Chapter Text
The red glare of the setting sun set the City that Never Sleeps in a persistent glow as the last of the golden rays disappeared behind the pillars of the city, outlining every shadow. There was the silhouette of buildings, of cars racing along the road, of people stalking down the street in the usual New York bustle, and there was the shadow of Spider-Man as he swung overhead. Not that it was really his shadow.
Where there should have been a perfect replica of the boy clinging to a web as he dipped low (one that outlined his lumpy goggles and rumpled suit) there was instead the poofiness of fluffed up hair and sharp slacks. The movements of the shadow replicated the boy, like they were supposed to, but nothing else indicated that this shadow belonged to the vigilante swinging through the street.
And Peter liked it that way.
Observing the difference between people's shadow had always been a game to the boy, to watch a thin woman walk around while a curvy figure followed her, or too see a little boy being tracked by the silhouette of a tutu and puffy hair. Until very recently, the teenager had loved to stare at his Aunt and Uncle's shadows whenever he could, always fascinated by the way they reflected each other with a broad smile on his face.
Now, though, neither of them had shadows, and Peter didn't smile as often. He didn't feel like there was much reason to. It had been his fault, after all. His fault they'd never get to see flashes of each other when their shadows disappeared in the dark, his fault they'd never walk under the sun with their shadows in line with the other. It was his fault they'd bled out in an alley so dark their shadows hadn't even been there to comfort them as they left.
Spider-Man rattled an anxious, forced breath through his tight lungs as he propelled himself upwards on his webs. He instinctively looked for the taped together watch he kept on his webshooter to catch the time, though he knew he had plenty. Still, after his last time missing curfew at Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, he wasn't anxious to repeat the experience. And he did have to swing across the bridge to make his way back to Queens since he'd branched out to Manhattan for the night.
The cracked watch read that it was barely seven, though, so Peter still had a few hours before he had to be back. Mr. Fowler didn't care much what they did as long as they were back before ten, unless it was one of his "days," which really just meant he was as drunk as a skunk and completely willing to smack a few boys upside their head and be unreasonably dickish about the rules. But other than that, Peter was usually left to his own devices to patrol around the streets of his city and try everything in his power to make up for what had happened barely six months ago.
But it would never be enough.
Peter stopped on top of a billboard that clung to the side of a building, landing clumsily and only barely managing to slip his fingers around the poster for a new movie. His world swam--just a little bit--as he regained his bearings. He shook his head at the dizziness that had become a constant ever since moving to live at the Queens Pinehill Group Home for Boys, but it wasn't like it was their fault. All the boys were reasonably well-cared for, with regular mealtimes, a generous curfew, and easy access to schools, but they weren't really equipped to deal with Peter.
The teenager held back a sigh as his stomach grumbled painfully. He'd eaten the last of his stash of granola bars that he'd bought after a tourist he'd helped had forced a few bills on him. He didn't like taking money, but he couldn't deny that those bars had helped for the two weeks that he'd made them stretch.
Forcing down a hungry grumble of annoyance, Peter turned to survey his shadow instead, the one that had always been the same. Ever since he could remember. Even when he'd been in kindergarten, there'd been the tall and protective shadow of his soulmate behind him. Despite everything, and despite how selfish it felt, it was comforting to look down and see that familiar crop of hair. He reached a hand up to touch his head, never quite used to the way his fingers brushed up against cloth but the shadow underneath him swept through fluffed up tufts.
His soulmate's hair today was messy, not as poofed up as it usually was. Today must be a casual day for him or something, which weren't very often, but when they did occur they often lasted for days. Other days he could make out the outline of glasses and the sharp angles of clothing that made him think of a business suit, though he couldn't be sure. They were only a shadow after all. Peter wondered what his soulmate thought about his own shadow, if he'd noticed anything odd, but, then again, Peter's shadow probably just looked like he was wearing a hoodie all the time, and maybe what could pass as some pretty obnoxious glasses. He'd used to have those anyway.
Peter tilted his head, enjoying the way the hair on the sidewalk underneath him flopped with him. For some reason, Peter found it very amusing when one had hair showing and the other didn't. It just looked a little ridiculous. Recently, it had been the teenager who had been donning the hoodie over his head, but Peter assumed that his soulmate was usually wearing something too. More often than not, he'd look down to see the hair gone, covered by a sharp outline that really had him questioning his soulmate's fashion sense.
The thought brought a snicker to his lips. He nestled more comfortably atop the billboard. There hadn't been any good action in a while anyway.
"Where do you think we should go next?" he asked aloud, and he didn't know if he was asking himself or the shadow of his soulmate underneath. He didn't know why, but he'd always felt like they'd give really good advice. "There hasn't really been much going on, and I haven't seen any of those alien-weapon guys since the knock-off Avengers robbed that bank. Maybe we could try and find out whoever you are again. That'd be kind of fun."
'Kind of fun.' Yeah, right. It was the only thing Peter looked forward to anymore.
Before, he'd always been excited to graduate, to go through college and apply to Stark Industries, his Aunt and Uncle's smiles egging him on the entire way. He'd looked forward to band and robotics and, while he'd stayed, decathlon too. It wasn't as fun as it had been before, but Ned was still there. Liz too. They were nice, and it was good to see their smiles and hear their occasional pitying encouragement that usually only pissed him off (not that he'd ever let them know, they were just trying to help after all), but they weren't what Peter was looking for.
Then again, Peter wasn't 100% he knew what he was looking for either.
He was pretty sure his soulmate was something to look forward to. Ben and May had always described what it felt like to find your soulmate, to be able to stare at shadows your entire life until you found who you were looking for. You would touch their hand and your shadows would switch, and when you let go, the shadow remained to your universe approved bond again. The satisfaction of finally piecing together the flashes you got whenever both shadows disappeared into the darkness. It was something Aunt May and Uncle Ben had always enticed him about, always encouraged.
Maybe if he could find his soulmate, everything would be better. Everything would be perfect, like May and Ben had always proclaimed.
But that was childish, and Peter knew it. Soulmates didn't fix everything, and meeting his soulmate certainly wouldn't improve his situation. They were a regular person with a regular life. He was a second-rate vigilante that had been orphaned twice. Besides, nothing could really help Peter. Not that he needed help. He just needed to grow out of the system so he could make something that actually felt like life rather than the scraping by that it had become.
By the time Peter moved from his spot, it was because his shadow had dimmed with the entrance of New York darkness. He stood up, barely able to make out the faintness of his soulmate, and flicked his wrist out. He still had a little bit before he had to be back at the group home, so he reckoned he'd be fine. He'd be back in time that Mr. Fowler wouldn't give him another strike and he could still eat dinner. He'd do his homework, go to bed, and the next day would be the same horrible numbness of before.
"Any ideas on where the best crime is, Matey?" he asked his shadow, "Maybe superpowers can leech over to soulmates. That'd be really cool actually. Soulologists haven't been able to prove anything other than memory flashes. We could break that entire field of study if that were true."
His soulmate, of course, didn't answer. But the scuffle of a fight and a warped sound unlike anything the teenager had ever heard, did.
Tony glanced around his emptying lab, a tired glint in his eyes as he did. Large portions of the tower had been emptied and organized into large crates as they anticipated the move from the tower to the compound. Most of his lab had stayed the same throughout the process, as staff weren't allowed up here, leaving it mostly up to the billionaire himself to pack up his things. Glancing around at the piles of disheveled work and unfinished projects, he might have to get some help anyway. Or, if he started packing now, he'd have plenty of time to do it by himself.
He turned back to the suit he was working on.
The horribly challenging nanoparticles as part of his newest suit were barely coming together. It was incredibly difficult, which made it the most fun thing he'd worked on in a while, which also meant he'd been working on it for two days straight. It was a good thing Pepper was working in another country at the moment and wasn't there to make him go to bed or take a break or anything worthless like that. Then again, he guessed Pepper wasn't the only one with the power to do that.
"Sir," Friday started, "You are approaching your extent of working without a break. I suggest you go to sleep."
"I'm almost done, girl," he replied at the same moment the gauntlet he was working on sparked. He hissed in pain as he withdrew his newly burnt fingers, his vision swimming slightly. He blinked furiously to clear the dark spots from his sight. "Okay, maybe a break isn't such a bad idea."
"Great choice, sir."
"Don't patronize me," he scolded, grabbing a nearby jacket to throw over his stained shirt and a pair of sunglasses despite the late hour, "I'm taking a break, not going to sleep. Keep the lab running for me, I'm gonna go grab a coffee."
"Might I suggest a calming tea instead?"
"You most certainly may not."
Tony stepped into the brightly lit elevator, staring down at his shadow as he usually did when he was alone. The sight of the usual hoodie brought a smile to his face. His soulmate must have a hoodie addiction as strong as his coffee one, though he usually preferred whenever he could see the kid's curly hair before it was eventually tamed down by what he guessed was a godly amount of hair gel.
His soulmate had turned fifteen recently, he knew. August tenth was the first day he'd had a shadow, one of a tiny baby curled up at his feet. He remembered fondly what it had felt like to look down one random morning and see the dark blob at his feet, the confusion and the joy as he'd realized it moved with him. After thirty-one years, a soulmate of his very own.
He'd loved to watch them grow through their shadows, though his favorite was the little snippets he'd get of their life. Like for everyone else, they were very rare, especially in the bright cities he was accustomed to living in. There was always just a little bit of light somewhere in New York, but he remembered vividly the little snatches he'd managed to get from his soulmate's life when both of their shadows faded into a shade of the dark completely.
A deeply nerdy room with Star Wars posters. The bustling streets of a city. And, more recently, dark alleyways that had made him more than a little nervous. His soulmate was only a kid after all, but it was a bit hypocritical for him to be any kind of judgmental after his own teenage years, and it wasn't like he could do anything.
Other than what he was doing now.
The flashes of the streets he'd seen in his soulmate visions had reminded him deeply of New York (though they could just as easily have been from another city in the States), so Tony had made the effort to go out more whenever he could. Usually he couldn't stay for long, he was pretty busy after all. Still, local coffee shops and street vendors had become frequented by Tony Stark as he'd searched. He knew it was a little ridiculous to parade around the streets of New York City in the hopes that he would stumble upon his soulmate, but after everything that had happened with the team, he could at least try to throw in a little optimism.
The mechanic blinked out thoughts of the broken team as the elevator opened on the empty bottom floor, making his way through the darkly lit lobby and out the door into the streets. Street lamps were lit brightly, and, coupled by the headlight of cars and the alternating colors of traffic light, his soulmate was able to walk alongside Tony as he crossed the road and began down the sidewalk.
"Any recommendations for a good coffee shop, my little shadow?" Tony asked his soulmate. The people on the street paid him no mind, not that it was unusual for people to talk to their shadows. "If you do live around here, you must have at least a few recommendations. Well, I guess you are a kid, but I drank plenty of caffeine when I was your age, so."
He shrugged to himself, stopping at a street corner and pursing his lips as he thought. He'd really only explored Manhattan when looking for his soulmate, but walking across the bridge into Brooklyn and Queens would take much too long. He did want to get back to his project after all.
Tony made a turn, resolving to just find whatever new café he could. Maybe he'd explore Brooklyn or Harlem after the move. Or maybe Queens, he had been wanting to try and meet that Spider-Kid for a while anyway. He'd thought he'd had an opportunity when Rogers and his merry band had taken Barnes and left in Germany, but everything had gone by just too quick and he didn't even know the guy's identity. Not for lack of trying. The guy was pretty good at avoiding cameras, it almost made Tony jealous.
The billionaire walked for about fifteen minutes, passing by every coffee shop he'd already been to in search of a new one. There were plenty in Manhattan, but Tony had been to so many at this point it was a little ridiculous. He stopped, ready to pull out his phone and see where the nearest one he could find was, when he caught sight of a man out of the corner of his eye.
He frowned. How long had that man been following him? A few blocks at least, he recognized that green jacket from when he'd passed by Beany Business.
The light turned from an orange hand to a white silhouette, and Tony hurried across the street. He hadn't brought any kind of weapons with him, and he really wasn't in the mood to cause some kind of scene. If he was quick, he could probably lose this guy and still get to his coffee shop without some kind of annoying disturbance.
Tony allowed himself to be swept up in the crowd of late-goers, moving with them quickly. He let that crowd trickle by and joined another, and then joined one more of a drunk afterparty before finally slipping down an alleyway when he could no longer see the green jacket. He blinked in surprise as he caught sight of a coffee shop just across the street, bright red letters reading 'The Coffee Club.'
He smiled. Perfect.
Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he strolled down the alleyway towards the cheap looking café. And then a figure stepped in the entrance, blocking the view from across the street and slapping Tony's easygoing smile off of his face.
The billionaire immediately tensed as his eyes roamed over the green jacket, the covered face, and finally the gun pointed towards him. His eyebrow raised as his gaze rested on the weapon that wasn't really a gun. It was splayed out like a robotic arm, shiny and just a little bit clunky but clearly dangerous.
"Hands in the air, Stark," the man ordered. Slowly, he followed the man's orders. "Phone and glasses on the floor. Now."
"I'm gonna have to move my hands for that," Tony snarked. The man gave him a slight snarl.
"Just do it. Slowly. And throw them over here."
"Sure," he agreed, fishing his phone out of his pocket and taking his glasses off of his face before letting them clatter to the ground. The man kept the robotic gun trained on him as he grabbed the devices, placing them in a pocket in the thick of his jacket. Tony frowned. "So, what is this? A kidnapping? Taking my wallet? Genuinely interested."
"I've been watching you for a while, Stark," the man said, "You go out at night a lot. I knew it'd only be a matter of time before I could get what I want from you."
"And I would love to know what that is. As well as where you got that neat little arm-gun there. Is that Sokovian?"
"Shut up, Stark. I don't need your snark, just some information, and I'll take your wallet too."
"Mind leaving me enough cash for a coffee?"
The gun cocked. "What did I just say?"
"Hmm, I forgot."
"Very funny."
"Thanks, I thought so too," Tony joked. "Anyway, back on topic of what this is all about."
The gun whined and then quickly shot, whizzing past Tony to burn the wall just behind him. Tony turned his head to glance at the large ring of smoke before facing the man in the green jacket again.
"Shut up," he ordered again. "No more words from you unless they're the password into the DODC."
"There's more than just one password. You got a pen? This could take a while."
"No, you're coming with me."
"Oh, so this is a kidnapping."
"I can't have you changing the passwords and alerting anyone of this," the man answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but Tony could already count five thousand ways this could go wrong for Green Jacket Guy. One being that Tony wasn't up for being kidnapped at this moment in particular, and he definitely wasn't going to let this schmuck take him while he was just trying to get a decent coffee. "Keep your hands in the air and don't move, or else I'm hitting you with this."
When he gestured to the gun, Tony just gave him a bored look. "You know you're not getting any passwords or anything if you kill me, right?"
The man flicked a switch on the gun. "It's set to stun. It won't kill you, but it will definitely knock you out for a few hours."
"Good to know."
Green Jacket Guy approached, a pair of cuffs poised to slip around his outstretched hands. The man's steps were jauntily hesitant, but clear apprehension didn't stop the man from grabbing his hand and forcing the first cuff around him. He moved to click it around the billionaire's other wrist, but was met with a snapping punch to the face.
Green Jacket Guy stumbled back, a hand pressed against his newly bloody nose in a grunt of clear pain. Tony dove when the man quickly gathered himself and raised his gun, forcing himself behind a trash can as it whined and then fired. The trashcan forced itself against Tony, slapping the mechanic against the wall with a shouted groan, his shoulder barely breaking his fall. That was going to bruise in the morning.
Forced to his knees, Tony scrambled back up only to be faced with the robot-arm-gun pointed directly in his face. It charged up in its now annoyingly familiar warped whine, and there was nowhere to go. He was trapped and he was not excited to be blasted by this thing and if he got kidnapped again Happy was going to have a heart attack, he might as well--
"Hey! Watch where you're pointing that thing!" called a squeaky voice. Tony and Green Jacket Guy both turned as a red blur shot into the alleyway, a thwip! knocking the gun from the man's hand and the red blur knocking into him. The man was barreled to the ground with a pained groan before he was covered in a flurry of webs, the Spider Guy standing over him. "Pointing guns at people is illegal y'know! Sorry to be a party pooper, but I will be calling the police."
Tony blinked, forcing himself to his feet fully as the vigilante turned around, the lenses of his goofy goggles widening in comical shock.
"Oh, whoa."
"Oh, whoa," Peter breathed as he caught sight of literally Tony-freaking-Stark dusting off his pants as he stood up. His eyes instinctively fluttered to the man's shadow, expecting the long hair and slim figure of Pepper Potts but catching sight of a short and rumpled man instead. Huh.
"Whoa yourself, kid," Mr. Stark responded, stepping over to where the man was knocked out cold and webbed to the ground. He dug through the man's exposed green jacket and pulled out a pair of glasses and a sleek phone, but Peter's eyes were locked onto the strange gun on the ground. His eyes narrowed at how similar it looked to the ones at the bank. "What're you doing out here? You're a Queens guy aren't you?"
"Oh, uh, yes-yes, sir. Usually, but I was just, uhh, I was just around and I heard the fight and, and yeah..."
Mr. Stark turned to look at him, an eyebrow raised in suspicion as he glanced over Peter's ratty superhero suit. He shuffled on his feet nervously, trying desperately to keep himself still and untense his shoulders, not that it had much affect. The teenager choked down agitation, trying his best to not glance at his watch. It was getting late and, while Iron Man was his second favorite Avenger, the last thing he needed was Tony Stark finding out his secret identity.
"What's your name?" Mr. Stark asked.
"Spider-Man."
"And your real name?"
Peter paused. "Spider-Man. On my birth certificate and everything."
Mr. Stark frowned, and Peter thought he was going to demand a legitimate answer, when he shrugged and stepped away from the guy on the ground. "Fine. You helped me out, I won't bother you about it. For now."
Peter let out a low sigh, muttering, "Thank you, Mr. Stark."
"I am going to bother you about other things though," Mr. Stark said, "I've been meaning to talk to you, and no time like the present."
"Oh, uhh, I kinda have to--"
Peter was interrupted by the painful rumble of his stomach. His face turned as red as his mask, and he was thankful the man couldn't see his embarrassment, not that that stopped the superhero's teasing smirk. With a wave, the man stepped out of the alleyway. "C'mon, let's go."
"Go--go where?"
"Coffee. I came to get a good black coffee and I refuse to leave without one."
Peter glanced down at the guy he'd webbed. "What about him?"
"My AI already called the police. They'll be here soon. Now, c'mon. I'm not gonna ask you twice."
"Yeah, yeah. Ah, okay, Mr. Stark."
Peter shuffled his feet nervously, his arms crossed and constantly turning so that he could peer at the time on his watch. Twenty minutes. Not looking great, but it wasn't like Peter could really leave while Mr. Stark ordered his coffee. That would be rude, and plus it was Iron Man, so, overall a bad idea.
He glanced over from where he was leaning against the brick wall of the coffee shop to stare at the clear door. Like a final answer to his prayers, the billionaire stepped out, a drink carrier in one hand and a small brown bag in the other. The man didn't look exactly like he'd thought he would. Tony Stark had always been almost hilariously imposing in his mind, with a sharp suit and a sharper goatee, but this man was softer. Rougher.
His clothes were stained, his leather jacket rumpled, his hair messy and his face worn with the lines of memories. He seemed almost familiar somehow, and it unnerved Peter just as much as it comforted him.
"Here ya go, kid. Black coffee for me, hot chocolate and a snickerdoodle for you," Mr. Stark said once he'd walked over. Peter blinked in surprise, but managed to accept the drink and the bag with stumbling fingers.
"Oh, wow. Thank you, Mr. Stark, but you really didn't have to."
"Billionaire here, Spider-Kid. I can afford a cookie and a drink."
Peter thanked him again and, after a moment of hesitation, pulled his mask up to just above his nose, starting on the cookie. It was almost impossible to not fork it down immediately with how starved he felt. Mr. Stark waited patiently until he was finished with his snickerdoodle to start speaking, and Peter's ears burned.
"So," Mr. Stark started, "New York's benevolent vigilante that directs tourists and saves kittens from trees. Doesn't seem like a very exciting gig."
Peter narrowed his eyes, shuffling on his feet again nervously. What was his game?
He shrugged, taking a sip of his hot chocolate before answering, "It doesn't have to be exciting. I'm just trying to help out."
"Why?"
"Why--why help?"
"Exactly," Mr. Stark pointed, and suddenly he wasn't strangely familiar, he filled up the whole street. "Very few people help just to help, and even fewer dress themselves up in something that embarrassing just to help a few old ladies across the street. Why are you doing this? I gotta know. What's your MO? What gets you out of your apartment and into that onesie in the morning?"
"It's not a onesie," he muttered. Peter forced his fingers not to grip around the cup as images of a bloody street and dying shadows filled his head, instead redirecting the agitation into the scrunch of his face. He imagined he had his usual and embarrassing puppy scowl right now. He tried to release it with a sigh, but he didn't feel much better as he answered. "Because...because I've been me my whole life, and I've had these powers six months..."
Mr. Stark hummed in confirmation, goading Peter on. He swallowed down sick at the image of his aunt's brown hair drenched in blood before he continued. "I...I tried to move on at first. Just, hey! I have powers and I'm just gonna ignore it and showboat it. But...when you can do the things that I can, but you don't...and then the bad things happen..." He took a deep breath as Mr. Stark leaned in closer. "They happen because of you."
"So you wanna look out for the little guy? You wanna do your part? Make the world a better place, all that, right?"
Peter nodded fervently. "Yeah, yeah just looking out for the little guy. That's--that's what it is."
Mr. Stark nodded, his eyes glanced Peter up and down quickly before he asked softly, "And what about looking out for you?"
Peter startled, glaring at the man defensively. Did he just look like shit that much?
"What are you talking about? I'm doing fine."
"You reek of someone who hasn't been taking care of themselves, kid."
"I'm not a kid," he muttered, "And I'm fine."
"Yeah? Your arm's shaking."
Peter glanced down to see that, yes, his arm clutched around the hot chocolate was indeed shaking. Peter switched the drink to his other hand before shoving his arm in the pocket of his hoodie. "Just tired."
"It's barely ten."
"And I've been patrolling for--did you say ten?"
Mr. Stark seemed perturbed by his sudden shift, but Peter couldn't be bothered at the way his voice had lowered and shaken with slight fear or the way his entire self had tensed. Peter tore his hand out of his pocket to glare at the watch on his wrist. 9:57. Shit.
"Shit--fuck!" Peter exclaimed, pulling his mask back down. "Oh, shit. Sorry, Mr. Stark, I gotta go. Thank you so much for the hot chocolate, sir!"
"Kid, wait--"
He flicked out a wrist onto a nearby building, bending to leap when Mr. Stark's hand wrapped around his wrist.
Peter blinked at the odd sensation, holding back a flinch at the unexpected touch and tensing as his vision seemed to leap just a foot to the left before fizzing back to what it had been before. It left him dizzy and disoriented, but he only had a minute to get all the way from Manhattan to Queens. Maybe if he made it home within ten minutes he could get away with it or--
"Oh, my God..."
Peter turned at Mr. Stark's voice, realizing the man's hand was still gripping his wrist. He followed the billionaire's horribly stricken gaze to stare at whatever had left him dumb. Peter's jaw dropped as he caught sight of his shadow. It was his shadow.
The fluffy hair of his soulmate was suddenly gone and, instead, Peter's masked silhouette stood in its place. He glanced down at Mr. Stark's shadow, actions slow and jerky as he caught sight of it perfectly reflecting his own perked up jacket collar and outline of glasses. Carefully, Mr. Stark let go of his hand in a motion that felt like he was testing the waters. The shadows switched. The hooded figure shadowed Mr. Stark while the fluffy hair stood where Peter's shadow once had.
"What the..." Peter trailed off. His breaths felt lighter all the sudden. Fast. Too fast. The street was closing in, the cars passing nearby too loud and too bright and oh God his soulmate was Tony Stark. He swallowed painfully, tears biting at his eyes as he struggled for a breath.
His soulmate wasn't supposed to be Tony Stark. Peter couldn't--Peter couldn't live up to that! Mr. Stark had saved the world and he was an Avenger and he was the smartest man in the world and Peter was just some useless kid who got bullied and had a curfew and Jesus Christ he was going to be so late Mr. Fowler was going to be so mad and--
"Kid?" Mr. Stark asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. Peter flinched and ducked away, the cup he'd been holding clattering from his hands as he stood opposite the man. Defensive. A shadow flashed against the man's face.
Peter read it as disappointment.
"I'm sorry," he choked out. He shot a web and leaped away, but he could never escape his shadow.