Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter was incredibly, amazingly tired. Fuck the Amazing Spider-Man, Peter was the amazing tired-man. His body was weighed down like a building haphazardly crumbling onto his shoulders (ha). The bags underneath his eyes were dark enough to mistake him for a raccoon. 

He was wearing the same sweatshirt he wore yesterday, and he was fairly positive the jeans he was wearing had a stain on them. To top off the oh so welcoming disaster: Peter was repeatedly banging his head against his desk, only looking up momentarily to look at the clock every now and then.

Peter didn’t sleep last night. Not after the news he accidentally overheard from Pepper and Tony talking in the kitchen from his place in the common room. It wasn’t his fault that he had super hearing, and the couple knew about his extensive range, so they were totally trying to get him to listen in.

Ned plopped down into the seat next to his best friend, making Peter flinch. 

He paused in his head-smashing to let out a low, guttural groan. It was probably the deepest sound that he had ever produced, but that was something for him to ponder all night for another day. 

Ned leaned in closer to his friend, getting into his personal space. It made an uncomfortable sensation spike up Peter’s spine, but it was more from anxiety than his Spidey Sense. Peter leaned in the opposite direction anyway.

“Dude, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” Ned started in his quick Worried Voice. “Did something happen? Is something going to happen? What could be so bad? I haven’t seen you this un-put together since—" Peter cut Ned off with another loud bang of his head against the desk. 

“That sounded like it hurt.” MJ said as she sat down. She was already getting out her sketchbook to draw the miserable-looking Peter.

“You’ll see, Ned. And it did,” Peter let his head drop back down onto the discolored and scratched wood. “That’s the point. It’s now all I can think about, and that is exactly what I want.” 

“Wait. What do you mean ‘I’ll see?’ Peter, what's going to happen?” Ned gasped as his eyes widened comically. “Wait, there aren't any super dangerous bad guys going to come here and try to kill you, are there?”

At that, Peter’s head finally popped up completely, confused eyes focusing on Ned. 

“What? No!” Peter brought up a hand to hide his face. There was most definitely a red spot on his forehead from all the smashing against the desk. “Why is that your first guess?” 

“I don’t know, man. You seem to always be attracting the attention of people who want to kill you.”

“Thanks, Ned,” Peter rested his head against the desk again but stopped his abuse of his forehead. “That makes me feel so much better.” 

“Not that I’m not completely enjoying this exchange,” MJ cut in. “But what, exactly, is going on?” 

Peter gave a hearty sigh, turning his head to look at MJ. She looked up from her sketch to raise her eyebrow, prompting him to explain herself. 

“You’ll find out in class.” 

MJ rolled her eyes, clicking her tongue against her teeth. She held out her sketchbook for Peter to see, the page now filled with a detailed rendering of Peter’s slumped posture. He gave an appreciative smile and a thumbs up. 

That was all that Peter had time to do before the bell rang and their physics class had begun.

Peter’s friends dropped the subject during class. They knew that if Mrs. Warren caught them talking about something not-physics related again, they were probably going to get detention. MJ didn’t particularly mind that, but Ned swore up and down that if he got detention his mother would kill him. 

About halfway through the class, Ned realized that Peter had fallen asleep. Things like this didn’t happen with much frequency anymore, considering he had mostly retired Spider-Man to sporadic weekends. The appearances of the friendly neighborhood superhero had petered out slowly but surely into something of an anomaly the year prior. Peter just… flat out didn't have the time to patrol between his school, job, and lab work, plus visiting Aunt May in the hospital.

Ned nudged Peter, who groaned but barely budged. Great. 

“Okay, now that school is almost over for the day, I have a little announcement to make.” Mrs. Warren called out, to which Peter’s head snapped up quickly. Ned grumbled about how Peter would wake for the teacher but not for him. He blinked heavily, sleep still clouding his thoughts. His blood coursed through his body at record speed, his heart beating like a ticking time bomb inside his chest. This was it. 

“As you all are well-aware, Midtown Tech is one of–if not the–most prestigious high schools in New York that focuses primarily on technology and sciences,” Mrs. Warren began in her speech, tens of pairs of eyes intently focused on her. Ned’s gaze drifted from Peter to their teacher wildly. Peter only knew because he could see it in the corner of his eye, and feel the odd shift in the air on his skin every time his head moved. “Time and time again, our robotics team has won state and national competitions, as well as our Academic Decathlon team who recently was awarded a position in the United States National Decathlon Competition. Our chemistry and physics departments have countless students currently taking part in prestigious internships with some of the most amazing tech-companies in the world, as well as alumni participating in ground-breaking research in scientific departments around the world. There are scholarships upon scholarships awarded to our students from the highest tech-oriented colleges, which contributes to our impressively high percentage of students pursuing science-related higher education. You are not normal students.”

By now, there was a stifling confusion floating around the room. What was the point of this speech?

“That is why it is my great pleasure to tell you that next month,” by now, the smile on Mrs. Warren’s face was no longer being suppressed. It was so wide that it was blinding. “Your graduating class has been invited to tour the Stark Industries Tower here in New York, all because of your great achievements!”

The class erupted. Peter clamped his hands over his ears, the noise drilling into his skull. He barely noticed the permission forms being passed out to the class. The surrounding sound was climaxing, debilitating. Before he knew it, cheers echoed through the entire school as fifty students celebrated all at once for something Peter couldn’t find it in himself to be excited for. 

Eventually, once the cheers began to die down, a realization seemed to strike Ned. He quickly turned toward his best friend with a wide look on his face. “This is the thing, isn’t it? You already knew about it somehow, that we’re going to the Stark Tower! Can you believe it?!” Ned’s hands managed to make their way into his hair. Peter caved in on himself more.

“Yeah, I’m not excited.” Peter began to fiddle with the ends of his sleeves, looking down at the crack in the desk that he had made earlier. He must’ve been hitting his head harder than he thought. His head was pounding, but not from the abuse of his forehead. Instead, it was the thousands of voices bombarding his ears; the influx of heartbeats hammering in his head.

“But… with your internship—” Ned attempted to ask, very confused, only to be cut off with the sound of hands smacking down on Peter’s desk. Peter flinched heavily, already on edge as it was.

“The fucking pussy is scared for the two-year lie to finally be uncovered. It’s that right, Penis?” Some six-foot-something dickhead with close-cut blonde hair named Johnson from Flash’s group of goons leaned on the desk, crowding the already sensitive Peter. The boy tried not to let the insults get to him, but the unsettling sensation crawling up his back only worsened. He didn't want this to happen right now. The insults coupled with Johnson’s breath smelling of nachos and nicotine blowing directly into his face made Peter twitch. 

All Peter could do was focus on the steady heartbeats of Ned and MJ. He felt his own banging against his ribcage like a ferocious beast begging to be free. 

“Back off, dude.” MJ scowled at Johnson with murder in her eyes and her arms crossed from her desk next to them. Johnson seemed to have half a mind not to fuck with Michelle, as he literally backed away with his hands up in mock surrender.

“Fine, fine. But next time Penis doesn’t have you acting like a fucking bodyguard, it’s not going to be me prodding and picking. It’ll be Flash, I promise.” Johnson let out a full-bodied cackle before turning back to his friends.

Peter decompressed considerably, all his breath surging out of his lungs immediately. He opened his mouth to thank MJ for the backup, but before he could get any words out, the bell rang overhead. MJ flicked her fingers in a salute as a goodbye, smoothly following the flow of students rushing out of the classroom for the day. Peter sighed, resigning himself to his fate. They were going to the Stark Tower and there was nothing that Peter could do about it.

“Peter?” Mrs. Warren’s voice made Peter blink quickly, then squint his eyes in confusion. “Could you stay after class for a moment?”

Peter nodded goodbye to Ned. His best friend’s face twisted into something of concern and barely-concealed excitement, to which Peter merely met with a grimace. Ned didn’t understand Peter’s predicament. Of course, he wouldn’t. He was excited for the field trip, and for Flash to realize that Peter really did work at Stark Industries. 

It took a moment for the rest of the students to leave the classroom. Peter waited patiently by Mrs. Warren’s desk, fingers fiddling with each other and the ends of his sleeves again. He couldn’t help the nervous habit, especially with being told to stay after class. Was it about him falling asleep? He didn’t mean to! He hadn’t been doing it lately. Whenever he did or didn't pay attention, though, he’d still get whatever question she asked him correctly. But Mrs. Warren wasn’t the kind of teacher who—

“You’re probably wondering why I asked you to stay, aren’t you, Peter?” The solid and professional voice of the physics teacher broke through the tired boy’s nervous thoughts. He nodded, biting his lip. Peter didn’t exactly trust his voice right now, as everything still seemed too loud, too bright.

Mrs. Warren walked behind her desk, taking a seat in the large swivel chair. She propped her elbows onto the desk. Peter’s face was contorted in worry, still biting his lip. A flash of confusion rushed across his face when his worry was mirrored in Mrs. Warren’s eyes. That is until he remembered he currently looked like the walking dead.

“Look, Peter, I have no idea what your personal life is like,” Oh boy, here it comes. “But what I do know is what I can hear in my class and in the halls. The rumor that you have an internship at Stark Industries has been… something of an infamous topic related to you for the past few terms. I hear students accusing you of lying and,” The woman paused, pinching the bridge of her nose. She was always known for talking too much in her explanations. “Honestly, I don’t know if you are lying or not. That’s not my place. If you… have, then I recommend coming clean about it before next month. The chance of popularity isn’t worth some legal inquiry about falsely associating yourself with Stark Industries.”

Peter’s vision swam in and out of focus. He could still hear everything everywhere in the school: all the words, heartbeats, footsteps. He tried to steady his breathing. Peter willed himself to focus on his elevated heart rate, on Mrs. Warren’s steady one. “If not, then I would recommend you ask your coworkers not to disrupt you during our trip. We all want this to be a peaceful, educational time, okay, Peter?”

“I understand, Mrs. Warren,” Peter nodded along with the entirety of her speech, especially vehemently when he spoke. The words didn't taste right coming out of his mouth. His tongue was thick and heavy, sitting uncomfortably in his mouth. The pit of his stomach had long dropped into a disparity of anxiety, swirling with fear and guilt and disappointment as a tingling sensation crawled up his spine. Their two heartbeats were so frustratingly loud that Peter couldn't dwell on the fact that even his teachers thought him a liar. “I'll be sure to take your uh, your advice into mind.” 

A soft but wary smile appeared on the worn teacher’s face. Her tired eyes were blissfully unaware of Peter’s over-sensitivity. She adjusted some papers, the fibers scratching together uncomfortably to Peter’s ear, then nodded to herself. Peter didn’t understand what she could have been thinking, and he was much too tired to try and piece it together.

He needed to get somewhere soundproof. And he needed a fucking nap.

Curious, wide, unsteady eyes bore into the teacher, who looked fairly amused with herself. “I'm assigning you an essay to make up for you falling asleep in my class. I'll make up the details for you tomorrow.” 

Peter huffed out a relieved breath. The anxiety in his stiff posture relaxed. His fingers had stopped shaking, but his heart continued to relentlessly pound as sounds pounded against his skull. A physics essay? That would be a piece of cake. Still, the extra homework wouldn't be ideal with the load he already had. “Okay, that sounds good, Mrs. Warren. Have, uh, have a good evening.” 

With that, Peter scurried out of the classroom. He stopped in the middle of the hallway, looking left and right for his best friend. Ned was nowhere to be seen. Confusion bled back into Peter’s mind as he made his way to his locker. Did Ned not wait for him? 

Peter didn’t know how long he was with Mrs. Warren, so he might’ve just needed to get home. The tired and overstimulated super-enhanced boy opened his locker, got what he needed, and put on his headphones with determination. Peter was tired and hellbent on taking a long nap once he got home. A large yawn broke out of the boy’s mouth when he thought of sleep. He could complain to Ned about the field trip later. And to Mr. Stark as well, but that was beside the point.

The mission to find Ned died as quickly as it started. 

The sounds around Peter dimmed considerably once he put on the noise-canceling headphones. He blasted his personally created ‘drown out the world’ playlist as well, which also helped. He tried to focus more on that than the never-ending droning of the world around him. It was far from perfect; Peter could still hear things happening that he normally shouldn’t be able to. The headphones were only the first line of defense against overstimulation with sound. Tony made them, so they worked incredibly well.

But Peter was far beyond the point where he could slow down his escalating panic. The depressing thought that all this was because he couldn’t handle some students cheering grated on Peter’s already dampened mood. The fluorescent lights in the hallway were beginning to grate on his eyes too. That sensitivity only worsened when he got outside, the sunlight boring into his irises and making a throbbing pain stab in his head. Peter squinted his eyes, finding Happy’s car waiting for him with more muscle memory than sight. 

Happy didn’t say anything when Peter first entered the car. The enhanced boy sighed once he buckled himself in, letting his head bump against the headrest of the backseat. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Happy’s endearingly unhappy way of concern for Peter made a fleeting smile appear on the boy’s lips.

“Over-stim.” Peter merely mumbled. The vibration of his vocal cords in his throat made his skin crawl. Happy, knowing the situation, pressed a few buttons on the car’s console. The light in the car dimmed dramatically.

Peter’s eyes fluttered shut. He blindly changed the music running through his headphones to a softer playlist that Tony had made for him. It was mostly classical stuff: piano, violin, cello, and some guitar. It didn’t have vocals, making it the calmest playlist Peter had. The car started moving forward gently. 

Guilt, shame, and anxiety were swelling in Peter’s chest. He had no right to be unhappy for his classmates about the once-in-a-lifetime trip that they had the privilege of experiencing. Yes, Peter had a deep resting unease about it. That on its own was no reason to dread this amazing opportunity. It was one Peter had daily, which is the whole problem.

People would have a chance to uncover Peter’s identity. Flash would have the chance to uncover Peter’s identity. There was no way of getting around that. Maybe not Spider-man, but the fact that he was closer to the Starks than a personal intern would be. Peter didn’t have a special badge to wander around the tower with. He had nothing physical to show his clearance and legality of being in the tower, of working in the labs there. That isn’t to say that he didn’t have it, he was just never given a badge. Peter was Peter, so he didn’t need one. FRIDAY knew him by sight and biometrics, which was something few had. Most (if not all) of the Avengers were in the same sort of situation. 

But when the class realized he had that, there would be riots. Why did lowly Penis Parker have that high of clearance? Why didn’t he have a normal intern’s badge? No normal intern could wander the R&D labs, yet Peter regularly walked right in to help with a project. No normal intern could go up to any door and open it without any problem, yet Peter could go into any room without a swipe of a badge. Even if he was Tony Stark’s personal intern, that still wouldn’t make sense. There still would be places that he wouldn’t be allowed to go. 

But Peter was Peter and had an all-access pass to literally everything at Stark Tower. At the Tower, he could go into places that the Avengers themselves couldn't see. Like the penthouse floor just for the Starks, which was where his bedroom was.

Peter Parker wasn’t normal. He was Spider-Man. He was—in all intents and purposes—a Stark. He was a part-time Avenger. And all his classmates would soon figure out at least half of it.

With those worries in mind, Peter was lulled to sleep by the soft rumbling of the car

When the boy awoke, he was in his bed. This brought into question (a) how (b) why and (c) how. Peter shifted underneath the soft covers. The weight on top of him was welcome, soothing. He pressed his face deeper into his pillow for a moment, nuzzling the soft fabric that smelt like his shampoo. The ringing in his ears was gone, as was the pain behind his eyes. The room was completely silent save for his movements, so he wasn't sure if his super hearing was done throwing a fit or not. The boy didn’t know how long he had been out, either. The room was completely dark, meaning the window was currently blacked-out for his comfort.

Peter stretched, giving his tired muscles some awakening. He sat up in bed with a yawn and a smacking of his lips. As he wiped his hand across his eyes, Peter cocked his head toward the ceiling. 

“Hey, FRI?” His voice was groggy, but the vibration in his throat no longer bothered him.

“Hello, Peter. How are you feeling?” Came the barely audible response from the AI. She was turned down so low that anyone with normal hearing probably wouldn’t hear her. Peter was grateful for that setting, as it was easier to listen to when he was overstimulated.

“I’m okay. Still iffy but okay. You can turn off the over-stim protocol,” Slowly, the muffles around Peter’s ears lifted. He could now actually hear the fact that someone was playing something on the TV in the living room. The blacked-out window progressively became transparent, letting the dying rays of sun filter in through the bottoms of the curtains still covering it. That didn’t hurt his eyes, which was progress. “What time is it?”

“It is currently six-thirty in the evening,” FRIDAY’s voice was much louder now, but still slightly lower than normal. The noise of a lively home dimed slightly in response to Peter’s covering his ears. He thanked her programming vehemently as he removed his hands. “I’ve alerted the Boss that you’re awake.”

“Thanks, FRIDAY.” Peter mumbled mostly to himself as he got out of bed. He stretched again when standing. His body was tired and stiff, begging for more sleep. He was still in the clothes he wore to school, so the barely awake boy shuffled to his closet to find something more comfortable. 

Just as he finished pulling up a pair of plaid pajama pants, the door to his room opened. The cacophony of sound barreled inside the moment that his headache decided to rear its ugly head. In his head. Again.

“Hey, Pete,” Tony leaned against the doorframe, letting the sound of the movie drift in. Peter’s face contorted into a small grimace. His eyes squinted together, and his head moved backward as if to get away from the excess sound. It was not ideal. “Oh, shit, sorry.” The billionaire lifted his hands in surrender, then backed away. He closed the door on his way out, not letting Peter get in a single word.

Sometimes, the mysterious Tony Stark still confused him. Peter had known the man for a fair few years now, so it came as a surprise to him. His mentor had never been one to be emotionally open, either. It had taken a while for them to warm up to each other in any way other than a strictly mentor-mentee way. But when Peter started actually having an internship at Stark Industries, things changed. They only melded together more when Peter eventually moved into the Tower.

Their relationship shifted from Peter looking up to Iron Man with starry eyes, begging to be respected and allowed to help in fights. It transformed into companionship of trust and care with long nights in the lab. Somehow they molded into a well-oiled machine when working together. They learned each other’s body language. Tony mastered Peter’s small giveaways in movement and speech that said something was wrong. Peter became familiarized with Tony’s shielding people from knowing his true feelings, and how to break through it. Eventually, after a long span of Mr. Stark constantly reminding Peter that he didn’t have to call him that anymore, that he could be just Tony, did Peter begin to switch the names in his head.

Then there were times like this, where Tony would do something like that and leave Peter wholly confused. 

Peter shook his head to get the wild thoughts out of his mind. He found a particularly old T-shirt with a science pun on it. It was obviously too big for Peter’s small frame. At this point, he wasn’t sure if it was originally his or Tony’s. They both had worn it at some point in time. In the past, Peter had got himself too big shirts at Goodwill to sleep in, so it might’ve been his in the beginning. The boy didn’t really know. He put it on anyway.

Tony returned soon thereafter. Peter was sitting cross-legged on the ceiling when he came back in. That nearly gave Tony a panic attack. No matter how many times he saw it, it always scared him. The mentor held something up as a peace offering to the upside-down spiderling.

“What’s that?” Peter stage-whispered before dropping himself off the ceiling and onto the bed. 

Tony sat on the edge, expectant. He waited for the teen to scoot toward him before holding out the object again.

“These are my noise-canceling earbuds,” Tony now held both of the earbuds, left and right in respective hands. He was whispering. “They aren’t completely canceling like your headphones, so you'll still be able to hear, but they’ll probably help right now when your ears are still sensitive.”

Peter reached out for the earbuds. When Tony encountered a problem, the most logical thing for the man to do was invent something. That was just part of his personality. He created a new type of structure so he could put his mansion on an unbuildable cliff face for christ's sake. But this time, instead of hurriedly making a new invention for Peter, he simply offered something of his own. Something he had already made, used, and loved. Peter turned over the earbuds in his hands, inspecting the craftsmanship. They definitely were older: there were scuff marks on them, and one of the earbuds had pieces of a different colored metal than the other. That part was newer, shinier, and clearly a replacement. 

“I can't take these...?” Peter said mostly to himself, still looking over the precious thing in his hands.

Peter still had a difficult time with accepting things. Tony and Pepper told him time and time again that money wasn’t an issue. They wanted to buy him whatever he wanted, even from expensive stores, no matter the cost. The life that Peter lived before he wiggled himself into the Stark family was vastly different. Aunt May and Uncle Ben were constantly counting expenses. They budgeted heavily, spent scarcely and carefully. Aunt May worked her ass off after Ben died to provide for Peter, sometimes skipping meals so her nephew could go to bed with a full stomach. Money was an issue. It always was. 

So, when money suddenly became a non-issue, Peter’s conditioned brain didn’t know how to handle it. He didn’t understand the meaning of buying whatever you wanted. The Parkers never took hand-outs, and never sought out charity. They worked and they survived with what they had. But now, Peter didn’t have to worry. It was weird. It was unsettling. It was difficult accepting things.

“Yes you can, spiderling,” Tony took the earbuds from the kid’s hands. He then proceeded to put them into Peter’s ears himself. “No more complaining. You’re using mine until we make you a pair for you to keep. How’s that?”

Tony was talking in a normal tone, but it was muffled enough to be comfortable. Peter breathed deeply as he contemplated the man’s words. It was just a loan. Tony wasn’t giving them to his kid. They were to be returned. Peter could make his own with these earbuds as a base. 

“That seems okay with me.” Peter nodded as he spoke at a normal volume himself, pleased at the performance of the earbuds. It was a nice touch that they weren’t only earplugs, but could also play music as well. Tony split into a proud and pleased grin. He stood, motioning Peter to follow him.

“Oh, and we’ll talk about your cover for the field trip later. Might even get you your own fancy badge.” Ah, right, Peter is so totally screwed.

Chapter Text

“Ah, fuck!” Peter swore louder than he originally wanted to as sparks flew up into his face. He coughed, waving his hands at the gathering smoke. He brought one hand up to his face as he hacked up a lung, thankful for FRIDAY triggering the fans to blow away his mistake. He should have listened to his Spidey-Sense the moment that it began tingling.

“Language.” Came a new voice that Peter was familiar with, making his head snap up to the entrance of the lab in confusion. No one but he and Mr. Stark were allowed in this room. The door was open (oh) and Captain America stood in the doorway.

It was two and a half weeks after the field trip had been announced. Peter had mostly forgotten about it thanks to his extra physics paper and his earbud project. Mrs. Warren was a smart woman, smart enough to notice that her student was (likely) smarter than her. She assigned him a topic that students usually wouldn’t learn until their junior year in college. It was one that Peter was only partially familiar with, so it came as a challenge and a learning experience. The research took up most of his free time nowadays. When he wasn’t working on that, he took to the lab to reverse engineer Mr. Stark’s earbuds. It was a project that proved more difficult than he originally anticipated. Peter honestly could just invent his own design, but he was vehemently fixated on recreating a near-perfect copy of Tony’s with nothing but the earbuds as help.

“Oh, uh, hey Mr. America—Rogers, sir.” Peter sheepishly addressed the man, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn’t on as cozy terms with Captain America as he was with the other Avengers. Well, the other previously-rogue Avengers. There was a wall blocking him from fully admiring the hero. A wall that was named Siberia and the fight with Mr. Stark. Tony had long forgiven the man, and the two were on good terms. Peter seemed to be the only one who still held a grudge.

Was it because that with a beard, he too closely resembled the man that killed his uncle? Probably.

“What are you up to, kid?” Steve asked as he walked further into the lab. Tony was nowhere to be seen, so the super-soldier focused his attention on Tony’s kid.

“Uhh,” Peter blinked as another shiver ran up his spine and made the hairs on his neck stand. Quickly, the boy lifted the still-on and still-hot welding tool before it could burn the table. “Still trying to recreate these earbuds.”

“Ah.” Steve looked as though he was about to say something else. Instead, he turned around as Tony reentered the lab, looking frantic.

“Are you okay, Pete? FRIDAY said—” The disheveled man who clearly was on his sixth cup of coffee began rambling, but Peter effectively cut him off by raising the torch.

“I welded a bit too close to the wires and caused a small fire… again.” The spider-boy turned off the tool and gently placed it back onto its home.

Tony visibly decompressed, but still held some of the tension in his shoulders. It was the kind where they were perpetually pushed backward slightly. It made Tony’s chest stand out ever-so-slightly, which made him seem confident and self-assured. But it was different from his ‘I’m confident in my geniuses, so shut up and listen to me’ stance. That posture held more emphasis on his neck stretching, chin lifting, and shoulders raising. Not being pushed back.

So, basically, Peter could tell that Tony was over-exhausted and needed some fucking sleep.

“Well, now that I’ve got both of you here—” Captain America adjusted his own posture and vocal tone. He shifted from tired, friendly curiosity to serious, important PSA. Peter sighed. Then he gasped in apparent realization, eyebrows shooting up underneath his messy mop of hair.

Wait, tired?

“Wait, wait, wait, hold on, hold up, what- what time is it?” Peter cranked his head up to the ceiling. Both Tony and Steve directed their gaze there as well. The genius boy didn’t have to look at their facial expressions to guess that they were both confused. “FRIDAY, please enlighten us. What time is it?”

“It is currently three thirty-seven a.m., Peter.” FRIDAY’s voice validated Peter’s suspicion. It was hard to tell what time it was when working in the lab. For both security and safety reasons, there were no windows in the lab. They had been shattered far too many times to justify getting them replaced anyway.

But Steve was usually good at going to bed at a reasonable hour. Unless he was jet-lagged. Wait, didn’t he recently go visit Wakanda with Bucky?

Peter jumped onto the spinney chair behind him. It made the chair understandably spin and roll backward. Acting as if that wasn’t happening, Peter pointed an accusatory finger at Mr. Stark. He spun around a full three-sixty degrees while still pointing. He wasn’t aware enough to think of how hilarious he must look at the moment.

“YOU! You should be asleep. You promised me you wouldn’t force yourself to stay awake with coffee anymore.” Peter then engaged Puppy Dog Eye protocol, putting on the most hurt face he could muster while still slowly spinning around in circles.

It was quiet in the lab for about a second after Peter spoke. Then, both Tony and Steve erupted into laughter. The prior doubled over, one hand keeping himself standing by stabilizing himself on a worktable and the other clenched around his middle. Steve was in a similar state of laugher, except his cackling made him lean backward instead of forwards.

Unable to contain himself, Peter split into a wide grin and began laughing as well.

After several minutes of unabashed laughter and cackled comments, Tony finally stood himself back up. Peter was happy to see that the tension in his shoulders was gone. Mr. Stark finally let himself slouch down in exhaustion. “Yes, yeah. Okay. You need to go to bed too, bambino .” The man let out a few more loose laughs, wiping a tear from his eye.

“Okay, fair. I didn’t realize it had gotten so late. I planned to do a little bit of work after finishing up with my homework and research for the night but uh, that apparently didn’t happen.” Peter smiled tiredly, suddenly aware of how exhausted his body was. One thing he had in common with Mr. Stark was to get into The Zone and be unaware of how much time was actually passing. Pepper was convinced they needed to get diagnosed, but both Tony and Peter didn’t really see a need. 

“Research for what?” Steve questioned, looking the most put-together out of the three of them.

Peter ignored the question, mostly because he was too caught up in cleaning up his workspace and cataloging his progress of the night. Instead, his mentor answered in his wake. “The little spiderling fell asleep in class, so his teacher assigned him a paper on physics. On a subject way too complicated for a high school student.”

“That sounds illegal. They’re not allowed to assign something above a student’s ability for a grade…?” Steve responded in something that sounded more like a question. He ignored the fact that Peter fell asleep during class because if right now was any consolation, the boy had a horrible sleep schedule.

“She knows that everything we’re learning right now I already know. And have probably experimented with. She wanted to give me something that I actually had to spend time on, instead of just doing it in one night with the knowledge that I already have. Which is weird for me, because I really don’t have to do that for my science and math classes?” Peter explained absentmindedly as he worked.

Tony was beaming at this point, as much as he could while looking that tired. Peter couldn’t see it as much as he could feel it. The influx of positive pride in the room was almost tangible to the super-enhanced boy. He couldn’t tell you how that worked.

Steve, on the other hand, looked equally confused as he did impressed. Peter didn’t know how that was much of a shock to him. He and the rest of the Avengers regularly saw him in deep scientific conversations with Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner. Not only that, but they found him tinkering with something in the lab more often than not. Still, Peter guessed that was different than discovering that Peter coasted easily in his schooling. 

“Okay, as fun as that was, I’m officially kicking all of you out of the lab. Especially you, Cap. You aren’t even allowed to be in here.” Tony clapped his hands together with a tone of finality. It didn’t bother the youngest in the slightest. Now that he realized how tired he was, Peter was ready to sleep and never wake again.

“Sorry, I just wanted to let you know that Bucky and I landed here to save fuel,” Steve commented as they filed out of the lab. “Figured I tell you sooner rather than later.”

“I appreciate the warning you're here instead of at the Compound, don't appreciate how you assumed I’d still be awake. I'm getting better at that shit.”

“I know, Tony,” Steve chuckled good naturedly. “FRIDAY told me your lab was occupied, so I did make an assumption.” 

But, oh. Shit. He had school tomorrow.

That was a problem for future-Peter. Peter-in-the-now simply clicked ‘save’ on his notes, set down his Starkpad, and followed his mentor out of the lab and to well-deserved sleep.

(小さな休止)

Peter’s heart was beating uncontrollably. It was stuttering and hammering, stopping and starting too quickly. His stomach was inside his throat, turning and tumbling with such ferocity that the pale child paled more. He wanted to move, to thrash as quickly as his terrified heart plundered. 

His chest contorted as forgotten air moved to attempt to get more use out of it instead of slowly suffocating on the lack of air inside his lungs. Peter’s shoulders tensed and hunched, his stiffening fingers fumbling to release himself from the friction, from his tangling suffocating binds

But the water around him pressed too tightly and caused inescapable, paralyzing turmoil shutter through his entire being. Such a lack of air and a ramped heart began to deteriorate his consciousness. The edges of his mind flashed into grey, melding the ends of his consciousness from the dark black around him to a pure mindless white. 

He was dying, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. Peter’s arms thrashed violently, his legs kicking fruitlessly below him. When had he begun to move? Had he always been moving? No, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter how hard he fought: he wasn’t moving upward. The lack of breath was clawing inside his throat, pushing at his chest, and grabbing at his lungs. The pounding inside his pulse had slowed to move slower than limbs could move in the water. His eyes fluttered open, somehow able to witness the small air bubbles leaving his nose. Something so patient and pure and lovely turned dire as it killed the life force still residing in Peter’s lungs.

Overwhelming and insufferable pressure kissed cold to every portion of his body. In an attempt to search for something, anything that might save him from the breathless torture he was being subjected to, Peter tried to open his eyes wider. Scanning, searching, wide eyes were forced open, open, open .

With the start of several gasps of breath, Peter awoke in a dark room. He was lightheaded at his heavy breathing. The frightened and panicked boy untangled himself from his covers, moving to clutch his hand over his chest. It was just a nightmare. He was fine. Peter was safe, breathing soundly, home in his bed at the Stark Tower. He was okay. 

“Peter, you appear to be in distress. Shall I activate the Nightlight Protocol?” FRIDAY whispered softly to the boy teetering on the edge of panic. Peter began to count his breathing. It was still too rapid and uncontrolled for Peter to speak. Instead, he steadied the shaking breaths by taking larger timed ones. The panic encasing his entire form slowly ebbed out of his fingertips. 

“I’m okay, FRIDAY,” Peter whispered back a few seconds later. He didn’t need Tony to wake up from his much-needed sleep just to help him out of a nightmare. “I-I’m okay. I’m he—here. I’m safe. I’m not drowning.”  

“That is correct, Peter. Are you sure you don’t want me to wake the Boss? Or bring someone else to your aid?” FRIDAY responded quickly after Peter’s stuttering reassurances to himself. Peter merely took several more timed breaths, not responding. Nightmares were a common occurrence for him.

“Ah, uh,” Peter blinked, finally moving his hand from where it had been clutching his shirt over his chest. “I’m okay, really. What, uh, what time is it?”

“It is currently six o’ four a.m., twenty-seven minutes before your alarm is scheduled to ring.” FRIDAY’s cool tone responded instantly, making Peter groan and wipe his hand down his face. Just under three hours of sleep, not counting falling asleep on the car ride over to school. Classes started at seven forty-five, and Peter highly disliked people seeing him pull up to school in a black Audi Sudan, so the thirty minute drive time plus the fifteen-minute walk to school meant that the young teen had to wake up at dawn. 

The sun wasn’t even over the horizon yet, which was a common thing. The only person in the Tower who was regularly awake at this hour was Pepper, but she usually would already be starting her morning work-out by now. 

Thus, Peter could not activate the Nightlight Protocol. He didn’t want to wake anyone up, nor pull the Pepper of all people from her workout. And with there only being a small amount of time until he actually woke up, Peter was just plainly fucked.

Peter ruffled his hands through his bedhead of curly hair. “Turn off my alarm, will you FRI? And set one for when Happy arrives.” 

With a confirmation response from FRIDAY, Peter begrudgingly hauled himself out of his bed. Everything in him protested to stay in the warm, comfortable safe haven.

Peter Benjamin Parker Stark was not, by any means, a morning person. He was like Tony in that his best work (and sometimes most questionable) happened in the early hours of the morning after an all-nighter. His wandering thoughts didn’t help at all, so it was even harder to get to sleep sometimes. Sue him, Peter was a night owl. 

It came in handy when he had to study for a test, complete a project, or the occasional patrol as Spider-Man. It most certainly did not come in handy when he got distracted and hyper-focused in the lab and accidentally stayed up much too late on a school night. No matter how many times Peter had pled, he wasn’t allowed to sleep in and miss the first few classes on those kinds of days. 

(Though, Pepper and Tony were more lenient on the Bad Days. Like when the birthdays or anniversaries of his two sets of gone parental figures come. Or when something triggers a bad memory, or time, and panic that lasts hours ensues. Sometimes after a particularly bad nightmare—only the ones where Peter wakes up screaming, climbing on the walls, trying to get away from anyone who gets close—they will let him stay home. This isn’t one of those days.)

Needless to say, in combination with so little sleep and not being a morning person, Peter was having a hard time getting ready. Sometimes he wished he could be like Happy, who despite not looking it, actually quite enjoyed mornings. The man probably was awake right now, nursing a cup of coffee under lamplight by the window, reading a book. Peter could only imagine with the little details that he’s gathered about Happy.

Peter did that a lot, he realized as he attempted to tame the unruly hair on his head. He gathered information about people through observation and pestering. Peter liked to be knowledgeable, but he wasn’t always this persistent in gathering tiny information. He blamed his newfound noisiness on training with 2.5 spies. One of whom decided that Peter would make an excellent spy if not for his hyperactivity. Still, he’s always wanted to know how to best help somebody, to notice their tells for different things, to understand their personality better than their baseline front that everyone saw. Peter tugged his brush through his hair once more before putting it down.

Happy was an overall grumpy person. He didn’t like physical contact, nor breaking of rules. He preferred to be on-time and hated being kept waiting. That was his baseline. 

Peter slowly picked up his tube of bubblegum toothpaste and his brush. In his foggy, tired mind, he almost didn’t realize he was holding his hairbrush and not his toothbrush before it was almost too late. 

As Peter brushed his teeth (with his toothbrush, not hairbrush, thankfully), he thought more about Happy. He had lost someone close to him at some point. Peter noticed the faded tan line of a wedding band on Happy’s ring finger, and there was a picture of a man and a child in his wallet. There also was one of a woman, too, but she was in a separate picture. Peter assumed that these mysterious, unnamed characters were the reason that Happy enjoyed mornings.

The kind-hearted man had said something about ‘getting used to waking up early and having a cup of coffee together.’ It was back when he first started driving Peter to school daily. The sleep-deprived, night owl teen had questioned him sleepily how he was so chipper being the grumpy man he was, and that was Happy’s answer. Peter spit out the fluoride in the sink. He placed his toothbrush back in its place, then applied his deodorant.

There was also an old, torn, tea-stained, water-warped copy of The Hobbit perpetually in Happy’s car. Peter asked about it once, too. Happy said he never read it, and he didn’t understand any of the references Peter tried to make about it. So it wasn’t Happy’s. Peter guessed it might’ve been the child’s favorite book, as they looked like a teen. Peter only saw a glimpse of it--the pictures and the book--so he may be wrong. 

But Happy definitely enjoyed reading. That wasn’t the only book that Peter had seen in the car. He also caught a glimpse of 1984 and something called In These Final Hours . There was the fact that when Happy was early for picking up Peter, he was usually parked and reading a book. So it was even weirder that Happy didn’t read the loved copy of The Hobbit if he was interested in literature. 

Peter flicked the light off in the bathroom. He groggily rubbed his eyes as he padded over to his wardrobe. He muttered to FRIDAY to turn up the lights, considering he never turned them on before venturing into the bathroom. Sometimes he forgot to do that, as he saw better in the dark now thanks to his heightened senses. But colors were still muted, and he needed to see them to not have a fashion disaster of an outfit.

Not that he usually did anyway. His fashion sense wasn’t the best. MJ was always harping on him to get a better style, and Pepper was always complaining about him needing new clothes. Peter didn’t see the point. The clothes he had were fine. Like the baby blue sweater he just picked up in his hands that he was planning to wear it over a button-up. It was soft, admittingly slightly threadbare. 

Peter got dressed without thinking after that. Instead, he let his mind drift back to his Happy Information: kind-hearted, morning person, was married, likes literature. Right, that’s where his train of thought was going.

Happy was quite well rounded when it came to genres of books. He could easily keep up with Peter when he was talking about one book or another. Especially when it came to books that Peter had to read for school. On more than one occasion, they had debates on the meaning of specific parts of his reading assignments. Whether it be a character, plot, or a rhetorical device, Happy seemed content in discussing it. It was in those times that Peter heard Happy talk the most at once without complaining about something.

Despite being such a caring person, Happy was private. Extremely private. Peter still didn’t know where the man actually lived, if he wore anything other than suits, or who the people in the pictures were. Or if they were still alive. Or what happened to them. Or anything about his family or background. Or how old he is. Or where he grew up. Or who he spent time with when he wasn’t working. 

What Peter did know is that Happy’s left eye would start twitching when he became truly angry. His right eye would close or squint when he had a headache. When he’s concerned about something, his toes wiggle, and his lips press ever-so-slightly into a thinner line. When he’s upset or uncomfortable, Happy’s grip on whatever he’s holding (including air) gets stronger and his jaw clenches. He cracks his knuckles a lot, but not to be menacing. It’s his way of fiddling with his fingers, otherwise known as a nervous tick. Happy also fixes his tie too much when his mind is somewhere else.

Peter wondered how he managed to know so much about people yet not know them at all.

“Peter, Ms. Potts-Stark is making breakfast in the common kitchen.” FRIDAY interrupted Peter’s long train of thought, finally putting it to an end. The boy noticed that he was almost completely ready, save for his shoes. He was dressed, phone in his back pocket, and reaching for his book bag. 

Peter got completely ready for the day without even realizing it. He was lost in thought he hadn't been focusing on what his body was actually doing. 

Straightening up, Peter left his bag on the floor. Instead, he opened his door and made his way into the common-kitchen. Once he came into view of Pepper, her eyebrows peaked. It was the only show of emotion on her face. Currently, she was buttering a slice of toast while eggs cooked on the stove behind her.

“Hey, kiddo. What are you doing up this early?” The woman asked kindly. She set down the butter knife and leaned on the counter.

Peter plopped himself down on one of the barstools. He leaned on the counter in a similar way to Pepper but much happier and less awake. “Nightmare woke me up early.”

“Ah,” Pepper hummed before resuming her preparation of what was probably eggs on toast. “You want eggs on toast?” Yep, Peter was correct. Before he had the chance to respond, though, his stomach growled out in answer for him. The corners of Pepper’s lips quirked upwards. She made a show of looking from Peter’s stomach to his reddening face. “I take that as a yes. How do you want your eggs today?”

“How ever you’re making them is okay, Pep.” Peter mumbled, then pressed his head onto the cool granite countertop. He breathed heavily, eyes fluttering shut, body begging for more sleep.

The rest of the breakfast-making was done in silence. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence; in fact, it was the opposite. It was comfortable, calm, and cozy. Familial, Peter would say. He felt safe and at ease in this mutual silence with neither wanting to break the tranquility of the morning. Peter might’ve fallen asleep because the next thing he knew there was a gentle tap on his shoulder.

He lifted his head off his arms (when did he even move his arms under his head?) and turned it toward Pepper. A gentle smile was playing on her lips as she slid a plate filled to the brim with food in front of the tired boy. Peter returned the smile, which erupted into a yawn before he resituated himself to have the plate closer. The two remained in comfortable silence. This time, it was interrupted by the quiet sounds of eating as the pair consumed eggs on toast side by side.

As they ate, Peter thought on what he knew about Pepper. She was caring, protective, and determined. That was her baseline.

Deeper than that, once she decided she loved someone, she loved them with her whole chest. Pepper wasn't one to do something by halves. Her interactions with Peter blossomed into something warm and comforting, if not motherly, once his relationship with Tony began deepening. She loved to cook, especially for other people, but hated cleaning. She liked talking under her breath, either because of someone or just to make notes to herself. Which made sense, considering she was always busy doing something or the other to keep Stark Industries running. 

Her work ethic was definitely something to be admired. She complained to Tony about how much he made her do, but she would always complete any task set in front of her. More often than not, those tasks were assigned to her by her herself. She didn't like not taking action once she noticed something. Pepper was extremely determined like that.

“You want to talk about your nightmare?” Pepper suddenly asked, seemingly out of the blue. But Peter realized that in his tired thinking, he was staring at one single spot on the counter.

“Ah,” Peter swallowed the bite of toast that was in his mouth. The eggs were over-easy, his favorite. “Just the drowning one again.”

Pepper hummed, sipping her cup of coffee. “Is that why you didn’t ask for a drink?”

Peter paused, his last slice of toast stopped right before entering his mouth. It was soaked in all the leftover egg on his plate. “Probably. I’m just really tired today. Not the usual ‘I got less than five hours of sleep’ kind of tired, either. Something feels off.” Peter admitted, both to Pepper and to himself. That would make sense as to why he was thinking so much, trying to distance himself from what he was really thinking of.

What that was, he wasn’t quite sure yet.

“If you think something feels off, then chances are something is. You have a good sense for those things, Peter.” Pepper put down her coffee cup, shifting her body so that her torso was facing Peter. That clued him in that a serious conversation was following. Peter set his toast back down onto the plate.

“Yeah,” Peter took a moment to reflect on himself. There was a weight of dread pooling in his stomach, but not so much that it was easily noticeable. The hairs on the back of his neck were prickling so softly that he had to think about it to recognize it wasn’t because of cold air. “It’s like a really, really, weak Spidey-Sense. Like I’m forgetting something, but I don’t know why.” 

“Is there anything that you know of happening today that might upset you?” Pepper picked up her coffee cup again. She sipped it while waiting for an answer, not putting it down this time.

“Maybe it’s just anxiety about a test I forgot about? I know my extra physics essay is due next week, but I still have time for that…” Peter didn’t understand what he was mentally blocking himself from. If it was that important, then why make himself forget it? Or maybe it was something that he didn’t know yet that his Spidey-Sense was trying to warn him about, but his abilities weren’t powerful enough to do so.

“That’s well-reasoned.” Pepper offered, but nothing more. She wanted him to find the answer himself, not just give him one that might not be the right one.

“I don’t know… Having super anxiety on top of normal anxiety makes things confusing sometimes,” Peter finally admitted, both to his internal question and the reason he feels on edge. He tore his gaze away from Pepper. He could still feel her eyes on him, though. It was warm, concerning. It felt how laying flat on the floor after finally finishing a project felt. Peter smiled, ever so softly. “Maybe I’ll just go visit Aunt May after school today or something.” 

With the sound of porcelain clinking down onto the granite tabletop, Pepper had apparently been satisfied. She hummed, which proved that micro-theory. Peter looked back toward her, noticing that her cup was empty. Which was odd, because she was a slow coffee drinker, and Peter didn’t think they were sitting together for that long… right? “That’s a good place to start, darling. I don't think you've visited her in a while."

Peter nodded in agreement. Even though Peter came to the conclusion mostly on his own, Pepper did help to push him toward the answer that he ended on. Without her guiding the conversation, Peter probably would have just continued to be anxious about nothing all day. So, to voice his thanks, he took in a deep breath and opened his mouth. Before he could say anything, FRIDAY interrupted the conversation. “Mr. Hogan has arrived, and is waiting for you, young Master.”

The spider child’s head whipped up to where one of FRIDAY’s speakers were. He sat there for a moment, caught off guard and very confused, staring up at the ceiling. Pepper mirrored his surprise. Peter spoke first, voice unsure. “FRI-FRIDAY…. What, what did you just call me?”

“Young Master,” FRIDAY confirmed that yes, she did actually just call Peter that. And he had no idea why. “I’m trying out some new titles. Does that not work for you, Mini-Boss?” 

Peter dragged his hand over his face, the first time that he had moved his arms since he finished eating his eggs on toast. The title of “mini-Boss” wasn’t new. It was something he had grown comfortable with over the past half-a-year or so. But young Master? What was that even supposed to mean? FRIDAY didn’t call anyone by anything like that. It was so out of left field. Peter blinked several times, realizing he started to stare off into space. “Oh...kay..? You can just call me Peter. Just... Not Master please.”

“Noted, Peter.” FRIDAY, at the very least, dropped the Master thing. Peter would have to talk to Tony about this after school, after seeing May. Maybe this is why the father-like figure was up so late the night prior?

“Happy’s waiting for you, Pete.” Pepper’s heart rate had gone back down to normal. She was chuckling under her breath, but Peter was most certainly not calm. He was confused and anxious and shaken by his dream and what the day might bring and what Mr. Stark might’ve done and–

Oh. Right. Happy’s waiting.

Peter took off from the stool, almost toppling it over if not for Pepper steadying it after he abandoned it. She wore a small smile on her lips, one of exasperation and adornment. There was a swirling, swimming, spilling emotion in her pupils, tumbling around the dark outer rim and circling into the rest of her gaze. It was the same emotion that shone in May’s eyes before sickness clouded them over. Peter only saw it for a moment, a second as he was flying off the stool, but it was enough. 

Peter ran back to his room, tugged on his worn Converse, slung his bag over his shoulder, and proceeded back into the kitchen. He gave Pepper a wave, which she returned with an exasperated look in her eyes. 

Peter booked it to where Happy would be waiting. He let himself hope for the first time that morning that the day would be alright. 

Chapter Text

The day turned out to be decidedly not alright. Peter thought it would be for the most part of the day, but once Physics started, the thought of an 'alright day' went out the window. 

For starters, Flash was in this class. He hadn’t been for the past few weeks because of “some fuck up with the school and attendance” and putting Flash in the 'wrong' science class. At least, that’s how the asshole himself put it. Upon the boy’s arrival, the dread in Peter’s gut came back full force. Taking this great opportunity of misery, Peter began to (once again) hit his head repeatedly on the desk. By now, it had a dent that was decidedly the shape of Peter’s forehead.

“Dude,” Peter heard the harsh whispering of Ned in his ear, quickly followed by the sound of his best friend sitting in the chair next to him. “This isn’t like the last time you were doing this, right? We aren’t going to go see Mr. Stark or something… right?” 

Something in Peter’s chest twinged. He lifted his head just enough to rest his cheek down on the desk. Ned had always been there for Peter, through thick and thin. This meant that Peter could definitely see that Ned was excited despite his friend’s misery. At least, for now, when he didn’t know why he was miserable. After all, the last time that he was repeatedly hitting his head against a desk was when the field trip was announced. So, Peter didn’t hate Ned for wishing that something else exciting was happening. Honestly, Peter wanted something exciting to happen too. But no, all he got was dread and Flash. Unquenching, constricting, thicker than honey and syrup, dread sloshing around in his stomach. Well, not his stomach-stomach but Peter knew what he meant.

Ned, upon seeing Peter’s face, fell out of his barely concealed excitement. Peter could tell by the subtle twitch of his eye and the muscles pulling around his mouth that he was now, in fact, worried. Great. The last thing he needed was an actually worried Ned. Not semi-concerned-and-confused like he had been just before the announcement. Nope. This was just worrying.

“I’m okay,” Peter breathed. Luckily that was enough to make the tension in Ned’s face relax. “Nothing is going to happen. Well, nothing that I know of. I just…” Peter trailed off with another grunt, squeezing his eyes closed. 

It was almost as if his insides were jumbled. They twisted and turned and constricted and waded desperately through the thick goop of dread. His ribs were tightening, the tension in his chest rising as he focused on the feeling. This wasn’t his Spidey-Sense. This was plain old anxiety. 

Peter honestly thought he got over that. 

“Flash is here today?” Mrs. Warren finished the rest of Peter’s thought for him. Luckily, because that meant that Peter didn’t need to say it out loud. But unluckily, because that meant that Flash was real and not just a mirage from Peter’s slightly sleep-deprived brain

The bell rang the very moment that realization dawned on Ned’s face. Peter would have thought it more comical if not for the fact that Flash was back.

Peter hid the fact that he was actually, truly, afraid of Flash fairly well. Spider-man wasn't, not by a long shot, but Peter Parker was. Peter Parker was a weak geekling. Yes, geekling, because he was too weak to be considered an actual geek at his science, math, and technology school. He was at the bottom of the social ladder which subjected him to the taunts of everyone on the top. Flash could do whatever he wanted to Peter Parker, whether that was ridicule, blackmail, or beatings. He could easily corner Peter into intentionally failing an assignment to make himself feel better, or use him to practice his spewing silver tongue, or take out some stress by using him as a human punching bag

But Peter was also Spider-man now, and he could handle the types of things that Flash threw at him. At least, that’s what he convinced Ned to think. Since Flash was usually so preoccupied with fucking up Peter’s life, he didn’t do much to other people. So, Peter could protect others from Flash by not protecting himself.

Still, after years of being at the receiving end of Flash’s torment, Peter was still afraid. Cripplingly afraid. Anxiety-attack inducing afraid. The kind of afraid that made his Spidey-Sense alert him of Flash’s presence because he was considered a danger. This was the part that Ned didn’t fully understand, just because the Filipino boy would worry endlessly about his best friend if that were so. Ned needed to be able to focus on school and legos and Star Wars, not the anxieties of his weak friend.

The rest of the class period didn’t go absolutely horribly. 

Flash left him alone. Mostly because he was on the other side of the classroom and Mrs. Warren was keeping them busy. To keep himself busy, Peter started to recite the Periodic Table in his head. He usually started by listing them in order by their atomic number, then in alphabetical order if he had time, but he wanted more brain stimulation than that. Those two ways were mostly to calm him down when he got too anxious about something. Instead, Peter decided to recite them in alphabetical order by their symbols, which was a tad different. Since he didn’t have that order completely memorized by now, it proved to be a bit of a challenge.

Praseodymium, Platinum, Plutonium, Radium, Rubidium, Rutherfordium– wait no, that’s regular alphabetical uh… Ra for Radium, Rubidium is Rb, Rf is Rutherfordium so… Ru? No, Ruthenium comes later. A B C D E F G… OH! Re. Rhenium. Got it okay. Rubidium, Rhenium, Rutherfordium, Roentgenium, Rhodium, Radon…. 

“Mr. Parker?” Mrs. Warren half-whispered, half-yelled to Peter, which made him lose track of where he was on the table. He looked to her from where he was staring at the white-bored, completely unaware of why she was trying to capture his attention. 

“Sorry, I kinda… spaced… what was the question?” Peter sheepishly asked in a low voice, a part of his head still trying to figure out where he left off. It wasn’t Rutherfordium, because he got confused on that one. He remembered trying to get to Ruthenium, but said it was later… So probably left off somewhere between Roentgenium and Radon. Rhodium it was… Rhodium, Radon, Ruthenium, Sulfur – out of the Rs! – Antimony, Scandium… 

“I asked if you had your permission slip for the field trip…?” Mrs. Warren’s expression turned from one of mild annoyance to slight concern. It wasn’t much of a dip, but the tension in between her eyebrows lessened in favor of slightly wider eyes.

“Oh, uh, not yet. I’ll get it to you soon. Next week. I promise.” Peter put his hand over his heart as he swore, looking Mrs. Warren in the eye. The eye contact wasn’t brief by any means. Selenium, Seaborgium, Silicone... It was almost as if his teacher was searching his eyes for something that he didn’t know was there or not. Some fear or anxiety or distrust. By studying so many facial features, Peter had gotten fairly good at hiding his own.

“Okay. Just make sure your foster parent signs it. If they don’t, you either won’t be able to go or… we might have to work something out with your caseworker.” So much for hiding Peter’s own emotional tells. His eyes grew wider as his diaphragm was stabbed with that sentence. Samarium… Strontium…? Right. He wasn’t under the custody of Aunt May anymore. To the school, it looked like he was in the system. Technically, he was. But Peter somehow had managed to keep that whole debacle away from his peers, as he did with Spider-Man. 

Suddenly, Peter felt as though all eyes were on him. They probably were.

All the blood in Peter’s body rushed away from his face, making it paler than pale. His tongue was dry, as was his throat. No, no Tin comes before Strontium… right..? It hurt to breathe. The all-too-familiar stinging of his nose began to tickle his nerves. It spread to his eyes, threatening to make them water. Yeah. Tin is Sn… Strontium’s Sr… Then Tantalum and Terbium… .

Before they could, however, Peter blinked slowly. He swallowed, despite the action grating uncomfortably in his throat. He offered a small, unbelievable smile. He tried to focus more on the periodic elements so his mind wouldn’t completely break down during class. “Yeah. I’ll make sure it’s signed.” Technetium, Tellurium, Thorium, Titanium…. 

Vaguely, Peter heard whispers around the classroom. Some laughter. A particularly obnoxious laugh that was none other than Flash’s. Thallium, Thulium... Out of the Ts... Uranium, Ununbium… He felt a hand on his shoulder (probably from Ned), and saw Mrs. Warren give him a look that could only be described as pity before walking away. However, the only thing that Peter could truly focus on ... Ununhexium, Ununoctium, Ununpentium… was the fact that one of the three of his biggest secrets just was outed to the entire classroom. Mrs. Warren probably thought nothing of it. After all, it was common knowledge among the teachers, so why not the students? Wasn’t it public knowledge, after all? 

Ununquadium, Ununtrium… nono, wait, forgot Ununseptium. Fuck these U elements and their weird names… uh, Vanadium, Tungsten… Ned shook Peter’s shoulder at the same time that the bell rang overhead. Peter acknowledged him with a grimace and a nod of the head….Xenon, Yttrium… before he bowed down to place his folder and notebook in his backpack. He didn’t look at them too closely, as one had a periodic table on it, and the other had a chart of conversion methods. He was fairly positive that the table was Star Trek themed (because Star Trek is superior to Star Wars but he would never tell Ned that), but that didn’t matter right now. The two walked out of the classroom ...Ytterbium… together, but Peter was more occupied with the elements in his head, and the disastrous revelation ...Zinc... that most of his class was going through at that point. He and Ned parted at some point ...Zirconium... with the promise to text each other. 

Ah, Zirconium was the last element to list.

Without a periodic distraction, Peter started wondering how fast the rumor would spread. Like wildfire, or a tsunami? Would everyone know by tomorrow? Tonight? Would Flash do something like stream the information online, so that everyone everywhere knew? Why would he feel the need to do that? There wasn’t anything super special about Peter, other than things that Flash didn’t know, aka Spider-man and his Stark connection. Who would want to know about Peter’s situation? What was so special about how he wasn’t living with his aunt anymore? Would they think that she was too poor to support him financially? Would they think that she hurt him in some way and got Peter taken away from her by CPS? 

Would they find out what actually happened to her? And how it was entirely Peter’s fault? Would they see how Peter was the reason that he lost two sets of parental figures? Would they be extremely happy that they were right all along about it? Could they figure out that Peter was staying with Tony Stark? Would they question why? Of course, they would. They probably would theorize something crazy and stupid as to why Tony kept Peter around. Would they think Tony was taking advantage of Peter? That he was blackmailing him for some reason? That Peter was actually a bastard child of Tony Stark and was never even wanted in the first place? What would they do to Peter? What would they do to Tony? Would Peter ever be able to live outside the shadow of death that followed him wherever he went?

A heavy shove decidedly strong enough to push regular-Peter over snapped the anxious boy out of his thoughts. Begrudgingly, he stumbled forward. In his stumble, a foot extended in front of him, making Peter trip. With the taste of disgust on his tongue and pain in his pride, Peter made himself fall to the floor.

A face crowded his vision, quickly followed by multiple others.

Peter’s eyebrows scrunched together, pulling worry and fright deep into his expression. He quickly blinked to wipe the expression of unrelenting fear off of his face. Flash smiled down at Peter in a twisted fashion, something that made his skin crawl. Peter shifted on the floor, getting his elbows underneath him, beginning to attempt to lift himself up.

Before he could, a foot pressed against his chest. It was Johnson. His shoes were incredibly dirty and now there would be dirt all over Peter’s shirt and he would have to explain it to Happy who was waiting for him. Oh God Happy was waiting for him, how would he begin to describe what happened without him getting all angry—

There was feasibly enough pressure against his torso that Peter would have to stay down. When the foot pressed further, Peter let himself flop back down onto the ground.

“Look who it is, but the local poor orphan boy,” Flash sneered down at him. A jolt of fear rushed down Peter’s spine, making a nervous tremor begin in his hands. He hated being called that, especially by Flash. The way the word was thrown from his lips with a vile drip grabbed a hold of Peter’s heart and crushed it in his fist. It was used as a defilement of character, a slur to condemn things out of Peter’s control. “Mommy May finally see what a pathetic little fag you are?”

Silence stilled in the air, Flash’s voice momentarily cut off. Before Peter could rejoice, a shudder of DANGER DANGER MOVE RIGHT DANGER MOVE–  lit up in his head. He attempted to ignore it the best he could, but couldn’t suppress the flinch that showed right before a splat of saliva hit Peter’s face. 

Flash spit on him. Flash spit on him, underneath his eye and close to his nose. While he was being held down on the ground by an equally gross shoe. Peter stiffened as he felt the cold-yet-oddly-warm spit begin to slide down his face, subsequently forcing tears to rise in his eyes. Instead of letting them fall, the boy who was fucking Spider-man for heaven’s sake twisted his face into a scowl. 

“Now he’s as dirty on the outside as the inside.” Johnson twisted his foot on Peter’s chest at his remark, spreading the dirt on his favorite blue sweater. It intermingled with the fabric, and Peter knew immediately that it would take ages to get it out. 

Peter felt a surge up his neck and DANGER DUCK LEFT DANGER enter his head, then Flash was leaning down and grabbing a hold of Peter’s shirt. Johnson’s foot left immediately, letting Flash forcefully yank Peter off of the floor and shove him into the nearby lockers. 

Flash was there, right in Peter’s face, crowding him so heavily that all Peter could see was the fire blaring in the shorter’s eyes. 

“You don’t get to look at me like that. An abandoned pathetic excuse of a person doesn’t get to look at me like that.” Flash tightened his grip on Peter’s collar, pushing the boy further into the locker. The handle dug into the small of Peter’s back. “You know, I bet your aunt killed herself. She probably was so fed up with your bullshit and the burden of supporting the one who got her husband killed. Good riddance in my opinion. Poor people like you only clutter the streets. Now you just have to go and off yourself too. Then the world will be clean of the Penis Parker disease.”

Peter’s stomach was spinning, constricting, curling in on itself and thrusting his heart into his throat. A wave over pure helplessness rushed over him like a tidal wave. His throat constricted, his nose stung once more, and he suddenly registered the blurriness in his vision to be unshed tears. Peter willed himself to blink them away, but his eyes wouldn’t cooperate. None of his body would do what he was telling it to do. Not his fists, which he wanted to connect to Flash’s face. Not his legs, which weren’t supporting him fully anymore. Not his neck, which he wanted to snap down to butt Flash in the forehead. But no, Peter couldn’t move. He was frozen in fear; petrified in pathetic-ness. 

He was helpless. If he had more confidence, maybe he wouldn’t be so much of a loser. Peter could handle a guy like Flash in a heartbeat. He could throw him straight across the room. 

But instead, a fist collided into Peter’s stomach. He grunted and doubled over, mostly for show. His freaky spider-powers may have strengthened him, but a punch to the gut was still a punch to the gut. He felt slightly winded as a sore, blunt pain spread across his torso. It wasn’t anything close to how Flash’s punches used to feel, so Peter screwed his face up in an expression his muscles knew to be of pain. 

A hand not belonging to Flash or Johnson, since it felt much bigger than theirs, grabbed Peter around the throat. As yet another chorus of DANGER DANGER rang , the pressure guided him forward away from the wall, then released him so suddenly that Peter actually stumbled. He was putting too much reliance on the hands that held him up. Before Peter could fall to the ground thanks to his shaky legs, another scream of DANGER!!!!!! Ripped through his thoughts. 

Seconds later, the same boy with huge hands and muscular arms man-handled Peter’s arms until they were trapped behind his back. Bodybuilder was successfully holding him back. With a quick test of how strong he actually was, Peter tried half-heartedly to pull away. He didn’t even budge out of his grip. 

That sent panic down Peter’s spine. He struggled again, harsher this time, only to be met with the grip tightening. Whomever Bodybuilder was, he was strong enough to hold Peter back. Even when he was using a sliver of super strength. That was enough for Peter’s blood to run cold, stilling in his hold.

Johnson connected a punch to Peter’s face with another yell of his Spidey-Sense, and a sickening crack, to which Peter begrudgingly snapped his head to the side. The taste of iron settled uncomfortably on his tongue. Flash, evidently feeling left out of the fun, connected his knee into Peter’s chest. That was one of his favorite moves: kicking the area right underneath the apex of the ribs, underneath where the sternum ended. It burned like hell, so much so that Peter released a cry of pain. He told himself it was mostly for show, but the area kicked twinged with white-hot pain.

The sound of footsteps steadily approaching broke Peter out of his haze. It took a few more blunt connections with Peter’s body before the group noticed the footsteps as well. In haste, Johnson and Flash fled without another word. Bodybuilder took longer to flee, shoving Peter down to the ground with another sneer towards Peter’s status as a foster kid. 

Honestly, Peter couldn’t think of anything that was more stereotypically bully-like. But since he was a superhero, that would mean he got all of the cliche story beats along with it. At least, that’s what Peter told himself as he got his palms on the floor and his knees underneath him. 

“Oh my god…!” A very concerned, very close voice exclaimed far too loud for Peter’s sensitive hearing to consider ‘comfortable.’ The boy grimaced, taking heavy breaths instead of answering. Just because he was literally Spider-Man and had super strength and enhanced agility didn't mean that several hits to the diaphragm didn’t hurt. It just meant it would probably hurt for less time. “Are you okay, Peter?”

Ah, okay, Peter was being called out by name, so he probably should open his eyes now. Yeah. So that’s what he did: opened his begrudgingly watering eyes and looked up to see who the hell was kneeling next to him. 

“Yeah.” Peter huffed, swallowing his pride, and leaned back onto his legs. None other than Betty Brant, resident crush of his best friend, was kneeling next to him. He registered that his hands were shaking and vaguely wondered if it was because of fear or something else. “Just a little… winded.”

Betty placed a hand on Peter’s back, to which he almost flinched. The excess adrenaline rushing through him—which honestly was probably half the reason why his hands were shaking—made everything sensitive. Including touch. Excluding taste, because that’s the one sense that Peter doesn’t think was heightened in any way from the Spider Bite. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Betty was looking at him with a concerned look so deep that it could rival Ned’s when Peter was obviously lying to him. 

Peter didn’t even attempt a smile, knowing it would just come out weak and forced. He hung his head instead, shifted against the contact on his back, and meekly laughed. It sounded more chuckle-like and much to breathy, but it was all Peter could manage. His body might not be hurting much—it still was but not as much as it could have—but his mind was aching. It was churning and thumping and rushing and so damn full of pitiful weakness that Peter could barely tell exactly how long he and Betty were sitting on the floor. At this point, Peter wished he knew more about her so he could nitpick what she probably was thinking. He didn’t have enough information on her yet. But the inch-away-from-hyperventilating-boy did notice from the corner of his eye that she was biting her lip slightly, and her eyebrows were quivering like she didn’t usually hold them in a position like that often. 

“Are you sure? It looked to me that someone was, uh… hurting you.” Betty moved her hand before she finished her sentence, in favor of gently putting it in her lap. Peter’s tense shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, grateful for the freedom.

Peter honestly didn’t know what to say in response to that, but his mouth ran ahead of his brain anyway. “Oh, that? They’re just doing the whole ‘poor orphan’ routine again. Gets a little old in my opinion. Pretty boring show at this point.” 

“That makes it even worse, Peter,” Betty almost whined under her breath, worry escalating with every passing moment that he didn’t make eye contact with her. Peter decided that looking Betty in the eye would be a good idea at this point. That way, he could de-escalate her worry easier, and nitpick her facial expressions better. He could only do so much out of the corner of his eye while his head was down. Only, when he turned to face her, she immediately gasped and covered her hands over her mouth. “Oh my god, you’re bleeding.”

“I’m what now,” Peter asked without any inflection in his voice, bringing his hand up to his face. His fingertip connected with warm liquid streaming from his nose, making him grimace. Before he even realized it, under his breath, he questioned: “Dammit, my nose didn’t break again did it?

“Again? You’ve broken your nose before?” Betty was, for all intents and purposes, panicking now. Not as much as Peter was, as he was this close to having a panic attack. His hands were shaking more now, stuttering as they grazed against the bloody massacre that was his face. Anxiety was pooling in his gut, a weight pulling down his heart into his stomach. His Spidey-Sense, luckily, was quiet at the moment. For now, all Peter had to deal with was regular old intrusive thoughts and anxiety.

“Yeah. Three times I think? This would make it the fourth.” Peter gently brought his hand up to his nose. He didn’t know how he didn’t notice it before: the blood was still flowing, beginning to drip onto the floor. Maybe it started bleeding when Betty came by. Peter didn’t know. All he knew is that it hurt like a motherfucker now that it was brought to his attention. 

“Okay, we’re getting you to the nurse and then possibly to the hospital and then to the principal because whoever keeps breaking your nose needs to be punished.” Betty stood up with a certain confidence, holding her hand out to Peter. “We’re getting you help.”

And Peter? Well, Peter just stayed on the ground. “I’m fine, really Betty. He’s never broken my nose before. I’m just…. Clumsy. The other times were my fault.” Peter didn’t know how to put ‘I’m a superhero and sometimes during fights, bad guys punch my face and break my nose. Also once in training I did a backflip to get away from Hawkeye but landed on my face to not accidentally land on the Black Widow.’

“Oh, so it was a ‘he?’” Betty decided to focus on instead, hand still outstretched and seemingly not going to let this go. 

Peter screwed his eyes shut, balling his shirt in his hands and resigning himself to ruining his favorite sweater. He pressed it against his nose, wincing at the pain that it caused. But he was stopping the bleeding, which is what the point was. Peter honestly wished he could get off his ass, go with Betty, get himself out of the situation with Flash. But Flash wasn’t going to stop doing mean things. If he wasn’t bothering Peter, then he would bully someone else. And someone else isn’t Spider-man, with super-strength and super-healing.

Speaking of that super-healing, he was going to have to get his nose set and fast, or else it would heal brokenly and he would have to rebreak it to set it properly. 

“Like I said, Betty, I’m really alright. I have to get going; I'm running late already and Ha...my uh,” Peter blanked, not knowing what to call Happy. He settled on the most believable lie he could think of at the moment. “My boss hates it when I'm late.” Peter wiped at his nose a few more times, happy to feel that there was no more blood gushing out of his nostrils. It still hurt like all high hell, but that was beside the point. It would be fine soon.  

“Your boss? You have a job?” Betty reluctantly focused on that part of the conversation, as it seemed like she was getting nowhere with the physical abuse she saw. At least, she was getting nowhere with Peter. Her hand dropped, no longer holding it out for Peter to take. 

“Yeah. Gotta pay bills somehow.” Peter chuckled somewhat darkly, licking his fingers and beginning to scrub the dried blood off his lips. It did not look pleasant; actually it looked fairly barbaric. It was not a pleasant feeling either, but then again, neither was Betty’s eyes tearing into him. He just wanted this conversation to end. 

“But you’re sixteen still, right?” Betty pursed her lips when Peter nodded. It was no secret that Peter was younger than everyone in the grade. He skipped second grade, back when Ben was still comfortable with Peter speeding up his education. May never was quite as lenient.

Betty began to wring her fingers together, presumably unsure of what to do. She moved her weight from side to side, uncomfortable as Peter. “You shouldn’t be the breadwinner, then. You’re still a kid.”

The pain in Peter’s nose had faded into a background rumble, much like the blunt soreness in his abdomen. Thus, he decided it probably was a good idea to stand now. He was staying on the floor for an unacceptable amount of time at this point. 

“I mean, technically I’m not. I don’t have to pay rent or for groceries anymore, but with everything with May…” Peter trailed off, bringing his fingers up to his fucked up nose. With a deep breath, he manhandled the broken monstrosity back into place. There was a sickening crack, and Betty flinched back with an exclaim of “Peter!”

There was silence for a fair few moments. Peter was breathing heavily, his shirt up against his nose again. His eyes were screwed shut as he bounced on the balls of his feet. With another few breaths, Betty spoke up again.

“Are you alright?” The question seemed redundant at this point, but she still crept closer. 

“Fine,” Peter grumbled, moving to soak up blood with his left sleeve. “Sorry, I had to set it back in place. Better sooner than later.”

“Why don’t you, I don’t know, let a professional do it?” Betty whined, still not understanding the situation that she was in. To her, it looked like a fellow classmate was being hurt – was hurt – so he obviously should go to the hospital to get it fixed, then get whoever was hurting him into trouble.

From Peter’s perspective, he couldn’t. If he got Flash into trouble, two things could happen. Either nothing would really happen because of his rich father, or Flash would move schools and find a new victim. Peter was Spider-Man; he could take the violence. Peter also wasn’t used to going to the hospital whenever he was injured. For one, he was Spider-Man, so that would round up bounds of confusion and hysteria. For two, Peter never had enough money to pay for hospital bills. That is until Tony came along.

Oh shit. Tony. Happy was still waiting for him.

“Betty, I’m gonna be frank,” Peter started, smoothing out his bloodied shirt. He breathed deeply despite the groan of protesting that his diaphragm made. He was so done with this conversation, emptiness beginning to claw at the edges of his panic. “I’m in foster care. I don’t have parents to help with expenses. And honestly? My group home would be too bothered to pay for a hospital bill. I can’t afford it. I work because my only living relative is almost dead and I have to pay off the mounds of medical bills she left behind. I can’t spare anything for a silly broken nose that I know how to fix from experience.” 

That, finally, left Betty stilled into silence. Peter immediately regretted snapping at her, but at least what he said was mostly a lie. It was true at one point in his life, a year ago, when things first started going to shit. But things were better now, despite having a broken nose in the school hallway. Peter let his face show what guilt that was turning inside his stomach, the tiredness in his eyes, the shame in his soul. But then again, he never had much control over his facial expressions in moments like these. That’s why he wore a mask, after all.

“I…” Betty started, voice choked and breath shaky. There were tears in her eyes. The anxiety that was drowned out by the post-panic, tired, emptiness came back full force. He went too far. “I’m so sorry, Peter…” 

“Shit—” Peter swore, taking a few steps closer to Betty. His hands were shaking again “Please don’t cry for me. I really am fine. I over exaggerated a bit. I probably could go to the hospital if it was an emergency, but I don’t want to bother the foster people. Really it’s fine–”

“No, it’s really not,” Betty sprung forward and wrapped her arms around the bloodied boy. Peter would have pushed her away, but that didn’t seem like the best idea right now. She needed comfort. “I had no idea it was so hard for you.”

Peter could hear the exaggerated heartbeat of the girl in his arms, the stuttering breath, the hiccups barely noticeable to normal ears. In all honesty, it was one of the most uncomfortable things he experienced all week.

Before anything else could be said, Peter’s phone began violently buzzing. 

“That would be my boss.” It felt wrong to refer to Happy as his boss. Peter laughed in an attempt to lighten the conversation. It didn’t work. Betty still moved away, concerned even heavier on her features. 

“If you ever need anything ever, please don’t hesitate to ask.” Betty locked Peter dead in the eyes, her stare daring him to disagree. They screamed at him to promise her, even if that wasn’t necessarily what she said.

“I’ll reach out. I promise. Just…” Peter sighed, shaking his head as he took out his phone and ended the call without looking before returning to Betty. “Please don’t make a big deal out of this. It sounds bad but I promise, I’ve been at worse,” Peter cringed in on himself as Betty’s facial expression twisted once more. He held out his hands in a pleading stance, telling a half-truth. “The fosters I have right now are actually decent and I don’t want to move again.” 

On paper, Anthony Stark was his father. Or, foster father? Peter wasn’t quite sure, but he knew that the man was legally his guardian. That could get taken away if Betty went and talked shit all over his foster family. Peter wanted nothing more than to stay living in the Tower for forever (or until he went to college). 

“I’ll keep quiet if you reach out.” Betty agreed reluctantly thanks to Peter’s expression. It told a story all on its own: of heartache, pain, greif, then the liberation of love and acceptance. Betty patted her hand on the slightly-dry-but-still-very-wet blood on his shirt. Peter grimaced and shrugged the sweater off, revealing his flannel underneath. 

Betty offered another smile, to which Peter returned. They were both shaky ones, neither truly okay with how this situation was developing. They exchanged nods, and Betty finally walked away. 

Peter slumped in on himself, absolutely exhausted. His backpack was slumped over a few steps away. The sore boy leaned over and stuffed his bloodied sweater into the bag, fingers still shaking. He had to get to Happy, but before that he had to get the rest of the blood off his face. Luckily, most (if not all) of the offending red liquid was on his favorite blue sweater that was now hidden away in his bag. 

Bright sides, he guessed.

Chapter Text

Approximately five minutes after Betty’s unfortunate interference, Peter was walking out the doors of the main entrance. He’d unbuttoned his flannel to show his black periodic table shirt, instead of just keeping the thing fully buttoned. That would have sparked more suspicion than blood if he was being honest.

Speaking of the blood, Peter got it all off of his face, and his nose thankfully had yet to bruise. He definitely would be ‘going on patrol’ tonight, or at least saying he was, in order to have an excuse for Tony about his likely-going-to-bruise face. Peter’s Spider-boost may help him heal quicker, but he was still hurt. He would still bruise. He still got yet another broken nose.  He didn’t have magical super-healing that erased any form of injury in a moment's notice. He just had the luck of having a bruised-up face for a few days rather than a few weeks. 

At least he wouldn’t have to explain anything to Happy. That man rarely asked questions and was easily swayed with vague answers. Peter was 90% sure that Happy reported back to Mr. Stark about anything concerning though, so it was best that the blood was no longer on his face, and that he already reset his nose.

Only, when he actually got into the black Sudan waiting for him in the very back of the parking lot, Happy was not the one in the driver's seat.

“Tony? What are you doing here?” Peter asked in a sort of hushed whisper as said driver began to pull away from the school.

“Pep mentioned that you’re gonna go see your aunt. Figured I’d accompany you. Why’re you late?”

“Had to ask Mrs. Warren a question on the page limit for my make-up paper.” Peter smoothly recited the words that had been on repeat in his head since he thought them up. He wasn’t that great at lying, but if he had something prepared beforehand, he was better at it.

Tony looked into Peter’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, raising his eyebrows. Peter didn’t comment on it, instead looking back at him in the mirror. If Peter backed down, then Tony would ask if something happened, and if Tony asked if something happened then Peter would have to tell him because he's not good at making up a lie on the spot, and if Tony figured out what was happening, then he’d interfere, and if he interfered then Flash would just pick on someone else and then everyone would know that he's basically Tony’s son but it wasn’t like they weren’t going to find that out soon anyway because the field trip was coming up and oh shit the field trip Peter still had to get that form signed but he really didn’t want to go on the trip anyway because– 

“Alright, Underoos,” Peter groaned at the nickname, as he did whenever it was uttered. Tony turned his eyes back to the road. “Whatever you say.”

Peter was honestly not expecting Tony to not question him. Maybe it was because of the whole not-backing-down thing. But at the very least, they were past the lie and Peter could smoothly interact with his kinda-sorta-definitely-father-figure-mentor-person. 

There was silence for a stifling few seconds, to which Peter shuffled in his seat. The reason why Tony was here instead of Happy was beginning to settle on his shoulders uncomfortably. Tony was going with him to see Aunt May.

In the beginning, Peter visited May–or at least tried too–every day. But over time, those daily visits dwindled down to weekly, then somehow even weekly visits were knocked down to every-other week. Then every month. It wasn’t like Peter didn’t enjoy visiting his aunt, because he did! He loved his aunt more than anything else in the world, including science and Spider-man. But the thing was, when you are waiting for an answer that never seems to come, or an uncomfortable revelation that won’t make itself clear, you tend to avoid things. And so Peter started avoiding Aunt May. It would be the first time in two months that Peter would visit May, and Peter was worried about it.

“Are you sure you want to come with me?” Peter questioned in a low tone, not quite trusting his voice to be stable any higher than that. The topic of his aunt always made his voice become weak, unstable.

“Of course, kid. I wouldn’t pass up a chance to visit Aunt Hottie.”

“It kills me that you still call her that after all this time.” Peter mumbled as he leaned back in his seat, preferring to stare out the window than at the driver. Tony was currently peering at him through the rear view mirror again.

“You and I both know that I boost her self esteem with it.” Tony looked back toward the road, where he made a right turn instead of where they usually would go straight. It was odd, taking a different route than usual. It almost gave Peter whiplash, until he remembered what they were talking about.

“Yeah, right. I don’t know what lie you’re living, but she totally clocked you in the face because of that.”

“No, I distinctly remember that she hit me because of the fact that you had almost died the night before.” Mr. Stark’s Voice was an odd combination of definite seriousness and barely concealed laughter. They all learned to laugh about that night, mostly because it felt better than lamenting about the fact that Peter had gotten shot somewhere between eight and fifteen times and had his heart stop beating twice while in surgery. Peter has since learned to avoid gang-related things and leave that to Natasha and Clint to deal with. They loved breaking up gangs together. It was like a weird best-friend-bonding thing for them. Peter didn’t ask. 

“Okay fair point. But it was after you called her ‘Aunt Hottie.’” 

The two science-loving nerds continued their debate against the term of ‘Aunt Hottie,’ and if Peter could say, he was definitely winning. Mostly because of the whole ‘Tony is my father figure and is not allowed to think my aunt is hot. Also you have a WIFE.’

In what seemed like no time at all, the two ended up sitting in the car in the hospital parking lot. It was the one that May worked at, as she had said she wanted to be in if anything bad ever happened to her. Technically, she was a patient there, but Tony brought in his own doctors and specialists to help her. They were on his payroll, not the hospitals.

“You ready, kid?” Tony asked, putting his hand on the back of the passenger seat headrest, twisting his body to look at Peter completely. He was currently putting his backpack back onto his shoulders. Internally, Peter hoped that he didn’t notice the residual amounts of blood on his flannel.

Instead, Peter took a deep breath and hummed in agreement. Peter’s hand rested on the handle, but he didn’t open the door. “I wish I thought to grab her flowers or something.”

Like magic, Tony leaned over and grabbed something from the front seat. He held it up, showing a bouquet of very beautiful yellow roses, orange daisies, pink peonies, and white baby’s breath. “Already covered.”

Peter let a smile creep onto his face. Not a large one, as large ones were impossible when sitting in a hospital parking lot about to visit a patient that had no recent ‘good news.’ He looked from the flowers to Tony, then back again, and finally opened the door. “Let’s go, then.”

The two hiked through the sea of cars in silence, flowers now in Peter’s hands. Nobody reacted to them as they entered. Either because it was silently agreed upon to not bother celebrities in hospitals, or no one noticed that Tony Stark just walked in, Peter didn’t know. Mr. Stark wasn’t super recognizable in public if he kept to regular street clothes and didn’t wear sunglasses. He was doing both, currently.

The pair signed in at the front desk, then began the journey to the elevators and up to the eleventh floor of the hospital. As they were waiting in the elevator, Peter could tell that his heart rate was spiking. 

He was nervous. Of course he was nervous! He hadn’t actually seen his aunt in months, and here he was, about to walk in like that gap of time never even happened. He vaguely wondered if May would forgive him for something like this. Ever since he was little, the two were never really apart for that long. There was that one time in elementary school where he went to a summer camp that lasted two weeks, and it overlapped when May had the opportunity to volunteer with this medical group that went to poorer areas in Europe to help with healthcare. They ended up not seeing each other for a month, but they would call at least every week. But this was different. Extremely different.

The guilt was going to eat him up inside. Peter barely even noticed the elevator opening.

“It’s going to be alright, Pete.” Tony placed his hand on Peter’s back, hoping to comfort him. “She’ll be happy to see you. I can feel it.”

“I know…” Peter breathed out in a huff. The two exited the elevator and began their walk down the hallway. They both knew the route by heart. Go straight. Second right you come across. Then left at the next hallway. Pass through the ward door. Go straight again until another left. After one last right, the door to Aunt May’s room would be at the very end of the hallway on the right. “I just haven’t seen her in a while.”

“She’ll forgive you. You got a life that’s not only her, and things that you need to be held accountable for. In all honesty, I think she’d be happy that you aren’t being so hung up on her like you were in the beginning.”

“I’m not ‘hung up’ on her. I’m worried about her and I love her.” 

“Just because you haven’t visited in a while doesn’t mean that you don’t still care about her. Sometimes it’s better to wait for a while, to get some space. For the both of you.” 

“Yeah, but still. If I were in her position—”

“Save it. You would want her to live her life out in the world, not stuck with you in the hospital every single minute of freetime she had.”

“That…” Peter’s grip on the flowers loosened. He hoped he didn’t accidentally crush the stems. “Is a fair point.”

They had made it to room 1132, May’s current place of residency. Tony took his hand off of Peter’s shoulder and onto the doorknob. “You’ll be okay.”

Peter merely nodded, both as an answer to Tony’s statement and the go-ahead to open the door. He was secretly glad that he didn’t have to do it himself.

Light poured in from the uncovered windows as they entered the room. The door squeaked as it opened, and again as it closed. The hinges either needed to be oiled or replaced. A constant beeping was the first thing that Peter heard (the rooms here were mostly soundproof, and Peter wasn’t straining his hearing beforehand). The next thing he heard was the steady, familiar heartbeat of Aunt May, sounding in time to the beep of the machine. It was a calm rhythm, one that he was glad to hear beat in his head again. 

Aunt May lay in her hospital bed, eyes closed, body slightly upright from the position of the bed. She had an IV line in her arm, and currently had a feeding tube up her nose. The last time he was here, she didn’t have one of those, but he trusted the doctors that Tony staffed to keep May in the best contion possible.

“Hey, Aunt May,” Peter greeted into a silent room, like always. He moved toward the bedside table, where an empty vase was waiting. He placed the flowers down on the table, then picked up the vase. “Tony, can you fill this?”

Mr. Stark did not vocally reply. Instead, he merely walked forward and took the vace from Peter’s hand. Peter nodded, then turned to the small armchairs that were sitting underneath the window. In a few steps, he reached them. He picked one of them up and moved it so that it was next to the bed in which May laid.

Before sitting down, Peter pulled his backpack off his shoulders. He set it down next to the armchair. With a quick look, he saw that Tony was done with the flowers. Peter hummed in questioning, to which Tony responded to with what sounded like an equally convoluted hum. Peter knew Tony, however, and interpreted this hum as a yes to his non-vocal question: ‘do you want me to bring a chair over for you too?’

Peter did the same to the second armchair as he did to the first. He set it down next to the first one, as he didn’t feel like being too far away from Tony at the moment. The two sat down, their respective jobs completed.

It was too silent in the room.

Peter took one of Aunt May’s thinning hands into his own. She was cold, but not the kind of cold that made you flinch and draw back. It was May’s personal kind of cold. She always had cold hands. Peter used to rub them in between his own two hands to attempt to warm them up when he was younger before holding hands with her. That didn’t matter now.

“I’m sorry I haven’t come to visit in awhile, May,” Peter whispered to his comatose aunt, feeling his eyes start to water. “I’m not gonna say I forgot or anything. I still think about you basically every day. It’s just… hard. I know that sounds incredibly selfish coming from me, but it’s the truth.” Peter stopped for a moment, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

“I brought you flowers, Aunt Hottie,” Tony piped up when he saw his kid having a hard time. “Pepper picked them out. Well, technically I picked the bouquet, but Pep picked the colors. She knew that you liked orange and pink and yellow and whatnot. I figured you wouldn’t enjoy an entire-ass arrangement, so this is what you get.” Tony gestured to the table, as if Aunt May could see his hand and what he was pointing to. 

“You did good,” Peter cuckold. “May loves daisies. And roses. Especially yellow ones.” 

“Pep loves pink roses. More than red ones, actually. I once tried to be clever and gave her yellow roses, because yellow was her favorite color at the time, and roses are her favorite flower of course, without knowing the meaning.”

“You gave Pepper a friendship rose?”

“Yeah, and I got hell for it. I did like… five hours of flower research after that so I wouldn’t mess up again.”

Peter let himself chuckle at Tony’s failure, smoothing his thumb over Aunt May’s hand. This was nice. Not as nice as it would have been to actually talk to May, but nice enough to exist in her presence. Being able to hear the heartbeats of the two adults he trusted (i.e. loved) more than anything else in this world was comforting in ways that Peter couldn’t even begin to describe. He missed this. Hell, he missed Aunt May in general. And he still would, after today. He always would, until she finally woke up.

If she woke up.

Peter coughed, a small thing to clear his throat of the lump growing there. He paused afterward, searching for words to say when none of them felt right. Usually he would talk about his day, or week, and any fun highlights. Sometimes he talked about Spider-manning, like how many cats he saved or if an old lady gave him something to eat again. Peter liked to stay away from the more dangerous topics of his superheroing, mostly because they always worried Aunt May. They weren’t sure if she could even hear them, but if she could, Peter did not want to worry her in any way. 

Well, maybe a funny kind of worry would be okay?

“I fell asleep in Physics again a few weeks back,” Peter started, to which he earned a snort from Mr. Stark. He could feel the other’s eyes on him, a question in his gaze, almost as if to say ‘that’s the story you start with?’ He didn’t mind.

“It wasn’t that bad. I mean, I got into trouble of course, because I fell asleep in class. It wasn’t because of Spider-man or anything! I just didn’t get a good night’s sleep beforehand. And I know what you’d say, that I shouldn’t stay up on my phone into ungodly hours of the night. But I was trying to sleep, I promise! Sometimes it just doesn’t work out, ya know?” Peter smoothed his hand over Aunt May’s, recognizing the fact that he got far away from the original point he was trying to make. “Anyway, I got assigned a paper about Quantum Consciousness, even though I know for a fact that we aren’t going to cover that at all this year. I’ve read the textbook. I think Mrs. Warren chose that because she didn’t want me to write a paper on something I already know a lot about, like momentum-based physics and other quantum stuff. I guess technically Quantum Consciousness is still in my wheelhouse, since it's basically about a quantum-mechanical phenomena – entanglement and superposition – and how that might play an important part of brain function and explaining consciousness and stuff. It’s really interesting, actually. I think I might’ve actually dipped into Quantum Reality too, and obviously the Quantum Mind because that goes hand in hand with Quantum Consciousness. Most people – including a lot of the scientists that have written papers on this – think it’s just another word for Quantum Consciousness, but it's actually slightly different? Like…”

Peter began to explain the gist of his paper, content to just sit and talk to May. He did this a lot, really, even when she wasn’t in a coma because of a unlucky head injury that should have been fixed fine with one surgery, but then that surgery had complications and they found cancer and now Aunt May is lying asleep, dying, and Peter was spewing things about quantum theory to her unconscious form. 

It wasn’t that different to when he usually talked about Physics or Chemistry or Engineering to his aunt, considering that she had no idea what was going on anyway, or what he was saying. Not that she was stupid in any way, it was just that she was more knowledgeable about Biology and Medical Science. Aunt May was incredibly smart, but didn’t understand Physics that well.

The first time that Peter had gotten into Physics was a stark memory. He found an old Physics book in the library one day, put back in the wrong section. Instead of being in the science section, it somehow got mixed in with the Action-Adventure. It looked interesting, so Peter took it back to his little chair in the corner of the library and cracked it open.

He didn’t understand most of it at first, but he was intrigued. There wasn’t any going back for little seven-year-old Peter. He’d already been learning about Chemistry, mostly because he wanted to nail his science fair and ended up getting hooked on the ideas found in the science. When he started showing more and more intelligence in both scientific fields, reading far beyond what a normal kid should have been able to understand, Uncle Ben and Aunt May realized they had a little genius on their hands. It was a nice memory, or memories, going to the library with one or both of them to read about more and more scientific concepts. 

But that was the past, and the now was Peter talking about theories and concepts in Physics to a dying aunt with one of the best scientific minds in the world beside him.

“...So, I mean, I guess it’s good I fell asleep? Then I probably would’ve never branched out into research of the theoretical mind in Physics, and it’s actually really interesting. I guess it’s good that I’m literally going on a field trip to Stark Industries, then, because I wouldn’t have had a sleepless night without overhearing about that, and then I wouldn’t have fallen asleep, and so on and so forth, ya know?” Peter finished, taking a deep breath, laughing a little huff of a thing. 

“Speaking of which,” Mr. Stark decided to pipe up, having been silent for the entirety of Peter’s little scientific speal. “You still haven’t brought me the permission slip.”

Peter blanked. He turned to Tony, a blank yet sheepish look on his face. He smiled, more of a grimace really, and started hunching down in his seat. “I… forgot?” 

Tony gave Peter the Look, the one that meant ‘I don’t believe you for a single second.’ His arms were crossed, eyebrows were slightly raised, head tilted down, and if he was wearing sunglasses, he would have been peeking over the frames. “Oh really? You just happened to forget about it until two weeks before the field trip?” Tony pressed, leaning forward and uncrossing his arms.

“Okay I promise I actually forgot about it, but I was planning on talking about it tonight at dinner. Promise.” Peter took his hand away from Aunt May’s, bringing them up in a placating manner. 

Then Mr. Stark did something that made Peter’s anxiety spike. It was a few moments before it actually happened, his Spidey-Sense tingling in the back of his head a small Danger, danger! Tony leaned down, hands reaching for Peter’s backpack. The mechanic thought nothing of it. He had grabbed Peter’s bag many times before, and never was Peter hiding something.

But today, Peter was indeed hiding something: a blood-soaked blue jumper. 

Peter quickly leaned down and grabbed the bag himself, as it was sitting on the floor by his chair. It was between the two of them, but Peter was ever-so-slightly closer, so it was easier for the enhanced teen to grab it. He pulled it into his lap, trying to make his movements natural and unbothered. He forced his hands to still, to not give away any anxiety he felt. It was in this moment that Peter was insanely lucky that Tony didn’t have super-hearing; Peter’s heart was beating out of control.

In a fluid movement, Peter reached into his bag to grab his Physics folder and his pencil case. He zipped his bag closed again with inhuman speed, hoping to keep Mr. Stark from seeing the bloody inside. He got the paper out of the folder in silence, not looking up at Tony. He did the same with his pencil case, grabbing a black pen that was the brand he knew Tony liked (it was a Waterman Paris pen, a whopping $87 per pen, and the only reason why he had it in his pencil case was because Tony slipped it in there three months ago when he thought Peter wasn’t looking). Peter all but shoved the permission slip and pen in Tony’s direction, to which he got a confused stare back at him.

“You wanted to sign it?” Peter stated, even though it rang out more like a question. There was a question in Tony’s eyes as well, but he thankfully didn’t voice it, instead taking the paper and signing his signature at the bottom.

Peter took a moment to look at the signature before putting it back in his bag. Thankfully, Tony had used the elongated form of the signature, which looked much more elegant and wasn’t popular with the public. This form was more for private business deals (and apparently permission slips for teenagers) than it was for signing autographs or big, important deals that the public knew about and scrutinized the paperwork for. 

Peter let out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding, then returned both the permission slip and pen into his bag. “I’m… actually pretty glad that’s over with. Not that I’m glad I have to go on the field trip – quite the opposite actually. I do not want to go on this trip.”

“Why not? It’ll be fun! You can show off to those sticky little peers of yours and have a grand ol’ time touring the facilities you don’t usually see.” Tony crossed his arms again, but it looked more relaxed then it did before. Not that it wasn’t tense; Peter could see the slightest bit of stress weighing on Tony’s shoulders. It was likely because of Peter’s odd behavior with his bag (that Mr. Stark wasn’t questioning for some reason, which was weird).

“Yeah, but because of Ned, everyone thinks I have an internship—”

“You do have an internship with me.”

“Don’t interrupt. They think I have an internship with Stark Industries as a whole, not Tony Freaking Stark Himself, so I’d probably run coffee for overworked, tired, slightly crazed scientists or college students that are actual scientific interns. But I don’t. No one really knows me at SI – well, no one that we’ll probably see. It’s not like we’re going to be going up to the higher labs where I pop in on occasion when I’m bored and they’re stuck.” Peter paused, looking at Tony’s dangerously smirking face. “Wait. We aren’t going there are we?”

“How should I know? I don’t run the tours.”

“Yeah, but you’re you and this is my tour. You’re going to interfere somehow, I just know it. Tell me I’m wrong. And remember that I can hear your heart and it speeds up when you lie.”

“I actually don’t have any plans to interrupt your little trip. I just think it’s funny that you’re touring the building where you spend 80% of your time.” Peter strained his ears to listen to Tony’s heart more closely, but the rhythm didn’t change from what it was before. So either Tony wasn’t lying, or he was telling a half-truth that Peter would soon come to absolutely regret not calling out. 

Peter, instead of saying anything else, threw his head back and let it drape over the edge of his chair. It was highly uncomfortable, the plastic back digging into his skin in a way that he was not happy about. It was alright though, because this position meant that he wasn’t looking at Mr. Stark, and he was still costing off of the anxiety of the idea of Tony seeing the bloodied sweater.

The questions about it would be disastrous. He had kept the fact that he was bullied – relentlessly at that – under tight lock and key for two and a half years. He really didn’t need the secret to be blowing out, especially not now after the two of them had bonded so heavily. He didn’t want to even think about what Tony would do to Flash if he found out that he was hurting Peter.

“Anyway…” Peter trailed off, trying to think of something else to talk about. Twenty minutes of talking about science didn’t seem like long enough. It didn’t feel right, to only be here for that short period of time. He knew, though, that he had to think of something that would wrap this up quickly. His nose may look fine now with the makeup he applied, but the swelling would really kick into gear in another hour or so. “Oh!” 

Peter straightened back up in his seat, turning back to his Aunt May. He grabbed her hand again, then proceeded to go into way less detail than normal  about the earbuds he was recreating. He prattled on for a good thirty minutes, Mr. Stark interjected at points where he saw fit. 

It was nice, the conversation. It was more of a monologue, a story, then a conversation, but Peter was happy. He had Tony and May, and that was enough for now.

Chapter Text

Peter stared at the reflection in the mirror that scowled back at him. He leaned forward to get a better angle, gripping the sink tightly. He was scrutinizing his nose and the makeup applied to it. 

It had been almost a week since Johnson broke it, and there wasn’t any more lingering swelling. Peter released his right hand from the sink and gently traced his fingers along the bridge of his nose. With the color correction, it looked as though his face was completely healed. Which was essential, because no one but Betty knew that he had actually broken it instead of just some bruising.

It was fine. Tony didn't need to know about it. 

After it happened, all Tony saw was some redness on the face of a kid who was talking to his comatose aunt. Once Peter got his mask on that night, he told Karen that he had just tripped into the floor face first, successfully smoothing over any suspicions about the bruising the next morning.

The break would be healed completely by tomorrow anyway. It wasn't important. 

That day after Mrs. Warren accidentally outed his status as a foster kid, the bruising was terrible. It had taken a while to shift, but he was glad he thought of the excuse he gave Karen the night prior. Overnight became swollen with black bruising crawling from the bridge over to his left eye. 

Splotchy purple settled into his eyebags, puffy and annoyed. Peter covered up most of it with makeup, then slapped on some sunglasses and his mentor’s fancy earbuds (he was so close to getting them replicated right) and called it good. Since Peter did this somewhat regularly due to his senses, Tony didn’t bat an eye at it. He didn't see the swollen skin lurking behind the glasses.

When he had to take them off due to school policy? Flash basically squealed with glee.

Peter gripped the side of the sink, trying to force himself into the present. Taking a deep breath in, he lowered his head so he wasn’t staring at his nose anymore. 

Flash was incredibly jubilant at the sight of Peter’s bruised nose. There wasn’t much Peter could do for it that first day, with all of the swelling involved. He put on a bit of color corrector, not too much to make it disappear completely though. With the puffiness, it would have looked unnatural. 

He almost wishes he did it anyway. 

Flash wouldn’t stop staring at it. Johnson didn’t either, but at least he looked like he was admiring his handiwork. Both of them kept trying to get better angels of it, committing it to memory. They got all of their friends into it, and by the end of the day, everyone who apparently craved violence stared at Peter’s bruises. 

The memory of that– what? satisfaction? triumph?– in Flash’s eyes made a shiver rush down Peter’s spine. Those words weren’t enough to describe how Flash stared at Peter’s swollen face. It was bad enough that even Betty had noticed that something was off. She had smiled softly to Peter in their shared class–the only one that he didn’t share with Ned and MJ–and gave her best glare to any guys in the class that tried to take any steps toward him.

He was glad she didn’t seem to notice the difference in Flash and Johnson’s gaze. How the ladder held himself with confidence, with pride at his work. How the former’s eyes glazed sick with greed, with want. An indescribable– 

Hunger . Flash looked hungry.

Peter gagged into the sink, coughing some saliva up and down the drain. He turned on the faucet, then dragged his hoodie sleeve over his lips. His nose was fine now. Peter lifted his head and stared at his cover-up job once again. There was no indication there was any more bruising with the makeup, even though it hadn’t even been a week since it was broken.  

He reached down and let his fingertips lay in the icy stream of water. Peter took several deep breaths, steadying his racing heart. He turned off the water with his dry hand, then brought his wet one up to his forehead. Peter tried not to think about the warmth there. The water cooled the heat of his emotions. 

Enough time has passed by now, Peter thought. He grabbed his backpack off the floor and dug inside of it for the piece of paper that he needed. Once it was clutched in his hand, he swung the bag over his shoulder. 

He exited the bathroom cautiously, peeking his head out before actually leaving. Never mind that most students would have cleared the hallways by now. 

Peter really did not need to chance Flash and his gang seeing him turn in his permission form. 

Tony had signed it with his perfect, elongated signature. It wasn't one that he commonly used in the public eye; this was reserved for private business and law documents. The whole full first name, middle initial, and last name all squished together in one loop. The cursive was tight, the letters melted together, but the tail end of the K was still distinctive. Peter didn't think Tony knew how to write his name without doing the exaggerated line on the end of his signature, no matter which of the three versions he used. He always did it. This signature was no different. 

Flash would notice it. 

The knowledge poked at his lungs, settled hard under his diaphragm. Each breath was labor. Peter knew that Flash could take one look at the signature and just know that it was a genuine Tony Stark autograph. 

Or at least, the poor approximation of one. Flash would point out how The Tony Stark never signed his full legal name. It was always TS or Tony Stark, none of this Anthony E Stark business. 

But that was what it was: the business signature. Of course Flash would never have seen that specific one before, so he would take the opportunity to absolutely rail on Peter. Then by sunset, everyone in the school district would know that Peter apparently tried to forge Tony Stark’s autograph for his foster parent signature for a field trip form to Stark Industries. 

By sunset, Mr. Stark would know that Flash was bullying him.

This absolutely could not happen. If Tony knew what was happening, then he would do something to fix it. Something to fix it most definitely meant some sort of physical harm to Flash himself to begin with. Then Tony would probably try his very best to ban him from all the reputable colleges that he had sway in (which was a lot, surprisingly). This would, in turn, see him blacklisted from several companies and jobs as well. 

Not to mention what Pepper would do. If she found out the extent to which Flash and his goons ganged up on Peter, he was sure that at least an assault charge would be permanently burned onto all their records. Flash himself would be hard pressed to see the outside of a jail cell by his twenty-first birthday.

The thing was, Peter understood that Flash did this for attention. At least, his original goal was to make his parents look at him. He reveled in the popularity it earned him now. Not to mention that hunger in his eyes that had started appearing more frequently as his want for violence grew. If Flash couldn't get the attention at home, the boy would substitute with his peers in any way he could. 

And the best way to do that was to find someone other , someone hated, then hate them the best. 

Peter used to be a scrawny, glasses wearing, asthmatic kid obsessed with science, nerdy shows, and fantasy books. That was enough to put him low on the rungs of the social ladder. 

With his awkward disposition and nerdy interests, few people got close enough to him to know his predisposition to physics, biochemistry, and mechanical engineering. Flash picked on him, sure, but it was spread out among the several other nerdy kids that Peter sat in solidarity with. That was how he met Ned.

Then at the first science fair Peter and Flash competed against each other, Peter had won first place. He spent a week putting together his project with dumpster finds, yet he went away with a blue ribbon. Flash, with his expensive equipment and month long completion time, had gotten saddled with second. When Flash’s parents finally showed up after the award ceremony was done, they commented on how good Peter’s experiment looked. They said nothing else to Flash, barely looked at him, before they left. 

Peter steadfastly believed this is when he became The Target. 

Before that, Peter was just in the unfortunate group of people that Flash and his friends picked on. It was too slow of a shift at first, but eventually Peter realized that the other kids that sat with him at lunch slowly but surely stopped sitting with him. He watched as everyone but Ned got integrated into different friend grounds, all as Flash’s attention turned heavily on poor orphan Penis Parker.

Over the years, Peter’s conviction to silence wavered several times. Flash's words became sharper, his pushes shifted to much harder fists, and his cronies joined by the handful. Peter almost confessed about being bullied to Uncle Ben.

Then Peter got bit, and everything changed. 

Now, Peter was the strong one. He healed quickly, so could take more punches. His superior reflexes and Danger Warning System allowed him time to mentally prepare for each attack. As Flash ramped up his bullying, it seemed like it was something only Peter could handle. Spider-man could withstand rallies of blows from criminals. The boy behind the mask could handle getting punched in the halls sometimes. 

Then Uncle Ben died, and everything seemed like something Peter deserved. 

It had gotten out of his hands, and this point. Peter was in too deep. He was The Target, caged by the mask he created of the perfect victim. Flash grew bolder, more territorial, until this aftermath where he salivated at Peter’s wounds. 

As Peter opened the door to Mrs. Warren’s classroom, he thought that maybe Tony knowing wasn't the worst idea in the world. Peter didn’t know what would happen if Flash continued down this path of violence. It might be coming to the point where it was only beneficial for Flash to have some intervention. 

Mrs. Warren looked up from the papers on her desk as Peter walked it. He swallowed, throat dry, as he made his way over to her.

“I have— the, you know.” Peter stuttered. He held out the permission form toward her. The paper was wrinkled from his too-tight grip. 

“Thank you, Peter.” His teacher put down her pen and reached for the permission slip. She had a small, strained smile on her face. Peter didn’t miss how her eyes flicked down to his barely-there bruises. 

She stared down at it for a few seconds, not saying anything. The pressure in Peter’s chest was building and building until he found himself worried that Mrs. Warren might think it was a fake as well. Before he knew it, Peter blurted out, “You can check the signature against the ones from him in the front office.”

Mrs. Warren looked back up at Peter, her smile a little less strained. “Not a problem, Peter. Just checking everything was in order.”

Peter wisely didn’t mention how she didn’t do this for any of the other students. Peter was obviously a special case already, with having a guardian signature from someone not even related to him. Mrs. Warren went back to looking at the paper for a few more moments.

“Alright,” She moved to file the paper with the rest of the permission slips. She turned back toward Peter as she smoothed over the wrinkled paper. “How is that extra paper coming along? I need it by tomorrow.”

“Oh! Sorry,” Peter swung his bag to his front. He dug around for a moment before finding the appropriate folder. Once acquired, he pulled out his fifteen page essay and offered it to her. “Have that too.” 

“So thick!” Mrs. Warren’s smile turned more into a smirk as she took it from his hands. “Did the topic run away from you?”

“No ma’am,” Peter shook his head. “Just a lot of information, is all.”

The teacher nodded, placing this one on her desk to the side. She would likely read it later. Mrs. Warren then settled Peter with a long look, letting the silence permeate in the room. The back of Peter’s neck started sweating. He swore that she was staring at his nose instead of his eyes. But with all the students that had been doing it, Peter was worried he was only imagining it. 

“Is there anything else you need from me?” She finally said in a low, soft voice, as if she was discussing a secret.

That made Peter want to crumble a little, actually. She was still looking at his nose. 

Peter knew that the teachers were probably aware of Flash's bullying. There really wasn’t any way around them not knowing. If a student was getting jumped by other students on a semi-regular basis in the locker rooms, halls, bathrooms, cafeteria, and classrooms, there was little way that they couldn’t know. Flash was good at keeping the beat downs in secluded areas, but he still tripped Peter up and spouted miserable shit at him in view of the teachers. Plus, Midtown was a technology-based school. They had cameras.

“No, Mrs. Warren.” Peter breathed out. 

Legally, teachers were mandatory reporters. If they saw something, they had to say something. 

But a half-assed question on if he needed anything from Mrs. Warren? That could mean anything! Was that really the best she could do, to ease her conscience about breaking the law and letting Flash’s treatment of Peter slide? If the teacher’s wouldn’t directly say or do anything, Peter figured it was a good play to do the same. The authorities in this school were basically paid by Mr. Thompson, so why would they interfere with his son? 

Hm. Maybe telling someone really was the wrong move. After all, if the teachers were content to let everything slide, why shouldn’t Peter? They obviously didn't think that the treatment of one person warranted disciplinary action. They probably would interfere if it became too detrimental to Flash’s mental health anyway. They probably cared about what happened to him.

Mrs. Warren was quiet for a few more seconds. Peter shifted his feet. “Okay. You’re free to go.”

Peter didn’t need to be told twice. He turned on the balls of his feet and made his way quickly to the door.

“Peter,” Unfortunately, Mrs. Warren continued in her bad habit of letting Peter go, then calling him back. “Just know if that changes, if you need anything—”

“I know you have to say that, Mrs. Warren,” Peter gave her an out immediately, hand on the doorknob. So close to freedom from this awkward conversation. “Thank you, though.”

He wanted to drop this as much as she did. She wouldn't actually want to talk with him if she had to do this weird ritual of dismissing him only to call him back again. 

Peter heard a sigh from behind him. 

“See you next class,” She finally said. “And thank you for turning your papers in.”

Peter gave a half-hearted ‘you’re welcome’ hum before he was pushing the door open and fleeing into the hallway. He didn’t want to be in that tension filled room for another second. 

Unfortunately for Peter, going out into the hallway was not the end of tension. As soon as he took a few steps away from the door, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. His Spidey-Senses started blaring danger!! danger!! in a completely unignorable cacophony. 

Peter couldn’t help but tense with his entire body. He couldn’t see anyone in the hallway, but that didn’t mean that no one was around. When at school, the only time that his Spidey-Senses tingled like this was when Flash was around. 

Just as soon as he thought that, the boy in question rounded the corner with several of his goon friends.

Honestly, Peter wasn’t that proud of what he did next. He turned on the ball of his foot and started fucking running. 

The heavy sound of three footfalls behind him told him that Flash and his friends were following. Peter didn’t really care that much about that at the moment, too keyed up from his sixth sense to really do any critical decision making. The only thoughts that were going through his head consisted of ‘run, run, rUN RUN’ and ‘thank fuck he didn’t find me until after I turned in my papers.’

By the time that Peter had turned the corner of the hallway and was almost out of this wing of the building, he realized that normally, Peter Parker was not able to outrun the three fittest boys in his year.

And yeah, that wasn’t really saying much, considering how unfit Flash actually was. But the boy did weight training, and the other two were actually on one of Midtown’s few sport teams. 

Peter forced himself to slow down, despite every cell in his body telling him that was the absolute wrong choice. Most of the reason that Flash was actually able to hurt Peter was because he let him, but his Spidey-Sense and anxiety didn’t know that. All it knew was that every time those kids cornered him with the intention to cause pain, they succeeded, and therefore the little survival instinct that Peter had left screamed at him to get the fuck out.

He may have trained himself out of that for the majority of the villains he faced, but apparently not for his stupid high school bully.

Somebody crashed into Peter’s back, tackling him to the floor. His limbs splayed out in every direction as his chin hit the floor with a loud smack.

“As if you could ever get away from us, you loveless freak.” Flash sneered. His feet entered Peter’s limited field of vision.

“Maybe I just wanted to try my hand at cardio.” Peter couldn’t help but quip. He was rewarded with Flash stepping on his fingers and grinding his shoe into them. Peter groaned and winced as was appropriate. He didn’t think about how his fingers throbbed with pain after Flash stopped.

“Get his bag,” Flash demanded of the kid on top of him. Since Peter’s face was effectively squished into the floor, he had no way of knowing which one it was. “I have a feeling the poor little orphan boy actually has something worth my while in there.”

Peter’s arms were haphazardly moved so that his bag could be taken off of his back. He laid there quite passively, he thought, as he heard them rifling through it. Thankfully, he wasn’t carrying anything incriminating anymore. The signed form was turned in, as was his high level research paper, and Peter wasn’t in the habit of carrying his Spider-man suit in there anymore.

The only things he wished that Flash wouldn’t find were the expensive pen that Tony insisted that Peter keep and the noise cancelling headphones. He never went through Peter’s pencil case, though, so the pen was probably safe. The headphones were in a small separate pocket, and that wasn’t a place that Flash would likely go looking. 

No, by previous experiences and the sound of ruffling papers, the stupid idiot was just stealing his homework.

This wasn’t necessarily a common occurrence, but it definitely happened more often than Peter would care to admit. Flash understood that Peter was smarter than him, so he did his best to combat that. Granted, his best was stealing Peter’s work and passing it off as his own instead of just studying and working hard, but his best was still his best.

“Let's see… I’ll be taking this definitely. And this, why not, saves me the work,” Flash narrated as he flipped through Peter’s folders. “Useless, useless, useless, ah! That’s what I’m looking for.”

As Flash kept talking, more and more papers joined Peter on the floor. He tried to lift his head to see what they were to start the elimination process of what Flash was actually taking. At the first sign of moment, though, the boy on his back pushed his hand against Peter’s head and made it stay down. Peter groaned, his mostly healed nose smarting as it was squashed against the cold floor.

After most of the contents of Peter’s backpack was strewn on the floor, the sound of ripping fabric echoed through the hall. 

Peter’s heart plummeted to the bottom of his gut, which rolled with a flash of nausea. This was so much fucking worse than Flash stealing his homework. That, Peter could redo. By the increasingly violent sound of ripping fabric, by the end of Flash’s stunt his bag would be ruined.

“No, wait, wait wait, stop! Don’t—” Peter tried to plead. All that it got him was a nasty kick to the ribs and high, teasing laughter.

Peter couldn’t help the tears that began welling in his eyes. How could someone be so cruel? Peter thought that his bag would be safe if he just took better care of it. Flash had never once destroyed his bag. Why would he start now that Peter actually had an emotional attachment to this one

Considering the rate at which Peter went through backpacks, usually this wouldn’t be hitting him that hard. Thanks to either losing it while on patrol, or by his own idiotic tendencies in the lab, he flew through several every few months.

But not with this bag.

This backpack was the last one that May was able to buy for him. After she collapsed, Peter vowed to be careful with this one. He didn’t stop using it, because Aunt May was always a practical woman, but he did take special care of it. He never brought it into the lab anymore. HIs incredibly decreased patrols as Spider-man helped with theft, but he also always went back home to change if was patrolling after school.

And Flash was now tearing it apart. 

“What? Poor little Penis too broke to buy another one?” Johnson, from the left of Peter’s head, sneered. Flash laughed a little maniacally at that.

“My aunt—” Peter found himself trying to explain. Maybe these kids weren’t dead inside and he could try to get them to just stop. “She got it for me before— please, stop. ”

The mangled corpse of the bag fell beside his head. The zippers were completely detached, the straps in shreds, and there were several holes in the body of the pockets. Even a gifted tailor would find it near impossible to try to repair that kind of damage. 

“Aww, his second dead mommy bought it for him!” Flash sneered. “Well, now it’s just as dead as she is. It’s what she would have wanted. Why would she want a sniffling, bratty, fuckface like you to hold onto anything of hers? She would be glad it’s destroyed.”

Peter couldn’t help but sob. An indescribable mix of range and sorrow coursed through him like a crashing, violent river. He half-heartedly struggled against the two hundred pounds on top of him. He knew he could get up if he wanted to, but the broken and shattered pieces inside of him just wanted to lay there and take it.

There were more sounds of ruffling papers; Flash was putting away the stolen work into his own bag. Peter could do nothing but stare at his own bag, torn and broken on the floor.

“Let’s bounce,” Flash laughed. “Don’t want another repeat of last time so soon.”

Bodybuilder finally released Peter, getting off of his back and standing. Peter just stayed laying on the floor.

Peter waited to move, staying still until he could no longer hear their footsteps. It gave him enough time to stop the tears from leaking out of his eyes. Slowly, he picked himself off of the floor and knelt by the disaster that was now his bag. As gently as he possibly could, he brought it into his lap.

Honestly, this was the worst thing that they had done to him yet. Yeah, he should probably have thought that times like when Flash and his goon’s broke his nose were worse. Those didn’t have the emotional devastation element that Peter was experiencing this time, though. The beat downs had gotten commonplace. Peter could logic his way out of those like a champion.

He could not logic his way out of them destroying the last backpack Aunt May had bought for him.

With the bag still in his lap, Peter began to sort through the mess of papers on the floor. He returned what notes and homework he still had to their proper folders, cataloging what was missing. 

Flash had taken his half-done calculus homework, his finished Spanish worksheet, and the notes he started for the upcoming History project. Three out of six classes wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t the end of the world either. That title was saved for the heap of fabric scraps in his lap.

As he sorted his contents of his bag into neat little piles, Peter heard footsteps echoing toward him again. It wasn’t Flash; the footsteps were too light. The hairs on the back of his neck stayed flat, so Peter didn’t pay them much mind.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Peter jolted at the sound of MJ’s voice. Slowly, he lifted his head to find her standing there in the middle of the hallway. She was looking at the scraps of his bag intently, her eyebrows creased and eyes hard.

“They destroyed my backpack,” Peter admitted with a sniffle. He desperately tried to stop any and all tears from gathering in his eyes. He started breathing deeper, longer, trying to collect himself. “Stole my homework.”

It was a blow to his non-existent self-esteem that MJ had to see him like this. She logically understood that Flash and his friends picked on Peter, but he wasn’t sure how bad she thought it was. She stood up for him in class, and at lunch on a few memorable occasions, but she had never seen the aftermath of an encounter she wasn’t present for.

The look in MJ’s eyes turned deadly. “What kind of cliche ass bullying—”

“It’s fine,” Peter forced himself to cut in. He couldn’t stop his hands from gently caressing the backpack. He put too much emotional stock in it, anyway. One way or another, the thing was going to get trashed eventually. Better it happened now when he could still see Aunt May breathing then later. “It wasn’t even that important.”

“I know how much that bag meant to you, Peter,” MJ sighed and lowered herself to the floor next to Peter. “She got it for you. I get it. You’ve been protecting it like its water and you’re in the desert.”

Peter’s breath hitched. “Yeah, well, if I wasn’t so obvious about it, I’d still have it.”

“Peter,” MJ admonished. “Stop talking like this was your fault. It wasn’t.”

“Just…” Peter finally moved his hand from the bag and started to scrub at his face. “Stop. It’s done. The bag is dead. It was going to happen eventually. I shouldn’t be so messed up about it.”

It was MJ’s turn to suck in a deep breath. She scooted closer to Peter so that their knees were touching. “Just because it was going to happen eventually doesn’t mean that it still doesn’t hurt. You’re allowed to be hurt over it, Peter. You had an emotional attachment, and now it’s gone. That sucks,” MJ paused, either for breath or for dramatic flow. “But you’ll still have everything else she has gotten you. Your favorite clothes, your nerd legos… Not to mention, you’ll always have the memories or whatever.”

“Yeah,” Peter let out a breathy laugh. It was unfortunately easy to see how much truth rang in her words. Damn MJ for being able to make him feel better. “I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. I always am,” MJ turned her attention to the piles of paper on the floor. She started going through them as well. “Now. What did they take?”

“Nothing too important,” Peter said easily. He was glad the conversation was moving to an easier topic. “It’ll be a bitch to redo my Spanish worksheet, ‘cuz I always mix something or other up with Italian. But other than that, I’ll just have to pick a new topic for our History project. They took what notes I had started.”

MJ clicked her tongue. “I’d say the History notes sound pretty important.”

“I can pick a new topic,” Peter reiterated. “I honestly hadn’t done much work on it yet. It’s not due for a while.”

MJ paused her rifling of Peter’s papers. “I don’t see tomorrow's Calc homework here. I know you finished it; you helped me with it.”

Peter blinked. He wouldn’t call telling her which formula to use as an offhand remark during lunch as ‘helping her’ but whatever. “He took that too, but like… that’s easy. I can redo that in my sleep.”

“Okay, nerd.” 

MJ finished going through his things. She probably did it so that she could tell if Peter was lying about something missing, but then again, MJ did things sometimes that Peter had no explanation for. She was just like that.

Case in point, she began gathering all the materials in her arms. 

Peter cocked his head at her. With a little too much warble in his voice, he asked, “What are you doing?”

MJ hit him with a bland, flat look. “Helping you get your things to the office. What, did you think I’d take the rest of it?”

“No!” Peter immediately denied. He scrambled to grab his things as well so that MJ didn’t have to carry the majority. Then, the first part of what she said hit him. “Wait, wait, why are we going to the office?”

If MJ made him try to report what just happened, he may scream. Peter spent the better part of an hour explaining to himself why reporting Flash was not the right move. He’d do it, because it was MJ, but it would be incredibly painful when the administration inevitably did nothing about it.

“You can’t get home with all your shit just out in the open. You may have superior reflexes, but I’ve still seen you trip on the steps outside enough times to know you’re a walking hazard.”

Okay. That was true, but unfair. Most of those times he tripped were intentional to give a good excuse to Happy and later Tony as to why he was hurt after school. Some of them, admittedly, were just because his senses were too focused on something else and he didn’t watch where he was going properly. Peter didn't want to think about it.

“Okay, sure, like the office has extra bags.” Peter picked up his pencil case, the last thing on the floor, and shoved it into his hoodie pocket.

MJ stood and held out a free hand toward Peter, who was still sitting cross legged. He took it, letting her heave him into a standing position. 

“They might have one in the lost and found you can borrow,” MJ stated. “If not, I’ll buy you a new bag.”

Peter’s mind ground to a screeching halt. “You don’t have to do that for me.”

“Mom got a new modeling contract recently and my allowance went up,” MJ shrugged her shoulders. “I can afford a cheesy logoed school bag.”

“It’s not the expense part I’m worried about. I can pay for it, it's just…” Peter didn’t know how to explain his worry properly. 

Realization dawned on MJ’s face before Peter could find his words. “You’re worried about them seeing the school branded bag.”

“I don’t want them to accuse me of stealing it,” Peter admitted. “I don’t think I’ll run into them again today, but… There’s always a chance.”

MJ furrowed her brows, thinking. “If it’s just for today, I’ll walk you to your car. They don’t mess with you when I’m around.”

Peter blushed. A sick and pleasant feeling about needing to be saved rose to his throat. He had too many conflicting feelings about how MJ always seemed to be his protector. On one hand, it was nice not to have to be the hero. On the other hand, it was absolutely embarrassing. Especially considering that MJ knew about Spider-Man. How could she respect him as a superhero if she was constantly fighting his battles for him at school.

Penis Parker, however, really did need her help. She was right, after all. Flash never crossed MJ. She had stood up to Flash when she first crossed paths with him. As no one had really done that before, Flash hated it at first. But eventually, her continued iron will merely made Flash grow begrudging respect for her.

It also helped that their dad’s were golfing buddies. 

“Thanks, MJ.”

That earned a rare half-smile from her. “Anytime, nerd. You’d be lost without me.”

As the pair walked toward the office, laden with Peter’s things, he privately thought she was very correct.