Chapter Text
Peter turns around to watch Mr. Stark stumble through the door, awkwardly lugging a mini-fridge in his arms. He can hear the chatter down the hallway, whispers bouncing off gray-painted cinder block walls. Awed, “ohmygod is that Tony Stark” and “it’s Iron Man!” and “Iron Man is getting old...what’s he doing here?.” Mr. Stark drops the fridge in the middle of the rough carpet, catching the eye of a mother walking by in the hallway, who lets out a little shriek when he winks.
Peter rolls his eyes and turns back to the twin bed in the corner, where May is sitting and rolling his socks. “May, you don’t need to roll my socks. I can do it later.”
“I--I just--” she stops mid-roll and looks up at him, eyes growing wet behind her large wire glasses. “Baby, I always--”
“Jesus, kid, let her roll your socks…” Mr. Stark coughs under his breath behind him.
“Um…” Peter looks back at May, how has resolutely gone back to mashing his socks together, perhaps a bit too roughly, trying not to obviously sniff. “Thank you for rolling my socks, May.”
“Of course, baby,” May’s voice wavers a bit. “I expect you to do it as soon as they cool off from the dryer.”
“I will, May.”
“This is all the space you get?” Mr. Stark suddenly barks behind him, effectively drawing everyone out of the sad moment that was beginning to settle. “After all the money I gave them?”
“Ok, firstly,” Peter turns to look at Mr. Stark, who has his hands shoved in his jean pockets and is spinning around the small space, “this is the size of a single room. B, it’s the same size as my room in Queens. And three, you said you didn’t give anyone money to get this?”
“Relax, kiddo,” Mr. Stark dismisses him with a wave. “It’s going to outfit a physics lab.”
“I don’t care what it’s going to, Mr. Stark! I didn’t want you buying me a room!”
“Peter,” he turns, pulling his sunglasses off to give him his best stop-right-now-dad-stare. He’s gotten pretty amazing at it over the years, and Peter can actually feel his shoulders drop in retreat. “We discussed this. You want to keep the suit while you’re here? You get your own cinder-block cell. You’re a freshman. I had to grease some wheels.”
“But it’s not fair to the other freshman, Mr. Stark.”
“Half the other freshman had their parents try to do the same thing, only they failed. And the other half are just happy to be here. I know it doesn’t seem fair, and it’s not, but your identity is paramount. Take this one, Pete.”
“Mr. Stark…”
“And not everyone gets a Rhodey, bud. Besides, you’re the only kid with his own bathroom--” Mr. Stark gestures to the narrow door in the corner behind him and makes a face (it’s not much of the bathroom, just a toilet and a shower stall, even the sink is still in the room proper), “--so in about two and a half hours you’re going to have more friends than all the other freshman put together.”
“I’m not letting people use my bathroom, Mr. Stark.” Peter wrinkles his nose. No. No no no. That bathroom is his.
“That’s the spirit, Peter,” Mr. Stark claps his hands together loudly. “Enjoy your space! In fact, if Fred and Michelle ever come to visit, make them use the bathrooms down the hall.”
“Ned,” Peter corrects him on autopilot. He looks over at the small bathroom. “They can use my bathroom.”
Neither Ned or MJ ended up at MIT with Peter; Ned is at Columbia on scholarship, and MJ is at NYU. They’d all applied to the same schools, and were all three lucky enough to get in at each, but their hearts and goals were in different places. Peter is jealous of them both; he may have had Iron Man to buy him his own bathroom, but they were both in the same city, a thirty-minute-walk from each other in Manhattan. And Peter was in another state. Massachusetts. A four hour drive away. For a brief period after receiving all his acceptance letters, Peter had honestly considered staying in the city, with friends and May and Mr. Stark. He was afraid of being lonely, of being away from his family and what he’d miss--Morgan is only a few months old.
And he was afraid of what would happen to his borough. Over the years Queens had come to depend on Spider-man; children waited on street corners hoping to see him and young women walked a bit more confidently, knowing he was there to watch over them. When he’d expressed his fears to Mr. Stark, he’d promised to keep an eye on things. He’d also asked if Peter had only applied to MIT because he wanted him to go there, and assured him that so long as he ended up teaching there eventually, he didn’t care where Peter went. But his most important assurances were that he’d make sure the city was safe--not him personally, Pepper still had a moratorium on any extracurricular activities that weren’t purely extracurricular--and that Peter wouldn’t miss a thing. Not Karen, not a live-feed of Morgan’s first steps or first word, not his friends who Mr. Stark was more than happy to charter visits for.
So now here they are, May folding socks on the extra-long twin bed and Mr. Stark trying to find an outlet for a mini-fridge, while Happy charters Pepper and Morgan around Cambridge looking for a park with a baby-swing. Peter can still hear the whispers down the hall; one woman even had the nerve to poke her head in the room for a second.
“Now I’m going to be the ‘kid who knows Tony Stark.’”
“Worse things to be known as, kid,” Mr. Stark grunts as he straightens after plugging in the small fridge. Some of the injuries he acquired in Sanctuary will never fully heal, and his knee will never be the same after the thwarted mugging. “Enjoy it.”
“It’s weird. Especially since they’ll know I have the only freshman single.”
“Trust me, Pete,” Mr. Stark slaps a hand on his shoulder; for a brief moment Peter is transported back to his bedroom in Queens, Mr. Stark asking him if he’d ever been to Germany. “They’ll think about it for the next five minutes, then they’re going to have their own problems to deal with. Besides, you deserve something for yourself. Right, May?”
“Hmmm?” May jumps a bit on the bed and looks up, sniffing suspiciously as she twists a pair of socks in her hands. “Yes, Peter. You deserve something for yourself.”
“Now,” Mr. Stark walks over to the heavy door and takes a quick peek down each side of the hall before pulling back inside the small room and shutting the heavy door. He reaches inside his coat pocket and pulls out a small, shiny black rectangle, about the size of Peter’s old Stark Phone. May looks up at the crinkling sound as Mr. Stark pulls some plastic off the back; Peter recognizes the trademarked adhesive that comes with all Stark Home products. He shoots May a wink and walks over to Peter. “Get up on the wall and stick this in the corner.”
“What is it, Mr. Stark?” Peter takes the small black box and easily hops onto the wall, crawling over to the corner above the bed. May looks up and twitches slightly; even after three years, she’s still not used to what her nephew can do, and the ease with which he can do it.
“Karen,” Mr. Stark states blandly, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.
“What?!” Peter nearly drops the technology, and nearly falls off the wall. He catches himself quickly with his feet, stepping onto the ceiling and hanging nearly face to face with May, who has jumped to attention in the event she needs to catch her super-powered nephew, which of course she doesn’t. Peter protectively cradles the sleek, black rectangle to his chest. “I can have Karen? Not in the suit?”
“Yes,” Mr. Stark nods. “She’s been coded to only answer to you, or me, or May. Or Ned and MJ, if they come.” He waves a hand, as if it were an afterthought. “If anyone asks, she’s an alarm clock you designed at your internship. And if anyone finds out--” Mr. Stark’s face turns stern. “I’m taking her right back.”
“Yessir,” Peter nods, his hair falling haphazardly in his upside-down position. Karen. He’s going to have Karen! Just like his room at the tower.
“She’ll need to resync to your watch, and the other suit. It should be finished tonight. I won’t look at any data unless I need to. Just like your suit.”
“Of course, Mr. Stark! Thank you so, so much, I promise I won’t do anything--”
“Peter!” May springs up from the bed suddenly, smoothing out her pants. “Please just hang that thing and get down! You know it makes me nervous when you do that, I will never get used to you jumping and swinging and crawling all over things like Regan--”
“Sorry, Aunt May!” Peter reaches back up to the ceiling, chastened. May is obviously anxious, and on today of all days, he doesn’t want to inadvertently make it worse. He’s already expending enough effort on tamping down the sick feeling in his stomach, and if she loses it, he will as well. He presses the adhesive to the gray-painted cinder blocks, tugging lightly to make sure it’s secure. Of course it is, the adhesive Stark tech uses is all but infallible. “There.” Peter lightly drops from the ceiling to the floor, and May’s arm is instantly around his shoulders.
“Karen?” Mr. Stark calls smoothly, one eyebrow raised at May. Peter knows it’s an act, and that he hates watching Peter dangle head-first as well.
“Yes, Mr. Stark?” Karen’s smooth voice fills the small room.
“Welcome to your new digs. Why don’t you start your resync to Peter’s suits?”
“Of course, Mr. Stark. Peter, like always, if you need anything, just ask.”
“Thanks, Karen,” Peter smiles, the nerves in his stomach settling just a bit. At least he’ll have a familiar voice with him, if he can’t have anyone else.
“Alright, baby,” May squeezes his shoulders. “I can practically hear your stomach rumbling. Why don’t we get something to eat, then we can get some food for that sad little fridge.”
“We all had sad, little fridges, Aunt May,” Mr. Stark pulls his glasses out of the inside of his coat. “Let me call Rhodey. He’s in town and said he wanted to meet us whenever we stopped to eat.”
Peter has a feeling he isn’t just “in town,” and it makes his chest warm a bit.
*****
An hour and a half later they are bunched in a corner booth in a greasy diner that Mr. Rhodes swears up and down has the best burgers in Cambridge. Peter is squished between May and Mr. Stark, and Morgan is perched in his lap, one chubby hand banging a spoon on the gingham tablecloth. It looks as if Pepper is trying to distract May, who began to tear up on the ride over to the diner. Peter knows the second his aunt loses it, he will as well. Happy is perched on the very end of the booth, eyeing everyone in the restaurant with suspicion.
“Now, Peter,” Mr. Rhodes points his shake-covered straw across the table. “I expect you to call me as soon as you get sick!”
“Get sick?” Peter tightens his grip on Morgan as she twists on his lap; Mr. Stark is watching his daughter, amused, and continuously replacing the silverware Peter pulls out of her hands with something new to bang on the table.
“Everyone gets sick, kid,” Mr. Rhodes laughs and sticks his straw back in his shake. “No bedtimes, change in diet, sudden freedom? The immune system is the first thing to give in. And I expect notification!”
“Yessir,” Peter smiles, bouncing Morgan on his knee. She squeals and tosses her spoon to the floor; Mr. Stark has another ready to go.
“Give her over to Pep, kiddo,” he states once the new spoon is safely in Morgan’s tiny hand. “Got something for you.” With that, Happy, who so far has been acting if he was the service detail for a goddamn president, smirks and pulls a long, flat box out from under the table.
“Before the food comes,” everyone shifts so he can reach over and place it in front of Peter.
“What’s this?” Peter hands Morgan over to May, who presses a kiss to each of the baby’s cheeks before handing her over to Pepper.
“Just some shit from those animals back at the compound,” Happy grunts as he plops back down into the seat.
“Yes, and thank you for helping to spread the joy, Hap.”
“I’m tired of dragging this kid’s shit everywhere,” but he winks at Peter as he smooths out the front of his jacket. Peter is going to miss Happy, and he’s pretty sure Happy is going to miss him. He may complain about it to anyone who will listen, but Peter knows Happy is someone he’ll always be able to depend on, even for the smallest thing. He knows Happy would make the drive to Cambridge if all he needed was a ride to dinner.
“Tony,” May speaks up. “There’s nothing in there that’ll start on fire or blow up or anything, is there? The dorms don’t even allow plug-in air fresheners.”
“No idea, May. Where’d the fun be in that?” Mr. Stark reaches over and pops the latch on the box, lifting the lid. “From your team. Have at it, kid.”
Peter’s stomach flips like it did the first time he met his heroes, back when he was in a haze after being trapped in emptiness for four years. He’d grown out of the nervousness and butterflies soon enough, but seeing something like this, a box filled with gifts from the extraordinary men and women who’d taken him as one of their own and become his family, makes the butterflies return.
“Please don’t make a scene,” Mr. Stark reaches in an pulls out the first package, wrapped in simple brown paper and tied with twine. “We’ll all get indigestion.”
“Tony,” May chastises across the table. “Open it, baby.”
Peter gently unties the string and unwraps package. Inside are a pair of simple, waterproof flip-flops and a note.
Stark said you’re going to get your own shower, but trust me, wear these every day. And wash them twice a day. It took me almost a year to get rid of the infection. Bug buddies for life.
Peter wrinkles his nose. “This is nice, but...eeeuw.”
“Scott’s not wrong, sweetheart. I remember working at the college clinic in Nursing school, you wouldn’t believe the foot rot we used to see from the kids in the dorms!”
“Can I even get foot fungus?”
“I wouldn’t risk it, kiddo,” Mr. Stark takes the flips flops from him. “And as lovely as this is, we have food coming. Next!”
Peter works through the box in short order, each gift making his eyes burn and his heart miss his family even more. There’s a small cactus from Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes, with a note from Mr. Rogers that it’s the same kind as one he received from Mr. Barnes the Christmas before he shipped out, and a note from Mr. Barnes that it’s the plant Peter is least likely to kill.
There’s a box of tissues and a jumbo box of condoms from Clint wrapped in hundred-dollar-bills; Mr. Stark makes to grab the condoms but May stops him, simply stating “safety first” and Peter wants to jump straight through the window behind their booth. They both agree on confiscating the remarkable fake I.D. from Thor and Loki, that was probably mostly from Loki. Peter managed to pocket the talisman included before either could see it, making a mental note to ask Loki before doing anything with it. He doesn’t think Loki would do anything to hurt him--like the rest of the Avengers, the god took an immediate, if a bit antagonistic, liking to Peter. He just doesn’t want to end up on the other side of the world during his first week of college.
Dr. Banner’s gifts are probably the most useful: two books from Peter’s syllabus, biochemistry and physics, both littered with sticky notes and annotations and scribbles in the margins. Mr. Rhodes gives him an old MIT sweatshirt, complete with a story that is was the one Mr. Stark cried into the first few weeks he was at school. Mr. Stark threw one of Morgan’s spoons at him.
The final gift is where Peter nearly loses his resolve. His eyes were steadily burning during each gift, but when he opens the flat, plainly wrapped gift from Natasha, they earnestly water. It’s a picture in a simple frame, the entire team in formal clothes. Peter is front and center with Mr. Stark’s arm around him, everyone’s smiles are wide and bright. He remembers the day they took it, his eighteenth birthday only two weeks earlier, when May and Pepper had planned a ridiculously expensive and opulent party and Mr. Stark had gifted him a pair of AI sunglasses that he’d promptly sat on.
“Oh, wow, baby,” May leans over Peter’s shoulder. He can hear her starting to sniff again.
“We clean up nice,” Mr. Stark takes the picture from Peter to look at it. “How come I’ve never seen this photo?”
“I dunno. Ask ‘Tasha,” Peter grabs the photo back from him, and lays it reverently on top of everything else in the box. He can feel the tears starting to leak out of the corners of his eyes. They’re all back in New York. Home.
“I’ll have to ask her for a copy,” Mr. Stark squeezes Peter’s shoulder. It grounds him, enough that he’s able to quickly blink away the tears forming. “Now put this away, the food will be here soon.”
*****
Pepper is the first to lose it, fat tears rolling down her cheeks as repeatedly presses kisses to Peter’s face, Morgan squished between them. He’s only seen her cry once, dabbing her eyes while she recited her vows.
“Now,” she leaves Morgan in Peter’s grip, wiping her cheeks. “You be good and study hard, so you can come back in two years and promptly exact a coup at SI.”
“Four years, Pepper,” Peter holds his finger out for Morgan to grab on to.
“Oh please,” she chuckles wetly. “If Tony could do it in two, so can Peter Parker.”
“Hey!” Mr. Stark grunts from where he’s sitting on the bed, squeezing his bad knee. But he’s smiling and nodding, as if her slight was gospel truth.
“Thank you, Pepper...we’ll see,” Peter blushes and looks down at the baby in his arms, for all intents and purposes, his baby sister. “And if I have to be good, that means you do too, Mo-Mo.”
Morgan squeals, dropping Peter’s finger to reach for his hair, grabbing a handful and shrieking happily.
“Morgan,” Pepper reaches out to gently untangle her fingers from Peter’s hair before she pulls a clump out--she’s done it before. “No grabbing.”
“It’s ok,” Peter presses an exaggerated kiss to her chubby cheek, not bothering to voice his thoughts on how the Starks all seem to be obsessed with his hair. “I’ll be back for Thanksgiving, Mo-Mo.” She babbles, shoving one chubby fist entirely into his mouth. “And I think it’s past your bedtime. You know I only let you stay up when your parents aren’t around.”
“Yes, a whole two months without being spoiled,” Pepper takes Morgan back from Peter, who clings briefly to his shirt sleeve.
“That’s not true,” Peter reaches out to squeeze Morgan’s tiny hand one last time. “Mr. Stark spoils her a lot more than I do.”
“That he does,” Pepper tucks her daughter’s head under her chin, and leans forward to kiss Peter’s cheek one last time. “Be safe, sweetheart. Knock their socks off.”
“I’ll try, Pepper.”
“I’m gonna take her down, or I’ll never leave. Wave bye-bye to Peter, Morgan!” Pepper waves Morgan’s hand for her and heads to the dorm room door.
“I’m right behind you,” Happy calls in her direction, sauntering over to Peter. “Don’t destroy anything, kid. And I’m not helping you move home at Christmas.”
“We all know how terrible you are at moving things, Happy.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Happy squeezes the back of his neck. “Go to bed at a decent time, and I don’t want to get any drunken calls from parties.”
“I won’t, Happy.”
“Good,” Happy ruffles Peter’s hair, and for a second he thinks he sees the same wetness in Happy’s eyes that are in everyone else’s. “Let’s go, Pep, your highness,” Happy playfully bows in front of Morgan, and then before Peter can blink, they’re both gone.
“Next,” Mr. Rhodes pulls Peter in for a hug, squeezing him tightly. “Don’t forget. The first sniffle, I want to know about it.”
“I promise, Mr. Rhodes. But I don’t think I will.”
“I know you will!” Mr. Rhodes squeezes his biceps. “You have my number, if there’s anything you need and don’t want Tones to know about.”
“I’ll find out!”
“Shut up, Tony! Be great, Pete,” he gives his arms one last squeeze, and then he’s gone too.
Now it’s just May and Mr. Stark. The woman who raised him and the man who stepped into a role neither realized how badly they each needed him to. Pepper thanked him once, when Morgan was only a few hours old, for showing Mr. Stark that he could be a father.
“Well--” Tony goes to push himself off the bed but May interrupts him.
“No, I need to go first, or I’ll never leave. You have enough blankets that I could make a pretty comfortable bed on the floor.”
Peter smiles. “Like that time I got salmonella.”
“Yeah,” her voices breaks. “Or when you had your tonsils out.” May reaches out and brushes some hair behind Peter’s ear. “I’m so proud of you, baby. So, so proud.”
“May…”
“I know our circumstances weren’t always the best, but I was so lucky to have you, Petey-Pie.”
His first real tear of the day slips down Peter’s cheek. “You haven’t called me that since I was little.”
“You’ll always be little to me,” May finally cracks too, beginning to cry earnestly as she pulls him in for a tight hug. She pulls his head down to her shoulder and squeezes him tight.
“What if I don’t like it?” Peter whispers, clinging to his aunt. His mother.
“You will be perfect, baby,” May kisses his temple. “And you’re going to love it. Even if I miss the hell out of you.”
“I’m going to miss you too, May. So much.”
“Well,” she squeezes him tighter. “I’ll be back in Queens waiting for you. And I’ll be there as long as you need me.”
“Thank you, Aunt May,” Peter sniffs, surreptitiously wiping his eyes on her shoulder. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, baby,” May pulls out of the hug, and takes Peter’s face in her hands. “Take care of yourself, and don’t stay up too late, and make sure you eat at least three vegetables a day.”
“I’ll try, May.”
“You better,” she wipes the lingering wetness off Peter’s cheeks with her thumbs. “I’ll call you tomorrow, ok?”
“Ok.”
“Ok,” May presses another kiss to Peter’s cheek. “When you unpack the rest of your clothes, fold them correctly.”
“I will, May.”
“Ok,” she pulls his head down and plants a final kiss to his forehead. “If you need me before I call tomorrow, you better call me, young man.”
“I will, May.”
“I’m stalling, you know,” May laughs sadly, wiping more tears off her cheeks. “So I’m gonna leave, because I’m already eyeing all those blankets in your closet, and that corner over there looks comfy.”
“I know, May,” Peter murmurs, part of him hoping she’ll stall longer, even if poor Mr. Stark is still sitting on the bed, trying not to look like he’s listening to every word. “But I don’t want to have to explain to the RAs why my aunt is sleeping in my corner.”
“No! You should be hiding beer in here, not your crazy old aunt,” May steps away and takes Peter’s hands. “Ok. I’m leaving. I’ll call you at six o’clock sharp tomorrow, so have your phone charged and ready.”
“I promise,” Peter squeezes her small hands. He’s going to miss them so much, miss the smell of her shampoo and the way her breathing across the hall would lull him to sleep at night after his patrols and her terrible attempts at cooking. He’s going to miss his home.
“Alright. I’m going.” May steps away from him and picks up her purse from the old, wooden desk. “Get a good night’s sleep tonight, you have orientation at eight o’clock. And wear those flip-flops Scott gave you!” She’s at the door now, wiping more tears from her eyes. “And don’t use too much laundry detergent. Or fabric softener. And I’m going to make a list for when I talk to you tomorrow, ok?”
“Ok, May.”
“I love you, baby.”
“I love you, May.”
And then she’s gone, too. Peter watches the door for a second, half expecting it to open and May to rush back in. But she doesn’t, and Peter is suddenly overcome with such a fierce homesickness he wonders for a moment if his burger--Mr. Rhodes was right, they were good--is going to end up on the floor.
“My turn, I guess,” Mr. Stark interrupts Peter’s reverie, finally pushing himself off the twin bed. “You know, she’s never going to stop worrying about you, kid,”
“Yeah. And I’m gonna worry about her.”
“She’ll be fine. I’ll keep an eye on her,” he walks over, limping a bit as he tries to shake the stiffness out of his bad leg. “It’s gonna be rough, not being able to keep an eye on you as much.”
“So Karen really isn’t going to spy on me?”
“Nah,” Mr. Stark scoffs, lazily waving his hand. “Not unless your vitals drop.”
“What protocol is that?”
“Baby Bird Has Left the Nest.”
“Oh my god, Mr. Stark!” Peter tries to act annoyed, but he’s too emotionally raw after the good-byes thus far and he knows Mr. Stark probably sees right through it.
“It’s to keep my blood pressure down,” Mr. Stark plays along, and Peter is grateful. “And I’m not going to stop worrying either, bud. How’re the nightmares?”
“What?”
“Nightmares, Pete. FRI hasn’t said anything in awhile, but you’ve gotten better at hiding things from me.”
“No nightmares, not really. In awhile,” Peter shrugs.
“‘Not really’ isn’t gonna cut it, kiddo.”
“More just nerves, about coming here, and school and stuff,” Peter fidgets, pulling and cracking his fingers. Usually when they have The Very Serious Discussions they’re in the lab or watching a movie.
“Which is why I’ll still be alerted if your vitals go all wonky, like always.”
“I-I’ll be alright,” Peter feels like he’s trying to convince himself. The cramped room is starting to feel extremely empty. “And Mr. Stark, you have your own kid to worry about now.”
“Yeah, and she’ll be pissed if I let anything happen to her big brother. She’s expecting you home for Thanksgiving.”
“Mo doesn’t know when Thanksgiving is,” Peter feels his eyes start to burn again and looks at the carpet. He knows when Thanksgiving is, it’s almost three months away. Three months until he sees everyone again.
“It’ll be here before you know it, Pete,” Mr. Stark bends a little, trying to catch Peter’s eyes. “Promise.”
“Yeah.” Peter nudges a small tear in the carpet. Mr. Stark told him he was lucky to have a carpet; his room with Rhodey had been tile.
“I mean it, kiddo,” Mr. Stark reaches out to squeeze his shoulder. “We’ll be here in October for Parents’ Weekend, then it’ll be Thanksgiving, and you probably won’t even want to come home.”
“I think I will.” Peter will. He knows he will. He very suddenly wants to go home right now.
“We’ll see. Hey,” Mr. Stark taps the bottom of his chin so he’ll look up. Peter does, even though he doesn’t want him to see how how he’s barely holding in more tears. “Bring it in, Pete.”
“Oh, are we there?” Peter tries to joke, he has to right now, but Mr. Stark just smacks the side of his head and pulls him in for a hug. He’s at least the same height as him now, maybe a hair taller, but he wishes he wasn’t. Peter wishes he was a sixteen-year-old kid who hadn’t grown into himself yet, so he could tuck his head under Mr. Stark’s chin like he used to. It always made feel safe in a way he hadn’t felt since Uncle Ben would carry him to their big bed after a nightmare. He’ll never get to have that feeling again. He’ll never feel like he fully lives in Queens with May again. Mr. Stark’s penthouse won’t be his second home anymore, it’ll be a place to visit when he’s home three times a year. He starts to cry before he can stop, more than the slow tears and sniffles when May said good-bye and went down to the car.
“Hey, hey, kiddo,” Mr. Stark runs a hand down his back..
“I’m s-sorry!”
“Hey, no sorries. You know how I feel about those.”
“I-I know,” Peter sniffs, trying to lay his head on Mr. Stark’s shoulder. He’s too tall for that even, so he has settle for resting his chin there. It’s probably for the best, Mr. Stark always wears expensive jackets and Peter has ruined more than one in his time.
“You know, when my parents dumped me here, I cried for the entire first week, before Rhodey finally took pity on me.”
“You were a kid, Mr. Stark. I’m--”
“Still a kid, kid,” Mr. Stark squeezes his shoulders. “And you’re still May’s little boy, and you’re still my Spider-baby. And Happy will always be your nanny.”
Peter huffs a sad laugh before he can help himself. “I’m not a baby. And I don’t want to stay.”
“Yes, you are. And yes, you do. I promise you do. If I thought for a second you didn’t, we’d have been out of here hours ago.”
“If I don’t like it, can I come home?”
“Of course, Pete,” Mr. Stark squeezes him. He can feel the ridge of the arc reactor pressing against his sternum, hear the gentle whir of the nanotech that is imperceptible to anyone else. He’s going to miss that sound. “Give it two weeks, at least. If you really hate it, we’ll figure something else out.”
“R-really?”
“Yeah. But we won’t need to. You got this, kiddo,” Mr. Stark squeezes his shoulders again, and Peter feels a dry, bristley kiss against the side of his face. He can’t reach the top of his head like he used to be able to. “We’re all so proud of you, Petey.”
“Thanks, Mr. Stark. I don’t know what I would have done with-without you and May.”
“You’ll never have to know, kiddo,” Mr. Stark gives him one last squeeze, then pulls away and smoothly shoves a pair of sunglasses on his face. “Now,” he reaches out and wipes the tears of Peter’s face with his thumb before Peter has a chance to. He turns to point to the black box on the bed against the wall, filled with the small gifts from everyone at the compound. Save the fake ID. “Don’t forget to thank everyone.”
“I won’t. Tell them they didn’t have to give me anything, Mr. Stark…”
“I know, I told them as much already. But they wanted to, so write them some thank-you cards when you have a chance,” Mr. Stark gives him a pointed look that makes it clear he doesn’t expect Peter to do any such thing. “Now…” he spins on his heels and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Now.”
“You should get going, Mr. Stark,” Peter smiles sadly. “I mean, before Aunt May comes back up. We’ll have to do this thing all over again and I don’t think I’d make it a second time.”
“Yeah,” Mr. Stark sniffs. “I don’t think any of us would.” He slaps a heavy hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Do I need to go through the rules again?”
“N-no, Mr. Stark. ‘Keep the suit in the football, no walking on the ceiling,’ et cetera.”
“You got it, bud. And don’t sit on Karen,” He flicks a hand up towards the corner, then lays it back on Peter’s shoulder. “And you’ll call, if you need anything?”
“Yes, Mr. Stark.”
“I mean it, Peter,” Mr. Stark steps directly in front of him and takes ahold of his other shoulder. “Anything. If you’re not sleeping, trouble with classes, I don’t care if you just need a few extra bucks for dinner with your friends. You call.”
“I will, Mr. Stark. I promise.”
“Good,” Mr. Stark pats the side of his face, smiling sadly. “We’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Ok, Mr. Stark.”
And then he’s gone, the heavy metal door closing behind him with a click. And Peter’s alone. He turns slowly in the small room, looking at the newly stocked mini-fridge and the bed made up by May. Several boxes are pushed against the wall, next to crates waiting to be assembled and filled with books and knick-knacks. A shiver runs up his spine and he twists the black watch on his wrist. He’s never been alone, not like this. Not without knowing he’d be going back home.
“Karen?”
“Yes, Peter?” The sound from the corner of the ceiling is low, low enough that it won’t be heard through the cinder-block walls of a dorm room.
“Just checking.”
“Would you like me to call your aunt or Mr. Stark?”
“No, thank you. I’m just--yeah.”
“Do you need to talk about it? You know I’m always here to listen.” Peter smiles; it’d taken him far too long to realize that Mr. Stark programmed his AIs with particular personalities for particular reasons. It wasn’t a coincidence that FRIDAY reminded him of Pepper. Supposedly Vision’s originally programming was modelled after a butler Mr. Stark had as a child. Mr. Stark had made Karen for him, for moments like these.
“Thanks, Karen. I’m alright. How much longer until you’re fully synced?”
“Nano-watch one-hundred percent. Football sixty-seven percent.”
That’s great, Karen,” Peter slumps down on his bed. Suddenly the thought of finishing his unpacking is overwhelming, especially since he has to be up for campus orientation--MIT calls it “REX”, Residential Exploration--at 8:30 the next morning. He knows he’ll be outright bribed to switch rooms with other students there. Mr. Stark warned him.
“Would you like to watch some television? I can sync to all of Mr. Stark’s subscriptions for you to watch.”
“No, I’m--” there’s a knock on Peter’s door. It rings hollow through the room, and for a split second his heart jumps, thinking that his family had come back, that May and Mr. Stark were on the other side of the door, ready to bundle him up and bring him back to New York where he belongs. But reality sets in very quickly, and Peter realizes how ridiculous that is. Mr. Stark had specifically told him two weeks.
He trudges over to the door, hoping whoever it is hadn’t heard him talking to Karen. When he opens the door, he’s met by two people--a tall girl who towers over him, and a very muscular boy about his height, who’s wearing a Spider-man t-shirt two sizes too small. Peter carefully schools his face into the look he’s perfected for when he sees his merchandise (“I have merch, Mr. Stark!” “I can see that, kid.”). The two look a bit older than he is, and as if this isn’t their first rodeo.
“Peter Parker?” The girl’s voice is high and friendly.
“Yes?”
“I’m Ruth, and this is Drew! We’re your RAs!”
“Oh! Um, hi!” Peter sticks his hand out and shakes theirs, careful not to squeeze too hard. Sometimes it still takes all his concentration to control his strength, especially if he's nervous or upset. Can't slip up now, in the first thirty-minutes he's here by himself.
“Have you eaten?” Drew’s voice is low and gravelly, but just as friendly as Ruth’s. “It’s part of the MIT REX events for the floor RAs to take their students for dinner the night they arrive. Introduce everyone, get to see everyone else in the wing!”
“Wow, that’s...that’s a-a lot of p-people,” Peter inhales sharply when he hears his nervous stutter come back. It’s been years. He hears Mr. Stark in this head. Easy, Parker.
“Oh, not really,” Ruth chirps above him. There’s only fifteen students in our wing. It’ll be easy to get to know everyone!”
“We know how hard it is, meeting new people on campus,” Drew nods solemnly, his face almost too serious. Peter internally rolls his eyes at the scripted lines.
“Um, yeah, sure,” Peter tamps down the butterflies in his stomach, May and Mr. Stark’s voices goading him in the back of his head. “Just give me a minute, where are we meeting?”
“Great!” Ruth squeaks, a bit too loudly. It’s going to take a while for Peter to get used to such a high voice coming from such a big person. “Just down in the lobby, we’ll have a sign!”
“Great.”
“Awesome!” Drew gives him an enthusiastic thumbs up, and for some reason it reminds Peter of Mr. Rogers’ PSA videos.
“Ok,” Peter nods, before he can change his mind and come up with an excuse. “I’ll be down in five minutes.”
“See you!” Ruth is already on the way to the next room when Peter closes the door. He can hear them knocking, and a high-pitched “Sara Anderson?” through the walls. He’s suddenly glad Mr. Stark made him bring a pair of noise-cancelling headphones.
“Karen?” Peter whispers, not wanting anyone in the hall to hear him.
“Yes, Peter?”
“Will you keep syncing if I leave?” Peter asks, shoving his wallet and phone into his pocket and picking up his jacket from the old, wooden desk chair.
“Of course, Peter. I can remain active and connected to you within a radius of five-hundred miles.”
“Whoa.” Peter hadn’t known that.
“I have locked the football; only your or Mr. Stark’s fingerprints will be able to open it in the event someone enters the room.”
“Thanks, Karen.”
“Go have fun, Peter.”
*******
The bright light of a text alert through Peter’s eyelids jolts him out of sleep. The mattress is uncomfortable; a rock with metal springs that can’t hold a candle to his small bunk bed in Queens--either top or bottom--let alone his giant, cushy mattress at the Tower. Despite that, he’d fallen asleep quite quickly after they’d returned to the dorm. Everyone was exceptionally nice, and he got along quite well three other kids, one of whom was from New York and whose grandmother had been helped by Spider-man once.
Peter thinks he was dreaming, of eating hamburgers in a graduation cap with a big group of people and the old lady who bought him a churro once. It dissipates as he pushes himself up on his elbow, as all good dreams usually do. He reaches for the phone he’d left on the edge of his pillow, tucked against the concrete wall. There’s a single message on the screen.
ManInATinCan: Just checking in, kid. Don’t answer until you’re up, unless you absolutely need to. Call you tomorrow.
Peter smiles, resisting the urge to immediately answer. He glances at Karen; the clock on her face reads 3:08. He tucks his phone under his pillow so any texts won’t wake him up again. He doesn’t need to answer, Mr. Stark told him not to until morning, and he needs to be awake in four hours. He’s meeting some kids for breakfast before orientation, including the granddaughter of Spider-man lady. He’ll text Mr. Stark before he leaves.