Chapter Text
The first time it happened, Peter is not sure if he has seen it right.
The skies are bright blue. The city smells like fresh sweat and melting concrete. He is visiting a part of Manhattan he hasn’t been to before. Somewhere in front of him, Mr. Stark is walking among the thousands of bodies flooding the sidewalk. It’s difficult to keep up with the man. He wears a hat to prevent people from recognizing him, but everyone wears a hat these days. Mr. Stark does wear it backwards but wearing it backwards must be the newest fashion statement because everyone is doing it.
A group of tourists stops right in front of him. They start arguing, one of them pointing angrily at a map. Peter ducks around them. He tries to locate Mr. Stark with his black hat and white T-shirt with the silliest science pun ever, one that made Peter worry at first.
‘It’s just a pun, kid,’ Mr. Stark had said after Peter nervously had read the words “lab safety rule 1: do not trip on acid” out loud. ‘If you say so,’ Peter had answered, laughing his uneasiness away.
He finally manages to catch up with Mr. Stark. For a while, it’s just them, zig zagging across the sidewalk. Sometimes they step out into the street, finally overtaking a group of very slow teenagers strolling along in the multitude of people.
It's only after Mr. Stark has taken the time to point out some interesting buildings to Peter that he cannot manage to properly pay attention to with so many people passing them by like ants, that Peter takes notice of the leather, old-school wallet that has suddenly appeared in Mr. Stark’s hands. He is browsing through its contents, and that really shouldn’t worry Peter – I mean, the man’s a billionaire – except that Peter has never seen Mr. Stark with a wallet before in his life. Mr. Stark couldn’t be bothered with one, really. He had started paying by phone before people even knew it was possible, and if that didn’t work – the place only took cash, or they were not yet up to date with the newest paying methods – he just used his name to pressure them into accepting a wireless transfer directly into their bank account. For pretty much the same reasons, he didn’t carry any sort of ID with him. ‘With this face, Peter? Everyone recognizes me anyway. I can only lose it, really.’
‘Mr. Stark?’ Peter tries asking, but Mr. Stark clearly isn’t paying attention to him. He has kind of totaled in on the wallet in his hands. He is swiftly browsing its contents with seemingly practiced precision.
‘Mr. Stark?’ Peter tries again. He cannot just not ask. There’s actual cash in the leather wallet. Peter has literally had to pay for vending machines because they would only take cash and Mr. Stark never carries any on his person. He has lent Mr. Stark – billionaire, owner of Stark Industries Tony Stark – crisp, green dollar bills on more than one occasion because the man was, for instance, effectively broke in a town with an unhealthy weariness of bank accounts.
‘Yeah?’ Mr. Stark finally answers, even if it does sound distracted. He has taken out the ID, glancing at it curiously. Peter doesn’t recognize the face on it, nor does he recognize the name of one Edmundo VanLaaren.
Before Peter can voice his curiosity, there’s a man shouting from somewhere behind them: ‘My wallet!’
Peter witnesses how Mr. Stark takes out the dollar bills and lets them disappear in the pocket of his shorts. He drops the wallet, uses his foot to give it a slight kick. The wallet skids across the sidewalk. Then, Mr. Stark acts surprised, bends down, and picks the wallet up. He holds it in the air, turns around, and shouts back: ‘Sir! Is this your wallet?’
A broad-shouldered man comes running down the sidewalk in their direction. He looks relieved when he catches sight of the wallet Mr. Stark is holding in the air. ‘Yes!’ he cries. ‘That’s it!’
Mr. Stark hands the wallet to the man. Immediately, he inspects its contents. His face falters. ‘There was money in it!’ He says, sounding angry.
‘I just picked it up,’ Mr. Stark answers easily. ‘There’s lots of thieves active in New York, sir. Someone must have found it before me and taken the money.’
Edmundo, because Peter now knows the man is called Edmundo – he looks exactly like the face on the ID, just a few years older – looks at Mr. Stark suspiciously for a moment. Mr. Stark gives him his brightest smile. He shoves his hands inside his pockets. ‘I was just trying to help.’ He starts to turn around.
Peter tries saying something, because he is pretty sure he knows exactly where the money went, but the words get stuck in his mouth. He can hardly believe what he just witnessed. No, he tells himself, looking at Mr. Stark’s back, it can’t be. This hasn’t really happened. You watch too much TV.
He waves at Edmundo and turns to follow Mr. Stark down the sidewalk, but the longer he thinks about it the less sure he becomes of himself.
Later that day, when he is on his way back home, sitting alone in a boiling subway car, he is replaying the wallet-incident in his head. He can see it clear as day. The answer to the question of what exactly went down, is undeniable.
Mr. Stark had taken the money, and he definitely hadn’t just found the wallet lying around on the sidewalk. He had put it there, then he had found it, then he had handed it back over to Edmundo, without a doubt even. He had been studying the ID just seconds before; he had known Edmundo was the rightful owner of the wallet. Mr. Stark had seen all its contents before pretending to oh so casually come across the lost wallet. Most importantly, he had gotten rid of the wallet mere seconds after Edmundo had raised the alarm.