Chapter Text
Peter carefully pushed open the window to his room and slipped inside, landing silently on the carpet.
The patrol had been uneventful, if he was being honest. Two hours of helping people cross streets, stopping a couple of muggings, and spending nearly twenty minutes helping the same grandmother find her way home after she'd somehow gotten lost three blocks from her apartment.
You know. The usual.
With a sigh, Peter peeled off his mask and tossed it onto his desk.
A shower, some homework, and maybe getting a head start on the essay due next week. He knew he still had plenty of time, but it wouldn't hurt to start early for once.
At least, that had been the plan.
The familiar sound of voices drifting down the hallway immediately derailed it.
Laughter echoed from the kitchen, followed by what sounded suspiciously like Sam Wilson arguing for his life.
"Well, that's just unfair!" Sam's voice carried through the compound. "The dude has super-serum stuff running through his veins!"
"Yeah, no," Clint replied. "That's just the facts."
Curiosity got the better of him.
Peter wandered toward the kitchen and stepped through the doorway.
"What's just the facts?"
Several heads turned.
"Hey, kid."
Tony pushed himself off the counter he'd been leaning against and crossed the room, giving Peter a quick pat on the shoulder as he passed.
Natasha offered him a small smile and wave from her seat at the island. Peter returned both automatically.
"Spider-Kid!" Clint greeted. "How was school?"
"Boring," Peter answered immediately. "What's all the fuss about?"
"They're debating who'd win in a fight," Steve explained, looking like a man who desperately wanted no part in the conversation. "Sam or Bucky."
"A debate?" Tony scoffed.
The sound came out closer to a laugh.
"It's mostly Sam trying to convince everyone he could actually take Bucky."
"And I could," Sam interrupted before Peter could respond. "Give me my wings and it's over."
Peter wisely chose not to get involved.
Instead, he followed the smell coming from the kitchen.
His eyes widened.
"No way."
Bucky glanced over his shoulder.
Peter pointed dramatically.
"You're making dino nuggets?"
"Dino nuggets and lasagna," Bucky corrected.
Peter nearly ascended on the spot.
The smell alone was enough to make his stomach growl.
"You're my favorite Avenger."
"That's what you said last week when Clint bought you churros."
"You're tied for first."
Bucky rolled his eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
Then he nudged Peter away from the stove with his elbow.
"Alright, move. You're hovering."
"I'm supervising."
"You're drooling."
Peter immediately wiped his mouth.
Bucky snorted.
"Go set the table. Dinner's almost done."
Peter was actually about to listen for once when Sam called out again.
"Spider-Man! Tell them."
Peter stopped mid-step.
"Tell them what?"
"Who'd you struggle with more at the airport? Me or Bucky?"
The room went suspiciously quiet.
Peter considered the question.
"Uh..."
Sam sat up straighter.
Bucky looked over from the stove.
Everyone else suddenly seemed very interested in Peter's answer.
"I kinda don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know?" Sam demanded.
Peter shrugged.
"I mean... Mr. Stark told me to hold back."
Silence.
Peter smiled.
"You know. Go easy on both of you."
The reaction was immediate.
"What?!"
Bucky's offended shout came from the kitchen.
Sam stared at him in disbelief.
Meanwhile, Clint doubled over laughing.
Steve covered his face.
Even Natasha looked like she was struggling not to laugh.
Peter looked incredibly pleased with himself.
"Now don't go stepping on their egos, kid," Natasha said, shaking her head.
Before Sam could further protest, FRIDAY's voice cut through the room.
"Boss, I've intercepted reports of unusual activity at a decommissioned Oscorp facility in Queens."
The room quieted almost immediately.
Tony frowned. "Talk to me."
A holographic display flickered to life above the kitchen island. A rundown building appeared, its windows boarded up and walls stained from years of neglect.
"The facility was officially shut down eight years ago," FRIDAY explained. "However, local authorities have received multiple reports over the past month regarding suspicious activity. Thermal scans indicate consistent occupancy despite the building's abandoned status."
"So criminals found a spooky old building to squat in?" Clint asked.
"That appears to be the current situation."
Sam pointed at the hologram. "See? That's exactly the kind of thing you send the kid after."
"Hey!" Peter protested.
Clint nodded. "Nothing the spider can't take care of."
"Seriously?" Peter looked around the room. "I just got back."
Bucky snorted from the stove.
"You've been back for approximately four minutes," Natasha said.
"Five, actually," Steve corrected.
Peter pointed at Steve. "Thank you. That's practically an hour in superhero time."
"It is not," Steve said.
"It is."
"It isn't."
"It totally is."
Tony pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Alright, enough."
Peter immediately perked up.
"So I can stay?"
"No."
The groan that left Peter was dramatic enough to earn several eye-rolls.
"Come on, Mr. Stark."
"Kid, it's a bunch of low-level criminals hiding in a condemned building. You'll be there ten minutes, tops."
Peter crossed his arms.
"I had plans."
"You were going to write an essay."
Peter paused.
"...How did you know that?"
"You've been complaining about it for three days."
Peter looked personally betrayed.
"You guys are the worst."
"We know," Natasha replied.
Tony pushed himself off the counter and pointed toward the hallway.
"Go suit up."
Peter let out another long suffering sigh before turning toward the elevators.
"Fine."
"Good."
"You're all gonna miss me when I'm gone."
"You'll be gone for like- twenty minutes," Clint said.
"Maybe."
"Fifteen if he stops monologuing," Sam added.
Peter shot him a glare over his shoulder.
As he reached the doorway, Tony called after him.
"Hey, kid."
Peter paused.
"Yeah?"
Tony waved a hand dismissively.
"Don't take too long. And be back before dinner."
A grin immediately appeared on Peter's face.
"Got it."
Then Sam spoke up.
"Especially if Bucky's cooking."
From somewhere behind the stove came an offended,
"I can hear you, Wilson."
"I'm complimenting you!"
Peter laughed.
"Okay, now I'm definitely coming back." Peter said as he took one last glance towards the dino nuggets he knew bucky personally cooked for him.
"Good choice," Steve said.
The kid gave them all a quick salute before jogging down the hall.
A few seconds later they heard a window slide open.
Then close.
Then open again.
"Forgot my web-shooters!" Peter shouted from somewhere upstairs.
The entire room groaned in unison.
.
.
The city blurred beneath him in streaks of yellow headlights and illuminated storefronts.
Peter launched himself from one building to the next, the familiar pull of a webline catching his weight before he released it and swung forward again. The cool evening air rushed past his face, carrying with it the distant sounds of traffic, sirens, and the occasional impatient car horn from somewhere below.
Usually, he loved this.
There was something freeing about swinging through New York at night. No crowded sidewalks. No packed hallways. No essays waiting to be written.
Just him and the city.
Tonight, though?
Tonight he was tired.
"Hey, Karen," Peter called as he shot another web toward a nearby rooftop. "What's the ETA?"
"Estimated Time of Arrival: seven minutes and forty-eight seconds."
Peter groaned.
"Seriously?"
He landed briefly on the edge of a water tower before pushing off again.
Seven minutes wasn't exactly long, but right now it felt like forever.
His shoulders ached faintly beneath the suit. Not enough to bother him, just enough to remind him that he'd spent most of the week running around New York trying to be Spider-Man, an Avenger, and a high school student all at the same time.
The whole thing was exhausting.
There had been the six-hour patrol yesterday after a robbery turned into a chase across half of Queens. Apparently, giving criminals access to alien technology had not improved their decision-making skills.
Then there was helping Mr. Stark in the lab until nearly midnight.
Which had somehow turned into helping Mr. Stark reorganize the lab.
Which had somehow turned into Mr. Stark showing him a cool new project.
Which had somehow turned into Peter getting two hours of sleep.
Again.
"Any way we can shorten that?" he asked hopefully.
A brief pause followed.
"Re-routing."
Peter swung between two office buildings.
"Estimated Time of Arrival: four minutes and twenty-nine seconds."
A grin immediately spread across his face.
"Nice."
His next swing carried him higher than the others, giving him a clear view of the city stretching endlessly toward the horizon.
Thousands of lights glittered against the darkness.
For a moment, everything felt normal.
A simple mission.
A quick sweep of an abandoned building.
Then dinner.
Dino nuggets.
Lasagna.
Maybe finishing part of his essay before bed if he was feeling particularly responsible.
Easy.
"Your destination is on your left."
Peter slowed his swing and turned his head toward the street below.
"...A gas station?"
His feet landed lightly on the edge of a nearby rooftop as he stared down at the building.
The place looked abandoned.
Several of the exterior lights were dead, leaving parts of the parking lot swallowed by darkness. Weeds had begun growing through cracks in the pavement, and the faded company logo hanging above the station was barely recognizable beneath years of grime and weather damage.
Nothing about it looked particularly threatening.
If anything, it looked depressing.
"This is the big criminal hideout?" Peter muttered.
He dropped from the rooftop and landed near the edge of the parking lot.
At first glance, the station appeared completely empty. No vehicles. No movement behind the dirty windows. No obvious signs that anyone had been there recently.
Then his attention shifted toward a small shed tucked behind the building.
It sat partially hidden from the road, looking old enough to collapse if someone leaned against it too hard.
Peter narrowed his eyes.
"Okay, that's definitely suspicious."
Making his way across the lot, he tapped the side of his mask.
"Hey, Karen? Can you scan the area? Heat signatures, movement, criminal vibes—whatever you've got."
No response came.
Peter frowned.
"Karen?"
The silence stretched on for another second before Karen finally answered.
"Multiple signal-blocking frequencies are interfering with external communications and suit support systems."
Peter stopped walking.
"What does that mean exactly?"
"It means I am unable to access satellite imaging, communicate with FRIDAY, perform environmental scans, or utilize most remote support functions."
Peter stared at the shed.
"Oh."
That wasn't good.
Actually, that was really bad.
The suit did a lot more than shoot webs and look cool. Most of the systems Mr. Stark had built into it existed for situations exactly like this. If Peter got trapped somewhere, Karen could notify the team. If enemies were nearby, she could scan for them. If something dangerous was hiding around the next corner, there was usually a decent chance the suit would catch it before he did.
Now all of that was gone.
The fact that someone had invested in technology powerful enough to completely block Stark systems immediately changed the situation.
Petty criminals didn't usually have access to equipment like that.
Neither did random gang members looking for a place to hide.
Peter found himself glancing around the empty lot again.
The mission briefing had made this sound routine. A few criminals squatting inside an abandoned facility. Quick in. Quick out.
The signal jammer suggested otherwise.
For a brief moment, Peter considered turning around.
He could head back outside, get clear of the interference, contact Mr. Stark, and ask for backup. Nobody would blame him for being cautious. In fact, that was probably the smartest thing to do.
Unfortunately, the small voice in Peter's head reminding him to be responsible had always struggled to compete with the much louder voice insisting he could handle things himself.
Besides, it wasn't as though he suddenly stopped being Spider-Man because Karen lost connection.
Before Mr. Stark.
Before the suit.
Before the Avengers.
He'd still been doing this.
"Yeah," Peter said quietly. "I've got this."
The shed door opened with a long creak.
Behind it was a staircase.
Peter blinked.
"Well that's not ominous at all."
The stairs descended far deeper than they should have.
Within moments, the worn wooden walls of the shed gave way to reinforced concrete and industrial lighting. Security cameras watched from nearly every corner, and thick electrical wiring ran along the ceiling overhead.
The deeper Peter went, the less it resembled an abandoned gas station and the more it resembled a functioning underground facility.
By the time he reached the bottom, the uneasy feeling in his stomach had grown considerably.
A long hallway stretched before him.
Heavy security doors lined both sides, each equipped with electronic keypads and biometric scanners. The floors looked freshly cleaned. The lights were fully operational. Even the ventilation system hummed quietly overhead.
Everything about the place suggested active use.
And yet there wasn't a single person in sight.
Peter moved carefully down the corridor.
His eyes swept across each room as he passed, searching for movement. Every instinct told him someone should have been here. Facilities like this required staff, security, maintenance—something.
Instead, he found empty hallways and silent rooms.
The further he walked, the more wrong the silence felt.
Then there was his spider-sense.
The warning had been present since he'd entered the facility, but now it was becoming impossible to ignore. The familiar sensation crawled across the back of his neck and settled heavily in his chest, urging him to leave before he even understood what the danger was.
Whatever had triggered it was nearby.
Peter was certain of that.
The problem was that he couldn't see it.
His muscles tensed automatically as he continued forward.
The smart decision would be to retreat.
Call the team.
Bring backup.
There was no shame in admitting something felt off.
But after everything he'd been through, Peter had developed a dangerous amount of confidence in his ability to handle situations on his own.
Karen's systems were offline.
Okay.
That wasn't ideal.
But you could take away every piece of Stark technology he owned and he'd still be Spider-Man.
He'd proven that before.
More than once.
"Are you guys planning on showing yourselves anytime soon?" Peter called into the empty corridor.
His voice echoed off the walls.
"My friend's making dino nuggets and I'd really appreciate it if we could wrap this up before—"
His spider-sense exploded.
Peter dropped instantly.
Something hissed through the air where his head had been a fraction of a second earlier.
A sharp thunk echoed behind him.
Peter twisted around.
A tranquilizer dart vibrated from the wall.
His eyes widened.
"Okay."
Another dart shot toward him.
Then another.
Then three more.
Peter launched himself sideways as the darts shattered harmlessly against the concrete floor.
Unlike bullets, they weren't trying to kill him.
Which somehow felt significantly more concerning.
Most criminals shot to eliminate a problem.
These people wanted him alive.
Peter sprinted toward the source of the attacks, ducking and weaving through the hallway as dart after dart flew past him. His spider-sense made the process almost effortless, guiding his movements before his brain had time to catch up.
Within seconds he rounded a corner and finally spotted them.
Three men.
Lab coats.
Protective goggles.
Tranquilizer rifles.
Peter landed directly in front of them.
The men visibly froze.
He looked from one to the next.
Then at the rifles.
Then back at them.
"Seriously?" he asked.
Nobody answered.
"There's three of you."
One of the men attempted to raise his weapon.
A web shot from Peter's wrist.
The rifle disappeared from his hands and slammed into the wall.
The remaining two weapons followed a second later, sticking high above their owners' heads.
"And none of you managed to hit me."
The fight ended almost embarrassingly fast.
By the time the scientists realized they should probably run, Peter had already webbed one to the ceiling, another to a wall, and the third directly to the floor.
A few final strands secured them in place.
Peter dusted off his hands and looked down at his captives.
"Alright," he said.
"Now we're getting somewhere."
Peter spent the next few minutes making sure the rest of the facility was actually empty.
After finding no additional personnel, hidden rooms, or secret armies waiting to jump out at him, he finally allowed himself to relax.
At least a little.
The knot of unease that had followed him since entering the facility hadn't completely disappeared, but it had faded enough that he could think clearly again.
Maybe the spider-sense had been reacting to the signal jammer.
Maybe it had been warning him about the tranquilizer ambush.
Maybe this whole place had simply looked more intimidating than it actually was.
Whatever the reason, the mission appeared to be over.
"Karen, can you contact local law enforcement now?"
"The signal interference has weakened significantly. Connection restored."
"Nice."
Peter pulled a small notepad from one of the nearby desks.
"Okay, let's see."
He clicked a pen.
"'Dear police, these guys were being super suspicious in a definitely-not-abandoned underground laboratory.'"
Karen remained silent.
Peter glanced upward.
"What? You don't think that's professional?"
"I do not."
"Harsh."
A grin spread across his face as he continued scribbling.
"'P.S. They also tried to shoot me with tranquilizers, which was honestly kind of rude.'"
Once finished, he placed the note directly on a nearby workstation where it would be impossible to miss.
Perfect.
The police could deal with the rest.
Peter stretched his arms above his head and let out a yawn.
Now all that was left was getting home before Bucky decided he'd taken too long and gave away his portion of the dino nuggets.
A horrifying possibility.
"Alright," he announced to nobody in particular. "Good work, Spider-Man."
One of the scientists groaned from his position against the wall.
Peter pointed at him.
"Not you."
The scientist glared.
Peter grinned beneath his mask and turned toward the exit.
What he didn't see was the scientist's expression changing.
The anger vanished.
Something colder took its place.
Slowly, carefully, the man's fingers moved toward the inside pocket of his lab coat.
The webbing around his arms prevented any major movement, but he only needed enough room to reach a single object.
A small glass vial.
His hand trembled as he pulled it free.
Inside was a dark substance.
Black.
Viscous.
Alive.
The liquid shifted against the glass without any outside influence, tendrils curling and uncurling as though searching for something.
The scientist stared at it for a moment.
Then he smiled.
"Find him," he whispered.
With a sharp movement, he smashed the vial against the floor.
The glass shattered.
The black substance immediately spread across the concrete.
For a brief moment, it remained motionless.
Then it moved.
The creature flowed forward in silence, slipping through cracks and shadows with unsettling speed. It avoided the light whenever possible, clinging to walls and ceilings as it followed the only moving target in the facility.
Peter remained completely unaware.
He was too busy trying to remember whether Bucky had mentioned garlic bread.
The symbiote reached the hallway just as Peter disappeared around the corner.
A thin tendril stretched forward.
Then another.
Drawn by something it didn't fully understand.
Strength.
Power.
Compatibility.
The distance between them vanished quickly.
Peter had nearly reached the staircase leading back to the surface when he felt something brush against the back of his boot.
He glanced down.
Nothing was there.
"Huh."
Shrugging, he continued walking.
Behind him, the black substance slid silently across the floor.
Another tendril climbed upward.
The creature found a gap between sections of fabric near the back of the suit and slipped inside.
Peter paused.
A faint chill crawled across the back of his neck.
Not enough to alarm him.
Just enough to notice.
He reached back and scratched absentmindedly at the spot.
"That's weird."
Then he continued toward the exit.
The symbiote settled.
Hidden beneath layers of fabric.
Waiting.
And somewhere deep within the facility, the scientist began to laugh.
Peter took the stairs two at a time, eager to get back above ground.
The sooner he got out of this creepy facility, the sooner he could get home. The mission had ended up being way less exciting than advertised, and honestly, he wasn't about to complain.
His thoughts were already occupied by dinner by the time he pushed open the shed door and stepped back into the cool evening air.
The moment he cleared the interference zone, Karen's voice immediately spoke up.
"Systems fully restored."
"Oh, thank God."
Peter hadn't realized how much he'd missed having access to the suit's features until they came back.
A brief pause followed.
Then Karen added,
"You currently have nine missed calls from Mr. Stark."
Peter nearly tripped over his own feet.
"What?"
"You also have three missed calls from Captain Rogers, two from Mr. Wilson, one from Agent Romanoff, and multiple messages marked urgent."
"...Oh."
Peter stared at nothing for a second.
"Uh-oh."
"Would you like me to connect Mr. Stark's call?"
"Yeah. Definitely."
The call connected almost instantly.
The holographic display barely had time to appear before Tony's voice exploded through his earpiece.
"PETER!"
Peter physically flinched.
"Hi, Mr. Stark."
"Where the hell have you been?"
The image stabilized.
Tony appeared onscreen.
He did not look happy.
Actually, scratch that.
He looked terrified.
Which was somehow worse.
Peter blinked.
"Uh..."
"You disappeared."
"What?"
"You vanished off every tracker I have."
Tony looked one step away from climbing through the screen and strangling him.
"For forty-three minutes."
Peter opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
"It was only forty-three minutes?"
The look Tony gave him could have melted steel.
"Peter."
"Right. Sorry."
Behind Tony, the common room looked significantly less relaxed than when he'd left.
Steve was standing near the elevator with his shield already strapped to his arm.
Sam had his wingsuit partially on.
Natasha was loading equipment onto the table.
Even Clint looked prepared to leave at a moment's notice.
Peter's eyes widened.
"...Were you guys actually going somewhere?"
Several people turned toward the screen.
The collective expressions suggested that nobody appreciated the question.
"Kid," Clint said, "we were about five minutes away from coming to drag you out ourselves."
"We thought something happened," Steve admitted.
Peter's confusion only grew.
"But nothing happened."
A chorus of disbelieving groans erupted from the room.
"Nothing happened?" Sam repeated.
Tony pinched the bridge of his nose.
"You vanished inside an unknown facility. We couldn't contact you. We couldn't track you. FRIDAY couldn't scan the area. Then you stopped answering your phone."
Peter immediately looked guilty.
"Okay, in my defense—"
"No."
"In my defense—"
"There is no defense."
"There is a small defense."
"There isn't."
Peter sighed.
"Fine."
The silence lasted all of three seconds.
The tension in the room visibly eased now that everyone could actually see him standing there alive and unharmed.
Steve lowered his shield.
Natasha set her gear down.
Sam began removing parts of his suit.
"Seriously, kid," Clint said. "You scared everybody."
"Sorry."
This time he genuinely meant it.
Tony's expression softened slightly.
Only slightly.
"Just get back here."
"I'm already heading back."
"Good."
The call disconnected.
Peter shot a web toward the nearest building and launched himself into the night sky.
Completely unaware that something had already come home with him.
.
.
Dinner had started out surprisingly normal.
The earlier panic seemed to have faded now that Peter was sitting safely at the table, actively demolishing a plate of food that could probably feed three normal people.
"Mr. Stark, I told you," Peter said around a mouthful of dino nuggets. "There were signal blockers in the area."
Tony looked thoroughly unimpressed.
Peter pointed his fork toward the ceiling.
"Right, FRIDAY?"
"Two signal-blocking devices were located within the facility," FRIDAY confirmed.
Peter immediately pointed at the speaker system.
"See?"
Tony sighed.
"Pete, the moment your suit lost communication with FRIDAY, you should've taken that as a sign to leave."
Peter shrugged.
"I know, but look."
He spread his arms dramatically.
"I'm fine."
The gesture nearly knocked over his glass.
Natasha caught it before it could fall.
Peter smiled sheepishly.
"Thanks."
Tony remained unconvinced.
"That's not the point."
Peter groaned.
"Can we not do this again?"
"Again?" Sam echoed. "You mean the conversation we've had like six hundred times?"
"Exactly."
Peter stuffed another nugget into his mouth.
Across the table, Clint looked between them before deciding the safest course of action was changing the subject.
"The lasagna's great, by the way."
Bucky nodded approvingly.
"Thank you."
Unfortunately, nobody took the bait.
Tony set his fork down.
"But what if next time you're not fine?"
The table grew noticeably quieter.
Peter's smile faded.
Sam let out a low whistle.
The kind people made when they could physically see a conversation heading toward disaster.
"Tony," Steve warned.
Tony ignored him.
Peter shifted in his seat.
"Then that's my fault. You don't have to—"
"I don't have to what?" Tony interrupted.
The frustration that had been building all evening finally slipped into his voice.
"You don't have to worry?"
Peter didn't answer.
Tony laughed once.
It wasn't amused.
"Kid, you disappeared."
The room fell silent.
"We couldn't track you. We couldn't contact you. Nobody knew where you were."
Tony leaned back in his chair.
"And somehow you still walked into that place alone."
Peter looked down at his plate.
"Because I could handle it."
"That's exactly the problem."
Peter's head snapped up.
"What does that mean?"
"It means you never stop to think maybe you shouldn't have to handle everything yourself."
Tony's voice remained calm.
Somehow that made it worse.
"You don't care about self-preservation."
"That's not true."
"It is."
Peter stared at him.
Tony continued.
"You throw yourself into dangerous situations without thinking twice because somewhere along the way you've convinced yourself that if someone gets hurt, it should be you."
Nobody spoke.
Not Steve.
Not Natasha.
Not even Clint.
The only sound came from the quiet hum of the compound around them.
Tony looked exhausted.
Not angry.
Exhausted.
"As far as you're concerned," he continued, "if getting hurt means somebody else walks away safe, that's a trade you'll make every single time."
Peter swallowed.
"Isn't that what being a hero is supposed to be?"
The question hung in the air.
Tony's jaw tightened.
"No."
The answer came immediately.
"No, that's what being selfish looks like."
Peter looked genuinely stunned.
The words hit harder than Tony intended.
Everyone at the table could see it.
"Tony—" Bruce started.
But Tony was already speaking.
"You don't think about what happens afterward."
The frustration was gone now.
Only fear remained.
"You don't think about the people waiting for you to come home."
Peter looked away.
"You don't think about the fact that there are people constantly trying to keep you alive."
Tony gestured vaguely toward the lab floors below them.
"People pulling all-nighters upgrading your suit."
Bruce gave a small nod.
"People researching treatments that actually work on your biology because every doctor who looks at your medical records gets a headache."
That earned the smallest huff of laughter from Bruce.
Tony didn't smile.
"You act like getting hurt only affects you."
Peter's appetite vanished instantly.
The dino nugget in his hand suddenly looked a lot less appealing.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Steve looked ready to intervene.
Natasha looked ready to kick Tony under the table.
Bruce looked like he was desperately trying to think of something helpful to say.
Peter simply stared down at his plate.
When he finally spoke, his voice was much quieter than before.
"You're right."
The table froze.
Peter pushed his chair back.
The legs scraped against the floor.
"Peter—" Bruce started.
The kid stood.
His eyes remained fixed on the table.
"Sorry for being a burden."
The words landed like a punch.
Immediately, Tony's expression changed.
"Oh, kid, that's not—"
But Peter was already walking away.
The room remained silent as he disappeared down the hallway.
A few moments later, a bedroom door clicked shut somewhere in the compound.
Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
Finally, Clint broke the silence.
"...Well."
Natasha turned toward Tony.
"You really know how to make things worse."
Tony dropped his head into his hands.
"I know."
The worst part was that he did.
Because Peter hadn't heard what Tony meant.
He'd only heard what Tony feared.
And somewhere upstairs, alone in his room, Peter was probably replaying every word of the conversation.
.
.
Natasha knocked once before entering.
Not because she needed permission.
Mostly because it felt polite.
The room was dark apart from the soft glow of city lights filtering through the window. Peter hadn't bothered turning on the lamp by his desk, leaving most of the room covered in shadows.
It didn't take long to find him.
Peter was perched on the window frame with one leg hanging outside, still wearing his suit. The mask remained on, hiding most of his face from view as he stared out at the city below.
Natasha paused in the doorway.
For a moment, she was reminded of just how young he actually was.
"Kid?"
Peter's head turned slightly.
Just enough for the white lenses of his mask to focus on her.
"Nat."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
Natasha walked further into the room and leaned against the wall beside the window.
The city stretched endlessly behind Peter, painting the edges of his suit in shades of orange and gold.
"You okay?"
Peter let out a breath.
"Great."
The dryness in his voice earned the smallest smile from Natasha.
"Right."
The room fell quiet again.
Natasha had never been particularly good at this part.
Interrogations?
Easy.
Undercover missions?
No problem.
Emotional conversations with upset teenagers?
Significantly harder.
Still, she tried.
"You know he didn't mean it like that."
Peter didn't answer immediately.
His gaze drifted back toward the skyline.
Eventually, he nodded.
"Yeah."
A pause.
"I know."
The fact that he knew somehow made it worse.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
The silence wasn't uncomfortable exactly.
Just heavy.
Natasha watched the city traffic below while Peter continued staring into the distance.
Finally, she sighed.
"Kid, I'm already terrible at comforting people."
One of Peter's lenses shifted toward her.
"You don't have to make it harder."
A sound escaped him.
Not quite a laugh.
But close enough.
Natasha considered that progress.
Peter rested his elbows on his knees.
"It's just..."
He hesitated.
The confidence he carried as Spider-Man rarely survived conversations like this.
"Man, I don't know."
His shoulders rose and fell.
"I just feel like I'm always doing something wrong."
For the first time since she'd entered, Peter actually looked at her.
Even through the mask, Natasha could tell he meant it.
Not just tonight.
Not just because of the argument.
This was something he'd been carrying around for a while.
Natasha understood that feeling better than most.
"That's fine."
Peter blinked.
"No, Nat. It's not."
The response came immediately.
"Mr. Stark trusted me with this mission and I still managed to mess up."
"You didn't—"
"I did."
Peter pulled at one of the loose threads hanging from his glove.
"I lost communication."
"You couldn't control that."
"I still should've left."
The frustration in his voice wasn't directed at Tony anymore.
It was directed at himself.
"I keep making mistakes."
Natasha pushed off the wall.
"Kid."
Peter looked up.
"I said it's fine."
Something in her tone made him stop arguing.
Natasha folded her arms.
"It'd be a lot more concerning if you were doing everything right."
Peter frowned.
"What?"
"Mistakes mean you're learning."
She shrugged.
"If you're always right, it usually means you've stopped growing."
Peter considered that.
Natasha continued before he could overthink it.
"Besides, ego's an enemy too."
A small smile appeared on her face.
"I mean, look at Sam and Bucky."
Peter's head tilted.
"They're not exactly great examples."
"Exactly."
That finally got an actual laugh out of him.
Small.
Quiet.
But real.
"Okay," Peter admitted. "That's fair."
"They're going to be insufferable when I tell them I used them as a life lesson."
Peter leaned back against the window frame.
"Yeah."
For the first time since dinner, some of the tension seemed to leave his shoulders.
The conversation drifted away after that.
Neither of them felt any need to fill the silence.
The city lights blinked in the distance.
Traffic moved below.
Somewhere far off, a siren echoed through the streets before fading away.
It was peaceful.
Comfortable.
The kind of silence that only existed between people who didn't need to constantly talk to understand each other.
Several minutes passed before Peter finally spoke again.
"Hey, Nat?"
"Hm?"
Peter tilted his head slightly.
"Can you tell Clint and Bucky I know they're in the vents?"
The silence shattered instantly.
A loud thud echoed somewhere above them.
Followed by a muffled curse.
Then another crash.
Natasha closed her eyes.
"Unbelievable."
A vent cover near the opposite wall rattled violently.
"How'd you know?" Clint's voice demanded from somewhere inside the ventilation system.
Peter finally smiled.
A genuine one.
"Enhanced hearing."
Another pause.
"Oh."
"Also," Peter added, "you guys have been arguing about whose turn it was to come talk to me for like ten minutes."
The vent went silent.
Then Bucky's voice appeared.
"We thought we were being subtle."
Natasha laughed.
Actually laughed.
A rare enough occurrence that all three men immediately stopped talking.
Peter looked far too pleased with himself.
The moment lasted only a few seconds before Clint cleared his throat.
"So..."
The vent cover shifted.
"Anybone in the mood for a round of uno?"
Peter groaned.
Natasha rolled her eyes.
And for the first time all night, the room felt normal again.