Chapter Text
“How did you figure this out?” Tony asked, glaring at Clint in the distance. Even without the ability to see his shit eating grin, Tony knew it was there in the same way he knew Clint was going to look like a tomato tomorrow morning when he found out all of his boxers have the crotch cut out.
“Hm?” Peter asked, eyes drifting up from where he’d been zoning out staring at the skyline in the distance.
Tony frowned internally, knowing the kid must be missing his routine again. After all, the two had barely left the tower beyond a few store runs—purely for the enjoyment of leaving the house—and one day Tony took Peter out for a drive at three am. Not swinging around the city kicking the teeth out of muggers was probably killing him.
Tony turned on his mask, hiding the worry, and pointed towards Clint who was waiting impatiently to shoot more arrows. “How did you figure it out, the spidey sense thing?”
Tony could see the gears turning behind the kids eyes, sifting through the past. He could also see the kid debating whether or not he should tell the full story or pare it down to ‘parent safe’ as Peter labelled it.
“A friend.”
“A friend?” Tony asked, scrunching his eyebrows up in confusion. “What friend do you have that also got bit by a radioactive spider? I mean, seriously, how many teenagers are out there walking up walls?”
Peter laughed, half the strength of usual, but genuine nonetheless. “Just me. Well, just you.” Peter promised.
“Okay, then how did this mysterious friend of yours help you hone your freaky senses?”
“You can’t keep calling them freaky, Mr. Stark. I mean, you’re just calling yourself a freak now and Mr. Wilson says we need to have positive self talk.”
“Kid.” Tony pushed, narrowing against the continuous deflection.
Peter sighed, watching the toe of his sneaker scuff across the dirt and grass. “He doesn’t have spider powers. But he’s got….well, he sorta has really good senses?”
“Like yours?” Tony asked, tasting the metallic-bitter retort in his mind: like mine.
“Sorta.” Peter acquiesced. “They’re probably close to as strong, but they’re used differently. He said it took him a long time to learn them and how to use them to his advantage. So, he helped me out.”
“And when was this?”
Peter shrugged, eyes on the ground still, hiding any real answers from Tony’s probing gaze. “Not long after the whole Vulture thing. I was sort of just patrolling, swinging without thinking, and I wound up a bit out of my normal area… Ran into him and he decided to help me out.”
Tony hummed, eyebrows raised. “Yeah?”
“Yup.” Peter popped the ‘p’ quietly, clearly refusing to give anymore than this.
Tony tried for one last push, one last dig at the shaky ground he knew he was standing on. “Think he’d be willing to teach me since you spend more time laughing at me than training?” He tried to keep the lighthearted note in his voice, tried to make it seem friendly, less like the interrogation he knew this was becoming.
“Unlikely. He doesn’t like teaching.” Peter mumbled and he turned to glance back up at Clint, squinting despite the thick rimmed glasses he was wearing. Even at the right prescription, perfectly made by Friday, Peter was near blind as a bat. “We should get back to this before Mr. Barton starts shooting trick arrows for fun.”
“Peter.” Tony tried, but Peter had already stepped away a few feet, waving his hand at Clint and giving him the ‘go’ sign in ASL.
Oh, they weren't done talking about this. That much Tony could swear to. But for the moment, he returned to his previous position, back turned to the archer, and tried his best to focus on the sticky, web-laced arrows that were flying towards him.