teenage rebellion, sticking it to your father by siding with his competitors." She stood up and began to pour water overtop the potted plants sitting atop her cabinets, glancing back over her shoulder with that same sticky smile. "Quite childish if I do say so myself, and not exactly beneficial to your mental health, sweetie."

Peter suppressed another aggravated sigh as he swung his eyes over towards the wall next to him, spying another motivational poster. This one was of a kid in the desert, holding up a huge boulder with both his hands and legs as the ginormous rock pressed him down into the ground. Even in the illustration, Peter could see the look of terror on the kid's face. Below the image were the words, "NEVER GIVE UP!"

He grimaced at the picture with a low groan and turned away with a shake of his head. "It's not...it's not like that," he finally muttered, completely over this visit already.

"Hmm..." from the hum that left her throat, the woman didn't seem satiated. She turned back around and dropped the watering can back down on the floor next to her desk. However, before she could open her mouth again, her eyes caught sight of what the boy was fiddling with. "What's that?"

Peter, who had gone back to not paying attention, snapped his gaze over to her and cocked a brow. "What?"

She pointed. "That. In your hand. What do you have there?"

"Oh..." the teen breathed, glancing down towards his pocket, where the necklace was now more visible than before. He tightened his grip on the beads for some reason as he pulled it out completely. "It's nothing, really."

"Doesn't look like nothing," she chirped, eyes shiny and bright like glass marbles sinking into her skull.

Peter shrugged his shoulders as he let the necklace fall into his cupped hands. "It's just...just something I made a long time ago..." he hesitated for a moment before continuing. "...for my mom."

He waited for her to respond, only to lift his head when she remained silent. She hadn't sat down at her desk yet, simply standing there, staring at him. Peter felt a shiver trail up his spine as her gaze seemed to pierce through him. Her smile had finally dissipated, though Peter didn't know if that made him feel better or worse now that her face was empty. She didn't even blink.

He swallowed, feeling his throat go dry for some reason. He tore his gaze away from her face and glanced back down at the necklace. This was getting awkward.

"I think I see what the problem is now, Peter."

Before he could even raise his head and respond, the woman was snatching the necklace out of his hands. "Hey!" He shouted, more of an involuntary response than anything else as he stared at her in disbelief. She glanced at the necklace with mild distain before turning back to him with another smile.

"You're a clinger."

"I..." he blinked up at her. "...a what?"

"Oh, it's all starting to make sense now, sweetie," she cooed with a chipper grin. "I've seen things like this before, you know. Usually with kids who aren't very emotionally developed or deal with something traumatic at an early age."

She leaned against the lip of the desk, twirling the necklace around in her hand. Peter watched her movements like a hawk, wincing under her gaze as she turned back to him and said in a voice much too enthusiastic, "You lost your mother, what? Ten years ago?"

Peter stiffened in the chair, dragging his eyes away from the necklace and over towards her face. His eyes narrowed and he could feel his fingers curling around the chair. "Something like that." His growled, suddenly finding himself growing angry. "What does that have to do with anything?"

The woman waved her empty hand dismissively. "Oh, Peter. It's very common to see children who deal with such loss early on to develop problems later on in life, usually disciplinary issues like rebellion, disobedience, or even aversion to social situations.

He grit his teeth, glaring up at her as he clenched his fingers into full fists. "I don't have disciplinary iss-"

"Don't interrupt.

Peter felt his jaw snap shut at the words, heart spiking as he instinctively lowered his head. His fists continued to shake by his sides, but he kept his gaze locked onto the floor.

"As I was saying, it's very common for these...troubled children to cling to certain things, whether it be their past loved ones, friends, objects, even more abrasive substances like drugs and alcohol." She paused for a moment before leaning forward. Peter, in response, leaned away until he was pressing up against the back of the chair. "You haven't dabbled in these horrid things, have you, Peter?" She whispered.

He steadied his breath, trying to calm himself down as he looked back at her. He fought to keep his face neutral. "No." He spat the word out sharply. The woman either didn't notice or didn't care.

Her smile, instead, grew even wider, if such a thing were even possible. She got up from the desk and crouched down so that she was now kneeling in front of him.

"Good. You're a good boy, aren't you, Peter?"

He said nothing. She seemed content with his silence.

"And good boys don't become bright young men by grieving over people who are dead and gone, darling. I understand it might be difficult to let go, but this was ten years ago, sweetie. It's ridiculous to still hold onto such debilitating things like this" She held up the necklace and shook it ever so slightly.

Peter fought against his own muscles to keep his arms down, keep them from ripping the necklace right out of her hands and pushing her away. He could feel his teeth grinding together. He had to keep quiet. Just shut up and everything would be over soon.

Just shut up, Peter. Shut up.

So he didn't say anything, not even when the woman turned and tossed the necklace into the small waste basket beside her desk. She wiped her hands off and let out a long dramatic and overexaggerated sigh, smiling down at him with a bounce of her shoulders. "There! See? Out of sight, out of mind! Now don't you feel better?"

Quiet. Quiet. Quiet.

His knuckles were quickly turning white.

Ms. O'Hara moved back around to the other side of her desk and sat back down in her chair with a small sigh. "Now...that's not the only reason I called you in here today, Peter." She folded her hands once more and leaned in closer again. "I wanted to talk to you about how you handle these issues of yours, how you cope. I can see that growing up without a nurturing motherly figure has bred some...challenges."

Peter narrowed his eyes, lifting his gaze up from the carpet. "What's that supposed to mean?" he muttered, ignoring the blatant warning bells going off in his mind. He could feel a tingling sensation thrumming at the base of his skull. It made him squirm in the seat as he rolled his shoulders, wincing as his injury flared ever so slightly.

The women giggled with a small roll of her eyes. "Come now, Peter. Don't be so sensitive." Her eyes seemed sharper than before, pale and icy and completely overwhelming. "Now, I wanted to know how you handle the things that bother you. Like...whenever you have a bad day, how to you deal with it?"

The teen blinked his eyes and threw her a weird look. "What? I...I don't know..?" The tingling hadn't gone away. He was confused. He wasn't being threatened right now so why were his senses going nuts? He wasn't in danger...right?

"Come on, Peter," she teased. "Give me something here. How to you cope? How do you manage it? What's your process?"

The boy let out a small sigh, glancing away as he straightened back up in the chair. Just answer, dummy. Answer and you can finally get out of here. He gave a shrug, thinking about it for a moment longer before responding. "I guess...I don't know, I guess I just talk to my...to my friends about it"

"Edward Leeds and Michelle Jones?"

"Ned and MJ. They...they don't like being called by their full names."

The woman hummed and took a second to just look at him. Peter didn't like it. It was like she was examining him, studying him like a frog on the dissection table. He felt exposed, like a loose wire. Hot and electric and dangerous.

The tingling was getting stronger.

Finally, Ms. O'Hara leaned back in her chair with a small breath, gazing at him with something akin to...disappointment? "Oh, Peter. Peter, Peter, Peter..." she sighed, shaking her head sadly. "What makes you think that's okay?"

The teen stared at her with a dumbfounded look. Had he said something wrong? Why was he looking at her like he'd just confessed to drug dealing to the football team while simultaneously cheating on a final? The tingling grew, to the point where it was hard for him to keep still in the chair as it vibrated underneath his skin, seeming to shake his bones and rattle his teeth.

The counselor stood up from her chair and gazed down at him. "This isn't good, Peter."

Feeling a small bout of confidence (or maybe it was just anger), the teen folded his arms over his chest. "What? Isn't talking to my friends supposed to be healthy?" he muttered sarcastically

"Yes. But being a burden to them isn't."

Peter froze at the words, wondering for a moment if he'd heard her correctly. He felt his back go rigid against the chair as he sat up, attention completely grabbed now. He furrowed his brow and stared at the woman with wide eyes. "What...what did you say?" he murmured, the tingling now spreading throughout his entire body. Something was wrong. Something was wrong.

Ms. O'Hara held her smile as she cupped her hands together, slowly taking a few steps away from the desk. "I understand you must have many bad days, Peter. It's not easy being a teenager these days, what with the mound of problems you must face. But these problems are your own, your own mess to clean up." She murmured, waggling a finger in the air.

"I don't...I-I don't understand..."

"Come now, you're a smart boy. Figure it out."

"I'm just...talking to my friends! There's...t-there's nothing wrong with...with that," he tried to say, tried to bite back. But whatever ferociousness, whatever fire had been burning in him before was quickly dying. All of the doubts that had been ringing around in his ears, it was echoing. Loud and ominous and grating against his senses.

"But you're not just talking are you, Peter? No, you're discussing matters that they have no part in. Sharing your misery. Does it make you feel better to make them feel worse?"

"No! I-"

"'Misery Loves Company'. Are you trying to take a page out of that book?"

"I'm not try...I didn't-"

"Are you a selfish boy, Peter?"

He said nothing as he lowered his gaze to stare at the floor. His brow was furrowed and his lips were parted as he tried to find his voice, tried to refute what she was saying, tried to do...anything. But it was like the words had frozen to the sides of his throat. It was like his hands were stuck to his sides and his feet were pinned to the floor. He couldn't move.

All he could do was listen.

"What makes you think it's alright to share these concerns, hmm? However bad they're making you feel, Peter...just imagine how they make your friends feel." She stepped closer. "Imagine how they must hurt inside when they hear about your problems, when they realize there's nothing they can do to help you."

"No, Ned! He can't just waltz into school looking like he's three seconds from passing out and not expect us to be conc- to not say anything!"

"I...I didn't-"

"Imagine what you must make them feel." She was standing behind him now, he could hear her breathing. Hear her voice. It swirled around him, bouncing off the walls, surrounding him.

"Inadequate."

"No...I-I just..."

"I want...I want you to tell us the truth. I mean, don't you trust us?"

"Useless."

"I didn't mean...m-mean t..."

"Please, we're your friends. We only want to help you. And we can't do that when you keep shutting us out.

"Pathetic."

"Don't thank me. Just...just don't."

Peter felt the air in his lungs violently jolt out of his body as he felt Ms. O'Hara rest her hands atop his shoulders. His heart stuttered against his ribs, cracking, piercing. "What makes you think it's alright to share these concerns, hmm? Are they your friends' responsibility?"

His voice was shaky, barely above a whisper. "No..."

"Do they deserve to suffer alongside you?"

Ned helping him redress his wounds. Ned letting him sleep at his house when the Cons had kicked him out. Ned holding him behind the bleachers as he sobbed his eyes out. Ned putting his needs on hold all for him, all for him. For years...

"No."

"Do you want them to hurt just as much as you?"

Michelle giving him her migraine pills. Michelle feeding him parts of her lunch. Michelle defending him against his bullies. Michelle lying for him. Michelle dressing his wounds. Michelle worrying herself because of him.

"No..."

The woman patted his shoulders, the teen holding in the moan of pain as her hand pressed down on his wound. "There! You see? You're already learning, darling! I know these issues can be challenging, but it would be both in your interest and your friends' to keep these things to yourself. When you need to talk, you come to me! I'm trained to listen to your problems, to deal with your nonsense. Your friends aren't. They're innocent. They don't deserve to deal with your issues, with your life, do they?"

I'm sorry...

"No."

He could practically hear the smile in her voice. "Exactly. There's nothing wrong with a little silence." She leaned down until her lips were right next to his ear. "Every good boy knows when to be quiet. Isn't that right, Peter?" Her nails curled into his shoulder, digging into the skin in a vice-like grip. "Isn't that what your father taught you?"

He wanted Mr. Stark.

"Yes."

She straightened back up and removed her hands. "Such a wise man, your father. The school is very grateful for the annual contributions he donates to us, you know?" She didn't seem bothered by his silence as she stepped back from the chair, moving over towards the cabinets by the back of the room. "I understand this is a lot to process," she murmured straightening out a picture of her next to a smiling young girl. "Tell you what? We'll talk about this more at a later time. I want you to let this all sink in, really understand and let it take root."

She moved back over towards the desk, pausing for a moment to place a hand on her chest. "You know I only want what's best for you. We all do, Peter."

He could feel his hands shaking at his sides. He didn't meet her gaze.

"So!" She clapped her hands together again. Peter winced. "The next time you're feeling anxious or nervous and feel you might want to share your problems, talk about your feelings, remember..."

He glanced up right as she lifted a hand, placing a slender finger up to her lips. He sucked in another breath. The air was so cold, it made his lungs burn. "Bottle that all up, hold it deep inside you and let it build up. Don't share it with anybody, no matter what. And then when we meet again, unload it and share it with me. I'll deal with it. I'll deal with you."

She tilted her head and let out a titter of a laugh. "You know nobody else deserves to deal with the mess."

Peter lowered his head and wrapped his arms tight around himself, trying to draw in a sliver of warm in the otherwise frigid room. But his own body was cold to the touch.

"Yes, ma'am."

The woman glanced down at the watch on her bony wrist. "Well, that's all the time we have, sweetie. I have to go and talk to Ms. Petroza." She grabbed a couple of folders out of the filing cabinet before closing it back up, glancing at the boy with a grin. "You go ahead, gather your things. The bell's gonna ring in a few minutes so you can just wait out the rest of the time in here, think about everything I told you."

With that, she made her way over towards the door, opening it just a tad before stopping and turning back. Her eyes seemed to snap right through his thin little frame as she beamed, lips blood red and teeth pearly white. "I'm glad we got to talk, Peter. I look forward to seeing you again."

And with that, she slipped though the door, leaving Peter all alone.

For a moment, all he did was sit there. He didn't move. He didn't speak. He didn't twitch. All he did was sit and stare at the carpet underneath his feet, at the flower design stitched into the rug. Snapdragons. He was pretty sure they were Snapdragons.

He lifted his head, sucking in a rattling bout of air that stung the whole way down before slowly rising up to his feet. It was like his body was frozen, like his joints were solid ice. The air was thin, a frigid grip that snaked underneath his clothes and licked at his skin. He shut his eyes and suddenly he was back in the Dark Room, in the dark, in the cold. There were chains on his wrists, his ankles. Blood dripped down his skin, dripped onto the floor, dripped into the pools below. It was so cold, they were beginning to freeze, solid drops of frozen sweat, frozen tears, frozen red pins. He could feel it biting into him, curling around his bones and cutting straight through his muscles, icy patches of frost coating his cheeks.

He tried to speak, opened his mouth to scream, only for the cold to spread over his throat, coat his tongue. He tried to move it, only for it to shatter as soon as it touched his teeth, dissolving into nothing as ice spread overtop his mouth, freezing the words inside into muted screams, muffled by snow.

He wanted Mr. Stark.

He wanted his friends.

He wanted Uncle Ben and Aunt May.

He wanted his mom.

But he couldn't. He couldn't have them...because he was too cold, and he couldn't call out for them.

His tongue was gone. It had frozen off.

He opened his eyes and suddenly he was back in Ms. O'Hara's office. His eyes scanned over the room, so small, so...escapable. And yet, it was the Dark Room all over again. Only these chains were different. These chains were invisible, and yet just as strong.

Peter let out a small breath, if only to make sure he still could, before taking a small step. He crouched down onto his hands and knees, not really trusting his legs to carry him any father than a foot as he crawled along the floor and over towards the trash can. He reached a shaky hand in and pulled out his mother's necklace, only for him to pause at the thought.

Could he really call it his mother's necklace if she'd never even worn it?

He thought about that as he sat back against the wall, holding the necklace close to his chest. He thought about that and kept thinking about that, just kept thinking, thinking, thinking.

. . . . .

She shut the door with a soft little click, back pressing against it for a moment as Holly O'Hara took a second to breathe. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Checking her hair in the black screen, she quickly turned it on and scrolled through her contacts before coming to one with no name listed.

Only a number.

She pressed on it and brought the phone to her ears. It only rang twice before the person on the other end picked up.

"It's done." Holly murmured softly, knowing full well the boy on the other side of the door had the capabilities of hearing her. Though, she had no doubts he would be a little too busy...processing their latest chat. She listened to the voice on the other end for a moment before responding. "No, no trouble at all."

Another moment.

She grinned and let out a chuckle. "Don't worry," she said with the same cheery voice as before. "He won't be saying anything to anybody. Trust me."

Another set of instructions. She listened carefully before agreeing, ending the call and sliding the phone back into her pocket. She let out a small content sigh, primped her hair one last time and made her way down the hallway, shoes clacking against the hard tile underneath.

 


 

Wednesday - April 27, 2016

Stark Towers - Conference Room A

03:16 p.m.

Tony stared out the window. Above the skyline, an unbroken layer of white and gray hung overtop the city, a brilliant sheen where the sunlight illuminated the clouds, dark where it did not. The usually shining glass buildings scattered across the city were dulled and muted with the overhanging atmosphere of dim shade. People bustled along the sidewalks as normal, despite the less than pleasant weather licking at their heels. It made them quicken their strides ever so slightly with the looming threat of being caught in the eventual downpour that poked through the clouds.

He sucked in a small breath, feeling the cool air swirl around his throat before seeping down into his lungs, crisp and clean. He glanced down at the glass in his hands, a common sight nowadays. He lifted his other hand and slowly began to trace the lip with his finger, carefully following the thin rim in a lazy circle. He thought about a chip of glass sticking up from the surface, cutting into his skin, blood dripping down the side. But all was smooth, undisturbed. No chips. No blood.

Tony's eyes flashed for the briefest of moments, just long enough for them to trace the line of scars he'd seen. Red and raw and angry, snaking up the kid's paper arm like blood splatters, like lava crackling underneath the ground, bubbling hot magma all across the surface of his skin.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and whipped around, heart stuttering in shock as his wide eyes rounded on Pepper. The scotch sloshed around in the glass as he turned on his heel, the woman rearing back slightly at the man's response. He bit out a sharp sigh and placed a hand to his heart. "Jesus, Potts! What the hell are you trying to do to me, huh?"

She pursed her lips. "I called your name three times."

He stared at her for a moment before blowing a scoff. "Couldn't have hurt for a fourth."

"Tony."

"What?" He muttered, glancing her direction, annoyance bubbling in his chest at the look of resigned frustration on her face. "I've got everything down, memorized, scripted. I'm good. I'm...I'm good."

He turned back towards the window, trying to ignore the feeling of her eyes boring holes into the back of his skull. "Are you?"

"What?"

"Are you? Good, I mean. Cause frankly, you don't seem it."

The man cast her a small glare over her shoulder. "What's that supposed to mean?" He really didn't have the patience to go into another debate. That seemed to be all they'd been doing these past few days, ever since Monday, ever since he'd gotten back from the park. And not knowing whether or not his temper would hold out long enough to spare Pepper from the brunt of it, Tony wasn't really in the mood to test it out.

The woman seemed unperturbed, however, as she turned away, the tell-tale sound of her heels clicking against the floor. He angled his body ever so slightly so that he could easily watch as she picked up a stack of files she'd brought in earlier and began to distribute them around the table. She didn't look up from her work as she spoke. "Tony, you need to focus. You can't be thinking of Peter right now."

He narrowed his eyes, tightening his hold on his drink ever so slightly before rolling his eyes in a dismissive manner and raising his glass, taking a sip before turning his head away. "I'm not." His voice was light, casual in his usual carefree tone, nothing like the boiling pit pooling in his stomach.

Pepper wasn't fooled, however, as she finished setting down the last of the files and turned on her heels, arms folded as she stared at him with a hard look. "I mean it, Tony. This is important. Ross has been on the prowl for months now. He's going to be hounding you today."

"I know."

"Rhodey said he'll be waiting for you to make a mistake so he can slip in whatever ridiculous protocols he wants to add to the Accords to make them even more hostile and aggressive."

"I know, Pepper. You can save it with the goddamn lectures and just finish your fucking job, alright?" He scowled at her for a moment before sucking in a breath and sharply turning away again. He raised his glass, cursing his damn hand for the slight tremor and took another sip. It burned as it slipped down his throat.

He was being an ass, that much he knew. But he couldn't really bring himself to care at the moment. There was just too much on his mind, too much weighing down on his chest, threatening to snap his ribs and cave in his sternum under the pressure.

He heard the sound of her heels once again and took another breath as he felt her hand come to rest gently on his shoulder. Tony didn't turn away from the window. The clouds were getting darker.

"He's gonna be alright."

Another breath, shakier than the last. "You didn't see him."

Pepper sighed and let her hand slip down to her side. "I know."

"No, you don't, alright?" He rounded on her, scotch spilling over the side of his glass and dripping onto his shaking hand. "You don't know. You don't know anything and neither do I and that's the fucking problem! Two months and I Still. Don't. Know!"

He shot the glass towards his mouth and slammed the remnants of the drink down his throat. "I don't know what Richard's doing to him. I don't know what he's telling him. I don't know anything because that fucking kid refuses to tell me!" He pushed past her and stalked over towards the cabinets lining the back wall, towards the glasses and the bottles of scotch lined up neatly.

Pepper said nothing as he wordlessly plucked up the bottle of scotch, popped the cork and refilled his glass. He wondered if the Senators would mind if he drank. He didn't care what they thought either way, he was still going to do it, but it was nice to imagine being able to piss off Ross even more by drinking during their "oh so important" meeting. Just another way for him to stick it do the pompous asshole.

Some issues in Washington had lead to the Senators extending their stay, leading to the meeting that was scheduled for yesterday to be postponed to today. Which meant a day of yelling, cursing, and running circles around agendas and policies that should never even see the light of day, let alone make it through legislation. Tony supposed he should have been grateful for the extension. It gave him more time to think. More time to...he didn't even know what.

Tony didn't know what to do anymore.

His little meeting with Peter had left him feeling...something. Hopeless? Afraid? Loathsome? Maybe a combination of the three? Maybe none of the three? He didn't know. He didn't know what he was feeling. All he did know was that his little plan was currently crashing and burning.

Whatever progress he'd assumed he was making had proven to be all for nothing. It hadn't made a lick of difference. Peter still didn't trust him. Peter still wasn't talking to him. How the hell was he meant to help this kid if Peter didn't let him?! Was he helping him at all?

Tony lowered his head, staring back down at the glass in his hands, at the amber liquid reflecting his face back up at him.

Two months. It had been two months since he'd met Peter. Two months of getting to know the kid, of opening up to the kid, of trying to crack through that tough exterior shell. Some of it had been annoying. None of it had been easy. But for the longest time, Tony truly believed he was...helping. He believed that Peter was getting better, improving with their little talks, their little workshop moments. He thought Peter was finally starting to trust him. Was it all in his head?

Pepper watched him stare at his glass for another moment before giving a small shake of her head, pushing back a stray strand of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail. "Tony, we said it yesterday and I'll say it again." Her voice was dead serious, no play whatsoever. "We have to call this in. File a report. We need to go to the police."

As soon as she said it, he was shaking his head. "No."

"At this point, it would be irresponsible not to!"

"We can't."

She narrowed her eyes and took a step forward. "Stark, it's this boy's life that we're talking about here, not some trivial SI meeting that you can't be bothered to attend or some secret project that only you can know about. You can't afford to wave this off. Put your goddamn ego aside for one minute and admit that you can't do this by yourself!"

Tony slammed the glass down on the table, the bang echoing throughout the entire room. "Goddamn it, Potts! You think I don't want to go to the police, to CPS, to the damn Coast Guard or whoever I have to go to to get that kid out of that house?! You think I wouldn't be there already if it was a viable option?!" He shouted, eyes burning as he glared at her, the woman returning his stare with full force.

"So why isn't it?!"

"Because he lies!" he screamed, throwing his hands up in the air. "He lies, Pepper. He lies about all of it to cover for that dirtbag of a father! He lies to everybody; to his friends, to CPS, to the police. He's a liar...and a damn good one at that."

Pepper shook her head, letting out a small scoff. "He couldn't possibly be that good, Tony. To fool an agency that must see cases like his all the time?!"

Tony didn't say anything for a moment, staring at her for a good long while, staring into her brilliant blue eyes that could scan through his words and pull out the lies without even missing a beat, that could pierce through his shell and find whatever mess was underneath. He'd been prey to those eyes before and he knew he would fall victim to them again some time in the future. But not today.

Instead, he blew out a small sigh and grabbed the lip of one of the chairs, rolling it away from the table before plopping into it, feeling just how tired he really was. He couldn't remember when the last time was that he'd gotten a good night's sleep, not just crashed on the couch in the lab or fallen into a drunken haze.

They'd been arguing about this for the past two days, they being him, Pepper and Rhodey. The latter two seemed adamant in calling the police, in filing a claim against Parker for the safety of the kid, getting angrier and angrier at the billionaire for his reluctance.

They didn't know. They didn't know what Tony knew.

He leaned back against the chair, hands folding overtop his stomach as he twisted the chair to face the back wall, away from the woman. "...I checked."

Pepper sighed in frustration, running a hand down her forehead before gently slapping it down against the side of her hip. "Checked what, Tony?"

"Everything. Everything that could possibly help us out here, everything I could possibly do. I...I checked his CPS file."

She groaned, shutting her eyes as she turned away. "Tony..."

"I know, I know. Privacy. Legality. All that shit. I don't care at this point."

Pepper continued to shake her head for a moment, glancing away towards the window Tony had been preoccupied with before. "I thought those files were secure."

"Usually they are." He used his foot to twist the chair around again. "Peter's a minor so they were sealed pretty tight, but I mean...come on. Who are you talking to here?" The usually snappy reply didn't hold the same snarky energy it usually did. It sounded so...flat.

"And? What did you find out? If he has a file, then he's been checked out. They've investigated."

Tony pursed his lips together and gave a small nod. "yeah. They've investigated. They've investigated six times in the pat ten years."

"What?!"

"I read the notes on each and every one of them." He reached for the glass that was still on the table from when he's slammed it down, bringing it closer and leaning back down in the chair again, resting it against one of the armrests. "The first one was issued back in 2008."

Pepper stared at him, face flashing through a mirage of different emotions, none of which truly settling before being replaced by another. Slowly, the woman lowered herself into one of the other chairs. "2008..."

"He was six years old." Tony leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he tightened his grip on the glass, knuckles slipping into a shade of white. "And you know what I found? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Every single time somebody files a report, they send out a worker to investigate the house, investigate the family. And every time, the report passes with flying colors, saying how the house was spotless, the family was sweet and Peter was happy and healthy, displaying none of the warning signs they look for."

Pepper stared at him in confusion for a moment, opening her mouth to ask a question before it dawned on her. She tilted her head as her lips parted ever so slightly, eyes crinkling as she sucked in a shaky breath.

"He..."

Tony didn't lift his gaze from the glass in his hands. "He was lying at six years old. Pepper. Lying well enough to fool his social worker." He lifted his head to stare Pepper right in the face, eyes empty and hollow. "Imagine how good he is now. And with his powers healing all of his wounds in record time, there's never any evidence to suggest otherwise."

He slipped in another sip from the glass and pushed himself out of the chair, realizing he couldn't sit still anymore. Pepper followed him with her eyes as he began to pace back and forth, swirling the glass in his hand. "At this point, they've chalked up every report as people trying to catch their five minutes of fame by filing against a celebrity, by trying to bash Richard's name. And considering every time they've sent a worker, nothing seems to be wrong...they've started believing it."

Pepper shook her head, staring down at the floor for a moment. "God...Maybe - and I didn't say this on record-" she added, lifting her head and pointing a finger at the billionaire, who shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes in response."-but...maybe a camera? It wouldn't be hard to plant one in the house, would it?"

Tony clicked his tongue and shook his own head, lifting the glass to his mouth and taking another sip. "No dice. It would never make an actual case. It's illegal to record anybody within their own home without their consent. Right to privacy laws or some shit. It would never be an acceptable piece of evidence."

He paused to give a small humorless scoff, gesturing to himself with the glass. "And if I'm the one who turns it in, well...you know what people will think. That I'm just trying to weed out my competition by making false claims and wild accusations." He took another sip before his eyebrows furrowed and he pulled the glass away with a huff. "'Competition.' What competition? Do people really think I'm threatened by this guy?"

Pepper didn't bother to answer as she continued to stare down at the floor, knee bobbing up and down before she hesitantly lifted her eyes once more. "A wire?"

Tony didn't even bother turning to face her at that. "You think Peter will agree to wearing a wire? The kid barely even lets us touch him, let alone let us listen in on what's really going on." The man raised the glass only to notice that it was empty. He sighed in annoyance and strode over to the cabinets again.

"Like I said before, the only chance we have is Peter." He picked up the bottle of scotch again, pouring more into his glass. "He's the key component to all of this and...and-" He blew a curse past his lips as his shaking grip caused some of the scotch to miss the glass and spill onto the table. He angrily slammed the glass container down on the table, the entire structure shaking with the force.

Pepper slowly rose back up to her feet. "Tony..."

He didn't respond for a moment, simply clasping both hands onto the edge of the cabinet, head down as he sucked in violent bouts of air through his nose, eyes scrunched shut as he focused on feeling it enter his lungs and not on how badly his hands were shivering.

"You just...you didn't see him."

Tony raised a hand to his face, draping it over his mouth and down his chin. "He was so...scared." He could hear Pepper's heels against the tiles once more, coming closer. He sighed and gave a small shake of his head. "I thought I was helping."

She placed a comforting hand overtop his own. "You are, Tony."

He pulled away. "Am I? Because Monday just confirmed that we're still at square one. We're still at the fucking drawing board. This kid is stuck between a rock and a hard place. He's screwed if he talks, he's screwed if he doesn't. I...And I've given him a way out but he's been so hardwired to distrust me that he's never going to take it!"

"Yet! He won't take it yet, Tony. But come on. You honestly can't stand there and tell me that you've had no effect on this kid. Just look at how he is now compared to when we first met him!"

"Monday-"

She raised her hand. "I get it. Monday...Monday you two had a bad day."

He scoffed and pushed past her, walking back over towards the window. She was determined, though, and followed him. "But that doesn't mean you just give up." She paused, coming to stand right next to him. He could feel her eyes boring into his skin, burning holes through his skull. "You're not thinking of giving up...are you?"

It took a second for the man to answer, which was a second too long as the woman narrowed her eyes. "Tony!"

He reared back, lifting his hands in a placating manner. "No! Of...of course not. Of course not. It's just..." He licked his lips and turned his head away, glancing back over towards the window, at the bustling world just outside the glass. Peter was down there somewhere. Peter was down there and Tony didn't know if he was alright, if he was safe and he couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand not knowing.

He angled his head down ever so slightly and could just make out the cars and vans parked outside the building, reporters and cameramen not seeming to be deterred by the threat of rain in the foreseeable future, determined to camp out for however long it took for them to get their pictures, to get their scoop. The man curled his lip before narrowing his eyes and turning back to Pepper. "Can you honestly tell me with one hundred percent certainty that I haven't made this kid's life harder in some sense of the word?"

Pepper blinked at him, furrowing her brows and opening her mouth, only for the billionaire to beat her to the punch. "Richard. His classmates. The fucking media! And that's not even getting into Spider-Man, into the shitstorm that could come if Ross somehow gets him on his radar, if he decides that maybe he wants to make the Accords a nationally-sanctioned registry instead of an international one."

Tony felt his hand shaking again and grabbed his wrist in an iron grip. He couldn't stop thinking about the park, about that damn kid, about the two months they'd spent together. Even before Monday, he'd been having his doubts, uncertainties about just how effective a mentor he was being, how well he was doing in terms of helping the kid. Even before the disaster that had struck, the same fears had been bubbling within him: was he really what was best for this kid?

But for the most part, he'd been able to subdue such fears, bury them down. Every time they'd meet, every lab day they'd spend working on this project or that, every time he'd pick the kid up for lunch or talk about the dumbest of things with the greatest of ease...every time Peter talked to him about something personal or Tony shared something of his, he'd pushed the thoughts down. He'd had enough going that he could ignore his hesitations, disregard the doubt.

Then Monday came and it all came spiraling back.

Was he really what was best for Peter? Was he not just making his life more difficult by making him juggle so much more? Flack from his father, grief from the news, stressing over secrets. All of that came because of the time they'd spent together. And beforehand, Tony could sum it up to being the price to pay for helping the kid in the long run, in getting his trust and eventually getting him away from that house.

But as soon as that day in the park came, as soon as Peter revealed just how much he still didn't trust the man, just how bad things still were for him, just how much he was still hurting, still suffering...Tony knew. He wasn't doing enough.

He wasn't enough.

The man glared over at Pepper, eyes hard and voice cold. "Can you tell me without a shadow of a doubt that I haven't somehow made things worse for him?"

She stared at him for a moment, opening her mouth to speak, only for nothing to come out. Tony blinked at her and gave a small nod, turning away. "Neither can I. You just...you didn't...see him."

They said nothing. A roll of thunder sounded from the clouds above.

"Boss? Secretary Ross and his colleagues have entered the building. Mr. Hogan is escorting them to you now."

Tony didn't look up at FRIDAY's message. He simply kept his gaze on the city, on the clouds spreading out over the buildings, dark and gray and heavy. "Go. I'm already going to have to deal with a whole handful of people criticizing me on everything I do. I don't need to add one more to the mix."

Pepper narrowed her eyes and took a step forward. Tony could practically feel her shaking next to him, overcome with emotion. She jabbed a finger into his chest, causing him to turn and stare at her as she got right in his face. "I do know one thing for certain, Tony. If you give up...if you let this boy go...you will regret it."

He stared down at her, into her chilling blue eyes. He wouldn't let her see just how much the words made his stomach churn. "Close the door on your way out, Potts."

She continued to gaze at him for another few seconds before whipping around on her heel and stalking over towards the door. She made it through the entrance before resting a hand on the frame and turning to look over her shoulder.

"I hope you know what you're doing. Not just for your sake...but for his as well."

With that, she disappeared down the hall, leaving nobody to hear as Tony blew out a sigh and rubbed his face.

"That makes two of us. It doubt it'll be enough."

 


 

Wednesday - April 27, 2016

Airspace over Trenton, New Jersey

07:35 p.m.

"Would you stop touching buttons, for the love of GOD?!"

Scott reared back only slightly at the retort before lifting his hands innocently. "I'm sorry! I've never been on a fancy high-tech super ship before. Excuse me if I'm a little curious!"

Sam glared over at him and shifted in his own seat. "Yeah, well I don't need your five-year-old sense of curiosity ejecting me from the plane or some shit." He folded his arms and glanced around warily at his surroundings.

The plane Shuri had sent for them was what she deemed as "boring and discreet as I could possibly make it," which meant it was still an impressive piece of tech. Not too different from the Quinjet, the ship was spacious and comfortable, with seats lining the walls and tables with coordinates and holomaps situated in the center. The sleek vibranium walls lead to smooth angles and curves that made the ship almost look organic in design.

While Scott and Sam currently sat against the back wall of the ship, Clint was sitting on the opposite side, feet propped up against one of the tables while he twirled an arrow around his fingers and Wanda was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a stack of magazines positioned next to her, one already in her hands.

Scott paused for a moment, glancing away from the metal surface he'd previously been knocking at and stared over at Sam with wide eyes. "Can it do that?"

"I don't know! I have no idea what this Wakandan shit can do and I don't wanna find out! Now stop-" He reached over and physically latched his hands onto Scott's wrists. "-pressing buttons!" The two of them quickly began to push and shove as Scott tried to free his hands and Sam tried to literally drag him away from the expensive and potentially threatening buttons.

Steve didn't bother swiveling the pilot chair around as he called over his shoulder. "Enough back there."

Natasha smirked from her seat next to the soldier and twisted around to stare at them. "Don't make us turn this plane around, kids."

Scott pouted ever so slightly and finally pulled his hands free of Sam's hold. He stuck his tongue out at the man, ignored his rolling eyes, and walked over to plop down next to Wanda. She gave him a humored look before glancing back down at the magazine. Scott let out a sigh and propped his arm up against his knee, resting his cheek against his fist as he glanced glumly over towards the cockpit. "Can you at least tell me if we're getting there anytime soon?

"Oh, my lord!" Sam shouted as he too got up from his seat and moved over towards the others. "Here!" He reached into his pocket and shoved a bag of something brightly colored into the other man's hands. "Not stuff your face and please shut up!"

Scott happily opened the bag of jelly beans and began to pop them into his mouth as Sam kicked Clint's legs down and took the seat next to the archer, who was throwing him a betrayed look. "You were withholding this from me the whole time? I told you I was hungry!"

Sam didn't seem to fazed as he leaned back against the chair and folded his arms underneath his head, shutting his eyes. "It's for emergencies only."

"What kind of emergencies?"

"'Scott-won't-shut-up-and-is-three-seconds-away-from-getting-strangled' kind of emergencies."

Clint glared at the man before turning towards Scott, who shrugged and popped another jelly bean into his mouth. "I approve."

The archer scoffed and folded his arms, leaning back against his own chair. He glanced over towards Wanda, only catching a small glimpse of the magazine she was reading. "What'cha reading, Wanda?"

The girl looked up at him before shutting the magazine and holding it up for them to see. "It's good to keep up with the news, especially since we're so good at making the headlines nowadays."

"Right, cause..." Sam opened one eye and glanced at the title. "...People magazine is always chalk full of the tough-to-tackle political issues."

The girl waved her hand and leaned back against the floor. "What do you want me to read? A newspaper? I'm not Steve."

"Hey." The man turned his head to throw a look over his shoulder.

Natasha shrugged. "She's got a point."

Steve shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. At least the others were relaxing a bit before their mission. They'd set out not too long ago, set for Washington DC, more specifically, the Damage Control facility that had been the target of numerous robberies, robberies that were not even being reported, let alone dealt with. As he'd expected, the mission briefing had been met with reluctance, once again coming mainly from Scott and Clint.

It didn't take as much convincing as last time for the two of them to come along, but they were still understandably upset. It wasn't just them, though. Steve could tell that the team was stressed, tensions high. With the looming threat of indefinite imprisonment in a floating metal prison thousands of miles into the ocean, it wasn't hard to see why. Steve luckily hadn't experienced too much of the Raft, but the same couldn't be said for the others.

They didn't talk about it much, he didn't push them. Wanda, especially, seemed to distance herself from the very thought of the prison. Steve didn't bludgeon them with the memories. Lord knew there were plenty he himself didn't want to think about.

His thoughts must have begun to show on his face, for he noticed Natasha glancing over at him from the corner of his eye. He quickly cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder at Wanda, pointedly avoiding the spy's watchful eye. "Is there at least anything we should be worrying about in there? Hill hasn't mentioned hearing anything too serious about us recently."

Wanda smirked a bit and flipped through the periodical. "Not unless you want the secret to firming up your beach bod in seven days."

Scott perked up. "I'll take that."

"Seriously?"

He shrugged. "Well if you're gonna keep bribing me with hush-candy, I'm gonna have to start exercising more."

Sam opened his eyes and sat up a bit in his seat, folding his arms and throwing the man an annoyed look. "You could always just stop talking so much."

"Come on. This is no time for jokes."

Sam rolled his eyes while the others let out little chuckles. The two of them had been going back and forth for forever now. Something or other about a rivalry that started at the compound, a one-on-one fight. Sam never talked about it and had practically forbade Scott from even mentioning it, so they could only speculate. However, his gaze wasn't focused on Scott and instead zeroed in on one of the magazines stacked in Wanda's pile, a bit of the cover sticking out just enough for him to see. He furrowed his brow. "Stark?"

Clint, Scott and Wanda glanced over at him. "Huh?"

He reached down and plucked the magazine out of the pile. "He's on this issue."

The archer rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively. "So what? That egomaniac's always in the news. It's like his lifeblood," he scoffed, Wanda snickering from her seat.

Sam glanced over at the man before turning back to the magazine in his hands. "Oh, really? So 'Stark Vs. Parkstem: The Battle For the Boy' doesn't peak your interest?" He asked, flipping the magazine over for them all to see.

"What?!"

Steve winced at the loud shout that echoed around the cabin of the ship, his own eyes widening ever so slightly at the title. He glanced over at Natasha, watching her grimace slightly before mumbling a small curse. He narrowed his eyes at her, watching as she turned to him and gave him a small knowing look of 'tell you later'. He clicked his tongue in a disapproving manner before standing up from his seat, leaving the ship on autopilot. Natasha followed behind him as they both slowly made their way over towards their chattering teammates.

"Alright, alright, settle down," he tried, only for his calming words to basically wash completely past them. Scott stared eagerly at the cover of the periodical before turning to Sam with childlike excitement, practically bouncing on the floor. "What's it say?!"

Sam scanned his eyes over the cover, taking note of the page number the story was on and quickly flipped through the pages, a curious silence falling over the others as they watched his eyes trail over the page. "Uhh...'last few weeks, we've been speculating,' blah, blah, blah...'seen with a mystery boy at a local NYC deli' yada, yada, yada...'Sources have uncovered that the unknown teenager seen on multiple occasions with billionaire Tony Stark is actually the son of Parkstem Labs tech superstar, Richard Parker, fourteen-year-old Peter Parker.'"

Clint laughed from his seat. "Yeah, right!"

"See for yourself!" Sam thrust the magazine into the archer's hands. Clint stared at the pages for a moment, blinking his eyes before his jaw slackened in shock. Something resembling a huff of laughter escaped his lips as he passed the magazine towards Wanda, who in turn passed it to Scott.

"What the heck is Stark doing messing around with a teenager?" Clint sneered. "He hates kids!"

Scott scanned his own eyes over the article, Natasha glancing at it from over his shoulder. "Apparently that's what everybody else is wondering. Neither Stark nor Parker have made a comment on the subject so everybody's kinda been left to delve up their own theories." He lifted the magazine to Natasha, who only glanced at it for a moment before handing it over to Steve.

He gingerly plucked it from her hands before smoothening it out, hesitantly eyeing the article.

It was the first time he'd seen Tony in months...

...and he was sitting on a curb...a New York curb...in Queens. He didn't believe what he was seeing. Tony Stark, billionaire nitpicker who had his own private elevator just to avoid being contaminated by other people's presence was sitting on a dirty curb outside of what appeared to be a deli of some sort. He was dressed casually, in nothing but jeans and the T-shirts he used to wear around the tower, talking to some...kid.

It was a boy, apparently fourteen if the article was actually true, but he could have been younger. He looked younger. He was a tiny little thing, with pale ivory skin and soft brown curls that hung down around his big doe-brown eyes.

Steve couldn't help but take in the look on their faces, on Tony's face. He was smiling...actually smiling. And not just the common Tony Stark, million-dollar smirk that he plastered on for every photo shoot or business meeting. No, Steve knew that smile. It was fake and hard and pretentious. This was...this was not that. This was genuine. This was Tony actually looking relaxed, talking about...something with this kid who looked so happy just sitting next to the man.

Staring at the picture, Steve couldn't help but look away, passing it back to Natasha. It was like he was looking at something intimate, private, something he shouldn't be seeing...something nobody should be seeing. He couldn't help but wonder if Tony was worrying about the article. Knowing him, he probably was, in his own stubborn way.

Steve had been so engrossed in the picture that he hadn't realized the others had been talking around him. He quickly tuned back in.

"-o way. I so do not believe this!"

Wanda's face scrunched up. "What is Stark playing at here? Why is he messing around with the son of his rival competitor?"

Natasha read over the article, face hard. "According to this, some people are speculating the kid's a spy." Steve noticed her voice was colder than usual. She was angry about something. He glanced at her, but couldn't read her face. Not surprising.

Sam leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. "For who? Stark or the dad?"

"Nobody seems to be in agreement on that yet. Could go either way."

Clint chuckled in his seat, shaking his head as he grinned. "Damn, and here I thought Stark couldn't be anymore of a dick. Guess I underestimated him yet again."

Steve's face twitched at the words as he folded his arms over his chest. "I don't believe it."

The others turned to him.

"There's been no official comment from either Stark of this...Parker guy. As far as we know, this story is nothing but media fluff. Besides, using a kid to get to his dad...seems a bit much, even for Tony." Steve shifted on his feet, feeling his muscles tense underneath his hands. "As long as I've known him, he's never once shown any interest in Parkstem Labs. It's like Oscorp to him, not even a blip on his radar."

Wanda's eyes glowed red ever so slightly as the magazine was suddenly plucked out of Natasha's hands and floated over to her, landing in her own grip. She shook it ever so slightly towards the others. "Well, he's with somebody in this picture. I don't know who..." she flipped the magazine around and glanced down at the fine print. "...Peter Parker is, but who's to say this kid isn't him?"

Natasha folded her own arms and threw the girl a look. "Are we really gonna start trusting the media now? With everything that's happened, wouldn't it be wise of us to take everything with a grain of salt nowadays?"

Clint took the magazine from Wanda's hands and stared at it for a good long while. "Well, unless they've gotten very creative with their photoshop skills, this picture is legit." He straightened back up and tossed the periodical down onto the floor, near Scott. "This kid exists, and for some reason, he's hanging around that parasite, Stark. Now, why any sane person would stay within three feet of that douchebag, I don't know. He's never really been the sweetest, even towards kids."

Scott gazed down at the picture, lifting his head back up hesitantly. "Seems to be pretty happy in this photo, though," he murmured cautiously, knowing the overall consensus when it came to the billionaire in question.

Clint barked out a laugh, leaning forward to face the man. "Yeah, okay. I know you don't really know him, Scott, and for that I envy you. But here's a little tidbit on Stark." His face curled into a condescending little smirk, eyes filling with a dangerous glint. "The guy's a world class conman. Everything he says and does is a trick. A trick to the media, to the public, to his teammates." His voice took on a hard edge as he continued. "He'll lie right through his teeth and blind you with a thousand-watt smile while stabbing you right in the back."

He leaned closer, causing Scott to rear back in response. "Stark only cares about Stark...and he'll roll over anybody to protect himself."

Steve felt his stomach churning at the words, swallowing the bile rising in the back of his throat as his fists clenched. "That's not true, Clint." His voice was soft, tired. The others glanced up, obviously noting the air of exhaustion surrounding the words. Clint either didn't notice or didn't care. He stared right back up at the man, eyes narrowing.

"Oh, really? You're telling me that we've never had to pay for his lies before? That we've never been on the brunt end of the stick catching the flack for his mistakes, for each and every time he chose to lie to us? What do you think Ultron was? That was a full blown personified lie coming back to bite us all in the ass because Stark couldn't push down his goddamn ego long enough to actually trust us, his own teammates!" The man blew out a sigh before turning his head away, sucking in a breath before lifting his gaze and staring Steve right in the eyes.

"You don't lie to your team, Cap. You just don't."

Steve said nothing at that, watching as Clint shook his head and leaned back down in the seat, a new tension hanging heavy in the air, the same terseness that always seemed to arise whenever the topic of Stark came to the table. The solider lowered his gaze and stepped away from the others, silently making his way back over towards the cockpit. Natasha watched him leave before wordlessly following, leaving the others to keep discussing.

Sam shrugged his shoulders and gestured lazily to the magazine, a new wave of heaviness weighing down around them. "Well, whoever this kid is, he better scram ASAP. Messing around with Stark will only get him burned." Wanda and Clint grumbled their agreements, their faces dower and annoyed.

Scott glanced around at the others, taking note of the palpable tension now sitting among them. He scrunched his face for a moment before cracking a small smile, reaching over towards Wanda's pile of magazines and taking the first off the top. "What I really wanna know is what the secret is to being a successful woman in the professional field while also being a superstar mommy."

The others threw him strange looks, but he continued with a smirk. "I mean, that's a tough gig and I could definitely use the six helpful tricks to being a CEO in the office and in the home."

It was obvious what he was trying to do. The man held his breath as he waited to see whether of not the others were gonna take the bait. Clint stared at the man for a moment before letting a small smile fall onto his own face. Leave it to Scott to try and clear up the air. He reached over towards the magazine pile and picked up another issue, slapping the cover with the back of his hand. "That's nothing. Apparently my skin can be too clean?! I need to find out the secret to perfect skin with nothing but banana peels, rose water and cucumbers."

Wanda giggled and yanked out another magazine. "Maybe afterwards, I can fill you in on the #fashionformula for every body and budget."

Sam patted his stomach. "Oh, good. I have been feeling a little bloated in these outfits lately."

Natasha could hear the laughter of her teammates ringing out around the ship, her lips spreading into a soft smile as she watched Scott pass out the magazines with a stupidly-huge grin on his face. The man, despite his constant spew of annoying word vomit, seemed to have a knack for getting them all to relax and unwind, which was a good skill to have nowadays when they constantly seemed to be at each other's throats.

Speaking of, the woman glanced back towards Steve, who was sitting back in his chair at the front of the ship, manning the controls for a plane that could probably fly itself better than any human could. She sucked in a small breath before slowly making her way over to the co-pilot seat next to him, silently sliding down into the chair. The man didn't glance her way, just kept his eyes on the clear glass ahead of him, the clouds dark and gray as the sun began to dip down below the horizon.

"So who is he?"

She sighed and leaned back in the chair. "Just some kid."

"Come on, Natasha. I know you know more than that."

She didn't answer for a moment, long enough that Steve wondered if she was going to at all. After a second, she brushed a strand of hair away from her face. He noticed she seemed to be reluctant to speak, which he filed as odd. Natasha had never been one to shy away from snooping through people's personal histories and had even less of a problem with sharing them. Yet, she still seemed...reserved.

Nevertheless, she shrugged and quickly placed back on a mask of indifference that he'd grown so accustomed to seeing. "He really is Richard Parker's kid, I can tell you that."

The soldier drummed his fingers against the cool metal surface of the controls. "So what is Tony doing messing around with his competitor's kid?"

"Not whatever you're thinking, Steve, so you better nip it now." She folded her arms, knee bouncing as she glanced away, eyeing the sleek design etched into the walls of the ship. "I don't know whether it's just coincidence or something else that got the kid on Tony's radar, but it's nothing like that. You know Tony."

"Maybe I did. But we aren't exactly on the same wavelength anymore, Nat." He paused for a moment, face scrunching slightly in thought. "Richard Parker...I know that name. Heard he's a pretty good guy."

The woman didn't respond to his comment, choosing to brush past it altogether. "I've only met the kid a few times. He's nice. Quiet, reclusive, painfully shy."

"Doesn't really sound like Tony's kind of kid."

"You'd be surprised."

"...I bet I would."

It wasn't hard to miss the resigned tone of voice he spoke with, hand resting against his mouth as he stared out the windows of the plane, gazing over the dark expanse of graying clouds.

The woman hesitated for only a moment before pressing her foot hard against the floor and pushing her chair so that it was now fully facing him. He cast his eyes over to her, cocking a brow in response. She leaned forward in the chair, clasping her hands together. "You okay?"

He held her gaze for a second before dropping his hand and nodding. "Fine. I'm...I'm fine."

"You're still a pretty shit liar, Rogers."

He smirked. "Well, you're hardly impartial."

"It doesn't take super spy skills to read your pages. You practically bookmark them for me."

He huffed a small laugh, spreading his lips into a tight smile before moving his eyes back over towards the window. He knew it wasn't likely that the woman was going to drop it anytime soon, but maybe she'd get the hint and just leave him alone until they reached the drop-point.

"...He has a point, you know. Clint..."

Steve shut his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, not even bothering in turning his chair to face her. He knew what her face would look like. It was the same look she'd been giving him for months now. He didn't need to see it tonight.

"He...he wasn't talking about me."

She folded her arms. "He might as well have. You should tell them the truth. Tell them about why you and Tony really fought in Siberia...Tell all of us."

It was never an easy thing to pick out emotion in Natasha's words, for she was an expert in only letting people hear what she wanted them to hear. Still, Steve knew her well enough at this point to detect the subtle undertones of hurt lacing the back edges of her words.

An itch began to spread through his muscles, making them coil around his bones as his knee bobbed up and down and his fingers continued to thrum against the armrest.

It had been nearly two months and they still didn't know, didn't know the real story behind why he and Tony had fought.

As far as they were concerned, as far as he let them believe, he and Bucky had taken care of the super soldiers holed up in Siberia, disposed of and erased the problem. They had filled in the rest of the pieces when he'd told them of the fight between him and the billionaire.

He'd never corrected them.

They'd ask for details, he'd say it was complicated. Back and forth.

Coward.

He could still see it. The look in Tony's eyes as he watched his parents be killed right before him, the culprit within an arm's length, standing in the same room, breathing the same air. The wave of betrayal that had masked over his features as he learned the truth, a truth Steve had been so desperate to conceal.

The guilt that pooled in his stomach sat heavy, a bitter tang forever resting in the back of his throat. Natasha suspected, she always suspected. Steve supposed she was giving him the benefit of the doubt.

You don't deserve it.

He turned his head to meet her gaze, hoping his eyes conveyed the truth in his words. "It's not that I don't trust you, Nat."

She raised a hand to stop him. "I know. I get it. I do. It's not easy. But we're here to listen." She gestured towards the others, whose voices were loud and echoed through the ship, merry and filled with a sense of relaxation that wasn't usually present anymore. "And I know those bozos are pretty quick to anger nowadays, but...I'm still here. I like to consider myself a pretty level head."

The normal smirk she used was gone, replaced with a gentle smile that she only used for special occasions, the smile Steve knew to be genuine. "I'll listen...when you're ready."

Steve blinked at her, chest aching as he felt a sense of closeness he hadn't felt since Siberia, since since he'd lost Tony and Bucky all in such a short period of time. He smiled back at her, voice quiet. "Thanks, Nat." He glanced over his shoulders at the others, who were still gathered in a circle tossing jokes and laughing around. He smiled and gestured towards them. "We're still a few hours out. You should relax while you can."

She watched them for a moment before blowing out a breath, gently smacking her palms against her knees and stood from the chair. "Can I trust you enough to leave you alone?"

He rolled his eyes. "I really don't think there are any ejection buttons up here."

"You'd be surprised. Wakandans, man. They don't play."

He chuckled, the woman giving him a pat on the shoulder before stepping down the steps that lead up to the cockpit, ambling lazily towards the others. He turned away and faced the giant windows of the glass windscreen before him.

The clouds were heavy with rain, thick and dark and gloomy. The sun had long-since sunken into the gray expanse, leaving the sky yearning for its light.

The man let out a small sigh, leaning back into the chair as he gazed out over the scenery, suddenly reminded of the Quinjet. Flying back from a mission, the voices of his teammates joyful from a successful raid. Nat poking fun at Clint, Wanda and Vision complimenting each other on their attacks, Sam cooing over them to get a room, Tony chastising them for making a mess on his ship and yelling at Steve to control his rowdy toddlers.

Steve's small smile slowly dissipated as he was dragged back to the present, a present that seemed to drag on with each and every day of hell they now found themselves in, where every hour brought the threat of detection, of SWAT guards and S-JOC snipers aiming to kill.

The guilt that had been hanging in his stomach for months mingled with the flare of anger that always surged through him at the thought, the thought of the Avengers in literal shambles because of the billionaire's actions, actions that had led to them ending up in that bunker, fighting for their lives.

It only strengthened the idea curling around his mind. Yes, he had his fair share of guilt to carry, and he'd hold onto it for as long as he needed.

But he wasn't the only one with ashes on his hands.

 


 

Wednesday - April 27, 2016

Ridgewood, Queens - 57th Street

08:56 p.m.

It had to be getting heavier. The necklace hadn't weighed so much that morning, Peter was sure of it.

Loud voices, and cheerful laughter filled the street as the gathered people milled around, beer bottles in hand, sandwiches in others, smiles on their faces. The glowing neon sign of Delmar's illuminated the street, masking everyone's faces in glowing red and blue light. A small radio had been set up, blasting music from its speakers that echoed down the street. A group of people had gathered in the street, cheering on the tournament of cornhole that was commencing.

It was Wednesday night, Delmar's and the other stores on the strip had specials on the last Wednesday of the month, letting people gather around their stores, chatting about their days, unwinding with cold drinks; Franky's Bar, Rosa's burger joint, Stella's taco truck. Even the stores that didn't sell food closed up early for the night just to join the monthly get-together: Mr. Murray's newsstand, Ms. Ricardo's flower shop.

It had become something of a tradition on 57th street. Everyone in Queens knew about it.

Peter noticed a few other games commencing in the street, but didn't feel like jumping down from his perch to join. He was out of the way on his little seat, away from any pushing and shoving. He'd already been bumped in the shoulder earlier, eliciting a wince of pain from him as his injured shoulder ached in discomfort. The pain had long-since subsided, but the teen decided it would be best to stay off to the side, away from the crowds.

A particularly loud cheer erupted from the crowd. Someone was probably winning. Peter didn't look up, though. He just kept looping through the colors on the necklace. Gray, red, yellow, white, black, gray, red...

"You're a good boy, aren't you, Peter?"

His hand shook, the beads clattering together.

The back of his neck tingled all of a sudden, causing Peter to turn his head towards the soda can being tossed towards him. He caught it easily, lifting his eyes towards Mr. Delmar as the man approached, cleaning his hands off with the rag he kept in his apron.

"There! See? Out of sight, out of mind!"

He quickly shoved the necklace back into his pocket as the older man approached. "What's the matter? Not gonna join?" The man angled his head towards the games in the street.

Peter shrugged his shoulder and tapped his finger against the unopened lid of the can. "Not in the mood, I guess."

Mr. Delmar leaned back against the raining next to the boy. "Long day?"

"Something like that, yeah."

The man opened his mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by hands falling onto his shoulder. Both Peter and Mr. Delmar turned towards the newcomers, Rosa and Mr. Murray. The former was a short, round, dark-skinned woman with black hair tied up into a bun with a bright red bandana resting against her head, stained apron tied around her waist. The other was a tall, skinny man with pale graying hair underneath his newsie cap. The woman smirked, bright red lips spreading wide. "Boy, this party was made for long days." Her voice had a simple southern hint to it, reminding Peter of his early-morning chat. Unlike his guidance counselor, however, this woman's voice was warm and comforting.

Peter tossed her a smile. "Hi, Rosa."

She sidestepped the other men, coming up on the boy's other side and pinching his cheeks ever so slightly. He scrunched his eyes at the touch, but didn't pull away. "How you doin', baby?"

"I'm alright."

Delmar folded his arms. "Yeah? Cause my daughter said you haven't moved from that perch of yours all night. She can see you from the window." He jammed his thumb behind him in the direction of the store. Peter glanced back, taking note of Gabriella manning the register inside. She noticed his staring and gave a small wave, to which he gave one in return.

Mr. Murray tipped his hat back and leaned up against the side of the bodega. "What's up, little man?"

Peter shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing's up. Just...you know, don't feel like mingling right now."

"Well, where are your little friends?" Rosa asked. "The chubby boy and funny girl. You usually love bringing them down here. You three always dominate in the cornhole tournaments."

The teen glanced down at the soda can in his hands, sliding his nail underneath the tab.

"Misery Loves Company!"

"At home, I guess. I don't know." He flicked his flinger up, the metal sliding through the can as the familiar hiss of air being released met his ears. The others must have taken note of the quiet edge to his voice, for Mr. Delmar raised a brow at the kid. "Jeez, just how long of a day are we talking about here?"

Peter raised the can. "The longest," he said before taking a drink.

Murray leaned closer. "Yeah? Home or school?"

"Both."

The man hummed before reaching down and picking up an opened beer bottle he must have brought with him from his newsstand. "Yeah, well word of advice, kid." He gestured to the bottle before taking a swig. "Alcohol. Solves all your problems."

Rosa clicked her tongue, glaring at the man. "Tch, don't tell him that!" She grabbed Peter's hand and gave it a little shake. "Don't you listen to this bad man, Sugar. His days are numbered."

Peter snickered as he watched them begin to argue back and forth, smile spreading onto his face as he watched. He had to admit, after the day he'd had, the sight of so many people milling around, chatting happily and enjoying themselves was quite a sight.

After his little...talk with Ms. O'Hara, Peter had stepped out of her office to take in the empty hallways. Before the bell rang to let kids out of their classrooms, the teen had been pushing through the front doors to the school, slowly stepping down the stairs and just...stood there, no plan.

There weren't many options for him. He couldn't go home, not with the Cons lurking around there doing God knew what. He couldn't go swing around and pass the time as somebody better, not with his arm still fairly out of sorts. And he couldn't stay in that school, avoiding everybody's eyes, ignoring their whispers, reciting lie after lie.

So he'd left. He'd ignored the messages that had begun to pour in from Ned and MJ wondering where he was and he'd started walking. He hadn't really had a clear destination in mind as he'd started off, just knew he couldn't stay within the walls of the school, couldn't stand the thought of being in the same building as Ms. O'Hara, even if she was on the other side of it. Just the thought of her being around was enough to have him scurrying off.

He tried staying in Midtown, but quickly realized the story of him and Mr. Stark was still a hot topic. He couldn't go five blocks without seeing a newspaper with his name or a TV blabbering on about Mr. Stark and his father. And where there wasn't, there were people staring at him.

Peter Parker had always been content in the background, but now here he was, front and center, on display for everybody to see.

After an hour or two of avoiding eyes and ducking his head, Peter finally ended up back in Queens, one foot after the other. He didn't head to Springshore. Didn't feel like dodging his neighbors' questions and judging looks. He contemplated going to see May before deciding against it, not wanting to risk the Cons seeing him out of school.

So instead, he'd been milling through the neighborhood, avoiding the rich side of town, where just about everybody was friends with his father and might recognize him. He'd instead headed down to 57th Street and the adjoining neighborhoods, where everybody recognized him for very different reasons.

Here, they didn't just know him as Richard Parker's son. Instead they knew him as Peter, the quiet kid that walked the streets with his chubby little nerd friend, spouting off random geeky facts or buying sandwiches and betting on who could finish first or playing card games outside the stores.

They still didn't know him, but they knew better than the papers, better than those in Manhattan. They were neighbors, a community. He knew them, knew that Mr. Delmar always sneaked him extra sandwiches, that Rosa paid him here and there for a few odd jobs she'd have him do just for the sake of stuffing a few bills in his hands, knew that Murray always rolled his eyes and winked at Peter whenever his father was mentioned at some charity ball or some other stuffy brown-nosing event. He knew Queens. He loved Queens. And maybe it was because he was so different from the other people that came from the rich side of town, but they seemed to love him back.

Mr. Murray tapped Peter's shoulder with his beer bottle, startling the kid back into conversation. "You know, my newsstand just got a new story. A very interesting story if I do say so myself." He brought the bottle to his lips and swigged another sip before pulling it back. "You wanna explain it?"

Peter shrugged. "Not really."

"Come on. Being the only news source with an exclusive from the Peter Parker? My babies will sell like hot cakes!"

Mr. Delmar bumped him in the shoulder "Leave the kid alone, man."

Murray raised his hands in defeat. "Alright, alright, I'm just saying."

Rosa rolled her eyes before glancing towards Peter, eyes sympathetic. "You getting much trouble for that?"

Peter shrugged his shoulders, staring down at the can in his hands, watching the condensation drip down the sides, splashing down against his skin. "People talk. I try not to listen."

The air of silence followed keyed Peter into the fact that the others were probably sharing looks. He didn't look up. He didn't need to see them. He got enough of that from his friends. It was another reason why he'd skipped school. He couldn't take those damn looks.

"They don't deserve to deal with your issues, with your life, do they?"

He gripped the soda can just a little tighter. He knew she was wrong. She was awful! She had to be wrong! And yet...he couldn't help but see some truth to her words, hear a sense of logic in them.

He wasn't anybody else's problem, and yet they seemed to make it their mission to worry about him. Ned, MJ, May, Mr. Stark, hell even his teachers, Mr. Delmar, the store owners! Each and every one of them spent time thinking about him, worrying about him. It made him feel sick, made the guilt in his chest build up. They didn't deserve that. They didn't deserve to worry so much about him when he could very well take care of himself. He didn't need their sympathies, their concerns. He'd never asked for them! But who was he to complain? It was his own damn fault for making them worry. It was his own fucking fault for not lying well enough!

He rubbed his finger against the sleek metal of the can, smooth and cold, drops of water sliding down.

Lies...so many lies...to so many people.

He heard someone clear their throat, causing his eyes to lift towards Murray. The man was shooting him a strange look before it disappeared and he was shrugging once more, tipping his cap back again. "Usually when I get a high brow in the newspapers, they can't WAIT to share their story, gabbing it up to all the local reporters trying to extend their little flash in the pan. What a bunch of idiots. I can't stand them. Talking about how it's hard to be successful when they started out in the bottom, talking about Queens like it's a rat infested little hovel. The whole lot of them can go screw themselves for all I care, living it up on the rich side of town, staring down at us from their ivory towers."

Peter furrowed his brow, not really sure where the man was going with this or why he'd brought it up. He grunted, however, when the man suddenly wrapped an arm around the teen's shoulders, dragging him in closer. "Well, screw them! We got ourselves one of their own, and we're slowly converting him to the dark side!"

"You're damn right!" Rosa beamed, ruffling the teen's hair.

Mr. Delmar rolled his eyes. "Please. As far as I'm concerned. Pete here was born and raised right here on 57th street. I don't care who his big-shot daddy is. He's one of us, through and through."

Peter stared at them, feeling their hands on him and the uncomfortable closeness of their bodies near his. And yet, the teen couldn't help but smile as their words sank in, eyes misting ever so slightly as he let out a small laugh, mainly just to clear up the shakiness in his voice. "Thanks, guys."

Rosa pursed her lips. "Then again, in true Queens fashion, we are incredibly nosy. "

Peter snorted and pushed them away. "Talk to Murray then. He lives and breathes the city gossip. I'm sure he knows more about this story than even I do."

"Nuh-uh. I got no earthy idea why you're hanging around with Tony Stark."

Rosa raised a brow. "Or why that douchebag daddy of yours would let you."

Peter shrugged. "You got me there. I'm still at a loss on that one."

Delmar huffed out a laugh before curling his fingers into a fist and knocking Peter in the side of the arm. "Whatever the case, I gotta thank you, kid. With this story of yours blowing up all around the city, I got people from all over coming to the store, buying up my shit. You ever feel like taking another picture with that friend of yours, don't hesitate to use my bodega as the backdrop again, huh?" he joked, Peter smiling as he remembered the picture that was being used in almost every newspaper was the one of him and Mr. Stark sitting outside of this very bodega. He supposed it would cause foot traffic to blow up.

Rosa shrugged her shoulders. "Well I don't know. Maybe that friend of yours will fancy some burgers next time. How bout it?" She elbowed him in the side, Peter giggling as he shied away. "I'll keep that in mind."

Murray furrowed his brow, gesturing towards the kid with his bottle. "So...are you guys friends? Is he your boss? What's the story here, kid? I'm dying. What are you two?"

Peter opened his mouth to respond, only to find no words to release. He paused and sucked in a small breath as he found he didn't really have an answer for the man. What were they, really? Sure Mr. Stark had described him as an intern, but did that mean he was really his boss? He didn't act like a boss. Didn't order him around like one. A mentor, maybe? But Mr. Stark didn't really seem like the mentoring type. More like the kind to keep you around because you're interesting and entertaining and he doesn't have anything better to fill his time.

Distraction.

Peter winced at the word that entered his brain, mind jumping back to Central Park for just a flash before he pushed it away. He couldn't get into that now. "He's not...I-I guess...we're just..." He sighed and gave a small shrug. "I guess I don't know." He tried to ignore how the realization made his stomach churn ever so slightly.

Mr. Murray didn't say anything for a moment before clicking his tongue and pointing the bottle at him again. "Well if I were you, I'd figure it out soon...before the papers do it for you."

 


 

A roll of thunder made Peter lift his head towards the sky. The sun set hours ago, leaving a black sky in its wake, too black to make out any clouds, but Peter could tell they were there, waiting to let down a downpour all day. He knew he should get home before it did start raining, but his feet kept moving and they weren't moving towards home.

He'd left the gathering outside of Delmar's hours ago, when the approaching storm had begun to filter out the crowds. Mr. Delmar had offered to give the kid a ride home, but Peter had declined, saying he could get home just fine on his own. Another lie. He just wanted an excuse to stay away for as long as possible.

He felt a small drop of water land on his nose as he stood on the sidewalk which was fairly empty save for one or two people rushing past, most likely trying to get home before the rain started. There was an eerie sort of quiet around him, a silence not well known in Queens. There was always a car alarm, a voice, an engine, something. But now, it was as if the entire neighborhood had buckled down and scurried inside to wait out the storm.

As his lifted gaze began to drop back down, Peter's eyes caught a gleam of light in the distance, his feet finally stopping at he made out what it was. Stark Tower, bright as could be in the darkening sky.

Once again, a gnawing pit seemed to stretch into his gut, a yearning sense of longing as he reached his arms up to wrap around himself, a particularly strong gust of wind blowing past him before dying down again. Another drop of rain.

It was Wednesday. Technically an internship day. He was supposed to go to the tower, see Mr. Stark. Was he expecting him? Had Happy been waiting outside of school this afternoon...waiting for him? Did Mr. Stark want to see him?

He shook his head and pressed on down the sidewalk. From up above, someone called down at him from their window, telling him to get inside and asking where he was going. He said home. Another lie. His throat stung, the taste bitter on his tongue. He kept walking in the opposite direction of his house.

So many goddamn lies...

It wasn't wrong. He knew that. He was helping people with those lies, saving them from the harsh reality of the truth, keeping that fear from them. The lies were so much simpler, so much easier, so much nicer to look at, to hear. But they were just so...heavy, so hard to carry; to remember what detail he'd told to whom. He had the practice for it of course, ten years of it. It still didn't get easier. It got more automatic, of course, but never easier. Not when it was hard to know where the lies ended and the truth began on some days.

"Tell me what they did to you. Let me help you."

Not to mention, it got exponentially harder when people started poking at the lies. And Mr. Stark seemed to love poking at them, finding the holes, sniffing out the details. The teen couldn't help but give a small humored scoff. "At least he's motivated, I'll give him that," he muttered to himself.

Despite the frustrations he'd felt towards the man that morning, Peter couldn't help wondering what he was doing right now, what they would be doing if he'd shown up. Would they be working in the lab? Designing the specs for the new nanotech he'd shown him on Thursday...the last truly "normal" day they'd had together. It seemed so far away now, with everything that had happened.

As he stared at the glowing building in the distance, Peter found himself missing that "normal", missing those interactions, easy and simple and real. He didn't have to pretend as much with Mr. Stark, could bust out the little lies instead of the usual big ones. Another drop of rain. And another. Peter wondered what Mr. Stark would say if he saw him right now, the teen cracking a small smile as he thought of the man throwing out a joke about him looking like a little lost spider, searching for a water spout to climb or something like that.

Peter sucked in another breath, calmer this time. Who was to say they couldn't get back to that "normal" again? Maybe that's exactly what Mr. Stark wanted too. Now that he'd seen firsthand that Peter wasn't going to crack under his line of questioning and pushing and prodding, maybe the man would drop it and let them go back to their usual weekly routine of lab work and impromptu take-out dinners.

The teen swallowed the lump in his throat as he smiled, a new sense of confidence from his talk with Delmar and the gang filling his chest.

I could talk to him, pretend everything's normal. Maybe pretend hard enough to make it true.

He wanted to see DUM-E. He wanted to see Pepper and Rhodey and even Happy with his grumblings. He wanted to work on his lab projects and beam as Mr. Stark complimented him on something. He wanted to see Mr. Stark. He wanted to see Tony.

Another group of raindrops landed on his face as the teen straightened up, hoisting his backpack higher up onto his shoulders as he whipped his head around, trying to spot the nearest alleyway before he lost whatever confidence had suddenly bubbled into him.

Bingo!

With a grin, he ran over, quickly sliding behind the dumpsters as he unzipped his bag. Despite his injuries perhaps implying otherwise, Peter had been itching to swing for a week now! With his bum leg, messed up chest and broken arm with matching mangled shoulder, he'd done away with the idea of crime-fighting for the time being, knowing he'd either stress his injuries more or get some new ones by trying to fight bad guys with a horde of disabling wounds. Nevertheless, he'd taken to carrying the suit around anyways, an empty feeling weighing in his stomach whenever he left it at home.

Reaching into his bag, he grabbed his suit, smiling as his fingers ran over the familiar texture. Quickly stripping down to his boxers, he slipped the suit on, grinning like an idiot at the feeling of comfort as the suit morphed to his skin. Stuffing his clothes back into his bag, he slipped the mask onto his head and down over his face, breathing in deeply as he felt a surge of power trail through his muscles. He curled and uncurled his fingers, relishing in the feel of the suit, of Spider-Man.

He rotated his shoulder, wincing ever so slightly before doing another set. He could do this. He could power through it. He shook off his nerves of seeing the billionaire, steeling himself with the thought that everything would go back to normal if he just pretended it was. He could do this. He'd just ask Mr. Stark to forget about everything that'd happened in Central Park, forget about this entire week and get things back to how they were. Things were good before, they could be good again. He could do this. They'd be fine and he'd forget about tomorrow, forget about what it meant, forget about the weight of the necklace in his bag, the necklace he refused to take out, the necklace he refused to think about.

He. Could. Do. This.

 


 

Wednesday - April 27, 2016

Stark Tower - Conference Room A

11:04 p.m.

Tony blew out a haggard sigh as he leaned back against the chair, the full weight of the day sinking through his bones, seeming to draw his body down towards the ground. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Pepper escorted the Senators towards the elevators, the day of discussions, propositions and arguing finally drawing to a close.

At least...it was almost closed. If he could just get rid of this tick that didn't seem to want to leave.

Ross brought the glass of scotch to his lips as he glanced over the roughly drafted documents they'd written up during the meeting, a copy of the ones the Senators were taking with them back to Washington to go over with the rest of the Accords committee. The man glared down at the papers with a disgruntled gleam in his eyes, the look making Tony feel just a little better as he watched Ross toss the stack down onto the table, turning back to him.

"This is never going to work, you know. What you're advising..."

Tony sighed and rested an elbow on the chair's armrest, rubbing at his eyes. When was the last time he'd gotten some sleep? "What? Giving people rights? Creating a fair and plausible Accords that actually does its job of, oh I don't know...keeping people safe?"

"The Accords already do keep people safe."

"I mean all people, enhanced individuals included."

Ross scoffed and turned away. Tony narrowed his eyes and straightened up in his chair. "I know you'd probably rather go on believing that they're dangerous criminals who should be locked up and experimented on-"

"Don't be absurd, Stark. I know how much you love it, but try to restrain your base instincts for once." The man stared down at the glass in his hands. When he spoke again, his voice was slower, a bit quieter. "These Accords are important-"

"I agree."

"-in that they give a certain sense of regulation...control. Do you know how many enhanced individuals there are out there right now? A number."

Tony matched his gaze but didn't say anything. Ross continued. "Based on the numbers we've been running, it's close to a million, just in the US alone. So far, the public knows of only a handful: your colorful friends."

The billionaire's face twitched at the comment, but he continued to remain silent.

"And all those people, all those numbers...they're a threat."

Tony scoffed and leaned forward. "Why? Because they're different?"

"Because they have the power to become a threat."

"So does everybody else in the world, Ross! What? We gonna start going home to home demanding vetting checks just cause you're a little paranoid?" Tony couldn't help the frustrated smile that fell onto his face as he held in another rebuke. He pushed himself out of the chair, pushing it up against the table as he sucked in a steadying breath. He could feel his left arm give a twinge of pain. He resisted the urge to grab his wrist. "Look, I still believe in the Accords, in a sense of accountability. But the Accords you seem so adamant in pushing through, it's just...it's ridiculous, downright dangerous. Demanding that every enhanced individual check in on some national registry? Provide DNA sampling? It's-

"Necessary."

"Laughable...if it wasn't so horrifying," he muttered, more as an afterthought than anything else. He turned back towards the man. "And what would happen if someone refused? Huh? You gonna throw them on the Raft?"

The Secretary narrowed his eyes. "If we need to."

Tony couldn't help the laugh that fell from his lips at that, bringing a hand to his forehead. "God...I don't know how you landed this job."

"Decades of hard work, work that's paid off time and time again." The Secretary set the glass down onto the table, folding his arms behind his back. "But I could very well ask the same question about you. Just what are your qualifications to even be considered in this process?

Tony blinked for a moment before spreading his arms and gesturing around at the office. "Uhh...a multi-billion dollar company? The high-tech suits sitting under your feet? The two world-ending events I helped stop. Tell me, Ross. What was it like when you flew a nuke into a wormhole? We can exchange notes."

This time it was Ross who let out a little chuckle, the man staring down at the floor as he shook his head, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his suit. "God, you are such a narcissistic little prick."

"Mandatory. In the job description."

Ross glanced back over at the table, at the stack of papers still sitting in the center. "You have no business with this. This is government work, cleaning up the mess you and your clowns made."

"So...you want me to take responsibility for my messes by...not taking responsibility for them? Can you see the confusion here, sir?" he asked, the last word simply dripping in attitude, something Ross obviously picked up on if the way his brow twitched was any indication.

"Taking responsibility...is that what you're doing with Steve Rogers? With Leipzig? With letting those criminal friends of his escape from the Raft?"

Tony rolled his eyes and began to make his way towards the door. "Not my fault you can't keep track of your stuff," he called over his shoulder, leaving Ross in the room alone. The man was quick to follow him, however, much to the billionaire's chagrin. Maybe he could lose him in the R&D department...

"Rogers is dangerous. His gang of rebels is dangerous. And with him out there wreaking havoc-"

"What havoc has been wreaked?" Tony turned onto a long hallway, the large windows lining one entire wall revealing the dark sky currently spreading, soft rolls of thunder echoing outside. "It's been unusually quiet on my end of the street."

Ross furrowed his brow in annoyance. "We've gotten reports of weapons arsenals being rounded up on the streets. Manufacturing plants being taken down, creating illegal alien weaponry. Damage done to the sellers and the surrounding area lines up with the Rogues."

"You want me to go after them for beating up a few penny-thugs? What's next? Arrest King T'Challa for littering?"

The Secretary sidestepped the man and got in front of him, causing him to halt in his tracks and throw the man an unimpressed look. "They seem to think that continuing their band of vigilantism will go without consequences. It won't. Sooner or later, they're gonna hit something big and I'll have to deal with it, meaning you'll have to deal with it. And I-"

"Can't officially call me in for anything classifying under a FPCON-B3 emergency. So until they kidnap the President or hijack a military base, I'll be wasting my time on more important things." The billionaire muttered, stepping around the man to continue down the hall.

"Like Richard Parker?"

Tony froze in his step, fingers twitching by his sides as he turned his head back towards Ross. The Secretary was now folding his arms over his chest, face infuriatingly smug.

"What?"

The man let out a little chuckle. "You've made quite a start in the news lately, Stark. You think I don't keep up with it?" He stepped closer, shoes clacking on the cold tile floor. "What's his name, again? Peter Parker?"

It felt wrong, hearing the kid's name come out of his mouth. Tony could feel himself getting angry, but fought to keep his face neutral as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "What about him?" He cursed at the slight edge to his voice.

"I just think it's interesting. Seeing you with this kid." He quirked a brow. "I don't need to be concerned about anything, do I? You know how people talk."

Tony narrowed his eyes at what the man was insinuating. "I know plenty," he growled before quickly taking a breath and steeling himself. He knew what Ross was trying to do. He was trying to rile him up, get under his skin. It wasn't going to work. He wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction. So he bit down what he wanted to say and simply shrugged his shoulders. "The kid's harmless. We're starting an internship program here. Haven't made it official yet; we're still in the trial period. I just looked through the top candidates and this kid was at the top."

Ross lifted his chin. "So the fact that he's Richard Parker's kid is-"

"Purely coincidental."

The Secretary smirked. "Nothing's ever coincidental with you, Stark."

Tony felt his fingers curling in his pockets. "Well...first time for everything," he chipped back, feeling his teeth gritting together. He whipped around on his heel, effectively hiding his face from the man's prying eyes. "Look, this meeting was scheduled to end-" he checked his watch- "ten minutes ago." He started on down the hallway once more, the sound of footsteps behind him alerting him to the fact that Ross was still following him.

"I have an early day tomorrow, SI paperwork to sort through and a lab to tend to. Whatever other concerns you have with the Accords, and I'm sure I'll be hearing about a few," he muttered under his breath, "we'll discuss it at the next committee meeting. It's in DC so you'll have the home field advantage, as I'm sure you're just chuffed about."

They walked in relative silence for a few moments after he finished, enough to have the billionaire thinking maybe he'd finally gotten the man to take his hint and shut up while he tried to locate the closest elevator to shove him into. He'd been dealing with him for the past eight hours. He was just about ready to grab the closest bottle of alcohol, lock all the elevators from ascending to his private lounge and drink himself into next week. Fifteen or so bottles should do it, right?

"...So he's just an intern, huh?"

The question was so jarring and unexpected that Tony turned back around. "What?"

Ross stared at him with narrowed eyes. "Parker's kid. An intern?"

"Jesus...yeah. Did you forget to take your pills today, sir? You're about two minutes behind," he scoffed, hoping the dismissal and insulting comment would anger the man into lecturing him about responsibility or some shit. He didn't care. He just wanted him to get off the damn subject. Just the idea of Peter being on Ross' mind was enough to have Tony on edge.

The Secretary didn't seem ready to let it go, however. "Cause I've had my fair share of interns, Stark and uh...I never took any of them out to lunch before."

Tony turned back around and began walking once more. Where was the goddamn elevator when he needed it?! "I was in the city. We bumped into each other." The billionaire sucked in a frustrated breath as they finally reached the end of the hallway, which opened up into a large waiting area, complete with elevator and large floor-to-ceiling windows. He spared a glance and took note of the city shining underneath.

"Uh-huh...sure."

The condescending drip in Ross' voice had Tony stupidly turning away from the elevator so he could face the man instead, temper flaring. "Look, can we just drop this and move on? Just forget about the damn kid."

Ross didn't seem fazed by the man's anger, cocking a brow and quirking his lips instead, which only made Tony's irritation grow. "You seem uptight, Stark. Something else going on, here?"

The billionaire shut his eyes as he sucked in a shuddering breath, trying and failing to keep his anger at bay. He was already at the end of his rope with the Secretary and the douchebag just had to keep pushing him? What was he gaining in all of this?!

"Look, Ross. Peter Parker is just some random kid. Why do you care so much?"

"Why do you care so much?" He called, the slight mocking edge to his voice making Tony curl his hands into fists.

"I don't care, alright?!" He snapped, voice raising as his eyes blazed. "He's just some stupid kid that does some crap for me here and there. That's it! That's all he is. The only reason I even remember his name is because of his dad." He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Trust me, if I'd known the kind of trouble this kid would end up bringing me, I wouldn't have even considered talking to him, let alone actually letting him get near me."

He folded his arms over his chest, hoping to mask the shudder in his hand as he glared at the Secretary. "In case you haven't noticed, I already have enough issues to deal with without bringing some stupid brat into the mix." He narrowed his eyes and leveled the man a hard stare. "But the second this kid stops being useful, the second I don't need him anymore, he's out, alright? Gone. You'd forget him like that," he muttered with a snap of his fingers. Ross watched him with a thoughtful look.

Tony let out an annoyed sigh, glaring down at the floor. "Trust me, there's nothing special about that kid. Soon enough, he won't even be worth my time anymore."

The words were sand in his mouth, dry and course and awful but he had to say it, say anything to get this douchebag off his case. After a moment of ringing silence, Ross huffed out a small humored laugh. "That sounds more like you, Stark. Was worried you'd gone soft there for a second," he scoffed as he began to make his way over towards the elevator of his own volition.

Tony watched him for a second, raising a hand to rub his shaking wrist before slowly trailing after hm. "Please, the last thing that'll get me to go soft is some annoying little brat. At least he confirmed for me that college-aged interns is the way to go."

"Pshh...I could have told you that."

As the two of them moved away from the window, they failed to notice the shadow that stretched along the floor, a long, dark form that lead back to the teenager perched against the outside of the building, not two feet away from the windows, within perfect earshot of the conversation even without his super hearing.

For a moment, he just sat there, the billionaire's words ringing around in his ears; loud and piercing. They echoed around his head, bouncing back and forth from ear to ear, scratching away at his chest and curling so tightly around his heart he could feel the blood dripping down into his stomach.

Peter didn't say anything. Didn't look back towards the window, towards the billionaire. Instead, he glanced down at the necklace in his hands, fingers trailing over the beads once more.

His shaking hand slowly curled into a fist, fingers wrapping tightly around the wire, old and frayed and ready to snap.

Chapter 21: The Lonely People Part II

Summary:

"I'm just...I-I'm so...scared."

Tony got down onto his knees again, hoping the position would make him seem like less of a threat, but the boy's eyes continued to trail him like he was about to pounce. "I know. I know you must be scared, kid. But...but I can help you!"

Peter wildly shook his head, water droplets flinging everywhere. "No...n-no you don't understand!"

"Yes I do!"

"No you don't! I'm...I'm scared of YOU!"

Notes:

*WARNING*

This chapter contains brief allusions to suicide and self-harm

Chapter Text

Date: -

Location: -

Time: -

The wind howled up here, pushing and wrapping around his body, moaning in his ears, crying and scratching against his skin, whipping the hair across his face.

A ripple of thunder rolled overhead. The clouds, which had been holding back the rain for the majority of the day, had finally relented their grip, allowing a small trickle of drops that had slowly grown into a steady downpour. Now, the drops - thick and black and heavy - splattered down against the rusted metal of the bridge which he sat atop, bouncing back up and pooling down the sides of the structure, falling into the black inky pool of splashing waves and roaring hum of the waters below.

Falling, falling, falling...

It stung, the sharp pricks of rain smacking the exposed skin of his face, the only skin that truly was exposed. His mask lay beside him. He didn't have the stomach to try and put it back on.

Little needles...pokingprodding...

His ears roared, each and every little sound tuned up to a hundred, amplified in his ears, ringing in his head. The cars down below sped past on the bridge, the bright headlights streaking past in glossy colors of bright white and yellow, like a watercolor painting dripping down a canvas, the colors bleeding into each other. The humming of the whizzing cars mixed with the rushing wind, cold and biting, stinging his eyes.

Cold...cold...

He was cold.

He was back in Ms. O'Hara's room. Back in the Dark Room. It was too cold. It wasn't just in his throat now, freezing his tongue to the roof of his mouth; it was everywhere. He could feel it underneath his skin, crawling around like bugs just underneath the surface, like spiderscreepy crawly, spreading and seeping into his muscles and curling around his bones, He could feel it on his face, each drop of water dripping down in frozen little pins that rung like tiny bells when they rolled off his face and fell into the puddles of water pooling around him.

Plink, ting, plinkity...

He could feel his body changing. Icicles were forming on the tips of his hair. Frost coated his retinas. His skin was ice, his blood slush. Each exhale was a frosty blizzard that made his teeth chatter like glass, sharp and pointy.

Peter Parker was a nice little ice sculpture sitting atop the Brooklyn Bridge.

Pretty. Display only. Don't Touch.

He glanced down at his hands, partly to make sure they were still there. He couldn't feel them.

The beads of the necklace clattered together, the wind carrying the tiny little noises and brushing them past his ears. It was dark up there. The few lights attached to the cables of the bridge did little in the downpour, the rain seeming to wash away the beams, wash them out, wash the spider out. He stared down at the necklace, watching the rain slide down the rounded beads and pool into his palm.

Would it sink in the water?

Would he sink?

He could feel the hard back of the chair in her office. He could feel the chains around his wrists, the jolts running through his muscles, seizing the breath from his lungs. It puffed around his mouth in a cloud of foggy white haze. He was breathing. He was breathing. No water. Just air.

Breathe.

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but found it only bobbed up and down and stayed firmly locked. A harsh flash of bright white light illuminated the sky, slashing through the dark clouds and bathing him in a flash of jolting light and burning heat that crackled against his skin and made the rain glow in brilliant pearls of liquid silver. The roll of thunder that soon followed ripped through the air, shuddering the bridge and making his heart falter in its beat as the crackle blew past his ears and made him shut his eyes and curl his head away, as if he could somehow escape the booming screech.

Escape, run, hide.

He took a shuddering breath, blowing out another puff that swirled before his eyes. His body shivering as the rain continued to fall, relentless and unwavering. He turned his gaze back down to his hands, back to the shining orbs curling around his fingers. He blinked the water out of his eyes and let his gaze travel past his curled hands and to the frothing river below.

Cold, cold, so cold...

Why was he so cold?

 


 

Wednesday - April 27, 2016

Department of Damage Control Storage Center - DC Division A

11:51 p.m.

The sound of leaves crunching underneath his boots mixed in with the rustling sounds of the forest as Steve pressed his back against the rough bark of the tree, steeling his breath as he raised a hand to his earpiece. "Everyone in position?" he whispered softly.

One by one, each of his teammates' voices filtered in through the coms, making him nod and shut his eyes in prep.

The jet had landed hours ago in the forest surrounding the Damage Control Facility, Shuri's stealth tech allowing them to go undetected as they'd laid low for the hours it took for the sun to finally set below the treeline. Sneaking into the facility after hours would be immensely easier than trying to break in while normal employees were still roaming. Now that it was nearly midnight and the night guard would be switching shifts, they had a window they couldn't miss.

Steve snuck a small glance up at the moon, which was partially covered by a few clouds but still noticeably bright, illuminating the moss-covered ground in bright white light. His face curled up slightly in displeasure at the sight, for he knew the added light wouldn't make their covert operation any easier.

As if on cue, the clouds surrounding the moon parted further, allowing even more light to shine around him. Steve threw a glare up at the moon's speckled face, which smirked in response.

He didn't have much time to dwell, however, as Sam's voice rang out over the coms.

"Heads up, guys. Next shift's pulling in."

Steve craned his neck to peer around the trees, watching as a dark van pulled up to the gates of the large facility. He could hear the mechanisms inside the gate whirling as they split apart to allow the car to enter, quickly sliding shut with a resounding clang.

"Two minutes. Should be enough time for them to get to their stations and interact with the guards already on shift. That's our window." Natasha said over the transmission.

"Stand by," Steve murmured softly as he cast his eyes over the building. It was fairly large with around fifteen floors if the blueprints Hill had given them were anything to go by. On the front of the building was the Damage Control logo, large and hard to miss. Still, it could have been mistaken for any other government building if it wasn't for the security measures scattered around the entire strip of land.

The gates situated around the building were concrete, raising at least ten feet into the air, with an automated opening covered by thick steel bars that lowered into the floor with granted entry. Heat sensors and scanners were situated atop the gate itself, as well as the roof and the front entrance of the building. Tall satellite towers stretched upwards from the guarded roof, the bright red light blinking brightly in the darkness. And even the surrounding land, which was mostly nothing but bare grass leading into the forest they currently hid in was covered with heat sensors, motion trackers, and an electric fence surrounding the entire plot just as an added measure, waiting for any suspecting thieves to just attempt to break in.

Steve could spot a tracker now, blinking dully in the tree branches just a little farther ahead. He and his team were on the perimeter, as close as they could possibly get without setting off the alarms.

He raised a hand to his ear once again. "Sam, you ready?"

"On standby."

"Wait for my signal."

Steve kept his eyes locked on the building, narrowing them ever so slightly as he began to adjust the straps on his twin shields. "Wanda, Clint. You guys good to go?"

"I'm ready."

"I'm ready to get this over with."

The soldier couldn't help but roll his eyes at the archer's pointed annoyance but chose not to comment as he took a small step back and stared through the trees. He was just able to make out the shadowed form of Clint crouching atop the high branches of one of the taller oak trees farther into the distance, closer to the building itself. Down at the base of the tree, a small glimmer of glowing red light notified him of Wanda's presence.

Natasha's voice crackled again. "Ten seconds, Steve."

"Alright. Sam, Clint, on my mark."

The man glanced back over towards the sensors and sucked in another breath. "Now."

Clint reached behind him and pulled out a small projectile right as a flying drone shot through the trees, whizzing past Steve's head and flying right underneath the trackers. They blinked, lights switching from a steady red to a flashing yellow as the trackers switched their trajectories to follow the drone's path. At the same time, the archer pulled back the projectile and let it loose, an arrow that soared through the air in a clear-shot path straight up to the roof, where it hit the metal leg of the satellite branch and let loose a small electrical charge that sparked up small bits of blue light before falling dark once more.

"Everyone GO!"

With his own words still ringing in his throat, Steve began to sprint through the trees. He watched as Clint leapt down from his branch, only to be caught in a whirl of red light as Wanda began to levitate both him and herself up into the air. The girl turned towards Steve and watched as he approached, giving a small nod of her head before he too leapt up into the air.

The familiar tingling sensation of her energy wrapped tightly around his body, propelling him into the air as the girl began to shoot all three of them towards the roof, her eyes scrunched in concentration as she pushed them forward, the wind slamming against their faces as they flew. As soon as they were overtop the roof, her magic dissipated with a flourish of red light, Steve's boots landing heavily on the floor.

He glanced over towards Wanda as the girl blew out a heavy breath, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving her a questioning look, to which she waved him off with a reassuring little grin. He nodded and turned his attention towards the cameras mounted around the roof, gaze wary.

Clint seemed to notice his look and walked over to where his fired arrow was still sticking attached to the metal leg of the satellite. "Don't worry," he murmured, pulling the arrow away from the metal and sticking it back into his quiver. "Hill's scrambling code worked perfectly. Camera's are on a thirty second loop."

"And Redwing's keeping the motion trackers nice and preoccupied," Sam called as he soared overhead, Natasha tucked close to his hip. He quickly dropped her down next to Steve and retracted the wings into his back, engines dying down with a soft hiss. "Any motion they detect out there they'll probably just chalk up to an owl of something."

Steve nodded his head. "Make sure to call it back soon. Don't want the guards getting suspicious of too much commotion down there."

As Sam stepped closer, Scott suddenly materialized from atop his shoulder, landing on the ground with a thunk and an unceremonious stumble. He quickly righted himself and lifted the face-plate on his helmet, pouting slightly at the pointed looks he received. "What? It was a janky flight!"

"Excuse me?"

"Focus up, people," Steve murmured, walking past the two and striding over towards the rooftop stairway, ignoring the pointed bickering he could still hear coming from the two men.

Clint and Natasha were already by the door, glancing up at the added cameras and scanners sitting above it. "That scrambler took down everything automated out here, but it's a different story in the actual building. Cameras are gonna be fully functioning down there."

Natasha fiddled with her wrists, lighting up the Spider Bytes and sending a small surge of blue light traveling down the etched patterns of her suit. "I can take care of them."

Steve narrowed his eyes. "The guards are going to start getting suspicious when the camera feeds start going out one by one."

"Then we'll have to work fast."

The super soldier gave a firm nod of his head and turned towards the rest of the team. "You all remember the plan?"

Sam and Wanda nodded back while Scott gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up.

"Good. You have your orders. Remember: covert. Get in. Get what we need and get out. Don't let anybody see you. We meet back at the jet. Good luck."

"Aye-eye, Captain!" With that, Scott activated his suit and shrank once again, leaping towards the vent shafts and sliding right through the grates before disappearing into the darkness. Clint blew out a long sigh and rubbed his face, walking over towards the vents and ripping the covers off. "You just had to leave me to babysit Scott, huh?"

Sam smirked at him. "Make sure to have him in bed by 8."

Clint gave a mocking laugh before flipping him the bird and sliding through the vent as well.

Steve pointed towards Sam. "Keep watch for any outgoing distress signals. If we need a quick escape, head back to the jet and start it up. Hopefully it won't come to that."

Wanda folded her arms. "Right, cause we're just so lucky with those sorts of things."

The soldier walked back over towards the door, poking the girl in the arm as he brushed past her. "Positive attitudes."

She rolled her eyes and shared an amused glance with Natasha, who just shook her head.

With Clint and Scott already on their way to the weapons vaults, Steve pulled open the door, the magnetic lock having been deactivated with the pulse scrambler. He shared one last look with the girls before beginning his descent, shields out and ready.

The stairwell was dimly lit, the dull white light shining against the cold metal of the steps and handrails. He could hear the footsteps of his teammates behind him as they walked down the spiral staircase, the soldier pulling up the holo-map projection of the building's blueprints Hill had managed to score for them. "According to this, the main server is located in the East Wing on sublevel-B2"

Natasha craned her neck to glance over his shoulder. "The sublevels are only accessible by elevator, which run automatically with specialized key-cards. You got a plan for that?"

"We'll deal with that when we get to it."

They had reached the door leading into the main building by this point, Steve pressing his back against the adjacent wall for a brief moment before slowly turning the handle and pushing open the heavy metal door.

It only took a second to deduce the hallway was empty and another to note the camera blinking in the far top corner of the hall. Steve glanced back at Natasha, who gave a firm nod of her head. She took a deep breath before quickly whirling out the door and into the hallway, whipping her arm up and firing a small Byte at the camera, which quickly fizzled out as soon as it made contact with the electrical charge.

Steve didn't waste any time as he ran past the woman and began to quickly make his way down the hallway, the others quickly following on his heels. He didn't spare much time to look around at his surroundings, but as they made their way down the halls, taking out cameras as they did so, he couldn't help but take note of a few details of the building.

The walls, ceiling and floor were all the same metallic gray color, shiny, pristine and cold. Every few hallways would contain floor to ceiling windows that allowed view of the entire outside facility, complete with courtyard and parking lot. He took note of the numerous side halls and stairs that would most likely lead them deeper in the maze of a building if it wasn't for the blueprints.

As they came up on another intersection of paths, Steve halted his stride and raised his arms, signaling the girls to stop as well.

"What is it?"

"Guards. Two of them."

He could hear their shoes scuffling against the floor, their voices echoing softly in his ears. Judging from the fact that Wanda and Natasha obviously couldn't hear them yet, the guards were still a considerable distance away.

The man hesitated for a moment before deciding they couldn't afford to wait. The longer they stalled, the more time the guards had to figure out what was going on with the cameras and send out more patrols to investigate.

He motioned for them to keep going, glancing back down at the holomap before choosing on a direction. It wasn't long after that they reached another hallway intersection and came upon the sublevel elevator. As Natasha had said before, there was no operating panel; no buttons to push, only a card scanner on the side wall.

Wanda turned to Steve. "Now what?"

The soldier craned his ears once more, pinpointing just how close the previous guards were now. They were getting closer. Perfect.

"Now we wait."

Natasha furrowed her brows in confusion. "Steve...?"

The man didn't respond, only moved over towards the wall opposite the elevator, where the guards would be appearing from any second. The woman gave pause for a moment before she blinked in realization and slowly began to back up towards the wall also, grabbing Wanda's wrist and dragging her back as well. The younger girl gave a confused look, but paused as Natasha whispered something in her ear.

The girl glanced back at Steve, who gave a reassuring nod.

With that, the three waited, pressing themselves up against the wall facing the elevator, positioned in such a way that anybody coming down the hallway towards the elevator wouldn't be able to see them on account of the walls blocking their view. After another few moments, the guards were close enough now that even Wanda and Natasha could hear them.

"-plans for the weekend?"

"Nothing real interesting. You?"

"Barbara's heading upstate to visit her parents so I'm on babysitting detail. Not the best with a potty-training toddler."

"Still no luck with Jack?"

"What can I say. The kid hates toilets. I don't blame him."

"Well, when I was having issues with Ashley, Nancy and I got this book. I thought it was a total waste of money, but like, four days later, the kid was singing songs on the frikkin toilet seat! I think I still have it if you want to-"

As soon as the guards stepped into the intersection of the two hallways, Steve pushed himself off the wall and rammed into the first guard's back, throwing him off balance and wrenching his arms behind his back before he could even blink. The other guard whipped her head around, instinctively reaching for her gun, only for Natasha to sweep her legs and for Wanda to curl her in wisps of red energy before she could even hit the ground.

Before the two guards could open their mouths or shout any sort of warning, more red tendrils were wrapping around their mouths, effectively silencing them. Their wide eyes followed the movements of the Rogues as Natasha began to run her hands down the female guard's uniform, pulling off the keycard clipped to her belt. Steve watched her, keeping his guard pressed up against the wall with minimal effort.

Widow quickly rushed over to the elevator and swiped the card, watching as a green light blinked on and the whirring of the elevator reached their ears. She glanced towards Steve and gave a nod. He turned to Wanda. "Just like we practiced."

The girl took a deep breath. "Right."

Slowly, more wisps of red energy began to seep from her hands, cautiously winding towards the guards. They tried to say something, but their words were muffled and unintelligible. The wisps wrapped around their heads, piercing their temples. Wanda shut her eyes as a look of concentration swept over her face, the guards' eyes quickly shifting to a deep crimson before they shut and their bodies fell limp.

The girl let go of the breath she'd been holding, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat at the maneuver. It was never something to be taken lightly, messing with people's heads. That much she knew now. The churning feeling in her stomach was alleviated slightly by the approving nod Steve gave her.

Steve gently lowered the guard in his arms down to the floor while Wanda did the same with hers, their gentle snores now emanating around the room. Natasha waved at them right as the elevator appeared.

The soldier pressed a hand to his ears. "Barton. Lang. We're heading down to the sublevels. Give me an update."

 


 

"So anyway, I'm thinking we keep the logo on the front and maybe have some dad jokes printed on the back. What do you think? Do you know how awesome we'll look in matching shirts, man?! Although, it might be a bit of a challenge finding an underground shirt-making company that caters to wanted criminals. Maybe there's something online, like an Angie's List for Felons. You know, there was a sight I used called CozyHomes that got me a great quote for a window repair this one time. Maybe they have a black market sister sight or something. Anyway, what should we call ourselves since you're so set against Dad's United. The Dad Pack? Daditude?"

"Status? I'm about five seconds from pulling out the RAID and gas bombing this little-"

"Barton-"

Clint sighted and cut himself off before he could say anything more. "We're almost at the drop point," he muttered into the coms, cursing Steve for just about the fifth time in the past ten minutes for sticking him with their resident toddler as both he and Scott continued to crawl through the vents towards the weapons vault.

"Correction, Papa Bear. We're here." Scott called from over his shoulder, jamming a thumb down towards the floor below them, the sight of the vault visible through the vents. Clint paused in his movements both from the sight of the vault and from Scott's words, throwing the man a pointed look.

"What? You don't wanna be Papa Bear? I'll be Papa Bear."

Swallowing whatever response he had to that, Clint raised a hand to the coms once more. "Rogers, we're here. Stand by. If these thugs really are breaking into this place and taking their shit directly from the vault, we'll know soon enough."

With that, the archer kicked out the paneling and dropped down to the floor in a graceful crouch, only to yelp as he felt a crushing weight drop down right on top of him, flattening him to the floor. He groaned and lifted his head, coming nose to nose with Scott.

"...You're very squishy."

"Lang...I really need you to get away from me right now, like...just for your safety. "

"Right."

Quickly separating and placing a good few feet between him and Clint, Scott raised his head to take in the huge metal door standing before him. It was at least a good twenty feet tall, with bright yellow cautionary lines painted into the surrounding metallic frame.

"Jeez...what the heck are they holding in there? Dinosaurs?"

Clint reached into his quiver and began to adjust the coils on his bow. "Nope. These things are a bit more dangerous than dinosaurs."

"Yeah, how so?"

"Trust me. You don't wanna know."

He pulled out an arrow and began to slip it into the notch on his bow. "Alright, Lang. You see that control box up there? That's the automated control for the vault's security door. Now these things close up tight for the night and don't reopen until morning, even with the right access card so I'm gonna need you to get in there and work your shit."

Scott nodded and quickly shrunk down. Clint crouched down and dipped his arrow down to the floor, watching the tiny form of his teammate leap onto the tip. He straightened back up and took aim. "You ready?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm good. Just...this is a normal arrow right, not one of those 'shooty, explosiony, send me all over the walls' type of arrow, right."

He sighed. "Just get the goddamn door open."

"Yes, Mama Bear."

Sucking in a deep, deep breath, Clint steadied his arm and locked eyes with the control panel situated above the huge doors before loosing and letting both the arrow and his partner fly through the air. The arrow lodged into the concrete right next to the panel, leaving Lang with a good launching pad for the box.

Considering both how high up the box was and how tiny his teammate was, Clint couldn't tell what was happening as he shuffled from one foot to the other, casting continuous cautionary glances behind his back, expecting a horde of guards to come flooding in any second.

After another minute and a couple more wary glances, Clint raised a hand to his com. "How we doing, Scott?"

He received his answer in the form of a loud groaning sound. The man whipped his head back towards the door, watching as the horizontal crease in the center began to grow, the two doors parting away, one sliding up into the ceiling and the other dropping down into the floor. Clint cracked a small smile, watching as Scott suddenly expanded into view in front of him. "I don't know. I think I'm doing pretty good. How 'bout you?"

The archer said nothing, striding past the man with an approving pat on the shoulder before the two of them were stepping into the vault.

"Holy shit."

"Ch'yeah. No kidding."

The room was about the size of a football field with bright white walls and matching floors. Huge shipping containers lined said walls, one on top of another on top of another like a child's building blocks. On the back wall, a huge shelving unit reached from floor to ceiling, filled with boxes upon boxes of glowing purple weapons while giant cylindrical containers stretched from the front wall all the way to the back.

Scott continued to walk further into the room, twisting around on his heel as his head swiveled back and forth, eyes wide and mouth agape. "So...this is where they keep all that alien junk?"

Clint narrowed his eyes as he scanned over the vault. "No. This is just a fraction of it. Who knows how much of that shit is still out there...unaccounted for?" The archer paused as he caught sight of a large computer screen sitting next to the vault door, the Damage Control logo flashing across it every few seconds.

"Bingo." In a couple of strides he was at the computer, pulling out the keyboard that sat in the wall just underneath the screen itself. Scott pulled his head away from the sights as he watched Clint begin to type something up on the keyboard. He furrowed his brow and walked over. "What are you doing?"

Clint didn't look up from the screen. "This is the virtual database for the vault. Everything that comes in here or goes out is logged into this system. If there have been any containers taken from this particular vault-" he glanced back at Scott. "-we'll know soon enough."

Scott blinked at him before turning his eyes back to the screen. He watched as the Damage Control logo disappeared and a database list appeared instead. Clint scanned through the files before pulling up the weapons section and expanding the folder.

Suddenly, a holographic projection extended out from the screen itself, displaying the collection of organized weapons, cores and other assorted alien technology that had been gathered. Clint lifted his hands away from the keyboard and began to scroll through the hologram, eyes scanning for any missing boxes or out-of-place time stamps.

"Well? Anything?" Scott asked after a moment of watching the archer go through the file.

Clint furrowed his brow and pulled away from the screen, the corners of his mouth pulling down into a frown. "No. Nothing. Everything's accounted for here. Nothing's out of line. Not even a time stamp labeled wrong." He turned towards Scott. "However those gangs are getting this tech, it's not from the facility itself."

Scott shrugged. "Makes sense. What street thug is gonna be able to break into a government weapon's base, hack the cameras and pry those vault doors open without anybody noticing "

The archer didn't seem satisfied as he folded his arms. "So, question is: how are they getting it?"

 


 

Thursday - April 28, 2016

Stark Tower - First Floor Lobby

12:03 a.m.

Tony didn't bother glancing around the lobby as he shambled towards the elevator, head down and eyes focused in the universal 'don't bother me' stance. He grimaced and lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck, wondering how his neck could feel like he'd slept on it wrong if he hadn't slept in the past two days. Was it two days? Maybe it was three? Probably four, honestly.

He stumbled into the elevator, the doors of which closing automatically, before the floor lurched slightly and the compartment began to ascend back to the common floor. Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, gritting his teeth against the wave of pain that washed over his head. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a few deep breaths before the pain began to subside, if only for the moment.

Honestly, the urge to curl up on the floor right here and now was incredibly tempting. After spending the entire day arguing and fending off Ross' maulings, the billionaire felt he was owed a little down-time.

Tony thought of the bar, wondering how many drinks it would take for him to pass out tonight. Judging from how tired he already felt, he doubted it would take much. At least in his alcoholic states of unconsciousness, he couldn't dream. especially since any dreams tonight would probably involve some crack-pot interpretation of mountains of paperwork and some demonly figure that shares a suspicious resemblance to a certain Secretary of State.

Tony let out a low growl as he thought back to the Secretary, how hard it had been to finally get the son of a bitch to leave. After finally getting him off of the Office floors, he'd spent another hour just getting the man to the lobby. Ross continued to insist there was more they needed to discuss, to which Tony's reply would be that they'd have plenty of time at their next meeting, which he assumed was to take place in Hell.

As the billionaire thought back on the Secretary with less-than-pleasant thoughts, his mind couldn't help but drift back to what he'd finally had to say to get the man into the elevator, everything he'd said about Peter.

His stomach churned as he thought back over everything he said, everything Ross would have expected him to say. It was disgusting, everything he'd said. What was even more disgusting was the fact that once upon a time, Tony really would have believed everything he'd said. Two months ago, if someone had told him that he'd be wrapped up in such a mess, worrying over some kid he stumbled upon in a home-made Halloween costume swinging around the city, he would have kicked them out of his goddamn tower.

For all intents and purposes, with everything he was currently dealing with, Ross, the Accords, the Rogues, the media, Peter was...Peter was a wild card he hadn't been expecting...nor prepared for. But unwanted? If Tony could really go back and choose, if he could decide to take Peter out of the equation altogether, leave out the kid's problems and focus on fixing his own...would he do it?

He pushed the thoughts aside with another angry growl. He was way too tired to be dealing with such intrusive thoughts right now. Best to leave it for another night when he wasn't five minutes away from a drinking game where the only players were himself and the nearest trashcan.

A tired sigh pushed its way through Tony's lips as the elevator doors slid open onto his common floor. Outside, the storm raged on, rain pounding against his window in thick heavy drops. He ran a hand down his face as he trudged across the floor, shoes scuffing against the cold surface before he finally reached the couch, where he promptly collapsed with a loud groan.

He rested the crook of his arm against his face as he rested the back of his head against the lip of the couch, content to sit in silence for just a second.

"Boss?"

Okay, he didn't mean a literal second.

He didn't remove his arm from his face as he spoke. "What is it, FRIDAY? Daddy doesn't want to play right now."

"Boss, I've received an emergency alert from the Spider-Man suit."

His eyes flew open and a strangled noise fell from his lips as he hastily sat up faster than he expected his body to move. "What? What are you talking about?"

"His heart rate is elevated though there are no signs of any physical injuries to cause such a reaction nor any extreme cases of exertion. His body temperature is also extremely low, most likely from the outer temperatures and prolonged exposure to the current weather conditions."

The man blinked up at the ceiling, trying to register what exactly the AI was saying. "Prolonged exp- Wait a minute. FRIDAY, when did you get the notification?"

"Twenty-five minutes ago."

He jolted up this feet and stared at the ceiling with wide eyes. "What?! Why the hell am I hearing about it now?!"

"You gave me explicit instructions to not disturb your meeting with the Secretary for 'any reason'"

The man gritted his teeth as he quickly rushed towards the stairs. "FRIDAY, new rule! Anything concerning Spider-Man gets top priority! You hear me? TOP!" He didn't bother listening to her response as he began to run towards the outer platform of the tower, pressing down on the sensor bracelets he kept on his wrists at all times. Tapping down on them, he heard the tell-tale whirring of the walls opening up.

As soon as he opened the door to the outer launch balcony, parts of the suit were shooting out of the wall, enclosing around his limbs and chest. The wind whipped across his face, Tony shutting his eyes against the force before his helmet closed down around his head. Jesus. What the hell is the kid doing outside right now? He thought to himself as his propulsors burst to life, allowing him to hover in the air.

"Where is he, FRIDAY?"

"His suit tracker indicates he's atop the Brooklyn Bridge and has been for the past half-hour."

Instantly, a cold claw of dread seized Tony's heart, nearly making him fall back down to the balcony. He tried to swallow the lump that quickly formed in his throat, but found it was as solid as a rock. His stomach churned dangerously as the billionaire's mind began to fill with unwanted thoughts, explanations as to why the kid was atop one of the highest structures in the city in the middle of a thunderstorm obviously contemplating...something.

Tony literally shook the thought away. There was no way. Peter was...there was just no way. "Get me there, FRIDAY. Now."

He shot forward like a rocket but it still felt like he was trying to run through water: slow and clumsy and Not. Fast. Enough.

 


 

Thursday - April 28, 2016

Department of Damage Control Storage Center - DC Division A

12:15 a.m.

Steve pulled his hand away from the com and turned back towards the girls, who were both giving him expectant looks. "Barton says the vault's clean. Nothing shady. No missing cases."

"So...what does that mean?" Wanda asked.

Natasha glanced up at the sign overtop the door they all stood before. Registry A-1 "It means this better have the answers we're looking for...otherwise we're back to square one."

Eyeing the key pad next to the door, the woman swiped the card they'd stolen off the disabled guard, only for the light to remain red and an automated voice to sound. "Unauthorized access. Insufficient clearance." She shared a look with Steve, who took a small step back before ramming his body forward, literally knocking the door off its hinges and sending it crashing to the floor, where it clattered with a loud clang.

Inside were rows upon rows of different monitors and screens, each displaying the Damage Control logo. On the back wall was a stretch of different servers, wires and circuitry that had Steve wishing for their resident tech genius for just fraction of a second before he was shoving the thought aside. He turned to Nat. "Hurry. We don't have much time before the guards start to investigate."

She nodded and made her way over to the closest computer. She reached into one of her belt compartments and pulled out a small silver flash drive, plugging it into the computer before typing away.

"Aright...let's see exactly what's been going on here."

The light from the screens illuminated the dark room in swathes of white, their shadows extending into the walls. Steve kept his ears pricked for any distant sounds of footfalls, but heard nothing except for the soft tapping of Natasha's fingers as they flew across the keyboard. Her eyes were hard and focused as she scanned them across the screen.

After a few moments, he heard her click her tongue and press it into the side of her cheek.

"What do you got, Nat?"

She didn't respond at first, scrolling down the screen and reading through the registry. After another few seconds, she spoke but didn't take her eyes off the screen or stop typing. "Well...according to this, this particular facility has received 23 separate shipments of parts in the past two months alone, mainly coming in from Manhattan. Apparently, there's still a ton of alien tech that's yet to be collected."

Wanda cocked a brow, placing a hand on her hip. "Seriously? The attack on New York was four years ago and they still haven't cleaned it all up yet?"

Nat gave a small shake of her head. "You weren't there, kid. You didn't see just what we were dealing with." She turned her head and shared a small look with Steve. He said nothing, just took a small breath and glanced away. She turned back to the screen and continued. "We're lucky there's still a city for this tech to hide in. Figures, there's gonna be a couple scraps that have fallen by the wayside."

"Which is exactly what this company was created for. To make sure that tech didn't fall into the wrong hands," Steve sighed.

Wanda pursed her lips. "Well apparently someone hasn't been reading the employee handbook."

The soldier folded his arms. "If these gangs aren't stealing tech from here, then they have to be getting it from somewhere. Question is, where else would they be able to gain access to it, easy enough access to the point where they could obtain it without even stirring a fuss?"

Nat tilted her head and grew a smirk. "That's the million dollar question, Cap," she murmured, though her tone of voice had Steve straightening back up and leaning over her chair.

"You find something?"

"Maybe. So check this out." She clicked something on the keyboard, bringing up a page of listed material. "When a crew cleans up a certain area, they create an initial registry of what exactly their haul is, making a list of all the weapons, cores, etc. Well, check out the haul report from the 14th of this month." She clicked onto the file and brought up the registry. "This is the registry that was reported at the haul site...and this is what the facility reported actually came in to be stored."

Steve and Wanda gazed back and forth between the two projected registry lists, comparing each bulleted item before their faces grew perplexed. "I don't get it." Wanda murmured. "It looks the same. Everything matches up."

Natasha leaned back in the chair and gazed up at them. "Exactly...because this isn't the actual file."

Steve furrowed his brow. "What?"

"It's a dummy file, entangled with the code for the actual report to stand in place for the real file." She clicked off the registry and pulled up a new tab, this one displaying nothing but code lines. "This dummy file is what's actually listed as the true registry. it's been imbedded into the servers to take the place of any specially-marked files."

Steve leaned closer, pressing a palm down next to the keyboard and the other resting against the back of the chair. An uneasy feeling began to settle in his stomach, but he ignored it in favor of staring at the screen. "Can you find the real file?"

Natasha narrowed her eyes. "Whoever designed this hack created it well enough so that is easily passes as legit. Of course, they also created it with the idea that nobody would be looking at it too closely. Unfortunately, I think they planned a contingency just in case. The marked files are automatically deleted within a two month period."

She glanced over at Steve and cracked a devious grin. "Luckily for us, that registry is from the 14th, only two weeks ago so it hasn't been scrubbed yet."

She clicked around the screen for a few seconds, scanning through the lines of code, readjusting some lines and imputing a few scrawls of text before pulling up another file. "Here's the real registry from the haul site, listing 142 individual pieces of alien tech. And here's what's been logged into storage."

Wanda ducked her head closer to the screen, reading directly off the line. "Only 113."

"Same thing last month. Each delivery, there's a shortage of actual material being discharged."

Steve narrowed his eyes. "And since those dummy files were in place..."

"Nobody suspected a thing."

He lifted his hands from the table and straightened back up. "So somewhere between cleaning up the tech and dumping it here, these gangs are getting ahold of it. But how-"

"Hold your horses, Steve," Natasha chimed in. "I'm getting there." She typed a few more things into the computer. Steve and Wanda shared a look but stepped closer as a new image appeared, a digital map of the surrounding roads and commonly driven routes with markers for dump sites and past hauls. "Look at the routes each of these trucks take, the trucks that don't have any discrepancies between their reported hauls and their actual loads." She pointed at the map and trailed along the illustrated road. "They each take the same route, every time. Now...look at the route this truck took on the 14th. Route 95. Every other driver took Route 64."

Steve face scrunched slightly as everything began to piece itself together. "And let me guess, on the dummy files it lists the driver as taking the scheduled Route 64."

Natasha didn't say anything, just pointed a finger up at the man, signaling his correct suspicions.

Wanda turned away from the computer and looked at them. "So...the transport trucks are getting attacked on alternate routes they shouldn't have been on in the first place?" She glanced back down at the screen. "That can't be a coincidence."

Widow shook her head. "It's not. These records were tampered with, something that would require higher access to the mainframe and the digital copies of these transcripts."

Steve narrowed his eyes and glared down at the screen. "Someone's letting this tech get stolen and is covering up the evidence by falsifying documents...someone on the inside."

Wanda turned back to Natasha, who had gone back to scrolling through the files. "Can you figure out who?"

She shook her head. "No. These servers just log the information, more the technical aspect of the facility. They don't include any names, personal info, anything. If we want to find out more..." she turned her chair around and looked to Steve. "...we aren't going to get it here."

Steve said nothing as he pressed a hand to his mouth, giving a small silent nod at her words before glancing back down to the screen. Wanda blew out a sigh and ran a hand through her hair. "I think our problems just got a lot more complicated."

Suddenly, Steve stiffened as he turned towards the door, the distant sound of metal whirring reaching his ears. "Shit. No kidding."

Nat lifted her gaze, eyes suddenly sharp. "What is it?"

He strained his hearing, just able to make out the sound of voices and shuffling feet as the elevator whirled. "Guards. A lot of them." He moved towards the door. "We're out of time. They're descending the elevator now."

Natasha's face curled into something akin to annoyance as she whirled back around to the computer and began to type away, a loading screen popping up as the information began to download onto their flash drive. Wanda turned to Steve. "We're on the sublevels. No stairs. How the hell are we going to get past them without them seeing us?"

Steve paused at her question, swinging his head back towards the door, opening it and allowing the outside hall light to fill the otherwise dark room. He kept his hand on the door frame as he swiveled his head down the hallway, calculating just how far it was to the elevator from where they were, how much space there was between the walls and whether there was anything of importance to avoid damaging should there be a fight.

Natasha glanced over her shoulder at the man, slowly rising up from her seat as she took in his stance and the tense coiling of his muscles. "Steve...no. We said covert."

He didn't turn around. "You have any other ideas?"

She squinted her eyes. "They don't know it's us yet. All they know is somebody's infiltrated the building and taken out a few guards. We confront them, they'll know it was us and we'll have an even bigger mess on our hands when news gets out the Rogue Avengers broke into a government building and beat up the guards."

"I already broke into a government building and beat up the guards."

She scoffed and threw him a pointed look as he turned to face her. "That was different. The Raft was-"

"Necessary? Nat, are you honestly telling me this information isn't important? That we can afford to just...forget about it?"

"Don't put words in my mouth, Rogers."

He gritted his teeth and took a step forward, closing the gap between the two of them in a second. "A government-run operation dealing in secret underhanded affairs while simultaneously pulling the strings from the inside? What does that remind you of?"

She was silent for a moment, meeting Steve's heavy stare head on for a moment before glancing away. "We don't know that HYDRA's involved."

"We don't know they aren't."

She said nothing. Steve knew they didn't have time to argue. He could hear the voices getting louder as the elevator got closer to their floor. He whirled back around towards the door. "We'll talk about this later. Right now we need to go."

He stepped out of the room, Wanda glancing back at Natasha before following him out. The assassin watched for a moment before letting out a sigh, turning back to the computer screen.

DOWNLOAD COMPLETE

At least something's going according to plan. She thought to herself as she pulled the flash drive out of the port, snapped it back into her belt compartment and shut the computers down, closing out of all the files and leaving no trace as to their tampering, aside of course from the door still sitting on the floor. She cursed Steve's impulsiveness but stepped over it and walked out into the hallway, where said man was already on the coms with the others.

"Clint, Scott. We're about to be intercepted. You two get back to the jet. Tell Sam to start it up."

"Hold up!" Scott's voice cut through. "We're not just gonna leave you guys, are we?"

Steve didn't relent. "We'll meet you back there in ten minutes."

"But-"

"Get to the jet. That's an order." Steve said in his commanding tone of voice that he only ever used when the situation demanded no further discussion.

There was no reply heard through the coms. With that, the man gestured with his head for the girls to follow him as the three of them began to make their way back to the elevator.

It only took a few seconds for them to wind their way through the halls and find the elevator once more. The doors hadn't opened yet, though Steve could hear the growing whirring of the mechanical gears shifting, bringing the guards closer and closer with each second.

He said nothing, pointing instead to the stretch of wall on either side of the elevator. Nat and Wanda nodded and just as before with the other guards, they pressed their backs into the same wall the elevator stood against, waiting on either side of it; Steve on one, the girls on the other.

They waited in a few terse seconds of silence as the whirring dragged to a crawl before stopping, the voices on the other side of the door ceasing as the sound of guns cocking reached Steve's ears and made his body tense.

For a second right before the doors opened, he made eye contact with his teammates, both of them giving him determined looks as Natasha charged up her Spider Bytes and Wanda let her hands fill up with bright red energy. He knew he didn't have to tell them to use restraint, that the people they'd be fighting weren't the bad guys, but he still felt a gnawing pit of unease grow in his stomach. The last thing they needed was another controversy, and the wrongful killing of a security guard doing their job would bring just that.

He quickly pushed the thought and the anxiety aside, however, as the elevator pinged and the doors slid open. From their position against the wall, the Rogues went undetected for the brief moment they needed as all seven guards poured out of the small compartment, spreading out into the hall.

Instantly, Steve pushed off the wall, grabbing the gun of the nearest guard and ripping it out of his hands before slamming him down to the ground. The hall was suddenly swathed in noise as the other guards began to shout and aim their guns. Flashes of bright red light and crackling blue electricity alerted Steve to the fact that his teammates had jumped into action as well.

The guard underneath his hands began to squirm, Steve ramming his fist into his face and knocking him unconsciously instantly. His ears perked and he quickly leapt to the side as the sound of a gun going off bounced off the walls. He slid to his knees and jumped up, facing the two guards that now stood before him. They paused in their attacks, however, as they got a good look at his face.

"Captain America? W-what...what are-?"

They didn't get to finish as Steve surged forward, ramming his shoulder into one guard's gut and kicking out the leg of the second. The guard screamed in pain, only for Steve to grab his face and flip him over his shoulder, slamming him into the floor right as the first guard regained his balance and pulled out another pistol. Steve ducked under the shots and swept the man's legs out from underneath him. He reared a fist back, only to feel a heavy weight land atop his shoulders and drag him backwards.

He braced himself and slammed his body into the wall behind him, effectively squashing the guard atop as he grabbed the worker's arms and flipped him onto the floor, quickly knocking him out as well. He jumped back up to his feet, only to meet the muzzle of another pistol. The guard removed one hand from the gun to grab the radio on his shoulder. "We have a Code Black, in progress: hostiles are-" Before he could say anymore, the radio and gun were both encased in bright red light. The radio suddenly crumpled in on itself, leaving nothing but smoking wires and meshed metal.

The guard stared at it in shock, only for the gun to drop to the floor and the man to suddenly be catapulted backwards, slamming in the wall with a bang before limply sliding to the floor.

Steve took a small breath and glanced over at Wanda, nodding his thanks as she smiled. Natasha brushed a strand of hair out of her face as she stared down at the guard that was currently writhing at her feet from the electrical current of her Byte before falling unconscious like his other comrades. Steve glanced around the hall, which was now laden with bullet holes and groaning security guards. He whipped his head towards the elevator, the doors of which were still open.

"Come on. We need to move. They're gonna send more."

With that, the three quickly piled into the compartment and shut the doors, the floor jolting underneath their feet as it began the ascent. Steve reached down for his wrists, activating the shields as he turned to Wanda. "We're gonna be intercepted as soon as we reach the top floor. Be ready for heavy fire."

She nodded and let more trails of red light enter her hands. Natasha shared a less-than-pleased look with Steve, who drew his face into a frown, but said nothing more. He could feel the elevator slowing. Steve took a deep breath and brought his hands up, shields out. Natasha recharged her Bytes, the bright blue glow trailing throughout her entire suit, and pulled out the tonfa sticks she kept in her back belt compartment, wielding them in front of her body as she narrowed her eyes.

The elevator stopped. The doors slid open.

"Open FIRE!"

Instantly, a cacophony of bullets hailed down around them, the noise deafening in the small metal confines of the elevator. Wanda's red shied leapt to life, encasing the opening to the elevator as the bullets bounced off of it. She grunted at the force but braced her knees and pushed her hands out further, strengthening the barrier between them.

Natasha reached back into her belt and pulled out a few black pellets. "Ready?!" She called over to Wanda, whose squinted eyes dragged over towards the assassin, her head giving a small nod as another surge of red energy pulsed through the shield.

Widow nodded and reared her arm back, letting the pellets fly through the barrier. They bounced along the floor and rolled over towards the guards' feet. Whirls of smoke suddenly exploded out from the devices, swathing the room in thick gray plumes.

The rainstorm of bullets ceased as the guards attempted to see through the haze, Wanda dropping the shield right as Steve surged forward. He grabbed the closest guard and hurled him across the room, where he promptly collided with another.

Wanda lifted one man, ripping the gun from his hands before tossing him towards Steve, who kicked him back against the wall. Natasha leapt over the downed man's body and wrapped her legs around another, coiling her body tight around his before whipping her body towards the ground, effectively dragging him down as well. She kicked her leg out, knocking his gun away before twisting and slamming her other foot into the side of his head.

She saw another guard running up, her arm lifting as she shot a Byte at his chest. He seized up instantly as the current pulsed through his body, sending him convulsing to the ground. Steve leapt over the shaking man and slid to a stop next to Nat, lifting one of his shields in front of her right as two bullets collided with the metal.

The woman pushed his shield down and fired another Byte at the approaching man, knocking him down as well. Steve extended his hand, the woman latching onto it right as he swung her through the air, her legs kicking out against the two nearest guards, who both went down at the hit, clutching their heads before she was firing another two rounds of Bytes.

Steve lifted his shields as more bullets fired towards him, Wanda's magic encasing the guns before crushing them in the guard's hands. They stared at the clattering pieces in shock, only for Rogers to leapt forward and grab the closest man, ramming his knee into his gut before hurling him at the second, the two of them clattering to the ground in a jumble of limbs.

The soldier ducked to the ground as another round of bullets soared overhead, crashing through the glass windows behind him and shattering them into fragments.

"Steve!" He glanced over at Natasha, who threw over one of her tonfa sticks. He grabbed it out of the air as he rushed forward, knocking it against the guard's gun and whipping it across his face before ramming his fist into the man's cheek and sending him sprawling to the floor right as another gun went off, a bullet whizzing right past Steve's cheek.

He winced before raising his shield once more, the bullets bounding off the vibranium metal. He didn't lower his shield as he repositioned his grip on the stick, whipping it through the air where it collided with the guard's head, who promptly collapsed at the blow.

Wanda raised up another barrier as a barrage of bullets fired her way. She used her other hand to conjure up another mass of energy, whipping it towards the floor where it exploded on contact, sending three more guards soaring through the air. Natasha slid underneath the airborne guards and rammed her own tonfa stick into the crook of one man's knee. He doubled over and she quickly rammed her knee into his jaw before whipping her stick against the side of his head.

She ducked underneath another round of bullets right as Steve rammed his shield into the guard's face and whipped his legs out from under him, Wanda catching the falling guard before sending him whizzing towards the back wall. The girl lifted her hands again, only for a stray bullet to hit her in the upper arm. She gasped in pain and faltered in her step, kneeling down on the floor for a brief second.

The guards, however, quickly noted her position and took aim. Steve rushed over and wrapped an arm around the girl, bringing his shields up right as they opened fire, the bullets clattering to the floor as they made contact with his shields. His eyes lifted as he felt a growing vibration running through the floor, heart dropping as he caught sight of a fresh wave of guards approaching.

Wanda narrowed her eyes and lifted her good arm, creating another shield, bigger this time. This one stretched from floor to ceiling, separating the three Rogues from the rest of security, which had quickly opened fire on the barrier as soon as it had appeared.

Natasha rushed over. "They're blocking the stairwell. How are we supposed to get to the roof?"

Steve stared out at the guards currently shooting. He knew in any other circumstance, such a situation wouldn't be a problem. They could easily overpower the guards, despite their numbers. But with the added handicap of fighting innocent people while holding back their real strength, the longer this fight went on, the higher the chance of some guard losing their life.

They had to end this quickly and get out of here.

The soldier opened his mouth, only to pause as he caught sight of a guard suddenly collapsing to the floor. The three Rogues blinked as another guard suddenly went down, as if punched by an invisible force. And another. And another. The guards themselves seemed to quickly catch wind that something was happening, for they began to fire at random ground.

An arrow whizzed down from the rafters, lodging into the floor tiles. The guards lifted their heads in the direction the arrow came, only for a bright flash of light to explode out from the projectile, the guards clutching their heads as their ears rang.

Scott suddenly materialized from seemingly out of nowhere, ramming his fist into the nearest guard as Clint jumped down from the ceiling onto the shoulders of another guard, the worker crumpling under the man's weight.

Wanda quickly dropped the shield and fired two blasts of energy at the closest guards, knocking them off their feet as Steve and Natasha helped Clint and Scott finished off the last few.

Scott retracted his helmet, face all grins. "Hey guys!"

Steve blew out a sigh as he narrowed his eyes. "Scott..."

The man didn't seem fazed by the disapproving look in the soldier's eyes as he simply shrugged his shoulders and threw him his own cheeky look. "Sorry. Guess I'm not the best at following orders yet."

"Yeah, you can say that again." Clint muttered as he scanned his eyes over the guards, making sure they were all taken care of.

Steve thought of reprimanding their newest recruit for a moment before shaking his head and letting the barest smile onto his face, clapping Scott on the back instead. He perked up, however at the sound of approaching footfalls. "Come on. There's more coming."

With that, he ran over to the stairwell, the rest of his teammates following. He pushed the door open and sprinted up the metal stairs as the loud shouts of approaching guards began to grow. "Sam! You better have that jet in the air!" He shouted into the coms as they made the roof, the soldier holding the door open as the rest of his teammates poured through before slamming it shut. The cold air seemed to slap his face as the wind howled around them, threatening to knock them off the roof.

"Relax, Cap. Your cab's waitin'."

Before the man could respond, the loud sound of familiar jet propulsors reached his ears as the ship came into view, cresting the lip of building as the back hatch slowly opened up, revealing Sam standing at the mouth of the ship, arms folded.

"Somebody call for a taxi?!"

The Rogues quickly rushed over, Natasha extending her hand to Scott, who quickly shrunk down and slid into her open palm. The woman glanced down at the gap between the edge of the building and the ship ramp before taking a few steps back and leaping forward, feet slamming down onto the sleek metal as she slid inside.

Clint approached next, holding a hand back for Wanda, who was being pushed forward by Steve. The archer looped a hand around the girl's waist before they, too, were leaping onto the ship. Steve narrowed his eyes and took a few steps back himself. He could hear the shouting of the guards. They were in the stairwell now. He began to run towards the ship. The guards beached the door.

He leapt into the air right as the guns began to fire, his feet slamming onto the metal hatch before he was leaping inside. The hatch quickly sealed up, the bullets bouncing against the ship's side before the reflector panels began to rotate. Within seconds, the jet was gone, leaving nothing but the night sky for the guards to fire blindly into.

 


 

Thursday - April 28, 2016

Brooklyn Bridge - East River

12:07 a.m .

It felt like it took hours, but in reality, it was only a minute before Tony was hovering over the bridge, trying to locate a small red and blue smudge atop the bridge beams. He resisted the urge to scan the waters below for the kid's form, gritting his teeth as he had FRIDAY scan for the kid atop the actual bridge.

Tony would never admit the gut-wrenching feeling of relief when FRIDAY alerted him to the kid's presence atop one of the beams. Instead, he flew down, careful to keep his descent smooth as to not startle the kid. The relief he'd felt, however, quickly disappeared as he took in the sight of the kid before him.

Peter currently sat a bit too close to the edge for Tony's comfort, legs hanging off the side as he held something in his lap. His skin was nearly translucent at this point, the drops of rain sliding down his porcelain cheeks like that of a china doll. The pelting rain had plastered his hair down to his forehead, the dark brown locks a stark contrast to the sickening shade of his skin. His mask lay beside him, an afterthought.

He didn't look up, though the billionaire was sure his hearing would have picked up the sound of his repulsors. Instead he continued to stare down at something in his lap. Tony couldn't see what it was.

"Kid?"

The boy didn't respond. He didn't even move, didn't even lift his head. He just kept staring at his hands, at what was in his hands. Tony hovered closer, boots landing with a soft thud on the metal tower. Another roll of thunder shook the air, the sky flashing for a brief moment before falling dark once more. He tried again. "Kid, what are you doing out here?"

Again, silence.

Tony blew out a tired sigh and opened his mouth to speak again, only to falter and remain silent as his mind drifted back over to when they had last seen each other, when they'd last spoken. The disaster that was Monday made a niggling seed of doubt sprout up in his mind. What that what this was about? Did Peter want him to bring it up? Did he want him to ignore it? Did he want to talk about it at all? Should Tony ignore it? Could Tony ignore it and still call himself a responsible adult?

That last thought almost made him snort aloud. Yeah, right. Like I was ever a responsible adult even before all this.

He turned his gaze back to Peter, who had still yet to acknowledge his presence. Tony felt the dragging weight of exhaustion eating away at his patience. What the hell was this kid playing at here?

"Peter, you better answer me right now. What do you think you're doing up h-"

"Have you ever heard of SpongeBob?"

The billionaire literally had to do a double take, both at the kid's sudden response and at what he'd actually said. He hesitated for a moment, glancing around bewilderedly before cautiously responding. "Uh...can't say that I have? What-"

"It's a cartoon. I think they still play it." The boy cracked a hint of a smile, didn't lift his head. "I used to watch it when I was little...with my mom. She liked it. Thought it was cute, I guess."

Something in the kid's voice made a shiver go up Tony's spine, a certain hollowness to the boy's usually bright tone. He didn't like it. "Kid...maybe we should talk about this back at the tower." He could see the teen's vitals through the headset of the suit, could see his body temperature. 96 degrees and dropping. Peter didn't seem too concerned by the cold as he continued, playing with whatever was in his hands. "It's about sea creatures, a sponge."

He rolled something between his fingers. "He's happy a lot. Singing songs, playing games, smiling. He smiled a lot. That much I remember. And...and I remember that...no matter what, how crazy the problem was or whatever insane situation he was in...he was always...smiling. Always happy."

The boy clenched his fists tightly. "I can't stand that show."

Tony took a step forward, the sound of his boot hitting metal echoing around them. "Peter...come on, kid. You're shivering. Let's go. I'll take you back to the tower, we'll dry off...just like that one time. You remember that?"

"...I remember."

"Then come on. It'll be fun." Tony reached a hand out towards the boy. Peter's eyes suddenly shot over towards him as he stepped closer and his body instantly curled in on itself as he faced him, scooting back ever so slightly. The billionaire was finally able to get a good view of the teen's face. The scars and scratches he'd seen on Monday had faded, leaving nothing but crystal skin that seemed to freeze the drops of water that dripped down his cheeks. But his eyes...his eyes were glossy and shone like the beads of a doll, filled with apprehension and fear.

Tony instantly stopped his approach at seeing the look on the kid's face, pulling back his hand and retreating a few steps. For a moment, the two just stared at each other, neither making another move. He could hear the sharp plinking noises of the rain hitting against his suit, the sky flashing overhead. Tony blew out a rough sigh as he realized what he needed to do.

"Jesus, can't believe..." he mumbled under his breath as the suit canopy began to open and he stepped out onto the bridge tower in the same three-piece suit he'd been wearing all day. Instantly, the shocking cold of the rain and wind seemed to pierce his skin as he lifted a hand to try and block the water from getting into his eyes. He could feel his clothes beginning to stick uncomfortably to his skin as the rain pounded against him, slicking his hair back against his forehead.

Peter stared at him with wide eyes as the man adjusted to being so high up in the middle of a storm, bracing himself against the winds and gaining enough balance to properly stand. His wide doe eyes blinked in shock as the man clicked a tongue and ran a hand down his now-soaked suit, the billionaire pointing a finger at him. "I'm sending you my dry cleaning bill, you know."

"...you're getting wet..."

Tony narrowed his eyes, not out of anger but to try and blink away the water droplets now spilling down around his cheeks. "Yeah, cause apparently you'd rather have this little conversation up on top of a metal tower in the middle of a goddamn thunderstorm."

Peter didn't say anything at that, just blinked once more and turned his head away, glancing back down at the mystery object in his hands. Now that he was closer, Tony could make out the strung-together beads of a necklace, homemade if the quality was anything to go by. He hesitated for a moment before wiping his face and readjusting the raised hand that was currently failing at blocking the rain from reaching his eyes. "You gonna tell me what that is or would you rather combine this little charade with a round of 20 questions?"

The teen stole a hesitant glance in his direction, chewing the bottom of his lip before lowering his head again and averting his eyes, seeming to scoot back by another inch. Tony swallowed down another annoyed sigh, realizing he'd have to play this delicately, or at least, as delicately as he could running on less than 3 hours of sleep in a 48 hour period while having just dealt with political cronies for the last couple hours, shredding what last lines of patience he'd stored away.

Nevertheless, he'd have to find some...for Peter's sake. The last thing they needed was another blowup like Monday. As his mind drifted over said day, the billionaire winced inwardly as he realized he'd at least have to try to address the elephant in the room. So with that, he cleared his throat and tried to muster up the calmest tone of voice possible, which was no easy task considering he'd practically ran it raw screaming at idiots all day.

"Look...about Monday, I...I'm sorry, alright? I overstepped. You were obviously uncomfortable and I kept pushing and it was just...I get you might not want to, you know-"

"It was for her."

Tony quickly slammed his mouth shut at hearing the boy speak. His voice was shaky...quiet, but he continued. "I made it for her...for her 30th." Peter cracked another small smile. "Four-year-old me thought it was a nice number, f-figured I would make something just as nice to...to celebrate it."

The billionaire felt a sinking feeling begin to weigh heavily in his gut as he picked up on the kid's distinct tone of voice. He wavered slightly before speaking, fearful as to what the kid's reply would be, though he already had a good guess. "Is...is it today? Her birthday?"

Peter turned his head to stare at him. He didn't say anything for a moment before a drop of water slid too close to his eye and he was blinking it away, chuckling softly. It wasn't very funny. "Heh...no. Quite the opposite, actually..."

It took him a second, but as soon as he knew what the teen meant, Tony was shutting his eyes and angling his head away as he sucked in a long breath, like he'd just been burned. A familiar tug of grief crawled down his spine, though he doubted it was anything compared to what the kid before him had to be feeling. Whenever the anniversary of his parent's death came up, he'd usually cope through it with a few bottles of whatever he had laying around so he could successfully black out the day completely in a nice calming booze-filled coma. Of course, the teen before him didn't have such an option readily available.

Nevertheless, this was not the time nor the place to have any sort of heart-to-heart about familial losses. Hell, that would be daunting even up in his cushy tower with mountains of pillows and hot chocolate. Throw in a couple mile-an-hour winds and some lighting and he had the makings of a real shitshow. He ran a hand through his hair, which was now completely drenched. "Listen...I'm sorry, kid. Really I am. But, please just...just come with me. We'll get out of this and get somewhere warm and...and we'll talk. We'll talk about whatever you want. I don't know how great I'll be at it, but at least it'll be something and we'll be out of this rain. You don't look so hot and it's just getting colder and-"

"I should have thrown it away."

Once again, he was caught off guard by the kid's sudden comment. The man glanced behind him at the light of his tower in the distance, grimacing again as he debated cutting Peter off and just dragging him back to the tower himself, but he quickly filed it away as a horrible idea given how much of a flight risk the teen seemed to be at the moment. Plus, this was the most they'd spoken in over three days. He didn't want to chance ruining it.

"What?"

Peter spared him another glance. He didn't know what propelled him to continue speaking, especially about this. Maybe it was the fact that the man was getting drenched in the freezing rain just to talk to him. Maybe the prospect of talking about this was just too good to pass up. He'd been holding it in for ten years after all.

"It's ridiculous to still hold onto such debilitating things like this."

Fine. She wanted him to let it go? Then he'd let it go.

"I kept it in a shoebox in my closet, to...keep it hidden, s-so she wouldn't find it before it was time to give it t-to her. And...a few months after...I-I found it again." He held it up just a bit, turning it over in his hands. "There was no point in keeping it cause, well..." He glanced over at Tony. "Can you really call it a keepsake if the person you're trying to remember never even wore it, n-never even saw it?"

He stared back down at the beads, hand shaking slightly. "She...she didn't even know it existed." He paused for a moment, taking a small breath that seemed to burn his lungs. God, it was so freaking cold. "By all means, I should have trashed it," he mused with a small grin on his face. It made Tony uneasy.

"But...I didn't. I...I couldn't. Cause...c-cause four-year-old me, ever the genius, thought that...t-that..." His words were shaking now. Tony realized his whole body was shaking. He wanted to take another step forward, but realized it would probably scare the teen. He fought to keep his legs still as Peter tried to continue. "...that I'd keep it so...s-so I could..I-I could..." He swallowed thickly as his eyes glazed over with unshed tears. "so I could give it to her when she came back," he choked on a sob which quickly turned into a breathy laugh as a few stray tears slipped down his cheeks, mingling with the raindrops.

Tony didn't move. He didn't know what to say. What could you say to that?

Peter stared down at the beads, silent for a moment as he traced over them with his fingers. Lightning flashed overhead, making the necklace glow slightly as the glass reflected the brilliant burst. The teen's eyes darkened slightly, causing Tony's stomach to turn as he watched the boy's body stiffen in visible anger. He barked out another laugh as more tears leaked through. "Well guess what? I've been waiting for ten fucking years and she still isn't here!"

With that, the teen leapt up to his feet faster than Tony could blink and hurled the necklace down as hard as he could into the darkness below with an animalistic snarl. The billionaire took a startled step forward, wondering for a brief horrifying moment if he was close enough to grab the boy in case he tried to make a move towards the edge.

"Peter-!"

However, instead of making anymore sudden movements, Peter just stood there. His shoulders bounced as he let out a choked cry before ramming the palms of his hands against his eyes and falling to his knees on the metal tower, the puddles on the surface splashing down around him as he fell. Tony could do nothing but listen to the heartbreaking sobs of the boy before him, suddenly overcome with the urge to embrace the shivering kid.

But realizing such a thing wouldn't help the teen who obviously had a deep aversion to physical contact, the billionaire did the next best thing and knelt down on the ground beside him, not saying anything as Peter hiccupped and dragged in a shaky breath, pulling his arms down to wrap around his body.

Peter didn't know what to do anymore. All of the stress and trauma and shit of the past two weeks...fuck it, of the past ten years were suddenly creeping up around him, threatening to choke the literal life out of him. He didn't know what he wanted anymore, so he just decided to let it all out.

"I just...I-I miss my mom," he finally whispered, his heart clenching so tightly he fought to breathe. "I miss her. And...I don't even remember her." He tightened his grip on his arms, so much so he was certain it would bruise. "Her face, her voice, it's all...it's all getting fuzzy, it's fading away and I can't stop it. I...I can't I can't control my own memories, can't stop them from disappearing. She's...she's disappearing. I just..."

He lifted his eyes to stare at the billionaire kneeling a few feet away. "I miss my mom, Mr. Stark." More tears fell down his face. "I miss her so much."

"You're a good boy, aren't you, Peter?"

He ducked his head away as Ms. O'Hara's words echoed around his ears, ready to listen to the billionaire rip into him just as she had, telling him that it was stupid to still grieve over someone that had died so long ago, ready for him to say how ridiculous he was being.

"I know."

The teen blinked and turned towards Mr. Stark, who had shut his eyes and was running a hand down his face, wiping away the water droplets that had collected. The billionaire turned to look him in the eyes, seeming to convey an overwhelming sense of understanding and sympathy that made Peter's teeth clatter. "Peter, believe me, I know how horrible you feel right now," the man sighed. "How awful it is to start forgetting the people you loved. I know it's hard and it sucks."

He paused for a moment before lifting his hands in the air and dropping them back down to splash against the puddles pooling around his knees. "I'm not gonna lie, kid. It sucks. It sucks and it's gonna keep sucking for a while. And I know I'm not really the best at promoting healthy ways of coping but...it gets better."

The man smiled at him, a gentle smile that made Peter's fingers curl and his heartrate speed up. "I know that sounds like a passive little platitude that you could find on the back of a 2-cent therapy pamphlet, but it does. It takes time...like, like a lot of time. But eventually you find a way to cope, hopefully a better way than me, heh. I know I could help you s-"

"Stop."

Tony paused, blinking at the suddenness and the hostility seeming to linger on that single word.

"Wh...stop what?"

Peter clenched his eyes shut and curled his fingers into tight fists. "Stop doing that. Stop being...like that! Stop being so nice!" He shouted with an anger Tony hadn't seen in him in a long time, not since the first month they'd met and he'd confronted him about Richard.

"I don't-I...what-"

"I don't understand!" the kid screamed, grabbing at his head. "I don't understand you! I can't...God." His eyes burst open, wide and unfocused as his breathing picked up tenfold, chest heaving in and out like each breath was a struggle. Tony stared at him in shock as the teen clutched at his chest, fisting the material of the suit with such a tight grip, Tony wasn't too such the multi-billion dollar material wouldn't shred like wet toilet paper. "I...I can't take this anymore...I can't!"

The boy began to sway from his kneeling position, so much so that the billionaire instinctively reached out, fingers just grazing his shoulder. "Peter, just wait-"

"NO!" he shouted, literally jumping away from him as he began to scoot backwards with his hands, terrified eyes staring at Tony as if he were trying to kill him. "Please! Please don't, please just...please don't do this." He raised a shaking hand towards the man. "D-don't do this to me again. P-Please...please don't. God...I can't do this." He could barely choke out the words at his point. "I'm just...I-I'm so...scared."

Tony got down onto his knees again, hoping the position would make him seem like less of a threat, but the boy's eyes continued to trail him like he was about to pounce. "I know. I know you must be scared, kid. But...but I can help you!"

Peter wildly shook his head, water droplets flinging everywhere. "No...n-no you don't understand!"

"Yes I do!"

"No you don't! I'm...I'm scared of YOU!"

Tony felt the air literally leave his lungs at the teen's words, like he'd just been punched in the gut. He blinked for a few moments, trying and failing to come up with some sort of response. But all he could stutter out was, "You...what?"

Peter opened his mouth again, only to stop and quickly snap it shut. He had to leave. This was all spiraling out of control...AGAIN! He had to get out of there before he made things even worse. "No...I...I can't do this." He jumped up to his feet. Tony did as well, eyes widening as he realized the kid was about to leave.

"Peter-"

"I can't, Mr. Stark. I won't do this again. I can't." He grabbed his mask faster than the billionaire could stop him, aiming to place it back over his head. "Please...p-please, just...just stay away and I'll-"

Tony suddenly felt all the fear and anger that had been bottling up for the past two months spill over, quickly engulfing him as he watched the teen prepare to take off and leave him in the dark...AGAIN!

"Peter, goddamn it!" He screamed, catching the kid off guard as he stepped forward. "Don't you dare leave again! You wouldn't tell me anything before well you're not gonna do it again! You owe me now! I'm standing out here in the middle of the night getting soaked for you! I'm not here for shits and giggles, alright? I'm here to help you!" The man took a breath, seeming to snap himself out of the sudden onset of anger as he noticed the teen's frightened face. He took another step forward, to which Peter took two back. Tony quickly stopped, realizing there was a very high chance that he could scare the kid away. He sucked in another breath and held out a steadying hand. "Please...please stay. Stay and talk to me. Please..."

He didn't know what he was gonna do if the boy refused. Peter didn't seem to know either, for he simply stood there staring for a good few moments, allowing the sound of the pounding rain and rolling thunder to take center stage instead. His brain screamed at him to run, to get as far away from the man as possible. But his legs wouldn't move. He couldn't take his eyes off of Mr. Stark's pleading look. He lowered the mask and stared at it in his hands, the rain drops sliding down the smooth lenses. He ran a thumb over it, wiping it clean for a brief second before more drops replaced the old.

Peter shut his eyes and gripped the mask tightly, bringing it up to his chest and hugging it close. Tony watched him, silent. He didn't know what to do. The kid hadn't run off yet so he at least considered that a small victory.

After another few silent seconds, Peter spoke.

"I don't...understand you."

Tony remained quiet. He had to let the kid speak.

He had to know why Peter was the way he was.

The boy glared down at the mask. "Nothing you do makes sense!" he growled. "I know how the world is supposed to work, alright? I know down to the letter what I have to do to get people to look away, to ignore me and keep going on about their day as if I don't even exist." The kid gripped the mask tighter, wringing it in his hands.

"I keep my head down, the crowds ignore me. I keep my mouth shut, my classmates pass me by. I do my work, the teachers leave me alone. I have worked for years to protect myself, to keep people's prying eyes at bay, their questions to a minimum. And it's worked!"

Peter paused to take a small breath. The small bout of color that had worked its way into his cheeks began to fade as the kid lowered his head. "I lie," he murmured in a soft and shame-filled tone. "I...I lie. I tell stories, make up excuses, pull things straight out of the thin air! They're pretty and they're clean and they don't make people ask questions." His face grew angry. "They make people happy and comfortable enough to smile and look the other way, to think that it just doesn't concern them and move on with their lives."

He lifted his eyes to stare at Tony, gaze questioning and uncertain. "So...so why don't you? I've been doing this for ten years. It's worked on almost everyone else in my life so...so why won't it work on you?"

The man inched closer. "Cause I don't want it to work, kid. I want you to tell me the truth, Peter...even if it's...even if it's hard to swallow," he murmured softly.

Peter hesitated for a moment before shaking his head. "You won't like it."

"Probably. But I'd want you to tell me anyway." Another step closer. Peter didn't move away this time. "I don't want you to have to lie anymore. Not to me. I...I want you to-"

"What? Trust you?" Peter asked with venom in his tone, eyes hard and pained. "Tony Stark? The man they say is only ever out for himself? Only in it for the money? Why would I ever trust you?!"

Tony stared at him for a moment, hoping the hurt that flared at the kid's words didn't show on his face. Instead, he just stared at him, raindrops sliding down his forehead, down around his chin. "Is that what you think? About me?" he asked softly.

Peter stared at him, the look on his face wavering before falling altogether, the teen wrapping his arms around himself once more as he turned away with a tired sigh. "No...but it never matters what I think." The boy stared out at the river of cars speeding down below them, bright colors blurring into one another as they flew down the strip. He shut his eyes and shook his head. "God, why...why are you even here?"

The billionaire faltered slightly at the pointed look the kid threw his way, not having expected the sharp and calculating look in his eyes. "I...I was worried about you?" he answered honestly.

But despite the integrity of his words, Peter's suspicious look remained. If anything, it deepened as he frowned and furrowed his brow. "Were you? Worried about me? Or did you just need another distraction?"

Tony's stomach churned. "What?"

"That's what you said, right? That's what this is? Is that all I'm here for? That's my 'use?'" The kid scoffed and let a humorless smile fall onto his face. "Well how long until you get tired of this? I mean, come on!" He gestured with his arms for the man to look around. "You're standing on top of the Brooklyn Bridge during a thunderstorm in the middle of the night! I'd say my 'usefulness' has run its course." He stopped, glaring down at the ground for a moment before the intensity died down, leaving nothing but anguish. "Like you said, the second you don't need me anymore...I'm out."

The man's heart sunk as he heard the words, words he'd uttered not even an hour ago. This was bad. "I-"

"There's nothing special about me, anyway."

Tony quickly rushed forward, heart threatening to hammer right out of his chest. How was this all going so wrong so fast?! "Oh, god. I...Peter, kid...listen to me, I-"

"I always listen to you, Mr. Stark," the kid murmured, glancing up at him with his big brown eyes that made Tony want to curl away from the sincerity behind them. "That's the problem."

Peter didn't say anything else as he crouched down and sat on the floor once more, body seeming too tired to keep standing. Tony could only watch with hopelessness creeping ever present towards his throat, not sure what he could do at this point.

God, it was cold. He could feel it slicing against his skin, slipping in underneath his shirt and making him bite the inside of his cheek to stop his teeth from chattering.

He could try to deny it, say the kid had misheard or that it as all just some big misunderstanding, but he knew Peter would never believe that. He was too smart to be deceived by any sort of lie he could conceive. So with that, Tony decided to take on a new fuck it mentality as he walked over to the boy and sat down right next to him, his legs hanging off the side of the tower. Might as well take his chances with the truth.

"I didn't mean those things I said," he murmured softly, not even bothering to turn his head towards the kid as he spoke. He didn't want to see the disbelief on Peter's face. "They were just to get Ross off my back. You know him? Secretary Ross? Yeah, well he's my boss and an asshole and I didn't want him knowing any more about you than he already did." He glanced down at his hands, watching his fingers flex as he curled them. "I was trying to protect you."

Peter stared out over the water, the wind blowing the wet strands of his hair against his forehead. "I believe you," he breathed softly. "But it doesn't make it any less true."

Tony turned at that. "Kid-"

"It's okay." Peter lifted a placating hand. "It's...it's alright. I'm not angry." He turned to Tony with a small genuine smile, though it didn't make the man feel any better. "How can I be? How can I be angry when you're only doing what's best for you? And you should! I...I understand."

"It's not like that, kid..."

Peter sighed. "Mr. Stark, look around you. Look at where you are right now! Can you honestly say any of this is good for you? That this is something you want to be doing? That if given the choice, you wouldn't rather be back at home with no memory of any of this, warm and dry and...away from...this big mess." Peter turned away, staring down at the mask in his hands once more, eyes filling with an unreadable expression Tony couldn't place. "I...I'm doing this to you," the kid murmured in a pained voice. "I'm making things harder for you."

Tony shook his head. "N-no you aren't."

"Come ON!" Peter snapped, glaring over at him. "You're saying you haven't been stressed out even more lately ever since we met? I've felt it too!" He turned his gaze to the sky, shaking his head with a scoff. "These past two months have been some of the worst of my entire life!"

Tony winced at that, gut flipping in guilt as he turned his head away and shut his eyes. The doubts he'd been feeling all week, all month began to crawl up his throat.

"But...but they've also been some of the best."

The billionaire blinked and faced him again. Peter smiled down at his hands before letting out a sigh. "Maybe that's why I thought this could work."

The man furrowed his brow, inching closer. "It could. It could work, Peter."

The teen only shook his head. "I can't, Mr. Stark. This...all of this...it's just one big risk. You're a risk. You've changed everything! All of it, you've changed me, changed my life, changed how I see things and it's all too much! It's all so new and I can't process it!" he shouted grabbing at his hair as his breathing picked up once more and his heart pounded in his ears. Tony reached a hand out to place on the kid's shoulder before thinking better of it and retracting it back.

"You're...you're a wild card. I have no idea what to expect from you! How do I know you aren't planning to go to the police right this second? I can't stop you! Not if you really wanted to!"

Tony felt his eyes narrowing. "What's so wrong with that? The police could help you."

The scoff that fell from Peter's lips was so forceful that the man reared back slightly. The kid smirked a humorless smile. "...help me with what?"

"I'm being serious, Peter."

"So am I," the teen countered with a sharp look. "Help me with what? With my dad, Richard Parker? The city's golden boy, the guy who had the Mayor and the Chief of Police over for dinner three weeks ago? The guy who's in every paper, article, news story getting remark after remark of nothing but praise and adoration?!" The kid shook his head and let his hands fall limply into his lap. "Nobody would believe me."

Tony stared at him before pushing through his hesitations and grabbing onto the kid's shoulder. Peter winced, but didn't pull away and didn't turn to face him. "I would. If you told me." Tony murmured soberly, hoping his tone of voice would convey his seriousness, would help convince the kid. Peter's next words surprised him however as the boy reached up and gently pushed the man's hand off of his shoulder with a small smile.

"I know. That's why I can't. Cause I know you would. Which would mean you'd do everything in your power to fight it. And...and I can't let you do that." The smile disappeared just as quickly as it had come, suddenly replaced with regret as Peter seemed to quickly realize where they were...who he was with. The short reprise of calm washed away as the teen stood back up to his feet, Tony quickly following.

"Oh, this is all so messed up..." the teen moaned, pressing his hands into his eyes once more. "All of this! YOU are messing everything up!" he shouted, suddenly angry once again. His emotions were all over the place! "My dad tells me one thing. You tell me another. I try to keep my mouth shut but you somehow get me to spew out everything I'm thinking as soon as I think it! I distance myself and you drag me right back and make me feel...something and get me to let my guard down!" His hands flew down, trembling fists standing at his sides as he burned daggers into Tony, face flushing red. "Why are you doing this?! Why do you care about me so much? God, why can't you just GIVE UP?!"

Tony gritted his teeth and rushed forward, forcefully grabbing the kid by the shoulders. "You don't want that! I know you don't!"

Peter shook his head, tears forming in his eyes once more, which only made Tony feel worse. He didn't let go however. He just kept holding on tight to the boy, afraid that if he let go, the teen would crumble right then and there, washing away with the rain.

"I...I need you to," Peter cried softly. "It's...it's the only...it's the only way I know how to function. I need you to not care...I've never had anything else. I don't know how to deal with anything else. I..." he raised his hands and grabbed onto Tony's wrists, staring the man in the eyes as the tears slipped down his face. "I'm scared, Mr. Stark. This...this is all so new. It's too much."

He let go of the man and slipped out of his grasp, sidestepping him and coming up behind him. Tony whirled around, keeping his eyes locked on the teen as he began to pace around the roof of the bridge tower. "I don't know what I'm feeling anymore. I don't know what's gonna happen whenever I see you and that...terrifies me. With you, there are so many variables that I can't account for that I can't even begin to fathom what the solution might be! There is no equation. There's no way to solve it."

Peter's shaking hands went up to his face again. "I don't know what do to anymore. This...this is all such a bad idea. You and me, we're such a bad idea!"

Tony tried to approach the kid again, but Peter quickly stepped back. "It doesn't have to be. We can work through this together, kid!"

The boy stared at him for a moment, seeming to drink in his words before he was glancing back up at the sky, blinking away the raindrops that fell onto his face. "I don't understand." His voice was soft, his tone almost neutral. "Why? Why are you doing this, Mr. Stark? What do you have to gain in all of this other than more problems that you don't need." The teen folded his arms together. "You were wrong before...all those months back. Spiderman might be your responsibility...but Peter Parker sure isn't."

He stared down at his mask, fisting it tightly. "We aren't the same. Me and Spider-Man. You deserve Spider-Man. He's brave and strong and knows how to stand up for what's right." His eyes locked onto the lenses of the mask, so bright and shiny that he could see his reflection staring back up at him, disappointing, underwhelming...unimportant.

"Peter Parker...is nothing."

Tony narrowed his eyes in anger. "That's not true. Peter, you know that's not true!"

"They WHY?!" He screamed. "Why are you doing this? W-what am I to you? An intern? A-a...superhero coworker? Your rival's kid? An entertainer to distract you for a couple hours out of the day? What?! What...what am I to you?" he whispered, voice trailing off as he dropped his hands and stared at the man, any and all energy he'd had now draining away from him, pooling around his feet like the puddles of water. A roll of thunder echoed overhead, seeming to make the very bridge vibrate. Neither of them reacted to it, they just kept staring, kept trying to make their brains work and their mouths move, to say something...anything that could fix all of this, that could put together what was so obviously broken.

Finally, Tony spoke.

"I...I don't know..."

. . .

. . .

"Neither do I."

The silence that followed wrapped around them both in a suffocating blanket, restricting their limbs and cutting off their air. The cold seemed to seep through their skin and freeze their blood solid, leaving them petrified as stone. Peter breathed out, slowly...calculating, as if he were measuring how long each exhale was, timing the seconds.

He spoke, the words empty and heavy. "I...I don't know if I can do this anymore. I...I'm just...so tired. Of the lies, the games...all of it."

The kid took a step backwards, glancing down at his mask. Tony seemed to snap out of whatever trance he'd been in as he watched the teen prepare to leave. He couldn't leave. Not now, not...not after all of this. He couldn't have failed, not so badly! "Peter...please, please just..." He didn't even know what he was pleading for at this point. He just needed this kid to stay. He needed it. It was Monday all over again, he could see the park materializing around him, could see the kid drifting further and further away, too far to reach, too far to help.

Peter watched him, his tone never changing, his eyes hollow. "I have to think. I...I have to go."

"Kid-"

He held their stare for a second longer before slipping the mask over his face. "Don't follow me."

And with that, he leapt off the side of the bridge tower. Tony quickly rushed over to the edge to watch the kid fire a web and swing off into the night, his body highlighted by a flash of light overhead before disappearing into the darkness.

The man stood there silently, staring out into the rain. He blinked and glanced down at his hands, feeling the water slide down his fingers and pool into his palms. He noted ever cut, every scar, every hint of callouses from years of working, of tinkering in his lab in the quiet, empty metal walls of his workshops.

He'd gotten what he'd wanted. They'd both gotten what they'd wanted. They'd seen each other, spoken to each other, spoken to the only other person who could maybe understand.

And yet, as the thunder rolled on and the lightning streaked by and the rain poured down, as Tony Stark stood atop the Brooklyn Bridge and Peter Parker swung through the city buildings back home, neither of them had ever felt so completely and utterly...alone.

"I don't know if I can do this anymore..."

. . .

. . .

. . .

"Me neither."

Chapter 22: The Lonely People Part III

Summary:

For a while, neither of them said anything. They just stared at each other as if neither of them truly believed the other was there at all. An illusion, gone in a puff of smoke.

Finally,

"I need to talk to you."

Peter's voice was soft but it seemed to echo off of the walls, bouncing all around Tony's head.

He thrummed his fingers against the bottle. "Didn't we say everything we needed to last night?"

"No."

Chapter Text

Thursday - April 28, 2016

New York City - Unknown Location

02:13 a.m.

The ship hovered idly in the air for a moment before slowly dropping down to the wet, puddle-filled ground. The back hatch quickly opened up, exposing the Rogues to the chilly night air and the frigid rain that fell around them. They quickly made their way into the warehouse, Steve hovering by the main doorway as he stared out at the ship. He glanced down at the small remote in his hands that Shuri had instructed came with the ship. He clicked a small button on the side, watching as the wings of the jet began to fold in on themselves before retracting into the body, the ship now resembling the size of a car rather than a Quinjet. The paneling on the outside shimmered before the reflectors flipped on, the ship remaining visible for a second longer before disappearing in the dark.

Steve stared in disbelief for a moment before giving a small shake of his head. He missed the days when the most technologically advanced thing he'd ever seen was a metal frisbee that occasionally ignored the laws of physics.

Still, he breezed past the thought and stepped into the warehouse, now aware of the argument building among the others.

"Clint, I said I'm fine! It's just a scratch. It's nothing."

The archer stared Wanda down with an unimpressed look, the girl throwing him an annoyed one in response. "Scratches aren't nothing, especially considering this isn't a scratch. Please, just...go with Scott and let him redress your arm."

The girl narrowed her eyes. "No. I want to stay and talk about this," she insisted, obviously referring to the debrief they were scheduled to have now.

Sam, Scott and Natasha were storing away their gear as the argument ensued, but quickly turned towards the commotion as it only brewed louder. Scott stepped closer and placed a hand on Wanda's shoulder, knowing he was at least semi-involved. He smiled. 'It's fine. We can just-"

Wanda shrugged his hand off and turned her heated look on him. "It's not fine. They're trying to get rid of us!"

Natasha walked over to Clint. "It's not like that, Wanda."

"How so? What, just because we're the latest to join the team means we won't understand? I'm not stupid!" she seethed.

Steve decided that was a good time to make himself known, coming up behind the girl and placing two calming hands on her shoulders. "Nobody's calling you stupid."

She whirled around to stare at him, the irises of her eyes gleaming with a bright red tint. "Well, obviously you don't trust me enough to let me listen in, to let me be a part of the discussion."

Steve tried to bite back a sigh. Wanda had been growing more...agitated as the months dragged on, expressing her displeasure at their situation, insecurity at her place on the team and even of her own powers at times.

Before the issue of the Accords had dropped a bomb on them, Steve had been attempting to coach her, both in terms of her powers and as a member of the team. She was the youngest and the most inexperienced. Plus all of her training had been at the hands of a known Nazi organization, so the credibility of such was slightly lacking.

But now it seemed more and more that the girl was questioning her placement on the team and the trust her teammates placed in her. Steve didn't really know what had brought it on, maybe it was just the stress of being on the run or of having the world constantly calling her a monster. But whatever it was, it was making the girl more and more insecure and anxious as the days wore on.

With that in mind, the man opened his mouth to calm the girl down, only for Scott to beat him to it as he gently grabbed the girl's wrist, catching her attention. "Look, Wanda, just...take a second, okay?" he started calmly, in a tone of voice that was much softer and gentler than Scott's usual chipper and hyperactive bouncing. "They're not trying to get rid of us. You're hurt. You need to get that looked at and rest," he said, glancing down at the bandage that had been wrapped around the girl's upper arm.

She glared down at it. "I'm fine-"

"Let me finish," Scott said in a firmer tone that made all of them blink in mild surprise. "Yeah, we're the newest ones on the team, but that doesn't mean they're calling us stupid." He shrugged. "It's just that we don't have the most experience with this stuff. They do. They're kind of the pros at this. We're still fresh meat."

She turned to him, voice slightly calmer. "All the more reason to let us stay. We could learn something!"

"Any other time, I'd agree," he continued with a soft smile and a gentle tap to her shoulder. "But this is serious stuff going on here and they need to be able to talk amongst themselves with people who know what they're talking about, people who have dealt with this kind of stuff before. I know I've never dealt with illegal arms dealers and underground black market activity disguised as government work bends." He paused and quirked a brow at her. "Have you?"

Wanda stared at him for a moment before blowing out a sigh and glancing down at the ground. "No."

"Alright. So...let's let them do what they do best. And in the morning, they can fill us in. It's not like they're planning on leaving us in the dark forever, right?" He pointed this last question to the others, Steve quickly answering for them. "Of course not. We just...need to talk alone. I need some...expert opinions on this."

Wanda stared at the soldier for a minute, eyes hard before she relented, swallowing thickly as she rubbed her bandaged arm. "Alright...but only if you promise to tell us everything in the morning. And I mean everything."

Steve nodded. "Of course."

The girl continued to stare at the ground, obviously not satisfied. Scott let a small chuckle fall from his lips as he wrapped an arm around the girl. "Trust me, kiddo. This has got nothing to do with a lack of trust, alright? I mean, how could they not trust you? They literally leap off of buildings with nothing to catch them but you. Which, I'd like to add, is just about the coolest thing I've ever seen. Well...almost."

He lifted his hand to brush up against the girl's hair, only to suddenly pull a playing card out from behind her ear. She blinked at the card, watching as he twisted it around in his fingers before smirking at her. "I mean...it's hard to top that, right?"

She stared at him for a bit before cracking a smile and letting out a little laugh. "It is pretty hard to beat."

Scott passed her the card. "Why don't you hold onto that for me and go set up the medical supplies. I'll be over there in a second. Maybe if you're an extra good patient I can teach you a couple more tricks."

The girl rolled her eyes but the smile remained and she didn't protest the offer as she walked off.

The others watched her leave before Sam was clapping Scott on the back. "Not bad, man. How'd you do that?"

Scott smiled, shrugging his shoulders. "That? That was easy. You should see me try to convince a 7-year-old to finish her math homework. Not gonna lie, I can only count how many apples Sally has in her basket before I crack," he sighed, Clint shooting him a knowing look and a sympathetic nod.

Steve chuckled and folded his arms. "And the card trick? Didn't peg you for the magic type."

"What? You think I'm gonna hire someone to entertain my kid at a birthday party? Please!" he called over his shoulder as he walked off.

 


 

Sam folded his arms from his seat at the makeshift table, which was really just a collection of boxes that had been scattered around the warehouse, all of their files and papers strewn atop it. "So, how are we supposed to figure out who the rat is? I doubt that sort of info's just sitting around on someone's desktop hard drive," he muttered, glancing around at the others.

They'd been discussing the topic of what they'd discovered at the facility for over an hour now, Cap and Natasha filling in both Sam and Clint on what they'd found on the servers. Scott and Wanda had long since fallen asleep in their makeshift beds, Steve making a point to remind them to keep their voices low.

"I was thinking about that on the flight back," Natasha started, crossing her legs and leaning back in her chair. "The majority of the hauls the DC facility has been collecting have come in from Manhattan, leftover tech from the 2012 attack, right?" They nodded. "Well, we just have to find out more information on who's in charge of the haul transfers for Manhattan, considering this is where the tech leaks are coming from."

Clint narrowed his eyes. "That would be the head of the Damage Control New York division. They'd have access to all information about the haul sites and the drive routes. Not to mention when the best times to hit said trucks would be."

Steve noticed the others casting wary glances at each other, knowing there was a high probability that the head of the division was the leak himself. He decided to address their unspoken thoughts. "We don't know for certain that he's involved, whoever he is. But it's a start. At the very least, the head of the division most likely has access to the database we need, the names and information of any and all suspects."

Natasha pressed her tongue into the inside of her cheek and cocked a brow. "The only problem is the DDC New York office is smack dab in the middle of Manhattan." She uncrossed her legs and leaned in. "This isn't some isolated storage facility on the outskirts of a DC forest. This is right in the heart of the city, with cameras and eyes everywhere."

Steve remained silent for a moment, resting his elbows against the crate and folding his hands together. She was right. Pulling off a job like this would be immensely harder than the one they'd just pulled. The chances of them being spotted, or worse, caught were much higher in a populated metropolitan area where there weren't many places to hide.

"We'll have to plan," he finally murmured lowly, the others turning to him. "And it's gonna have to be tight. We draw attention to ourselves here and we'll have no choice but to leave and move hideouts, which will only make things harder now that we're getting closer to actual answers."

Sam lifted his brows for a second and rested an arm over the lip of his chair. "Not to mention if we bring Ross or his goons or...hell, Stark himself sniffing around, who knows when we'll be able to safely go out again."

Clint's eyes narrowed as his jaw tightened. "I'm not afraid of Ross, or his iron attack dog."

"Well you should be," Natasha snapped, obviously not in the mood for Clint's rilings. "As long as he has the keys to the Raft, he's a threat and one we should make a point not to aggravate."

"Enough," Steve piped in before Clint could respond with an undeniably sharp retort. "We'll worry about Ross later. Right now," he reached into his pocket and held up the flash drive they'd loaded with the server info from the DDC, "this takes priority. This is bigger than any of us were expecting. We have to take this seriously. If not, who knows how many people will get hurt, how many lives those weapons will destroy. Hell, who knows how long this could go on if this guy isn't caught?"

Nobody said anything at that, the gravity of his words filling the room with palpable tension. It was no secret how big this was getting, bigger than just a few goons smuggling underground weapons. This was stretching higher and higher up on the chain of commands the longer they stayed on the trail. Who knew how high up this went, how high it would continue to go?

Steve took the last few moments to discuss when they'd start tacking down a real plan, complete with times to start contacting Hill to fill her in as their informant before dismissing the others to go and rest. Their day had been long to say the least.

The others didn't put up too much of a fuss considering at this point they were basically dead on their feet as it neared four in the morning. He excused himself from the table while Clint and Sam walked off towards their corners of the warehouse, murmuring quietly to each other as they left.

Steve watched them walk off before turning away and glancing over at the rickety stairwell in the corner, which led up to the large catwalk overhead. He hesitated for a heartbeat, debating whether or not he should heed his own advice and call it a night before letting out a small sigh and making his way up the stairs.

He wouldn't be able to sleep anyway.

The catwalk itself was fairly wide, most likely able to fit at least six people standing shoulder to shoulder, with thick railings along the sides. The walk extended around the entire warehouse, stretching along each of the four walls before reconnecting back where it started at the stairwell. Steve ran his hands along the rusted metal of the railings before stopping at one of the many massive windows that dotted the walls.

It was still raining outside, the inky skyline so black and foggy the soldier couldn't even see the outline of the distant buildings. He could hear the rain though, hear it pounding against the metal roof, sharp and distinct. It was like a rolling wave, the rain weakening in moments before growing stronger in others, the noise cascading in rhythm to the changes.

The man gently ran his fingers over the flash drive in his pocket, tracing the etched lines and grooves of the device. After a little bit, the metallic thrumming was joined by the familiar sound of footsteps approaching on the rickety catwalk. Steve didn't turn away from the window as Natasha joined him, her shoulder brushing up against his as she sidled up.

"We're finally getting somewhere," he said after a few beats of silence.

She scratched at her cheek. "Yeah...but are we really sure it's somewhere we want to be?"

Steve blew out a sigh and shut his eyes, knowing they'd revisit this conversation eventually. Still, he'd hoped the woman would save it for another time, or just forget it entirely, but he knew it was just a pipe dream. "We can't just ignore this, Nat. This...little we're doing...at least it's something." He turned to her, bright blue eyes meeting vivid emerald. "We're still Avengers, no matter what the rest of the world says, no matter what Ross or...Tony says." The woman's eyes twitched at his hesitance. He pretended not to see it.

"And while we still hold that title...we do what we can." He turned back towards the window, eyes hard. "I can't just...stand by and let people get hurt because I'm too afraid to do anything. I can't. That's not who I am."

She placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not asking you to be that. I never would." She rolled her eyes. "You'd never listen anyway, so there'd really be no point."

Steve huffed a small chuckle. Natasha continued with a more sober tone. "I'm just...I want you to be smart about this, Steve. It isn't just you that you need to think about, here. It's them." She angled her head down towards the ground level. They were both high enough that they could see into the sectioned off sleeping quarters of the warehouse.

They could see Sam sitting on his makeshift mattress, reading a book by the light of a spare flashlight. Wanda was already fast asleep, curled up against Scott's chest, who was sitting on his mattress with his legs stretched out and his back propped up against the wall. The man's eyes were closed, but he cracked them open as Clint approached, throwing the archer a humored look as he plopped down next to him. Clint rolled his eyes, but gave no complaints as Wanda rolled over slightly so that her head was now cushioned by the men's shoulders, her body positioned right between them both. They said nothing as Scott went back to sleep and Clint turned his head to glance out the nearby window.

Steve watched for another moment before turning away. He didn't need Natasha to remind him of what was at stake here, not just the lives of innocent civilians, but his own teammates.

He glanced down at the railing, fingers curling slightly around the metal. He knew he had a job to do. He was an Avenger, whether the rest of the world wanted to acknowledge it or not. He had a duty, a responsibility to protect the people down in that city, in the surrounding cities, in every city he could reach. He had a duty to protect every man, woman, child, every family that needed it.

Still...he cast one last glance at the others down below.

It never got easier...putting his own family at risk.

So with that, Steve turned back to Natasha, jaw set. "There's another manufacturing plant that Hill said is rumored to be somewhere in Queens. I'm gonna investigate tonight."

Natasha sucked in a breath and threw him an exasperated look. "Steve..."

"Just reconnaissance. Don't worry."

The woman continued to give him an unpleased look. She thought about offering to go with him, but could tell there was something lurking in his eyes, a reason to his sudden declaration. It was obvious the man wanted to do this alone, or else he would have set up a group operation. She considered pressing him on the matter, but decided against it, realizing if there was something he wanted to tell her, her poking and prodding wouldn't get him to open up any faster, despite her impatient thoughts.

So instead, the woman huffed and shook her head. "With you, I always worry. You have a knack for being an idiot, which usually leads to trouble."

The man smiled and bumped her gently with his arm. "Well...guess it's a good thing you always have my back, huh?"

She stared at him for a moment, taking in the unwavering trust that shone behind those stupidly brilliant eyes, eyes that had been shining for the past four years that she'd known them, ever since that first day on the Helicarrier.

It was safe to say they'd both changed in more ways than one since those days. Steve, fresh out of the ice, newcomer to just about everything. His discomfort had been obvious and understandable. He was a man out of time, plopped into a new world that wasn't his own. And Natasha...well, she'd never had people call her by the same name for so long before, to say the least.

It had been rough, both back then and now. It seemed that whenever they stopped one crisis, another was taking it's place. And when they couldn't find a crisis, they made one within themselves.

But despite everything, despite the hardships and the fights and the struggles, the politics and shootings and monsters, as she stared into those eyes that refused to give up, refused to stand down, Natasha Romanoff could say something now that she never could of said four years ago on that Helicarrier: that she would lay her life down in a heartbeat to save her friend, to save her brother, just as she knew he would, too.

So with that, the woman rolled her eyes and flicked the man in the shoulder.

"You're such a dork, Rogers."

 


 

Date: Ap#vrT4/v

Location: ?hh*88%

Time: 0s..ygZ#r

Peter blinked open his eyes and breathed.

He glanced around, eyes flitting back and forth as he stood rigid, muscles tense and mind racing.

He existed...somehow. One second, he'd been nothing, felt nothing, just a consciousness floating around in empty space. And the next he was here, standing in the middle of the downstairs hallway. At least, he thought it was the downstairs hallway. It looked...different somehow. He stared long and hard at the walls, the peeling wallpaper and the faded green rug underneath his feet. Huh...that was odd. He wasn't wearing any shoes. Why wasn't he wearing shoes? Why was he down here anyway? Why couldn't he remember coming downstairs?

The teen blew out a small breath, surprised at the white mist that trickled through his lips. He shivered and rubbed at his bare arms. That was weird, too. He never went out without a jacket on anymore. Too many scars to cover up. He looked down at his arms and balked as he realized the scars were gone! His fingers were rubbing at smooth skin!

"Okayyy...?"he mumbled to himself, starting to get weirded out. What was going on?

He took a hesitant step forward, feeling the soft carpet squishing underneath his bare feet. The feeling felt somehow...familiar. As he warily began to tread down the hallway, his eyes caught sight of a few photo frames hanging on the walls up ahead.

But...we don't hang photos anymore...

He approached them with scrunched eyes, blinking in shock as he caught sight of the first photo.

It was a picture of him and his mom, at least...that's what he assumed it was. The photo itself held him as a toddler sitting on the lap of a woman. But he couldn't make out her face. Her head was blurred out, nothing but a smudge of swirling colors where her face would have been. The teen took a step back before glancing at the other wall and finding even more photos, all containing him as a baby and the woman with the same blurred face. His gut clenched as he stepped away from the walls and continued down the hall.

As he walked, the photos continued to come. But they were...changing? There was a picture of twelve-year-old him standing with May at a grave sight, smiling happily and holding ice cream cones and balloons. There was another of him in his Spider-Man suit, posing with the Cons in a normal group photo, even complete with bunny ears. But his suit...it was black, the spider emblem a stark white. And there was a polaroid picture pinned to the wall with a thumbtack, with writing scrawled on the bottom line: Me and Danny. But when he looked up at the actual photo, it was just him, with his arm around empty air.

He continued to swivel his head around to stare at the increasing number of photos adorning the wall, each and every one of them...off in some form. Peter smiling next to strangers, his father and Mr. Stark shaking hands. Hell, there were some photos that were of nothing but butterflies, close-up shots that revealed the tiny details of their wings and their delicate shades of color.

It wasn't until he started approaching the end of the hallway that he noticed the final picture.

It was of him and Mr. Stark, but even this one seemed...wrong. They were both smiling at the camera in what appeared to be the Tower. But every time Peter blinked, the picture changed. With each shift of his eyes, the background began to fill with more and more butterflies. First there was just one or two behind them, seemingly unnoticeable. But every time he turned away and glanced back, there were more of them in still-picture form, more and more swarming the photo until eventually they blocked out both Peter and Tony's faces.

He could almost hear them through the confines of the picture, their wings beating furiously in time with his rising heartrate.

He didn't like this.

Peter narrowed his eyes and reached forward, grabbing the frame by the sides. He reared back as it jolted in his hands, almost as if the butterflies were literally coming alive off the paper. But instead of dwelling, the teen lifted his hands and smashed the picture on the floor.

Instantly, a cloud of butterflies shot into the sky, erupting from the remains of the photo. Peter gasped and lifted his arms over his head, stumbling back until he hit the wall as the swarm filled the hallway. He squeezed his eyes shut and curled his arms protectively over his head as he heard them fluttering around him, slamming into the walls and colliding with his body before they finally began to pool down the seemingly never-ending hallway, disappearing into the darkness and leaving him in total silence.

He gasped for breath, eyes wide as he stared off into the black void where they'd disappeared, latching a shaking hand onto the front of his shirt. His frantic eyes slowly drifted back down to the photo frame. The wood had broken into pieces and the glass had shattered, leaving the actual photo lying underneath the broken remnants. Peter hesitated for a moment before warily approaching, stooping down and brushing the glass and wood aside before picking up the picture and flipping it over, stomach dropping.

The photo was empty, simply showing the background of Stark Tower. He and Tony were gone, as if they'd never been in the picture in the first place.

Erased.

Peter aggressively flicked the photo to the ground as if it had physically burned him. He stared at it with panicked eyes before whipping his head back up. What the heck is going on here?!

Suddenly, his ears perked and his head lifted as the teen heard something. It was soft and hard to hear, but he could still pick it up. It sounded like...humming? What?

The teen turned his head as he realized it was coming from the end of the hallway. He glanced back at the wall of pictures, his gut clenching in worry before he blew out a breath and shrugged his shoulders. What else was he gonna do? Sit in the hallway with the demon photos? No, thanks.

So, with a small roll of his shoulders, Peter began down the hallway again. Distantly, he could have sworn he heard the soft fluttering of more wings, but every time he looked back to check, there was nothing but the encroaching dark void that seemed to suck in more of the hall with each step he took. Finally, as he reached the end of the hall, he rounded the corner and quickly froze, eyes blowing wide and mouth falling agape.

It...it was his living room...from ten years ago!

It was exactly how he remembered it. The faded yellow wallpaper that clashed with the dark green carpet. The small crackling TV that held nothing but static and even the tiny rounded coffee table with a multitude of different marker and paint stains. There was a radio on one of the cabinets, softly chiming out a song Peter's fritzing mind didn't even register. The window curtains were drawn back, allowing the early-morning light to filter in, illuminating the tiny room in beautiful golden rays. Even the temperature had leveled out into a nice warm breeze. But what really made his heart stop was the woman sitting on the couch, facing him, head down as she tinkered with something in her lap, peacefully humming away.

His mother lifted her eyes and caught sight of him, smile growing on her face. "There you are, honey. Do you think you could grab that for Mommy, please?"

She gestured with her hand towards the table, where a small tool kit suddenly glitched into existence. Peter stared at her, body stuck as his mind tried to wrap around what was happening here. He could hear the blood rushing around his ears, the sound of his rattling breathing as his hands shook beside him.

Mary lifted her eyes as she seemed to notice the lack of movement. She tilted her head. "What's the matter, honey?" she called before giving a playful roll of her eyes and standing. "Fine. I'll get it myself."

"Mom..." the word trickled out of his mouth, a small little drip that splattered onto the floor.

He could hear the music a little clearer now. Eleanor Rigby...one of his mother's favorites. She glanced down at whatever was in her hand as she grabbed the tools and sat back down. "I think I'm finally making some progress here, huh?"

She held up the arc reactor that rested in her palm, light flickering dimly inside.

Peter took a small, shy step forward, heart pounding and stomach flipping all over the place. "You're...y-you're here?"

"Of course I am, silly? Where else would I be?"

He continued to stare, afraid that if he took his eyes off of her that she would disappear entirely. He couldn't help the small smile that crept onto his lips as he stepped closer. He knelt down on the floor right in front of her, drinking in the sight of her as a wave of relief swept through him so strongly he thought he'd collapse. Peter reached a hand forward to grab hers, only to watch as he simply passed right through her, her form glitching out before returning to normal.

He gasped and reared back slightly, wide eyes growing even larger. The warmth that had been blooming in his chest quickly froze over into icy realization as he stared up at her face, watching it continue to glitch before falling still. Her eyes had switched from a light blue to a deep green.

"This...this is a dream." He let out a small breath as he slowly lowered his hands into his lap, body physically deflating as he dragged his gaze to the green carpet below. "You're...you're not..."

She started humming, the noise rattling in her throat as she continued to fiddle with the invention in her hands.

Peter felt his stomach clenching as he shut his eyes tightly.

"Can we please change the song, Mary?"

His eyes sprung right back open at the new voice that entered. Peter whipped his head around and nearly fainted as Ben walked into the room, grimacing at the radio as he approached. "I can't stand this depressing shi-uh, stuff." He threw Peter a sheepish look and a smile. He thought his heart was going to burst right then and there. He could feel it buffering like a dying car battery.

"Ben..."

The man winked at him. "What's up, sport?" Ben got to the radio and flicked the knob on the side, shuffling through the static before landing on a...song? Whatever it was was garbled and warped, an audible mess that sounded like a song being played in reverse, leaving nothing but the distorted jumble of noise. Ben crinkled his eyes and smiled. "There. That's better. A classic."

Peter swallowed, his throat dry and scratchy as he raised himself up to his feet, a chilling shiver running up his spine. Something wasn't right here.

Mary rolled her eyes at Ben. "You're such a fart."

"Real mature. Do us a favor, Pete, and don't take too much after your mother, huh?"

Peter could hear the man laughing but quickly grimaced at the noise, wrapping his arms around himself as he stared at the carpet, trying and failing to wrap his mind around what was happening. His mother must have noticed his distress, for she set down the reactor and stood up. "What's the matter, sweetheart?"

She glitched again.. Her eyes changed from green to brown and her hair turned a shade darker. But not only that, her voice also sounded...off. It was normal at times, but at the end of her sentences, it would go all fuzzy, a static noise that made it sound like she was speaking through a radio transmission, like the frequency was about to be lost.

(He couldn't remember her voice.)

His breath hitched as he stared up at her for a fraction of a second before ripping it away. He couldn't look at her, not when this wasn't even her.

"This...this isn't real." His voice was weak, trembling. "None of it is."

Mary chuckled. "Of course not, honey. I figured that much was obvious."

Peter blinked, but decided not to comment as his mother took another step closer, wrapping her hands over his shoulders. The touch felt cold, foreign. It was a stranger's hands. "Gosh, I'm just so proud of you, Peter."

This time, he did look up.

"I know it must be hard memorizing all those lines. Script reading is never easy. Oh, and of course all those clunky masks you have to wear must get so heavy. But you carry it all like a champ!"

At this, Peter's brows furrowed and he crinkled his eyes in confusion. "What? What...are you talking about?"

She continued on as if she hadn't heard him. "Oh, but it's all worth it so long as the audience is happy." She turned to stare at him. She glitched again. "It's all for the audience."

Faster than Peter could react, she shot her hand out and grabbed him by the chin, spinning his head to the side and forcing his eyes to the living room wall. Except...the wall wasn't there anymore.

Peter gasped as he saw that, where the wall used to be, there was now row after row of auditorium seats. He glanced around and realized that his living room had now transformed into a set piece on top of a stage. He gulped and took in the sights of the people in the actual seats, faces he recognized with a panicked glance: Ned, MJ, May, Delmar, Rosa, Murray, Mr. Harrington, Flash, Abe, Sally, Charles, even Pepper, Rhodey and Happy.

The people he did recognize, however, only took up about the first three rows. The others were filled with strangers, random bodies whose faces he couldn't make out. They were all swathed in shadow, unidentifiable.

Peter felt himself shaking and wrenched his face out of his mother's grasp, staring at her with horrified eyes. Whatever comfort he'd felt when he'd first seen her had quickly evaporated, only to be replaced with frenzied panic. He watched her take a seat back on the couch, placing one leg over the other as she reclined. Ben grabbed a seat on the ottoman.

"I...I don't understand."

The crowd let out a loud wash of laughter, making Peter flinch at the abrupt noise. As he listened, he realized the laugh was that of a sound bite, a laugh track that would play endlessly on the TV sitcoms. He blinked and glanced back at the actual audience, face pinching in distress as he realized none of them had actually moved. They were like statues. Their mouths weren't open. They weren't smiling. None of them were really laughing, but the track played on for another second before falling quiet.

"It's easy, baby."

Peter turned back to his mother as she spoke.

She gestured out with one hand at her surroundings. "This is just a show. All of it." She smiled and pointed at him. "You lie to your friends, cover yourself with mask after mask, disguising every last part of yourself in something better, something people want to see. Every day of your life, you put on an act. And I must say, you are one of the best actors I've ever had the pleasure of watching live. The director must be so pleased!" She chuckled and pointed behind Peter, causing him to whip around and stumble backwards in shock at the sight of his father standing off to the side of the stage, arms folded and face slackened back into an emotionless expression.

Peter choked on a strangled gasp as he stared at the man, jumping as he felt his mother come up behind him and grab him by the shoulders, spinning him around to face her as she spread her arms wide. "It's all a show and the world is your stage!"

He stared at her, mouth agape before he was turning his head back around to spy for his father, only to find that the man was gone. Peter grunted in frustration and shut his eyes, whipping back around to face Mary as she smiled down at him, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. He shook his head, recounting her words with a growing gnaw of anguish as he looked up at her with a pleading gaze. "But...I-I...I don't want to keep doing this," he murmured softly, glancing out at the rows of watching eyes, turning away with a wince before staring down at his hands. "I don't want to keep lying. I don't want to put on a performance." He let out a small sigh and dropped his hands back down to his sides.

"I just...wanna be me."

A loud "awww" sounded from the audience, another audio track that clipped at the end before cutting off again. Peter narrowed his eyes and shook his head, turning away to keep staring at the floor.

He could see his mother's shoes approaching. They didn't make any noise on the floor as she walked.

He felt her grab at his chin again, but this time the touch was gentle, soft. Peter closed his eyes as she cupped his face carefully, brushing her thumbs over his cheeks. For a brief moment, Peter felt a sliver of comfort, like he could pretend he was four years old again in his mother's arms.

Her fingers grew cold suddenly as her grip tightened. Peter opened his eyes and met her eerie stare and chilling smile. "Well...we hardly get what we want in life."

Peter blinked up at her before quickly pulling out of her grip, taking a step back as Ben pushed himself out of his seat with an exaggerated groan. Peter remembered the man would do that to make him laugh as a toddler. He felt sick hearing it again.

"I'll say. Cause honestly, I think I'd prefer to still be living," the man quipped. The laugh track sounded again. The audience still didn't move, didn't even breathe.

Mary scoffed and placed her hands on her hips as she gave the man a teasing smile. "Yeah? Well at least there are people who still remember your face. I can't even get a consistent eye color here!" she laughed, the noise making Peter's heart thud against his ribs and the guilt climb up his stomach.

Ben waved his hand. "Oh, please. You have no right to complain. At least he still mourns you. Apparently, I'm not even worth his guilt."

Peter physically recoiled at that as he took a step forward, face pained. "That's...that's not-"

"I figure I'm at least entitled to that considering you're the reason I'm dead."

Instantly, the air filled with a deadly silence as Peter's body locked up. The audience didn't make a noise. The radio ground to a slow halt, like it had run out of batteries. In fact, he couldn't hear anything over the sound of his own heartbeat thudding in his head, rattling his brain as it tried to jump start back into remission.

Peter stared out at Mary and Ben, two people who had once brought so much light into his life. They gazed back at him with kind smiles and casual grins, but there was no warmth to be had. Peter could feel the cold snaking through his skin again, could feel it growing in his stomach as the guilt extinguished whatever flame had been melting away the ice. As he felt the frost begin to coat his throat, the only word that was able to escape the icy prison was,

"What...?"

Mary turned to him with a slight furrowed brow. "Oh, honey. Don't tell me you're shocked." She shrugged and smiled. "I thought it was obvious that the only reason we're dead is because of you.

"I...I-I..."

Mary began to run a hand through her hair, absentmindedly detangling a few strands as she continued on in a casual and carefree tone, as if she were discussing the weather. "I could have gotten out of the house. I could have left and run away, never to look back. But I didn't. I couldn't cause I had you. I had to protect you, and I died because of it. " She gestured towards her lifelong friend. "And Ben...well, he didn't even get the decency to die in his own home. He died on a cold, disgusting sidewalk because he tried to make you feel better, because he was protecting you."

Peter wasn't looking at her anymore. His eyes were drilling holes into the carpet floor. He could feel the chill spreading, slicing up his arms in delicate little patterns, snaking up his muscles and through his bones, turning them brittle and breakable. The ice was in his lungs now. He couldn't breathe.

Mary took a step closer. Peter couldn't move. His legs were frozen to the stage. She stood behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders again, leaning closer. Her breath came out as a swirl of white mist. "Everyone who ever tries to help you suffers for it...and now history is repeating itself." She grabbed his chin again and forced him to look up.

"Mr. Stark..."

The man stood not five feet away, staring blankly at the boy. He looked like he'd just been underwater, his clothes were slicked back to his body and his hair was matted to his forehead, drops sliding down his cheeks and splattering onto the stage below.

The radio crackled off to the side and suddenly Peter heard his own voice filtering through, full of static and fuzz.

"You're getting wet..."

Mr. Stark opened his mouth, but didn't move his lips, not even as the man's words came through as if there was a speaker lodged in his throat. Peter shivered again.

"Yeah, cause apparently you'd rather have this conversation up on top of a metal tower in the middle of a goddamn thunderstorm."

Suddenly, the tiny TV in the corner of the room blared to life, causing Peter to gasp and jump in his spot. He could hear it whirring, fizzling as the grainy picture slowly began to come to life. Peter reluctantly dragged his eyes towards the screen.

He watched as the fuzz died down, displaying a scene that appeared to be from a month ago, when he and Mr. Stark had hidden from Pepper and Rhodey in the tower. It showed the man leaning up against the railing as they stood on the rooftop, face long and weary. His eyes were tired, holding a certain sadness. The image flickered again, changing to reveal him in the car with Peter as they drove to Delmar's for the first time. His face switched from a casual smile to a small frown as he glanced out the window. Again and again, the screen flickered from one image to another of different times from the past two months, showing faces Peter had never caught, looks the man hid from him.

He looked so...sad.

Mary tightened her grip on the boy's shoulders. "You really think this is a man who deserves more on his plate?"

Peter pulled his eyes away from the screen and back over to the man standing before him. The teen watched with a choked breath as a portion of skin at the corner of the billionaire's eye cracked, a long jagged scar that cut through the skin like it was made of porcelain.

"He's already dying, Peter. Are you really going to be the one to finish him off?"

More cracks began to appear all over the man's skin, on his face, his arms, his neck. Deep and black and crooked. Peter could feel tears pooling in his eyes as he reached a shaky hand forward, mind flashing to the outstretched hand Tony had extended to him in the park, on the bridge, a hand that had been extended for the past two months.

As he thought of the moments, Peter felt a brief flash of overwhelming guilt as he wondered whether or not Tony had been offering a helping hand...or reaching out for one.

"I...I just wanted someone to talk to. S-someone who...who understood."

The audio track looped again, a resounding "aww" that made Peter curl his free hand into a fist. He watched with baited breath as the man before him slowly began to reach his own hand up, ignoring the cracks and scars looping around the limb as he reached his fingers for Peter's.

"Nobody can understand, Peter. They're not allowed to."

As soon as their fingers made contact with each other, Mr. Stark's entire body exploded into a flurry of butterflies, the bugs swirling around the room in a massive cloud. Peter gasped and fell to his knees as the swarm flew past, filling his ears with the roaring sound of their wings beating furiously. He pressed his palms into his eyes and choked on a sob, grinding his teeth together as the butterflies began to evaporate into the air.

He wrapped his arms around himself, but they only made him shiver harder, for they were two thin blocks of ice. Tears dripped down his face, splattering onto his knees as he gasped for breath. It was too hard. His throat was so cold he thought it was going to shatter. The temperature in the room has dropped, the bright rays of sunlight now gone, leaving a starry swatch of purple and blue swirls outside the window. The audience slowly began to disappear, engulfed by the encroaching darkness, leaving only their living room floating in an endless expanse of nothingness.

Peter dragged in a painful breath, but it felt like inhaling tiny little needles that stabbed into his lungs. "I...I n-never wanted to...hurt anybody," he cried.

Mary stood overtop him, her glitching form seeming to suck in whatever warmth remained in his body. "So why do people always die around you?"

The ice had reached his heart now. He could feel it beginning to seep in. "I'm sorry..."

"Sorry doesn't bring us back, baby."

The frost was growing. He had to get this out now before it completely froze over. He lifted his head, eyes wide and pleading as the tears streamed down his face. "I miss you. I...I miss both of you. E-everything was so much...easier when you were here!" He shouted, voice growing in pitch as his heart raced, desperate to stay warm, stay alive. "Dad wasn't so horrible when you were here. And...and Ben...it was so easy to talk to you." He stared at the man, who gave him a gentle smile in return. "You made...everything so much better."

He paused, staring down at his hands. The tips were turning blue, icy. He tapped them together, hearing a soft clinking sound. "You...you made me feel safe. I just...I just wish I could feel that again, stop feeling..." he raised his hands up, watching the blue discoloration begin to spread further down his palm until his entire hand was pure ice. "...so cold. I'm...I'm so cold."

Ben huffed a laugh. "Just wait till you're dead."

From the darkness, the laugh track looped again. It shorted out and winded down into a deep drawl that grated into a guttural growl before cutting off altogether.

Mary slowly got down to her knees, cupping Peter's face with her hands. "Peter...baby...look at me, honey."

His brown eyes, now seeping into a cool blue, lifted to meet her gaze. "It's alright, baby. I know it's scary sometimes, but it's all just pretend!" He stared at her, brows furrowing. She continued, gesturing around her. "It's just a couple special effects, right? A couple of lights..."

The Dark Room's lights shot to life overhead, making Peter wince and squint his eyes.

"Maybe some sound effects..."

A roll of thunder clapped overhead, shaking the entire floor.

"And a couple of props!"

Peter tore his eyes off of the lights above him and over to where she had moved, blinking as he caught sight of Ned and MJ standing off to the side, expressions neutral and bodies stiff. Any relief he might have felt quickly turned to unease, remembering the butterflies from before. Mary walked over to them. "But it's all fake. All of it." She placed a hand on Ned's shoulder and pushed, revealing them to be mere cardboard cutouts that flopped to the floor with a small thud.

Peter didn't react. The ice had spread over his arms now. He could see the bones through the clear coating.

Mary approached him again, smiling warmly as she stooped down and ran a hand through his hair. "You just have to keep going, keep pretending...for them." She gently pushed his head to the side, angling his eyes out towards the dark void where the audience had been. There was nothing there now, a sea of blankness.

Ben cleared his throat from where he'd been leaning up against one of the chairs, throwing them both loose grins. "Alright, well I'm gonna tap out. I'm sure there are a couple of crosswords I can hear calling my name." He winked over at Peter. "Hey, sport. Be careful out there."

The man began to walk over to the edge of the living room, glancing back towards the boy. "Oh, and see if you can maybe kill May next, huh? It's be nice to see the wife again. I'm starting to miss her nagging."

His heart clenched, trying to fight the icy tendrils snaking around it.

The man threw them a wave before turning to face the darkness head on. "See you around!" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, a loud gunshot echoed around the room and suddenly Ben was wordlessly falling to the floor. Peter's eyes widened as he watched the man pass through the floor and disappear altogether.

"Ben!" he shouted, trying to lurch his kneeling body forward, only to find that the ice had now encased him from the floor up to his waist. Mary knelt down again, cupping his face as she whispered soothing words. "It's alright, Peter. It's okay," she shushed, wiping his tears as they fell. The room around them darkened even further, the starry sky outside fading away to be replaced with growing storm clouds. An churning boom of thunder rolled over them, a brief flash lighting outside.

Peter turned his wavering gaze to his mother, mouth chattering as the cold began to overwhelm him and a deep seed of dread curled around his spine, making him pant in fear as he stared at her. "Mom...m-mom..." He wanted her. He needed her here. He couldn't do this.

Whether she seemed to read his mind, or could just tell by the scared look on his face, she pressed her lips against his forehead and pulled him into a hug. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, trying to soak in any ounce of warmth, anything to stop the ice that was soon to engulf him. She pulled him away too soon though, staring at him with kind eyes. "Everything's going to be okay, I promise" With that, she lifted her hand and extended out a pinkie and suddenly Peter was four years old again, looping his tiny little finger with hers.

He stared at her, stared at the extended finger, at the promise it symbolized before his eyes darkened. The ice crawled up his neck. He could feel it spreading over his cheeks.

"How can you promise...when you aren't here to make it happen?"

She stared at him for a moment before lowering her hand. She didn't respond as she silently leaned back and stood up, taking a few steps backwards. Peter's chest thudded dangerously as he watched her stand before him, a tingling sensation spreading down the base of his neck, making the ice vibrate as he caught sight of a form standing right behind her, eyes glowing violently. She finally spoke.

"Everybody lies."

A gunshot cracked through the room and her body dissolved into a mass of butterflies exactly like before. Only this time, the bugs began to fill the room, beating and banging against the walls, crashing into one another as wings tore and tiny masses fell to the floor. Peter scrunched his eyes as he felt them flying around him, felt their wings licking up against his cheeks, crawling through his hair.

He tried to move his arms, crack through the ice and beat them away, but he couldn't move. He was completely helpless as they encroached upon him, crawling up his frozen limbs, around his face.

They pushed through his lips and crawled down his throat, choking him as they skittered down his body. Soon enough, he was filled with bright, beautiful butterflies with happy wings, happy colors, happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts...

 


 

Thursday, April 28, 2016

Stark Tower - Penthouse Floor

04:23 p.m.

Over the years, Tony had grown quite accustomed to the taste of alcohol.

Since his first drink at thirteen, the man had quickly evolved his palettes to adapt to the taste, going on to partake in as many drinks as he could try. And he had tried them all. Drinking pints of beer Rhodey would reluctantly smuggle in for him in the doors, taking shots of tequila at New Years Eve parties with women he couldn't remember the names of ten minutes after meeting them, even some glasses of champagne at high-class functions or dinners with Pepper. From the fanciest Vodka to the cheapest bourbon, Tony had tried it all.

He could honestly say he'd tried a lot of things over the years. College hadn't just been textbooks and inventing, it had provided him with the tools to fill the gnawing pit inside of him. Alcohol, drugs, girls, college had been the gateway, opening up a path of bad ideas wrapped in ecstasy and one-night stands.

Of course, as he began to fill his time with suits of armor and world-ending missions - the drugs, the girls - he just didn't have time for it anymore.

But the alcohol...the alcohol stayed. As long as there were memories he longed to forget, the alcohol would always stay, an ironically sobering thought. Despite the depressing undertones, and despite Tony's years of tasting and partying and vomiting, nothing beat a simple scotch on the rocks.

Except maybe drinking it straight from the bottle, which he had been doing for the past six hours.

Okay, maybe that was a slight exaggeration. After all, he'd passed out for a good four hours somewhere in the middle of that stretch. He wasn't entirely sure where, nor did he care to find out. As long as there was another bottle to replace the last, he didn't really much care about anything.

Tony sat on the floor of the penthouse, pressing up against the back of the couch as he faced the large glass walls overlooking the city. The lights were dimmed to near total darkness, matching the tint FRIDAY had graciously placed on the windows so that the glaring lights of the nearby buildings didn't make him hurl again. The steady pitter-patter of raindrops sliding down the glass made the man scrunch his face in annoyance.

("Kid, what are you doing out here?")

He was really starting to get sick of the goddamn rain.

Tony turned his narrowed eyes away from the window and the dreary sights as he brought the bottle of scotch up to his lips and took a swig. The bite still stung his throat, even after hours of drinking, much to his pleasure.

The brief thought of alcohol poisoning had floated through his mind at one point, which had literally made the billionaire laugh at loud. It seemed fitting that of all the ways for him to go, it wouldn't be by an alien attack or a jealous billionaire psychopath or at the hands of his own teammates, but instead by one of the only things that brought him any joy nowadays.

Of. Fucking. Course.

Tony quickly brushed the thought aside. He wasn't lucky enough to die anyway.

A loud vibrating noise made him jump from his seat on the floor and turn his head. His phone lay on the tile beside his knee, the screen bright as the caller ID flashed: Pepper. He watched it clatter on the floor, not even considering reaching for it. After a second, it fell silent, the notifications popping up.

57 MISSED CALLS:

- Pepper: 28 calls

- Rhodey: 19 calls

- Happy: 10 calls

Tony stared at the screen for another moment before turning his head away. He took another sip. It burned.

He supposed he should feel guilty. They'd been calling him nonstop since that morning, most likely when they'd discovered him missing and that their access to his private floor was restricted. That had been a few hours ago and they were still trying. Points for determination, he had to give them that.

("God, why can't you just GIVE UP?!")

He didn't want to see them. He didn't want to see anybody right now. He just wanted to sit and drink and not have to think about anything! He couldn't handle thinking about anything right now! It was just too loud.

He could hear it. This little voice in his head that had been niggling at him the second he'd met Peter. It was the same voice that had warned him about getting involved with the kid, the same voice that told him this was something way beyond his scope of remedying, the same voice that told him he would only make things worse, that he only ever made things worse.

Well he hadn't listened. He had ignored it and now he was facing the consequences...because now he was listening. Listening to the sound of the kid's voice, the sound of the rain slapping him in the face, the sound of the wind screeching and the thunder crackling and the cars speeding. He was listening and now he couldn't make it stop.

("I don't understand! I don't understand you!")

He never should have taken the kid under his wing. He never should have gotten involved in his life in the first place. He'd brought him to Germany, to a fight that didn't even concern him all because Tony needed him, because he hadn't been able to handle things on his own, because he'd fucked up, because he wasn't good enough. Not then and certainly not now.

He knew it. Steve knew it. Even Peter knew it.

("This... this is all such a bad idea. You and me, we're such a bad idea!")

Maybe that's why he decided to drag the kid along, using Peter for his own sick gains, as a means to prove to himself that he was capable of doing things right. That Tony Stark could actually do something...good for once. Instead, he'd used the poor kid, distracting himself from his real problems while simultaneously making the boy's life harder than ever before. He'd tried to do good and in the process, he'd made everything worse!

("These past two months have been some of the worst of my entire life!")

But not only was he destroying Peter's life, he was destroying his own. The Accords were in shambles, Ross was a threat that grew in power ever passing day, the Rogues were loose and on the run. Everything was falling apart around him and all he could do was watch...all he could do was drink.

It burned.

Tony blew out a sigh and rested the back of his head against the couch, eyes glancing around the room.

The shadows were long, stretching out against the cold metal flooring and sleek jagged corners of the walls and tables, sucking in any traces of light and leaving nothing but dripping black marks that made his skin tingle and flare up as a wave of heat washed over his face.

Empty...so gut-wrenchingly empty.

Tony couldn't help but tighten his grip on the bottle as he stared at the couch that would have once housed numerous bodies, too many in fact.

Despite the assortment of other places for them to sit, they had always tried to fit as many people as possible on the couch. Usually it was him squished in with Cap while Natasha splayed her feet over their laps. Sam would sit on the floor by their feet, bowl of popcorn hoarded in his lap. Clint would sit in the armchair next to them, Wanda usually curling up in his lap whenever she wasn't with Vision at the compound. Together they'd pick some trashy flick or a classic Cap had never seen and waste the night binging shitty movies and making stupid jokes.

The vision faded and the burning sensation returned...only, he hadn't taken a drink. It was in his chest, a hot ball of fire that made his stomach churn painfully and his head splinter.

They were gone. There was no point reminiscing with those memories because they were gone and now he was the joke.

The heat grew, spreading throughout his skin, making his hands shake. He scrunched his eyes shut.

They were all gone. Taken or walked out. One or the other. His parents, Obie, Pepper, Steve, everyone. Gone. By choice or by design. It didn't matter which. The end result was always the same. He was alone.

His blood was boiling. He could feel beads of sweat trickling down his face. They burned up. His skin was bubbling. God, why was it so fucking hot?!

No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, he could never make them stay. He pushed them away. He drove them out. He was doing it now and he couldn't stop himself. He couldn't stop. Why couldn't he stop?!

He gritted his teeth, feeling them burn his tongue, melting it to the top of his mouth, welding it shut. God, he was on fire!

He was alone. He was alone. He. Was. ALONE.

With a sudden violent jerk, Tony whipped his body to the side right as a torrent of vomit spewed from his mouth, pooling into the trash bin he'd lugged next to him hours ago. His body shuddered as sweat rolled down his brow, shivering in heat as his stomach lurched painfully. Red dots flashed before his eyes as his hands shook against the rim of the bin. It took another few bouts before the bile was expelled, leaving him heaving up nothing but despair for a few seconds before he wiped a shaky hand across his mouth and slumped back down to the floor, teeming with exhaustion.

His eyes drooped as his heart hammered, stuttering against his chest pitifully as he sat in the heat, burning alive in his own thoughts.

He wasn't good. Not for himself and certainly not for Peter.

He'd call the police in the morning. He knew it wouldn't help but what else could he do? He couldn't let this kid be his problem anymore. Peter didn't deserve that, didn't deserve him. At least with the cops and CPS handling things, Tony could say he'd done his duty as a concerned citizen, wipe his hands of this problem.

The hate that grew in himself at the thought nearly made him gag again.

He pushed it down, down into the pile of mistakes that grew with each passing day. The taste of regret remained in his mouth. It tasted like vomit, bitter and dry, impossible to wash out, impossible to forget. It was all impossible to forget, no matter now many drinks he had. Still...he needed something to wash the taste away, wash out those disgusting thoughts, those invading memories.

He was alone.

(And it's probably for the best.)

Tony's phone rang again. His eyes drifted over to it...then over to the bottle laying next to it. He reached over, ignoring the call as he wrapped his fingers around the glass. It was cold in his hand, hissing against the flaming skin. Maybe it would cool him down, put out the fire charring his insides black. His phone went dark. He took a sip.

It burned.

 


 

NED

7:12 AM

Hey, u getting here soon? Ur usually here by now

. . .

7:20 AM

Is ur train late again? Do u need me to tell the office?

. . .

7:34 AM

Are u skipping first?

. . .

9:21 AM

Peter, I'm starting to get a little worried here.

I know today's really rough on u, but we usually handle it together, right? Are u coming to school at all?

It's alright if u can't. Just LMK.

. . .

12:32 PM

Mr. Harrington was asking about u. Don't worry. I got u covered. Would just like to know ur okay. LMK

. . .

1:14 PM

MJ keeps asking questions. I don't know what to tell her. I don't want to tell her about your mom if u don't want me to but she's getting really pushy.

Peter?

. . .

2:23 PM

I told her. I'm sorry.

We just want to help.

I just want to help.

Peter?

Please respond.

I'm worried about u.

. . .

2:45 PM

I don't think ur gonna respond.

. . .

3:01 PM

That's okay.

I'll talk instead. I'm great at that.

. . .

3:05 PM

So English was boring as usual. We got a new project assigned for Romeo and Juliet, paper and presentation. Gross, I know. Don't worry, I signed us up as partners. It's due May 13th so we got plenty of time.

We watched a video on population growth in AP Human. That was pretty interesting. No make-up work.

Flash was annoying as usual today. Thank god we don't have any more Decathlon practices till next season. I don't think I could have taken his garbage if we had practice today. He loves when ur absent. He gets to flaunt off all his wrong answers lol

. . .

3:06 PM

So I guess u didn't miss much today

. . .

3:07 PM

Still missed u though

. . .

5:34 PM

Peter?

Are you okay?

. . .

5:35 PM

Sorry. I know that's probably a stupid question.

I'd come over to see you if...you know...

I guess it's probably not a good idea.

Still...

. . .

5:37 PM

It's okay if you don't wanna talk, Peter.

I'm not mad. In case you were worried.

. . .

6:21 PM

MJ was pretty upset when I told her. Not at you, just that...you know...that we didn't tell her about today sooner.

I guess I understand.

I'm sorry I told her. But you know MJ. She can be scary when she wants to be.

Don't worry. I told her not to bother you. But like I said, you know MJ. She does what she wants so I wouldn't be surprised if she goes ahead and messages you.

Just a heads up.

. . .

7:53 PM

Peter?

I'm sorry about your mom. I really am.

I know I say that every year. I wish there was something else I could say, but there isn't cause I'm still sorry.

I know this day is hard on you, even more so since Ben. And...and I know you must feel like total crap right now, but-

. . .

7:55 PM

Sorry. Guess I just had to think about what to type for a second.

Look, man. All I want to say is that I know you have a lot on your plate, even BEFORE you met Tony Stark.

You're life is SUPER crazy and you have to deal with so much shit. But I'm not here to add to that, you know. I...

Sorry. I'm rambling.

. . .

7:56 PM

Peter, just...

I love you, man. You're my bestest friend in the history of best friends. Nothing's gonna change that. Spider-Man's not gonna change that. If anything, that just makes it even cooler!

I just wanted you to know that.

Okay.

I'll leave you alone now.

 


 

Thursday - April 28, 2016

Parker Residence - Third Floor

08:32 p.m.

Peter used to have stars on his ceiling.

It was a stray thought that floated into his mind as he stared up at the ceiling, tracing over the bare white surface as he'd been doing for hours now.

Back when his life had been on the bright path of normalcy and his mother had been lively and full of breath, he'd had a very different room. A tiny little thing with barely enough room for a twin bed and a mini desk for his papers and crayons that matched Daddy's.

He remembered it had been his mother's idea to put up the stars, said that it was impossible to have a small room with the galaxy at his fingertips.

Well, the "galaxy" had consisted less of comets and black holes and more of cheap, glow-in-the-dark, dollar store stickers that constantly fell off when the adhesive revealed its true 99 cent-quality. But Peter had been blown away nonetheless. After all, it wasn't anything a little tape couldn't fix, and the faint glowing of each individual star served as a soothing night-light that would swirl before his eyes in rhythmic little twinkles as his eyes would glaze and he'd dream.

(He still dreamed. They were much different now.)

His ceiling was bare now. Plain and white and empty. Peter supposed it was fitting, matched the rest of the room.

He remembered a game, something the Cons used to play with him back when he was younger. Whenever he was bad (or if they were bored), they would storm his room and try to figure out what he cherished the most. Games, toys, inventions, books, they'd destroy it all on the hunt to figure out his favorite. They competed with each other, fighting to find it first, holding things up and asking if "this book" or "this toy" was his favorite. No? They'd destroy it anyway and keep looking.

They called it Peter's Pick. They kept score to see who had the most "wins."

Peter didn't decorate his room anymore. All he had now was his bed - folded with corners that could pass military inspections, a desk with a few papers and pencils stashed in the drawers, a shelf filled with dusty textbooks and a dresser with baggy, ill-fitting clothes to mask how painfully small his figure was.

They didn't play Peter's Pick nowadays. There was nothing of value to destroy anymore. Besides, there were plenty of other games they still liked to play with him, plenty of games where they still kept score. Hide and Seek, Deep-Sea Diver, Capture the Kid, Simon Says, Crack the Whip, Knucklebones...just to name a few that he remembered. And not once had Peter ever won.

Peter perked up slightly as his ears caught the distant sound of walking. The Cons were downstairs, he could tell from the pitch of the voices and the heaviness of each footstep.

He'd been calculating such details ever since he was a kid, would sense the vibrations of their steps from his hiding spot under the bed whenever they'd march towards his room. He could pick out Sandra's trilling or Max's heavy boots from more than a block away, picking up the distinct volume of their voices, the highs and lows of their vocal ranges, even the balanced weight of their walks. Two steps and a word were all he needed to know who was who from three floors down.

(It never made a difference. But it made him feel just a tiny bit better knowing who was on their way to beat him. Gave him time to prepare.)

He could hear their voices mingling together and the sound of a throat being cleared. His father, he could tell from the soft gruffness that laced onto the man's every word and the cool collectiveness of his commands. His father's voice was unmistakable, if only for the way it made his skin prickle every time he heard it.

They're leaving... He thought to himself as he heard the collective thrumming of their footsteps before the sound of a door closing. Peter couldn't help the small sigh of relief he let out as his body released some of the tension it stored permanently in his muscles, an ever-present ache that appeared the second he stepped foot in the house.

It wasn't like they were going to mess with him, they never did today.

Peter knew his father was a lot of things but sentimental was not one of them. However, through the past ten years of hard schedules and rigid systems, today was the one day with...none of that. In every other sense, Richard Parker never even acknowledged that he'd ever had a wife, let alone ever took the time to grieve or mourn the anniversary of her death (unless someone else brought it up, to which he'd quickly whip up some grief-stricken face and quietly lament his sorrows for his "beloved" late wife).

But for some reason, when the day came around each and every year, there would be no trainings for Peter to complete, no yellings or beatings. Hell, they'd never even come into his room.

For all intents and purposes, today was the one day they left him alone.

Peter didn't know why. He knew his father must have ordered the Cons to comply, but he just didn't know...why. Perhaps today was the one day his father took genuine pity on him. Maybe it was just as hard on him as it was on Peter and leaving the teen to his own devices was the best way for him to avoid showing weakness in front of his son. Maybe...maybe this was his way of grieving, another display of his humanity, however small it might be.

Whatever it was, and whatever Peter chose to believe, he didn't question it, not then and certainly not now.

Peeling his eyes away from the door now that the potential threat had vacated the premises for what he had to assume was the rest of the night, Peter instead glanced down at his phone. It sat discarded on the floor near his foot, silent and still for at least the past couple of hours.

Ned must have finally gotten tired.

It was never easy, seeing just how much his friend cared about him, to the point of worry. His stomach lurched as another bubble of guilt floated up to his throat. He couldn't bring himself to respond to any of them. He didn't know what he'd say if he did. Sorry for being such a troublesome friend but it'd probably do you some good to just drop me altogether and save yourself the hassle!

Something told him it wouldn't fly over very well with his buddy, despite the ringing truths.

Peter thought of MJ, more specifically, what Ned had apparently confessed to MJ. He shouldn't have been very surprised. His mother's death wasn't exactly a secret. Anybody with a computer could look up some newspaper articles from a decade ago, when the story had been blasted all over the circuits. Still, the idea that somebody else knew the circumstances of the day. that somebody else was intruding on his grief...it left Peter with a strange tickle in his throat, a stickiness latching onto his chest.

Most kids didn't know about his mother, it had happened so long ago, before any of them were old enough to really understand the headlines scrolling along the bottom of their TVs. The adults, however...They were a different story.

Peter could remember the looks teachers would throw him before he'd decided never to go out in public on the anniversary. Their cloyingly-sweet expressions, mixtures of unwanted sympathy and unwarranted sadness as they stared at him in pity, patting him on the shoulder and whispering encouraging words. (He still remembered the feeling of Ned holding him back as Mr. Dicharo walked back to his desk, his words of "My mom moved away when I was little so I know how you feel, buddy" still echoing.)

He shook the images away. His head was already too crowded at the moment, too noisy. His ears rang, a high-pitched whine that made Peter wince and grit his teeth, stooping forward slightly from his seat on the floor. He placed a hand to his head and ran his thin fingers through his hair.

It was still damp.

Peter's felt his fingers twitch against his scalp as his eyes warily trailed over towards the underside of his bed, where a small portion of the Spider-Man suit could still be seen. He stared at it for a second before reaching over and pushing it further under the bed.

It hadn't stopped raining, not since last night. He'd changed into clean clothes, stripped of the suit and had plopped down onto the floor, where he'd been for the whole day. He just couldn't bring himself to get up. Around his shoulders was Ben's jacket, warm and heavy. It served as little comfort, though.

("At least he still mourns you. Apparently, I'm not even worth his guilt.")

He kept his eyes trailed on the glass balcony doors, watching the raindrops slide down the glass, interweaving between each other or clashing altogether in large splashes of water that sunk down and splattered onto the floor.

Peter could still feel it, the rain hitting against his skin. Could feel it soaking through his clothes, slicking them down. He could sense the wind slapping up against his face, brushing his hair across his forehead in dark wet strands that rolled water down his cheeks. The thunder was rolling, the lightning flashing. He could see Mr. Stark with his hand outstretched. First the park, then the bridge...it was so close.

The teen gingerly flexed his fingers against the soft carpet, touching nothing but empty air. There was no hand now.

He narrowed his eyes and glared down at the floor as he dropped his hands into his lap. Of all the days for Mr. Stark to start riling things up again, it had to be today? Of all days it had to be today?! Peter gritted his teeth, eyes burning holes into the soft carpet floor. "Dead for ten years and you're still causing problems, huh?" he muttered bitterly before he felt his face grow hot with shame, averting his gaze to the back wall as he sighed. God, Parker. Leave it to you to blame your dead mother for your own problems, you lowlife.

He knew...he knew and he didn't want to admit it. He knew that there was nobody to blame here but himself. He'd made the choice to go to Germany. He'd decided to take up Tony's offer to intern. He'd decided to stick close to the man. He'd decided to brush off Michelle's warnings, the Cons' warnings, his father's warnings.

Well, not anymore. He couldn't ignore his instincts anymore, they had kept him alive for the past ten years, he couldn't afford to forsake them now.

He'd gotten careless. He'd indulged himself with ridiculous pleasures and toxic circumstances, putting himself in danger with his own reckless behavior. Now it was coming back to bite him and there was nobody to blame but himself.

( "I figure I'm at least entitled to that considering you're the reason I'm dead.")

He was always to blame.

Peter blew out a haggard sigh and shut his eyes, resting his head against the side of the bed as he tried to ignore the clawing yearn in his stomach that made him want to vomit. He couldn't afford to start throwing up, not when his main source of food was now effectively cut off. Peter dug his teeth into his lower lip at the thought, as his mind swirled around the billionaire.

Tony Stark.

He had been hearing that name his entire life. From the TV reports to his father's rants to the excited rabble of his schoolmates in the playground, Tony Stark had been a name in his head for as long as he could remember. But he never thought the man would become more than just a name.

And yet he was. Mr. Stark was so much...more to him. Peter didn't know how to explain it, and that was what scared him. With his friends, his family, even May, he knew exactly where they fell, what category they filled, what box they occupied. He knew their place and his place among them. He was an equal with his friends, a submissive in his family, maybe even a comrade with the people of 57th Street. He knew how to act with all of them, the rules that applied to each group.

But Mr. Stark? He was the wild card. Peter had no idea where the man fit, and thus, no idea how to act around him. He couldn't afford that, couldn't afford to not know. Not knowing meant unpredictability. The Cons might be horrible to him, but at least he could always expect that horribleness, could prepare for the smacks and the verbal jabs. With them, he always knew the hit was coming even if he didn't know when.

There was no sense of predictability with Mr. Stark. the man had built his entire name on the idea of unpredictability! How could Peter associate with him when he never knew how to prepare, what to expect? Mr. Stark was always nice to him now but how did Peter know that wasn't going to change, that one day, he'd get so angry that he'd just lash out?

And it wasn't just that. His father had made it abundantly clear that the only reason he'd allowed Peter's relationship with the man was so they could use it against Mr. Stark. He didn't know how, but he knew his father never made mistakes. If he wanted Peter in there, then there was a reason. And whatever it was, it wouldn't be good for Mr. Stark.

Could he really keep himself in the man's company, knowing all that he knew, knowing that he was a ticking time bomb that could be detonated at any moment?

But still...despite the looming degree of uncertainty, Peter couldn't help but enjoy the man's company. He knew it was selfish, but how could he not? For the first time in ten years, Peter had the freedom to do what he wanted, when he wanted. And not just as Spider-Man, but as Peter Parker too! How could he not adore the man that had given him said freedom?

So how did Peter repay him?

("Everyone who ever tries to help you suffers for it...and now history is repeating itself.")

By bogging down his life. By piling him with problem after problem that weren't his to deal with.

("You really think this is a man who deserves more on his plate?")

By making him feel responsible for Peter, responsible for helping Peter when it wasn't his responsibility. His responsibility ended at Spider-Man.

("He's already dying, Peter. Are you really going to be the one to finish him off?")

There was only one real reason Peter had to cut contact with Tony Stark: to save his life before Peter had the chance to kill him, too.

 


 

Peter jolted awake as the harsh sound of banging flicked against his ears. His eyes quickly blinked against the oppressing darkness encroaching around him. He pressed a hand to his head as he tried to orient himself, groggily reaching for his phone to check the time.

10:21 p.m. He'd only been asleep for a few hours.

He noticed Ben's jacket was still draped over him. He pulled it tighter. Ears still ringing from the strange noise, Peter flicked his eyes around the room, trying to locate whatever had woken him. It was still raining outside, the sound of the drops hitting the deck of his balcony muffled against the glass barrier. Peter glanced back at the door with a grimace of apprehension, straining his ears to search for the telltale sound of thudding boots and booming voices.

Nothing. Silence. They weren't home yet.

The teen breathed a small sigh of relief at that, only to jump as he heard the noise again, a harsh thumping that echoed around his room. Peter narrowed his eyes and lifted up to his feet, swaying slightly as he quickly realized he hadn't gotten up in hours, nor had he eaten. The familiar pangs of hunger began to gnaw on his stomach at the realization, but Peter pushed them aside. He was used to them by now, knew how to choke them down and live with them.

Realizing the noise had come from the balcony, the teen warily began to approach the glass. There weren't any trees nearby, so a stray branch most likely wasn't the culprit, nor was the rain hard enough to mimic the harsh rapping he heard.

Pressing his hands against the glass doors, Peter leaned his face closer to try and peer through at the balcony beyond.

"Hey!"

"Gah!"

Peter reared back so forcefully he tripped over his feet and stumbled to the floor as he caught sight of the face that had suddenly popped into view. Danny's hair was slicked with rain, his clothes soaked through. He had to be freezing, but he wasn't even shivering as he stood outside the teen's doors. He just wiped his face of the rain and threw the boy a humored look. "Wha? Got somethin' on my face?"

Peter stared at the boy with a slacked jaw, grunting as he fisted at his shirt as if the action could slow his thudding heart. He blinked and scrunched his eyes. "Danny?"

"Obviously."

"W-what are you...what are you doing here?!"

The older teen rolled his eyes, seemingly unfazed by the rain still splashing down over him. "I'm here to drop of a care package. What'dya think I'm doing 'ere, ya daft prat? Now you gonna let me in or would you rather I do a lil' jig first?"

As the shock began to wear off, it was quickly replaced with annoyance as Peter's face fell into a look of exasperation. He could handle Danny's rugged attitude most of the time. He dealt with a lot worse from the Cons, and it was mostly understandable considering the older boy's predicament. But today, today he didn't even want to hold a conversation with his nice friends, let alone the jagged street kid who was prone to pushing buttons.

Still, Peter couldn't ignore Danny's soaked state. His clothes were hanging off of him in sopping rags and his hair was falling down around his eyes, his skin pale and clammy. He looked like he'd just been drowned.

So with a long sigh and a curse muttered towards the calendar, Peter rose up from the floor and over to the balcony doors, unlocking them. He didn't even have time to open them before Danny was shoving his way through. Peter bit back his irritation. It was just Danny being Danny.

The older teen wasted no time as he headed over towards the bathroom and walked in. Peter heard his voice floating out. "Not that I'm complaining or anything, but I think I used to like the rain a lot more when I had a roof over my head. You feel me?"

Peter said nothing, merely hummed as he plopped back down onto his bed. It barely even creaked.

Danny popped his head out of the bathroom, towel fuzzing up his hair. "I mean, what kind of shitty week has two wash out days in a fuckin' row? this is New York, not fuckin' Florida!" The teen finished drying his hair and tossed the towel to the floor. "The streets are gonna turn to marsh by the end of the month, cuz. Just you wait."

Peter disregarded the statement, choosing instead to stare at Danny's clothes, which were still in a poor state. "Aren't you cold?"

"Huh?"

"You're soaked. And it's still in the 60s outside. Aren't you cold?"

Danny gazed back at him for a moment before waving his hand dismissively. "Ah, just a bit parky out there. Why? You worried 'bout me, mate?" he teased with a smirk. Peter didn't react to the poke, however as he simply glanced back over towards the balcony doors. It was so dark, it was hard to really see anything past the lights of his balcony, a dim yellowish haze that illuminated the rain in a small cloud of light.

Danny must have picked up on his silence, for he popped a seat on the edge of Peter's desk and tilted his head. "You're being a bit tight-lipped. More so than usual."

Peter shrugged. His bones felt heavy. "Whatever."

The older teen paused for a beat, seeming to weigh his options, before he pushed off of the desk and waltzed over to Peter. "What? The rain making your bones ache, ya codger? My Pappy used to say that, said he could feel the rain in his hands." He reached out and latched onto Peter's wrists, shaking them in the air before pressing his ears against them. "You getting anything from them, bruv?"

(Too close. Too close. Touching. No touch)

Peter ripped his hands out of Danny's grasp, hackles raising as he leveled a harsh glare. "Leave me alone, Danny! Stop touching me."

Danny raised his hands in defense. "I'm just playing, mate." He took a step closer.

"I said back OFF!"

The teen finally got the hint as he leapt backwards at the sudden display of anger. "Alright, alright! What's got you so worked up, ya tosser?!"

Peter felt his last dregs of patience snapping as he clenched his fists. "Are you seriously asking me that today?" he growled, voice tight and pinched.

Danny stared at him for a moment before a wave of realization washed over his face. But instead of regret or shame, a look of annoyance marred his features as he threw his hands into the air. "Ah, come off it," he muttered before placing his hands on his hips, staring Peter up and down. The teen tried not to squirm under the scrutinizing look, masking his unease with anger as he glared back at the boy in defiance. "There's something else, ain't there?"

Peter sighed harshly. "No, Danny. There isn't. Believe it or not, today's just not my favorite out of the year. I hope you can understand that," he muttered sarcastically, crossing his arms.

The older teen leaned in closer, eyes narrowed. " Bullshit. Your mum was dead two years ago. She was dead two months ago. What difference does today make?" He straightened up and began to pace in front of the bed. "I've told you before and I'll tell you again. It's just another day, that's all! You think I remember the day my parents died. No, cause guess what. It's just a day. Nothing more. Just a number, ya dick."

"Fuck you, Danny."

Danny stopped moving at that, head swiveling around to stare down at Peter. For a moment, he wondered if the boy was gonna rush him. Danny never had before, but he wasn't about to put anything past him. The street kid wasn't exactly the safest to be around and he certainly wasn't one for controlling his impulses, especially when he was angry.

But instead, he simply folded his arms over his chest, tongue pressing into the side of his cheek. "There is something more, isn't there?" Peter opened his mouth to refute him, only for Danny to speak first. "I've seen you get narked. I've seen you get upset. You're...angry. You don't get angry today. You get sad, quiet. Not angry." He narrowed his eyes. "Why are you angry?"

Peter didn't say anything, staring tersely at him before ducking his head to glare at the headboard of his bed. "Leave it alone, man," he growled in a low voice, trying to ignore the slight waver to the words.

"Something happened, bruv. Something to get you all pissy and foul, huh?" He leaned closer, gesturing to the door. "What? They do something? They don't mess with ya today. What is it?"

"Nothing, Danny! Just drop it." He fisted the bedsheets to keep his hands from shaking.

"Tell me why you're angry. Tell me what's making you so angry. What happened that's got you so frazzled?" He reached forward and pushed Peter's chest with both hands, causing the teen to lurch to his feet in defense. "What? Daddy forget to kiss you goodbye tonight?"

Peter gritted his teeth, forcing his arms to stay by his sides. He could feel a growing heat working its way onto his face, thawing out the numbing ice that had been encrusting his limbs for hours now. "I'm warning you, man. Shut the fuck up."

"Tell me, Peter."

"No."

"What happened?"

"Nothing! Stop it!"

"Tell me! Tell me what's wrong with you!"

"Everything, okay?!" he screamed, shoving his hands into Danny's chest, sending him sprawling onto the floor. Peter advanced, getting right into the boy's face. "I can't stand up to my family, I can't talk to my friends, I can't ask for help or I'll end up getting someone killed, the one person I really can talk to is a homeless kid who doesn't give a rat's ass about anyone other than himself and the only other person that could have actually helped me I push away! What isn't wrong with me, Danny?!" Peter sucked in a shaky breath, blinking away the stinging sensation that filled his eyes. It took him a second to register the feeling in his chest. It wasn't cold, it was...tingling, odd. He didn't know what it was, but anything was better than the cold.

He dragged his gaze over to Danny, a familiar weight of guilt sinking into his stomach as he stared at the boy on the floor. Peter bit his lip and rubbed at the back of his neck. "I...I'm-

"Don't apologize."

Danny didn't get up from the floor. He simply pushed himself up into a sitting position and scooted back so that he was leaning up against Peter's desk. "I know an explosion waiting to happen when I see one, cuz. Better for you to do it here while we're alone than with your family."

Peter blinked at him, watching as the boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He blew out a small sigh and crouched down to sit on the floor as well, resting his head against the lip of his bed. "Thanks..." he murmured softly.

Danny nodded, tapping out a cigarette and popping it between his lips before extending the packet to Peter. "Fag?"

He shook his head, the older teen retracting the pack and shoving it back in his pocket before pulling out a lighter. "You know, I should have guessed. Only Stark can make you go this bonkers, mate," he flicked the lighter open and lit the bud.

Peter tilted his head away, stuffing his hands into the jacket. "Just leave it alone, Danny."

"Nah. You say I'm the only person you can talk to, then fucking talk. Go on, spit it out if ya got so much to say."

The smell of smoke slowly began to fill the room, a pungent, biting fume that seemed to thicken the already terse air. Peter watched Danny fiddle with the cigarette, rolling it around on his teeth before pulling it away from his mouth and puffing out another ring. The teen didn't seem to be in any particular hurry, simply resting a hand on his knee as he fiddled with the bud.

Peter's lungs burned, as if the smoke was being blown directly down his throat, burning his tongue a crisp black. It was a welcome departure from the icy chill that had staked a claim on him. Any feeling was better than nothing at all, Peter found in times like this. So with that, the teen let loose a small smile as he brushed his hair back.

"You know...every time this day comes - from one year to the next - I think to myself...next year...next year will be better. Next year, things are going to look up." He traced the lines on his palm, digging in slightly with his nail with a small pinch as it nicked the skin. He could feel his hands again. That was good, at least.

"I know it's a lie. I know it's not true, nothing's gonna chance, hasn't changed in the past ten years. But...I still say it. I say it because...because I don't have anything else. All I have is that lie, that...hope that something's gonna change. And without that...w-without that...there's nothing."

Danny blew out another plume. It burned Peter's eyes.

"But you wanna know something...really strange?"

"Tell me."

Peter glanced up at the starless ceiling, imagined he was counting them again, counting them so he could sleep...sleep and dream. "For a little while there, I actually thought this year...it might not be such a lie." He tore his eyes away, but the dreams remained.

"I used to have these dreams...when I was little. The Avengers had just saved New York City. They were everywhere, every kid's fantasy to meet them. I used to imagine they'd come. They'd come and they'd...I don't know, they'd...fix things." He paused, lifted his eyes. "You ever have dreams like that?"

Danny tightened his lips, glancing down at the cigarette between his fingers. "I think everyone has dreams like that."

Peter sighed. "I hadn't had one in so long...hadn't thought of the Avengers for so long and then all of a sudden Iron Man is coming to me asking for my help? It...wasn't what I'd imagined, but...it was real, the first real thing that had happened in so long, I just...I wondered if this was what I'd been waiting for all those years, if this was the change I'd been hoping for."

Another smoke ring. "And...what happened?"

The teen scoffed. "What do you think happened? Everything went to shit, as usual."

Danny cocked a brow. "He flake on you?"

"No! No, no. It wasn't him. At least...I don't think. I, ugg..." Peter buried his face in his hands. "I don't even know anymore, Danny."

The older teen sat up, face hardening. "Alright, alright, don't get yourself into a tizzy again. Come on," he pressed. "Explain it."

Peter swallowed hard, an unease prickling sensation trailing down his skin at the sound of a direct order. Then again, Danny never was one to beat around the bush. He hesitated for a moment, picking at the numerous scratches and scars that littered his hand, like he'd been playing in shards of glass since he was a toddler. They varied in sizes, shapes, colors, an arts-and-crafts project on his skin.

"He...he started asking questions, questions I don't have any answers to...at least, no good answers."

Danny narrowed his eyes in thought. "He's not the first person to ask questions. Why was this different?"

"I don't know, it...it just was. It was harder to lie to him, like he could see right through them."

The street rat flicked the bud back and forth from hand to hand. "Well if that's true, then he must know about Dear Ol' Daddy Douche. And from the looks of it," he gestured with his arms around the bedroom. "he hasn't blabbed."

"Yeah, for now. How do we know that isn't gonna change?" Peter muttered, leaning his cheek against his propped-up fist.

Danny shrugged. "I don't know, cuz. Guy seems like a pretty top-notch fibber. I'm sure he could keep a secret or two."

"Can I really afford to chance it, though?" he murmured softly, glancing down at the floor. Another roll of thunder sounded from outside, merely a murmur compared to the roaring that had erupted last night. A familiar gnawing guilt worked its way into Peter's stomach, a feeling the teen knew he'd have to get used to.

(There was plenty for him to feel guilty about.)

"It's not just that. He...he worries about me."

The older teen scrunched his face up. "Okayyy?"

Peter leaned forward. "He shouldn't! You don't know the kind of stuff he's dealing with!"

"No more islands for him to buy?"

"I mean it, Danny," he growled with a pointed glare. "I, of all people, should know money doesn't make you happy."

"Try living without it."

The teen relented at the withered look Peter shot him, holding up his hands in surrender. The younger let out another sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I saw how much stress he's under. The Accords, the Rogue Avengers, apparently it's a lot more serious than what the news has been saying." Peter clenched his hands together, willing them still.

("You really think this is a man who deserves more on his plate?")

He shut his eyes. "He's...he's struggling and I'm doing him no favors, dragging all my crap along with me."

Danny sat up an inch. "That's not your fault, though. He chose you."

"Come on, Danny." Peter tossed his hands up in frustration before gesturing at the room. "He couldn't possibly have known that I'd come with all of this! If he'd known, he never would have considered it."

("He's already dying, Peter. Are you really going to be the one to finish him off?")

"I...I'll only make things worse for him. So I...I'm cutting ties."

A fresh wave of ice settled on his chest. Peter didn't try to fight it this time.

Danny, however, didn't seem to be as resigned to the role as he leaned in closer, face filling with an unreadable expression. "Seriously?"

"It's what's best for him."

Danny folded his arms. "Uh-huh. And what about what's best for you?"

("I'm not gonna...punish you or whatever just for saying what's on your mind.)

(Don't be afraid to talk to me, aright? I'll listen. I might not be good at it, but I'll try.")

("Silver linings.")

("Forget the starvation. This right here is what's gonna do you in!")

("Nerd tournament, huh? I'll see if I can squeeze it in.")

("To Stage 5!")

(Peter, please stay. Just...just talk to me.")

("We can work through this together, kid!")

("Peter...trust me.")

His hands were growing cold again. "He's a threat."

Danny narrowed his eyes. "So am I. So is Ned and MJ and May and anyone else who doesn't fall for your lies. What's one more?"

Peter shook his head. "He's different! He's one of the most powerful men in the world. If May or my friends ever spoke up, it would get buried, swept up as nothing but rumor. If he speaks up...people will listen."

The older teen paused for a moment, glancing down at the cigarette. "And yet...being one of the most powerful men in the world, you still managed to wrap him around your little finger in, what? Less than two months?"

Peter furrowed his brow. "What...w-what are you talkin-"

"Are there any other billionaires taking their interns out to lunch, or watching their Decathlon tournaments?" At Peter's pointed stare, Danny merely shrugged his shoulders. "I read the news."

Peter felt a plume of annoyance billowing out, mingling with the smoke already filling the air. "He's dangerous," he ground out, confused as to why Danny was so hung up on this. Why couldn't he just let it go. His decision was made!

"Why? Cause he has the power to be?" Danny huffed and pulled the cigarette from his mouth, a trail of gray smoke following his movements. "Pete, I think you're looking at this the wrong way. Why are you so sure you have to see him as a threat? Cause to me, it sounds like he'd be a valuable player on your team?"

The teen scrunched his face. "My team?"

"You know, your support system. May, Ned, MJ, all those jags. Lord knows it's pitifully small right now. Could use some billion dollar steroids." At the way Peter scoffed and glanced away, Danny bobbed his shoulders and popped the cig back in his mouth. "All I'm saying is that you started acting real different after you met him."

"Yeah, I know. That's the problem."

"Is it? Cause I must say, I rather enjoyed the new Peter Parker more than the old one."

Peter reared back slightly. "What do you mean?"

"You were...happier. Seemed to be more confident. Hell, i can't remember the last time you yelled at me before that night on the roof, when you were standing up for a guy you barely knew. He definitely made a difference in you." He paused, giving Peter a hard stare. "Are you so sure it was a bad one?"

The younger boy blew out a sudden breath, incredulous look on his face as he narrowed his eyes. "Why...why do you care so much? In case you forgot, I was yelling because you were ragging on him, saying I shouldn't trust him. Why are you changing your mind all of a sudden? Why do you care?"

("God, why can't you just GIVE UP?!")

Danny shrugged, a wave of indifference washing over his body as his posture slackened. "I don't," he muttered, puffing out another ring of smoke before leveling Peter a pointed glare. "But I think it's stupid of you to throw away something this good over something so stupid. Do you know how many people, how many kids would kill to have such a powerful ally? Are you seriously going to give it up just because you're - what? Scared? Give me a break!"

Peter clenched his fists together, indignation flaring in his gut as he faced off against the teen. "You don't get it, Danny," he ground out. "It's not just that. My dad...he has plans, plans that he's gonna use me for. I..." he faltered, glancing down at his hands, flexing his fingers and brushing them up against his palms. "I can't disobey him...but I can't hurt Mr. Stark, either. It's...it's not fair to him. He's gonna try and protect me, just like mom, just like Ben. And it's going to get him killed!"

He pressed his palms into his eyes, colorful dots blinking before him at the added pressure. He could feel himself getting worked up again, a growing thrumming in the back of his head, a steady pulsing that made his body tense and his stomach churn. All he wanted to do was curl up in bed and sleep, just sleep for a hundred years, sleep and pray he'd wake up to a different life.

. . .

"So...why don't you protect him?"

Peter blinked open his eyes, slowly lowering his palms away from his face. He furrowed his brow and parted his lips. "W-what?"

Danny stared at him for a second of silence before sighing, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and rubbing the tip of it against the back of Peter's desk, effectively putting it out. "Face it, Pete. You couldn't save your mum or that neighbor of yours. You couldn't. You weren't strong enough. That's fact. They would have died either way so there's no point bemoaning it."

Peter glanced away, images of his dream flashing before his eyes. His mom, Ben, the butterflies, butterflies in his stomach, butterflies crawling down his throat, across his skin. He scratched at his arm, as if he could still feel them. Danny reached forward and lightly pushed Peter's shoulder, getting him to look over once more. "Look, you couldn't do anything back then, I get it. But things are different now." He waved a hand in the air. "You're Spider-Man. If anyone can keep a superhero safe, chances are it's gonna be another superhero."

He folded his arms and cocked a brow. "So, if he's gonna be so busy protecting you, then...why don't you protect him?"

Peter said nothing. He couldn't, there was nothing to say. He blinked and glanced down, eyes flitting back and forth across the room as his thoughts raced.

Spider-Man...

He looked down, looked over towards the underside of his bed. He reached over and lightly brushed his fingers against the edge of his suit, the answer he'd been ignoring all this time. And for the first time in forever, Peter stared down at the suit and began to feel something other than guilt.

(Why couldn't Spider-Man save them?)

Guilt that had been pushing him to do such good deeds, going out for hours upon hours, searching for people who needed help, people who needed him, people who deserved to see another day, people who could maybe make up for the two he hadn't saved.

Peter truly did remember the dreams, dreams of the Avengers. And he remembered the day he'd stopped having them. ("We're calling it the Dark Room.") He remembered how it had felt, the realization that nobody was coming for him, that there was nobody to protect him now. And that anybody who tried always suffered for it.

But maybe...maybe the point wasn't protection for himself, it was protection for others, the very ideal Spider-Man stood for.

He was Spider-Man for a reason. He had a duty to fulfill, a responsibility to uphold. Spider-Man wasn't for him, it was for those around him! He was the one to take the bullet, to stand in the way of the blow, to take the hits and the kicks and the chains and the butterflies. He had to. He was there for a reason. He was there and his mom wasn't, Ben wasn't and there had to be a reason for it. He had to be alive for a reason!

Maybe this was it.

Danny scratched the back of his neck and yawned, glancing over towards the balcony doors. "I should be off."

The younger jolted back into reality at the words, turning to stare out at the stretch of sky just outside the doors. "It's still raining," he murmured softly, worried his friend somehow felt unwanted. Despite their terseness, Peter didn't want to just throw him out into the freezing rain.

Danny, however, merely shrugged it off, opening the balcony doors slightly. "Eh, it's lightening up. Besides, I'd rather not tussle it out with those wankers fighting to rush the subways once this rain passes up." he said causally. Peter peered over his friend's shoulder and realized he was right. While they were arguing, he hadn't even noticed that the rain had backed off slightly, lightening for the first time in hours. He could still hear it though, the soft pattering of the droplets splashing down into puddles on the balcony floor.

Peter watched the older teen make for the door. However, just as he placed his hands on the handles and was about to walk out, he stopped and turned back around. His face held a sobering look. "Look, mate." he sighed, seeming to hesitate for just a moment before shaking his head. "Bad things happen. That's just life. Bad things happen to good people and you can't do anything to change that. There's no nitpicking, no karma. It's just who's jammy and who gets the shaft. And you're in the business of getting snookered."

"Dude, speak English."

He rolled his eyes. "You don't have good luck, ya muppet! Things like this don't just...happen to chavs like you and me." He paused, licking his lips and running a hand through his ratty hair. "You have a chance, right in front of you, a chance to change things for yourself. Are you really gonna let it pass you by?"

Peter could feel his stomach lurching from side to side, as if fighting for a solution, an answer he so desperately needed. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, desperate to warm them just a tad. "What if it's a bad idea?"

Danny reached behind him and flicked his jacket hoodie up over his head, throwing Peter a smirk.

"Well...maybe you need a bad idea."

With that, Danny pushed through the doors and stepped onto the balcony, climbing up the side railing as he reached for the rooftop to Peter's building before crawling out of sight. Peter could hear his friend's footsteps against the roof before they leapt off the side, landing on the adjacent building before falling further and further away.

The teen stared at the balcony doors, at the rain that was beginning to blow into his room, trickling against the side of the carpet that brushed up against the doors. He didn't get up, though. Didn't try to close the doors. Instead, he just listened. Listened to the rain, to the soft steady drumming of each drop splattering onto the floor, reminded of the sound of rain against metal, the sound of the bay below lapping at the bridge beams, the sound of metal boots landing on the slick, rusted surface.

He listened to the rain, listened to his thoughts. He lifted his head, resting it against the back of his bed once again, and stared up at the lonely white surface above him.

Peter used to have stars on his ceiling.

Maybe he could have them again.

 


 

Thursday, April 28, 2016

Stark Tower - Penthouse Floor

11:32 p.m.

Tony opened his eyes to darkness.

For a moment he was confused, briefly wondered if blindness was a side effect to alcohol poisoning before he noticed the lights from the surrounding buildings gleaming against the tower window. The tint was down, most likely FRIDAY's doing.

"What time is it?" His voice was low, coarse from hours of silence. There was some irony in there, he was almost sure of it.

It's 11:32 PM, Boss. At this time, there are currently 54 missed calls from Ms. Potts, 32 from Colonel Rh-"

"Mute."

Tony let out a low groan, bringing his hand up to rub at the back of his neck. The slight movement made his head shriek in protest, a grinding noise that made his ears ring and dull red spots dance before his eyes. He pulled his lips back in a grimace, body aching as he shifted his muscles and stretched his legs. He must have been sleeping for hours now if the darkness outside was any indication.

He glanced over towards the window, noticed the rain still falling. He scowled and turned away, not even noticing how the rain had lightened up considerably since his last moments of consciousness.

"Is this shit gonna last forever or what?" he muttered to himself, shutting his eyes as he aimlessly patted the floor next to him, searching for the next available bottle to graze his fingers. With a flare of satisfaction, he latched himself onto one and brought it up to his lips, only to realize with a disappointed huff that it was empty. Reluctantly cracking open his eyes again, he glanced around at the other empty bottles littering the floor around him and noticed that they were all in the same condition.

He sighed and rested his head against the back of the couch. For a brief minute, he considered stopping, just sitting there and hopefully catching up on some more sleep. But...no. He could hear it, against the back of his head, crawling down his neck. Whispers, whispers of thoughts, of words and ideas and memories. His mind was sobering. He could hear himself think again.

That wouldn't do.

The comforting haze of emptiness was evaporating, leaving him with nothing but himself. Quickly deciding between the two evils, he decided to chance his body potentially calling it quits on the walk over to the bar for the overwhelmingly worthwhile prize of forgetfulness that came with being black-out drunk.

He stumbled his way over to the bar in record time, only tripping up once or twice on his own feet as his body tried to reboot itself from its ten-ish hours or so of disuse. He vaguely noted the sound of distant rumbling as the rain continued to slide down the glass walls of the tower. Leaning up against the side of the bar, Tony shambled his way over towards the sink.

Turning the faucet, he pooled some water into his hands. He could almost swear he saw steam rising up as it made contact with his hands, could feel the white-hot heat of his skin, feel it bubbling over his bones. At least he could count one constant. Would this just be how things were now, constantly running at a thousand degrees as the years of shit and stress and everything in between coursed through his veins in streaks of fire?

He splashed the water onto his face, grateful for a modicum of relief from the heat as he groaned into his hands. He pressed his fingers into his eyes, feeling the thumping of the migraine in his pulse, in the tips of his skin as the blood rushed.

(Peter's blood, on his arm, soaking through the bandages, bright and red and-)

Tony turned around and glared at the wall of liquor, grabbing the first bottle he saw and ripping it from the shelf. The entire structure wobbled at the movement, but he didn't care. He huffed out a breath, the smoke swirling around him as his lungs crisped to a deep black color.

Before he could take more than a couple of steps away from the bar, his eyes were drifting up and his legs were stilling. He couldn't hear the rain anymore, couldn't see it trickling down his windows, for all of his senses were honed in on Peter as he stared right back at him.

The kid was in his suit, a brown leather jacket overtop, and his mask clutched tightly in one hand. He was soaked, dripping water onto the floor in a horrifyingly similar fashion to last night, but he didn't seem to pay it any mind, not even as his hair hung down around his eyes, which were zeroed in on the billionaire before him.

Tony vaguely recalled the rumbling he'd heard before, realizing it hadn't been thunder at all, but the sound of the outdoor pad doors opening as the kid crawled his way in.

For a while, neither of them said anything. They just stared at each other as if neither of them truly believed the other was there at all. An illusion, gone in a puff of smoke.

Finally,

"I need to talk to you."

Peter's voice was soft but it seemed to echo off of the walls, bouncing all around Tony's head.

He thrummed his fingers against the bottle. "Didn't we say everything we needed to last night?"

"No."

"No?" Tony scoffed. "What, you leave something out? Figured we covered all our bases: regret, despair, hopelessness, maybe a bit of anxiety thrown around in that mess. Am I getting everything? Maybe the thunder drowned out some bits." He noticed Peter wasn't fidgeting like usual. He was just standing stoically, an air of calm around him that wasn't usually there. The kid was usually bouncing off the walls either in excitement or just plain nervousness. Now he was...different, off.

"Mr. Stark, listen-"

"Listen?" He took a step forward. Peter didn't take his eyes off of him. "I did listen, kid. I listened for half an hour freezing my ass off while 300 feet in the air in the middle of a goddamn hurricane." He noticed the kid's face twitch slightly at that, perhaps out of guilt. Tony narrowed his eyes. "I listened, and you know what I heard?" He stopped, glanced down at the bottle in his hands, watched the liquid slosh back and forth against the glass walls. "The truth."

Peter's face did change at that, brows knitting together and eyes squinting. "What?"

Tony started walking again. He stepped off of the raised platform that led to the kitchen and began to make his way back over to the windows, leaning up against the back of the couch. Peter still didn't move, just watched.

"You said you needed some time to think. Well, I went ahead and took a page out of your book and I realized something." He pointed a finger at the teen. "You...were one hundred percent correct. This..." He shook his head and gestured around at their surroundings. "...all of this was such a bad idea. From the very beginning I knew it was a bad idea and I still went along with it. I guess I just can't help myself from making messes, so much so that I gotta seek them out!"

Peter's face scrunched into something akin to frustration. "You...you didn't mess this up. I did."

"You don't get it, kid. I messed this up by taking you on in the first place! I thought it was to help you but...it was just to help myself." Tony glared down at the bottle, itching to pop it open and start drinking it right now, if only to quench the burning sensation wrapping around his throat. "I was using you, kid. I...I didn't want to believe it, but I can't just ignore it anymore. You were a distraction...to keep my focus away from the things I didn't want to deal with."

Tony glanced down, spying the array of empty bottles that lay scattered around the floor.

"This is my mess."

The teen didn't say anything at that, leaving the soft noise of the pattering rain outside as the only reprieve from the silence that grew thick and heavy around them, a suffocating mass that hovered around their heads.

Tony sighed before turning his head to glance back at the kid, eyes sharp. "What are you even doing here?"

"I already said. We need to talk."

Tony huffed out a humorless laugh as he shook his head and leveled the kid a hard look. "Talk? Peter, there's nothing to talk about! My mind's made up!"

Peter took a small breath. "No it isn't."

The billionaire raised his head at the kid's response, or more at the fact that he'd had a response at all. Peter was talking back? Peter Parker was talking back to him?

"Wha-"

"If it was you wouldn't be drinking."

Instantly, Tony was straightening up. He had to take a second to make sure what he'd heard was correct before he felt himself take a step closer, body tensing as a wave of crackling heat flooded through his system, a bubbling anger that was beginning to surface, hot and impatient after months of stress.

"Excuse me?" His voice was low, his tone sharp.

Peter glanced away at that, seemingly unsure for the first time since arriving. But the boy surprisingly didn't back down, not even at the obvious anger beginning to show on the billionaire's stoic face. The teen glanced down at the bottles, maybe just to avoid meeting the man's eyes. "You're unsure, conflicted. That's why you're drinking. It's too loud, too much noise...and this helps you quiet it."

Tony could feel something, hot and thick, coursing through his veins. He couldn't get angry. He couldn't yell. But the surging fire crackling in his gut willed his legs forward, eyes blazing as he approached. "Hey, I- no, no, no. We're not doing this." He snapped, clenching one fist behind his back in an attempt to keep his voice level while the other hand pointed a finger at the...brat in front of him! "You don't get to just barge in here after that little stunt last night and parade around like you own the place, alright? And you certainly don't get to talk about things that don't concern you in the slightest!"

Did this kid know how much he'd gone through in the last few months...just for him? The stress and the shit that he'd had to take and now he had the gall to disrespect him like this?

Peter took a step back at the man's advance, but he didn't back down. The teen clenched his own fists, but kept his eyes trained on the floor. "I just think-"

"I don't give a shit what you think!" It was too hot. He couldn't take it anymore.

"Are you not understanding, Peter? We're done here! This little...whatever it was, is over. I don't have time to be dealing with you anymore so why don't you just swing your little butt out of here before you say anything else to piss me off?" He forced his mouth shut, locking his jaw as he raised a hand to pinch his eyes. His head was pounding, a steady humming beat he could feel in his fingertips. He had to end this. He had to do what he should have done months ago.

"Look, you did me a solid in Germany,

(Meet the kid.)

"I did you one in return by way of the suit.

(Help the kid.)

"Our transaction is over. We can now officially part ways."

(Forget the kid.)

"But just so you know, this has got nothing to do with you." He gestured to the bottle clenched so tightly in his hand he was certain the glass was going to shatter into splinters right there in his palm. Peter flinched back slightly as Tony leaned closer to him, but he didn't back away. Instead, his face was tight, jaw clenched and hands fisted at his sides.

"See, you don't get to just pretend that you have some...wise insight into how I work just because we spent a few months doing stupid shit together, alright? Because that's all it was."

He couldn't breathe. There was too much smoke.

"The fact of the matter, Peter, is that you don't know anything about me."

Tony had to turn away at that, had to steady himself as he felt his last remaining wills slipping right through his fingers like ash in the wind. He had to leave, had to get out of there before he did something, said something he was going to regret. He had to get away...for Peter's sake.

He began to walk, each step heavier than the last, more final. He had to be leaving scorch marks in the flooring, deep black smears, impossible to get out. He had to get out. He had to breathe. He was burning alive.

. . .

"You can't sleep in the dark."

Keepwalkingkeepwalkingkeepwalkingkeep-

His feet stopped.

"What?"

Peter didn't say anything at first, glancing down at his mask for a moment. Tony finally turned back around and their eyes met. The kid blinked at him. "I know you probably don't sleep much as it is but...when you do, you can't sleep in the dark."

Tony opened his mouth. No words came out. His fingers twitched against the bottle, a soft tapping noise, like water droplets in a puddle.

"You need a light...don't you?"

A soft rumble sounded from outside, distant, faint. Tony could barely hear it.

"I read about what happened to you in Afghanistan. The reports didn't go into much detail cause you didn't back then but...I can guess." The kid's voice was soft, quiet. It quivered slightly, a fragile thing that teetered on the edge of silence. "It was dark, wasn't it...where they kept you? Dark and empty and cold and...everything you imagine in nightmares, everything you feel when you're alone...those feelings you can't explain, they're just there."

Tony stared at him, lips parted for words that still didn't come. He could hear his heart beating, loud and fast in his ears. His fingers tightened. The bottle creaked.

"And then 2012...the wormhole? Space is the darkest thing in existence. And you saw it...you were in it." Peter blinked, his eyes glossy and his breathing quick. He scrunched his face, tightening his grip on the mask. "You don't sleep cause when you sleep you dream and you can't have those dreams if you never sleep. But it's not just that. It..." He shut his eyes, voice pinched. "It's just...so dark in the room, isn't it? And you feel it again, that...that feeling that sucks the air right out of your lungs and leaves you speechless, leaves you vulnerable, exposed."

Exposed, like his chest, like his beating heart as he lay on that slab of rock, a car battery hooked into his skin, stabbing into his muscles.

And...and the lights, they just...make that feeling go away. They m...they make you feel safe, remind you that...that you aren't back there."

Tony distantly registered the sound of glass shattering. He didn't bother to look down at his hand or at the bloody scratches now adorning his wet fingertips.

Peter opened his eyes again, drifted his gaze down to the noise before lifting them back up and sucked in a shaky breath. "You don't sleep...but when you do, you need that light. Because you're afraid that if you...if you close your eyes...you're gonna wake up back in that cave, back in that hole in the sky, with nothing...nobody...afraid."

Tony tried to swallow but his throat was too tight. He tried to clench his fists but the blood on his hand was too slippery. He blinked, willing the images and the memories away, but they stayed.

He could smell sweat and sand and salt all mingling together in a blast of hot air that threatened to rub the skin right off his face, feel the tug of wires in his chest, poking and prodding around his ribs, pulling back muscle, metal scraping up against his heart. He could hear the echoing silence as he flew into the wormhole, a blanket of nothing that enveloped him, the sight of so many dangers lurking above their heads, lurking and waiting and ready to attack at a moment's notice and nothing to do but wait and wait and pray that they would be ready and they would be enough but they aren't enough and they would lose everything and everything would burn and he would burn and there would be nothing left but ash and smoke just ashes and ashes and ashes and-

Tony jumped, a startled gasp falling from his lips as he felt something touch his hand. He glanced down and noticed that Peter was holding his damaged hand in his own palm, pressing a clean towel into the numerous nicks. The kid's hands...they were cold, frigid, even with the suit. Peter lifted his head, lifted his bright brown eyes and met Tony's gaze and suddenly the images were fading, the memories were fading, the heat...was fading. All he could feel was the cold touch of Peter's hands.

He sucked in a breath, a soft little gasp that was really all he could manage. "How...?"

Peter seemed to understand his question even with the bare whisper of a single word. He lifted the towel slightly off of the man's palm, exposing the numerous scratches in the skin. "It was dark...the night she died." He didn't look up, just pinched his lithe fingers around a small shard of glass sticking out of Tony's palm. "That much I can't forget." He removed it gently, Tony barely even felt it. It clattered to the floor with a soft plink and the towel was being pressed down again. Peter looked up. "Mr. Stark, I don't know what it's like to be you...but I know what it's like to be afraid."

He looped the ends of the towel around the underside of the man's hand, creating a makeshift bind out of the cloth and securing it to the palm.

"In that way, we are the same."

The kid didn't say anything more after that. Instead, he bent down onto his knees and grabbed another towel - most likely one he'd gotten while retrieving the other - placing it on top of the puddle of alcohol pooling onto the floor. Once that was secure, he cupped one hand and began to trail his fingers along the floor, picking up any shards of glass that he could see.

Tony stood and watched him, watched the kid quietly cleaning up the mess he'd made, literally on his hands and knees just to help him. It was strange, not feeling the familiar burning sensation he'd been growing used to. Like lave cooling over rocks, it was hard, a crusted layer of earth that seemed to rub his skin the wrong way, an uncomfortable emptiness that opened in the pit of his stomach. But he wasn't hot. His hands weren't burning. They were bleeding...but they weren't burning.

He reached over, brushed his fingers up against the cloth wrapped around his hand. Suddenly he found himself kneeling down across from the kid. Peter lifted his eyes to gaze at him before going back to his work. Tony didn't say anything as he began to gather up small little fragments, brushing them off to the side. For a brief moment, as the silence overtook them once more, the two of them could almost pretend things were back to normal and that they were just working in the lab, tinkering away or writing up new prints. A week ago, the silence had been a comfort. Now...

"Before Afghanistan...before the cave...I didn't have anyone."

He owed it to Peter to fill it.

"I had everything, could have anyone, but I didn't. 38 years of...nothing. Then the suit. Bad guys. Aliens. Super soldiers. It all culminated with that team."

Peter stared at him, shifted his own little glass pile off to join Tony's. "The Avengers."

Tony let a faded smile creep onto his face as he leaned back on the floor, resting one hand on his knee. "Avengers. You know, I never asked Nick where he got that name. Knowing him, it probably came off the back of a super secret spy cereal box or something." It was weird cracking jokes again. He supposed he couldn't help to fill the uncomfortable air with something stupid. Made the weight of the words easier to bear. He hoped Peter understood.

"You know, Cap and I...gosh, we really butted heads when we first met."

"Really?" Peter's voice was quiet again. It was never really loud, just...firm, even. Now it was back to its usual soft demeanor, a gentle little lull of sound.

Tony rubbed at his forehead. "Yeah. You know, I'd been hearing about the guy my entire life. My dad never shut up about him, always reminiscing about his old war buddy, the best guy he'd ever known. It was a lot to live up to, especially since he never stopped looking for him. He was...let's just say, we had our issues. So when the guy who practically kept my dad out of the picture just shows up out of the blue...I'm already not a very good team player so throw that into the mix and you're looking at an interesting development."

He gave a small shake of his head, casting a glance over towards the windows. Still raining. "God, I hated him. It wasn't even his fault and that just made me hate him even more."

"Did...did that change?" Peter asked, shifting his position on the floor so that he was now sitting cross-legged, hands resting in his lap.

Tony glanced back over. "Yeah, it did. Everything changed after that. I mean, aliens. Come on. But, I always thought of that team as the one good thing that came of it all, you know? That maybe...maybe this would finally be that something I'd been missing. And Cap...Steve, god. He made it so hard to hate him. He was just so ridiculously righteous."

He paused, hearing words he hadn't planned on saying, thoughts he hadn't planned on voicing. But if anyone was going to hear them, it might as well be the kid who could maybe understand. He couldn't even understand.

"He was...he was a good guy, though. They all were."

"Then why did they leave?" Peter muttered, a discernable note of anger flickering onto his face. "If they were so good, why did they leave you behind to clean their messes?"

Cause I'm the mess they didn't want to deal with anymore.

"It's complicated. Fact of the matter is that they're gone. They gave up." Tony blew out a small huff. "Maybe that's why I used you, Peter. I just...didn't want to listen to the silence anymore."

Didn't want to think about how the thing they gave up on was him.

Peter glanced down at his hands. "You didn't want to be alone."

Tony removed the towel from his palm, noting each and every new scratch adorning his fingers. "Maybe," he murmured, a strange sense settling in his chest as he finally admitted it, like a balloon releasing the water trapped inside, dousing whatever fires had been burning underneath. Suddenly feeling cramped in the dark space of the room, Tony rose up to his feet and glanced over toward the windows, to the lights just outside the glass.

Peter followed as the man made his way over, Tony plopping down onto the floor once more. He scooted back until he was pressed up against the back of the couch, now fully facing the glass panels of the back wall. Peter didn't sit down. Tony didn't turn to him.

"Do you want me to leave?"

The man sighed. He watched the rain sliding down the glass. "No. I just...I don't get it, kid. Why did you come back? What changed?"

"I did. Two months ago." Peter slid his way down to the floor. "But if you're talking more recent...let's just say I got some friendly advice from a not so friendly guy." At Tony's pointed look, the teen shook his head and waved his hand. "Don't worry about it."

"So, what? You just...completely changed your mind?"

"Not exactly. Look, Mr. Stark...everything I said before is still true. When I'm with you, I change." He glanced down at his hands. "I don't like change. But...I think I'm starting to get used to it. With you, I...I like who I change into. It makes me feel like Spider-Man all the time, just without the mask."

The rain was soft, nothing like the roaring monster it had been before. Tony didn't mind it as much like this.

"I'm tired of being in the dark all the time. But with you...it's like the flood lights are on, shining through my window." The teen's eyes scrunched ever so slightly. He still didn't lift his gaze, just kept them locked on his hands. "I feel something. I feel...safe."

Tony didn't respond, didn't let the fact that 'safe' was a foreign concept to the kid show on his face. He just kept watching the rain.

"I said I needed time to think, and so I thought. And I realized something. I...I realized I don't want to lose this." This time Peter did turn, lifted his eyes towards the man next to him. Tony glanced over as the kid spoke. "I'm scared, Mr. Stark. I said it before and I'm still scared now. I've never had something like this before. I've never had someone like you before, someone to...look out for me. I don't know how any of this works, I don't know how any of this will work. I don't even know if it's a good idea-"

"I know. It isn't."

Peter ignored the man's comment and continued. "But I still want to do this." His eyes hardened, narrowing ever so slightly. "I don't...I-I don't care what anybody else says. For once, I want to be selfish, think about myself for a change, not the Cons, not my dad." His voice was tight, not as calm as earlier. A new shaky element edged on his words, but Tony still heard them clear as day.

"So if...if I can be brave enough to do this, then...then maybe you can, too."

Tony continued to stare at him, letting the kid's words wash over him. Brave... What was the brave thing to do in this situation? What was the right thing to do? He scanned his eyes over the kid's face, tried not to notice the pleading look adorning his features. He could still picture the scars, the bright, red, angry lines that had slashed across the kid's face on Monday. How could he forget them? They were burned into his mind, another blister in the mess of millions.

"Am I just supposed to be okay with letting you go back to that house every single day knowing what I know now?" He noticed the slight waver in his voice.

Peter was the one to glance out the window at that, shoulders slumping ever so slightly as an air of exhaustion seemed to wash over him. "We don't have much of a choice, Mr. Stark. I...I can't go to the police. I just can't. I know it must be hard for you to understand, but it's important to me," he said softly.

Tony shook his head, face pinched as he exhaled loudly. "Even if I was okay with that, it still doesn't change the fact that I'm in this for the wrong reasons, kid." Peter turned to look at him. "I'm not the hero you think I am. I used you." The words were bitter, but he had to say them, had to get the kid to understand. "You were just distracting me."

"And you were distracting me!" Peter shot back, eyes narrowing as he turned to fully face the billionaire, leaning closer as he spoke. "Wasn't that the plan? Wasn't that what you were trying to do all along? Get me to focus on something other than my dad?" He scoffed and tossed his hands into the air. "What's so wrong with wanting the same, Mr. Stark?"

He didn't get it. Why couldn't this kid just understand?

Tony clenched his fists as he felt the telltale burning sensation beginning to build back up in his fingers once more. He shut his eyes, hoped he didn't see them start to char again. "Kid...I'm going to hurt you." He could sense Peter tense at that, hated how he could literally feel the kid's anxiety spiking, but he had to get it through his head. He had to make the kid see for himself why this would never work.

"You said it yourself, I'm a wild card." He blew out a harsh breath. "I'm asking you to trust me when I shouldn't even trust myself! Hell, look around you, kid! does this look like a responsible adult to you?"

Peter's lips curled into a sneer as he snarled. "I've been surrounded by 'responsible' adults for all my life and not one of them has ever given a shit about me." His voice was harsh, a biting sting that was so different from his usual soft-spoken manner that Tony literally reared back at the sound of it. The kid took a breath, sucking it in slow and letting it out smoothly before lifting his eyes back up. "You can't do any worse than them."

The teen glanced away for a second, face scrunching in thought as his brows knitted together. He turned back, eyes filling with a familiar gleam of hazel-brown light. When he spoke again, his voice was back to its soft murmur. But Tony listened to each word as if they were literally being screamed in his ear.

"Mr. Stark...your life sounds really difficult. Trust me, if anybody's gonna be a good judge of that, it's me. And...and I understand that you wanted to help me, it's natural. It just proves how good of a person you are because you didn't have to do this, any of this." The kid smiled, a sight Tony had sorely missed. "You are a hero, to me at least. I know that probably doesn't mean much. But if I can repay it by taking your mind off of some of the heavier stuff, then whatever! It's mutualism."

Peter grimaced slightly at that and rubbed at his neck. "Biology's not really my strongest suit but just hear me out. benefit by spending less time around the Cons and more time with people who don't make me want to drown myself in the sink and you get some time away from all the political crap. You...you don't have to think about the Avengers. We both win."

The kid leaned closer, teeming with nervous energy as a growing sense of desperation seemed to enter his voice. "It...it doesn't have to be difficult. Look, we can just...we can just forget this whole week ever happened!"

A sickening sense of dread entered Tony's stomach, the same he'd been feeling all week, all month, from the first day he'd met the kid.

"The park, the bridge, all of it! I'll never bring up my dad, I'll get better as covering up the bandages, you look the other way"

He curled his fingers, fists shaking at his sides at the kid's words.

It's perfect! Plausible deniability! Then we can just go back to how thing were before!"

(Blood on his forearm, dripping onto his lab floor.)

(Collapsing to the ground from sheer starvation.)

(Screaming and crying and begging Tony to let it go, to look the other way, to forget about it, forget, forget, forget, forget-)

But Tony couldn't forget.

"Peter, I don't want things to go back to how they were!" He finally screamed, his voice echoing off of the walls of the room, bouncing and hovering over their heads before tapering off into silence.

Peter stopped, freezing at the man's words. His face slowly began to crumple as his eyes drifted to the floor. "I...but, I..."

The kid stopped, didn't say anything more. Tony stared at him, stared at the look of rejection beginning to seep onto the kid's face, sucking in whatever hope had been growing in his's voice. The man hesitated, shutting his eyes for a moment as he considered what he was actually about to do, the weight of what he was about to say. But as his eyes drifted to the boy's chest, to the spider symbol in the center, the teen's words echoed in his head.

Brave.

Could he be brave?

Tony reached over and placed a hand on Peter's shoulder, the kid jumping in surprise before lifting his eyes to meet Tony's.

"I...I want them to be better."

The kid blinked at him, eyes wide. "What?"

Tony sighed, removed his hand and dropped it into his lap, leaning back against the couch. "Peter, you might think that whatever we were doing before was fine, but-"

"It was!"

"No, it wasn't." The man's voice was hard, his eyes reflecting the same tone. "It wasn't fine. We were both just...ignoring the bigger problems." He stared down at his hands. Peter watched in silence as the man gently removed the makeshift bind on his palm. The blood had long since stopped, leaving nothing but bright red scratches adorning the skin. Tony narrowed his eyes and glanced over at Peter.

"I want to make a deal."

Immediately, he saw a shift in the kid as Peter tensed, posture tightening as he leaned back slightly, eyes pinching in distrust. "What kind of deal?" he said carefully.

Tony ignored the suspicion in the boy's voice as he lifted his uninjured hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "A crazy one, because I can't believe I'm actually considering not going to the police."

"What? Really?!"

"Hold on. I'm not finished." The man stared at him before letting out another sigh, rubbing at the back of his neck as he felt a particularly painful twinge. He was quickly reminded of why he didn't usually make it a habit of sitting on the floor. "Peter...I want you to be safe, not just feel safe but actually be safe. And I know you're not safe in that house," he murmured soberly.

"I-"

"Don't lie. Not anymore, not to me." Tony paused, taking a second to steel himself. He furrowed his brow, folding his arms over his chest. "You don't want to go to the police? Fine. Then you go to me."

Peter reared back, jaw dropping. "What?!"

"Just...hear me out. From here on out, if...if you're ever scared or hurt or upset or...just want some place to sleep where you don't have to keep one eye open, you come here. Understand me? You come here, you come to me and you tell me what's wrong, the truth about what's wrong. In return..." he took a breath. "In return...I won't tell anybody."

Peter stared at him, lips parted as he tried to process everything that was being thrown at him. Tony tilted his head to the side. "Got any plans for the summer?"

"Umm...no?"

"Good. You're spending it here."

If possible, the teen's eyes grew even wider as he sputtered. "What? I...he would never agree to that!"

"Then I'll make him agree!" Tony shot back, eyes narrowed as he thought of Richard putting up any resistance to his plan. That douchebag wasn't going to stop him now that his mind was made up, that much he could be sure of. "Anything to keep you as far away from them for as long as possible. If that's the best I can do, then that's what's happening. If you won't let the police protect you, then I will!"

He paused, taking in the kid's face to see what his reaction would be. This did sort of hinge on the teen actually agreeing to his plan. Peter didn't say anything at first, face tight and brows furrowed as he stared at the ground, eyes flitting back and forth in thought. Tony stayed silent, decided it would be best to let Peter take this in slowly. Finally, the boy carefully lifted his eyes, voice small.

"You...you don't have to do this..."

"I know. I want to."

"Are you sure you know what you're getting into here? What you're telling me to do? What...what you want to know...you really want everything?"

Tony reached over, carefully rested his hand on the boy's shoulder once more. "No more stories, Peter. Just the truth."

"...even if it's ugly?"

"Better than a beautiful lie."

The teen glanced away. "I'm not so sure about that."

Tony stared at him for a moment longer before realizing the kid wasn't planning on saying anything else. He slowly removed his hand, fingers twitching as he tapped them together. "So?" he called, anxious for the teen's answer.

Peter lifted his eyes, blinked at him in silence. His hands began to pick at the corner of the jacket overtop his suit. Tony decided not to ask about it. One crisis at a time here.

"You're asking me to trust you."

"I am."

"That's not an easy thing for me to do."

"I know. I'm hoping to change that."

'Yeah." Peter's foot bobbed up and down against the floor, a steady rhythm of anxiety. He huffed a small breath, a pant of sorts before he whipped his head around towards the billionaire. "I want you to do it with me." Before Tony could even open his mouth he was continuing. "If I'm going to be telling you my problems, then I want you to tell me about yours. I want to know you're risking just as much as I am."

Tony tried not to let how uneasy the request made him feel show in his body language as he shifted slightly, clearing his throat loudly. "You don't need to worry about my problems, kid."

Peter obviously saw right through that as he narrowed his eyes. "And you don't need to worry about mine yet here we are." The look slowly disappeared from his face, a softer quality melting onto his features. "Nobody else knows how hard it is...to really trust someone. But you do, don't you?"

Tony didn't respond. That seemed to be enough of an answer for the kid.

"You know it's not as easy as everyone makes it out to be. You know how much it can really...damage you. How much of a risk it is, a threat in waiting. So I know you won't take it for granted...will you?"

The man held his gaze. "No. I won't."

Peter sucked in a sharp breath and turned his head away, glancing up towards the ceiling as he muttered something under his breath. "Alright, then. If...if you can trust me, then...then I'll trust you. Or...I'll try, at least." He sheepishly threw the man a small look. "That's the best I got right now."

Tony smiled a different smile from the ones he usually wore. This one didn't hurt. "That's all I'm asking for, kid." He lifted his hand, extending out a palm. "So...deal?"

Peter stared down at the hand for a moment before lifting his own hand. But he didn't extend his palm. Instead, he held out his pinkie finger. Tony blinked at it before glancing up at the kid, a perplexed look on his face. Peter shrugged his shoulder, a smile falling onto his own face. "Just...trust me."

The man hesitated for a bit before huffing a small laugh of his own, looping his finger with the kid's. He raised his other hand, pressing it up against his face as he continued to laugh, but it was breathy and ended with a sigh. "Oh, god, kid. This...this is going to be..."

"Interesting." Peter finished, scooting back so that now he was also pressed up against the back of the couch, shoulder nearly touching the other man's as he unfolded his legs and splayed them out in front of him.

Tony scoffed. "That's one word for it." He dragged his hand down so that it was now rubbing at his straining neck. "I know I'm not exactly the best mentor. Hell, I'm not even qualified to be a mentor."

Peter cocked a brow. "Then don't. Nobody's asking you to be perfect. I'm not asking you to be perfect cause you're not. You're like me. Cause we both don't know what we're doing here." He paused, rubbing his fingers along the seams of the jacket. "And...and I think I'm okay with that now. I think I'm okay with not having all the variables, with...not knowing what comes next cause...at least now I know I'll be doing it with you...together."

He turned to look at Tony as he said so and the man couldn't help but stare at those big brown eyes, full of purity and innocence. How anybody like Peter could still hold such a look in his eyes after going through so much baffled the man. But by God if he could find some way to keep the kid's eyes looking like that, keep them looking so bright and happy and...full of hope, hope that Tony could actually help him, then he would do whatever possible.

"Mentor is a...big word, bigger responsibility." Peter said. "You'll grow into it. But for now...why don't we settle for-"

"Sidekick?"

"I was gonna say 'partners.'" He huffed, elbowing the smirking man in the side. Tony chuckled and elbowed the kid right back. "In crime?"

Peter shrugged. "I mean, I do already have a mask."

They both grinned at that as another wave of silence washed over them. But this wasn't crushing like before. This wasn't freezing cold, or boiling hot, or suffocating. It was...nice, a soft little lull that wrapped them in a comforting quiet. In fact, it took them both a second to realize the silence was really because the rain had stopped.

For the first time since the day previous, the downpour had finally ceased. The clouds were even beginning to part, revealing the bright, big, beautiful moon shining right above them, a disk of light that shone down through the windows. And for Tony, a new sense of peace began to spread through him. The tightness in his chest was gone. He took a breath, felt it slowly enter his lungs and leave with no hindrance, no shakiness. He could still feel a warmth underneath his skin, slightly too hot to be comfortable, but manageable.

He could work with this.

Peter felt something similar. The cold numbness was slowly crawling back to the center of his chest, releasing the rest of his limbs from its vice-like grip. It remained, a small little ball of black doubt encrusted with frost, but he could deal with that. There was no ice, no butterflies.

Tony reached over, looped his arm around the kid's shoulder. He could still feel the familiar little jolt underneath his fingertips as the kid flinched, as he'd expected. But what he wasn't expecting was for Peter to slowly lean closer until his cheek gently resting on Tony's shoulder, barely even touching it. But the contact was there, the realization was there.

It was the first time Peter had ever reciprocated contact.

Tony tried not to focus too hard on what it meant. Instead, he just smiled, gave a little pat.

"Thanks, kid."

"For what?"

"...Not giving up on me."

Peter lifted his head for a moment just long enough to meet Tony's gaze. They shared a small little smile before he leaned up against the man once again and the two of them were left to sit together in the silence. There were no words, no politics, no villains, no dreams, no butterflies...just them and the moon and the light.

And that was enough.


 

(Dreams are a weird fucking thing.)

(Ask any two people and they'll always give you a different response on what they are, what they mean, what they're supposed to represent. But honestly, anyone who tells you they've figured out the trick to them is full of shit. Nobody really knows how they work, not even the experts who'll give you some facts about the hippocampus or some repressed trauma or other crap. Fact of the matter is that dreams are just proof that our brains are fucking insane, the bare blatant craziness that makes us who we are, the parts we try to hide from one another day to day, our brains leave them exposed for us to see. And if we could see each other's dreams, see who we really are inside, we'd each see something different - a picture, a little snippet into the mind, a snapshot polaroid of who we are, what we aspire to be, what we hope will come.)

 


 

Wanda sat up against the wall, wistfully watching trails of red energy pooling around her fingers, illuminating her skin in a hellish glow that leaked onto the walls and cast her shadows as long stretches of black spearing the concrete.

(Some of them hurt,)

 


 

Sam rested an elbow on the window ledge, thrumming his fingers against his cheeks as he stared up at the moon, sleep just out of his grasp as it had been every night for the past two months.

(Some remind you of the things you don't have,)

 


 

Clint ran his fingers along the edge of the picture, eyes flitting from child to child, making out each and every detail, shutting his eyes for brief moments as he tried to recall each dimple, every freckle and birthmark, quizzing his brain to make sure he couldn't forget, wouldn't forget.

(The things you've lost,)

 


 

Scott fiddled with the corners of the scrap of paper, the words My Hero, still discernable despite its age, scrawled over the top of his daughter's drawing, wrinkled and stained but still standing.

(The things you'll never be.)

 


 

(Safe to say, dreams can be a real cruel bitch. But every once in a while, you have to remind yourself that it isn't the same for everybody. You just happen to be one of the unlucky few whose brains find it fun to taunt you in the dead of night with images you can't control.)

(Of course, there are others, the lucky ones who don't have to fight against their own minds every second of every day. Privileged bastards.)

(Their dreams are much, much different.)

Natasha stared out at the bay, fingers frozen against the rusted metal railing. She gazed at the light of Stark Tower in the distance, a ghost of a smile on her face as she listened to the soft lapping of the waves washing against the weathered concrete below.

(Not a picture of the past but a piece of a future within their grasp.)

 


 

(Those people find inspiration in their dreams, goals they can envision for themselves. They see their dreams as potential realities, images they can bring to life.)

Tony stared down at the bottles around his feet, scattered around the now empty penthouse. He sighed, bent down and slowly got to work.

(Within them they carry that spark of hope.)

One by one, they found their way into the trash.

(Hope of change.)

The liquid gurgled as it poured out of the bottle, quickly spiraling down the drain and out of sight.

(Hope of a chance. Hope that the world isn't as bleak as the rest of us see it.)

"FRIDAY, open up a new file for me. Private, not in the mainline servers. Link to the Parker file and triple encrypt."

"Of course, Boss. What would you like me to title it?"

(Hope that the world may become like how they dream it)

"Evidence."

(If they just try hard enough.)

 


 

(We all have dreams, each and every one of us, whether we deserve them or not. )

Ned stared down at his phone. No new messages. No responses. He sighed, set it back down on his dresser, and rolled over in bed.

(Sometimes it's hard to keep them alive, especially when you want them to.)

 


 

Michelle cursed as her pencil snapped. She lifted it away from her sketch and glared at the dull tip before standing up from her desk. She vaguely noted the time, glanced over at her bed and quickly banished the idea of sleep. She grabbed another pencil from under the desk and silently got back to work.

(Sometimes it's hard to see them as anything more than fantasy, children's whim.)

 


 

May turned over onto her side, reaching out with one hand towards the other side of the bed. It was cold. She cracked open her eyes, briefly wondered where he was before reality faded into mind and she shut her eyes. She knew better than to just pretend he was in the bathroom, as she had done for the first few months. Instead, she forced her breathing still and rolled over again.

(Sometimes you have to walk away, know that if you don't, if you allow yourself to stay in that bed under the covers and force your brain to conjure up those images again, you'll be stuck there forever even after the sun has come up and the oxygen has left your body.)

 


 

Richard walked along the dimly-lit halls, occasionally casting glances into the rooms lining either side of him. Even through the steel doors, he could hear the screeches and shrieks of the creatures from inside, from the people who had yet to realize they were not getting out of there, from the monstrosities just beyond his reach.

(Sometimes we want so desperately for them to be real that we drift from the real world into a fantasy and we'll do anything to make it a reality, even if it means tearing down the old world to get it and lighting the way by the burning fires of what you once had.)

He said nothing. He simply kept walking, turning onto another hallway of the same. One of hundreds.

 


 

(I've had dreams my whole life, some good, some bad. But they were always there. In a life that's defined by the changes, I guess it's one of the only real constants, so much so, in fact, that I really can't imagine not having them. I've never really been sure if I want to have them, but I do and I know there's no changing that. I also know that staying hung up on them is pretty fucking pointless. They come, they go. That's it. Just like my Dad says, just like anything and everyone, they leave.)

(Maybe that's a sad thought.)

(Maybe that's why I forget sometimes, forget that I'm not supposed to take them seriously. I guess sometimes when they're so good, it's hard not to picture them becoming a reality, hard not to imagine what it would be like if they came true.)

Peter breathed in the air as he swung through the city, the sharp blasts a welcome relief of adrenaline as he fell and flew past buildings, billboards, roads, trains.

(I know I'm not supposed to, but every once in a while, when my brain's feeling nice for a change and lets me have a particularly pleasant dream, I imagine it coming true. I imagine the life I'd have.)

A sense of freedom bloomed in his chest, a warmth that spread all throughout his body as the moonlight illuminated his paths in the sky.

(And I can see them, see the images growing before my eyes, full of color and warmth, growing and morphing and adapting until they completely overtake life as I know it, changing it into something different, changing me into someone else.)

A tingling sensation in the back of his neck had him veering from his path home.

(But then my alarm goes off, the sun starts coming up and the chill of my room starts to seep into my skin again. It's like the world outside of my bed can feel me dreaming, can sense my slip-up, and it's angry, angry at my audacity, at my disrespect.)

(Doesn't matter anyway. Sooner or later, those dreams fade.)

The sound of guns going off and loud grunts led him to an alleyway that tapered off underneath one of the subway bridges. The sight of bright flashing lights instantly had his curiosity peaked and his senses alert as he carefully crawled his way along the side of a nearby building. There were about ten of them, all male, all large in stature. The lights were from the guns they were holding, for they were glowing a bright...purple?

(Sooner or later, they dissolve.)

Upon closer inspection, Peter noticed the group was already fighting someone, a lone man who seemed to be having difficulty defending against the lasers and the explosions emanating from the glowing weaponry.

Quickly realizing he needed to intervene now and question later, Peter swung down and landed in the center of the group, quickly webbing up two of the nearest guys and facing off against the others. However, all of the men froze as he appeared, including the one man who appeared to have been fighting the others.

And as he turned to face him, Peter felt himself freeze up, his heart stopping and his eyes blowing wide as Captain America stared back at him.

(Sooner or later...we all have to wake up.)

 


 

End of Part I

Chapter 23: PART II

Summary:

"Oh my god. YOU'RE Spider-Man?"

Chapter Text

Part II

Brave New World

 

 

 

Chapter 23: The Good Fight

 


 

Friday - April 29, 2016

Queens, NY - Jackson Ave.

12:37 AM

Steve Rogers had really pretty eyes.

Peter knew it was probably a strange fact to get hung up on, but his brain couldn't really seem to process anything else. They were a nice deep sapphire blue around the edges, tapering off into a lighter shade near the center, almost an aqua-green with small little flecks of cyan. They reflected the bright purple of the guns in a brilliant sheen of indigo light.

Right. The guns.

The guys currently wielding them, who he was safely assuming were the bad guys, were staring at him with wide eyes that most likely rivaled his own behind the mask. The guns in their hands crackled with purple energy that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. And Steve Rogers...the guy simply stood there, fists clenched and muscles poised as he held Peter's gaze in nothing but plain civilian clothes.

But it was definitely Steve Rogers. That much Peter was sure of.

The man's mouth parted slightly, pinched look spreading onto his face as his eyes squinted together.

"You're..."

Peter began to squint his eyes too. But not out of concentration. No, the lights around them were getting brighter, the purple lights...Oh...

He swiveled his head to the side right as a bright beam of violet energy shot towards him, the blast slamming into the nearby wall and disintegrating the bricks to ash. "Whoa! What the heck-?"

He turned back around just in time to see Captain America slam his elbow into the gut of the shooter, knocking the wind out of him and snatching the gun from his hands.

Peter turned away right as three more blasts whizzed through the air from the encroaching goons.

Quickly clicking his brain into Combat Mode, Peter clenched his fists and felt a surge of adrenaline snaking through his muscles. He crouched down and flipped backwards, the blasts tearing through the ground near his feet. He leapt towards the wall, skittering up it as the shots continued. He could hear the men shouting at each other, most likely about his unplanned appearance.

He continued to scale the wall, leaping away from blasts as they ripped holes in the walls. What the heck are these things? He asked himself as he pushed off the wall and shot into the air, firing a string of webs at the nearest man's feet. He landed on the ground and yanked the webbing back, causing the man to topple to the ground. The gun skidded along the floor right as another wave of thugs charged him. They all weren't holding the same glowing guns though. Some of them had normal baseball bats and handguns.

Weird...

Nevertheless, this wasn't Spider-Man's first rodeo.

He flipped underneath a hot purple blast and twisted around the baseball bat that swung over his head. He flicked his wrist out, catching the tip of the bat and flinging his hand to the side, causing the bat to shoot out of the man's hand and knock into the second guy's head.

His spine tingled and he ducked right as a loud bang reverberated in his ears. He rolled along the ground underneath the bullets and shot his leg out, catching the thug in the back of the knee and sending him shooting to the ground. But not before Peter was slamming his fist to meet him on the way down, knocking him out cold. He twisted his webs around the guy's midsection and kicked him off to the side right as two more of his buddies came at him, bullets flying.

He twisted to the side and latched two more webs to the guns, yanking them right out of their hands. They stumbled forward and he was sliding underneath them, firing another pair of webs at their legs.

They screamed as they were dragged down, only to be flung against the side wall with a loud thud and suspended with a large glob of webbing. Peter was barely able to finish securing them before he was ducking underneath another swing, this time from a long metal pipe.

Peter was tempted to crack a joke, most likely on their preparedness. But he quickly remembered that he wasn't alone. Distantly, he could hear the sound of fists connecting and grunts of pain that alerted him to the fact that Captain America was still there. He hadn't been imaging it. He wanted to just stop and take a step back for a second, wrap his head around what was going on.

But the pipe to the head was making that a bit difficult. He grunted and stumbled backwards, cursing himself for getting distracted as he fired two more webs at the nearby lampposts, slingshotting himself forward where his feet connected with the guy's face.

He toppled to the floor, pipe clattering next to him. Peter hoisted up his arm to web him down before he suddenly felt himself get hoisted up into the air, body frozen and limbs locked in place. His eyes darted around and fell upon another thug, this one wielding another one of those strange guns. But this one was different. It was four-pronged with bright blue and orange sparks crackling at the tips and seemed to be warping the gravity around him.

"Whoa! This feels so weird!" He couldn't help but crack out before the man was swinging his arms back and forth, causing the gun to whip Peter against the stone walls of the alleyway and the metal legs of the elevated subway track. He grunted in pain as he was knocked silly, back aching and shoulder throbbing as he was suddenly reminded of why he had been avoiding Spider-Man for the past week.

His injuries from the Dark Room still hadn't fully healed he realized as he shouted in pain, the jarring hits beginning to make him dizzy. Quickly shooting his arm out, he latched his fingers against the wall as he was slammed against it again, sticking hard enough to keep the gun from yanking him away. Instead, he shot his other arm out, firing a web at a nearby trash bin. He yanked it forward, causing the bin to fly out and slam into the thug, knocking him and the gun to the floor.

Peter quickly fired another pair of webs, one at the gun and the other at the goon, locking them both to the floor. He leapt off the wall and groaned, rotating his shoulder as his body gave a weak ache of protest. He didn't have much time to recover before Pipe Dude was back, swinging wildly in a last-ditch effort to get in a hit.

Peter simply side-stepped him, grabbing his arm on the way by and shoving it forward to slam into the guy's own face, knocking him to the floor with a yelp of pain.

Okay...so this obviously isn't one of Dad's groups. So where the heck did they get the glowy tech? The...gravity gun thingy reminded him of something he'd seen his father's gangs using, but then how did these...amateurs get their hands on it?

He didn't have time to wonder, for another large purple blast was flying over his head. He whipped around towards the source and noticed that the rest of the gang was circling around the Captain.

Rogers slammed his fist into the face of one before ducking underneath the swinging bat of another. He kicked his leg out, knocking his boot into the kneecap of the thug, sending him to the floor. He rammed his elbow into the guy's shoulder and hoisted him up, slamming him into his friend as they both tumbled around in a jumble of limbs.

A third man charged forward, lifting his gun to aim for the Captain only for a line of webbing to latch onto his back and tug him backwards with a yelp of shock. Roger's eyes widened and his muscles slacked slightly as he watched Spider-Man leap off the nearby lamppost and kick the man into the sidewall, head slamming into the bricks before he fell to the floor in an unconscious heap.

Spider-Man landed with a small little thump in front of him, lenses shrinking slightly as he stared back at him. Rogers opened his mouth to speak, only to wince as another blast shot over their heads. Peter turned too, only for another hot purple blast to slam into his chest, knocking him to the floor with a breathless gasp. There was a familiar burning sensation in his chest that definitely confirmed that this was the same tech his father used sometimes, for it left him gritting his teeth as his ears rang.

Strong hands latched onto his shoulders and suddenly he was being dragged along the ground.

("Make sure he never forgets it.")

Defenses up, he shot his hands out and pushed the grip away as the memory screeched around him, eyes meeting Captain America's again and the garbage bin the man had pulled him behind. The thug was still firing the gun, obviously desperate enough to just fire randomly, if only to keep them at bay.

Nevertheless, the small breather was apparently enough of a break for the Captain. "What are you doing here?!"

"Wha-? Uh, I live here. What are you doing here, Mr. Criminal?!" Was this guy serious?

The man opened his mouth again, only to duck down as a particularly strong blast slammed into the wall over their heads, showering them with bits of brick and debris. They both peeked their heads out around the sides of the garbage bin. There were five guys left, including Trigger Fingers, who was now shooting blast after blast at the can. The other guys were rounding up bags that Peter had to assume were filled with cash. Not much of a stretch, the nearest ATM was only a few minutes away, and with this tech at their disposal, it was an easy target.

Peter cursed himself for not going out as Spider-Man earlier. So what if he wasn't at a hundred percent yet? That didn't stop guys like these from going out and causing trouble. Well, he was here now. He cast a small glance over his shoulder at the man crouched beside him.

He'd deal with that later.

"You shouldn't be here," the man said, not bothering to throw him a glance as he kept his eyes trained on the gunman from behind their barricade.

"I shouldn't be here? I'm not the one with a warrant on their head and a penchant for blowing up buildings."

Rogers glanced over towards him at that, and Peter couldn't keep the small satisfactory grin off his face at the look of disbelief smearing onto the guy's own. But he could pick a fight later. Right now, they had some issues to sort out.

"Five left. Shouldn't be a problem," he murmured, quickly focusing back in on the targets ahead.

"Right. I'll take out the two on the left. You go for the guys on the right and we both make the gunman. Got it?"

Peter felt his nose scrunching and an involuntary spark of indignation in his chest. "I'm taking orders from you now?"

"Got a better idea?"

"I - that's not the point."

"Well, explain it to me later. You ready?"

He growled but didn't say anything more as he poised on the edge of the covering, the Captain doing the same. The man held up his hand as another blast ripped the wall behind them before pointing forward.

With a flick of his fingers, Peter leapt out from behind the can and snagged the arm of the thug on the right, yanking his grip away from the bag he'd been going for and dragging him backwards. He twisted him around and slammed his fist into his cheek, ducking underneath the man's own blow and kneeing him in the gut before throwing him over his shoulder.

His buddy began to fire, the bullets meeting the wall behind him as he rolled underneath them. He kicked his leg up, jostling the gun out of the man's grip before he was firing another web, this one connecting with the guy's face. He tugged down, yanking the man to the ground and quickly webbing him to the dirty concrete floor.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see flashes of purple light and Rogers quickly making his way through the pair of goons. The man tossed one thug over to the wall and the other down into the ground, stepping back to let Peter web them secure before they were turning towards the gunman.

The guy's eyes widened as he realized he was the last man standing before his hand was shooting towards the dial on the side of the gun. Peter felt a sickening feeling of Deja-vu as he held up his hand. "No!"

Before either he or the Captain could race forward, the gun shook and whirred before a bright white light was flickering in the barrel, shooting out in a flash of blinding force that illuminated the entire subway alley in explosive light. Peter felt something shove hard into his side and he was suddenly tumbling along the ground as the blast ripped through the air, firing into the wall and the above fire escape, tearing the structure to shreds and sending it crashing down into a mess of hot metal and stone.

Peter grunted in pain as he felt pieces of brick and metal slam into his back, pressing him down into the ground as it began to cover the area in stone and debris. A ripple of dust exploded out, filling the air with a thick blanket of smog and dirt as everything shook in place, the very ground seeming to vibrate at the force of the blow.

Then silence.

It took a moment, of which all Peter could hear was a dull ringing in his ears and the muted sound of his own breathing. But after a second, he was able to open his eyes and take in a small breath. It was tight with the weight of everything pressing down on his back making it harder to get in a clean breath of air. Or perhaps it was just all the dust around him.

It was cramped as a nauseating sense of claustrophobia began to seep into his skin.

(Jolts of electricity in his muscles, chains scrapping against his wrists, butterflies, butterflies, butterfli-)

Stop. He growled to himself. This was no time to panic. A tempting itch to reach up and pull his mask off made his fingers twitch, but the drumming adrenaline still coursing through his veins told him otherwise.

This isn't over yet, Peter.

He coughed out another breath and pushed down on the floor, grunting in pain as he felt the metal shifting against him, pressing into his sides and poking against his back. He gritted his teeth and positioned his legs for better leverage, muscles straining as he pushed upwards. Finally, the metal gave way and shifted enough for him to push it fully away, gasping for a full breath as he quickly scanned the scene for the thugs, fists clenching and heart pounding.

But there was nobody in the alleyway, nothing but the webbed up criminals and a few abandoned bags of money.

Or...maybe it is...

He took a second to spare one last glance around before letting out a loud groan as he placed a hand to his throbbing head, leaning up against the undamaged parts of the wall. His back ached and he could feel a deep strain in his shoulder from where Curt had bitten him last week, ribs giving a similar protest of pain. Hopefully, he hadn't broken them again.

He could hear the soft crackling of small little flames from where the blast had set fire to the few pieces of garbage littering the scene. Scanning his eyes over the mound of metal and debris, Peter couldn't help but wince at the mess around him. This...wasn't his best work, he had to admit. Well, at least he was alone; nobody to see the carnage.

But as his eyes trailed over the wreckage of the twisted fire escape, his mind jolted as he realized he wasn't supposed to be alone.

"Captain Rogers?" he called, a lilt of panic entering his voice as he whipped his head towards the subway underpass, hoping that maybe the man had avoided the collapsing structure altogether. But hope of seeing the man unscathed quickly extinguished as his mind began to register what the shove he'd felt before the collapse had been.

"Shit."

Without another beat, the teen was leaping towards the mangled mess, hands flying towards the metal pipes and jutting corners. He winced, rearing back and shaking his hands as he felt the sheer heat of the metal even from behind the protective layering of the suit, hesitating for a split second before going back in. He gritted his teeth against the burning in his hands and continued to lift piece after piece of metal and rock away.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, during which his heart had been growing more and more erratic in its beating, he pushed a large section of metal railing away to expose a limp hand. Narrowing his eyes, he continued to dig around the limb until he'd uncovered enough of the Captain's body to pull him away from the burning wreckage.

Grunting at the effort it took to fully pry the man away from the tangled metal, they both collapsed to the floor in a heap of limbs, Peter gasping for breath as his muscles shrieked. But now wasn't the time to take a breather.

Quickly flipping onto his hands and knees, he crawled over towards the limp body of the Captain, taking painful note of each bleeding scrape and every patch of red, burned skin. The man's eyes were closed and his body was horrifyingly still.

("I thought it was obvious that the only reason we're dead is because of you.")

Without a second thought, Peter was jutting his fingers against the man's neck, ears straining, heart in his throat.

He heard the first beat and felt the thrum of a pulse at the same time, making him physically deflate in relief as he sagged down into a sitting position next to the unconscious Avenger.

This was turning out to be a long day.

Peter ran a hand down his face, moving it to rub at the back of his neck as he let out a long groan, both out of pain and exhaustion.

His lack of sleep the day prior was beginning to catch up to him, body heavy and sluggish as he felt the last droves of energy beginning to seep out of him like oil through his skin, staining the floor below a dark black. It wasn't the worst fight he'd been in, by far. It hadn't even been that hard, per say. Just an...unlucky circumstance and an unlikely presence mixing together into a not-so-great scenario.

Peter glanced to the side at the still form of Steve Rogers, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Steve frikkin Rogers was there in the flesh. The teen tentatively reached a hand out, finger poised as he wondered whether or not he was simply imaging the man.

He shook his head and pulled his hand down. Come on, Peter. Be serious. It's perfectly reasonable that Steve Rogers, ex-Avenger and international criminal, was just wandering around a neighborhood in Queens and happened to pick a fight with a couple of common street thugs in nothing but a t-shirt and cargo shorts.

. . .

Peter poked the man in the arm. Flesh. Real.

He sighed in both resignation and relief as he turned his head away and glanced around at his surroundings now that he actually had a second to think.

For a randomized street fight, they had picked a pretty prime spot. The alleyway was dark, lit only by a couple of nearby lampposts that barely served to light the very ground they hovered over, let alone the entire street. Along one side was the now-crumbling brick wall that sectioned off an abandoned parking lot while the other extended underneath the elevated subway platform, which stood a good twenty feet overhead. There hadn't been any trains recently, thank god.

The goons were still scattered around the alley, webbed to walls or floors. Thankfully none of them were conscious to see his impending freakout.

That was good, at least.

With that, Peter turned towards the not-so-good element.

Captain Rogers still hadn't moved, hadn't even twitched. There was a fairly sizable cut just above his eyebrow, a trail of blood trickling down his temple. Peter winced and glanced over towards the mangled pile of metal a few paces away. Judging from how long the cut was and how...destructive that blast had been, the teen was fairly certain the man wasn't going to be waking up anytime soon. And the distant sound of sirens was the backdrop to his realization of a bigger problem:

What was he supposed to do now?

Peter scrunched his eyes and felt his fingers twitching on the ground as his thoughts started to pick up speed.

This was usually the time he'd make his escape, leave the guys for the cops to handle. He still wasn't sure what the locals really thought of his 'exploits'. There were always the cops that were grateful, of course. But there was also a sizable number of people in general who resented the very idea of Spider-Man. And ever the unlucky one, Peter never took the chance of meeting one of the not-so-grateful ones. So he'd never stick around to see them off, at least not anywhere he could be seen.

But now he had some pretty sizable baggage to take care of in the form of a 6'3 super-soldier.

He couldn't just leave the man there, could he? Soon enough, the alleyway would be crawling with cops. Even the most secluded part of the street would be searched and the man would most definitely be found, no matter how well Peter hid him.

And being found meant being arrested, which meant being taken away, most likely to the Raft.

So, what was his other option, then? To take the man somewhere? But where was he supposed to go? He couldn't go far, not with the threat of somebody seeing Spider-Man carrying Steve "Rogue Leader" Rogers around the frikkin city. So, the man had to have someplace nearby where he was staying.

Peter blinked as he slowly began to realize that if Captain America was there then that meant his teammates couldn't be too far either.

For some reason, the thought made his stomach clench uncomfortably.

Nevertheless, how was he supposed to find them? The frikkin government hadn't been able to find them for over two months! How much luck could he possibly have?

The wailing noise was beginning to grow, the faint sight of flashing lights just barely visible in the distance. He was running out of time.

Peter rose up to his feet, the itching anxiety flowing through his muscles too much to ignore. He began to pace, picking at the bottom edge of Ben's jacket, which he'd forgotten all about in the heat of the moment. A quick check revealed it wasn't too badly banged up. Just a few smudges of dirt, nothing he couldn't clean off.

Focus, Peter.

He turned his gaze back towards Captain Rogers. He still hadn't moved.

I could just stay here...wait till he wakes up. The idea held up for a few hopeful moments before his face tightened and he shook his head. No. The threat of being seen was still on the table. And if Spider-Man was seen with a wanted international fugitive...

He could kiss his job goodbye.

The idea made him stutter in his pacing. The idea of losing Spider-Man, of losing his one constant comfort, the one thing he could truly rely on...

Not an option.

Peter jumped as he heard the sound of a distant car engine, head whipping around to make sure they were still alone. Nerves getting the better of him, he looped his hands underneath the Captain's arms and began to drag him underneath the subway platform, just to make sure anybody passing by wouldn't be able to see them in the darkness.

He dropped the man with a loud sigh, pressing both hands to his head as he began to feel the panic building in his chest.

What was he left with then? Was he just stuck?

. . .

You could take him home.

This time he did freeze up, muscles tensing as the idea floated through his mind before he could stop it. Immediately, Peter scoffed, rolling his eyes as he folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the metal legs of the platform. "Great idea, Parker. Why don't you just invite him over for Sunday brunch?" he muttered to himself.

His apartment was only a block or two away though, and nobody was home, but - no. He wasn't actually considering this, was he? It didn't matter that the man obviously needed medical attention, or that he had the proper supplies at home and the experience to boot. No, of course not. Home wasn't an option. Because it was a crazy idea! A stupid, crazy, bad idea!

("Well...maybe you need a bad idea.")

Peter's eyes trailed over the cut on the man's head, on the blood trickling down the side of his face, dripping into a little pool on the floor.

(His blood dripping, dripping down into the pool around his knees, caking overtop the chains, reflecting the butterflies, bright, red-)

The lights were getting closer. The sirens were loud enough that normal ears would have been able to hear them now.

He could have laughed at the ridiculousness of it. On the off chance his father returned that night, for him to find Steve Rogers hidden away in his bedroom...Peter would never see the light of day again. Not to mention he'd probably be responsible for Captain America's untimely death, which he wasn't so sure he wanted on his conscience.

But not only was it dangerous for Peter Parker. It was dangerous for Spider-Man.

If he took him home, he'd have to take off the suit. There was no way he was wearing it in the house, not even in his bedroom, not even with them gone. He couldn't chance it, couldn't chance the thought of having them spring in on him only to find him dressed as the guy who'd been thwarting their plans for ages now.

And with the mask off, who was to say Rogers wouldn't figure out who he was? After teaming up with Spider-Man, to suddenly find himself in the bedroom of a random teenage boy who sounds remarkably similar to the masked vigilante? He'd put two and two together. He'd figure it out.

Was he really willing to put himself on the line for this guy?

Peter glanced down at that, stared at the man lying at his feet. Steve Rogers...Captain America. The same Captain America that had saved the world at least three times over. The same Captain America that had been every little boy's hero since the forties. The same Captain America that was now a wanted international criminal, who had gone up against Mr. Stark and had left him with that haunted look in his eyes.

Suddenly Peter was very, very angry.

Why was he even debating this? Why was he making this his problem in the first place? It wasn't! Steve Rogers didn't deserve his help. Not after everything he'd done, everything he'd done to Mr. Stark! He was a criminal for a reason, wanted for a reason. Why should Peter waste his time worrying over a guy who most definitely didn't deserve anything he had to offer?

Red lights were flashing before his eyes. Or maybe it was just his anger.

He should have webbed Rogers up as soon as he'd seen him. He was just as much of a criminal as those others, even without the tech, even without the bags of stolen money hoisted over his shoulder. His hands were dirty. Who was Peter to help him avoid justice, justice for his mentor, his friend!

Peter clenched his fists as he glared down at the man. "I should leave you here. Leave you just like you left him," he growled, wondering if the man could hear it. He hoped he could.

Mr. Stark was as depressed as he was because of this guy, because this...this asshole left him to fend for himself. Why shouldn't Peter do the same?

There was no way he was about to risk his own freedom, his own safety, for this jerk. He already had enough problems on his hands. He didn't need to add any more superheroes to the mix!

With that burning thought swirling around his head, Peter stomped out from underneath the overpass, teeth grinding together as he threw a glare over his shoulder. "Good luck, Captain. You're gonna need it," he muttered as he poised his arm up, ready to fire a web and swing away, just forget this had ever happened.

("He was a good guy, though. They all were.")

He paused, finger poised on the trigger as he was suddenly standing in a different alleyway, fighting to see through the encroaching red and blue lights, as he was pulled back to the last time he'd hesitated to leave, the last time he should have just...

("Please...I don't want to die.")

Peter hesitated for a moment before slowly glancing back over to the pile of mangled metal, to the spot he'd climbed out of, to the spot he'd been pushed towards.

His skin crawled and his stomach pooled with a sinking realization.

He'd pushed Peter out of the way, saved him from the brunt of the impact.

He swallowed, his throat dry and course as he lowered his head, teeth pinching into his lower lip. Rogers had saved him. He hadn't had to, didn't even know him, and yet he'd done so anyway. He'd saved him just like Peter had saved Bobby all those weeks ago. His chest tightened and he suddenly felt like he was underneath the pile again, the air slowly being crushed out of him.

Peter let out a small breath, if only to alleviate the pressure building up inside his lungs, and glanced up towards the sky. The moon still hung high overhead, now unperturbed by storm clouds.

Mr. Stark's probably still awake, he thought to himself as he glanced over towards Stark Tower. He could just see the tip of it from where he stood.

The sirens were getting closer. They echoed in his ears.

He wanted to see him again. Wanted to talk to him, get his advice. What would Mr. Stark say if he could see him now, what would he do? Would he be mad at Peter for punishing someone who'd saved him based on his own personal biases? Or would he be angrier that Peter was even hesitating to leave Rogers for the cops?

("Thanks, kid.")

("For what?")

("...Not giving up on me.")

Peter clenched his fists, tried to still the shaking in his hands.

They'd call him...if the cops got their hands on Rogers. They'd call Mr. Stark, drag him into the mix. Throw a mess of politics and media and mess his way and get him involved in a war with no winners, where he'd already come out bruised and scarred.

If he ignored this problem...it'd become Mr. Stark's, his weight to carry, his burden to bear.

The lights were flashing off the nearby buildings. He was out of time. He had to make a choice.

. . .

(So...why don't you protect him?")

But it was already made for him.

. . .

. . .

. . .

This was going to be a very long day.

 


 

Friday - April 29, 2016

Stark Tower - Penthouse Floor

12:56 AM

There was no glass in his hand.

Tony stared down at it for a while, a good long while, too long to be normal. He flexed his fingers, felt the dull throb of pain as the cuts were pulled, but there were no shards. Nothing glinted back at him as he inspected the skin underneath the light of a nearby lamp.

The kid had picked them all out.

He stared down at the cuts for a moment longer, grazed his fingers over the long gashes across the skin before he sighed and reached for the sterilized wipes. It only took a second to clean the wound and properly bandage it with something a bit more medically appropriate than a dish towel, but Tony felt himself wishing it had lasted longer. For now, there was nothing left to do nothing except finish what he'd started an hour ago before the pain in his hand had forced him to take a break.

There was only one bottle left.

Tony stared it down, watched the beads of condensation drip down the sides, pooling around the bottom. The glass was clear, allowed him to see the golden liquid inside, staring right back at him.

The garbage can was filled to the brim, so much so that after he'd cleared out the second rack, he'd resorted to stacking them around the bottom of the trash instead. In the heat of the moment, it was easy to move from one bottle to the other, dumping their contents down the sink, a mechanical process that he didn't have to think about; just enjoyed that there was something for him to do, something that gave him a short respite from the thoughts bubbling in his head.

But now there was one. And it wouldn't stop staring at him.

Tony had tried it once, years ago. He'd tried to quit, tried to go clean, forgo that section of his life, the one last piece of his old pre-Afghanistan days.

He lasted two days.

Pepper hadn't been surprised at his lack of resolve. Disappointed maybe, but not surprised. In her mind, or at least what she'd explained to Tony, was that as long as he didn't have a reason to stop, he never would. Tony had shot back the ridiculousness of the statement, saying that she was a damn good enough reason, to which she'd scoffed. They'd fought for a while, Tony couldn't remember how long. He'd been drunk.

It hadn't been much different then as it was now. Pouring out the majority of the bottles was a breeze as his mind continued to circulate with the notion that he could change, that it would be for the best, that he controlled his body. But now, now that there was only one, only one standing between him and the...unpleasantness that came from a detox-session, he felt his resolve wavering, his hesitations growing.

Could he really put himself through that again?

Brave.

Could he be brave?

The thought made him shut his eyes, a reminder of the conversation they'd had not even two hours ago, a reminder of the reason he was even considering quitting.

Pepper said he needed a reason.

He couldn't continue as he'd been doing, couldn't wallow in the safety net that the bottles provided, a numbing relief from the thoughts he didn't want to have. Maybe he could when there was nobody to watch him (or at least, nobody who could stop him if they did), nobody to see the things he was doing and take them to heart.

But Peter...Peter already had enough trouble dealing with his emotions, dealing with his thoughts. And for him to see Tony completely avoiding them, for him to see the billionaire take the easy route instead of addressing them head-on...

Safe to say it wasn't a habit Tony wanted to pass on.

("I want to make a deal.")

His fingers grazed up against the bandages. They were starting to itch.

He'd made a pact, an agreement to be there for Peter when the kid needed him. He couldn't be in the middle of a drunken stupor if he ever showed up on his doorstep looking for advice, looking for safety. Tony couldn't do that to the kid.

He had to prove that he was somebody who deserved Peter's trust, somebody who wouldn't squander it or treat it as nothing.

Tony continued to trace his eyes over the gauze if only to keep them off the bottle in front of him. He pressed his palms down against the counter, the cool surface reminding him of how cold Peter's fingers had been.

Now that the kid was gone and there was nothing truly stopping him from drinking, the itch was there. But as he lifted his gaze and watched another bead of condensation drip down the side of the bottle, Tony began to realize something.

After Peter had cleaned out his hand, when he'd sat and listened to Tony talk about things he could barely talk about with his friends, friends he'd known for half his life, he hadn't been parched. He hadn't wanted to drink, hadn't wanted to bury the words, and suppress his thoughts in a comforting haze of nothingness. It almost felt...good releasing them, watching them leave his mouth, one smokey breath at a time. And he knew why, he knew why it felt so good to let it all out, to voice thoughts he felt so sick mentioning to Happy or Rhodey or even Pepper.

Peter understood. Peter truly and completely understood. Pepper and Rhodey and Happy could try to place themselves in his shoes, try to see things from his perspective, but at the end of the day, their lives were not the same. There would always be judgment, no matter how hard they tried to repress it.

There had been no judgment in Peter's eyes, not even as he'd exposed Tony's aversion to the dark, not even as Tony began to sink into his thoughts, thick and bleak and suffocating. Peter had pulled him out. Peter understood.

Peter knew.

His eyes stayed locked on the bottle, hoped it would disappear, then hoped it wouldn't. Back and forth, his thoughts swirled around and around, making his head throb and his foot tap against the tile below. But there was no change in the bottle itself, just another drop sliding down the sides. A small little puddle was beginning to form underneath it.

He wanted a drink. So he clenched his fist to keep from reaching out towards the glass and forced himself to turn away. But he could still hear the subtle calling of the liquid inside, so he drove his legs forward, one after the other until it got harder and harder to hear. He was heading for his bedroom, but unsurprisingly, sleep didn't seem to be within his grasp at the moment.

So instead, seeing as tonight seemed to be the night for addressing his problems head-on, he quickly resolved to head downstairs and deal with the headache that would be confronting his undoubtedly panicking friends.

After a shower, of course. Something told him the scotch-stained shirt and disheveled hair wouldn't do well to lending to the "responsible adult" image he was resolving to portray.

. . . . .

"Nothing. Nobody from the California branch has seen him, not in or around the building," Pepper sighed into the phone, lifting a hand to rub against her forehead.

Happy's voice filtered in through the call. "No sighting of him around the city here either. I even staked out the Parker place in case he decided to head there."

"And."

"No dice."

The woman resisted the urge to chew her nails as she began to pace around the Common Floor, phone pressing harder into her cheek as she stole a sharp intake of breath. The beeping of another call made her tense. "Hang on, Happy. Rhodey's joining in."

She added him to the call and quickly lifted the phone back up, careful to keep the hope out of her voice. "Well?"

Rhodey's voice quickly deflated the spark she couldn't hold back as he sighed into the receiver. "I checked with Everett. He's not in DC. That's it. We've checked everything else." His voice suddenly tapered off, leaving a thick voiding gap of silence between the three of them that made Pepper's stomach begin to cramp around her insides. She could hear her fingernails tapping against the sides of the phone as Rhodey spoke again.

"It's the only reason why FRIDAY would disable the elevators."

Her nails were in her mouth before she could think better of it, teeth pinching against them. "We...are we sure there aren't any...any other options?"

"We've been crossing out options all day, Pep. There aren't any meetings. No board schedulings. He's not at any of the other branches, no security cams have picked him up around the city. He's up there."

"What the hell, then? What is he doing up there?" Not even Happy's usual annoyed tone could mask the underlying notes of worry seeping through in his voice. And Rhodey's reply didn't settle Pepper's nerves.

"Something he doesn't want us to see."

Her grip tightened around the phone. "Or stop."

She didn't have to say anything else. None of them did, for they were all thinking the same thing. It was the same fears they'd been sharing ever since Tony had come back from Siberia alone, ever since he'd started increasing his drinking to at least two bottles per day, ever since the glazed look in his eyes had started lingering for longer than just brief moments between conversations, lasted for hours, days.

And now none of them were up there to stop him from giving in to that look, that horrifying look that made Pepper want to cry every time she saw it leave its numbing mark on the man's face.

"I can't...we can't just sit here anymore." Her voice wavered. She pressed on. "We have to get up there somehow."

"How?" Happy asked. "FRIDAY's been barring our access since this morning."

She shook her head, gritted her teeth, could feel the seconds ticking by faster and faster. They should have done this earlier. She should have done this earlier. Her hope had blinded her once again. What a fool.

"Suit. Rhodey, you...get a suit. If FRIDAY's on total lockdown up there, I...I don't know, just blast your way through if you have to."

"You blast, you buy."

Pepper's head whipped around so fast, her hair swung around to smack her in the cheek. She didn't even flinch, though. Not as her misty eyes trailed Tony like a hawk as he exited the elevator, hands in his pockets and shoulders slack. He shrugged. The bastard actually shrugged. "Not really an expenses thing, more on the matter of principle, you know?"

"Pepper? Pepper, you there?"

"What's happening. You alright?"

"Boys. I have him. I'll call you back."

"Wai-"

She ended the call without taking her eyes off the man as if he'd disappear if she didn't keep staring straight at him. She could feel her jaw clenching tightly as a sudden stiffness entered her muscles. Slowly, she began to make her way towards him, heels clicking quietly against the floors.

"Are you alright?" Her voice was low, calm, nothing like what she was feeling inside.

Tony paused for a moment, gazing back into her eyes before giving a small nod. "I'm fine. I-"

Without another beat of hesitation, Pepper was slapping him across the face, the sharp sound echoing off the walls of the empty room. He barely even flinched.

"You son of a bitch."

"Should have seen that coming."

Her eyes blazed as she fought to keep from hitting him again, from hitting that calm, carefree look off his face, like he hadn't spent the better part of the day driving them crazy. "Do you not care about anybody? Or is it just us that you like to string along?" She felt a small sense of pride over how collected she sounded, like the words didn't make her want to pull her hair out.

"Eighteen hours, Tony. We were scrambling down here for eighteen hours." Her hands were shaking. She folded her arms to hide it. "I tried to come talk to you this morning, figure out how the meeting went with Ross. You remember that? The Accords? The one thing you cannot afford to mess around with?"

He didn't say anything. She didn't stop to give him time.

"We tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, thought maybe you'd gone off to handle some business, tried to take your job seriously for once. Then our elevator access doesn't work for the penthouse. That's when we start to worry. But, okay. Fine. You need some time to yourself. I get that. But you were gone for eighteen fucking hours on a floor that could double as an underground college bar." Pepper doesn't curse, not usually at least. But the words seem to have taken control.

"Do you know how terrified we were? How terrified I was? All I could imagine was you up there alone, drinking yourself to death while we ran around here clueless. Do you even care? It's one in the goddamn morning, Tony. We have jobs, lives that we take seriously and yet we're stumbling all over the building - hell, the entire city chasing a man who seems to have made it his own personal goal to destroy himself."

There are tears in her eyes, maybe of anger. She doesn't really know, doesn't care.

"Is that what you're trying to do, Tony? Destroy yourself? Because I'm warning you right now. I am not going to stand around and wait for that to happen. I'm not going to watch it happen! I won't! I-"

"I talked to Peter."

Tony's voice is so calm it cuts right through the fuzz that was beginning to fill Pepper's head. She choked on her words, swallowed them down as she tried to process what he just said. She does slowly, blinking at him as she scrunches her face ever so slightly.

"I...you what?"

"The kid. I talked to him. Well, technically I talked to him twice. First last night and then, like...just now. Literally. He left like an hour ago."

Pepper took a breath, took multiple breaths until they stopped feeling so shaky. "What happened?" Suddenly the answer seems more important than justifying her rage.

"You mean before or after he blew up on me on top of the Brooklyn Bridge in the middle of a lightning storm?" For the first time, Tony's face breaks ever so slightly, a tired look creeping around the edges as he blows out a breath and rubs the back of his neck. "Eighteen hours, huh? Is that how long it's been? Feels longer." He sat down on the couch, hands clasped between his legs. He looked tired, looked just like how Pepper felt. She hesitated, stared him down and pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth before coming to sit on the chair across from him.

"Maybe you should start at the beginning."

 


 

All in all, it took less than an hour to recount everything. Pepper didn't say anything as Tony spoke, just listened to everything with a passive, contemplative look, fingers thrumming against the side of the chair every once in a while. Tony didn't bother in trying to read what she was thinking, just concentrated on telling the story, on keeping his stomach settled and his leg still, refusing the urge to bounce it.

He wanted a drink. His fingers were twitching. It had been a few hours since his last, so he knew it was only a matter of time before the symptoms began to come on.

Pepper, thankfully wasn't watching his hands. Her eyes were downcast, hands now folded and pressed against her lips. Her brows furrowed as she shut her eyes. "Are you sure there's no way we could...?"

She didn't need to finish. Tony knew what she meant, which led to him shaking his head. "We can't go to the police, Pepper. As long as he thinks that's a viable option for us to take, he's never going to talk, never going to start to trust me. And I can't afford to delay that. I can't. Not when that means leaving him in that hellhole for any longer than absolutely necessary."

The words were bitter, tasted sour on his tongue. But they had to be said. "We have to take the police, CPS, all of it off the table. I mean, it's no wonder the kid doesn't trust them. Six house visits in the last eight years and they've never once found anything suspicious." He narrowed his eyes, voice taking on a bitter tone. "They've been failing him for years now."

Pepper sighed, lowering her hands as she leaned back in the chair. "They're probably scared, Tony. Richard Parker is one of the most powerful men in the city. If they rose any accusations, he'd crush them under so much litigation and lawyer-speak, they'd never get a say in otherwise. He'd completely destroy their practices in the city, obliterate their credibility."

Tony curled his lip as he felt a spark of anger ignite in his chest. "So, what? They just turn a blind eye? Leave the kid to suffer so they don't have to deal with the consequences of calling out that abusive piece of shit?" He cut himself off before the words could overtake him, letting out a sharp sigh as he turned his head away.

"You know what he said?" He paused as Pepper raised a brow. "Peter. You know what he said when I brought up the police, brought up the only option that could really make a difference here? He said 'nobody would believe me.' And...and the certainty in his voice, it...it wasn't just a guess or a prediction." He narrowed his eyes. "It was fact."

Pepper stared at him for a moment before she sucked in a small breath of her own, realization dawning on her with a resigned look of dread. "He's told someone before."

"And they shot him down."

The floor was quiet, especially now that there was no rain to pound up against the windows. It was silent and heavy with the weight of everything they were saying. Tony could feel it in his muscles, feel it in the way his shoulders ached at the strain. He kept his head down, kept his eyes trailed on the floor below, traced the etches between the tiles.

"Pepper, this kid has been alone for so long. He lies to his friends, keeps his neighbors in the dark, he...he has nobody. I've been playing this all wrong. I thought if I could just tinker in the lab with him, exchange a few jokes here and there, get him to loosen up just a tad then it would be enough...it wasn't."

He stared down at his palm, gingerly brushed his fingers up against the cuts. His hands were beginning to tremble. "You know, in the two months I've known him, I've never seen him wear short sleeves? Just baggy jackets and too-big sweaters." He lifted his eyes to stare soberly at the woman. "How many people do you think don't even notice that? How many teachers never give it another thought? How many neighbors just turn a blind eye, never bother to look deeper, to take a second glance?"

She held his gaze for a moment before turning it to the floor. "They don't care."

Tony shook his head. "I don't want to be like that, Pepper. I don't want to be another person who doesn't care."

"So your deal..."

"A gesture. An offering for him to take...if and when he needs it. He needs to know I'm not just going to ignore it. I'm not going to be another person who doesn't believe him." He stopped, glancing away as he let out a small scoff. "I know it's not much. If things were easier, I would already be at the police station filing as many charges as I can, blasting through the door to that house and dragging the kid out before Richard could spell 'prosecution.'"

He gritted his teeth, glaring out the window to the night sky beyond. The moon was shining, casting bright silver light into the otherwise dim room. "But there's not one bad article about this guy. Not a single one from the past twenty years or so. No blemishes on his record, no misdemeanors, not even a traffic ticket! Just charity balls that raise millions of dollars, donations to any and every organization, volunteer work with the city, outreach programs, restoration projects, conservation orders, everything! The guy's like a modern-day Mother Teresa!"

Tony pushed off the couch at that, finding the nervous energy tingling through his nerves too much to bear sitting down. He ran a hand through his hair and blew out a sharp sigh. "To everybody out there, Richard Parker is the selfless widower raising his son as a single father while doing his part to help everyone he can."

Pepper blinked up at him, lips pursing slightly. "So nobody would ever entertain the notion that he's a child abuser."

Tony clenched his fists at the words, chest tightening as he began to make his way over to the archway leading to the kitchen. "Especially not when said child doesn't corroborate the story, not when he's smiling for the cameras and playing the part of the loving son." He rested his arm against the wall, pressing his forehead against the lifted limb.

His head was beginning to throb now, a dull ache that pulsed behind his eyes and made him squeeze them shut even tighter. His leg bounced underneath him, a steady reminder of the tense air hovering around him. God, he really needed a drink.

Pepper stood up from the chair right as Tony moved away from the wall and into the kitchen. Her eyes followed him as she spoke. "Tony, that's...years of conditioning, years of abuse and neglect and so many other horrible things that I don't even want to think about, let alone imagine Peter going through them." He stopped in front of the fridge, opening the door and quickly spotting the bottles of wine chilling along the racks. Pepper continued to speak. "But he has...and it's colored his personality completely."

Tony tapped his fingers on the handle to the fridge as he listened, eyes locked on the bottles. He lifted his hand and reached in.

"How are you planning on just...erasing all of that?"

He wrapped his fingers around the water bottle on the top shelf and pulled it out, shutting the door before he could spare another glance at the alcohol calling out for him. "I'm...working on it," he muttered, unscrewing the cap before downing about half of its contents.

Tony was vaguely aware of Pepper slowly approaching as he finally pulled the water away. He leaned up against the back wall and pressed the bottle into both of his hands, the cold exterior soothing the slight sting in his palm. He could see the water sloshing up against the sides of the bottle as the slight tremor in his hands continued.

"You know, two days ago, you were thinking of dropping this altogether. Now you're arranging plans for him to stay with you for the entire summer." She pressed her elbows down into the bar counter, watching him intently with narrowed eyes. "What changed?"

At this, the man lifted his gaze. It was easy to read the expression on Pepper's face this time. It was a certain skepticism, a hint of caution he was used to seeing stretch across her features. He sighed, set the bottle down, and grabbed one of the bar stools. "The kid...Peter did." He twisted the seat around and plopped down with a huff. "He was scared, scared of all of this and he still came back. I figured I owed it to him to...you know, at least try. That's all I really can do right now. Try. Pray it's enough."

His head was turned, he couldn't see Pepper's face now. He didn't know if he even wanted to. He knew he probably sounded crazy, knew she most likely wouldn't approve. So instead he kept his eyes on the fridge, imagining the weight of the bottle in his hands, the sound of a glass being poured.

"So...summer, huh?"

Tony let out a small sigh and lowered his head, shutting his eyes. "Pepper, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all of this. I...I know you didn't ask for this, for any of this. But I promise I'm not going to drag you into helping or-"

"Whoa, whoa." The woman grabbed onto the back of Tony's chair and forcefully spun it around so that he was now facing her. Her eyes were hard. "Let's get one thing straight here. You're not dragging me into anything. I'm here, aren't I? By my own free will? What about that do you think is going to change in the time it takes to get from now to summer or, hell, from now until we nail that bastard to the wall?"

He stared back at her, back at those breathtaking blue eyes that made his heart ache in his chest and his gut flip around his insides. She deserved better. "This isn't your problem, Pepper."

"It isn't yours either, but you're here anyway."

Tony paused, couldn't help the smile that fell onto his lips as he huffed out a small laugh. "The kid said something like that too."

Pepper folded her arms. "Then he's already getting good at calling you out on your bullshit." She sighed and sat down on the stool next to him. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She turned away, pressed her fingers into her knees, gripped them so tightly, the skin began to turn white. She took in a small shuddering breath and leaned forward ever so slightly. "Tony, listen to me. Do you know why I was so scared today?"

He lifted his head, eyes crinkling slightly as he gave a small shake of his head. She took another breath. "I was scared because...b-because I thought...today's the day. Today's the day you go down drowning and I'm stuck a few floors away just...helpless. I thought...today's the day my inability to help you finally blows up."

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "Pepper...it isn't your fault. You walked away for a reason."

"I did."

"Those reasons haven't changed."

"They haven't. I can't stand feeling powerless, Tony. And when we were together, when I would watch you fly off in your suit to tackle problems nobody else could handle or watch you go down to the lab and tinker instead of talking to me...that's exactly what I felt. Helpless."

The guilt returned full-force, threatening to choke the life out of him. "Pepper, I'm so sorry-"

"I'm not saying this to make you feel bad," she cut in. "I'm saying it so you'll understand."

She paused at that, seeming to hesitate for a moment before reaching over and gingerly latching a hand onto Tony's. If she noticed the way they shook in her grip, she didn't say anything. She merely stared down at them, eyes pinched at the edges and a sad little smile spreading onto her lips. "Tony, you're more similar to Peter than you might think. You have it in your head that you have to do things by yourself, that you can't trust anybody to help you with them, can't rely on anybody. But that isn't true. It wasn't true then and it isn't true now."

Pepper lifted her eyes, bore them straight into his, and tightened her grip on his hands. It was solid, stable, a foundation he realized he'd been lacking for so long now. "We aren't Steve. We aren't the others. We aren't going to pack up our things and leave you all alone when you need us the most."

Suddenly he felt his eyes misting. He swallowed it down. "Maybe you should."

"Maybe...but we aren't going to. I'm not going to." She reached up a hand and cupped the side of his face. He shut his eyes and felt himself leaning into the touch, tightening his grip on her hands as well, as if he were afraid she was going to disappear if he let go. Her thumb brushed up against the corner of his eye. "Just because we aren't together anymore doesn't mean I don't still love you. Because I do. Just like Rhodey loves you, just like Happy loves you."

She leaned in closer, resting her forehead against his as he felt his hands slowly stop shaking. "We're your friends, honey. Don't lie to us like Peter lies to his. Don't choose to be alone. Because that's what it is here. A choice. Choose to let us help you. Let us help you help him."

Tony didn't open his eyes, didn't pull away. "This fight, it's...it's not going to be easy."

"With you? I'd be disappointed if it was."

He couldn't help but laugh at that, blinking open his eyes to stare at her face.

Pepper Potts had, for the longest time, been like Rhodey: one of the only constants in his life. When his life was parties and girls and weapons, she had been there. When it became suits and politics and world-ending battles, she had been there. Maybe that was what made Siberia so hard, what made the team leaving so hard.

For the first time, Pepper wasn't there. And for perhaps the millionth time, it was Tony's fault.

But as he sat there and stared back at her, stared at the metaphysical hand she was offering, he realized he didn't care if it wasn't the same as before, didn't care that this wouldn't repair everything between them, didn't care about the possibility that nothing ever would. Right now, Pepper was here. She was here, she was staying, and that was enough.

So when she wrapped her arms around him, he only hesitated for a fraction of a second before burying his head into the crook of her neck and nearly collapsing into her arms, no longer feeling the need to put up a façade of strength. Not with Pepper.

He wanted to say thank you, but the words got lodged in his throat. She seemed to understand, though.

"We're here...if and when you need us. Don't forget that."

 


 

Tony stared down at his hand, at the cuts; thought about what they meant, what they represented. He wondered if they'd scar. He hoped they would because for the first time in his life, he didn't want to forget.

Brave.

Could he be brave?

Without another beat of hesitation, Tony popped the cap on the last bottle and turned it upside down, emptying its contents down the sink.

For Peter, he decided, he could be.

 


 

Friday - April 29, 2016

Location: Unknown

Time: Unknown

Steve awoke none too gently, not with a flutter of the eyes and a soft groan, but with a jolt of the muscles and a choking gasp that had him sitting up in a heartbeat.

Immediately, his senses were on high alert, eyes instinctively scanning the room for threats as his heart thudded in his ears and his adrenaline spiked. He clenched his fists, muscles poised to leap right into action as he whipped his head around, trying to locate the enemy.

Only...there were no enemies. Just towels.

Steve could feel his chest bouncing up and down as each breath left him in a pant, body stilling as he slowly began to realize he wasn't in an alleyway anymore. He wasn't in a cell or a hostage of some sort. In fact, there was nobody around. He was alone...in a bathroom.

"The hell...?" he couldn't help but murmur as he furrowed his brow, lips parting ever so slightly. There was a low buzzing in his ears, a constant hum that seemed to bounce around his head and made his skin itch.

There had been a fight, right? That much he was almost sure of. A fight with thugs and money and guns. It was real. It happened. So why was he now surrounded by pristine white tile and a ceramic tub? And why was his head pounding?

He tried to think back, recall anything else about the fight, but a spike of pain shot through his skull as he did so, causing him to wince and reach a hand up to his temple. His fingers grazed up against something and he froze. Just below his hairline, his fingers made contact with something that most definitely wasn't his skin. He spotted the mirror up above the counter and quickly rose up to his feet, leaning against the sink as he stared back.

There were...bandages all over him.

His forearm was wrapped from his fingers up to his elbow, masking the burns he could barely spot underneath the gauze. There were butterfly bandages on his forehead and even some stitch-work on his upper bicep. Upon closer inspection, the work wasn't just sloppily patched together, either. It was legit, crafted carefully and with precision.

Whoever had done it had taken considerable care.

As he stared into the mirror, stared at the handiwork, Steve found his eyes slowly begin to take in what else was in the mirror: the rest of the room. He carefully twisted around.

Nothing about it really seemed all that suspicious. There was a shower in the corner, a tub against the wall, and a sink opposite that. It was just...a bathroom. Question was...why was he in a bathroom?

Actually, he had numerous questions. Who had done this? Why had they taken the time to treat him themselves instead of taking him to a hospital? Were they trying to keep him out of trouble? If so, then why? What was there to gain in all of this? And most importantly, where was he? How long had he been out? Hopefully too much time hadn't passed since he'd left the warehouse, since he'd last talked to-

Natasha.

Steve instinctively lifted a hand to his ear, cursing under his breath as he found no piece. His communicator must have fallen off during the skirmish, otherwise Natasha would have already tracked him and hunted him down herself, most likely to give him an earful for missing his check-in time.

He sighed and leaned up against the sink, shutting his eyes as he tried to push down the ringing in his ears and the heavy pressure building up against his head. He clenched his fingers around the smooth surface as the wave of nausea built up and slowly settled as the ringing died down.

Shaking anymore distracting thoughts from his head, Steve pushed down the pain and the nagging questions. He had to focus.

He glanced around the room again, hoping to find any clues, any markers as to where he was. The room was fairly dark, the only source of light coming from the one right above the shower. The rest were off, leaving him in a state of semi-darkness. But it did allow the light coming in from the window to stick out even more, enough for Steve to finally notice its existence. He quickly rushed over, pressing his fingers into the wall as he stared out.

There weren't any high-rises present. No packed streets and bustling cars so he definitely wasn't in Manhattan. The dark streets and low-level buildings that seemed to surround the window led him to believe he was still in Queens.

Queens...

Wait a minute.

("You got heart, kid. Where you from?")

Spider-Man.

Was this his doing? Had he taken him somewhere? Maybe dropped him off at a safe location? If so, then where was he? Was he alright? Had Steve managed to push him far enough away from the collapse?

The new influx of questions made another stab of pain pierce through his head, thudding right behind his eyes. He groaned, pressed his hand into his face before dragging them down, eyes narrowing.

He had to get out of here.

He glanced back over towards the window, realizing with a frown that it was too small for him to just slid through unnoticed. And he wasn't sure he wanted to go smashing holes before he really had a grasp on where he was. If someone really had helped him out of the goodness of their heart, destroying their bathroom didn't seem like the best way to repay them.

His eyes flitted towards the door at the far end of the room. He only hesitated for a second before making his way over. Pressing his ear against the wood, he could vaguely hear the sound of voices, but they were faint, distant. They most likely were in a different room altogether, which meant if he wanted to make a move, now was the best time to do it.

Steve wrapped his fingers around the handle and carefully turned the knob, only slightly surprised that it wasn't locked before gingerly pushing the door open and peering through the crack.

The room was dark, too dark for him to really make out anything through the sliver of the door. So with one last glance behind him, Steve took a breath, tensed his fist, and carefully pushed the door open all the way. The light from the bathroom was dim, but it was enough to illuminate the room just a tad, enough for him to see, at least.

The bedroom was fairly large with all the practical elements: bed, dresser, desk. There was a pair of glass doors against the side wall that seemed to lead out to a balcony. But despite its apparent normalcy, something about the room felt...off.

There were no posters on the walls. No clothes or shoes littered the floor. The desk was neat and wiped clean. The covers to the bed were pristine and plain, no patterns or designs on any of them. Even the garbage bin was empty, not a scrap of paper or gum wrapper inside. Nothing about the room felt 'lived-in', like it was a fake, a model.

Steve felt something strange begin to churn in his stomach, an unsettling feeling that he initially mistook for nausea.

He clenched his fists, body suddenly swept up by the overwhelming feeling that only ever came right before a fight. His muscles were tensing, his adrenaline beginning to burn. There was something wrong here, something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

THUD.

Steve jumped, whipped around towards the door. The voices were louder now, but they weren't closer. Shouting? There were a lot of them too, so not just one person. A group? A family? This was definitely somebody's home, the question was whose?

There was laughter now. A lot of it. And thumping, like footsteps. They were light, not heavy or weighted. Somebody small...a woman? A kid? Whoever it was, they were fast approaching. Steve glanced back towards the open bathroom door, only made it about two steps before the door was swinging open and somebody was leaping through, slamming it shut again with a resounding bang.

Steve froze, eyes trailed on the figure that had just entered. They were leaning against the door, back pressing into the wood as they gasped and panted in ragged bouts of air, like they'd been running for a while. He could hear the sound of their heartbeat, loud and erratic, pumping so loud and so fast that Steve wondered if he would have been able to hear it even without his super senses.

The figure didn't move, didn't turn to look at him, seemed to be too preoccupied with catching their breath. Steve squinted his eyes, tried to make out the figure's face, but the light from the bathroom wasn't shining in that direction, leaving their face in shadow.

The soldier glanced backwards again, wondered if maybe he could slip back into the backroom unnoticed and figure something else out later, only for the floor to creak as his foot shifted, causing the figure to whip their head up, eyes catching the barest hint of light as they gleamed.

For a moment, the two just stared at each other, neither moving, neither making a sound. Now that they were facing him, Steve could make out the figure just a little better. Their face was still in shadow, but he could make out the lithe outlines of their body and the shrunken-in, tiny form, no taller than his shoulder.

It was a kid...a boy.

Steve swallowed, throat suddenly dry as he stared back at him.

"Um, do you...know who I am?"

. . .

Silence. Staring. A nod.

"Okay...how did I get here?"

. . .

"Can you tell me where I am?"

. . .

"Can you tell me your name?"

. . .

"Can you tell me anything?"

More silence. More staring. Steve sighed.

Another thud sounded from downstairs, causing the teen to flinch back against the wall. Even with the thick shadows enveloping most of him, Steve could make out the tenseness of the kid's muscles, the tight posture of his body. He was nervous.

"Who else lives here?"

More silence. Steve was getting tired of this.

"Kid you have to give me something here-"

"Don't call me that."

The words were soft, but they were spoken with a sudden swiftness that made Steve's jaw shut. He blinked, ran them back in his head. "What?"

"Don't call me kid. You don't...you don't get to call me that."

He knew that voice. He'd heard that voice before. But...could that really be? Could this really be him?

He knew Spider-Man had to be involved somehow, otherwise he'd still be in that alleyway, or worse, in police custody. So it wasn't too far-fetched to believe the vigilante would take him somewhere he trusted, somewhere he thought was safe. But to take him to his own house...would he really do that?

"Okay...sorry. I won't. What can I call you then?"

More silence. Very unlike Spider-Man.

Steve narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, trying to make out more details of the boy from his place in the shadows. He seemed similar enough to what he'd seen of the vigilante, a hero that leaned a little on the small side. But...had he really been that small in the alleyway? Had Steve really not noticed?

Maybe he was mistaken. Maybe it was just the dark. There was no way Spider-Man was that small, not when he packed so much of a punch. There was no way he sounded so young. It was just his concussion making everything a little warped. There was no way Spider-Man was just a kid.

There was no way this was Spider-Man.

He lifted his arm. "Did you do this? Did you treat these wounds?"

More silence. This kid wasn't much of a talker. Definitely not Spider-Man, then. Germany might have been months ago, but he could still remember the motor-mouth that guy had.

"That takes a lot of skill. You're pretty talented." Steve took a small step forward, tried to make out anything in the teen's face.

Instantly, the boy picked up on the movement as he shifted away, a sharp intake of air sliding through his teeth as he grimaced. Immediately shifting into concern, the man took another step forward. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"Back off." It was quiet, just like everything else. But there was a certain edge to the voice, a flash of something else. Steve held up his hands, imagined the kid was most likely a little shaken over the fact that an Avenger was standing before him.

"It's okay. I just want to see."

The boy growled, an audible snap of noise that made Steve pause. "I said back off! Stay away from me!" He leaned further back against the door, as far from Steve as he could get.

The soldier furrowed his brow, overcome with a wave of confusion and an unsettling feeling in his stomach. "I'm not...going to hurt you. I'm just concerned."

A scoff. The kid actually scoffed.

Steve stopped and took a small step back, the feeling in his stomach strengthening. "What? You don't believe me?"

The boy glanced away, Steve barely able to make out the outlines of his face. "Frankly, no. I don't. I don't think you can care for anybody, other than yourself of course." The kid turned back towards him, eyes gleaming again, but with something different this time. "That's what's most important, right?"

Steve sucked in a breath, blinking for a second before huffing an air of disbelief. "Excuse me?" Was this kid serious right now?

Another thud echoed from downstairs, this one louder than before. The boy glanced behind him, posture still as stiff as before. The soldier narrowed his eyes and took another step forward, causing the kid's head to whip back around.

"Who's downstairs?"

"None of your business," he hissed.

Steve gritted his teeth, swallowing down a wince as his head throbbed. He was confused, he was tired, and he was in pain. He was so not in the mood to deal with some teenager with a grudge.

("I shouldn't be here? I'm not the one with a warrant on their head and a penchant for blowing up buildings.")

A teenager who definitely didn't sound familiar.

His eyes locked on the door and he started for it again, only for the boy to press his back against it like his life depended on it.

"I said back off! Get away from me!"

Steve growled and lifted his hands in surrender. "I'm not going to hurt you! Why would I hurt you?" he sighed in exasperation.

"I don't know. I don't know why you do half of the things you do."

He opened his mouth again, most likely to retort something as his levels of composure began to dwindle, only for his eyes to catch on something.

Despite the darkness encroaching around the teen, Steve could still make out a few details, like the way his body balanced against the door, not just out of apprehension, but out of...pain? He narrowed his eyes, leaned in closer.

The kid was limping, one foot elevated just a tad above the ground.

"Are you...?" His eyes lifted. "You're hurt." Immediately pushing all thought aside, he focused on the teen who obviously needed help right now. He could ask questions later. This took priority. He moved forward, only for the boy to begin moving along the wall to maintain their distance.

"Stop!"

"Let me help you."

"Don't! Don't come any closer."

"Kid-"

"Don't call me that!"

Steve slapped his hands down against his sides. "Fine! Then tell me your name!"

"WHAT THE HELL IS ALL THAT NOISE?!"

They both jumped at the loud shout, the kid's head shooting towards the door again.

"N-nothing! I'm just...it's nothing!"

"WELL SHUT THE FUCK UP! WE'RE TRYING TO WORK!"

The teen's eyes were locked on the door, his attention, his focus, all away from Steve. The soldier thought fast, reaching forward and latching a hand onto the kid's wrist before yanking him into the light.

The boy yelped as he was suddenly spun around, but Steve barely heard it, for all of his attention was on the kid's face.

He'd seen it before.

Peter Parker still had the same pale skin, the same mop of curly brown hair that fell down around his forehead and the same bright brown eyes that he'd seen in the magazine. But his nose hadn't been bleeding in the magazine. His face hadn't been red with the early traces of bruising in the magazine. He hadn't looked so scared in the magazine.

The magazine with Tony Stark. The magazine with the man who had recruited Spider-Man. The magazine with the man who had never been fond of children before and would only ever socialize with one if he already had a previous relationship established, a prior setting of contact, say...an airport in Germany. The magazine that proved everything right before his eyes.

"Oh my god. You're Spider-Man?"

Peter's eyes stretched even wider if possible and he was suddenly clawing at Steve's grip on his arm, but the soldier, in his haze of thoughts, barely even felt it. "How can you be Spider-Man? The papers said you were fourteen. I...you can't be Spider-Man. You're just a kid." He leaned closer. "You're a kid!" The words almost burned his tongue as he said them.

"Let go of me!" Peter shouted, finally wrenching himself out of the man's grasp before hastily backing away, clutching his arm tightly against his chest as he stared back at Steve like he was a wild animal. And Steve almost felt like one, his mind was running crazy.

"HEY! WHAT THE HELL DID I JUST SAY?!"

Peter spared another glance at the door behind him before his eyes were locking back onto Steve. The soldier paced.

"You're a kid. You're goddamn kid! I fought a kid. I...I dropped a fucking jet bridge on a kid."

The boy narrowed his eyes just a tad, kept backing up step by step. He dropped his gaze to the floor and gritted his teeth. "I told you not to call me that." His voice was quiet, but his tone was bitter.

Steve stopped in his tracks, mind reeling as each breath seemed to get smaller and smaller, faster and faster with each passing moment, each notch of realization. "Wait a minute...Tony. Tony recruited you, didn't he?"

Suddenly Peter wasn't backing up anymore. His eyes shot towards the soldier and his arms dropped away from his chest, which straightened up just a bit as his jaw tightened. "What's that got to do with anything?" His voice was hard, a cold flint edge lacing the words. Steve barreled right past it.

"He...did he know how old you were? Did...did he even ask?" The disbelief, the fear that had settled in his chest was turning into something else now, something hotter. His fists began to clench at his sides. "I can't believe this."

"Hey...don't you go getting any wrong ideas, now," Peter growled, glaring hard at him.

Steve brushed it off. "The whole time he lectures me on responsibility, on owning up to my actions and he recruits a fourteen-year-old? He...h-he...my God."

"Leave it alone, would you? It doesn't matter!"

"It doesn't matter? He enlisted a fucking child to fight against trained assassins, that egotistical son of a bitch actually-"

"HEY!" Suddenly Peter was right in his face, Steve's jaw locking shut as the boy's eyes blazed. "You better shut your mouth before you say something you regret, you arrogant self-righteous bastard!"

. . .

And he did. His mouth shut right down at the sheer anger in the boy's words, more out of shock than anything else. For a second, the two just stared at each other, Peter's eyes seeming to gleam with a certain hatred that Steve was only familiar with in people who were usually trying to kill him.

What the hell had he done to this kid to warrant such a look?

Before he could ponder the question anymore, his ears picked up the sound of footsteps. Heavy, nothing like Peter's. These were strong and fast and angry. Peter must have picked up on them as well, for his head whipped towards the door and a rushed puff of air escaped his lips, a frantic inhale that added to the fear now overtaking the anger in his face.

"You...you have to hide. Now. He...they can't find you here!" he rushed out, eyes shooting to the open bathroom door. Steve shook his head and opened his mouth, more plumes of confusion rising up in him. But before he could voice any of his thoughts, Peter's hands were on him, shoving him towards the bathroom and damn the kid was strong.

Hard to deny the facts now.

"Peter-"

"Listen to me." The teen's voice was terse now, steady, leaving no room for argument. "You have to stay in there and keep the door closed. Don't come out no matter what you hear."

"What-

"No matter what," he hissed, fisting a handful of Steve's shirt. The soldier was just able to make out the shakiness of the kid's grip, enough to know he wasn't fooling around. The footsteps were closer now. He spared the boy one last apprehensive look before stepping into the bathroom. He moved to close the door, only to stop it right as it was about to shut completely. He hesitated for a moment before carefully leaving a crack open, a little sliver for him to peer through.

There wasn't a second to spare, for as soon as Steve was in position, the door to the room was flying open with a loud bang. Peter winced and whirled around to face the newcomer, a hulking figure out a man that seemed to fill the entire doorway. He had dark skin and a multitude of tattoos running up his arms and around his neck. His posture was still and his face held an air of disgust and annoyance. He held his hands out and shrugged his shoulders, staring the kid down hard.

"What the fuck is going on up here?"

Peter held his shaking hands behind his back, body so stiff and so tight, Steve was sure he was about to explode. His voice was level as he spoke though. "Like I said. Nothing. I'm just...talking to myself."

The man held his gaze for a moment, startling blue eyes seeming to pierce straight through the kid. His muscles rippled beneath his shirt and his stance held an air of intimidating power. Steve felt a chill roll over his skin as he detected an unmistakable air of danger that seemed to radiate off of the man. Peter seemed to notice the aura as well, for Steve saw the slight twitching of his fingers.

The man clicked his tongue and slowly shut the door behind him, the loud creak seeming to echo around the walls in an unsettling wave. Peter didn't move, didn't let his eyes stray away from the man as he began to walk forward, brushing past the teen as he did so. "Talking to yourself, huh?"

His voice was deep, a smooth lull of low undertones, laced with a hint of suspicion. Steve watched him with narrowed eyes, a sinking feeling of distrust and inexplicable aggression bubbling inside him. Peter watched as the man began to walk around the room. "Thought I heard voices."

"There's nobody here, Max."

The man cast the boy a glance from over his shoulder, giving him a quick once-over. He quirked a brow and turned back around. "Uh-huh."

With that, - Max, apparently - began to stalk around the room, eyes peeled and gaze deliberate as he tried to pick apart anything that seemed to be out of place. Peter stayed off to the side as the man searched, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Steve noticed he began to shift his weight back and forth between his feet, glancing away uncomfortably. "Thought you guys were supposed to be gone all night," he said softly, watching as Max stared out the balcony doors, peering around the outdoor space before pulling back.

Max wasn't easily distracted, though. "Why? You disappointed?" He threw the kid a piercing stare. Peter squirmed under his gaze, ducking his head again.

"No. Of...course not."

The man went back to searching, opening up the closet door and peering inside before bending down to search underneath the bed. Steve watched with a baffled shake of the head. What was this guy's problem?

Peter sighed, seemed to be growing antsier the longer the man stayed. "Come on, Max. Just give it up. There's nothing. I-"

"Hey." The man swiftly held up his hand, pointing it towards the boy with a hard glare. "Did I ask you to speak?"

The teen stopped, took a small step back as he swallowed. "No."

"Then why are you?"

He bit his lower lip, dropped his gaze, and stared down at the floor. He didn't say anything else.

Max nodded and went back to searching. "That's better. You're slippin' ya know. You need to tighten that lip of yours, screw that jaw back up tight. Last thing you want is to start getting a tongue, you feel me?" The man rose back up his feet and gave the room one last scan before setting his sights on the bathroom door.

Shit. Steve muttered to himself as he discreetly shifted behind the door, careful not to reveal anything through the crack. He could hear Max's heavy footsteps beginning to approach, his fists clenching as they grew. Something told him his discovery wouldn't be met with much pleasure.

"Why? Worried I'll make you sound stupid if I do?"

The footsteps froze with a startled jolt. Steve's eyes widened at the comment, jaw slacking as he blinked in shock. The footsteps shifted and Steve took the time to peer through the crack in the door again. He noticed Peter standing off to the side. His arms were crossed over his chest now and he was standing up a little straighter, staring at Max with a rebellious glint in his eyes that hadn't been present two seconds ago.

Said man faced off against the teen with a new stiffness to his body. He stared down at him, boring his eyes into the boy's face with such intensity, Steve swore he could hear them sizzling in his skull. "Excuse me?" His voice was dark and held a certain strain, like a string being pulled taut.

Peter stared at the man with a cocked brow, though Steve could pick up the sound of the kid's heart beating at a million miles per second. The anxiety didn't show on the teen's face as he shrugged. "I mean, you're - what? A high school drop-out? Probably wouldn't take much to make you sound like a dunce." He stuffed his hands back into his pockets to hide the shiver in his hands and smirked at the man. "Just gotta use words that have more than three syllables."

Steve's chest was tightening, his hand lifting to grip the inner doorframe. What the hell are you doing, kid? He watched with bated breath as Max slowly stalked forward - away from the bathroom door, Steve realized. Each step sounded heavier than the last, his movements slow and precise.

Surprisingly, Max's face split into a grin as he continued to approach, a laugh of sorts bubbling out of his mouth. "Oh my god. Oh my fucking god." He lifted his hands, curled his fingers in a 'bring it' motion. "Come on. Keep going. Keep talking. I wanna hear it. Go on, let's go."

Despite the humor playing on his voice, Steve could detect the thin splice of fury underneath, hidden by chuckles and an encouraging laugh. If the way Peter's heartbeat picked up even more was any sign, the kid noticed it too. But he didn't stop. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and scoffed.

"You sure you'll be able to keep up?"

Silence. A thick, uncomfortable silence that added to the tension suffocating the room. Steve didn't breathe, was too focused on the scene playing out. Dread pooled in his gut, thick and heavy, threatening to weigh him down completely.

Max smiled, gave a small nod of his head. "Oh, that's...that's good."

Without any warning, he lunged forward, wrapping his beefy hands around the kid's shoulders and slammed him into the mirror hanging off the closet door. Peter's head slammed into the glass with a thud and a yelp, the mirror shattering into a million pieces that clattered to the floor. Steve sucked in a startled gasp, thankful the sound of the shattering mirror covered up the noise.

Max reached down and latched onto the boy's throat, hoisting him up into the air and slamming him into the cracked mess that once used to be the mirror. Peter gasped as he wrapped his own hands around Max's, the man leaning closer as he narrowed his eyes. "You got a death wish tonight or something because I know you did not just call me stupid?"

"Don't." Peter choked out, feet kicking against the wall as he tried to find any leverage to alleviate the pressure pressing down on his throat. Steve narrowed his eyes, felt his teeth grind together, muscles coiled as he readied to spring through the door.

But as he readied to attack, the man caught sight of Peter's frightened gaze.

The teen wasn't staring at Max, his eyes deviated slightly to the left, gazed over the man's shoulder, and stared straight at Steve. The soldier held Peter's gaze as he swallowed, muscles tight and fists clenched. The boy's eyes crinkled slightly, but they didn't leave Steve's face, not until the man slowly began to piece together what the kid was trying to communicate.

Don't.

He wasn't talking to Max. He was talking to Steve...telling him not to interfere. Steve sucked in a shaky breath, hands beginning to tremble against the doorframe. He couldn't just stand there!

But Peter wasn't focusing on him anymore. He was staring back at Max as the man spoke, voice clipped and terse. "See...the only stupid one here is you for thinking you could start mouthing off like that." Peter gasped as the hand tightened around his throat. "So how about I break that fucking neck of your, huh, bitch? You wanna keep talking? Go ahead. Try it. Go on, you wanna keep going?"

Peter sucked in a choked breath, shut his eyes, and clenched his jaw.

"N-no."

Max remained silent for a moment before his face twisted into a sinister snarl, hand clenching tighter around the teen's throat. "Well, I do."

Steve felt the wood splintering in his grip, but he couldn't seem to let go. His knuckles were turning white and his feet itched to move. He pressed his hand against the door, seconds away from bursting out and bashing the man's head into the wall just like he'd done to the kid.

Peter flitted his gaze back over to him, but Steve ignored it as he began to push the door open.

Screw it. And screw this guy.

"MAX! WHAT THE FUCK IS TAKING SO LONG, MAN?!"

Max paused. Steve did too.

Max glared over his shoulder at the bedroom door, curling his lip in annoyance as he growled before turning back towards Peter. The teen's face was growing red as he sputtered in the man's grasp. He scoffed and threw the kid a disgusted glare. "You lucky fuck. You better hope I don't remember this when we finish up down there or I'll come back up here and fix that mouth of yours myself, you got that?"

He dropped Peter down into the shards of glass below, the teen gasping and coughing violently as he lifted a hand to his throat. Max didn't seem satisfied with the boy's lack of response, for he stooped down and grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back up.

"Answer, bitch."

Peter winced, eyes scrunching in pain as his face twisted. "Y-yes, sir." His voice was hoarse and scratchy, but the answer seemed good enough for Max, for he dropped the kid back down and stared at him in disdain, giving a shake of his head as he spat on the floor.

"Fucking ridiculous," he muttered under his breath as he stormed back over to the door, slamming it shut so forcefully the entire room seemed to shake.

For a brief, agonizing moment, Steve stayed where he was behind the door, listening to the sound of retreating footsteps mingling with the noise of labored breathing coming from the kid he'd just let get brutalized in front of him.

Some hero...

The second he was sure the footsteps were truly gone, he burst through the door and immediately rushed to him. He made to kneel down, only to pause as he took in the glass still littering the floor. He hissed before quickly shrugging off his jacket, bunching it up in his hands and dragging it along the floor to clean it as much as possible before dropping to the ground next to the teen.

Peter didn't make any indication that he knew the man was there, just kept his head down and one hand wrapped protectively around his throat, the other pressing down into the glass pile below, like he didn't even know it was there. His eyes were shut tight and each breath of air seemed to rattle dangerously in his chest.

The soldier lifted his hands, hesitated for a moment as he wondered whether the teen was even going to let him help. Still, he wasn't about to just sit there and do nothing again, no matter what the kid wanted this time. So with a small breath, he scooted closer. "Peter? Hey, can you hear me? It's Steve - err...Captain Rogers."

No response. More breathing.

"Hey, if you can hear me, I'm just gonna try and assess the damage, alright?"

He waited for a minute, but again there was no response. Peter just seemed to scrunch his eyes tighter and turned his head away slightly, shifting his legs against the glass, the sound of clinking and grinding making Steve wince. He took a breath before slowly reaching a hand out to rest on the boy's shoulder.

Suddenly, he felt a hand shove into his chest so violently, he actually fell back onto his elbows and elicited a loud grunt of pain, eyes widening as Peter whipped his head up. The kid's eyes were bright and aggressive, tinged with a glaze of fear and pain as his face curled into a growl. Steve couldn't help but blink with his jaw hanging open slightly as he stared back at the boy. That shove had hurt, like...actually hurt.

Just how strong was this kid?

Slowly, the glaze against the teen's eyes began to fade as he seemed to register the fact that it was only Steve. Peter held the man's gaze for a moment longer before dropping his head back down with a low exhale, groaning loudly as he slowly began to push himself up. "Got to say..." he started off softly, voice hoarse and raspy. "...didn't really expect you to hold out." He winced as he brushed some of the glass away before leaning back against the wall, sighing loudly as he met Steve's eyes again. "Thanks for that."

Steve analyzed the teen's words, tried to see if there was some sort of sarcastic gibe in them. Maybe the boy was angry at him for not intervening. But surprisingly, the comment was sincere. The kid was...thankful? Steve felt his throat go dry as he tried to swallow.

"You...you antagonized him...on purpose." It wasn't a question. Peter didn't take it as such. Instead, he just shrugged, tilted his head down, and spat out a wad of blood-mingled saliva onto the carpet.

"It would have been a lot worse if he found you."

Steve actually felt himself get angry at that, glaring down at the glass. "Worse than thi-"

"Yes," Peter said, voice cold and hard as a new aggravated look entered his eyes, as if he was challenging Steve to keep arguing. Realizing the subject was as touchy as one could get, Steve reluctantly decided to save it for later.

Now that Peter's head wasn't drooping, Steve could make out each and every bleeding scratch on him, over his nose, on his cheeks, his forehead. There was a long trail of blood that dripped down the side of his face, beading off little drops onto his shoulder. It matched the bloody nose he still had, now complete with a split lower lip as well. He also had numerous little shards of glass embedded into his palm, his legs, and probably even his back from when he'd been shoved into the already-broken mirror. Steve's eyes traced the bruise beginning to blossom behind the kid's eye, the bruise he'd entered the room with.

Steve knew those injuries. They were the same scars, the same bruises he used to get after his back-alley beatdowns. Same split lip, defiant gleam, tense posture. It was like staring into a mirror, staring right back at his scrawny little defenseless face, a face that seemed to have a penchant for black eyes and a habit of cleaning himself up.

Something told him this kid was used to cleaning himself up, too. His jaw tensed at the idea.

Peter shifted against the wall again as he attempted to get up. He stumbled, however, quickly falling back down onto his hands and knees with a hiss of pain. Steve immediately rushed forward with his hands extended.

"Here, let me-"

"Don't," Peter snapped, throwing another harsh glare at the man. Steve paused, slowly retracting his hands as Peter dropped his head. "Just don't."

Steve swallowed, thick and heavy as he slowly leaned away. There was a feeling building up in his stomach, a strange churning that made a restless itch travel through his muscles, a sickening pool of unease that had him scrunching his face as he watched the teen slowly push himself up to his feet, grimacing and swallowing down his groans of pain the entire time.

And suddenly the soldier began to understand why Bucky would always get so angry at him after his little fights, his daily skirmishes. He could see it now. It hadn't been anger on his friend's face back then as he traced over each of Steve's wounds, each bleeding scrape and throbbing lump. It was concern...the same concern Steve most likely had written on his own face, different from the rebellious, defiant look he'd usually shoot at his friend whenever he was scolded for his fights.

Maybe this was karma.

Finally, Peter stood, brushing a hand against his temple. His fingers came back wet as he touched the trail of blood dripping down the side of his face. The kid didn't look angry or upset as he stared at his red fingertips, just tired. He sighed as he dragged his eyes over towards the door. "We can't talk here," he murmured more to himself than to Steve, not even bothering to look at said man as he brushed past him. The soldier could tell the boy was trying to hide the limp in his step as he walked over to the balcony, and he was honestly doing a fairly good job.

Practice...

Another churn of the stomach. Another plume of unease.

Peter opened up the balcony doors and motioned for Steve to follow. The soldier glanced back over his shoulder at the door to the room before following the kid out.

The teen didn't seem content with the added distance the balcony provided, however, as he moved over towards the side of the balcony and eyed the attached fire escape. He hopped onto the edge of the railing (much to Steve's dismay) and expertly leapt off, hands catching the edge of the metal structure as he did so. He didn't look at Steve as he climbed, not even as he disappeared over the top edge of the roof.

Steve couldn't help the small scoff of disbelief that fell from his lips before shaking his head and walking over to the edge. Not being as nimble as his counterpart, it took a little more maneuvering, but he was quickly able to catch himself on the fire escape. After that, it was a short climb to the roof, where Peter was already getting himself situated.

He was currently couched down next to what looked to be a large air conditioning unit. Peter laced his fingers around the edge of a panel and pulled it off, revealing the small empty space behind it. Careful of the actual mechanical wires of the unit, the teen grabbed a duffel bag and pulled it out of the box, quickly unzipping it as he set it on the floor.

Steve carefully walked over as Peter began to pull gauze, bandages, and towels out of the bag. "You have two first aid kits?"

"Three actually."

"Why?"

"Convenience." The teen didn't look up from his work as he pulled out a long brown towel, draping it over one shoulder while he maneuvered a pair of tweezers into his non-bloody hand. He didn't waste any time in searching for glass shards as he hopped on top of the air conditioning box, heels banging softly against the metal. "I brought you up here to talk, so we're gonna talk." He dabbed the towel against his bloody palm and dropped it down next to him, lifting his eyes to stare at the soldier. "What were you doing in Queens?"

Steve didn't say anything at first. For some reason, a niggling seed of apprehension still hung heavy in his gut.

Maybe it was the fact that the last time he'd seen Spider-Man, they'd been fighting against each other in a crumbling airport. Of course, he was still having some trouble wrapping his head around the fact that this tiny kid could somehow be the web-shooting, crime-fighting spider that he kept hearing about. Another spark of anger ignited in his chest at the sheer audacity of Stark, but he forced it down. Now was not the time to be losing his head.

Peter noticed his hesitations and narrowed his eyes. "You owe me answers." The kid's voice wasn't necessarily demanding, just matter-of-fact. Steve couldn't really disagree considering he was standing on a rooftop and not holed up at the police station.

He sighed and folded his arms, now sort of regretting his idea to take off his jacket now that the biting wind was beginning to seep into his skin. "There've been some weapons going around the city, illegal weapons. Somehow, people are getting their hands on alien tech and are manufacturing new weapons out of it, weapons that can really cause some damage if tonight was any indication."

Peter pinched the tweezers against a shard of glass and slowly pulled it out of his palm. He didn't look at Steve as he spoke. "I heard about that. Your friend told me about it...Mr. Wilson." He dropped the shard next to him and took a breath, glancing away. "I...I've seen that tech around the city, even had a similar explosion to deal with not too long ago but...I didn't know it was alien tech." He shook his head and turned back to his hand, pinching the tweezers around another shard in his finger. "How are they even getting access to it? Isn't that something the government would be dealing with?"

Steve moved to lean against the conditioning unit, sighing as he did so. "It is. Somehow they're bypassing all of the security measures and swiping it right out from under their noses."

Peter pulled another shard out, wiping the towel across the dot of blood that pricked up. "Sounds a bit too sophisticated for common street thugs."

"We thought so too. So we've been investigating. I was staking out a supposed manufacturing plant here in Queens." Steve gazed out across the buildings, trying to take note of where he was. "When I got there, it was already vacated. But as I was leaving, I happened to stumble upon those robbers. Safe to say, they weren't very happy to see me."

The teen scoffed. "Yeah, they aren't really big fans of the supers." He pulled another shard and dropped it down before his brow furrowed and his head was lifting. "Wait, but...that doesn't explain why you're still doing this?"

Steve turned and threw the teen a strange look. "What do you mean?"

Peter chewed on his cheek as he peered back down at his hand. He brushed the towel against his palm again, but it was slower this time, more...distracted. "I mean why are you bothering with this? You...you aren't Avengers anymore," he murmured in a low tone of voice.

The soldier stared back at him for a minute, turning away with a deep breath. "Just because the world isn't showering us with praise and adoration anymore doesn't mean we still can't do the right thing."

Despite the mindsets of his teammates, Steve hadn't had many doubts about their missions. The danger and the present threat of the looming government body did warrant cause for hesitations, sure. But Steve had never actually considered stopping. Just because the world had turned their backs on them didn't mean he had to stop trying to do good.

Steve jumped, however, at the sound of a harsh scoff. He turned back towards Peter, who was now giving a small shake of his head. "Right, cause you're just such a good person," he muttered, lifting his leg to lay overtop his knee, revealing the small spots of blood that came from the extra shards embedded in the limb.

The soldier narrowed his eyes and slowly pushed off of the conditioning unit, turning so that he was now fully facing the teen. He watched Peter begin to pick shards out of his calf. The task seeming so menial, so trivial and ordinary, like the kid wasn't bothered by it at all.

But Steve was bothered by it.

"Is there any particular reason why you hate me so much?"

Peter stopped working at that, lifting his head to stare back at the man. His eyes were sharp and cold and seemed to bore a hole straight through Steve's forehead from the sheer intensity smoldering within, a sense of barely restrained resentment tinged at the edges of his irises, burning deep and dark.

"Yeah. There is."

The man tapped his fingers against the side of his leg. "If that's the case then why did you bother to save me?"

Peter's face pinched in annoyance and he glared back down at his leg. "I don't know."

"You could have left me in that alleyway and been done with it. So why didn't you? Why did you help me?"

"I don't know," the teen growled, roughly pulling out the last shard and wincing at the spurt of blood that followed. He angrily grabbed the towel and slammed it against his leg. He slowed, took a breath, eyes crinkling around the edges. "I...I don't know. I guess I just..." He seemed to hesitate, tracing his fingers against the cloth before his eyes twitched. "I guess I just don't want to be like you."

And the sheer scorn in his words, the disdain in his voice finally hit a nerve as Steve straightened up to his full height. "What's that supposed to mean, son?" His voice was hard, laced with a hint of anger.

Peter must have picked up on the shift in the soldier's tone, for his posture instantly shifted to the defensive, shoulders hunching and muscles coiling as if he was preparing for a blatant attack. Steve backed down...if only slightly.

Despite his wariness, however, Peter didn't hold back in his words, though Steve noticed a newfound shakiness to the kid's hands. "I don't want to be the kind of person who just leaves someone alone by themselves, especially when they obviously need my help." The teen clenched his fists. "The kind of person who just leaves them alone to fend for themselves just to save my own skin."

He glared right at Steve as he said it, causing the soldier to furrow his brows, the sheer specificity making him pause for a brief second before the shot of realization finally hit, sending an uneasy chill all throughout his veins and added a new tightness to his chest. He exhaled a long, slow breath that seemed to hang heavy in the air around him.

"Stark..."

Peter's face somehow got harsher. "Yeah. You remember him? I know it might have slipped your mind what with all the fun you've been having beating up thugs and demolishing buildings."

Great. A groupie. Steve thought to himself. The last thing he needed was to get into a fist-fight with one of Stark's loyalists, especially one who had probably gotten all sorts of misinformation drilled into his head. He sighed and rubbed at his forehead. "Look, Peter. I know you probably feel pretty loyal to Tony. I get that. So no doubt you'd believe anything and everything he says to you. But you're only hearing one side, son. He's spinning this so he comes out infallible, untouchable."

His anger was returning. It was a bit harder to push down this time. Stark was basically brainwashing a perfectly impressionable kid just to fit his own personal agenda. Because of course he was. Apparently nothing was too low for him.

"We both made mistakes, you know. Tony-"

"Tony already told me that," Peter cut in with a sharp look. "He told me how you both made mistakes right before he tried to convince me that he was even more responsible for the Avengers breaking up than you were."

At that, the words died in Steve's throat, replaced with a poignant sense of shock. He opened his mouth, only to close it again as he found no response. He took a step back, face tightening and eyes narrowing in confusion as he tried again. "He...he took responsibility?" It was hard to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

"Yeah. He did. That 'egotistical son of a bitch' tried to convince me that you were once a good person." Peter scoffed and turned his head away. "Personally, I don't see it."

Steve didn't say anything for a moment, too busy trying to process everything.

He knew Stark. He knew his tendencies. He was capable of claiming responsibility for his past failures, sure. He'd admitted his culpability surrounding Ultron in Berlin. But for him to actively strive to set people straight about what happened? To claim responsibility in front of someone like Spider-Man, someone who probably would have believed anything Tony said? And not only that, but for him to defend Steve to his own protégé?

It was...surprising to say the least. Unexpected.

Peter drummed his fingers against the top of the air conditioning unit before pushing himself off. Steve watched in silence as the kid wiped the towel against his head, clearing it of the blood as best he could before tossing it back onto the floor. He reached into the duffel bag and pulled out a roll of bandages. He started to turn away again, but faltered before he fully could, gently tapping the roll against his arm as he pressed his tongue into his cheek.

"You know...there was a time I would have been gushing at your feet if I'd met you, showering you with praise." He gestured with the bandages at Steve, who said nothing as the boy spoke. "Come on, you're Steve Rogers. Captain America. You're a living legend. Every kid's hero.

This time he did turn away, used his teeth to rip off a section of bandage before he began to gently wrap them around his palm. He didn't bother to look up from his work as he spoke again. "At least, you were...before everyone found out how much you didn't deserve to be."

Steve sighed and turned away, shook his head as he pushed down the indignation that flared. This kid just didn't get it. "Look...you're angry. I get that. But you're only angry because you don't understand."

Peter scoffed again. It was starting to annoy him.

"It's true. You have no idea the nuances in play here. All you know is what you've been told. And that's not the whole truth." Steve was tired of being harped on, tired of people looking down on him and his team just for doing what they thought was right.

The kid finished up with the wrapping and tossed the remaining bandages into the bag. Immediately after, he folded his arms and stared up at the man that definitely had a good foot and a half on him.

"Why didn't you sign?"

Steve faltered at that. "What?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't know the whole truth? Fine. Then tell me. Explain it to me."

"I...that's-" This wasn't where he'd expected things to go.

"Come on." Peter threw his hands out. "Now's your chance to prove you're not just blowing hot air."

The soldier blinked down at him, narrowed his eyes as his air of composure wavered ever so slightly. "I don't have to prove anything to you, son."

To his surprise, Peter didn't seem angry at his response. He just lowered his hands back down to his sides. "You're right. You don't." He pointed out towards the glowing lights of Manhattan in the distance. "It's them that need the proof, proof that you're not just some crooked hero who doesn't care about them. Cause that's what it looks like from where they're standing...from where I'm standing."

Steve stared at him, at the teen who seemed so wary of him yet so ready to defy and challenge him at a moment's notice, like his anger for the Captain outweighed any fear he might have (and Steve was sure this kid probably had a lot).

Despite his desires to prove to the world that the Avengers weren't dangerous, that they were still a force for good, he'd never actually had to do it before, never had to defend his actions in such an informal and yet so personal manner. Still, Steve couldn't help the burning itch in his throat to explain his reasonings.

He knew why his actions were right. Maybe it was finally time for someone else to know as well.

He ran a hand through his hair and took a breath. It was cold as it swirled around his lungs. "I had to protect my team. The Accords...I knew from the start that they were dangerous. Some of the things they talked about: detainment indefinitely with no trial, required identity monitoring and DNA collection, board sanctions prior to any operative missions, no matter the severity. It was just..."

He clenched his fists, the same anger and resentment he'd felt the first time he'd read the Accords burning bright once again. "They took away our rights, treated us like weapons, like we weren't even people. I...I couldn't sign those papers, son. I couldn't just...relinquish our freedoms for the sake of - what? Making some politicians up on Capital Hill feel a little more secure in their mansions?

To his surprise, Peter did seem to listen. The kid shook his head, stared down at the ground. "You think Mr. Stark could agree to that either?"

Steve felt his face twist in disgust. "Didn't he?"

"He signed the preliminary. But what do you think he's been doing this whole time? Not just chasing down one thug after another in an endless sea of criminals in the hopes of maybe finding the source to a single weapons outpost. Watch the news. He's fighting for people like you, people like me, people who have the right to live freely without the fear of cameras looking over their shoulder."

Peter gestured to himself. "Why do you think I'm still able to go out there as Spider-Man every night? Cause those Accords you're so afraid of haven't been made official yet. Mr. Stark's fighting to revise them, a fight that would be going a lot easier if you were there to back him up." His last words were accompanied by another pointed glare.

"See that's what this is, Captain. Compromise. You give a little, you take some in return."

"I understand that."

"Do you?"

Steve narrowed his eyes. "Yes. I do. But I also understand that not every scenario has a compromise. Stark asked me to trust the same government that almost caused the deaths of over a hundred thousand people in DC, the same body that allowed a parasite like HYDRA to grow unchecked, grow strong enough to almost completely take over! You're telling me that they can be trusted to handle something like 'reigning in' the Avengers, that they can be trusted to not abuse the same system they want to throw us in?"

Peter took a breath, let it out slowly, like he was trying to remain calm himself. "I get that you were uneasy with the Accords. I do. But your solution was to just shrug, turn your back and completely abandon any hope of reconciliation, of fixing the actual problem?" He shook his head and stared at the man in disbelief. "You just decided that placing all of the trust in yourself was good enough? What about Lagos? What about those people who died? Don't they deserve some guarantee that something like that will never happen again, that the Avengers will take responsibility and shape up?!"

Steve felt his fists clenching, felt the same burning seed of doubt that had first arisen after Lagos and buried it down the same way he had back then. He took a step forward. "If we hadn't been there, those terrorists would have gotten away with a biological weapon that they could have used to wipe out thousands of lives. We stopped that."

"You can't judge the what-ifs, only what did happen. And the fact of the matter is that you cost those people their lives." Peter's eyes burned with something a little darker as he continued. 'What, are you just saying they don't matter? That their lives meant nothing to you?"

Steve gritted his teeth, a burning building in his chest, breathless and hot. "Of course not! I..." He sucked in a sharp breath, stealing a glance away as he tried to compose himself, but this boy was pressing all the wrong buttons, itching underneath his skin. "Look, like it or not, you're a kid," he started sharply. "You haven't been around as long as we have. And I know you might want to stay in your little fantasy world where everything works out fine, but the rest of us don't have that luxury." He took another step. Peter, in return, took one back. "We had to grow out of it. And the fact of the matter is that in this line of work, you can't save everybody. You can try, but sometimes...sometimes you fail."

He paused, ceased his advance, and instead turned his gaze to stare out over the city, a heavier tone entering his voice, low and quiet. "Collateral is a part of every war. And every soldier must face that." The words burned his tongue. But he knew the truth behind them.

Peter, however, didn't seem content as he let out a harsh growl. "Except this isn't war. And those people aren't soldiers!"

"But we are," Steve shot back. "Everyone who goes out there and fights to protect those people falls into that category. And I knew I couldn't protect those people by signing those papers. I couldn't. And I certainly couldn't protect my own people by signing, my team."

The soldier gave a small nod, pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek as Peter glowered at the ground. "I'll admit it. The Avengers have the capabilities to become a pretty great threat. But we're also the best equipped to handle the bigger threats. Alien invasions, world-ending crises. Hell, I'm supposed to trust the same government that fired a goddamn nuke at New York? That's the body you want running the Avengers?" His fingers twitched again, arms crossing over his chest. "Corruption runs all throughout those rings, whether you want to admit it or not."

Peter's face seemed to change at that, a minuscule detail that Steve picked up on. He didn't look as angry rather than he did uncomfortable, uneasy, like the words had struck a nerve.

"The Avengers cannot get mixed up in those chains. How can we trust and fight for an entity that is so vulnerable?" Steve turned away as he asked this, scanned his eyes over the sea of buildings stretching before him. In the distance he could make out the East River, the glow of Manhattan reflecting off the water.

His eyes drifted up, catching sight of the gleaming lights of Stark Tower. His fingers twitched again, a steady rhythm he no longer had to think about.

His eyes narrowed. "Stark wants to believe he can make amends...thinks the Accords, the accountability will somehow make him feel better about everything that's gone wrong, will take away his guilt." There was a new venom in his voice, a shrewdness that etched onto the words themselves. "His ego has always been his biggest flaw and it's still present now."

Peter growled, an audible rumble in the back of his throat. Steve ignored it in favor of kindling the embers beginning to burn in his chest, smoldering brighter with each moment that passed. "He was so threatened by the idea of the public not backing the Avengers anymore that he went turned on his own teammates to sign legislation that would ultimately destroy us!"

"That's not true!" Peter snarled, fists clenched and posture visibly tense with anger.

"Isn't it?" Steve wasn't backing down, though. For the first time in two months all of the stress and tension and frustration he'd been holding back in exchange for keeping the peace between his teammates was finally bubbling up, a new freedom to his voice that he otherwise kept on lockdown. For once, he didn't have to worry about playing peacekeeper. For once, he could go on the offensive.

"I've known that man for over four years. You've known him - what? Two months now?" He scoffed and shook his head. "I know you might want to think you know everything there is to know about him, that he's just the greatest thing since sliced bread, but that sort of childish adoration isn't going to help you in the long run, son."

Peter sneered, didn't seem content to listen to Steve's words of warning. "What? You wanna talk about helping me all of a sudden, MrCollateral is a part of life? Give me a fucking break." He stalked closer, tilting his head up to stare the soldier right in the eyes. "You talk like you're oh-so-righteous, like you're so much better than the infamous Tony Stark." He pointed an accusatory finger, all but jabbed it into the man's chest. "But at the end of the day, you couldn't give a damn about the people down there, people like me, whether we live or die."

Steve jolted at the words, staring the teen down with his piercing blue eyes as a sharp swirl of air entered his lungs.

Maybe it was the concussion still ringing in the back of his head. Maybe it was how tired he felt after dealing with the fight, the hiding, the yelling. Maybe it was just an inevitable timebomb waiting to go off and now happened to be the end of the fuse, but whatever it was, Steve felt his last remaining strings of composure beginning to fray.

"You think I don't care?" he murmured, voice low and cold, eyes burning with an icy intensity. "You think I don't remember everyone I couldn't-" he cut himself off with a harsh inhale, lifting a hand to rub at his mouth, trying to ignore the brief shakiness of his hand as it rubbed at his skin.

He was tired of this.

New York, DC, Sokovia, Lagos, Germany, Siberia.

Everywhere they tried to do good, everywhere he tried to do good, it never seemed to be enough. There were always people he couldn't save, people he let down. He knew that. In 1945, he accepted that, accepted that sometimes nothing was ever enough. It wasn't an easy lesson, but it was one Steve had learned to live with.

But watching the world pick apart his attempts, constantly remind him that his efforts still weren't good enough, he could honestly say it was making those doubts just a little more prominent, made that ache in his chest just a bit sharper.

"You're still fresh, aren't you," he started softly, Peter watching with distrust ever-present in his bright brown eyes. "You haven't been doing this for very long. It's fun, isn't it? Being a superhero, swinging around stopping car thieves and helping little old ladies." His tone was patronizing, harsh and critical as he all but glared at the teen. "But you have no idea of the real struggles of this job."

He took a step closer. It was threatening, intimidating. Peter backed up, face scrunching into a tiny bit of insecurity. Steve found he didn't care. "In Germany, the airport...you didn't have a care in the world. Didn't know what we were there for. You were only there to impress, there to have fun."

He leaned closer, cornering the kid against the back of the air conditioning unit. His voice was deadly. "This job isn't about fun. It isn't about doing what you want. It's about sacrifice."

("I gotta put her in the water!")

"It's about making the hard calls and learning to live with them."

("Close it.")

"And sometimes that means losing people."

("BUCKY!")

"It comes with the job. It's hard and it's horrible, but it's inevitable." He took another step, mere inches away from the kid now as he growled. "So don't you dare say that I don't care. You have no right, not when you have no idea the pain and the sleepless nights that come from failure, from the guilt that eats at you as you think about those people who relied on you, those people who thought you'd save them, watching them fall, watching them die with no power to stop it."

("Did you know?")

Peter wasn't looking at him anymore. His eyes were on the ground. His fists were clenched. Steve barely even noticed, too focused on keeping his voice from shaking, on keeping his legs steady and his head from swimming in the static that was threatening to overtake it.

"You have the privilege of being spared that torment, so don't you try and tell me off, pretending that you have even an inkling of the pain that comes with this job, because how could you know? How could you possibly know?!"

The fist was fast, so fast that Steve didn't even have time to register what was happening before he was being knocked to the ground. He fell with a thud, collapsing back onto the concrete with a sharp jolting pain to his cheek. It took him a second to truly comprehend what had just happened before he was blinking away the stars and lifting his shocked eyes to meet Peter.

The kid was standing over him now, offending fist clenched so tightly it was shaking. His chest heaved, each breath like a struggle as his shoulders shook, eyes watery and cheeks red as he gritted his teeth and stared at Steve with a look of pure despair and hatred rolled into one scathing glare.

"Fuck you, Rogers."

He spat the words so softly yet so forcefully. Without another word, he spun around on his heel and marched over to the other side of the roof, leaving Steve in a dazed heap on the floor.

The static numbness that had begun to encroach on his vision was receding, mind clearing as the startling anger began to die down. He breathed, soft and shallow, chest thudding up and down in an unsteady fashion as he tried to calm. He gently lifted a hand, brushed his fingers up against the warm skin of his cheek. The shock coursing through him slowly began to dwindle as he blinked his eyes and glanced down at the ground, ears ringing with a soft echo.

It was familiar, the same whining tone he'd used to hear in his ears as he lay alone in the alleyways, the loud laughter of the other kids bouncing off the walls as they left his scrawny little self all alone, bruised and beaten. It was the same ringing that would follow him all the way home, limp after limp, up the steps and through the door, like a stench he could never outrun, a shame he could never hide from.

There was silence now, a deep quiet that seamlessly mixed with the soft breeze that continued to wrap around his skin.

He was in the city, in Queens. Steve should have been able to pick up on the sounds of car backfires, voices and bar beats, shouts and traffic honks. He should have heard the noise. He always heard the noise.

But there was no noise. Nothing except for the ringing...and the soft sniffles of the kid sitting a little ways away on the edge of the roof. The kid he'd just screamed at. The kid that had just gotten the shit kicked out of him. The kid that had saved his life earlier that night.

And for the first time since the beatings had begun way back in 1929, Steve truly felt that he finally deserved the punch-out.

He sighed, shut his eyes and turned his head away. You're an ass, Rogers.

His words began to wash over him in a hot roll of all-too-familiar shame, his lack of self-control disgraceful. He was supposed to be proving this kid wrong, proving why he and his teammates didn't deserve to be called criminals, to be called bad guys, and here he was proving exactly why the world saw them as such, why they saw him as such.

Why can't you ever just walk away? Why can't you just stand down?

Tony had his fair share of flaws. But Steve just couldn't seem to work past his own.

Maybe he should have stood down in Bucharest. Then those officers wouldn't have gotten hurt and he wouldn't have been arrested in the first place. Maybe he should have stood down in Berlin. Tony would have gotten him to sign and Bucky would be safe in a rehabilitation ward. Maybe he should have stood down in Leipzig. Rhodey would still be able to walk. His teammates wouldn't have spent those torturous weeks on the Raft. Maybe he should have stood down in Siberia.

He should have told Tony.

He should have told Tony.

The soldier opened his eyes again, felt the hard gravel of the rooftop surface digging into his palm, leaving deep red indents in the skin. The moon was out tonight, big and bright, just the same as it always was, just the same as it was a year ago, two years ago, just the same as it was before the Accords, before the fights and the screaming, when he could walk onto the common floor in the dead of night and find a certain billionaire wide awake and open to talk about whatever. And just like that, Steve was suddenly overcome with a shocking sense of grief.

He'd never noticed before just how much he missed his friend.

Both of his friends...

His eyes drifted away from the orb in the sky and instead settled on the boy it was currently illuminating. Peter hadn't moved from his spot, hadn't bothered to pick up the rest of his supplies. He just sat on the edge of the roof, legs hanging down over the ledge, hands in his lap. From here, Steve could see that his past suspicions were correct. There were small little tears in the kid's shirt, most likely from where the broken remains of the mirror frame had sliced into his back.

Steve chewed the inside of his cheek for a second before furrowing his brow and rising up to his feet.

Steve Rogers, ever the flawed man, just didn't know when to walk away. And right now, he found he didn't want to.

If Peter heard his approach (which Steve was almost positive he had), he didn't let it on. He just kept his eyes drawn and down. Upon closer inspection, Steve noticed the kid was rubbing circles into the back of his uninjured hand, pressing into the skin softly with the tips of his fingers.

Steve grabbed the duffel bag as he advanced, fingers tapping against his leg again as he took a small breath, faint and airy.

"Why did you let him do it?"

Peter knew immediately what he was talking about. The kid sighed, wiped at his eyes. "Leave me alone."

Steve knelt down and set the bag down next to him. Peter didn't turn to face him as he continued. "You're strong. I saw it in Germany, felt it not even a minute ago. You could have stopped him if you really wanted to, knocked him through a wall in the process no doubt." He glanced down at the bag, at the collection of medical supplies: rolls and gauze and bandages, tweezers, alcohol, sutures. It never seemed to end. "So why didn't you?"

Peter didn't say anything for a second, long enough for Steve to wonder if the kid would just keep ignoring him. Finally, Peter lifted his eyes towards the sky and shook his head. "Believe it or not, Captain, brute force isn't always the answer to your problems," he muttered with an annoyed look that slowly devolved into one of exhaustion. He gazed down at his wrapped palm, picked at the edge of the bandages with his nail. "I can't just punch my way out. I know that's something you probably don't understand."

He wasn't wrong. Steve wasn't a stranger to using his fists to solve his issues. Nevertheless, he wasn't above the alternatives, no matter what his teammates said.

"You gonna hit me now?"

It did catch him off guard, he had to admit. But he didn't let the surprise show too much on his face. "No. Of course not." His voice was level, calm, a stark difference to the sheer bullheaded anger he'd shown previously.

Peter's was the same, mundane and matter-of-fact. "Why not? I hit you. I was mouthing off."

"That doesn't warrant me hitting you back, son. Nothing warrants that."

He kept picking at the bandages, face passive and empty. "Discipline's important."

"That's not discipline. That's abuse."

"Potato, potahto."

Steve held back his response, had to physically bite his tongue to keep from opening his mouth. He knew a simple conversation wasn't going to change anything here. This kid was repeating a script, a line of dialogue he'd most likely been fed for a while. Steve wasn't about to break through that in a single night.

Peter seemed grateful for the man's silence, the soldier deciding to make his move now. He held up the pair of tweezers he'd found in the bag, Peter eying them strangely before glancing up at the man's face. Steve angled his head sideways. "Your back. It's still bleeding."

Immediately, Peter shifted away, angling his body so that his back was out of the man's line of sight. Steve sighed, determined to remain calm as he tried to lower himself down to the ground as much as possible, if only to appear like less of a threatening wall of muscle. "You can't reach those shards and you know it," his tone was careful in avoiding any accusatory notes.

Peter stared at him in mistrust, eyes narrowed and body stiff as he flitted his gaze back and forth between Steve and the tweezers in his hand. Finally, after a long moment of tense silence, the teen deflated slightly as he sighed in reluctant acceptance, angling his disgruntled look towards the floor as he warily began to shift so that his back was easier to see.

Steve took it as the green light, shifting his own position so that he was now kneeling right behind the teen. Now that he was up close, he could see through the rips in the kid's shirt, noticed not only the freshly bleeding wounds courtesy of the protruding glass shards, but also the longer, deeper, older scars that wound up and down the boy's skin, like deep carvings in the earth.

One breath. Two. Calm. Composed.

He gingerly pressed his hand into an unmarred section of the kid's back, if only to get him used to his touch. Peter jerked at the contact, body nearly shivering from the stiff tenseness ringing through him, but he didn't voice any protests. Steve nodded and carefully maneuvered the tweezers, pinching them around the first shard. Peter didn't say anything as he removed it as carefully as possible, didn't even wince. Just sat still, tightly wound like a coiled spring, ready to lurch at a moment's notice.

But after a few more shards and another couple minutes of silence, the teen's fingers began to twitch against the ledge of the building. Steve noticed, didn't spare it much of a glance as he concentrated on removing another shard. He hesitated for a second, wondered if maybe he shouldn't push his luck too far. But the curiosity quickly became too much.

"What's the matter, Peter?"

He felt Peter stiffen even more as he spoke, the kid's fingers freezing in their twitches. But after a second - through which Steve made absolutely sure to keep his movements extra gentle if only to show the boy he meant no harm in his question - Peter took a small breath and lowered his head ever so slightly. "How...h-how did you know who I was? When you saw me...how'd you know?"

Steve gave a small nod of his head, knew the kid would probably ask that of him eventually. "The papers have been mentioning you a bit. I saw your picture...with Tony. So when the first face I see after fighting with Spider-Man is Tony Stark's new supposed protégé that sounds remarkably similar to the web-slinger he recruited, well...I'm not as dumb as you think I am." He gave a small grin at that, wished he could see Peter's face at his comment. Instead, he just kept his focus on removing the last few shards.

He noticed Peter was still tense. Again, he waited for the question.

"You gonna tell anyone?" His voice wasn't defensive or angry. It sounded...resigned, tired, like his fate was about to be handed to him on a silver platter he had no control over.

Steve pursed his lip. "No. Not...if you answer some questions."

If Peter was surprised, he didn't voice it. Instead, he remained quiet as Steve pulled out the last shard, dropping it down onto the floor to join the rest. He grabbed a clean towel from the bag. "I'm just gonna clean off the blood, okay?"

No response. Just a nod.

The soldier gingerly lifted up the bottom of the kid's shirt, gently pressing the towel against his skin. It only took a moment to clear away most of the blood, took a bit longer to tear his eyes away from the scattering of scars. He lowered the teen's shirt, tossed the towel to the floor. Peter finally turned, face stoic and eyes heavy. Steve realized the boy was waiting for him to ask his questions.

"Those people down there...who are they?"

Peter hesitated for a moment, seemed to search Steve's face for a trace of something. When he couldn't find it, he sighed and gave a small shrug of his shoulders, resting his chin on his hand as he seemed to realize he didn't have much choice. "My aunts and uncles. At least, that's what I call them in front of the cameras." He waved his hand. "They're my dad's friends, his...associates. I've known them since I was like, eight. They're...interesting."

Steve leaned forward, finally relived he was starting to get some answers, however small they were. "Does your dad know? Does he know what they do?"

At this, the kid remained quiet. His fingers began to twitch again, thumping against his leg, continued to flit his eyes around the soldier's face. Finally he shrugged and glanced away, effectively shielding his eyes from the man's prying gaze. "My dad's a busy guy."

That wasn't an answer. Steve quickly realized he wouldn't get one. (And that, in itself, was answer enough.)

He swallowed, took a steadying breath as he tried to collect himself, keep his cool. It wouldn't do any good if he started getting all riled up again. He glanced away, if only to take a moment to compose himself, and as he did, he couldn't help but lock onto Stark Tower again.

"Does Tony know?"

Peter's posture shifted. He was back on the defensive.

"...Yes."

"Is he doing anything about it?"

"Yes," he fired back immediately. "As much as I'll let him, at least. So watch it." He leaned closer to Steve, face pinched tight into a dirty look. "I don't want to yell again, but I won't listen to you rag on him."

Steve didn't nod. He didn't back off or continue his harping. Instead, he took in the look not on the kid's face, but in his eyes. He wasn't just angry for the sake of being angry. He was defensive, sure. But not for himself. He was defensive of Tony. That look in his eyes...it was protective, a warning shine.

He took a small breath, felt another question bubbling in his throat. This one was different though, felt different.

"Why do you care about him so much?"

Peter reared back slightly, an offended look crossing his face for a brief second before it slowly disappeared as he noticed the lack of an accusatory tone in Steve's words. The soldier didn't stare him down in an intimidating manner, didn't sneer or condescend. His face held nothing but curiosity, no malice, no anger.

The teen blinked at him, opened his mouth then closed it again. He turned away, lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck before it was plopping back down into his lap. "Because...he cares about me. Figured the least I could do is return the favor." His voice was softer than Steve had heard it be before, an open vulnerableness the kid had been reluctant to show the entire night. Peter tilted his head, glanced up towards the Tower. "I think the Tony Stark you know and the Tony Stark I know are two very different people."

It was like looking at the magazine again, looking at the picture of Peter and Tony together on that curb. Steve was looking in on something he had no concept of, a certain bond he couldn't comprehend. Once again, the feeling of intruding, of seeing something he shouldn't be seeing returned to him, like he was peering into a relationship he had no right to be spying on.

Steve swallowed again, but it was difficult this time. "Maybe not that different." The man glanced down at his hands, at the bandages wrapped around his own arm. He could feel the burns underneath, the familiar itching sensitivity. He could even feel the stitches in his arm, the skin tight and warm.

"I never thanked you, you know?"

Peter cocked a brow. "What? For punching you in the face?"

Steve smiled. "For saving me."

The teenager locked his eyes onto the man, stared into his face like he was trying to see the sincerity behind his words. He said nothing, leading them to sit in silence for a while. Finally, he blew out a small little sigh, soft and subdued, causing Steve to glance back over. Peter's hands were curling back into fists and for a moment, the man wondered if maybe the kid was angry again. But instead of shouting, the teen's words were quiet, gentle.

"Captain Rogers...despite what you might think, despite...everything I've said tonight..." he paused for a moment, bit his lower lip and flexed his fingers. "I don't think you're a bad guy."

Once again, Steve was caught off guard. But then Peter continued.

"Stubborn, stupid, arrogant, disloyal, selfish, smug, condescending-"

There is it.

"Yeah, I...I got it."

Peter furrowed his brow, relaxed his hands and turned towards him. "I know what bad people are like. They enjoy the things they do, the harm they cause others, like...like it's a game to them. You...you're not like that." He gave a small nod of his head. "Yeah, you've made a ton of bad decisions, but that doesn't make you a bad person. You've never done any of them just for the sake of hurting people. Despite all your flaws, you do still...try to do the right thing. You try to be good."

The kid shrugged and turned his head away. "Sometimes that's the best we can do...is just try."

Steve didn't say anything, didn't know if he should. Peter didn't seem to mind his silence as he continued.

"I understand why you didn't sign the Accords, but...I don't understand you leaving." He gazed at Steve not with a look of anger or disgust, but almost...sadness? "How could you do that to him? He trusted you and you just...left him."

The soldier sucked in a deep breath, felt it rattle around in his chest, hollow and empty. "It was one of the hardest things I've ever done. Despite evidence pointing to the contrary, Tony was my friend. He was...he was a good friend."

"...you shouldn't have left him."

"I know. I shouldn't have. But I can't change what happened. I can only work with what's in front of me."

If the teen was dissatisfied with his answer, he didn't say so. Instead, he tapped a foot against the floor of the roof and stood, wincing slightly at the movement. Steve followed him with his eyes and then with his own movements, rising up as well. Peter took a few steps back, as if he finally realized just how close the soldier was to him. He folded his arms over his chest, wrapping them tight around himself as he suddenly looked unsure, uncomfortable.

Now that he wasn't on the defensive, now that he wasn't yelling in anger or defending his friend, the teen looked...smaller. He looked like he wasn't really sure what to do with himself, shuffling back and forth between his feet. Steve almost cracked a smile at the display.

"You should go," Peter murmured. "If they come to check on me and I'm not in my room..."

Steve nodded, tried to ignore the familiar churn of unease. He resisted the urge to glance back over towards Stark Tower as he stared at Peter, a new sense of anxiety beginning to form as he mulled over his question. "Are you going to tell anyone about this? Tony maybe?" Safe to say, their little impromptu operations would be a bit harder if there was a new influx of tipped-off cops swarming the city.

However, Peter just wrapped his arms tighter around himself and leveled the Captain a hard stare. "You keep my secret...I'll keep yours."

More secrets. Great.

It was a no-brainer, though. If keeping his lips sealed about Spider-Man to his teammates was the price for keeping them safe, then so be it. He'd deal with the consequences later.

The man turned, eyed the ladder to the fire escape they'd used to get up there. Natasha had to be worried by now. In all honesty, he wouldn't be surprised if she was already out there scouring the streets for him.

Man, was there going to be hell for him to pay when he got back.

But as he wrapped a hand around the edge of the rusted metal, Steve found himself compelled to turn. He cracked a smile as he stared back at the teen. "You're a good kid, Peter." Despite the sting still burning in his cheek, or maybe even because of it, Steve knew it to be true. "I'm glad Tony has someone like you watching his back."

Peter blinked at him, eyes widening slightly at the praise. The teen opened his mouth but didn't say anything, choosing instead to glance down at the ground, stare at his shuffling feet. Steve nodded and made to head down the ladder again, only to pause once more.

This time it took a little longer for him to turn around, but the churning in his stomach was what finally compelled him.

He sighed, twisted on his heel, and marched back across the roof. Peter looked startled at the sudden look of determination on the Captain's face, cocking a brow as the man walked right past him and knelt back down over the duffel bag, rummaging around for a minute. "Umm...what-" he started, only to cut himself off as Steve stood up and walked back over.

Peter backed up just a tad as the man approached, but stopped as Steve held something out to him. It was a piece of bandage, ripped from the roll. On it was a line of numbers scribbled on in sharpie...a phone number.

"If, uh...if you ever need anything, or if you're just..." Steve trailed off, face pinching into a look of mild unease before he swallowed it down and leveled the kid another small smile. "I'm available. Just call...if you need me."

Peter stared down at the slip of bandage, then back up at Steve. It almost looked like he was about to take it, only to lean back slightly as he glanced away, brows furrowing slightly. "I won't. Need you...I mean."

Steve, ever prepared, just gave the paper a little shake. "Just humor me, then."

The teen flitted his eyes back over, shifted his weight between his feet again before finally huffing out a small sigh as he snatched the slip, stuffing it into his pocket without another word. Satisfied, Steve gave a little nod and walked back over to the fire escape. He wrapped both hands around the top of the ladder before glancing over his shoulder.

"Stay safe, Spider-Man."

The boy blinked at him, arms coming to fold over his chest, as he glanced away, licking his bottom lip. "You too." His voice was soft, but Steve heard it. Of course, the kid was quick to fix him with another annoyed look, jutting his chin out defiantly. "But this doesn't mean I like you, alright?"

Steve couldn't help the little chuckle that escaped. "Noted."

With that, the man began to make his way down the fire escape, the metal creaking slightly as he climbed down. It only took a second for him to reach the ground floor, head instantly swiveling as he debated which path to take. From up there, he'd made mental note of where the East River was. Following it should land him back at the warehouse in a few hours' time, depending on how fast he was and how many drunken pedestrians he'd have to hide from.

"Captain Rogers?

He lifted his gaze, found Peter leaning over the edge of the roof. Despite the distance, the teen didn't raise his voice much. Neither of them really had too, for they both knew the other could hear just fine.

"Yeah?"

The kid's face tightened into a firm frown, eyes hard and steady in their piercing gaze. His voice was level, seemed to carry for miles despite its quiet quality.

"I won't let you hurt him again."

Steve felt his fingers twitch at his sides, felt the familiar ache in his chest and the heaviness of his gut. He stared up at Peter, held his firm gaze with an earnest look of his own. "Believe me, son. That's the last thing I want to do."

Peter didn't falter. "Then why do you keep doing it?"

He swallowed, fought down the hint of nausea he'd been repressing since he'd woken, and sighed. "I guess I'm not as good of a friend as I like to think." He threw the kid a smile, a small, gentle one that he hoped carried the full weight of his words.

"But I'm hopeful that one day, I'll be able to change that."

With that, Steve turned away from the house, away from Peter, and began to mold into the shadows, his destination in hand.

Still, as he pushed off away from the house, away from one of the longest nights of his life, his ears still picked up the quiet reply of the strange kid he had a feeling he hadn't seen the last of.

"We'll see."

Chapter 24: Turning Out

Summary:

Ned kicked at an empty soda can before hesitantly turning back to the girl with a worried look. "What if he doesn't show?"

MJ lifted her gaze to stare back at the teen.

Ned's face practically oozed with worry, eyes seeping concern and sadness as he continued to fiddle with his hands, fingers picking at his cuticles almost unconsciously. She swallowed, licked at her bottom lip, and hardened her gaze.

"Then we'll figure something else out. But your panicking isn't going to do anybody any good so stop moving, would you?"

Notes:

See End Note for WARNINGS

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

MJ

5:01 PM

Tomorrow. Before school. 6:45.

5:01 PM

Stadium Field. Under the bleachers.

. . .

. . .

5:02 PM

Be there.

 


 

Sunday - May 1, 2016

Stark Tower - Penthouse Floor

06:43 PM

"Sir...Sir, I understand that, but-"

. . .

"I do know what emergency means, thank you very much. But it's been, what - three days since they infiltrated the facility? What good would it do, him being there now?"

. . .

"If I recall, section 3, subsection 2B of the Accords hasn't been approved yet, Sir. So you can't technically demand his presence at the scene."

. . .

"Well nothing was stolen, correct? And nobody was too badly injured?"

. . .

"How is that not the point?"

. . .

"Sir, Colonel Rhodes is more than capable of handling any and all of your concerns. That's why he's down there."

. . .

"As I said before, Sir, Mr. Stark is in the middle of a medical emergency that I am not at liberty to discuss otherwise he'd be telling you all of this himself, most likely with much less pleasantry."

. . .

"Yes. Yes, I- Of course, sir. Thank you, sir."

Pepper tossed the phone to the floor none-too-gently as Ross ended the call, letting out a loud sigh as she dragged a hand down her face, back pressing hard into the wall behind her.

"Guessing it went well?" Tony mumbled with a half-smirk and a tired drawl that hung off the end of his words.

The woman groaned, leaning her head back with a thud. "Suddenly, I completely understand why you always put him on hold."

Tony would have responded, but right then, another wave of nausea forced him to lean back over the toilet, dispelling another bout of bile into the waters below. Pepper didn't say anything, just watched with a passive look of weariness.

The lights in the bathroom were dim, illuminating just enough for the pair to see the vague details of the room. Towels, blankets, and pillows littered the floor along with empty glass cups, tissues, pill bottles, cracker boxes, and a mountain of ever-warming water bottles.

Tony's stomach rolled a few more times, but everything had well and truly been expelled. He groaned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning his body against the toilet, resting his head in his hand as he took a deep, shuddery breath and glanced over at Pepper. "Sorry you...had to deal with...him..." his voice trailed off into a breathy pant at the sheer energy it took to speak.

Pepper's face remained ever calm as she grabbed one of the water bottles and popped the cap, stretching it out before him. "Drink."

He didn't bother arguing, didn't have the energy for it. Pepper continued, eyeing him carefully as if making sure he was drinking enough to satisfy her. "Don't worry about it. I'm used to cleaning up messes. Though it's usually your messes I'm dealing with so this is a bit out of left field for me."

Tony all but dropped his hand away from his mouth, the bottle following as it hit his leg with a soft little thud. Pepper carefully reached over and pulled it from his grasp before he could spill it. He swallowed, thankful for the slight reprieve from the bitter dryness that had been filling his mouth for the past few days.

It had started on early Friday morning, those first trembles in his hands that slowly spread to the rest of his body, followed by strong waves of nausea and skull-splitting headaches. After a while, when the nausea had refused to cease, Tony elected to just stay in the bathroom, Pepper complying by bringing in a few pillows and blankets to stretch along the cold tile floor.

Things had considerably worsened in the hours to follow.

Now, Tony could barely even see straight as he continued to lean up against the toilet, confident he would literally collapse to the floor if he tried to sit up without support. The nausea was constant now, an ever-present rolling in his stomach that refused to let him sleep, making him grit his teeth and swallow down the churning liquids that threatened to bubble past his throat. His skin seemed to tingle with nerves and a pulsing heat, the erratic beating of his heart making his ears ring and his vision wobble.

He pressed his fingers against his eyes, could practically feel the throbbing force of the headache thumping just past his fingertips, could hear it grating against his eyes, clawing at his skull in sharp, poignant stabs of agony. But even with the crippling pain in his head, the billionaire still heard Pepper's words, and apparently, still had enough energy to feel exasperated.

"What...were they thinking?" he mumbled.

Pepper seemed to know what he was talking about, glancing down at the phone she'd tossed to the floor. "They didn't take anything even though they broke into the storage vaults. That and a records room."

Tony groaned, a pitifully quiet noise that trickled from his lips.

Apparently Thursday had been a busy day for everybody, Rogues included. The billionaire actually had to feel a stab of gratitude for his current predicament, otherwise, he'd no doubt have to be in DC dealing with the apparent break-in at the hands of Captain America and his merry band of idiots.

He mulled over the woman's words, sluggishly circulating them through his brain at a snail's pace until they finally started to make sense. "They were looking for something?" His voice was raspy and low.

"But what though? What are they even doing in DC? Why are they risking detection by breaking into random government buildings?"

Tony spit into the toilet, grimacing at the dry scratch in the back of his throat. "I don't know. And honestly...I don't care."

His apathy for his ex-teammates had already been growing in the past few weeks and in his half-conscious state, he literally couldn't bring himself to give a damn. He leaned his head down against his arm, shutting his eyes as he focused on breathing deep, steady breaths that kept his mind away from the frothing mess that was his stomach, away from the constant chills wracking his shuddering frame and the sweat dripping down his face from the heat brimming just underneath his goosebumped skin, away from the deep-seated agony burning all throughout his body.

He felt the blanket around his shoulders get pulled tighter around his form. He peeled his eyes back open and watched as Pepper readjusted the thick cloth, tucking it firmly against his shivering frame. She sat back on her haunches, staring at him with a soft, searching gaze.

"How are you feeling?" Her voice was gentle, a lull of music to his otherwise ringing ears.

"Like I'm having the worst hangover of my life. Which is pretty ironic all things considered."

She hummed, reaching for the water bottle again and extending it out to him. "You need to stay hydrated. You're losing a lot of fluids."

He grunted as he wearily latched his fingers around the bottle again. But he didn't bring it up to his lips. Instead, he rubbed the tip of his finger against the label wrapping around the plastic, picking at a lifted corner of the paper. He could feel Pepper watching him, could almost hear her thoughts racing through her head. He sighed, fiddling with the cap.

"Pep, you...you don't need to do this. Go help Rhodey. I-I got this."

He didn't even believe the words coming out of his mouth. But something in him just couldn't help but say them, couldn't help but offer the woman a free pass, an excuse to get away from the disgusting mess that was this situation.

Pepper's face didn't lose its soothing glow as she gently grabbed the man's hand - still clutching tightly onto the water bottle - and guided it closer to his face. He took over from there, dribbling a few more pitiful drops onto his tongue.

"Rhodey's a big boy. He can handle himself."

"So can I."

"...What day is it?"

Tony blinked, faltering slightly as he glanced up. He swallowed or at least tried to as he racked his brain, tried to pinpoint how long they'd been in there. But just the effort of remembering back to Friday made another blinding stab of pain pierce his skull as spots began to dance before his eyes. He gritted his teeth and rested his head back down onto his arm. "Not fair..."

He heard the woman give a small chuckle as she began to card her hand through his hair. It was little relief from the breath-rattling pain burning throughout his entire form, but the little comfort it did bring was appreciated.

"It's alright," she murmured softly. "I know you're in pain. I'm not going to leave you right now so you can go ahead and drop that idea." She tapped her fingers gently across his cheek. "It's Sunday, by the way."

"Sunday..." he echoed softly before shrugging. "I'm just gonna go ahead and take your word for it." In all honesty, it could have been December and he wouldn't have been able to tell.

Pepper continued to brush her fingers through his hair, not seeming to mind how moist it was from the sweat beading down his face. "I'm proud of you, Tony." Her voice was soft, a soothing echo that quietly bounced off the walls. "You know that, right?"

He hummed again, tried to let the words take away some of the grinding in his head or the churning in his gut. "Yeah, but maybe save that for when I'll definitely remember it. In fact, maybe just record it for posterity."

She smiled, dragged her hand away from his hair, and moved it to his forehead. He bit back a groan of relief as her cool skin brushed up against the burning surface of his own. She pulled it away all too soon, only to replace it with a damp washcloth, gently patting it around his face and down the side of his neck. "Your fever feels like it's going down. Any more hallucinations?"

Tony willed more energy into his eyes, forcing them to open once more. He scanned the walls, searched for any more moving shadows or encroaching black figures. "None that I can see." He shut his eyes again. "Then again, you very well could just be one bossy fever dream. You sure you're real?"

She rolled her eyes and flicked his cheek with the towel. "I'm very real, thank you very much."

The smile that had begun to pull at his lips slowly disappeared as he blinked, glancing down at the ground as he ran over her words again, rolled them around in his head like a marble bumping around an empty box. "Sunday..." he whispered more to himself than to her, but she heard nonetheless, furrowing her brows at him.

"Tony?"

"Tomorrow's Monday?"

"Yes..."

He glanced up at her for a moment, taking in the confirmation in her eyes before dropping his head again, running his fingers along his temple. "Peter comes on Mondays," he sighed, a sudden weight seeming to sit on his chest as he sucked in another rattling breath.

Pepper stared at him before glancing down at the washcloth in her hands. "Do you want me to tell him not to?"

"No," Tony said immediately, the fastest he'd responded in hours. "No, he'll...get all nervous. Probably think I'm having second thoughts about...No, just...I'll deal."

Tomorrow would mark the first day they'd seen each other since their talk, since their deal. Tony probably would have felt anxious if his body had the energy for it. But thinking of Peter just reminded the man of why he was doing this in the first place, who he was doing this for, because it definitely wasn't for himself. At least...not just for himself.

Pepper didn't seem all that convinced however as she threw him a concerned look. "Tony-"

"It's been three days since my last drink, Pep. The hallucinations are gone. The fever's going down. I should be fine by tomorrow."

He knew it probably wasn't true and if the scrunching of Pepper's face was any indication, she thought the same.

"Should be. But you don't know for sure. It's different for everyone. You might still have symptoms for a few days."

Tony narrowed his eyes, thought back to Thursday night, to the glass on the floor and the look in the kid's eyes. He clenched his fist, felt the tips of his fingers brushing up against the scars on his palm.

"I'm not canceling."

Pepper held his gaze for a moment before turning away with a sigh, holding up her hands in surrender. "Alright, alright." She pursed her lips and stared at him with a strict look. "Then that means you really need to take it easy tonight."

The billionaire couldn't help but scoff, shakily reaching out towards the pillow laying a little ways away, dragging it closer as he all but deflated onto the floor. "No problem." He dragged the blanket tighter over himself as he tried to absorb as much from the cool tile floor as possible, if only to alleviate the burning heat still crawling up his neck.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Pepper began to grab at one of the spare pillows and began to fluff it. He sighed and lifted his head. "At least go take the bed, would you?" He sighed, not really wanting the woman to have to spend the night on the bathroom floor.

Pepper, however, seemed to completely ignore his words as she set the pillow down right next to his, laying down and reaching a hand out to grab his, latching her cold fingers around his burning ones. "Shut up and go to sleep," she murmured with a smile, gently caressing the back of his hand.

The man gazed back at her, staring into the deep blue of her eyes as he huffed out a little laugh.

"A really bossy fever dream."

 


 

Monday - May 2, 2016

Midtown School of Science and Technology - Stadium Field

06:30 AM

The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon, stretching over the sky into a calming wash of lavender, clouds dotting the surface in light pink waves. The light had yet to truly pierce over the buildings though, leaving a distinct nip in the air from its absence.

Peter walked in silence, listening to the sounds of his footsteps as he walked up the steps from the subway, breaking through the dismal gray of the underground and out into the burst of chilly air up above. He tightened his grip on his backpack with the one hand he could still properly move, hoisting it higher over his shoulder as he glanced down.

His left middle and ring fingers were bandaged together, the wrappings tight and restrictive. He could still make out the slight discoloration of the skin from underneath the bandage and the slightly crooked nature of the appendages.

Max had remembered.

But all in all, Peter considered himself quite lucky, for the man hadn't had enough time for a "proper" lesson, settling for snapping two of his fingers instead, as a "quickie."

("Why did you let him do it?")

Peter flexed his fingers as best he could, grimacing slightly before shoving his hand back into his pocket. He was very lucky.

He hadn't expected to come out of meeting Steve Rogers with such minimal damages. So if a couple of broken fingers were the price to pay for pulling off as unbelievable a feat as hiding a bullheaded super-soldier, then he'd take what he could get.

Peter blew a harsh sigh from his lips, pinching his face slightly as he fought to dispel the thoughts from his mind. He'd wasted enough time that weekend thinking about Steve Rogers and honestly, he'd be fine never thinking about it again because right now, he had something bigger on his plate.

The school was already coming into view now.

It was like clockwork. As soon as his eyes landed on the building, Peter felt his throat tighten with such force, he was shocked he was still able to breathe. It was startling, the sudden onset of nerves that began to trickle down his skin, bumping up against his jacket and curling around his bones like a poison that settled in his blood.

It was so strong that Peter actually found himself wavering in his steps as he began to approach the building, legs locking as his heart began to stutter, a dying car battery thudding on its last dregs. He could feel his phone in his pocket, feel the weight of it tugging him down to the ground, burning a hole in his pants, searing against his skin.

They were waiting for him.

Ned and Michelle...they were waiting for him.

He tried not to linger too much on the unsettling undertones of the short messages he'd received yesterday, nor on the fact that it had been MJ to text him and not Ned, who had been spamming his phone for the better part of the weekend. But he couldn't help the thrumming air of unease that seemed to have followed him from home.

It had been days since he'd last seen his friends, since he'd last talked to them. Not even his phone, which had been bombarded by messages, had elicited a response from him. Every time he even thought about responding to one of Ned's texts or MJ's calls, Peter's hand would freeze and his finger would curl back against his palm like there was a literal shield around his phone, an impenetrable force that he couldn't break through.

Friday, after his father and the Cons had departed early in the morning once more, Peter had elected to stay home again, stayed holed up in his room, his phone a good toss away from him.

He supposed he had to be a little grateful for Rogers and his impromptu soap-boxing, for the encounter had left him too exhausted to even think about going outside, like the energy he'd had to conjure up just to talk to the man had drained him of everything. He supposed he had Mr. Stark to thank for that. Two months ago, he never would have dreamed of shouting at someone who could very easily rip him in half.

It still wasn't very easy, though. After Rogers had left, the sheer anxious energy that had built up over the night from the screaming and - most notably - the touching had led to him sitting in the bathroom for a good long while, gripping the edges of the toilet so tightly there were now cracks in the porcelain from his violent retching.

But now there was no Rogers. There was no bone-deep exhaustion. There was nothing keeping him from stepping inside of that school again, no excuses keeping him from his friends.

But the churning in his stomach? That had only grown stronger and stronger.

Peter kept his eyes locked on the looming structure before him, blinking as the first few rays of sunlight began to peek out over the top of the building and seeped into his eyes. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time.

6:36 AM

It took him a while to really register the numbers staring back up at him, took him even longer to uncurl his fingers around the phone and slip it back into his pocket as his body began to shiver with phantom chills, a notable cold tingle that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

This early in the morning, the school was quiet. Kids didn't really start showing up until seven, leaving the air quiet and undisturbed as he walked, his feet crunching underneath the damp grass below. But Peter almost found himself wishing for more kids, wishing for the sound of their loud voices, the revving of the busses, even the chiming of their phones, anything to keep him from listening to the steady pounding of his heart or the soft whisper of words that slowly began to trickle into his head.

("I'm glad we got to talk, Peter. I look forward to seeing you again.")

His heart hammered, an unsteady fluttering that made his hands shake.

He hadn't thought of O'Hara in days, not since the chaos of the past few days had started. With all the craziness of Tony and his father and the press swirling around, the words and the flowers and the sickly sweet coldness of her eyes had been pushed to the back of his mind, along with any and all feeling surrounding them.

But now that craziness was gone. Mr. Stark wasn't here. And all he could feel was that icy grip of cold air beginning to tighten around his lungs.

The thought of seeing that woman again, of even being in the same building as her made him itch to run, but he kept his feet rooted to the ground, kept his legs steady and his eyes steeled. He could still feel his phone in his pockets, could practically hear the chimes echoing in his ears, one for each text they'd sent, every message pleading for him to respond.

You're gonna have to face them eventually, Parker.

He knew it was true. He couldn't exactly avoid his school forever, especially since his father probably wouldn't be too happy about his growing number of absences. Still, it didn't help to settle the prickling of his skin or the sudden dryness of his mouth as he walked across the lawn of the school, the back stadium growing closer with each step, and the dread in his stomach sinking deeper and deeper.

 


 

"Would you stop pacing already? It's getting on my nerves."

Ned paused in his marching, turning his head to throw Michelle an indignant frown. "I'm sorry, alright? I'm stressing out over here!" he huffed, voice terse and high-pitched.

They'd been waiting for twenty minutes already and safe to say they were starting to get on each others' nerves. Multiple times Ned had insisted on sending Peter another text, only for Michelle to shoot it down and demand they wait for him like the original plan. The teen still had a few minutes until their scheduled meet-time, and Michelle wasn't planning on seeming any more desperate than Ned had already established.

Said boy bit his lower lip before glancing down at his hands, fiddling with his fingers as he shuffled his feet. "I...I'm worried."

"Shocker. It's hard to tell what with you bouncing off the walls every two seconds."

He turned back to her, eyes narrowing as his face tightened into a stern glare he usually reserved for Flash. "Really? You're gonna chose right now to be a jerk?"

Michelle held his stare for a moment before folding her arms over her chest and glancing away. "What do you want me to say, Leeds?" Her voice wasn't so much defensive as it was troubled, bordering on weary.

Ned's burning gaze seemed to falter at the girl's tone of voice, his hands stuffing deep into his pockets as he blew a sigh past his lips, glancing up at the bleacher bottoms overtop their heads. "I don't know."

There was nobody on the football fields today, no practices or drills taking place just beyond the seats, leaving them in uneasy silence as they waited. With the sun still struggling to rise, their waiting spot underneath the bleachers was fairly dark, the grass around their feet littered with cups, napkins, popcorn kernels, and anything else that might have been dropped during the games.

Ned kicked at an empty soda can before hesitantly turning back to the girl with a worried look. "What if he doesn't show?"

MJ lifted her gaze to stare back at the teen. Ned's face practically oozed with worry, eyes seeping concern and sadness as he continued to fiddle with his hands, fingers picking at his cuticles almost unconsciously. She swallowed, licked at her bottom lip, and hardened her gaze. "Then we'll figure something else out. But your panicking isn't going to do anybody any good so stop moving, would you?"

Ned groaned and aimed to kick at another can.

"He's not really good at staying still, you know."

Their heads whipped up towards Peter as he spoke. The teen swallowed thickly as he met their gazes, shifting his weight between his feet as he drummed his fingers against the strap on his backpack.

"Hey..."

For a second, nobody said anything. In the air hung a fragile silence that none of them seemed ready to break. Peter mentally began to brace, preparing for the lashing he knew he was about to get. But before he could even begin to psych himself up, Ned was lunging forward, wrapping his arms around Peter's thin frame as he nearly hoisted him off the ground out of sheer excitement.

"Oh my God! Oh my God! Are you okay? I'm so glad you're here. I was so frikkin worried, man! You weren't responding and I know that's normal for you sometimes but this totally felt different and I knew something was up but I just didn't know what and I didn't know what to do and neither did MJ and we just-"

Ned continued to ramble, words falling out of his mouth at a million miles per second. Peter tried to listen, he really did. But he couldn't seem to drag his focus away from the arms wrapped around him. He could feel them pressing against his skin, even through his numerous layers. The grip, so tight and restrictive, made his heart flutter in nerves as he felt the familiar bubbling of anxiety building in his gut, muscles coiled tight as he fought the urge to tear himself away from the sudden, unexpected touch.

Thankfully, Ned seemed to notice the stiffness of his friend as he cut off his ramble, instantly ripping his arms away as he took a hurried step back, holding up his hands in peace. "Sorry! I'm...I didn't...I'm sorry."

Peter had to hold in his breath of relief as he focused instead on the new look of guilt beginning to spread onto Ned's face at his apparent slip-up. He shook his head and took a step forward. "It's fine. I'm the one who should be sorry. I left you to worry for days with complete radio silence."

Just saying the words aloud made a wave of shame wash over his skin, prickling uncomfortably as he stared back at Ned.

Despite the nerves he'd been feeling at the idea of coming back to school and seeing his friends, Peter couldn't help the instinctive warmth that always came whenever he was around Ned. There was just something about him that was so...familiar, so safe and comfortable.

Michelle stood off to the side. She said nothing. Peter spared her a few nervous glances but didn't have the confidence to hold her gaze as he turned back to Ned. Said boy was staring up at Peter with large, worried eyes.

"What happened, man? You just up and left on Wednesday without any sort of warning or explanation and then you weren't at school on Thursday, which I was kind of expecting cause I mean...you know?" His face pinched into a tighter look of unease as he continued. "But you always show up the day after so when you didn't show up on Friday either that's when I really started to freak, especially when you still didn't respond and I was so scared that they'd done something horrible but I couldn't just go over there and ask them so I just-"

"Ned."

Peter cut his friend off before he could spiral into another bout of verbal barfing, Ned sucking in a shaky breath as he stopped. Peter took in the concern in the boy's expression, the way he was picking at his fingers, the overall tense posture of his body.

("Imagine what you must make them feel.")

He'd done that. He'd done that to his friend.

Peter swallowed the bile rising in the back of his throat and tried to give Ned a reassuring smile.

"I'm okay. I'm alright."

"...I thought they were hurting you."

More guilt. More shame. It was thick and sticky and it clotted in his stomach, knotting painfully around his insides. Peter shut his eyes, couldn't bear to look at his friend's face anymore, at the sheer panic and misery he'd caused. "I know. I'm sorry. I...I wanted to text you, call you, something."

("They don't deserve to deal with your issues.")

"But I just...I couldn't. I don't know how to explain it, but I was just...scared. I just...I-I..."

This time it was Ned cutting him off, waving his hands and shaking his head as Peter locked his jaw. "It's okay, Peter. It's...I get it. You don't have to explain it to me. You...you've never had to explain it to me," he murmured in a soft tone of voice, the same tone Ned always used whenever Peter was panicking. It was quiet and comforting, a gentle little lull that was so different from the harsh ringing of O'Hara's words. It made Peter turn to look back at his friend, eyes drinking in the newfound relief beginning to spread over Ned's face, washing away the fear and the dread.

"I...I'm just really glad you're okay."

Peter took a breath, then another, waited for the other shoe to drop, waited for Ned to turn around and realize how entitled he was to be angry, for the yelling and the screaming and the fury. Three breaths...four. No change. Ned's face was still the same, cheeks red and lips spread into a toothy grin, like Peter's mere presence had lifted his stress and returned the teen to his usual bubbly self.

It left a strange taste in Peter's mouth, an odd sensation that kept his heart rate elevated, and his senses honed in for trouble. Something about this just didn't feel right, something about Ned's sheer willingness to just forgive and forget so quickly. It wasn't supposed to be this easy. He didn't deserve to have it be so easy. Still, he fought down the unease and did his best to give Ned a convincing grin.

"You're kidding me, right?"

Both boys turned towards Michelle as she spoke for the first time since Peter's arrival, face twisted into a disbelieving sneer.

Ned furrowed his brow. "What?"

"You're letting him off just like that? After everything he put us through in the last few days?"

Anger. That's better. He deserved anger, not forgiveness.

"Michelle, come on. You know it's not-"

He cut Ned off before he could say anymore, taking a small step towards the girl. "MJ, I'm sorry. I really am. I just-"

She folded her arms. "Just couldn't give enough of a damn?"

"No! Of course not. It's...not easy to explain, alright?"

She narrowed her eyes, jaw clenching as she growled. "Well try. Cause we spent the better part of last week worrying our brains out over you, you jerk. And you didn't even have the common decency to let us know you were okay. Ned thought you were fucking dead, Peter!"

("Do they deserve to suffer alongside you?")

Peter whipped around towards Ned with a horrified look, his friend sheepishly glancing down at the ground as he rubbed at the back of his neck. "I-I didn't...well, I knew it was pretty irrational and-"

Michelle took a threatening step forward, Peter didn't bother in retreating, kept his legs rooted to the floor despite the tingling running down his spine. She jammed a finger towards him. "You don't get to play this off like it wasn't a big deal, Parker. Because it was. I didn't sign up to get dragged along on a fucking whim by you, alright? That's not something I'm just going to roll over and accept!"

She sucked in a breath. It wavered in the air, a sharp little gasp of noise that she tried to swallow down. Peter watched as the girl blinked furiously, eyes misty and face pinched into a tight expression of bitterness. He shrank back at the watery look in her eyes, stomach shriveling into a deep black pit. "MJ..."

But he didn't know what to say.

("Every good boy knows when to be quiet.")

Michelle sniffed, quickly shaking herself back into focus as she turned her gaze over to Ned instead, who was shuffling anxiously as he flitted his gaze back and forth between his friends. "Ned. I need to talk to him alone for a second."

Instantly, the nervousness faded from his friend's face, replaced by indignant anger as he turned to stare the girl down. "No way! I'm not gonna let you scream at him until the bell rings!"

Peter placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, Ned turning to look back at him. "Ned. It's...it's fine. I deserve worse."

And he did.

Ned, however, didn't seem to agree as he angrily pushed Peter's hand off. "Don't say things like that, Peter!" He rounded on Michelle again, a protective scowl crossing his face. "MJ, I swear you better not-"

"Ned, please," she finally murmured, voice lower than before as she raised her hands. "I need to talk to him. Just talk."

Peter quickly came to realize why she'd insisted they meet under the bleachers. She probably wanted as much privacy as possible when chewing him out, a real courtesy to him all things considered. Still, Ned seemed more swayed by her plea than Peter, his friend glaring down at the floor for a moment of thought.

The teen decided to speed things along, knowing he owed Michelle her few minutes of ranting. He turned to his friend, giving another reassuring smile. "Ned. It's alright, man. I'll be fine."

Ned glanced up at him, eyes darting around Peter's face like he was searching for some hidden context behind his words. When he found none, the teen sighed as he turned around and reached for his backpack laying on the ground. He angrily snatched it up before throwing it over his shoulder, pointedly glaring over at the girl. "Fine. I'm going to my locker to get my books and then I'm coming right back here," he warned, holding Michelle's even stare for a second longer before marching away.

Peter watched his friend's retreating form, didn't bother in turning to look at the girl. He tensed, bracing his shoulders for the onslaught as he readied to hear the girl tear him down. It was the least he could do, give Michelle a little time to blow off her steam and rip him a new one. Maybe she'd realize how much better off she'd be without him and he could finally stop feeling guilty about their friendship.

. . .

"You should have told me."

It wasn't a yell, wasn't a scream or a cry. It was simple and quiet, but it still seemed to ring around Peter's ears, echoed around the bleachers. Told her? There were so many things he'd kept from her that he couldn't even pinpoint what exact thing she was talking about. Still, he wasn't about to keep ignoring her, especially since it was much harder without the barrier of a few miles and a phone screen.

"I know."

"First I find out about..." she glanced down at his fingers, took in the sight of the bandages still wrapped tight. He moved his hand behind his back, Michelle huffing a sigh as she continued. "And then I have to hear about your mom from Ned and I just...You didn't tell me anything, like you just couldn't be bothered to say anything."

He stared down at the ground, gazing back and forth between each and every piece of garbage hidden in the grass. "That's not why I didn't tell you."

"Then why? Why didn't you tell me about your family?"

Peter sighed, glancing away with an exasperated purse of the lips. "Come on, Michelle. This isn't exactly something I can just talk about casually," he muttered, holding up his damaged fingers with an annoyed little wave. Michelle stared with a disgruntled scrunch of the nose. "People aren't supposed to know. They can't know. They'll just take it the wrong way and make a much bigger deal of it than it really is."

Peter could see it just in the way his friends were reacting, by how Mr. Stark always reacted. The bandages, the scars, the bruises...they made people uncomfortable, made them ask questions they didn't want to be asking, usually questions that stirred up trouble for him.

Michelle's face dropped some of its aggression as she stepped forward, voice hard and unwavering. "Peter. They're hurting you."

He glanced down at his fingers. He brushed up against the bandages, picked at the edges.

"Only when I deserve it."

He heard Michelle suck in a sharp breath through her teeth, shutting his eyes so he didn't have to see the look on her face. He didn't want to see how pathetic she thought he was, see the look of disgust and contempt mirrored on her face.

He continued to avert his gaze, kept his eyes locked on his fingers. He began to bend them, if only slightly. The small twinge of pain was enough to keep him grounded, keep him focused and zeroed in on the situation at hand. He heard Michelle's footsteps on the ground, felt her getting closer.

"And your mom? Why did you keep her a secret?"

Peter bent them back further, had to swallow down the burning pain building in his throat as the broken fingers began to pull and stretch. "There's no point in grieving people who are dead and gone."

He could feel O'Hara's hands curling around his shoulders. Another tug on his fingers and she was gone.

"...what?"

This time, he did look up. Michelle's face was pinched into a look of distress, an emotion he wasn't used to seeing on the girl. He held her gaze for another moment before turning away again.

"I...she died ten years ago, MJ. I should have moved on three different times over and yet I still...I-I'm still.." he could feel the words beginning to get lodged. He shook his head, cleared the blockage as best he could. "...it's ridiculous. And it's embarrassing. Ned only knows cause I've known him since, what? Ten, eleven? It's stupid to still feel so bad about it. I...I didn't want you to think less of me because of it."

But she did. He knew she did. She had to.

"I guess I just...didn't think you'd understand."

Michelle's body was tense, stiff as a rod as she clenched her fists. She shut her eyes tightly, gritting her teeth as she lowered her head, strands of curly brown hair falling down over her forehead. She quickly whipped around on her heel, marching over to her backpack. Peter instantly felt his heart sink, watching as the girl crouched down over her stuff, readying to leave.

"Wait! MJ, please...please don't leave. I'm so sorry for not telling you. I was just trying to act right and move on like I should have done years ago and I-"

She stood up, effectively cutting Peter off as he watched her turn back around. She was holding her sketchbook, pulling out some of the loose papers stuck in between the pages. He opened his mouth to ask what she was doing, only for her to shove the papers against his chest, the teen stumbling slightly before latching his fingers around the flittering pages.

He blinked at her, then down at the pile in his hands. "Um..."

"Look at them."

He scanned Michelle's face, tried to detect any hint of emotion, but she had it bottled up tight. Whatever she was feeling, she was hiding it well. Peter licked at his lips before hesitantly glancing down at the pages.

They were sketches, all of the same girl. Her face, her hair, her eyes, her hands. Close-ups, full-body drawings, each and every angle you could think of. She was a teenager, probably about their age with the same curly hair as Michelle, albeit shorter, only stretching down to the nape of her neck. Her nose and cheeks were dotted with pale freckles and she had the same birthmark as MJ, right above her lip.

Peter furrowed his brow, not really sure what the girl wanted from him as he flipped between the pages, seeing more and more of the same girl. "Who is she?"

"My sister."

He lifted his head, eyes widening slightly as he blinked back at her. "You...I didn't know you had siblings."

"Just the one." Michelle turned back down to the sketchbook and flipped to the very last page where a small polaroid picture was taped to the paper. The girl held it in her hands for a moment before extending it out towards Peter, her movements slow and hesitant like she was unsure whether or not to give up the photo.

Peter carefully reached out with his one free hand and gingerly grabbed the photo, flipping it forward.

It was the same girl, same curly brown hair, and deep-tanned skin, complete with amber eyes that were just a shade lighter than Michelle's. The picture was a close up of her and a little girl she was standing next to, arm latched around the girl's shoulder as they shared identical grins. The little girl was young, maybe only eight or nine with identical curly hair and dark-tinted skin. In the background, Peter recognized Coney Island, the bare details of a Ferris Wheel poking out of the top corner.

The photo itself was fairly old, that much he could tell by the folded, wrinkled corners and the pale stains dotting the surface. And considering the sketchbook it came from was seemed to be on the new side, Peter had to assume Michelle carried the photo in every new sketchbook she got, transferring it from one book to the next.

He glanced back up at her, watching as she hugged the sketchbook to her chest. "Lucy."

He traced the edge of the photo with his finger, stared down at this younger, happier version of Michelle, and couldn't help but give a tentative smile as he stared at the two girls together. "She looks like you."

"I look like her," Michelle corrected, taking a step closer so that she was standing shoulder to shoulder with him. "I was nine when this picture was taken. She was fifteen." She gave a small smirk. "I guess it took my parents a bit of time to decide they wanted two kids cause there's a pretty sizeable gap, huh?"

Peter extended the picture back to her, adding in the extra pages of sketches as well. "Does it really matter?" he asked with a tilt of the head. He'd never had siblings before and his only source of info came from Ned, who couldn't fight more with his little sister. But Michelle just chuckled and shook her head, bending down to place her sketchbook on the floor.

'No. It doesn't. Cause in every way that counts, she's everything you could possibly want in a sister." She opened the book back up and gently began to place the pages back in. "She's smart, kind, dedicated. She got a job at the pier just to help our parents. Back then we didn't have much money, didn't have enough to splurge on anything, just enough to pay the bills and put food on the table. So we'd usually just do little things together: board games, walking the pier, that sort of stuff.

She finished putting the pages back and closed the book, but she didn't stand back up again. She just kept kneeling, kept one hand on the cover of the sketchbook, and the other gently cupped around the photo. Peter didn't say anything, just slowly knelt down across from her. Michelle had never been one to open up about herself, especially with private information like her personal life.

Peter didn't know why she was telling him this now, especially since he'd just spent the better part of last week hiding his own personal life. Why was she repaying him with her own? Still, he didn't say anything as she stared at the photo, gently brushing her fingers against the edges.

"That was one of the reasons why I got into drawing. There's only so many ways you can keep a nine-year-old entertained when you can't afford your cable bill." She rubbed her thumb against the cover of the book. "Lucy bought me my first sketchbook, you know. My first pencils, pens, paint kits, all of it. Birthdays were never more than a day to get new clothes, shoes, stuff like that. But she saved up her money from work to buy me all of it for my ninth birthday."

She smiled and gently waved the photo. "We took this picture afterward. She was the first thing I ever drew."

Her voice was different. It wasn't her usual monotonous, aloof drawl. It was quiet, soft, almost like Ned's, full of an emotion Peter couldn't pinpoint. But something about it felt...off, like this was a whole other side to the girl he wasn't meant to be seeing, a side she'd worked to cover up under biting sarcasm and disinterested eye-rolls. This wasn't defensive. This wasn't cold or uncaring.

This was...real.

Peter swallowed, felt a gnawing in his stomach. He forced another smile. "She sounds like an awesome sister."

Michelle didn't respond to the comment, didn't even seem to register it. She lowered her hands, rested the back of them on her knees. Her fingers never strayed from the photo.

"A week later...she comes into my room while I'm drawing."

Her voice changed again. Peter noticed instantly and it makes his skin crawl.

"She seems happy to see me using her present. I tell her how much I love it."

MJ licked her lips, sucked in a small breath, too small to fill her lungs. "Then she starts talking to me...telling me how great of a sister I am, how lucky she is to know someone like me, to be related to someone like me. I'm laughing, thinking she's just being weird. She's laughing too...so much that she starts crying."

His fingers begin to twitch against the ground. He ignores the pain, just keeps watching the girl's face. It's twisting into a smile, a painful smile that makes her cheeks quiver. "Then she starts telling me how much she loves me, that nothing will ever change that."

She held up the photo. Peter noticed her hand was shaking. "And then she gives me this." She pointed to the picture, to the charm hanging around Lucy's neck. "Her necklace...the one she never takes off. An heirloom she got from a grandmother I never met." She drops her hand again, lets it sink back into her lap like she doesn't have enough energy to keep it up. "I'm shocked of course. She loves that necklace, never takes it off. But she insists." She smiled, cracked a grin, and let out a breathy laugh. "Secretly, I'm pretty happy cause I've always wanted a necklace like hers. Then she leaves. I forget about the whole conversation."

Another breath, shakier than the last. But she pushes past it like it's a barrier she has to break through. She swallows thickly, taps the edge of the photo, picks at the crease in the corner. She doesn't look up.

"They found her in the bathroom two weeks after this picture was taken."

Peter shut his eyes, turned his head away as he released a small puff of air, warm against his throat. "Michelle..."

She continued on like he hadn't spoken. Her eyes were glossy. "I've never worn it before...her necklace. It just sits in a drawer in my desk. I can't seem to put it on." The first tear falls. "It doesn't belong to me."

He can feel the gnawing begin to spread to his chest. He lets it, knows how futile it is to try and push it away. "I'm so sorry..." the words are soft, barely audible. But he knows Michelle heard it nonetheless. He knows it's useless, a pointless phrase that doesn't do anything to take away from the gravity pulling you down. But he just can't seem to say anything else.

She sniffs, wipes at her cheek as she quietly clears her throat. "Believe it or not...I was pretty lucky. My parents did as well as any parents could after that. Helped me through it, helped me grieve." Her fingers curled into the dirt, ripping at the grass poking up around her. "I...I stopped going to the pier though. Stopped walking along the boardwalk. Just...didn't feel right without her."

He watched her gingerly place the photo on top of the sketchbook like it was a piece of glass ready to shatter at any moment. "I kept drawing though. Thought it'd probably make her happy to show her that I never stopped using her gift." She brushed her fingers against the loose pages sticking out of the book. "Whenever I feel...I-I...I draw her sometimes. Makes me feel a little better. Makes me think she'd be happy with how I'm turning out."

For the first time in a while, Michelle turned her head to fully face Peter. He met her gaze, felt it was the least he could do after making her go through the sludge of memories. "Peter...my sister died five years ago. And I still miss her."

("It's ridiculous to hold onto such debilitating things like this.")

Peter turned away, tried to blot out the words beginning to mingle with Michelle's. He shut his eyes again, hoping to push them out of his head, hoping to get the sight of the office, the flowers, the cold out of his mind. Michelle reached forward and gingerly placed her hand atop his. He bit back a wince at the touch, eyes warily focusing in on their hands as he felt her brushing her thumb against his palm.

"My parents let me grieve. Your father...he didn't...did he?" Her voice wasn't accusatory. It was gentle, helped to ease the chill washing over his skin. He didn't look up, just kept his eyes locked on their hands.

"He likes to pretend she never even existed," he whispered, the words bitter on his tongue, thick and constricting in his throat.

Michelle continued to brush her fingers against his hand, strands of hair framing her cheeks as she spoke. "Of course you still miss your mom. You never had the chance to move on. He never gave it to you." Her grip tightened. It was strong...steady. "It's not wrong to miss her, no matter what he or anybody else says.

His chest was tightening, making it harder to get in a decent breath. He could feel his hands beginning to shake in her grasp, clenched them into fists to try and force them still. It only made them quiver more. Michelle narrowed her eyes and cupped her own hands around his, guiding them to her lap. "Peter, listen to me."

Breathe. Listen. He looked up, watched as her eyes began to water once again. The gut-wrenching pain settling in his stomach grew, almost made him want to hurl again.

"My sister lied to me. She lied with her smiles and her laughter and her reassurances that everything was alright. Because it wasn't alright. She wasn't alright. It wasn't..." her voice wavered, the words dying in her throat as she ducked her head, sniffling loudly as she blinked away the tears, focusing back in on her friend's face with a tight expression. "We couldn't help her...because she never let us. She drowned in all those lies...alone. I won't let that happen again. I can't. I can't watch you do the same thing."

And the way her voice cracked into a strangled gasp, the way a few stray tears finally began to roll down her cheeks, it made Peter want to scream, made him want to curl up and hide away from her, hide away from the anguish he was forcing onto her with his lies and his troubles and everything else she didn't deserve.

He bit at his lip, tried so hard to keep the sob from breaking through his throat. He swallowed it down, felt it bursting against his chest as a wave of guilt threatened to knock him to the floor. Instead, he ducked his head, hiding his face from hers as he felt his eyes pool with tears, the soft feeling of her fingers gently brushing at the scars on his hands finally letting them loose as he cried, opening his mouth with a pitiful whimper.

"...I'm a burden to you."

Michelle choked on a sob as she reached her hands out and wrapped her arms around Peter, dragging him forward into a hug. He shut his eyes, burying his face into her shoulder as he cried, the tears fully streaming as he clenched his teeth and shivered in her grasp. Her grip was tight, fearful and strong.

"Don't you ever say that to me again! You hear me?! You get that thought out of your head right now. I don't know who put that in there and I don't care because it's not true." She was crying now. He could feel her tears dripping onto his shoulder. "I'm here, Peter. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. I'm here because you're my friend and I care about you. Ned cares about you. And I won't grieve anybody else just because they think it's easier to lie, that it'll be easier on me." She fisted at his clothes, tightened her grip around him like she was afraid he was going to disappear. "You don't get to make that decision for me, alright? You don't get to take that away from me. This is my decision. My choice and I choose to be right here. Right fucking here!"

She finally pulled away, bringing her hands to cup around Peter's tear-stained face. He blinked his watery eyes at her, couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from her as she gently brushed her thumbs against his cheeks, clearing the tears still streaming as she gave him a quivering smile.

"Peter, please...you can rely on me, on Ned. We're here for you...through whatever comes your way, whatever comes our way."

He took a breath, felt it wavering in his lungs as he fought to reign in his emotions, to pull himself back together. He shut his eyes, focused on the warmth of her hands around his cheeks, calm and comforting and everything he'd wanted for a while. He lowered his head but didn't pull out of her grasp.

"Does it ever stop feeling so bad?"

He had to know. He had to know if the gnawing would ever go away. More tears fell down his cheeks. She brushed those away as well, deep brown eyes meeting light hazel as she gave a small nod, allowing her own tears to freely flow as she smiled.

"One day...you'll remember her and it won't hurt. And we'll be here for you until that day comes...and every day afterwards."

Peter couldn't help the strangled laugh that fell from his lips, mingling with his hiccupped cries into one single emotion-filled noise as he leaned into her touch, leaned into the safety of her grip, the reassuring warmth he found himself craving.

It was the same feeling he'd felt back at the tower, back with Mr. Stark. It was bright and all-encompassing and just seemed to shut everything else out, leaving him warm and secure. Leaving him with a feeling he never wanted to give up, never wanted to lose.

So...if that meant turning to his friends for help...if that meant turning to Mr. Stark for help, then Peter would do it. He'd do whatever he had to to keep that feeling blooming in his chest, that feeling that helped him breathe, helped him feel the blood rushing through his veins and the steady beating of his heart.

For the first time in almost ten years, Peter was finally beginning to remember what it felt like to be cared for.

Footsteps.

They both turned their watery gazes towards the noise, eyes catching the sight of Ned sprinting across the field, backpack jumping against his back as he stumbled as fast as his chubby legs could carry him. His face was red and he was gasping out pant after pant as he finally reached the bleachers, shrugging off the back and letting it fall to the floor as he heaved, leaning his hands into his knees as he doubled over.

Peter and Michelle blinked at him...then at each other.

Ned lowered his head, hair falling down around his eyes as he finally spoke, voice wheezy and out of breath. "Okay...I...I'm here. I...I made...it. What did...what did I miss? Michelle, y-you better...better not have been yelling t-this...whole-"

He finally looked up, the words falling short as he caught sight of his two best friends kneeling on the grass, eyes puffy and red and cheeks glistening with tears. He opened his mouth, face slowly pulling into a frown as his brows furrowed. "Umm...I...o-okay..." Ned seemed lost for words for once, shifting his weight awkwardly as he glanced over his shoulder, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Is...are you two okay?"

Michelle lifted a hand and wiped her cheek, sniffing loudly as she threw the boy a half-hearted smile. "We're fine, Ned. We're just...everything's fine."

The boy glanced at her, took in the sight of her glossy eyes and quivering voice, and then turned his eyes to Peter, who looked the same. "Right..." Ned bit his lower lip, hesitantly lifting a hand and pointing a thumb behind him.

"S-should...I, like...leave?"

Peter turned to Michelle, then back to Ned. It took a second for the words to really process in his head. Nothing about them was funny. Nothing about the situation was funny, like...at all. But as Peter watched Ned shuffling awkwardly in the grass, cheeks red and hands fidgeting nervously, the teen couldn't help but feel a chuckle begin to work its way up his throat, growing into a full-blown laugh as he ducked his head, eyes shutting as he doubled over.

Michelle huffed in amusement before it too began to grow, her lips spreading into a grin as she lifted a hand to her face, pressing her palm into her forehead as she leaned back with laughter.

Ned glanced between the two of them, nervously giving a small little chuckle of his own before Peter was lifting his hand to latch onto the boy's sleeve, all but dragging him down to the ground with them. Ned stumbled, but quickly righted himself as a sincere grin blew across his face, spreading his arms wide and enveloping the two other teens in a bone-crushing hug as their chests bounced and their eyes filled with tears of a whole different variety.

Peter couldn't hear O'Hara anymore, didn't feel the cold chill of her office. All he could hear was the laughs of his friends and the feeling of warmth as they embraced him in their arms, ignoring the itch of the grass underneath them or the sounds of the busses pulling into the school.

At that moment, sitting under the bleachers, the three of them had something just a little more important than school.

 


 

"Good morning from the Studio 57 News Room at NBC Broadcast Headquarters here in New York. It is Monday, May 2nd, 2016. Good to be with you. I'm Joanne Green and this morning we have two top stories to share."

"First off we bring you the latest developments in the supposed Rogue Avengers attack on a government weapons vault in Washington DC. Here's John Peroka with more. John?"

"Good morning, Joanne. I'm here at the Damage Control facility in Washington DC where early Thursday morning, at a quarter past midnight, the DC Damage Control Storage Facility shown here was infiltrated and the guards on duty were brutally attacked. Eyewitnesses and recovered camera footage confirms that the attacks were staged by Rogue Avenger Steve Rogers and his associates, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Scott Lang, and Wanda Maximoff. Wanted war criminal and lethal assassin James Barnes was not spotted at the scene, nor was retired pararescue operator Sam Wilson, though sources from inside the facility speculate that he aided in the get-away."

"Now preliminary stock reports state that no weapons were stolen nor was anything tampered with save for a broken door down in the record rooms. While five guards are currently in the hospital with moderate injuries. Nobody was seriously hurt. Still, official word from Secretary Ross and Iron Patriot Colonel James Rhodes states that such attacks will not be ignored, nor will the implications be dismissed.

"The last sighting of the Rogue Avengers was over a month ago in New York City, with eye witness reports of the Falcon flying over Brooklyn, But this latest development has many people wondering what the Avengers are playing at here and what their ultimate goal is. And with these latest attacks, many are beginning to speculate that the Rogues are finally playing into their new criminal mentality with new fears rising every day. Back to you, Joanne."

"Thank you, John. In other news, we are following a breaking development unfolding in Midtown's schooling district-"

 


 

Monday - May 2, 2016

Midtown School of Science and Technology - Cafeteria

11:46 AM

"Whoa, whoa, wait. So...you're gonna be-"

"Staying with Mr. Stark."

"For..."

"For the whole summer."

Ned blinked at him before lifting a hand to his forehead. "I think I'm gonna pass out. I feel it. It's coming. Someone get a pillow."

Michelle threw her stale roll at his head, the bread bouncing off his face and landing on the table below. "Relax, fanboy. I don't have any smelling salts with me," she muttered before going back to her sketchbook. Despite how her face was tight with a look of concentration, Peter knew she was listening.

The lunchroom was loud as usual, kids stacking mush onto their trays, tables talking to their friends, and sneakers squeaking on the hard linoleum floor. Peter, Ned, and Michelle sat together at the end of one of the longer tables, the other members of their Decathlon team seated further down, too far to really hear anything important in their conversation.

Peter waved a dismissive hand in the air. "Besides, I'm sure he'll back out of it soon enough."

Michelle's pencil scrawled along the page, her eyes never lifting as she spoke. "What makes you say that?"

The teen glanced up at the ceiling, rubbing at the back of his neck as he puffed out a sharp breath of air. " I mean, come on. It's a pretty crazy idea, right? Offering to house me for like, two months? It's..." he trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

Safe to say, the shock from his talk with Mr. Stark on Thursday hadn't settled. And his offer still seemed just as ludicrous as it had on that day. For not only did it hinge on the fact that the billionaire wouldn't realize how...extreme a tactic it was just to keep an eye on Peter, but also on the idea that his father would ever agree to it.

Richard Parker was a bit of a control freak, especially when it came to his son. Just the internship alone was a huge diversion from his usual manic obsession to dictate anything and everything about Peter. It gave the teen a certain freedom he wasn't used to getting from his father. So to push it even further, to actually try and leave the house, leave his father's watchful gaze and dominating hand for even two months was...crazy.

It would never work. Besides, summer was still a few weeks away. He was sure Mr. Stark would come to his senses before then. He did tentatively believe the man's vows to keep Peter's secrets about his family, which in itself was a hard thing for the kid to do. But to actually believe the man was going to go through with the summer?

Peter's doubts were strong.

Ned was still bouncing in his seat, not really seeming to register what Peter was saying anymore. Michelle, however, seemed just a bit more observant, setting her pencil down as she finally lifted her head to meet his gaze. "What made him offer this? Why now? Do you know?"

Peter swallowed, afraid that the girl would ask. Michelle always was one to want all the information, even when that information was hard to give. He bit the inside of his cheek, glancing away nervously as he shifted in his seat.

"Well, we kinda...maybe, well more like I sort of...blew up at him on Monday...anddd then again on Thursday?"

God, just saying it made him want to cringe in embarrassment.

Michelle cocked a brow and Ned finally stopped bouncing, both of them throwing him incredulous looks. "Seriously?"

"You yelled at Tony Stark."

"We've established his name, Ned. Thank you." MJ muttered with a roll of her eyes before she turned back towards Peter, leaning in closer as the boy fidgeted. "Why did you yell? Did he say something to make you angry?"

Peter hissed in a breath through his teeth, continued to rub at his neck. "No. Not...exactly. I wasn't really angry. Just frustrated that he wouldn't let it go."

Michelle's face held onto its perplexed look before it slowly began to seep into something else, her back straightening as she slowly narrowed her eyes.

"Let what go?"

His fingers drummed against the table, resting his chin in his hand as he pointedly looked away. "He might have found out about my family, like...like the not-so-good stuff."

There was a beat of silence. Peter spared a tiny glance. Ned had effectively ceased his gawking and Michelle's gaze was unwavering as she stared the teen down hard. Peter drew his lips into a tight line, feeling his nerves spike just a tad.

"He knows?" Michelle finally asked, voice quiet and tight.

Peter sighed and gave a little shrug of his shoulders, missing the look his friends shared with each other as he spoke. "I think he always had a suspicion. It's probably why he offered me the internship in the first place." Not a complete lie. Peter was fairly positive without Mr. Stark's suspicions, he would have just left him alone to his own devices, suit and all.

"But after I...you know, screamed at him, I went to apologize and we sort of...talked. We came to an agreement which eventually let to him offering to house me for the summer." He pursed his lips and cocked a brow. "Not really an offer, actually. More like a statement of fact so I don't know if I really had a choice in the matter. I think he just wants me out of the house for a while."

Ned was nodding along, his earlier excitement curbed but still fairly visible in his body language. Michelle, though-

"MJ? You okay?" he asked, tilting his head as he noticed the girl beginning to stare off, eyes flitting back and forth across the surface of the table. She glanced up as he spoke, pushing a stray strand of hair back behind her ear as she huffed a dismissive puff of air. "Yeah. I'm fine."

Peter furrowed his brow, obviously not too satisfied. He opened his mouth to speak again, only to be cut off by Ned suddenly going stiff in his seat.

"Hold on a second."

They turned to him.

"Does this mean...Dude. You have to get me in there. Oh...oh my god. I actually have a chance to see the inside of Avengers Tower?"

"It's not called Avengers Tower anym-"

"I could meet Tony Stark."

"You've already met him."

"I could meet him twice!"

Peter scoffed, not able to keep the fond smile off of his face as Ned went back to basically vibrating in his seat. If there was one person who could always drag a smile out of him, it was Ned Leeds.

His eyes drifted back over to MJ, who had gone back to glancing down at the table, eyes hard in concentration as her fingers began to tighten around the edge of the table. Her body language read anger, but her face was troubled, confused almost. Peter's eyes scrunched as he leaned in closer, sliding his hand a little closer to hers just to grab her attention. She looked up.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked softly, watching as her eyes stared down at the still-visible bandages wrapped around his fingers. She blinked, gazed back up at him and pinched her eyes into a look that resembled the concern she'd shown that morning. Peter straightened up at the look, realizing the girl probably had something to say. She opened her mouth.

"What the hell?"

"What's going on out there?"

"Dudes, come look at this! It's insane!"

All three of them turned at the sound of loud exclamations and excited chatter rising from the side of the cafeteria. Kids were beginning to get up from their tables and crowd around the door leading to the outside lunch tables. They were either pressing their faces against the glass or pouring out the door.

All three teens shared confused looks.

"What's going on?" Ned asked, furrowing his brow as he watched the rest of the Decathlon members get up from their seats to make their way over. Peter narrowed his eyes and slowly stood up, craning his neck to try and see over the crowds, but it was no use.

"I...have no idea."

Michelle didn't waste any time, getting up from her seat without another word and making her way over. Ned and Peter shared surprised looks before quickly gathering their stuff to follow after the girl.

More and more kids were streaming out the door, leaving a river of bodies to follow as the excited yelling grew, ringing loudly in Peter's ears as he winced.

Outside the kids were even more riled up, standing from their tables and excitedly pointing and gawking at something in the distance. A little more pushing and shoving and the three of them were finally away from the crowds, eyes widening and mouths falling open as they caught sight of what everyone was staring at.

"Oh no."

Reporters. Floods of them were pressing up against the fence surrounding the perimeter of the school, only a few yards away from the outdoor lunch tables. News vans lined the back street, reporters from what appeared to be every major and minor news station were situated in the grass., even small-time bloggers were smooshing up against the fence. They were all pointing their cameras, their microphones, their eyes towards the crowds of kids, lights flashing and voices yelling over one another.

The kids around him were going crazy, taking pictures with their own phones, waving at the cameras, a few of them even posing as the shots were taken. Peter felt his heart spike into overdrive as he caught sight of the literal mob waiting for...him, held back only by a single flimsy mesh fence.

He huffed a short breath, catching the eyes of his friends as they shared his thought. They had to go.

But as soon as Peter turned to push his way back inside, back into the safety of the cafeteria and out of the view of prying camera lenses, he felt two hands latch on to his arms and drag him backward. He yelped as he was suddenly spun around, eyes meeting the grinning face of Flash, the teen smirking maliciously at him and his panicked look.

"Flash."

"Where you going, Parker? Your fans are waiting."

With that, the boy began to literally push Peter through the crowd and back towards the fence. He began to dig his heels into the ground, fighting to get out of Flash's grip as he was shoved. His mind was screaming, thoughts bouncing to literally rip himself out of Flash's prickling grip and just shove the jerk straight into the ground. But now there were eyes on him, the crowd now seeming to piece together why the reporters were there in the first place. He couldn't fight back, couldn't reveal himself. He was in the spotlight now.

"Let go of me, Flash!" He continued to thrash, but Flash's grip was surprisingly tight, too tight for skinny weakling Peter Parker to realistically break free from. He could hear Michelle and Ned yelling, but there was too much noise for him to make out their exact words, too many bodies in the way for them to actually be able to help.

Flash leaned closer, his mouth next to Peter's ear as he spoke. "Guess your little buddy-buddy friendship with Tony Stark isn't all it's cracked up to be." He straightened up, facing off for all the cameras as he smiled a shit-eating grin. "Smile for the cameras!" And with that, he shoved into Peter's back, sending him sprawling out onto the floor in front of the fence.

Peter immediately whipped his head up, eyes wide and palms pressing into the rough gravel below as he tried to see through all the flashing or hear against the grating screaming of each voice mingling into one another. He shut his eyes and lifted a hand to try and block out the blinding light, hastily trying to find his bearings and get back up to his feet, only for him to feel something latch onto his wrist and drag him towards the fence.

He grunted and shot his eyes open as he literally began to get dragged closer as one of the reporters closest to the fence latched a bony hand around his wrist and began to tug hard. People were shouting questions, pushing their lenses in front of his face, a whirlwind of stimulus and frenzy that made him begin to shake, the foreign grip on his arm making him want to scream as he felt the burning sensation of a stranger's touch.

Then Michelle was there, seemingly from out of nowhere. She shoved hard against the fence, effectively shocking the reporter enough to break his grip from Peter's arm, sending him crashing back onto the floor. Ned was suddenly next to him, helping haul him to his feet as Michelle's face grew red, eyes piercing into the crowd as she pointed at the guy who'd been tugging at Peter.

"Back off, you creep! That's assault of a minor! You could be charged for that, idiot!"

The guy sneered at her. More cameras flashed. "Hey, shut up, bitch. You're getting in the way of our story."

She didn't back down though. In fact, Ned moved to stand in front of her, shielding Peter from the view of the cameras and the reporters pounding against the fence like literal rabid dogs.

"Alright! Come on! Everybody inside. Inside!" A group of teachers and security officers shoved their way through the crowd of students mingling by the doors, some guiding them into the cafeteria while the others rushed towards the fence, stepping in between the three teens and the media hounds. Mr. Harrington was there, turning towards the kids with wide eyes that very obviously stated he felt way in over his head. Still, he began to guide the three of them away from the fence, casting nervous glances over his shoulder at the ravenous mob rattling the fence.

"Uh...Peter," he called, once the three of them were behind the safety of the school walls again. "You're needed in the office. I suggest you...you know, hurry along."

He blinked up at the man, opening his mouth to speak only for no words to come out. He sucked in a shaky breath before giving a slow nod of his head, like the information was taking an extra-long time to register in his mind.

His friends must have noticed the look beginning to spread onto his face, for Ned quickly whirled around to face their teacher. "We're taking him there."

The man hesitated, opening his mouth to speak, only for Michelle to narrow her eyes and take a small step forward. "We're going." She didn't even wait for him to reply before she was all but dragging Peter out of the cafeteria.

As soon as the double doors to the cafeteria closed behind them, the bellowing voices died down, getting quieter and quieter the further they walked. Peter didn't look up, didn't say anything as he placed one foot in front of the other, gently rubbing at the wrist the bold reporter had grabbed. His grip had been so tight, the teen was fairly confident the skin would begin to bruise later on in the day.

"You okay, man? Did that guy hurt you?"

He breathed, one breath in, one breath out. Even, steady, calm. He had to stay calm.

But he didn't feel very calm.

His hands were beginning to shake, fingers throbbing and heart pounding against his chest in unsteady, erratic beats. He could hear the air blowing through his nose, sharp and forced punches of air that did little to relieve the churning in his gut.

It was bad enough they were constantly swarming his house, so much so that he literally had to sneak out nowadays, but now this? Pounding up against the walls of his school? Surrounding the fences and blocking the bus loops with huge news vans? It was literal chaos and he was at the center of it!

How was he going to break this to his father?

They walked in silence, the quiet a stark contrast to the manic chaos they were leaving behind of students and reporters alike. It was little comfort, but it was something at least. The office wasn't too far from the cafeteria so before they knew it, they were standing outside the door.

One breath in.

"Peter."

One breath out.

He turned, met the worried gazes of his friends. He bit at his lip, eyes scrunching. "I...I didn't think they'd find the school." He swallowed, his throat bone-dry all of a sudden.

Michelle and Ned shared another look before the girl was taking a step forward. Peter lifted his head, stared back at her confident look. "It'll be fine. We'll deal with it and this will all blow over in a few days."

And the way she said it, the sheer unshakable certainty lacing her words almost made Peter believe it. "Y-yeah?"

"Dude, you kidding? Of course! These guys have the attention spans of baby squirrels with ADHD." Ned rolled his eyes, grinning with a knowing glint in his eyes. "Tomorrow I'm sure they'll be fawning over some new viral cat video or something. You'll see."

It was total bullshit.

This was the story of the year. Richard Parker and Tony Stark involved in one setup, two of the most powerful men in the city, one of them a current Avenger, the other a local hero around the streets and a staple in said city? And now with a kid in the center of all of it? This was media gold and Peter knew it.

And the way his friends were standing, their shifting postures and flitting eyes told him they were lying. It told him that they were just as unsure about all of it as he was, that they didn't really believe what they were saying.

But they still said it. They said it and they knew he didn't believe them but they said it anyway. They said it to make themselves feel better. They said it to make him feel better. Peter couldn't ignore that. So, if only to play along with their efforts, he gave them a small smile. It was shaky and nervous, but it was there.

"You think so?"

Ned scoffed. "I know so."

Peter chuckled, glanced down at the ground as he felt his hands lose just a bit of their shakiness. Michelle placed a hand on his shoulder. He flinched but didn't pull away as she stared at him with those deep brown eyes of hers, face calm and reassuring. "Everything's going to be fine, Peter. Just relax. Keep calm, trust your instincts, and keep breathing. Don't panic."

He tapped his undamaged fingers against his leg, gave a small nod of his head.

The girl glanced behind him at the door waiting to be opened before moving her eyes back to him, finally letting a small smile of her own spread to her lips. "You'll be fine. If not...you have our numbers. Use them."

Her voice was firm. His nod was steady this time.

She seemed satisfied with his answer, taking a step back with Ned at her side. Peter threw the two of them one last grateful look before taking his first real deep breath, turning to the door before him.

The principle was probably going to send him home, maybe call one of the Cons to come pick him up or if he was lucky, he'd be able to convince the man to let him walk home by himself. His father would most definitely be upset, likely over the fact that the media storm his son had inadvertently created was still causing issues, growing issues if the reporters now outside his school were any indication. But it would be fine. He'd think of what to say to his father on the way home, take the time to come up with something to calm the man down from his assuredly impending anger.

He could do this.

He curled his fingers, lifted his hand and rested his palm against the handle, shutting his eyes for a brief second before pushing it open, leaving his two friends behind as he stepped inside, shut the door...

...and promptly felt his heart drop into his stomach.

"There you are, Peter." Richard said with a smile as he turned in his seat, Principal Morita and Ms. O'Hara turning to look at him as well. His father was seated at one of the cushioned chairs opposite the principal's desk, O'Hara standing next to Morita as the man gave Peter a warm smile.

"Thanks for getting here so fast, Peter. I just got word that the reporters have moved towards the back dining area. I hope they didn't give you much trouble."

Richard was staring at him with his deep brown eye and his faded gray one, the pale chemical burns on his cheek seeming all the more pronounced in the harsh fluorescent lights above them, making each and every pale white dot stand out even more around his eye. His face was lax, a calm wash of passive energy that was concrete and near perfect. His posture, his tone, even the slight smile on his lips played into the look, giving him an aura of gentle concern that could truly fool anyone.

But his eyes...

His eyes were smoldering. Peter could see it in the slight twitches around the corners, the barely noticeable tapping of his fingers, the crease in his jawline that showed he was clenching his teeth.

His father wasn't just mad. He was pissed.

The man leaned forward in his chair slightly, furrowing his brow. "Peter. Don't be rude," he said softly yet sternly.

The teen was so lost in the sudden static panic building in his chest that he'd completely forgotten that Mr. Morita had spoken to him. He turned to the man, felt his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, his throat seizing as the air literally faded from his lungs, vision suddenly hazy and skull creaking under the pressure.

A tap of the foot. Richard was tapping his foot.

A cue.

You're on, Peter.

The teen straightened up, giving a small shake of his head as he smiled and placed a hand to his forehead. "Right...uh, sorry. I guess I'm still a little shaken up by all of this." He could hear his voice, feel the words leaving his mouth without so much as a second thought from him, instinct kicking in as he spoke.

O'Hara smiled and Peter felt his spine tingle as she stared at him. Ned and MJ weren't here to shield him from the chill of her gaze anymore. He was exposed. "I'm sure, sweetie. But rest assured we're going to take this very seriously."

Morita nodded, face hard and lips pulled into a stern frown. "That's right. I understand that it's probably a fairly difficult time for you two but you don't have to worry about a thing. We'll increase security around the perimeter of the school and set up points right outside every entrance. Nobody who isn't supposed to be in here is getting in and we're certainly not going to tolerate them harassing you, Peter," he said, giving the boy a gentle smile.

His heart was pounding, skin crackling as he dragged another reassuring smile onto his face, feeling the strings on his face pulling taut. "Thank you, but it's really no problem. I can handle a few camera flashes."

Keep breathing. Keep breathing.

Richard sighed, running a hand through his hair as he gave the principal an apologetic look. "I'm so sorry about all of this, Jim. I hate how much trouble we're causing for you." He glanced over the principal's shoulder and out the window, where they could still see news vans pulling up onto the street. Richard grimaced. "I knew they were getting pretty pushy but I never expected them to find Peter's school, let alone actually show up here. I figured they'd at least extend us the courtesy."

O'Hara hummed a sickly tune. "Courtesy isn't really what they're known for if I do recall correctly."

Jim waved a hand at Richard's apologies. "It's no trouble at all, Rich. I'm just sorry you have to deal with this at all."

The man gave a small nod of his head, straightening the buttons on his suit. "Yes well...it's being handled."

Peter felt his fingers curl behind his back, nails digging into his palms in a tight pinch of grounding pain.

O'Hara, of course, giggled incessantly at the man as she cheekily grinned. "I'm sure. You always seem to have a handle on these sorts of things."

"Well, let's just say I have plenty of experience fending off the overexcited media drabble. They really do mean well most of the time. It's just...they can be a bit...aggressive."

Morita chuckled at that. "No kidding. I basically got them breaking down the fences outside."

Richard sat up a bit straighter at that, face concerned. "I'll be happy to pay for any damages they might cause."

"Nonsense. You already give enough." Jim spared a small glare out the window. "Besides, it's not your fault, Rich. No sense in making you pay for it."

Richard paused for just a beat, grunting a humored huff as he drummed his fingers against his knee. "Well, someone's gonna pay."

He didn't look at his son as he said it, didn't need to.

Peter already knew.

Morita, of course, was oblivious to the sudden shift in Peter's body language as he chuckled. "If it's anything serious, I can always just pull the security footage and send them the bill. I'm sure those guys over at NBS and CBS have some money to spare.

They laughed. They actually laughed...like Peter's impending doom wasn't sitting a mere two feet from him, as if his father's rage wasn't lying in wait, creeping along the floor and latching onto his legs, dragging him down with the weight of his fear. Peter smiled, held in the scream trying to tear through his cheeks.

Richard sighed. "I guess you do have a point there. But all things considered, I think it would probably be best to take Peter home for the remainder of the day so we can plan what to do next. Safe to say, the two of us have a lot to talk about."

Keep breathing. Breathe. Breathe, idiot!

Jim nodded and O'Hara placed a hand on the principal's shoulder in support. "I'm sure. Well, just know that you have Midtown's full support. If you need anything at all, we'd be happy to aid one of our most generous benefactors and one of our best students. Safe to say, your family is very important to us here."

Richard smiled, a warm look of gratitude that must have taken decades to fake so well. "I appreciate that. Really I do." He turned towards the teen. "Peter?" he coaxed.

The teen turned his smile towards the principal, clenching his hands so tightly behind his back, he could hear the bones in his broken fingers beginning to shift and grind against each other. "Thank you so much for all of this."

Jim smiled back at him. "It's no problem, Peter. Just be careful out there, okay?"

Richard stood up from his chair and it took all of Peter's willpower to not flinch as the man wrapped his enormous hand around his son's shoulder, nearly engulfing his thin frame in his palm. "Don't worry. I'll be keeping a close eye on him."

His hold tightened, Peter swallowing the rocks pressing against his throat as he felt the man's fingers begin to dig into his skin.

Morita stood up from his seat and O'Hara followed as they escorted the father and son to the door, the woman cracking her mouth into a toothy grin as she stared down at the boy. "Bye, Peter. Remember, if you ever want to talk about anything, my door is always open."

Breathe. Breathe. Don't pass out.

Richard smiled and took a step towards the woman, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. "You're a doll, Holly." He turned and extended a hand to the principal. "Jim."

The man shook it with vigor, smiling as he opened the door for them. "Thanks for your time, Rich. You parked in the back, right? I think they're more focused on the front fences so you should be good."

"Got it. I'll see you next week for the finances meeting."

"See you then."

The door shut.

And Peter was alone with his father.

It was like a switch. As soon as the click of the door settled in the air, Richard's face lost its smile, eyes dimming and a set frown falling onto his face. His posture tensed and his breathing leveled out into a deeper, slower rhythm.

The hallways were terrifyingly empty, no stragglers or potential witnesses lurking the floor, no principals to watch or friends to observe. The silence was near deafening, echoing off the walls in thick waves of nothing, leaving Peter to listen to the pounding of his heart and the clicking of the bones in his fingers shifting with each twitch of his hand.

Richard didn't turn to him, didn't look at him or even so much as speak. All he did was turn on his heel and begin to briskly make his way down the hall. Peter watched him go for a half-second of frozen terror before sucking in a shaky breath and falling in line after the man. He tried not to look up, tried not to see the veins in the man's hand pulsing slightly in time to his heartbeat or the stiff manner in which he walked, as if he were physically holding in his anger.

They made their way towards the back exit to the school where, just as Morita had said, the faculty parking lot was empty of any news vans or impeding mobs. His father's car wasn't hard to spot in the line-up of beat-up old trucks, vans, and sedans that could be afforded on teacher salaries. It stuck out like a sore thumb by the edge of the lot.

They continued on in silence, even as Peter slid into the passenger seat and his father joined him, wordlessly started the car, and pulled away from the school.

Peter faced forward, didn't look at his father, didn't look out the window, just kept his eyes straight and his back rigid against the stiff leather seats, as if he could simply disappear if he remained absolutely still. His undamaged hand fisted around his pants, fingers digging into the denim around his knees as he begged his foot to keep from tapping. The air in the car was tense, so thick and suffocating that Peter could feel it wrapping around his throat, sinking deep into his chest as it pressed down against him, making his skin bubble with goosebumps and set a continuous stream of nerves tingling down the back of his neck.

But he didn't need his senses to tell he was in danger.

They continued on in silence for a good couple of minutes as Richard drove. He wasn't erratic or frustrated in his driving: stopped at every red light, merged seamlessly with oncoming traffic, used his blinkers. They were not the signs of a man teeming with rage. But his grip on the steering wheel told a different story.

It only took a few more minutes of driving for Peter to realize where they were going. But before he could decide how he felt about it, they were pulling up to another red light and Richard suddenly tapped his fingers against the wheel, impressions from his hands leaving indents in the grips.

"Do you enjoy causing problems?" He didn't turn, didn't look at his son. Just kept his eyes on the light and his voice unnaturally calm. Peter resisted the urge to squirm in his seat.

"No."

"Do you like making things difficult for people?"

"No."

"So maybe you can explain to me what your reasons are for continuing to do so. Hmm...? Care to share?" This time he did turn, pointing his burning stare at Peter.

"Well let me try. See, I give you one simple task. One. Take the internship with Stark and lie in wait until we give you further instructions." He took both hands off the wheel, making Peter flinch at his sharp movements. "Done. Simple. So simple, in fact, that even someone as incompetent and useless as you can't mess it up." The man scoffed, letting out a little chuckle as he ran a hand down his face. "And yet, lo and behold, you still find a way. I'm almost impressed, Peter."

The light changed. The man started driving. Peter kept silent.

"'Take the internship.' That means get him coffee, make copies, file his papers. But in your mind that somehow turns into 'set off a media storm scandal.'" He shook his head, lips pursed into a tight smile as he pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. "God, I could kill you right now," he chuckled.

Peter shut his eyes, felt the shakiness of his next breath hesitantly entering his chest, like his own lungs were too afraid to keep working. "I'm sorr-"

"I was willing to let it go when it was just those idiots around the house." The man continued like the teen hadn't even spoken. "Whatever. I can deal with that. But now they're proving just how far they're willing to go for this story." His eyes narrowed, grip tightening on the wheel in a white-knuckle squeeze. "And you know what? Why wouldn't they? This is only the story of the century that you just handed right to them, basically served it up to them on a silver platter."

He turned back to his son with a sharp, sinister stare. "See, you know what I don't like, Peter?" His voice was ice now. Peter could feel it beginning to frost over his skin in a familiar nauseating chill. "I don't like having to deal with unnecessary problems. And this...is definitely unnecessary. And I most certainly have to deal with it now."

Peter couldn't help it now. His foot began to tap against the floor of the car, matching in time to the frantic beating of his heart and the unnerving thrumming banging around his head. He tightened his jaw and tore his eyes away from the windshield, dragging them down to the floor instead as he longed for the silence again, no matter how unsettling it was.

Another red light. The car stopped.

"You know what I have going on, aside from the pointless, time-wasting trips I'm now making to your school? I have people at work coming up to me asking about you, asking if everything's okay with us, poking their noses in places it doesn't belong and accusing me of using my own son as a spy against Tony fucking Stark!"

Maybe it was the sudden shouting or the inclusion of Mr. Stark or maybe even some left-over confidence from his talk that morning with his friends, but Peter suddenly found himself glaring at the red-tinted floor from the lights outside the car, new bitter words leaving his mouth before he could think better of them.

"Well isn't that exactly what you're doing? Not my fault people are finally calling you out."

. . .

Silence.

. . .

Grave silence.

Peter's eyes widened and his heart seized up into his throat, effectively blocking any and all air from entering as he whipped his eyes towards the man. Richard was staring at him, face stoic and muscles tight.

It wasn't the first time he'd gotten that look. Just that weekend, he'd gotten it from Max after he'd egged him on and right before the man had slammed him into a mirror. It wasn't anything he'd never seen before.

But this was different. This was his father.

Sandra and Flint and even Max had their restrictions, the lines they couldn't cross with him. Lines put in place by his father. Even though he knew the dangers and was smart enough to avoid ticking them off, Peter always found it was just a little easier to talk back to the Cons. Because at the end of the day, they took their orders from someone else and that someone else typically made it a point to keep him alive.

But this was his father. His father took orders from nobody. There were no lines set for him, no restrictions. He could do whatever he wanted and nobody could stop him.

Peter remembered this too late.

The light turned green and Richard calmly faced forward once again. Peter felt his hands begin to violently shake in his lap as the man veered away from the center lane and turned off of the main street. His toes curled in his shoes and his ears rang with the sudden echo of blood circulating through. The car pulled off into another path and as they drove off this new lane, the traffic slowly began to dwindle, the people on the streets dropped to zero and the buildings began to grow more and more decrepit.

Another turn and Peter caught sight of the construction zone, an abandoned plot of land surrounded by crumbling buildings and empty walkways. He couldn't feel his heart beating anymore. It was going too fast, a blur of motion that left him breathless and light-headed.

Richard pulled into the lot and shut the car off with a resounding click, pulling the keys from the ignition and pocketing them.

"Get out of the car."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"

"I won't say it again." With that, Richard opened up his own door and stepped out, shutting it with a loud bang and leaving Peter to tremble in his seat. The teen felt each breath leaving his mouth in a violent heave of movement, like his body was physically throwing up each exhale. With a shaky hand, the teen latched his quivering fingers around the handle of the door and slowly pushed it open, taking a second to find his feet and rise up from the seat.

Richard had moved around the car and was now standing outside his door. Peter turned around, slowly pressed the door shut, and rested his palms against the glass, head down and eyes shut as he waited for the inevitable.

"Turn around."

Keep breathing. Keep breathing. Do as you're told.

Locking his jaw, Peter felt his feet crunching underneath gravel as he hesitantly began to move. But before he was even able to fully turn around, a huge fist was slamming into his cheek, the force so strong that it literally knocked him off his feet with a shocked cry. He landed hard on the ground, shoulder jarring into the gravel as he banged his head against the floor. He was barely able to glance back up before another fist was connecting with his face, knocking him back onto his stomach with a shuttering gasp.

"You know, when Max told me you'd been mouthing off to him, I almost didn't believe it," Richard sighed, shrugging off his suit jacket and draping it over the top of the car. "I didn't think you'd do something so stupid and so disrespectful." He began to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt. "I thought I taught you better than that. I'm very disappointed in you, Peter."

He lurched down, connecting another hit with Peter's cheek and another with his eye as he went down. The teen floundered on the floor, pressing his palms into the sharp stones below in hopes of finding some leverage, only for Richard to kick his arms out from under him, sending him sprawling back onto the ground. The teen groaned, eyes blinking back open in shock as Richard forcefully turned the kid onto his back and began to straddle him, threateningly leaning in as close as possible.

"See, I can't have you mouthing off to him. And I certainly can't have you mouthing off to me." He reached down and latched his hand around Peter's bandaged fingers. The teen's eyes widened.

"You understand?"

"Y-Yes! Yes, I understand!"

Richard pinched his face. "Hmm...I don't think you do." And with that, he curled his beefy hand into a fist, crushing Peter's already broken fingers in his vice-like grip. Peter shrieked as he felt the bones crunch under the stress, yanking and pulling at his arm as the man tightened his hold, throat burning at the sheer volume of his cry as his hand cracked with white-hot fire.

"I do! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I just-"

Another fist to his cheek cut him off with a loud grunt of pain as Richard finally released the teen's hand, rising back up to his feet with a gleam in his eyes and a certain unsettling edge of calm in his voice, like he was simply talking about the weather and not beating his son on the edge of an abandoned construction zone.

"I know you're sorry. But I don't need you to be sorry, Peter. I need you to learn."

He reared his foot back and delivered a sharp, swift kick to the teen's gut, literally knocking the air out of him in a violent sputtering gasp. "I have. I-I have learned," Peter stuttered, voice cracking as the words wavered on his tongue, fighting to get out as he shook. "Please, I-"

"Well if that's true then why are we still doing this?" Another kick, this time to the face. "Why do you still force me to do this?" And another, quick and precise to the ribs. "Why do you have to push every button?"

Peter groaned, pressing his cheek into the gravel as he felt his eyes beginning to burn, hot tears prickling at the corners. Richard leaned down and grabbed a fistful of the boy's hair, lurching his neck up in a painful jerk. "You cause this. You make me do this. Not me. This is all on you so don't you start crying like you're the victim in all of this when you brought this all upon yourself."

He delivered a sharp slap across the face, making spittle fly from the teen's mouth. Peter dragged in a shuttering breath, eyes crunching as he grasped at his father's wrist, hoping to alleviate the pressure ripping at his skull. "I was just t-trying to do what I thought you wanted!"

Richard curled his lip, violently slamming Peter's head down into the floor, pressing his arm down against the back of his neck. "See, that's the problem. You're not supposed to think! Not when I don't tell you to." Peter gritted his teeth, felt the stones underneath slicing into his cheeks as his hands scrabbled against the ground. "You're supposed to wait and obey like a respectful, dutiful son. Is that really so much to ask?!" He drove his foot into the kid's side again, making him buckle under the intensity as he tried to curl in on himself, Richard's tight grip against his neck making it impossible.

"I give you food when you're good and a roof over your head. I even take the time to teach you important life lessons and you're still ungrateful."

Another kick. Peter gasped, felt his ribs creaking and his stomach squelching. He shut his eyes tightly, willed the tears back lest they make his father angrier. "No. I...I am. I'm g-grateful. I swear."

Richard wrenched the teen's head up again, Peter yelping at the sudden pain in his neck. "Well, I start to question that the second you begin to question my authority!" The man pulled back and delivered a full punch to the kid's nose, Peter literally falling backward at the force behind it as his nose cracked and blood spurted into the air.

He landed with a thud against the gravel, coughing against the blood dripping from his nose and into his mouth. He scrunched his eyes shut again, tried to fight down the churning nausea looming in his gut. He coughed, blood splattering the stones underneath him. "I was wrong...I-I'm sorry. I...I w-was wron-"

An extra sharp kick right to the stomach cut him off with a choked gurgle, the teen barely having any time to turn onto his side before he was spewing bile from his mouth, body shaking as his stomach heaved and rolled with the burning pain of each blow. His chest creaked and his head shrieked with an intense blinding pain, jaw locking and body trembling from the strain. He heaved a few more times and the last dribbles of vomit left his lips with a soft cry. No longer able to hold the tears, Peter ducked his head, felt the blood dripping down his face mingling with the new drips rolling down his cheeks.

He heard his father sigh, heard the sound of gravel shifting under the man's shoes. Peter didn't look up, just kept his eyes shut and his shaking hands fisting into the sharp stones below, the bright burning pain of his broken fingers making the tears fall faster.

"You think I want to do this?" His father's voice was calm, eerily so. "You think I want to make you hurt like this? Because I don't. I'd never want this, Peter. But I know it's necessary."

Distantly, Peter could make out the soft sound of far-off cars passing by. He prayed one would come, prayed there were some stragglers on the streets, someone to see, someone to come check, someone for his father to pretend for.

"I can't have you acting so disrespectful without any consequences."

But there was no one. No one to see. No one to help. No one but his father.

"What is it I always tell you?"

And suddenly the silence of the empty streets was killed by the familiar sounds of a belt buckle unfastening. Peter's breath shuddered. He opened his eyes and stared down at his fingers, crooked and bloodied against the darkening stones, lone tears dripping onto the skin.

"Discipline's...important."

He heard his father hum in approval. Everything in him teetered with a sudden chill, a thick, sticky fear that latched into his heart and began to settle in his bones. He coughed, sputtered on some more blood that was beginning to clog his nose and stick to his throat. His father was silent. Peter knew what he was waiting for. He spoke, voice shaky, uneven, pathetic.

"I...I'm s-sorry..."

He heard his father's voice above him, cold and uncaring. "What are you sorry for?"

"For causing p-problems. F-for causing you...problems. I-inconveniencing you. I shouldn't be s...such a pain. This is all my f-fault. All...all of it."

"Really? Cause just a few minutes ago, you said-"

"I was wrong." Peter's hands curled into the gravel, the bones in his fingers shifting and clicking with each twitch, crunching against his skin in a grating pull. "I...I was wrong. It is my fault. A-all of this is...is my fault. I make you do this. I-I'm sorry."

He heard the sand shifting again and suddenly his father came into view, the man crouching down next to him, eyes peering down at the bloodied face of his son. "That's right," he purred, slowly bringing the belt into view. Peter couldn't help the whimper that fell from his lips as he saw it, the ends fastened tightly in the man's grip, creating a thick, solid loop of leather. The teen heard the shaking of his breathing and the soft sound of his cries as the man began to brush the belt against his son's cheek, shutting his eyes so he didn't have to see the looming threat that made his body shiver.

Richard rested it against the underside of Peter's chin and used it to lift the teen's head up just a bit. "And what are you going to do to make up for it?"

Breathe. Breathe. He couldn't breathe anymore.

"Whatever you say. I'll do whatever you say, w-whatever you want."

He could practically feel it already, feel it slicing into his skin, tearing through his flesh in thick bands of burning leather.

"Because?"

"Because I o-owe you everything. I owe you my life. A-and I'm grateful for everything y-you...do for me, everything you teach me. Y-you're my father and you deserve...deserve my respect."

Richard whipped the belt away and Peter literally gasped in shocked relief as it moved away from him. The man straightened up but didn't put the belt away. "You need structure. You need discipline."

His head was fuzzy now, his tongue dry and his throat tight. It was hard to see, mainly because one of his eyes was swelling shut and the other had drops of blood from his forehead dripping in the way. "You're right."

"I'm always right."

"You're always right." He tried to glance up, but the man was standing just underneath the sun, which harshly glared down at him, as if even it knew just how disappointing he was. He turned away. "T-thank you for teaching me."

The gravel shifted again. Richard was stepping closer. Peter fought the urge to curl back up again, didn't really have the energy to anymore. He could feel the looming force of his father, the overwhelming suffocating air swirling around him. Richard's voice was deathly low, a quiet shiver that made Peter's spine tingle.

"Would you ever betray me, Peter?"

The belt snapped above him, a horrifyingly loud sound that made his bones ache and his stomach shrivel. His heart stuttered, a dying noise that echoed in his ears. "No. Never. I'd n-never betray you. I live to serve you."

Richard sighed and reached a hand down towards Peter's hair. He didn't yank at it, just rested it atop his head, a heavy weight that could snap his neck without even trying, an ominous threat. But when he spoke again, it was calm, collected, his usual tone of voice. "I choose to believe that, Peter. Because I choose to believe in my son as any good father does. And if you ever let me down again-"

The belt curled around his neck, tightening so fast that Peter didn't even have time to drag in a hasty breath before his head was being jerked back. Peter's eyes widened as Richard leaned down next to him, lips mere inches from the boy's ear. "...you can sure as hell believe that I will make you suffer." He could feel the man's breath against his skin, hot and hellish, and inescapable. The belt tightened. Peter wheezed and lifted his hands to his neck, felt the band cutting into his skin. "And why is that?"

Peter didn't fight the man's hold on him this time, didn't try and pry his fingers underneath the belt to try and alleviate the pressure. He whimpered and held back more tears, but he didn't fight.

"B-because I'll deserve it."

"Because you'll deserve it." With that, the man released the ligature, Peter falling to his hands and knees with a ragged gasp of air. But before he could really take a steadying breath, Richard was looping a hand around his son's arm, nearly crushing it as he dragged him up to his feet and shoved him towards the car, the teen slamming into the side with a grunt as he tried desperately not to fall back down to his feet. "Now get in the car."

With that, the man went about fixing himself up again, readjusting his tie and rolling his sleeves back down. Peter couldn't really hear him over the loud whining filling his ears, didn't turn to him. Instead, he focused on the car, focused on pressing his shaking hands against the glass, cold and chilly against his skin. He could feel the throbbing of his ribs, the blood on his face sticky and wet.

It took a few tries, but eventually, Peter was able to wrap his shivering hands around the handle and secure it well enough to finally pry the door open, sliding down into his seat and swallowing down the burst of pain that flared from his body as it jarred against the car.

Richard joined a few seconds later, shutting his door and setting the keys in the ignition without any hesitation. The car purred to life, vibrating under Peter's legs. The teen didn't move, didn't make any noise. Instead, he listened to his breathing, listened to the sound of his heart thudding against his chest, sickly and sharp in his ears as it mingled with the sharp whine. He stared down at his lap, stared at his quivering hands, and the sickening crookedness of his fingers, the skin red, purple, and black as it swelled. His lips were parted ever so slightly, his breaths too ragged and torn to safely breathe through his nose as his neck burned from the ligature he could still feel slicing into his skin.

The car pulled out of the lot without another moment's hesitation and a few turns later found them back on the main road, as if nothing had ever happened, a short seven minutes that had never occurred.

Said man drove without so much as an out of place twitch in his fingers, falling right back into the calm methodical routine of blinkers, turn signals, and merges, just like every other car on the road. So when he reached back over towards Peter, the teen couldn't help but flinch so badly he slammed his shoulder into the side of the door.

Richard rolled his eyes, but diverted his hand to the glove box in front of the kid, pulling it down and grabbing a spare towel stuffed inside, haphazardly tossing it to the teen. "You sure you can handle those bullies at school, Peter? They're really starting to do a number on you."

Peter hesitantly wrapped his fingers around the towel that had fallen into his lap, fighting not to rip the cloth to shreds in his trembling, white-knuckle grasp.

The stage lights were on, blinding in his eyes, burning his retinas. But the Audience was waiting. His line:

"N-nothing I can't handle...sir."

The car rolled to a stop at another red light, Richard turning to give the boy a hard look and ever so slightly reaching a hand over to grab the teen's face, gently turning his head to face him. Peter knew not to pull away, choked down the heart-stuttering fear that jolted at the touch.

The man let out a small breath, stared at his son's bleeding and bruising face. He lifted a thumb and wiped at some of the blood dotting Peter's chin. His finger was rough and scrapped up against one of the cuts on his face but Peter didn't flinch. Richard sighed.

"You know I love you, Peter."

Keep breathing.

And he did. Because who was he to disobey?

"...I know. I love you too."

 


 

Monday - May 2, 2016

Stark Tower - Main Offices

12:23 PM

Excedrin sucked.

At least, this was the conclusion Tony was beginning to come to as he glared down at the labels on the back of the bottle, trying to see which information he found first: the average wait time for the pills to take effect or the company complaint number. Safe to say, he had an earful for them.

But quickly deciding he'd rather not waste the precious energy he was just starting to get back on a couple of low-level corporate monkeys, the man sighed and pushed the pill bottle away from him, shutting his eyes as he rested his head down on the desk.

His body burned with a teeming exhaustion he could feel all the way down to his bones, a heavy weight that pressed down around him and made his tongue feel all fuzzy and his head all hazy. There was a constant ringing in his ears, a soft whine that was just loud enough to be annoying. It grated on his senses and made him long for the deepest, darkest room they could find, complete with sound-proof walls and a heavy-duty lock on the door.

Sunday had come and gone and while every hour without another dose of alcohol strengthened his resolve, the symptoms had yet to fully pass. The nausea had left by the time he'd woken up that morning, but in its place was a deep sense of weariness and a teeming throb of a headache that made him grit his teeth and fight against his instincts to get his suit and fly down to the corporate office of the closest migraine medication company to demand they explain their ridiculous wait-times.

Of course, this was the longest he'd ever held out for a detox session so safe to say, he wasn't about to bail out now. He'd made it this far. He was going to see it to the end, especially since all of Pepper's research suggested that he was in the final few stages. One more day and his system should be completely wiped of any and all traces of alcohol.

The thought made him feel...strange. Not bad, just...weird. He'd never gone more than a day or two without a drink for the past few decades or so, and even then the sheer anxiety that began to tingle through his muscles whenever he was in need of a fix always won him over in the end, leading to a glass or two even at the most inopportune moments.

It was classic alcoholism. He could see it now, even with the fuzz clouding his head at the moment. In his long list of failures, it definitely wasn't the worst, not by a long shot. But it was his longest-running misstep and the idea of finally stumbling back up to his feet was a foreign thought. Once again, not bad, just...weird.

He felt weird. There was no other way to explain it.

Oh, well. At least he was finally out of the bathroom.

"You know, I didn't think I could hate the guy more, but if Rogers ever crosses my path again, I am going to shove that shield so far up his ass they'll have to roll him to the ER."

Tony lifted his head up with a small smirk as Rhodey barged into the room, face streamed and posture rigid with anger. the braces on his legs whirred as he moved.

"Hey, platypus. How was your trip with Ross? You guys take pictures?"

"Plenty. And in all of them, you'll see Ross with that vein in his head growing larger and larger in every shot. I mean, by the time I left it was practically shouting orders."

Tony chuckled before resting his head back down on his arms. A small part of him still felt guilty over Rhodey having to deal with Ross instead of him, but that small part was largely outweighed by his burning disdain for the Senator mingled with the stomach bile he was certain he would have thrown up all over the man had he gone to see him.

Honestly, not a bad picture to imagine.

He heard the braces whirring again and a moment later a hand was resting down on his shoulder, a much calmer air radiating off the Colonel as he took a few deep breaths. "How you feeling, man?"

"Well...I'm currently living off of a steady diet of overpriced bottled water and shitty migraine medicine so all in all, it could be worse."

The weight didn't leave his shoulder. He sighed and lifted his head from his arms once again, eyes meeting the Colonel's concerned stare. Tony straightened up slightly in his seat, leaning back with a rub of the eyes. "I'm fine. Really. Should be fully cleared in a day or two."If there was anything that was going to make detoxing worse, it was talking about it. So he cleared his throat, resting his hand back down against the armrest. "Tell me about DC."

Rhodey sighed, shrugging his shoulders. "Nothing's really changed since I gave Pepper the update yesterday. Still no sign of any theft or tampering. The guards in the hospital are going to make full recoveries. No records were deleted, no flies corrupt."

The billionaire shook his head, pressing a hand against his mouth as he focused on breathing, focused on feeling the air enter his lungs. Rhodey kept talking, pacing back and forth across the room as he vented the frustrations he, no doubt, built up over his time with Ross. The Senator just seemed to have that sort of effect on people. His friend's words began to jumble together as Tony shut his eyes and waited for the growing ringing in his ears to settle, a deep hum that bounced off the walls and rattled against his teeth.

"I mean...what were they thinking? Are they just trying to make things more difficult for us?"

Wait. A question. Was it a question for him? Just in case, the man ran the words back around in his throbbing head and shrugged. "I wouldn't put it past them." He drummed his fingers against the armrest, grimacing slightly as his head gave an extra sharp twinge of pain. Rhodey grumbled something and took a seat in one of the chairs on the other side of Tony's desk.

The billionaire twisted around in his seat, turning to face the window, face the city below. "How hard of a hit are we taking from this?"

He could hear Rhodey tapping his own fingers against his leg braces, a tick Tony noticed he'd developed once the braces had actually come on. "People are angry, well...angrier. They're asking what you're going to do about it, what the Avenges are going to do about it?"

At that, Tony couldn't help but scoff. "Avengers. What Avengers? You, me and Vision are the only ones still here, the android hasn't left the compound in two months and the rest of our 'teammates' are terrorizing guards and playing laser tag in government vaults. Avengers..."

Any other time, Tony probably would have been feeling bad in that moment, recounting just how frayed and dismantled their team had become. But with the added pressure behind his eyes, the tingling anxiety bubbling over his skin, and the sheer stupidity of Rogers' actions, he found he could feel nothing but contemptuous anger. "What am I going to do about it?" He echoed Rhodey's question. "Nothing, if I can help it. Legally, I'm not mandated to, either. Not yet, anyway. Not until the Accords are fastened down tight. Till then, Ross can run around all he wants playing Big Boy Senator, but he's not going to drag me down into Rogers' little circus."

He glared out the window, fingers wrapping tight around the armrest. "I'm done dealing with that shit." Another twinge of pain. He grimaced and rested his head back into his hand.

"Ross isn't going to like that."

"Even better."

The sharp sound of clacking heels made them both turn towards the entrance of the office, Pepper storming in not even a second later, face tight with worry. She spared no hesitations, reaching for the remote on the corner of Tony's desk and whirring around to the TV hanging in the corner. "You need to see this."

"-coming to you live from Midtown School of Science and Technology, which earlier today, was confirmed as the official school of Queens resident, Peter Parker, son of corporate figurehead Richard Parker."

Tony lurched from his chair, ignoring the flare that spiked through his head. In the corner of his eye, he could see Rhodey doing the same.

"In the past week, Peter Parker has been confirmed in sightings with billionaire Tony Stark - owner of Stark Industries and top competitor with Parkstem Labs, Richard Parker's own company, leading many to speculate as to the relationship between the two and to Peter Parker's involvement."

"Earlier this morning, we brought you live footage of Peter Parker on school grounds but have yet to receive an official comment from either Parkers or Stark. Continued coverage on the school-"

"When did this first air?"

"40 minutes ago." Pepper muttered, muting the TV before angrily tossing the remote back onto the table. "They really have no boundaries, do they?"

Rhodey cocked a brow. "It's the media, Pep. Of course not."

Tony's eyes stayed locked on the muted TV, on the images of the kid's school splashed across the screen, mountains upon mountains of news vans and reporters swarming in the background. His head spiked. He swallowed it down. "Right. I, uh...okay. Okay, Happy. I need to call Happy and arrange a pickup for the kid." The words tumbled from his mouth so haphazardly he might as well have been puking them up into a toilet again. Pepper and Rhodey seemed to understand the urgency though, for they both pulled out their phones.

"Boss?"

"Not now, FRIDAY. Pepper, what time does he get out again?"

"2:30"

He ran a hand through his hair. Another spike, another surge of nerves. He could feel himself getting jittery. "Right. Okay, okay, two hours. Two hours. I can make that work. Just gotta..." He reached a shaky hand towards the pills on his desk, flipping it to the labels again. "How many more of these can I take without seeing God?"

"Tony-"

"Boss?"

"Okay, a lot of voices right not. Not really helping. Just-"

Pepper grabbed onto his arm, a grounding grip that slowly began to drag his wild thoughts back into the center of his mind. He stared down at her, at the calm collectiveness of her gaze. "Relax. Take a breath. Don't start freaking out."

He did breathe, took a few breaths actually, swallowing thickly as he steadied his hand. He scrolled his eyes along the labels, willing his heart rate to steady. "I'm not freaking out. I-how long until another dose?!" He scoffed and tossed the bottle over his shoulder. "Screw this garbage. I'm better off just chewing on a mint leaf or something!"

"Boss!"

He glared up at the ceiling. "What, FRIDAY?"

"Richard Parker has entered the building."

Notes:

This chapter contains mentions of suicide, graphic descriptions of violence and child abuse, graphic descriptions of detoxing, and brief descriptions of haphephobia.

Chapter 25: The Clash

Summary:

"I'm not afraid of you, you son of a bitch." He growled it softly, but the words were spit so forcefully, they could have cracked the walls.

And he wasn't. Not anymore. Now he felt nothing but resolve, an unwavering determination that could not be shaken, not by his ex-teammates, not by the politicians on Capital Hill, and not by the man he now vowed to take down.

Tony wasn't afraid, couldn't be afraid. He wouldn't allow himself to be.

Notes:

WARNING: This chapter contains mentions of child abuse and vivid descriptions and symptoms of haphephobia

Read at your own risk.

Chapter Text

Monday - May 2, 2016

Stark Tower - Main Offices

12:29 PM

Everybody froze as FRIDAY's message rang through the otherwise silent room. Tony blinked, slowly scrunching his eyes as he angled his head towards the ceiling, wondering if maybe his headache was finally beginning to mess with his hearing.

"What?"

"Richard Parker has entered the building. Peter is with him."

More silence. Tony let out a sharp breath, the AI's words rattling around in his head like quarters in a coin jar, plinking back and forth as he tried to make sense of them. His gaze drifted over towards the others, who were all sharing equally as incredulous looks.

Rhodey cocked a brow. "You serious, FRIDAY?"

"Yes, Colonel. Peter scanned his ID into the system 46 seconds ago and they are now awaiting permission to ascend to your current location."

Tony took another breath, shakier this time. The ringing in his ears was back, grating on his senses as it tried to pierce through his skull, throbbing up against the sides of his temples and echoing down his eardrums. He gritted his teeth and pressed his fingers into his eyes as Pepper and Rhodey spoke.

"What the heck is he doing here? And isn't Peter supposed to be in school?"

"I guess he pulled him out. You saw those news vans, Rhodey. There were close to a dozen of them parked outside that place. He probably just took him out early.

"Well, that still doesn't explain why he's here."

Tony removed his hand from the bridge of his nose, clicking his tongue as he glanced over towards the door. "Then let's ask him. FRIDAY?"

"Boss?"

"Send them up."

Pepper and Rhodey both turned to look at him as he leaned up against the desk, cupping his hands around his face as he tried to pry apart the tangle of fog that had been clouding his mind for the past couple of days. It seemed to swirl around his head in a hazy expanse of smoke, clarity just out of reach. The billionaire brushed past the others, only to stop as the sudden movement made a wash of dizziness fall over him, He leaning up against the doorframe for a second to try and get the room to stop spinning.

The others exchanged glances with each other before Pepper was taking a small step forward, face crunching in concern as she placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Tony. Are you sure you're up for this?"

He cleared his throat. "Nope. Let's go greet them." And with that, he pushed off of the doorframe and walked out of the room before either he or his friends could think better of it.

After a brief second of shocked silence, he could hear the footsteps of his friends following close behind, maybe just to make sure he didn't keel over on his way there.

Tony could feel his skull thumping in tune with his heartbeat, loud and fast. His stomach began to churn again, reminiscent of the past two days but he choked it down, tightening his fingers into fists as he briskly made his way towards the elevators before he lost the wavering resolve he could feel building in his chest.

Of all the worst possible times for this to be happening, this was pretty high up there, especially considering he was having a moderately difficult time seeing things straight.

Not only that, but he hadn't had a face-to-face confrontation with Richard Parker since he'd first recruited Peter, since he'd first offered to give him the internship in the first place and that was, what? Two months ago? Long before Tony had discovered what a monster the man really was.

Tony had always planned on confronting the man, both to call him out on his treatment of the kid and to convince him to let Peter stay at the Tower for the summer.

Of course, he'd always imagined said conversations happening when he was a bit more...in his right mind, so to speak, for something told him he'd need all his wits about him when he finally confronted Richard Parker. Well safe to say, he was not prepared for such a talk at the moment. Said conversation would need careful planning on his end to make sure he didn't somehow make things worse for Peter. He'd need to be careful.

Which was exactly what he couldn't be at that moment. His mind was too foggy and too jumbled to think quickly, to devise and plan a strategy against the con man.

So, despite how it made his skin tingle with displeasure, Tony knew he'd most likely have to play nice with the man at least for now. He would just have to feign ignorance and pretend that Richard Parker was nothing more than his intern's kind-hearted and caring father, no matter how nauseous the thought made him. Well...extra nauseous.

He'd have to leave the real confrontation for another time, preferably when he wasn't in danger of overdosing on migraine medication. Besides, Peter would be there too. And the last thing Tony wanted to do was put the kid in a tough spot by going off on his father.

So with that, he swallowed down his doubts to join the bile in his stomach before he could truly comprehend what he was walking into.

They had nearly made it to the elevators when the doors were sliding open and out stepped Richard Parker, complete with a suit that could probably rival Tony's in terms of expensiveness. His hair was slicked back and combed neatly out of the way and on his white-dotted face was a million-dollar smile. "Mr. Stark! A pleasure to see you again." He held his hand out.

Tony didn't even spare the man a glance, absentmindedly shaking his hand as he searched around him, searched for a particular sight. "Mr. Parker. I'm...surprised to be receiving a visit from you." He spotted Peter standing behind the man, hidden so well, in fact, that he'd almost missed him. The teen's head was down and his hood was up, arms tightly folded over his chest. His face was covered in shadow.

A familiar seed of worry was already beginning to grow.

Richard paid it no mind, however as he diverted his attention to the two standing behind Tony. "Ms. Potts. Colonel Rhodes. I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting you." The man stepped forward to shake their hands. Tony could practically feel their reluctance to actually touch him, but they did so anyway, Pepper smiling a tight smile. "We have met before. The Scholarship America Gala last year?"

"Right, right. Apologies, I tend to meet a lot of people at those events."

"I'm sure." Pepper's voice was pinched with artificial sweetness.

Tony paid it no mind. He wasn't focused on any of them, actually. Instead, his eyes stayed on Peter, who had yet to move from his spot behind Richard, not even to greet him. Tony took a small step forward, eyes narrowed. "Peter? You okay, kid?"

The teen didn't look up, didn't say anything. Instead, he angled his head away and tightened his grip on his arms.

More doubt, more worry. It pooled heavily in his stomach.

Richard waved a hand dismissively. "He's fine. There was a bit of an incident at school, but the principal assured me it was being handled." At that, Tony couldn't help but look away, sharp eyes meeting Richard's calculating stare. The man's face still held an aura of calm, a casual smile gracing his lips. But as Tony flicked his eyes around the man's features, he noticed the slight outline of his tensed jaw, the brief flash of something darker in his eyes.

With a sudden onslaught of blinding suspicion and fear, Tony shot his eyes towards the man's hands and caught sight of his knuckles - bright, raw, and angry.

The fog lifted from his head, so sharp and sudden as a chilling fear shot down his body like ice water breaking him out of a trance.

He turned back to Peter without another second of hesitation, practically shoving past Richard as he latched his hands around the kid's shoulders and knelt down. "Pete? Kid, what's wrong? What's the matter?"

Peter still didn't say anything, didn't lift his head. Tony tried to search his face, but the hoodie cast too much shadow for him to really see anything. The man lifted his shaking hand and gingerly grabbed onto the lip of the hood, hesitating for a fraction of a second before pulling it off.

Pepper gasped behind him, Rhodey letting out a full-blown curse. And Tony...Tony just stared, a punch of air violently leaving his lips as he suddenly forgot how to breathe.

Peter's face was covered in bruises, bright red angry patches of skin that were just now beginning to darken into a deep purple, even turning black in some areas. Underneath his left eye, his right cheek, against his jawline, the corner of his lip. They were huge ugly patches of discolored skin that painfully stood out against the normal pristine pale white of his complexion. Deep cuts stood out in the darkened patches, tears in the skin from where the blows had been forceful enough to rip and produce blood. The bright crimson lines smeared against his forehead and around a cut on his lip. Some of them were so fresh that blood was still dripping, including down his horribly crooked nose.

Tony felt his grip tightening around the teen's shoulders as he stared with wide eyes and a slacked jaw, which slowly began to tense up as his eyes darkened. Peter wasn't looking at him. His eyes were downcast, head tilted away, as if he couldn't bear to look the man in the face. The angle of his head exposed a small portion of the teen's neck, Tony's eyes catching some more discoloration. Without waiting a second, he gripped the teen's collar and harshly pulled it down, exposing the darkening flesh of the boy's neck, a thick band of discoloration that went around his entire throat.

"...you son of a bitch..."

And suddenly the chill in his spine turned into white-hot fury.

Tony launched up to his feet, whirling around towards Richard, who had the audacity to look bored with the display. His fists curled as he lurched forward. "You son of a bitch!" he snarled, body moving across the floor before he could think better of it.

He only made it a few steps before Rhodey was suddenly in front of him, wrapping his arms around him as he held him back. "Tony! Man, don't!"

Pepper was rushing to Peter but Tony couldn't take his eyes off the smirking man in front of him, suddenly overcome with the need to rip that look right off his face, blast it off it he had to. How dare he? How fucking dare he?

Rhodey's grip was firm though and he couldn't seem to cross the few feet he needed to properly kill the bastard. Richard stared at him with an almost amused look as Tony continued to thrash in his friend's hold, desperate to release the rage bubbling inside of him, the fiery haze of red now glossing over his vision.

"Perhaps we should talk in private, Mr. Stark? I'd hate for my son to be subjected to your little temper tantrum," he said casually, straightening out his cuffs as he did so. Tony stopped fighting for just a second to let the words process in his steaming head, blinking back into reality as he spared a heated glare behind him.

Pepper was kneeling down next to Peter, who wasn't even acknowledging her. Instead, the teen's head was finally raised, eyes wide as he flickered his gaze back and forth between Richard and Tony with a look of straight, undiluted fear.

The glare softened, the fight in his muscles slowly seeped out and the adrenaline pumping through his veins began to pool into his stomach in a thick glob of hate. Peter was here. Peter was watching.

Peter didn't need to see this.

Tony shoved Rhodey's arms off, the Colonel hovering nonetheless just in case the billionaire decided to try another rush. He turned to Pepper and Rhodey, teeth grinding as his eyes burned. "Watch him," he growled, angling his head towards Peter, who simply glanced away, rubbing at his arms as he looked very much like he'd rather be anywhere else. Tony didn't have the time to feel guilty as he whirled around towards Richard, who had now stuffed his hands into his pockets nonchalantly.

"Come with me." It took everything in him to keep from spitting the words right into the man's face. He stormed down the hall without another word, the only confirmation that Richard was following being the light sounds of his footsteps behind him.

Knowing his anger wouldn't be containable for much longer, Tony didn't venture far, turning into one of the first available conference rooms in the next hall. He shoved the door open and stalked into the room, fists shaking at his sides as he felt the washes of anger boiling back up. His head was pounding, but he couldn't bring himself to care in that moment as he pressed his palms into the table surface and stared down at his fingers, eyes seeming to smoke in his head as Richard calmly entered the room.

Said man didn't spare Tony much of a glance, not that the billionaire cared. He was too preoccupied with repeating over and over in his head that he couldn't attack the man then and there, fighting to add some sort of restraint to the itch in his fingers that demanded blood.

("Did you know?")

. . .

. . .

He couldn't lose it.

Not again.

Tony heard the soft sound of clinking glass and glanced over, narrowing his eyes as he watched Richard calmly open the bottle of scotch they always kept in the conference rooms, bottles they must have missed in their clean-sweep of the Tower.

Tony actually felt his stomach roll as he watched the amber liquid be poured into one of the glasses, turning away with a scrunch of the nose and a disgusted curl of the lips as he pushed down the surprising cloud of nausea that arose at the sight. Richard swirled the scotch in the glass before smirking over at Tony.

"Want me to pour you one? You seem a bit tense."

Tony couldn't help but scoff as he straightened up, watching Richard casually take a sip from the glass. He swallowed, tightened his grip on the fury in his chest and spoke. "You got a lot of fucking nerve showing your face around here when his looks like that."

Richard shrugged, didn't seem to mind the venom lacing Tony's words. "As I said before, there have been some issues at school. Apparently Peter's having some trouble with a few kids, some of which aren't opposed to putting their hands on him."

Tony stared at him, opened his mouth before turning away with a humorless huff of laughter, shaking his head with a tight smile. Richard's voice was so light, like they were simply making small talk at a financial gala. It was almost understandable why nobody ever suspected anything. Almost. "Heh...bullies. Is that what you're making him say? Do people actually buy that?"

"Buy what? It's the tru-"

"Drop the actyou bastard." Tony snarled, composure slipping ever so slightly as he rounded a harsh glare at the man, taking a few threatening steps forward as he leaned closer, jabbing a finger in his direction. "I know about you."

Richard didn't lose the calm and collected look smeared onto his face, but Tony did catch the way his fingers tapped against the glass and the way his jaw clenched ever so slightly. He smiled and tilted his head, taking another sip without pulling his eyes away from Tony's face. "Know what, exactly?"

Tony took another breath, a deep inhale that swirled the air through his chest. His head was still pounding, a constant pain that lingered behind his eyes and made his teeth ache. But the foggy haze that had been with him all day was gone, leaving nothing but a burning clarity in its wake. He narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer, skin bubbling with a teeming hatred he could barely put into words.

But he could try.

"I know about you. I know you're scum and you've somehow convinced everyone in the city that you aren't, that you're the complete opposite. I know what you do to him. I know you're the lowest dirtbag I've ever had the displeasure of knowing and the worst part is that nobody else seems to see it." Another breath, another step closer. Richard tapped his fingers again. Tony shook his head, pressing his tongue against the inside of his cheek. "You like to pretend that you're this big, benevolent, kind-hearted soul whose greatest pleasure is bringing joy to the world, but I know..."

His hands itched to move, itched to make a grab for the man before him but he kept them down, kept them clenched at his sides. "I know you're nothing but a lowlife abuser who gets his sick kicks by taking his frustrations out on his own son."

Richard watched him, an almost passive expression on his face as he began to run a finger around the rim of his glass. He didn't take his eyes off of Tony. They just kept staring at each other, a thick cloud of tension hovering between them, thick enough to taste in the air. Richard squinted his eyes ever so slightly and smiled. "Is that all?"

The words seemed to be a joke, but his tone of voice almost sounded...serious, like it was a legitimate question. Tony broke their staring with a sudden blink as he wondered what the man could be referring to, if anything at all. But before he could dwell, Richard was taking another sip of the scotch, the smell making Tony take a few steps back as he whirled around on his heel and gripped the back of one of the chairs.

He heard the swirling of the liquid against the glass. "Sounds like Peter's been telling you some tall tales, Mr. Stark."

"Oh, don't you dare accuse him of lying!" He whipped back around, tempted to smack the drink out of the man's hands. "Not when you drag him in here looking like that, you sack of horse shit!"

Why is he still denying it?

He didn't understand. The man had to know that Tony was onto him, it wasn't like he was hiding his suspicions, after all. So why go on pretending that everything was fine, that he was another smiling face on the sidewalk that he had to appease and convince? Another camera to smile at? What was there to gain in it? What was the benefit to keeping up his façade?

The billionaire held onto his question for another two seconds before he received his answer.

Richard spared a glance up at the ceiling.

Cameras.

FRIDAY.

Tony shut his eyes, felt his teeth suddenly grinding together as his nails began to pinch into his palm.

Richard was still on the air, still cued in playing the part for anybody who could potentially watch back the footage. Even here, with video evidence Tony could use in a court of law, he still had nothing. And if his previous encounters with the man were anything to go off of, Tony was absolutely certain he wasn't about to get anything useful today, at least not straight from Richard's mouth. No confessions, no self-incrimination.

He was too smart for that.

"Peter has always had a very active imagination, Mr. Stark." Richard took his eyes away from the ceiling and kept smiling, but the look didn't reach his eyes. "I'm just...surprised he shared his creativity with you." Instead, his eyes were smoldering, both of them - one a deep, darkened brown, the other a paler ash-gray. Tony felt his skin begin to prickle with a sudden wave of dread. Richard continued.

"Usually that's something he keeps to himself."

Tony sucked in another breath, found himself fighting against the urge to shift underneath the man's scrutinizing stare. He tapped his fingers against the back of the chair and turned his head away, realizing he'd have to choose his words carefully. The last thing he needed was for his own carelessness to get the kid in trouble.

"Peter didn't tell me anything." Technically true, at least as far as Richard needed to know. "I pieced it together myself."

The father chuckled, the noise sending an involuntary chill through Tony's spine. "I'm sure you'll understand how I find that hard to believe, seeing as how nobody else ever learns about Peter's...creative imagination."

Tony actually growled at the man's playful dodging. Richard didn't seem to mind.

"So I wonder how you managed to do what nobody else has without him telling you...something. See, Peter has always had a bit of a problem keeping his mouth shut about things nobody really has an interest in." The man's eyes narrowed and his smile somehow grew colder. He chuckled, the sound harsh and cruel. "He's not the best at reading the room, if you know what I mean."

Parker took a small step forward and Tony, against his will, found himself taking one back. He furrowed his brow and straightened back up, leveling the man a hard look. "He didn't tell me anything," he growled, hoping the man would somehow believe him and leave the kid out of it. "I guess I just have my fair share of dealing with shit dads."

"Projecting now, are we, Mr. Stark?"

Tony gave an annoyed roll of his eyes, but didn't say anything. He wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction of making him any angrier than he already was. So instead, Tony turned away with a shake of his head, pointing his stare towards the windows. "What the hell do you want? Why are you here?" As if he didn't already know.

Richard glanced over at the conference chairs and walked over, pulling out the nearest one. "I'm sure you're aware by now of the recent developments happening in the news." He sat down in the seat and crossed his legs, balancing his drink atop one knee. "They've discovered his school."

Tony scoffed and folded his arms over his chest, didn't bother in looking over. "Yeah, and judging by the kid's face, you weren't too happy with the news." He resisted the urge to glance towards the door.

He wanted to be out there. He wanted to see Peter, check the kid over with more than just a frenzied glance. But the worming seed of fury was still there, sitting tightly in his chest, demanding to be let out, demanding some sort of release. With his emotions already running high and the sheer exhaustion of his detoxing lowering his restraints to near negative levels, he preferred to risk having it blow up in Richard's face rather than Peter's.

Besides, if it meant keeping the bastard away from the kid for just a few more minutes, then Tony would stay in that conference room for as long as he possibly could.

Richard pursed his lips at Tony's comment before letting out a small sigh and glancing down at his drink. "Look, I was fine dealing with those reporters when they were just crowding around my house. It's fine. Nothing I've never dealt with before. But now they're taking it even further, so much so that it's quickly starting to become a nuisance," he muttered with an annoyed scoff.

Tony couldn't help the small sense of satisfaction he got hearing the man's slight irritation. He still didn't turn to look at him, just kept his furrowed gaze to the window and his back to the man. "News flash, Parker. I don't give a shit about whatever's inconveniencing your life."

"...Well what about Peter's life?"

The sudden flash of anger he felt just hearing the man say the kid's name was shocking.

He finally turned, showing his disgruntled glare which Richard received with a humored smile, obviously content that he'd finally gotten a reaction out of the man. "I noticed you two have a bit of a strange relationship." He swirled the scotch once more and took another sip. "It is cause for some mild concern on my part."

Tony narrowed his eyes. "Why? Cause I don't fawn over you like everyone else you've conned?"

He tightened his grip on his arms before shoving his hands into his pockets, suddenly unsure as to what to do with them. Richard was still staring at him, his sheer gaze like a stickiness coating his skin, tight and uncomfortable and ever-present. He suddenly understood why Peter was such a fidgety kid. It was hard to keep still under the intensity of the look. Like squirming under a heat lamp, the room suddenly felt suffocatingly humid. Still, Tony - more than used to dealing with uncomfortable, high-tension situations - simply met the man's gaze with one of his own and kept his voice level. "What are you suggesting we do about it then?"

Richard shrugged. "Simple. They have their questions? We answer them." He leaned back in his chair. "A press conference. A controlled environment we can manage and maintain on our own terms, filter their questions, only take in reputable news outlets." He tapped his fingers against the glass, a soft plinking ringing from the movement. "They'll get the info they want so badly and in exchange, the media fiasco that would otherwise stretch out for another four weeks shrinks down to one."

Tony furrowed his brow, maintained eye contact with Richard for a moment longer before folding his arms back over his chest and turning his gaze to the floor. He didn't say anything, didn't contradict or outright refuse the idea because, well...he couldn't.

He'd been talking with Pepper and Rhodey for a few days now, floating the idea out a couple times in the process. Press conferences were nothing new, barely even news to him. He'd conducted so many, both drunk and sober alike, that it was hard to count. It was only logical to conduct one now, especially if it meant making things easier on Peter.

Tony took a deep breath, shut his eyes, and tried to will his headache away. It wasn't working. If anything, it got louder, stronger.

Richard must have taken Tony's silence for uncertainty, for he leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. "It makes sense. Benefits all of us, including Peter. I'm sure the last thing you want is for him to be afraid to go to school with the threat of all those reporters harassing him. An environment like that is prone to cause some developmental issues later on in life." Richard smirked and continued to tap the side of the glass with his nail. "I'm sure you can attest to that, huh?"

Tony didn't respond to the jab, didn't even look up from his staring match with the carpet flooring. He started to tap his own fingers, drummed them up against his folded arms as he listened to the sound of his breathing mingling with the soft ringing he could still hear in his ears. It had faded considerably, maybe just because he couldn't afford to focus on it. But now that it was near silent, he could hear it again, echoing around his eardrum. He could hear everything else too.

Every denial Peter had ever made, every distracting comment the kid would use to change the subject, every plea to ignore and forget, just look the other way and continue on as if everything was okay.

But it wasn't okay. None of this was okay.

("If you won't let the police protect you, then I will!")

. . .

. . .

. . .

But he could change that.

"I want the kid."

He would change that.

("Let me help you.")

For Peter.

Richard almost startled in his seat at the sudden declaration, blinking at Tony with a shocked expression. "Excuse me?"

Tony didn't falter. "You want your press conference? Fine. Whatever. But in exchange, I want the kid for the summer. Here, 24/7. He'll stay here, sleep here. He'll have no contact with you for the entire two months. More or less, this will be his home for that time."

Richard stared at him, kept blinking in a supposed attempt to understand what Tony was saying. And Tony knew exactly the moment when the words did click in Richard's head, for the man grew a huge grin as he suddenly let out a loud laugh. The noise was strange. It was sharp and unsettling, grating on the senses. Tony didn't flinch, didn't waver in his demeanor or posture as he watched the other shaking in his chair from the force of his laughter. It took a second for him to compose himself enough to speak, letting out a content sigh as he gave Tony an incredulous look

"Oh, Stark. Are you...Are you serious right now?"

"Serious as a CPS call."

That sobered Richard up just a tad, the smile not leaving from his face, but it did relax slightly as he took a few deep breaths. He didn't peel his eyes away from Tony. He just huffed another softer chuckle and licked at his lips, leaning back in the chair. "You're not going to do that." His voice wasn't threatening, but it was definitely sure.

Tony narrowed his eyes. "Oh? And why not?"

"Because if you were you'd have done it already," Richard scoffed, waving a hand in the air with a roll of his eyes and an amused snort. "You have nothing here, Stark. The conference is more of a courtesy than anything else. I don't have to do it nor is my need for it very great. I can deal with a few more weeks of this nonsense and Peter will just have to learn to live with it. Such is the price to pay for our lifestyle, wouldn't you say?" The man reached back over for his drink and downed the rest of it in one sip.

He set it down on the table and rose up to his feet, straightening out his suit. "I don't have to agree to anything." With that, he brushed his hands against his sleeves and began to turn for the door.

"You're right. You don't. You one hundred percent have the right to say no. Just like I have the right to set up my own press conference...alone."

Richard paused.

"I also have the right to announce at that press conference everything I've witnessed over the past two months, mainly surrounding the behavior of my newest intern that causes me great concern."

The man held his rigid posture before turning back around, face neutral. Tony smirked, but he didn't feel very happy. "I have the right to share these concerns with the public, share my fears that said intern's family may not be as pristine and perfect as you like to pretend." He began to stalk forward, slowly prowling along the conference floor as the distance between them shortened. He leaned closer, eyes burning. "I have the right to go up there and call you out on everything I've seen so far, to expose you as the piece of shit you really are."

Richard was silent for a moment before he turned away, shaking his head as he cracked another loose grin. He slid his hands into his pockets and leaned back with a confidence you couldn't fake. "Oh, Stark...this...this is good. I have to admit, this...this is really good. With the kind of day I've been having, I needed a laugh like that."

The relaxed look on his face took on a more sinister note before he turned back around towards the door, resting his palm against the doorknob. "Nobody would believe you."

The door cracked open.

. . .

"Is that what you told Peter?"

Again, Richard paused. This time he didn't turn around, just kept facing the door, kept his hand wrapped around the handle. Tony didn't back down, not from the chilling silence and not from the words.

"Is that how you got him to shut up for all these years? Kept him isolated and alone? Did you tell him that there was no point in asking for help, so much so that he doesn't even try anymore?"

("I didn't think you'd care.")

"Is that what you did to him? Is that the sort of shit you've been forcing down his throat for all these years?" He could feel himself getting heated again, could feel it working up underneath his skin. He swallowed down whatever runaway emotions threatened to show. He had to get this right, time this all perfectly, get each and every word placed exactly where it needed to go.

He had to convince him. He had to get Peter.

So with that, Tony cleared his throat and grabbed the back of one of the chairs, mainly to steady himself as he felt the tremors from earlier beginning to make a repeat appearance. "You're right, Richard. Most likely, people will think it's a political move, build my own company up by tearing down my competition. They'd be much quicker to believe the hard-working, charitable dad rather than the disgraced, alcoholic Avenger." He gestured to himself as he bent into the seat, grabbing for the remote on the table. He pointed it towards the TV in the top corner of the room, turning the screen onto the muted news channel, which was still tuned into Peter's school. Richard glanced up at it with an impassive glance.

"But of the millions of people who would inevitably see my broadcast...are you one hundred percent sure that not one, not a single person watching that interview will start to wonder? That there won't be at least a handful of people who are skeptical, who start to questions why I'm saying those particular things?"

Richard didn't turn to look at him, but he didn't make for the door either. He just kept his back to him, slowly bringing his arms to fold behind him. Tony couldn't see his face. He continued anyway.

"All I need is one, two, a small group of people who start to look just a little deeper, who spare it more than just a single glance." He crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned back in his chair. "Sure, most people probably won't believe it, but I don't need them to. All I need to do is place the thought in their minds, a niggling seed in the back of their heads that will slowly grow over time, that will make the kids and teachers at his school whisper, will make the people on the streets look a little closer, if only to calm their nerves and prove to themselves that I'm wrong, that there's nothing to worry about."

He narrowed his eyes, jaw tensing slightly. "Only...they won't find nothing. They'll finally see the kid for the first time, see how skinny he is, how pale his skin is, how small he is for a fourteen-year-old boy. They'll see the scars they'd never noticed before, the bruises they'd ignored, the flinches they'd chalked up to their own imaginations. Once people know what to look for...well, let's just say they get much more observant."

Richard was silent, still hadn't turned around. Tony found himself feeling relieved at the fact. It was much easer to talk with his usual snapping tongue without the man's burning stare hissing against his skin.

"Maybe they'll start doing some digging. You know how reporters just love to scrounge up dirt. Or...maybe you don't know. They've never felt the need to do it with you and why would they? You're the Father of New York, the kind-hearted billionaire spending his money on disabled orphans and blind, three-legged puppies." He spat it out with a disgusted grunt, rolling his eyes as he shrugged his shoulders in mock disinterest.

"Well, maybe they do start to dig. Maybe they find out about the ex-cons living at your house. Weird, but not incriminating. So they dig deeper, if only to prove your innocence, of course. Except, uh-oh. Now they've noticed something interesting with CPS. Six house visits in the past eight years? Not great numbers, especially since you've done some work to sweep those events under the rug." He leaned in closer, voice suddenly getting low, the words rubbing painfully against his throat as they rumbled out.

"Maybe they start to think I might not be so crazy after all. Maybe they start getting suspicious. Maybe they start asking Peter questions. Maybe he struggles just a bit more to answer them. Maybe...he slips."

Still nothing. No reaction. Now Tony did wish he could at least see the man's face, gauge how well he was doing here, how convinced he was. He tapped his fingers against the surface of the table before deciding to just double down and pray it would be enough.

"Like I said, maybe the conference I have every right to conduct gets swept away, disregarded as nothing but slander from the drunken billionaire losing his mind over the Accords. But then again...maybe not." He hoped Richard couldn't hear how fast his heart was beating, thumping up against his chest almost as strongly as his head, which pounded against his skull in thick waves of teeth-chattering pulses. "All in all, seems like a lot of unnecessary work for you to deal with. And you don't seem like the type of man who deals with the unnecessary."

He swallowed, licking his lips as he fought to quell the unease blooming in his gut.

It was a pretty big bluff.

Richard might not know about his deal with Peter, but Tony did. And he knew that going on live television and making some big declaration about how Richard Parker was an abusive father would probably go in direct violation of said agreement.

Safe to say, Tony was positive it wouldn't go over well.

Peter would hate him. There was no doubt about that. The kid would hate him and he would leave and never come back and most definitely never trust Tony, completely destroying any and all hope of getting him help. Tony knew he could never go through with what he'd just declared. Not without Peter's complete support.

But Richard didn't know that. At least, he had to pray he didn't.

Said man still hadn't turned around, just kept staring at the door with his hands folded behind him, shoulders squared and back straight. Tony resisted the urge to begin bouncing his leg and sat in the silence for a moment. Finally, he heard the sound of soft chuckling, Richard's head tilting down just a tad.

"You've given this quite some thought, huh?"

Tony pursed his lips at the sheer flippantness the man continued to display. "You've given me plenty to think about." He turned away from Richard at that, swiveling his chair to face the other wall, face the window behind him displaying the lights and the buildings below. Tony took a deep breath, shut his eyes as he leaned his head against the back of the chair.

He could feel just how exhausted he was, felt it pulling down on him like a weight in his gut. His energy levels, which had already been at poor status to begin with, were rapidly pooling down into the floor. He couldn't even keep his hands steady anymore, just left them to shiver in his lap from sheer exhaustion, his stamina reserves quickly dropping. Every other second, he felt a nagging pull urging him to head upstairs and sleep the rest of the day away. Of course, every time he did, he was reminded of the kid just down the hall and it instantly disappeared from his thoughts, replaced with a cold claw of dread and an ever-burning anger that had yet to subside.

He glanced down at his shaking hands, slowly began to brush his fingers over the scars on his palm.

"How can you do this to him?"

It was out of his mouth before he could think better of it, before he could tighten the cap on his emotions and come to terms with the fact that he didn't have the energy to keep this up for much longer.

Richard obviously was just as surprised as he was at the sudden outburst, for he finally turned away from the door and threw the billionaire a perplexed look. Somehow, it made Tony even angrier. As if the man didn't already know what he was talking about.

"Peter is..." He paused, trying to figure out what to say as he sucked in another lighter breath. He gritted his teeth, grounded himself by continuing to brush up against the scars dotting his hand, the scars that reminded him of why he was doing this. He shook his head and glared down at the ground.

"...he's smart and he's gentle and he's kind, kinder than he has any right to be, but he is and I can barely understand it at times cause who comes out of something as horrible as all this still acting so pure?" His tongue felt fuzzy. The words were thick in his throat.

"He's a good kid..."

Richard was quiet for a moment before he glanced down at his shoes. "I know that."

Tony narrowed his eyes and spun the chair around to face the man, who was now moving away from the door and approaching the table. "Do you? Cause I saw what you did to him out there, the things you continue to do to him behind closed doors. You do all of that and yet you still have the audacity to say you think he's a good kid? You're saying a good kid deserves all of that?" The grip of composure was slipping, he could feel it fading, leaving nothing to stop the bubbling, white-hot fury teeming just underneath his muscles, flaring out overtop his skin.

Richard lifted his head and Tony could see a true flash of anger spark in his eyes for just a second before the father shook his head and tensed his fists. "You wouldn't understand," he muttered after a moment of tense silence.

Tony scoffed. "I wouldn't?"

"No. You wouldn't." He snapped back, glare finally materializing full force onto his face. The man turned to fully face Tony now. "You have no idea the sacrifices you make for your child, the tough decisions you have to face, the turmoil you have to fight with every day." Richard glowered at him, face curling into a derisive sneer. "You don't understand. You can't understand. Because you aren't a father."

Tony furrowed his brows, felt something strange in his chest. "You're right. I'm not. But I'm not a pilot either. But, if I saw a plane hanging out of a tree, I could still objectively say that something wasn't right there." He pressed his palms into the table and stood up from his seat, posture rigid and muscles coiled in a tense, humming wave of hatred, nerves and exhaustion. "I may not be a dad, but I can sure as hell see that what you're doing is wrong. What you're teaching him is wrong. What you're forcing onto him is wrong. You're hurting him. Plain and simple. There's no excuses, no justifications. It's abuse. Clear as day. And it's illegal."

Richard stared at him, eyes hard and cold. His jaw tensed. Tony could actually hear the sound of the man's knuckles cracking as he rolled his fingers into fists. "I have the right to discipline my child. Every parent does."

Still not a confession. Still not an admission. Tony growled under his breath at the logic the man was using. Was he serious?

"Is that what you call it? Is that what you say to Peter when you're smashing his face into the floor? That it's discipline? That you have the right to do it?" His chest was tightening, but he forced the words through anyway. "No. No parent has the right to hurt their child."

Richard scoffed, turning away slightly. "And you have no right to lecture me, Stark."

"I don't have the right?!" Now he was shouting. He couldn't help it. "You drag that kid into my tower looking like that and you say I don't have the right?! You waltz in like everything's perfectly alright? It's just..."

Richard rolled his eyes and turned away. Tony, in turn, locked his jaw, forced the words off with a sharp breath and stared in disbelief at the sheer disdain the man was showing. He gave a humorless huff as he shook his head. "You really just don't care, do you? You don't care about him at all."

"Hey." Richard sharply turned back around, pointed a finger at Tony. "Don't you accuse me of not caring about my son."

Tony didn't back down, just curled his lip. "Show me proof of the contrary, then. Otherwise I'll stick to it."

"You don't know what you're talking about, Stark."

"And you just don't know when to quit, do you? I already told you I know about your stupid act so you can drop it."

"It's not an act."

"Of course it is! You clearly don't care for Peter!"

Richard narrowed his eyes, which smoldered so darkly in his skull they seemed to shroud the entire room in an extra level of uncomfortable heat. His voice was low and dangerous as he leaned closer to Tony.

"I love my son."

Tony threw up his hands in frustration. "Oh, quit your fucking bullshit, you piece of-

"I LOVE MY SON!" Richard slammed his hands down on the table as he roared, a loud bang echoing across the room so loudly and so suddenly that Tony actually found himself backing up. But no amount of distance seemed to be enough as Richard continued to loom over him, pressing his hands into the surface of the table as he stared with a burning fury.

Suddenly, Tony was all too aware of just how tall Richard was, just how much he towered over him. For a fraction of a second, he almost felt a twinge of fear and considered backing off just a tad, his muscles heavy and his head foggy.

His fingers brushed against the scars on his palm.

Tony gritted his teeth and straightened his back, glaring right back at the man before him. He wasn't about to let this bastard push him around the same way he did his own kid. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Richard continued to burn his piercing stare into Tony's eyes for another good long second of heated silence before he blinked and the look was gone, replaced instead with a chilling smile that slowly spread onto his lips like blood seeping through cloth, spreading further and further in a deep expanse of unease.

"Tell me again what you think of him." His voice was soft again, almost sweet. "What was it you said? That he's a good kid? Well how do you think he got that way?" He slowly straightened his back. "Peter is the most polite, respectful and obedient child you've ever met, isn't he?"

Tony didn't like where this was going. He didn't respond, at least not verbally. His glare remained fixed.

Richard took his silence in stride, however. "Admit it, Stark. He's all of it and more. He doesn't speak out of turn. He doesn't raise his voice or step out of line. He doesn't demand anything or act entitled in any way. He never shares his opinion when it's unwanted. He's quiet and he's attentive and he's-"

"Afraid."

Richard looked over at him. Tony stared back, his glare slowly mingling with a sudden sadness. "He's afraid, Richard."

Did the man understand that? Did he understand that what he was doing was wrong? Tony almost hoped he didn't, for at least then he could hold onto the hope that somehow, he could convince Richard of how heinous his actions were, expose him to the sheer vulgarity of it all and finally shake some sense into him. Maybe there was a chance that he could turn this around, reveal to him that he had to change his ways for the greater good.

But those hopes were quickly dashed as Richard's smile only grew, a knowing smile that held nothing but contempt and self-assurance.

Tony's stomach rolled over. This time it was much harder to swallow the bile down.

Richard knew what he was doing. And he was happy about it.

He stared back at the man with a horrified look he couldn't keep off his face, eyes scrunching as he shook his head. "What...what is the matter with you? You...you actually want that?"

Richard clearly wasn't fazed by the horror in Tony's voice, for he simply shrugged his shoulders and tilted his head. "Children should respect their parents, should listen to their fathers and obey their wishes."

He was dodging. He wasn't answering the fucking questions. He was toying like it was all a big goddamn game.

"He's a child, not a fucking robot, you maniac!"

"Youth does not grant one a free pass for disrespect and disobedience," Richard chirped back with a snide look. "And I taught Peter that as soon as I could." Tony could hear his breathing picking up, felt the clicking of his teeth rubbing together so tightly, the pressure made his temples clench in pain. Richard lifted a hand and ran it through his hair, letting out a small sigh as he glanced down at the ground.

"I care very much for my son, Stark, despite what you might think. I care enough to discipline him when he steps out of line. I care enough to teach him about the important things, molding him into a civil and humble citizen." The man smiled, not a sinister or dominating smile like before, but a real...genuine smile, full of pride and satisfaction. "Peter is a model of perfect behavior and I would expect nothing less than perfection from any child of mine."

Tony couldn't believe his ears...no. He couldn't believe his eyes. Richard was...happy. He was proud of everything he was saying. The man truly believed his actions were something to be celebrated, that his son's behavior was somehow...good?

Suddenly, he was back in the bathroom, holding in the nausea that threatened to overtake him.

"Perfection..." he whispered in a breathless puff of air. The word sounded off in his ears, warped and distorted. He shut his eyes, felt his nails digging into his palms as his fists shook at his sides. He spoke, his words tight and painful. "Is it perfection that he can barely hold a conversation with a stranger because you taught him to keep his mouth shut?"

Richard glanced over at him. Tony snapped his eyes back open and stared at the man with more hatred than he'd ever felt for anybody before. Not for Stane. Not for Ross. Not even for Steve.

This...this was all for Richard.

"Is it perfection that it took him two weeks to finally get used to looking me in the eye cause he was always expecting a slap for it?" His skin was hot, sandpaper scratching overtop his muscles in thick waves of cloyingly sharp, white-hot needles.

"Is it perfection that he can't even handle a hug or a pat on the back because of you, because of everything you've done to him?" Where was the trash can? He was sure he was going to vomit. He could feel it crawling in his throat, tiny little bugs skittering inside of him.

"That's perfection to you? The fact that your son is so afraid of...everybody around him that he can't trust anyone?"

Richard cocked a brow and threw Tony a smirk. "Trust is a very dangerous concept, Mr. Stark. And you should always be careful who you lend it to." The man paused for a fraction of a second before his smile turned sinister, a Cheshire grin that dripped with a thick, malicious venom. "I'm sure you can understand given everything that's happened with your teammates."

Tony's guard slipped for a second. And it was the only break Richard needed to snake his way right through.

"Do you really want him to suffer through the same misery of coming to terms with the fact that trust is a flawed concept built on lies and deceit?"

The billionaire readjusted his glare, though he felt it beginning to lose some of its intensity. He flexed his fingers, rolled his knuckles against the side of his leg. "That's not...that's not always the case," he muttered, feeling a slight wave of dizziness brush up against him for just a second before it was gone. It was getting harder to see straight, so much so that he opted instead to just turn around and close his eyes, discreetly gripping the back of one of the chairs for a modicum of support.

"Mm-hmm...well, if that's so...then why are you all alone?"

There was an intense flux of heat and suddenly Richard was in front of him, staring down with his huge stature and his piercing iron gaze. Tony gritted his teeth and mustered up another scowl, but even that took up more energy than it was worth and soon enough he elected to just lower his head to the floor, shutting his eyes with a tired exhale. He could vaguely hear Richard's soft puff of amusement, the sound of the man's footsteps suddenly circling around him, prowling, a lion trapping its prey.

"Poor Tony Stark, betrayed by his teammates and left all alone to deal with the crumbling mess that is the Accords. Everyone knows how fragile those things are, how close they are to tearing at the seams. Meanwhile, your teammates are out there assaulting hard-working government officials just doing their jobs."

He could hear his breathing, felt it rattling in his chest. God, he was so tired.

"And where is Tony Stark in all of this? Hiding away in his tower, cowering from the mistakes he's caused. Maybe he just doesn't want to face the fact that he put his trust in the wrong people and now he's paying for it. Now he's alone and he's miserable and he's reaching out to anything he can use just to distract himself from the reality of his pitifully pathetic life. And apparently, that means my son, coming up with crazy conspiracies and delving into manic episodes out of sheer desperation. Not very helpful for my boy, in my opinion. But then again, you are really just trying to help yourself, so what's the harm?"

The footsteps stopped. Richard was beside him. It was like the man was radiating an aura of heat, an unbearable burn that seemed to rub up against Tony's skin. "You think you can help my son? When you're already failing at everything else?"

Tony opened his eyes, but didn't turn to look at the man as he backed off. Instead, he just kept his eyes on the floor, kept his ears honed in on the faded whining ringing in his head. The words swirled, hovered around the air in a fog of thick heaviness, like smoke from a cigarette. Even the smell, acrid and bitter, seemed to fill the room.

He waited a moment, two even, before Tony suddenly cracked a small smile and huffed out a laugh. He straightened up and pushed off of the chair he'd been using for support, suddenly feeling a rush of inexplicable energy as his anger reignited in a bright flash of burning rage, but not at the man's words. No...at what the man had been trying to do.

"Oh...you...you're good. You are good, Rich. I have to give you that," Tony muttered, the smile slowly dropping into a firm frown and a deep, intense stare. He saw Richard stiffen at the billionaire's sudden one-eighty.

Tony Stark was no stranger to mental manipulation. He saw it all the time, hell, he wasn't too shabby at it himself. Dealing with the press, with politicians, with stuffy billionaires with brown-nosing tactics and shit-eating grins. It was just another arsenal of war, another weapon he saw used every single day.

And he had to admit that Richard was good, could probably hold his own against the best of the best. He wasn't the most subtle, but Tony had to give the man credit. He really knew how to hit the perfect spot, just nick that little niggling seed of doubt everybody had inside of them and painfully poke at it.

And Richard, obviously sure of his own skill, hadn't been expecting Tony to not be affected by his words, for his eyes were now narrowed n sudden suspicion.

See, it wasn't the fact that Richard had tried to manipulate him that filled Tony with a newfound boiling rage. No...it was that he knew Richard had used such tactics before, only...not on Tony.

"A couple minutes of that and Peter's putty in your hands, huh?"

Richard's eyes shrunk to thin little slits in his face as he gritted his teeth. Tony matched the glare head-on.

"And if the verbal abuse isn't enough, you can always fall back on your fists, right? That probably shuts him up quick."

Richard was angry. Tony could see it in the way his teeth were gnashing and how his body had suddenly gotten stiff. His ego was nicked. He'd thrown his hooker and Tony hadn't fallen for it, hadn't folded like everyone else. Instead he'd thrown him off. He'd disjointed him.

He had to take advantage of this now, had to capitalize and see if he could get the man to slip, admit to something he wasn't supposed to, reveal a secret he'd meant to keep hidden.

He had to make this footage count.

"Or maybe you leave him to your cronies since you're apparently too lazy to do it yourself? What was it you were saying, Mr. Parent of the Year? Does it still count if you're not the one doing all the disciplining? Seems to me like your goons are better parents to Peter than you are, by your logic."

He stepped closer, closed the distance. Richard leaned back, blinked down at him with a shocked anger that made his cheeks dot with a reddish flush of frustration. Keep pushing. Keep prodding. He was close. He could feel it.

"So what is it, Rich? How does it work? You see Peter doing something you don't like and, what? You signal the Nanny Squad to descend? Let them have their way with him while you stand off to the side doing nothing, wracking up the parenting points while you really just sit there as useless as a drunken housewife?"

They were nose to nose now. The heat was back, like Tony was mere inches away from a burning fire, the sensation blowing across his skin in thick waves of boiling air. "You say you're looking out for Peter's best interests, that you're somehow a good dad, and yet you don't seem to care enough to get your hands dirty. You just pass off that responsibility to some other idiots so you stay out of the line of fire." Tony scoffed, tossed up his hands with a tilt of his head and a mocking smirk. "And you say I'm pathetic? You think I'm the one who's miserable? Cause the only miserable one I see here is you, hiding behind his excuses and his platitudes like some measly little weasel who doesn't even have the balls to own up to his actions."

Their eyes met, an intense battle of glares that filled the room and crackled in the air. "A poor excuse for a father and an even shittier excuse for a man."

Richard curled his fists, lifted a hand...

"How long has it been since Peter started to resent you?"

Silence.

Like a cushion being shoved against a speaker, the whirling noise of tension around the room silenced with a muffled hush of wind. Richard's narrowed glare jolted up into a wide-eyed stare, blinking dumbly at the billionaire before him as his lips parted ever so slightly. His fists slowly uncurled and his hand settled back down to his side.

Tony felt a flare of unease spike in his chest at the sudden change in demeanor, but he didn't relinquish the antagonizing glare on his face, didn't relieve the pressure. He wasn't about to fall for some bluff.

But the unease only grew as Richard's shocked expression suddenly turned...soft. The man swallowed, licking his lips as he glanced away for a fraction of a second. His lips carefully began to spread into another smile, but it wasn't vicious or mocking. Instead, it was almost gentle, like something a true father would use exclusively on their own blubbering child. But even so, Tony could see through it.

Richard Parker wasn't capable of compassion. Tony was certain of that now. That smile wasn't kind. It wasn't gentle. It was patronizing, a physical manifestation of the man's ideas of superiority. And it made Tony's skin crawl.

"Resent me? Stark...Peter loves me."

. . .

. . .

. . .

Lie. A lie. He was lying.

"What?"

He was trying to throw Tony off. That's all, that's all it was. Some blatant lie that would turn the tables and get the attention off of Richard, dial down the threat by making some ridiculous declaration as means of a distraction.

That's what it was.

That's what it had to be.

But as Tony stared at the man's face, heard the little chuckle he let out that just dripped with assurity and a confidence he must have accrued through years of torment and abuse, he felt his resolve slowly begin to falter.

That aura wasn't something you could fake. It wasn't something you could conjure up within a few minutes just to bluff to your competitor. It was a confidence that came through years of experience, a confidence you only held when you knew with one hundred percent certainty that what you said couldn't be poked through, that your words couldn't be denied...because it was the truth.

But...but it couldn't be.

Richard let out a content little sigh, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Whatever notions you have in your head are fun to listen to and all, but they don't matter. You can believe all you want that I'm some vile villain who twirls his mustache while locking my son in dark, decrepit dungeons." He smirked, a cruel taunt. "But that's not what Peter believes. How can he when I'm his last living relative, his last link to true family?"

(I thought I...I c-could handle it.")

("We don't have much of a choice, Mr. Stark.")

("Nobody would believe me.")

Tony stared back at him with furrowed brows, chest bouncing up and down as he tried to suck in more air than was currently being let in. It wasn't true. He was lying. It wasn't true. "He..." the words couldn't seem to crawl out.

Richard shrugged his shoulders and leaned up against the door to the room. "He loves me, Stark. More than anything. Because I take care of him. I feed him and I clothe him and I shelter him from the horror that is the outside world. He recognizes this." Richard placed a hand to his own chest. "He knows that without me...he'll have nothing, no one. Without me, he's alone."

Tony gritted his teeth, tried to find some more anger to hold onto, something to drive out the freezing grip of ice that had now taken its place. "No, he...you torture him. He doesn't...he can't actually-"

("I...I-I love him and he loves me, alright? He LOVES me!")

Tony felt his heart sputter down into his feet.

'You don't believe me? Go ahead and ask him yourself." Richard narrowed his eyes slightly as he pushed off of the door, taking a few prominent steps forward. Tony felt himself moving backwards, the floor seeming to sink underneath him as the man approached. "You wanna know why I'm not worried? You wanna know why I know you won't go to the police?" He leaned closer. Tony couldn't help but meet the man's terrifying stare.

"Because I know Peter would never allow it." He smiled and tilted his head to the side. "He refused it, didn't he? When you offered?"

("...help me with what?")

Tony swallowed but the razors in his throat remained.

"Despite the fact that all those claims are obviously not true," Richard glanced up at the ceiling as he said this. "I know how strong his love for me is...and he would never let anything happen to me."

Tony's back hit the wall. There was nowhere left to go. Richard leaned in, his lips a few inches from his competitor's ear, too close for the cameras to see, to soft for the audio to hear.

"And if he did...I'd made him pay for it."

The man pulled back ever so slightly, but he didn't raise his voice, kept it just low enough so that only Tony could hear it. "You want the kid so bad? Fine. You can have him. Keep him all summer. Do whatever it is you wanna do, attempt whatever you're hoping to achieve. You do your best." He curled his lip into a sneer. "But if you think anything you can do will change the years of effort I've already put in, then you're kidding yourself."

Tony swore he could see the man's eyes flickering with orange light, like there was a literal fire behind the irises. "That kid belongs to me...and he knows it. How long until you do too?"

Despite the overwhelming sense of danger he felt, backed into a corner and all, despite the exhaustion he felt in his bones or the icy-cold dread sinking into his gut, despite the fact that Richard literally loomed over him like the monster he was, like a soldier curling their metal hand against his chest or driving their shield into his heart, Tony lifted his head and gave the man the darkest look he could possibly muster, a blaze of fury and rage and determination rolled up into one single look that conveyed the deep-seated hatred he felt for Rogers, for Ross, for...everyone and anyone who had made his life as hard as they possibly could, for everyone who placed themselves above all else and disregarded the mess they left behind, for everyone he'd ever been afraid of. He curled his fists, choked down the fluttering of fear and took a deep breath.

"I'm not afraid of you, you son of a bitch." He growled it softly, but the words were spit so forcefully, they could have cracked the walls.

And he wasn't. Not anymore. Now he felt nothing but resolve, an unwavering determination that could not be shaken, not by his ex-teammates, not by the politicians on Capital Hill, and not by the man he now vowed to take down.

Tony wasn't afraid, couldn't be afraid. He wouldn't allow himself to be.

Richard stared down at him and narrowed his eyes, seemed to understand the unspoken declaration now being passed between the two of them. It was clear now. This was war, and it wouldn't end until someone declared surrender.

"Maybe not...but you're not really the one who needs to be afraid of me, are you?"

A war with an unthinkable consequence...and an unknowable end.

A war Tony was not going to lose.

As if on cue from some unseen camera man, Richard leaned back up and straightened out his suit, smiling down with a crowd-pleasing grin. "Well, I think this was a very productive talk, don't you think, Mr. Stark? We do have to do this some other time."

Not one to be outdone, especially now that they'd declared the start to their little battle, Tony threw him his own million-watt grin. "Of course. Preferably when we aren't dealing with a mass media storm, huh?"

He withheld the internal grimace that arose at making small talk with the bastard. Tony coldly brushed past him and made for the door, opening it to let the other through while smiling through gritted teeth. Richard nodded respectfully at him and soon the two were leaving the room that seemed to smoke from the wounds of the battlefield.

 


 

The walk down the hallways was long and silent, with Tony flexing and unflexing his fingers as he tried to rein his emotions back in. He could feel the uncomfortable itch of heat wavering just underneath his skin, the same feeling he'd felt after the Bridge. It had never truly gone away afterwards, but it had lessened considerably in the days to follow. Now it was back, a itch that made his heartbeat thud dangerously loud in his ears and his muscles coil in preparation for a threat he couldn't see.

Only now he could see it.

Richard was still angry, that much Tony could tell. The man was fairly skilled in concealing his inner thoughts, but it was hard to hide it all from someone who had spent the better part of his own life perfecting the art of lying. His walk was stiff and his shoulders were tense, the veins in his neck just a bit more noticeable than normal. They were small details, but details nevertheless.

Tony narrowed his eyes, but didn't say anything, just kept his mouth shut and his eyes forward as they neared the end of the hallway. Considering the main offices for Stark Tower were so expansive, they took up their own floor, complete with separate lobby for the elevators. Their footsteps echoed off the walls as they entered.

Peter was sitting in one of the waiting chairs, with Pepper hovering close by in the seat next to him, Rhodey pacing back and forth in front of them like a guard dog on watch. Situated on one of the small tables between the chairs was a rag and a bottle of water - unopened if the sealed cap was anything to go by - and in Pepper's lap was another rag, which she was nervously wringing in her hands.

She was talking to Peter in a voice too low for Tony to make out, but the kid wasn't responding. He wasn't even looking at her. Tony could tell by the teen's body language that he was uncomfortable, hands clinging tightly to the bottom seat cushion of the chair and shoulders tight with tension. His head was down, chin tucked close to his chest and every movement Pepper made elicited another flinch away from her.

Tony could tell the woman had been trying to coax something out of the teen for most likely the better part of his absence. But it was obvious Peter wasn't cooperating, not even enough to allow the woman to clean his face considering it was still bloody with smears of dirt on his cheeks and drying blood dotting his nose.

He knew Peter had to have heard their approach, but the teen waited until Pepper and Rhodey heard it as well before lifting his head.

Rhodey was immediately on guard, squaring his shoulders as he locked his narrowed eyes onto Richard's form. He cautiously glanced over towards his friend before immediately shooting back over to Richard. "Tony, you okay, man? Everything good?"

Tony sucked in a breath and had to try very hard to drag his gaze off of Peter to return Rhodey's question. swallowing down the automatic anger that flared seeing the boy's face again. "It's...fine. Everything's fine." He felt his eye twitch, couldn't help but aim one last jab at the man before him. "Right, Richard?"

Said man merely glanced over his shoulder at him and threw him a fairly convincing smile. "Of course. We really made some progress today that I'm very pleased with. But I do think it's time I head off."

With that, he turned his sights on Peter.

The air in the room shifted as Pepper immediately shot to her feet and Rhodey stepped next to her, the two of them effectively blocking Peter from the man's sights. But Richard wasn't deterred, merely gave a little chuckle and cocked a brow at their sudden defenses.

Neither Pepper nor Rhodey tried to hide it anymore, for they both glared at him with a distain conjured up over a much longer period of time than the fifteen minutes he and Tony were away.

Richard pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek and simply leaned back with a condescending smirk before lifting his hand and snapping his fingers with an audible click.

Instantly, Peter jumped to his feet and silently whisked around the two, coming to stand before his father in the blink of an eye. The teen didn't look up, just kept his eyes locked onto the laminate floors below him, hands fisting into the fabric of his jeans. Before any of the others could say a word of protest, Richard was latching a huge hand around Peter's slender wrist and forcefully yanking him towards the elevator.

"Let's go." Richard's voice no longer hid his annoyance as he dropped his façade. Peter must have picked up on the man's anger, for his face quickly grew an air of unease that he swallowed down with a silent glance to the ground.

Immediately, Tony was there, grabbing onto Peter's outstretched arm just above Richard's fist, fingers curling tight in a desperate hold. "Wait."

Richard turned back around with a glare, Peter staring up at Tony with wide eyes as he parted his lips in a silent question. Tony kept his gaze locked into Richard's intensifying scowl. He swallowed before tightening his jaw and hardening his own stare.

"Let him stay."

He could feel Pepper and Rhodey coming up behind him as well as the way Peter's arm trembled in his grip, but he didn't dare let go. Richard didn't either. Instead, his eyes scrunched questioningly as his brow raised.

"It's Monday. He'd be coming here after school anyway." Tony tried to keep his voice level and calm, but it was hard to keep the urgency at bay. If Richard was this angry now, he didn't want to think about what the man would do once he was alone, once he got Peter alone.

Richard stared at him for a good long while and the lobby suddenly felt as suffocating as the conference room. Peter kept flitting his gaze back and forth between Tony and Richard, probably unsure as to what he was supposed to do. So instead, he lowered his gaze back down to his shoes and tried to keep still in their grasp, like a dog on a leash. Tony realized with a sickening twist in his stomach that he was stooping as low as Richard was, physically trying to assert dominance by using Peter as a tool, but what else could he do?

He didn't break his stare with the boy's father, though, not even to spare the kid a reassuring look. He just tightened his grip and focused on keeping his breathing steady and his vision from wavering.

Ever so slowly, Richard's eyes began to fill with an unreadable look. His face grew the same teeth-grinding arrogance as he glanced down at Tony's hand, at the slight tremble in his grip that he desperately tried to quell.

The room was silent. Nobody said anything.

Finally, the man lifted his eyes back up to meet Tony's gaze and his lips grew a sneering grin.

"What do you say?"

Peter's breath shuttered ever so slightly, a whisper of a noise that Tony barely picked up on, especially when the meaning behind the man's words clicked into place.

He felt his face go flush with anger as he narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth, shoulders tightening as his body instantly shifted into a tense stand-off. Did this bastard really think he was going to beg?

Richard chuckled at the sudden angered shift in the man's demeanor, the humored look making Tony flex his other hand into a fist by his side. Their conversation had left him hot and heated, his emotions brimming just underneath the surface, inches from the top. He could feel them beginning to bubble up against the cracks, spilling out faster than he could push them back in.

He opened his mouth, ready to tell the man off once and for all right in front of his own kid. He'd done it before. He was no cowering shrew when it came to calling people out and he had no limits on who to dish it out to: his own teammates, the courts trying to take his property, even the goddamn Secretary of State had gotten several verbal lashings from him. And each and every time, he had the same thought, the same niggling idea hindering any and all restraint.

Screw the fucking consequ-

Richard's grasp on Peter's arm tightened, so much so that the skin began to twist at the sheer strength behind his grip. The teen couldn't hold back the whimper of pain that fell from his lips as he hunched in against the man's hold.

Instantly, a sharp wind blew against the flames in his chest as Tony spared the teen a quick frantic look before whipping his head back up to Richard, the man retaining his dominating smirk, a questioning brow lifting over his forehead.

The consequences...the consequences that weren't his to deal with. The consequences that he wouldn't have to live with. The consequences to this war he had chosen to take part in...

He met the man's antagonizing stare, the look seeming to poke and prod at his restraints, picking at his temper and scratching up against his self-control.

. . .

He couldn't.

He couldn't play this like a worry-free billionaire anymore, couldn't prance around carelessly with his words or his actions. The Accords proved that. Ross proved that. Steve proved that. And now Richard was proving it again, standing there using his own son as leverage.

("Don't bullshit me, Rogers. Did. You. Know?")

He wouldn't fall apart. Not again. He would never let anybody control his emotions, nobody but himself, not anymore. And if that meant putting his pride on the side, then so be it.

"Please."

The word was spat with a pointed venom, but it was said.

Peter lifted his gaze towards Tony's face as he retained Richard's stare, the two locked head-on in an intense, unwavering chain of vision. Finally, Richard leaned back and released Peter's arm.

Immediately, Tony whisked the kid behind his back, completely blocking him from Richard's line of sight. The man adjusted his cuffs again like nothing had even happened before fixing them all with a polite smile. "I'll be in touch. We'll have to schedule that conference soon. Ms. Potts. Colonel Rhodes." And with a few nods to them, he turned on his heel and stepped into the elevator, biting stare holding the room in a tight breathlessness. "Oh, and Peter?"

Tony could feel the kid tense up behind him.

Richard's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Don't be late."

The doors shut. And they were alone.

There was a brief second of silence, a modicum of peace as the air fizzled with the throngs of tension still coursing hot in each of their muscles. The silence was broken, however, by the sharp sound of sneakers squeaking against the linoleum floors.

Tony and the others barely had a chance to turn around in time to see Peter bolt for one of the metal trash cans pressed up against the side wall. And he wasted no time in wrapping his hands around the rim and leaning over before violently heaving into it.

For a single shocked second of silence, the three adults could do little more than stare at the suddenness of it all, eyes blinking dumbly and mouths agape. Their heads were still trying to wrap around the sharp dive the day had taken and each minute seemed to bring a new bout of craziness into the mix.

Nevertheless, Pepper, ever the sharp-sensed woman, was the first to snap out of her thoughts, quickly taking a few hurried steps towards the kid. Her sudden movements seemed to be enough for Tony to reboot as well, for he lunged forward and grabbed her around the waist, gently holding her back.

Rhodey, who had been ready to approach as well, stopped and matched Pepper's perplexed stare, to which Tony merely replied with a glance towards the kid and a soft little shake of his head.

Pepper held his stare for a moment before turning towards the closed elevator doors, slipping out of Tony's grasp as she turned to fully face him, a new question reflected onto her face. It was obvious what she was asking, what they both were asking.

What the hell happened?

He felt his fingers twitching up against the side of his leg, but didn't say anything, merely turned away with a little sigh and a flick of his hand.

They were worried. He couldn't blame them. They'd recieved just a taste of Richard's ruthlessness, held in a single stare that froze the room in shocking waves of uncomfortable heat.

They didn't know what had happened between them. And he knew they were nervous because of that.

He'd tell them. Just not now.

Peter was shaking furiously, so much so, in fact that he was literally leaning his whole weight against the trash can, throwing himself against it with each retch. The noise itself was painful and loud, like each heave was a punch to the stomach, a violent expulsion of pure air. It wasn't hard to see that nothing was coming up as Peter dry-heaved and panted, eyes closed and face twisted into a look of pain.

Tony spared a glance behind him at the others, who were both holding matching looks of unease and hesitation, before steeling himself and slowly taking a step forward.

"Kid...?" he murmured softly, wishing he could place a hand on the boy's shoulder and gently pry him away from the trash he was using more as a crutch than anything else. But Tony could tell just by the way the trash was literally bending underneath the teen's fingers that any sort of unexpected contact would probably send him flying through the back wall.

Finally, Peter sucked in a breath, the first in a long line of spitting and hurling. It was shaky and wet, lodging in his throat as he gasped, the receptacle creaking against the strain of his fingers curling the metal inward. Strands of long brown hair dropped down around his eyes as the teen stood in silence for a moment, panting in place as his wavering stance leaned heavily against the bin. He didn't look up as he spoke, words thick and strained in his throat.

"...sorry. I'm...I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen, for...f-for...I swear I'm not trying to make your lives difficult or his life difficult or anybody's...life difficult, it just..." he was rambling, the words falling from his mouth in jagged puffs of air. His voice dripped with emotion, and not just fear but resignation as well, a certain air of exhaustion that left the words as little more than tiny, crumbling apologies.

"I didn't know it would get this out of hand and I just wasn't thinking. I never should have taken you to Delmar's. I should have known something like this would...and I just...I'm sorry. Please, I'm so sorry, sorry, I'm sorry." The words started to jumble together as he shut his eyes, peeled himself away from the garbage can and leaned his shoulder against the wall next to it, slowly sliding down to the floor as he continued to mumble a garbled mess of apologies and regret.

Tony Stark was never one to be left speechless, but there was no other way to describe the sheer emptiness in his throat as he stared at the kid literally cowering at his feet, too drained to even stand up. It reminded him of the sudden sickness he'd felt in the car sitting idle outside Peter's house that first night, that night that had changed everything.

He swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath that threatened to lodge in his lungs before warily turning back around. Rhodey's fists were clenched and his face was twisted into a look of silent rage that the Colonel was all too skilled at keeping contained, and Pepper was wringing out her hands, eyes zeroed in on the kid as she took a few deep breaths one after the other, like she was trying hard not to cry.

Tony didn't waste any time.

"I need a second, okay? Alone."

Their separate looks instantly morphed into mirror images of disbelief, neither of them seeming to understand nor be willing to oblige, and Tony could see why. He knew that there was close to nothing that could get him to leave this room now and he was sure Pepper and Rhodey probably felt the same, especially since they kept flickering their gazes back and forth between meeting Tony's stare and checking to make sure the kid in the corner hadn't evaporated into smoke.

But he also knew that their reluctance probably stemmed from something a bit greater. He could still feel a fog hovering around his head-space, the teeming anger he still felt buzzing overtop his skin, an anger that wavered strongly like a candle flickering with each puff of air that blew past it. It wouldn't take much to set him off now, especially with his body still dealing with the after-effects of the detox...and they knew it.

Still, he knew he would never get anything out of Peter while there were this many people in the room, especially when they were all as riled up as they currently were and Peter was as agitated as he was. The tension was near palpable, after all.

"Please."

Pepper stared at him, held his gaze tightly as she scanned his face. After a moment, she crinkled the corners of her eyes and tilted her head. "Are you sure?" her voice was quiet, a whisper.

Tony didn't spare it a second of thought, nodding his head firmly.

The hesitation was still there, he could see it in both of their eyes. But a few more glances to the teen behind him as well as to the determined look in Tony's eyes finally seemed to be enough to sway them. Rhodey sighed and turned to make his way out of the lobby, Pepper delaying for just a little while longer to stare at Peter before brushing a hand against the side of Tony's arm and following after her friend.

And then Peter and Tony were alone for the first time in three days.

It took a second for Tony to find the will power to actually turn back around and was shocked to see that Peter was staring at him. He was still scrunched up with his shoulder pressing into the wall, one knee bent close to his chest as he stared out at him. His eyes weren't as scared or frightened as Tony had been expecting, instead staring at him with a certain edge, an unsettling apprehension that kept his form tense and wound-tight.

He didn't say anything. Tony didn't either. The two of them stared back at each other and for a brief moment, Tony was transported back into the penthouse, back into that dark room with nothing but bottles upon bottles littering the floor around him, staring back into the last face he'd been expecting to see, the face of someone who wasn't giving up, somehow who was willing to help.

Well, now it was his turn to help.

He took a few careful steps forward, making sure to keep his movements precise and slow as Peter followed him with his eyes, gaze sharp. He stopped a few steps away and slowly got down onto his knees, lowering his form as to not look so imposing. It seemed to work a bit, for the tightness in the kid's muscles shifted slightly.

Now that they were this close, Tony noticed that Peter's arms weren't really wrapped around himself, but instead he was cradling one against his chest. For a brief, guilt-filled moment, Tony wondered if it was the arm he and Richard had grabbed in their sick little game of finders-keepers. But as the kid shifted a bit, he noticed that it wasn't really his arm that he was cradling, but his hand, more specifically, the twisted, crooked shape of his fingers.

Tony held his breath and had to physically bite down on his tongue to keep from growling.

Slowly, he flipped his own hand, resting the back of it against his knee as he showed his palm. "Let me see," his voice was soft, nothing like how he'd spoken to Richard.

Peter stared at him, then down at his hand. The teen tensed his jaw and shut his eyes before shaking his head. "No. No...you're angry."

He had to admit, that took him by surprise. "What? Peter, no I'm not-"

"Yes you are," the kid said with a noticeable snap in his voice, not enough to be real anger, but enough for Tony to notice. "I heard you. You and my dad...you were yelling. I don't know what about. I didn't want to listen but it was loud. And..." Peter swallowed, lifting his eyes again. "And your heartbeat..."

"What about it?"

"I...I can hear it."

Tony blinked at that, furrowing his brows as he slowly opened his mouth, only for no words to come out. What were you supposed to say to that?

Peter didn't seem to mind the silence, however as he continued, narrowing his eyes slightly as he tightened his grip on his wrist before defensively tucking his arm further against his chest. "You can lie all you want but you can't fake that. I know how it sounds when someone's angry. I hear it all the time. And you're angry. I know you are." he shifted again, but this time he must have bumped his hand against the wall, for he sucked in a hiss and grimaced. Tony instinctively reached out, only for the teen to rear back and press himself harder against the wall. "Don't..."

"Peter...I-" The words faltered in his throat.

This threw him off. He'd never had to deal with something like this before, had never even heard of something like this before. Sure he knew the kid had crazy stupid-weird powers, super-hearing included on that list, but he never could have guessed it would extend so far.

And it made him nervous.

He could manage his microexpressions and alter his body language all he wanted, but he couldn't change his own heartbeat. And now that he knew it was a dead giveaway? It wasn't making him feel very good.

He lifted his eyes back to the kid and couldn't help but run his gaze across the boy's face, especially now that they actually had a minute to breathe.

The bruises had darkened in the time he'd been gone, the majority of them now deepening into a deep purplish-black, including the ones on his neck, which had morphed into a dark purplish-red. His eye wasn't swollen shut, but the skin underneath was so red and so bruised it looked like he'd been burned. His lip was cut in more than one place and there were a ton of little nicks and scratches that he hadn't seen before, each of them red and angry. The blood under his nose was drying, but it was so crooked, Tony could actually see where the break was.

He was ashamed at himself for having to look away. But it was hard seeing it all up close.

It had been different before, when Peter would show up with a black eye or a bleeding arm, Tony had his suspicions and his hang-ups, but there was always a small part of him that just wanted to believe the kid was clumsy, that he was getting these injuries while out on patrol and that nothing else was going on.

Oh, he knew, of course, knew it was a dumb idea, knew that the feelings in his gut and the clear blatant signs weren't to be ignored...but it was hard not to hold onto that hope.

Now that hope was gone, replaced with cold, hard reality. And that reality was staring up at him with a bloody and blackened face. A reality that he still couldn't stop.

Tony sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The least he could do was be honest.

"Alright. I'm angry. You're right. I am. But...not at you." He leaned closer and shook his head as Peter glanced away. "Kid, how can you possibly think I'm angry at you?"

The boy was silent for a moment, staring down at the floor as he slowly began to relax some of the stiffness in his body, maybe more at ease now that he knew Tony wasn't going to try and touch him. He brushed his fingers against the hand curled against his chest.

"He was."

Tony felt his hands twitch.

"And he should be. I caused all of this, did all of this. I caused all these problems and now you two have to deal with it all because I was stupid and didn't think about what would happen if we were seen in public!" Peter slapped a free hand against the side of his head and fisted some of his hair, growling all the while. "They're going crazy because of me, because they're interested in me, all because I was an idiot! I..." The teen sucked in a shaky breathe and shut his eyes, body instantly seeming to deflate as he rested his head against the wall. "I did this. I...I'm sorry."

Tony stared in silence for a moment, trying to digest the words without reigniting the churn that had been plaguing his stomach for days now. He itched to move forward, to get closer to the kid, but he kept his distance. "Peter...this isn't your fault, kid," he said, almost in disbelief, like he couldn't believe the boy didn't know that.

Peter continued to stare at the ground through half-lidded eyes and didn't bother in lifting the side of his head away from the wall. "Dad said-"

"I don't care what he said." Tony snapped before quickly realizing how loud he'd actually been as he noticed the teen jump slightly and stare back at him with a now fully-alert gaze. The man sighed and leaned back, trying to keep his frustrations at bay and his emotions in check, reminding himself that Richard was gone and there was no point in staying angry. He took a few deep breaths, hoping to somehow get his heartbeat back under control.

It was unsettling, knowing he wasn't the only one who could hear it pounding away in his ears. But he knew it was probably even more unsettling for the kid, hearing it like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off in a flurry of screaming and slapping.

"It's not right, kid," he finally sighed. "He's not right."

Peter blinked at him for a moment before tightening his hold on his wrist. "He's always right."

Despite the whispered hush it came out as, it rang around in Tony's ears like church bells. He gritted his teeth and tried to block it out. "Not about this."

The teen finally relaxed his hawk-like stare once more and dropped it back down to the floor, but didn't say much else. It was obvious he wasn't convinced, though Tony wasn't surprised. He himself was having a hard time getting the image of Richard's piercing stare out of his head, like a virus lingering around for too long, he could feel it clinging to the back of his head, refusing to leave. It was hard to imagine what those eyes looked like when they were staring you down in the middle of a beating.

The teen bit at his lower lip before carefully lifting his head back up, shifting uncomfortably once more from his position on the floor. "He...my dad...h-he said conference. Before he left. What...what was he talking about?"

Tony gave a small shake of his head and waved his hand away, not in the mood to discuss the idiots outside, especially when they weren't the most pressing thing on his mind right now. "Nothing, kid. Nothing you need to worry about right n-"

"What...was he talking about?" Peter repeated, voice harder as his eyes narrowed slightly.

The man blinked for a moment, not having been expecting the sudden forcefulness. He could see that the kid was uncomfortable with his own shift in demeanor, for he was clenching and unclenching his grip on his wrist and his eyes kept flickering around Tony's face, like he was expecting the man to be upset at his sudden assertiveness.

Tony paused for a moment before tilting his head and shrugging his shoulders. "His plan, his...solution for all of this. He wants to set up a press conference between the three of us, field their questions, hopefully shrink down the amount of time this'll stretch out for."

He could see the kid's face beginning to slacken as he spoke, eyes widening slightly as his lips parted. It wasn't much news, wasn't important at all in Tony's book, especially not at this exact moment. But the look stretching across Peter's face could have convinced him that he'd just said the sky was turning green, a shocked confusion that made his eyes narrow and his brows furrow.

"He wants...what? He wants to...? I...I-I don't understand, he wants me to...to be in...?" The kid's words were beginning to tumble over each other, body regaining the same shivering tightness of nerves that had first set in minutes ago. But it was only when he started to see the boy's chest begin to bounce up and down faster and faster did Tony realize the kid was starting to panic.

"Pete, hey-"

"You heard wrong. You must have heard wrong. He would never actually suggest putting me up...in...i-in front of all those...and the cameras...why would he...he wouldn't. He wouldn't...."

In the three seconds it took Tony to scan the kid in shock, he noticed Peter was beginning to grab at his cradled hand, not the wrist but the actual hand, crooked fingers and all, clenching his grip around them so tightly, in fact, that the skin was beginning to turn white. The kid was still rambling, staring down at the floor in confusion and didn't even seem to notice what he was doing.

"He wouldn't. No...he...h-he wouldn't."

Tony lurched forward and tried to grab at his wrist, pull it away. "Peter-!"

His fingers were only able to brush up against the boy's skin before the words were cut off with a sharp inhale of choked breath, the kid slamming his back against the wall as his eyes cleared of the sudden haze they'd been gathering, replaced instead with a sharp, instinctive intensity that immediately put Tony on edge. "Don't touch me! Just don't! I told you not to touch me! S-stop touching me! Just- just don't. Don't!"

Instantly, the man raised his hands into the air and leaned away as the kid continued to yell. "Okay, okay - hey, look!"

Peter locked his jaw and kept his pointed stare locked onto the man's form. "I'm not gonna touch you, okay? See, see my hands? No touching, I..." Tony trailed off for a moment as he stared back at the look on the kid's face, the look slowly morphing from sharp anger into sullen fear.

"I...I'm not going to...hurt you."

The fact that Tony felt he had to say something at all made his chest burn again. But this time it wasn't out of anger, but sadness. Disappointment. "Peter, it's me, kid. You know I would never...right?"

The kid stared at him, blinked at him, said nothing.

Tony sighed. He thought they'd moved past this. He thought that night in the penthouse had proved that level of trust, established the baseline fact that Peter didn't have to be afraid of him anymore, that they could get past that and begin to develop that trust into something a bit more concrete.

Was he wrong?

Was this kid still as afraid of him as before?

But as the thoughts curled against his head and began to tighten the pressure buckling against his ribs, Peter's eyes slowly began to mist over as he squeezed them shut and leaned back against the wall, ducking his head and cradling his hand as his breathing hitched.

"I didn't mean to make him mad," he whispered with a choked-up sniffle.

("But you're not really the one who needs to be afraid of me, are you?")

And suddenly, Tony understood.

He sucked in a sharp breath and shut his eyes with a tight clench of his fists, slowly releasing it with a sigh as he gazed back at the boy. "Ah, kid...I know. I know you didn't." He tried to keep his voice level, keep it soft and quiet and everything Richard's never was. "But he's gone now. He's gone...and I'm not, alright?"

Peter sniffed and carefully glanced over. Tony kept their distance, held down the desire to inch closer and kept his eyes on the kid. "I'm right here. I'm just trying to help, okay? You know me. You know I just wanna help." Slowly, he reached a hand out and pressed it down onto the floor between them, Peter watching intently as Tony made sure to keep his hand far enough away so that it wouldn't accidentally touch him.

"Please?"

Tony realized he'd been saying that a lot today. This time it felt different.

Peter flexed his fingers against his wrist, thrummed them against the skin on his arm as he watched Tony slowly retract his hand back into his lap, leaving the floor clear for Peter to set his own hand down without the threat of contact. The teen's gaze flickered back and forth between the floor and the man in contemplation before he hesitantly began to uncurl his arm away from his chest.

Slowly, the teen lowered the hand down to the floor, carefully extending his shaking fingers as best he could, spreading them against the cold linoleum so that the man could get a good view without having to touch him. But as soon as he did, Tony had to try very hard to keep from lurching from his seat.

Peter's fingers were snapped and crooked, stretched so tightly, the clear indent of broken bone could be seen pressing against the pale skin, threatening to tear straight through it. There was a few flimsy bandages wrapped around his two middle fingers, scuffed with dirt and grime. The skin itself was turning black, his palm twisted and indented as it shook against the floor.

Tony sucked in a shaky breath, rubbing a hand against his mouth. "Jesus..."

Peter must have heard the sudden uptake in his heartbeat and the way his body tensed up tightly, for he quickly whisked his hand back to his chest. "Don't get mad," he said quickly, voice shaking slightly.

Tony, in return, quickly lifted his hands again for the teen to see. "I'm not. I swear I'm not." It took a second of silence and another bout of staring, but Peter slowly took another breath and gave a small nod of his head, but he didn't put his hand back, just kept it pressed against his chest and out of view.

The billionaire leaned back on his haunches for a second to think in the silence that followed. His eyes continued to trail the image of the kid's hand in his head before moving to scan the scratches still shining red on his face, the darkening bruising around his neck and the angle of his crooked nose still leaving specks of blood to trail down his lip.

Another breath, deep and long. Slowly, Tony pressed his own hands down onto the floor and pushed himself up to his feet. Peter watched him as he brushed his hands against the side of his suit and began to shrug the jacket off, tossing it down onto the floor before adding his tie as well, rolling up the cuffs of his shirt and pushing them up his arms.

There was no point in pretending for anybody anymore.

Peter watched with a renewed stiffness to his muscles, most likely over the fact that Tony was now standing over him instead of kneeling down at his level. But the man still didn't make any moves to approach the kid, didn't try to touch him or get closer. Instead, there was a beat of silence, a moment of staring.

Then a hand. A palm extending towards him.

The kid flinched at first at the sudden sight of it, only to watch as it stopped about a foot away from him, leaving a sizable gap that only Peter could close. Tony gazed down at him, but didn't do anything else, didn't say anything else.

Silence.

Peter slowly dragged his gaze from the man's face down to his extended hand, blinking dumbly for a moment before licking at his lip and shying away for a brief second, tightening the grip on his arm as he held it close.

Tony knew they both realized it: this wasn't the first time he'd extended a hand to the kid. Central Park, the Brooklyn Bridge, all moments of fear and uncertainty as he stretched out a hand, desperate for the kid to take it, desperate for him to accept his help and give him the little bit of trust he needed to actually make a difference, to actually do something to change things.

He knew now, though. Knew he could only extend his hand so far before the task fell on Peter to close the distance. He couldn't force it, couldn't will it to be. It was the kid's choice, his decision. He had to choose to accept Tony's help.

The teen seemed to realize this as well, for he turned his head away from the man's hand and gazed instead at the fingers tucked near his chest. He bit at his lower lip as he gingerly brushed his fingers over the bloodied and crooked knuckles, at the scuffs turning the skin red and raw. He shut his eyes, squeezed them tightly before peeling them back open and turning them towards Tony.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Peter's other hand began to peel itself away from his wrist, away from the damaged fingers he was so desperate to protect. His arm shook a bit, but he took a breath and steadied it as he hesitantly began to move it forward.

The tips of his fingers grazed Tony's palm before quickly jolting back a few inches, testing a reaction. When they received none, he carefully began to slide his own hand into Tony's, giving a small squeeze as he wrapped his fingers around the man's palm. Tony took a second to make sure the kid was certain before wrapping his own fingers tight.

They both took a deep breath at that.

Carefully, Tony pulled the kid up to his feet, where he wobbled a bit before steadying himself against the wall. As soon as he was stable, he slid his hand out of Tony's own and readjusting it back towards his chest. Tony didn't mind and just decided to take the small wins where he could get them.

So without another word, the man turned on his heel and began to walk towards the elevators. Peter only hesitated for a second before silently following. FRIDAY opened the doors without him having to say anything, the pair stepping inside and standing side by side.

"Med-bay, FRI."

"Of course, Boss."

Peter spared him a tiny look, but didn't say anything, just glanced back down at his shoes. They stood in silence as the elevator ascended, Tony feeling more than a little grateful at the brief moment of peace. The day was taking quite a toll on him, he could feel it in the way his shoulders sagged if he didn't exert enough energy to keep them up, felt it in the way his eyes automatically wanted to close it he wasn't paying much attention.

The silence, while calming on his fraying nerves, did little to distract him from the headache he still hadn't been able to shake. At least with Richard, with Pepper and Rhodey and Peter freaking out, there was enough to keep his mind off of it, to keep his mind off of everything that was making him long for a bed or a couch or even a semi-flat surface he could pass out on. But now that there was nothing, he could hear the ringing again, the annoyingly ever-present humming that bounced around in his head and seemed to echo down his eardrum.

In the corner of eye, he could see Peter perk his head up and glance over at him like he wanted to say something, but he ultimately remained silent, so Tony decided to ignore it in favor of trying to push down the grating ring making his eyes hurt.

He was able to get it down to semi-tolerable levels as the doors to the elevator opened up onto a sleek metal floor of the tower. The walls weren't a calm, pristine cream like the lobby to the main offices, but were instead a cold, sleek, shiny steel, reinforcing the sterile environment they were entering. Tony stepped out of the hallway, Peter following on his heels.

The doors opened up onto a long pathway that extended out and expanded into a large room similar to the labs upstairs, stretching up into a single huge med-bay, an open floor plan complete with dozens of high-tech machines, monitors and gadgets that seemed to fill the room from one end to the other, not to mention the handful of beds, four on one side of the room and four on the opposite side, each facing one another.

Tony noticed Peter swiveling his head around, eyes wide as he took in the sights around him. Walking further into the room, the man approached one of the closest beds and patted the top of it. Peter glanced over at him before cautiously approaching, silently hopping on top and resting his hands in his lap. Tony forced himself not to look at the kid and instead to focus on gathering various supplies from underneath the cabinets and inside the drawers.

He pulled out a few rolls of bandages, wipes, braces, anything and everything he felt he'd need to get the kid looking semi-normal again. And all the while, Peter remained silent, watching him with those bright brown eyes of his. Tony tried to ignore it, but he couldn't help the small unsettling feeling he felt traveling up his spine as he'd catch sight of the look from the corner of his eyes.

Peter was honestly acting all sorts of ways today. He hadn't said a single word while Richard was around, reminding Tony of how he'd used to act back when they first met. And even after the man left it was hard to miss the effect he had on the kid, an effect that was so strong, it left him heaving over a trash can as soon as he was gone.

But now? Now that Richard was gone and it was just the two of them, the kid's behavior shifted once again. Now, instead of nothing but nerves and fidgety anxiety, it seemed to mingle with something else, something worse. The kid wasn't tripping over his words to apologize anymore or rambling and stuttering in stress.

He was silent. Disturbingly so. Not even his breathing, which should have been strained against the crooked angle of his nose, made much of a sound. He just sat there with his eyes fixed on his lap, body still like a statue, like he could just fade into the background without a second thought, like a...like a-

("...a model of perfect behavior...")

Tony shivered.

His hand shook for a brief second, clattering against the metal counters before he quickly steadied it with a silent curse. He paused for a moment as he gazed down at the materials he'd collected before casting a small glance over his shoulder.

"I need to...there are a lot of cuts and..." he flickered his gaze over the teen's face, over the patches of skin that needed his attention, needed to be treated...touched. "Are you...okay with that?"

Peter raised his head and stared at him, stared down at the medical supplies littering the counter. He hesitated, then sniffed and gave a muted nod. Tony decided to work quickly before the teen thought better of it. So with that, he grabbed one of the towels folded beside him and reached for the sink installed against the back wall, turning the faucet and letting a few drops of water dampen the towel just a tad.

Draping it over his shoulder, he grabbed the rest of the stuff and slid it onto one of the wheeled rolling counters while using one foot to drag a nearby stool closer to the bed. He plopped down, took a small breath and grabbed the towel. There wasn't much he could do for the bruising on his face or neck, but the cuts were at least treatable, even with his meager medical knowledge.

He could see Peter's free hand curling against the edge of the bed as Tony held the towel out, could practically see the tension bleeding from the kid's veins as he gingerly began to wipe the damp cloth against one of the cuts on his forehead, clearing it of the dirt smudged around it. Trying to be as careful as humanly possible, Tony was quick with his work, making sure to keep his fingers from making direct contact with the kid's skin as much as possible.

As soon as the wound was cleared of the specks of dried blood and dirt, Tony removed one of the butterfly bandages from its packaging and gingerly laid it atop the teen's skin, making careful work of avoiding any painful tugging or pulling of the marks.

He felt Peter take a few deep breaths, saw some of the tension beginning to leave his muscles as Tony continued from one cut to the next without incident, cleaning it with the towel before applying the bandages. One by one, Peter slowly eased up and the two fell into a comfortable rhythm as the worst of the cuts to his forehead and cheek were dealt with, leaving just his nose and his hand to tackle.

But Tony had something he needed to deal with first.

"Tell me what happened."

The kid jolted in his seat at the unexpected question and the sudden break to their near ten minutes of silence. He blinked and stared at the man, who was cleaning the last few bits of dirt from the boy's forehead.

"What?"

"With your dad. Before you showed up. What happened?"

Peter seemed to take a second to let the man's words sink in and another to really think about them before he was turning his head away with an upset sigh. "Mr. Stark...you know I can't."

"Yes you can." Tony tossed the towel back onto the table and rested his elbows on his knees. "We had a deal, remember? You want this to stay secret? Then you tell me. No exceptions. No backing out. No making excuses. I don't wanna hear them."

In the back of his head, Tony knew there was probably a more tactful way of bringing this up, but he was not in the mood for dancing around anymore. Richard had given him enough of a run-around, he didn't need another from his son.

He'd made that deal for a reason, had forced himself to come to some sort of compromise. He had to at least find some benefits to it, and one of the biggest was that he refused to be left in the dark anymore, not when things like this were literally being dropped on his doorstep. That deal had to mean something. It had to count for something.

It had to make a difference somehow.

Peter continued to stare at him, continued to fidget in his seat as he stole glances behind him and around him, like he was looking for something to distract him with. But Tony held the kid's gaze, held his look with one of his own that blatantly said he wasn't about to drop it.

The teen's eyes drifted down to his hands after a moment of silence, a silence Tony longed to break. But he knew he had to at least give the kid some leeway if he was going to get anything out of him. Deal or no, Peter was still a bit of a brick-wall when it came to things like this and the last thing either of them needed was for Tony's impatience to somehow make this harder than it already was.

Finally, after a long bout of near unbearable quiet, Peter hesitantly lifted his eyes to the man's face, fingers clenching the fabric of his pants. "You won't..."

Tony leaned forward, eyes serious. "Nothing leaves this tower."

Peter stole a breath, a shaky, wavering breath that barely made it down his throat. He tightened his jaw and began to brush against his bloodied knuckles again. Tony made sure to keep a closer eye on his hands this time, if only to make sure the kid didn't start to tug or squeeze at his broken fingers again from sheer nerves.

But the boy's focus was elsewhere now. "It was lunchtime when they showed up." His voice was quiet like before, not timid or shy, just quiet. Resigned. "I was called to the office and he was already there. He was making small talk with my principal and...and the guidance counselor, just chatting away like he always does, being nice and pleasant. He donates a lot of money to the school so he has a pretty good relationship with people there. He was acting like nothing was wrong, but...I knew he was angry...I could tell."

His gaze grew a little sharper. "Mr. Morita didn't suspect a thing, of course. Why would he? He never does. Nobody ever does. I...They just talked about the reporters, about what they might do to stop it or work around it or...I don't know. I wasn't really listening at that point." The teen leaned forward, rested his elbows against his knees as he stared down at the floor, bringing an arm to wrap around his midsection. He looked tired.

"They finished up and we got in the car and started driving. He didn't tell me where we were going, didn't tell me anything really, but I had a hunch. And he just...h-he...was just so angry," he murmured, level tone finally wavering slightly as he took a sharp breath and clenched his fist. "He started talking...and then he started shouting, said something about you and then I got angry which only made things worse, of course, because-"

"Something about me?" Tony furrowed his brow and tilted his head.

Peter blinked, briefly pulled from the memories fluttering around him as he gave a small nod. "Y-yeah. I...don't know if you know this, but he really doesn't like you."

The man scoffed and leaned back on the stool. "Yeah well the feeling's mutual."

Peter glanced away and shifted slightly in the seat, only to stop suddenly and grimace, tightening his hold around his midsection as he leaned in slightly and groaned. Instantly, Tony was on edge, rearing forward slightly as he reached out before he could think better of it. "Kid? What's wrong? Is there something else-?"

His fingers brushed against the kid's shoulder and Peter quickly jumped back like he'd been burned, tightening his hold on his stomach as he ducked from the unexpected touch. Tony felt a lurching frustration build against his chest but he quickly swallowed down whatever he wanted to say as he took a deep breath and huffed a sigh, roughly sitting back down in his chair as he held up his hands in surrender again. "It's...fine. Fine." He rubbed at his eyes and tried to remind himself that it wasn't him the kid really had an issue with.

Still, it was getting a bit hard not to take it personally.

"You were saying?" he said as he folded his arms over his chest.

Peter stared at him and must have taken note of the growing frustration Tony was trying very hard to hide, for the kid suddenly lowered his gaze in guilt, readjusting the arm wrapped around his stomach as his face grew a hot wash of shame. Tony bit the inside of his cheek and mentally cursed himself for allowing his own hang-ups to make the kid feel bad, but he remained silent. There was already too much to handle here, he couldn't worry about that right now.

Said kid began to fiddle with his knuckles a little more, pressing down on the torn and bloodied skin. The billionaire made a mental note of the sight but still remained silent, not wanting the kid to clam up just as he was starting to continue.

"I...I said something," he finally murmured, fingers moving down to rub at his wrist before shutting his eyes and shaking his head furiously. "I should have just kept my mouth shut. I shouldn't have provoked him, but I did. I was stupid and I said something stupid and then we were pulling over and he was getting out of the car and there was nobody around. I kept looking but nobody ever showed up, not even when I started to get out too. I kept looking. I kept looking but nobody ever came. There was nobody there, Mr. Stark, and-!"

His frantic ramblings cut off with a sudden choke of air, the noise so startling that Tony actually leaned forward once more, itching to get up from the stool again as Peter ducked and continued to shake his head, eyes squeezed tight as he curled his fingers around his wrist with bone-crushing strength, the skin twisting white.

"...He was just so angry."

"Peter-"

The teen's eyes snapped back open and he suddenly leaned forward, making Tony jump as the kid stared at him with a frantic look. "I didn't mean to make him so angry, I swear. I swear, I really do. I didn't mean it. I swear, I didn't mean it. I didn't mean to. I was just-"

"Hey, hey!" Tony stepped forward, holding his hands out in a calming motion as the kid began to trip over his own words, talking too fast to even breathe. "It's okay! I believe you. I...I believe you. It's alright. It's okay."

Peter tucked his chin close to his chest and took a few shaky breathes, Tony leaving his hands to hover over the boy's shoulders as he took a second to just calm down. He tucked his legs closer together and wrapped his arms back around his midsection. Tony noticed and quickly realized there was definitely something he'd missed.

The man took a few deep breathes of his own as he tried not to let the sight rattle him, tried to keep calm and remain the stable adult that was needed for a situation like this. He cleared his throat slightly, if only to dissolve the anxiety beginning to block his airways. Slowly he moved forward again, keeping his hands in clear view of the kid's line of sight as he began to lower them towards the boy's shirt.

"Peter, how often does he do this? How often does he...get angry?"

The kid watched his hands, then looked back up at him and Tony could clearly see the uncertainty in his eyes. Tony gave a reassuring nod of his head, as if to affirm that their deal of secrecy was still in place. "It's okay..."

Peter dropped his gaze from Tony's face back down to the man's hands, watching as they carefully brushed one side of his open jacket away and began to curl around the hem of his shirt. He kept rubbing at his wrist, pulling the skin this way and that as he turned his gaze back on the floor. "It...doesn't happen all that often. Usually, it's the others. But, when he does..."

His voice trailed off and the second Tony began to lift the edge of the boy's shirt, Peter's hand shot out and wrapped around Tony's wrist, stilling his movements in a vice-like hold. The billionaire startled for a second before lifting his eyes to meet the boy's piercing stare. "You...you swear not to get mad?" His voice shook. So did his hand.

Tony fixed him with a steady gaze of his own, keeping his arm still in the teen's grip as he blinked calmly at him. "I swear."

Peter maintained eye contact for a moment longer before warily lowering his head again, hesitantly unwrapping his fingers from the man's wrist before whisking his arm close to his chest again. He shut his eyes and didn't say anything else.

The man didn't move right away, even as the boy let go of him. Peter's grip had been firm, shockingly so, even going as far as to leave little white marks on his wrist that slowly faded back into normal skin-tone. Another sickening twist of unease stabbed into his gut. Tony swallowed down whatever was slinking around the back of his throat as he sucked in a breath and lifted the teen's shirt.

The air quickly left soon after in one sharp punch.

The first things he noticed were the bones. Sharp and prominent, the teen's rib cage was so visible he could literally count the bones and each space between them, leading down to his stomach which curved around into a toned-abdomen so thin, Tony might have been able to put both hands around it and make the ends of his fingers touch. Other than the lean muscles that were admittedly well-defined and strong, there was not a single ounce of fat anywhere on the boy's stomach, nothing but muscle and skin and a thin, sickly skeleton.

But that wasn't what his gaze lingered on because somehow that wasn't the worst of it.

Peter's abdomen was covered in bruises, deep blackish-red swathes of color that smeared across the porcelain white of his skin like blood stains, dark and horrendously numerous, so much so that there was barely any skin left untouched by the marks, nothing but patches of red, yellow, purple, black and a sickening mix of it all.

And the scars...deep, long prominent marks running up and down his chest, his side, his stomach, criss-crossing over his skin like chicken-scratch. There were so many mingled with the bruising that Tony couldn't even tell if any if them were fresh and bleeding, for the blood would have mixed right in with the deep black of the kid's darkening skin.

"God, Peter!" Tony couldn't help the words that fell from his mouth as he leapt forward, quickly brushing his hands around the teen's skin in search of any signs of blood or broken bones in the mass of new bruising and old scarring that looked like the kid had done time with a rabid bull. But Peter didn't leave him much time to inspect before he was pushing the man away and quickly shoving his shirt back down. "You swore you wouldn't get mad!"

Tony stared at him incredulously, mouth agape as he shook his head in disbelief. "I..." the words cut off with a sharp scoff as he quickly locked his jaw, feeling the heat beginning to build back up again in sharp waves of anger and frustration. He gritted his teeth and felt his fingers flexing at his sides. "I'm not mad."

Peter wasn't buying it. "Yes you are! I can hear it!"

"Yeah! Well-" His skin was tingling again. His head was pounding and his heart was beating out of his control. His heart. It was his heartbeat, he was the only one who should be able to hear it. He already had to mask so much nowadays and now he had to hide that as well?!

He aimed his glare down at the floor and clenched his fists, unable to hold in the flurry of anger he'd been harboring deep inside. "That's cheating. I can't fucking control my own goddamn heartbeat," he growled defensively before quickly clamping his mouth shut and turning away before he could say anything more to the kid.

Tony pressed his palms back down against the surface of the counter, the sleek metal cold against his burning hands. He lowered his head and held in a groan as he felt the ringing return full-force, banging against the sides of his head in a skull-splintering whine that made his eyes blur and his teeth chatter.

God, he was so tired.

It was all getting to be too much. The noise in his head, the tightness in his chest, the ache in his muscles, the churning in his gut, all of it was wrapping tight inside of him in a heavy weight of dread threatening to send him straight through the floor. Richard had basically drained him of the last of his energy, the last of his defenses. He shut his eyes and tried to focus on breathing, focus on feeling the air entering in through his constricting, shriveling lungs.

A sudden noise broke through the ringing, mingled with it, timid and obviously confused.

"Are you...okay?"

He could feel the kid's presence near him. He didn't open his eyes. "Why do you ask?" he muttered, wincing as it intensified the shrieking.

"Your ears are ringing."

That did get him to open his eyes. He whisked around to face the kid, ignoring the way the lights wavered in his vision, blurry and out of focus. He furrowed his brows and leveled the boy a hard stare. "You can...don't tell me you can hear that," he breathed in shock.

Peter didn't respond, just shuffled awkwardly on his feet and rubbed his arm.

Tony squeezed his eyes shut once more and turned away with a harsh sigh. "Of course you can." Somehow, he couldn't find it in himself to be upset about it. So instead, he stood in the silence that followed and kept on breathing, kept his focus on each inhale and exhale and tried to push down the banging in his head, the screaming in his ears and the skipping of his heart.

But it was hard to focus on anything past the heat, the slow build-up of warmth that was pinching his chest and twisting his skin.

He couldn't hold it back anymore, the waves of rage and anger that he'd brewed in the conference room, feelings he'd been trying desperately to choke down for the sake of the kid. But he wasn't strong enough and now he could feel them all around him, hovering around his head in a piercing whine of noise that left him breathless.

It was the penthouse all over again, the tingling heat that had never fully gone away, now back full-force and with a vengeance. It was Siberia, a rage he couldn't control, seeping into his muscles and forcing his body to move without his consent, leaving him a stranded passenger defenseless against it. Now it was Richard, standing in front of him laughing in spite, laughing and smiling and staring with those eyes that left the entire room burning in skin-searing heat.

It made his fingers curl, nails biting into his palms as his muscles coiled and his arms shook. He couldn't hear anything over the ringing, couldn't feel anything past the heat and the burning and the fire wrapping around him in thick black tendrils of suffocating rage.

. . .

Then a hand.

Only this time...it wasn't his.

He snapped open his eyes, forced them to blink and focus as he turned his head. Peter was next to him now, tiny form leaning against the counter as he rested the tips of his fingers against the back of Tony's hand, which was still curled into a tight fist atop the surface. His touch was soft, almost hesitant and yet still grounding in a sense. His skin was still as icy as ever, a sharp contrast to the steaming heat that seemed to bubble against Tony's own. Peter stared up at him with those bright brown eyes of his that seemed to swallow everything else, blocking out the wavering lights and the pulsing black encroaching on his vision...and the ringing, left it a muted whisper to swirl around his ear.

"Are you okay?" Peter repeated, but this time his voice was quiet, gentle.

For a minute, Tony said nothing, just listened to the sound of his own breathing instead of the numbing whine, kept looking at the kid's shining irises instead of the anger he craved so desperately to release, just kept his mind on the cold resting atop his hand and not on the warmth slowly receding back to the center of his chest to sit and stew.

He glanced down at the kid's hand and couldn't help but swallow the dryness in his throat as he realized the kid was attempting to return contact again, even if it was something as small as the tips of his fingers. It was still something. He lifted his gaze and noticed that Peter's eyes hadn't left his face.

He sighed before giving a small smile, a strained little thing that probably didn't do much to mask his weariness as he leaned up against the counter. "I'm alright, kid," he said softly before scoffing with a roll of his eyes. "Figures you come in looking like you fell off the back of a truck doing 80 on the highway and ask if I'm okay. You know you're weird, right?"

"So I've been told." Peter sniffed, grimacing slightly as the air violently entered his crooked nose.

Tony pursed his lips and straightened up, leering down at the broken feature. His work still wasn't done, despite his sudden lack of self-control. He shuffled awkwardly on his feet for a moment before gesturing. "I, uh...I need to set that thing, kid. Last thing we need is your freaky healing fusing that thing incorrectly." He had no idea how fast the boy's healing actually worked but he didn't plan on finding out today.

Peter didn't need to be directed back to the bed as he sat back down himself, tilting his head slightly. "You don't have to. I can do it myself. I've done it loads of times."

Tony sighed and leveled a long look up at the ceiling. "I'm just going to pretend I didn't hear that."

Peter blushed. Tony approached and held up his hands, once again attracting the kid's eye sight and making clear view of his movements before slowly reaching for the kid's face. He gingerly began to brush his fingers against the boy's nose, poking around the sight itself before garnering an approximation of where the actual break was from the kid's small hisses of pain. He leaned back a bit.

"Now, I know how to do this. Trust me, I've had so many accidents and have had to learn so many different ways to deal with said accidents that I'm a paper cut away from a medical degree. But if you'd rather I get one of my on-calls to do this, I-"

"No." Peter said quickly and sharply before clearing his throat and glancing away nervously. "I...I don't want anybody t...I don't think I can handle, uh...just the...I don't want anyone else to...to touch me and...I, um.." Tony could see the kid beginning to get flustered, cheeks reddening in embarrassment.

"Okay, it's alright. I understand," he said quickly.

It wasn't hard to see that the kid's aversion to contact was especially strong today and Tony couldn't blame him. Despite the recounting, he still had no real idea of what it was like with his father. Just talking to the bastard was hard enough, so he really couldn't imagine what the kid had gone through in that car. It made sense that his normal fear of anything and everything physical would be amplified today. But Tony was damn well not about to let the teen feel embarrassed about it.

"I wasn't just blowing air, you know. I do know how to do this."

The teen nodded and didn't say anything else as Tony carefully began to reposition his hands on either side of the kid's nose. "'Kay, you ready?"

A stiff nod.

"Okay. On three. One-"

He quickly jolted his fingers, snapping the bone back into place and aligning the structures back up again. Peter shut his eyes and briefly sucked in a muted hiss, but other than that, there was no reaction. No cry of pain or stiffening of the joints. Somehow, that made Tony feel worse but he quickly dismissed the thoughts as he whisked his hands a safe distance away from the kid and stared down at him. "You okay?"

Peter blinked a bit and wrinkled his nose slightly before staring back up at him. Once again, he gave a small little nod.

Tony held his gaze for a moment, couldn't help but mark the stark differences between Peter's eyes and his father's. Despite the piercing hold they both had, Peter's gaze was soft and bright, nothing like the dark uncomfortable tingle that accompanied his father's stare. And as he gazed at the kid's eyes, he couldn't help but jolt back to the last time he'd held that look, the last time he'd held that stare.

Had it really only been three days ago?

Swirling the thought in his head, Tony was unable to hold in a slight, sudden laugh as he lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, the stress he'd felt before seeming to settle for unexpected laughter as its release rather than violent rage. "Jeez kid. Do all of our interactions have to be so dramatic?" At least there was no rain or thunder to accompany them this time.

Peter lifted a brow and cocked his head, voice level. "I thought you liked dramatics."

"I like when I'm causing the dramatics. It's no fun when it's somebody else hogging all the glory."

The teen leaned back in his seat on the bed and rested his damaged hand in his lap. "Right. Guess I should have gotten that from all the flashy metal suits."

Tony scoffed. "Alright, Mr. Red-and-Blue-spandex."

"Says the guy who made my suit."

"I...alright you got me there."

He chuckled and noticed that Peter cracked a smile, the first Tony had seen from him all day. The billionaire retained his smile and even felt it widen as he noticed the air of tension that had filled the air since Peter's arrival finally seemed to be wavering, fading bit by bit, leaving traces of the real Peter to peek through.

He began to fiddle with the bandages on the cart again, lining his fingers against the edges as he lifted his head and gestured around at the room, which he'd noted Peter taking an interest in before. "I don't think we ever made it this far when I was showing you around the tower, you know...two lifetimes ago. What do you think?"

Peter swiveled his head to gaze around the room. "I didn't even know you had a med-bay here."

"Course. This did used to be Avengers Tower and we weren't known to be the safest bunch. But once we moved HQ over to the Compound, we downgraded here in favor of upping the scopes over there." He was finally able to unpeel a good enough strip of bandage away from the protective packaging. "So if you're ever planning on cutting off an arm or anything, you're gonna wanna make sure to do it near the Compound, kay?"

Peter held up his smile. "I'll keep that in mind. But this is downgrading? It's like a hospital in here."

"Exactly. You expect something from Tony Stark to look like it came out of a government funded public hospital? Please! We can print you new organs at the Compound."

"Seriously?"

"Okay, well I might be overexaggerating a bit, but whenever Cho stops by to brief me on her requirements for new tech upgrades, she updates me on her work." Tony held up both his hands and the bandage in clear view of the kid again, showing him exactly what he had in his grasp. Peter eyed it up for a second before seeming to mark his approval. The man approached and gingerly began to lay on the first strip. "Soon enough, she'll be able to regrow your own organs from leftover shred samples. That's what she was working on with her Cradle."

Peter twitched his face slightly, seeming to adjust to the new bandages stretching over the bridge of his nose as Tony began to tear off another strip to apply. "I read about that when I was in elementary school. Artificial cell regeneration. She was the first to figure out how to bond microencapsulated STEM cells to organic human skin cells with a complete one hundred percent success rate, no immune system defenses, rejection cycles, degeneration effects, anything. She wrote a paper on it." Tony threw the kid an impressed look and Peter glanced away with a shy smile as he lifted his prime hand to rub against the back of his neck. "I, uh...I did a science fair project based on her research back in fifth grade."

"Yeah? You win?"

The kid actually gave a little pout at that. "No. I got second place, but it was totally rigged. Tommy Garafalo's mom is lead judge despite having no expertise in any scientific field and her D-average kid just happens to win with his paper-mache solar system that, I would like to add, forgot Saturn? I'm calling bull."

Tony scoffed and began to lay a second bandage over the bridge of his nose. "How do you forget Saturn? It's like, the flashiest planet there is. It's - it's the Tony Stark of planets, oh my god."

Peter actually laughed, leaning back as he shut his eyes with a lopsided grin. Tony smiled as he watched the kid crawl out of the cocoon his father had wrapped him in, reemerging back into his normal self again. It made the tightness in his chest recede as the core of heat sitting in his gut kept getting smaller and smaller, releasing him of the staggering fury he'd been wrapped in for the better part of the afternoon. This was better. This was...right.

Tony sat back down on the stool and carefully reached for the boy's hand. Other than assessing it for the individual breaks in the fingers, Tony tried not to spare the sight too much of a look, not wanting to get angry again now that he was finally calming down and Peter was finally getting comfortable again.

But still...there were questions he couldn't keep ignoring.

"So...you gonna tell me why you're so worried about this press conference?"

Peter seemed unprepared for the question, blinking with furrowed brows for a moment. "What?"

Tony reached for another clean towel sitting on the counter and began to carefully wipe the boy's bloodied knuckles with the wet cloth. He tried to keep his head down and his eyes focused on his work, hoped that the lack of eye contact might make the boy less uncomfortable. But he doubted it.

"Come on. You didn't actually think I was going to just drop it and forget, did you?"

Despite his efforts, he could still feel as the kid tensed up, muscles slowly recoiling as he glanced away and tried to keep his voice light. "I...it's nothing. Really, I just-"

"Pete."

"I...I just think it's a bad idea, that's all."

That wasn't all, couldn't be all, not when the very idea of it had freaked the kid out so much that he'd literally begun to crush his own broken fingers. That type of visceral reaction didn't come from nothing. But, Tony still didn't understand.

"Why? It makes sense. You want those reporters gone, don't you? Well, this is how we do that."

Suddenly, Peter's hand was whisking out of his grasp, the billionaire jolting slightly at the sharp movement as the kid held it close and glared at the floor, face suddenly agitated. "I just don't want to, alright?" he snapped with an anger Tony wasn't expecting.

...Nor was he fooled by it.

He hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath as he watched the boy refuse to meet his gaze once again. The man chewed on his lip and glanced down at the towel in his hand, running it along his fingertips, along the scars lining his palm, important scars, scars that actually meant something to him, something other than betrayal.

Tony carefully flipped the towel onto his shoulder and stood up from his seat. Peter didn't watch him this time, didn't keep laser-focus on his movements, not even when Tony settled down and took a seat next to him on the bed, a mere couple of inches away. The kid just...didn't react. He just kept his sharpened gaze on the floor and his arm tucked close to his chest. Tony let the kid sit for a minute, wondered if he would look at him on his own. When he didn't, the man finally decided to speak, making sure to keep his voice soft.

"Hey..."

Just with one word, Peter was shutting his eyes and turning his head away with a pinched frown, like he was afraid of the noise, of the weight of his voice. But with a slow, shaky breath, the kid blinked open his eyes and carefully turned to stare up at the man. Tony made sure to hold the boy's stare, hold it so he couldn't slip away, couldn't hide in his shell again.

"What are you so afraid of?"

Peter's lips parted, quivering slightly even as his mouth shut and his jaw tightened. His eyes remained dry, though, retained their careful, glass-like quality of fragility and carefully, constructed composure. His free hand fisted at the bed sheets underneath them before unfurling, fingers twitching against the covers. He took another breath, softer this time, and his face slowly began to relent its tightly-wound resistance.

"...It's just...I...I've never done it in front of so many people before."

Tony carefully squinted his eyes, making sure to show no anger as he took deep even breaths, heartrate slow and composed in both his chest and in Peter's ears. "Done what, kid?"

"...Lied."

The man said nothing. Peter turned away again, like he couldn't bare to keep staring back at him. "It's easy when I just have to smile for my neighbors, or push my sleeves down before class, or shrug and say 'nothing much' when people ask me how things are going, cause I know they don't really care. And...and that's fine. It's fine. Second nature at this point. But..." His gaze flickered down as he pulled his bloody hand away from his chest, staring at the bent and crooked nature of his fingers. "But doing it in front of all those reporters, those cameras, everyone who will see from their TVs or hear from the radio. I just..."

He gritted his teeth before huffing a sharp, forceful breath. "What if...what if I slip up and say something wrong? What if people start getting suspicious? What if they ask questions I'm not ready for and I don't have an answer prepared or a good enough lie to tell? Those people are literally trained in sniffing out liars and uncovering the truth. I just..."

He trailed off for a moment before lifting his gaze back towards Tony. 'What if they figure it out?"

Tony couldn't help it, couldn't help the bloom of frustration that appeared at the kid's questions. Still, he kept his voice level, kept his heart steady and calm. "Would that really be such a bad thing?"

Peter said nothing, just sighed and angled his head away again.

The billionaire tapped his fingers together before leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he let his hands hang between his legs. Peter Parker, despite his young age, was never an easy kid to read. Tony liked to think himself somewhat of an expert in detecting a person's inward thoughts just by their body language, their facial expressions and outward appearance. Usually it was easy, most people not knowing what to hide and what to conceal to keep themselves truly private.

Not Peter though. Peter was like him, like Richard, only showing what he wanted people to see. Even when his emotions seemed to be bare on his sleeves like earlier that day, there was still a factor of mystery, an unknown element Tony could never pin down. He could never tell exactly what the kid was thinking, what was going through his head at a moment's notice. Those eyes, despite their warmth, despite their brightness, were sealed tight, a piercing steel barrier unwavering in its guard.

But now? As Tony watched the kid's fidgety movements that seemed just a bit less controlled than before, as he watched the careful tapping of the boy's fingers against the edge of the bed and the way he kept trying to hide his now faltering guarded gaze, Tony knew exactly what the kid wanted.

Reassurance.

Tony sighed and tilted his head towards the boy, who still hadn't looked up yet. "Kid...I-I know what you want me to say. I know you want me to reassure you that everything's going to be fine and that you'll convince them like you've somehow convinced everybody, and that protecting your dad is the right way to go about this, that...that lying is your only shot, but..."

("I care very much for my son, Stark.")

"But I can't. Because I promised not to lie to you."

The kid didn't lift his head, but he did throw a small tired glance Tony's way before dropping his gaze back down to the ground. Tony watched the kid fiddle with his fingers, carefully scraping his nail against some of the caked-on blood smeared against the back of his hand. The man sighed and tapped his knuckle against the edge of his hand.

"Peter, I wish you would tell someone...tell someone who actually has the tools to do something about it. I wish you'd see that you don't have to keep doing this, don't have to...put up with all of this. I...to be honest, I just wish you'd stop being so goddamn stubborn and listen to reason, kid."

The teen still didn't say anything, but now he looked frustrated, sullen gaze turning sharper as he scoffed.

"But I know it's not that simple."

Peter blinked, then carefully raised his head, brows furrowed as if he wasn't sure he'd heard the man correctly. Tony met his gaze and then very carefully reached out to grab the kid's damaged hand, gently pulling it forward so that he could get better access to it. Peter didn't fight his hold, didn't tug to free his hand. He just watched as Tony took the towel still hanging from his shoulder and began to finish cleaning the scratched skin.

"I know you're scared. I know you've been doing this for years now, dealing with things I don't even want to think about. And I know you've been doing it alone." He set the towel down and turned to look the boy in the eyes again, drinking in that questioning, wavering gaze that couldn't help but listen, a gaze he hoped would understand.

Tony could practically hear Pepper in his ear, hear the words she'd spoken to him days ago, acknowledging his fears, bringing them to light, and wiping them away all in one sweeping go. He wondered if he could do the same. "But you don't have to do that anymore. It's not just you. It's Pepper and Rhodey and Happy. It's your friends and May and...it's anyone and everyone you can count on now, even if it's not a lot of 'em." He smirked and reached for the table again, grabbing the bandages from the surface. "And that includes me. Cause like it or not, I'm here to stay, Pete."

Said boy still didn't say anything, not even as Tony began to work on his hand, not when he warned him to prepare for the bones to be popped back into place, not when he did pop said bones back into place (which was fairly easy considering how clean and obvious each break was), and not when he carefully began to wrap his fingers in a more secure binding, looping around his palm and down his wrist.

Tony didn't put the kid's hand down as he finished. He set the bandages down, pushed the little cart away, but he didn't drop the hand. He just kept tapping his fingers against the top, played with the new wrappings looped securely against his skin. Peter didn't fight his grip, just kept watching him in silence.

The man swallowed, took a breath and sat up a little straighter. "So...if you tell the world about your dad, then great. If you don't...then...then that's okay too."

He stared at the kid, their gazes meeting in a tight, meaningful hold.

"Cause whatever you decide...I've got your back."

For a moment, nobody said anything. Peter kept his gaze locked tight, eyes not even flickering around his face. They stayed set on Tony's own gaze, like they were searching his stare for any signs of deception, any hints of deceit. Tony knew the kid would find none. He meant every word.

He knew he couldn't force Peter to comply, couldn't force the teen to give up and turn in his father. The boy had made that clear in his ten years of silence, a record he was unlikely to break anytime soon. But he could show the boy something else, he could give him something else, something Tony knew to be important, something he had in Pepper and Rhodey, something he'd been craving ever since Steve, ever since the others had uprooted his life. Something neither he nor the kid could do without anymore.

Support.

Support from people they could trust.

Peter finally glanced away, but his face wasn't nervous or unsure as it had been moments ago. It reminded Tony of how he'd looked in the penthouse, calm and collected and gentle. When he spoke, his voice was the same.

"I, um...I saw the news. Washington DC. I...I heard about what happened with...you know."

Tony did know.

The kid gave a little shrug of his shoulder, but his eyes remained steady in their gaze, clear and confident in a way they hadn't been for hours.

"I've got yours too...if you need me."

Tony held his stare for a second, drank in the seriousness in the kid's tone, the assurity. For a brief second, a flash of a flash, barely even a fragment of a moment, Tony thought of something. It was a small little thought, almost too small to even notice, but it was there.

It was a memory, a wavering haze of fog that was hard to decipher. He saw a booth, a diner, too-big glasses of milkshakes and cheesy songs from the 70s playing on a jukebox in the corner. A song he recognized, a classic. Steve didn't know it, but that was common.

("My version of a classic can't even be played cause nobody owns gramophones anymore.")

Before he knew it, the thought was gone, the memory dissolved and it was over. But the feelings it left behind remained, the same feelings he'd felt sitting in that booth bonding at 2am with the only other occupant in the tower that couldn't sleep that night. The one person he thought could understand.

Steve didn't understand. Tony realized that now.

But Peter did.

Tony couldn't help but smile, gave a little chuckle as he patted the kid's shoulder. Peter smiled, a sure smile that didn't falter in any way. The man turned and glanced around the room, a small huff of air blowing long and tired from his lips. He lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck, glancing up at the ceiling before turning his head.

"You hungry?"

Peter tilted his head back and forth before settling on a nod.

"Great. Hey FRI?"

"Yes, sir?"

"What's the closest Chinese place around here?

"There is a 24-hour Chinese-based restaurant located 0.5 miles down 34th Street along the East-"

"Ah, okay- going for the rhetorical there. Just order three of everything off the menu, okay?"

He paused for a moment of consideration before sparing Peter a once-over.

"You are okay with Chinese, right?"

"Only if you don't get mad at me for putting ketchup on my egg rolls."

 


 

Monday - May 2, 2016

Stark Tower - Common Floor

01:42 PM

"This is Meagan Sanders coming...ugg-attempting to come to you live from-"

"WHOO!"

"M-Midtown School of Science and Technology, recently discovered school of Peter Parker, son of Parkstem CEO Richard Parker and source of-"

"Hi, Mom! Hi, Dad!"

"-controversy over the past few days with many speculating over the story behind his relation to Tony Stark, figurehead of Stark Industries and his father's top competitor. And as you can see...right now we are in the middle of a massive demonstration of..."

"GO TIGERS!"

"-M-Midtown stud-"

"What's up, everyone! Flash Thompson here! Follow me at FlashMob4Life and-"

"Give me that! Goddamn it, KYLE! Put down that stupid camera and help me deal with these fucking kids!"

Peter took a bite of his dumpling and tilted his head, watching the reporter currently trying to push another group of kids out of the camera's frame and failing miserably.

"Are you allowed to swear on national news?"

Rhodey leaned back in his seat and scrunched his face slightly. "I don't think so."

"Eeshh. Hang in there, Meagan."

Happy grunted and fiddled with his container of rice. "I'd be more worried for Kyle. Mobs always pick off the slow, fat guys first. Dude doesn't stand a chance."

Rhodey chuckled and Peter just shook his head before popping another dumpling.

The smell of kung pao chicken and chow mein wafted through the air of the common floor, hovering over the massive spread of dozens upon dozens of Chinese food containers, boxes, and take-out bins all overflowing with food which had been rightfully picked apart over the past hour and a half, the majority of which had been spent flicking through the various news stations all circling around the same story: Midtown.

Nearly every station they flicked to had reporters out in the field: vans parked and personnel planted outside the school which was now overflowing with freshman, juniors, sophomores and seniors all basking in the newfound freedom and limelight they were relishing in, making complete fools of themselves like any high schooler would when confronted with national news spotlights.

They all sat around on the couches, Pepper and Rhodey sharing one of the side couches while Happy sat in an opposite armchair. Peter sat alone on the larger sectional, legs folded under him in a crisscrossed tuck that kept him small and out of the way. But the atmosphere in the air was anything but tense. In fact, the room had been ringing with laughter for the better part of the afternoon, mainly due to the chaos unfolding on the TV.

Pepper shook her head as she watched a group of boys begin to take off their shirts and twirl them over their heads like flags. "How long do you think they'll keep this up?"

Peter shrugged. "Eh, you'd be surprised. It's a school full of nothing but nerds and tech geeks." He gestured to the screen. "This is the most exciting thing that's happened since the last pep rally."

Rhodey scoffed and rested his arm against the lip of the couch, grabbing a bottle of water from the floor and twisting the cap off with one hand. "Really? Pep rally?"

"Oh yeah. Sarah Geretsky crowd-surfed from the top bleacher and broke her leg falling on our mascot. It was pretty wild."

Happy cocked a brow and set his container down on the table, blowing a sigh through his lips. "They can't possibly stay interested for very long. They're teenagers. Don't you all have attention spans of - what, like 30 seconds or something?"

"We're kids, not...goldfish."

Rhodey snorted and Pepper chuckled as she shook her head and grabbed her empty plate, standing up from her seat and stepping away from the couches. Peter smiled and turned back to the TV. "Trust me, it's a crowd of angsty, lonely teenagers with nothing on their schedules but homework, projects, robotics club and chess. They'll be there all night."

The Colonel smirked. "Perfect."

Tony watched from the kitchen with a smirk, leaning against the counter as he watched the TV and waited for the coffee machine to finish brewing its latest batch. His cravings for something warm and filling had finally won him over, but with the mere thought of alcohol still stirring nauseating discomfort, he'd settled for his second favorite and only slightly less troubling but more socially acceptable addiction.

He noticed Pepper approaching and gestured to the machine. "Need a cup? Get it now, cause I'm pretty sure I'm not even going to wait for this stuff to cool down before chugging straight from the pot."

The woman rolled her eyes with a smile as she dumped her plate into the trash can, cleaning her hands with a napkin before coming around the counter to stand next to Tony. He scooted over to make room for her as she rested her own elbows next to him and leaned against the marbled surface, shoulder pressing into his.

They didn't say anything for a moment, just listened to the gurgling of the coffee pot mingling with the shouting from the TV and the laughs and scoffs coming from the boys on the couch. Tony tapped his fingers together, matching in time to the dull throbbing he could still feel lurking behind his eyes, a soft ache that had lessened to a manageable level since that morning.

Pepper didn't turn to look at him as she stared out into the living room, voice low as the tips of her fingers began to trace the edge of her sleeves. "How's he doing?"

Tony knew who she was talking about. His eyes drifted over to the kid, who was still pressed into the corner of the couch, subtly staying far away from both Rhodey and Happy respectively while maintaining a nonchalant demeanor. Despite his posture though, his face was lax and his tone was happy. Shockingly (or maybe not, he really had to read up on the kid's powers), the bruises on his face were already beginning to discolor into a less-vibrant purple, the little nicks on his face shrinking with each passing hour. His hand was still bandaged and tucked close, only straying out whenever he grabbed for more food before quickly hiding away again.

"All things considered?" He watched Peter laugh at something Rhodey said, his shoulders bouncing and strands of hair falling down around his eyes as he smiled. "Better than he should be. But I can't really complain, honestly."

Tony kept his voice low, though he knew it was pretty pointless. Peter would probably be able to hear him from three floors away. Still, he wasn't too concerned about the boy listening in on their conversation. At most Peter would probably just let the words wash into background garble. He was too polite for eavesdropping.

Pepper hummed, a simple response that let him know she'd heard. Her fingers continued to run along the sides of her sleeves, pushing the fabric up her arms. "He won't let us get close."

"Noticed that, huh?"

It was hard not to. Even with the much more relaxed setting, it was painfully obvious that Peter was still acting a bit...off. The kid was fairly subtle about it surprisingly enough, keeping his movements slow and inconspicuous. But sparing the boy a second glance would show the bare hint of tension still present in his shoulders, the almost protective way he kept his bandaged arm tucked close to his chest or how he constantly kept flicking his eyes back and forth between each person in the room, as if to keep tabs on them all.

She tilted her head slightly and twitched her lips. "I don't think he even knows he's doing it."

Tony let out a low breath, bringing a hand to run through his hair before dragging it down the side of his face, feeling the calloused skin of his palm rubbing against his temple. "It's...it's nothing personal, Pep. He doesn't mean...It's just...today, with everything that's happened-" He couldn't bring himself to continue, the words seeming to exhaust him just by rattling around in his head.

"I know." She glanced away. "It's just..."

The man gave a small, muted nod. "Yeah." He did know.

Pepper sighed and straightened up, turning so that her back was now pressing against the corner of the counter as she folded her arms over her chest and glanced down at him, expression lighter. "How are you doing?"

"Still trying to wrap my head around the fact that it's only one in the afternoon and not three in the morning."

The woman huffed out a little chuckle. "Tell me about it. It's been the longest morning of my life, and that's counting that Dallas Meeting Riot back in 2013."

Tony cocked a brow. "Well, I don't wanna say that's what you get for going to Dallas, but-"

"We are not having this conversation again."

The man snickered, Pepper doing the same before they fell into another comfortable silence. Tony fell back into watching Peter, smiling as he noticed the kid talking animatedly to Rhodey and Happy about something on the TV. It took a bit longer than it should have, but Tony finally blinked out of it and turned away from the scene, straightening up and glancing over at the coffee machine that seemed to be getting slower and slower with each passing second.

"I can't believe I never saw it before."

Tony turned back around at Pepper's voice, the woman staring down at the floor with her arms still folded tight over her chest.

"Saw what?"

She narrowed her eyes slightly, tightening her grip on her arms. "Him. Richard. How...just...what he is."

It was almost impressive, the sudden, visceral reaction Tony felt churning in his stomach just by the sound of the man's name. He pushed it down and remained silent as he spared a glance back out at the living room. Peter hadn't turned around, hadn't stiffened or anything. He might have heard, but he still wasn't listening, which was good.

Pepper pushed a strand of hair out of her face. "I wasn't lying when I said we'd met before. We had...at that gala." Her lips curled slightly as she shook her head in disbelief. "And he just...he seemed so nice, so...normal." Her face pinched as she glanced away.

"I shook his hand."

Tony sucked in a tight breath and scoffed. "Come on. You can't do that. He's spent his life building that persona, that idea of perfection. You're not supposed to see through it. He's...he's good at it. The lying." He narrowed his eyes slightly and pointed his sharp stare at the floor. "Guess it was something he passed down."

It was hard to remember that Richard's white-knight schtick wasn't as see-through for everybody else as it was for him. Even before he'd met Peter and received an insider's look, he could always tell that Richard was full of shit, clear as day. Of course, the guy threw enough charitable deeds and volunteer work around to completely cover himself in a shiny protective coat of public love, so the chances of anybody else ever figuring out the truth were slim to none. So it shouldn't have been surprising that Pepper had fallen for it just as everyone else had.

Her face remained troubled as her eyes hardened. "Doesn't make it any better."

Tony said nothing, just lifted his head back up to the living room. He noticed Peter shifting from his seat as the boy rose up to his feet and grabbed his plate. Pepper must have noticed as well, for she straightened up and leaned closer to Tony. "Safe to say, summer can't come soon enough," she whispered before stepping away from him and out of the kitchen.

She spared Peter a smile as she walked past, the boy doing the same while simultaneously adding a few inches of distance between them as he side-stepped her. Tony pretended not to have noticed as the kid reached the kitchen and made his way over to the trash.

"Well? Any updates?" Tony asked with a smirk as he glanced behind him at the TV.

Peter smiled as he began to push his empty paper plate into the garbage. "Yeah. One of the seniors pulled up with a van full of water guns so now the reporters are barricading behind their news vans."

He rolled his eyes and leaned up against the counter again. "Jeez, those guys love to overreact. A bit of water never hurt anybody."

"Oh, it's not...water."

Tony blinked then carefully craned his neck back over towards the TV, narrowing his eyes before straightening back up again. "Oh."

"Yeah."

The man scoffed which quickly devolved into a laugh, Peter mirroring the sound as the billionaire folded his arms over his chest. "Gotta give you kids points for creativity. Where do you even get that much tomato juice on such short notice?"

The teen shrugged. "I don't know, but Ned says it's crazy down there."

"He's there?"

Peter wiped his hand on a stray napkin. "Yeah. Him and Michelle, who I'm not so sure didn't coordinate this whole entire thing."

Tony reached over towards one of the food containers, plucking out a stray egg roll. "Your little girlfriend?"

The kid threw him a dirty look, to which Tony smirked and gave an exasperated roll of his eyes. "Your little friend who happens to be a girl? Why do you say that?"

"Well, cause every time I ask her about it, she just tells me to not ask questions I don't want the answer to, so I mean..."

Tony chuckled as he took a bite before pointing the now half-eaten roll at the teen. "Well, whether she did or didn't, it's all very much appreciated. Not much quality TV on at this time of day, but watching camera men dodging water balloons full of..." he glanced at the TV. "...what I can only assume to be cat food...is pretty entertaining."

Peter grinned as he finished washing his unbandaged hand in the sink and began to dab it on one of the towels laying on the counter. "Probably almost as much as being there. Honestly, it's a good thing I'm not or I don't think I'd be able to resist joining in."

Tony watched as the boy finished drying his hand before eyeing the bottles of water still lining the counter from that weekend. "What's so wrong with that?"

The teen shrugged with a snort. "Ha, my dad would kill me if he saw me acting like that, especially in public and definitely if it was in front of cameras."

Tony's smile faltered and his stomach immediately clenched, his appetite dwindling as the small comment dragged him back into a reality that had been hiding underneath the past hour of food, TV and laughing. Pepper's words had made him itch, sure. But Peter seemed to have a special skill in making him feel sick to his stomach with nothing but a few passing words.

The kid must have noticed the way his face fell as he turned back around with a bottle of water in his hands. He blinked up at him, tilting his head slightly. "What's wrong?"

The billionaire looked up, looked at the kid's face, the kid's scarred face.

The bruises were still there. He could try to pretend all he wanted, could watch the kid laugh and joke and watch TV like nothing was wrong, but it wouldn't change the fact that the bruises were still there, black and ugly against the pale white of his skin. It wouldn't change the fact that his hand was still swathed in thick, medical bandages leaving his fingers stiff and unbendable. It wouldn't change what had happened that morning. Nothing could change that.

Still, not wanted to reprieve the tense, awkward uncomfortableness of earlier, Tony wiped away whatever unease was marring his face and gave the kid a smirk. "Nothing. It's...it's nothing, kid. Don't worry about it."

Peter, however, didn't seem to be so quick to forget. He held his stare for a moment before his eyes narrowed and the teen leaned his own elbows down against the counter, throwing the man an unimpressed look that Tony was surprised he had the confidence to muster. "Okay, if that doesn't work on you, it most definitely isn't going to work on me."

Tony paused for a moment before scoffing, unable to keep a genuine smile from slipping onto his face in place of the fake one. "Okay, that's how we're playing this?"

"Oh, that is so how we're playing this."

Neither of them could hold back their laughs as Tony shook his head and Peter glanced down at his water bottle, passing it back and forth between his hands as he slid it against the counter. The teen rapped his knuckle against the side of the bottle as they settled before gazing back up at the man, voice soft. "So what is wrong?"

Tony took a breath, took a second to compose himself. Like sand slipping through his fingers, the joyous energy that always seemed to build up whenever he was messing around with the kid slowly began to drop, falling down to weigh heavy in his stomach.

There was something wrong.

(Resent me? Stark...Peter loves me.")

Something he still couldn't get out of his head, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how distracted he tried to become, it burned bright.

("You can believe all you want that I'm some vile villain who twirls his mustache while locking my son in dark, decrepit dungeons. But that's not what Peter sees.")

He could feel it pressing against the side of his skull, pressing down in his stomach, a permanent mark that wouldn't go away until he knew for sure, until he heard it himself, confirmed it before his own eyes.

("He loves me, Stark. More than anything")

He had to know.

The man hesitated for a moment, buying himself some time as he grabbed one of the stools and sat down. Peter remained standing, fingers slowly running up and down along the side of the bottle, condensation dripping down onto the table in a small puddle.

He had to know.

He had to know.

("Go ahead and ask him yourself.")

"Are you angry?"

Peter reared back slightly at the question, obviously caught off-guard. He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head with a perplexed smile. "At you? Why would I-?"

"No, no." Tony shook his head, holding up a hand in emphasis before lowering it back down to the table as he noticed the slight tremble in his fingers. The billionaire took a breath, licked his lips and carefully began to tap his knuckles against the counter, if only to release some of the nervous energy now pooling into his appendages. He focused hard on keeping his heartbeat level and calm. "I mean are you upset...at your father?"

Peter's smile disappeared.

"Are you angry at him for...for what he did?"

He knew what to expect. Peter would get nervous, get fidgety, probably look away and give him some half-hearted excuse that steered clear of a straight answer and then mumble out a string of sorry replies before hastily looking for a way out of the conversation. At this point, Tony felt he was finally starting to get the hang of it.

Which was why he was utterly shocked when Peter did none of that.

Instead, the teen seemed to consider the question for a moment before his smile reappeared on his face, light and genuine and not-at-all angry.

The teen gave a little chuckle. "Heh...no. Course not." He picked up the water bottle with his free hand and began to gesture with it. "I...okay, yeah, it freaks me out a bit whenever it happens, of course. It's always pretty intense in the heat of the moment, you know?" The boy paused in his movements and gave a little shrug of his shoulders. "But after a bit when I stop being so dramatic, calm down, gain my senses, it's...it's fine. He was only doing what every parent does. It's not like he doesn't have the right to."

Peter made to open the bottle, only to pause as he realized his current bandaged predicament. He gave a nervous chuckle and sheepishly glanced up at Tony. "You think you could...?"

Tony had to take a second to register the request, his brain seeming to churn sluggishly through what he was hearing. He blinked a few times and dragged himself out of it. "Right. Sure." His voice was soft, distant, distracted. But he unscrewed the cap and shakily handed the bottle back. Peter didn't seem to notice his unease.

"Thanks." He took the bottle back but didn't take a sip right away as he let out a sharp breath "Look, does it suck? Yeah. No doubt. It's the worst. But I'm not like...angry about it," he scoffed with a smile. "He was just, like...being a dad, doing all that parenting stuff I don't understand cause I'm young and stupid."

"You're not stupid." It was automatic, the words softly coming out of Tony's mouth in a breathy whisper before he could think better of it.

Peter paused for a moment before letting out a chuckle and glancing up at the ceiling. "Oh, you'd be surprised. And anyway, it was my own fault. I was wrong and he was right, simple as that. Besides, considering how rude and disrespectful I was being, I really can't blame him for doing what he did. I was basically asking for it."

He made to turn away, only to hesitate as he lowered his gaze to the bottle in his hands and let out a little sigh, finally displaying a slight sense of unease. "It's just...a lot of people probably wouldn't understand that. They just don't get it, you know?" His face grew another gentle smile that made Tony's fingers clench.

"I just wouldn't want him to get in trouble for something he does out of love."

Tony watched the kid finally take a sip from the bottle, suddenly unable to feel the cold surface of the counter underneath his fingers, which seemed to burn with an intensity hot enough to melt the ceramic. He tried to swallow the sudden sharpness that had returned to his throat, prickling along the inside, tiny needles that dug into the flesh. He could hear Richard in his ear, feel the overwhelming presence of the man standing over him, looming above him in a suffocating heat.

"You really love him...don't you?" But he didn't need to ask.

Peter turned his gaze from the TV back over to him, tilting his head innocently with a bright look in his bruised eyes and a smile parting his split lip.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

Tony said nothing, was too afraid to.

"Hey, kid! Get over here!"

Peter jolted a bit at the shout and craned his neck to glance over his shoulder. Rhodey was gesturing back to the couch, tilting his head at the TV. "You're our play-by-play commentator for this mess."

The teen grinned before glancing back over at Tony. "I gotta-" he jabbed a thumb behind him, Tony nodding absentmindedly before the boy was throwing him a smile and walking away.

He took a breath, took a couple of them, let them out shakily and leveled a hard stare at the counter below his hands, trying and failing to block out the sound of Richard's voice echoing around his ears.

It was hard to deny it now, no matter how much he wanted to. But this did make things much more complicated, if that were even possible.

The idea of getting Peter to turn on his father had been plausible while he'd been under the pretense that the kid held some sort of resentment for the man, some burning hatred bubbling deep inside for everything he'd ever done to him. God knew that's how it had been for Tony. Not once had love ever even entered the billionaire's mind as a possibility. And now that it was...? Now that there was no hate and rage to shape into reason and realization?

He lifted his head, watched Peter hop onto the arm of the couch and fold his legs underneath him, purposely angling himself so that Happy and Rhodey were in his line-of sight, at least visible to the corner of his eye. The boy turned to the TV with a grin, explaining something or other to the two men about the details of what was going on.

Tony should have known.

Peter couldn't hate anybody. He was too pure for that, too strong for that.

The man felt his fingers slowly curl against his palms, brushing against the scars.

It didn't matter. Tony didn't care because it didn't matter. What he'd just heard, what he'd just learned didn't matter. It wouldn't stop him, wouldn't stop his efforts to save this kid. Richard Parker was just another asshole that needed to be put in his place and Tony was damn well prepared to face him head-on for however long it took to get Peter free of him, free of his influence and his lies and his false affections.

He was in this for the long haul and nothing was going to sway him now.

Pepper chose that moment to re-enter the room, pulling her phone away from her face and slipping it back into her pocket as she approached. Her eyes narrowed in on the TV as she took in the scene being displayed, scoffing slightly as she shook her head in disbelief. "Where did they even get the gravy from?"

Peter glanced up at her. "Probably from the cafeteria. Our lunch-lady is pretty chill. Probably even put chunks in it."

Happy cocked a brow. "Chunks of what?"

The teen shrugged. Pepper rounded the couch and stood next to where Rhodey sat. "Well whatever it is, it's burning a hole in the side of the Channel 13 news van."

Rhodey grinned. "If this is what you kids eat, it's no wonder you're all as messed up as you are."

Peter pursed his lips while the Colonel threw him a teasing smirk, the reporters on the screen rising in volume as they tried to be heard over the noise of the roaring crowds.

"There's has still been no word from either Richard Parker or Tony Stark on the recent developments leading many to speculate on their own as to the reasoning behind the strange occurrences and, just...ugg! Can we cut? I can't...I can't fucking do this. I've covered war zones more peaceful than this!"

Whatever the man planned on saying next was cut off by the sharp slap of a water balloon exploding against his face. Everyone in the room winced simultaneously at the sight before the camera cut to black. Rhodey shook his head and flipped to another channel, where the other stations and their respective reporters weren't fairing much better. He picked up his own newly-empty plate and rose to his feet.

"Something tells me these reporters better start fashioning a white flag out of someone's underwear."

"Or at least get their own tubs of chili to return counterfire," Happy muttered as he stood up to follow the Colonel, Pepper rolling her eyes as the three of them entered the kitchen to finish cleaning off their plates right as Tony approached the couches and plopped down in the middle of the nearest one, which happened to be the same one Pete was currently perched upon, legs still folded as he watched the screen from his seat atop the arm rest.

Tony let out a sigh as he leaned back against the seat and tried very hard not to fall asleep right then and there, helped somewhat by the manic chanting of the students on the TV. His eyes drifted across the screen, taking in the sight of the news vans lining the streets, the reporters frantically bustling along the grass and the scrawls of text scrolling along the bottom of the screen. Despite the auras of chaos radiating from the scene, it was hard not to remember exactly why it was happening.

And they did have a potential solution.

He rested his head against the couch cushions and lazily glanced over at the kid who had yet to acknowledge his presence. "You know, they bring up some fairly good points," he ventured carefully, making sure to keep his voice disinterested and calm.

It seemed to work well enough, for Peter didn't turn to look at him, but he did raise a brow and scoff. "What? You think chili's going to stand a chance against two-month-old gravy?"

"No..." Jeez, this kid. "I mean the reporters. What they're saying."

"About...?"

Tony sat up just a little bit. "About any official word. They're technically right. We haven't put anything out publicly...yet."

The smile left his face. Peter turned his head. He didn't look nervous or uncomfortable, not outwardly at least. He stared at the billionaire for a moment before turning a sidelong glance back at the TV. "Right. The...conference."

The man drummed his fingers against the empty couch cushion next to him, watched them make light indents in the surface. "You up for it?"

Peter furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"Wasn't that strange of a question. Do you want to do it?"

The teen started watching the man's fingers now. "My dad wants-"

Tony stopped. "I didn't ask about what your dad wants. I'm asking what you want."

"Well what difference does it make?" the teen said without much venom yet still scrunched his nose the same way he always did when he was getting frustrated. He turned away again. "If he wants to do it then we're doing it. End of story."

The billionaire pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. "Yeah, no. I don't think so. He might be able to boss you around but he's going to find it a bit more challenging to do the same to me."

Peter looked back at him, gave him a doubtful look. Tony sighed and sat up, resting his elbows on his knees as he gestured to the TV. "Look, I know this isn't ideal, especially since there's not much we can do about it other than roll with it. But that doesn't mean I'm going to force you up onto a stage with a bunch of cameras in your face and those idiots spewing questions when they can barely even counter-attack against a gang of nerds. I mean, seriously, does your school even have a football team?"

"Yeah, but they also double as the Mahjong Club."

"Right... Point is, I know how intimidating it can be. Hell, even I hate press conferences. So if you don't want to do this, then we aren't doing it." He scooted a bit closer to the teen's perched seat. Peter didn't squirm. "This entire mess has you smack-dab in the middle, so regardless of what Richard says, you do have a say in this. At least...you do with me."

The teen didn't say anything, didn't show much on his face. He swallowed and glanced down at the bandages on his hands, running his fingers along the seams. Finally, he scooted off the arm rest and slid down onto the actual cushioned seats below it, right next to Tony, the closest he'd been to anybody in the past two hours. He kept his legs tucked underneath him as he rested his back against the arm rest and scratched at one of the bandages on his cheek. "My dad won't like it."

Tony pulled the boy's hand away from his face, ignoring the kid's puff of protest. "Tough. If he has a problem with it, then he can take it up with me. I'll just say I had second thoughts. "He shrugged. "I am pretty flaky so it won't be much of a stretch."

Peter cracked a little smile, letting out a little breath as he rested the side of his head against the back couch cushion, keeping his eyes locked on Tony. "What do you wanna do?"

He shrugged. "Personally, I can take it or leave it. If it'll end this nonsense sooner then I'm all for it. Then again, seeing as how I've basically become a hermit who never leaves his tower, it's not like they really bother me, not as much as they do you, at least."

"Yeah, something tells me my dad's gonna keep me from school for a few days."

Peter didn't say anything after that. Tony decided not to push, simply leaning against the backrest as he lazily pretended to focus on the TV, interwoven fingers sitting on his stomach. He watched the screen, watched the colors beginning to bleed into one another as his brain took the moment to relax and focus on nothing but breathing and staying awake. Everything else seemed to fade slightly, muddying and mingling into barely tangible noises, swirled colors, dulled senses. He could feel the pressure still present behind his eyes but it was softer now, quieter. Everything was.

. . .

"If..."

His brain clicked back on. He turned and focused back in on Peter, who was fiddling with his hands again, or at least, as best he could with three broken fingers. This time he did look a bit more unsure, a bit more like the usual nervousness Tony was used to seeing on his face.

He had to admit, he hadn't missed it.

"If we do...go through with it...you'll be there the whole time?"

Tony smirked. "I am kind of half the attraction."

Peter didn't smile back, just kept staring up at him with a long, searching gaze, hand clenched tightly around his jacket. Tony dropped the smirk, replaced it in favor of a more serious, more calming look of certainty, of assurance.

Of support.

"Yes. I'll be there."

"...the whole time?"

Tony gave a little smile. "The whole time."

Peter nodded and quickly glanced away, swallowing thickly once more as he blew out another breath, slower this time, more deliberate. "Okay. I, uh..." He paused again, scrunching his face slightly before rubbing the look away with his free hand and turning back to Tony.

"Okay."

The man tilted his head a bit. "Okay?"

They shared a look, ignored the noises from the TV still echoing around the room. It was obvious it didn't matter anymore, neither did those reporters or those students or Richard. And if they really tried hard enough, if they really put effort into it, they could almost pretend that the day had started with the two of them sitting on that couch, doing nothing but watching TV and talking and worrying over nothing and nobody. No fighting or screaming or sleeping on the bathroom floor.

Somehow, it made them both feel just a little bit better. 

"Okay."

Chapter 26: Sing Us a Song

Summary:

The billionaire swiveled in the chair so that he was now fully facing the man, folded his leg overtop the other, and rested his elbow on the counter. "Something wrong?" His tone was casual, not invasive at all. Still, Steve couldn't help the small prickle that ran up his arms, like the man was staring right through his defenses.

"No. Not really. Just.."

("You know me.")

("No, I DON'T!")

"...couldn't sleep."

Tony nodded, glanced back down towards his glass. "Course."

Chapter Text

Steve couldn't sleep.

A few fruitless hours of tossing and turning in a bed probably costing more than his childhood home had proven this. He raised a hand to his face, rubbing his forehead and letting out a soft groan as he pushed his hair back and stared up at the ceiling.

Just like everything else in the room, it was perfect and pristine, a clean swathe of pale cream that left no room for indents, scuffs or marks. No matter how long his eyes peeled over every inch of it, he could find none, nothing, no mark of life on the surface.

As a kid, the ceiling above his bed had been full of cracks, the drywall and plaster falling down like snow around his head whenever the upstairs tenants moved about, the layering so thin he could hear each footfall and track them just by listening to the creaking.

But just like every night nowadays, Steve's eyes gave up the search for even a speck out of place in the sea of faultless craftsmanship. No drywall. No footsteps. No counting the cracks until he fell asleep. Just him and the silence.

("Don't do anything stupid until I get back.")

At least...he wished for silence.

Steve shut his eyes, tried to fight his way past the waves of noise and static that always seemed to fill his head whenever it hit a pillow. But tonight, in keeping in time with the past two months, it was just too goddamn loud.

(Gunfire ringing in his ears.)

(A train screeching on the tracks.)

(Bucky, Bucky, Buck-)

He kicked the sheets off in a fit of frustration, sitting up with a sigh as he finally relented on the fact that he most definitely wasn't falling asleep that night. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and pressed his feet down into the cold wood below.

At least that was still the same, an accomplishment that wasn't easily achieved when comparing a room at Stark tower with a crummy one-bedroom apartment in DC. In fact, his old apartment could probably fit inside the new massive bedroom, with plenty of room to spare no doubt.

But as Steve racked his eyes over the detailing of the wooden floors below, he still found differences. There were no little traces of dust that he couldn't wipe clean no matter how many times he dusted. There was no variation in the spacing between boards. There was no discoloration or staining in the wood.

He hesitated for a moment before he shifted his foot slightly, pressing down with his heel, then lifting up to press down with the ball of his foot.

No creaking. No noise at all.

Just silence.

He let out a little breath before lifting his head, resting his hands against the edges of the bed that also made no noise no matter how many times he shifted.

Steve missed his old apartment. He knew it was a selfish thought; Tony was more than generous in offering his Tower after the whole mess in DC and Steve was plenty grateful. But there was just something about the sleek, cold walls and high-tech AIs installed into the ceiling that just reminded him of how out of place he was, like a bright, neon band wrapping around his arm shining "I don't belong here" in an obnoxiously loud fashion.

At least in DC, in his old one-bedroom apartment with the leak in the bathroom and a crack in the foundation just above the kitchen lights, he could pretend he was still in Brooklyn, pretend a lifetime hadn't passed him by in the blink of an eye, pretend the world hadn't left him behind and he wasn't lost in time.

But here, in the tower, it was like being stuck in the middle of Times Square again. (He still couldn't stomach the idea of going back there.)

A car horn echoed faintly in his ears. He blinked out of his thoughts and turned towards the walls of the room, which were really just glass windows encompassing the entire wall, stretching from floor to ceiling.

The lights from the city could be seen even from where he sat, as high up as he was, faintly illuminating the room in pale, blinking hues of reds, greens, yellows and blues, flashing up from the streets below. Steve slowly pushed off of the bed, feet softly thudding against the floor as he walked towards the glass. He gently pressed a hand onto the cool surface and glanced down.

At least the view was better. He had to give it that.

Buildings surrounded the Tower on all sides, none as tall but equally as bright, shining down onto the streets and the people below. Colors swirled into one another in the distance as streams of cars blurred into a single steady river of bright, shining light. And above it all, the moon shone steadily, illuminating the clouds in a brilliant sheen of silver.

Another car horn, an engine revving, the loud bas of a nearby club. It was distant, faint, but ever-present. Tony had mentioned something about sound-proof shudders installed into the windows, but Steve didn't bother in trying to activate them. Even if he blocked out the noise from outside, it still wouldn't be quiet.

("Who the hell is Bucky?")

He opened his eyes, glanced away. The room suddenly felt cramped as he felt the urge to get out and run laps. But this wasn't DC. This wasn't his apartment. This was Manhattan; a cold, fancy building in the middle of a bustling city he no longer recognized.

Still, the need to move was present in his muscles, making him clench and unclench his fingers anxiously.

Steve hesitated for a moment before slowly turning his head towards the door.

 


 

Tuesday - May 10, 2016

Location Unknown

08:31 AM

"Let me just remind you all that I have a master's degree in electrical engineering so I think I know what I'm-OW!"

"What now?"

"Just a...minor shock. Nothing to be-OW! Damn it!"

Sam leaned back in his chair. "Scott, man give it a rest already would ya? You're not gonna get that piece of crap to work." He vaguely gestured towards the back of the warehouse. "I don't even know why you brought that thing out here. Everything in that office back there is shot to hell."

Scott lifted his head away from the tube TV he'd managed to scrounge up from the manager's office at the back of the warehouse and threw the other man a miffed glower. "You know, I don't happen to recall this much negativity when I got you that chair."

Sam glanced down at the chair they'd also found in the office and rolled back a few inches before folding his arms over his head. "Well there's a much smaller chance of you catching fire with a chair than with an actual tangible piece of potentially-explosive technology"

"Your lack of faith is staggerin-OW! Son of a bitch!"

"Wanda, make sure the fire blanket's prepped."

The girl didn't even glance up from her novel, just gave a half-hearted thumbs-up, to which Scott rolled his eyes and continued to meddle.

Outside, a sharpened piece of wood flew through the air and stabbed into the side of the wooden fence lining the perimeter of the property, Clint lowering his arm as he admired his handiwork, placing his hands on his hips as he glanced over at Natasha. "Well? Come on! I'm still waiting on an answer."

The woman continued to lean back against the side of the warehouse, legs folded underneath the rusted air conditioning unit as she sharpened small bits of wood with her knife. Beside her, a growing pile of makeshift wooden darts was already completed and ready for aiming. She rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. "What kind of question is that anyway?"

Clint grabbed a shard. "A perfectly innocent, highly curious one."

Natasha watched him let loose another throw, this shard sticking perfectly parallel to the last one, merely a few inches to the right. "Well, what's yours?"

"Easy. Burma drop. 2001. Hands down. To prove I wasn't a spy, some of the roundups demanded I down a full jar of Tokazaki peppers. Said no foreigner could handle it the way a real local could."

She quirked a brow. "And?"

Clint scoffed and threw another shard. "And what? I'm a professional. Of course I did it. Lucky for me, we raided the bunker a couple of minutes later, coincidentally."

"...you pressed the panic button, didn't you?"

"My eyes were melting, Romanoff. Of fucking course I did."

She snorted and sliced off another splinter of wood, Clint smirking as he leaned up against the side of the warehouse and folding his arms over his chest. "Well? I shared mine. What's your craziest blown cover story?"

Natasha held up the shard and narrowed her eyes as she blew on it a bit before nodding and setting it down to join the others. "Uhh...I don't know, I guess I'd have to say...the Blue Fangs probably."

"In Kabul?"

"Yeah. 1993."

Clint reached for another shard and pressed the tip of his finger against the point. "Wait. I thought the Blue Fangs was an all-male terrorist group."

"Yeah...Your point?"

The archer couldn't help the snicker he let loose, Natasha rolling her eyes with a smile as she picked up another roughened, rounded piece of rotting wood and began to whittle it down.

"Ow! Goddamn it!"

"Would you stop it already?"

"Back off, Wilson!"

The two assassins glanced towards the windows before sharing a knowing look with each other. Clint shook his head and tossed another shard. "That guy's gonna be the death of us all."

Natasha let a little smile remain on her face as she watched the little flecks of wood flitter to the ground with each score of her knife. "I like Scott."

"Oh, I like him too. He's a good guy, but my god does he love to talk." Clint let out an amused huff. "I'm telling you, one of these days, Sam is going to strangle him with the string of his sneakers."

"I don't know. I think Scott could take him."

"Oh yeah?"

"Haven't you ever wondered where those two first met? Cause I have my suspicions."

Clint chuckled and went back to aiming another shot. Natasha set down another finished shard and gently twirled her knife in her hand, watching as her friend let loose another perfect throw. "Besides, you don't seem to have much of a problem with his ramblings," she murmured, leaning forward slightly to let her forearms rest on her crossed knees.

The archer threw her a sidelong glance before shrugging. "Well, that's cause I've got a trained ear. Have you ever had an hour-long conversation on which character is the best in Princess Pony Palooza? Cause I have." He walked over and picked up another shard, but didn't move back to take aim. "By the way, it's Daisy. My daughter will fight me on that but she doesn't know what she's talking about."

He glanced down at the piece of wood in his hands, running his fingers over the edges as he caressed the sides. He took a breath, didn't say any more.

Natasha watched him for a moment before silently reaching out, gently rubbing her thumb against his shoulder. For a moment, Clint didn't react to the touch, just kept his eyes locked on the piece of sharpened wood in his fingers. But after a moment, he sniffed and blinked back into reality, clearing his throat and stepping back. "I'm fine."

Natasha gave a muted nod and turned away, knew it was best not to try and prod him on the subject. Instead, she cast a small glance towards the window of the warehouse, decided to try and switch topics. "How's Wanda doing, by the way?"

Clint perked up at that, planting his feet again to take another throw. "The kid? She's holding out. She's tough."

"She's young. She's gonna be, what, 24 in September?

"October actually."

Natasha gave a little smile as she picked up another piece of wood and fiddled with her knife. "She seems to be quite fond of you and Scott."

Clint threw her a strange look before giving a doubtful shrug of his shoulders. "I don't know."

"I do. You're good with her."

Clint hesitated a little longer to throw the next shard, tossing it back and forth in his hands for a bit before letting it loose a few inches off target. "Maybe. As good as we can be, I guess." He huffed and smiled again. "Steve's pretty good with her, too. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that guy's spent some time around a couple of kids."

Natasha rolled her eyes, felt a tight ball of annoyance spark in her chest at the man's name. "That's just Steve being Steve. That idiot likes everyone who so much as holds a door open for him."

Clint didn't reach for another shard, chose instead to lean up against the air conditioning unit and lift his head towards the sky, squinting as he tried to catch sight of one particular figure. "He's been pretty quiet. He said anything to you, you know...in between your scoldings?"

The woman scoffed and lifted her head as well, raising a hand to try and block out the early morning sun. "Don't act like he didn't deserve them."

Maybe once upon a time, the rusted gantries that loomed over the waters of the Hudson River had served a useful purpose, but now they were nothing but an eyesore in the sky, a perch for the birds, and a seat for one Steve Rogers far enough away to keep him from having to interact with his teammates.

The lingerings of last Thursday night still rang fresh in her head, the feelings of fear and worry that had arisen after Steve had missed his call-in and remained missing for the better part of the night and following morning still too potent for her to truly let it go.

"Aw, give the guy a break, Nat. It's been rough being cooped up in here for so long. I don't blame the guy for taking a couple of hours to clear his head."

"A couple of hours offline? In a city teeming with cops and politicians just itching to put us behind bars?"

"I don't know. New York's pretty democratic and you know how much they love us hero types."

"Clint."

He raised his hands. "Okay, okay. Believe me, you don't have to tell me how serious this all is," he sighed with just a hint of bitterness lingering on the edge of his words. It didn't remain though as he carded a hand through his hair and threw her a gentle glance. "All I'm saying is maybe cut the guy some slack. Not a lot, just...a bit, you know? It's been hard on him."

Natasha's face remained firm. "It's been hard on all of us without him making it even harder."

She turned her head away sharply, a loud huff falling from her lips as she scored her knife across the wood hard enough for it to suddenly splinter into two. She grunted in annoyance and snatched up another piece before quickly going to work sharpening the tip with harsh strokes. She kept her eyes trailed on her work, so much so that she tried not to notice Clint watching her intently, arms folding over his chest as he leaned up against the side of the wall.

"...Nothing happened, you know."

She pressed her tongue into the side of her cheek and stopped scoring, glaring over at him with a heated look. "What?"

Clint didn't seem fazed by her aggression. "You being all huffy about this. I know it's just cause you were worried. Well...nothing happened."

She stared at him for a moment, didn't say anything. After a second, she turned back to her wood carving and continued to score it, albeit a little gentler this time. She didn't look up as she spoke. "This time. Who's to say that'll be the case next time."

"Who's to say there'll even be a next time?"

"Clint-" She set the finished piece aside and set the knife down as she looked up. "It's Steve. There's always a next time."

He shrugged his shoulders and moved closer to her. "Then...next time, we'll have his back." He threw her a smile. "Like always, right?"

Natasha scoffed as he bumped her shoulder, rolling her eyes as a smile of her own crept onto her face. She picked up her knife once more, twisting it in her hands. "Yeah. Like always." She turned it around and sheathed it back into her holster.

"Ah, ah! Yeah! Suck it, Wilson!"

The two assassins glanced towards the window at the sudden shouting before sharing a glance and shaking their heads. Natasha hopped down from her seat on the AC unit and began to walk towards the gantries. "Come on."

The metal mesh fencing that surrounded the perimeter of the warehouse stretched along here as well, an old faded sign the only piece of evidence that the land had once been active.

PORT MORRIS RIVERSIDE STORAGE

AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL VEHICLES ONLY

The metal of the towering structures was rusted and old, creaking softly with each passing breeze like an ominous moaning. Along the side was a questionable-looking stairwell that led to the top office. Their footsteps made different individual noises with each step they advanced, the metal grinding underneath them in protest as they moved.

Up at the top, supported by the metal pillars below, was an abandoned outpost of sorts, a small little structure no bigger than a security office, with smashed windows overlooking the bay and a rusted roof that Steve currently sat atop. And despite the fact that he'd most definitely heard them coming, he didn't turn their way.

Natasha glanced up at him, hesitated for a moment before taking a breath and beginning the climb up the final few steps to the roof of the structure. Clint followed a little ways behind.

"You still pouting up here?" she called as she cleared the climb and stepped onto the roof. Steve sat along the edge, legs hanging off the side as an old, ratty notebook sat in his lap, a pencil in his hands. He still didn't look up, just kept lightly brushing the tip of the pencil against the paper.

"I'm not pouting."

"You tell her, Cap." Clint sat down on the final step of the stairwell. "Us men call it brooding."

Natasha gave an unconvinced nod. "Right."

Steve pulled the pencil away from the paper and lifted his head, gazing out at the waters stretching out before them before glancing their way. "Just enjoying the view."

Natasha followed his gaze and squinted her eyes against the glare of the sun reflecting off the waters. "Right, cause nothing says relaxing like staring into the oil-stained, garbage-filled waters of the Hudson."

"Exactly."

She glanced back over at him, noticed his posture, the way his eyes lingered on the waters. Something was...off. That much was for certain. He wasn't radiating his usual aura of confidence and optimism. He wasn't even looking at them. She turned to look back at Clint, and from the face he made, it was obvious he'd noticed it too.

Natasha let out a small breath to steady herself and slowly crouched down, letting her legs swing out to hang over the edge of the structure. Clint remained standing on the stairs, leaning against the rails.

"So why are you up here?" Her voice was much softer than she'd been expecting.

Steve finally turned to her, fiddled with the pencil in his hands. "I just said-"

"Steve..." Clint murmured softly, cutting him off before he could spout off another excuse. It was rare for the archer to use the man's first name.

The soldier must have realized there would be no lying to them, for he turned away again and glanced down at the sketch in his lap. "It's quiet. Quieter..." His voice was low, so different from its typical headstrong ring.

Natasha narrowed her eyes, felt a bubble of unease blooming in her chest. This didn't just have to do with her scolding of him. This was...something else. She leaned forward slightly. "Are you alright...?"

He still didn't turn towards her. She noticed his fingers beginning to tap against his knee, rhythmic in a sense but with no discernable pattern she could make out. He said nothing for a moment, eyes hard and focused on nothing in particular.

Finally,

"Do you two know anything about Richard Parker?"

A pause. Natasha and Clint shared a glance.

"Uh..."

"Hey, guys? I think you better come look at this! Like right now!"

The three of them perked their heads at Scott's shout, the obvious notes of concern evident in his voice. Steve seemed to snap out of his stupor immediately, setting his notebook aside and rising up to his feet. Clint started to make his way down the stairs first with the soldier right behind him. Natasha made to follow, only to pause as she caught sight of Steve's notebook, more specifically, of the sketch he'd been working on:

A hyper-realistic drawing of a spider.

She furrowed her brows and just barely took a step towards it before Clint's voice rang out. "Nat, come on!"

She turned towards the stairs, spared the book one last hurried glance before pushing it to the back of her mind and climbing down to meet the others, the thought just about forgotten as they rushed into the warehouse, instantly catching sight of Scott, Sam, and Wanda crowding around the now-working TV.

"What happened? Did you actually start a fire in here or som-" Clint's chastising voice cut off midsentence as they pushed through and caught sight of what was playing on the TV, a sight that had left the other members of their team tense and rigid, a sight that made Natasha furrow her brows and Steve blink in shock. Clint spoke first, face twisting into a disgusted grimace as he growled.

"What the hell...?"

 


 

"Welcome back to the Studio 57 News Room at NBC Broadcast Headquarters here in New York where we are continuing to follow up on our current developing story. Right now we go back to Nina Fisher with more updates. Nina?"

"Good morning, Joanne. For anybody joining us now, I am currently standing outside Parkstem Labs where we have a host of reporters anxiously awaiting the start of today's press conference. Now, early last week, CEO of Stark Industries, Pepper Potts, and Richard Parker himself both confirmed that a press conference would be held in regards to the recent situation centering around Parker's own son, Peter Parker, and top competitor, Tony Stark."

"Now several theories and allegations have been made surrounding the current situation but up until recently, we'd received no official word from either party regarding the matter. However, today just might change things."

"The conference is set for 9 AM where we will continue to bring you live coverage as it happens. We have also recently confirmed that not only are Richard Parker and Tony Stark going to speak, but Peter Parker himself will also be present."

"Now, 14-year-old Peter Parker is not usually seen by the public, Richard Parker on record saying he prefers to keep his son's life private and out of the eyes of any prying individuals. However, with the recent developments, I think it's safe to say it's well past time to hear from the boy himself. Joanne?"

"Thank you, Nina. Now as she mentioned, we will be covering the entire conference for those of you wishing to watch so make sure to stay tuned to channel 57 for the latest. In other news...

 


 

Tuesday - May 10, 2016

Parkstem Labs - Second-Floor Lobby

08:42 AM

Peter could safely say with great certainty that he was going to pass out. Or puke. Maybe both.

Probably both.

He could hear the frantic tapping of his foot against the cold marble floors, the sound echoing in his ears around the massive lobby. The only thing that could maybe drown it out was the sound of the reporters shuffling about outside the building - the unlucky majority who hadn't been selected to attend the live conference in person and had to be content filming from the front lawn.

Peter tried not to count how many voices he could hear mingling about with one another outside or that puking possibility was going to increase by a good chunk. Instead, he glanced down at his hands folded neatly in his lap as he sat atop one of the numerous couches situated in the building's second-floor lobby.

The lobby itself sat on a balcony of sorts, overlooking the first-floor reception area and the building entryway made up of large glass windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. Two ornate marble staircases stretched from the bottom floor up to the second on either side of the balcony overhang.

His father sure did love to flaunt his money.

Peter sighed and shifted slightly on the uncomfortably stiff couch. He'd sat on these exact same couches countless times when he was younger, waiting around for his father to be finished for the day, sometimes even going as far as to fall asleep on them when his father got lost in his work and forgot about him.

(When confronted about it by the security guards, his father had played it off as Peter insisting to stay of his own accord rather than go home, despite Richard's supposed protests. The guards had chuckled, joked about stubborn kids, and had wished his father a good night. They said nothing to Peter.)

Now that he was older, Peter was grateful his father trusted him enough to stay home alone after school and get started on his chores. Mainly, he was grateful he no longer had to spend hours alone with the Cons on babysitting detail when his father finally got tired of dealing with the questions that came up whenever passing employees saw Peter sleeping in the reception area.

Now the Cons had their own work to do, as did Peter.

Speaking of...

"How long do you think this shit's gonna last?" Flint muttered as he rolled his neck, shifting uncomfortably in the fancy dress shirt he'd been required to wear. Sandra was silently scrolling through her phone, legs crossed over each other as she sat on the couch closest to the other men, Curt sitting against the armrest as he glanced around with a bored expression on his face.

Max didn't look up from adjusting his cuffs as he leaned up against one of the nearby pillars. "Long enough to satisfy those idiots barking out there."

The others didn't say anything, simply rolled their eyes in deep disdain, casting not-so-subtle glares Peter's way that he was all too happy to pretend he didn't see. His father had assigned them to stick close to him while he and Pepper dealt with the mass of reporters that had been allowed into the building.

Peter wished he'd been able to speak to the women at least for a second when she'd arrived early that morning, but his father had whisked her away before she could so much as get a word out to him. She'd arrived alone, curtly explaining to his father that Tony would be coming later and that she was only there to oversee and help him with prep work.

He could hear them in one of the back rooms, the bigger ones they used exclusively for gatherings and conferences. These reporters seemed much calmer than the ones outside, the sounds of occasional laughter filling the distant air followed by the dulcet tones of his father's rich, rumbling voice. Peter didn't listen to whatever the man was saying, didn't want to focus too much on how suave and confident his father sounded.

There was no way he could sound like that. No way he could make a mob of reporters docile and calm with nothing more than the quick tongue and sharp wits his father always armed himself with.

This was going to be a disaster, plain and simple.

Don't puke. Don't puke. Don't puke. Don't pass out, either. Don't pass out...or puke. Multitask. Easy...

The sharp sound of his phone buzzing nearly made Peter fall out of his seat. Max threw him a strange look, to which the boy averted his gaze and quickly pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapping on the new message that had appeared.

 


 

Group Chat - Ned/MJ

Ned

Dude, we got a code red situation over here. May keeps trying to force-feed us her cookies and I'm 90% sure she's actually put some sort of poison in them this time.

. . .

MJ

You're so dramatic. They're not that bad.

. . .

Ned

Figures you'd get the one cookie without any pepper in it.

Besides, you don't get to talk considering you weren't here to experience the Meatloaf Fiasco of 2015.

I still don't know how you guys got the stains off the ceiling.

. . .

Peter

We taped a sponge to the end of a broom and just sort of whacked it for a couple of hours.

And anyway, I warned you not to eat her food anymore. MJ, did I not warn you two?

. . .

MJ

Warning received and promptly ignored.

. . .

Peter

Then any casualties are not my fault.

. . .

MJ

Whatever, loser. It's my first time meeting your aunt. I'm not about to make a bad first impression by refusing her evil food, no matter how much it growls at me.

That's just how I was raised.

BTW, May's really cool.

. . .

Peter

Thanks. I'm pretty fond of her myself so you can't keep her.

. . .

MJ

It's fine.  The pepper cookies are a bit of a deal-breaker for me anyway.

So how you feeling?

. . .

Peter

Like I'd rather be downing platefuls of May's cookies than sitting here right now.

. . .

Ned

Don't even joke. I might need to go to the hospital and get my stomach pumped again.

. . .

Peter

One time. That happened ONE time and you just can't let it go, can you?

. . .

. . .

. . .

I'm scared, guys.

. . .

MJ

It's gonna be okay. You've been prepping for this all week, right?

. . .

Peter

Yeah. Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts have been giving me some pointers, going over everything that might be asked, what to say and all that but idk I still don't feel ready.

. . .

Ned

Knowing you, you wouldn't feel ready even after ten years of prep.

. . .

Peter

Ten years isn't a very long time at all when you think about it.

. . .

MJ

Peter, listen. Everything's going to be fine. Just take a deep breath and stay calm. It'll be over before you know it and then we can laugh about how much Flash is gonna hate seeing you get so much TV time.

. . .

Ned

Dude I think he might actually explode

. . .

Peter

That makes two of us

. . .

Ned

Listen, man. MJ, May and I are all gonna be cheering you on from here. And you'll have Mr. Stark there, too, right. So you're about as far from alone as you can possibly get. Just keep thinking of us, pretend you're just talking to us and not a room full of flashing cameras and screaming reporters.

. . .

Peter

Thanks for that image.

. . .

Ned

No problem.

. . .

MJ

Ignore him. Everything's going to be fine. You're going to be fine.

You can do this Peter.

We know you can.

. . .

Peter

thx guys

. . .

MJ

PS May says hi

. . .

Ned

Oh god. She has muffins. Peter! Why is she bringing out muffins?!

. . .

MJ

Why are they gray?

. . .

Peter

Oh, her truffle muffins. Lol good luck guys ;)

. . .

Ned

PETER!

 


 

He slipped his phone back into his pocket with a smile, the small feelings of reassurance fleeting but appreciated nonetheless. He perked slightly at the soft sound of hurried heels clacking their way. He and the Cons turned towards the small woman quickly making her way towards them: one of his father's many nameless employees.

"Mr. Dillon. Ms. Deel. I need you to look over these forms before we send them off to the warehouses for processing. They're in regard to the load we're expecting from Japan next month."

Max furrowed his brow and took the clipboard from her hands. "No problem, Christy. But I thought we were getting the shipment from Japan this month."

Sandra shook her head and stepped closer. "We're trading with Singapore this month. Japan's not till three weeks from now."

"So why are we clearing out this much space at the warehouse? Three shipping containers? I thought we were getting new processors from Singapore so why the hell do we need that much storage space? I, ugg...Christy?"

"Sir?"

"Who's lead in the warehouses?"

"Sanders is the manager down there, sir. Has been since Robbins retired last month."

"Well get him on the horn for me. I want to know what the hell he's doing down there."

"Yes, sir."

Peter turned away with a small sigh, deciding to tune the rest out as he glanced towards the windows. With everything he saw them doing in private, it was hard for him to remember that the Cons did actually have jobs at Parkstem, not that they'd ever really interested him much, at least not enough to keep listening in.

However, with Max and Sandra preoccupied and Flint and Curt too apathetic to look up from their phones, none of them noticed the slight commotion from outside.

But Peter did.

He straightened up in his seat, casting a wary glance behind him at the distracted Cons, and slowly rose up from the seat he'd been strictly ordered not to move from. Approaching the balcony railing, Peter rested his hands on the cold steel and leaned forward, trying to see through the windows out onto the lawn of the property where hordes of reporters and news vans currently flocked. But the crowds were too thick. Whatever they were floundering about, he couldn't tell.

At least, until it strolled right through the front doors.

Tony Stark waltzed in with as much confidence as one could muster, dressed in a suit that looked more expensive than some of the cars outside with yellow-tinted sunglasses perched atop his nose. Happy followed behind him, glaring at the mass of reporters that were trying to push against the barriers and shove their mics as close as they could to the billionaire, who had yet to spare them all so much as a glance.

Peter could feel an immediate shift in his gut, a sense of relief that swelled into his chest and made a smile bubble onto his face for just a second.

The feeling made way for apprehension. He stole another nervous glance behind him. The Cons still hadn't noticed.

He decided to chance it and carefully began to make his way towards the stairs. Mr. Stark had made it to the security checkpoint, seemingly having a heated conversation with his driver that Peter could very pointedly pick up as he approached.

"Jesus Christ, just put your shit in the bin, Happy. It's security. What are they gonna do? Scan your texts and steal the cornbread recipe your mother sent you?"

"Okay. I don't appreciate that. That recipe is a family treasure."

"I'm sure. Well if need be, we can always sue for emotional distress, so relax."

At that moment, the man turned and finally made eye contact with his intern nearly tripping over his own two feet as he made his way down the stairs. Tony smiled as the kid lifted a hand and gave a wave, the man stuffing his hands into his pockets as he called over his shoulder to Happy, "Let me know if you need to make an arrest. I'll arrange a police escort for you."

Peter only slightly stumbled as he finally cleared the last few steps in a couple of hurried paces, Tony approaching in a much calmer manner.

"Hi," his voice squeaked out in a soft little chirp of relief and anxiety rolled into one.

Tony smirked at the kid and glanced down at his attire with a nod akin to approval. "Well, someone's looking sharp,"

"Thanks. I hate it." He tugged at the collar of his shirt, to which Tony swatted the kid's hand away. "Not surprising considering your usual attire is sweaters and jackets that are, oh I would say...maybe 23 sizes too big for you?"

Peter scoffed and folded his arms over his chest. "Whatever. I like being cozy." He scrunched his nose and threw the billionaire a questioning grin. "And anyway, I don't think right now is an appropriate time for you to be pointing out criticisms considering you're just now showing up for a press conference that starts in..." he glanced towards the clock. "...less than twenty minutes."

Tony scoffed as he made his way over towards the front entrance once more, casting a glance around at the front lawn that was so full of people and vans that you could no longer see the grass underneath their feet. "What are they gonna do? Start without me?"

"You obviously don't know my dad very well."

"Lucky me."

Peter blew out a humored huff, rolling his eyes and giving a small shake of his head before lifting his gaze to follow where the man had gone off to. Once he noticed, however, his smile faltered. He hesitated for a moment before walking up to join the man at the windows, feeling his stomach roll slightly as he caught sight of the scene he'd been trying hard to ignore for the past hour.

It was like a sea of noise and chaos right outside the glass: cameras flashing, voices shouting, the smell of diesel and fumes from the idling vans sharp enough to smell even from inside. Peter swallowed thickly and lifted his arms to fold over his chest, shoulders tightening.

"Is this...what you were expecting?" He murmured softly, eyes never straying from the commotion unfolding before them.

Tony must have picked up on the slight shift in the kid's tone, for he spared the boy a glance, cast one more annoyed glare towards the scene, and rested his hands on Peter's shoulders, gently guiding him away from the flashing cameras and prying eyes. "More or less."

Peter tried to shut the noise out, tried to focus instead on the sounds of their footsteps against the floors below, sharp and calculated. He tapped his fingers against his arm and turned to look up at Mr. Stark, who blew a small sigh from his lips as he continued. "With all the craziness going on in the world right now, I guess people just want something a little more manageable to focus on other than world politics and war criminals."

The teen noticed the slightest hint of bitterness in the man's voice. He didn't comment on it.

"So our tabloid story of the week-

"Is the perfect distraction."

Peter glanced back towards the window. It wasn't working. He could still hear them. He could probably hear them from miles away. "Right..."

It wasn't new information. They'd been discussing the circumstances around the conference for the past week now. With Peter taking the week off of school both for his own security and to prep for the meet, he'd spent the majority of his time at the Tower, working with Tony, Pepper, and Rhodey as they practiced any and all scenarios that could play out during the conference, including potential questions, hang-ups, and emergencies. They'd gone over etiquette, what to expect, what types of unexpected things to expect, and everything in between.

Still, imagining a lawn full of reporters and actually seeing them before his eyes were two very different things.

Somehow, his imagination didn't hold a candle to the real thing.

Another set of footsteps suddenly came into range and the two of them looked up towards Happy as he approached, face pinched into his usual look of displeasure. Tony grinned as he approached, nudging Peter in the shoulder. "Finished interrogating the security guard? Cause that janitor over there is looking a bit suspicious. You might wanna go run his plates."

"Shut up."

Peter finished stifling his giggles and threw the man a smile. "Hi, Happy."

The man grunted in response before giving the room a thorough scan. "You seen Pepper?"

"She's with my dad keeping the reporters calm. I-"

The words choked in his throat as a meaty hand latched around his bicep and wrenched him backward, nearly tearing his shoulder from his socket as his shoes squeaked against the floor and a sharp grunt fell from his lips. His eyes left Mr. Stark's now-shocked face and darted up to meet the furious gaze of Max as the man glared down at him, face pinched as he gritted his teeth and leaned in closer, words tight and venomous. "What the hell did I say about moving your ass from that seat, you little-"

"Hey-"

The word was sharp, cutting right through Max's own as the man ripped his gaze away with an angered gleam to see who would dare interrupt him from his scolding. Peter could feel him jolt, however, as he finally registered just who Peter had been talking to. The teen tried to ignore the biting pain now cutting through his arm in favor of staring at Mr. Stark, who looked more than ready to cause a scene.

His face was stoic, shoulders pulled back as he stared at Max with a piercing stare that did well to hide the anger Peter could see bubbling up behind his tensed jaw. Behind him, Happy wasn't doing as well of a job to hide his own anger, staring at the man with a glare that even overshadowed the look he'd given the security guard from before.

Peter swallowed the sudden lump forming in his throat, heart stuttering ever so slightly as he caught Mr. Stark's gaze.

Don't do anything.

He hoped his eyes conveyed the message well enough for the billionaire to get it.

Please.

They weren't afforded the luxury of privacy this time. Now there were eyes on them, cameras that couldn't wait to catch something interesting should the opportunity arise. They couldn't afford to disturb the waters. Not today. Not over something so trivial.

Peter noticed the man hesitate for a moment. Perhaps he was thinking the same things as Peter, realizing this wasn't a battle worth fighting as he subtly lifting his hand behind him, motioning for Happy to stay back. The burning look behind his own eyes seemed to dwindle slightly as well, replaced instead with an air of tense calm.

Max didn't seem too threatened by the looks he was currently receiving, for he simply straightened up as a strained smile worked its way onto his face. He didn't release his hold on Peter as he stared back at the billionaire. "Mr. Stark...nice of you to finally show up."

Tony narrowed his eyes and fixed his own version of a terse smile onto his face. "Well, you know me. I like to make an entrance." His gaze darkened, if such a thing were possible.

"Now let him go."

For a moment, Max didn't make a move. Peter felt his heart rate picking up speed as the seconds ticked by. Max wouldn't really provoke anything, right? Not today? Not with all these cameras right outside? And for one brief, horrifying second, Peter was back in the Tower, back to last week, feeling two hands latching onto his wrist, a tight tugging as each force showed their dominance, their dominance over him.

Don't puke. Don't puke. Don't puke. Don't-

Without warning, Max released his hold, Peter quickly taking a step back away from all of them as he flicked his gaze back and forth between both Max and Mr. Stark, who had yet to take their eyes off of each other.

"Where's Parker?" Tony's voice was curt, obviously not in the mood to prolong their conversation for any longer than absolutely necessary.

Max sized him up for a second, sharp eyes glaring at the billionaire with a look of pure disdain before he sniffed. "This way." He turned around and glanced back over his shoulder. "Peter, stay-"

Tony cut him off. "The kid's coming with us."

Mr. Stark... Peter sighed internally, wishing the man would stop trying to poke the man's buttons. He faintly cleared his throat. "It's fine. I...I can just stay here. I-it's not-"

"You're coming with us."

Peter shut his mouth as Tony turned back towards Max, fixing him with another pointed smirk. "You don't have a problem with that, right...Max?"

The man gritted his teeth before grunting. "Of course not." Max lifted his gaze and snapped his fingers, Peter following his gaze and realizing for the first time that the other Cons were watching from the balcony, leaning against the railings as they watched the scene with bored expressions. "Make sure everything runs smoothly down here. I'll be right back."

He didn't wait for a response before he was making for the stairs, not bothering to check and see if the others were following him. Mr. Stark glanced back towards Peter, who pointedly ignored his watchful eye as he fell into step behind Max. They made their way up the stairs and walked down the winding halls of the second floor.

It had been a while since Peter had spent much time in his father's building.

He liked Stark Tower better.

Their silent walk eventually led them to a large waiting area complete with couches and armchairs overlooking the large windows displaying the bustling front lawns below. Max stopped walking and angled his head towards the couches. "Wait here," he muttered gruffly as he turned away to continue down the hall.

Mr. Stark glanced towards Happy. "Go with him. Check on Pepper, see how she's doing."

The man nodded while Max rolled his eyes and let out a little scoff. But he didn't object as Happy fell into step behind him, the two men disappearing down the hall in a terse silence.

For a moment, Peter just stood there, arms still folded tightly over his chest as he watched them walk off, listening to the dwindling sounds of their retreating footsteps. He resisted the urge to rub at his arm where Max had grabbed him, felt the dull throbbing of the skin teeming underneath his sleeves. Mr. Stark was looking at him, he could feel the man's eyes on him, feel them scanning him over in silence. He didn't turn around to look at him.

"They're a bit...on edge today." His voice was quiet. But they were alone in the hall, so it echoed nonetheless.

He could hear the contempt in the man's voice before he'd even opened his mouth. "Sure."

Peter sighed and spun on his heel, head low as he made his way towards the window. "You're gonna have to learn how to get along with them, you know." He scanned the lawn, counted the number of vans he could see just from this one view. Thirty-four.

"Or at least, you will if you're...like, serious about sticking around." He tried to keep his voice level, tried to leave the words as nonchalant as possible.

He needed to give the man as many outs as he could. It was only fair.

Mr. Stark paused for a moment, and when he did approach, his footsteps were soft. "You having doubts?"

Peter glanced up at him, was grateful to see no lingering hints of anger in the man's face. "No," he lied. "I-It's just...I know they can be a lot. But they're sort of a package deal," he murmured before finally relenting and giving a gentle rub to his sore arm as he took a seat on the nearest couch.

Tony stayed standing for a moment longer before sitting down next to the kid, giving a little shrug of his shoulders. "I know how to work my way around a prick or two." He smirked and nudged the kid again. "Don't worry. Gonna take a bit more than that to scare me off."

Peter leaned away from the touch with a chuckle and tried not to dwell too much on the strange sense of relief he felt hearing the man say those words. He glanced down and noticed the slight crookedness of the tie he'd spent almost half an hour working on at home. Deciding it best to keep his mind off of the scene outside the window, he set his phone down on the couch and lifted his hands to start fiddling with the fabric.

They sat in silence for a while, Tony typing away on his phone, presumably talking to either Rhodey, who had been too busy with some sort of government matters to attend from what Peter understood, or Pepper and Happy, who had yet to return. And all the while, Peter kept messing with his tie while simultaneously cursing whoever it was that had insisted ties were to be considered formal wear.

The couch vibrated softly, signaling a new message on his phone. Peter didn't look away from the mess hanging around his neck as he sighed and tried not to accidentally strangle himself. "Can you see who texted me please?" he asked gently, hoping the man wouldn't mind helping him out while he fought the fight of his life.

Tony glanced over at him and threw him an amused snort as he watched the kid struggle before picking up his phone and turning on the screen. He furrowed his brow as he read the text.

"Why is your friend sending you an SOS text with an emoji of a skull and an erupting volcano? Is this drug lingo?"

Peter snorted. "God, he's so dramatic." At Mr. Stark's perplexed look, the teen continued with a roll of his eyes. "He and MJ are at May's place to watch the conference and she's force-feeding' them her cooking." He took his hands away from his tie to add in a few air-quotes.

Tony cocked a brow and leaned back in his seat. "I'm guessing that's bad."

"Oh, she's worse than you."

"Jesus. How many paramedics should we send over?"

Peter tried to hold in the laugh bubbling in his chest, a welcome departure from the permanent anxiety he'd been feeling all day. "It's not that bad! Honestly, after a couple of meals, your tastebuds die and you don't even feel the burning anymore."

Tony scoffed with a smile and shook his head, Peter grinning as he continued to mess with his tie, giving a little shrug of his shoulders as he did so. "Besides, Ned should be used to it by now. He's been over to her place loads of times?"

The billionaire tilted his head. "I didn't know May was close with your friends."

"Just Ned. He's known her since we were like ten or something. We used to hang out at her house all the time in middle school, doing projects, playing video games, building leg-"

He cut himself off with an audible snap as his cheeks warmed just a tad. Tony, unfortunately, seemed to catch wind of the sudden bout of embarrassment sweeping over the kid, for he smirked and leaned in closer. "Building what exactly?"

"Uh...it's...not important-anyway! She's meeting MJ for the first time today so hopefully, it goes well," he finished off in a quick flurry.

Mr. Stark narrowed his eyes just a tad as his smirk remained before finally granting Peter a hint of mercy as he moved on. "Well, having met both of them, I think they'll hit it off fairly well."

"Fingers crossed- god!" Peter huffed and gave a good yank to the decorative noose hanging around his neck. "I hate this stupid thing. It's impossible."

"You can lift buses and leap off of buildings, but you're drawing the line at a Windsor knot?"

He pouted. "It's hard."

Tony blew a sharp breath from his lips. "Jesus, come here." He reached out and Peter stiffened for just a second before relaxing as the man began to undo his mangled knot. "You're fourteen years old and you don't know how to tie a tie?"

Peter lifted a brow. "At least I know how to make toast without setting the toaster on fire."

"Why would they even have a blackened setting?"

The teen laughed, Tony giving his own smile as they fell into another bout of silence. Peter left his fingers to fiddle together in his lap as he watched the man's hands expertly twisting and weaving the fabric around itself. He could hear Tony's heartbeat, steady and calm. It was easier to drown out the noises from outside as he followed the melody, tapped his fingers in time to the sound.

It was strange having someone sit so close to him without the usual sense of prickling uncomfortableness stinging through his body. Usually, when people were even within a single arm's length of him, Peter couldn't wait to take a few steps back, an inch at least, just anything to keep them out of range. It was rare that he ever allowed people to approach, even rarer for them to be so close as to touch him. May and Ned and MJ and...no one. Nobody else...except-

Peter lifted his gaze towards the man's face before quickly averting it again. His fingers kept tapping to the beat.

It felt different with Mr. Stark. Even with May, even with his best friends, after a while, it would become too much. Even with them, Peter had his limits. But with Tony...he brought with him a feeling Peter didn't get with May, or Ned, or MJ. It was the same feeling he'd felt in the Tower on the night of their deal. It was the same feeling he'd felt standing behind the billionaire as the man faced off against his father with no traces of fear on his face. It was the same feeling he'd felt prepping and planning and preparing throughout the week with him for the moment that was fast approaching.

It was a strange feeling, a foreign one. It was a feeling he had no words for.

But somehow...it made him feel...different. It made him feel like his father didn't matter, like the Cons didn't matter, like there was nothing beyond the walls of the tower, nothing waiting for him, watching him. Nothing to scan over his shoulder for.

Peter wanted to keep that feeling, wanted to bottle it up and save it for when he needed it. And it was a feeling he only felt when Mr. Stark was near, which perhaps was the scariest part.

Because it wasn't just that Peter was alright having him close by.

It was that...he didn't want him to leave.

His fingers slowly clenched. What a stupid thought.

Peter blinked back into reality as Tony leaned back and finished up the knot, flipping up the collar of the teen's shirt to position it correctly between the flaps. "There, see? Only slightly harder than lifting a car."

The teen said nothing for a moment, swallowing the strange mass in his throat as he blinked and glanced away, a small smile forming on his face nevertheless. "Thanks," he said softly.

He suddenly felt Mr. Stark's hands still, the man's form stiffening ever so slightly. Peter immediately picked up on the shift, lifting his eyes back towards the man's face. Tony's eyes were hard, brows furrowed and lips pulled back into a firm frown of concern and anger that was concealed well but not well enough for Peter to completely miss.

For a second, Peter was confused. That is until he glanced down and noticed the bruise on his collarbone, dark and ugly but well hidden by the collar of his shirt, the collar Tony now had in his hands.

He's forgotten all about the mark. It wasn't like it was important, after all.

Still, he pulled out of the man's grasp and tucked his collar up to conceal the mark as he turned away. "It's nothing," he whispered. "Don't worry about it."

Tony narrowed his eyes, face pinching into a look of frustration. "As of recently, it's now my job to worry about it."

Peter said nothing, just looked away and glued his eyes to the floor, hands wringing around each other.

Somehow, the bruise that hadn't bothered him before suddenly felt much hotter, burning with embarrassment. He fiddled with the sleeves of his shirt. He hated how form-fitting they were around his wrists, wished he could pull them up over his hands like he always did with his jackets that were two sizes too big for him, perfect for hiding in.

Mr. Stark must have noticed Peter's shift in demeanor, for he hesitated for just a moment before blowing out a soft sigh as he rubbed at the back of his neck. "But...I'll give you a pass today."

As Peter glanced up, the man continued. "Figure we already have enough to deal with right now."

Hard to argue there, Peter had to admit.

Tony leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hands fold together between his legs as he stared out the window for a moment. Peter didn't follow his gaze this time. He already knew what was out there. He didn't want to look at them again, not when he could still hear them perfectly fine.

More reporters must have arrived. It was louder now.

"How you feeling?"

Peter's small fingers twisted the button on his shirt cuff. He didn't look up. "There's a lot of them." It wasn't an answer, but in a sense...it sort of was.

"More than you were expecting?"

"I don't know what I was expecting." This time he did lift his head, watched the people down below skittering on the lawn, the flashing of cameras similar to the intensity of a lightning storm, leaving the air hot and crackling, goosebumps prickling against his skin.

"But it wasn't this..."

Mr. Stark watched him for a second, eyes deep in concentration. His fingers tapped together neatly, a soft little noise Peter registered deep in the back of his mind. The halls were silent. Any excess workers apart from essential staff had been dismissed for the day, leaving the walls with no noises to echo back at them, nothing to block the distant noises of the reporters hidden somewhere deep within the building.

"Tell me what you're thinking about," Mr. Stark murmured, voice soft.

Peter traced the lining of the tiles below his feet with his eyes, scanning the cracks and the segmented pattern they all followed. There were no blemishes, no dents, or imperfections. He licked his lips and took a breath, raising a hand to rub at the back of his neck. "It's not what I'm thinking about. It's...what I'm trying not to think about."

"Alright...what are you trying not to think about?"

The teen pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek and let out a humored scoff as he glanced away, rubbing at his arm. "I'm...trying not to think about all the ways this could go wrong. And yet...it's all I seem to be able to think about. I mean, literally, there are like, no other thoughts in my head right now. It's almost impressive."

Tony smirked, letting out a little chuckle as he leaned back in his seat. "Okay. Walk me through it."

Peter cocked a brow and turned to him. "What?"

"Explain it to me. Tell me what could do wrong."

The teen scrunched his eyes and let out an unsure huff. "I...I don't-"

"Right off the top of your head, what's the first thing that comes to mind?"

"That's not-"

"Don't even think about it. Just blurt it out. First thought."

"No, I-"

"What is it? Just say it."

"Fine. Aliens."

Whatever the man had been planning on saying next halted in his throat as he blinked at the kid's statement. He stared at the boy for a second before furrowing his brows, leaning back as he removed the sunglasses from his face and folded a leg over his knee, a hint of a smile making its way onto his face as he pinched the earpiece between his fingers. "...Aliens. That's the first thing on your list of possibilities?"

Peter pursed his lips. "Don't act like it couldn't happen. We're in New York for goodness sake, not even five years from the last extraterrestrial incident."

"I-"

"Like, what if something bursts through the roof and starts vaporizing people? These rooms don't have many exits and- oh, now that I'm thinking about it, fires are another contender for the list. How many fire exits are in the building? I should know that. Maybe we should write it down."

Tony cracked a grin and waved his hands in the air, effectively halting the boy's tirade. "Alright, alright. Excluding the very high possibility of aliens coming down just to crash our conference and blow people up - thanks for putting that image into my head, by the way - what else could happen? Seriously."

"Seriously? ...I could explode."

"Peter-"

"You could explode."

Mr. Stark pushed his shoulder, Peter grinning as the man threw him a light glare that was softened by the smile on his face. "I mean it! Come on. No messing around." He leaned in a bit closer as he folded his glasses and tucked them into the pocket of his jacket, the look on his face growing gentler as he stared down at the boy. "What are you afraid of?"

Peter met his gaze, held it for a moment as the smile on his face weakened. Now that the sunglasses were off, it was easier to notice the color of the man's eyes. They were warm, a deep brown that tapered off into a lighter shade of auburn near the centers. They were much different from his father's eyes, easier to handle when they lingered on him, easier to look at.

He sucked in a small breath, held it in for a second before swallowing thickly and turning back towards the windows. More vans, thirty-eight now. "You know what I'm afraid of, Mr. Stark."

Peter could see the man give a slight nod from the corner of his eye, lips pulling into a tighter line as he took a deep breath. "Yeah..." He seemed to take a second, a moment to pause and mull over his words before he was turning in his seat to better face the boy, inching a bit closer as he did so. "Listen, kid. Everything's going to be fine, alright?"

"That's what everyone keeps telling me." He fiddled with his fingers, giving the man a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Still having a hard time believing it."

Mr. Stark swallowed, shifted in his seat slightly as he tentatively reached out to put a placating hand on the boy's shoulder. Peter watched his moves carefully, but he didn't flinch, didn't pull away. His eyes lingered, but he remained still."Look, I know you're nervous. It's normal. But we prepped for this, right?" He bumped a gentle knuckle against the kid's chest. "We have a plan, we have strategies in place. We've been practicing for this all week. There's nothing they can ask that we haven't already considered."

Peter fidgeted in his seat, twisting away slightly. "You don't know that."

Tony sat up a little straighter. "Pete, I've been doing these things since I was old enough to talk," he smirked. "I know what I'm talking about here."

He sounded so confident, so sure. It would be so easy to just agree with whatever it was he was saying, go along with it and rely on it with absolute certainty, absolute clarity, let his nerves and fears wash away as the irrational thoughts they were, forgotten and discarded.

"So...I just have to trust you?"

The words were heavy, foreign...uncomfortable. They made Peter uncomfortable, not just an itch he couldn't scratch, but an itch he couldn't find, a niggling feeling of doubt and fear clawing at his chest, making his lungs squelch and his throat shrink. His skin prickled at the mere idea, the simple string of words. It was near startling, the sheer volatile reaction he felt within him at just uttering such a sentence.

But it needed to be said.

He had to try.

Tony seemed to have the same idea, the slight look of uncomfortableness that had spread across his face dwindling slightly as he swallowed it down and glanced away uneasily. "We have to start somewhere."

They did have to start somewhere.

Peter just hadn't expected it to be this hard.

Mr. Stark glanced back over at him, shifted again in his seat. Peter didn't remember the man being so fidgety. Maybe he was just as nervous as Peter was. Somehow, that made the boy feel a little better.

Tony blew out a breath and suddenly began to rummage through his pocket. "I guess this is as good a time as ever."

"For what?"

"Well, I was only going to bring this up if I had to, but since we're already at alien invasions and spontaneous combustion in terms of the panic scale, I figure now is as good a time as any. Here." He pulled something out of his pocket and dropped it into the boy's hands. Peter fumbled with it for a moment before securing it in his palm. Unfurling his fingers, he blinked down at the coin now sitting in his hand.

It was old, obviously an antique of some sort and yet its condition was pristine. The gold material reflected back into his eyes, cold against his skin. On one side was a symbol of a compass rose, the star-shaped pendant stretching out towards the edges of the coin, and on the other was an image of a bird of some sort, emblazoned by the sun.

He stared at it for a moment, simply let it rest in his palm, traced his eyes over the details. He quickly blinked back into reality a second later, lifting his head back up towards Mr. Stark.

"What is it?"

"I'll give you three guesses."

"No, I-" Peter scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I know what it is. Just...why are you giving me a coin?"

Tony smirked at him. "Cause it's a magic coin."

"Why? You gonna pull it out of my ear?"

Peter chuckled as the man pushed his shoulder. "I mean it, you little twerp. This right here is the luckiest coin you'll ever hold."

"Okay?" he murmured with a confused tilt of the head. Tony let out a sigh and leaned back a bit in his seat, motioning with his hand as he spoke. "Look, when I was little, I had my fair share of press conferences to deal with. Safe to say, my family was fairly famous."

"Just a tad, right?"

"Almost not even worth mentioning."

They grinned at each other before the man was glancing back down at the coin Peter still held in his hand. His smile settled, softer than before. "I was scared. Obviously, I mean, come on. This shit's scary. I didn't know how to talk to a crowd of people, let alone say what they wanted to hear."

His eyes shifted away for a moment. Peter watched him carefully. He brushed his fingers against the edges of the coin. "But a, uh...a family friend of ours...I guess he could see how nervous I was cause he sat me down and gave me this."

He carefully picked the coin out of Peter's palm, holding it up between his fingers. "He said it was his lucky coin. That as long as I had it with me, it could never steer me wrong," he playfully rolled his eyes, tracing the compass symbol on the surface of the coin. "That as long as I kept it close, everything would work out...one way or another."

Tony said nothing for a moment as he turned and placed the coin back in Peter's hand. The boy glanced down at it, ran the tips of his fingers against the serrated edge. He liked the feel of it in his hands. It wasn't too big, a bit larger than a normal quarter, and yet still sizable enough to play with.

"And?" He asked when Mr. Stark remained silent. "Did it work?"

"I didn't explode if that's what you're insinuating."

The man shrugged his shoulders a bit. "I know it's pretty ridiculous, but just having it with me made me feel a little bit better." He chuckled, glancing down at his hands. "Call it childhood naivete."

Peter glanced over at him before turning back to the coin. Tony nodded. "After a while, I didn't even need it anymore. My natural charm had finally started to develop."

"I think I'm a bit of a late bloomer on that front."

"Ergo, lucky coin."

Peter's smile faltered a bit. It was a nice sentiment and the coin was beautiful, but that's all it was. A pretty thing to look at, nothing more.

"Thanks, but I think I'm going to need a bit more than a lucky coin to get through this," he sighed, offering the coin back.

Tony stared at him for a moment before gently pushing the kid's hand away. "Humor me."

Peter blinked at him skeptically but ultimately decided to just shrug and slip the coin into his pocket. It wasn't worth debating over anyway. It was just a coin.

"Hey." The billionaire placed a hand on his shoulder again. This time, Peter didn't watch his movements, just met the man's gaze and let the heavy feel of his hand ground him, anchor him down before his thoughts could spiral. His palms were warm.

"I'm going to be right by your side the entire time, okay? Right there." Tony smiled, not the flashy, million-dollar smile he dazzled the cameras with, but the genuine smile Peter only saw when they were alone, when they were behind closed doors and the only other people that could see were the man's closest friends. It was a privilege Peter didn't take lightly.

"Everything's going to be fine...because I'm going to make sure of it."

And even though the sharp distant squeak of tires rolling up signaled the arrival of another news van, even though the distinct sounds of cameras flashing could be heard between the walls of the building, and even though the excited whispers of employees walking the floors seemed to echo down the air vents, Peter paid them no mind.

He didn't have to. Because Mr. Stark was there. And that was enough to make him feel just a little bit braver.

The air was broken, however, by the sound of approaching footsteps. Peter knew them instantly, could pick them out of a crowd. Instantly, he was shooting to his feet, pulling out of Mr. Stark's grasp and placing a good few feet between them as Richard Parker rounded the corner.

He was dressed just as sharply as Mr. Stark, a dark eggplant-purple blazer that matched his pants and went well with the black button-up underneath. He glanced between the two of them quickly, though it was enough to have Peter standing just a little straighter. The man fixed Mr. Stark with a warm smile they all knew was far from genuine.

"Mr. Stark. Nice to finally see you."

Tony leveled him a cool stare, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Well, had to get this over with eventually, right?"

Richard hummed before turning and motioning for them to follow. "Let's get going. Peter?"

The teen avoided meeting Mr. Stark's gaze as he rushed forward to walk next to his father, as he'd requested. Immediately, the warm atmosphere he'd felt with Mr. Stark increased tenfold, becoming a stiflingly-hot aura of heat and tension as he felt his skin bubbling with apprehension. He said nothing as they walked, just matched his father's swift pace as they made their way through the halls.

Though it felt like an eternity, it only took a moment before they found themselves at the entrance to the conference room, the large double doors shut with two security guards standing in place beside them and Pepper waiting in between them. As soon as they rounded the corner, she caught their eye and began to walk over.

Richard spoke first. "We ready to go?"

The woman shifted her gaze before clearing her throat. "One moment. Tony, can I talk to you for a second?"

The billionaire turned to her with a slightly confused look before letting out a breath and angling back towards Peter. "Hang tight, kid," he said before following the woman a little ways away where they couldn't be heard.

Richard watched them for a second before sniffing, turning to the two guards at the door. "Rosso, Blake, give us a second, will you? I just want to talk to my son before we go in."

Peter stiffened.

Uh-oh.

The guards shared a look before nodding their heads. "Of course, sir," one of them said before they stepped back and moved towards the end of the hall, out of view.

Peter didn't turn to look at his father as the man walked up, stopping right next to him. Richard started to fiddle with his cuffs, straightening them out as he perfected the links and began to brush his hands down his blazer, wiping it clean of any dust. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and low, but it wasn't soft like Tony's.

It was nothing like Tony's.

"I don't need to remind you of what we discussed."

It was true. He didn't.

Peter hadn't just spent the week preparing with Mr. Stark. His father had had his own tips and tricks that he'd wanted to share, the last remnants of them still present and visible on Peter's skin, dark and ugly, but learned.

"Don't disappoint me."

He felt the bruises beginning to burn again, a deep ache he could feel in his bones. He gritted his teeth. "Yes, sir."

Thankfully, Pepper and Tony made their way back quickly, the woman giving Peter a gentle smile that he tried returning, though he could feel how strained it was as it tugged against his cheeks. She turned towards his father with much less warmth. "They're in there waiting."

Richard straightened out his tie and smiled. "Then let's not keep them any longer."

He followed the woman towards the door, pulling at the handle without even glancing behind him at Peter. The teen felt his fingers beginning to curl into shivering fists as his muscles seemed to lock up, chest tightening as his gaze followed the slowly creaking door.

Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder once again. He jolted, eyes lifting to meet the comforting, confident gaze of Mr. Stark as the man gave him a quick squeeze, guiding him forward.

"Deep breath."

Peter obeyed, sucking in a shaky gasp before he felt his breath still. He chewed on his lower lip for a moment before his eyes hardened and his shoulders tightened.

He could do this. He could get through this. Mr. Stark believed in him, believed he could.

Trust him.

The words echoed in his head, ringing through his ears as they stepped through the doors.

 


 

For a brief, fleeting moment, Steve hesitated, an unfamiliar feeling for him.

His steps were slow and calculated as he crossed the distance between his bed and the door he'd been staring at for a while now. He'd had plenty of restless nights in the two months since coming to the Tower, but he'd never gone as far as to wander the residence during said nights. He wondered if maybe this was overstepping his bounds. After all, this wasn't his home, not really. He was just a guest here, an unexpected intruder. It wasn't really his place to just...roam, right?

(I'm with you till the end of the line, pal.")

He ripped the door open without a second thought, stepping out into the frigid air of the open halls.

Immediately, without the lights from the city below, he was thrown into darkness, the halls long and foreboding. Not really looking forward to stumbling around in the dark, the soldier briefly considered altering his plan. Maybe there was a flashlight or something in his room somewhere. The more he thought about it, though, the more unlikely it seemed. No way Stark would have such outdated tech as a handheld flashlight in his Tower.

Before he could consider anything else, however, he watched as the footlights lining the floors of the hallway dimly began to glow with pale yellow light.

He blinked for a moment before smiling. "Thanks, JARVIS."

"Of course, Captain."

Another perk of the tower, he supposed.

For a while, Steve just wandered. He didn't have a set destination in mind. Instead, he just followed the path of lights JARVIS seemed content in providing for him. He didn't question the turns or the doors he walked through, either. The AI wouldn't lead him somewhere he wasn't supposed to go, would it? He hoped not, he was just starting to get warmed up to the thing...person...voice?

As he walked, he vaguely felt his hands automatically fold behind his back, fingers tapping together into a rhythm he no longer had to think about. Four taps. Pause. One tap. Pause. Long, tap, long, long. Pause.

It didn't make him feel better, but it at least gave him something to do.

He traced the light, followed it with his eyes as well as his feet, allowed it to take up as much space in his mind as possible, if only to push out everything else. He couldn't see anything but the light, just focused on the light...and the tapping.

Tap, tap, long, tap.

Pause.

tap, long.

Pause.

Continue. Focus. Don't listen.

How long until morning? How long until he no longer had to find ways of distracting himself? How many more nights of this would it be? Would it ever stop? Would he ever sleep?

He received no answers to his questions. For once, all was silent.

Steve didn't know how much time had passed when suddenly, the light was growing. He quickly zeroed back into the present and realized the new light was coming from the room up ahead. He spared a small glance up towards the ceiling, where he had to presume JARVIS...lived? At least, that's where his voice always came from.

He slowly rounded the corner and found himself in a large living room. More specifically, the living room situated on the Common Floor of the Tower. How he'd gotten there, he had no clue. But his focus strayed away from that.

Instead, it followed his eyes, which trailed over towards the kitchen. The light was on, illuminating the room in a dim glow that spilled into the halls.

"Guess I shouldn't be surprised that I'm not the only one up," Tony murmured with a half-smirk from his seat at the counter.

"Let me guess. Bedbugs?"

 


 

Tuesday - May 10, 2016

*Port Morris Riverside Storage - W arehouse 2B

08:58 AM

"What the hell? Why are we watching this crap?"

Scott glanced over at Clint as the man fumed before rubbing at the back of his neck and staring sheepishly at the newly fixed-up TV they all currently stood around. "Well, this thing has like, 4 channels, and they're all tuned in to this, so..."

The archer glared. "Then turn the damn thing off. I don't need to see that egotistical asshole showboating all over the place."

"No, wait." Natasha took a step forward before Scott could make a move to fulfill Clint's request. "I want to see this."

Steve didn't lift his eyes from the screen. "Same here."

The picture was grainy and filled with static from time to time, but it was enough to allow them to see. He watched as three individuals entered the room and began to make their way across the stage. The only one he didn't immediately recognize had to have been Richard Parker. And from first glance, nothing seemed to stand out to Steve in terms of any red flags. Perhaps an in-person meeting would elicit a different response, but from what he could see, the man seemed fairly normal.

Of course, the same couldn't be said for the other two figures making their way across the stage. This Steve knew from firsthand experience. He tried not to let his gaze linger too long on Stark and instead focused in on Peter.

The teen seemed alright at first glance. Amazingly, the wounds Steve had helped clean that night on the roof were gone, leaving nothing but clean, white skin that seemed just a bit paler than usual. Maybe it was just the TV screen, though.

Clint flicked his gaze between the others, rolling his eyes as he noticed they were all watching the screen with avid interest. He scoffed. "Whatever. Do what you want but I'm not listening to this garbage."

Sam turned to glance at him over his shoulder. "Really, man? You're not just a tiny bit curious?"

The man folded his arms. "About what?"

"About this Parker kid."

"Why would I care about that kid? Why do you care about that kid?"

The words were out of Steve's mouth before he could think about them. "Cause Tony does."

Immediately, everyone's attention was diverting to him, strange looks and confused stares meeting his eyes. Natasha, in particular, leveled him a calculating look. Steve internally cursed his slip-up before giving a small shrug of his shoulders, hoping to convey a sense of indifference that would make sense. "At least, I assume he does, given what I've seen so far."

Clint huffed, the noise loud enough to get everyone's eyes off of Steve and back over to the archer, thankfully. "Which is what, exactly? A paparazzi-snagged, ill-timed photo of these two out of context? That doesn't tell us anything, Cap. For all we know, and for what the rest of the world knows, Stark's just using this kid somehow. Seems more fitting than for him to just suddenly turn into this kind-hearted, caring individual with a deep concern for the younger generation." He cocked a brow and glanced around at the rest of the team.

"Does that sound like him to you?"

Apart from Natasha, the others murmured something akin to agreement. The woman sharply rolled her eyes and turned her back on the archer, focusing instead on the TV screen once again.

Clint walked off somewhere towards the back of the warehouse while the others circled back around the TV. Steve stayed rooted to his spot, eyes glued on the fizzling screen as the sound of yelling reporters began to fill the room. When he spoke, he made sure it was loud enough for Clint to hear, loud enough for him to get.

"There's more to this. I'm sure of it."

 


 

Tuesday - May 10, 2016

Parkstem Labs - Conference Room 1A

09:00 AM

"Alright, let's go ahead and get started."

Pepper stared out over the podium at the sea of reporters staring back at the stage. Row after row of chairs sat occupied by what had to be over sixty reporters, huge boom-mikes, cameras, and stands dispersed throughout the crowd and stationed near the back of the room. Peter took a seat in the stiff chair that has been set out for them, sitting in between his father and Mr. Stark. On the long table in front of them decorated with a draping white sheet sat three mics positioned accordingly,

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience and your cooperation here today," Pepper started with a smile. Her pristine white outfit contrasted the fiery auburn color of her hair, tied back neatly into a ponytail that brushed against her back. The sharp chuttering of cameras filled the room. "As I'm sure you all already know, my name is Pepper Potts. I am the CEO of Stark Industries and am happy to be here at the invitation of Richard Parker."

She gestured towards the table, his father giving a smile and a wave to the cameras, as calm and composed as if he were simply greeting a group of school children.

"I will turn things over to him in a moment, but before I do, I would just like to establish some ground rules."

Peter could feel his knee starting to bounce underneath the table, the movement stiff and robotic. His hands were shaking. He resisted the urge to sit on them.

"This is nobody's first conference. We all know how this works. If you have a question, you wait to be called on, same old procedures. Nothing new." Pepper's gaze turned just a tad stricter, her voice losing none of its professionalism. "However, I would like to make it know that there is a minor in our presence today."

Eyes shifted over to him. He tensed, felt his back stiffen and his leg still.

"As such, if we could keep this conference and any potential questions PG in nature, please."

Richard cleared his throat. The eyes shifted away. "Yes, If you could all restrain yourselves from corrupting my boy until he's old enough to drive, that would be very much appreciated."

A murmur of chuckles. It did little to mask the sound of shuttering cameras or the sound of Peter's stuttering heart.

Pepper nodded and let a warm smile fall onto her face. She gave Peter a quick glance, long enough for the boy to realize the smile was meant for him. "Thank you for your understanding. Now, without further ado, Richard Parker."

His father scooted his chair closer to the microphone situated before him, clearing his throat once again as he smiled. When he spoke, his voice was warm and melodious, a comforting tone that eased the tension just a tad.

It was unnerving. Peter wasn't familiar with it.

"I'd like to extend my thanks on behalf of myself, my son, and my associate, Tony Stark, to you all for taking the time to attend this little meeting of ours. Our hope today is that this will clear up any misconceptions that have arisen in the past couple of weeks."

He folded his hands together in front of the microphone, leaning in just a tad closer. "So, as I'm sure you all know, Mr. Stark and I have been in close contact over the past two months, mainly in regards to my son, Peter."

They were staring at him again. He tried not to count the number of reporters, even though he already knew the number by heart. Distantly, he remembered Mr. Stark telling him that the size of the conference would be vastly smaller than usual. The idea of anything bigger made Peter's stomach churn.

His father continued. He tried to pay attention. "The reason behind these meetings is because Mr. Stark approached us to offer Peter an internship at Stark Industries."

More than a few hands raised at that. His father paid them no mind, however, as he continued on. "Mr. Stark explained to me the details regarding the matter and after considering it and discussing things over with my son, I ultimately decided to allow Peter to work alongside Mr. Stark, shadowing under his lead to learn about the field he's shown interest in for quite some time now."

Richard cleared his throat, his eyes growing sharper as he sat up straighter, shoulders squaring. "Understand that this matter was not a politically-fueled one. Never have I once considered, nor will I ever use my son for something as silly and inconsequential as some nonexistent rivalry and I resent any notions that suggest otherwise."

Peter stole a small glance over towards Mr. Stark. The man's face held no discernable emotion but the slight increase in his heart rate betrayed the anger that had no-doubtedly flared at his father's comment. The teen faced forward once more, caught a glimpse of the crowd, and quickly averted his gaze back to his folded hands. He tapped his thumbs together, tried to look as normal and as calm as he possibly could, which was no easy task considering each flash of a camera made him want to jolt in his seat and curl underneath the table.

How bad would it look if he actually did that?

Peter considered it longer than he probably should have.

Richard scanned his eyes over the crowd, most likely to let his words sink in before turning towards Tony. "Mr. Stark? Do you have anything you'd like to add?"

The billionaire gave a shrug and leaned back in his chair, draping one arm over the lip, looking fairly bored with the whole ordeal. "I think you summed everything up nice and neat, dear. Pete?"

Peter's eyes shot up. Mr. Stark gazed down at him casually, as if he hadn't just called his name in the middle of a live broadcast press conference. "Anything you wanna say?"

The teen stared at him, internally wondering if he was crazy, before hastily giving a frantic shake of his head. Mr. Stark didn't seem phased. "No? Then I think we're good," he said as he glanced over at Pepper.

The woman nodded and stood from her chair off to the side of the stage, returning to her place at the podium. "Very well then. We'll open the floor up for questions."

A sea of hands shot into the sky until Peter was sure that not one single reporter had their hand down. Richard took a moment before gesturing towards one particular man seated towards the front of the stage. "Mr. Stark, why did you approach Mr. Parker's son in the first place? Surely you had to have known that it would garner some suspicions."

Peter knew it was the first question they would ask. Mr. Stark had said as much.

Said man didn't seem too bothered, giving a little shrug of his shoulders as he leaned closer to the mic. "Well, to start off, I was fairly hesitant to even begin an internship program. So, when I did decide to open up an initial application process, my idea was to simply select a handful of applicants from the top of the list and have a trial run of sorts. However, when I went over the list of applications, there was only one that stood out above the rest and met my expectations."

The man shifted in his seat, gesturing slightly with his hand as the room flashed with camera after camera. "Now, the database of applicants that I collected was specifically designed to include no names, pictures, genders, or even dates of birth. Applicants provided the information, sure, but I didn't consider it while looking over everything. Didn't want it influencing my choice, even unconsciously."

The man let out a little humored scoff as he leaned back and folded his arms over his chest. "So, safe to say, I was fairly surprised when I finally learned that my number one applicant wasn't just eight years under the age limit we'd set, but also the son of my-" he lifted his hands and quoted the air. "-quote, unquote, competitor."

Peter hid his smirk. Richard took a drink of water to hide the way his eyes rolled.

"Still, I'd devised the redaction system to solely remove any biases." Tony rested his elbows against the table and thrummed his fingers against the surface. "I couldn't exactly just remove his application simply because of his last name, now could I?"

The reporter from before spoke again, eyes narrowed slightly. "So, it wasn't at all politically motivated?" He asked, none of his suspicions hidden in his voice.

"Not even a little bit." Tony sighed and rolled his eyes proudly for them all to see. "Look, if I thought the kid was working as a spy of some sort, I would have kicked him to the curb the second I got suspicious of something. But nothing even close has ever come up." He turned towards Richard. "At least, not on my end."

Peter's father shook his head. "Nothing here, either."

"There."

More hands went into the air. Tony scanned them before picking on a brunette near the back. "My question is related to that, then, but is for you, Mr. Parker."

"Go ahead."

The woman glanced down at her notebook for a moment before lifting her head again. "Why, when he approached you, did you agree to this arrangement? Weren't you at all concerned about what he could have potentially planned?"

Richard nodded solemnly. "Of course. I was concerned not only as CEO of Parkstem Labs, but as a father."

Peter resisted the urge to glance over at his father. He just kept his gaze bouncing around the room, never letting it linger on a single place for too long

"I've kept Peter as far from the public eye as I could because I didn't want something like this happening." The man gestured around the room. "For the most part, I wanted his life to be as normal as it could be. I wanted him to grow up the way he wanted to, not the way the media did. So...when we got this offer, I was skeptical. I was skeptical of the program and of who was offering it. So, this was not a decision I made lightly. We went through months of discussion and back and forth before I allowed my boy to even step foot in that building."

The man let a smile spread across his face, gentle and warm. "And now that he has, I do not regret my decision. Ultimately, it came down to my son's wellbeing. I believed this internship would be good for him and that's what my choice came down to."

His father reached over and draped a heavy hand onto his shoulder. Swallowing down his instincts to shift out of reach, Peter lifted his head to meet his father's piercing stare and gave the man a convincing smile.

(Convincing enough for the cameras, at least.)

Richard smiled back, chuckling softly as he patted his son's shoulders, repeating the action long enough for the cameras to snag a few photos before pulling away again. Peter shivered but retained his calm, casual look for the cameras to pick up.

Much to Peter's surprise, the conference quickly fell into a smooth rhythm of sorts. Reporters would ask questions, either for his father or Mr. Stark, and they would bounce around with it for a while before handing out a satisfactory answer, drawing out time, and hamming things up with the crowd. Thanks to Mr. Stark's and Pepper's deliberate selection process when deciding which reporters to allow in and which to bar at the door, no outrageous or insulting questions had arisen.

Thankfully, as more and more questions arose, each reporter seemed more interested in either his father or Mr. Stark than they did in him. Maybe if he were lucky, he'd be able to make it through the entire conference without having to answer a single question. And with each half-hour, with every chunk of time that was bitten off as the conference continued, that hope continued to grow.

By the halfway point, Peter was actually starting to get bored.

"How long has this program been in effect?"

"Two months. Maybe a little longer."

"How many interns do you now currently have?

"Still just the one. But we're opening up the application windows again so we can start growing the program for the summer."

He glanced over and briefly caught Mr. Stark's gaze. The man took a sip from his glass to hide the wink he sent Peter's way. The teen grinned and held in a little chuckle as he tuned back into the conference he was beginning to zone out of.

Another reporter was talking, male this time. "Mr. Stark. In 2010, your company ceased the use of any interns, outside consultants and massively limited the number of partnerships you engaged in with other companies. Coincidentally, this was right around the time of your business partner, Obadiah Stane's untimely death."

Mr. Stark's heartrate suddenly jolted out of rhythm. Peter blinked back into reality as his ears picked up on the out-of-tune noise and glanced over at him. His face hadn't changed, not even a twitch out of place. But his body language had shifted. His shoulders were stiffer and he was sitting a little straighter now. The boy furrowed his brows slightly. The reporter continued.

"In other words, your company has, for the longest time, retained a status of internal networking to bypass the potential for any spies, undercover operatives, anything like that. So...why now have you decided to completely throw that out the window to start up a new internship program, specifically with the probationary position being held by the son of your top competitor?"

For a second - longer than it had taken either him or his father to answer anything - Mr. Stark said nothing. Peter watched him carefully, not too blatant for the reporters and cameras to pick up, but enough for him to notice the way the man's hand went to brush up against his wrist, pushing and prodding the area tenderly as if it were sore. Peter heard his father's chair scuff against the floor as he turned towards the other billionaire as well, apparently interested in his answer.

Finally, Mr. Stark took a breath, released some of the tension that had suddenly built up in him. He leaned against the table and shrugged. "Figured it was time for a change."

Reporters stared eagerly, pens ready and waiting to write. Richard's eyes narrowed slightly, perhaps out of intrigue. Peter just kept watching him, listened to his heartbeat slowly fall back into beat.

"Look, there's plenty of kids out there like Peter who have the brains, just...not a lot of places to show them off. Not a lot of opportunities to use them to their fullest potentials. I want to change that. And what better place to start than in my own company?" The man glanced around the room for a moment before his eyes fell on Peter. He paused for a moment before leaning back in his chair. "And as for who Peter is, well as I've stated numerous times before...I just don't care all that much. Doesn't change what he can do."

He glanced at the kid one last time and gave him a little smirk. It was, by all means, casual to the cameras. But Peter saw what was behind it. And he couldn't help but smile back.

"And he can do a lot."

It wasn't a surprise to him anymore. After months of trying to pound it into the boy, Peter finally understood on some level why Tony kept him so close, his reasoning behind all of it. Spider-Man, Berlin, the internship, his father, they were all components, key parts to the man's decision. But they weren't his real reason. Peter could understand it all just a little better now.

Still, hearing it out loud, hearing him say it for millions to hear, for millions to confirm, it made it just a little more real, made it that much easier to believe.

Peter smiled, glanced down to watch his thumbs tap together again. Everything was going perfectly fine. What had he been so worried about anyway?

"I have a question for Peter."

Right.

Instantly jolting in his seat, the boy whipped his head up towards the crowd, wide eyes scanning for the new voice that had spoken. He noticed her sitting off to the side, a pretty woman with long blonde hair and a perceptively piercing gleam in her eyes. Off to the side, he heard Mr. Stark huff a curse under his breath, muttering something or other about how this particular woman had gotten in. Did he know her or something?

Quickly losing any and all confidence he'd acquired from the man's earlier statement as he felt eyes on him once again, Peter instinctively looked to him for help. Mr. Stark blinked down at him for a second, looking momentarily lost, as if something had thrown him off. Was it the woman? Who was she anyway? Still, the man shook it off and gave the boy an encouraging nod, grabbing the teen's mic and angling it down for him to speak.

Peter leaned away from it for a second, staring down at the intimidating structure before swallowing thickly. He could do this. They'd prepped for this. He could do this. Slowly, he moved forward, getting as close to the mic as his brain would allow, which wasn't very close at all. He cleared his throat, wincing as he heard himself on the speakers.

"...U-um...y-y...y-yes?"

God, help him.

The woman didn't seem as all moved by the boy's struggles to speak as she delved right into her question. "Mr. Parker, when you received news of your acceptance into the Stark Industries Internship program, were you shocked?"

He licked his lips, curled his fingers into his palm to try and stop his hands from shaking. "Um...I-" he must have leaned in too closely, for the mic let off a loud whine of feedback. Everyone winced, Peter more so. He glanced back over at Mr. Stark, who, once again, gave him an encouraging nod.

"S-sorry. But, um...yeah. I guess."

"How did you send in your application? Mr. Stark explained before that the log-in system is blocked for any users under the age of 22."

Had he just said that? He really should have been paying attention. Still, they were nothing if not prepared. He sent a silent prayer of thanks towards Pepper and Rhodey for the mock questions they'd thrown at him the week prior in their haste to prep, the rehearsed words weighing heavy on his tongue

"Right, well I uh...I m-maybe, sorta...h-hacked in."

Thankfully, Tony took that opportunity to save them from his mediocre performance, jumping right in and stealing all eyes away from the boy beside him. "Like I said, people. I chose him for a reason. And I gotta say, hacking into our database is a pretty good initial interview." He paused for a moment before awkwardly clearing his throat. "But, uh...that's not an invitation for anybody else to give it a shot. Seriously. Just don't. Takes a lot of work to put those firewalls back up."

Another murmur of chuckles rippled through the room. Peter breathed a deep sigh of relief, casting a thankful glance his mentor's way, who responded with a smirk of his own. That hadn't been...terrible. At least not as bad as he had thought. Maybe-

"You must have been pretty determined to get your application in if you were willing to go that far."

Both Peter and Tony jolted as the voice continued. The woman had yet to sit down. Instead, her eyes were as sharp as ever, face hard and calculated as she held her notebook tightly in her hand, a small smile of sorts on her face. It was slightly unnerving. "How come?"

Peter hesitated for a moment, racked his brain to try and remember if that had been a practice question they'd gone over during their rehearsal week. He couldn't remember now. It must not have been. But maybe he could still work with it. It didn't seem too difficult.

"Well-"

But the woman apparently wasn't done yet.

"Or, better question: why did you send in your application in the first place? Surely you had to have known there was a possibility you would get chosen. And if so...why choose to apply to Stark Industries, specifically?"

Whatever he'd been planning on saying died in his throat. Peter didn't know how to answer that. He felt his heartbeat starting to quicken. He didn't know what to say. She spoke again, but somehow, Peter already knew where it was going.

His stomach churned.

"Your father runs one of the most successful manufacturing industries in the entire nation. There are countless opportunities here for you to learn all under the guidance of your own father, a decorated and world-renowned scientist and inventor. But you chose not to. You chose to completely forgo that option despite the fact that it was right at your fingertips."

What was he supposed to say? What was he not supposed to say? What were they expecting him to say? What was his father expecting him to say? He didn't know. He hadn't prepared for this. His chest tightened and his fingernails began to dig into his palms as his breathing shortened. He could hear Mr. Stark shifting in his chair. Mr. Stark...the man had said everything would be fine. So why was she asking this? Why couldn't he say anything anymore? What was happening?

"So...why choose your father's top competitor? Why, out of all the other capable and credible industries in the nation, or even in this city alone, did you apply to the one that has the most direct competition with Parkstem Labs, the one that threatens your father's company the most?"

He didn't want this. He didn't want to do this anymore. He wanted to stop this now. He wanted her to stop.

"I guess what I'm trying to ask is...why did you decide to turn against your own father?"

("Would you ever betray me, Peter?")

And suddenly, without warning, all the air in the world was gone.

The edges of the room faded away, shadows encroaching around the walls, hazing the image, distorting the crowd. Everything was starting to spin, tilting out of line, curling in on itself. He could hear the cameras still, louder than ever, hear them clicking, hear them clicking in his ears-

-clicking like a belt-buckle being unfastened, looped and brandished, ready for use, ready for whipping. The cameras stung, shuttered louder with each slash, with each blow they moved closer, flashing before his eyes, bright, beautiful colors, wings of different sizes, shapes, hues.

He could feel sand pressing against his face, hot and coarse and rough, sticking to the blood dripping down his cheek, sticking to the tears slipping down his face. The cameras, the lights, they were crawling along his arms. He could hear their wings beating against his ears, fluttering all around him.

"I think I can answer this-"

"Actually Mr. Stark, I'd like to hear from Peter."

He could feel his father looming over him, a suffocating presence that pressed him into the ground, crushed his chest beneath his feet, pressed his spine into the dirt. He could feel his breath against the back of his neck, hot and muggy, making his skin bubble in the heat.

He wasn't betraying him, right? Not really? He couldn't be. No, there was no way. He would never. He could never. His father would never allow it. He would have been dead already, right? It would have already happened? His father knew this, knew he wasn't betraying him. Peter would never. He would never. He would never betray him. He would never betray him. He knew that. His father knew that. His father had to know that!

Where was everybody? Where was Mr. Stark? They were gone. He was alone, alone with him, as it always had been. As it always would be. He was alone, he was back in the parking lot. There was nobody around, nobody on the streets, nobody at their windows. There was nobody to see, nobody to help, nobody to stop it. He was alone. He was alone and his father wasn't. His father was never alone. He had eyes everywhere, ears everywhere else. He was everywhere. There was nowhere he could go that his father would not see him, nowhere he could hide where he would not be found.

He couldn't escape, couldn't escape the Dark Room, couldn't escape the parking lot, couldn't escape now.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this. He couldn't-

"Breathe."

On instinct, he sucked in a breath, realized it had been a while since he had, for it rushed into his lungs in a relieving gasp of air. He didn't think, didn't think about the voice or how he could hear it. He just kept listening.

"Breathe. Breathe. It's okay. You're okay."

Was he okay? Was he breathing? Who was speaking?

"You're okay. Everything's alright."

Mr. Stark. He knew that voice. It was Mr. Stark. Why was Mr. Stark talking to him? Why was Mr. Stark in the parking lot? Could anybody else hear him?

Slowly, Peter blinked back into reality. The room reappeared, faded back into view as the darkness slowly dissipated from the edges of his sight. The reporters were back. They didn't look fazed. How much time had passed? Nobody looked concerned...had it only been a few seconds? Had it really not been longer than a lifetime?

"Peter..."

Mr. Stark was talking. But nobody else could hear? Nobody else without supersenses, apparently.

He didn't look over at the man as he discretely whispered under his breath to the panicking boy by his side. "It's alright. It's okay. I'm right here."

Gently, Peter felt something brush up against his wrist, fingers carefully tapping against his arm, pulling him from whatever fog he'd been drowning in.

Without a second thought, without a moment's hesitation, Peter whisked his hand underneath the table and wrapped his fingers around Mr. Stark's palm, securing it tightly, ensuring the man couldn't disappear, ensuring he couldn't fade away in a whirl of butterflies like last time.

No...this time, he was here. He was real.

Peter felt the man jolt slightly at the sudden movement, but he didn't pull his hand out of the boy's grasp. Instead, he carefully wrapped his own fingers around the boy's shivering hand, carefully rubbing his thumb against the back of the kid's hand, grounding him, steadying him.

"You're okay. It's okay. I'm right here."

Mr. Stark was here. He was right there.

"You can do this."

Peter stared out into the crowd.

Hundreds of eyes stared back at him, sixty-plus pairs, each of them ready and waiting to hear what he had to say. What did he have to say?

. . .

. . .

. . .

What did he want to say?

Slowly sucking in a deep breath, Peter carefully leaned into the microphone. He maintained his grip on Mr. Stark's hand, hidden underneath the table, hidden from any prying eyes.

He could do this.

Mr. Stark believed he could.

(Trust him.)

. . .

Ever so slowly, he reached his other hand into his pocket and pulled out the coin.

"S-sorry. I, uh...I've never done this s-sort of thing before so it's...it's a little scary. You're...a little scary." He paused. "No offense."

They laughed. They actually...laughed, and not...at him. Peter hesitated for a moment before he gave his own little nervous chuckle.

They settled, focused back on him, back on whatever it was he would choose to say.

...He had to make it count.

"Well, um...it's no secret who I am. M-my dad's one of the most...famous people in the world and t-that's...awesome." He smiled, giving a little shake of his head. He noticed a few reporters smiling at him. He tried not to look at any of them as he took another breath, long and deep.

"And sometimes...it isn't."

They were quiet. Nobody was talking over him. Nobody was ignoring him. They were actually...listening. It felt strange. He fiddled with the coin.

"Don't get me wrong, I...I love everything my dad does, a-all the people he helps with his tech, all the things he does to help...everyone. It's all amazing. Everyone...e-everyone knows his name. And that means everyone knows my name...at least...m-my last name."

His father was watching him. Mr. Stark was watching him too. Neither of them said anything either.

"I'm known as...as Richard Parker's son. That's...that's who I am to you all. There are worse things to be, I know. I-I'm honored to have that title." He swallowed, glanced down at the table. "But there are days where...I don't want a title. I-I don't want the ties that come from being Richard Parker's son. There are days where...w-where I don't want to be...just that. I want to be more. I want to be myself, known as myself. Not my father's son. Just...me."

The words were flowing easier now, as was his heartbeat. Slowly, he slipped his hand out of Mr. Stark's grasp. The man didn't make a move to stop him, just moved his own hand away as Peter shifted in his seat, straightening his back just a little more. When he spoke again, his voice was louder. His eyes were clearer. He used both hands to play with the coin now, passing it back and forth between his fingers, rolling it along his palm.

"So, yeah. I...I sent in that application. I didn't really think about it, I just...did it. I did it for me. I didn't expect to get chosen cause I thought...I thought Mr. Stark would see Richard Parker's son trying his hand to get at his secrets and reject me right off the bat." He paused, glanced down at his hands for a moment, flexed his fingers. His palms were warm. "But he didn't."

He lifted his gaze to stare at them all again. "He didn't see that. He didn't see that title, just...my work. The things I can do as...myself."

. . . . .

The TV echoed throughout the old, run-down house, Peter's voice carrying with it as May, Ned and MJ sat on the edge of their seats, glued to the screen as he spoke.

"I was surprised. And...a little scared. I didn't know what was going to happen. I don't think he did either, to be honest. But we just...did it. Because we wanted to, because I wanted to. And that's...all there is to it. There isn't anything other than that, no political agenda or...or hidden message. I know that might be hard to believe but...it's true.

. . . . .

Mr. Delmar cranked up the volume dial on the radio as he leaned up against the front deli counter. The rest of his regulars, along with Rosa and Murray, listening on in a silence that was uncharacteristically strange for the usually-bustling bodega.

"Here, at Parkstem, I know I could learn a lot, could help a lot. It's...it's incredible. it's an incredible place. But I know that every time I walk through these halls, people...people will see my father. They won't know my first name. Just my last.

. . . . .

"I wanted something more than that. Maybe that's selfish...if it is, then I'm sorry. I know I've been given a lot. I...have more opportunities at my fingertips than most people get in their lifetimes. I understand that. I know it's a privilege and I'm grateful for all of it."

Danny pressed the cigarette back into his mouth as he watched the mounted TV. The shelter was unusually quiet for this time in the morning, but the boy didn't really mind. He puffed out a ring of smoke, finishing it off with a grin as he watched the screen.

. . . . .

"It's just...I don't want to go through life wondering if I deserve everything I've been given. People hear my name and they immediately assume things about me, assume because they know who Richard Parker is, that I'll be the same. But I'm not. I know I'm not.

The warehouse was silent. Nobody said anything, not even Clint, who was just as enraptured as the rest of the team, all eyes on the flickering screen.

Steve remained silent as he watched the boy, watched Tony. His fingers tapped melodiously against his leg, brows furrowed as his mind reeled.

If Natasha heard the gears in his head turning, she didn't let it on.

. . . . .

Peter let out a small breath, letting his eyes work over the crowd as he spoke. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to live up to my father. With everything he does...all these amazing things...I doubt it. And here...at Parkstem, I know I'd never be able to forget it."

He smiled. Surprisingly, it wasn't forced or strained like before. If felt natural, it felt right. He ran his fingertips over the edges of the coin. "But at Stark Industries, my name means...nothing. Nobody calls me Mr. Parker, not even Mr. Stark. He just calls me Peter." He could feel the man's eyes on him, felt them pushing him forward. "I don't have to live up to anything there. I just have to be...myself."

Peter sighed, hesitated for a moment of thought before lightly shrugging his shoulders, the tension gone. "I guess that's why I applied. Cause I wanted people to know my name. My real name."

No hands went into the air as he finished. Nobody stood from their seats to ask any questions. For a brief, fleeting moment, all was quiet in the room. Finally, one man shifted in his seat, cleared his throat softly before he spoke.

"And? What do you think of the program?" He shrugged. "Was it worth it?"

Peter stared down at him for a second, letting the question ring around in his head. He fiddled with his fingers, glanced down at them for a moment before stealing a small look over towards Mr. Stark. The man was gazing at him with a bright gleam in his eyes, something akin to pride reflecting back at him.

Peter grinned and faced forward once more, voice loud and confident, without waver, without pause, without delay...

"Without a doubt."

 


 

Tuesday - May 10, 2016

Port Morris Riverside Storage - Warehouse 2B

10:57 AM

"I'm going out."

The rest of the team started out of their thoughts at Steve's sudden proclamation, the group watching with wide eyes as he began to make his way towards the exit.

"What?"

"I'll be back later." Without another word, he was already out the door. Natasha blinked for a moment, casting a small glance behind her at her baffled teammates before quickly chasing after the man, leaving the rest of the team to stare after them in silence, the faded noise of the conference winding down on the TV echoing around the room.

Natasha pushed the rusted door open, heard it slam against the wall as she stepped out and whipped her head around, hair twisting around her neck as she scanned the area. She noticed a sliver of the man disappearing around the back of the building. Narrowing her eyes as her jaw set, she marched over.

The early morning sun had risen, nearing its mid-day peak above their heads. But it still did little to mask the strong smell of the waters beside them, or of the faded scent of the rusted metal ironworks around them.

She rounded the corner of the building and found Steve already preparing his motorcycle, pulling it away from the wall and readjusting the handles as he prepped to get on. "Steve. Steve, wait a minute."

He didn't even acknowledge her.

Natasha held in a growl and stalked forward, slamming her hands down on the handles as she stood in front of his way, his head finally lifting to meet her piercing gaze.

"Hey. What the hell do you think you're doing, Rogers?"

Steve stared at her, and for a moment, Natasha was caught off guard. There was something about the look in his eye...something strange. It wasn't hostile, or violent. It wasn't even sad, nothing close to the look she'd been seeing on his face for the past two months. This was...something else. She couldn't put her finger on it. It was...new.

The soldier took a breath, let it out slowly. "Please get out of my way, Natasha." His voice wasn't angry. It was calm, composed. Somehow it annoyed her even more.

"No. Not until you tell me what the hell is going on. Where are you going? What's..." She cut herself off, swallowing thickly as she took a deep, calming breath. She exhaled slowly, shutting her eyes for a moment as she focused on regaining control of her emotions. She blinked and met Steve's gaze once more.

"What aren't you telling me?"

For a moment, Steve didn't say anything. He stared back at her, jaw tensing. It looked as though he wanted to speak, but whenever he'd get close, he would turn away, eyes drifting off to the side. Natasha gazed at him silently. Slowly, she reached out a hand and placed it on his shoulder.

"Steve...?"

Finally, he pulled away, pulled out of her grip, and stepped back. When he spoke again, his voice was firmer. "Natasha, in all the years I've known you, I've never once pried into you or the things you weren't comfortable with, never strayed over the line you established for me." He stared at her, eyes hard. "Do me a favor and extend me the same courtesy."

He straddled the bike. Natasha stepped out of the way, watching him with wide eyes. "Steve-"

"I'll be back by tonight." He started up the engine and revved it up loudly, the noise reverberating around the lot. She watched him carefully, watched as he shut his eyes and didn't take off right away. Instead, he gazed back up at her, spoke in a low tone of voice that barely carried over the humming of the bike

"I promise I'll explain everything eventually. Just...not now. Not yet."

She stared at him, straightening her back as her eyes narrowed. She felt her fingers twitching by her sides, itching to curl into fists. "You've been saying that for months now. How long until you actually mean it?"

Steve said nothing. He watched her for a moment longer before turning forward once more, twisting the handles and kicking off of his back foot. She watched him drive off, hair swishing in the breeze left behind.

For a while, Natasha just stood there, stood and watched, listened to the sounds of the pier, the sounds of the city far off in the distance, far off and out of reach.

 


 

Tuesday - May 10, 2016

Parkstem Labs - Conference Hall 1A

11:35 AM

The sound of reporters calling after them echoed in Peter's ears as he followed his father out the doors. The halls outside the conference room were thankfully empty, leading out into the grand lobby further down the stretch. Richard said nothing as they walked further away from the room, further away from the noise they'd left behind. He had requested that Pepper and Mr. Stark finish up the conference without them, saying how he'd wanted to check up on his son to make sure he was okay away from the noise and drama of the reporters.

Mr. Stark had looked hesitant to leave Peter alone with his father, but a reassuring glance from the boy as well as the looming thought that said decision wasn't optional, the billionaire had watched Peter leave through the doors with his father.

Of course, now that Mr. Stark wasn't there to act as a buffer of sorts, Peter felt much more exposed despite the fact that the halls were empty and it was only one pair of eyes on him now. Suddenly, his father stopped. Peter stumbled to a halt right behind him, fiddling with his hands as he watched the man turn.

Richard gazed over his son's head at the doors they'd left behind, eyes seeming to scan the empty halls for any signs of prying eyes or listening ears. Seemingly satisfied, he finally turned his eyes down towards Peter.

For a moment, the man said nothing, just stared at him with his calculating gaze. Peter hesitantly met his gaze, face tense, and posture stiff as he waited for the man's assessment, waited for his judgment.

He held his breath.

Finally,

"Good job."

Richard turned away without another word, pulled out his phone, and began to type something out. Peter didn't really watch him, didn't focus on his movements. Instead, his wide eyes stared at nothing in particular, jaw falling ever so slightly as he blinked in the silence. Hesitantly, a smile began to spread across his face, chest blooming with a bright flash of joy as he gazed back at his father with a bright gleam in his eyes.

He noticed someone approaching from the end of the hall, a man he didn't recognize with a file in his hands. "Mr. Parker," he called, his father lifting his head away from his phone as he caught sight of the newcomer. He let out a little grunt, lifting a hand to Peter. "Stay here," he instructed before walking off, leaving the boy alone in the middle of the hall.

But not for long.

"Kid!"

Peter jolted as another new voice reached his ears. He turned just in time to see Mr. Stark advancing towards him, Pepper and Happy close behind on his heels. The man had a huge grin on his face, arms spread wide as he scoffed.

"Are you kidding me right now? That was fantastic."

Peter could only stare as the man grabbed his shoulders and began to shake him. He couldn't help the laugh that bubbled past his lips as his sneakers squeaked against the floor. "I cannot believe it, you were incredible!"

Pepper came up behind him, smiling brightly at him. "Peter, you were amazing, sweetie. You did so well."

"I mean, you had them eating out of the palm of your hand."

"You handled everything perfectly, honey."

"Speechless. You literally left them speechless. I only ever do that when I'm drunk and end up falling off the stage."

"Don't give him any ideas."

"Please! He doesn't need any advice from me. Kid's already a bonafide professional."

Peter's head swiveled back and forth between the two of them as they spoke, cheeks blushing as he lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck. "I...I don't even know what I was saying up there," he mumbled with a little smile, glancing down towards the ground. He didn't really know how to react to the praise. It was...new.

Tony grinned down at him, taking his sunglasses and resting them on Peter's face. The boy laughed as the man pushed them further up the bridge of his nose. "Well, wherever it came from, they lapped it up big time."

Happy pulled out his phone, lifting it into the air for them to see. "There are already updates online about it. People are loving you."

Peter stared at him, a dumbfounded look spreading across his face. "Seriously?"

Pepper smiled. "You're surprised?"

"Well-"

Tony scoffed and waved his hand. "Come on! What did I tell you? All you had to do was flash those puppy-dog eyes of yours and they'd be putty in your hands." He nudged the boy with his elbow, Peter chuckling as he stumbled a bit. "See? Told ya you could trust me."

The teen paused, let the words ring around in his head for a moment. He stared up at Mr. Stark through the yellow-tinted glass, which did little to hide the excited look on the man's face. He took a breath, let it out slowly as he shuffled his weight back and forth between his feet, bringing his hand up to take off the glasses. He glanced down at them for a moment before his smile returned.

"Yeah..."

Footsteps.

He lifted his head just in time to watch his father approaching. Quickly handing Mr. Stark his glasses back, he straightened his posture and faced the man as he walked up. Richard smiled and gently clapped his hands together. "Well, Mr. Stark. I think we can officially call this a success. I did say as much, didn't I?"

Peter glanced over towards Tony. The man regarded his father for a moment before letting a cool smile onto his face, stiffer than the one he'd given Peter but fairly convincing nonetheless. "Right. Of course."

Without warning, Peter felt a hand on his shoulder once more, pulling him backward. He stumbled a bit before righting himself, Mr. Stark's hand remaining tight in its grip on him. "Well, Mr. Parker, you wouldn't mind if I take Peter off your hands for a while, would you? To celebrate?"

Peter stiffened, eyes darting back over to his father. Over his shoulder, he could feel Pepper and Happy closing in around them, standing closer to both him and Tony as they faced off against the man in front of them. Mr. Stark's grip tightened a bit on his shoulder. Peter remained still, kept his eyes on his father's face.

Richard said nothing for a moment. Instead, he let his eyes gaze over each of them, scanning them up and down in silence. The once-jovial air had quickly and suddenly turned tense, Peter listening to each of their hearts increasing in speed as they stared at one another, except for his father's of course. His father's heart never sped up. It already remained the same, a steady, constant thrumming, heavy and loud in his ears.

He felt his fingers twitching at his sides. He resisted the urge to fiddle with them, resisted the urge to curl them into a fist.

Finally, Richard sniffed, giving a dismissive wave of his hand as he turned away. "I'm in a good mood. You do what you want." He glanced over his shoulder at Peter, who held in his sigh of relief as he felt the man's eyes land back on him. "Just be home by 8."

"Yes, sir."

With that, Richard gave them all a parting nod before heading off in the direction of the most noise, most likely to talk to the mass of reporters outside still drooling for more news. He heard Tony's small sigh of relief as the man left, his hand slipping off of Peter's shoulder as he turned to face the group. "Perfect. I know a great little restaurant just down the road with easy access to a back-door escape alley should the need arise."

Happy nodded. "I'll bring the car around."

"I'll come with you."

Pepper and Happy quickly departed, leaving the two boys alone with each other once more.

Peter lifted his eyes towards the man as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, breathing out a deep, long sigh of relief. It was clear that Peter wasn't the only one who was relieved that the conference was finally over. Tony glanced down at him and threw him a warm smile that Peter graciously returned.

The teen suddenly jolted, glancing down. "I almost forgot. " He reached his hand down and began to rummage through his pocket before quickly pulling out the coin. He let it sit in his palm for a moment, letting his eyes trace over the details one last time as it stared back at him. Silently, he held out his hand, held it out back towards its owner.

Tony stared down at it, seemed to think about something because he said nothing for a few seconds. Finally, when he lifted his gaze back up, he was smiling again. "You know what? Why don't you hold on to it for me? Wouldn't wanna horde all that luck for myself."

Peter blinked up at him before turning his eyes back onto the coin. There wasn't a whole lot about it, in all honesty. It was nice to look at, but there's wasn't much else besides that. And yet, hearing the man say he could keep it for a little while longer made him feel strangely happy. He smiled and slipped it into his pocket once more.

Tony seemed satisfied by the kid's grin, for he chuckled and looped an arm around Peter's shoulder as they began to make their way down the hall. "You continue to surprise me, Mr. Parker."

Peter scoffed humorously, glancing down at the ground as they walked towards the back exit of the building. "That makes two of us."

Tony lowered his head to look at him. "You should give yourself some more credit, you know? I wasn't just pandering to the crowd back there. I did mean everything I said to them, about why you're my intern." He paused for a moment, facing forward once more. "It's not just because of...you know?"

Peter shifted his eyes from the floor over to the man's face for just a second before facing forward as well. He smiled. "Yeah. I know." He fiddled with his fingers again. "Thanks."

Tony said nothing in response, content to just walk in the silence apparently. Peter didn't mind. After sitting in a room of shuttering cameras and dozens upon dozens of pens clicking, heart beating, and shoes tapping against floors, it felt nice to just walk in silence, listening to nothing in particular.

In fact, it wasn't until they were nearing the back of the building that Tony finally spoke once again.

"Oh, by the way, once we get to the restaurant, it gives us the perfect opportunity to start going over how we're gonna set up your room."

The teen furrowed his brows with a confused smirk. "My room?"

"Yeah, at the tower."

Peter stuttered in his step. The man continued on uninterrupted.

"I guess I could always just set you up with one of the guest rooms, Lord knows I got a ton of them. But if you're going to be staying long-term, might as well give it a personal spin, right?"

The boy shook his head, eyes wide and mouth agape. "Wait, wait. That's...this summer? It's actually happening?" He couldn't keep the dismay out of his voice, which had suddenly become strained.

"Yeah. I guess I did forget to mention it, huh? Well, anyway, I cleared it with your dad and everything, so we're good to go, kid."

His father. The pit in his stomach opened even further.

"He...he approved?" he whispered. He could feel the tips of his fingers starting to go numb. He stopped walking. This time, Tony did notice. The man turned back around, gazing at the boy with a confused furrow in his brows. "Well, he wasn't thrilled, but I managed to wear him down."

Peter said nothing. Instead, he turned his gaze to the floor, eyes flickering between the cracks, flickering in thought. This wasn't right. This wasn't supposed to happen. His father would never approve of something like this. Not in a million years. So, how-?

He jolted as a hand rested on his shoulder once again. He lifted his eyes and met Mr. Stark's gaze, who was now staring at him in slight concern.

"Hey...this is a good thing, right?" he asked softly.

Peter stared at him, took in a deep breath before letting a smile form back on his face. "No. Yeah, no. It is. It's great," he breathed, swallowing the bile that had suddenly formed in the back of his throat as he grinned back at the man. Tony hesitated for a moment before returning the smile, looping his arm back around Peter's shoulders as they began to walk once more.

Suddenly, his grip felt much heavier.

Without a word, Peter glanced back over his shoulder. He could still make out the main lobby, could see his father surrounded by reporters, all smiles and grins as he spoke, face warm.

The boy's smile slowly melted away as his eyes lingered on his father.

"It's...great."

 


 

"Let me guess. Bedbugs?"

Steve spared a small glance down towards the footlights before hesitantly walking further into the room. He moved slowly, warily, as if he wasn't sure he was supposed to be there. He probably wasn't.

"Honestly, I'm more used to bedbugs than I am million-dollar designer sheets." It felt strange to talk right now, foreign, like his mouth was moving without his brain's say-so.

"Please. Egyptian cotton barely goes for anything more than $700 bucks nowadays."

"Hmm, as good as garage then."

"Exactly."

He smiled. It was stiff, forced.

Tony wasn't dressed for bed. He was wearing jeans and a normal t-shirt, giving Steve the impression that the man hadn't even considered the possibility of calling it a night. There was a glass of scotch near his hand - untouched. He wondered for how long it would stay like that.

The billionaire swiveled in the chair so that he was now fully facing the man, folded his leg overtop the other, and rested his elbow on the counter. "Something wrong?" His tone was casual, not invasive at all. Still, Steve couldn't help the small prickle that ran up his arms, like the man was staring right through his defenses.

"No. Not really. Just.."

("You know me.")

("No, I DON'T!")

"...couldn't sleep."

Tony nodded, glanced back down towards his glass. "Course."

Suddenly feeling the need to get the focus away from himself, Steve shuffled on his feet. "What about you?"

The billionaire shrugged his shoulders and threw him a lopsided smirk. "Don't you know? Inspiration's business hours are usually between one and five in the morning. Not including holidays, of course."

There was that snark again. He wondered if Tony could ever have a simple conversation without it. He didn't bother in pointing out the fact that the man wasn't in his lab, either.

"Right. Then where's Pepper?"

"California. Working with the company I seem to keep forgetting I have."

Steve shrugged. "Well, you're a busy guy."

"Maybe that line will work better coming from you."

They both chuckled softly at that, the sound scratching against Steve's ear in an almost pleasant way. Tony smiled and softly rapped his knuckle against the counter. "You know, I'm not used to having much company on these little late-night breaks of mine."

Sensing his unwarranted presence might not be too appreciated, Steve reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, glancing behind him at the hall he'd come from. "Sorry. I can leave if you-"

Tony whipped his hand up and shook his head. "No." He paused for a moment, exhaled a sharp breath as he flicked his eyes towards the ground as his face took on an awkward look. "I, uh...I didn't mean that I...you can stay if you want. I'm not a landlord here."

This time it was Steve's turn to feel awkward. "This is your place, though. I'm just an...unexpected intrusion."

Tony's lips pulled into a firm line and he raised an unfazed brow. "Cap, I've had rooms for all of you guys installed up here since 2012." The soldier couldn't help but blink in surprise at that as the man continued, spreading his arms out to gesture around the empty room. "You're not intruding on anything. Neither would the others if, you know...they ever decided to stay."

Steve said nothing as Tony turned away, fingers running around the rim of the scotch glass that still sat untouched on the counter. He wasn't used to seeing the billionaire like this, so...unguarded. Usually when they crossed paths, Tony was the sheer persona of confidence, owning every room he walked into, only showing people what he wanted to show them. But now, this late at night, his defenses weren't as ready as usual, his typical aura of snippy cockiness wasn't prepped and aimed.

Living in the tower as he now was, Steve was finally beginning to see a side of Tony Stark that he had never seen before. And he looked...blue. He looked like how Steve felt.

The soldier shuffled on his feet again and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "You know, Nat's still looking to rebuild her covers after she blew through all her old ones."

Tony glanced over at this.

"If she stayed here with you, or...with us-"

"She wouldn't have to." The billionaire jumped on immediately. He'd taken the bait. Steve continued.

"And Sam's been talking about how things seem much more boring in DC after the whole fiasco up there."

Tony huffed a chuckle. "Nothing's ever boring here."

Steve smiled and moved closer, grabbing the seat next to the billionaire. "I'll talk to them. Maybe they could get this tower looking a little livelier."

"I'm sure Bruce will be happy to have playmates again." Tony didn't look up, kept his eyes locked on the glass. Steve caught on nonetheless, shaking his head just a tad with a knowing smile.

"I'm sure he will."

He turned his head away, glanced over towards the large glass windows that made up the walls. The darkness of the living room only enhanced the bright lights that filtered in from the city below. Steve tapped his fingers against his leg.

Tap, long.

Pause.

Long, long.

Pause.

"Listen, Tony...I just wanted to thank you."

Tony waved a hand at that, clicking his tongue and tilting his head. "Ah, don't worry about all that stuff. Teammates, remember? This is like...a thing they do, right? Help each other out?"

Steve chuckled, rested his elbows against the counter. "Yeah. Something like that."

"Look at that. I'm already becoming a pro."

Tony got up from his seat, grabbed the glass of scotch, and moved over towards the sink. Steve watched as the man poured the liquid down the drain and started up the faucet.

("Accidents will happen.")

Steve's fingers paused in their movements, eyes flitting down to the counter. Teammates. That's what they were, they were teammates. And teammates wouldn't keep this secret. Tony had opened up his home to him, offered his help. Steve had to at least repay that with the truth. It was the least he could do.

("When history did not cooperate-")

His fingers began to curl, nails digging into his palms. Now was the perfect time. They were alone, nobody to overhear, nobody to see the fallout, no reporters to cash in. It was quiet and private. He had to tell him.

("-history was changed.")

He had to tell him. He had to tell him the truth. Tell him the truth. Tell him. Tell him!

"It's the noise."

Tony lifted his eyes and blinked at him, reaching down to turn the faucet off and place the glass on the drying rack. "What's that?" he called, running a towel over his knuckles.

"Why I couldn't sleep. It's...I...there's just...a lot of noise." His stomach churned. There was bile in his throat. He pushed it down. He pushed it all down, pushed it away to deal with later.

Meanwhile, Tony's face was pulling back into a grin of sorts. "Oh, sorry. Maybe I forgot to mention it, but there's a soundproofing feature built into each of the rooms. You just-"

"It's...not that kind of noise."

It wasn't the truth, at least not the right one. But it was something. He owed the man...something.

He knew Tony wasn't great with emotions, not even his own. He honestly didn't know what he was hoping to get out of his little confession other than guilt over not making the correct one and for a moment the billionaire just stared back at him, leaning up slightly against the counter. But whatever Steve had been imagining could not have prepped him for what the man said next.

"...You up for a road trip?"

 


 

Tuesday - May 10, 2016

Queens, NYC

11:48 PM

The city was asleep tonight.

The streets were empty, the lights dim, even the alleyways were barren and alone. Everything was calm, quiet, and peaceful.

And Peter could not be more annoyed at the fact.

The feeling of wind blowing past him was muted by the suit as the subway whisked past, the gears grinding and screeching as they flew by. He watched the lights of the train blending into the night as it skated along the tracks before finally ending, silently watching the caboose as it sped away. He wondered who was on the train tonight, wondered where they were going, what they were doing.

Were they happy? He hoped they were.

Peter supposed it was a selfish thought, wishing for crime on the streets tonight, hoping for chaos and misfortune if only to serve as a distraction from his swirling thoughts. But, damn it, he'd had a very long day. The least the universe could do for him was throw out a petty purse snatcher for him to hang with.

And yet, the city was quiet. There were no purse thieves, no bank robbers, not even a cat in a tree for him to save. He was not needed tonight.

He kicked his legs back and forth against the roof ledge he currently sat on, ears pricked for any signs of distress as they had been doing all night, only to hear nothing but silence. He sighed, glancing down at his hands as he simply listened to the sounds of his own breathing instead.

There was nobody tonight. Nothing but him and his thoughts...and his new trinket, of course.

He twisted the coin around his fingers, rolled it along his knuckles as it reflected the lights of the city across its golden surface. He found he strangely liked playing with the thing, liked holding it in his hands, liked twisting it around his fingers or brushing against the edges with his palm.

Lucky? Maybe not. But at least it was a nice thing to have nevertheless.

Still, as he fiddled with the coin, as he traced the edges with his fingers, Peter couldn't help but remember why he'd been hoping for some action on the streets tonight.

His thoughts were too loud.

Get over it, Parker. You knew this was happening. Deal with it.

And he had known it would happen, at least, he knew there was a possibility of it happening. But if he were being honest with himself, never in a million years would Peter have guessed that his father would agree to letting him live at Stark Tower for the summer.

God, even thinking about it felt so...weird.

School let out in a little more than a week. Summer would be here before he even knew it. Ten days for him to try and process what was about to happen, to try and make sense of something that had no trace of reason, no hint of logic.

What was his father thinking?

Never, not in the fourteen years that he'd been alive, had Peter ever stayed anywhere that wasn't his own house, never had he been out of the gaze of his father for longer than a few hours, sometimes a few days if the man had to travel for work. He'd never had sleepovers, not with Ned, not even with May, who lived right across the street. His father never allowed it, never let Peter stray from his grasp too far. It had always been a constant, always a rule he'd grown up with. Home was home, and there were no two ways about it.

So...how was this happening?

How could his father be alright with the idea of his son spending two months away from home, two months with his sworn rival, a man he couldn't despise more, two months out of his grasp, out of range, out of sight?

How could his father just...give him up so easily?

Peter swallowed thickly, kept running his fingers along the details of the coin. His father was one thing. But Mr. Stark...? Mr. Stark was a whole other problem.

How would the billionaire not get sick of him?

Things were different now. They saw each other for a few hours at a time. It was perfect, enough time to talk and hang out, and yet it still ended. Peter still left before he could get to being too much, before he could start grating on the man's nerves as he knew he eventually would. But now? Now Peter wouldn't leave. Peter would always be there, always be just around the corner.

He was a lot to deal with. His father said so, the Cons said so, he knew it was true. So...how long until Mr. Stark started to say it too?

Would he end up regretting taking Peter in? Would he end up regretting more? What if this messed everything up? What if this was the worst possible thing they could have done? What if this was a mistake, a big mistake, a huge mistake, the biggest mistake of his entire life that ended up ruining everything, ruining everything that he'd been hoping for, everything he'd grown to love, everything-

"Slow night?"

Peter lurched from his seat as his heart shrieked, coin leaping from his jolting hands as he all but fell off the side of the roof. He frantically scrambled along the wall, one hand sticking to the surface while the other reached out to catch the falling trinket. He sighed, tightened his hold on the coin, and quickly crawled back up the wall, flipping onto the roof of the building as he glared around, only to balk as he caught sight of who had spoken.

"What the-?"

"How you doing, Spider-Man?" Steve Rogers actually had the gall to look calm and casual, like this was the most normal thing in the world and not the most messed up scenario Peter could have possibly imagined in that moment.

He took half a second to curse the universe for just about the fifteenth time that night. He could practically hear it sneering at him in response.

He was happy his mask was in place, hiding the look of sheer incredulity smearing across his expression. "What the hell are you doing here!?" He practically shrieked as he stalked forward, careful not to get too close.

Steve Rogers sat against the ledge of the rooftop, feet resting against the top step of the fire escape he'd no doubtedly used to get up there. His clothing was casual, nothing insinuating any mission or job or real reason to be out loitering the streets of Queens. So what the hell?

As if reading the teen's mind, the man simply shrugged his shoulders. "I'm just checking in."

Peter narrowed his eyes behind the mask. "Why?

Steve furrowed his brow. "Cause I wanted to?"

"Why?"

"I...I don't know. Do I need a reason?"

"I would prefer one."

The man smiled, glanced away for a second as he stared out over the rooftop. Peter watched him, watched him sit so relaxed and content, the bastard. As if Peter weren't standing there with every muscle on edge, every nerve teeming with anticipation, every hair standing on end. Steve turned to look back at him. There was a trace of hesitance in his eyes that Peter couldn't care less about.

"I was...in the neighborhood. Figured I'd stop by to see how you're doing."

He scoffed. "Uh, no. No, no, no. We're not doing this. We're not acting like this is some normal thing." He gestured with his hands. "I know you don't care about the consequences of your actions, but I do. And the consequences of this will be supremely bad. I mean like, jail for the rest of my life, kind of bad." He waved his hands like he was trying to scare off a stray cat. "Now, shoo. Go away. Scram, before anybody sees you"

Steve didn't even bother looking around this time, simply gave the boy a gentle smile. "Nobody's around, son."

"That you know of!"

"That either of us knows of. We would have heard it if there were."

Peter opened his mouth to retort, only to pause as he realized the man was telling the truth. Even if Steve couldn't hear anything, Peter had super hearing too. The chances that both of them would somehow miss the sounds of any approaching onlookers were slim to none.

He fidgeted on his feet, gripped the coin in his fist tightly. "I...that...doesn't matter."

The Captain raised a brow, cocky smile still in place, begging to get slapped off. "Doesn't it?"

"No, it doesn't. Cause I don't want to see you!" Peter shouted, voice raising louder than necessary. It was fairly impressive the sudden anger he felt at just being in the soldier's presence. Or maybe he was just cranky. It had been a really, really long day that seemed to have no end in sight. "In case you've forgotten, I. Don't. Like. You. For a multitude of reasons that I shared the last time we met. And, correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't I punch you in the face last time, too?"

"That you did."

"Now to most people, that'd be a pretty good clue that we aren't compatible. But maybe that was just too subtle for you."

Steve sniffed. He didn't seem too bothered by what Peter was saying. Didn't even really act like he'd heard the teen at all. He scratched his chin, watched the clouds overhead breeze by for a moment of silence before facing him once more.

"So how are you? Been getting along alright?"

Peter faltered, blinking in stunned silence. "Wha- did you not hear the words that just came out of my mouth?"

"I did."

"Then why are we still talking?"

Steve didn't stop smiling. It was a gentle thing, not mocking or contemptuous, the sort of smile that said the man was just happy to be there. Peter, however, was not.

"I saw you on TV."

"I-" Peter faltered, forgot whatever it was he'd been lining up to say. He hesitated, glanced around for a second before cocking a brow behind the mask. "You did?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah. You were really good."

Peter remained silent for a second, mainly because he was focusing on squashing down the sudden feeling of pleasure that had risen at the man's compliment. His words meant nothing to him. Nothing. And that included his praise.

"Well...that...t-that doesn't change anything. I still don't have anything to say to you, so I suggest you leave before something bad happens."

Steve lifted a brow. "Is that a threat?" Strangely enough, his tone of voice didn't sound at all threatened. He hadn't even tensed up at the boy's comment, just kept sitting there like he hadn't a care in the world.

Peter huffed and folded his arms over his chest. "No. But something bad always happens. More specifically, bad things happen when you're around. Now go away." His voice was firmer this time. He was done with this...whatever it was.

The captain didn't make a move to follow in his request, however. Instead, he just stared at the boy, watching him with those bright blue eyes of his that made Peter squirm under their earnest gleam. "I just want to talk." And the sound of his voice, the sheer gentle quality of kindness had Peter curling his fists tighter, but he hadn't the slightest clue as to why.

"Look, I know this might be a shock to you, but the world doesn't revolve around what you want, Captain, and I certainly don't have to bend my schedule to your demands." His voice was harsh as he growled before suddenly spinning around on his heel as he began to march towards the edge of the roof. "I'm leaving. Feel free to stay here and get arrested."

. . .

. . .

"Peter. Please."

He paused. He didn't want to, but he paused.

"Just for a bit."

There was something new in the Captain's voice, a tone that hadn't been there before. It was subtle, but Peter's ears still twitched as they caught the quiet hints of it. Whatever it was, it was enough to stop him right at the edge of the roof, muscles tensed and body poised to leap off and swing into the night, forget the encounter and go on with the rest of his night.

He heard no footsteps. Rogers wasn't approaching. He could still leave if he wanted to. The man was too far away to do anything to stop him.

But he knew that tone.

So he paused.

And after a moment of silence, he sighed and turned back around.

He lifted his head and met the man's gaze. His eyes were soft, blinking back at him as they reflected the lights of the city around them. Peter flexed his closed fist, felt the coin pressing against his palm before silently slipping it into a pocket of the suit.

Finally, he turned away and let out a deep breath. He had another long night ahead of him.

"Come with me."

 


 

Even taking the longer route of back alleys and darkened, abandoned parking lots to avoid any potential witnesses, it only took ten minutes to arrive, even with Peter slowing his usual pace so the Captain could keep up.

He landed on the roof of the complex and waited a bit for Steve to climb the fire escape of the adjoining building and leap over. Once he rolled to a stop, the man popped up and cast a wary glance around at their new surroundings, which weren't all that different from the previous rooftop they'd been on. It looked like he wanted to say something, but Peter didn't give him the chance as he moved away, approaching the rooftop access door.

Pushing the creaking door open revealed a dark and rusted stairwell leading down into shadow. Peter said nothing, simply began to make his way down. He didn't bother glancing behind him to see if the soldier was following. He could hear him.

Even with the added night vision of the suit, Peter knew the path step for step. He reached the bottom of the stairs and pushed against another door, this one leading him into another darkened room. But even with the lack of light, the massive size of the room could still be sensed by the echoes of their footsteps alone.

He heard Steve walking around hesitantly as the teen began to search along the side wall, hand feeling up against the surface. When he finally found the light switch, he grasped the handle and pulled it down, the building suddenly flickering before humming to life before their eyes.

Row after row of ripped and tattered felt chairs stretched out before them, lined up in front of a massive stained and shredded screen towering high above their heads. The aisleways were filled with debris and dust, most likely from the walls, which were crumbling and bare, revealing brickwork and broken stone bits. Decorative curtains lay in pieces around the floor along with fallen bits of the ceiling. And further into the back of the building was a balcony with a few more rows of seats all facing the giant screen in the front.

Peter watched as the soldier gazed around the room, twisting his head as he took in the sight before him. "What is this place?" he finally asked after a moment.

"Blue Booth Theater." He didn't turn to look at the man as he spoke, instead choosing to slowly walk up and down the aisles. "It was a small little joint back in the day, never anything spectacular, not even in its prime. It was just something only the neighborhood knew about, a little hidden gem." He brushed a hand over one of the seats, scraped some dust away. "It closed down years ago. Nobody ever comes around here anymore, except me."

Steve watched the boy for a moment before turning to face the screen once more. Peter noticed his eyes flickering around the giant structure, a hint of nostalgia seeming to enter his deep-set irises. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "Back in Brooklyn, well...back in my Brooklyn, there was a place like this I'd go to sometimes. My mom would bring me."

Peter turned to face him. The soldier smiled wistfully. "It was pretty expensive so sometimes we'd sneak in through the back and watch the cartoons from the rafters."

They were silent for a minute, simply listening to the creaking of the building, the settling of the metal structures holding the complex up. The air smelled of dust and woodchips.

Peter hesitated for a moment before reaching up and pulling the suit's mask from his head. He could feel the soldier's eyes on him and tried not to squirm as he took a seat against the armrest of one of the aisle chairs, placing his mask against the headrest of another before turning towards the man with a sharp look in his eyes.

"Alright, you said you wanted to talk. We're alone now, so talk." He folded his arms. "What do you want?"

The sooner they got this over with, the better.

Steve glanced around for a second before choosing to lean up against another nearby chair, facing the boy as he slipped his hands into his pockets, perhaps to look less imposing. Peter tried not to notice, tried to ignore the feeling of slight relief that arose as he studied the man's relaxed, nonhostile stance. "You never answered my question before."

"Which was?"

"...How are you?"

Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead turned his gaze towards the screen. "Fine. Why do you ask?" His voice was clipped and terse as he drummed his fingers against his arm. The question was pointless. He knew the reason.

"Well..." the Captain trailed off for a moment, glanced around like he was hesitant on what to say, awkwardly shifting his weight for a second. Peter gritted his teeth as he felt his annoyance growing. The least he could do was say it straight-out instead of dancing around it.

Steve cleared his throat. "The, uh...the last time we saw each other...I witnessed a fairly unsavory situation and I was just-"

Peter expelled a sharp breath and pushed off of his seat as he quickly rose up to his feet. "Let me stop you right there, alright, because if I hear you start talking about how you've been beside yourself with righteous and virtuous concern for poor little Peter Parker I'm going to punch you in the face again."

Steve tensed his jaw. Peter scoffed and felt his fists clenching again as he gestured to his surroundings. "This...is none of your business. My family is none of your business, none of your concern. I don't need you poking around in things that don't involve you, things that couldn't be less connected to you." He scrunched his nose as he glared. "I don't care what you saw. I don't care what you think. You stay out of my life and out of my way. I don't need you causing any more problems for me just because you don't get how my family works."

He was making orders. He shouldn't have been making orders but goddamn it, he was angry. And he was tired. And he was sick of people not listening to him. He knew his family better than any of these people. So why did they all think they knew what was best? They didn't. They couldn't.

The soldier obviously didn't hear the internal war waging in the boy before him, for he took a deep breath and straightened up a little taller. "Family's not supposed to treat each other like that, son." His voice was gentle, sympathetic, pitying.

Peter gritted his teeth and stalked closer. "This. This is exactly what I don't want from you. I don't need your advice or your wise teachings..." He took a breath, felt how shaky it was, and cursed himself for it. "I don't need your pity. Save it for something that matters."

The building creaked again, shifted with the winds, an ominous groaning that echoed through the walls, rattled under their feet. Peter took another few breaths, deep and long, felt them expand in his lungs before blowing them back out again. He shook his head. "I don't even know why you care." He drummed his fingers against his arm, felt them tingling uncomfortably. "You don't even know me."

Steve didn't seem bothered by his outburst. He kept his hands in his pockets and watched him with a careful eye. "Doesn't matter. I know you don't deserve that."

Peter said nothing, simply stared at him. He felt the burning in his chest beginning to recede with each breath he took. He swallowed thickly and dragged his gaze away again. "Like I said, " he muttered softly. "...you don't know me."

They were silent as Peter sighed and sat back down on the armrest, leaning his forehead into the palm of his hand as he shut his eyes. He could feel the weight of the day beginning to drag him down, a new heaviness in his bones that made him long for sleep, to curl up and let his problems fade out of existence for a few blissful hours.

"You asked your question. I answered. Now please just...leave." His voice was small, tired. There was no anger this time. "Go away and leave me alone."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Peter knew the Captain didn't deserve his anger, didn't deserve to have him snapping in his face. He just happened to be the unlucky bystander who picked all the wrong words and the worst time to say them. At least his prickly attitude would do well to drive the man off, show him that he wasn't worth the time or the headache.

He kept his eyes closed and his ears perked, listening for the sound of footsteps, the sound of steps walking upstairs, or the sound of a closing door. But after a while of silence, no such noises reached him. He resisted the urge for a moment before finally relenting, opening his eyes to find Steve was no longer leaning against the chairs but was now sitting on the floor in front of him, legs crossed and hands resting in his lap. He was watching Peter with a gentle look in his eyes.

Peter stared at him for a moment and waited for the anger to return to his chest...but it didn't. Instead, he shockingly let out a little amused scoff as he raised a brow. "You're not very good at following instructions, are you?" He asked in a quiet voice.

Steve returned the smile, albeit slightly embarrassed as he shrugged. "Sorry."

The teen rolled his eyes but didn't yell. In all honesty, he was starting to get too tired for all of that. Even with the slow crime-night, the rest of the day's events had taken everything out of him, leaving him drained and spent of nearly all he had.

Peter lifted his eyes and found Steve's gaze once more. For a second, the two just stared at each other, light hazel eyes meeting icy-blue. And as he gazed into them, Peter noticed the look in the man's eyes, noticed the slight film over his gaze, the layer shrouding over them.

He knew that look, just like he'd known that tone.

Now he was curious.

Taking a second to hesitate and consider how bad of an idea this was, Peter leaned back and pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, eying the soldier strangely. "Alright then. I answered your question...now it's my turn." He placed his hands against his knees, tapped his fingers against them. "Why are you here?"

Steve leaned back as well, giving a little shrug of his shoulders as he glanced away. "I already sa-"

"You're also not a very good liar."

The man went quiet.

Peter leaned closer. "You're one of the most wanted men in the world in one of the most heavily monitored cities in the world. Cameras, pedestrians, drones, this city is dripping with anything and everything that could get you caught and you just decide to stroll around for the sake of talking to me?" Peter took a moment, watched the man's reaction.

The soldier didn't show much outwardly but Peter did notice when he began to tap his own fingers together. It seemed random at first, but after another second of observation, Peter began to notice a pattern, not enough to decipher what it was, but enough to know it was there. He narrowed his eyes.

"Why are you here...really?"

The lights above their heads flickered, enhancing the shadows stretching around them, crawling along the floors. Another gust of wind, another creak in the walls. Peter felt a strange new air hovering around him, a hesitation, an apprehension that made him wary of the man's response and yet so curious all the same. He said nothing, waited instead for the man to fill the growing silence.

Finally, Steve broke their stare, running a hand against the back of his neck as he blew out a long sigh and leaned against the aisle chair propped up behind him. "I don't know. I guess...I didn't have anywhere else to go."

Peter watched him, watched him drop his hand back into his lap, start up the tapping again. "Couldn't sleep, so I started...wandering and found myself wandering into Queens. I don't know why. I didn't...plan on coming here, but then I saw you and...I just..." he trailed off before glancing away. 'I don't know."

The teen blinked, brows furrowing slightly as he focused on his hearing, focused on his senses. He could hear the Captain's heartbeat, steady and calm. No skips, no jolts, no sudden shifts.

He was telling the truth.

"How long have you been wandering around?" he asked quietly.

"Since the end of your press conference."

"Seriously? That was like...ten hours ago. What do you mean you couldn't sleep? It was noon. Just go home and try again, I'm sure this time-"

"Son..."

Peter stopped.

"...it won't matter. I know I won't be able to." His eyes were serious, his voice soft. "I know."

Steve lowered his head, ran his hand through the back of his hair as he let out a deep breath. And for the first time, Peter took a moment to truly look at the man. His posture before hadn't been loose and casual as he'd first thought, but...tired. Limp and exhausted.

It reminded him of someone.

"Okay, then...why don't you talk to one of your teammates? Why bother trying to have a conversation with someone who's made it abundantly clear that he doesn't like you?"

Steve lifted his head at that, actually smiled a bit as he thought it over. He shrugged his shoulders. "Honestly, I think it's because of that."

"What?"

The soldier propped up one knee and rested his wrist atop it. He leaned the back of his head against the chair behind him, gazing up at the lights hanging precariously over their heads, swaying in the breeze brought in from one of the holes in the back of the building. "My teammates...they have an image of me in their heads. They rely on me, look up to me. I'm their leader. I have the answers, the solutions, I know what to do, when to do it, and how. They look to me for assurance."

His jaw tightened slightly. Peter could see it outlined in shadow. "I don't want to mess up that image. Not for my sake, but for theirs. I don't want to take it away from them. They need the stability. They need that constant. They need to look at me and feel secure, feel safe."

He lowered his gaze to stare back at Peter, who was watching him intently, eyes sharp as he listened. The soldier's smile returned. "But with you...I already know what you think of me. You don't like me, so there's..."

Peter blinked. "Nothing to lose..."

"Exactly."

The teen furrowed his brows slightly and glanced down towards the ground.

He'd...never really thought of it like that before.

There had never been anybody in his life that he'd ever shown outward aggression to, straightforward hostility. Not once had he ever said the words, 'I don't like you' to someone without the thought of retaliation popping into his head.

But that thought seemed almost...muted with the soldier. Steve was sort of a blank slate. Peter expected nothing of the man, thought nothing of the man. So his negativity towards him...it wasn't laced with fear.

Because Spider-Man wasn't afraid of him.

Spider-Man didn't have to be afraid of him.

Spider-Man...had nothing to lose.

Peter was so lost in his thoughts that when the man cleared his throat again and gave a little humored scoff, the teen almost jumped. "You know, to be honest, I've been thinking about you a lot this week."

"That's creepy."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Come on. Can you blame me? The last time I saw you, I find out Spider-Man isn't old enough to drive, is piloting a high-tech super-suit, and lives in a house with some pretty questionable characters. I feel I have the right to be concerned."

Peter could feel his frustrations returning like waves crashing into the beach, receding slightly only to return moments later. He slid off of the armrest and instead sat down on the floor, crossing his legs underneath him. "You don't, actually. I can handle myself," he muttered as his eyes filled with a new annoyance. This song and dance was starting to get real old real fast. "Look, I know what you think and I don't care. My family is my business and that's that." He hesitated for a second before continuing. "Besides, if you saw the press conference like you say you did, then you saw my dad, too. Does he really seem like the malicious type?"

The bruise under his collar hissed at him. He swallowed it down.

Steve held his gaze for a moment before glancing away. "No. He seemed...he seemed like a good guy."

He inhaled a stuttery breath, ignored how it burned his throat on the way down. "He is. And I don't like you implying otherwise. Just because I sometimes don't get along with the rest of them doesn't mean I need your pity or your concern. It's unwarranted."

The soldier paused for a moment before nodding his head, lifting his gaze to stare at the boy intensely once more. "I'm sorry if I offended you. It wasn't my intent."

His voice sounded genuine. Peter decided it would have to be good enough. He huffed, folding his arms over his chest as he glanced up at the lights. "Not gonna be around them for much longer anyway," he muttered more to himself than anything else.

But Steve, curse the bastard, heard him anyway. "What? What do you mean?"

Peter glanced at him, studied the genuine curiosity etched onto the man's face. His fingers began to twitch against his knee, longing for the coin tucked safely away in his pocket. He didn't bring it out though. Instead, he shook his head and turned his gaze away. "Nothing. Forget I said anything."

He could feel the soldier watching him, felt his eyes tracing him up and down. Peter reached down and ran the tip of his finger along the edges of a nearby brick, the coarse texture muted by the layers of the suit.

"Does it have something to do with why you seem so...out of sorts?"

Peter didn't look up as the man spoke. He traced his finger against the stone, over each bump, every groove. The brick was old, faded and gray, crumbling around the edges and tattered with dirt and dust, the same layer of grime that seemed to coat everything in the building with a thick layer of foggy, hazy air. he noticed the man was still looking at him, still waiting for an answer. Peter let out a sigh and finally glanced up, flashing the man a disgruntled look.

"Look, I'm only going to tell you this so you don't start showing up every night sniffing around for info on my wellbeing or whatever crap you're on about but..." he trailed off for a moment, dropped his gaze back down the brick by his hand. He flicked a speck of dust away. "...I'm going to be spending some time away from my family for a while."

Rogers furrowed his brow. "Is everything alright?"

"Fine. I'm just...going to be spending the summer at Stark Tower." He took another breath, though he found it to be more strained than before. "Mr. Stark insisted."

The man blinked at him for a moment of silence, tilting his head slightly as he seemed to shake off some sudden shock. "Oh. That's...that good."

Peter turned his head away.

. . .

"That is good...right?"

The teen sniffed, felt the dust tickling his nose as he kept his eyes locked on the tattered screen looming above their heads. He wanted to go to bed.

"Yeah. It's...it's great."

Distantly, he heard a squeaking, most likely from a mouse or two. He always came across a few whenever he spent the night in the theater.

It was a rare occurrence, but there was always the odd night where his father wouldn't be home (or he would, and he'd just not care to do anything about it) and the Cons would get drunk, shoving him out of the house and locking the doors behind him. On those special nights, Peter would retreat to the theater, to the manager's office. There, he would find a pillow, a tattered blanket, a few emergency medical supplies, and a couple of bottles of water. He'd been building up his little emergency hidey-hole for years now, so he was well-prepared.

And in all honesty, his nights in the theater, his nights sleeping on the cold concrete floor surrounded by the sound of skittering mice and squirming roaches roaming around the floors, those were the nights when he got the best sleep. He could sleep for hours at a time in the theater, sleep with no threats, no worries, no looming eyes (unless you counted the mice that were always curiously watching him from a distance). He loved Blue Booth, both back then and what it had become now. For it was still his little hidden gem.

Still...sleeping in the theater was as close as he'd ever gotten to a night away from home, and even then, it was only for a few hours until he'd eventually trudge back home and his father would wordlessly let him back in, passing the Cons who were always black-out unconscious in the living room.

Blue Booth and Stark Tower were two very different things. There were no mice in Stark tower, no roaches, no open cavities in the wall letting in the moonlight or cold drafts making him tug his ratty blanket tighter over his shivering form. There would be no going home in the morning at Stark Tower. There would be no going home.

Stark Tower would be his home.

He shivered. And there wasn't even a draft this time.

Peter had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed Steve, who was still watching him curiously. The teen spared the man a small glance before dragging his gaze away to the floor once more.

"Has Tony ever talked to you about the Diner?"

The teen blinked, furrowed his brow, and lifted his head. "What? No..."

Steve smirked and innocently glanced away. "Well, maybe he'll end up taking you one of these days."

Peter hesitated for a second, taking the time to read the man's painfully obvious body language, before unabashedly taking the bait. "What are you talking about?"

Steve turned back to him, a newfound genuine smile on his face as he let out a little chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as he sucked in a breath. "Well, this isn't my first experience with insomnia. Back when I lived at the Tower, there would be nights like this where I'd find myself awake. I'd wander around, no set destination in mind, just walking. And this one time, I come across Tony. He's sitting in the kitchen by himself in the dark. Initially, I'm afraid I'm intruding, but when he sees me, he calls me over to chat. We do for a little bit, but then, out of the blue, he asks if I want to go somewhere."

Peter watched him intently as the man spoke, noticed the much more relaxed demeanor now settling in the Captain's posture as he told the story. He seemed happier somehow. Peter filed it away as interesting.

"Initially, I'm confused but I say why not. I didn't really think much of it but not too long afterward, we're pulling into the parking lot of some dingy little 24-hour diner off the edge of Manhatten."

At the slight look of bewilderment spreading across the teen's face, Steve grinned. "I know. I had the exact same thought. Didn't really seem like his kind of place but sure enough, once we step inside, he and the waitress are sharing pleasantries and catching up like old friends so I didn't really question it."

Steve's smile widens as he leans back. "Now, not even a minute after we sit down, we hear some waitress near the back of the diner letting out a string of curses. I'm talking every word in the book and then some."

Peter cracked his first grin.

"Tony asks what's up and she says the jukebox in the corner is acting up and has been playing the same song for the past hour."

"Seriously? What song?"

The soldier smirked and pressed his tongue against his cheek. "Billy Joel's Piano Man."

"That's like...a six-minute song."

"Oh trust me, I know."

The teen snorts. Steve continued, waving his hand in the air. "Tony recognized it right off the bat. I, of course, didn't. There was a multitude of cultural phenomenons that I was a bit behind on.

Peter shook his head, an amused look of shock on his face. "Oh my gosh..."

"Oh, it gets better. We go over there, see what we can do. Well, Tony does. I'm just a bystander watching the catastrophe unfold. At first, he suggests just unplugging the machine, but apparently, the building was old and finicky. Something about the outlet connecting to all the other power sources and how plugging or unplugging anything in could cause a surge. I don't know. Not my thing, you know?"

Peter nods, suddenly finding himself hanging off of the man's words.

"Anyway, Tony, in all his magnificent glory, declares that he can fix it no problem."

"Uh-oh."

"'Uh-oh' is right. Now, I don't know who made this jukebox, but apparently, they were an evil son of a bitch who got off on the suffering of others because this thing was shot to hell and back. And after an hour and a half, three milkshakes, five screwdrivers, and four loops of the song now playing in reverse, Tony is getting ready to fire up a suit and blast the machine into the stratosphere. The song is on its twentieth loop, we are now the only customers in the place, and two of the waitresses are passed out snoring in some booths in the back."

Peter's laugh was starting to echo against the walls of the building, Steve snorting across from him as he shook his head and sighed. "Once we hit the two-hour mark, I finally pulled him away from the mess and we declared defeat and surrender. The waitresses comped our drinks for our troubles, Tony gave them all three-hundred-dollar tips just because, and we enjoyed the rest of the night listening to that song over...and over...and over again."

The teen stared at him with an incredulous smile. "Wow..."

"Oh, yeah. I can recite you every single word of that song. I can recite you every single word of that song in reverse."

Peter scoffed a humored huff, furrowing his brows. "Why didn't you just leave?"

Steve shrugged his shoulders. "We were having a good time. By three am, the workers were awake and singing the song and we were on our fifth milkshakes." The man paused for a moment, taking a deep breath as he smiled. "After that, whenever the two of us found ourselves awake at some god-awful hour, we'd head down there. Drink, swap stories, and laugh about our hellish experience at the hands of that jukebox." He leaned in closer and threw the kid an exasperated look. "I don't think I need to tell you what he made his ringtone for me after that."

Peter grinned. "That's awesome."

"I did not think so, which, of course, only solidified his resolve to keep it forever."

The teen smiled, glanced down at the ground as he took a breath. The new air of ease was strange, but welcome nonetheless. "I like that song."

Steve hummed, tapped his fingers together as his smile grew. "You know what? I do too."

The soldier said nothing for a moment. The smile on his face faded somewhat, a bittersweet expression that reached his eyes, dulled the gleam in them somewhat. Peter watched the changes quietly, watched as the man let out a deep breath, the strange pattern of taps starting up again in his fingers. When he spoke, his voice was softer.

"We used to be good at it back then...the talking." He cast his gaze around, eyeing the pieces of debris and dirt piled around them, remnants of what once stood proud and tall. "By the end, we struggled with it, but back then...back then it came naturally. It was easy."

He let out a small huff of air through his nose and when he smiled again, it was somehow...sadder.

"I guess I miss that. How easy it all was."

Peter swallowed, chewed on the inside of his cheek as he found himself looking away from the man, averting his gaze from the openness being expressed to him. It made him uncomfortable how easily the man was speaking to him. They weren't close, they weren't even friends. Why did the man seem so open with him? Why was he sharing all of this? How could the man...trust him so quickly?

As the question burned in his chest, Peter couldn't help but spare the man another quick glance. Rogers wasn't looking at him anymore. He was still leaning against the aisle seat but his head was turned away, eyes focused on the balcony above their heads, focused on the broken lights and shattered projection glass that sat against the back walls.

And the longer Peter looked, the longer his question echoed in his head, the more he began to understand.

There was a reason as to why the man didn't seem eager to leave, why he was here in the first place, why he'd been so insistent on talking to Peter at all, why he'd shared that story.

Peter knew he recognized that look in the man's eyes, the sound in his tone.

But could Steve Rogers, could Captain America really be...lonely?

As he pondered the question, Peter finally found his hand in his pocket, felt his fingers latching onto the coin as he silently pulled it out. Even in the poor lighting of the theater, the gold surface of the trinket shined brightly in his eyes, the emblems distinct and prominent. He traced his fingers along the etchings, felt the grooves and bumps of each line, each curve.

("As long as I kept it close, everything would work out...one way or another.")

. . .

. . .

. . .

Well...if Spider-Man really did have nothing to lose...

"The security cameras outside are fake."

Steve seemed to jolt at his words, gazing at him with a furrowed brow and a confused look. Peter kept his fingers on the coin, if only to stop them from twitching awkwardly. He glanced away. "They're...just decorations meant to scare away any loiters or homeless people lurking around, meaning this place is always empty." He took a deep breath, and then took a couple more. He kept his gaze averted, kept his eyes glued to the floor. He could feel the man watching him anyway.

"So, if...if you, uh...if you ever need somewhere to go when you're wandering aimlessly...I guess you could...y-you could come here...if you want." He swallowed the rock that had suddenly appeared in his throat. "Just don't mess up the place."

Somewhere, a hanging piece of debris clattered to the floor. Peter cleared his throat. "...any more than it already is."

Steve seemed to regard him for a moment, a brief pause of silence where neither of them said anything. Peter kept his eyes on the coin, ran his fingers along the edge. The soldier shifted in his seat, leaning forward a bit more.

"Will I see you here?"

Peter shrugged and didn't lift his eyes. "Maybe. I keep some supplies here so...we might cross paths."

Another pause. "Are you okay with that?"

For a brief flash, Peter lifted his eyes and met the man's gaze. It was just for a second and then he was playing with the coin again, but when he shrugged this time, it wasn't as tense as before. "I guess. You know...just as long as it's only once in a while."

"Course," Steve chuckled, letting a small smile slip back onto his face. "I appreciate it."

Peter sniffed, licking at his lower lip as he quickly rose up to his feet, suddenly finding himself with a strange need to move around. He held the coin tightly in an enclosed fist. "Yeah. But I feel I should reiterate. I still don't like you."

The Captain's smile didn't disappear as he rose up to his feet as well. Peter took a few steps back, widened the distance between them. The soldier didn't comment on it as he turned away and eyed the doorway they'd come in from. "Duly noted. But who knows? You spend enough time with me and I might just bump up to annoying-but-tolerable-acquaintance."

Peter scoffed, but said nothing to correct the man as he began to head for the exit. But as he reached the stairwell, he stopped in the doorframe, glancing over his shoulder at the boy. His smile softened, his eyes growing gentle. It didn't make Peter as angry this time.

"Be careful. And keep an eye on Tony for me."

The teen blinked at him, hesitated for a moment before giving a muted nod in response. "I will."

Steve turned away and took a few steps, only to pause one final time. "Oh, and congrats on the summer thing. Good luck with that."

And then he was gone.

Peter kept his gaze on the stairwell for a good long while, even after he heard the sound of a distant door closing and the even softer sounds of footsteps retreating away from the building. Finally, he lifted his head, eyed the rafters above them, creaky and rusted, letting loose a few particles of dust every time the building settled.

He knew he should leave, should get back out to patrolling (even though he hadn't heard any commotion the entire time they'd been talking), should get up and do something.

But even with these thoughts in his head, he found himself sitting back down on the floor, legs folding back underneath him. The room suddenly felt much bigger now that he was all alone, the walls stretching higher, the shadows stretching further.

He lifted his hand and slowly pulled open his fingers, revealing the coin resting on his palm.

In the back of his mind, mingling with the sounds of the building swaying, the mice squeaking and the dust particles swirling in the air, Peter heard the sound of cameras shuttering, distant voices shouting in the air, questions ringing and microphones shrieking.

The coin had worked well enough then.

("Good luck with that.")

But as he heard Steve's voice cut through the mess of noise, he couldn't help but stare down at the coin with a newfound ache in his chest, a weight that made it that much harder to get up, to move, to do anything other than sit there, sit there for hours, days, years, long enough for everything to move on and disappear around him, disappear and fade away.

He curled his fingers back around the coin, clenched it tightly, and held it close to his chest, sucking in a shaky breath as he shut his eyes and pulled his knees up, scrunching up as small as he could as the silence loomed over him, heavy and suffocating.

Something told him he was going to need a lot of luck to get through what was coming...more than could be held in a single coin.

 


 

"Stop looking at it."

"It's mocking me. I can feel it."

Steve rolled his eyes as he watched the billionaire glare across the diner at the evil machine lurking and waiting in the corner, lights flaring in defiance, glass smirking in triumph.

"Just ignore it."

"Oh, you know Cap? I hadn't thought of that. It's almost like there's something...some strange thing that's preventing me from getting my mind off of it. Any idea what that might be? It's on the tip of my tongue."

A particularly loud blast of music cut through just then, a very pointed fuck-you to their table.

The soldier scoffed and glanced down at the table with a smirk. "You're the one that dragged us here, you know."

Tony rolled his eyes and rested his arm against the lip of the tattered booth. "Whatever. You had seven years of listening to this song to catch up on and I managed to fit it all into a single night. Am I good or what?"

Steve said nothing, simply shook his head as he turned his head to gaze around the place once again.

Rita's DineRite Diner wasn't anything spectacular. A small little building on the edge of Manhattan, away from the gaggle of Times Square and the well-traversed areas. A line of booths sat against the windows while a counter stood opposite, lined with crooked metal stools. The floors were stained, a black and white checkerboard pattern that stood out against the bright red of the cushions.

He turned back to Tony, who was glancing out the window at the deserted street beyond, fingers drumming against the side of his milkshake glass, which still seemed comically too big to Steve. "So how'd you stumble across this place? Doesn't really seem like a common hangout for billionaires."

Tony waved a hand. "When Pepper and I first moved here, back when the Tower was still under construction...I don't know, I was craving a milkshake. And I wasn't about to make it myself." He gestured around. "This happened to be the only 24-hour place around, which was good considering it was 3 in the morning. That was...two year ago?" he shrugged. "Now I'm a regular."

Steve glanced over his shoulder at only other occupants, two waitresses (at least the ones that were still awake) that were scrubbing down tables while chatting away with each other, not even bothering to spare the two Avengers passing glances.

"Is that why we're not being swarmed right now?"

"Ah, these guys are used to me and whatever colorful friends I bring with me."

"Right."

The wincing sound of a harmonica echoed against the walls before suddenly falling silent as the song finished. Tony, Steve, and the workers in the diner all froze in their positions, eyes silently twisting around towards their captor in the corner. For a brief moment, nobody said anything, the air still and tense.

Tony cocked a brow, voice low as he spoke, like he didn't want to alert the predator lurking. "Maybe it's dead..."

But not even a second later, the harmonica started up again, a collective groan resonating through all of them as the song began once again. Tony didn't hold it for long though as a smirk fell onto his face, chuckling as he turned back around to face Steve.

"What is this? Twenty-two?

The soldier rubbed at his face. "Twenty-three." He sighed and dropped his hands back to the table, casting one last glance around the diner as he noticed they were now the only customers in the entire establishment, which hadn't been the case when they'd first arrived.  He let out a humored huff. "I don't know if you've noticed, but the place has cleared out."

Tony took a sip from his shake. "Wonder why."

They both chuckled under their breaths at that. Steve ducked his head and let his eyes focus in on the checkerboard pattern under his feet. He  could feel his fingers tapping as his eyes traced the obnoxious pattern lining the floor, a clear reminder that his mind was still anything but clear, despite his new surroundings. He still felt the cramped itch in his legs, still felt the desire to run and just keep running, if only to release the pent-up anxiety beginning to pool heavily in his stomach.

But he knew there wasn't anywhere for him to go, so he settled for the tapping of his fingers, let them go at their own pace, not even bothering to think about it as they moved.

This song was sad.

After their twentieth run-through, he was finally starting to pay attention to the lyrics. And his conclusion? Piano Man was kind of a downer.

Seemed fitting, if he was being honest.

"What're you saying?"

He jolted from his thoughts and glanced up at Tony. "Hmm?"

The billionaire gestured lazily towards Steve's tapping fingers. "I know Morse Code when I see it. You were tapping up a storm in the tower and back in the car." He tilted his head slightly, eyes gleaming dully in the fluorescent lights overhead. "What are you trying to say?"

Steve glanced down at his hands and paused in his movements. The tapping wasn't really something he thought about anymore, was more of a subconscious thing if anything else. He'd find himself doing it whenever his mind wandered, whenever he felt an itch to move and a barrier stopping him from doing so. He hesitated for a moment before letting out a little sigh as he shrugged his shoulders.

"It's...it's nothing. Stupid, really. It's...it means 'bumping gums.'"

Tony sputtered on his drink, snorting a bit as he held a hand up to his face to keep in whatever it was he'd nearly spit up. He laughed, setting his glass down as he threw the man an incredulous look. "I'm sorry - what?"

"It was a common phrase back in the day," Steve assured, shaking his head with a smile. "Means 'talking nonsense'. I, uh..." he trailed off for a moment, felt the familiar tightness suddenly enter his chest, the same feeling that arose whenever this particular topic entered his head. But strangely enough, Steve found himself pushing past it before he could think too hard on it.

"My friend...Bucky and I...we used to have these old radios, official, military-grade. We fished them out of a back alley trash shoot behind the Enlistment Center." His smile widened. He noticed it wasn't as strained as before, wasn't as strained as he would have imagined it would be. "We'd talk on them from our houses, but we were always worried that somebody would catch us with them so we came up with that code phrase to make sure it was always us on the other side." He moved his hands again, gently tapped his index finger against the table.

"Tap on the receiver twice to start. I'd say 'bumping gums.' He'd reply 'speakeasy, flatfoot.'"

He stopped, kept his eyes trailed on his hands, focused on the movements, instinctive and ingrained into his muscles. "It was...nice. Having somebody to talk to on the other side."

Tony gazed back at him, his usual carefree smirk gone, replaced instead with a look Steve couldn't really read. "Right..."

The tightness was still there, still heavy against the soldier's chest. But there was something strange in talking about him, something almost...cathartic, relieving.  Like he didn't have to hold onto the memories alone, could share the weight of them, share the load of carrying them. He cleared his throat and blinked back into reality lest he get lost in his memories. "What about you?"

Tony took another sip of his drink and raised a brow.

"Why were you awake tonight?"

The billionaire hummed and pulled the glass away, setting it back down onto the table as he grinned once more, but it felt different from before. "I'm always awake, Cap. Too much going on up here," he said as he tapped a knuckle against his temple. "It's easier with Pepper away for work. I don't have to pretend to sleep for an hour and then sneak out of bed and stay in the lab for the rest of the night."

Steve's brows pinched slightly. He didn't say anything, but the disapproval he felt was plain and obvious. Tony must have picked up on it, for he simply shrugged. "We all need a hobby..."

The soldier glanced down at his own shake glass, ran a finger along the sides, and allowed the condensation to drip onto his skin. He waited for a moment before lifting his gaze once more, voice softer than before. "Aren't you tired?"

Tony let out a little breath, rapped his knuckle against the table, tapped it softly. When he finally spoke, his voice matched Steve's, low and quiet.

"Sometimes it's not about how tired you are. Sometimes it's about filling the time with something...other than your thoughts."

"Yeah..." Steve murmured. He lowered his gaze back to his glass. His fingers kept tapping. He suddenly lifted his head, however and let out a very deep sigh. "This is...the longest song I've ever heard in my entire life."

Tony chuckled. "Even more so when it's on an infinite loop."

"Jesus..."

"It could be worse. We could be listening to an eight-hour track of the Macarena. At least we got a classic here."

"First off, I don't know what that is-"

"Oh my god, we're listening to it on the drive back."

"-Secondly, my version of a classic can't even be played cause nobody owns gramophones anymore."

Tony let out an amused little huff. "Heh...right. Man, you are old."

The soldier scoffed. "Tell me about it. This is, what? A fifties diner?

"Yep."

He gave a little shake of his head. "Still seems too new for me."

He reached down to grab his glass, lifting it to his lips to take a quick sip, if only to give him something to do as the tightness in his chest expanded somewhat. He could feel the billionaire's eyes on him as he set it back down on the table, letting out a deep breath as he rested his head against the back of the booth cushion. He glanced at the man but didn't move as he began to speak.

"Just you wait, Cap. We'll get you settled into the modern world in no time." The man said confidently with a smirk. "After all, you have the best tour guide at your service."

The song ended with its usual flourish once again only to start up once more not even a minute later.

Tony threw the machine an evil glare before facing the soldier once more. "Tell you what, we can even get you an old-timey, antique-looking gramophone to keep in your room far, far away from me. Whenever I get close to tech that's older than me, I start to break out."

Steve chuckled, gazed up at the harsh lights buzzing overhead before sitting up once again. "My family didn't even own a gramophone, funnily enough.

"Really?"

He nodded. "Too expensive. So Bucky and I would just loiter outside the records stores to hear the new stuff." He thought back to it and the smile on his face broke out into a full-blown grin as he laughed. "Man, the number of times we got chased off. Eventually, we would start to bring our own chairs just to piss off Ol' Man Ricky."

It felt strange talking about him again after so long keeping quiet.  It was a good kind of strange, like drinking milkshakes in the middle of nowhere at three in the morning.

Tony said nothing for a moment before nodding, letting his own smile spread across his face. "Man, I gotta meet this friend of yours. Sounds like my kind of guy."

Steve drummed his fingers against the glass, felt the water drops coating the tips once again. He listened to the music, listened to the slightly staticky quantity that came from the old, rundown jukebox. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly.

"Hmm...he is the best."

Tony fiddled with his napkin, didn't face the soldier as he began to fold the corners of the paper into some nonsensical shape. "And I will you know."

Steve looked up. Tony did as well.

"Meet him. I will...eventually."

And the confidence in his voice, the sheer surety that echoed in his tone, something about it made Steve feel a little better. "Yeah."

The billionaire puffed and grabbed his glass, lifting it up into the air just a tad and reaching it forward. "But for now, I guess I'll settle for his lackey."

Steve gazed back at him for a moment, watched the genuine, relaxed smile now displayed on the man's face and he couldn't help but smile back as he lifted his own glass, silently tapping the edges together as they both shared a real, worthwhile smile.

That is, of course, until the workers began to sing along with the song. Apparently, the thirty-first time was the charm.

Steve and Tony stared at each other with wide eyes as the torturous music began to mingle with the off-tune, carefree voices of the waitresses and cooks harmonizing poorly with each other.

"Tony."

Steve didn't need to say anymore. His tone said it all.

The billionaire cracked another grin and lifted his glass to his lips once more. "Awesome."

Chapter 27: Love and War Part I

Summary:

Ned swallowed, kept fiddling with his hands. The crosswalk changed to green. "What if he doesn't meet with us?"

Michelle's face remained hard as she started forward once again, steps fast and precise as she walked. Ned had to jog slightly to keep up with her, but he kept silent, didn't complain once. He was just as eager as she was to get to their current destination.

"He's going to meet with us. I'll make sure of it."

Chapter Text

There was a butterfly in the tree.

Four-year-old Peter Parker watched it with avid interest, watched it flutter its wings, bright orange against the greyish-brown of the dead tree limb it perched on. He remembered his father telling him all about the different types, teaching him how to tell between species. It was a Painted Lady. He remembered how funny the name had sounded. It was his mother's favorite. He wished he could show it to her.

But he couldn't.

Because she was in the box.

The insect didn't seem to mind the slight drizzle falling from the sky, not heavy enough to require any umbrellas, but still present enough to be annoying and uncomfortable as Peter shifted on his feet.

He didn't want to leave, though. Because then Mommy would be alone.

There were a lot of people, each of them in clothes that were just as dark as the suit his father had dressed him in that morning. Peter had asked him about it then, as the man had fixed the boy's tie, asked why they had to get so dressed up in funny, uncomfortable clothes.

("Because we want to look nice when we say goodbye to Mommy.")

Peter didn't understand.

He didn't want to say goodbye to Mommy. And he didn't want to wear those funny clothes.

Even now, standing silently in the mist beside his father, listening to the old man speaking slowly as he read something from a book, watching the butterfly in the tree, Peter didn't understand.

He didn't understand how his mother could be dead.

Even the word seemed strange. He remembered asking about it once, gazing up at the wall of butterflies his father kept in his office, pinned up behind panes of glass. It seemed strange that none of them moved, not even a twitch of the wings, no beating against the glass or flying around the room. They just sat there, wings stretched, cold and still.

("They're dead, Peter. That's why they don't move.")

("What's that? Dead?")

("It's, uh...it's like falling asleep. Only you don't wake up. And no amount of shaking or yelling or jumping on the bed can wake them up.")

("But that's how I wake up you and Mommy. It...doesn't work sometimes?")

("You don't have to worry about that, kiddo. It's damn near impossible to sleep through you.")

Peter had laughed. He remembered that. He remembered laughing as his father had ruffled his hair. And even though he knew his father knew everything, knew his father was always right, Peter still wanted to try. He wanted to go up to Mommy and try, knock on the box, shake her shoulder, even. There was no bed, but he'd even try jumping if that was that it'd take. Whenever he jumped on their bed at six in the morning, she'd always pretend that she was still sleeping, even going as far as to snore loudly. He would giggle and bounce between the two of them.

He wanted to tell her to get up, to stop messing around and pick him up, tell him that Daddy had been goofing off that one time and that he really could wake her up if he just tried hard enough.

But she didn't get out of the box. Nobody knocked, and he was too scared to try, too scared to open it up and see her pinned up like the butterflies on the wall.

So, no. Four-year-old Peter Parker didn't understand how his mother could be "dead", didn't understand how she could just...not be there anymore when she'd been tucking him into bed one week earlier, marveling at the "amazing job I did" of putting the star stickers up on his ceiling.

And quite frankly, he didn't want to understand. Not if it meant his mother would be gone. Not if it meant he would never get to see her again, hear her again, sit on her lap or embrace her after school.

It had something to do with that night. He was almost sure of it.

People had been asking him all sorts of questions about it, men in uniforms with grumpy faces that made him nervous. But there wasn't much about that night that he could remember, other than his mother.

He remembered her, remembered how scared she'd been, more scared than he'd ever seen her be before. He remembered sitting in the dark, sitting in the closet, listening to the storm outside. But most of all, he remembered seeing his mother on the floor, laying still and silent with pools of red draining out of her.

Blood. He remembered that word, too. Remembered it from his third birthday party when he'd slipped and scraped his knee on the playground rocks. That was what his mother had called it, what she had wiped away with a clean tissue before kissing it better.

Who would do that now?

He lifted his head back towards the tree. The butterfly was still there, perched silently, wings flittering ever so often, a little twitch of movement to signal its life.

Slowly, his gaze traveled down away from the tree to scan over the crowd. They were strangers, people he'd never seen before holding tissues and standing around with sad faces as they listened to the old man. Strangers. All of them. Except, of course, for Auntie May and Uncle Ben.

They stood next to him, standing shoulder to shoulder with each other. May had a crumped handful of tissues constantly pressed against one of her eyes, leaning into Uncle Ben while he stood in silence, face drawn into a look Peter wasn't used to seeing on the usually jovial man's face. He didn't like it. It felt wrong seeing him so sad.

The drizzle never let up, not even as the man finally finished speaking and the people slowly began to disperse. He watched them come up to his father, giving him gentle pats on the shoulder as he shook their hands. He looked sad, too. Not as sad as Uncle Ben or Auntie May, but sad nonetheless. He wondered if his father was thinking of the butterflies back home as well.

Eventually, the crowd slowly dwindled until it was just him and his father with Auntie May and Uncle Ben. His father went over to talk to the old man that had been speaking for most of the time, leaving Peter to stand alone under the tree. He watched the butterfly.

"Pete?"

He turned his head.

Uncle Ben smiled down at him, his cheeks stretching strangely as he carefully knelt down in front of the boy. Peter watched the damp grass begin to soak into the man's pants, but he said nothing, not even as Auntie May crouched down to do the same. His mother didn't like it when he got his clothes dirty. He decided not to follow in their movements.

"Hey, champ," the man said softly, different from his usual boisterous tone. "How you doing?"

Peter blinked at him for a moment, fiddled with the hem of his pants. "Okay."

Because he didn't know what else to say.

"Yeah? I've never seen you look so handsome, bud. Doesn't he look handsome, May?"

The woman smiled, tears slipping into the corners of her lips. "The cutest little boy I've ever seen."

Uncle Ben chuckled, but it sounded off, thicker than normal. His throat bobbed up and down. "With all those science T-shirts you love so much, I almost didn't recognize you like this." He reached out and gently began to finger at Peter's tie, straightening it out just a bit before resting his hand against the fabric, his smile wavering.

His mother bought him those shirts. Who would get them for him now?

"It itches," was all that came out when he tried to voice the question.

They were silent for a moment, staring at him in a way he'd never seen before. It was the same look all of the strangers had been giving him, looks that made him uncomfortable, made him want to curl up against his father's leg and hide from their view. But he didn't. His father wasn't here.

Uncle Ben moved his hand from the tie up to Peter's shoulder. "Honey. Please listen to me, alright?"

Peter always listened to Uncle Ben, even before he'd started to give him that strange look.

The man took in a deep breath and Peter could actually hear how shaky it was, the same sound he made whenever he ran too much in gym and needed to use his inhaler. Did Ben need an inhaler? He'd never seen him use one before.

"I...I want..." The man glanced down at the ground for a moment, enough time for Auntie May to place a hand on his shoulder. He sniffed and lifted his head once more. "If you need anything, Peter...anything at all, I want you to come and see us. I know this is...I...this is all so confusing, isn't it?"

Peter didn't say anything. Ben didn't seem to mind.

"And I...we...whatever we can do...to make this easier, we'll do it, alright? So if you need us...doesn't matter what it's for, doesn't matter what time it is." His grip around the boy's shoulder tightened. His eyes grew misty like Aunt May's.

"Don't hesitate. You're always welcome with us."

"What does that mean?" His voice was soft. "Hes...itate?"

Ben blinked at him and gave a gentle smile, brushing a strand of hair out of the boy's face.

"Don't be afraid to ask for help."

Auntie May smiled, it wavered on her face, framed by the tears falling down her cheek that she hastily wiped with the tissues in her hand. "That's right, baby." She cleared her throat. "Anything you need, we'll be there, alright?"

"And you won't just have to come to us, you hear? We'll stop by all the time to see you, watch movies, do whatever you want, okay? How does that sound?"

Not good enough. It wasn't good enough.

He wanted his mother. And they couldn't give her to him.

But not wanting to be rude, the boy gave a little nod of his head, which seemed to be enough for the two of them, for they quickly opened up their arms.

And suddenly overcome with the most emotion he'd felt in that entire week, Peter sniffed and stepped into their arms, tucking his chin into Ben's neck as he felt them wrap around him. The boy's glasses pressed painfully against the bridge of his nose, but he didn't care. Because he knew them. They weren't strangers.

"We're here for you, Peter. I don't want you to forget that, alright? You're our kid, too."

The grass squelched as he heard his father approaching. Peter lifted his head to gaze at him as Uncle Ben and Aunt May stood up, turning to face him. No words were passed, but Ben did reach out to pat his father on the shoulder and shake his hand. Richard gave a silent nod to the both of them before they were stepping back. They both gave Peter little smiles and seemed to hesitate before finally turning to walk back down the hill.

It was just the three of them now.

Peter gazed at his mother for a moment, wondered whether or not she would get up if they stood there long enough. Finally, Peter lifted his eyes to stare at his father. The man was gazing down at her as well, watching her in silence. After a moment, he turned to glance down at Peter.

They stared at each other, and, suddenly overcome with a strange feeling he couldn't describe, Peter lifted his arms into the air. His father blinked down at him, remained silent for another second before slowly crouching down. He placed his hands underneath Peter's arms and lifted him up into the air, settling him against his hip as they stood and watched Mommy for a while.

Finally, when the drizzling had all but ceased, his father took a deep breath and turned his head towards Peter.

"Blow Mommy a kiss."

Peter didn't hesitate, did as was instructed, same as he'd done a thousand times whenever he'd get on the school bus and wave goodbye to her from the window. She didn't catch it this time though, didn't put it in her pocket to save for later. She didn't do anything.

Without another word, his father turned and began to carry him down the hill. Peter rested his chin against the man's shoulder, wrapped his arms around his neck and his legs around his torso. He kept watching, kept waiting for the box to move, for her to get out, to smile and laugh and tell him it had all been a bad dream. But she didn't.

Instead, the boy turned his gaze towards the tree. And just as they made it to the bottom of the hill, just as it left his line of sight, Peter realized.

The butterfly was gone.

 


 

Friday - May 20, 2016

Midtown School of Science and Technology - Courtyard

01:38 PM

"Question, my friends. Do you believe that this three-ring, two-inch binder filled with notes on the migration patterns and trade routes of the imported goods of eastern Turkey are worth saving?"

"I don't know. I guess it depends on what classes you plan on taking next year cause I suppose it could come in handy if-"

"I - no. That was a rhetorical question. The answer is no."

"Rhetorical questions don't have answers."

"Okay. Would you two just let me enjoy this please?"

Without another word, Ned held his binder over the courtyard trashcan and dramatically dropped the thick book in. Peter and Michelle shared a look as the boy wiped his hands and let a satisfied smile work its way onto his face. "Yeah. Feels good."

Peter patted him on the shoulder. "Happy for you," He spared a glance into the trash. "And it seems you're not the only one who's willing to part with his stuff," he said, peering down at the mound of notebooks, papers, binders, and even a couple of backpacks that sat discarded in the garbage.

Ned smirked. "Yeah, man. For the next two months, my hands will hold no pencils, papers, binder, or notebooks. Nothing but Legos, video game controllers, and all the junk food I can afford on my meager 10-buck allowance."

Michelle glanced over towards the road, watching one of the buses pass by, the windows rolled down to display the horde of cheering kids sticking their heads out with their fists pumped and their mouths spread wide into screams of joy.

"Yeah. Something tells me the number of noise complaints is about to spike."

There were still plenty of kids milling about the courtyard, either waiting by the carline for their parents or sitting by the tables talking to friends before they all departed for the first week of summer. The excitement was palpable in the air, the usual aura of apathy and boredom giving way to cheer and relief that the school year was finally over.

Peter pulled on the straps of his bag as he, Ned, and Michelle made for the sidewalk. Usually, the two of them rode home with their parents, but for some reason, they were electing to walk today. Peter didn't ask about it, didn't want to make it seem like a big deal, but it felt strangely nice not walking alone as he usually did.

"Well," Ned stretched his arms into the air, shutting his eyes as he let out a sigh. "First year of high school is officially over and I would give it a solid B minus."

"Good passing grade."

"81 percent at least."

Peter gave a shrug of his shoulders as he watched another line of buses cruise past. "I could have done without Flash on a couple given days-"

"All of them?"

"-But." The boy scoffed and rolled his eyes at MJ's comment. "I can't really complain too much." His gaze softened just a tad as he spared her a sheepish little look before quickly averting his gaze back to the sidewalk. "Made some friends. That's already better than middle school."

He focused on stepping over the cracks in the sidewalk, timing out his gait so that he didn't have to stretch to pass over them. It helped relieve the quickened pace of his heart and the sudden urge to spare a glance over at Michelle.

Luckily, the sudden silence was filled as Ned jumped in, nudging in between the two of them as he grinned. "Yeah, man! Our little duo has become a trio!" He paused, face growing thoughtful for just a second before he was glancing over at Michelle. "Right?"

This time, Peter did look over at her. She stared at the two of them before blowing a scoff past her lips, brushing a few bangs out of her face before stuffing her hands into her pockets. She didn't look at Peter. "Not like I have anybody else to hang out with."

"...I think that's a compliment...

The girl's face scrunched up a bit in what they quickly recognized to be a restrained smile as she rolled her eyes and finally relented with a half-smirk. "It is, genius. I'm sure I could do worse than you two losers."

Peter grinned as well. "Hey, if you're hanging out with us, then that officially makes you a loser, too."

This time she did look over at him. Peter felt himself stiffen ever so slightly, breath stuttering in his throat as he waited for her reply, a strange feeling settling in his stomach. It was a half-day. The sun was higher than usual, meaning it hit her eyes at a new angle. They were bright brown, dark and warm at the same time.

It took him a fraction of a second to wonder why he was thinking about her eyes. But before he could answer, she already was. She sniffed and flipped her hair, turning to face forward once more. "There are worse things to be called."

Peter released a breath. His smile remained, as did hers despite her best efforts to conceal it.

Suddenly Ned was back. Peter had forgotten he was there for a second. The boy swung his backpack around as they were walking and pulled at the zipper, yanking something out of the pack. It took Peter a second to recognize it as the yearbook they'd been passing around at lunch. Ned flipped it open as they strolled along the sidewalk, Peter gazing over at the brightly-colored cover.

The Midtown Tech logo was emblazoned in huge print with the iconic blue and gold of the school swirled around the front. In the corner sat a little nameplate with Ned's name carved in small letters; a personalized touch his mother always splurged for, regardless of the extra thirty dollars it cost.

For a brief, fleeting moment, Peter imagined what it would be like asking his own father for a yearbook, imagined listening to the man agree wholeheartedly before prattling on about his previous high-school days. He would pull out his own yearbook and flip through the pages, pointing out this classmate or that teacher, taking the time to stroll down memory lane with his son.

Peter liked to imagine this rather than the reality of what would likely happen should he ever ask his father for such a ridiculous request. But Ned was always more than happy to share with his friend - as they'd been doing since middle school - so Peter had never felt the need to ask.

"You think Tony Stark would sign this?" Ned held up the page that showed them all at the Decathlon regionals, trophy held above their heads as they grinned on the stage. Michelle glanced at it with a cocked brow.

"Something tells me he's no stranger to signing autographs. Probably the first time he's ever had to sign a yearbook though."

"I still cannot believe - gosh, I wish they'd gotten a picture of afterwards when he showed up. Or, better yet, a pic of Flash's freaking face! God, I would hang that on my wall."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Personally, I don't think a five-by-five pic of Flash's stupid face is really worth the headache that would come from the press getting hold of a picture like that. We just got done dealing with the last media fiasco. I'm good for the next two months."

Ned began to flip through the pages of the book, reviewing the signatures on the final page, mostly from other members of their Decathlon team. "Fine. Fine. But two months from now, I'm getting my money's worth out of being friends with someone who knows an Avenger."

Ned stopped walking. The others faltered slightly, taking a second to realize he was no longer walking beside them and stopping in their tracks, turning back to face him. He stared seriously at his book, face grim, lips pulled into a tight line. Peter and MJ spared each other a look at the sudden shift.

Finally,

"I should frame my Tony Stark autograph."

They rolled their eyes as he started to walk again. "But first I'd have to show Flash, of course. Rub it in his stupid face."

"You really think he'd buy it?" MJ asks.

"Maybe we can get a picture of him signing it. I would frame that too. I'm gonna need to buy some more frames."

Peter shook his head. "Oh my gosh. You're gonna get me fired."

The girl let out a scoff and threw him a skeptical look. "Please. This is the same guy that came to some random, publicly-funded high-school Decathlon tournament just to see you."

Peter turned his head away, if only to hide the sudden heat that had risen around his cheeks at the unexpected statement. But she continued before he could even consider dwelling on it. "If you asked, he'd probably show up to school in his suit."

Ned stopped walking again, but this time, it was so he could zoom forward right into Peter's path, almost making him run right into him. He stared at the boy with wide eyes and a face so intense he could have been in the middle of a warzone and Peter wouldn't have been able to tell the difference.

"Dude...prom. Iron Man can come to prom."

Peter blinked. "Wha-?"

"Think about it. Get him to come to our freaking prom."

"I- that's three years away." Peter used his shoulder to gently push past his friend as they started walking again, Ned trailing after him with a new desperate plea in his tone.

"We'll start planning now! Tony Stark showing up to our prom would no doubt be the highlight of my life. Better than the birth of my kids sort of highlight! He could fly you in nonchalant, just totally chill about it. Maybe you two could do some sort of super-secret handshake thing. Oh, and you gotta make sure he says hi to me, or maybe one of those cool-guy head nods from a distance."

"Why don't we at least wait until junior year before we start making plans to bring Iron May as my date to prom?"

Another line of busses filed past them, these just as filled at the previous batch, echoing with the cheers and shouts of students embarking for home. Along the sidewalks, other groups of kids walked with backpacks slung over their shoulders and lunchboxes in hand, signs that all the other schools in the area had just finished letting out as well.

Storefronts were crowded, the streets were loud, and all around them, discarded homework papers fluttered in the breeze or slid along the ground, the first real sign that summer had officially started.

"So, what now?" Ned called with a grin that spread from cheek to cheek, walking just ahead of them with a backward gait so he could face them as he spoke. "We starting off this summer right? Delmar's then Arcade Monsters?" He didn't wait for a reply and pumped his fist. "I'm getting all the mileage I can get out of this now that I actually have my partner in crime to hang out with this year."

Peter steered the oblivious boy away from the telephone pole he was walking towards as Michelle cocked a brow. "What do you mean?"

"My dad usually keeps me pretty busy during the summer, so I don't get to hang out with Ned all that much."

Ned's grin got even wider, if such a thing were possible. "But this year's different! Your dad is out of the picture so we're gonna live it up!"

The smile on Peter's face faltered, wavered and twitched at the corners before turning into a small frown. He turned his eyes back over towards the road, watching as cars filled with teens raced down the street. The previous warmth he'd felt before fizzled out like fingertips pinching around a candlewick.

"He's not...out of the picture. He's just...I..." His voice tapered off as the words seemed to die on his tongue. He didn't even know what he'd been going to say, only that he should have said something. Instead, he let out a little sigh and shrugged his shoulders. "I guess."

He stared down at his shoes, watched them as they stepped over each and every crack, every divide in the concrete in a steady, rhythmic pattern. He drummed his fingers against the straps of his bag, paced it so that each step was another wave of taps. It was a nice little distraction from the sudden silence that had sprung up between the three of them. It was enough of a clue to the fact that Ned and Michelle were probably sharing looks, the newly tense air not lost on them either.

Peter didn't even realize that he'd quickened his pace until Ned had to do a quick little jog to stay level with him. "So? You...wanna go get something to eat?" He asked hesitantly.

Beside him, Peter noticed Michelle's eyes grow sharper as she stared at Ned with a pointed questioning look. Peter furrowed his brow at the reaction and it was only when the girl looked at him and noticed he was staring that she turned away.

"Oh, uh...I can't. I gotta finish packing before Mr. Stark comes to pick me up tonight."

MJ lifted her head again, a sharp movement that made her hair swish around her eyes. "Tonight? I thought you were leaving tomorrow."

Had Peter been paying more attention, he would have noticed the slight urgency in her tone and the look she and Ned shared once again. But his mind was elsewhere. Had been elsewhere ever since the press conference over a week ago, since Mr. Stark had revealed his plans. He kept staring at his shoes. His previously warm thoughts towards the billionaire shifted and cooled.

"Yeah, I thought so too, but Mr. Stark doesn't wanna waste any time since my family is so 'unpredictable' as he put it. But I mean, come on. I've lived with them for years. What's one more day going to do?" The words were spoken with a strange new tone and it took Peter a moment to realize it was bitterness. His gait had quickened once again and he was chewing on the inside of his cheek with a sudden heaviness in his gut that hadn't been there before, fixed to a fit of newfound anger that had seemingly come from nowhere.

Only it hadn't come from nowhere.

Peter had been stewing with it all week.

He didn't even know if he could call it anger. Frustration, maybe? Nerves? Whatever it was had left him jittery and on edge for the better part of the week. With each day that had ticked by finalizing exams and exchanging scores with classmates, Peter had felt the looming presence of the future like a bad storm, the clouds dark and ominous on the horizon, bringing with them uncertainty and change.

And now that it was here, now that it was all about to begin, he couldn't shake the nauseated feeling brewing in his gut, thunderous and loud.

Ned threw him a quizzical look, seemingly just as baffled by the sudden shift in demeanor as Peter was. "I think he's just trying to help, dude."

"Yeah, well his help isn't always needed."

With these last words, Peter forced his jaw shut, clamped it down hard, and bit the tip of his tongue, but it did little to push down the sudden wash of shame that flooded over him. Mr. Stark was offering him more than he could imagine and here he was complaining about it?

What the hell's the matter with me?

Peter had been asking himself that same question since the conference, since he'd first heard the news and had felt a whole wave of emotions, none of which being happiness.

He shut his eyes and blew out a sharp breath from his nose, tried to take a second to just listen to the cars driving past and nothing else. He blinked his eyes back open and met the staring gazes of his friends. He shook his head and rubbed at the back of his neck, averting his eyes. "It's...whatever. I'm being overdramatic obviously. I guess I'm just nervous." He threw them a little smile. Michelle didn't return it but Ned was all too happy to.

"Nervous? Dude, I'm surprised you're not vibrating right now. This is single-handedly one of the coolest things to ever happen to me, and it's not even happening to me!" He beamed, seemed to bounce from foot to foot as they walked. "My best friend not only knows Tony Stark, but is actively going to live with him. Are you kidding me right now?!"

"It's only temporary." His voice sounded far off, distracted. Different from the carefree, casual tone of before.

"Still! It's awesome!"

Peter didn't respond, and this finally seemed to be a big enough sign to Ned that his celebration was perhaps a bit too premature. The grin on his face faltered slightly and he tilted his head, leaning closer to the boy beside him. "It...it is awesome, right?"

(Hey...this is a good thing, right?")

(A good thing.)

(A good thing.)

(A good thing.

(A good-)

"Peter-?"

He jerked a bit at the sudden tap on his shoulder, causing Michelle to jolt her hand back just a tad. He stopped suddenly in his tracks, causing the others to trip slightly in their haste to do the same. He gazed back at them, switched his gaze between both of their faces. They stared back at him in silence, as if waiting for him to speak.

Now that he wasn't walking and he wasn't filling his ears with the melodious sounds of his footsteps, Peter could finally hear just how fast his heart was beating now, thudding in his chest like a drum about to break through the batter head. When had that happened? Just a second ago, he'd been perfectly fine and now it felt like his ribs were about to crack.

Why couldn't he think about Mr. Stark anymore without feeling a sudden bout of prickling unease?

He sucked in a little breath, choked down the shakiness, and licked his lips, tightening the straps on his backpack if only to give his hands something to do.

"I should, uh...I should get home. I still got a lot of packing to do before tonight."

Ned, ever the expert in his friend's little idiosyncrasies, noticed the inconsistency right away, taking a little step forward with newfound concern shining in his eyes. "You sure? I-"

Whatever he'd been planning on saying next was cut short as Michelle placed a hand on his shoulder and stepped forward. "That's fine. You do what you need to do." Her voice was firm, similar to the tone she used whenever they were practicing for Decathlon: authoritative and with no room for discussion. Peter found that he was surprisingly grateful for it. He didn't feel he was up for much conversation anymore.

However, the firmness that had suddenly found its way onto her face softened just a bit as she let out a little breath. "Just...make sure to text us when you get to the Tower, okay?"

Peter smiled, found no trouble doing it this time. "Definitely."

Ned reflected his friend's look as he grinned. "Yeah, and I promise we'll get together soon cause you gotta tell us all about it. And I mean, word for word, every single detail down to the color of the floors."

Peter let out a little chuckle and rolled his eyes, giving a little wave as he turned on his heel and crossed the street where the awaiting subway platform lurked, ready to take him home.

The two of them waited for a minute and watched him cross the street, remaining silent right until he disappeared underneath the subway entrance awning. And as soon as he did, Michelle was whirling around on her heel, face cross. "'Do you wanna get something to eat?' Are you kidding me, Ned? Have you forgotten what we're supposed to do today?"

They began to walk back the way they'd come from, away from their houses.

"I know. I know. I was just excited."

"Well focus! This is important."

"I know that," he shouted back defensively, hands suddenly wringing together with a nervousness that hadn't been present two seconds ago. He lowered his head. "I'm sorry."

Michelle waited for a brief second before letting out a sharp breath through her nose, running a hand through her stray curls, causing them to frizz up even more. "Don't be. I'm not angry. I..." She trailed off, felt her throat suddenly go dry. She swallowed, despite its difficulty, and stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jacket once again. "I'm nervous."

Ned glanced over at her, face withholding none of its surprise at the girl's bold openness, a rarity of sorts. It didn't last long, though, for soon enough, Ned's shock gave way to like-minded nervousness.

"Me too. I thought we'd have more time."

"Same here. But if Peter's going there tonight, then we can't put it off any longer. We have to do it now."

They stopped at a crosswalk. Michelle reached out to press the pedestrian button on the side pole. They stood side by side and waited, shifting their weight from foot to foot. Among the crowds of students filing home, the sight wasn't an odd one. They didn't stand out at all, blended in perfectly with the mass of kids and teens, all with backpacks in hand and grins on their faces.

The only difference between the pair and those other students was the fact that their faces held no such grins and their destination was far from home. Their home, at least.

Ned swallowed, kept fiddling with his hands. The crosswalk changed to green. "What if he doesn't meet with us?"

Michelle's face remained hard as she started forward once again, steps fast and precise as she walked. Ned had to jog slightly to keep up with her, but he kept silent, didn't complain once. He was just as eager as she was to get to their current destination.

"He's going to meet with us. I'll make sure of it."

 


 

Peter found himself walking slower than usual, which was already a feat in itself. Any slower, and he could potentially make the argument that he wasn't moving at all.

Emerging from the subway awning, Peter stepped out onto the streets once again and took a deep breath, let his eyes wander around the surrounding streets of Queens for a moment.

The roads were still filled with cars and bicycles carrying students home. Along the sidewalk Mr. O'Conner walked his bloodhound, Boxer, who shambled along with as slow a gait as his elderly owner. The pair sidestepped the group of middle-schoolers chasing after each other with backpacks flying. Across the street, Mrs. Li swept outside her Thai restaurant and further down some teenagers were buying magazines from DeMarco's newsstand, the only competition Mr. Murphy had in all of Queens. The two men always liked to poke fun at each other, bickering about who got the most action from the local teens and their weekly allowances.

Peter let his eyes linger for a moment before turning away. For a brief moment, he considered turning the other way and heading down to 57th street, stopping by Delmar's or Rosa's for a minute. But he dismissed the idea soon after. He could only put it off for so long.

So he started walking again, albeit as slowly as possible.

Peter was no stranger to stalling his walk home. Everyone in Queens knew his name, and not just because they knew who his father was. Nearly every day when he walked home from school, Peter found himself taking the scenic routes, bypassing the straight shot to his house to instead take the side paths that winded around the streets and storefronts of Queens.

He was familiar with the feelings of reluctance that always accompanied his trip, feelings that made his feet drag and his head angle towards the streets, looking for something, anything that could buy him some more time. A neighbor that needed help bringing in his trash cans. A pair of kids looking for a lost dog. He'd even once stopped to help an old lady wash her car, which had bought him an extra ninety minutes of free time that was later repaid with a lashing at home for his tardiness (the cookies and lemonade she'd given him as a reward made it all worth it, though).

But there was something different about the reluctance settling in Peter's stomach today. His destination wasn't the problem, it was what he'd have to do once he got there.

Peter took a breath, felt it expand in his lungs before blowing back out.

He was almost finished packing.

Considering how few belongings he actually owned, it hadn't taken much time at all. The majority of the clothes he owned, a couple of textbooks for entertainment, and his phone charger were really all he'd packed. All that was left to do now was to finish packing his toothbrush and recheck everything for about the fourth time to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything.

And then?

Peter had been putting off thinking about the 'then' for that entire week. But his window of opportunity to relish in the ignorance was quickly shrinking with each second that ticked by.

He was leaving tonight. It was happening in hours. Not weeks or days. But mere hours from now. The thought bounced around in his head but he couldn't seem to staple it down, truly grasp and understand it no matter how hard he tried. Every time he did, the thought was buffered away by two striking but equally as loud thoughts.

You're leaving home.

Followed by,

You've never left home before.

Over and over, those thoughts had been chasing each other in circles around his mind, ready to spring up into the silence of a conversation or a lull of calm where his mind was empty and free of any distractions like exams, or yearbook signings, or his friends laughing by his side. And with each cycle they made, the tighter and tighter Peter's chest got.

The longest he'd ever been away from the stiff mattress of his bed or the cold gray of his walls was when he'd gone to Germany with Mr. Stark, and even then, the sheer restlessness that had followed his acceptance of the man's offer (demand, really), at the prospect of leaving the familiar closed quarters of his house had almost been enough to convince him to call off the entire trip.

The only saving grace for him was the reminder that it would only be a few days at best. Not two months. Two months of sleeping in a bed that wasn't his, listening to footsteps that didn't belong to his father or Max or Sandra. Perhaps the thought should have been relieving, but Peter found he couldn't conjure up any emotion other than unease.

Whose footsteps would he have to listen for at the Tower?

His feet shuffled along the sidewalk, dragging with a certain hesitance that almost made Peter imagine that his feet could simply fuse to the concrete should he walk slow enough.

Mr. Stark couldn't take him away if he was stuck to the floor, right?

What right does he have to steal me from my dad?

The thought was so invasive and sudden that it crashed straight through the cycling already going on in his head, causing him to finally pause in his step as he blinked in the silence. Where had that come from? And why had it felt so...natural to think?

("You don't want to go to the police? Fine. Then you go to me.")

He furrowed his brow, hesitated for a moment before slowly starting his walk again. He raised his hands to fiddle with the sleeves of his jacket - a jacket he was still wearing even though summer was about to begin.

Peter knew why Mr. Stark was doing this. It was the same reason May and Ben used to insist he come over for dinner or spend his time doing homework at their house instead. It was the same reason why the billionaire had insisted Peter stay with him that day he and his father had come to the Tower, why the phantom grips of his hand around Peter's wrist still stung weeks afterward. Why, every time Peter, his father, and Mr. Stark were ever in a room together, the latter would always get in between him and his dad, effectively blocking each other from view.

And it was the main reason why Peter had been teetering on the edge of nausea for the better part of the week.

("Anything to keep you as far away from them for as long as possible.")

Peter turned off of the main road and onto his street. Instantly, the houses and apartments started shifting from drab and dilapidated to expensive and lavish, the pick-ups and sedans switching to Porsches and Bentleys.

Peter knew his father, perhaps knew him better than anybody. He knew the man could be trying at times, could let his temper get the best of him, and sometimes made very questionable choices, very pointed mistakes.

It was hard sometimes. It was worse than hard other times. The Cons could be harsh, cruel even. And his father, for the most part, never even blinked when they turned on him, never stopped them or said a word of command.

Years ago, when Peter was younger and he'd step into his house, when he heard the locks click into place behind him, caught a glimpse of the fridge door bolted shut, or saw the flash of a belt wrapped around Max's knuckles, he remembered being upset, feeling indignant, angry at how unfair it all way. How Max was never shy in dealing out whatever punishments he saw fit, when Sandra and Curt got too drunk or high out of their minds and dragged him out of bed to entertain themselves, when Flint would blame his mistakes caused by his own stupidity on Peter, he remembered the anger. He remembered feeling angry.

But most of all, Peter remembered when that anger finally subsided, morphed into something different, something calmer, something a bit more tolerable to live with day in and day out:

("Family's important, Peter. Family means everything.")

Resignation. Acceptance.

They were his family, flaws and all. The Cons had put their own lives on hold to come and help his father, help him. They kept the house in order, helped his father grow his business, helped them get to where they were today. Peter knew the privilege of living on the street he did, knew that it hadn't just happened overnight. The Cons had helped them, had helped build them up. The least he could do was swallow his own ungratefulness and deal with their...idiosyncrasies.

And as for his father?

("You little rat! You ever embarrass me like that again and I'll knock you senseless till you're pissing blood!")

...There were good days and bad days.

He knew his father wasn't perfect, far from it. There were days - after he'd returned to his room spitting out the remnants of a tooth or cleaning up his newest welts courtesy of a lashing - that the anger returned. The unfairness of it all. Some days it was harder to push down. And others...?

("Well aren't you my little science guy? Mary! Come look at our boy. And bring the camera!")

No family is perfect. It took a while, but it was a lesson Peter had finally learned years ago. His family was no exception. They had their squabbles. They had their disagreements. And they had their bad days.

("You know I love you, Peter.")

But Richard Parker was still his father. And Peter loved him with every fiber of his being.

So if agreeing to live with Mr. Stark, if agreeing to live in a new unfamiliar place with unfamiliar rules - the prospects of which made Peter's heart beat at a million miles per hour - was the price to pay to protect his father, then Peter was happy to foot the bill, to swallow his fear and leap off that ledge.

Just because the people around him didn't seem to understand how his family worked didn't mean he'd let them suffer for it.

His house came into view, the tallest building out of all the already impressive structures on the street. It stood tall on the corner. Peter fiddled with his pocket, fingers finding the key. He noticed his father's car was still in the driveway, same as it had been that morning. He hadn't left for work. He must have taken the day off to see Peter off.

The boy took a small breath, a habit built from ten years of staring up at his home, ten years of psyching himself up to walk up those final steps and enter, prepared for whatever would be on the other side. And for the last time for the foreseeable future, Peter did just that, mind now filled with two new thoughts that cycled around and around each other in an endless loop that left him breathless.

My father is all I have left.

Followed by,

Nobody's going to take him away. Not even Tony Stark.

 


 

Friday - May 20, 2016

Stark Tower - Common Floor

02:26 PM

"So, hear me out. What if I just take like, six of these things right now so I'll be good for the whole week? Like, quota totally filled right off the bat."

Pepper took the prescription bottle from his hands and unscrewed the cap. "Why don't we stick to the recommended doses for at least a little while before we start playing fast and loose with your drug regimen?" She dropped two Paroxetine tablets into Tony's outstretched hand. The man didn't bother sitting up from the reclined position on the couch he'd been sporting for the better part of an hour (though it was still better than the pacing he'd been keeping up since three that morning.)

He glared at the offending tablets for a moment before popping them into his mouth, dry-swallowing them after a second. He sighed and leaned his head back against the armrest, staring up at the ceiling above his head as he folded his hands back over his stomach. "For all we know, this Dr. Torres could be out to kill me. Like, in the slowest and most inconvenient way possible."

The woman roll her eyes and went back to rearranging the cushions on the adjacent couches. "We ran her through thirty background checks, vi-cap, blood scans, medical history, and a whole host of other things that have us teetering very close to the edge of getting our pants sued off for illegal workplace practices."

He didn't bother glancing over at Pepper, just kept scanning his eyes over the ceiling tiles above him. "What's the point of being a billionaire if you can't spend your hard-earned money on paying out completely arbitrary lawsuits?"

"This is why our legal team hasn't gone on vacation in two years."

"They're lawyers. I thought at the end of the day, they go home and stand in a corner to charge."

The billionaire thought back for a moment to the woman he'd met a few days ago. Dr. Torres was a small-statured Honduran woman with dark brown hair and light caramel skin. With personal recommendations from Cho, who had apparently worked with the woman back when she was first researching the baseline theories of her Cradle experiment in Central America, Tony had reluctantly decided that perhaps his anxiety was high-time ready to be treated, at least somewhat. Enter his new physician, who seemed as phased by his superheroing and multi-billion dollar accompaniments as a pediatrician is with getting spit-up on their coats, which is to say, not at all. That, at least, Tony appreciated.

But perhaps a second opinion was in order. Two pills a day seemed pretty ridiculous.

Footsteps approached. Tony lazily craned his neck further over the edge of the armrest and watched as both Rhodey and Happy stalked upside-down and unhappily onto the floor, bags of groceries in their arms as they dropped them on the counters. The latter spoke first.

"Okay, I'm willing to put up with a lot of impromptu additions to my job description, usually at the expense of my pride, but 'grocery delivery man' is where I'm drawing the line."

Tony let out a little groan as he rolled unceremoniously off of the couch. Meanwhile, Rhodey leaned up against the counter, already making work of unloading the bags. "At least you're getting paid for this, man."

The billionaire ambled up to his feet and slowly began to trudge over to the kitchen, reaching into his pocket to pull out a twenty. Rhodey scoffed as the man slipped the cash into his friend's pocket without a word as he walked past. Pepper followed and walked around the other end of the counter as she began to pull items out of the bags as well.

"We need to make sure this place is stocked with semi-edible foods so we're not charged with child negligence for leaving a fourteen-year-old in a building with nothing but vitamin water and-" She pulled another item out of the bag and narrowed her eyes at the label. "-whole wheat fiber bars..."

Happy reached over and plucked it out of her hand with a grunt. "They keep me regular."

Tony made his way over to the sink and didn't waste any time as he started to unroll some paper towels from the dispenser to the side. "Not that hearing about the current nutritional status of Happy's colon isn't what I want to be doing right now, but did you actually get something edible?"

None of them decided to comment on it when he started to stuff the paper towels against the drain at the bottom of the sink. Rhodey simply continued to put newly purchased food items into the pantry. "Relax. I've been buying food for you for years. And I feel I should tell you," he gestured with a box of Cheese-Itz. "the fact that you're diet is so strikingly similar to that of a fourteen-year-old kid's is slightly concerning."

Tony finished plugging up the drain and turned on the faucet. "What are you, my mother?"

The colonel just rolled his eyes and shut the pantry door, turning instead to Pepper and he began to unload two gallons of juice. "Is everything else ready?"

The woman nodded and glanced over her shoulder. "They just finished with his room an hour ago. Everything else is set."

At that exact moment, Tony turned off the faucet and dunked his head into the now-full kitchen sink.

"Except for, you know...that."

Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy watched him for a moment of intrigued silence, the bodyguard folding his arms over his chest as he cocked a brow and leaned up against the back wall. "In all honesty, he's taking this much better than I was expecting."

They all nodded in agreement.

Tony finally extracted his head from the new pool of water with a sharp gasp, wide eyes blinking around the room for a fraction of a second, as if searching for some new, changed phenomenon. When he apparently didn't see what he'd hoped to, the man let out a little sigh and leaned up against the counter. "Nope. Still here. This nightmare is never-ending." He rested his forehead against the counter. "God, I miss alcohol."

Pepper approached, stopping by the fridge for a second and returning with a new bottle of vitamin water in her hands. She bumped it against the side of his head. "Make do with this."

He gazed at the bottle for a prolonged stretch of time before snatching it from her hands and twisting the cap off with a look bearing striking resemblance to a child's pout.

Happy turned to Pepper. "What time's he supposed to get here, anyway?"

"Tony's picking him up at 6."

Said man pulled the newly opened water away from his lips and dropped it into the still-full sink, water slashing around the counter as it landed in the pool. "Four hours. Jesus..." He turned to the prescription bottle Pepper had left on the counter, reached over and grabbed it. He twisted it around to glare down at the fine print on the front, if only to try and stave off the sudden flare of sheer, heart-stopping panic that arose at the reminder that he would soon be responsible for a real, physical, oxygen-breathing, blood-pumping teenager.

"How long did you say until this stuff starts to kick in?"

The woman folded her arms. "Five weeks."

"Awesome." He tossed the bottle over his shoulder without a second thought, where it also landed in the still-filled sink with a distinctly smaller splash than the water bottle. He brushed past the others and made his way back over to the couch, leaving the three of them alone in the kitchen once more.

Pepper watched him leave for a moment before quietly turning to the others, who were also doing the same. "Can you give us a minute?" she asked softly.

Happy grunted - his usual reply of affirmation - and walked off down the hallway. Rhodey paused for a moment to give his friend another once-over before turning to Pepper, giving her a gentle pat on the shoulder. "Good luck," he smiled before following after Happy.

Tony sat in silence against the couch, hands folded together as they pressed against his mouth. His eyes stared off at nothing and he didn't turn as Pepper slowly walked over, carefully taking a seat on the armrest next to him. He felt her eyes on him, felt them scanning him up and down. He still didn't move, didn't tell her to stop.

Five weeks.

Four hours.

Maybe if he snorted another ten of those things, he'd stop feeling so gut-wrenchingly anxious.

"You really don't think the arcade cabinets were a bit much?"

He let out a little breath, felt his shoulders bounce with the action. "It's a game room. What are you supposed to put in a game room? Teenagers don't play pool. Besides, I'm pretty sure Peter mentioned them... I mean, once. In passing. Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, I might have dreamed that. I- anyway, kids play with that stuff all the time. There used to be lines out the door at the arcade near my high school. Of course, that was before I rigged all the machines to do nothing but infinitely scroll through the name Johnny Grinski over and over again. That jock-head had every snot-nosed, hormonally-challenged teenage boy breathing down his neck for erasing all their high scores. Of course, he had nothing to do with it, that idiot couldn't screw a cap on a water bottle but that didn't stop them from pouring Kool-Aid mix and Nesquik into his gas tank and-"

He blinked. Swallowed the next wave of words threatening to spew.

"I'm rambling."

Pepper shook her head. "To the point where I don't even remember where the conversation first started."

He turned away again, but this time his eyes focused on the floor, the sleek, pristine surface without a scar or blemish. He felt his fingers twitching, but he fought to hold them still, curled them tighter around each other. When he spoke, his voice was soft. Pepper heard nonetheless.

"I have to get this right, Pepper."

"You will."

"I...I can't mess this up."

"Well, you'll do that too."

He glanced over at her with a furrowed brow and finally leaned back a bit in his seat, bringing his hands to rest in his lap. "Alright, I'm going to need you to walk me through this cause up until a second ago, I was under the impression that you were trying to make me feel better."

Pepper took a deep breath and paused for a moment, seeming to think hard about her next choice of words. "Listen, if these past three months have been any indication, this isn't going to be easy, Tony. In fact, this is probably going to be one of the hardest things you've ever done."

"I feel I should remind you of the week-long desert trek vacation I took back in 2010."

She rolled her eyes once more. "My point is that this is going to take a lot of commitment."

He turned away.

"Commitment that you're already showing."

Tony furrowed his brows at that, but he didn't look at her. He drummed his fingers against his knee. She continued.

"If you'd asked me back in March if I thought you'd be redecorating your tower and calling in favors with your favorite remodelers and movers all for the sake of some kid, I would have been seriously concerned for your mental well-being."

A joke about always having to be concerned about his mental well-being tickled the tip of his tongue, but he kept silent. Pepper shifted in her seat and lid down from the armrest to sit right next to him. She placed a hand overtop his. His fingers stilled.

"But no matter how committed you are, you're going to make mistakes. Because at the end of the day, despite your iron-clad suits perhaps pointing differently, you're still human."

Tony hesitated for a moment before turning to gaze back at her bright blue eyes. They gazed at him with a certain affection, and the fact that it wasn't the affection he hoped for killed him a little inside, but just like the jokes, he bit this back as well.

Pepper gave him a gentle smile and tapped his hand. "The only question you have to ask yourself is: how prepared are you to fix those mistakes when they do happen?" Her shoulders bounced with the gentle chuckle that arose from her. "And if these past couple of weeks have been any indication, I'd say you're going to do great."

He stared at her, swallowed the thickness that had been stuck to his throat since he'd woken up that morning with the heavy weight of the day's future hanging heavy in his gut like a lead weight, the name 'Peter Parker' etched into the stone.

"Your faith in me is very much appreciated and very much not reciprocated."

The joke didn't make him feel better, but at least his tongue wasn't burning with the restraint anymore. Pepper smiled at him. "I figured as much. But whatever does come up, whether it's deciding what to eat for dinner, or buying the kid clothes that actually fit him, or deciding whether a minifridge in his room is going too far to the extreme, you'll have help." Her eyes flashed with a certain fierceness, a loyal bond they'd shared long before they'd ever gotten together.

"You're not doing this alone. The sooner you both figure that out, the better." She winked and leaned in a little closer. "So maybe you can lead by example."

Tony raked his eyes over her face, made note of each and every little detail from the speck of green in her left eye to the five sparse freckles she'd always hated dotting the bridge of her nose. And the reassurance that those details would never be too far away, the reassurance that those flaws and imperfections that only helped to make her even more perfect in his eyes would never leave as he'd always feared, was enough to allow him a small smile.

"Not a bad idea."

The woman retained her smile as she rose up to her feet and leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss against his forehead. Tony shut his eyes, allowed himself a brief indulgent second of picturing his life with the woman standing before him before quickly blinking back into the reality at hand. Pepper had already moved away. Tony moved on.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket, which she'd been ignoring all day in favor of helping them all prep the tower for Peter's arrival. But she couldn't put off her work any longer, Tony knew. "I need to go wrap up some things with our shareholders but I'll be back in time to see him get here."

He nodded. "Right."

"In the meantime, try to relax. It won't do Peter any good coming into a tower that's filled with nothing but crazed hyper-nervous energy."

"He's been my intern for three months. He'll be surprised if that's not what he gets."

The woman shook her head but said nothing else as she made for the hall. Before she could fully round the corner, however, she paused and turned back around. Tony gazed at her curiously. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, as if deliberating whether or not to voice her question. After a second, she spoke.

"Kool-aid and Nesquik?

"Oh, you could hear that engine explode from a mile away."

"What did he even do to you?"

"Nothing. I was bored."

The woman smiled at him, gave a little shake of her head, and finally disappeared from sight.

Tony watched her go for a moment before turning back around. He let out a little breath and rose back up to his feet, sparing a second to just take a look around the room.

Nothing had been changed too drastically on the common floor save for a few new decorative touches courtesy of Pepper to "make it seem less billion-dollar chic and a bit more live-in ready rather than too-expensive-to-touch", which seemed to include a throw blanket over the couch and some books for the coffee table. A new, updated surround-sound theater system had been put in, hooked up to every and any video game console created since 1972, which Tony had been collecting over the past week. The grocery run Rhodey and Happy had just returned from marked the fourth that week, leaving the panty and fridge near bursting with foods that could potentially entice a teenager into eating. But other than that, the floor remained fairly unchanged.

The same couldn't be said for a few of the other rooms in the tower.

His building had no shortage of spare rooms and floors sectioned off for any potential uses. Of course, the new game room was a stark difference to the combat-projection training floor he'd originally imagined the room to be, but he wasn't complaining. Nor was he miffed about the uses his father's dusty collection of first edition books were now getting in the newly furnished study he'd prepped, filled wall to wall with stacks of novels and texts. And then, there was the biggest change of all: the addition of a new room on Tony's private floor.

Of course, the fact that the Tower was now ready and waiting for the kid's arrival only solidified the fact that Tony was not.

It was easy to feign confidence when Peter had been by his side that day of the conference, but now that there was nobody to pretend for, Tony could feel the anticipation creeping in his stomach, churning his gut and forcing stomach acid up his throat. So much could go wrong. Over and over, the billionaire found himself running through a list of all possible catastrophes ranging from dealing with a bored teenager to the Tower literally burning down.

And the more stressed he got, the more he kept thinking of the more extreme possibilities.

How common were earthquakes in New York again?

He glanced around. Nobody was around to answer.

Maybe he'd ask Peter about it, assuming his heart held out long enough to actually get the kid and see his plan through.

What a plan, Stark. What a plan.

And yet, with each wave of regret and nerves that washed over him, nothing grounded him more than the simple task of brushing his fingers against the scars on his palm.

They didn't hurt anymore, were barely even noticeable save for the pale pink color that stood out among the sea of roughened callouses adorning his skin. But they were there for a reason. He was doing this for a reason.

A pretty damn good one, all things considered.

Tony paused...thought about it for a moment. Quickly, he spun on his heel again, marching towards the sink still filled with water, ready and waiting to accept his face.

It would be fine. He still had another four hours to find his balls hiding somewhere in that water.

 


 

But in all honesty, he should have expected something unexpected to come up in the thralls of his personal panic.

Expecting the unexpected was practically in the job description at this point. But this fact did little to stave off the flare of annoyance that rose in him at being disturbed during his game of 'calculating the predicted jail sentence of accidentally losing a kid that's in your charge'.

"Friday, what the hell am I looking at here?"

He glared at the TV before him that had suddenly come to life at the AI's previous proclamation a moment ago. The CCTV footage showed the downstairs lobby.

"There seems to be some sort of disturbance in the main entryway."

And...yeah. At quick glance, he noticed that there seemed to be a crowd gathering, but there were no guns, no blood, literally no signs whatsoever that he should give a single shit.

"Why on God's green earth are you telling me this? I'm pretty sure 'reading the room' is a common enough skill that everyday smartphone bots can figure it out, let alone a multi-functional, billion-dollar-

The words froze on his tongue as the crowds parted on the screen, revealing a glimpse of the center of the commotion. Tony's eyes widened as he stiffened where he stood, jaw going slack as he blinked in shock at the sight.

"What...the hell?"

"Perhaps you would like me to connect to Siri to confer with her on whether or not my evaluation was correct."

"Shut up. Get me downstairs."

 


 

"Look, I don't know how many times I have to tell you, but we have to see Tony Stark today." Michelle's voice held an air that suggested she was trying to be pleasant, but the sour look adorning the receptionist's face wasn't helping to keep the clear annoyance from seeping into her tone.

Said woman was buffered by two other receptionists, each sparing sidelong glances at the two teenage appearances in the lobby like they were little skittering bugs underneath their feet. The head woman had sharp angular features and an expression that she'd just gotten a whiff of something unpleasant, for she stared down over the brim of her glasses.

"And I'm done trying to explain to you that without an appointment, you two are not getting past this lobby."

Ned and Michelle spared glances at each other. They'd expected things to be a bit difficult, but this was presenting with a challenge they hadn't really planned for. All things considered, they probably should have. They weren't exactly asking for a simple pass into the local nightclub.

Still, Michelle retained her serious expression, seemingly unwilling to back down. "How are we supposed to make an appointment when we're not even eighteen yet?"

"That is not my concern. Take it up with your parents, but until you do, I'm afraid I can't help you." Surprisingly, the receptionist didn't look at all upset with the statement.

Ned took a step forward, eyes pleading as he fiddled with his hands. Behind them, a line of disgruntled employees was forming, their patience obviously wearing thin as they waited for access to the front desk. Nevertheless, the teen spoke, albeit softly, and with a notable waver to his voice. "Please. This is like super, mega, ultra-crazy important."

The woman sighed. "What isn't with kids like you." She adjusted her glasses and pursed her lips, drumming her spindly fingers against the counter. "I'm sorry, but it's a security matter. I can't let two unverified, unidentified children into this tower."

Ned opened his mouth again only for MJ to shove past him, stalking closer until she was pressed right up against the desk, elbows leaning against it. The woman blinked in shock as she reared back slightly.

"My name is Michelle Jones. The sweaty kid is Ned Leeds. We're from Midtown School of Science and Technology and we're friends with Peter Parker. You heard of him, the kid that's been on every news channel for the past two weeks now? Yeah, he's our best friend and we have to talk to Tony Stark about him." Her eyes narrowed and she didn't step away from the desk. If anything, she leaned in. "It's important. We don't have any other way of contacting him or that's what we'd be doing."

The woman didn't seem phased. "Likely story. Look, for the last time, you can either make an appointment or leave. There are no other options."

Michelle sniffed, leaned back for a moment before brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She spun on her heel. "Okay. I'm done with this. Come on, Ned." Without another word, she started towards the security barriers further into the building.

"MJ-

"Now just where do you think you're going?"

"Is there a problem here?"

Everybody turned at the voice and stared up at the fairly sizable security guard currently glaring down at them, arms folded and chest puffed in an obviously intimidating manner. The receptionist couldn't help the slightly smug look now spreading onto her face as she began to brush the wrinkles away from her blouse. "Right. I was just telling these two...individuals that unless they have an appointment, they're going to have to leave."

Ned instantly took a step back while Michelle took one forward. "Listen, I know this sounds really sketch but I swear-"

"I don't care about the details, kids. Now, I'm going to ask you two once to leave the building of your own accord, otherwise, we're going to have to escort you off the property."

"We'll just camp outside then!"

"-Or we can contact the police if you still refuse to cooperate and press charges for trespassing."

"Michelle..." Ned grabbed onto her arm, forcing her to look at him. He looked nervous, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet as he spared glances between the angry-looking security guard and the door behind him. MJ stared at him for a moment, seeming to consider the look of unease on his face before tightening her lips into a thin line. She pushed his hand off and turned to the guard once more, eyes narrowed and face hard. She folded her arms and straightened her back.

"You can go, Ned. But I'm not leaving until I talk to Tony Stark."

The guard clenched his jaw and opened his mouth as he took a threatening step forward-

"Woof. She sounds serious. I'd back off if I were you, man."

Everyone - kids, guard, receptionist, and the poor employees caught in the crossfire - turned their heads towards Tony Stark as he strolled up to the chaos, seemingly unfazed by the sudden mess forming in his lobby. He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he approached, the nearby employees in line quickly backing off as he did.

The guard quickly tried to right himself, blinking out of his stupor as he tried to straighten up, voice suddenly much deeper than it had been a second ago. "Mr. Stark, sir. Don't worry, we have it handled-"

"Yeah. I'm sure you do. That's why I have the makings of a mosh-pit forming in my lobby."

The guard opened his mouth before quickly shutting his jaw, lowering his gaze as he found he had nothing to say. Tony threw him a sidelong glance before turning his attention to the two kids staring up at him. He turned towards the only one of the pair who didn't look like they were about to pass out at the sheer sight of him, the girl. To her credit, it only took a fraction of the time it'd taken the guard to blink back into reality, and once she did, the hardened look returned to her face and her voice.

"We need to talk to you. It's about Peter."

That seemed to be enough of a trigger to get Ned out of his stupor, for he shook his head and gazed up at the billionaire with nothing short of the most pleading eyes he'd ever seen, just shy of full-on begging. "Please..."

Tony switched his gaze between the two of them for just a moment, but he'd already made up his mind from the second he'd seen the CCTV footage upstairs. He turned on his heel. "Come on."

Suddenly guard-what's-his-name was in front of him. "But, sir, I don't think-"

"Unless the Odd Couple over here is hiding pipe bombs underneath their gym clothes and gel pens, I think I'll be fine."

The guard shut his mouth. Satisfied, Tony sidestepped him and kept making for the elevator, calling over his shoulder as he did so.

"You two. Hurry up. Double time. I don't have all day."

He ignored the pointed looks everyone in the lobby gave them as they walked out and over towards his private elevator, an equally shocking sight for those working at Stark Industries. The number of people who used that elevator could be counted on one hand with a couple of fingers to spare. Ned kept sparing nervous glances around him, but Michelle kept her eyes forward, posture still as stiff and rigid as before. Tony made no comment, not even when the three of them stepped through the newly opened doors, watching as they slid shut a moment later.

The elevator ride up the Common Floor was nothing short of unbearably awkward, but Tony made the best of it by averting his gaze to his phone, which had nothing on the screen except for a game of Tetris (which was the first app he could find that would make it seem like he was busy and thus save him from having to fill the silence between the three of them.)

Thankfully, neither Ned or Michelle said anything. The former seemed too preoccupied with keeping himself conscious while the latter simply stood with a stoic silence that almost made Tony even more uncomfortable. So when the doors finally slid open onto their floor, Tony all but bolted out of the cramped compartment. The kids hesitantly followed him out.

And as soon as they did, his mouth took over for him.

"Okay, now that I have you two here, this makes for the perfect tester opportunity." He spun around to face them and gestured with his hands at the room around them. "Now, on a scale of one to ten - one being a backwoods trailer park and ten being the Queens Victorian estate - how comfortable are you in this living room? Better question, do you feel safe enough to breath in its general vicinity without fear of dampening its monetary value?"

They stared at him. Blinked a few times.

"Great, I'll take that as a solid maybe. Sit" He spun around again and made for the kitchen. "I told Pepper it was going to take more than a ten-dollar throw from Home Goods to cover up a Fendi Casa sofa. Might as well have bought a whole new couch." He grabbed another water bottle from the fridge, if only to have something for his hands to do, and turned back around. The kids were still standing there, looking very much unsure of themselves. At least, Ned looked unsure. Michelle still seemed fairly indifferent to it all.

He waved a hand to the couch. That seemed to be enough of a clue as they slowly made their way over. He watched them sit, took a swig of the water, and let out a little sigh, tapping the bottle against his leg before tossing it onto the nearby loveseat. They watched him in silence.

"Okay, so...correct me if I'm wrong - I know I have a tendency for forgetting, ignoring, or outright refusing to show up to meetings here and there - but I'm almost positive I didn't have anything scheduled with the Little Rascals today."

Michelle spoke first. Her eyes were just as sharp as they had been with the receptionist and the guard. Her voice just as firm.

"Do you remember who we are?"

"You wouldn't be here if I didn't, Ms. Jones."

That seemed to catch her a bit by surprise, but she didn't let it show for too long on her face. Ned, on the other hand, just stared at him with even wider eyes, if such a thing were possible. Tony didn't divulge the fact that the girl's earlier declaration of their identities to the receptionist had been a very helpful reminder.

"Can we get on with why you're here?"

"You know."

Tony rolled his eyes. "I think you're overestimating my skills. Not an easy thing to do."

"About Peter. You know about his family."

Instantly, his posture stiffened. He didn't let it show save for a quick tapping of his fingers against the side of his leg. Tony flickered his gaze back and forth between the two kids for a moment, took a deep breath as he pondered how to continue.

"Sorry, could I get a few more details? I'm not really on the ball today and-"

"Don't play dumb," Michelle cut him off with a glare. "Peter told us you already figured it out, that you know about how they treat him."

He stared at her, took in the sheer viciousness in her eyes, a heated gleam that made him want to choose his next words carefully. He blew out a breath and folded his arms over his chest. "When'd he say this?"

"Three weeks ago. Right around the time when we started planning on coming to talk to you, to figure out if it's true." She rose up to her feet, didn't take her eyes off of him. "So? Is it? Do you know?"

Her voice was soft, but the question still seemed to ring around the room. Tony held her gaze for a moment of tense silence, the air seeming to shift towards a darker atmosphere in a heartbeat, in the short span of time it took to broach the topic. His fingers started to tap against his arm, a steady beat that matched the drumming of his heart. His options seemed to fan out before him, a deck of cards he had to consider carefully.

He could always deny it. Things would most definitely be easier if he didn't have to worry about two random kids and whether or not their patchwork cloth of information would end up being a thorn in his side. But, they said Peter had already told them. And if that were the case, then these two kids had somehow done something even he had not yet been able to do:

So, if Peter could find it in himself to trust these two...then,

"Yeah. I know."

She took another deep breath. "For how long?"

"In terms of official confirmation: for almost a month now." He glanced away. "But in terms of gut feelings, basically since the day I first met him."

Michelle stared back at him, didn't say anything. She merely gave a muted little nod as her gaze fell to the ground.

And suddenly she was coming at him.

"Whoa-!" Tony jumped back mere centimeters from the slap aimed at his face. Ned was now on his feet, rushing towards the girl as she reared back for another swing. Her face curled into a snarl as the boy grabbed onto her arms and pinned them down.

"MJ! What are you doing?!"

"You self-centered, narcissistic son of a bitch!"

Tony took another step back lest the girl suddenly break free of the death grip her friend currently had on her. He lifted his hands in a placating manner. "All true. But why don't we take a step back towards the calm-and-rationale-explanation line so we don't have to cross the 'calling my security guards and admitting that they were right' line, which I really don't wanna cross."

The girl continued to glare, looking like she was near ready to start spitting in fury, only for Ned to pull her back another inch. She glared over her shoulder at him as he spoke. "MJ, please. We said we were just going to talk."

Maybe it was the kicked-puppy-dog eyes he was flashing at her or the pitiful tone in his voice, or maybe a combination of both, but whatever it was, Michelle stared at him in a fragile moment of silence. Her lips were still curled, fists still clenched tightly at her sides, but that didn't stop Ned from holding his gaze on her, eyes wide, and open and vulnerable. Tony watched them, muscles still coiled, breath held.

He could see the girl's chest rising up and down haphazardly, the slight tremble in her fisted hands, and the tenseness making her arms shake. She swallowed thickly as she stared back at the boy. And whatever emotion she found in his face seemed to be enough to convince her. Slowly, the heat in her own face began to cool, eyes regaining their previous impassive haze as she took a deep breath and relaxed in his grip. Ever so slowly, Ned released her.

She turned towards Tony again and suddenly the glare was back. But she didn't rush him again so he considered it a step in the right direction.

"Fine. For starters, you can try to explain why the hell those assholes haven't been arrested yet."

Tony gazed down at her, at the obvious anger still boiling underneath the surface. He shut his eyes for a moment and lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. This was so not what he needed today. But it was here now, so he was going to have to deal with it, in one way or another. And at the moment, he didn't have the energy or the desire to lie, surprisingly enough.

Kid, you better be right about these two.

"Cause I haven't called anyone."

This time, it was Ned's turn to whip towards him with a newfound energy. "What? Why? You said you've known for a month now. Well, why haven't you done anything about it?"

Tony pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. Michelle still looked furious while Ned looked like he'd just been told he was getting kicked onto the streets by week's end. He said nothing for a moment, simply let his thoughts organize themselves in the ongoing mess gathering in his brain. He glanced down at his hands, flicked a wad of dust out from underneath one of his nails.

"You kids hungry?"

They shared glances. "What? No."

"Well, I am." He turned on his heel and made for the kitchen. He could hear the flabbergasted sputterings of the kids behind him followed by the quick footsteps of their angered gaits. Not surprisingly, Michelle was the one to voice said grievance.

"Hey! Did you not hear what we just said?"

"I did." He opened the fridge and started to scan the shelves.

"Well, we want answers."

"I'm sure you do." He pulled out a package of turkey and shut the door, turning to gaze back at them with a much sterner look. "But unless you want me to call back that stellar employee of mine who's just itching to toss somebody out today, I hope you'll grant me the courtesy of a second to come up with a satisfactory answer without you two gremlins biting at my ankles." He tossed the package onto the table. "Remember who you're talking to."

MJ folded her arms. "I don't give a single shit about who you are-"

"Clearly."

"All I want to know is why you're not helping my friend!"

The billionaire turned away from them again, one part to grab the bread from the box near the toaster, and the other to mask the grimace that stretched across his face at the girl's accusation. He took a deep breath, let it in slowly before exhaling it even more carefully. He could feel the nerves he'd woken up with that morning beginning to return, the kids' sudden appearance not helping with the calm and collected demeanor he'd been trying to conjure up for that afternoon.

He began to undo the plastic wrap at the end of the bread packaging, still didn't turn to face them as he spoke. "The situation is...a delicate one."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He slammed the roll onto the counter. "Exactly what it sounds like!" He spun around to face them once more. Ned shrank back while Michelle simply leaned in closer. "I'm walking a fine line here and I can't afford to be careless with my actions, not when this is a situation that could potentially garner the attention of everybody on the east coast with nothing more than a simple headline."

The girl gritted her teeth, her face darkening another shade of red. "That's why you're staying silent? Cause you're afraid of bad publicity?"

Tony straightened up and threw her a dark glare of his own. His tone was low as he spoke. "I'm staying silent because Peter asked me to."

That seemed to shock both of them, for they exchanged glances once more. The anger melded into disbelief as the girl blinked at him. "What?"

The billionaire sighed and turned away again. He had to check the flare of annoyance that had risen, push it back down. He knew why they were here. He couldn't begrudge them for it and he certainly had no right to start getting angry with them. These were the thoughts he had to remind himself of as he debated whether or not to just call back that security guard anyway, have him deal with the mess he'd rather have avoided entirely. But he did no such thing. Instead, he just pulled out two slices of bread from the roll and turned back towards the kids.

They were still standing, looking very much out of place. He gestured towards the stools sitting up against the counter. He spoke as they made their way over, pulling a plate down from one of the cabinets at the same time. "Let me ask you something. If you were to go up to Peter with the suggestion that you maybe tell a teacher, or a guidance counselor about the concerns you've been having, what do you think his response would be?"

He set the plate down with a little thunk, dropped the pieces of bread onto it. Ned's eyes were tracing something on the counter as his face grew pained but Michelle was still refusing to lower her own gaze. Her brows were furrowed.

"I-"

"You don't have to guess, do you? You already know." Tony turned back to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of mustard. "Well so do I. I haven't said anything, haven't called anyone, haven't gone to every media outlet and new station blasting them to run this story 24/7 because the person it would affect most begged me not to." He set the bottle down next to the plate and crossed his arms over his chest once more. "I can't ignore that."

He watched the girl, watched her eyes flickering back and forth across his face. Maybe they were searching for some sort of deception behind his words, but he knew she would find none, and after a moment, she knew this as well. She wet her lips, fingers curling slightly as she opened her mouth again.

"No."

They both turned towards Ned, who had been mostly silent for the majority of the conversation and they were both shocked at the sudden look of distress spreading across his features, his cheeks reddening as his hands shook in trembling fists.

"No, no...no. It's supposed to be different with you. You're an adult. If you tell someone what's going on, they'll believe you!" He got up from his chair. "They might not have ever believed me, but they have to believe you! They have to!"

Michelle blinked, lips parting slightly. "Ned-"

He pushed her outstretched hand away and kept his wavering gaze on the billionaire as he approached. Tony took a step back but Ned kept advancing. "You can't just sit here and do nothing. You can do something about it. You can do something I never could. You can get people to listen. And they will listen to you! You're Tony Stark! They have to listen to you!" His hands were shaking as he held them out before him, gesturing wildly. His pitch in his voice rose.

"You can stop this. You can fix this, all of it! All you have to do is say the word, snap your fingers and it's gone! Please, you have to! You have to do it because nobody else is going to!"

"Kid-"

Ned's eyes were starting to water. "Nobody has ever done anything. Nobody! In seventh grade, I told our guidance counselor about it and she berated me for badmouthing and spreading lies about one of the school sponsors and called my parents to take me home. She didn't even check in with Peter about it! Nobody ever does. Nobody ever takes it seriously!"

Ned kept moving forward, so much so that Tony suddenly found himself pressing against the fridge as the boy all but got in his face, eyes nearly dripping with desperation and fear. "So, you have to do something. You can't just sit by and do nothing. You can't! I can't watch that anymore!" He pressed his hands to his face, covered his eyes as his shoulders shuddered. "I can't watch them do those things to my best friend anymore. I can't watch him die because nobody cares enough!"

Suddenly Michelle was there, gently placing her hands on his shoulder as she tried coaxing him back. He sniffed and lowered his hands, meeting her gentle gaze for just a second before wiping his face on his sleeve and turning to face Tony once more. The billionaire said nothing, just stared back at the kid as he spoke, voice soft.

"Please...you..." He swallowed thickly, voice cracking. "You have to help him."

Ned took a shuddering breath and looked away, Michelle leaning closer as she kept her hand secured tightly on his shoulder, fixing him with a gaze softer than Tony thought she was capable of.

His eyes jumped back and forth between the two kids as if he couldn't make up his mind as to who he should focus on. And yet, as he stared at them, stared at these two random kids that had no business being in his Tower let alone having a screaming match with him, Tony found himself fixed in the newfound silence.

Neither Ned nor Michelle seemed to be anything truly remarkable. They seemed to be your typical high-school freshmen straight out of school, young and dumb and inexperienced in just about everything. If he were to pass them on the street, the thought of a second glance wouldn't even cross his mind.

And yet, here they were, standing up to him, standing up to the threat of jail-time, of a record and public embarrassment and a whole host of other problems all for the sake of someone besides themselves.

And suddenly Tony was struck with a thought.

Neither of the two seemed to be anything special.

But then again...neither had Peter.

He took a deep breath as he leaned up against the counter, Ned's pleas still ringing in his ears. "That's what I'm trying to do, kid."

Michelle rounded on him while Ned peeked out from his hunched position. "How? You just said you weren't going to tell anybody about it. So how the hell do you expect to change anything when you're too afraid to even try?" Her eyes darkened. "How can you hope to make anything better when you can't be bothered to give a damn?"

Then again, Peter had never had as big of a mouth.

"Why don't you take a good long look at where you are, huh?" Tony gestured with a pointed glare that he couldn't push down. "You think you'd be sitting here if I didn't give a damn? You think I'd be listening to this clusterfuck of a conversation if I didn't give a damn?" He scoffed and pushed a hand to his forehead. "You think your friend would be packing for a two-month-long stay here if I didn't give a single shit about him, about any of this?"

The skepticism was still present in the girl's eyes, but it was buffered by something else, something that seemed to keep her from making another comment. Ned still said nothing, just kept staring up at him with his watery gaze.

Tony shook his head and glanced down. Seeming to remember what it was he'd been doing before, he opened the package of store-bought turkey, vaguely wondered why he was touching store-bought turkey when he could afford to buy twenty grocery stores without even breaking a sweat.

"The truth is, kids, that I've been giving this an extremely long stretch of thought, and it's not as easy as you seem to think it is." He withheld the grimace building inside of him as he touched the slimy pieces of meat and started folding them onto the bread. "It's not just a matter of strolling into the NYPD and making a statement, otherwise you would have already done that."

Ned sniffed, wiped his nose with his sleeve. Tony pretended not to notice, doubly pretended not to shudder. "It's different with you. We're just two random kids. But if Tony Stark filed a report, people would listen."

"Yeah, the wrong kinds of people." He wiped his hands on a nearby napkin and turned towards the drawers, pulling out a butter knife. "Not the kinds of people that would actually get off their asses and help Peter, but the kind of people who would instead start shoving cameras into his face, demanding his input on the blatant lies I'd just told."

They looked confused. He let out a little sigh and rested his elbow against the counter. "What makes you think people would be any more inclined to believe me?"

Ned's eyes crinkled. He blinked at him, took a few shuddery breaths as his face scrunched. "You're Tony Stark. They...they have to believe you."

And the sheer innocence, the belief, and optimism coating the kid's words almost made Tony want to agree with him, shrug his shoulders and say the kid was right rather than what he knew to be true if only to preserve it. But lying to himself had never helped things. More lying certainly wasn't going to help either.

"I wish that were true."

Michelle let out a deep sigh and folded her arms over her chest. "So what are you saying?" Her voice held root traces of frustration.

"I'm saying things are complicated." Tony picked up the mustard and swirled some on the spare piece of bread, picking up the butter knife and gesturing with it. "Extreme, politically charged complications that make this mess much muddier and a whole lot pricklier. The changes of the public believing my word over that of the Father of New York, Richard Parker, are slim to none." He focused his energy on smearing the mustard around the piece of bread rather than expelling the gust of fire that rose just thinking of the man's name.

Michelle watched him, her face retaining a look of restrained constipation. But as his words seemed to register in her mind, her eyes glazed with a different type of emotion, a somber realization of sorts. Tony actually found himself missing the disgusted anger from before, for even that was better than the disappointed dejectedness now entering her gaze.

"You have to try..." Her voice was soft now, wasn't pointed or sharp. In the words, he could hear the echoing desperateness of a fourteen-year-old girl asking for his help.

Tony set the bread down on the pile of turkey and patted it down before glancing back up. "And do what? Throw out some claims that have no evidence or backing from the actual victim of it all? The victim who will claim I'm just making shit up? The victim who will never even consider the idea of refuting his father?" He angrily slammed the knife down into the center of the newly-minted sandwich and began to cut it diagonally. "He's your friend. Am I wrong?"

Obviously, he wasn't. He knew it, and judging from the looks crossing over their faces, they knew it too. Michelle lifted a hand and brushed her fingers through the bangs hanging down over the side of her face while Ned stared down at his hands, pressing them so hard into the counter that the knuckles were starting to turn white. But after a moment, the boy lifted his face once more, swallowing thickly.

"We can't just do nothing."

Tony held the boy's stare for a moment before sliding the newly finished meal across the counter towards the two of them. "I never said to just do nothing."

He watched their gazes sharpen. He blew out a little breath and folded his arms. "In about four hours, I'm going to be heading out to pick him up and keep him here for the better part of two months. I'm sure he told you about that." He leaned up against the fridge as he spoke. "And during those two months, I'm going to try my damndest to get him to see clearly for once. Away from that house, away from their influence, maybe, just maybe I have a shot of getting through to him. Maybe I'll be able to convince him that he can trust me, that he can rely on me to help him out of this situation."

Tony shook his head, shoulders giving a little shrug. "But this can only work on his terms. If I go behind his back and try to run this story, our only shot of getting him away from them goes down the drain."

Neither of them said anything, just kept staring at him as he spoke. His fingers tapped up against his arm. "I'm his best bet at escaping this. So I have to make it work."

Michelle finally lowered her gaze at that, staring hard at her hands, as if the answers to all of their problems were etched onto her skin. "That's why you offered this? Offered to house him?" It was phrased as a question, but Tony knew it was anything but.

"I'm just trying to help him, in whatever way I can." He sighed and lifted his gaze towards the ceiling, tracing the lines in the patterning with his eyes. "I just have to pray that he'll be able to see that. But I can't make him see it, and neither can you two." He stepped away from the fridge and back over towards the counter, resting his hands on the cold surface. "Ultimately, the choice is up to him. We just have to hope he'll make the right decision."

The girl's fingers twitched, slowly curled back into fists. She lifted her eyes. "And if he doesn't?"

("He loves me, Stark. More than anything.")

It was a possibility. It was a possibility that had stolen more than a few hours of sleep from Tony in the past weeks. And every time the poisonous thought drifted through his ear and wrapped itself around his head, the chest crushing, stomach flipping realization blared at him like a truck about to barrel through him, crush him to nothing under the gears.

What if you can't?

What if you can't help him?

They were still staring at him. He could feel their eyes on him, peering through him up and down, searching and scanning for the solution like it was tattooed on his face. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. But they heard nonetheless.

"...He turns eighteen in four years."

Michelle's gaze sharpened. "Are you kidding me?"

"What do you want me to do, huh? Fly in there guns blazing, dragging him out kicking, and screaming? I'm pretty sure it's that exact type of bullheaded brash decision-making that's gotten me in trouble in the past." He took a deep breath, let it steady him, ground him. "I can't afford to make those same mistakes with this. There's too much at stake. Without his help, we're fighting a losing battle here. The only way this will work is if he cooperates with us and until then, I'm doing the best I can."

He knew those words. He'd been reciting those very same words to himself for who knew how long, every time the guilt started to weigh too heavily on his back. He knew it was true, knew it was both their saving grace and their downfall.

He could only stretch his hand so far. Sooner or later, it would fall to Peter to close the gap.

Michelle drummed her fingers against the counter, didn't look up at him. Which was what made Ned's sudden jolt startling to them both.

"In that case...we wanna help."

Tony blinked. "What?"

The boy narrowed his eyes, a new determined look entering his eyes that completely washed away the misery of before. "Look, you've known Peter for - what? Three months. Well, I've known him for three years." His face was hard as he spoke, voice even more so. "He's my bestest friend in the entire world and there's not a single thing about him that I don't already know."

A new gleam entered his eye, a knowing look that Tony instantly recognized as a subtle signal. He stood up a little straighter at the sight of it, narrowing his own eyes slightly as the distant thought of a web-slinging vigilante entered into the back of his mind. Could that mean-?

"When it comes to Peter, we're the experts." Ned continued while ignoring the hint entirely, gesturing to himself and Michelle, who seemed just as surprised by the boy's new behavior as Tony. "So if you want to get on his good side, you're going to need our help," the teen finished with a sharp nod of his head and a fold of the arms over his chest, staring at Tony with a new defiant gleam in his eyes, as if challenging him to disagree.

He met the kid's stare head-on, watched it grow steadier with each passing second. He pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek and slowly let his eyes travel towards Michelle. Her earlier shock at the boy's sudden turnaround seemed to have worn off, for now, her brows were furrowing with a similar determination as she leaned closer to Ned, their shoulders brushing against each other in a newfound comradery, facing off against him together, standing up for their friend together.

. . .

. . .

. . .

"Give me your phones."

That seemed to be enough to shock Ned out of his sudden inexplicable bravery, for he blinked and exchanged looks with Michelle to make sure he'd heard correctly. Tony didn't relent, simply extending out his hand.

"Phones. I know you have them. With kids like you, they're practically glued to your hands."

"I don't think you're one to judge our use of technology considering you've built your entire personality around it."

"Quiet. Phones. In hand." He ignored the girl's comment and made a grabbing motion with his hand once more. After a second of hesitant confusion, the teens reached into their pockets and deposited their phones into his awaiting grasp.

He worked quickly and silently, tapping away at the first device before switching to the next. They watched him with intrigue, eyes trying and failing to keep up with his flying fingers. During all of this, Tony noticed Michelle's gaze drift towards the untouched plate of sandwiches he'd made, brows furrowing slightly as she seemed to finally acknowledge its existence.

"Did you seriously give us turkey and mustard sandwiches?"

"And here I thought Peter was judgmental when it came to my culinary skills."

He handed them their phones back. Ned turned it over in his hands like Tony had somehow been able to transform it into a new Starkphone before their very eyes. "What did you do?"

"Added my personal number to your contacts."

They both froze, eyes darting from their phones up to the man before them. He folded his arms once more, remained unfazed.

"Peter's list of trusted allies is painfully small and yet somehow, you two seem to have clinched a spot. In that case, I'm going to need you. And as newly appointed teammates, communication is key. That might actually be for marriage, but whatever. Same difference." At their still confused looks, he rolled his eyes. "If I call, you'd better answer. And if I see this number on Twitter, we're going to have words."

Michelle's face slowly returned to passive indifference, though her eyes weren't as fierce as before. Ned, however, was still staring at his phone as if it might blow up in his face.

"Oh my god...this is the greatest day of my life."

Tony ignored this and glanced up at the ceiling. "As a matter of fact...FRIDAY?"

"Yes, boss."

"Add Michelle Jones and Ned Leeds to the exclusive access list. Don't bother with badges. They show up? Let them in, no questions asked."

"Yes, sir."

MJ's shocked face was back while Ned's had turned a shade whiter.

"If you think I'm going to be able to keep a fourteen-year-old kid entertained for the entirety of the summer, then you're kidding yourselves. I'm going to need you to give me a break every once in a while." His gaze sharpened. "You better not abuse that. If you're going to throw a house party in my tower, at the very least, I'd better be invited."

"I'm gonna throw up."

"Not on my floors your not."

He turned his attention to Michelle, who was watching him with a new curiosity in her gaze. Her eyes were still piercing and calculating as they searched him up and down, but Tony remained still in their searchlights. Ever so slowly, he stretched out a hand across the counter.

"So?"

She didn't make a move to accept it, simply stared down at it with that same sharp look. Finally, she lifted her head, face stone-cold, voice exactly the same. "You swear to take this seriously?"

"I wouldn't have just given my personal number to two high-schoolers if I wasn't already one hundred percent committed to this." The sheer super-charged certainty in his voice startled not only Michelle but himself as well. He brushed it aside though in favor of meeting the girl's gaze. She exchanged a little glance towards Ned, who had now calmed and now looked just as serious as her.

Finally, she turned back to Tony and reached out her own hand, sliding it into his outstretched palm as they shook.

Tony nodded and released his grip, stepping back with a little smirk as the two teens stared back at him, a newfound determination shining in their eyes, mingling with a strengthened gleam of hope that Tony prayed would remain strong and steady, for all of their sakes.

"Alright, then. Welcome to the team."

 


 

Friday - May 20, 2016

Parker Residence - Third Floor

04:32 PM

The sky was overcast outside, so much so that even though it was well before sundown, it was still dark enough to require the lights in his room. Above him, they reflected against the sleek surface of the coin in his hand, gleaming bright before his eyes.

Peter stared down at it in silence, ran his fingers along the edge, tracing the details on one side before flipping it over to the other to begin again. Luckily, he'd been able to keep it hidden during the Cons final sweep of his room and his suitcase, checking and re-checking to make sure the things he was taking were approved. (His suit was stashed safely away inside the air conditioning unit on the roof and would stay there until the very last minute).

And now that they were gone? Now that he was finished packing?

Peter tore his gaze away from the currency in his hand and spared a glance around the room.

It had never particularly been anything to gawk at; no posters or decorations of any sort. No true touches that made it feel lived-in. But it was still his, something for him to call his own.

Now he couldn't even say that anymore. Not when the laptop he kept on the desk, the papers that always sat strewn about the surface, and the few books he was allowed to own were all gone, hidden away in the suitcase sitting by his feet. In a few hours time, this wouldn't even be his room anymore, at least not for another two months.

He scanned his eyes along the walls, tried to take in each and every detail, burn them into his head. The spackling pattern of his ceiling that always looked like a face to him when the shadows of night seeped onto the surface. The rough, creaking of his bed, hard to the touch. Each and every floorboard that squeaked with his footsteps, every inch accounted for, every board that made noise ingrained in his head. He recited the path he always took around his room, expertly avoiding the creaky boards as he'd walk in silence.

Stark Tower wouldn't have creaky floorboards. It wouldn't have a steel-touch bed or faces in the ceiling.

It wouldn't have his mother. She'd never lived there. He wouldn't feel her in the walls.

He swallowed and turned back down to the coin, if only to spare his eyes the sight around him.

It'll be fine. This is a good thing. He's trying to help.

The words sounded right in his head, but they did little to ease the pressure that had been sitting on his chest for the better part of that week, getting heavier and heavier with each tick of the clock and every hour that passed, leading closer and closer to six pm.

It'll be fine. This is a good thing. He's trying to help.

Round and round they went, a three-fold chant that swirled through his head and echoed in his ears. He kept tracing the coin in his hands, felt the cold texture seeping into his skin. He shut his eyes and began to recall the details of his room once more, from memory alone. The hairline fracture in the bottom corner of the bay doors. The moth that sometimes crawled in from the crack in the ceiling. The lights from May's house, always buffered by the cold light of her TV, showing old reruns of M*A*S*H or Family Feud.

It'll be fine. This is a good thing. He's trying to help.

He kept going, listing each and every detail. He had to remember. He had to get them right. The water ring stains on his desk. The pencil scratches he'd etched into the wood. The wobbly shelf on his bookcase.

It'll be fine. This is a good thing. He's trying to help.

He stretched his mind out. Began to recite other things, other lists he'd ingrained into his mind over the years. Sandra likes her eggs scrambled and watery. Flint takes his clothes ironed and pressed. Curt keeps his books in alphabetical order. Max takes his coffee black with two spoonfuls of sugar. Three makes it too sweet. One is not sweet enough.

His eyes opened once more, and suddenly, as if drawn by an invisible string tied to his head, he felt himself swivel, eyes tracing over towards the empty desk by the wall. Correction: the nearly-empty desk by the wall. The desk that held the only remnant he'd debated about stashing in his suitcase for the entire week.

It'll be fine.

Carefully, he rose up to his feet, slipped the coin into his pocket as his eyes traced the drawer. He felt himself moving, heard nothing but silence as his feet ducked and dodged the boards he knew would creak under his weight. Back and forth he'd deliberated with himself, found reasons to open the drawer and reasons not to. Reasons to reach in and find a pocket of his suitcase to slide the drawer's treasure into and reasons to keep it safely sealed in its cave.

This is a good thing.

He reached the desk and his hand slowly stretched out towards the drawer, the only one he knew still held something. Hesitantly, he pulled the drawer open - a drawer he hadn't needed to open in years - and stared down at the piece of stained, crumpled notebook paper pressed down into the bottom of the drawer, the only thing it had ever held.

He's trying to help.

One through twelve. His eyes scanned the lines, scanned the list. They were all there, listed in the messy handwriting of a six-year-old, copied from the more pristine, professionally drawn-up list his father had given him.

He read the top line over and over again, and once he finished a third time, he went in for a fourth.

. . .

The Household Rules

- I, Peter Parker, swear to obey by these rules for the good of the family. -

. . .

At the bottom of the page sat a scrawled, messy little signature. Peter remembered trying to copy what his father always did when signing things, tried to make it as loopy and professional as possible. He remembered signing without complaint, without a second glance at the words he'd just written, their meanings completely lost on him. He remembered how happy his father had looked as he'd signed. Peter remembered smiling back at him.

There had been countless papers, countless lists all saying the same thing, the same numberings, one through twelve. He remembered writing list after list, ripping up one paper and filling another with those same twelve lines, those same twelve rules. Over and over he'd write until they were ingrained in his brain, burned into his eyes, etched into his memories until he could never forget.

But still, this first paper sat in his desk, silent and patient. Sometimes he'd take it out and look at it, recite that first line over and over again.

For the good of the family.

Slowly, Peter reached out his hand towards the paper, noticed the slight tremble in his fingers.

He jolted back however at the sound of his door opening. He'd been so preoccupied that he hadn't even heard the approaching footsteps. He whipped around and came face to face with Curt leaning up against his doorway, cigarette in mouth.

Peter stared at him, slowly straightened up, and pulled his hand away from the drawer. Curt stared at him in silence, eyes trailing him up and down. Finally, he lifted his prosthetic and pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, blowing out a little stream of smoke before he spoke.

"Your father wants to talk to you."

Peter blinked at him but didn't say anything. Curt didn't seem bothered by his silence as he turned away and shut the door once more, leaving him alone again.

The teen stood there for a moment and didn't make a move, just let his fingers tap up against his legs as he swallowed. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, loud and uncomfortable as it thrummed against his ribs, pressing against his sternum, threatening to break through and leak out onto the floor.

But it didn't. It sat there in his chest, still and trapped. Slowly, he turned his head back towards the drawer.

Without a word, Peter grabbed the paper, carefully folded it up, and slid it into his pocket, where it sat up against the coin, hissing as they brushed up against one another.

He opened the door, swallowed the sudden smoke clogging up his throat, and stepped out of his room, shutting the door behind him with an audible click.

Chapter 28: Love and War Part II

Summary:

"People nowadays… they still don't understand. Don't understand the lesson he learned out there, trekking through the snow and the blood and the bombs. They don't understand the sacrifice it takes to come out the other side."

He turned away from Peter, pressed his hands into the desk as he lowered his head. His voice was little more than a murmur, but Peter heard him nonetheless.

"They don't understand what it truly means to live."

Notes:

See End Note for WARNINGS

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Friday - May 20, 2016

Parker Residence - Second Floor Stairway

04:41 PM

Peter traced his fingers along the wall as he descended the stairs, searched for any bumps or blemishes in the drywall. He knew he'd find none, but that didn't stop him from running the tips of his hands along the cold surface, ducking underneath framed Gentileschi and Richter paintings that cost more than most of the cars that pulled into the lot at school.

He remembered when family pictures had hung on those walls, back before they'd expanded their previously humble home into the three-story modern mansion it was now.

Peter pulled his hand back as he stepped off the final step onto the second-floor landing. Flint was rummaging around in the kitchen, but other than him, no other Cons were in sight. He could hear them scurrying around somewhere and from the sound of Sandra's laughing, she was high on something. Best to steer clear, then. She could get pretty grabby when she was high.

So instead, the teen focused his attentions on the hallway past the stairs, on the door at the very end.

He hesitated for a moment, took a deep breath, and slowly let his feet guide him forward. The floors made no noise when he walked save for the soft thudding of his shoes against the hardwood below. He never took off his shoes in the house, a habit he'd picked up after shattered beer bottles had become a staple in their house and he'd grown tired of picking shards out of his feet.

He wondered if Mr. Stark would get upset at him for wearing his shoes in the Tower.

Thankfully, before he could dwell on the uncomfortable thought, the door approached. He reached out a hand, pressed his fingers against the sturdy wood and held them there for a moment, let the cold seep into his skin. It was already cracked, which was a rare sight. His father's office was always off-limits, always closed. He wouldn't even let Peter clean in there without strict supervision.

Swallowing another breath, this one shakier than the last, Peter steeled himself and slowly pushed the door open-

 


 

His fingers curled into little fists as he scribbled on the page, knees digging into the office's carpet floor below as his feet knocked together in the air, stomach pressed flat as he drew.

Peter felt his little tongue stick out as he furrowed his brows, concentrating on getting the lines just right, on making sure the smile was big enough and the colors were perfect. Above him, he could hear Daddy talking on the phone, so he tried hard to be quiet as he scribbled. Underneath his father's desk, it was dark and cozy, but it allowed enough light for him to see his handiwork as he finished up. He pushed himself up into a kneeling position and held up the paper, grinning at the newly finished piece.

He jumped up to his feet, wincing as his head banged against the underside of the desk. He heard it wobble overtop, heard his Daddy grumble something that he couldn't hear. He rubbed at his head, but the discomfort wasn't enough to sway the excitement bubbling in him.

So with a large grin on his face, four-year-old Peter Parker scurried out from underneath the desk and turned around towards his Daddy.

His office was small with two desks along opposite walls, one for Daddy and one for Mommy. Mommy's was empty now, but Peter tried not to pay attention as he gazed up at his father.

The man's face was stern, as it had been for the past few months now. He was talking to somebody on the phone (also a newly common sight), and whoever he was talking to must have been angry, for his father didn't look pleased.

Peter could help.

"Listen. No. No, I got that. I'm going to need more time here."

"Daddy."

"Well, in case it hasn't been clear, I'm a little busy here. Turn on the goddamn news. I got eyes all over me right now and the fucking cops won't leave us alone. At this point, I just want to forget about it and move on."

"Look! Look what I did!"

"What do you want me to do? No. I'm literally asking you what you want me to do cause I'm fucking lost here. What are you expecting here, huh? I can't just pull these things out my ass."

"Daddy!"

"Peter, Daddy's busy."

"But I- "

"No. No, absolutely not. Not happening. No, you're not listening. I literally cannot make that happen. It's too soon and I don't have anybody here to help me unless you're volunteering. Yeah, I thought so. So why don't you shut the fuck up and find me some volunteers? And I use that term very loosely."

"Daddyyyyy!"

"Peter-! I don't care. I don't care where you find them. Doesn't your boss have a host of morons ready and waiting for use? Just pluck up some of them and ship them over. I can't very well do what you're asking without proper equipment!"

"You're not looking!"

"Don't you fucking threaten me, you little rat. I… yeah. Yeah, I don't care. I don't care who your guy is. I don't care how many numbers he's racked up. I'm not some political weasel he can snuff out with some well-placed 'accidents'. So, if you want to keep your little attack dog from getting put down, I suggest you keep him far away from me, cause I promise you, no 70-year-old enhancements are going to help him against what I got."

"DADDY!"

The phone slammed against the table so hard the entire room seemed to rattle. "PETER!" His father roared, eyes blazing as he leaned in, spittle flying.

Peter leapt back at the sudden explosion, paper falling from his hand as he stumbled against his feet. His father advanced.

"What the hell did it look like I was doing, huh? Are you fucking blind? How many goddamn times have I told you never to interrupt me when I'm on the fucking phone? What the hell is the matter with you, you fucking brat?!"

Peter took another stumbling step back as he felt his face scrunching, felt his eyes beginning to pool with tears as he retreated.

"I swear to God, you ever interrupt me like that again and I'll smack you silly, you understand me? I'll smack you around till you can't sit down, you understand?"

Peter whimpered as he felt his back hit the wall. His father's lips curled as his face twisted into a vicious snarl.

"I said DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

The boy didn't respond. Instead, he just curled up onto the floor and started to cry, wrapped his arms over his head as he buried his face into his knees and weakly called out for his mother. He was scared. He was scared and he was confused. His father had never yelled at him before, never over something like this. Once, when he'd spilled juice on the carpet, the man had given him a stern talking-to, but nothing like this. Peter didn't know what this was, but he didn't like it.

He stayed there on the floor, crouched there with his arms over his head for a moment of silence. He was too afraid to look up for his Daddy. He might make him mad again. But when he didn't hear any more yelling, he finally spared a small watery glance up.

Daddy was staring at him, watching him intensely. His face didn't look angry anymore. His eyes weren't mad, and his face wasn't scrunched up in an ugly, monster-like way. His eyes were wide, and his mouth was slightly parted, staring silently at Peter with an expression that almost resembled…. shock. He lifted a hesitant, shaky hand and rubbed at his mouth, something Peter had seen the man do whenever he was deep in his work. His eyes drifted for a moment to the phone on the desk. He brushed his fingers over it before slowly pushing it to the side. His eyes lifted towards his son again.

Slowly, the man approached.

Peter let out another whimper and tried to scoot back, but the wall wouldn't let him. His father didn't let up, just kept approaching. Once he was close enough, he knelt, coming face to face with the boy before him.

Daddy didn't say anything for a moment. He just kept staring at Peter, scanning his eyes up and down over him. Slowly, he reached out a hand. Peter watched him, watched his movements until they found their way into his son's hair. Peter leaned into the touch as his father rubbed his scalp, something he'd done hundreds of times before. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, calm, more like the voice he recognized.

"I'm sorry. I…. I didn't mean to yell at you." He kept running his fingers through Peter's hair as he spoke. "Daddy was just upset, that's all. But you shouldn't interrupt Daddy when he's on the phone, alright? Do you understand?"

Peter did understand. He knew that rule. But he'd been excited. He'd made his Daddy mad.

More tears welled up in his eyes at the realization. "I'm sorry."

Daddy smiled. "It's alright. I'm sorry for scaring you." The man hesitated for a moment before resting a hand down on the floor, folding his legs underneath him as he sat cross-legged on the floor. "So, what did you want to show me?"

Peter hesitated for a moment, kept his eyes trailed on his father for any signs that the man was still angry. But his smile remained, fixed and stable. He wasn't angry anymore. Peter smiled at this and scooted away from the wall, going down onto his hands and knees as he crawled over to where he'd dropped his paper.

He grabbed it and sat back on his haunches as he turned around and proudly held it out with his hands.

They were in space, all three of them, wearing helmets and everything. He'd made sure to add lots of stars and even put Saturn in the corner. Saturn was his favorite planet.

Daddy leaned back, smile remaining as he chuckled. "Is that us?"

"And Mommy," Peter said with a grin, pointing a little finger towards the stick figure with long brown hair sticking out of the space helmet.

He'd drawn them all together, him and Daddy going up in suits and all just to visit Mommy. He remembered the party where they'd gone to say goodbye to Mommy, the party in the rain with those stuffy suits. He remembered people saying that Mommy was above them now, somewhere in the sky.

Peter wondered how much actual spacesuits costed. Maybe he and Daddy could visit her in real life.

His father reached out a hand, and Peter, recognizing the signal, crawled over and plopped down into the man's lap. He felt Daddy wrap an arm around him, his big warm hand resting on his shoulder. "Quite the artist you are, kiddo. You should really save some talent for the other kids."

"You like it?"

"I love it." The man faltered. He reached out to finger the corner of the paper. "But you know it's just the two of us now, right?"

Peter lifted his big brown eyes and blinked up at him for a moment before lowering his head, fingers rubbing against each other as he pressed his cheek into the man's chest, listened to his heart beating loud against his ear.

"Yeah…. I miss Mommy."

His head bobbed up and down with the deep sigh his father took, felt the man's hand rubbing against his shoulder. "I know. I miss her too." He felt Daddy shift and suddenly found himself being propped up to look him in the eye once more. His face was serious again. For a moment, Peter was afraid he was angry again. But his father didn't yell this time. In fact, when he spoke, his voice was soft and calm.

Peter liked the sound of his father's voice, liked to listen to it read him stories and feel the rumbling of the man's chest against his ear like the sounds of the car whenever he pressed his forehead against the window.

"But she's gone now, and we have to accept that. Mommy would want us to be happy with each other." The man paused for a moment, reached out a hand and brushed a few curls out of Peter's face. "You love Daddy….right, Peter?"

The boy smiled and nuzzled his cheek into the man's neck, giving a big nod as he did so. He felt the man chuckle, felt the arm around him grow a bit tighter.

"Daddy loves you too, Peter. Nothing's going to change that."

The sound of paper rustling made Peter poke his eye out and he watched as Daddy held up his drawing. The man was silent as he folded part of the paper back so that Mommy couldn't be seen, only him and Daddy floating together in space with big happy smiles, holding hands so they wouldn't float away. He ran his fingers along the crease and held the newly edited picture out for the two of them to see.

"See? Isn't that better?"

Peter didn't think so. He couldn't see Mommy anymore. But Daddy was smiling. Daddy looked happy and he wasn't angry anymore, so Peter decided he was happy too. He let another grin fall onto his face as he nodded again. Richard smiled down at him, a warm gaze untouched by the new speckled dots on his cheeks. They were new. Peter still wasn't quite used to them yet.

The boy reached a small hand up and ran the tips of his fingers against his father's cheek, pressing against the dots. Daddy kept smiling, ran his own hand along Peter's arm as the boy traced the speckling.

"Oh, wait. Hang on." Peter watched his father reach towards the pile of crayons Peter had left discarded on the floor nearby. Grabbing a yellow, Daddy repositioned the paper and drew a little golden crown on top of Peter's space helmet.

"There we go. Perfect. Now everyone in the galaxy known that you're my little prince," he said with a chuckle as he suddenly scooped the boy up and wrapped him in his arms, bringing his hands around towards his stomach as he tickled him. Peter squealed in his grasp, giggles falling from his lips as he squirmed in his father's arms-

 


 

"Peter."

He jolted in place, eyes blinking to quickly find his father as the man stared at him from his desk. "Why are you just standing there? I told you to come in."

The teen swallowed the dryness coating his throat and stepped through the door, shutting it behind him as he entered. He shuffled on his feet, unsure as to whether or not his father wanted him to do something. The man gestured towards the chairs opposite his desk. Peter gave a muted nod and quietly walked over. He folded his hands in his lap and sat down in the chair, resisted the urge to glance around the room.

There were no hand-drawn pictures in his father's new office, no originals with his messy four-year-old signature in the bottom corner. Peter fiddled with his sleeves, pulled them overtop his hands. His father didn't look at him, just kept adjusting some files on his desk. His glasses were perched on the tip of his nose, giving him a sterner expression than usual. Or maybe he was just angry. Peter strained his ears, listened for the beating of his father's heart.

Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump.

Steady. Even. No discernable signs of displeasure. Peter eased another breath into his lungs at the realization.

"So…" Richard patted some papers into order before slipping them into a manila folder. He set it down and gazed at Peter overtop the rim of his glasses. "You're leaving soon." His voice was even, gave no hints to any outward emotion. "Are you excited about it?"

Peter lifted his gaze for just a second, caught a glimpse of the man's face. His expression was neutral, no hints of emotion on his features, either. The teen lowered his gaze once more, unsure as to how he was supposed to respond. So he settled with a silent shrug of the shoulders.

"That was a yes or no question, Peter."

He winced at the sterner tone, licking his lips as he angled his head away. "Yes? N-no, I….I don't know."

It took him just a second to realize he was telling the truth. He didn't know.

"Why?"

He blinked, lifted his head again. "What?"

Richard gazed down at him, reached up and plucked his glasses off, setting them down on the desk as he folded his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. "Why don't you know?"

Peter furrowed his brows, kept his eyes on the floors below. His fingers clenched tighter around the sleeves bunching in his palm. The dryness in his throat was back, sticky and uncomfortable.

"I've… I've never left home before. Not… for this long, at least."

Richard breathed, in and out, slowly, and deeply. Peter could practically hear the air swirling around the man's lungs. "And you're concerned." It wasn't a question.

"I just…don't know what to expect."

The man sniffed, gave a small shrug of his shoulders. "You've been around Stark for three months now. That wasn't long enough?"

Peter sighed, set his hands down to grip the edges of his seat. "It's different now. I'm going to be living there. Who knows if that changes things?" He bit at his lip, felt his grip wavering slightly. "It probably does, I just don't know how or in what ways. I…"

He swallowed again, found it was much more difficult this time. "I don't know what's going to happen."

Richard leaned forward slightly. "You're scared."

Peter hesitated for a moment before giving a small nod, bracing himself in his seat as he winced. "I'm sorry."

But the reprimand he'd been expecting didn't come with sharp words and a slap. It didn't come at all.

"It's understandable."

He lifted his head, met his father's gaze. For once, he found he didn't want to look away as the man stared back at him with those hauntingly deep eyes, one a dark brown and the other a ghostly pale.

Richard lifted a hand, gestured with it a bit. "This is your home, Peter. And all of a sudden, some stranger is coming in and plucking you out for who knows why, changing everything you've built your life around. And it is your life. A life you're happy with… right?"

He nodded without hesitation. "Of course."

"Right. So, it's completely understandable that you would have some concerns of your own." He took another breath, another deep, ear-ringing breath. "This isn't some small little adjustment. This is a life-altering set of circumstances that we've been given here"

Peter stared down at his hands, flexed his fingers into fists and unclenched them. He took a breath, loathed how shaky and unsteady it was compared to his father's. He lifted his eyes to stare at the man, gaze dripping with desperation and uncertainty.

"What do I do?"

He needed an answer. He needed something.

And for the first time in a long time, Peter suddenly saw himself clinging to his father's leg, hiding behind the man from all the stares of the strangers at the funeral. He saw himself reaching up for his father, gesturing for him to pick him up. He saw himself nestled into the crook of the man's neck, small little hands wrapping around his shoulder.

For the first time in a long time, Peter wanted his father, desperately craved the man's comfort, his warmth, and his reassuring words.

He wanted the man to smile at him, to pat him on the shoulder and tell him that everything was going to be fine. He wanted it so badly that his chest hurt, a deep ache he could feel against his ribs, making his breath falter and his hands shake. He wanted to hide in his arms, curl up against him and duck away from the rest of the world.

He wanted it so badly that all the tension in his body at the prospects of being punished seemed to melt away, his desire for comfort outweighing his fear, if only for a moment.

Richard stared at him in silence. His fingers tapped together as he thought, his eyes piercing and sharp. Finally, the man pushed his chair back and stood up. Peter instantly found himself zeroing in on the man's movements, watching for any signs of aggression. But Richard showed none, not even as he spoke once more.

"Have I ever told you about my grandfather?"

It's a rhetorical question. They both know he never has.

The man moves around towards the front of the desk and takes a seat on top of it. He rests his elbows on his knees. "My father's father. The original owner of the cabin upstate."

Peter perked slightly at this. "He built that?"

"After the war. Even when our family fell on hard times, my grandfather refused to sell that cabin. Said it would stand the test of time. Eventually, it was passed down to my father and then to me. We kept the old man's wish and it remains a part of our family to this day."

It had been years, years since he'd even thought of the Cabin. Situated in the deeper brush of upstate New York, Peter distantly remembered the smell more than anything else. The scent of water on the air, mingling with pine and soil, freshly sodden with rain from the night before.

("Look! Look! It's got a cave!")

("That's called a fireplace, sweetie.")

("Jesus, I forgot all about that thing. I wonder how many birds nests I'm going to have to smoke out of there.")

("Peter, honey. Don't touch that ash. You'll get dirty.")

Peter felt a ghost of a smile gracing his lips. "I like that cabin," he said in a small voice. He was sure his father heard him nonetheless, for the man gave a little nod of agreement. Richard lifted a hand to press against the back of his neck.

"My grandfather… he was recruited for the war right when it started. He was only twenty years old, newly married to my grandmother when he was shipped off to the Western Front. And from the stories I've heard, passed down from my father, well… let's just say words don't do it justice, my boy."

Peter listened in silence. He had no idea why the man was telling him such things, but he didn't question it. His father always had his reasons.

"He was scared. All around him there was chaos and bloodshed. He'd eat breakfast with his friends and by lunchtime, he was zipping them up in body bags, picking their limbs out of the trees." Richard's face grew an almost amused sort of scoff. "It's enough to make anyone shiver."

He let out a deep sigh, leaning back a bit in his seat atop the desk. "Well, one day, while he's out scouting with his troop, they're ambushed by a German squad, captured, and brought back to a holding camp. For two months, he's trapped there, suffering their torture, and their knives, their electric shocks, and their acid baths."

("Serum C31. Trial 1.")

("Peter, goddamn it, would you hold still? Rich! The fucking kid won't stop moving. And – Jesus. Would you shut the fuck up already? Enough with your wailing!")

He shoved the thoughts away, intrusive and annoying. Richard continued.

"Anything and everything to extract what they needed from him. When I was little, he used to show me the three missing teeth they'd yanked out of his skull and the finger they'd cut off." The man drew a line overtop the second knuckle of his right hand. "I was young, thought it was cool."

He straightened up in his seat, grunted a bit at the movement. "He doesn't give up, though. And one day while they're bringing in the meal rations for the day, the guard - a rookie - accidentally gets too close to the bars. So, Granddad grabs the kid's arms, yanks them through the bars and smacks his head against them. Dazed, the kid can't defend himself when his keys get grabbed, nor can he stop the old man from snapping his neck clean round." His face remained passive and calm as he spoke, voice light and unrestrained by the weight of his words. "He said it sounded like the crunch of those walnuts we used to collect out back behind the cabin. You remember those?"

Peter's stomach gurgled uncomfortably. He shifted in his seat. "I remember."

Richard sniffed again, gave a little nod of his head.

"From there, it's a three-week trek through the middle of Nazi-riddled Germany in early December." The man gave a little chuckle and scratched at his cheek, glancing up at the ceiling as if the words to his tale were written there in the roofing. "He lost two toes to frostbite and went permanently deaf in his left ear. Sleeping during the day in the dense woods, he'd make his way at night, using the shadows to his advantage. Whenever he'd come across a German platoon, he'd wait for them to fall asleep before sneaking into their camp."

He stopped scratching his cheek and glanced down at his nails. "Sometimes he'd slit their throats. Sometimes he'd let them live and just steal their food. He said it depended on the day, depended on his mood, whether he'd gotten a good night sleep the day before, whether one of those guys just looked or smelled funny."

Richard shrugged with a smirk. "Little things like that."

Peter remained silent, kept his eyes focused down on his hands so his father wouldn't see the grimace beginning to work its way onto his face. It was the longest conversation he'd had with his father in weeks. He didn't want to spoil it by making him think he wasn't mature enough to handle it.

"Eventually, he makes it within a few miles of the border. And just as he thinks he's home free, he's stopped by a lone German gunner." Richard crossed one leg over the other, folded his hands overtop his knee as he leaned back once more. "Now, he's yelling something or other in a language that's completely foreign to Granddad, so he has no idea what the guy's saying. All he understands is that he's going to die just a few miles from safety."

He paused for a moment, causing Peter to glance up from his safe position of staring down the floor. The man gazed back at him for a second of silence, seemed to look him over for a moment before averting his gaze, speaking up once more.

"So, he gets down on his knees and he starts to beg. He's crying, he's snotting, he's pleading with all his heart. Meanwhile, the gunner's still screaming, but after a few minutes of hearing this begging, he starts to quiet down a little.

"Finally, the German stops. He looks at Granddad. Granddad looks at him." Richard gazed back down at his hands at this, fiddled with his fingers in an oddly similar fashion to his son, Peter realized.

"Maybe he saw how young he was, or how cold and miserable he looked. Or maybe he just wasn't in the mood to kill anybody else. But whatever the reason, the German – who Granddad said couldn't have been more than 19 – lowers his gun and takes a step back, nodding for him to pass."

Peter watched his father, watched the man as he seemed to take a step back in time, sitting with an almost thoughtful expression on his face as he reminisced. It was an expression his face didn't seem used to making, for it still held a grimace of sorts, like it was out of practice and didn't know how to untighten its screws.

Nevertheless, when Richard spoke once more, his voice held that same airy tune, light and casual like they were simply discussing weekend plans.

"So… Granddad takes the knife he swiped from a villager he strangled in Reims and stabs the kid in the eye. Then the face. Then the neck. Over and over he tears the kid apart, slices him up into ribbons, and stomps on his bones."

Peter could barely turn his head away in time to hide the gag that involuntarily shot through his throat, stomach rolling as he gripped the edge of his seat in a white-knuckle hold. He took a breath, took a couple more when the shakiness of the attempt left him light-headed still.

"Why…?"

Richard took a deep breath of his own, leaned back down against his knee. "He didn't know. I asked him that too and… he didn't know. He just did."

Peter didn't look up at him. Didn't release his grip on his chair. There was a new tingling beginning to spread along his arms, down his back, crawling up his neck. He didn't want to listen anymore. But he didn't dare get up.

"Eventually, he made it back onto Allied territory where he was awarded for his bravery and skill." Richard lowered his gaze down to the floors below, voice dropping a bit. "I don't think he told them about the kid. I don't think he told them about a lot of the things he did." His gaze hardened as his voice softened. "They wouldn't have understood. Even in the throes of war, they wouldn't have understood."

Peter jolted in his seat as his father suddenly got up from his position on top of his desk. The boy watched him as he flexed his fingers, curled them into fists before relaxing them at his sides.

"People nowadays… they still don't understand. Don't understand the lesson he learned out there, trekking through the snow and the blood and the bombs. They don't understand the sacrifice it takes to come out the other side."

He turned away from Peter, pressed his hands into the desk as he lowered his head. His voice was little more than a murmur, but Peter heard him nonetheless.

"They don't understand what it truly means to live."

For a moment, Richard didn't move. He didn't turn back around. He didn't lift his head. He just stood there, hands pressed against the desk, back to Peter. He stood there for so long staying so still that Peter had to focus on his senses once more just to make sure the man's heart was still beating, that he hadn't frozen to stone right then and there before his very eyes.

"You asked me what you're supposed to do."

Slowly, Richard turned back around. In his eyes was something Peter couldn't trace. An emotion he didn't recognize. It wasn't anger or disgust. It wasn't something he'd ever seen in his father's eyes before. For a brief moment, it almost seemed… gentle.

"You do…exactly what he did." Richard took a breath, lifted his chin, and expanded his chest, squaring his shoulders as his face hardened into a stern look. "You do exactly what our entire family has done through the height of poverty and despair and degradation. You do what I did when I was cast out by a company I'd once believed in, when I was stepped on and spit on and shunned from the very people I'd wanted to help." The man's voice grew a hard edge as he said this. But as he took another step forward, Peter was shocked to see him suddenly kneel down, resting his arms on his propped-up knee as he got down onto eye-level with his son. Peter held his breath, held his grip on the chair as he found himself enraptured in the man's stare, trapped in his gaze, in this rare moment of closeness.

"You do exactly what I've been teaching you to do for the past ten years, with each round of discipline, no matter how harsh. You do what you've been brought up to do your entire life:"

Richard leaned in. Peter could feel the chair creaking against his own grip.

"Endure."

There was no clock in the room. No fan circling above their heads. Nothing that could have potentially broken the silence between the two of them with small little clicks or whirs. Peter could hear his heart, hear his father's heart. He could hear the two beats fighting over each other, smashing and crashing against each other in a fight to be heard, mingling and intertwining into a single steady drumming in his ears, echoing against the walls, radiating around his head.

"It's the most valuable lesson I could have taught you. One that I've painstakingly been trying to bring up in you." Richard sneered and glared towards the door. "Those people out there, outside this house, they don't understand the value in something like that, the true reward of learning a lesson as harsh and as cruel."

Richard turned back to him and Peter noticed a new expression shifting into the man's eyes. It took him a long moment of staring to realize with a jolt that the expression was affection.

"I wish you didn't have to learn it, Peter. If anything, I wish you didn't," he said, voice surprisingly somber as he gazed at the teen with an almost regrettable gleam in his gaze. He blinked and the look was gone. "But I know that there are some things that I can't protect you from, and the reality of our world is one of them."

Richard rose up to his feet. It took all of Peter's strength not to flinch. The man began to move around the room, gesturing towards the door. "Out there, every challenge will weigh on you, every eye, every glare, every obstacle and man-made wall they put in front of you will test you. And in that moment, you'll have to decide whether or not you can overcome it. Whether or not you can survive that trek through the snow, whether you can survive staring down the barrel of a gunner, whether you can stand up and walk away from it all with your head held high and your eyes to the sky."

Richard turned, walked over towards the back of the room, towards the wall of books stacked high to the ceiling. The man lifted a hand, ran it down the side of the bookshelf. Peter watched his fingers tracing the edge of the structure, gentle and slow.

"Parkstem… came from challenge. It came because I had endured everything else." The man lowered his head and Peter caught sight of the bitterness shining through in his eyes.

"I had been fired, outcast, shunned, and humiliated. Oscorp and the sly rats that ran it were intimidated. So, they snuffed me out."

Richard clenched his fists, watched them flex and unflex against his palm. "I was at the bottom. I was lower than the bottom. I was underneath this. And in that despair, I found clarity. In that hopelessness, I saw the truth. It was that emptiness, that raw suffering that had built in me a strength that could not be challenged, a determination that could not be broken."

Peter lowered his own gaze, furrowed his brow slightly. He imagined his father, younger, more desperate. He imagined what he had to face, imagined the struggle and the hardship. And as he did, a new feeling began to brew in his stomach, one that he would later recognize as awe.

The man turned back to him. The previous bitterness in his gaze was gone. Slowly, he approached once more and this time, Peter didn't flinch as the man knelt down in front of him. When he spoke, his voice was soft and calm, a warm, comforting lull of noise that rumbled from somewhere deep in his throat.

"You have to find that, Peter. You have to find that strength hidden beneath that suffering. Find that hope beneath the hopeless." The corners of the man's eyes crinkled slightly as he leaned closer. "Every day, I see you get stronger. Every day I see what living in this house, what living with our family has done to you."

He shook his head. "You're not like all those other kids out there, those kids around you. They don't understand. They're weak, soft, and out of touch. But you…? You're special."

Richard reached out and placed his hands on Peter's shoulders. The teen let out a shuddery breath at the touch, found himself rooted to the seat, a heat beginning to thrum underneath his skin as he fought the urge to leap away and curl up in the man's arms all at the same time. He could feel a tightness in his chest, a burning in his eyes as his lungs hissed and his body shrieked and screamed a whole host of conflicting messages.

"You're a light shining above them all. You have endured what they cannot imagine, and from that darkness, I can see you burning. Burning them all away, right out of your path, until all that remains is you in your glory."

Richard leaned closer, gave a gentle smile. "That's what I've always wanted for you, Peter. I've always wanted to see you burn bright."

("You're going to stay in there and think about what you did! Pray that I let you out in this century!")

("Peter. Don't touch that fridge. What have I told you about that? How many times do we have to go over it, goddamn it?")

("These are my friends, Peter. I want you to do whatever they tell you, alright?")

(This is our family, boy! You ungrateful, wretched little rat! Do you want to be alone? Is that it? You just want to be alone forever?! Cause I'll make that happen!")

The teen choked on a hiccup, shutting his eyes as he lowered his head. He could feel the tightness of his muscles, the hum of electricity coursing through his bones until he couldn't hold it back any longer and a tear slipped down his cheek.

"It's hard…"

He felt a thumb run against his cheek and brush the tear away. "I know. But it'll all be worth it in the end. I know it's hard to see now, but I know it." Richard gave a tighter squeeze of the boy's shoulders and Peter opened his watery eyes to meet the man's gaze once more. "You just have to trust me, Peter. I know what's best for you. You believe that, right?"

And when Richard brushed away another tear, the touch was so soft and so gentle that Peter couldn't help but nod 'yes.'

The man pulled his hands away much too soon, glanced towards the door. He took a deep breath. "Stark's coming soon."

And the sheer heart-stopping despair that filled Peter's chest was almost enough to choke the air out of him. He resisted the urge to reach out for his father, settled for leaning closer. "I don't want to leave you," he whispered with a faint desperation leaking through his words.

Richard turned back to him and remained silent as he stared the boy up and down. Finally, he pushed himself up to his feet. "I want you to have something."

Peter watched the man move back around to the front of his desk and open a drawer. "My grandfather, when he killed that gunner, pulled something from the body. Something that's been passed down in my family since." Peter couldn't see what the man slipped into his hand, not until Richard walked back around and knelt in front of him once more. Slowly, he opened his hand, and Peter stared down at the silver pocket watch now resting in his palm.

It shone with detailed gold carvings in the silver, roman numeral numbers circling the glass as two thin hands slowly ticked by with each second, smooth and precise in their movements. On top sat a little ring with a long silver chain dangling in the air. Richard pinched the end of the chain and lifted it up, allowing the watch to dangle on the end, swinging back and forth. Peter watched it, entranced.

"It's an antique. German-make, 1842."

The man shifted his gaze from the watch to his son. Peter did the same. Slowly, Richard extended the watch out. Peter flipped over his own hand and allowed the man to carefully drop the antique into his awaiting palm. "I want you to keep this." Slowly, Richard grabbed Peter's fingers and carefully curled them overtop the watch, placing his own hand on top as he gazed at the boy with a piercing gleam in his eyes.

"I want you to keep it close and when you look at it, I want you to think of me, think of our family, think of everything we've endured together." The man smiled, a strong determined look. "That's what this is, Peter. Our strength as a family. Nothing can tear that apart. Nothing. Not the press, not any squabbles or disagreements, and certainly not Tony Stark."

Peter blinked, tore his gaze away from the man's stare, and turned to the watch in his palm.

It was bigger than the coin in his pocket. Heavier, too.

"Thank you." His voice was soft. His father heard anyway.

The man slowly reached out a hand and rested it against the side of Peter's neck, gripping it tightly but not uncomfortably. "I am going to miss you, Peter. I want you to know that. This isn't easy for me, either. But it has to be done. For the good of the family."

Peter fingered the watch in his grip, didn't tear his eyes away from his father. "For the good of the family," he whispered.

Richard straightened his back slightly. "But I want you to remember something, Peter. Something important. If there's one thing for you to take away from all of this, it's what I'm about to say right now."

He nodded.

The man wet his lips and gave a nod of his own. "When you leave, when you're sitting up there in that Tower, when you're listening to his ridiculousness and pompous condescending explanations of what our family is, when you're feeling doubt…doubt about me or our family, I want you to look at this…" He tapped his fingers against the teen's fist, the watch secure within. "…and I want you to remember something."

Richard's eyes never blinked, never wavered for even a second. They gazed back at him with a fiery intensity that Peter couldn't look away from. They burned inside of him, held him down and wrapped him up in a hold he couldn't escape, a hold he didn't struggle against, not when he was so mesmerized. His voice rang around the room, rang in Peter's ears, in his brain, his chest, his heart. They etched themselves into his skin, into his bones, his lungs so that every time he breathed, every time he shut his eyes or stared down at his hands, he would remember, he would see them and he would remember.

"I am all that you have in this world. Without me, you have nothing. Without me, you are nothing. Do you understand?"

Peter shut his eyes, felt the warmth of his father's hand as it cupped his face. He leaned into the touch, leaned into the warmth, let himself sink into it. "Yes."

"Would you ever betray me, Peter?"

"No. Never."

"Not even for Stark?"

"Not for anyone. I love you."

"I know you do. I love you too, my little prince."

The hand dropped away, taking its warmth with it.

"Don't make me doubt that."

 


 

Daddy was still talking to someone.

Peter hadn't recognized the man when he'd come in. He was old, maybe even as old as Daddy. A grown-up. But not a grown-up Peter had ever seen before. He had yellow hair and wrinkles on his face like Daddy and Ben. He'd smiled at Peter as he'd walked past.

Daddy hadn't smiled. Daddy hadn't said anything, just walked past him with his new friend trailing behind as they left for his office.

Peter cast a small glance over his shoulder down the hall towards his father's office. The door was still closed, even after an hour. He couldn't hear anything inside. He turned his head back down and snapped another Lego piece into place.

Auntie May and Uncle Ben had bought him this set for his birthday last year. He wondered what they would get him when he turned five. It was happening soon. Only a few months from now.

He wondered what his Mommy would have gotten him, too. He wondered if she was sad that she had to miss his party, wherever she was.

He wished he could visit her. Tell her about Daddy and his new friend. Maybe then she could tell him who this new friend was. Daddy hadn't. Daddy hadn't told him anything.

It wasn't until Peter was almost finished building his Lego rocket while simultaneously wondering whether or not Daddy's new friend liked the picture Peter had drawn for his father - which still hung up on the wall of his office – when the door behind him finally opened.

Peter lifted his head and pushed his glasses up higher over his nose. The man was in front this time. He glanced down at Peter again and gave another nod. Peter didn't smile back. He didn't know why. He just didn't.

Daddy followed behind him. He still wasn't smiling. He didn't even look at Peter as he walked his friend to the door. They whispered something to each other, something too soft for Peter to make out. Then the door was open, and the man was gone.

Peter watched his father carefully, watched the man keep his grip on the door handle, tight and unmoving. His head didn't lift, eyes didn't wander. Slowly, the fingers by his side clenched and unclenched.

He turned, made eye contact with Peter.

Peter wanted to reach down, wanted to pick up his newly finished rocket ship and show it off, watch his father's face turn into a smile as he proclaimed how proud he was of his son's creation.

But he didn't. He just stared back into his father's eyes. They were hot. Peter felt his skin starting to itch as he stared back at him, a tingling he'd never felt before making him shiver. But it wasn't cold in the house. Why was he shivering?

Finally, his father lowered his gaze. His face remained grim as he pushed away from the door. He strode across the room, making his way back towards the office again. Peter wanted to get up, wanted to get in his way and stop him from going back into his office. It seemed that's where his father always spent his time now, locked away behind a closed door. He wanted to tell his father to spend time with him, sit and play Legos with him like he'd used to do, see who could make the better house, car, tree, whatever.

Peter always won. Daddy always let him win.

But Daddy didn't sit this time. All he did was throw a sidelong glance towards the boy sitting on the floor, his gaze slowly drifting to the Lego pieces scattered across the floor.

His lip curled. "Would you clean up this goddamn mess? Jesus."

Peter watched his father start down the hall again, heard the door to his office closing shut once more, the sound echoing off the walls.

He lowered his head, eyes tracing over the pieces scattered around him, the rocket next to his crossed legs. Slowly, he reached a hand down and picked up his creation.

It wasn't that great. He'd made better pieces before. He'd once made a car with eight wheels and a house with six walls. Maybe that's why Daddy wasn't impressed. Because it wasn't impressive.

He could do better.

But later. Right now, he had to clean up. He didn't want to make Daddy angry.

Not again.

 


 

Friday - May 20, 2016

Stark Tower - Penthouse Floor

05:26 PM

Last time. This was the last time. He couldn't keep going over everything.

Tony's eyes scanned over the bedroom, the newest addition to his private floor. He meticulously scoured his gaze over the walls, flitting his eyes from one detail to the next over and over again circling around the room searching for a flaw, an imperfection, a mistake that could cause them to postpone, stop time, keep things from moving forward.

He huffed out a breath, a hot, humid puff of air that made him order FRIDAY to turn up the AC another few notches. She obliged, obviously, but it didn't help the sudden heat tingling underneath his skin, mingling with the disgust he could feel pooling in his stomach as he kicked himself for said thoughts.

It was wrong. They were wrong thoughts to have. Peter had to come. He had to. But the reality that said scenario was happening now left him searching just a little more desperately for something to call his decorators over, something for him to scream at them about, to demand they come in, tear the whole room down, and start from scratch. Something to keep the kid away, keep him away from the disaster Tony could see lurking in the back of the room, leering out from underneath the bed, glaring at him from the walls.

He glared right back, turning on his heel as the door slid shut behind him.

The kid's friends had left around an hour ago, taking with them any and all confidence Tony might have been feeling about Peter's impending arrival. If anything, they'd just made him feel even more unprepared. Their presence had only solidified the fact that his Tower was not a place for kids. They stood out. Period. Like a rock in the bottom of a crystal punch bowl, drowned out by the sheer lavishness around them.

He knew Peter was different. For one thing, Peter had grown up around such riches. His father was a freaking billionaire for Christ's sake. Not only that, but it wasn't like the kid was a stranger to Stark Tower. Said building had been his go-to for the better part of three months. He was nothing if not used to the place.

But working somewhere is a hell of a lot different than living there. And a boss is definitely way different from a roommate.

Tony started down the hallway. He considered heading back down to the Common Floor or maybe even the study to recheck everything, make sure they were in their proper places. But the reminder that he'd done that exact thing a sum total of six times already made him head for the elevator instead.

He had to head to the garage. He had to go.

("Quick question, before you two go. Did Peter talk about tonight at all?")

("Um...I guess a little. He hasn't talked much about it at all, honestly. Like, all week, he's been pretty quiet about it.")

("But he has said something, right?")

("Yeah, I guess.")

("And...did he seem, I don't know...excited? Nervous? You get anything of the sort from him?")

His footsteps echoed down the hallway as he walked, the heels of his shoes clacking against the tile. He swallowed, felt his fingers tapping against his legs. He patted his pockets, felt for his phone.

The ride down to the garage was a blur as his mind stumbled through the list of possible ways he could tackle this night. The next night. Every night.

Maybe pizza for dinner. What should he say to the kid when he saw him? How should he introduce his room without coming off as too overbearing? Maybe buy a couple of movies, which ones didn't he own? How could he kill Richard Parker without going to prison? What could he do to make the Tower more comfortable? Are there any books on convincing kids that their parents are evil? He should ask Pepper to look that up for him. Is it too cold? Will Peter be too cold in the Tower? How would he know if the kid never told him? What if Peter didn't talk to him? What if he couldn't do this? What if he failed? Maybe Chinese instead.

The doors open and Tony mechanically stepped out of the elevator. He drifted toward a car, he didn't know nor care which one until he was already sliding into the driver's seat. He lifted his hands, wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel, and took a long, deep breath, in through his nose and out through a small slit in his mouth. Then again. Then a third time just for good measure.

He couldn't think like that. He couldn't afford to think negatively anymore. Not when there was so much riding on his thoughts, now. Not when there was a kid who could hear what he was thinking just by the beating of his heart (a realization that still made him uneasy).

Tony slid the key into the ignition, felt the car purr to life underneath him. He tightened his grip on the wheel and took a fourth and final deep breath. He could do this. Peter needed him to do this.

One day at a time. And that started now.

He backed out of the space and put the car into DRIVE, heading towards the newly opened doors and out into the cool dusk outside, the sun setting faster than he could comprehend.

. . .

("Scared. He seemed...scared.")

 


 

Friday - May 20, 2016

Parker Residence - First Floor Living Room

05:57 PM

Peter could hear each of their heartbeats ringing in his ears. Loud. Oppressing. Drowned out his own withering beats thumping against his ribs, hiding from the sheer force of the noise around him.

Otherwise, the house was silent.

Occasionally, Flint would take a swig of his beer and they'd hear the soft sloshing of the liquid against the glass. Sometimes, when Curt took a puff from his cigarette, his breath would let out an audible whistle as the smoke dripped from his lips. Every once in a while, Sandra would switch which leg rested against her knee, the soft sound of her heel settling against the wooden floors emitting a soft thud. And even Max would sometimes shift in his seat, the subtle sounds of his knuckles flexing mingling with his little impatient sighs.

But despite their little noises, Richard was silent. As was Peter.

Both father and son sat on the same couch. The older rested with his back comfortably leaning against the back cushions, leg folded overtop his knee as he rested an elbow against the armrest, hand pressing against his mouth as he stared off at nothing. Peter sat next to him, his legs folded crisscrossed underneath him on the cushions, hands resting in his lap. He stared down at his fingers, picked at a scar he couldn't remember getting that ran overtop one knuckle.

The Cons sat around them, reclining in the surrounding cushions and chairs and sofas that made up the designer living room. But nobody said a word. Nobody moved, or got up, or made to do anything other than sit. Sit and wait.

But it was hard to drown out the sounds of their heartbeats.

Maybe they weren't different at all. Maybe they were all exactly the same, the same monotonous beating of the same tuneless drum. But Peter had been listening to those drums for his entire life. And just like their footsteps, he could pick them out of a crowd, could recognize them with a single thud and a half-measure of stutter.

Sandra's was the quietest out of all of them. Her heartbeat was fast and steady, but quiet. And it always had the same pattern, the same beating path it always followed whenever she passed by him. Tha-th-thump. Tha-th-thump. Tha-th-thump. A three-pronged melody.

Curt's was the fastest. It made sense. His mutation hadn't just affected his muscles and his skin, but his organs and circulatory system as well. His room needed a heater. His clothes were always insulated. They were little details, but they all culminated around the beating of his sickly-cold heart, a staccato pattern like the stuttering of a machine gun. Tick-tack-tack-tic-tack-tack-tic-tack-tack. No discernable end. No stop. No pause.

Flint's was, by far, the loudest. Just like its host, his heartbeat was loud and boisterous and obnoxious, drowning out everything else. Peter always had to try extra hard to divert his focus away from the large man's dra-drum, dra-drum, lest he completely lose himself in the sound.

Meanwhile, Max had a very sharp beat, sharp enough to elicit a wince whenever it assaulted Peter's ears. Unlike Flint's, which was deep and rich, Max's heartbeat was cold and disjointed, echoing with the faint humming of electricity. It was hard to even discern a noticeable beat underneath the steady humming of voltage like the eerie, tingling air of an electrical pole, Zzh-mm. Zzh-mm. Zzh-mm.

Then there was his father's.

Peter felt his eyes flicker for just a moment over towards the man next to him. His father still hadn't moved. Hadn't let on any signs that he was anything more than a plastic model, a stone molding of a human not really there.

His father had a heartbeat unlike anything Peter had ever heard before. Deep down, if he stretched his senses out enough, Peter could make out the details of a normal human heartbeat, the steady Tha-thump of every heart he heard on the street. But around it, surrounding that normal melody was an aura Peter had never felt replicated in anything alive or otherwise.

It was hot. An uncomfortable itch that he could practically feel in his ears but couldn't scratch. It was a crackling, the popping of logs in a fire. It was a sharpness, a loudness, a boldness he heard in every heart and yet with a uniqueness not found in anything else.

Richard's heart had a power all its own. It could control Peter's own heartbeat.

Every time his ears picked up on the sound, Peter felt his chest go AWOL. He felt the air leave his lungs, felt the blood underneath his skin curdle and jolt deep underneath his bones. He heard the beating of that heart, heard it echoing in his ears, felt it sliding down his throat, coating his stomach, his ribs, his chest. He felt it sliding into his body, seizing control of his muscles as it gripped his own heart in a vice, an iron hold he couldn't escape from until his heart and his father's were one and the same, until he couldn't tell one from the other.

Which was why Peter had always had nightmares about his father, about his father's death, his untimely demise. Because Peter knew that if his father's heart ever stopped, it would drag Peter's right down with it.

But these fears were alleviated somewhat by a semi-comforting, semi-disconcerting thought: in the years he'd been listening to the beating of that heart, never once had Peter ever heard his father's heart stutter. Never once had it missed a beat, had it jumped in surprise or shock or dread. It was always constant, always steady, always strong.

And if his father's heart could be strong, then Peter's didn't have to be.

Maybe that's why each minute that ticked closer to six seemed like a noose around Peter's neck. How would his heart keep beating if his father's wasn't there to beat for him?

He didn't voice this question though. Didn't lean closer to the man next to him and curl up against his side. Didn't cry and beg and plead with him to change his mind, to let him stay there, stay with him, stay and let him listen to the sounds of that heart beating for as long as he could, so his own heart would never falter, never stutter out and die. Peter didn't say anything.

Not even when the doorbell finally rang.

The sound echoed, a haunting chime that floated through the house. Everybody raised their heads, slowly turned towards the door. Nobody made a move, though. Nobody did anything, really. Flint set down his beer. Curt put out his cigarette and Sandra uncrossed her legs. But nobody got up. Nobody made to answer it.

At least, not until Richard let out a little sigh and pushed himself off the couch. He swept his gaze around the room for a moment before his eyes found Peter. The teen blinked up at him, waited for him to speak, to tell him to unpack his things and go back upstairs while he sorted everything out. But he didn't say anything. He turned away before Peter could say anything either. So, instead, the teen got up to his feet as well, stooped down to grab the suitcase sitting by his feet and swung his backpack over his shoulder. He followed after his father in silence. The Cons remained in their seats, but he could feel their eyes on him.

Richard swung open the door with a single graceful pull of his arm, revealing the fairly tense face of one Tony Stark. The billionaire hid it well behind a pair of tinted sunglasses perched atop the bridge of his nose. But once he pulled them off and folded them into the collar of his T-shirt, Peter noticed the tense film glazed over the man's eyes, a look that stood out against his laid-back posture and casual smile.

Mr. Stark tightened his grin. Peter could practically hear it creaking against the strain it took to keep it fixed in place.

"Mr. Stark," Richard gave a little nod of his head, a smile of his own spreading onto his lips. "I never pegged you to be one for punctuality."

For a brief moment, Peter watched the billionaire's eyes flicker down to him. The teen found himself swallowing a sudden tightness in his throat as he shuffled further behind his father's back. He didn't see Mr. Stark's reaction, only heard as the man cleared his throat.

"Well, I figured this is a bit more important than a press conference or two. Reporters live to wait on guys like us."

"Too true." Richard glanced behind him and took a small step to the side, leaving Peter exposed and vulnerable to Mr. Stark's full line of sight. "Well, he's just about ready."

Tony turned his gaze back to Peter, who suddenly found himself without anybody to stand behind and the even-more concerning question of why he even wanted to hide at all.

But when he watched Tony give a little smile - one not encumbered by forced diplomacy and seething contempt - Peter felt his grip on his suitcase loosen just a tad as he took a breath, then took a few more when he found it wasn't as difficult this time around. It was still just...Mr. Stark.

"Yeah? You need to grab anything else? I mean, we can always swing on by again if you forget anything, but might as well make sure now."

Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.

Peter wet his lips and shuffled a bit on his feet before giving a little shake of his head. "I have everything," he said softly. Mr. Stark had a steady heartbeat. Peter listened to it, let it slow his own breathing down to a tolerable rate.

Tony clapped his hands, causing the teen to jump just a tad. "Great. You mind waiting in the car for a sec, kid? I gotta talk to Pops over here."

Peter lifted his head, suddenly jerked his gaze towards his father. It was happening now. It couldn't be happening now. He still wasn't ready. It was too soon and everything was happening too fast.

Richard must have seen the flash in his son's eyes, for he took a small step forward. Peter lost sight of Mr. Stark as his father came in between the two of them. Distantly, he heard Mr. Stark's heartbeat skip a bit as his father approached, but Peter's attention was soon drawn elsewhere. A strong hand pressed against the side of his neck, gripping it firmly in a tight and securing hold. Richard leaned down, deep piercing eyes boring straight into Peter. He could feel his father's heart all the way down in his throat.

"Remember what we talked about."

Peter took another deep breath. It was shakier this time but he let it out slowly, giving a little nod of his head as he shut his eyes. His father's hands were hot. They were always hot, uncomfortably warm against his skin. But this time Peter longed for them to stay, for that securing grip against his neck to stay, comforting and strong. He lifted his own hand and wrapped his slender fingers around his father's wrist, lifting his gaze as well.

"I love you," he whispered.

Richard gazed down at him, squeezed a bit tighter around the side of Peter's neck, strong and grounding. Finally, he sniffed and dropped his hand. "I know." He gestured with his head. "Car's waiting."

Without another word, Peter gave a nod of his own. He lifted his gaze for just a second to see Mr. Stark staring at him with a new uncomfortable tenseness in his eyes, a sheen of concern and unease that made Peter turn away. Tightening his grip on his bags, he headed down the stairs and towards the sleek car idling by the curb. Setting his bags in the back seat, Peter slipped into the passenger side and shut the door behind him.

He folded his hands in his lap and lowered his head, letting his ears do the work his eyes wouldn't.

"This'll be the last he sees of you for the next two months, got it? If I catch wind that you've been poking around trying to get in contact with him through anything other than a phone call or a passing text, then-"

"I'm a man of my word, Stark." Richard cut off the man's terse warning. "He's all yours. Besides, my associates and I aren't even going to be in the city."

"What?"

"We have other matters to attend to, so you won't have to worry about us showing up unannounced at your doorstep. We won't be back until August."

Peter drummed his fingers against his knee. He hoped Mr. Stark wouldn't ask him about where his father was going, hoped he wouldn't have to reveal the fact that not even he knew.

He heard feet shuffling. He focused back in.

"Take care of my son, Stark." His father's voice took on a baleful tone, low and menacing as it rumbled in his throat the way only his father's words ever did. That signature rumbling growl that traced the edges of his voice, a purring undertone of warning. "MY son. Don't forget that."

Peter finally couldn't help but spare a small glance out the window, just enough for him to catch the sneer spreading across his father's face that accompanied his next words.

"He certainly won't"

Peter could still hear it even through the car window. His father's heart was just as steady and strong as always, the deep heated rumblings of a fire burning inside his chest, charring his lungs and blackening his ribs. But now he could hear Mr. Stark's heartbeat as well, heard the tell-tale heightened stutterings of anger, of emotion and passion leaking through with each thud and every pump of blood. He could hear the strength beneath the billionaire's chest, the echoing noises that refused to be drowned out by his father's beats as his own heart always was.

He saw Tony give a curt nod as he took a deep breath, the angered stutterings of his heart calming as the air blew overtop. "Good to see you, Richard."

"And you too, Mr. Stark."

Peter dropped his gaze once more, hiding any traces of evidence that he'd been listening in. After a second, Tony opened the driver-side door and slid in, slamming it shut perhaps a bit harder than necessary. As if realizing this, the billionaire took another deep breath and let it out slowly before finally turning towards Peter. He stared at the teen for a moment, a moment in which Peter stared right back, gazing back at the man's dark brown eyes as he waited.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Peter felt his fingers starting to curl underneath the man's gaze. He must have seen Peter's nerves. He was going to ask about them. And Peter wouldn't have an answer for him. What was he supposed to say? What could he say? What did Mr. Stark expect him to say? What-

"You wanna drive?"

Peter blinked out of the thoughts clogging up his head, furrowing his brows as he leaned forward a bit as if to make sure he'd heard correctly. "I...what? I don't even have a permit."

Tony shrugged. "Doesn't matter as long as we're faster than the cops."

They stared at each other again. Silence.

Then they smiled.

Peter found a chuckle escape his lips, strengthening into a full-blown laugh as he pressed a hand to his forehead. The tightness in his chest instantly dissolved in a way only Mr. Stark seemed capable of doing. And for that, Peter was grateful in a way words wouldn't express.

"You're a terrible role model," he finally choked out through snorts.

"Whatever. Avoiding law enforcement is a very valuable life skill. I think I learned about it in Home-Ec."

"Yeah, easy. Rule 1: Don't break the law."

"Nope. Rule 1: Eat whatever's in your hand when they pull you over."

They both fell into snickering chortles at that, Peter wiping at his eye as he took a deep breath, suddenly finding he could breathe much better now. Falling back into a lull of silence, Mr. Stark reached over and placed a hand on Peter's shoulder. The teen glanced over at him, their eyes meeting once more. Mr. Stark's gaze was warm. Peter could see an underlying hesitance shining through in his gaze, a hesitance he was sure gleamed in his own eyes as well. But neither of them commented on it.

"You ready?"

Peter took another breath, stared back into those eyes that seemed just as scared as him. Somehow, this fact made him feel just a little better, so much so that he was able to give a real smile, albeit a small one as he nodded his head.

The billionaire gave a nod of his own and turned towards the road. Peter shifted in his seat, wrapped his fingers around his knees so they wouldn't start tapping again. He turned towards the window as the car hummed to life underneath him, eyes catching sight of Richard leaning in the doorway. Peter's smile disappeared.

The man gazed at him in silence, arms folded over his chest. Finally, as the car began to pull away from the curb, Peter saw his father's face change. The teen craned his neck to stare at the man for as long as possible before the distance became too great and he disappeared from sight, but he was certain that what he'd seen had been real.

His father's smile had been small, but it had been there.

Peter lowered his head and stared down at his lap. The air of lightness that Mr. Stark had created slowly began to seep back into a darker heaviness, sitting tight on Peter's chest. Silently, the teen found his hands sliding into his pocket.

The coin was still there. As was the paper, carefully folded. But neither of these two items were removed. Instead, Peter's fingers wrapped around the newly-acquired trinket. He pulled the pocket watch out and rested it on his palm. He traced his fingers along the etchings and let the cold metal seep into his skin. He thought of his father. Thought of his great-grandfather. He thought of the blood that must have once coated the watch. He wondered if there was still any traces of it left on the antique, black and rusted with time.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could feel Mr. Stark watching him. Neither of the two said anything though.

The entire car ride was silent.

 


 

Friday - May 20, 2016

Stark Tower - Penthouse Floor

06:42 PM

"Oh. My. Good God."

"Too much?"

Peter didn't say anything despite the hanging of his jaw. He couldn't. Not as his brain tried to catch up with what his eyes were seeing. Mr. Stark leaned in the doorway, trying to hide his anxious waiting for Peter's response with a casual posture and a laid-back smile.

The room was, for lack of a better word, mondo-ginormous.

Two of the adjacent walls were nothing but floor-to-ceiling windows, stretching way overhead. The floors were a cold silver and the walls were a dark blackish-gray with patterned darker dots. In the center of the massive room sat a luxury white couch with designer gold pillows, flanked by two plush armchairs of the same sun-yellow coloring. The set-up was complete with a coffee table and a massive flat-screen TV sitting on the stand across from the couch, housing a host of different gaming consoles and DVDs lining the shelves underneath. Against the windows opposite the main door sat a large mahogany desk, pushed up into the corner of the room, holding a state-of-the-art monitor and matching computer system.

Further into the room, behind the TV setup with the backboard pressed up against one of the normal walls sat a plush white bed with similar yellow blankets and yellow and blue pillows, the entirety of which stood at double the size of his bed at home. Twin nightstands sat on either side and to the left of the bed - closer to the windows - sat a massive bookcase, positioned with six different shelves, all already housing a few books of their own. An armchair sat next to the case as well as an ottoman and a reading lamp beside it.

On the other side of the bed sat another door, presumably to a bathroom, but Peter's eyes didn't stay on the door for long. They drifted to what sat above the door, hanging overtop.

Next to the main door for the bedroom sat a straight-shot staircase that hugged the wall, leading to a second-floor balcony that overlooked the bottom floor. And from where he stood, Peter could make out sleek tables, shelving units, monitors, tools along the walls, wires running over the ceiling, and a host of different lab-based equipment he couldn't even find in his labs at school.

"I...I don't...ca...and...I, just...dah..."

Peter spun in a lazy circle, trying to take in as much as possible. Tony took a step into the room, shoving his hands into his pockets. "So? Did I go a bit overboard?"

Peter turned to him, staring with wide eyes. "Overboard? I - are you kidding me, overboard?" He scoffed and waved his hands. "We are so far past overboard that you can't even see the boat anymore, I - the boat is a dot, okay? The boat is gone."

Tony scoffed, letting a smile fall onto his face as the traces of joy were made apparent in Peter's voice despite his scoldings.

"I mean it, kid. It's...alright?"

Peter shook his head, letting out a scoff of his own as he pushed a hand to his head, brushing strands of hair out of his face. "Alright? This is...I mean...this is insane!"

Tony's smile grew. For the next few minutes, the two of them milled side by side around the room that could probably be classified as its own version of a living room, Tony pointing out this thing or that while Peter stared with eyes shining in awe and shock. The whole experience reminded the teen of when he'd come to the tower for the first time, that initial tour of the building, standing side by side with his soon-to-be mentor.

Things had certainly changed from that day three months ago.

Peter couldn't help but glance over towards Mr. Stark as he was busy explaining that the state-of-the-art TV was capable of browsing the internet, and had a supply of over 500 channels. The teen stared at the man as he excitedly showed off the room like a kid boasting about an art project he'd brought home from school and Peter couldn't help but smile as he watched Tony act so...excited, so...happy that Peter was happy.

"And - as I'm sure you've already noticed - I took the liberty of adding in your own version of a mini-lab up on that second balcony. Nothing dangerous, no chemicals that could potentially bring my tower crashing down into a smoldering mess. But I figured you might want your own space to tinker around with your web-shooters."

Peter stared up past the stairs to the balcony level above his bed. He gave a little shake of his head as he gazed around the room for another spin. "I just...this is so...amazing, Mr. Stark."

"Well, figured if you're going to be living here, might as well make it worth your while."

The teen glanced down at the floor for a moment, took in the pristine paneling below his feet, clear of any creaking wooden boards or cracks in the surface. He pushed down the small gurgling unease lingering in his gut and lifted his gaze towards Mr. Stark once more, giving him a small smile once more. "Thank you," he said softly.

Tony gave him his own smile and patted him on the shoulder before letting out a deep sigh as he turned away. "Rhodey's picking up a couple pizzas for dinner. That good?"

Peter gave a nod.

"Alright. I'll give you some time to get comfortable and FRIDAY will call you when the food's here." Tony turned and began to make his way towards the door. He paused at the entryway, though, lingered in the newly opened doorway for a moment before turning back around. "You sure you're okay?"

Peter hesitated for a moment as he caught sight of the man slowly scouring his gaze up and down over him, like he was inspecting him, searching for any details or hints that something was amiss. Peter knew exactly what details the man was looking for, though, and made it a point to conceal each of them as he gave another smile and a nod of his head.

Tony lingered in the doorway for a moment longer before giving a nod of his own. And with that, the door automatically slid shut behind him as the man left and Peter was suddenly alone in the room...his room.

Peter shuffled on his feet, suddenly feeling very unsure of himself, dwarfed in the massive room. He swallowed and tightened his grip on the bags still in hand, walking over to the bed as he set them down.

The comforter looked plush and sank down with the weight of his bags. Peter hesitated for a moment before lifting up a hand and carefully bringing it to press down against the bed. It made no noise, no creaks or groans as he gently ran his hand over the cover. It was soft to the touch, cool and light with no trace of dust or stiffness.

He didn't sit though. He didn't start to riffle through his bags or start exploring his room more. Instead, Peter moved towards one of the nightstands next to his bed. He carefully slid open the drawer and wasn't surprised to find it empty, patiently awaiting his stuff.

Peter slid his hands into his pocket and pulled out two things: the watch and the coin.

He held them both in the same hand for a moment, felt them pressing against each other, a soft little clink as metal hit metal. The coin was gold and fairly shinier than the watch, which was heavier and bigger. The teen let his eyes drift back and forth between the two trinkets in his grip before he carefully placed the coin inside the drawer, the only thing in it. Then he closed it back up again and slid the watch back into his pocket, where it rustled against the folded piece of paper still sitting silently in his pocket.

With that, the teen turned away from the drawer and felt his eyes moving towards one of the glass walls. His feet began to move towards them, eyes catching sight of the tops of buildings scattered around them. The Tower stood tall against all of them, leaving Peter with a clear view of the streets and roads down below as well as the rest of the city stretching out around him.

He lifted his head, his eyes following as he scanned across the East River towards Queens. And despite the mass of skyscrapers around him, he found that Queens loomed stories above them, casting its deep-rooted shadow across the room, leaving him in a dark coldness that dripped along the walls.

It took him a moment to realize that during his staring, he'd somehow wound up with the pocket-watch back in his hand, fingers gripping it in a white-knuckle hold.

 


 

Friday - May 20, 2016

Stark Tower - Common Floor

07:51 PM

"Die Hard is not a Christmas movie!"

Rhodey grabbed the remote and paused the film, gesturing angrily at the screen. "Look at that. Look at that and tell me this isn't a Christmas movie!"

Mr. Stark snatched the remote from his friend's hand and pressed play, the rest of the room watching as Alan Rickman glared at the newly decorated body in the elevator.

"I'll say it again. Look, we'll rewind it and I'll say it three more times."

"How can they possibly make it more clear? Look at all the references, man!"

"Just because it's set during Christmas doesn't make it a Christmas movie!"

"Now I have machine gun. Ho, ho, ho."

"Is LA Confidential a Christmas movie?"

"The soundtrack is literally nothing but Christmas music."

"Is RENT a Christmas movie?"

"His wife's name is Holly, for Christ's sake!"

"Is Rocky IV A Christmas movie?!"

Pepper leaned closer to Peter as he, her, and Happy watched the ongoing argument like a tennis match. "Get used to this, honey. This debate has been going strong for twenty years."

Tony folded his arms, scrunching his face as he scoffed. "Never. You're never going to change my mind, Rhodes."

"You're in denial."

"The Die Hard Christmas sweater you got me last year is still sitting in the back of my closet out of sheer principle alone."

The Colonel threw up his hands and flopped back down into his chair, thoroughly disgruntled as Tony marched back over to his seat - which was right next to Peter - and plopped down with a grunt.

He let out a deep breath and set his sights back on the movie currently playing on the TV.

Peter waited a moment before leaning towards him. "It is a little Christmas-y."

Tony lifted a pointed finger. "Don't you even dare."

The teen snorted and smiled as he turned back to the movie. He heard the man beside him finally relent and do the same as he threw his arm to rest against the lip of the sofa. Boxes of pizza sat on the coffee table in front of all of them. Happy and Rhodey sat on the two love chairs on either side of the couch while Pepper sat on one end of the sofa, Tony on the other with Peter in the middle.

The billionaire tilted his head towards the teen, poking him in the side of the head. Peter swatted his hand away with a grin.

"You havin' fun?"

The teen smiled and gave a little nod.

Tony gave one of his own and turned back to the TV. "It's been a long time since we've gotten together to sit down and do this," the man said softly, drowned out by the sounds of the movie but with perfect volume in Peter's heightened ears. "Used to be a regular thing. Maybe we can start it up again...if you want, of course." He smirked now. "Though something tells me it was very dangerous of me to offer that considering your pension for Star Wars-related...well, anything."

Peter turned back to the TV, smile remaining. "They're still coming out with new movies, too."

"Joy."

With that, Mr. Stark turned back to the movie and fell silent. Peter's eyes watched the screen, took in the sight of Bruce Willis mercilessly pummeling his way through bad guys with the admittedly distinct sound of Christmas music in the background.

This movie was one of May's favorites. Which meant that Peter had seen it close to over thirty times in the span of his short life. Unfortunately, that meant he was quickly starting to get bored. And with this boredom came any lack of distraction, allowing his mind to start playing fast and free.

Everything was going okay. No impending doom right off the bat. Everything was pretty calm. Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy were just chilling out like usual, as if this were nothing but an extended stay for one of his intern days; when his father wouldn't be home until morning and he stayed over late eating dinner and chatting with Mr. Stark and his friends.

Those times...when the tower and home weren't synonymous with each other.

Home. This is your home now.

He swallowed. It was bitter.

He slipped his hand into his pocket and silently pulled out the pocket watch. An explosion on screen caused a bright flare of orange light that briefly illuminated the watch, causing it to glow with a fiery sheen. He traced the tip of his finger against the carvings on the side, against the smooth glass overtop the ticking hands.

His father had never given him anything before, not in years. Not unless he counted the designer watches and sleek, expensive-looking computers he was always gifted with whenever his birthday came up. But those presents weren't for him, he knew. Just like the parties his father always threw in huge, lavish ballrooms with hundreds of elitists, businessmen and CEOs weren't actually for his birthday, weren't actually for him.

They were for the cameras, for his father, for the dozens of photographers itching at the doors hoping to get a glimpse of Gold-Hearted Richard Parker and his son. But never before had his father gifted him with something when there wasn't a photo opportunity present or a watchful eye. Never before had he given him something that truly was just for Peter.

The watch was cold in his hands. He imagined it was never cold in his father's hands, not with the teeming heat he always emitted warming the metal in his grip. If he shut his eyes, Peter could still feel that warmth pressed up against his cheek, against his neck. Not threatening and painful as it had been so many times, but strong and comforting.

Peter couldn't remember the last time his father had touched him gently. With love.

And now it would be months before he even got to see the man again, before he would ever get the chance to earn that love again. He tightened his grip on the watch.

"Pete?"

He snapped his neck towards the noise. Mr. Stark was staring at him again. Had he been calling his name? Why hadn't Peter heard him?

"Hmm?"

The man glanced down at the paper plate sitting on the coffee table, a single slice of quickly cooling pizza limp on the surface. Peter's plate. "You haven't eaten anything, kid."

Peter turned his head to stare at his plate. It took him a moment to fully understand what the man was saying, to digest and absorb it in his brain, which suddenly seemed so much slower, like it was trying to process his words through a pool of molasses. He blinked and rubbed at his neck. It was cold.

"Oh. Sorry, I just...um...we had a lot of end-of-the-year parties at school so I...filled up on a lot of stuff there."

Lying. Why was he lying?

Tony leveled him a calculated stare, lifted his head just a bit as he gave a little nod. The man smiled, but it did little to hide the scrutiny in his eyes. "I'm sure. But you should still eat something. Spider-babies need their daily dose of...flies? What is it? I think it's flies."

Peter didn't laugh at his joking this time. "Any bug, really," he murmured distantly.

"Well, you'll have to settle for Italian."

With that, the teen turned back to his plate, sitting silent on the table. It was only a single slice of pizza, not even enough to fill a quarter of his stomach, which he could hear growling in his ear. He was hungry, that much he could tell. And usually, he had no trouble giving in to his stomach's demands when he was at the tower, when he was buffered by an environment of freedom and joy. But for some reason, his hand wouldn't move. His eyes didn't leave the plate but his body would not move.

He tightened his hold on the watch in his hand.

Eat. He had to eat. He'd barely had anything all day save for school. He was at the Tower. He was allowed to eat at the Tower.

(But not at home.)

(This is your home now.)

(You know the rules.)

Peter sucked in a breath, felt it catch in his throat. He swallowed it down, anyway, flanked by bile as it slid down into his stomach. He could do this. He could eat. He was hungry and he could eat. Mr. Stark had said so. Mr. Stark wanted him to. He had to eat.

("Peter? What the hell did I say about touching the fridge? Get away- No. No! Put it down. Put it back right now! Did I give you permission to take that? No, I didn't! And I didn't raise a thief!")

Take the plate. Take it, Peter.

("Do you own that food? Did you buy that food? Did you buy the fridge that stores that food? No, then why the hell do you think it's okay to steal what belongs to me? I - No! Don't you dare run away from me, you little shit! I - Max! Stop him! Peter, you get back here right now! RIGHT NOW YOU LITTLE RAT!")

"Peter?"

("This is MY HOUSE! These are MY RULES! And as long as you live under my roof you will LIVE by my rules!")

His house. His rules. New house. New rules. No rules? What rules? What were the rules? What was he supposed to do?

"Kid-?"

Peter lurched up to his feet as Tony touched his shoulder. Everybody jolted in their seats at the sudden movement, eyes instantly shooting over to him. Rhodey paused the movie. Silence.

He could hear his heart beating, could hear the air being sucked in through his mouth. But he couldn't feel it. He couldn't feel anything. His body was too sore. There were too many bruises. How many belts did Mr. Stark own?

"I...um...sorry." His mouth was moving. It took a second to realize. "I'm just, uh...I'm a little tired. It was kind of...kind of a long day." He turned his shaky gaze over towards Mr. Stark, who had now gotten to his feet. "Please...m-may I please be excused...please?"

("You can never say it enough, Peter. 'Please' is your word now, do you understand?")

He watched Mr. Stark's gaze flicker from him over towards the others. Peter couldn't see their faces, but he was sure they were as shocked and concerned as his mentor's was. He couldn't bring himself to alleviate their fears, though. Couldn't sit back down. Couldn't look at that plate anymore. Mr. Stark must have seen Pepper mouthing something, for the reluctant glint in his eyes that showed he was hesitant about letting Peter go finally gave way to acceptance as he gave a little nod.

"S-sure. No problem. Uh, you need me to show you-?"

("Let me show you what happens to disobedient boys.")

"No." Peter cleared his throat when the word came out shaky. "I...I got it."

The hesitance was still there in Mr. Stark's eyes, even as he began to speak once more. "Alright...um...good night. Just let FRIDAY know if you need anything. Or you can tell her to get me."

Peter didn't respond, not even when the others quietly wished him a good night as well.

The watch ticked in his ears as he silently walked down the hallway, listening for footsteps, for heartbeats he knew he wouldn't find. And yet, he couldn't escape the itch they left on his skin, the teeming vibrations under his bones.


 

("You know I love you, Peter.")

 

("You know I love you-")

 

("You know-")

 

("You know-")

 

("You know-")

 


 

(I remember the first time he hit me.)

 

(I don't remember a lot of firsts, but I remember that.)

 

Peter's feet shuffled along the floor as he entered the room, the door sliding shut behind him. It was dark now. The city outside his window had fallen to night and there was no more light seeping through the glass. He was sure FRIDAY would turn on the lights if he asked. But he didn't. If he opened his mouth, vomit would coat the floor, a black torrent of spew and bile. Mr. Stark would probably get mad.

So instead, the teen silently walked across the floor of a bedroom he didn't recognize, his shin bumping against the corner of the coffee table. He grimaced but didn't stop walking. Not until he made it to his bed, where he slowly sat down on the edge.

 

(It was Kindergarten. Mother's Day.)

 

(My teacher forgot.)

 

(They couldn't console me, so he had to come pick me up from school, dropping a full day of work, as he would later tell me. I could tell he was mad as we drove home. By then, he was always mad, always in a bad mood. But it had never escalated before then. Never gone above annoyed grumblings and demands to clean my room or to get my toys out of his way. I didn't understand yet.)

 

(I would.)

 

He took a deep breath, heard how it rattled in his chest, tight and restrictive. It burned his throat, but he greedily sucked down another. His fingers curled into the covers below as he let his eyes stare out at the windows looking back at him.

 

(He didn't start yelling until we were inside. He'd gotten more used to yelling by then, so it didn't surprise me. But then he started yelling about my mom. It had been a while since we'd talked about her, so I guess it was cathartic for both of us, not that I even knew what that meant, of course. Just that my dad was angry at me again, as always seemed to be the case in those days.)

 

(Then it started to get worse. Usually, he'd finish his scoldings and send me to my room. But he just kept going, on and on he screamed. I remember how the house seemed to rattle with his yelling.)

 

Everything in the room was coating in a thin layer of moonlight, a film of pale white gleam that illuminated just enough so that he wasn't in total darkness. The buildings outside the window shone with the intensity of a major city's heart, loud and in his face. There were no curtains to draw. No doors to close. He couldn't hide from the lights, from the blinking and the flashes. And the moon, so intense as it glared at him.

This isn't your home.

He could hear it speaking to him through the glass.

This isn't where you belong.

 

(He told me to forget about her.)

 

(Told me she didn't matter anymore and that it was time to move on. It wasn't anything I hadn't heard him tell me before, but this was the first time he'd ever screamed it at me, the first time he'd ever said it with anything other than gentleness I would later learn to be fake.)

 

(This was years ago…but I still remember how angry I got. I was only five, so the emotion was new to me. Apart from running out of my favorite cereal or not getting the toy I'd wanted, anger wasn't a usual thing for me. But I remember being angry. I remember how hot it was, how unfair, how furious I was at him for talking that way about my mother. It was the first time I ever got angry at my father. It was the first time I ever yelled at him.)

 

(And the last.)

Peter choked down another breath and shakily glanced over towards the door. Did it lock? Was he allowed to lock it? His father had removed the lock on his door years ago. Would Mr. Stark get angry with him for locking his door? How angry would he get?

Another wave of bile rose up in the back of his throat. It took longer for him to choke it down this time.

 

(Thinking back on it, I think he was just as surprised as me when it happened.)

 

(Whatever he'd been planning, it wasn't that. Never before had he resorted to anything physical, anything other than his grumblings and a few well-placed glares. But any doubt about what happened was quickly dismissed when I felt the stinging in my cheek rise full force. I don't remember crying. I'm sure I did. All I remember is him, staring down at me, looming over me with a newfound largeness I'd never seen in him before.)

 

(He didn't apologize afterwards. Those days were over.)

 

New house. New rules. What were the rules? What was he supposed to do? What did they want him to do?

 

(Endure)

 

With startling speed, Peter shot his hand into his pocket and ripped out the piece of paper he'd stored there earlier. Unfolding it with shaky hands, he smoothed out any wrinkles as fast as possible, as if he were dealing with a delicate piece of glasswork. He stood up and crouched down on the floor, spreading the paper out before him.

Twelve.

Twelve rules.

His rules.

His life.

 

(Can't forget. Don't forget. Don't, don't, don't-)

 

His chest was tight. Peter fought through the dizzying fog beginning to cloud the corners of his eyes as he lunged for his backpack and hastily zipped it open, pulling out a fresh notebook he'd brought with him. Flipping to the first page, he grabbed a pencil and quickly began to drag the graphite over the surface of the book.

 

(Like I said, there were plenty of firsts after that. The first time I met the Cons. The first day he put that lock on the fridge. The first time he went a full day without even looking at me. The first time a bruise showed up on my arm.)

 

(There's too many to count, too many to remember.)

 

(In all honesty, I don't remember much between the ages of five and eight.)

Rule One. Rule Two. Rule Three. On and on until he had all twelve written down in perfect order, every word in place. He lifted his eyes to check the original paper. But he knew it was pointless. Nothing would be out of place. Everything matched. His hands were shaking. He moved down to the second line.

 

(It's like the world was a dream, the limbo that sits between sleeping and waking. A fog that hovers right in front of your eyes, clouding everything in your mind, leaving you slow and sluggish, your muscles heavy and your skin dragging behind you, leaving little trails in the dirt.)

 

(Everything you see moves in slow motion, like you're watching the world bleed into a water-color painting, corners seeping into each other, muddying, and churning into an unrecognizable sight. The days crash into each other. When you can't tell whether your eyes are open or closed, whether you'll open your window and find something still there, something that still exists outside the glass.)

 

Rule One. Rule Two. Rule Three…

The corners of the paper started to crinkle with how tightly he was gripping the book.

Rule Four. Rule Five. Rule Six…

His tongue felt dry, puffy and too big for his mouth. His lungs had disappeared, melted away to blend in with the shadows encroaching on his room – NO! Not his room! Not his room! Not-

Rule Seven. Rule Eight. Rule Nine…

 

(All I know is… one day I went to sleep, and the next it was three years later, and everything was different.)

 

Over and over, one after the other the paper began to fill, every ling occupied, every inch filled with scribbles. Until it was completely full and he had to start writing in the margins. And once there was barely a speck of white left on the paper, he flipped the page and started again.

Twelve.

Twelve rules.

One hundred pages.

 

(My house. My family. My father. One day I found I couldn't even recognize it anymore. I couldn't recognize him. It's like there was a stranger in my house, wearing my father's skin, speaking in his voice, rolling his eyes around in some fake plastic skull. And the worst part was I was the only one who seemed to notice. I was the only one who could see that imposter.)

 

(And I hated him. For the longest time, I hated him. I hated him for hitting me. For making me go hungry. For introducing those horrible people into my life. For tearing our family apart.)

 

. . .

 

("I am all that you have in this world")

 

. . .

 

(But it didn't last long. That anger. Just like when I was five, it was only a spark, a little flare of emotion. Because I realized something. Then and there, staring at him walk around our house, talking like normal, acting like normal, smiling for cameras, and talking with his friends, I realized something.)

 

(Maybe it wasn't him who had changed.)

 

(Maybe it was me.)

 

What was his father doing? What were the Cons doing? They weren't there but he could still hear them, could hear them down the hall, hear their footsteps getting louder. Curt's smoke was thick in the air. Flint's boots stomped against the floor. His pencil hissed against the page.

The air was too thick, there was too much smoke. He could feel it swirling around his neck, strangling him in a hold he couldn't escape from.

It was the conference all over again. There was no air. There was nothing. There was only an impending sense of dread clinging to his skin, dragging him down into a murky black mass. Only there was nobody to pull him out this time. Mr. Stark wasn't there. Mr. Stark couldn't see him. He'd get angry. He'd yell. He'd tell him to forget. Forget her and be a good son. Peter was a good son.

There were tears in his eyes, he could see them dripping onto the page, but he couldn't feel them sliding down his cheeks. He couldn't feel anything other than the pain blooming in his chest, like someone had driven a knife into his ribs and was hacking away at him, cutting off muscles and stripping flesh. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't see. He couldn't hear anything save for the sound of his ribs falling to pieces as his chest exploded, a bloody mess staining the floors.

He'd have to clean. He couldn't have a mess.

Rule Ten. Rule Eleven. Rule Twelve.

What could he do? What should he do? How could he pull this off when he couldn't even breathe?

The pressure he was putting on the pencil suddenly became too much as his aim slipped and the tip jammed into Peter's palm. He yelped and dropped the book, taking the first breath in what seemed like forever as he suddenly blinked back into reality, the haze that had been crowding around his eyes fading a bit.

 

(Even now, I still see him.)

 

He stared down at his hand, at the blood now beginning to bubble up to the surface. Some of it had gotten on the page, left a stain. Peter stared down at the injury, felt his chest heaving up and down as he panted there on the floor, eyes fixed and body still.

Slowly, as if his muscles weighed a hundred pounds, he lifted his hand over the page and watched another drop of blood drip down onto the paper, seeping through the lines and the words, blurring them together as they seeped through to the other pages. Down and down it went, a deep red dot of blood. His blood. Familial blood.

He swallowed. There was ash in his mouth.

Because he knew what to do.

Slowly, he picked his pencil back up. He didn't bother flipping to a clean page. Instead, he just started to write again. But this time was different. This time there was no list, no set of rules.

There was a word.

One word. One instruction.

Over and over again until it filled the page, then on to the next one.

 

(I can hear his voice, and it's not angry. It's not violent or cruel. It's…. nice. It's exactly how I remembered it. I can see him underneath that shell. I know he's still there. Sometimes I can hear his voice when he explains his work. Sometimes I can see his face when he gives me an extra portion for dinner. Sometimes, I can feel it when he pats my shoulder. I can feel him in there. He's still my dad. He's still there. Despite everything, he's still there.)

 

(And what kind of son would I be if I were to give up on him?)

 

Peter sat on that floor and he kept writing, kept at it over and over again until the bones in his hand creaked with each twitch. Until the tips of his fingers were red and raw, his nails bleeding with the force of pressure he was putting on the pencil. He kept writing even as the weight settled back in his chest, a tightness he couldn't outrun, a fog he couldn't escape. He kept writing even as the room closed in around him, the walls licking at his arms, the windows pressing against his face until all the air had been sucked out, stolen straight from his chest like it had been cracked open and someone had sucked the life from his lungs. He kept writing even when he finally went through all of the pages. And then he went right back to the first and began to scribble the same word over and over again into the black scrawlings of graphite already present, leaving the pages a dark, smudged mess with no discernable words at all.

But Peter knew what they said. They were carved into his bones.

 

. . .

 

("Without me, you have nothing.")

 

. . .

 

(He's complicated. But I know how much he loves me. Maybe I couldn't appreciate it then, but I appreciate it now. He doesn't have to say it. I know it's true.)

 

(Because if he loves me even half as much as I love him, then how could this possibly be wrong? How can our family be wrong?)

 

(It's not. I know it's not.)

 

. . .

 

("Without me, you are nothing.")

 

. . .

 

He kept writing until he couldn't anymore, until his shaking hands couldn't hold the pencil, until the book collapsed to the floor and Peter suddenly found his hands pressed to his face, trying to hold the pieces together, trying to keep himself from falling apart right then and there in his palms. There was a violent lurch as a choked gasp retched its way out of his throat, body shivering like a leaf in the wind as he wheezed, his lungs spasming. He couldn't make a sound other than a few tiny whistles as his lips moved on their own, clawing for any bit of air they could get. But it wouldn't come. He was alone. There was no air.

He fell to the floor, nails digging into his arms, scratching against the floor as his toes curled, heart lurching against his ribs, face going red. His eyes scrunched and his breaths came out in nothing but ragged pants as he teetered on the edge of unconsciousness, the world nothing but blobs and shapes.

He coughed, a wet hack that finally drew in a sliver of air that he hungrily sucked down, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, but it wasn't enough. He needed help. He needed help and he was alone.

His body ached and moaned with a plea for energy he didn't have, a beg for something, anything that could take away the sudden dread poisoning his blood, turning his skin a sickly gray and his muscles nothing but strings hanging off of him.

He tried not to, but eventually, the stranglehold on his chest broke free with a hacking sob. He didn't have the energy to wail, to beg and scream and let loose the sudden despair clinging to his skin. All he could do was shake as the tears dripped down onto the floor, pooling around his head as he curled in on himself and let the silence of the room swallow him in a darkness he couldn't recognize.

 

(I don't deserve a father like him. But I was lucky enough to get him. And nothing is going to change that. Nobody is going to convince me, otherwise.)

 

Peter didn't sleep that night. Not when his tears ceased or his lungs finally took their first deep breath hours later. Not as he lay there in silence on the floor, cheek pressing against the tiles, fingers running along the linoleum. Not even when the sky began to lighten and gave way to pale morning.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(And Mr. Stark… if you're reading this, then I'm sorry. But that includes you, too.)

Notes:

This chapter contains vivid descriptions of various forms of mental and emotional abuse, Stockholm syndrome, panic attacks, and mental breakdowns.

Chapter 29: Expert Opinions

Summary:

He shoved a crumpled stack of ones and fives into Peter's floundering hands, the teen blinking down at the money before giving the boy a strange look. 'Why don't you go and get it yourself?"

"I would, mate. But I've been permanently banned from that store."

Peter sighed and began to count the bills. "Do I even want to ask?"

"Not unless you got twenty minutes and a hankering for a tale about a flock of pigeons and some birdseed stuffed down an asshole's trousers."

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Date: Akeuo1$s

Location: K20so%

Time: 9a8RW*!

 

There was a light above his head.

 

Bright. Sharp.

 

He could hear it. Whispering. His ears were ringing. Echo, echo, echo, little noises, drops of sun, bright, bright, sharp.

 

Sharp.

 

Sharp and bright.

 

Bright and sharp.

 

A window. Sitting above his head. A perfect square of sunlight etched into the ceiling, cut right out of the air, a slice of sky stapled into the room.

 

The room.

 

His room.

 

This was his room.

 

 

 

 

 

 

How did he know that?

 

 

 

Where was he?

 

Sun.

 

He blinked. His eyelids clicked. The sun disappeared. Back open. There it was.

 

There was a creaking. The bed. He could feel it moving underneath him, felt the sinking of his body as he shifted against the covers. The window above him disappeared as his eyes trailed away.

 

He didn't need to see. He could feel the room in his skin, felt the splinters embedded into his muscles, the rough callouses of the hardwood floors against his bare feet.

 

He didn't wear socks in the Cabin.

 

Too slippery.

 

 

 

 

 

With dark hallways and moaning floors and arching doors.

 

 

He opened his mouth, let the air slip its way down his throat. He blinked-

 

 

Gone.

 


 

Thursday - May 26, 2016

Stark Tower - Penthouse Floor

11:12 AM

"So? Does he have you eating off gold plates? Is your bed filled with peacock feathers and chinchilla fur?"

"May-"

"Do you even walk around, or did he give you your own hoverboard to ride on?"

Peter snorted into the phone and heard May do the same on the other end, the familiar crackling muffles that always came out of her cheap discount smartphone with the twin cracks on the screen.

"Alright, alright. In all seriousness, how is everything? Is it as glamorous as I can imagine?"

Peter pulled the phone away from his face for a moment to cast a glance around at his surroundings. The bathroom was just as ridiculous as the room it adjoined. The floors and walls were all made up of pristine granite surfaces. The elevated bowl sinks were sleek, smooth, and matched the lining along the bottom of the shower, which was complete with 360-degree showerheads that encircled the entire top portion of a shower that could probably fit a couple of bears.

He leaned his head back against the empty million-dollar bathtub he currently lay in, which sat right underneath a full floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city below, letting a stream of natural daylight into the room.

"Something like that… yeah." He tapped his shoe against the inner walls of the tub, which were a stark white with gold nozzles along the edge. "Well, you got the pictures of the room I sent, right?"

He heard May give a little scoff. "I'm still having trouble believing that that's your room and not a whole other guest house he rented out."

(Not your room.)

(Not your room.)

(Not-)

He shut the thoughts down before they could get too loud and grimaced out a small smile before realizing there was nobody there to see it.

"Nope. All for me."

"Well, that's incredible. I'd get lost in there."

"You get lost in your closet and it's three feet wide."

"It gets dark in there and the door handle is hard to find. I'm not having this argument with you again."

Peter smiled a genuine smile this time. He heard his sneakers give a little squeak as they shifted against the bottom of the tub. He pulled his knees closer and curled up onto his side, pressing the phone tightly to his cheek as he leaned his shoulder into the wall of the tub.

"I'm so upset with myself that I didn't get to see you off."

"May. Come on- "

"The whole reason I took Saturday off was just so I could say bye to you! Only for me to get home on Friday after my double shift to find that you're already gone!"

The teen tightened his grip on the phone ever so slightly. The side of the tub dug painfully against the bones of his shoulder, but he didn't adjust. "I know. I'm sorry. It… wasn't my idea," was what he finally settled on after wrestling with the million other words that he wanted to say.

May must have picked up on the low levels of guilt seeping through his words, for he heard her shuffle on the other end of the line. "Oh, honey. No, it's alright. I'm just being dramatic obviously." She gave a chuckle. "As long as you're out of that house, I'm happy."

Another grimace. This time, it didn't melt into a grin.

"Kids like you shouldn't be cooped up all day in the summer. It's not right."

He swallowed before casting a glance away from the rest of the bathroom and out towards the window next to the tub. A flock of birds flew by in a v-formation. A plane hovered past them in the distance.

"I…never minded."

"Still, anything is better than that. And I must say, spending a vacation with Tony Stark is quite an upgrade."

("Without me, you have nothing.")

"I guess…"

There was a pause on the other end that Peter barely noticed as he shut his eyes and focused on his own breathing, which wasn't hard seeing as there were no other noises in the massive bathroom, nothing but cold granite floors and ridiculously expensive light fixtures.

"Are you okay?"

He blinked his eyes back open. "Hmm?"

"You sound…strange."

Peter bit back a small cringe. May had always been way too perceptive for his tastes.

Turning onto his back once more, Peter pressed up against the side walls of the tub and gave a little chuckle. "Oh, no. I'm just…a bit tired," he finally settled on as he reached up a hand to rub at the back of his neck. "I'm just not used to sleeping on a bed that's so soft."

He heard May laughing on the other end. "Don't even mention it. I can only imagine how comfortable it is. Like sleeping on a cloud, right?"

"Yeah. Just like a cloud." He craned his neck to peer over the lip of the tub and out towards the door, where he knew a pile of blankets and pillows sat on the floor next to his bed in the shape of a make-shift nest.

"…You sure you're alright, honey?"

Peter sniffed and dragged his eyes away from the door lest they become glued to it. "Yeah, yeah. Of course." He smiled. "You worry too much, May."

"I take my job as nosy neighbor with absolute seriousness."

Peter's smile grew. He imagined May smiling in her house, pacing around the room like she always did whenever she was on the phone. He remembered Ben used to make fun of her for it, saying that she would wear a rut into the carpet from all her pacing.

As if sensing his thoughts, he heard the woman clear her throat a bit before continuing. "I want to see you. I never get to see you during the summer, and I live right across the street from you! What do you think? Movie night with stale popcorn?"

"How stale are we talking about?"

"There's some sort of amber resin growing on the packaging."

"Tempting." He paused, lowered his gaze as he began to fiddle with his shoelaces. "I'll…have to ask Mr. Stark. I don't want to assume anything yet. It's still his house and I don't really know all the rules yet."

She hummed on the other end. "I'm sure he's not too strict about things."

("And where do you think you're going? I don't remember giving you permission to leave. Max, am I going senile? Did I give him permission to go anywhere? No, I don't think so. So, I ask again: where the hell do you think you're going?")

Peter bit at his lip. Some skin peeled away with a sharp sting and he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve. A tiny dot of blood stained the fabric.

"Well, let me know if you find anything out, sweetie."

He took a breath, pulled the sleeves of his jacket overtop his shaking hand, and smiled weakly into the phone once more. "I will."

There was some more shuffling on the other end followed quickly by a sigh. "I gotta let you go. I'm covering Deb at the diner this afternoon before my next shift at the hospital tonight."

Peter rolled his eyes. "What's her excuse this time?"

"Her kids have measles."

"She doesn't have kids."

"Well, if she did, they'd probably have measles anyway. I told you about her vaccine rant from a few weeks ago, right?"

"The micro-chips thing?"

"Like the government would want to hear anything that comes out of her crazy mouth."

They both laughed. It was almost strange feeling anything in his chest other than the crushing tightness that had been with him for the better part of the week. He fastened his hold on the phone once more, as if he could keep May on the line just by gripping it tight enough. But she stopped laughing all too soon, leaving Peter quiet on the other end.

"Alright, I'll talk to you later, honey. Love you."

Peter swallowed again, swallowed down anything and everything that he wanted to tell her, if only to tell somebody, to get the poison out of his system by releasing it into the air, letting it out to infect someone else.

But he didn't. He choked it down and taped it up with a wavery smile and a soft little voice. "Love you, too," he finally whispered out.

"And tell Tony I said 'hi'"

There was a beep, then silence. Peter slowly pulled the phone away from his ear and glanced down at the screen, staring at a picture of him and May that had been taken years ago.

It was the two of them at the Central Park Zoo a few days after his thirteenth birthday - her present to him. They were both making stupid faces at the camera.

Peter let a small smile fall onto his face as he gazed down at the image, could practically still hear the screeching from the monkey enclosure and smell the scent of deep-fried dough.

The screen dimmed. His smile did as well as he furrowed his brow and glanced over at the corner of the screen. There was a low-battery signal blinking in the top.

Peter let out a small sigh and leaned his head back, letting it rest against the lip of the tub he'd spent the better part of the morning in. And even now, as he approached the two-hour mark, he still didn't want to leave, didn't want to get up and venture out.

He lifted his gaze, let his eyes wander up to the ceiling. It wasn't as lavish as the room outside the door. It didn't tower above his head or make him feel dwarfed in comparison. It was a plain white surface, clear of any blemishes, marks or tile lines.

It was easier to pretend in the bathroom, sitting there scrunched up in the tub with his oversized jacket and shoes he'd had for years. Easier to stare up at that ceiling and pretend that he was back at home, staring up at the similar white surface of his own room. And sitting there in that tub, watching that ceiling and sharing texts back and forth between his friends, Peter almost felt better, felt that vice-like grip on his lungs recede just a bit.

But out there, in that other room past the bathroom door, the ceilings and windows stretched so far overhead that Peter couldn't even pretend. It's like the entire room was one single solitary reminder that Peter didn't fit.

It wasn't his ceiling. So, he didn't want to look at it.

Then again…his phone was dying. And there weren't any convenient outlets near the bathtub, which honestly, made sense.

So, with a sigh, Peter pushed himself up to his feet and carefully stepped out of the tub, nearly stumbling a bit as he miscalculated just how big the actual structure was. But he regained his balance just as quickly and righted himself to a standing position, casting a glance around the room before finally landing on the door.

Slowly, he slid his phone into his back pocket, kept his eyes straight. He took a breath, sucked it in slowly and blew it out carefully through a small part in his lips. He ran his tongue overtop them and noticed they were still bleeding. He wiped his sleeve overtop his mouth again.

Carefully, he began to make his way over. His footsteps were quiet, but they seemed to echo in his ears as he walked across the floor, vibrating up his legs, tingling his skin. The door loomed overhead, stretching with each step, darkening with every inch he advanced. It's like it was growling at him, glaring with a deep-seated hatred, shaking with a malice that couldn't be contained in a slab of sanded wood.

The second the tips of his fingers grazed the doorknob, he expected the wood to stretch out and suck him in, absorbing him into the darkened surface. He felt that familiar tightness in his chest again, the same bone-deep itch that made him want to shut his eyes and scratch the skin from his body, if only to stop the tingling, the itching, the burning.

But he stopped. He gritted his teeth and scrunched his eyes, ducking his head as he cursed at himself, willed his heart to calm, shouted at his head to stop smoking, his lungs to stop spasming.

Stop it. Stop it now, Peter. You're okay. Everything's okay. Just stop. Stop, stop, stop-

He blinked his eyes back open with a soft little gasp, chest heaving slightly as the low-level tingling of panic slowly began to recede like slinking, skittering bugs slowly retreating back under their rock, ready and waiting.

The door hadn't moved. Hadn't reached out for him. Hadn't swallowed him up. He let his hand linger on the doorknob for a moment before his face scrunched and a wave of loathing made his fingers curl.

You're so pathetic.

Without allowing himself another second of hesitation, Peter ripped the door open and stepped out into the room.

And for a brief moment, for one single second of silence, Peter shut his eyes and imagined the door opening up onto his room, the familiar sight of his steel-cold bed and his stark gray walls and the double-doors of his balcony ready and waiting for him.

That moment passed as Peter blinked his eyes back open. His fingers twitched carefully by his sides, but he resisted the urge to curl them into fists, deciding instead to squeeze them under his arms as he slowly walked into a room that most definitely wasn't his, no matter how much he pretended.

Same bed. Same couch. Same bookshelves and stairs and flat-screen TV. Same sleek floors and modern dark dotted walls. He stepped carefully, like one does when they're walking around a house they've never been in before, afraid of knocking over anything expensive or entering a room they're not allowed in.

He passed by the bed that still hadn't been slept in, passed by his luggage that remained untouched, passed by the mound of blankets and pillows piled up on the floor from the night before as he headed towards the window.

His feet stilled just a few inches from it, his face reflecting back at him in the shining glass surface. He glanced past it and turned instead to the city standing behind it.

Peter shut his eyes and breathed in deeply once again, taking a second to let the noises of the city wash over him in a warm, familiar wave. At least one thing was still the same, one thing that Mr. Stark couldn't change: New York City and the noises that came with each breath it took.

He let his eyes linger, tightened the hold of his arms around his midsection, as if his limbs were the only thing keeping him together. One slip and he would crumble to the floor in a heap of undone puzzle pieces.

A week had passed, and Mr. Stark remained distant. Peter counted this as one of the few blessings of the week. Apart from that first night, the two hadn't spent much time together, and even less time alone with each other.

Apart from dinners and the occasional breakfast (whenever Peter couldn't come up with an excuse fast enough to avoid it), Peter never even saw the man. Which made sense considering the fact that, apart from said outings, Peter hadn't left the room all week.

A particularly loud horn went off down below. Yelling followed. He kept his eyes on the glass, on the streets down below.

Peter hated the room. This much he recognized within himself with a certain amount of shame. But despite his growing disdain for his surroundings, he found that the idea of leaving, of wandering aimlessly around the Tower was even more daunting.

Where could he go? Where couldn't he go? What could he touch? What did he have to avoid? What could he see? What could get him in trouble? How many different ways would he get in trouble should he ever dare to leave the room?

It was this circular round of questioning that had kept Peter away from the door for the better part of the week.

He might have hated the room, yes. But this hatred was dwarfed in comparison to the relief of having a new cage to sit in, safe and out of reach of anything dangerous.

("Don't you ever...EVER go into the lab without permission! Do you understand? I - you know what? You've done nothing but get under my feet this entire weekend. For the rest of this week, you don't leave your room without my say-so, got it? Now get out of my sight before you really make me mad.")

This Tower was nothing but a laboratory in an experiment Peter now found himself in the center of. And he was nothing if not careful.

Peter let his gaze linger on the streets below, briefly entertaining the idea of grabbing a book from the shelf next to his bed before the sound of knocking had him spinning on his heel faster than he could blink, staring down the offending structure of the door across the floor.

Knocking. That was a thing. People did that. On doors. Often.

("It's MY house, Peter. Why would I knock on doors in my own house?")

Only one person had come to see him in the room since his first day here. So, Peter knew who it was before he'd even made it halfway across the room and even still before the door opened.

"Hi. I'm looking for Peter Parker. Have you seen him?" Tony asked with a smirk as he leaned in the newly opened doorway.

Peter blinked. Then blinked a few more times to make sure he wasn't hallucinating as Tony continued to gaze at him with a casual grin and a not-so-well-hidden scan of his eyes. The teen didn't move, just stared back at him with his lips parted slightly.

Tony cleared his throat.

"I was sort of…implying I'd like to come in."

He blinked again. Another pause.

"…Do you want me to knock again so we can take this from the top?"

That seemed to be enough to get Peter's brain recalculating its route, for he gave a little shake of his head and quickly stepped away from the door, words tumbling over each other. "Oh! Uh…sorry. Just, um…yeah. You can…yeah."

"Appreciate it." Tony's smile remained while Peter's cheeks gained a new reddish coloring as the billionaire strolled in, turning to face the teen now leaning against the closed bedroom door. "You weren't at breakfast." His tone wasn't accusatory, merely curious. But Peter felt his muscles tense with a newfound defensiveness that he had to try extra hard to push away.

So instead, he reached up a hand and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Right. Sorry. I, uh…I wasn't h-hungry. Also, May called. So, I…talked to her for…for a while." He glanced down towards the ground. "She…says hi."

If Mr. Stark noticed the sheer tightness in his voice, he didn't comment on it. Instead, the man continued into the room, casting a glance around as he spoke. "She could always come over, you know. Check the place out so we can get her official stamp of approval." He took a seat down on the armrest of the sofa, letting his arms rest against his knees as he leaned forward.

He turned back to Peter. "So, you liking the room so far?"

It was probably the tenth time he'd asked that very same question in the past week. Neither of them commented on this fact. Peter instead gave the same reply he'd given every other time the man asked.

No words. Just a nod.

Normally, that would be good enough. But Mr. Stark won't stop looking at him. Won't stop scanning him over, eyes scouring over him in search of some particular detail, an out-of-place marker. Peter shuffled a bit on his feet.

"Yeah? Have you checked out the lab yet?"

"Not yet."

"Well, if you ever get a case of the night-time jitters, tinkering around with my stuff always does the trick for me." He reached over to pluck up the TV control from the coffee table in front of him, fiddling with it in his hands as he went on. "Speaking of, you sleeping alright?"

Peter glanced away, slowly moved over towards his bed. "Yep."

"No issues?"

"Nope." He kicked the blankets and pillows on the floor underneath the bed.

"Good." Tony glanced over his shoulder to meet his gaze once more. His eyes drifted towards the luggage near his bed. Still untouched. Peter cleared his throat and fiddled with his sleeves. "I still…gotta work on that."

Tony turned back around. He kept fiddling with the control. "No rush." His voice was quiet, calm. Despite this, Peter felt his skin beginning to itch again.

"So, hey. Some good news for ya." Mr. Stark tossed the remote up, caught it easily in his hand. "Pepper's been monitoring the airwaves for the past couple of days, and it looks like this big Parker-Stark media fiasco is finally dying down. Stage 5 of our never-ending nightmare is finally drawing to a close, kid."

Peter's eyes found the window by the bed. There was another flock of birds flying past, larger than the last. There was a straggler. "That's… great."

"Yep. Hopefully now when we go out clubbing and bar-hopping we won't have to dodge every eye in New York."

It was smaller than the other birds. Lagged a good distance away. Broke up the v-formation, left an indent in the pattern where it should have been. "Mm-hmm."

"Plus, now we won't have to flick past every other news channel giving a run-down as to why this little media storm is just a cover-up for our joint plans to tear down the rainforest or some shit like that. If I wanted to tear down the rainforest, you can damn well be sure I could do it without Parkstem's help."

"Yeah…"

He imagined a pair of fingers plucking the bird from the sky, dragging it down away from the group. It would cry and flutter in shock, but none of the others would hear it. They were too far away. They were already gone. It was alone.

"…And of course, now that it's over, I can continue my daily ritual of walking down the streets of New York, stealing the souls of every pedestrian I pass in my ancient rite of expanding American capitalism."

Peter jolted out of his thoughts, furrowing his brow as he twisted around to gaze back at the billionaire. "What?"

Tony was on his feet now, hands in his pockets as he threw the kid a weird look. "Nice of you to join me. You know, I like to consider my time fairly valuable. So, the chunk of time you use up for spacing out could probably fetch a pretty penny on the market."

("Listen to me when I'm talking to you, boy!")

He swallowed, stared down at his fingers. "Sorry," he whispered.

Peter couldn't see Mr. Stark's face from his staring match with his hands, but he heard the man's footsteps, heard the snark in his voice leak away from his words as he spoke next, quieter and more hesitant than before.

"I'm just…messing around, kid," he said it like it was an obvious thing. Was it obvious? It didn't seem very obvious. Not anymore, at least.

The footsteps stopped. Peter spared a small glance up and noticed that Tony was still staring at him, only this time, his gaze was much more intense. He could see the man going over every detail of his face, stopping and staring at each point, each flaw. Peter wanted to turn away.

"You sure you're okay?" Mr. Stark finally asked in a soft voice.

Peter stared back at him for a moment, felt that same tell-tale tightness in his chest from days before. He took a breath before it could grow out of hand, pulled his sleeves to cover overtop his hands. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Mr. Stark didn't say anything. He just kept staring. So, Peter did too.

And for a moment, staring back at the man's intense dark brown eyes, staring back at his unwavering gleam and the shine of concern flickering through his own irises, Peter almost wanted to talk. It was that same feeling he'd had with May, holding the phone to his ear, gripping it as tightly as he dared as if he could reach out and make her stay the tighter he held on. That same feeling of desperation, of needing the poison sitting on his tongue out of his body. He'd spit it out if he had to, hurl it up and cough up any last remnants of venom, any traces of ink coating his throat, weighing heavy in his gut. He needed someone else to see it. He needed to know it wasn't just in his head. He needed someone else to know it was there.

"Listen…" Tony said softly. Peter gazed back at him in silence, almost leaning forward slightly. Mr. Stark could tell. He knew something was wrong. He'd ask and Peter would finally have his chance. He couldn't bring it up. But if Mr. Stark brought it up for him, then he could finally get it out of him. He could remove those toxic fumes bubbling inside of his lungs, choking the air right out of him, infecting it the second he breathed it in.

"I, uh… I was just…"

More silence. More staring. Peter held his breath.

And Mr. Stark released it for him with a tired sigh. The man turned away. "Was wondering if you… wanted to eat anything for lunch."

Peter swallowed the poison pooling in his mouth. He shut his eyes to keep from swaying. Mr. Stark continued, gaze elsewhere, anywhere but on Peter's face.

"Rhodey made sandwiches and since you didn't eat breakfast, I… figured you might be hungry."

Behind him, Peter could hear the ticking of his grandfather's pocket watch as it sat on the nightstand. He could hear it laughing. Cackling with each tick.

"Sure."

Tony turned and nearly started speed-walking out of the room. Peter followed in silence.

"Great."

 


 

It was not great. It was very notably not great.

Peter ran his small little fingers over the corner of his sandwich, pinching off a piece of bread before rolling it into a small little ball between his thumb and index finger. Tony watched him in silence, watched him maneuver the small little piece round and around, feeling very much like that piece of bread, squished and crushed between two fingers, rolled over back and forth, back and forth into a small almost indistinguishable mesh.

He watched the boy carefully pop the little piece of bread into his mouth before pinching off another piece of the sandwich. Those few identical indents in the corner of the bread were the only signs that Peter had even touched the meal, the rest of it going undisturbed and untouched.

Rhodey and Pepper were talking. Tony didn't have the wherewithal to distinguish whether or not they were talking to him. He safely assumed not, for they'd been manning the reigns of all conversation for the better part of the half-hour they'd been there.

He let their voices wash over him, let the sounds of their conversation simmer into background noise as he watched the boy sitting next to him at the kitchen counter, body hunched, muscles tense, shoulders stiff. Like Tony, he'd been content to simply listen to the conversations taking place around them, never once opting to join in as he usually would.

The billionaire let his eyes linger for a second longer before sparing a glance over at the others as he noticed the conversation lull into a subtle silence. Pepper stood by the sink, washing her recently finished plate while Rhodey leaned up against the fridge, his own freshly made sandwich half-eaten in one of his hands.

On their faces were identical looks of disquiet, marred with small little grimaces and shifting gazes towards Peter. The man wet his lips and turned away again, eyes shooting back towards the teen.

Peter could very well disappear if he looked away for too long. Tony was almost sure of it.

He heard Pepper give a little sniff, likely her attempt to clear the stagnating air. "So…how are you settling in, Peter? Everything alright so far?"

Her casual tone of voice contrasted the tense shift of all their eyes as they shot over towards the boy. If Peter noticed this, he didn't let it on. He didn't even lift his gaze away from the plate in front of him. He just nodded.

Tony swallowed. His fingers drummed against the counter in an almost painful manner, like the tips of his fingers were pressing down into sharp little splinters with each roll of the knuckles. He noticed Peter's eyes spare his drumming hand a quick glance before shooting away again. He stopped.

Rhodey chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment before giving a small smile. "Have you checked out the study yet? I heard Tony even dusted off some of his dad's old first editions."

"N-not yet…no."

Rhodey glanced over towards Pepper before speaking once more. "Well, you'll probably get more mileage out of them than this guy ever did. The most he'd ever use them for was when he needed the occasional paperweight."

"They're pretty good doorstops too," Tony added with a strained smirk. His tongue felt puffy. He swallowed again, felt how dry his throat was on the way down.

Peter didn't smile. Just picked another piece off the corner of his sandwich. Started rolling it between his fingers again.

He didn't eat it this time, though. Just set it down on the plate next to the sandwich before pinching off another piece.

Tony kept watching him, watched him rip off piece after piece. He didn't want to look up, didn't want to glance over at his friends and see the questioning looks in their eyes. Questions he had no answers for. Questions he was just as stuck on.

Pepper cleared her throat, setting her dish on the drying rack before grabbing the nearby kitchen towel. "So…do your friends have any plans for the summer?"

Another piece. Another ball. "I'm…not really sure." He set it down to join the others.

"Well, you can always invite them over here. I'm pretty sure we have some room to spare."

Tony sniffed. "But I feel I should add, if you're going to throw a party in my tower, at the very least, it'd better get mentioned in the yearbook, otherwise I'm going to be highly offended."

Rhodey gave a chuckle at that, placing a hand to the back of his neck as he gave a little sigh. "Jeez, summertime parties. I don't' even remember half of them."

"I think that's the point, platypus," Tony turned to him, thankful to finally be having a somewhat full-fledged conversation. "Aside from the occasional vomit parade down the front lawn of Dana Curtis's house, those nights are pretty murky. I think I still have some video of it, by the way."

Pepper rolled her eyes, leaning her elbows up against the counter. "You two are ridiculous."

"Don't pretend that you didn't have a wild streak, Ms. Potts."

"Please. My wild streak involved cutting my five-hour study dates down by half an hour so I could make it to my double shifts on time."

"Uh-huh. Right. Save face for our resident newbie." Tony gave a little chuckle before resting his arm against the counter. "Anyway, back on track. Parties. Here. Any vomiting at least better be out the window."

There was a pile now. On his plate. A small little mountain of perfectly rolled white spheres stacked one on top of the other. He set another one down and the pile toppled, rolling across his plate in scattered little trails. He paid it no mind, like he hadn't even noticed. Another. Right on top.

Tony felt his fingers curling.

"Pete?"

The kid's hand stilled. His fingers paused in the middle of rolling another ball. He slowly set it down and angled his head towards Tony. His eyes trailed the collar of Tony's shirt, but no higher.

He wondered if Peter could hear the ominous thudding of his heart.

He probably could.

"You gotta eat, kid," he said softly, so soft that even he could barely hear it. But he knew Peter could. Peter heard everything.

The kid's head dipped back down to its original position. He didn't reach for another piece of bread. Instead, his hands slowly stilled on the counter.

"I'm…not really hungry."

Tony heard Pepper and Rhodey shifting but he didn't spare them a glance. His eyes saw nothing but Peter.

"You haven't eaten since last night, though." He leaned across the counter and grabbed a fresh sandwich off the tray Rhodey had prepped earlier that afternoon. "Here, why don't you-"

"I said I'm not hungry."

Tony stilled. They all did at the sudden intensity that had leaked into the teen's voice. The billionaire watched as the kid pulled his hands away from the counter and let them sink down into his lap. He also didn't miss how they shook as he stashed them away.

Carefully, as if he were tangled in the wires of an active bomb, Tony lowered the sandwich back onto its tray. "Okay…"

Rhodey took another step forward. "Are you alright, Pete?"

Tony almost snapped at him, almost lurched his head towards him with a vicious snarl and a demand to shut up and leave the kid alone. But he didn't. He sat in the silence and he watched Peter with an unflinching gaze, felt the anger turn to anxiety in his stomach. Because Tony already knew the answer.

Tell me why you're not.

But Peter didn't say anything. He kept staring down at his plate, shoulders slowly bobbing up and down like a buoy in the water, slave to the motions of the ocean, the highs and lows of each wave dictating its every breath, its every beat.

Tell me what's wrong.

Pepper stopped leaning against the counter and took a step closer just like Rhodey. And Tony suddenly watched Peter's whole body shift, watched his muscles coil up tightly like they'd turned to steel underneath his skin. He watched his chest give a little heave as his breathes came out in violent puffs, fast and out of tune. His fingers curled into fists, curled around the fabric of his jeans, his knuckles fading into white, the blood draining down, draining away, dripping out of sight. He saw the kid's face beginning to curl, twisting into a look of barely restrained emotion, teetering on the edge of something Tony knew all too well, something he could also feel beginning to rise up against his chest, pressing down painfully against his ribs, fast and hot and uncomfortable.

Tony started to rise out of his seat.

Pepper spoke first. "Peter?"

A flick. A switch. Within a flash, Peter was still. He rose out of his seat faster than any of them were expecting, causing them all to jump a bit, but he didn't seem fazed. He didn't seem disturbed, despite the ashen color of his face, blushed by the hint of red overtop the brim of his nose. The teen wet his lips and began to fiddle with his hands. He still didn't lift his gaze but Tony could see how frantically it scoured the ground, like it was looking for something in the details of the tile lines.

"Can I go out?"

Tony almost had to do a double-take at the sudden question. "I…what?"

Peter didn't say anything for a good few seconds. Tony watched with a morbid fascination as the kid's eyes continued to flicker around the floor, darting from one place to the other like a rat scurrying along the ground, desperate for a hole to slink inside, a rock to crawl under, away from the watchful eyes of those above.

Tony fully rose out of his seat at this. Behind him, Pepper and Rhodey were giving each other full-on looks of confusion and concern, but Tony paid them no mind. He took a small step forward, felt the violent tinglings of electricity shooting up his leg, pulsing out of the kid in front of him in thick, uncontrollable waves, a blast of nerves that he could feel on his skin.

Peter seemed to jolt out of whatever panic-induced trance he was in, for he gave a little shake of his head and stole a frantic glance upwards, quickly taking a step back as he noticed the billionaire's approach.

He hunched in. "I…sorry. I don't…I don't know what I was…I mean, I didn't mean like, it's okay. Never mind, I don't really, um…"

"No, I-" Tony stuttered out, shocked with the sudden floundering of a kid who, less than a second ago, hadn't spoken more than six words at a time within a single conversation. He wanted to turn, wanted to steal a frantic look behind him at the others, gauge them for any sort of assistance, a pleading look of desperate need. But he didn't, too afraid that the kid would fade away into thin air if he so much as breathed wrong.

"I mean…yeah definitely," he finally said after a second. "I'm getting a little sick of this place myself. We might have to rent out a place to keep from any unnecessary crowds, but other than that-"

"No."

He paused. Peter looked uncomfortable, more so than before.

"I, uh…I don't mean…. I don't mean…as me."

Tony blinked.

"Oh."

He blinked again after another second of thought.

"Oh."

Peter took another step back. "Sorry…it was stupid. I-"

"No. No, um…" Tony lifted a hand to rub at his neck, finding himself at a loss for words. Though, this was quickly becoming the norm as of last week. "I mean, I figured Spider-Man would still be on the clock, I just, uh…hadn't really thought of the specifics, yet."

Peter's eyes remained fixed on his hands, like they were permanently locked. "Sorry."

Tony watched him for a moment, let the room fall into a desolate pit of uncomfortable silence that had been lurking in wait behind the defenses of Rhodey and Pepper's tepid, half-hearted conversations. And now that it was there, now that it was sitting right there in front of all of them, the sheer weight it added to the air was almost enough to have their eyes watering from the thickness of it all, blinding and suffocating.

Tony felt his hand twitching at his sides, resisted the urge to reach out and rub at his aching wrist.

He wanted to say no. More than anything, he wanted to say no. Peter was in the middle of a precarious balancing act; that much Tony could see with his very eyes. Ever since that first night, the kid had been taking step after step along that line, inching his way along a steadily fraying rope, a string hoisted in the air held by nothing but two rusting poles ready to crumble at a moment's notice, ready to plunge the kid in a dark, dismal emptiness that Tony was all too familiar with, an emptiness that even now still lingered in the back of his head, a gnawing pain in his skull.

So the thought of letting the kid go, of having him far off, out of reach, and further than a simple walk down the hall almost made his mouth form the word he so desperately wanted to say.

Then Peter glanced up at him.

It was a small little look, half a second at best before he was averting his gaze once more, but it was enough for Tony to get a good look, to take in the film of distress gleaming back in those irises, a silent plea of desperation shining back at him telling him that it was everything Peter had not to start begging.

Peter begged enough.

Tony didn't want the kid begging with him.

"No, it's okay," he said with a soft voice, watching Peter's gaze flicker upwards once more before jolting back down. "I, uh..." He swallowed. "Sure. You can...you can go. You can use the landing pad on our floor."

Peter was spinning on his heel before Tony could even finish speaking, looking as if it was taking all of his willpower not to sprint out of the room. "Thank you. I'll...I'll be back soon. Swear."

He was already in the doorway. Tony took another step forward, felt himself itching to follow after him. He settled for his voice instead. "Peter?"

The kid paused. It took him a moment but he finally turned back around.

Tony stared back at him and for the first time since he'd fetched the teen from his room, Peter finally lifted his gaze and looked him in the eye. The billionaire stood there for a second, felt a flurry of words swirling in his chest, banging and scratching against his throat, pressing against his cheeks. But they were garbled. He couldn't hear what they were saying. There was too much.

So instead, he choked them down and settled for a grimace of a smile. "Just...be careful."

Peter gazed back at him for a second before doing something he hadn't done all week. And the sheer relief Tony felt at seeing the kid's shy little smile lasted for as long as it took for Peter to disappear around the doorframe, where it quickly melted into sheer, unfiltered misery.

Without another word, Tony let out a deep sigh and leaned back against the kitchen wall, slowly sliding to the floor with a long, drawn-out groan following him all the way down.

Rhodey leaned up against the counter, peering overtop to gaze at the man currently sitting on the floor. The colonel rested a fist against his cheek. "Well...that was awful."

Tony leaned the back of his head against the wall, taking a moment to stare up at the ceiling and consider the possibilities of it crashing down around them in a relieving, life-ending weight. "Once. Just once, I'd like things to go smoothly, to not be on the precipice of disaster every minute of ever day." Pepper and Rhodey walked around the counter to take seats at the bar stools. Tony followed them with his eyes. "I feel like that's not a lot to ask. Sure, you make this a regular request and you're bound to be a few days short of a perfect life, but I can't get one?" His voice took on an edge of barely contained frustration as he glared at some nonexistent force hovering above them. "One fucking day is too much of a demand?"

Neither of the others said anything for a second. At least not until Rhodey reached over the counter to grab the plate of sandwiches, casually lowering it to Tony's eyeline.

The billionaire eyed it angrily, as if the very plate had somehow personally offended him on a deep level. He aggressively grabbed a sandwich but he didn't take a bite, using it instead to gesture around as he spoke.

"This could not be any worse. Literally, this could not possibly be going any worse. Other than the Tower crumbling right underneath us, this is the bottom. At least then, we'd be dead and far away from whatever shitshow this is turning out to be." He angrily took a bite of the sandwich before glaring at it even harder and tossing it away like it now disgusted him, pieces of bread, lettuce and turkey scattering onto the floor. Pepper raised a brow at the new mess, giving a small shake of her head. "Tony-"

"One week. We're one week into this thing and it's already falling apart at the seams. No. Not even. We're one day short of a full week and I feel like any longer and I'm going to explode from how fucking tense it is in this goddamn tower. It's like I can't even breathe," he snapped, eyes jumping from one spot to the other, as if some silent threat lingered on the walls, ready and waiting to spring out. He clenched his fingers into shaking fists, pressing them against his temples as a teeth-grinding arch of pain flared in the back of his skull.

Rhodey must have noticed, for he leaned a little closer. "Relax, man. I-"

"Relax? Fucking relax?" Tony jolted his head back up and glared over at the others, nerves melting back into anger. "You're seriously telling me to fucking relax right now? That's all you have for sage words of advice? For me to fucking relax? I- Jesus. Relax."

He turned his glare onto the floor, hoping against hope that the sudden inexplicable anger he could feel bubbling under his skin would fade before he said something he regretted.

They were staring at him. He could feel their eyes lingering, scanning him up and down in a strikingly similar manner to how he'd examined the kid not ten minutes ago. And in the newfound silence, Tony could hear a deep-seated ringing hovering in the back caverns of his ears, the familiar uncomfortable noise that had pierced his skull that horrible day he'd confronted Richard. His chest was burning. The heat was back.

"He couldn't even look at me, Rhodes." Slowly, he turned his head to stare up at his friend, a somber gaze passing between the two of them. "Did you see that?"

The colonel stared down at him, lips pressed tightly into a firm line. He didn't have to answer. Neither did Pepper. Every detail of the past half hour seemed to have carved itself into their minds, vivid and hard to ignore. Every twitch and flinch and stretched period of silence that made the atmosphere ten times heavier. The lingering traces of the sheer tense uncomfortableness still seemed to cling to them, a fog that hovered in the room, leaving them shifting on their feet and searching for an ever-changing sense of relief that remained elusive.

Rhodey gave a muted nod nevertheless. "I saw."

And after a second, the sheer electric nervousness Peter seemed to have left on the room became too much for Tony, for he pushed off of the ground for an excuse to move. "I mean...don't get me wrong. I wasn't expecting this to go off without a hitch. I was prepared for some bumps. I was expecting it to be a bit of a challenge at first. But this?"

He stopped and lifted his head towards the window. After a second, he noticed a bit of commotion near the edge of the glass. A little red and blue blur swung past, disappearing down into the mesh of other buildings and high-rises surrounding them.

"We were doing well," he sighed in a soft little voice, keeping his eyes on the window. "Not perfect, but...we were making it work. We'd finally found a way to make things work and now..." He swallowed, lowering his gaze as he stared down at the remnants of the sandwich he'd tossed away. "He couldn't even look at me." A piece of bread lay by his foot. He inched it away with the toe of his shoe. "Why couldn't he look at me?"

Again, they said nothing. No words of advice or hints of an answer. Not that Tony was really expecting one. Even he didn't have much to contribute in terms of a solution. But anything was better than the sheer gut-churning silence that had been plaguing the Tower for the week. So he kept going.

"At first, I thought he was just nervous. New tower, new place. Makes sense." He furrowed his brows and glared back down at the floor again. "But I've seen him be nervous before. Hell, that's practically his fucking language. But this?" He stopped pacing and let his eyes trace over the remnants of his sandwich once again. The single bite he'd taken was still more than Peter had eaten all day. In fact, the more he cycled through the memories of the past week, Tony began to realize that apart from practically shoving food into the kid's hands, Peter had been particularly averse to eating much of anything over the past few days. That, in itself was a concern. He'd seen the kid wolf down two pizzas on his own and still have room for dessert.

He thought of the little balls of bread on the kid's plate, small and pale as they pressed between his fingers.

"This...this isn't that. There's something else. There's something else that I'm not seeing."

The tingling in his legs was gone, taking with it any ounce of energy he might have previously had. With a little sigh, the man took a seat on the armrest of the nearby sofa, hands resting on his knees as he stared down at the floor. He heard the sound of the stools shifting against the ground and felt the approaching presence of the others.

"Tony," Pepper murmured softly, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder after another second. "Are you okay?"

He sucked in a small breath.

("You sure you're okay?")

His fingers tightened around his knees.

("Why wouldn't I be?")

He lifted his head to gaze up at her. "No. Cause he's not. And I don't know how to fix it."

The woman spared a glance towards Rhodey before giving a sigh of her own, taking a seat on the armrest next to Tony as her own hands rested in her lap. "Honestly, we're right there with you. This isn't just some run-of-the-mill nerves anymore. It's...it's like he's-"

"Regressed," Rhodey finished for her, folding his arms overtop his chest.

"Right back to the beginning. Like the day I first met him." Tony leaned forward to let his elbows rest on his knees as he folded his hands overtop his mouth, staring hard at the floor, looking past the sleek polished surface as if he could see through the foundations and stare right into the earth below those hundreds of floors. He could still feel it, that familiar prickling heat settling in his chest. He could feel it in his finger as they pressed against his lips, the same uncomfortable warmth from before, born from the same wave of emotion he'd felt all those weeks ago standing in the med-bay, patching up a kid who was too young to even have a learner's permit.

His fingers tensed. He felt the warmth flare against his ribs, scorching up against his sternum as his throat burned from the smoke rising up around him. "What did you tell him, Richard?" He whispered to himself, eyes transfixed on some silent predator lurking in the floors.

"What?" Pepper furrowed her brow and leaned closer.

Tony didn't answer her question, acted as if he hadn't even heard it. Instead, he rose back up to his feet. "I need to figure this out. None of this is going to work if he won't even talk to me. That's a non-starter." He shook his head and gave a little scoff as he brushed a hand through his hair in frustration. "So what am I supposed to do then? Ignore it? We've been playing that strategy all week and he's just been getting worse, so that's out. Confront him on it? Our track record for confronting our issues is very...explosive so I don't know if I want to go poking that bear right now either."

Rhodey gave a shake of his head. "So...what?"

"I don't know. This is the part where I was hoping you two would have something useful to contribute to the conversation."

Pepper and Rhodey shared a glance. The woman shrugged. "Honestly...we don't know, Tony."

"Perfect. Thanks for playing."

She rolled her eyes and rose up to her feet. "Listen, you know Peter better than either of us. If you don't know what's wrong, then how are we supposed to?"

He turned away. "That's the problem! If I don't know, then who does? Peter, for one, but he's not about to tell me. He can't even talk to me without tripping over his own tongue." He took a deep breath, placing his hands on his hips as he turned back towards the windows, gazing out over the city where somewhere, a little spider-clad teenager was hopefully doing better than they currently were.

Tony pinched at the bridge of his nose and started to pace once more, voice retaining its frustrated lilt once again. "We need help here. I need someone who might know what's going on. I need some clues here. I need information I'm not currently getting. I need-"

He paused, froze in his tracks as his jaw clamped shut. A second of silence was all he needed for the thoughts to align into place. Without another word, he spun around on his heel and made for the door, leaving Pepper and Rhodey to gape after him as he called over his shoulder,

"I need to make some calls."

 


 

Thursday - May 26, 2016

Queens, NY - Community Youth Center

03:21 PM

Peter went back to the house.

He knew he shouldn't have, but he couldn't help it. Within the first hour he'd been swinging onto the adjacent building's rooftop, peering over the edge at the windows of the townhouse next door. When he'd seen no lights, he'd dared to venture further, finding a vacated property with not a single sign of life.

They were already gone. The feelings of homesickness that lingered had revealed to the teen that it wasn't the house itself that he'd been longing to see.

So with his one chance of relief already gone for whatever business took priority, the teen had gone off to do what he'd elected to do in the first place: his job.

A few burglars, car thieves and a group of touring old ladies that had gotten lost around 31st street were pretty much all the day had summed up too, not that Peter could complain. Anything was better than sitting up there in his new dungeon up on the 107th floor like some modern-day Rapunzel. And while he was certain his web-shooters were way superior to any mile-long hair, Peter found that the desire to return was sorely dismissible.

Which was maybe how he found himself where he currently was.

It only took a minute to change out of his suit and into the pair of extra clothes he'd packed. He scaled the fire escape down to the alleyway and tightened the straps on his backpack, knowing that his current location was prone to a few desperate hands eager to make a grab for anything that could potentially be pawnable.

Thankfully, no such attempts were made from the people sitting along the walls or up against propped-up tents. They merely gave him a disinterested gaze before turning away. Peter made his way down the alley and out onto the street beyond, taking in the sight across the road, the reason for his coming in the first place.

Nobody called it the Youth Center. Nobody called it the CYC or whatever other acronym that got commonly passed around in city-wide board meetings to discuss how to excuse diverting even more funds away from the dilapidated building. Anybody who really did need said building, anybody who didn't pass it by on the street with a disinterested, apathetic glance and a curled lip of disgust and contempt called it what it really was.

The Hole was always open, no matter what time of day you came. What you'd actually find in it was another story, but the doors themselves were never locked, at least not to the people that needed them.

The building itself had seen better days. Going on five decades of use, the Hole - as it was commonly referred to by those who frequented the place - wasn't the prettiest, that much was for certain. The rust-colored bricks were old and faded with patches of ivy and weeds growing through the foundations. The roof sagged against the weight of time and the doors were crusty with oxidized metal fixtures. The grass was dead in some places and overgrown in others while the concrete sidewalk leading up the stairs to the doors were cracked and uneven. On the front wall overtop the doors sat two feet high, tilted and faded letters spelling out Queens Community Youth Center, with a few letter missing entirely.

By the front doors, Peter saw kids sitting on the steps, the older ones chatting amongst themselves while a younger pair of girls drew on the sidewalk with small cracked pieces of chalk that looked like the leftover pieces you'd find in the bottom of the box. Peter spared them a small glance, but he didn't move to approach, didn't make for the front doors.

Instead, he went around to the side of the building and walked along the chain-link fence separating the sidewalk from the large grassy area right next to the building. He could make out a few more kids running around in the grass. He kept walking until he came to the back of the building, where the grassy field transitioned into a hard, concrete basketball court, complete with net-less hoops and faded lines on the floor. A group of boys played on the court, passing a ball that barely bounced between each other.

Off to the side sat a group of two bleachers only about three benches high and complete with rusted metal seats. The bleachers were empty save for one solitary boy laying on his back against the seats, leg propped up on one knee as he held a cigarette between his teeth, eyes to the sky.

He was already speaking before Peter had even fully made it over to him.

"I need milk."

The teen actually stuttered in his step as he heard this, furrowing his brow as he leaned his head back. "What?"

"Milk. I need you to go get some for me."

Peter rounded the bleachers and stopped right behind them, staring up at Danny as the boy continued to lazily lay with his back pressing up against the seats themselves, arms folded underneath his head as he bobbed his leg up and down on his knee. Peter couldn't help the small smirk that fell onto his face at his friend's supposed indifference.

"Hello to you, too."

Danny threw him a glance from the corner of his eye. "What do you want, a kiss on the cheek?" He reached up and plucked the cigarette from the corner of his mouth, blowing out a puff of smoke as he did so. And judging from the smell of said discharge, Peter was willing to bet it wasn't your average cigarette. The teen held it out. "What some?"

"I'm good."

Danny finally sat up at that, groaning a bit as he pushed himself upright, letting his legs dangle off the sides of the bleachers. His overgrown black hair stuck up in every direction. "What're you doing here, anyway? I thought you were supposed to be livin' it up at Stark's little sky-high mansion by now."

Peter shuffled on his feet, sparing a glance behind his friends. He could hear the teens behind them shuffling around on the basketball court. Someone made a basket and the ball fell through the bare hoop with no more than a silent drop. "I am. I'm just...taking a break."

Another puff of his cigarette. "What? Got tired of bossing your butler around? How many you got there anyway?"

He pursed his lips. "Zero."

"Shocking. Guess Stark hogs them all for himself." He leaned his elbows down against his knees. "Seriously. A break from what?"

Peter glanced away but the sneakers squeaking against the concrete filled his ears with annoying high-pitched squeals. "Just...I don't really wanna talk about it."

Danny smirked. "Then you shouldn't have come to me, mate." He straightened up again and glanced over his shoulder before digging around in his pocket. "But later, because it's been like two full minutes and I still have no milk in my hands so let's get to it."

He shoved a crumpled stack of ones and fives into Peter's floundering hands, the teen blinking down at the money before giving the boy a strange look. 'Why don't you go and get it yourself?"

"I would, mate. But I've been permanently banned from that store."

Peter sighed and began to count the bills. "Do I even want to ask?"

"Not unless you got twenty minutes and a hankering for a tale about a flock of pigeons and some birdseed stuffed down an asshole's trousers."

"Right." He glanced back up again and eyed the convenience store across the street. It wasn't as well known as Delmar's, but Peter knew of it. The owner never seemed to look up from his stack of Car and Driver magazines.

"Uh, what kind of milk are we talking about?"

Danny pulled the cigarette out of his mouth. "What kind-? What the fuck question is that? Milk, mate! It's not that hard."

"No, I know. But like, how big of a carton?"

"Just like, one of those paper things you get at lunch. What, am I going to carry a gallon jug of milk with me?"

"Okay. What kind?"

"Jesus Christ, just fucking get the milk, would ya? Milk!"

"Okay, well there's a lot of different types of milk, moron!"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

And after a very brief conversation about the various different kinds of milk and their respective percentages, Peter was off. Nobody paid him much mind as he crossed the street, not even the teens on the court. New faces were never something that interested the kids around said parts considering they were an everyday occurrence. Turn-around rates were high around the Hole.

So Peter only spent a few minutes in the convenience store (sparing a particularly suspicious glance to the sign posted outside the front door stating 'No birdseed of any kind allowed on the premises') before he was out and crossing the street again, returning with a small paper carton of milk secured in his hands. He recognized it as the type they usually handed out during lunch in the cafeteria.

Danny pulled out his cigarette and puffed out another smoke ring as he saw Peter approaching.

"Here's your milk," Peter tossed him the carton before handing the boy the remaining change from the transaction, sparing the cash a lingering look. Danny wasn't one to be very liquid. He furrowed his brows. "Where's you get that much money from anyway?"

Danny started to pocket it again. "You know how sometimes when you're walking, you'll see some bum sitting on the street playing a guitar and people will toss money into their guitar case?"

"Yeah...? Wait, do you play guitar?"

"Nah. I just run by and snag the cash while they're too busy fucking with their dumb-ass guitar."

Peter shut his eyes. "Oh my god."

"Hey, they can always make more. Tone-deaf assholes got to eat too." He jumped down from his seat and brushed past Peter. "Come on."

The teen watched him for a moment before hesitantly following after him. "Where're we going?"

"Shut your gums and you'll find out, ya wanker. Jesus, you're needy."

Peter rolled his eyes but followed nonetheless. Wordlessly, they walked off away from the court and around to the back of the building. Danny strutted around with the confidence of a high-powered attorney while Peter silently peddled after him, making sure to keep close as numerous glances were spared his way.

The alleyway was filled with different colored tents, the sort you'd see advertised in front of big-game hunting stores. Plastic bags and lawn chairs were set up along the walls with different groups of kids of various ages huddled around in packs, ranging from teens that were older than him to kids that probably wouldn't even qualify for middle school yet. Piles of garbage littered the floors, which Danny absentmindedly kicked along his path as he walked towards the back of the alleyway.

And as they walked, Peter noticed that, unlike the other teens huddling together sharing small talk, Danny didn't spare any of them a glance. He didn't wave or crack a grin or share an insider's greeting, not even with the kids Peter himself recognized to be longtime members of the streets. But this didn't surprise the teen. While the usual rules of the street demanded companionship and close-knit communities to survive, Danny was always the exception. In fact, there were days where Peter wondered if he was the only one Danny ever spoke to, if the boy just maintained a sense of silent isolation until Peter made an appearance and gave him an excuse to speak.

And the flare of unease that rose at this thought was enough to get him to speak once more.

"So...how long have you been camped out here?"

Danny spared a glance over his shoulder, looking down at the boy he was immensely taller than. He faced forward again. "Not long. Maybe a week. You know I don't like hanging out here too long. The staff starts getting all gushy, trying to convince me to turn back to CPS and whatever other shit they're on about."

Peter furrowed his brow. "They never call for you?"

"Nah, most of the chaps around here are kids like me, trying to stay out of the hands of those government snips." He tossed the milk up and caught it in his hand. "They call and we'll just go and find a new hole to scurry in till the coast is clear. So they know there's no point in trying." He spared a glance around him at the other teens huddled in the alley, picking through their ratty backpacks, eating scraps, sleeping in their tents, or chatting up with other kids. "Best they can do is hand out blankets, some meals and the occasional roof whenever the weather starts getting fucked." He tossed the milk into his other hand. "That's all we'll take."

He turned his head and gave a grin, showing off his yellowing teeth. "Besides, I like variety, mate. Can't very well stay in one place too long and get that. Then again, this place does have the benefit of that cute redhead that's always on food detail behind the counters."

"Who? Megan?"

"Yeah." Danny elbowed him in the sides. "She's sweet on me, too. Always gives me extra portions of meatloaf."

Peter grinned. "That's cause you're the only one who'll eat that stuff, dude."

"Hey. Food's food. Besides, you're just jealous cause I'm basically the perfect package." He tossed the milk again. "No obligations. No busy schedules and I'm always fit. Look at me. Not an ounce of fat." He ran a hand down his chest with an overdramatic flare of his hand and a flip of his hair. "Am I a catch or what?"

"I'm surprised you're still on the market."

"I like to play the field."

The teen snickered, Danny doing the same as they approached the end of the alleyway, meeting the seven-foot chain-link fence that separated them from the garbage clearing compete with two green grease-stained dumpsters, mounds of slick black garbage bags littering the floors, and piles of molding or crushed cardboard boxes. In terms of human life, though, the clearing was empty. But, Peter presumed, not for long if the way Danny tossed the milk over at him was any indication.

He caught it with ease and watched as his friend slipped his fingers around the metal looping of the fence before pushing the toes of his ratty shoes into the holes. It only took the teen a second to climb up and over the fence, his significant height difference on Peter most likely the cause. He landed on the other side with a bounce and a dusting of his hands before gesturing for Peter to toss the milk.

He did and Danny caught it easily before Peter stepped up to the fence as well. It was an easy jump, barely even cause for a blink. But the vast number of potential witnesses left him with the idea to play it safe. He climbed the fence even faster than Danny, though, hopping over and landing on his feet with barely a sound.

"Alright. Now what? And you still haven't told me what the milk's for."

Danny tossed him a grin over his shoulder and spun the milk around on the tip of his finger before turning away to walk further into the clearing. "Hush up and watch, Pipper."

Peter pursed his lips and gave a roll of his eyes but followed nonetheless, ignoring the nickname he'd been gifted with at ten. Four years later and he still hated it, which was all the more reason Danny refused to let it go.

Speaking of, Peter watched with a furrowed brow as Danny bent lower to the ground as he walked, eyes scouring the ground as he did so. And...was he clicking? Peter took a step forward. "What are you-?"

"Shut your mush. You'll scare her."

"Her?"

Danny continued with the strange cooing noises for a moment later before Peter heard it: a response.

He took another few steps forward, coming up to stand behind Danny as the older teen stopped at a pile of cardboard boxes with one particular crate positioned on top of the mound like a house on a hill. They both peered into the box, Danny giving a smile while Peter looked on with sheer confusion-

"There you are, darlin'."

-which quickly turned to shock.

"You have a cat?"

Danny didn't respond as he reached into the box and pulled it out, twisting around for Peter to see.

It was a fluffy little thing despite its size, barely bigger than Danny's cupped hands put together. It had surprisingly clean white fur with reddish blushes of color around the tips of its ears, nose, tail, and paws, and its eyes were almost as blue as the teen's currently holding it.

Danny tucked it closer to his chest and ran a few fingers over the top of its head. The cat - or kitten, considering its size - leaned into the touch, shutting its eyes as its toothpick of a tail stuck out stiff in content.

"This is Misty. I found her about a week ago, right around when I got here." Danny held her out closer. "Cute little thing, ain't she?"

Peter blinked down at her as she stared up at him. He took a small step back in case his friend tried to shove her into his hugely unqualified hands. "Uh...yeah. But I mean...where'd she come from?"

Danny tucked her back close where she brought her front paws up to rest on his chest before jumping up onto his shoulder. "Hell if I know." He shrugged and the kitten bobbed with the movement. "I was looking to see if I'd get lucky with any scraps someone had thrown away when I hear a meowing. Scruff around and find this little miss." He reached around and grabbed her as she began to walk along his shoulders, bringing her back to curl against his chest. He scratched at her belly. "Been feeding her the scraps from my own meals. She likes Cheetos."

"Healthy."

"Better than nothing."

Peter paused for a moment, watching Danny's attention become fully engrossed in the kitten currently curling up in his arms. He noticed the look on the boy's face, a relaxed sort of grin that he didn't see very often. Genuine, enough for Danny to actually look his age for once as nothing more than a sixteen-year-old kid playing with his kitten. Peter watched for a minute longer before his own grin settled onto his face. He stepped forward, seeing as how Danny probably wasn't about to force the thing onto him, and reached out a hand.

Danny let him scratch the top of the kitten's head. It was soft and downy. He could feel her purring underneath his fingertips. "She is cute," he finally sighed with a smile as he continued to pet her. The red blushings of color around her ears and tail seemed unique in a way, not something he saw too often in the alley cats that commonly frequented Queens. Usually they were black or tabby cats. This almost seemed like the sort of cat he could see one of his friends owning, not a cat you'd see dumpster-diving alongside the rats. He gazed down at her for a moment longer before glancing back up

"Why Misty?"

Danny glanced up as well, seemingly jolted from his thoughts as Peter spoke. "Hmm?"

"Misty? Why that name? Any reason?"

Danny held his gaze for a moment of silence that was already in itself fairly strange for him. Danny wasn't one to hesitate, and certainly not in a quiet manner. And yet, Peter watched as he averted his gaze and settled his eyes back on Misty, running his fingers through her fur as he shuffled on his feet.

Peter didn't say anything, just watched him with a new intensity to his gaze. The carefree smile on the older teen's face was gone, replaced with a look of passive indifference that was too forced to be real. Again, Peter found this weird. There were few things on Earth that Danny cared about. Why was he now faking an indifference that he could usually conjure up no problem?

Danny continued to scratch Misty's head before letting out a little breath, giving a small shrug of his shoulders that didn't shake off the obvious aura of tension that now lingered between them.

"My, uh...my mum...had a cat that looked a lot like her." He didn't look up as he spoke. His voice held its usual casual flippantness. Peter knew it was fake.

"Same coat colors and everything. Same name. Figured...why not?" Now Danny did look up and for the first time in who knew how long, Peter saw something in the older teen's eyes, something that almost made him freeze right there, something that left those blue eyes of his looking a bit colder, gazing a bit sharper. Before he could really digest the look, it was gone, washed away with a blink as Danny's face took on its usual cocky attitude of mischief. He held Misty up to his face and grinned. "Course, this little babe is way sweeter than that cunt of a cat my mum used to have. Isn't that right, Misty? Yes it is!"

Peter didn't respond. Instead, he turned his head away and glanced down at the sand and dirt-covered ground underneath their feet. He could still hear Danny cooing at the kitten in his hands, but he didn't watch. He felt his fingers tapping up against the sides of his legs as his eyes traced the patterns in the dirt. He knew that look. He knew he did. But from where? In whose eyes?

The cooing noises stopped. He glanced up and noticed Danny was gazing at him now, kitten comically tucked under one arm like a textbook. She didn't seem to mind, at least. "What? I see those gears turning, mate. What's up?"

Peter stared back at him for a moment, didn't respond right away. The look was gone...but not entirely. He could still see it, could feel it in the way Danny was staring at him. The older teen's plea was silent, but Peter could hear it, could see it in his body language, the new stiffness that had entered his posture, the extra gleam shining through in his eyes. He was willing a silence, an apathy that they both usually accepted, a mutual agreement to move on, let it go, and forget as they always did, as they'd been doing ever since they'd known each other.

Peter chewed on the inside of his cheek for a second before he finally spoke what they were both waiting for.

"Do you ever think about them?"

Danny blinked and his jaw tensed ever so slightly. "Who?"

But he already knew.

"Your parents."

Peter heard his friend's shoes scuff against the ground, heard the sound of his teeth beginning to grind in his skull. But there was no outward aggression, no signs of anger or distress. Danny's gaze was strong, staring back at him with those bright blue orbs of icy-frost that always seemed to sharp, so perceptive, so ready to fight and win. So strong and stubborn and always willing to argue, to poke and prod and make noise despite his positions of silence on the streets.

But he was silent now. He was silent long enough for Peter to shift his weight, to clench his fists behind his back as he waited. Danny broke his gaze and glanced down at Misty. She looked up at him.

Finally, he sniffed and cast a glance around them. "Not here."

Without another word, Danny grabbed Misty and gently stuffed her into the front pockets of his sweater before turning away towards the fire escape leading up the building next door to the Community Center. Peter hesitated for a moment before following.

It was a short climb. The building was only three stories. But the buildings on that street were lucky to still be standing so a three-story tenement was basically a skyscraper, which probably explained why Danny had chosen it as his spot.

And his residency was obvious. His signature bright orange tent was the first thing Peter spotted, propped up in the center of the rooftop clearing with a few other traditional camping supplies scattered around it, including a sleeping bag, a few rolled-up blankets, and some unopened cans. There were some lawn chairs set up as well, cracked and rusted and years beyond their prime, as well as a couple backpacks presumably filled with old clothes.

Danny walked past all of this and went to stand by the ledge of the roof, overlooking the run-down shadow-encrusted streets that surrounded the Youth Center. He fetched Misty from his pocket and held her against his chest once more. Peter watched for a moment before silently walking over to stand next to him. 131st avenue stared back at them with its dilapidated homes, abandoned streets and gutted cars littering the roads. Upturned shopping carts and bags of garbage rolled along the sidewalks, joining the blowing scatterings of newspapers and rolled up junk that flew along the cracked roads. And everywhere you turned, there was someone, at least a single person shuffling along, ratty jackets pulled around their sickly forms as they leaned against the walls or pushed their carts in front of them like rusted shields.

Peter stuffed his hands into his pockets and pulled it a bit tighter around himself as he let out a small sigh. "Nice view," he murmured softly.

Danny didn't turn to look at him, merely kept staring out overtop the buildings as he ran his fingers through Misty's fur. "Why I picked it, mate. Plus then I don't have to socialize with the party down there." The older teen kept his eyes on the distance for a moment longer before wetting his lips, sparing a glance down as he crouched and swung his legs overtop the edge of the roof, sitting down on the ledge with Misty secured in his lap. Danny gazed down at her and continued to run his fingers across her head. "Why are you here, Peter?" He didn't look up as he spoke. "Why are you here...and not living it up with Stark right now? I mean...isn't this what you wanted?"

Peter continued to watch him for a moment longer before turning his eyes back to the view. His fingers rubbed up against each other in his pockets, the fabric course and old. He swallowed and stepped closer to the edge. "It is...sort of."

Danny threw him a curious glance. Peter sighed and crouched down to sit next to him on the edge of the roof, his heels bouncing against the rough bricks that made up the walls of the building. He pulled his hands from his pockets and folded them in his lap. "It's not that I don't want to be there. It's just that..." He trailed off, face scrunching a bit as a new bubble of uncertainty bloomed in his chest.

He threw Danny a nervous glance. "...You're going to get angry."

Danny rolled his eyes and held up a hand, using his fingers to mark a cross on his chest. "Cross my heart. Besides, there's a kitten in my lap. Literally, you could slug me in the face right now and I'd probably apologize to you."

Peter scoffed and turned away again, but the uncertainty remained, hot and muggy in his throat. He could feel that same pressure up against his lungs, the same constant weight that had been with him for the better part of the week, lingering like a stain on his skin. "I...it's just that I..." His tongue was swelling again, like a sponge too big for his mouth, stuffing down his throat and choking the words back. He curled his fingers. "I..."

"You miss him...don't you?"

Peter turned to look at Danny. The boy stared at him with an unreadable expression. "Your dad."

Peter held his gaze for a moment. There was none of the anger he'd been ready for, the disappointment and contempt that Danny was known for tossing around like unused change. There was none of that this time. No chastising comments or disparaging insults about how pathetic he was. Danny was silent. Peter turned away and let his eyes drift over the sight below him once more.

"I don't know how to do this." He stared down at his hands, noticed how pale they were save for the faint blush of red at his fingertips. He imagined he could see the blood pooling around his fingers like paint, dripping off the tips to the ground below. "I don't know how to...be away from him. That's...never happened before. At least, not for this long. Maybe a week at the most whenever he'd go off for his trips, his rounds, whatever. This...this is different."

Peter could still remember the times when his father wouldn't even let him leave the house without some sort of escort or guard to accompany him down the streets, and not for Peter's safety, but for his own. On the off chance that Peter took a risk and tried to flag down a cop or a straggler on the street to twist some elaborate tale about an abusive household and a psychotic father at the helm of it, said guard or escort would be right there to laugh it off with the excuse of wild child-like imaginations and too much TV.

He remembered one time, one attempt, his last. Four years ago. It cost him two months of summer confined to his room, both the balcony doors and the door to his room completely bolted shut with industrial locks and meals of fruit and milk that left him close enough to starvation to teach a strong lesson.

So the idea that the same man that had installed metal shutters on the windows, bolts on the fridge and five separate titanium locks on the front door could somehow agree to letting his son go off unaccompanied and unmonitored for two months nearly left him floundering in the shock of it all.

Maybe his father just trusted him.

That couldn't be bad...right?

Peter kept fiddling with his fingers, pressed the tip of one nail into his pinkie. "I keep trying to just relax and...go along with whatever Mr. Stark wants me to do. I mean, I should be happy, right?" He glanced over toward Danny. "I should be stoked with where I am right now. I'm living at Stark freaking Tower with an Avenger. I should probably be condemned for complaining about all of this when we're literally twenty feet from a community center filled with some of the most down-on-their-luck kids in the whole city."

"I mean, it's not the best look but whatever."

Peter chewed on the bottom of his lip, turning away again as he looked out over the streets below, tracing the cracks in the concrete that led to pothole after pothole. "It's just that..." He continued to press his nail into his pinkie, digging in harder as the skin started turning white. "It's like...it's like my dad...never left."

He paused to take a breath, found it to be a bit shaky as he inhaled. Danny watched him out of the corner of his eye, Misty tucked protectively to his chest.

"Whenever I move, whenever I speak, it's like here's there, looking over my shoulder. Watching whatever I do, watching and waiting for me to make a mistake, to break a rule, something to give him an excuse to jump out and punish me." Peter scrunched his nose and furrowed his brow. He could feel a sharp stinging as his nail continued to dig into his skin. His voice took on an almost bitter quality. "At least back home, I knew it was happening. I wasn't paranoid for thinking it because it's exactly what was happening. I was always being watched, wherever I went, on the streets, at school, everywhere, everything I did. I was used to it. It was normal.

"But now? I just..." He broke the skin. He pulled his hand back, the tip of his nail pricked with a dot of blood as it bubbled up onto the surface of his pinkie. He swallowed and wiped the blood away on his pants. "I don't even know how to describe it."

Danny watched him in silence for a moment before leaning forward. Misty jostled in his grip a bit before curling into a ball on his lap. "Try."

Peter turned to him and their eyes met once more. The older teen's gaze was as perceptive as ever. Peter could still see a trace of that look still lingering around the edges, clinging to his eyes with an insistent stubbornness. He licked his lips and lowered his head, strands of light brown hair dangling before his eyes. He brushed them away and the words followed next.

"Lab rats." More blood bubbled onto his finger. "It's like those...lab rats. The ones that grow up in cages, spending their entire lives conducting tests, running mazes, getting needles poked into their backs, learning what to do and what not to do, what gets them rewards and what gets them shocked." His skin tingled, an unsettling itch that shot through his muscles like a bolt of electricity. The hairs on his arm stood on end. He brushed a hand over them and felt the goosebumps that now accompanied them. Danny said nothing.

"So...you have this rat that's...only ever known one thing. One thing has been its entire life: the walls of that cage, of that lab." His tongue was swelling again. Or maybe his throat was just closing up. Whatever the case, Peter found he now had to focus on the words, had to really concentrate to get them out, like a fight he had to put all his energy into. "And all of a sudden, you take that rat and...release him into the woods, into some big unknown forest and tell it to run off, to be free and live a new happier life.

"And what happens? They freeze. They don't know what to do. There's no scientist telling it what to do, no walls to keep it from going somewhere dangerous." He clenched his fingers around the ledge of the building, felt it beginning to crumble under his grip.

"It's free. And that's...terrifying." Another breath, shakier this time. "Because... because it's not. Not really. You've just put it in a bigger cage. Another test to run. Only this time, it knows it'll only end in failure." Peter shut his eyes, clenched them tightly for a second as he let his ears soak in the noises of the city, tried to overpower the sudden high-pitched whine that seemed to emanate from his skull, chattering his teeth and blinding him with big bright spots before his eyes. He inhaled, let it out even slower. He opened his eyes back up, gave a little scoff. "That rat lasts - what? A day? Maybe two if they're lucky, if they can find some hole to hide in before something bigger swoops in and kills it?" He clenched his fists tighter around the ledge. A few pieces actually broke off in his hand. "How is that any better than the life it was already living?"

Danny leaned back a bit, face tightening just a tad as his eyes narrowed. His voice was level. "Except you're not a lab rat, Peter."

Peter pulled his hands away from the ledge, lifted the new broken off piece of the brickwork and held it in his palm. It was rough, hardened with age as parts of it crumbled in his palm, leaving little scattered bits and pieces that dribbled between his fingers.

"All it wanted was to go home...back to his cage." Peter gently folded his fingers around the rock, his voice barely above a whisper. But he could feel it waver in his throat, felt it catch and thicken as it leaked out. "Why is that so wrong?"

Danny watched him fiddle with the stone. He hesitated for a moment before tilting his head. "Is that what you want?" he asked softly. "To go back to him? Back to those...monsters?"

("You ever try something like that again and I'll cut your fucking tongue out.")

("How's bout it, Peter? Two more days? Three? I can do this forever but something tells me that stomach of yours isn't going to last that long.")

("I'm so sorry about that, sir. You know how kids can get. Four daughters? My god, you're a hero. I can barely handle this guy over here. I think maybe I should cut back the TV. Maybe that'll help things.")

("Lock the doors. He doesn't leave this fucking room, you hear me? I want him to learn.")

("You know I love you, Peter.")

A single drop landed on the stone in his hand, darkening a splotch before he crushed the rock into nothing but bits of dust. He sniffed and quietly brushed his free hand against his cheek, wiping away the single trail of moisture that remained.

"I...I don't know." He opened his hand and allowed the pile of dust to gently dribble away. "I don't know."

Danny let out a little sigh and turned away, glancing back down to focus on Misty. "Has Stark said anything about all this?"

Peter gave a shake of his head. "I haven't said anything to him. Honestly, I've been trying to avoid him. Cause I know he knows something's wrong. And I'm so afraid that he's going to call me out and I won't know what to say. Like, 'hey, I know you've been working your ass off to get me here and I'm just so damn ungrateful, aren't I? Whoops! Those darn teenage hormones, huh?'"

He dropped his hands back down into his lap and let out a little sigh. Danny pursed his lips and kept stoking the kitten in his lap.

"He'd understand."

Peter scoffed but didn't glance over. "Would he?"

"He's understood everything else and he's still here so it's safe to say you haven't scared him off."

"Yet." Peter bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head before gazing back down at his hands. They were dusty now, a pale gray with smudges of dirt around the creases. He rubbed them together, traced the smudges with his fingers. "I'm in the woods," he whispered, pushing the dust around as it tickled his skin, running along the deep grooves of scars long forgotten. "In the forest. I need a hole. I need...to find some way to survive."

Danny clicked his tongue. "You've survived nine years in hell. What's two months in heaven?"

Peter narrowed his eyes. "I survived cause my dad told me how to survive," he growled back with a newfound frustration that hadn't been there before. "He gave me everything I needed: what to do, what not to do, how to act, what to say, how to look-"

"How to live."

He stopped, swallowed what felt like a new rock in his throat, like he'd shoved the old one into his mouth and tried to dry-swallow it like a few pills. "There are...rules. Important rules."

Danny scoffed and his face twisted. "You don't need instructions on how to live, Peter."

"But I do need instructions on how to not die."

Danny tensed his jaw at that. Peter heard him swallow and shift a bit in his seat, a new heaviness in the air around them.

Peter didn't turn to look at him, though. Didn't want to see the despair he could feel in his chest mirrored on his friend's face. Instead, he just kept tracing little circles into his palm with the tips of his fingers, tracing the feel of dust and dirt on his skin. "I'm in the woods," he repeated. "And I'm lost. I need...something. Something I can fall back on. And if I can't fall back on him, I can at least fall back on his words. But I need...something. Otherwise..." He lifted his hand and glanced at the dust-covered fingers, more specifically, at the pinkie that had still yet to scab over. The cut was still visible, caked with dust, browned with dirt.

"...I won't last a day."

Peter swallowed and kept chewing on his lower lip. He could taste the tang of copper from the cut he'd gotten that morning, running the tip of his tongue over the newly scabbing scratch on his lip. And for a brief moment, he thought of the Tower, thought of Mr. Stark. What was the man doing right now? Was he thinking about Peter? Worrying about him? Peter ran a finger over the cut on his pinkie, brushing away the dirt and the dust from the scratch. What would Mr. Stark think if he told him all of this? What would he say?

("Anything to keep you as far away from them for as long as possible.")

He shut his eyes and took a deep breath, letting his hand rest back down in his lap as a new wave of gut-wrenching loneliness bloomed inside of him, thick and suffocating against his throat.

Mr. Stark wouldn't understand. Not this.

( "As long as you're out of that house, I'm happy.")

Nobody understood this.

("Is that what you want? To go back to him? Back to...those monsters?")

He was alone.

It was growing, moving, whatever was inside of him. That same sticky residue that he'd felt that first night in the Tower. He could feel it shifting and prodding against his insides, crawling along his skin, up his throat. The tingling was back, a deep hum of vibrating electricity that coursed alongside his muscles, leaving him breathless as he fought to control the sudden bone-cracking anxiety beginning to loom overtop him. He could feel it. Could feel it building in his chest. That same panic from before. He curled his fingers into the fabric of his jeans and grit his teeth together, willing and praying the fog building in his head to recede and leave him alone.

Something bumped his shoulder. Peter opened his eyes and the fog disappeared. The ink was still there, still sticking to the insides of his chest, but it receded, hissed and curled away just a tad. He turned towards the side, blinking down at the kitten now being offered to him. He furrowed his brow and trailed his gaze back over to Danny, who simply gave a little shake of his hand, Misty shaking right along with him. She didn't seem to mind.

Peter hesitated for a moment before reaching over and carefully plucking the kitten out of his friend's hands, bringing her to sit on his lap. She stared up at him with her big blue eyes before running her cheek against his hand. Peter watched her settle into his lap for a moment before he let a small, wavering smile slip onto his face. Hesitantly, he lifted a hand and carefully began to brush his fingers overtop her back.

"I try not to."

He jolted and turned back towards Danny. The teen was reaching into his back pocket and had pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Now that his hands were free, he plucked a smoke from the pack and pressed it to his lips. "You asked before...if I think about them a lot. My parents. The truth is that I try not to. Which isn't very hard most days considering I got a lot on my plate out here, looking over my shoulder to make sure those guitar freaks don't try to jump me with their stupid fucking picks looking for revenge or whatnot."

Peter chuckled. The smile settled into a look of silence as Danny pulled out his lighter and flicked it open, pressing the flame to the tip of his cigarette. The older teen didn't put it away though. He just kept staring at that little manufactured flame, the tiny little lickings of orange light.

"But...I do sometimes. Think about them. And honestly, it ain't even that bad. You know why?"

Peter shook his head. Danny flicked the lighter closed and shoved it back into his pocket before throwing him a grin. It was a plastered look. Fake.

"Cause I got a strategy."

Danny pulled the cigarette from his mouth and blew out a ring of smoke. He watched it settle into the air for a moment before resting his hand on his knee. "Like, sometimes, I'll be roaming around the Hole, and I'll see some mug with her hair done up similar to how my mum used to do it and, you know, I'll think about shit." He sniffed and rolled his eyes. "Like, specifically how she used to drag me to her boring fucking hair appointments and made me sit in those plastic waiting chairs for hours, mate. Just bored out of my mind while she chatted up with some people I couldn't have cared less about."

He switched the cigarette into his other hand. "Or like, this one time when she spanked me for breaking some fucking vase that she'd gotten from my nan. Like, full open palm spank. The sort of spank that leaves you walking funny for a few days. Just a total bitch."

He placed the cigarette back between his teeth.

"Other times, I'll be walking around the streets and I'll see some bloke with the ugliest tie imaginable, something my dad would have worn just to embarrass my mum, and I'll remember how I'd barely ever see the guy." He shrugged his shoulder and leaned his elbows into his knees. "He worked at some canning factory, had been doing it longer than I'd been alive and he was always there long into the night. Sometimes I wouldn't see him all fucking day. Or like how this one time I was having some issues at school. Nothing interesting, just normal kid shit. So I pretended that I was sick so I could stay home." He grinned and let out a little chuckle.

"Fucker wasn't buying it and sent me to school anyway where I proceeded to get the shit kicked out of me on the playground for something I don't even remember anymore."

Danny sniffed and ran the back of his hand under his nose before brushing a few stray strands of hair out of his face. He pulled the cigarette back out and blew another puff of smoke. Peter watched him in silence as the teen stared down at the roll in his hands, twisting it back and forth between his pinched fingers. When he spoke again, his voice was softer this time.

"Little shit like that. Things that you usually try to forget and ignore when you think of someone close to ya, you know? Things you overlook." He watched the tip of the cigarette steadily shrink as the ash collected at the end. "I like thinking about those things. Those things that make you mad."

Peter blinked before turning his gaze back down to Misty. She was playing with the pockets of his jacket, sticking her head into the little folds of cloth as her tail stuck up straight into the air. He noticed Danny watching her intently, gazing carefully as if to make sure she was still alright. He turned away not a moment later though.

"Course...after I broke my mum's vase, she came up to my room...apologized for screaming." He flicked the cigarette and watched as the ash collecting at the tip broke off and blew away with the wind. "I remember her sitting on my bed, telling me stories about my nan, someone who'd died while my mum was pregnant. And my dad...after that day at school, he took a half-day at work and picked me up."

The boy's face broke into a small little grin, shallow and ghost-like, but there. "We went out for ice cream and walked through the park for a couple hours."

Peter watched him carefully, watched the look from before slowly seep back into his eyes. He heard Danny swallow and shove the cigarette back into his mouth as he cleared his throat and purposely angled his head away. His voice roughened. "Doesn't matter. They could still be annoying as shit. So...I try to remember all that. The annoying shit. To...I don't know..."He puffed another ring and pulled the roll from his mouth. "...make things easier, I guess."

Danny didn't turn to look at him, didn't say anything else after that. He just kept sitting there, elbows pressed into his knees, cigarette limp between his fingers. Peter ran his fingers over Misty's head and chewed the inside of his cheek, felt that same cloying ink from before in his chest.

"And...does it?" He asked softly. "Make things easier?"

Danny hesitated for a moment before slowly turning to look at him. And as he did, Peter saw that look in his eyes and felt his fingers curling tightly as he finally felt it stir something in his gut, a sense of realization and familiarity.

He did know that look. And he had seen it before.

Grief. A subset, at least, a dulled film of longing that hovered overtop the teen's irises, anguish and sorrow mingling together to create a heart-stopping sea of emotion and heartache. But grief in a different form, a different shape. It was darker, harder, calcifying like stone. Grief that didn't slowly seep away into acceptance and adjustment. Grief that lingered and rotted like an infection, poisoning the blood and weakening the muscles, leaving a withered husk of pain, anger and hatred.

Peter did know that look. He saw it every day when he passed his father in the halls, in the kitchen, in his office. It was that same piercing look that left him a defenseless puddle, a deer in headlights every time his father froze him with that stare, with that look of burning fervor.

Poisonous grief.

Danny held him with that look for a moment longer, that look that seemed to sum up all the pain and anguish of years long past in a single glance. The teen let a small smile onto his face, loose and casual as he turned away and glanced back down at his cigarette, flicking it away.

"Nah."

Peter wet his lips and turned away as well, didn't want to keep looking at that stare, that film over his friend's eyes, a film he was beginning to realize had always been there, had always existed. He'd just never noticed it before. Or maybe he hadn't wanted to.

A meow broke the silence between them. Both boys lifted their heads and turned towards the kitten in Peter's lap. She was kneading against his pants and staring up with an almost annoyed look in her eyes before letting loose another aggravated meow.

Danny stared at her with furrowed brows before he scoffed. "Oh. Fucking right. You're hungry. I almost forgot, little miss." The teen swung his legs overtop the ledge of the roof and stood back up, pulling the carton of milk from before out of his jacket pocket. He extended a hand and Peter carefully handed her over. "Come on, pretty girl. Let's get you fed."

Peter watched with a small smile as Danny brought the kitten over to his tent and started rummaging through his bag. He pulled out a plastic water bottle that had been cut vertically down the middle, creating a trough of sorts. Peter chuckled as the teen undid the cap on the milk and poured it into the bottle before setting both it and Misty down on the ground. As he worked to make sure it was secure, he spoke.

"Listen up, Pip. You've handled some rough shit in your times. I'd say this is just another bump." He stepped back and allowed Misty to eagerly start lapping up the milk in the bottle. Danny crushed up the empty carton and tossed it over his shoulder before walking back over. "You'll figure this muck out. You're a smart little shit." He clapped Peter on the shoulder before swinging his legs back over to sit on the ledge once more.

Peter furrowed his brows and scoffed a bit. "Thanks?"

"No big thing, mate," Danny grinned with that signature mischievous little smirk of his. Peter chuckled and elbowed him in the side as he shook his head, allowing the easy air that Danny always emanated to wash over him and bring him down from the panicked high he'd been sporting before.

However, as Peter leaned a hand against the roof ledge and let his eyes trace the street below, he felt his neck give an uncomfortable tingle that instantly had him sitting upright. He whipped around, eyes scouring to detect the sudden threat his senses had picked up on. Danny didn't seem to notice, for he was too busy watching Misty over his shoulder.

But as Peter continued to scan the streets below for anything that could have set off his senses, he furrowed his brow as he set his sights on something strange. Or rather...someone.

It was a...girl. And she was staring right at him.

She was older, maybe 18 or 19, definitely older than him. She had rich dark skin and long black dreadlocks tied up into a messy bun atop her head. The backpack by her feet and the cold gleam in her eyes matched the defiant glares of the other kids around the Hole, but there was something...strange about her. He could tell just by the way his neck continued to tingle as their eyes met. 

Her stare was dark, hardened and emotionless behind a shine of dark green eyes. Peter actually found himself wanting to squirm under her piercing look. He curled his fingers and leaned closer to Danny, though he made sure to keep his eyes on her. "Who is that?"

"Who?" Danny turned back around. Peter angled with his head towards the street, not wanting to point and make it any more obvious that he was talking about her. "That. Down there. That girl. She's just staring at us." Wrong. She was staring at him.

Danny leaned over a bit and followed Peter's gaze to the streets below. When he finally saw her, he shrugged his shoulders and straightened back up. "Oh. That's Jo."

"Jo?"

"Johanna. We don't use last names around here. We all just know her as Jo. She's a veteran, like me. Most kids around here been on the streets less than a year. Jo's going on six."

Peter watched her, watched her hold his gaze relentlessly, as if she could hear what they were saying even from this far away. He resisted the urge to shift in his seat. "Do you...know anything about her?"

"Just that the kids that hang around her aren't usually prone to showing their faces again."

This got Peter to turn away from her and over towards Danny, arching a brow. "What do you mean?"

Danny shrugged. "You never really see them again. My money's on that she eats them." He sniffed and gave a smirk. "But other than the potential cannibalism, she's pretty chill. Good for a smoke."

Peter turned his head back towards the street and blinked as he realized she was gone. He scanned the sidewalk and the nearby buildings, but there was no sign of her. Danny continued. "But just to stay on the safe side, I'd steer clear of her, mate. She's a vet for a reason. You don't get good at maneuvering these streets without a few side effects."

"Yeah, I know. You're a hoot to be around."

Danny scoffed. "I'm the exception, bitch." He reached behind him and pulled out another cigarette, putting it back into his mouth as he reached for his lighter.

Peter gave a little chuckle and turned his gaze back to the street. He heard Danny flicking his lighter open as he continued to scan the roads, looking for any sign of the girl - Jo, apparently. But there was nothing. Like she'd vanished into thin air. He hesitated for a moment before letting out a sigh as he rubbed at the back of his neck. It was probably nothing. Just paranoia getting the better of him, as usual.

Instead, he turned and glanced over at Danny, watching as the teen lit his fresh cigarette and slipped his lighter back into his pocket. The lingering in his chest was still there, present enough for him to wonder if it would ever go away. But he had to admit, Danny made for some pretty good company. He didn't say this aloud, though. Danny would never accept it with anything more heartfelt than a middle finger. But they both knew it to be true. Nothing had to be said. They just knew.

He supposed four years of friendship led to that sort of thing.

. . .

. . .

"Alright. I cave. Tell me."

"What?"

"The birdseed story. Spill it."

"Fucking yes, mate. Alright, well for starters, it was Tuesday. And you know they always have those half-off deals on Tuesdays for the hotdogs on that little spinny-thing. You know that thing?"

 


 

Thursday - May 26, 2016

2765 Springshore Dr. - Brenner Residence

04:32 PM

"What the hell am I looking at right now?"

"Banoffee pie." May stuck her head out of the kitchen, dirty towel draped over her shoulder, seemingly oblivious to the repulsed look Tony was not so subtly eying his plate with. "I'm trying out some new recipes so let me know what you guys think." She ducked back into the questionably-scented kitchen, emanating with thick, strong-smelling whiffs of flour, sugar, and something acidic that left Tony's nose wrinkling.

He spared his plate another eyeing glance. It was a gelatinous mess of a "pie", sitting heavily on his plate like a still-beating human heart, raw and meaty. In fact, the longer he looked at it, the more sure he was of its almost unquestionable ability to main and destroy in a way that only bad cooking could do.

"Right..." Tony drawled with a pulled out sigh. He hesitantly lifted his gaze away from the monstrosity in his hands and over to the couch he currently stood in front of, catching the eyes of the two teens sitting on it. Michelle rolled her eyes and turned away, so there was no help from her. But Ned was incredibly deliberate in the way he frantically shook his head 'no.' Their own respective pies sat a safe-enough distance away on the coffee table in front of them.

The billionaire remained standing in his spot in front of the two of them, hand on his hip as he continued to throw suspicious glances down at the jiggling mass before him. "Okay, well...besides the slightly concerning fact that you're slowly creating a very stable alibi for yourself should you ever try to test out death by poisoning, can we get back to the topic at hand, please?" He silently strode over to the living room window and pushed it open. "I did come here for reasons besides your fabulous cooking." He had to shake the plate a few times before the 'pie' finally slid off and into the bushes outside.

"Right, right, sorry." He shut the window right as May scurried back into the room, handing the two teens a few bottles of water, to which they gave thankful nods of their heads. She herself sat back against the loveseat nearby with a still steaming cup of coffee in her hands, the smell enough for Tony to inwardly groan at the sudden urge to snatch it up and gulp it down still scalding hot. But he didn't ask for a cup. He didn't have time for that.

To their credit, the second he'd messaged the three of them saying he had a problem with Peter and needed to talk to them, they were dropping everything and agreeing to meet at May's house not twenty minutes later. Fast forward through Tony's speedy and slightly frantic recounting of the week's events as well as May's sporadic attempts to throw in some near-death incidents disguised as desserts found the four of them where they were now: still at square fucking one.

"So, where is Peter anyway?" Michelle asked, resting an elbow on the sofa's armrest as she folded one leg over the other.

"He..." went swinging around the city cause he'd rather be spending time with thieves and murders than with me, apparently. "...went out for a walk. Said he wanted to...clear his head." Tony pressed the base of his palm against his eye, felt the pressure of an ever-growing migraine beginning to strengthen behind his pupils. "Look, I wouldn't have called you three here if I had any other choice."

Michelle sniffed with an unimpressed glare. "Thanks."

Tony threw the look right back at her, knowing full well that if anybody could take one of his glares and brush it off like it were nothing, it was her. "You know what I mean. I'm at a loss. The kid won't talk to me. All he does is sit in his room."

May leaned forward a bit. "And?"

"And...what?"

"He can't just sit in his room doing nothing all day. He's still a teenager."

Tony scoffed. "You wanna see the tapes? I've had FRIDAY keeping an eye on him and so far he seems to be switching between pacing around his room, talking to himself, and writing in some notebook he brought with him. That's it. Six days of that. At most, I can get him to come out to eat dinner and sometimes breakfast, but other than that, he just locks himself in there."

Ned, clearly the most uncomfortable of the four of them, most likely because of the billionaire standing not even five feet from him, fiddled with his hands. "Has he said anything?"

Tony took an obligatory second to tune through the week of memories, but he knew there was no point. It was all imprinted into the forefront of his mind like a bad tattoo he couldn't get rid off. "Not a word. Not unless I start the conversation and then it's one-worded answers and dead-end topics." He moved the hand from his eye up to his hair and noticed for the first time how greasy it seemed. Though he supposed it matched the plain T-shirt and worn sweatpants he'd arrived in, any and all fucks towards appearances going out the window right alongside May's Banoffee pie. "I'm getting nothing here."

May pursed her lips, but said nothing, instead lifting her steaming mug up to her mouth. The teens, on the other hand, exchanged quick worried glances with each other. Tony picked up on it immediately, his frayed nerves leaving him desperate for any sort of clue or answer he could grasp onto like a child with their blanket.

"What? You two got something? Anything?"

Ned wet his lips and glanced away. He continued to mess with his fingers. "Nothing. It's just that..." He trailed off for a moment, face twisting into an uneasy grimace of sorts. "That's...usually how he act when...when, uh..."

Michelle folded her arms over her chest. "When he shows up to school with a few extra bruises on his face." And the glare she sent Tony's way had the man standing up straighter, resisting the urge to bristle under her pointed gleam.

He narrowed his eyes and spoke in a low voice. "I don't like what you're insinuating," he growled, swallowing down the sudden churning that bubbled deep down in his gut at the sheer suggestion of it.

Michelle obviously noticed his sudden shift, for she rolled her eyes and scoffed in a way that had the man relaxing somewhat. "I'm not saying you're locking him up like some comic book villain, idiot. I'm saying we've seen this before."

Tony held her gaze for a moment before turning away, running a hand over the back of his neck as he breathed in deeply. May shifted in her seat, resting her hands against her knees as she gazed back at him earnestly, seemingly just as desperate for answers as he was. "Tony...you know him. You know how he is. Are you honestly telling me that you weren't expecting this?"

His watch beeped. Everyone in the room spared it a little glance as he brushed his fingers overtop it and killed the alarm. "Of course I was," he muttered as he began to fiddle with his pocket. "I wasn't expecting things to just magically align all perfectly right off the bat. But...this is..." He felt his mouth stuttering over the words in the same fashion as it had back at the Tower, back when he'd tried to explain things to Pepper and Rhodey. It came with the same terse tingling shooting overtop his skin, making his hands shake as he continued to reach into his pocket and tried to get a good enough grip on the bottle inside. "This is different."

His fingers finally fastened around the bottle and he pulled it out, a familiar bright orange prescription tab that Pepper had nearly forced into his hands before he'd left the Tower an hour ago, reminding him to listen to his alarm when it went off reminding him to take his medication. He didn't look up at the others in the room as he began to fiddle with the cap. None of them said anything about it. Perhaps a month or two ago, Tony would have attempted a more discreet manner of dealing with his newfound need for medication, but at the moment, he couldn't have cared less. He was trusting these three with Peter. The last thing he was worried about was taking a few pills in front of them.

Maybe that was progress. He'd have to ask Dr. What's Her Face?

"Look, the press conference, the one last week. I've seen him get nervous before. I've seen him get anxious and worried. He was like that right before we went live. And...I don't know. I...talked to him. He let me talk him down." He popped the cap and stared down at the little white pills glaring back at him. "Now he won't even look at me."

He said nothing for a moment, content to let his eyes drift over the little round tablets, small little pills that would seemingly take away some of the unending bout of pain and tightness that he'd felt in his chest, his skull, his bones, for the better part of three months. Steve's lasting impression, he supposed. He sniffed and started to shake out two pills as he spoke once more. "I mean, didn't any of you notice it? Notice how different he's been acting ever since he met me? It's not just me, right? I'm not just having one of my monthly power-trip ego sessions, right? I didn't make this all up?"

This time he did look up as the two tablets rolled into his hand. Silent looks were passed around the room, stopping at May as she pressed the lip of the cup to her mouth, but didn't move to take a sip. "No. We saw it."

Tony gave a muted nod of his head before glaring back down at the tablets in his hand. "Okay...so I'm not crazy here. Things were getting better. We could all see that. So, I don't understand this. This...whatever this is...it's not normal. At least...not for him. Not anymore."

He paused, letting the words resonate not just with them, but within himself as well. He thought back to that morning, sitting in a tense silence with a teen who couldn't even spare him a passing glance. He used one hand to snap the top back on the bottle, leaving the remaining two pills to sit in his hand. "It's like...like he's terrified of me again. Too scared to even open his mouth. Like...like I'm a stranger."

Tony hesitated for a moment before letting out a deep sigh and tossing the pills into the back of his throat. He grimaced and swallowed them dry where they sunk to the bottom of his stomach with a hollow thud.

He remembered those looks. He remembered that tense silence and the awkwardness that came with it. He remembered the dread of being alone with the kid and the fear of not knowing what to say or what to talk about.

(W-what...what are you, uh...doing here?")

("Well, I believed it was about time we met.")

He remembered the feeling of only knowing Peter Parker as a stranger. And the thought that the kid was feeling those exact same sentiments made his chest ache with an uncomfortable twinge of unease.

"...I think you are."

He blinked back into focus as he heard Michelle speak. He lifted his head and threw her a furrowed look, well and truly tuned out of the conversation in favor of indulging in his own fear-inducing thoughts. "What?"

Ned turned to her as well. "What are you talking about?"

The girl didn't answer immediately, though. Instead, she glared down at the floor, her face scrunched in thought, as if she were still formulating her next words right then and there. When she finally did lift her gaze, it was sharper and even more intense than before.

"Ned. Answer something for me," she started, voice terse with anticipation. "Has Peter ever slept over at your house? Sleep-overs, projects, anything?"

The boy stared at her, obviously just as confused as the rest of them were. He opened his mouth to speak, only to falter before the words could even form. He paused for a moment, eyes darting back and forth as he seemed to scroll through years past before their very eyes. Finally, he blinked and stared back at her with a newfound shock. "Actually...no. We used to make plans for it back in middle school, but we always had to cancel. My mom would usually get a call from..." he faltered. "...from his dad saying Peter was sick or that they had to go somewhere last minute." He swallowed, looking uneasy all of a sudden. "He's never slept over. I don't even ask anymore cause...now it's Peter who says no."

Michelle nodded, as if she'd been expecting that. Now she turned to May. "May...what about you? Has he ever slept over here?"

The woman, obviously having been running said question through her own head once the girl has asked Ned that very same inquiry, shook her head. "Not officially. Once or twice he's snuck over here in the middle of the night and I'd find him on the couch the next morning, but nothing sanctioned by his father, no."

Tony watched Michelle give another nod of her head, letting out a tight breath as she rested her hands against her knees, lips pursed together into a tight line. "So...basically what you're saying is that for the past fourteen years, Peter has never spent any time away from home?" It was formulated as a question, but Tony knew the implications behind it as if it were a full-blown declaration spit into a megaphone. He stiffened.

"Wait. I...when we first met, I took him on an internship exposition to Germany." He shook his head. "We were gone for a couple of days," he said, desperate to disprove what he was slowly beginning to see in the girl's words.

May shook her head, her own sense of realization coming through in her tone of voice. "But not for two months."

"Exactly," Michelle continued. "For the first time in...probably ever...he's somewhere new, somewhere that isn't his home. With someone that isn't his dad." She paused for a moment, letting her words carry throughout the cramped living room. "How do you think he's going to take that?"

Tony stared back at her, took a deep breath in the silence that followed her question. Slowly he brushed his fingers against his wrist, feeling the low level bone-deep ache that never seemed to leave, only getting worse with each step towards a conclusion he didn't want to face. "He never said anything."

Ned bit at his lip, face pulling into a look of exhaustion and sadness that seemed too deep for the face of a kid. "It's Peter," he said softly. "He never says anything."

Tony himself also didn't say anything at that, for he knew the kid was right. And he cursed himself for expecting anything different. With a harsh scoff blown past his lips, he turned on his heel and started to pace.

Michelle furrowed her brows, face tensing as she leaned closer, ignoring the new back and forth movements of the man before her. "Look, yeah it's true. You've made some pretty good strides with him. I'll admit that. But you made those strides as Tony Stark, his eccentric and narcissistic boss. And that's not what you are to him now."

"Okay...you're losing me. Subtle insults there, by the way."

She rolled her eyes. "When you first met him, it was under the pretense that your relationship would be strictly professional, right?"

He nodded. Everyone listened in silence as she continued, her words ringing in the air.

"Well, it's obvious that idea has gone out the window," she muttered gesturing to the magazines May kept on her coffee table, the front edition happening to be a piece about the Parker-Stark interview from a week past. "Still, there was always the idea that your relationship was a work-related one. He could separate you from home. Separate you from what he gets over there across the street."

She gestured vaguely towards the windows. Tony didn't follow her movements, too busy focusing on her words and the sudden heaviness gathering inside of him. She continued, despite his silent urge for her to stop, to shut her mouth before anything else came through that he didn't want to hear, that would leave him frozen in his tracks with nothing between him and the heart-stopping dread pooling into his bones.

But she didn't stop. Nobody stopped her. They just listened.

"Now you're Tony Stark..." Her voice was slow. "...owner of the house he's living in now. Just like-"

"Just like Richard Parker," May finished for her, face pinching in distress.

Michelle's eyes remained hard, face like stone, words like poison. "And now he's having a hard time keeping the two of you separate."

(Peter not looking at him.)

(Peter not talking to him.)

(Peter flinching when he'd entered the room.)

(Flinching. He'd flinched. How the hell hadn't he seen the fucking flinch?)

("But you're not really the one who needs to be afraid of me, are you?")

Tony shut his eyes and turned his back to them, afraid of letting loose some violent stream of bile and vomit and whatever else was churning dark and dangerous inside his gut. He heard shifting on the couch, heard Ned giving off little disbelieving grunts. "But...he has to know right? He has to know that they're...you know...completely different?"

(Peter pacing in his room. Locked up. Like a cage.)

(Peter talking to himself. Talking to himself because there is no one else.)

Tony focused on his breathing, focused on the rush of air going in and out, focused on anything other than the sudden urge to sit and put his head between his legs. He pressed a hand against the wall and stared down at the floor, his back to the others.

He heard May speak, heard the ache that had now entered her voice, the tired sound of a fight long since lost. "I talked to him this morning. He said...everything was fine. But I could hear it. In his voice. It's not."

He didn't respond to this. Instead, he lifted a hand and pinched his eyes, trying to fight down the inexplicable wave of heat beginning to flush overtop his skin in a boiling wave of frustration and anger, like he was suddenly inside an industrial furnace, the walls emanating a heat that could knock him off his feet.

Suddenly he was back in the conference room, Richard's eyes piercing straight through him, lighting him up with an unimaginable wave of burning heat and uncomfortable tightness that refused to let go. And the rage that came with it, he could feel that too, felt it mingling with a frothing sea of disgust and despair deep inside of him, burning through his blood like gasoline. He didn't act on this, though. Instead, he kept his eyes shut, kept his back to the others. Focused on breathing. Focused on the one thing he could control, at least for now. In that moment, he was happy Peter wasn't there to hear the frantic stutterings of his heart beating away in his chest.

Another deep breath. His ear rang with the strain of it, with the strain of keeping calm against the attempts to snap him, boil him from the inside out.

("That kid belongs to me...and he knows it. How long until you do too?")

 

. . .

 

How long?

He swallowed and slowly cracked his eyes back open, half expecting to see the room now filled with the smoke rising from his lungs.

"I've spent the past...three months convincing that kid that I am nothing like his father. That I am everything he isn't." He balled his hand into a fist against the wall. "And if he can just...forget all of that in the span of a week then...then what are we supposed to do? How are we supposed to make this plan of ours work if he's too afraid to even come out of his room?"

("You want the kid so bad? Fine. You can have him. Keep him all summer.")

Slowly, he turned to face them once more, switching his gaze around all three of them. They stared back at him in silence, varying looks of unease, frustration and solemn despair written on their features. He could feel all of it reflected back within himself. "I have two months. Two months to try and convince this kid that I am his best shot of escaping that hellhole over there, that I am his one chance of getting the help he needs. But if he can't even talk to me then..." He swallowed, felt the burning in his chest beginning to char at his skin once more. "...then I don't know what to do."

("Do whatever it is you wanna do, attempt whatever you're hoping to achieve.")

He glanced down at his hands for a moment before letting loose a bone-deep sigh, taking a seat on the other loveseat opposite May's as he rested his head in a hand and shut his eyes, the full force of the day's exhausting events seeming to press him down into the floor.

("But if you think anything you can do will change the years of effort I've already put in...")

He thought about Peter, wondered where the kid was. He hoped he was at least getting a little time of peace away from the new prison Tony had supposedly just dumped him in. And the thought that Tony was now beginning to create in Peter the same chilling fear the teen's father created in him was almost too much to bear.

("...then you're kidding yourself")

Somewhere, Richard Parker was laughing his ass off. And Tony had to grit his teeth particularly hard to keep said fact from bursting him apart.

. . .

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

"I know what to do."

Three heads darted up at the new voice and turned towards the one person who had had the least to say the entire time. Ned was concentrating on...something, for he wasn't looking at any of them. Instead, his face was twisted into a look of serious contemplation that left them all waiting on his continuation.

That continuation never came. At least not fast enough for Tony, who was just about ready to consider looking up the nearest liquor store and raiding their shelves in the world's most extravagant 'fall off the wagon' ever witnessed.

"You...planning on sharing with the rest of the class?"

Ned turned to him before seeming to jolt at the metaphorical poke. "Right, right, sorry. Well...I mean," His face retained its concentrated twist, like he was still formulating the words even as he said them, a plan formulating right before his eyes that only he could see. "MJ, you said Mr. Stark's like a stranger to Peter now, right? Totally different setting. Different circumstances. Different guy."

"Right...?"

"Okay, and Mr. Stark...you said he's acting like he did when you first met him?"

"All the way down to his stutter."

Ned gave a little nod, chewing on the inside of his cheek in a similar manner to Peter, Tony noticed. "Right. Well you said it yourself that you'd changed him. That you'd managed to get him to open up, relax, act more like...himself. It took a couple of months, sure, but you did it. You did change him."

Tony shifted in his seat, narrowing his eyes slightly. "What's your point, kid?"

Ned blinked back at him, furrowing his brows as if the answer was obvious.

"Well...if you could do it once...why not just do it again?"

Silence. Six individual eyes stared back at the teen, Tony's being the most confused. And the most desperate.

"I...what?"

"Think about it," Ned said with a growing confidence he hadn't presented with before, voice clearer and eyes perceptively sharp. "Peter knows you. He knows he does. He's just...confused, and...probably like, really, really scared." Ned paused at that, face taking on a concerned sadness that reminded Tony of the strength between the two boys' friendship. "That's why he's acting like this. Cause...he doesn't know what else to do."

The teen turned towards Tony, speaking with a new command to his tone. "You got to show him that you haven't changed. That just because he's living at the Tower now doesn't mean you're going to start acting like his dad all of a sudden." The boy paused, casting a more uncertain glance around the room, as if he was just now beginning to remember who he was talking to. When he turned back to Tony again, his face held a smile of sorts, shaky and hesitant, but there. "You just got to remind him that those three months meant something. If they did to you, then they certainly did to him."

Tony lowered his gaze back down to his hands, letting the words do their jobs of sinking down into his thoughts. Ned shrugged his shoulders and retained his smile, though it seemed stronger this time. More sure of itself. His words mirrored this confidence. And Tony couldn't help the similar chord it struck within him.

"You won him over once. Now you just gotta do it again."

New memories now were springing to the forefront of his mind. Dodging Pepper and Rhodey as they snuck around the Tower. Their disastrous attempts at breakfast for dinner. Listening to cheesy 80s pop in the back seat of the car. Ratty ice cream off the high of a Decathlon win.

He had done it once. Against all odds, he'd gotten the kid on his side. And somewhere deep down, Peter still was. Those memories hadn't gone away for Tony so he couldn't believe they would have gone away for Peter. They were still in there just as they had been for Tony, sealed away in a compartment guarded more securely than anything else, cherished in a way he couldn't describe.

Tony blinked, lifting his head as he scrunched his face in thought, letting his mind wander through the week's events once more. And that's what they were. A single week's events. One. Not a month. Not a stretch of time that was too long to handle. A week. Not even, just six days.

The kid was scared. Just like Tony. But unlike Tony, he was somewhere new, in uncharted territory. Tony had the home-field advantage. He'd have to take the first step. Hearing it first hand from the mouth of a kid who was probably a fourth his age might have been a bit unorthodox, but it was enough. And suddenly Tony began to realize just how valuable it was going to be having the teen's friends and close confidants on his side, seeing the things he couldn't, or didn't want to see.

This was it. The first hurdle. It wasn't a disastrous end or a foreseeable sign of what was to come. It was an obstacle, the first of its kind. How Tony handled it would determine how everything else would play out these next two months.

Well...he'd already put in three months of work. So he sure as hell wasn't about to roll over now.

He pursed his lips in thought, but said nothing out loud. Though he supposed his decision to trek on was obvious on his face, for the others retained looks of relief and determination similar to the feelings now brewing in his stomach.

May leaned forward in her seat, giving him a surefire look of unwavering support. "We'll do what we can to help."

Michelle folded her arms but gave a nod of agreement. "So will we. Text him, talk you up, whatever. I don't want to set a precedent of supporting you, but this is the exception." Her words were softened by the challenging smirk she sent his way. Tony threw her one of his own, silently grateful that Peter had a friend as fiery and strong-willed as she was when he couldn't be that for himself.

"I appreciate it," he said with a nod of his head.

Perhaps they would have said more. Perhaps they would have brainstormed what Tony's next move could have been or even planned out the various things that could go wrong and how he would handle it, but they were sadly interrupted by the sound of a high-pitched ringing from the kitchen.

"Oh. My cookies are done."

"Christ, May. Enough with the cooking. You're gonna bring the CDC out here."

"Please. It's not that bad."

"Yeah? Then why is the smoke coming out of your oven green?"

"It's not- oh. Uh...hmm. That's not good."

"Right. Michelle, call the fire department."

"Already on the line with them."

"And maybe tell them to bring gas masks. Also...off topic but you didn't happen to eat your pie, did you?"

With that, their team briefing quickly drew to a close, chorused by the sounds of approaching sirens and disgruntled paramedics readying for their fourth call to said residence in the last month alone.

 


 

Friday - May 27, 2016

Stark Tower - Penthouse Floor

07:51 PM

Tony got his opportunity the next night.

He knocked on the door with only a mild case of indigestion eating away at his insides. He pushed it down in favor of sticking on his more assuring smile that certainly didn't match the nerves beginning to fray overtop his skin like a bad itch.

The door slid open automatically, Peter leaning up against the doorframe as it did. The teen was still seemingly unused to not being able to crack his door open manually, for he pressed himself up against the doorframe like it was a lifeline, only peeking about half of himself out to see who it was. And once his eyes landed on Tony, his back straightened up just a tad, but he didn't move away from the frame.

"Oh. H-hi." The kid rubbed at the back of his neck and pointedly avoided Tony's stare. "Sorry I...wasn't at dinner. I just, uh...I wasn't really feeling well."

Tony didn't comment on this obvious lie, instead responding with a shrug of his shoulders. "It's no problem. Kitchen's always open in case you get hungry later."

Peter looked slightly uncomfortable at that, enough for Tony to get distracted in watching the teen's movements, taking in each and every detail he'd previously failed to pick up on. It was obvious now, the ways in which Peter retained a sense of ingrained apprehension similar to his mannerisms from months ago when they'd first met.

The silence lasted another moment longer. Too long apparently, for Peter began to shuffle on his feet, hands grasped tightly around the doorframe. "Did, uh...d-did you...need something?"

Tony blinked, silently bringing himself back into the present with a metaphorical slap to the face. Focus up, Stark. "Right, well...sort of. I was just, uh..." He watched Peter continue to shuffle on his feet, like he couldn't stand still. He trailed off watching said movements, brain trying to churn through the swirl of emotions he felt and very well could not identify.

The inevitable awkwardness they'd been drowning in all week began to rear its ugly head once more, lurking in wait for Tony to drag his feet and bail out on his plan with a wave of his hand and a walk of shame back down the hallway. But he didn't leave. He didn't bail on the words he felt crawling thick around his throat like molasses, sticky and uncomfortable to get out.

He watched the kid for a second longer before letting out a little sigh of self-centered frustration.

He'd rehearsed this for twenty minutes and he was still blowing it.

Tony cleared his throat. "I was just, uh..." More shuffling. More refusal to even meet his gaze. "I just wanted to see if you wanted to come down to the lab with me."

At this, Peter finally lifted his head enough for Tony to get a good look at his face. His eyes were dark with deep purple bags he hadn't seen in weeks. The kid obviously wasn't sleeping. Tony filed this away to deal with later, for at the moment, Peter was gazing at him with more light in his eyes than he'd seen in days.

"W-what?"

Pushing down the immediate excitement Tony felt at the kid's interest, he continued. "Yeah. I've been slacking off a bit, so the work's starting to pile up down there. Nothing I can't handle but I just wanted to extend the offer. You've been cooped up in this room for a while now so I thought you might like to stretch your legs."

Mentioning the kid's isolation was a mistake, for Peter flinched a bit and took a step back, looking very ashamed all of a sudden. Tony didn't scramble to backtrack though, knowing adding his own nervous energy into the mix would only make things worse. One of them had to keep their cool at least, even if that cool was well and truly faker than any of the relationships he'd had prior to 2008.

Peter traced his fingers along the doorframe, looking very much his age as he stood like a child caught still clutching the hammer next to a broken vase. When he spoke, his voice was soft and tepid with a hesitance Tony wasn't used to hearing anymore. "Oh, uh...it's...i-it's okay. I think...I think I'll stay here. If...if that's okay?"

Tony held in his disappointment, reminding himself that he'd been expecting failure above all else. After all, this was his first attempt at going through with the plan he'd formulated with May and the kids from yesterday. So he simply shrugged and threw the kid a smirk. "Okay, no problem."

He turned on his heel and started to make his way back down the hallway, already beginning to run through the options for his next attempt at coaxing the kid out of his room for something other than food. Maybe they could try Delmar's? Or even try the library to see if the kid wanted to grab some things to-

"Mr. Stark?"

Tony all but tripped over himself as he spun around. Peter lingered in his doorway, not entirely stepping out of it, but leaning a bit further into the hall. He still looked uneasy, but there was a new look beginning to spread onto his face, one Tony had been banking on since returning from May's house the day before.

After all, nothing was more powerful than teenage curiosity.

Peter fiddled with his hands, looking embarrassed. "What, uh...w-what are you going to be w-working on?"

And not even Peter was immune.

Tony resisted the urge to grin as he tilted his head and stuffed his hands into his pockets, cranking the notch on the next knob of his plan now that Peter had started eyeing the bait. "Oh, nothing too serious. Updating some of my suits and maybe starting on the initial groundwork for the new nanotech suit I'm working on."

Peter gave a little nod of his head. "That's, uh...okay. Just...just curious." He bit at his lower lip and continued to fiddle with his hands. Tony could see him leaning just a bit further away from the doorway. The billionaire couldn't help but give a little chuckle at the display, watching Peter very much try and fail to conceal his newfound interest.

Tech was Peter's Achilles. Just as it was Tony's.

"You sure you don't wanna come?"

Peter sniffed and hesitated a second longer this time before turning his head to glance back into his room, lifting his arms to fold over his chest in an almost defensive manner. "I...I'm sure." His voice said he was anything but sure. Still, Tony didn't push.

He didn't have to. He had one last trick up his sleeve.

"Okay. Oh, I almost forgot."

Peter looked up.

"I'm gonna need to borrow your suit."

"What?"

Tony approached once more. "Your suit. I need to borrow it."

Peter looked thoroughly confused, and perhaps even a little worried. But he just gave a little nod. "Um...okay. Hang on." He disappeared back into his room for a moment before returning with his folded-up suit. He handed it off to Tony, who stuffed it securely under his arm and began to walk away again without another word, hiding the smirk on his face as he did so and started to count.

Three.

Two.

"Wait!"

Bingo.

He turned back innocently, watching as Peter now fully stepped out into the hall, the door to his room closing behind him. He looked a little embarrassed at his shout, but it was quickly replaced with undiluted curiosity as he stared back at Tony with his nose scrunched in confusion. He blinked at him in shock.

"What do you need it for?"

Tony cleared his throat. "Like I said, nothing major. Just some updates, checking the system to make sure everything's up to date." He turned around and began to walk off again, smirking once more as he called over his shoulder,

"Oh, and I'm also going to add in a new AI system I've been working on."

"You what?!"

Bait successfully snatched.

Tony turned back around. "Oh, I didn't tell you? Well, I figure you must get pretty bored when you're out on patrol, so I decided to add in an AI system so you can talk to someone while you're working, like your own personal FRIDAY built right into the suit."

He could see it now on Peter's face, a liveliness he hadn't seen in a week, a gleam in his eyes he'd missed sorely. The kid was trying very hard to conceal such a change, but Tony had known the kid for a while now and could tell just by the way he was bouncing a bit on the balls of his feet that he was interested in only a way Peter could be.

The teen spared a small glance back over towards his now shut door, continuing to chew on his bottom lip as his face scrunched in some serious internal deliberation. Tony could practically hear the gears turning in his head as he argued with himself in some silent debate that only he was privy to.

Finally, Tony couldn't hold back a little chuckle, causing Peter to look back at him. At him. In the eyes. He held in the sigh of relief that wanted to come with it, instead settling for extending a hand and beckoning the kid over with it.

"Come on."

Peter stared at him, stared at the extended hand before gazing back up at him with those light brown eyes of his that always seemed to make Tony smile. They could both feel it, staring at each other in the silence. They could feel the exhaustion pooling between them both. The week had well and truly left them bone-tired, the weight of tense air and awkward interactions seeming to suck the energy straight out of them.

And after a moment, after a long moment where the two of them drifted their thoughts back through that space of awkwardness and silence, that space of heaviness that had weighed them all down throughout the previous days, they both watched it fizzle. They watched it fade and soften like early morning fog making way as the sun rose and warmed the dew-covered grounds.

They could still feel its traces. Felt in the way Peter continued to hesitate for a few seconds longer. Felt it in the way he continued to rub at his arms and spare little glances back over towards his door. Felt it in the way Tony himself started to shuffle on his feet, finally wondering if said attempt still wasn't enough.

The air was still there. Thick and heavy between the two of them, hovering overtop their heads in a way that told them both that it wasn't going away without a fight.

But after a second, Peter turned back towards Tony and smiled, hesitantly shuffling down the hall to join him.

They were both used to fighting. More importantly, they were used to winning. This wouldn't be any different.

 


 

At least, this was the thought Tony went to bed with that night.

This was the thought that finally managed to calm his nerves enough to grab at least a couple of hours of much-needed rest.

They could manage it. He'd proven it. The beginning was always the roughest part, but they were managing, and they would come out on top. This was the bump, the first hurdle. And they would clear it.

They had to clear it.

Of course, Tony hadn't expected said hurdle to suddenly shoot up another ten feet, sprout steel spikes and light itself aflame. But this is exactly what he got when he awoke that night to the sound of a heart-stopping, ear-splitting shriek of unadulterated terror echoing from down the hall, sending him shooting up out of bed with a snap of fear bolting straight through his chest.

 

 

 

 

 

(Richard Parker was still laughing.)

 

 

 

 

 

(Tony tried not to hear it.)

Notes:

WE WON!

This story actually won a 2021 Irondad Creator Award! I still cannot believe it and just want to extend my deepest thanks to everyone who not only voted, but also to those who simply take the time to read at all.

You're truly wonderful readers and I am so thankful to have your support.

I love you all ❤

- Rayrox360

Chapter 30: The Rules

Summary:

I, Peter Parker, swear to abide by these rules for the good of the family

Notes:

WARNING: This chapter contains graphic depictions of violence, child abuse, and severe panic attacks

Chapter Text

"I don't believe this. I don't FUCKING believe this!"

The house rattled in its frames as Richard slammed the door shut, dragging six-year-old Peter by the arm into the foyer. The boy screamed in pain at the violent tug, only to receive a sharp slap to the mouth as Richard rounded on him like a dog. "Shut up! You shut your goddamn mouth before I get the pliers and rip out your teeth and shove them down your fucking throat!"

Peter rushed to press his hands overtop his mouth, fresh tears spilling out over his cheeks as he backed away and pressed himself into the corner of the foyer. He barely caught sight of the living room over his father's hulking frame.

His father's friends. They were still here. They were always here nowadays.

Max and Sandra sat side by side on the couch staring at them with shocked expressions, the TV blaring in the background while Curt pressed his cigarette into a nearby dish, quickly slapping a sleeping Flint in the face, making the man choke on his snores and jolt upright.

His father turned away from him right as the others began to shift out of their seats. "What the hell is going on?" Max was the first to approach. "What happened?"

Richard began to shrug his suit jacket off and tossed it to the floor. Peter watched it crumble up against the hardwood. "I just got called down to his school. His teacher had some concerns that she wanted to run by me." His voice was dark. Gone was the dulcet rumblings and warm undertones Peter had once heard, replaced with a deep, burning growl, a hardness like roughened stone, sharp and jagged.

He'd done that.

Daddy was mad because of him.

Again.

The pure fury tinged on the edges of the man's words was enough to get the others sharing uneasy glances with each other. Sandra narrowed her eyes. "What kind of concerns?"

He reached for his tie next. "Apparently, they were talking about their families in class today. And boy genius over here decided it would be a great idea to share with the entire class how Daddy and his friends like to play scientist with him, complete with needles and funny liquids that smell weird and make him feel funny."

His father spared him another glance over his shoulder. Peter's eyes crinkled in fear as he saw just how hot the man's gaze was, scorching his skin from where he stood, five feet away.

Curt blew a sharp, disbelieving breath, shaking his head as he scoffed, "You're not fucking serious."

"Oh, but it gets better." He finally undid the tie and threw it down to join his jacket on the floor, folding his arms over his chest. "This bitch of a teacher tells me that she took him aside to have a little private one on one chat with him. She asked him about us and reported that he was very reluctant to share anything, saying he'd made a mistake in class and was lying. Well, t his woman won't let it go and eventually coaxes out of him that Daddy has some new friends who can get a little handsy, playing all sorts of games with him that - and I'm quoting here - made her 'very concerned'." He curled his lip in revulsion. "Fucking cunt."

Peter watched them turn their eyes towards him, dark and menacing. Just like his father's. He whimpered and felt his feet shuffling against the ground as he all but tried to will the door open the harder he leaned against it.

Max narrowed his eyes and turned back towards Richard, his voice low. "What'd you say?"

The man brushed past them, speaking over his shoulder as he made for the bar in the corner of the room. "I said I had no idea. That I'd recently asked some of my friends to help in watching him while I'm at work and that I was horrified with what I was hearing." He disappeared under the bar for a moment and returned with an empty glass, reaching towards the wall behind him and pulling a bottle filled with amber liquid from the shelves. "I asked her to keep things private while I had a chat with you all."

Sandra pursed her lips and gave a tight shake of her head, hands going to her hips. "What'd SHE say?"

Richard uncapped the glass bottle and slowly started to fill the cup in his hands. He didn't look up. His face was terse. "She said she couldn't do that."

If possible, the air in the room deepened even further, like another rung on a pit that dropped down endlessly, darker and darker the further in you went. Peter watched them glancing around at each other, speaking without saying anything aloud.

Curt sniffed, face twitching a bit. His chin jutted out like a knife, sharp and pointed like his nose. "Teachers are state-mandated reporters."

"Meaning?" Flint muttered, scratching at his crotch.

"Meaning they're legally required to report these sorts of things." Curt furrowed his brow and turned back towards Richard. "I thought we'd already gotten in contact with the teachers and established a line, funds and all. You know? Money for your mouth?"

Richard finished filling his glass and carefully popped the cap back on top of the bottle, setting it down with a gentle thud. He looked back up at them, face unreadable, lips pulled into a tight line. "She's new."

They began to shuffle, or grunt, or place their hands on their heads. They looked angry, some looked nervous. It was almost...interesting. They never looked nervous. At least, not as long as Peter had ever known them. Even if it had been less than a year, it had been a very informative year. They were nice, sometimes. Mean, others. But never nervous.

Had he done that too?

Could he really make people nervous like that? He thought only his father had that power, that skill.

It didn't make him feel very good.

"What happens now?" Max growled in his usual deep-set tone, voice curt.

Richard took a small sip from the glass and started to come round the bar again. "She said she'd have to file an official report on this first thing in the morning and send in a Request of Interference to CPS."

The others blew out harsh breaths, Curt glaring down at the ground. "Shit..."

Nobody said anything for a moment. Peter darted his eyes back and forth between his father and the others, feeling his heart racing in his chest, his cheeks starting to itch from the sensation of tears dripping down his skin. It was a tepid quiet, a bleak and flimsy calm balancing on the edge of detonation, ticking down the seconds, the milliseconds, the fractions of time that dwindled, dwindled and waited for the anger to bubble over, for the frustration to morph into something physical.

Max was the first. Max was always the first.

Without warning, the man whirled around towards him, eyes burning and face twisting into a snarl of pure rage.

"You bitch. You little fucking rat!" He rushed forward. Peter screamed as he lunged at him. "Come here!"

Big beefy hands wrapped around his arms, hoisted him off the floor, and slammed him into the wall, Peter's ears ringing as his head slammed into the wood.

"Max."

Peter stared back into the man's eyes, burning with hatred and rage, burning deep and black as they stared at him. He panted in his grip, tiny little legs kicking weakly as he clawed at the man's grip. Max continued to glare right through him as Richard slowly strolled back over, whiskey in hand.

"I'll deal with him. You're going to go deal with this fucking teacher."

Max kept staring at him for a moment longer before blowing a harsh growl through his teeth. He promptly released his hold on the boy, who quickly dropped to the floor with a cry and a terrified look over at the others. They watched him impassively with equally as annoyed glares, looking very much like they wanted to do the exact same thing.

The man whirled around on his heel to face Richard, eyes narrowed and jaw tensed in anger at having been denied his victim. "What-?"

"Her name is Claudia Morrison." Richard took a sip from his glass. "I called one of my contacts in the district to pull her address." He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and handed it over. "412 Adams Street. She lives alone. One neighbor to the left. Old woman."

Max stared down at the slip as Richard brushed past him and stalked into the kitchen, stopping at the dining room table and gazing down at the newspaper sitting on top. "You're going to deal with her. Tonight. Before she has a chance to make this goddamn report."

Flint cocked a brow, stifling a yawn as he stuck out his chin like an ape. "Deal with her how?"

Richard reappeared, shoving the newly-retrieved newspaper into Max's chest. It was from that morning, the day's top headlines still fresh in bold print on the front page: 

 

The Bedroom Butcher; Terror on the Upper East Side

 -latest victim found raped and hacked to pieces. -

 

"Here's your inspiration. Make it look legit."

Max paused for a moment, eyes tracing the words of the headline before his lips pulled into a wicked grin, eyes gleaming.

"Axe is out back. Get to it."

The man glanced down at the newspaper in his hands for a moment longer before folding it up and sliding it into his pocket, along with the slip of paper containing the woman's address. "Give me a few hours," he chuckled before casually strolling from the room, leaving the rest of them alone to deal with the still-mounting tensions stifling the already burning air. Richard set his whisky down on the counter.

"The rest of you. Circle up."

It only took Peter a second to put it together. The sound of an unfastening belt buckle made it even easier. But once his father set down the needle on his vintage record player in the corner of the room and the sounds of old 20s jazz started to fill the house in noise-canceling waves of music, Peter knew.

His breathing hitched, watching as the others began to make a semi-circle around him, effectively blocking his path down the halls as he was backed into the corner, Richard standing between them and him, freshly retrieved belt looping around his hand. He left the buckle itself to dangle. He liked to use the buckle.

Fresh, hot tears spilled over. "I'm sorry." His voice broke, high-pitched and shaky. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I'm, so, so, sorry. I didn't m-mean to tell on you. I promise. She was just...she was so nice and friendly and she said it was okay to tell the truth."

She'd lied. He realized that now.

"She said it was okay!"

Richard glared down at him from overtop the brim of his nose. "Turn around."

More tears. Peter could hardly see anymore. His hands were shaking now. "No, Daddy..."

The belt rattled. "I won't say it again."

Pianos. Horns. The music was starting to pick up.

They were staring at him. All of them. Burning him with their flickering glares. The music bobbed around, a loud, lively band. He frantically searched, looking for something, anything, any space or spot he could hide in, any pair of legs spread far enough for him to slip under. He gasped out each breath, hot and muggy, too fast to relieve the tightness in his lungs.

There.

Flint shifted, adjusting his stance to widen his legs a bit.

Peter didn't hesitate, bolting forward as he slipped underneath the man's legs. There was shouting behind him, loud and angry, but Peter didn't turn back. His sneakers stomped against the hardwood floors as he stumbled forward, pushing himself on head over heels, desperate to escape, desperate to hide, to slip out, slip away, slip somewhere his father couldn't find him.

He didn't get far. He had the stride of a six-year-old.

Hands wrapped around his midsection and hoisted him over their shoulder. Peter screamed loudly, banging his little fists against Flint's back as the man carried him, legs kicking and face growing red as he yelled at the top of his lungs, tears pouring from his face as he cried.

Flint set him down and shoved him to the floor. Peter barely had time to look up as he caught sight of his father raising the belt overtop his head, face twisted into a snarled look of pure wrath, the buckle gleaming in the light, shining back into his eyes-

It whipped down with frightening speed, cutting up against Peter's shoulder and sending him thumping to the ground.

Silence. Peter held his breath, eyes wide as he stared down at the floor. His arm tingled, pricks and burns that shot up his skin in a numbing bout of cold air. This wasn't happening. This wasn't Daddy. Daddy would never do this.

But the pain was real. So was the shriek that spilled from his lips a second later.

The man reared his arm back again.

There was a slight skip in the vinyl. A jolt of noise before the music returned, loud and unending.

Peter had been spanked before. When his mother used to take him shopping for clothes, he liked to hide between the racks, pretending he was a spy, poking his little head out and sneaking around the store. Mommy hated it. Said it scared her half to death not knowing where he was. He remembered her spanking him once when they'd gotten home. He remembered the stinging pain on his bottom and the tears that leaked from his eyes as he cried. But most of all, he remembered the warmth of his mother's arms as she held him close to her chest, whispering calming words and hushed tones of gentle silence.

There was none of that now.

And this was nothing like a spank.

This was hot and heavy. The belt snaked against his skin like a chain, ripping at flesh with raw strips of leather and metal. Peter couldn't do anything but scream, opening his mouth as the noise poured from his throat in buckets of ear-shattering noise.

It was a guttural sound, something Peter had never really heard before. It dwelled somewhere deep in his stomach and choked out in screeching wails. His little mind couldn't comprehend it, couldn't understand the levels of pain, the sheer bone-shuddering stinging that ached along his entire body. He'd never felt it before. Never felt someone ripping at him from the inside out. Huge, sinking claws grabbing at his skin and tearing at his face.

("Alright. But this is the last time. I'll look, but then you go to sleep. There's no Boogie-Man in the closet.")

His father was right. The Boogie-Man was right there. Lurking there in the floors, sinking its gaping teeth into his shoulder, his back. Stretching his huge hulking form to loom over him, the shadows of a belt whipping through the air in its big, meaty claws. That had to be it. No normal person could do this, could make him hurt this much.

It had to be a monster. There was a monster eating him up. Chewing him up to spit him out later.

The others watched quietly, arms folded over their chests or behind their backs, firm frowns set onto their faces, the implications of the day's events weighing heavy enough to cancel out whatever joy they might have found in the sight.

Richard kept going, kept whipping the belt back and forth, back and forth, metal on skin, on muscle, a raw, wet, slapping sound like meat hitting concrete, a thick and muggy noise that squelched as the buckle started to cut into his skin, pulling up blood and splattering the surrounding furniture as it whipped through the air like a flag, like a strip of cloth in the middle of a hurricane, wild and crazed.

The splatters were small. Tiny little specklings against wood, against their cheeks as it sprayed the air, against the walls and couches. But the noise. The noise was something even the music itself couldn't drown out. It was raw and visceral and nauseatingly real.

It filled the house with an audible dread, a cacophony of throaty screeches, wet thuds, and high-pitched grainy music from a crackling record player. No one sound prevailed over another. It all mingled into a single stream of noise, an intense stuttering of bone-shattering, teeth grinding screaming and screeching and swings and thuds and trumpets and bass and growls and fear and hate and rage, and rage, and rage, and rage-

Over-

 

And over-

 

And over-

 

And over-

 

And over again.

 

Nobody knew how long it was, maybe a minute, maybe an hour, maybe a lifetime blinking right before their eyes. But whatever it was, when it passed, Richard heaved a breath, chest bouncing up and down at the strain. He stood there, clenching and unclenching his fists around the belt as he shut his eyes and lifted his head. There was a splatter of blood on his cheek, dribbling down to the corner of his mouth. He didn't wipe it away. Acted like he didn't even know it was there. He stood there in the music, simply breathing in and out, eyes closed and posture softening like he was taking in a nonexistent breeze, letting it blow through his hair and wash his face of the poison settling into his features.

Nobody spoke. Nobody said anything really, merely stood and listened to the wheezing, whimpered cries of the boy on the floor. Listened to the music skipping and crackling a bit before sliding back into melodious rhythm. The others spared each other small glances, flickering their gazes back and forth between father and son, shuffling awkwardly as they waited for orders. Richard acted like they weren't even there.

Trumpets. Trumpets. Screeching all around them.

Slowly, like his feet weren't even touching the ground, Richard walked back over to the counter where he'd set down his whisky. His steps made no noise against the floorboards as he walked, a phantom hovering over all of them. He carefully wrapped his hand around the glass with surgeon's precision, not a single waver or shake of his grip as he lifted the glass to his lips and downed the rest of the liquid in a single gulp.

Nobody said a word. Just watched.

He pulled the now-empty cup away from his lips and gazed down at it for a moment, at the blood-smeared glass from the stains his palm had left on it. There was an emptiness, staring back into his face, a crevasse sitting between his features, dragging him down, pulling at his lips, his eyes, eating in everything it could, leaving nothing but a dark, unending nothingness. His face twitched, the crevasse deepened. His eyes remained the same, pale and hollow. He was a ghost. Empty. Lifeless.

He was still for a second longer before rearing his arm back and hurling the glass at the record player in the corner.

It slammed into the machine with a screech and a flash of smoke, the wood and glass exploding inward together into a jumbled mess of splinters and shards as the music shrieked and cut off with a cry. It hissed and steamed, sparking a bit as a small little plume drifted into the air.

Then silence. It weighed heavy on the house, a film overtop their skin.

Richard stared at the mess with the same impassive emptiness in his eyes. He blew out a small, almost indistinguishable little sigh and lowered his head.

"Alright, you lot..." His voice was quiet, eerily so. He slowly grabbed the belt with his other hand and began to refasten it through the belt loops on his pants, blood and all. Pieces of Peter's hair were still caught in the buckle.

"Get the fuck out."

They didn't need to be told twice. After a second, it was just the two of them.

Peter wheezed on the floor, throat raw from the screaming, face covered in red-stained tears. His pants were damp, covered in flecks of blood and fresh urine. He felt something rolling around in his mouth and hacked it up, staring down at the cracked baby tooth that dribbled onto the floor like a penny tossed onto the street, discarded and unused.

His father didn't move to approach him. Didn't move to kneel down and comfort him with warm tones and soft words. He did nothing but stare with those empty, doll-like eyes, eyes that bore holes into his skin like little needles poking and prodding, slipping underneath his muscles like little worms that festered and rotted in his bones. He didn't look up. He kept his eyes shut. Kept his eyes shut and his chin tucked against his chest, shoulder digging into the floor as he curled into as tight a ball as he could. Everything was throbbing; his body was shrieking almost as loudly as he had. Rickety puffs of air shot from his mouth as tiny, broken whimpers spilled from his lips like the sounds of a dying car battery, quiet and almost unnoticeable.

This wasn't real. This wasn't happening. He was in bed. He was curled up in the Star-Wars blanket May and Ben had gotten for him last Christmas. He was curled up warm and tight, away from this, away from all of this.

Richard was still panting, but it was quieter now. He pressed a hand to his head, ignoring the blood that came off his palm and smeared across his forehead. "Alright...here's what we're going to do." He stepped forward. "Get up."

Peter didn't move. Didn't even look up at him.

Richard reared down and wrapped his hand around the boy's arm. "Get up, you," he growled, hoisting Peter up to his feet. If he expected the child to scream or cry at the sudden jerking motion, then he was sorely disappointed by the sunken, desolate silence Peter offered instead. It was enough to get Richard's hand grasping Peter's chin and angling the kid's head towards him.

His face was….frozen. Twisted into a look of wide-eyed terror, shining back a film of panic and horror in his bright brown irises. His body twitched, face remaining still and lifeless as little involuntary squeaks of noise trickled from his mouth, little inaudible whimpers, stuttered and broken. His eyes stared back at nothing, stuck staring at some distant, far-off terror, a sight too horrifying to put into words or look away from. Tear tracks silently slid down his cheeks, dripping onto the floor below.

Richard stared back at him with a grizzled frown before releasing the kid's chin and hoisting him up onto his arms. Peter's face pressed into his shoulder, but he remained still, almost catatonic as his father walked into the kitchen and set him down onto one of the dining table chairs.

Peter felt his lip quivering. It was wet, dripping down his chin. His father walked into the living room once again and messed around with the desk pushed up to the far wall, opening one of the drawers and pulling out a large notepad and pen. He slammed it shut and walked back over, Peter feeling a painful tingling of nerves shooting up and down his skin as his father approached.

The man walked over to the kitchen table, setting the pad and pen down onto the surface. Peter didn't make a noise, didn't move a muscle. His body was on fire, burning with a pain he couldn't describe, a heat he couldn't outrun. But he didn't move. Tears spilled, but he didn't wipe them away. He didn't look at anything, really. Just kept his eyes down, his head lowered, his mouth shut.

He heard the chair next to him scooting out, scuffing against the floor before his father's large weight settled down into it with a loud sigh. Peter still didn't look at him. Just kept his focus on the sounds of his breathing, hitched and crooked in his lungs. Somewhere, the remains of the record player hissed in anger.

For a second, his father didn't say anything either. He just kept staring at Peter, occasionally flicking his eyes over to the pad of paper. Finally, the man lifted his hand and scratched at his chin. "She was nice?"

Peter heard. Heard him speaking. But he didn't respond. Just kept staring off at nothing, like he could see something in the floors, in the walls, some unseen force slipping and morphing through the cracks, along the shadows, and up around his arms.

He wasn't here.

"You don't have to answer. Just listen, then."

The stranger was speaking.

It had to be a stranger. It couldn't be his father.

His father was sweet and kind and played games with him. His father let him sit on his lap and told him stories, told him about his work. His father let him sit underneath his desk and draw while he was busy with his job. His father smiled and laughed and sat with a calm warmth that always made Peter feel better.

This wasn't his father.

This was a Boogie-Man.

His father never had blood on his face. His father never had blood on his hands. His father never stared back at him with such desolate, hollow eyes and a matching barrenness in his face.

And yet, as Peter's shivering gaze slowly drifted over towards the man's face, he couldn't help but recognize the features, the face, the hair, the eyes, however dark they were, cracked and empty with a bone-chilling gaze that reflected nothing but a vacant stare. It was like a room you recognized from childhood. You could make out the same walls. The same crappy paint job and cracks in the ceiling. Even with the lights out, you knew that room.

And Peter knew this man, even with the lights out.

He watched, waited. No explosion. No anger. Just an order.

So, for not the last time in his life, Peter obeyed.

Richard wet his lips and leaned back in his chair. His voice was soft now. Calm. Almost like normal. Without the tinge of anger and heat it always seemed poisoned with nowadays.

"I'm sure your school has taught you about stranger danger."

They had. With puppets. And a play. And a nice man called Officer Dan that told really funny jokes.

Peter wanted Officer Dan to come back.

"I'm sure they told you all about it. Told you to never go with anyone you don't know. Even if they seem nice. That you shouldn't believe what they say and to not trust them. That they're liars and that they might hurt you." He sniffed.  "And I'm sure when you think of a stranger, you think of someone you don't know. Someone you've never met before who might come up to you on the street and start talking to you."

Richard gave a nod at his own inquiry, as if he himself were asked the question. He grabbed the pen he'd brought with him and began to fiddle with it in his hands. "Well…what if they know your name?"

Name-

Name-

His name was Peter.

It meant 'stone' in Greek. He remembered his mother telling him how strong he'd seemed when she'd first looked into his eyes, staring back with a strength she knew she could never rival.

Daddy could rival it.

He wondered what Daddy's name meant.

"What if they know you?" Richard continued. "What if they're really nice and friendly and they know your name?" He continued to mess with the pen. "Your teacher knows your name. Is she a stranger?"

Ms. M. His first-grade teacher. She had yellow hair that smelled like strawberries and always wore dresses that tied into whatever subject they were learning in class that day. Peter liked her science dress best, with the beakers and stars and tiny squiggly strands that she'd called 'DNA'.

He didn't tell his father about her dress. Maybe it would get the man to change his mind about her, but he kept his mouth shut. Like there were little sewing needles pressing into his lips, Peter couldn't get it open. He shook in the chair, felt the familiar tingle of goosebumps on his skin.

Mommy used to call it 'gooseflesh'

"Do you think she's dangerous, Peter?"

("Snack time, everyone! Peter, where's your snack, honey? Did you forget to pack one?")

"Is she, Peter?"

(That's alright, sweetie. You can have some of mine.")

There was a shuddered whine that gurgled from the back of his throat. It seemed to be enough of a response for his father.

He let out a little sigh and carefully placed the pen on top of the pad of paper, folding his hands on the table as he gazed back at the boy.

"See, Peter. There's something they didn't tell you when they were teaching you about stranger danger. Sometimes...the most dangerous people are the ones we know." He turned and grabbed for the remaining pages of the newspaper from before, flipping through them for a second before clicking his tongue and showing it to Peter. It was a picture of a woman with eyes like his father when he was angry: dark and menacing.

"Right here, page three. It talks about a guidance counselor who got thirty years in prison for molesting her students."

Was he supposed to know what that meant? He hoped the man wouldn't get upset that he didn't.

"She hurt them, Peter They knew her...and she hurt them."

He kept staring at the picture. Stared back into her eyes. It was like she could see him through the paper, see him sitting there in his chair right that moment, staring and hating, just like his father.

"And why did she hurt them?" Richard set the paper down and her eyes were gone. "Cause she's bad. She's a bad person."

Peter lowered his gaze and stared down at the table. It was new. Daddy was making money now and everything in the house still had that new, plasticky-wood smell. It made his nose twitch.

"Now, I'm sure you don't think Ms. M. is a bad person, Peter-"

Not when he thought back to that afternoon, sitting in her office with a carton of milk from the cafeteria. He remembered her smiling at him, showing him pictures of her cats, giving him a couple new books to read. They were still in his backpack.

"But…if a stranger offered you some candy to get in their van, would you do it?"

He felt his body shivering, felt his nerves tingling as his head gave a slow shake. It seemed to take years just to shift his head and manage it.

"What if it was Ms. M?"

He stayed quiet. Didn't make a move this time.

Richard kept tapping his fingers against the table. Peter noticed the blood coating the tips of them, soaking into the skin like ink. The man pressed his elbows into the table and leaned closer, Peter feeling himself lean back in response. His father's voice was sternSerious.

"Everyone, people you know and people you don't... Everyone is dangerous, Peter.  They pretend to be all nice and kind just like those bad men. Just like those bad men with the candy and the vans who want to take you away and do bad things." He leaned closer, eyes narrowing. "They're liars, Peter. Your teacher...is a liar. She's just like those bad men. She wants to take you away, take you away from us, from your family. Do you want that? Do you want to be taken away?"

She had a van? Peter had never even seen it before. Was she coming right now? Why had he told her all that stuff?

"No..." he whispered, voice crackling in a hoarse, startling way. It wasn't his voice. Couldn't have been his voice. But it seemed to come from somewhere inside of him. His throat burned in a way that suggested it had. He spared a glance towards the window, praying he wouldn't see a van rolling up outside the house at that very second.

"But she wants to take you away. They all do. They're bad people, Peter. And that's exactly what'll happen if you talk to them again, if you tell them about us. They'll take you away and we'll never see you again. Do you want that?"

Peter felt fresh tears leaking past his eyes. He didn't want that. Then he'd be alone. No May. No Ben. No Daddy. He didn't want to be taken away. They COULDN'T take him away!

"No..." He croaked, feeling the flood of pain intensify over his body. His face twisted as it all seemed to rush in at once as his vocals shook loose.

"Would a good person try to take you away from us?

"No!" he cried, his skin crackling with a fire he couldn't see.

"But Ms. M wants to take you away."

Peter blinked open his eyes at that. Richard leaned forward. "Is she a good person?"

"...n-no..."

"No," the man repeated, standing from his chair as he moved to stand behind Peter's. He grabbed the pad and pen and moved it so that it was in front of the boy. He started to write something on the paper, but his hand was blocking it, so Peter couldn't see. Even if he could have, he was too busy wiping his face with his sleeve. It came away with bloody smears.

"Here." He stuffed the pen into Peter's still-shivering hand and pushed the pad closer to him. "I want you to write down what you see here. Exactly, word for word."

Peter tilted his head and sniffled, craning his neck a bit to read what his father had written.

"Go on. Go ahead."

His father's handwriting was usually neat. It was crisp and clean and everything Peter always tried to emulate in his own handwriting. But today it looked sloppy. It was hurried and messy, more like something he would see his classmate's papers filled with.

"Write it, Peter."

Maybe his father's hand hurt from whipping the belt. Maybe they were too bloody, stained with a heaviness that weighed down his fingers. Maybe that's why the words seemed to dance before Peter's eyes, jumbled and out of order. There was a stain in the corner of the page, dark red.

Richard's hand suddenly slammed down onto the table and he leaned down inches from Peter's ear.

"WRITE IT!"

Peter shut his eyes, hurried sob wracking his frame once more as he shakily grabbed the pad and pressed the tip of the pen into the paper. His hand was so shaky it was hard to even move the pen, but slowly, the words started to form. Richard watched in silence, stained hands slowly coming to fold behind his back as the words appeared, messy and scrawled, but there on the page nonetheless, printed in bold, in permanent ink-

Carved-

Scratched-

Stapled.

 

 

Everyone lies. Trust no one.

 


 

Saturday - May 28, 2016

Stark Tower - Penthouse Floor

01:26 AM

Tony still had dreams. Nightmares, really. If you wanted to get technical.

At this point in his life, he probably should have been used to them. Four decades of the same party trick and you start teetering the line of getting old. 'Used to it' should have been an understatement.

But it wasn't. Maybe nightmares just weren't something you were supposed to get used to. Just something you lived with. Poorly, in his case. But lived with, nonetheless. Usually in the form of a few late-night binge sessions down in the lab, much to the displeasure of whoever had the misfortune of catching him.

And, as Tony would always parrot whenever said someone would demand an explanation for his antics, it was "the lesser of two evils."

Of course, the human body can only take so much, and usually around the three-day mark of non-stop all-nighters that would put even a grad student to shame, sometimes even Tony Stark had to admit defeat. And said defeat came in the form of a designer bed and custom-made orthopedic pillows. Which, on paper, doesn't sound too tragic.

But while Tony was used to jolting into consciousness in a violent and harrowing manner….

"Peter?!"

…this was definitely new.

Cause he'd never been woken by a scream other than his own before.

Tony's shoulder slammed into the hallway wall as he stumbled out of his room, shaking off the blanket that was still half-draped over him. He blinked his eyes and tried to adjust himself to the darkness of the area, lips parted as his heart leaped into his throat.

The hall was dark, the only reprieve coming from the footlights lining the floors, giving a faint yellowish glow that was just enough to see by, leaving Tony to run in less than total darkness.

He grazed his hand along the wall as he ran, counting each door-frame underneath his fingertips and mentally assigning them away as not the kid's room, which was a hard enough task to keep straight while he was both struggling to wake up and simultaneously trying to breathe.

Peter had screamed.

It seemed to be the only thought he could fully formulate in his fritzing brain.

Peter had screamed.

Followed by,

Why had he screamed?

"FRIDAY?" He stumbled, righting himself against the wall before taking off again "What the hell's going on?!"

Someone must have broken into the Tower. Must have broken in looking for him only to come across the kid instead. Or maybe info leaked that Peter was staying at the Tower and someone was looking to hold the kid hostage for some billion-dollar ransoms. Or maybe it was just good, old-fashioned aliens again. It had been a while since he'd tangoed with that nightmare of a thought. Maybe now was about time for a reprieve.

In fact, why wasn't the Tower bathed in red flashing lights? Why hadn't FRIDAY sent him a suit by now? If the kid was in danger, then they had to-

"No sensors have been tripped boss. No added heat signatures or motion detected on the cameras, and security hasn't been activated."

He stumbled again.

"What?"

"There are no signs of activity in or around the Tower."

He slowed a bit, throwing a bewildered look up to the ceiling before falling back into stride. It didn't make him feel better. Not at all. Because his heart was still pounding. And that scream was still ringing in his ears like a bell.

In his muddied and sleep-hazed brain, he almost ran right past the kid's door, grabbing the frame at the last second as his feet skidded against the floor. He panted, righting himself in an instant as he braced himself against the frame, sucking down a mouthful of air.

No signs of activity. No signs of activity. No signs-

He tightened his hold on the frame, sparing a small glance towards the ceiling.

"Are you sure?"

"There's nobody in the Tower but you and Peter."

He winced at that.

Me and Peter.

The others were home. Sleeping, as any sane person should have been doing at that time of night. There was no backup. He was alone here, alone to deal with whatever this was.

He took another breath, vaguely noting how tight his chest felt all of a sudden before lifting a hand and pounding on the door in front of him, half-expecting it to straight-up break under the force of his fist.

"Peter? Hey, can you hear me? Are you alright?"

He didn't bother trying to keep the alarm out of his voice as he pressed his ear to the door, straining to make out anything through the metal. There was some shuffling he could make out, something thumping on the other side. He pressed himself harder against the door, straining to hear anything else. "Answer me, kid."

The shuffling stopped, cut off with a sharp silence. Tony held his breath, felt his pulse as he pressed his fingertips against the door, beating in time with his heart. He waited, the seconds ticking by. Still no noise. Nothing but silence, heavy and tense. No answer.

He took a step back, fists dropping to his sides, fingers remaining tightly curled against his palm. He forced FRIDAY's words back through his head.

Nobody but him and Peter. No threats. The kid wasn't in danger.

But that scream…

He knew screams like that.

He'd had screams like that.

Peter might not have been in danger, but he definitely wasn't okay.

"Open it, FRI."

She did exactly that, Tony charging through into the room-

Right into a super-charged force that slammed into his side and sent him flying.

SMASH!

He hit the bookshelf so hard, the thing seemed to literally explode into nothing but wooden boards and splinters, Tony landing with an audible thud as he toppled to the floor and fell among the debris.

For a moment, everything whited out, fading into background noise like the garblings of a crowd, muddy and disjointed. A high-pitched squeal reverberated through his head, grinding his teeth together as he groaned, scrunching his eyes shut as he tried to push back the wave of nausea that instantly tried to climb up.

He'd taken plenty of hits in his day. But this was definitely a contender for Top Ten outside his suit.

In fact, as the pounding of his skull started to recede and the adrenaline now beginning to flood his veins sharpened into the calls to action, Tony readied to push forward, fists clenching as the command for a suit readied on his tongue.

At least, until the ringing squeal in his ears transformed into a panicked high-pitch voice.

"Oh my god. I….Oh god! Mr. Stark?! I….I didn't….I gosh! I'm so sorry!"

A voice he could pick out of a crowd at this point.

"Jesus Christ, Peter…" Tony rested the back of his head against the pile of broken boards he now lay upon and let out a relieved sigh.

Peter stood off to the side, fists still clenched as he stared back at Tony with wide, disbelieving eyes and his jaw agape. Or at least, that's as far as Tony could tell what with the room still spinning a bit.

"What are you...I...I didn't know- I thought...I thought you were...I...I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to...t-to-"

Tony zoned out a bit, focusing on pushing himself into a sitting position as stray boards and splinters poked into his arms. He grimaced, giving a little shake of his shoulder as he pressed a hand to his head, feeling the makings of a particularly large bump forming under his hair.

He sucked in a breath, wincing at the tight ache in his chest. His heart was still racing but taking a scan of the room helped to slow it just a tad. FRIDAY was right. Nobody but him and Peter. No threats. No danger.

Unless, of course, you counted the enhanced super-spider that seemed more than eager for some late-night Krav Maga.

Tony had to admit, he hadn't expected that.

"What the hell, kid?" he finally groaned, giving a little shake to try and clear the last bits of echoed feedback in his ears.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!" Peter shook his head, taking a few hurried steps forward as if to help Tony up, only to stop short and back up a bit after a moment of thought. "I didn't mean to, I swear! I swear I didn't. I...I thought that...t-that you...I...I didn't know it was you."

Tony let out a muted grunt, beginning to pick himself up off the ground. "Yeah, I hope you didn't. Otherwise, I might think you're secretly trying to kill me."

The kid suddenly lurched forward so quickly that Tony fell right back into the pile of broken wood. Peter basically knelt down in front of him, almost pawing at the front of his shirt as his eyes blew wide.

"No! I...Please. I...I didn't mean to! I swear! I...I swear on my life that I didn't mean it!" he gasped, eyes filling with tears as his face crumpled into nothing short of terror. "Please! You...y-you have to believe me! I didn't mean it!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Peter! Relax, kid," Tony sputtered out, blinking in shock at the kid's sudden shift to near-breathless panic. "I...I was joking, obviously. It was an accident. I know you didn't mean it. I..."

He trailed off for a moment, catching sight of the sheer look of shame and fear gleaming back in the boy's eyes, and instantly felt a wave of regret for his cheekiness. "I...I was just joking, kid."

Peter stared at him, fingers still curling into his shirt. His eyes were wide, a watery film of fear shining back through his big brown orbs. But after a moment, perhaps how long it took for Tony's words to start sinking in, the kid swallowed. He uncurled his fingers from the man's shirt and shuffled backward.

Gone was the loose smile and cheeky attitude that had reappeared in the lab earlier that night. In its place stood the same air of nerves and distress that had reeked through the Tower all week. "It's not funny," he mumbled slowly, seeming to choose his words carefully. "I….I would never do that…"

"I know." Tony rose up to his feet, heard the boards shifting as he did. "I'm sorry. I...I shouldn't have just barged in here like that. But I..."

"But what?" Peter grunted, pressing a hand to his head as he cast a wary glance around the room, like he wasn't really sure what was happening. "What are you even doing here?"

"I..." Tony hesitated, seeing the lack of any realization or understanding in Peter's gaze. "I...came to check on you."

"Why?"

What the hell do you mean WHY?

"Peter." He wet his lips. "I heard you scream."

The teen reared back immediately, eyes widening. "What?"

"I heard it from all the way down the hall, kid. I thought you were in trouble or something, so I came over here to make sure you were okay. And obviously…you are," he said with a certain exasperation, mainly at himself for his previous panic. Tony took a few steps forward, out of the pile of splinters and broken boards. He brushed a hand over his shirt, clearing it of the particles of dust and fiber that clung to him. "Your bookshelf on the other hand..."

"I...what are you talking about?" Peter stuttered, shaking his head as his brows furrowed, nose crinkling in confusion. "I...I didn't scream. I...I-"

"Are you sure? I know what I heard, Pete."

Honestly, he didn't. He wasn't entirely sure he hadn't just imagined the whole thing.

But Peter cleared away whatever doubts he might have been constructing, for after a moment of silence, a moment in which Peter stared at the ground with nothing short of the most concentrated look Tony had ever seen on the kid's face, the boy's eyes widened and his lips parted ever so slightly. He stumbled on a breath, Tony hearing how it caught in his throat before sliding down with shaky hesitance. "I...oh god."

Tony straightened up immediately.

Peter took a step away, shaking his head back and forth. "I didn't...I didn't know I'd...I...I didn't mean to...I mean I...I just..."

"Whoa, whoa, what's going on?"

"Nothing!"

He reared back. Peter blushed slightly before ducking his head again. "I...it's nothing. I...nothing's wrong. I didn't mean to...just...it's nothing to worry about. Really. You don't have t-to...I...it's fine. Everything's fine. I'm...fine."

The boy twisted away, spinning on his heel so that his back was to Tony. But even from this position, the billionaire could see how tightly the kid was holding himself. How tense his muscles were. How antsy the air around him was, crackling with nerves that were being very poorly hidden.

And it was...familiar.

The shuffling. The refusal to meet Tony's gaze. The air of nerves. The rambling insistences that everything was fine.

It was too familiar.

("I just...I just need a second, alright?")

("No, Pepper. I don't...listen, I don't wanna talk about it. Because it's not going to help, that's why!")

("Don't! You- don't touch me! Just...get away from me! Don't...just leave me alone, alright? I...I can't be around you right now, Pep.")

("It was just a dream, Pepper. That's it. Just a dream.")

. . .

. . .

. . .

("It's never JUST a dream, Tony. Not anymore.")

"You had a nightmare...didn't you?"

Perhaps now is a good time to reference another prominent fact about Tony Stark.

He never talked about his nightmares.

Ever.

Which was probably the reason behind the growing feeling of darkness pooling into his stomach. The same tell-tale, skin-prickling, no-chance-in-Hell-of-getting-back-to-sleep feelings of unease and nausea that always followed his dreams.

Feelings that wouldn't have followed a hostage situation, or a break-in. Hell, he probably could have even handled the aliens better than this.

Because aliens weren't personal. Break-ins. Guns. Fighting. It wasn't personal.

Dreams. Nightmares. You couldn't get more personal.

Call Pepper. Call Rhodey. May. They can handle this. You- you can't. You can't do this, not this. Too personal. Too...too- no. You can't do this. You won't help. It won't….it won't help. Nothing helps. You don't know how. You-you'll make this worse. Be smart and step away. Leave him alone. Leave-

Peter's sharp intake of breath cut off the spiraling hurricane of thoughts and Tony blinked back into reality just in time to watch the boy hunch his shoulders and if possible, grow even smaller.

"I….I didn't mean to wake you up," he whispered, voice cracking.

("Nobody in the Tower but you and Peter.")

Leave him alone. Let him be. Leave…..l-leave….. you…..y-you can't help him. You can't help him. You can't…..

("Nobody….but you…")

. . .

…You can't leave him.

Tony swallowed; his throat was sickeningly dry all of a sudden as he felt a bundle of nerves he hadn't felt in months.

Peter was running a hand across his forehead, fingers curling into the roots of his hair. He still refused to turn Tony's way. The man scanned him over, took in his appearance for the first time.

Peter was wearing plaid pajama pants that pooled around his feet and a Decathlon t-shirt that seemed two sizes too big, giving him a fairly ruffled appearance that matched the disheveled look of distress stretching across his face and the frumpled jacket he had wrapped tightly around himself, the sleeves so big that they were literally engulfing the boy's hands.

Tony swallowed down a flare of hesitance and took a few steps forward, making sure to keep his movements audible so as to not sneak up on the boy. "I...listen, Pete? I...it's okay. I..." He frantically tapped his fingers against the side of his leg. "I...I'm not upset or-"

"Well, you should be," Peter snapped suddenly, whirling around to face him. His eyes were narrowed, and his face was tense, the look melting into regret as he pressed his head into his hands. "I...I've never done anything like this before and I...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have woken you up. It...i-it won't happen again. I swear! I swear it won't!"

Tony waved his hands, closing the distance between them as he wrapped his fingers around Peter's bony shoulders. "Pete! Kid, you gotta relax," he said hastily, Peter gazing up at him with wide, open eyes, gleaming back with emotion and worry. Tony took a breath, sucked it in slowly if only to buy himself more time. What should he say? What was the right thing to say? What did Peter need him to say?

(What did he need to hear after his nightmares?)

"I...I'm not angry, alright? You didn't do this on purpose, obviously," he said softly, his voice nonetheless ringing out in the otherwise silent room. "You can't control what you dream about so you shouldn't apologize for it, alright? It's...it's fine, kid. Not a big deal." He swallowed and slowly released the boy's shoulders, lowering his hands back down to his sides. "Nothing I've never dealt with before.

Peter stared up at him, seemed to scour his face for something. Deceit? Malice? Whatever it was, he didn't seem to find it, for after a second, he lowered his gaze back down to his hands, which he was now starting to wring together. At the very least, he didn't look as nervous anymore.

Tony was counting it as a win.

"Do, uh...d-do you wanna...like...talk about it?"

"No."

Oh, thank God.

Best not to push his luck.

"Right." He gave a sharp nod before patting the kid's back. Peter winced. "Well, uh...why don't you go wash your face, huh? Just take a second to calm down and collect yourself. I'll wait out here."

Peter glanced up at him for a second before giving a muted nod. He stepped forward - pointedly going around Tony - and headed for the bathroom, the door slamming shut after a second.

To which Tony promptly released a sharp breath and collapsed onto the bed behind him.

God, that was horrible.

But he'd gotten through it. Without either of them exploding. That would have to be enough for now.

He rested an arm over his eyes and let out a long sigh, feeling the ache in his muscles returning as the adrenaline well and truly worn off. But now that he was finally taking a second to breathe a gulp of air that wasn't diluted with distress and anxiety, Tony felt a wash of relief combing over him.

No aliens. No kidnappers. No hostage deals going south.

Just a kid and some nightmares. Completely normal. And he could handle it. Sort of. With minimal panic.

Tony brushed the thoughts aside before he could call himself out on his own bullshit and instead threw a dirty look towards the ceiling.

"You know, a little heads up would have been appreciated, FRIDAY. Like, maybe just some sort of clue that junior was having bad dreams and not under attack from space mutants." He rested his hand down on the bed and felt something crinkle under his palm. "I was this close to calling a suit and blasting a hole into the wall over th-"

He paused. Looked down. There was a piece of paper under his hand.

Tony furrowed his brow, carefully lifting his hand up off the offending page. He blinked down at it for a moment before he noticed a few other papers scattered along the bed. The bed that was folded neat and pristine, the covers smooth and undisturbed. Perfect.

Unused.

He parted his lips, casting his eyes back and forth along the bed as if to make sure he hadn't missed anything. Any wrinkle in the sheets. A folded back cover that showed the kid had just slipped underneath without disturbing the outer blankets. No. Nothing. The only imperfections were the wrinkles Tony himself was making as he sat, and the pieces of loose-leaf paper sprinkled around the pillows.

The billionaire's face remained tight, twisted into a look of confusion as he carefully reached towards the closest page, the one he'd accidentally touched. He pinched his fingers around the corner and lifted it up into his hand. It was too dark to make out any details, but even so, he could see that there was...something there. Some sort of writing. And there seemed to be a lot of it.

He cast another glance at the other pages. They seemed to have the same hurried scribbles as well. There was even a pile of them on the floor next to the bed. Next to the mound of blankets curled up on the ground. With a….pillow too. Like a makeshift nest, or a substitute bed…

"The hell...?" Tony murmured to himself, slowly rising up to his feet as he turned and cast a more careful look around the room.

He hadn't noticed before, what with all his attention being lost on Peter, but something about the room felt...off. It wasn't just the papers either. There was something in the air. Some sort of...tension. An unsettling air of unease that he could feel crawling along the back of his neck.

Something was wrong.

He could feel it.

Tony jumped a bit as he heard the bathroom door creak open, and Peter shuffled back out.

Without a word, Tony slid the paper in hand deep into his pocket.

Peter's face was wet, the tips of hair around his eyes damp and dripping. He was still wringing his hands. "Listen, I uh...I'm really sorry about all this but I...I'm alright now. Everything's okay, so you can go back to bed and...um..." He trailed off as he lifted his head and caught sight of Tony, caught sight of the look in the man's eyes.

He stopped walking. Stopped wringing his hands.

Tony hesitated for a moment, eyes lingering on the papers before him. There was something about how they were scattered, how haphazardly they were strewn about the room. Peter was a teenage anomaly. He was freakishly neat, to the point where Tony liked to give him flack for it down in the labs.

This was...manic mess. Emotional. Frenzied. It made his stomach churn uncomfortably.

He shook his head after a second and lifted a hand to gesture at the papers. "What is all this?" He asked softly, making sure to keep his voice neutral.

Peter's eyes darted from the pages back over to him. The kid's face twisted and morphed like water, and it took Tony a second to realize the kid was now smiling. It was painfully fake.

"I, uh...s-sorry," Peter chuckled embarrassedly, rushing forward as he started to clear the bed of the papers on top. "I meant to clean up. I...I have trouble falling asleep sometimes, so I like to brainstorm ideas. Web fluids, new inventions, you know, stuff-"

He looked up, noticed how much closer Tony had gotten, and cut his words off with a wince. He swallowed and stumbled back a bit, gripping the papers a bit tighter as he cleared his throat and looked away. "…s-stuff like that…"

It was a lie. An obvious one at that. The pit in Tony's stomach grew.

"Uh-huh." He pressed a tongue against the side of his cheek. "And, uh...the blankets?"

Peter kept staring down at the papers in his arms. "Huh?" he murmured, though they both knew he'd heard perfectly.

"Why are they on the floor?"

"I...fell out of bed."

"Right. So why aren't the covers pulled back."

"I slept...on top of them."

"Why?"

Peter chewed on his bottom lip, but didn't have a response this time.

Tony regarded the boy for a moment, the tightness in his stance and the way he wouldn't stop looking at the papers in his hands. He took a deep, calming breath, forcing the air in slowly as he spoke carefully. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

Peter took another step back. "N-no?"

"Maybe about why you're screaming in the middle of the night all of a sudden?"

"I...I don't know what that's about. I swear. Really." Peter turned away at that, took a few more steps back, expanding the distance between them. He sucked in a breath, clenching and unclenching his fingers around the edges of the papers, head down. When he spoke again, his voice was tight. Terse.

"Look, like I said, I'm sorry I woke you up. Really, I am. But everything's fine now. I...you can leave now. Go back to bed, back to sleep. I...I shouldn't have woken you up in the first place."

Tony tilted his head as the kid finished, leaving them in silence again. Peter kept shuffling backward, kept lengthening the distance between them.

And even without his insistences, it was getting to be pretty obvious what the kid wanted.

"Are you trying to get rid of me?"

Peter froze in his step, eyes widening as his face fell into a look of half-shock, half-shame. "What? No, I-"

"You're not very subtle, kid," Tony said with a little smirk, hoping the casual look would mask the nerves growing in his stomach over the fact that he was obviously right. "Maybe we can work on that while you're here."

Peter tensed his jaw shut, lowering his gaze as he refused to meet Tony's eyes. "I…I'm not trying to….um…I just don't wanna waste your….y-your time. That's all." More steps back. This time, Tony followed.

"What aren't you telling me?

"It's…I…nothing. It's nothing."

"I don't think I'd be standing here if it was nothing."

Peter opened his mouth, only to jolt as his back suddenly collided with the wall, heels scuffing against the surface. The kid spared a frightened gaze over his shoulder before whipping his eyes back over to Tony. It was only for a brief moment before the boy was averting his gaze back down to the floor, but the little flash was enough for Tony to see the silent pleading in the kid's eyes. And hear the words that went with them.

Drop it.

Please.

It wasn't the first time Peter had made that request simply with a gleam of his eyes. Central Park. The Brooklyn Bridge. Facing his father in the Tower. Squaring up against Max before the press conference. Each and every time Peter had one request: To let it go. To forget and move on. And sometimes, Tony could oblige.

("You won him over once. Now you just gotta do it again.")

Not this time, though.

He could hear May, could hear the kid's friends willing him on, willing him to move forward with the plan they'd formulated. A plan he hadn't imagined taking shape like this.

But Tony Stark was nothing if not adaptive.

He stepped forward, gently resting his hand on Peter's shoulder. The kid gave a sharp jolt in response but didn't pull away. "Pete….hey, look at me, kid."

It took a moment, but Tony waited until the boy's big shining eyes were on him before speaking once more. "Listen, I wasn't really expecting to confront this right now at..." He paused. Frowned. "FRIDAY?"

"1:46 AM, Boss."

"What she said. But..." He crinkled his eyes, lips pulling into a firm line. "...something tells me it's not going to do either of us any good to keep putting this off." He gave the kid's shoulder a little squeeze, trying not to think too hard about how bony and small it felt under his hand. "Why are you lying to me?" He asked quietly.

Peter shook his head. Tony felt drops of water fly onto his hand. "I...I'm not."

The man's frown remained, even deepening a bit. "Something's been bugging you for this entire week. I didn't wanna say anything cause I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable and it wasn't anything too serious. But I think we've officially crossed the boundary into real-shit territory if it's starting to affect your sleep like this."

"That has nothing to do with-"

"Let me finish," he added hastily as he caught wind of the strain leaking into the boy's voice. Peter shifted under his hand, feet shuffling back and forth, but he didn't protest.

"Look..." Tony paused, letting out a little sigh as he ran a hand through his hair. "I know you're nervous about staying here. It's normal. And...at first, I thought that's all this was. Just normal nerves. But..."

He cast a small glance towards the papers pressed against Peter's chest, the boy still making no moves to set them down anywhere. If anything, with each second that passed, he just clutched them tighter.

("Now you're Tony Stark: owner of the house he's living in. Just like-")

"But that's not what this is...is it?"

Peter chewed on his bottom lip, refusing to look up. Tony could see how tense his jaw was, locked like a steel trap.

"There's something more. Something you're not telling me and that's not going to fly anymore."

("And now he's having a hard time keeping the two of you separate.")

"I have my assumptions, but they don't really help me if I don't hear it straight from you."

("You sure you're okay?")

("Why wouldn't I be?")

"Just...tell me what's wrong."

Tony held his breath, watched as Peter's eyes flickered around his face before finally landing on his deep, dark brown irises. And for a moment, they just stared.

He could see it now. He could see it in the boy's eyes. The distress shining through, the desperation and fear. The same haze that had been fogging his eyes for the past week, now stronger than ever. Whatever had been eating at Peter for the past few days was obviously boiling over now. To the point where Tony couldn't just write it off anymore. He couldn't just ignore it and wait for it to go away on its own. He had to take charge.

This wasn't like three months ago. This wasn't like when he'd first met the kid, watching him stutter and stumble over his words, exuding an air of fear and uncertainty, an aura of submissiveness that still made Tony sick to think about. This wasn't like then.

Because now Tony was responsible for this kid.

He'd made Peter come here. Now he had to make it count.

They needed to deal with this now. Before it got any worse.

. . .

. . .

. . .

(But then…you always make things worse, Stark.)

"There's...nothing wrong."

Tony tried to bite back his sigh, but it slipped out anyway. "Peter-"

The kid side-stepped him, coming out from against the wall as he turned to face him, voice hard as flint. "I mean it. There's nothing. I'm fine!"

He straightened up a bit at the sharpness in the kid's tone. That was new. "Then why are you so scared?"

"I'm not-"

"Why do you keep clutching those papers? What even are they?"

"I already said-"

"What's got you so freaked out, kid? What the hell did you see in that dream?"

"Nothing. I...I don't remember."

"Kid-"

Peter twisted around hard on his heel. "Stop! Just stop it, alright? I don't remember! And even if I did, it's none of your business!" he snapped, eyes narrowed in anger for just a second before his brain seemed to catch up with his mouth and he winced, stepping back a bit as if waiting for Tony's reply.

But the irritated glint in his eyes remained.

Tony swallowed down the snippy comment that automatically rose in his throat. The kid was getting angry. Defensive. He couldn't rise to that. He had to stay the calm, reasonable adult. "Well, you kind of made it my business when your screams start waking the whole Tower," he said, fighting to keep his voice clear of the natural sarcastic edge that wanted to leak through.

Damn his sass.

And damn Peter's ingrained abilities to pick up on it, for the kid's eyes narrowed even more and his face took on a scowl. "That's not my fault. I can't control it. I didn't even know that was a thing I could do cause I never do it at home."

There was something about it. Something about the way he said 'home', like it was a pointed jab, a knowing, purposeful sneer. Something about the look in his eyes, the blaming accusatory glare thrown his way. Like this was Tony's fault. Like he was somehow the big bad guy in all of this, the cause of all their problems and not the person actively trying to fix them.

A look that was, curiously enough, never directed at Richard Parker.

Tony couldn't help it. That annoyed him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Peter opened his mouth to respond, only to notice the newfound look of faint annoyance gleaming in Tony's eyes. Seeming to remember who he was talking to, the kid swallowed and took a second to think before responding.

"Nothing," he muttered in a way that very much said he didn't mean 'nothing.'

Tony folded his arms over his chest. Forced himself to take a deep breath. "You seem pretty ticked for a whole lot of nothing."

"I'm just….tired."

"Pete, so am I," he said with a forced little smile, hoping to cool the gradually building tensions around them. "That's why I'm trying to wrap this up, but you seem to insist on making this difficult, kid."

That was apparently the wrong thing to say. Peter turned to throw him a sharp glare that wiped the smile from Tony's face.

"I already told you there's nothing wrong. You're the one insisting on finding an issue that isn't there!"

Tony wet his lips, inhaling sharply as he shook his head. This wasn't going well. "So this isn't an issue?" He gestured toward the broken mound of what used to be a bookshelf, voice sharper than before. "Horrifying, heart-pounding screams of terror are just a run-of-the-mill thing for you? Cause I gotta tell you, I might not remember much about my younger years, but I sure don't remember that."

Peter's face scrunched. "You know what I mean," he growled, hands fisting around the papers he still hadn't put down.

"No, actually. I don't. Do enlighten me. Does it have anything to do with your sudden spider-powered security system, complete with exploding bookshelf?"

He couldn't help it. That sentence was made for some sass. And maybe an eye-roll.

Peter swallowed thickly as his eyes trailed down to the floor. But the subtle look of regret and embarrassment gleaming back in his eyes made the irritation in Tony's chest lessen. "I already said I didn't mean to."

"And I believe you. But, Peter, you can't just write that off like it's nothing. If you're freaked out enough to be attacking on sight, then something is seriously wrong!"

"No! It's….I…that's not….it's, it was just a one-time thing!"

"How can you be so sure?'

"I….I just…." Peter gritted his teeth, cheeks going red as he glared at the broken mound of boards and splinters. "I just am, okay? Now please just drop this! I don't know how many times I can say I'm sorry!"

"Kid, I'm not looking for an apol-"

"This wouldn't even be an issue if you hadn't forced me to come here! You and my dad!"

. . .

. . .

"What…?"

Peter tensed his jaw, seemingly ready to say more, only to pause as he caught sight of the look in Tony's eyes, the shell-shocked, stunned still look.

And he instantly fell silent.

Tony stared back at him, could feel his jaw hanging open, waiting to say something, to release some quick-witted, intelligent response that would end this conversation with Tony on top and their issues folded up and dealt with.

But nothing came out.

("If you think anything you can do will change the years of effort I've already put in…then you're kidding yourself.")

("You're kidding yourself.")

("You're kidding yourself.")

("You're kidding-")

("You're kidding-")

(You're kidding-")

Peter sucked in another breath, shakier this time. He stared down at the papers in his arms once again, if only to avoid eye contact. "I...nothing. Forget it."

"No." Tony took a step forward, felt how shaky his legs were now, how uncomfortably tight his chest was now. Like Richard was right there in the room sneering at him from the corner, burning him with his gaze, ringing taunts echoing in his ears.

"No. What'd you say?" He could see it all happening. Could see himself getting angry, could feel it. And he could hear the pleading in the back of his head, heard it begging for him to step away, to calm down and refocus, to take a breath and realize that his anger was misplaced, that he had to stay calm and rational and reasonable and everything Peter wasn't in that moment because he was a kid and he was scared and he was defensive.

But Richard wouldn't stop sneering.

And Tony's fists clenched.

Because, goddamn it, it was too early for this shit.

Peter said nothing, no response to his question. He lifted his head and gave the billionaire a hard stare, but his lips remained closed, pressed together into a tight line of rebellious silence.

But he could read Peter's eyes loud and clear.

"Alright, listen," he said lowly, narrowing his eyes. "I'm done with this. It's one in the goddamn morning. I'm not going to stand here and argue with you until the sun comes up."

"Fine. Then leave."

"Not until you tell me the truth!" he snapped, narrowing his eyes to glare down at the kid before him. "If you're going to be waking me up in the middle of the night, attacking me in my own Tower, then I damn well deserve to know why!" Using Peter's guilt was a shit-move, he knew. But nothing else was working. He was running out of options. Running out of places to go.

And Peter was determined to run out the clock. "There is no why," the boy said through gritted teeth, fists clenched by his sides. "Now leave me alone!"

("MY son. Don't forget that.")

Tony tensed his jaw and ran a hand down his face, felt how hot it was under his palm, felt each muggy puff of air that leaked through his lips. The frustration and stress and panic were mingling together now into one hot ball of emotion burning bright in his stomach. And it wanted out.

("He certainly won't.")

"Let me remind you that we have an agreement in place," he finally said after a moment, voice cold and calculated. "You don't keep secrets from me and I, in return, don't blab about your family fun-times to the CBS news."

It was a low blow. And he knew it.

Peter's eyes flashed the second the words left his mouth, gleaming with a newfound fury.

"Don't even joke about that!" he snarled. "It has nothing to do with this! Our deal was that I tell you about the things they do and you keep quiet! Well as I'm sure you're just so stoked about, they aren't here!" His face was seeping rage, eyes misty.

"My dad isn't here! He's gone! He left! He left me here! Alone! With nothing. Nothing but a list to keep me straight! And that's not enough!" With that, Peter threw the papers down where they fluttered out around the ground in a wave of white papery leaves, scattering out around their feet in a carpet of messy writings and empty scribbles.

The walls rang with the last of his shouting. The silence crept up soon after. But it did nothing for the air, hot and sticky and humid with the anger and fear and frustration filling the room in thick, choking waves.

Tony stared back at him, lips parted as his brows furrowed. He swallowed thickly, fingers clenching and unclenching by his sides. "I….what are you talking about? What list?"

He watched Peter slowly suck in a breath, heard how it shook in his throat. The kid carefully lifted his arms to wrap tightly around himself and slowly turned away. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

His voice was quiet. Lifeless.

And Tony's wasn't much better.

Because it was one in the morning. And he should have been sleeping, should have been trying to obtain even a few hours of dreamless rest. But instead, he was getting yelled at by a kid he was just trying to help, a kid who very obviously wasn't even trying right now.

Okay.

Tony was tapping out for the night.

He chewed the inside of his cheek, biting down the snappy retorts he wanted to spit as he spun around on his heel. "Fine…" he said softly, nothing like the burning whip his tongue wanted to lash out, hot and angry. He swallowed it down. Swallowed it all down. For Peter's sake.

He paused at the door as it slid open, resting his hand on the frame as he hesitated, waiting for just a second to see if the kid would stop him, if he would call out and explain what the hell was going on with him.

But he didn't. A quick glance behind him showed Peter standing stoically, arms folded and face twisted into an unreadable expression. His eyes weren't even on Tony.

The billionaire stayed for a moment longer before shaking his head and walking out. "I'm going to bed. Do me a favor and don't wake me up again."

He didn't wait for the kid to respond, knew he wouldn't anyway. Instead, he let the door slide shut behind him, leaving him alone in the hallway for the second time that night.

And the second it did, it took every ounce of Tony's willpower not to slam his head into the drywall.

Because he was fucking pathetic.

He rested the back of his head against the door, squeezing his eyes shut as he ran through a laundry list of curses. Once. He couldn't keep his emotions in check for once in his fucking life?! He couldn't be a responsible, level-headed adult for five minutes? No. Instead, he had to stoop to trading insults with an emotionally compromised teenager.

He groaned, pressing his hands into his face as he resisted the urge to let loose a scream. He could practically feel the disappointed stares of Peter's friends, of May. They were counting on him. Counting on him to help their friend, on getting him to open up and talk about what was obviously bugging him and what does Tony do? Make a low-blow about exposing the kid's worst fears? Try to guilt-trip a confession out of him?

What the fuck was wrong with him?

What in the actual fuck was wrong with him?

Tony lowered his hands and stared up at the ceiling. He couldn't make out any details in the darkness of the hall. For a moment, as his gaze flickered over towards the door behind him, he considered knocking. On apologizing right there and then. Lord knew he owed the kid one.

And yet, the idea of trying again, of a second attempt at connecting with a kid who seemed to have no trouble stonewalling him made his stomach twist.

This wasn't working. He needed a new plan. Peter was putting up new walls. Stronger walls. And the fact that Tony was having to get through his barriers again made him feel nothing but frustration. And obviously, frustration was not the key to getting the kid to talk.

"What the hell am I going to do?" Tony murmured out loud.

Nobody answered.

Then again, they didn't need to.

For in that moment, as Tony started to make the walk of shame back down to his room, berating and hating himself for how badly he'd screwed up, he slipped his hands into his pockets.

And pulled out a piece of paper.

 


 

" You worry me, Peter."

His father said as they watched Max and Curt installing new locks on the front door, big, ugly things that latched with a grating click, matching the latest bars on the windows and the fresh padlock on the outside of Peter's bedroom door.

 

"It's for your own good, my boy."

His father said as Peter's room was stripped and torn apart, the two of them watching from the doorway as Flint tore up the bedsheets and turned over his desk, ripping his pillows, destroying his toys, searching each nook and cranny for a reason he would never know.

 

"It'll all make sense one day. You'll see."

His father said the very first time Peter threw up from the stomach pains of two days with no food, the new bolts on the fridge locked tight.

 

"Discipline's important."

His father said the last time Peter begged him for an answer.

 

Soon enough, his father stopped trying to justify it at all.

 

And Peter stopped asking.

 

He didn't need to.

 

It was all written down anyway.

 


. . .

THE HOUSEHOLD RULES

- I, Peter Parker, swear to abide by these rules for the good of the family -

 

. . .

1) Everyone Lies. Trust No One.

 

...

2) Do Not Speak Without Permission.

 

...

3) Do Not Make Eye Contact. We Are Not Equals.

 

...

4) Your Responsibility is to the House. Keep it Clean and Orderly.

 

...

5) Do Not Take Food Without Permission. Stealing Will Not Be Tolerated.

 

...

6) Never Discuss Family Matters Outside of the House.

 

...

7) Never Leave the House Without Permission.

 

...

8) Never Let Strangers into the House Without Permission.

 

...

9) Never Ask For Help. Weaknesses Will Be Exploited.

 

...

10) Privacy Does Not Apply To Family. Room and Personal Devices Will be Checked On a Regular Basis.

 

...

11) Ingratitude Will Not Be Tolerated. Any Complaints Will Be Met with Swift Punishment.

 

...

12) Father Knows Best. You Serve Him Without Question.

 

...

...

...

...

. . .

Signed,

Peter B. Parker

 


NED

- Sunday: May 29, 2016 -

10:21 AM

Hey man! Just checking in!

. . .

 

10:24 AM

My sister is driving me insane! She comes into my room just to burp and then runs back out without closing the door! I can't STAND HER!

. . .

 

10:25 AM

Anyway, ignoring my sorrows, how's it going?

. . .

 

10:26 AM

You do anything insanely awesome yet? Maybe yearbook-worthy? If you tell Betty that you're staying at Stark tower, I bet they'd give you a whole page all to yourself.

. . .

 

11:41 AM

How's Mr. Stark been?

. . .

 

11:42 AM

Like, is everything okay?

. . .

 

11:43 AM

KK, you're probably busy building Iron Man suits lol. Have fun!

 

 

 

. . . . .

- Sunday: May 29, 2016 -

 

2:28 PM

DUDE! Guess what just came in the mail?

. . .

 

2:28 PM

I'll give you a hint. It's only the coolest thing that has ever been put into Lego form. And that's including our Death Star from last year.

. . .

 

2:28 PM

Oh yeah! The ultra-rare gold premium Millennium Falcon! It came early! And we have to build it like YESTERDAY!

. . .

 

2:35 PM

Dude! You there? This is not something to sleep on!

. . .

 

2:42 PM

Alright, alright, I get it. You're having too much fun hanging out with Iron Man! How can you not be? LOL

. . .

 

2:47 PM

I think I asked this already, but how are things with Mr. Stark anyway? Is everything alright?

. . .

 

2:50 PM

If not, I'm sure you could always like, you know-

. . .

 

2:50 PM

Talk to him?

. . .

 

2:50 PM

Maybe?

. . .

 

2:51 PM

IDK just a suggestion, lol

 

 

. . . . .

- Monday: May 30, 2016 -

 

12:13 PM

I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm sure talking to like a super famous billionaire sounds really intimidating. But he's actually really easy to chat with.

. . .

 

12:13 PM

LOL not that I would know, lol. HAHA. The only time I ever saw him was at the Decath tournament. Lollll

. . .

 

12:14 PM

That was a lot of LOLs. Pay no attention to that. Means nothing.

. . .

 

12:15 PM

But I was serious about the other thing. The talking thing? It might be good.

. . .

 

12:15 PM

But I mean...just a guess.

. . .

 

12:17 PM

Maybe give it a try?

 


MAY

- Tuesday: May 31, 2016 -

 

08:32 AM

Hi, sweetie! Just checking in to see how you're doing. You didn't answer your phone when I called last night but I shouldn't be surprised. Must be like one non-stop party over there haha.

. . .

 

8:34 AM

Like I said, just checking in. Is everything going alright? Tony treating you okay? Just say the word and I'll come over there and lay some swift Brooklyn justice on his ass. Just because I'm a Queens girl now doesn't mean I don't have my bloodborne Brooklyn instincts anymore lol. I still got some mace in my purse and a tire-iron in the trunk.

. . .

 

8:36 AM

But I doubt I'd have to use them. He seems pretty nice, right?

. . .

 

8:37 AM

And if you ever have any issues, I'm sure you could tell him. Or me, if you want lol but he does have the benefit of proximity.

. . .

 

8:40 AM

Just a thought ;)

. . .

 

8:41 AM

Anyway, call me when you get a second. Love you!

 


MJ

- Tuesday: May 31, 2016 -

03:19 PM

Talk to Stark, loser.

. . .

 

03:25 PM

Oh and also text Ned back. He won't stop blowing up my phone.

 


 

Wednesday- June 1, 2016

Stark Tower - Penthouse Floor

12:32 AM

The door slid open with an audible hiss, letting in a gust of AC from the darkened hallway. A small, pasty hand slowly latched onto the doorframe before an equally as pale face peeked out and glanced around.

Peter held his breath. Despite FRIDAY's reassurances that the hall was empty, he still checked carefully, body ready to dart back into the relative safety of the room behind him should he catch sight of anybody.

But no. The AI was right. The hall was empty save for the twinkle lights adorning the floors, lighting the path down the stretch. He hesitated before focusing on his hearing, straining it out further. The only sounds he could make out were the distant grumblings of the city below and the faint echoes of a heartbeat somewhere far off, floors away. Instantly recognizable, though.

Peter retreated into the room, pressing his back against the wall as he took a deep, shaky breath. He felt his hands beginning to wring together as he cast a nervous glance up at the ceiling.

"Where is he now?"

"Mr. Stark is currently in the labs working on new propulsors for his gauntlets." A pause. "NOW would you like me to contact him?"

"Still no," Peter sighed, angling his gaze back towards the newly opened door.

Just like May and his friends, FRIDAY wasn't very subtle. Not that Peter could blame her.

It had been four days since they'd last seen each other. Four days of Peter hiding in his room like a coward, too afraid to face up to the disgusting behavior he'd displayed. Then again, Mr. Stark most likely didn't want to see him anyway. The man hadn't been back to check on him and Peter was honestly relieved. He couldn't say for sure what would happen should they try to talk again.

You gonna throw anything else in his face, Parker?

He swallowed and glanced away.

It was still there. He could feel it. The gnawing, inky blackness that had been clinging tight to him ever since that first night, wrapping tight around his lungs, his throat. That night, it had been all he could see, all he could feel. And Mr. Stark had paid the price for it.

The man had been keeping his distance ever since, sticking to the labs, the lower floors, the study. All of this was relayed to him through FRIDAY, who thankfully hadn't turned her back on him despite his treatment of her creator.

But it was strange. Despite the fact that Mr. Stark had yet to knock on Peter's door or even so much as talk to him through it, the man always, always came by. Granted, his room was in the same hall, so Peter would usually dismiss it. But every once in a while, the man would pause outside the teen's door. And just….wait.

Peter could always hear him. Hear his heartbeat right outside the door, loud enough to be right next to him. He could always hear the man's feet, shuffling their weight back and forth. And he could always hear when Tony eventually turned and walked away, always before Peter could garner up the courage to open the door himself.

What's the point?

He'd always tell himself.

You've proven how ungrateful you are. What more is there to say?

Four days of this. Of listening to each other through the door, neither brave enough to approach, rotting away in their own thoughts.

And Peter would have reluctantly accepted this, would have taken it in stride, sitting and waiting until Mr. Stark finally said enough and kicked him out. Judging by how frequently the man was stopping by his door nowadays, it wouldn't be long now. He maybe had until the end of the week if he was lucky. And then?

His family was already gone. Would Mr. Stark call his father to come collect him? Cut his trip short to come back for his pathetic son?

What would his father say?

What would he do?

What would-

The thoughts were cut off with a sharp jolt as Peter's stomach gave a painful lurch, the teen swallowing a full-on gag as he pressed his shoulder into the wall and groaned. He shut his eyes, grimacing tightly as he wrapped his arms around his midsection and pressed his forehead into the wall.

It wasn't a new feeling, this hunger. But it hadn't been missed.

Spending the past four days locked away in his room meant he hadn't been joining Mr. Stark or his friends for breakfast, lunch, not even diner, which he usually always attended. But the fact that nobody had been by to ask if he would be coming down was telling enough. They didn't want him there.

They didn't want him in the Tower. Not anymore.

Still,

Another gurgle. Peter gritted his teeth, pressing his forehead harder into the wall as he groaned.

This was getting to be a problem.

Six days was his record, a record he held with a fair bit of pride. After the spider bite, there wasn't much that bonded him to the normal human body, and this included his metabolism. While the average person could survive at least two weeks without proper sustenance, Peter's average was about a week before things started getting tricky.

So, while four days wasn't necessarily into red-alert-death-imminent territory, it certainly wasn't pleasant. Especially considering he'd spent that morning on the floor, unable to even get up from the sheer lack of energy.

Peter glanced back towards the door, towards the darkened hallway just past it.

He could go longer. He could push further. It was possible. And yet…

The teen turned to gaze back at the bathroom, where – upon finally finding the energy to push off the floor – he'd spent the rest of the day heaving nothing but spit into the toilet. He chewed on his lip, felt how dry it was under his teeth.

Don't. Don't even THINK about it.

He was starting to reach the tipping point. In a few hours, he probably wouldn't be able to stand at all. And then what would he do? If Mr. Stark decided to do anything, retaliate in any way, he'd be defenseless.

An instant gag. Peter couldn't tell whether it was from his stomach or the thought.

You can go longer. You have before. You're just being lazy. You don't need it.

He felt his heart starting to pick up, felt it starting to nick at his chest, tight and uncomfortable.

He'll find you. He'll catch you and then what? Imagine what he'll do. What you'll MAKE him do. You can't. You can't. You can't. You can't. You can't. You-

Peter gritted his teeth and forced himself through the door, swallowing down the nausea and shame that followed. It was much harder to choke down this time. But once he did, he heard the door slide closed behind him, enveloping him in the darkness of the hall.

He blinked, rubbing at his eyes a bit before they finally started to adjust to the dim lighting of the footlights underneath.

The hallway was quiet, eerily so. Back home, there was always some sort of commotion going on just a floor away, voices shouting, bottles clanking, something. Now it was silent. And Peter had to try very hard to keep his hands from shaking.

He took a breath, took a few more when the tightness in his chest remained. His fingers started to twitch, scratching up against his sweating palms as he started down the hall, stared past the lights and the shadows where the walls ended, and expanded upon the rest of the penthouse. And just beyond that? A fully stocked kitchen. Filled with so much food that Mr. Stark probably wouldn't even-

("What? You thought I wouldn't notice a thief in my own house? How stupid do you think I am, Peter?!")

He clenched his fists, body aching with phantom pains. He kept moving forward, heard how each step seemed to echo in his ears, a grating ring. Or maybe it was just the blood now beginning to rush around his head, making his cheeks warm and his thoughts muggy; muggy enough for him to dismiss how bad of an idea this was; muggy enough for him to keep walking down that hall.

Relax. Breathe. In and out. You'll be in and out.

Unless there was a lock on the fridge. Unless Mr. Stark was sitting there waiting for him with a glass of whiskey and a belt in his hands and a record scratching in the background and-

He grimaced, shutting his eyes as he gritted his teeth, forcing his legs to move faster.

It was spreading. That black, inky residue he'd felt that first night, curling on the floor of his room breathless and alone. Stronger and stronger it seemed to grow, spreading further with each step, each second that passed in that hall, in that room, in the Tower.

It was an anxiety he couldn't put into words, a fear he couldn't grasp onto, misty and elusive as it wrapped around him in thick suffocating waves, curling around his throat, pulling taut, dragging him down.

The door was further away now. He was quickly adding distance.

Keep moving. Keep walking. In and out. He won't know.

Peter could remember a time. Back before the spider bite. Back when ice cream with May and Ben seemed to fix everything and the worst his father ever did was glare at him. Back when he'd have to carry an inhaler in the front pocket of his backpack just in case his asthma ever flared up.

He could still remember that feeling.

That feeling of an eternal exhale.

Unending.

Agonizing.

The feeling of every breath in your body slipping right past your lips, fleeing right before you, disappearing into nothing but mist and watery eyes. The feeling of an unbearable tightness, a pressing weight crushing him from the inside out, relieved only by the artificial air of his inhaler, trembling in his hands, pressing painfully against his lips. The cold burst of albuterol forcing its way down his lungs, allowing him that first gasp of fresh air.

("Without me, you are nothing.")

There is no inhaler now.

There is no air now.

Not anymore.

There is nothing but that feeling of an exhale, infinite and excruciating. Sitting in O'Hara's office. Listening to his father's stories. Sitting shell-shocked in front of those conference cameras. And now, walking down a foreign hallway in a Tower he didn't belong in, with people that were too good for him. There was never any air.

Nothing but an exhale.

Neverending.

Thankfully, the hallway wasn't the same.

Because in that moment, Peter finally stepped out onto the living room floor. The area was empty, the entire room covered with a wash of moonlight streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows that made up an entire wall. Past the couches, the faint gleam of the stainless-steel kitchen appliances glinted in the teen's eyes.

Peter wasn't even thinking anymore. His head was too foggy, too full of mush. His legs, tired of waiting, decided to move on their own.

It probably took a few seconds. But for Peter, it was a blink. He shut his eyes, felt the world spinning around him, and when he opened them back up, he was in front of the counter, staring down at a bowl of assorted fruits.

And there was an apple in his hand.

Maybe.

It didn't feel real. Neither did his hand. Cold. Icy.

And now the world was spinning faster.

He leaned forward, felt his hand latch onto the counter, fingers digging into the surface as he gritted his teeth and tried to push down the numbing fog swirling around his head. He had to go. He had to get back to the room before he stopped breathing. Before he shriveled up and drifted away. Before his legs stopped working. Before he froze over. Before-

"Peter?"

The counter crumbled under his hand.

He whipped around.

Mr. Stark stood at the end of the counter, blocking the exit back towards the hall. He had a fairly haggard appearance, his hair a mess, and his shirt stained with oil. On his hands were a pair of gauntlets, like he hadn't even had time to take them off. In fact, if the way his chest was bouncing up and down was any indication, then it was likely the man had run here.

FRIDAY must have told. Of course she had. Why wouldn't she? She was security. Peter was the threat. The thief.

So he stared, eyes wide, stolen goods in hand.

Mr. Stark stared back, lips parted like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. The man simply blinked at him, face slacked with a look of surprise and hesitance. Peter didn't move. Neither did Tony. They just stood in the silence, locked onto each other, frozen in their gazes.

Finally, after a second, Tony swallowed and opened his mouth.

And from it came nothing but a shrieking wail.

Or at least, that's all Peter could hear. Nothing but a grating ring, a piercing screech echoing around in his head. The man was talking, that much was obvious as Peter watched his mouth move. But all he could hear was that ringing, that teeth chattering, bone splintering wailing, like a bomb had just gone off right next to his head. No, inside his head, blowing his brain to nothing but mush, trickling out his ear in cloying little splashes.

He knew his chest was pounding, knew his heart was racing simply from how it now felt like he was going to pass out. But he couldn't hear it. Couldn't hear anything. Everything was garbled, thickened through fluff and fog. It was all muted. Disjointed.

Then Mr. Stark's eyes drifted. Drifted down to the apple in Peter's hands.

(The padlock for the fridge broken on the floor; the screwdriver he'd used to break it laying right next to it.)

(Rummaging. Not even bothering to look with a careful eye. Not with his stomach rolling in agony. Not after eating nothing but soap from the bathroom for the past three days.)

(The oranges Sandra had bought earlier that day.)

(The rind is bitter. He doesn't bother with peeling. Just gnaws. Like an animal. Savage. Raw.)

(Like Max's roars.)

(Like his father's roars.)

(And the shocking wave of agony that split from his mouth as Max forced a handful of metal screws into his mouth, demanding he chew. Demanding he eat them if he was so hungry as to steal. Spitting out the remnants of his half-broken tooth, staring down at the blood and gums and rind and peels and-

(Trumpets. Trumpets. Screeching all around them-)

The apple exploded into nothing but slush as his fingers curled around it. And no sooner had the mess hit the floor was Peter running.

Because there had to be air somewhere.

But it certainly wasn't here.

His feet pounded the floor as he sprinted, shoulder jarring into the wall as he lurched around a wide-eyed Mr. Stark. But no sooner had he cleared the counter when he felt something latch onto him from behind.

(Flint grabbing him from behind. Flint lifting him over his shoulder. Flint tossing him to the floor right as his father raised the belt and-)

"NO!"

He lashed out, eyes curling shut as he flailed. The grip held tight, dragging him to the ground as his elbow slammed into the linoleum.

He kept screaming, felt his throat tearing at how loud he was yelling, desperate and wild as his body thrashed and whipped and curled and did everything it could do to escape, but he couldn't. He couldn't break free. He couldn't get away. Because he was a kid. He was six years old and he couldn't get away from them. He'd broken their rules and now he was being punished. He was eight years old again, crying and begging for forgiveness, promising to never break the lock again, staring down at the broken remains of his molar, scattered among the bloody screws.

"Please! Please, god! Please, don't! Don't! God, help me! Please! Please help me!"

The grip was iron-clad, digging into his arms, curling into his muscles. Every time his body thrashed one way, the hold would drag him back. He could feel it slicing into his skin, ripping into his flesh, tearing at his muscles. He could feel the blood, felt it dripping down his arms, felt it crusting in his hair, tasted it on his tongue. The sickly metallic smell choking him from the inside out, a curling of smoke and fog and death and rot burning his nose, burning his lungs, turning them black, charring them raw, a crackling flame, cracking in time to the music, the music, the cursed music, drowning out his pleas and his cries and his screams. Covering them in a blanket of noise and fury and rage and God, he couldn't breathe. His chest was breaking. His ribs were melting. He couldn't do this. There was no air. None left in the world. None left for him. He was dying. He couldn't do this. His father was wrong. He couldn't. He wasn't strong enough. He couldn't do this. He couldn't. He couldn't. He-

"-eathe! eed….to breathe! Come on, kid! Come on, Peter! Focus!"

He couldn't. Couldn't do this. He wasn't strong enough. He wasn't good enough. He-

"You gotta breathe, kid. Come on. Come on, you can do it. Focus, kid. Relax. You have to relax."

He-

"Come on, Spider-Man."

He opened his eyes.

Immediately, he was met with nothing but blurred shapes and colors and instantly shut them again. But the voice remained. In the darkness, in the wavering reality between waking and unconscious peace, Peter could hear it. Even as his chest burned and his skin paled and the poison pooled deep within him, he could hear it.

"There you go. There you go. It's alright. Everything's okay. Just breathe, alright? Just breathe. Breathe….breathe…"

Command. A command.

Even half-conscious, Peter could recognize it.

He kept his eyes shut, teeth grinding together as he focused on his lungs, focused on nothing but his longs, focused on the air that refused to pass through. And the burning only grew, deep and dark and excruciating.

"Easy. Easy. Just focus on my breathing. Focus on that and copy me. Copy me, Peter."

Something else. A heartbeat. Loud and steady thumping right next to his ears. And a motion. A smooth, steady motion, like the rocking of a boat. Up and down, up and down, it guided him, moving him steadily, calmly.

His fingers curled into something. He couldn't tell what. Didn't have the capacity to wonder. Instead, he zeroed in on the air, focused on his lips, his throat. Forced his teeth to open, prying his jaw loose. Hotter and hotter his chest was shrinking. His head was swimming, teetering on the edge of nothingness.

Focus.

Focus.

"Breathe."

Peter inhaled.

It was a choking gasp of air, so sudden and sharp that he immediately coughed it back up, the tightness remaining.

"There it is. There you go. Try again. Try again, Peter."

And he did. He forced in another breath, felt it sweep into his lungs in one strong motion of fluid oxygen, felt it swirl around in his chest with a graceful swish. He could hear it, heard the hacking gasp of air he took, like he was breaching the surface of an ocean he'd been trapped under for hours. It didn't immediately relieve the burning in his chest. So he took another. And another. Over and over he inhaled.

Inhaled.

Inhaled.

Breathed.

And over and over, the voice spoke.

"There you go. There you go. Attaboy, Pete. In and out. In and out. You got it. You got it, kid."

He curled his body, focused on nothing but the air. There was something pressing up against his cheek, something warm. And there was a weight on his back. Not violent or overwhelming, like he'd previously thought. But soft. Gentle.

Familiar.

Very slowly, with the hesitance of a child peeking out from underneath their bed, Peter opened his eyes again.

Everything blurred. There were no lines. No definite shapes. Nothing but blobs and colors and swaths of shadow. And the disturbing sight made him want to close his eyes again, curl his head into whatever warmth was pressing against his cheek and sleep. Just shut down and shut away.

"Come on, Pete. Keep breathing. Keep going. Just relax. It's okay."

But the voice remained. And Peter didn't want it to go away.

So, he blinked. He scrunched his eyes and forced them back open. Over and over until the shapes started to sharpen. Until the colors started to focus. Until the shadows crept back, and the room began to appear.

And once it did, he forced himself to blink one last time. Just to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

He sure felt like he was dreaming.

Dreaming of a kitchen that wasn't his own, pristine and clean and uncovered by blood or spit or pieces of broken glass bottles. Dreaming of warm arms around him, the feeling foreign and strange, and yet familiar in some ways too, like remnants of a past life, a different time. Dreaming of that voice, kind and gentle and calming.

Calming in a way only Tony's could be.

They were on the floor, Tony's back pressing into the wall. He must have dragged them to the ground in his haste to control Peter's flails. And control them, he had – somehow. For a moment, Peter was dumbstruck at how the man had managed to hold him down, only to catch a glimpse of the gauntlets still strapped tightly to his hands, glowing in the corner of his eye. Prototypes. He remembered the man showing him the plans for them earlier in the week. Before all the craziness.

Said gauntleted hands were wrapped tightly around Peter's shoulders, gently cradling the kid's head to his chest. Peter could feel the metal against his temple, felt it brushing up against his hair, steady and grounding. Nothing like the overbearing weight of his father's giant hands. Even with the metal coverings, Tony's hands were still somehow….warmer.

The man was still talking, still mumbling soft nothings into Peter's ear. The teen kept his head down, kept his cheek pressing into the man's chest, his fingers curling into the man's shirt.

Tony's shirt.

He was pressed against Tony's shirt. Tony's chest. Closely.

This should have sent an alarm.

Tony was touching him. A pat on the back, a hand on his head, even a brush of their hands was fine, if not a bit uncomfortable. This was prolonged. This was intimate. Personal.

Peter didn't do intimate. Not anymore. And he should have made this clear by pushing the man away.

But he didn't.

He couldn't.

("There he is! There's my favorite nephew!")

("I'm your ONLY nephew!")

("Nope. Not true. My sister's got a boy down in Houston. And what a BRAT! Right, May? Are you a brat, Peter?")

("Yes!")

("That's right. The best kind! Now come here and give me a hug, you little goober!")

The memory was gone in a flash, but the feelings of longing it left in his chest remained. The feelings of warmth and safety wrapped in Ben's arms, strong and tight yet gentle all the same.

Tony was warm.

It was the only thought Peter could form. The one thought in place of the usual shrieking bells and flashing sirens of-

(Too close. Get away. Don't touch. Don't touch. Don't, don't-)

But Tony was warm. So, they never came.

Peter found he didn't miss them.

Tony must have noticed how Peter's breathing evened out, for the teen felt him shift underneath him. "Pete….you with me, kid?"

He didn't want to respond. Didn't want to do anything that might mess with the balancing act of stability he'd reached, the precarious tip of peace and quiet he'd somehow managed to find within the hurricane of panic and fear he could still taste lurking in the back of his throat.

But when he felt his silence be met with another anxious shift, he took another breath. His lungs were painfully sore.

"Mr. Stark…." His voice was nothing. A ghost of a whisper.

But Tony heard it anyway. And with it came a sigh of obvious relief as Peter felt the tension in the man's muscles melt away underneath him.

"Oh…thank God," the man sighed, more to himself than to Peter. "There you are…"

He heard the shifting of metal and watched from the corner of his eye as the gauntlets on Tony's hands shifted and recalled back into a pair of slick silver bracelets wrapped tight around his wrists. Once they were gone, Tony rested his hand back on Peter's head and the teen nearly shivered at the feel of fingers carding through his hair, something his mother used to do when he was young.

Instantly, he felt his eyes start to tear up. His lip trembled as he turned to bury his face further into the man's chest. He should have been cowering. Should have been burning with embarrassment, clawing to get away and out of his hold. But he didn't have the energy for it. Didn't have the energy for anything anymore.

He was exhausted.

"I can't do this…"

Tony jolted a bit in shock, perhaps not expecting the teen to have spoken. He shook it off though, and Peter felt his hand start to rub up and down against his shoulder, albeit, with a faint awkward stiffness.

"Can't do what, kid?" His voice rumbled warmly in his chest. Peter felt it vibrating under his cheek. He kept his eyes shut, kept his cheek pressed up against the man's shirt. It smelled of metal and cologne.

"This. I….I can't do this. I can't live here. Not…"

("Endure.")

"...not like this."

The hand stilled over his shoulder, fingers tightening just a tad. "What do you mean? Tell me what you mean, Peter. Please." Tony's voice was steady. Calm. Everything Peter wasn't because he could still feel that thick weight pressing against his chest, felt the weight of the words stewing around in his head.

His body started to shiver. He curled tighter into the man's arms.

"I don't know….what to do. I don't know what you want me to do."

There was a moment of silence, and Peter could hear the man's heartbeat skip a little before falling back into a steady rhythm, if only a bit faster now.

"I…I don't understand, kid."

("Then I'll MAKE you understand, boy! I'll MAKE you understand where you belong and it's at the bottom! You exist for one reason and one reason only! And it's to do-")

"What you want."

Peter finally pushed himself up. Mr. Stark's arms gently detangled themselves from around him as the kid sat up on the floor and faced him. He had to see the man's face. His reaction.

"I don't know how you want me to behave," he started slowly, the words trembling slightly as he forced them out. They were sticky and stiff, wanting to cling to the sides of his throat and clam him shut. But the last time he'd muffled himself, the last time he'd tried to swallow the poison, it had come back up in heaving bouts of hate and vitriol.

He had to get it out. Had to get rid of it.

"I…I don't know what I'm supposed to do, what I'm not supposed to do."

("You do what I fucking tell you to do. Nothing more. Nothing less.")

"Do you want me to clean the Tower? Cause I can do that. The floors, windows. I can even stick to the outside of the building and clean them from there. Or…o-or if you want food, I know how to cook. And I'm sure I could learn new stuff i-if you wanted. Or do you want me to just sit in my room and be quiet cause I can do that too. I can do all of it."

("You're worthless.")

"Whatever you want. Whatever you want from me, I'll do it. You just have to say it. You just have to tell me."

("I wish you were different, Peter.")

"Please. You….you have to tell me what you want. What you want me to do. You just have to tell me. Something. Anything."

("Get out of my sight, you little rat.")

"Tell me something. Give me something. Some guidelines. Instructions-"

"Rules."

Peter forced his jaw shut as the man cut in, lifting his eyes towards his face. He couldn't read Tony's expression. Something about it seemed guarded. Rigid. "You want…rules." His voice was the same.

Peter took a breath. It whistled in his throat. "Your rules. I…I need to know how to keep you happy."

His voice cracked. He could feel it splintering off into little glass shards.

"I need to know how to survive here."

Peter shouldn't have been crying. Of all the immature reactions he could have had, crying was the worst. Because this was where he belonged. This was what he was used to, finally. Something he recognized. Something he could fall back on. Submissiveness. His own abilities to comply and yield to the directions of another. This was his life. This was all he'd ever known.

So why couldn't he stop the steady stream of tears now beginning to fall down his cheeks?

His lack of an answer only made the shame build stronger as he ducked his head away, shutting his eyes as he hitched another breath. He could feel himself starting to sway. "I'll do whatever you say. J-Just say it…"

("It's easier this way, Peter. You'll see.")

Steady hands grasped onto his shoulders, keeping him from falling over. He blinked his eyes, waited a moment for the sudden dizziness to recede again before lifting his gaze.

(His father glaring down at him. His father screaming in his face. His father spitting and raging and snaring and-)

Tony stared back at him. And Peter just took a second to look into the man's eyes, those familiar deep dark brown ones. He could still hear his heartbeat, steady and loud. He could feel it all the way down to his fingertips, felt how they vibrated under his skin.

The man's lips were parted, eyes narrowed with an emotion Peter couldn't place. The hands on his shoulders were heavy and warm and they kept him from drifting, from floating off right then and there.

But maybe he was floating, imagining things. Because Mr. Stark was speaking now. And Peter could have sworn he said-

"…god, I'm so, so sorry, kid."

Peter blinked at him. Blinked a few more times as the words drifted in and out, in and out of his head.

"Why?" He was dreaming. He felt so far away.

"Because I should have known."

With that, Tony removed his hands from Peter's shoulders, moving them towards his pockets instead.

And pulled out a piece of paper.

For a second, Peter just looked at it, tried to get his eyes to adjust to the sight, tried to make sense of the hasty scribbles he could make out on the page. The messy, frantic, hurried lines of words, all jumbling together into one mess of graphite.

After a moment, the image finally stopped spinning long enough for Peter to read it. And he should have felt...something. Some panic at Tony having found something he hadn't told to even his closest friends. Anger at the man for having taken something so personal. Denials and excuses as to why it wasn't as big a deal as the man probably thought.

But there was...nothing. He felt nothing.

No sense of terror or worry. No drive to explain or hide. He just kept staring, kept waiting for any wave of emotion to wash up, to grab onto him and shake him back into reality, back into focus because he had to explain. He had to explain it away, cover it up so they never had to talk about it again.

He blinked.

"I found it in your room." Tony was speaking again. "Those papers...those papers you had scattered all over...this is what they were, right?"

His mouth wouldn't open. His tongue wouldn't unstick. And all he felt was a gaping emptiness growing and growing inside of him, deep and dark and all-encompassing. His father would be furious. His father was sure to punish him because he wasn't keeping his end of the bargain. He wasn't doing his part. He wasn't lying well enough. Because that's what he had to do. That's what he needed to do. So why couldn't he speak? Why couldn't he move? Why couldn't he see anything past those twelve lines, twelve rules, his rules, his-

"Hey..."

His eyes drifted, the world morphing as they dragged away from the paper and over to the new tingling feeling he could feel. Tony's hand was on his wrist, fingers wrapped tightly around him. His wrist was so tiny, so skinny that Tony could wrap his entire hand around it and still have his fingers overlap each other. He waited for the grip to turn painful, waited for the twist in his skin as the grip locked on with steel viciousness. Waited for the tug, the snap, the break.

All he felt was Tony's pulse beating underneath his fingers.

"Peter. You need to breathe. Relax, okay? It's okay. Just keep breathing."

Had he stopped? When had he stopped?

He focused on his lungs, focused on dragging in a mouthful of air. And the swell of relief that washed away the tight burning in his chest let him know that it must have been a while since he'd taken a breath.

"Kid...Peter...look at me."

He swallowed. His throat was dry and crusty. Carefully, his eyes flickered away from the hand wrapped around his tiny wrist and found the face now staring back at him. Tony didn't look angry. He didn't look disgusted with him. His eyes weren't filled with contempt and malice and hate.

He looked concerned.

"I need you to talk to me."

The fingers around his wrist tightened just a tad.

"Please."

For a moment, the silence stretched out, long and uncomfortable. Because this was right where they'd been before. Peter could recognize it. Tony probably could too. This was the exact same setup, the exact same problem from nights before, screaming and yelling at each other with a rage that had come from nowhere.

("WRITE IT!")

The fingers around his wrist were rough and calloused. Peter could feel the thickened texture of them brushing up against his skin, pulling them this way and that. It wasn't painful, strangely enough. It reminded him of when Ben would pick him up. The callouses of the mechanic's hands brushing against his cheeks, his forehead, his shoulders. Always contrasted by the smooth softness of the man's smile, his words, his eyes.

Peter focused on that. Focused on the thought. Focused on the hand wrapped around his wrist. Focused on the strange sensation of comfort and protection that bubbled in his stomach.

And spoke.

Because Tony had been right that night.

He did deserve an explanation. He deserved a lot more than that, honestly.

But an explanation was all Peter had to give.

"My father created these when I was six." He started off slow, felt how coarse his voice was as it left his throat, how scratchy and soft. Like it didn't want to be heard. "Some were added on later, but the gist of it was always the same. If I disobeyed, I was punished. If I questioned them, I was punished. If I did anything other than what was laid out here,"

("Get my belt.")

"I was punished.

"They were orders. Instructions. On how to avoid that. On how to stay out of trouble."

("You know I love you, Peter.")

He winced and turned his head away. "How to be a good son."

Peter reached out and carefully took hold of the paper lying between them. The pressure from before started to lurk closer, poking and prodding up against his chest, like someone was squeezing the life out of him.

"I need this...I...I need them. Because it's...it's all I've ever known," he whispered, voice shaking. "I only have two jobs at home. Following orders, and standing by for new ones. That's it. That's all I am. And without it, I...I just..."

The words got too thick to spit out, lodging somewhere between his mouth and his throat. He swallowed and blinked his eyes a few times, hoping to rid them of the new haze of mist washing over them.

Mr. Stark said nothing. Peter couldn't blame him. There really was nothing to say.

"Spider-Man is good at a lot of things, Mr. Stark." He traced his fingertip against the page, felt the sting of the edge slicing a thin, barely noticeable cut into his skin. "But Peter Parker...Peter Parker is good at one thing and one thing only. And that's following orders. So without any orders to follow..."

("Without me-")

"...I'm nothing."

He kept his eyes down. Kept them focused on his hands and the paper squeezed between them. He didn't need to see the disappointment in Tony's expression. The disdain and scorn gleaming back in his eyes, mirror images of his father's putrid glare.

How many people could he get to look at him like that?

What did that say about him?

("Worthless...")

Mr. Stark was still for a second, sitting in the silence that bloomed between them. Peter heard the man suck in a deep breath, heard how it filled his lungs in one sweeping arc of air.

Peter held his own breath. Waited for the other shoe to drop.

. . .

. . .

. . .

"Yeah...Fuck that."

He jumped, whipping his head up towards the man, only to rear back as he did.

Because Tony was angry. Incredibly so.

His eyes shone with a light of outrage and indignation, even stronger than a few nights previous when Peter had all but kicked him out of his room. No, this time he wasn't frustrated and annoyed. This was pure, unfiltered rage.

And Peter felt his heart lurch up into his throat.

The man started to get to his feet. "You can fuck right off with that," he said again, voice clipped with blatant irritation. Peter braced himself, tensed his muscles, and curled his fists as he waited, waited for the man to strike out, waited for the blow, the slap, the kick-

(Because how could you be so stupid as to think it couldn't happen? It'll always happen. They'll always get angry. And they'll always-)

Only for Tony to walk right past him.

Peter twisted around, eyes wide, and watched as Tony stalked over to the fridge. He grasped onto the handle and ripped it open none too gently, placing a hand on his hip as he turned back around.

"Look at this. What do you see in here?"

Peter stared, mouth agape. He could hear his heart thumping in his ears, felt the heat of blood swimming around his head, his face. His hands were shaking. "Um..." He tried to focus, tried to zero in on what the man wanted. Only...there was nothing. It wasn't the big, industrial fridge that sat in the middle of the kitchen. This seemed to be a smaller, separate unit. And it was empty.

Was this a trick?

"Um...n-nothing?"

Tony sniffed. His face was terse. "You know what used to be in here?"

Peter shook his head.

"Tiers upon tiers of some of the highest grade alcohol you can get. And I'm not talking the pricy section of the Wally World. I'm talking some Bowmore 1957 Scotch, Dalmores, Macallans, and a few that, to this day, I still can't pronounce."

He took his hand off the handle and shut the fridge with his foot, Peter wincing at the low thud. The man paused, staring hard at the kid as he slowly brought his arms up to fold overtop his chest. "You know what I did with all them?"

Peter swallowed, felt his hands starting to get all tingly again. He curled his fingers into the fabric of his pants, hoping to quell it. "Um...d-drank them? I don't-"

"I poured each and every one of those bottles down the drain." The terse look of irritation slowly drained from Tony's face, replaced instead with a neutral look of calm. "Probably around four million dollars in cold hard liquid. There's not a single drop of alcohol left in this Tower." He blinked, shifted his arms a bit. "You know why?"

Again, Peter shook his head.

"...Because of you, kid."

"What?" The ten balked and instantly shook his head. "I...I'm sorry. I didn't...I-I didn't even know I-"

"Stop." Tony moved forward, waving his hands to cease the torrent of ramblings they both knew were seconds away from falling out of Peter's mouth. "Just listen.

"Right now, it's been 32 days since I last had something to drink. I know, cause I've been keeping track of that shit. Before then, the longest I'd ever gone was two." His lips pulled into a lopsided grin as he chuckled a disbelieving scoff. "Kid, you did something for me that in the past three decades, I've never been able to do for myself."

Peter watched the man slowly kneel down in front of him. Watched his face pull into a smile, full of gratitude and transparency. He wasn't putting on an act, Peter could tell. This was real.

"You gave me a reason. A reason to stop. A reason to get better. A reason to try." Tony tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly in earnest. "That's not nothing. Not to me.

"Swinging around in the middle of the night saving random strangers just because you can isn't nothing. Neither is all your input down in the labs when we're trying not to blow each other up. Neither are the things you say or the things you think."

Tony gently reached his hand out and grabbed at the paper in Peter's hands. The teen watched him take it, watched him pull it from his grasp. He only realized after the paper was gone that he hadn't put up a fight. Hadn't tried to stop him.

"You're more than this," Tony said softly, the paper crinkling in his grasp. "More than what's on here. These rules...they...This isn't all you are. This...this isn't you."

Peter finally opened his mouth now, a new, sudden breath of air heaving from his lungs in a hitching gasp. "It's who he wants me to be," he whispered, felt a wash of new tears beginning to fill his eyes.

Tony swallowed, face falling slightly in solemn acceptance. "I know. I wish I could change that."

The teen ducked his head, hastily scrubbing at his face as Tony moved to sit down on the floor once more, scooting himself backward until he was sitting right beside Peter, their backs pressing into the wall. The man let out a long sigh, lifting a hand to rub at the back of his neck. Peter didn't look over at him, just kept his eyes focused on his hands, twisted his fingers around themselves.

"Peter, I'm sorry," the man said quietly after a moment of silence. "I'm sorry I didn't come to talk to you sooner. I'm sorry for yelling at you before. I'm sorry for not confronting this the first day you started acting strange. I just...didn't know how."

Peter chewed on his lip, kept his gaze on the tips of his fingers. "Neither did I..."

Tony, seeming to take a page out of Peter's book, started to fiddle around with the paper in his grasp, seemingly unsure of what to do with his hands all of a sudden. "When I first offered that deal, when I first brought on the subject of you coming to live here, I thought...I thought that by taking you out of that house, I was fixing something, making something better." He tightened his hold on the paper.

"I never even considered what you'd be bringing with you."

Tony glanced over. "And I never did ask. What you wanted. Whether you really wanted to come here." He hesitated for a moment.

"You didn't, did you. You didn't want to leave?"

Peter took a breath, slow and deliberate as he eyed the paper. "Part of me didn't," he admitted. "I think the same part of me that just wants to listen to this. It's just easier."

Tony nodded, the movements careful and stiff. The man turned away for a moment and Peter noticed his heartbeat pick up greatly, a new fearful rhythm to his beat. The teen glanced over in surprise, brows furrowing slightly. Only to pause as the man turned to him, face serious and grim.

"Peter...tell me the truth. Do you want to leave? Do...do you want to go home?"

The teen blinked in shock, shoulders stiffening as he straightened up. Tony said nothing, didn't press him or try to sway him one way or the other. Just stared back at him, waiting in silence for his answer.

His answer.

Not his father's. Not even the mechanic's own. Tony wanted his answer. His thoughts.

And for a moment, Peter couldn't give them. Because not even he knew.

("Is that what you want? To go back to him? Back to those...monsters?")

 

("What's the matter, Petey? Don't you wanna play with us?")

 

("As long as you're out of that house, I'm happy.")

 

("Why do you always have to be under our feet? Jesus, you're unbearable.")

 

("As of recently, it's now my JOB to worry about it.")

 

("This is your home, Peter. This is where you belong. Don't think you deserve any more. Cause you don't.")

 

("So...I just have to trust you?")

 

Except...yes he did.

Very carefully, Peter shook his head. "No...I don't."

It was hard not to hear the obvious sigh of relief Tony tried to conceal. Peter continued as if he hadn't heard it.

"Mr. Stark, I...I just don't know how to exist anywhere else. This isn't school. This isn't riding the subway. This is...this is my home, now." He swallowed the immediate nausea that followed the thought. "And I have to become something else when I'm home. I have to...be someone else."

He ducked his head again, shutting his eyes as he curled his hands into fists. "I need you to understand that. I...I don't want to feel like this. I don't want to not talk to you about stuff, I just...can't stop thinking about them. About what they'd say if they...what he'd say if he...if...i-if he-"

"Hey." The hand was back on his shoulder.

Peter slowly opened his eyes and let his head drift back over to Tony. The man made an exaggerated motion of taking a breath. It took Peter a second to realize, and once he did, he copied the movements. The burning in his lungs receded.

"He's not here, kid," Tony said after Peter had taken a few more satisfactory inhales. "There's nobody here but you and me. Just like always, alright?"

The man's face twisted into a pensive little look of sorts. "Peter, you have it in your head that just because you call it a night here instead of after Happy's dragged you through the hell that is Queens traffic post 7pm means that something's changed. And it hasn't. I haven't changed alright? I'm not about to walk around the Tower with a ruler in my hands smacking you upside the head every time you...I don't know...wear the wrong shirt color or whatever."

Peter stared back at him, eyes wide, drinking in everything. Every detail, every line in his face, scanning and searching for the truth behind his words, any signs of deceit or ill-intent.

As always, there was none.

But now Tony's smile slowly began to grow. "It's still just me, Pete. Same guy who built your incredible, can't-sing-enough-praises suit. Same guy who can't make anything close to edible without destroying at least five pans in the process. Same guy who still has a picture of Happy throwing up after finding that shrimp in his ice cream after your tournament."

Peter couldn't help it. That got a laugh out of him.

Tony joined him, shoulders shaking as he nudged the kid in the side. "There you go! See? Still just me, kid. Your partner. That's what we are, right? That's what you called us?"

Peter settled, letting the laugh drift from him with a little sigh. The smile remained though, especially as he thought back to that night. The night of their deal. The night they'd solidified this...whatever it was.

"Yeah..."

The man lifted his head to the ceiling and gazed up at the shadows stretching far overhead. He ran a hand through his hair. "Listen, I know this is hard. I know this is scary, doing something you've never done before. Cause that's what this is, for both of us. Something new." He turned to face Peter again. "But that doesn't mean it has to be bad. Just...different."

Peter met his gaze once more, their eyes locking with a steadiness that hadn't been there before.

"I want this place to be different."

("Are you allowed to swear on national news?")

 

("Happy, find the crappiest ice cream place around here!")

 

("To Stage 5!")

 

("Are you listening to WHAM?")

 

("See! Told ya you could trust me!")

 

A faint little smile worked its way back onto Peter's face.

Perhaps it already was.

Tony suddenly sat up, jolting Peter out of his thoughts. The man clapped his hands together. "Alright, new idea. From this point on, this Tower is not going to be your home."

Peter's face fell, lips parting as he stared in shock. "What? But I...I thought you wanted me to stay."

"I do," the man said quickly. "Just...hear me out."

The teen swallowed, straightening up a bit as he watched the billionaire with a careful eye. Tony stared down at the paper still in his hands, face twisting into a look of disgust and hatred, glaring down at those words beneath his fingertips. "This is...this is what you think of when you think of home, right?" He held up the paper. "Restrictions, punishments, strict guidelines."

Peter hesitated for a moment before giving a small nod.

Tony nodded as well before promptly crumpling the paper into a tiny little ball and hurling it as far as he could. Peter watched with wide eyes, following the little crumpled ball as it disappeared into the darkness of the living room. He sputtered again, the beginnings of a few objections rising from his throat, only to fall silent as Tony placed a hand back on his shoulder.

The teen let his gaze linger on where the paper had disappeared for a moment longer before turning towards the man once more. The disgust and irritation were gone, replaced with the same gentle concern as before.

"I don't want that for you, Peter. Not here. Like I said, I want this place to be different. I don't want it to be like home. Not if that's what home is," he gestured towards where the paper ball had disappeared and Peter had to resist very hard to keep from looking for it again. Tony must have noticed the look of faint distress still twisting on Peter's face, for he gave the teen's shoulder a little squeeze of reassurance.

"Think of this as something else, kid. Something better. A...home away from home."

Peter blinked, let the words wind around in his head as Tony removed his hand and turned away again.

Home away from home?

"And if you still need rules, I...shit. I'm sure I can come up with something."

"I...Mr. Stark, you don't have to-"

"It'll make you feel better, won't it?" He cut in before Peter could finish. The teen stared up at him for a second, taking in the earnest, knowing look in his eyes before giving a small reluctant nod of his head.

"Then I'll do it." The man's face dropped in consideration, brows furrowing as he blew a sharp breath from his lips. "Uh, off the top of my head, maybe, uh...oh. Easy one." He stretched out his leg and used the toe of his shoe to poke at the mess of squished apple chunks that were still littering the floor a little ways away. "If your hungry, eat something. No exploding apples necessary. Alright, next one-"

"Whoa, whoa, wait!"

Tony paused, turning to give the kid a humored look that very much did not match the incredulous dismay Peter could feel building in his chest. Was he serious right now?

"What?"

Peter scoffed. "That...I...that can't be all."

"What do you mean?"

The teen looked at him like he'd suddenly gone crazy. "I mean!" he repeated with a slight hint of exasperation in his tone. "I mean, what about exceptions?"

"Like?" The man prompted with a little smirk. Peter scrunched his nose at the look.

"Like, what if someone's already in the kitchen?"

"Then push them out of the way and grab a sandwich."

"What if I take something that someone else wanted to have later?"

"I think I can afford to buy more."

"What if...I don't know...aliens are attacking?"

Aliens. Why did they always go back to aliens?

Tony scoffed. "Then scurry your little butt over to the kitchen, web the alien to the ceiling, and grab some Cheese-Itz."

Peter floundered, face growing red. There had to be one. There had to be something. Something else. Something more. And he had to know what it was before he made a mistake. Before he made anyone angry.

"But what if-?"

"Peter."

He paused at the serious tone now edging into Tony's voice, the humored look vanishing from his face. In its place was nothing short of stone-cold determination.

"Kid, there are no exceptions. Things are going to be different here, alright? This isn't your home. It's a-"

"Home away from home," he murmured softly. Tony's smile returned, softer this time.

"Right."

The teen lowered his head and stared down at his hands, let the full weight of what the man was saying sit on him. This was...unexpected. But unwanted? He couldn't bring himself to declare that. Couldn't bring himself to raise another protest. Because, oddly enough, he had none.

Even stranger? The tightness in his chest that had been persisting since his first night there remained quiet. It raised no protests either.

"You asked me before...what I wanted," Tony said quietly. "What I wanted from you." The man paused for a moment, long enough for Peter to turn towards him. Tony met his gaze and held it steady and strong. His voice rang in Peter's ears.

"I want you to be safe. I want you to go be with your friends and act like a fourteen-year-old kid. I want you to joke around and sass me with the attitude I know you got cause I've seen it before. I want you to think about yourself for once, doing what's best for you sometimes and not just what's best for everyone else. I want you to tell me when something's bothering you. I want you to laugh and have fun and relax here, just like before when you'd come by after school."

He stopped, eyes shining with a sincerity Peter couldn't look away from, an open affection he hadn't realized he'd been craving for so long.

"I want you to be happy here. I want you to not be so afraid anymore."

("Would you ever betray me, Peter?")

The tears were back, clogging up the back of his throat. Peter sucked in a little breath, lips trembling. "I don't think I know how to do that," he whispered.

Tony reached out and placed a hand against the side of Peter's neck. Grounding. Steady.

A foreign, comfortable touch.

"It's okay," he said softly, lips quirking into a small smile. "Cause I'm gonna be here to help you until you do."

. . .

. . .

"Promise...?"

An equally foreign word.

Tony's smile grew nonetheless. "I promise."

Peter felt another breath push past his lips, a sigh of relief he hadn't known he'd been holding in. Tony's hand moved down to his shoulder and as he felt the man pulling him closer, he strangely didn't resist. Instead, he just let himself be guided, let himself curl up against the man's side as he rested his cheek on his shoulder, Tony's arm wrapping securely around him.

In his head, somewhere in a distant memory, he remembered that one night, remembered sitting in a similar position on the floor surrounded by empty bottles, a new terrifying promise having left their lips.

It wasn't so terrifying this time, Peter realized.

"You okay?" The man asked after a moment of silence.

Peter breathed in deeply, his lungs full of air and space and hope for the first time in who knew how long. It was a good feeling. The freedom of breath. It was even better than the feelings of anxiety he'd been holding in since his arrival shriveling up and slinking away.

"I think I will be."

There was something new now. A new feeling in the air. The tensions and weight and suffocating mass that had been surrounding them seemed to dissipate in that moment, fading into the background of a conversation, nothing but an afterthought now. A footnote in what was quickly becoming an interesting turn of events.

Peter couldn't hold in his smile, couldn't help the feeling of ease beginning to grow in him, a small little hesitant spark. It would take some time, he knew. A bit more effort on his part, but he had a feeling he could get that spark to grow, could kindle it into something bigger, something brighter.

("I've always wanted to see you burn bright.")

Perhaps this is what his father had meant. Perhaps this is what he wanted for him. This spark. This...happiness.

Somewhere in the back of his head, Peter knew it wasn't.

Even further back, he realized he didn't care.

Because it's what he wanted.

And maybe that's what mattered.

. . .

. . .

. . .

"Mr. Stark?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm like...kinda starving."

"Right! I...you're so right. Come on, let's- t-that's progress. That is a good first step. Let's get something to eat."

 


Group Chat - Ned/MJ/May

- Thursday: June 4, 2016 -

 

Peter

Hey. Sorry for the radio silence. Busy week over here. Tell you about it later.

. . .

 

Peter

But yeah. I'm okay. I'm really good, actually.

. . .

 

Peter

PS. Mr. Stark says hi.

. . .

 

Peter

PPS. You guys aren't very subtle. I'm assuming you all talked to him.

. . .

 

Ned

I don't know what you're talking about.

. . .

 

May

No idea what you're insinuating. We're not that clever.

. . .

 

MJ

Yeah, we are. And yes we did.

. . .

 

MJ

PS, he's a spaz.

. . .

 

Peter

LOL

. . .

 

Peter

Thanks, guys.

. . .

 

Peter

Really.

 


 

It wasn't until he'd gotten off the phone with his friends that Peter had finally seen it.

And for a while, he just stared at it, eyes flickering around the paper, reading each and every line as the morning sun streamed in through the Tower windows. The floors were cold under his bare feet, but he paid them no mind, just kept standing by the door to the room - no. The door to his room, where he'd found the paper slipped under the crack.

And no matter how many times he read it, he just couldn't stop smiling.

Eventually, his smile turned into a chuckle, which grew into a full-blown laugh, tears soon streaming down his cheeks.

He didn't try to stop them this time. Just let his laughs ring out around the walls.

And somewhere in the Tower, enjoying his fifth cup of coffee since 2 AM, surrounded by piles and piles of rough drafts and scrapped papers, Tony sipped his cup and smiled wearily to himself, rereading the most recent texts he'd just received on his phone.

It was well worth skipping a few hours of sleep that night for those texts alone.

 


Group Chat - Peter's Cronies

 

08:32 AM

Good job.

 


. . .

THE TOWER RULES

- Said rules apply to any and all that live and/or spend the majority of their time in Stark Tower (including robots and AIs) -

. . .

 

1) Open access to all foods in Tower - There are no limitations on any foods that are not glowing and/or growling. Any food prepared by one Tony Stark may need proper safety checks before consumption.

. . .

 

2) All opinions are valid and open for consideration. (Except the absolute, bold-faced lie of Die Hard being a Christmas movie and you can fuck right off, Rhodey.)

. . .

 

3) Matters surrounding the Parker family are open for discussion in the Tower and ONLY in the Tower. And only with those with express permission to discuss. No secrets leave these walls.

. . .

 

4) Visitors are always welcome in the Tower. A few hours notice is all that is required.

. . .

 

5) Your space is your own. Permission will be required before entering one's private quarters or accessing personal devices (unless emergency circumstances apply, e.g., fires, earthquakes, intruders, or our favorite: aliens)

. . .

 

6) If any issues arise, reports will be met with serious consideration and concern. AKA tell me when shit's bothering you. (This one's mainly for Junior. The rest of you can handle yourselves so leave me alone cause I don't care.)

. . .

 

7) No punishments will ever result in any physical harm. EVER. No exceptions.

. . .

 

- Failure to comply with these rules will result in. . . . I don't know. Mockery? Or maybe I'll make you eat something I cooked. That seems pretty horrific.

. . .

 

Signed,

Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, James Rhodes, Happy Hogan...

. . .

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

and Peter B. Parker.

Chapter 31: INTERLUDE Part II

Summary:

Meanwhile...

Chapter Text

Saturday - June 4, 2016

Rose Hill, Tennessee

01:41 PM

"Gregory Heffner! You put that down right now! I swear to God."

"It's alright! It's alright. See? I got it." The man righted his footing on the unstable chair below him and secured his fingers around the previously-slipping bowl, decorated with intricate little flowers around the gold-laced rim. "No muss. No fuss." He stepped back down onto the floor, adding a little flourish for good measure as he presented the bowl.

Sarah Heffner scowled with an unimpressed look as she quickly snatched the bowl away. "My mother would be rolling over in her grave if she could see how you're manhandling her fine china." She turned back to the dining table absolutely littered with different cardboard boxes, the floors covered in packing peanuts, bubble-wrap, and discarded pieces of duct tape. She started to wrap the bowl with a fresh strip of bubble wrap. "She loved these bowls more than us kids, you know. I can only imagine how much she'd complain if she saw a scratch on it, so..."

She paused, eyed the china bowl in her hands for a moment with an indignant pout.

"...maybe scratch it a little."

Greg, a fairly lanky man with dark brown hair and wide-rimmed glasses over the top of his too-thin nose, gave a little chuckle and placed a kiss on the woman's cheek as she finished packing up the bowl into another one of the boxes.

"Is this all for the fragile stuff?" he asked, hoisting the box up into his arms.

"For the dining room, at least. Just put it in the hall for now. We'll have to find someplace careful on the truck for it."

"Right!" he called from the hall, no doubt trying to find some place to slide the box into the ever-growing Tetris game stacked against the walls.

Sarah dusted off her hands, using the toe of her foot to kick up one of the nearby strips of bubble wrap, catching it out of the air as it floated by. "When is Allen supposed to drop it off again?"

Greg's voice drifted from somewhere down the hall. "Tomorrow around three. And let me tell you, it took a lot of beers to finally bribe him to drive down with us."

She scoffed, giving a shake of her head as he brushed back a strand of messy blond hair. Her bun was starting to fall apart again. "Still can't believe that. It's a fourteen-hour drive to New York."

"What can I say? Guy claimed he didn't trust me to be all alone with his baby."

"Not surprised. He spends more time on that rig than with his actual wife."

Greg came back from around the corner, a smirk on his face. "Not that she minds."

Sarah rolled her eyes at him before turning back to the room before her. She scanned the walls, checked to see if there was anything else they'd missed. But the walls were bare. The china cabinet was empty. Even the ancient clock that always hung on the back wall was gone, leaving them in a growing silence that wasn't too common in her household.

She took a breath, a thick swallow chasing it down as she rested her hands against the edge of the nearest chair. They'd be moving the big stuff tomorrow once Greg's friends from the station came down to help.

And then her house would be empty.

Sarah let her eyes drift to the windows, stared out at the sleepy streets beyond. She heard something shift behind her.

"What's wrong?"

Her fingers played against the faux-wooden chair under her hands.

"Nothing."

She could still remember when she'd first stepped into this house, walking in with a newlywed husband that she wasn't quite in love with. But the baby brewing inside of her had dimmed her doubts into lingering unease and had left her swallowing her intuition for the sake of that life-form, to at least try and give it a normal life complete with a mother and father that at least still looked at each other. It was more than her own parents had ever given her.

But safe to say, a marriage based solely on the backs of an unplanned baby isn't really the strongest. And six years later would see this come to light as her husband, who'd never gotten past the phase of 'unemployed alcoholic' walked out and left her with two kids and a mortgage she couldn't pay.

Still, that wasn't what this house was. Not anymore. Not after watching her babies take their first steps on these floors. Not after washing the walls of Crayola marks and sharpie drawings. Not after each birthday and Christmas and Easter and anything else they could use as an excuse to gorge on cake and sugar that always pushed their weekly food allowance (but no way was she letting her kids grow up without cake on their birthdays and candy for Halloween).

This was her home. Had been her home for years. And it had served her well.

She swallowed again, felt how it caught in her throat before sliding free.

There were footsteps behind her and suddenly she felt warm arms coming to wrap around her shoulders. She didn't turn, merely shut her eyes and leaned back into the sturdy weight behind her. Greg pressed his chin against her collarbone, hummed into her skin.

"Sarah," he sighed, breath warm against her ear. "You know you don't have to come."

She shook her head. "We're not having this discussion again."

"I'm serious. There's still time for you to-"

"Stop. Hey." She turned to face him, staring up into his bright green eyes, the first thing she'd ever noticed about him. "You have to take this job offer. It's amazing." She lifted a hand and ran it through the locks framing his face. "And I know you're tired of being a small-town cop."

His face pinched a bit, both in agreement and sadness. "Not that hauling Gary into the slammer to sleep off his hangovers every Saturday isn't fun...I just-"

"Want to do more. I know." They'd had this conversation many a time late at night laying side by side in the darkness of their room. "And what kind of wife would I be if I left you to go off all alone?"

Greg lifted a gentle hand to wrap around her wrist, planting a kiss on the top of her palm. "A wife with two kids who grew up here and had a life before me?"

She pursed her lips. "I mean it. This'll be good for us. All of us." She shrugged and moved away, picking up one of the empty boxes stacked in the corner and placing it on the table. "Besides, It's New York City. I'm sure I could find a decent waitressing job. There's a diner on every street corner for Christ's sake." She turned, throwing a flirtatious smirk his way. 'You're not getting rid of me that easily, mister."

He didn't seem so convinced through, for his frown remained. He leaned his back against the wall, hands stuffing into his pockets as he cast a morose glance out towards the living room. "And the kids?"

"Hmm?"

"Lily still won't talk to me. And why wouldn't she? Big bad stepdad comes in to drag her away from all her friends. I'm like a Disney-channel villain."

Sarah rolled her eyes and turned back around, folding new pieces of bubble wrap to place in the bottom of the box. "She's just upset she won't be able to participate in the Annual Pig Wrestling Festival next month."

"I mean it." Greg approached again, eyes crinkling with worry. "What it...I don't know...she doesn't forgive me?"

Sarah turned, watching as Greg fiddled with the ring on his finger, a nervous habit of his. "I'm really trying to bond with them and I feel like we were getting along fine. Just..." He sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. "I don't know. I really don't wanna be an evil step-parent, but I feel like I'm one cat away from a twirly mustache and yellow eyes."

Sarah couldn't help but chuckle, batting at his shoulder with the bubble wrap still in her hands. "God, you're so dramatic." She moved closer, placing her hands on either sides of his arms, forcing him to meet her gaze. "Listen, Lily adores you. And in two days, she'll be fawning all over the latest Juicy-Cute backpack-lunch box set or whatever and won't even remember she was supposed to be mad at you."

Greg's lips quirked into a smile at that, albeit a small one. However, his face did twitch a bit as a new thought drifted through.

"And her brother? How's he holding up? Plotting my death yet?"

Sarah paused a bit, a new frown peppering her face. "He's...well, you know how he is."

Greg scoffed. "Ch'yeah."

"But he's been surprisingly quiet about all this, which is...concerning, to say the least," she grimaced before giving a little shrug of her shoulders. "But he's adaptive. And I'm sure he'll be happy we're moving closer to his billionaire-buddy pen-pal."

"Yeah, speaking of: have you told Stark about this?"

"Nope."

Greg frowned. "How come? He'd probably send a private plane for all our stuff."

Sarah rolled her eyes and busied herself with the bubble wrap in her fingers. She popped a few. "Which is exactly why I'm keeping him out of this." At Greg's silence, she sighed and turned to face him once more. "I appreciate everything he's done for our family, what with all the cars and the college funds and whatnot, but it's still my family. Our family, now," she said a bit softer, a new smile edging into her voice. "We don't need his help to get through."

Greg returned her look with a smile of his own, moving closer as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. She melted into his chest, fitting together like two puzzle pieces, snug and perfect. "I knew I married the most amazing woman in all of Tennessee." He leaned closer, pressing his forehead against hers. "And pretty soon, I'll have the most amazing woman in all of New York."

The feel of his breath against her neck made shivers travel down her spine as she craned her neck and moved in for a kiss-

"Eww- my gosh! You guys are so gross!"

They both sighed. There was no better mood killer than a nine-year-old girl.

"Alright, little miss." Sarah turned to eye her daughter, a little girl with long blonde hair tied up with ribbon into a ponytail. "Aren't you supposed to be packing up your room?"

Lily gave a little pout, glaring down at the ground by her foot. "No point in packing if we don't leave."

"Lilian, we're not having this discussion again. Go and finish packing. And where's your brother?"

"I don't know."

"Well, find him, please. And tell him to finish packing too. We leave in two days."

Lily made a big to-do of spinning on her heel and stomping back down the hall. Greg watched her go with a noticeable wince in his eyes, like each step she took poked another needle into his skin. Sarah patted his cheek with a gentle smile and a reassuring chuckle.

This house had served her well. But her family was growing. It was only fair that she grow with them.

. . . . .

"Mom says you need to finish packing. But I don't see them packing. They're too busy kissing! Ugg! This is so stupid!"

Lily disappeared from his doorway with a grunt of annoyance and a signature flip of her hair.

The boy paid it little mind, eyes too busy glued to his phone.

His dirty blond hair fanned out around his pillow as he lay on his back, the glow from his phone screen making his eyes burn as he scrolled. He blinked it away.

Around his room were stacks upon stacks of ugly brown boxes crammed together, all filled with the past fifteen years of his life. He still found it kind of funny, how easily his entire existence fit into a couple of two-cent boxes, his reach of influence extending about as far as his years-old comic book collection that was steadily growing a layer of dust thick enough to constitute its own box (nevertheless, when his mother had brought up the possibility that they might have to toss them to save space, he'd vehemently sorted through his boxes and stacked and restacked until each and every copy of mint-condition or limited-edition page-turners fit safely and securely.)

But that was beside the point. He had bigger things to focus on right now.

"The latest update on the Parker-Stark situation brings us this feed from Richard Parker three days ago,"

The phone screen switched from the brunette reporter to a recorded video of billionaire Richard Parker caught outside his company building, looking a little too pleased to have cameras in his face.

"I'm MORE than confident in Mr. Stark's abilities to watch out for my son. Or else I wouldn't have agreed to let him stay there over the summer. Besides, I'm sure Peter would much rather stay at Stark Tower than follow me around board meetings all summer. And Mr. Stark agreed. Like I've said before, nothing matters more to me than my son and his safety. It's just that now, I'm not the only one looking out for him. And I must extend my heartfelt gratitude to Mr. Stark for his part to play in all of this."

"This comes after the man's recent tweets revealing he would be leaving his son in the care of Stark Enterprises' Tony Stark for the upcoming summer months. Following the release of this video, Mr. Stark's official Twitter account had this to say,"

The screen switched again, this time to a capture of an opened Twitter page.

"Peter's extended stay here at Stark Tower comes with the addition of helping me and my team with the foundations of the new internship program we're running, seeing as he IS the only participant at the time. Besides, he's WAY cooler to hang with than Daddy Warbucks. And yes, you can quote me on that."

"After the rare conference coordinated by their competing companies, both Richard Parker and Tony Stark seem to have reached a middle ground in the form of one Peter Parker. Only time will tell if it lasts. This is Susan Wells reporting to you live from New York City."

The video stopped, bringing him back to the Twitter page he'd found it on. He didn't bother scrolling through the comments underneath, instead lingering on the thumbnail image they'd selected for the video itself: a still from the conference a few weeks ago, showing both Tony Stark and Peter Parker standing shoulder to shoulder against the crowds.

The teen stared back at the image, letting his eyes burn as the light from his phone irritated them further.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, burning deep in his chest, he felt something. Something bubbling in his gut. And for a moment of very brief self-contemplation, he wondered if it was jealousy.

Jealousy at the images before him, jealousy at the way Tony Stark was standing next to this mystery kid with a notable air of protectiveness, leaning closer with the intent to shield the teen from the cameras snapping at them like angry dogs. Jealousy that it wasn't him up there with the billionaire.

But that moment quickly passed - as his rare thoughts on self-reflection usually did - with a roll of the eyes and a laid-back air of I-can't-be-bothered-to-be-upset. And the feeling revealed itself to be something quite different.

Amusement. Pure and simple.

He couldn't help but crack a smile, mischievous grin working its way onto his lips as he chuckled out a disbelieving laugh.

"Tony, what the hell are you doing, man?"

Jealous? Of this kid? If anything, he was ready to send some condolences.

There was something vastly different about him and the wide array of commenters below the post cracking jokes and swapping conspiracy theories that Tony Stark and Richard Parker were secret lovers and this kid was their adoptive son or something.

He knew better.

He knew Tony.

And if he knew anything about Tony, it was that he was no doubt in way over his head. This Parker kid truly had no idea the shitshow he was in for, and personally, he was very excited to see everything play out, if only for his own amusement. (And perhaps to satiate his own curiosities as to why Tony 'Emotional Maturity of a Grapefruit' Stark was suddenly taking in a mystery kid with seemingly no hang-ups or protests.)

There was definitely a story here. And damn if he wasn't a nosy little bastard.

Someone's gotta warn this kid that that idiot has no idea what he's doing, he thought to himself, slowly shaking his head with a smirk.

He sat up in bed, refreshing the page once just to make sure he hadn't missed anything. He flipped his head, strands of long blond hair draping down over his eyes.

"Alright, Peter Parker. You have my attention..." He scanned the page and let his eyes drop down to the Heart icon below the post. The feelings in his chest started to morph into something new, an excitement that left his fingers tingling and his face unable to stop smiling. "Let's see what you do with it."

 

Harley Keener liked this post.

 


 

Saturday - June 4, 2016

Springfield, Massachusetts

06:22 PM

The roads were fairly quiet for a Saturday afternoon.

The car sped along with relative ease, unencumbered by the few passing cars drifting by them. The engine hummed softly underneath Richard's feet as they sat in silence watching the borders of lush trees and forestry lining the highways be replaced with the more concrete surroundings of the approaching city.

His fingers tapped against the steering wheel, face drawn and quiet as he gazed out at the roads. Max sat beside him, a pile of various manila folders resting on his lap. He was currently fingering through an open file, face terse and eyes narrowed as he scanned through the pages.

Richard didn't spare him a glance, though he could hear the soft rustling of the papers between the man's muscular hands. He knew Max sometimes struggled with his reading skills, especially when pressured, so he'd left the man to his own devices, allowing relative silence between them. Max always got it eventually, if given enough time.

And they had plenty of time, what with the two-hour mark of their drive quickly approaching.

It wasn't the longest drive he'd ever had to endure what with the added bonus of being directly behind the wheel rather than having himself chauffeured around the city like some modern-day royal. It was good for the cameras, but Richard never made it a secret to those who really knew him just how much he hated being driven around. The lack of control was...unnerving, to say the least.

Which was why, when Max had offered to switch places for the last half of their journey, Richard had turned him down. Other than the fact that he knew his friend needed as much time with the files as possible, the thought of relinquishing control would only make the journey feel that much longer.

Still, it wouldn't be long now.

Richard lifted a hand, absentmindedly scratching at his cheek. Other than the sounds of the road racing by outside the window, all was silent. No radio. No chatter. Nothing but the dull humming of the car and the occasional sound of flipping pages.

At least until Max let out a huff and shut the file in his lap with a resounding snap.

Richard cocked a brow and threw a glance over. Max was resting his head against the back of the seat, face pulled into a tight frown.

"What's wrong?"

Max turned. "Hmm?"

"You huffed."

"No, I didn't."

"Max, you're a man of many talents. But subtlety is not one of them."

Said man merely rolled his eyes but didn't respond right away. Instead, he let his eyes drift back down to the files in his lap, running a finger over the corners. The frown remained on his face.

The sun was finally starting to set behind the trees, elongating the shadows around them against the darkening sky. The clouds soaked in the light, blood-red in color, casting the trees and surrounding forests in darkness backlit by the dimming sun.

Finally,

"I don't think this is a good idea, Rich."

Richard sniffed, rolling his stiffening shoulders. He'd expected the question sometime in their drive.

"Why?"

"I...seriously? You need an explanation?" Max called with nothing short of incredulity in his voice, leaving no doubts as to the fact that he assumed his reasonings were blatant and known already.

"I'd appreciate one. Preferably keep it under ten minutes cause we're coming up on our exit soon."

Max huffed, facing forward in his seat once more. His face was terse, annoyance clear in his expression. "Okay, for starters, I still ain't on board with taking on extra recruitments in the first place. We got plenty of guys, plenty of hands, and plenty of bodies. Voluntary or otherwise."

"For now," Richard sighed. They'd had this conversation before. "You're still not looking at the big picture here, Max. I need my top men with me in Hong Kong. And that means leaving operations in New York without any oversight."

"I can handle New York."

"No. I need you with me. And more importantly, we need someone to keep our little Spider-pest busy so he doesn't have time to snoop into our business. And that means outsourcing."

Max stared at him, seemed to take note of the new underlying annoyance seeping into Richard's tone, for he shifted a bit in his seat and glanced away.

Richard Parker was not a man to get lost in his daydreams. But even he had his moments of weakness. Moments where he'd imagine the feel of a gun in his hands, blood on his face, and a smile stretching across his lips as he blew Spider-Man's tongue out the back of his skull.

Just the thought made his face twitch in perverse glee.

And it wasn't that he didn't have the means. Or the skill. Or the desire. On all fronts, Richard Parker could very well hunt down that pest and strangle him with his own intestines for daring to interfere with his business. More than once had he toyed with the thought. But every time, said thoughts were doused by the waters of reason.

Spider-Man wasn't a nobody. Richard couldn't just make him disappear without people noticing. People who could do something about it. People like Stark.

And while the idea of taking Iron Man out alongside his red-and-blue puppet filled Richard with an even brighter flame of manic euphoria, he was not a fool.

He wasn't ready for that.

They weren't strong enough.

Yet.

Richard heard Max give a sigh, saw from the corner of his eye as the man ran a hand down his face. "Alright…," he said after a moment. "I can maybe accept that. But this?" He picked up the folders again, the edges crumpling in his grip as he shook them. "You gotta be fucking with me, man."

The billionaire said nothing, merely kept his eyes on the road as Max started to flip through the pages again.

"A disgraced university professor. An amputee veteran five years past his prime. Some Russian thug that got busted for capping his brother in the middle of a bank heist. A crewman from the ports that got fired for huffing the chemicals. I mean, Jesus, Rich!" He slapped the folder closed and tossed it onto the dashboard. "Are you kidding me with this?"

There was a car on the side of the road, its hazard lights flickering in Richard's eyes. There was a woman on the hood, phone in hand, a frazzled-looking man pacing back and forth, and a pair of children in the backseat.

For a brief moment, Richard imagined running the man down, splattering him over the windshield to the sounds of his wife and children screaming. Just a turn of the wheel, simple. Barely even a flick of the wrist.

The man spotted them approaching and waved his arms to flag them down.

Richard blinked. The image disappeared. He kept driving.

Max was speaking again.

"You know, Rich…there are plenty of millionaires, politicians, governors. Hell, that Senator in DC is still waiting for a call back from you. " Max glanced down, reaching a hand into his pocket before pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "We have our pick of the best of the best. People are begging us to get on board. So why're you scrapping the bottom of the barrel for this little assignment?"

He popped a cigarette into the corner of his mouth and rummaged in his pockets again, pulling out a rusted lighter. "These people, they… they're nothing, man." His finger flicked against the ignitor. Sparks. His words were muffled as he clenched the cigarette between his teeth. "Losers. Freaks. They're not worth our fucking time. They're the worst of the worst. They're at-"

"Rock bottom?"

Max glanced up from his struggles to light his cigarette, blinking down at the light Richard was now offering him. He stared at the flame for a moment before he leaned forward, brushing the tip of his cigarette against the fire

He leaned back as it caught, Richard closing his lighter with a clink and slipping it back into his pocket.

"Of course they are, Max," he said quietly, finally tearing his eyes away from the road to look at the man. "That's the point."

Max narrowed his eyes, but said nothing, pulling the cigarette from his lips as he slowly blew a line of smoke from his nostrils. Richard turned away to stare back out at the roads. And for a moment, the car was silent, the only noise being the steady hum of the engine underneath them and the quiet crinkling of the burning cigarette paper.

"You know…I still remember that night you called me."

Max went rigid, his hand freezing as it lifted the cigarette to his mouth. Richard could sense the shift in atmosphere, felt the warmth of uncomfortable air filling the car. Max's eyes stayed fixed on the dashboard, jaw tensing as he finally brought the cigarette up to his lips. He didn't look over as Richard continued.

"It was….I think maybe two or three in the morning. Mary was having pregnancy cravings and the only place selling hot dogs that early was the 24-hour convenience store a block from our house. Turns out by the time I get home, soaking wet by the way cause it was pouring outside, she's already asleep."

He lifted a hand, rubbing it against the stubble around his cheek. Smoke billows out of Max's nose. "So, I'm standing there trying to figure out what to do with these two stale, crusty hot dogs cause you know I'm not going to eat them. We were strapped for cash back then but I still had my standards."

The smile that had begun to work onto his face faded. "Then the phone rings."

Max pulls the cigarette from his lips, tapping it against his knee. His posture is stiff.

"Late-night phone calls are never a good thing. And I stand there wondering which family member died before I remember that there are no more left to die. So, who the hell is calling me at three in the morning?"

Richard spares a small glance. Max still isn't looking at him, but his leg is starting to bounce now. It's clear just how uncomfortable he is. The billionaire turns away, returns his gaze back to the road. He can smell smoke brushing up against his nose. He inhales deeply, grateful for the intoxicating cloud of fog and tobacco.

"How long had it been since we'd spoken to each other?"

Max was silent for a moment, dragging another breath of smoke before roughly exhaling a plume. "Ten years? Give or take. Sometime in your junior year at Columbia." His voice is curt. Short.

"Columbia….right."

"Yeah, that preppy little white school. No time for your drug peddling hometown friend, right?"

"Still bitter?"

"Why would I be?"

The blatant anger in his tone is answer enough. And honestly, Richard can't blame him.

There were very few people Richard trusted in this world. His lessons and words to Peter weren't nonsense. He believed them wholeheartedly. Dependence bred nothing but weakness and vulnerability, two traits he'd worked his whole life to rid himself of. And while Richard had plenty of underlings, plenty of workers, plenty of people who would follow his every word, every command, every order without question, he knew better than to truly rely on them.

Except for Max.

Max was different. He wasn't a worker or an underling. He wasn't a mindless drone that Richard could replace within a day.

Max was his last link to a life previous. A life of walking to school with holes in his shoes and backpacks that were nothing more than strings and cloth. Sharing lunches of moldy peanut butter sandwiches and rotten apple slices.

Despite the life of luxury he now lived, Richard Parker still remembered collecting cans along the roads for extra change. More specifically, he remembered competing with his one and only friend to see who could come up with the most money.

Max always won. He was the best at hunting down those damn cans.

Well, there were no cans to hunt for at Columbia. And while this wasn't the only issue, it certainly reflected the stark divide that grew between them once Richard accepted his spot at the university.

A divide spanning a length of ten years, apparently.

For a while, neither of them said anything. They simply let the silence grow and the smoke build, Max occasionally rolling the window down a crack to air out the car. In fact, it wasn't until Richard was pulling into the left lane for their approaching exit that Max finally spoke.

"I needed cash," he said quietly, voice rumbling in his throat. "I owed….geez, I don't even remember how much, but it was a lot. Enough for Vinny Geriski to take my kidney and an eye if I didn't come up with the funds."

Richard pursed his lips. "Geriski…yeah, I remember him. He ran, what? South Manhattan?

"The Bronx."

"Right."

Max cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders a bit as he groaned. "Anyway, I needed a get rich quick job. Figured I'd nab a car, sell it off and maybe come close to the halfway point for the funds I needed. That would probably save my eye. My kidney?" He pinched the cigarette between his fingers. "Eh, who needs two of those anyway?"

They chuckled lowly, Max letting out a deep sigh as he turned to spare a glance out the window, scanning the passing sign as the car pulled off the highway exit.

"I just….didn't expect the car I snagged from the local strip mall to belong to the Commissioner's wife." He clicked his tongue, rolling down the window one last time before flicking the burnt cigarette out. "Yeah, fuck me, right?"

Richard said nothing, merely kept his eyes on the road as the light before them turned red. The car slowly rolled to a stop and finally, he turned to gaze over at Max. He was picking at his fingernails.

"I'm screwed either way. If I get off, Geriski's gonna gut me. If not, I'll spend the next few decades behind bars. So when they gave me the phone and told me to call someone, I…." He lifted his head, dark eyes scouring the roads. "…shit, I had no clue."

Richard stared at him, scanned his face, his scars, his piercings and tattoos. So different from the face he used to collect cans with.

"Why did you call?"

Max glanced over at him. Richard furrowed his brows.

"Like you said, we hadn't spoken in years. And the last time we had, it was basically to tell you that I didn't have time for you anymore."

Max stared at him for a second, their gazes holding steady before the man finally let out a low breath and turned away. "I didn't have anyone else. Even after ten years, you were my only friend. The only number I'd ever bothered to remember." He hesitated for a moment. "Better question…why'd you pick up?" He turned to look at Richard again, eyes gleaming in the light of the dimming sun outside the windshield. "Why'd you come get me?"

Richard took a breath, could still sense the remnants of smoke as they burned down his lungs. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the light flicker to green, saw the change in color reflected against Max's face.

"Like you said…you were my friend."

Max watched him turn back to the road as the car took off again. The steady rumbling of the engine purred underneath them as they drove. Outside, the houses were dilapidated and run-down, the streets bumpy and craggily, filled with potholes.

When Richard spoke again, his voice was different. Harder.

"Our paths had diverged, Max. But that didn't matter. Cause we both ended up in the same place that night."

The man sniffed, fingers drumming against the door. "Rock bottom."

Richard nodded. "Oscorp had just fired me. You were trying not to repeat another jail stunt. College education and bright shiny degrees didn't matter. At the end of the day, we were the same."

Max let out a little huff. "What does this have to do with anything, Rich? Why you bringing this shit up?"

Another red light. The car slowed to a halt and Richard leaned over, grabbing at the file on the dashboard. "We grew up with nothing, Max. No say. No voice. No power." He flipped through the pages as he spoke. "We know what it's like to have none of it. More importantly, we know what it's like to fight for it."

He snapped the folder shut and gave the man a hard stare. "We didn't get here by sitting on our asses and letting nature take its course. We forced this. We did what had to be done. Whatever that meant. Pulling tapes. Bribing witnesses. Scamming judges. It worked for you. That thirty-year sentence was thrown out the window within the week. After that, getting rid of Geriski was child's play. Because we were willing to do what had to be done."

Max watched him quietly, watched as Richard finally took a breath and faced forward once more. The man carefully wrapped his hands around the steering wheel, flexing his fingers against the rim. His voice was quiet. Cold.

"Power doesn't come from being born in the right place or time. Not true power, at least."

His eyes seemed to gleam, burning with a hellish glow.

"Power comes to those who are willing to do anything to achieve it."

He grabbed for the file again, grasping it tightly. "These people….these people at the bottom, the lowest of the low, the dregs of society. They know what it is to have no power. And once they get a taste of it, they will do whatever they must to keep it. They'll steal. They'll kill. They'll serve without question. Because refusal means going back to the lives they had before."

"And they had no lives before," Max sighed in the seat next to him.

The light turned green. The car moved on.

"There are plenty of politicians and businessmen and Senators I can recruit, you're right. But when things get tough, I know they'll turn tail and flee. Because without us, they'll still have their cushy lives and their fortunes and their futures of luxury and wealth. They have a life to protect."

He tossed the folder back onto the dashboard, the profile pages of each of the prospective candidates sliding out.

"These people have no futures. No fortunes. No wealth. They are empty. They are desperate. They have-

"Nothing to lose," Max murmured.

"Exactly."

Richard stared out at the roads, at the darkening sky, and the broken-down neighborhoods around him. And the fire burning under his skin only seemed to grow.

"And there is no greater threat than people with nothing to lose."

 


 

The scent of urine and mold permeated the air, wafting through the streets with the viciousness and strength of a punch to the nose. Richard felt the muscles in his face twitch at the scent, but he simply cleared his throat and swallowed down the disgust he could feel curdling his lips into a sneer.

This street reminded him of home. Or at least, what used to be his home.

The roads under their feet were cracked and riddled with potholes, shards of broken glass, and crumbled scraps of paper littering the stained ground. A handful of overturned shopping carts sat abandoned on the side of the road, some filled with discarded boxes, scraps of clothes, and empty paper bags. And the few cars that were parked along the street were either missing doors, windows, or wheels. Sometimes all three. In fact, the only car that seemed even remotely drivable was the Bentley they'd just finished parking.

Perhaps Max's insistence on staying with the car wasn't quite so ridiculous.

Nevertheless, Richard smoothened out his suit and set his sights on the house they'd parked in front of. It was a ratty little thing, wooden boards splintered and rotting, the porch a mess of stained black flooring and dirt, and a shattered window in front with a plastic tarp duct-taped over it.

The man took a breath, cast one last glance down the street to make sure they were alone, and approached. His feet crunched under the dead, dry grass of what used to be a lawn before he carefully made his way up the steps, cautiously placing his feet on what seemed to be the strongest boards and made his way to the door, rapping his knuckle against the rough surface.

It took a while. Long enough for the average person to assume nobody was home. But Richard knew better. They'd been keeping track of his routine for months now. He was home.

And apparently, he needed a few more knocks to get the message.

After his fourth attempt, Richard finally heard the sound of harsh footsteps thudding against the floor, the door swinging open with a harsh whoosh of air.

Immediately, Richard came face to face with a stout little man in a stained white shirt and faded cardigan that drooped down to his slipper-covered feet. He had a wisp of dark hair and a pinched little face that was covered by a massive pair of thick black glasses.

"Good evening, sir. I-"

"I'm not looking to save my soul today. So thump your bibles elsewhere and get the hell off my property."

The door started to creak shut, only for a hand to jut out, stopping it from closing all the way. Richard leaned closer, palm pressing tightly against the stained wood. "I'm not here for that, sir."

The man in the doorway simply glowered. He smelled strongly of cat litter and tobacco. "Well whatever you're selling, I don't give a shit, so-"

"I merely wanted to have a conversation with you about some employment opportunities I think you'd be interested in."

At that, the man's face pulled into a tighter frown and a harsh laugh fell from his lips. It was nasally and sharp, just like his voice. "I think you got the wrong house, bud."

"I can assure you, I'm exactly where I want to be."

"What do you want, a trophy? I don't care about what you're offering, so-"

"Have you recently fallen on hard times, sir?"

The man stiffened, hesitating for a moment as if to register what had just been said. And once he did, Richard watched his face contort into an even deeper grimace, wrinkles in his cheeks pulling into a snarl. "Listen, asshole. That's none of your fucking business. I don't know what kinda new tactics you door to door salesmen are employing-"

"I'm not-"

"Mormon freak, census taker, girl scout, whatever! I don't want to talk to you so get your ass off my porch before I call the fucking cops and have you dragged off in-"

"They wronged you."

The man paused, jaw freezing mid-tirade. He hesitated for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to keep yelling or hear him out. He tilted his head a bit, leaning further out of his doorway. "I...what?"

"What they did to you. It was wrong."

"I...w-what are you talking about."

"MIT."

The man's body went tense.

"You were head of the nuclear physics department and one of their top researchers when a severe explosion during a radiation experiment sent shrapnel into your eyes and severed your optic nerve. Instead of addressing the blatant safety violations and lack of specialty equipment available, the university pinned the blame on human error and fired you, shunning you from your peers and erasing the generous bonus package you were meant to be granted. You lost your job, your credibility, your home, and your sight, leaving you in a state of squalor and misery where you have nothing but those feelings of fury and betrayal to keep you going, dreaming of the day you can get revenge on the people who wronged you while simultaneously showing the world the genius they spurned."

He glanced down, saw a spider skittering along the floor and promptly squished it with the toe of his shoe.

"Did I leave anything out?"

Silence. A dog was barking somewhere down the street.

The man said nothing, not even as he opened his door fully, standing in the doorway with his robe gently blowing in the uncomfortably warm air. Slowly, he reached up and grabbed at his glasses, pulling them off to reveal pale, glassy eyes. He stared off at nothing, but his face was one of confusion and - Richard smiled - mild intrigue.

"No, that's...t-that's everything..." he mumbled with a hesitant shake in his voice. "So...who the hell are you?"

Richard's smile grew as he straightened out his suit. And had the man been able to see him, he would have offered a hand.

"Your new business partner, Dr. Octavius. And I think you're going to want to hear what I have to offer."

Chapter 32: The Remiss and Missed

Summary:

"Anyway, I brought someone new for you to play with. Hopefully, he's tamer than we ever were."

He stepped to the side, leaving Peter defenseless against the newly sharpened gaze that struck him hard.

"Dr. Torres, meet Spider-Man. AKA Peter Parker, AKA the second most primary-colored vigilante you'll ever treat next to Captain Twinkle Toes and his star-spangled frisbee."

Notes:

I'm not one for shoutouts, but I just have to plug the beta reader for this chapter, Pragya Bahl. She is unequivocally my biggest fan and the absolute sweetest girl I have ever met. These past few months have been difficult and you should all thank her for this chapter's existence cause she keeps me going even on bad days. So, I just wanted to publicly say Thank You Pragya for being such an amazing friend and dedicated support for me. Love you, hun. And can't wait to continue this journey with you!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Thursday - June 9, 2016

Stark Tower - Med-Bay

11:01 AM

Dr. Valentina Torres was an intimidating woman.

At least, that was the initial impression that jumped out at Peter as he dragged his feet behind his mentor, trying his absolute best to disappear into the shadows of the man striding along in front of him.

Tall slender legs stretched up into a petite form no taller than 5'3. But what she lacked in stature she more than made up for in aura. Her sheer posture, stiff and rigid with pressed coat and tall heels, exuded an air of professionalism and stoic solemnity. Her dark brown hair was tied back into a ponytail, not a single hair out of place against her sharp cheekbones, lips pressed into a tight line, and eyes sharp and attentive behind large owl-rimmed glasses. And as she turned to face them, setting down the papers she'd previously been rummaging around, she looked less like a doctor and more like a staff member of the US Senate, camera ready to deliver a rousing take-down.

Peter swallowed and shuffled further into the shadow of his mentor.

Said man didn't seem too perturbed by the woman's aura, simply clapped his hands as he strolled further into the room. "Alright, Doc. Let's get this show on the road."

Torres reached up to reposition the glasses on her face, pushing them up the bridge of her nose. "Tony Stark," she said smoothly, voice strong and level with hints of a Latin accent. "Nice to see you again, and in one piece at that."

"Not for lack of trying, but for the record, it's been at least two hours since I've considered partaking in anything dangerous and/or irresponsibly rash. Making me a little fidgety, to be honest. Might be withdrawal. But if we start talking about me, we'll be here all week. So let's steer the conversation to yourself and ask how you've been."

The woman didn't seem all that bothered by Tony's twist-about manner of speaking, taking it in stride as she gave a simple shrug of the shoulder.

"Can't complain. My work keeps me busy, especially my patients."

"Honduras, right?"

"Mm-hmm." She turned back to the papers she'd been fiddling with, straightening them out against the desk before fastening them to the clipboard under her arm. "Believe it or not, mutant populations have been skyrocketing in the Southern Hemisphere and my clinic seems to be the continental hotspot for half of Latin America." She faced them once more and Peter noticed her tight-bound lips suddenly twitch with the hints of a smirk.

"But it's still more relaxing than the headaches I used to get dealing with you caballos."

Tony fell silent, and Peter craned his neck up to watch the man's face take on a more serious note, albeit with his smile remaining. Perhaps a bit more genuine though, laced with traces of fondness and familiar amity. "Missed you too, Val,"

Torres huffed and Peter noticed her face soften as well, her features rounding at the edges the way one does when reminiscing over long-lost memories. Tony cleared his throat and the moment of old camaraderie passed as quickly as it had appeared. "Anyway, I brought someone new for you to play with. Hopefully, he's tamer than we ever were."

He stepped to the side, leaving Peter defenseless against the newly sharpened gaze that struck him hard.

"Dr. Torres, meet Spider-Man. AKA Peter Parker, AKA the second most primary-colored vigilante you'll ever treat next to Captain Twinkle Toes and his star spangled frisbee."

Peter, immediately feeling wholly exposed, tightened his shoulders and brought his hands together in some ditch attempt to shrink himself down as much as possible. Even so, he noticed a certain shift in the woman's gaze, a ripple in the otherwise calm and collected waters that settled onto her face, a pebble of surprise that made her brows rise and her eyes widen just a tad.

"Spider-Man?" she asked hesitantly, casting her piercing green gaze back over towards Tony, as if she wasn't sure she'd heard him correctly.

"He also responds to Spider-Boy, Spiderling, and the Crime Fighting Arachnid."

Peter didn't roll his eyes as he normally would have in any other circumstance. Instead, he kept his eyes locked dead on the woman before him, gauging her reactions and the slight twitches of her face. Her surprise had well since settled back into quiet neutrality that was terrifyingly unreadable.

And the moment she took a step towards him, his previous restraint finally caved and the teen retreated, backpeddling over towards Mr. Stark as he once again leaned behind the man in a not-so-subtle manner of trying to hide. Mr. Stark only gave him a mild look of surprise before giving a little smirk and patting the kid comfortingly on the back.

Peter didn't look up during the moment of silence that followed. Though he could imagine the looks now being shot between Mr. Stark and the doctor. He felt his cheeks reddening and glued his eyes to his hands. He only lifted his head at the sound of heels clacking again, watching as the doctor took a step back this time. When she spoke, her voice was gentle. Quieter.

"It's nice to meet you, Peter."

Peter bit at his lower lip, giving a little nod before looking away, tucking himself even closer into Mr. Stark's shadow. He knew it was childish, hiding behind the man like a toddler. But in that moment, he couldn't bring himself to care.

"N-nice to meet you, too."

Still, he was nothing if not polite.

Mr. Stark gave the kid a 'one minute' gesture before walking closer towards Torres and pulling her over towards the back wall. He ducked his head as he spoke in a hushed tone. "Listen, in case it's not already painfully obvious, the kid's real nervous about this. I talked to him a little, prepped him a bit, but he's still….apprehensive."

Torres sniffed, casting one last glance over towards Peter. "Am I to assume he's never seen a doctor about his powers?"

"Kid's never even told anyone about them, aside from me, of course." Tony sighed, tilting his head a bit as he shrugged. "He likes his secrets, so Spider-Man's never really been a hot topic in the Sharing Circle, if you know what I mean, so just…go slow, alright?"

Torres stared at him down the brim of her glasses before giving a muted nod, pausing for a moment before cocking a questioning brow. "He doesn't have super hearing, does he?"

"No, I do."

They both turned towards him.

Peter scuffed his shoe nervously on the floor. "Sorry. I, uh…could probably still hear you even if you were a few floors away, so…"

Tony smirked, striding back over to the kid with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Yeah, but it's nice to keep up appearances." He elbowed the kid in the side and Peter couldn't keep the grin off his face as he swatted him away.

Torres merely rolled her eyes and turned towards the files she'd brought in. "Nice to see you haven't changed, Stark."

And Peter, matching the teasing smirk Mr. Stark was aiming his way, couldn't have agreed more.

Despite the current circumstances, the past week had played out in a manner more akin to fantasy than real life. But that was usually the case around Tony Stark. The billionaire had taken his new rules in stride, sticking them up all over the Tower in less than subtle areas. In the rooms, framed on the kitchen walls, scrolling on the screensavers of the lab computers, inside the fridge, on the ceiling. Peter had even found a sticky-note with the list stuck to the underside of the toilet lid.

And maybe it was the carefree, joking manner in which Mr. Stark discussed said rules, even going as far as to air the idea of laser-engraving them into his cutlery (to which Peter had quickly pointed out the ridiculousness of such an idea, ridiculousness that Mr. Stark subsequently said was his right as a 'stupid-rich billionaire-douchebag.'). Maybe it was how different they were from the rules he still had listed in the notebook stashed under his bed. Maybe it was the way Mr. Stark never got defensive whenever Peter asked a question about this rule or that, the billionaire always taking the teen's shyly asked inquiries in stride with a wave of his hand or a shrug. Or maybe it was just the fact that Mr. Stark hadn't changed.

("Things are going to be different now, son.")

His father had changed. When those rules came, his father had changed in every way.

Mr. Stark hadn't. Nothing about him had. He still answered every question with a quick quip and a teasing smirk. He still stopped and listened whenever Peter gave some input or advice for how to program a certain segment of armor. He always turned to Peter first when deciding what to get for dinner, only giving minor suggestions whenever they'd had too many pizza nights in a row and Pepper had griped about "healthy choices and childhood obesity."

Despite everything, Mr. Stark was still just...Mr. Stark.

Despite that week of hell. Despite that screaming match. Despite every bump and crack and pothole they'd encountered in the short stint Peter had spent at the Tower, the ride had smoothened out. The roads were clearing. The air was lifting.

Peter no longer waited five to ten minutes just pacing in his room every morning wondering if his presence was welcome. He didn't wait for someone to make eye-contact at the dinner table before speaking, simply jumping in once a lull entered the conversation. And even if he was still shy about taking food unannounced and without explicit permission, he did grab a bag of chips from the pantry one night (albeit after he'd asked FRIDAY to page Mr. Stark for permission three separate times, to which the man had eventually come downstairs, grabbed an armful of chips and basically just dumped them into Peter's hands before shoving him back to bed.)

It was getting better. They were getting better. And Peter couldn't have been happier.

"So, I'll go ahead and leave you guys to it."

Except for that. Peter definitely could have been happier without that.

Instantly, he whirled around, wide eyes landing on Tony as he pulled out his phone and started to tap away. "You're leaving?" he asked, hating how frightened his voice sounded in that moment. Though, he supposed it matched the tightness he could feel encroaching on his chest.

Mr. Stark didn't seem as bothered by the teen's nerves. For he leaned in a bit and rested his hand on the boy's shoulder. "I have to, bud. Your dad might have given me temporary medical guardianship, but the rules are still pretty strict when it comes to mutant exams." He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "Only you and the doc can be present, even if I already know about your powers."

Peter lifted his gaze over towards the doctor, who was giving him a sympathetic look. "Standard procedure."

He bit at his lower lip, hands fiddling together as he swallowed. "But-"

"Hey."

Mr. Stark brought his other hand up so that they were both holding onto the teen's shoulders tightly. "Deep breath."

Peter hesitated for a moment before sucking in a shaky bout of air, feeling how unsteadily it trickled down his throat. Mr. Stark kept watching him until he'd taken a few more satisfactory breaths. The man nodded. "I might not be able to hear you from 12 miles away, but I'm still just a shout down the hall."

Peter stared up at him, drank in the confidence and stability he found staring back at him in those dark brown eyes.

Before the internship, before the Tower and the days upon days of solid, surefire proof that Tony Stark was not a foreseeable threat to his very livelihood, Peter had never even considered revealing Spider-Man. Not to his friends. Not to his family. And most certainly not to a total stranger.

Spider-Man was just the same as any other secret: a loaded gun. A gun pointed straight at Peter's head. Keeping these secrets, keeping Spider-Man hidden and away from the prying eyes of any who'd like to look underneath the mask kept the gun at bay, kept the fingers away from the trigger and the safety clicked in place.

But each time a secret fell into the hands of another, each time someone else uncovered his identity, another finger fiddled with the trigger. One person could keep a secret. Maybe two. Maybe three. But sooner or later, his secret would pass to the wrong person, someone who couldn't keep their mouth shut, someone with trigger-happy fingers. Sooner or later, the gun would go off. Sooner or later, one person, one finger, one blabbering mouth, would do him in.

Which is exactly what he'd told Mr. Stark the night he'd brought up the idea of Peter seeing a doctor (after the blind panic and repeated assurances from Mr. Stark that he was not, in fact, going crazy, and did remember that Peter's DNA was 'freakier than a resin-coated mosquito bloated with dino juice' as the kid had put it.)

Said week of bliss was how long it had taken Mr. Stark to finally convince him to see a mutant specialist, on the caveat that Tony explain in excruciating detail his past history with her and all the reasons why she was to be trusted with the life-altering, soul crushing information that was Spider-Man. And while being under the previous employ of one Nick Fury and serving as the Avengers' past on-call doctor was an impressive resume, it was safe to say that Peter still had his doubts.

Even safer to say that the idea of discussing Spider-Man with the same level of casual conversation that one uses to talk to their family dentist left him itching with a tingling anxiety.

And said anxiety only skyrocketed with the implication that Mr. Stark would not be around to play mediator, as he'd been led to believe. But he simply flexed his fingers and took one last breath, tried to absorb as much warmth as he could from the man's grip on his shoulders and finally gave a little nod, folding his arms as he glanced away. "Don't go far," he said softly.

Tony chuckled and patted his shoulder, giving him a little wink that Peter couldn't help but smile at.

The man pulled away much too quickly for the teen's liking, turning to face the doctor who had still maintained a comfortable distance. "Take good care of him," he said quietly. Peter was surprised at how serious his voice was.

She nodded. "Of course."

With that, the billionaire gave Peter's shoulder one last comforting pat before he strolled back out through the door. Peter watched him leave, watched the door shut behind him. And try as he might to will the door back open with force of mind alone, it remained shut.

So, with one last deep breath to try and steel his nerves, Peter turned back towards the doctor. Her eyes were on the door too, but once she noticed Peter's gaze, she shook back to attention and gave him another smile.

The teen didn't return the gesture, simply bit at his lower lip and glanced away, rubbing awkwardly at his arm as he resisted the urge to widen the distance between them. Thankfully, Torres didn't make another attempt to approach him, instead gesturing for him to sit on the examination bed positioned near the center of the room.

Peter complied, albeit slowly and with frequent glances at the doctor.

Nothing immediately jumped out as suspicious about Dr. Torres. The energy she was radiating didn't necessarily lend itself to danger and aggression, more an aura of calm, level-headed quiet; a certain expertise and sophistication bleeding through just in the way she carried herself. The analytical gleam of her eyes made Peter squirm, but they weren't necessarily heated.

In fact, as she watched him sit up on the bed, waiting until he'd gotten into a comfortable position, Peter noticed a certain softness to her gaze that hadn't been there during her conversations with Tony. Her smile, while small, didn't seem strained or plastic like Sandra's or O'Hara's. It was hard to really place the expression in her features, but whatever it was reminded him of May and Pepper, gentle and with no signs of malice or deceit.

But gentle features didn't take away from the fact that she was a stranger. And Peter wasn't about to let his guard down.

"Alright, Peter. Why don't we just start small, hmm?" she said as she took a seat on the chair across from him, pulling out her clipboard. Peter's ears twitched as she clicked her pen. "Now, I've seen some footage of Spider-Man in action, so I have a basic idea of your power set. But do you think you could go ahead and give me the run-down on your abilities please?" She tilted her head. "We can go slowly if you'd like."

Peter shifted a bit in his seat, bringing his fingers to fiddle with the hem of his sleeves. "Um…how…h-how should I start?"

"Just start from the beginning."

He swallowed, giving a stiff nod before wetting his lips. To keep his fingers from fidgeting any more, he stuffed his hands into his pockets, skin grazing against the cool metal of the coin Mr. Stark had reminded him to bring along. His fingers brushed the engravings.

"I, uh…well…I first got them when I was…about eight years old."

Scribbles. He blinked a bit as he watched her hastily writing in the margins of her paper, biting back a stutter in his heartbeat. He'd have to be careful with his words if she was listening this closely.

"Did they manifest naturally or was there an outside factor?"

("Spiders? What do you need them for?")

(A new test I'm running, Peter. Spiders are known for their remarkable abilities in the animal kingdom. Seems a waste to horde it all to themselves, wouldn't you say?")

 

. . .

 

("Can't believe…two months and NOTHING! Nothing but a pack of useless insects.")

("You better pick up each and every piece of glass, Peter. And make sure those spiders get rounded up. I don't want to see them in the house, you got it?")

 

. . .

 

("What do you mean he's sick? Where is he?")

 

"They…just appeared naturally," he said with a stiff shrug. "One night I was normal. The next morning I broke the bathroom sink trying to turn the faucet."

Not technically a lie. Max had been pissed about the water spraying out of the broken pipes.

"So, enhanced strength was the first ability you manifested?"

"I think so. I also, uh…I didn't need my glasses anymore. Or my inhaler. So…t-that was weird, I guess. And also hard to explain to the school nurse, which was…weirder, I think?" he hesitated, wincing a bit at how awkward the words sounded coming out of his mouth. He glanced away. "Sorry. I, um…don't really know how to do this."

Torres stopped writing, pen tip hovering over the paper. "It's alright, sweetheart. There's no right way to do this." Her smile was gentle.

"...This still probably counts as the wrong way."

Her smile remained though. "You're doing fine. We'll be over with this in no time." She readjusted her glasses and gave a nod, an obvious motion for him to continue.

Peter let out a steadying breath, despite the way his knee continued to bounce. After a second to gather his thoughts, he pushed on.

For the next twenty minutes, Peter ran through the basics of his powers, the order in which he remembered them appearing; the physical, external changes his body had undergone; the extent to which they'd interfered with his everyday life; even little details like how certain foods that had had no effect on him before the bite now left him nauseous and reeling in disgust. And throughout it all, Dr. Torres was fairly silent, nodding along as he spoke, scribbling a few notes here and there and only ever interrupting to ask a question or two.

And as he spoke, as Torres continued to write note after note with a certain gleam of intrigue in her eyes, Peter found the words slowly flowing with less obstruction, felt his voice growing a new stronger tone. Talking about the logistics of his powers, the science behind his abilities and the extent of his feats, it almost reminded him of decathlon or talking with Mr. Stark in the lab.

Peter wasn't one to ramble unless he had something useful to say, which, according to his family, was usually never. But there was just something about science, something about math, physics, chemistry, things he knew about. Things he was good at. The confidence his voice adopted when explaining the dimensions of a new web shooter model or the chemistry formulas for a new synthetic adhesive he was thinking up - it was almost hard to recognize. When his mind strayed from anything and everything besides the numbers and the formulas, the calculations and the equations, leaving no room for anything else, nothing but the concrete, sure-fire science; the pure, unpolluted musings of millennia of minds and genius cultivating into single logarithms, proven calculations, tested theories.

There was a freedom to be found in the world of science. A safety. Peter craved it.

"And the adhesiveness of my limbs doesn't seem to be affected by weather, either. Rain or snow, it's all the same. Even humidity factors don't have an effect."

"Interesting. And you said you're able to climb to the top of the Empire State Building without the pressure change having any effect either?"

"No, it's all the same. My ears pop sometimes, though."

Torres chuckled. "Wait till you're my age. Just climbing the stairs will get those things ringing."

Peter smiled, watching as she flipped to a new page as her scribblings continued. "Now, how much weight, on average, can you support?"

"Um…I'm not really sure. I've never been able to measure it before, but I did stop a car going around 45 miles per hour from ramming into a bus at an intersection once, so…maybe 5000 pounds?"

"Complete stop?"

"Yeah."

Torres nodded, smirking a bit as she added a new note. "Very impressive, Mr. Parker."

Peter blinked, quickly looking away as a new heat began to bloom around his cheeks. "J-just in that one instance, though. Maybe it was just adrenaline."

"Well, we can do some controlled tests later to get more accurate measurements," she said with a nod, slipping the pen into the side of the clipboard as she stood, setting the pad down on the counter. "But for now, I think I have everything in terms of preliminary reports. So, we can go ahead and move onto the physical exam."

Peter stiffened.

She reached into her lab coat and pulled out a stethoscope, striding over towards the cabinets once more. "These usually take longer with the patients that have extra appendages or prehensile body parts. But seeing as the spider part of your namesake didn't extend to four additional arms, this should be fairly quick," she chuckled, pulling out a pack of medical-grade wipes from the cabinet and wiping down the ear pieces of the stethoscope. She positioned it against her ears and walked over. "So, if you could go ahead and remove your jacket and shirt, please, we can get started."

Peter hesitated for a minute before giving a stiff nod. "R-right," he said softly as he slowly lifted his fingers towards the zipper resting on his chest, skin grazing the cold metal.

("Parker! Where's your uniform? Everyone needs to change into their gym clothes for class, and that includes you!")

His muscles tensed at the voice ringing in his ears, fingers slipping off the zipper for just a second before he quickly repositioned it. He could hear it shaking in his grip, though, the metal sides bumping against the fastened teeth embedded into the fabric. He tensed his jaw and mentally shook himself for his hesitance. Slowly, he pulled the zipper down, listening to the sounds of the teeth unhooking from each other as the jacket slowly opened. The zipper caught on the bottom stopper and he slowly detached the clasp, hands carefully pushing the jacket off his shoulders where it dropped to the bed below him.

("Hey, Penis Parker! Why you changing in a stall? I'm sure I got some loose change rattling around if you wanna show those tits off for us!")

His hands stilled, felt a new bareness to his skin despite the fact that his arms were still covered by the two long-sleeve shirts he had on. Still, something about shedding layers made an uncomfortable itch prickle underneath the fabric, a tingling heat that made his fingers twitch.

He swallowed, biting down on his lip as he stared at the bottom hem of his shirt. The tips of his fingers brushed against it.

"M-maybe...just the jacket?" he whispered, sparing a careful glance up at the doctor.

His words startled her, her attention having been preoccupied by the charts she was filling out on her clipboard. She seemed confused when she noticed he hadn't yet finished undressing, pausing for a moment before tilting her head.

"Your shirt's going to get in the way too, honey."

("Come on, Peter it'll be fun! The whole class is going to this party and I even have a new swimsuit I can use! We could use a little sun anyway.")

"C-course." He ducked his head and latched his fingers onto the bottom of his shirt. "Sorry..."

Torres didn't go back to the charts in hand, though. Instead, Peter could feel her eyes lingering on him, the added weight making his movements even tighter.

"It's...it's alright," she murmured with a blatant uncertainty in her voice. "Are you okay?"

"Mm-hmm."

He nodded his head stiffly, neck aching at how jarring a movement it was. He forced down a breath, forced down another when the added air only made his head swim. His fingers were curling, nails digging into the cotton of his shirt. He wasn't moving. Why wasn't he moving? Why wouldn't his hands work? He just had to take it off. Take it off and toss it to the floor so she could see...

So she could see-

("Hit him again.")

Peter scrambled off the bed.

"A-are you sure we need to do a physical exam?" He asked suddenly, Torres rearing back in surprise at how fast Peter had gotten to his feet.

"I mean, I can just tell you whatever you want to know and anything I don't know probably isn't even important anyway," he said with a smile, hastily shoving his jacket back over his arms, hands shaking as they slid through.

"Peter-"

"Like you said, my mutation didn't evolve into outward physical appendages, which I guess is a blessing cause it would be really hard to hide my powers if I had fangs or something but my point being that externally, I'm just the same as anybody else. So I really don't see the point in having an exam." He turned. "It would probably just be a big waste of your time which would make me feel horrible cause Mr. Stark told me how important you are and how busy your schedule usually is so the thought of filling it with useless procedures is stupid, right? Isn't it stupid? I think it is."

"Hon-" She took a step forward. Peter stumbled back, smile tightening.

"We can just go ahead and do the other tests you wanted, right? T-the strength...you said something about a strength test? We can just do that." He turned, eyes darting towards the door. "Or maybe you wanted to test my hearing. Like I said before, I can hear voices coming through the floor so maybe we can try going to different rooms to see how far away I have to be before I can't hear you anymore. It'll probably have to be pretty distant so I can go ahead and look for a place that's nice and f-"

(burn)

His body spasmed, throat letting loose an animalistic screech of dread somewhere between a cry and a choke as he flung himself against the wall, elbow smashing into the glass cabinet hanging on the wall.

(burning-)

(burning-)

(breathe-)

Silence.

He swallowed, forced down the sudden urge to vomit as his shoulder burned. Burned with the remnants of her fingers, her skin, her mere presence touching him.

Peter didn't move. Didn't face her. Didn't react to the glass now littering the floor around him. Didn't even flinch at the fine glassy dust powdered over his sleeve. He simply breathed. Breathed and listened and tried to get body to stop shivering.

(Burning)

(No burning)

(Nothing)

(It was nothing)

(Breathe.)

Torres was silent.

"Sorry..." he finally said after a full minute of silence had passed. He did not turn to look at her.

Torres let loose a small breath, the faint shiver of composure slipping slightly as he heard her swallow. "It's alright," she said slowly. "I shouldn't have touched you. I'm sorry."

Peter sniffed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand as he took a moment to try and salvage the last ounce of calm he'd stored away and grasping at it tightly. He swallowed, letting out a little sigh afterwards, dismissing the brief notion of attempting to salvage the last few minutes to continue on with the exam. Instead, he spared a glance over at the door, eyes lingering as he finally spoke, voice quiet and calm.

"I don't want this. I don't...want a doctor."

He glanced over. Aside from a few questioning blinks, Torres didn't give much of a reaction, merely tilted her chin in silence as she narrowed her eyes.

Peter lifted a hand and began to brush the glass dust from his sleeve, if only to give himself something to do as he spoke, a feat that seemed much easier when he wasn't meeting the woman's gaze. "I don't mean to offend you, ma'am. That's not what this is because you seem like a really great doctor and you've been super nice to me and everything. You're not the issue here, I swear. I don't want you to think that you are. It's just..."

Peter paused, pursing his lips slightly as he breathed. "I don't need this. I do fine on my own. I've never needed a doctor before and I don't need one now."

Words that hadn't worked on Mr. Stark. Maybe they'd work on her.

He waited a moment before sneaking another glance. Torres stared at him in silence, piercing eyes boring straight through him, their bright intensity making the teen fidget. She let out a steady exhale, pursing her lips a bit as she gave a nod.

"Okay."

Peter blinked, watching as she turned and began to make her way over to the counters, removing the stethoscope from around her neck as she did so. He held his breath, waiting for her to reveal her joke, her annoyance, her frustration and indignation at his words. Waited for her to demand FRIDAY call in Mr. Stark to set him straight. But she just went about coiling the stethoscope around her hand, replacing it back in the cabinet where she'd acquired it. "Well, it was nice to meet you, Peter."

Wait.

"I...what?"

She turned. "Hmm?"

"You're...not upset with me?"

"Of course not." She shut the cabinet and reached over to her clipboard, detaching the files as she spoke. "The choice whether or not to see a doctor is just that: a choice. Your choice. If you say you don't need me, then I won't force it." She glanced up from the papers and raised a brow. "No offense, but with the caseload I deal with, I don't really need to go chasing after patients."

Peter opened his mouth, but found he didn't know what to say now that his previous arguments had no reason to be voiced. Was it really going to be that easy? After all of that? After the sheer strict aura of no-nonsense control she'd given when they'd met, she was really going to just let him walk out, no questions asked? No hesitations? Nothing?

Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, stupid. Cut and run before she changes her mind.

"O-okay. Um..." he swallowed, resisting the urge to rub his hand against the back of his neck. "T-thank you for understanding, I guess..."

"Mm-hmm."

She didn't even glance up at him, simply kept rearranging the papers she'd previously been writing on. Peter watched her for a moment longer, eyes narrowed in slight confusion as he tried and failed to get a proper read on the woman in front of him who was showing no signs of emotion for him to pick up on. Nothing. Not even a twitch of frustration. This was the woman Mr. Stark had told him about? The same woman who apparently had no troubles going toe-to-toe with the Avengers whenever they tried to refuse treatment only to get the full force of her spitfire insistence?

( Something's wrong. )

( Leave. )

( Now. )

"I'll just go...tell Mr. Stark."

He started for the door, the sleek metal sliding open with a whoosh as he felt his muscles tensing, the hairs on the back of his neck-

"If I may ask though-"

-starting to stand on end.

He hesitated, focused on capping the sudden surge of warning before turning back to glance at the woman. She was still busy scanning the pages in her hands, making little notes on some while discarding others. "You seem like a smart boy, Peter. Which is no doubt why you've been able to handle your little vigilante career with minimal injury up to this point. But do you have any plans in place for emergency situations?"

He stared, casting one last glance at the door before stepping further back into the room. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, what happens if you find yourself in a situation where you can't handle yourself?" She was scribbling something, her hand moving with lightning speed. "You seem to make it a habit of swinging into gunfire. The possibility of life-threatening injuries is substantially higher for a kid like you."

Peter shuffled a bit, shifting his weight between his feet as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I...can take care of myself," he said in a voice that sounded much more convincing in his head.

"And if you can't?"

He looked up sharply. The prickling intensified.

Torres set her pen down and finally lifted her head, owl-rimmed glasses only adding to the strength of her stare. "Do you have a plan?"

Peter took a breath, felt his fingers twitching against the coin in his pocket as he took note of the tone in her voice, the same 'I'm an adult and I know better' tone he'd come to know and hate. She didn't necessarily give off an aura of contempt, but the undertones in her voice still made Peter's shoulders stiffen.

"I...yeah. Mr. Stark is..." He turned away, jaw tensing as he felt a new hesitance to speak. "...I have him. It's...okay."

He heard the woman exhale once more and watched as she readjusted her glasses. "Stark is a brilliant engineer, not a trained medical professional. Something tells me he wouldn't be as much help as you might think."

"Don't say that," Peter bristled, suddenly angry. "Mr. Stark is...he helps a lot. He helps me a lot. Don't say he doesn't, okay? Don't say that."

To her credit, Torres did give an apologetic nod of her head. "I'm sure he does help, Peter. But in a medical emergency, he wouldn't be able to provide the help you might need."

Peter took a breath, blew out the irrational bout of heat that had suddenly accumulated in his chest at her words of derision. He didn't stop to think about why said heat had arisen so suddenly in the first place and merely gave a little shake of his head. There was no point in dragging this conversation out any longer, and if ending said talk would put a stop to the prickling against his neck, he'd gladly walk out. "I'll be fine, ma'am," he said softly, hesitating for a moment before cautiously meeting her gaze. He tried giving a reassuring smile, but knowing him, it probably just came out wobbly and crooked.

A for effort, though.

"Thank you for your time. And your concern."

With that, Peter turned and began to make for the door again. What would Mr. Stark say about him cutting their meeting short? Hopefully the man wouldn't be too disappointed.

"Of course. I just wouldn't want to see you collect any more."

"Any more what?"

"Scars."

The blast of cold air that hit his face and the blood that drained from his cheeks suddenly made his body freeze over. He felt his mouth go dry, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth as his jaw tensed so hard he could feel his teeth creaking. He couldn't hear any movement, couldn't hear Torres shuffling papers anymore. Just silence. And their heartbeats, off-rhythm and disjointed.

The prickling was painful now.

He turned, body stiff. "I...I never said I had-"

"You didn't have to."

Torres pulled open one of the cabinet drawers, taking out an empty manila folder as she spoke. "You see, in my...quaint little home village, you can't throw a stone without hitting someone's scars. 'Trophies' as they like to call them. Mostly the gringos drowning in their tequila and machismo, thinking their stupidity makes them look tough."

She set the papers from before in the file and set it aside before turning. She didn't seem at all affected by the way Peter stood stiff near the back wall, eyes wide and face set into a perpetual look of suspicion and unease.

"Glass houses, though. Cause I got a few of my own."

With that, she took off her glasses and set them down on the counter before taking a seat on the nearby chair once more. She reached for her sleeve, Peter's breath cold and biting against the sides of his throat as he watched her push up the fabric to reveal the crook of her elbow. Along her caramel skin sat a grouping of pale pink spots, like needle marks.

"I had a patient. A ten-year-old girl. Whenever she'd get nervous, these huge five or six inch spikes would come out of her skin like barbed wire." She reached up and traced her fingers against the marks. "I was drawing blood when a bunch of spikes popped out of her arm and stuck me like a pack of meat skewers."

She lifted her hand towards her head, curling her fingertips underneath a section of hair resting against her hairline and brushing it aside to reveal a discolored section of her scalp. "This one? One of my patients was worried I was going to rat them out to the police for their powers. Sent a fire ball right at my head before I could explain that the police would be the least of his worries should he burn down my clinic, which just so happened to border a meth lab at the time, housing some unsavory characters that would most definitely be out for blood should their supply go up in flames."

Again, she moved her hand, this time to the collar of her blouse. She pulled the fabric away from her shoulder, revealing a faded patch of burns that had left the skin pinker and pale. "This? A runaway sixteen year old that cried tears of acid. That didn't stop me from letting her cry into my shoulder despite the third degree burns I'd later have to be treated for." This time, she broke out into a full grin as she laughed. "And when she found out about my injuries, she felt so guilty that she just cried even more and burned through all the tissues we gave her. And part of the flooring."

Peter didn't laugh. He didn't say anything. Not even as she quieted and her face grew a bit more pensive, a bit more reserved. When she spoke next, her voice was softer. Slower.

She reached for her other sleeve and pulled it up, revealing a group of crochet bracelets of varying colors and levels of quality, like some were professionally made while others looked more like elementary school crafts. She seemed to hesitate for a moment before carefully removing them, her movements delicate and precise. She turned over her wrist once it was uncovered, revealing-

"And these? Well...these aren't too special. See them all around the village." She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Let's just say my community liked to push the idea of alcohol and cigarettes onto single mothers who had very little self-restraint and too much distance between them and the ash tray, you know?"

Peter did know.

Curt liked to smoke, too.

Liked putting them out even more.

He didn't say this though, simply watched her flip her wrist back over, hiding the burns from view. Instead, she just stared down at the bracelets now held in her hand, tracing the stitches with her fingers for a moment of silence before her smile returned. "My patients made these for me."

Peter swallowed, eyes narrowing as he glanced away. "Why are you telling me this?" His voice wavered.

Torres stared at him for a moment before she slowly leaned forward, resting her elbows against her legs as she let out a low breath. Her voice was gentle.

"I have them too. They're nothing to be ashamed of."

For a moment, they sat there in the silence, gazes locked. Peter poured over her stare, the details of her face, the slight twitches of movement. There were no outward signs of hostility. No clues of deception and deceit. Merely a film of reservation and hardship lingering underneath her piercing gaze, a layer of strengthened resolve and tenacity that he'd previously thought to be coldness. But it wasn't. It wasn't an apathetic professionalism. It was a carved determination, a cultivated layer of warmth underneath those harsh lines, those rigid features.

A gentleness under the coarse stone. Just like-

("I want you to be happy here.")

Peter forced a deep breath, held her gaze for a moment longer before giving a slow, solemn shake of his head. "I don't trust you," he said in a whisper. "I'm sorry. I just don't."

The woman said nothing for a moment, didn't huff or pout. She just stared at him, long and hard. Finally-

"Do you trust Tony?"

He narrowed his eyes, shoulders instantly tensing. "What?"

"Tony. Do you trust him? Trust in his judgement? Trust that he wouldn't recommend me unless I was the best for the job?" She slowly stood up from her chair. Peter found himself resisting the urge to step back. He held firm. Held her stare as she spoke.

"I don't expect you to trust me, Peter. Most of my patients don't when they first come to me, and I understand that. Really I do." Her lips slowly curled into a warm smile, calming and quiet. "But you don't have to trust me. You just have to trust him. Trust that he made a good choice in bringing you to me. I swear I won't let you regret it."

She held out her hand. Peter noticed the crochet bracelet now being extended to him.

He stared at it, at the felt strings intertwined around a few plastic beads, cheap and homemade. The colors were slightly faded and the string was a bit frayed on some ends. A child's work. A child's gift.

("I made it for her...")

His hands trembled, eyes misting for a brief moment before he blinked it away, the film of water distorting the bracelet for a second, a millisecond, a fraction of time where those braided strands almost looked like the beaded work of a necklace long lost at the bottom of the Hudson.

Slowly, he lifted his hand, fingers quivering ever so slightly as they brushed up against the rugged fabric. Torres carefully removed her own fingers from the bracelet and let it slip into his palm. He pulled it back and held it close to his chest, staring down at the ragged little thing.

("It's not just you anymore, Pete. It's Pepper and Rhodey and Happy. It's your friends and May and...anyone and everyone you can count on now, even if it's not a lot of them. And that includes me. Cause like it or not, I'm here to stay.")

Peter set his jaw, curling his fist around the bracelet as he lifted his head and took a deep breath.

"Please don't prove him wrong."

 


 

Thursday - June 9, 2016

Stark Tower - Med-Bay Waiting Room

12:48 PM

"And another thing! You're the one who made their suits and gear. Rogers and his cronies wouldn't even be able to do half of the illegal bullcrap they're pulling had it not been for your work, as if your obligation to step in wasn't already high enough."

"Uh-huh."

"Our teams are being stretched to their limits. Do you know how many calls we get from civilians claiming Steve Rogers shops at their grocery store? Who do you think has to check these claims out? Meanwhile, you're hoarding away top of the line satellite tracking technology that could probably find them in a blip while we're out here chasing our tails!"

"Yeah, for sure."

"And now we have even bigger problems. The council won't ratify any more additions to the Accords while this case is still open. Right now, they're making your rogue teammates their top priority, which means that until they're caught, everything's on standstill. Do you know how many issues this is creating?! First of all-"

Tony licked his thumb and pinched the corner of the magazine before flipping the page.

"Hey, Ross. Did you know they're adding a new exhibit to the Museum of Modern Art? This new guy's supposed to be hot stuff. You wanna go see it together?"

"-putting out fires left and right while you waste time tinkering with your toys! I've had no less than fifteen meetings with the Department of Damage Control these past ten days ALONE!"

"Maybe next week then."

Tony bounced his knee, the magazine he'd been flipping through for the last hour or so resting comfortably in his lap. Ross's voice filled the waiting room, the StarkPhone he was being broadcast from almost bouncing in anger from how loudly the man was shouting, clattering noisily against the chair Tony had set it on.

He paid it no mind, though. Not even as he lifted his gaze from the magazine and cast a glance down the hallway towards the still-closed door not too far off. And if his eyes lingered on the doorway for just a few seconds too long, well, he couldn't be faulted for that. Even Ross's dulcet sounds grew old eventually and Tony was starting to get fidgety. Not fidgety enough to start getting worried, mind you, because he knew everything was going fine. He'd said as much to his protégé not even two hours ago...

One last peek.

Still nothing.

He sighed and turned back to the magazine in hand, flipping to the next page. Somehow, the article on which celebrities were cheating on who wasn't enough to hold his attention.

Tony would be lying if he were to say that Peter's doubts on seeing a doctor hadn't also been mirrored in him. The idea hadn't even occurred to him until a few days after Peter had arrived at the Tower and Tony was hit with the frighteningly sobering thought that he had no idea if Peter was allergic to any of the foods he'd bought, which had then led to the frantic line of thinking: 'Do mutants have allergies' and 'Can he even GET sick with his powers?' and finally, 'Is there ANYTHING I know about this kid's medical info other than Spider equals WEIRD?!'

Calling Richard wasn't an option. Scheduling a normal doctor's appointment wasn't one either. Which had left Tony...where? Option number three? Walking on eggshells for the next two months hoping no emergencies came up and Peter never had to have medical attention that would ultimately be vastly unprepared seeing as how nobody knew his medical information?

Considering the teen made it a habit of spending his nights around trigger-happy hooligans, option number three was a nix as well.

Which had eventually led Tony to option number four: a mutant specialist. Someone who worked with people and kids like Peter on the daily and knew that discretion was key, would know how to work with his freaky adaptations and get all the info he needed in case one of those wackjobs on the streets of Queens ever decided to use the kid for target practice (a thought he tried desperately to hide away in the back of his mind lest he have a full-blown panic attack at the idea of people actually trying to hurt Peter).

And when it came to mutant specialists, there was only one number Tony had on speed-dial.

Valentina Torres was recruited by Fury not long after the Avengers themselves, the man insisting that with how stupid and reckless his team of super-powered freaks usually were, it was important to have someone to stitch them back together whenever they blew each other up. Which is how they'd found themselves under the guide of Torres, a no-nonsense woman that had no trouble treating high-profile people like Steve Rogers and Tony Stark. The man could remember when they'd first met, the woman merely giving him a brisk nod before threatening him with a slap to the face should he ever get fresh with her (a remark that had instantly filled the man with an air of respect for her and, just slightly, a hint of arousal).

Of course, after SHIELD's fall, Torres had taken a leave of absence to return to Honduras now that she wasn't under Fury's thumb, leaving the Avengers under the hand of Helen Cho, who had apparently been a coworker of Torres's back in the day.

Tony hadn't thought much of it at the time. People came and left without a second thought from him. But now, he found himself immensely grateful that he'd kept Torres's number in his phone, and even more grateful that the woman had actually picked up.

She'd been skeptical when she'd first answered, declaring that her work was too important to be messing around with Avengers anymore. However, once Tony had brought up that this particular case involved a kid, she'd immediately piped down on her gripes. Tony might not have been close with her back in the day, but he'd figured out enough to know that child mutants were her soft-spot. Add in the fact that said child was Spider-Man, and she'd hung up after stating that she'd be on the next flight over.

He'd have to remember to increase the yearly donation he made to her charity organization in Honduras.

The thought had just finished crossing his mind when the door across the hall slid open and out stepped Torres. She turned back towards the door, smiling at something just out of sight. And from beside her stepped Peter, following in her trail as she stepped out into the hall.

Tony was instantly on his feet, dropping the magazine onto his chair before leaning towards the phone just a tad.

"Hey, Ross. I'll be right back. Hold down the fort for me, 'kay?"

"-going crazy with people blowing up store fronts and filling the streets with wild animals and stray refugees! That's the next step! The next point we're heading for!"

"Cool, thanks."

He strolled over, meeting the pair halfway as he sidestepped the woman and instantly zeroed in on the kid, resting his hands on his shoulders as he scanned him over.

"Hey! How was it? Are you alright?" He asked just a bit too overzealously, swallowing back a wince of embarrassment at the very not-Tony-Stark display of nerves. He could cry about his shattered ego later. Right now, he was too busy scanning his eyes back and forth over the kid, checking to make sure everything was still in place and the kid was in one, whole, solid piece.

Peter didn't seem to mind the man's ridiculous meddling as he shrugged and absentmindedly started to fiddle with the edges of his sleeves. "Yeah. It...it was fine," he murmured with a passing glance over at Torres. "I-I'm okay. Really."

And Tony would never admit it because his steadily crumbling image of flippant arrogance and grade-A douchebaggery that he'd spent years building into a fine wine of snobbery was already on the cusp of withering away whenever he so much as entered the same room as this goddamn kid, but the smile Peter sent his way made his chest ache with a warmth he couldn't put into words.

Nor would he ever.

He had a reputation to maintain, goddamn it.

Thankfully, before his resolve could crumble under the weight of his own bullshit, Torres stepped forward, effectively taking control of the conversation as she faced the man. "I have to say, Peter here was a model patient. My clients could take example from him. And I'm not just saying that because he didn't throw anything at my head."

She turned her attention away from the billionaire and quickly zeroed in on the boy. She seemed to hesitate for a moment before bending her knees slightly so that her eyeline matched that of the kid in front of her. "It was a pleasure to work with you, honey," she said softly, her usually sharp, powerful voice dwindling into a soft hum of noise.

Peter's nervous little smile remained, accompanied by a stronger tug on the hem of his sleeve. "Y-you too."

"So, if it's alright with you, I would very much love to become your physician. We could see each other whenever you wanted, if you're feeling sick, or maybe if you need another check-up every once in a while just to make sure everything's still ticking properly." She tilted her head, ponytail swishing around her neck. "Do you think that's something we can work out?"

Tony shifted uncomfortably at the question. He'd planned on bringing it up later when he and Peter were alone, banking on the comfort of familiar privacy swaying the kid to agree. If Peter was feeling any sort of lingering nerves from before, then the teeming anxiety might bribe him into agreeing just for the sake of trying to appease everyone, regardless of his own insecurities.

So when the kid's eyes lifted and met his gaze, Tony couldn't do much other than give a silent gesture that he hoped conveyed just how much the decision was Peter's and Peter's alone. The kid needed a doctor, that much was obvious. But it would be a doctor Peter agreed to on his own terms.

The kid at least deserved that, right?

However, once Peter's eyes drifted away from Tony's encouraging gaze, he watched the teen turn towards Torres and give her a small smile. It wasn't a placating plastered-on grin that Tony had seen before whenever the kid interacted with people he was more or less forced to be around. It was genuine, reminding him of the smiles the kid used to give him back when they'd first met. Apprehensive and nervous, but real. Hopeful.

"Yeah. I...I think I'd like that," he said softly, flicking his eyes back towards Tony one last time before again meeting Torres.

Tony heard her give a soft hum of joy, rising back up as she smiled. "Maravillosa." She took a moment to lean forward, cupping a hand to her mouth as she angled towards the kid. "That means wonderful," she whispered with a teasing glint in her normally professional eyes.

Peter leaned forward a bit as well and mirrored the cupped hand to his own mouth. "I know," he whispered back. "I'm in Spanish II."

Torres's smile grew, as did Peter's. The kid took that moment to lift his hand and Tony finally noticed for the first time that Peter was holding something: a crudely-made crochet bracelet that he was now extending out to Torres. The woman stared down at it for a moment before letting out a little amused hum. She shook her head. "Keep it. Consider it my thanks for giving me a chance."

Peter blinked at her, obviously surprised at her answer. But he didn't argue, simply ducked his head and gave a shy little nod before tucking his hand away, bracelet clutched tightly. Tony decided not to ask.

The teen took that moment to sneak his way back over towards the billionaire. Torres's eyes followed him before drifting up and landing on Tony. And the knowing glint of seriousness he saw reflecting back at him instantly made him stiffen. They had a lot to talk about, he was sure. And the sudden dread he felt squirming around in his stomach only made him tighten his grip on the kid's shoulder.

"Right. Listen, bud." He spun the teen to face him. "I'm gonna chat with the doc about some stuff for a sec, kay?"

Peter stared up at him for a moment, big brown eyes scouring over the man's face before he cocked his head to the side. "What kind of stuff?" he asked lightly, though Tony knew him well enough to see the hints of apprehension in his gaze, not to mention how stiff his shoulder suddenly got underneath Tony's fingers.

"You know, boring adult shit. Sorting our tax returns, discussing pension plans, arranging new curtain deliveries from Crate and Barrel."

Torres perked. "Ooo, you know what? I need some new decorative salt shakers for my collection."

"Gross," Peter grinned, making a face at the sheer mention of home shopping. Tony smiled as well, but he could see the light of humor quickly fade from the boy's expression, the teen hitting him with a pointed look that said he wasn't distracted that easily and Tony should know better.

And he did.

So with that, the man guided the teen further down the hall, sparing them a few more meters of privacy away from the doctor. "Why don't you wait for me down in the study, huh? I'll be there soon."

Peter, obviously done with the charade, now did little to mask the worry that quickly made itself known on his face. And Tony couldn't say he blamed him.

They both knew what came next.

They both knew the discussion that was coming.

And they both knew how unpleasant it was going to be.

"Just...don't lose your head...okay?" Peter said softly, eyes gleaming with a heaviness that seemed to thicken the very air around them, prickling overtop Tony's skin in a wash of chills. They both remembered. That day in the med-bay, shifting a broken nose back into place, cleaning a bloodied and bruised face. They both remembered the sheer emotion Tony had been unable to control seeing what he saw, the effect it had had on him. Peter was worried. Peter was worried about a repeat performance. Peter was worried about him.

Tony couldn't have that.

So, he cocked his hips and gave the kid an offended look. "I'm Tony Stark. I always lose my head. My specialty is knowing how to screw it back on again, usually after I've blown up a building or two."

The kid paled a bit. Tony quickly continued.

"But I'll practice some restraint. A lesser known specialty of mine."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Why do you think my Mark 1 suit wasn't a diamond-studded flying Lamborghini? Restraint is the only reason I'm not on the cover of TMZ magazine every other week. They'll have to settle for every other month."

There it was. There was that smile again. Peter couldn't keep it off, cheeks dimpling as he grinned and shook his head at the man's antics. Tony could still see a film of hesitance lingering over the boy's eyes, but he could also see the sheer restraint Peter himself was practicing in not saying anything else. The kid was choosing to believe in him. Choosing to believe his words, albeit with an extra fidget to his hands and a new jitteriness to his movements.

Tony would take it.

Progress was progress.

Still, he couldn't resist the urge to lean just a bit closer as he smiled. "It's gonna be okay." And, with an exaggerated motion of checking behind him to make sure the coast was clear (which also successfully garnered another chortle from the boy), Tony raised his hand and extended out his thumb and pinky finger in their usual shaka gesture. Peter's smile widened as he leaned closer as well, looping his own pinkie around the man's and pressing their thumbs and knuckles together into a make-shift fist bump.

Secret handshakes. Were they lame?

Most definitely.

Would he ever leave Peter hanging?

Abso-fucking-lutely not.

So with that, the teen craned his neck a bit to peek out from around Tony, catching the doctor's eye one last time. "Bye, Dr. Torres. It was nice to meet you," he said quietly but with no shortage of that proper politeness he always seemed ready to dish out.

And Torres, no more immune to its effects than anyone else that came into contact with the kid's infectious smile, returned the grin with a little wave. "Nice to meet you too, Peter."

Tony slowly made his way back over towards Torres as they both watched the boy's retreating form. And the moment the elevator doors closed and separated them from the radiant aura of the kid's warming personality, the air around them instantly seemed to drop to frigid temperatures.

"Alright, Stark. Let's get down to business," Torres said as she whipped around immediately, the previous softness of her features now replaced with the familiar rigid jawline and professional gaze he was more accustomed to seeing. She reached up and tightened the knot of her ponytail. "And we have a lot to talk about."

"Fun. But one second."

With that, Torres followed behind him as Tony made his way back over towards the chairs and sofas of the waiting room. There, the tinny voice of a raging Senator could be heard bouncing off the walls, radiating out of the tiny little phone sitting innocently on the chair he'd previously occupied.

"We're talking massive casualties in the thousands! Cities burned! Lives ruined! Inaction is the bane of this country and I won't stand to see you drag it down with your incessant need to wallow in self-destruction!"

Torres cocked a brow and pursed her lips as she watched Tony stride over and pluck up the phone. "Why do you have him on speakerphone?"

"I don't."

He cleared his throat. "Hey Ross? Yeah, all super great points. In fact, why don't we continue this discussion right now?"

"Don't think your flippantness goes unnoticed, Stark! You're not as sly as you like to believe. But I'm tired of your shenanigans, have been since day one. It's time someone held you accountable."

"Oh yeah. Ms. Potts's line is available if you wanna ring her for tips on that. Hey, FRI? Open the windows." He pulled the phone a little ways away as he craned to view the ground floor lot from the slowly opening windows. "We're above the back lot, right? It's usually empty this time of day."

"You've had your fun. Now it's time to get serious and if I have to be looming over your shoulder pushing you to that finish line, then you damn well better get used to the sound of my voice!"

"I'll set it as my ringtone immediately, sir. In fact, why don't you tell me a little more about what you're planning on this Rogues front. Go into long excruciating detail, if you would be so kind."

"I don't appreciate your tone, but I'll gladly start spelling out exactly what your role in this is going to be. First off-!"

Tony sniffed as he casually tossed the still-screaming phone through the window, Ross's voice slowly fading into obscurity as it fall out of sight.

"Ah, lost him. Reception up here is pretty shitty." Without so much as a passing blink, he reached into his jacket and pulled out another phone of strikingly similar appearance. He tapped a few keys before filing it away into his pocket and turning to face the doctor, who had watched the entire scene with nothing more than an impassive glance.

"Lead the way, doc."

 


 

Something Tony had learned about self-restraint over the years - first when he'd donned the suit, later with Steve and Siberia, and most recently with the introduction of Peter and Richard Parker - was that it always seemed most important in the moments when it was sorely unwanted. The rational part of your brain may understand the benefits of keeping a level head, of thinking through the next steps before actually walking forward. But the gnawing in your gut says otherwise, an obsessive need to fulfill the urges within.

Even if you know deep down in your bones that self-control is a must to understand the nuisances and details of an otherwise messy story, the need to satiate those urges, to punish a brutal betrayal, can drive you into the throes of a raw, bloody brawl in the middle of an abandoned winter bunker.

Tony was familiar with this rationale. Was even more familiar with ignoring it for favor of these urges.

And after meeting Peter Parker, he had become even more familiar with the consequences that could follow a lifetime pattern of acting before thinking (consequences that seemed just a bit more substantial - and much more blatant - than the burner phone he'd stored somewhere in the back of his office drawer.)

Tony knew there was a difference in how he handled Peter Parker's life and how he handled his own. When he made said irrational and self-indulgent decisions, more often than not, he was making them with the assumption that any consequences would fall on him and him alone (if even that; money makes for one hell of a magic eraser.) But that was not the case for Peter. He knew the kid was in a delicate situation, a balancing act that Tony could very well throw into free-fall should he make the wrong move, should he act the way he had been for the past couple decades.

Just like with that first press conference after Stane's reveal, just like with Siberia, just like now, his lack of self-restraint always seemed to come back to haunt him, ghosts of a pivotal lack of control on his part. And it had taken a shamefully long time for Tony to realize that his decisions did not just touch his own life, but the lives of those around him as well. Would Rhodey have had to relearn how to walk again if he'd just stuck to the cards in front of those cameras? Would Steve be here to give some sorely needed advice in more words than could fit in a Fed-Ex envelope? Would his friends have better lives if he'd just learned for once to keep his mouth shut?

Tony would never know. Nor would he ever be able to stop wondering about these questions in the middle of the night, sitting alone in a Tower that was once bustling with life.

But it was with these questions in the back of his mind that Tony had called Torres in the first place. Peter Parker's involvement in his life had already strengthened his restraint (case in point, the fact that Richard Parker was still alive and not floating in the Hudson with a five-inch hole in his sternum and a bullet between his eyes), and Tony knew that eventually he'd have to open his eyes and face the full extent of what he was dealing with.

Torres could show him that extent, whether he liked it or not.

And despite the fact that Tony still worried about the tug-of-war game that was constantly dueling in his stomach, a match between the raw emotional urges and his more reasonable ideals, said urges were usually held at bay by one single, solitary thought:

This isn't about me.

It wasn't a particularly complex thought, but it was heavy. Heavy enough to ground him in even his more fiery moments.

And it was with this thought that Tony stupidly assumed he'd be able to handle whatever Torres threw at him.

He was wrong.

 


 

"How much do you know about healing factors?" Torres asked after nearly ten minutes of strict silence had passed between them, the lights from the projected images bathing the biolab in eerie washes of cold blue light.

Tony blinked, the only sign that he'd truly registered her words. He didn't respond. Didn't do much of anything aside from gaze up at the pictures.

Torres didn't concern herself with his silence, pushing on regardless. She strode closer to the center console and gestured up at the various x-rays and close-up shots of Peter's torso, arms and back: images she'd been able to collect during his examination as she'd previously explained to Tony before he'd gone radio silent.

"I counted 18 individual breaks, all of which have left little evidence of their existence save for the faint scar lines you can see here along the bones. These include five separate tibia fractures, three spiral fractures of both the ulna and radius, a snapped clavicle, seven individually cracked ribs, ripped ligatures between the pelvic girdle and femur bones suggesting frequent leg and hip dislocations, and two missing molars in the back of the jaw. Also, various healed burn scars centered around the shoulders and forearms, numerous deep-tissue incisions along the back, chest and arms, and even some minor spinal lacerations, commonly seen in victims of severe head-on collisions. Not as common in eight-year-old children."

"He's fourteen," Tony heard himself mumble, as if it were the only thing his brain was able to process.

But Torres, instead of backtracking, merely turned and fixed him with a hard stare, her glasses catching the light of the projections behind her, dark black frames glinting a harsh bluish-white. "No, Stark." Her voice rumbled, gravely and deep. "He's eight. Or at least, he was eight when he got these injuries. Maybe even younger."

Tony blinked again, felt the air in his lungs warming, burning up against the sides of his throat. He breathed, imagined smoke billowing from his nostrils, twin streams of thick black ash filling the room. He turned his gaze to her. She raised a brow.

"All that time you spent with the super-friends, I figured you'd have picked up something on mutant abilities."

"Spare me the jib and just explain the fucking thing."

She pursed her lips, lifting a hand to push her glasses further up the bridge of her nose. "Contrary to popular belief, healing factors are not a reverse button, Stark. They heal. They do not undo."

"Well, what the hell is the difference?"

Torres took a breath, long and deep, before folding her arms and leaning up against the center console. She almost seemed to hesitate for a moment, taking the tense second of silence between them to consider her words carefully. Though, when she finally did speak, her tone held nothing but cold professional terseness.

"It's called the One-Way Effect. It's a common phenomenon you see in individuals with superb healing abilities. It explains how a healing factor essentially picks and chooses which injuries to heal and which to ignore."

She turned her head, working a few of the keys on the console before a new image appeared, a video this time. It showed Peter sitting on the medical bed, Torres herself sitting in front of him. She pricked his finger, a drop of blood pooling on the surface of his skin, which she quickly collected in a sampler. The video then zoomed, focusing on the wound on his finger, the skin around it literally seeming to ripple and shift as it morphed along the prick and began to grow back overtop the injury, leaving a swathe of clean, unmarked skin with not even so much as a scab.

"Healing factors are essentially a biological vacuum cleaner, the metaphorical dust being any injuries a mutant receives. Healing factors recognize said injuries and work to sweep it up, to leave the body clean and untouched." She gestured above her at the now-paused video. "But many mutants aren't born with their powers. They develop over time, usually when they're children. And that stretch of time before their powers emerge is very important. Because before their powers awaken, their healing abilities are the same as yours or mine: slow and methodical. Effective, but time-consuming. Average. And their bodies adapt just like ours, with bruises and scars and scabs. And when their powers emerge, when their healing factors activate, any new injuries they get will heal overnight, sometimes within the hour, or even the minute as you just saw. But those old injuries? They remain."

Again, the paused video zoomed, this time focusing in on the palm of Peter's hand. And while his finger now showed a patch of unmarked skin, Tony noticed a faint discoloration near the base of his palm: burn scars, old and faded. Scars that had not been healed.

Torres shifted against the console, fingers tensing against her arms. "Healing factors cannot work in reserve. They cannot heal injuries that were already present before his powers ever emerged. Only those that came after. It's only a one-way direction. And Peter said his powers first developed when he was eight, correct?"

Tony didn't nod. Didn't need to.

"Which means...this is what his body looked like when he was eight years old. This is the state he was in by the time his powers first emerged," Torres said with a glance over her shoulder at the images still staining the air. "His powers didn't heal these wounds. They never will. But that also means any injuries he got after his powers emerged-"

"...are missing." Tony's mouth was ash-dry now, desert sand coating his tongue.

"There's about six years of injuries that are unaccounted for here, hidden behind his healing factor."

Tony sucked on the inside of his cheek, teeth gnawing on the gums as he took a small step forward, eyes darting back and forth across the numerous projections, the countless details that had been photographed and blown up to dizzying proportions.

Pictures of a bare torso so small it seemed like a skeleton of twigs and branches had been wrapped in rice paper, each bump and groove of a breathing ribcage sticking out like gouges in the earth, including chicken-scratch marks littered across the surface, too numerous to count.

A pale back with sickly visible spinal column and protruding scapula wings, complete with a host of deeper claw-like scars stretching from one shoulder down to the hip, disturbingly similar to recognizable whip marks.

Forearm shots revealing skin so translucent that each vein could be counted one by one were it not for the thick, raised portions of burned patchy skin that stretched from wrist to bicep, including dotted cigarette burns freckled across the stretch.

Fingernails chewed to the nub, callouses on the palms, burns on the heels of feet, even a few missing teeth near the back of the jaw, replaced with fillings and caps.

"But, believe it or not, this doesn't seem to be the worst part."

Tony swallowed, air and saliva mingling into a harsh choking noise as he let out a wet scoff, thick and uneasy. "Are we looking at the same things here? How in holy hell can this not be the worst of it?"

Torres strode past him, grabbing at the clipboard she'd previously set aside when they'd entered. "Healing factors have their limits, and in this case, I'd say they reached those limits years ago." Her fingers flicked past the pages, lifting up some while skipping others altogether. She stopped on one particular paper.

"Peter weighs exactly 74 pounds and stands at only 5 feet. Not only does that put him nearly 50 pounds below the average but also four inches shorter than a boy his age should be reaching. So, not only is he incredibly small for his age, but he's also displaying signs of severe malnutrition, the extent of which still remains unclear, but according to these blood results, I could probably hazard a guess."

Turning back towards the console, a new set of projections appeared, this time showing various blood test markers. Torres gestured to them as she spoke. "Prealbumin levels, serum albumin, creatinine, transferrin, RBP, serum cholesterol, growth hormone, leptin, zinc, and Nesfatin-1. All showed seriously low levels, conclusive with prolonged malnutrition and starvation. Now, serum albumin is the best marker for long-term malnutrition given its half-life status. And judging from these levels..." she took a breath, tightening her lips for a moment. "This has been going on for years. Long enough for his body to begin adapting to these deficient levels."

"Adapting...I, adapt- what do you mean adapting?"

"He's still out there fighting crime with glucose levels that would usually knock down a fully-grown adult. He's walking around, talking, going to school, all with these markers indicating that his body is in a constant compromised state. If these calculations are correct, his internal systems have been working on fumes for years now and it's adapted. He's adapted."

Another glance down at the clipboard. Another flip of the papers. "Normally, the body will turn to fat stores to get the energy it's missing. But as obvious by his weight chart, Peter has barely an ounce of fat on him."

"Well, ten minutes ago, you just walked me through how the kid can realistically bench-press a semi-truck without even breaking a sweat. How have his muscles not atrophied by now?"

"You constantly seem to forget, Stark."

Tony furrowed his brows. Torres raised hers.

"Peter is not like you. He's not like me. He is a mutant and as such, his body can handle things you and I can only dream of."

He watched in silence as she again turned back to the console, setting down the clipboard and readying her hands against the keys. "Peter's healing factor is basically on a continuous non-stop stream of replenishing his nutrients and glucose levels. His metabolism is already remarkably fast, which makes his lack of food even more dangerous. However, there have been cases where mutants with a specific strain of healing gene combined with a serious lack of proper sustenance have actually produced a new hormone to counteract the strain on their bodies."

Again, a new projection appeared on the console, what appeared to be the molecular structure of some unknown hormone.

"It's called Ditroglucatrin. It works to suspend the patient's digestive and absorption processes to stretch across periods of no food. Their metabolisms might be fast, but this hormone works to slow the time it takes before the body begins to require more energy by binding to the glucose molecules that enter and increasing the energy outputs that a single molecule can supply. In sum, it allows what little food they do eat to go a longer way, almost enhancing the nutrients they receive to fill the gaps that inevitably follow. It doesn't relieve the hunger pains, but it prevents full body shut down. Of course, it has its limits and it's certainly no replacement for proper sustenance, but it does explain how Peter's body retains a semi-functional internal structure while also displaying dizzying feats of external power."

She sniffed, fingers tapping thoughtfully against the side of her cheek. "Still, there's no doubt that the lack of constant nutrition has interfered with his adolescent growth, hence why he's so small for his age. He simply isn't eating enough."

She finally stopped, finally fell silent, leaving her words and the images behind her to fill the air with a toxic stream of tension and weight. And if she turned her gaze on Tony, perhaps to show her expectations of continued conversation, he didn't notice.

He didn't notice any of it, really, just tightened the grip he had on his wrist, trying to focus on something other than the churning he could feel in his stomach that threatened to make an appearance on the floor of the lab, skin vibrating with a flushing heat of rage and nausea that he tried to swallow down.

He'd prepared.

He'd expected this.

But still...

Not even his imaginings came close to the reality of it all.

He shut his eyes and tried to take a deep breath, tried to fill his lungs despite the crushing force he could feel pressing down on his chest, the tightening vice wrapping around his ribs, snaking up his throat and scratching against his ears. Whispering and snarling and cooing one single thought.

One single, solitary thought, warm and relieving and all too enticing.

(Time to kill Richard Parker.)

And suddenly it was all he could think, all he could hear, the only sound he could make out in the deafening static beginning to fill his head. All at once, he felt his body beginning to move, felt himself making for the door, the calls for a suit already on the tip of his tongue. Which would get the job done fastest? Mark 13? Maybe 22? Something quick, but not too quick. This needed to be painful.

"Tony?"

He stopped, body almost vibrating at the force of will it took to keep still. He gritted his teeth, felt that telltale acidic aftertaste of bile coating his throat. Torres was still here. The world had not shrunken down to include just him and Richard and Peter and the suits that would shrink that number to two. She was still here. Still expecting answers. Answers he wasn't sure he could give. Answers that wouldn't matter once he finished doing what had to be done. Because this had to be done. Had to be. What else was there to do? What else could he do? His legs started to move.

("Just...don't lose your head...okay?")

Only to stop once more.

And just as suddenly as the wave of rage had taken him, Tony felt something else strike him with similar breathtaking force. And it took him a moment, a moment in which he felt his throat thicken and his eyes beginning to sting that he finally realized his rage had suddenly and shockingly turned to tears. The feeling was so foreign and so unexpected that Tony almost laughed. The number of times he'd cried in front of people, let alone people he didn't known with embarrassing familiarity, was low enough to count on two fingers. And the desire to raise that count wasn't strong enough to keep him from blinking them away. But the blackness they left coating his chest remained. The grip on his heart remained.

Because the sheer tension holding him up, the unfairness of it all - the grip these two voices had on him: one pleading for calm while the other roared for fury and vengeance - was so strong and so polarizing that Tony thought he might actually collapse. His hands, shaking with so much emotion that he couldn't keep them still, slid into his pockets, fingers catching onto something cold.

And all at once, the world went quiet.

Tony breathed, a hitching, distorted lump of air that slid down his throat. Slowly, he lifted his hand and came face to face with himself.

The gold coin was polished so perfectly that it reflected the room around it, including the worn features and trembling face of Tony himself, staring down at the etched grooves and perfect edges of an antique he'd given the kid weeks ago. An antique Peter must have slipped into his pocket out in the hall.

Peter...

Peter.

("Everything's going to be fine...because I'm going to make sure of it.")

This was about Peter.

Not him. Not Richard. Not satiating whatever bloodlust was thrashing against the bars of his self-restraint. He clenched his eyes and forced himself to take a breath. Forced himself to swallow the vitriol and fury that continued to flare just behind his clenched teeth, a wild animal flinging itself against its cage.

This was about Peter.

This was all about Peter.

And this one thought drowned out the others, made the static haze of rage that had been clouding his mind dissipate into calm. There would be time for rage. Later.

He glanced down, tightened his hold on the coin, and turned back around.

Surprisingly, Torres made no signs that she'd noticed the internal war Tony had just gone through, simply folding her arms over her chest as he finally acknowledged her.

And judging by the look on her face, this war was far from over.

"How long have you known about this?" she finally said in a tone that was strikingly difficult to decipher.

He held her gaze for a second before lowering his head. Taking one last moment to ensure the cap on his emotions was screwed on tight enough to keep from having a breakdown in the next few seconds, Tony made his way over to one of the chairs near the side wall. He pulled it close with the toe of his shoe and plopped down before muttering, "four months."

"And he knows you know?"

"Otherwise he wouldn't be letting you tell me all this."

Torres took a breath, wetting her lips for a moment before she straightened up and placed her hands on her hips, jaw tightening as she set a steely stare onto the man before her. "Alright, Stark. I need the full story here right now."

Tony sighed, didn't even try to match her attitude with his own. "I can only tell you if you swear not-"

"No. You're not listening to me. That was not a request." She stalked forward. "You will tell me everything you know about this right now because I've been a physician for both children and mutants for over thirty years and this is one of the worst cases of abuse I've ever seen and I need to know all the reasons why this wasn't the headline of every news station on the East Coast four months ago." She took a breath and lifted her chin, voice going deathly quiet. "So, either you tell me what you know or I walk out of here with this information at the ready. And you bet your ass I'll have no issue sharing this with the appropriate authorities."

Tony stared at her, held her gaze as it burned into him, her face stone-cold and serious. And despite the steadily thickening air, despite the aged look in her eyes that said she was one hundred percent serious about jeopardizing everything he'd been working towards for months now, despite the way his hands continued to shake as they rested against his legs, Tony couldn't help it.

He laughed.

He lifted a hand and pinched at his eyes, lips spreading into an almost manic grin as he chuckled, as his shoulders bounced and his head shook. And thinking back on it later, Tony would chalk the whole thing up as a symptom of the very real and very sudden mental break he'd been close to having, a snippet of instability, if you will. Every attempt he made at quieting down, another bubble of laughter would boil from his throat and he'd fall into another fit of chuckling mirth. And while a few ill-placed giggles was better than the inky-black despair he'd previously been choking on, neither were very appropriate.

A fact Torres was not afraid to make known.

"You think this is funny?" she said, words dripping with an intensity that was only matched by the piercing glare she was now laying on him, conveying nothing short of silent wrath.

Tony finally began to calm, chuckling to himself as he wiped at an eye and let out a deep sigh. He smiled, a hollow feature stretching across his face, giving a slow solemn shake of his head as he did so. "No..." he finally said.

"You just make it sound so simple."

 


 

Twenty minutes later found the biolab still and silent, Torres staring intensely at the floor while Tony sat with his arms folded in his seat, watching her closely, taking note of the expressions - or lack thereof - on her face and gauging her moves. He'd taken to rolling the coin in hand up and down along the top of his leg, a smooth steady back and forth motion against the tips of his fingers. If Torres noticed his new trinket, she didn't mention it. In fact, she hadn't said much of anything since Tony had finished explaining everything minutes previous.

And maybe it was just lingering traces of the emotion he'd barely been able to keep at bay; maybe it was the aftereffects of seeing those images in bright, bold clarity and realizing it would be a long time before he'd be able to sleep soundly without their presence in his head, or maybe it was a combination of the last few weeks and the stress he'd been juggling with surprising precision, but whatever the case, Tony could feel it.

He was nervous.

This wasn't like telling Pepper or Rhodey. They knew him better than anyone. Knew that his actions, while more often than not questionable and cause for objection, had reasons behind them. They trusted him, trusted his judgement with this case, trusted that he could handle it.

And while it certainly helped that his blatant transparency in keeping them up-to-date on the Parker case assuaged any fears they might have had by allowing them to keep a sharp eye on him, if only to make sure his claims of 'I'm handling it' were actually true, they were more or less letting him deal with Peter in his own way.

Torres was different.

She was an unbiased party. Pepper and Rhodey weren't exactly lining up to call the cops on him, despite some of his better efforts from the past. They knew his intentions were pure. Torres, however, didn't know anything aside from what she was seeing and what he was telling her. She hadn't witnessed the past four months. She hadn't seen Richard Parker and all his slime-toothed charms first-hand. She hadn't yet faced the enemy they were fighting against.

And despite the fact that they had history, Tony wasn't a hundred percent certain that that would be enough to persuade her. For all he knew, he was just giving her more information to feed to the cops, more insight to give to CPS. And if Peter found out that the reason for that new insight was because Tony had played his cards wrong and spilled info to the wrong person, he could forget about getting the kid out. He could forget about all of it. Peter would be gone.

So he sat. And he watched. Waited for her to finish digesting everything she'd heard, everything he'd said. Waited to see whether or not he'd get the payout he wanted from this gamble.

He thought of Peter. And rolled the coin again.

Finally, she wet her lips and straightened up in her chair, fixing him with a guarded stare. "And his father doesn't know about his powers?"

Tony held her gaze for a moment before giving a half-shrug. "Peter claims he doesn't. And I'm inclined to believe him. Knowing Parker, I doubt he'd be happy knowing about a supposed 'flaw' in his picture-perfect family."

"Who else knows? Ms. Potts, Colonel Rhodes, Mr. Hogan. Is that it?"

"He's got two friends from school. They're pretty close. They know a lot. Same with a family friend that lives in his neighborhood."

"And you're in contact with them?"

"Constantly." He sat up, bringing a hand to rub at his eyes. "Believe it or not, children aren't exactly my area of expertise, so I take advice from wherever I can get it, even if that now means my latest informants are high on pimple cream and energy drinks." He tightened his lips into a thin line. "But aside from them...he's pretty good at keeping secrets."

"Most mutants are."

He glanced up.

Torres was fiddling with the bracelets around her wrist, twisting her fingers against the threads interwoven in twined patterns, etching her nail against the grooves. Her eyes stared off at nothing in particular, but even so, Tony could make out the pensive gleam of concentration shining in her gaze, a thoughtfulness that left her face bare of any real outward expression.

He swallowed.

"Listen, Val. You cannot tell anyone about this. I know it goes against everything you stand for as a doctor, but you gotta trust me on this." He stood, Torres watching in silence as he began to pace, legs striding in time with his words. "Believe me, the first thing I wanted to do when I found out was call someone, anyone, anyone who would know how to handle this better than me. Cause in terms of my ranking on the list of people who are actually qualified to handle this, I place somewhere on the crumpled-up napkin that you'd haphazardly write my name on before thinking better of it, but..."

He stopped near the side of the room, curling his fingers before rapping his knuckle on the metal counter. "Richard's...smart. And he's covered his bases. The reason he let me get so close in the first place is cause he knows there's nothing I can do about it without coming across as a bitter business rival looking to stir up a scandal for clout's sake. His neighbor, May? She's a low-income waitress moonlighting as a charge nurse and definitely has something to gain going after a man with billions. His friends? Kids that nobody will take seriously, and even if they did, teens make up stuff all the time for a bit of internet fame."

He turned, fixing Torres with a glare that did nothing to convey the disgust beginning to work its way up his throat again. "Anybody who does have any insider information is in no position to share it. He's made sure of that. In fact, he probably already knows May and the kids are on to him and he just doesn't care. He doesn't have to care. Cause there's nothing they can do about it anyway."

He clenched his fingers, felt the coin pressing against his skin, against the scars on his palm. "But I can do something about it. I just need the time," he said, for once having no qualms about adding a hint of desperation to his voice. Pride be damned. There was no room for it now. "I need to make this as bulletproof as possible so that when he does come for me, there's nothing for him to shoot at."

Tony held her gaze, stared her straight in the eyes as he took a breath and tried to get his hand to stop shaking.

"I'm trying. I swear."

Torres held his stare right back. She said nothing, simply lifted her chin a bit as she seemed to inspect him up and down, the lenses of her glasses catching the lights above, masking them in stark white light that hid her eyes for just a second before she finally turned her head back down to the bracelets on her wrist. She fiddled with them again. Still, she said nothing.

Tony let out a sigh and found himself leaning up against the counter, bringing his free hand to rub at the back of his neck. His eyes caught the door and he found himself glancing over.

He wanted to go. He wanted to head out and check on Peter, grab the kid by the shoulders and feel the warmth of his living, breathing body under his palms. Because according to the past thirty minutes, according to the images he'd seen and the reports Torres had given, Peter's each and every breath was nothing short of a miracle, a mistake of biology that somehow led to his survival. And the inky rage he'd felt previously had morphed into something new, an anxiety bubbling in his stomach, urging him to go out and check on the kid, once, twice, fifty times. As many as needed to get that bubbling to stop.

And yet, there existed a different feeling within him as well. A certain hesitance that arose alongside his anxieties, two dueling impulses: one urging him to go out and check on the kid while the other pulled him back. And he knew it didn't come from a place of mystery. Because he knew in his gut that the second he saw Peter, he'd see those scars, imagine them under his sleeves, feel the rage that followed. And he had to find a way to be okay with the information he now knew. He had to find a way to keep that rage in check and under control lest he do or say something in front of Peter that they'd both regret. He had to have full control of himself. And in that moment, standing in the lab with the memory of those images still lingering in the corners of his eyes, Tony felt anything but controlled.

("Don't lose your head.")

But control was not a luxury he could afford to do away with anymore.

It was a responsibility.

. . .

. . .

. . .

"...I had a neighbor."

It took a second, a second for Tony to take one last deep breath, blinking open his eyes and wearily drifting his gaze over to Torres.

She was still staring off at nothing, back pressing into the rigid chair seat as her fingers fiddled with the bracelets around her wrist. He noticed her glasses had slipped further down the bridge of her nose. She made no efforts to push them back up.

"When I was a little girl, when I'd walk to school, before I'd ever even considered a job in health care and medicine and..." she paused, giving a vague gesture to the lab around her. "...all this. I had a neighbor. A little boy, maybe about four or five. I'd see him sitting on the front lawn playing in the dirt with these little things of thread, like...colored strings. Just...winding them around his fingers. Whenever I'd see him wandering around the village, he'd always have those little things of thread."

Her fingers scratched at a loose string on one bracelet. "Almost ever time I saw him, he'd have a black eye or a bloody nose. His mother was the village drunk, and everybody knew it. But nobody said anything about it. Every time they'd see the two of them walking down the street, that woman tugging on his hair or slapping him across the face, everyone would just turn away, would just duck their heads and say 'mind your own business. He's probably been a bad boy, anyway.' I asked my own mother about it once. She just said, 'No nuestro caballo. No nuestra mierda.'"

With this, she finally turned her head and fixed Tony with a stare. He noticed the desolate gleam in her eyes, darkened by the wry, barren smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She shrugged. "Not our horse. Not our shit."

Tony swallowed, felt it slip down the sand-paper coating of his throat.

She turned away. "One day, I come home from school and...he's not there. His strings are on the lawn, sitting in the dirt like they're waiting for him. But no boy."

She hesitated for a moment, glancing down at the tips of her fingers before slowly reaching up to push the bridge of her glasses further up her face. She sniffed, pursing her lips with a cold stare. "Come to find out his mother had smashed his head in with one of her beer bottles."

Tony turned away, wet scoff catching in his throat as he turned his gaze to a spot on the wall and tried to erase the mental image of Peter on the floor with a pool of blood underneath him. It took a few blinks before his eyes cleared of the sight.

"The whole village went to the funeral; women crying, men holding their hats. Like they were witnessing the tragedy for the first time and hadn't watched it play out day after day for years." Torres rested her arm on the lip of the chair back and tapped her fingers against her cheek. "My mother and I watched from our porch when the police finally came to get her. On her way out, her parting words? 'The worst part of all this was that I had to go and waste a perfectly good beer.'"

The sound of heels clacking on the floor alerted him to her movements, but Tony didn't pay her much mind. Just watched his fingers drum against the metal counter, felt the cold steel underneath his skin. The urge to go out and see the kid was growing stronger by the minute. But so was the rage. He decided to stay put.

"I was a pediatrician before all this," Torres said quietly as she approached the center console from before. She rested her hands on the surface.

"Before the mutants and the superheroes and the spectacle. Because I wanted to make a difference, I suppose. Help those children before they wound up on the wrong end of a bottle. Be somebody who was willing to turn and look at the problems instead of sticking my head into the sand and pretending that shit people don't do shit things, but...it was never enough."

She turned and, taking a page out of Tony's book, leaned up against the console, resting her palms against the surface as she stared at him.

"Tony...you don't know how many children I saw. How many of them came into my office looking like all the world was ready to crumble around them. How many of them stared at me with nothing behind those eyes, an emptiness I can still feel within me to this day. They were so...lost. And eventually, I stopped counting the number of reports I filed on cases of child abuse, molestation, neglect, what have you. You think social services are swamped here in the states? You have no idea what it's like back home."

She folded her arms and narrowed her eyes, face tightening with a frustration that held decades of tension, decades of disregard and disrespect. "Most times, my reports never even garnered a phone call, let alone a home visit. Nobody checked in on those children. Nobody looked. Nobody cared."

Tony glanced over, watched as she reached up to remove the glasses from her face to rub at her eyes, letting her words sink with a certain heaviness.

("I didn't think you'd care.")

His fingers curled.

"But you know what? Getting my reports disregarded and my exams ignored? That, somehow, wasn't the worst part." She stared down at her glasses, pinched the eye pieces between her fingers. "Every once in a while, despite my workloads and how...frowned upon...it was, I'd make a home visit myself. Go and check on these kids that no one else seemed to know even existed. Most often, I'd get a door slammed in my face and a couple curses spit my way. But my presence was always noticed: by neighbors, kids, bystanders. And every time, every time I made eye contact with one of them...I knew."

Her gaze hardened, a sharpness curling into the edges of her stare. The tips of her fingers began to whiten with how tightly she was pinching her glasses. "I could see it in their eyes. I knew they knew. They knew what went on behind those doors. They knew why I was there. And they still did nothing. So many people who could stop it, so many people who could help these children, sound the alarm and step in. So much...indifference."

With that, she lifted her hands and placed the glasses back on her face, pushing them up the bridge of her nose as she walked over to Tony, stopping in front of him as she set a cold hard glare onto her face. Tony stood as well, meeting her stare head-on as she spoke, her voice hard as flint, her eyes icy hot with resentment.

"Indifference is what hurt those children, what killed that boy in my village. Indifference was the bane of my entire career. And when I saw Peter, when I saw that look in his eyes, that same look I saw in so many of those children who were begging me for help...I'll admit. I was ready to tear you apart. Because I knew you knew. And I was not about to let someone else's apathy hurt any more children."

Tony held his breath and braced to be bombarded with a mass of insults as to everything he was doing wrong. Everything he'd screwed up and mangled in a situation that required utmost delicacy. Everything he could be doing better, every reason why he was not fit to play this part. And how could he counter it when she'd most likely be right on the money? He wasn't fit to handle this. He was just the guy who'd stumbled onto the mess. And was that a good enough reason?

"But then I saw how he looked at you. And I saw how you looked at him."

Tony blinked, watched as Torres gave a little nod of her head, lips tightening into a thin line. "Children who've suffered from situations like this, prolonged abuse going back years...it changes them. Their first thoughts are distrust and suspicion, their first instincts are to run and hide or fight back and bite. Either way, their mindsets are the same: they expect the worst, in life and in people." She lifted her head, voice low. "They do not trust easily." "

Tony couldn't help but let out a little scoff, glancing away as he shook his head and pinched at the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, tell me about it."

Torres, however, sidestepped around him and placed herself back into his central line of sight, face hard-set with a newfound look of determination. "But," she said sharply. "that also means that the trust they do instill in a person...is their entire world. It means...everything to them, because more often than not, it's all they have."

He lowered his hand, staring back into the earnest gleam flickering in her gaze.

"They cling. They cling with all their might because the thought of losing that, of losing that one figure of trust and comfort...is earth-shattering."

She stepped forward, pressing a finger into Tony's chest. He stared at her, lips parted as she spoke, eyes wide and focused.

"He's attached himself to you, Tony. Do you understand that? That isn't something that would come easily. That takes work. Months, sometimes even years of it." She tilted her head. "I know you're trying. I saw the evidence myself."

Torres took a step back, folding her arms over her chest as she let a loose little smile fall onto her face. "And maybe we weren't as close as we could have been all those years ago, but I know Tony Stark doesn't waste his time on things he doesn't think are important." Her expression softened, head tilting a bit. "And I know he's not a monster, certainly not one who would willingly leave a child to suffer without doing anything about it."

Tony said nothing, simply let out a breath as he lowered his gaze, thinking back to all the time he'd spent on Peter, all the time he'd invested with this kid, dedicated to a boy that, a year ago, he hadn't even known existed. His eyes drifted back over to the newly deactivated console table, the blown-up projections of scars and burns still seemingly hanging over him, hovering before his eyes like a carving in the walls.

A year ago...

How many injuries had Peter gotten because Tony wasn't there?

Because nobody was willing to be?

"You care about this boy...don't you?"

He didn't even hesitate, didn't think. Just nodded.

He did care.

He cared a lot.

And surprisingly, the thought didn't scare him as much as it would have four months ago.

"Hmm...well, looks like I have my work cut out for me."

Tony jolted at the words, turning back towards Torres as she walked across the room towards the stack of files she'd previously been rummaging through. "Do you have a folder on evidence of mistreatment?"

Tony furrowed his brow, watching as she began to collect the files and slip them under her arm. "Uh...yeah?"

"Good. FRIDAY? Pending your boss's approval, which, if he knows what's good for him, he'll green light with no problems, add the pictures I collected today to the evidence file he's creating. We're going to have to stockpile a pretty insurmountable horde of clear-cut evidence if we want to stand a chance against Richard Parker," she muttered under her breath, striding across the room like Tony - shell shocked and flabbergasted - wasn't even there anymore. "Bastards like him usually have lawyers on speed-dial so it certainly won't be easy and-"

"Whoa, whoa!"

She turned, brow raised. "What?"

Tony scoffed a bit in disbelief, arms crossing over his chest. "I...you're really...okay with this? You're not going to report it?" he asked with more than a bit of apprehension in his voice.

Torres straightened a bit, lifting her head as her professional aura returned full-force. "No. I'm not. If," she snapped, all but jabbing a finger under Tony's chin. "if you tell me exactly what your plan is to help this boy. I've seen how these things work. I've seen the system fail these children time and time again, only stepping in when it's already too late. And I've seen how people look at Richard Parker. They'll sooner let Peter fall through the cracks than admit they were wrong about that scumbag."

She stared at him, face tightening into a sure-fire wall of strength and resolve. "My patients are my top priority, Tony. And Peter is now my patient. I will not take his safety lightly. And I will not compromise on his security. If I feel you are not prioritizing his safety, I will take matters into my own hands, whether you like it or not. So if you want my silence, then you clue me in. You keep me involved and you let me help," she finished with a strict glare.

Tony didn't hesitate in his nod. "Already done. I'll send the files I've already gathered on Parker."

"Good." She glanced down at her watch, shifting the files under her arm a bit. "Damn. I have an appointment in Manhattan soon."

"I'll have one of my drivers take you anywhere you need to go."

She nodded at this and made towards the door, Tony following at her side. "How long are you going to be in the city?"

"Well...something tells me I'm going to have to work out a temporary long-distance plan for my clinic back home."

"I can have a choice of apartments for you to look at first thing tomorrow morning."

"I should hope so. There have to be some perks to knowing a billionaire."

She grimaced at her watch one last time before shaking her hand. "But we'll discuss this more later."

He nodded, giving a relieved shake of his head. "Right." She started to move off, only for Tony to take a step forward and lightly grab onto her wrist. She stopped and glanced back at him. "Val, I..." he swallowed, trying to process the success he'd somehow managed to pull off and put it into words of gratitude, a skill he'd still yet to completely master. "Thank you...f-for-"

"Don't." She pulled her hand out of his grasp and placed it instead on his shoulder, lips quirking into a smile, warm and genuine. "Don't thank me just for doing my job. Just make sure you do yours."

With that, she turned away, the door sliding open with a hiss. She made it through halfway before pausing, resting her hand against the frame as she turned back around. She hesitated for a moment, staring back at Tony as she seemed to consider what to say. She lowered her gaze.

"I took his strings."

At Tony's confused stare, she continued.

"My neighbor's. They were just sitting there in the dirt after the funeral." She rolled up her sleeve and revealed the bracelets once more, fingers tracing against the oldest looking one, the colors so faded and worn it almost looked brown. "I made them into a bracelet, wore it throughout my entire college career, during my residency, all of it."

Her lips drew into a thin line. "The patients I treated long-term...they always noticed it. And sometimes, I'd get a new one, a new gift of appreciation," she smiled, running her fingers along all of them, evidence of her past life, of her work before him and the Avengers and the craziness they brought with them, work that Tony was beginning to realize seemed much more important as he stared at those bracelets.

"I always wear them..." she said with a small smile. "...every time I see a new patient. I always have them with me. If only to let them know...that there's somebody out there thinking of them."

She held his gaze for a moment, took one last steadying breath - which Tony noticed wavered at the end - and narrowed her eyes. "You keep thinking about this boy, Tony. You understand me?"

She waited just long enough to see him nod before turning and striding out the door.

 


 

Thursday - June 9, 2016

Stark Tower - Main Study

02:13 PM

The Tower's main study was, unsurprisingly, beautiful beyond all compare.

Vaulted cream ceilings and elegant crown moldings; lavish wooden staircases that wound up to a second and third story, filling the room with the thick scent of aged books and warm, curling wood; deep, crimson curtains hanging from the arching windows, draping against the wood floors with the elegance of full ballroom gowns; the ceiling-high bookcases filled with old leather-bound novels and weathered texts; even a grand piano standing regally between the twin staircases, catching glints of the sun drenching in through the glass.

Peter barely registered any of it.

("They're nothing to be ashamed of.")

He scratched at his wrist and resisted the urge to spare the entryway another glance. The muffled and muddied garblings of conversation he'd been listening to for over an hour now had suddenly stopped moments earlier, letting him on to the fact that Mr. Stark had most likely wrapped up his dealings with the doctor. What state the man would be in when he arrived was a different matter, a much less certain one at that.

His knee started to bounce against the wooden floors below, falling in tune with the distant tickings of the grandfather clock on the second-floor balcony. The noise made his fingers twitch, made his palm begin to burn, a phantom longing for the cold steel of his father's pocketwatch. Something to hold. Something to feel against his skin. Something stable.

But he remained silent and still as he sat by the back windows, head down and eyes locked on his interwoven hands. And the longer he waited, with each minute that passed where Mr. Stark did not arrive, Peter could feel a cloying stickiness gathering in his chest, coating overtop his lungs in a constricting, vice-like grip. It was an all-too familiar feeling, a flushing heat rising overtop his cheeks and neck that left him swallowing dry spit.

("Peter...look at this! This is- Jesus. These are burn scars. Did he burn you, that rat bastard?!")

("Ben. Ben, honey, stop it. You're scaring him.")

("I'M scaring HIM? May, look at this! Look at these marks, they're all over the place. Peter, take off your shirt. Take it off right now!")

("Stop yelling at him!")

("There's more. There's more of these fucking things. Oh my god. Oh my GOD!")

("Benjamin, you stop this right now. You're- damn it. Peter, honey, don't cry. It's alright. Oh, no sweetie, it's okay. It's okay... don't cry, baby.")

("Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ, May. What has he done? What has he done to him?")

The memory faded, replaced instead with the feel of a cold metal table underneath his fingers, Mr. Stark cleaning the blood from his face with a damp washcloth, watching the man's eyes widen and his breathing hitch as he'd caught sight, a glimpse, barely a peek of what lay underneath the teen's shirt.

And the anger. The furyThat he remembered in excruciating detail.

How would the man react to high-def pictures?

He scratched again. Didn't dare roll up his sleeve. Instead, he shut his eyes and tried to take his mind off of the prickling ache he could feel shooting up and down his skin, suddenly very aware of each and every blemish, every burn, every scar. His skin felt tight, uncomfortable, like it wasn't his, like it was being stretched over his bones. He wished it was. He wished it was a suit, as easy to peel off as Spider-Man's mask, discarded and tossed aside to reveal clean, untouched skin.

Because then he wouldn't have to see Mr. Stark's face twist the same way Ben's had. The same way May's had. The same way everybody's did whenever they caught a flash of his uncovered wrist or a bare portion of his shoulder. Because then the great big ball of red-hot shame boiling in his stomach wouldn't be threatening to crawl up his throat and splatter all over the polished wooden floor alongside chunks of that morning's breakfast.

("They're nothing to be ashamed of...")

He swallowed it down. And watched Mr. Stark finally amble into the doorway.

The man walked slowly and without the sure-footed purposeful stride he usually equipped, shuffling into view looking very much like a soldier returned from battle, haggard and drained, shoulders sagging with an unseen weight, eyes shining with a haunting glare. Peter knew the look well.

Mr. Stark scanned the study, brows furrowing for just a second until his gaze finally landed on Peter sitting quietly by the arching windows. And the look that flashed across the man's face - the sudden, instinctive way his body stiffened and his eyes sharpened made Peter's fingers dig into the fabric of his jeans. It was such a little thing, such an unnoticeable twitch that it was gone within a second, but it still made Peter grit his teeth and turn away as his cheeks burned.

("Pathetic boy.")

He scratched again.

Peter heard him swallow, heard him shift his weight back and forth from foot to foot and the soft scratching of his fingernails rubbing against his cheek. After a second, the man moved forward once more, angling for the closest seat he could find, which happened to be the piano bench in the center of the room. And despite the obvious exhaustion pulling at his muscles, Peter thought he noticed a certain deliberateness in the man's movements. He stepped carefully and cautiously, like he was trying to make as little noise as possible. And when he went to sit, he moved with a noticeable hesitance, as if slowing his actions would somehow buy him more time to come up with something to say. Peter couldn't tell if he'd imagined it or not.

Nevertheless, the boy continued to fiddle with his sleeve, fingering at the lip of cloth as he stared down at the sleek wooden flooring below his feet. The grandfather clock - signaling the quarter hour - began to chime, filling the otherwise silent room with something besides the growing tensions mounting with each second.

He could hear the man's heartbeat, heard the subtle quickened skips that slowly fell in tune with the tickings, the ringings, the echoings bouncing around him. He felt his own heart beginning to ache from the strain.

"So..." Mr. Stark said slowly, the word drawn out long and thick like a piece of chewing gum stretched between two hands. "We need to talk about something important."

("I can't even LOOK at him, May.")

The heat increased tenfold, burning his neck and ears, so much so that he imagined himself to be as bright as a tomato. But he simply bit his lip and gave a silent little nod, eyes locked on the floor like his life depended on it. He couldn't watch the man's face twist in disgust. So instead, he held his breath and braced himself, fingers digging into his knees, shoulders stiffening-

"How much should we charge for tickers to an MMA-style brawl between you and the Hulk?"

He paused.

Blinked.

What?

Peter glanced over.

Mr. Stark, now leaning back in his seat with a sudden wave of casualness, folded a leg overtop the other and pressed a hand to his chin. "Actually, that might lean a bit too heavily on city-wide destruction, and if I'm not mistaken, we're actually trying to tone down on that. I don't know, the guy that would usually be yelling at me about it is currently being swept up by the gardening staff in the courtyard. Maybe we could bring it down to arm-wrestling. That's still violent enough for people, right? So how bout it? Twenty bucks per ticket? Maybe more?" He sniffed and glanced down at his cuticles. "Now that I have medical proof that you're somehow stronger than an eighteen-wheeler doing eighty on the interstate, we might as well put it to good use and I've always wanted to see someone avenge me for that loss I suffered in 2013. Extra-strength suit with reinforced bicep guards and that Big, Green Asshole still beat me in half a second. Ridiculous. Anyway, I would recommend throwing in the Star Spangled Pain in my Ass, but he's currently not taking my calls nor am I feeling too inclined to start making friendlies with the chart-toppers of the FBIs Most Wanted List, so we'll have to settle."

More blinking. More blank stares. Mr. Stark turned to meet his gaze. And as the man's face broke out into its usual teasing smirk, Peter felt himself take a breath, a tentative, careful inhale. His eyes scanned the man's face, his features, his posture.

("I can't do this, May. I can't...look at that boy. I-it's too much.")

Mr. Stark was staring right at him. Him. Not at what he imagined to be underneath his sleeves. Not shifting uncomfortably in his seat as he averted his gaze and looked anywhere but at him. His posture was genuine. His heartbeat had evened. And he was smiling.

Peter felt his fingers relax, felt his grip slacken as the previous tension carefully began to retract its claws, slinking back into the shadows as his body released the iron-clad strings that had been holding his muscles in rigor. He wet his lips and let his shoulders drop, trying to ignore the slight shiver of relief that trembled down his arms.

"Did you really arm wrestle with the Hulk?" he asked softly as he rose up to his feet.

"If you can even call it that. Like I said, half a second. You better last at least two."

The teen finally felt his lips quirk into a hint of a smile as he made his way over, Mr. Stark sliding to the side as the teen plopped down on the bench next to him. The man - seeming to take the move as an invitation - lifted a hand and wrapped his arm around the teen's shoulders. Peter felt the telltale prickle of nerves shoot up his spine at the touch, the same tingling he'd felt in the examination room. But this time, as the prickling slowly faded, he didn't pull away, didn't fight it. He leaned in.

For a moment, they sat in silence, relishing in the air of calm that had finally settled against the whirlwind of tensions they could both still feel within. They made no mentions of it - simply sat and stared at the view before them. He shut his eyes and breathed, listening to the silent inhales and exhales of the man beside him, letting the rhythm calm his nerves to a simmering heat.

"I feel I should ask..."

Carefully inhaling a breath, Peter noticed Tony's head tilting from the corner of his eye and instantly knew where his gaze had fallen. He didn't turn, though. Didn't try to hide his arms behind his back despite the overwhelming urge to do just that. He swallowed and kept his eyes on the glow of the window.

"Do you understand why your...your scars...why they're ..." Tony trailed off. Meaningless, really. A single glance between them filled the blanks his voice had left untouched.

("Peter...oh, god. Oh, God.")

Ben hadn't been able to fill the blanks either. Peter remembered that. His skin did too if the way it began to prickle was any indication.

He still couldn't blame him. To this day, Peter couldn't bring himself to feel any anger. Not for Ben. Ben, and his slow, soft-spoken manner of conversation, his quips and inside jokes reserved for only his innermost circles, his calloused and roughened hands that hid the gentlest of touches. Hands that could never do harm. Hands that couldn't even fathom it.

Mr. Stark took a breath.

"Do you understand why you still have those scars?"

...Mr. Stark could fathom it.

"The One-Way Effect," Peter said softly, watching the man's gaze scour his face carefully. "I've had a lot of time to do my own research, Mr. Stark. I know all about it. It's pretty interesting actually. Less so when you see it up close, huh?" His attempt at levity was met with stony silence. Peter turned his attention back down to his fingers, tried to focus on the warm weight of the man's hand on his shoulder. Grounding. Steady.

"Are you angry?"

This time, Tony didn't respond at all.

"It's okay. You're allowed to be angry." Peter slipped his fingers into his sleeve and felt the tips of his nails scratch at his inner wrist. Gentle. Searching. "I...probably should have warned you. About what you were going to...see. I just, uh...it's just that..." He felt his throat twitch, felt it constrict and tighten. His nail dug a little deeper.

Mr. Stark must have noticed his pause, for the hand on his shoulder suddenly gave a little squeeze. "I'm not angry at you. You know that, right?"

And Peter did know that. He could have sworn he did. Maybe?

"I should have told you sooner. I would have told you sooner. I just...I can't, um...I-I..." It was strange. A familiar feeling of hesitance lodged in his throat, the pitter-pattered stutterings he thought he'd rid himself of months ago. He narrowed his eyes, felt his fingers curl tighter into his skin. He wasn't doing this again. Wasn't going back to choking on his words with every other sentence. "I c-c...I... just don't...um...d-d-don't-"

"Hey."

He lifted his head, let his eyes meet Tony's gaze.

"Breathe."

He inhaled, felt the burning of his lungs dissipate in a whirl of air he hadn't known he'd needed. He felt the man's thumb resting against his collarbone, felt it press down gently. "Take your time, Peter. It's okay."

The teen swallowed, letting his eyes rest against the man's gaze as he took another breath, felt his fingers retracting around his wrist, muscles uncoiling, toes uncurling. The knot in his throat slowly sank back down into his stomach, where it sat with a heavy thud. When he finally found his tongue again, the words were slow. Spoken softly and with careful precision.

"I just...don't know how to talk about it. I...don't think I can."

Peter lowered his head as he felt his cheeks beginning to heat again. Unable to resist any longer, the teen ducked his arms away and out of sight as he wrapped them around his midsection. Mr. Stark didn't seem to mind this, though, as he leaned closer and gave another reassuring squeeze of the boy's shoulder. He waited a moment before speaking again.

"That's alright, Peter. No, hey. Yes it is," he said a bit more forcefully as Peter shook his head. "I know this is hard. Don't rush yourself. Just because I saw those pictures doesn't mean anything is going to change. And it doesn't mean I'm going to start demanding answers from you. Besides, I...more or less...already have a pretty good idea of how you got them."

Peter pursed his lips but said nothing.

"Regardless, when you're ready to talk about them...if you ever are...I'll be here, alright? I'll listen."

It took a moment for the words to garner any sort of reaction, but after a few seconds, Peter finally gave a little nod of confirmation. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about the prospects of that future conversation, but the realization that said conversation wasn't happening right then and there was enough to get his shoulder sagging in relief.

He noticed a similar release in the man beside him, Tony leaning back in his seat as he let out a little sigh. It made Peter's lips quirk a bit - the fact that Mr. Stark seemed to be just as awkward and nervous as him when it came to said topics. The realization was...comforting, in a sense.

"Oh, by the way..."

Mr. Stark reached into his pocket and pulled out-

"I hope you weren't expecting to get away with this."

He flicked the coin into the air and Peter floundered to catch it what with his cheeks burning red again. "I-I-I don't know what you're talking about!" He sputtered as he fought to get a grip on the trinket bouncing between his hands. He snatched it out of the air before it could hit the ground and spared the man a peek. Mr. Stark's face was unabashedly smug, brow raised questioningly.

"I must have just...dropped it," he mumbled lamely as he felt the metal heating in his now-sweating palms.

"Uh-huh. Subtlety is not your strongest suit either, Mr. Parker."

Peter averted his gaze and stared hard at the coin in his palm, catching a glimpse of himself in the metal's polished reflection. He traced the tip of a finger against the rim, running it over the indented grooves and etched markings of each side. "Did it...help?"

He lifted his head and met the man's gaze once more. Mr. Stark seemed to hesitate for a moment before he smiled. It wasn't the teasing smirk from before, but instead a small, weary look, highlighted by the wrinkles that appeared on his cheeks. Nevertheless, seeing the man's nod, Peter couldn't help but give his own little smile back, especially as the man gave a pat of his shoulder and pulled him in a bit closer.

"Thanks, kid. And...not just for that."

Seeing the man gesture to the coin, Peter furrowed his brows and cocked his head. "For what then?"

"For taking a chance."

Peter's look of confusion remained, though he did straighten in his seat a bit. Tony rubbed at his neck before continuing.

"I talked to Torres. She agreed to keep everything confidential as long as we keep her in the loop," he started, confirming what Peter had already suspected. Mr. Stark wasn't a fan of beating around the bush. If he'd had bad news, he would have led with it.

"But you didn't know that when we went in. Honestly...neither did I. You had nothing to go on with Torres. Just my word that she wasn't a reporter in disguise looking for her next superpowered meal ticket. And I had the balls to ask you to reveal to her - a literal stranger - one of your most well-guarded secrets with nothing but my assurances that it was safe to do so." He leaned in a bit, narrowing his eyes in earnest. "You didn't have to go through with it. But you did. I like to think that's not a decision you made lightly."

Peter stared at him, blinked a bit as his words settled in his mind.

In all honesty, with the stress and anxiety of meeting Torres followed by the worries about Mr. Stark's reaction to his scars, Peter hadn't truly taken the time to digest the reality of what had happened - what he himself had agreed to do. Months ago, he never would have dreamed of revealing his secret no matter who asked him to. His friends, his aunt, his family. None of them knew. None of them could know. His secret was too important. Too dangerous. And yet Mr. Stark was right. He'd revealed his identity to a complete stranger! All because...!

Because...

Peter lifted his gaze. Stared at Tony.

"I was scared," he heard himself say, voice quiet and shaky. "But...you said you wouldn't let anything bad happen. I...I wanted to believe that."

And he had. Somehow, against all odds, he had.

Tony blinked, holding the teen's gaze with a seriousness to his eyes that left little room for humor or levity as he tightened his grip on Peter's shoulder. "If there's anything you can believe...it's that."

And sitting there, staring back into the man's surefire gaze, listening to the absolute determination setting his words like stone and the warm, steady grip of his hand against his shoulder, Peter suddenly became aware of each and every detail bursting before him with excruciating precision: the bright glints of sunlight slanting in through the glass, bathing the room in a golden glow that washed across the wood floors and illuminated their faces in daylight shine; the warmth of the hand on his shoulder and the feel of another human pressing against his side; the strong steady beating of the man's heartbeat echoing in his ears, all of it culminating into a single, solitary moment of time, a moment in which Peter suddenly felt the need to shut his eyes and inhale, to sink into the seconds, to try and absorb the feeling, the comfort, the warmth. Try to grab hold of anything and everything he could feel in that moment; the cushioned bench under his hands, the weight on his shoulder, the sun on his cheeks - grab it and immortalize it in memory, hold it within his aching chest. Because suspended in that second of time, Peter felt a ripple of warmth settle in his chest, bursting out from his heart and dissipating into faded waves of water, overwhelming and unending.

He only took a breath again when he felt the sudden need to blink back tears.

Because in that moment, that fraction of a second, that blip of time too easy to miss...there was nothing and nobody he trusted more than Tony Stark.

 

. . .

 

Of course, Peter being Peter, that moment ended with the grace of a bony elbow bashing into the keys of a grand piano.

The teen yelped and fell to the floor in a mess of limbs at the sudden crunch of notes. Tony, after his own little startled jump, stared at the kid in shock before cracking a grin and letting loose a loud scoff. With that, the moment was gone and the billionaire swung his legs underneath the piano to face the keys. If he'd noticed the previous look in Peter's eyes, he didn't mention it. Instead, he cracked his knuckles and spared the kid a glance over his shoulder. "You play?"

Peter, hand to his heart as he tried to catch his breath, gave a little shake of his head as he pushed himself up. "Uh...n-no. I'm probably tone deaf anyway. If I'm remembering her correctly, I'm pretty sure my mom was like, the worst when it came to holding a tune. So she probably didn't have much to pass down."

Tony pressed his fingers against the keys and played a chord as he stretched his hand. "You can hear a pin drop from two miles away. I'm sure you can figure out pitch." He gestured for the kid to sit again. "Come on, if my mother was able to teach me, then that means anyone can learn, even bugs."

"Spiders are arachnids, Mr. Stark. We cannot go over this again."

"Sit your bony ass down, Parker."

 


 

Saturday - June 11, 2016

Queens NY - Prachya Thai, 57th Street

12:02 PM

An elbow banged against the restaurant window, making Peter jump in his seat and drop his fork of noodles. Ned turned in his chair and pressed his face against the glass, trying to catch a glimpse of the group of kids that had just run by. Even through the ratty windows, their cries of laughter could be heard loud and clear. Peter watched them race past the glass, dollars fisted in their hands and candy spilling from their pockets, before disappearing around a corner.

Summer had swept into the neighborhood like an afternoon storm, filling the streets with the unmistakable aura of levity and laughter. Up and down the streets, children ran along sidewalks and through gushing fire hydrants, the roads a perpetual mess of dancing kids and watery puddles. Chalk drawings were sprouting on sidewalks, roadways, buildings; street vendors were popping up on every corner, peddling crystal necklaces, wool scarves, fancy rings and anything else that could pass as 'authentic'. And teens, unencumbered by any busy spring schedules, loitered outside apartment steps, cigarettes pinched between their grinning teeth and jeering faces.

Peter imagined Danny among these teens with a captain's helmet on the top of his head, rallying the troops, readying to march on the local convenience stores with a vendetta at heart and mischief on the mind. He couldn't help but huff in amusement at the mere thought of it.

He was pulled from these thoughts when he felt the dull end of a fork jab against his cheek. He turned towards Michelle, watching as she pulled her fork back and stabbed at her tofu pad thai. "You didn't answer my question, Parker?"

"Which was?"

"Stark. Who's his main?"

"He likes Samus."

"Seriously?"

"It's the armor. Says it's like looking in a sexy mirror."

"Gross."

"Yeah. But, believe it or not, he's actually pretty good. Apparently, he likes to play Smash when he's taking phone calls from the Secretary of State. We even had a little tournament last night with Happy and Rhodey, winner takes the pot of pantry snacks."

"And? How'd you do, dude?"

Wordlessly, Peter reached into his backpack and pulled out two bags of Cheetos, tossing them onto the table. He rolled his eyes. "Please."

They'd spent the morning roaming through the neighborhood, no set destinations in mind and a few crumpled bills stuffed in their pockets. After stopping by Delmar's and chatting up a few friendly faces, they'd ended up at their regular hangout: the Thai restaurant down the block run by Ms. Li and her sons. The former - a short older lady with leathery wrinkles and wispy strands of white hair, stood near the corner of the dining area, broom in hand and eyes sharp for any signs of mischief or tomfoolery. Her sons stood sweating over the grills, pans in one hand and fly swatters in the other, swiping at the air every few seconds.

Michelle rested her elbow on the table and brushed back a strand of curly brown hair. "So, it's been - what? About three weeks now?"

Peter, mouth stuffed with noodles, quirked a brow.

"Since your 'relocation?'"

"Oh." He swallowed, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. "Uh, yeah. Just about."

"And? How's it been?"

He shrugged, using his fork to sift through his plate, soy sauce pooling near the bottom. He stabbed at a piece of broccoli. "Well, the sleep's pretty terrible. Mr. Stark and I will work well into the morning if Pepper doesn't catch us. And his cooking isn't getting much better. It actually might be getting worse now that I think about it. He burned the cereal this morning which was definitely impressive but not-"

"Peter."

He glanced up, noticed Ned had set his fork down and was staring at him in earnest. Michelle's brows were furrowed, face pulled into a hard frown. Both obviously unfazed by his attempts.

They'd kept in constant contact over the past three weeks, Ned and Michelle either texting him nonstop throughout the day or ending their nights with three-way face calls curled in bed with the lights down and the covers pulled overtop their heads. And despite the inane, random conversations they had and the lighthearted atmosphere they created when they had midnight arguments over which neighborhood restaurants had the best onion rings, Peter knew their intentions. Could see them plain as day. What he couldn't do was blame them. Not really. Nor should he have been surprised that on their first real hang-out day since Peter's move to Stark Tower, their first instincts were to question how he was and if he was okay (or at least, better than he had been.)

Peter glanced down, tapping the end of the fork against his glass of Sprite, condensation dripping onto the metal tip. For the past few days, he and Mr. Stark had been spending hours in the lab, working on the prototypes for the latest Iron Man suit models, calculating the nanospacing dimensions, 3D printing buffer panels, breaking their backs falling asleep at their workbenches or crashing on the couch in the back of the lab. In fact, Mr. Stark was the one who suggested Peter go out with his friends, his exact words being something like 'keeping a minor in a closed-off sterile lab feels creepily similar to some horror movie plotlines, so you should probably go stretch your legs before you start turning into a Goldblum-esque man-fly."

"What?"

"God, you're so uncultured it hurts. FRIDAY. Calendar. Movie night - 80s edition. Don't tell Happy which movie. He hates horror and I love watching him squirm at the gory parts."

Or something along those lines.

He drummed his fingers against the side of the table, vaguely noting that his friends were still staring patiently at him, seemingly waiting for a response. He lifted his head, curls brushing against his forehead. "It's good." He swallowed, chewing on his bottom lip for a second before realizing it was to keep from breaking out into a face-splitting grin. "It's...it's really good, actually."

The grin won out. His friends didn't seem to mind.

Honestly, neither did he.

It was early afternoon, the sun just beginning to arch past its peak, when the trio finally left the restaurant and began to make their way back down the street. Only then did the high from Peter's joy begin to dim, allowing him to see clearly the one niggling blind spot on his otherwise sunny week. Michelle noticed it first, as she always did. The slight frown on his face as they made their way back towards the neighborhood center. She didn't ask until they stopped at a crosswalk, eyes on the light.

"It's my dad."

Instantly the mood shifted. A darkening that wafted over all of them.

"Did he contact you?"

"No. That's just it. I haven't heard anything from him. We've never gone more than a couple days without at least checking in on each other and it's been three weeks now with nothing." The light flickered. Peter sighed and led the way across the street, glancing over his shoulder as he did. "I'm starting to get worried."

Ned shook his head, twisting his face with an unfazed shrug. The movement seemed stiff. "I'm sure he's just busy, man. He's in Shanghai, right?"

"Tokyo."

"Well, he's probably in the middle of a business deal or something."

Peter exhaled, glancing down at his shoes as they walked. He sidestepped a pair of girls and their hopscotch chalk lines. "Maybe he's mad at me."

He heard a sigh. "Pete-"

"Maybe I did something wrong." He whirled around to face them, seamlessly transitioning into a backwards gait. "I've texted him a bunch of times but I never get a reply. Maybe I said something I wasn't supposed to and he's angry at me. Maybe that's why he hasn't responded."

Ned and Michelle did not respond. They did, however, share exasperated looks with each other. Peter pursed his lips.

"Here." He reached into his pocket and shoved his phone into Ned's chest, the boy floundering to grab it. "Why don't you read through the texts and see if anything I said looks wrong or out of place. There's a couple days worth in there so you're going to have to scroll a bit. I-"

DANGER.

Peter froze, halting in place then and there on the sidewalk, body jolting with a sickening lurch of nerves that shot up his neck. His stomach flipped. His mouth went dry. And his ears began to ring. Pinpoint. Precise. Listening. He barely registered his friends nearly tripping over themselves to keep from crashing into him. His eyes were on the roads. The sidewalk. The building windows.

Where?

"Ugg, Peter. Come on, man. You're overthinking again. I'll look if you want me to, but I'm not going to find anything. Your dad's just - whoa. That's a lot of texts..."

There were people. All over the place. Walking their dogs along the sidewalks, browsing the knick-knacks at the vendor stalls, hailing taxis near the corner. Peter swallowed. Breathed. Listened.

Ned was still talking behind him, rambling something or other as he scrolled through the phone. Peter could hear his fingers tapping against the screen, the slight scraping of his skin sliding across the glass. Michelle was beside him. Breathing. Silent. The faint clicking of her eyelids blinking up and down.

Beyond. Beyond them.

The jangling of the dog collar across the street, scrapes from his pads running across the concrete ground. The ticking of the wrist-watches splayed overtop a vendor table, disjointed and tinny - fake. Rusted. The sound of the seller grinding his teeth together, spitting a wad of dip onto the floor. The splat. The squelch.

The jingling...

Another twitch, another shot of nerves. Peter whipped his head around towards the source and came face to face with a pair of dark green eyes.

Familiar eyes.

The girl was sitting on a rusted bench outside the pawn shop, legs spread and arms dangling between them as she rested her elbows on her knees. Her skin was dark, black hair tied up into twin braids that draped down her back and brushed against her stomach, the tips dyed a dark red. She reached an arm up, hand bandaged like a boxer, and pinched the cigarette in her mouth between two fingers, pulling it out before blowing a stream of long gray smoke from her lips. Her other arm, littered with tattoos that wound up her shoulder, reached for her chest. With a finger, she gently flicked her necklace: three bullets tied together by a piece of tattered black string. It jingled.

He hadn't noticed it two weeks ago...the first time he'd seen her.

If Johanna had issue with the fact that he was now staring at her, she made no moves to show it. She merely twisted the cigarette between her fingers, tapped out a bit of ash, and popped it back into her mouth.

Danny had mentioned she was good for a smoke. Hadn't mentioned much else about her. Peter was starting to regret not asking. Maybe if he had, it would explain why one of Danny's homeless 'friends' was now staring at him from across the street, making his neck tingle like a live cable was being snaked up his spine.

"Peter?"

He heard Ned calling him. Felt him nudge his shoulder. Johanna flicked her necklace again, the noise tickling the insides of Peter's ears, scratching at the back of his neck like claws scraping his skin. His fingers started to twitch, eyes narrowing as he held her stare. She wasn't even trying to hide it. Why was she watching him? Why had she been watching him before up on that rooftop with Danny two weeks ago? Was it coincidence? Then why wouldn't his head stop ringing? Why was his heart pounding all of a sudden?

She smirked.

He swallowed.

And suddenly someone was yanking him down the street.

"Gah!" He felt his feet fumbling over each other, fists clenching before his eyes adjusted and he realized Michelle - death grips on his and Ned's wrists - was now pulling them along. "MJ! What are you doing?" Ned asked before Peter could, the two of them trying to get their feet to catch up with the rest of their bodies as she all but dragged them around a corner.

The girl didn't respond, just kept pulling them along in a hurried pace, grip tight and sweaty. Peter, brain finally catching up with the movements of his body, whipped his head around towards where Johanna had been sitting, only to realize she'd vanished. He could barely process the unsettling clench of his stomach before Michelle was shoving them into an alleyway, the two boys sputtering in shock as she pulled them towards the pile of dumpsters and garbage.

"MJ. MJ - Michelle. What are you doing?"

"I think we're being followed."

Peter's face twisted in shock and his eyes instinctively glanced back over to where the girl from before had been sitting, only to yelp as MJ shoved both him and a flabbergasted Ned behind the nearest dumpster. She crouched beside them as well and rested her hand against the side of the greasy metal, peeking her head out to peer at the entranceway of the alley.

Peter and Ned shared baffled glances with each other before hesitantly peeking their own heads out as well.

"What do you mean we're being followed?" Ned whispered as he shifted his feet against the dirt.

"I mean exactly that. Now quiet."

Peter furrowed his brows, pressing his shoulder against the metal dumpster as he trained his eyes on the alleyway entrance. Was she talking about Johanna? Had MJ noticed her too? Had she really been following them all day and Peter hadn't noticed? Then why hadn't his senses gone off earlier? Or better question:

Why weren't they going off anymore?

Before he could consider it, all three teens simultaneously tensed as a figure appeared at the mouth of the alley. Peter narrowed his eyes and felt his fingers tighten against the metal.

They were wearing a dark black hoodie pulled over their head, masking the details of their face in shadow. But Peter could still make out the smooth cheeks and lanky stature of a teenager. He relaxed his grip on the dumpster just a tad. They stopped by the entrance, turning their head a few times as if unsure of their next steps before slowly venturing into the alley.

"It's a kid." Peter heard himself say. Michelle exhaled sharply from her nose in response as they watched the figure begin to move in deeper. Ned shifted against him, shooting him a half-confused, half-excited glance. Peter frowned in response.

The teen kept walking, eventually passing the dumpster they were hiding behind as they came up to the brick wall closing off the path. They stopped, casting a few wary glances at their surrounding before pulling a phone from their pocket. Peter's ears perked as he heard the teen mutter a whispered curse. A boy. Slight southern accent. Obviously not a local.

Peter tilted his head, about to ask Michelle where she'd seen him, only to realize she was no longer crouched beside him.

"Hey!"

Everyone whipped around towards Michelle who was now standing beside the dumpster with her arms folded and her face pulled down into a nasty scowl. "Why are you following us?"

The teen stared at her. Stared at them. Ned and Peter awkwardly stumbled to their feet.

"How did you know?" Peter murmured, shuffling over to her as the random kid slowly slipped his phone back into his pocket.

"I spotted him at Delmar's this morning. Then again at the Thai place. He left when we did." She pursed her lips, eyes narrowing. "And he's been tailing us ever since." With that, she took a few more steps forward, Peter and Ned hastily trailing after her, the former with his hand outstretched, ready to pull her back should she get too close.

"Who are you? What do you want? A picture?"

Peter scrunched his face. "A picture? Picture of what?"

"Oh, come on! That Parker Stark story is old news," Ned - catching up with the plot - finally chimed in, seeming to absorb some of Michelle's indignant energy. "Get lost and find a new tabloid story to gawk over and leave him alone, okay? How long are you bloggers going to keep harassing him?"

Peter turned back to the stranger. Was that what he wanted? Am exclusive on the Stark conference? Peter hadn't heard anything about it in weeks and Pepper had assured him that the media fire was nothing but whispers now. Everyone had all but moved on to the next big scandal. So why-?

"What is this, your little bodyguard squad?" The kid folded his arms and took on a more relaxed pose. "That's actually adorable. I love it."

"I...what?"

"Anyway, I'm not actually here for a picture. Although this back alley dumpster would make for a great backdrop. Actually, let me just..." The kid pulled his phone out again and before any of them could speak, he suddenly had Peter by his side, phone in the air, camera flash making them all blink stars from their eyes.

"Memento, you know? Tony's never going to believe we met like this. Hilarious."

Peter shoved him away, biting down on the tingling that crawled up his skin at being touched by a stranger. It distracted him enough that it took a few seconds for him to process what the boy had said. "Tony? Wait...M-Mr. Stark?" he glanced back at his friends who, just like him, were now completely lost.

The kid reached up and yanked the hood from his head. "Geez, you guys are formal. He better not expect me to start with that bullshit."

The boy was tall, taller than Peter. Probably around Danny's height with long surfer-blond hair that reached his shoulders, and a mess of freckles overtop his rounded nose and tan cheeks. His eyes, bluish-green, blinked down at him with a look of mischievous curiosity like a kid alone in a toy store, left to his own devices and destructions.

And yet...

Peter focused, zeroed in on the noise, the whispers, the sounds. And he found a heartbeat. New. Unfamiliar. Earnest.

For some reason, the hairs on the back of his neck stayed flat. His skin did not jolt with waves of electricity. And his heart did not sit like a stone in his chest, heavy and dreadful. Johanna might have set his nerves on edge. But, strangely enough, this kid did not.

Peter spared his friends one last searching look before he finally turned back to the boy. He straightened his shoulders, swallowing the uncertainty rising in the back of his throat at confronting a stranger in an alleyway.

"...Who are you?"

If the boy noticed Peter's trepidations, he didn't show it. Instead, he scoffed and waved a dismissive hand in the air. The mannerisms were strikingly familiar. "Right. Introductions. I'm great at those. Check this out."

He cleared his throat and grabbed onto Peter's wrist once more. The teen went to protest, only to find himself being forced into a handshake, arm limply swinging up and down.

"Nice to meet you, Peter Parker. My name's Harley. Harley Keener. Two e's, one ny and not 'ie'. I'd remember it if I were you. You're going to be saying it a lot from here on out."

Notes:

Again, thank you Pragya for all your hard work and for being such a wonderful friend!

Chapter 33: New Kids on the Block

Summary:

"Hold this."

Peter barely had time to grab it before a walkie talkie was being thrown into his arms.

"And this."

"Dude. You were seriously stalking me, weren't you?"

"Scientific observation."

Notes:

Please check the end for a very important author's announcement!
How to support me!: Link: A Beautiful Lie Blog

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"Alright. It's time to get down to business. If we want to find this kid, we're going to have to narrow it down. Finding one speck in a city of millions will not be an easy task, but he's target number one. Failure is not an option here, you understand?"

On the wall sat a lone corkboard, a single picture of Peter Parker stuck into the center. A map of Queens hung beside it along with some scribblings in red pen on the lower right corner. A printed photo of Delmar's was pinned to the map.

"So, first thing's first, we have to plot his last known whereabouts." A finger jabbed at the photo on the board. "The media storm started with a single picture taken two months ago at a local Queens hotspot called Delmar's Deli Market on 57th street." From there, the hand drifted to a second picture, this one of Peter sitting on the curb with Tony Stark, sandwiches in hand. "There, the target was spotted with one Tony Stark and subsequently bailed when media attention became too erratic. But this is where is all started."

The picture was ripped from the board, held tightly in a firm, sweaty grasp. "Logic dictates it should also be where we start, right?"

Silence followed the question. No answer was needed.

"Now-

"Harley! I made pizza rolls for lunch - you want some?"

The teen jolted, photo slipping from his grasp and fluttering to the dusty hardwood below. Harley huffed, floorboards creaking as he stooped down to snatch up the photo and jabbed it back onto the corkboard - the only thing of note in the otherwise empty room.

"Mom! I'm in the middle of an investigation, here!" The shitty apartment was so drafty he barely even had to yell for his voice to be heard between the paper-thin walls. Not that he paid them much mind as his eyes drifted back to his "Board of Evidence", as the piece of loose-leaf paper stapled to the top of the board stated proudly.

"Well, your sister's going to eat them if you don't and I don't want to hear you whining later about how your hungry and-"

"Mom! Would you please? I have more important things than pizza rolls to think about right now!"

"...So, you don't want any?"

. . .

. . .

. . .

 


 

"Like I said-" Harley took a bite of the roll and turned to face the corkboard once more, stepping over a box of packed bedsheets. "-this Delmar's is our first and only lead. And if this place is a normal hang-out spot for our target, then it makes sense that the locals will have some information on him, you think? How often he stops by. Who he hangs around with. What color shirt he usually wears that will be easy to spot with a pair of binoculars from the nearby bushes." He finished off the roll, wiped the crumbs on his shirt and paused. "This seems kinda stalkerish, huh?"

He turned towards his partner.

Twitchy the guinea pig licked the bars of his cage before letting out a sneeze.

"You're right. It's probably fine."

With that, Harley stepped around another piles of cardboard boxes and grabbed his baseball hat from the air mattress on the floor - a temporary bed, his mother promised. Through the walls, he could hear his sister stomping around and whining about how her room was too small to fit everything along with the quiet voice of Greg trying (and failing) to placate her.

"Finish those off for me, will ya?" He said, gesturing towards the plate of cooling pizza rolls next to the cage as he made for the door. "And maybe start unpacking some stuff, you freeloader. Geez."

Twitchy listened to the door close, blinked at the plate and promptly fell asleep.

 


 

Two days and a few more pizza rolls later found Harley flopping onto the air mattress with a frustrated groan.

"We're not making any progress here, Twitchy," he muttered, banging his head against the uneven, lumpy mess of rubber fabric that had been his bed since their arrival into the city one week ago.

Apparently, the straight shot from Tennessee to New York wasn't straight enough for the moving company to not get lost. With all their stuff.

"Nobody on the street has seen him and they're starting to give me funny looks." He pursed his lips and sat up, reaching for the backpack laying against the plaster-speckled wall. 'We're going to have to become more discreet," he muttered, sliding a pair of cheap, heart-shaped sunglasses onto his face.

Through the lenses, the drab, empty walls of the bedroom were tinted a rosy-pink. It wasn't the worst room Harley had ever seen. Smaller than his old one but bigger than he'd expected it to be. The apartment as a whole was...interesting, though. Greg had mentioned something or other about inheritance and a long-lost uncle or cousin or some shit, but whatever the case, it explained how a low-level police gruff could afford a place in Manhattan.

(Granted, most of the cars on the street were missing their tires and a man on the corner tried to sell him some crack pipes yesterday, but still.)

A muffled thump in the other room made Harley lazily crane his neck towards the door. Outside he could hear his sister whining again, probably begging for the hundredth time for them to go back home, a now daily occurrence for her since their arrival.

The teen lifted a hand and pushed the sunglasses to rest on the crown of his head. He could understand why Lily - neighborhood sweetheart, Girl Scouts leader, most popular girl in fourth-grade - was so pissed. Maybe for the exact same reason why he wasn't.

Lily had things to return to in Tennessee. Her brother didn't.

He sniffed, casting one last apathetic glance around the room before shrugging his shoulder and pushing up to his feet. "Well, we're not making any progress by just sitting on our asses, huh, Twitchy?"

He snuck a glance at his phone and made note of the time before his eyes drifted towards the contacts button. He hesitated for a second longer before sliding it into his pocket. Twitchy - cunning bastard that he was - must have noticed the pause.

"What's that? Why don't I just call Tony and ask him to introduce us?" He scoffed, throwing the cage a scornful glare. "Where's the fun in that, Twitchy? I'm disappointed you'd even suggest such a thing."

The guinea pig stared at him, a trail of drool dribbling from the corner of his mouth.

An obvious sign of shame.

"Nobody said friendship was easy, Twitch," Harley sighed as he crouched down and pulled his backpack closer, yanking it open and pulling out a pair of walkie-talkies. "If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to find this bastard and make him love me."

Twitchy blinked. Harley assumed in approval.

"Harley! Did you take my walkie talkies again?!"

"No!"

 


 

"Goldilocks to Papa Bear. Come in Papa Bear."

A mop of golden hair popped out of the bush across the street from Delmar's, a fresh pair of binoculars held against his face. Pressed between his shoulder and cheek sat a walkie talkie. "Still no eyes on the target but at least nobody's shooing me out of their stores anymore." Harley grinned, fingers tapping against the binoculars as he adjusted the lenses. "We're invisible."

He heard a cough, glancing to the side at the old woman sitting on the park bench beside him. She blinked at him.

"Sup?"

He ducked back into cover and pulled his backpack close, peering inside. He pressed the walkie. "Supplies are low. The batteries on this thing are almost dead and this bush is starting to give me a rash. But we persevere, isn't that right, boss?"

The fuzzy static on the other end was cut off for just a second by the sounds of close-up snuffling and the wet sounds of a guinea pig's breathing.

Confirmation.

Harley nodded and poked the binoculars back through the leaves, settling on the entrance of Delmar's across the road. "I'm not going to give Tony the satisfaction of never letting us meet. That asshole might have kept me in the dark for this long, but that stops now." He scratched at the prickling red spots dotting his forearm. "There's a good reason he didn't tell me about this kid, right Twitch? Cause he would have told me...otherwise."

He watched a man exit the bodega with a fresh pair of cigarettes. His fingers tightened around the walkie.

Harley and Tony had an...interesting relationship. They weren't exactly close, but he liked to consider the man a friend. A billionaire, superhero, eclectic friend, but a friend nonetheless. Aside from the occasional Captain America meme, their line of communication was pretty sparse. Harley would update him on stuff maybe once or twice a month and Tony would complain about his teammates and how loud his Tower constantly was.

It was certainly an unorthodox relationship, but one Harley could say he very much appreciated.

What he did not appreciate was Tony's complete and absolute silence on this new kid.

(Or more, his complete and absolute silence on everything.)

"He's been quiet recently," he murmured softly after a few minutes of silence had passed and no newcomers had approached the bodega. "I figured it was all that Accords shit, Avengers stuff, whatever. He's busy. I get it. But this? This is different. This is...secrets."

Harley swallowed, finger pressing harder against the buttons.

"Why wouldn't he tell me about this?"

The static that followed this time was not as comforting.

But before he could dwell any longer, a flash of movement caught his attention and he quickly zeroed back in on the binoculars, body jostling against the leaves as he caught sight of a new group of teens approaching the bodega. One chubby Filipino boy who was animatedly going off about something with a big grin on his cheeks, a tall girl with dark caramel skin and a mess of curly hair that framed her chill smile, and-

He choked on a wad of spit and excitedly began to bounce on the balls of his feet. "Twitch- ah, Papa Bear, whatever! Visual is a go. We have eyes on the target. Repeat. We have eyes on the target!"

He quickly shoved everything back into his backpack and tucked his knees to his chest before bursting from the bush with a flourish and a roll along the grass - with a round of applause from the grandma on the bench. He stumbled up to his feet, shook the twigs from his hair and threw the backpack over his shoulder, eyes locked on the lanky, pale skinned boy with messy brown hair.

He tightened the straps on his bag and smirked, reaching over his head and pulling the hood of his jacket up.

"Time to get some answers."

"Good luck, son."

"Thanks, lady!"

 


 

Saturday - June 11, 2016

Ridgewood, Queens - 63rd Street

12:55 PM

 

- 2 HOURS LATER -

 

The kid, Peter, stared at him with wide eyes and a face that could only be described as 'stupefied' as his mouth gaped and his arm jittered with the rigidity of a plank board. It seemed to take a second for him to process that Harley still had a grip on his hand, but once it did, he jerked away with a surprising amount of force for such a little guy, hastily backpedaling towards the other two kids.

Speaking of, Harley cast the extra teens a glance, taking note of the curious, deer-eyed stare of the chubby boy and the calculated, suspicious glare of the girl.

"W-wait." Peter's face contorted from a look of shock into one of confusion, brows knitting together as his lips twitched. "What are you talking about? Why…w-why were you following us? That's like…really creepy." He took a pause. "No offense."

"No, by all means, offend away." Harley shrugged off one strap of his bag and swung it around to face him, unzipping the latch and digging a hand inside. "You'd probably be pretty creeped out if you knew what was in this backpack. But to answer your question, I was looking for you. And just for the record, you're a hard kid to track down." He pulled out a crumpled pad of paper and a pencil. "Hypothetically speaking, how open are you to the idea of creating an itemized schedule of your daily habits, including but not limited to snack breaks and mid-day naps."

"I don't…take naps?"

Hasty scribbles.

"Got it. Keep going."

He heard Peter let out a murmur of unease and suddenly Harley found himself face to face with a pair of smoldering dark eyes and a mound of curly black hair.

"Why were you looking for him?" Scary girl said in a low tone that somehow still held enough skin-prickling intensity that Harley actually had to take a step back. He smiled.

"Hi. You're scary. So, uh…." He leaned back and very carefully edged around her, turning back to look at his main source of interest.

The cameras hadn't captured how small Peter Parker would really be in person. Harley had at least two or three inches on him; not to mention how skinny he was, like his sister's friends from ballet camp – fit and dainty with not an ounce of fat.

In fact, nothing about him really screamed flashy celebrity status. His wavy brown hair was messy and unkempt, styled in a way that said he'd probably spent a good while trying to comb it down before giving up halfway. His clothes weren't designer or custom, either. In fact, on his shirt was a cartoon of sodium and chlorine ions exchanging punches, the words 'Stop! That's a salt!' written along the top.

Harley's lips quirked into a grin. "I just wanted to talk to you."

The three teens hesitated for a moment, heads turning and faces contorting into mirror images of confusion and suspicion as they locked eyes and passed around the same question.

"…About what?"

Harley blinked, a second of time in which the question bounced around the walls of his skull and echoed off of the nothingness inside. Because-

"Okay, I'm gonna be honest right now. I…didn't really think that far ahead."

Blank stares.

Well, two blank stares. One pointed glare.

"In my defense, our moving company is on the brink of a lawsuit and a rat crawled into my mattress last night, so I'm running on like 2 hours of sleep and 3 hours of sitting in bushes that I'm pretty sure I'm allergic to. By the way, do you know any good lawyers that specialize in stolen property and/or gross incompetence?"

Now, it was three blank stares.

"Okay, I think we need to go," the girl muttered as she shoved past him and grabbed the wrists of both boys, all but dragging them back towards the street.

Harley swallowed something between a laugh and a grunt of surprise as he darted in front of them and held out his hands with a smile. "Alright, alright, I'm just messing around with you. Kinda. I'll take those lawyer recommendations if you've got'em. But the truth is just that…well, I'm friends with Tony."

Parker's face flashed at the sudden name drop, brows furrowing and lips parting with a shock he obviously hadn't expected. Similar looks of dismay appeared on the faces of Parker's friends, the three of them sharing another fleeting glance in the tense silence that followed. Finally, Peter turned back around, frown deeper and shoulders stiff. "What?"

"Tony. Stark? You might know him? Pretty unremarkable, almost not even worth mentioning. Anyway, I see on the news that he's waving around a new kid that apparently isn't his? Is that the story you guys are going with?"

"I…uh-"

"Right. So, obviously, the smart thing to do would have been to text him and ask for details about you." Harley reached into his pocket and pulled out an earflap beanie, sliding it over the top of his head as he spoke, ignoring the pointed stares of the three other teens currently sweating in the summer heat. "But I pride myself in choosing the path of most resistance and decided to come see you for myself. And let me tell you, you are not at all what I was expecting.

"I mean, Tony's all…Tony. You know, charisma and charm and deep-seated turmoil hedging on mental instability. And you? Well…" He paused, quirking a brow as he leaned closer. "You might check that last box. I'm not sure yet. Any childhood traumas I should know about?"

"Where should we start?" Ned muttered under his breath, followed quickly by a yelp of pain as MJ stomped on his foot.

Peter barely had time to spare the two of them an annoyed glance, for suddenly Harley was in front of him again, barely two inches away. He winced and tried to stumble back, only for the taller boy to begin circling him like a showman inspecting his latest model car.

"The papers said you were fourteen, right? You look younger. And smaller. And like you've never eaten a burger in your life cause damn, my dude. You really need to fatten up." He jabbed a finger into Peter's side, the boy yelping before swatting his hand away. Harley straightened, mischievous grin lifting his freckled cheeks.

"Anyway, Sparky. That's not the point. I just wanted to see what all the fuss was about."

Peter seemed to be having a hard time keeping up with the plot, and honestly, Harley couldn't blame him. He wasn't exactly going slow, nor was he making this a very easy-going encounter. After two days of searching, he figured he'd have come up with a better method of explaining himself. But he supposed when faced with no plan whatsoever, he'd fallen back onto his default setting ever since he'd met Tony Stark two years ago:

Absolute pro-level bullshitting.

"The…fuss?

"Yeah." He sniffed and shrugged a shoulder. "I don't care about the media shit or whatever. They're always humping Tony's leg. But he's been playing this very close to the chest. Close enough that I didn't even know about you until you started popping up on my Twitter page."

Harley stuffed his hands into his pockets and leaned against the wall, face drawing into a frown. "So, I figured there was a reason for all the secrecy. And honestly, I was hoping for something a bit more exciting. Like, you're actually a robot or an alien disguised as a human and Tony's trying to fly you under the radar cause the government's trying to steal your eyes. He seems to associate with a lot of those, so it wasn't that much of a long shot."

He pouted. "But no. You just seem like a run of the mill tweenage nerd with more bullies than chest hairs. I mean, your face just screams 'Defenseless Geek: Steal my Lunch Money!"

Scary Girl scowled. "Hey-"

Harley lifted his hands in peace. "Nah, man. It's cool. No judgment. Never say a punchable face isn't also a likeable one. But that's all I got for you. No ulterior motives. No genius plans obviously. I just wanted to meet you." He tilted his head and broadened his cheeky smile. "Finally."

Parker held his stare, big brown eyes catching a few glints of the overhead sun beating down against them. He shifted his weight again.

"That's…it?"

"Sorry to disappoint. It's a habit."

Parker looked like he was trying to find something to say, but the words seemed to lodge somewhere in his throat, for he ultimately remained silent, wringing his hands together like a wet rag.

He seemed nervous. Which was interesting, for if anybody should have been nervous, it'd be Harley. Three against one and he was almost assuredly coming across as a complete and total idiot. But no. The Parker kid looked extremely uncomfortable, continuing to shuffle back and forth on his feet like he suddenly couldn't keep still. But while his movements and mannerisms were certainly one of anxiety, his eyes were…different. Nervous, sure. But there was a hint of something else there. Something harder in that gaze as he scanned Harley up and down, a meticulous, analyzing stare. It wasn't outright hostile, but it was intense. Searching.

Harley swallowed the lump that had suddenly form in the back of his throat and turned his gaze away. Right into the absolutely hostile look of Scary Girl.

"Alright, Creeper. So you're expecting us to believe that you're BFFs with Tony Stark?"

"Well, I wouldn't say BFFs, but I do occasionally text him while I'm pooping, so I guess that suggests a certain level of closeness." He straightened the strings on his hat and gave the pom-poms a little flick.

Scary Girl watched him with a despondent glare and twisted on her heel, not even bothering to keep her voice down as she spoke. "Okay, this is ridiculous. Has Stark mentioned this guy before? Like ever?"

Parker shook his head, bringing his arms to fold overtop his chest. It almost looked defensive. "Definitely not. I'd have remembered…" he glanced over and watched Harley lift his phone and take another selfie with him in the background.

"…something like this."

"Right. Then why are we even wasting our time with this?" She placed her hands on her hips and turned back towards the newcomer who was now scrolling through various filters. "You're just trying to get some exclusive for your shitty Tumblr blogs, aren't you?"

"No, but I am considering posting this on my Facebook wall. I only have like ten pictures on my page and they're all of guinea pigs." He reached for his shoulder and grabbed the straps of his backpack, sliding it into his hands. "Besides, if Tony spends his time with you, then it's very unlikely you're stupid. Cause his tolerance for that is limited to people with a first name of Steve and a last name of Rogers."

(From the corner of his eye, he could have sworn Parker's face cracked a little smirk.)

"So long story short, I wasn't expecting you to just believe me right off the bat. Hang on." He plopped the bag down on the ground and began to rummage through its contents, the other teens not so subtly craning their necks to get a better view. Only to rear back as Harley jabbed a pair of binoculars their way.

"Hold this."

Peter barely had time to grab it before a walkie talkie was being thrown into his arms.

"And this."

"Dude. You were seriously stalking me, weren't you?"

"Scientific observation." He pulled out a badge. "Here we go."

The other kids crowded around Peter as Harley handed him a laminated company badge, the logo Stark Industries printed along the bottom lines in sleek, stylized letters. Just like Peter's.

"Oh, and I also have these." He pulled up his phone's gallery and scrolled, flipping it around for them to see. "Took them a few years ago. I've only been to the Tower once and I've already been kinda banned."

"What for?" Chubby boy said.

"Let's just say you should steer clear of any experiments involving kerosene, whip-its, and the communal bathrooms."

Again, uneasy glances were exchanged before Scary girl snatched the phone and brought it closer for the three to see. Harley remembered taking those photos: close-ups of Tony's sleeping, drool-coated face laying passed out on the kitchen counter with Harley himself throwing a peace sign in the corner of the shot.

That was from back in the day. Before Tony and him had really cemented the fact that their relationship was much more manageable (read, less destructive) from long distance. The possibility of serious physical injury was much lower when the two of them were apart.

But never zero.

Ergo, the whip-its incident of 2014. AKA, the reason Stark Industries no longer had automated hand dryers in their bathrooms.

But back to the topic at hand-

Harley almost had to stifle a laugh watching all three teens peering suspiciously at his phone screen, like bomb squad officers inspecting a lone duffle bag in an airport terminal.

Parker didn't take his eyes off the picture as he spoke, voice low, leaning his head towards Chubby Boy. "What do you think?"

Chubby Boy narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips, reaching out to enlarge the picture. "I don't know. Seems legit. Right lighting. Proper shadow placement. But you can do anything with good photoshop nowadays. Don't you remember that picture I made of us in seventh grade? The one of us and Han Solo playing Twister on the Death Star?"

"Oh yeah. That was good."

"Right? I think I still have it."

"Focus." The girl muttered, giving them both little flicks to the head. Peter broke his staring contest with the screen and the others followed suit, Harley slipping his phone back into his pocket as Scary Girl tossed it his way.

Parker lifted his eyes back towards Harley, but he seemed to be having hard time maintaining steady eye contact, for his gaze kept flicking back and forth from his face down to his hands.

"You…you said it was…Harley, right?"

"Want me to spell it again?"

"No, I-" He let out a huff and ran a hand through his hair, letting his palm rest against his forehead. "I'm just confused. Are you like…good friends with Mr. Stark?"

Harley shrugged, reaching into his pocket to pull out a stick of gum, tossing the wrapper over his shoulder before popping the candy into his mouth. "Well, I've never really tried to label it before, but sure. Let's go with that."

"Okay. Then…why has he never mentioned you before?"

The words weren't accusatory. Just confused.

Scary girl quirked a brow. "Because he's lying. And a creep. And he doesn't actually know Tony Stark."

Now those were accusatory.

"You seem very tense. Is she always like this?"

"Yes. And you didn't answer my question."

Harley blew out a bubble, Parker wincing a bit at the snap of the gum as it popped. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and leaned against the wall. "Honestly, my guy,…I'm not sure. Tony's a bit of a paranoid recluse sometimes, especially with sensitive shit. At first, I assumed it was the Accords taking up all his time. But that was before I knew you were a part of this fiasco, so now I'm inclined to believe you have something to do with it."

Parker reared back at that, eyes widening. "Me?"

Harley lifted a brow and frowned as his arms folded over his chest.

"Yeah. He wasn't just secretive with you. He didn't tell ME anything either. In fact, he didn't tell the world anything until you were shoved into the limelight." He took a step closer, jutting out his chin as he spoke, southern accent weighing a little heavier on the ends of his words. "I watched that conference. I know that internship story is bullshit. A) because he hates interns more than using actual pencil and paper, to the point where I'm not sure he even remembers how to write. B) because if he was starting an internship program, I refuse to believe I wouldn't have been his top candidate. And 3! C? Whatever. He'd never take a recruit from his competitor."

He pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes in thought as he walked closer. Parker, in response, stumbled back. Harley clicked his tongue, pressing the gum against the inside of his cheek.

"He can spew whatever excuse he wants about giving you a fair shake and letting your work speak for itself, but I know him. I know he wouldn't just trust a stranger like you. That's not his style." Apparently, those two to three inches made a lot of difference, for it almost felt like he was towering over this kid now.

"There's something more going on here. Something that's got him acting all secretive.

"Something that's got to do with you."

He could almost hear the creaking of Parker's jaw, the line of sweat trickling down his temple as he finally met Harley's gaze and narrowed his eyes in slight defiance. Behind him, he noticed Scary Girl and Chubby Boy exchanging glances with each other. Nervous. Knowing.

Harley swallowed and straightened back up, giving a stiff shrug of his shoulders. "Or maybe he just forgot to mention me. I don't know, I like to think I'm not very forgettable." He smirked and gave Parker another once-over.

"You on the other hand, I can totally get why he forgot to mention you. Not a robot. Not an alien. No magic eyeballs. You don't seem very remarkable. Not enough to keep his attention at least, which makes sense if you're nothing but a loser turned glorified coffee boy."

A look of hurt flashed across Peter's face and the cocky smirk playing on Harley's lips instantly faltered. Because that had come out much harsher than he'd intended, even if it wasn't exactly meant as a compliment.

Nervous habit, he supposed.

 

("What's his name?")

("Who?")

("The kid that bullies you at school.")

 

Harley would be the first to admit it. Meeting Tony Stark had made him into a bit of an asshole.

Oh, he didn't blame Tony for it. Far from it. Watching Iron Man in action – standing up to bad guys, fighting off pros with nothing but a few well-timed tricks and some quippy one liners? It'd changed something in him. Enough for him to finally get sick and tired of the knuckle draggers that shoved him in trash cans every week.

When your hands are handcuffed behind your back, you use what you can. For Tony, and later on for Harley as well, that meant his brain. More specifically, it meant his mouth.

It took some practice, some stuttering messes of insults that landed flat and earned him a few black eyes. But eventually, Harley was weaving together silver-tongued comebacks that not even the dumbest of the meatheads could stand up against. It became a spectator sport among the halls. Which idiot would try to take him on that day? And what soul-crushing comment would Harley throw to make him stumble off with his tail between his legs and his ego shattered?

It was safe. It was entertaining. And it came with one hell of a side effect, something his sister had put fairly eloquently some months later.

("Harley, why are you such an assface nowadays? No wonder you don't have any friends!")

He couldn't really blame the kids at school. Who wants to be friends with the guy constantly making the football team cry and the teachers pull their hair out? The guy who's always making backhanded comments and annoying little quips? The guy who's always ready with an insult before you can even begin to think of one to spit at him?

Little baby Harley with dorky sweater-vests and Newton-themed backpacks had built a dam, a solid wall of filters and compliance and forgiveness. The bullies had cracked it. Tony had given him the sledgehammer. Now he was the kid that bullies feared. The kid that everybody feared.

It was safe. It was entertaining.

And it was isolating.

Nevertheless, Harley was used to it. Was used to the dirty looks and the muted whispers and the dismissive glares. And at the very least, the kids at school had reputations to maintain. They couldn't go around showing how much Harley's words upset them, at least with no more emotion than it took to flash a middle finger and the occasional curse word.

Peter Parker had apparently not gotten this memo. For he had no issue showing the clear hurt across his face, dejected frown now pulling at his lips.

Harley was not used to it. And he really, really didn't like it.

Because Peter Parker was not a six-foot-tall football star. He wasn't a dismissive teacher or a hostile classmate. And he wasn't who Harley was really mad at.

"Sorry," he was suddenly saying. "That was…kinda mean. Shouldn't have said that. I, uh…I don't know why he didn't tell me about you, but it's not your fault, I know. I'm just, uh…kinda new at this. Oh, not the whole 'talking to people' thing. I'm used to that. It's just the 'talking nicely' part that's kinda tripping me up. I feel like I'm not doing too terribly cause you're not crying yet, which is…I mean, it's good! That's always a good thing. Not crying. Unless you're into that sort of thing, in which case more power to you, ya know? I just….um… Okay."

This was a yikes.

This was a full-on yikes moment.

He pulled out his phone and snagged another selfie.

Might as well capture it on film.

Peter Parker's look of hurt quickly morphed into the same telltale look of confusion and disbelief that had been characteristic of their entire conversation till that point. Harley was actually starting to like it. Especially since the slight suspicion that had been radiating was beginning to dwindle as well.

"Peter."

They both turned towards the voice, Scary Girl placing a hand on Parker's arm and motioning with her head for him to step away. Her expression did not look as hostile as before. The irritation was now mingling with twitches of concern.

She pulled Peter further back, Chubby Boy approaching as well to form a small, tight-knit circle. (In the back of his mind, Harley noted the purposeful way both Chubby Boy and Scary Girl formed a quasi-barrier between him and Parker.)

He took that moment to suck in a breath, nearly choking on the wad of gum still lodged in his mouth. He spat it onto the ground and turned to lean his shoulder against the crumbling brick wall beside him, the bumpy scraggly surface felt even beneath his jacket.

Harley kept his eyes trailed on the ground, tracing the patterns of dirt, cement and trash mingled across the alleyway surface, taking note of the little flecks of cigarette buds, candy wrappers, and strewn leaves. The trash wasn't new. That much was the same as Rose Hill. Nothing but cigarettes and empty beer bottles as far as the eye could see. Even the smell wasn't too different: garbage and stale food mixed with chewing tobacco and smoke.

But the noise. The noise was something he'd definitely have to get used to. Barking dogs, bluegrass and the faint cheering of football floating out from the local bars was the anthem of Rose Hill. It wasn't exactly peaceful, but it was…familiar, in a sense.

Behind him, past the mouth of the alleyway, Harley could hear the cars stalled in traffic, the roaring of their engines and the anger of their horns. The TV screens in the convenience stores, the radios leaning against building walls, the air conditioners hanging by threads against apartment windows.

And the people.

Peddlers on the street corners. Dog walkers. Pedestrians. Construction workers. Cops. It was impossible to see the ground beneath anybody's feet, a sea of movement and heat and sweat.

Rose Hill was a shithole, sure. Harley would rent a billboard and proudly display that fact for the world to see. But at least the people were…small. Familiar. You could never turn a corner without seeing a face you knew.

And for the longest time, Harley had always imagined it to be suffocating, like a crowded can you can't escape from. But at least in Rose Hill, people knew him. Sure they weren't his biggest fans, but they knew his name. And they knew when he wasn't around. Did they celebrate it? Probably. He'd be a bit offended if they didn't. But they knew him. They accepted him as one of their own. Just another sardine in the can.

Now he was alone in a big, crowded ocean with fish that wouldn't hesitate to swallow him up if given the chance. Nobody here knew his name. Nobody knew his face. And they certainly wouldn't miss one single sardine.

The thought was…unsettling.

Which was why, when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket and he pulled it out to see a message from his mom – "Just got back. Where are you?", it took a second for him to find the words to respond.

 

"Making friends."

. . .

. . .

. . .

"Hopefully."

 

"Peter, you can't be naïve right now, alright?"

The slight lilt in tone was enough to catch Harley's attention and he zoned back into the present. He kept his head down, but his ears perked to listen in.

"His arguments are weak, Stark's never mentioned him for whatever reason, he follows us around the city, he has 'photo evidence' that could very easily be altered," Scary girl paused, jaw tensing as her brows knit together. "So far, I've seen nothing concrete that proves he's actually telling the truth. I mean, don't you think his name would have popped up in casual conversation? At least once in the past four months?"

'Four months?' Harley noted. 'They've only known each other four months?'

Peter glanced away, biting his lip unsurely. "I…I guess. That badge looks real, though. Only people who've been to the Tower have those access passes."

"Another thing he could have photoshopped. I'm sure there are templates online."

Chubby Boy tilted his head, giving a little shake to Peter's shoulder. "Could you text Mr. Stark? Ask him about this?"

This was apparently something Parker had already been contemplating, for his response was quick. "I don't know, Ned. What if this kid is lying and I send his picture to Mr. Stark? I'd basically be admitting to being dumb enough to believe whatever anyone on the street says to me. Not only is that super dangerous, it's also like, incredibly embarrassing. And I don't think I can handle that."

"Come on, dude. He wouldn't shame you for that!"

Harley pursed his lips and cleared his throat, lifting a finger into the air. "Hi, yeah. He most definitely would shame you for that. Like, one hundred percent."

Ooo, now he'd upgraded to two pointed glares.

"I'll just be…over here. Continue to secretly talk about me."

Scary Girl rolled her eyes with a huff but quickly zeroed back in on Parker. "Peter, listen. More than likely, this kid's just looking to jerk us around with some story that he knows someone famous."

"But-"

"Don't you remember all those tweets and posts we were going through after the press conference? How many people were claiming to know you? How many were claiming to be your best friend? All to get their five minutes of fame? Do you not remember how cranky Ned was?"

"Cranky," Chubby Boy parroted with a scoff. "I was indignant. How dare they think they can just replace me like that?"

The girl ignored him and stepped closer to Peter. Harley noticed her hand come to rest on his shoulder, a softer, more subdued gesture than what he'd seen of her previous. When she spoke, her voice mirrored this change. "The point is...people will say anything, do anything to get even a little bit of attention. How do we know that's not the case now?"

Parker hesitated for a second before turning his gaze back over to Harley. The blond-haired boy met his stare with one of his own, dark green eyes meeting light brown. He felt his heart start to beat a little faster as the silence thickened, skin prickling in anticipation.

"But...what if he's telling the truth?"

"What if he's not?"

Come on, Harley could hear ringing in his head. Take the bait. Don't listen to her. I'm not crazy. You just have to-

"Are you actually going to trust him?"

And the second those words were spoken, the second Harley saw Peter's eyes flash and darken, was when his heart sunk down into his stomach and the hope he'd been holding onto quickly faded.

Because the answer was obvious.

He watched Parker shift his stance, shoulders tightening and back stiffening as he swallowed one last time and turned towards Harley. His expression was one of hesitancy, though it was quickly being overshadowed by resolve.

"I think we should go."

Harley bit the inside of his cheek and forced a smile, rubbing his hands together as he tried to uselessly grasp onto a hint of obliviousness. "To the Tower? Great! I don't know about you, but I'd love to give that guy a piece of my-"

"No. I mean...we should go." Peter's brows furrowed, eyes darting back towards the other two teens now squaring up near his shoulders. Neither of them looked particularly hostile anymore, more uneasy than anything else. Distrustful.

"I think we're done with this conversation. Thanks for sharing with us, but...um..."

The girl tensed her jaw. "We don't believe you."

Harley dropped the façade and felt his smile follow suit. "But I-"

"Please." Peter took a step back, reaching out his hands to grab onto his friends' arms, gently dragging them back as well. "I'm sorry for wasting your time but I don't think we should drag this out any more than we already have." He did look surprisingly apologetic as he lifted his eyes and met Harley's gaze once more.

"Just...go home. Leave us alone."

They started to turn, started to make for the alleyway entrance once more. Harley felt his heart spike as they departed, a sudden and unexplainable twinge in his chest that made his feet move to follow. "Wait-!"

"You'd better not follow us anymore," Scary girl threw over her shoulder. "I have a taser and I've been dying to try it out on someone."

"But I can prove it!"

"Yeah right! Peter only has one best friend and it's me. No matter what Twitter says!"

Parker placed a hand on Chubby boy's shoulder and turned to look back as well. "Look...i-if you're really telling the truth then just...call Mr. Stark. He'll straighten this all out."

Harley clenched his fists, giving a little shake of his head. "I...I can't!"

"Of course he can't. His phone number's not on Google."

"No! Because he won't stop ignoring me!"

The others made to keep walking.

Peter didn't.

Peter stopped in his tracks.

And turned back around.

Harley immediately felt his face cringe, whole body tensing as the words burst out of their own volition. He clenched his jaw, eyes darting across Peter's face as he felt his cheeks heating and his teeth sink into his lower lip, willing them shut again.

But the damage was done. The others two had stopped walking. They were all staring at him now.

He stuttered, brain sputtering to come up with something to say, a quip, a joke, a way to backpeddle and unsay it with a laugh and a wave of his hand like Tony would, like he was kidding, like he just didn't care.

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

But he did care.

He cared a lot.

 

("What's his name?")

 

Scary Girl and Chubby Boy were still near the mouth of the alleyway, looking back at them, gazes flickering between him and Peter. But Harley's eyes weren't on them.

If he'd said something so vulnerable back home, so…open, the kids at school wouldn't hesitate to dogpile him, using any hint of emotion against him in the most vulgar of ways; pointed jabs, merciless mocking, an endless hallway of teasing and misery for daring to show a hint of weakness.

But Peter was not staring at him with contempt and scorn. Instead his gaze was…softer. Thoughtful. His eyes were strong, boring into Harley with a gold-tinted intensity that continued to make his skin bubble up with goosebumps. But the hostility was gone, replaced instead with a look Harley couldn't describe. It was searching, piercing, like he was looking for something, waiting for something.

A response.

Harley gave him a sigh instead.

(Inside his pocket, his phone lit up with a message.)

 

("Good luck!")

 

"He…he doesn't even know I'm in the city. Even though I texted him about us moving states months ago." He reached for his backpack again and pointed towards the state patch sewn into the side: three white stars enveloped in a red and blue circle. "I'm from Tennessee, in case the accent wasn't stupid enough. We just moved in like a week ago, a few blocks down the street. The old Tennerman building?"

"I know it," Peter said softly.

"Right, well…" He glanced down towards the ground, slipping his hands into his pockets as he gave a half-hearted shrug. "I thought he'd be thrilled with it. I mean, we're not as close as two people can be, but I figured we could always change that. You know, we'd get to hang out some more, screw around in the lab, maybe make a mess or two, but…" He swallowed, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

"But he never even responded. And he hasn't for six months now."

The other two were approaching now, coming to stand behind their friend once more. Harley noted Peter's stare, how it never once strayed from him, not even as Scary Girl brushed her arm against his, like she was signaling their presence, silently voicing their support. Harley swallowed at the sight, chewing on his tongue for a moment before he sighed and leaned his back against the only thing behind him: bricks. Dirty ones at that. "I thought it was because of the Avengers splitting up. Even in little old Rose Hill news like that spreads. But, I guess it's cause he was busy with…someone else."

He lifted his eyes again, met Peter's gaze. The boy stared back in silence, brows furrowing as his lips turned downward. Harley could only hold it for so long before the embarrassment became too much and he glanced away, rubbing at his cheek with a nervous grin. "God, this is so lame, but he's kinda like…the only friend I have so…it really sucks not having him around to talk anymore."

It was a bit harder this time, swallowing the lump in his throat. He reached up and yanked the hat from his head, fisting it in his hand as he began to fiddle with the balls of string dangling from the end, if only to give his eyes somewhere to look besides the faces of the three teens in front of him.

"Look, man. I promise I'm not jealous of you or anything. That takes way too much effort, and I just really don't feel like making any more enemies. So, I thought...why not make you a friend instead?" He gave a shrug and a half-hearted smile.

"We both already have a lot in common. At least, I think we do. I just assumed that anyone dumb enough to make friends with Tony Stark had to be as weird and nerdy as I am. And judging by that shirt of yours, I wasn't too far off the mark."

That actually got a small smile out of Peter.

"And…I get that you don't trust me. It's cool, I get it." His eyes twitched. "Tony…apparently doesn't either. And that's…that's okay too. I don't blame you for it. You actually seem pretty cool, but what do I know?" He smiled again, felt it forcing his cheeks to stretch in an unnatural way.

Peter did not smile in return this time. He didn't say anything, really. Just kept staring at Harley with that calm, silent stare of his, pensive and still.

The silence lingered for a few seconds longer before Harley felt his feet shuffling and his hand coming to play with a strand of hair by his forehead, a nervous habit he thought he'd kicked months ago. "So, uh…this was kinda embarrassing, but I…" He glanced towards the alley entry and jerked an awkward thumb towards it. "I'll just…go, then. Um…sorry for bothering you. And for stalking you – err, for observing you, or, uh…" He sighed and ducked his head. "Never mind…"

He kept his head down as he sidled past the group, not wanting to see the looks of scorn and mockery that were no doubt beginning to appear. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and tried to will a look of apathy and nonchalant casualness to his features, but he could feel the frown pulling at his lips, a pure admission of disappointment he couldn't hide, echoed in the way his chest ached with a thrumming stab of sadness.

Fresh start, huh? Yeah fucking right.

He sniffed and wet his lips, fingers tracing the edges of his phone. He'd forgotten to save the apartment address into his notes tab that morning, what with his rush to get out the door, which meant he'd probably be spending the better part of the afternoon wandering the streets. Not ideal. But it was either that or calling Greg to come pick him up, and the idea of sitting in a car with the guy not-so-subtly trying to play nice with his Poindexter-good-guy-schtick sounded even worse.

Maybe he could ask someone to point him in the direction of the shittiest apartments on the block and work off of-

"The couch in the lab."

Harley stuttered in his step, nearly tripping over his own two feet as he whirled back around, almost unsure if he'd heard right. Was that-?

"The one he keeps in the back corner of the room," Peter said again with a set jaw and a hard look in his eyes. His fists were clenched and his posture was stiff and straight, lips turned down into a determined frown.

"What color is it?"

Harley blinked. Stared at the kid for a moment before glancing over towards the other two teens standing a few paces away. They were both looking at Peter with the same perplexed looks on their faces.

Obviously they had no idea what Peter was talking about.

…But Harley did.

It took him a moment to see it, took a second for it to really sink into his head. But it was there, a small little fleck gleaming in the kid's eyes, a subtle lean of his posture, angled towards Harley.

Searching.

 

Waiting.

 

A chance.

 

. . .

 

"Green."

 

. . .

 

Peter smiled.

…Harley did too.

"More specifically," he continued, "the ugliest puke green you can imagine. There's a…chocolate stain on the right armrest that I left there last time I visited two years ago."

Peter's shoulders bounced a bit. "…Mr. Stark likes that stain. Says it makes the couch uglier."

Harley let out a breath, a cool breeze of air that flitted right past his lips, easy and light. He chuckled, the lump in his throat dissolving into pieces, the tingling of his skin settling into calm. He could see it in Peter too, the easing of his stance, the softening of his muscles.

The tension dissipating.

"You know the only reason he bought that couch, man?"

"Cause Pepper kept nagging him about falling asleep in the lab." Peter said.

"Yeah, so she insisted that he at least buy something for him to sleep on when he'd inevitably pass out. So, of course, Tony being Tony, he wanted to make her regret forcing his hand. Ergo, ugly-ass couch." Harley smiled and tilted his head. "Does she still complain about that thing?"

Peter's eyes crinkled as his smile widened. It was a soft thing, not flashy or cocky in any sense, but shy and quiet. Just like the kid himself.

Harley liked it.

"Every time she sees it."

He gently pursed his lips and turned his head towards his friends, both of whom seemed to have lost the plot entirely.

"He's telling the truth."

Scary Girl balked, rearing back as her eyes widened and her face twisted in disbelief. "Seriously? You're sure?"

"He didn't get that from Google."

She narrowed her eyes, posture stiffening as she angled her shoulders and folded her arms before turning another calculated stare his way, sharp and untrusting. And for a second, Harley was worried she would protest some more, push hard for the deception angle again and persuade the others to flee. Peter believed him, sure. But his friends-? If they were anything like the kids back home, they would need a lot more convincing than-

"Fine. But what the hell is Stark doing that he keeps hanging around random teenage kids, huh?"

…Or not.

Harley, deciding not to question why they seemed to believe Peter's word so wholeheartedly and look a gift horse in the mouth, slipping a carefree smirk back onto his face, popped his hat back on and tilted his head. "Okay, well when you put it like that, it does sound kinda sketch. But for the record, we met on accident."

"So you didn't follow him into a dark, dirty alleyway like some creep?"

"More like he broke into my house in the middle of the night. Equally as stalkery. Much more illegal."

And…the stares were back. Perhaps it was time to start getting used to those.

Chubby Boy lifted a hesitant finger into the air. "I think this calls for further conversation?"

Harley watched as both the big kid and Peter turned their attention towards the girl, gazes eager and hopeful, like two kids begging their mom for sweets. She looked at them both with a similar maternal look of exasperation and defeat before rolling her eyes and waving her hand. "Fine. Let the Creeper talk."

Peter blew a sigh out from under his breath and leaned towards Harley, throwing him an apologetic look. "Sorry," he whispered.

"I've been called worse." He glanced towards the ground and kicked at a stray can near his foot, watching it bounce across the dirt. "So, you guys wanna do this here, or could we go someplace with a little less Hepatitis? Or is this just the New York aesthetic?"

There was another second of silence where the trio exchanged glances before Chubby Boy shrugged. "Delmar's?"

Scary Girl huffed and started towards the entryway, tossing one last pointed stare Harley's way. "Whatever. I got my eye on you," she muttered before stalking off, Chubby Boy hot on her tail.

"MJ, come on! Don't be so grouchy! He's not a psycho, this is good news!"

"You need to up your standards, Leeds. You're almost as bad as Peter."

Harley blinked, watching them continue to bicker as they walked off. Peter came to stand beside him, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he tilted his head and pursed his lips.

"That's Ned and Michelle, by the way. We call her MJ."

"Don't you even THINK of calling me MJ, Creeper!"

"…Michelle it is, then."

Peter turned towards Harley, strands of wavy brown hair dipping towards his eyes as he angled his head down. Now that it was just the two of them, he seemed much more unsure of himself. "So…Harley, right?"

"Yeah, like the Davidson."

"Huh."

They started for the street, walking in tandem as the sounds of the bustling city began to grow in Harley's ears, gnawing and loud. Though perhaps not quite as overwhelming as before. He drummed his fingers against the straps of his backpack and resisted the urge to glance over at the kid by his side, willing the excited smile on his face to revert back into flippant disregard.

It was much harder to conceal this time around, though.

"So…when we're all done here, you wanna go yell at Tony with me?"

. . . .

. . .

"Yeah."

 


 

Saturday - June 11, 2016

Stark Tower - Main Offices

03:34 PM

 

Tony vaguely remembered it. A drunken interview in 2004, around the same time as the presidential campaigns between George W. Bush and John Kerry. He couldn't quite remember the details of it, just the taste of two hundred dollar whisky, the smell of cheap perfume, and the heaviness of Rhodey's subsequent disapproving stare. From what he remembered, or more likely, what Rhodey had relayed back to him the morning after, he'd apparently gone on to proclaim that politics were stupid, Bush was a cuck, and that he'd made a better candidate than any of them based solely on the fact that he already had a few sex tapes swimming around, so 'if that's not full disclosure, then I don't know what is.'

He remembered Obadiah being furious.

Even more so when he ended up with over half a million votes as a write-in candidate and came up as third place runner up.

Why was that memory important?

It wasn't, really. He just liked to brag.

Also it reinforced just how 'not his thing' politics was.

So how the hell had he ended up here?

"No, no. I'm not saying that detainment centers for the physically enhanced aren't needed. They most certainly are. What I'm saying is that 24-hour full-body restraints and round the clock artillery surveillance is edging a bit too close to 'Soviet-style torture club.' And last I checked, your boys on Capital Hill still get antsy whenever someone wears the color red."

Tony paced back and forth across his office floor, phone digging into the side of his cheek and the top of his shoulder. He reached over towards his desk and dug through the pile of manila folders strewn across, various markings of 'confidential' stamped against the paper. He pulled out a fresh packet from one of the bottom stacks.

"I - look, this is going to have to be a case-by-case basis, sir. I have plenty of tech that we can use to start developing holding cell prototypes, but - No. I'm not just trying to get a business deal, Jesus. You really think I need your money? Just... look, you guys wanted my attention and now you have it. And now that I'm reading over some of the regulations you're pushing, you're going to start wishing I'd kept ignoring this shit."

Rhodey, his own phone pressing against his ear, sidled past Tony and reached for a different folder. Across his face was the same exasperated look of complete and total annoyance. "Sir, requiring the implementation of tracking measures of any type doesn't just constitute an extreme violation of an individual's constitutional rights, it also goes against the Mutant and Enhanced Civil Rights Bill that was just passed in New York state. I - you know as well as I do that other states are getting ready to ratify similar laws in their own jurisdictions... Sir, enhanced individual's have rights too. And that includes the right to privacy. Passing a bill on this level would have exactly the same social and legal ramifications as forcing people to wear 'I have HIV' buttons 24/7. Demanding DNA samples, identity cards, and tracking devices puts us over a line we do not want to cross."

He shut the file in his hands and tossed it across the room at Pepper. She aptly whisked it out of the air with her free hand, phone held in the other as her fingers whizzed against the keys and the Bluetooth speaker in her ear buzzed with noise.

"New York has a plethora of superheroes doing honest work around the city" Her phone pinged again as another bout of emails came through. "There have been no cases of rampant property damage exceeding the average that uniformed officers rack up each year. Need I remind you that the Avengers did not have government permission when they saved New York from an extraterrestrial attack? I...yes, Mr. Stark is highly on board with the sponsorship program currently in the works. Each 'undocumented' superhero working locally within a certified city district would be required to have a regulated, 'on the books' hero sponsor to take responsibility for their actions and behaviors."

She grabbed a sticky note from the back of the folder and crumpled it up, tossing it in Tony's direction as he continued to yammer away with his own call. It bounced off his shoulder, causing him to jerk his head in her direction and place a hand over his phone.

"Will Mr. Stark be at the next Accords meeting to discuss this plan?"

He gave a wave of his hand and immediately went back to his own call while pulling another file from the stack on his desk.

"Yes, he will. Now about those AI regulation documents, when are we expecting to roll those out?"

Tony slapped the file back down on the desk and made for the door, the others remaining as they continued to sort through the pile and subsequent phone calls each pertained to. "Look, go ahead and pencil me down for that meeting on the 21st," he said as he stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him. "And make sure you have a valid cell signal cause I'm not flying all the way to Belgium just to sort this out." He rolled his eyes at the indignant voice on the other end. "Not that it's any of your business, but I can't exactly leave the country right now. I don't have enough frequent flier miles saved up yet. But so help me, you are not ratifying this latest addendum. Keeping detainees in a drug-induced coma? What kind of crack are you guys smoking over there and more importantly, are you willing to share?"

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his second phone, navigating to the calendar and scanning the dates. "Yeah, yeah. Alright. I'll be seeing you darling. Love ya." He slid the phone from his shoulder and dropped it into his hand, hitting the end call button right as he let out a sigh two-hours in the making. "Prick."

The door slid open behind him, Rhodey sticking his head out a second later. "Hey, what's your position on the mandated mutant registry?"

Tony pressed a tongue against the side of his cheek and threw him a look.

Rhodes raised a brow in defense. "Just making sure. Don't wanna assume. Now come on, we need you back in here."

He drifted his eyes back down to the phone in hand and shook his head. "Give me a sec, Rhodey."

Despite the rampaging wall of Accords provisions they still had yet to review, Rhodey wasn't so distracted that he didn't notice the strain that had now entered Tony's voice. It wasn't the same 'bored out of my mind' sigh that he'd been leveling at them since that morning when they'd first brought in the newly delivered files. This was different. Different enough to get him muting the call on the other end and setting his phone down.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just..." he lifted a hand and brushed it against his temple, muffled groan working its way through his lips. "Torres gave me a number of an old contact of hers. Works for the Department of Children and Family Services."

It was almost instantaneous, the sudden shift in atmosphere. Tony watched Rhodey's shoulders stiffen and his eyes fill with a solemn concern that had been missing for the better part of the two hours they'd been working.

"What did you tell them?"

"Nothing. Technically, I'm not meeting with her at all. This is happening off the record." He glanced back down at his phone, checking for the last stamped message she'd sent him confirming her location for the meetup. South Queens. 35th street. Grey Buick LeSabre. He scrunched his nose. He didn't even know they still made that brand anymore.

"Hopefully, she'll be able to give me more information on how to approach this, what I need for a stronger case, if I even have a case. Who knows? Maybe I already have enough to convince them to do a seizure without Peter's testimony. Regardless, I need more insider info on his case."

"I thought you already had access to his file."

He rolled his eyes. "Barely. Half of it hasn't been updated in years. Their record keeping isn't exactly stellar and I can't hack into what's not there."

"I thought we don't use that word anymore."

"Sooo..." He threw the man an annoyed glower. "I need copies of his paper files. I need to know what they're doing about his case. And I need to figure it out without raising any alarm bells. Which is why I can't exactly go through the official channels." He glanced down at his phone a second time. "Hey, who's the last guy you knew that owned a LeSabre?"

"Uh...I don't know. Johnny Trent? Sophomore year. Ugly red thing, I think."

"The one that blew up in the parking lot at the Dallas tailgate?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm. Anyway, point is, I really need to take care of this. I'm supposed to meet with her in about 2 hours and I wanted to go through the evidence file I already have on hand." He lifted his head and stole a disparaging look towards the office door. Through the glass, he watched Pepper lean up against his desk, phone pressed against her cheeks, polished nails tapping against the mahogany surface in her telltale 'I'm tired of talking to idiots' sign that she usually reserved for him. His frown deepened. "Look, I know we're swamped here, but-"

Rhodey held up his hands. "It's alright, man. We'll handle it."

Tony gave the man a look of gratitude that didn't quite match the sheer relief that fluttered in his gut. The Accords had been shoved to the back of his mind for the longest time, his attentions mainly focused on the teenage-shaped headache now constantly throbbing behind his temples. It wasn't coincidence that the first day Peter decided to leave the tower to spend the day with his friends was also the first day in almost a month that Tony had been able to completely focus on the Accords.

Not that he blames the kid. If he had to choose between delegating finances for the latest version of the council's detainment plans, complete with shock collars and tracker chips, or listening to Peter gush about the latest season of Great British Bake Off while they worked on adding a fireworks button to Tony's latest suit, he'd happily choose the latter.

The Accords were important, sure. Peter's opinions on why British cooking competitions were vastly superior to their American counterparts? Even more so. And while Tony might have felt more than a little guilty leaving Rhodey and Pepper with the brunt of the remaining phone calls still waiting to be put on hold, this was Peter they were talking about. The Accords could wait. He couldn't.

Case in point-

"Sir, Peter has returned from his outing and is requesting your presence in the lab."

Both men craned their necks towards the ceiling, Tony's brows furrowing as Rhodey smirked, patting the man on the shoulder. "You go handle that."

"What's he doing back so soon?" He glanced down at his watch. The kid should have been out for another 3 hours. Enough time for him to sneak out, meet with Torres' informant, and return with some Thai.

"Maybe he got tired?" He called as Tony turned and began to make his way towards the elevators.

"He's a teenager. He doesn't get tired. Last week, he stayed up till 3am reading Power Rangers fanfiction. I should know. He read it to me while we were working in the lab."

"Seriously?"

"Judge all you want. Jason deserved that character development."

It didn't take long for the elevators to shoot him up to the lab floors, Tony checking his phone one last time as another set of emails popped up on his screen. Ross, Ross, coupon for Arby's, Ross. He slipped it back into his pocket and strode into the room. He caught sight of Peter standing by the main work tables, arms folded over his chest. Tony looked away before he could notice the frown on the boy's face.

"Hey, kid. Can't stay long. Pepper and Rhodey are drowning in some paperwork that I should probably be helping with but am most certainly going to continue ignoring. So, if we could make this quick-"

The words died in his mouth as the chair next to Peter spun around to face him. And the freckle-cheeked, green-eyed look of mischief that gleamed back at him was one he'd recognize anywhere.

Because fuck that look.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Harley said with a cheeky grin. "This won't take long at all."

 


 

"From what we've been able to gather, their main base seems to be near the top of the mountain, guarded by around 60 heavily armored guards with even more near the foot of the hill. We still don't have confirmation on how many are inside, but we need to prepare for a small army to confront us. We'll have to place our heavy hitters near the front to break through that line so Natasha and Sam can get through and extract those files. Then we can- Tony, are you listening to me?"

Steve's voice echoed throughout their meeting room, the rest of the team turning away from the projector with their upcoming battle plan and instead focusing in on the head of the table, where Tony currently tapped away at his phone, humored smirk on his face. He waved a hand.

"Absolutely, doll-face. Continue your war plan. It's 5 stars."

He didn't even bother lifting his head, too busy reading the texts that were now coming through in rapid-fire.

 


 

(Not my Drug Dealer)

 

2:23 PM

Tony.

Oh god.

I'm dead.

I've left this world.

Mourn me.

 

. . .

 

2:23 PM

What happened?

 

. . .

 

2:24 PM

So before we begin, in case my mom ever reads these messages, i want to make it clear that i was NOT smoking. I come from a pure Christian household and the thought of staining my body with such evil substances has never once crossed my mind.

 

. . .

 

2:24 PM

Okay.

What were you NOT smoking?

 

. . .

 

2:24 PM

Weed.

Top quality too. Cost me 80 bucks

 

. . .

 

2:25 PM

Anyway, some of my mom's batty book club friends were walking down the street towards me and i didn't want them to see me...NOT smoking, so i darted into the church cause it was right there and-

 

. . .

 

2:25 PM

They were having a funeral.

A fucking funeral.

For a dead man.

I crashed a funeral.

With my not-weed still sticking out of my mouth.

 

. . .

 

2:26 PM

Harley oh my god.

 

. . .

 

2:26 PM

They all just stared at me!

I had no idea what to do or say and i was so nervous so i just said-

"we having a party? Cause it looks pretty dead in here."

 

. . .

 

2:27 PM

HARLEY

 

. . .

 

2:27 PM

I PANICKED!

 


 

"Tony."

He jerked his head up and cast a quick glance around the room, noting that Steve had now gone quiet and the presentation was now done. Everyone was staring at him again.

"Hmm?"

"Anything to add?" Steve muttered through gritted teeth, eyes narrowed in annoyance.

"Yeah. What's a good apology gift for crashing a funeral?"

. . .

"Asking for a friend."

 


 

It took a second. In fact, it took many seconds for Tony's brain to catch up with what his eyes were seeing because it almost looked like Harley Keener, 15-year-old delinquent and long-standing pain in Tony's ass, was sitting and spinning in his desk chair in the middle of his private lab, balancing a pencil on his upper lip.

It took even longer for him to find his voice.

"Harley?"

"Look at that. He remembers my name. I was really debating wearing a nametag."

It sure sounded like Harley.

"I...wh, uh...what are you doing here?" He blinked a few times but the image remained, the kid remained, stopping his spin and folding his arms under his head.

"Right now? Debating what I should have for dinner tonight." Harley turned, fixing his gaze on the other teenage boy in the room and - Peter. Good god, he was with Peter? And the Tower hadn't imploded yet? Tony's head was already starting to hurt.

"Hey, did they ever end up building any Taco Bells nearby? I wouldn't mind a Postmates delivery."

"There's a new one on 21st street."

"Sick. You want anything?"

"I wouldn't mind a chalupa."

"Hey-"

They both turned towards him and Tony had to try very hard to keep from losing his voice again from the sheer shock of seeing Harley in person. How long had it been? Was something wrong?

"Um, hello? Yeah, hi. Does someone wanna catch me up here?" He said with a fold of the arms, trying in vain to mask his surprise in apathetic snark. Harley grinned again, that same Cheshire troublemaker grin that always seemed to get Tony in hot water with someone: his teammates, Harley's parents, the occasional Sheriff's Department.

"We're staging an intervention. Just know we're only doing this because we care about you."

Tony sighed, the telltale familiar twinge of annoyance and exasperation building inside of him.

Definitely Harley.

Instead, he turned towards Peter, the one teen who might actually give him a straight answer. The boy tilted his head as he looked at Tony. "I found him. Or more, he found me. And my friends. After stalking us for two blocks and cornering us in the back of some alleyway."

"Is that not how you're supposed to make friends?"

Peter took a step forward, brows furrowing a bit and face pulling into his signature I'm not mad but I'm definitely concerned look that Tony was growing accustomed with. "Speaking of friends, not that I don't love meeting yours, Mr. Stark, but uh...what the heck?"

Okay, so maybe he was a little mad.

"How many other teenagers do you know on a personal level?"

Harley scoffed. "Better not be any more or I might actually start getting jealous."

"Okay, just-" Tony put up his hand, silencing both of them before pointing at Harley. "You, y-you just...be quiet. And you." He turned towards Peter. "You come over here."

He stomped his way over towards the corner of the lab, being sure to keep Harley in his line of sight as Peter trailed behind him. Once they were far enough away to suggest a certain level of privacy, he turned towards the kid and cocked a brow, hands landing on his hips.

"What happened?"

Peter shrugged, giving a little shake of his head. "Like I said, he found me and my friends while we were walking. Said he was friends with you, which MJ was very eager to disprove. But seeing as how you're not currently calling the police on trespassing charges, I'm willing to bet my gut was right and you DO know him."

Tony felt his face curl uneasily at the pointed disapproving look Peter shot his way.

"I, err...yeah."

"Right. Well, he wanted to come back to the Tower with me to confront you and honestly? I was right there with him." The frown deepened and Tony actually found himself shrink a little under the stern glare Peter was fixing him with. "Four months and you never told me about the random kid you're supposedly text buddies with?"

"He's more of a scam caller than a text buddy."

"Mr. Stark."

"Okay, okay," he sighed, making a mental note to fill Pepper in on how much she was rubbing off on their little intern. Cause he had her scolding tone down pat. "Look, I'll admit, I probably should have brought him up in passing one of these days, but I figured we already had plenty of stuff on our plates without bring up any past...anomalies. Plus, he's supposed to be 900 miles away!" He raised his voice on those last few words, shooting a pointed glare in Harley's direction.

The brat winked at him and threw him some finger guns.

Tony rolled his eyes and focused back in on Peter, who had apparently still yet to be convinced for his frown remained, albeit with more confusion than annoyance now. The billionaire rested a hand on the boy's shoulder, giving a little pat as he spoke."I wasn't trying to keep this from you, Pete. Honest. It just...never crossed my mind that you two would ever meet. I guess I just assumed he was a part of my life you'd never really interact with."

Peter stared up at him for a moment, big brown eyes raw and curious as he studied the man before him. Tony was used to it now, the second of silence after he spoke where Peter would scan him up and down to determine the authenticity of his words. He wasn't offended by it as he might have been months ago. It was just the kid's way of reassuring himself.

Finally, the teen gave a little nod of his head and spared a little glance over Tony's shoulder at the kid across the room. "Well, you apparently assumed wrong."

The man sighed. "Uh-huh. And I'll get to that. So right now, I need to talk to him alone and make sure I'm not harboring an underaged fugitive cause that's really not going to look good for me."

"I'll vouch for you. You've been a wonderful captor. Even let me go outside and all that."

"Alright, smart-ass," he muttered, flicking the kid's forehead. Peter swatted his hand away with a smile. "Just head upstairs for a little bit. I'll call you down later and answer whatever questions you still have, like why I bother with teenaged nuisances."

"Everyone needs a hobby."

"Yeah, yeah. Go on."

Peter smiled, giving a little nod before making his way towards the door. He stopped short however and turned back around in the doorway, eyes finding Harley one last time. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before giving a shy little wave. "Um, bye Harley. It was...interesting. Meeting you, I mean. But nice...I think? Yeah."

Harley, seemingly unfazed by the boy's stuttering, gave a little two-fingered salute. "See you around, Sparky."

Tony cocked a brow at the name but didn't say anything, the two of them just watching as Peter turned and left the room, leaving nothing but the awkward silence that followed.

That, and the pointed glare that instantly landed on Harley as Tony whirled around and fixed the kid with a hard stare.

"What's up, pookie?"

"Don't start, Keener. Instead I need you to tell me what the hell you think you're doing here or I swear I-"

"Oh, don't bother with the threats, Tony," Harley said with a roll of his eyes, the carefree smirk from before sliding off his face in a heartbeat as he swung his legs and stood from the chair, stuffing his hands into his pockets and throwing the man a sullen stare. "We both know you never follow through."

His tone was sharp, harder than before, missing the friendly bounce he'd used on Peter. Tony blinked, taking a second to stare the kid over. How long had it been since he's last seen him in person? Two years? Longer? He'd certainly grown, nearly the same height as Tony now and certainly a good few inches taller than Peter. His hair had lengthened, stretching down to the base of his neck and the baby fat that had curved his face was beginning to recede, leaving a sharp, pointed jawline and angled cheekbones.

He certainly looked like a teenager now.

"And you can unclench your asshole. I'm not on the lam nor did I hitchhike across state lines to get here," he said as he turned on his heel and spared a bored glance around the lab. "Nobody's that desperate to see you, so get over yourself."

Certainly sounded like one, too.

It was hard to miss the subtle scorn lingering on his words, mirrored in the stiffness of his movements and the tenseness of his posture. Tony narrowed his eyes. It might have been a while since he'd last seen him, but he knew enough about Harley to know when he was acting strange. Well...stranger. And Tony had basically patented this particular brand of passive aggressiveness.

"Then...how are-

"How am I here? Well, I actually formulated a very succinct little explanation for you regarding that exact question." He sniffed and began to pat himself down. "I just can't...seem to remember...where I put it. I think it was...oh yeah! It was in that text I sent you four months ago. It was one of the maybe...three hundred that you never responded to!" Now he was spinning on his heel and fixing Tony with a tight glare.

And Tony, bless his heart, couldn't hold back the contemptuous scoff of disbelief that escaped his lips.

Because apparently this was what his life was now.

"Harley are you kidding me right now? That's what you came all the way here for?" He nearly choked on a puff of exasperation and shook his head. "I haven't heard from you in months!"

Harley curled his nose in irritation and leaned back, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes in annoyance. "Okay, we're playing that game, huh?" He pulled out his phone and tossed it to Tony, watching it bounce off his chest and into his awaiting hands. "You can see for yourself, hotshot. I've basically been talking to a brick wall for the better half of this year!"

Tony stared at the kid for a moment longer, brows knitting in confusion and aggravation because this was seriously not something he was planning on dealing with today, before he huffed under his breath and glared down at the phone in hand. It took a second to pull up the contact info and sure enough, he had to scroll for a while through the walls of text that had gone unanswered. Days upon days of random notes, stupid memes, crappy jokes - everything they usually talked about.

He tossed the phone back onto the workbench and reached into his pocket, ignoring the annoying sound of Harley's foot tapping against the linoleum. He pulled out his own StarkPhone and brought up the messages, voice hard. "The last text I have from you is from four months ago. All the way back in February."

He paused, eyes blinking down at the date plastered at the top of the screen.

February.

The 22nd.

He hesitated for a second before glancing further down at the last few messages.

 

. . .

 

Let me know how that UN meeting goes! Saw it on the news, you and your super friends have new rules to play by, lol!

Vienna right?

Where is that again?

 

. . .

 

Austria, idiot.

What do they teach you in school these days?

And they're not my friends.

They're workplace nuisances.

 

. . .

 

"Ah, shit..."

"What? Been on airplane mode this whole time?" Harley muttered.

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, growling under his breath at the stupidity of the situation he now found himself in and at the bare hints of a headache working under his eyes. "Cool the snark, would ya? I get enough of that from the mirror." He shambled his way over towards his work bench and plopped down into a chair, neck lolling from side to side as he tried to relieve the sudden stiffness while simultaneously trying to remember when the last time he'd updated the settings on the security network was. "I...apparently there was a bit of a communication error between my darling dear network system and I."

Harley folded his arms over his chest, not looking at all appeased. "Meaning?"

Tony held his silence for a moment, staring down at his phone screen and taking in the last few messages he'd sent Harley. Four months...had it really been that long? It couldn't have been. They weren't exactly the talk-every-day kind of people, but four months was...

"Look...I'm sure you remember the Accords, right?"

A wave of the hand and an exasperated look in response.

"Right, well after that whole thing with...my team, I was getting hounded left and right. News reporters, journalists, conspiracists, politicians, investors, business partners, I'm pretty sure I even had a couple Kennedys blowing up my DMs at one time."

The teen clicked his tongue and leaned up against the table behind him, eyes sharp. Voice sharper. "Point taken. You're a popular bitch."

"Point being," Tony retorted in reply, "I had to set up a vetting system because our networks were literally crashing from the amount of messages, calls, meetings, what have you. The entire company email server had to be shut down for a week after the team split. And I had to start filtering out all the calls and texts I was getting that weren't critical. Ergo, anyone and anything that didn't have the power to put my ass in jail should I not respond within two to four business days."

It had been a long month of work, he remembered. In the early days after meeting Peter, on the nights his internship didn't run, he remembered how hectic the Tower would be. Back when Secretary Ross was a full-on steak knife in his side rather than the pesky thorn he was now. Back when not a single floor of the tower was devoid of alcohol in one way or another. Tony even remembered stocking some bottles in the medicine cabinet, right behind the Tylenol. Extra-strength variety, he'd called it.

Back when each day, each morning, each breath he took was a roll of the dice.

Tony pursed his lips and spared a glance up, taking note of how Harley stared down at the floor by his feet, arms still folded tight, eyes hard and thoughtful as he listened, brows furrowed. The billionaire looked away and swallowed, trying to ignore the flare of guilt that suddenly rang in his chest.

"And I think you might have been swept up in that."

Harley's face twitched but he didn't say anything in response. His eyes gleamed with a hint of something, but Tony couldn't really make out what it was. Relief? Anger? It was hard to tell what with the kid still refusing to look at him, staring down at the floor as his fingers tapped against his arm. Tony watched him, watched the subtle twitches of his face, the knitting of his brows and the downturned angle of his lips.

It was amazing how much Peter had started to rub off on him, in more ways than one - case in point - the way he could now take note of each and every detail in a persons' face, their posture, their tone. Reading every little clue. Every subtle hint. Peter was right. You could have an entire conversation just by watching the way a person breathed.

It was another few seconds of silence before Harley finally spoke. The anger in his eyes may have subsided slightly, but the irritation in his voice had not.

"...Four months and you didn't notice that I was suddenly radio silent?"

The guilt in his chest bubbled and Tony swallowed with a stern frown. "In case you haven't noticed, kid, I've been a bit busy here," he muttered. "I got a lot on my plate at the moment."

"Yeah. I met the appetizer an hour ago."

He instantly tensed, taking note of the additional hints of bitterness creeping into the teen's voice and quickly felt his body go on edge. He took a breath, straightening up in his seat as he narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. "Peter doesn't have anything to do with this, so don't even start that."

Harley scoffed and jumped down from his spot on the table. "No, you know what? Let's keep on him. Cause the cold shoulder from you isn't even that out of the ordinary the more I think about it. You've always been a douche. That's nothing new. What's new is this kid you're so suddenly obsessed with." He chuckled, the sound cold and mocking. "You're Tony Stark! You don't do kids!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means the first time I met you, you called me a pussy and demanded I make you a tuna sandwich."

"...Fair enough. Go on."

Harley rolled his eyes and waved a hand. "Anyway, this story about some 'internship program' you made up is one hundred percent false, isn't it?"

Tony gritted his teeth. "I-"

"Yes it is, don't even try to deny it!" He watched Harley pace back and forth in front of him, his movements wild and expressive, just like the kid himself. So unlike Peter, he realized.

"In the years I've known you, I've learned that there are a few things in this world that you feel an unreasonable amount of hatred towards. Peppermint-scented hand sanitizer, guys who look and sound like Steve Rogers, and interns."

The teen pursed his lips and jutted his chin out with a snide sense of confidence. "And if I were a billionaire asshat who was thinking of starting an internship program I know I'd hate, the very least I'd do is select an applicant I already know and can work semi-well with. Which is exactly what you didn't do cause guess what?" The sarcastic snark of his voice fell away, leaving bare anger in its place. "I didn't know anything about it!"

"That's what this is? You're mad I didn't pick you?"

"I'm mad that you keep lying to me!"

Tony jolted a bit at that and furrowed his brows but didn't respond. Harley held his stare for a second longer before turning away with a growl of frustration. The billionaire took a breath, felt himself beginning to get annoyed but tried to push it back down. If there was anything he'd learned from Peter, it was that rising to a teenager's anger was never a good move.

"This kid isn't your intern. And you hid your involvement with him for as long as you could. And there's a reason for that, isn't there? Probably a stupid reason but a reason nonetheless."

But goddamn did this kid love to push his buttons.

"Is he your son?"

"No."

"A spy, then? Keeping tabs on your competitors?"

"No, listen-."

"Is he another alien?"

"Harley-!"

"Is he an Avenger?"

"Enough already!" Tony stood from his seat as he finally began to raise his voice. Screw it. This wasn't Peter he was dealing with. He didn't have to tread carefully with what he said or how he said it. Harley could dish it out. And he could certainly take it right back. "My business with this kid is exactly that: my business! Meaning it doesn't have anything to do with you so go ahead and stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong!"

Harley reared back, looking like all the world had just offended him. He clenched his fists. "Are you serious right now?!"

"I couldn't be more serious right now!"

"I'm just trying to-"

"No. You know what?" Tony lifted his hands and pushed the chair back, stepping around it as he turned towards the door. "I'm done with this conversation. I don't know what you're doing here but we're finished."

"Tony-"

"I don't know why you're so concerned about this."

"Listen-"

"I know teenagers are hormonal and egotistical and whatever, but this shit doesn't involve you in the slightest. And you have absolutely no say in this matter!"

"I know. That's not what this is-!"

"I don't even know why you're angry. I mean, why would I tell you about all this shit in the first place, Harley?!"

"Because I'm your FRIEND!"

Tony stopped, both his jaw and his footsteps locking in place as he quickly whipped around, ready to continue the argument based on the tone of voice Harley had used. This readiness died when he saw the teen's face however.

When his words finally began to sink in.

Harley wasn't clenching his fists in anger anymore. He wasn't doing anything in anger anymore, for there didn't seem to be any left. Instead, he let out a frustrated huff and awkwardly rubbed at his arm, shuffling his weight back and forth between both feet as his face scrunched and his cheeks reddened, not with rage, but with…embarrassment?

Tony straightened up and felt his own anger drain away.

"And I figured...as your friend, you'd want to tell me." Harley's voice was softer now. Less sure of itself. Very unlike his usual manner of speaking. "I mean, if I suddenly found a new billionaire buddy to start hanging around with, you'd be the first person I'd tell. A) because I'd love to watch you get all jealous, and B) because...there's no one else to tell."

The teen seemed to hesitate for a second before letting out a sigh. And with it, the rest of the fight also seemed to leave his body, for he quickly leaned back up against the work bench from before, pressing his hands into the cold metal steel as he stared down at the floor.

"Look, I know we don't really run in the same circles and if things in the past had worked out...differently, you and I wouldn't even know each other. But we do. And for the most part...I'm glad we do." He kept his gaze on the floor, but Tony could see the small smile beginning to work onto his face. "I like having you around to bounce ideas off of, joke around with. I don't need to hold anything back with you cause you can take it just as well as I can. Hell, my own mom probably doesn't know me half as well as you do at this point."

He lifted a hand and ran it through the strands of golden hair falling around the edges of his face. "And I get it, okay? I'm a kid who doesn't know what he's talking about. But that doesn't mean I don't have anything to say." He lifted his head at this, face taking on an almost wounded look. "And it doesn't mean I don't have any good ideas."

Tony held his gaze for a second before letting out a little breath, shoulders loosening as he softened his stare. "I know you do, Harley," he said gently.

The teen's lips thinned, jaw tensing for a second as his fingers fiddled with the edge of the table. "So...why didn't you tell me anything?"

He said it quietly, void of any accusatory tones, ringing with only an echo of hurt.

And maybe once upon a time, Tony wouldn't have cared. He'd probably have shrugged the kid off and waved him away, disregarding the sad look in his eyes and the dejected tone of his voice as not-his-problem and refocusing back in on whatever inane shit he'd have planned.

But that was before he'd met Peter.

And that was before he'd learned just how weighty his words could be to a teenager looking for approval.

He watched Harley continue to fiddle with his fingers, purposely keeping his gaze anywhere but on Tony and the billionaire almost kicked himself for not seeing it sooner. Harley had always been a pretty open kid, even when he was younger, never shying away from saying exactly what was on his mind. It was one of the things Tony respected most about him. But the one thing he was always purposely vague about was his social life, specifically school and the kids back home. He never mentioned friends, aside from the occasional self-deprecating joke about having none.

(Which Tony was beginning to realize weren't so much jokes as they were statements of fact.)

It wasn't much of a surprise, honestly. People like him, like Peter - they never really had much luck when it came to the social aspect of life. Science, mathematics, all of that came as easy as breathing. Navigating interpersonal waters was a much rougher sea to sail. And the red cheeks and flustered fidgeting of the kid before him reminded him all too well of the nagging ache that came with it.

Tony was Harley's only friend. And he'd been ignoring him for months.

He wasn't jealous. He wasn't angry. He was lonely.

The billionaire swallowed and slowly walked back over towards the work tables, grabbing the chair from before and taking a seat once again. "This is a lot more complicated than anybody knows, Harley. And you were right about one thing. You're a kid. A stubborn, annoying little shit of a kid, but a kid nonetheless. And I don't want to be wrapping you up in my bullshit."

Harley didn't get angry at this, didn't even turn to argue. Instead, he just sniffed and scratched at his cheek, throwing the man a small smile. "Come on, Tony, don't give me that. You know bullshit's my specialty. I get that from you. "

The man paused for a second before huffing and slowly cracking his own small smile.

"Look, it's not like you need to come to me for answers," the teen continued, hopping down from his seat on the table and walking over. "I'm just the dumbass you vent to and share stupid memes with. And I like being that. I know I don't have the answers nor am I pretending I do. You have plenty of responsible adults to turn to for that. And honestly, if you're coming to a teenager like me for advice, then there's definitely something wrong with you."

Tony rolled his eyes.

"I'm just here to...I don't know, make things a little easier." He reached the table and grabbed the chair opposite Tony, slowly sliding down to face him. When he looked up, his smile was softer this time. Genuine. "Cause that's what you do for me. Make things...a little easier."

Tony said nothing at that. Just took note of the smile on the kid's face and felt a strange sense of pleasure at the sight of it. The man hesitated for a second longer before rapping his knuckle against the table below and leaning back in his chair, absentmindedly pulling out his phone again. He brought up the settings for the vetting system and quickly removed Harley from the block. Immediately the phone began to vibrate with the barrage of messages beginning to flood through.

"Damn. Two hundred messages. You're one clingy boyfriend."

"Fuck off. Sorry for being worried about you, dipshit."

Tony smiled, shoulders bouncing a bit as he chuckled. "...It's good to see you, Harls."

The teen hummed in response, but didn't reply with any snarky comment like he usually would at any displays of affection. It was obviously something he needed to hear, so much so that he couldn't afford to taint it with jokes.

Jesus. When had teenagers gotten so complicated?

"So, you never told me what you're doing here in the city." He waved a hand at his phone. "And I'm definitely not scrolling through this mess to find out."

Harley sniffed and leaned back in his chair, propping one leg overtop the other. "You remember that guy my mom was dating a while back?"

"No."

"Great. Well, they got hitched."

Tony leaned back in his own chair, cocking a brow as a crooked smile worked onto his face. "Seriously? When did that happen?"

"Five months ago, give or take. They'd been dating in secret for about a year. Didn't tell me and Lily until they started to get real serious." He sniffed and flicked at the puff ball hanging from the ends of his hat. Tony made a mental note to ask about it later. "Anyway, he got a job down at the precinct on 23rd street and he wanted us to come with him. So…here I am." He shrugged. 'Honestly, it's whatever. Beats Rose Hill any day of the week. More crime. More drugs. What a place to raise a family."

Tony squinted his eyes and scratched at his chin. "Oh, wait, wait. Is this the same dorky deputy you told me about?"

"That's him."

"Heh, police officer for a stepdad, huh. Am I to assume you're always on your best behavior around him?"

Harley scoffed and let a devious smirk slide onto his face. "I'm a model child."

 

("…a model of perfect behavior.")

 

Tony stiffened. He felt the air in his lungs seize with one sudden breath, lodging somewhere in his chest as the memories of that conversation flooded through his head. The smug grin. The burning glare. The stiff, unfettered rage that had burned in his chest. Parker's eyes.

Those dark, empty, black eyes.

It's not like that.

Relax.

Everything's fine.

("There's nothing, Mr. Stark. Everything's fine!")

Peter's fine.

Harley's fine.

He'd have said otherwise.

He'd-

("Please just drop it, Mr. Stark! Please, I-! I can't tell you!")

"Tony?"

He jolted, the lump in his throat, sliding down with a sickening thud as he blinked back into reality and focused in on Harley once more. The teen was staring at him with a twisted grin, questioning and curious.

"You spacing out on me? Geez, I didn't know I was that boring."

He took a breath, took another as he noticed the slight shiver of his hand under the desk. In that split second, he did another once-over, another stare, another scan of the kid before him. No bruises. No shifting or fidgeting. No guarding or winces. Nothing outright. Nothing obvious.

Breathe.

"This guy…what's he like?"

Harley, who had taken the second of silence to glance down at his phone, gave a little humored huff. "Why?"

("I…I need to know how to keep you happy…")

"…Just curious."

Harley tapped around on his phone and gave a one-shoulder shrug. "He's…pretty unremarkable, honestly. Tall, skinny, looks like a high school math teacher that gets bullied by his own students. He even wears sweater vests on his days off. Unbelievable."

Tony gave a little nod, took another breath, hot and muggy. He kept his gaze firm on Harley, watching his movements, his posture as he spoke. "Is he nice?"

"Hmm?"

"To you…"

("…He was just so angry.")

"Is he nice to you?"

Now Harley looked up, lowering his phone as his brows knitted together. Tony tried to keep his face casual, tried to keep his voice light. The shake in his hand lessened slightly but did not disappear completely and he suddenly had the strong desire to go and find Peter, if only to lay his eyes on the kid and assure himself that he was still alright.

It was obvious Harley had noticed the change, if only in the way he hesitated a second before finally replying. But he thankfully didn't comment on Tony's strange mannerisms. "Sure, I guess." He seemed to ponder for a moment before letting another loose smile slip onto his face. "It's funny, actually. It's obvious the guy's trying to get on my good side, taking an interest in my hobbies, bringing me home subs after his shifts, the whole stepdad thing. He's pretty terrified of me, which I'm not too upset about, but…"

He paused, seemed to think about something for a second before the smile on his face morphed. It wasn't forced, Tony noticed. Wasn't even strained. In fact, it almost looked resigned. Accepting in a way. "But yeah…he's a good guy. Makes my mom happy and my sister basically adores him, so yeah. Could definitely be worse."

Tony stared at him, watched as the kid seemed to think over his words for a second before turning his attention back down to his phone. He knew what to look for now. Knew the tells and the signs, the subtle keys and clues that could give something away. Peter was a pro at hiding them, but Tony knew how to fish them out, knew when the kid was lying about something big.

Harley wasn't showing his tells. Which meant Harley was telling the truth.

Which meant Harley was safe.

Which meant Tony could breathe again.

He let the puff of air softly escape through the side of his mouth before giving a little nod of approval. Harley seemed to notice this from the corner of his eye and leaned back in his chair once again, tilting his head in jest. "Sounds like Mr. Stark's gotten a little overprotective. Can I count on you to back me up if he ever steps out of line?"

The billionaire ran a hand through his hair and let out a little sigh. "Not that I'm condoning the use of Iron Man as your personal attack dog, but sure. Let's go with that."

"Awesome. I'm definitely threatening him with that when I get home."

"What did I just say?"

 


 

It didn't take long to show Harley the latest improvements around the lab and everything that had changed in the two years since he'd last visited. The expansion on the second floor, the improvements to the arc energy cores, the latest suit models and the plans for the newest upgrades. In fact, it probably took longer to drag him away from Dum-e and U, both of whom were very happy to see their old friend and accomplice in mischief again.

"Damn, this kid's way smarter than me, isn't he?" Harley said as he stared at the mini arc reactor Peter had made months ago, eyes gleaming with interest as he stared through the protective glass. "Fourteen, right? Is he in college yet?"

"Nah, still in baby school just like you. Probably finds it just as boring as you do." Tony didn't turn as he spoke, gathering together a few files he'd left out on the spare work benches in the corner of the lab. He kept his ears perked for the sounds of any stray explosions, though. Could never be too careful when Harley was in the lab.

"Remind me later to show you some of the latest blueprints the kid and I are working on. We've hit a bit of a dead end and a fresh pair of eyes never hurts."

"Ehh, I don't know how much help I'll be. You two are leagues ahead of me when it comes to this shit." Harley gave a shrug. "Besides, I've been getting more into the earth sciences recently."

"Seriously? Since when?"

"Since I got a guinea pig and had to do two weeks of research just to figure out how to keep him alive."

Tony rolled his eyes and used the toe of his foot to pull out the bottom drawer of his filing cabinet. "I'll hold my tongue for now, but you know how I feel about the 'fleshy sciences'. Just keep it away from me and we'll be all good." He slid the files into place, pulled out a fresh pack, and slammed the drawers shut, wiping his hands on his shirt as he turned and walked further into the room. "Regardless, come look at these designs anyway. Maybe I'll be able to corrupt you back onto the path of good science and away from the rat poking, rock polishing, waste that is Earth Sciences. God, I can't even say it without grimacing. God, this must be one hell of a guinea pig to move you to…kid?"

Harley didn't respond. Didn't even turn around to acknowledge him, for his eyes were drawn to something on the far wall. Tony furrowed his brows and strode over, slowing in his pace as his eyes finally caught sight of what the kid was so focused on.

In the back of the lab sat a little nook tucked into the corner, complete with an ugly green couch, a few pillows and even a mini fridge filled with a few snacks and drinks for whenever he forgot to note the time and missed meals. And hanging on the wall above the couch sat a few framed photos, miscellaneous, ridiculous pictures that Rhodey, Pepper, Happy and even a few of his teammates had hung over the years: The Avenger's News Years party, Rhodey and Tony's MIT graduation, candids of Happy harassing the janitorial staff, and…a frame of him and Peter sitting on a curb outside Delmar's sandwiches in hand and smiles on their faces.

He stopped beside Harley and stared at the photo for a moment. "Forgot Pepper had that thing made"

Harley said nothing, just stood and stared at the picture hanging on the wall. It was hard to read his face, his expression showing nothing but thoughtful curiosity. It was a few moments before anybody spoke again.

"There's a lot you can't tell me about this kid…isn't there?"

Tony hesitated for a moment before stuffing his hands into his pockets. "It's not because I don't trust you, Harley. It's just…"

"-Complicated. Yeah, you said that earlier."

"They're not my secrets to tell," he murmured, gazing back at the smiling photo of Peter chatting away. "And I can't betray his trust like that. It took a lot to earn it in the first place."

. . .

. . .

. . .

"You're a dick, Tony."

"…Thank you?"

Harley turned. "No, I mean…you can be a dick sometimes, but you're not selfish."

At this, Tony turned too.

"Whatever's going on with this kid…you're not doing it for you. I saw those articles online, all those posts from people wondering if this kid's some pawn in a game between you and Parkstem Labs." Harley pursed his lips, the edges turning downward. "I know that's bullshit. I know you wouldn't do something like that. Nor would you be dumb enough to fall for a scam."

He took a breath and slowly turned his head back towards the picture, strands of blond hair sticking out from underneath his hat, tickling his forehead and the tips of his ears. "Whatever you're doing with this kid…you're doing it for him, aren't you?"

Tony shuffled forward, reaching out to grab the bottom edge of the picture and pulling it closer. How long had it been since that photo was taken? Two months? Three? It almost felt like years had passed since those early days. Back when talking to Peter had been so difficult and a simple hello was like pulling teeth out of the shy kid. That day had been different. That day, Peter had been so….happy. Probably for the first time in a long time.

Tony sighed, gently repositioned the frame and plopped down on the musty couch below. "It really is complicated, Harls."

Harley let out a little hum at this but said nothing more. He squinted his eyes at the picture once more and readjusted the hat on his head, yanking down on the pull-strings hanging by his ears and finally folding his arms overtop his chest.

"…What's he like?"

Tony, who had gone to resting his head against the lip of the couch with closed eyes, let out a grunt. "Hmm?"

"The kid." Harley shuffled around Tony and jumped onto the couch beside him, the billionaire huffing in annoyance at the movements. Keener spared it no mind. "I only talked to him for about an hour or so, and that was after I basically ambushed him in a back-alley dumpster, so that kinda sours the experience." He turned to look up at Tony. "From what I gathered, he seemed pretty…shy. Quiet. Very…very different from you and I."

"He is…at first." Tony thought for a moment before resting his elbow on the armrest and waving his hand. "But if you can get him talking, he'll never stop. And he'll amaze you with just how much he knows. I'm willing to be this kid'll be smarter than me in less than ten years. Hell, he might just be smarter than me now and doesn't even know it. And he won't brag about it, either. I can't remember the last time he took a compliment without turning into a stuttering mess, but he honestly deserves every word of it. If you ever see him in action, you'll be mesmerized by just how fast this kid works. And all in his head too. In fact, there was one time where…" he trailed off, noticing the wide-eyed stare of the kid next to him.

"…What?"

"Sorry, I just…need to make sure I wasn't dreaming."

"Why?"

"Cause it almost sounded like you were…bragging about this kid."

He reared back. "What? No!"

"Dude, you sounded just like my mom whenever she shows me off to her book club friends. Oh, my son did this. My son did that. It's funny…" He smiled, staring down at the floor for a second before aiming a sly grin over at Tony. "You really like this kid, don't you?"

Tony scoffed, hoping the sound would mask the subtle heat rising in the back of his neck and the stuttering denials he nearly broke out. "Is that jealousy I sense, Keener?" he muttered with a pointed defensiveness to his tone.

The teen rolled his eyes. "Hardly. I already got one overprotective parent riding my ass. I don't need to add you to the mix. This kid can have you all to himself. Sounds like he needs you more than I do anyway."

The lightheartedness ebbed at that, replaced instead with the heavy reminders of reality that Tony had been forgetting during their chat. He rested his elbows down against his knees and folded his hands together, jaw tightening ever so slightly as he let out a breath.

"Listen, Harls. I don't want you prodding at Peter for information on this, alright? I know how you are. You don't beat around the bush and with me, that's fine. I respect that. But Peter's…different. He won't react well to questions on this."

"Is he violent?"

"No, not at all. He'd probably cry if you killed an ant. He just…"

("Whatever you want. Whatever you want from me, I'll do it. You just have to say it. You just have to tell me.")

"He doesn't know how to say no to people. Not really. And I don't want you taking advantage of that just to fish for intel, okay?"

For the first time in a while, Harley looked upset. Offended. "Jeez, man. What do you take me for? I know I can be a dick sometimes, but I'm not a total asshole. At least not to people who don't deserve it."

"So, why are you a jerk to me all the time?"

"I said people who don't deserve it."

Tony rolled his eyes.

Harley waved a hand in a reassurance and patted the man on the shoulder. "You can relax. I'm not going to hurt your little intern."

"I know you won't. Just…"

"Just being overprotective again." Harley gave a little chuckle, the frown melting into another smile. "It's not a bad look on you, old man."

Tony muttered something under his breath and shoved the kid away, Harley cackling with a devilish grin.

It'd been a while since he'd heard that laugh.

Tony had to admit…he was glad to have it back.

"You know…if you're looking to get back into the social game, you couldn't ask for a better friend than Peter." He smiled, glancing over at the teen sitting next to him. He reached over and looped an arm around the boy's shoulders. "He's a sweet kid. You'll like him. And he'll like you. He likes everyone." His smile dimmed. "Unfortunately."

Harley didn't seem to notice, for he merely wiggled free of the man's hold and folded his arms under his head before leaning into the couch and shutting his eyes with a content little sigh.

"Oh please. I already like him. Just look at what he's done to you. Kid's practically a miracle worker."

 


 

SWOOSH

"Hey, Parker!"

"Gha!"

"Nice room, man. Anyway, books down! You're walking me home cause I don't remember how to get back! So, chop, chop, I'll be waiting downstairs."

SWOOSH

"I…uh…"

SWOOSH

"Mr. Stark! Uh, is this-?"

"Just go with it, kid. I'm borrowing your Tylenol by the way."

"Are you sure? It's the extra strength stuff Dr. Torres gave me."

"Yeah, I know."

SWOOSH

 


 

"This is Hunter. Reporting in from junction 32-B."

"Copy that. He's leaving the Tower now. Can't get a visual from inside but they're heading out through the back parking lot. Be advised. Pupa is accompanied by an additional boy. Young. Fifteen, sixteen years old."

"Great. Any info on mystery kid?"

"Working on it now."

"I'm sure we'd know a lot more if we could actually get a fucking camera inside that stupid tower."

"Boss is working on it."

"Well, he needs to work faster."

"Hey-"

"I know. I know. Don't doubt Mr. Big Shot. Whatever….Heads up, Pupa is heading north. Approaching the west-end intersection."

"Affirmative. You're cleared to engage."

"Copy."

"Maintain distance. Keep a positive visual but don't be seen. Not yet, at least."

"...I know what I'm doing."

 


 

. . .

 

. . .

 

(You know that feeling?)

(Where the hairs on the back of your neck start to stand on end and your skin begins to tingle? That funny little itch you can't really scratch. Makes your muscles hurt. Like you just finished a marathon. Like you can't breathe.)

(It's that same feeling you'd get when you were a kid playing with your parents things or looking at a cheat sheet while the teacher roamed around the exam room, doing things you knew you weren't supposed to do.)

(Naughty things.)

(The feeling of fear that would shoot down your back. Make you sick to your stomach. Your whole body tensing. Stiff and uncomfortable. Afraid to turn, afraid to look around. Afraid to go through with it.)

(I'm sure you do.)

(Everybody's been stared at before.)

(Everybody knows the feeling of being watched.)

(But I liked to consider myself an expert on the subject.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Because I was always being watched.)

 

. . .

 

"No way…they brought the whole water tower down?"

Harley grinned, taking another bite of the hot dog in hand as he shrugged his shoulders. He maneuvered the food around his mouth as he continued to speak. "Yep. Flooded the whole street and a couple of the nearby businesses. Tony paid for the repair costs, of course. And covered the bill for a new water tower."

Peter nodded his head as the pair walked, ducking under an arm as they maneuvered through the busy New York crowds and bustling sidewalks. He thought for a second before pursing his lips and giving a smirk. "Let me guess. He made it red and gold."

"Complete with a picture of Iron Man's face etched onto the side." Harley crumped the wrapper and tossed it into a nearby trashcan. "At least it matched the school colors."

It was late afternoon. A good while past lunchtime but still too early for the nearby businesses to let out. Peter knew it'd be best to get Harley home before five, though. Even a seasoned veteran had trouble pushing through the homeward bound commuters of a New York sidewalk during rush hour.

"I remember watching the news when all that Extremis stuff happened. I was only…11, I think."

His neck prickled. He rubbed at it.

"God, I still remember the report they made when his California mansion got destroyed. Everyone saying he was dead."

Harley sniffed, stuffing his now free hands down into his pockets as he lazily tilted a head in Peter's direction. "You didn't believe it, did you?"

"I don't think so. I remember being really worried, though. Can't even imagine what it was like meeting him during all of that."

"Yeah, he was a mess. Lucky for him, he had me to save his ass."

Peter smiled, sparing an absentminded glance at the street signs on the corner and quickly orienting himself to where they were. Another block on this street, then a turn at the corner of 31st and Main should get them close to-

 

(DANGER.)

 

. . .

 

(I was five the first time I started to notice it.)

(How everything I said or did…my father always knew before I could say a word.)

 

. . .

 

"You know, I didn't even tell you about how billionaire genius left little twelve-year-old me alone with his multi-million-dollar prototype suit as he went spelunking across state lines. Had it hooked to the same car battery that charged our tractor. I mean, come on! I guess this IS the same guy who built his first suit in a cave so he's nothing if not adaptive."

Harley smiled and prattled on without a care in the world.

Peter really wished he could listen.

How he hated to be rude.

Slowly, he began to scan the crowds. It was easy to tell when he was being watched. Much harder to pinpoint where the eyes were hiding. Where the signal was coming from. It was like trying to find a needle in a pile of broken glass, every inch prickly and dangerous. Who was it? Where were they? How many? One? Two? A group? An army?

What did I do this time?

 

. . .

 

(He knew about Mr. Dickens, my kindergarten class's substitute teacher. A short, balding man with a round face, bushy beard, and flushed cheeks. Knew what he looked like before I could tell him how he reminded me of Santa Clause. He knew about what I brought for show and tell despite my best efforts to keep it a secret. I remember wanting to surprise him. Wanted the whole class to know how cool my father was by bringing in one of his butterfly models. A Lotis Blue, trapped behind an inch and a half of thick glass and sturdy wooden frames.)

(He even knew about the stories I'd eventually tell the janitor, Mr. Jenkins, a small little man with wispy gray hair, round glasses and a kind smile - wild crazed imaginations of a child hopped up on sugar, spinning a tale of a dark, dangerous household with evil creatures lurking beneath the floorboards.)

(I got in a lot of trouble for that one.)

(I also never saw Mr. Jenkins again.)

 

. . .

 

He was acutely aware of Harley continuing to rant beside him, made it a point to keep the teen in the corner of his eye. It was unlikely his father's spies would do anything to him in such a public area. But better safe than sorry. And he was not about to let Harley be an unwitting victim of his father's schemes.

 

(DANGER.)

 

He winced. The ache in his neck intensified, a million burning needles poking through his skin, shooting up his spine, electrifying his very bones.

Where?

Where?

Across the street. Two windows up. Behind them. Above them. Everywhere-

 

(DANGER.)

 

"So, anyway, I don't know where this candy came from, had to be some serious black market shit cause I was seeing time and space when Tony finally calls in and-"

"Sorry!"

Harley jumped. Peter did too when he finally realized the voice he'd just heard was his own. He blinked back into reality and tried real hard to focus his jittering nerves onto the kid before him. He forced a smile onto his face. Didn't have to force the nervousness in his voice. That was all too real.

"Sorry, but I….I just realized I promised Ned I'd pick him up something from Delmar's and they're closing up soon so I need to, uh…I need to…get back there." He made a point of checking his watch. His arm was shaking. "Um…do you think…can you find your way back home from here, or-"

Harley blinked at him, obviously surprised at the sudden jitters. He tilted his head and squinted his eyes a bit before sparing a glance up at the street sign above their heads. "Nah…" he said slowly. "I, uh…I know where I am now. My place is just around this block."

"Good. That's…t-that's good. I, uh…sorry."

 

(DANGER.)

 

(DANGER.)

 

(GET HIM AWAY.)

 

"It's ah….it's alright." Harley was definitely giving him a strange look. The teen hoped he was just weirded out by Peter's nervous mannerisms and wasn't actually suspicious. He couldn't afford to have him stick around any longer.

Maybe he was just annoyed.

Peter tended to do that to people.

He swallowed, forced himself to keep his eyes from drifting over the nearby crowds. "I'm really sorry, Harley. I know I'm…spazzy."

 

. . .

 

(At first, I thought my dad was magic. That he could see and hear everything no matter how far I went or how softly I whispered my secrets. I remember thinking it was cool, at first.)

(Then I remember thinking it was not so cool when Sarah Collins offered me her extra graham crackers and I hesitated, wondering if my father could somehow see into our cafeteria, watching me nearly accept an offering of free food I had not earned.)

( That was also around the time when I stopped talking much in class. When I stopped talking pretty much… altogether.)

 

. . .

 

Surprisingly, the other teen gave a quick shake of his head and held out his hands. "Hey, no. Don't worry abut it." He didn't rush to make a joke as Peter had expected. Though perhaps he had, and Peter had just missed it. His ears were perked again, listening for anything out of place. Anything that wasn't supposed to be there. He turned and scanned the street.

Dogwalker.

Peddler.

Homeless man.

Harley-

"You alright?" The teen asked as he stepped back into Peter's line of sight. His face was twisted into a frown. "You look…nervous."

"I'm fine."

 

(Rule # !#-)

 

He winced.

Harley's frown remained. As did he.

"Are you sure? Cause I can stay…if you'd like."

At this, Peter turned his gaze away from the surrounding people and over towards Harley. The teen was a bit taller than him so he had to tilt his eyes upwards to meet his gaze.

It was soft.

Concerned.

….How strange.

Peter hesitated for a second before giving a little smile. He decided in that moment that he really, really wanted Harley to leave.

 

(DANGER.)

 

Especially if it meant they'd see each other again. Safe and sound.

"I'm…I'm okay. I'm alright. But, um…" he furrowed his brows, angling his gaze towards the ground. This was the part he was not so good at. "We could…we could meet up again…if you'd like. I mean, I don't, um…you're probably busy since you just moved in and all and I…err actually you'd probably prefer to be with Mr. Stark and like, duh, who wouldn't, but um…just…yeah. O-offer stands."

Jeez, Parker. No wonder you only have two friends.

Harley, however, did not seem to mind the awkwardness of Peter's gesture, for the teen gave a big smile before seeming to correct himself, clearing his throat as he wiped away the grin and replaced it instead with a more casual shoulder shrug. "Heh…I guess we can, if you want."

The smile eventually won out and Peter couldn't help but match the look with one of his own. He swallowed the churning in his stomach, curled his toes against the prickling of his skin and gave Harley a wave as the teen turned and began to make his way across the street.

"I guess I'll see you around, Peter Parker. Keep an eye on Tony for me, yeah?"

 

(FIND IT.)

 

(FIND IT.)

 

(WATCHING.)

 

"Right. B-, uh…bye, Harley."

It wasn't until the teen turned the corner and disappeared from Peter's line of sight that he finally narrowed his eyes and pushed through the crowds, pressing his hands into the nearest wall and flattening himself against it.

 

. . .

 

( My dad wasn't magic.. He didn't have eyes and ears everywhere.)

 

. . .

 

(DANGER.)

 

(DANGER.)

 

(EVERYWHERE.)

 

No.

Not everywhere.

Find it, Peter.

 

. . .

 

(He WAS everywhere.)

 

. . .

 

It was getting to be hard to concentrate now. The pounding overtop his skin was beginning to work up to his head, blasting beneath his eyes, chattering his teeth. Whatever was watching him, it was big. And it was deadly. His senses only ever chirped this much at home, down in the labs, under the watchful gazes of the Cons and his father.

 

. . .

 

(In every person I saw, every face I smiled at, every voice I spoke to…he was there. Lurking within them.)

 

. . .

 

He took a breath, ignored the confused, weirded out stares of the people passing him by. They didn't count. They didn't know. Further. Push out further. Listen. Find it.

 

. . .

 

(It's hard to know for sure who's working for him nowadays. Some are good at hiding it. Some are obvious. Those don't stay around for long. He likes the sneaky ones, the ones that don't leave any trace of their existence, the ones you'd never expect to associate with him. A bus driver. A school resource officer. The secretary for the local police department. The neighbor three doors down.)

(A friend.)

(All of them….nothing but eyes. Nothing but ears.)

(Nothing but his pretty little spies watching his perfect little son.)

 

. . .

 

He shut his eyes.

Pressed his fingers into the wall.

And breathed.

 

. . .

 

(I wish I'd known at the time.)

(What I was getting myself into.)

 

. . .

 

Whatever it was, it was cold.

And it was dark.

A looming dread that stained the streets and darkened the skies, corrupting the bodies around him, scratching the building walls, cracking the roads, the sidewalks, the bricks and stones underfoot.

 

. . .

 

(What kind of evil I would face.)

 

. . .

 

He could feel his lungs shrinking, the air crystalizing. A painful burning with each breath, the same cold snap of below freezing weather, where each movement hurts and every blink elicits a wince of pain.

Someone was out there.

 

. . .

 

(And through it all, even to this day, I still wonder...)

 

. . .

 

Something.

Inhuman.

Cold.

Ice.

Monster.

 

 

 

 

 

Where?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Peter opened his eyes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Johanna smiled back at him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(What would have happened if I'd never crossed that street?)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(If I'd never met her.)

Notes:

I started a new page! To see it, travel to my blog to see the details ( I cannot expand on this here without violating AO3 rules)

. . .

So, it's obviously been a hot second, about 6 months if I'm not mistaken. Like I've said before, I don't plan on quitting this story anytime soon and I'm always working. It's just finding the time to work in longer than 5-minute intervals can be a challenge.

Case in point, the only reason I was finally able to finish this chapter was because of the month long winter break I had off from school. It literally took me the entire first semester plus this additional month to find the time to finish this. And that really highlights the issue.

The amount of free time I have nowadays is basically zero. Which makes it harder and harder to find the time and, more importantly, the MOTIVATION to write.

Hopefully, this new page is the answer.

So, please, PLEASE go and check out my tumblr blog to see the details of this page (I'd put it here if it was allowed)
Link: A Beautiful Lie Blog

Chapter 34: The Dread

Summary:

His heart was still pounding, neck still tingling, but he forced himself to find the words on his tongue. Forced his muscles to release the tension they were continuing to store like a coiled spring.

"...He told me about you. Said you were good for a smoke."

He paused. Watched her reactions. She had none.

"Johanna...right?"

Notes:

Want to see some new ABL art?: Link: A Beautiful Lie Blog

Chapter Text

Peter didn't remember crossing the street.

Didn't remember the movement of his feet, shoes scuffing the concrete.

Didn't remember the sound of voices echoing or horns blaring or radios blasting. For all he knew, the world could have disappeared in those few seconds it took to cross those ten feet of pavement.

Because all he remembered was the chill.

A cold, gnawing, emptiness that lurked within his stomach, gurgling against his chest. It was a familiar feeling, the same primal fear he'd felt in the Tower on that first night. A helplessness crawling within him, itchy and suffocating. Only...it was different. Before when he'd felt the clawing tendrils of anxiety, they'd come from within, seeping out from inward and spreading out like a sickness. This...this wasn't that.

This cold...it was coming from something. Somewhere

Someone

His senses had never felt like this before.

So raw.

So intense.

So terrifying.

It wouldn't be until weeks later when, in the dead of night staring up at his ceiling, Peter would finally be able to put a word to the feeling.

Dread.

Pure and unending.

"You've been following me." The words were out before he could even fully reach her, before his brain could process where he was and who he was talking to. He blinked, body shivering for a half-second as he seemed to reorient himself, swaying in place as the wave of nerves shook him to his core. His body was freezing.

She was sitting on a crate - leftover trash from a nearby fruit stand, knees apart and hands hanging between her legs. Her head was angled down, eyes trailing a roach that lazily scuttled around her feet. Pinched between her fingers sat a lit cigarette, thin plumes of smoke dripping from the corners of her mouth.

She did not look up.

"You're blocking the light."

Her voice was low. Monotonous.

Peter took a breath, hesitating for a second at the apparent dismissal before carefully shuffling to the side, allowing the sunlight behind his head to cast down on the girl once more.

She lifted her head to the rays and Peter was finally able to get a clear shot of her. She was definitely older, 17, maybe even 18, with a strong squared jaw and sharp cheekbones. Her eyes were a hard greenish-gray, and with the aid of the new sunlight, Peter could make out the pale flesh of scars dotted across her cheeks, her nose, under her chin.

She did not acknowledge him. Merely squinted her eyes at the light above them before lazily shutting her eyelids while a soft sigh dribbled past her lips. The motion seemed to be one of resignation, like she was tired.

And Peter, suddenly catching up to the impulsivity of his feet and mouth, found himself shuffling from side to side, suddenly unsure as to how to proceed. Brazen confidence was not really his strongest attribute. Especially since this girl didn't seem apt to leading the conversation anytime soon.

He was pulled from these thoughts, however, as she took a drag of the cigarette, puffed out a ring of smoke and groaned, slowly rising up to her feet like a tree swaying in the forest: huge and imposing. Peter immediately took a step back.

Her shoulders were broad and powerful, curing into large muscles that rippled underneath her tank top, hard and well-defined. She stood at least a foot taller than him with long black dreadlocks that piled on top of her head in a messy bun and an aura to her stance that seemed to drip pure, immovable strength.

She didn't exactly look homeless. Her clothes were not messy or unkempt. She had a few bandages along one arm and plenty of tattoos on the other, but she did not display the usual jitters or twitches that most of the kids near the Hole presented with, either tweaked out of their minds or wary of the people around them.

Johanna did not look wary. She did not spare the few people around them with any passing glances. Instead, it was like she didn't even notice them. Like they weren't even there. Like a lion lazily watching a fly buzzing by its tail. Undisturbed. Unchallenged.

Her eyes were the same.

Predatory.

Peter swallowed. Felt his fingertips scratching against his palms.

"Did...did you hear what I said?"

She didn't even look at him, merely passed her gaze overtop his head at the nearby surroundings: the buildings, the cars. She spared another glance at the sun overhead. Peter had to check the sudden anger that sparked within him at being ignored.

("I don't have time for you, you little brat. Now get the fuck out of my way before I step on you.")

His fingers twitched. He curled them into fists to keep them from shaking.

"I-"

"Do you smoke?"

He jolted, blinking in shock before lifting his head and reeling back the question.

"What?"

He followed the girl's gaze and realized she was now holding out a fresh cigarette. Peter stared at the offering for a second before swallowing and shaking his head.

"I, uh...I'm good. T-thanks..."

She sniffed and slipped it back into her pocket before popping her own cig back into her mouth. "You're smaller than I thought you'd be, Parker."

It took him a second to register the comment, still a bit surprised at the offering, but once he did, his head was whipping up and his eyes were widening in an accusatory stare.

Johanna did not seem put off by the look, a long puff of smoke spilling between her teeth as she tilted her head and gazed down at him with a pale gleam. Her eyes were expressionless. Voice even and quiet. "Though, I guess I don't know what I was really expecting. Danny does keep some strange company."

("She's a veteran. Most kids around here been on the streets less than a year. Jo's like me; going on four.")

His heart was still pounding, neck still tingling, but he forced himself to find the words on his tongue. Forced his muscles to release the tension they were continuing to store like a coiled spring.

"...He told me about you. Said you were good for a smoke."

He paused. Watched her reactions. She had none.

"Johanna...right?"

"Jo." She glanced behind her and used the toe of her thick black boots to nudge the fruit crate closer. "He tell you anything else about me?" she muttered, popping a few joints in her back as she stretched before plopping back down on the crate like it was a dusty armchair after a 12-hour shift.

"Only that you were trouble. And that I should stay away from you."

She hummed, showing no signs of approval or disapproval. "So, why are you still talking to me, kid?"

"Don't call me that."

She blinked.

Peter looked away and took a breath, noted the hairs of unease that continued to prickle against his skin, like he was standing too close to some live wires, the aura of electricity tingling overtop his bones. Still, considering he was standing so close to what he'd assumed was the supposed threat, that was all it was: a tingle. Not a blaring siren or a crackling, head-shattering pain. Just a tingle. A wariness. Enough to keep him on edge. Enough to keep him confused.

He swallowed his nerves and resisted the urge to apologize for something random. Forced his voice to be level and strong. "I want to know why you've been following me."

She glanced up at him, holding him down with that sharp gray gaze of hers. Again, the expression on her face was nothing short of empty. Unreadable. It made Peter nervous.

"And what makes you think I've been following you?"

"I'm not stupid."

"Congratulations."

"I know you've been tailing me." He lifted his chin and straightened his shoulders. "When I was with Danny, with my friends...I noticed you. And every time I did, you seemed to make it a point of staring right at me. Pretty intensely too." His fingers began to fidget again as he chewed on the inside of his cheek and frowned. "I don't know if you saw the news and want something from me, but I swear I don't have anything to give."

That wasn't it. Deep down, he knew that wasn't it.

She continued to stare at him for a moment longer before she ducked her head and let out a soft breath, almost too quiet for Peter to hear. She reached up and slowly took a drag of the cigarette before responding in a lower voice than before.

"I don't want anything from you..."

Peter swallowed, vaguely noted the faint buzz of the nearby air conditioning units of the tenement buildings. There were fewer people on the streets now. Fewer eyes. The tips of his fingers rubbed against the rough denim of his pants.

"So...why-?"

Johanna's eyes flashed. "And I don't have to answer to you, got it?"

Peter instantly straightened at the tone, hackles raising as his shoulders tensed.

The girl did not act upon the tension, however. For she merely shook her head and curled her lip, glaring down at nothing in particular before lifting a hand to pinch between her eyes. "I'm done with this. You can fuck off now. I'm starting to get a headache."

"But-"

"Now, runt."

Peter opened his mouth, tried to find something to say, but couldn't decide on any one thing. He could feel his cheeks reddening though, the familiar wash of shame and regret that crawled over him whenever his family mocked or belittled him. The tightness of his chest. The bitterness in his mouth. It was all too familiar.

He thought of Mr. Stark. Of what he'd say in a situation like this. He'd probably have a million quips to toss out, barbed wire lacing his tongue as he sliced through the conversation like a shark in the water. Impeccable. Impenetrable.

Peter was not like that.

He did not know how to hide behind his words. Only how to hide from them. And even now after all this time at the Tower, all this time with the billionaire and his confidence, it was still so much to just...talk. To speak without hesitation. Without regret. Without fear.

Peter shuffled on his feet, glancing over his shoulder as he contemplated calling it a lost cause and moving on. He couldn't even say this hadn't gone as expected cause he hadn't expected anything!

He turned, readying to cross the street again., head shaking.

He'd rushed in blindly and for what? Because he wasn't thinking? Because he was wrapped up in Mr. Stark's bravado? Because Ned and MJ had loosened his tongue? Because Harley-

His feet stilled.

His eyes settled.

31st and Main, the street sign said.

Just a block from the Tennerman buildings - the crappy run-down apartments on the back blocks of Queens. Where Harley had just moved in.

("Cause I can stay...if you'd like.")

Peter swallowed. Felt his fingers still and his breaths even.

He turned back around.

"Danny said you were dangerous. And I was with my friends today, so I guess that means you saw them too." He narrowed his eyes, face unreadable, expression flat. "Should I be concerned for them?"

Again, Johanna did not spare him a glance. Just kept staring at the bugs skittering by her feet. "Why? Think every kid around here with a hoodie and a glare is out to get you?"

"Are you?"

She actually cracked a grin at that, dark lips curling to reveal surprisingly white teeth. "News flash, man. Nobody cares about you enough to stalk you."

"So why were you watching me?"

"I wasn't."

"Sure looked like you were."

Peter noticed her eyes gleam, face twitching into the first real sign of emotion she'd shown their entire conversation: Annoyance. "I don't care what you think you saw. And I'm not about to mug some high-schoolers, so you can relax."

She paused for a moment before the frown twitched into a scoff. "Though, I gotta say, skulking around the Hole is a real bad idea for someone like you. Any idea how many kids around there would skin you up just to snag some rich-twink valuables?"

Peter lifted a brow. "I don't have anything."

"They don't care. They'll take what they can get. 'Specially if it's coming from some rich little asshole."

He hesitated, noted the almost humored tone her voice had taken. Like the very thought of him getting jumped amused her. He narrowed his eyes. "But not you?"

Jo took another inhale of the cigarette and blew a puff into his face. He wrinkled his nose.

"Not that your nerd shirt isn't a tempting score, but like I said: I don't mug kids." Her eyes darkened. As did her tone. "Even if they do deserve it."

The tingling gave a little flare, a sharp prickle that almost made him reach up to rub at his neck. He resisted the urge to fidget again and instead shook his head with a huff of annoyance.

"I...what's that even supposed to mean, dude? I don't even know you."

"...But I know you."

Suddenly she was standing.

And suddenly Peter felt very, very small.

She towered over him without even trying, broad shoulders casting a long shadow overtop him. Her eyes gleamed with a light Peter could only describe as wolfish. Her voice remained as quiet as before. Hushed. Haunting. Like her very words were the smoke of her cigarette, curling around his neck in suffocating plumes. Her heart, however. He could hear that ringing in his ears. Loud and angry.

"So does everybody else around here. Everybody else who just exists in your world. Background characters to ignore. Mosquitoes buzzing around your ear. Peter Parker: The baby billionaire. Richard Parker's spawn. Tony Stark's new plaything"

Her words were pointed. Targeted. Muttered with a low note of venom that was easy to miss. She narrowed her eyes and gave a slight tilt of her head, leaning forward ever so slightly. Peter stuttered on his next breath and took a step back. "I guess you never really had a chance at all, huh? You probably popped out as one big lump of clay, ready to be molded into the perfect little rich boy. Following those guys around like some little lost puppy. Eating up whatever scraps they throw your way."

Jo sniffed, turning her head away as the took another puff of the cigarette, almost speaking under her breath. "Hard to believe someone like you is even talking to me. Figured that be too...beneath you."

Peter furrowed his brow, the notion making his face twist into a grimace. "I...I don't think that."

She stared down at him, scanning his face, his posture, the same scrutinizing stare you give the pieces of meat behind a deli counter. She huffed, lips twitching into a grin as she pressed a tongue against the inside of her cheek. "Sure. You'll say that to my face. Maybe to the cute little friends you were strutting around with. Gotta show off that good side, right? Flash a grin? Paint that picture?"

The smile faded. The glare in her eyes brightened. And Peter took another step back.

"But people like you are a whole 'nother species behind closed doors. Once you take off your pretty little masks. Once there's nobody around to impress. No audience to perform for." She was getting closer. Stride lengthening. Shadow darkening. Peter was running out of room.

"It's the same thing every time. With each and every one of them. Parkstem. Oscorp. Stark Industries. This city's full of money. Run by the top of the top. And every time they show up on TV, they're always showing off that exact same smile. You know the one, right? I bet you got one of your own. Convincing. Pretty to look at on TV. Easy to believe in an interview."

Her lips spread into a growl, teeth gleaming in the light. "But I bet most people don't want to know what happens when the interview's over. What people like Tony Stark are like when there's nobody to pretend for. What people like Richard Parker do when there are no cameras to smile for."

It wasn't long until he felt his back pressing up against the wall of the adjacent building, fingers digging into the roughened stone.

"So, tell me..."

Johanna did not stop advancing. Not until she was looming overtop him.

"What's your daddy like when there's nobody around?"

Peter held his breath. Could feel hers puffing against his cheeks.

"Does he still smile?"

("Would you ever betray me, Peter?")

"Do you?"

He said nothing. Kept his jaw locked tight as he ducked his head away from her burning stare, body tingling with the pain of a thousand lashes, a million volts of electricity shooting overtop his bones. He could feel his muscles ripping away, felt his skin flaying, burning, tearing. Could feel his father's stare. The heat. The rage.

There were no words.

So Johanna filled the silence with her own.

"You bastards are all the same. So lost in your own worlds that you aren't even people anymore. Just...suits. Masks. And I'm getting real fucking sick of looking at 'em" She said lowly, eyes narrowing as her face twisted into a genuine scowl. "And some balls you must have showing up at the Hole, rubbing your pretty pristine life in all our faces, around kids who have nothing. That place isn't for you. It isn't yours to stain."

Suddenly her face was in his, their noses nearly touching as he stared into her blazing green eyes. Into a fury he'd only ever seen inside his house. Eyes that nobody else ever saw. "You don't belong there. Because you wouldn't know a bad time if it came up and punched out your shiny little teeth."

She reared back, shoving the cigarette back into her mouth a bit too forcefully as flecks of ash fell from the tip. Peter remained flat against the wall as she straightened her jacket and stepped away, shoulders set with a frustration that hadn't been present before. An anger that was too pointed to be random.

"...you don't know me," is what he finally said, eyes locked on the ground below.

"Nor do I want to." Her frown deepened, brows knitting together into a furrow. "Now I'll say it one more time." Her eyes flashed. "Fuck off."

Peter took a breath, felt the air sliding down his chest with a stickiness that left him wincing in pain. The tingling was a roar now. A beating behind his eyes, within his ears, his brain, under his skin. He gritted his teeth against the pain and braced himself, shifting his stance as he lifted his head and stared back at her, watching as she turned to leave.

("I want you to not be so afraid anymore...")

. . .

. . .

"No."

She froze.

Turned.

Peter returned her glare with one of his own. "Not until you explain yourself. You've been following me...and you're going to tell me why."

Silence.

One second.

Two.

Three.

Neither of them said anything, holding their stares with an impenetrable silence, a mounting tension that burned against the air, sizzling overtop their skin. Peter could feel his heart beating in his throat, but he didn't back down. Didn't give in to the screaming fear ringing in the back of his head. The years of instincts telling him to run.

Johanna relaxed her stance, lifting her chin and pulling the cigarette from her mouth once more. The look on her face almost looked...amused as she dropped the cigarette and squished it out with the toe of her shoe.

She sighed.

The buzz screeched.

And suddenly, Peter felt the air get punched from his chest. His back hit the bricks with a thud, choked gasp falling from his lips as she pinned him back, hoisting him up by the collar of his shirt and leaving his toes to scrape against the ground.

She leaned in, eyes shining with a malicious gleam. "Alright, kid. I tried to give you a fucking chance. But I can't say I'm sorry it turned out like this."

Peter grunted as she pushed him harder, hands wrapping around her wrist as he tried to find some leverage, something to brace on. He could feel the roughened bricks digging into his back, pressing into his skin. He quickly spared their surroundings a glance.

There weren't any bystanders around now. No stragglers left on the streets. No prying eyes.

(Nothing to hold back for.)

The thought was sudden and intrusive, popping into his head before he could stop it. He stared into the girl's gleaming eyes and waited for the fear to manifest tenfold, for the knot to form in his stomach, for the bumps to erupt overtop his skin.

But they never came.

Left in its place was instead a sudden thrill coursing through his veins. An intensity he'd never felt before - No. That wasn't true. He had felt it before.

Just...not without the suit.

He took a stuttering breath, recognizing the feeling as the same gut-churning excitement he'd feel as Spider-Man, leaping into action and rolling through fights left and right without a beat of hesitation. Without worry. Without fear. Meeting their glares and insults with a few of his own. Because Spider-Man could stand his ground. Spider-Man could fight back.

...Maybe it was time for Peter to give it a shot.

He narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth, sucking in one last shaky breath as he stared her down with a new sense of calm.

"Come on, then."

She seemed to jolt at that, eyes blinking in slight regard. But it was gone in a second, replaced with a vicious growl as her rippling muscles flexed and her arm tensed. Peter readied a kick, plan already building into motion as she started to swing. He lifted his own fist and-

"JOHANNA!"

They both froze, wide-eyed stares meeting each other as they paused.

Peter, still pinned against the wall, cocked a brow. "Was that-?"

"JOHANNAAAA!"

The girl's face scrunched into a look of pure exasperation. "Fuck me..." she growled under her breath as Peter finally picked up the sound of approaching footsteps. They both turned their heads towards the newcomer coming in hot.

It was another girl, maybe a bit older than Peter but certainly younger than Johanna. She was tall and skinny with lanky limbs and pale white skin. Her hair, which was an icy blonde, hung limply around her face and down the small of her back, like it hadn't been brushed out in a while. But her eyes, electric blue in color, shone with a shocking intensity, and her clothes were worn and raggedly, similar to what the kids at the Hole wore. Peter's eyes lingered on the snake design of her shirt.

The girl slowed as she neared, breaths coming out in ragged pants as she pressed a hand against the wall and panted. "I...I wanted to...tried to..." She groaned, holding up a finger as she struggled to catch her breath.

Peter and Jo shared a look.

The girl sucked in one last breath and straightened up, brushing the hair from her face as she sighed. "God, I'm out of shape," she huffed with a grin. "But I found you! So...good for me," she said with a prominent smile, tilting her head a bit as strands of hair swung back and forth across her face. "That's actually pretty impressive. Do you know how big this city is? I mean, of course you do. Everyone does. But like, try to find one person in a sea of millions, like - it's way harder than it sounds. Or...maybe not? I guess it's exactly as hard as it sounds..."

Peter grunted as Johanna's grip tightened, pressing him harder against the bricks as she turned her attention away from the newcomer and focused her glare back on Peter. But he could tell the gaze had weakened in its intensity. Distracted. Subdued. "What the fuck you doing here, Iris?"

"Looking for you." The girl - Iris - seemed to hesitate for a second as she placed a hand on her hip. "You're normally back by 5 and..."

"Yeah, well I got a little sidetracked."

Iris's gaze flickered over toward Peter. He stared at her for a second before hesitantly cracking a grimacing smile. "Hi..."

The new girl's face twisted, lips pursing into a frown. But her eyes held the same gleam of concern. "Sister Charlotte said you weren't supposed to be fighting anymore."

"You think I give a shit what Sister Charlotte says?"

"But-"

"Mind your own fucking business for once, would ya'?" Jo growled, pressing herself even harder against Peter. He gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes against the pressure, hands wrapping around her wrists again. He could feel his heart pounding against the force of her body, felt the air in his lungs tightening with each strained breath.

"You know Sister Charlotte...?" He stuttered out between puffs

Johanna reared back for a second as she squinted her gaze. "Do YOU?"

Peter grunted again, trying once more to find a foothold with his toes. Still nothing. This girl was strong. "Yeah." He shifted his shoulders instead. "She hangs around the Hole. Runs the local rehab center. I see her passing out blankets sometimes."

The image of a middle-aged woman came to mind: Thick curly hair, large round glasses, more tattoos than one would expect to see on a nun. Though, Peter supposed she was far from the typical alter model. He vaguely recalled an interaction. Short. Simple.

("Honey, are you cold? Hang on, I think I have some jackets that might fit you. Or actually - here, take this.")

(It's okay. I...I'm not one of the-")

("I know you're not. But take one anyway. Everyone deserves a blanket.")

Peter tightened his grip on Jo's wrists, eyes narrowing as his voice lowered. "You shouldn't talk bad about her," he said softly. "She's nice... She's nice to everyone."

Johanna's face did not change at his words. Did not falter at his stare. In fact, Peter could feel her grip tightening around the collar of his shirt as the hairs on the back of his neck continued to whine and screech.

For a moment, the two of them remained stagnant in their gazes, fixed upon one another. He could see it in her eyes, a familiar burn swirling within the mass of faded greens and muted grays, shadowed and overwhelming. A wall of stoic resolve and hardened grit shined back at him, calculated and immovable. There was an anger within. A resentment. He could feel it emanating from her, insidious and hidden, but there.

And yet...

. . .

. . .

"Ah, fuck it. You're not worth it, are you...?"

With that, Johanna growled and suddenly released her grip, Peter unceremoniously dropping to the floor like a bag of rocks. He barely had time to blink and reorient himself before he saw her whirl around to face their latest companion.

"And I'm getting real tired of you following me around like a fucking STD. How hard is it to take a hint?"

The girl, obviously taken back by the harsh tone, lifted her hands in surrender and frowned. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You never miss dinner hour, so I was starting to get worried." The slight pout on her face quickly morphed into a grin - faster than Peter could even blink - and she bounced on her heels once more. "I saved you a plate, though. Hopefully, nobody finds out where I hid it."

She turned towards Peter and leaned closer. Apparently, he was a part of this conversation now. "I made a hidey hole behind the janitor's cleaning supplies. Sometimes it makes the food taste like bleach and I get kinda woozy afterward but I'll take it. Plus, Mr. Fickle doesn't seem to mind. I eat with him sometimes. Share my Cheetos."

She paused, waiting for a response.

Peter stared. Blinked.

Uhh...

"Oh - duh! I haven't even introduced myself!"

Peter jerked back as she stuck her hand in front of his face. He noted the colorful band-aids on her fingers. "I'm Iris. Nice to meet you. And this..." She turned her gaze around, brows furrowed until she noticed Jo off to the side, fishing a ratty backpack out from under the crates she'd been sitting on before. Iris's grin grew as she bounced over and wrapped her arms around the taller girl's buff figure, both Peter and Johanna's eyes widening at the act as the girl carried on obliviously. "And THIS is my friend Johanna, but I guess the two of you have already gotten acquainted, so that's great. Not the whole fighting thing. That's not great. But maybe that's just how they do things in New Y-"

She was cut off by a harsh backhand to the face, a loud yelp spitting from her lips as she tumbled to the floor. Peter jerked to attention. "Hey-!"

Johanna was upon her before either of them could move, pressing the girl's head into the concrete as she leaned over her with a face-splitting growl. Her eyes blazed. "Don't you ever fucking touch me, bitch. You hear me?! I'll break your fucking face!"

Peter leaped forward before he could think better of it, hands outstretched to push her away. Just separate the two, get some distance, maybe-

The fist connected with his face before he could even react.

Before his senses could even react.

He grunted, falling back to the floor with a gasp as the air left his body. He blinked, choking for a second before his chest stopped spasming and the oxygen flowed back down. It took a second for him to push himself back onto his arms, fists curling into the dirt as he tensed his body and readied to defend himself against the oncoming onslaught.

But it never came.

He lifted his gaze, jaw throbbing. Johanna stood overtop him, fists clenched by her sides, but she made no moves to advance. Her muscles were coiled and spring-locked, just like his, but she did not approach. Did not start the fight she seemed to have been itching for just moments ago. Instead, her lips were downturned into a despondent frown. Not the savage look she'd given Iris only a second ago.

Peter glanced over towards the other girl at the thought, watching as she cradled her cheek and kept her head tucked close to her chest. She did not raise her head as Johanna's boots crunched the gravel below, nor as the girl leaned closer to Peter, eyes narrowed as her shadow seemed to literally engulf his tiny figure - huddled on the floor like a wounded mouse.

"I suggest you keep your head out of my business," she said softly, almost a whisper. "And stop asking questions. One of these days, you're gonna come across someone who's all too happy to give you some answers."

Peter stared. Felt his heart beating in his throat as his skin tingled and burned.

With that, she straightened out the jacket over her shoulders and spun around on her heel. Peter watched her roughly grab the straps of her backpack and fling it over her arm, stepping around the other girl, who merely ducked her head and grimaced.

. . .

. . .

"...you never told me what you wanted," he heard himself murmur.

Johanna slowed.

Stopped.

Breathed.

Peter's fingers twitched as he saw her swing her head back towards him. The anger in her eyes had dimmed, smoldering remnants of a built-up resentment he did not understand. What he did understand, however, was the weariness. That he could recognize. That he could feel within. The subtle dimming of her gaze, the resigned worn-out glaze of her stare, rugged and overused. Like a rusted-down truck in the back of a scrap yard, echoing with faint traces of engine roar and gas fumes from a time long past.

She lowered her head, narrowed eyes leveling the ground a calculated stare. "Fly away, little bird. Before someone plucks those pretty wings of yours."

He parted his lips, as if to say something in return, but found nothing to give. So instead, he sat and stared as she turned away, stalking down the street before turning a corner and disappearing from view entirely.

Somewhere overhead, a lone cloud drifted over the sun. Cast the city in shadow.

Peter shivered.

His heart echoed in his eardrums, racing through his body in stuttering jolts of movement. He vaguely felt his fingertips slowly come up to rub at his arm. Goosebumps. All along his skin, radiating through his muscles and down into his bones.

His body ached with a teeming unease that left his jaw locked tight, teeth grinding together as he fought the sudden urge to vomit. The same anticipatory fear that would shoot up his spine when waiting for his father to come home, waited for a punishment he knew would befall him, waiting for a pain that would inevitably haunt him. He swallowed, grimacing at the needles that seemed to curl into his throat. The cloying tension still sat heavy in his stomach, long black tendrils of dread that had yet to subside. Instead they festered.

Stewed.

Waited.

A hand.

Peter blinked and jerked back at the sight of it, only to carefully lift his eyes up towards Iris's face once again. She was shuffling awkwardly, shifting her balance from one foot to the other as she held out her hand. Her eyes were downcast, glancing away at nothing. Peter noticed her lip was split.

He dropped his gaze down to her offering, briefly contemplating accepting it before his skin tingled once more and his body protested with enough grit that he sighed and pushed himself up without assistance. He was obviously still on edge. Too much to deal with any sort of physical contact, especially with a stranger.

"Sorry about her..." Iris murmured softly, bringing a hand to brush against her cheek when she noticed Peter ignore it. "She's a bit...prickly sometimes."

"It's okay. I...are you- I mean, that was a hard hit, so...like, um..."

The girl lifted her head to look at him, icy blue eyes peering with an inquisitive gleam, like she was surprised by Peter's concern. She hesitated for a moment before carefully letting a soft smile drift onto her face, nothing like the bubbly grin she'd shown previously. But it was better than nothing. "I'm alright. I'm tougher than I look. You took a harder hit than I did."

Peter shrugged. "I'm pretty tough too."

Iris chuckled, fruitlessly trying to brush some hair from her face before it swooped back down into place. "In case you missed it or if you like..have a concussion now and don't remember, I'm Iris. Iris White."

He nodded, giving another awkward half-wave before reconsidering the movement and stiffly shoving his hands into his pockets. "I...I'm Peter."

"I know. I saw you on TV over at the Hole." She paused. "...Jo did too."

Peter brought a hand up to rub at his cheek, wincing a bit at the warm skin and the tender swelling that was beginning to grow. Nothing too serious, though. Would probably be gone by morning. He'd have one hell of a time explaining it to Mr. Stark, though. "Is that why she's been following me?"

Iris craned her neck to scan the floor, picking up a tattered bracelet she'd seemingly dropped in the scuffle. "Oh no," she said absentmindedly. "She's been doing that ever since she saw you at the Hole."

Peter blinked. "What?"

"Yeah. I heard her telling some other kids about it. Apparently seeing you there made her all nervous. Was worried you were scouting it for your dad or something." The girl twisted her hands in the air and blew a bubble with her cheeks before puffing it out with a loud phttt. "Like a...development project or something.

He swallowed, mouth going dry at the thought. "She thinks I want to tear it down?" he asked, unable to keep the shock from his voice.

"Well, not you. Your dad."

He hid the automatic grimace at the mention of his father with a shake of his head, waving his hands in front of him with wide eyes and a distressed frown. " I'm not working for him. And I'd never help him tear down the Hole. All the kids around here use that place. They need it!"

Iris pursed her lips and placed a hand on her hip. "I tried to tell her that, but she wouldn't listen. Just said she was going to keep an eye on you." She paused and shifted her jaw in thought. "Honestly, I think she was hoping you'd come back to the Hole. Give her an excuse to roughen you up."

Peter scoffed, rolling his eyes as he dusted some stray pebbles from his clothes. "Something tells me she doesn't really need an excuse."

Iris gave him another apologetic look, fiddling with the strands of hair that swooped down over her eye. She looked embarrassed, like a parent apologizing for their child's tantrums. "I swear she's cool. Just a bit..."

"Prickly?"

She glanced up at the word, noticing Peter's emerging smile and matching it with one of her own, brighter this time. Closer to the wide-eyed beam from earlier. She continued to play with her hair, twisting a stray strand around a finger. It was wrapped with a Band-aid full of puppies. "Heh...I really am sorry about her."

"It's okay," Peter said with a sigh, glancing down the street to where the girl had disappeared. He rubbed at his arm again as the goosebumps prickled. "I...I guess I understand. I'd probably be nervous too if I were her."

And it was true. There were too many faces at the Hole for him to count, too many for him to recognize them all. But he certainly knew a few: the frequent fliers, the drifters, the troublemakers. Each and every one of them clinging to that ratty old building like a lifeline, the only form of human contact some of them probably ever got.

He knew Danny specifically never really made it a point to interact with people aside from when he was at that facility. It was one of the reasons Peter never shooed him off when he'd randomly show up on the rooftops outside his house. Despite his obvious blasé demeanor, it was painfully apparent that Danny was desperate for someone to talk to. And when he couldn't get it from Peter, he'd go to the Hole. Peter shuddered to think about what the older teen would have to go through if that lifeline were suddenly cut off. No resources. No shelter. And without Peter...no one to talk to. Ever.

("You asked before...if I think about them a lot. My parents...")

He swallowed. Made a mental note to stop by the Hole soon, check in. Johanna could screw herself. She wasn't going to stop him from seeing his friend.

Peter lifted his head and met Iris's curious gaze once more.

What was he doing again?"

"So you...y-you live down by the Hole? That's cool. I mean - that's not like...cool cool, it actually kinda sucks but, um...well I mean, uh..."

Ah, that's right. Failing at normal human interaction.

Iris didn't seem to mind his awkward stutterings, for she merely picked at the Band-Aids on her fingers and shrugged. "You're fine. And yeah, I'm kinda new. This is just the latest city I'm drifting through so I'm still fresh meat. Which means plenty of the regular kids are keeping an eye on me." She sighed and threw a frustrated look at the ground. "They can get a bit...territorial around the Hole."

Peter knew firsthand. Johanna had been right about one thing. Peter would have been jumped at least a handful of times already if it weren't for Danny. The Brit's presence seemed to be enough of a deterrent to keep the other kids away.

(He tried not to think about what that meant about Danny. What he was like when Peter wasn't around...)

"But you know Johanna?"

At that, Iris's face curled into a wincing frown as she rubbed at her arm. "Not really. I've only known her for a few weeks. And every time I try to talk to her, she just scowls. But when I'm near her, nobody else tries to bother me, so I guess I've been trying to stick close. I try to bring her food and like...get to know her and all that but I don't think she likes me very much," she said softly, face filling with a clear hurt as she licked at the cut on her lip.

Peter hesitated for a moment before taking a small step closer, dueling with the urge to both comfort the girl and to keep from being touched. In the end, he decided to keep his hands tucked close. "If it makes you feel any better..." he finally said with a shrug and a smile. "...I don't think she likes me either."

Iris looked up at that, frown slowly upturning into a smile as she let out a soft laugh, ducking her head as she did so, causing her bangs to once again swoop down in front of her eyes. She didn't brush them away this time. Almost seemed to hide in the veil they made, cheeks reddening. Peter blinked and the blush was gone.

"So...why were you there?" She finally said with a tilt of the head.

"Hmm?"

"At the Hole. If you weren't scouting it for some development project, then why?" Her eyes crinkled playfully. "You don't seem like the kinda kid that needs to be begging for free food."

"A friend of mine hangs out around there. Danny Willis?"

Iris paused, nose wrinkling as she stuck out her bottom lip in thought. "...Long black hair, British accent?"

"That's him."

She nodded, eyes gleaming with a hint of recognition. "Yeah, I've seen him around. He's one of the guys that doesn't steal my blankets, so he's cool in my book. I've seen Jo talking to him sometimes. Which is weird cause I usually don't see her talking to anybody. Normally, she just sits in the corner brooding all day. So weird..."

"Like Batman?"

"Exactly like Batman! She's even got the black outfits to match!"

He laughed, Iris doing the same until they were both interrupted by the sound of gurgling. Years of experience told Peter it was stomach rumbles - hunger. For once, however, the sound had not come from him.

As if on cue, Iris's face lit up red as she nervously chuckled. "Ooo, embarrassing, heh. I might have forgotten to save myself a plate while I was getting Jo something." She glanced down the street, chewing the inside of her cheek as she spoke, more under her breath than anything else. "I doubt they'll be anything left by the time I get back."

The frown was gone in a flash, replaced by a carefree smile and the telltale gleam of joy in her eyes that she'd initially appeared with. Apparently, the burden of Jo's violence hadn't placed a damper on her for too long. It was an odd sight - the smile - considering the circumstances and the body to which it was attached: raggedly and sickly thin. Even the sadness that had plagued her expression moments ago was gone, washed away as she took a fresh breath and glanced up at the sky, using her hand as a visor to block the sun.

Peter stared in fascination. The bounce in her step, the flowiness of her movements as she rocked back and forth on her heels, like she was dancing to some unheard music echoing in her head. It was pure...happiness. So different from the glower of resentment that had radiated from Johanna. Despite being in similar circumstances, the two girls seemed to be complete opposites.

He was jolted from his thoughts, however, as the girl hummed and snapped her fingers into a thumbs up. "Hey, silver linings! There's a ton of trash cans between here and the Hole, so there's bound to be something I can find, right? Right! Positive thinking! Humanity's greatest superpower!"

Peter, acting on impulse (which seemed to be the theme for today), reached out to stop her, gently grabbing onto her wrist before she could get too far. His skin shivered at the touch but he held on "Wait, no. Don't...don't do that."

Iris blinked back at him, obviously confused. She watched him reach into his pocket and pull out a wallet, slipping a sleek silver credit card from the sleeves. Mr. Stark had basically forced it into his hands that morning, ignoring Peter's gripes and insistences that he didn't need it. Now, he held it up for them both to see, smiling gently at the girl's shocked expression. "I'll buy you something."

She instantly started shaking her head. "Oh no, man. No, no, please. I can't-"

"It's no problem, really!" Peter said as he beckoned her to follow. That hot dog stand he and Harley had hit up was close by, maybe a block down the street. "I'll buy something for myself too so you don't feel bad. Besides, I don't want you rummaging through the garbage. That's how you get HIV."

Iris frowned and cocked a brow.

"Right. You're new to the city. Well, first rule, never put your hand in anything suspicious. In fact, just assume that everything everywhere has a secret infected needle hiding in it somewhere. So, pro tip, if you're ever gonna dumpster dive, make sure to put your shoes on your hands."

The two of them fell into tandem, walking side by side along the city sidewalk.

"What? You just wear them like gloves?"

"Exactly. Can never hurt to have an extra layer of protection."

"Huh. Duly noted. I...Wait, you've been dumpster diving before? Aren't you like...super rich?"

"Everyone needs a hobby, don't they? Besides, where do you think I met Danny?"

 


 

Saturday - June 11th, 2016

Manhattan - Central Park

05:41 PM

 

Tony Stark was not exactly a patient man.

He could count on one hand the number of times he'd actually been on time to a meeting, normally coming from the efforts of one Pepper Potts, who was not afraid to levy around the threat of potential castration from time to time. To her and to the handful of board members, senate officials, and business partners who would inevitably wait on him, his lack of punctuality was seen as another thread in the spool of narcissism he wove like a wool blanket, thick and comforting.

In reality, Tony just didn't like to wait. He'd even special-ordered a coffee machine with a brew time of less than thirty seconds for the sole purpose of getting a cup in hand as quickly as possible. (Pepper had subsequently thrown out said coffee machine once she'd found out that his shortened wait time meant he was now drinking around seventeen cups a day. Tony, of course, had seen no problem with this.)

For the past twenty years, Tony had been told how valuable his time was, both as a billionaire and now as a part-time hero. The very idea of waiting around twiddling his thumbs, sitting idly for a meeting to start or a cup to brew, or a disaster to strike? It made his skin crawl. Pepper had never understood. Neither had Steve.

The suits. Ultron. The Accords...

Tony couldn't just sit around and wait for the bad things to happen.

("So...you wanna look out for the little guy?")

He supposed Peter and him were the same in that sense.

Tony jumped as a stray leaf brushed past his hand, kicking up another wave of chills that shivered down his arm. He grumbled under his breath before harshly swatting the offending plant away, shifting in his seat on the rotted wooden bench.

Tony Stark was not a patient man.

But he was committed.

So he sat. And he waited. And he made no complaints as he did.

This area of Central Park was all but desolate nowadays. Aside from a few locals who knew of its existence, it never appeared on any tourist maps, nor was it a trendy destination for sightseeing, which made it the perfect spot for their meet-up. Couldn't have too many prying eyes. Or the questions that would follow.

The sun was beginning to dip in the sky, not enough to darken the view, but enough to have the clouds shifting in color - purple and pink and warm. The river nearby and the adjacent pond it led into kept the air light and fresh, a cool mist hanging in the atmosphere that thankfully kept Tony from sweating in the hoodie he currently had overtop his head, matched with a baseball cap and a pair of sunglasses. Desolate or not, he wasn't about to take any chances.

He leaned back in his seat, worn wooden splinters prickling against his shoulders as he ran through what Torres had told him about her informant. Blonde hair, pale skin, glasses, birthmark under her right eye.

("If she looks exhausted beyond words, then that's your girl.")

Tony's lips twitched as he tapped his fingers against his knee. Torres hadn't given much personal information on this woman, had merely given him the basics. She was apparently a social worker at the Department of Children and Family Services here in the city branch. More importantly, she was willing to bend the rules of confidentiality from time to time, normally to suggest to Torres and her team which kids would benefit from mutant counseling and healthcare, a referral that was somehow frowned upon in the department. Tony still hadn't made sense of that one, but he hadn't questioned Torres on it further. She'd looked pissed enough just mentioning it.

Said informant had insisted on changing the meeting spot. Claimed the street and the parked car they'd agreed on was somehow too suspicious. Tony hadn't questioned it, assuming she knew better than him about these things, an admittance he did not make lightly. But Tony was quickly coming to realize that wherever Peter was involved, his ego took a backseat to the bigger matters at hand.

Pepper had mentioned something about it. Called it...personal growth?

Utter nonsense, if you asked him.

He jumped at the vibrations that suddenly began to ring from his pocket, heart instantly leaping into his chest at the possibility that it was her. Canceling? Rescheduling? Ducking out entirely? Tony whipped it out of his pocket in record time, lighting up the home screen and scanning the message.

 

. . .

PETER

Hey, just got back to the Tower. Pepper and Rhodey are still fighting with some people on the phones, but they said you went out. Everything okay? You need any help?

. . .

 

He took a breath. Followed it up with several others as he stared at the message before letting out a small sigh. He tried not to notice the slight shiver of his fingers as he hastily typed out a reply.

 

. . .

I'm good kid. Just meeting with an SI partner in the city. Guess I forgot to mention it. I'll bring back dinner when I'm done. Should be an hour or so.

. . .

 

The frown on his face deepened. As did the shiver in his bones.

Tony was not naïve. He realized that lying was sometimes a requirement in the day-to-day dealings of life, whether people wanted to admit it or not. And not always was it a matter of maliciousness rather than a point of necessity.

And this, he could argue, was a prime example of extreme necessity.

("But I can't. Because I promised not to lie to you.")

It did not make the bitter taste in his mouth any easier to swallow, though.

Footsteps.

Tony quickly looked up and took note of the woman approaching.

Charlotte Miler was certainly…a sight.

She was a petite young woman with messy blonde hair tied back in a ponytail two breezes away from disaster. On her nose sat a pair of cracked glasses that looked like they'd been taped together last minute, and a couple pencils stuffed behind her ear, like she'd forgotten about them.

Her face, set in a perpetual nervous frown, was littered with wrinkles and crow's feet, making her look at least five years older than she actually was – 27 according to Torres. Young.

She was wearing a dark black pair of slacks and a wrinkled white blouse with a disheveled blue cardigan tossed over her shoulders in what appeared to be a last-ditch effort to look professional, an image that was not strengthened by the ratty sneakers on her feet or the chocolate stain on her shirt. But her face showed no signs of embarrassment or concerned. In fact, her lips were downturned into a very recognizable look of unease.

She reached up to adjust the crooked glasses on her face and quickly stopped in front of Tony, not so subtly glancing over her shoulder. They were alone.

"Let's make this fast. I don't want to be here any longer than I have to," she mumbled as she reached down towards the scuffed briefcase at her side, plopping it down on the bench next to Tony, who jumped a bit at the harsh movement.

"Nice to meet you too."

She didn't reply to the snark, eyes scanning the mess of papers and trash stuffed in the case before pulling out a single Manilla folder. She swallowed, lifting her gaze to study Tony's face with a scrutinizing stare. She pursed her thin lips before speaking quickly. " I don't need to remind you of how much trouble I could get in for giving you these files."

Tony, more than willing to match her terse tone with some spit of his own, narrowed his eyes and folded his arms over his chest. "Why do you think we're meeting in the bushes? I'm aware of the delicacy of this situation."

Charlotte grunted but didn't make any moves to argue. Instead, she pushed her lenses higher up the bridge of her nose and shoved the file into Tony's chest, not even sparing him a glance as she turned back to her briefcase, repositioning the papers that had been disturbed with her movements. Her body was as tense as her tone.

Tony scoffed at the move and glared down at the file, cracking it open a peek to make sure it was correct. Considering the contents of this woman's bag, he wasn't convinced of her record keeping. He'd planned to look over the details of it tonight with Pepper and Rhodey, but for now he-

Paused.

Stared.

...Into the face of Peter Parker.

The photo was an old Polaroid, yellowing around the edges with crinkled corners and light fading. "04/13/2008" was scrawled along the bottom edge in sloppy pen, the ink having discolored into a brownish tint. And the boy...

It was definitely Peter. A young six-year-old version of him, but him nonetheless. The same mop of brown hair, the same dimpled cheeks, the same pattern of freckles dotted over his nose. He was wearing a pair of big round glasses that sat precariously against the tip of his nose, like they didn't fit him right.

But it was him. It was Peter.

And he wasn't smiling.

There were other photos he could see sticking out of the file. 2010, 2012, 2014... All showing a slow progression to where they were today. And in all of the others, Peter was smiling wide. A bright big smile that wouldn't garner a second look. Wouldn't catch a suspicious eye.

But this first photo...this first shot. There was no smile.

Instead, the image showed a little boy staring warily at the camera, clutching the bottom of his shirt, shoulders stiff and hunched as his tiny little lips downturned into a worried frown.

And his eyes...

Jesus, his fucking eyes.

("Tony...you don't know how many children I saw...")

Big and wide and open, staring back at him with a helplessness dripping from their very depths, a desperate plea for something a camera could not give. He had seen that look before. Had seen that same shine of fear in those same big brown eyes. Like a birthmark - stained on the boy like a scar.

Tony felt a sudden ache building in his chest, crushing and deep. He took a breath, felt it shudder on the way down, and slipped the photo back into the file.

It was only then that he finally took a second to actually look thoroughly at what was in his hands. And he instantly narrowed his eyes.

"Whoa, whoa!"

His shouts made Charlotte, who was already beginning to walk back the way she'd come, turn around. She cocked a brow. Tony stared down at the file in hand, rising to his feet as he spoke. "This is it? This can't be everything!" He waved around the folder and all six pages of content it held. He'd fully been prepared for a few dozen piles, not a pamphlet.

Charlotte's frown did not disappear, but she did reposition the papers in hand to brush some hair strands away. "That's all that was in his file."

"How is that possible? Parker's been investigated six times. How is this all there is? You should have mountains after all those calls! Police records, witness statements, something! This is...what? Half-assed incident reports? I mean, some of these don't even have dates!"

"He isn't in my caseload. I can't give you details I don't have. You'll have to sort that out yourself." She spoke without looking at him, sparing a frenzied look at her watch as she tried to balance the papers in hand, hastily shoving them into her briefcase as she turned. Her voice was so distant, distracted, like she wasn't even listening.

("I didn't think you'd care.")

Tony stepped forward, the simmering heat of nerves he'd been brewing ever since leaving the Tower boiling over into pure anger now. "Yeah, I've been trying. Which is more than I can say for that fucking disgrace of an agency you work for."

She instantly stiffened, worried frown morphing into a sharper glare as she turned and bristled. "Hey. We're trying too. Don't try to act like the expert in this field now that you suddenly care. Where have you been for the past ten years?" she growled with a defensive pitch to her tone, betraying her youth as she glared indignantly at him.

Tony didn't give a shit.

"Did Torres fill you in?"

The young woman paused, taking a second to scan him up and down before straightening a tad. Her voice retained its curt tone. "She told me enough."

"Then you should know that this?" He waved the sorry excuse for a file. "This isn't enough."

She tossed her hands, raising her voice a bit as her glasses once again began to tilt against the bridge of her nose. "Look, I'm only here to do you a favor, a favor that could get me in some serious shit, I might add. So I don't know what else you want me to do?"

"How about you do your fucking job for starters?" Tony snapped the file back open, shuffling through the meager pickings of reports. One page for each incident - six in total. No notes. No follow-up statements. No effort. "Have you people done anything more than the bare minimum here? I mean, do you have any information that took more effort than a Google search to find?"

He didn't wait for a response, lunging forward to slap the folder back into her hands before leaning closer, eyes blazing. Her loose papers fluttered to the floor "These kids are your responsibility, aren't they? It's up to you to make sure they're alright? Well, if this is any indication of the kind of effort you people put into these cases, then these kids don't stand a fucking chance!"

Charlotte, to her credit and despite the image of demureness she portrayed with her scruffy appearance and short stature, met his glare with one of her own, leaning forward to match his stance with a stiff lip and a scowl.

Brooklyn native, according to Torres.

It was starting to show.

"Listen, asshole. I know it might be hard for you to understand, but we can't go around just doing whatever the hell we'd like. There's a process for these sorts of things. A hierarchy."

"What a fancy way of saying you don't give a shit."

And suddenly the hurried scowl of her face darkened like a storm cloud, ominous and overwhelming. Tony held her glare, nails digging into the skin of his palm as he felt the beating in his chest quickening with anger. She spoke, voice low, missing the hint of nervous energy and flustered youthfulness. Instead booming with an aged weariness, a haunting tone of unease.

(It reminded him of someone…)

"Do you know how many cases pass over my desk every single week? How many kids like Peter Parker I see every day, every hour, every minute?" She doesn't reach up to push her lenses back into place. Not even as they continued to slide down the bridge of her nose. "It's not a matter of apathy, Stark. It's priority. Rank is assigned to the most sensitive situations because we don't have enough resources to investigate every case that crosses our desk the second it comes in. We don't have the manpower, so these cases have to be triaged."

Tony swallowed, tried to push down the smoke he could feel beginning to crawl up his throat, hot and muggy. "So, what? Peter just slips through the cracks? He's not important enough to be helped? Don't you know the things they've done to him?" The anger in his voice slips, cracks for just a second to reveal the desperation underneath.

("But you're not the one who needs to be afraid of me, are you?")

It's gone just as quickly.

"But it doesn't matter, right? Cause he's the son of Richard Parker, city's white knight! And you cowards wouldn't dare go after your golden goose, huh? Not even if it means sacrificing an innocent kid because of your failures?!"

It comes out in a scream. Sudden and unexpected. Tony can feel the shiver in his hands returning full force but he wills his glare to remain steadfast. Wills the pain in his chest to go away, for the heat teeming under his skin to stop burning, itching, gnawing.

("You're kidding yourself...")

Charlotte stared back at him, lifting her chin in thought as she narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. The anger in her face had dwindled, leaving something else. Something Tony did not have the capacity to discern at that moment. Her voice was terse. Hard. And yet...it echoed with traces of something more.

"Like it or not...we can't help everyone. We don't have the manpower, the resources, any of it. We're putting forty cases per worker and we still have untouched files that haven't even been looked at. Turnaround time for incoming calls is two months." She stared down at the file in her hands, brushed her chewed, unpolished nails over the top. "In a perfect world, we could send teams out to each and every warning sign we get: full investigations, case-write-ups, police interventions...but it's impossible."

"Nothing's impossible. And I don't want to hear your fucking excuses," Tony mutters, but his voice cracks. There is no fire behind his words. No substance.

Charlotte swallowed and lifted her head. Tony did the same and noticed for the first time that her frown disappeared, replaced with a softer film. A quiet look of weathered emotion, of soft desperation, washed away by the pounding of the ocean waves. Her voice was quiet as she spoke, soft. As if her words would echo if she spoke them too loudly.

"Mr. Stark...today, I got a new case. Little girl...five years old. After this, I'm going to the ER to visit with her." She stared down at the file in hand. She did not fidget. Did not waver. "She forgot her lunchbox at school. And her mother decided that a suitable punishment was to fling a pan of boiling oil onto her. Last update I got was from the doctor letting me know that her eyes couldn't be saved."

Tony didn't respond. Didn't shoot back with a snap or a retort. The heat in his chest finally overpowered him, forcing him down onto the bench below, palms pressing into the splintered wood as he forced himself to breath, forced the air into his lungs. He said nothing as Charlotte slowly took a seat next to him, holding the file gently in her hands.

"Who takes priority, Mr. Stark? The son of a billionaire with food and shelter? Or the toddler who can't even see me?"

She shut her eyes and sighed, running a hand through the loose bangs by her face and looking like all the world were weighing on her shoulders. "The question isn't: who's more important. It's...who's going to die first?"

Tony took a breath.

Took several.

On the fifth, he heard a buzz.

With mechanical movements, he grabbed the phone, dully pulling it out without much thought. The screen lit up as the message appeared.

 

. . .

PETER

Ok. I'm gonna go help Pepper and Rhodey. I don't know a whole lot about politics, but I'm sure I can make conversation with some phone-dudes.

Do you think they like Power Rangers?

Oh, and LMK if you need me! :)

. . .

 

It wasn't until he saw the message blurring that Tony noticed his eyes were beginning to mist over. He swallowed thickly and tightened his grip on the phone.

"He needs help..." he whispered.

"I'm sure he does. They all do." Charlotte did not turn to look at him. Merely kept her eyes on the folder in her hands. "And if I could, I'd lock up each and every bastard that ever thinks of laying a hand on them." She shut her eyes, squeezed them shut in a moment of silence before speaking again. "But I can't. Because that's not how the world works. Not everything can be solved with rockets and capes."

She turned, fixing Tony with a regretful stare.

"Not everything can be solved... period."

The man shut his eyes and buried his face into his hands, breathing lowly and deeply. He vaguely heard Charlotte rising up to her feet, heard the breath that escaped past her lips as she reached up to brush the mess of hair out of her face once more.

"I'm not...personally involved with the Parker case...but I do hear about it around the office."

Tony hesitated for a moment before slowly lifting his head. Charlotte was kneeling on the ground, taking the time to finally fold her loose papers, sliding them away into her briefcase. "It's the running joke among staff. Wondering what new charge some crackpot will throw at Richard Parker." She gestured towards the file sitting untouched next to Tony. "They scoff at the case file. Dismiss it entirely. I honestly did too...until I heard from Val. And if I'd gotten the news from anybody else, I'd have laughed them out of the room. The workload we have to deal with on the daily and we're getting complaints to check in on a beloved, well-renowned billionaire and his smiling son?" She swallowed. "In terms of priority...it's the lowest of the low."

Tony folded his hands together and pressed them against his mouth, listened to the beating in his chest.

("Nobody would believe me.")

Peter had warned him about this. And he still hadn't listened. Just like everybody else...he hadn't listened.

How many times was this kid going to be ignored?

"So...what do I do?" he said softly, lifting his eyes to meet the woman's gaze. "If nobody's going to help, then...how do I do this?"

Charlotte stared him down for a moment, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully, as if inspecting him one more time. Tony wasn't sure what she was going to see other than a man at the end of his rope, but whatever she did see seemed to be enough for her to straighten up with a sigh and place her hand on her hip.

"If you want to get Parker, you'll have to put in the time. Gather evidence. Get testimonials from Peter, neighbors, friends, anybody who might have seen something. If we can't do it, then you'll have to do it on our behalf." She pushed her glasses up, smudging the lenses a bit as she did. "You've got resources we could only dream of. Cameras, microphones, bugs, use what you can. Get an admission. Get video evidence. Concrete proof that can't be dismissed. Because anything less will be treated the same as this..." she gestured towards the file in Tony's hands. "...discarded at the bottom of an endless pile."

Tony stared at her before lowering his head. He gave a nod. Nothing more.

Nothing else was needed.

Charlotte took a step back, casting a wayward glance down at her watch. She seemed to speak hesitantly, like she was pondering her next move. "I...really do have to go."

"Right..."

She started to turn away, readjusting her grip on the briefcase by her side before she stopped. Tony lifted his head at this and cast her a questioning look. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, her back to him.

"I'll tell you one thing, Mr. Stark. In my opinion, Peter's already got an ace that most of these kids don't have."

He raised a brow. "What's that?"

"...Someone who cares."

She slowly turned back around. And for the first time since meeting, Tony watched her lips pull into a smile. It was soft and weary, matching the aged look of her eyes. But it made the shadows on her face recede for just a second, revealing the gleam of hope still shining back, the young woman hidden behind the layers of scruffy spit and fire. The woman who had dedicated her life to doing the very same thing Tony was trying to accomplish. The woman who was fighting on the same side as him.

"At the very least...you being here? That's what gives him a fighting chance."

Tony stood for a moment, holding her gaze before giving a soft nod of his head. He gave a gentle shake to the file in his hand. "Thanks. For..."

"Yeah." She ducked her head again and cast her gaze out over the park and the city beyond it. Tony couldn't help but do the same.

How many others...?

How many Peters?

"For what it's worth, I wish I could do more."

She swallowed and fixed Tony with a hard stare.

"So, do me a favor...and take the son of a bitch down."

 


 

Saturday - June 11th 2016

Manhattan - East Harlem

10:23 PM

 

The nightclub was teeming with bodies all wiggling for a spot inside, bright lights and booming vibrations ratting the very streets. Sweat and booze sat heavy in the air, tinged with a hint of perfumes, body odor and cigarette smoke as the very building seemed to shake.

The night was young by city standards so the lines outside the building were still long; filled with sequins, short skirts and gaudy makeup as people not-so-patiently waited to get it. But most were smart enough to keep their mutterings quiet as they'd catch sight of the hulking form of the bouncer sitting by the entrance, carding anyone who looked a little too green.

But booze did have a habit of making dumbasses out of morons.

"I said leave me alone, you perv!"

A gaggle of girls - young, maybe early twenties - scurried out of the club, thumping bass resonating as the doors opened. Behind them tailed a skeezy-looking guy with greasy brown hair and a slight blush on his cheeks. His too-thin face was spread out in a wide, unsettling grin as he gestured with the bottle still in hand. The bouncer eyed the group warily.

"Hey, come on! I'm just trying to have a little fun. You girls should lighten up, unwind a bit. Let's go get another round - come on, I'll buy."

One girl, seemingly the main mouthpiece of the group, scrunched her face and backed closer to the other two women beside her. "I think we're gonna pass, dude. Like I said, I'm not interested."

The guy curled his lip. "Then why the hell you dressed like a fucking slut? Quit flaunting what you ain't offerin', bitch."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He stepped closer, grabbing the lower hem of her skirt before she could step back. "I can show you a good time, baby. Stop being such a tease and-"

A beefy hand shoved against his chest, making him stumble backward and focus his attention on not spilling the beer still in his hand. All eyes shot towards the bouncer now standing between the girls, face twisted into a scowl that left no room for argument. "Girl said no, douchebag. So go fuck off before you ruin the rest of my night."

Skeezeball scowled and wobbled his way into a semi-stable stand. "Hey, fuck off, man. I ain't doing nothing. Tell this bitch to quit being such an attention whore." His lopsided grin returned and the girls huddled closer behind the bouncer. "You don't need to put in all that effort. If you want it, you know where to get it."

Before he could gesture towards where the girls could, in fact, "get it", the bouncer advanced, meaty hands wrapping around the guy's shoulders as he began to shove him away. "Alright, you're fucking done. Now get the hell out of here or I'll-"

The words were cut short by the sound of shattering glass and a girl's sudden scream. The bouncer dropped to the floor with a grunt and a hiss of pain, clutching his forehead as cheap beer and blood began to pour from the new cut on his head. Skeezeball, now clutching a shard from the broken bottle, hiccupped, and set his blurring vision on the group of girls backing up towards the line of onlookers, some having pulled out their phones to record the altercation.

"Fucking loser. All show with those steroid muscles. Got nothing on me - hic. So you still wanna get lippy with me, whore? Why don't you put your money where your mouth is?" He growled and gripped the glass harder, only to grunt as the bouncer caught him in the stomach and pushed him away.

Cameras started flashing as the two men stared each other down, the bouncer - despite the blood dripping down his face - curled his fists and got into a defensive stance while Skeezeball laughed, winding his arm back before taking a running charge.

Right into a faceful of webbing.

Before the guy could even flounder, more webs were raining down from above, wrapping around his arms and yanking him up into the air, leaving him to hang by his feet from the nearby light post.

"Pro-tip, my guy. If a girl looks disinterested, then assault with a deadly weapon is probably not going to tip the scales in your favor."

Spiderman jumped down in his place, adding one final flick of webbing to his mouth as the torrent of curses began.

"But I never get any matches on my Tinder profile, so I'm guessing I'm not the love guru I think I am. Neither are you, looks like."

He glanced over his shoulder at the onlookers staring with wide eyes, including the bouncer and the group of girls still huddled together. He tilted his head. "Personally, I think she looks great. I've been thinking of adding some sequins to the costume, but I'm worried I'll come off as too desperate. What do you think?"

Skeezeball shouted from behind the webs, swinging back and forth against the pole.

"Ah, what do you know? You have zero taste."

Seeming to realize the danger was gone, the girls began to relax, approaching with grateful smiles. "Thanks, Spider-Man. I'm sorry you had to-"

"Don't worry about it. Pervy McSkervy here just needs to sleep it off. Is that comfortable? I've been told it's pretty comfortable."

More muted shoutings.

Spider-Man turned his attentions to the bouncer, who was gazing up at the offender with a disgusted glare. "Hey, man. You good? That cut looks pretty bad. I can drop you off at the hospital if you need."

The man turned towards him, the hardened glint in his eyes lessening as he shook his head. "Nah, man. It's just a cut. I've gotten worse than this and we got first-aid in the back, but thanks for the save."

"No prob. Does this mean I get to go in for free?"

"Yeah, you wish, buddy."

"Just as well. Where am I supposed to put an ID in this thing?"

He turned, giving a little wave to the cameras still flashing in line before jumping onto the light post, once again ignoring the muffled curses as he prepped to swing off.

"Spider-Man, wait!"

He peeked over his shoulder at the girls still standing below. Were they still worried? Maybe he should offer to give them a ride home or something.

One girl pulled out her phone.

"Can we take a selfie?"

"Uh...sure. But only if we get Skeeze McGee in the background."

"Duh!"

 


 

If Peter thought Queens was a busy meal, then Manhattan was a crock pot of 24-hour chaos wrapped in flashing lights and firecrackers.

He smiled behind the mask and shot out another web, air rushing around him as he swung through the skies. The streets were a mess of color and noise, cars whizzing past and masses of people strolling by: gangs of friends bar hopping from one spot to another, tourists flashing cameras at every vendor trying to peddle them some junk, late-night taxi hailers, party girls and selfie sticks, it seemed to go on and on.

A few people waved as he swung by. He waved back.

It wasn't often that he got to work in the center of the city. He was usually reserved to Queens and the surrounding boroughs, unable to venture too far from home in case he needed to make a quick reappearance. Plus, all-night vigilantism looks good on paper until you remember that life does not, in fact, stop for heroing and you do still have an English essay to finish. And 'Sorry, but some guys were trying to rob the Trustco Bank on 23rd street with a flamethrower and some Double Bubble chewing gum' is not the Get Out of Jail Free card you might think it is.

Needless to say, Peter was making the most out of his time at Stark Tower, one such perk being the close proximity of said beacon and Times Square. It only took a few swings and he was already in the heart of the city, soaking up the smells and the noise and the life underneath.

Another web. Another swing. More air rushing around him.

 

Incoming Transmission.

 

The earpiece in his mask crackled.

"Everything good out there, kid?"

"As good as it can be. This IS New York, after all." He turned a corner, free-falling for a moment before shooting another web and launching himself into the air. He smirked. "Are you checking up on me?"

"No."

"Seems like you're checking up on me."

"No idea what you're talking about."

"Regret turning down my offer?"

"If I wanted to spend my free time roaming the streets of New York beating up senseless idiots, I join the NYPD."

"It's called patrol."

"It's called police brutality, Parker. Check your privilege."

Peter snorted, shooting off another web before launching himself higher.

"How's the suit? She playing nice?"

He glanced around at the interface hovering around the edges of his vision. "See for yourself. Say hi to Mr. Stark, Karen."

"Hello, sir. I'd like to express my gratitudes for your allowance in making me Peter's newest companion."

"Yeah that's nice. Did you say 'Karen?'"

"We really need to schedule that SpongeBob marathon. You're so uncultured."

"You know what. You're fine. I don't need to be here."

"It's healthy to admit our flaws, Mr. Stark."

"Alright, smart-ass. Just remember to swing your butt back here by midnight. I have to at least pretend to be a responsible guardian."

"Sounds good. I'll let you know when I'm heading back."

"Good. And don't think I won't come fetch you if you're late."

"We won't be late! Right, Karen?"

"Of course, Peter. I have a built-in timer that I can set for twenty minutes before our stated deadline. Would you like me to set it up now?"

"Ooo, does it play jingles? Can you have it play the Imperial March?"

"Goodbye."

Peter clicked his tongue, flicking out his wrist for another web. "He really needs to get out more."

In all fairness, it was his first time taking his new suit AI for a joyride, so he supposed Mr. Stark was within his rights to want an update on their latest project.

"I've programmed in the Imperial March as your reminder. I also have something called the Cantina song on the recommended list. Would you like to set this as a backup?"

Seemed like a success to him.

Time seemed to fly when he was in the suit, the nights passing him by in the blink of an eye with a few corny jokes and a couple slap-stick fights thrown into the mix. And now that he was stationed out at the Tower, Peter noticed a certain...lightness to him. An air of relaxation that never seemed to follow him back home. There were no threats of unmasking at the Tower. No overhanging eyes or suspicious glares. Nobody to pretend for. No lies to throw around. Nothing but him, the mask and everybody who knew the in-between.

It was nice.

It was more than nice. It was...freeing.

And the idea of someone waiting up for him to come home safely? Well, it certainly was new. Spider-Man had never had a curfew before. But he supposed it was a fair tradeoff. Crawling through the windows of the Tower to a pat on the back and a smiling face rather than creeping along the walls praying for an empty house?

Yeah. Easy choice.

"All units - please respond. Armed robbery in progress at the Chelsea Tech Labs. Suspects appear to be armed, currently firing at officers. Attempting to flee the scene now."

Peter tilted his head to listen in to the radio chatter. "Man, Karen. You're way better than that stupid police scanner I had to buy on eBay. 80 bucks! What a scam."

"I appreciate the compliment, Peter. Chelsea Tech Labs is located on the corner of Park Avenue and East 126th Street. I'm setting a route for you now."

"Thanks, K! Uh...do you mind if I call you K?"

"You can call me whatever you'd like."

"Well, you shouldn't give me that much freedom. It's good to be your own person sometimes, K. And that means setting boundaries."

"Alright. What kind of boundaries would you like me to set?"

"No, I...um, you know what? We can talk about this later."

With that, Peter eyed the glowing yellow path now being highlighted behind his lenses and shot forward like a bullet, flinging web after web in quick succession, letting out a little whoop as he soared. Onlookers turned to watch as he passed, smiles adorning their faces.

Spider-Man was out tonight. Which meant things would be okay.

It didn't take long for him to find the source of the commotion, even before his new tech could point out the origins of the sirens and gunfire. He quickly rounded the corner and had to leap out of the way of the truck that came barreling past, tumbling along the top before shooting out another web towards the closest building. Behind the truck sped two motorcycles, and just behind those raced a horde of police cars, flashing lights and blaring sirens echoing against the building walls.

"Oop, found the party."

The motorcyclists converged on the truck, rearing their arms back and firing their rifles at any of the police cruisers that got too close. Obviously, this was an escort mission, meaning whatever was in that truck was the secret surprise. And Spider-Man was itching for a peek.

He burst forward, swinging back and forth, keeping in time to the police cars racing underneath him. Even through the commotion, he heard the crackling of an earpiece - obviously the bad guys had their own tech. He stretched out his senses to listen in.

"Fuck me, the spider freak's here."

"Then distract him! That's what you idiots are here for, isn't it?"

Peter narrowed his eyes as the cyclists turned and began to fire again, bullets ricocheting off of glass and metal. One patrol car veered, tires skidding on the asphalt as it barreled towards the sidewalk - right towards a group of pedestrians, wide-eyed and frozen.

His neck tingled and he instantly shot a barrage of webs, latching onto their chests and yanking them off their feet while another set of webs grabbed onto the side of the car and pulled taut, keeping it from ramming into the building side. He only had time to spare the group a glance, making sure they were all safe and intact before he was moving again. The bullets continued to rain down and the officers continued to give chase.

Peter swung forward and landed on the roof of the leading car, knocking on the window and leaning his head down to face the stunned officer inside.

"Hey, what's up? Spiderman - Nice to meet you! So, what did they steal?! he yelled over the rushing winds.

"I, uh...some crates of chemicals! I don't know what they are!"

Peter cursed inwardly and spared another look at the truck ahead. Unknown chemicals meant he couldn't just crash the truck, not with the possibility of those chemicals being explosive. He could see the headlines now.

Breaking News: Spider-Man blows up East Harlem. Try explaining that to Mr. Stark.

"Alright. I'll take care of this. I think you guys should pull back."

"No way, man. I know you're a hero and everything, but we have a job to do too and - LOOK OUT!"

The words were barely out of the man's mouth before Peter's neck was tingling again. He whirled, the very air seeming to slow around him as he caught sight of something leaving the lead cyclist's hand - something bright and round and flashing.

He felt his body tensing, fingers flying towards his shooters as the bomb grazed the ground and the entire street exploded, gravel and asphalt shooting upwards as the car below him flew into the air. He could feel rock, fire, all of it surrounding him as he scanned.

Officer. Four more cars. Open window. Crumbling street.

Solve the equation.

He flew forward, shooting through the open window of the flying cruiser and grabbing the officer as he went by. He tossed the man towards the other side of the road, landing him on a bed of newly made webs before spinning towards the rest of the cruisers now skidding to avoid the cave-in. More webs - a net - strings on either side of the street holding the barrage of metal and wheels back from the crumbling hole.

More tingling.

More bombs.

Move.

They were thrown at random, hitting the nearby buildings, the archways, the sidewalk - aimed at structures, pedestrians, cars, all of it. Anything to distract him from the real target.

He held his breath and fired at the bomb hurtling towards a corner of people, latching on and swinging it back towards an empty stretch of road. The other buildings, the shops, they were not priority. But the debris. Another group - staring up at the chunks of rock beginning to fall. Peter raced forward and scooped them up right as the boulders smashed the pavement below.

Another explosion sent a car tumbling through the air, the screams of the people inside loud and piercing, only to be cut short as the car landed in a cradle of webs over the heads of the people cowering from the oncoming projectile.

Jesus. I gotta stop these guys before they kill someone.

He surged forward, quickly catching up with the truck and the protective bikes riding just behind it. The first cyclist took aim, a stream of bullets whizzing through the air as Peter ducked and dodged around them. He shot a web, watching it stick in the tire wells of the bike, the cyclist screaming as he flipped head-over-heels and soared towards the pavement, only to be caught and whipped towards a nearby light post, strung up with a flick of Peter's wrist.

One down.

The second revved its engine and sped towards the truck, catching up with the driver's window.

"Get ready, man."

Peter narrowed his eyes and fired another web, only for this cyclist to dodge it, engine revving again as he reared back and aimed something new.

Is that-?

BOOM!

Spider-Man loosed another web and easily ducked under the bright blue blast, only to watch with wide eyes as the shot curved through the air and slammed into his side, sending him crashing into the wall of the nearby bodega.

"GOT HIM!"

He groaned, blinking the stars from his eyes as he stepped around bricks and quickly fired two more webs, launching himself into the air. "What the hell was that?" he muttered to nobody in particular, before remembering that he no longer had to talk to himself anymore.

"That blast appeared to be a heat-seeking projectile. Preliminary scans reveal that weapon is made using crude alien technology. I suggest you approach with extreme caution, Peter."

"Right. Um...let's see."

Another blast shot from the gun, hurtling his way in a fiery stream of bright blue light.

Peter swung forward, leaping overtop the blast. He watched from the corner of his eye as it curved through the air and began to make another bee-line for him. He whipped his hand down and fired a web at a nearby manhole cover, yanking it up and swinging it through the air to meet the blast head-on. It collided in a flash of white light, the heat singing his fingertips as he twisted back around and zeroed back in on the biker.

"Two can play at this, buddy."

Another blast. Another pair of webs. He ducked under the shot and swung out in front of the biker, keeping in time with him as he flew. He couldn't see the man's face under his helmet, but he was pretty confident there was no smile for him. No matter, Peter had plenty of smiles of his own. Especially since-

"I think you lost this."

He pulled up at the last second, revealing the blast that had been hot on his tail, now aimed straight for the man's bike. He screamed and made a leap for it, the blast ripping through the metal in a shower of heat and shrapnel. He plucked up the man right before he could hit the road, tossing him over towards the street in a nice cocoon of webs before setting his sights back on the truck.

"That just leaves you and me, buddy."

The truck was gaining speed now, barreling through an intersection while the surrounding cars screeched and veered to avoid collision.

More tingling.

More pedestrians.

Peter surged forward, eyes locking onto the couple currently in the middle of the crosswalk, right in the path of the oncoming missile on wheels. He shot another pair of webs, catching on their clothes and yanking them up into the air right as the truck flew by, catching them and quickly dumping them back onto the sidewalk before he was off again.

It took another few swings before he was close enough to fire one last shot at the driver-side mirror, using it to propel himself towards the door. He stuck to the metal as the wind roared around him, poking his head through the window with wide eyes.

"License and registration, please!"

He was met with the barrel of a gun instead.

Quickly ducking out of the way of the shots with a manly yelp, Peter flattened himself against the metal as the bullets continued to pour from the opening.

"Fuck you, freakshow!"

"Hey, man. Your words are hurtful." He flipped up onto the top of the truck and reached back down towards the window. He grabbed onto the barrel of the gun, crushing it between his fingers like wet sandpaper before yanking it from the man's hands altogether.

The driver cursed but the look on his face did not match the same startled 'time to give up' look Peter was hoping to see. Instead, he craned his neck over his shoulder.

"You think that's hurtful? Buddy, you ain't seen nothing yet! You're up, DOC!"

Peter narrowed his eyes and lifted his hand, readying to fire a few webs at the driver. He'd yank him out and try to slow this thing down from the inside and maybe he'd be able to avoid any-

CRASH!

Peter gasped and leapt back as a pair of metallic claws popped out of the truck roof under his feet. He stumbled back, lenses of his mask wide as he watched the claws tear through the metal like butter, curling back pieces of steel to let loose something big and creaking.

It rose from the hole menacingly, a shadowed form of metal and claws, sprouting from a body wrapped in black and lined with glowing green lines. It lifted up into the air with a silent strength in its movements, overwhelming and huge. It took a second for Peter to even understand what he was looking at. It wasn't until he saw the arms, the legs, the figure within that he finally realized - it was a...person?

A man, it looked like. Though the details were hidden in a black business suit, fitted with a green striped tie and a matching handkerchief. If it weren't for the metal arms currently holding him up in the air. Not just that, but his mask...

"Spider-Man, I presume..." The voice drifting out was tinny and nasal, dripping in condescension and scorn.

Peter shifted. Took a step back. "Uh...what gave it away?"

The man cleared his throat and adjusted his tie, metal arms creaking as the wind howled around them. The truck veered, turned a corner and Peter used the heels of his feet to stick. The man didn't even sway.

"I do wish we had more time for recreation, but lucky for you, this experiment has some parameters. I'm only here to...how did he phrase it?

The claws shot out before Peter could even move, grabbing his chest and slamming him down onto the roof of the truck.

"A mild headache."

Peter groaned, grabbing onto the metal spikes currently enclosed around his ribcage. "So...urg - what should I call you?"

The man sniffed, twirling a hand in the air in supposed thought as the claws tightened around Peter. He lifted his fingers, adjusted the gas mask over his face, the octopus-shaped gas mask.

"You may call me Doctor."

Before Peter could reply, the arms lifted him up and hurled him backward off the truck.

Spinning in the air, he fired a web at the nearest building and swung himself back up, lobbing a couple of webs at the Doc as he passed. The tentacles moved like whips, catching each and every piece of web he fired.

"Aren't you adorable?"

Another claw reached out and snapped through the web Peter was currently swinging on, sending him tumbling across the truck roof. He slid under the man's legs and shot one last web at the nearest arm, sticking the metal claws shut.

"Thanks. My grandma thinks I'm a real catch."

Incoming swing. He ducked underneath it and right into the path of another, metal smacking his face with a thud. He grunted and leapt overtop a jab as another arm wrapped around his ankle and tripped him down before dragging him up into the air.

Peter grunted, staring upside down at the doctor, who tilted his head and raised a hand. The arms followed his movements, a long metal spike sliding out of the center of the claw.

Thinking fast, Peter scanned the area, catching sight of the driver below casting upward glances every few seconds. Watching. Smirking.

Jerk.

With a web, Peter fired at the wheel and yanked. The truck skidded and teetered, knocking both him and his captor to the concrete below.

Peter slid along the ground and quickly righted himself, crouching along the gravel as the Doctor growled, metal arms bracing along the ground and lifting the man up another few feet like a puppet controlling his own strings.

Behind him, Peter could see the truck swerve back onto the road and continue speeding away.

Crap.

He leaped over the probably-not-a-doctor's head and caught sight of the truck barreling through another intersection before rounding a corner. He stuck to the building side and climbed up, leaping onto the roof and lining up the truck in his sights again before he could lose it. Only for another claw to pop up on his path and swing for him.

"I can't tail that thing with this guy on me," he muttered while sliding under another punch and wrenching his arm from the metal's grip as it grabbed him.

"Perhaps it would be helpful to tag the truck with a tracker?"

Peter jolted, which was enough of a window for a hunk of metal to the face. His back hit the wall as he scoffed in disbelief. "What? I can do that?"

"Of course. Your suit is equipped with a multitude of different features, including several that are specially designed for combat, stealth, and recon-"

"Okay, okay! Just - yes! Go with the tracker!"

"Alright. Simply hit the truck with this."

He jumped over another spike and glanced down at his hand, watching as one of the compartments on his webshooters opened up, revealing a small metallic disc, complete with red blinking light.

"Whoa...that's awesome - ACK!"

He choked as a metal arm wrapped around his throat and began to drag him down toward the Doctor. Peter held his breath and waited until he was a few inches away before letting loose a kick that connected with the man's face, snapping his head back and loosening the arms enough for him to wiggle out.

He sucked in a breath on the move, shooting two more webs and projecting himself upwards. He took sight of the truck quickly speeding off and aimed one last shot. Peter flicked his wrist and let loose a glob of webbing that splattered against the truck's back doors, blinking tracker embedded in the goop.

"Got it - WHOA!"

He flipped out of the way of the incoming arm, watching it destroy the pavement where he'd stood moments ago. He slid a few feet back and crouched along the ground, watching the Doctor's claws scanning the ground, like they were looking for something.

There.

His mask had fallen, clattered off to the side, revealing the pudgy round face underneath complete with receding hairline and blemished skin. Not exactly the threatening assassin he'd been expecting, but...

Peter faltered, narrowing his gaze as he took a closer look at the man's face. More specifically, his eyes. The claws returned the mask. But not before Peter could see...

"Whoa...are you blind?"

"Are YOU?"

Tingling.

He swerved to the side to avoid the stabbing spike from behind, leaping out of range as the Doctor growled. The goggles of his mask gleamed back at him, reflecting that same glassy stare underneath.

"Huh...well that certainly makes this more interesting."

Another projectile aimed his way, this time an empty car that had been parked off to the side, now launching through the air at him.

He slid underneath it and fired a few more webs at the man's goggles - only to realize too late that it wouldn't make much of a difference. The claws were the real threat. Did they have some sort of sensor? Could the Doctor control them with sonar imaging? Is that how he could pinpoint Peter's movements?

So cool.

Another car.

Dangerous. But cool.

"So, like...is it ableist to hit you or more ableist to not hit you?" He webbed a nearby trash can and hurled it forward. The claws crushed through it like paper mache. "Actually, do ableist principles even apply when you're in the middle of conducting a crime? Not even like casual littering."

The claws paused in the air for a moment before spinning to life like flying saw blades.

"This is like...mega crime, dude."

He swerved as the saws buzzed towards him, ducking under an arm and skirting by another punch. "Eh, whatever. Every celebrity needs a scandal. 'Spider-Man beats up helpless blind octopus.' will definitely be a page-turner at the very least."

"Do you ever stop talking?!"

Another car aimed his way.

"Sorry, it's trademark." He braced and caught before it could hit the ground, arms straining as he grunted under the weight before hoisting it over his head. "I have to meet a quip quota or I don't get my yearly bonus."

With that, he launched the car back at the Doc, only to watch the saw blades slice it in half like a deli sandwich, clean and quick. The two halves skidded harmlessly along the ground, leaving the Doctor to hover in the air between them, completely unscathed.

"Dang..."

The knowing chuckle coming from under the Doctor's mask was telling enough.

He was having fun.

Peter was very much not.

In actuality, the jokes were a means of distraction - and not a very good one it seemed, for the Doctor wasn't even slowing down. It also didn't hide the fact that this guy was serious business. Not like the penny thugs his father would sometimes hire for smaller jobs.

Peter eyed the suit jacket over the man's shoulders, noted the insignia stitched into the arm: a white butterfly encased in flames.

The burning butterfly.

His father's signature mark. Only given to soldiers of a certain class level, a rank to be earned.

He curled his fists, tried to quell the sudden uptick in his heartbeat.

This could be trouble. There was no human fighting style to this guy, no pattern he could try to identify. The doctor himself didn't even seem to be a part of the fight aside from his role as a source for the arms. IF anything, Peter was fighting a machine. And everything Peter threw at him - both literally and figuratively - he swatted away with the ease of a parent humoring their child in a game.

Taunting. Mocking.

It reminded him of something.

("You seem to be forgetting your place.")

He hissed and leapt away at the sudden blood splatter - his distraction having allowed one of the saws to slice by his arm, leaving a spray of blood to whizz against the ground.

Gripping the wound with a tight grasp, he eyed the claws warily, watching them hover protectively in front of their host, saws buzzing menacingly before lurching towards him again.

Peter slid under the nearest one and jumped over the next, swerving by the third and webbing the fourth to the wall before coming in close for a punch. One hit would be enough. He just had to take out the host and the arms would-

"Gah!"

He yelped as a claw grabbed him from behind and flung him to the side, slamming him to the wall. The bricks collapsed under him, cushioning his fall in rocks and stone. Before he could get up, the arms were back, grabbing his foot and lifting him up before slamming him down into the pavement below.

Back in the air.

Face first into the ground.

Up again.

Down.

They reached up for a third, only for Peter to slam his hand into the pavement and stick. The claws whirred in confusion at the sudden resistance, Peter using the second of distraction to kick out with his free leg, dislodging the claw's grip and rolling out of reach.

The doctor pulled out his handkerchief and cleaned his hands while Peter huffed out a couple of breaths a few paces away.

"You know, I'd love to keep this field test going for a few more hours, But I'm afraid I simply don't have the time. You know how it is, don't you?"

"Oh yeah," he panted. "Part-time vigilantism is a real time killer. Sucky pay, too."

"Hmm, trite." He pulled a pocketwatch from his pocket. "I do have a schedule to keep though. And my instructions were to only keep you busy enough to stay out of our business. I do believe I've held up my end of the bargain."

"Fantastic work, too, I might add."

"But am I right to assume you're not about to just let me walk on out of here now that my job is complete?"

Peter scoffed. "Seriously?"

He sighed and folded the cloth back up, slipping it into his pocket again.

"Right. Have it your way, then."

Instead of the attack Peter expected, the claws attached to the building side and began to climb.

"Whoa, dude! You're stealing my thing!"

Tingling.

His whole body tensed as he followed the doctor up the building side, watching him leap over the roof and land on the next street over, with-

Damn. Damn.

The hordes of people on the street screamed at the sight of large metal arms climbing along the building, the man between them cackling all the while at the sight of chaos he couldn't even experience.

He was fast - faster than a hunk of metal and a slightly overweight man should be. And the people on the glass pedestrian bridge over the road could only watch as a pair of metal claws crashed through the panels and latched onto two people - a man and a woman, dragging them both out kicking and screaming while the crowds tripped and stumbled back in horror.

"NO!"

Two more arms surged forward and rammed through the glass at the bridge entrances, freezing the fleeing people in their tracks and trapping them inside.

One last claw crawled up from below and sliced through the support beams underneath the railings, the entire structure creaking ominously as the glass flooring began to splinter.

"Come on, Spider-Man! Can't keep all the fun for ourselves now, can we?!"

The arms reared back and launched the two victims skyward, trailing screams echoing along the buildings as they fell.

The cracks widened, people screaming inside as they tried to step around them. The whole bridge groaned and shifted.

The Doctor cackled.

Tingling.

Tingling

Move.

Peter surged forward, swinging through the air at breakneck speed as he approached the falling man. He shot upward, catching him mid-scream before diving down for the woman, firing a web and latching onto her back before she could splat against the asphalt. He swung low to the ground and dropped them along the sidewalk before flying forward towards the bridge.

The glass seemed to break apart in slow-motion, an explosion of shining shards and falling legs.

One web. Two. Three. Handfuls back-to-back wrapping around each person and yanking them up; swerving through shards, honing in on each body. Precise. Exact. Quick.

The cars below swerved to avoid the falling glass shards and metal beams, braking hard at the sight of pedestrians falling, only to watch as Spider-Man looped a web around an arm, then a leg, another shoulder, someone's hand, catching them all mid-air.

Their screams were cut short as he swung them away from the creaking structure and launched them towards the sidewalk - more specifically at the net of webs now hammocking the streetlamps.

It was only a second later that the entire bridge buckled, people on the streets watching with wide eyes and phones out as the entire thing shuddered, support beams creaking and bending out of place as the bolts popped loose and the metal began to fall.

People were scrambling from their cars, backing away from the disaster careening down over their heads.

More webs. More nets. Fire. Swing. Fire more. A mess of string and strength as Spider-Man swung around the structure, webbing up each support beam and steel block that he could, reinforcing the structure before it could collapse on the street below.

He could feel his heart pounding, could feel the breath in his chest wheezing at the effort, but he didn't stop firing webs. Didn't stop pulling each beam, each railing, each shaft, teeth grinding at the effort as his feet slid along the pavement

The bridge fought back, a metal monster that ached to collapse under his efforts. He tightened his grip on the webs and pulled harder, refusing to let the metal touch down. Were there people still down there? Drivers still in their cars? He couldn't let it fall!

He kept pulling, kept firing support web after support web, creating a net underneath the entire bridge, a hammock of safety for it to fall into. Another layer. Another web. Another tug.

Finally, he released. Half of the bridge swayed but stayed in place against its sticky placeholders while the bottom half collapsed down into the spidery net underneath it. The strings buckled and sagged under the hold, an ominous load of rock and rubble hovering over the roadways.

But hold it did.

The entire bridge was covered in white. Crooked and lopsided...but standing. The roadways clear.

Peter fell to a knee in the middle of the road, heavy pants falling from his mouth as he scanned the structure, searching for any weak spots, any missed pedestrians. Anything he'd overlooked.

The creaking silence loomed, cut only by the sounds of camera phones flashing from the sidewalks. Peter barely had time to see the first smile in the crowd before the claw appeared in front of his face.

It latched onto his chest and dragged him backward, launching him through the air and into a nearby truck. He slammed against the side, metal denting inwards as he collapsed to the floor. More claws. More saws. Peter flattened himself to the floor and rolled under the truck, popping out on the other side right as another arm swung forward.

The blade sliced through his side, sending up another spurt of blood. Peter yelped in pain and stumbled back, movements slower and fists heavier. He growled and clenched his jaw in frustration, the spike of fear from the bridge morphing into anger.

Peter set his feet and swerved around the next arm that lunged for him. Only, this time, he grabbed the claw as it looped back around, fingers prying around the metal prongs as he pulled them apart.

"This looks expensive!"

Sparks and metal flew as he gritted his teeth and ripped the claw apart. The Doctor cursed and Peter barely had time to look up before another arm was surging forward, latching onto his head. He grunted and immediately grabbed the sides, only for the arms to lift him up and send him flying.

Everything was tumbling over itself too fast for him to reorient before he crashed through the window of a nearby store. He couldn't even pull in another breath before he was grabbed again and hurled against the floor, the wall, the ceilings, the counters; walls crumbling, floor splintering, the entire building shaking!

Finally, the claws released him and Peter collapsed to the floor. "You seem...angry," he gasped in between breaths as he rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling, trying to focus on the tiles and not on the nausea swirling around his stomach.

His view was obscured, however, by the octopus mask that slowly crept into sight, the Doctor staring down at him as the arms hoisted him up over Peter. The mask glared with a sinister gleam. Peter could imagine a smirk underneath.

"Far from it, dear boy. This experiment was a rousing success."

"Urg...If you say so, fish-face."

One claw slammed down into the ground right by Peter's head and he flinched, body tensing as he readied for another attack. But the Doctor merely leaned in closer. Peter, on instinct, leaned back.

"I hope you're ready for what's coming, Spider-Man. I really do. Because while I find myself bound by the beauty of pure, untainted experimental research, my comrades will not have those same standards." His masked face pulled back to glance at the claws hovering around him. He reached out to stroke the metal prongs like dogs under his watch. "I'd like to learn more about you, about how my beauties fare against you. They, on the other hand - well...let's just say they're not as...scientifically curious."

Peter stared up at him, muscles tensing at his words. The Doctor, impossibly so, almost seemed to sense his sudden unease. For he chuckled and turned back towards him, goggles glinting in harsh white light.

"Silly fool. You didn't think I'd be the only one...did you?"

The mask stared back at him with a cold emptiness, a haunting sheen that left him clenching his fists tighter.

"I'll be seeing you again. Experimental discovery is nothing without reproducible results, is it not?"

And with that, he was gone, a hulking form of metal and monster disappearing into the night.

Peter stared after him, sucking on one breath after the other and trying not to dwell on the rising pain radiating out from his entire body. He knew he should follow, should go after him. In fact, he had to. He had to follow, give chase. Couldn't let him get away!

. . .

. . .

. . .

The store echoed in silence as he laid his head back and sighed, making no moves to get up.

"Yeah...you better run."

 


 

 

After spending a respectable amount of time wallowing in the rubble of what used to be a pet store, Peter swung through the city with a couple of new bruises and a cupcake-shaped dog toy he'd taken a fancy to.

"Stupid Doctor guy. I'm just supposed to believe his credentials? I think this is grounds for revoking his medical license."

"In the state of New York, conducting crimes of a high-enough caliber or that reflect unethical behavior, even ones that do not pertain to the medical field itself, can be grounds for suspension or even revocation of a medical license."

"See! If this doesn't constitute unethical behavior, then what does?

The air whipped around his face as he swung, not the pleasant breeze it had been hours ago - more a slap to the face as he moved.

"Dumb Doctor Octopus-looking guy. Deserves a dumb name to go with his dumb face. Doctor Octopus has a nice stupid ring to it. Equal parts humiliating and emasculating."

"I think Doctor Octopus is a great choice for a villain name, Peter."

"Thank you, K. I appreciate your undying support. And I'm going to need you to back me up when Mr. Stark inevitably questions my naming choices."

Along the edges of his vision, Karen had uploaded the tracker's position, a pointed red dot that had yet to move for the past ten minutes. A base, maybe? Perhaps that fight with stupid=what's-his-face hadn't been as terrible as he'd thought.

The slashes on his arm and side gave a throb as he swung through a particularly tight corner, Peter grimacing inwardly at the thought of the fight. Hopefully Mr. Stark hadn't caught this particular story on the evening news. The last thing he needed to do was remind the billionaire of just how young he was, how inexperienced, how weak.

"I don't think you're weak, Peter."

He jumped, faltering in his next web sling and rolling along the rooftop instead, pausing for just a moment in his run. Had he said all of that out loud?

"Sorry, Karen. I didn't mean to, uh…never mind."

Another web. Another punch of air to the face. He stretched his jaw, bones aching from the multiple hits it'd taken.

"I know I am still fairly fresh in my programming, but Mr. Stark uploaded me with a vast knowledge of hand-to-hand combat strategies, defensive maneuvers, and casualty avoidance."

"Okay…?"

"And there are very few flaws I noticed in your approach."

"Well, you're definitely still fresh, K. Cause that was about as bad as you can get."

"That statement does not align with the events I recorded. There were zero casualties tonight. With structure collapses of that size, the average death rate is five to six. Tonight, there were no injuries. Overall, your performance was more than adequate. Impressive, even."

"But...he got away."

"An unfortunate scenario. But not an unfixable one."

Peter hummed in thought, shooting out another couple of webs as a small smile crept onto his face.

He wasn't naïve. He knew Mr. Stark had programmed this AI specifically for him, what with the lightness of her tone and the overall cheery disposition she displayed – bubblier and with less of a sarcastic bite than FRIDAY, who was more compatible with her ever-sharper creator.

Peter didn't need a snippy assistant. Mr. Stark apparently seemed to understand this.

Ergo…Karen.

Peter wasn't really sure what she was yet. But he was happy to have her.

"Coming up on the signal source, Peter."

"Right."

It was a desolate part of the city - along the Bronx river port, home to an array of abandoned warehouses and storage facilities. The very buildings seemed to sway in the wind, like a stiff breeze would blow them all away. The air itself tasted stale.

Peter noticed the truck along the riverside, tucked between two large shipping containers. He quickly swooped down and landed on the hood of the truck, peeping his head into the driver's side window.

"Darn it."

Empty.

He flipped up and raced to the back of the truck, snapping the lock and yanking the doors open.

"DARN IT!"

Double empty.

"Ugg! Stupid octopus guy!" he muttered with a kick to the rear tire. It popped under the blow and quickly deflated. He leaned his back against the truck side and rested his head along the metal. "So, to recap – bad guys got away, stolen tech remains stolen and now there's a bridge in East Harlem that belongs in the Guggenheim!"

He twisted around and threw a punch at the truck side, watching the metal crumple inward.

"This truck is stupid, too."

He sighed and shut his eyes, running a hand over the side of his head as he tried not to focus on the deep-seated ache still lingering in his bones. This night had definitely hit a snag.

"Peter. I'm detecting multiple heat signatures nearby."

He instantly straightened, eyes widening as he glanced around. "Where, Karen?"

Behind the lenses of his mask, the ground began to light up, a new red path trailing from his feet towards a dilapidated building a few meters away. He stared at the building, a sagging structure that seemed to melt into the shadows of the ground. He tilted his head.

"You think they hid out here?"

"It  is a possibility."

A possibility was good enough for him. Peter quickly fired a few more webs and swung over. He landed on the roof with a soft thud, the metal panels groaning in protest. A couple of windows along the top of the building were already cracked and broken, allowing both him and the wind to silently crawl in along the walls.

Inside, the building was dark and ominous, the metal walls creaking and moaning as it settled. The visor of his mask instantly shifted to night mode, the walls and floors alighting in a bright green hue. The place was filled with old wooden crates and abandoned storage containers. There were a few pieces of ratty furniture scattered across the large area: chairs, a TV, a couple tables, even some mattresses along the corners. He silently dropped to the floor and spotted a lone can of soda discarded on the ground.

"I think this might be their hideout, Karen," he whispered as he leaned down to pick up the can, catching sight of the line of weapons sitting along the back wall.

Peter shut his eyes and listened, very clearly making out the sounds of four distinct heartbeats.

"Gotcha…"

He silently dropped down to the floor, the lenses of his mask shifting from night mode to infrared, lighting up two nearby forms in orange light. They were crouched behind some crates along the back wall. Hiding.

Not well enough.

Peter narrowed his eyes and crouched low to the ground, ears perked and ready for any more surprises as he lifted a hand and took aim. Maybe stealth was the way to go here. Get this done quickly and quietly and avoid making any more messes that might-

Tingling.

He tensed.

And leaped out of the way of the arrow that embedded into the ground by his feet.

"What the – ack!"

The arrow exploded outwards, a big capture net slamming into Peter and sending him to the ground with a grunt and a yell as the bonds lit up with an electric charge. It was a quick shock but certainly strong enough to leave him panting under the new bonds as he knelt on the ground, eyes wide as he whipped his head around in a frenzy, trying to see what-

The lights around the room flickered on with a loud clunk, Peter wincing at the bright flash before adjusting to the sight in front of him. And-

His shoulders slumped in shock.

"Oh, shit…"

"That's one word for it," Clint Barton growled with a sneer as he aimed an arrow straight at Spider-Man's chest.

Next to him, Wanda Maximoff stood with her hands aglow in scarlet light, eyes gleaming with the same shine of anger and shock. Sam Wilson stood with his gun drawn, face pulled into a confused frown while Scott Lang stood off to the side, baseball bat clumsily held in his hands as he stared with the confusion of someone who was severely out of the loop.

"Uhh...hi."

Four glares.

Spiderman swallowed.

"You wouldn't have happened to see a giant octopus guy around here, have you...?"

Chapter 35: Tinker Man

Summary:

It was his usual quippy deflection. Peter was getting good at noticing it nowadays. He turned his eyes away from the man and back to the show.

It was a while before either of them spoke again. His words were soft.

"Do you miss them? Your friends?"

This time, Tony did not respond with his quick wit. Didn't even turn his eyes from the TV screen. But he did set his sandwich down. And Peter noticed the irregularities in his heartbeat. A waver then a beat. Waver then beat. Waver-

"...Sometimes."

Then beat.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Peter remembered the first time he ever saw the Avengers together.

There wasn't much he could recall from that one day in 2012, what with the commotion and the panic and the screaming of everybody on the streets, scrambling for cover under the rain of alien fire. He could remember his father, though. Remembered that the man, for once, looked unsure of himself, scared even.

Alien invasions tended to have that effect on even the hardest of people.

Nevertheless, Peter remembered his father and the Cons sitting in the Station with him, down underground away from the chaos above their heads, watching the crisis unfolding on the spare TV they had down in storage. He remembered sitting cross-legged on the floor between his father's legs, staring at the TV with wide eyes and shaking hands. He remembered leaning his cheek into his father's knee, scrunched close for any comfort he could get.

But over all of it, he remembered them.

Remembered the shot of them together, a group of people standing and fighting in the center of the city, lights flashing and concrete exploding around them. Surefire looks on their faces, fear and uncertainty in their eyes that did not seem to slow their movements, their punches, their drive.

He remembered staring at that TV. Remembered the strange feeling that'd tickled against his chest, slowly leaning away from his father and closer to that screen. It would be a long time before Peter would ever recognize that feeling. Even longer before he'd come to understand why he'd felt it.

But hope had a funny way of leaving a lasting impression, it seemed.

For even now, staring down the end of an arrow pointed right at his chest, Peter couldn't find it in himself to be scared.

Not really.

"Don't move an inch, bastard."

But, boy were they giving it their best shot.

"Yeah, yeah, I got that," he said slowly, making sure to keep his body nice and still. He was crouched low against the floor, one hand pressing into the concrete while the other hovered by his side. Oh, and let's not forget the capture net currently entangled all around him, weighted down for good measure. He grinned behind the mask and wondered if the nervous smile matched his tone of voice. "What's it been? A month? Month and a half?

"Four."

"Right..."

Peter swallowed and took stock of the scene. Four people. Four weapons. Clint Barton at the head, what he could only hope was a non-lethal arrow aimed at him; Wanda Maximoff a little ways behind, hands glowing in very ominous fashion, Sam Wilson standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Barton, very lethal gun leveled at him, and...last guy. Simon or Sean or...something holding a bat. The news never really focused on him.

Kinda rude, honestly.

Sam didn't lower the gun, but he did relax his stance a bit more than the others, perhaps remembering their night together on the roof. "What are you doing here, Spider-Man? Change your mind about coming after us?"

"Not really. And you still haven't answered me about my octopus."

Maybe-Sebastian lowered his baseball bat and raised a brow. "You were serious?"

"You think I'd just make this stuff up?" He shifted a bit to relieve the weight on his knees and jumped at the little high-pitched squeak that emanated from his pocket. The others jumped too, weapons leaning closer as Peter reached behind him. "Oh, boy the way, could you hold this for me?"

He tossed it forward, eyes and weapons trailing the little multi-colored rubber cupcake that rolled along the ground. Maximoff narrowed her eyes, the glow in her hands brightening with a vicious intensity. "What is it? An explosive?"

"Chew toy. Actually, a chew toy that was on clearance, which makes it way better," Peter said while subtly scanning the room. Plenty of windows. Catwalk overhead. Tons of hiding places. No sensor tech on their part, easy to sneak into the shadows. Take account of Maximoff, powers are a wildcard.

He mentally scribbled down the notes. "Hey, do any of you have a dog, by chance? You think I should get a dog? Maybe this is a sign. Spider-dog...hmm. Sounds kinda horrifying. Maybe-"

"Hey!"

He froze.

Barton stepped closer, drawing his gaze away from their surroundings and down to the arrow now dangerously close to his chest. "Shut your mouth and stop moving. And keep your eyes on me."

Right. Super-spy. Peter wasn't dealing with some run-of-the-mill thugs. These guys had plenty of tricks up their sleeves, which meant most likely, they knew some of his too.

The adults huddled a bit closer together, weapons still drawn. "What are we supposed to do with him?" Maybe-Spencer asked in a low voice.

Peter noticed the way Barton's brows furrowed along his forehead, jaw tensing as he cast a glance around the warehouse.

"Peter"

He jumped at the voice, causing the others to twitch and glare back with tightened grips on their weapons. The teen swallowed and tilted his head a bit to listen in. He'd forgotten all about Karen.

"You seem to be under duress and I've noted an increase in your heartrate. Would you like me to contact Mr. Stark?"

He stiffened, sucking in a sharp breath as he frantically shook his head. "No. Don't. Karen, don't call him."

Barton scanned him over, eyes frantically searching in confusion before his brows shot up to his hairline. He folded the bow with a flick of his wrist and leapt forward. "He's got an earpiece!"

"Stark!"

"Get the mask!"

The tingling that shot through his spine pulsed into his arms as his hands curled around the net and pulled it apart like wet toilet paper. Instantly taken aback, the others halted in their advance and crowded together while Spider-Man stumbled back with his hands outstretched and the lenses of his mask blown wide.

"Whoa, whoa..." he breathed slowly. "Let's all just take a second here...alright?"

Barton, staring at him from overtop his newly aimed arrow, pursed his lips and lifted his chin.

"...Alright."

The arrow shot forward like a bullet, capture net flying towards him.

Peter leapt backwards, sticking to the wall right as a wooden crate glowing in red light shot towards him. "Hey!" He dropped to the floor and sidestepped the next pair of arrows that embedded in the ground by his feet, only to stumble as a layer of ice crawled out from the tips, growing under his feet and slipping them right out from under him.

He faltered to a crouch and leaned back at the fist that swung past his face. Using a hand for leverage, he kicked Wilson back, the man sliding along the new ice as Peter jumped up and stuck to the ceiling, firing a round of webs down at their feet.

Unlike the thugs from the heist, these guys dodged the incoming projectiles with ease, aside from Maybe-Santiago, who stumbled back with cries of shock and a few distant shrieks of "whoa...that's goo! That's straight-up goo."

Peter was starting to like Maybe-Stanley.

At least until the guy pressed something in his hand and subsequently disappeared.

"What the - ACK!"

His head flung back at the sudden force knocking into his chin, landing him into an envelope of bright red light that hurled him towards the nearest wall. He grunted and leapt away from the arrows that slammed the concrete, hissing at the buzz of electricity that crackled from the tips.

Tingling.

His eyes shot towards the floor, where he was barely able to make out - is that a flea?

"Ah!" The flea leapt up and slammed into his gut before looping around to grab his arm, flipping him onto his stomach as it began to bend his arm behind his back. Peter's lenses widened in thought as he rolled out of the way of three more arrows.

"Oh my gosh! I remember you!"

Wilson was here now, pressing his body weight into Peter as both him and Flea-guy tried to pin him down. Barton readied another arrow right as Peter smiled in realization and flexed his arms back, flinging them off of him like stray rats.

He ducked under the next few arrows and grabbed Barton's bow, pressing it into the man's chest before sweeping his legs and tossing him backwards towards Maximoff. The two grunted as they rolled on the ground, Peter tilting his head as he watched Flea-guy grow back into Maybe-Sergio, Wilson by his side.

"You're that Giant Guy! Or small guy, maybe? I'm sorry, I'm not really sure what your thing is and...actually what's your name again?"

Maybe-Sullivan curled his face into an expression of genuine hurt that immediately made Peter feel bad. "Dude, seriously? I'm Ant Man! Or, I guess you can call me Scott."

"Scott! See, I knew it started with an s."

Barton growled and lunged forward, throwing a punch that Peter ducked underneath, countering with one of his own while Wilson charged forward as well. "Hey, you can't blame me, man. I'm terrible with faces."

He sidestepped Wilson and slammed his elbow into the man's face as he passed, catching the bow Barton swung at him and pushing him back. Only for the assassin to swipe his legs forward, knocking Peter's knees out from under him. He felt gravity lurch as the man hoisted him over his shoulder and flipped him down into the ground.

Tingling.

A hand.

Peter swung his legs and flipped back onto his feet as the hand grabbed at empty air.

"Sorry, the mask stays on, guys."

Wilson growled, the gun from before now secured by his waist. "Come on, man. We don't want to hurt you."

"Then stop trying to!"

"Screw this." Barton narrowed his eyes and pulled out a few new arrows, Peter's spine tingling as he eyed both him and Maximoff, watching her face pull into a menacing scowl as the rubble and stray stones littered around the warehouse began to hover behind her.

Peter flicked a web forward right as Barton released the arrows, a cloud of smoke flaring up as they smacked the ground. He blinked and stepped back as the smog began to envelop him.

Duck.

His body moved on instinct as the brick soared right past his head, imbedding into the wall behind him. Three more followed after, causing Peter to twist and turn around them as two more arrows landed by his sides, crackling in blue light.

The sparks danced along his arms, eliciting a yelp of pain as he stumbled back, right into the awaiting flash of red light that slammed into his side and sent him headfirst into a flea-sized punch, the force sending him careening out of the smoke cloud. He rolled along the ground and twisted into a crouch, lenses narrowing as he stared back at the four figures before him.

He swallowed, trying to ignore the aching flare of pain burning along his side. He could still feel the blood dripping down his skin. The wounds Doctor Stupid-head had left hadn't had any time to heal, apparently.

Another capture net. Peter rolled away.

Couldn't imagine why.

Another barrage of bright red blasts shot towards him, guiding him into the path of another mini-charged punch, knocking him off his feet and into the roundhouse kick of one Sam Wilson.

Peter leapt back, tossing a web at Maximoff's hands. It caught the tips of her fingers, which was enough of a distraction for Peter to slide under her legs and web them together. She gasped in shock at the imbalance and hit the ground with a thud.

Tingling.

He snatched his hand through the air and caught the flea mid-leap, tossing it forward towards Wilson. Scott regrew and slammed into the other man with a grunt as they fell together in a tangle of limbs. Peter twisted around and ducked under the arrow that flew over his shoulder-

Right into the path of the second just underneath it.

And suddenly everything exploded in white.

Peter screamed in shock at the flash-bang and brought his hands up to his face, trying to mask the screaming dots now blinking over his vision. The entire warehouse was now spinning, head shrieking as the colors mixed together in oily streaks. He knelt, crouching protectively as he heard approaching footsteps. Trusting in his senses now on high alert, Peter listened for the tell-tale whooshing of an approaching fist and leaned back, firing a web towards the closest heartbeat.

A grunt tuned him into his mark and he fired another round of webs, leaping up and sticking one hand to the ceiling while the other pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Jeez, man. Talk about playing dirty," he muttered as he tried to blink through the flashing colors.

He was barely able to make out the details of the back wall when he felt something wrap around his leg and yank. Suddenly, he was crashing back down the ground as tendrils of red light wrapped around his body, tying his arms down with a ferocious squeeze. He grunted in pain at the tug of his earlier wounds and stared at Maximoff as she glared, hand stretched out towards him as the light dripped from her fingers.

"Okay...I feel like this is...a little unfair."

He couldn't even say anything else before Barton was surging forward, knocking his legs out from under him and sending his shoulder crashing painfully into the concrete floor. He grunted and stared up with wide eyes as the archer grabbed the front of his spider suit and reared his fist back.

Peter sucked in a breath. Two minutes. Not a bad showing against half of the Avengers.

He readied his shooters, jaw aching in preparation for the hit as he shut his eyes.

BANG!

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

And opened them again at the sound of vibrating metal.

Steve Rogers stood tall, big silver shield in hand now held protectively over Peter's face, Barton's fist still pressed hard against the surface.

The warehouse echoed with the vibrations, a harsh ringing of bones against metal. Everybody stared back in stunned silence as the sound slowly drifted into nothing. Peter took a breath, a small hint of air as he gazed up at the solder with wide eyes. From behind him, Peter could make out Ms. Romanoff running in from one of the back doors. Had they come from outside?

Rogers narrowed his eyes and grabbed the back of Peter's shoulder, wrenching him from Barton's grasp and pushing him towards Natasha. Peter stumbled to a standing halt, tendrils shivering slightly, as the soldier spoke sharply. "What the hell is going on here?"

Barton was the first to snap to, shocked expression morphing into an indignant grunt of impatience as he angled his head towards Peter. "We caught this little asshole sneaking through trying to get the jump on us."

Well, that was straight-up slander.

"Hey, I told you! All I wanted was my octopus!"

Rogers rounded on him, eyes wide and face pulled into an expression of stunned disbelief, like he couldn't quite decide how to feel. After a second, he settled on incredulous irritation. "P-Spider-Man?" The man hesitated for a moment, sparing a glance behind him at his approaching teammates before turning to stare the teen up and down. The annoyance on his face softened into concern. It echoed in his voice.

"Are you alright, son?"

The others reared back in shock.

"What?

"Steve!"

"Do you know him?!"

Peter, ignoring the huffs of the others around him, shifted his shoulder as he tried to maneuver the red tendrils off of him. They stuck true like chains. "Yeah, I'm good. Your friends are a bit trigger-happy, though. You should scold them."

Steve placed a hand on one of the tendrils and cast a glance over his shoulder. "Wanda, let him go."

"But-"

"Now."

The girl looked like she wanted to protest, but after another stern look from the Captain, she pursed her lip and dismissively flicked her wrist. The chains dissipated into plumes of mist. Peter's eyes the smoke up into the air before landing back on Steve. The man stared back at him with a hard expression, deep in thought. Peter caught him and Romanoff sharing a glance.

After a moment, the soldier reached out and latched a hand around Peter's wrist. "Come with me." The teen yelped as he suddenly found himself being dragged towards the catwalk stairs.

"Whoa, whoa!" Suddenly, Barton was back, standing in front of the soldier with his arms outstretched in a shrug. His face was scrunched into a scowl. "Cap, what the hell is going on here? Why are you so chill about this?"

"Steve..."

He and Peter turned, took note of Sam staring at his friend with confusion. Wanda and Scott followed behind him, the former glaring with a heated gaze of mistrust while the latter tilted his head in curiosity. They were all staring with some hint of unease or suspicion, aside from Ms. Romanoff, who was merely gazing at Peter with an unreadable expression.

He squirmed a bit under her stare and glanced back up at the Captain as he spoke.

"I'll explain everything later, Clint. To all of you. Right now I need to talk to him alone."

Maximoff stepped forward, voice tight. "He'll tell Stark where we are," she said with a notable spit in her voice that made the boy stiffen. He opened his mouth to retort back, but Rogers beat him to it.

"No. He won't. I know he won't."

Peter jolted at that, blinking in surprise at the surety of the Captain's voice.

"But-"

Steve held up his hand, silencing any other grumblings or complaints. "You're going to have to trust me on this, guys."

Glances were shared between them, some more hostile than others before Barton was scoffing. They turned towards him and Peter noticed a stronger hint of derision in his gaze. A bitterness that lingered in the wrinkles of his face, deeper and sharper than any of the others, even Maximoff. It made Peter's spine tingle with unease as he stared at that face, a pit of anger and frustration.

The archer didn't voice these feelings, though, merely stalked past the soldier and grabbed at his bow, which was sitting lifelessly on the ground a little ways away. "Yeah. And why wouldn't we trust you, oh illustrious leader? Go on, cook up some more secrets while you're back there. We don't mind," he muttered with an edge to his voice before slinking off towards the back of the warehouse.

Peter heard Ms. Romanoff mutter "Clint..." under her breath before tailing behind him. Wanda and Sam both stared at Peter with suspicion and unease respectively before following after them. Scott more or less looked more confused than upset, but he followed suit as well.

Steve stared after them, lips pulled into a tight unreadable line. His hand was still wrapped around Peter's wrist, pulsing fingertips thrumming up against the teen's suit, vibrating down his arm in tiny little shockwaves. Peter fought down the sweeping urge to pull away from the man's touch and simply allowed himself to be guided up the stairs in silence.

At the top of the stairs, it was a short walk along the railings before they came upon a side room, what looked to be a manager's office or something. It was large enough to fit a desk and maybe a couple of chairs, but that was it. Now, though, it only housed a handful of wooden crates, a dusty desk under some broken windows, and a couple pigeons that quickly fluttered away as the door opened.

As soon as they were in and the door was closed, Rogers stepped closer, inspecting the teen with a sharp eye and a furrow in his brows. "Hey. You okay? Are you hurt?"

He reached out to touch the boy's shoulder, but this time, Peter ducked under the hand and gave a shrug. "Yeah, I'm good. Barely even scratched me. I do want my dog toy back, though." Hopefully the joke covered the slight wheeze of his voice and the exhausted sag of his stance.

Steve stared at him for a moment, perhaps gauging him to see if he were lying or not, but soon enough he sighed and ran a hand down his face. Peter almost chuckled. Mr. Stark was always giving him the exact same look of weary exasperation.

"What are you doing here, Peter?"

"I-"

Footsteps.

Both soldier and spider tensed as the door swung open, Natasha strolling in without even a hint of hesitation as she sighed. "Well, you've really pissed them off this time, Steve. Gonna need one hell of an explanation after this."

Steve glanced over at Peter before hastily turning back to Natasha. "I...Nat, can you give us a second here?"

Peter ignored them as they spoke, instead choosing to turn towards the dusty wooden desk in the center of the room. "And to think," he muttered to himself while hopping up to take a seat on the surface. "...this night was going so well. Stopped a car thief. Got a pic with some perv hanging from a light post. What more can you ask for?" He set his elbows on his knees and rested his chin down against his palms. "Ugg...good thing Mr. Stark isn't here."

He noticed Natasha shifting her gaze between him and Steve before settling back on him. Peter furrowed his brows a bit at the look on her face, an almost inquisitive gleam that lingered in her eyes. She seemed to think for a moment before speaking.

"It's nice to see you again, Spider-Man."

Peter, blinking at her suggestive tone of voice, swallowed and resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck. "Uh, yeah. You too...ma'am."

The gleam in her eyes flashed for a moment before disappearing just as quickly with a nonchalant swish of her hair. Natasha shrugged her shoulders and scoffed, pulling a hair-tie from her pocket as she spoke.

"You're gonna need a voice modulator, Peter. You sound like a toddler under there," she muttered while pulling her hair into a bun.

Peter stared.

Blinked.

What?

"...What?"

Silence.

He could hear the lenses of his mask adjusting, whirring and widening as he stared at the woman now lazily taking a seat in one of the rolling chairs. Had he...had he heard her correctly? He couldn't have. She must have...have...

Slowly, like disarming an active bomb, he angled his head towards Steve, who was also staring at Natasha with hopelessly shocked eyes. No help there.

Peter swallowed, tightening his jaw underneath the mask as he tried to quell the sudden trilling of his heart, running around like a mouse on a wheel.

"I...uh...that's not..."

Words.

He had to say words.

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

"What's a...Peter?"

He had to say better words.

However, as the woman angled her head down to look at him with a face of pure confidence and certainty wrapped in a deceiving if not slightly contemptuous smile, any backup excuses died right there in his throat.

"YOU TOLD HER?!"

And made way for blatant accusations.

Steve, to his credit, looked both completely lost and amusingly frightened as he lifted his hands in surrender and shook his head frantically. "What? NO! I-"

"You swore you wouldn't tell anybody!"

"I didn't! I don't know how she-"

"You are a total blab! Who else knows? Your team? Twitter?! Did you TWEET about it?! Is it trending already?"

"I don't even know what that means! I-

"He didn't tell me."

They both clamped their jaws tight and turned towards Natasha, who had the audacity to still look smug as she bounced her foot up and down, twisting back and forth on the chair's swivel.

Peter turned to her with balled fists, face no doubt reddening under his mask. "What? Then how did you figure it out?"

"I didn't. You just did it for me."

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

"I...uh..."

"Besides, there's only one nerd out there with the balls to call me 'ma'am'."

He blinked at her.

She raised a coy brow.

And Steve, innocent soul, merely gazed back and forth between them with a confused frown.

There was a long pause, a thick moment of silence where the three of them exchanged terse glances - well, two terse glances, one amused smirk.

Peter swallowed. Pouted.

And removed his mask.

"Stupid spies with their...stupid spy tactics. You're the worst," he muttered over his shoulder as he once again took a seat on the manager's desk and hung his head in his hands with quite possibly the loudest sigh he'd ever sighed in his entire sighing career.

Thank GOD Mr. Stark wasn't there.

Steve let out his own puff of exhaustion as he rubbed a hand against the side of his face, looking very much like an out-of-touch dad trying to figure out his kid's math homework. He shook his head and took a seat on the nearby stack of wooden pallets. "What are you doing here, Peter?" he said in a much calmer voice, Natasha straightening a bit as she leaned in to listen.

Peter tensed a bit at that, sparing a brief glance at the two of them before focusing back in on the floor below. There was a moment of hesitation, a little seed of niggling unease echoing in the back of his head, like he wasn't sure how much to say. Was there any point in continuing to lie? Anything he'd overlooked that could come back to bite him? Ms. Romanoff was obviously fine at keeping her mouth shut, but still...the number of people who knew his secret had suddenly spiked and Peter had not been prepared.

He should have been angry. He should have been afraid.

Peter paused at the thought, lifting his head to gaze at Natasha's inquisitive stare. Turned to Steve and noticed a similar look in his eyes. But above all else, he noticed…an absence.

His senses weren't tingling. His spine wasn't covered in a layer of chilling frost. And his arms weren't itching with goosebumps or prickles.

 

("He was…he was a good guy, though. They all were.")

 

As he stared, Peter couldn't find it within himself to be scared of them. Of either of them.

Hmmm...

He wet his lips. "There was a break-in down by the Lower East side. Chemical plant. I'm not sure what they took, but I was tailing the truck. Took out the escorts when all of a sudden, I was ambushed by this...this guy...I think?" He leaned back and waved his hand in the air with a confused frown. "He was wearing this sort of...suit thing."

Natasha furrowed her brows. "A suit? What kind of suit, like Tony's?"

"No. It was...I mean, it was mechanically advanced, sure. But it was...weird." Peter wiggled his fingers as he spoke, arms gesturing with each word. "He had all these arms sprouting from his back. Like, these metallic tentacle things with claws on the end. And they could spin like blades and he could climb buildings and pick up cars and jump super high and-"

He looked up. Noticed their faces.

"I'm not making this up. Swear."

The two Rogues glanced at each other in confusion.

Peter pursed his lips at their doubtful looks, only to blink as he noticed the inside of his mask - more specifically, the little red light now blinking near the bottom right lens.

"Uh...give me a second," he murmured as he reached up and slid the mask back down over his face. The internal interface flashed to life as he glanced around at the edges of the screen. "What's up, Karen?"

"I have footage of the encounter if you'd like to show it."

Peter straightened in surprise before glancing around a bit unsurely. "Uh...sure? How do I do that?"

"Remove your mask please and press the indent by the right lens."

"Who are you talking to?"

Peter yanked the mask back off as Steve stared curiously. "Mr. Stark and I made a new AI interface for my suit. Kinda like FRIDAY," he said offhandedly as he pulled the mask inside-out and fingered a little blinking button at the bottom of the lens. "That's why all your little hooligan friends were after me. Thought I'd try calling Mr. Stark, as if I'm ever telling him about tonight."

He tilted his head quizzingly and pressed the button.

Instantly, a bright light flashed from the lenses of the mask and all three of them jolted back as a hologram setup materialized in the air above the lenses, taking the shape of a projector screen that suddenly flashed to earlier that night.

"Whoa...that's awesome..."

The two rogues shared an amused look.

True to her word, Karen's footage flickered right to the truck chase, a first-person shot of the pursuit through Peter's eyes, swinging through the city at breakneck speeds. He noticed Steve grimacing a bit at the shaky filming.

"Heh, sorry. You'll get over the nausea in a second."

The footage skipped, showing him landing on the roof of the truck. Peter held his breath as he watched the first claw shoot out from under his feet, swallowed as the Doctor rose up into view and finally looked away entirely as the fighting began.

"The hell...?" he heard Natasha murmur under her breath as they both stared at the fight. Peter could hear it just fine, didn't bother in watching. Didn't want to see the embarrassing failures for a second time that night. He could watch it later. Analyze it for where he'd gone wrong, all the moves he should have made, the mistakes he should have corrected.

The flush of heat rising to his cheeks made him acutely aware that he was no longer wearing his mask. He was Peter Parker once again. With all his Peter Parker mistakes.

"You think he made those himself?" he heard Natasha murmur after a while.

"Not sure. There aren't many people out there who can replicate suits like Tony's."

Peter perked a bit, suddenly craving the need to feel useful. "It wasn't powered by an arc reactor. Not like that guy from 2011. The, uh...the whip guy that attacked Mr. Stark on some racing track?"

Steve nodded along. "Right. So the design isn't an exact replica of the Iron Man suits."

"But it sure as heck is strong like one. I mean, this thing was fast. I...uh..." He faltered, glancing up at the footage as the bridge collapsed for a second time that night. He glanced away. "I...well, I gave him a run for his money, but um..."

He pressed the button on his mask when the footage finally ended, leaving him to freely wring his hands nervously around the mask. "I wasn't good enough. Obviously."

This had been a mistake. He shouldn't have shown them anything. Shouldn't even be engaging them in conversation. What would Mr. Stark say? What would he say after he saw this footage? Would he be disappointed - as disappointed as Peter was? Maybe he'd be angry, frustrated that his protégé wasn't living up to-

"I wouldn't say that."

He lifted his head.

Steve shrugged, taking a second to think before folding his arms over his chest. "You kept damage to a minimum with no civilian casualties while fighting off an assailant."

"Sometimes not even we can do that," Natasha murmured.

Steve hummed in agreement before pausing. The man swallowed and lowered his head before leveling the boy a strong look. It was a heavy stare. Weighted. And yet, it glowed with a hint of something more. A brightness.

"Never apologize for prioritizing life over victory. You did good, son"

Peter blinked at them, lips parted ever so slightly as the light overhead gave a little flicker. He felt his cheeks beginning to heat up with a reddish tint. This time, there was no shame. Only a duck of his head as he rubbed the back of his neck.

And tried to hide a little smile.

"Yeah, well..." he coughed, clearing his throat of any lingering residue and straightened back up. The others did as well. "Anyway, he was working with the guys in the truck. Same for those other escorts." He paused for a moment. "They had alien tech, too."

The smile on Steve's face instantly vanished. "What?"

Natasha narrowed her eyes. "What kind?"

"Run of the mill blaster and some gun with a homing shot. Like...heat seeking."

The woman lowered her head in thought before angling her gaze to Steve, who's face had hardened into a look of frustration. "Could his suit be powered by that tech? You think they could make something like that? Something that big?"

The man hesitated for a moment before turning to the kid. "Was his suit glowing, Peter?"

He pursed his lips in thought for a moment before giving a small nod. "Yeah. Or, the arms were, at least. The interlaying circuitry was bright green." He tilted his head a bit. "Now that I think about it, it made that same weird humming noise that those guns made. They might have the same type of processing system, which would explain how he was able to use such a huge piece of tech without an external power source." He frowned. "The power might be coming from inside the arms."

It wasn't hard to notice the instant shift in the atmosphere as he spoke, both Steve and Natasha either shaking their heads or glaring at the ground with a new uneasiness in their stances. "Where the hell are these guys coming from, Steve?" Natasha murmured under her breath, gazing back at him with a hint of concern in her otherwise stoic expression.

Peter couldn't help but compare her to MJ. The emotion was there, if you knew where to look.

He shifted in his seat a bit and couldn't help the involuntary hiss of pain that slipped past his lips, bringing a hand to guard over the wound on his side. The slight noise was apparently loud enough for the super soldier, for he instantly perked up like a dog being beckoned. "Whoa, whoa. Are you hurt?" He asked with a new hastiness in his voice.

Peter shook his head, ignoring the smear of blood that stained his hand as he pulled it back. "Barely. It's just a scratch. It'll be gone by morning."

Steve pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes and Peter stiffened as the man approached, hovering around him like a showman inspecting his latest car model. "Hey!" He hissed, slapping the man's hand away as it brushed the wound. The soldier did not seem deterred, for he merely clicked his tongue and walked over to the cabinets by the back wall, opening them to reveal mountains of top-line first aid kits, bandages, gauze and much more.

"Just a scratch, huh? Lucky for you, this is where we store all our first aid equipment."

"Lucky me," Peter muttered with a roll of his eyes, only to yelp as the soldier suddenly pressed a fresh pad of gauze to the kid's side. He huffed with a glare, but said nothing as the man worked. Natasha, on the other hand, stood from her seat and began to walk back and forth across the room as she spoke.

"They're getting more advanced with their tech. Guns. Tasers. Density shifters. Anti-gravity blasters. Heat seekers. And now a full-blown suit powered by the stuff?"

She shook her head, folding her arms over her chest as she watched Steve work. He was fast in sliding a fresh piece of gauze between the hole in Peter's suit, taping it in place with a firm loop of bandages. She pursed her lips and continued, eyes dark. ""If we don't get to the bottom of this, who knows how far they're going to take it. Pretty soon, the whole city'll be crawling with these weapons. They'll be on ever street corner, every block, in the hands of every thug out there, as common as regular pistols and ten times as deadly."

Peter grimaced, both at the wound on his side and at the image of more injuries popping up all over the city. "That sounds bad..."

Steve's face pulled into a tight frown as he finished up, wiping his hands of any excess blood as he stood back up and sighed. "Listen, son...I don't want you getting involved in this. Next time you see this guy, just stay away from him."

"What?" Peter reared back.

"He's obviously bad news and with his suits being powered by alien tech, there's no telling what he's capable of."

The teen scoffed, resisting the urge to bristle under the man's concerned gaze. "Yeah, I saw what he was capable of. He took down a whole pedestrian bridge tonight! Imagine what would have happened if I hadn't gotten involved! I mean, didn't you just say I did a good job?"

"You did. That's not the issue-"

"No, the issue is you still don't think I can handle myself. You still have it in your head that I'm some defenseless little kid looking to be rescued when I'm not," he said with a knowing glare. By the way the man stiffened, he could assume that Steve remembered that night all too clearly. "I'm not staying away. If I had, who knows how many people would have been hurt tonight!"

The soldier gave him a withering look, brows furrowing in another attempt to be stern. "Peter-"

He breezed past it, leaning closer as he raised his chin and narrowed his eyes. "I'm not walking away. And you can't make me." The heat in his eyes dwindled just a tad, replaced by a softer gleam of determination. A heavier look of resolve.

"This is my city, too."

The soldier stared down at him, holding him in place with the strength of his gaze. Peter could see it in his eyes, in the wrinkles by his forehead, the stiffness of his stance. The man was worried for him. It wasn't a contemptuous, patronizing worry like Peter had thought. Instead, it was...deeper. Genuine. He could imagine the soldier staring at one of his own teammates with a similar look of concern.

He felt his anger simmer back down, felt his fingers unclench.

The soldier glanced away.

After a moment, Natasha seemed fed up with the silence, for she strode forward and placed a hand on Steve's shoulder. "Those plans...the ones about staking out the DDC building in Manhattan? I think it's time to finalize those."

Peter perked. "What?"

"It's risky, Nat," the soldier said with another long sigh, bringing a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"That place will have all the information on the cleanup measures of the entire city. Washington didn't have any answers. All it did was lead us back to the city." She tilted her head, green eyes glistening. "Whatever's happening...it's happening here. And that building will have the answers we need on where these goons are coming from. At the very least, it'll give us a lead on who to look to as our main suspect."

 

("I'm only here to create a...how did he phrase it? A mild headache.")

 

(Butterfly.)

(Butterfly.)

(Butterfly.)

 

Peter swallowed and shook it away. "You're going to go to Manhattan?" He waited for them both to turn before continuing. "That place is crawling with cameras and last I checked, you guys are still the most wanted people on the planet."

Steve strode forward, pausing for a moment before resting a large hand on Peter's shoulder. The teen flinched, but didn't push him away. The soldier smiled down at him. "Nobody said being a superhero was easy."

Peter stared up at him for a moment before returning the smile. "Heh...that's for sure."

Steve opened his mouth, presumably to say more, but they all jumped at the sudden sounds of a loud brass band and an instantly recognizable piece of music echoing through the room. Natasha lifted her head and cocked a brow. "Is that the Imperial March?"

"From Star Trek, right?"

"Close enough."

Peter ignored them, walking over to the mask he'd left behind on the manager's desk. He pulled it up and the hologram popped back into the air, displaying a little alarm clock. He sighed.

"Darn it..."

"What's wrong?"

"I have to go. I only have 30 minutes until my curfew...I mean- not a curfew! A scheduled Avengers progress check-in with Mr. Stark."

He paused. Held his breath.

Natasha grinned and tilted her head. "Aww. Spider-baby's got a bedtime."

He gritted his teeth, opening his mouth to retort back, only for Steve to shake his head and frown at her. "Come now, Nat. You shouldn't tease him." The soldier smirked. "He might throw a tantrum."

"You guys suck."

He shoved the mask back down over his face, mainly to hide the furious blush washing over his cheeks and stalked over to the back wall, climbing up the wall and pushing the window open with one hand. He turned, hanging on to the concrete with a few fingers. "Uh...what's gonna happen with your teammates? They're not gonna like...try to hunt me down, right?"

Steve shook his head. "No. I'll make sure of that. Don't worry about it."

The teen hummed in confirmation and turned to leave, only to feel himself hesitate. He stared out the open window, jaw tensing in thought as his fingers curled into the worn brick.

After a second, he jumped back down to the floor and scooped up one of the stray pieces of paper from the ground. They gazed at him in confusion as he grabbed a loose pen from the desk and scribbled down some numbers. He paused for a second before jamming the paper into Steve's hand.

The man blinked at him.

Peter turned away. "Just, uh...if you need me."

Steve uncurled his hand and stared down at the hastily written phone number. He smiled.

"Bye, Peter," Natasha called with a chuckle as the kid slipped through the frame and tossed them a parting wave.

"Later! Oh, and call me if you see our octopus guy! I got first dibs on him!"

 


 

Monday - June 13, 2016

Stark Tower - Private Lab 1

12:24 PM

 

"Okay, okay, almost done here. Hand me the vector probe."

"Size?"

"T23."

"Hmm...I'd go 24 or higher. Remember that loose nanowire along the brachial ridge? You need something small enough to slip through and stabilize that thing."

"Right, right."

Peter handed over the microtool, one hand continuing to type in command prompts, eyes never leaving the screen before him. Beside him, Tony accepted the tool and fiddled with the external sensors on the arc reactor holding unit. Inside that unit festered around 3 billion antsy nanobots ready and waiting to assemble.

The lab echoed with their battling musical tastes, bouncing between Def Leopard and AC/DC to Hey Jude and Johnny B. Goode - which Peter had explained away as one of Ben's favorites. They were currently on CD number 23 of the late man's seemingly endless collection. And for the past few hours, the two of them had slaved away by the workbenches, rolling from table to table, inputting new system codes, circuit wires, nanite insulators, weaving back and forth between each other like a well-oiled machine.

Peter kept typing the most recent line of coding into the computer, the veritable set of instructions for the nanites to follow once they were released. He scanned the screen as he spoke, fingers flying. "You know, if we can figure out a way to successfully push these nanites through molecular self-assembly without the need for a housing unit and recharge down-time, maybe there's a way to adapt that to organ replication or limb regeneration."

Tony hummed and picked up said housing unit for a 360 inspection. It looked like a standard metal medical bracelet. "Certainly an idea. But for now, let's focus on making sure they don't destroy my arm."

"I keep telling you to use the dummy model."

"Where's the fun in that?"

Peter rolled his eyes with an exasperated smirk before focusing back in on the screen. "Strain accumulation limits have been updated." He rolled his chair backwards towards the opposite table housing a holographic projection of a human body, complete with a glowing right arm. He expanded the image to show the nanite interlay of the arm. "The cells are programmed to stop spreading as soon as they reach your upper bicep," he pointed.

Tony glanced behind him at the kid's gesturing and gave a nod. "How many are we looking at?"

"About 3.2 billion individual nanocells."

The billionaire rolled up the sleeve of his T-shirt and grabbed the silicon sleeve protector, slipping his hand through and pulling it taut against his forearm. "And how many are we up to for housing capacity in the arc reactor?"

Peter leaned back and glanced over at the reactor. "12.8 billion. Just enough to cover both arms and your chest. But first things first," he rolled his chair back over towards the man, bumping shoulders. "We have to make sure they actually bind to your musculature and not...you know...crush you like a soda can."

The teen picked up the nearby Petri dish, which contained what looked to be a shiny, metallic liquid. He dipped the tip of his finger into the liquid and they both watched it slide up his skin in metal rivets before covering his entire finger in a protective metal coating. "I'm cautiously optimistic if our preliminary tests were anything to go by. They adapt to smaller surfaces with little problem."

He pressed a button on the arc reactor and the metal rippled before turning liquid again and harmlessly sliding off his skin. Tony gave the kid's shoulder an encouraging squeeze before rolling his chair back and standing up with a flourish, grabbing the bracelet on his way. "And they'll adapt to the larger limbs just as easily!"

Peter watched him take his place over by the testing station, loose smile drifting onto his face as he folded his arms and shook his head. "I can't imagine going through life with your confidence, Mr. Stark."

The man winked back at him. "Just takes practice, kid."

"And plenty of test runs." Peter rolled over towards the main computer, which was hooked up to the arc reactor's primary sensors. AKA, the main control unit for the nanites.

"Alright, enough talk. I'm getting antsy to try this thing out." The billionaire slapped the housing bracelet onto his wrist, the locks snapping in place with a harsh click.

Peter scrunched his face a bit, sparing nervous glances at the control panels before casting the man another doubtful look. "...Maybe we should test the heat index capacities one last time. I noticed a slight deviation from the standard measurements we got last time and-"

"Ugg, no more safety checks, kid, you're killing me. Starting to sound like Pepper, too."

"What? Smart?"

"Kiss-ass. She's not even here."

The kid's frown remained, worry lines creasing his brow as he scanned the computer again. He threw the billionaire a concerned look. "I'm not sure, Mr. Stark..."

"Well, I am." The man folded his arms over his chest and threw the teen a confident smile. "Relax, kid. It's gonna be great."

Peter stared back at him for a moment before returning the smile while pointedly adjusting his grip on the fire extinguisher.

"Roll it, FRI."

The camera system across the way beeped to life, red light flashing as Tony repositioned himself into the caution zone, a yellow-and-black lined box on the floor. "Test number..." He scrunched his face. 'What is this?"

"23, I think? If we're counting that one test where the nanites got into your pants and-"

"Okay, okay!" Tony scoffed and straightened up, shaking out the nerves as he lifted his arm and stared down at the metal bracelet pressing against the sleeve protector. "Commencing test number 22.5 of the Mark 85 nanoset suit. Mr. Parker is on fire safety, a marginal improvement from DUM-E"

The camera panned to him. Peter gave it a thumbs-up.

"Ready?"

"3."

 

"2."

 

"1."

 

Click.

Sheeeennn!

 

"And...aha! See! What'd I tell you? Complete succe-"

WHOOSH!

"Oh SHIT!"

"JESUS, STOP MOVING!"

"PUT ME OUT! PUT ME OUT!"

FSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

. . .

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

"Hmm. Shoulda tested that heat index."

 

. . .

 

"Let's take a break."

 


 

Stark Tower had, from the moment of its creation, been a pinnacle of modern architecture and construction. Following in the line of all Stark Industries works, it embodied a sleek, minimalist design that reflected itself in polished steel exteriors and metal sculptings inlayed between window panes and support beams, design choices that did not stop on the outside. Inside, the building continued this image of sleek professionalism with dark modern furniture, crisp geometric wall designs and even a few fountain pieces scattered around the building, including one full-sized marble fountain on the fifteenth floor receptionist lobby.

The 101st floor did not have a fountain.

The 101st floor had Mr. Jumbles.

A 234-piece Lego 'creation' made up of random bits and bobs to form a misshapen ball of plastic bricks. Two days ago, Peter had crafted a pair of paper eyeballs for the monster. Now it stared out across the room disapprovingly. Perhaps because of how much the Communal Floor now differed in terms of the usual Stark Industries chic.

Bright yellow sneakers sat lined up along the back wall, neat, tidy and out of the way. It only took two days of their presence before they were joined by a couple loafers, some high heels, and even a pair of bunny slippers that Happy, to this day, refused to claim. The TV stand, once housing a few mini metal sculptures and a couple decorative magazines were now covered in different gaming consoles, respective controllers rolled up alongside them. The couch, previously decorated with a simple white throw blanket was now in the peak of Star Wars fashion with a Death Star blanket tucked into Peter's corner of the sofa. And all over the room, on the kitchen counter, the TV stand, the coffee table, even on the toilet cover in the bathroom - were little Lego creations. None were as magnificent as Mr. Jumbles, but everywhere you glanced, you'd get a peek of a plastic cat or a flower or in the case of Happy's guest room in the building, a couple Lego shrimps scattered all over his bed.

It certainly wasn't messy. Peter would never allow a mess, no matter how much Tony claimed he was alright with it. But there was a chaos about it all. Evidence of life in the details. Like colorful splatters of finger paint coating an otherwise boring white couch.

Peter much preferred the couch with its latest Star Wars fashions, anyway. Tony, secretly - or not so secretly considering he'd ordered matching pillows - did as well.

The teen's ears perked at the sounds of a rustling bag and a following string of curses. He glanced over towards the kitchen and watched with a half-smirk as Tony tried to maneuver the freshly-poured bowl of chips under his arm, which was tied up into a makeshift sling complete with its very own homemade ice-pack of frozen vegetables.

Peas, if he remembered correctly.

The teen turned back to the TV while Tony approached the kitchen counter, setting down the bowl of chips and grabbing for the jar of loose Lego pieces they kept in the corner. He poured out a handful of little plastic pieces and stuck a few to Mr. Jumbles.

Kitchen tax. Everyone had to contribute to Mr. Jumbles.

It was a new addendum to the Tower Rules. Sanctioned in last week

Peter had just begun to settle on the couch, Death Star blanket wrapped snuggly around his shoulders, when he heard the billionaire call out from the kitchen. "What...on Earth are you watching?"

Peter reached towards the table and grabbed his plate, panini still steaming. "Zombie Cook-Off. It's pretty good. Already on season 3."

"Ooo. Looks like Chef Sandra has just been bitten by one of our resident kitchen zombies. Things are not looking good for her chicken risotto."

From the corner of his eye, he watched Mr. Stark shuffle over. The billionaire was sporting a pair of grey sweatpants and a faded AC/DC shirt, which seemed to match the lax fashions of Peter himself, who was wearing a plain pair of gym shorts and an oversized Zelda sweater that matched the fuzzy green socks on his feet.

Tony set down the bowl of chips next to his own plate of paninis, freshly made by their resident intern. Peter tilted his head at the man as he plopped down on the couch beside him with a huff. The teen bounced a bit at the jostling movements.

"How's the arm?"

"Char-broiled and ready for serving."

He eyed the loose bandages around the man's limb. Luckily for both of them, the sleeve protector had saved him from any serious burns. Merely a couple patches of red, irritated skin and a fairly bruised ego. Peter hummed and took a bite of his sandwich. "You know, honey works as a really good anti-inflammatory. It's great for burns."

"I'm going to pretend you don't know that from personal experience."

"Of course not. Just common everyday knowledge."

"Right."

They both let out muted chuckles and turned back to the show. Peter, ever the clean-freak, noted the two or three crumbs that had fallen onto the sofa and picked them off one by one. "Where are the others? I would have made more for them."

Tony waved his hand, continuing to eye the TV show weirdly. "Nah, don't bother, kid. We're alone. Pepper's downtown handling a business merger at the main office and Colonel Honeybear is currently dealing with a couple brown-nosers in DC."

"And Happy?"

"He's at his mom's, probably getting yelled at for not having a wife and five kids already."

Petter hummed under his breath and pictured the bodyguard's mom. For some reason, all he could see was an identical Happy-twin, complete with a frizzy wig, lipstick and a nightgown covered in cat hair. The disturbing image was thankfully pushed aside as he heard Tony letting out a muted groan from beside him. The teen turned and threw him a strange look.

"What?"

The billionaire ignored him for a moment as he took another bite and spoke around the chewing. "Maybe you should toss aside the science gig and get into the restaurant business. I know a couple Michelin-star chefs if you need some good PR."

Peter chuckled and turned back to the TV with a roll of his eyes. "Please..."

"I'm serious," Tony said with a nudge to the kid's shoulder. "So far, all the shit you've made has been nothing short of fantastic. And that's not just because my point of reference is my own cooking, which could be classified as bio-terrorism. I've had plenty of chefs cooking for me all my life and I gotta say," he gestured with the sandwich in hand, crumbs flying. "You rank in the top ten, at least."

The teen brushed his cheek against his shoulder, as if he could wipe away the sudden blush rising to his cheeks. "You really think so?"

"Don't tell my chefs. They'll put a hit out on you." He took another bite. "Where'd you learn this stuff, anyway?"

Peter sniffed and gave a little shrug before focusing back on the TV. Some commercial about tax refunds. "Hmm...once my house started getting a bit more crowded, my dad asked me to take on cooking for the family. He doesn't like hiring outside help - maids, butlers, all that. So I agreed and decided to try to learn a bit of stuff," he said with a wave of his hand, trying to ignore the subtle scowl that brushed across the billionaire's face at the mention of his father.

"Some of it was self-taught. I'd borrow May's cookbooks and come up with new stuff. It's not all that different from chemistry, I guess. Combine a little bit of A and B to get C. Just, instead of web fluid, it's this," he said while holding up his sandwich.

He didn't take a bite though. Instead, he stared down at the food for a moment of thought, the words coming just a bit slower this time. If Mr. Stark noticed, he didn't comment on it.

"Everything else...Uncle Ben taught me." He fiddled with the edges of the bread before forcing his hands towards his mouth. He took a bite and chewed for quite a while before finding the voice to speak again. Thankfully, with a little bit of effort, the words came out loose and lightweight.

"May was never a very good cook, still isn't honestly. So Ben would take the reigns most nights after work. I'd help him chop vegetables while he worked on the more complicated stuff." He paused for a minute before turning to Mr. Stark with a mischievous smile and whispered behind his hand, like he was spilling some grand secret. "But I'd always hide the carrots behind the pot. Hated those things."

The billionaire chuckled and turned his attentions back to the TV as he took another bite of his sandwich. "Yeah, well...I think I'd better stick to suits and shooters rather than pots and pans."

"You're getting better. You haven't set fire to the kitchen in like...two weeks."

"Lab fires don't count, right?"

"Not if we say they don't."

They snorted, Tony adjusting the bag of peas resting on his arm while Peter finished off his sandwich in one last bite. "Cooking is fun, Mr. Stark. It's just like tinkering down in the lab. It's nice...making something out of nothing."

 

("Come on, Tony. It's not that difficult. Just throwing stuff into a pot and seeing what sticks - making something out of nothing. Figured you'd be able to relate. Isn't that what your suits were all about? Now come on, Clint's been eyeing your plate so get a move on. We're all waiting on you.")

 

Peter glanced over as he noticed the billionaire shift slightly in his seat, heartrate bumping up for just a second before relaxing back into its steady rhythm. He furrowed his brows. "What? What's wrong?"

Tony turned towards him, perhaps forgetting for a moment about Peter's hearing. When it finally registered, he shook the kid off with a grin. It wasn't as relaxed as before. "Nothing. Just...Steve used to say something sappy like that. He was the resident housewife around here, making sure everyone had three square meals, flossed their teeth, saluted the flag everytime they passed or shit like that."

It was his usual quippy deflection. Peter was getting good at noticing it nowadays. He turned his eyes away from the man and back to the show.

It was a while before either of them spoke again. His words were soft.

"Do you miss them? Your friends?"

This time, Tony did not respond with his quick wit. Didn't even turn his eyes from the TV screen. But he did set his sandwich down. And Peter noticed the irregularities in his heartbeat. A waver then a beat. Waver then beat. Waver-

 

"...Sometimes."

 

Then beat.

 

Peter pinched the corner of his napkin, ripped a tiny little piece off and let it settle against the palm of his hand. "I'm sorry."

It took a bit longer than usual for the billionaire to wave it away with his normal carefree scoff. It sounded thicker than normal. Heavier. "Don't be. I'm keeping much better company nowadays."

Peter hummed in acknowledgement, but didn't say anything more. Instead, he pulled his socked-feet up onto the couch and folded them underneath him while yanking the blanket tighter around his shoulders. The Tower was much colder than his house ever was, he'd noticed. Not an uncomfortable chill, more like a fresh breeze of air, like the feeling of bare feet against tile floors. A bleak contrast to the stuffy humidity that seemed to suffocate his own house.

He picked at a loose string on the toe of one sock. "Did you ever...keep secrets from them?"

"No."

He jolted at the harshness of it. Tony did too, he noticed. For the man cleared his throat and glanced away for a second, just a second, but the silence lasted a bit too long for it to have been an accident. "Well...I tried not to," he finally murmured softly, fingers thrumming against his knee.

The teen said nothing. Just stared at the TV and listened to the steady rhythm of Tony's heartbeat, noted the sharp intakes of sound with every pulse.

Peter wasn't stupid and he certainly wasn't as naïve as some people liked to claim. He knew that the fight between Mr. Stark and the other Avengers had deeper roots than the Accords. Mr. Stark wasn't one to burn bridges just because someone disagreed with him. They regularly bickered in the labs, debating the best processes for their latest inventions, and never did the billionaire get offended over it. At most, he'd quip a few insults with a roll of his eyes and a playful shove to lessen the blow, but never anything outright hostile.

Peter knew. If Mr. Stark and Captain Rogers had only disagreed on the Accords, then they would have figured it out together. Perhaps after a few harsh words and maybe a fight here or there, but they'd have managed something. The fact that they didn't - that it devolved into international terrorism and a bounty on the world's greatest heroes - the fact that this bridge was not only burnt, but a smoldering wreck down at the bottom of a ravine?

It wasn't just a fight. It was a betrayal.

Peter clenched his fingers and lifted his head back towards the screen but found himself staring right through it. Instead, he saw a different show playing out in front of him, an episode of him late at night hacking into Karen's systems and deleting the footage of his encounter with Captain Rogers and the other Rogue Avengers. The live audience watching in disapproving silence before cutting away to commercial break.

He blinked back into reality. Cold, shameful reality.

"I told Ned," he said suddenly.

"Hmm?"

"About...about Spider-Man. I told him."

Tony didn't even glance over. Just smirked and took another bite of his sandwich. "Yeah, I know. He's not very subtle about it."

"Ch'yeah. Tell me about it." He rested the back of his head against the lip of the couch.

"Just him?"

"Well, it was...kind of an accident. I'm not sure if I would have told him otherwise."

"Are you going to tell the others, then?"

Peter blinked up at the ceiling. Counted the tile lights as he thought over his answer.

Ten. Eleven. Twelve...

"I don't know. I don't like keeping secrets from them. It's just..."

Tony held up his hand and leaned forward to set down his plate, groaning through the words as he stretched. "Nah, I get it, kid. You don't have to explain it to me. Superhero business isn't exactly the easiest pill for the common man to swallow. Just don't announce it during a press conference and you'll be good."

 

("Are you going to tell anyone about this? Tony maybe?")

 

(Rogers staring at him. Rogers handing him another lie. Peter all too quick to receive it. Habitually stuffing it into his overflowing pockets.)

 

("...You keep my secret...and I'll keep yours.")

 

Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen...

"What would you do?"

"I don't know. Drink, probably."

"Mr. Stark-"

"You asked."

Peter turned his head to stare over at the man, cheek pressing into the plush cushions as he stared with big amber eyes. Tony held his stare for a moment before leaning back as well, resting his arm over the lip of the couch and pressing the palm of his hand gently against the crown of Peter's head, pushing his big brown curls down over his eyes.

"I think you need to listen to your gut. Can't trust anybody else if you don't trust yourself."

Peter said nothing, merely noted the faint smell of metal and aftershave drifting over from the man beside him.

His gut, huh?

Right now, his gut was a lone voice drowning in a sea of rationality. Everything in him could see the dangers that followed Captain Rogers and the other Rogue Avengers, like a poison that sucked more life out of you the closer you got. These affairs were not for him to get mixed up in, that much was for sure. And it certainly wouldn't do him any good to be caught hanging around the world's most wanted criminals.

The right choice was obvious. Stay as far away from them and their inevitable problems as possible. Or, better yet, tell Mr. Stark about it like he should have done that first night. Stay out of it and walk away, head down, mouth shut-

 

(Turn the other way.)

 

(Why do they all turn the other way?)

 

(Why don't they see what he's doing? Why don't they help me?)

 

He paused. Watched the billionaire next to him turning back to the TV show, head tilted as he tried to follow along with the plot. Slowly, the teen's eyes drifted around the room, picked at each and every detail that was slightly out of place: brightly colored sneakers in the corner, sweaters hanging from the kitchen chairs, school textbooks stacked on the dining table. He shifted his head a bit and the man's hand fell from his head and landed by his shoulder, a steady weight of warmth against his arm.

The right choice was obvious. But his gut said otherwise. His gut said to get on the plane to Germany. His gut said to trust Mr. Stark with something nobody had ever understood before. And his gut said to save Captain America that night in the alleyway, to show the soldier Blue Booth, to give him his phone number, to lie to Mr. Stark...

Yeah.

Right now, his gut was churning up a storm.

Tony must have picked up on the look of slight unease on his face. "What's wrong, kid?"

"Nothing, I just..."

 

("He'll tell Stark where we are.")

 

("No, he won't. I know he won't.)

 

The billionaire stared back at him with that telltale gleam in his eyes, a look that was uniquely Tony. Curious and warm with hints of mischief and intelligence, whirlwind thoughts swirling just behind the lenses, too fast to see. A heaviness, too. A pensive thoughtfulness that hid in the dark brown rims.

There was something about that gaze. It wasn't intrusive or cynical like it might have been when they'd first met. And it wasn't pitying or contemptuous like he'd imagine others to look. There was a heat within, similar to his father's. But this was not a burning heat. This did not singe the skin of Peter's cheeks and scar his bones raw. This was a sheltered warmth, like sitting by a fire in the middle of a snowstorm. Or maybe even sitting on a couch wrapped in a Star Wars blanket while watching cooking marathons.

Whatever it was in that gaze, it came with an incentive that made him sit up with a sigh. He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. If he pressed hard enough, he could see little floating swirls in the blackness of his vision.

"I hate keeping secrets," he finally said after another second of staring into nothing. "It's just another way to lie. And it's like...it's like that's all my life is now. Just a series of secrets and lies. My friends don't know I'm Spider-Man. My dad doesn't know how much I talk to you. My classmates don't know about anything past my grade-point average, I - hell, New York City doesn't know that their resident vigilante is actually some rich-kid twerp who can't even get a bottle of water at home without practically begging for it."

And let's not even get started with the things YOU don't know, Mr. Stark.

He curled his fingers into a fist and rested his chin against his hand. Carefully, he reached over towards his plate and picked up a stray crumb of bread, pinching it between two fingers. "It's hard to remember what's real and what's fake. What color of the story I've told who and how to keep them all straight. Which version of me is actually...me. More importantly...which one people prefer."

He stared down at the crumb before licking it from his fingers and rubbing his hand against the stray napkin in his lap. He leaned back. "It's a dumb thought."

"It's not."

Tony folded his arms over his chest and leaned his head back to stare up at the ceiling. Peter wondered if he was counting ceiling tiles too.

"Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist…there's probably a few others in there, but the point is that I've wracked up a couple of titles. And honestly it could be worse. Back in the day it was a lot worse. But still, it's not always easy keeping them straight. Figuring out how to turn them off at the end of the day, if you even still can. Trying to figure out which version is…right, if any."

And Peter, suddenly feeling an overwhelming wave of loneliness and a trailing urge to be close, scooted over a tad so that his shoulder was just barely touching Tony's. He spoke in a small voice. "What if…what if none of them are?"

He swallowed. Waited for the man to pull away. Tony had, on more than one occasion, (perhaps to make Peter feel better about his own aversions) stated that he hated to be touched almost as much as the kid did and-

"Well…I guess you just do what I do."

Peter nearly choked on his next breath as Tony looped his arm around him and dragged him into his side.

"You tinker away. Build up what you want and discard the rest." He waved his free hand in the air in a wild gesture while keeping a firm arm around the kid. "Eventually, you'll either be left with a masterpiece or a hunk of junk. It's usually a 50/50 shot in my experiences. But more importantly, it'll be yours."

He gave a slight squeeze. "It'll be you."

And just as quickly, the billionaire was letting go, leaving the kid to flounder in place as he suddenly had nothing to lean on. He watched in stunned silence as the man picked up their empty plates and casually strolled into the kitchen to dump them off.

Peter sat quietly for a moment, listening to the sounds of water pouring into the sinks and plates clattering together. He fought the urge to rush from his spot and take the man's place at the sink, cleaning dishes and drying plates as he would at home. For some reason, the billionaire did not seem to like Peter's habit of cleaning up after others, whether up here or down in the lab. In fact, the man had been making a point recently of always cleaning up whatever messes he made, whether clearing the kitchen table of empty Chinese food containers or putting away tools in the lab that Peter suspected had never been organized before.

It made him wonder.

But more importantly, it made him smile.

"I like this version of Tony Stark," he said when the water shut off, just loud enough for the man to hear. "The kind that sets himself on fire."

"Occasionally sets himself on fire." He dried his hands and whacked the kid with the tip of the towel as he returned to his seat. "This show is ridiculous, by the way."

"Do you wanna change it?"

"Of course not. They're starting round three."

Near the finale, the show apparently graduated from 'ridiculous' to 'offensively idiotic.' But this did not stop Tony from all but ordering Peter to pull it up on Netflix so they could binge it from the first episode.

It wasn't until episode five that Tony finally said something that wasn't a scathing remark about the chefs' cooking and/or zombie-fighting abilities.

"By the way," he said as he poked the teen in the side of the head, ignoring how Peter swatted his hand away. "The Peter Parker that's ready with a fire extinguisher? The one that makes killer paninis and watches…questionable television? The Peter Parker that's always ready to help literally everyone…even if they don't deserve it…" He glanced over and Peter met that tell-tale gaze head-on.

"That's the kid I'd tinker with."

 

("I never thanked you, you know? …For saving me.")

 

("I saw the news. Washington DC. I've got your back too…")

 

("Just, uh…if you need me.")

 

Peter stared for a second longer before meeting the man's smile with one of his own. His stomach settled, at least for now. It was pleasantly full.

"Me too."

Tony reached over and scruffed the kid's hair one last time before they turned back to the TV.

"Chef Michael has just pulled out his shotgun. Ooo, and he got shell casings in his couscous. How unfortunate."

"Rookie mistake. Should have gone with the machete."

 


 

Tuesday, June 14, 2016

Stark Tower - Private Lab 01

01:45 AM

 

- Twelve Hours Later -

 

Tony bit back a yawn as he fried the last edge of connecting wire to the reactor housing base, shaking the soldering pen in the air as the remnants of smoke dissipated. He flicked his wrist to take a peek at his watch, only to remember as he stared at bare skin about having taken it off near the three hour mark. Burns were a lot worse with a molten watch melting to your skin.

"What time is it?"

It took a moment for Peter to respond. Whether that was because he was engrossed in his task of inputting the most recent series of codes into the nanotech system operator or because his half-lidded eyes were drooping dangerously low with each passing second didn't much matter. The fingers of his closed fist gently scratched at his cheek before curling back under his chin, a prop for his tired head to lean against as he stared at the screen.

"I don't know. Tomorrow?"

"Hmm. You think we should start working on the more in-depth control algorithms?" Tony rolled his chair backwards and reached a hand up to fiddle with the holograms hovering over the workbench. "You mentioned the Schrodinger equation, right?"

"Yeah, that's one option, specifically if we're talking about present quantum mechanical effects. Then we can roll in the Schrodinger equation or even the related Dirac's equations depending on how you want to control the systems," he said in a slow drawl, the ends of his words slurring together ever so slightly. Not enough to muddle the meaning, but enough for the kid to spit out a yawn behind his hand as he uploaded the last bits of code for FRIDAY to verify. In seconds, it returned, a bright green checkmark next to the project file.

Flawless as always, Tony noted. Even at 2 in the morning.

"Of course, that's only if those quantum effects are in play. If not, I think you'll have to use the dynamic model of motion and apply the control strategies to the nonlinear dynamic systems." He sniffed and shut his eyes for a moment as he waved his free hand in the air. "Can you pull up the equation, FRI? I don't know it off the top of my head."

"Of course, Peter."

Tony was only half-paying attention to the new mathematical equations now lighting the screen, eyes focusing on his own holographic projection as his fingers flew around the keys. His ears remained perked though.

"Yeah, this is..." Another yawn. "Uh...'U' is the total potential energy of the bot's rotations while 'K' is the controller. When you add the nonlinear control algorithm, you get a linear behavior for the entire system."

Tony pulled up a schematic of the in-progress suit, eyeing the projected curves and edges of the future armor. He pinched his fingers into the image and blew it up, narrowing in on the circuit inlays around the right repulsor. "Hmm. More than likely, we're going to be focusing on the quantum aspects of these bots."

Distantly, he heard Peter's forehead gently thumping against the table. The kid's voice was muffled. "Schrodinger it is, then."

"Probably couldn't hurt to program in the dynamic models as well. At the very least, they can act as a fail-safe if the prime system controls go down." He scanned the hologram before curling his hand into the displayed arm repulsor, watching the image conform to his exact measurements, like a suit of armor made out of pixels and light. "You know, it'd be great to get an actual expert in quantum mechanics for a little tete-a-tete. Not that your assistance isn't very much appreciated, Mr. Parker, especially at the ass-crack of dawn. But I'm sure we could make much faster work of this if we had someone who specialized in this shit. What's that scientist's name? The guy in California that was in the news a few years back. Pin or Pym or something..."

He didn't wait for a reply. "Anyway, I think he and my dad had a falling out back in the day, not that I'm surprised. The only thing more impressive than my father's laundry-list of deep-seeded anger issues was his ingrained ability to piss everybody off. You think that's genetic? Multi-generational assholery? It might be."

Peter's muffled voice trickled through. "You're not an asshole. Not all the time, at least."

Tony hummed in response. Glanced back up at the projected measurements currently being displayed. Perhaps they were working with too few nanites? Maybe they could recalibrate the connection sensors. "Hmm. That Lang guy...he was associated with Pym, wasn't he? You think he worked for him? I know he didn't design that suit of his all by himself. The guy doesn't seem like the straightest wire in the coil. Especially if he thought following Lady Liberty and his merry men was a good idea." He eyed the calibrations with a narrowed gaze before scoffing. "Jeez, I can't even remember what his first name is."

"Scott..."

"Right. See, this is why I keep you around." He typed in another series of commands. The hologram switched over to a close-up of one of their nanites as the telltale sound of DUM-E's wheels echoed somewhere behind him. "You're hip to all the up-to-date happenings in the world so I don't have to be. Anyway, looks like DUM-E has returned with the back-up fire extinguisher and an extra bag of frozen peas and I'm just starting to get my second wind," he said in between another yawn. He stood from his chair and eyed up the housing unit bracelet from earlier. "What say we give this another shot. The night is still young and we're only on test - what?" He eyed the computer screen. "Thirty-two? Psshh, child's play. Things don't get serious until we break into triple digits at least, right kid?"

He grabbed the bracelet and had just enough time to slap it on before he realized he'd forgotten the sleeve protector. Which was especially strange considering Peter had been reprimanding him all night on what he called a 'blatant disregard for lab safety and human life'. The fact that the kid had even allowed him to grab the bracelet without first shoving the sleeve protector into Tony's arms was...

"Kid?"

He turned when he once again received no reply, expecting that maybe the kid was engrossed in some final code tweaks or something. But instead, he stared down at Peter's slumped form, cheek squishing into his arms folded on the table. His hair was messy and unruly, brown curls hanging down around his closed eyes, gently swishing with each careful breath.

Tony blinked at the sight of the sleeping teenager before bringing a hand to rub at the back of his neck. He sighed. "Hmm...I guess you're right. Probably isn't very 'adult' of me to keep you up this late." He slid the bracelet off and tossed it onto the workbench like it was a rusted screwdriver and not a multi-billion-dollar prototype. "Alright, let's pack it in, Pete." He waved his hand along the holograms, shutting them down with a gentle hum as the bright blue projection lights died down, leaving the lab in a warm darkness save for the gentle yellow overhead lights.

Tony started to gather up the loose papers strewn around the table, pencils rolling and paperclips clattering between his fingertips. He muttered a curse and cast a glance over his shoulder when he heard no rousing movements. Peter had still yet to get up. Tony pursed his lips and nudged the kid with his hip, arms full of files and a few empty soda cans. "Hey. Up and at'em, kiddo. I got your message loud and clear."

The teen's nose scrunched as he shifted slightly in his seat. "Uh-huh..." he murmured with a slurred drawl, eyelids tightening before relaxing back into sleep.

Tony stared down at him, eyes flitting back and forth across the lab in a moment of uncertainty before he dumped the armful of junk back onto the table. He put a hand on the kid's shoulder and shook him a bit more forcefully this time. "Pete, I mean it kid. Let's go. If Pepper finds out I let you sleep down here, she will actually kill me." He hesitated for a moment, feet shuffling. "And don't even think I'm going to carry you to your room cause that is a line I'm refusing to cross. I have standards to uphold and an image to maintain."

He paused. Waited.

Peter sniffed once and buried his head deeper into his arms.

The billionaire clicked his tongue and muttered something unintelligible under his breath as he continued to gather up the random junk cluttering up the tables, if only to buy himself some time to dwell on his options. Any other time, Tony wouldn't even hesitate to kick the kid's chair out from under him, waking him in a fit of panic and amusement on his half. But he knew the kid was still having some trouble sleeping, FRIDAY having made him aware of how Peter had woken up at two in the morning the night before and had spent the rest of the morning cleaning the kitchen from top to bottom instead of going back to sleep. Tony hadn't commented on it when he'd gotten up. Peter hadn't brought it up either. Safe to say, the kid could use all the sleep he could get.

He stuffed the loose papers into the filing cabinet and eyed the couch in the corner of the room. FRIDAY would 100% rat him out to Pepper if he let Peter sleep on the rickety old thing, which would lead to an unimaginable ear-chewing come the next morning. Which left...what exactly?

Tony slowly turned back towards the worktables and watched the gentle rise and fall of Peter's back.

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

. . .

 

"How much do you weigh, again?" he asked as he walked over towards the tables. Peter responded with something that sounded like a cross between a snore and a sniff.

The billionaire eyed the kid up and down, trying to figure out the best way to maneuver this. Eventually, he looped his arms around the teen's midsection and leaned him backwards before sliding a hand under the crook of his legs. Ever so gently, he pulled the kid closer until he was nestled securely in his arms, pressing up against his chest as his head lolled against his shoulder.

"You better not wake up in the middle of this. For both of our sakes," he muttered before moving over towards the lab entrance. FRIDAY thankfully opened the doors for him, the elevator at the end of the hallway opening up automatically for him to step through easily. Not that carrying the kid was any particular challenge. The reminder that the kid weighed less than 100 pounds sat heavily in Tony's stomach, but he swallowed it down for now. Not a thought he needed to be dealing with right now. Instead, he filled the silence with his own one-sided conversation. Peter was a good listener.

"How long until you start to weigh a reasonable amount, huh? I've been stuffing you like a wicked witch and you're still absolutely tiny." The elevator doors slid closed with a gentle hum. Tony noticed that the lights inside were dimmer than usual. "Pepper could probably give you a piggy-back ride without even breaking a sweat, you know. And you're supposed to fight thugs? Brooklyn thugs? How do you manage to not get snapped in two?"

Again, Peter did not respond with anything more than a twitch of his eyelids, cheek pressing against Tony's chest.

The billionaire stared forward at the bare elevator doors, pointedly avoiding staring down at the sleeping face of the charge in his arms. He could only count his lucky stars that they were alone in the Tower. The thought of anybody catching him performing such a mundane, domestic act made his cheeks practically melt from the heat of embarrassment. And God forbid Peter ever find out about all this. The kid would probably explode into a puddle of Peter-goo, foamy and shame-filled.

The doors slid open onto their floor and Tony made quick work of moving towards the kid's door. Again, FRIDAY opened it with no hesitations and Tony carefully slid in. Using the toe of his foot to pull the blankets down from the top of the bed, he carefully laid the teen onto the comforter, detangling himself from the spindly-armed grasp that the kid had somehow managed to wrap him in.

He took a breath once the teen was fully separated from him and quickly glanced towards the open doorway. Was this…all he was supposed to do? Was there anything else? He didn't have to get any pajamas or something, right? Because that seemed like a major boundary violation, even for Tony's liberal standards.

Tony pulled his eyes away from the door and back down to the kid laying peacefully on the comforter. The uncomfortably awkward heat on the back of his neck had still yet to go away. But still…

He sighed and knelt down beside the bed, gently reaching for the kid's shoes and undoing the laces.

"I don't know why you insist on the closed-toe shoe rule in the lab. You can make any rules you want and that's what you go with? I'm fine with the bunny slippers, you know." He pulled off the shoes and arranged them neatly on the floor next to the kid's nightstand. "By the way, you better not tell Pepper or the others about this, or they're never going to let me live this down."

He quickly yanked the blanket over the kid's shoulders and stood, glancing up at the ceiling as he did. "If anybody asks, you slept-walked up twenty floors. FRIDAY will back me up, right girl?"

"Of course, Boss. And what would you like me to do with the security footage proving your deception?" The quiet snark in her voice was hard to miss, Tony noted with an annoyed scoff. He turned back to the door and made to walk away, only to pause as he caught sight of the kid shifting.

The man froze in place and held his breath as he watched the teen twist, willing him not to wake and hopefully spare the both of them the embarrassment. He released this breath when the teen's movements finally ceased and he settled back into a quiet stillness. The moves had caused a couple of big brown curls to flop down around his eyes again, tickling his forehead in a way that made the kid's nose scrunch in his sleep.

Tony paused.

He stood by the bed for a moment, staring down at the sleeping face of a kid he hadn't even known six months ago. A kid that carried with him more problems than Tony could have ever suspected. A kid that otherwise looked plain and ordinary, perfectly masking the incredible superhero lying just underneath. A kid that was just that.

kid.

Too young to handle the shit he had to. And doing it all anyway. More often that not with a smile and a friendly wave.

"Boss?" FRIDAY whispered when she received no reply. "Shall I go ahead and delete it, sir?"

Tony swallowed down a sigh. The heat on his cheeks remained. But he noticed that it was now accompanied by a similar simmering heat dwelling somewhere within his chest, an aching gnaw hidden beneath his breastbone. It was warm, he noticed. Not unpleasant in any way. Just...warm. Like a Star Wars blanket around his shoulders.

He smiled, a hidden secretive smile that played at the corners of his lips, and gently carded a hand through the kid's curls, carefully brushing the strands of hair away from the teen's face.

"Nah. FRIDAY. Just leave it."

Notes:

Thanks to everyone for your feedback on the title change for this story. I hope the artwork I added to Chapter 1 helps to sell anyone who still has doubts!

Now, I'll be starting my senior year of nursing school on Monday, which means I'll be back to sporadic updates, unfortunately. However, you might have noticed that this chapter is a lot shorter than my norm, only around 15k words compared to my 20-30k average. Hopefully, by churning out shorter chapters, I'll be able to update this quicker. I think this'll be better for me in the long run, as well. It's a lot easier to stay motivated when you're working on little chunks rather than 6-month monster chapters, you know?

Anyway, as always, thank you all for reading!

Chapter 36: Fool's Paradise Part I

Summary:

He gripped the phone with two hands and pressed it tightly against his cheek. "Dad...?" he all but whispered into the phone. HIs voice felt sticky and hot.

There was a moment of silence on the other end in which Peter sank his teeth deeper into his lip and waited with stilted breath.

"Peter," his father said in that telltale rumbling baritone voice, deep and unreadable.

"Hi. I, um...hi. I-I saw your message. You...you wanted me to call." His lips were tingling, words tumbling out faster than he could control. He slouched forward in his seat. "Is everything alright?"

Notes:

I have a new WEBSITE!

A free to access, safe, website exclusively for The Chain, including chapters and ARTWORK! I've been working on a comic rendition of chapter one for this winter break and I'm making steady progress! If you wanna see it, please go check it out and leave a comment! I worked really hard setting up this website and I hope as many of you visit it as possible! So please go and enjoy!

TheChain360

or type (thechain360.com) into your browser!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The glass fogged under Peter's cheek as he breathed, a tiny little cloud of condensation that dripped through the windowpane and shaded the glass into a milky white. He spared a brief glance up at the sound of crunching gravel and watched with anticipation as the old beater truck slowly pulled into the driveway. The seven-year-old puffed his cheeks a released a particularly big blast of warm breath onto the glass, expanding the fog another few inches.

He raised a slender little finger and drew a crooked butterfly into the glass, listening to the faint squeaking of the polished surface. Through the window, Ben stepped out of the truck - a rattled mess of metal and leaking engines. Peter could practically see a few paint specks fly off as the man shut the door with a thud.

The little boy pushed off the window and twisted around on the couch, flexing his neck a bit as he did. He'd been sitting for who knew how long.

The door creaked with its usual complaints of age as the middle-aged man shambled through, sturdy work boots clumping against the ground like bricks of leather. He was wearing his usual uniform, consisting of a dirty blue electrician's jumper with his name stitched into the right breast. Over his shoulders sat his regular brown flight jacket, complete with various patches and stitchwork. Peter eyed the patch on his left shoulder: a cow with a sombrero perched on its heads, the words "moo-chas gracias' written below. Peter remembered giving it to the man for his last birthday. Remembered how hard Ben had laughed.

"You're late," he said with a tilt of his head as Ben kicked off his work boots.

"Sorry, goober. Traffic was a real pain today. And the beater was giving me some trouble in the parking lot." Ben shrugged the jacket off and hung it on the hook by the door before working on the buttons of his jumper. "But I did get to work on some power lines this afternoon. Rode the crane and everything." He kicked off his boots and lined them up neatly by the door.

Ben had shown him the crane before. Had taken him on a joyride of sorts a couple months back. Peter remembered whining about wanting to stay up in the air for as long as possible, loved the idea of floating over anything and everything. Imagined being up in the sky just flying in the clouds and between the buildings, up and up into infinity.

He imagined that a lot nowadays.

Ben tugged off the top of his jumper, leaving the plain black T-shirt underneath and walked over. Peter leaned his head up and shut his eyes as Ben planted a gentle kiss to the top of the boy's head before walking over to his doorway and tossing the shirt onto the bed.

"Don't let me forget to put that away. You know Aunt May gets pissed when I make a mess."

"Stop making messes then, Uncle Ben."

"Easier said than done, buddy." He strode into the kitchen and reached across the counter, clicking the knobs on his old-time radio. It took a few seconds of fidgeting with the dials before the static morphed into melody. "How was school?"

"We planted lima beans in cups today. Ms. Franston said they're gonna grow into plants we can take home later this year." Peter wiggled his feet and twisted in his seat until he was hanging upside down against the couch cushions, socks kicking in the air above his head. "I hope mine grows the tallest. Flash said his would be the best but I hope I beat him. Ms. Frankston said the winner would get a pack of Skittles."

Ben flexed his neck with a grimace as he reached for the loose newspaper. "Lima beans in cups, huh?" He flicked the page and gave it a quick scan.

"Yeah. We're learning about photosynthesis."

"Photo-what-now?"

"It's how plants eat." Peter felt his body sliding down the couch, twisting himself around so that he was now sitting upside down, neck hanging from the bottom lip of the seat cushion while his feet kicked up in the air. He stared at the upside-down image of Ben reading the newspaper. "They eat sunshine. So we have to put the cups on the windowsill so they'll get all the sun."

He craned his neck and stared up at his socked feet. Watched his toes wiggling underneath the fabric. "They soak it up with their leaves and they drink water with their roots, like big giant straws in the dirt. That sounds kinda gross, having your straw all covered with dirt and worms and stuff. Are you listening?"

"Yes."

"Trees do the same." He could feel the pressure building behind his eyes as the blood rushed through his cheeks. "They're so big that they need a bazillion little leaves to catch as much sunshine as possible. That's why their roots are so big too. So they can drink up all the water in the ground. The bigger the tree, the bigger the straw they need, so their roots are always popping out of the ground. They're too big to fit." He slowly felt himself sliding from the cushion, propping his hands out to catch the fall as he plopped down onto the carpeted floor head-first. He tucked and rolled onto his bottom.

Ben sniffed and pushed the newspaper to the side before pulling a pan from the drying rack over the sink. "You should be careful around those roots, bud. You're always tripping over them."

"I know. I don't want to hurt the trees when they're just trying to drink." He shimmied up to his feet. "I wonder if my lima bean will grow as tall as a tree one day. He's really tiny right now. I named him Charlie. Flash said it was stupid to name a plant."

"That's not nice. I think it's a rather nice name."

"Me too. What are you making?"

Peter padded his way over as Ben pulled out a few extra kitchen supplies, talking about some recipe his coworker had shared with him. Peter, of course, asked the important questions, like were there any carrots in this dish?

Ben, thankfully, reported in the negative.

The little boy listened to the man recounting the instructions his coworker had given him, pulling out various ingredients from the fridge as he explained what Amchoor powder was and why it was integral to a good Lemon Chicken recipe.

Uncle Ben had a funny rumbling sound to his voice. It was a deep, gentle grovel, laced with years of cigarette use, undercut with the faintest hints of a southern accent: the old remnants of his past life in Houston. Before he'd met May. Before he'd moved in across the street. It was how Peter imagined a bear would sound. An old bear that lived in a cave and gave directions to people who were lost and scared. Maybe even offered them a cup of tea before they left or a spare blanket to take on the road.

"Alright, Goob. Go get your apron on. May's getting home late tonight and I wanna surprise her with something other than microwave lasagna."

Peter tramped over to the pantry door and propped it open, eyeing the bright green dinosaur apron hanging on the inner wall. He craned up onto his tippy toes and was just barely able to unhook the fabric from the wall, being unusually short for his age, according to his pediatrician, his teachers, and, of course, Flash.

Ben walked over and helped the boy tie the straps along his back before handing him a couple of placemats for the dinner table, an old creaky structure of faded wood and rickety mismatched chairs, complete with colored marker stains and coffee rings.

Peter moved around the table, clearing the surface of any loose papers, junk mail and jackets and replacing it with a few tattered placemats that Aunt May refused to replace. Peter didn't mind. He loved setting up the table for dinner. Loved lining up the silverware in perfect order and listening to May explain the proper etiquette for serving spoons and salad forks - the majority of which went out the window when the woman ate most of her meals with a spork.

But most of all, Peter liked helping Ben in the kitchen. Because here, he could watch the man do all of his work. And if there was one thing Peter absolutely LOVED more than anything in the world, it was watching his Uncle Ben.

Watch him cook, work on his truck, reading in his lounge chair. He liked to take note of the man's movements: each step, every word, every subtle wrinkle that framed his face. Ben was a man of few expressions and, sometimes, even fewer words, but Peter was making quick work of identifying them all.

The slightly amused smile he'd give Ms. Holloway after fixing up her car, pointedly ignoring the ninety-year-old woman's blatant flirtations. The throaty chuckle he'd share with Mr. Delmar while ribbing each other's baseball teams that season. The tiny wrinkle that would settle between his brows whenever his truck took just a bit too long to start up in the morning. Even the little upturns in the corner of his eyes when he'd sit in his recliner and a new song would start up on his busted little radio, the details of which he would quickly begin to recite: Who wrote it. What year. Where it was made. What it was about. Even what he himself had been doing the first time he'd heard it.

(At least once a month, Ben would recount the tale of walking into a 24-hour gas station after a fight with his parents and striking up a friendly conversation with the attendant, a pretty young girl named May while Simple Minds' "Don't You Forget About Me" played on in the background. Unsurprisingly, when Peter would ask what the man's favorite song was, he'd always turn to Aunt May with a twinkle in his normally quiet eyes and merely hum the chorus of the song.)

Peter loved to watch Ben. Loved to watch Ben staring at the world through those soft quiet eyes of his.

It was quick work moving through the kitchen. His uncle always handled the more dangerous things: manning the stove and cutting the vegetables while Peter fetched ingredients and finished fixing up the table. Two place-settings. Two salt shakers. Two fork - scratch that. One fork. One spork. May had some in every color. Peter was feeling the purple one today.

Now that he was seven though - a certified 'big boy' - Ben had finally tasked him with something just a bit more challenging: peeling the potatoes. Peter's tongue poked through the corner of his mouth as he scrunched his face at the vegetable, making careful work of slicing the peeler along the edges of the rounded surface. Periodically, he'd catch Ben sneaking glances his way, as if to check that the kid still did, in fact, have all ten fingers intact.

So far, so good.

One other thing that Peter always noticed about Uncle Ben was just how quiet he could be. Sure, when one song or another popped up on the radio or a particularly exciting recipe or wild day at work caught his attention, he'd entertain Peter with the stories. But more often than not, the old man was content in letting his nephew fill the silence instead, more than happy to listen as the child recounted the day's tales with a fervent excitement that no adult could dream of matching.

Aunt May would fill the rooms with jokes and stories and comments and anything else that popped into mind, which tickled Peter like nobody else could. But with Ben, Peter found that the man always seemed ready to hang onto his every word, listening with rapt attention he never saw in any other adult. With Ben, Peter was the star. Peter was the entertainer. And he loved the stories he'd tell his uncle, the tales of his day on the schoolyard, the nice dogs he'd pet that afternoon, the clouds that had looked like ice cream cones, the book they were reading in class with a character that looked like Mr. Pickling from down the street, the nightmare he'd had about his mom when he was sleeping, the nightmare he'd had about his dad when he was awake.

Whatever Peter said, Uncle Ben always listened. Uncle Ben always heard him.

Perhaps this was why Peter always found himself walking to their house after school instead of going straight home like his father preferred. It was nice to have those few hours in the day where someone just...listened.

"You gonna stay and help me taste-test when we're done?" Ben said while adding another pinch of salt to the skillet. "You know I always need a second opinion. May says I add too much pepper."

"You do add too much pepper." Peter watched a fresh potato skin flutter to the counter. He swiped it into the trash can. "I can't stay tonight, though."

(At home, it was different.)

"Daddy wants me home by seven. So I have to go soon, anyway."

(At home, it was Peter who had to listen.)

The radio drifted into nothing as the song faded out, leaving the kitchen in silence save for the soft sizzling of the skillet. The sharp crackling of oil against scalding metal punctuated the air with a tension that even seven-year-old Peter Parker could pick up on. He turned his head and watched Ben's shoulders. They were tight and scrunched near his ears, like he was frozen in a perpetual shrug. His foot had stopped tapping.

Peter's hand drooped a bit. "What's wrong?"

The man remained in that stiffened state for a moment before quietly clearing his throat. He spared a glance over his shoulder, stared at Peter's wide-eyed curious expression for a moment before returning it with a smile and dragging his gaze back to the skillet. "Nothing you need to worry about."

A new song started up. Ben's foot remained still.

"But you're sad now." Peter said with a candidness that only kids can ever seem to master as he stared down at the freshly peeled potato in his hand. He dropped it into the bowl of water by the counter. Watched it sink to the bottom, beside all the other freshly-skinned vegetables. He paused for a moment before grabbing a fresh potato. "Maybe I can help?"

"You're already helping. You're peeling those potatoes like a pro. Maybe soon enough, we can upgrade you to chopping the-"

"You don't like Daddy anymore, do you?"

Peter knew better than to interrupt. But the words spilled from his lips before he had a chance to correct himself. For a moment, he felt himself tense. Waiting for the inevitable shout of correction, maybe even punctuated by a thwack to the back of the head or a smack on the mouth. He watched Ben's movements slow to a halt, hand hovering over the skillet handle.

(Peter imagined it would hurt a lot to get hit with a skillet.)

The man remained silent for a few seconds, carefully clicking the stove down and sliding the pan off the hot burner. He wiped his hands with the nearby towel and draped it over his shoulder before silently turning forward, arms folded over his chest. Peter held his breath.

But Ben's face was not contorted into a scowl or a sneer. His eyes were not dark and angry.

(The skillet remained on the stove.)

Just like everything else about him, Ben's expression was gentle. His eyes were soft. His words even more so.

"...I don't like it when he yells at you," he said quietly.

Peter felt his body relaxing. Tried not to concentrate on the sick feeling bubbling around in his stomach at the idea of Ben being like his Dad. Calm one moment and screaming the next. Ben could never scream. Not even the week prior.

Peter was normally pretty good at remembering his chores. Maybe only occasionally forgetting to stack the dishes or clean his room, nothing that warranted any fuss. His father, apparently, had thought otherwise last week - punctuated with a sharp smack to the cheek that had left Peter's ears ringing, almost too loudly to hear the man's screams about his dirty room. The smack was nothing compared to the look he remembered seeing in his father's eyes, though. A film of shadowed fury and disgust, curdled contempt smeared onto his face with enough rage for even a child to understand.

May had been livid. She was always quick to anger, storming across the street and all but pounding on the door, screaming in his dad's face for the better part of ten minutes. Peter had watched from the living room window. Watched his aunt screaming at his father, who looked no more disturbed than when answering a solicitor. Ben, however. Ben had said nothing. Peter remembered the man standing beside his wife, all but ignoring her screams as he instead focused his gaze on the boy in the window. Not on his father. Not on the screaming. But him.

Ben always looked to him first.

And he was still looking at him now.

Peter's little fingers tapped against the peeler in hand. It was old, old enough for the plastic coating to start chipping near the base. He fiddled with a piece. "I don't like it either." he said softly, watching as Ben set down the tongs in hand and walked over. The man gently fitted his hands under the boy's armpits and hoisted him up to sit on the edge of the counter. Peter glanced up at the older man and stared into his dark brown eyes, warm and mottled with specks of gray. He gently tilted himself forward and rested his forehead on Ben's chest. Swayed with the steady rise and fall of his breaths.

"I think Daddy's really sad, Uncle Ben," he murmured gently, felt the man's warm hands coming up to wrap around him, carding through his hair and pressing him further into the nestled crook of his chest. "Maybe he misses Mommy as much as I do. Or maybe he's working too much now. He's so tired all the time. And it makes him angry, but...maybe being angry just feels better than being sad. And that's why he yells all the time..."

He pressed his little hands into the man's shirt and pushed away, lifting his gaze to stare up at his uncle's gentle gaze. He didn't need to look to know Ben was listening, though. Ben always listened. No matter what Peter said.

"But...if he got sad one day...then do you think that means he can get happy again some other day? If I just wait?" He glanced down at his hands and noticed the potato he'd only managed to peel half-way. He fiddled with the peeler and angled it against the skins once more. "I think he needs me, Uncle Ben. To help him be a little less angry. His yelling doesn't scare me so much when I just remember it's his way of being sad. And you're always telling me it's okay to be sad sometimes, right? It's what makes being happy so special."

The little boy stared down at the potato in his hand, nose scrunched in thought for a moment before he tilted his head and continued peeling. "Maybe I can make him this chicken tomorrow for dinner. That should make him happy right." He smiled and watched the spiral of peel stretch longer and longer the faster he worked the peeler.

"I want him to be happy. I want everyone to just be happy. Even if they yell a lot. Even if they're mean." He paused, scanned the freshly-peeled potato for any missed marks. "Even Flash. And his lima bean. He can have the skittles if he wants them."

The boy finished with the vegetable and dropped it into the bowl alongside the others, shaking his little hand when a few drops of water splashed onto his fingers. Noticing that Uncle Ben hadn't moved back towards the skillet, he lifted his eyes and tilted his head as he noticed the man smiling down at him. His eyes looked misty, that same watery film they always got when he and May would go into their bedroom and talk in hushed tones - adult matters - they would always say. Peter wasn't sure how they could be 'adult matters' when they were always about HIM.

"What's wrong?"

Uncle Ben, just like every time Peter noticed those flecks in the corners of his eyes, wiped them away with the back of his hand and a passing chuckle. "Nothing, kiddo. Nothing at all. It's just..." The man swallowed and Peter watched his Adam's apple bob up and down. Ben lifted a hand and rested it against the side of Peter's cheek, thumb brushing against the boy's freckles.

"You're too good, Peter. You're too goddamn good."

The boy furrowed his brows and glanced down at the tool in his hand. "At peeling potatoes?"

Uncle Ben's smile wavered for a moment before stretching wider. A new song started up on the radio. Peter didn't know it, but that was fine. Ben would be more than happy to tell him all about it.

After all, Uncle Ben knew everything.

"Yeah. At peeling potatoes."

 

(Well...almost everything.)

 


 

Thursday - June, 2016

Stark Tower - Meeting Room Lobby

09:32 AM

 

There was a heaviness in the air. A damp mustiness, like thickened fog coating the world in a sheet of suffocating tension - almost as if the air itself could sense that today would not be a good day.

"So, are we still on for next week?"

Peter readjusted his shoulder, phone pressed between it and his ear as he walked. One hand hovered protectively over a steaming coffee mug. Black.

"Yeah. Ned's excited. He's bringing over a new Lego lightsaber set for us to make."

"Is your little friend Michelle gonna come? You've never had a sleepover with her, have you?"

He sidestepped a pair of business men barreling down the hall beside him, papers fluttering past, pagers buzzing at their hips. "Well, I...not exactly. I mean, she's usually not into this sort of...uh-"

"Take a chance, slugger. The worst she can do is say no."

Peter rolled his eyes and chuckled, listening to the sounds of May shuffling around over the phone, probably trying to multitask the phone while cooking up some breakfast. May was infamous for her multitasking, more specifically, for her terrible multitasking. Watching TV while she cooked something horrible. Reading a magazine while knitting a sweater that ended up having three sleeves. Last week, Peter had even caught her trying to screw in a new lightbulb while straightening her hair, which - of course - had led to the new burn mark on the living room rug that was currently being covered up by the ottoman.

The shuffling on the phone quieted down, replaced with a disgusted growl.

"Uggg..."

"What?"

"No, the TV..." She paused. "Did you see? Apparently your father's launching some new business deal in Tokyo?"

His smile vanished.

The shuffling resumed, if a bit harsher now. "That's what was so important that he had to leave you all alone? Can't he at least PRETEND to care about you?"

"Mr. Stark's taking good care of me." Peter swallowed. Fought to keep his voice light.

"Anything is better than that beast. You'd think he'd focus more about getting his affairs in order a little closer to home."

"He's...got a business to run, May. He's a busy guy."

"He's a snake in a suit is what he is."

Peter didn't respond. Merely held in a wince as a splash of hot coffee landed on his hand. He steadied his grip.

There was silence on the other end of the phone for a few seconds before he heard a tired sigh. "Sorry, honey. I know you don't like me talking bad about him. Just...waking up to his face as the first thing I see on TV? It's like asking me to get all riled up."

He shifted his shoulder again, tried to stretch out the sudden ache he could feel in his muscles. "Hey...I, uh...I gotta go. It's pretty busy over here."

Alright, sweetie. Text me whenever you get a chance."

He lifted his free hand and quickly ended the call before sliding the phone back into his pocket. He continued down the hall until it opened up on a massive lobby room of sorts, filled to bursting with activity. He set his sights on the target across the room.

"Mr. Stark? Your next meeting starts in five minutes."

"I'll be there in ten."

"But...the senators are already waiting f-"

"Did I stutter? What are they gonna do? Leave? I'll validate their parking on the way out so just-"

The clerk - some scrawny looking man with a pencil-thin neck and beads of sweat dripping down his brow - quickly took note of the dismissive wave of Mr. Stark's hand, for he quickly adjusted the papers in hand, ignored the ones he subsequently dropped, and turned tail.

Peter said nothing as the clerk all but bolted past him, knocking shoulders with him as he did. Another few drops of coffee splashed against his palm and he hissed under his breath but didn't gripe after the man. Guy seemed to barely be holding it together and Peter didn't want to be the reason someone cried today.

He was sure someone else in the room would be awarded that title soon enough.

The place was crawling with people: Senators, secretaries, clerks, bodyguards, even a few waiters in uniform serving bubbly drinks on silver platters. It was amazing so many people could fit in one space. Even more amazing was the fact that each and every single person in the room looked like they'd rather be anywhere else.

That was politics, he supposed.

Peter stopped at the bar counter where Mr. Stark currently sat with his head in his hand while he scrolled through a tablet. Official-looking paperwork from what Peter could see. He'd barely even set down the steaming mug of coffee before the billionaire was snatching it up and downing at least half of it in one go.

Might as well have brought the whole dang machine.

Peter didn't take a seat, just pressed his back into the counter and stared out at the crowd of people. Tried to rub away the subtle goosebumps that were bubbling under his skin. So many voices. So many conversations. So many reasons to bolt back upstairs and hide for the foreseeable future until Mr. Stark called him back down for another round of coffee.

His eyes drifted and he caught sight of a bout of fiery red hair. His muscles loosened slightly at the sight of a familiar face as Pepper appeared through the crowd, dressed in her best business attire and hair pulled into a tight bun. He smiled at her as she patted his cheek and grabbed Mr. Stark's shoulder. The man didn't even look up.

"Did you look at that last file I sent you?"

"The one about the shock collars or the involuntary antipsychotic sedatives?"

"The one with the titanium straight jackets."

He huffed and pressed his fingers into his eyes. "I thought that one was a joke."

Another clerk appeared.

"Mr. Stark-!"

"Is the building on fire?"

"I...no?"

"Then start one or fuck off."

The clerk shriveled a bit before slinking back off while Peter spared an absentminded look at the ceiling sprinklers. Pepper sighed and began to rub at her own temples. "Tony..."

Said man lifted his coffee mug and took another sip while wagging his finger. "Mmm-nnh. I don't have time for self-reflection right now."

Mr. Stark was in a bad mood.

Peter couldn't blame him. With the newest revision to the Accords on the brink of being ratified, the Tower had been filled with politicians for the past two days, a fact that might make anybody dream up an arson-style demise. Especially since Mr. Stark and Colonel Rhodes seemed to be the only two people who were against this particular revision, a fact that might not make much of a difference if it came down to a twenty-to-two vote.

Mr. Stark sighed and shut off his tablet before tossing it haphazardly on the counter like it wasn't a two-thousand-dollar piece of hardware and faced Peter. "Sorry about all of...this, kid." He gestured to the crowd like it was a pile of roadkill on the sidewalk. "I know it's a bit crowded."

"It's alright. Kinda reminds me of home."

The billionaire scoffed. "Oh, great. Just what I wanted."

Peter's fingers twitched a bit at that.

"Uh, look - I'm going to be in meetings for the better part of the day, so just go ahead and order yourself something for lunch when you get hungry." Mr. Stark reached into his suit pocket and pulled out his phone. "Hell, maybe think about doing that for dinner, too. How many more conferences do we have today, Pep?"

"Seven."

"Great."

The teen let his mind drift a bit as Mr. Stark and Pepper conversed. Mr. Stark didn't talk to him much about the Accords, either because of his age or because he didn't want to scare Peter with the prospects of what these new laws would entail for someone enhanced like him. Peter liked to think it was the latter. Mr. Stark was pretty good at not talking down to him like other adults did.

Although he had to admit, hearing about shock collars and straightjackets did have him wishing he'd not heard anything at all.

Nevertheless, it was good to stay informed. Especially about something so pertinent to him. Lord knew his father would never keep him in the loop when it came to important news like this, so at the very least, it felt nice to be in the know.

From what the billionaire would tell him, Peter knew that these latest revisions were mainly placeholders until more concrete control methods could be devised on how to manage criminal mutant populations. Because sending every two-bit purse thief to the Raft wasn't the best use of tax-payer dollars, in Peter's opinion. He could only imagine what Freedom Fighter Steve Rogers would have to say about something like this, but for once, Peter was inclined to agree with him. It was no secret just how wary the government - and people in general - were when it came to enhanced individuals like himself, especially the older generations, which comprised about 99% of the standing body of leadership.

Sure, people were fine with Spider-Man swinging around to help sometimes. But maybe that was just because they associated him with the Avengers, or at least Avengers-adjacent. Even then, there were plenty of people who threw the occasional rancid burrito at him. And this was New York, a famously liberal state with pretty strong mutant rights laws. Peter could only imagine how hard it might be for a mutant in less favorable areas of the nation.

Experience or no, Peter knew.

 

("I don't need you to be sorry, Peter. I need you to learn.")

 

("Serves you right, you little bastard! Can't even do one single thing right without fucking it up!")

 

("You think I'm horrible, Peter? I'll tell you who's horrible.")

 

Knew just how easy it was to hate.

He jumped at the feel of a hand shaking his shoulder and had to swallow the instinctive growl that bubbled up from who knew where.

"What?"

"Jeez, kid, didn't you hear me?" Mr. Stark spared him a questioning look before glaring back down at his phone. His fingers tapped away furiously, occasionally drifting to his watch to check the time. "I asked if you could start adding those updated blueprints we worked on last week into the system since I obviously won't be getting a chance to."

Peter shifted his feet and took a breath to slow the sudden uptick in his heartrate. The aura was getting to him, he supposed. The tension suffocating the room was making him jumpy.

"Uh, sure. When do you want me to do that?"

"Now. Later. I don't give a shit."

"Right. But will I have access to the database or will FRIDAY ask for some sort of passcode-"

"She shouldn't." Another buzz on the phone. "Goddamn."

"But if she does, is there like a backup way to get into the-"

"Peter. Just fucking do it, will you? Jesus, I didn't think it would be this difficult."

He winced and instantly straightened up, chest tightening with the instinctive urge to be silent and still.

"Tony..." He heart Pepper murmur under her breath and the subtle inflection of her tone must have been enough for Mr. Stark to notice something was wrong, for he finally looked up from his phone and took in the hurt look beginning to spread onto Peter's face. His own expression shifted into a look of frustration and regret as he sighed.

"I...sorry, kid," he mumbled as he rubbed at his face. "I didn't mean to snap. I just-"

"It's okay," Peter said quickly. " I get it. This seems more than a little stressful. I'll...put in those prints in a little bit."

"Thanks kid," Mr. Stark said distantly, already back to his phone. "FRIDAY should give you access no problem."

"Right."

Immediately, Mr. Stark and Pepper were engrossed in another discussion on some other segment of the revision while Peter spared another glance around the room and wondered if he was allowed to leave now. Better to wait until Mr. Stark was finished talking before he could ask and-

"It's so great to be here with you all today!"

 

(DANGER.)

 

He whipped his head towards the TV over the bar and watched his father strut on screen in front of a large podium, cameras flashing and microphones shoving into his face. Peter felt his muscles beginning to tighten as he watched the man posing in front of the camera with some older Japanese man by his side. He scanned the news ticker at the bottom of the screen. New Parkstem Business Deal Launches in Tokyo.

"And I have to say, I am so excited for this partnership with Katagachi enterprises. This latest endeavor is a step forward not only for our two companies, but also for the future of travel in the modern day."

The broadcast scrolled through some more shots of what looked to be some sleek new bullet train, the iconic Parkstem logo branded on the side.

"Richard Parker's latest investment deal with Katagachi enterprises comes with the newest debut of their LightTrack, Japan's fastest bullet train and the first of its kind to travel more than 1500 miles underwater. This comes after Parkstem's initial partnership with Katagachi and their previous debut of the self-operating construction program which built this model in less than 30 days. Sources say- "

"FRIDAY, mute the goddamn TV, will you?" Mr. Stark growled, shoving his phone back into his suit as he stood. "I don't want that bastard's voice in my building."

Peter spared the man a sideways look. "He's not even doing anything wrong," he said somewhat sharply.

Mr. Stark either didn't notice it or - more likely considering his mood - didn't care. "He's existing. That's enough for me to lose my appetite."

Pepper narrowed her eyes and folded her arms as she gazed up at the TV. Her eyes were cold now. Hard. Like she was glaring at a disruptive drunk during a silent auction, full of disapproval and judgement. Peter swallowed the unease that bubbled in his stomach.

"He's going international now? What the hell is he doing making business deals in Tokyo?"

Mr. Stark scoffed. "I don't know. Burning down orphanages? As long as he's out of the country and far away from me, I couldn't give two shits about what the rat bastard's doing."

 

("He's a snake in a suit.")

 

"Please don't call him that."

Pepper seemed to startle a bit, almost as if she'd forgotten about Peter's presence. She instantly looked guilty, however, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder and giving an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, honey. I-"

"Sure thing. There's plenty worse I can call him. That was just off the top of my head," Mr. Stark muttered.

Peter said nothing. Felt his fingers twitch again.

"Tony." Pepper said a bit harsher this time.

The billionaire spared a glance over towards her and then down to Peter. He swallowed, seemed to think for a second before reconsidering and turning away again. "Sorry..."

Peter tensed his jaw and glanced away. Distantly, he noticed his own phone buzzing in his pocket.

Footsteps approached and Peter half expected another clerk to be chewed out for daring to even get close. But instead, Rhodey appeared over his shoulder, dressed in his full military uniform, complete with pins, metals, and a look of complete annoyance.

Apparently, that was going around.

"Hey, man. We're starting back up and I really need you in there. They're persistent about this new revision and they're not letting go easily."

"Fuck. Alright, just..." Tony hastily grabbed the coffee mug and downed the last half in what appeared to be one huge gulp. Slamming it back down on the counter, he straightened out his suit jacket and grabbed the tablet Pepper handed over. Peter stepped out of the way as all three began to head off, but not before Mr. Stark suddenly turned and placed a hand on Peter's shoulder.

"Hey, don't forget about lunch, alright. I need you to eat something, okay?"

"Got it."

"And don't think I won't have FRIDAY tattle on you if you don't!"

Peter's frown twitched into a reluctant smile as he caught sight of the mischievous glint in the billionaire's eyes, dulled behind layers of exhaustion and bureaucracy, but still there. He gently patted the kid's shoulder before disappearing into the crowd.

It wasn't going to be a great day. But they'd make it through.

Peter watched the people milling about the room for a minute or two before grabbing the empty coffee mug. His eyes drifted back up towards the TV as he began to pull out his phone with his free hand.

"Hey, FRIDAY. Can you unmute it, please?"

The channel flicked back right as his phone screen lit up the new message that had come through and Peter felt the coffee mug crack in his hand.

 

Call me.  DAD

 

"And remember, ladies and gentlemen. The Future is Bright. The Future is Parkstem!"

 


 

"The Butterfly Bastard's back."

"May..."

"What? You told me to stop calling him a cunt."

She flicked the curtains shut with a disgusted scoff and walked back over to the sofa, plopping down beside her husband with a sigh as the TV crackled with static between commercials. She let her hair out of its messy bun, greasy locks of brown hair falling down around her neck as she curled up into Ben's side, feet tucking underneath her as she set her eyes on the TV screen. The man had a book propped open on his lap, glasses perched on the tip of his nose. The apartment smelled of warm coffee and stale wood.

"You know, all it would take is one well-aimed brick and all our problems would be solved."

"Don't say things like that."

"You're right. That's too quick. Maybe I should call my brothers in from Brooklyn. Tell them to bring their league bats and a couple of friends."

"Stop it. Peter might hear you." Ben spared a glance over towards the hallway and the bathroom further down. Peter had only been gone for a couple of minutes.

May pursed her lips and glanced over at her husband. "You know, shielding him from this might not be doing all the good you think it is."

"He's too young, honey."

"Doesn't seem to matter to that prick across the street."

"And what? You want to be like him?"

May didn't respond. The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes as the light outside continued to dwindle. Neither one of them made any attempts to get up and turn on the lights, letting the house be lit only by the tinny backglow of the TV. Maury Povich was on. May's favorite type of trash TV. Ben mostly used it for background noise. Something for his ears to hear without actually listening; his eyes to look at without really watching.

The woman looped a finger through a couple loose strands of hair. She turned her head and stared out the window. They could make out the house lights of the Parker residence a couple doors down. Her eyes narrowed, lips pulling into a tight frown. "That man is the devil, Ben. He's evil incarnate and nobody can see it. Peter can't see it."

Ben shifted slightly in his seat, book falling lazily onto his lap as he rubbed at his temples. "Peter is...confused."

May scoffed and pulled away, sitting up straighter in her seat as she folded her arms and cast a glare down towards the floor.

"He's a baby, May. He doesn't know any better."

"We can't keep using that as an excuse. We have to teach him better. Teach him what a monster that man is." She whipped her head around. "If nobody else is going to, then WE have to protect him."

Ben sat up as well. His eyes were tired. Sunken.  "I know, honey. But there's only so much that we can do against Richard. He's..." He swallowed and tightened his grip on the book in hand. "...money is pouring into his company now. If we make waves, it'll look like we're trying to score a payday. That's what the CPS worker told us."

"I don't care about the fucking money-!"

"But people don't know that."

May lowered her head. Her voice was sharp. Thick. Warbling like those few seconds before a cry. "Peter does."

Ben lifted his hand and removed the glasses from his face, pinching them between his fingers as he spoke. His words - as always - were slow and quiet. "Peter just...doesn't know what to do."

And May's, as always, were sharp and heated. "No. He knows exactly what he's doing. He wants to believe that everybody is just like him. Sweet and kind and innocent when they're not. For God's sake, Ben! We live in New York City and this kid walks up to homeless people and talks to them like they're his best friends! He has no survival instincts whatsoever!"

"He's a kid, May."

"He's BLIND! He doesn't want to accept what's in front of him so he's covering it up just like he does with everything else! Always covering for that bastard. Always lying. Always hiding it! GOD! Why does he defend that man?!"

Ben turned to her, didn't even seem to mind the shouting, like he couldn't hear it. For his face was calm and gentle, eyes soft and sad with a gray shine to his irises that always seemed to be so understanding. So kind. So outdated in this world.

Maury was yelling on the TV. People were cheering. the darkened house flashed with the light of the screen.

"Because Peter loves him, May. Peter...Peter loves everybody."

She narrowed her eyes at him, irises gleaming with a bright white light, misty and wet.

"How can you love a monster?"

He set his glasses down on his knee and reached out a hand, slipping his fingers into her palm and giving her a squeeze. She let out a breath, thick and wet and Ben carded a hand through her hair, roughened thumb rubbing against her temple.

"...When you just don't know any better."

They turned back towards the TV. May spared one last glance towards the window before slowly settling back into Ben's side, curling tighter into his chest and resting her cheek upon his breastbone. He slipped an arm around her shoulder and began to trace words onto her arm with his finger. First her name. Then his. Then Peter's. Over and over.

Peter watched them in silence, side pressing into the hallway wall as his cheek leaned against the cold plaster, hidden from view. He didn't say anything. Didn't make any moves to rejoin them on the couch. Just stood and listened to the TV and traced little pictures into the wall just like Ben.

Butterflies.

 


 

Peter whisked into the room swiftly and silently, letting the door swoosh closed behind him. He pressed his back into the metal and stared down at his phone, brows furrowed and lips tucked between his teeth.

He stared down at the message. Read it and re-read it over and over again. Still there. No illusions. His father had messaged him.

Finally.

So...why was his heart thumping like crazy? Why were his ears ringing like alarm bells? Why was the back of his neck tingling with the electricity of a live wire stuck under his skin?

Why did he want to tell Mr. Stark about it?

Peter cast a glance over his shoulder at the door. The chaos downstairs was still in full-swing and Mr. Stark would be in meetings for the better part of the day. There was no way Peter could interrupt a conference with some of the most influential people in the world because - what? His dad had finally texted him and he felt...uneasy about it? Because he wanted Mr. Stark's advice on how to answer a phone call? Because...because he suddenly felt very very alone staring down at those two words glaring back from his screen?

 

(Endure.)

 

No.

He could do this himself. Mr. Stark needed him to do this by himself.

Peter swallowed a dry glob of spit and slowly ambled his way over towards the couch across from his bed. He carefully eased himself onto the cushions and scrolled through his phone until he came up on his contacts list. It was still a pretty pitiful sight. Only a handful of contacts, the majority of which were his father and the Cons with a few extra slots for his friends, May and a couple Decathlon kids. But now, there were a few new numbers at the top of the list: Mr. Stark, Pepper, Rhodey, Happy, even Harley. The boy had taken an insane close-up selfie and set it as his profile picture.

Peter scrolled past all of this. Landed on his father's contact.

His thumb hovered over the numbers, hand stilling as he took a breath. Then another. The ache in his chest remained, tight and uncomfortable.

 

BEEP.

 

Ringing...

 

In and out.

 

Ringing...

 

In and out.

 

Ringing...

 

In-

 

"Parker."

 

-and out.

 

He gripped the phone with two hands and pressed it tightly against his cheek. "Dad...?" he all but whispered into the phone. HIs voice felt sticky and hot.

There was a moment of silence on the other end in which Peter sank his teeth deeper into his lip and waited with stilted breath.

"Peter," his father said in that telltale rumbling baritone voice, deep and unreadable.

"Hi. I, um...hi. I-I saw your message. You...you wanted me to call." His lips were tingling, words tumbling out faster than he could control. He slouched forward in his seat. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine. I just wanted to check up on you."

Peter blinked, body tensed as he waited for his father to continue with some other dark reason, but the man remained silent. His words held steady. The teen spared a few fleeting glances around the floor before readjusting his grip on the phone. He hesitated for a moment.

"Oh. I, uh...I'm fine. I'm um...I'm doing okay here."

"That's good to hear. Stark...he's treating you alright?"

"Yeah! No, yeah. He's...everything's great," Peter said with the hints of a breathless smile finally slipping onto his face. The silence on the other end lasted a couple seconds too long, enough time for Peter to wind back what he'd said and quickly backtrack. "NOT that I don't miss you, dad. I...I do. So, so, much." And he did. With every fiber of his being, he did.

The silence lasted a few more seconds before the voice on the other end rumbled. "I miss you too, Peter."

He sucked in a breath, janky and clipped and felt the smile on his face widening. He held the phone tightly with both hands and blinked a couple of times to clear the faint mist in his eyes.

He cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter on the couch. "How's Tokyo? I saw you on the news."

"Not bad. Flint's had food poisoning twice already and Sandra's gotten...oh I'd say at least five offers to star in a couple of films."

"Seriously?"

"Mm-hmm."

"How's...h-how's Max handling it? He hates Japanese food, doesn't he?"

"Oh, he's had his fair share of gripes since we've gotten here. Usually a quick trip to McDonalds is enough to keep him happy. Drive-thru, of course. You know I'd never be caught dead in one of those places."

His father continued for a few minutes, recounting his time in the city, the latest goings-on with the company, mundane, trivial conversation. Peter, of course, listened with rapt attention, hanging on every word, refusing to miss even a second of it.

The unease that had been festering in his chest had disappeared, fading away as he listened to the dulcet growlings of his father's deep voice. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine the man standing beside him, listening to his breathing on the other end of the phone, imagining his smell wafting around him, that same distinct scent of expensive cologne, freshly-pressed suits and the faintest traces of smoke and ash, though not once had Peter ever seen his father light a cigar.

"Anyway, it's... it sure is something. I didn't think it was possible to find a city busier than New York. But Tokyo transcends that expectation by heaps and bounds. I doubt you'd be able to stomach the crowds."

Peter gave a light chuckle at the jab. "Probably not. I...I guess I just like the quieter places. "

"Nothing wrong with that." There was another pause on the line. Followed by the muted sounds of suppressed chuckles. Almost as if his father were trying to cover up something funny. Peter felt himself automatically grinning too as he tilted his head.

"What? What's so funny?"

"No, nothing. I just...Do you...remember our trip to Cabo? Back in 2009."

Peter blinked and scrunched his nose. That was...kinda random. "Uh...sort of? I was..."

"Seven. The business was starting to take off so I wanted to take you and the rest of the family on vacation. Somewhere warm for the winter."

Right. Peter could vaguely recall it. Remembered hating the feeling of sand getting stuck to his skin and sweat trickling down his back. Remembered craving the city smells of back home. Remembered keeping his mouth shut tight about these thoughts.

"Well, one night, we're at the cabana's all-you-can-eat buffet. Music. People. Big party. Highlight of the day for most kids. There was even a chocolate fountain they were all shrieking about. I figured you were off with the rest of them having the time of your life socializing and mingling. Well, it took me a while to find you and when I did...heh. You were camped out under one of the tablecloths reading a book."

Peter leaned forward and grinned into the phone. "Really?"

"Yes. Jules Vern, if I recall correctly. You'd stashed it away with you and I hadn't even noticed."

"Heh...well, in my defense, you can't name a chocolate fountain that's sold as many best-sellers as Jules Vern, can you?"

"No, I supposed I can't," his father mused on the other end. Another moment of silence lingered between them. Peter listened to the sounds of his father breathing in and out. Shut his eyes to the sound.

"...That's when I knew, Peter. I knew you were different from all the rest. My bright shining star."

Peter leaned back against the couch and curled his knees up to his chest, cheek resting on the cushions as he pressed his phone to his ear. His chest ached. He spoke quietly. "I really do miss you, dad. A lot."

"I know. But it's important for you to be there."

"Yeah. For the family, right?"

"That's right. It's important for Parkstem and Stark Industries to have a mutual relationship, one built on trust and understanding. And you are the bridge to building that relationship. Something that nobody else can do. Only you."

Peter said nothing. Merely shut his eyes again and let out a content sigh, happy to just listen to his father's rumbling voice, smooth and strong, if only for a second.

"I have a job for you."

He jerked. Second over.

"What?"

"A job. I need you to do something for me."

Peter sat up instantly. "I...anything. Anything you need!" he said quickly and with the fervent enthusiasm of a child tasked with helping their parent in the kitchen. He didn't dwell on the embarrassing eagerness in his tone. His father was in a good mood. Nothing else really mattered.

"You still have your backpack, right? The one you took with you?"

Peter jerked his head to glance over his shoulder. He could see his bag stashed by the bed where he'd last left it. "I...yeah."

"Check the front pocket. I left something in there for you."

"Hang on."

He muted the phone and quickly shuffled around the couch, crouching down beside his bed and pulling the backpack overtop his knees. He unzipped the small pocket and peered inside, fingers carefully sorting through the contents. Pencils, pens, housekeys -

Peter tilted his head back a bit and furrowed his brows, carefully lifting out the sleek new thumbdrive that hadn't been there when he'd left the house. Or at least...he didn't think it'd been there...had it?

He unmuted the phone and pressed it into his cheek

"Is it...is it this thumbdrive?"

"Yes. I put it in there a few weeks back before you left the house."

He twisted the drive between his fingertips, inspecting it carefully. It was black with red etch lines running down the side. "What's on it?"

"Nothing yet. That's what I need you for."

Peter's frown deepened. He lowered the drive and grabbed the phone from between his shoulder and cheek, pressing it harder against his ear. "Dad? What's-"

"I need you to log onto the Stark private server and download the files onto that drive."

The phone creaked.

It took everything to not accidentally shatter the fucking thing right then and there.

Peter held his breath. Held it in and waited for...something. Nothing? He was staring at nothing. Something? Everything? Too much. He scrunched his eyes shut as tight as he could, tight enough for black dots to begin squiggling around under his eyelids. The scrunched kind of grimace you'd make while dunking your hand in boiling water while a sleeping tiger loomed over you, waiting for even a pin-drop of noise to trigger the start of a gruesome and savage mauling. The grimace of a silent scream, tight and unbearable deep within your chest, beating up against your ribs like a steel drum. Bam. Bam. BAM. BAM-

"Peter."

"I'm here," he heard himself say. He moved on autopilot, pushing his backpack away and staring down at the drive in his palm. "I, uh...w-what do you need those...those files for?"

His father hesitated for a moment. A very uncharacteristic hesitance. "This hasn't gone on record yet, but I've discovered some unsavory insider information about Katagachi enterprises. Information I would have liked to have known about before signing any binding contracts. It's nothing serious, but it just reminds me that...it always pays to be prepared."

Peter blinked. Forced a sliver of air past his lips. It burned his throat on the way down. Whistled a high-pitched tune.

"I want to know that Stark Industries isn't involved in anything shady."

"They're not."

 

("He's a snake in a suit is what he is.")

 

"Mr. Stark wouldn't."

Another pause. 'I'm sure that's true. Which is why I want to verify that myself. And I need those files to do it."

 

Please.

 

Please.

 

Don't do this.

 

Don't be this.

 

"I, uh...I don't know..."

"It's nothing harmful, Peter. If there's nothing bad on those files, then I'll destroy the drive and we'll never speak of it again."

'And if there is?"

"What?"

Peter swallowed, hand shaking as he pressed it against his cheek. "Something bad. On those files."

"...Then we'll BOTH be happy I did this."

The boy wet his lips and clenched his fist. He could feel the metal of the drive pressing painfully into his palm. He couldn't figure out why his father bothered with the story on Katagachi. They both knew it wasn't true. Just a smokescreen, a ploy. He wanted those files for the same reason he wanted Peter in the Tower. The same reason he had cameras all over the house and undercover goons constantly trolling the streets.

Richard Parker liked to have all his chess pieces in their proper place.

Especially his favorite fucking pawn.

Peter opened his hand and stared down at the drive again, held it close to his chest as the dead space between phones filled his ear.

 

(Rule 12.)

 

(Father knows best. You serve him without question.)

 

(Understand?)

 

(Say yes.)

 

(Right now.)

 

(Like a good boy.)

 

(Good boy.)

 

(Dog.)

 

(Fucking dog.)

 

(Do it.)

 

"Peter, it's not complicated. Just-"

"I can't."

The words were sudden and swift and out before he could stop them. Before he could reconsider. "I, uh...Mr. Stark is very particular about his servers. I think...he'd probably figure out if I tried anything...um..."

"I know you're smart, Peter," his father said with an undoubtedly tight smile on his face. Peter could hear the strain of it in his voice. Annoyance. Thinned patience. "You can figure it out. Just tell him something he'll believe."

 

("You said you wouldn't let anything bad happen. I...I wanted to believe that.")

 

("If there's anything you can believe...it's that.")

 

"No."

His body wavered. He clenched his teeth against the burning nausea sloshing in his stomach.

"That's...that's the thing. I, uh...(come on)...I don't...(say it)...I don't think I can lie to him. I...I...don't...I don't WANT to lie to him."

Silence.

He swallowed. No going back now.

"It's just that...he's been so good to me. Letting me stay here. Giving me my own room, my own stuff. Movies and dinner. He spends time with me, teaches me, talks to me - they all do. They're all so wonderful and...and..." He choked on his next breath with how fast he was talking. He swallowed another mouthful of air and shook his head. "He's...not a bad guy, Dad. I don't want to hurt him. I don't..."

He stopped shaking, stopped moving when his eyes caught a flash of light. He shifted his gaze past his hand, past the drive, and over to the nightstand by his bed. Mr. Stark's lucky coin sat quietly in the light, catching the sun with a warm glint, like a little pool of gold sitting on the table.

Peter clenched his fingers around the drive and steadied the phone against his ear. His hand shook, but it held firm anyway.

"I don't WANT to do this."

He bit his lip and began to count the seconds. Waited for the inevitable. The screaming. The rage. The promises of pain and fury. He could feel his hands shaking, felt the urge to backtrack and apologize banging against his chest like an ape flinging itself at its cage bars, desperate to get out, clear the air, apologize and beg forgiveness.

Peter remained silent. He wondered if it was as shocking to his father as it was to him.

The silence lasted another few moments, long enough for Peter to wonder if his father had simply hung up on him. He was debating which scenario would be worse when his father finally cleared his throat over the line.

"Okay."

Peter's heart skipped a beat, air clogging in his throat as he jolted. His eyes scoured the ground for a moment before his face pulled into a hesitant grimace.

"O-okay?" he parroted, too dumbstruck to say much else.

"If you say you don't want to, they you don't want to," his father spoke matter-of-factly, no traces of anger or hostility in his voice. "I'm halfway across the country. It's not like I can make you."

For reasons Peter couldn't explain, the lack of emotion in his father's voice somehow felt...worse. Like he couldn't be bothered to get angry. He took an unsteady breath. "I'm sorry..."

"Don't be. It's alright. I just...I-I..."

Peter froze, body tensing as he fisted his free hand into the carpet below. He swallowed, or tried to. There was no saliva in his mouth all of a sudden, a bone dry desert.

Because his father was stuttering.

And his father never stuttered.

Peter stuttered.

Peter hesitated.

Peter was weak. His father was not.

 

(DANGER.)

 

"What? Dad, are you alright?"

"Yes, it's nothing. It's just..."

"What's wrong?"

"..."

"Dad-?"

"..."

He gripped the phone tighter, eyes wide.

"Dad, please say something."

"...Oh, Peter. I...I just wished you still loved me."

Silence.

A thick cloying ink suddenly clogging his throat, wrapping around his throat, choking out all the air. Gone. None.

 

(DANGER.)

 

(DANGER.)

 

(EVERYWHERE.)

 

(EVERYTHING.)

 

(RUN.)

 

"What?" he heard himself whisper, faint and shaky. His father's voice drowned it out entirely.

"It was bound to happen at some point."

No.

"That moment a son finally drifts away from his father."

Suddenly Peter was on his feet. "No - dad NO!"

"I just didn't want to believe that it would happen with you. Call me naive, but I thought our relationship was special. I thought-"

"It is! Dad, that's not what this is!" Peter said frantically.

"Of course it is, Peter. I'm not an idiot. I can see you pulling away from me. And why wouldn't you?"

His chest started bouncing, heaving with each breath. He could suddenly feeling the cold metal of a gun being pressed against his neck, a hand on his shoulder, eyes watching, watching, watching. This wasn't happening. This couldn't- His father couldn't be doubting him! Doubting his loyalty? His love? When it was the only thing Peter had? The only FUCKING THING!

 

("Baby...Peter, listen to me. Mommy isn't going anywhere.")

 

("I'll always be here for you, Goober.")

 

("Cause like it or not, I'm here to stay, Pete.")

 

Lies.

Liars.

ALL OF THEM.

 

(Everyone lies.)

 

"Stark can do a lot more than I can. He's...he's there. I'm not. He's got all the fancy gadgets and inventions. Parkstem can't compete. I...can't compete."

Peter couldn't breathe. Felt fat tears begin to roll down his cheeks. They burned like acid against his skin.

 

Please, God-

 

Please don't take him.

 

"Don't say that. Please don't say that! That's not-!"

"I know what they say about me."

His breath hitched. He felt his back pressing up against the bedroom door.

"What they tell you."

 

("Snake in a suit.")

 

("Rat bastard.")

 

("Monster-")

 

("Coward-"

 

("Evil-")

 

("Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad-")

 

He tried to speak. The words came out as little more than a whimper.

"I wanted to believe you trusted me enough to see through it."

"I...I do," he begged, holding the phone like a lifeline, like he could force his dad to stay and keep talking if he held on tight enough. He could hear the metal bending. "I don't believe them! I don't care what they say!"

 

("Are you angry at him...for what he did?")

 

("I don't like it when he yells at you.")

 

("Why does he defend that man?!")

 

"They call me a bastard. A monster. And I thought...I thought it didn't matter. My son knows me. He knows how much I love him, how much those words don't matter." His voice. His fucking voice. Peter could hear it breaking, could hear the pain and sorrow seeping through into his father's words and it made him want to die. His father - the strongest man he'd ever known, was breaking down because of him.

 

(Worthless.)

 

(Thankless.)

 

(Scum.)

 

(Fucking SCUM.)

 

"I suppose I was wrong."

His legs were gone. Peter was suddenly sliding to the floor, could barely keep the phone in his hand from how badly it was shaking. "No, Dad. You...you weren't. I don't believe them!"

"You obviously do. I can hear it in your voice."

"No, I-"

"I have to go, Peter."

His lungs skipped a breath and Peter felt the world graying out. "NO! No, Dad! Dad, please! Please don't hang up. Please, I love you. I love you so much. I've never...I'd never stop! I promise. I PROMISE!"

 

("I am all that you have in this world. Without me...")

 

"Goodbye, Peter."

"NO! No, please! Oh my God. Please, Dad don't leave. Don't leave me! You're all I have! You're all - no - Don't leave me alone - Please, don't-"

 

("You are nothing.")

 

"I'LL DO IT!"

It echoed.

Bounced against the walls, the floor, the ceiling. Rang around in his ears, melted into the sharp whine he could feel throbbing against the back of his head. He couldn't feel his body anymore. He was floating. Falling.

Please.

Please.

Please, God...

"What?"

"I...I'll do it. I...I'll do it just...please don't hang up. Please...don't leave."

A pause. "You just said you didn't want to."

"I changed my mind. I changed..." He shuddered, hair falling down around his eyes as he gritted his teeth and tried to speak over the staggering anguish he could feel in his heart, icy cold and shattered. His skin was freezing over. He could feel that familiar itch of ice crawling over his bones. "Just...please don't say that. Don't say I don't love you. I...I love you more than anything. More than anything in the world. More than...more than any vacations or gadgets or...or fancy buildings or...or-"

"Or Stark?"

Peter swallowed the bile frothing at the back of his throat. It froze solid on the way down. Caught somewhere in the middle. "More than anything. And anyone."

 

("How can you love a monster?")

 

He could feel himself swaying, a flush of dizziness washing over him as the back of his head hit the door. All he could feel was the phone in his hand, the glass from the screen beginning to crack and pierce his cheek.

 

Don't hang up.

 

Don't hang up.

 

Don't...

 

Don't leave me.

 

"Prove it."

 

CLICK.


 

("When you just don't know any better...")

 


 

Notes:

Check out The Chain Official Website!
TheChain360

Chapter 37: Fool's Paradise Part II

Summary:

His face was ashen, a pale mess devoid of any color or traces of emotion. Instead, it stood empty, lifeless, like a marble statue, frozen in a look of passive apathy. But when he lifted his gaze, it was clear that the emotion had bottled itself in his eyes. They were red-rimmed and dripping with sheer, unfiltered grief.

"You want to kill my dad?"

Notes:

Check out the official website for The Chain where you can read chapter updates and COMIC PAGES drawn by yours truly because apparently I wasn't BUSY ENOUGH!

TRIGGER WARNINGS AT END NOTES

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

(Do it, Peter.)

 

(What are you waiting for?)

 

(Dog.)

 

(Mutt.)

 

(Obey.)

 

(Endure.)

 


 

"Stop it..."

 


 

(He'll find out.)

 

(He'll kick you out.)

 

(He'll hate you.)

 

(You'll have no one.)

 


 

"Who...?"

 


 

(Tony.)

 

(Your dad.)

 

(Both.)

 

(Everyone.)

 

(Listen, listen, listen-)

 


 

"I...I can't..."

 


 

(Do it.)

 

(Or HE'll hUrt yOu.)

 

(Or you'll hurt him.)

 

(hE'll sTrinG you uP aNd rIp Your inSidEs oUt.)

 

(He might cry.)

 

(He'LL buRn yOUr cOrpse And lEaVe it tO rOt.)

 

(You'll disappoint him.)

 

("WRITE IT!")

 

("Do as I say right now, you hear?")

 

("YOU BELONG TO ME, YOU LITTLE RAT!")

 

(Discipline's important.)

 

(Beg.)

 

(Bleed.)

 

(Bark.)

 

(Fucking bark.)

 

(LiKe tHe sTrAy yOu ARe.)

 


 

"STOP!"

 


 

("You know I love you, Peter.")

 

("I love you.")

 

 

 

("I love you.")

 

 

 

 

 

 

("I love you.")

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

("I love you?")

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

("I just wish you still loved me...")

 


 

"Please stop..."

 


 

Thursday - June, 2016

Stark Tower - Common Floor

06:02 PM

 

The elevator opened up onto the floor with a heavy silence and all four adults stepped out with a muted tension following every step. Pepper lifted her feet and grabbed her heels one by one as she walked before tossing them haphazardly to the floor. Rhodey removed his military cap and carefully set it down on the counter while Happy loosely tossed a couple stray files beside it.

And Tony?

Shot off a quick update message to Dr. Torres before promptly hurling his phone into the wall.

Nobody really flinched at the sound of crunching metal. It was the perfect book-end to the day.

"Idiots. All of them. Fucking idiots." Tony stared at the crumbled mess of metal shards that was his phone and kicked the bits with his foot, sending them flying into the kitchen.

Rhodey plopped down at the bar counter. "Calm down, man."

"Calm down? Really?" He twisted around and fixed the man with a hard stare. "After listening to all that bullshit, you want me to calm down?"

Pepper folded her arms together. Not disapprovingly, but more so like she was trying to warm herself up. Like she couldn't find a place to put them. "It's...not the outcome we wanted..." she said quietly, her voice uncharacteristically solemn.

Tony brushed past her and grabbed up the files on the counter, waving them around as he spoke. "No, no. It's more than that. It's...it's the beginning." He flipped open the folder and tossed out pages left and right, letting them flutter to the ground in soundless mess. "Ratifying small things like new detainment weapons and involuntary drug administration - no big deal, right? But it's just..." He shook out the last few pages before tearing the folder up entirely and throwing it to the ground. "It's going to escalate. It's going to get worse."

Twelve to three. A landslide vote to pass these new amendments. It would have been the same had Tony not even been there. It still would have passed. He still would have had to text Torres that she would need to warn her clients of the latest changes, specifically the very real threat of being involuntarily drugged should they be detained for an extended period of time or if the police deemed it a "necessary show of force."

Jesus. Just saying that made him grimace.

Rhodey rubbed at his eyes, face twisting into a tired grimace as he spoke. "These revisions are only temporary. A placeholder until more ironclad agreements can be arranged."

"And who's to say they won't be worse?" Tony scoffed. "A placeholder...a placeholder for what? For them to cook up some more insane ideas on the downlow while we wait for their next arsenal of prejudice?"

Happy took a seat on the arm of the couch and absentmindedly fiddled with the TV remote, flicking it to some random news channel. If only to fill the silence with some sort of background noise. "Mutant numbers are growing by the day, Tony," he murmured over his shoulder. "Something needs to change."

"I know. But this..."

Tony trailed off and took a breath, tugging at the tie around his neck and dropping it at his feet. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned up against the back of the couch as he tried to take a deep breath. He'd been 'on' all day, presenting like a fucking awards show host to a gaggle of man-children stomping their feet to the sounds of government intrusion and civil rights violations. Safe to say the sheer exhaustion of juggling the flame-engulfed plates that were politics had left his hands a charred, blackened mess and his patience even more so.

The TV was talking. Mentioning something about this meeting. "Public officials and government leaders hope to establish some more concrete bills in the wake of the Accords amendments. Only time will tell what this means for both mutant populations and the nation as a whole."

 

("If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose.")

 

Tony felt something sick stirring in his stomach, sitting heavy in his gut like a lead weight. It took him a moment to recognize it as shame. Embarrassment. Mortification at the idea of being tied to these new laws, of being the face of the anti-mutant movement that the Accords were threatening to become. Worse was the idea that Steve and the others would see this news and associate it with him and his actions. The shame he felt at imagining his ex-friend's disappointed face made him want to punch himself and puke at the same time.

 

("Listen, Tony...I just wanted to thank you.")

("Ah, don't worry about all that stuff. Teammates, remember? This is like...a thing they do, right? Help each other out?")

("Heh...yeah, something like that.")

 

He rubbed at his beard, felt the fine hairs prickling against his fingertips. Each muggy breath left a hot puff of air against his palm.

"I agreed to the Accords. Because I believed that the only way we can function as a society is through accountability, no matter who or what is on the table." He folded his arms and stared down at the ground. "Superpowers don't give you a free pass. All the money in the world shouldn't give me a free pass. And Lord knows I tug on that wire sometimes, maybe toe the line, but at the end of the day, it shouldn't be an excuse to just do whatever the hell I want. That's how you get scum like Richard Parker. Thinking they're untouchable. All-powerful and lording over everything. Doing whatever they want and giving fuck all to the consequences."

The others said nothing. Merely cast sullen stares around the room as he spoke. Tony shook his head and glared at the papers on the floor.

But this? This isn't accountability. This isn't regulation. This is...control. Absolute and unyielding. These people...they don't want to find a way to coexist with mutants. They want to overpower them, put them in their place."

 

("I have the right to discipline my child...")

 

"And I...I never wanted that."

Rhodey tilted his head. His voice was soft. "We know, Tony."

The man didn't respond. Merely winced and grabbed at his wrist, hand rubbing around the bones as that deep, throbbing ache of pain resurfaced, shooting up and down his arm like a premature heart attack. Maybe he'd be lucky. Maybe it was a heart attack.

He wondered what Steve would say right now. What Nat would say. Clint. Bruce. All of his teammates, all of his friends, each with their own opinions and ideas, never hesitating to speak their minds because he wasn't Tony Stark: untouchable billionaire mastermind around them. He was their equal. Their friend. Someone they trusted and someone who trusted them right back.

"Is that what this is now?" he said softly, voice little more than a muted hush. "What the Accords are going to be? What I gave up my friends for? A modern-day Jim Crow regime?" He swallowed the sudden thickness tightening around the back of his throat and lifted his eyes towards the others, wishing with an aching sense of longing that Steve really were there. "Is that...is that going to be my legacy?"

Maybe this was just inevitable.

Tony Stark.

Making messes no matter what he tried.

 

("That kid belongs to me...and he knows it.")

 

No matter how hard he tried.

 

("How long until you do, too?")

 

Suddenly hands were fixing the messy collar of his shirt and Tony blinked back into reality to watch as Pepper brushed away the wrinkles on his vest. Her footsteps were silent without those trademark heels of hers. She looked up at him, that fiery look of determination that made her bright red hair look dull in comparison.

"No. Not if we keep fighting. We all know that these Accords can do good. If they're tended to by the right people. They aren't a weapon, Tony. They're a tool. And in the right hands, they can make real change. Real progress." Her hands moved to his shoulders and she gave them a squeeze as she spoke. "Look at what you've rallied for. Mutant privacy laws. Enhanced-ability healthcare rights. Pieces of the Accords' Mutant Safety Subclause. All important. All life-changing to the people they affect. And you're fighting for them. You're fighting to protect them. To make sure these laws are just and fair. To make sure the innocent civilians are protected and the criminals are punished."

She glanced over at the papers on the floor, using the toe of her foot to push it around a bit. "It'd be easy to just slap around some Soviet-style imprisonment rules and send every mutant to the Raft regardless of criminal status. But you're not letting that happen. And it's easy to fold your arms, stomp your feet and reject every compromise on the table. Easy to run when things don't go exactly your way but YOU didn't do that. If you had..." She pursed her lips. "If you'd listened to Steve...you'd be a criminal just like him. And then there would be nobody fighting for these people. Fighting to protect them.

"Your contribution to the Accords Board means that there's someone in that room rallying for these people. For their safety and the safety of everyone in the nation - Hell, in the whole damn world."

Tony scoffed and turned away. Pepper stepped into his line of sight. She gave a soft, crooked smile. "Earth's mightiest defender, right?"

He stared back at her. Swallowed thickly and opened his mouth.

 

("You're kidding yourself...")

 

Only to grind it shut with a grimace and sidestep her before breaking out into a pace. A sudden flare of anger had sparked in his stomach, almost forcing his legs to move. "Don't. I'm far from...just don't." He pressed a hand to his forehead and let out something between a sigh and a growl.

"Something has to change. Public opinion has to change. Right now, everyone is afraid of mutant news. The crime waves are spiking. Just in the city alone, mutant-led break-ins and burglaries are at an all-time high. Add in the fact that Steve and his merry band of Rogues are still out there causing havoc..." He shook his head. "People don't trust in mutants. In...in superheroes. They trust in..."

He turned towards the TV.

Felt the anger in his stomach boil over into simmering rage.

"In that."

Richard Parker was flashing a pearly-white grin to the camera, hand in the air and smiles all around. The same story from before. Daring to flash across his TV for a second time.

The sudden fury he could feel in his throat was shocking and scarily calming at the same time. Pointed. Targeted. Like he could take the shame and regret welling up within him and carve it into something sharper, easier to hold onto. Easier to feel. "They trust in what they can see. Something easy to look at. Wrapped up in a nice little bow with a million-dollar smile and a face that can cheat a baby out of a bottle." He wet his lips and felt them slowly curl into a grin. It didn't feel earned.

"You know...all this talk about how dangerous mutants are and they're still praising him?"

Rhodey tapped his fingers against the counter. Face pulled into a grim frown. "They don't know."

"They should. If Steve Rogers - America's Golden Boy - can fall from grace, then anyone can."

He glared at the ticker at the bottom of the screen. Breaking News: New Parkstem Business Deal brings opportunity to millions of underprivileged citizens.

He felt his fists twitching by his side. Staring at that smug, arrogant face. It was so obvious now that Tony felt genuine disgust at himself for never seeing it before. Like a man without a mask, he could see the oozing evil that pooled out of Parker's face with every twitch of his smile. The hollow, sunken, void within his eyes, devoid of all emotion and warmth. Filled with nothing but contempt and hatred. Like an open crack in the Earth, sucking in every piece of humanity. That...thing standing in the camera. It wasn't human.

"How can they not see it? How can they not see him? See what he is?"

They were clapping. Applauding. Asking for photos and autographs. They should have been running. Hiding from the beast prowling the street, hungry for flesh, craving blood. Tony could feel his heartrate spiking. Felt his skin going taut and clammy.

"Tony-"

"No. Everyone wants to cower in fear from the supers and the mutants but they're not willing to turn a critical eye to one of their own? To one of the worst?! No criminal, no mutant...no monster can come close to the malice that is Richard Parker."

He practically spit the name. Glared at the screen for a moment longer before tearing his eyes away and shrugging through the chill that coursed through his spine. Like the man could somehow see him through the TV. Those hellish eyes. Dark and oppressive. He could practically feel them on him now.

Happy folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against the couch. "Well, he's already got two of the most powerful superpowers on Earth." He held up a finger. "Money..."

Rhodey clicked his tongue. "And reputation."

Tony glowered at the floor for a moment before huffing out a sneer. "Neither of those can stand up to a knife in the back."

Happy chortled. Rhodey sighed. And Pepper's face pulled into a frown. "Come on-"

"Is that what you want to do?"

Everybody jumped at the small voice that sounded from the hallway. They turned towards the entrance and stared at Peter as he stood in the doorframe, hands fiddling together, eyes glazed over as he stared down at the floor. His face was ashen, a pale mess devoid of any color or traces of emotion. Instead, it stood empty, lifeless, like a marble statue, frozen in a look of passive apathy. But when he lifted his gaze, it was clear that the emotion had bottled itself in his eyes. They were red-rimmed and dripping with sheer, unfiltered grief.

"You want to kill my dad?"

 


 

Peter curled up into a ball, felt the blankets under him scrunching up as he did so.

The little blanket fort he and Ben had made two years ago was getting to be a bit small for him, but he could still manage a fit. The twinkle lights they'd added blinked against the wall. Peter stared at the little shadows dancing against the plaster, traced his fingers over them as they blinked in and out of existence. Counted them mindlessly, over and over, if only to fill his head with something other than the shouts coming from past the closed door.

Ben and May were fighting again.

They fought a lot nowadays.

Peter could hear the loud, booming voice of May bouncing off the walls, followed by the quieter rebuttals of her husband trying to calm her down, to no avail. He didn't venture out into the hallway today. Didn't bother trying to eavesdrop. He knew what they were fighting about, anyway.

It's what they always fought about.

Peter curled up tighter. Could still detect the faint smells of printer ink and office paper that lingered in the room, back when it had been Ben's office. Now it sat as a makeshift bedroom of sorts, done up in the style of a ten-year-old boy, complete with Star Wars blankets and misshapen Lego monsters adorning the crooked shelves. The papers and old printer were still stuffed in the corner, though. No place to put them.

Even four years after being gifted the room, Peter still felt bad. Like an intruder. Hoarding space in a house he didn't belong in.

A door slammed in the distance.

Peter waited. Counted the seconds. Heard the telltale creaking of the wooden floorboards as Ben approached.

He didn't turn when the door slowly creaked open. Didn't lift his head as soft footfalls approached his fort. Didn't even bother looking up as he felt the soft thud of Ben's knees hitting the floor, settling with the old ache of a man far past his prime.

Peter just lay there. Stared at the wall. Counted the shadows.

After a little while, Ben sighed and laid down right next to him, back pressing into the floor, eyes gazing up at the twinkle lights overhead.

"You okay, bud?"

"...Yeah."

"Sorry about that."

"It's okay."

"It's not. I don't want you listening to that stuff."

"I'm used to it."

Peter blinked. Felt his eyelids brushing against the pillow under his cheek. "Is May okay?"

"Yeah. She's just scared."

"Why? I'm fine."

"Are you?"

Peter said nothing. His fingers curled into the blankets, the move making his hand ache. He swallowed a grimace and tucked it closer to his chest, but Ben must have noticed the pained tensing of his shoulders. After a moment, the older man spoke. "Can I see it?"

The boy swallowed, glancing down at his hand for a long moment of silence. Ben didn't fill this silence. Never had a reason to. Was always happy to just let Peter live in the quiet, never pressuring him to speak or talk or do much of anything really. He could just...exist within it.

"I won't be mad. Promise."

Peter hesitated for a moment longer before he finally flipped onto his back, rolling onto his other shoulder so that he was now facing his uncle. Their eyes met for a moment, golden hazel and faded gray. He stared at the flecks of blue scattered around the rim of his uncle's irises.

After a second, he slowly extended his hand out from under the blankets.

His palm was raw and red, flecks of pale skin peeling around the angry red welts dotted across the blistered surface. Ben carefully reached his hand out and grabbed Peter's, gently pressing and prodding his fingertips against the skin. Peter watched him quietly, didn't do much besides let out the occasional wince.

True to his word, Ben inspected the burn with little more than a thoughtful gaze, brows furrowed in concentration as he carefully examined the boy's hand.

"Does it hurt?"

Peter shrugged.

Ben took a deep breath and gently set Peter's hand back down on the blankets. With a stiff groan, the man rose back up to his knees and hauled himeslf to his feet before silently walking out of the room. He was only gone for a minute or two before returning. Only now he was holding a couple rolls of bandages, antibacterial spray, and a jar of honey.

The man settled back down onto the floor, knees pressing into the blankets as he carefully grabbed Peter's hand again. In silence, the man made quick work of spraying down the boy's hand and adding a couple dabs of fresh honey to the wound before gingerly wrapping it up down to the wrist. Peter watched his uncle's thick calloused fingers move with a gentle swiftness, like a pianist gliding across the keys, delicate and balanced.

"What happened?"

The silence had grown so comforting that Peter wasn't expecting the question. He blinked back into reality and replayed the man's rumbling words. As Ben finished, PEter pulled his newly-wrapped hand back to his chest.

"I fell asleep in class. The principal had to call him."

"Why did you fall asleep?"

Ben scooted the supplies to the side and laid back down on the floor beside the kid.

"They were drinking last night."

 

(Lying under his bed, the wood pressing into his chest. Listening to the sounds of shattering glass and drunken laughter.)

(Waiting for the footsteps. Heavy, thundering noise. Waiting for the hands to reach out and drag him from the room. Beat him for God knew what. They never needed an excuse when they were drunk.)

(Lying and waiting)

(Waiting)

(Waiting)

(Footsteps.)

 

I...couldn't get to sleep."

He stared at the floor, used the tip of his finger to trace the wood grain.

"You know you can always come over here."

"Yeah. I know..."

 

(They must have known too. For they'd taken to locking his door at night now.)

 

He listened to the steady rise and fall of Ben's breathing. His past cigarette days had left his lungs heavy and smokey, each breath rattling in his chest like a warm, rumbling car engine.

 

(Nowadays, Peter could hear it from his house. A gentle rumbling to listen to when he sat in his room and waited for them to unlock the door, like a neighbor's car with that distinct engine roar, so unique you can pick it out of a lineup, comforting and recognizable. )

(Peter never does tell Ben about this. About the real reason why he doesn't need his glasses anymore. Or why his injuries heal so quickly now.)

 

"Pete..."

 

(He wonders. How the man would react. What he would say. How his eyes would look when Peter told him.)

 

"...are you afraid of them?"

Peter lifted his eyes and stared at the man. At the fine wrinkles of his face and how each one seemed perfectly in place. The warm look of concern he saw shining back through the man's eyes, solemn and quiet. Peter could never quite explain it, but looking into Uncle Ben's face gave him the same feeling of calm as staring out at the rain through his window, tracing the drops with his finger as they fell. A quiet peacefulness he couldn't get anywhere else.

He didn't answer.

"Are YOU?" he said instead.

Ben's jaw shifted a bit in thought. He took another deep breath. It rumbled.

"Sometimes..."

Peter swallowed. Felt a sudden wave of tears in his eyes. He quickly blinked them away. Hoped Ben hadn't seen them.

"It's okay to be afraid, Peter."

Inevitably, a few tears slipped out. Ben reached over and gently wiped them away. His fingers were coarse, like sandpaper. Peter leaned into the touch regardless and finally just shifted his body until his head was resting on the man's chest. Here, he could hear each breath of air as it inflated his lungs. Every beat of his heart. He shut his eyes and focused on the warmth seeping into his cheek.

"Tell me about your day," he said quietly.

"Okay."

Ben shifted a bit so that his back was leaning against the table leg supporting the fort. Peter's head remained on his chest and he lifted his arm to wrap around the boy's shoulder.

"First call of the day was a downed power line off of the East Burrows."

"No. Your whole day."

Peter felt the vibrations under his cheek as the man let out a soft chuckle. "Well...my day started around 4 AM cause your aunt was snoring up a storm. I'm shocked you couldn't hear it from your house. I swear I thought it was an earthquake. I was about to call 911 and crawl under a table."

The man's voice was as quiet and calm as ever, but Peter couldn't help the snort that escaped his lips.

"Why are you laughing? This is serious. My ears were bleeding. Here, check them. Is there any blood? Earwax? Go ahead and clean that out for me, would ya?"

"Gross!"

 


 

(Dog)

 

(Mutt)

 

(Freak)

 

(Look at them.)

 

(Hate you.)

 

(Hate him.)

 

(Hate)

 

(HaTe)

 

(hAtE)

 

Peter blinked and the voices receded, allowing him a moment of clarity as he stared into the room. Everyone was staring at him, Pepper and Tony from the middle of the room, RHodey over by the bar counter, even Happy looking over the lip of the couch. Every single one, gazing back at him with a mix of shock and discomfort.

And something else...

 

( Disgust.)

(Vile.)

(You disgust them.)

(fUcKinG rAt.)

 

He saw Mr. Stark lift a hand to his forehead, squeezing the skin together as he massaged his temple, eyes shutting into a look of barely restrained frustration. "Kid, I...this isn't a good time, alright?"

Pepper stepped forward at this, coming closer and reaching for Peter's hand. "Honey, why don't we go upstairs for a little bit and-"

 

(BuRn)

 

He yanked his arm out of her grip, didn't even look at her. She startled back a bit and watched him with wide eyes as he slowly advanced towards the couch. Nobody said anything. He was vaguely aware of Happy and Rhodey getting up from their respective seats.

Peter rested his hands on the lip of the couch, fingers squeezing into the cushions as he stared at the TV flickering in front of him. People. Crowds of them. All smiling at his father. Waving. Cheering. Blessing him. And his father smiling right back.

When he finally spoke, his voice was coarse and low. Like a lone survivor on a desert beach, he spoke with the slow cadence of someone who hadn't said a thing in years.

"You know that train? It circuits through the impoverished burrows of the city. Free to ride. My...my dad made that a condition of the contract. All revenue comes from the ads in the train cars so none of the passengers have to pay." He could hear the tiny stitches in the fabric fraying as he squeezed. "It's going to help...millions of people. Did you know that?"

Mr. Stark didn't say anything. Nobody did.

 

(Cheers.)

 

"His Homes for Hearts foundation? Just topped two million people helped with housing issues. Putting roofs over the heads of the needy people in the city without asking for anything in return."

He wet his lips and turned towards Mr. Stark.

"The Scholarship America Group. Red Cross. John Hopkins Cancer Research, all of these charities...he's donated millions."

 

("Discipline's important.")

 

"And he keeps churning out more."

 

("You're not SUPPOSED to THINK! NOT when I don't TELL you to!")

 

"Holds fundraisers to garner more support."

 

("I don't need you to be sorry, Peter. I need you to learn.")

 

His voice wavered. He clenched his fists and forced the words out. "He does all of it on his own accord."

Mr. Stark let out a sigh and folded his arms over his chest. "I get it, kid. He's good at maintaining his persona."

"No. Don't you get it? He does it because he wants to. Because it's the right thing to do. Because..."

 

("Would you ever betray me, Peter?")

 

He held his breath. Felt his lungs beginning to burn.

"Because he's a good person..."

Mr. Stark stared down at him. Peter could see a heaviness in his eyes, a burning frustration locked in that tensed jaw. His voice was low and contemptuous.

"I don't believe that for a second. And I don't think you do, either."

Pepper stepped forward. "Tony-"

"Who are you do judge? Hmm?" Again, Peter shrugged off the hand that Pepper tried to lay on his shoulder and glanced over at the other three adults watching in stunned silence. "Any of you? Like you've never done anything wrong in your entire lives. Nothing you regret." He whipped his head towards Tony, felt a vibrating pain radiating in his chest, shaking his muscles and leaving his body a shivering live wire.

"And last I checked, Mr. Stark, you have plenty of skeletons in your closet."

It was back.

The sludge.

Pooling within his stomach and crawling up his body. Into his mouth. His eyes. Filling it all with a feeling he couldn't describe. An anger that left him breathless and pale.

Mr. Stark breezed past a scoff and rolled his eyes. There was a tension within him as well. Peter could see the rope pulling taut, wires frayed to their ends. They were both on edge. That much was obvious to anybody unlucky enough to be in the vicinity.

"Kid, my closet's wide open. Google me, you'll find it all. But there's plenty of things your father would love to keep secret forever." The man folded his arms over his chest and lifted his chin with a patronizing glare. "His closet's locked shut with an iron-backed chain."

 

("We'll make you better. We'll make them all better.")

(Lies.)

(Lying.)

(LiAr.)

 

"You don't know him...You don't know what kind of man he is."

Mr. Stark's eyes flashed. "I know exactly what kind of man he is," he snapped, "The same kind of man my father was, only ten times worse if such a thing's even possible! Putting on a show for the cameras and the crowds but as soon as the doors are closed, the mask slips and the drunken bastard stumbles out with a belt and a wad of spit to hack in your face."

 

("You know I love you.")

("You know I love you.")

(You know)

(You know)

(You know)

(yOu kNoW)

 

The billionaire made to say more, but he cut himself off with a tightening of the jaw and a tense twitch of his shoulders. Peter saw him looking over at something, probably the others. Whatever he saw made a film of restraint flicker back into his eyes for just a moment. Lifting a hand to rub down his mouth, he let out a harsh breath and took a step back.

"I...Okay, that's enough. Before either of us says anything we'll-"

"No."

Tony stiffened. Peter heard the sharp intakes of four separate people, all jolting in surprise. He didn't care.

...He didn't even fucking care.

 

("waste of space-")

("aren't worth shit-")

("always be nothing-")

(nothing)

(Nothing)

(NoThInG)

 

"Keep going."

The silence lingered for a few terse moments. Long enough for the ringing in his ears to grow into a wave. A crescendo of water sloshing up on the sands, dragging in anything and everything and leaving nothing but coarse, weathered stone underneath.

Mr. Stark gazed at him with a mixture of exhaustion, annoyance and trepidation, like he'd been staring down the barrels of loaded guns for two days straight; wary but resigned to the course.

"What?" HIs voice was cautious.

Peter was done with cautious.

"Tell me what you think of my dad. Exactly what you think."

He needed it to feed. He needed it out of him. The sludge was thrashing against his ribs in a vicious tug, craving violence, craving chaos and pain and anything that could make the empty grief pooling within him something more. He would take anything. Fury. Rage. Anything over the agony that was swallowing him up.

Mr. Stark stared him down. Sized him up. Maybe he could see the sludge pooling out of Peter's nose, his mouth. He could feel it choking in his throat.

"You don't want to hear that."

Peter clenched his fists. Imagined the ink squishing between his fingers. "You all do that." He twisted his head and turned his glare towards the others in the room, felt the intensity of his stare as he gazed at Pepper and Rhodey and Happy, all three of which stared back at him with various looks of pity and concern and confusion.

 

(weak)

(pathetic)

 

"You all pretend to spare my feelings and keep your words to yourself, but they always come slipping out." He swallowed, gritting his teeth as he growled at them. "Little jabs. Pointed remarks. Scathing jokes. I hear it all! So stop dancing around the fucking issue and tell me right now!"

 

("Peter...your dad scares me sometime s, dude.")

("As long as your out of that house, I'm happy.")

("Some people...some people have no good in them, Pipper.")

("Your dad is out of the picture, so we're gonna live it up!")

("Can't he at least PRETEND to care about you.")

 

He stared up into Tony's eyes. Felt each breath of air sliding down his throat like glass shards, eyes glinting all the same, a sharp look of defiance and rage.

So much rage.

So much sludge.

"Fucking tell me."

Rhodey stepped forward, voice harsh. "Tony. Don't."

Mr. Stark didn't look up to spare his friend a glance. Kept his gaze locked on the frozen glare of the boy before him. The last strands of restraint were snapping apart right before Peter's eyes, loosening the billionaire's jaws, unlocking another latch on the bars of self-control. He was stoking a fire. Poking the embers. Grabbing at the burning coals with bare hands just to feel the burning of his flesh.

Tony let out a breath and tilted his head.

 

(Snap)

(Snap)

(SnAp)

 

"No. you know what? Kid's been coddled enough. I think it'll do him some good to hear the truth."

With that, the billionaire took a few slow steps forward. Peter met his glare head-on, lifting his chin in defiance as the man leaned down and rested his hands on his knees so that he was eye-level with the teen.

 

(Breathe.)

(Breathe.)

(Stay awake.)

(Stay alive.)

 

Tony narrowed his eyes. "I think your father is the scum of the earth. I think he's poisoned your mind into believing that he's some benevolent messiah but in actuality he's the devil incarnate. He puts on a facade for the world to see and tears you down every second he gets because - why? I still don't know. There usually isn't a 'why' with guys like him. They just do. Act for the sake of acting. Shit for the sake of shitting."

His voice was low. Calm. No highs or lows. No variations in his tone. So hushed. So blunt. So familiar.

 

(Uncle Ben has a rumbling voice.)

(Uncle Ben has a hole in his chest now.)

(Uncle Ben is dead dead dead, Peter. You made him dEaD, deAD, DeAd.)

 

"I think he scares you. And you don't want to admit it. You don't want to admit how terrified you are of him, how happy you are when he isn't around. How uneasy you are when he is." The man leaned in closer. Peter could feel the heat on his breath. "He's got you so wound tight around his finger that he doesn't even have to hold your leash anymore, kid. Like..."

He hesitated.

Peter closed the space between them. Noses nearly touching. Eyes burning with hatred.

 

(Who do you hate, Peter?)

(Who do you hate, hate, hate?)

 

"Say it."

 

(He hates you.)

(God hates you.)

(God makes you suffer.)

(You live in Hell.)

 

"That's enough!" A distant voice. Pepper? Was she in Hell too?

Tony was there. Right in front of his face. Staring down at him with the judgement of the world.

"Like a dog walking itself. Happy to trot after his master with no complaints."

Peter swayed on his feet. The sludge held him in place, pulsed in his stomach. He felt his lips quirk, face twitching. A scoff. A smile.

"That's what I think, Peter. I think he's a bully and a hypocrite and a liar." The billionaire straightened back up and adjusted his suit vest, brushing off a speck of nonexistent dust. "And if things went my way, he'd be 6 feet under the ground."

A hand. "Tony, that's enough." Rhodey and Happy were pulling the man back. Tony stared at the kid's unsettling smirk before he lifted his hand in exasperation ang began to turn away.

"Like my mom?"

Peter said it quietly, seemingly unable to control his voice anymore. Tony heard it nonetheless. They all did.

They all turned back to him.

"Like Ben?"

Peter took a steadying push off the wall next to him, face splitting into a wider grin as he let out a breathy laugh. The room was spinning all of a sudden. Full of fire and smoke and eyes. So many fucking eyes.

"What the hell? My body count's already at two. What's one more on the pile, right? Make it a nice three-for-three record."

 

(Dead.)

(Dead.)

(You are dead.)

(You are Death.)

(Destroyer of lives.)

 

Mr. Stark let out a harsh breath and wet his lips, glaring at the ground for a moment before finally fitting the kid with a hard stare. There was something in his eyes though. A hesitation. He stared at Peter's smirk with a look of constipated concern, a deep-set frown. Peter's couldn't pin it down. Couldn't focus on much of anything right then.

"Kid-?"

"I know he used to hope for the same thing," he said regardless. "My uncle...the kindest man you could have ever known. And his greatest wish was for my father to die a gruesome death." He smiled. Felt tears building in the corners of his eyes. He laughed and they quivered in his gaze.

"He never said it. Not like May. But I could see it in his eyes. I knew what he wanted. He wanted my dad to disappear. He wanted my greatest fear to be a reality." His smile wavered. He aimed it towards Tony.

"And you do, too."

Happy shuffled in the corner of his vision. "Pete, that's not what he meant-"

"Who are you do decide whether he lives or dies?" He blinked. The tears were gone. "What gives you the authority to be all superior, like you're better than him?"

Tony didn't hesitate, raising a brow as if he'd been asked why the sky was blue. "Because I am better than him."

"Yeah? Says who? Certainly not the newspapers. Last I checked, my dad isn't the one in the center of an anti-mutant smear campaign!"

Tony's face curled at that, a dangerous glint flashing in his eyes as he growled. "Jesus Christ, you stupid kid. How long are you going to pretend to be so ignorant? How long are you going to keep hiding behind something that isn't true, huh?"

He stalked forward, slapping away the hands of Rhodey and Happy as they tried to pull him back. Instead, he reached out and latched a hand around the collar of Peter's shirt, pulling him closer as he glared.

 

(Discipline-)

(Discipline-)

(Discipline.)

 

"You need to grow up and accept reality, Peter. You need to accept that your dad is a piece of shit who doesn't care about anything or anyone. And he deserves to die!"

"Enough already-!" Rhodey's hands. Rhodey's face. Pulling Tony away.

"NO!" Peter smacked his hand into the Colonel's shoulder, which was enough to send the man stumbling to the side where he was caught by Pepper and Happy. Their feet slid at the force. Peter rammed his arm into Tony's chest and pinned him up against the couch.

"You don't get to say that! I'm sick of hearing it!" Peter's eyes blazed as he shoved the man down, Tony falling to the floor in a heap of limbs. He could hear Pepper shouting something. Felt hands on his shoulders. A flick of the wrist and they were gone, sprawled on the floor in groaning piles. He twisted his head to stare at them all as he spoke, eyes blazing with fury, tears streaming down his face.

"I'm sick of hearing you ALL say the same shit over and over again! Everyone I care about saying horrible things about him!" He sucked in a breath, felt it hitch on a sob as he spoke. "And I know...I know they care about me and they're scared and that's why they're saying it but it makes me want to fucking die," he cried, clutching at his chest as his hands shook. "This is all I have. The only thing. And everyone wants to rip it out of my hands. Because you all want me to think the same thing! You want me to believe what YOU do. You want me to hate my dad!"

Suddenly Tony was back, latching a firm hand on Peter's wrist as he spun the kid around to face him, away from the shocked faces of his friends. "Yeah, I do! You know why, Peter? Because of THIS!" The billionaire roughly grabbed onto the kid's sleeve and pushed it further up his arm, revealing the pale skin of his forearm and all the ugly red scars marring the surface. Peter actually flinched at the sight, physically recoiling as he gritted his teeth and ducked his head. Tony yelled beside him.

"He hurts you, kid! He beats you to the point where you can't even see up from down anymore! And that's not normal! That's not what a parent is supposed to do. Why would he do that if he cares about you? If he loves you?"

 

("You know I love you.")

(You know, Peter.)

(You fucking KNOW!)

 

The teen stared up at the man, body shivering so much it physically hurt. His voice wavered. "I just...I can handle it. My family...it's my family. And it's different, but it's mine. And nobody understands." He yanked his arm out of the man's grip and backed away. He vaguely noted the others warily rising back up to their feet. "All...all you ever do is look in and judge and you...you have no right!" His throat ached. He tried to latch back onto that anger. Felt it dying with a withered hush. "I...I love my dad and I love my family and that doesn't stop just because things get tough sometimes." He narrowed his eyes. Fists clenching as he swallowed a lump of bile collecting in his mouth. "But maybe you wouldn't know about that, huh, Mr. Stark?

The billionaire's face twitched at that, but he didn't rise to the bait. He kept approaching. Kept advancing. Peter felt his sneakers squeaking against the floor as he retreated. "Maybe not. But what I do know is that pretending the bad things aren't happening doesn't make them stop! Refusing to look at it doesn't make it go away." The man stopped, gazing at the boy with a withered look in his eyes, a cross between derision and pity. "Lying to yourself...saying your dad is a good person...doesn't make it true."

 

(Lying)

(Lies)

(Everyone lies)

(Everyone DiEs)

 

"You can't take it away from me..." he whispered, curling in on himself as he spoke. "It's my family. It's...it's my light."

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. It burned through his sweater, scalded his skin. "It's not a light, Peter." Tony leaned down so he was eye-level with the boy again. "You're reaching out to an inferno. And it's eating away at you. It's destroying you." His voice was pleading now. Edging on desperation.

Peter shut his eyes and turned his head again. Felt the tears plinking off his chin. "I can't...I can't lose him..."

"Peter-"

He ripped himself away from the man's grasp and widened the distance again. "You don't understand! None of you do!" He said, near panting now as he spoke, begging them to learn. TO understand. They had to understand.

 

(Alone)

(You're alone)

(They'll never understand.)

 

"You...you have everything!" He turned his stare from one person to the next. First Pepper, then Rhodey, then Happy and finally back to Tony. "You...you have them. You have people, a family. I...I have a piece of one. And that's my dad. And I can't lose him. Not after I've already lost everyone else!"

 

(Gone, gone, gone.)

(You made them gone, gone, gone)

(Who's next?)

 

Someone was talking. Peter could barely hear them from this far underwater. Their words were mush.

"Kid...you never had him in the first place-"

"Tony, we need to stop this-"

"-too pale-"

"-panicking-"

His head was spinning. He fisted his hair and tried to quell the sudden crescendo of noise banging around his skull.

"- call Torres?"

"-No. Have to...say this...needs to...hear-"

"Peter, listen-"

"-Stop it...ight now, or-!"

 

(Peter Parker is a curse.)

(Peter Parker makes things worse)

 

"He's lying to you, Peter."

 

(They'll die, Peter.)

(They'll die, die, die.)

(Like everyone else.)

 

"He's dangerous!"

 

(Like Ben.)

(Sweet, sweet, Ben.)

(Worms eat Ben in Hell, now.)

 

"He's going to KILL YOU, kid!"

"BUT HE HASN'T!" Tony reared back before Peter's fist could make contact, the boy's arms swinging wildly as his eyes seemed to glow with emotion. Fear and rage and guilt and shame boiling into a single wide-eyed stare. "I'm still here! I'm here and they're not! My mom is gone! Ben is gone! And they're never coming back! All I have is him and I'm not letting you take him away!" He tried to reach for the man again, to do who knew what - but Tony's watch morphed into a gauntlet and suddenly Peter's arms were being held down by his side as he screamed.

"I LOVE HIM!"

"STOP!"

"Oh, my God!"

"Tony-!"

"NO! I LOVE HIM AND YOU CAN"T TAKE THAT AWAY!"

"PETER-!"

"HE LOVES ME!"

"HE DOESN'T LOVE YOU!"

The hands shook Peter in place, thrashing him back and forth as the scream died in his throat. Tony panted, hands gripping onto the kid's shoulders tightly as he held him down. Peter felt his muscles release, felt his arms go limp. His lips parted but no words came out.

The room echoed in terse silence.

Everybody held their breaths.

Tony's chest heaved in silent struggle as he stared down at the boy. The anger in his eyes had long gone, replaced now with pure sorrow. The billionaire tried to speak, but his voice caught in his throat. Peter could see wells of emotion building within the man's face, eyes misting as he tried to garner the strength to talk.

Peter stared up at him. Felt his heart sinking away into the sludge.

"Peter..." the man whispered softly. Gently.

"...He doesn't love you."

 

(Lying-)

 

(Lies-)

 

("You know-")

 

(Don't listen-)

 

("Endure.")

 

(Lying-)

 

(LYING-)

 

(LY!#G-)

 

(L$!N#& -)

 

(#* #5hKislY1!07$ sh-)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"...why would he?"

 

Peter ripped himself out of Tony's grasp and took off, disappearing down the hall. The shadows were all too happy swallow him up.

 


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Peter, Peter is no fun.)

 

(Peter, Peter has no one.)

Notes:

Trigger warnings for self-harm thoughts/references and Stockholm Syndrome