Chapter Text
Tony bustled down the hallway to Morgan’s room, his carry-on bag in hand. And while Pepper had assured him that everything was packed before she took Morgan and their luggage to the car, he still wanted to do one last sweep.
Switching the light on, he surveyed the room. There were no partnerless shoes, scattered clothes, stuffed animals, or any other little toys that his daughter may want to have on the trip with her. In fact, the bedroom was nearly spotless; the bed was even made. Having two of some of the most organizational people on the planet for parents probably did that to a kid.
“Alright, alright. All good there.” Tony muttered to himself. He still had to check on one more important thing before departing for Malibu to visit with the in-laws.
That important thing– Peter.
Making his way down the wooden stairs towards the lakehouse’s smaller, but fully functioning lab, Tony kept trying to tell himself that all of this was still a good idea.
Peter was going to be all by himself at the lakehouse for the weekend.
Normally, that would not have been a serious, anxiety-inducing event. Every time Peter had had a three-day weekend, where school was canceled on Fridays for “staff/faculty development,” he would come spend his extended time-off at the lakehouse. A few times, he would even be left alone for a few of those days if Pepper and Morgan were spending time with Pepper’s family, and Tony was called away for an Avengers mission.
However, that was all before the kidnapping.
In the few months that had passed since his southern border adventure, Peter had made leaps and bounds in his physical recovery. With daily, and then weekly physical therapy sessions, and Bruce’s newly synthesized, Spidey-Proof, antispasmodic medication, Peter was finally beginning to get over the symptoms that had been impacting him ever since he received his cervical radiculopathy diagnosis.
In the first weeks after his homecoming, Peter had been plagued with episodes of muscle spasms, varying in severity. Some lasted for seconds, and others for hours. Dr. Cho had reassured everyone that these spasms were a result of the nerve damage that Peter sustained, and that, with Peter’s accelerated healing, they would eventually go away in time. However, it was essential that Peter not aggravate his neck and back. As a result, Peter was benched from Spider-Man duties.
To say that Peter’s mental health had not declined in the past few months would be a lie. However, the teen was trying to stay optimistic, keeping an eye on the crime in Queens, and alerting Tony, or another team member, if he deemed an event severe enough. He would come back as Spider-Man ready to handle whatever the borough had undergone in his absence.
In addition, Peter was also keeping himself busy. He had completely immersed himself in his recovery, getting so far into the mechanics of the hydrotherapy, electrode therapy, physical therapy, and even chiropractic measures, that he was almost considering a career in healthcare. But Spider-Man was for him. Inventing was for him. However, he would still keep biomedicine in the back of his mind.
School was another thing occupying the young hero’s mind. Missing a couple of days of Midtown Tech content seemed like the equivalent of missing another high school’s entire semester’s worth of content. Peter was a little backed up, and while his school and teachers were giving him a little leeway for his “car accident” injury/recovery period, his grades were not all where he wanted them. He had one “A-” thrown into his typical 4.0 GPA, and he needed to fix that.
Tony was grateful for all of Peter’s academic and physiological distractions. It kept him out of the Alkali-Transigen-Felicia-Hardy madness. At first, while Peter was still recuperating and not in school, he had been asking constantly for updates. However, once Peter had other things to occupy his time and mind, the need for information dissipated.
Peter was only able to keep himself involved up to the point where he wrote letters to all of the people who had rescued him. Agent Salvador Sanchez, Agent Monica McBroom, and Dr. Alfredo Remirez each got a detailed thank you card, as well as a progress report, from their Friendly “International” Spider-Man.
Then, after a little reflection, Peter finally let go of what Tony was trying so hard to keep him out of. It was for the best. After all, he did not like how anxious or stressed out Tony would get whenever he brought up the subject. Even if Peter felt like he wasn’t doing himself any favors by not knowing about all of the conditions of his kidnapping, at least he was doing Tony some. He had decided to place his trust in his teammates and leave it to them.
Luckily, in the month after Peter’s newfound acceptance, Tony and the Avengers made extensive progress. The Alkali-Transigen had been discovered, disbanded, and destroyed. Dozens of children and teens were rescued. S.H.I.E.L.D. had implemented a new program to aid in all of their recoveries, relocations, and for the best cases, the program aided in reuniting lost kids with their families.
Unfortunately, nothing could be found on Felecia Hardy.
While Tony would always have the young woman on his radar, based on the premise that Peter’s ransom had been paid, Tony figured that Felecia’s work was done, and that they wouldn’t see hide nor hair of her unless she wanted to be found. Good riddance.
Tony reached the bottom of the stairs, sighing heavily, announcing his presence.
Peter was just returning himself to his rolly lab chair. “Hey, Mr. Stark. They just headed out. Already told them goodbye. I feel bad, I think Morgan still thinks I’m tagging along. You’re gonna have to break it to her.”
“It’s fine, I can handle the tears.” Tony waved him off, setting his duffel on the ground and pulling something from his back pocket. “I’ll have her watching Spongebob and she’ll forget about you in minutes.”
“Ya know, there’s a nicer way to put things.” Peter straightened his new, black and red suit onto the workbench in front of him.
“Oh, I know. I placed my words accordingly.” Tony wrapped his arm around Peter’s shoulder. “You can still come with us this weekend. You wouldn’t even need to pack. I’ll just buy you some new stuff in Malibu.”
Peter sighed, “Come on, we already talked about this. I’ll be totally fine here. Don’t worry.”
A buzz from his phone, a text from Pepper, let Tony know he had no time for arguing. “Yeah, I know. But I’m still gonna worry. Have you done all of your exercises today?”
“Yes.”
“Have you taken your morning meds?”
“Yes.”
“I know you’ve got it memorized, but are you following your med chart? You know when your next doses are?”
“Yes.”
“Banner has started weaning you off of this stuff, so that means some of the times are changing, okay.” Tony pulled out his phone, shooting a quick text to Bruce:
When’s Peter’s next refill in?
“Yeah, I know all that.” Peter rolled his eyes, finding the rapid-fire questions amusing. “Everything is going to be fine, okay? I mean, I haven’t had an episode in over a month. That’s longer than ever before. It means I’m getting better.”
“No, it means you’re due. And because of that,” Tony handed Peter what looked to be an EpiPen, “I want you to keep this on you at all times.”
Peter grabbed it, curious. “What’s this?”
“This is a very powerful muscle relaxant for any possible emergency episode.” Tony pointed towards one end, which harbored a little black button. “You’ll stick the other end against your leg, and then press this little button. You won’t have a chance of sticking yourself in the finger, like with an EpiPen.”
“If you can, try and be lying down when you use it, because it’ll probably drop you.” Tony didn’t know why he was explaining everything to Peter like he expected the boy to use the medical device. Everything was going to be fine.
Peter raised his eyes at that, disguising his unhappiness poorly “Cool. Thanks.” No one was really a fan of needles, but EpiPens had always seemed especially gross to Peter. Just the idea of a big, thick, hidden needle, not being poked through his skin, but stabbed into his leg, made his skin crawl. “But I’m not going to need it.”
“Well, always be prepared.” Tony closed Peter’s fingers around the relaxant. “Like I said. On you at all times. Take it in the shower with you even.”
Peter started to laugh.
“You think I’m joking. I don’t care. All times.” Tony felt his phone buzz again, then sent a quick message to Pepper. “I’m comin’. I’m comin’,” he muttered.
“You know, if I have to use it in the shower, I think I’d be at a greater risk of drowning.” Peter started to go off on a tangent. “You know, if it ‘drops me’ like you say, and then I block the drain with my body, and it only takes, like an inch of water to drown. . .”
Tony shook his head. “Why do you do that? Is that the gen z in you or something?”
“Sorry.” Peter placed the relaxant next to his suit and then headed towards the lab/basement door.
“You literally just took it off of your person.” Tony grabbed the device, tossing it at Peter. “Put it in your back pocket.”
Peter caught it without turning around. “I’m not gonna sit on it. Now seriously, come on! Have your trip. Have fun! You deserve this.”
Tony grabbed his carry-on. “Okay, uh, yeah. Some quick house rules: lock up as soon as we leave. Don’t answer the door for anyone, especially an Avenger or Fury. I don’t want them trying to drag you into something. Uh, eat. The whole kitchen is stocked up. Get some sleep, and I don’t mean a few four hour naps here and there. Real sleep. You can hang out with Gerald if you want to, but he should be all good on food and water, so no chores there. And of course, no parties.”
Peter nodded along, opening the door that led to the lakehouse’s back patio, as well as the driveway.
“And uh, lab rules. There aren’t as many.” Tony stood in the doorway. “Everything’s at your disposal. Just don’t do anything that might result in any sort of corrosive or explosive material.”
“There go the Friday night plans.” Peter was practically pushing Tony out the door.
Tony’s phone buzzed once more. “Oh, and what’s your phone at, percentage-wise? Er, uh, just plug it in, okay. I don’t want your phone dying while I’m trying to call you. Please call or text me. I know you’ll be talking with May, but it’s not like I don’t like updates.”
“If anything happens, you’ll be the first to know.” Peter followed behind Tony.
“And speaking of May, she’ll be back Sunday night, right? Not Monday morning, Sunday night?” Tony could hear wailing coming from the car. I guess Pepper broke the news to Morgan before he could.
Peter stopped, cringing. “Oh, maybe I shouldn’t wave. It’ll probably make it worse.”
“No. Trust me. If you don’t wave, it’ll be worse.” Tony pulled Peter along.
“And yeah, May’ll be in Sunday night. She’ll come and pick me up.” Peter could see the tension in Tony, the way he was holding himself. “It’s not even three whole days. Not even seventy-two hours. I’ll be totally fine.”
“If something were to happen, does May know the password to the- If she can get to you before I can-” Tony started, slowing their pace.
“May doesn’t need to know anything, Mr. Stark.” Peter stated pointedly. “I just want her focused on her convention and speech stuff.”
May had been invited to F.E.A.S.T.’s national convention in St. Louis for the weekend, representing the island of Manhattan, as well as its surrounding boroughs. While May insisted it was no big deal, Peter had never been more proud of his guardian. He didn’t want his stupid injuries and limitations getting in the way of what could be one of the biggest events in her career thus far.
“I’ll just text her the password real quick. Just in case.” Tony pulled out his phone again, practically at a standstill.
Pepper let out a few warning honks from the SUV.
“Alright. Alright. Last thing. Promise.” Tony locked eyes with Peter. “No Spider-Man, okay?”
Peter rolled his eyes. This conversation kept running in circles. Peter did you do this? Peter do you remember that? Peter, make sure you don’t do this. “Yeah, I know. I’m not.”
“I don’t care if a bunch of aliens unleash on New York. I don’t care if a bunch of Ryker’s inmates bust loose, swim to shore, and loot the city.” Tony clapped Peter on the shoulder. “You stay here. You stay safe.”
“I know.” Peter nodded his head. “I’m just gonna work on the suit. And either way, it’s not like I could go anywhere even if I wanted. I’m stuck out here.”
“Oh, I know you. You’d find a way.” Tony was practically inching the pair along.
Pepper laid on the horn.
“Yeah, okay. That’s it, I guess.” Tony pulled Peter in for a hug. “Bye. Love you, kid.”
Peter’s ear burned as he returned the hug. “Yup. Love you too.”
Tony hurried into the car, trying to keep Morgan’s crying trapped inside.
Peter felt bad again, refraining from getting too close to the windows. Instead, he put on a smile and waved to the small family as they set off on their trip.
Finally!
. . .
Peter stepped back inside the lab, locking the door behind him.
With the house, and more importantly, the lab, all to himself, he was sure to have a great weekend.
While other teens with an entire house to themselves may have more sinful ideas of how to occupy their time, not Peter.
Lately, every bit of spare time that he had was spent on new renderings for his new suit, and the pay-off would be huge.
While still laid up in the hospital, Tony and Peter had briefly discussed his experiences and the ways in which he had sustained his injuries. It was probably the closest thing to therapy that Peter would allow himself to get.
After hearing the stories, Tony had mentioned to Peter that King T’Challa’s Black Panther suit had a capability to absorb impacts, and then revert them back to the enemy. If Peter was ever in a situation where he was taking blows, and unable to defend himself, having that sort of shock absorbency could help protect him. Of course, if the situation were awful enough, the bad guys could just take Peter out of his suit, but Tony and Peter left that unspoken.
While Peter had been all for the shock absorbency, he was less a fan about how the kinetic energy collected in the suit could be used against the enemy. He was always very diligent about pulling his punches and keeping his strength in check. If a suit were to decide the level of strength used against an opponent for him, he would feel more like a weapon than a hero.
Upon hearing the grim details of Peter’s story, Shuri had been happy to send him and Tony blueprints. Of course, she could not send them any of Wakanda’s vibranium, the primary component of how the absorbed kinetic energy worked, but Peter believed that they would not need the element to achieve what he was after. He would try to replicate the vibrainium’s powers with some other synthetic material.
Ever since then, Peter was working tirelessly to create an impact-absorbing suit, and a way where he could revert the power absorbed back into some sort of homing device that he could tap into when he wanted.
Starting out, Tony had been just as eager to help, but Peter had quickly declined the man’s offer.
And Tony had understood. It wasn’t like he had thought the teen was incapable. In all honesty, Tony was anticipating what Peter would be able to accomplish on his own. This suit was going to be Peter’s baby, and if the teen didn’t want anyone to be sharing 12% of his baby, then that’s that.
Peter was anchoring for this suit to be all his doing, minus the blueprints that Shuri sent him. He was dead set on fixing his problems himself, and not relying on the rescuing of others. He hoped that when it was all said and done, that he would feel like he came out on top of this entire mess, and that he was making efforts to make himself stronger.
Placing his emergency relaxant next to his suit, and plugging his phone into the charger conveniently placed under the workbench, Peter was getting himself re-centered with where he was with the suit. He was close. So close. And with luck, the suit would be finished by the end of the weekend.
Peter would be one step closer to Spider-Man.
. . .
“Young Boss, the time is now 12:01pm, and you have made no efforts to eat lunch,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. announced.
Peter jumped in his seat. “Jeez- What the hell?” He had been so used to the quiet from the last few hours, the A.I. startled him immensely. Unlike Tony, who preferred blaring music in the labspace, Peter preferred complete silence so he had space to think.
After a brief breather, Peter straightened out from his position hunched over the suit. “You do that to Mr. Stark, too?”
“Of course.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. responded, chipper as ever. “Noon is lunchtime, and I am programmed to give reminders every minute that passes until everyone in the lab leaves for a break.”
“Yeah?” Peter sighed, taking the time to stretch his arms above his head. “When did that program become a thing?”
“Boss installed it last night.” F.R.I.D.A.Y paused. “Young Boss, the time is now 12:02pm, and you have made no efforts-”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. Makin’ the effort now.” Peter rose from his seat, placing his arm over his growling stomach. I guess I could eat.
Nothing sounded particularly good to Peter at the moment, but that always seemed to be the case for him at breakfast and lunchtime. His appetite never seemed to turn on until the early evening. He would just have to settle for something light and simple that didn’t sound nauseating.
Peter made his way up the lab stairs, then took a right turn into the lakehouse’s kitchen.
Tony had said that the kitchen and pantry were stocked, and he was not wrong.
Peter didn’t know where to start. Once again, all of the different kinds of foods seemed a bit overwhelming for a kid with a lot of hunger, but a small appetite.
The fridge had all sorts of different fresh fruit and produce. The honeycrisp apples, while tasty sounding, seemed like a lot of prep work, so Peter settled on a stem full of red grapes.
He washed them, placing them on a small plate and popping a few in his mouth as he wandered further around the kitchen to the pantry. He would try and find something with a little more sustenance.
Now, with a little bit of sugar in his system, Peter was able to think a bit more clearly about what he wanted. He would make a peanut butter sandwich. Lots of fat, a fun amount of protein, and it sounded appetizing.
In a mason jar, Peter found the peanut butter that Mr. Stark had recently started making from scratch. The creamy mixture was speckled with flax and chia seeds.
A few months before his kidnapping, Peter had taken a real liking to a new peanut butter brand that May had brought home one evening from Aldi. The different seeds added an interesting texture to the peanut butter, and Peter could hardly get enough of it. However, like always, whenever Peter seemed to enjoy eating something, it would be taken off of the market.
To that, Tony said “Ha!” and he started making the peanut butter for Peter with peanuts he had either farmed or ordered, and chia seeds and flax seeds from Whole Foods.
Grabbing the homemade peanut butter and white bread, which he knew wasn’t the healthiest but definitely was the tastiest, Peter had his materials.
After finishing the sandwich’s construction, Peter knew he would want something to drink with his meal of champions. Peanut butter always managed to get stuck in his throat, and while water was probably more so of what he needed, milk sounded even better.
At the cabinets, Peter reached inside one to grab the only cup he ever drank out of when visiting. It had Star Wars characters all over it, and it wasn’t too big or too small.
Shutting the cabinet door, Peter misjudged the door’s weight, pushing it closed just a little too hard. He heard a brief rocking sound before his Spider-Sense alerted him to LOOK UP!
Jerking his head straight up, Peter briefly saw some sort of ornamental plate, one of many that Pepper had lined the cabinet tops with, coming his way. On instinct, he grabbed it, right before his body hit him with a fierce spasm.
It completely took Peter’s breath away, paralyzing him. He couldn’t move, his face pointed to the ceiling in a position that he still had nightmares about. Right as he believed and hoped the spasm had run its course, it increased in its intensity. Fiery pulses at the base of his skull traveled down his spine and through his arms and legs.
The plate fell from Peter’s hand, crashing to the floor and shattering into seemingly microscopic pieces. So much for making the catch.
Body trembling, Peter did his best to slowly lean over the countertop, gripping the edge tight with both hands as he hoped the spasms would run their course and let up in a few seconds. After it seemed “a few seconds” was turning into something longer, he began to panic.
In addition to the pain, Peter was also beginning to feel a lack of control, his knees turning to jelly, and his lower body struggling to withhold his weight. He wasn’t numb. Definitely not. He could still feel everything, but he had no strength.
While trying to take deep breaths, Peter’s mind was racing. He didn’t have his emergency relaxant on hand, let alone his phone. Why should he have needed it? He wasn’t doing anything strenuous, he was making lunch. Could he go and get it before his strength completely gave out? Or did he still just need to wait?
Gasping, Peter began losing his grip, as well as his footing. Trying to hold on was only making everything more painful, so he switched tactics from clinging to the counter to catching himself before bashing his head into the floor.
“D-Damnit.” Peter’s hands had landed in all of the bits and pieces of plate, piercing his palms as his hips hit the ground hard. At least he was able to keep his chin from bouncing off the floor.
As much as Peter wanted to keep still, there was a part of him that thought that straightening out his spine may help eliminate his body’s harsh reactions, as well as make it easier to breathe.
Peter slowly began making efforts to roll onto his back, hoping that his hair would protect him from getting any cuts on his head. It was much easier said than done, with a few intense spasms reversing his progress, and his arms beginning to give out in addition to his legs.
After one more big push, Peter was finally supine, and he gave up on moving, trying to relax his body.
Once again, this was much easier said than done. It was already difficult enough to try and relax through ever increasing pain with nothing to distract you but the kitchen ceiling of your mentor’s lakehouse, and the knocking of his joints and limbs against the hardwood floor as his muscles produced involuntary twitches was not helping any either.
Sighing out a shaky breath, Peter knew he needed to bide his time. “Okay. Okay okay okay.” He could do this. He’d had difficult episodes in the past, and this would be no different. Of course, he had never been alone in the past, but he couldn’t worry about that now.
Peter had told Tony that there was nothing to worry about, and that was that. This would be over soon, and it would be such an insignificant event that he would not even need to tell Tony it had happened.
After a few minutes, lying as still as possible, Peter felt like he may be feeling a little bit better. The pain had certainly receded some, and the spasms were beginning to resemble trembles, but he was starting to get a little bit dizzy, and the room was beginning to spin.
Peter closed his eyes. Problem solved.
A few more minutes passed, and Peter felt that he should try and move and get to the lab as quickly as possible. Not only was the relaxant and his phone down there, but so was his medication, which he was probably due for any minute. He knew his body would get him into even more trouble if he missed a dose.
Giving his arms the subconscious direction to lift, Peter was surprised when his arms made no movement at all. Putting in much more effort and thought into moving, Peter’s arms twitched, and then the pain and spasms returned with a vengeance.
Peter cried out. This wasn’t good. These spasms were so intense, he almost felt as if he were seizing with how forcefully his body was thumping against the floor. “Ah, shi- F.R.I.D.A.Y.!”
No response.
Maybe the A.I. hadn’t heard.
Peter sucked air through clenched teeth. “F.R.I.D.A.Y.!”
Silence.
Vaguely, Peter remembered a conversation he’d had with Tony from when he first visited the lakehouse:
“I’ve only got her installed down here.” Tony was showing Peter the brand new lab they would be sharing.
“Why just down here?” Peter asked, used to being able to speak with F.R.I.D.A.Y. whenever and wherever at the Avengers tower.
“Yeah, when we first built, I didn’t want a toddler speaking to F.R.I.D.A.Y and getting the wrong idea that some magical servant in the sky was granting her every whim,” Tony answered.
“Okay, yeah. That’s fair.” Peter agreed.
“I’ll probably install her all through the house once Morgan’s a little bit older, but for now, F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s only in the lab.”
This was bad.
Peter was truly alone, and he was without his emergency relaxant, which he was supposed to have with him at all times, he was without his phone, he was going to miss his next dose, and he was stuck on his back, smacking against a floor of shattered porcelain.
Peter determined that moving was no longer an option, and even if it were, he was a whole flight of stairs away from any kind of relief. Maybe if he just stayed still longer than he had before, then it would quit.
That was the next plan that Peter was trying to hold on. He would wait on the floor for hours if that’s what it took to get everything completely relaxed, the room to stop spinning, and to be able to move without the spasms starting anew.
Peter would just grin and bear it, rather, grit and bear it, and wait this thing out. He could still do this. He was not weak.
. . .
When the jet hit the tarmac, Tony shot Peter a text:
TD in Malibu. Everything going okay?
Tony would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried. It had been nearly eight hours since they left New York, and Peter had not sent him any sort of update whatsoever. He tried to tell himself that Peter was probably just working really hard on his suit, or maybe, the teen was taking a nap.
Morgan was running up and down the aisle, clearly unfazed by the changes in pressure the jet had made during its descent. “Can we go down the slide?”
One time. One time, Morgan had been on a commercial airline with Pepper, first-class of course, that had a slight malfunction during its landing. While no one was hurt, or even jostled, the situation demanded emergency evacuation. Morgan was thrilled, going down the giant, yellow, inflatable slide, and now, everytime they flew anywhere, she wanted to go down the slide.
Tony picked up his child while Pepper thanked their flight attendant.
“No slide today, but,” Tony started before Morgan could get upset, “when we get to grandpa and grandmas, you can go on the waterslide.”
“Swimming!” Morgan cheered, clapping her hands.
“Swimming!” Tony parroted back.
As Tony stepped out of the jet, he placed Morgan on his hip, freeing up one arm to check his phone.
No reply yet.
Tony sighed, slipping the phone back in his pocket.
“What’s wrong, Daddy.” Morgan asked, pouty.
Tony quickly put on a happy face. “Oh, nothing. I just wish we were swimming right now.”
“Me too!” Morgan squealed.
Seeing his daughter’s delight, Tony remembered what Peter had told him. He was supposed to deserve this trip. And he was supposed to have fun. He would not worry.