Chapter Text
Iron Man needed his help. His body sliced through the air but that was what he focused on, what he repeated as he flew across town. Not that he was ditching Ned. Not that May forbid him from going out tonight and not that he already had bruises littering his body from his patrol earlier that night. His side protested as he turned a corner but he kept pushing because Iron Man called.
Peter’s eyes narrowed in concentration as he pulled his legs back to streamline his body so he would be more efficient. This was his chance to prove that he was capable of playing with the big boys. Germany had been a huge disaster. He could admit that looking back on it now. He hadn’t followed instructions and got hurt. It was no wonder that Mr. Stark was weary of having him help out after that. Peter winced at the memory of Mr. Stark’s expression when he found out Peter hid his injury.
He was lying down in the hotel room when he heard a knock. Peter figured that it was just housekeeping so he ignored it in favor of trying to roll onto his side. Footsteps grew fainter outside when he didn’t answer. Darkness descended on the room and he heard a knock, louder this time. His eyes closed thinking he could ignore them again. The door swung open and Peter’s eyes flew open as he tried to get out of bed. The movement was so sudden that he tumbled to the ground and let out a low groan.
“Peter?” Mr. Stark called out.
Peter looked up from the ground and saw the man with his hands on his hips. Mr. Stark must have saw something in his eyes and knelt down next to Peter, silently helping him back on the bed. His eyes were sunken in and Peter wallowed in the guilty feeling of keeping him from sleep.
Mr. Stark asked him if he was okay and when Peter assured him it was nothing, he gave Peter such a look that Peter wished he had invisibility for a superpower. The man meandered around the room, getting a glass of water and some pain pills before sitting at the desk chair on his phone. Peter sat in bed playing with the ends of the quilt not knowing if he should talk and jumped when another person knocked on the door. Mr. Stark called out to enter and some man Peter didn’t know came in with a bag in hand.
The man turned to Peter at a nod from Mr. Stark. He came up and started looking at Peter’s side. Peter’s face burned and when he looked up Mr. Stark was gone from the room.
His stomach churned when he thought about how alone he felt after that. It was no wonder that Mr. Stark hadn’t contacted him after. That didn’t stop the hope that filled him after every voicemail. He could prove himself if only he had the chance. Nothing ever came from his attempts. Happy sent him a message saying they would contact him if he were needed and then nothing but radio silence.
Peter told himself that was why he needed to hack into Stark Industries. The only way to prove himself was for Mr. Stark to actually see him in action. Faithfully he listened to his scanners and would find the places that needed his help. Peter would lend a hand wherever he could, mostly on the sidelines. He made sure the buildings near a hazard were evacuated or the police were notified. There was never any direct interaction between him and the Avengers because he was nervous that they would stop him from helping at all. It was a dichotomy he didn’t try to hard to think about. He wanted the Avengers to acknowledge his help but on the other hand if they knew about it he would get in trouble. Peter would tell himself that at least he was doing something.
The message came over the scanners that Iron Man was alone and in need of backup. Without thinking about the consequences Peter climbed out of his window and was on his way.
It was time to step up to the plate.
The buildings loomed over him like trees in a forest, blocking what little light there was left and making him weave through the obstacles as he made his way to the source of the call. His eyes widened and his body hit the edge of a building as he skidded to a halt.
“Karen?” He asked, keeping his voice low.
“There are guards stationed at every exit, all armed, and there are extra guards on the south entrance around an enforced room.”
His vision shifted and when he peered off the edge of the roof he could see into the building along with the heat signatures of its inhabitants. His feet pounded on the roof as he jumped up and down loosening his muscles and cracking his back.
“Can you get a read on Mr. Stark anywhere, Karen?”
“Negative.”
“I’m betting he’s where the extra guards are stationed. They’re always so predictable.” He stopped to breath out once while he thought. “This is what we’re going to do. I don’t know who is in there or why they have him so I’m a disadvantage. They, on the other hand, aren’t expecting anyone so that’s where they’ll be at a disadvantage and we’ll have them.”
“Correct, but your skills aren’t at the level necessary to infiltrate the building with that many people.” He smiled savagely trying to pump himself up.
“So much faith in me, Karen. That’s why we’re going to work together on this one. I’m going to send Droney to the north entrance, in order to divert their attention away from what I’m doing. Then me and you are going to go in the south entrance and take them down one at a time.”
“There are some holes in that plan like…”
“We don’t have time.” He snapped at his AI annoyed to feel himself blushing. “Sorry Karen, but I think this will work. At least it will give Mr. Stark a chance.”
“He would want you to be safe.” He could feel his breath turn heavy and shame filled Peter. Maybe he couldn’t do it. Maybe he should wait for someone else to come? An immediate word flitted through his mind: No. Peter couldn’t just wait for someone else. He was able and he was going to do it.
“How would I know? Now, no more distractions. Deploy Droney.”
Peter watched as the bot unclamped itself from his chest and flew down off the roof and into the darkness. Not waiting anymore he jumped down and scaled the wall, keeping to the shadows.
There was a slight tremble in his hands as they stuck him to the wall. For a moment he stopped to catch his breath, which was shallow and loud. He turned around so that his back rested against the wall.
He could do this. He had to do this.
Peter closed his eyes and took one deep breath in and with a count of ten let it out. He pushed all his emotions behind a wall. One that wasn’t made of bricks or wood but it was made of all his doubts. No one could break through them and today they would help shield him. He needed to help Mr. Stark.
From the outside, if one looked closely, they wouldn’t be able to see any physical difference from one second to the next in the young superhero sticking to the wall. For Peter, that one-second was a world of change. His posture straightened, his muscles steeled themselves and his mind focused. The webs adorning his chest expanded and contracted along with his breath at a slow, even tempo. With one last breath Peter opened his eyes and jumped from the wall, his legs and arms confident of their strength.
The ground raced forward and with practiced ease he landed without a sound, running forward like a thief darting between the shadows. Two guards stood at the south entrance.
He crept closer and struck silently. The web spun through the air at one and he caught the other from behind in a chokehold. He pressed his arms tighter until he felt the body go limp in his arms. The other guard tried to get free from the webbing that glued him to the wall but he was stuck flailing. Three more webs and the man’s wrists were bound. Peter repeated the action with the second man and took his ID before using it to enter the building.
Like a honed weapon Peter used his skills he had been working on since Germany and brought the guards down one by one. One in the hallway caught him in the ribs but he didn’t acknowledge the crack besides a small wince no one could see under his mask.
Peter fought his way through the building and finally came up to the hallway connecting the room. He didn’t let himself feel proud for getting this far. His only task was to get in that room.
“Droney was taken down and guards are alert now.” Karen said. He nodded at the cruel necessity and his mouth set in a straight line.
He could hear the guards laughing at something inside the insulated room. Squaring his shoulders Peter turned down the hallway and stood in front of the closed door. He glanced down at his pocket feeling the ID card residing there. The card might not have the clearance to get in the room and if not, everyone would be alerted to his presence. Droney’s sacrifice would be for nothing then.
He backed up then got into a deep racing position, his hands braced on the outsides of his legs, which were in a deep lunge. His entire being was focused on the steel prize in front of him. With an imaginary gunshot, Peter moved confidently and started the race toward the door. His arms pumped and his cheeks puffed with forced air as he gritted his teeth.
The door sprang apart under the pressure of his hands and clattered open. The guards stood at the ready and fired at him. He slid down on the ground and kicked one of the men’s legs out from under him while simultaneously webbing the other’s gun out of his hand. He kicked the downed guard and went still as a flare of pain bloomed in his already tender arm. He webbed the man to the wall not bothering to silence him. The groans echoed around the room and Peter let them wash over him. Let the man’s vocalization act as his own cathartic release he wouldn’t let out from behind his wall yet.
His hand found it’s way to the outer part of his arm and came back dyed a dark maroon.
“Karen?” He whispered not wanting to be louder than the man hanging up.
“Gunshot wound. Not life threatening but I suggest turning back and alerting the police now, Peter.” His hand tightened around the wound, making the pressure radiate the pain to a larger area.
“No.” He hissed. “I can’t turn back now.”
“Peter, you aren’t making rational…”
“Thank you Karen. I can take it from here.”
The AI stayed quiet and the hung up man was unconscious now but Peter didn’t notice that the only sounds left were coming from him. His breathing and the dripping liquid that saturated his suit traveled downward and dripped on the floor.
Peter took a moment to inspect the room he was standing in. The steel doors were wide open and he noticed the indent of his fingers from where he pushed it open. The room had one long square of light on the floor and he looked up to see a window opening to another room. With caution he walked forward. He kept his back to the wall and turned to peer into the glass.
The emotional part of his mind was still locked away and for that the tactical part approved. Through the glass he saw a mangled lump of red and gold metal thrown on the ground. Two dull eyes peered at him from beside what looked like a foot.
Peter saw two guards standing over a figure in some chair bolted to the ground. His brown hair was matted and sweaty. The guards were laughing and one bent forward grabbing a tuft of hair and pulling it back. Peter could see the tendons in his neck strain and the white of his skin stood out against the mass of bruises painting his face. His expression was strained and he tried to say something only to be silenced by one of the men over him.
Peter allowed himself to swallow once, to take a moment to let rage wash over him. It was one emotion he let spill over his wall. Peter ducked out of the view of the window. He heard the groans coming from the other room and with hands on the wall Peter shuffled over to the door. This time he did grab the ID badge from the man on the wall and scanned it.
“Hey Jim, is it time to switch out yet? This jackass isn’t giving us anything.”
Peter stood in the doorway and watched the men talk. They were turned away from him and cocky in their stances. That was their first mistake. Mr. Stark’s left eye was sealed shut but the other one widened as he saw Peter. His head was still held back by one of the men and Peter let them see their captives’ reaction to his presence. They twisted around and started rushing forward instead of grabbing their guns. That was their second mistake.
“Taser webs, Karen.” His voice was cool and loud. Peter gave them enough time to hear it but they continued forward not heeding his intimidation. That was their third and final mistake.
Two webs launched and embedded into the necks. Peter watched with narrowed eyes until they were lying on the ground. Tremors shook their supine bodies but he allowed the taser continue injecting its currents. Drool ran down their faces as their bodies arched off of the floor.
“Peter…” The whisper came from the chair and broke through his observations. He detached the tasers and stepped over the bodies running to Mr. Stark. Kneeling beside the man Peter catalogued the visible injuries. His head was sagging down now that someone wasn’t forcing it up.
Peter worked methodically, his mind running through the procedure before enacting it. He broke the cuff around the bound ankles, noting the redness festering underneath. Next, he broke Mr. Stark’s right wrist fetter leaving his hand free to move. The hand remained limp resting in the open metal not taking the freedom given.
Peter’s hand hovered over the last restraint. He glanced up to look at Mr. Stark’s eyes. His eye.
Blood smeared across his face in some kind of perverse war paint and for the first time since entering the building Peter noticed his heart was pounding. Its rhythm saturated into his blood stream and made his veins vibrate with untapped motion. He could see the dirt lodged into each small line around the man’s eye. The eyes that should both be open and not one glued shut by his own inflamed skin.
Peter remembered one of the times they were working in the lab before Germany. Pepper had came in to remind Mr. Stark that there was a charity event later that evening he was obligated - “forced” as Mr. Stark said - to attend. He mumbled in good-natured protest and turned to ask Peter to go.
“Me? Mr. Stark, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not? I’m hosting it so I can say who goes.” Mr. Stark’s eyebrows rose almost comically and if not for his serious tone Peter would have laughed. Instead, a lump hollowed out in his throat.
“But… I’m not fancy or anything. I’ll just be in the way.” He looked down and played with the hem of his shirt. Peter was about to try and explain, to say anything so Mr. Stark would stop staring at him when he felt the man’s hands wrap around his fidgeting ones.
“You don’t really think that. Do you Peter?” For some reason the thought of seeing his expression was too much to bear so he continued to avoid to look down.
“I just meant I’m not like the people that go to those types of things.” He hoped that that would end the conversation.
Little did he know that Mr. Stark knew that he wasn’t like the people who went to those events. He knew that Peter wasn’t vain or used the events for some ulterior motive; even Mr. Stark used them to benefit himself. No, the kid was good. Made him want to be good and he knew he had to help him see that goodness. To show Peter that it was special. That he was special.
Mr. Stark squeezed his fingers and asked Peter to go, saying they would have a great time. It wasn’t what he said or how but it was the way the man looked away after uttering his request. The way mouth was wavering between a frown and smile. Peter saw how he looked back at Peter; hope blossoming in his face when he nodded his assent.
And Peter couldn’t bring himself to regret it even when he found himself in the elevator on the way to the party pulling at his tie that he made too tight. He didn’t realize how nervous he was until Mr. Stark grasped his shaking hand for the second time that day before the elevator doors opened and they were thrown into the mass of people waiting.
It felt like decades ago and Peter wasn’t sure why he was thinking about it now. The actual party was a blur but the sincere look in Mr. Stark’s eyes as he said he wanted Peter there and the feel of the man’s callused hand over his was ingrained into his memory.
Peter’s hand hovered in midair. Fingers grasped his, conducting the shaking into the other’s body. Peter looked down to see the hand missing from the opened restraint.
“Peter… ” He said again, throat scratchy and voice barely above a whisper but Peter heard it loud.
His hands shook harder. Mr. Stark gazed at him. The same wide-eyed expression Peter remembered from the day in the lab.
“It’s okay kid.” Peter shook his head. Mr. Stark’s features distorted as tears streamed down his face.
His eyes moved down and ripped open the last cuff, retracting his hand as if it had been burned. Damp material clung to his forehead as Peter fell forward and rested his head against the man’s knees.
Their hands tangled together, fingers smashed in a rough embrace. Peter wasn’t sure if Mr. Stark was comforting him or the other way around but as he glanced out of the corner of his eye, Peter thought they looked like a grotesque depiction of hands in prayer. He couldn’t tell whose hands were shaking, maybe both of them were.
All Peter knew was that Mr. Stark was still sitting in the room he had been locked in. Not because he was still restrained but because Peter was keeping him there.
He pulled himself up and with Mr. Stark leaning against his side they went to leave the room. Peter looked back once to spy the broken Iron Man suit discarded on the floor. He turned forward and led them away from the chair, from the room, and to safety. Peter didn’t want Mr. Stark to see the suit. For him to get some idea that it was him that was broken when in reality it was just a chunk of metal.
After the nurses bandaged him up, reprimanding him about his wounds, Peter sat besides the bed staring at the sleeping body lying in the dark. Mr. Stark’s hand rested outside the covers. Afraid he would wake up Peter moved slow, not risking even a disturbance in the air. Forward he went and put his hand in Mr. Stark’s.
Small tremors shook his fingers but he let them run their course. Peter’s wall came down and the emotions so closely guarded before came plummeting out now that he was safe.
He felt the warmth of Mr. Stark’s hand and after a while the tremors stilled. Peter had answered the call that wasn’t for him and now Mr. Stark was safe. The man might be mad when he woke up but Peter let a small smile fall into place. Iron Man may not have been looking for his help but he got it and Peter was one step closer to proving himself. He rested his head on the bed besides their clasped hands and let himself sleep.