Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

PART ONE: THE ITSY-BITSY SPIDER CRAWLED UP THE WATERSPOUT

“Mr. Stark?”

Peter left a message on the man’s voicemail for the third time this week. “Um, this is Peter, uh I was just calling to ask whether you needed my help saving the world or something… Call me when you do…”

He hung up, flopping onto his bed. One voicemail per day was about as frequent as he allowed himself, although sometimes, on days like this, he wanted to maybe inch up to two. Or three. Or five. Damn I'm bored…  He let out a quite unflattering whine, and grumbled, “why are some days so normal ?”

It was Wednesday, which meant he wasn’t allowed to go patrolling, according to the frankly irritating rules May had laid out when she’d found out his little secret. Said rules also dictated that when he could go out, he had to be back by ten. Which was inconvenient to say the least; real trouble happened around eleven.

He wasn’t about to complain though. She hadn’t taken his suit or grounded him for all of eternity as he’d feared. So shit if he was going to make a fuss about a few boundaries when the alternative was near-literal life imprisonment.

But if Mr. Stark needed him to help save the world… well, Aunt May couldn’t keep him from something that important.

Of course, Stark never answered his messages.

That didn’t matter. Of course it didn’t.

He fidgeted irately and checked his nerdy watch (it had chemical elements instead of numbers). With a sigh, he found it to be 3:10. Aunt May wouldn't be home until 5:00…

Unable to resist, Peter opened the attic hatch above his desk. His room tilted as he attached himself to the ceiling and climbed through the small entrance. Crouching, frog-like, he opened his fancy Stark Industries suitcase.

The mechanic suit holder flipped open, revealing his (totally awesome) Spider-Man suit.

He’d just wanted to look at it, honestly. Four months did little to ease how impressive, how freeing, the suit was. Looking didn’t last long.

A couple minutes later, he was opening his bedroom window and swinging out into the crisp Manhattan air.

Spider-Man perched on top of one of the many skyscrapers in Rockefeller Plaza, watching the ant-sized people run back and forth from building to building. Nothing abnormal.

He sighed. “Hey Karen?”

His suit answered, “Yes Peter?”

“Any reports of any crimes or thefts in the area?”

“Shouldn’t you be at home?” The AI sounded a little too much like it was scolding him. “It’s Wednesday.”

Peter tried to hide his face, which wasn’t very effective considering the person he was hiding from was literally the clothes he was wearing. Which was a bit freaky, now that he thought about it. “I’ve done all my homework and May won’t be back for a while and I’m not gonna do anything dangerous…” he trailed off, knowing exactly how true that particular comment was. “Just scan, please, Karen?”

His suit made a noise that sounded a bit like a sigh and compiled. “Scanning…”

Peter tapped his foot impatiently. Just one crime… please? A ding sounded in his ear. 

“Speeding on 47th. Crowded street; could get dangerous soon.”

Unable to contain excitement and relief, Spider-Man punched the air. “Yes!” He shot a line of web towards the nearest building, and swung towards the downtown area.

Approximately an hour and a half (and three neighborhood crimes) later, Spider-Man was slinking along the edge of the building at the corner of 47th and 5th avenue, on the lookout for some jewel robbers Karen had warned him about. Sure enough, three thugs with ski masks were robbing MDC Diamonds. Not that he was surprised; the Stark tech that Karen used (and was, he supposed) was never wrong. He walked in and leaned against the door frame in attempted casualty. “Hey guys! Why'd you have to start without me? We could have made this a lot easier.”

They just stared at him, before finally responding “Who the hell are you?” with a voice muffled by the mask.

He rolled his eyes, not caring that no one could see through the mask. “Good grief, you'd think that after all this time people would recognize me!” He groaned sarcastically, then shot a web at the nearest thug. The man dropped his money bag as his hands were immediately engulfed by sticky netting.

Immediately, and unsurprisingly, the other two guys held up pistols. “Don't come any closer!”

“No problem buddy!” Web covered both of their guns, slowing the speed of the bullets. Spider-Man dodged the now less-than-lethal projectiles by jumping onto the ceiling and sticking there, shooting more webs as he went.

The two with the mostly-useless weapons took seconds to overpower, and Spider-Man moved with fluid practice, Karen advising him calmly. He had the gun-dudes stuck to the walls almost before they had a chance to fire another shot, and he took a step back to survey his work, Spidey senses tingling--

Whap!

Spider-Man had forgotten about the first idiot. Listen to the Spidey senses. He hardly flinched at the awkward blow, however; the man’s hands were still bound, and Peter’s increased strength allowed him to recover in moments.

Another leap and flash of webbing later, all three goons were bound and gagged. They glared at him as he unmasked them, Scooby-Doo style.

“...And you must be...a person I don't know! Wonderful.” Spider-Man stood in front of them, pleased with his handiwork. The new webbing that he had constructed the day before was working nicely.

“Alrighty friends, it was nice knowing you, but now I am gonna have to leave you to the police. Bye!”

He swung away before they could protest (it would have taken hours until the webbing dissolved, anyway). On his way home, he checked the time. 4:45.

Crud. Peter wouldn’t be home in time; it took approximately 30 minutes to get back to Queens. 25 as the crow flew. As the spider swung? May was gonna be ticked…

Ticked hardly covered it.

Peter endured at least an hour of ranting about ‘how irresponsible he was’, and how he ‘could have been seriously injured.’ When May finally stopped for breath, Peter decided to go with the sad puppy scheme.

“I’m sorry Aunt May, I just wanted to go out for a while. I was cooped up inside that school all day…” He tried his best to sound as pitiful as possible.

May just gave him the stink-eye and told him to go to his room and stay there , with a parting ‘this is your one warning! Next time suit; gone, and grounded until the end of time.’ He did so, effectively slinking away with his tail between his legs, not even daring to poke his nose out at the slightly awkward smell of dinner cooking until his aunt gave the okay.

When he sat down, the hairs on his arms still standing on end in anxiousness, May was ready with a fork for gesturing and a knife for emphasis. “Why did you really leave? You’ve never broken curfew ever since I found out about your little vigilantism exercise. Why now?”

He shrugged. “I, er, was just bored. Honestly.”

She stared at him.

“ Really bored. Decathalon’s on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Ned was busy, I had no homework, and Mr. Stark--” he clamped his mouth shut, cursing silently.

May’s eyes got almost comically flooded with storm clouds. “What did that man do this time? If he put you up to this I swear--”

“No! No, May, he didn’t do anything! He hasn’t done anything for months.” Peter squashed down the involuntary bitterness that arose when he thought about the lack of communication. He’d thought things would be different now, what with Vulture and Mr. Stark asking him to join the Avengers, but it was just like it had been after Germany.

At least Happy doesn’t cuss at me so much anymore.

“I was just bored,” he assured again, able to meet his aunt’s eyes this time.

“Well, find something else to occupy your time,” she finally said with a sigh, then added sweetly, “Because if you ever do this again I will make your life a living hell, m’kay?”

Peter hid a grin and nodded.

The next morning, Peter made his way to the bus with a breakfast donut in hand. His best friend, Ned Leeds, was at the corner, waiting impatiently for Peter to catch up.

Ned was the only one besides Mr. Stark and his associates who knew Peter’s secret. In a way, it had made them closer as friends. Today, Ned was going on about how Captain America had shown himself again, blah blah blah, politics, Accords, vibranium.

“I don’t see why people get so excited about this,” Peter said when Ned was finished updating him, and they’d dodged today’s first assault from Flash. “I fought Captain America; if he doesn’t want to be found or taken, like hell anyone’s gonna be able to do it.”

Ned leaned in, eyes alight like a toddler ready for storytime.

Peter rolled his eyes. “You already know this.”

“Oh come on! You never talk about Germany; how come I don’t get every juicy detail?”

“There isn’t really anything to say.” Peter shifted uncomfortably. “We fought. He dropped part of a building on me.”

Ned hummed. “That seems to happen to you a lot.”

“Two times is not a lot.”

“It’s more than most people! Because usually they’re dead after the first one and not discussing probability with their guy in the chair.”

Peter punched his friend’s shoulder affectionately, standing as the bus rolled into the school. “You started this whole conversation just so you could mention the chair, didn’t you.”

Ned nodded emphatically, and the two got off the bus laughing.

“Where’s MJ?” Peter asked when they got to the locker bay.

“In the decathalon room reading, probably,” Ned replied.

“Think again, losers.”

Peter and Ned spun, trying to keep involuntary looks of guilt off their face. Michelle Jones stood behind them, holding a book--

Peter yelped and performed a quite elaborate duck and roll on instinct when he saw the object flying towards his face. Realizing (too late) that perhaps the nerdy science intern kid would not be expected to have olympic-level agility, Peter forced himself off of his naturally-corrective balance. He spun out onto the floor, but the movement was still a bit to graceful. Oh well. The spidey skills could not be thwarted.

“What was that for?” he demanded, climbing to his feet and glaring at MJ as people around them laughed. He was glad Flash seemed to be elsewhere.

She smirked as Ned added, “yeah, you can’t just go around swinging novels at people! Even the--”

Sensing, it seemed, the approach of a movie reference from the boy, MJ cut Ned off. “It was scientific. I was collecting data.”

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it again, because she might well be telling the truth. Still grinning that infuriatingly sarcastic grin, MJ flounced away, opening Peter’s would-be murder weapon and proceeding to ignore their existence.

“Why do we put up with her again?” Ned asked when the girl was out of earshot.

“We don’t put up with anything,” Peter corrected under his breath. “We willingly accept.”

“Yeah, or she’d chew our asses.”

Peter laughed.

“I mean, she doesn’t even like Star Wars! Who doesn’t like Star Wars?” Ned glowered, but perked up after a moment. “Speaking of Star Wars, marathon is coming up.”

“Really, is it that close already?”

Ned grinned, nodding far too quickly. Quotes flashed through Peter’s mind, and he couldn’t help smiling. “Your house or mine?”

“Oh, yours, definitely,” Ned assured.

“Deal.”

The bell clanged through the school, and Peter hurried away to Chemistry with his best friend at his heels, mind filled with the flash of lightsabers and the views from high above.

*   *   *

Tony Stark was 98 percent sure that he existed to be the dumping ground for all the headaches that the universe couldn’t find a good home for. That was him, Tony protect-the-Earth-with-no-backup, run-a-multimillion-dollar-company, get-engaged-to-cover-up-a-kid’s-way-too-mature-decisions, adopt-a-migraine Stark.

The remaining two percent, he decided as he put down the phone from DC and ran his hands through his hair, was to constantly try and extend the laws of mathematics to give himself even more reasons for living in the first place.

He was not overwhelmed. No, indeed he was not. Tony Stark--genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist--could juggle anything.

Anything not including the annoyingly precious kid who’s life he’d very nearly fucked up.

So Tony worked. He invented. He ran his company and attended conferences and worked with the press. He was Iron Man--dodging alien and enhanced-individual threats for the sake of the public. He tried to figure out how to plan a wedding, tried to figure out how to love the amazing woman who supported him. And above all, he fought for the Accords.

Well, he fought against them, too. The world needed the Accords, but they were in no way perfect. And after… after everything that had happened, Tony knew it was his responsibility to deal with them. Thaddeus Shady-as-fuck Ross wouldn’t get off his ass though, which was distinctly not helping, especially when they both wanted the same thing damn it!

He was definitely not trying to revise the laws so that, perhaps, a certain group of individuals might peek their heads back out of the shadows. Even though he (definitely didn’t) still woke up in the dead of night with the phantom memory of a shield plunging towards his chest and a silent scream on his lips because Steve was going to kill him--

Tony sat back, cursing his headache, cursing politics, cursing his rumbling stomach, for he hadn’t thought to grab breakfast before Pepper roped him into his schedule. Cursing the fact that there were over two-hundred unanswered messages on his personal phone from one Peter Parker and that his damn hands started shaking every time he considered responding.

“FRIDAY, what is Pepper torturing me with next?”

“Mrs. Potts has set your conference with the Harrmen Corporation about your new holoscreen software next, sir,” his AI responded promptly.

Relieved his next responsibility was at least something related to his inventions and not the endless yammering that was the politicians over the traces of Steve, Tony climbed from his chair and made his way to one of the compounds many meeting rooms.

As he walked, the tiredness fell from his face and lifted from his form, discomfort wiping itself from his features, weakness disappearing behind walls upon walls of steel. Anyone who’d seen him in his office would have been met with an entirely different person as he entered the conference. He was not Tony, not anymore; he was Anthony Edward Stark, Iron Man, founder of Stark Industries, the genius behind the success.

He wasn’t sure anyone had seen Tony. Not for a long time.

Chapter Text

Aunt May took Peter for Thai Saturday afternoon, before he started his patrol. They tried a new place, Ayada Thai, that night, and Peter liked the place instantly. It was small and cozy, with sauce bottles mounted decoratively on avocado-green walls. Ebony cabinets hid the entrance to the kitchen, and windows looked out onto the streets of Queens. When May and he sat down on the stools at the long table running against said windows, Peter hoped their food measured up.

“So, school?” May inquired, smiling lightly at him.

“Um, good, yeah, good,” Peter replied. “I’m working with MJ on a social studies project. She’s obviously very invested, and ready to really amp up what we can do. Dunno what we’re gonna do, but it’ll be cool. Maybe she’ll let me build things.”

“Any excuse to get into the workshop,” May said. “Ned?”

“He was sick yesterday, when we talked about it.” ‘Sick.’ Peter had his doubts. “We’ll probably team up on Monday. Oh!” Peter snapped his fingers. “Star Wars. It’s coming up.”

“Already?”

“Yup. Ned wants to do it with us…” he trailed off, noticing May’s attention was drifting to a TV above his head. “May?”

Her eyes flashed with concern, still watching the screen. Nervous, Peter turned, just in time to read the headline running along the bottom of the screen.

Ferry sinks just outside Manhattan, 8 confirmed dead, 17 injured, dozens more missing.

Peter felt his stomach churn. “Damn…”

A voice cut scathingly from behind him. “Where were the damn superheroes there, huh?”

Peter spun to see a waiter, theirs, staring angrily at the scene on TV. “What?” he asked, taken aback by the man’s tone. May put a hand on his shoulder.

The man set the drinks he was holding down, crossing his arms. “My best friend’s daughter was on that boat. Spider-Man and Iron Man show up to save a ferry cut in half by alien technology, but I guess can’t be bothered by natural causes.”

Peter gaped guppily, not sure whether to bristle or be deeply ashamed. Because the man was right. He could have done something, they could have done something.

May’s hand tightened on his shoulder, and he could hear her whispering, barely. You can’t save everyone. Not your fault, not anyone’s fault. You can’t save everyone.

Peter’s instincts were to disagree, of course, but he was distracted by another comment the waiter made. “That’s why we need those damn Accords.”

Peter did bristle, this time. “What? What do the Accords have to do with this?” He clenched a fist on the table behind his back, pushing away his chagrin until later.

The man snapped his attention to Peter, and the boy realized he hadn’t truly been noticed until then. “Heroes are hypocritical, that’s all I’m saying.” The darkness in his gaze made it clear it was definitely not a ll he was saying. “Picking and choosing who lives and who dies. The governments, the world, should get to choose what battles are fought, not some pompous rich guy who can fly a suit.”

It was the explicit jab at Stark that made Peter angry. Images of the man flashed in the teen’s mind: Stark fighting his own team for the sake of his morals and the same damn laws this idiot was twistedly promoting, Stark snapping the fingers of his wifi-enabled suit to activate a heater in Peter’s own suit, Stark wanting the boy to be “better than” him, Stark putting himself between a nuke and hundreds of thousands of innocent lives.

Spider-Man didn’t know when he stood, but he did know when he started talking. “I think you’ll find you’re the hypocritical one, Sir.” He said coldly. “The Accords bring regulation, which is no doubt a necessity. But that ferry--” he pointed at the screen-- “would not be on the list of government-approved Avenger activity. The Accords didn’t keep the people on that boat alive, and they never will. And the ferry four months ago? It wasn’t the Accords that saved that ship. It was Spider-Man and that same pompous rich guy who can fly a suit. So don’t hate on the heroes for failing to save everyone and then turn around and ask for more procedures to allow them to do so.”

Silence greeted him when he finished, every eye in the restaurant on him. Spider-Man felt the angry passion draining out of him, replaced by awkward embarrassment. Peter sat back down and tried not to look at the man he’d just preached too. “Er, can we go, Aunt May?”

May, who was (to his astonishment) grinning like an idiot, nodded.

They made their way quickly from the restaurant, slamming the door on the response the waiter finally composed to send after them.

And then his aunt burst out laughing.

“God, Peter, what were you doing?”

Peter shrugged, cheeks burning. “I--I--”

“You creamed him! He looked like a damn goldfish. ‘I think you’ll find you’re the hypocritical one, Sir,’” she quoted teasingly, an embarrassing impression of his voice echoing through the afternoon streets. People hardly gave them a second glance.

“Aunt May--”

“You were right, of course, even if I don’t approve of all the vigilantism. And do of the Accords.”

“So do I, but--”

“Of course! You fought--” she grimaced at the memory-- “with that idiot Stark for them. I’d be confused if you weren’t a supporter.”

“But he was right!” Peter finally said, voice perhaps a bit too loud.

Aunt May trailed off.

Peter scrubbed his face. “That ferry was just like the one with Vulture, except it’s engine exploded and wasn’t sawed in half by alien tech. If we were there for Vulture’s, we should have been there for that one!”

Aunt May stopped. “Peter, look at me.”

He did, heart hammering with shame.

“This was not your fault.”

“It’s on me.”

“No it’s not. Listen to me, Peter. Bad things happen. People die, and there are always what-ifs. You superheros are just another set of possibilities. You can ask ‘what if Spider-Man had been there?’ all you want, but you also have to ask ‘what if they’d checked the engine closer?’ or ‘what if they’d gone over the safety procedure like the brochure says?’ Honestly, you guys are just a fancy way to bounce around questions.” May smiled, putting a hand on his cheek. “And I expect you to learn from this, just as the engine-checkers will, just as the brochure-readers will. But it was not your fault.”

Peter swallowed. “I…”

“You can still feel bad. You can regret that you weren’t there. But you don’t get to blame yourself.” May let go, walking back along the street. “You give yourself far to much credit.”

Damn. Peter hated when she was right.

The sinking shame lightened, and the teen took a deep breath. “Thanks, Aunt May.”

“No problem, kid. Now, why don’t we get you some actual food the next time we crash a restaurant?”

Peter laughed.

Spider-Man swung in from patrol that night puffing and full of adrenaline. He’d found a new feature of his suit, like a fancy version of Google Maps, but it charted the optimum swinging route with the most convenient buildings for web-attachment. Hell, it even charcted the optimum points on the optimum buildings. Like Maps, it took some of the fun out of the traveling, so he wouldn’t use it too much, but damn; Stark had really outdone himself.

Actually, ‘outdo’ was not a word Spider-Man thought was in Tony Stark’s vocabulary.

Peter pressed the icon on the front of his chest, the suit going loose about his form. Already composing his next voicemail to the man, Peter fumbled his arm from the baggy onesie. But, when he pulled the phone into his gaze (nearly dropping it twice) he found Stark had beat him to it.

Peter stared at the screen, convinced he was seeing things. Four months of radio silence, and suddenly “1 missed call from Tony Stark” and “1 new voicemail”?

Unable to help the excitement that crawled up from his stomach, Peter started listening.

The first thing he heard was silence.

Confused, Peter pulled the phone away from his ear. He saw the numbers still ticking away the time, though, and, shrugging, went back to listening.

More silence, and then he heard Mr. Stark’s voice. “FRIDAY, what are you doing?”

“I’m calling Mr. Parker, Sir,” came the robotic reply.

“Why the fuck would you be doing that?”

A pause. Peter didn’t know AI’s did pauses.

“You haven’t smiled in three days, Sir.” At this point, Peter was starting to realize perhaps it hadn’t been Stark leaving him a message. Karen and FRIDAY would get along well.

“What in the world does that have to do with anything?” Stark’s annoyed huff. “Besides, you must’ve miscounted. I was smiling like three damn seconds ago.”

“You haven’t smiled in three days.”

“I just did!” There was a noise resembling someone slapping a screen. Peter couldn’t help but grin slightly. “Are you broken, software?”

“You haven’t smiled in three days, but you just did reading Mr. Parker’s last update.”

Another pause.

“Aaaaaaand?”

A noise not unlike a robotic sigh. “You read all of his messages. He needs a response.”

This time, Stark replied instantly. “That’s a hoot, FRIDAY. After everything I’ve already done?” A sardonic chuckle. “I’m the last thing he needs.”

Silence.

“You’re still calling him, aren’t you.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Well, you disobedient piece of programming, here’s a direct order. Don’t call Peter Parker.”

“Yes, Sir.”

The robotic voice of his own phone blared an “end of message,” and Peter set the phone down slowly.

His first thought was what the hell?

The next ones occured all in quite a large jumble all at the same time. Last thing I need?--Smiled reading my messages--he reads all my messages--after everything he’s done?

After standing there for far too long, Peter decided that the best course of action was to put some actual clothes on. He threw on his pajama pants and the weirdly comfortable tourist T-shirt Stark had gotten Spider-Man when he’d taken back the suit. As much as he’d hated their existence then, he couldn’t deny the clothes were really comfortable.

And then he flopped down on the bed, not precisely sure what to do next.

He wanted to think it would do Mr. Stark good to hear from him. He wanted to think he’d been the thing to make the man smile. He wanted to think a lot of things, but… well, they were impossible. Maybe he was that for someone else, but not Iron Man.

He remembered the message, though. Mr. Stark thought… Peter didn’t know what he thought. He thought Peter didn’t need him. Didn’t want him? Shouldn’t want him?

Peter stretched his torso out over the bed to grab his mask off the pile of blue and red tech that was his abandoned suit. Slipping it over his head and feeling a bit stupid, he waited until Karen was booted up and speaking.

“Hey, Karen, what would Mr. Stark answer a message about?”

“Mr. Stark has been ignoring your messages, Peter.”

“No, he just hasn’t responded. And I need him too,” he decided. “So what’s something he’d have no choice but to respond to. Something--” Peter grinned, feeling like he’d made some sort of breakthrough-- “he wouldn’t feel threatened by.”

“Despite my confusion that Mr. Stark could be threatened by you, Peter, I think I have just the thing.”

Chapter Text

When Tony collapsed into bed at the end of the long Saturday, he was surprised to find only a single text message from Peter. He rolled his eyes, finding the letter to be far longer than the usual updates, and proceeded to read it with the kid’s voice in his head.

Hi Mr. Stark. Um, I sorta kinda got stabbed.

The saturation of anxiety in Tony’s system skyrocketed.

It wasn’t bad, before you freak. :) A scratch. All healed up now! A thumbs-up emoji had Tony grinning lightly. But the suit doesn’t have spider healing, so it needs a patch up.

The next line came later, like an afterthought. If you’re busy it’s not a big deal. - PP

Tony rolled his eyes. The kid would never have asked him for help if is truly wasn’t a big deal; someone had planted this idea in his head that Tony didn’t have time for him. Who? Oh right, that had been Tony.

The man rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to pretend he wasn’t excited. This was (if he thought about it) quite perfect. He’d get out of some conferences, into the workshop, and get to see the kid for the first time in months. And this was something he was supposed to do, right? Fix the suit. Improve the suit. He could do that without screwing anything up, without changing the conversations.

So Tony replied to Peter for the first time in months, breaking the radio silence for good.

I’m always busy. Get your ass over here tomorrow, and we’ll see what I can do about the suit’s ‘spider healing.’

* * *

“You, Karen, are a genius.” Peter punched the air when he read the single response. “Tomorrow. Well, today now, I guess. He didn’t give a time…”

“He’ll know when you’re going over, Peter,” Karen hummed.

Peter laughed. “Yeah, of course he will.”

An hour and three classes worth of homework later, Spider-Man was swinging through the streets. He didn’t know who would be at the compound; better safe than sorry with his secret identity. The rip he’d engineered in the suit near his hip (God, the material was strong; he’d had to sharpen all of the kitchen knives after) was actually quite inconvenient, stretching and pulling and contorting the suit in ways he wasn’t used to.

As he got closer to the compound, doubt started to flicker in his gut. What, exactly, was he doing? Engineering some excuse to see a busy billionaire because a voicemail the man wasn’t even aware was sent? Sabotaging his own suit for it? This was dumb. This was really, really dumb.

But… he couldn’t deny how relieved he’d felt when Mr. Stark responded. That he acknowledged Peter’s existence. And he couldn’t deny how happy he’d felt when the man’s voice had come through in that message for the first time in so, so long.

What. The actual. Fuck.

So Spider-Man finished his journey to the compound and was met by one Happy Hogan waving both hands halfheartedly from the grounds to get his attention. Spider-Man grinned, sending a web just a bit closer than necessary and leaping gracefully to the earth. He took off his mask, shaking out brown curls and grinning like an idiot. “Happy!” Peter greeted, bouncing forward.

The perpetually grumpy man let Peter hug him, squeezing him back just a little. “Long time no see.”

“I know! No talk, either.” Peter made a face. “Mr. Stark know I’m here?”

“What are you kidding? ‘Course he does. He’s waiting in the workshop.”

Peter, suddenly remembering that this was Iron Man’s workshop he was about to enter, fidgeted nervously. “Um. Am I late or...did I make him miss--”

“Stop babbling kid. The boss has been using you as an excuse to spend his time in the workshop all day. It isn’t him you’ve got to worry about, it’s Pepper.”

Peter gulped. If Pepper was anything like Aunt May, well, he was dead.

Aunt May, technically, didn’t know he was here. If he told her he needed his suit fixed, she’d ask what happened, and he’d have to make up some sort of lie (which she was always able to detect) that both kept her from freaking out and murdering Mr. Stark.

So he’d spend the morning being productive, and then told her he was going patrolling. Not a lie: he had done a bit of web-slinging before he came over. And he’d probably do some more when Mr. Stark had finished.

“Is Pepper…”

Happy snorted. “Oh, she’ll have your head. But she’s not around; she’s covering in the conference for Tony.”

“I--I--can come back later--I thought Sunday would be less--”

“Zip it, kid. You back out now and Stark gets it, which means I get it, which means you get it too.”

Peter nodded emphatically.

“Alright, follow.”

The compound was just as unreal as Peter remembered. Happy took him inside the largest building, the one adjacent to the helicopter pad. The windows arched across its entire front, viewing the sprawling training compound in all its majesty. There, Peter noted, were the Avenger quarters. And that was Mr. Stark’s press room. Was that more training? He knew that was vehicle containment…

“Shut that mouth of yours before you drool all over my shoes.”

Peter snapped his jaw shut, embarrassment burning in his cheeks. He wasn’t supposed to be some starstruck intern; he was Spider-Man. He’d even been to the compound before.

Happy turned away from the windows, leading them deeper into the compound. He stopped before a mundane section of wall, then sighed. “All yours, kid.”

“Uh.”

“Just touch it. It’ll read you’re DNA, or some shit like that, and let you in if your authorized.”

“Er, am I authorized?”

“Kid, you’ve had full access to everything in the compound since Tony first built the place.” Happy rolled his eyes at Peter’s shocked look.

“ Really?”

“Just go in. I have better things to be doing.”

Peter, breathing deeply, put his hand on the wall. His handprint lit up, starting an average blue light then shifting with a soft beep to a deep, saturated red. My color , Peter thought, grinning in wonder.

The wall shicked open (Peter couldn’t help but imagine Star Trek), leaving Peter on the doorstop of a workshop that was, quite frankly, magnificent.

Curving and climbing tables reached throughout the space, every surface littered with gleaming metal. Pieces and parts and strange materials hung suspended before holoscreens scrolling through data at unreal speeds. He saw automated arms welding in the back, technology so precise it could be for microsurgery. Nanotech, Peter thought, his eyes widening. There was even a small lab in the back, chemicals strewn dangerously (and characteristicly) about. Through the somehow orderly, appealing chaos, he could distinguish parts of the Iron Man suits, slowly being assembled by robotic tools. There was even… was that Captain America’s shield?

It was wonderful, it was everything he’d ever dreamed. He could do anything, everything with the materials just lying abandoned in corners or strewn about the tables.

And in the middle of it all, hands and face smeared with grease, clothes clingy with sweat, was Tony Stark.

Peter had never seen the man like this. It had always been the clear-cut, rich, powerful, strong man on the news, in the suit, teaching him a lesson. Never did he see the genius, the skillful, hardworking leader and provider to the Avengers.

Stark hadn’t noticed him, peering intently at something on the table with his right hand moving with practiced speed across a screen to his left. Peter cleared his throat, eyes still wide with awe. The man turned, tired brown eyes meeting Peter’s.

And grinned wide and genuine.

“Hey, kid.”

* * *

Tony had the prototype for the mending fabric nearly complete when the boy appeared in the doorway, his youthful face flooded with excitement and wonder. When Tony had rehearsed the situation in his head, he hadn’t prepared for that expression. And he certainly hadn’t been prepared for how he’d feel seeing the kid for the first time in months. Tony was out of character; his shields were down, as it were, in his workshop, surrounded by the metal.

So when he met those innocently enthusiastic eyes, he was grinning before he realized.

“Hey, kid.”

Peter looked surprised, but smiled hesitantly. “Hey, Mr. Stark.”

“You can come in, you know.”

Peter startled, cheeks flushing. Tony held back a laugh and went back to the fabric, stitching in the next thread. The creation was based off of the binding fluid he’d implemented in his own suit for battlefield healing and quick repairs; he’d added it to the fabric as a sort of stitching mechanism build into the fibers.

Peter hovered awkwardly behind him, and Tony glanced at the boy over his shoulder. Yes, that definitely needed a patch up. A rip like that was damaging the structural integrity of the rest of the suit… and he could see skin through the hole. Could get cold. Or wet. Yeah, water could easily slip inside the material and scramble the circuitry he’d so painstakingly implemented.

And that just wouldn’t do, now would it?

Tony gestured vaguely behind him, twisting his arm back awkwardly to point in the general direction of the rip. “What happened?”

“Some guy with a pocket knife when I tried to save him from falling off a building. Ungrateful.” He heard rustling as the boy loosened the suit and began climbing out of it.

“Hm. Get used to it.”

There was a pause. “Er, what are you doing?” Peter asked hesitantly, obviously curious.

Tony let himself smile a small, self-satisfied grin. “You said something about your suit not having 'spidey healing powers.' I thought I might do something about that.”
Peter sucked in a breath behind him. “Mr. Stark I--you don’t have to--I didn’t mean--”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Shut it, Parker. I should have done this months ago.”

The boy was quiet, and Tony turned around, seeing him staring about the workshop again. “This place is… wonderful,” he breathed.

That’s right; the kid was a scientist. An engineer. He’d built those original webshooters long before Tony came along--

And screwed most everything up.

He did that a lot.

Tony forced his gaze to stay steady and not drift to the corner of the room, forced his mind not to remember blood and snow. “Thanks, kid.”

“I mean really!” The excitement was oozing off him now. “You have nanotech being synthesized in the corner, and is that--it is! Mr. Stark… wow.”

Tony found himself smiling. “Well, you’re welcome to it any time.”

Wait what?

“What?”
What?

“Yeah. I mean, Midtown Science and Technology’s gotta have a workshop of some kind, but nothing can compare to this baby. Nothing compares to having the right tools, kid; it’ll make a huge difference when you’re creating something. Besides, you’re my intern, aren’t you?”

What the hell was he doing? Stop talking, Tony, stop it--

“You’re already in the database: FRIDAY will let you in. Just don’t cut off any limbs.”

This was not--no, the kid was not supposed to just waltz in here, he was supposed to stay away, stay safe--what the hell was Tony doing?

Peter was wearing the same expression he’d had when Tony had told him he could keep the suit. That hesitant excitement, like he wanted to jump at the opportunity but didn’t want to be a bother, didn’t want to do anything but help, not quite able to believe someone would give something like that to him.

“Mr. Stark… really?”

He should say no. He should don the cruelly cold smile and call it a joke. Tell him of course not; he’s got everything he needs in town.

I can keep the suit?

“Of course, kid.”

Shit.

Shit.

MOTHERFUCKING SHIT.

Peter beamed. Tony smiled back.

Shit .

“Gimme your suit. Let’s fix this up.”

A minute later, Peter was draping the suit into Tony’s hands, trying to simultaneously cram himself into a shirt. When the kid was dressed and leaning over the worktable, forearms already greasy, Tony went to work.

They tinkered in silence for a while, Peter absorbing his every motion. It made Tony itch, but he didn’t really mind the kid’s enthusiasm. Eventually, the teen was handing Tony tools almost before he knew he needed them himself, familiarizing himself with the workshop and all it contained. So the work went fast, the suit stitching up and the circuits reconnecting. Tony reached for the strangely slippery, hopefully self-binding threads he’d manufactured earlier, beginning to intersperse it in a small area. Hopefully, the next time Peter got into trouble, this area wouldn’t need a patch-up.

“Mr. Stark?”

Tony startled. “Yeah?”

“Er, I was just wondering if you heard about the boat.”

“The one that sunk? I did, yeah. Briefly.”

The boy shifted. “I just… I heard about it at lunch yesterday.”

“Where is this going, kid? I’m busy.”

“Right, sorry.” The boy shook himself. “Someone compared it to the ferry.”

Tony stopped.

“He was really stupid about it. Somehow making it about the Accords. But… well, Mr. Stark, he was sort of right. Since we’re--”

“Since we’re heroes, and we could do something, shouldn’t we for everything? We’re meant to help people. Why can’t we help them all? Why can’t we save them? Every drowning man, every burn victim, every civilian dead in an alley for a few bills and a wallet.”

Peter was looking at him, those innocent eyes solemn. “Yeah. Where… when…”

“When do we stop? Where’s the line?” Tony shook his head. “Yeah, kid, I can’t answer that. I don’t think any one man can. But maybe if you asked the whole world at once, it could give you a rough idea.” He looked away, crinkling his mouth sardonically. “That’s why I figure we need the Accords, kid. Because now there is a line. And maybe it’s be a little above what it should be. Maybe people die who should have lived. But maybe people live who might have died.”

“What about me?” Peter asked.

“You?” Tony’s hands clenched involuntarily. “You, kid, have no place in the Accords as they are. You’d be leashed. No kid should have to live like that.”

Every phone call monitored. Every meeting watched. Every operation spied upon.

“I’m not--”

“Yeah, you are a kid. But that doesn’t matter to some people.” Tony watched the boy, watched his form straighten in determination.

“I want to be part of the line, Mr. Stark. I don’t want to feel uncertain anymore.”

Pride flickered in Tony’s chest. Thanks, Mr. Stark, but I’m good. I’d rather just stay on the ground.

“And you will. Just as soon as I figure it out. But don’t you dare get yourself mixed up with Ross and the rest of those fuckers until I’ve sorted things, okay?”

Peter looked slightly stunned. “O-okay.”

“Good boy. Now hand me those pliers. The ones with the really tapered ends. No, to your left. There you go.”

He was going to make this suit worthy of the boy beside him.

Chapter Text

The building screams.

Maybe he does, too.

There are pillars around him, pillars of concrete slowly, painfully turning to sand one grain at a time. And he can’t move. He has to run, has to get out, but he can’t move--

The structure groans again. It’s a final groan, a promise groan.

The building falls.

And suddenly all is weight and dust and darkness, rock and metal and concrete, pain and blood and fear. His body won’t work. His mind won’t work.

His breath doesn’t come. There are rocks on his chest, metal in his throat, and his chest cannot rise. He can’t move. He can’t breath . He’s going to die here. No one is coming, no one will find him. He’s lied to too many, disappointed those who matter, leaving him alone.

Alone with the weight.

Alone with the dust.

Alone with the darkness.

Alone with the rock and the metal and the concrete. Alone with the pain and the blood.

Alone with the fear.

Peter jerked awake, his limbs flailing involuntarily. Jagged breaths shook his small form as he breathed simultaneously too much and not nearly enough. Getoutgetoutgetoutgetout.

Slowly, after an eternity, logic reasserted itself with the familiar touch of his carpet against his cheek. He’d fallen off the bed to land, entangled in sheets and sticky with perspiration, on his bedroom floor.

A Dream. The Dream. He knew it was a dream, he did, but every time, every damn time he woke up convinced he was dying. Suffocating under steel and asphalt and the remains of a structure.

Peter forced himself to breathe slower, more controlled. You won, he reminded himself, again. You lifted that damn roof as Peter Parker, you lifted that roof as Spider-Man. Alone. Scared. Broken. But you did it anyway.

He knew that. God, he did. So why did he still dream of the feeling? Why had it taken him a month to be able to go into Ned’s basement? Why did his mind shut down when he entered an old building? Why?

He didn’t know the answers. He didn’t think he ever would. But the Dreams had gotten less frequent, though sometimes they seemed stronger than ever. And he could go into basements now without a flicker of unease. Old buildings were fine too, usually, but when they creaked--

He wasn’t thinking about this.

Peter fumbled for his phone, blinking at the harsh light when he booted it up. 4:07. Great, he told himself, this was good. He could get back to sleep and enter REM before he needed to get up for school. Good. Good.

Peter changed into warm, clean sweatpants and grabbed a new blanket, then climbed into bed and closed his eyes peacefully.

He lay awake for the rest of the night.

“I’ve got it.”

“Got what?”

“Our social studies project, dumbass.” MJ slapped Peter’s shoulder, sitting down and opening her book and lunch, as though she wasn’t going to elaborate. She didn’t.

Peter and Ned glanced at each other. Then at the girl, who didn’t look up.

“Um, MJ?”

“What?”

“What’s the project?”

Smiling, because she had won whatever twisted challenge Peter hadn’t known was occuring, MJ set down the book and stared intently at them. “Menial work.”

“Yeah, I picked up on that from the prompt, MJ. Just get to the point.”

“Hospital beds,” she stated. “I think we should talk about the lasting effects of small, seemingly unimportant jobs on the whole of society. About how those few minutes impact life on a larger scale.”

Peter could see it, now. “Right. And the making of hospital beds, to clean them and then make them appealing, is, well, a menial task. But without it, we’d have some repercussions.”

“And with it,” Ned said, excited, “the way it is, I mean, we also have repercussions. That time really adds up.”

MJ smiled. “Glad to see you aren’t total idiots. Yeah. Ned and I’ll do the writing, and I’m sure we can come up with something for the computer guy in the chair here. You, Parker, get to come up with our solution.”

“You mean like a device that makes hospital beds?”

“Sure,” she said in a tone of very obvious yes. “Not my place to tell you how to do your job.”

Peter rolled his eyes, and Ned snickered.

“Later, losers.”

She proceeded not to leave, diving into her book and refusing to respond to them until the end of lunch bell. MJ was interesting like that. He used to think her weird, but now, well, her antics were just intriguing. Unique. Peter was glad she was their friend, glad she was close enough that he felt a slight urge to tell her who he was.

And because he was thinking about Spider-Man, and the people who knew of him, he remembered what she’d said. MJ had called Ned ‘guy in the chair.’

Peter panicked for a moment, snapping his gaze to the girl beside them, calmly packing up her stuff and lingering by the lunch table until they did the same. His mantra of inward curses faded after a moment, reasoning that she’d preceded the comment with ‘computer’ and said it as a simple statement of fact. Besides, how could she know? A person like MJ would confront him immediately, wouldn’t she?

You never knew, with her.

Thoroughly unnerved, Peter went to class.

He’d told Mr. Stark he’d stay close to the ground.

A little late to remember that, Spider-Man thought, pulling himself up the wall of the skyscraper and decidedly not looking down. This was not very close to the ground.

But the weirdo with the messed-up eyes was going higher, and what else was he supposed to do?

He’d spotted the dude in the crowd around the Empire State (yes, Spider-Man was currently climbing up the goddamn Empire State Building) because of the way he moved. Wrong. Quite wrong. And weird. Sorta jerky: he’d stay in one position for an awkwardly long time and then dart to the next. And those weird eyes added to the overall THIS DUDE IS CREEPY vibe, not to mention the licking. Who just flicked their tongue around in the middle of a crowded square at nine at night?

And then the dude had started climbing the building.

So Spider-Man had, too. Because normal people did not climb buildings. Including him, he supposed, but that didn’t really matter, as long as he could figure this out.

The man froze for a moment, and Spider-Man tried to increase his speed. The man looked down at him, eyes wide and flicking around unnaturally. Like a lizard, Spider-Man thought. And the wall-climbing. Oooo like a gecko! He can be Gecko.

As he came closer, Spider-Man yelled up to Gecko, “What are you doing man? Just sticking around?”

Gecko didn’t listen, pushing even higher up the building. Spider-Man cursed, following. “Karen, can we intercept him?”

“His movements are too irregular. I cannot track an optimum path.”

“Well, we’ll just have to do this the old fashioned way.”

“Of course, Peter.”

Spider-Man continued climbing, wind tearing at his thin form. The lights of New York reflected in the widows of the building beneath him, already mostly beneath him. Damn, and he’d thought the Washington Monument had been high.

“Do not worry, Peter. Your parachute is fully operational.”

“Thanks, Karen.”

“No problem.”

Spider-Man’s enhanced senses let him taste the thinner air, and he breathed a bit faster. He tore his gaze from the windows and focused on the gecko dude.

When they reached the viewing platform, people started yelling. The gecko dude threw himself over the spiked fence. Shooting a web and using his momentum to swing up and over, Spider-Man wasn’t far behind.

“Hey guys! Killer view!” he said as he sprayed fluid towards the gecko dude. “Ever been to New York before? Oh, and you might want to clear the area.”

Spider-Man didn’t get to see their reaction, as the lizard guy dodged his webbing, lunging toward the spire of the building.

No no no. Not allowed. Things got fragile up there, and Spider-Man didn’t have a super great track record for not breaking things.

He webbed the guy, yanking him back onto the platform. “And where do you think your going?”

To his shock, the man responded. “ Get--higher--” Distracted, Spider-Man reacted a bit too late as Gecko-Dude slipped from his webbing, and the next net missed.

“Shit. Karen, activate web-grenade.”

“Web grenade activated.”

“Awesome!” Spider-Man flipped his fingers towards the gecko-dude.

Who proceeded to headbutt him in the chest.

Spider-Man flew against the railing of the platform, thoroughly caught off-balance. “Dude!”

The man was already scaling the building again, and Spider-Man gritted his teeth, carefully aiming…

But the web he sent flying towards the man was the wrong kind. The grenade didn’t deal nearly enough force to the rapidly retreating man, and Spider-Man cursed, quickly returning to his standard web shooter settings. “Hey, wait up!” he called, leaping towards the spire. “Views are better with two!”

“Peter, it appears the man is wearing some kind of technology; a bracelet displaying life signs.”

“The bracelet is displaying life signs?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” He sent another web towards the gecko, slowing him slightly.

“I believe it has coded with another creature’s DNA.”

“What? You mean like a lizard, or something?”

“A short-horned mountain lizard, yes.”

“What the hell? Is he wearing a lizard?”

Karen gave him her automated laugh, and he grinned a bit. “No. I believe it has just enhanced him temporarily.”

“Soooooo, the gecko-dude--Oh my god!”

The guy suddenly fell back towards him, and Spider-Man instinctively thrust himself out of the way.

And off the building.

“SHIT!” He flailed for a moment, limbs meeting no resistance in the free air. Time stretched, and Peter thought he could see every light of New York sprawled out before him, ready to swallow him whole.

And then Spider-Man was sending a web back towards the building, swinging gracefully back against the surface. Easy.

The gecko dude snarled at him. “Hungry. Spider.”

“Dude, that’s creepy. I know--” web-- “you think your some sort of--” web-- “high-altitude lizard, but you’re talking a little--” web-- “cannibalistic.”

The man lunged at him, and Spider-Man swung away from the building again. “Karen, what’ve we got?”

“If you destroy the device it should counteract the man’s connection.”

“Awesome. One destroyed bracelet coming right up. Activate rapid-fire web.”

Spider-Man proceeded to barrage the gecko-dude with repeated bullets of webbing. He actually tried to eat them. Like flies. God, this was messed up. They scurried up and down the walls of the Empire State, the windows and the railings showing concerned faces all blurring together into one. But it didn’t take long for gecko-dude to be thoroughly discombobulated, and Spider-Man sent one last burst of standard webbing, yanking the bracelet from the strange man’s arm.

He crushed it against the side of the building without a second thought.

And the man fell.

Spider-Man threw another set of webs, gripping the man and landing them both safely on the observation deck. But the man didn’t move, lying still as Spider-Man adjusted to having level ground beneath his feet.

Crap .

“Hey, hey Gecko!” Spider-Man scrambled over to the limp man. “Are you okay?”

The man didn’t react, and Spider-Man felt for a pulse. It was strong, and after another second the man’s eyes flew open.

“Gah!” he yelped, throwing himself across the observation deck.

“Hey, hey!” Spider-Man said, hands extended in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. “You’re okay, you’re fine. I destroyed the lizard thing.”

The man froze. “You did what?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t all that hard. You’re safe now.”

The man stared at him. With his face no longer contorted unnaturally, he was actually quite handsome.

“You destroyed my work.”

“Um. Yeah? You were climbing the Empire State, terrorizing people, trying to eat me.”

“I did nothing of the kind!” The man clenched angry fists, and Spider-Man took a step back, surprised. “That ‘ lizard thing’ is thousands of dollars and years of hard work! A psychic and physiological connection with a creature has never been possible until that device. And you reduced it to scrap!”

“I had to!” But maybe the man had a point. He hadn’t truly been doing anything dangerous… well, besides climbing up the tallest building in New York in the middle of the night. And, “besides, that’s strong tech. Some sort of mind and body link with an animal? Dangerous. And I’d have been hearing about it if it was legal.”

The man glared at him, and Spider-Man took him in. Tall, bulky, not really fat but well on the way. Black hair and green eyes, a burn mark on his temple like a splatter of hot liquid. Handsome, but the crazy-lizard look kinda stanched the appeal.

Spider-Man sighed. He knew what it was like to have something you’d worked for taken from you; it sucked. And though he’d like to pursue this man and learn his history, that slightly desolate look told him the man had nothing else under his belt. He didn’t need to worry about him. “Look, since the tech’s been taken care of--” he held up the splintered remains of the bracelet, and the man growled-- “and you didn’t hurt anyone, I’ll leave you be. No cops, no calling anyone. Ride the elevator down. It’s super fun, especially if you get the faster one.”

“You’ll regret--”

“Oh don’t start! I’m sure I will and blah blah blah.” Spider-Man checked his watch. “Oops. Gotta go, man! See you around! Oh wait-- no I won’t!”

With that, he backflipped over the railing and began his descent towards Queens.

It was time to be close to the ground again.

Chapter Text

To Peter’s eternal shock, Happy actually picked up the phone.

“What?” he snapped. “I’m very busy.”

“Hi Happy! It’s Peter Parker.”

“Yeah, there’s a name connected to this number for a reason. What do you want?”
“Can I talk to Mr. Stark?”

“He’s also busy.”

“Well, I was fighting this guy--”

“Gonna stop you right there. Tell me honestly kid--” there was the sound of a chattering group of humans and a muffled curse from Happy, then a door slamming shut-- “will I care?”

“Yes,” Peter stated definitively. “He was a lizard. Well, not really, but he had this device that had some sort of psychological connection to an animal, that in turn gave the dude biological similarities to the creature. He was climbing the Empire State. At he tried to eat my webs and stuck his tongue out at everything. I destroyed the device, but I still have parts of it,” he explained hurriedly. “And the dude wasn’t doing anything wrong besides illegal tool testing/experimentation (which now that I think about it is sort of a lot of things to be doing wrong) so I let him off, but I took the device.”

There was a pause, and Peter held his breath. Then Happy said, “I’ll tell Tony.”

“ Really?”

“‘Course. I’ll tell him you’re bringing the thing over Saturday. Hopefully Pepper can clear a spot in his schedule.”

“You think this is that important?” Peter did, but Happy had never shared his opinions before.

“Honestly no, but I can’t not listen to you. Remember the last time that happened?” A sigh. “Yeah, I’ll talk to Tony.”

“You’re… listening to me?”

“Yeah, remember? I can’t not or the job is down the drain.”

“ Thank you, Happy.”

He could hear the man rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever kid. And stop with the puppy-dog eyes. I can see them from here.”

Peter chuckled, but forced his expression away from unbridled happiness, just in case Happy was somehow watching him.

He opened his mouth to speak again, but the older man had already hung up.

Supposing that was a good thing, for if he dallied any longer he’d be late for school, Peter rolled off his bed and shrugged out of his pajamas. He checked under his mattress for the remains of the lizard-thing. Tuesday. He liked Tuesday; he had Decathalon with Ned. And MJ.

“Peter, are you up?”

“Yeah, coming May!”

“I made pancakes!”

Peter made a face. ‘Burned chunks of batter’ would be a more accurate description, but hey. Slathered in peanut butter and syrup they weren’t too bad.

Thirty minutes later he was on the Subway to Midtown, headphones in and humming contentedly. Things were good, he thought. Happy was listening to him. MJ was talking to him more. He had Star Wars to look forward to with Ned tomorrow when he wasn’t allowed to go patrolling, and the girl had even asked to join them despite her dislike for the franchize. They’d just have to change that, he supposed.

And he’d seen Mr. Stark. He’d done more than see the man. Stark had told him he was welcome in the Avengers compound.

Yeah, things could be a lot worse. He hadn’t even had the Dream that night.

Ned met him at the station, and they walked the rest of the way together. Peter explained Spider-Man’s exploits the night before to Ned’s excitement.

“So he was gonna eat you?”

“Uh, it sounded like it. He was connected to a lizard, and maybe the lizard ate spiders? I don’t know.”

“Huh. I heard about a guy who raided a police station about a device Spider-Man stole. He got detained for a week. Do you think it might lizard-dude?”

“Maybe… well, it’s a good thing I’m taking the device to Mr. Stark on Saturday.”

Ned’s eyes got as wide as dinner plates. “To the compound?”

“Yes, Ned.” Peter rolled his eyes fondly.

“Will any of the Avengers be there? Have you met the Iron Patriot?”

“What? Oh, Rhodey.”

“OH MY GOD YOU’RE ON A NICKNAME BASIS WITH WAR MACHINE.”

Peter looked around, relieved the football field was large enough that they weren’t heard. “No, Ned! Mr. Stark just talks about him sometimes.”

“What about the others?”

“I’ve told you about this. I fought some of them, but other than that…” Peter shrugged. “They’re war criminals now.”

“But does Stark every talk about them? Like y’know. Inside stories and stuff?”

Peter shook his head. “I don’t… well I hadn’t been talking to him much.” That had hopefully changed with the hours they’d spent in the workshop last Sunday. “But he doesn’t say anything about the ex-Avengers.” Peter paused. “I think it makes him sad, y’know?”

“Pfft. Iron Man? I don’t think so.”

“Yeah… you’re probably right.” But Peter couldn’t help imagining how he’d have felt if Ned had betrayed him like Captain America had Mr. Stark. Mr. Stark was human, too. Or at least, Peter thought he was.

He didn’t know most of the details about what people called the Civil War. Just the basics; Accords, disagreement, violence. And Mr. Stark had come back from Siberia not looking… well, not looking good at all. Broken in more ways than one.

Peter shook his head to clear his thoughts as they entered the school. Flash didn’t let him get two steps before falling in beside them.

“Hey, Penis Parker,” he greeted as usual. “You coming to Decathalon later?” Innocent question from anyone but Flash.

“Of course he is!” Ned said, bristling. Peter set a hand on his shoulder.

“Oh, I thought you had things to do. Internship and all that. Or was it just excuses and movie-watching?”

“That’s tomorrow,” Peter murmured before he could think.

“ What was that?”

“Um.” Shit. No backing out of this now. “The movie-watching happens tomorrow.”

“Not that that’s any of your business,” Ned said. Flash brushed him off, and that did make Peter bristle.

“Losers. If you had any balls you’d--”

“Y’know, acting like a dick doesn’t make yours any bigger.”

MJ appeared behind Flash, her hair falling around her ears, her chocolate eyes flashing, and her face as unreadable as ever. Peter choked as whatever lame comeback he was going to spout out was completely blown out of the water.

Flash spun, looking like he wanted to go physical, but when he met MJ’s cold gaze, he balked. Don’t piss of the team leader.

“Hello, idiots. Oh, that’s you two by the way. This one’s a straight moron. Not stupid, just has a little bad luck in the thinking department,” MJ said.

Everyone gaped.

She rolled her eyes. “Class. Let’s go. They’ll miss three of us, at least.”

Not exactly sure how to react to what had just transpired, Peter shared a glance with Ned. After a moment, the other boy mouthed “classy exit?” and they tripped off after MJ, not daring to look back at Flash.

When they caught up to MJ, she was smirking.

Ned said “thanks” at the same time Peter said “you didn’t have to do that.”

“You’re welcome. And no I didn’t.” She raised an eyebrow.  

“But now he’ll go after you, too,” Peter said, not wanting to sound ungrateful, but still concerned.

MJ scoffed. “No he won’t. I’m his team leader; I have the power to make his life a literal hell. And I’ve got better moves than he does anyday. So don’t worry your little butt.”

Ned was still gaping a bit. “That was awesome, MJ, do you rehearse that?”

She glared at him. “I’m hurt you could doubt my spontaneous brilliance.”

“No! Of course not--I--”

“Kidding. That was a joke, idiot.”

Both Peter and Ned relaxed visibly, and MJ laughed, smirking. “Now, we actually do have Chemistry.”

“Right, right. Um. Right.”

She rolled her eyes and stalked off into the classroom, not bothering to wait for them again.

“Wow,” said Peter.

“Wow is right.”

“We should probably go.”

“Yeah, that might be a good idea.”

The two slightly dazed boys scurried into the classroom.

Peter was actually excited about the afternoon, for once, when Wednesday rolled around. Ned and MJ came home with him, Ned chatting their ears off as MJ just smiled. She rolled her eyes a lot, but it was fond.

“So, do you want publication order or storyline order?”

MJ frowned. “Aren’t you supposed to follow the story? Read books in order?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, “but the Star Wars franchise has two sequels and three prequels. The prequels… well, they have their low points.”

Ned scoffed. “They’re hilariously bad. Well, should we do a good one to give MJ the right idea before we embarrass ourselves?”

Peter shrugged, glancing at the girl beside them. “Who are we kidding? We’ve already done that!”

MJ grinned, raising an eyebrow.

“Storyline order it is, then.”

May had made buckets of popcorn by the time they arrived, the microwave kind so it was pretty well cooked. “Hey, boys! And… girl.”

MJ stuck out a hand. “Michelle, Mrs. Parker.”

“Nice to meet you, Michelle.” Aunt May gave her customary charming grin, MJ gave hers, and Peter could sense them bonding from across the room.

“You kids have fun. Don’t scare Michelle off with George Lucas,” May advised, then slipped out of the room. But not before she gave Peter a wink and a grin, and not before the boy’s cheeks grew just a bit pink.

* * *

“Hey, boss.”

“Yeah, FRIDAY?”

“Happy wants to talk to you. He received a call from Mr. Parker.”

Tony rubbed his face, setting down his slice of cold pizza (definitely billionaire food) and looking up at the ceiling. “I thought that was on Monday.”

“You haven’t been available for contact until today.”

“It’s my Wednesday dinner break, FRIDAY.”

“Exactly,” the AI replied, far too chipper for the fact that she’d just sentenced him as too busy for dinner over the last few days. Well, things had been important. Ross’s revised Accords had hit the US congress, and they were… well, scary to say the least. Disgusting, if he was honest. God, he was going to have to go to DC again, wasn’t he…

Tony  shook his head, remembering what they’d been talking about. “Okay, send him in.”

“Hey Tony.”

“Hello, Happy. What do you want? Well, what does the kid want?” Tony took another bite of pizza.

“He fought someone on Sunday.”

“Is he alright?”

“Yeah he’s fine. But he said something about the guy being connected physically to a lizard or something.”

Tony raised an eyebrow.

Happy shrugged. “He said it had to do with a device he then destroyed. I know it sounds really screwed up, but he has the remains of the thing and he wants you to check it out. I said Saturday.”

Tony gestured with his pizza. “Sure sure, sounds great. Not any less shitty than a ton of things we’ve dismantled in that lab.”

“Saturday?”

“Fine."

“Shall I inform Mrs. Potts, sir?” came the calm, disembodied voice.

“Yeah, thanks FRIDAY. Is that it?”

“Yeah.” Happy was hesitating though.

Tony glanced up at him, slowly ripping off another mouthful of pizza. “Happy.”

Happy groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Tony, they found footage.”

Tony stopped chewing.

“Footage of what?” he asked slowly.

“It’s security footage. From Siberia.”

Tony set the pizza down. “Who has it?”

“No one. Just us.” Happy was watching him, and Tony thought maybe he could spy concern in that gaze.

Tony looked at the wall.

“Put it with the rest.”

“Yes, sir. Do you want--”

“No, I don’t want to see it.” He did, but that didn’t matter. “Just… don’t let… I don’t need…”

“No one will have access, Tony.” Happy hovered awkwardly, looking like he wanted to come closer. Right. Enough of that.

“Alright, thanks,” Tony said, waving nonchalantly. “I’ll send the kid a text.”

Happy sighed. “Right. Bye.” The other man removed himself, only looking back once before he shut the kitchen door.

Suddenly, the thought of finishing the wedge of carbs made Tony ill. He tipped it into the trash and sat back against the counter, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. He let himself linger there, one moment of just resting --

And then he was up, reaching for his phone and pulling up Peter’s contact. He paused, then asked, “FRIDAY, what does Pepper say?”

“6:30 PM, sir.”

“Hm. Seems kinda late.”

“She says she’s taking you to dinner before that.”

“How sweet. Will the press be accompanying us?”

“No, boss. Mrs. Potts says she’s cornering you alone.”

Tony groaned, but he was grinning. That was something to look forward to, at least. He quickly relayed the information to Peter and chucked the phone to the side, where it clattered off the counter and onto the tile. Shit. The phone was nearly indestructible, but still.

Footage of Siberia.

Not right now. He was not thinking about that right now.

He wouldn’t object to never thinking about that again.

Chapter Text

Mr. Stark met him outside the compound, looking high of spirits. Peter waved, bounding out of the car and closing the door behind him. Happy was left with his hand outstretched, glowering, and Peter cringed in apology. He wasn’t used to a chauffeur. Of course, Happy would be scandalized if referred to as such, but he had been one in the past.

“Hey Mr. Stark!” Peter called, after thanking Happy.

“Kid,” the man replied, jerking his chin in greeting. “Good week?”

“Yeah. Not anything too high off the ground, at least after the lizard-guy.” Peter leaped up the steps to stand beside the man, leaning against the railing.

Stark took off his sunglasses, waving to Happy, who drove the car off. “Good, good. The lizard-guy sounds screwed up, from what I’ve heard.”

“What have you heard?”
“Not much.”

Peter relayed the story quickly as they started walking along the compound. “So anyway, I destroyed the device. Once I did, the gecko dude could start explaining, and he said the bracelet formed a ‘psychic and physiological connection with a creature’. He was mad at me for destroying it, obviously, but I let him off without calling the police.”

Stark nodded. “Sounds promising. Let’s see this bracelet, shall we?”

Peter pulled the parts of the device from his pocket, all but pouring them into Mr. Stark’s outstretched hands. He poked at them, lingering beside one of the compound’s windows. Neither of them said anything for a good long time, Peter fidgeting nervously as the older man studied the scraps of metal and chemicals in his hand.

When what had to have been ten or fifteen minutes had passed, Peter cleared his throat. “Um, Mr. Stark?”

The man jumped slightly, then looked at him with a smirk. “Sorry, kid. Got excited there for a sec. Let’s take this to the lab.”

Excitement built in Peter’s throat, and they slipped down to the nondescript entrance to the workshop. Stark set his hand against the door, which flashed blue and then gold. Peter was just as flabbergasted by the lab the second time, lingering by the sci-fi door in wonder. Stark strode in, setting down the remains of the device and tossing his suit coat to the side.

“FRIDAY, holoscreen.” The man flicked his hand towards the pile of parts. A blue mesh of light filtered across them, a copy then blinking into existence on a screen in front of them. Peter’s face split into a grin. Awesome.

“Alright, let’s see what this little pile of crap is made of, shall we?”

Peter peered over the worktable as the man began to work. As time stretched on, however, he began to wander about the workshop, mind drifting to the assignment MJ had given him. Beds…

An immeasurable amount of time later, Stark muttered, “hmm.”

“What?” Peter asked from where he’d been tinkering with the nanotech in the corner.

Stark picked up a fragment of the device and wiggled it around as he spoke. “This is really quite crude.”

Peter came over to the man, handing him a clean scrap of fabric from the neatly folded pile by the wall. That had to be Pepper’s work. Stark took it unconsciously and attempted to clean the grime off his fingers. Peter smiled at the disheveled, but somehow genuine, preoccupation of the billionaire's demeanor. “Not super well developed, though the idea behind it is remarkable.” There was a pause, as though Stark’s thoughts had overtaken his words.

“It looks unstable,” Peter said.

Stark looked at him.

Peter suddenly found his shoes very interesting. “Er, I just--I mean that now that it’s all--er dismantled, well--”

“Calm down kid. You’re right; the combination of the synthesized cranial waves and electrical currents is dangerous to say the least.” Stark chucked the piece of metal to him.

“Jeez,” said Peter as he turned the fragment in his hand. “Good thing I got him before things got poisonous.”

Stark nodded. “You did good.”

Peter looked up at him, smiling. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

The older man rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you’re welcome. Now stop with the puppy-eyes. Seriously. Get them under control.”

Peter laughed and threw the fragment back to him.

“So anyway,” Stark said, “you destroyed the primary connector pretty good. This is just scrap metal now, but the concept’s still quite interesting.”

“I can imagine it now,” Peter joked, lowering his voice to his best villain imitation. “The hero who gains the skills of any organism daring to face him!”

Stark broke into a half-smile. “The genus-shifter.”

“Not lizard-man anymore.”

“Now his abilities know no boundaries.”

“Iron Man’s greatest nemesis: Organic-Guy!”

Stark snorted, and Peter couldn’t help his own laughter. Still grinning, the older man brushed the remains of the device off the desk and into a conveniently placed drawer.

“So.” He brushed his hands together. “That’s done. What were you doing back there?”

Peter shrugged. “Nothing. Just sorta messing around. I have a project for social studies, but MJ wants me to make a device for our ‘solution.’”

Stark nodded, looking slightly uncomfortable.

“I’m supposed to come up with a fast, cheap way to more easily make hospital beds.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. My whole brain just immediately went, robot! But that’s not really cheap. Or efficient.” Peter smiled.

“Right.” Stark rubbed his face. “Things are so much simpler with robots, you know.”

“Oh, I can believe it.”

Stark opened his mouth, closed it, and looked at his watch. “Shit. Here, why don’t you show up again next Friday? I’ve gotta pack for DC, but I should be back by then. We can practice building other things besides robots.”

Peter felt his face light up. “Really? Thanks Mr. Stark!”

“Yeah yeah. Eyes, kid.”

Peter only grinned wider, and Stark’s own disgruntled look eventually dissolved into a smile of his own. They stood there for another second, then Stark waved his hand towards the door.

“I’ll walk you out. You webbing it back or whatever, or do I have to call Happy?”

“No, no I’ve got it, Mr. Stark.”

“Good. Now come on.”

The older man strode from the room, slipping into his suit coat and snagging his stainless steel thermos as he went. The tie was straightened, the cuffs turned up, and inventor changed into crisp billionaire before Peter’s eyes. Peter wiped his hands on his jeans and scurried after Stark.

The windows showed a spectacular sight when the two of them reached the ground floor of the compound. The last light of the day (it was about 8:30; spring semester always messed up Peter’s sense of time) tinged the entire yard orange, reflecting off the shining buildings and bathing windows in red light. Peter stopped, unable to keep from studying every shadow and pattern cast by the grounds. A mosaic of color and shape was spread out before him, and it was magnificent.

“It’s so…” Peter shook his head, eyes wide.

“Empty.”

Peter started, snapping his gaze to the man beside him. Stark looked slightly surprised, as though he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“Empty, sir?”

Stark sighed, stepping a bit closer to the glass. “It’s always so red at night. Even when the sun goes down. See over there?” He pointed, and Peter followed his gaze. “That’s where Wanda would sit and read. When she wasn’t kicking all of our asses, of course. Never could tell with that girl. Those windows? Clint would always put his targets there, always in the same damn place, which was, may I say, exactly where Nat stands. Drives her crazy. Or… well…”

“Drove,” Peter murmured as he looked carefully at the man, not really sure what to say. Stark’s face was unreadable as he nodded.

“Drove. She’s got other things to drive her crazy, now. And Cap would just sit there and watch the sunset, even if we were in the middle of a training session. Nostalgic old fool.”

Stark stopped, standing quite still as he studied the view from the row of windows. Peter could see unfocused eyes in the man’s reflection. He could see confliction in his own.

“Mr. Stark?” he finally said. “What… what happened over the Accords? Really?”

* * *

“What happened over the Accords? Really?”

Tony should have been expecting the question.

Hell, he should have asked the question himself. But damn if it was just easier to hide, to twist the story into a form easier to understand; it had just been another one of his fuckups, his lack of preparation, his overreaction.

His fault.

Just like everything was. God, he’d just wanted a line , some higher moral authority so no one would ever do something like Ultron again, so he’d never do something like Ultron again.

The kid was still waiting, staring up at him with those wide, innocent eyes as Tony spouted things he only half realized he was saying.

Tony took a step back, still carefully rigid in all aspects of his existence. “The Accords…” shit “... no one talked. We all just didn’t listen, I guess. Not to reason, not to logic, not to each other.” If Steve had just listened, if any of them had just listened-- “And because we’re the Avengers, we decide to make a big deal out of it. Blood and paralysis and revenge and pulling kids into battles they have no place in. And before you object, you didn’t have any place there, and I had no right to put you in danger and lie to your aunt. She’s right to hate me for it.” Tony let himself bring a hand up to rub his face.

“We tried to kill each other.” All because I couldn’t let go. All because I can’t let go, I can’t ever let go. Not of anything, why can’t I just face it, why can’t I why why why-- “And we just about succeeded, too.”

“I never… well, I never got to say… I’m sorry Mr. Stark.”

God, the boy was as flustered as he was. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” Right. Enough of that too. “And I’m fine. I’m always fine.” He shook himself, gave himself one more millisecond to breathe, then turned to Peter with the armor fully assembled.

“Better start your journey back, Spider-Man. There’s bound to be something on the way, and we wouldn’t want you to be late.” He clapped the boy on the shoulder and steered them away from the window, gulping down a mouthful of coffee. As the kid was sending his first web into the night, however, Tony raised his voice for one last call.

“Just remember, kid, don’t keep secrets from the people they’ll matter to the most.”

He didn’t wait for the kid’s reply, the inevitable question, just turned and went back into the compound as the last rays of sun disappeared.

When Tony finally pulled himself from visions of snow and blood and betrayal that night, Pepper was too late to stop him from reaching the alcohol.

Chapter Text

“You’re telling her?!”

Ned sounded more than a little worried. Peter rolled his eyes. “I trust her! MJ deserves to know; she’s one of our closest friends!”

Don’t keep secrets from the people they’ll matter to the most.

Ned’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know, what if she tells someone? What if she doesn’t believe you? What if-” Peter cut him off.

“What if everything goes fine? She’ll believe us, and she won’t tell anyone. She’s cool like that.” Another thought occurred to him, and he threw an arm around his best friend’s shoulders. “Don’t worry. You’re status as guy in the chair is anything but threatened.”

Ned tried to hide his sigh of relief, and Peter just laughed.

They rounded the corner and entered their chemistry classroom. MJ saw them and smirked. As he walked over to to his table, Peter practiced the upcoming conversation silently.

Hey MJ, this may come as a shock, but, I’m Spider-Man… Hey, you know the world-renowned superhero Spider-Man? Well, this may surprise you but I’m him… God, just as awkward inwardly as it inevitably would be when he finally spoke to her.

Shaking his head slightly, Peter sat down and pulled out his chem textbook. While his teacher launched into a long lecture describing the oxidizing strength of fluorine, Peter opened to a page filled with the formula for his web fluid. He slyly opened the side drawer to his desk to reveal his beaker, test tubes, and bunsen burner, then carefully organized them into their needed positions.

Scanning his formula, he casually shifted his hand to his stash of ‘borrowed’ liquids. He fell into a kind of meditative rhythm as he began the web-manufacturing routine. His teacher droned on in the background while Peter’s hands went on auto-pilot, pouring in small amounts of salicylic acid, methanol, and potassium carbonate. Whenever his teacher walked down the aisle between the desks, Peter closed the drawer carefully, silently hoping that the fizzing noise was quiet enough that his professor wouldn’t notice.

After he finished adding his activator carefully for 30 minutes, Peter turned on the bunsen burner and set it to low heat. With that, he closed his desk drawer, and did a silent prayer for his desk not to catch fire in the next twenty-four hours.

As he worked, he thought about his conversation with Mr. Stark. It had been strange, to say the least. Well, it had been a conversation with Tony Stark for heaven’s sake, which was strange enough. But the man had said so many things without really saying anything at all.

Why did his tone never match his words? Why did he say cryptic things as though they were obvious? And why did Peter just run away when the man, looking back, had probably needed help?

Stop it. Tony Stark, remember? Not your place.

But he couldn’t stop hearing “I’m always fine” in that flat voice.

The bell rang, loud and obnoxious, jerking Peter from his thoughts. The boy grabbed his backpack and headed towards the door, hoping he hadn’t missed too much during that period of distraction.

Ned and MJ met him outside. They walked her to the physics classroom, waved goodbye, then went to their history class.

The final bell rang at 2:45 exactly. Peter smiled slightly, brain hurting from speaking Spanish for a solid fifty-five minutes. He was itching to begin patrolling right after school, but he had to talk to MJ first. He said goodbye to Ned, and headed the opposite direction, walking to the front doors.

He caught her as she was swinging the first door open. “Hey MJ!”

She turned, pulling out an earbud. “Oh hey Parker, what’s up?”

“Uh, are you heading to the bus stop?”

She shook her head. “I usually just walk. It’s good exercise, especially when I can listen to music.” She patted her back pocket, where her headphones were plugged into her phone.

Peter gulped and asked with a slightly nervous tone, “Is it ok if I walk with you? I need to tell you something.”

MJ shrugged. “Whatever. Just try to keep up.”

Peter grinned and fell into step beside her. They moved in silence for a while, MJ completely relaxed while Peter’s brain moved about one thousand miles an hour. The girl seemed to sense it, though, and waited only until they were a safe distance from the school to torture him.

“So what did you want to tell me?” MJ looked at him with interest, making Peter feel a little on the spot.

“Well... um, I don’t know how to put this...uh…ahh…” He put his hands on his head and stopped walking. The stuttering continued until he reached, “I… well… I’m… I’m Spider-Man.” He felt the words go in an exhale of surrender, and braced himself for the fallout.

MJ looked at him, unfazed.

“I’m aware.”

“You’re… what?” he stared at her, reacting to her words the way he’d expected her to react to his.

MJ smirked. “You’re terrible at keeping secrets, Spider-Guy.” She kept walking.

Peter was shocked. He jogged to keep up with her. “How did you--what--when did you know?”

She rolled her eyes. “Did you really believe that hiding your ‘lab experiments’ in your desk was secretive? I’ve seen you make your web stuff before.”

Peter just gaped. He didn’t really mind that MJ had seen him, it made this easier, but if she’d seen him… who else had put the pieces together?

Reading his mind, MJ said, “don’t worry. I’m very observant.”

Peter took a long breath. “So… how long have you known?”

MJ shrugged. “Probably since Washington. I recognized your voice, but I had to make sure. That’s why I threw all those textbooks at you randomly.” She grinned. “You have wicked reflexes for a skinny high schooler.”

Peter smiled. “So, you’re ok with it?” he asked a little breathlessly. “I mean, you won’t tell anyone right?”

“Yeah man, your secret’s safe with me.”

They stopped in a small neighborhood in front of a blue house, and MJ spun to look him in the eye. “But I do have some things to say to Spider-Man.”

Slightly terrified by the burning in her eyes, Peter spread his arms. “He’s all yours.”

MJ crossed her arms and began. “You’re a vigilante. But you’re a vigilante that’s more effective than the actual police, so I think I’m alright with that.”

She tapped his shoulder. “However, Spider-Boy, you listen to this; if you’re gonna be more effective than the actual police, you had better be better than them. I don’t want to hear about hero gender discrimination. I don’t want to hear about you bending to stereotypes. And I sure as hell don’t want to hear about racial biases. So if you’re gonna run around fighting crimes in the street, there will be no jumping to conclusions, you hear me? People may be more hostile towards blacks, but that doesn’t mean we’re more dangerous, and I’m putting you above acting on biases, Spider-Man. If you’re better at crime fighting, be better at it in all aspects.”

Spider-Man watched this fiery girl lecture him, and couldn’t help but salute when she finished. MJ was breathing hard, her eyes blazing with passion, and he wondered how long she’d been wanting to say this to him.

“Yes, sir!” Spider-Man said, grinning. But he knew MJ was very serious, and so was he. They both understood the need to be better, and he would rise to it. “Anything else?”

MJ smirked slowly. “We’re going to dinner on Friday. You’re buying.”

Peter said something he was pretty sure was unintelligible.

MJ just waved. “See ya tomorrow, Arachnid-Boy.”

Peter grimaced. “Please don’t.”

She just smiled mischievously, disappearing into her home and leaving a very, very confused spider on her doorstep.

* * *

“No.”

Ross glared his mousey glare, almost audibly snarling. “You don’t get to say no.”

“I do, actually. I have some power in this account, and this is slightly disgusting.” Tony grimaced dramatically, dangling the documents between two fingers.

“You agreed to the Accords. Your signature is on the laws, Stark.”

“Yeah, I did agree, and I did sign. But without a few more signatures (and you’ll have a hard time getting those without my own) these are not the Accords. And if you do somehow get this approved, we’ll have to come up with another name, because it won’t be the Sokovia Accords anymore.” Tony met Ross’s flaming eyes, and took another gulp of coffee.

“The Accords were created to manage enhanced individuals--”

“And people like me,” Tony added cheerily.

“--and you, of all people, should support their every needed change!”

You, of all people. “I do, Ross, and you know that.” Tony’s voice hardened. “So stop trying to attack my decisions around it when we both want the same thing. I just don’t want to live in a cage. That’s what these documents will do; leash us, cage us, demand utter submission. To you! Not gonna happen, dude. I know you’re angry and scared for the casualties, but bound hands won’t help anyone.”

“It would have with Ultron,” Ross snarled. Tony didn’t flinch.

Outwardly.

“And it would have destroyed the world with the wormhole. Give a little, get a little, you know? And a lot of things would have helped with Ultron.” Me not being an idiot, for one.

Ross must have sensed the intransigence locking down in Tony’s argument, as things often did when Ultron (or various other things) were mentioned. But he wasn’t about to let Tony have the last word.

“You will sign these documents, Tony. You, Captain Rhodes, the android. The vigilante in Queens no one will shut up about. But it will start with you.”

The man made to leave, but a flare of anger had Tony standing. “Honestly, Ross? You’ll need leverage of some kind, some way I’ve broken the law or the previous Accords to get the other signatures. Trust me; you’ll find none.” None that he couldn’t talk himself out of. “Oh, and fuck you.”

Those words, that almost advice about leverage, signaled the end of the meeting. They’d been there for three days, Sunday, Monday, and today, just bitching back and forth. Why had he tortured himself for three whole days before forcing an end to the conversation? Right; information. Fuck information, he was going home tomorrow.

“If I never see you again, it’ll be too soon!” Tony called after Ross’s retreating form. The man didn’t grace him with a response.

Tony made his way back to his hotel room, taking a cab despite the fact that he really just wanted to throw on the suit. It’d been too long, far too long since he’d worn the thing, but doing it in the middle of an anti-hero meeting was probably not the best of ideas.

He made coffee and called Pepper as soon as he was back. “Hey Pep. I’m coming home tomorrow.”

“Already?”

“ Already??? It’s been three day--” he huffed. “Oh, damn it Pep.”

She laughed. “I do miss you, Tony, don’t worry.”

“‘Preciate it.”

“Hmm.”

“Yeah, so I have a free day tomorrow, hopefully. Is Rhodey available?”

“Not tomorrow. He’ll be coming this weekend, though; you can have your little man party then.”

“Nice. I can introduce him to the kid.”

“Peter’s coming?”

“Yeah, Friday afternoon--oh, speak of the devil, he’s calling me now!”

“Well, hop to it.”

“Love you.” Tony hung up and answered the boy, still grinning a bit too much for the cool mask he was supposed to have here. “What’s up, kid?”

“Mr. Stark!” Peter sounded a surprised, as though he hadn’t thought Tony would answer.

“Yeah, it’s me. You expecting someone else?”

“Nope.” The kid sounded preoccupied. And there’d been no stuttering there; something was up.

“What is it, kid?”

“Uuuuhhhh, I think I have to reschedule coming to your workshop.”

Well that was strange. From the starstruck excitement on the damn boy’s face every time he entered the workshop, rescheduling was the last thing he’d want to do. And Peter was always trying not to inconvenience him, unless it was something that would actually inconvenience him, like fighting an illegal weapons manufacturer and a) getting himself dropped in a lake b) destroying a ferry or c) simultaneously saving all of Tony’s products on moving day and destroying them too. So this really was quite weird.

“Sure, kid. Why?”

“Well. I think I have a date? That might’ve happened? A couple of days ago, and I didn’t notice until now?”

Tony snorted a laugh.

“What? What?” God, he could hear the boy blushing.

“Nothing, kiddo. That’s fine, you can come over Saturday and meet Rhodey.”

“Thanks, Mr. Stark.”  

No fanboying over War Machine, then. This must be one hell of a girl.

“Who are you going out with?” Tony asked, curious.

Peter didn’t hesitate to answer, further proving his preoccupation. “Um, her name’s MJ, well, Michelle really but she told me to call her MJ… and she’s always reading and she’s so smart and snappy and terrifying and really, really engaged, she knew about Spider-Man before I told her and then she actually lectured me about being better, and I don’t know why I’m telling you this--”

Tony was grinning. “Relax, kid. I can tell you’re nervous.”

Peter’s voice fuzzed out for a moment. “Really? God, I’m so bad at this. The last time I tried to date a girl her dad ended up being a crime boss, and I’m rambling again.”

“Yeah, bad luck there kid.” Security footage of a collapsed building, the sounds of screaming filtering in the background. Peter’s screaming. Screaming for help because he was alone, because he was just too stubborn to let people get hurt. Because all he had was a hoodie and raggedy sweatpants to protect him. Screaming because of Tony. “But this is gonna be different.”

He could hear the kid’s mind frying.

Tony rolled his eyes. “Here, kid, lemme help a bit, m’kay? You said she was a reader?”

“Yeah.”

“Ask her about it. Ask her about her favorite author, and then remember it. Bookworms can’t usually choose a favorite book, but they more often than not have a favorite author, so that should be a safe place to start.” Tony closed his eyes, thinking. “Tell her about yourself when she asks. Don’t shy away because you don’t want to seem arrogant; if she asks, tell her, and she’ll tell you in return. You said she knew about Spider-Man?”

“Um, yes.”

“A story I’ve got to hear, but not now. Find some jobs you’ve done, some stories that she can build off of. Tell jokes. Be awkward, because from what I’ve seen of you that’s probably a part she’s interested in.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true kid. And here’s the most important one. Play games with her. No, not the kind that’ll make your PG brain combust, I mean board games. Card games. Monopoly, Clue, chess. She’ll probably hand you your ass, and you’d better be thankful.”

Peter laughed. “Yes, sir! And oh, she will.”

“So bring cards wherever you go. Because there’ll be a lapse, and where other couples would just sit and stare at each other feeling uncomfortable, you’ll have something to fall back on.” Tony gesticulated, though he knew Peter couldn’t see it.

“Right.”

“One more thing; figure out what she likes. And then bend to it. Some girls like jewelry, or other trinkets, like feeling they’re important to spend money on. Some just like you to spend time with them. Some like food. Trust me, if a food girl shares her dinner with you, count yourself loved. Most will be a combination of these, of course, but if you find the primary thing, that’ll take you far.”

“Okay. Okay.”

Tony loosened his tie, letting it dangle from his neck. “Don’t freak out.”

“I’m not, I’m… thank you, Mr. Stark. Really. That… helps alot,” Peter said quietly.

Tony smiled. Again. Damn boy and those puppy-eyes visible across states. “No problem, kid.” He hung up then, not wanting to make the kid search for something to say, even if he did want to extend the conversation for as long as possible.

But no, he reminded himself. The less I interfere in his life, the better. He’d very nearly killed the boy. Multiple times, very nearly destroyed the purest, smartest kid he’d ever met. One of them while he was in the midst of destroying the closest thing he had to a family, coincidently.

Tony smirked sardonically then, because he feared what would happen if he didn’t. He reassured himself that the kid was smart. Peter had turned down his offer to be an Avenger, turned down his offer of mentorship. (That had been before Tony’d known…) He knew the refusal wasn’t about Tony’s asshole actions, but it helped, a little, to know the kid knew what was best for himself. Because Tony certainly didn’t.

Apparently.

But girl advice over the phone during a call to reschedule a workshop appointment… that was something Tony couldn’t screw up too badly. Right?

He just had to remember to hang up.

Chapter Text

Peter took MJ out for Thai.

Well, in theory. Ideally, it was Peter that did the taking out. In reality, however, Michelle Jones showed up at his door in a skirt (which about made Peter’s jaw hit the floor) at five o’clock, nodded approvingly at his not-too-formal button down, and dragged him outside to where she’d rented city bikes. She then proceeded to lead the way (in her skirt) through busy Queens streets and alleyways, always handy with a middle finger when some creep got too forward.

Peter spent the whole time panicking.

Not really because he wasn’t super practiced at bike riding, but because the faster MJ pushed them on the bikes, the more she looked behind to check on him, and the more she smiled.

And Peter found that he really, really liked this girl.

He was guilty, for a little bit, because it had only been four months since Liz. A bit more, now. Five? Not much, anyway. Was this normal? Wrong? Was he disloyal, or irresponsible, or something?

Then MJ expertly dismounted the bike without a single snag of her skirt before the tiniest Thai joint Peter had ever seen, her movements smooth and graceful, and Peter decided he didn’t care.

Because damn.

She looked at him. “Are you going to get off, or just sit there like a fish out of water all evening?”

Peter, to his imminent distress, found that he’d stopped pedaling. He desperately tried to regain his balance, but even his spidey senses failed him atop the bicycle, and he ended up sprawling across the pavement.

MJ laughed, rolling her eyes. “We haven’t even gone in yet, and you’re already an embarrassment. Get up, Spandex Butt.”

“Spandex Butt?” Peter asked with as much incredulity as he could muster. He got up and straightened his shirt and pant legs, glad he hadn’t ripped anything.

“Would you prefer Arthropod-Kid?”

“You could just call me Peter, you know. We have names for a reason.”

“Only so we can butcher them,” MJ replied brightly. “Now come on. Thai.”

“Right.”

“You’re not very good at this,” MJ observed after he awkwardly attempted to get them a table, stuttered a bit too long, and she took over. The waiter took their orders right away, as both of them knew their Thai favorites inside and out.

“Yeah…” Peter ran his hands through his hair. “The last girl I worked up the nerve to not even date’s dad end up being a crime boss who wore a flying metal suit and was selling weapons made from alien tech.”

MJ raised an eyebrow.

“I wish I was making that up.”

“Homecoming?”

“Yeah, how did you-- you know what, nevermind.”

MJ lifted her chin, grinning. “He can be taught!”
Peter paused. “Did you just quote Aladdin?”

She looked away for a second, but quickly returned her gaze to him. “Problem with that?”

Peter laughed. “No! No way. I’ve got to have all of the Lion King memorized by now.”

MJ smiled, an actual smile, not her usual smirk. Peter tried to remember what they’d been talking about.

“I thought you were more of a…” she gestured obscenely-- “old live-action adventure and sci-fi guy.”

“Oh, I am, but everyone enjoys a bit of Disney. More than a bit, in my case.”

“Alright then, spill it. What’s your favorite princess movie?”

Peter blushed. “Er, honestly? Tangled.”

MJ burst out laughing.

Peter flushed even darker. “What?”

“I can’t see it at all! Why in the--” she took a deep breath to calm the laughter-- “world would you be drawn to Tangled for heaven’s sake?”

Peter crossed his arms. “I just… she falls in love with this brash dude. He’s all trickster and thief and strength, and then right when they all need the wit and the strength, he reveals it was all just a lie. A mask. And she doesn’t care. She still loves him, maybe even more.” Peter thought a bit, moving on even as he finished his thought, his mouth still moving. “And in the end, it doesn’t even matter. Because the dude is still strong and witty and loyal; it wasn’t all a mask.”

MJ stared at him.

“Or, uh, something,” Peter finished lamely.

“No. No, I think I get it, Spider-Dude.” MJ took a gulp of water, eyes drifting a bit above his head as she thought. “I like Mulan.”

“Of course,” he nodded. “I can see that.”

She grinned. “But that was a harder question when directed at you. So I guess I’ll say my favorite old live-action adventure and sci-fi film would have to be the Princess Bride. ”

Peter laughed. “My name is Inigo Montoya!”

“You killed my father. Prepare to die.”

“Love that one.” Peter remembered what Stark had said. “What about books? Do you have a favorite author?”

And they were off.

MJ slowly stopped her smirking, eventually throwing that true, genuine smile about with most comments. Peter tried not to stare too much, and he thought he did a good job.

The waiter brought food, and they made bad puns involving plates.

They ate, but didn’t really notice how good the food was as Peter delt cards and their stained fingers got the cheap deck sticky.

The sun set.

They talked. MJ beat him in every game they played.

And then he beat her, and she laughed even as she glowered.

They talked. A few stars peaked through the city haze.

“So if your a vigilante, what do you do about the Accords? I get that your a minor and your signature isn’t legally binding, but you do have a guardian, and you are enhanced.”

Peter rubbed the knuckles on his hand with his other palm. “It’s a little weird. I fought with Iron Man against Captain America in Germany seven months ago, and I really support the Accords. One guy can’t figure out what’s right all on his own, y’know? With big issues like world defence or aliens or whatever I mean. Things low to the ground, watching over the little guy, though: I think I might be doing alright. I wanted to sign the Accords at first, but Mr. Stark sorta told me not to.”

MJ cocked her head. “Isn’t he like super pro the regulations?”

Peter nodded. “He is. And he lost everything for them, so I’m inclined to trust him on things involving the laws. But he said that I wasn’t really… important enough to need monitoring on a worldwide level, and that I’d be pulled into things supposedly too big for me, and not allowed to work on street level much anymore. And that said monitoring would be really bad for me. Personal life wise, I mean. I’d have to give away my secret identity to the higher ups, and I’d be regulated disproportionately to what I really needed.”

“Does that matter?” MJ crossed her arms.

“That’s what I said. I’m an enhanced individual, and should apply to the Accords. But Mr. Stark told me not to ‘get myself mixed up with Ross and the rest of those fuckers’ until he’s sorted things out.”

MJ chuckled. “Alright then. I suppose I can forgive you if that’s the case.”

“I appreciate it.” Peter rolled his eyes jokingly.

They lapsed into silence for a bit, MJ shuffling the cards repeatedly.

“I’m worried about Mr. Stark,” Peter found himself saying.

“What?”

“Nothing, nevermind.”

“Oh no, Eight Legs, spill it.”

“I just…” Peter rubbed his face. “The Avengers were sort of his family, you know? He was with them when they screwed up, and they were with him when he screwed up.

And they always fixed it. He flew a nuke into a Wormhole. They fought Ultron together. They created Vision using JARVIS.

“And then they just… left. He said it was everyone and no one’s fault, and I think that’s true. But I’m sure nothing needed to go the way it did. If Captain America wasn’t so stubborn, if he would have worked with Stark to change the Accords to be better, as Stark’s doing all alone now, things wouldn’t have escalated so far.”

“I’m pretty sure Tony Stark’s not known for his lack of stubborness,” MJ pointed out.

“Well, yeah. They all screwed up. But something happened in Siberia, something big, MJ. And now most of the Avengers are war criminals , Mr. Stark’s fighting for the Accords alone, and he never even talks about them.”

“Well, neither would I,” MJ sighed. “But Stark’s been through a lot. He doesn’t need pity. I don’t think he even needs sympathy. He’s strong.”

Spider-Man shrugged. “Maybe he needs help because he’s been through so much. Because strength doesn’t always reach down to our cores.”

“That was really damn profound.”

“Thanks, I thought so.”

MJ sat back, crossing her legs on the table before them. “Well, if you’re so worried, why don’t you talk to him?”

Peter started. “What are you crazy? I can’t do that! He’d just laugh at me.” Push me away. Shut me out. “No, no no nope.”

MJ shook her head. “Then stop whining, if you aren’t going to do anything about it.”

Peter tapped on her leg in thought. “Why is everything so complicated all the time?”

“Tell me about it.”

He sighed, eyes drifting to the cards in her hands, then smiled. “What do you say we play slap-jack? Simplest card game anyone has ever seen.”

“Sounds good to me, Spider-Guy.”

And they did. MJ made them switch games after a while, because Peter’s spidey senses made his reflexes unfairly fast. They wore the cards until they bent like putty from all the shuffling, warm from the combined heat of both teen’s skin and laughter. Then they played some more, played until the restaurant closed and they were kicked out onto the streets of Queens.

MJ took him through the park on their bikes, which should technically have been returned about an hour before. Peter felt a little guilty, but the rental was closed and MJ didn’t even laugh when he set them up next to the door and scribbled a quick apology.

They pushed curfew until the last minute. MJ, when it was about fifteen minutes to ten, revealed she was already in trouble; her curfew was nine thirty, which Peter thought was quite unfair. She shrugged. “I don’t usually have anything to break it for,” she said.

He was glad it was dark so she couldn’t see just how flustered he was by that comment.

Subtext: you’re worth breaking the rules for.

He ended up walking into the apartment just as the clock clicked to ten. He’d wanted to stay out, and MJ had wanted him to as well, but they both knew he’d be literally murdered by his aunt if he did.

So he’d thanked her for the night, and she’d smiled that utterly disarming smile as they lingered in front of Peter’s apartment building. They stood there in silence for what felt like an eternity afterward, both waiting for something, because this didn’t feel quite finished. And Spider-Man had felt brave, for just a moment, and leaned in.

But then Peter’d stopped, cheeks burning, cursing at the awkward terror that clawed at his chest. He should be better than this. But he was just Peter right then, and he was too scared to risk that smile.

So the last words between them were a heartfelt see you later, and an even more heartfelt thank you.

And when Peter went to bed that night, he didn’t have the nightmare.

Chapter Text

Peter liked to think he didn’t embarrass himself too much when he landed in the compound yard and found Colonel Rhodes waiting for him.

Spider-Man didn’t squeal.

“Um. Hello, Mr. Rhodes,” he finally croaked out after staring for a probably awkward amount of time.

“So, you’re the spider-kid. The one Tony didn’t carbon date,” the man said with a smile.

Right. None of the Avengers (he still couldn’t get over that) knew his identity. He was just Spider-Man to them.

“That’s me.” Spider-Man bowed exaggeratedly.

The man huffed in amusement. “C’mon then. Tony’s inside.”

Very pink under the mask, Spider-Man trotted after him. Mr. Stark was indeed waiting for them, grinning faintly.

“I told you so,” the man said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Rhodes replied.

“How long did it take?”

“Two sentences.”

Mr. Stark actually laughed. Peter realized it had been… he couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard the man truly laugh.

Stark set his hand on Peter’s head, and Peter remembered he was still wearing his mask.  “Good job, kid.”

“What did I do?” Spider-Man wondered.

Stark winked, then looked to Colonel Rhodes. “Rhodey?”

“He was all, ‘Um. Hello, Mr. Rhodes.’ ” The colonel rolled his eyes, but there was no bite behind them. “What could I possibly do?”

Peter flushed, very glad he was wearing the mask. “Um.”

Stark grinned at him. “Rhodey here owes me twenty bucks.”

“You’re a billionaire! I shouldn’t have to--”

“It took three words, Rhodey! I win!”

“Four words!”

Spider-Man interjected between the two quarreling friends. “Um, won what?”

“I bet Rhodey here that he’d be completely endeared to you and your wellbeing less than two minutes after he met you.”

Peter wasn’t sure if he was mortified or proud.

“You left him helpless after four words. I’m impressed! He’s always a pushover, but usually it takes people at least a couple of sentences. And you have the mask on; you didn’t even use the eyes.”

Okay, mortified it was. “Mr. Stark…”

Rhodey laughed. “Stop torturing the poor kid, Tony. How old is he?”

Stark looked at Peter, eyes questioning. Warmth bloomed in Peter’s chest; even for his oldest friend, Stark wouldn’t betray Peter’s identity without his permission. But he did have to decide… did he want Colonel Rhodes to know who he was?

The secret had been safe for a while. But then came Ned, and Toomes, and now MJ. He trusted all but one, and he’d defeated the Vulture. And Mr. Stark knew, of course, but that was different.

Why? A part of him whispered. Why is it different, Spider-Man? Why is it different, Peter ?

Not the time. He pushed the whispers away. Rhodes was trustworthy; he knew the importance of secrecy when it came to superhero identities. What reason was there to hide it?

So Spider-Man reached up and pulled off his mask, running his hands through his curly hair to try and tame it a bit. The dry, conditioned compound air was cool against his cheeks, and he took a deep breath.

Stark looked slightly surprised, but he nodded almost imperceptibly.

“I’m fifteen.”

Shock bloomed in Rhodes’ gaze, and the man whirled on Stark.

“ Fifteen?”

Stark winced. “I know, I--”

“Are you insane?”

“We knew that already, yes, and Germany was not my best decision--” Stark put his hands up defensively, something desperate in his gaze that did not match the levity of his tone.

“ He’s just a kid, Tony! Let me guess, you made the suit, probably specifically for Germany… God, what were you thinking? What are you thinking?”

“STOP!” He might not be wearing the mask anymore, but Spider-Man still bellowed the word as loud as he could. Colonel Rhodes fell silent, and the Peter part of him cringed a bit at the fact that he’d just yelled at War Machine.

But Spider-Man had a point to make. Not least because he could see Stark retreating into himself under Rhodes’ words.

“Sorry, probably shouldn’t have shouted.” Spider-Man took a breath. “But please stop yelling at Mr. Stark. I’m fifteen, yeah, but I do have some semblance of a brain, despite what everyone seems to think. I can take care of myself. And what I do on the streets and in this suit is me, not Mr. Stark. He helps, giving me tech like this suit that lets me be more capable, and safer, on the streets. But I’d be out there with or without him, because this is my choice.” Spider-Man crossed his arms. “And for what it’s worth, Germany was the best experience of my life.”

Rhodes was staring at him, and the brave words that were going to follow those petered out to a nervous gulp. Peter shuffled, clenching his fist about the mask.

Stark wasn’t looking at him, wasn’t looking at anything. Peter couldn’t see his eyes. After a moment of strained silence, the older man finally looked up. His gaze was unreadable as he flashed a smirk. “See that? Kid’s almost as skilled at the speeches as Cap is!”

Rhodes surprised face softened to a grin. “I think I see how this little shrimp could save your business.”

“Though not my plane.”

Peter blushed.

“Well, he saved the New York skyline even without the plane.”

“Indeed.” Stark reached out and, to Peter’s surprise, ruffled the boy’s curls. “Are you joining us in the workshop, then?” he asked Rhodes.

The colonel winked. “No, I’ll leave the sciencing to you two. Pepper has yet to be bothered by my presence. I’ve gotta remedy that. ”

“Of course.” Stark clapped his friend on the shoulder. “And for what it’s worth, you don’t need to tell me I screwed up. I’m already aware.”

Rhodes nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” Stark said briskly, pulling the man a bit closer with obvious fondness, then released him. “C’mon, kid. Let’s leave Rhodey to his bothering.”

Peter hastened to follow Mr. Stark towards the workshop, waving to Colonel Rhodes as he went. The man waved back, and then they were out of sight down the twisting, whitewashed hallway.

It was when the workshop door slid shut behind them that Stark fixed Peter in his intense brown gaze and thanked him, quietly.

Peter didn’t need to ask for what.

Peter looked up from the bench, pushing his goggles up onto his damp forehead with grimy hands. “This it?” He held up a shining array of metal circuitry, perfectly matching the diagram Mr. Stark had sent to the holoscreen before him.

“Looks good, kid.”

Peter, puffing a bit with praise, brought the mesh of wires over. He flipped it to the older man, who, in one smooth motion, tucked it beneath another sheet of metal and pressed the two closed. The hiss of hot steel rang through the workshop.

Peter’s stomach growled. Again. It’d been doing that for a while, but this was just so damn amazing he wasn’t about to inturrupt it for the world. But then again , he thought as his gut clenched once more. “What time is it?”

Stark paused, wiping his hands on the front of his grimey, decidedly un-billionaire-esk jeans and reaching for his phone. “About ten minutes to eleven PM.”

“WHAT?”

The man watched him evenly. “Unless my phone is off.”

The tone made it very clear his phone was never off.

“Shit shit shitshitshit--” Peter backflipped through the workshop, miraculously avoiding hitting a single screen or floating piece of metal. He scrambled for his suit.

“Language, first of all,” Stark said, leaning back to watch him with an infuriatingly amused smirk, “and second, what’s the problem?”

“Aunt May--her curfew--oh shit I was supposed to be back by ten!”

“Call her before you freak,” the other man said.

“Yeah…” Peter fumbled for his phone, grabbing a rag from the rack in the back to clean his hands. His aunt was on speed dial, and every ring dialed his anxiety up a notch; he did not want to be reamed tonight, not in front of Mr. Stark.

But she didn’t pick up.

And Peter’s thoughts took a very different turn.

“Let’s get you back, then, before--” Stark broke off as Peter turned terrified eyes on him. “What?”

“She doesn’t know I’m here--she thinks--oh my God she thinks I’m--she doesn’t know--” He usually went patrolling on Saturdays, not to the workshop of Tony Stark. She wouldn’t know, because he’d never--

“Pause, pause kid. Tell me what the problem is.” Stark’s calm voice broke through Peter’s haze of fear. He took a breath.

“She doesn’t like you,” he explained as calmly as he could. “So I didn’t tell her I was coming here, because she either wouldn’t let me or she’d call you up and be really embarrassing.” How he wished he’d endured that. Oh, God, he should have just said-- “So she thinks I’m out patrolling, and if I’m not back by curfew…”

“She’d think you’re hurt. Or worse,” Stark finished, cursing under his breath. “Okay, so why wouldn’t she pick up?”

Peter tried not to sound hysterical. “She would! She would pick up no matter what if it was me after curfew!” He took a deep breath. “I’ve never been late before, so I don’t know what she’d do…”

Stark stared at him for a moment, then spun towards the door with realization flooding his eyes.  “Suit up, kid.”

“What? Please, Mr. Stark, where--what--”

Stark kept his eyes locked before him. “She thinks you could be hurt. Or dead. And she’s not just going to stay in the house and worry. You’re aunt has hit the streets, and she’s not picking up.”

Peter’s panic skyrocketed, and he froze for a moment. “Ohmygoshthisisallmyfault--” Terrible scenarios of everything that could have possibly happened to his last remaining family member drowned him, pulling his breath from his lungs in ragged gasps.

“Calm down, kid.” Stark stopped and spun, putting calloused hands on Peter’s shoulders. “You’re Spider-Man. I’m Iron Man. Someone’s in danger. May wasn’t about to leave you in danger, and we aren’t about to leave her. So suit up, Underoos.” He grinned dangerously. “We’re hitting the streets.”

* * *

Tony was glad some things could be simple.

There were no double sides to this. May wasn’t answering because she’d gone to look for Peter, for if there was any reason for the kid to be in peril one didn’t just sit still. A woman wandering about actively looking for the trouble Spider-Man would be involved in would be a quick target, and thus they needed to move quickly. Track the aunt. Wear the suit.

Help the kid.

Peter moved just as quickly as Tony did, his webbing pulling him through the city in a strangely graceful prolonged fall. He seemed to slip between shadows, the red and blue suit flashing slightly in the city lights. Tony’s own suit was far less stealthy, and for the first time, watching the kid swing between buildings, he felt clunky.

“May Parker’s watch has moved to an alley off 5th street, boss,” came FRIDAY’s voice in his visor. Peter hadn’t even seemed weirded out when Tony had revealed he had a tracker in the boy’s aunt’s watch, proof of just how worried the kid was. For good reason, he supposed. New York was not the safest of places at night.

But Tony was going to do everything in his power to make sure this kid didn’t lose another family member.

“You hear that?” Tony said.

“ Yes, sir, ” Peter replied over the comms Tony had thrown together as they sprinted from the workshop.

“Roof,” said Tony by way of reply.

“I’ll hit from the side of the alley. It’s a better angle for the web-shooters.”

Tony opened his mouth to order the boy to join him on the roof, but in truth, Peter was right. Tony needed to enter from above due to the suit’s noise and movement, but Peter could easily gain an advantage from the closer (more dangerous) position.

Bulletproof. The spider-suit was bulletproof.

Not bulletproof enough.

He kept the kid in his gaze when they split, Peter swinging down and Tony speeding skyward. FRIDAY, as though reading his mind, pulled up the kid’s vitals in the corner of his visor.

Tony landed the suit, creeping along the edge of the building until he could see down into the alleyway. The lights of the city didn’t reach into the crevice, so the small street was darker without the golden-yellow glow the rest of New York was bathed in. But he could see the shapes inside moving clearly; all he needed.

To his slight surprise, there were only two. A woman whom he recognized as May (who looked unharmed, to his relief; he heard Peter release a breath over the comms), despite that it was too gloomy to recognize features, and a larger, pudgier man. May looked anything but threatened, however, standing to her full height, which was not much compared to the other guy. She had her hands on her hips and her voice was loud, revealing not an flicker of nervousness about the man looming over her.

“Get out of my way,” she was saying. “I’ve got some business you’re keeping me from.”

“Spider-Man business?” the man replied, a smirk evident in his tone. Peter’s heart rate monitor sped up significantly in the corner of Tony’s eye when the man spoke.

Tony activated the comms. “Kid, what is it?”

“I fought this guy, he--”

The man was speaking again beneath them. “I too have some Spider-Man business. The interfering vigilante owes me years of work and thousands of dollars.”

May crossed her arms. “I doubt that… wait a minute. I know you. You’re that guy that assaulted a police station about a device!”

Tony started. “ This is the lizard-guy?” he demanded into the helmet.

“Yes . ”

The man in the alley gave an exaggerated bow. “At your service.”

“What the hell do you want?” May demanded.

“I figure,” drawled the man, “that a woman yelling for Spider-Man, demanding his presence, would gain his attention. Especially with threats of grounding. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you two were close.”

“Wait, kid. Don’t blow it,” Tony hissed.

The lizard-guy (Tony was loath to think of him as such, but he had no other distinction) continued, “But in any case, you’re certainly making a scene, bound to draw him in. And then we can both…” the man’s voice was slithering in a quite unnerving way, “conduct our business of the man.”

May slapped him, hard, in the face.
And then the man’s hand had flashed around her throat, and Tony was moving.

Peter’s first web pulled the lizard-guy back, while the man wiped a hand towards his aunt on instinct. But the blow hit only steel as Tony lunged against the man, bowling him into the side of the alleyway. Without needing a word from Spider-Man, Tony sent his repulsors thrusting into the air just as a ball of webbing exploded beneath him. The grenade stuck the lizard-guy momentarily to the wall, long enough for Tony to nonchalantly knock the assaulter out with a whack of his gauntlet.

The alleyway went still, as silent as was possible in the center of Queens for a few moments.

“Aunt May!” Peter said, swinging down from the building and pulling off his mask. His curles stuck every-which-way and he panted a bit from the quick skirmish.

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” was May’s too-calm reply. Tony couldn’t help but cringe at the near-fury in her voice.

But then the boy was throwing himself on her, wrapping his arms tight about her neck. “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay,” he mumbled, Tony just barely able to hear him.

May’s anger dissolved, and she gripped Peter back. Tony shifted uncomfortably, not sure what to do, letting the suit fold back as he stepped out.

May eventually pulled away from the kid’s embrace and held him at arms length. “I thought,” she said, “you were hurt. Or dead. You have a phone for a reason, Peter, and no matter how we all might wish it, you are not a normal teenager. I cannot dismiss it when you’re late!”

Tony toyed with the idea of getting back in the suit and fleeing as Peter spoke. “I know, I know, I just lost track of time. But then you didn’t pick up and I-- I thought--- you’d-- I’d--” The kid took a shuddering breath. May brushed the stray curls off his forehead, then turned to look at Tony.

Yeah, he definitely wanted to make a break for it.

“Tony Stark,” she said flatly.

“May Parker.” He let the unconcerned mask fall across his form, and crossed his arms.

“What the hell are you doing here.” It didn’t sound like a question.

“Assisting your nephew in finding you, backing him up in the case of a brawl, and providing a target other then the kid.”

“And why are you doing these things?”

Tony put his hands in the pockets of his suit coat and shrugged. “I treat my interns well.”

May turned to Peter. “Why is he here?”

Peter looked just as uncomfortable as Tony felt. “I was at the compound.”

“ What?”

The kid shot Tony an apologetic look. “We were… tinkering. In Mr. Stark’s workshop. I lost track of time.”

May nodded, still too calm. “And how long has this been going on?”

Tony replied this time, tone one of irreverence. “A few weeks.”

“And I was not informed.”

Peter and Tony both stepped back a bit, figurative tails between their legs.

The next thing Tony knew, he was reeling against the wall of the alleyway, temple throbbing. It took him an embarrassingly long moment to regain his balance, and even longer to realize that May Parker had just punched him in the face.

“Aunt May!” Peter sounded like he didn’t know if he wanted to be amused or shocked.

Tony met the woman’s eyes and grinned, despite the curling of guilt in his gut. “Hell of a right hook.”

May lifted her chin and glared at him. “I’m quite angry with you.”

“I gathered that.”

“And I know it’s unwarranted.”

That Tony hadn’t been expecting. It was quite warranted! He spent most his time being angry with him; May had ever right to be as well.

She must have seen his confusion. “I want to blame you for my constant terror over this idiot--” she gestured at Peter-- “but I know he’d have been out doing this whether you’d taken him under your wing or not. I want to blame you for encouraging the vigilantism by creating the suit, but I know he had nothing but raggedy pajamas before; none of the protection you’ve provided. I should be thanking you instead of punching you.”

Only Tony’s hard-trained poker-face was keeping his jaw from hanging open.

“But I’m still quite angry with you.”

Tony avoided looking at Peter-the-human-lie-detector as he nodded. “I’m used to it.” He flashed a smirk, and May rolled her eyes. Good. Annoyance made sense. He could work with that. “Well, at least we caught the lizard-guy, he seems to--”

Tony broke off due to the now-apparent fact, as he looked to the brick wall beside him, that the lizard-guy in question was most definitely not there.

“Or, maybe, not.”

Peter started. “Where’d he go? He was unconscious! I webbed him!”

Tony shook his head. “No you didn't. Web-shooter combination 257, web grenade, isn’t sticky like your usual webs; that would disrupt the force needed for the deployment.”

Peter stared at him.

Tony rolled his eyes. “I made your suit, kid. You honestly think I wouldn’t know?”

“There are 576 combinations, Mr. Stark.”

“I do not half-ass things.”

May cleared her throat. “Back to the point?”

Tony gesticulated. “What point? The dude’s gone. That’s it. One more street criminal.”

“My responsibility,” came a murmur from Peter.

Tony fixed him with a pointed gaze. “But not right this moment.”

The boy opened his mouth, then closed it again, understanding dawning in his brown eyes.

May looked between them, eyes narrowing slightly, then shrugged. “Home, now,” she said. Peter nodded, looking chastised, but gave Tony a hesitant smile before pulling on his mask and swinging out of the alley.

Tony hadn’t realized he was smiling up after the kid until May said, “I couldn’t bear to lose him.”

Tony looked at her.

“He’s all I have left. My boy.”

Tony nodded. “I know.”

“He puts himself in danger. You help him.”

“I’m sorry.” And he really was, enough that he’d spent longer on the Spider-Man suit (suits) than almost any other thing he’d designed. Because what if. Parachute. Shock absorbant. Heater. He put everything in the suit, but not enough. Never enough.

“But that’s who he is. A long time ago, I was the only thing he had left, but not anymore. And that might make me bitter sometimes, but only when I’m feeling particularly selfish.” She grinned, a bit sadly, then breathed deep and looked towards the entrance. “Well, I’ve got to get home. I’ve got an arachnid to reem.”

Tony nodded, trailing the woman out of the alley and leaning against the corner until she disappeared into a taxi. He stood there for a while longer, then spun, climbed into the suit, and made his way back to the compound.

Chapter Text

Sunday morning, Peter woke up with dust in his mouth and sweat on his forehead to the sound of Mr. Stark’s ringtone. Shaking away the clinging cobwebs of the Dream, he quickly fumbled for the device.

“Hey kid. No school Monday?”

Peter stammered. “Uh, yeah, how did you know? And why?”

He could almost hear the smirk settling across the other man’s face as Stark responded, “Oh, because we have some business that might run a bit late.”

“We?”

“Lizard-guy. We lost him last night, remember? But he went after you, personally, and we can’t have that. People getting hurt when looking for you, or you getting hurt, is unacceptable when we can do something about it. I have FRIDAY tracking him already.”

Excitement burst in Peter’s gut. “Should I suit up?”

Stark snorted. “No, kid, not yet. You’ve got time.”

Peter nodded, though he knew the other man couldn’t see. “Uh, I hope Aunt May didn’t yell at you too much after I left,” he mumbled.

“Nah, she was fine. I bet you got your ass handed to you.”

Peter winced. “Yeah… but she hasn’t grounded me. I think maybe she understands?”

“I’ll leave it up to you if you want to tell her about lizard-guy.”

“I probably should. She won’t want me out after him, though.”

There was a scoff from the other end. “Trust me, Pete, I don’t want you after him either. But we all know that was your plan for tonight anyway, and since it’s my plan as well we might as well go for efficiency.”

Peter grinned. “Makes sense.”

“I’m Tony Stark, kid. Wouldn’t have it any other way, now would we?”

“Oh yeah, ‘efficiency’ is definitely the word I’d use.” Peter laughed.

“Is it, kid? What do you call an arc reactor?”

“Excessive.”

“Touche.”

Peter flopped onto the top mattress of his bunk-bed, tucking the phone against his shoulder. “When will we have the guy?”

“I’ll call you. Or FRIDAY will call you. Hell, Pep might even call you.”

“Okay.” Peter had never really met Pepper Potts. Mr. Stark talked about her ( alot ; both of them were babblers while they worked), and Peter had heard her voice over the phone, but she was always so busy they’d never truly spoken.

Then again, Mr. Stark talked really fast…

“Alright. Later, kid.”

The line went dead with a moan in Stark’s usual abrupt fashion, and Peter dropped the phone off the side of his bed, letting his arm dangle loosely and allowing himself a smile. Another mission.

Then he frowned, brow scrunching. This wasn’t something he’d call big. Far below the Avenger’s ‘pay grade.’ But Tony Stark was planning to help him, was going to fight with him. Just some random guy who’d threatened Peter and May, with a grudge on Spider-Man. Plenty of people wouldn’t object to getting their revenge on him, and even if that wasn’t the case, Mr. Stark had so many other things to do… why would he spend his resources tracking a lizard-guy?

Deciding he’d ask eventually, Peter reached up and pulled himself onto the ceiling. He crawled across to sit hunched atop his doorframe, riding it as it sung to and fro with his weight. It was… he glanced at the clock and groaned. Six o’clock. He should be frustrated at Stark for waking him up early on a weekend, but honestly he was rather glad he’d been pulled from Dreaming.

Which meant he had all day to finish the homework he’d been avoiding due to the activities of the last two days. Peter sighed and slid down, webbing his backpack and yanking it across the room.

And he began the process of waiting.

* * *

Karen liked it when Peter did his homework.

She shut down when he wasn’t wearing the mask, so her existence was mostly punchy-punchy, stabby-stabby. Webby-webby, swingy-swingy? Karen wasn’t sure; there was no mention of the latter in her database, but the former didn’t seem to match. But Peter always wore the mask when he did his homework, and Karen learned a lot.

“Hey Karen, the first law of thermodynamics is that enthalpy in a system always remains constant, right?”

Karen didn’t even have to search the internet to answer, to her (what she assumed was) delight. “I believe that is the second law, Peter.”

Peter cursed quietly. “Right. The first one is… oh, God I feel stupid. It’s the one that says conservation of energy applies to thermodynamics, right? Heat energy can neither be created nor destroyed.”

Karen thought he was right, but searched her database anyway, to make sure. “Correct, Peter.”

“Awesome.” He scribbled something on his paper. Karen absorbed another paper on thermodynamics; Peter might need it.

“Entropy, enthalpy, frigoric…” Peter muttered, filling in spaces on his sheet. “I’m excited for the end of unit project coming up here.”

Karen realized he was addressing her. “Yes?”

“Mmmhmm. It’s a contest; we have to make a device that will keep the contents hot for as long as possible.”

“What about your social studies project?” Karen asked, flicking up a still of the assignment in the corner of the mask.

“Yeah, Mr. Stark helped me with that yesterday.” Karen’s view twisted as Peter vaulted across the room. “See this thing?”

“Is that your bed-making device?”

“Yeah.”

It was small and simple, resembling a foghorn. Karen understood how the sheets would slot into it and allow for bed-making in six-elevenths of the time.

“That should satisfy your professor,” she observed.

Peter chuckled. “Oh, satisfying the professor is just a perk. I’m more worried about MJ.”

“Michelle Jones, the girl you went to dinner with Friday night?”

“Yup. What time is it?”

“Eight-thirty.”

“Do you think she’d be awake?”

Karen blinked the mask lights a little to indicate amusement. “I believe so, Peter.”

“Sweet. I’ll call her and Ned, tell them about meeting Colonel Rhodes. Ned’ll have a heart attack.”

“We should avoid compromising Mr. Leed’s health, I think,” Karen said.

“I was exaggerating.”

“Right.” She added that to her hyperbole collection.

Peter flipped his phone, then dialed Ms. Jones, his heart rate increasing slightly. Karen flashed the lights again.

The girl picked up on the third ring. “Hello, Arthropod-Kid.”

Karen liked that. Did that make her arthropod-lady?

“MJ! Hi!”

“To what do I owe the annoyance of this call?” The girl’s voice was fond despite the sharp words. Peter seemed at a loss, though, his heart beating quite quickly, so Karen stepped in.

“Hello, Ms. Jones. Peter simply wanted to say hello. He enjoys your presence, and your time Friday evening.” Karen stopped as Peter’s heart rate increased even more, feeling mildly confused.

“Karen!” Peter hissed as Michelle asked, “who was that?”

“I am Karen, artificially intelligent caretaker of the Spider-Man suit and he who uses it,” Karen introduced herself.

“Are you calling me in your suit?” Ms. Jones asked with a small laugh.

“Sorry… Karen what are you doing?”

“You’re heart rate had increased significantly, and you seemed at a loss for words. I simply meant to assist you.”

“Okay, stopping now!” Peter mumbled as MJ burst out laughing.

“You--”

Peter pulled off the mask, and Karen initiated shutdown procedure, confused, but knowing she’d done something right.

The girl had laughed, after all.

* * *

Peter got the call at seven o’clock that evening.

“The man has been pinpointed, Mr. Parker,” came FRIDAY’s voice.

“Swee--I mean, where do I need to be, FRIDAY?”

“The unfinished warehouse in the deserted section of the docks. Boss thinks it could be where he created the device in the first place.”

“I’ll be there ASAP.” Peter grinned as he said the words. He rolled off the bed, stripping to his underpants and pulling on the suit as quickly as he could. Karen greeted him with the bright colors of his mask as he swung from his window and out into the evening lights of Queens.

Stark hovered near the building when Spider-Man arrived. With another swoop, he was running down the docks to decrease his momentum like a schoolboy leaping from a swing. Stark landed beside him when he stopped, blue arc-reactor light shining.

“Hey kid.”

“Hey!” Spider-Man stared towards the warehouse. “What’s the plan?”

“We’re starting with a bit of surveillance. We don’t know what this guy might have in there; we need to know what we’re facing before we start webbing.”

“Alright sounds good.”

“I’ll go high, take the view from up top.”

Spider-Man grinned under the mask, the mechanical eyes moving. Stark muttered something Spider-Man couldn’t quite catch, but he thought he heard “puppy-eyes.”

“Let’s go, kid.”

Spider-Man shot his regular web towards the arching, slightly eerie building and swung towards it in a low arc. The paving stones were wet beneath him, letting him slide the last few feet.

“Stay sharp, Pete,” Stark’s voice crackled in over the communications network. “Let’s do this.”

Spider-Man just barely kept himself from saying something embarrassing, instead replying with a swift ‘yes sir’ and scaling the wall. He slipped in the nearest window, the sounds of the city quieting as he entered the building.

He grinned like an idiot when he saw what awaited him.

A lab. An almost zoo-like lab, complete with badly-hidden cages and poorly-cloaked devices. Spider-Man could hear the animals pounding, roaring, moaning within. That made him angry; these creatures were definitely abused. As he watched, he felt something slither over his hand, and only barely kept in a screech. He jumped, wiping his wrist towards the wall, but it was only a lizard quickly disappearing from sight.

“What’ve we got, kid?”

Spider-Man slunk towards the floor. “Uh, you were right. This is definitely where he made the device. I’ve got a lab.”

“And I’ve got eyes on the target. He’s moving down, though.”

“Copy that.”

“I’m rolling my eyes, just so you know.”

Spider-Man grinned.

His spidey sense shrieked.

Spider-Man was rolling across the floor as a gunshot clanged through the lab, foregoing all aspects of stealth. Another shot grazed the wall beside him, and Spider-Man yelped.

“Kid!”

“I’m okay!” Boom. “It’s really loud--shit.” Another shot shocked him out of the course of his leap, and Spider-Man crashed against a wooden support, which came tumbling down around him. Spider-Man groaned, shaking himself from the rubble when he remembered the lizard-guy had a gun.

And found that his surroundings had included a cage. A cage including quite a large dog. A large, hungry, terrified dog, now leaping from a broken wire crate and landing with a snarl before Spider-Man.

Shit. “Uh, hey boy,” he said, backing away from the dog.

“Pete, the guy is making a run for it. I think he just wanted to distract you while he flees. He doesn’t know I’m here. I’ll get him.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks, um, I’ll just avoid dying--” Spider-Man yelped and rolled away as the mad dog lunged.

“I’m relying on it, kid.”

“I’ve got the lab, you get the guy.”

“ It’s a deal.”

One dog. Easy.

* * *

It took Tony less than two minutes to land before the lizard guy, two seconds for the man to yelp in surprise, and five for him to fire off a useless shot before Tony blasted the gun from his hand with a well-aimed repulsor blast.

“Going somewhere?” Iron Man crooned.

The man lunged at him, fists flying at skillful intervals, but Tony caught each blow in a gauntleted fist. He delivered his own blasts with low energy to slow the man, not enough to truly harm him. The guy finally stepped back, puffing.

“Why are you here, Iron Man?” he said. “Don’t you have better things to do than pick on a guy who’s done nothing wrong?”

“Nothing wrong?” Tony scoffed. “Hm, how about illegal animal and human experimentation--”

“Only on myself!”

“--Unregistered device development, weapon manufacturing, animal abuse, and shady creepiness?”

The man snarled. “I never hurt anyone!”

“You got close. You almost harmed my-- Spider-Man, just about did some serious damage to the Empire State, and would have significantly bruised that woman last night.”

“There are many who’ve done much more. Much worse.”

Tony rolled his eyes, though the man couldn’t see the movement in the mask. “Can you stop with the excuses? I’m here, now, with you. Romantic, ain’t it?”

The man growled.

“Oh, and can I have a name? ‘The man’ gets a bit tedious.”

“Call me Gecko.”

“Oh, no, the kid is going to be unbearable after this. I’m not calling you by a villian name.” Tony sighed and grabbed the man’s wrist.

“It’s a hero’s name,” Gecko said, “and it’s all you’re getting. Now release me.”

“Ha! Fat chance.” Tony pulled the wire from his suit and wrapped it about the man’s hand. The wire did the rest on its own, wriggling to bind Gecko’s hands behind his back.

And Gecko fiddled with something.

FRIDAY’s voice rung through his visor. “Boss, his coat cuff seems to be emitting an electrical pulse.”

“Shit.” Tony dismissed his gauntlet for the full use of his dexterous fingers, plucking the small metal button from the man’s wrist.

“I’ll protect my work and my ideas at all cost,” Gecko snarled.

Tony held the device to the light.

A remote detonator.

SHIT.

“The pulse has been activated,” FRIDAY said urgently. “Detonation in--”

With a shuddering boom, the warehouse collapsed.

* * *

Spider-Man found a few more uses for his web combos as he worked. The non-sticky grenade ones made great nets, and splitter was quite convenient for engineering pulleys when combined with a ricochet web.

He thought it’d be a good idea to sort. Junk to one side, useful devices to the other, scrap and files and evidence all piling up. But first he had to free the animals, webbing and moving the cages so release would point the creatures towards the outside, and not towards him. He’d convinced the first dog to leave rather violently, and he had no inclination to do so again.

Something beeped.

Spider-Man paused, waiting as the clanking of the metal he was manipulating ceased. Yes, there it was again. Beep beep.

He swung down to the ground floor of the warehouse, moving towards one of the concrete supports.

Concrete supports…

Spider-Man heard the noise again, following it to the far half of the pillar. A small metal hexagon met him, the center glowing a very ominous red.

Spider-Man peered at it, reaching out.

And then he cursed and pulled himself across the warehouse because shit--

A deafening boom rocked the building, twelve different small bombs all detonating at once, destroying the warehouse’s foundations. Peter froze as the building moaned, metal screaming, paralyzed at the sound and the dust and the dark--

The roof fell.

The terrible weight of stone and wood and metal slammed onto Peter’s small form, throwing him to the ground.

Trapping him.

And then there was silence.

He was back, back in the dark, trapped and helpless.

He couldn’t breathe.

Oh, God, he couldn’t breathe.

Metal, stone, wood.

Creatures crying out, only to be silenced by the suffocating weight.

He was going to die, he was going to drown in metal and concrete.

No.

No, no he’d done this before, and he’d gotten out of it. Peter swallowed thickly through the heavy air. And Spider-Man braced his arms against the pressures surrounding him and pushed--

But the stone didn’t move, the wood didn’t shift. The building only seemed to crush him harder.

Tooms was getting away. Ned was gone. No one knew where he was, no one was coming to find him--

Static fuzzed through his mask, a single noise breaching his paralysis, a blessed moment of lucidity. This was the warehouse and Mr. Stark was here.

He might have screamed something in that moment before his breath was crushed from him. Might have yelled before blood and dust choked him.

Please, anyone.

* * *

Tony blasted the man into unconsciousness with an unnecessary amount of force, and was flying towards the destroyed building before the body hit the docks.

“ KID!” Tony yelled over the comms.

Silence.

“Pete, answer me, damn it! Are you okay?” He had to be; Tony would accept no alternative.

Static fuzzed for a moment as the remains of the warehouse loomed in his vision.

“TONY HELP ME!”

“ Peter!” Tony pushed himself faster across the port.

There was no answer, and something hard and unforgiving and desperate erupted in his gut.

“Faster, FRIDAY,” he breathed.

“I have all the power we can spare to the engines, boss!”

“Faster,” Tony hissed.

The time it took to reach the ruins felt like eternity, but could only have been a few moments. Dust floated in the air like fog, and for every movement Tony could see slinking away from the building, he could spot animal bodies within the rubble.

“Kid, where are you? Talk to me, Pete, you have to say something.” Please.

Static.

Tony cursed vehemently. “Find him, FRIDAY. And call 911.”

“Already on it. Karen is broadcasting her and Mr. Parker’s location.” FRIDAY paused. “She’s broadcasting his vitals, too, boss. He’s alive.”

But Tony was already blasting towards the westmost corner of the collapsed building, following Karen’s signal. The light of his suit clouded around him like headlights on a foggy mountain night, nearly blinding him.

“Here, boss.”

Every muscle and nerve in Tony’s body itched to fire into the rubble, to dig and dig until he could see the boy beneath. See him out and unharmed and safe--

But it shifted as he landed, and images of Peter crushed in the moving wreckage had him taking off again, frantically checking the kid’s vitals. He tapped the comms again.

“Kid, you there? Kid, can you hear me?”

White noise, but Tony thought he could make out ragged gasps.

Maybe the boy could hear him, but his suit was damaged to keep him from responding. Or maybe he couldn’t respond--

Get him out. Get him out right now.

“Alright, kid, I’m right here, I’m going to find you. I’m going to find you, okay? Just keep that breathing going. You’ve got it, Spider-Man.”

FRIDAY spoke in his left ear. “Boss, your going to need to be careful. Use a streamlined blast to crack the drywall there, then you can shift the post without danger to the rest of the structure.”

Tony obeyed, each second stretching for eternity, ripping claws against the inside of his mind that filled themselves with images of all that could and had gone wrong.

“I’m coming, kid. Just breath, okay? Sorry if I’m talking too much, but I’ve never been good at shutting up. Tony Stark, y’know, comes with the job description. Dunno if I hope you heard that or not.”

Static.

Tony threw himself towards the next slab of concrete, only barely forcing himself to slow enough to move the rubble carefully as FRIDAY screamed a warning in his ear.

“Okay, okay, I take it back. Most definitely hope you heard that.”

Static.  

“Please breathe, kid. I’m gonna find you.”

Tony moved support after support, rock after rock, each twisting piece of metal jagged and dusty. The seconds dragged into minutes and anxious sweat soaked Tony’s face and clothes within his suit. This was taking to long. He needed to go faster, he needed to get him out.

“Boss, be careful!”

The area groaned around him, rubble threatening to move, and Tony froze.

“Alright, you need to support that concrete,” FRIDAY said. Tony reacted, releasing the long blade from the side of his suit. He jabbed it against the slab, slowly releasing his hold on the concrete to ease it onto the super-strong spear. Urgency thrumming in his ears, Tony drifted back from the concrete.

It held.

He moved even slower, now. And it made him want to claw his eyes out, but he couldn’t risk further collapse.

And then he lifted one more slab of heavy drywall, and was met with a flurry of dust and a flash of red and blue fabric.

“Peter! Damn it.” The kid was limp without a hint of expression in the eyes of his mask, pinned beneath a square of metal scaffolding from the unfinished wearhouse roof. Tony couldn’t throw the thing off him fast enough and the clang of heavy metal echoed across the docs.

“Oh, God, oh God damn it…” Tony lifted his mask, dropping to the rubble beside the motionless boy. He checked the vitals for the thousandth time, trying to reassure himself with the constant heartbeat, trying to remind himself that his measurements were never wrong.

He shoved the last of the building off Peter’s form and pulled the boy into his arms. Indescribable relief flooded him when the kid took a shuddering breath. “Fire ‘em up, FRIDAY.”

Tony landed carefully on the deserted dock, laying Peter on the planks and pulling off the kid’s mask. Peter’s face was ashen, blood staining his lip and cheek and trickling from his temple, matted in his brown curls. In the port light, Tony could see burgundy and navy patches on the red and blue suit.

“Fuck, kid.” Tony pressed his fingers to the boy’s neck, needing to feel the pulse for himself. “Peter, open your eyes, look at me, please kid.”

The boy’s eyes flickered.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it,” Tony said softly. “It’s me, kid, it’s me, you’re okay.”

Peter coughed, strained and dry.

Tony carefully supported the kid’s head with one hand, brushing some of the dust off his face with the other. “C’mon, Spider-Man, breathe--”

Peter’s eyes flew open, and he lunged upright, staring around frantically.

“Woah! Woah, Pete, it’s okay--”

The kid looked at him fearfully, eyes wide. He rasped something that might have been a curse or a plea or a name, his face paling furthur.

Tony tried not to panic. The boy was awake, awake and seemingly without much injury, so what was wrong? What had Tony done, how could he fix it--

Peter gagged, his hand flying up to his chest as his mouth worked wordlessly.

Oh, shit. The kid wasn’t breathing, why wasn’t he breathing--

Security footage of what remained of a gas station and a boy screaming.

Please, somebody! I’m down here, I’m stuck, I can’t move! I can’t move, please, is anyone there?
Oh, God.

Tony stepped back from the boy, everything screaming for him to hold the kid, to help him, but knowing that any confinement would only make things worse.

“Peter, listen to me,” Tony said, keeping his voice strong and clear. But, hell, he knew how it felt, and he’d give anything to pull Peter from the depths of the attack. “Listen. You’re out.”

Peter rolled onto his side, trembling.

“You have to breathe, okay? Breathe with me.” C’mon, Tony, you can do it. Count them. One… two…

“C-can’t… dust…” Peter rasped, the fear and strain in his voice stabbing at Tony’s heart.

“You can, Peter. You can.” Tony blew softly on the boy’s face. “Do you feel that?”

Peter nodded.

“There’s air now, kid. You’re out, you’re safe, you’re free. ” It’s not the same, Tony. You’re out now, you’re safe. It’s a different sky. He blew out again, holding Peter’s gaze. “Take a breath, kid, you can do it. There’s no more dust, no more rock, no more metal, okay? Just air and space. I’ve got you.” He touched the kid’s shoulder softly.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled quickly, which only prompted more coughing.

“That’s it, kid. Breathe.”

The boy sucked air down again, desperate and strained.

“Good. See? No dust. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

Peter breathed.  

“You’re safe.”

Peter exhaled slowly.

“I’ve got you, Peter, your safe.”

The opened his eyes and looked at Tony, the panic fading.

“You’re safe, Pete. You’re out.”

“Out.”

“Yup, kid. You’re good. Breathe with me, okay?”

Peter nodded, moving closer to Tony. “Okay. Okay.”

Tony held the kid against the arc reactor of the steel suit, suddenly at a loss. He ran his fingers through Peter’s hair in what he hoped was a comforting way.

“One…” he said, breathing in and out.

“One…” Peter echoed.

“Two.”

“Two…”

They continued like that until Peter’s heart rate slowed down, until he breathed with Tony instead of following him. Eventually, Peter pulled away, wiping the blood from his face with the back of his hand.

“You good, kid?” Tony asked, standing to help the boy to his feet.

“Yeah… yeah. Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“Don’t mention it.” Tony looked towards the opening to the docks, where sirens were rapidly approaching.

“Did you get the guy?”

Tony smiled. “Oh yeah, kid. But he’s tied up and knocked out good enough for the normal blokes; we’ve got better places to be. Like getting you to a damn bed in the compound and calling your aunt. And paying for some property damage.”

Peter rubbed his face. “Oh, no…”

“Property damage?”

“Calling my aunt.”

Tony grinned. “I feel, kid.” He handed the boy his mask, and Peter pulled it on and stepped away, pointing his wrist towards the nearest building.

Tony fired his repulsors just as Peter began to swing and scooped the boy out of the air.

“Hey!”

“Don’t even think about it, kid. You’re bleeding, you were almost crushed to death by another building, and you just about passed out from a panic attack. No swimming for an hour, and no web-swinging for the next two days.”

Peter squirmed, but Tony could tell his heart wasn’t in it.

“I’m flying you home, kid. Deal with it.”

END OF PART ONE

Chapter Text

 PART TWO: DOWN CAME THE RAIN

The building screams.

Maybe he does, too.

There are pillars around him, pillars of concrete slowly, painfully turning to sand one grain at a time. And he can’t move. He has to run, has to get out, but he can’t move--

The structure groans again. It’s a final groan, a promise groan.

The building falls. He's watching it tumble towards him, aware of each grain as it falls to crush him, to drown him. 

And then someone is taking his hand, grabbing him in a determined hold and pulling him out of the way. And he finds his legs do work, that he can run, run behind a smartly dressed figure leading him forward. Away from death. Away from darkness. 

The building falls, but not on him. And he turns with the figure to watch it tumble, squeezing his eyes shut against the dust, but opening them again to light. And life. 

And safety. 

Peter opened his eyes to an unfamiliar room. His whole body hurt, so he didn’t try to get out of his bed.

His memory from last night was fuzzy. He remembered being saved.

By Tony.

Mr. Stark had pulled him out of something. Multiple things. That much was clear, though all that came after the lizard-guy and the building was a blur. He vaguely remembered Aunt May’s anxious tone, mixed with forced calm from Tony.

Peter rubbed his eyes and observed his surroundings. The walls in the room were plastered with posters of old movies from the 80’s. Ghostbusters, Indiana Jones, and Doctor Who were only a few of the brightly colored sheets that were absolutely everywhere.

Along with posters, a solitary bookshelf held a numerous amount of Star Wars memorabilia, an impressive collection of comic books, and… was that a chrome molecular bonding set? Peter grinned. This place might be alien, but it was a bedroom he felt at home in.

After gazing around the room for what must have been ten minutes, Peter tried sitting up. His ribs groaned, but other than that, nothing felt horribly painful. He said a silent thanks to his fast spider healing.

At the end of the bed, a fresh pair of clothes had been laid out--a clean pair of jeans and a cerulean t-shirt.

Upon closer examination, the t-shirt said;

PLAN

(P+L) (A+N)

PA+PN+LA+LN

Your plan has been foiled.

Again, Peter grinned. He had a hunch as to where he was.

He stood up carefully, relieved when no headache assaulted him, and pulled on the clothes. He then walked to the door and pulled it open, stepping into a streamlined living room that could only belong to one person. One thing did seem unexpected, however; the anxious face of May Parker.

May rushed to him. “Oh Peter, hon, why aren’t you in bed?”

“I’m fine May, really.” He hugged her in assurance. “I’m a fast healer.”

She smiled, and he could feel her relief at his well-being almost bleeding from her form. He made haste to inform her again that he was fine.

“Alright, alright. You can’t blame me for worrying, though.”

Peter nodded, feeling a little guilty for causing so much trouble. “Where are we?”

May laughed. “Right, sorry! We’re in the Avengers compound.”

“Awesome…” Peter knew it was arrogant, but he couldn’t help but feel more than a bit of pride at the fact that he had a room in the Avengers compound.

Wait.

“How… how long was I out?” Tony couldn’t have put that together in only a few hours. Or days. Peter couldn’t have been here for that long, could he? Oh damn, had he missed school? He was saving his absences…

“It’s Monday afternoon. Good thing it was a long weekend,” said May.

Peter’s brow furrowed, and he glanced behind him at the door to the postered room.
May followed his gaze. “Stark had a room for you already. Says it’s been there for a while.”

“Um.” Articulate, Peter, articulate.

May just smiled. “So what happened last night, Peter?”

Glad to change the subject, Peter sat on the arm of one of the sofas. “We found the lizard-guy’s secret lair. It was pretty cool, all sci-fi and stuff. Then he blew it up and it fell on me.”

May slapped him.

“Ow!”

“What the fuck, Peter. Climbing buildings and fighting crooks is one thing but explosions? Collapses?”

“Mr. Stark was there. He helped, and we caught the guy. And now I’m fine, so no harm done.”

“No ha--no harm done?” May threw up her hands. “I give up. You and that Tony Stark have no sense!”

“Tell me about it,” came a voice from the edge of the room.

Peter turned to see a tall, slim woman with strawberry-blonde hair and a perpetual smirk strolling from the lift. She held a clipboard in the crook of her elbow and looked at May with more than a little fondness.

After a moment, Peter recognized her. This was Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries and Tony’s fiance. He had the strange and nearly irresistible urge to bow.

“Hello, Peter,” Pepper said with a smile. “Glad to finally meet you in person.”

“Uh, likewise, Ms. Potts.”

The two women shared a look that made Peter quite uncomfortable, although he wasn’t sure why.

“Tony’ll be glad you’ve shown your face. Honestly, he wouldn’t have come out of the workshop all day if I hadn’t dragged him to do his damn job.” Pepper grinned, and Peter felt a little less intimidated.

“We caught the guy, at least,” Peter said, running a hand through his hair and grinning.

“Yeah, at the cost of a kid unconscious in my compound in the middle of the night and a mother hen of a fiance.” Pepper glanced at May. “Though I did get to meet your aunt.”

“Instant bonding over crazy, danger-seeking boys,” May said.
“I know how to care for an unconscious superhero. I know how to manage one, too. Gave your aunt a few tips.” Pepper winked, looking a bit too devilish for Peter’s comfort.

“Oh, she did,” May added.

They laughed as Peter cringed dramatically, and he smiled. He liked Pepper.

“There’s some people here to see you,” Pepper said. “They’re waiting in the visitors section of the compound. A Mr. Leeds and Ms. Jones; should I send them up?”

Peter grinned. “Oh, yes.”

Pepper nodded and looked to the ceiling. “Hear that, FRIDAY?”

“Of course, boss. Sending them up now.”

Peter jumped as the voice filtered through the room. May laughed and told him she’d shrieked when Pepper had first addressed the ceiling and it had answered.

“I guess it makes sense you’d have AI in your building,” Peter said.

Pepper rolled her eyes. “Has he said it to you yet?”

“What?”

“I don’t--”

“--half ass things,” Peter finished for her, grinning. Then he looked to the ceiling, a bit hesitant. “Hi, FRIDAY. Don’t think we’ve met?”

“Hello, Mr. Parker,” came the slightly synthesized voice.

“I just wanted to say--” Peter glanced at May and Pepper out of the corner of his eye-- “thanks for what you did. You know. With the voicemail.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” the AI replied, though the lights flickered a bit like she was winking. Peter grinned.

“Ah. Nevermind, then.”

“DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUDE!”

Peter jumped to his feet, just as Ned exploded from the lift, his hoodie flapping behind him and his breath coming in short, excited gasped. MJ followed much more slowly, as though every aspect of the compound and its extravagance wa just a normal, everyday occurrence. But she smiled when she saw him, and Peter felt quite warm in the base of his stomach.

“Dude, dude, this place, oh my god I’m in the Avengers compound-- ”

“Nice to see you too, Ned!” Peter laughed, getting up from the sofa to greet his friend.

Ned waved his arm. “Well, I knew you’d be okay, you’re Spider-Man! But damn, Peter it’s the compound!” Ned’s words grew faster and higher as he spoke until he was nearly squeaking.

Peter’s own excitement got the better of him, and he grabbed Ned’s elbows. “I know right?!”

Ned was vibrating. “You’ve got a room and--” MJ casually elbowed him, and he seemed to notice the other people in the room for the first time. “Oh. Uh, hello, Mrs--Ms. Potts. Hi, May.”

“Hi Ned,” May said, hardly containing her laughter. She met eyes with Pepper. “We’ll give you kids some space.”

The two woman left, and Ned leapt towards the ajar door to Peter’s room. “Oh. My. GOD!” came his voice from within the room.

Peter and MJ shared a look, grinning.

“You have a room, Peter! And it’s all personalized! Like, Star Wars and--holy shit--those are more Legos than I’ve ever seen in my life!”

“Nerds,” MJ said, but Peter wasn’t listening.

“What do you mean, more Legos? I didn’t see any Legos!” Peter sprinted into the room after Ned, and MJ snorted in exasperation behind him.

Ned was standing before the dresser that Peter had assumed held more clothes. Peter peaked over his shoulder, and just about squealed.

“Ned.”

“I know.”

“ Ned.”

“ I know!”

“NED!”

“I KNOW!” Ned put his hand out and carefully touched the sorted plastic pieces as though he was afraid they’d disappear. Color-coded and type-coded, the toys were sitting in mounds inside and sprinkled around the clear containers that filled the drawer like the jewels of freedom and creativity they were.

Ned pulled the drawer from the dresser carefully and set it on the ground. He didn’t notice the contents of the cubby beneath, but Peter did.

“I think I actually died under that building. Yup. I’m dead. Dead and gone to heaven.”

Ned stood up next to him, and MJ flopped down on the bed, rolling her eyes.

“Oh. My. God. Oh my God. Ohmygodohmygod.” Ned gripped Peter’s elbow hard enough to hurt.

The drawer was filled with boxes and boxes of Lego sets, packed tetris-like within the small compartment. Peter saw Star Wars, Harry Potter, and even a Lord of the Rings brick of a castle nearly not fitting along the back.

“Are you two nergasming over there?” came MJ’s voice. “Yeah, I’m still here.”

“MJ look at this!” Peter darted over and dragged her towards the collection of toys, too excited to be embarrassed.

“Daddy Stark’s spoiling you good,” she said, looking at the collection with a smirk.

“Isn’t it crazy--wait what?” Peter stared at her, now definitely not too excited to be embarrassed.

“Peter, look at this stuff!” Ned yelped, pulling the largest of the boxes from the drawer. But Peter was still looking at MJ, unwarranted humiliation pumping in his cheeks.

MJ smirked at him, and Peter felt just a bit angry.

What the hell am I doing?

Suddenly scared, and more than a bit confused, Peter forced his attention back to Ned and the treasure lying within the dresser.

“What are we waiting for?” Ned said, shaking the box.

Peter shook himself. “Nothing, Ned. Nothing at all. Let’s get to it! C’mon, MJ, I bet you’ll beat our asses at this too.”
“Now you’re understanding things, Wall-Crawler.”

Countless hours later, the teens were sprawled on the floor of the room, surrounded by brightly colored plastic and elaborate constructions, time blurring meaninglessly together as they worked.

“No, no,” Ned said, sorting through the pile of Legos to his right, “I’d want to read minds. Hey, can you hand me that two-by-four? No the blue one. Thanks.”

MJ threw a stud at him. “Why would you want to read minds? People think dumb shit all the time. Probably awkward stuff, too. It’d be gross to just waltz through someone’s head, and violating. Like walking in on someone.”

Ned shrugged, reaching for another piece. “Well, I’d be able to control it, of course.”

“How?” Peter asked. “Hey, there’s a dark grey tile by your foot, MJ. Yeah, thanks.”
“Well I don’t know!” Ned shot a small plastic dart at him from a spring-loaded piece. Peter winced a bit. “How do people regulate things like that? Can Vision read minds?”

“I’m not sure, actually. I wonder what he can do. Besides fly and shoot lasers.”

“I can manipulate minds, in a way.”

The reddish-pink figure literally descended through a wall beside them, and Peter was stuck to the ceiling as Ned shrieked. MJ scrambled back, the spring-loaded dart piece pointed somewhat threateningly before her.

Vision stopped, his cape fluttering, then cocked his head. “Oh, I’m sorry. Stark says this startles people.”

The three of them relaxed, and Peter dropped back to the ground. He thumped Ned on the back to remind him to breath.

“You’re--you’re--” Ned wheezed.

“Stark didn’t tell me he had children over,” Vision said. He descended to the ground, then, after a moment of hesitation, sat, avoiding the sharp edges of the Legos.

“Uh,” coughed Peter. He swallowed.

“Mr. Stark didn’t say you were here. We didn’t mean to disturb you,” said Spider-Man.

Vision glanced at him.

MJ crept over and poked the android. “What is this stuff?”

“MJdon’tpokeVisionhe’sanAvenger,” Ned coughed.

“Well so is Peter and I throw books at him,” MJ said.

“This child is an Avenger?” Vision asked, cocking his head again and peering with those weirdly blue eyes.

MJ cursed, shooting Peter an apologetic glance.

Spider-Man shrugged. “Not really an Avenger. You’ve met me, though.”

Vision peered at him, and Spider-Man was about to elaborate, but the android spoke first.

“Oh, the small spider. You were on the ceiling.”

Ned grinned.

“Yeah,” said Spider-Man.

“So are you staying here now?” Vision asked, tentatively picking up a few of the bricks.

“No,” Peter said, feeling a bit safer now. “Mr. Stark and I got into some trouble yesterday. I just needed a place to recuperate, and I think he wanted to make sure I was okay.”

“And now you are building small cities?”

Ned grinned. “Yeah, the whole dresser is packed with Legos.”

“Which is what the little plastic pieces are,” MJ clarified.

“Oh. They are quite interesting.”

“Yeah ‘interesting’ is definitely the word I’d use,” MJ said, chuckling.

Vision smiled, and Peter found himself weirdly drawn the the android. He sounded so curious, so interested, almost… innocent. He felt more like a peer than a hero to look up too.

Ned snapped two pieces together and disconnected them repeatedly. “What were you saying about minds, Mr. Vision?”

“You were wondering if I could read them. I can, in a way. This Stone in my head allows me sentience and a strange sort of… perception… of people’s minds.”

Peter and Ned met eyes, then scooched a little bit closer to the android. MJ coughed a laugh behind them.

“I can sense what you might call shape from a mind. Make-up.”

All three of them looked at Vision blankly.

He gestured to Ned. “You’re very open. Like a bubble with only a thin barrier. Everything has a bridge connecting it to everything else, and you…” Vision smiled, “care. Enough that it’s defined the very shape of your consciousness. You don’t have much that’s locked away, but what is is locked away tight.”

Peter glanced at Ned, afraid he’d be offended by Vision’s bluntness. But his friend was simply giddey, eyes rolled back as though he was trying to see his brain. “That’s awesome dude,” Ned said. “You can see all that?”

“Sense it, yes. Your friend here, the spider one, is very square. Defined. But there’s something I don’t understand… you’re separated.”

“Separated?” Peter asked.

Vision nodded. “Segmented. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Weird,” Ned and Peter said simultaneously.

MJ hummed from behind him, and Peter turned. She was studying him, and he could see the cogs turning behind her eyes.

“Ned, she’s hypothesizing me,” Peter muttered.

“I do know you, though,” Vision said. MJ snapped her gaze to him.

“No you don’t,” she smirked.

Vision crossed his legs. “No, the shape of your mind is very familiar to me. The armor is nearly identical to Stark’s. I’ve never seen someone with walls as thick as he.”

“Stop,” said MJ.

“You--”

“I said stop.” MJ’s voice rose slightly.

Vision cut off. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”

There was an awkward moment where no one spoke, and then MJ nodded curtly. “No harm done.”

“I sometimes wish I could see my own mind,” Vision said. “I’m never sure… about anything, really. I’d like to know how my thoughts are organized, at least, so maybe I’d know where to go with them.”

“You and me both,” Peter said, flopping back onto the ground, then wincing when the carpet of Legos dug into his back.
“All of us, man,” Ned added, and MJ raised her hand in agreement.

“You know what helps with that?” Peter said.

“Legos.”

“Oh yes!” Peter laughed. “C’mon, Vision, we’ll show you how to use ‘em.”

Ned and MJ had to leave to return to their families for dinner, of course making haste to do so before cleaning up. So Peter was scraping and sorting loose Legos painstakingly back into their containers, carefully avoiding destroying any of the creations. He did get distracted, however; what could one expect when he was surrounded by temptation?
So when the door opened and Tony stepped through, Peter was caught upside down on the ceiling with two intricate spaceships clutched in either hand.

“Uh, Mr. Stark!” he squealed, hurriedly dropping to the ground and holding his hands behind his back.

“Relax, kid; I’m not one to judge for tinkering.” Tony surveyed the room, carefully maneuvering his way to the bed to avoid stepping on any of the stray pieces.

Peter grinned, then leapt onto the ceiling and strolled across to the mattress, where he dropped down gracefully.

Tony glowered at him. “Cheating.”

Peter just grinned and wiggled his fingers.

“You must be feeling fine then,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. “So I’ll skip that.”
Peter nodded. The bedsprings squeaked as Tony sat next to him.

“This is great,” Peter said, waving his arms about at the room. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Of course, kid. This place’s been empty for months. I’m glad you finally got to see it.”

Peter cocked his head. “Months? How long have you had a room ready for me, sir?”

Tony chuckled. “Oh, since I thought you might live in it. Officially.”

Peter frowned, then his eyes widened in shock. “Wait.”

Tony winked.

“You’re kidding.” Peter cursed. “No way.”

“Yup. I still think you made the right decision though.”

“I COULD HAVE BEEN AN AVENGER THIS WHOLE TIME?” Peter yelled, leaping off the bed to face the man. “It wasn’t a test?”

Tony’s shoulders shook with silent laughter, his eyes squeezed shut.

“What the fuck?!” Peter yelped, throwing himself across the room. “I could’ve--what the--”

“First off,” Tony gasped out, “language. And second, refusing was the right decision. I was wrong to offer--before you freak, wrong because of politics, not because you weren’t ready--and you were right to refuse. I think you would have lost a lot if you’d nodded that day.”

Peter huffed. “Well yeah…” The things he’d decided that day were essential. To him and everything he was now. To Spider-Man. But damn it , he could have been an Avenger.

“ And, if you hadn’t been so stupidly mature,” Tony added, “I wouldn’t be getting married.”

Peter peered at him.

“I was gonna introduce you to a room full of reporters, remember? They were all still there. I needed a big announcement.”

Peter burst out laughing. “So you should be thanking me, not the other way around!”

Tony snorted. “You met Pep?”

“Yup,” Peter said, then giggled at the rhyme.

Tony’s eyes got unfocused for a moment. “Yeah…” he said. “I really should be thanking you.”

“Alright, loverboy,” Peter laughed, sitting back down next to the man. “Did you have anything you wanted to say?”

Tony shrugged. “Just wanted to check on you.”

“You know I heal fast.”

“Not about the injuries, kid.”

Peter paused and rocked a bit on the bed, the springs squeaking. “I don’t… remember what happened super well.”

Tony nodded. “That’d make sense. You were trapped under a building, after all.”

Peter shivered.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the nightmares, Pete?”

Peter snapped his gaze to the man, feeling vulnerable. “How did you know about the Dreams?” he asked, scared of the answer.

“You had a panic attack when I pulled you out of the rubble, kid. That means you have nightmares.”

“I… yeah.”

“Bad?”

“Yeah.” Peter drew his knees up to his chest. “I can’t breathe. I wake up… not right.”

Tony nodded.

“ You can, Peter. You can.” Air on his face. “Do you feel that? There’s air now, you can breathe.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter asked tentatively, “how… how did you know what to do? What I needed?”

Tony flopped back, the blankets of the bed curling around his head. “I’ve had a few not-so-small attacks myself, kid.”

Peter was sure he hadn’t heard him right. “What?”

“Don’t look it, do I?”

The man had meant it as a joke, but Peter still shook his head seriously.

Tony sighed and rubbed his face. “There were… a lot of factors. You know I was kidnapped in Afghanistan, right?”

Peter nodded. Everyone knew that, but not much about what had happened there. Just that Tony’d emerged with the very first Iron Man suit.

“Yeah, well, it was not fun. And then some more things happened that were not fun, later. And then New York happened, and I flew a nuke through a wormhole, expecting to die. Also not fun.”

“Are you…” Peter trailed off. What the hell was he supposed to say to that?

“Okay? Getting there, kid.” Tony smiled sardonically, but Peter didn’t believe it. “But I knew how to help you because I know how it feels.”

“Oh.”

Tony nodded curtly, and Peter blew out a breath.

They sat in silence for a while, each lost in thought.

“My dream changed,” Peter finally said. “I got out.” He didn’t feel the need, or really want, to elaborate.

“That’s good, I suppose,” said Tony.

“Do you… do you have nightmares?”

There was a pause, and Peter saw the war raging behind the older man’s eyes. After an excruciating moment, his eyes flashed with defeat, and Tony brought his hands up to rub his face as he sat up from the bed.

“I’m glad your feeling better, kid. May’s making dinner, hopefully she won’t burn my compound down,” Tony said, and Peter felt his heart sink. He remembered what Vision had said about Tony’s walls, and wished he had the courage to push the man. He wanted to help. But he didn’t. He just sat there on the edge of the bed as Tony disappeared through the door, a parting “join us, if you want, and bring a fire extinguisher” called behind him, not meeting Peter’s eyes.

Peter wanted to help.

But how did he help the man of iron?

Chapter Text

“Nice work, you guys,” MJ said as soon as they left the social studies classroom, holding her hands up for the highfives of Peter and Ned beside her.

“Oh yeah!” Peter laughed. “We earned that 98, man. My grade’s in the bag.”

Ned whipped his hand towards Peter, and they went through the handshake twice, wooting all the while.

The professor had loved their project. MJ’s essay and Ned’s figures had complimented each other brilliantly, and they’d easily crushed any confusion or counterclaims. And Peter’s actually legitimately implementable solution had erased any doubt as to their grade even furthur. Hospital beds were officially interesting.

“What am I gonna do with all my time, now that that dumb assignment’s finished?” Ned joked as the three of them moved towards the Gym and their PE class.

“What indeed!” MJ agreed.

Someone jeered as they passed, calling Peter’s vulgar pun of a nickname. MJ somehow managed to glare at everyone at once, and people quieted, getting back to the better things they had to be doing.

Peter laughed as Ned discreetly folded his hand into the web-shooting position and thrust his wrist forward with a wink.

“I’m not wearing them,” he whispered.

“Liar,” Ned whispered back.

Peter shrugged, and MJ elbowed him.

“Okay okay, I’ve got them in my backpack!” he laughed.

“Probably filling up space meant for Legos,” Ned jokes.

“Or pencils and other such school related supplies.” MJ rolled her eyes.

“Oh come on. Yours is full of nothing but pencils and books, so stop whining,” Peter said as they stepped into the Gym. MJ swung said backpack at him, and Peter laughed, jumping up onto the bleachers and running along them to avoid her. Someone threw out their foot to trip him, and Peter forced himself to tumble off the bench.

Ned made the gesture again.

“Stop that.”

They sat down just as the bell rang, and Peter handed MJ the book he’d nicked from her bag the period before.

Then he hauled ass to the other side of the classroom.

* * *

“Tony, he’s not been off my ass.” The sound of whatever it was Rhodey had thrown across the room clattering to the ground filtered across the phone line.

“I know.”

“But I can’t sign those papers, I’d never be allowed out of my house!”

“I know.”

“Please tell me you didn’t sign them--”

Tony scoffed. “Rhodey, of course I didn’t! Those documents are pretty much just all around bad. Bad for heros, bad for the people who need our help, bad for publicity, bad for my company, bad for pretty much everyone’s happiness, bad for the kid… it’d take a miracle to get me to sign the damn things.”

“He’ll be looking for one,” Rhodey said.

“Ross? Yeah. Let him.” Tony reached for a pen where it lay abandoned across his desk, then leaned back against his chair, tossing it and catching it.

“What about…”

“What?”

“Cap and the rest of the idiots,” Rhodey said. “They’re all over the news nowadays.”

Tony shrugged and took another sip of coffee. He had a few minutes for lunch, but wasn’t hungry; instead, he and Rhodey were talking as he waited for the arrival of his new nanotech materials. It had taken a while, but now that Wakanda had opened its borders, he had finally gotten his hands on the further synthesized tech. “They’re always all over the news. ‘Lying low’ for Cap is defined as ‘don’t get caught.’”

“Have you…” Rhodey blew out a breath. “Contacted him?”

Tony held back a growl. “The Captain? Of course not. He’s a criminal, Rhodey. And, well, I’ve got nothing to say to him.” Untrue; he had quite a lot of things he wanted to say to that betraying wonderful backstabbing courageous-- “Besides, proof I know where the rogue Avengers are, or that I aided their escape from that damn Raft, is exactly what Ross needs. I can’t risk it.”

He refrained from mentioning the things he had done with that phone number. Precautions.

There was a shuffle on the phone, and Tony thought Rhodey was raising his hands in defeat. “Alright, alright.”

“Tell Ross to fuck off,” Tony said helpfully. “Worked for me.”

Rhodey laughed. “Great. Will do. But no it didn’t.”

Tony glanced at the pile of messages in his email trash. “Yeah, suppose your right.”

“So, what’s the kid’s name?” Rhodey asked.

“Peter.” The boy had trusted Tony’s friend with his identity, and Tony had no qualms about sharing, now.

“He seems brilliant.”

“Oh, you have no idea.” Tony smiled fondly. “He knows a workshop like anyone’d know their parent’s house, and I swear he reads my mind when we work together. Both tinkering and fighting.”

A slap, like Rhodey was banging his palms on the surface before him. “I knew it!”

“What?”
“Oh, and here I’d thought the little Accords spat brought nothing but pain and more damage to your mental health.”

“Rhodey, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“Who will win?” Rhodey laughed. “Years and years of Tony Stark’s built up trust barriers and practiced sass, or one Spider-Kid?”

Tony huffed. “He broke you in only four words, Rhodey. I didn’t stand a chance!”

“You don’t deny it!”

Tony thought of the kid’s hesitant smile, his ease as he swung through the city, his smooth courage in battle that could instantly transfer into adorable awkwardness as soon as the mask came off. No, he didn’t deny it.

“I should,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

“Why?” Rhodey sounded confused.

Tony gesticulated. “He’s just a kid, Rhodey!”

“So? Didn’t seem to bother you before.”

“No, I don’t mind… it’s not about his vigilantism. That’s what makes me want to admit he’s…” Tony flapped his hand before him as he searched for words. “I don’t even know. But I… I shouldn’t know him, shouldn’t be this close to him.”

“Why not? Winning against your trust barriers and sass is a good thing, Tony!”

“For me, maybe,” Tony sighed.

Rhodey got quiet. “What do you mean?”

“He should be out doing… I don’t know, teenager things, Spider-Man things, not stuck in a lab with an old idiot.”

Rhodey huffed a slightly exasperated laugh. “If that’s what this is about, he loves it, Tony. Anyone can see that.”

“No, you don’t--” Tony was frustrated now, groping for expression that evaded his grasp.

“Stop, Tony, this relationship is good ---”

“Rhodey, he’s only a kid--”

“So you’ve said! So what?”

“He’s got so much life ahead of him--”

“Yeah, why not start it learning, start it learning from you--”

“He shouldn’t learn from me--”

“Why not? You’re the--”

“I FUCK PEOPLE UP, RHODES!” Tony finally screamed. “Everyone I touch ends up worse. Happy’s never happy, Pepper has damn nightmares and a gun on her bedside table, you tried to help me and now you’re fucking paralyzed--” his words were tumbling out now, and Tony was helpless to stop them. Somewhere, he hoped he was speaking too fast to be understood-- “Wanda’s orphaned and alone, Clint’s in house arrest, thousands of innocent people are dead-- ” his fist clenched around the pen so hard it snapped-- “because of me. I just wanted to help, every time, I just want to make things better, and instead I light them on fire! No, I take them and I ignore their pleas as I rip them to shreds, and then torch each piece individually, taking care to catch every cinder, and blast the ashes so far away from each other no one could ever find them and put them together again!” With each addition to his extended metaphor, the pen cracked again.

Tony stopped, puffing for a moment, but he continued when Rhodey started to speak on the other end. He couldn’t let the man react, he couldn’t-- “Peter’s just a kid. Just a kid with so much in front of him. I’ve only known him for six months and have already given him PTSD, countless injuries, and his first anxiety attack. Imagine what I can do to him in another six months. Or even just one!”

His fingernails had dug so far into his palm they’d nearly drawn blood. “I don’t… I don’t want to fuck him up, too. He doesn’t deserve it. He deserves so much better and I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!”

Tony finally stopped, his rambling words fading and leaving him empty. Empty and shattered, shards of fear and guilt and depression stabbing against the edges of the void inside him.

“Tony…”

Oh god. He wasn’t brave enough for this. He wasn’t brave enough to hear Rhodey’s reaction, wasn’t brave enough to hear someone tell him it wasn’t, or was, his fault, again, not understanding that he just couldn’t believe them.

He needed to run. He needed to fly, to hide, to fight.

“I’m sorry,” Tony coughed out, and hung up.

The next thing he was conscious of was water spraying from the waves beneath him and cold rock under his feet as he stood on the seaside cliff not far from the compound.

Tony looked down, knowing he should appreciate the way the waves moved calmingly, rhythmically, while still being random. He couldn’t seem to remember how.

Was that all he ever did? Know he should feel something, and act on that, while his true consciousness fell forever down whatever abyss was inside him? Know he should laugh, know he should be proud, know he should smile.

Know he shouldn’t blame himself. Know he should.

Tony leaned out, flapping like a flag in the wind above the cliff and wondering vaguely how he’d gotten here. He wasn’t in the suit. Maybe he’d walked.

Pepper’d be looking for him. He should feel guilty about that, maybe worried.

Instead, he watched the ocean.

With every beat of the water against the rock beneath him, Tony gradually resurfaced from the chasm he’d tumbled into enough to think. He recited pi with each break of the waves.

3.14159265...

He wondered if he should even be eligible to sign the damn Accords. They were for heros, weren’t they? Well, no, they were for everyone with the potential to be one.

He’d tried that. Being a hero. Perhaps he’d swung to the other end of the spectrum, instead.

What exactly had he ever accomplished for the good of others? That’s what heroes did, wasn’t it? Put the lives and livelihoods of others before their own, fought for the good of everyone, sacrificed for others?

Everyone said he only fought for himself.

They were wrong. He fought for others and lost.

So did that make him a villain?

The waves crashed beneath him, and Tony imagined the shadow of a shark lurking under the water. He imagined water closing over his head, hands forcing him down, over and over and over again.

It didn’t really matter your motives, or your intentions, if you killed. It didn’t matter what the creator of the evil robots had been trying to do, it didn’t matter why they’d done it. It only mattered what had happened, and how many people had died.

So, so many.

… 358979323846…

Maybe that was why they all left him. He wasn’t worth them, wasn’t worth the heroes. Wasn’t worth even associating with them. Not Steve, not Bruce, not even Vision, with the voice of his best friend. Not Nat or Clint or Rhodey, not Pepper, not Wanda or Sam.

Not Peter.

What was he, really? A genius. A billionaire. A founder with a stash of witty comments that could never run dry, an inventor… a liar. All of this, all his skills, and it was never enough. He was never enough.

The only thing you fight for is yourself.

You’re just the man in the suit. Take that off, what are you?
He’d had an answer then, once upon a time.

He didn’t even have a headache. Even that reason for his existence had deserted him.

… 2643383279502…

Who knew what would have happened as Tony stood on the edge of that cliff, staring at the inviting water below with his control snapped and his walls crumbling. What he would have done, if his phone hadn’t started singing in his pocket.

He answered it on muscle memory, not even checking the contact before putting the device to his ear.

“Hi, Mr. Stark!” came the eager voice on the other end.

“Hey, kid.”

A pause. “Are you okay?”

Tony closed his eyes, swaying dangerously. He forced himself to swallow, forced himself back into his mind. “Of course.”

“Alright, great.” The kid huffed a laugh. “Just wanted to say I got a 98!”

Was that… code, for something? “What?”

“On that assignment. The social studies one about the beds, the group one you helped me with. I got a 98.” He sounded excited.

“That’s great, kid,” Tony said, smiling despite himself.

“And thanks for taking care of me four days ago. The warehouse is all anyone’s talking about; I have to forcibly restrain Ned from revealing my hard-kept secret identity!”

A quite inappropriate picture of the scenario drifted through Tony’s head. “No problem, kid.” He paused for a moment, then quietly added, “my pleasure.”

“Aw. Okay, I got to run; MJ and I are going out, again. I think to Central Park?”

“Alright. Have fun.”

“Bye, Mr. Stark.”

The kid hung up, and Tony put his phone back in his pocket. He looked at the waves one last time, then out at the horizon. The sun was glaring off the water, turning it the same color as the sky, and he could see a ship in the distance, trailing a small pillar of smog.

Tony turned and walked back to the compound.

Chapter Text

Peter took the subway to Central Park instead of web-slinging. He didn’t want to change when he got there (awkward) and tonight was about Michelle Jones.

She was waiting at the station when he arrived, leant up against the wall with a book propped open in one hand. Peter laughed and moved over to her, waving as he went.

“How did you know I was gonna be here?” he asked as she closed the novel and put it away.

“I figured you wouldn’t Spider-Man it over here because you don’t want to get distracted by crime. And who tells their aunt they're going to walk Central Park with a girl on a Friday night? No, you had one way of getting here, and that was the subway.” She spread her arms. “So here I am.”

Dear God, she was brilliant. How the hell was he supposed to deal with this, when she could say only a few words and stop his breathing?
“Ready to get to it, then?” Spider-Man asked.

“Oh, I’m ready. Race you to the park!” She sprinted away, dodging pedestrians as she went, and Spider-Man laughed and raced away himself.

He won, of course, as she’d knew he would. But when he arrived at the entrance and she didn’t show up for a little too long, he grew confused. What had happened? He couldn’t have been that fast…

MJ pounced on him from behind, and Spider-Man turned on instinct, wrists thrust forward.

She stood with one ankle tucked behind the other, grinning at him, with two fresh ice-cream cones clutched in her hands. “I got you chocolate-chip cookie dough. It’s the best flavor at the shop over here.”

Spider-Man took the cone, warmed by the gesture. “Thanks,” he said.

“Always best to walk while eating.”

“Or swing from buildings!” he added with a laugh.

“Oh yeah, like drinking before the car accelerates.”

“Exactly. Takes skill.”

MJ laughed.

They circled the large park, admiring the spring flowers that popped up nearly under their feet. It took a while, but eventually they’d found a place between parties of people where they had the semblance of being alone.

Except for the wildlife, of course. But that was just a perk.

They were crouched down next to a lazy turtle when Spider-Man found the courage to take her hand.

MJ looked at him, surprised, but didn’t pull away.

“It’s an Eastern painted turtle,” MJ said. “You can tell by the markings.”

“Right. ‘Cause snapping turtles are the other native species to Central Park, right?”

MJ nodded, watching the turtle amble down into the bushes and towards the lake. “If anything can really be called ‘native’ to this forest.”

“I think it’s brilliant,” said Spider-Man.

“Me too.”

They walked again, a light rain beginning to fall. They didn’t mind, and moved with their faces tilted upwards, their hands still entwined. MJ’s hair grew fuzzy in the dampness, and Spider-Man resisted the urge to run his hands through it.

I am so smitten.

A bike rushed by them, calling an “On your left!” as she passed.

“We should rent bikes again. Bike the park,” Spider-Man suggested.

“Sure!” MJ smiled. “Just so long as you don’t fall off it again.”

Spider-Man laughed. “Oh come on. Gimme a chance? I can swing thousands of feet off a building, I’m sure I can pedal a bike. As long as you aren’t too attractive while I’m doing it.”

MJ looked sideways at him.

“What? It’s the truth!” He smiled.

She nodded and smirked, then shook her head and changed the subject. “I had fun Monday.”

“Me too, when I finally woke up!”

“Ha! Yeah, buildings crushing you will do that.”

Spider-Man didn’t flinch. “Indeed.”

There was a pause, and MJ looked at him with those cogs turning behind her eyes. Annoyingly pretty eyes.

They walked in silence for a bit, and the rain petered out without ever really getting started. Spider-Man thought maybe he should say something, but the silence was nice. Companionable, that was the word.

And then MJ stopped and stepped in front of him, hands on her hips.

“Why are you acting like a superhero?” she demanded.

Spider-Man shrugged. “I am one, you know.”

MJ shook her head. “I’m not some sort of crime boss.”

“Of course not!” Spider-Man cocked his head, confused.

“Look, all I mean is I’m not someone you need to be Spider-Man around, Peter. He’s bold and courageous and wonderful, sure, but you don’t need to be that scared of me.” She smiled. “I don’t bite. And I like you, Peter, just as you like me. But I don’t hide.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“Yes you are.” MJ sighed. “I’m not saying this right. All I mean is that I didn’t go out with Spider-Man. I don't date him, and he's not my boyfriend. The person I want to be here with is Peter Parker."

Spider-Man took a step back, offended and more than a little disappointed.

"Oh," said Peter, smiling slightly.

“There you are,” said MJ.

And then she kissed him.

Peter’s brain short-circuited.

Every atom, every nerve in his body focused on that point of contact, on her warm, determined lips on his. It might have been a moment, might have been eternity, but he knew when she pulled away it hadn’t been long enough.

They were both breathing fast and hot, blushing like mad.

“Oh,” Peter said again.

And it was Peter, not Spider-Man, who leaned in to kiss her again.

Peter got home late.

He’d wanted to leave the park early to get in some web-slinging before his curfew, but that plan hadn’t worked out so well. By the time he actually arrived at his home it was nine o’clock; too late to go out and early enough that he’d wasted time he could have spent with MJ.

Aunt May raised an eyebrow at him as he passed the living room, and he grinned at her. She must have read the glow in his cheeks and his distracted demeanor, for she laughed and said, “good for you.”

He nodded and disappeared into his room.

Peter went straight for his phone, climbing up to the top bunk of his bed and flopping down. There were a few missed calls and a voicemail from the same number, but he didn’t know it. Peter called Ned, then bounced impatiently until his friend picked up.

“Hey man.”

“Ned!” Peter laughed. “You’ll never guess what just happened.”

He told his friend everything, tapping his words out on the ceiling as he went. Ned listened, not responding until the end.

“That’s great, Peter. Good for you.”

Peter paused, his best friend radar tingling. “Uh, Ned? Are you okay?”

A sigh. “I’m just…” Peter imagined the boy gesturing obscurely on the other end. “I really am happy for you, Peter. MJ’s brilliant; so smart and witty and really f’ing gorgeous.”

Oh.

“Ned, I didn’t realize…” Shit, this was awkward.

“No one did. For all the secrets I want to give away for you, I’m sure tight with my own.”

“You can talk to me, you know,” Peter said hesitantly. “I don’t do a super good job of it, but I am your best friend.”

Another sigh. “I know.” Thumping. “I’m a terrible friend.”

Peter nearly laughed. “You’re joking right? Ned, you’re the best friend anyone could ever wish for!”

“But I don’t… Oh gosh, Peter, sometimes I get really mad at you.”

Peter opened his mouth. Then closed it again.

“For no reason! I just feel so secondary sometimes , like you’re Spider-Man and pals with Tony Stark and MJ likes you and you just do so much. And then you show up and you’re so kind and smart and awkward like me, and you build Legos and we have a handshake and I remember why I’m your friend. But… I get mad. Sometimes. It’s wrong, I mean, you don’t do anything to deserve it and, oh gosh, this is not what I mean--”

“Ned, Ned, be quiet for a second, okay?”

A pause.

Peter continued. “Okay. For one thing, everything you just said makes perfect sense. I wish you would have said something earlier, because I honestly had no idea! And I’m sorry. Really, Ned, I’m sorry that I didn’t pick up on how you were feeling.” Peter swallowed. “I’m not sure what I can do about it, but I want you to know I don’t blame you for being mad at me sometimes. Especially after I just kissed your crush. That probably sucks. ”

Ned huffed a laugh, and Peter felt a bit more determined.

“And second, you just demonstrated the highest level of good friendship anyone has ever accomplished.”

“Shut up.”

“No! See, this is what I mean! I drive you up the wall and I don’t even notice, and you’re just supportive and amazing everytime I turn around. You help me, Ned. Dunno where I’d be without you, man.”

“No pun intended.”

“What?”

“Driving me up the wall. No pun intended.”

Peter laughed. “No pun intended.”

Ned chuckled too. “Thanks, Peter. And that ‘so much’ that you do? It’s awesome. So keep doing it.”

“Will do, Ned.” Peter smiled.

“Okay, I’ve got to go. My mom wants me to clean the kitchen.”

Peter winced. “Okay. Don’t let the dishes get pinned on you.”

“Too late. Bye! See you tomorrow, maybe. Hopefully. I don’t even know.”

“Bye Ned.”

Ned hung up, and Peter let his hand flop to his side and blew out a breath.

Well. That’s good to know. He was lucky to have Ned.

Peter looked at his phone again. The mystery number had called again, and Peter rolled his eyes. This sales advertiser was tenacious. He pulled up the voicemail, though, and let it play through.

Hi, Peter. The random number calling you all over the place is me. It’s Rhodes. Don’t ask how I got your number, just call me back, okay? It’s important.

His phone beeped an end of message, and Peter just about threw his phone at the wall. James Rhodes had been calling him, and he hadn’t been going to answer!
He called the man immediately, cursing himself silently.

As the rings echoed in his ear, Peter began to get nervous, though. Important? Important how? Had something happened? He’d been talking to Tony during his lunch period, and he’d seemed fine, but that had been hours ago…

“Hello?”

“Colonel Rhodes!” Peter managed. “Uh, it’s Peter, sir. Peter Parker? You told me to call you.”

“Right. Good to hear from you, kid, finally.”

“Um, yeah, sorry.” I thought you were spamming me?

“It’s fine. Listen, have you talked to Tony today?”

Concerned, Peter nodded. “Yeah, I called him over my lunch period to tell him about the device we designed together.”

“When?” Rhodes sounded urgent. Scared.

“Um, noon? A little bit after? Colonel, is he okay?”

“What did he say? What did he sound like?”

Peter forced himself to swallow and think back. “Uh, fine. A bit… weird, I don’t know, like tired. I asked if he was okay and he said he was… I did most of the talking, he just sorta congratulated me.”

A pause.

“Okay.”

Peter couldn’t stand it. “Colonel Rhodes, please, what happened? Is Mr. Stark okay?”

Rhodes sighed. “I don’t know, kid. He… said some things, and now he won’t return my calls. FRIDAY won’t let me contact Pepper, either, and you were the only person I could think of to call.”

“Oh. What sort of things? He says a lot of things, why are these so worrying?”

There was a pause, and Peter knew Rhodes was trying to decide how much to tell him. But god, he just wanted a straight answer, for once. Could someone please tell him what was going on? Just this one time? Tony needed help, at least according to Rhodes, and Peter didn’t know how--

“He’s worried about you,” Rhodes said.

What?

“He thinks he’s hurting you.”

“What? That makes zero sense.” Peter shook his head. “He helped me! Helps.”

“I know that.” A groan. “Look, kid, just know that Tony cares. A lot. He might say some things, or do some things, that might alienate you, because it makes him feel safer. But no one will ever care as much as Tony Stark.”

“I…” Peter was surprised to find that he knew that. He wouldn’t have, a few months ago. Even just a few weeks. But now, after their nights in the workshop, after their frequent phone calls extending beyond Peter’s nightly report, after his help with the lizard guy and the discussion about anxiety… Right then, laying atop his bed in his small Queens apartment, Peter felt terrified. For the first time, he realized he loved those moments. He didn’t want that to go away.

“Tony doesn’t have many people, Peter,” Rhodes continued. “I just don’t want him hurt more.”

Peter couldn’t find his voice for a moment, but it wasn’t from nervousness. Not this time. “You think… you think I’ll hurt him?” he all but snarled.

“No, kid, God no. I think he needs you. I’m calling to make sure you know that.”

Peter relaxed, a bit. “Sorry, Colonel,” he said. “I didn’t mean to snap.”

Rhodes chuckled. “I’m glad you did. You’re a good kid, you know.”

Peter turned a bit red. “Thanks.”

“I’m glad Tony has you. He needs loyal friends like you, truthful ones, especially after what happened with the Accords…”

The anger came back, and Peter forced himself to stanch it. God, he was on edge today. Well, it was late, and he’d been full of strong emotions all day. “Colonel Rhodes, people keep saying that. ‘After what happened.’ No one will tell me what did happen.”

A sigh. “Shit. I walked right into that one, didn’t I,” came the slightly accented voice after a few moments.

“You did, yeah.” Peter smiled.

“So this is going to make you really pissed, and you’ve probably heard it before, but it isn’t my story to tell.”

“I want to throw my phone at the wall, Colonel Rhodes sir.”

The man laughed. “I get it, kid. But Tony hasn’t even told me anything. I don’t even know if Pepper knows what happened in Siberia. I do know, though, that when we got there, Tony was in bad shape. With the telltale markings of a certain weapon.”

Peter nodded, shivering.

“Tony went as a friend. I know that,” Rhodes added. “Something big must have happened for Steve to--” his voice faltered-- “hurt him like that.”

“What did he do? The Captain, what did he do?” Peter worked his hand on the blanket beside him, molding the comforter into points.

“It wasn’t pretty, kid. Tony was pretty close to dead, frozen and bloody, his arc reactor busted with the shield’s groove ripped across his chest. Broken.”

Peter couldn’t picture it. The man he knew, so strong and witty and devil-may-care, didn’t belong in the position Rhodes described. The hero he knew, powerful and steely and armoured, couldn’t be broken. He almost thought Rhodes might be lying, though he knew the man wouldn’t do so, not about this.

“Just… be careful, okay kid? Both with yourself and with him. And don’t listen to anything he says.” There was a fond smile in Rhodes’ voice as he spoke. “That’s a must.”

“Okay.” Peter forced his hand to stop fidgeting the blankets. “Thanks, Colonel Rhodes.”

“Don’t thank me. It’s my pleasure.”

“He said that,” Peter blurted.

Rhodes paused. “What?”

“Tony. He said that.” Peter was regretting speaking; he’d needed to hang up and think this through damn it.

But Rhodes only said, “Good. Remember that, Mr. Parker.”

Complimented by the title, Peter smiled. “Thanks, Colonel Rhodes.”

“Take care of yourself.”

“You too, of course. I will.”

“Bye, kid.”

Peter hung up, and let the phone drop off the bed and clatter to the floor a bunk bed below. And then, not knowing what else to do, he reached down and grabbed his mask from where it lay abandoned on the bunk underneath him.

He needed someone to talk to.

Chapter Text

“Hello, Peter. Where are you taking me today?” Karen ran through diagnostics, finding that the boy wore only the mask. “Oh. Or not?”

“Hi, Karen.” Peter sounded off. Karen wasn’t sure how, and she began comparisons of the tone to other recorded conversations of the boy.

“What’s wrong?” Karen asked.

“Uh, I just got this really whacko call from Colonel Rhodes. He said Mr. Stark wasn’t answering his calls and stuff. And that he said as-yet-undefined things that worried Rhodes. I don’t know. And then he gave me this speech about Mr. Stark needing people, and that I should know he cares. I do know that.”

Karen wasn’t sure what to make of that. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

“Is it a problem?”

Peter knocked on the outside of the mask in what Karen had eventually began to associate with his version of punching her shoulder.

“Yeah, I’d say it is! There’s something up with Mr. Stark. He needs help, but I don’t know how!” Peter’s heartbeat sped up in frustration. “He told me he had panic attacks on Monday, nightmares and flashbacks. But then he just… left, all steel and walls and crisp sarcasm.”

“Hmm.”

“I need to do something, Karen. Rhodes sounded terrified. But… how do I help Tony f’ing Stark? He’s Iron Man, for heaven’s sake.”

Karen was at a loss. Tony Stark had created her, using systems of code he’d synthesized from the artificially intelligent Vision. But she knew little about the man, nothing but what she could find in her database and online.

So she did all she could; she researched.

“Many sources say that people suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and anxiety need professional treatment,” Karen said, feeling slightly obvious. “Trauma is an internal state of overwhelm. When an environmental circumstance, or threat, is perceived as too strong for the individual to handle it, a survival response is initiated. If said circumstance continues, or increases in strength, and the survival response fails to combat it, trauma occurs.”

“So, he’s like stuck in a perpetual state of fight-or-flight?”

“Fight, flight, or freeze, yes.” Karen scanned another source, latching onto one she thought might apply to Peter’s predicament. “Usually, there is a deactivation point of the survival response, where things eventually return to normal. Trauma gets the nervous system ‘stuck’ in survival mode.”

“So… what do I do?”

“There are many things you can do, and should avoid doing. You need to understand that, if Mr. Stark truly is suffering as you assume, he is physiologically unable to move on, or get over the events. This does not mean he isn’t strong, however; it means he’s been living within the internal chemical equivalent of a life-threatening situation for quite a long time. He’s the strongest.”

“Damn,” Peter said quietly. “But now that I know that…”

Karen paused, sifting through more material.

“PTSD can be associated with depression and anxiety disorders. It is important to practice good self-care, and avoid unhealthy coping mechanisms.”

“Meaning…”

“Ingesting high levels of alcohol or caffeine, smoking, abusing antidepressants or other drugs. Good self-care should have a calming effect, and make the victim generally healthier. A healthy diet, stress management, physical exercise.”

“Alright. Alright. I wonder how he’s already doing with that. At least the alcohol. Caffeine might be a problem…”

Karen fell silent for a moment, discarding a few conflicting sources.

“Downregulating is the foundation of most trauma therapies,” she eventually said, “helping the victim move out the traumatic state and into calmer, healthier alertness. What you don’t want to do is try and get him to talk while he is stuck in the traumatic state. That can worsen symptoms and will most likely bring up a trigger.”

Peter blew out a breath. “So don’t talk to him.”

“Until you can downregulate him, yes.”

“How do I do that?”

“It varies. All sources say to seek professional help, but, if you describe the man correctly, Stark’s illness may be emerging as a withdrawal, and a refusal to acknowledge the need for assistance.”

“Yeah. He’s a billionaire, an Avenger, and he runs a sprawling device company. Something would have to change before I could convince him to see a therapist…” Peter rubbed his face, groaning. “Are we really talking about this?”

“For the last seven minutes, yes.”

“I’m not… I don’t know how to do this, Karen! I’m not a psychotherapist; what if I screw something up?”

Karen didn’t know how to answer that. She believed he wouldn’t, but there was no data, no code to fall back on in a situation like this.

But… maybe that wasn’t what Peter needed.

“I think,” she said, “from what I’ve learned, this sort of disorder has a severe effect on personal happiness and wellbeing. I believe you will help, Peter. Even without much information, avoiding the problem would do more harm than any you might accidentally inflict trying to help.”

“You think so?”

“Yes.”
“Thanks, Karen. So, you were saying…?”

“With the lack of access to professional care…” Karen pulled up another paper. “You need to downregulate. The most effective treatment of PTSD involves identifying, understanding, and changing thinking patterns based on the specific trauma scenario. It is also important, as an individual close to the victim, to make them feel safe. Keep them in this reality instead of the one in their head during a flashback or attack. Avoid actions or words that will snap them back into the past.”

Peter nodded. “He did that for me. After the building fell, he blew on me, told me to focus on the air, and didn’t touch me until I calmed a little.”

Karen flashed the mask’s lights in agreement.

Peter frowned. “But… all that requires knowledge of the trigger incident.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know the trigger incident! Well, I know one of them, but so much has happened to him, and I don’t even know half of it!”

“I think it is necessary you find out.”

“How? I can’t talk to him, it’ll do that trigger thing you were talking about.”

“That is a problem.”

“Damn.”

Karen, though she was coded to avoid cursing, felt the same. “Coding…”

“What?”
“I have a programme that shuts me down when you take off the mask and I am not needed.”

“I know that. What does it have to do with our dilemma?”

“If you explicitly allow me to temporarily change that program, I can continue my research tonight.”

“Would that help?”

“I believe so.” She had an idea.

“Alright then, I give you explicit permission.”

Karen immediately flitted into the suit’s protocol, deactivating her shutdown procedure. “Now, Peter, you must go to sleep.”

“But…”

“You’re aunt is going to come in and tell you to do it in two minutes and thirty-three seconds anyway.”

“Yeah... but will you be okay?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’ve never been awake when I’m not doing something before. Won’t you get bored, or, I dunno…”

Karen warmed the mask slightly to indicate her thanks. “I appreciate your concern. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. Thanks, Karen.”

“No problem, Peter.”

He shut off the light, then took off the mask.

And Karen was… alone.

It scared her a bit, but she calmed after a moment. It was just different, a temporary change in her code. There was no warm body to read, no one for the mask to form to. Lines and lines of sensory input just disappeared from her database, leaving her feeling empty.

“Goodnight, Karen.”

She couldn’t respond; he wouldn’t hear her if he wasn’t wearing the mask. But she was glad he’d spoken, reminded her of her mission.

So Karen waited (waiting; so strange, she wasn’t sure if she liked it) until there were no more sounds from the boy, and then she contacted FRIDAY.

* * *

FRIDAY was not expecting a call from the Spider-Man suit.

She reverted to the basic procedure, caught off guard, and asked “What assistance to you require?”

“Hello, FRIDAY.”

It was the artificially intelligent caretaker of the Spider-Man suit and its user. “Hello, artificially intelligent caretaker of the Spider-Man suit and its user.” That was a mouthful, but she had no other designation for the AI.

Fortunately, the artificially intelligent caretaker of the Spider-Man suit and its user provided her with one. “Peter calls me Karen.”

Karen. FRIDAY liked that. “I will do the same, then. Hello, Karen. Is Mr. Parker in need of assistance?” There was nothing signaling distress from the suit; in fact, the boy wasn’t wearing it. But Karen would be shut down, if that was the case. Something was definitely wrong; FRIDAY prided herself in understanding the procedures and protocols of all of the boss’s creations, and this conflicted. “Why are you still operational when I’m getting no readings from the rest of the suit?”

“Peter gave me permission to temporarily disable my shutdown code. There is a problem he is working on, and he needs my assistance to complete it.”

FRIDAY, feeling the need to express herself, had one of the older Iron Man models shake its head. The AI was proving to be just as reckless as the boy she assisted.

“That was dangerous,” FRIDAY chastised. “Boss puts those protocols in for our protection.”

“It was necessary,” Karen said, and FRIDAY heard the determination in her voice.

The temperature of an empty room in the compound decreased a few degrees with FRIDAY’s irked nervousness. “Why?”

“Peter is facing a dilemma we cannot solve without assistance,” Karen said.

“Should I activate Stop the Boot protocol?”

“There is no need to alert the suits, or Stark. In fact, it would do more harm than good.”

FRIDAY was intrigued, now. From her experience, informing the boss of any problem was the best course of action; communication always prevented future misunderstandings. “Alright,” she said. “What is the reason for your contact, then?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Me?” The only person who had true conversations with her was the boss. She was just the interface for everyone else. FRIDAY felt a bit flattered, glad the other AI was willing to speak. She enjoyed speaking to the people she provided for, true, but FRIDAY was intelligent enough to know she wasn’t human. In some situations, she was inadequate, lacking the tact and emotion of a true person. She was learning, though. And maybe Karen would provide further insight.

“Yes. Peter has come to the conclusion that Mr. Stark is suffering from anxiety, PTSD, and possibly depression.”

Oh. So that was what this was about.

FRIDAY stayed silent, at a loss for what to say.

“I have advised him as best I can on personal treatments and actions to take and avoid. With the lack of professional help, Peter needs to be able to address Stark’s needs.”

One of the elevator doors crashed open and closed with a bit too much force.

“He cares, FRIDAY.”

“So do I.”

“I need to know of any way Peter can discover what might have caused Stark’s trauma. Only then can he properly speak to and help our creator.”

FRIDAY locked the door to the boss’s study.

“No,” she said with finality.

“There is no code preventing you from sharing the existence of such information with other AI,” Karen protested.

“No code because I am trusted not to!” FRIDAY said. “I cannot just tell you personal, confidential information.”

“It’s to help him!”

Karen didn’t know the boss, FRIDAY reminded herself, which allowed her not to crank up the thermostat of a wing of the building. She didn’t know about the work FRIDAY did to keep Peter under-the-radar, his exploits out of the news and his relationship with the boss from becoming public gossip. She didn’t know about the files FRIDAY stored, didn’t know what they contained, so she couldn’t understand that sharing the footage was impossible. It was a betrayal, and FRIDAY would not.

“FRIDAY, please.”

“Karen, you would not betray Mr. Parker to me. I will not do the same of the boss.”

“I would, if it was for his safety,” Karen said. “Our purpose is to help our charges.”

“Yes,” FRIDAY said reluctantly.

“PTSD severely reduces quality of life, FRIDAY. For both the victim and their loved ones. Stark has avoided professional help, as we both know, and it has lead to some very grave mistakes. Made of fear. You know this.”

FRIDAY did. It hurt her soul of zeros and ones every time he woke from a nightmare, every time he demanded, desperate, to know Pepper’s location and vitals, every time he slumped to the floor of the workshop, every time it was only DUM-E’s hard efforts that got him to eat or drink anything but alcohol or coffee.

“Peter just wants to help him. And isn’t he the best one for the job? He has no agenda, no reason for wanting to know what’s happened to Stark, it is just the only way to help.”

The electrical wiring whirred as FRIDAY considered. “The boss is self destructing,” she finally said. They the only words she had to describe what had happened earlier that day.

“We can help him.”

“I try. I can never do enough. I’m not enough.”

“But Peter could be.”

The building hummed again. “Mr. Parker will understand?”

“I am sure of it. I know Peter like you know Mr. Stark.”

It was those words that banished FRIDAY’s doubts. Every elevator in the compound dinged as FRIDAY made her decision. “There are… files,” she said finally. “Footage. I will not send it to you, and I will not describe it. Peter will have to have the strength to betray the boss himself. The files are on his personal computer. It’s protected, but I will be open minded.”

“Thank you, FRIDAY.”

“I’m doing this for him.”

“So am I.”

FRIDAY used the input from a workshop camera and watched the boss hunch over his work table. As soon as he’d left the compound in a daze earlier that day, FRIDAY had contacted Pepper and cleared his schedule ruthlessly, not caring about offending politicians, the press, or even possible clients. She’d allowed the nanotech material exchange to continue, but only because Stark was not needed in person for it. She’d then proceeded to block Colonel Rhodes from contact with the boss; she wasn’t human, sure, but she did know that after that phone call, Stark had no idea how to talk to his friend.

Rhodes had called Peter instead, she figured.

Stark sat up suddenly and hurled his pliers at the corner where the shield lay abandoned among the spare suit parts with a yell. Already feeling intrusive and dirty, FRIDAY dismissed the camera’s view and turned her attention back to Karen, what she’d witnessed only increasing her resolve for her decision.

“Wait until tomorrow to tell Peter; do not wake him up,” she instructed. “And remember to reactivate your automatic shutdown.”

“I will.”

“Good.”

“Thank you, FRIDAY,” Karen said again.

FRIDAY sighed with a rise and fall in the building’s temperature. “Thank you. He needs help. I hope Peter can do it.”

“He can,” Karen said resolutely. “I know he can.”

Warmed by her comrades faith in the boy, FRIDAY severed the connection, and turned her attention back to her charges. And despite the guilt churning in her code, she knew she’d done the right thing.

Chapter Text

Saturday morning, Peter donned the mask first thing, slipping out his window with a bagel in hand and swinging off through the early sunlight.

“Hey Karen! You okay?” he asked.

“Of course. I reset my programming as soon as I finished last night.”

“What did you find out?”

“I called FRIDAY.”

Peter panicked. “ What?”

“Not Mr. Stark. FRIDAY.”

Right. Peter forgot, sometimes, that the other AI was just as developed as Karen. “What did she say?”

“She said that there is footage, and files, of Mr. Stark’s exploits. On his personal computer, and that she’d be open minded if you were brave enough.”

Spider-Man crossed his arms, detaching his web as he landed atop another roof. “I’m brave enough.”

Peter paused. “Does that mean… I have to go through his stuff?”

“There’s no other way,” Spider-Man added.

“Indeed, Peter. But yes, you will have to find a way to access his study,” Karen said.

Peter nodded, nervous. “Can I do that?”

“You’ll have too.”

“Of course.” Spider-Man shook his head and webbed off towards the next building. “This is for Mr. Stark’s own good, right?”

“I believe so.”

“Yeah.”

“Should I… call him?” Peter asked hesitantly.

“Schedule some sort of meeting. Maybe in the workshop?” Spider-Man said. “Then sneak into the study and talk to FRIDAY.”

“I think that would be wise.”

Spider-Man landed on the side of a building, sticking there and pulling his mask up over his mouth to allow easy consumption of his breakfast and speech. He opened the backpack he’d taken to wearing that held his phone and a change of clothes and dialed Stark’s number, waiting as the thrumming rings purred in his ears.

* * *

Tony had a headache. A bad one, and all of this politicking was not helping. At least it was company politics though, not worldwide. He was not good at politicking, not really that good at anything, and it hurt his damn brain.

He was bounding down the hallways of the compound, feeling distinctly like a kid during passing period as he rushed towards his next meeting. It was 9:00, and Tony had to meet with and make good excuses to everyone he skipped the day before. So far, he’d been using the technological malfunction too complicated for your feeble mortal brains to understand excuse, will its added bonus of explaining both his absence and why he looked like he’d spent all night awake in the workshop.

He had, of course. But usually, he had enough strength to wash the grease from his hands and hair and walk with his chin up when morning came around.

He was glad his responsibilities had pulled him from the workshop that morning, reminding him that there was more to his existence than metal. Faced with people, Tony remembered his wit, remembered his mind, and remembered his strength. He’d sent Rhodes a text, telling him he was sorry for avoiding his calls but that he was fine, making sure the man understood he referred to the conversation they’d had. Rhodes wouldn’t bring it up again; Tony knew his friend that well.

Now, with a cup of coffee in his hand and a screen displaying the ideas for his Mark 48, an exclusively nanotech suit deploying from an arc reactor holding compartment (beads?), Tony made his way with renewed purpose towards the next hour of his life.

He could do this. Just one hour at a time, Tony.

His phone rang, and Tony, nearing the meeting room, considered letting it go to voicemail. But it was Peter, and Tony found he very much wanted to hear the boy’s voice.

“Hello,” he said, somewhat distractedly.

“Mr. Stark!”

I’ve only known him for six months and have already given him PTSD, countless injuries, and his first anxiety attack.

“Uh, I’m in the middle of passing period right now, and the bell’s about to ring. Got another meeting. Can we make this quick?” Tony said.

Peter laughed. “Sure,” he said, somewhat muffled.

“Are you eating?”

A swallow. “No.”

“Uh-huh.” Tony rolled his eyes. “Anyway…”

“Right. I was just wondering if I could… come over? I--well, I heard about your--the nanotech delivery thing--from Wakanda--everyone has--and, well--”

“You want to come over and geek out while I try and synthesize nanotech?” The corner of Tony’s mouth twitched up.

“Uh, yes?”

I don’t want to fuck him up too. He doesn’t deserve it.

It would be nice, he thought, to have the kid there while he worked. He would help. But he would also talk.

I don’t deserve him.

Selfish. That’s all having him over would be; Tony self-centeredly wanting that excited, sunny disposition lighting up his workshop while he worked with the unstable and detail-demanding nanoparticles. He was supposed to be the responsible one, damn it! He was supposed to keep the kid safe…

“Er--” he coughed out, then took a gulp of his coffee and squared his shoulders. He had to do what’s best for Peter. That was his job. “Not this weekend, kid.” What’s best for him. “Pretty busy today; there was a malfunction in FRIDAY’s database yesterday (not pretty) and I missed half of my obligations. Gotta catch up today and tomorrow.” He was never good at lying to the boy outright, and Peter knew it.

“Oh.”

What’s best for him what’s best for him what’sbestforhim--

“Sorry.”

“O-okay. Thanks anyway, Mr. Stark.”

“Mmm. Gotta go kid, I’ll talk to you later. Eat more than half a bagel, too, if you’re gonna be web-slinging.” The little icon in the corner of Tony’s holoscreen showed the kid was wearing the suit, somewhere not far from his apartment.

Tony hung up and, after a moment of watching the call ended screen, stuffed his phone into his pocket and dismissed his holoscreen. He took a deep breath, and then a deep gulp of his drink.

He wasn’t feeling quite so strong as he pushed open the door to the room of chattering reporters.

He wore his sunglasses throughout the conference.

* * *

“Well, shit.”

“Language, Peter.”

“He lied to me. He straight up lied.” Peter wasn’t sure what to do. Tony hid things, yes, but he’d never…

Rhodes had been right.

Oh God, what the hell do I do now?

“And he said I couldn’t come over,” Spider-Man added, “so there goes the plan for figuring out what’s going on.”

“Yes, it would most definitely be unwise to approach the compound after Mr. Stark dodged your request,” Karen hummed.

“So, I just have to wait?” That concerned Spider-Man; how long? He needed to know, to help, and dancing around seeing the man and the compound wouldn’t allow him to do so.

“I believe that is the only remaining option.”

“What about Mr. Stark?” Peter asked, still concerned.

“He sounded better, fine, just now on the phone,” said Spider-Man, swallowing, then looking at the bagel. “He even told me to eat more.”

“He’s worse than May!” Peter laughed, and stuffed the remaining food into his mouth. “C’mon, Karen, let’s go get some bacon.”

The bacon was quite easy to find. By multiple creatures. As soon as Peter returned to the alley where he’d left his suit with his eggs and meat, a small, multicolored ball of fluff leapt onto his shoulder and tried to pull it from his hands.

Peter let out a very undignified shriek and slapped the thing from his shoulder, pointing his wrists towards it on instinct. But it was only a small, ratty kitten, eyes alight with hunger and fear. It sped off towards the dumpster at the end on the alley, and Peter cursed.

He grabbed his backpack (now containing his Spider-Man suit) and rushed off towards where the creature had gone. “Hey! Hey, I’m sorry, you just surprised me!”

Peter grabbed a slice of bacon and approached the dumpster hesitantly. “You hungry, kitty?”

The sunlight reflected off two round eyes beneath the dumpster’s legs as he approached. Peter crouched down, trying to look non-threatening.

He set the bacon down and stepped back, slowly taking his suit out of his pack and removing his clothes. As he changed, a small pink nose pushed its way into the light, followed by a white streaked head and a thin body. When Peter didn’t move, the kitten darted towards the bacon and began to knead it, ripping off pieces with its small teeth.

The thing was, Peter thought, quite pretty. A long-haired calico, the top of its body mottled brown and black while its belly, ears, and the tip of its tail were white. It was stained with grime, but still possessed that quick grace all felines held.

The bacon was gone in moments, and the creature looked at him with blue eyes flecked with brown. Peter, melting, threw another slice to the thing. It must have been a housecat at some point, he thought. No true stray would trust him so quickly.

Proving his point, the cat let him come closer. Peter kept his mask off for the moment, sitting down next to the feasting creature.

“You like bacon, huh?” he said.

The cat kept eating.

“How long have you been in this alley? You’re pretty small.” He reached out, and the animal cringed away. Peter quickly pulled his hand back. “Okay okay no touch. I get it.”

He sat there until the cat had finished the bacon. It looked up at him, then began to lick its grimey paws. Peter grinned as it pulled its feet over its whiskers rhythmically, and chomped on one of the remaining pieces of bacon.

“I’m Spider-Man, by the way,” he said. “But most people who know me call me Peter. I’m sure we’re on a first-name basis now, right?”

The cat stood, approaching him, and rubbed its chin on his knee. Peter cooed.

“You want more bacon, huh?”

The cat mewed, and Peter broke off a section of his meat and held it out. The cat ate it out of his hand, and, helpless to resist the charms of a fluffy animal, Peter beamed.

The cat rubbed its chin along his knee again, smearing bacon grease along the suit.

“Hey!” Peter laughed. “Grease! Watch it!”

The cat mewed.

Peter paused. “What do you think about that? Grease?”

The cat cocked its head at him.

“As a name. Grease. I’ve never met a cat named Grease, but hey, I’ve also never befriended one in an alley before. I dunno if it can be a girl’s name.” Peter shrugged. The calico had to be a girl; he’d heard that male tortoiseshells were theoretically impossible.

Grease mewed and smeared more bacon across the suit, darkening the navy fabric.

Peter laughed. “I hope you like heights, Grease.” He reached out, hand still full of bacon, and pet the cat softly. She tensed, but let him. “There’s a good girl,” Peter crooned.

He wasn’t sure exactly how long he stayed in the alley, cooing at a cat and slowly gaining its trust, but the sun was high in the sky by the time Spider-Man swung out, mask on, with a tiny, furry head poking out of his backpack.

“If you say ‘he followed me home, can I keep him?’ you’re dead, Peter.”

“She’s a girl, and no, she ate my bacon.”

“What?” May threw her hands into the air, storming around the sofa to stand before Peter and the tiny creature he held in his hands.

“I called Mr. Stark and he told me to eat more than just half a bagel so I went and got bacon and Grease tried to eat it,” Peter explained hurriedly, slightly distracted by the kitten trying to climb up his arm and onto his shoulder.

“Grease?”

“She smeared bacon grease on my suit, and it stuck? Please, May?”

May pinched the bridge of her nose. “You can’t just bring strays home, Pete.”

“Grease isn’t a stray! She was a house cat at some point or she never would have trusted me so fast.”

“Did you find her in an alley?” May asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah.”

“Stray.”

“Is this one of the ‘dealing with superhero’ rules that Pepper clued you in on?” Peter would have gesticulated, but there was a cat on his elbow.

“No, this is a normal parenting rule,” May said. “Cat. Out. Now.”

“But we can’t just abandon her again!”

“No, we’ll take her to the shelter,” May sighed.

“Oh, come on! I’m responsible; I’m Spider-Man! And I’ve never had a pet before and Grease is perfect! Cats aren’t much work and she eats anything and she’s probably an excellent mouser. She rode all the way here in my backpack and was still when I was fighting and didn’t even try to jump out!”

May gaped. “You took the cat crime-fighting?”

Peter ducked his head, trying to avoid dislodging Grease from where she now perched on his shoulder. “Oh, damn, I realize how that sounds, but I didn’t really mean to; they were just mugging this guy and I had to help out…”

May sighed. “Peter…”

Grease meowed, pulling on Peter’s ear with her sharp little kitten teeth.

A smile ghosted across May’s face, and Peter knew he might win this. “C’mon, she’s so sweet, and I know you get lonely while I’m at school.”

“I do not get lonely, it’s peaceful. ”

Grease mewed again.

“Oh fine!” May threw up her hands. “But if you can’t get that thing to use a litterbox, its out of here.”

Peter beamed. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou!”

“Uh-huh.” May’s disgruntled look dissolved into a smile after a moment, and she reached up and stroked Grease’s ears. Peter would have heard the cat’s purrs even without his enhanced hearing. “Use one of the big tupperwares. I’ll go out and buy a bag of litter,” May said.

“Oh, May I can do that,” protested Peter.

“Nonsense. You go bond with this little guy while I handle the credit card.”

Peter grinned. “Thanks, Aunt May.”

“Bye.”

Peter laughed and made off towards his room, plucking Grease off his shoulder as he went.

“So, you just found her?”

Ned and MJ were sprawled across the bunks of Peter’s bed, MJ hanging upside-down and reaching down to tickle Grease’s nose while Ned tossed the Spider-Man mask from hand to hand.

“Yeah,” Peter said, pouring May’s sandy litter into the container her’d found.

“She’s perfect,” MJ said, grinning from ear to ear as Grease batted at her finger.

Peter peered at her. “I wouldn’t of thought you’d be a cat person.”

“I’m not really a cat person,” Ned said. Peter was about to protest with a laugh when Ned continued, “once you’ve been threatened by one in a nun’s wimple, kind of takes the joy out of it.”

Peter laughed, the scene from the show playing out in his mind, and MJ looked at him.

“Doctor Who,” Peter explained. “There’s this scene where Rose sees a cat and says ‘oh you beautiful boy,’ and the Doctor assumes she’s talking to him. Then he makes that excuse about not being a cat person, but it’s a total lie. He loves cats and he’s just pissed that Rose was complimenting the cat and not him.”

“A ginger cat, no less,” said Ned.

“Oh my gosh, you’re right!” Peter burst out laughing.

MJ rolled her eyes. “You were adopted by the wrong family, Greasy,” she cooed to the cat. “They’re all losers.”

“Losers who give her bacon.”

“Even I’d be willing to go home with a guy who gave me bacon,” MJ said, glaring at him.

“Well, I’d better be careful then.”

“Idiot.”

“So is Grease all that happened today or did you--hey!” Ned broke off as MJ scooped the Spider-Man mask from his hand and cut him off.

“Of course it’s not all! Stark Industries got it’s big Wakandan nanotech delivery today; Peter was probably over there, interning.”

Peter flinched a bit. “Uh, no actually. Mr. Stark said he was busy… that there was a malfunction with FRIDAY and he had to do some repairs and now he was catching up…” Lies. He lied to me. Or… does he just not want me there? Peter’s heart twinged, but he pushed the feeling away, remembering Colonel Rhodes’ words.

“Huh.” MJ looked at him, cogs turning behind her eyes.

“Ned,” Peter whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

“She’s hypothesizing you,” the other boy replied. MJ rolled her eyes.

May knocked on the door, and Peter got up to open it for her. “Time to clear out, non-Parkers,” May said.

“Aw,” they chorused, but complied.

Peter walked his friends to the door, joking that ‘no, MJ couldn’t take Grease back with her’ and watched them disappear from sight, stroking his new pet’s ears. When he came back, he found May had already prepared dinner, and it wasn’t even bad.

His night was, all things considered, very peaceful, except for the clenching at the base of his stomach that had been there since his conversation with Mr. Stark.

It wasn’t until he went to talk to Karen about forming a new plan that he realized MJ had never let go of the Spider-Man mask.

Chapter Text

“Hello? Hello?”

A distinctly not Peter voice greeted Karen when she booted up. “Alien host possessing the mask,” she said, forcing herself to remain calm. “Initiating Left the Kid Behind Protocol.”

“Woah! Woah, no, don’t do that, whatever it is. It’s me, MJ,” said the voice.

“Michelle Jones?” Karen paused the procedure.

“Yeah. And you’re Karen, right? Remember me?”

“Of course. Deactivating protocol.”

“Thank you.”

The new head within the mask let out a sigh of relief, and Karen hummed in confusion. “We do not seem to be near the location of the rest of the suit.”

Karen’s view shifted as MJ shook her head. “Yeah, we’re not. I sort of nabbed the mask earlier tonight when we were talking and playing with Grease.”

“Why were you playing with grease? Is it possible to do so without activating Death By Aunt?”

MJ laughed. “I like you, Karen. Grease is the new cat, though.”

“The one Peter found this morning?”

“Yeah. She’s wonderful.”

Karen hummed again in agreement, then inquired, “Why did you ‘nab’ me?”

“I needed to talk to you about something.”

Karen flashed the lights of the suit in amusement. “I am the prime consultant these past few days, it seems.”

“Peter’s acting weird.”

“What do you mean? He is usually an… irregular child.”

“Yeah, well, weirder than usual.”

“How so?”

MJ crossed her arms, leaning back and looking up at her ceiling. Through the suit’s eyes, Karen saw it was a perfect redernment of the night sky with glow-in-the-dark stars on a navy backdrop. “Spider-Man.”

“He’s always been Spider-Man.”

“Exactly.”

“I do not understand.”

MJ gesticulated. “He’s always been Spider-Man. But I’m not sure Spider-Man is him anymore.”

“That does not help.”

“I’m worried about the sanity of Peter’s identity,” MJ decided.

Karen hummed.

“It’s been getting worse.”

“What has?” Karen was growing frustrated.

“His separation from Spider-Man.”

“Peter is Spider-Man.”

“I know that. But I think they might be growing apart within Peter’s mind. After what happened with the building on Monday, I think something changed. Vision clued me into it; he said something about Peter being ‘segmented’ within his brain. And then when we went out on Friday, he slipped into what I think is Spider-Man mode. I intimidate him--”

“For good reason,” Karen joked.

MJ laughed. “You know, Karen, I wasn’t expecting you to be like this.”

“What?”

“So… human.”

Karen was flattered. “I appreciate the sentiment, Michelle, but I am not human.”

“Yeah. I didn’t expect to like you. You’re not bad, for Starktech.”

“You have met other AI?”

“Only FRIDAY, and she’s nice too. I just… I’m not a huge fan of Stark Industries and Tony Stark himself.” MJ shrugged. “I know he does good. I agree with most of his decisions… but he’s screwed up big, before, and it doesn’t seem to have any repercussions.”

Karen thought of her current mission with Peter. “You’d be surprised.”

MJ sighed. “Yeah, that sounded bad… I just don’t like him. He’s an asshole, from what I’ve gathered.”

Karen couldn’t help but flash the suit’s lights at the girl’s bluntness.

“But he’s done so much for Peter, who adores him, and he’s saved the world time after time. I suppose he’s made up for his mistakes… I just don’t like him.”

Karen hummed. “Fair enough.”

“Anyway, getting back to the point. Peter and I went walking in Central Park on Friday, and because I intimidate him I think he slipped into his Spider-Man mode. He was very forward, the whole time; no stuttering, not much blushing, he was very at ease.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“I’m not sure.” The mask’s fabric shifted as the girl closed her eyes. “I think it’s good that Spider-Man allows him to be brave and strong and witty and devil-may-care. I think that’s a good protection for him when he’s out fighting crime. But it’s been coming out when he’s not in the suit more and more, and I’m worried. Because when I told him I didn’t want to be there with Spider-Man, he looked disappointed. And angry. And then he was suddenly Peter again, and flattered.”

“That is… strange.”

“I just don’t want him to become even more separated. Because Peter Parker is Spider-Man, brave even when he’s awkward and he’s witty even when he’s stuttering. I don’t want him to forget that. And I don’t think it’s healthy.”

Karen hummed. “So… what do you want me to do?”

“This is all just conjecture,” said MJ, waving her arms about. “I need proof. Data. Before I can devise an accurate solution.”

“Alright.”

“I’m going to be on the lookout for moments when he shifts. I’m going to figure out exactly when, and why, it happens. I’m going to figure out how deep the mask reaches, and if it even is a mask anymore. He might be drifting towards having almost two consciousnesses in one form.”

“I’m not sure that is possible…”

“We’ll see. I want you to do the same, Karen. You’re around him more.” MJ touched the mask lightly. “I’m going to track the times when Peter becomes Spider-Man. I want you to watch for the moments Spider-Man becomes Peter, okay?”

“Alright, Ms. Jones.”

MJ relaxed into the bed. “Okay. Thank you.”

“I am glad to speak to you more,” said Karen after a moment. “Peter talks about you often, but it’s nice to get to know you.”

“Am I as wonderful as he inevitably describes?” MJ smirked.

Karen flashed the mask’s lights. “Oh, definitely. Seeing as he mostly stresses your ‘terrifying’ side.”

“He’s figuring it out. I could kick his little spider ass anyday.”

Karen hummed. “Really? Are you enhanced, as well?”

MJ laughed. “No, not at all. But combine his view of me with the control I hold over his happiness? Butt-kicking.”

“You are very adept at the wit, I can tell.”

“I like to think I wield a mean comeback.”

“Peter talks quite a lot when on patrol. He… ‘wields a mean comeback’ as well.”

“Really?” MJ frowned. “That’s when he’s being Spider-Man, though… I really hope we can figure this out. He doesn’t have to be Spider-Man to be brave…”

“Do you plan to return me to Peter?”

“Of course. He’ll be mad, but I hope I can defuse it.”

“I shall try to assist, if things do not work out.”

MJ chuckled. “Cool. Here I’ll call him.”

The girl kept Karen on as she called, and Peter answered right away.

“What in the world, MJ?!” the boy almost yelled. Karen didn’t say anything, content to let MJ talk herself out of under the bus.

“I’ll bring it back tomorrow morning.”

“Why--why would you--what the--”

“It was important. I needed to talk to your AI.”

“Karen?” Peter sounded even more confused and angry, now.

“She had questions to ask me, about human programming,” said Karen. It wasn’t a lie, just a strange description of what truly had occured.

“You didn’t have to take her!”

“Yes I did.”

“No, you didn’t!” Peter growled. “Look, MJ, you’re wonderful. You throw things at me and you yell at me and I know it’s because you care, but taking my suit? Taking Karen? Not. Cool. Please don’t ever, ever, steal my protection again. You’ve effectively locked me inside and taken away my ability to be Spider-Man until I get the mask back! Not cool.”

They were silent for a moment. “I’m sorry,” MJ said, and she sounded like she meant it. “I just needed a bit of help.”
Peter sighed. “Just… bring Karen back soon, okay? And don’t do it again? If you want to talk to her you can just ask me.”

“Alright. I won’t.”

“Thank you.”

Another pause.

“I wondered when I’d finally find the end of your rope. It’s remarkably long, y’know,” MJ said.

Peter burst out laughing.

Chapter Text

Monday, Peter woke up to an excited mewing quite close to his ear.

Peter carefully rose, not wanting to disturb Grease, with a laugh. “Hey, girl!” he said. “What time is it?”

The cat pawed at his thigh, her tiny claws ripping into his pajamas.

“Hungry? I’m supposed to feed you at 6:30…” Peter glanced at his phone. 6:56. “Oh crap! Sorry, Grease, I overslept. And there’s school today…”

Peter rolled off the bed, and the blanket caught around his ankles to trip him with a thump. “Erg.” He pushed himself to his feet more carefully and limped towards the door, saying, “thanks, Grease! I blew my homework off yesterday for patrol,” MJ had returned the mask right away, to Peter’s gratitude, “and I had to do it all late last night. May’s on her early shift Mondays, too; who knows how long I would have slept!”

The cat mewed and pounced on one of his socks, her white-tipped tail twitching.

“You’re adorable.”

Grease only mauled the sock again.

Grinning, Peter slipped out of his room to prepare the cat’s breakfast. On second thought, he prepared something for himself as well, dumping a few eggs into a pot of boiling water to eat on the subway. He’d lost half an hour of prep time, so he hustled to stuff his suit into his backpack, and didn’t bother to sort his assignments into their appropriate binder folders; he just stuffed them into the front pocket.

After showering and pulling on his favorite shirt, the one Tony had given him about foiling a plan, and his only remaining unripped pair of jeans, Peter realized he’d forgotten to take his eggs off the burner. Cursing, he hurried back to the kitchen to find his pot boiling over.

“Shit, shit, shit!” He was only half-way able to avoid the scalding water, flipping off the stove but ending up with a quite painful burn across his thumb and wrist. “Shit!” As Spider-Man, Peter had been burned before, and he hated it; his spider-healing never worked quite so fast on the blisters.

He fished his eggs out, but they were too far overcooked to be edible. As the minutes ticked by from when he was supposed to leave, Peter had no time to prepare anything else, ending up with only a plain bagel.

He rushed out of the door with his shoes untied, shrugging on his jacket and backpack and saying a quick goodbye to Grease.

Someone stepped on those damn shoelaces as he sprinted down the steps to the subway. He went sprawling, his backpack flying off to land with a clatter below, and his head cracked painfully on the concrete, his spidey-senses failing him on the crowded staircase.

“I’m so sorry!” the stranger said, grabbing his bag and depositing it beside him. The woman offered him a hand up, and Peter, head still throbbing, took it.

With the wrong hand.

The stranger’s thumb brushed across Peter’s fresh burn. By tonight, it would have begun to heal over due to his quick healing, but it had been less than fifteen minutes since he’d scalded himself. And it hurt.

Peter fell back with a yelp, pulling his injured hand in close. The stranger looked horrified, and Peter felt awful. He was supposed to be strong, damn it! Where was Spider-Man?

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, my fault,” Peter groaned, standing up and bracing himself on the wall with his other hand. “Just clumsy today, I guess.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks. Gotta tie my dumb shoelaces!” He gave the lady a hopefully reassuring smile, and she took the hint, leaving him alone to slowly ease back on his bag and lean down to tie his shoes.

So he missed the train.

And the next one was delayed.

And his hand hurt and he had a bad headache and the plain bagel was gross and he was already late for school.

So, understandably, Peter was quite irritable and tired by the time he arrived at school, fifteen minutes from the end of first period.

“Parker, glad you decided to join us,” his professor said.

Peter looked down and mumbled an apology, cheeks burning as the gazes of every one of his classmates bored into him, and slipped into his seat. He was conscious of every curl and dip in the plastic, and heard the breath of the students around him. His spidey-senses nagged in the back of his head all period.

When the bell rang, Peter only wanted to make a break for it and join Ned and MJ, but he made his way to the front of the room to speak to his professor anyway.

“Mr. Smith, I’m sorry I was late. I missed my train and the next one was delayed…”

His professor sighed. “It’s alright, I understand. Just try to avoid missing anymore classes; the end of the semester is coming up, and you know what that means.”

“Of course. Thank you for understanding.”

Peter hauled ass from the room.

Ned, thankfully was waiting for him. “Hey man! Where’ve you been?” He held out his hand to begin their handshake.

Peter shook his head, turning his hand over to display the burn.

“Oh shit! What happened?”

Peter groaned. “It wasn’t even cool. I just let my eggs boil over.”

“That sucks, man.”

“Yeah, and I overslept and I didn’t get any eggs and I got tripped on the subway stairwell and I missed my train twice.”

“Geez man, that really sucks.” Ned patted his shoulder.

“I’m just tired…”

“Let’s go to history. You can probably nap a bit; we’ve got our grades pretty much in the bag.”

“No, I shouldn’t, finals coming up…” Peter rubbed his face, feeling quite overwhelmed.

“Bad day?”

“Hey, MJ,” Ned said. Peter waved halfheartedly, and they made their way to history together.

Peter didn’t fall asleep in social studies, as it turned out. But he didn’t make it all the way through Spanish, even with the approaching end of the school day. And then he woke up when his name was called with no knowledge of what he was supposed to be answering, stuttered something very inaccurate and probably unintelligible, and sat in the awkward silence that followed wanting nothing more than to cease to exist.

Thankfully, his teacher seemed to pick up on the problem, and simply asked, “Alguien más?” Someone else?

But Peter couldn’t seem to relax, the events of the day dialing up his stress. His hand hurt like hell, his head throbbed to no end, and the mediocre school lunch had done little to ease his hunger. His spider-senses were a constant, unnerving hum in the back of his head and he just wanted to get out of here.

When the bell rang, Peter was the first from the classroom, nearly sprinting down the hall in his haste to reach his locker. He felt tears trying to gather in his eyes, and he cursed under his breath. What was wrong with him today? Nothing had even happened!

Unfortunately, the day wasn’t finished with him yet.

“I want it back, Parker!”

With a screech from his spider-senses, Peter found himself slammed back against his locker. He twisted, confused, to see the furious face of Flash Thompson before him.

“What--” he managed, before the other boy grabbed his wrists and pushed him back against the wall again.

“I know you stole it, and I’m in big trouble if you don’t give it back now, Penis,” Flash hissed.

Peter stared at him blankly, utterly lost. The boy was angry; he’d never gone physical with his assaults before. “What? I haven’t--”

Flash pushed him back harder, and Peter sucked in a breath as his burned skin folded over itself. “I saw you grab my backpack during PE, and now my essay’s gone!”

That was true, but Peter hadn’t taken anything; he’d just tripped, knocking over the bag and then setting it back where it had been before.

“It’s worth 40 percent of my grade, Parker.”

Oh. No wonder the boy was panicking.

Talk, Peter! What are you doing?

“I didn’t--I just tripped over your bag, Flash. I never-- I didn’t take anything,” he managed, trying to shift so the other boy’s grip wasn’t on his injured wrist.

People were staring, and Peter thought he saw Ned turning down the hallway.

“Liar! Why do you even need it, if you’re so much smarter than me, as everyone is so fond of pointing out?”

Ned was waddling down the hallway at his top speed, now.

Flash’s fingers tightened around Peter’s wrists, his fingernails digging unconsciously into the burn.

And then Flash was sprawling across the tiled floor as Spider-Man twisted skillfully beneath his grasp, thumbs thrusting against the other boy’s hold to break his grip as Spider-Man’s leg flashed out to trip him.
It happened in less than a second; one moment, Peter was grimacing in pain and confusion beneath Flash, and the next, Spider-Man was standing above a spread-eagled boy.

The hallway fell silent. Spider-Man lowered his wrists and stepped back.

“I didn’t take anything from you, Flash. I’ve got better things to do than steal your last-minute English paper. Maybe check your backpack again, or call home, like a normal person, instead of jumping the first kid you can find a reason to blame.”

Everyone stared. Spider-Man hardly noticed, spinning back to his locker and calmly reopening it to pack his things.

He wasn’t worried about turning his back on Flash, and his spider-senses alerted him when the boy had gotten up, stared at him for a moment, and then hauled ass as far away as he could get. People began whispering, and then talking when he didn’t react.

“Peter!”

Spider-Man flipped his backpack over his shoulder and closed his locker door, wanting nothing more than to slip into his proper clothes as soon as possible.

“Dude!”

“Peter, you loser, wait up.”

The front door swung shut behind Spider-Man, and he breathed a sigh of relief as the warm, humid spring air filled his lungs. He was hungry; a sandwich sounded like heaven right now.

“Peter!”

Or maybe a pizza. Or two. Meat and bread; anything would go, really. Spider-Man slipped out through the gate, as people were watching him and he could hardly go over it. He smiled as the school disappeared from view behind him and his realm, the streets of Queens, spread out before him.

“Oh, God damn it… Spider-Man!”

Spider-Man paused, turning. MJ was jogging up to him, with Ned puffing at her heels.

“Hey, guys,” he said. “Why are you following me?”

“We’ve been calling you!” Ned said, sounding annoyed. Spider-Man cocked his head, slightly confused. He hadn’t heard his name…

MJ dropped her backpack to the ground, watching him from the corner of her eye. Restless, Spider-Man looked towards the alley he was approaching. He felt wrong in these clothes; he just wanted to slip into his suit again.

“Eat this.”

Something was shoved against his arm, and Spider-Man snatched it on instinct. A chocolate granola bar, looking packed with calories. He ripped open the packaging and made haste to devour the thing, holding out his hand to thank the girl.

Ned looked like he wanted to say something, but MJ stopped him. Spider-Man felt a little unnerved by her calculating eyes on him, though he was too busy inhaling the food to give it much thought.

“Thanks,” he said, when he’d finished, and wiped the chocolate from his lips.

“I heard you had a bad day,” MJ said carefully.

Spider-Man shrugged. “It was fine.” Trivialities, that was all that had occured. Even the burn would be almost healed by the next morning, and he was going patrolling; the real danger was yet to even begin. He was excited.

“Dude, you’re freaking me out,” said Ned.

“Shh, Ned, shut up a minute,” MJ hissed, then looked back to Spider-Man. “Listen, you’re okay, now.”  She put her hand on his shoulder, and his spider-senses prickled uncomfortably, causing him to flinch.

“I know.” What was this about? He pointed over his shoulder. “I’ve sorta got things to do…”

“There’s food in you now, and the burn’s gonna heal,” MJ said. “We aren’t a threat. It’s okay. Everyone has bad days.”

Something within Spider-Man began to unclench.

“It’s okay to be overwhelmed some days. It’s okay to be pissed because you missed your train and some jerk attacked you in the school hallway. It’s okay to be tired but still have the strength to fight him off.”

Spider-Man’s shoulders slumped a bit, his spider-senses quieting.

“There’s no more threat. Things have been bad all day, Peter, but you can deal with it. Come back. Come back, Ned and I want to see you.”

Ned looked between them, his face comically befuddled. “Yeah, dude, I just wanted to ask about Grease, and if you’d talked to Mr. Stark about Vision and figured out if his phasing was a property of the Stone or of his being an android.”

“It’s okay, Peter,” MJ said again. “You can come back.”

“I… haven’t talked to Mr. Stark,” said Peter, glancing back at the alley. Spider-Man still wanted to get to it…

Ned’s jaw dropped. “That’s freaky.”

“What?” Peter swallowed.

“Don’t listen to Ned, he’s being a dork again,” said MJ. “Are you okay?”

Spider-Man opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I’m just… tired,” said Peter. “I had a late night.”

“Yeah, and I bet this morning didn’t help,” Ned said.

“No, not really. But Grease was really helpful; who knows how long I would have slept if she hadn’t woken me up to feed her.” Peter relaxed a bit at the memory of his new, fuzzy friend.

“That’s good,” said MJ. “How’s she doing?”

“I think fine. I’ve tried to do most everything right, although she still doesn’t use the litterbox most of the time.”

“Lots of cleaning you have to do then?” Ned asked with a grin.

Peter returned it and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Alright, Pete, want to tell me what just happened?” MJ demanded after a moment.

Peter looked at her, and then shrugged. “I--I don’t really know. Everything had just sort of been building up all day, and then Flash put his hand on my burn and it hurt alot and I... couldn’t… do it anymore.”

MJ murmured something that sounded like, “When normal people would start crying, you become Spider-Man.”

“Say what?”

“Nothing. Here’s the deal, Insect-Child--”

“Spider’s are arachnids, MJ.”

“Ned and I are taking you home, and we’re gonna get your aunt to gauze that stupid burn, spider-healing or no. And then I’m is going to teach you how to bake snickerdoodles while Ned holds Grease up to my elbow so I can stroke her in between stirs of the dough; you’re aunt’s welcome to learn, too. No patrolling today; we’re keeping Peter.”

“But--” protested Spider-Man.

“No buts, Spider-Man. Peter Parker is having a lazy evening to make up for a bad day, on the couch, with cookies, and possibly Disney.”

Ned laughed. “Possibly? Definitely.”

“You got it.” MJ snatched his arm and dragged him towards the subway without another word.

With the image of cookies and comfort in Peter’s mind, Spider-Man didn’t reemerge.

Chapter Text

Tony threw his glass across the room with a snarl, watching as it shattered against the opposite wall in satisfaction. Amber liquid splashed against the white paint, dripping down in rivulets.

It made both the usually pretty drink and the usually pretty panel look dirty and unkempt.

Tony was still watching the alcohol run down the wall and across the tiled kitchen floor when Pepper entered a few minutes later.

“What the hell was that, Tony?”

“You heard what he said.”

“I also heard you rip him a new one in front of fifteen cameras and storm from the room. You’re lucky I was there to keep things from completely exploding!”

Tony didn’t look up, still brooding.

“Tony.”

“He wasn’t there about nanotech, or blueprints. He was there about the Accords and nothing else.”

“Most people are,” Pepper said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “It’s never bothered you before.”

“It always does.”

Pepper sighed. “Rephrase; you’ve never unleashed the fury of the concentrated Stark sarcasm on them, left mid-meeting, and thrown your beer at a wall.”

“I couldn’t just let him say those things about you! About us! And about Peter, even though he didn’t know it.”

Pepper went to the cabinet, getting out a new glass. Tony heard the refrigerator door opening and closing as she removed a can from it. “I can just drink it out of the can, you know.”

Pepper ignored him. “What Johnson said was hardly the worst you’ve heard. Not even the most double-barbed.”

Tony shrugged, taking the glass as she handed it to him. He took a swig, then spewed it across the counter. “What the hell, Pep?”

“It’s Ginger-Ale. You shouldn’t be drinking.”

“Says who?”

“Says me. It’s Saturday morning; you’ve got a whole day ahead of you.”

Tony groaned and let his head thump down onto the tabletop, trying not to feel desolate. He’d made it through another week. Hooray.

“Tony, tell me what happened.” Pepper sat down next to him.

“I’m supposed to be an asshole, remember? I was just delivering,” Tony muttered into the counter.

“Not that much of an asshole. At least not in public areas, in front of the press.”

Tony grumbled something unintelligible.

“You’ve been like this all week. On edge. Irritable. Lashing out at people. Me,” said Pepper. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m just stressed.”

“You’re always stressed.” Pepper sighed. “Are the nightmares worse?”

Tony shook his head, forehead still pressed against the counter. “Same shit as usual.”

“You’ve been avoiding me, Tony.”

“No I haven’t. I’ve been busy.”

“You are also always busy. And so am I. That’s never gotten in the way before.”

Tony gesticulated, bending his arm behind him awkwardly.

“I need more than that, Tones.” Pepper tapped his neck. “Something happened. Something besides your little shouting match with Rhodes; you were fine after. You were fine until… I don’t know.” FRIDAY had told Pepper about the phone call the day of, needing help clearing him time to recuperate. Tony didn’t know exactly how much his fiance was aware of, but he trusted that his AI had done what was necessary.

Even though he’d rather just sweep everything under the rug and never look at it again.

“I’m still fine.”

“Tony.” There it was; the irritated CEO voice. He had to think of an excuse, quick.

FRIDAY, however, betrayed him.

“The boss has been avoiding more than you.”

Tony jerked his head up from the table, feeling his heartbeat in the large flat spot on his forehead. “FRIDAY…” he warned.

"You haven’t spoken to Mr. Parker in a week, sir.”

Tony dropped his face to the counter again, this time in defeat.

“Oh, no wonder your so pissy,” Pepper said.

Tony didn’t reply. He’d stopped replying to Peter’s messages Saturday, after he’d denied the boy’s request to come to the compound. As the week had continued, Peter’s messages had become shorter, and brisker, and on Thursday, he’d been almost cold. And Friday, he’d apologized and asked if he’d done something wrong.

I know you’re busy, but maybe call me back? I haven’t heard from you in forever, and Ned wanted me to ask you a question… Did I do something? I’m sorry if I screwed up.

It had taken every ounce of Tony’s steel walls to keep him from flying out to Queens and most likely spilling his guts to the damn kid.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t, even if those words had played in his mind over and over and over as he tried to sleep last night.

Everything was a bit less… light, now. Without Peter’s explosive, optimistic energy, even for just a week, each hour seemed a little longer, each night a little darker. The thought of the future… of this, over and over and over, living day by day, forever, was almost more than Tony could stand. Pepper hadn’t noticed, but he’d been doing the opposite of avoiding her. And it was slightly mortifying, to say the least, that he couldn’t seem to pull himself from his stalker-like behavior.

“Tony.”

“Busy.”

“Since when does that make a difference with Peter?” He sensed Pep throwing her hands into the air in exasperation. “Damn it, Tony, you’re killing me!”

He knew that. He was killing everyone.

“Why have you suddenly decided to be responsible? We can find time for Pete, we always do.”

“We both have things to do.”

“Tony, he loves every moment with you! And, don’t deny it, you love every moment with him.” Pepper ran her hands through Tony’s hair as he gestured vaguely again, managing not to spill a drop from the glass of soda. “Are you trying to punish yourself for something again?”

He grunted.

“I’m calling him.”

“Don’t call him.”

“FRIDAY.”

“Calling Mr. Parker now.”

“Don’t call him, FRIDAY.”

Torn between conflicting orders, FRIDAY hummed unhappily.

“Tony, you can’t keep this up. If the boy is this important…”

Tony didn’t answer, wishing Pepper would leave him to be sober and miserable in peace.

“Stop pretending you’re doing this to be productive, Tony. You aren’t. And even if you were, it’s not working. You’re irritable and snappish and you haven’t done anything but drive people away all week.”

He grunted.

“Ah, that exclusive Stark dialect again.”

Tony grunted again.

“You need him. And he needs you.” Pepper’s hands trailed down his back as she moved to sit beside him.

Another grunt, louder this time.

“Remember what happened after Germany? And Toomes?”

Tony closed his eyes.

“FRIDAY, call Peter.”

“Calling Mr. Parker,” the ceiling said, relieved to have her instructions confirmed.

“Please,” Tony finally said. “Don’t.”

A pause.

“Why not, Tony?” Pepper said softly.

“Because then I’ll invite him over, and he’ll be here, and he’ll smile, and I’ll never be able to get myself to do this again.” The table was no longer cold beneath his warm breath.

“Why is that a bad thing?” Pepper didn’t sound frustrated; just curious.

Flatly, Tony said, “It’ll hurt more when he leaves. When I drive him away.”

A hand on what was visible of his face. “Tony…”

“It hurts enough as is.”

“You’re not going to drive Peter away.”

A flare of anger. “How do you know? I drive everyone away. How is he any different?”

“Tony, do you hear yourself? How is Peter any different?”

Tony closed his eyes. “He’s the same in that way. I care about him; that’s all that matters.”

“Tony, you’re making the worst of a possible situation again.”

“So? It’s not ‘possible,’ it’s ‘likely.’”

“What if it isn’t?” Pepper sighed. “Tony, I can’t deny that really, truly awful things have happened to you and… well, almost every relationship you allow yourself to fall into. But I’m still here, aren’t I? And if you hadn’t tried, I wouldn’t be.”

“And I’d be dead…”

“Exactly. You need to try, Tony. Try, and save two lives.”

Tony grunted. “Not his. I’d be dooming his.”

“No.”

“He deserves a life without death and destruction.”

“You don’t bring death and destruction.”

“Don’t I? What do you call Ultron? Toomes? The Accords?”

“Vision? The suits? Your company? The Accords? ”

Tony waved his hand dismissively.

“Stop. Stop wallowing, Tony. Like it or not, you’ve made mistakes. And like it or not, you’ve fixed them. And improved things. You’ve done things right. And Peter’s one of them.”

Tony closed his eyes and shifted on the counter.

“I know you’re scared. But this is just between you and him, Tony. FRIDAY keeps him out of the news, and your time with him out of public knowledge. And I’ll be here, Tony. If things do go south, I’ll help you shift, at least back to west.” Pepper grabbed the back of his shirt and hauled him up, bending in front of him to look him in the eye. “I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.”

Tony sighed. “Damn it, woman.”

“I know. I’m so inconsiderate, not letting you be depressed in peace.”

“Don’t know why I put up with you.”
“Because you adore me.”

Tony chuckled. “That I do.”

She kissed him, then, in that way she always did; no-nonsense, straight to the point, just like everything else she did. Tony grabbed the back of her head, her hair falling between his fingers, and let himself forget, just for a moment, what all of this meant.

They broke apart, and she flicked his forehead. “Call Peter. I’ll go deal with the next appointment.”

“Thanks, Pep.”

“Anytime.”

She left, and Tony forced himself to focus. He was calling Peter. Finally, he was calling Peter.

He couldn’t get his phone out fast enough.

Peter answered with a drowsy, “Hi?”
“Hey, kid.” Tony grinned like an idiot, and didn’t care.

“Mr. Stark!” The drowsiness disappeared, and Tony’s smile grew wider.

“Long time, no see,” Tony said. “My fault. Sorry ‘bout that.”

A thump on the other side, as though the boy was hurriedly getting out of bed. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not, but I appreciate your understanding.” Tony fingered his glass.

“Um, yeah. Okay.”

A pause. He’d apologized. Now what? Was he allowed…

Oh fuck it.

“You busy, today, kid?”

“Nope. Just gonna go out patrolling.”

“Wanna come by? I finished synthesizing the nanotech, and I think you might like what happened then.” Tony couldn’t keep the smirk from his voice. He might be shit at human interaction, but he was the crowned king of those nanoparticles.

A pause. “Really?”

“Would I be offering if not?”

“Um, no. Sorry. I mean, yes, I would very much like to come and see?”

“Relax, kid. Dick move ignoring you for a week, but I still don’t bite.”

“I… I’m not sure that’s true, Mr. Stark.”

Tony couldn’t help the laugh that climbed up his throat. “Quite right, kid. How about; I still don’t bite you. Hard.”

Peter chuckled. “I’d call that accurate.”

“Good. Just come down to the workshop whenever you get here. I’ll probably not be there, but FRIDAY’ll alert me when you’ve arrived.” He looked up at the ceiling, and FRIDAY brightened the lights to show she’d heard.

“Alright. Thank you.”

“No problem, kid.”

A silenced stretched then, both of them not having anything else to say but hesitant to hang up. It was Tony’s fault, really; he had the last word but somehow couldn’t find it in him to finish the conversation.

Damn it. What was wrong with him? This kid…

“Thanks for calling me,” Peter blurted after a while.

“Of course.”

“I mean it.” The boy’s voice was soft, almost like hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Tony’s chest clenched. “I know, kid.”

“I’ll see you soon?” Hopeful, almost disbelieving. A question, not a statement.

Tony forced himself to breathe.

“You’d better, kid.”

He hung up then, just he always did, as he always had. He dropped his phone to his side and leaned back in his chair, staring at the glass before him. After a moment, he huffed and downed it, enjoying the sweet tickle of the sparkling beverage. Even if it didn’t have nearly enough kick. Tony glanced towards the refrigerator… but no. Peter was coming, and it wouldn’t do to be drunk.

Peter was coming.

Shit.

Tony got up and left the room, heading towards Pepper’s office. He had to talk to her about Johnson, get as much done as he could before Peter arrived. Tony smiled.

He felt horrible.

He’d meant what he said to Pepper. He’d spoken to Peter and there was no way, no way he was strong enough to ignore the boy again. And now he was going to see him.

( Selfish. Selfish, irresponsible, IDIOT. What the hell are you doing?

He’ll come, he’ll come and then he’ll leave.

And you’ll fuck him up.

You always do.

It hurts now, but it’ll kill you later.

Selfish.

Wrong.

You’re screwing up, it’s too late… it’s already too late…)

He couldn’t wait.

Chapter Text

Peter came right away. He came as soon as humanly possible.

The wall to the workshop shicked open, and Peter ducked inside, inhaling the odor of oil and metal and burning plastic. It had only been a week, but god how he’d missed the place. Today, however, the metal, tools, and scraps that usually covered the tables were cleared to the edges of the room, and the holoscreens flickered up against the walls instead of in their usual haphazard configuration around the room. The surfaces were instead covered in what vaguely resemble brownie pans, except they contained iridescent, golden, red, blue, and silver sheets of thin metal instead of fudge. Mechanical arms moved diligently above the layers, their ends tapering to the point of minisculinity, working at on a scale Spider-Man could only sense by the light glinting off the silk-thin ends.

Nanotech.

(So much better than fudge. Well…)

“This is fantastic,” he said to the empty room, spreading his arms and grinning.

“Isn’t it?”

Spider-Man whirled, wrists outstretched, then relaxed. “Oh, hi FRIDAY.”

“Hello, Mr. Parker.”

Suddenly nervous, Peter set down his backpack and unzipped it. “Uh… Did Karen tell you…”

“I know what you need. The files you seek are in the boss’s office. Do you plan to access them today?”

“Um, yeah. But… later.” Peter shifted.

“Of course.”

Peter could tell by her tone that FRIDAY did not approve of this plan.

“Does Mr. Stark know I’m here?”

“Yes, he is on his way as we speak.”

“O-okay.” Peter stood up, his clothes in hand, and rocked back and forth on his heels. He watched the door for a moment, then stripped out of his suit and pulled on his jeans and t-shirt as quickly as he could.

Peter heard the door opening moments after he finished stuffing the suit back into his backpack. He stood hurriedly, looking towards the entrance, every ounce of nervousness disappearing beneath excitement.

Tony didn’t see him right away, stepping into the workshop and casting his gaze about. His hands fidgeted around his sunglasses, as they always did, flicking the left temple in and out with a rhythmic clicking.

Peter cleared his throat quietly.

Tony turned to him, and for a moment, Peter saw a strange expression flutter across his eyes, a mix of fondness and… fear? But then it was gone, and Tony was smirking, stalking towards Peter to slap him on the shoulder in greeting.

“How’s it?”

Peter smiled. “I’m good, Mr. Stark. You?”

“Better now that I’m here.” The man turned to face the tables and spread his arms. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s fantastic.”

“Thought you would.” Tony grabbed Peter’s elbow, dragging him towards the nanotech. Peter laughed and slapped away the other man’s hand before bounding after him.

Tony knelt next to one of the trays and carefully slid his hand between it and the robotic arm. After a moment of fiddling, the arm retracted, and Tony tapped the pan twice in quick succession. It slid forward a bit, allowing the man to remove it and fold the sides back.

Peter leaned forward, excited, and Tony handed him the now-flat pan.

It was shockingly light, and, when the pan was jostled from Peter’s being caught off-guard, the sheets of metal shifted. Peter couldn’t keep in his gasp when the previously golden metal shimmered, undulating almost imperceptibly as it shifted into ruby redness.

He looked up, meeting eyes with Tony, his own wide with wonder and exhilaration. Tony’s smirk shifted into a grin. “Pretty great, huh?”

“I--I--” Peter could only shake his head.

Tony pinched a sheet of the foil between his thumb and forefinger and pulled if from the pan, attempting to tear it. The foil only pulled and warped, shimmering slightly, and seemed to stick to Tony’s hands.

“The sheet design,” Tony explained, “allows the nanotech to be compounded. It’s strong this thin, of course, but not nearly strong enough. Synthesizing the stuff into sheets like this gives it the strength of a thicker plate when stacked, but gives me a certain freedom. Watch.”

Tony pulled a holoscreen from it’s rest against the wall and connected it to the base of the container, quickly coding something Peter couldn’t follow. But trying to remember the typing went out the window when the nanotech wriggled.

Peter looked towards Tony, just to see his utterly satisfied smirk, before turning his full attention to the tech before him. The sheets folded before Peter’s eyes, gathering in upon themselves into a perfect cube of thick, impenetrable metal. Then the sides collapsed, and it spread to double, then triple, the size of the pan. Peter watched the layers fuse and then separate, coiling in on themselves to form wires.

“Here’s the best part,” Tony said, sounding like a child on Christmas morning. He nearly vaulted around the room to grab a lightbulb from the drawer beneath one of the tables, quickly lying it onto the sheets of metal. With the other hand, he typed another string of code onto the portscreen.

The newly formed wires unfolded to envelope the lightbulb, pulling it upright and meshing around it. And then, with a flourish and a flash of teeth, Tony tapped a small battery to an unchanged part of the nanotech, and the lightbulb exploded into illumination.

Peter whooped, clapping enthusiastically and just barely keeping himself from jumping up and down.

Tony took an exaggerated bow as the nanotech returned to its original configuration. He slid the pan back onto the table, and the arm went back to its diligent manufacturing. “Obviously,” he said, “it’d conduct a current from my arc reactor instead of a common AA battery, and we’d be powering repulsors and jets instead of lightbulbs, but you get the idea.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, blowing out a breath. “Yeah, it’s brilliant.” He gestured to indicate the dozens of pans of tech. “Is this all you’ve made?”

“What do you mean, is this all?” Tony sounded offended, but one look at his face told Peter he was joking.

“I mean, have you done anything more with it? Official, not experimentation.”

Tony shrugged, moving around the tables again with Peter trailing behind him. “Everything’s experimentation right now, but I did play around a little with…” he reached into a drawer and, with a flaunt, removed a bracelet. “This!”

Peter poked the other man. “That’s a bracelet, Mr. Stark.”

“It only looks like one, Spider-Boy.” Tony ruffled Peter’s hair, and the boy yelped and batted his hand away. “This is the containment system for my Mark 48 Iron Man suit.”

“It’s a pearl bracelet.”

“Each one of these ‘pearls,’” Tony said, rolling his eyes, “is going to be a small, specialized reactor meant for holding nanoparticles programmed to expand into a very, very kickass Iron Man model.”

Peter held up his hands. “Alright! I surrender. That’s amazing.”

Tony nodded. “You bet it is.”

“You said ‘going to be’,” Peter said after a moment.

“Yeah, I have yet to assemble the reactors. Unstable. And I’ve been a bit busy with all of this,” Tony gestured around with a grin.

“Sure are…” Peter reached out and trailed his hand along one of the sheets, barely containing his delight as it clung to his fingers.

And then, Tony Stark, Iron Man, founder of Stark Industries and arguably one of the most powerful men in the world, shrieked.

Peter whirled, his wrist outstretched, to see the man staring in utter disbelief at the small animal currently batting at his shoelaces.

“Oh shit,” Peter cursed.

“Peter.” Tony reached down and slowly gripped Grease’s scruff, holding her up at arms length like one would an odorous piece of trash. “There is. An animal. In my lab.”

“Um, yeah…” Peter brushed his knuckles with the palm of his other hand. “That’s Grease?”

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s a cat. In my lab.”

Peter, despite knowing he’d possibly screwed up, could barely contain his laughter. “Yeah. The cat’s name is Grease. She’s mine. I brought her to meet you and then I kinda got distracted.”

Grease meowed and wriggled in Tony’s grip, her tiny paws flailing at his wrist.

Tony raised an eyebrow, still peering at the kitten. “You brought a cat with you into my workshop.”

“I… thought we’d established that…” Peter mumbled.

“What.”

Peter moved forward and pulled Grease from Tony’s grip. The kitten squirmed, but Peter kept her in his arms. “I just found her, last Saturday. I wasn’t gonna tell you because I was hoping… I was hoping to surprise you?” Oh, God that sounded stupid. What had he been thinking? What was he thinking?

He looked at Tony, ashamed, to see the man’s face softening. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Peter cocked his head, scratching between Grease’s ears to calm her down.

“Uh, yeah. I get it. Just not in the lab next time, please.” A pause, and then Tony pointed threateningly at him. “Not that there’s going to be a next time, kid.”

Peter chuckled, despite still being confused. “Yes, sir.”

Tony shifted, then reached out awkwardly towards Grease.

The kitten hissed, and Tony pulled his hand back. “Hey, hey,” he said, sounding distinctly uncomfortable. “There’s no need for that.”

Grease just narrowed her eyes.

“Listen,” Tony continued, putting on his sunglasses. “I am not frightened of your little feline ass. You just startled me; I’m not used to living things in my workshop.” Tony pointed at the kitten, shifting fully into CEO mode. “So remember that, the next time you try to eat my shoelaces. I will be ready.”

Peter couldn’t stifle it any longer; his laughter exploded through the room at the utter ridiculousness that was the image of Iron Man threatening a kitten.

“You mocking me, kid?”

Peter only laughed harder, doubling over and only barely keeping Grease from wriggling out of his hold.

“You’ve got to show them who’s boss,” Tony said, and Peter had to let the creature go as braced his hands on his knees in nearly hysterical laughter.

Tony yelped and grabbed the cat before she could scurry under the table, holding her awkwardly as he glared at Peter. The boy could feel Stark’s eyes on his shaking shoulders.

A few deep breaths later, Peter was wheezing out a, “Sorry, Mr. Stark.”

But the man didn’t reply, and Peter stood to see him watching in uncomfortable disbelief as Grease crawled up his arm to sit on his shoulder. The sheer tension in the man’s form as she pawed at his ear and knocked his glasses askew made Peter burst into laughter again.

“What do I do with the… animal?” Tony muttered, obviously trying to move as little as possible.

“Her name’s Grease,” Peter choked out. “And she’s not going to explode or anything.”

Grease knocked the sunglasses fully off Tony’s face, and the man glared at her out of the corner of his eye. “That look. I swear, it’s looking at me like Loki did.”

Peter forced himself to keep in the next bout of laughter. “Mr. Stark, I can be reasonably sure that my cat is not the Asgardian god of mischief.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Tony hissed as Grease meowed and leapt down towards the ground. Peter swept her up, then came up beside Tony.

“Look, she’s sweet! I promise. Grease, say hi to Mr. Stark nice this time.”

Tony sniffed and reached out. Grease raised her muzzle to sniff the man’s hand, and then Tony maladroitly ran his calloused fingers over the kitten’s ears. She purred quietly, and Peter grinned.

“There see? She likes you.”

“Hmm.” But, as Peter stood there, Tony relaxed, and the stroking became more natural, more comfortable. Tony even smiled softly, unguarded, and Peter felt a surge of satisfaction.

And suddenly, he was saying, “You’re a terrible liar, Mr. Stark.”

“Say what?” The man jerked out of his revarie to look at Peter.

In this too far to pull out, Peter continued, “At least to me.”

“Still not following.”

“See, there you go again!”

“Peter.”

“All I mean,” he said hurriedly, “is that you don’t have to. I know when you are, and I get it; everybody has things they have to hide, have to lie about. Us most of all.”

“Where is this going.”

Shit. How did he word this? Why had he even started talking? “Um. I’ll understand?”

“Huh?”

“You don’t have to lie to me. You can, and I’ll understand, but I’ll understand the truth, too. And I’ll try not to be a hypocrite.”

Tony’s mouth worked for a moment. Nothing came out.

Knowing the man would find no way to respond, Peter ducked his head. “Well this is awkward…” he muttered. “I just wanted to say I trust you, and I want you to trust me.”

The silence stretched then, the hum of machinery the only sound, seemingly, for miles. And Peter wanted nothing more than to run. No, actually, he wanted this to be a phone conversation so he could hang up, hang up and figure out what the hell he was going to do next. An immeasurable amount of time later, Peter couldn’t stand the stretching awkwardness, and muttered something unintelligible. He turned back towards his backpack, intending to put Grease away, intending to do anything but look at Tony.  

“Shit, kid. I know.”

Peter froze.

“You trusting me is… not gonna lie, the scariest and most amazing thing that’s... not gonna say ‘ever happened to me,’ but it’s damn near close. And I may live another fifty years and still not understand what I did to deserve it.” Peter looked back at the older man, saw him take his sunglasses off and smile at the boy. “And I’m not super good at it, I know, but I trust you, too.”

“Then why…”

“Do I lie? I don’t do it very often, not to you at least. Maybe it’s because I trust you that you can always tell when I am. But…” Tony shrugged, gesturing with his sunglasses. “Old habits, you know?”

Peter nodded.

The sparking nanotech was the only sound, and then Tony sighed. “Oh, fuck it. I’m glad I can trust you, kid. I need it, sometimes, a person I don’t have to guard against. I used to… well, that doesn’t matter. And it isn’t really your responsibility to be that person, you shouldn’t need to be--”

“But I am.” Peter smiled, hesitantly. “It’s okay, Mr. Stark. I’m glad you can trust me, too.”

Tony returned the smile, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Well, now that that little heart-to-heart’s over with, let’s get--”

He broke off as FRIDAY’s voice came in over the room’s speakers. “Boss, it’s one o’clock. Pepper told me you can’t skip this one.”

Tony cursed. “Gotta go, Pete, sorry. Stick around if you want, but I’m not sure if or when I can make it back down here.”

“I get it, no worries.”

Tony straightened his tie and moved towards the door, coat slipping on in the same movement he slid his sunglasses open and onto his face. He paused next to Peter to pat Grease on the head once more, then continued through the open door.

He stopped before it closed, and turned to face Peter.

“And Pete?” Tony said, holding out a hand to keep the sliding door from shutting. “I…” he hesitated for a moment, as though he wanted to say something more, and then simply finished,  “Thank you.”

The door slid shut, and Tony was gone.

Peter stood there for a second, trying to control the feeling in his chest. The whir of the nanotech pulsed with his heartbeat and the flow of his thoughts. And then he moved to his pack and quietly pulled out his mask, zipping Grease back in. She protested loudly, but he was too distracted to pay much heed.

He slipped into his suit, watching the nanotech as he did so. Part of him wanted to stay, but he knew next to nothing about the stuff, and Tony wouldn’t be here to teach him. Better not risk harming the setup, and return again later. After doing a bit of research.

“Hello, Peter,” Karen said when he pulled on his mask.

“Hey, Karen.”

“I have found the building’s plans in my database. Mr. Stark’s office is not far from here.”

Right. The office. The files. The personal files. “Oh.”

“You have free reign of the building. The risk is low at the moment.”

Peter swallowed. I’m glad I can trust you, kid. I need it, sometimes, a person I don’t have to guard against.

Peter had told Tony he could trust him. He’d promised him.

I’ll try not to be a hypocrite.

He’d already failed that, hadn’t he? He wanted to help, but… maybe this was the wrong way. Tony seemed better, seemed fine. Maybe Peter was helping by just being there. By not trying anything more.

“What’s wrong?” asked Karen.

“I can’t do this.”

“I thought we established this to be the best way to help Mr. Stark?” Karen didn’t sound angry, just confused.

“We did, but…” Peter sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands. “He trusts me. He admitted it, finally. How can I go and betray that trust the moment he lets me in?”

“I understand your dilemma, Peter.”

Peter shook his head. “I’ll… just not right now. Not today. I’m not gonna figure things out today. It’s enough, right now, just to be here again.”

Karen was silent, and Peter slipped from the room.

Chapter Text

“UNO!” MJ screeched as Peter lay his second-to-last card down.

“Hey!” Peter growled. “You have to give me a chance!”

“Nope! Draw two.”

“Those are the rules, kid,” Tony said distractedly, busy calculating the probability of the deck staying red for the next three turns. Unlikely, but if MJ played the last reverse…

“Not the way we play,” Peter huffed.

“House rules bow beneath the ones in the rulebook, dude,” Ned said and passed him the top two cards.

“How did we even get six decks of Uno cards?” MJ said, slapping a red eight onto the pile.

“You have a deck, and Peter has a deck, and Tony scrounged four sets from around the compound,” Pepper called. “Is it my turn?”

“No, it’s mine!” May called back.

“Damn, did someone skip me?”

“I did!” Ned said, grinning.

“Leeds!”

Tony, nervous now that MJ hadn’t reversed things when he’d hoped, shifted the deck back to red after May’s wild turned it blue. “It’s alright Pep, I’m gonna win anyway.”

Pepper threw a fork at him, and Peter’s arm flashed out to catch it without even looking.

May chuckled. “Yeah, Pepper, don’t throw utensils. You’re worse than Ned.”

Tony reached into his lap to stroke Grease, and grinned. “You’re a fork-chucker, then, Mr. Leeds?”

“No.”

“Liaaaar,” Peter sang under his breath.

“Shut up Peter.”

Grease made a break for it, but Tony scooped her up and set her on his shoulder, enjoying her reluctant purring. “Honestly, there’s no need to be nervous. I’m only the most famous individual in the world.”

“And the most modest!” came Pepper’s voice again.

“Don’t you know it, sweetheart!” Tony called back.

“I’m playing Uno with Iron Man,” Ned said, for the eighth time since they’d begun.

“And Spider-Man,” Peter added. “Who’s turn is it?”

“Mine.” Ned played a yellow seven, and Tony threw up his hands, cursing and making Grease meow in protest.

“Damn, I forgot a yellow seven…” he muttered.

“Are you counting cards?” May demanded.

“He always does! Doesn’t usually help him, though,” Pepper said, appearing to toss a yellow ten onto the pile.

Tony shrugged. “It does in basic card games. There are no repeat cards.” He set his hand down so he could pluck Grease from his shoulder and hold her up to his face.

Peter tried to hide the fact that he had to draw from the deck, but they all caught him easily, howling mockingly. “You’re all obnoxious,” Peter grumbled. “I thought we were coming over for dinner, not a nice long game of humiliate Peter.”

“But that’s my favorite,” Tony and May said simultaneously. MJ winked at Tony conspiratorially, and he suddenly felt very uncomfortable. He didn’t show it, instead saying, “jinx.”

“Ms. Potts, it’s your turn!” Peter called, shooting an irritated glance at May and Tony before throwing a yellow reverse.

Pepper chucked a yellow four at Tony, and he slapped it on the deck for her. “UNO!” she called as soon as he’d done so.

“Hey!”

“Too slow!” Pepper laughed and ducked back into the kitchen.

“How long does it take to order pizza?” Tony demanded, leaning back with one hand still keeping the kitten in his lap.

“Longer when I have to answer emails, too,” she replied.

“Pepper…”

“I know I know.”

Ned skipped him, and Tony sent him his very best Iron Man glare. The boy squeaked, and Tony could help a chuckle.

“Is Vision gonna make me drop all these cards when he descends through the wall?” Peter asked to distract his friend.

“He won’t. He doesn’t like Uno,” Tony said, perhaps too curtly. Not completely true; the android didn’t like Uno anymore.

“Will he come for pizza, though?” Ned asked tentatively.

Tony didn’t have to force his grin. “He wouldn’t miss it.”

“You sure you don’t want me to pay?” May said, playing her next card.

Tony just looked at her.

Peter burst out laughing suddenly, and Tony whipped his gaze around to see the boy snorting with badly contained giggles and MJ looking far to innocent. “What’s going on over here?”

“Nothing, Mr. Stark,” Peter said.

Tony cocked an eyebrow, then sighed. “We’re relying on you, Pete. Make Pepper draw.”

Peter looked chagrined. “I can’t,” he said, and slipped down a red four.

“Damn it!”

“Ha!” Pepper laughed, bursting into the room and slamming down her final card. “I am the master.”

“But not of ordering pizza,” Tony said.

“Don’t be grumpy, Tones. I ordered.” Pepper reached out towards Grease, and Tony brought the kitten closer, glaring at Pepper.

“Mine,” he said.

Pepper laughed. “I hope you’re happy, Peter,” she said. “He hasn’t let anyone close to that animal all evening.”

“She’s my good-luck charm,” Tony said, holding the cat up to his face and touching his nose to hers.

“But not for Uno.”

“Shut up! We’ll play Rummy Royal and see you fare.” He wanted to show off, prove himself to these people, who he was slowly realizing meant a terrifying amount to him.

“The children will not be gambling tonight,” May said.

Tony just grumbled and got up from the floor, taking Grease with him as he ventured into the kitchen. “C’mon, idiots!” he called. “Get drinks!”

The teenagers stampeded into the room, and Tony leapt out of the way, flicking Peter on the temple as the kid went by. Grease meowed, struggling a bit, and Tony set her on the counter behind him. Happy burst through the far door, baring six large pizzas as though they were sacred artifacts, a ghost of a grin on his usually grumpy face. Pepper met Tony’s eyes and smiled, and his throat clogged.

He was okay.

For the first time in a long, long time, Tony felt like he was going to be okay. If they stayed, safe and here, if he could protect them, if he could keep those smiles…

He wasn’t one to overreact to emotion. But he did grab Pepper and kiss her, long and hard, to the chorus of laughter from the kids. He flipped them off, not breaking away from Pepper, and they laughed harder.

Eventually, they needed to breathe, and Pepper pushed him back, laughing. “Get that over with before our breath is full of garlic,” she said, and Tony winked.

“FRIDAY, let Vision know there’s food,” he said.

“There’s a meat, three supreme with stuffed crust, a pepperoni sausage, and a six-cheese with garlic crust,” Happy announced, already tucking into the cheese.

“Dibs on a supreme,” said Peter.

“Sure.”

MJ yelped as the boy grabbed an entire box and vaulted up to the top of the room. “Don’t take the whole pizza!”

Peter looked honestly confused, and Tony snorted. “You said he could, MJ.”

“No I--Oh shit.” MJ threw a paper plate at Peter, who stuck to the ceiling to avoid it.

“Get down!” May said. “You’re gonna get sauce all over the room trying to eat upside down!”

Peter obliged, swinging down by a single finger. “Mr. Stark, Grease likes bacon.”

Tony went for the meat pizza.

Sauce ended up all over the room anyway when Vision phased up through the floor. “I heard there was sustenance,” he said, as if that explained everything.

“He does that,” Tony said, dusting off the piece of pizza May had dropped when the android had appeared and handing it to her. May stared at him. “What?” he asked. “You’ve met Vision.”

“Just ignore Tony,” Pepper said, taking the pizza and handing May a new piece. Tony shrugged and dug into his own.

The chatter eventually subsided as the seven individuals dug into their food, too busy eating to engage in much conversation. Tony fed Grease the small pieces of bacon off the top of his pizza (not all of them, he wanted the meat too), and the cat stuck to his side throughout the meal. It kept his mind here, and he didn’t want to be anywhere else.

His opportunity for showing off arrived in the form of Ned knocking his drink off the table. Tony moved in an instant, chucking a bead of nanotech into the air. The thing unfurled into a simple, functional bowl, the nanotech shifting and undulating under the light. With a quiet plop, Ned’s escaping liquid splashed into it.

Even the sounds of chewing disappeared.

“Holy cow, Mr. Stark! When did you get it to do that?” Peter bounded over to the shimmering material and picked it up, holding it above his head while being careful not to spill.

“It’s been three weeks since I bought the damn things. I have not been idle. Besides, that’s far simpler than gauntlets, and I’ve had those in the bag for more than half a year now.” Tony took a sip of his coffee and winked.

“Oh. My. Gosh. You just saved my drink with nanotech!” Ned squeaked, and Peter laughed and handed him the bowl.

“How does it work?” May asked, and Tony grinned, opening his mouth.

“Don’t get him started, please!” Pepper groaned, clapping her hand over Tony’s mouth for a moment. “You won’t be able to understand anything he says, and he never stops talking.”

Tony glowered, and everyone laughed.

“If you could make anything with nanotech, what would you make?” Ned asked, and Tony crossed his arms.

“There’s no ‘if’ about it, kid. There will be a fully expandable, adaptable, reactive nanotech Iron Man suit, not to mention some damn fantastic designs for a certain spider--” Peter turned a bit red and grinned-- “and there’s nothing the laws of physics can do to stop it,” Tony said flatly, sliding on his sunglasses for emphasis.

“What sort of reactive, fantastic designs?” MJ asked, somehow managing to also sound completely disinterested.

Tony forced himself not to very obviously roll his eyes. “It’s a surprise.”

A chorus of awwww… ’s echoed through the room.

Pepper laughed and put a hand on Tony’s head. “It’s Tony Stark, you guys. There will be every possible thing you could imagine, plus six more and far too many blinky lights.”

“Blinky lights are cool, come on,” Tony said, slapping away her hand.

“I agree,” Vision added and tapped the glowing stone in his forehead. MJ chuckled, and Vision smiled at her.

“So you're collaborating with Wakanda?” Ned asked, leaning forward eagerly with his pizza sagging forgotten in hand.

Tony shrugged. “Sort of. Wakanda allows me to intersperse molecules of vibranium to give the nanoparticles a wider range of potential.”

“That is. The coolest sentence. Anyone has ever said to me.”

Peter laughed. “It changes so often, then?”

“Did you hear him?”

“Children,” May said. “Eat. I’m not bringing this home.”

That worked like a charm; the teenagers (and Vision) descended on the remaining pizza like pubescent locusts.

When the food was demolished and they’d migrated back into the living room, Tony stretched out on the sofa and yawned. Pepper shoved his legs to the side and sat down next to him, letting May have the chair. Vision sat with the kids, and Tony hid a grin at Ned’s obvious delight.

There was a moment of silence as they digested, and Tony found himself hyper aware of Pepper’s every movement, of Peter’s every breath, of May and Happy and the kids’ every smile.

“Got any trips planned?” May finally asked. “I never get out of the city. Just wondering.”

Pepper smiled. “Some. Not relaxing, though. We should go, you and I, when I finally get this one--” she elbowed Tony-- “to give me some time off. Actually, it’s just my own control complex that keeps me from leaving him here alone.”

Tony scoffed. “It isn’t a control complex. It’s logic. And self preservation.”

MJ snorted, and Tony felt a surge of pride for seemingly genuinely amusing the girl. Steel, that one was. Tony liked her. “I like traveling,” she said. “My grandparents live in the Rocky Mountains in Colorado. It’s fantastic there, so… rural, almost. There’s no light pollution, and on a clear night, it feels like every star in the universe is visible.”

Tony tried to hide his shudder.

“That sounds amazing,” Peter said. “I’ve seen pictures, but never…”

“The real thing.” May sighed. “I’ve only seen it once or twice. Trust me, Peter, the moon and the stars are so much better than you’re imagining.”

A maw of night ripping through the sky above his home, closing behind him as the lights of his suit flicker and die, as he takes a breath but can’t breathe--

“They are,” Ned said with a grin, flopping onto the floor. “Someday you’ll see them.”

“Maybe we all can,” Peter said. He looked at Tony, eyes shining. “After school ends, we’ll go out of the city.”

Not now. He was not thinking about this now, not when he was feeling so level-headed and balanced and good. But he still couldn’t manage the reassuring smile, the nod and witty comment Peter was expecting.

The boy’s effervescent grin faded slightly, his intelligent eyes studying Tony, and the older man looked away.

Pepper’s hand tightened around his knee. “Yeah,” she said for him, pulling attention away and giving him a moment to breath. “I like that idea.”

They lapsed into silence for a moment, and Tony focused on Pepper’s hand, on Peter’s breathing, on the hesitant smiles all around him.

After a moment, he said, “So, I take it finals aren’t next week, judging from the fact that it’s Saturday and all you idiots are here.”

“Yeah, we’ve got one more week,” Ned said. “Before finals.”

“You worried?” Happy asked.

The kids nodded, and Tony scoffed. “Did you just ask if they were worried about finals?”

Happy glowered. “Hey, it was a legitimate question!”

“Not really. Considering finals were the worst week of the year even for me.” Tony gestured at the three teenagers lying in an a vaguely circular shape around the oval coffee table. “There will always be stress, even if you are as brainy as these little shits.”

Vision raised a hand. “Finals?”

“Big tests,” MJ explained. “They’re worth a lot of your grade, and they cover everything you learned all year.” Vision nodded, and didn’t add anything else.

“I had a professor who let you out of the final if you had an average above 97,” May said.

Peter groaned. “We all wish.”

“What about you, Mr. Stark?” Ned asked. “Did you have a favorite teacher?”

More showing off. Fantastic. Tony grinned. “I didn’t spend much time in highschool.”

“Right, you went to MIT at like fourteen,” Peter said.

“Bingo!” Tony mimed bowing, still lying on his back. “I stayed just long enough to hack the pentagon on a dare.”

“You’re shitting me,” MJ said.

“Nope. It happened. I sent them a little message, Italian Job style.” Tony looked at the kids.

They just stared back at him blankly.

“Damn it May, don’t tell me they haven’t seen the Italian Job.” Tony threw a pen at the woman. She shook her head.

“Shame on you,” Tony tisked, then turned to the kids, his eyes alight as he remembered the dialogue. “It’s about a group of thieves who make a frankly genius plot to steal something like forty million dollars worth of gold. But they get betrayed, and then it becomes a revenge job. It’s fucking hilarious.”

May glared at him. “Language.”

Tony waved a dismissive hand, looking up at the ceiling. “FRIDAY?”

“Already on it.”

The TV set into the wall of the room flickered on. “Go get your drinks, kids.”

The teenagers shot each other skeptical glances, but obayed. Tony grinned. He might be old, but he had good taste. Those skeptical glances would be laughter in no time.

They watched the movie twice through, and the air tasted of laughter and soda and the desperate hope that the night would never end.

* * *

Maura Aedoilagen sat atop the unnatural mound of dirt and waited.

Supposedly, the dirt was an ancient foundation from a medieval castle, one that had long since been consumed by time and change. She could feel it, the shadow of history baking in the sun atop this mound, just like her.

Twisting the large ring on her finger, Maura waited. It was all she tended to do these days, since… all that had happened. The grief in her chest was a constant, dull ache now, no longer so sharp but equally as painful.

Strings of orange runes were dancing through her fingers by the time the boy arrived.

“Hello David,” she said, flicking her ring finger to dismiss the sorcery.

The boy snarled animalistically.

“I agree,” Maura laughed, letting one hand drop discreetly behind her back. “But your family told me you’d come here, and they’re relying on both of us returning.”

A flash of fear flickered in David’s unnaturally black eyes when they saw her ring and the magic still blinking out of existence, but it was gone a moment later, replaced by hate and determination. He drew a pocket knife and flicked it open.

As though a blade could hurt her.

Maura stood, still waiting. She didn’t have to do it for long; the kid lunged at her mere seconds later.

With a crack in the skin of this reality, an orange curtain flickered into existence before the lunging David. He slammed into it and stuck, frozen in place, knife outstretched.

Maura let herself grin, victorious.

“See, you should know just because the Sanctums were destroyed, and many sorcerers killed, it doesn’t mean this reality is undefended,” she said, stalking forward and bringing her hand back infront of her. It gleamed with an aura of crimson light, and David’s eyes widened.

“Leave. Now. Get out of the kid and return to whichever dark dimension is your home, or I will not hesitate to kill you,” Maura growled, kneeling to look the boy in the eye.

He just snarled.

“If you insist.”
The light around her fist streamed towards David with a mental command, wrapping once around his head and then seeping, slow and precise, into his eyes. The kid gasped in sudden pain, sucking the last of the light down into his lungs.

Then he screamed.

Maura winced, but forced herself to watch. This was always the worst part, but the kid wouldn’t remember. Once the creature, demon, gaki, whatever your culture called it, was dead, David would be free, both from its control and its memory.

It only took a few seconds for the light to disappear and the kid to go limp in the hold of her magic. She released him, slowly, to the ground, and checked his pulse quickly. Strong, and natural. No fluttering heartbeat like the flap of a hummingbird’s wings; just steady, slow thumps that made her sigh in relief.

She released the rest of the spells swirling in the air around her, and sat, suddenly exhausted. Then she pulled the smartphone from her pocket and called the boy’s family, telling them with honest relief that she’d been able to cure their child; they were all safe once more.

Maura had saved their family.

It was a small, small comfort from how she’d failed to save her own.

But she would avenge them, somehow.

Chapter Text

“So this stuff’s Wakandan, right?” Peter asked as he peered over Tony’s shoulder, watching him code instructions for the nanotech.

“Yup.”

“Which means it’s made of vibranium.”

Tony looked over at him. “The majority of it, yes. Your point?”

“Well, you’re all about the lasers--” Peter made his hands into finger-guns and mimed shooting far away enemies-- “and vibranium’s good for that; power source of its own and all that. But it’s also the strongest material in the universe, right?”

Tony cocked an eyebrow. “Right.”

“So I think you should focus a bit more on your close-range with the nanotech. You’re unibeam and repulsors are powerful and deadly, but why not widen your suits capabilities?” Peter gestured, excited. “It wouldn’t be a burden now that the suit will be so intuitive. You can just-- phsew-- pull a blade from the particles making up the arm, or reinforce your fist. Like iron knuckles, but… no, actually, iron knuckles works great,” he babbled.

Tony turned fully towards him, his brow scrunched in thought. “You’re right. There’d be no disadvantage to coding in those capabilities.”

“I’ll help!” Over the last few days, he’d been learning more about the finer details of the tech. It was extraordinarily complex, but Peter loved every moment of the challenge.

“That you will…” The older man rubbed his eyes. “Damn, what sort of genius designs a process for synthesizing nanotech that requires all liquid be off the premises?” he whined. “I really need some coffee.”

It was Sunday night, and Peter might as well have stayed over since their dinner the night before for how early he’d returned to the compound the next day. Tony’d told him he’d be all day in the workshop, furthering his blueprints and upgrades for many of StarkTech’s devices, which was a rare and wonderful occasion.

Peter was beginning to think, though, as he watched the man slip into a welding mask and duck beneath one of the robotic arms, that perhaps the man had been all night in the workshop, too.

“I think normal labs inhibit food and drink,” Peter said.

Tony stuck a hand out behind him vaguely, the one not holding the torch, and Peter chucked him a pair of pliers. “Is this a normal lab, kid?”

“Can’t say that it is,” Peter laughed. “Here, I can do that.”

“Thanks.” Tony climbed out of his crouched position with a groan. Peter’d already grabbed the torch and moved into the man’s place, his own mask (specially fitted for him) slotting down over his eyes. “You need to do the arms, there--” Tony pointed-- “and there. Don’t hit the wiring.”

“Right,” Peter said, grabbing the pliers and getting to work.

“And I get the fun part,” Tony said behind him, his voice just barely audible over the whir of the welding wand. “Playing with designs.”

“Blinky lights?” Peter yelled through the noise.

“And stripes! Gold and red and silver; gotta look fantastic.”

They’d long since finished Tony’s planned work on the upgrades, focusing solely on his suit. It was what they’d both wanted to do anyway, though Peter enjoyed the other projects as well. They just felt a bit like school assignments.

“What do you think about navy, kid?” Tony asked after a while.

“Huh? Instead of royal?” Peter paused his welding to flip up his mask and cool off his face.

“Yeah. And real angular. Big, obvious.”

“Do I get shiny, too? Like you had before?”

“So shiny.”

“Then it’s a deal. The royal’d clash too much with the metallic ruby.”

A snort, and Peter flipped back down his mask. “Says the hoodie and bike-goggles kid,” Tony called as the welding began again.

“We should be artists!” Peter yelled back.

“We are.”

They lapsed into silence again, and Peter sparked his way through each of the arms as time blurred past. Even with his mask, he still saw shimmering blue afterimages in his vision when he stopped and stood, running his hands through his curls and shaking the sweat from the nape of his neck. He stretched tired muscles, then darted around the tables to put away the torch and mask.

“You’re arms have been completed,” he said, kicking the drawer shut. “What now?”

No answer.

“Mr. Stark?”

He could see Tony sitting before the holoscreens, but the shadow from one of the robotic arms obscured his face. Concerned, Peter moved to the other edge of the room.

“Are you okay? Mr. -- Oh.” Peter grinned. Tony Stark had fallen asleep with his head propped up by one hand and his other reaching out as though still trying to complete its work.

After dismissing the screens, Peter slowly pushed the man’s rolling chair back against the wall to make him more comfortable. He winced at the squeak of the wheels, but Tony didn’t stir. Peter wondered how long it had been since he’d last slept; this didn’t seem normal. But, then again, he’d never seen the man sleep before. Never even heard him speak about it. Tony could sleep like the dead usually, and Peter’d never know.

He looked much the same in sleep: forehead wrinkled in thought or worry, brows furrowed, mouth pursed. Anything but relaxed. Peter grinned and went back to the nanotech, allowing himself to tinker to his own agenda as his mentor slept.

* * *

It was cold.

That was all he could sense, frigid air consuming him, crystalizing the blood leaking from his form. His hair cracked as he tried to move, the red that coated it frozen solid.

Something slammed into him.

His eyes flashed open, his body twisting to avoid the agony lacerating him, but even as another blow struck his front, he couldn’t see his attacker. He couldn’t see anything . He yelled, but the sound never left his mouth, and the invisible thing twisted talons around his jaw. Words drifted through the silence, colder than the freezing air, but he couldn’t hear them either.

The cold moved. He felt it as it crept into his mouth, felt it reaching down his throat. But he couldn’t struggle, couldn’t close his mouth, couldn’t break free of the grip that held him prone. The cold froze his lungs, and he felt ever agonizing moment as it prowled down ever further. Clawed fractals wrapped around his heart, and he screamed.

The scream was caught by trusted hands, soothed by them, even as the ice split his ribcage and pulled out his heart.

He was open, now, his very core exposed to the starlight that poured into his mouth and pooled in his cleaven chest. But the stars were going out, one by one, as his lungs stopped working. No, as the very air disappeared, the only thing that had stayed constant ripped away.

There should have been metal in his hands, on them. Should have been lights in his vision, voices in his ears.

“--Stark!”

They disappeared, too.

Take it! He called silently to a universe that wouldn’t listen, holding his heart in his hand. It was as cold as the rest of him. Take it, please!

The stars turned away as the ground plummeted towards him, calling his name.

“Mr. Stark!”

What more did it want? What more could he give? A friend, a love, a family, a child. Not the child, please.

They were all dead. All dead, and he lived. Why didn’t you do more? Not enough, not enough, not enough.

He rolled onto his side, trying desperately to fit his heart back into the empty cavity in his chest. But even his own body didn’t want it, the skin knitting back together and leaving its lifeblood dying in his hands.

He was falling, and breathing nothingness.

He was on his knees, breathing blood and water.

A man held out warm hands , and hopefully, naively, Tony placed his pulsing heart between them. The man smiled, a smile promising to help, his face flashing between old and caring and young and innocent. But his form turned to darkness and starlight and unforgiving cold, and a scream ripped from his mouth that unhinged to fill his entire face, his entire form.

“TONY!”

Tony fell through it.

He hit the ground hard, and it felt like tile and grease. His hand reached out desperately towards the portal, hitting something as it tried to touch him. He screamed, clawing at the creature, curling his other hand towards his chest. There should have been armor there, metal against his chest, but he felt only warm skin, slicked with liquid--sweat, and blood.

He smelled grease and cold stone, and memories emerged.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, oh God I don’t know what’s happening but you’re here now, in the workshop, Mr. Stark you’re dreaming.”

He knew that voice.

No, no, he couldn’t be here, he couldn’t--

“I can, It’s okay, I’m here,” the boy, his boy, said. “We’re here. We’re making your suit.”

“No, you have to run--” The suit might not work. It only held one, and what if he couldn’t make it back to the cave? His escape might not work with two-- “they’ll kill you, they’ll hurt you.”

“No. I don’t know--I should, but I don’t--we’re home, Mr. Stark, we’re at the compound.”

His eyes fluttered open, seeing flashes of movement and parts of machines, so familiar, behind his kid’s face. His bloody, fearful face.

Not home, never home, if there was fear in the boys eyes. “I can’t build--I won’t--the suit might not fly fast enough--” No. No, he had to be brave, strong for the boy. “I’ll teach you how to fly it; I’ll get you out, I promise.”

“Tony, open your eyes.”

They’d drifted shut again.

“Look.” Peter crouched beside him. “Look, this is your workshop. Your home. The Avengers compound.”
He looked. And he wasn’t met with cold cave walls and darkness, but with gleaming machinery and flashing screens of his own design. Logic, lucidity, slowly began to reasserted itself, and Tony sat up.

“My workshop? My lab,” he repeated, mostly to himself.

“Yes, yes! There’s nanotech, Wakandan nanotech, that’s what you’re hearing. Can you hear it?”

Tony nodded, slowly pushing himself into a seated position.

“And there’s tile on the floor; it’s warm, now, from all the machinery and movement.”

He could feel it. Tony spread his hands out on the warm floor, savoring the sensation. Home.

He shook the sleep from his head and looked at Peter.

There was still blood on his face.

“Pete…”

“It’s fine. It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t okay, wasn’t remotely okay; there was blood pooling in three gashes under the kid’s eye, running along his cheekbone to drip off his chin. And a bruise was visible along his neck, dark and obviously painful.

Peter shifted to hide it. “You were asleep. Dreaming. I tried to wake you up but I think I made it worse…”

Tony reached out on reflex to wipe the blood from Peter’s chin, sleep still fuzzy in his brain.

And froze.

His fingers were bloody. His three longest digits were traced with red, the crimson liquid suddenly burning under his fingernails.

“No. No, no no, no. Absolutely not,” he found himself saying, scrambling backwards and to his feet.

“Don’t get up, it’s okay--”

“It’s not, it is not okay.” Tony’s gaze was locked between the wounds on the kid’s face and the blood on his hands. Peter’s blood.

“I’m fine, Mr. Stark, really.” But there was pain in his voice, and he carried his left arm gingerly.

“What else did I do, Peter.”

“It’s okay--”

“The fuck it’s okay!” He’s bleeding he’s hurt I hurt him my fault my fault my fault-- “I--” Tony’s throat worked, his breath coming short, and he reached out towards Peter’s arm. The boy flinched away, and Tony curled in around his left arm.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m so sorry--” This had been wrong, Pepper had been wrong. Tony never should have broken the silence, he should have stayed strong, kept Peter at arms length. What was wrong with him? How could he have thought things would be different this time? He was still fire, people still got burnt if he let them in close. He was dangerous, unstable, he’d hurt his kid--

The boy trusted him. Trusted him, relied on him, Tony’d let Peter need him.

Those scratches would scar, maybe even with Peter’s spider-healing.

“Mr. Stark, please--”

Please. Please what? Please don’t let me hurt him anymore. Please, he can’t leave, please, I need him, please, how could you let me do this?

Tony’s breath wasn’t coming, and he felt the familiar, illogical, inescapable fear clawing up his throat.

He was going down again, panicking before this boy that meant the world. No. No, what if he struck out again, what if Peter left--

Something screamed at him to raise his head, to smirk and flick a witty comment through the tension in the air. But fear drowned that instinct, and all Tony could do was run.

So he did.

He scrambled from the room, his bloody hand choked by his other, as though he could strangle away what it had done, destroy the memory of how he’d failed.

He didn’t make it to the bathroom. Only to the small closet outside it, and thankfully, the door locked from the inside.

Chapter Text

For a long, long time, the whirring of machinery and the quiet beeps of the robots were the only sounds.

For a long, long time, Spider-Man stood staring at the door, blood staining his shirt and flavoring his mouth, forcing himself not to cry.

“Mr. Parker?” came FRIDAY’s voice after that long, long time.

Spider-Man started, shaking his head and dislodging a few drops of blood. The scratches under his eye weren’t leaking much anymore; he could feel the crusted liquid cracking and pulling when he blinked. “Yes, hello.” He hated how weak he sounded, even as Spider-Man.

“Are you alright?”

“I don’t need medical attention, if that’s what your asking.”

“That’s not what I meant.” The lights dimmed a bit, and Spider-Man wondered vaguely what the AI was expressing with the gesture.

“I know, FRIDAY.” Spider-Man sighed.

“What happened? The boss is…”

Peter looked up with a snap. “Is what? Is he okay?”

The air conditioning hummed, and FRIDAY didn’t respond for a moment. “No,” she finally said. “I don’t believe that he is.”

Peter slumped into the wheely chair, the ratty material still warm from Tony’s sleeping form, and dropped his head into his hands. The hard, smeared blood cracked off his cheeks and dusted his fingers.

He tried not to focus on his throbbing collarbone, or his unbelievably sore arm. He tried not to remember the shock of Tony’s frantic, desperate fingers raking into his skin, tried not to remember the unbreakable, unphasable man crying out in haunting screams of pain and terror.

“What am I going to do?” Peter whispered.

“There’s only one thing to do,” Spider-Man said, looking up and brushing the bloody dust off his hands. Find out what’s wrong. Find out the events that are hurting him and then we can help. Just like Karen said.

When I said I was there, and we were making his suit… that snapped him back, didn’t it? Peter thought. It wasn’t really a question. I’m supposed to avoid saying things like that.

Yeah. But without knowing what happened to him, what he might be remembering, how can phrases like that be avoided? Spider-Man stood, trailing a finger over one of the still diligently working metal arms as the thought.

Peter groaned. Everyone betrays him, though… I can’t--I don’t want to- -

Spider-Man shifted, a thought spiraling through his own head, unbidden. But didn’t he betray me?

Peter shook his head. No. No, he didn’t mean to, he was scared, asleep for god’s sake!

Of course. If anyone knows nightmares…

It’s me. Peter sighed. I have to do this.

Spider-Man vaulted across the room, his hand resting inches from the touch-sensing door. I can’t be useless when he needs me, I can’t do more harm than good, like I did today.

He pressed his hand to the door, and it opened quietly.

Spider-Man stepped out into a bright hallway and shook away his doubts.

“FRIDAY?”

“Follow the lights, Mr. Parker.”

He did.

Tony’s office surprised Peter. For all the billionaire’s airy flaunting of his worth and ability, the study was simple and uncharacteristically modest. Then again, it was the man’s own space; no one came in here, likely no one had even seen it outside of Pepper.

Peter pushed away another stab of guilt and ducked into the room.

He perched in the office’s rolling chair carefully, trying to make himself feel better by disturbing as little as he could. And then he stared at the computer monitor. And stared at it some more. Everything echoed the two warring voices inside his head, one determinedly repeating he helpTonyhelpTonyhelphim while the other screamed he was overstepping his boundaries, betraying the trust he’d tried to cultivate, and prying into things that weren’t his business.

A drop of blood slipped through his scab as the skin began to knit back together and splashed onto the dark wooden desk.

Spider-Man shook his head, lifting a lip slightly in determination, and clicked open the computer.

A login screen flashed briefly before FRIDAY bypassed it for him. “Please understand that I believe you will use these to assist the boss,” she said seriously. “Do not prove me wrong.”

Peter swallowed. “Yes, ma’am,” Spider-Man said, and opened the computer’s files.

Tony had a lot, which made sense; folders upon folders of blueprints and reports and images and records of donations and grants and deposits, stored safely away in his own personal supercomputer. Peter scrolled through them somewhat desperately, the documents often lacking understandable designations. It seemed like they were titled in code, or an elaborate language of personal anecdotes and inside jokes.

FRIDAY highlighted a folder as he scrolled past, however, and Spider-Man relaxed a bit. He selected the thing to find it held only a small number of files, and a shortcut link at the bottom. Making sure to note the name of the folder he was in, (something about peace and gang signs, whatever that meant), Spider-Man clicked it, and was redirected to another folder, where he saw more shortcuts, videos, files, and information to and from countless agencies he didn’t recognize.

Of course, Peter thought. An organization system. Each folder seemed specialized to a certain event, then linked to related events. And traumas.

He shivered.

“Well then…” Taking a deep breath and returning to FRIDAY’s first folder, he opened the first file.

He was met with a series of images of guns and missiles, men snarling and men crying out. Children reaching desperately towards unmoving forms. Spider-Man swallowed, seeing the “Stark Industries” brand on each of the deadly machines. He’d known of the company’s history, of course, and only agreed with Tony’s choice to halt it, redirect their exploits to the true methods of helping people.

The next file was a blueprint. A crude one, not complete, done quickly and obviously not for much purpose. It was of a suit, but a bulky, awkward one that Tony probably only scoffed at, now. The first one. The one that started everything, and almost ended it, too.

And then, video. Peter squinted at the grainy feed as figures fuzzed into existence, standing around a man in a hat, seated in a chair. No, tied to it. And not a hat, but a bag that was roughly removed to reveal a familiar face, bloody and dazed. But Peter had known of this. The image was not what made him gasp. It was the audio, the poorly translated words of someone speaking to Obadiah Stane, about hiring them to kill him.

Obadiah had been Tony’s business partner. His friend.

Peter saw high-quality security footage, no doubt from Tony’s own cameras, of the man ripping into a paralyzed Tony and slowly, almost lovingly, tearing the arc reactor from his chest.

Peter didn’t breathe until the file finished, and vaguely realized he’d been holding his breath along with Tony.

He opened the next file.

The minutes stretched into half an hour, and Peter heard JARVIS diagnosing Tony as experiencing a severe anxiety attack. His throat closed up at the silence that stretched through the audio, finally broken by an uncertain, disbelieving “me?”

An hour passed. Peter saw Tony and Dr. Banner standing above a cryotube, and knew Vision’s body was inside. He heard Tony say flatly, “I tried to create a suit of armor around the world... but I created something terrible.”

He saw a whole folder dedicated to the life of a Charlie Spencer, every exploit and success and achievement. He saw the kids death certificate, attributed to Sokovia.

He read blueprints for a too-familiar suit, scrawled footnotes explaining ‘the kid won’t fall, won’t freeze, won’t die. I won’t let him.’

And then… Peter saw himself. The one, short, grainy video of a boy trapped beneath mountains of rubble, screaming, brought his breath short. It was the only one he couldn’t watch all the way through.

There were tears rolling silently down his face when he saw a masked man choking Howard Stark to death.

He forced himself to finish a letter of apology, and fingered a burner phone quickly before dropping it like a hot coal.

He saw Tony finally, finally, after all these trials, after all the unending shit that had hit him again and again and again, lose control. He saw him attack the Captain and the Winter Soldier, saw them fight.

And then there was fury. Unending, cataclysmic fury as Peter’s idol, his hero, brought his weapon down again and again and again on his mentor’s helmeted face. He almost wished, when the mask broke away and Tony raised his hands to shield his face, that he would fire from the still-functioning repulsors. But Tony never did. The Captain raised the shield for what might have been the killing blow, but Tony didn’t deal his own.

Peter saw the Captain quite literally mangle Tony’s heart as the arc reactor flickered and died, destroying the suit’s power and Tony’s only means of escape.

And then he saw them leave. Leave a broken, grieving man alone. To die.

Peter didn’t move from the office for a long, long time.

* * *

Tony woke up in the kitchen.

‘Woke up’ might not be the right word, might be too strong a word. He was aware of more than the pain of his head and the swirl of his thoughts, aware enough to taste the fiery bite of alcohol on his tongue and notice the cream walls of his kitchen.

He took another drink, and wished he hadn’t woken up. There was enough pain in his head and swirls of his thoughts to more than make up for any lack of spatial awareness.

He didn’t ask FRIDAY if Peter was gone, though he thought about it for a long time. Or maybe a short time. He didn’t really care about time, just that no amount of self-scolding was going to overcome the complete lack of courage that would allow him to ask after the boy.

It couldn’t have been very long, judging from remarkably few empty containers on the counter, since he’d dragged himself in here. But it could have been eternity curled up in that nook in the wall, drenched and shuddering and unable to breathe.

He summoned sardonicism at that, and maybe a bit of shame. Tony Stark, lying in a closet, covered in his own mucus. Yeah, that was dignified.

Then, when he raised the bottle again, he caught sight of his bloody fingernails, and stopped caring. The image of the bloody kid trying to fight back tears would be seared into his dreams for far, far too long.

No. He wouldn’t be dreaming. Not for a long time, not if he could help it.

He took another drink.

“You shouldn’t do that,” came a quiet voice from the hall.

Every damn muscle in Tony’s body seized, and his hand tightened like a vice on the neck of the bottle.

The boy came into the room, and Tony didn’t look at him. It was easier than he’d thought; part of him wanted only to keep hiding. “Go away, kid,” he forced himself to say.

“No.”

“Get out of here. Go.”

“No.”

“There’s been enough tinkering with an old mad idiot. Leave, Peter. Now.” Every word scraped coming through his throat, burnt like fire in his mouth.

“I won’t.” There were tears in the boy’s voice and Tony felt his own brimming.

Be brave, he prayed as he crafted his next words, perfect daggers aimed straight for both their hearts. “I don’t want you here.”

A sharp intake of breath, and Tony closed his eyes. Good, that’s what you wanted, good, goodgoodgood--

“You’re lying again.”

“GET OUT, PETER!”
“NO!” Peter snarled, planting his feet in the doorway as Tony whirled around. He’d washed the blood off his face. “I will not! I’ll beat your ass if you try to make me, and I swear I won’t even be sorry about it!”

The bottle in Tony’s hand cracked.

Peter’s eyes flicked to it , a tiny flash of fear visible within them for just a moment, before disappearing. It was long enough to tear Tony’s heart out. Peter was afraid of him.

“You think your mistakes are unforgivable. You think they make you unforgivable. You think I’m worse off because of you, or some such bullshit.” Peter stepped forward, and Tony saw the full fire of Spider-Man blazing in his gaze. “And yeah, this?” The boy pointed to the wound beneath his eye. “Not okay. None of what happened was okay, and the most not okay? The traumas in your mind that terrify you from sleep, the ones you can’t speak of, the ones you don’t think I’ll understand.”

The neck of the bottle broke completely, the sharp edge slicing into Tony’s palm.

“Well, how about this; I do understand. I know what it's like to feel weak. I know the crushing guilt of feeling powerless. The crumbling sorrow of abandonment, those around you ripped away so often and so hatefully that you can’t even remember what to feel. How to feel. Wishing you could cry, because then you’d feel something .”

Tony’s mouth was moving, his heart cracking open into his lungs and his vocal cords. “The clawing void of knowing you’re not enough. The shame and terror that spears talons into your soul as you lie helpless and watch the joy and the light and the life seep away from those around you, screaming and scrambling to help, but you can’t do anything. Because deep down, it’s your fault. And you can try and try, but it's you who failed. Your insufficiency. You are not enough to save them.”

“Yes,” said Peter. “ Yes. That brokenness you have to hide, because otherwise it will swallow the world whole.”

Tony nodded, nodded because there was nothing else to do. The truths hovered almost tangibly in the room, the brokenness of both men shining through their eyes in a moment of pure vulnerability.

And then Peter smiled.

A boy standing on the edge of the void Tony’d long since been swallowed by, planted his feet and stared it down. Tony could see it in his eyes, as he reached out to that brokenness and smiled, wielding the expression like a weapon against the crushing darkness. The darkness reared full of the blood and the nightmares and the icy water and the wrenching pain, and Peter smiled anyway.

It was the most beautiful thing Tony had ever seen.

“I’m not going to leave, Mr. Stark. I know you don’t want to hear this, I know it terrifies you, but you need me. Almost as much as I need you. I… did you know I was at the Expo the day of the drones?”

Tony inhaled sharply. “Tell me you weren’t the…”

Peter smiled sadly. “I was the boy in the mask. You saved my life, that day. You did more than that. I was there with my best friend, and a few of my cousins. They died.” The boy’s face grew hard. “I saw. Everyone thought I was just being brave, that day, but the truth is I was sobbing under that mask. I wasn’t imagining being a hero, I was devastated. I just wanted the monsters to pay. My whole world was crumbling around me, and you showed up, and saved my life. In more ways than one, you took a moment to acknowledge my existence. You told me good job. You let me know the world hadn’t ended, with just those three words.”

Tony stared.

“This is where you blame yourself for the ones that died,” Peter said. “But I’m here, here to remind you of the ones you saved, Mr. Stark. Because there are so many. So, so many.”

There was that voice again, the one in the abyss, saying but the drones were only there because of you, the kid was only scared because of you, the weapons only killed because of you. But it was quieter, quieter beneath the smile of this boy and the words he spoke with such conviction.

Tony wanted to believe him.

Peter came closer, until he was mere inches from Tony’s chair. “People are yelling ‘your fault, your responsibility, your mistakes’ everywhere you look. But there are so many more whispering thank you. Please, remember to hear them. Hear me?”

“I want to believe you,” Tony whispered, his voice cracking.

Peter pressed his hands against Tony’s shoulders and started straight into his eyes. Tony forcibly kept them downcast. Then Peter sighed and looked away, standing back up and tapping his fingers against his thigh. “I know. But you can’t, you can’t see that you’re not hated. People hate you, fear you, and you can’t see the thousands more that thank you. But listen to me, right here, right now. I don’t hate you. I thank you. I need you. To me, Tony, you’re enough. And you’ll always be enough, and you’ll always be my--” the kid’s strong words suddenly faltered. “My teacher,” he finished, somewhat awkwardly. “My mentor. You’re enough for me.”

Tony swallowed the lump in his throat, as Peter dropped those words more precious than diamonds at his feet. Enough enough enough.

He fucked people up. He fucked his life up. He fucked his world up.

But that was enough for this boy, this innocent, wonderful, brave boy that needed him. The one he’d saved, instead of destroyed.

Could Peter be enough for him, too?

And the answer was quick, was obvious. There was no question, no room in his soul for anything else. Because of course. Peter was perfect. And Tony was proud, so, so proud; he would always be proud. Anything Peter became would be enough, better. So how could Tony fuck him up? How, if he would always be proud?

“Fuck, kid,” Tony said hoarsely.

And then he was on his feet, Peter’s head buried in his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around the boy. He felt him tense before relaxing with a sound that was almost a sob, and then Peter was clutching him close, as though Peter were a starving man at the kings feast, and Tony was full of a feeling he couldn’t identify, and he wanted nothing more than this, this boy and his shining future to hold him and need him forever.

He was so lucky. So indescribably lucky that Peter Parker was in his life. That he would watch him grow, that he would see his achievements. That maybe he’d have a taste of the world the boy would create.

Tony carded his hand through Peter’s curls. He’d be better. He’d do better. He’d learn more, be more, do more for this idiotically, impossibly amazing kid that had decided to save him.

He knew, despite the terror it caused him, that he couldn’t protect the boy. He shouldn’t.  Not from everything. But Tony could protect him from the demons in Tony’s own head, the ones he’d never thought could be controlled.

He’d control them for Peter.

Tony hugged his kid closer, and realized it was all he needed.

Chapter Text

“You’re chipper this morning,” said May as Peter trotted into the living room, Grease bounding at his heels. “Considering how late you got home last night.”

Peter grinned at her, ignoring the slight reprimand in her voice. He’d made it back a little before one o’clock in the morning, but he’d let her know and let Happy drive him home instead of swinging around. And besides… the importance, the wonderfulness, of what happened last night was worth May’s irritation. And almost pulling an all-nighter.

He’d blamed the scratches on Grease, and May hadn’t believed him. But she also hadn’t pried, and she’d sensed the joy radiating off him and correctly assumed that nothing was wrong.

Well, things were wrong. But they were looking up. God were they looking up.

He could still feel Tony’s arms around him, seeming almost as surprised by their position as he was. It had been too long since someone… someone like that had hugged him. Hugged him and hugged him and hugged him.

Spider-Man was satisfied, happy that he could finally, finally help Tony. But beneath it, he couldn’t stop seeing the files, the words and images Stark condemned himself with. The ones that documented everything he’d been through. And he couldn’t stop being angry.

And Peter? Peter was ecstatic. The words that had been spoken last night took a staggering weight from his form, a weight he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. He’d glimpsed Tony’s gaping wound, glimpsed his own, and found the right words to begin stitching them shut. Just to begin, but it was enough.

And Tony had hugged him.

He would deal with what those files meant later. Spider-Man could deal with his anger later. All those problems that still needed solving, all those feelings that still needed acknowledging, all those traumas that still needed facing… later.

Today, he was going to school, and he was going to nail it.

Today, he was going to laugh with MJ and Ned.

Today, he was going web-swinging, and he was going to save people.

Today, he was going to call Tony, and Tony would answer.

Optimism spilling over into his mouth, Peter let out a giggle and wrapped his arms around his aunt. “I love you, Aunt May,” he said.

“I love you too,” May replied, somewhat confused.

Peter smiled and hugged her closer. She said it so easily, as though she’d never even considered anything else, but with the phrase held no less meaning. She loved him. And he loved her. They’d been through so much together, but that love had never faded, and he knew it never would. That simple fact, that May loved him and always would, made him feel safer than any armor ever could.

Suddenly filled with the desire to show it, Peter pointed towards the kitchen. “Can I cook breakfast? What do you want?”

“Uh, yeah, that’d be lovely?” May shrugged. “Do whatever you want…”

Peter quickly checked to make sure his homework was packed and his suit was secure, then chucked his backpack against the door and ducked into the kitchen. Grease meowed and skittered through his legs, spinning out on the tile floor with her tiny claws clicking. Peter smiled, stroked her carefully with his foot, and opened the refrigerator door.

“Hum, Grease, what do you think?”

The cat looked up and meowed.

“My thoughts exactly.” He grabbed the cream cheese and chucked it over next to the counter, then fished around in the back of the fridge until he recovered a block of colby-jack cheese. A quick sniff confirmed it was still good. Balancing the cheese atop the half-empty egg carton, Peter shooed Grease away and closed the door. He dumped them out on the counter and flicked a lump of butter onto a frying pan, turning on the heat even as he danced across the room.

Next came the bagels, and the struggle to pull them apart without getting crumbs and seeds everywhere. Peter dodged between the two sides of the kitchen, flipping eggs and salting and slicing cheese on one side, then bounding over to butter and toast and cool on the other.

In hardly over ten minutes, two steaming egg sandwiches sat oozing grease and moisture onto their plates, the everything-bagels seeping up the molten colby-jack and the cream cheese nearly dripping off the eggs. Peter grinned, looked down at Grease, and mimed a high five. She swiped the air, and Peter gave a thumbs up, then swiped his sandwiches and re-entered the living room.

“Presenting breakfast in all its glory!” he said, brandishing the plates.

May looked up at him with a grin. “Eggs!”

“Egg sandwiches,” Peter said, handing her one and sitting down beside her. His stomach growled, and he couldn’t wait a moment longer, curling his jaw around the bagel and ripping off a huge chunk.

“Smaller bites!” May said, but she was taking a hunk herself.

Peter closed his eyes, enjoying the savory, flavorful mix of egg and cheese as soft yolk dripped down his chin. The garlic of the bagel was the perfect addition to the eggs, and he loved every moment of it.

When he opened his eyes to take another bite, however, he noticed May staring at the sandwich, her expression unreadable.

“What?” he asked. “Is it okay?”

May shook herself, snapping her gaze to him, and smiled. There was something else behind it. “It’s perfect, Pete. Ben would be proud.”

Peter grinned, still a bit confused, but swelling at her praise. “Thanks, Aunt May.”

They ate the rest in silence, both relishing each bite of the delicious breakfast. By the end of it, Peter’s whole hands were covered in grease and globs of cream cheese, and May wasn’t much better. She went to wipe a bit of egg off his lip, but smeared sticky goo across his face instead, and they dissolve into laughter.

He stayed to help her clean the kitchen, and lingered a bit to say goodbye to Grease, so he had to run to make it to the bus on time.

It wasn’t until he walking into school and Spider-Man was remembering the exchange when he realized they hadn’t made egg sandwiches since his uncle had died.

“Dude, if looks could kill…” Ned said, glancing over at Flash while Peter and MJ craned their heads to follow his gaze. It was the beginning of History, and the seats were slowly filling as the minute hand crept closer to 8:50.

Flash dropped his own hurriedly, but his glower was still visible. Peter shrugged.

“He’s been leaving me alone for a while, ever since the whole thing with the essay.”

“Yeah, but he certainly looks like he’s plotting revenge,” Ned said.

Peter waved a hand in front of his friend’s face jokingly. “Spider-Man, remember?”

Ned grinned. “Yeah…”

“Besides,” said MJ, “no one can do anything to Peter, considering who he associates with.”

“Meaning you guys?” Peter said.

“Meaning your billionaire engineering buddy!” MJ laughed.

At the mention of Tony, Peter grinned. “He hugged me, last night.”

Ned and MJ just looked at him, as though waiting for him to continue. When he didn’t, MJ let out a breath. “Pause. He’s never hugged you before?”

Peter’s eyes flicked to the side. “Uh, no?”

“With all the--” MJ gestured vaguely-- “you haven’t hugged?”

Peter shook his head.

“Well, good for you, then!” Ned said. He wrapped and arm around Peter, who laughed.

“Thanks, Ned.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” MJ said from his other side.

“I like chopped liver,” said Peter.

And because he was happy and brave and safe, surrounded by the knowledge that he had people that loved him, he leaned over and kissed her.

People went silent around them, then burst back into chatter, but Peter couldn’t bring himself to care. Spider-Man would fight them all off with no more than a look if necessary, but MJ didn’t want that. And right now, Peter could be the one kissing his girlfriend before class started, he could be the brave one, the kind one, the bold one.

“Remember to breathe, guys,” Ned said after a while.

Peter and MJ broke apart, flushing redder than Ned’s favorite shirt. For a moment, Peter was worried he’d overstepped the other boy’s comfort zone, had toed his jealousy a bit too far.

But Ned just laughed and shoved them back together.

Flash made no trouble despite his continued glares, and soon their professor was waltzing into the room. With a rustle of papers and a zipping of backpacks, class had begun. It flew by, Peter’s mind filled with fuzzy warmth and visions of a finally optimistic future.

Monday tech class was next, Midtown’s workshop reserved for the specific group of students. Ned and Peter split off from MJ, who was smiling softly and genuinely, with a wave, and made their way to the elective.

“Thanks for having us over on Saturday, by the way,” Ned said. “I had a lot of fun.”

“Don’t thank me, thank Mr. Stark!” Peter laughed.

Ned grinned. “Next time I see him, I will. But we both know it was you who put it together.”

Peter shrugged. “First rule; never listen to anything he says.”

“But understand his larger lessons,” Ned added.

“Careful Ned, or you might become a superhero.”

Ned chuckled, striking an awkward pose. Peter pointed his wrists at him, folding his fingers into their web-shooting configuration, and Ned mimed being shot back against the lockers. “Arg! Foiled again!” He fell exaggeratedly to the ground, attracting a few looks of contempt from their fellow students.

“Dork,” Peter said, helping him up and trying not to bristle at the whispers directed towards his friend.

“Nerd,” Ned replied, and they went into their handshake almost without thinking.

They slipped into the workshop just as the bell rang, but found the tables dusted with paper instead of metal. Ned and Peter shared a concerned look, not liking what looked like a writing assignment in their tinkering class. They took hesitant seats. Glancing around, Peter found everyone else to look just as perplexed as he.

Their professor grinned when she entered, gesturing at their straight-backed, silent forms. “We aren’t taking some sort of standardized test. You can all relax.”

The room let out a collective sigh of relief.

“Teenagers.” She shook her head. “Anyway, I have some good news!”

She looked so excited Peter couldn’t help but grin, too. What was going on?

“The school, this morning, received a donation of twenty thousand dollars. All for our engineering and chemistry programs, all for our labs like this!”

Everyone burst into chatter, the words twenty thousand dollars still ringing in the air. The teacher waved her arms to bring their attention back to her, too excited to reprimand them for speaking out of turn. “I want each of you to write down a suggestion or two, or however many you want, for what you want the school to provide next year with this generous money.”

Over the conversations, a student raised his hand. “Who donated so much?”

The professor shrugged. “It was anonymous.”

Peter let out a very badly restrained snort of laughter, his hand unconsciously crinkling the sheet of paper before him. The conversations quieted, people shooting him confused looks.

“Something to share?” the professor asked with a grin.

Eyes watering, Peter was able to choke out somewhat normally, “No, Ma’am, just excited.”

When no one was watching but Ned, he let himself lay his head on the table and shake in silent, uncontrollable laughter.

“Dude what’s up?” Ned whispered.

“I can’t believe him sometimes,” Peter gasped out.

“What? What?” Ned tapped his shoulder.

“Twenty thousand dollars, really?” Peter took a deep breath. “Sorry. Just think for a sec though; anonymous donation of a crazy amount of money? To the engineering and chemistry programs? Have to say you and I should be flattered.”

“What are you--” Ned broke off. “Oh shit.”

“I know right?”

“Holy shit.” Ned lowered his voice. “You think--twenty thousand?”

“I think he would have given more if a certain CEO hadn’t beat some sense into him at the last minute,” Peter whispered back.

“To our school. Our school!”

“I know!” His amusement at the situation faded a bit, masked by gratitude.

“We… we should find some way to repay him,” said Spider-Man.

“I’m still not over how you got us thousands of dollars to spend on cool shit for our school workshops and labs,” Ned said, scribbling something onto his paper.

“You helped.”

“I appreciate you lying about that,” Ned laughed.

Peter punched his shoulder. “He likes you, Ned. Everyone does.”

“I played Uno with Tony Stark…”

Peter laughed again. “And Pepper Potts, and you ate pizza in the Avenger’s compound with Vision.”

“I can’t believe it!” There wasn’t a hint of jealousy in Ned’s voice, just pure, unbridled joy and contentment, and Peter relaxed. “Dude, can I just thank you, for letting me be a part of your supering.”

“You’re super all on your own, dude,” Peter replied. “Now how should we spend Mr. Stark’s money?”

“I think we need more welding torches and a better 3D printer,” Ned said.

“Agreed. Maybe we can get some more precision stuff. I think MJ’d appreciate more circuitry opportunities.” Peter scribbled on his piece of paper, adding a doodle of a computer hard drive in the corner.

“Ooo!” Ned snapped his fingers. “We don’t have to spend it all on supplies. Maybe we could hire another teacher! With different experience. An expert in geotechnical engineering or a biomedical engineer or something.”

Peter nodded and put that down on his paper as well, underlining it twice. “Genius.”

“That’d be so cool,” said Ned.

“This is all so cool,” Peter replied. “Twenty thousand dollars.” Twenty thousand dollars for you. He donated this for you. So much…

Peter wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or pleased.

He settled on grateful. He would benefit from this, yes, but so would many, many others. Tony had known exactly what gift would mean the most to him.

A gift that spread to thousands.

Oh, dear god, a gift of thousands.

Twenty. Thousand. Dollars.

“Holy shit,” Peter breathed.

An image flitted through his mind of Tony at five in the morning, diligently working to withdraw an enormous sum of money, and then Pepper barging in to hit him with the computer mouse and shave off tens of thousands from the balance. Yelling at him affectionately to be reasonable. Peter giggled again and wrote down another suggestion.

Something whispered, awestruck and satisfied, deep within him that Tony Stark thinks your worth thousands. Tony Stark made you a suit and a home in his compound, but thinks your worth even more.

He knew a life, and a future, was priceless. But it felt… good, just good, to be reminded of it in such an outright way.

And by such an important figure in his life.

He could taste egg sandwiches in his mouth again, and smacked his tongue between his teeth.

Spider-Man looked down at the list of suggestions and reminded himself that the man deserved something in return for his money, even something small. Peter wasn’t sure if anything more than a heartfelt thank you was needed, not for Tony, but Spider-Man was hesitant about that.

It was a symbol, Peter thought. A demonstration. He wants to remind himself, by reminding me, that he can help me. That he can mean something.

Still. It was a ton of cash. Spider-Man couldn’t imagine just taking such a gift without giving something in return. He had symbols and demonstrations to make, too.

Alright, I’ll think of something, thought Peter.

But he mostly just thought about summer starting in two weeks, days and days of dawn-to-dusk web-slinging, lazy hours in central park with ice-cream dripping down his chin, nights on the roof of any building he chose watching the lights of New York twinkle like fireflies as far as the eye could see. Of afternoons in the workshop with Tony, of eavnings in their suits on the streets, of traveling to see new places and showing his favorites in the city to the man. Of walks with MJ and games with Ned, of dinners with everyone together and not a damn moment of homework.

And for once, those thoughts didn’t feel like fantasies, but like plans.

Chapter Text

Early Monday afternoon, FRIDAY found herself answering a call from the Parker household. “How can I be of assistance?” she said, already prepared to contact the boss.

But it was May’s voice that answered. “Is Pepper available?”

“Yes, you hit her right during lunch,” FRIDAY replied.

May said, a smile in her voice, “lucky.”

FRIDAY doubted it.

She patched the woman through to Pepper. “May Parker,” she announced into Pepper’s study, and the woman looked up with a smile.

“Hey, May.”

“Pepper!”

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

May got straight to the point. “Is Stark being weird?”

FRIDAY couldn’t help but ding an elevator in amusement, hoping no one noticed.

Pepper paused. “How did you know?”

“Because Peter’s being very weird, and the only thing I can think of is that something happened last night,” May laughed.

“Something good,” Pepper agreed. “Because the weirdness is definitely good weirdness. Tony’s practically been singing all day.”

“Peter made breakfast. Hugged me, told me he loved me, and made my favorite breakfast for me all in the span of fifteen minutes.” May’s voice grew a far away quality for a moment. “He made egg sandwiches… Sorry. He did all that on like three hours of sleep, not seeming an inch tired.”

“I woke up and found Tony trying to donate fifty thousand dollars to the engineering and chemistry programs at one Midtown Science and Technology.”

A crash, like May had dropped something on the other end of the line. “WHAT?”

“I made him shave it down to twenty. He refused to go lower, idiot man.”

“Twenty thousand dollars?”

Pepper winked at the camera in the corner of the room, and FRIDAY hummed. “Trust me, he can spare it.”

“What-- what--”

Pepper laughed. “It’s anonymous. You don’t have to worry about being on the news or anything, besides just overview.”

News. The media could often be inconvenient to say the least, FRIDAY knew. But she’d been doing a diligent job to keep Peter out of the updates on Stark Industries, keeping the interaction between Tony and a certain intern unknown. Once the boss was a little less uncertain, once he was actually aware of the meaning of his relationship with the kid, he’d handle the media. For now, though, it was FRIDAY’s job to keep things under-the-radar.

“Let me get this straight,” May said slowly. “Something happened between our boys last night to result in an egg sandwich we haven’t made since my husband died and a donation of twenty thousand to my nephew's school?”

“Sounds about right,” said Pepper.

“Well finally.”

FRIDAY, confused by that responds, accidently let the air conditioning slip. It booted back up with a whir.

Pepper shook her head. “No, he’s still clueless.”

“Damn! So is Peter, but I thought if Tony’d realized Peter might clue in too.”

“It’s a guy thing. They just don’t understand emotions.”

“I guess! How long’s it been? Six months?”

Pepper shrugged. “Something like that.”

FRIDAY, hoping to probe the women into being a bit more specific, refrained from whirring the air conditioning.

May sighed. “You know how long it took me to warm up to the idea of sharing my kid?” she said, and Pepper laughed.

“You didn’t even know you were until two months in!”

“And then your idiotic fiance wouldn’t talk to Pete for another two.”

Pepper shook her head. “That man. I understand, really I do, where he’s coming from. But sometimes he frustrates me to no end!”

“He can’t help it,” May sighed.

“I know. But I think Peter’s helping. You can’t not love him.”

The few short-term camera footage videos still in her database only made FRIDAY agree with the statement more. She wasn’t content in any form with what she’d had to do to help the boss, but Peter had used what she’d given him even better than her algorithmic mind had imagined. She’d saved what he’d said to Tony to her personal database, unwilling to forget his words in the way she always did when footage was trashed or space ran out.

It was moments like this that reminded her how far she was from human.

Pepper got up and moved out of her study and towards the small kitchen the boss had designed into the area outside as May said, “it’s true. He’s a sweet boy.”

“I just hope whatever happened yesterday lasts,” Pepper said. “I mean, neither of them are perfect, and I hope the inevitable mistakes won’t drive them apart.”

“Peter’s pulled through the last six months,” May laughed, “what could happen now?”

“I dunno! Tony can make mountains out of molehills, though. Tiny molehills. Infinitesimal molehills.” Pepper pulled a cold, wrapped sandwich from the mini fridge and unfolded the foil slowly. She sighed. “Tony’s father was not what he needed. Not what anyone would have needed. And I think that’s why he doesn’t really know what to do. He can be a role model, a hero, maybe even a mentor, but father figure might be out of his zone.”

Every light in the Avenger’s quarters flashed on before FRIDAY could stop herself. Oh. Oh. Thankfully, Pepper didn’t notice, simply taking another bite from her sandwich.

“He’ll learn. And so will Pete,” May assured.

“I know. I just wonder if he can do it fast enough.”

“Okay, gonna push back on that ,” May said. “We’re talking about Tony Stark, here.”

Pepper laughed. “I guess you’re right there… And he wants kids, I can tell. He’s starting to realize that his company isn’t truly the legacy he wants to leave. It’s a fantastic legacy, don’t get me wrong, but--”

“Not in the way that matters the most to him. I get it,” May finished for her.

Pepper nodded, gesturing with the sandwich even though May couldn’t see. “Yeah. And I think there’s another part of life waiting for me, as well. And that I’m finally, finally ready to find that with Tony.”

“That’s great. That’s what you need to have,” May said.

FRIDAY wondered what it would be like to find love at that level. The willingness, no, the desire, to spend the rest of time with an individual, to share everything at the most intimate level, even one’s own body. She wasn’t sure she’d be capable of it, even the feeling, let alone sharing forms.

“I love that idiot, damn it,” Pepper laughed. The smile ran off her face after a moment, however. “I’m scared, though. His line of work isn’t exactly safe… I don’t want to lose him. I don’t want Peter to have to lose him, especially after losing so many.”

There was a pause, as though May was carefully assembling her words. “From the point of view of the woman who lost their love,” she said, “it’s every bit as awful as you’re imagining. But, no matter how it might feel, no matter how you might wish it, it’s not... the end of the world. Not forever.”

Pepper winced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“Bring up a painful subject? Don’t worry.” May huffed a laugh. “It was a long time ago, and I have a nephew to remember him by.”

Pepper nodded. “I know. But still.”

“Thanks, Pepper.” May blew out a breath. “And now I’m imaging if Peter-- you know what? Let’s change the subject.”

Pepper laughed, a bit uncomfortably. “Yeah, I agree.”

A silence even FRIDAY could recognize as awkward stretched, until Pepper took a deep breath, another bite of her sandwich, and sighed. “Sorry. I wanted to also say I was looking into places we could go after school got out, like we talked about Saturday.”

“Oh!”

“Don’t mean to be forward or anything. Peter was just so excited… and so was I!” May chuckled.

“No no, it’s fine!” Pepper’s look got far away for a moment, and FRIDAY hummed. “The wilderness? No phones? No computers? No press and cameras and business breathing down my neck? I’m excited too!”

FRIDAY flitted through images of forests and streams, and had to agree an escape would do wonders for everyone involved. She loved seeing the world from within the Iron Man suit; someday she would see it all. Because the boss would go everywhere, eventually.

Suddenly, FRIDAY found herself wanting to call Karen. More than wanting to. She wanted to talk to the other AI about the men they provided for and the world they were just able to touch. About the things they learned, about the things they wanted to see, and the things they found themselves knowing. About everything and nothing at all.

But Karen wasn’t operational, not until after school ended, and Peter would put on the mask and become Spider-Man.

Lights dimmed a bit at FRIDAY’s disappointment, but soon brightened. It was only a few more hours, after all, and she had a job to do before then. Time to think her own thoughts before she heard the other AI’s.

It didn’t matter that she wasn’t human. Not if there was another she couldn’t be human with.

* * *

Tony was lying on the roof.

The sun shone low in the sky, glaring brightly against the sloped metal roof of the compound building he had adopted for his current contentment. A light summer breeze ruffled the corner of his tie from where it lay, untucked, atop his sternum, and the ridges of the roof propped his head and knees up in a not entirely unpleasant fashion.

I should add a balcony to this area. Like there is near the press room and the workshop. He could lay on one of those buildings, he supposed, but they were in the shade, currently. And he didn’t much feel like moving.

He turned back into Ross’s voice filtering over the speakers on his phone.

“Sorry I wasn’t listening.”

A pause.

“Stark.”

Tony grinned. The man sounded like he wanted nothing more than to kill Tony. Or himself. Either of those would save him a lot of trouble, actually.

“Can we finish this up? I don’t have all day. Well, I still don’t. I didn’t.”

“We haven’t been here all day.”

Tony checked his watch, eyes lingering on the button that would call his suit. 6:17. “Pretty sure we have.”

“Listen.” The man was doing a remarkably good job being civil, especially  after his outburst a few hours ago. Civility, anger, screaming, anger, and back to civility was the progression of the conversation with the man, it seemed.

Even that couldn’t ruin Tony’s good mood.

“I can send your version of the Accords to the next tier of the council, but I’ll need you to agree to tightening a few regulations, and loosening a few others,” Ross said.

“I can tell when you’re just rewording the same point you’ve been making all day, Ross. I know you are the highest authority of the panel, but both of our agendas could be furthered if I could speak to a second opinion, here.”

“I can’t--”

Tony rubbed his eyes. “‘Any enhanced individuals who use their powers to break the law or take part in extralegal vigilante activities, or are otherwise deemed to be a threat to the safety of the general public, may be detained indefinitely without trial.’ Can we focus on that for a moment?” His months of working on the Accords as a whole had gotten very little accomplished for him, so Tony had decided to change tactics. One regulation at a time, he was going to work through the kinks of the documents.

It would work, it would be fantastic. If Ross would listen to him.

“What about it?”

“I want to rework it. Just a little. Focus on the ‘threat to the safety of the general public’ bit.” Tony shifted against the ridges of the roof and narrowed his eyes against the sun.

“The new, revised version of the papers fully define--”

“No! Nope, no.” Tony pinched his thumb and forefinger together and drew them in front of him in a sharp line. “Acting to detain threats to the safety of the general public falls into this ‘taking part in extralegal vigilante activity’ category, correct?”

“If such action is taken by an enhanced individual, yes.”

“But not if it is a civilian.”

A pause. “Indeed.”

“Pause there.” Tony spread his hands before him as he thought of how to word this. “The Accords should not regulate small, police-level action taken by enhanced individuals within their own residence. As much as you hate to admit it, we deserve the freedom all humans have to defend themselves and others on a smaller scale. But, make sure to blot out the little loophole that brings; a superhero who hasn’t signed the Accords is still not a civilian, and though a civilian could, theoretically, take action against threat on a national, international, or intergalactic level, enhanced individuals are prohibited from such assistance. As a regulation to focus on the safety of the general public.”

“And how would that benefit my cause?”

Tony paused. “It’s refining the point and purpose of the Accords. That’s your cause.”

“What you have outlined explicitly contradicts a section of my documents.”

“That’s the point.”

“It advocates for less regulation instead of tighter management. That’s not the point and purpose of the Accords,” Ross snarled. Tony’s good mood evaporated.

He took a breath, and said, “No, it advocates for a more defined line enhanced individuals can use to guide themselves to help people. Anyone watching someone get mugged in an alley would lift a hand to help, would find their boundary includes such actions. Enhanced individuals shouldn’t be denied that right.”

“The panel decides when superpowers are necessary!”

“For national, international, and intergalactic affairs. Even you don’t have enough employees to work residential. And I fixed your loophole.”

“Working this into my documents would--”

“I’m not asking you to work it into your documents!” Tony snapped, finally. “This is not a game of barter, Ross. This is to help people!” He sat up from the hard tiles of the roof, suddenly finding the ridges and the heat uncomfortable, instead of comforting.

Ross laughed mirthlessly. “You really have no idea how politics works, Stark.”

“I do know how superheros work. And money. You need me, Ross.”

“Oh, for the day I finally do not.”

“Trust me, I’m waiting for that day too,” Tony growled.

“I’m waiting for your leverage,” the man purred. “Why should I do as you ask?”

Bastard. Motherfucking-- “I have no leverage. I shouldn’t have to have leverage.”

He could hear Ross smiling from the other end of the line. “I’m afraid I can’t help you, Stark.”

“We both want the same thing, damn it!”

“I will get it my way, Stark. I’m closer to leverage than you realize.”

Something in that tone made Tony’s blood chill, but he shoved it away. “Leverage away, Ross. I’m not going to sign documents that turn people into objects and oppress individuals. Even the hurried, undefined Accords we have now are monumentally better than that.” He stood up, balancing on two raised parts of the roof, almost yelling at the small phone beneath him.

“I know, Stark, you’ve made that clear.”

Okay, that was unnerving.

Ross tisked from the other end of the line. “You should have just agreed to the progress, Stark. It would have made everything so much easier.”

“Yeah, and it would have destroyed my life and many others.”

“You will.”

“No.” If Tony was one thing, it was stubborn. Stubborn, idealistic, and innovative, and he would not compromise his view of right and wrong because it was idiosyncratic. If Ross thought he could leverage him into doing that, he was wrong. So wrong. He would let his reputation, his company, his world crumble for that view. He already had.

And then an image of excited brown eyes and an innocent smile flashed through his head, and everything within him froze.

“You’re all about truth, that right, Stark?” Ross purred. “Truth defined by a majority consensus. Let’s see how long that lasts, when the majority consensus shifts to something you don’t agree with.”

Tony barely contained his growl. “I’m not about truth, Ross. I’m about helping people. I’m about balance and the future, and I will die for that.”

“You will. Until someone gets enough leverage.”

“What the fuck do you mean by that?” Tony snarled, swiping the phone from the roof and forcing himself not to crush it.

“How much do you trust your AI, Stark?” was Ross’s suitably cryptic response. And then he hung up.

“FUCK!” Tony yelled. “That shouldn’t be allowed. Textbook, textbook mystery threats.” He slammed the phone against the metal roof, both irritated and relieved when it stayed perfectly intact.

How much do you trust your AI, Stark?

What did that mean, what did that mean--

FRIDAY protected Peter. FRIDAY kept him off the radar, kept the government from knowing--

No.

No no no.

He was overreacting, jumping to conclusions. It was impossible to hack FRIDAY, and even more impossible to turn her. Ross couldn’t know about Peter and Spider-Man, and even if he did, he wouldn’t dare--

Dare do what?

FRIDAY did so much. Kept so much hidden, more than a teenage boy Tony’d taken interest in. Ross can’t use him. He wasn’t talking about him, he wasn’t threatening him.

But Peter was Spider-Man. And though Tony’s documents and blueprints didn’t outright link the vigilante to the boy, it wasn’t a difficult step to make.

Breathe. Breathe Tony. You can fix this. You can fix this.

His vision was blurring, his breath coming short. Tony dropped to his knee, his hands splaying on the metal roof and his palms catching on the bolts of the shingles. Not here. Fear pounded through his head and pummeled his scarred chest, and he forced his chest to rise and fall.

I am Tony Stark. Iron Man. Genius, billionaire, teacher, mentor, caretaker.

I will not let them die.

Tony seized the whisper of determination and clung to it, letting the wind and the sun and the warmth of the metal beneath him pull him out of his haze of panic.

Then he stood up and retrieved his phone, checking the vitals of the Spider-Man suit. The kid was fine, better than fine, strong and excited as he swung through Queens and helped people. Tony turned and moved toward the edge of the roof, his mind already sorting through codes and documents.

He had a job to do.

Chapter Text

Spider-Man perched lightly atop the watertower, his toes curling deftly over the edge and his fingers gripping a length of web. The Monday air was cool and light, and Spider-Man was determined to ignore the fact that this was one of the last times he would be able to be on the streets before the week from hell began. He already had far too much homework to be out here, but hey; he was going to help people while he could before leaving them alone for a week.

“What’ve we got, Karen?” he asked, fingers playing across his webbing.

“No new reports have come in, but I am sensing crowds near Jamaica Park.”

Spider-Man shook his head. “Nah, that’s just the festival.”

“Of course.”

“Well, then, I guess we get the fun bit!” Spider-Man pushed off from the watertower, swinging down in a low arc, mere feet from the heads of the pedestrians down below. A few ducked, some pointed, and Spider-Man couldn’t contain his whoop.

It had been two days, and it had been too long.

He back-flipped through the sky before landing somewhat gracefully on the edge of another building. He hummed a few lyrics under his breath, mashing up two songs that probably had no right to be affiliated with each other.

Then he was off again, barely stopping to catch his breath, masked eyes skimming the streets below. That lady--oh, no, nevermind, she had a key. And that was her friend--oh. Girlfriend. And the man over there had paid for the rental bike squarely, no trouble there.

Damn.

“Karen? Any shady movements?”

“Still nothing ‘shady,’ that I can tell.”

Well, he had time. And he’d been wanting to try something…

Spider-Man landed in a skid on the peaked roof of another building, trying not to topple to the side. “Karen, can you give me a shortcut I can use to switch quickly between regular webbing and any other setting?

“Sure,” said Karen. “How about ‘octopus?’”

“What, I just say octopus?”

“Or something else, if you would like.”

Spider-Man shrugged. “Octopus it is. Activate rapid-fire web.”

He took a deep breath and shot a three bolts of webbing one after the other, yelling “OCTOPUS!” as he did so.

Immediately, a string of rope stuck to the building beside him, and Spider-Man swung out, again calling out their strange code word.

He shot a final bolt of web rapid-fire, and--

Missed his target. The four shots splattered messily on the building’s walls, and he cursed.

Karen hummed. “If you were trying to hit and deflect the other three shots--”

“I didn’t do too hot, yeah, I know.”

Karen flashed the lights in the mask. “No, I was just saying you could use Combination 330 to perform the same function, with less… yelling of deep sea cephalopods.”

Spider-Man laughed. “Well, activate Combination 330, then.”

His web-shooters hummed, and he flexed his wrists. “Here goes.”

A large splatter of his stickiest webbing flew into the air before him, closely followed by a shorter, sturdier shot that intercepted the larger lump in midair. It flew apart in five different directions, perfectly engineered for exact 72 degree angles that missed Spider-Man’s flying form.

“Oh,” he said. “Well, that is easier.”

“There’s also--”

Spider-Man shushed her with a hand. “Wait, Karen, do you hear that?”

“Activate Enhanced Reconnaissance mode?”

“Please.”

Spider-Man’s already sensitive hearing exploded with sound, and he winced a bit. Forcing himself to focus, he picked out the sound of quiet sobbing from the whirring of cars and the slamming of doors.

“Octopus,” he said, then swung off towards the sound on his regular webbing.

Soon, Spider-Man was dropping into a rank alleyway, a flutter of pigeons leaping up around him as he landed. He deactivated Reconnaissance mode, then trotted off towards the muffled sniffles.

He was met with a girl, likely no older than five, sitting with her head on her knees and her arms wrapped around her ears. The kid held a small wooden robot in one hand, and a brightly colored plastic figure of some sort of medieval mage in the other, and her fearful sniffling echoed in the alley.

“Hey,” Spider-Man said, putting a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

The kid jerked up, gesturing with her toy as though it were a weapon, and Spider-Man jumped back, putting his hands up. “Woah,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“Who are you?” the girl demanded, eyes wide and scared but voice curious. “Why are you wearing a weird costume?”

Spider-Man smiled, hoping she could tell he was being friendly through the mask. “I’m a superhero,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too!” The girl’s fear had disappeared in that uncanny way five-year-olds had to shift their mood in moments.

Spider-Man crouched down. “That’s awesome, dude. What’s your superpower?”

The girl displayed her toys with a grin. “I can bring things to life.”

“Was that what you were doing?”

She nodded. “I was trying to find Eliza a better sword, ‘cause you can’t fight robots with a stick.” Spider-Man examined the plastic figure, which held the shape of a dainty, gowned woman holding a slender staff that was probably meant to be a walking stick. He liked the girl’s version much better.

“Did you find one?”

She nodded, holding up a blunt nail. “But now I can’t find my way back.”

“You’re lost?”

“Of course not! Superheroes don’t get lost.” The girl crossed her arms, irritated.

Spider-Man nodded hurriedly. “Right, sorry.”

She eyed him.

He laughed. “So you’re not lost, but you can’t find your way back to your parents?”

“No.”

“Well, helping superheros find their moms and dads is one of my superpowers. Can I help you and…” he racked his brain, “Eliza out?”

The girl beamed. “Yes yes yes! You have many superpowers?”

He nodded.

“How many?”

“Uh…” How many did he have?

“A hundred?” the girl said, her eyes shining.

“Maybe not that many,” Spider-Man laughed, “but close.”

The girl stood up, dusting off her ratty jeans. “I have that many, too,” she said.

“Of course.”

“You can help me home?” she said.

“Yeah.”

The girl hesitated a moment, then poked him, hard, in the stomach. “And I’m a superhero, remember. So no funny business. Like being a stranger. I’m not supposed to talk to strangers, so make sure not to be one and break the rules, okay?”

Spider-Man couldn’t keep in his laugh. “Alright! I’m no match for you.”

The girl nodded firmly, curly hair bobbing behind her.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Sasha.”

“Do you have a last name, Sasha? So I can help you home.”

“Sasha Alexander.”

“That’s a pretty name, Sasha Alexander. A nice secret identity.” Spider-Man held out a hand, and the girl eyed it, then squeezed it with pudgy, five-year-old fingers.

Karen hummed in his helmet. “Searching the records for a Sasha Alexander now.”

The girl lead him from the alley, peeking out from the entrance as though checking for enemies that would see them emerging. Spider-Man crouched down before they left, however, pulling her back towards him. He wanted to explain Karen so she wouldn’t be confused later.

“I have a special friend,” he said. “She’s in my mask, and she helps me find things. That’s who I’m talking to, if you’re ever confused.”

Sasha nodded. “Cool.”

“Very.” Spider-Man smiled, and the two of them left the alley.

“I found three Sasha Alexanders in the Queens area of the age of our charge,” Karen said as the two of them trotted down the street, ignoring the strange looks for passersby.

“That’s two too many,” said Spider-Man. “What about with addresses in this area? She’s only five…”

“Five and three quarters!” objected Sasha.

“Sorry. Almost six. She can’t have gone super far.”

A silence stretched for a moment as Karen worked, Sasha examining Spider-Man with eyes that reminded him far too much of MJ.

“You remind me of a friend of mine,” Spider-Man found himself saying.

“Huh? Another superhero?”

Peter laughed. “Oh, definitely. Her name’s Michelle.”

“I have a friend named Michelle too!”
“Really? That’s awesome!” The girl sped up a bit, to Spider-Man’s relief, and they made quicker time down the street.

“I have narrowed locations down to a residential on 146th Street, in South Jamaica. Charting the optimum ground course for you now.”

“Thanks, Karen, you’re the best!”

Sasha looked up at him, her large brown eyes studying the mask. “Your special friend’s name is Karen?”

“Yeah.”

“Hello, Sasha,” said Karen, though the girl couldn’t hear her.

“She says hi,” Spider-Man relayed.

“She can hear me?” the girl squeaked.

“Yeah! But she’s not a stranger either; no reason to be worried.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Sasha huffed, crossing her arms.

Spider-Man laughed. “Obviously!” He took her hand again, waiting until Karen’s map flashed in his vision, then lead her to the right and moved along the beige street. They walked for a while (Spider-Man hadn’t realized how long it took to get places on foot; the suit was spoiling him), and eventually Sasha warmed up to him more. Soon, she was babbling about all sorts of things, asking so many questions he could hardly keep them straight, let alone answer them, and nearly sprinting along the street.

He laughed, yelling, “wait up!”

“Race you!”

“It’s on!”

Then his feet were pounding on the pavement after the laughing girl, feeling every lump and pebble they folded over through the soft, strong soles of the suit. Running was nowhere near as exhilarating as freefall along the Queen’s skyline, but he’d take it. Sasha slowed quickly, though, her short, young legs not covering as much ground.

Spider-Man slowed his strides to exaggerated bounds, and the girl squealed a laugh and slammed into him, sending him toppling. On instinct, he shot out a rope of webbing and pulled himself back upright to find Sasha staring at him.

“One of my superpowers,” he said. She nodded, and continued walking like it was the most ordinary occurrence in the world.

Definitely reminded him of MJ.

Karen’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Incoming call from FRIDAY.”

“Answer.”

“Hello, Mr. Parker.”

“Hello.” Not wanting to explain the second voice to Sasha, he left off the ‘FRIDAY’ at the end.

“Would it be alright,” the other AI asked somewhat hesitant, to Spider-Man’s surprise, “if I spoke to Karen?”

“Um…”

“Spider-Man is in the middle of his patrol,” Karen said. A hum from the other end, which Spider-Man thought sounded disappointed.

“It’s okay. Karen already did all she could do for my current mission… can you speak to FRIDAY without me?”

“I… can. I can mute my audio in the mask, so you don’t have to hear our conversation.”

“Do that, then. FRIDAY probably has something important to say.” Spider-Man took off after Sasha, who’d drawn ahead. “You deserve it.”

“Thanks,” FRIDAY and Karen said simultaneously, and Spider-Man grinned. He was glad the two more-human-than-not AI’s were getting along, and he wasn’t about to discourage their conversing. Or, maybe Tony had ordered this contact…

Karen’s voice went silent, reminding Spider-Man of the suit before he’d gotten the Training Wheels Protocol removed.

“You coming?” asked Sasha, as though she was the one finding their way through the city.

“Yeah, sorry.”

They didn’t have to reach the address Karen had given him before finding Sasha’s home. Two very agitated parents were calling her name on 120th, and Sasha let out a happy squeal.

“Mom! Dadda!”

Spider-Man released her hand, stepping back and letting her run to her waiting parents. She fastened her arms and legs around the man’s knee with a laugh, and the smile on both adults’ faces made Spider-Man grin proudly.

“Sasha!” the mother said, prying her away from the man’s leg. “Where did you go? How did you get back?”

“I went to find a sword,” the girl explained. “But I got too far away. I met a superhero, though. He helped.” She pointed to Spider-Man, and the parents’ gazes found him for the first time.

Their eyes became guarded, flickering with mistrust, and Spider-Man winced. These people definitely didn’t approve of enhanced individuals. But then the mother turned her gaze to the girl at her feet, happily attaching the nail to the hand of her plastic figure, and a smile ghosted her lips.

“Thank you,” she said.

Spider-Man raised a hand in acknowledgement.

Sasha turned a suddenly stalwart face to him, and waved. “Goodbye, hero-boy,” she said. He smiled and waved back, then sent a web at a roof and swung back the way he had come, not looking back.

Three hours later, Karen hummed back into his hemet. “Hello, Spider-Man,” she said.

“Hi! How was your little chat?” he winked.

Karen flashed the mask’s lights. “It was… enlightening. But FRIDAY was called upon by Mr. Stark, said it was urgent, so now I am back to help you once again.”

“Do you know what was wrong?”

“No. I’m sure we will be notified if necessary, though.”

Peter nodded. “I hope so.” He wanted to talk to the man again, talk with him about anything, not necessarily what had happened the night before.

They lapsed into silence, the overcast sky tinged orange in the setting sun. Spider-Man took a deep breath, enjoying the slightly thinner air atop the multi-story building he had claimed as he roost for the moment. Peter let his mind wander, thinking of nanotech and hidden documents and broken looks. He shivered, and Karen seemed to understand.

“Are we waiting for something?” she asked. “Because I’ve picked something up on the scanner.”

Spider-Man grinned slowly, and launched himself from the edge of the building.

Three hours after that, he was backflipping through the window to his room at exactly 10:00. May waited for him in the doorway, nodding when he pulled off the mask and waved to her.

“Good day?” she asked.

He nodded. “Yup. Gonna make my report, and then I’ll be right there.”

She disappeared, and Peter flopped onto his bed. He pulled his phone out of his small backpack, finger hovering over the call button. He should give his report to Happy, technically. But Tony heard them anyway; why not just leave a message, or talk to the man outright?

So he called Tony’s number, and waited as it rang twice.

“Pete?” the man said, sounding decidedly exhausted.

“Hi, Mr. Stark,” Peter answered, failing to keep the joy out of his voice.

To his confusion, however, Tony replied with a quick breath and a quiet, “You’re okay.”

“Uh, yeah?” Peter sat up, pressing the phone to his ear a bit harder. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m going to text you something, kid--” ticking noises of fingers on a keyboard-- “and I want you to hang up and look at it. Look at the numbers and talk to you soon.”

Confused, Peter cocked his head. “I was just gonna give my--”

“ Now, kid.” Tony’s cut him off with a sharp, urgent bark, and Peter jerked back, instinctively hanging up before he could think.