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ONE
“Come on, Kiddo, we’re going to be late if you don’t hurry your ass up!” Mr. Stark shouted along the hallway to Peter, who was laying on his bedroom floor, half under his bed as he tried to dig out a clean sock that had fallen down the back when he had been procrastinating on putting away his laundry.
“Coming!” Peter shouted, still rootling around underneath the bed.
“He’ll spend twelve years of his life packing, and then get to wherever he’s going only to realise that he forgot almost everything he needs.” He heard May say quietly to Mr. Stark, as though that would stop him from hearing.
“I can still hear you.” He yelled.
“Then stop earwigging and get a move on with that packing.” Mr. Stark called back.
“What are we even going to be late for?” Peter muttered underneath his breath. “I’m staying there for a week, there’s no time restrictions on a week away.”
“Uh huh, keep telling yourself that, Underoos.” Mr. Stark’s voice said from somewhere very close by, so close by in fact that he jolted in shock, banging his head off the wooden slats of the bedframe. “Ouch, that sounded sore, aren’t you meant to have super hearing?”
“I was busy packing.” Peter muttered bitterly.
“Uh huh, sure you were,” Mr. Stark said, kicking at the bottom of his foot, “get out from under there, nothing in the world is worth the underneath of a teenager’s bed.”
“I’m looking for socks.” Peter said.
“Cut your losses, Kiddo, I’ll buy you a new pack tomorrow.” Mr. Stark promised, and with a grunt Peter was hauled out from under the bed by his ankle.
“Alright, I think I’m just about done packing then.” Peter said with a grin. “Hey, do you think I’ll need Monopoly or Scrabble?”
“I think you need Get A Grip.” The older man said raising his eyebrows.
“Board games are fun Mr. Stark.”
“Uh huh.”
“Fine, but don't come crying to me when you realise that you’re missing out on the genius of Peter Parker dominating the board during scrabble.” Peter said. “The only person who can beat me is MJ. Ned gives a good competition, but MJ is the queen of the board.”
“May I want to take back my offer.” Mr. Stark decided, calling out to Peter’s aunt.
“No chance.”
“But this one talks too much,” Mr. Stark said, “why couldn't you have sent me a quieter child?”
“It’s part of his charm,” May said, joining Mr. Stark in Peter’s room, “he rambles his way into your heart until you have no choice but to tolerate him, lest you go insane.”
“You’re meant to love me.” Peter told her.
“I do, Sweetie, I do.”
“Yeah, convincing.” Peter grumbled, hauling into a sitting position so that he could zip up the backpack that was crammed full of balled up clothes and superhero magazines.
“Are you ready?” Mr. Stark asked, raising his eyebrows at Peter.
“Uh,” Peter glanced around the room as though there was something else that would catch his attention and require stuffing into his backpack, but nothing turned up, “yeah, I think I’m good.”
May held her arms out, and Peter scrambled to his feet so that he could insert himself into her hold. He didn't care was anyone thought, his Aunt’s hugs were the best and he would never outgrow them.
“You behave for Mr. Stark, alright?” She murmured in his ear.
“Come on, May, when don't I?” Peter asked, pulling back to flash her a cheeky grin.
“You don't want me to answer that,” she said seriously, “and remember, I’m only a phone call or a text message away.”
“I know,” Peter said, “have fun at your conference, it’ll be great.”
“We’ll have a great together,” Mr. Stark said to her with a grin, “and don't worry about anything, Pepper told me to tell you that she will personally be over watching us via F.R.I.D.A.Y.”
“I know,” May said with a smirk, “she also texted me that because she thought you’d be too excited, and you’d forget.”
“Betrayed by my own fiancée.” Mr. Stark said sullenly, before ruffling some dust from Peter’s hair and giving him a grin. “So, Kiddo, what do you say we bounce?”
“Have a nice break, May,” Peter said with a quick peck to her cheek, “I’ll call you tonight, I promise.”
“Alright, you two,” May said, giving them both a stern and yet fond look, “I don't want to see anything on the news about you guys, alright? Nothing.”
“Come on, May,” Peter said innocently, “what could we possibly do to make the headlines.”
“Do you really need me to answer that?” May asked.
“Fair point.” Peter said. “Alright, Mr. Stark, were you saying that we were going to be late?”
“We are,” Mr. Stark said, “I ordered food to arrive soon, we want to beat it back.”
So, that was how Peter found himself sitting in the passenger seat of a very fancy Ferrari, window cracked slightly so that he could feel the breeze flowing in through the window.
“Kid, you look enough like a puppy dog without doing that.” Mr. Stark commented idly.
“Mr. Stark, look at me, how often do you think I’m going to have the chance to stick my head out of a Ferrari window.” Peter asked, seriously.
“Kid, I’ll pick you up in this car every damn day if it’ll make you feel better.” Mr. Stark offered.
“Nah, no thanks, special things need to be special.” Peter mumbled.
He couldn't quite ignore the slight feeling in the back of his mind that something was wrong, something small and unknown. It wasn't his Spidey-Sense, it was something different, an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach linking to the tiny whisper in his brain.
“Hey, Mr. Stark?” Peter asked.
“Yeah, Underoos?”
“Uh, nothing never mind.” Peter said, realising that he sounded stupid - he was going to stay with Mr. Stark for a week, there was nothing more to it than that. There was nothing to worry about.
Or so he thought, until he walked through The Compound’s kitchen with a glass of water in his hand and realised what he had previously forgotten. The glass slipped from his hands and shattered instantly as it hit the tiles, sending sharp shards, water and ice cubes skittering all over the floor.
“Peter?” Mr. Stark’s words sounded distant and echoey.
“I forgot my inhaler.” Peter mumbled.
“Your… wait what?”
“Oh god, and May will be on her plane now,” Peter rambled, “but I have a key somewhere, did I remember my key? There’s no way I can get it before I have an asthma attack.”
“Woah, Kid, don't pace there,” Mr. Stark said, grabbing his shoulders and pulling him back, “you’ll cut your feet, see this is why I told you to bring a pair of slippers over.”
“I’m not ninety.” Peter mumbled numbly, as he focused on his breathing. Was that a wheeze?
“Peter, come on, focus.” Mr. Stark told him.
“I am focusing.”
“Since when have you been asthmatic?” Mr. Stark asked.
“Since I was three-years-old!” Peter insisted.
“So why have I never ever seen you with an inhaler in your hand or pocket?” Mr. Stark asked.
“Because once I was bitten by that radio-active spider, my Spider-Man abilities and altered DNA meant… oh.” Peter instantly flushed bright red as he remembered.
“Oh?”
“I haven't needed my inhaler since I was bitten by the spider,” Peter said, “I forgot.”
“You… forgot?” Mr. Stark asked him with raised eyebrows.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Kid, you just forgot that you’re Spider-Man?”
“When you say it like that, it sounds bad.” Peter mumbled.
“Kid, you are one of a kind,” Mr. Stark said with a laugh, “now, just to double check, you don't actually need an inhaler, right?”
“Uh, no, I’m all good.” Peter said quietly.
“Good, now get your ass on one of those stools,” Mr. Stark instructed, “I don't want you cutting any Spidey-Feet on the broken glass.”
“I’m Spider-Man remember?” Peter said. “Any wounds will heal in a matter of seconds.”
“Oh, sure, now you remember,” Mr. Stark muttered, “but, nope, quick healing doesn't negate the initial pain of cutting yourself on broken glass and I promised May that I’d look after you. So, stool or out.”
“Fine.” Peter grumbled, hopping up onto one of the barstools and watching guiltily as Mr. Stark cleared up the mess he had created in his moment of stupidity.
TWO
Peter should have expected to have a rough first night in The Compound, as despite spending around seventy percent of his free time there, he had never actually stayed the night before.
He’d had a problem staying anywhere new ever since he was a young kid; any time he was away from home, the first night would be a struggle - he would toss and turn constantly, wrapped up in the sheets with vaguely ominous dreams filtering in and out. They were never concrete enough for him to have actually fallen asleep, but they were there making sure that he felt uneasy.
When that was combined with the late night he’d had thanks to watching Star Wars movies with Mr. Stark and the early morning plans they’d made to get a head start on some new Spider-Man tech, Peter was on the struggle bus.
“Wow, Kid, you look rough this morning.” Mr. Stark commented as Peter ambled his way into the kitchen, dragging his feet along behind him, the tiles were cold against his feet, maybe he should get a pair of slippers?
The smell of bacon and caffeine in the air helped to rouse him a little, but he knew what was needed.
“Can I have a cup of that?” Peter asked, looking at the half full coffee pot, choosing to ignore Mr. Stark’s comment on his early morning appearance.
“Do you even like coffee?” Mr. Stark asked him with raised eyebrows.
“Of course, why would I ask for it if I didn't?” Peter asked him as he pulled up a stool at the kitchen island.
“Can't argue with you there.” Mr. Stark decided before pouring some of the coffee into a Spider-Man mug and sliding it along the table to Peter.
“Cute.” He said, staring at the cup.
And then he did something that caused Mr. Stark to stare at him in mild disgust; he poured an obscene amount of creamer into the mug which was immediately followed by seven heaped teaspoons of sugar, stirred it all together and then took a sip from the monstrosity he had created.
“Kid, that’s more sugar than coffee at this point.” Mr. Stark commented.
Peter inhaled, the bitterness had been sufficiently tamed so that he could drink the liquid, “it’s perfect.”
“Uh huh,” Mr. Stark muttered before piling bacon, sausages and scrambled eggs onto Peter’s plate, “you’re the one drinking it, not me, so do what you want kiddo. Once, you’ve finished that we can head to the workshop, I was working on some theories last night for fire proof webbing, but we have to wait until Pepper goes to the office to test it out, otherwise we’ll both be in deep shit. ”
“That would be great, I’m almost there with making it waterproof too, improving it's abilities in the rain, so with both of those properties nailed, I’ll be unstoppable.” Peter said cheerfully.
“And not at all cocky.”
“Who me?” Peter asked with a grin.
Peter’s grin didn't last long, by the time they had made their way down to the workshop Peter had downed a further two cups of the sugary, caffeinated liquid that seemed to offend Mr. Stark, and he was starting to feel funny.
“Come on, Kiddo,” Mr. Stark said, stretching out some of Peter’s webbing with a pair of forceps, “what are we missing?”
“I have no idea,” Peter muttered, reaching out to twang the webs with a shaking hand, “all we’ve managed so far is to increase the flammability, that’s the opposite of what we were intending.”
“I don't know what to tell you, Kid,” Mr. Stark said with a shrug, “you designed this in your Chem class, maybe we’re throwing too much at it. Maybe we need to simplify things.”
“Ugh.” Peter grumbled as he twanged it once more with trembling fingers. “Why won’t it tell me what’s going on?”
“Peter, your webs aren’t gonna talk, no matter how much you wish they would.” Mr. Stark commented idly, before focusing on Peter with narrowed eyes. “Why are your hands shaking?”
“I-” Peter held his hands up to look at them, “I don't know?”
Was it the right time to mention that his stomach also felt off? He was beginning to feel queasy and his stomach was cramping like it never had before.
“Kid…” Mr. Stark mumbled, “you really don't look great.”
“I don't feel great.” Peter admitted quietly.
“Come on, have a seat.” Mr. Stark told him, guiding him over to one of the workbenches by his shoulders.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y. what’s going on?” Mr. Stark asked, as he brushed Peter’s curls off his forehead - it was a strangely gentle motion that made Peter smile. Why did the media always assume Mr. Stark was a heartless, money-making machine? The man was one of the gentlest, most family-oriented people Peter had ever met.
“It would appear that Mr. Parker is going through a mild caffeine overdose.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed him.
“A caffeine overdose?” Peter asked. “But all things considered, I didn't actually have that much caffeine, it was more sugar than anything else.”
“My best guess would be that your altered DNA had a negative reaction to the caffeine, it has been known to have an effect on Spiders.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said.
“Oh, yeah!” Peter said, as a thought occurred to him.
“Oh yeah?” Mr. Stark questioned with a threatening edge in his voice.
“After I became Spider-Man, my DNA altered a lot of what I can and can't eat or drink.” Peter said quietly. “I’m now allergic to peppermint, and the last time I had a can of energy juice, I ended up with palpitations. They were awful, May had to take me to the emergency room because I thought I was dying!”
“And you just failed to mention this while guzzling all of that sugary hell coffee?” Mr. Stark questioned.
“I forgot.” Peter admitted.
“You forgot…” Mr. Stark asked, staring blankly at him. “Kid, how the hell do you forget you’re Spider-Man?”
“I dunno,” Peter said with a sheepish shrug, “it just happens sometimes.”
“This has happened twice in the time you’ve been here,” Mr. Stark said, “and you’ve only been here for one night.”
“I just don't think about it much.” Peter said with a shrug.
“Which would be fair enough, but you’re not thinking about things that could have an effect on your own health,” Mr. Stark said seriously, “you forgot about no longer being asthmatic and then panicked about forgetting your inhaler, and then you forgot that you can't drink coffee or have peppermint.”
“But I didn't eat any peppermint.” Peter said quickly.
“Small reliefs.” Mr. Stark muttered. “Out of curiosity, what would have happened if you had?”
“The last time I had an anaphylactic reaction to it.” Peter said with a grin.
Mr. Stark stared blankly at him for a moment before sighing, “alright, get me a new beaker, we’re restarting this formula.”
“Alright!” Peter said cheerfully as he handed Mr. Stark a new beaker with trembling hands.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y. what would you recommend we do about those shakes?” Mr. Stark asked.
“Peter’s metabolism has already done a lot of the work for you, the shakes should fade in an hour or so if my calculations are correct,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said, “however, the process can be helped by encouraging fluid intake; water is recommended.”
“You heard her, Kiddo, grab yourself a glass of water,” Mr. Stark said, “and F.R.I. remind me to put all caffeinated products in a locked cupboard.”
“Noted.”
“Mr. Stark!” Peter protested. “You don’t have to lock things away, I’m not five! I know not to drink coffee now.”
“Yeah, you do in this moment, but what about next time you forget that you’re Spider-Man?”
“Fair point, I should warn you I can pick the locks on standard padlocks so ones with a code are probably preferable.” Peter admitted.
“Kid, what the actual hell?”
THREE
“Pete, come on,” Mr. Stark called, “I promised May I’d take pictures of you in the snow!”
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Peter shouted as he ran down the hall towards the garage where Mr. Stark was sitting in one of his fancy cars, engine already running and pumping heat throughout the car.
It was Peter’s third day staying Mr. Stark and the night had brought with it a healthy layer of snow, something that May was disappointed to miss as it was somewhat of a family tradition to don their fluffiest hats and go outside to play in the snow.
Peter, being the mature kid he was, had decided that there was nothing better for them to do than go sledging, and Mr. Stark being the mature adult he was, had instantly agreed that he was right. Pepper had merely rolled her eyes at her fiancé, ruffled Peter’s hair and told them not to break any bones or ruin any journalists’ careers.
Which was what had led up to Peter jumping into the front passenger seat eagerly, grabbing the pair of gloves that Mr. Stark had left on the seat for him.
“Really?” He asked.
“What? Don’t you like them?” Mr. Stark asked.
“You really made me Iron Man gloves?” Peter asked with a laugh as he slipped them on, they looked ridiculously like the actual suit’s hands – in fact, Peter couldn’t deny that he was impressed with how they looked metal but felt softer than silk.
“You love them, don't deny it.” Mr. Stark said with a laugh as he put the car into drive and they flew out of the garage, F.R.I.D.A.Y. opening the door seamlessly for them without needing any commands.
“So, where exactly are we going?” Peter asked, shedding his jacket as the warmth of the car made it feel unnecessary.
“There’s this hill not too far out of the city, not many people know about it,” Mr. Stark said, “I found it last winter when I was testing out the suit’s temperature abilities during the colder seasons.”
“How long does it take to get there?” Peter asked excitedly, he could already feel the cool breeze on his face and feel the swooping in his stomach as he descended down the hill.
“Not long, now do you want to listen to AC/DC or Led Zeppelin?” Mr. Stark asked.
“Who are they?” Mr. Stark’s eyes left the road to stare at him in shock. “Just kidding, look at the road we don't all have suits of armour waiting to surround us at any given moment.”
“Not yet.” Mr. Stark muttered cryptically.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
They drove quickly, snow beating against the window as they moved, excitement was brewing in the car as Mr. Stark told Peter a story about when he had been taken sledging by Jarvis, something that had been one of his fondest memories apparently.
“Right, come on then kid, grab the sledge and I’ll race you to the top of the hill.” Mr. Stark said as he pulled into the side of the road by an empty field that was mostly filled with a large hill.
“Wait, that’s cheating!” Peter shouted after him as the man trudged through the snow, away from the car, leaving Peter to deal with a delayed start and the weight of the sledge.
“You have enhanced abilities!” Mr. Stark shouted back. “This is a totally fair handicap.”
Peter rolled his eyes and jumped out of the car, moving around to the trunk to drag the sledge out, it was red and blue, built by Mr. Stark in the workshop so that they would have a Spider-Man themed sledge.
It was amusing how much the older man liked to theme things around Spider-Man or Iron Man, Peter half expected him to open his own superhero themed merchandise store.
By the time Peter reached the bottom of the hill Mr. Stark was almost half-way up, so Peter instantly made to follow. He raced up the hill, the cold almost instantly seeping through his jumper - for a brief moment he considered heading back to the car for the jacket that he had thrown onto the backseat, before deciding that he would eventually warm up enough after running around.
“Hey, Mr. Stark, wait up!” Peter called, trudging faster.
“Kid, do you not understand the meaning of a race?” Mr. Stark shouted back at him, not slowing at all.
“Fine.” Peter said with a snort as he doubled his pace, catching up quickly.
Peter quickly overtook Mr. Stark and ended up winning the race, although judging by the grin on Mr. Stark’s face, the older man had fully expected that.
“Right, age and beauty before Spider-Kids,” Mr. Stark decided, jumping on the sledge that Peter had dragged to the top of the hill, “thanks for bringing this all the way, Underoos!”
“You suck!” Peter called after his mentor as he disappeared down the hill with a whoop of joy, his words marred slightly due to the laughs that couldn't stop themselves from escaping.
Peter waited, shivering as Mr. Stark dragged the sled back up the hill and debated whether he should grab his jacket from the car after riding the sledge down the hill, it wouldn't be too difficult for him to do, but then a little bit of snow couldn't hurt him, could it?
“Right, smile Kiddo, I’m gonna be taking pictures for May.” Mr. Stark warned him.
Peter didn't really need told twice, as he was excited to sledge down the hill, so his smile was more than genuine. Or, at least it had been, that was until the sledge hit a bump and Peter was thrown into the air. Maybe if he had thought ahead, he would have used his Spider-Man powers to stick himself to the sledge, instead he was thrown through the air and he ended up faceplanting the snow.
“Kid!” Mr. Stark shouted after him. “Peter?”
“I’m alright.” Peter said quietly as he pulled himself into a sitting position.
The cold was seeping through his clothes as though they were paper thin, and his teeth started to chatter against one another as his body tried it's best to compensate and warm him up.
“Peter?” Mr. Stark was right beside him, how had he gotten there so quickly? “Kid, where the fuck is your coat?”
“In the car.” Peter admitted through numb lips.
“The car?” Mr. Stark repeated, as though he couldn't quite believe that that was what Peter had said.
“Uh huh.”
“And what good is it in there?” Mr. Stark wondered. “Kid, it’s freezing, the ground is covered in literal frozen water, why would you think this is a time to just not bring your coat out?”
“I thought I’d warm up.” Peter admitted as Mr. Stark took off his own jacket and wrapped it around Peter’s shoulders.
“Let’s get you into the car,” Mr. Stark said, “oh, jeez, your lips are blue kid.”
“I cool down quick.” Peter admitted. “It’s part of the spider thing, I can’t thermoregulate.”
“You can't thermoregulate?” Mr. Stark asked blankly.
“Nope.” Peter was helped into the car and he waited as Mr. Stark climbed into the driver’s seat, turned on the engine, turned up the heat, and then placed his head in his hands. “Are you alright, Mr. Stark?”
“Kid,” Mr. Stark paused, “you can't thermoregulate, and you realised you’d forgotten your coat but then you just decided that you’d warm up?”
“Well, you see,” Peter mumbled, “I kinda forgot about the whole thermoregulation issue.”
“Of course you did.” Mr. Stark stated. “Of course you did.”
“I don't forget that often!” Peter protested.
“Yeah, Underoos, you do.” Mr. Stark said. “I don't even understand how? Like this is a huge part of you, how do you just… forget it exists?”
“When I’m feeling normal, it's easy to forget and assume I am.” Peter said with a shrug.
His shivers and clattering teeth were starting to settle with the heat from the car, and the jacket that smelled faintly like oil and expensive cologne wrapped around his shoulders.
“I made you Iron Man gloves when really they should have been Spider-Man,” Mr. Stark muttered, shaking his head to himself, “I’m going to have to surround you with reminders of who you are.”
“You’re only disappointed that that means I won’t be repping as much Iron Man merch.” Peter said with a cheeky smirk.
“Is it really merch if it's not mass produced and specially designed for one person?” Mr. Stark questioned him.
“No, then it’s just sad.”
“Oh, you little-”
FOUR
Peter was doing his best to be quiet; Pepper had had a long day at work and Mr. Stark had disappeared off to bed at around seven in the evening nursing a pretty intense migraine if the dark sunglasses that even Peter struggled to see through were anything to go by.
Peter had whispered a goodnight to them both as they’d passed through the room earlier, and then he set himself up with his homework on the floor, opting to lay on the plush carpet rather than the sofa – why rich people didn’t spend more time on the floor? They spent way too much money on thick carpets, and they didn’t take full advantage of the comfort.
So, that was how he found himself, with heavy eyes, at half one in the morning laying on his stomach with his feet waving in the air as F.R.I.D.A.Y. played a true crime podcast for him as he worked his way through pages upon pages of Chemistry homework.
Peter felt chills run up his spine as one of the girls on the podcast explained in slightly too much detail how a man murdered his entire family without remorse, having never even loved them in the first place. Apparently, they had just been a disguise to stop anyone from suspecting that he was a psychopath.
That was unnerving. People were scarier than any supernatural being in Peter’s opinion.
He ended up almost sticking to the ceiling as he jumped when his phone buzzed with a text from Ned, that sound coming through louder in the early hours of the morning.
Ned: hey, dude, did you know that the English project was due tomorrow not next Monday?
Peter: what...the...hell??????
Ned: I’m gonna take that as a no
Peter: I’m so screwed man. So so screwed.
Ned: You can copy my project if you want.
Peter: Dude, they’re projects based on our family history, it might be obvious that I copied.
Ned: True… good luck man.
Peter: thanks, I need it.
Ned didn't respond again, making Peter think that maybe his best friend had finally given into the temptation of sleep, something that Peter was wishing he could also do. He had been planning to after finishing the Chemistry chapters that were due in the morning, except now he also had an entire English project to come up with before school began.
He was so screwed.
As was the murderer’s family in the podcast, the creator had simulated fake screams and sound effects to really drive home the brutality of the murder. Peter shuddered.
Humans were so weak, so defenceless against the evil that lurked in the shadows.
“...and then, he-”
“Don’t say it!”
“-made their skin into books.”
“You said it!”
“I had to, it's part of the story, this guy was seriously messed up, and they know who he is, but guess what?”
“No!”
“He hasn’t been caught yet, he’s still out there somewhere, a perfectly normal seeming guy. He could be anyone! He could be someone you know, pretending to have a family, pretending to be a decent guy, pretending to be human despite committing such obscene acts.”
A slight movement out of the corner of Peter’s eye caught his attention, he saw a figure standing in the darkened doorway out to the hall - why hadn't he closed that? - and he screamed.
“Woah! Kid! It’s me!” Mr. Stark said quickly, walking into the light so that Peter could see him properly.
Peter, who had scrambled to his feet with pen held out in his hand like a weapon, relaxed minutely, “oh, hey Mr. Stark.”
“Really?” Mr. Stark asked with a raised eyebrow. Peter noticed that he was looking a lot better than he had earlier, perhaps his sleep had helped with the migraine, it was supposed to – Peter had been worried about the older man and had Googled migraines after he had gone to bed.
“Uh, sorry,” Peter mumbled, dropping the pen so that it landed with a muted thump on the carpet, “I was a little freaked out there.”
“A little?” Mr. Stark asked. “Kid, you looked like you’d seen a ghost. What are you listening to?”
“Uh, F.R.I.D.A.Y. pause it please?” Peter requested.
“Podcast paused.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said dutifully.
“It’s just a true crime podcast.” Peter admitted. “The latest episode is freaking me out a little bit.”
“It freaked you out?” Mr. Stark asked. “Is that why you screamed? Because you thought I was a murderer?”
“Uh, maybe?”
“And that’s why you thought that you needed to defend yourself with a ballpoint pen when you’re still wearing your web-shooters from earlier?” Mr. Stark asked, looking at the metal around Peter’s wrists that had been there since they had been tinkering with them in the workshop earlier.
“Huh, oh yeah.” He often forgot that he was wearing them, they were fitted to the shape of his wrists and padded for maximum comfort, so it was normal for him to feel like he wasn’t wearing anything.
“Don't tell me-”
“I forgot.” Peter muttered.
“-you forgot.” Mr. Stark said at the same time, the man looked at Peter and shook his head. “If I hadn't slept off a migraine, you would have just given me another one.”
“I panicked.” Peter said in his own defence, as though he had one.
“Sure, Kiddo,” Mr. Stark said, “what are you even doing listening to true crime shit at-” he glanced at the clock, “-half past one in the morning?”
“I was catching up on some homework.” Peter admitted.
“Kid, no, you need to go to bed.” Mr. Stark said firmly.
“But, there’s this English project that’s due tomorrow and-”
“I don't want to hear it, I promised May that I wouldn't let you stay up all night playing games or stressing yourself out about homework and grades,” Mr. Stark said, “you need to get your ass to bed.”
“What about you?”
“I just woke up; I’m grabbing a coffee.” Mr. Stark said.
“That’s hypocritical.”
“That’s Tony Stark. Goodnight, Underoos.”
FIVE
“Hey, Kiddo, how was your day?” Mr. Stark asked as Peter walked into the kitchen, dumping his backpack on the floor by the stool that he clambered up onto, he laid his forehead on the cool marble of the kitchen island.
He let out a prolonged groan in answer to Mr. Stark’s question, feeling his breath dampen the worktop under his face.
“That bad huh?” Mr. Stark asked, placing a glass of cold water in front of him, something the older man always did whenever something wasn't alright. Peter was fairly sure that he had just seen that Tumblr post about how kids couldn't cry and drink water at the same time, and he was terrified of having to deal with a teary Peter.
“Thanks.” Peter murmured. “It was always going to suck; I just had hoped it would suck a little less than it did.”
“Want to talk about it?” Mr. Stark asked.
“I just,” Peter sighed in frustration, “I mean, you know how I was up most of the night with homework?”
“Yeah.” Mr. Stark said, casting him a vaguely disapproving look.
“Well, turns out, I did the wrong pages of Chemistry homework, so I ended up with break time detention to do those, and then I had to use lunch to do my English Project, which the teacher said was too short so I have to work on it further and show it to her first thing tomorrow morning.”
“That sucks, Kid,” Mr. Stark said, “but at least it’s just homework stuff, right?”
“I wish,” Peter scoffed, “Ned had to leave at lunch time for a dentist appointment, which left me and MJ alone, except she doesn't share any of my afternoon classes, so there was no one to talk to to distract me from Flash.”
“Is that kid still bothering you?” Mr. Stark asked with a frown.
“It’s less bothering and more annoying.” Peter admitted, before sighing and running his fingers through his hair. “It’s fine, it wasn't actually the worst day, I think I’m just a bit hangry and tired.”
“Alright, why don't you go clean up and I’ll grab you a snack until dinner time.” Mr. Stark suggested.
It was a nice idea, it really was, the only problem was Mr. Stark wasn't aware that Peter hadn't eaten anything since that morning and Peter was too tired to remember the ramifications of such a thing.
So as Peter whirled himself around on the stool, they room continued to spin past the point of his own spinning. Darkness teased at the corner of his vision and everything tilted dramatically.
“Peter!” Mr. Stark shouted, although he sounded as though he was underwater and far away.
Bright flashes of white light sparked across his vision, intermingled with the darkness at the edges, and Peter was floating, until he wasn't. He landed with a harsh thud on the tiles, and mentally cursed his mentor for not being one of those abominations with a carpeted kitchen.
“Ow.” He groaned, curling in on himself on the tiled floor.
“Pete, you alright?”
“Peachy.” Peter groaned, clutching at the arm he had landed on.
“What the hell was that?” Mr. Stark asked, sounding mad with the worry that Peter had caused him.
“I think I passed out.” Peter admitted.
“You think?” Mr. Stark asked. “I know you did, why the hell did you pass out?”
“These things do happen sometimes, Boss.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. said, ever in Peter’s defence.
“Uh, thanks F.R.I. but actually this one was my fault.” Peter admitted. “I kinda skipped lunch to work on my project, and since I was in detention during morning break, I missed out on my snack, so that may have something to do with it.”
“You skipped lunch?” Mr. Stark asked.
“Uh, yeah?” Peter said. “I had a project to work on.”
“Kid, we’ve talked about this before, with your metabolism you can't be skipping anything.” Mr. Stark said sternly.
“Oh, yeah, I for-”
“-got” Mr. Stark finished tiredly, “I had a feeling you would say that.”
“I’m sorry.” Peter said sheepishly.
“The kid is Spider-Man.” Mr. Stark muttered to himself. “Something millions of kids would give anything to be, and yet this one… forgets about it.”
“Speaking to yourself is supposedly a sign that you’re losing it.” Peter told him.
“I lost it the moment I decided to mentor a forgetful superhero.”
“Aw, you think I’m super.” Peter said with a grin.
“Just… here.” Mr. Stark said, throwing Peter an unopened pack of cookies.
Still laying on the ground, Peter cracked his way into them.
+ ONE
“You looking forward to seeing May?” Mr. Stark asked him as they walked through the Avengers Specific R&D department, it was a separate building to the rest of The Compound, Mr. Stark had explain that was so that the trainees didn't get their hands on dangerous weapons that they weren't ready to use.
“Of course, she seems to have had a great time though,” Peter said with a smile because in all honesty, so had he, “still, it’ll be nice to see her.”
Mr. Stark held open a door to the weapons area, letting Peter walk ahead.
“What do you think?”
“I think that the poison tipped spears are awesome and would have been great like a million years ago.” Peter said.
“What?”
“Mr. Stark, no one uses spears now.” Peter said.
“Uh, wrong, spears are in.” Mr. Stark said.
“Have you ever heard the saying don’t take a knife to a gunfight? That’s like taking a spear to a battle with Chitauri tech.” Peter said.
“I asked Clint.”
“Of course, you did.” Peter said, rolling his eyes at his mentor.
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Mr. Stark asked.
“Nothing,” Peter said, with a shrug, “just interesting how you take advice from a guy who lives in air vents.”
“You know he doesn't live in there right? Mr. Stark asked him.
“All I’m saying is Miss. Romanov’s Widow Bites - the exploding ones - were so much cooler.” Peter said with a sure nod.
“How much did she pay you to say that?” Mr. Stark asked.
“She promised four weeks’ worth of training sessions.” Peter admitted, shamelessly.
“Figures,” Mr. Stark said with a snort, “you know, back in the day me and Nat would-”
Peter didn't get to hear the end of Mr. Stark’s sentence as there was a faint trembling that ran through the ground and up Peter’s legs causing his Spidey-Sense to call out in alarm.
“Did you feel that?” Peter asked, interrupting Mr. Stark.
“Feel what?”
It happened again, stronger this time, and Peter was pleased to see Mr. Stark’s eyes widen in shock - that was good, that meant it wasn't in his imagination. It was also not so good as it meant that something was wrong – very, very wrong.
The trembling didn't settle this time, instead it intensified, dust started to float down from the ceiling in time with the tremors.
“Kid, get out of here!” Mr. Stark snapped.
“No, no way,” Peter replied instantly, “I’m not leaving you.”
Peter moved forward to grab onto Mr. Stark, he would get them both out, he would.
That was when the roof caved in.
Before Peter knew it he was lying flat on his back, pain radiating through his head, he tried to reach up to touch his temple where the pain seemed to be concentrated, but he was pinned in place.
He could hear the shifting of concrete, the faint hiss of gas where a pipe had broken, the splattering noise of water dripping through the wreckage of the building.
“Ow.” He groaned.
“Peter?” Mr. Stark’s voice was quiet, muffled by the layers of concrete that seemed to press in on Peter from every side.
“Mr. Stark?”
“Kid, you alright?” Mr. Stark asked urgently.
“I- uh, I think so,” Peter lied, deciding not to tell him about the pain in his skull or the fear that was causing his fingers to go slightly numb, “are you?”
“Peachy.” Mr. Stark commented.
“I’m gonna get us out,” Peter promised, “I just need to shift around a little.”
“Kid, no, it’s too much,” Mr. stark warned, “just preserve your energy and someone will rescue us.”
Peter didn't answer, he would let Mr. Stark think that he was doing as he was told, when in reality he was pulling a hand out from under a sharp, heavy block of brick that was digging into him from the side.
“Ah, ah, ah,” he panted quietly as he shifted, “damn it.”
“Kid, you’re not quiet,” Mr. Stark said, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Helping.” Peter grunted out as he managed to pull his arm around in front of himself.
“You’re gonna get yourself hurt, damnit Peter,” Mr. Stark shouted, “don't you dare hurt yourself for me.”
“I’m fine,” Peter said certainly, “I’ve got this.”
“It’s a collapsed building.” Mr. Stark continued.
“Exactly, it’s not the first one I’ve been trapped under.” Peter said.
“If we were in a better situation you can bet your ass I’d be hearing the rest of that story,” Mr. Stark said, “just know that you’ve got a little time to get it together, because I won’t forget.”
Danm it, why had he mentioned the other building? Peter asked himself as he managed to get both arms free.
He braced his hands against what he was assuming was the ground and pushed. He couldn't help but let out a scream of pain and determination as the concrete shifted around his back, he was doing it, he was moving it.
“Come on, Spider-Man!” He shouted to himself, just like he had the last time. “I’m coming Mr. Stark, I’ve got this.”
“Sure, the one time he remembers he’s Spider-Man.” He heard Mr. Stark grumble; his voice filled with nothing but concern for Peter’s wellbeing.
With all of his strength Peter managed to shove the concrete aside, dust filling the space that he had created, he couldn't help but let out a cough as it irritated his lungs and burned his throat. It was all too much, a small part of him wanted to curl up in a ball and cry as the memories of that night fighting Toomes threatened to break through the barrier he had put up against them, but he couldn't. He had to keep going.
He had to save Mr. Stark, he had to get his mentor out from under the rubble, this would not be his last moment.
“Mr. Stark, can you hear me?” Peter asked, worried by the silence.
“I’m still here Kiddo,” Mr. stark said, reassuring him, “you’re alright, Kid, you’re going to be fine.”
“We both are.” Peter answered, digging his way through the rubble towards the sound of Mr. Stark’s voice.
“This isn’t all on you, you know that right?” Mr. Stark asked him.
“I’m going to get us out of here.” Peter promised, ignoring the question.
He continued to dig his way through the rubble, wincing when he felt his nails tear and the tips of his fingers begin to grow damp, yet he didn’t stop – he kept digging, clawing, shoving, forcing his way through the fallen building. That was until his fingers hit something soft and caused a grunt to come from someone who was not himself.
“Mr. Stark?” He asked.
“Kid, I told you to stay put.” Mr. Stark said hoarsely, but Peter could hear the hidden relief.
“I’m getting us out of here.”
“You can’t.”
“Yes, I can, I’m Spider-Man.” Peter said.
Silence stretched out for a moment, and Peter wished there were enough light to see Mr. Stark’s expression.
“Alright, Spider-Man, get us out.”
“You got it.”
And Peter did. Thankfully, they weren’t buried too deep and Mr. Stark was reliable enough to stick by Peter’s side and not fall behind. Together they made their way towards the temptation of fresh air.
“You’re doing great, Kiddo,” Mr. Stark said gently as they moved, “you’re almost there.”
Peter knew that he had no idea if they were almost there or not, but he appreciated the attempt to reassure him.
It was unclear how much time had passed but when Peter moved a piece of rubble, his hand then met with nothing but air.
“Over here!” A voice called. “There’s someone digging their way out.”
“You did it, kiddo,” Mr. Stark said gently, sounding as relieved as Peter felt.
“We did it.” Peter corrected, letting himself be pulled from the rubble by a stranger, the sunlight was blinding, and he was forced to blink dust from his eyes as he tried his best to focus.
“No, Spidey,” Mr. Stark whispered too quietly for the rescue team to hear, as he was pulled from the rubble beside Peter, “this was all you. At least you didn’t forget this time.”
“I don’t think I could have if I’d wanted to,” Peter admitted, “getting stuck under collapsed buildings is a very Spider-Man thing to do.”
“I’m still going to get that story later.” Mr. Stark promised.
They were thoroughly checked out by a team of medical professionals sent by S.H.I.E.L.D. before they were wrapped in blankets and shepherded inside to the living room. Pepper was kind enough to make them both giant cups of hot chocolate and even rolled her eyes and agreed to watch yet another Star Wars movie with them.
It was almost easy to forget that they had been through such a horrifying ordeal.
Or at least it had been until Peter’s phone rang.
“Hey, Sweetie, remember what I said about not making the headlines during this week away?”
“May…”