Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter knew he wasn’t their favourite, hell he wasn’t even considered equal. He knows he probably never will be. That’s just the way it’s always been, and seemingly the way it always would be.

———
Peter Benjamin Parker was born into a happy home, one warmed by the love between Mary and her husband Richard Parker. However the foundations of this loving home were built on a lie, one that caused it’s inevitable destruction.

Richard was a caring husband and a good father. Mary was an amazing wife and loving mother. Together the two were the top scientists at Oscorp, an unbeatable team and to complete their perfect home there was Peter, their beautiful baby boy.

To the world they seemed like the perfect family, the real American dream, and for a while they were, but of course Parker luck wouldn’t allow it to stay that way.

Over time Peter grew, and the more Peter’s features developed, the less he looked like Richard.

By the age of five, it was clear that Peter did not resemble either of his parents. His light brown curls and dark brown doe eyes a stark contrast to his parents’ with their straight dark hair and blue eyes. His nose didn’t have the same shape as his father, nor were his little lips quite as full, in fact if you looked at the two together there would be little to no indication that the two were related. Peter had his mothers smile, her freckles…and nothing of his fathers.

Richard loved Peter more than he believed possible, but that love could not blind him from the truth. And the love between the family didn’t mean they were oblivious to the whispers of those around them. The ones who would gossip behind their backs. The ones who would say it straight to their faces. The ones who didn’t say a word, but their thoughts were clear in their gaze. Everyone knew, how could Richard not?

This, of course, caused a lot of conflict between Mary and Richard, the once happy couple could hardly spend ten minutes in each other’s company without arguing. Their conflicts grew more and more serious by the day, hours of screaming matches, not stopping until their voices faded completely. The only time the two could be silent in each other’s company was when their beloved little boy was with them. The one thing they could agree on was their adoration for Peter. Which only made this situation all the more devastating.

Eventually the day came that Richard demanded a paternity test, Mary tried to refuse but Richard was persistent. She relented and that’s when it was all revealed.

Peter was the product of an affair between Mary and the one and only Tony Stark.

—————

Around 9 months before Peter was born Mary had been sent to a meeting on behalf of Oscorp, which took place in China. Many representatives from different tech companies attended, including Stark industries. It was a rather boring meeting, nothing truly special about it. Perhaps the best part of the trip was the drinks served at the party she attended afterwards.

Mary cant recall much of that night, all she knows is that the drinks were strong and and her urges were stronger. She remembers dancing with him…that’s all she remembers.

But one thing lead to another.

And the morning she awoke sharing a bed with stark.

Thats when it all hit her.

She made a desperate scramble out of bed and left immediately, regret flooding her mind and tears streaming down her face.

In one night of strong drinks and rich assholes, she had betrayed her husband. She betrayed the man who had stuck by her through it all, through all their years together, she had betrayed the man who had held her when she cried, danced with her when she was happy, the man who refused to leave her side when she was sick. That was the man she had betrayed.

She felt ill, she couldn’t bear to catch her reflection in any mirror, all she saw was a traitor. She had failed the one person who had always been there. It was as if this horrible beast had replaced her that night, a terrifying hideous beast, one that didn’t care what it ripped apart so long as it got the temporary satisfaction it desired.

She got the soonest flight home she could, which was that afternoon. She couldn’t bare being in the same country as her affair partner.

The logical part of her brain knew that it was her own choices that put her into this situation but the rest of her needed someone else to blame. Someone who could rid her of that pit in the bottom of her stomach. Someone to hold accountable. Someone that could make her believe that it wasn’t her fault.

She spent the entire plane ride contemplating how she would tell her husband about her infidelity.

She planned to tell him, she really did, but when she arrived home and Richard greeted her with flowers and a comforting hug, she just couldn’t.

She pushed it off, reasoning that she was too tired to tell him that night. Then the next night it was still too soon. Then the next weekend she couldn’t tell him because they had plans the following day and it would only stress him out. Then it was too close to his birthday and she didn’t want to upset him. Every day a new excuse, a new reason to procrastinate, a new reason to lie.

She had tried many times over the next weeks and eventually she gave up.

Mary swore to herself that she would be the best wife to repent for her mistakes. She would apologise through every method she could other than actually uttering the words her husband deserved to hear.

She wished she could force herself to come clean, but she couldn’t and deep down she knew that she didn’t want to, not really. She didn’t want to loose everything the two of them had built together. Everything she had ever wanted, she had. Why would she ever want to lose it?

She could keep it a secret, she knew she could. Sure, it would silently torment her, but she had no other option. She just had to keep lying to Richard and pray that there would never come a day that he would find out.

After all there was no way he would find out if she didn’t tell him.

When she discovered her pregnancy a few months later she was shocked, she knew there was a possibility this baby was a result of that night but she had just pushed it to the back of her mind. Ignorance is bliss, especially in this case. She panicked and spent many days debating whether or not she should tell Richard, eventually she decided to. There was already so much she had been keeping from him, he deserved to know at least this much.

At first Mary planned to terminate her pregnancy, to get rid any potential evidence of her drunken mistake but when she told Richard his eyes lit up at the possibility of him being a father.

The pair had talked about children before and Richard revealed that it had always been a dream of his. As a kid he hadn’t had the stability of a home in the suburbs and two loving, present parents, Mary knew that Richard wanted nothing more than to give this kid what he didn’t have.

If she was honest she didn’t want to lose her baby either. In the end she decided to keep it, because her child was more likely to be Richard’s anyway.. after all Stark was only a one-night-stand. The probably of him being the father would be very low, impossible even. The more she reassured herself, the more assured she became that this child would be Richard’s.

——-

When the paternity test came back revealing the truth, Richard was heartbroken. He thought he had prepared for it, he thought he had accepted the possibility.

He knew that the odd of him being Peter’s father weren’t in his favour but to be told that as a fact was agonising. The piece of paper held no emotion, no bias, only facts.

And the fact was that things were not as he believed.

It was like his heart of glass shattered the second that he read the results, and every time he though of it one of the fractured tiny shards remaining stabbed into him further. It seemed like no matter how much he tried to pick away at the tiny fractures, they never truly cleared.

He doesn’t believe they ever truly will.

That night he packed his bags and left despite Mary pleading for him to stay. He kissed Peter on the forehead and ruffled the messy curls. Whispering a gentle ‘I love you’ as he did so. Peter tilted his head in confusion but didn’t say anything, after all his dad left for business trips all the time. Why would this one be any different?

He hugged Mary and told her that he forgave her, but that he just couldn’t be there at that time. He grabbed his bags and headed to the door, turning back to look Mary in the eyes, he gave her a gentle smile as tears filled his eyes. “I still want to be in Peter’s life, just not as his father.”

And with that he left.

Mary collapsed to the floor in as a fit of hysterical sobs wracked her body. Peter waddled over and wrapped his tiny chubby arms around his mother, clueless to the situation but now crying hysterically too at the sight of his mother. She pulled him in and the two sat there for a while, crying until their tears were scarce.

The devastation was something Mary couldn’t bear. The loneliness amplified the emptiness in their shared apartment. Although only one member of the family wasn’t present, it made a difference, a huge difference; the house felt eerie and unfamiliar without the warm presence of the man.

Mary knew she couldn’t last the night, so she stuffed two shopping backs with a fresh set of clothes and a couple necessities and set off in the car to stay with a friend for the night, anything to escape the empty home.

She hurried a still sniffing Peter out of the door and silenced any protests by handing him his favourite teddy bear. A brown bear wearing blue pyjamas and an old fashioned white nightcap, the bear that Peter took everywhere. A bear that Richard bought him.

They never arrived at their destination.

On the road there was an accident. It was no one’s fault, a car beside Mary slid on some ice and came barrelling straight into her vehicle. In a flash of headlights Peter lost his mother and the only stable life he knew. The impact alone was fatal, in the blink of an eye she was gone. Peter however was left with only a few cuts, bruises and a truckload of trauma.

He was escorted to the hospital in an ambulance, kicking and screaming demanding to see his mother, clutching the bear like a lifeline. A doleful expression was worn on the paramedics faces, exchanging looks that Peter didn’t pick up on as they loaded him into the ambulance. He continued with his demands to see his mother, but he was ultimately ignored, he was given pitiful glances but no words of reassurance or comfort. Once he realised that he was getting nowhere with that, he gave into his emotions and sobbed the whole way there, refusing to speak to anyone, not that they seemed to be making much of an effort to strike up conversation anyway.

After a while Peters sobs grew silent, he still shook as small cries wracked his body, pitiful as compared to what they were at the beginning of his meltdown. When they arrived Peter was cleaned and had his injuries tended to, he remained unresponsive, his cries now reduced to sniffles. Lonely tears slipped from his eyes, trailing down the little cheeks, his eyes were red and sore from the emotions of the night. His throat hoarse and painful from the days events, rendering the boy unable to utter a word.

A kind nurse gentle took Peter’s hand and lead him to the waiting area, there was a small corridor off to the side that was occupied by only a few people, a vast difference to the hectic nature of the rest of the hospital. She sat him down on a chair near the reception desk. She kneeled down to his level and tried to meet his eyes, hers filled with compassion as she whispered instructions to go and ask for anything if he needed. Her eyes glazed over slightly when the little boy remained unresponsive, but she put on a reassuring smile before she stood, walking away only to returned a few minutes later carrying a blanket. Hesitantly she informed him that she was going to go and help other patients, and reluctantly she walked off, her eyes flicking back to him several times. No one else approached the boy, not sure what to say or how to offer comfort, so they kept their distance.

The boy may have been in a hospital surrounded by people, but he had never felt so alone.

A young nurse was sent to check the records for an emergency contact, a mundane job, but was perplexed to discover that records had recently been updated and Tony Stark was cited as the boys father. She was in disbelief, assuming it was a joke of poor taste, however, she had to at least attempt contact. Regardless of circumstance she was assigned to get the job done, and find the boy a guardian. She was still a little perplexed and soon several coworkers gathered to study the strange document, debating how to go about the situation. Ultimately they decided that contacting the man was worth a shot.

Unsurprisingly there was no contact number left beside the name, so they had to search for another method to reach out. Filled with determination (and a little curiosity) they persisted, not wanting to give up on this boy. They would go through whatever methods possible to get this boy to his (presumed) father. The group could find no phone numbers, emails, nothing private, which wasn’t particularly shocking as he was literally one of the biggest celebrities of the 21st century. There was a website online dedicated to fan-mail but she knew that likely wouldn’t be read in time, if at all.

One keen eyed intern offered the most plausible solution; Stark Industries. They attempted to contact the corporation and after a few (many) failed attempts they eventually got through to someone named Harold Hogan. A man who seemed awfully sceptical, spending a long while questioning them, checking their location and overall just giving them hassle, he (albeit very reluctantly) agreed to alert Mr Stark. But only after they’d had a DNA test conducted just to check the results.

During the hassle, the same solicitous nurse to escort Peter to another room to have a blood sample extracted for the DNA test. The boy remained frozen in his seat, as if asleep with his eyes open. Despite any efforts at conversation, Peter remained completely unresponsive, not even acknowledging the nurse at all. The only indication that he was conscious was the steady stream of tears down his small face.

This behaviour was highly unusual for a kid his age, normally they squirmed and kicked up a huge fuss at the mere glimpse of a needle, but not this one. He was in a trance, completely immobile. It was rather unsettling for the nurse, in all her years she’d never seen this expression on a child. She’d always wished that the children would be calm and compliant during the process, but at this moment, she wished for the kid to throw a tantrum. Yell, scream, cry, just something. Peter didn’t.

Due to the hassling from Stark Industries to get the process over quickly (likely before the media caught up) they had to work swiftly. The company had even supplied technology to ensure that the results were accurate and delivered promptly, not wanting to deal with any discrepancies or delays.

Within the hour the results were in, leading to a collection of staff and Stark Industry employees - who had been sent to supervise - standing gawking at the piece of paper.

It revealed that Peter truly was a Stark.

While the rest were too caught up in their nattering, the nurse acted immediately, prioritising the boy rather than the gossip. She hastily picked up the phone, scrambling to type in the number that was left. To her surprise it was picked up rather quickly, by the same Mr. Hogan, the conversation was brief and to the point.

The man hung up abruptly and within around ten minutes, a fancy black car had sped outside the doors, parking somewhere it wasn’t supposed to. Two men exited the car, one a huge hulk of a man, stone face, who the nurse immediately matched to the voice on the call. The second looking rather disheveled and as if he would rather be anywhere else, she knew who he was immediately, clumsy disguise aside, that man was most certainly Tony Stark.

Mr Hogan walked alongside Mr stark, keeping a watchful eye, as if to prevent the latter from sprinting the second he got a chance. His eyes were scanning around analytically, although his face was stone, his anxiety was evident through his fidgeting hands. The pair were led by the nurse to a rather sad looking corner. Obnoxiously bright overhead lights illuminated the small boy, who sat on the chair, not bothering to lift his eyes.

The second Tony laid eyes that kid sitting on a chair in a deserted hospital corridor, he knew. He knew that it was his kid. The same eyes, the same dark hair, the same scrawny build. He was the image of a younger tony, as a time he wanted to forget.

Tony wasn’t ready to be a father, he knew it, everyone did. Although he had recently weaned off of alcohol and his party days were, mostly, behind him, the man was still a mess.
He had bigger problems, no time for a child. He was Ironman, he couldn’t deal with some kid running around messing things up. He had a company to (occasionally) run. He was the target for many. He was constantly followed by the media. So many reasons ran though the man’s head as to why he would ultimately fail as a parent.

But, Tony knew he was all this kid had, if he didn’t take him in, no one would.

This kid was his responsibility.

Although the nice nurse informed him of everything, Peter was very reluctant to go with the strangers.

However he didn’t really have a choice, where else would he go?

The kind nurse explained that this man was Peter’s dad and that he’d have to behave and go with him. Peter knew he had, whether or not he wanted to. Try as he might, his little mind he couldn’t figure out why his mom and real dad couldn’t just come and pick him to take him home. His small voice piped up, asking the question and the lady went silent, looking at him with sympathy but offering no true explanation. After a moment of internal debate, he begrudgingly stood and silently followed his ‘father’ to the car, cradling his teddy as he walked.

The car ride was awake was and entirely silent, uncomfortably so.

Tony tried to make small talk a couple times but received no response from the young boy. The man tried to ask about his interests, even awkwardly asking what his teddy was named. But each attempt received nothing in response. His voice was shaky and unsure, he too looked at Peter the way everyone had that night, like an injured puppy, only causing the boy more frustration.

Tony was clueless as to how to communicate with kids, especially deeply traumatised ones. Tony wasn’t one for physical contact either, a result of his upbringing, so he could not offer comforting hugs, nor pats on the shoulder, nor affectionate words either.

Tony was nothing like Mary or Richard, that was something Peter knew for sure.

They arrived at a huge tower, a complex piece of architecture Peter would have marvelled at in any other circumstances.

He was led into an elevator, and spooked a little when it began speaking. Tony, tried again to talk to him, hoping to engage in something with the boy, just not sure how. Still, no response.

The elevator ride was long and silent. The reached a penthouse, a huge floor decorated with riches beyond what Peter had ever seen in his shabby little house in queens. Tony led the boy into a bedroom, one clearly suited for adults if the high up queen size bed and minimal decor was anything to go by. The

man was kind enough to help Peter onto the massive bed, and awkwardly gently pull the covers up. He looked him over, wavering as if he wanted to say something or maybe even stay. But instead decided against it, offering him a stained goodnight and veering towards the lab to tinker his anxieties away.

The light was switched off and Peter was left to his own thoughts, as his little mind tried to understand all that had happened.

___ ___ ___

This distant relationship continued over the years, somehow the two never connected as father and son, but remained strangers who shared a home. Peter was practically raised by nannies and once he was deemed old enough, he was left entirely on his own. The nannies provided for him in his physical needs such as cooking for him, but emotionally he received nothing. Although, they doted on him, fussing over every cut and bruise, (something he believed that was more out of fear of losing their job rather than genuine care for him), they never supplied him with the comfort the little boy yearned for. Despite this, Peter was thankful for what he got from them, it wasn’t their job to be there for him emotionally.

That was supposed to be his father’s responsibility, one that he seemingly didn’t feel particularly obliged to fulfil.

The way Peter saw it, his father hardly acknowledged as a son at all.

Peter wasn’t a priority in the schedule of the great Tony Stark, and on the rare occurrences they spent time together, Tony never seemed interested in anything he said or did, so eventually he stopped making any effort to engage with the man at all.

When the pair were together, it always seemed like Tony had something else to be doing, something more important than Peter. When Peter needed someone to talk to, Tony had a business call. When Peter wanted to play, Tony had work. When Peter wanted to watch a movie, Tony had a meeting. When Peter wanted to just spend some time in his dad’s presence it seemed like Tony always has some whacky experiment to be conducting. Something ‘dangerous’ that Peter couldn’t be in the room for.

The avengers didn’t pay Peter much mind either, most didn’t even bother to feign interest when he was in their presence. They were kind to him, but always in that formal way that people do when they don’t really know someone. He didn’t resent them for not being particularly close with him, that wasn’t the problem. Well, at least it wouldn’t be a problem if he hadn’t seen the way they all adored their golden boy, his perfect big brother, Harley. 

—

Harley was everything Peter wished we could be. He was sporty, funny and very social. Harley had the ability to talk to anyone, he was never awkward, never lost for words (an ability Peter lost over his years of isolation).

Peter was jealous of Harley in almost every way, but the thing Peter was most jealous of was his relationship with Tony and the avengers. It was clear they treasured him, while Peter was simply an afterthought, the other Stark son.

Tony and Harley would spend hours down in the lab together, while Peter was only allowed to work in the old one, alone as usual. This was often justified due to Harley being the older of the pair and hence more responsible. Peter had long surpassed the age that Harley had begun working in the lab, and yet still didn’t receive permission.

Harley took part in all of the avengers game nights and team bonding activities, while Peter stayed up in his room. It wasn’t that he was excluded entirely, the boy could attend if he so pleased. However, when Peter did join them, they always found a way to alienate him; talking over him, interrupting or just outright ignoring his words. Now, whenever the possibility is propose to him, Peter makes up an excuse to avoid it.

Peter wasn’t sure if their exclusion of him was on purpose, but their feelings toward him were clear. He wasn’t the one they wanted to spend time with. He wasn’t one of them.

Eventually Peter realised that it was better to remain cooped up his room, alone. That way, at least he wouldn’t witness his family blatantly favouring his brother. Though in doing so he only became more of a recluse, more distant from them and the divide grew.

He would reassure himself that he was happier alone, but deep down he knew that wasn’t true. He dreamed of what his life would have been like had he and Harley been treated the same. You’d think that he’d want to take Harleys place, make the golden boy face the isolation he had his whole life, but Peter wasn’t like that. He didn’t want Harley to suffer though what he’d been through. He wasn’t that type of person. No, all he desired was for them to be equal, in everyone’s eyes… including his own.

___ 

Tony took Harley in not long after Peter, but he just was different with Harley. When Harley arrived something clicked between him and Tony and they almost instantly were the perfect father and son.

Peter didn’t know what made him different.

Why was he left in the care of nannies while Harley was given all the love and attention he desired?

Harley was two years older than Peter so he was nine when Tony took him in, poor Peter could never figure out what set them apart. Was Harley smarter? Funnier? A better son? What did he have that Peter didn’t? That was the question had kept him up at night since Harley arrived. Why did they love Harley but not him?

Peter craved the love and attention that Harley received, so the tried his best to be perfect, but somehow Harley always outdid him, seemingly without even trying.

If Peter got an A, Harley got an A+. If Peter built something, Harley built something cooler. If Peter learned a new skill, it always seemed to be something Harley had already practically mastered, hence less impressive in the eyes of his family.

Over time Peter learned that there was no point in staining himself and putting in the effort, as he would never be Harley’s equal in the eyes of his family.

So he gave up. His grades slipped, his motivation disappeared and he sunk further into his isolation.

Chapter Text

Peter woke early that morning, he had no particular reason to, he just did. Maybe it was the pain in his stomach, screaming at him, demanding food. Maybe it was the light seeking in through the curtains that he hadn’t fully closed the night before. Maybe it was the draft seeping in through the upper window that he had left open that night - always found peace in listening to the howl of wind mixed with the noises of the city below. He often sat and looked out when he struggled to fall asleep, to him it was comforting, seeing that there were so many buildings, so many people, it made him feel less alone. He lay in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling very much debating getting up and leaving his warm cozy blankets. He stayed there for a while, until eventually (after five minutes) he got bored and dragged himself out of bed. Despite having a full nights rest, Peter’s mind was clouded with a dried fog, nothing unusual, it felt like it always was. He walked by the desk by his bed, before pausing and turning back, snatching his phone up and switching off the alarm before it could irritate him with its incessant beeping.

He trudged into the bathroom with the grace of the hulk. Growing frustrated as he struggled to open the door, he kept pushing, eventually the door relented and he managed to slip through a small opening he created. He glared at the object as if it had personally offended him, mumbling about his father ‘being able to fly but not rate functional doors’. His mood grew more sour as saw the sight of the blockage, a damp towel that he hasn’t picked up after last nights shower. He haphazardly kicked it out the way, making no effort to clean it up. Not like anyone would tell him off for being messy. They’d have to speak to him for that. He slumped onto the sink, his characteristic clumsiness amplified due to his deliriousness. He raised his head and stared at his reflection for a bit, first thing he saw was his unruly bedhead sticking up at unnatural angles. His eyes met his own sunken ones, they looked tired regardless of how much sleep he got. Dark lines down from his eyes, marks to indicate his fatigue - he suffered insomnia a lot of nights so would preoccupy himself by sneaking down to the lab.

If Peter was honest with himself he knew he didn’t look healthy, his worryingly thin frame poking out from under his tent of a tee, a clear indication of that fact. His dull complexion, the blank look that normally adorned his face, his thin cracked lips. All painting a picture of Peter’s struggles, of his desperate plea for help that was somehow unheard.

Many people had went as far as to ask if he was ill, though that group never included his ‘family’. He often wondered if they knew and just didn’t care or if they just didn’t care to notice at all. Peter wasn’t sure which was worse.

He often relished in the strangers’ brief concern for the few seconds before he stuttered out a dumb response. He felt pathetic for taking joy in a stranger worrying about him, but they seemed to be the only ones who did.

If Peter was honest, he missed being raised by the nannies. Sure, they tended to be overbearing and often coddled him far too much for his liking. The ladies were never emotionally there; they would offer kind words and advice, but never a hug. Never any kind of physical contact, that wasn’t professional and therefore was prohibited. At first Peter thought they were the same as his family, but later he discovered that it just wasn’t proper protocol for their job. They weren’t supposed to feel paternal towards the small boy and they certainly weren’t supposed to supply him with the contact that he had desired for years. That was supposed to be the job of his family.

He was sure that if they could have wrapped him up in a bubble and kept him inside at all times, they would have, but that’s the closest they could get to him. No hugs or affection, just protection, that was their job. They had to provide for him, not nurture him. Still it hurt when they said their final goodbyes.

But he can’t deny that it did feel nice to be cared for.

That’s one of the few things he remembers of his mother, that wonderful warm feeling of knowing that you are loved. The gentle feeling of hugging her, her long soft hair brushing across his face, tickling his nose. The gentle words she sang to him, as she rocked him back and forth, he used to protest that he wasn’t a baby that he didn’t need coddling. How he wishes he could go back now be with her one last time, feel that love one last time. Funny now the things he used to find bothersome are the things he desires most in the world. Now he craves any affection, but he used to squirm and try get out of his mothers embrace. He used to protest when she’d kiss him, now Peter hasn’t been kissed in years. He used to get embarrassed when she would fuss over him, constantly checking on him. He used to be cared for. He used to be truly happy.

But at least the nannies were once a constant presence in his life, unlike his father who he would only properly see a couple times a week, at most and when he did the man was never there for him. Not really, not in any way a father should. Peter couldn’t go to him with his feelings. Peter couldn’t cry on his shoulder. Peter couldn’t ask him for help with homework. Peter couldn’t truly call him his father, or pretend he looked up to the man.

Tony got rid of the nannies when Peter turned eleven. Peter wasn’t sure why he got rid of them, but it’s not like he could ask. Tony always had something better to be doing. Always an excuse to avoid him. Peter just assumed it was something to do with security, the usual rehearsed excuse he received when he was prohibited for doing anything.

From the day the nannies were dismissed, onward he was practically an adult in his own eyes. After all he did all he didn’t need anyone to take care of him anymore, he could take care of himself. Which was exactly what he had been doing for the past two years.

Admittedly it was easier in the beginning, at first he had relished in his new found independence. Until he realised it only pushed him deeper into isolation.

At first Peter enjoyed cooking for himself and not depending on anyone, but over time his motivation slipped. He began skipping meals, or simply eating whatever was convenient.

At first Peter made an effort to keep his room tidy, to keep it orderly but over time his motivation faulted for that too. The piles of dirty laundry in the corner of his room. The unruliness of his bed. The mess of the desk in his bedroom, cluttered with random items and papers that he couldn’t be bothered putting away. All an indication that he was struggling to take care of himself and his surroundings.

At first Peter loved sleeping in late on weekends, without being nagged but now waking up at all was a chore.

He often neglected his own needs, because the people who were supposed to remind him never did. The people who were supposed to take care of him never did.

They always took care of Harley though. That is what made it all worse.

In fact, they often did everything for him. He never cooked for himself if the avengers or Tony were present, nod did he ever clean up after himself.

Peter isn’t even sure if he knows how to take care of himself at all, he’d always had help. There’s always been someone there for him. Someone to do it for him.

He didn’t have to grow up early.

So why did Peter?

The only time Peter ate with them, was when they had the team dinner on Friday nights, and even that he often skipped. It hurt to watch them act so differently towards his brother. It hurt to see what he could have had. It made him question what made him so unlovable. Why was he the exception? Why didn’t the see him the same way?

Peter knew that avoiding them only caused the rift to grow, and the more it grew, the harder it became for Peter to leap to the other side. The gap had become far to large now, there was seemingly no going back. Sure, maybe he should make an effort too, but often he just didn’t have the energy to watch them fawn over Harley, while simultaneously overlooking him.

Peter shook his head when he realised he had become lost in his thoughts. He had been wasting time. He didn’t want to deal with an annoyed Happy, who was became the farthest thing from his nickname when he was late for something. Though Peter had woken up early, he knew that the more time he spent daydreaming, the harder it would be to pull himself out. With great difficulty he dragged himself into the shower and began to get ready for the day.

After he was done he shuffled into the kitchen, not bothering to announce his presence or greet anyone. He knew he probably wouldn’t get much of a response anyway. If they weren’t going to make an effort with him, why should he bother with them. It’s not like it would make a difference. It was too late for that now.

The kitchen was crowded with most of the team despite it being relatively early on Thursday morning. It was peaceful, for once there weren’t any missions for them to be stressing about, there was an air of clarity. A contrast to the usual dark cloud of stress and anxiety that often loomed over the team.

Wanda was sitting on one of the stools with Nat opposite her drinking her coffee, she glanced at him for a moment, her eyes flicking over him before turning back to her conversation. Peter never knew what she was thinking, she never really voiced anything negative about him, yet a mere glance from her made him a little self conscious. Peter wondered if she wanted to say something and wondered if he should go ask. He decided against it, the pair were clearly content just chatting, Peter wouldn’t go and bother them by talking too.

Sam and Steve were over by the fridge, evidently just back from their run, as indicated by their (mainly Sam’s) sweaty appearances. Steve had his notebook out and was noting down some of the songs Sam recommended, as Sam obnoxiously rambled on and on about how there’s no good music being made nowadays. The two were happy, why would Peter interrupt them.

Peter looked at the clock and realised that the time he had spent getting ready meant that he was no longer early, but not later either.

Not long after Peter settled down at the table with his sad slice of toast and cup of orange juice, Tony sauntered into the room with his arm around a disgruntled Harley. Who was complaining at the fact that Tony had woken him up earlier than usual. ‘Always something to be complaining about’

Peter averted his eyes to hide the clear jealousy in them as he watched the father and son and to stop himself from dreaming about what could have been. What he could have had.

Tony walked behind Peter and clapped him on the shoulder in greeting. Though not saying a word. Not even a good morning. He was too busy chatting to Harley. As usual. Peter noticed how he recoiled slightly in surprise at how bony Peter’s shoulder was. His hand lifting up quickly. Tony gave him a short concerned glance but opted to not say a word and stroll off to help Harley with his breakfast.

Peter sighed inwardly and went back to his measly breakfast. Fighting to keep his thoughts positive.

He knew today wouldn’t be all bad, at least he had that field trip today.

The one to Oscorp.

Not that he would tell Tony about it. Peter had already forged his father’s signature, which was practically second nature now. He had done it for almost everything, permission slips, report cards, you name it he had probably forged a signature for it. He was probably better at his fathers signature than his own. Besides, it was much easier than actually asking his father and getting pushed aside.

His father hardly talked to him as is, Peter didn’t want to give him a reason to be mad at him on top of that.

If Peter was honest with himself, he was looking forward to it. The group would be shown around the labs in Oscorp, something Tony never did for Peter in Stark Industries. Of course he did for Harley though.

Peter wasn’t even allowed to work in Tony’s lab, he worked in the old one that didn’t have tech or supplies a fraction as good as the ones in Tony’s real lab.

Not long after he finished his breakfast he was being hurried out for the door by a very disgruntled Happy. As Peter sat in the car and rested his head on his arm, staring out of the window he listened into Harley taking to an uncharacteristically happy, Happy, who was listening to Harley contently, not complaining at all. Something he had never done for Peter. Something few people had done for Peter in the years since his mothers death.

They arrived at school and both climbed out of the car thanking happy, who offered a grunt in response and immediately sped off.

Harley was immediately ambushed by his massive group of friends, while Peter walked straight in with his head down.

He waiting by his locker until he was approached by a very excited Ned, he was practically buzzing on the spot as he rambled on about all he knew about Oscorp. Peter nodded along, but he wasn’t fully listening.

It wasn’t long before they were all being loaded onto the bus, and Peter couldn’t help feeling a little optimistic.

Maybe, just maybe, today would be a good day.

Chapter Text

That optimistic feeling hadn’t faded in the half hour on the bus. Rather, the more time he spent thinking about the trip the more his excitement grew. He fidgeted slightly, shuffling his shoes in impatience as he searched out the window for an indication that they were getting close. The bus ride was long, giving Peter time to think, something that never ends well.

Tony had never told Peter much about his mother, not that he would know much himself. He remembered asking once, only to be immediately dismissed and sent away. As a result of Peter not having anyone to ask in order to get the information he desired, he conducted his own research.

He discovered a lot about his mom, and even found an old photo of them together, which he currently has framed and sitting on his bedside. He saw that she liked to paint and cook. How she always wore her hair slightly to the right. He noticed that she had a favourite white dress, that could be seen in many of her photos.

He also learned about her husband Richard, Peter remembered his face but he doesn’t have much memory of him, though he doesn’t have much memory of his mother either.

There were two memories of Richard that were rather vivid though. One of him sneaking Peter some ice cream while his mom was busy with cooking. He remembers the man giving him a mischievous grin and sneaking him a spoonful every time his mother turned back to the stove. He liked that memory, he had held onto it for many years and each time he recalled it, he got the same warm feeling.

The other memory was not so lighthearted, taking place the night he lost his mother. He remembers Richard leaning down and kissing his forehead, mumbling something softly and then walking over to his mom, telling her something in a hushed tone, before grabbing his bag and walking out the door, he wasn’t sure what happened next that day. It had always been on his mind, he had a gut feeling that there was more to know about that particular memory.

The last thing Peter discovered about about his mother, and perhaps the most shocking, was that she and her husband both worked for Oscorp. In the limited contact he had with his father, he had leaned that Tony was not a fan of the company, nor the man who ran it.

If Peter was honest it brought him a spiteful sense of glee, knowing that he had a connection to something that brought his father misery.

After he discovered his mothers occupation he went down a rabbit hole learning of all of her work and accomplishments as a scientist.

It irked him that the piece of her work that interested him the most, was also kept the most private.

From what he had found, there was documentation that his mother and her husband had managed to combine the DNA of several different species of spider to create genetically enhanced spiders.

Peters discovery did not a satisfy his curiosity, if anything it only added to it, so he continued his research. However there was a pathetic amount information available on the Spiders, and the information he had was dubious at best, entirely unreliable at worst. The experiments seemed to be a mere a legend among the science community. There was no solid proof, well, at least no proof that was reliable. Some had claimed to be eyewitnesses of the creatures, but were all eventually proven wrong. Despite the onslaught of evidence testifying against the existence of the spiders, Peter still believed them to be real, though he wasn’t sure why. He intended to discover whether his suspicions were true. ———

When he arrived he already had a full plan clear in his mind. He had mapped it out for this day. Analysed floor plans. Checked up on security. Hacked security cameras. Found the blind points. He intended to find his mother’s work. He wasn’t planning to do anything when he found it, he just wanted to see it. The feeling was so confusing, for some reason he was drawn to it, a small voice in the back of his head nagging him that he must find it, yet he didn’t know why. There was something pulling him to it, whispering to him, telling him that it’s real, that he must find it. Peter just wanted to… for that, he was unsure.

He knew his mission was stupid and reckless. Of course he did, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was normally very rule-oriented, never stepping food out of line, yet this cause worth the possible repercussions. Plus it’s not like his ‘father’ would care much if he was caught, in fact he’d probably have more problem with the fact that his son was at Oscorp in the first place.

——-

As he entered the building Peter was in awe.

Tony only allowed Harley in the lab with him, the two would spend hours there doing god knows what. Peter could count the amount of times he’d been allowed in on one hand, and even when he was in he was strictly prohibited from laying a finger on anything.

There was a spare lab that nobody even looked at, he was the same as it in that sense. It was like heaven for him, he could do what he wanted, build what he wanted and he could pretend that everything was fine.

The tour guide drawled on and on about the history of the building, but Peter was too transfixed by his surroundings to fully listen. He watched interns scurry around with papers and coffee. He smelled the smoke and motor oil that was coming from the team beside him. He heard the machines whirring and bussing as they were tested.

Every room he entered was like a new world, but it wasn’t exactly what he was looking for.

Eventually he saw the perfect chance, the tour guide had give them all permission to explore the intern labs. It wasn’t hard for Peter to slip away, he was practically invisible at school too.

He slipped out the door and followed the long corridor. He had studied enough to know exactly where he was going, but the process was nerve wracking. His heart pounded and he became, very conscious of his breathing as he tried to keep himself undetected. He was lucky, as the corridors were pretty silent - many scientists had skipped the day, unwilling to deal with a heard of unruly teenagers. He was focused on his goal, following his carefully mapped route, but he caught sight of a scientist wheeling a cart with a glass box sitting on top.

Inside the glass box, were spiders.

Red and blue spiders.

Peter knew immediately that he had to follow, he’d already gone this far.

He crept behind the man as he walked down the hallway. The man passed through a door leading into a larger room, so did Peter, who winced when it creaked loudly and looked around out of apprehension, fearing the worst. The man abruptly left and Peter tucked himself behind a pillar to avoid being detected. Putting a hand over his mouth and nose in a desperate attempt to hide his breathing. God, did he really breathe like that all the time?

He lept from his spot and grabbed the door before it closed, carefully shuffling himself though the small gap.

Peter was uncharacteristically lucky, the room was empty. He ensured that he closed the door gently behind him, as to not alert anyone of his presence. He bounded over to the spiders and marvelled at them. He read the note ahead of him, squinting his eyes in desperate attempt to comprehend the ridiculously messy handwriting scribbled onto it. As far as he could tell it contained their stats and information about their creation.

These particular spiders apparently were descended from the original ones his mother created.

‘They’re real!’ Was all he could think.

The note said there were twelve spiders in total, but no matter how many times he counted and recounted, he could only see eleven. He shrugged it off and analysed the rest of the room. His eyes landing on the large clock perched on the south wall, the time on it resulting in a great deal of panic from the boy. In his wonder, Peter had lost track of time.

He realised that he only had ten minutes until he had to regroup with his class. He rushed back through the door, carefully closing it behind him.

He walked briskly down the corridor, being cautious of any stay workers. He arrived back quickly and nonchalantly slipped into the group, completely unnoticed.

“Where have you been dude!?” Ned whisper-shouted.

“I went to find the bathroom and got…lost.” Peter replied sheepishly.

Mr Harrington turned and glared at the two, shutting them up immediately.

While Peter was listening to the tour guide jabber on yet again, he felt a small prick on his hand. It was like being stabbed by a tiny needle, it didn’t hurt at first but then all of a sudden his whole arm exploded into agony. It sent shivers up his spine. Each hair stood on end. His vision became blurry. It became hard to breathe. He glanced down at his arm to see a tiny red and blue spider scurrying away.

‘That’s not good.’

Peter knew he could tell anyone, that would get him caught. So although the pain in his arm had grown greater than ever, and he was beginning to feel a whole host of effects that Peter could only compare to what he supposed a severe hangover would feel like, Peter stayed quiet about his condition. Ned chatted to him on the bus about everything he’d seen, asking questions to which Peter could only respond with in grunts. One grunt, no. Two grunts, yes.

The journey felt like it took an eternity but finally Peter stumbled off the bus just in time for the final bell of school.

He halfheartedly waved to Ned, his hand flopping awkwardly. He then doddered off, clearly not paying much attention to his surroundings - as he nearly collided with around four people on his breif walk to the car- nor did he notice the concerned glance he received from his friend. He stumbled into someone and rambled incoherent apologies. Then continued his uncoordinated hirple towards the car, swaying dangerously with each step.

He clumsily opened the door - following an embarrassingly long battle with the handle, and slumped onto the seat immediately laying his head against the window. His breath fogged up the glass, but in his delirious state it appeared to have not changed at all, seeming equally as blurry.

He noticed Happy’s concerned glance, but as always he didn’t voice his concerns.

His brief minutes of blissful silence were interrupted when Harley came prancing over to the car happily. His glee only adding to Peter’s misery. He opened the door with ease and flopped down into his seat, promptly entering a ramble about his day. Half way through his story he paused and turned to Peter, who hadn’t moved from his previous position and look like death personified. Harleys eyes raked over him judgementally, but didn’t waste any more time glancing at his brother, simply returning back to incessant rambling.

By then Peter was experiencing the worst pain of his life, the bite on his arm swelling at an alarming rate, sending tingles though-out his entire body. His arm however, was no longer painful and now entirely numb. He wasn’t sure if that was more or less concerning.

He felt unusually weightless, as if he was drifting above his body and looking down on it. Yet simultaneously his body felt unbearably heavy, as if his mere bones weighed tonnes. Everything hurt beyond words. He bit his lip with such fury it began to drip with fresh red blood. His desperate attempt to hold back his tears currently proving unsuccessful judging by the mark glistening on his right cheek, luckily, the side Harley wasn’t on.

Harley stared at him quizzically. “And what’s up with you?” He remarks. “You know if you want a day off sick, you don’t have to put in that much effort.”

Peter doesn’t have the energy to retort. He just grunted and readjusted his position next to the window, shielding his face from Harley. Holding back the urge to scream at both of them about the pain he was experiencing in that moment, but as always he kept his feelings to himself. Harley rolled his eyes and huffed, likely annoyed that he’s not getting any reaction out of Peter. Instead, turning back to Happy to continue his mindless chatter oblivious to his brothers suffering.

The car ride passed much slower than Peter hoped it would. He tried to sleep though the pain but it was completely unbearable for him. It felt like his entire body was on fire, each atom of his very being, burned under its wrath. Still the boy stayed stubborn and refused to say anything to them. He knew they would both immediately go and tell Tony. Which would only lead to him getting in trouble for going in the first place and being forced to explain how exactly he acquired the bite.

He’d be fine, he would just visit the med bay when he got home, aunt Helen wouldn’t say anything. She’d been there for him more than Tony ever had.

When Peter grazed his knee on the pavement, to each time Peter was beaten up at school. She’d always encouraged Peter to tell his family about the instances, but untimely she left the choice to him. She always kept her word and never told anyone anything without Peter’s permission. He loved her for that, so much he had even begun to refer to her as his aunt.

Peter had never referred to the avengers as such, unlike Harley, but he believed she was the only one who had earned the endearing title.

—————

When the car came to a halt outside of the tower. Peter changed his mind and decided that he was going to get some sleep before going to the med bay. Partly due to the fact he was not ready to tell Helen a weak cover story, as he hadn’t yet formulated one, a little preoccupied with possibly dying. If he told her she’d push him to go tell Tony, much more than usual.

Looking back it was a ridiculously stupid decision, he should have gotten help when he could, but is his zombified state it seemed perfectly logical.

Peter didn’t remember much else, he can roughly recall staggering to his room, and promptly collapsing, but from there… nothing.

The boy tossed and turned and groaned in his sleep. Covered in sweat, yet freezing. In so much pain that he felt completely numb.

———

When he woke up he was surprised at how he felt. Had a singular nap cured him of all that pain?

Something was strange, different. He couldn’t figure out what though.

He lifted himself of off the ground frowning when he discovered that it was dark outside. ‘How long was I out’

“Hey, umm…FRI how long was I unconscious”

-approximately 2 days 4 hours and 23 minutes, Peter-

Peter’s frown deepened at that, he’d never gone an entire weekend without seeing anyone in the tower. Speaking, yes, many actually, but they never not seen him for this long. He wondered if they had worried at all.

“Fri, did anyone come looking for me while I was here.”

-Your father knocked in your door on several occasions, but never entered-

Peter huffed, he would have thought that his father would at least care to look in and check on him when he had been cooped in his room an entire weekend.

Part of him was disappointed, knowing that the same wouldn’t have happened had it been Harley. They would have him rushed off to the med bay if he so much as chipped a nail.

Peter passing out on his floor and staying there for two days, somehow not a big deal.

He reached to pull off his glasses, only to find that he wasn’t wearing any. His sight was perfect without them. He picked them up from the floor beside him and tried them on. Everything went blurry. He shrugged it off and set then down on his bed and decided to get changed rather that question it.

Peter pulled of his shirt and his jaw dropped when he saw his physique. His skinny frame had somehow transformed into something else entirely overnight. His scrawny arms and legs now toned and muscular. He caved in stomach replaced with abs.

‘Nope no way, that’s not me.’ Peter walked over to his wardrobe to grab out a shirt. He pulled out his favourite T-shirt and put it on. Frowning when the shirt felt awfully tight. Thought he was slightly less upset when he looked in the mirror and realise it accentuated his newly formed biceps. He momentarily got distracted and flexed in the mirror as of course, he is a teenage boy.

After spending longer than he would care to admit, admiring himself he yanked it off and tried another, too small. ‘Huh, apparently that spider made me go through puberty overnight’ he looked down at his arm only to see nothing where the spider bite had been previously. Not even a mark.

After what seemed like a century of squeezing himself into now too tiny clothes, he settled for an oversized hoodie and sweatpants, though they weren’t quite as oversized as before.

He turned his doorknob and yanked the door open without care. Normally he had to put plenty of force into the simple task, for his pride he would chalk it up to the door being far too heavy, but in truth he was simply very weak. Well…he was.

He yelped when the door ripped off of his hinges, sending him tumbling to the floor, the door lying on top of him. He lay there for a second, contemplating all that had lead up to it before pushed the door off of him, but he couldn’t seem to let it go. It was stuck to his hand, he yanked again and the door knob came straight off, still stuck to his hand.

He groaned and shook his hand trying to get if off. Eventually it came off, flying across the room and hitting his window.

‘What the actual fuck’

He picked up his door and gently lay it against the wall, trying to act as if that was normal.

The moment he walked out of his room he was confronted with a multitude of sounds and smells.

He could hear them clattering about in the kitchen downstairs. He could hear the scientists floors down discussing a theory. He could hear the heartbeat of the receptionist on the first floor.

His stomach rumbling loudly pulled him out of his panicked trance. He descended down to the kitchen only for the sounds to get worse. The avengers and Harley were having a pizza and movie night, clearly having forgot to tell Peter judging by the guilty looks on their faces.

He could hear all of their heartbeats and smell every ingredient in their meal. He could even smell Steve Rogers shampoo. ‘Coconut, huh, didn’t expect that. Thought he’d more of an 8in1 body wash kinda guy.’

Tony stood and cleared his throat, clearly caught of guard by Peter’s entrance, the boy didn’t pay them any mind, opting to shove a slice of bread into the toaster. “Peter, I- Happy said you weren’t feeling well, so we thought you wouldn’t want to join us.”

Peter knew he was lying, not like it was the first time they’ve all collectively forgot about him.

“I got better.” He replied bluntly reaching into the fridge to grab a drink. Normally he’d be upset at them for forgetting him, but today he had bigger problems.

“Oh, um that’s good. We knocked on your door a few times yesterday but you didn’t answer, we assumed that you were just sleeping it off and that you wouldn’t want to be bothered.” There was an uncomfortable pause, and Peter turned to continue rummaging in the fridge, ignoring the stares. He munched on whatever random items he could find, discovering that he was absolutely ravenous and nothing could make that subside. “You can still join us if you want.” Tony was clearly put off by his sons current mood. He could tell something was different but clearly couldn’t be bothered paying enough attention to figure it out.

“Nah I’m good, thanks” Peter grabbed his toast, a pack of granola bars, three protein bars and an apple (for health) and set off to his room again.

No one tried to stop him.

—————

When he was upstairs he overheard what they were saying about him.

“That was weird” Harley said, still clearly chewing his food. Peter wrinkled his nose in disgust. ‘ew’

“He’s got such an attitude lately” said Wanda. ‘I’m sorry didn’t you help ultron, I’d call that attitude’ Peter thought while spitefully munching on his toast.

“I don’t know what to do with him” Tony sighed. ‘Maybe noticing that I was missing for two days would be a start’

“Just ignore him, he’s just being a moody teenager” Sam replied. ‘Yep, like I’m not ignored enough here.’

Peter zoned out again, droning out their noisy chewing. ‘Seriously, keep your mouth shut and eat its not that hard’

The longer he sat the more time he got to think about everything. It was clear he couldn’t tell them about his new abilities. Well, technically he could, but he didn’t want to. What if they used him for them or used them against him?

They weren’t an option, the group were too unpredictable. Aunt Helen was out of the question too, she promised that she would only tell them if it was a big deal, and the fact that he had spawned in a six pack seems like one.

He couldn’t tell Ned this either, he’d shout if from the rooftops. He never was one for subtlety.

Peter had to keep his powers a secret.

He could do it. He had to.

Chapter Text

Peter on woke up the Monday morning and his first thought was that he couldn’t face going to school that day. The thought of being hauled up all day with people he doesn’t like, learning about things he already knows, just didn’t sound appealing at all. Plus, he had bigger things to worry about. He had to figure out what’s going on with him. Plus, he really didn’t want to deal with the strange he’d recieve if puny Peter Parker effortlessly ripped a door off its hinges. Though, part of him would want to see how flash would react.

missing the day wouldn’t be abnormal for him, he had been skipping school quite often in the last year and thanks to that his grades had also began slipping. Nothing drastic just a B or a C here and there, but for Peter who had always been a straight A student it was a concern. It was such a concern that his teacher had arranged a meeting with Tony to discuss it. Which lead to him getting berated and sent to his room. He wasn’t sure why Tony thought that being isolated would be a good punishment, he’s kinda became used to it during the years he spent with Tony.

To avoid getting the same lecture for his skipping. Peter had managed to hack into the school database so that all emails and phone calls came to him first.

Of course Peter would send the occasional ‘school spirit’ email through to Tony so it wouldn’t get too suspicious.

That morning he sat in the car as usual, avoiding the questions about his lack of backpack by claiming that he left his at Ned’s house so he’d retrieve it from him today. No one questioned it, they didn’t have any reason to, so he was good to go.

He arrived at school and made it look like he was walking into the school until Happy’s car was out of sight, then abruptly turned and walked down the street. He pulled his hood up to hide him from the onslaught of teenagers, not wanting them to recognise him. One of the few perks of being the forgotten Stark is that not even the general public will not recognise him, so he can go wherever he wants.

He knew that sneaking around New York alone was dangerous, but he didn’t really care. Today he needed some time to think.

He wandered around the streets for a while before deciding to stop in Central Park. His senses were becoming hard to handle in these busy streets. Each car horn felt like he was physically being hit head on with the entire vehicle. He settled on a bench and ignored his stomachs demands for food, which had become more insistent since yesterday. He couldn’t buy anything for lunch without Tony noticing the use of his card at an odd time and possibly asking about it.

Tony wouldn’t make an effort to stop him skipping himself but he’d probably hire someone to stalk Peter. Or worse make Harley do it. The less time he spent with Harley the better. The boy had everything anyone could ever want. A loving family, money and popularity. Yet despite his luck, he’d still find a way to complain.

When the team couldn’t spend every minute with him, it was a problem.

When he didn’t get the type of cake he wanted for his birthday, it was a problem. Peter was lucky if he got a card.

Unlike how it sounds, Peter didn’t hate Harley. He doesn’t hate any of them, he wished he could. He just found it hard to spend time with the person who has everything he’s ever wanted, without even realising it.

Peter was snapped out of his wallowing when a man asked if he could sit next to him. A little perplexed, Peter gave a vague shrug and the man took that as a sign to take a seat next to Peter.

The man turned to him and titled his head in thought, trying to make it like he’s not looking but Peter could see his eyes flicking over to him. Peter became slightly uneasy, wondering if he’d tried his luck one too many times. He was getting ready to stand up and leave, mustering up the courage. The awkward silence was disrupted when the man spoke again. “This may sound odd but are you Mary Parker’s boy.”

Peter head snapped in the man’s direction, eyes wide with disbelief, he nodded dumbly, not even thinking that maybe he should expose his identity to strangers. The man smiled, one of those imperfect friendly smiles that puts you at ease, and offered his hand for Peter to shake. “I’m Ben Parker”

“Parker?” Peter echoed, shaking the man’s hand a little too forcefully.

The man smiled again, one of those infectious ones. The one that brightens up every room. Similar to the one he remembers from his limited memory of Richard. His smile reached his eyes, resulting in a multitude of small wrinkles by his eyes, somehow making his smile all the more disarming causing Peter to let his guard down slightly, only slightly.
“Your probably don’t remember me, but I’m your moms brother-in-law, Ben Parker”

In his shock Peter realise that he’s not stopped shaking the man’s hand. I quickly pried his hand off, relived when he doesn’t stay stuck to him. He can practically sense his ears going red from embarrassment, but somehow the anxiety depletes immediately at the man’s amused look, resulting in a chuckle from the man. “I think I remember you a bit actually, though it’s all a little fuzzy”

They talk for a while, about anything and everything; school, sports, family (to which Peter’s answers and very vague) and just abóyate anything that comes to mind, resulting in bed going on a rant about pigeons and how cruel people are to them. Slowly but surely, Peter becomes comfortable around him, there was just something about the man’s cheeky grin and jovial tone that calmed him down. The easy chatter comes to a halt when Ben switches to police officer mode and offers him a stern glance that rivals that of Steve’s and inquires what he’d clearly been wanting to all along.

“I’ve got to ask, why aren’t you in school right now?” Peter tilts head down, starting at his lap, like a little kid being scolded. He fidgets, stalling while he figures an excuse, but he can’t seem to lie to the man. “Ummm I just had a lot to think about today.” He mumbles.

Ben gives him a disapproving look, part of Peter enjoyed that at least someone is acting slightly parental towards him. Even if it’s a guy he’d just reunited with that day and hadn’t seen since he was like six but in those minutes the man had somehow proved himself more of a father than Tony ever was. That really says a lot.

“Kid, you can’t go skipping out on school. What does your dad say about all this?” Peter was surprised. Ben wasn’t belittling him like Tony would, he sounded genuinely concerned for Peter.

Knowing that someone actually seemed to care from him this much was overwhelming for Peter. Tears began filling his eyes though he stubbornly tired to hide then, prepared to dismiss them as allergies, but once again, he count muster up his dual deceitful nature.

“It’s not like he cares much anyway.” He glanced at Ben who seemed to be listening intently an unreadable look on his face. Ben nodded, gesturing for him to go on, and Peter did. He told him everything, how he felt, things he’d never told anyone and Ben just sat and listened.

Peter probably should have been embarrassed that he was ranting to a random guy in Central Park, but once he started talking about his feelings, he couldn’t seem to stop. He’d never told anyone how he felt, not aunt Helen, not even Ned, but somehow this guy got him to let his guard down entirely and spill all of his deepest feelings in such a short matter of time. By then the tears had been flowing freely, Peter being too immersed in his storytelling to stop them.

When he finished his rant he shamefully wiped his tears on his sleeve and turned back to Ben. Who put his hand on Peter’s shoulder, comfortingly tracing circles with one thumb. To Peter’s surprise, Ben smiled at him not out of pity but out of understanding. Peter opened his mouth, likely to let out a strew of apologies. Yet, before he could Ben put up his hand, signalling for Peter to wait and just listen. He wore sad, nostalgic smile, his eyes no longer containing the happy giant anymore. He sighed, seeming a little unwilling to open up, but he knew it’s for the best. He knew he could help the boy with this. “I know how you feel kid” Peter’s eyes swept up to meet the man’s , his filled with curiosity and intrigue, but upon seeing the man’s timorous expression he dialled back his emotions, not wanting to seem to eager at the prospect. His brows furrowed, as if in disbelief as he piped up. “You do?”

Ben huffed out a laugh at the hope in the boys eyes, desperate for someone to validate his experience, some to relate to. The earnest expression that the boy wore making it much easier to open up.

“Richard, my brother, your uh-“ Ben shook his head, quickly changing the subject. “He was always the smart one, a genius really. Our parents didn’t mean to, but he certainly took up their attention. He got scholarships, won championships and awards, any achievement possible Rich could do it.”

Ben huffed out another chuckle, but it was humorous, not resulting in those little lines by his eyes. Peter listen intently, even leaning forward slightly in anticipation, he nodded, waiting for the man to go on.

“I resented him, y’know. I thought he was ruining my life, but really he wasn’t, my resentment was and when I grew up, I learned-“

Peter jolted a little when his watch buzzed, something it did every hour. His eyes flicked down, checking the time, growing wide when he realise that it was two pm, school finished in forty minutes. He grew a little anxious, knowing the he would be questioned if he wasn’t there when happy came to pick him up. He needed to go, now. He gave Ben a tight smile, that awkward polite one you give when your about to let someone down.

“Uh- im really sorry but I need to start walking home now before it gets too late.” Peter says standing up from the bench careful not to grip onto it like he did with the door previously. That was a conversation he wasn’t ready to have with anyone. He felt a little guilty, interrupting the man as he opened up, but he had to go before he got lectured, he didn’t want to deal with them any more than necessary. He gets ready to go, but pauses, turning back. “Oh and thank you for everything.”

Ben stood too, not seeming too offended at the interference. “It’s dangerous out here for a young boy like you. Tell you what, why don’t I walk you home.” Peter hesitated, not wanting to have the man slow him down, but he also wanted to keep talking, so he nodded. They began walking, and before either of them could speak, Peter’s stomach grumbled loudly, his face turning red out of embarrassment. Ben chuckled in his convivial way, and added teasingly. “And we can get something to eat along the way.”

Against everything Peters been taught, stranger danger and all that, he followed the man he had just met on a park bench. Ben took him through queens, where they stopped off at a tiny brightly coloured store on the corner of a busy street. Ben cheerfully greeted one of the guys sitting by the door and the two entered.

The store was packed with people all chattering loudly. For such a small store it was definitely popular. Ben turned to him “best sandwiches in queens.” He remarked with a smirk.

The pair walked up to the counter, dodging people who seemed gathered in groups chatting. “Mr Delmar, how’ve you been.” Ben grinned a middle aged man, who mirrored Bens smile with an equally joyous one of his own, before responding with an accent Peter could quit place. “Good, good. You want the usual?” Ben nods and turns to Peter.

“What do you want?”

Peter was wringing his hands in nervousness, sure he’d snuck out a lot but he’d never dared to go into areas different that what he knew, he’d also never been in a place like this, it was a new experience and hence a little overwhelming. His eyes scanned the messy board overhead that detailed each sandwich, struggling to make a decision. “I um, I have no idea, could you just pick something for me?”

Ben smiles knowingly and doesn’t even take a second to answer, grinning at “another number five with pickles” he turns back to Peter who nods “and can you smush it down real flat for the kid.” Peter looked at him questioningly. Ben turned back to him, using his hands to exaggerate the magnitude. “trust me, these sandwiches are huge.”

In less than a minute the sandwiches were ready and wrapped up neatly in paper for the two. In unison the two thank Mr. Delmar and they set off on their way into midtown, chattering happily, yet Ben never got the chance to finish what he was initially saying, something he believed that Peter needed to hear.

Peter bit into the sandwich and was immediately amazed at how delicious it was. It wasn’t any of that weird rich people food that was normally in the tower, or worse the ridiculously healthy meals that they always seemed to have on the rare night where he ate with the team (cough, couch, lettuce wrapped fajitas). The sandwich was greasy and messy, and easily one of the best things he’d ever tasted.

Ben laughed at the blissful look on his face. It didn’t take long before the sandwiches were demolished and Peter was wiping away the sauce that had somehow landed all over his cheeks and his nose.

The walk to Midtown was peaceful and the chat was completely casual, it feels like they’d known each other forever. Peter wished they had longer but he didn’t want to lead this man right to where he went to school, he wasn’t that dumb.

After another five minutes they were in an area Peter knew well. “I uh- I just want to thank you for listening to me today and for the sandwich obviously” he says chuckling lightly.

Ben puts his hand on Peters shoulder again. “Peter you shouldn’t have to feel like that, ever. You don’t have to think me for doing what the people in your life should have been doing all along”

By then Peter was tearing up yet again.

“I want to give you my number, so that whenever you feel like that you know you are someone to talk to. And if you want to we could do what he did today again sometime.” Ben tells him, his voice light yet stern, as if it was an instruction.

Peter huffs a laugh and looked up to Ben “hopefully without the crying”

“There is no shame in crying. Just know that.” Ben reassures him, before giving him a nod and turning in the opposite direction, likely heading home.

Peter turns to leave too, but knows he can’t without saying something. He turns back and speaks slightly louder. “I’m serious. Thank you, for everything.” Ben offers him a smile and a wave, before the two set off in their opposite directions.

Peter sped up on his journey back to school, knowing the he only had a couple minutes before the bell sounded

For the first time in a long while he entered the car with a smile and in high hopes for the future, not noticing the odd look he got from Harley.

Chapter Text

During the journey home, Peter came to the realisation that his powers hadn’t acted up once while he was in the presence of Ben. No destroying random items, no sticking to things, no overwhelming sounds, nothing. Just peace. He just felt normal the entire day. Peter had theories, one of the more irrational being that Ben was a spy who knew about his powers and could somehow magically prohibit him using them. However, it didn’t take long for Peter’s rational mind to take over and conclude that he was simply relaxed, so his powers were relaxed too.

Nonetheless, with Peter’s luck that bliss didn’t last long. When he arrived at the tower sounds began to overwhelm him again. entering from the on the ground floor meant he could hear everything going on in the entire tower and on the streets surrounding him. That did not help.

If all became hugely overwhelming as he ducked past the busy workers and scurried off to the elevator, speeding faster than Harley, who quicker his step as to not be left out of the elevator. Peter told Friday to take him to the common room and slumped back against the wall, overwhelmed. He shut his eyes, trying to focus on anything other than the booming sounds of the tower. He brought his attention to his breath, in healing and exhaling at a steady pace. He could practically feel the perplexed gaze of his brother on him.

The elevator arrived at the common room after a minute or so, Peter was to focused on trying to control his senses that he didn’t pay much attention to his environment. His efforts proved futile, and the sounds continued to overwhelm him, each peep assaulting his eardrums. He couldn’t figure why his ears had suddenly become so sensitive. He tried to keep his breathing steady but was ineffective, and panic set in as it was all getting a little out of control.

The elevator opened, providing a deafening ding and he didn’t hesitate for a moment. Hastily rushing up to his room, not sparing the room or any of its occupants a second glance. If he had, he may have noticed Tony shooting Harley a bewildered look, and receiving a mere shrug in response. He reached his room, but it wasn’t quiet enough in there, far from it. He let out a rather dramatic sigh and stomped all the way down to the lab, rushing in and slamming the door shut. Finally, he let out a breath of relief. The rooms were state of the art, designed to be entirely soundproof unless said otherwise. After all, an awe full lot of explosions occur in them, particularly Tony’s one… at least Peter assumes so. He wouldn’t know for sure. However, today for once he is glad that he’s alone in the lab, today he needs it. One for the quiet and the second being that he plans to run some tests on his new abilities. He knows he can’t test anything too physical yet, but he’d like to, as he’d been noticing many small changes so far. Such as how he could walk a lot faster without getting winded (he was unfit okay) or the fact that he could rip a door off its hinges with minimal effort. The first thing that he did was put his fingers under a microscope to try and figure out how he’d been sticking to things. What he saw was certainly a shock to him; dozens of tiny little hairs litter his fingertips. He gasped and brings up a hologram of a spider in order to compare the small fibres.

He spent hours in the lab testing every little detail of his abilities and certainly discovering plenty.

He calculated how much he could possibly lift, although it’s not exact it seems like a decent estimate. He planed to test out his strength properly later but from his calculations his strength may be double that of the super soldiers, something he took great pride in knowing. After all, he was a tad spiteful and took any small victory he got, sue him.

He discovered that his senses are eleven times better than the average human and around six times better than a supersoldiers. ’Hah! Take that Steve’

He also took initiative from that days terrible experience and began building some earplugs that can block out most sounds, while still not being obnoxiously visible. Along with planning ahead creating a pair for contact lenses to help with his new sensitivity to light, Which he had discovered when he opened his curtains and nearly screamed as bright sunlight hit his eyes.

He even tested out his ability to stick to things by claiming the wall and sitting on the roof for a while, it was an odd sensation. This only freaked him out and caused him to fall. Though, somehow he landed on his feet despite nosediving straight from the ceiling. He then promptly stood and attempted it again, taking note of how the blood didn’t rush to his brain, nor did he get dizzy while upside down. He wasn’t sure what experiment to conduct to test that, but it was a cool detail.

He didn’t want to stop studying, yearning to learn more and more. Time flew by and by the time his eyes drifted to the clock to check, it was well into the early hours of the next morning. Although reluctant to leave, he decided it would be better to sneak into bed now, after all who else would be up at this time?

While Peter was so enamoured with rethinking his research and planning possible new tests to run. He was so preoccupied with his own theories that he didn't bother looking around for anyone else. He walked past the common room, feeling no need to be quiet as he believed that he was alone. Plus, a little cocky about his new found senses he assumed that no one would be able to be nearby without him noticing. He was wrong. Too caught up in his mind to notice his father’s annoyed face watching as he casually strolled by in the middle of the night. He paid him no mind but froze when he hears his name being called. He slowly turned around, prolonging the moment before he has to meet his father’s eyes. Peter purses his lips slightly, now avoiding looking at the man, already knowing that he was wearing an irritated expression, the one most commonly on his face when Steve says just about anything. Tony sighed and pinches the bridge of his nose, frustrated. “Were you seriously in the lab this whole time”

Now, if Peter had the same father-son relationship Tony and Harley had he’d reply with something snarky about Tony being a hypocrite and then head off to bed but Peter knew they didn’t have that, so he averted his eyes and mutters a halfhearted apology.

Tony shakes his head. “Peter, you really need to spend less time in the lab and more of it sleeping or with the team. No one sees you anymore, we’re staring to get worried about you.”

Peter couldn’t fathom what he was hearing. They are worried about him? Them? The people never made any effort to include him as part of the family. The same people who didn’t check on him once when he was sick for an entire weekend. The people who have never made an effort to get to know him. Really?

He was far too tired to bother explaining, and a little scared he would go on a tangent, accidentally pour his heart out. He wasn’t willing to do that. Not with his father. He had a secret to protect now. So he simply hung his head, mumbling in his typical reserved manor. “I’ll try spend more time with you all then.”

His weary eyes didn’t miss Tony’s concerned glance as he brushed past him and entered the elevator not looking back once to hide the tears welling up in his eyes. The tears of a confused, lost boy, who was just had one of the most eventful, confusing weeks of his life and hadn’t told a soul the full story.

He got to his room and promptly collapsed on his bed. He groaned at the thought of moving, but managed to shift himself from his spot, getting changed before tucking himself under the covers.

The room was silent, offering no distractions to capture his attention. A multitude of thoughts swirled around his head, so much so that it was hard to focus on just one. He sighed and got into a comfortable position, but he knew he was definitely not sleeping that night.

——

He managed to drift off after hours of tossing and turning but was soon rudely awoken by his alarm. To his disbelief, despite getting a mere few hours of rest, he was hardly tried at all. A new experiment popped to mind immediately, wondering how long he could go without sleeping at all.

He planned to not get up but realised that that would only aid in Tony and the others suspicions that he was avoiding them - which he often was. He didn’t want them to be suspicious though, as it would lead to them paying more attention to him and could lead to them discovering his abilities. Which could lead to them using him for his powers. Or maybe taking them from him.

Or maybe sending him to the raft.

Or maybe-

‘Calm down peter’ he steadied his breathing and tumbled out of bed, smoothing his hair and getting dressed, trying to keep his overthinking to a minimum, it was far too early for a panic attack.

After a few minutes he had composed himself and plastered on a small smile and ventured into the kitchen only to be greeted with Tony sitting with Harley as they ate breakfast. Peter, not wanting them to take notice of his sudden increase in appetite, went to grab and apple and sit down. Before he could, he became aware of Tony’s wary glance. He relented and picked up a granola bar too, silently happy to eat more to feed his insatiable appetite.

He pretended not to notice the way that Tony’s shoulders relaxed with that simple change, preferring not to bring up his hopes and believe that his father truly cared for him.

He had carried his phone down with him, after all the took it everywhere. He never really texted anyone but Ned, nor did many make the effort to contact him, so he was surprised to see notifications from a message. No, several messages actually. His eyes widened a little and he quickly snatched up the phone, eagerly checking what had been sent as he was curious. The number hadn’t been saved in his contact, but Peter could immediately recognise it as Ben. It seemed that he had ventured to Delmars for breakfast on the way to work. He took a picture of the colossal sandwich, stuffed with what looked to be bacon, sausage, egg and hash browns. The thing looked greasy, messy and utterly delicious. Peter smiled at his phone, quickly texting about how jealous he was that he didn’t have the sub - one that looked as though one bite would exponentially increase your risk of heart disease. God Peter wanted that breakfast, he was already planning to venture to Queens just for the sandwich. He whined to Ben over text about his apple and granola bar, to which Ben jovially bragged about how delicious his sandwich was. Peter could imagine him wearing the same grin he had yesterday. Peter retorted to Ben’s teasing by changing his contact name to Old Man, and then sending proof to Ben. The man didn’t respond for a few moments, leaving Peter to ponder if he had offended him, or if the man would be mad at him but before Peter could get too irrational Ben replied. He sent a picture, having changed Peter’s name to Young Mr Stank.

He smiled, no grinned as he read the message, which caught both Tony and Harley’s eye, who glanced at each other in confusion, they had never seen Peter like that and were very curious as to who brought that side out of him. Try as they might, they could never elicit even a chuckle from the boy, yet here he was early in the morning looking like he’s just red the funniest thing ever written.

Peter’s was initially a little surprised that Ben knew of his heritage, then he remembered his connection to Richard and hence his mother. So it all made sense. Normally he wouldn’t be best pleased at someone using his surname humorously, as he himself had grown to destain the name, yet somehow when Ben did it, he felt no such animosity.

Before he could reply, Ben sent another message, this time his tone different, nagging him that he ought to be going to school today and reminding Peter to text if he ever needed to talk. Peter’s expression softened and that unfamiliar warm feeling returned, Ben seemed to actually care.

Tony, well Peter wasn’t sure. His words from last night plagued Peter’s mind, making him question his entire situation. There was the possibility that Tony actually cared, that they all did, but he chose to ignore it. He had more important things to worry about now.

——

The car ride was unusually silent that morning, no incessant yapping from Harley. Instead his brothers eyes were forward, occasionally flickering to Peter when he though the boy couldn’t see - he could. Peter could tell that there was something Harley was just itching to say, it was surprising to Peter was that he hadn’t already. The impulsive boy normally blurted out whatever came to mind, so if Peter were correct it would only be a matter of time before the bliss of quiet is interrupted. Peter counted in his head, reaching seven before Harley seemed to get over his mental debate and turned his attention to Peter.

“Who were you texting this morning?” He said with his usual smirk but clearly masking some other emotion that Peter couldn’t quite figure out. Like natasha, Peter could just never figure out what the other boy was thinking.

“Oh, uh- no one. Just a friend.” Peter internally cringed at how awkward he sounded, but he genuinely wasn’t prepared for Harley to ask that, nor did he want to answer. After all he was speaking to his estranged uncle, the brother of the man his late mother was married to, who he randomly met in Central Park while skipping school. He had the feeling that story wouldn’t go well for him.

“Oooh ok. A ‘friend’” he said emphasising the word friend mockingly, teasing him in the way that a brother would, a grin on his face that looked somewhat shaky, forced as if trying to act like they were close, like real brothers. It simply angered Peter, they weren’t normal brothers, never had been. So, why play along and act like it with him?

“Yup, just a friend.” Peter he replied bluntly, subtly turning away from the boy, physically hinting that he’s closed off from him and unwilling to talk. He really wanted this conversation to end but judging from Harleys reaction he clearly had more to say.
‘Here we go’

“Why are you always so moody? You never talk to anyone.” The boy snapped suddenly, his tone changed to one Peter’s more accustomed to. Peter opened his mouth, he tried to speak but words were lost on him. It takes him a moment to figure what to say, but when he discoverd it, Harley has already gone on ranting. “And when you actually do you’re like this.” He spat the last word, venom in his tone from years of frustration, something that was unbeknownst to Peter.

His eyes flicked to see Happy observing the two through the mirror, likely ensuring that this didn’t escalate beyond just words. His hands were tense on the wheel, ready to pull over if this became a scuffle.

“Like what?” Peter glared back, now defensive and unwilling to compromise or reason with his brother, annoyed that Harley didn’t understand all that was wrong, although he never spoke a word of it to him, didn’t trust him enough.

Harley laughed, it was dry and humourless, he gestured to Peter. “This is exactly what I’m talking about, you’re always so closed off and mean. I’ve lived with you for six years Peter and I hardly even know you, no one does.” His voice was rising now, he too was getting swept up in the emotion of the moment. Discontented at the disconnect between the two. His eyes raked over Peter, searching for something, Peter couldn’t figure out what that something was.

“I-“ the words got caught in Peters throat, how could he possibly tell Harley how he felt? He’d never understand it, he had everyone and everything. What was the point in try to reason with someone like that? If Peter kept arguing he’d be the one at fault, he always was, so he stayed silent.

Harley scoffed and turned away to glower out of the window, muttering under his breath. “Unbelievable.”

That conversation combined with the one with Tony before left Peter beyond confused. Why were they suddenly acting so different towards him? The pair left the car, Harley not looking back as he slammed the door and sped off before Peter could see his expression. Peter was left with a pit of dread in his stomach, the one that just wouldn’t go away. Yet, he couldn’t figure out what actually made him feel this way nor how to resolve the tension, so he was stuck feeling like the world may collapse under him the whole day, while simultaneously attempting to focus on the schoolwork in front of him.

Chapter Text

Surprisingly over the two months following the strange encounters, things seemed to improve, at least a little.

Even Tony seemed to be making an effort to include him more, much to his discomfort, although he still appreciated it.

It always seemed awkward, fired when he was in the company of the avengers and Harley, something that they had been making him do a lot more of as of late. It was clear all of them felt the same uncomfortable feeling when he joined, so it often left him wondering why they persistently continued to ask him to be present. Although he wasn’t going to complain, at least he was being included. Before this progress, most time he spent with them was the weekly team dinner but now he was being invited to all sorts of things, he turned it down a lot, though. He wanted to join in, but he had his reasons and reservations.

The first being that the more time he spent with them, the more likely they were to figure him out. The team literally was composed of three fully trained spies, they’d definitely figure out if he even slipped up once, so it was not worth the risk.

The second being that it was just unpleasant, for everyone, but especially him. None of them really knew him and it was weird to make small talk with a stranger you’d lived with for half a decade, and it always just lead to a tense silence.

The third being that Peter didn’t want to ruin it. This was something he had dreamed of since he was young. What if he said something that made them avoid him again? What if he ruined it? He had a tendency to do that, he had been tormented for it by his peers when he was younger - something the avengers weren’t aware of either. So he kept his distance as much as possible .

The final reason contradicting the previous; as Peter was unsure if should he forgive them, if he even could. If he forgave them for the nights he spent alone. The blatant favouritism. The loneliness he had grown up with. He wasn’t convinced that this progress made any impact on the crater left in his heart, a void that could have been filled with love and care from his family. One that now felt too deep for any efforts to make a progress. However, for now Peter was happy, because at least they were trying.

As a result of this new found joy, Peters attendance and the effort he made in class increased and he even joined some after school clubs. He also texted Ben more often now. Ben, who had now taken the role of helping him with homework, though he didn’t understand most of the ‘sciency gibberish’ as he would call it, still, he tried his best. He’d even met up with Ben a few times since and the two have been getting really close, though he hadn’t yet told Tony about him. He could assume that he wouldn’t react well. ‘hey dad, do you want to meet this guy I met in a park when I was skipping school without your knowledge. I told him all about how I felt and he knows way more about me than you do already, despite the fact that I’ve only known him for two months. Oh, and he would have been my uncle if Richard Parker was my dad, isn’t that funny.”
Yup, that’d go well.

He’d also learnt a lot about his powers, he could basically control them enough to make them near undetectable. Though he still had bad days with his senses and he ripped the occasional door off it’s hinges. He had only broken three doors that month! Which was impressive compared to his previous record of eight.

Part of him wanted to test his powers out properly, to see what he could really do but he wasn’t sure how to do so without being caught. All he could do at that time was haul himself up in his lab and make rough estimations of his strength and speed.

Surprisingly the avengers hadn’t said anything about his powers, so they either didn’t know or didn’t care. Peter was not sure which one worse.

At first he thought that the only reason they had started talking to him again was because of his new found abilities but somehow that didn’t seem to be the case. If they knew then they hold surely tell him, they had had plenty of opportunities to do so after all. Eventually Peter concluded that the group were clueless to his enhancements, though he never let his guard down around them, and continued to hide his powers to the best of his abilities.

——

For the first year since he moved in with Tony, he was genuinely excited for his birthday. However, a thing Peter found peculiar was that Harley didn’t really have a party for his birthday. Sure, they had a nice meal and cake but it was a contrast to his usual lavish parties with around half of the teenagers in the state invited.

Harley’s birthday was four days before Peters, August 6th, so when the four days passed and August 10th arrived, Peter lept out of bed happily and skipped down to the kitchen. He made himself pancakes but was surprised when the avengers who were currently occupying the kitchen didn’t even acknowledge him, they had been making more of an effort with that as of recently. Not a single ‘happy birthday, not even a greeting when he entered the room. He had been there for half a hour, preparing his meal, eating it and cleaning up, so they had apt time to greet him, yet didn’t.

He had thought things were getting better. He thought they’d at least remember. Dismayed, Peter finished putting his dish away and stalked back up to his room, not wanting to risk crying in from of them.

He should have known. He lay in bed, clutching the pillow like a lifeline as tears filled his eyes, his chest ached with the disappointment, but eventually he shut his eyes, blacking it all out.

——

He woke a couple hours later to the sound of whispering, evidently it was coming from the common room directly below him.

“What are we going to do if he comes in and sees”
“Don’t worry he’s upstairs, I think he’s asleep anyway, you know what he’s like”

Peter perked up at this. Were they talking about him?

“I hope so, we’ve put too much work into this surprise party for him to notice now”

‘They remembered’ Peter was grinning now, his hope restored and a chidlike glee glinting in his eyes. He lay back down and decided he stay in his room until his surprise was ready, didn’t want to ruin it after all.

He quickly realised that he was very jittery and couldn’t seem to stay still, so began pacing the ceiling, still smiling like a maniac. He needed to pass the time, he couldn’t just run downstairs and catch them in the act, it would spoil his ‘surprise’, so he decided he would do whatever he could to pass the time; he rearranged his entire room, and then returned it to its original state when he came to the realisation that he liked it better before. He ripped apart some old notebooks and taught himself origami, it was clumpy and floppy, but it somehow held its shape. He broke then rebuilt his legos, a complete Death Star. He crawled on the ceiling, sat upside down like a bat. He rearranged his hair and tried some ridiculous styles, giggling all the while. His energy fuelled by a happiness that he hadn’t experienced in what felt like forever. It didn’t take long for boredom to set in, he flopped back on his bed, throwing a baseball into the air at catching it - a present from Sam, one that didn’t reflect his interests at all, but he appreciated it. It brought his mind to another thing he had never done with his father, something as simple as a game of catch. Harley had, they two used to go out on weekends until Harley decided that he didn’t want to. Peter wasn’t a big fan of baseball himself, but if he had gotten the opportunity to go with just Tony, no Harley to steal the spotlight, he would have sucked it up for the sake of spending time with the man, acting like a normal father and son. He cast the upset at the thought from his mind, as none of that mattered in that moment. All of his pain had been pushed aside, faded into the shadows behind the bright light of hope. He had something to look forward to, they were trying to be better. The past didn’t matter anymore, he was prepared to move on, and they were prepared to try, that’s all that mattered to him.

He was shaken from his thoughts by Friday alerting him that Tony requested downstairs. He took that as his cue and sprinted downstairs. Forcing himself to avoid wincing at the obnoxious loud music - music that he didn’t listen to - and the people talking among themselves, looking around for a familiar face -he didn’t know that they knew any of his friends, and by friends he was referring to his singular one, Ned - still he didn’t mind when he couldn’t find the boy. After all it was still a party. An actual party, a party for him. His grin reached ear to ear, so wide it was almost painful. A grin that fell within seconds. When he finally arrived down in the common room and he froze. There was cake and a banner..but they weren’t for him.

The room was decorated red and gold and the banner had ‘happy sixteenth’ in bold white letters. This wasn’t for him. He looked over at the pile of presents and the masses of teenagers, all of them a couple years older than him. None of this was for him. Of course it wasn’t. He should have known.

Peter blinked away the tears filling his eyes and walked over to Tony who smiled and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him into an awkward side hug. One usually reserved for distant friends or strangers who asked for a photo, not his own son. Still it was a sign of affection and normally Peter would be thrilled at the contact, he took what he could get, but that night it only seemed to make it all worse. It was so hard not to break down right then and there, he took in a shaky breath, an attempt to compose himself before meeting the gleeful eyes of his oblivious father. “What do you think?”

Peter forced a small grin “it’s great, I bet Harley loves it.” He tried to hide the small voice crack at the end of his sentence, an indication of the hurt he felt slipping into his voice,

Tony raised an eyebrow but Peter plastered an ever bigger smile on and Tony let it go.

Peter walked over to Harley and through gritted teeth wished him a happy birthday. Harley smiled at him awkwardly for a moment mumbling a thanks, then turned back to his friends, as if Peter wasn’t right there, he hadn’t remembered either. Peter tried to stay down there, he really did, he certainly didn’t want to make anything awkward by storming out, but Peter knew he couldn’t stay long, his senses always seem worse when he’s upset.

He spent the rest of the evening in a corner, sipping soda and watching the occupants of the party have a good time. He didn’t speak to anyone and no one spoke to him. Not one person remembered that this day was supposed to be his.

He had managed to keep his composure until the avengers and Harley took a family photo, without him. He then saw them looking around, he could only hope they were looking for him, but by then he didn’t want to pretend anymore. The mask he wore had been slipping the whole night and in that moment it had fallen entirely, he was so done.

The hurt and resentment seemed to hit him all at once, he couldn’t push it down any longer.

He knew it would be unfair to make a scene and ruin the party, though a devilish corner of his brain whispered at him to do it anyway. Ignoring it, he did the only thing he could, he left. He slipped away from his carefully chosen corner to the staircase nearby, not uttering a word to anyone.

——

Some Time passed and Peter was laying in bed staring at the ceiling. His brain was so full of thoughts though somehow it felt like he was hardly thinking at all. His wallowing was interrupted by his door being thrown open by a raging Tony.

“Where. Were. You.” He asked through gritted teeth, his voice dangerously low. Peter didn’t bother looking over, he didn’t need to. His indifferent nature only agitating Tony more. “You know you could at least try and take part. Actually be part of this family. How do you think Harley felt when his own brother left his birthday party with no explanation-“

That stung, as his father didn’t even pause to consider his feelings, the very feelings that had led to his departure. No, as always he took Harley’s side. “Dad” The quiet, shaky Peter tried to cut him off but Tony just continued his rant.

“Did you even think about how he would feel? What reason did you have to leave and sit in your room moping like you always d-“

“DAD” Peter had raised his voice this time. Tony paused and raised an eyebrow at him clearly still furious and partly stunned at the audacity of the boy before him. Peter sat up, shuffling into a sitting position facing his father. He assumed he look dreadful; eyes red and sore from crying, nose running, and hair ruffled and messy from tossing and turning in perturbation. He spoke calmly, his voice now steady, eerily so. “What is the date today?” His voice wafered on the end of his sentence, tears perking in his eyes which he promptly blinked away.

The man let out a huff of disbelief. “Are you serious Peter? What does the date matter?”

‘Evidently, it doesn’t matter much to you dad’ he thought bitterly. Peter eyed him in annoyance, keeping his face like stone to hide his true emotions, he didn’t trust the man with them. “Just answer the question dad” Peter spoke slowly, choosing his words and tone carefully, giving nothing away. He wanted Tony to figure it out on his own.

“It’s august… tenth.” The switch from anger to devastation was immediate, like the flip of a switch the man’s face dropped. “Oh Pete- I’m sorry I- I didn’t think. I’ll fix this we can go downstairs. We’ll get you a cake and- and presents and we can have a party or watch a movie. Whatever you want Pete” Tony was rambling about how he could fix it, that was always his first instinct, if there was a problem that’s what he did, what he always did. When Tony stark made a mistake he would attempt to patch the wound with material things. That is the tactic Peter grew up with, despite how bad it was, Tony assumed he could fix it by giving him something, which didn’t patch up the gaping wound that was created every time the man did something. Although most of the time he didn’t even acknowledge his mistakes in the first place, so Peter was left broken with no attempt at restoration. “Too late, just leave it”. Resentment slipped into his tone, he couldn’t stop it, not that he really tried to. He was so tired trying to cater to these people who clearly saw him as an afterthought.

“Peter you know I can’t” Tony was practically begging now. He stepped forward and reached for Peter, likely attending to pull him into an awkward hug, without hesitation the boy flicked his hand away, a little to forcefully judging by Tony’s reaction.

“Please, just leave me alone for a bit” Peter steady tone broke as he turned away from his fathers despairing gaze, he lay down and faced the wall, refusing to look back it the anguished figure looking behind him. Trying desperately to choke back the cries that sat uncomfortably in his throat.

“But-I” Tony begged yet again, desperate to fix his mistake. Though he has practically attempting to place a band-aid on a gaping wound.

“Please, just leave me alone for a bit.” Tony looked at the figure on the bed, despite being curled up in blankets Tony could see his body trembling as he desperately tried to silence his sobs.

Tony obeyed and walked to the door but paused and glanced back, hoping that somehow he could fix this. That in those seconds he would gain the ability to travel back and change it all… but nothing happened. Nothing changed. So he left, head hung low, dread filling his mind.

When he steps had finally faded far enough, Peter allowed the tears to flow freely, clutching a pillow to his chest in a desperate need for comfort. If he held it tight enough, he could imagine it growing a pair of arms and hugging him back, something he so desperately needed.

He lay there for what felt like eternity, until he heard his phone ding, the dim room lighting up with a text notification. He shakily picked up his phone, wincing at the blinking light of his Lock Screen, blinking to clear the tears from blurring his vision. Though the text only resulting in more tears.

The text was from Ben.

Wishing him a happy birthday.

—————

Tony slumped against the elevator walls the second he entered, he closed his eyes and clenched his hands into fists. He tried to slow his erratic breathing and prevent the oncoming panic attack.

Though mere minutes had passed it felt like eternity, yet at the same time it felt like time had completely stopped.

The doors slid open and he numbly walked over to the group. His face was emotionless other than the steady streak of tears leaking from his eyes. He kept his gaze on the floor as he approached his family, who were all now staring at with a mix of bewilderment and concern. The party had long since cleared, and they now all rested in the room, just chatting but had fallen silent at the sight of the man. He walked past them all and clumsily flopped on the armchair nearest the window, not uttering a word.

Harley stood and cautiously walked over, he was closest to Tony after all. “Dad”

The single word felt like it stabbed Tony, and for the first time since he returned Tony met their eyes. Though his were dull and glazed over with tears, very unlike the usually stoic man who refused to let anyone see such weakness. Tony stood and turned his gaze to the breathtaking silhouette of the city, turning his back on them.

“Do any of you know what day it is?”

His voice was eerily still, emotionless, much like his expression, yet underneath there was something else, something much more, an internal battle. Some emotion just underneath the surface, something desperately trying to claw its way out. Something that is seeping into his voice with each shaky word.

There was a pause as the team exchanged looks of confusion before Clint piped up, clearly impatient to discover the reason for the man’s distress. “Umm august 10th”

Tony finally faced them, his eyes slowly brushing over each of their faces as if looking for recognition, which he didn’t find. His face remained cold, lips pressed into a thin line, eyebrows furrowed, tear tracks marking earthed side of his face and eyes glassed over.

“And what is special about today?” He asked though something is his voice told everyone that he was not truly wanting an answer. Some members of the team shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze.

“Tony, please just spit it out” Nat clearly wasn’t phased by Tony’s antics, assuming the man was being dramatic. Though if you really looked you’d notice the slight downturn in the side of her lips, hinting at her concern. She knew something had happened between him and Peter

Tony sighed and for the first time his facade broke showing the pure devastation underneath. “It’s Peter’s birthday. And we forgot. Again”

The team remained silent, guilt written across each of their faces. Though the worst was undoubtedly Harley. He raised a shaking hand to his face as tears welled up in his eyes, realising what this all meant, thinking about how the events of the day would have effected Peter. He fell back into his seat and Steve wrapped an arm around him , gently tracing comforting patterns onto his shoulder.

“This is my fault. I made you change the date of the stupid party so that one of my friends could come. I- I didn’t even know. I didn’t think- I didn’t remember my own brothers birthday-“ he cut himself off again with a gasp as the tears began to flow freely as the guilt pulled him under.

“None of us did.” Clint was uncharacteristically quiet, in disbelief. He was a father himself, and he couldn’t imagine doing the same to his kids, so how could he overlook something like this? He had seen this kid grow up, still he didn’t remember this essential detail about him.

Nat was the same, she was disappointed in herself. All those years she was trained as a spy and yet she couldn’t remember the birthday of a boy she had lived with for years. Sure, to her, her birthday meant nothing, but it was different to others, she knew that. How could they have not remembered? How could she have not remembered?

Steve didn’t know how to feel. This is what it has been like for him in his youth, always overlooked, forgotten and now he had become the very thing he used to hate. He had become the type of person to overlook those who needed him.

“Yes Barton, not one of us remembered his birthday. I’m his father. It’s my responsibility to-“ the words got lost in his throat. He sucked in a breath and gripped the seat in front of him. “I failed him.”

“We would go and apologise. Fix this now.” Steve stood righteous and optimistic as ever, but Bucky gripped his arm holding him back before he would go to the boy.

“I’ve been up to him already, he wants to be left alone.” Tony’s voice was still again, he sounded tired, truly defeated. The genius’s mind going into overdrive, trying to figure out a solution.

“We should still go up and make an effort now, before it’s too late.” Sam, the eternal optimist, was trying his best to keep the team morale up.

“I think it was too late a long time before even this.” Tony paused to take another breath to steady the shakiness of his voice. “I thought we were doing better with him.”

“We can still fix this, just give him some time.” Wanda had remained silent the whole time, not uttering a word, reflecting on what had happened that day and trying to figure out what was going on with the boy, debating trying to enter his mind and see it from his perspective, but deciding against it.

“What perplexes me is, why Peter didn’t tell anyone?” Vision often struggled to comprehend the complexity of human emotions and teenagers were a particularly puzzling bunch. This situation was bewildering to him, but there was one thing he could sense, this would cause a bigger rift between this family and a particular member.

“Peter didn’t tell anyone because we probably wouldn’t have listened anyway.” And with that Steve stood and left, Bucky trailing behind him.

Nat walked over and put her hand on Tony’s shoulder. “We’ll fix this, I swear.”

Tony turned to her. “Yeah we will, cause I don’t know what I’m going to do if we don’t”

Chapter Text

What the group didn’t know was that the subject of their guilt was sitting above them. Listening. Hearing every word. Every regret. Every fake promise to make things better.

He called bull immediately, it seemed too good to be true. Things never went this right, not for Peter. Never for Peter. His whole life had been a huge disaster. Each pillar of happiness collapsing like dominoes, just one thing after another, years and years of being overlooked, forgotten and now it was just over? Just like that? All over a stupid forgotten birthday.

Sure, they normally at least acknowledged that it was his birthday but was this really all that different. What had changed so much this year that they finally cared enough to realise that they were a shitty family. Although he was a stranger to them, Peter knew them well, having spent years observing from the shadows, and if he knew one thing, it was that these people were far too stubborn to realise that they were wrong all this time. There had to be more to the story, there just had to be. It was far too perfect.

Peter knew that there had to be an ulterior motive. And he was angry.

God, he was just so angry.

He paced his room, resentful thoughts taking precedence in his mind.

‘How can they just act like they have been there for me’
‘Why now are they deciding to be my family’
‘Who are they to act like they care’

His years of bottled up fury had finally reached its limit. It bubbled over, like a dormant volcano finally erupting. Forming a menacing ash cloud, a dark cloud swirling above, serving as a warning, a sign to flee from the looming threat before the lava began flowing, before years of hidden resentment and bitterness spewed contemporaneously. He was about to erupt, it was only a matter of time. He could already feel the sparks, hear the deep rumble of the beast that had for so long lay latent.

Red. That’s all he saw. All he felt. It was all red. It was scorching, ready to destroy anything and everything in its path. It was the colour of passion. Of war. Of hatred. But yet also of love, how odd that one simple colour have such contradictions. Yet it explained Peter better than any words could.
He may be currently consumed by the part of red that represented all that is evil but there was always a part of him that held space for love. Undying endless love, regardless of how strong the resentment he felt, it would never truly consume him. It couldn’t, Peter Stark may have lived a hard life, a life of neglect and solitude, but underneath all that he still had love for his family. Love for those who had taken him in. Love for his brother. Even love for his father. But for now that was in the back of his mind. Though it still filled his heart, that would never change.

Regardless he knew that his fury could not be contained now, the monster that had eating him up from inside, clawing for freedom was finally released. There would be no going back from that.

He was not naive, or at least he didn’t feel it. He had had to grow up from an early age, he knew how to read and control his emotions after all there was no one to keep them in check but him. But this, this rage, it was different. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was dark. It was unstoppable. He knew that such rage was dangerous and if left unchecked it would truly consume him. Through he didn’t know how to push it back down now. Nor did he want to.

He had to get out.

Now.

Before he said something he’d regret.

Before he did something he’d regret.

So he did.

He pulled a red hoodie over his hand-me-down tee and slipped on a pair of blue trainers to match with the blue of his sweatpants.

And carrying nothing other than the clothes on his back he set off.

He crept out his room, thankful for his enhanced hearing. No one in the common room. The halls were empty. The kitchen was unoccupied. The snoring of Clint could be heard from where he was by someone with normal hearing. He tilted his head slightly, a habit he had began to do more often as of late, somehow it helped him hear things clearer.

Five heartbeats, five heartbeats out of the seven that should be there right now. Two of the rooms were deserted. That put Peter on edge. He could get caught, but he had set his mind on it now, and he wasn’t the type to back down from something he swore he would do. So he continued on his journey, ensuring that he took more care with where he stepped.

He passed by the kitchen, then the common room, determined not to stop once. The one thing that did make him was the sound of punches landing. The training room was below him and he could hear the two super soldiers sparring. From what he could hear Bucky was winning. He was aware of the super soldiers hearing, though he had previously figured that it wasn’t nearly as powerful as his. Still, it was a risk so he stayed on guard. Ensuring he didn’t make a sound.

He slipped down the back stairwell that no one used and followed it right down to the second floor. Being careful as to how loud his steps were as he sped down.

By now all employees had left but he knew that it would alert someone of his departure if he left through the front door. That was one risk that he wasn’t willing to take but luckily for him he knew another way, he walked through the staff changing rooms until he reached a small window at the back, one facing the grounds at the back of the tower.

The place was deserted, as the work day had long since finished and Peter was smart enough to know that the cameras in said changing room were only on in the case of an emergency. A random night in august wouldn’t seem like much of an emergency, so he was safe there and even if they were on he could just hack in and disable them later.

He opened the window and climbed up to it, as always grateful for his newfound abilities as they made the process much more efficient. He shuffled his way up and dangled his feet out, ready to squeeze his body through next. , He had snuck out this way a couple times before, though this time was different. For one, it was much easier to climb up to the window now that he could simply stick to the windowsill and two, he was no longer wheezing from the simple walk down to this area.
Another thing being that he had never dared to sneak out this late. Though it was only around ten, for a city like New York each hour the danger multiplied and for a scrawny kid like Peter going out at this time was like throwing a bunny into a pack of wolves. But tonight, Peter couldn’t bring himself to care. He had powers now, he’d be fine, surely.

He was lucky for his slim build at this time as the window was absolutely tiny, though his body may be the source of many of his insecurities, (how could it not be he literally lives with super soldiers) but for once he was happy with it. It may be annoying but the struggle of contorting himself through a window is much easier than trying to explain to staff standing guard outside or worse, trying to explain to his family, where he’d be going at this time.

He prepared to leap down the couple of meters to the patch of grass when he froze. He tried to force his arms to move, but nothing. It was like his arms had suddenly tuned to stone, completely immovable. He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath, reminding himself of why he was sneaking out. Though he couldn’t seem to calm his nerves. A tingle in the back of his neck. A shiver down his spine. A warning for what’s to come.

Of course Peter wasn’t aware of this warning yet, and his ignorance that night would come back to annoy him later.

Once he had managed to compose himself, he let go and lept down. Although it was merely a couple of meters, it felt like he was falling for a lifetime. His worn sneakers met the soft well-trimmed lawn with a dull thud. He stood and took off running, not hesitating, not turning back once.

And not noticing the figure watching him from the top floor.

—————

As his sprint faded into that of a brisk walk and Peter succumbed to his thoughts. He couldn’t help but ask himself why he felt the way he did. This felt worse than all the other birthdays they’d skipped. But why? Why did this one matter? Why did he care now? As he turned yet another nameless street he came to his conclusion. This year he had hope. That was his first mistake. He had allowed the tiny flicker of hope to grow into a raging fire. However he forgot that the fire was equally as easy to extinguish. All it took was the return of his family’s real priorities.

He contemplated texting Ben but decided against it. He didn’t really want anyone right now. He couldn’t take being let down again that night. He knew that Ben would try to talk him out of his fury, and tell him to talk to them. Tell him to try and appeal to their better nature. Tell him to do what he had been trying to do, rejoin his family. Though it appeared that his family didn’t care that family relationships went both ways, they only cared when it benefited them. Yet, Ben would somehow talk him into it.

However tonight he simply wants to stomp around the city and remain in his anger. He didn’t want rationality, he was quite content moping in his typical teenage angst. Ben would find a way to cheer him up, but that wasn’t what he needed.

He needed to think. He needed to reflect. He just needed to get away from everything and everyone, especially them.

If anything Peter was more disappointed in himself that he was with them. He had allowed himself to be hopeful. He had gone against every rule he had set for himself; don’t get too close, don’t get your hopes up, don’t expect anything from anyone. Was it a depressing way to live? Yes, but it kept him sane all these years. He went against that, he should have known it would end badly.

Nothing ever went right for Peter. Getting his hopes up only made it worse. After all, if you suspect disappointment then you will never truly be disappointed. That motto dictated the way he had lived his life until now. So why had he changed? Why had allowed himself to become hopeful?
That was the question that plagued his mind as he mindlessly paced the city streets.

———

As his feet grew tired and achy, Peter paused. Only then did he became conscious of how dark it had become. Only then did he begin to regret his impulsive decision. As he surveyed the area he realised that he was incredibly lost. And not in the best area either.

The boy thought he was being smart by refusing to carry his phone on him. Leaving behind the one thing Tony could have used to track him. Suddenly his genius didn’t seem quite so great.

No phone meant no way of getting directions home. No phone meant no calling for help. No phone meant no way to find him if he got kidnapped somehow, which with his luck didn’t seem that unlikely. No phone meant no lifeline. Especially in this area of New York his inability to alert authorities or his so called family could prove fatal.

Peter’s paranoia seemed to get worse the longer he stayed there. He could sense danger; Hiding behind each dull grey wall. Peering through every broken window. Crouching behind each obnoxiously graffitied sign. Lurking in each dark corner. Everywhere he looked could be danger.

And let’s be honest, Peter wasn’t exactly intimidating. Despite his new found muscle mass and insane powers, he was still just a kid, one who had a baby face and was rather short. He looked easy to attack, and only now had he come to that realisation.

As the dread sunk down as pit in his stomach and each hair stood on end, Peter finally began to see reason. He tried to focus his hearing in a desperate attempt to detect threats, but the deafening thundering of his heart own heart made it near impossible to hear anything else. He flicked his head in each direction, scanning desperately for somewhere he could run to and seek refuge in if he encountered such danger. However he couldn’t seem to find anything.

That primal fear was setting in. The boy was a baby deer who unfortunately wandered into a lions territory and it was terrifying.

He whipped around trying to determine which ally he had entered through. Unfortunately at this time they all seemed to fade into identical tenebrous passages right into the hands of muggers, or worse. He quickly realised he was unlikely to choose the correct one. So he simply settled for the one that terrified him the least and swiftly sped thought there.

——-

A similar feeling of dread plagued the mind of one particular member of the stark family. Harley was pacing. He hadn’t stopped since he had seen Peter leave.

What should he do? His baby brother had left and was now wandering the streets of New York all alone. But should he tell his dad? Should he tell anyone? Of that, Harley was unsure.

His repetitive steps echoed in there silent corridor, a rhythm of trepidation, no one who walked by seemed to notice the fierce internal battle that played out within the boy’s mind. He stood stone faced, fists gripped so hard that his nails pressed into his palms creating a painful mark, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about the pain. There were bigger issues at hand.

If he told his dad then odds are Peter would never speak to him again. Though Peter’s silence is something he had grown used to, the thought of it being due to his own fault was agonising. He does not want his brother to hate him. Well, more then he seems to currently.

However, Peter could be in danger. He is fourteen and wandering the streets alone at night. He could be killed. The logical part of Harley’s brain screamed at him to simply come clean, but the loyal side of him couldn’t bring himself to.

Peter had been so upset. He was mad at all of them. Harley would only be adding to his fury. If he told it would only lead to Peter getting into trouble. He already seems to resent them, for reasons he can’t quite figure out but this would only give him more reason to.

But why should all that matter?

Peter could be in danger. Real danger. What does the other stuff matter? He could get seriously hurt and it would be Harley’s fault for not telling anyone. Feelings aside the logical thing to do would be protect his brother.

So why is this decision so hard? Why hadn’t he ran downstairs and snitched already? It seemed to be the only logical thing to do in that moment, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to.

——-

Peter continued his vacuous wandering. Not pausing for a second, fearing a single pause could result in dire consequences. His mind swirled with a million thoughts and heart filled with panic. But one sudden sound seemed to turn the rest of the world silent. A scream. The scream of a boy. And it was nearby.

Pushing away the rational panic and fear, Peter swivelled on the spot and bounded towards the sound. A newfound bravery fuelling his actions.

He could help. He had powers. He didn’t have training nor had he tested them out, but that rationality didn’t cross his mind once. The only thing in his mind was his desire to help. His feet boomed against the silent streets as the cold air of the night swirled in his lungs. His poor heart thundering in his chest and his brain screaming at him to look the other way. Peter kept running. He darted around each corner with no regard for how crazy he looked.

The screams had grown muffled, it was clear that the victims mouth was being covered in an attempt to silence him. He kept running frantically, legs bounding at an unbelievable speed, listening to the threatening whispers of the attacker.

He lept around the corner and came to a halt facing the scene.

A kid slightly older than himself was being held threateningly by a bolder of a man, who Peter could smell from where he was standing. The kid was squirming, but the tree trunk of an arm was secure around his neck, was reducing both blood flow and movement. His legs flailed aimlessly trying to pry the attacker from him.

The boys wide eyes met the equally terrified ones of Peter. In those seconds an entire conversation occurred. The boy was begging Peter to leave. Peter was refusing.

The crazed eyes of the criminal whipped up to meet Peter’s.‘Well there goes my element of surprise

—————

The two stood in a silent duel for what felt like forever. Peter’s eyes wafered lightly but he refused to blink, fearing that the second of weakness could prove fatal. It was tense. Almost as tense as dinner with the avengers after the accords fiasco. Well, almost.

In the silence Peter’s hearing perked up, he could hear everything. He needed to get this done fast before his senses went off the rails again.

He could hear the petrified tapping of the boy’s heartbeat and his shaky breaths as he tried to suppress the tears that flooded his eyes. He could hear the jagged, laboured breaths of the man. But the sound that seemed deafening was the man’s heartbeat.

Over time Peter read leaned to recognise heartbeats, he considered himself an expert, but this one stood out.
It was a strange and irregular rhythm. Not that of a normal man. It reminded him of that of Bucky or Steve.

However that was impossible. He had the heartbeat of a super-soldier…but there were only two existing and Peter lived with them. Peter’s mind ran wild with theories.

Though a strange buzz in the back of his head kept him from loosing himself to his thoughts. He couldn’t figure what it was, but he was thankful that it was present, keeping him alert. His eyes stayed trained on the threat ahead.

He was ripped from his thoughts as the gruff voice of the man cut through the silence.

“Get outta here kid. If you know what’s good for you.” His voice was low and equally as gravelly and nasty as his appearance. Peter couldn’t seem to stammer out a response, shame because at that time he had several quips stuck on the tip of his tongue. ‘Who talks like that unironically?’ He sounded like a 40’s movie villain, and Peter would know, Steve watched them on full volume whenever he got the chance, the man was surprisingly deaf for a super soldier.

In a silent retaliation, the boy took a defensive stance, he planted his feet and raised two shaky fists, his entire body trembling, but face blank. Peter himself had never been in a fight, sure he’d been beaten up before, but the timid boy usually never fought back. But he couldn’t allow this to happen. He couldn’t let this boy get hurt. Plus, he had powers now. What’s the worst that could happen?

The man scoffed at the pitiful display, his eyes widening in what looked like recognition and his face twisting into a gruesome grin, showcasing his rotten, discoloured teeth. “Fine, I’ll just take the two of you.”

A little creeped out at that statement, however Peter continued to stand his ground. Though, he couldn’t run if he tried, his feet seemed glued to the floor. The man effortlessly threw the boy against the wall. Peter watched as the boys head collided with the hard surface with a loud smack. He sunk down to the floor and sat there limp, not entirely conscious, watching the fight through hooded eyes.

‘This guy must be strong, hopefully not super soldier strong.’

Despite every instinct screaming at Peter to pick up the boy and run, he stayed put. He was ready to fight.

Despite the bulky stature of the the man he was quick and light on his feet. He sprang forward delivering what may have been a devastating right hook, shaking the wall as it collided with it and seemingly moving some bricks out of place.

‘Yep, definitely super soldier strong.’

Adrenaline flooded his veins as Peter lept back, narrowly avoiding the boulder of a fist. He lost his footing but saved himself from the inevitable fall with a handspring. He landed a foot back from the man in a defensive pose.

‘Well that’s new’

He glared up at the man and fought the overwhelming urge to giggle at the bewildered expression on his face. Though the humour quickly died down as his opponents confusion transformed into rage. Like a feral bull, he charged at the boy, to which Peter aptly lept away again.

Over the next few minutes the pattern repeated and Peter became increasing grateful for the strange buzzing sense, it seemed to warm him of danger. The man would swing for him and he would nimbly hop away. Each time Peter slyly dodged him the man’s fury grew. His eyes became wide and terrifying and his mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Stay still boy.” He spat bounding towards Peter yet again. An attack which was, unsurprisingly, avoided, resulting in a dent in the cheap bricks of the wall.

‘How the fuck did he get super strength.’

Peter, who had grown more smug as the fight (if you could refer to it as such) progressed, simply stared at the man. “That wouldn’t be very smart, now would it?” He condescended.

In his momentary pause, the boy had lost momentum, and therefore his advantage in the fight. The man noticed and managed to land a hit, and by god did it hurt. In his taunts Peter had intended to force the man to lose his rationality to fury, which he succeeded in. Though he failed to realise, that with this resulting anger the man had stopped pulling his punches. The collision of the man’s fist with his cheek, sent Peter skidding across the rough ground towards the wall. His back slamming into the wall with an audible thud.

He lay there for a few moments, stunned, as pain exploded throughout his body. He weakly glanced up at the menacing figure stalking towards him.

“Not so tough now, huh.” He picked Peter up by his now filthy hoodie with a single hand. With the other he raised a colossal fist, smirking mockingly. “What’s wrong tough guy, nothin’ to say.”

Out of the corner of his eye Peter caught a glance of the other boy, he remained where he was, frozen in place. He stared at Peter with despair, believing that the only one who came to his aid was about to get hurt, and the he could do nothing to stop it. The mere glance at the other boy was enough to resurrect the fighting spirit from within Peter. He grit his teeth and used the knowledge he had overheard from the avengers training sessions.

‘Make the best of your situation.’

‘Never loose sight of your attacker.’

‘Guard your weaknesses.’

Now, in his fourteen years of existence Peter had never thrown a punch, not once, but he got the gist from both bad movies and the fact he lived with the literal avengers.

Form a fist.

You must tuck your thumb over your fingers to avoid injury.

Strike a weaker area for maximum impact.

So Peter did just that. He struck the man, but he held back a little, well, a lot. Despite the long while that had passed since he aquired his powers, Peter was unsure of how strong he was. Sure, he had his rough calculations from earlier and his math has never failed him. Despite the trust he had in his own knowledge, he still had many doubts. The boy hadn’t properly tested his powers (well, other than the rather embarrassing morning where he discovered them), he had been far more focused on keeping them hidden rather than improving them. He was regretting that decision now. He couldn’t risk it, judging by his previous estimations, a singular punch of his could prove fatal. Frankly, he didn’t want to discover whether he was correct in his hypothesis.

Peter felt great relief that he had taken that brief moment to consider the possible outcomes of his attack, as with the single strike, using a mere fraction of his strength, the man was violently launched toward the wall at the end of the alley.

Peter unceremoniously fell to his knees and stared on anxiously at the unconscious figure that lay meters away from him. Slowly he rose to his feet, his eyes still trained on the lump of a man ahead. Fists clenched and shoulders tense, ready to fight again if need be. But the man did not stir, he was out cold.

Peter breathed a sight of relief.

Apprehensively the other boy crept over to join him. Staring at Peter perplexed, his eyes landing on the skinny arms that delivered such a devastating punch. The two stood, neither uttering a word. Until the boy gently gripped Peter’s wrist, and wordlessly led him out of the alley. The walk became a sprint, the kids just wanting to get away from the threat that lay unconscious a few streets back. The boys didn’t stop till they had sped to an unrecognisable area, but at least it didn’t set of that nervous buzz in the back of Peter’s head so he was satisfied.

The boy rested his hands on his knees in a desperate effort to slow his heartbeat, panting loudly. Peter stood, not at all breathless but his heart pounding so violently that Peter wondered if its outline was visible on his chest.

His companion stood and studied Peter’s face, Peter stared back, growing more uncomfortable the longer the analytical eyes remained trained on him.

Eventually the boy broke the silence. “Do I know you?”

Chapter Text

A perplexed look was all the boy got in response, but that didn’t deter the boy, who continued to look at him as if he were a puzzle missing a piece, taking in every little detail. He shook his head, continuing on his ramble. “No. I definitely know you.” He paused and thoughtfully examined Peter’s features yet again.

As the seconds dragged on Peter grew more on edge. How did this guy know him?

His panic seemed to die down when Peter took a closer look at the boy something seemed to click.

“You!” They yelled in unison.

The boy he had rescued, was the one and only Harry Osborn.The son of his fathers greatest foe within the business world. A member of the family he had been taught to hate from the rants of his father and brother.

Harry was the first to speak. He let out a chuckle which quickly progressed into a raspy laugh. “Of all people” he spoke through giggles. His laugh proved infectious and Peter seemed to forget the misery of his day and fell into a fit of careless laughter, partly fuelled by hysteria, as the adrenaline was still fresh in his veins. The laughter died down fading away into the silence of the night and Harry signalled for Peter to follow him and the two strolled through the streets, chatting happily, as if they were not fated enemies due to their heritage.

The pair chatted, the usual small talk, until Peter’s curiosity got the best of him. “What was that guys deal? Why was he after you?”

Harry shrugged, seeming way too casual about the whole nearly being abducted situation.
“I don’t know. I assume he’s after me for my dad, even so I doubt my dad would pay ransom, he’s surprisingly stingy for a billionaire.” Harry smiled, but it was clear there was much more behind it, a lot of built up resentment, same as Peter.

Peter chuckled “Yeah, so I’ve heard. My dad rants about yours nonstop.”

“Likewise.” Harry looked over at Peter, a spiteful glint lighting up his eyes. “I don’t know about yours, but I know my dad would hate that we’re getting along.”

He was met with the same spiteful look reflected in the eyes of Peter, staring back at him. “Same, that only makes this better.”

Harry nodded and nudged Peter to turn down the next street. Peter obliged, happy that he had someone to prevent him from getting lost. They continued on, the glowing image of the tower growing larger and larger the further they walked.

“So, I’ve got to ask, what in gods name is the son of the great Tony stark doing out here alone at this time.”

The joy vanished for Peter’s face for a moment but he quickly regained composure and a smirk appeared on his face, a newfound confidence in his tone, for some reason not awkwardly babbling like he normally does with meeting new people his age.
“I could ask you the same thing.”

An identical smirk formed on the face of his new friend. “I asked first Stark.”

“I saved your ass back there. You first” Peter insisted.

Harry huffed, not used to not getting his own way. “Fine, if you swear you’ll tell me after”

“Deal”

He sighed. “My tyrant of a father” he spat the word as it it were poison “has decided that I must move to some dumb science school because I am not good enough to live up to his legacy. He thinks it will make me more like him. God, imagine me becoming like him.”

“What school are you moving to?”

“Midtown science and technology” he responded, as if it were the worst possible place on earth..

For some reason, with this Peter’s face lit up with excitement, perhaps he could get another new friend at school. Two friends. That’s like, double what he had before. “No way that’s where I go!”

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. “Really? I always assumed you’d be put in one of those mental boarding schools in France. It would explain your brothers attitude.”

Peter laughed, a resentful part of him loving having found someone who spoke bad of his seemingly perfect brother. “God I wish, anything would be better than staying with the avengers full time.”

Before the conversation could continue, Harry shut it down, equally as curious as to the others circumstances. “Right well, I have explained myself. So, let’s hear it Stark.”

Peter’s nose scrunched up in distaste at the mention on of his last name. As naive as he may be at times, he didn’t want to share everything yet, so he was purposefully pretty vague - plus, part of him wanted to seem cooler and more mature in front of the older boy.
“I had to escape the old man and golden boy before I lost it.”

Harry’s grin only grew, he had been unfortunate enough to have several encounters with the protege of Stark, and he was not impressed.
“I can imagine. I’m surprised they actually let you out, I just assumed the two of you would be under twenty-four seven security in that tower.”

Peter scoffed, his voice bitter and flippant. “Nah, just golden boy, I can slip away whenever and they wouldn’t bat an eye.”

“Story of my life” replied Harry.

It was truly ironic, the sons of two enemies bonding over a mutual distain for the fathers, the ones that pit them against each other in the first place.

“Still there’s got to be a reason for you being out here tonight. I mean, no offence man but you seem kinda miserable.”

Peter swallowed thickly, contemplating spilling the devastating events of tonight to an unlikely ally.
“God where do I even start. It’s a long story.”

Harry looked around, checking to see if there were any places open for the two to sit. His eyes landed on a small, seemingly deserted diner and the two set of in that direction.
“I’ve got time, like I said, it’s not like I’m expected home anyway.”

The two nestled themselves into the back corner and relished in the sense of safety that came with it. Harry watched him expectantly.

Peter began to tell his tale, and just like that day with Ben when he began talking he couldn’t seem to stop the words and pent up feelings from spilling. Harry listened, intently nodding along and (much to Peter’s surprise) not mocking him when he had to take moments to compose himself. By the end of his rant the world seemed less dim, and the pain seemed to have depleted slightly, only slightly.

“Jesus.” was all Harry could utter in response, not really one who was good with emotions due to his upbringing.

Peter looked away bashfully “Yeah, we really lucked out in the dad department huh.”

Harry stood abruptly resulting in a very unmanly squeak from Peter.

A playful smile lit up his face. “Well, then let me make up for your very depressing birthday and repay you for saving my ass. I know a great place.” And with that he turned and sped out of the diner, leaving Peter scurrying after him.

After yet another hurried walk the two arrived at a small convenience store. The two entered. They then squabbled over cake flavour, the came to a compromise, chocolate was the only one they could agree on.

Then over who payed, which Peter lost, which was a relief as he had forgotten his card, and any activity may alert his father of his whereabouts.

Then over where to sit, eventually settling on the roof, Peter’s choice. The climb resulting in a great deal of complaining from Harry, who did not enjoy the acrobatics it required to climb up there.

Despite the ceaseless bickering, there was no malicious intent, it was completely lighthearted and casual. The two argued like brothers, like they had known each other forever. Something both of them had been missing within their lives up until now.

A comfortable silence fell over the pair as they dug in, plastic forks in hand.

Peter was the first to speak, telling Harry the one thing that had confused him about his situation. “I still don’t get it. They seemed to be actually trying to make things better. I thought it was getting better.” He shook his head bitterly.

Harry scoffed. “Mine does the same thing when he wants something. Suddenly he becomes father of the year and then he gets it and I’m back to being a chore for him, don’t let them win.”

Peter’s mask faltered for a moment and his years of hurt creeped into his eyes as the last flicker of hope reminisced when Harry’s words seemed a perfect explanation. However he stubbornly swallowed back the tears and tuned to meets Harry’s eyes. ‘They must know about my powers. That must be it. Why else would they act like this. God, how could I have been so stupid.’

Peter nodded and looked up at the sky thoughtfully, blinking back tears, for what seemed like the millionth time that night. “Yeah, that’s probably it.”

.—

Harley approached the common room. Wringing his hands. Taking deep breaths to try and calm himself. Had he left it too late? Was his brother already in danger?

As he entered all eyes turned to him. It was clear they weren’t speaking in the first place. The mood was somber, all too consumed with guilt to talk.

The team immediately knew something was wrong. They had learned to read Harley like a book, though he hardly hid his emotions anyway. Harley would play with his hair when he was nervous or upset about something, and since his entrance he had done just that several times. He would also pick at his lips, and looking at the tiny tears that littered them gave them more evidence to believe something was wrong. The tremor in his voice adding to the array of signs he was showing. These subtle signs all playing a part in the portrait of his anxiety. Though there were some signs you didn’t have to be a super spy to see, like the redness of his eyes and nose, a clear sign that he had been crying. Or the conscience-stricken expression he wore. The team grew tense and worried. Despite this they waited for him to speak, they knew rushing him would only aid in his stress levels, and by the looks of the kid, he couldn’t take much more.

“Dad” Harley choked out “there’s something I need to tell you”

Seeing his son upset, Tony lay his arm over the back of the couch and motioned for Harley to join him. Harley sped over and took comfort in the warm embrace, fighting to find his voice.
“Take your time.” Tony’s calm words were an attempt to soothe him, normally they would prove successful, but not at that moment. At that moment he was hysterical, the only way to cure his woes would be to come clean. To tell them the thing he had been dreading.

“l- I ummm” the words died in his throat, for the first time in his life the Harley was at a complete loss for words, an extreme contrast to his usual exuberant and extroverted ways.

“What’s up with him?” Bucky mumbled, a tone so low that only those with superhearing could attempt to detect. “Whatever it is, it must have really shaken the kid.” Steve muttered in reply.

Eventually he worked up the courage and blurted out the statement he had been preparing for what felt like hours. “I saw Peter leave the tower.”

Stares, varying in emotion, was all the boy received in response, as if they were frozen. Then in an instant they fell into chaos.

“What do you mean leave.”

“Where did he go!?”

“Why are we only know hearing about this!?”

“When did this happen!?”

He was immediately bombarded with questions. The team despairingly begging for answers. After all supposedly there was a kid out there on the streets somewhere at night, entirely alone. Though their interrogation only aided in Harley’s distress. Sensing this Natasha stood and silenced them all with a glare. Then approached the boy, squatting down to sit in front of him, so that the two were eye to eye. Her gentle voice cutting through the tension.
“Harley, what exactly did you see?”

“Peter. He climbed out the window. Th- the one on the second floor. Then he ran. He was so fast, he was so so fast, it wasn’t normal. He ran across the lawn. And-“

“And?” Nat encouraged, though even her voice had a tremor, fearing the worst had already happened.

“And- and then-.. I don’t know. He was gone.”

“Have you checked the tower for him.” The question came immediately after he spoke, the urgency of the the topic leaving no room for procrastination.

“I checked his room before I got down here, but he wasn’t there.” His voice no longer faltered, quite the opposite, he now rushed through each word, his speech becoming slurred in parts due to it’s remarkable speed.

Steve, forever living up to his title as captain, stood and began giving orders. “Nat, Tony check the securing the cameras, if Peter left we need to know where and exactly when, Harley you go with them. Sam, Clint and Wanda you search the rest of the tower, leave no room unchecked, report back if you see anything.” Harley glanced at him, confusion filling his gaze, he had just told him that Peter left. Steve gave him a placatory look, reasonable as ever im his reply. “No offence son, but we can’t risk causing a scene if this turns out to be a false alarm. Buck, Sam you two are with me, we’ll check the streets nearby, see if we can spot him. If any of you see anything, report back immediately.” It became clear how shaken Tony was when he didn’t utter a word of protest to this particular command.

Nat took Tony by the arm and the two rushed to the lab, Harley close behind, still frantic. Everyone immediately fell into their respective roles, not a single word of protest. If he was in the tower or nearby, they would find him, they just had to.

————

After a while of stuffing their faces and recounting childhood memories. The chatter had died down and now the two boys lay staring up at the sky. There were no stars to be seen due to the light pollution radiating off of the city, but they could picture it. A billion lights, something Peter had always wished to experience but hadn’t as he had never left the city.

The two lay there, feeling slightly ill. Unsurprisingly eating a gluttonous amount of cake in such a short time leads to a stomach ache like no other, still it was worth it.

“Peter”

“Yeah”

“How’d you take that guy down?”

“What do you mean?” He replied a slight twinge of panic seeping into his voice.

“I mean be was like- like the size of four of you. How did you do it?” He gestured with his hands trying to convey the sheer mass of the man from earlier.

Peter gave an award chuckle attempting to prevent himself from tripping over his words and revealing it all. Though he wasn’t entirely sure if Harry already knew and was messing with him or if Harry was genuinely that oblivious.
“I umm- I sometimes watch the avengers train. You tend pick up stuff when you live with several assassins.”

Harry looked at him skeptically and shrugged looking back upwards. “You’d better teach me that sometime.”

‘No way. He actually bought that!?’ The cool vacuum of relief cleared Peters mind of the terrified theories that ran wild within it just moments prior, now replaced with glee at the fact that he had somehow gotten away with it. He had somehow kept his powers secret.

“Sucks that I didn’t see it all, you know with the being nearly unconscious and all that.”

Peter laughed freely. “You didn’t miss much. Wasn’t much of a fight to be honest.”

Harry sat upright and started in disbelief. “Not a fight!? You took down a guy who looked like he could throw you from here to Manhattan with one hand.”

Peter met his eyes and smirked. “Yeah, you’d know. Considering you got tossed away like a dish cloth.”

Harry’s cheeks burned scarlet and he punched Peter in the arm playfully. “Shut it. I could have taken him out if I wanted to.”

“Yeah no, for sure. I mean you had him on the ropes when I got there.”

The only rebuttal he received was playful thump on his arm.

“You’ve wounded me!” Peter cried dramatically, clutching his arm in mock agony.

Harry sprang at him, Peter lept up from where he lay, squawking melodramatically. The two fought but with no real heat, no malicious intent, no goal to harm their opponent. Their child-like giggles, seeming impossibly loud in the near silent streets. After all, it was just harmless play. Simple fun. They battled playfully, much like how brothers would. Though that particular thought of that left an ache in Peter’s heart. ‘Is this what I should have had with Harley?”

Peter pushed the thought away and lifted his hands in mock surrender, eliciting a triumphant huff from Harry. “That’s what I thought.”

Smiling like maniacs the two sat down again. Peter watched as Harry took out his phone and releasing a slur of profanities when he read the time.

Peter peered over his shoulder and had the same reaction.

“Shit!”

How had he not realised that the hours had flown so quickly.

It was 2 AM.

He was definitely in trouble.

They must have found out by now.

And if they hadn’t, they would certainly catch him entering.

Chapter Text

The two swiftly parted ways following the revelation, both rushing in opposite directions for opposite reasons. Harry, afraid of the consequences he could face staying out on the streets alone, he had already been in danger that night. Peter, afraid on the consequences he would receive when arriving home.

The tower loomed ahead, a daunting silhouette of the consequences he would undoubtedly face upon his arrival. Casting a dark shadow over every street Peter turned, as if taunting him. As he cautiously approached the tower he heard something. A sound that he had become very familiar with in the past few months. A sound he heard each training session. Before each and every mission. The sound of mechanical wings overhead, scouring the area. Definitely searching for him.
‘Yup, they definitely know.’
Before the figure could sweep in from above and spot him, Peter dived into a narrow side street. Narrowly missing the eyes that examining the area, or so he hoped.

Before the boy could breathe a sigh of relief his hearing picked up on something else, someone else. No wait, there was yet another replica of the same rhythmic booming. Each beat he detected, a warning, something inside him was telling him to hide.
The sound of two unique heartbeats, both an equal distance from where he was and approaching rapidly. Those heartbeats could only belong to two people, the two he could not outrun nor overpower - well not unless he wanted to expose himself. The two who had hearing powerful enough to detect his ragged breaths from where they were. The two who would inevitably catch him.

As the figures grew ever closer and the one overhead looped back, his fear grew. As they got closer, Peter could hear what was going on in the coms and it did not give him hope of reaching the tower undetected as he had planned.

The soldiers had agreed to meet at one particular spot. On one particular street. That particular street being the one that the subject of their search had just ducked into. The street with only two exits and a narrow channel above. A street with no simple escape. A street which he had been caged into.

‘Not good. Not good. Not good’
The boy whipped his head in each direction, searching desperately for somewhere to hide. Somewhere he could have a chance at not being caught.

The rapid tapping of his heart came to a complete halt at the sight at the end of the alley. A shadow near everyone in the world would recognise, the shadow of the captain. Normally a sign of safety, but not tonight. Tonight it was the opposite, a sign of the terrifying repercussions he was fated to face. Whipping his head in the opposite direction he realised he had wasted his few precious seconds in useless panic, as the other daunting figure closed off the other exit, trapping him completely.

Judging by the quiet from above, Sam had not arrived back yet, but he knew that escaping that way would only be giving himself away. He couldn’t risk them finding out, though after Harry’s words he had doubts if they were as clueless as he had thought previously. He simply had to accept defeat, pretend he was no escape in that situation and take on whatever consequences came his way.

Both figures kept on their approach, not pausing for a second. The peculiar thing was, neither of the soldiers glanced at him. Not once. They kept their eyes on eachother, wearing the same worried and frustrated expressions.

“Sam said he saw a kid run into here, he was adamant that it was Peter.” The gruff voice of Jame Buchanan Barnes barked, clearly not happy with having taken so long to complete one simple mission. A mission that should not have occurred in the first place. He was annoyed that one boy had managed to slip out of the tower without him detecting it. The thought only added to his pile of paranoia, as if a normal kid could get by him this easily, then what change did he have against real threats? Though he was also distressed at the mysterious nature of his disappearance, as he had seen many horrible things happen to defenceless people. This kid was the son of a billionaire and had a family who had made a lot of enemies, plenty of brutal and horrid people would be after him, for reasons the man didn’t want to think of. So despite the formidable task it was, attempting to search the entirety of the huge city for one small boy. He wouldn’t stop, he couldn’t stop until the boy was safe at home.
“Clearly he either didn’t, or the kid is just ridiculously fast” Steve rested his hands of his hips, in the classic heroic pose. Stretching slightly and groaning as the tension was released from his muscles, he had been walking around the city for hours, but they had no alternative plan. If the boy was in danger on one of these streets and they had not done something about it, he doubted they would ever forgive themselves. As a soldier, his mind always tended to go to the worst case scenario. Though he prayed they would find Peter in time or that it would turn out to be a simple misunderstanding and Peter was actually safe at home the whole time. They hadn’t received any news from those in the tower, so for now they had to assume he was out there and keep looking.

Neither spared Peter a glance, despite the fact he stood between them in bright red and blue. He was regretting that colour choice now, it made him easier to see, that must have been why he was spotted.

‘What kind of psychological fuckery is going on here.’ Part of Peter wanted to snap at the two. To tell them to quit messing with him and just start berating him already. Tell them that pretending his was invisible was not funny, nor as unusual a concept as they may believe. However something held him back from speaking a word, he wasn’t sure why, but that sense hadn’t failed him once tonight so he obeyed.

“Nah if he ran by one of us we’d know about it. I think Sam’s just getting dumber as time goes on.” Bucky yelled, intending for Sam to hear.
“I’m not taking that from a fossil.”
The two fully grown and fully trained adult soldiers began a bitter squabble over their intelligence. Their momentary bickering being silenced by the disapproving glare from Steve, followed by a short speech, reminding them of why they were out there in the first place. Finished with a final reiteration of his point.
“Peter could be out in these streets alone, we can’t get distracted . He’s just a kid. He’s not like us, he has no training and no powers to defend himself with.”
The two ceased their petty argument and became sombre, awaiting their orders.

Leaving Peter entirely perplexed. Why did they need to continue with the mission if he was standing right there?
He began to tug and his sleeves, a nervous habit he had developed at a young age. He glanced down at the subject of his current entertainment but when he did he noticed something, something strange.

He didn’t seem entirely…there. That made no sense and he knew that, but somehow he seemed transparent. His ridiculously vibrant hoodie now seeming dull in colour. His skin with the same tint, well, lack thereof. The shapes and shadows of the dirty ground were visible through his seemingly translucent palms.
‘Can- can they actually not see me.’

He stood there, entirely perplexed examining the new ability of his. He poked it with his other hand, which was equally as pellucid, when he tapped the surface he came to his conclusion. He was not permeable as he had previously thought.

He was invisible.

No matter how hard he fought to board the rational train of thought, he couldn’t prevent the ridiculous theories and fears from crowding his subconscious.

This lead to an uncomfortable period of stillness, Peter too afraid to move in case it wore off the effects and gave him away. This willing state of paralysis giving him the opportunity to take the precious seconds to rationalise himself and calm him thoughts. He was certain that it was most likely yet another of the effects of his encounter with the spider. Accepting that as a valid explanation, and not wanting to waste anymore time standing with the avengers. He made a move towards the exit, when his hands remained transparent after it he kept on moving.

Peter turned and smugly walked straight past the group, who didn’t bat an eye. Though Bucky did look confused at the appearance of steps, and lack of figure accompanying the sound. Peter did not want to stick around and discover how long the effects would last, so he sped up his approach towards the tower. Not stopping for a second for even a moment he left the alley.

He edged closer to the tower. Noting that the two standing guard at the door seemed weary. They must have been tipped off about him too.

Though he managed to avoid the risk by slipping around the side and following the wall around the perimeter to his usual spot, the bit slightly shorter than all the rest where he could easily climb over. Of course he knew he could scale the wall with ease, but that would be risky especially if the inhabitants of the tower were also on guard, which they were.

He slipped across the grass. Not allowing himself to pause for a moment and bask in his relief. If he allowed himself to get cocky then he could become careless, and tonight had been too chaotic already. He couldn’t deal with any more mayhem.

Plus, he was facing the most arduous part of his return, he had to sneak through tower, past the remaining team. Ironic really, the one time he received the attention he craved, he wanted nothing more than to be left undetected.

He was glad for his foresight, in that he had hacked the security cameras at the base of the tower prior to the nights events as he had snuck out this way before. Ensuring that for the entirety of the night the camera stayed stuck on a loop, playing a recording from a random night. Though he didn’t anticipate how long he would keep the charade up, and wondered if it was even still in effect.

Knowing that there was no way to detect his entrance to the tower, Peter decided to harness his powers and leap upward, he didn’t anticipate how high he could leap. He flew up straight past the window, two floors above. On his descent he gripped the ledge of the window, groaning at the pain erupting throughout his shoulder. Still he stayed strong, and managed to pull himself up.

He struggled to shift through the window, his muscles complaining all the while. Eventually he got through and ungracefully flopped onto the floor of the familiar changing rooms.

Not wasting any time to catch his breath, he got up and and scrambled towards the door. He charged up the staircase, very nearly falling several times due to the speed that he ran at. He kept his footsteps light, though he doubted anyone would be in the stairwell anyway. Even so, he had to be on guard. He reached the top and approached his room, prepared to gaslight anyone and pretend he had been there the whole time.

He was cautious of every slight noise he made while walking towards it, any noise could result in him being caught, and he had come too far now to being exposed by something so trivial.

He reached his room, carefully twisting the door knob (having learned to be gentle from numerous experiences of broken doors) and he then silently shut it behind him. He failed over to his bed and immediately collapsed onto it. Finally relaxed.

In his satisfaction he had missed something vital. Another heartbeat, one that he was probably most familiar with. A different smell, one of very strong cologne, coffee and a slight twinge of motor oil. Someone else’s breaths, laboured with anxiety. He was not alone, there was someone else in the room with him.

He realised his mistake too late, as the lamp by his desk was flipped on and he turned to meet the bloodshot eyes of his father, he knew he had been caught.

Looking down at his hands in perturbation he observed that the effects of translucency had since worn off - Their normal appearance seeming abnormal after however long looking down and seeing his hands in their previous state.

Though, he wasn’t sure when it had switched back to normal. Then again his cluelessness made sense as he didn’t even know when he had become invisible in the first place. Nor did he know how the switch occurred at all, which was not comforting. His inability to control this particular power could expose him entirely. Though he still had doubts about whether they knew already, only thing he could do was desperately guard him powers and pray that the team remained oblivious.

As, he pondered the subject for longer, he realised that he had no idea when he had stopped being invisible, so therefore it was possible that he had been spotted at some point. At this realisation a wave of dread swept over him, sweeping by blinding him and blocking his hearing within its tide. The flood locking his limbs in place and causing a frigid shiver to run from the bottom of his back along his spine his spine. Twisting into a whorl pool, twirling and eventually falling, settling as a pit in the bottom of his stomach. A truly harrowing experience in itself.

As he dried off and the foreboding feeling from moments before wore off, settling into the dampness of acceptance. he gained the courage to raise his eyes back up to his father, the man remained a statue, fixed in place, still staring at him blankly.

Neither of the two could find the words to speak in those moments, Peter petrified he would somehow say something to incriminate himself further and Tony having lost the speech he had prepared in his head since he discovered that his son had left the tower at this time of the night. He sat trying to formulate a single sentence but be couldn’t seem to connect his brain to his mouth, no matter how hard he tried in those moments, he couldn’t speak.

With no alternative other than allowing his trepidation to brew and himself to fall into a pit of anxiety… Well, that is, no alternative other than breaking the still solemn silence that coated the room like thick fog, something Peter would dare to do. The longer he could postpone this situation the better.

In a desperate attempt to avoid initiating conversation, he didn’t dare move, instead Peter studied his fathers exterior, hoping it would give him some insight into the man’s mind. Hoping that a short glance would prepare him from the oncoming -partially deserved- verbal lashing he was about to receive.

It became clear from Tony’s disheveled nature that he had known for a while, how long Peter didn’t even want to know. Though, as indicated from the frown lines carved deep into his face, Peter could assume it had been a substantial period of time, which would not help his case in the oncoming scolding.

The thing that left Peter in a momentary state of pure and utter disconcertment, was the tear tracks that adorned his fathers cheeks. Two faint lines of red blotchy skin, running down his cheeks, and judging by the way they glistened when illuminated by the dim lamp light, they were recent. Tony had been crying and it hadn’t been long ago. Peter knew it was over him, but why? The man hadn’t cared for him until a couple months ago and now he was crying over him. Really? What gave him the right to care for him now? How could he?
Peter couldn’t figure out why, it didn’t make sense. At least it didn’t make sense until he considered what Harry had told him earlier that night. Could his father really be acting like this because he wanted something?

Peter was still unsure whether or not his family were aware of his enhancements, after all they had all suddenly become nicer after he had gotten them, but why wouldn’t they just tell him that they knew. It just didn’t make sense.

The optimist in Peter, the angel on his shoulder, wanted to believe that Tony had realised his mistake, that he was seeking a chance to redeem himself. He seemed genuine, but Peter had been through too much to listen to that side of himself. His optimism only resulted in disappointment, time and time again, and this time would be no different.

Funny, he had spent his whole life hoping to get attention from his father and right now he had his full undivided attention. No walking off to talk to Harley. No phone call or deadline seemingly more important than him. No distractions. Nothing. He had the thing he had wished for all of these years, how ironic that he was hating every second of it.

He squirmed under the security of his fathers gaze, the man’s eyes were fixed on him, as if he feared that Peter would bolt out of the room at any given moment - reasonable, as those very thoughts were begging Peter to do so, just as they had earlier that night. Tony’s eyes were unforgiving, a cool, steely stare contrasting the warmth of his dark eyes under normal circumstances.

It seemed as though the man stubbornly refused to blink, his calculating eyes not daring to leave his sons face. As if all of a sudden that paternal instinct had kicked in, and he had come to the shocking realisation that he had two sons.

Not just Harley.

Peter too.

Peter dared to breath a sigh of relief when the stony eyes left his face, though that moment of solace was shattered, when his father uttered a few words. A low growl, his words were slow and each syllable was overly pronounced, something the man frequently did in anger.
“Where. Were. You.”

The voice commanded an answer. Eyes dark with fury, muscles tense. He demanded Peter speak, reply, confess…something. But Peter did not. His gaze sunk down to the floor of his room, opting to stare at the tiny particles of dust that littered the rug.
The voice tried again, more exasperated, more desperate but no less livid.

“Peter. Tell me.”

He received no response again.

“I was worried sick. We all were. I had them out on the streets searching for you. I looked on every camera, everything I could find. Do you know what that did to me? To everyone?“ The underlying despair had made its appearance, seeping into his voice and taking over.
Peter’s previous feeling of trepidation had transformed into a pool of guilt, slowly drowning him in sorrow. Despite this, he couldn’t bring himself to utter a single word. What would he say?

“Peter please- you have to talk to me. I know you’re upset but you had no right to do that.” The pleading transformed back into anger as the man swept through each of his emotions of the night, and there were many.
The man stood and began flailing his arms around, trying to convey the magnitude of his emotions, but it seemingly fell on deaf ears, as yet again, he was left talking to himself. “You are what- fourteen and you were running the streets of New York alone in the middle of the night! You could have been killed Peter! Despite what you may think, you are still just a kid.”

Peter fidgeted, eyes welled with tears, not daring to look up. He had been so good, so well behaved that he had never really been reprimanded in such a way, and in truth, he didn’t know how to react.

“Peter. For the love of god. Say something! Anything!”

There was a pause, as Tony caught his breath.

A shaky voice was the first to speak, it was meek, unsure. Much weaker than he had intended to sound in that moment, the fiery rage of earlier lost to his utter shock. Shock that his father actually cared. “What do you want me to say?”

With a sigh, Tony collapsed back into his seat at the desk, he took pity on the boy and decided to lay off a bit, realising he was starting to sound like his own father. He leaned forward in the seat, allowing him to be eye to eye with the boy. This time Peter had no choice but to stare back. Tony was first to break it this time, looking down at the hands clasped in his lap. “Where were you Peter?”
His voice low and soft, hoping this will up his chances of coaxing an answer out of the stubborn kid. Over the years Tony hadn’t many arguments with the kid, no reason to berate him. Well, at least no reason that he had really noticed. At first he assumed that the same method he used with Harley would work with Peter, Harley always cracked under the pressure of a firm glare, yet Peter did not. When he saw he was getting nowhere closer to a reply, he switched up his tactic.

Peter paused, his breath hitching, he took a could moments to try and force himself to remember how to breathe. Grateful, as Tony remained silent during this, which granted him time to produce a solid alibi. Unfortunately, nothing he came up with seemed to be good enough, but by then it had been far too long a pause, so he decided to speak. Settling on the strongest of all the weak excuses he had conjured, the best out of a bad bunch. He knew that stalling any longer would only irritate his father more and raise suspicion further - if that was possible - so he blurted out his excuse, not fully realising how far-fetched his tale truly was until the words had slipped from his tongue.
“I- I never left the grounds, I stayed at the….” There was a pause, in which he debated all his options, trying to figure a place they most likely wouldn’t have looked at. “the uh- I was in the garden. Yep, that’s where I was, the whole time.” The words hung in the air as his father gave him a disbelieving stare. What was he thinking? How did he think that would get him out of this situation?

His voice was just about as steady as his trembling hands. He was lying through his teeth, to his father - a certified genius- and he could only pray it would prove successful.

Tony scoffed in disbelief, shaking his head and moving his gaze to his lap, fiddling with his hands all the while. After the stultification died down, his eyes met his sons. The kind gaze of moments before gone, replaced with irritation. If there was one thing Tony stark detested, it was being lied to. “You expect me…to believe that you never left. That you were here the whole time. That you spent hours in the garden, at night, in the cold!? Really!?”

He let out a laugh, yet it was dry and showed no humour. Only consternation, as if he was shocked at the sheer audacity of the boy ahead of him - and in all honesty Peter was shocked by the same thing.

The lie was ridiculous, absolutely laughable, but was no backing out now. In this moment he had two options, admit everything and possibly expose himself or double down and dig himself deeper into the pit he had fallen into with his deceit. There was no decision really.

“I have a spot. It’s umm- it’s near the back, I go there- a lot. For- umm when I want to be alone…. and after tonight that’s all I wanted.” His blatant lie was flimsy at best, but it was the best chance he had, plus he was hoping the he could guilt Tony out of his anger. He tripped and stumbled through each word, it was as though they refused to leave his mouth, embarrassed and staying stubbornly glued to his tongue. He saw Tony’s mask slip for a second, guilt seeping into his eyes, but just quickly as it appeared, it was gone. His face resembling that of when he does interviews, an unreadable poker face. It was as if Peter was being tested on his ability to deceive, each word he spoke was picked apart and carefully examined.

Peter had never lied about much before, not having any need to when no one cared what he did. He was out of practice, and it just so happens that he was up against the most chronic over thinker in the tower, the odds were not in his favour. Tony paused to contemplate his sons answer, it was so absurd that it just could be true. After all, they only searched the tower and the streets nearby, they neglected the possibility of the garden as it seemed completely unreasonable. They assumed he was either in the tower or not, they had not been considered the possibility that he was somewhere in between. “You are saying, that this whole time- like for hours. Literal hours. you were sitting…in the garden.” A hint of disbelief still coated his voice, but from his words he seemed to be buying into it or so Peter hoped. Not that he could tell with from blank face of his opponent.

“… yes. It’s a well hidden spot, that’s why I go there when I need to think.” Even he struggled to believe his own excuse, as it was beyond ridiculous. It was ludicrous, so he had to try and at lease make it would like he was speaking with conviction and prayed that the slight voice crack in the middle of that sentence wasn’t registered as an admission of guilt.

“ I would have seen you on the camera there. Why didn’t I?” Tony evidently wasn’t going to let go of the topic without a full run through, this was quickly turning into a full blown interrogation. The last thing Peter had wanted, he should have prepared a story as a precaution. It was too late to regret it at that point, what’s done had been done. As much as he wished he could reach out and pluck each word out of the air, dispose of all evidence and pretend this conversation never happened, he knew that he could not. All he could do was lie. “I umm, I hacked that bit, I didn’t want people to see me there.” He paused, his next words coming out quieter, practically a “I like to be alone sometimes, just away. Away from everyone.” He winced internally at how unsure he sounded, careful to not let his embarrassment show on his face.
Tony gave Peter a quizzical look. “You hacked my cameras?” He murmured the sentence to himself once more in disbelief. 
“Wha- how did you do that!? Did you hack any others!?”

From then on the questions flew by, the man was trying to make him slip up, admit guilt somehow, but he had come too far for that now. He could see the horizon of a successful deception and he was determined to reach it. He breezed through each query, short simple answers, turns out he was a natural when it came to chicanery. Reluctantly, Tony gave in and believed him, accepting his tale to be true.

One thing he did not anticipate was the man sitting on the edge of his bed and pulling him into a bone-shattering embrace. He murmured something, something that Peter doubted he would have picked up if he didn’t have super-hearing. This time his fathers voice was the shaky one, the anxiety and relief of the night finally settling in. “I was so worried.”

The inner child of Peter screeched with delight in that moment, and he had the fight the urge to let it show. He had been given something he had never known he craved as much as he did, he had been given affection. Genuine affection. His father was worried for him. A sick part of him enjoyed that people were worried for him, it seemed that he only got attention this way. But, a small part of Peter’s brain reminded him what this man had been like earlier that night, what he had been like for Peter’s whole life. However, rationality was drowned out by the child inside of Peter, screaming with glee at finally, finally being loved by the man.

The hug seemed to grow tighter if possible, resulting in Peter’s cheek colliding with the man’s shoulder. The boy let out a hiss of pain. Regret setting in immediately when, Tony pulled back, fearing he had harmed the boy. His eyes eyes scanned Peter and almost immediately became glued to a certain part of his face. The part that sported a nasty symphony of blue and purple - an almighty bruise. An unmistakable shape, the shape of a fist.

Peter waited with baited breath for the man to begin yelling at him, but he did not. Peter decided to defend himself from another grilling, he had lied plenty that night, he could do it again, but before Peter utter a word, his chin was immediately clasped firmly in the man’s hand. His face was tilted towards the dim light, only further emphasising the appearance of the bruise. Peter hadn’t seen it himself, but he can’t imagine it was a pretty sight, judging by the way Tony’s eyebrows knitted together as the examined it. He mouth pressed into a thin line.

He immediately began scrambling for excuses, something to get him out of this and back into the warm embrace but nothing happened, he just mouthed wordlessly, hoping that he could create a story in time. But this time he could not. The words fizzled away. Deserting him in his most desperate time of need. He was prepared for angry accusations, yelling or maybe more questions, but it never came.

Tony stood, his face solemn and cold again, he turned off the light and approached the door. He paused and faced the boy once more, sounding defeated. He sighed and spoke. “It’s late, try and get some sleep. We are talking about this in the morning.”

Chapter Text

The team sat together in the common room, anxiously awaiting Tony’s eventual decent down, hoping he would explain what the hell had happened that night. Each occupant of the room shared identical feelings of fatigue and distress, yet they did not dare depart and leave for their room. They wanted answers. They needed answers.

It had been that way since they got the text, as the adrenaline had crashed and the depressing reality quickly sunk in when they had no other distraction. The text, the one they had hoped since they began looking. The text telling them that Peter had been found, that he was safe in the tower. That it was over, that Peter was back at home.

They had expected to feel relief at this, expecting the weight of worry to lift off of their shoulders immediately. But it didn’t, not at all. After all, they didn’t know what had happened in the hours since they began looking and since he was found. Each of them were aware of the fact that all it took was a couple hours for something unspeakable to occur, something to change a life. For better or for worse.
Actually, it didn’t take hours for that, it could take mere minutes for an event to shatter someone, to change the person they were before, replacing them with a mindless entity, a pitiful reflection of what they once were.
Some had experienced such a moment. Natasha with the day her ‘family’ left Ohio. Bucky with the moment he fell from that train. Sam with the moment Riley plummeted from the sky. A moment was all it took to ruin a life, to cause unbearable trauma, they could only hope that Peter had not become part of the group who shared that knowledge.

Their trepidation left them stuck to their seats and there they sat heads hung low, dejected and fretful. After all, how could they call themselves ‘Earth’s Mightiest Heroes’ if they couldn’t even notice an untrained, (supposedly) un-enhanced kid sneaking out past them. Did he even sneak out at all or was there someone else forcing him to? The mysterious nature of it all only added to the cloud of anxiety swirling overhead.

The party banners swayed lightly, present wrapping and streamers littered the room, nothing had been moved. It all served as a reminder reminder of their first failure of the night. Cups remained abandoned messily on the counter, the joyous mood of earlier now grave and somber. It was a mess, the chaos of it all a mirror to their situation.

In those moments no one spoke, all of them sat in contemplation, all asking the same questions, the ones that had weighed heavy on the minds of the collective since the moment they discovered that Peter was gone.

How had he gotten out?

Where had he gone?

Why hadn’t they noticed?

Was he alright?

Was he hurt?

The longer they waited, the more the sense of dread grew, it hung around them, it’s presence suffocating. Each moment, the clutches of anxiety seemed to squeeze tighter, crushing them in the process. With the guilt weighing them down, all they could do was wait. It was excruciating. They were people who took action, they did not stall. They held no value for patience. They needed to know and they needed to know at that very moment.

Yet, they wouldn’t bring themselves to stand, not daring to interrupt and possibly make it more difficult for the kid. Well, more difficult than they already had.

Despite being distant, the team did care for the boy, they didn’t want him to be harmed or upset. Sure, they weren’t all that close to him, and didn’t know how to talk to him. Still, it didn’t mean that they didn’t care, they just didn’t really know the kid.

A pang of shame seemed to sting each of them at that thought. But they weren’t sure why, after all, it wasn’t really their fault they didn’t know the kid that well, right? They were so busy with their own lives that they didn’t have time to go out of their way to get to know Peter. It wasn’t their fault.

It was different from how it was with Harley. It wasn’t the same situation, not at all. Cause- because Harley… He was just different. He went out of his way to get close to them, Peter was reserved so they gave him space. They weren’t doing anything wrong, they were giving him what he wanted. He wanted to be alone, so they let him. It’s not their fault that he didn’t want to take part in their family nights, they weren’t going to force him.

Deep down they knew were deceiving themselves, desperate to avoid accountability. Desperate to be innocent in the situation, they feared what they had become. So they refused to admit it, they refused to admit that they had hurt him. They had refused to be like those who had hurt them in the past, and the weren’t. Not really. They didn’t directly harm the boy or anything, they would never. Instead they were bystanders, they didn’t harm him but nor did they deliberately help him. Though, that in itself should be the cause of shame.

The ding of the elevator was all it took to snap them out of their trance, heads whipping in the direction of the sound. The anticipation was unbearable, but they could tell that bombarding Tony with questions in that moment would only cause more unnecessary complications. There had been enough trouble that night, no need to make it worse.

Impatiently they waited for him to speak. To explain. Holding back their questions was intolerable, but they did it. After some time, he finally spoke. No one dared interrupt, fearing that it could make him stop taking.

Tony explained everything; every minute detail, every word exchanged, every anxious action or habit. Everything.

He was interrupted only once during his tale, by an irritated Nat. “And why were you in Peter’s room anyway. I had left you to check the cameras while I went to go help search.”

Tony looked sheepish but had a faraway look on his face all the while. His eyes, glazed over with unshed tears. “I guess-“ he paused, Tony stark never paused. “I guess I was just hoping that I would find him there. I couldn’t face the possibility that he may be gone, so I was hoping I would just find him there all it would all be one stupid coincidence.” He huffed a weak laugh at his own expense, but not even the traces of a smile could be seen on anyone else’s faces. Satisfied with the answer Nat nodded and he continued on with his tale.

“Then- then I turned his head and he had this bruise. This huge painful bruise on his cheek. I know the shape of that bruise, I’ve had plenty. The kid had been punched. There is no doubt about it.” And that was it. He stopped talking, he went silent. But not everyone was content with that conclusion.

“Well…what did you do? What did you say?” Sam piped up, desperate to know more. There had to be more to the story, surely. Tony wouldn’t just leave the kid there, if he had evidently been in a fight of some sort. He would at least check he was alright, surely.

“I- I panicked… so I left.” Tony sounded uncertain, probably sensing the oncoming outrage his words would receive.

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “Tony, please. Please, tell me- that you did not just leave the kid after that. Tell me you said something.”

Tony squirmed in his seat ashamed of his actions. He had left because he didn’t know what to say, knew he would just make things worse if he stayed there. He didn’t want to be like Howard, Howard would have stayed there and yelled at him until his throat grew hoarse and painful. Howard probably would have left him with a bruise to match. He didn’t want to be anything like his father is that moment. He was afraid of letting his anger get ahold of him, so he left. It seemed logical at the time. Now that he was actually explaining it out loud… not so much.

Clint’s lips were pressed into a thin line, for once he was serious, not joking. His fatherly instincts leaving him pissed at Tony for his blatant neglect in that situation. “Did you at least give the kid an ice pack, or- or check if he had a concussion.”

The look on Tony’s face was enough of an answer. Eyes cast downward, face falling into a solemn expression. He said nothing. Which said everything they needed to know.

Steve stood, and began pacing. Exasperated with how Tony handled the situation. Despite the temptation, no one yelled at Tony nor did they berate him. It was clear he had acknowledged his mistake. That he knew he was wrong here.

Tony stood and took off for the elevator. “You’re right, I’ll go check on him.” His approach was ceased by a firm hand gripping his arm, holding him back.

Steve shook his head. “He’s probably asleep now. You aren’t going to help by acting irrationally. Sit back down and one of us will go.” He guided a protesting Tony back to his seat.

The two went back and forth like that, others interrupting to voice their opinions on who should go. Bucky, who was normally silent especially in team situations, decided to interject, and be the only rational voice in the heated debate. “Shouldn’t we just ask the ceiling woman.” Despite his lack of knowledge on modern technology, he was somehow the first to think of it. All eyes were on him in an instant, absolutely dumbfounded. Vexed that they hadn’t though of it themselves.

F.R.I.D.A.Y announced that Peter didn’t have a concussion at that moment and that he was completely uninjured - which only confused them more. How could he be uninjured if he had a huge bruise on his face? They saved that question for the morning, instead opting to focus on what they would do and what they would say to him when they had the chance. The needed to get answers but they also needed to make it up to him.
Harley had long since been sent to bed, despite his adamant opposition to it.

One by one they filtered out of the room, exhausted. Leaving only two in there, Nat and Clint.
“Peter was lying, must’ve been.” Nat stated bluntly. She didn’t need to be there to know it, she was stupefied that Tony hadn’t picked up on it. Though, it seemed like he was just desperate for an explanation, so he accepted the first one offered without much question.
Still she didn’t voice her options to Tony. She wanted to figure out the reasons behind Peter’s deceit before she did anything. He would be more guarded if he knew that she knew about his lie, and Tony stark is anything but subtle. So, she was going to keep this between her and Clint for now. It was rare that puzzled her, but this certainly did. Why wouldn’t he just admit to sneaking out because he was mad? It made no sense. He would get in trouble, sure, but the risk for lying was much higher. So what reason did he have to do so? - unless he was hiding something.

The boy had been different lately, very different. Sure, she didn’t really talk much with the kid but she always made sure to keep tabs on everyone around her, and that included Peter.

Clint agreed with her immediately, equally perplexed with the situation. As a spy - and a parent - he hated being in a state of obliviousness, he detested not knowing. Many underestimate him, assuming that he’s just an airhead due to his dumb sense of humour and relaxed nature, but he was much more than that. Despite what people may think, he’s always watching and listening, he’s aware of much more than he is given credit for. He was aware that something has changed in Peter, he was not the same kid from a few months ago. The boy was much more skittish as of late, despite being more comfortable around them, his guard is still up.

Nat sighed. “I don’t get it, Bucky, Sam and Steve were outside and then the rest of us were in the tower, he shouldn’t have been able to get in undetected if he was out. Even if he was just in garden as he claimed.”

Clint shrugged. “Are we even sure that he was out?”

“Yes, Definitely. The way Tony described the bruise, it couldn’t have happened here, F.R.I.D.A.Y would have said so. He was out, there’s no doubt about out it. He went further than the grounds of the tower, that’s for sure. But I can’t figure out why he would lie?”

“Somethings up with him.”

“Definitely.”

—————

Despite the assumptions of the avengers, Peter was very much not asleep.

How could he sleep with so many thoughts swirling in his head, a pool of hypocrisy deep that he feared he could drown in it. Waves of what if crashing against his skull, causing an unbearable migraine. Each thought, each emotion, triggering a tsunami, each seemingly battling to be at the forefront of his mind. Their collisions toppling the weak ships of serenity and rationality which once peacefully drifted by.

His stomach was in knots, a system loops and tangles being the cause of his discomfort. His stomach adamantly fought against its bounds, twisting and turning and only seeming to cause more ache and become more tangled. Tied so slightly he feared it would never come loose and the ache of dread would never leave.

His chest felt heavy, unbearably so. It was as if Mjölnir had been slammed down onto his chest, and left there. Slowly suffocating him as time went on, crushing in his ribs until his chest finally caved in… well perhaps that was a tad dramatic, but still. It was not a comfortable feeling.

The strange concoction of emotions had him feeling intolerably restless. He thrashed under his covers, hoping to find a position that he would finally feel at ease. Desperate to finally curl up and let the peace of sleep sweep away his woes, but that seemingly wasn’t going to be possible.

As if it couldn’t get any worse. The overwhelming emotions had somehow triggered his senses and they too had gone absolutely haywire. It was horrible.

He could feel the itchy fibres of his sweatpants, the label digging into his back, yet for some reason he couldn’t find the motivation to change, he just lay there in his misery.

He could taste the bile rising in his throat, a disgusting mixture of saliva and the cheap cake from earlier in the night threatening to return and ruin his sheets.

He could smell the floral wash used on his clothes, it’s sweet comforting scent ruined by the gross stench of sweat from earlier in the night. In all of the dramatics of the night, he hadn’t gotten the chance to shower, he was certainly regretting it now, as the scent seemed to stick to his nose, only adding to his suffering in that moment.

He could hear the avengers heading off to bed for the night, their peaceful snores. It angered him. Why was he left here awake feeling like this, when those who had hurt him could sleep so soundly. It wasn’t fair.

He could see…. Well, he couldn’t see anything. His eyes were screwed shut and his head was hidden below his luxurious duvet covers. He didn’t want to see in that moment. All he wanted was to close his eyes and pretend he was somewhere else, someone else, block out his world and travel to a better one. One where he was loved. One where he was happy.

The scorching scarlet rage of earlier had retuned. Now presenting as an insufferable itch, the kind begging for a nail to scratch it away. Or in this case, rather than a nail, demanding an outlet, urging him to storm into his fathers room to scream and yell incoherently. Scream until he finally felt at peace, until the itch was scratched away.

After all, it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all. Why now had they decided to care for him? Why? Why now, when he had spent his whole life wishing for it?

Why was it finally convenient for them to love him?

Did they love him?

Was it an act?

The fury had returned, despite having depleted through the adrenaline filled events of the night. The fury that fizzled out completely and was replaced by pure dubiety when he saw his fathers devastated face.

Why was he that upset in the first place? it didn’t make sense. Then again, nothing did anymore.

Still the question picked at his mind. Why had they suddenly decided to care?

Why now?

Why, when he had finally grown up enough to build up shaky feeble walls. Why had they came along and bulldozed then down. Then, while his guard was down, attack and remind him why he built them in the first place.

He swore to himself, he wasn’t going to make that mistake again. His walls were being rebuilt and reinforced by fury and resentment the longer he lay there. Thought by thought, he placed brick by brick, building up his barricade piece by piece. He had been an idiot to let them down in the first place.

It was pathetic, the first bit of attention in years and all of a sudden everything they had done had gone down the drain. God, after everything, he was still just a stupid desperate kid, the same kid that sat at the hospital that fateful day.

Not anymore, no, the pin had finally dropped, he was done. He was done with them. He was done hoping for a fairytale ending, one where they would finally love him as much as they loved Harley, he knew that wasn’t possible.

However, he wasn’t a complete idiot, he knew it wasn’t possible to completely cut them off, especially not after recent events.
For whatever reason, they had recently decided to start acting as if they cared for him, as they hadn’t neglected him for literal years. Neglect, that’s what it was, he knew that before, yet he let childish hope blind him from the truth. Never again. He didn’t need them, not anymore.

He knew that due being caught that night, his ‘family’ would be watching him more closely. Always on guard, making sure that he wouldn’t flee at any moment, a valid concern considering the fact that it’s all that had been running through his mind. From the moment he realised he had been caught, the first thought that entered his mind, was how he could possibly sneak out again.

He’d definitely have to wait a while before sneaking out - which didn’t help his already gloomy mood. He wasn’t going to, not because he cared what they thought, or whether they trusted him, but because he didn’t know what they would do if the caught him again. He may lose any chances of ever sneaking out again, that was far too great a gamble.

He’s always cherished the few hours of freedom he managed to steal in secrecy, and he was not be willing to jeopardise that, not at all.

He was going to play it safe for while, allow then to try and ‘fix’ things. Let them attempt to piece tightened their shattered relationship, one beyond repair. Shards have been scattered everywhere, some are completely lost. It will never be what it could have been. If you picked up a piece and set it in front of the light, perhaps what would shine through would be a reflection of what could have been. A glimmer of the beauty it could have held. If only it had been cherished rather than demolished.

Peter cursed himself for his reaction earlier, he wished he had just yelled and cursed Tony. Wished he had done it while he had the chance, wished he had taken the opportunity to speak his mind. To scream and cry and yell until his through became dry and scratchy. To finally be understood.

The weight of regret was tremendous. If he had turned it on Tony that moment, then he likely wouldn’t have been caught. He could have distracted him with guilt and then gotten away with a successful deceit, but no.

He let his shock get the best of him, shock that his father actually seemed to care about him - you know, like he’s supposed to. He missed a golden opportunity and he would face the consequences of it.

All he could do was lay there and think of a script for the morning. Any question he could think of he had an answer. A detailed elaborate script, all he had to do was follow it and everything would be fine. It was ridiculously simple, foolproof even, it couldn’t possible go wrong.

As the sun seeped through the blinds, the first signs of day, his trepidation grew. As the light elegant slipped around the room painting over the dark blues of night with the joyous yellow of dawn.

He had to put his acting skills to the test.

Chapter Text

He must have checked his phone an insane amount of times during those vital few hours.

Each second he was inching closer and closer to the looming deadline. The time where he finally had to explain himself and hopefully lie his way out of… well he didn’t actually know. That’s what made it worse, he had nothing to prepare for, no way to create an alibi that wouldn’t give them any unnecessary information.

He’d never gotten in trouble like this before, he’d never been caught doing anything bad. Not because he didn’t do anything wrong, he certainly had, but simply because they’d have to look at him to catch him. Something that had seemingly been impossible for the duration of his life in their company.

It may have been the unknown aspect that made it all worse. The accusation was a mystery.

Their knowledge of his situation was a mystery.

The punishment was a mystery, he had no idea what they would do if they proved him guilty.

Would they lock him in the tower?

Would they have him under supervision?

Not allowed to leave their sight?

Would they attempt to talk to him? Make a pathetic attempt at parenting, one coming far too late.

The ambiguity of the situation was excruciating. He could stare at the ceiling and theorise endlessly, but the truth was that he didn’t know any of them well enough to predict their actions. He was as clueless about them as they were to him. They were strangers sharing a home, or more accurately he was a stranger occupying their home.

Like a man on death row he tried desperately to occupy his time; to procrastinate, to avoid the thoughts that loomed in the corners of his mind, little reminders of what’s to come for him. However, despite his desperation time ticked on, and it didn’t take long before the dreaded morning arrived.

He approached his mirror and cursed loudly, the bruise was gone, not completely, but all the remained was a patch of red, slightly irritated skin. Had he snuck in and not been caught last night this would have been a blessing, but it certainly wasn’t in this situation.

Tony had seen the bruise and most definitely would’ve told the others about it, the man was physically incapable of keeping his mouth shut. Therefore, their suspicions would go through the roof if it had suddenly disappeared, Tony was a lot of things, but he was not often a liar and even if he were, everyone would believe his word over Peter’s anyway. He had no way out.

He debated his options, wondering if he should somehow fake a bruise, but he knew that his artistic abilities were subpar at best, and would likely lead to him to consequences for lying as it would inevitably be caught out.

His mind couldn’t find a foolproof solution, but the one that stuck in the forefront of his mind was the simplest of all; play dumb. Feign oblivion and hope for the best, it was his word against his fathers, sure. But the situation had everyone’s emotions heightened, perhaps that could be his advantage.

Was it a terrible plan? Yes. Did he have anything better? No.

He checked the time, discovering that it was still only the early hours of the morning. The time where Sam and Steve would be out on their run but usually no one else would be awake at such a time. He decided to take his chances and lay in bed, thinking of a script for himself, an excuse for each scenario. An excuse for the faults in each excuse.

It didn’t take very long for him to map out a scenario, one in which he was entirely innocent. He practiced the tone of voice he would use, his facial expressions, how to deliver the lines to make them seem truthful.

He had a performance to put on.

He memorised each line, he did nothing else to occupy himself, he just sat there, on the edge of his bed, waiting, leg twitching with anxiety, something it had done since he was a little kid, not that any of them would have noticed the habit. He waiting, trembling in his trepidation, like an actor going on stage for the performance of a lifetime.

Then it came. That dreaded gruelling sound. The sound that sent waves of fear crashing over him. The sound that made all else fall silent. The sound he had feared for hours; a gentle, quiet knock on his door.

He knew there was no avoiding it, there was no way out. The cruel strings of fate wrapped around his wrists and ankles, feeling like shackles.

Dragging him towards the door.

Dragging him to his own damnation.

As if in a trance his limbs moved on his own, not even feeling as though they belonged to him anymore. Almost as if someone was manipulating him from above, pulling his strings. Forcing him to reach out and turn that door handle.

Before he knew it he had come face to face with the one who had broken him for his trance of trepidation.

But it wasn’t who he had expected. It wasn’t a frowning Tony or a passive aggressive member of the team.

It was his brother - if he could even call him that. He stood there awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot, squirming under the glare of his younger brother.

He opened his mouth to speak a few times, but nothing came out. Peter had to suppress a giggle and fight to stay stone faced, upon seeing Harley take on the appearance of a gaping fish.

The words that were screaming in the boy’s mind became silent as they made contact with the air. Harley was speechless and his counterpart made no move to break the silence.

Rather he was basking in the few moments he had before inevitable prosecution at the hands of earths mightiest heroes.

The two stood, one’s eyes wide and sorrowful and the other glaring with poorly concealed ferocity, the hurt of years of mistreatment glowing behind those eyes. His lips were presses shut firmly, drawing into a thin line, his whole body was tense, limbs rigid like a toy soldier, one awaiting orders.

The bliss of silence was fractured when Harley finally found his voice. It was weak and trembled lightly with each word he spoke, the difference was subtle and many wouldn’t pick up on it at all, but since gaining his powers Peter had been noticing a lot of ridiculous insignificant details.

Like the unkept nature of Harley’s hair, very different from his usual perfectly styled waves, the boy was always well-kept so seeing him like this was staggering. Dark bags under his eyes, another indication his stress.

The scratchy faded sweatshirt he wore, it was Tony’s. It hung off of his shoulders awkwardly, he hadn’t quite grown into it yet. The sleeves were grey but had a few marks from past experiments. The middle had an old faded M.I.T logo, the black text now faded to a pale grey due to its age. The hoodie was something Tony held dear, something he had given to Harley. Not him.

Peter watched as Harley studied the red blemish on his face, seeming puzzled. His brows knitted together in a taken aback expression, as he had been expecting a bruise. Peter wrestled internally to prevent the corners of his lips from twitching up in amusement, he couldn’t give away his act just yet. He didn’t offer his brother any explanation, just stayed there, waiting for the boy to find his words.

Harley took a deep breath and finally spoke. “How- how umm… how are you?”
He did not receive a reply, rather a deadpan look, as if asking whether he were really asking that. Harley had the decency to at least look sheepish, he seemed to find his words and attempted plucking up conversation again. He took breaks between his words, as if struggling to get them out, something strange for the usually talkative boy, who usually seemed to have no trouble yapping endlessly. “Listen, Peter I- uh I wanted to apologise.” Peter’s mask slipped for a moment and his eyes widened, slightly caught off guard.

Harley was apologising, genuinely apologising. He really was making it hard to keep up this stoic facade. But he did, he was sticking to this.

Harley didn’t seem to notice Peter’s sudden change in demeanour, and if he did he didn’t comment on it. “I just” He paused. “I don’t want you to blame dad for it”

Wow.

The glint is his eyes was extinguished instantly. There it was. He’d shown his true motives. He wasn’t remorseful, not really. He was trying to take the blame for Peter’s deadbeat excuse for a father.

The balloon of hope he let go just a second ago, had been shot down and now lay pathetically at his feet, mocking him for even daring to soar. Even for just a second. That’s all it took. The mask was back up.

He zoned out from there as Harley droned on with halfhearted excuses on his and his father’s behalf. It was clear who’s feelings he seemed to care for, but Peter couldn’t ignore the underlying tone of remorse. It sounded like he was genuinely sorry for it, just phrasing his guilt in the worst way possible. Despite this, Peter couldn’t bring himself to forgive anyone, not even his brother. He may seem repentant, but he still had the audacity to stand there in front of him and justify it.

Harley noticed that his words were getting him nowhere. His weak attempts were futile against the impenetrable shell Peter had built over the years. The one he had reinforced with his resentment the previous night. He sighed and beckoned Peter to follow him, follow him up to the common room. The now formidable place where he would plead his innocence, regardless of the truth.

As the two marched through the seemingly never ending halls Peter recited the events of the night before. Well, the updated version. He recited the facts that he knew and prepared counter arguments.

He tired to slow his frantic heart and ignore the fact that every fibre of his being was screaming at him to run away as he approached the room. He entered and it felt like a million sets of analytical eyes locked onto his with a snipers precision.

There was no way out now.

This was the real deal.

The performance of a lifetime.

He stopped in the doorway, standing slightly behind his older brother, as if trying to hide behind the older boy. He could sense their eyes on him, feeling the burn of his gaze particularly on his unbruised cheek. He noticed that Nat and Clint glanced at each other, silently communicating as usual. The whole team were gathered in the room. The jury was in session.

It was silent, no one dared to be the first to break it. Peter didn’t dare even take a breath, fearing that it may interrupt the few moment he had to collect himself before the proceedings began.

But Peter never had much luck, and his father stood, approaching the pair. The man’s dark eyes weren’t meeting his, rather tracing the red blotch that occupied the left side of his face. Harley shifted aside and the man goes closer, allowing him a gentle hand to Peter’s back, guiding him towards the sofa.

Peter sat, biding his time. He kept his eyes on his lap, as his very facial expressions could betray the truth, especially in a room with several of those trained to detect any crack in even the strongest of facades.

‘For gods sake, why does everyone need to be here’

Tony cleared his throat, gaining the attention of his son who reluctantly lifted his head. The man stood in front of him, arms crossed and lips pursed, doing that annoying thing where he tries to hide any emotion in order to not give away his true thoughts.

“So, Peter, mind explaining to the room where you were last night?”

Peter - valiantly resisting the urge to roll his eyes as his father begins the lawyer act - hesitates for a moment, taking the moment to compose himself before his eyes meet that of his fathers. He ensures his tone is level and his words said with conviction, having spent the night perfecting his demeanour.

“The garden. There’s a spot I go to near the wall in the back when I need some time alone.”

Nat wasn’t having it, his eyes taken over him from where she sat, perched on the edge of the couch to his left, she too had her arms crossed, her whole body language conveying mistrust. She was next to speak up, her question obviously a prompt, a jab into his defence.

“And why would you go there at night when you could have the same privacy in your room?”

Peter was prepared for this, the rehearsed answer slipping off his tongue with rehearsed ease, however what he didn’t account for was that such a perfectly said answer would illicit more suspicion. After all, this was not how he normally spoke, not a stutter of pause in his sentence.

“Because I wanted distance from you guys, if I were in my room anyone could have entered to bother me. When I’m in my spot, no one knows where I am, so no one disturbs me”

He could feel the doubt in the room, watching a few exchanging glances and silently communicating their concerns. Peter wasn’t going to let them dwell on it for too long, as he knew that once he lost their trust, he had no chance at claiming innocence.

Luckily he had a plan for this, a way to stop them thinking too deeply into his words. Was his method a little manipulative in the way it played on their guilt for their earlier actions to bring attention away from him. Well, yes. But Peter didn’t feel guilty, he was entitled to using his misery to his advantage, especially against the very causes of it.

He used to pause to his advantage, his eyes going back to his lap as he knew he would struggle to genuinely convey upset on command. He made his voice small and pitiful, playing the part of a poor innocent boy in an effort to flip the narrative.

“Plus, I just really needed to be alone after everything that happened.”

The atmosphere immediately dampened, mouths which would have been used for accusation clamping shut, much to Peter’s satisfaction. As it turned out, Peter had another superpower; guilt tripping.

The room remained silent for a while, no one quite knowing what to say. Harley had looked away from his brother, not wanting to face the shame he felt. The somber mood dictates the room, preventing the trail from continuing.

Still, the Peter’s bliss doesn’t last long. Steve sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose in the way he always does. He was one of the few who refused to take a seat, continuing to pace around throughout the trial. He takes on his usual tone, the one hated by all American teens due to the infamous PSA’s.

“I understand the need for privacy son, but it’s unsafe for you to leave the tower at this time, even if you remained on the grounds. We have made a lot of enemies, enemies who wouldn’t hesitate to cause you harm. So we need to know where you are at all times, for your own sake.”

Admittedly that caught Peter of guard, the genuineness of his voice, as if he truly cared about the boy. Still, he had grown beyond the need for their care, their protection or their love, he knew that this wasn’t real. They didn’t actually care, they just wanted him to think that. He wouldn’t let them manipulate him, he wouldn’t let them have the grace of his forgiveness.

A little caught up in his resentment and mistrust, he allowed himself to loose the grasp over the story he had created, leaving him vulnerable to being exposed. His heart almost skipped a beat when Clint piped up with a question that he hadn’t prepared for previously.

“And on that subject, why did you feel the need to hack into Friday and shut off the cameras both outside and in the lower floors? If you simply wanted to be alone, you wouldn’t have felt the need to do all that. Now, if you were trying to do something or go somewhere that you didn’t want us to know about, then it would make sense.”

The man raised a brow, watching his with a careful focus, not wanting to miss a detail on the boys face. As both a spy and a father, Clint would be one of the most difficult to deceive, after all he’s dealt with almost everything and knew how to read guilt off a teenager and exactly how to get one to confess, and pointed questions often were the perfect thing to make deception crumble.

Peter gulped, growing more and more anxious as everyone’s eyes remained fixed on him. It would be pretty difficult to worm his way out of this one, and if he repeated his early tactic it would be clear that he was trying to avoid answering. He had to think quick, hesitating for too long would make his guilt clear. He took a moment, lifting his head to meet the man’s eyes, trying to keep his tone fixed but his snark quickly took over, his animosity evident.

“Well, uh- I hacked them because I live with you all. Many of you are trained spies, we have an AI who tracks every action everyone does, I live in one of the most secure buildings in the world, with guards at every door. I can’t even step outside without being interrogated about where I plan to go. I just wanted to be able to go somewhere without being monitored. Sue me.”

That hadn’t exactly gone to plan. His attempts at civility certainly going down the drain, overshadowed by years of harboured resentment. Clint raised an eyebrow, surprised and a little impressed by the audacity of the boy, standing up to earths mightiest heroes is no mean feat. Peter could swear he heard Sam huff out a laugh, only to cover it up by coughing, likely having revived a stern look from Captain Buzzkill.

The next to speak was his father, who Peter was surprised could even utter a few words with how tightly he was clenching his jaw, evidently not impressed that the boy had inherited his attitude. His words were sharp and clipped, as if he were expecting to win the argument with one sentence.

“And what about the bruise I saw on your cheek last night?”

This was it, the part Peter had prepared for. Peter furrowed his brows and titled his head quizzically, a rehearsed expression of bewilderment. When in doubt, gaslight your way out. He looks at the man as if he were talking nonsense, his tone conveying further uncertainty.

“What bruise?”

The man’s eyes narrowed, and try as he might, he didn’t see a hint of a bruise on the boys cheek. Not a speck of blue, purple, or even yellow, no hint that a bruise had ever marked his face. He let out a huff, not wanting to admit in front of the team that he may have been wrong.

Internally, Peter was giddy with glee, kind of enjoying humiliating the man by making him seem crazy. As if he had exaggerated the story. Fighting to keep a smug grin off his face, he turned to his brother, acting in his now perfected clueless persona.

“Do I have something on my face?”

The boy studied him for a moment, glancing to his father before his eyes returned. The boy was the succiest of all suck ups - in Peter’s entirely unbiased opinion - and certainly wouldn’t want to embarrass his beloved father, still he wasn’t going to lie and Peter knew it. “Uh- you have a red patch on your cheek, but-”

He paused, hesitating, not wanting to prove his father wrong, but he couldn’t deny what he saw, or rather what he didn’t see. “There’s no bruise”

Checkmate. For once, his fathers mouth remained shut, likely not wanting to discredit himself further. Peter’s heart was racing in side of his chest, like a crook who had narrowly avoided persecution.

It wasn’t long before his father released his charges, sighing, likely nursing a wounded ego. He made no further attempt to acknowledge the bruise, or lack therefore, seeming ticked off that he hadn’t found any grounds to convict him on.

“You are grounded for a week for sneaking out without telling anyone.”

That was somewhat fair, Peter supposed. It was a minor punishment in the grand scheme of things, had they discovered that he had actually ran away and been in a fist fight with a super soldier of sorts, then befriended a family foe, all the while having superpowers he had concealed from them, he doubted they’d have been so lenient.

But his father was not done, and continued to drone on. The judge coming to a final decision.

“And I want you to show me exactly how you hacked the cameras and tell me each one you compromised so that I can fix them.”

Peter supposed that was fair too, of course the avengers would be cautious about having any flaws within their security system. After all, as Steve put it, they did have many enemies.

But his father was still not done. His tone was earnest and perhaps a little insecure, it didn’t suit him at all. He looked at Peter as if he were a puppy who’s tail he had accidentally stood on rather than the child he pushed aside and neglected when he needed him most.

“And I want you to start spending time with us, be a part of this family. We want to make it up to you, but we can’t if you push us away”

Oh hell no. The blade of the guillotine plummeted down as the executioner inflicted the worst possible punishment; family time.