Chapter Text
“Whoa, this is where you live? Man, it’s smaller than I expected! You’re also a lot smaller when you’re not looking all intimidating in that spidey suit, like way smaller, I knew you were young but-”
Peter groaned at the voice. His body was still freezing, and he was exhausted even though he’d just been asleep. “Wha…?”
“Up up up!” Someone was tugging him up, and Peter groaned again as he was forced to his feet. His body shivered and his stomach growled. This was going to be a shitty day.
“Who is it…” He mumbled, his voice gravely and lower than usual.
“Friendly neighborhood Deadpool. Oh wait, that’s your thing right?” Peter rubbed his eyes and looked up at, yep, that was Deadpool. And Peter didn’t have his mask on. His eyes widened a bit and he scrambled to try to find it. “Relax, I saw your face already. And it’s not like I’m gonna tell anyone. I don’t even know your name, Spidey!”
Peter frowned. On a normal day, he would refuse to speak without his mask on unless he was around Ned. But on this day, he was so cold and tired and his spidey sense was silent so he didn't really care if Deadpool saw his fangs. “Hungry…” He whispered. “Cold.” He added, his eyes fluttering. “Sleeppp…”
“No, no sleep!” Deadpool replied, shaking the younger guy awake. Peter whined, burying his head into Deadpool's chest.
“Sleep.” Peter whispered before promptly going limp.
***
Peter woke to the world around him being noticeably warmer. He could think a bit better now, and as he processed the fact that he was lying on a couch cuddled up with a blanket his first thought was then whose couch? His spidey sense was silent, which was weird because it was never silent. He smelled food, most likely Asian, based on the aroma, and he heard a TV playing something. He looked over at said TV. A news channel was on, and the headline was ‘Mutant arsonists attack bank in Orlando.’
Incidents like this had been popping up more and more recently. Natural genetic mutations had become more and more common, and although they still made up a tiny portion of the population, they drew a lot of attention with these stunts. Not that Spider-man didn't draw a lot of attention, but he tended to be perceived much better than these delinquents. He'd heard something about a new bill they were trying to pass to control people like him, which only made him more nervous than usual because no one knew he was like them, that he was a mutant, and if they knew then they'd know how he was mutated and different and therefore how he was Spider-Man but then he couldn't be Spider-Man anymore because of that bill.
As his thoughts spiraled, he detected another sound. A heartbeat. He recognized that heartbeat. He sat up, looking over the couch into a kitchen, where someone was sitting at the table eating and looking just a tad too excited about it despite facing away from Peter. He leaned back, thinking. Had he been kidnapped? No, that wasn’t right. He blinked a few times, straining to properly hear the heartbeat. It was Deadpool’s. He bit his lip, trying to find any other heartbeats that could match the guy in front of him. None.
So this was Deadpool unmasked.
The merc hadn’t seemed to notice Peter yet, so he took the chance to look around and acquaint himself with the environment.
It was a pretty average looking apartment. There was one brick wall with a fireplace in it, which currently had flames crackling. The other walls were painted black, with posters of so many things Peter couldn’t name them all hung up. A bookshelf was shoved against one of these walls, though it was full of trinkets and vinyls rather than books. The floor was cluttered with clothes and papers and bags, and despite the mess it didn’t necessarily feel out of place. Peter had a feeling the mess was just part of the natural order of this place. “Oh, you’re up!” Peter looked up at Deadpool, giving the anti-hero a nod before nodding and sitting up again. “Are ya hungry? I got Thai food!” The sentiment reminded Peter of how his aunt and uncle used to always buy takeout Thai on Thursday nights. ‘Thai Thursdays’ they’d called it. It didn’t sound exactly like alliteration in practice, but Peter had appreciated it anyway. It gave him a small semblance of routine. He stood, going over to the table and grabbing one of the containers, fishing a fork out of the plastic bag and then digging into the noodles as he leaned back against a kitchen counter. After a moment, he paused and set down the container.
‘How did you find me?’ He asked in sign. He was expecting Deadpool to be confused by the sign, but instead Deadpool watched his hands before responding.
“You didn’t come find me for the food I promised you. And I figured, ‘hey, that’s not right, Spidey always comes back for food!’ so I ran around all night trying to find you. Eventually I found the alley you were living in, except you were, like, super duper out of it when I woke you up and you just fell right back asleep, and then I couldn’t wake you up again which was… Weird.” Peter had a feeling the merc had wanted to say something else but didn't know what, “and you were also really really cold, so I brought you back to my place to warm up! I used a thermometer on you by the way, did you know your internal temperature was 89.6 degrees?? Not normal! So I turned on the fireplace and stuff, and after a few hours you had started to look better but I got hungry so I ordered takeout!”
Peter frowned. ‘Why did you do all that?’
“Well, Queens can’t lose their friendly neighborhood Spider-man, can they?” Peter shrugged, picking up the container and sitting at the table, starting to eat again. “Those fangs are super cool by the way.” Peter tensed at that, eyes wide as he looked at Deadpool. “What? They are! Ya know, if your costume didn’t involve a mask they’d be super useful.”
‘Venom.’ Peter signed, making the fangs with two fingers and digging them into his other hand to create the sign. He did it as aggressively as he could without it looking like he was angry or shouting, hoping Deadpool knew enough to figure out the tone.
“So? Venom would be useful!”
‘Spider-man doesn’t kill people.’ Peter replied.
“Oh yeahhh, I forgot about that. Sorry.” Deadpool muttered. “What’s your actual name, by the way? If you’re gonna be living here for a while we should know the civilian sides of us better.”
“I don’t live here.”
“Are you gonna go back to the alley?” Peter nodded. “Hell no!!” Deadpool exclaimed. “I have a perfectly nice apartment-” Peter raised an eyebrow, looking around at the mess, “Okay, an apartment in general, but I have one! And it’s got a spare bedroom! Or, well, office, but we can fix it up! Or you and Matt can share bunkbeds or something.”
‘Who is M-a-t-t?’
“Oh, my roommate! Super cool guy, you should meet ‘im! He’s kinda uptight and all morally superior, but y’know.”
‘I’m not living with you.’
“Listen Spidey, you’re cool and all, but if you try to go back to that shithole you call a home I will properly kidnap you this time.”
Peter’s spidey sense buzzed, though it wasn’t necessarily warning of danger. It felt different in a way he couldn’t explain. The teen groaned, putting his head against the table to emphasize his annoyance with these new developments. “I can't stay with you.” Peter signed. Because this was wrong. Peter Parker lived on his own. Peter Parker only had one friend. Peter Parker was cursed, and the only reason he kept said friend was to not hurt him by pushing him away.
“Why not?” Deadpool asked. “You're cold-blooded, right?” That basically summed it up, so Peter nodded. “So why would you stay somewhere cold? I have a place right here!”
‘I can't pay rent.’
“You know my missions pay, like, 50,000 bucks a pop, right??”
‘Then why are you dressed like a hobo right now?’ Deadpool looked himself over, his messy hair and disfigured face only adding to the hobo look. He then looked at Peter.
“Between the two of us, you're the actual hobo. Which is why you're staying with me.”
His spidey sense buzzed again but didn't say anything. Peter still took it as a signal to run. Because this was dangerous. Letting new people in was dangerous. That was how people got hurt. ‘Thank you for the food, I will see you on patrol. Please don't come and kidnap me again.’ He signed before turning and running out of Deadpool’s apartment.
The man didn't follow him.
—
“Yes, he’s claiming to not be associated with any foreign governments.” Natasha said in annoyance.
“A false notion, to be sure!” Clint added with a mocking amount of formality.
The Avengers were gathered in the Compound around the same mahogany table where their argument over the Accords had occurred, but that was where they always met and debriefed so it was where they were meeting now. They also had a meeting with SHIELD and the government later over some new legislation since it was Monday and they could call stupid meetings like that, but at the moment the subject of the conversation was Spider-man. Spider-man, who seemed to be at the center of everything in Tony’s superhero life at the moment.
Natasha paused at Clint’s statement. “Nat, what’s up?” Tony asked.
“I’m not sure how false he was being. I couldn’t tell completely if he was lying.”
“Obviously he was lying.” Clint replied. Natasha shook her head.
“He seemed genuinely confused when we suggested he was a weapon. He missed where he was aiming his web, and he just laughed and said he was the ‘opposite.’ Maybe he’s a good liar, but I’m inclined to think he was being serious. Or, as serious as that guy can be.”
“I still think he’s lying.” Steve said softly. “Every time I’ve fought him, he seems too advanced for how young he probably is, which just… It makes me think he’s been trained.”
“I think this is a waste of time, and not the reason the meeting was called.” Tony said. Steve rolled his eyes. Tony ignored him. “The point of the meeting is to discuss this.” He pointed to the file that was sitting in the center of the table.
The title ‘Mandate for Control for the Mutated and Enhanced’ was printed down the side of the file. “I thought we agreed to oppose it.” Steve said. The Avengers were being involved since this act would put controls on what Steve, Bucky, Vision, Wanda, the Hulk (and by extension, Bruce) and Thor (how did they expect to control a god?) would be able to do. “It makes it harder for half of the team to operate, and therefore the Avengers team as a whole. It’s already hard enough thanks to the Sokovia Compromise. We don’t need more rules telling us how to operate. We were under fire last year because of what was happening. But we aren’t under fire now. We don’t have to cater to any media or news platforms.”
“Yeah, okay, but what do we actually say?” Tony asked. “We need, I don’t know, a script or something.”
“Did you have a script when you pulled that stunt at the last major government meeting regarding regulating superheroes?” Rhodey asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Actually I did have a plan. I didn’t hack into that whole room’s screens on a whim, you know.” Tony said. “But now it’s not just me, it’s all of us. We, I don’t know, need to come up with some reasonable rebuttal, otherwise this thing goes into effect.”
“We could ask for amendments? Kind of like what you did with the Sokovia Compromise last summer.” Bruce said. The rest of the group nodded, and so they began to discuss possible plans of metaphorical attack in the two hours before they had to get on the Quinjet to go to D.C..
***
The large government meeting room was way too cramped for Tony’s liking. It was full of people, and the senator and judge manning the front of the room clearly had their minds made up already. The Avengers sat in the front row, and some SHIELD officers, including Nick Fury, were seated on the other side of the row. And, of course, the press was near the back, loads of cameras from different news channels live streaming as the senator at the front grilled the Avengers.
“Senator, this act will do damage to a proportion of the population that’s significant enough for you to care about. Please consider them in this.” Steve said.
“What about vigilantes?” Senator Anderson argued from where he was sitting. “There’s, what, three in New York city alone? And they all have mutations or enhancements, and they run around unchecked.”
“Yes, that’s why we’re trying to catch them and get them under control-” Clint argued.
“Does that not prove the point of why this act is necessary?” Anderson asked.
“Those are only three cases,” Tony said, “Which the Avengers are currently trying to take care of. By SHIELD’s command, I might remind you.” He added, motioning to Fury to emphasize his point.
“What about the other mutants that are blowing up banks for fun?” Senator Anderson asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Arson happens all the time.” Wanda said softly.
“Yes, I suppose you would be familiar with that, considering your history.” Wanda bristled at the Senator’s commentary. “Wait, why is she in this meeting anyway? Is she even an adult? She doesn’t seem like one. She looks like a child.” He asked, looking to the judge and pretending to whisper, though it could be considered a stage whisper at the least.
“I’m eighteen, sir.” Wanda said, the last word bit out and her accent coming through a bit as she spoke. “And I am an official member of the Avengers initiative.” She added.
“Yes, fine, that aside. You’re right, arson does happen sometimes. But never to this extent.” Anderson said.
“Then arrest those specific people, don't target all mutants!” Tony said.
“Ah, but if all of the perpetrators happen to be mutants, does it not make more sense for us to simply take care of all of them?” Anderson asked.
“No. That sounds like stereotyping, or profiling, which might I remind you is widely considered to be patently illegal under the fourteenth amendment’s promises that the,” Steve checked his notes, “state cannot ‘deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws,’ and the fourth amendment which prevents unnecessary searches and seizures. The act you are proposing, senator, explicitly violates both.” He looked at another page in his notes. “‘Visible mutants, mutates, or enhanced individuals are subject to searches by the police at any time, and any suspected mutants or mutates are subject to basic physical exams by a doctor.’” He looked at the senator and judge. “Do you not see how this may be damaging?”
“It’s for national safety.” The senator said.
“You guys, or well, not you specifically, but that was the United State’s justification for internment camps during World War two. It did not help national safety, only damaged those people and communities.” Steve said.
“The Japanese did not have genetic mutations.” The judge said, speaking up for the first time.
“Oh, he speaks! I thought you were just there for moral support.” Tony said. “And you are right, but your argument falls apart a little because the principle stays the same. Specific groups of people are being targeted for reasons beyond their control.”
“Mutates had control over getting their powers.” The judge replied.
Wanda opened her mouth but Tony spoke over her, knowing they’d get into an argument over it later but not caring at the moment. “That may be true for some, but may I remind you that you actually made the first modern mutate. Who, I don’t know if you know this or not, you may have forgotten, is actually standing right here.” He pointed to Steve. “And, I also don’t know if you remember this, but you guys actually really liked him up until recently. Now, I don’t know what exactly changed, but I think that maybe the recent rise in mutates is your guys' fault.” He said, gesturing to the senator and judge and then the rest of the government people. “And I also think that the vast majority of mutates use their powers for good. I don’t know Daredevil or Spider-Man’s backstories or if they’re mutates or mutants, but either way, they both seem to follow a strict moral code. Actually, if I pull up this handy dandy graph right here-”
He used his watch to make a holoscreen that displayed the graph he’d made earlier, being sure to project it to be large enough for the whole room to see. “You’ll see the crime rates in Queens by month for the past forty eight. I took the liberty of labeling important points, such as this point here,” He pointed to January of 2015, “This is when Spider-Man debuted. If you go along the curve here, you’ll see that there’s been a steep, steep decline in crime! And if you look at my QC statement I’ve so kindly given, you’ll see that since Spider-Man’s debut, there’s been a roughly 75% decline in crime.
In June of 2014, the crime rate was 2115 per every 100,000 people in Queens, but by October of this year, less than two years after Spider-man’s debut, might I add, the crime rate is only 512 per every 100,000 people. Now, I’d say that’s a pretty big improvement, wouldn’t you guys?” He looked around the room at the nods. “Me personally, after looking at the data, I almost regret chasing the guy down. He clearly knows how to do his job-”
“Yes, because he is clearly a foreign government weapon with lots of training.” Anderson cut in.
“I don’t believe that to be the case.” Natasha said. “You seem to believe him to be a government spy, or trained weapon, as you say. But his behavior and recent interactions do not reflect that. He may focus sometimes, but for the most part, Spider-man tends to bicker way more than Steve or I would, who, I might add, both fall under the vague definition for ‘government weapons.’”
“Maybe this guy has different training.” The senator replied curtly.
“That seems like a weak argument, senator.” Rhodey muttered.
“Didn’t you go to law school?” Tony asked the senator. “Don’t they teach you how to debate?”
“Yes, I do, but this is not a debate. The Senate and House have both already decided, this was merely a formality.” The senator said.
Steve glared up at the senator. “Was the entire point of this not to decide whether or not it goes into effect??” He asked, trying to keep his voice level.
“Yes, it was, but the only step left is for the president to sign it into effect. The president, who was not able to be here today due to threats to her safety.” The senator replied.
Steve glared at him. “What threats, Senator?”
“Threats.” Anderson said.
“That doesn’t help.” Tony muttered.
“Thank you, Avengers team, for your very compelling argument. The president’s decision will be made shortly and after she decides. That will be all.”
—
Peter had never been as grateful for his alarm as he was that Monday. He groaned, starting to snooze it but it ignored him, as it was programmed to do, and kept ringing. He picked up the clock, frowning as it gave him a calculus equation to solve. After staring at the screen for about two minutes, then, having figured it out, typed in the right answer and the thing finally shut up.
Now a bit more awake, he looked at the time and saw that he had school soon. Great. Just what he wanted. He shivered as he stood (he could've sworn it had gotten colder??) and his stomach growled. He dug into one of his bags to get his clothes out, ignoring his stomach. His vision is blurry so he couldn't see exactly what he'd picked out, but they smelled clean and they felt like school clothes, not that he could feel much with how numb his hands were, but it should be fine. He threw on the once oversized jacket he had, then a coat over that. As he dressed, he saw a bit of black or brown on his wrist, but he assumed it was just dirt or grime. His backpack was still packed from Saturday, which he was grateful for because he had a feeling he'd forget something if it wasn't packed. As he was about to leave, he spotted the walkman in the corner. It was still a bit busted, so he grabbed a screwdriver to play around with it in case it was broken, but there was no need.
As he put the earbuds in, and as he pressed the play button, some old sounding song from a band that wasn't The Beatles and was probably a bit ‘newer’ based on the production and instruments used (that being less drumkit and more bass and guitar) began to play. He didn't listen to the lyrics, but the music helped him feel a little bit more awake on his walk to school.
Said walk unfortunately did not involve his body warming up at all, and his limbs were still very much numb upon entering the building. Although it was warmer in here, Peter found he was freezing all throughout the day regardless. Because of this, the day passed in a blur; he could barely read his calculus worksheet and didn't actually hear anything Ned said during lunch, and even when Ms. Cartman asked him to talk he found himself only half paying attention. He knew she said something about needing a guardian for the meeting, and he knew he'd responded with something to decline the meeting because his ‘parents were busy.’ Busy being dead.
As he left the school, he put the earbuds back in and started up the playlist where he'd left off. The same guy as before was singing in his ear again. He walked to Stark Tower, but he had a stop to make first. He found the cemetery easily, as it was part of his routine, and although his sight may be shit at the moment, he knew where the four graves sat. As he knelt by them, a new song began. This song felt somehow more melancholy than the last one, but it fit his current mood. He let the song play as he began to speak. “Hi guys,” he always spoke out loud to them, worried they wouldn't understand his sign language. “Things have been… okay. I got the internship I told you about, the one at Stark Industries? And get this, Mi-Mister Stark wants me to be his personal intern! So that's what I'm doing.” The song had reached its chorus now, and it seemed to be further driving home the fact that his family was in fact, now just dust in the wind to most of the world. He paused for a bit, before continuing, “It's getting colder now. I-I’m a little nervous, since it seems worse than it was last year. But I'll be okay. You don't have to worry.”
The song was on its second verse, and he did in fact feel like just a drop of water in an endless sea even as he spoke and tried to make himself heard to the dead. “I-I’m trying to be good. My grades are good, all A’s, I-I eat when I can,” his stomach growled as if to prove him wrong, “and Mr. Stark is s-surprisingly nice. I got to make something that can talk for me, which is really nice. He's, I don't know, I know five year old me would be screaming in excitement, but I guess I'm just not that same kid. I'm sorry.” He whispered.
He felt the tears in his eyes, as he always did when he spoke to his family. He had to pause again, listening to the violin solo of the song and shutting his eyes. It made him sadder, but he decided to wallow in it, just for these next few moments. He sighed, opening his eyes as the lyrics started up again. “I'm trying to make you proud. I'm trying to live up to your e-expectations- you… you always told me I was smart. That I would do great things. Insisted on it. I-I guess I'm just trying to live up to that, I mean, even Mr. Stark thinks I’m, well, more than nothing.”
He listened to the outro of the song, and the song that followed could not have been more ironic and Peter laughed, because he recognized this one. And he knew it was about a father and son. A father Peter did not have. It sounded kind of like a lullaby, and Peter wondered if his long dead father had managed to rig the playlist so this song played. He decided he liked that idea. “Thank you.” He whispered to his father specifically. “I-I have to go now. Internship, you know?” He stood, feeling a tingle in his legs and feet being the only indication that he had them. “I love you all. I'll see you next week.” He said, turning and leaving.
When he arrived at the tower 15 minutes later and got to floor 89, he noticed a distinct lack of Mr. Stark's music as well as a lack of the unmistakable heartbeat of the man. There was a post it note on Peter's workbench though. ‘Hey kid, I have a meeting I'm stuck in, but I'll be back soon- You can tinker while I'm gone. Don't break anything!!’ Peter sighed. His stomach growled an he ignored it in favor of pulling off his coat. Yeah, he was still freezing, but it would look weird for someone to be inside and still wearing a coat. He pulled the sleeves of his jacket up, but his eyes widened as he looked at his wrist. The splotch of black he'd noticed this morning was still there. Because it was in his body. And it was much clearer now that it wasn't a splotch; his veins were black.
Okay what the fuck.
Why were his veins black? Veins weren't black. Veins looked blue, or sometimes green or purple, depending on the person's undertone. They definitely did not look black! He'd read somewhere that during severe frostbite people's veins or skin changes colors, but the surrounding skin wasn't gray. At least, he didn't think. He blinked a few times and stared at the skin. Nope, still the same pale color it usually was. So why were his veins black?? Maybe he did have frostbite? He decided to go to the bathroom and run hot water over his palms and wrists just to be safe.
20 minutes later, and his hands felt a lot better and a lot less numb, though he could barely feel the rest of his body. His veins were still as black as they were before. He scowled. But he had things to do before Mr. Stark got back, so he settled for rolling his sleeves back down as far as they'd go. Satisfied with how they covered the oddly colored veins, he walked back to the workshop. He faced one of the cameras and signed to it, ‘Friday, could you disable all cameras in and surrounding the workshop please? Just for a bit. And let me know when Mr. Stark is back in the tower.’ His hands shook as he made the signs, which he frowned at. He didn't feel like he was on the verge of hibernating from the cold, why were his hands shaking?
“Very well, Mr. Parker.” The AI replied and Peter saw the camera power down.
“Call me Peter.” He whispered to the AI. Peter was honestly shocked that his request about the cameras had worked. But he wasn't complaining. From his backpack, he pulled out his web shooters and a notebook with some blueprints he’d drawn stuffed into it. He'd wanted to make upgrades to his web shooters for a while, but his living situation made it a bit difficult. Grabbing some materials, he began tinkering. He kept the walkman on, listening to the music as he worked though mostly tuning out the lyrics. He tried to ignore the shakiness in his hands, and how his stomach growled loudly every few minutes.
After a few hours, Friday spoke. “Peter, Mr. Stark and the Avengers have entered the building and are coming to floor 89.”
‘Thank you!’ He signed to the camera, though now that he thought about it he wondered if the AI would even see it. Well, she’d seen what he’d signed earlier. Hm. He decided not to think too hard about that, and instead he threw the web shooters into the special pocket of his backpack along with the blueprints. He pulled out his busted up laptop, now pretending to work on something else that was less suited for Spider-man and more suited for Peter Parker. Okay, maybe less pretending and more so embellishing his efforts. He did have different projects he was working on, he just had definitely not been working on any of those before.
He pulled up some half finished Google doc– as a side note, can he just say, Google docs sucked. Why couldn't the school give him a decent laptop so he could use Microsoft applications, which were all much more professional than Google docs and were what all the actual professional people used. Why did he have to use this Chromebook?? It was so stupid. Okay back to the point though– he pulled up a Google doc of a new model for medical adhesive glue, which was actually him altering the equations he used to make his web fluid. There was a lot of math and writing things out involved, and only the finished parts made it to the doc, so he also pulled out his non Spidey and not for writing dialogue down notebook and flipped to the pages he was working on the adhesive in.
As soon as he started working, he could hear multiple heartbeats. One of them was definitely Mr. Stark’s based on the slightly irregular thump of his heart. He recognized one of the others as Black Widow’s, which was just great because Black Widow was much more than ‘just’ a superspy. Maybe she didn't have powers, but that arguably made her more terrifying. She was freakily observant and would know every little wrong step that Peter took, she would know every mistake he made, every slip-up in his body language that could betray his alter ego. Peter was so screwed.
The door opened and Peter looked up, pulling one of his earbuds out. He was relieved to see only Mr. Stark was there, for now. “Hey, sorry about earlier. Important stuff.” Peter noticed the tone in Mr. Stark’s voice, it sounded almost upset or frustrated at the very least. “The rest of the team is in the tower, but they’ll be on the other floor if you want to stay down here. But if you’re hungry, we got food, so you can join us if you want?”
The part of Peter that was Spider-man did not want to join the Avengers. His spidey sense screamed don’t do it!!. And there was the fang issue. The reason he never ate around people unless they knew about his alter ego. But the part of Peter that was a nerdy loser and was incredibly hungry wanted food. And if sitting with the Avengers for dinner was what it took, then so be it. Maybe the Avengers wouldn’t notice.
Peter nodded in response and pulled the other earbud out, pausing the walkman’s playlist. Mr. Stark seemed to brighten a bit, though there was still a sadness in his eyes. His spidey sense still buzzed, though it calmed slightly when Peter told it, you know they don’t know we’re Spider-man, right? Maybe the spider had forgotten that fact until Peter reminded it. “Come on. And grab that thing you finished on Saturday, it’ll make it easier for you.” Peter nodded again, pulling it out of its home drawer.
‘Got food’ it seemed, actually translated to ‘we are ordering food.’ Peter had made the incorrect assumption that maybe they’d just accidentally ordered too much, and they already had the food. Instead, though, Mr. Stark asked, “What do you want?” and then said, “Eh, you know what, just put in your order.” And promptly handed Peter the phone.
Peter took it, careful not to let the sleeves of his jacket roll down too much for fear of showing the black veins that lay underneath. Staring at the menu on the app, he saw it was an Italian place. He just put in a salad despite hating the texture and barely being able to stomach it, and handed it back to the man. “Yeah, nuh-uh. Try again.” Peter scowled. “I watched you eat four slices of pizza last week. You’re eating more.” Mr. Stark phrased it as a statement or demand rather than question, and handed the phone to Peter again. This time, Peter selected a pasta dish that had a decent amount of protein, deleted the salad, and handed the phone back for a second time. “Better.” Mr. Stark said, seeming satisfied. Now not having anyone talking to him, Peter decided to look around. They were on floor 90, which seemed to house the other Avengers rooms in the tower as well as communal areas. The living room was massive and a window spanned an entire wall, while the wall the TV was mounted on was dark blue, and the other two walls of the living area were an off white. Weird. Speaking of TVs, it was equally as massive as the room it sat in, and multiple gaming consoles sat next to it. Peter saw an XBox One S, PS4, Nintendo Wii, and Nintendo Wii U. He wasn’t quite sure why both the Wii and Wii U were necessary, but didn’t question it. Three comfortable looking couches took up the rest of the room, as well as a large white and gray patterned rug.
The kitchen was also giant, with a sleek white marble island and countertops, and brown cabinets, and it sported two ovens. Why did anyone need two ovens? Seeming to notice Peter’s unsaid question this time, Mr. Stark explained. “Steve, Sam, and Wanda all bake a lot.” Peter nodded his understanding.
A large dining table was placed in the space between the kitchen and living room, long enough to fit the entire Avengers team and two or three guests. Two hallways branched from the space, probably leading to the gym and the bedrooms.
It was, a lot, to say the least. He’d never seen anything so extravagant, and this wasn’t even Mr. Stark’s actual penthouse, this was just where the Avengers lived. Sometimes. This was where the Avengers lived sometimes, because they also had the Compound. As he tried to take everything in, he saw Clint Barton emerge from somewhere. “Oh, this is the kid?” Mr. Barton asked, looking at Mr. Stark, who nodded. Mr. Barton looked at Peter. Instead of asking something like, ‘what’s your name’ or ‘how old are you’ or ‘how the fuck did you get an internship with Tony Stark in your sophomore year of high school,’ Mr. Barton asked, “Do you know how to play Mario Kart?” His voice seemed just the slightest bit strained. Peter blinked before nodding. “Cool.” He turned the TV on and handed one of the Wii remotes to Peter.
It was surprisingly easy to play Mario kart with the man. His spidey sense was still telling him to leave, because this was still Hawkeye, who did not like Spider-man. But Peter wasn’t Spider-Man right now, so things were okay. It was weird, though. Hawkeye seemed kind of mean, whereas Mr. Barton seemed a lot more jovial and nice. Okay, Hawkeye seemed approachable too, but that was overwhelmed by the fear one felt when the ‘approachable’ Hawkeye was trying to kill him.
They weren’t trying to kill Spider-Man, Peter knew that. He wouldn’t blame them when it happened. But the Avengers job at the moment was to capture Spider-Man, and Peter knew he wasn’t going to go down without a fight, which would lead to them fighting him, and one day they would win. Peter wasn’t going to live forever. His body didn’t like his snake-like method of consuming one meal per day, his body didn’t like how he lived in the freezing cold every day, and his body definitely didn’t like how Peter got himself injured at least once a week. The spider also probably didn’t appreciate it. But Spider-Man had people to save, so he’d continue to work himself into the ground until his inevitable death.
Gee, nice thoughts for the middle of a Mario Kart match, isn’t this Peter? He was glad he hadn’t programed the device to translate all his thoughts. That would suck.
He heard someone start moving around the kitchen halfway through the second race, and he spared a glance to see Wanda baking and looking very upset. The four races ended and Peter had won thanks to his spidey sense. Mr. Barton was staring at the TV in confusion, but the door opened and a delivery person, a Stark industries employee, set the food on the island counter before leaving. “Hey, Friday, will you let Pepper know that dinner is here?”
This was when Peter began to truly panic. He was having dinner. With the Avengers. With almost the entire team. With Mr. Stark. With Ms. Potts. Peter Parker was having dinner with these people. Peter Parker, who was also Spider-man but no one actually knew he was Spider-Man except for Ned who wasn’t here. Peter Parker knew he was Spider-man though. Well no shit. His mind supplied. But the issue was Peter knew he was Spider-Man, so he knew he was a thorn in their side, which meant there was a non-zero percent chance that he came up in conversation when they inevitably stopped asking Peter questions.
His mind was pulled from its thoughts when he heard a new heartbeat and saw Ms. Potts.
Oh God.
This was a mistake, Peter was now realizing. What was he thinking? There was no way he’d be able to hide his fangs from so many people! What the fuck Peter! What the fuck what the fuck-
Stop panicking. The spider whispered to him.
Oh you’re one to talk. Peter quipped.
I am not the one panicking. The spider argued matter-of-factly.
Technically if you think about it you are since you live in my brain and my brain is the one panicking-
You are not panicking anymore though, are you? The spider interrupted. Peter thought about that. He did feel a little calmer. Why did he feel calmer?
The rest of the Avengers came into the kitchen, and boy wasn’t this an odd scene. It looked so domestic. Peter didn’t allow himself to freak out over any of them, except for one. Bruce Banner. The man was a genius, even if not in the same engineering respect as Mr. Stark. Dr. Banner’s books on gamma radiation were all considered groundbreaking, and Peter would be lying if he said he didn’t want to pick the scientist’s brain a little. Metaphorically.
As he continued to observe, he noticed something was wrong. All the Avengers seemed different, and not just because they were sorting through takeout containers rather than trying to chase Peter to his death. No, all of the Avengers seemed more subdued than usual. They tried to act normal, exchanging smiles that didn’t meet their eyes. The other issue was their heartbeats matched the rates they were when they chased Spider-man. This would make sense, but they should all be slower. Their heart rates when they chased Spider-man were elevated from the running and exercise. So why were they all so fast when they should be at a resting beat? Even Ms. Potts’ heart rate seemed slightly too elevated compared to the average person’s that Peter heard.
He waited for everyone else to get their takeout before grabbing his own. He then waited for everyone else to sit before sitting in the last remaining chair between Wanda and Ms. Romanoff. He was sitting across from Dr. Banner. Cool cool cool. Just play it cool, Peter. So, playing it cool, he stared at the man across from him. “I think he’s starstruck.” Mr. Stark said. “Lucky. I didn’t even get this stark of a reaction from him.”
Peter pulled himself away from staring. “Sorry.” He said, using the device to speak for him. “Your research into Gamma radiation is fascinating, sir. Your explanations on how quantum physics and nuclear structure relate makes more sense than any other articles I’ve read on it. And your work on enzyme kinetics is so so so cool, I have that chapter in your book on biochemistry highlighted and color coded to oblivion, and you also did that work with further diapause research and- oh wait. Sorry. I’m rambling. It’s just nice to be able to talk like this and have people know what I’m saying.”
Dr. Banner smiled and Peter could hear the man’s heart rate lower ever so slightly. “Most people don’t know about my stuff on enzyme kinetics or diapause. I’m kind of surprised you do. It’s impressive.”
“I’ve never heard that kid talk more.” Mr. Stark whispered to Ms. Potts.
“You’ve known him for less than a week.” She whispered back. He knew he wasn’t meant to hear the conversation, so he tuned them out in favor of listening to Dr. Banner’s question.
“Can I ask why you’ve looked at the biochem and diapause stuff?”
“The diapause was just out of curiosity.” That was a lie, it was not out of curiosity, it was out of the thought of ‘‘why the fuck do i keep passing out and going into comas and I feel like crap all the time what is going on what’s happening’. Thank God that book had been there, otherwise Peter might still wonder why exactly his body did what it did during winter. Even if it didn’t actually help. “For the enzyme kinetics, at first, because I’m a big fan. And then because I’m sort of using it as the basis for my own research project? My hypotheses, anyway, I haven’t gotten the chance to test it.”
“Oh yeah. Was that one of your research proposals?” Mr. Stark asked. Peter nodded.
“How many research proposals did you write?” Wanda asked. Her voice was quiet, but she seemed like a quiet person, and Peter could hear her just fine.
“Five.” He told her. Wanda’s eyes widened a bit.
“Why on earth would you write five research proposals?” Mr. Barton asked.
“I already had them thought of, and I couldn’t pick just one.” Peter explained.
“Kid seems super smart.” Peter heard Mr. Rhodey whisper to Mr. Stark. What was with Mr. Stark and whispers?
The questions and discussion surrounding Peter continued for a bit as Peter played with his food and avoided opening his mouth as long as possible even as his hands shook. And then Wanda asked, “Do we think Spider-man will be on patrol tonight?” Peter’s neck and spine tingled. “And if we do, are there plans to try to stop him?” She added. Oh, cool. They’re discussing his murder around the dinner table. Well, at least that meant it would be easier to try to avoid later.
“I think we can pretend that no one alerted us of his patrol, if he does decide to do one.” Mr. Stark said. Peter took note of that.
“Yeah, that stunt you pulled earlier showed you like Spider-man more than any of us thought.” Mr. Rogers said. Peter did a double take, not sure if he’d heard the man right.
“It was just facts. Crime in Queens has gone down by a ton since Spider-man started swinging and webbing or whatever he does. It just worked out that the numbers painted the pictures they did.”
Out of curiosity, Peter asked, “What were the statistics?”
“In June of 2014, the crime rate was 2115 per every 100,000 people in. Last month the crime rate was only 512 per every 100,000 people. Pretty obvious decline since Spidey started patrolling Queens.” Mr. Stark recited. “Say kid, don’t you live in Queens?” Peter nodded. “Have you ever seen Spidey in person before?”
Peter stiffened. Did Mr. Stark know? There was no way. He couldn’t be found out this soon into the internship. He needed the internship. Did Mr. Stark suspect something? Oh God this was bad this was bad– okay wait, don’t spiral Peter, Mr. Stark only asked if Peter had seen Spider-man before. Nothing to do with connecting the two together. His spidey sense didn’t perk further up either, which encouraged that line of thinking. He forced himself to relax before answering, because even if his tone wasn’t evident in the device it may be evident from his body language, like how tone in sign language was based around the person’s body language and exact ways of signing. “I’ve seen him once or twice.” He answered through the device.
“Did you ever talk to him?” Ms. Romanoff asked. Okay, what the fuck is going on. Is Peter being interrogated on himself? Are they just curious? Had they suddenly forgotten their hatred of Spider-man and strong desire to bring Peter’s alter ego to justice?
“Haven’t you spoken to him before?” Peter asked. Yeah, direct this away from himself, that’ll work. Take that, Black Widow.
“Yes,” Ms. Romanoff said, “but I think that he thinks we want to kill him, so he wouldn’t act the same as he would around a civilian like you.” Peter was about to sound like an angry parent, but he genuinely didn’t like the tone she used on the last phrase. Why did she say it like that?? It was like she didn’t believe he was a civilian. But he was a civilian! Peter Parker was, anyway.
“I’ve never spoken to him.” Peter answered. Technically not a lie. You can’t talk to yourself. Not like Peter talked to himself every day, and the other part somehow had separate yet functioning thoughts. Peter didn’t do that though.
“Do spiders thermoregulate?” Mr. Barton asked. Although it was for the table, Peter answered with a shake of his head. That wouldn’t seem suspicious. “That explains why the guy was shivering last night.”
Peter had been shivering? No, surely it hadn’t been that cold. “Maybe we should team up with him if you like him so much.” Mr. Rogers muttered. Ah, yes, this is what Peter had expected. “Make him a custom suit why don’t you!”
“That’s actually not a bad idea.” Mr. Stark replied. “Maybe I’ll put a custom heater in it.”
God that sounded amazing. Wait, no, he can’t accept custom suits. Unless Peter made the suit. Which Peter actually wasn’t opposed to doing. And if he can upgrade his web shooters why not the rest? A plan was starting to form in his brain.
Thankfully, the conversation turned to other things, and it was slowly devolving into Mr. Stark, Mr. Rogers, Mr. Rhodey, and Mr. Wilson bickering while the others watched. He wondered if this happened often. At a tap on the shoulder, he turned to Wanda. ‘I speak sign language, if you want to talk like this.’ She signed, the movements small and under the table so no one else would see.
Peter smiled. ‘That’s so cool!’ He signed back enthusiastically, though also keeping his hands out of sight from the others. After a moment, he asked, ‘do they do this often?’
‘Do what?’ Wanda asked.
‘The whole bickering thing between the four of them.’ He clarified. Said bickering was getting more and more ridiculous and harder and harder to follow.
‘Oh. Yes. Every time. Without fail.’ Wanda replied. ‘It is quite entertaining to watch. Last time Steve and Tony ended up arguing over the practicality of escalators and Tony trying to convince Steve to confront his fear of moving stairs.’
Peter had to stifle a laugh. ‘Steve Rogers is afraid of moving stairs?’
‘Oh yes. Terrified. He’s fine with elevators though. He says it’s because they don’t try to imitate something they’re not.’ Wanda smiled a little, before it dropped as she asked, ‘why didn’t you eat much food?’
‘Not hungry.’ Peter replied.
‘You’re a bad liar.’
‘I’d argue I’m a great liar. Best I know.’
‘Your signs are shaking because you’re so hungry. Eat. Or I’m not signing to you anymore.’ Peter huffed but ate the rest of the now cold pasta, being careful not to show his fangs.
Ms. Romanoff sighed eventually, probably tired of the bickering, and got up to put her takeout container in the fridge and her silverware in the sink. Peter contemplated following suit, but instead waited until Mr. Rogers and Mr. Stark stopped arguing. Ms. Potts shook her head and rolled her eyes as Mr. Stark finally ended the bickering. He checked his watch and cursed. “It’s probably past your curfew, huh?”
“It’s okay.” Peter said through the device. “What time is it?”
“Just past ten.” Peter cringed. He couldn’t go on patrol tonight. “Yeah, I bet your mom is gonna be upset.” Nice of Mr. Stark to assume he had a mom. “Come on, lets grab your stuff. Do you need me to have someone drive you home?”
‘Have someone drive you home.’ Because of course Mr. Stark didn’t actually care, so he would have someone else do things. Peter may have gotten to meet the Avengers and eat dinner, but that was more so out of pity than anything. And to interrogate Peter on himself, apparently.
That was fine. Peter was okay with Mr. Stark not caring. Peter didn’t need more people in his corner. His corner was a dangerous place. His corner was where people got hurt, or got murdered, or some painful combination of both.
Peter packed up his backpack that was still in Mr. Stark’s workshop, then flipped the cassette tape in the walkman so it would play the other part of the playlist. He put the device for talking into its home drawer, waved goodbye to Mr. Stark, and headed ‘home.’
He decidedly ignored how both his heart and limbs numbed when he stepped out of the tower.