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Series:
Part 6 of Spidey-Man
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Published:
2025-09-24
Completed:
2025-09-27
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2/2
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the children yearn for vigilantism

Summary:

Peter knew he was smart. Smart enough to fool the government, smart enough to fool the world into believing Spider-Man was older than he actually was.

And he figured, as he heard the telltale sound of rocket boots and pounding feet against concrete, that he might be just smart enough to fool the Avengers.

~~~

When Peter became an orphan (for the second time), he knew that he couldn't go into the foster care system. Not if he wanted to keep his little spider secret a, well, secret

That's when he created his greatest invention yet...Edward Parker, his totally 100% real uncle that has somehow become the Avenger's prime suspect on Spider-Man's identity

Surely, Peter was smart enough to fool some of the world's smartest people while hiding his secret identity twice over...

Right?

Notes:

this is inspired by those fics that take tim drake faking an uncle and ramp it up 100% from canon, like i love those fics and i was like "wait omg peter is also a genius orphan"

i also just love me some good old genius peter bcuz damn it marvel let that boy be smart (this isn't the marvel universe btw it's some weird third thing that's not the comics either)

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: the avengers can't be that dumb...right?

Summary:

peter puts his hacking (and acting) skills to good use

the avengers are that "i've connected them" "you didn't connect shit" meme

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Hurry up before that Spider bitch gets here.”

 

One of the scarred men hissed, motioning the man across from him to hand over the filled crate to his companion.

 

“A little late for that,” called a disembodied voice.

 

Shit,” he growled as chaos broke out. Both sides of the drug deal dove for cover, guns out and waving as they all tried to get a glimpse of the enigmatic figure.

 

From the darkness of the warehouse’s rafters came a quiet ‘thwhip,’ soon followed by a white string shooting out to grab one of the guns.

 

“I’ll be taking that, thank you,” the voice called out as more and more white strands landed harshly on wrists and elbows and shoulders and everywhere else on the men’s bodies until they were wrapped like flies in a web.

 

Out of the shadows came two bug-like, white eyes that peered through the darkness of the warehouse, slightly narrowed behind the gun-metal grey gas mask covering the bottom of their face.

 

Those whose arms weren’t stuck raised their guns and shot at the masked figure, who deftly dodged without stopping their assault. More of that webbing shot out and encapsulated their feet to the ground as, all at once, the figure jumped down from their perch onto one of the crates.

 

“Guh!”

 

“Shit!”

 

“Fu–”

 

It didn’t take long for the masked figure to be standing in a circle of unconscious bodies covered in webs. They lifted one of their arms, the blue fluff of their jacket swaying with the movement, and faux-wiped the sweat off their forehead.

 

‘I don’t know if I count as a bitch,’ Spider-Man thought with a hum, cracking open the crates the gang members were attempting to sell and recognizing those powdery white blocks.

 

‘I feel like it’s in poor taste to call a 13-year-old a bitch.’

.

.

.

Peter Parker wouldn’t say he was a genius…

 

But he’d think it loud enough for his aunt to clip his ear about humility.

 

With an IQ of 230, eidetic memory, and open access to the internet, Peter knew from a young age that he was smart. Much more than the average 2nd grader, as he came to realize one day in class, while he was solving high school algebra, as his classmates were learning subtraction.

 

He could vividly remember his parents’ faces, despite having known them for only two years of his life. He was able to read and write before pre-school, and was generally considered “gifted,” excelling in school and higher-level work from an early age.

 

“Learning is fun,” was his excuse when one of his teachers questioned why he spent recess in the library reading anything he could get his hands on.

 

(He felt weird going to the public library anymore after he met Skip there. It was much safer just to get his books elsewhere.)

 

By the time he was twelve, he had already entered the 10th grade, having skipped most of middle school after testing out. He could have gone higher, but his uncle put his foot down.

 

That was why he was on the field trip in the first place. His chemistry class had gone to Oscorp, and despite everyone else being three or four years older than him, he was also a student of the class and was able to go.

 

That was why he wandered off; he’d always loved learning new things.

 

That was why he’d ended up almost deathly sick for the next week, with a throbbing pain originating from two small puncture holes on the back of his neck.

 

‘I don’t think anyone expects to suddenly develop superpowers at 12,’ was his first thought the morning he was finally able to get out of bed, only to accidentally crush his doorknob like butter.

 

What followed was a good few weeks of attempting to get his powers under control under his aunt and uncle’s noses. 

 

‘There’s no point in telling them,’ he justified to himself as he curled up in the corner of his ceiling, scratching at the newly formed itchy spinnerets on his wrists. ‘I don’t want to use them.’

 

Unfortunately, life never goes the way you want it to.

 

(He learned that when his parents never got off that plane; When the door closed behind his aunt and uncle with Skip’s hand on his shoulder; When he was shoved into lockers and spat on for the crime of being younger.)

 

“With great power comes great responsibility,” his uncle had said to him in his dying moments. No platitudes, no “it’ll be okay”. Just the hard acceptance that he wouldn’t take another breath.


And he used it to comfort Peter, the boy who never cried (not even during the funeral, not even during the trial) but was now left a wailing mess, his hands sticky with blood.

 

He didn’t plan on using his powers.

 

But he had them for a reason. 

 

Him, over anyone else. 

 

That had to mean something, if only in retrospect.


~~~

 

“He’s not bad,” was all Tony said after the footage compilation ended. The screen was paused on a still shot of a tall figure in a red and blue, obviously homemade suit, a blue, fluffy jacket dwarfing their torso and obscuring their attempts at cataloging a body shape. “He just looks so…unprofessional.”

 

“He’s been around for over a year,” Natasha read off the file given to her by SHIELD. “You can see a noticeable improvement in his hand-to-hand from when he first started.”

 

There were varying degrees of interest and intrigue around the table; Tony was staring contemplatively at the screen, and Steve’s brows were furrowed. Bruce looked as if he wanted to study the unknown vigilante in the lab, Sam and Clint were whispering (read: insulting) to each other, and Thor was off-world, so he didn’t count.

 

“Fury asked us to bring him in for either questioning or for recruitment.”

 

That had Steve raising his gaze from the table.

 

“Don’t we get a say in that?”

 

Natasha just leveled him with a dry look.

 

“We’re discussing it now, aren’t we?”

 

Tony snickered, then held his hands up in surrender at Steve’s dirty look.

 

“I don’t know, I say we scope him out a little first. Find out more about him.”

 

“Obviously,” Clint snorted, earning a glare from the billionaire. “The question is how we’re going to do it.”

 

“I say we try talking to him first,” Steve suggested. “Start peacefully. If that doesn’t work, then we may need to use force.”

 

“Who should talk to him, though?” Bruce’s eyebrow twitched. “I mean, I doubt he’ll be very open to talking with just any one of us.”

 

There were a few mumbled agreements, and that kick-started another discussion on who should seek out the Spider.

 

“Not it!”

 

“You can’t just call ‘not it,’ Bird Brain!”

.

.

.

Spider-Man swung through Manhattan, humming the made-up theme song some kid (they were like 3 years younger than him, chill) came up with a couple of days ago.

 

“Spider-Man, Spider-Man,” he mumbled, smiling as some tourists shouted and pointed him out as he did a few flips around Times Square. “Does whatever a spider can.”

 

‘More accurate than you’d think,’ he chuckled, then landed on the side of a building. He stood up straight, his mechanical feet planted firmly on the windowpanes as he ignored the murmurings he could hear from the office workers inside.

 

He planted his hands on his hips underneath his jacket, looking down at the streets below him. 

 

“Man,” he sighed. “I can’t believe they knocked down my crib.”

 

He’d been crashing in an abandoned apartment building at the edge of Queens near a Best Buy so that he could loot their garbage for his suit. Still, he’d overheard the voices of contractors wandering around the outside talking about starting construction in the coming days.


So it was better to get out of dodge sooner rather than later.

 

“That was my best one, too,” he continued to grumble as he made his way up to the top of the sky scraper. Hitting the solid ground of the roof, he stretched his limbs, even the fake ones.

 

‘I really need to get more parts for my legs,’ he scowled at the legs of his suit. From the outside, they appeared to be regular legs, albeit a little lanky. But beneath the fabric, making him much taller than he actually was, he stood on two stilt-like robotic legs that he built himself. No one would be able to tell that they weren’t actually his feet hitting the floor unless they got cut off (It took forever to make them as sticky as himself, but it was worth it, as evidenced by the way he stood upside down on ceilings to scare criminals.)

 

It was one of his greatest inventions, along with his voice-changing gas mask and web cartridges. 

 

Could he just use his own biological webs? Sure, but they were much more delicate and didn’t dissolve after a few hours like his engineered ones did. He reserved those for his nests that he used as beds wherever he decided to sleep for the night.

 

But truly, his crowning achievement didn’t lie with his physical inventions.

 

No, that title lay solely in the digital world. 

 

Held by the one and only Edward Timothy Parker, his paternal uncle, who took him in when his aunt May tragically passed away from cancer a scant few months ago.

 

A fake will here, a hacked government site to create a birth certificate there. Medical records, a driver’s license, a college degree (biochemical engineering, because even if Peter can’t go to college the way he planned, he still wanted a degree), a passport, and even a divorce document that resulted in Edward traveling through Europe for 10 years (the reason he couldn’t take in Peter the first time) before returning two years ago and finding out about his nephew.

 

Peter thought of everything—anything he needed to convince CPS that Edward was a real person. And the actor who played the part of a grieving uncle at May’s funeral earned himself all $300 Peter had left in his wallet from his old neighborhood repair jobs (thankfully, it wasn’t hard to hack himself a Photoshop account to create realistic family photos).

 

Peter knew he was smart. Smart enough to fool the government, smart enough to fool the world into believing Spider-Man was older than he actually was.

 

(He’d laughed hysterically at some of the fan art people had drawn, guessing what he looked like on Twitter. He’d really liked the ones that made him some hot college guy instead of the malnourished kid he actually was.)

 

And he figured, as he heard the telltale sound of rocket boots and pounding feet against concrete, that he might be just smart enough to fool the Avengers.

 

~~~

 

Tony landed on the roof behind the vigilante, raising his hands in surrender at the man’s cocked hip.

 

“Easy there, we come in peace,” Tony lifted his face plate to appear more sincere as Steve managed to join them on the roof.

 

(How? Tony didn’t want to question it, considering he just flew over the man a minute ago.)

 

“What could the Avengers want with little ole’ me?” Spider-Man tilted his head in a kind of creepy way, Tony could admit to himself.

 

“We just have a few questions,” Steve cut in with a friendly smile to cut the growing tension.

 

Spider-Man’s white lenses narrowed, his stance widening in a way Tony recognized as one ready to bolt when needed.

 

“Such as?” He grunted. His voice was deep and staticky from the mask, and Tony thought privately to himself that the double mask looked a little stupid.

 

Such as,” Tony rolled his eyes, “your identity, for one–”

 

He didn’t get to say much more as suddenly there was a large web encasing the feet of his suit to the rooftop.

 

“HEY?!” He barked, surprised. 

 

“No can do, Tin Can,” Spider-Man jumped back, feet half off the edge of the roof. “That’s a closely guarded secret.”

 

“That’s fine!” Steve tried to cut in, hands still raised but shoulders tensed. “We won’t ask again.”


You won't,” Tony grumbled quietly, but kept still. He still couldn’t believe that FRIDAY couldn’t find anything about who was under the mask. 

 

“Tony,” Steve hissed back, turning to glare at him. That was a mistake, as the second he took his eyes off Spider-Man, the vigilante was gone.

 

“Shoot,” the super soldier ran to the edge and watched as their target swung off in the direction of Queens, his home turf.

 

“Are we gonna try again, or is it time to bring in the big guns?” Clint asked rhetorically.

 

“We should give it another try,” Sam said, ever the clear-headed one. “Without bringing up his identity this time.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony sighed. “I get it.”

.

.

.

They tried again a few days later, this time with Natasha and Clint. 

 

“You don’t need to take off your mask,” Clint tried. “SHIELD just wants to ask you a few things.”

 

“Why?” Spider-Man didn’t seem hostile, more so cautious. “So they could test my powers?”

 

“Partially,” Natasha admitted. “However, it is because you’re a candidate for the Avengers Initiative.”

 

That had Spider-Man freezing, his head tilting almost 90 degrees as his large white lenses bored into them.

 

(“It was so fucking creepy,” Clint would say later on, not bothering to suppress his shudder.)

 

Why?

 

“Because you do good work,” Natasha had smoothly taken over the confrontation, analyzing the man in front of her.

 

‘It’s hard to get a decent read on him with that jacket on,’ she internally sighed. He was a couple of inches taller than her 5’8” self, probably standing at around 6’1”. She’d wager that he was anywhere between 23 and 35, but it was hard to tell.

 

“We’ve been watching you. You help old ladies cross the street, you rescue cats from trees and play with kids in the park, you stop robberies and rapes–”

 

They both noticed the way Spider-Man went deathly still, drawing dual raised brows.

 

“You do good work.”

 

“I see,” Spider-Man hummed, considering. “And would I need to reveal my identity?”

 

“Eventually,” was all the archer said.

 

It was quiet on the rooftop for a few moments, anticipation strung tight in the air. Before Spider-Man let out a heavy sigh, Natasha frowning in response, she could tell where this was going.

 

“Then I’m gonna have to decline.”

 

“Is your identity really that important to you?” Clint looked surprised.

 

All Spider-Man said was “yeah, it is,” before he swung off in a set direction, no doubt hearing some distant crime.

 

“That was a bust,” Tony sighed from where he was stationed at the tower. “Plan B then?”

 

“I’m afraid so,” Steve’s voice was low and full of resignation. “Aim for unconsciousness. No permanent injuries.”

 

~~~

 

“This fucking sucks,” Peter sighed as he sat on the edge of the Statue of Liberty. He liked to go up there whenever there was something on his mind. Just to think without all of the overwhelming smells and sounds of the city.

 

For the past few weeks, he’d been subjected to the Avengers’ assault. He knew that they didn’t want to actually hurt him; they wouldn’t have intentionally avoided permanent injury if they did, but they weren’t pulling their punches that much compared to it.

 

‘Should I have just agreed?’ He shook his head at the thought. ‘No, Parker. They want your identity, the one thing you can’t give them. If they knew you were 13 then it’s over.’

 

He stood up with a groan, hearing the metal legs of his prosthetics click annoyingly.

 

“I’m gonna have to fix that, aren’t I?” He groaned. He felt his spidey sense flare at the back of his neck, whipping his head around to see an explosion on the Brooklyn Bridge.

 

“Well shit.”

 

It was never that hard getting to and from the monument. He liked slingshotting himself using his webs, calculating the distance, angle, and trajectory to make it. He landed on the edge of the waterfront, enjoying the shocked and startled shouts of bystanders, before rapidly swinging toward where he could now see Iron Man and the Falcon flying above the growing fire.

 

Peter swung to take out one of the men in black who had a large rifle aimed at Captain America. He knew that the man probably would have blocked it with his shield, but he thought it looked cool.

 

“Uh, guys? Spider-Man is here,” he heard Hawkeye call out from somewhere elevated, no doubt taking shots at who Peter could now tell were Hydra agents.

 

“I’d say it’s great to see you all again, but I’d be lying,” Peter said, shooting out a web to grab onto a grenade an agent threw and pulling the string so that the small device landed back where it started.

 

‘Is it bad I kinda wanted them to stay put?’ He thought as the agents ducked for cover as the grenade went off.

 

“I thought you didn’t kill?” Captain America called out, grunting as he hit another two agents with his shield.

 

“I don’t,” was Peter’s response. He ducked and weaved out of the way of bullets, making sure there were no more bystanders in cars on the bridge and attempting to put out any fires with his webs.

 

“You have got to let me get a look at your webs, Webs,” Iron Man called out. Even though Peter didn’t make a comm like the rest of them, they all knew about his advanced hearing.

 

“No way, you’ll just patent it as, like, a hammock or something.”

 

He and the others snorted at Tony’s sputtering, but quickly grunted as a lucky bullet went through his shoulder.

 

“Shit, Spidey. Are you alright?” The Falcon called out in worry.

 

“Fine,” he grunted back, putting some webbing over the bullet hole. He could already feel his body attempting to close around the still-lodged bullet, and he just knew it’d be a bitch to get out later.

 

The battle continued until every last agent was either unconscious or dead (from their own hands). The bridge was now starkly silent as the heroes gathered together.

 

It was just Stark, Rogers, Romanov, Wilson, and Barton there with him. Banner and Thor weren’t there, but they typically weren’t unless it was an emergency.

 

“Thanks for the help, Spidey,” Stark’s faceplate lifted to reveal a smirk. “Though this seems a little more big league than just saving cats from trees.”

 

Peter couldn’t hold back his scoff.

 

“If you think that’s all I do, then you’re more stupid than you let on.”

 

Barton and Wilson giggled at each other while Stark’s eyebrow twitched in irritation.

 

“That wound looks bad,” Rogers spoke up, eying the dark patch at Peter’s shoulder. “Would you like to come back with us and get stitched up?”

 

Peter really, truly wanted to say yes. He liked them, he did.

 

But he knew he couldn’t let it happen.

 

“Thanks, Captain. But I’m gonna head out,” he pointed his thumb back before giving a mock salute. “May the next time we meet be when I’m kicking your asses.”

 

He swung off with a chuckle, enjoying their agitation at the truth of the past few weeks. They’d never been able to catch him for more than a few moments, and hopefully, they won’t any time soon.

.

.

.

“Tony, what are you doing?”

 

The group watched as Tony took off his suit to kneel next to the rubble. There was fresh blood splattered on the ground and on the surrounding chunks of concrete, of which Tony pulled out a vial (from somewhere, as no one knew why it was in the suit in the first place) and began collecting it.

 

“You see this?”

 

He held up the vial of as much blood as he could collect. Collected together, they noticed that it was much bluer than typical human blood.

 

“Gross blood?”


“Not just any gross blood. Gross spider blood.”

 

They blinked in astonishment.

 

“Tony…are you saying–”

 

“I’m going to find out who Spider-Man is. Once and for all.”

.

.

.

“This is a horrible plan.”

 

Tony tuned out Bruce’s grumbling.

 

“This is a great plan, actually, Brucie Bear. It’ll save all of us a headache in the long run.”

 

Or it’ll just make Spider-Man never want to talk to any of us ever again.”

 

“And at that point we already know his identity so there’s not much he could do,” Tony finished, smug.

It took a lot of willpower for almost everyone in the room not to strangle him.

 

“I don’t think this is right, Tony,” Steve sighed, only for FRIDAY to call out before the man could respond.

 

“Results ready, Boss.”

 

“Perfect,” Tony gave a wolfish grin. “Read them out, dear.”

 

Before anyone could stop it, the AI began reading.

 

“The DNA sample was corrupted by an unknown factor. The closest I could get to an identity was a specific family bloodline.”

 

Tony frowned, but it was better than nothing.

 

“What family, Fri?”

 

“I have sent the results to your Stark Pad, Boss. I have narrowed down the most likely candidate to be one, Edward Parker.”

 

“Pull it up on the screen, too, so everyone can see it.”

 

One of the screens on the wall flicked open to the file FRIDAY created. Despite their reservations, everyone leaned forward in interest. They were also curious as to the man behind the mask.

 

Under the name ‘Parker’, there were two individuals.

 

“That’s it?” Clint couldn’t help but ask, causing Steve to glare at him lightly.

 

There was a picture of a young boy with glasses and a slight upturn to his lips, similar to the Mona Lisa’s not-smile. The other picture was of a man remarkably identical to him, if not older. They were definitely related.

 

Clicking on the man’s picture, there was just the headshot. 

 

“Edward Parker, age 37–”

 

“Huh, older than I thought,” Tony blinked. “I thought he’d be in his late 20s.”

 

“Date of birth, April 1, 1988.”

 

The AI continued reading out the information in the file, with the words scrolling rapidly on the screen.

 

“So, this is him?” Bruce looked intrigued despite his reservations. “This is Spider-Man?”

 

“Yes,” Natasha confirmed, smirking at the profile. “Edward Parker is Spider-Man.”

 

“Perfect,” Clint clapped, “so that takes care of his identity issues. We’ll just tell him we know and–”

 

“But wait,” Steve cut in, a troubled look on his face. “Go back.”

 

The screen returned to the two pictures side by side, and at his prompting, he opened the boy’s file.

 

“Peter Parker, age 13. Under Edward’s guardianship for six months after the passing of his previous guardian May Reilly seven months ago.”

 

The room’s atmosphere dropped at the news.

 

“I’m sure the reason Spider-Man didn’t want to reveal his identity was so that his nephew wouldn’t be put in danger,” Steve’s voice was quiet and full of sadness.

 

“So then…what do you suggest? It’s not like we can just ignore this.”

 

The group sat for a while trying to come up with ideas, Peter’s young face filling the screen, before Tony lit up.

 

“I got it!”


~~~

 

Peter was swinging his legs back and forth on the ledge of the building where he was sitting. It was a typical apartment building, and he tilted his head to listen in on the soap opera playing on a TV three floors down.

 

“Listening to anything interesting, Spidey?”

 

The teen barely twitched as Romanov stood behind him; he just looked over his shoulder toward her.

 

“Lucinda is attempting to break up with Kendell because she’s in love with his brother, James, but it turns out that they weren’t actually brothers, they were secretly lovers pretending to be brothers so they could run off with Lucinda’s money.”

 

The Avenger didn’t even blink, only the upward quirk of her lip revealing her amusement.

 

“Should I be upset that you spoiled it for me?”

 

Peter just chuckled as he turned back.


“I highly doubt you care. Now, what is it?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Why are you seeking me out? Something must have happened.”

 

Sure enough, Peter then heard the sound of rockets coming closer and closer until the Iron Man suit landed on the rooftop.

 

“Spider,” Stark greeted genially.

 

“Iron,” Peter snickered.

 

“Let’s cut to the chase,” Stark rolled his eyes, lifting his faceplate to do so. “We know who you are.”

 

Peter froze, the air around him growing rigid as he slowly turned his body almost 180 degrees. 

 

“What did you say?”

 

“Oooh, that’s creepy as shit,” Stark shuddered. 

 

“You know my identity?”

 

Stark held his hands up in surrender while Romanov just raised a brow.

 

“Yeah, yeah, invasion of privacy,” the billionaire sighed. “But we know who you are now. Isn’t that right, Edward?”

 

Freeze frame.

 

Record scratch.

 

‘Wait, what?’

 

“We ran a sample of your blood through our systems and found a match for Edward Parker.” Here, Stark’s face softened somewhat. “We understand that you just want to protect your nephew, but we can’t just leave this alone.”

 

‘They…don’t know?’ Suddenly, Peter wanted to jump for joy and maybe hit Stark over the head with his degrees. ‘Holy shit…’

 

Taking his silence as a confirmation, Romanov spoke up.


“We’d like to offer you a deal.”

 

“What kind of deal?” He asked almost absent-mindedly.

 

“If you join the Avengers, then we’ll fund your nephew’s education and even offer him an internship at Stark Industries. We’ve seen his grades and how he skipped a few years, he’s a smart boy. He could benefit from an internship like that.”

 

‘Well…it would help me in the long run…even though I have no problem getting more scholarships.’

 

“Alright…but the mask stays on. It’s one thing knowing you know who I am, it’s another thing entirely for you to see me bare-faced.”

 

Romanov’s eyes narrowed, expression turning contemplative, while Stark just nodded with an air of acceptance.

 

“Alright, then it’s a deal.”

 

“Oh!” Peter suddenly perked up as the two turned to leave. “By the way, don’t tell my nephew about this. He doesn’t know what I do.”

 

The two nodded as they finally left. Romanov stepped into the shadows while Stark positioned himself to fly off before hesitating.

 

“For what it’s worth, you do a lot of good. We want you to join us for a reason.”

 

Peter just sighed and looked out across the city, already preparing to swing away as he heard a domestic dispute in an alley a few blocks away.

 

“Sure, Stark. But my priority will always be this city and the people in it.”

 

Stark nodded silently as he flew off, Peter leaping off the building toward the yelling. His thoughts were occupied by what had just happened and the knowledge he had just learned.

 

‘I can’t believe it…I really fooled the Avengers…I mean, I knew the papers looked pretty legit, but I didn’t think they’d get past the Tony Stark and the Avengers.’

 

He shook his head as he webbed the two men to opposite walls. They were still shouting, so Peter shot webs at their mouths, and the two had to calm down.

 

‘Guess it's time to test my acting abilities.’

Notes:

Join the discord!

this was supposed to be way longer but i've had this wip sitting in my docs for almost a month and i just wanted to get it out there so i'll come back and finish this i swear (i say while sweating looking at my other not finished multi chap i posted in may)

but i actually have the full outline for this fic i just need to find the time and motivation to write it

(also this was written over the span of a month so sorry if it gets worse as it goes on)

Chapter 2: okay, so they're a little dumb but at least they've got heart (and ass)

Summary:

does peter manage to keep his secret?

find out this week on: GLEE!

(i mean in this chapter)

Notes:

guys,,,this went in like an opposite direction of my og idea

this was supposed to be a crack fic! now its angst!

anyway TW in tags but also: mentions of past/implied rape and sexual assault of a minor (peter), as well as a panic attack

Chapter Text

Tony met Peter Parker a few days after figuring out his uncle’s secret. The team unanimously voted for Tony to approach the kid, as it was his company that they intended for Peter to intern at.

 

“Why can’t we just send Happy?” Tony had argued back when he heard their reasoning. “He’s much more child-friendly!”

 

Which was why he was now grumbling to himself, leaning against the side of his car outside of Peter’s school, Steve’s lecture still ringing in his ears.

 

“I don’t even like children,” he muttered while kicking the ground childishly. His eyes twitched from behind his sunglasses when the bell rang, and a few minutes later, the front doors burst open with a horde of students.

 

The longer Tony stood there, unmoved, the more a crowd formed around him. Students whispered to each other, their eyes either wide open or narrowed to slits as they watched him, much like a zoo exhibit.

 

Just as the man was about to cut his losses and risk Natasha’s ire, he finally spied his target trailing unnoticed behind groups of friends.

 

“Peter Parker,” he called out, and the grounds went eerily silent. The boy slowly looked up, his face a mixture of surprise and (weirdly enough,) exasperation, before it smoothed out into one full of nerves.

 

Tony tried his best to give him an amicable grin, but he figured it failed as the kid was still hesitant to approach, the crowd of students parting like the Red Sea. When the kid finally stood before him, Tony couldn’t help but notice how short and skinny he was. Most of his figure was dwarfed by his oversized NASA hoodie, but his face was much too gaunt for a typical 13-year-old.

 

‘Does his uncle not feed him?’ Tony almost frowned before remembering himself.

 

“Dr. Stark…” The billionaire blinked in surprise, as most people forgot about his doctorates. “What…can I do for you?”

 

His voice was quiet, but there was a steel edge in his eyes that Tony couldn’t help but think reminded him of Steve.

 

“It’s nothing bad, I promise,” he chuckled, sticking his hands in his pockets. “There’s just something I would like to talk to you about…and your principal, of course.”

 

As if by magical summons, Tony watched as the school’s middle-aged principal rushed through the front doors and hurried toward their little scene.

 

“M-Mr. Stark, sir!” The man huffed, sweat building on his forehead as he smiled nervously at the billionaire. His large form stepped in front of Peter, almost blocking him by sight.

 

‘Hm…’ Tony noted that in his mind before focusing on the principal’s words.

 

“What could I do for you, sir?”

 

Tony sent him a devilish grin, one that used to make journalists shudder in preparation for his next scandal.


“Let’s take this inside, huh?”

 

The principal just nodded dumbly and led the way. Peter seemed to be almost trying to squeeze himself out, but one glance from Tony had the boy letting out a slight sigh and following dutifully.

 

Once they were all seated in the main office, the principal appeared to have recovered enough to smile more genuinely at Tony, though still notably avoiding Peter, who sat next to him.

 

“May I ask what brings you to our fine school today, Mr. Stark?”

 

Tony finally took off his glasses to give the principal a smirk.

 

“I’m here to offer Mr. Parker here,” he clapped his hand on the boy’s shoulder, noting the slight flinch just before his hand made contact. “An internship with me. At Stark Industries.”

 

Silence rang out as the principal looked dumbfounded.

 

“I’m…sorry?”

 

The billionaire just glared, not wanting to repeat himself.

 

“You heard me,” he rebuked. “Mr. Parker here has more than the needed credentials for a personal internship under me.”

 

He set his jaw as if asking the man across from him to tell him he was wrong. A look that no one, except those he called close friends and family, ever fought against.

 

The principal rushed to nod, finally casting a glance at the quiet boy in the room.

 

“What do you say, Mr. Parker?” His tone was much less kind, more authoritative. “This is a great opportunity for you.”

 

Peter just looked up, a defiant glint in his eyes despite his near-silent voice.

 

“It’s not as if I could say no, could I?”

 

The principal looked as if he were about to start yelling when Tony let out a loud laugh, much more genuine than he was expecting.

 

“Of course you can,” he smiled at the kid, who was growing on him more by the second. “But do you want to?”

 

That finally had the kid’s lip twitch upward, his gaze now set firmly on the billionaire.

 

“Of course not,” he had that Mona Lisa-like smile again, the one from his picture. “I’m sure there’s a lot I could learn.”

 

Tony didn’t know why he felt like the kid was being sarcastic, but he didn’t look too deeply into it as he pulled out the necessary paperwork he had brought with him.

 

He knew the outcome of this meeting before ever setting foot on the campus.


~~~

 

Peter had just sent a message to the nearest police station about the mugger he had just webbed to an alley wall when he felt his spidey sense alert him to eyes on his back.

 

Looking around, he noticed the blond man staring at him from the rooftop across the street, as well as the eye-catching metal shield held in his grasp.

 

‘I’m surprised they sent the boy scout,’ Peter thought with a shrug, slinking up the wall of the alley, waiting until he heard police sirens down the street before swinging to the building he saw Rogers standing on.

 

The Captain was all dressed up in uniform, causing Peter to scoff inwardly. 

 

‘It can’t be that serious,’ he shook his head as he landed on the balls of his feet.

 

“Captain,” he greeted with a salute, head tilted as he saw Rogers chuckle.

 

“Spidey,” he smiled back. His body was loose, his shield held limp by his side as he took in Spider-Man’s appearance. He watched as Peter adjusted his gas mask, it having become skewed when the mugger punched him in the face. “Are you alright?”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter waved him off. With his silts, Peter was eye to eye with the man. If he were his civilian self, he’d barely reach the man’s shoulders. “So, what do you need with me that they sent you, Mr. Good and Righteous?"

 

Rogers just chuckled again, more bashful this time.

 

“It’s not so much that we need something from you. We more or less just wanted to make sure that you knew about Peter’s–”

 

“No names in mask,” Peter insisted. It’d also help keep the boy’s image outside of the heroes’ heads while talking about him.

 

“Right, sorry. We just wanted to make sure that your nephew let you know about–”

 

“Stark’s surprise school surprise.”

 

Tilting his head, Peter heard rambunctious laughter come from Roger’s mask, the coms exploding with amusement.

 

“Yeah,” Captain said, just as amused. “That.”

 

“Well, he did,” Peter shrugged. “And he didn’t seem to know the truth, so…”

 

“So.”

 

“Guess our deal is on. Does this mean I have to go to meetings now?”

 

Rogers just smiled.

 

“The tower, Thursday at four,” was all the man said before turning away.

 

Peter huffed silently. He’d have to rush right from school, but it’s not like he had anyone waiting for him at home, did he?

 

He didn’t even have a home to return to.

.

.

.

Peter arrived at the tower at precisely 4:01 pm, knocking on the glass pane that revealed the Avengers gathered at a round table.

 

He snorted when he saw their startled faces, Barton almost falling from his chair as Romanov swiftly opened the window.

 

“We’re on the 60th floor,” was her immediate response to his entrance.

 

“Yeah, and?” He spoke casually as he took a seat, his arms behind his head. “I’m sticky.”

 

“You’re…sticky,” Dr. Banner looked interested, and he was the only one in the room that Peter actually gave two shits about. The man’s work was so impressive to Peter that he couldn’t help but straighten as the man talked. “Interesting. Does this have to do with the corruption in your DNA?”

 

Peter smiled behind his mask and leaned forward.

 

“Yes. I’m unsure how similar it is to your DNA, Dr. Banner, but my DNA was irrevocably altered through a radioactive…let’s call it specimen. From then on, I’ve become much more animalistic in nature. Specifically…”

 

“Spiders,” the doctor breathed, eyes shining with interest. “Utterly fascinating.”

 

“Alright, nerds,” Wilson rolled his eyes. “You can talk about biology later.”

 

“Sam’s right,” Rogers cut in, his tone less bitchy than the Falcon’s. “We have important things to discuss.”

 

The meeting was as dull as Peter expected. Rogers put different cases on the screen from SHIELD that may eventually become missions, but through scanning them, Peter kept having to catch himself from releasing all of the scoffs that wanted to leave his lips.

 

‘These are all low-level threats. Nothing Avengers level worthy,’ he almost said out loud, and from the way Stark’s shoulders were slumped, the man realized it too.

 

“That is all for today,” Rogers finally wrapped up after over an hour. “If there’s anything you’d all like to discuss, bring it up now.”

 

Barton’s hand shot up in the air, causing Romanov to roll her eyes at him.

 

“Yeah,” he turned toward Peter. “We need to get to know our newest lackey.”

 

Peter finally let out one of those well-kept scoffs.

 

“I’m no one's lackey,” he denied. “If anything, think of me as, like, a contractor.”

 

“A contractor?” Stark crossed his arms with an amused look, one brow raised.

 

Peter doubled down with a nod.

 

“I may be here, and I may help you all out, but I’m more than just an Avenger. I’m someone who helps people.”

 

That had everyone staring at him with varying expressions.

 

But he didn’t care–not about Steve’s look of pride or Natasha’s eyes full of respect. Not Bruce’s admiration or Clint’s incredulous expression or Sam’s slight smile.

 

He just cared about the cry for help from three blocks away that had him jumping through the window.

~~~

 

In total honesty, Tony was ready to play babysitter for the kid. He wouldn’t have enjoyed it, but he had mentally prepared himself from the first time they discussed the offer to Spider-Man.

 

(Should he think of him as ‘Edward’ now? It feels as if something’s wrong whenever he thinks of that, but he can’t figure out what. He’ll just think of him as ‘Spidey’.)

 

However, that turned out to be far from the truth.

 

Tony had prepared a little test for Peter’s first day, just to test his abilities a bit. He knew the boy was smart–he wouldn’t have been able to skip three grades (he’s sure the boy could have gone more, but didn’t for some reason) without being smart–but it was different witnessing it in person.

 

“The problem is with the motor. It’s an archaic and clunky design,” the boy was methodically ripping apart the design, brows furrowed as he looked over the robot one of the college interns had built for a design contest. “Replacing it with a new electric one, as well as adding one of the new engines Stark Industries recently revealed–on a smaller scale–should improve both the acceleration as well as the–”

 

It was like watching a mini-him. Peter’s eyes were focused on the robot while his mouth moved a mile a minute. 

 

‘He’s a lot different from his uncle,’ Tony absent-mindedly thought while watching the boy, dumbfounded as Peter began to write down formula after formula on how to improve the robot Tony had brought to just ask for his thoughts. ‘Much more…mature.’

 

It was true. Despite Spidey being twice his nephew’s age, he was a lot more laid back and quippy, while Peter, at 13, seemed to act like an adult. Maybe it was Spider-Man being the ‘Friendly Neighborhood Hero,’ and Peter had to deal with a lot of trauma in his life.

 

Tony accepted that theory just as Peter turned to him with a questioning look.

 

“Dr. Stark, one of those formulas is wrong,” the boy pointed at one of the whiteboards in the back of the room. Looking behind him, Tony almost jumped in surprise.

 

“You mean this one?” He wheeled the whiteboard to the center of the room. “What’s wrong about it?”

 

Peter wandered closer and picked up a blue marker, erasing both a one and a three and replacing them with a zero and a two, respectively. 

 

‘Holy shit,’ Tony blinked, looking over the board and realizing the boy was right. ‘Is this why the simulation won’t work?’

 

“There,” Peter hummed, capping the marker. “Now it should work.”

 

“Wow,” Tony’s jaw dropped. “I knew you were smart…but I didn’t realize you were post-grad level!”

 

Peter smiled. Not his slight Mona Lisa smile, but a genuine, authentic smile that almost split his face.

 

‘He actually looks his age for once,’ Tony thought, almost fondly. The boy had an air of excitement to him, and even when his smile dropped into his typical neutral look, his eyes still had a particular shine.

 

Maybe that’s why Tony spoke before he could think.

 

“How do you feel about the Avengers?”

.

.

.

That’s how Bruce found them three internship sessions later in Tony’s personal lab, each neck-deep in their respective weapons.

 

Tony was working on his latest suit while Peter was currently fiddling with an arrow for Hawkeye.

 

“There is a tracking device in the tip of the arrowhead. When the arrow lands in someone’s skin, the upper-most part of the tip should break off to impact the device underneath the epidermis and, with enough force, underneath the dermis as well. The target won’t even know it’s there as they lead you right to their base.”

 

It was genius, and Tony wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before.

 

‘He’s much smarter than he expresses,’ Tony had realized the second day. ‘People know he’s smart, but not how smart.’

 

“Hey, Tony,” Bruce greeted with a nervous smile, his eyes flickering toward Peter, who barely glanced up from his work. “Is this a bad time?”

 

Tony looked at his watch, then at Peter, then back at Bruce.

 

“No, it’s fine,” he stretched, back aching from the hours bent over. “What’s up, Brucie Bear?”

 

The scientist cast one more side glance toward Peter, and when Tony didn’t address it, Bruce decided just to move on and ignore his presence.

 

“Steve’s calling a team meeting.”

 

Tony grimaced.

 

“Right now? For what?”

 

Another side glance toward Peter.

 

“It’s fine,” Tony finally waved toward Peter, who pushed up his goggles to watch the two with a neutral expression. “Peter won’t spill the tea, as the kids say.”

 

Bruce was confused, at least until Peter scoffed and sent Tony a light glare.

 

“First of all, I don’t know where you heard that, considering who don’t willingly spend time with kids–”

 

“You’re a kid.”

 

“I don’t count.”

 

The two adults’ brows furrowed.

 

“Second of all, you’re much too old to be speaking like that.”

 

Bruce couldn’t help his snort at Tony’s exaggerated look of offense.

 

“Excuse you!” He pointed threateningly at the boy. “I am not old! I am in my prime!”

 

Peter just rolled his eyes.

 

“For a tortoise, maybe.”

 

It was entertaining to watch them banter, especially with Tony’s dramatics and Peter’s cool neutrality. As much as Bruce could stand to engage (and he may be planning to join their lab time sometime in the future, especially after seeing Peter’s notes pulled up on nearby whiteboards and holograms), he had come for a reason.

 

“But really, Tony, Steve wants us all there.”

 

Tony hesitated, looking between Bruce and Peter, before sighing and getting up.

 

“Peter, will you be fine here by yourself for a while?”

 

The boy nodded silently, watching the two leave with an unreadable expression.

 

“Of course, Dr. Stark. It was nice to meet you, Dr. Banner.”

 

The boy sounded so serious that Bruce couldn’t help but smile.

 

“It was nice meeting you as well, Mr. Parker.”

 

Just as the two Avengers were through the door, Tony stopped and looked back.

 

“Oh, and Peter?”

 

Said boy looked back up from where he was tugging his goggles down.

 

“Order any food you want. You’re way too skinny, I could lift you with one hand.”

 

Peter glared at him petulantly before reluctantly nodding.

 

The two had made it to the elevator before Tony addressed Bruce’s smug grin.

 

“Shut up.”

 

The scientist held up his hands in surrender. 

 

“I didn’t say anything.”

 

“You didn’t have to.”

 

Bruce just stifled a laugh into his fist.

 

It was quiet before Bruce whispered.

 

“You’re such a dad. You know he has a guardian, right?”

 

Tony just flushed red.

 

(And if an hour later, Tony walked back into the lab to see Peter with a feral glint in his eyes while he frantically scrawled illegible equations onto a whiteboard, looking like a mad scientist, well…

 

FRIDAY knew not to let anyone know about his proud smile.)

 

~~~

 

Whenever Tony left Peter to himself in the lab, he took the opportunity to work on his web-shooters, his legs, his gas mask, his suit, anything he could.

 

He typically only got his materials from third sources, such as garbage bins or junkyards, though the web fluid he specifically made during his AP chemistry class. But for everything else, he’d always have to disinfect the shit out of everything ten times over before he could put it on or near his body.

 

But working in an actual lab with actual materials that wouldn’t rip at the most minor inconvenience? 

 

That’s what really made the deal worth it to him; everything else came as an added bonus to bettering himself as a protector.

 

(He couldn’t call himself a hero. He wasn’t a hero; he wasn’t even a vigilante. He was just someone with a responsibility–to himself, to his loved ones watching over him, to those that harmed him, and to the people of the city that he loves.)

 

It was when he was working on a new web cartridge, aimed more for combat ability with its added electricity feature, that his Spidey Sense buzzed right before he felt an unfamiliar hand on his neck.

 

A masculine voice calling him ‘Einstein’ cruelly. Rough hands grabbing and tugging and pulling and touching and–

 

“Woah!”

 

Peter had jumped almost a foot in the air, hands raised defensively as he scrambled away, his face pale, breathing ragged, and his back knocking into a table harshly.

 

“Wha–”

 

“Don’t touch me!”

 

The lab was quiet, only filled with Peter’s strident breathing. Tony had his hands up, his face open with concern at Peter’s uncharacteristic response. They stared at each other, Peter’s breathing slowing down until he could hide his face in his shaking palms.

 

“Are you…okay?”

 

Peter didn’t respond, only shaking his head.

 

“Is there anything I can do? O–Or–”

 

Peter finally lifted his face, and Tony sucked in a breath.

 

The boy’s eyes were a little broken.

 

“I gotta–” his voice cracked, and it would have been endearing in any other circumstance. “I gotta go.”

 

Tony didn’t get the chance to say anything as Peter rushed out of the lab, barely remembering to grab his backpack. He even left his webs on the desk, but Tony was too concerned to take notice.

 

“What the fuck,” he muttered to himself, rubbing the back of his neck as he wandered up to the Avenger’s personal floor. The elevator opened to reveal the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes sitting around, lazily watching Lilo and Stitch.

 

“Hey, Tony,” Steve greeted with a confused look, the others looking just as surprised to see him. “I thought you had lab time with Peter?”

 

They had all met Peter when Tony introduced them.

 

“Guys, this is Peter Parker, my intern.” Tony presented the boy with a flourish, while the heroes tried their best not to reveal that they already knew who the boy was due to his uncle’s night job.

 

“Peter, these are the Avengers. Say hi, buddy.”

 

The boy looked over them all with a critical eye.

 

“Hello, son,” Steve held out a hand with a large smile. “I’m Steve.”

 

Peter stared at the hand for an awkward moment, almost a beat too long, before he slowly reached out.

 

“You’re much less annoying in person compared to your PSAs.”

 

No one knew what to say for a moment, Steve just blinking dumbly, before Sam, Clint, and Tony burst into laughter. Natasha, the only one left, had just smiled into her hand.

 

“Uhm, thank you?”

 

Tony was on the ground when Clint patted Peter on the arm.

 

“I like you, kid. Now tell me about these PSAs.”

 

That night, they all sat around laughing at Steve’s embarrassment.

 

“The weirdest thing just happened,” Tony’s brows were still furrowed in concern. “I accidentally startled him and he freaked! Then he rushed out of the lab, shaking.”

 

The heroes paused the movie and frowned, sharing uneasy glances.

 

“Should we call Spider-Man to ask him? Before Peter makes it back home?”

 

They all nodded at Natasha’s suggestion, and Tony asked FRIDAY to call the comm they had given Spider-Man after their first official meeting.

 

It took a few tries, but they finally got a connection.

 

“Spidey?” Steve called out.

 

The line was quiet for a moment before they heard Spider-Man’s voice, at least the mechanized staticky version that they’re familiar with.

 

“Yeah?”

 

Natasha’s brows furrowed and mouthed toward the others, ‘does he sound off?’

 

“Is there an emergency?”

 

“No, no emergency,” Tony rushed to reassure. “It’s just that…something happened with your nephew.”

 

“What happened?”

 

He didn’t sound as concerned as they expected.

 

“There was an…incident in the lab,” Tony sounded guilty, and the others shared a look.

 

(There was a bet going on–how long will it take for him to pull out the adoption papers despite Spider-Man?)

 

“I accidentally startled him and he had a strong adverse reaction. We were just calling to ask you to check on him when he comes home and let us know how he is.”

 

They heard Spidey hum and were curious as to why that was his reaction.

 

“Do you know why he reacted like that?” Sam asked, a serious look on his face as if he were talking to some of his veterans. “That’s not a normal reaction.”

 

Spider-Man was quiet for a moment before speaking, voice thick behind his modulator.

 

“When he was a kid…there was a man–a boy, really. He was 17, and Peter was 9.”

 

They all felt a pit in their stomach as Spider-Man spoke.

 

“It lasted a few months…he doesn’t do well with people touching him, especially if he’s not prepared.”

 

Clint sucked in a harsh breath while Tony felt himself go pale dramatically, feeling faint. He’d grown close to the boy; they all had, really, but Tony the most.

 

He was like their adopted nephew with Spider-Man, their friend, so it was heartbreaking to hear the kid they’d all grown to love and care for go through something like this.

 

“A-Are you sure you should be telling us this?” Steve finally asked, voice low. “What about Peter’s privacy?”

 

“It’s public knowledge,” was all Spidey said. “Look up the case of Steven Westcott.”

 

With that, Spider-Man hung up, either due to Peter coming home or some crime happening nearby.

 

The room was stifling as Tony had FRIDAY pull up the court case.

 

Reading through, Tony felt like throwing up as the atmosphere filled with rage. Natasha jumped up, one of her knives clutched desperately, as she stomped toward the elevator to go beat up a punching bag. 

 

The others all left to stew, leaving Tony slumped on the couch, eyes unfocused.

 

~~~

 

Spider-Man was everything Peter Parker wasn’t.

 

He was strong, capable, beloved, an adult.

 

Not broken.

 

Whenever Peter felt like everything was too much, whenever he was left scrambling to find a new place to sleep for the night or felt hunger pains from only being able to eat the school lunch despite his enhanced metabolism, whenever he needed to escape from his nightmares.

 

Peter became Spider-Man.

 

Spider-Man was quippy, whereas Peter was quiet. He was snarky, whereas Peter was more of the ‘roll your eyes’ type. Spider-Man was strong, whereas Peter was a wimp who couldn’t even stand up to bullies.

 

Spider-Man was loved, whereas Peter had to pay a man just to pretend to have any family left.

 

Sometimes, Peter wished that he never had to take off the mask.

 

Because he knew that Peter was more of a mask than Spider-Man ever was.

 

~~~

 

“Aaaand three strikes!” Peter cheered as he threw the pumpkin bombs back at Green Goblin, using a web to lob it back at the masked menace (which was usually his title, but he’d lend it to Norman because he was nice like that). “You’re out!”

 

Green Goblin just cackled madly and threw more bombs around. Peter was able to make sure none of them hit the ground or any of the bystanders (who he had told to run away ages ago, but oh well) by throwing them back where they came from.

 

Just as he attached himself to the hoverboard and was trying to grapple the lunatic, he heard a beep in his ear indicating the Avengers' comm line.

 

“Hey, a little busy right now!” He called out, then grunted as Norman kicked him in the face. Thankfully, he just hit the mask, but it left it slightly skewed.

 

“Well when you’re not busy, we need you in the tower,” Steve’s voice was abnormally severe. “Don’t look at the news until you get here.”

 

“How can I possibly look at the news when I’m too busy being on it!” He snapped back. As he hung limply from the board, he maneuvered his bottom half over his head in a mock scorpion yoga pose, except his feet landed harshly in the Green Goblin’s torso to kick him off.

 

“Right,” Steve cleared his throat, then cut out.

 

Peter couldn’t help but sigh, feeling more irritated from the exchange than he had during this entire fight.

 

“Oh, and one more thing,” Steve spoke again, startling Peter as he and Norman fell off the board and fell to the ground. Shocked gasps and screams rang out until Peter shot a web at a building so he could lower them to the ground, Norman now covered in a thick layer of webbing.

 

“Tell Peter not to look at the news, either.”

 

He felt a sinking feeling grow in his stomach.

 

“What? Why?”

 

Steve didn’t respond, but it was a loud silence.

 

Peter quickly handed off the struggling Green Goblin to the cops on scene before swinging toward Avengers Tower, a knot tight in his stomach that he typically didn’t feel in the suit.

 

 He landed through the window that they now kept open just for him into their typical meeting room. It had a heavy atmosphere as everyone had drawn faces full of pity.

 

(Peter hated pity. Pity got him nothing and nowhere, so they could take their pity to someone else.)

 

“What is it?” Peter didn’t sit down, instead electing to stand with his arms crossed. He felt like the adult he was pretending to be when he stood like that, with his extended legs giving him a boost of confidence. “What’s wrong?”

 

Steve looked as if he didn’t know what to say when Tony spoke up, face dark and stormy.

 

“At 11:32 am this morning,” then, he hesitated, eyes flicking all over Peter’s defensive stance. “Steven Westcott was released from prison on parole.”

 

“Skip? What is this?”

 

“Isn’t this a cool magazine, Einstein? Come on. Here, we should copy them.”

 

“N-No I don’t want to–”

 

Rough hands grabbed him, pushing him on the bed, a sadistic glint in blue eyes as they ignored Peter’s pleas.

 

“S-Stop!”

 

“Spidey?”

 

Peter couldn’t breathe.

 

Peter couldn’t breathe.

 

“Shit! What’s happening to him?”

 

There were voices all around him, caving him in. All he could hear was the sound of belt buckles being undone, the sound of flesh meeting flesh, his own cries.

 

Peter couldn’t breathe.

 

His legs felt weak before they collapsed under him. Peter went down hard, his metal legs making a loud clang sound as he frantically ripped off his puffy jacket.

 

“He’s having a panic attack!”

 

Peter couldn’t breathe.

 

All he could feel was shame and disgust, and wanting to claw his own skin off. He scrambled away, his back hitting a wall as he curled up slightly, feeling safer the smaller he got.

 

Peter couldn’t breathe.

 

“We need to calm him down!”

 

“How?!”

 

There were too many things happening around him. Too many voices and too many items on his body preventing him from taking deep breaths. He reached up and started clawing at his gas mask.

 

“Is he?”

 

Peter couldn’t breathe.

 

“He’s trying to take his mask off!”

 

“Quick, Tony, go help him.”

 

Peter couldn’t breathe.

 

He couldn’t reach the hidden clasp of the mask, his fingers too shaky and frantic to press the two buttons. He was about to say fuck it and use his strength to rip it off (and risk ripping off his jaw with it) when he felt surprisingly gentle hands press the two buttons, slowly removing it from his face.

 

It left the bottom half of his undermask exposed, the red and blue spandex around his lips parted awkwardly.

 

Peter couldn’t breathe.

 

He didn’t hesitate to rip it off, exposing his face.

 

There were gasps before the room went silent, only Peter’s shallow, panicked breathing filling the space. No one knew what to say, especially since Peter was still in the midst of a spiral.

 

His head was too deep underwater; he didn’t even notice the tears running down his face until he flinched when he felt someone pull his hand to their chest.

 

“Hey,” a soft, gentle voice called. “Follow my breathing.”

 

He could feel the slow, deep way air filled their lungs, holding it in for a few seconds, before letting it out in a big gust. They repeated it over and over again until Peter was conscious enough to hear the slightly off-beat of their heart, the mechanical sound in their chest, and the very quiet counting underneath their breath.

 

Looking up with teary eyes, Peter saw Tony kneeling in front of him, a pained smile on his face as he had one of Peter’s hands placed on his chest.

 

“Better?” The billionaire asked, and all Peter could do was nod. He feared that if he opened his mouth, only a sob would fall out.

 

“Are you okay enough to stand?”

 

Peter took stock of himself, feeling his still weak legs, and decided that since he had already taken off his mask, there was no point in keeping the suit on. (He would realize later how skewed his judgment was, in that moment. But gave himself the benefit of the doubt of having just come out of a panic attack.)

 

There was a special way of taking off the suit (no one could undress him without his permission ever again) that had him reaching for secret zippers and pressing buttons until he was able to slip out of the suit. He was left standing in a t-shirt and leggings with straps around his waist and hips, keeping him anchored to the metal stilts that were now visible for all to see.

 

“Woah,” Clint couldn’t help but vocalize, though it went ignored.

 

Peter slowly eased out of the stilts until he was left swaying on his own two feet, a foot shorter than he had arrived.

 

“Come on, Underoos,” Tony led Peter to the door, making sure not to touch him. “Let’s get you to bed and we can talk later.”

 

Peter didn’t argue. All he wanted was to fall into bed and pretend none of this ever happened.

 

He was out before his head hit the guest room pillow.

.

.

.

The meeting room was silent, no one knowing quite what to say until Tony walked back through the door, a sad, haunted expression clouding his face.

 

They sat with their heads drawn, hands clenched on the table, before Tony spoke up.

 

“How…how did we miss this? How did I miss this?!” The more he spoke, the more worked up he became. “I had Fri run a background check!”

 

No one knew how to respond.

 

“I knew there was something off,” Natasha was twirling one of her knives with a pensive look. “But I didn’t expect this.”

 

This being the guy we thought was 37 was actually 13?” Clint sounded exasperated. “Or this being that he’s a superhero who literally almost got stabbed the other day and apparently had a building dropped on him.”

 

It was pandemonium when he casually revealed that tidbit during one of their meetings, but now, learning that he was actually 13 at the time made it all the worse.

 

“What do we do now?”

 

At Sam’s question, Steve got a determined glint in his eyes.

 

“Now, we do what we can. Tony, have FRIDAY look into everything related to both Peter and Edward.”

 

Tony didn’t even glare at him or make a sarcastic comment, revealing how truly shaken up he was from all this.

 

“Natasha, go tell Bruce about this development.”

 

She nodded and left the room to find the man, who was no doubt holed up in his lab again.

 

“Sam, ask around your therapist friends and see if anyone would be willing to talk to him.”

 

The man raised a brow.

 

“You think the kid will talk about it? I doubt he’ll want to tell us anything, let alone a stranger.”

 

Steve just shook his head.

 

“It’s just an option we’ll present to Peter. He won’t have to talk about Spider-Man, this is more for what we just witnessed.”

 

That had Sam straightening with agreement. He pulled out his phone and left to make some calls.

 

“And Clint, you have kids, right?”

 

The archer nodded.

 

“Go get things you think Peter will like.”

 

Clint looked intrigued.

 

“Like what?”

 

Steve just gave him a pointed look.

 

“Everything.”


~~~

 

Peter refused to back down as he started defiantly at the gathered heroes. His arms were crossed over his chest, head held high despite their disbelieving gazes.

 

“So let me get this straight,” Tony rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You made up a fake uncle, hacked government databases to plant evidence of said fake uncle, and hired an actor to go to your aunt’s funeral just so you didn’t have to go into foster care because you’d rather be homeless.”

 

Peter just shrugged unrepentantly.

 

“I would have to give up being Spider-Man and that’s something I can’t do.”

 

“Oh my god,” Tony muttered under his breath, now with his face in his hands.

 

“Wow,” Clint blinked while Natasha looked impressed. “Have you ever thought about becoming an agent?”

 

Tony snapped up to glare at Clint, while Peter just snorted.

 

“No way in hell.”

 

“It was worth a shot.”

 

Steve still looked a little constipated.

 

“You’re homeless, son?” He looked like a kicked puppy.

 

Peter held his gaze, refusing to budge.

 

“I would rather be homeless than useless.”

 

Tony gave him a sad look.

 

“You’re not useless.”

 

“I’d be useless if I wasn’t being Spider-Man.”

 

No one really knew what to say to that, at least until Tony did what he did best and blurted out his thoughts.

 

“Stay here.”

 

Peter blinked, surprised.

 

“What?”

 

The others looked somewhat surprised, though not at the words themselves—more so at the timing of it all.

 

“Stay here. With us. Please.”

 

The boy just stood there, shocked still.

 

“Peter…I’d really like it if you stayed here with us,” Tony stood up, about to put his hands on Peter’s shoulders, before stopping himself. But the boy just gave him a slight nod, and he followed through with his original actions.

 

Tony looked down, meeting Peter’s eyes.

 

“You’ve grown on all of us, both as Spider-Man and as Peter. I–we couldn’t live with ourselves if we knew you were living on the streets.”

 

He didn’t know what to say, so he just looked down.

 

“You can’t stop me from being Spider-Man,” was what he said at last. Tony just smiled at him indulgently. And maybe a little proudly, even if it was tinged with sadness.

 

“We’d never ask you too. We know how important it is to you.”

 

“Yeah,” Sam scoffed a bit. “Important enough to willingly live on the streets.”

 

Peter just glared at him before looking back at Tony.

 

“Okay,” he finally whispered at last.

 

“Okay.”

.

.

.

Tony stood in the doorway to his lab. Typically, he wouldn’t hesitate to wander into his lab, drop into his chair, and start blasting AC/DC while he worked on his suits.

 

But his lab didn’t typically have a maniacally cackling pre-teen standing on one of the tables and holding above his head a small object in his hands.

 

“IT WORKS!” Peter crowed loudly. “MY BABY!”

 

Debating the merits of just leaving the boy alone, it was too late as Peter had already noticed Tony by the door and rushed over. Except that he didn’t jump off the table onto the floor.

 

No.

 

No, he jumped up and landed on the ceiling. That was 12 feet high. He landed on the tip of his toes before scurrying toward Tony, who had to hold back his undignified shriek that was becoming too common in the tower.

 

But, while watching Peter jump down and ramble excitedly about his new spider-themed robot, his cheeks filled out in a way that made him actually look his age, Tony realized something.

 

He realized that every creepy, unhinged moment was worth it to see the kid–his kid smile so brightly like that.

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