Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It all stared as something so damn benign. But then again, it always does.

Today had been okay, for all intents and purposes. Nothing Peter could complain about. He’d had breakfast, and then went to school, and then aced a chemistry test, and then received an afternoon ribbing from Flash. The normal, cyclic nature of his life. And then he’d made his way to the tower to enjoy a night with Tony, and suddenly everything changed.

The moment he had walked through those doors he knew something was up. It wasn’t even something his senses told him. It was instinctual. Wary, he had stepped into the glass-framed elevator and told FRIDAY to take him up to the penthouse floor, only to be met with a scene that was vastly different from his ordinary routine.

There was no Tony lounging on the couch waiting for him to finally show up; there was no aroma of takeout floating throughout the room, ready to be demolished by Peter’s enhanced senses. Instead, there were three people sitting at the dark oak, high-rise dining table, engrossed in deep conversation, and for the first time in a very long time, Peter felt like he was completely out of place in that room.

Recently, he and Mr. Stark had found themselves caught in an interesting dynamic. One that was unspoken and unacknowledged, but still noticeable. After Homecoming they’d set up designated lab days, which had turned into designated lab weekends, which had turned into Peter getting his own bedroom here, which had turned into Peter basically living in the tower for fifty percent of his life outside academics.

And then one night while patrolling, he’d had an extremely unfortunate encounter with a bullet and passed out in an alleyway, which had him being rushed to the hospital by a well-intentioned bystander, which resulted in Tony panicking because hospitals aren’t equipped to handle freaking mutants, which had turned the whole situation into an entire clusterfuck. Because despite Tony being the most popular person on the planet, HIPPA apparently still applied, and so his requests to move Peter to the medbay in the tower were rejected, and in the end, an extremely long and awkward phone call was made to May, who just about had a mental breakdown.

Needless to say it was unsurprising when the following day she made a hasty phone call to a lawyer, and lo-and-behold, Tony all of the sudden became one of Peter’s legal guardians.

So, yeah. Their relationship had definitely matured pretty quickly. But neither of them really talked about it, because Peter and Tony were both unwisely stubborn, and besides, why did it need to be discussed? It is what it is. And it just so happens that Tony somehow garnered parental guardianship over Peter through a series of very heart-attack inducing events.

Anyway, the point of all this is that it wasn’t easy for Peter to feel misplaced in the tower’s penthouse anymore. He knew, deep down, it was a second home. He was welcome and appreciated and accepted. But today, all it had taken was one step into that room and suddenly it didn’t feel like the home he knew at all.

Sitting at the dining table was Tony, Pepper, and some completely random guy. He was tall and broad-shouldered and wore a crooked smile on his face. Normal enough looking. He had blond hair, tense posture, and his formal-but-not-too-formal dress shirt was without wrinkle. He spoke in a fluent tone, calm and respectful—but still authoritative—and he never let his eye contact with Tony and Pepper waver. Confident.

All of these details Peter picked up at first glance. It was easy to hone in on the small things, made even easier by the fact this was a stranger invading his personal living space.

Upon his entry, conversation had screeched to a halt. The random guy paused mid-sentence and turned around, while Tony did a double-take as if surprised to see Peter standing there. Which hurt, honestly, because Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays were the days Peter was here practically all the time. And it was Monday. So he was here yesterday, too.

Pepper also turned around, but she hid her shock better. She smiled endearingly at him and said in a bright tone, “Oh, Peter! Hey there!”

It was a businesswoman’s way to play off an unexpected disruption. To pretend it was not unexpected at all.

She turned to the random guy and told him, “Michael, this is Peter. We were talking about him earlier if you remember.”

Michael looked over at Peter. There was a glint of something in his eyes that Peter could not name. “Oh, yes, of course I remember. The boy who is as smart as Tony was at his age, you said?”

“Smarter,” Tony corrected, sliding back into the conversation. “Peter, we’ll be done soon if you want to wait in the—“

“Nonsense,” Michael had interrupted kindly. “I don’t mind the extra company. He’s your family, isn’t he? And besides, if he’s as smart as you claim, I’m sure he’ll have no trouble keeping up with the conversation.”

Tony stared at Michael for a few seconds, then visibly relented. “Okay. Come on then, Pete,” he’d encouraged gently.

Peter, mostly confused at the situation, had nodded on autopilot and made his way to the empty chair at the dining table. It was then he noticed the finished plates of food and half-empty wine glasses. He couldn’t remember a time he saw Tony or Pepper drink, and if anything, this just reaffirmed that this was not a discussion Peter was meant to interfere with at all.

“Peter,” Tony said, beginning introductions, “this is Michael Treytor. He is the CEO of Myrin, a company that is working on introducing new ways to protect the environment. New versions of electric cars, more methods of manipulating nuclear and solar energy. That kind of stuff.”

“We were just having a meeting to set up a business deal between them and Stark Industries,” Pepper had added. “Our company has been wanting to begin a shift toward preservation of a clean environment. Between Myrin’s experience and SI’s technology, we believe we could do fantastic things.”

On paper, the idea was quite impressive. Peter was all for environmental work and saving the planet and that kind of stuff. In any other circumstance, he would be enthused by the prospects of fresh avenues to explore with Mr. Stark. But right then, all he’d felt in his stomach was a churning unease.

He’d swallowed harshly around the lump in his throat. “That’s great,” he’d said weakly.

And then from there, off the conversation had went again. It was fairly normal, if Peter had to be honest. The three of them talked a bit more about economics and logistics, stuff that Peter wasn’t super experienced with because he wasn’t an entrepreneur, and instead, he swiftly became lost in his thoughts.

He couldn’t shake that apprehension that had been plaguing him since he exited the elevator. Inconspicuously, he kept sneaking glances in Michael’s direction, running his gaze up and down the man, over and over and over. Something wasn’t right.

The problem, though, was that there wasn’t a single damn thing out of line. Nothing was obviously off, at least. Peter’s senses weren’t even warning him of anything. This wasn’t the hum of danger—it was a nauseating gut feeling, and the problem with those is that you don’t really have much to go off of aside from some random paranoia that struck you out of nowhere.

His distance from the conversation must have became noticeable. After about ten minutes, in a momentary lapse of silence, Tony had asked him, “Hey kid, want to help me with the dishes?”

Peter practically leapt onto the distraction. “Yeah, sure,” he replied hastily, getting out of his chair immediately.

“Alright. You start, I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”

So Peter had collected his and Pepper’s plates, brought them out of the dining hall and to the kitchen sink, then plopped them down. He knew he should have manners and start washing them, but he just couldn’t help himself. He left the silverware alone and instead crept back toward table, lingering in the doorway just out of sight, and studied Michael’s form from afar.

Which brought him to now. He continues to watch with caution as Tony cleans up the rest of their dinner, making small-talk as he works. God. Everything about Michael just makes Peter want to punch him in the face, and Peter definitely is not known to be one to have random violent urges. There’s just something about his smile, his expressions, his saccharine words. It’s all so disgustingly fake.

Finally, Tony reaches him. Their shoulders brush together and Peter follows the man to the sink again, beyond thankful that he can finally speak his mind.

Tony beats him to it, though. He sets his dishes on top of the ones Peter had thrown in carelessly, turns around, then says, “Talk to me, Pete. What’s up?”

Peter grips the countertop, then sighs irritatedly. “Am I that obvious?”

“Yes,” Tony says without missing a beat. He leans on a cabinet, then amends, “To me at least. Your act was fine out there, but I know something is wrong. You’re never this moody, especially not around new people.”

Peter scoffs. “Moody?”

Tony shrugs innocently.

“I’m not—Jesus,” Peter says. “I just… Who is that guy?”

“Michael?” Tony asks.

“Who else?”

Tony’s eyes pinch, and he holds up a hand. “Okay, wow. Something must really be wrong for you to be so snarky. I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page,” the man says defensively. “That’s Michael. I already told you. CEO of—“

“—Myrin, I got it,” Peter finishes. “Thanks. But why is he here? And I swear to god if you say to strike a business deal…”

Tony frowns. “Well, I mean, that is why he’s here. If you’re asking why he’s in the penthouse, though, then it’s because we’re trying to keep this whole thing under wraps. Away from investors and the media, you know? We figured we’d do something casual and low-key,” he answers. “Is that the issue? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you he was going to be here, Pepper kind of forced it on me pretty quick and I lost track of my days—“

“Okay, first of all, you didn’t forget to tell me that he was going to be here. You forgot that I was going to be here.”

Tony at least has the decency to look guilty. “Alright, that’s fair. I deserve that.”

“But second of all,” Peter continues, “no, him being in the penthouse is not the issue. I wish I would have known ahead of time, but… It’s really not a problem.”

“So…what is the problem?” Tony questions, stumped.

Peter grits his teeth. He knows this won’t be the best response.

“I don’t know.”

The man before him grows even more baffled. He arches an eyebrow at Peter, making it clear that he’s not about to play a guessing game. The issue is that Peter really does want to give him a good answer. He just doesn’t have one.

He rubs at the back of his neck. “It’s just… Michael. Something is off about him.”

“Off…how? Dangerous? Are your senses going off?”

“No,” Peter admits. Growing annoyed at himself, he grabs a dish in the sink just so that he has something to do with his hands. He hates not knowing what’s going on. “It’s not a sense thing. But, like, is he not weird to you?”

“Kid, you’re going to have to be a bit more specific on what you mean by weird,” Tony says.

Peter groans. “Like—I don’t know. It feels like every time he talks he’s putting up a front.”

“Well, to be fair, he’s trying to make a business deal, and most business deals are done through plastic, fake bullshit smiles. I don’t love the guy being in my home either, but sometimes this life gets weird.”

“No, I don’t—it’s not that!” Peter refutes, exasperated. He’s getting tired of trying to explain his feelings. Nothing he’s saying is sticking, and it’s frustrating to try and convey something not easily put into words. “It’s an instinct or something, okay? It’s not the fact he’s a CEO or whatever, or that he’s in our home. I just feel like, even though my senses aren’t going off, he’s a threat.”

He puts a plate into the washing machine, then looks to his right down the corridor to the dining hall again. He can’t see them at the table, but he can still hear the conversation between Michael and Pepper effortlessly. It’s shifted to something about Tony.

“He’s not who he says he is,” Peter says in a muted, low tone.

Tony seems to sober somewhat at that. It’s clear that even though Peter is doing a piss-poor job at giving his perspective on what’s happening, he still trusts Peter enough on his emotions. He straightens, then follows Peter’s gaze down the hall.

And look. Peter is not going to say that he’s suddenly an expert on all things people-related. It’s not that simple. He just has a lot of experience dealing with those out to stir trouble, and deep in his gut, there’s something telling him that this stranger sitting in his kitchen is here to do just that.

“Okay,” Tony says. His voice is serious. “I believe you. We’re done with our meeting anyway. I’ll find a way to get him out of here. Then how about we go down to the lab and make a mess?”

Despite the situation, a small smile pulls at Peter’s lips. He nods. “Deal. As long as there’s pizza.”

“Why wouldn’t there be?” Tony replies flippantly, then gracefully exits the kitchen back toward Pepper and Michael.

Peter observes from a distance, just out of sight, while the man finesses a way to close the conversation. It’s done as smooth as can be, and within two minutes, Michael is out of his chair and shaking hands with everybody. “Tell that boy of yours I said goodbye,” he comments with the undertone of a laugh.

As Peter watches on, though, the smile slips off his face and a pit in his stomach replaces it. Michael steps into the elevator, Peter’s eyes tracking him all the way. And even when he’s finally gone, there’s no relief to be had. Instead, dread spreads like a rapid infection through his bloodstream, and for some reason, Peter only has the sinking feeling that this is not the end of anything at all.

The next time Peter sees Michael is exactly two weeks from their encounter in the tower. He would like to say that seeing the man again came as a surprise, but disappointedly, Peter saw this coming from a mile away. And he hates that. Because it means that Mr. Stark did not listen to him.

It’s Monday again. Things are almost the exact same as two weeks prior. So much so that you could probably tell Peter that time had been rewound with a pocket watch and he’d believe you. Except this time, right as he’s about to step in the elevator to go up to the penthouse, the doors open to reveal Michael leaving.

Almost immediately, Peter’s senses sharpen. Again, not from danger—but suspicion. Any amicability he had in the seconds prior disappears. He squares his shoulders, gives Michael a cursory glance up and down, and then backs away, providing him a large berth to exit the lift. It’s much harder this time to hide his contempt.

He wishes that was all that came of this situation, but unfortunately, Michael recognizes him. “Oh, hey there Peter,” he says in a friendly tone. And it does seem genuinely friendly, but all it does is make Peter clench his fists and dig his nails into his palms because seriously, this guy just needs to take a hint.

“Hi,” he says plainly. He makes a point to tighten his grip on his backpack and attempts to move forward, but again, Michael halts him.

“We didn’t get to talk much the other day,” he continues conversationally. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine.”

More than fine, in fact.

Michael remains undeterred. “Well, I just wanted to tell you that I admire the work you and Stark are doing. This deal between our companies is going to do a lot of good things for people. But none of that would be possible without Tony and his technology,” he says. Then, leaning in, he adds in a softer tone,  “And to be truthful, I believe that he would not have considered this whole thing if not for you. He mentions you a lot. He seems to think this is a decision you would like.”

And…wow. That is not what Peter expected the man to say.

The knowledge can’t help but spur a warm feeling in Peter’s chest. Honestly, Michael is not wrong. This whole thing is really freakin’ cool, and as Peter mentioned before, he would be more than happy to support it if the circumstances were different. But there’s something wrong. Nothing about this is right, and if it’s the last thing he does, Peter is going to get to the bottom of it.

“Well, helping people is important, isn’t it?” Peter asks in response, his words a bit interrogative.

“Oh, absolutely,” Michael says. “And I respect that you seem to care a lot about the cause. Tony is an absolute pleasure to work with, and I have no doubt that you would be, too. I know you have quite a bit of rapport with this company,” he says, chuckling, “but if you ever want a new environment, feel free to stop by my offices.”

Peter can’t help it. Manners are lost on him right now. Laughing bitterly, he says, “Are you seriously trying to recruit me right now?”

Michael lifts his hands. “Hey, can’t blame me for trying, can you? It’d be a missed opportunity. But I am assuming that’s a pretty definite rejection, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Fair enough,” he says, shrugging. “Beggars can’t be choosers. I will absolutely take what I can get. Tony and I are finalizing things starting next week, so I can’t complain. I have everything I need.”

Jeez. This guy is so fucking full of himself that Peter really is about to sock him.

“Great,” he says instead, and it takes all of his effort to put forth a strained smile. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around then.”

“Certainly, Mr. Parker,” Michael replies, finally seeming content with giving Peter mercy. “Have a good day, alright?”

No. Screw you.

“Yes sir.”

When Michael eventually walks away, Peter lets out an audible sigh of relief. The tension in his body releases, and he tries his best to calm down as he stands there in the middle of the lobby. That entire exchange just made him so damn angry, and it definitely did not do anything to change his opinion on the matter. If anything, it made it so much worse.

First of all, what’s with the whole ‘I have everything I need’ thing? It’s such a strange thing to say about a business deal, and an even stranger thing to discuss so casually in front of someone like Peter.
 
For the first time, Peter might have a lead. Maybe Michael is a threat to Tony’s business? Or to Tony himself? It would make sense, the way the man is trying to get so involved in their personal lives. To be meeting in the penthouse, to be making small-talk with Peter. It’s possible he’s trying to get them to let their guard down and feel more trusted around him. If that happens, then he can take advantage of it and potentially do something dangerous.

And second of all, the deal is being finalized at the start of next week? A few days from now?

Peter grits his teeth, doing his best not to let the brewing outrage take over. He closes his eyes. Breathes in for five seconds, out for eight, and then tells FRIDAY to take him to Tony. She directs him to the lab instead, not the penthouse, and Peter is somewhat thankful for that. The lab is their space.

His mentor is bent over at a table, working on something out of Peter’s sight. Music plays loudly throughout the room, but the volume instantly gets turned down when Peter arrives—something they’d manufactured to ensure that Tony’s bad habits wouldn’t do any damage to Peter’s freaky abilities. Peter lets that gesture act as his greeting, not saying a word, instead making his way to the couch and carelessly throwing his backpack down onto it. A bit petulant maybe, but it sure gets Tony’s attention.

“Uh oh,” the man says, looking up at him. His lips press together, concerned. “That’s not a good sign.”

Peter bites the inside of his cheek. Again, he’s trying to remain as calm as possible. The degree of his indignation is off-putting even to himself. He spares a glance at Tony, then says neutrally, “How’d the meeting go?”

A pregnant pause. Tony leans back in his chair. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh,” Peter echoes.

The man rubs a hand over his forehead. “It was fine, thanks for asking. How’d you know?”

“Well it’s a bit hard to not know, when the person you’re meeting with just tried to recruit me into their company five minutes ago. And besides, it sounds like things went more than fine. The deal is going through next week, right?”

“He tried to recruit you?” Tony asks. He sounds amused. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

Tony laughs. “Well that’s pathetic. I can’t believe he thought that would work.”

“I don’t think he did,” Peter replies honestly. “I think he just wanted to see what I would say. But anyway—that isn’t the point, Mr. Stark. You’re seriously going through with this deal? After what I told you last time?”

At that, the atmosphere dims. Peter loathes it. These days are supposed to be fun and carefree and full of jokes and pranks. Not tension—especially when it’s Peter creating it in the first place. He just wants Mr. Stark to understand. Michael is not trustworthy, and it’s a stupid decision to allow him anywhere near 10 feet of the tower.

Tony lets out a deep breath. “Kid, it’s a $500,000,000 deal. I can’t just back out of it. And even if for some reason I wanted to, Pepper is the CEO. She makes the final decision.”

“It’s your company,” Peter protests. “She would listen to you. She would listen to me.”

“Kid… I hate to break it to you, but no, she wouldn’t,” Tony tells him regretfully. “Not unless you had some seriously damning proof that Michael is doing something illegal or harmful, that deal is going nowhere. It’s just business—“

“No it isn’t!” Peter snaps. His patience is on thin ice. “It’s not business, Mr. Stark, it’s your life, and I’m not sure why you’re so insistent to gamble with it!”

Tony lifts a hand. He narrows his eyes, and when he speaks, his tone is serious. “Peter. Tell me again. Why do you think this?”

Fuck. And there’s the question. The stupid question that makes-or-breaks whether Peter is made out to crazy or sane.

“Why does it matter?” Peter persists desperately. “Why don’t you believe me?”

“Because you have no proof,” Tony answers, clearly growing incensed. “I’m trying to understand, kid. Really, I am. After you told me the first time, you want to know what I did? I ran background checks. Extensively. Five of them, to be exact, on Michael and his family and anybody who could even be considered closely associated to him. Do you wanna guess what came up?”

“That he’s an evil villain?” Peter ventures hopefully.

“Ha. No. A parking ticket from 2014.”

Peter’s eyes widen and he snaps his fingers in Tony’s direction. “Boom! Got him. Case closed.”

It’s a poor attempt at a joke, clearly. Tony doesn’t even flinch.

“Look, Peter, if you don’t have anything definite on him, then I can’t do anything about it. He’s going to be around the tower more often. If your senses were going off, then maybe I would take this a bit more seriously, but they aren’t, so what am I supposed to do? Burn bridges based on the random feelings of a teenaged kid?”

The words catch Peter totally off-guard. They feel like a slap to the face, and Peter recoils, despising how hurt he feels at that statement. Peter isn’t just some random kid, and these aren’t just some random feelings. When has Peter ever had it out for somebody? He loves to see the good in people. Hell, it’s his whole brand. Why would he want to ruin a person’s business life if he didn’t think he had good reason to? Why would he lie?

Even Tony seems to realize that he went too far, but he doesn’t make a single move to rescind what he said. At the man’s silence, Peter’s face twists and his jaw tightens. Coldly, he replies, “You’re supposed to trust me.”

“Kid, I do—“

“No, you don’t,” Peter cuts him off. “And you know what? That’s fine. But at least be honest with yourself about it. Money’s money, right? Screw the safety of me, you, and Pepper?”

Tony’s expression darkens. “That is not—“

“Whatever, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, scoffing. He moves back for his backpack. Quite frankly, the tower is the last place he wants to be right now.

From his chair, Tony watches on. “Where are you going?” he asks flatly.

“Home,” Peter answers in the same tone.

“Peter, don’t be like this.”

“Like what?”

“Deflective. Angry. That’s my thing, not yours. If you really want, you and I can sit down together and we can do some more research.”

Peter pauses momentarily. “But the deal will still go through?” he asks.

The lack of response is all he needs to confirm it. Shaking his head with scorn, he snatches up his bookbag with probably a bit too much force and heads for the window.

“At least let Happy drive you home?” Tony calls after him.

“I can swing just fine. Thanks,” Peter says.

And then he’s gone. The sounds of the city do their best to console him as he lobs web after web, trying to ignore the lingering pain from Tony’s words, but even the warm familiarity of the streets and skyscrapers can’t dry the tears breaking through his crumbling defenses.

It’s not the words that hurt the most, though. It’s the heartbreaking knowledge that he is failing to protect his family.

Chapter Text

Things are weird for a while.

Peter spends his days with May. Which is fine by him to be fair, because he does owe her some more time together due to his increasingly frequent stays at the tower, but it’s definitely still an adjustment. She cuts back on her hours for the week—citing that it’s to keep Peter company, but it’s clear she’s just worried—and they watch movies and bad TV and try not to think about the gargantuan elephant in the room.

Tony calls him a couple of times here and there. Peter doesn’t pick up though, not trusting himself to stay level-headed, and eventually, his phone stops ringing altogether as the man must understand that he’s not in the mood for talking.

Peter quickly becomes caught in a loop of indecision. He wants to reach out to Tony and figure this mess out, because holding grudges is definitely not Peter’s thing, and he absolutely hates the feeling of resentment and disappointment settling in his stomach like a lead weight. But as much as he wants to apologize to the man, he knows that this has to be a two-way street. Neither of them have handled this situation with grace, so in order to mend the cracks, they both need to accept the role they played in escalating the matter.

The problem, though, is that even if they do that, apologize, and hug it out…it won’t make a difference if the crux of the issue isn’t addressed. Peter can’t pretend like everything is okay when Michael is lingering around the tower like a trojan. Tony has made it obvious that he isn’t willing to simply remove the problem entirely, so Peter is left back at square one, which is to figure out a way to convince the smartest man in the world why he’s wrong and Peter’s right.

Peter usually loves a challenge. But this? This is one of the worst things he’s ever been faced with doing.

It’s for this reason that nothing changes for the next week. He goes to school and broods and tries to think about ways to correctly go about this, but there seems to be no right answer. When he’s home, he stays in his room or curls up on the couch with May, trying to alleviate the pain in his chest stemming from desperation and defeat. It’s so fucking horrible. To know that some of the closest people in your life are in danger, but to be unable to do anything about it.

May tries her best, at least. She holds him when he feels like he’s about to break down crying, she cooks him shitty but made-with-love dinners, and she ensures that he knows she’s there for him. He doesn’t know what he would do without her.

One evening, when they’re on the couch just talking about mundane things, the TV across from them that had previously been a buzzing background noise suddenly takes on new life. Peter’s currently upside down, feet lazily bent over the back of the sofa and head facing the ground, but he’s still able to read the headline with ease.

Breaking News: Myrin and Stark Industries Announce Groundbreaking Multi-Million Dollar Company Merge

Immediately, Peter shuts his eyes and lets out a soft sigh. May fumbles to switch the channel, but as much as he appreciates the gesture, it doesn’t matter. “Let it play,” he tells her, doing his best to keep the sadness out of his words.

“I’m going to strangle him,” May says plainly. “I swear, Peter, get me in a room with that Stark and I will—”

Peter snorts. “What’s that going to do?” he interrupts her. “The deal’s through.”

“It would make me feel better,” she huffs, grabbing onto a pillow and pulling it close to her chest.

“Mhm, well, me too,” he says resignedly. Using his legs, he swings himself up to a sitting position, back to the television, and rubs a tired hand over his face. God, he’s so tired.

“Why don’t you go and get some sleep?” May asks him. Her voice is gentle. Concerned. “You haven’t gotten a full night’s rest in a while now. It might do you some good.”

“I can’t,” is all Peter responds.

“Why? You can’t do anything about this. Not unless you somehow… I don’t know. Find that guy’s hidden secret evil lair in order to show Tony.”

“Yeah…” Peter agrees dimly.

A stilted silence.

Then, Peter’s eyes widen. “May, wait a second. You’re a genius!” he exclaims. He rockets to his feet with newfound energy.

“I am?” she says, clearly confused.

Peter doesn’t answer, instead immediately heading to his room.

“Where are you going?” she cries.

“To find Michael’s hidden secret evil lair!” he calls over his shoulder.

When he reaches his bed, he instantly grabs his laptop, excited. For the first time since Michael came into his life, he has a plan. A questionable plan, but a plan, which is something that might finally help him find what he desperately needs.

If it’s the last thing Peter does, he will find something to take Michael down.

Nobody fucks with his family and gets away with it.

Okay, so, the thing is, Peter knows what he’s doing is wrong. It’s just, at this point, he really doesn’t care. He needs something. Some sort of tangible evidence to back up his claims and it seems like there is only one way he’s going to achieve that right now.

He can’t stand being made out like he’s fucking crazy.

He’s not.

Michael’s house is surprisingly modest for him being the CEO of what’s now one of the most famous companies on the planet. It’s just outside the city limits, not so far that commuting would be a pain, but still distant enough to escape the crowded streets and incessant noise of millions of New Yorkers. It’s in a gated community next to a golf course. Some real rich type shit—just not Tony Stark level of comfortable.

It’s a dark brown two-story. Eight thousand square feet of black hardwood floors, at least according to pictures on Zillow. Peter’s done his research. If something is fishy about the guy, then he’s almost certainly got something incriminating in his home.

He has his webshooters tucked under the sleeves of a dark hoodie, just in case something goes awry, but Michael lives alone and should be working in the city right now. The easy part will be getting into the home. The harder part is not getting spotted by any neighbors that will get suspicious at the sight of a teenager in a sweatshirt loitering around some profligate houses.

Peter does his best to keep to the shadows. He hops the fence of the neighborhood where it borders a treeline, landing gently on the other side, then immediately ducks behind some bushes to his right. He’s currently in the vast, forested backyard of some other resident. If he remembers correctly, Michael’s house should be the fourth door to the left from where he’s at right now.

For a moment, anxiety begins to settle in his gut. It’s the kind that’s screaming at him that he’s doing the wrong thing. The kind one gets when they know that they are breaking the rules, that they shouldn’t be doing this, that it very well might get them into some deep shit—but Peter’s feelings don’t matter right now. This isn’t about him. This is about his family and making sure he does what he has to in order to protect them from any threat that gets slung their way.

He crawls along. Moves past house one, then two, then three (which holy fuck does that one have four floors?), and then finally, he comes up behind the one that he’s bent over backwards studying how to get into. Google streetview had helped him establish the layout of the place and where some of the more obvious cameras were located. From there he’d used Karen to get a more specific analysis on the home’s blueprint and where its security systems could be accessed.

It really was easy.

Peter pulls his hoodie tighter over his head to hide him and his face in case the cameras do manage to catch a glimpse of him, and then he fires a web at the two he can see. Now safe from being spotted, he walks around the right side wall. There’s an electrical box there. He flips it open and quickly scans the panel. Then, before he can change his mind or back out, he flips all of the switches off.

That should take care of the alarm inside. The fusebox for the home itself is in the garage, at least according to Karen, and that will allow him to disable the rest of the cameras and any extra security.

Carefully, Peter walks to the garage door. Effortlessly, he lifts it up a bit, then slips underneath. The light automatically flips on, and Peter winces at the change of environment. There’s two fancy cars parked inside, but he ignores those, instead heading to another box on the far left wall nearly identical to the one outside.

From there, he shuts off switches four, five, eight, and nine, and then lets out a sigh of relief. That’s the worst of it. He’s in the clear now. The only way Peter can be caught is if Michael was checking the cams at the time of Peter webbing them and gets suspicious. When he’s done here, Peter will make sure to head to the guy’s computer and wipe the footage from the past hour.

Simple.

For the last time, he lets out a deep, calming breath. He moves past the two cars and opens the door to the house. A plume of air conditioning smacks him in the face, immediately cooling him. He’s in a laundromat it seems. There’s a washer and dryer in front of him, as well as a hamper with clothes piled high in it set off to the side. Nothing spectacular, so Peter quickly moves on.

There’s a door to his right. He pulls it open, assuming it leads to the rest of the house—when suddenly, a ball of fur launches itself directly at his face. Shocked, Peter lets out a yelp and stumbles back from the weight. Paws and teeth claw at his legs and chest as barking sounds throughout the empty hallway. Horrified, he begins to shove the dog off him because oh lord Peter does not want to become puppy chow right now, and he definitely didn’t envision the great Spider-Man going out like this…

But then he slowly realizes that he’s not being torn apart. Oh. Aww. A large tongue licks at his hands and Peter looks down with wide eyes to see a gigantic German Shepard loving all over him. His panic falling away, he laughs a bit humorlessly, then begins petting the sweet animal. It yips contently at this, and taking the opportunity, Peter grabs at its collar and reads the name.

Bella.

“Well hi there Bella,” he says, gripping the soft fur in his fingers. She wags her tail at that, finally settling down, and walks around his legs.

Damn. Peter, in all of his research, did not read anywhere about Michael having a dog. He kinda wishes he had so that maybe he’d have brought a few treats or something, because Bella is just so freakin’ cute, and Peter fucking adores animals. He’s never had a pet, mostly because he’s lived in apartments all his life that never allowed them, but he’s always wanted a companion. After all, being able to rescue cats out of trees is one of the best perks of his job.

“Okay, okay,” Peter says, trying to push Bella away from him a little so that he can continue on. Unfortunately, he’s not here to play with Michael’s animals. He’s actually here to find a way to take down Bella’s owner for good…so maybe this whole thing is a bit cruel.

Obeying, the dog backs away from him slightly, but still stays right on his heel. Appreciative of this, Peter takes a step forward and moves into the hallway.

Michael’s home is even larger inside than it looked from the outside. Peter stumbles across the kitchen first, complete with two ovens and a toaster oven and a double decker fridge and wow Peter is so broke; and then he finds his way to the master bedroom and bathroom, which has a bathtub with jets and a shower with three different showerheads; and then he enters the dining room that has a chandelier and china plates and—

Yeah. You get the point.

Upstairs, there’s a bunch of different guest bedrooms. A home movie theatre with an eighty inch flatscreen and even a damn ping-pong table. A minibar with a mini-fridge and a mini-microwave and even a mini-toaster.

Peter searches all of these rooms with fervor. He takes care to put everything back exactly as he found it. The thing is, though, is that he’s not even sure what he’s looking for. Documents? A map of a secret lair? A manifesto? Who the fuck knows.

Then he finds the basement. A door under the stairs leads to it, and for a moment, Peter allows himself to believe that he finallymight have found something. So he forces Bella to stay behind, whom has been following him with curiosity this entire time, and concentrates intensely on his surroundings.

The basement is spacious, and honestly, a little creepy too. A light switch on the wall illuminates the area with the glow of exactly six hanging lightbulbs. There are storage boxes stacked against the walls, some old furniture tossed into one of the corners, and… That’s about it.

There’s also a weird old mattress pushed to the side. Odd and unnerving, but not necessarily an indicator of an evil mastermind or serial killer, especially when the rest of the basement is home to a bunch of other used and abandoned household items. Irritated, Peter gives up, turns around, and stomps up the stairs. He needs something concrete—not whatever that is down there.

At last, he heads to the office. This is pretty much it. If he’s going to find anything, it’s going to be here. He walks directly to the computer and sits down at the desk. It’s exceptionally tidy, no stray papers or drawers to rifle through, so he instead puts his time toward cracking the computer’s password.

It’d be a lot easier with Karen here at his side, but Peter had left her and his suit at home out of fear Mr. Stark would track him or something ridiculous like that. It wasn’t worth the risk. So a project that would take him maybe three minutes at most with the help of an AI instead takes him closer to thirty—but he must say, when he manages to hack the damn thing at last, it’s ridiculously rewarding.

He opens the file explorer first. Slowly and tediously searches for anything that catches his eye. It’s a lot of bullshit. Useless stuff everywhere. Even the financial docs he finds about Myrin’s business don’t give him any leverage; which, if Peter is being honest with himself, means that there is probably nothing here at all. If a CEO is doing something shady with their business, it almost always will tie back into money.

But no. Everything checks out. Literally everything. Tax records, employee payments and benefits. Like, shit, this computer is almost too clean. It’s like Michael was expecting someone to go sleuthing through his stuff.

There’s absolutely nothing.

Tightening his jaw, Peter does his best to curb his anger. It’s fine. This is totally fine. Maybe Michael keeps his evil life separate from his personal life, y’know? It would be kind of stupid to keep that kind of stuff in your own home. Maybe Michael is just smarter than Peter is right now.

Surely there’s something somewhere though. There has to be. Not in this house perhaps, but the evidence has to exist in some capacity. Peter isn’t crazy, he just needs to be patient and search harder.

But it kind of sucks, to know that if he had found something, he could have gotten his family back today.

Before he logs out of the computer, he makes sure to wipe the security cameras. He tidies everything back up, ensuring it was like he was never even there. He gives Bella some farewell scritches, and then he heads back into the garage. Turns the power to the cameras and stuff on again, then lifts up the garage door. Shimmies out, lets it drop, and then turns around— 

—just to be met with Tony Stark leaning on his trademark Lambo in the driveway.

Quite literally, Peter skids to a halt. His heart plunges into his stomach as he does a double take. Um, what? What the fuck is Tony doing here? And how did he know this was where Peter was going to be? It was a spur-of-the-moment decision to head over here and do some digging around. The only person he told was May and—

… Oh.

“Find anything?” Tony asks casually, but his crossed arms betray his true attitude.

Trying to pretend like he’s composed and not horrendously gobsmacked at the sight of the man standing before him, Peter clears his throat and hustles forward. He comes to meet Tony at the car, then says with a tinge of malice, “Tell May she’s a traitor.”

“So that’s a no,” Tony concludes, shaking his head in what seems like disappointment. “Peter… What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? What are you doing here?”

Tony’s eyebrows shoot up. “I know you are not asking me that question,” he says in warning.

Peter chooses not to respond, despite wanting to do nothing more than fucking scream. He wants to shout and throw things and break down into a whole goddamn tantrum, because Peter isn’t crazy, and Tony needs to understand that. But it’s so damn pointless. Tony has made up his mind. So Peter fixes him with a heated glare and bites his tongue instead, figuring that will have to suffice.

Tony meets his gaze head-on, undeterred. He lets out a calming breath, then says to Peter, “Kid, this has to stop.”

“It could have a long time ago if you had just trusted me!” Peter snaps.

Tony waves his hands around, dumbfounded. “Jesus, are you even listening to yourself right now?” he says incredulously. “Let me get this straight. You come to me out of nowhere, tell me this guy is suspicious. Okay, fair. So I do some investigating. I find nothing to back your claim, but even still, you beg me to cut a huge business deal out of nowhere based on zero solid evidence, and then, when I tell you I can’t, you throw a fit, don’t answer the phone, and instead take matters into your own hands by sneaking into the guy’s home?”

Again, Peter doesn’t reply. It’s like talking to a brick wall.

Tony stares down at Peter, as if daring him to say something or dispute those words. When he doesn’t, the man continues, “You know, if I was a major asshole, I could have you arrested for this.”

Peter looks up sharply, shocked, but Tony only shrugs innocently and says, “Don’t know why you’re surprised. You’re trespassing, Peter. And I have to say, I was very tempted to go that route, because then maybe it would’ve at least knocked some sense into you. I even thought about telling Michael, because you’re in his home, and it would be up to him if he wanted to press charges. But I didn’t, and you should be very damn grateful for that.”

“I’m supposed to be grateful for you not calling the cops on me?” Peter echoes. And yeah, now he’s getting pissed.

Tony narrows his eyes. “Yes,” he answers cuttingly. “Because Peter, what were you thinking? Even if for some reason you were able to find something, what would you have done with it?”

Confused, Peter says, like it should be obvious, “Um, exposed him for it?”

“Okay,” Tony says, playing along. “Sure. You’d expose him for it. You’d show me and Pepper, maybe the police depending on what you found. We’d scrap the deal altogether and the media would eat up the story like piranhas.”

“Yup,” Peter agrees, because that sounds fantastic.

“Alright, so a day passes. If that. And then guess what would happen? Michael will press charges on me. On you too, maybe, for defamation. The question of where this information came from will arise, and what are you going to say then? The truth?”

And…fuck. Peter didn’t think about that.

“Because—and correct me if I’m wrong here—I don’t believe that telling jury that you illegally seized this information by entering this person’s home without permission and stealing their property would go over well. The news would crucify me, and while my money and connections would likely be able to prevent you from serving actual time in a cell, that shit would stain your record forever. So say goodbye to any shot at a decent college.

“And oh,” he adds as what’s probably an afterthought. “Illegally obtained information is inadmissible in court. Which means that Michael would not only win against you and everything you tried to do to undermine him, but he’d win the settlement too. So yeah. I’ll ask again. What the fuck were you thinking, Peter?”

Well… Okay. So maybe Tony has a point.

“I’m not sure,” he mumbles.

“Yeah. Me neither,” Tony says.

Ouch. Peter might’ve deserved that, but the words still hurt.

Then, a bit softer, Tony pleads, “What will it take for you to let this go?”

A wave of helplessness hits Peter. He wants to do what Tony is asking. More than anything, he wants to be able to let this go and allow things to go back to normal. But he just… He can’t. Somehow, someway, he knows he’s right, and he physically cannot make himself give up. He can’t pretend everything is fine when it isn’t.

So, pained, he says, “I can’t let it go, Mr. Stark. I just… I can’t. I’m not crazy, okay? I can’t put you in danger.”

Tony’s fists tighten. It’s clearly not the answer he was after. “Then I don’t know how to help you. If you want to throw away your life because you refuse to believe you might, for once, be wrong about something, then I can’t stop you. You’re more than welcome around the tower, but something tells me I won’t see  you there until you get your damn proof. Which, who knows when the fuck that’ll be.”

“Mr. Stark…” Peter tries.

But the man only takes his keys out of his pocket and opens the door to his car. Peter watches on, throat tight as he realizes that he’s losing yet another parental figure right before his eyes; and again, just like last time, it’s his fault.

Just as he’s about to drive off, Tony rolls down his window and looks over at him. “I hope that you know I’m on your side kid. Always. But I can only help you so much before my hands are tied.”

Peter’s eyes fall to the floor. “No,” he says quietly. “If that were true, you would have gotten rid of him the moment he stepped foot in the tower.”

He hears Tony audibly exhale, an infuriated sound. Then, the car is speeding off, and Peter is left by himself in the middle of Michale’s driveway, feeling more defeated than ever before.

A tear snakes down his face. Hastily, he wipes it away, and then he starts the long journey home.

It takes exactly 4 days and 2 hours for Peter to break.

He spends a lot of that time in his head. He tries to figure out where to go from here, but ultimately, he’s exhausted basically all of his options. Background checks have been run, Peter has even gone through Michael’s home—and yet still, there’s not even the slightest hint of anything being wrong off with the man. Hell, it’s been days now since that business deal went through and the world has yet to blow up, so…

Peter, for the first time, has begun to consider the possibility that maybe he is the crazy one.

Tony’s words keep ringing through his head, an echo with no end. Maybe Peter is just refusing to believe that he could be wrong about something. Maybe he got this stupid idea in his head that he needed to prove to Tony that he could protect him too, instead of it always being the other way around. Maybe Peter is just being too stubborn. Too deflective.

Maybe it’s time for him to acknowledge that maybe, just maybe… He was wrong.

He is still having a hard time accepting that fact though. Michael still crowds his thoughts every second of the day. His brain continues to hiss and spit in warning that this man is dangerous and that he needs to be removed from their lives completely.

In the end, it comes down to this. Peter still doesn’t entirely believe that Michael is the innocent and honest CEO businessman that everybody makes him out to be. But Peter also is not going to let this random stranger tear his relationship with him and Mr. Stark apart.

By becoming so caught up in believing he needed to protect Tony, Peter has ended up driving a wedge between them. That’s his fault, and he needs to fix that. He’s not going to lose his third father figure over this. Even if Peter is right, he has to be the bigger person here.

He has to let it go.

So 4 days and 2 hours after Tony absolutely tore him apart in Michael’s driveway, he picks himself up out of his bed and decides that today is the day he’s going to fix things. He wants Mr. Stark back. He wants to apologize.

He puts on his webshooters and exits his room through the window. Swings his way to the tower in broad daylight, his heart longing for another lab day or movie night. Memories flash through his mind of him and Tony, and with this, he reaffirms that he’s doing the right thing.

A few minutes later, he lands on the street in front of his old home. Looking up at it, he shakes himself off then steps into the lobby, determined not to waste anymore time than he has already.

And then he spots Michael sitting in one of the dark blue, velvety chairs right inside the door.

Peter freezes, breath becoming caught in his throat. Oh. You know, it’s actually kind of hard to face someone after you just broke into their home and snooped around in it a few days ago and had a short cuddle session with their dog.

“Oh, hey there Peter!” the man says, glancing up from where he was previously staring at his phone, and something inside of Peter dies a little.

Maybe this is the universe testing him. Perhaps it’s asking him if he’s truly ready to move on and play nice.

“Hi,” he says, voice as kindhearted as he can make it.

“Look, this is going to be a bit of a weird question,” Michael says. He looks around discreetly. “Do you know anything about cars?”

The question makes Peter furrow his brows in confusion. “Um… A bit? Not—not that much. Mr. Stark has tried to teach me some things, but…nothing too special, y’know? I’m definitely not an A-rated mechanic,” he replies, forcing himself to laugh.

“Ah,” Michael says. “I see. Well, I was trying to prevent myself from having to suffer from the embarrassment of calling for a tow or asking Tony himself if he could help me figure out what might be wrong with my car. It won’t start. I have no idea why. Do you think you could maybe take a look at it?”

“Umm…” Peter trails off. He really doesn’t want to. Like, at all. But if this is a test, and if he can suck it up and be in Michael’s presence without freaking out for a solid ten minutes, then maybe some sort of god above will reward him.

He puts forth a tight smile. “Sure,” he says, “but I can’t guarantee I’ll know what’s wrong. I really don’t know too much.”

“That’s okay,” Michael responds. “It’s worth a shot at least.”

“…Alright,” Peter says. He shrugs, then turns toward the door he just came through and heads back out.

Michael leads him around the tower and to one of the side streets. Parallel parked next to a small bush is a nice Bentley. Electric, of course. The man opens the driver’s door and pops the hood open, and Peter leans over to look at the mess of technology inside.

“Oh,” he says, immediately knowing that he’s probably going to be zero help. “I definitely don’t know anything about electric cars… Mr. Stark had me experiment a bit with some older hybrids, but I don’t really think—“

“Nonsense,” Michael cuts him off. “Just take a peek. It can’t be that much different from any other type of engineering you do with that man. It’s just basic tech.”

Peter bites back a retort. Closes his eyes, counts to five, and then opens them again, allowing his agitation to simmer down. “Fine,” he says.

He begins to examine the engine and tangle of thick cables. Does some routine checks, trying to figure out if there’s anything obvious for why the car won’t start, such as some kink in the wiring or any other simple electric problem. Michael stands over his shoulder the entire time.

After about five minutes of prodding around and testing things, Peter leans back again. “Sorry,” he says. “From what I can tell, it should be working.”

Michael’s face drops. “Ah, okay. That’s fine. I’ll call a tow I guess.”

“Sorry,” Peter offers again.

“No, it’s okay,” Michael reassures. Then he holds out a hand for Peter to shake.

Foolishly, Peter takes it.

And then, out of nowhere, his spider sense begins to scream at him.

After so long of wanting his spider sense to go off in the presence of Michael, he’d kind of given up on the hope of it ever happening. Clearly his sixth sense had never considered Michael an immediate danger. So right now, although his body begins to react on instinct, Peter’s brain takes much longer to figure out what the hell is happening.

His muscles instantly snap his arm back, ripping his hand away from Michael’s grip like it had burned him. But when he looks down at his palm, he realizes that might not be a terribly inaccurate metaphor. It’s tingling painfully, the discomfort beginning to stretch up the inside of his arm.

His eyes dart upwards to find Michael still standing there in front of him. “What did you do?” he questions shakily, and for one of the first times in his life, he is utterly terrified.

Michael smiles a bit. Peter supposes it’s supposed to come across as endearing, but all he can see in that expression is evil delight. “Oh, that sense of yours has given me a lot of trouble over these past few weeks,” the man replies. “It’s a tricky thing isn’t it? I bet it’s going off the charts right now. Making up for what it’s wanted to tell you this entire time. You know, I had to be so very careful. I had to keep my intentions completely pure until this point. It was very difficult.”

The tingling is beginning to spread beyond his arm now. It’s reached Peter’s chest and the base of his neck, and coupled with his instincts freaking out, it’s quickly sending him and his senses into shock. Fuck. He has to get out of here, he has to run—

But he takes a step back, and just like that, he falls flat on his ass. His vision turns to mush, colors twisting and melding into a gigantic smudge of grey. Spots float in and out of his peripherals and the tingling finally expands to cover all of his body.

That’s when Peter realizes. Whatever Michael did, whatever it was he gave Peter through the touch of their hands—it was quadriplegic. A paralysis-inducing substance, maybe even used in conjunction with something else to make him pass out.

“Just relax,” Michael advises gently. Barely, Peter can make out hands on his body. He can feel them just slightly, the touch as soft as a feather. They lift him up and begin carrying him along, then set him down on a seat. He’s inside the car now, probably.

A door shuts. The engine kicks up, and stupidly, Peter makes the connection that there was never anything wrong with the Bentley in the first place.

He’s so stupid.

“You really made things annoying,” Michael says casually as they begin moving. Peter tries to look up and around, find a way to open the door and escape, but even lifting his head takes an insurmountable amount of effort, and exhausted, he lets it drop again.

“You knew something was wrong the entire time, didn’t you?” Michael chuckles to himself. “It was quite impressive, really. Even though I made sure your ridiculous powers wouldn’t be able to ruin anything, they still did their best to warn you. I should be thankful I was even able to get you to let your guard down, despite it taking way longer than anticipated.”

Peter closes his eyes. He’s so fucked.

“It’s okay though. Time was no constraint. We’re able to move onto the next stage now. So you just take a nap, enjoy the rest while you can still get it, and when you wake up, we’ll work on taking Tony Stark down together, alright? I think you and I will make a great team.”

For some reason, all that crosses Peter’s mind at that is a brief moment of celebration. He was right. He’s not crazy! He might be dead now, but he’s not crazy, and if he somehow survives this and is able to see Tony again, he is going to serve that man the largest, fattest ‘I told you so’ the world has ever seen.

And then, with that surprisingly amusing thought, he finally allows the cocktail of drugs in his system to win over, and just—

Drifts.

Chapter Text

Things come back to Peter in fragments. Each one is a little larger than the last, yet it’s all so disjointed. Like a corner puzzle piece trying to fit into another corner puzzle piece. It doesn’t work.

The first thing that returns is his hearing. It yields no clues about his situation, but at the very least, it’s there. An electrical hum meets his ears. The sound of flickering lightbulbs accompany it, annoying and grating, like someone is repeatedly dropping shards of glass down a thin metal tube.

Everything else is harder to pick up on. He hears soft sounds of breathing. Some of it is clearly his own, but certainly not all. Another person’s steady exhales coalesce with the quick, sharp ones that escape from his own lips, and, if Peter concentrates all of the depleted energy he has, he can also make out the rhythmic thump thump of a neighboring heartbeat.

Someone else is at his side. That much he can establish. But apparently that’s as far as the picture is painted for Peter, because it seems that feat has sucked all the consciousness out of him. The sounds retreat, backing away slowly, and Peter wants to reach out and grab onto them, refuse to let them go, because they are the only things that might be able to help him understand what the fuck is happening—but his desires only melt away into that same nothingness he was fighting against, and a few moments later, everything, even the lightbulbs, fade away.

The next fragment builds off the previous. There’s no telling how long it’s been since his last attempt at joining the land of the living, because Peter is simply floating through the ether right now, but all he knows is when his hearing returns, so do smell and taste.

The air is humid. Disgustingly so. It’s hot as well, which makes breathing a chore. It feels like the oxygen he’s taking in is heavy and damp, and it’s obvious his lungs aren’t able to do it the justice it requires. It seems dusty, too. Like particles are sticking to the roof of his mouth each time he opens it.

There are a few peculiar scents in the air. The most overpowering is that of rotting wood, putrid on his nose. This place smells abandoned. Full of old, worn furniture that is decaying into unsalvageable scraps.

And he also smells wet dog.

That is enough to get his brain working. Darkness tempts him back to his sleep, but now that the memories are beginning to return, the terror and adrenaline easily prevent him from succumbing. Finally, Peter fights to get his eyes open. The muscles in his face object, but after a few embarrassingly long minutes, he manages to get his lids to lift.

Light from above slams into him. Immediately his eyes begin to water, and he blinks rapidly, trying to stabilize. There are dark shadows all around. A black figure is knelt before him, but he can’t make out the specific details. Spots and smudges oscillate incessantly in his view, making it impossible to focus on any single thing for more than a moment.

“Woah,” a voice says just then. Peter lets out a groan, trying to shake the distortions out of his vision, but it doesn’t work. The voice continues, “You need to relax for a moment, kid. I hit you with the heavy-duty stuff. Don’t rush your way back. Let your body adjust.”

Realization strikes Peter. The black figure before him is Michael. Michael is the one who did this to him. Michael is the reason he’s here.

“What—?” Peter tries to ask, but he’s not even sure if that one word comes out whole. He thinks it sounds more like a “whe” than anything. His lips don’t want to move, and his tongue is too fat to try and speak past.

“It’s fine,” Michael says in what’s a surprisingly placating tone. “The effects should begin to wear off in about ten minutes. For now, just let them run their course. It should give me time to finish up here.”

Unfortunately, Peter has no choice other than to listen. He closes his eyes again and directs his attention to his breathing, but is extremely careful not to let himself drift off. He needs to be awake. He needs to figure out what is going on.

He feels like he’s been hit by a truck. His whole body is dead weight, unable to function. It’s a stark contrast to how fast his mind is moving right now. He knows he needs to get up and probably fight his way out of here, but everything is numb. Just completely fucking useless, and Peter has never ever felt so out of his element as he does now. He’s never felt so vulnerable.

He only attempts to open his eyes again when he manages to regain some feeling in his fingertips. They begin to prickle painfully, and startled by this change, he tries to get a better fixation on his surroundings. This time, the light is less blinding, the smudges less egregious.

Peter can see. He can see Michael and every ugly feature in his face with clarity. He can see a bunch of torn up chairs and tables tossed against the walls. He can see a shitty mattress right underneath him, and he can also see six basic dangling lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling above them.

Without a doubt, Peter knows where he is. He’s been here before. It’s Michael’s basement.

“Ah,” Michael says. “There you go. Welcome back.”

Peter looks straight ahead again at Michael, who is still situated right in front of him. Then, he notices what the man is working on. Gaze falling down to his own right hand, his heart completely stalls.

There’s black tape wrapped around Peter’s palm and fingers. Something is shoved into his grasp and held there securely, in the same position his hand would be in as if he were holding onto a steering wheel. His thumb is specifically arranged on top. The tape there is stronger, forcing it to be jammed down onto the cylindrical device in his hand.

Oh no. Holy fuck.

Wires of various colors sprout from the mechanism. They hug the inside of his arm closely, then disappear into his sleeve, and as Peter’s eyes track them all the way up his body, he begins to regain some sense of touch along his chest. There’s something tightly pulled around his entire upper body. A vest of sorts. It’s heavy.

Peter knows exactly what it is.

Horror crawls up his throat. Dizziness strikes him as the reality of the situation begins to set in, and all of the sudden, he feels extremely lightheaded.

“Breathe,” Michael says. Peter snaps his eyes to the man, not caring about his fear showing. “Just breathe. You’re fine, Peter. Don’t pass out on me now.”

Breathe? How? How is Peter supposed to sit here and just breathe when he’s got a fucking bomb attached to him and the detonator is right at his fingertips?

“It can’t go off right now,” Michael carries on. He breaks off another piece of tape from the roll in his hands, places it carefully on Peter’s hand, then backs away a few paces. “This was perfect timing, actually. I’m all done. You didn’t need to suffer through me putting it all on you at least.”

Finding the slightest bit of courage, Peter replies breathlessly, “Oh? Am—am I supposed to thank you for that?”

Michael shrugs. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Anyways, how are you feeling? Can you move yet?”

Peter’s eyes narrow into a glare. He’s laying down on the mattress, and although he thinks that he could probably sit up if he wanted to, he’s not sure if he feels like doing so when said movement can possibly trigger him blowing into a bunch of tiny pieces.

“You’ll know when I can move,” he decides to answer coldly. “Because when I can, I will rip you apart.”

Michael nods. “Mhm,” he says. “I have no doubts that you would. But I think you might want to wait a few minutes to learn about your predicament before doing so. After all, you wouldn’t want some very special people getting hurt, would you?”

At that, Peter falls silent. He processes the meaning of those words.

“Ah. See?” Michael tsks. “Loved ones. So…precarious. They keep you vulnerable. They keep you foolish.”

“You go after Mr. Stark and he will destroy you,” Peter growls.

“Close, but no cigar. That wasn’t who I was talking about.” Michael leans back, then reaches into the pocket of the jacket he has tucked around his shoulders. From it, he takes out a few small squares of thin paper. Then, he drops them, allowing them to fan out right in front of Peter, face-up.

Staring back at Peter are candid pictures of his family and friends. Of May, walking down the streets of New York City, a phone pressed tightly against her head. Of Peter and Ned and MJ sitting at a lunch table, laughing about some joke that Peter wishes he could remember.

Anger begins to flood through his veins. It travels through them with a blistering heat, and he wants to wring his hands around Michael’s neck so fucking bad. But he can’t. He—he has a bomb glued to him, and—and fuck. He holds no cards, no plays. There’s nothing he can do.

He lifts his gaze back to Michael, hoping the wrath he’s feeling is strong enough to prevent his terror from leaking through his expression.

Michael gives a smug smile. “I’ve had a lot of time to figure you out, Mr. Parker,” he explains. “Just know, if I’m not able to call my associates in exactly 24 hours, they will take liberty to—ah, eliminate these people you hold so dear. So when I eventually remove that tape from your thumb, I suggest you keep holding that button down. You trigger the dead man’s switch, you’re not only killing me and you. Remember that.”

Peter looks down to his hand again. It makes sense now why the tape is so heavy there. Peter’s thumb is positioned directly on the detonator button, keeping it activated. It’s the opposite of a traditional remote. If he lets go, the bomb goes off. If someone kills him or tries to otherwise incapacitate him, and he can no longer consciously hold on, the bomb goes off. A dead man’s switch.

“What do you want?” he whispers shakily.

“I want you to take down Stark,” is the simple reply.

Peter absorbs those words, trying to figure out the logistics of it. “You want me to kill him?”

“…Well, that depends on how confident you are in your abilities.”

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Giving up, Peter drops his head back to the mattress. “Just tell me what you want me to do,” he pleads.

Thankfully, Michael obliges. “There are two outcomes to this, Mr. Parker. One ends with everybody alive. For now, at least. One ends with you and Stark’s death. I don’t particularly care which route you end up taking, as the end result is the same—but for what it’s worth, I would like to keep you alive.”

“Wow,” Peter mumbles tiredly. “I’m touched.”

“Your job is going to be to infiltrate Stark Tower.” Michael moves to take something else from his pocket. It looks like a complicated flash drive of sorts. “From there, you will give me all information on the workings of the company and beyond. This includes the Iron Man suits. I want everything. Then, provided you make it past that step of the plan, you’ll return to me. I’ll defuse the bomb, you live, Stark lives, everybody’s happy.”

“So what’s the catch? What happens to me then?”

Michael shrugs. “I know some people who would pay a pretty penny for someone like you. They’ll be very pleased to acquire someone with your—capacity.”

Peter closes his eyes. “You’ll sell me,” he concludes, repulsed.

“Whatever it is you would like to call it,” Michael says unsympathetically. “I’d prefer to refer to it as recycling your potential.”

“But Mr. Stark will know when I enter the tower,” Peter points out. “And FRIDAY will definitely detect a freaking bomb. No offense, but it’s not very subtle.”

“I assumed the AI would be the least of your worries. You have access to it. You should be able to give yourself thirty minutes of seclusion. And anyways—something tells me Stark won’t be expecting you. Haven’t you guys been having some…discourse?”

“No thanks to you,” Peter says darkly. “This has been your plan all along, hasn’t it? To use me to get to him. You made us go after each other instead of you.”

“Well…if you want to be technical about it, yes. But not entirely. I had to make up this plan on the fly. Any premeditated threat towards you would’ve resulted in that sense of yours going off. I only finalized things a day or two ago.”

Confused, Peter says, “How did you even know I was Spider-Man? How the hell could you have figured out how my sense works?”

Michael snorts. “You’re not very careful with your secret,” he answers, like it’s obvious. “The first time I met you I didn’t know. Once I figured out you could be a way to get to Stark though, I started having you followed. Changing into your suit in an alley is a questionable choice. And Spider-Man…did you know they have fan pages dedicated to you? An entire Wiki? People literally obsess over your abilities and how they function. There’s an entire YouTube video analysis titled: ‘How Does Spider-Man Always Elude Danger? Omniscient or Instinct?’”

He chuckles.“It’s a very enlightening discussion. They use video evidence and everything. Even bring in an arachnologist to get his opinion.”

Well, shit. That’s not something Peter ever thought of. With social media and phones being so prevalent nowadays, any crime he stops in the daytime is likely caught on video and shared across the world. Go figure some people would gather all the evidence and try and figure out every single thing about him. Peter wonders what they would think if they knew their work is the reason that their favorite superhero might never be seen again.

“So, outcome one,” Peter says, shifting the conversation and trying to distract himself from those unnerving thoughts. “I sneak into the tower. Get you your information. I’m assuming you use that information to take over the company from the inside yourself. Then you sell me like a dog and you win. What’s outcome two?”

“Outcome two,” Michael replies, “is you get caught by Stark somehow. Either he walks in on you or you fail to suppress the AI. Doesn’t matter. When he comes to help you, you let go of the button.”

“And we both die,” Peter concludes distraughtly. “No evidence of your involvement.”

“Exactly.”

“But how does that get you the company?” Peter asks. “Pepper is the CEO.”

“Do you really think she would be fit to run the company after something like that?” Michael asks knowingly. “Their stock will flatline, and something tells me she will be too preoccupied to care. Trust me, she will turn to me: a CEO who has already proved themselves capable of handling things, and whom has recently merged and integrated into the company. It’s only logical. Then I get everything anyway.”

“And you win,” Peter repeats, defeated.

“I win,” Michael echoes confidently.

There’s no way out of this, is there? Peter has already turned the situation over in his head tenfold. He could detonate the bomb and kill both himself and Michael, but that means that May and Ned and MJ could be murdered. He could detonate the bomb by himself, far away from any other people, but Michael will still just kill them anyway as punishment. And then Peter’s dead, too. Which he’d really rather avoid.

The only way to prevent other people from getting hurt is to successfully get Michael the information from SI without being noticed. Nobody dies. Peter is the only one to suffer. Except… What is Michael planning to do with the information? He could manufacture something that could kill thousands of innocent people anyways.

What the fuck is Peter supposed to do?

“I can see the gears turning in your head,” Michael says softly, drawing him out of his thoughts. “It’s better not to linger on the specifics. I’m going to give you some more time to let the effects of the aconite wear off, and then I’ll let you go do your thing.”

The man gets to his feet, but doesn’t bother to clean up the pictures strewn across the floor, presumably to remind Peter of the consequences if he doesn’t do as he’s told. Peter remains frozen, staring at them. Heading to the door that leads out of the basement, Michael turns back at the last second.

“I told you we’d make a great team,” he says.

And then he’s gone.

Peter, left by himself now, finally lets his guard drop. The anger dissipates, fear and distress quickly taking its place. He failed. He failed at protecting his family, and now he has no choice but to work against them.

The tears come effortlessly. They escape down his face freely and he doesn’t even bother to wipe them away, just curls into himself. There’s an intense nausea in his stomach, getting worse by the second, and he lets out a choked sob. How is he supposed to do this? How is he supposed to willingly go to the tower and betray Mr. Stark? The man who has been there for him through the shittiest of moments, who has given him a place to call home, who has helped him remember what it’s like to have a complete and whole family. How is he supposed to let go of this stupid trigger if he gets caught?

But at the same time, how is he supposed to do nothing? How is he supposed to fight back and possibly get his friends and May killed? How is he supposed to do any of this?

The war inside of his head finds its outlet. He buries his face into the shitty mattress he sits upon and cries and cries, all the way up until Michael returns an hour or two later to take him away.

Michael brings Peter to the tower in the same fashion he took him from it—via his nice little electric Bentley. There’s a kind of manic irony in that, Peter thinks as he stares out of the window, watching the buildings and pedestrians pass by. He’s in the passenger seat this time. A promotion, because there is no reason for him to try and escape. Michael knows he won’t let go of the trigger.

The plan is easy. Michael invited Tony out to dinner to talk about a few business-related things, and Tony had apparently readily agreed. He won’t be in the tower. When Peter retrieves the information, he’ll wait two blocks down for Michael to pick him up. Michael had given him an oversized jacket to hide the mess of wires and explosives beneath, so there should be no suspicion there either.

Peter grasps onto the button tightly, his knuckles as white as a ghost from the pressure. The tape is no longer there. The weight of the bomb around his chest is constricting, and he’s forced to take thin, shallow breaths to keep himself composed. He needs to execute this perfectly today. If not, he’s dead.

Time flies far too quickly. In the blink of an eye, Michael is pulling up in front of Stark tower, and Peter nearly breaks down then and there. Reality just set in. He can’t do this. How the hell is he supposed to do this?

Michael turns to look at him expectantly. “I hope to see you in thirty minutes,” he says in a gruff tone. As what seems to be an afterthought, he then offers, “Good luck.”

Peter grits his teeth as the fear morphs into anger. There’s no way Michael just said that to him, like he is in control of any of this. It’s like wishing a mouse trapped in a maze good luck. This entire situation is rigged against him, so good luck? Really?

Still, he swallows back his animosity. He needs to direct all of his focus on his task. So, as much as he wants to rip Michael apart right in his very own car, he knows he can’t. Instead, he opens the door and steps out onto the sidewalk without another word. Michael doesn’t even hesitate in driving off.

Reducing his thought process to nothing but his mission, Peter evaluates his surroundings. It’s not quite dark yet, but he needs to take his chances at climbing the walls because he needs to be somewhere secluded when FRIDAY detects him—not the crowded lobby.

He walks around the tower to the back. There are a few stray passersby, so he waits a couple of moments, seeking an opening. He gets it relatively fast. Pulling up the hoodie on the jacket, he steps next to the wall, and then jumps as high as he can.

It’s difficult climbing with only one hand, but despite being a tad slower than usual, he manages. Within two minutes he reaches the penthouse. Finding the window that Tony always leaves unlocked for him, he pushes the glass up and slips inside. Immediately, FRIDAY acknowledges him.

“Hello, Peter,” she says. “I am detecting an explosive device in your possession. Due to protocol, I must inform—“

“Override,” Peter interrupts, voice shaking. “I need you to go dark for one hour, FRIDAY.”

“Override code?” she inquires.

Peter closes his eyes. This is it. “T486APQ,” he says, pained.

“Override successful.”

“Take a nap, FRIDAY,” Peter tells her. “You can come back in an hour.”

“Yes, Peter,” she says. And then it’s completely silent.

Peter feels nauseous. Tony had given him an override code to use in case of an emergency where he had to subvert a protocol. Tony had trusted him enough to give him complete control of his systems—security included—and Peter had just used that against him. Guilt clouds his mind. Even if by some miracle Peter survives this, Tony is never going to forgive him.

He can’t linger on it, though. Lingering will destroy him. So he smothers the bitter taste of regret and swiftly makes his way to Tony’s workshop. He turns on the computer and pulls up the holo-screens, examining all the info on them, and then turns to the computer panel, opening the case that covers it. Digging into his pocket with his free hand, he retrieves the flashdrive and inserts it into a free slot.

A new window pops up on one of the screens. Navigating all the file storage, Peter makes sure to select everything—schematics, company data, personal documents—and then drags it over. A progress bar appears with a percentage next to it. Slowly, as the files are moved, the number increases.

A wave of lightheadedness hits him. With nothing better to do, he pulls over a chair and sits down on it, trying to steady himself. It’s like a panic attack is trying to take control of him, but he’s subduing all of his emotions, so it can’t. Rubbing a hand over his face, he lets out a calm breath in attempt to soothe himself—five seconds in, five seconds out.

Twenty percent. This is going to be a long few minutes, he thinks grimly.

But then, about five minutes later and completely out of nowhere, he hears a click. Jerking his head up in surprise, he gets to his feet again and whirls toward the door behind him.

It opens. Through it, steps Tony Stark.

In complete shock, horror, and desperate denial, Peter lets out a soundless, “No…”

He can no longer function. He can’t move, breathe, think. His blood has frozen, and with it, him. The unadulterated dread of the situation causes his life to flash before his eyes, and he clamps down on the trigger in his hand harder than ever before. He’s dead, and Tony is dead too.

Tony comes to a halt immediately upon entering. A mix of emotions flash across his face. This first is confusion, likely at Peter being there in the first place, and with the undertone of bewilderment, he says, “Kid?”

But when Peter doesn’t reply, too much of a paralyzed deer in headlights, the bewilderment turns into suspicion, then quickly concern. Tony’s eyes flicker to the holo-screen behind him, where big, bold words spell out: FILE TRANSFER—72%.

Peter tries to say something, literally anything to explain this away, but his voice is lost to the fear. He begins shaking uncontrollably, eyes watering, as his brain finally catches up to what Tony being here means. He has to let go of the trigger.

Tony takes a cautious, hesitant step forward, and immediately, Peter takes a reactionary one back. Tony clearly notices this, a brief moment of hurt flashing through his features. “Kid,” he says worriedly, “what’s going on?”

And Peter, fiercely trying to find a solution to this mess, shatters completely. Because here is the truly awful thing.

He can’t do it. He physically can’t let go of this trigger, even with his family in danger, because this is his family too. He can’t willingly decide between their lives; he’s not an executioner. Taking that final step to kill both himself and somebody he loves was never going to happen, no matter who it was Michael was threatening. Peter can’t kill. He simply can’t.

So when he at last finds something to say, the only words that come out are ones of inconsolable panic. “You aren’t supposed to be here,” he says frantically. “You—why are you here? You—you were supposed to be gone, you were supposed to be at dinner, but now you’re here and—”

“Woah,” Tony interrupts, eyes wide. “Peter, calm down, I can barely understand what you’re saying. I forgot something and needed to come back for it,” he explains. Then, a pause. “Wait, how do you know about the dinner?”

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. “Mr. Stark, he’s going to kill them,” Peter says, terrified, his brain turning to mush from the mix of emotions. “May and Ned and MJ, he’s going to kill them. You have to save them, Mr. Stark, please save them—”

“What?” Tony asks. “What are you—who are you talking about? What’s that in your hand?”

Peter dodges the questions, trying to emphasize his point. “I’m supposed to kill you,” he whines. “But I can’t. Tony, I can’t do it, so now he’s going to kill them. Please, I’m begging you to save them. You—you have to save them.”

It’s clear that Tony is catching onto the problem. He’s smart like that. He can fill in the dots, bridge the gaps. Even if all he can determine is that Peter’s family is in danger, that’s enough for him to determine that Peter is, too. Again, more concisely this time, he asks, “What’s in your hand?”

Peter locks petrified eyes with him. “A bomb,” he says quietly.

Tony recoils, horrified. “Jesus Christ,” he says. “Peter—”

“Please go save them,” Peter begs. “I—you have to save them for me—”

“And leave you?” Tony counters loudly. “No, not happening—”

“Mr. Stark, please!” Peter says, and it comes out as a wretched sob. “This might be the last thing I ever ask of you, so—please, please do it!”

Tony is clearly torn up inside, but Peter gets him with that last request. If this is going to be Peter’s dying wish, then there is no way Tony can ignore it. If he does, then Peter would hate him forever—and that is perhaps the only thing worse than losing him in the first place. Peter will put everything before his family, even himself. Tony knows this. So he also knows that, when it comes down to it, he has to put Peter’s wishes (to keep his loved ones safe) before Tony’s own wishes (to keep Peter safe). He won’t let the most important people in Peter’s life die.

Tony, barely keeping himself composed, mutters a strangled and broken, “Fuck…” He taps his chest twice and the iron suit forms around him. “I’m calling Rhodey,” he says. “Stay here, okay? Peter, please stay here until I get back. Promise me you won’t leave.”

Peter can’t. But he also can’t say that, because Tony won’t take no for an answer. So he lies.

“I promise.”

Tony hesitates one last second. Then, he turns and heads for the the tower’s mezzanine, and Peter’s eyes linger on his departing figure, recognizing that this is probably the last time he will ever see him. A goodbye left unsaid has never felt so painfully real. In the haunting emptiness it leaves behind, Peter can’t help but think of what might have been. Now, though, that future is gone—ruined by Michael and turned to ash.

A notification buzzes. He turns to find the progress bar on the screen now completely filled, the words TRANSFER COMPLETE accompanying it. He blinks back the waterworks, then hustles forward and grabs the flashdrive. Looks at it sitting innocently in his palm, thinks about all of the secrets it holds, and then heads back out the window he came through.

As fast as he can, he scrambles down the side of the building, not caring about who sees him this time, and keeps the flashdrive secure in his sweatshirt pocket. Following the instructions he was given, he lands back on the sidewalk, ignores the few civilians staring at him in puzzlement, and then begins rushing forward. He gets two blocks down, then turns a corner, finding Michael sitting in his car.

Once he’s there, he opens the passenger door and scrambles inside. Michael is evidently pissed.

“What the fuck happened?” he hisses. “Stark never showed—”

“Because he was at the tower!” Peter exclaims furiously. “You told me he wasn’t going to interfere, that this whole fucking thing was a safety precaution—”

“A safety precaution you were supposed to fall back on,” Michael fires back. “Seeing as you’re sitting right in front of me, you didn’t do as you were told. Not a wise decision, Parker.”

Peter tries to breathe around the threat. Tony is going to get there in time. He’ll save them, like he always saves people, and Michael will no longer have any leverage over him.

Digging into his pocket, Peter pulls out the flashdrive and shoves it at Michael’s face. “I still got you what you wanted,” he says lowly.

Michael glances at the flashdrive, then proceeds to snatch it from him. He puts the car in drive, merges onto the road, and Peter can easily discern that they’re heading back to his house.

The drive is only ten minutes, but if feels much longer under the weight of the trepidation. Peter tries to figure out what’s going on in Michael’s head, but he fails to find any clues that give away his thought process. Is he going to kill Peter? Is he going to keep him and sell him off like he said? There’s no way to tell, because the only thing the man shows is a slight air of irritation.

When they pull back into Michael’s driveway, he manhandles Peter by the arm back into the house, then into the basement. “Sit,” he directs, and Peter complies, practically collapsing back onto the mattress.

“You said you would remove the bomb,” he dares to remind Michael. “If I got back here with that stupid information, you said you would disarm it.”

“No, I said I would do that if you didn’t get caught,” Michael instantly rejects.

“But even if I didn’t, Mr. Stark was still going to find out eventually!” he shouts. “How is this any different?”

Michael rounds on him. With a harsh hostility, he says, “The difference is I no longer have time. So now we’re working with a new plan. You? You’re going to be my distraction.”

Peter stares at Michael, attempting to figure out what that means. “I’m bait?” he asks dumbly.

“The best on the market,” Michael says. He walks over to Peter and gets on one knee. Unzips the jacket, revealing the bomb, and then grabs at something embedded deep in the wires.

For a moment, Peter debates letting go of the trigger right then and there. It would solve so many problems. He’d kill Michael and any devious plan he’s devised. Whatever intentions he has with that information Peter stole would fall apart. Peter would probably be saving lives. But if Peter is being completely honest with himself, there is only one reason he hasn’t done that already.

He doesn’t want to die. As selfish as that is, he is so afraid of dying that he can’t do it. He’s scared, and most of all, he wants to live.

So he lets Michael do whatever the fuck he’s doing. The man fiddles with some sort of panel on the vest, then after a few more minutes, he backs away. “If you don’t do it yourself, you’ve got an hour before this thing goes off on its own—but let’s be real. If you were going to do it yourself, you would’ve already. So let’s hope Stark can get to you in time. I’d advise staying here, as it will be the first place he checks.”

Now Peter understands. “You’re giving yourself an hour to get away,” he says.

“I’ll be the least of Stark’s concerns. If it’s any consolation, part of me actually does hope he gets to you in time. I never wanted you to die…you’re simply collateral damage. Maybe one day you’ll understand what I mean by that, and why this was necessary.”

… Wait a second.

“I thought you were going after Tony?” Peter asks, confused. “Why would you leave if you could get anything you asked for—freedom included—if you just used me as a bargaining chip?”

Michael casts an appraising look at him. “You’re smart. You’ll do great things one day, you know,” he says. Then, he turns away and heads for the stairs.

Peter gapes at the randomness of that statement. In a last-ditch effort to get answers, he cries, “Wait! If you’re not going after Tony or his business, then what are you going after?”

Michael pauses in the doorway for a moment. It seems he considers answering. But he only shakes his head, not saying anything more, and disappears around the corner, leaving Peter entirely to himself.

Mind racing, Peter leans back against the wall and tucks his knees close to his chest. Gaze falling down to the trigger in his hand, he stares at it, mesmerized by the fact he’s still alive. He increases his hold on the button, determined to keep it that way.

And then he waits.

Chapter Text

Peter sits there for two minutes before he realizes that he can’t just do nothing. He’s in a race against the clock, literally, and of all people, he is not someone who is content to play the damsel-in-distress role. It’s pretty much his fault that he’s in this situation anyway, so he might as well do his best to get himself out of it.

He manages to pull himself to his feet and clambers up the stairs. The door is locked, but it’s no challenge for him. Using his spare hand, he grabs the handle and snaps it down. It breaks with ease and Peter nudges the door open, only to find Bella sitting there on her haunches, tail wagging.

“Oh,” he says. Bending down to pet her once, he mumbles under his breath, “What are you still doing here?”

Even as he asks, he knows the answer. Michael didn’t care enough to take her with him. He didn’t care about leaving her in the house with a bomb that may or may not go off. Peter feels a sweeping, somewhat irrational anger at this. Bella is completely innocent in this whole thing. He supposes that he is too, but for some reason it just seems a lot eviler to kill your own dog.

Knowing that Peter doesn’t have the time to spare, he quickly moves on. Bella trails behind him, like she knows something is wrong, so Peter opens the front door for her and encourages her to leave. She looks back at him in confusion, not understanding the demand, and Peter sighs. He needs to focus.

Sparing a glance at the kitchen clock, he finds that it reads 4:06. There’s no telling exactly how long it’s been since the countdown started, but he estimates it to be about five minutes. To be safe, he’ll make his deadline five o’clock on the dot. Better to underestimate than overestimate.

A search of the house yields no useful tools for disarming a bomb. He finds an ancient mirror in the master bedroom though, so he lugs it into the kitchen so that he can fully study the mechanism wrapped around his chest. Taking off his shirt, he reveals a complicated set of wires and explosives. He swallows past the lump in his throat as he realizes that this is nothing like the movies. There’s no ominous timer. No easy red wire to cut. It’s minimalist but sophisticated, and Michael’s smart, so this isn’t going to be easy.

Not more than thirty seconds after thinking this, he hears a familiar sound. Looking up sharply, he heads back to the front door, just in time to see Iron Man slam onto the concrete walkway in front of him. Immediately, the suit slinks back into its housing unit and Tony is revealed, a fearful expression on his face as he stares at the bomb.

Peter walks forward a few paces. With an unsteady voice, he asks, “May? Ned and MJ? Are they okay?”

“They’re fine,” Tony says instantly. His eyes don’t leave Peter’s chest. “They’re confused, and very worried, but—nobody was there to hurt them. We got there in time, kid. We got there in time. It’s you I’m worried about.”

Peter nearly collapses right then and there from relief. God, he’s so fucking thankful he has Tony. And now… Now hopefully they can figure the shit out with him. Peter shakes off the relief and gets himself to concentrate. If he ever wants to see May again, then he needs to figure out how to survive this.

“What did FRIDAY say?” he questions instead, knowing that she’s probably already got a fix up her sleeve.

Tony winces. Carefully, he explains, “This certainly isn’t going to be easy. There are three possible points of detonation, all connected to different areas of explosives. The first is obvious—the dead man’s switch. The second is the timer. The third is a circuit that gets triggered if you cut any of the wires, which unfortunately means we can’t remove the vest, because to remove the vest, you have to cut a wire.”

Peter absorbs the information. That was a wildly different answer than what he was expecting. “Okay—okay so what do we do then? Would an EMP short-circuit everything?”

“Maybe,” Tony says. “Maybe not. It could override the circuit into its detonation sequence, and knowing Michael, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d gone that route. It’s not something I’m confident enough to try.”

“So what do we do?” Peter says again, and he hates how the hysteria is starting to take over. He can’t afford to break down, but with each word Tony says, he’s starting to get more and more worried that there isn’t any way out of this. “You used to build weapons, right? You—you of all people should know how to disarm this, right?”

Tony looks uncomfortable. There’s fear in his eyes that he’s clearly trying to hide from Peter. “I’m not sure yet. FRIDAY is running scenarios and trying to find viable options.”

Peter takes a step back, the gravity of the situation setting in. “You have no clue,” he says breathlessly. “And—and if you have no clue how to disarm this, I’m fucked.”

“No!” Tony exclaims. “No, no you are not fucked, you are going to be fine, because I’m not going to let anything happen to you. We’re going to figure this out. Alright? There’s just—take it from someone with a lot of experience, there are ways to create these things so that they physically can’t be disarmed.”

“Okay,” Peter says. He runs a trembling hand through his hair. “This seems like one of those situations.”

“Yes,” Tony agrees. “So right now, our most likely solution isn’t going to be disarming the bomb altogether. It’s going to be getting it off you. Let’s start with one thing we can fix: the deadman’s switch. Show it to me.”

Peter complies, raising his hand. He can no longer feel his fingers. He’s been holding that switch for so long, so tightly, that it’s stemmed his blood flow. His thumb and pointer finger are a ghostly white, the only color there being from his veins.

Tony gently takes hold of Peter’s hand in his own, examining it. “Okay. I can work with this,” he says after a moment. “Trade with me. I don’t want you holding onto this any longer. Your fingers are tired and you might let go without realizing it.”

Immediately, Peter shakes his head. “No, no absolutely not. I’m not—there’s no reason for you to be chained to this thing too. It’s better if I am the only one in danger.”

“Peter,” Tony says, and his tone of voice leaves no room for argument. “No matter what, I am not leaving you. We are in this together now, regardless of how this ends. Alright?”

The weight of those words strike hard, and Peter beings to feel sick. If for some reason they can’t figure this out, Tony won’t save himself. He’ll stay here with Peter the whole time. They either get through this together, or they die here together. If Peter wasn’t so in shock from this past day, he probably would have a heart attack.

“Stupid,” he mumbles instead, dejected. “You’re so stupid.”

“I know,” Tony says. “That’s why we’re here in the first place, remember? Now move your thumb over a bit.”

Seeing no choice, Peter tries. But then he realizes how much he doesn’t trust himself. “I—I can’t,” he says. “I’m not sure that I can move it so precisely. I can barely even feel it.”

“Okay,” Tony says calmly. “Then I’m going to slide my thumb under yours. Keep holding down, but not so hard that I can’t get through.”

Peter holds his breath, nodding. Tony grabs onto the switch and does what he said he was going to. Slowly and methodically, he gently begins to wiggle his thumb in between Peter’s thumb and the button. Second by second, he pushes a little more, until they’re each sharing about half of the detonator.

“I’ve got it,” Tony says. “Let go, Pete.”

Peter does. It’s hard, but he forces his fingers to unclench, completely releasing the switch. Cradling his hand, he tries to rub some feeling back into it, and after a moment, the numbness fades. In its place comes the familiar pins and needles. He bites back his discomfort and looks at Tony, despising this whole situation. Now Tony is holding the bomb, which just seems wrong.

“Michael has some tape inside. I saw it earlier,” Peter tells him. “Maybe we can tape it down.”

“Nah,” Tony says, “too risky. I have a better idea.”

With his free hand, Tony taps the nano-housing unit, and the particles take form around his arm. They manifest as a gauntlet. Lifting it to the switch, he carefully places a metal finger there. More nanobots crawl onto the mechanism, forming a very small piece of iron.

Peter gawks, seeing where this is headed. “Taping it is too risky, but this isn’t?” he says incredulously. “The heat could—”

“It won’t,” Tony says, certain. Maneuvering his finger, he gets the small piece of iron under his thumb as well, holding it there steady. With the gauntlet, he fires up the repulsor, and it spits out a very precise laser. Aiming it at the iron, Tony slowly heats the material up, all the way until it’s melting into the mechanism itself.

When he’s done, Tony removes his thumb, hissing. He’s clearly burnt himself, but the important part is that nothing else happens. The iron has been welded into the dead man’s switch, keeping the button eternally pushed down. Nothing will accidentally set it off now. It’s actually impossible.

Peter lets out a relieved breath. “Okay then.”

Tony drops the dead man’s switch, and it hangs listlessly from the vest. “Now we only have two things to worry about. How about we go inside?”

“Sure,” Peter says.

He leads Tony through the front door. Bella greets them enthusiastically, and Tony raises an eyebrow at Peter. “Why is there a dog licking my shoes?” he asks flatly.

Shrugging, Peter replies, “Maybe you smell good.”

They make it to the kitchen where Peter had previously pulled out the mirror, and he hops up on the countertop. Tony stops in front of him, looking intensely at the bomb. He scratches his head. “How long we got, FRI?”

“I’m not sure, Boss. I cannot get an accurate reading on the timer,” the AI responds from his watch.

“Okay, well how about a ballpark estimate?”

“Thirty-nine minutes,” Peter says. He dips his head in the direction of the kitchen clock, which now reads 4:21. They’re getting steadily closer to the deadline. Peter had figured he would be free by now and they’d be going after Michael together, but it makes sense why this is all so complicated. Michael ensured that he would get his full window of escape by making the bomb virtually impossible to disarm.

“Plenty of time,” Tony says, definitely trying to hide how much that information bothers him. Peter finds it a bit funny how both of them are ignoring the alternative so devoutly—that they could die—and pretending everything is fine. For Peter, this doesn’t even feel real. It hasn’t set in yet that this could be the end of him. Is that what shock is?

Turns out, thirty-nine minutes is not plenty of time. They try a lot of different things. FRIDAY continues to run scenario after scenario, attempting (and failing) to find a way to disable the bomb without detonating it. In the meantime, Peter and Tony do some crazy contortions to see if they can slide the vest off, but unfortunately, Michael did his job well. He purposefully wrapped one wire under Peter’s crotch, and two others that criss-cross his shoulders.

He tries to lift his leg through the bottom wire, but it’s connected tightly to the vest, and Tony doesn’t want him to push too hard in case something gets dislodged. Peter gives it one more shot anyway, loses his balance, and tumbles against the counter painfully. Instead of getting back up, he lays there, defeated, and looks at the clock again.

4:49.

Thirty minutes of accomplishing absolutely fuck-all.

“Pete,” Tony says, sounding desperate, and he holds out a hand. “Get back up.”

“Why?” Peter mumbles. He smacks his head against a wooden cabinet in frustration. “If there was a solution, FRIDAY would have found it by now. I can’t get out of this damn thing without accidentally ripping apart one of the wires and going boom. We’ve got ten minutes. So tell me, why should I get back up?”

Tony is no longer able to hide the panic on his face, but that’s okay. Neither is Peter.

“Pessimism looks terrible on you, kid,” Tony informs him. “I think of all situations, this is an instance you should hold onto the hope.”

“Why?” Peter asks again, serious.

“Because I’m not about to let you die!” Tony shouts. Peter looks up in surprise, a little startled at the outburst, and he’s able to see the sheer heartbreak in the man’s eyes. “I—I’m sorry,” he backtracks, his voice a broken whisper. After a moment, he falls to the floor, side-by-side with him, their shoulders barely touching. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

Something in Peter cracks. A tear falls. “We’ve both been doing that a lot recently, huh?”

Tony shakes his head. “I hated every second of it. But—Peter. I should have listened to you. I should have trusted you, I should’ve kicked him to the curb the moment he made you uncomfortable—but—but I didn’t. I didn’t, and now you’re here, and—”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter says softly. “It’s not your fault. I don’t mean to make light of the situation, but hindsight is a bitch. You couldn’t do that. It wasn’t logical and I had no proof.”

“I shouldn’t have needed proof.”

“Yes, you should’ve,” Peter counters. “You always need proof. We can’t just start playing judge and jury. Even when it’s me saying something—especially when it’s me saying something—you always have to give people a fair chance. You can’t just take my word for it.”

“This isn’t a court of law, Peter,” Tony reminds him.

“No,” Peter agrees. “But what if I am wrong one day? We could accidentally ruin someone’s life.”

It doesn’t escape Peter that he’s talking like he has some kind of future ahead of him. He doesn’t. There will be no “one day”.

Today is his last day.

“I wish we had ruined Michael’s life.”

Peter snorts. “Well, me too. I’m just—please don’t think this is your fault. Michael played us both perfectly. He knew how to dodge my senses, he knew how to create this fucking bomb, he knew how to get the both of us clawing at each other’s throats. It’s—that’s not your fault. Okay?”

Tony looks down at him. “It’s not your fault either. You did everything you could.”

“I could’ve not gotten kidnapped,” Peter points out.

“Well, I mean, that would’ve been nice,” Tony says wistfully. “I told you that you weren’t allowed to get kidnapped. Do you remember that discussion?”

“Discussion? More like intervention. You brought May, Ned, MJ, and five Avengers.”

“Same thing,” Tony says, waving a dismissive hand. “The important part is that I told you that getting kidnapped was forbidden.”

Despite the circumstances, Peter laughs. “Yes, you did.”

Silence falls over them for a few seconds, fear lingering heavy in the air. Peter shifts a bit, chancing another look at the clock.

4:55.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter says, trying to keep his words steady. “You’ve known this whole time, right? You’ve known since you first saw me that—that this thing can’t be disarmed. That there was no way out of this.”

Tony breathes out. It takes a second, but eventually, he nods. “I was hoping I was wrong.”

Peter stares straight ahead. “Is it normal to feel—this numb? I thought—I thought when I would die, I would be scared. Well—okay, I am scared. Very scared. But also—I’m not? Maybe it’s because there’s nothing I can do. It’s going to happen, and I can’t stop it.”

“No—no,” Tony says forcefully. “It’s not—we’re not—you’re not—”

“I am,” Peter says. “I’m about to die.” He closes his eyes, trying to imagine what it will feel like. Will it be painful? Will he even know when it happens?

“No,” Tony hisses. He rockets to his feet. “There has to be something goddamnit—”

“There is,” Peter says. Opening his eyes, he turns to look at Tony, who is gazing back, absolutely shattered. “You can leave me. Take Bella and leave.”

Tony blinks. Blinks again. When he speaks, there’s anger in his tone. True anger—not any of the petty shit that’s been coming out of their mouths for the past week. “Parker, I told you—”

“I know what you told me,” Peter cuts in abrasively. “And I told you that it was stupid. Mr. Stark, there is no reason for you to die here with me. You’re so important.”

“And you’re not?” Tony cracks back.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Peter tells him. “Please, Tony. Just…go. Please.”

Tony. That slipped out. He’s never used Mr. Stark’s name like that. He wishes he hadn’t, because the look Tony gives him after hearing it makes it clear that Peter has destroyed any chance he had at talking him out of this. It gets added to the long list of mistakes Peter has made over these last few days.

Tony wipes at his eyes. He’s crying now, and upon seeing that, Peter finally breaks too. Until now, he was doing okay, but—seeing Tony cry?

Yeah. It breaks him.

“I’m not leaving, kid,” he says, and with that, he wraps an arm around Peter’s shoulder, pulling him in close. “I would never leave you. And I—I would never leave you to die alone.”

Peter looks at the clock.

4:59

The worst part is, Peter doesn’t know when exactly this thing will go off. It could be at five on the dot. It could be 5:02, or 5:04, or 5:05 and a half. There’s no countdown, and that’s the most upsetting part. The waiting. So he leans in close to Tony’s chest, burying his head into the man’s shirt, as Tony grabs at Peter’s hair.

Peter thinks about all of the things he’s thankful for. He thinks about his family. He thinks about the memories he got to make, all of the food he got to eat, all of the sights he got to see, and all of the lives he got to save. Honestly? He had a pretty damn good life. He wouldn’t trade it for the world.

At some point, Peter feels a snout rest on his lap. He pets Bella on the head, and part of him wonders why she hasn’t left yet. She must know what’s happening. She must sense their fear. That same fear should send her flying out the front door, but it doesn’t. She stays close to Peter, almost like she’s comforting him, and Peter, for the first time, thinks about how unfair all of this is.

But that’s not a happy train of thought. That’s one that will bring him down a dark path. It’s not what he wants to spend his last few moments thinking about. So instead, he whispers to Tony, “I love you Mr. Stark. So much. Thanks—thanks for being a great dad.”

Tony grips his hair tighter. “I love you too, Pete.”

Those next few minutes are some of the strangest of Peter’s entire life. It feels like both a second and forever. It feels like purgatory, it feels like the in-between, it feels like the precipice between light and darkness, life and death. People always say that when you’re about to die, your life flashes before your eyes. Now, Peter realizes that this is true. Just, instead of a slideshow like he imagined, it’s four-dimensional. He remembers everything at once, from the time he was a kid, jumping into his parents’ arms, to now, sitting here in Tony’s embrace.

And then FRIDAY speaks.

“Boss… The timer has expired. The bomb’s circuit has been disarmed. It is no longer at risk of detonating.”

Peter snaps his eyes open, reeling back like he was struck. Tony does the same, and they stare at each other for a long, long time. Peter stares at his disheveled hair, stares at his tear-stained face. He stares at his still-breathing face.

“What?” Tony chokes out.

“I don’t know,” FRIDAY says. “But you are free to remove the bomb now.”

Peter doesn’t think twice about it. He grabs at the vest and rips it apart, not caring that it breaks one of the wires. Nothing happens, and like he was burned by touching it, Peter throws it across the floor, far, far away.

Tony watches on, stunned. “FRIDAY, what the fuck? Why—why are we still—?”

Peter hears the unspoken word.

Why are we still alive?

He’d like to know, too.

“My best guess?” she says. “Michael incorporated an override mechanism. It’s likely hidden by a layer of graphene, which I cannot scan past, and therefore could not detect. Boss, this bomb was never designed to go off. It was only made to look like it would.”

Peter’s brain practically short-circuits. Michael never intended to kill him, not even when he sent Peter to the tower. All of this—it was a very elaborate scheme. He wanted Peter to think that he would die. More importantly, he wanted Tony to think that Peter would die. He knew Peter would never kill Tony back at the tower, but Michael could use the fake frustration, the fake Plan B to get them both off his back for an entire hour.

No, this was Plan A from the beginning. There was no way for him to steal anything from the tower without making either Peter or Tony do it, and after they did, he couldn’t just let them go. They would’ve been on his tail in thirty seconds tracking him down. So, he ensured he had a full hour by making it seem like he’d stuck Peter with a bomb that was impossible to disarm. They couldn’t get out of it early, neither by eradicating the threat nor by setting it off accidentally.

Peter, in this moment, thinks back to what Michael said to him right before he left him in the basement. “You’ll do great things one day, you know.”

At the time, he’d assumed Michael was referring to his future because Tony would save him. But really, Michael knew there was zero chance of Peter dying, because he made sure there was zero chance of Peter dying. It’s the same reason he left Bella behind. He wasn’t so evil that he would kill his own dog. He knew he wasn’t killing his own dog.

“Holy shit,” he says, and now he’s shaking all over. 

“Holy shit,” Tony echoes.

Bella nudges at Peter’s hand, and Peter glances down at her, dumbstruck.

They’re alive. They’re all fucking alive.

Without another thought, Peter lunges into Tony’s arms again, hugging him, and sobs.

Life after Michael isn’t easy. He may not have killed them, but that brush with death was more than enough to completely ruin them both.

The upside is, they don’t have to suffer through it alone.

A lot of the time, out of nowhere, Peter’s heart rate will spike without warning, for seemingly no apparent reason. He’ll be working on homework, balancing chemical equations—something he can basically do in his sleep—only to keel over all of the sudden, crying and unable to breathe. Tony will be there, like always, to talk him through the panic attack, and then they’ll lay on the couch, grabbing onto each other for hours.

They both suffer an incredible cascade of nightmares. Eventually, Peter practically moves into the tower at May’s insistence. He’ll wake up screaming, desperate for Tony, and he won’t be able to calm down until he hears his voice. And it isn’t just him dealing with this, either. Tony is the same way. In fact, he’s worse. Ultimately, it’s easier for them to sleep next to each other until enough time has passed to dull the terror.

Sometimes, Peter will stop and wonder if he really is alive. He feels like he isn’t. He shouldn’t be. Sometimes, he wonders if he was supposed to die there with Tony. He wonders if he’s living on borrowed time, and if fate will catch up to him sooner or later. But Tony constantly reminds him that Michael was never going to kill him, and that’s almost a whole other mindfuck itself. If Michael had wanted to kill them, he would be dead.

They’re still here because of the rare empathy of an enemy.

They adopt Bella, because why not. Michael had dropped off the face of the earth, likely able to stay hidden from everybody due to the technology he stole from them, and so she no longer had anybody to take care of her. Tony was very reserved in bringing a dog to the tower, but he caved when it became clear just how much her presence helped them both. Whenever one of them would break down, she’d pad over, lick their face, and for a brief, short amount of time, everything would feel okay again.

They do change her name though. Not only did Peter and Tony want to get rid of any constant reminders of Michael, but they also wanted something that better fit her. Like Miracle. Because it’s a miracle that they’re still here, still alive.

Six months later, Michael makes his reappearance, and it becomes clear why he did what he did.

It starts with an odd news story that catches Tony’s attention. Five guys are killed in the same day, murdered in cold blood with weapons that are very clearly from Stark Industries. Well—murdered is putting it lightly. Moreso tortured and maimed. And interestingly, all of the victims have similar backgrounds. Actually, all of the victims have the same background. Each of them was tried, but not convicted of a very specific crime ten years ago.

The brutal murders of Chandra and Mia Treytor.

Michael’s wife and daughter.

It’s easy for Tony to track Michael down after that, because Michael no longer hides. It seems like he wants everybody to know that he is the one who did this.

Peter, for once, doesn’t beg to join Tony on this mission. He feels like it’s better if he leaves this all behind. He doesn’t want to see Michael again. Most of all, he doesn’t want to see Michael again and feel indebted to him. Peter isn’t indebted to him because Michael started all that shit in the first place, but in some round-about way, he can’t help but feel thankful that Michael had spared them, when he very easily could have killed them.

Apparently, Michael doesn’t put up a fight. He explains everything. Even apologizes for the grief he put Tony and Peter through. He needed Tony’s technology to find the men who killed his family, to hide, and to help him carry out the deed. It’s why he acted like he was going after Tony the whole time; nobody would’ve expected him to go after somebody else. Peter feels like there were other ways Michael could’ve achieved this goal that didn’t include bombs or kidnapping, but Michael clearly isn’t in a sound state of mind, and Peter can’t really blame him for that. If his family was murdered, he’d probably be insane too.

When Tony comes back, Peter assumes he killed Michael. But when he asks, Tony just shakes his head and says, “The police will deal with him.”

Peter is a little impressed at Tony’s show of restraint. So he questions, “Why?”

“Because we’re not judge and jury, Peter,” is the response, an echo of the same words Peter said six months ago. “And we’re certainly not executioner.”

Peter hums, comforted by that line of reasoning. After a moment, he asks, “We’re going to be okay, right?”

Tony looks at him deeply, love in his eyes. “We’re okay,” he says.

Peter doesn’t bother to correct him. They aren’t going to be okay. They are okay. They may not ever fully recover. The nightmares may never go away. But as long as they have each other?

They’re okay.