Chapter Text
Peter had never liked the idea of the Sokovia Accords.
He hated how it had torn the Avengers apart and how the tension had sent Mr. Stark into near-daily panic attacks.
He knew his opinion didn’t matter, as he had no intention of coming forward as Peter Parker, but the thought of strict government oversight made his stomach turn.
He, of course, didn’t tell Mr. Stark that when the older man came to talk to him at his apartment before the fight in Germany.
He never told him after, either, even as Mr. Stark argued with officials as they attempted to come to a compromise that everyone could at least begrudgingly agree to, if not be happy about.
Peter had stumbled into one of their last meetings by accident, too excited to tell Mr. Stark about his robotics project to remember it was going on.
“Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark!” Peter called, beaming as he burst into the penthouse. “Guess what? Mrs. Page loved my robot and she gave me an A! She wants me to show the class how I designed and built it. Mr. Stark it was so cool, it worked exactly how we had planned —“ Peter broke off as he noticed Mr. Stark wasn’t alone in the penthouse.
Peter usually found him either in the lab or in the penthouse doing paperwork, but always alone or with another Avenger or Pepper. He’d never seen someone else up here with him.
“Um. Hi,” Peter said, waving awkwardly at the four intimidating-looking men and women who were sitting at the kitchen table with Mr. Stark. One looked familiar.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t — I didn’t mean to — I’ll just go back downstairs and wait for Mr. Stark,” he mumbled, trailing off at the end.
Mr. Stark looked horrified at the sight of him, but one of the well-dressed men smiled and beckoned Peter forward.
“Who might you be, young man? Tony hasn’t told us he had a teenage son.”
“Oh I’m not, he’s not —“ Peter said, stumbling over his words.
“He’s not my son,” Mr. Stark said curtly.
The coldness in his voice brought Peter to a halt. He’d never heard that tone directed toward him before. He knew it was likely just to keep the man from asking questions, but Peter didn’t like it.
“I’ll just, I’ll go downstairs and wait for you,” Peter mumbled, turning for the door.
“Wait,” the same man spoke again. “Why don’t you sit down with us? Tell us your thoughts on the accords. I’m sure Tony has told you all about them.”
Peter’s gaze darted to Tony, who shook his head imperceptibly. Peter swallowed hard.
“No thank you, sir,” Peter said softly.
He felt trapped by the stares of everyone in the room.
“I insist,” the man said, his voice growing cold. “After all, we haven’t heard from any young people yet. Maybe someone Spider-Man’s age could shed some valuable insight.”
Peter froze. No one was supposed to know how old Spider-Man was. They definitely weren’t supposed to know he was a teenager. Peter hoped the man was generalizing or estimating, rather than knowing his true identity.
“I hardly think this is appropriate,” Mr. Stark interjected, standing up so quickly his chair flew back and hit the wall. “He’s a child. He has the right to have a guardian here with him if he’s going to be talking to government officials.”
Peter suddenly realized that the man who insisted he stay was the Secretary of State, the man leading the American push for the Sokovia Accords.
“Well surely you can be his advocate, can you not? He did come to spend the evening with you. His aunt trusts you enough to keep an eye on him while she’s at work, so I think she would be OK with a little conversation.”
Peter frowned. If Secretary Ross didn’t know who he was, he also shouldn’t know about Aunt May.
He opened his mouth to question Ross, but Mr. Stark beat him to it.
“I never said anything about the boy’s aunt,” Mr. Stark said coolly. “Why would you assume his parents wouldn’t be in charge of him?”
“I make it my business to learn about all the close associates of the Avengers, especially you Mr. Parker. Or do you prefer to go by Spider-Man?”
Peter’s eyes widened in shock.
“I — me? Spider-Man? That’s funny, Mr. Ross, but I’m just little old Peter Parker,” Peter stammered, his voice rising an octave despite his best attempt to sound normal. He let out an unnatural sounding laugh. “No Spider-Man here.”
“Sit down, Peter,” Ross ordered. “I’m not asking anymore.”
“This meeting is over,” Mr. Stark growled, grabbing Peter’s arm and dragging him from the room. Peter felt their eyes following them until they turned a corner and disappeared.
“Ow, Mr. Stark, you’re hurting me,” Peter exclaimed as his mentor’s grip tightened on his arm. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what to say, he caught me off guard.”
Mr. Stark let go immediately.
“Sorry, underoos, I didn’t realize how tight I was holding on. It’s not your fault. He clearly already knew you were Spider-Man and was just biding his time. Probably wanted to use it as a bargaining chip.”
“How does he know? I’ve been so careful.”
“Not careful enough, obviously.”
“Are — are you mad at me, Mr. Stark?” Peter asked cautiously. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been more careful or taken more precautions but I thought I’ve been doing so well.”
“I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at Ross. C’mon, we’ll have to skip lab time today. We need to have a team meeting.”