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Peter ran into the kitchen cackling, holding a bokken he stole from the Avengers training room, Tony trailing behind him with a wild grin and matching weapon.
He leapt onto the counter, standing on the marble with his chest puffed out, looking down his sword at the man. “It's over, Anakin. I have the high ground!” He bellowed in a forced deep voice, grinning through his attempt at a serious face.
Tony paused for a second, eyes flicking around as he tried to remember the words, before he lifted his sword to meet Peter’s with a grin. “You underestimate my power!" he boomed back, trying to look intimidating through his obvious glee.
“Don’t try it,” Peter yelled back.
Tony lunged at him, and the boy met him, stabbing his bokken against the glowing blue of the arc reactor. Tony fell to the floor, groaning in mock pain while Peter raised his sword in triumph, giggling, before he fell dramatically to his knees on the marble. He clutched the edge of the countertop, staring at Tony over it.
“You were the chosen one! It was said that you would destroy the sith, not join them! You were to bring balance to the force, not leave it in darkness!” he shouted, voice straining with the despair he pushed into it, his love for his childhood theater camps becoming very obvious.
Tony bursts into a fit of laughter, rolling on the floor, and Peter follows quickly, sliding off the kitchen island as he gasps for breaths between laughs.
“Wow, you are such a nerd,” Sam says, voice and expression incredibly flat from the couch where he watched the entire exchange.
“Yup,” Bucky agrees, not bothering to look up from his book.
“You know,” Steve chimes in with a fond smile, watching the two of them curl up, giggles still wracking their bodies. “I think you would like one of the vigilantes we work with. Spider-Man.”
Peter immediately stops laughing, head whipping up to stare at the man as his face pales. Does he know?
“What?” he squeaks.
“Oh, yeah!” Tony says, sitting up and wiping his eyes, a smile still clinging to his face. “The guy is a huge nerd, like you,” he says, ruffling Peter’s hair. “I think he also likes Star Wars.”
“Yup. Guy’s almost as bad as the kid.” Sam calls over his shoulder, gaze now returned to the TV.
“We should bring him around to meet you some time, you would get along well,” Steve suggests with a warm smile.
Well, shit.
They didn’t know, but they certainly would if they tried to get Peter to meet himself.
“No!” Peter blurts out, standing abruptly.
Tony gives him an odd look, tilting his head. “No? But I thought you loved meeting superheroes. You practically begged me to meet the team. Spider-Man is part of the team sometimes and he’s probably the one you’d get along with best. Why don’t you want to meet him?”
Peter racked his brain for an answer. There had to be some excuse he could use as to why he could not under any circumstances meet Spider-Man. He couldn’t exactly just reveal that he’d been working with them for months under the mask and lying about his name, job, age… yeah, no. Not happening.
Maybe he should’ve let it happen, because the next thing out of his mouth makes his eyes go wide and he wishes he could fall into a hole to never be seen again.
“I’m scared of him!”
Silence falls over the room as all of the Avengers, even the ones who hadn’t been involved in the conversation, turn to stare at him, confusion and concern mingling over their expressions.
“Sorry, you’re… afraid of him?” Natasha finally breaks the silence.
“The ‘friendly neighborhood’ guy?” Rhodey adds in for confirmation.
Well, Peter dug his own grave. Guess it’s time to lie in it.
He nods, swallowing thickly. “Don’t like him,” he forces out, praying that his nerves over the whole situation come across more convincingly as nerves towards, well, himself.
“Why not?” Tony asks, pulling his attention to the man now standing beside him, curiosity evident in his twitching hands and scrunched brow.
Peter bites his lip, deciding to be as vague as possible. “Just don’t. Bad experience,” he shrugs.
Then, before they can question him too much, he turns on his heel and briskly exits the room, not stopping until he is in his bedroom with the door closed behind him, slumping against the wall with a groan.
He drags his hand down his face, wanting to bash his head into the wall.
“Why would I say that?” he whisper-screams to himself, clutching wildly at his hair.
This was going to be a serious problem to navigate.
*****
“Hey, Spidey! Can I talk to you?” Tony called, waving him over to the roof.
He swung over in a moment, landing lightly in front of the man with a graceful flip. Sure he was exhausted from the fight they just finished, but as they say, the show must go on. A simple alien invasion couldn’t smother his flare.
“Yeah, what’s up?”
The Iron Man helmet retracted, showing Tony’s stern gaze, though there was a hint of worry behind it.
“Do you know a boy named Peter Parker?”
Peter froze, his earlier super massive fuck up coming back to him. How he had forgotten such a — again, super massive — fuck up, he didn’t know. But the Avengers hadn’t brought it up again, since the first time they tried after the initial conversation, Peter simply left the room without a word, ensuring that they would understand he would not be entertaining any further conversation on such a topic.
So, with the hectic business of school and patrol and, again, an alien invasion, he had kind of… forgotten?
But apparently Tony didn’t, because he was staring at him expectantly, brow dipping deeper with each passing beat of silence.
Peter looked away, rubbing at the back of his neck nervously.
“What? Nope. Never heard of him, who’s that?” he chuckled nervously, voice going high pitched against his control. Wow he was a really bad liar.
“You sure?” he prodded, taking a step closer.
Now, Peter normally wouldn’t be nervous around Iron Man. He was his teammate and a superhero. Plus, Peter had tested it before and had confirmed that his strength was easily enough to tear apart the type of metal Tony’s suit was made from (okay, maybe his experience being targeted by a murderous robot at the Stark Expo when he was 9 made him a little paranoid about Tony’s suits benign hacked, but whatever! Preparedness and all that other boy scout — Peter had never been a boy scout, but that doesn’t matter — shit) and he wasn’t terribly concerned about his ability to stand up to the hero in a fight, should he need to. He was confident in his abilities.
However, that was when he was at 100%, not when he was exhausted, beaten, bloody, and sore from an alien invasion in which he had taken a few too many energy blasts and alien spear slashes for his vision to be completely clear of dancing spots.
It was also when Tony wasn’t looking ready to throttle him for information about his intern/practically adopted kid, who also happened to be the man he wanted to throttle, unbeknownst to him.
So, Peter panicked a little.
“Yup, totally sure!” he squeaked, shooting a web out. “See ya later, tin man!”
And with that, he swung away, trying to keep his breathing steady even as he felt the blood trickling from his wounds tear into a steady river as the speed and strength of his swings tore the wounds open. Luckily for him, the red of the suit was the perfect shade to mask the blood drenching it.
He swung low into the alley he had webbed his backpack up, quickly peeling the suit off and clambering into his clothes. He sewed up his wounds with sloppy but effective stitches and shoved everything into his backpack, stumbling out of the alley.
He realized blood had soaked through his white shirt (what was he thinking, having that as his only option after a battle?) before he had finished patching himself up and groaned, forcing his feet to carry him in the direction of their apartment.
It was lab day, but Tony would freak out if he came in covered in blood (a bit of an overreaction if you asked Peter) so he had to get changed first.
***
Tony sat in front of his computer, Iron Man suit abandoned behind him.
“Friday, show me where Spider-Man went.”
He felt sick to his stomach, thinking of the implication of the man and Peter’s behavior. He trusted Spider-Man, he actually liked the guy, despite his odd anonymity, finding his similarities to Peter almost endearing.
But, if he had done something…
“Found the last recorded sighting of him, boss.” Friday chimed, pulling up security camera footage showing the vigilante swinging into an alley. He waited for a minute before sighing. Nothing was happening, he wasn’t leaving. He had probably swung out the other end, where there was conveniently a security camera blindspot from where some petty criminals had disabled all the security cameras in the immediate area. The Avengers kept trying to put new ones up, an inkling of worry about Peter’s neighborhood being unmonitored driving them back to the spot every few weeks, but someone kept stealing or destroying them.
He moved to close the feed when Friday interrupted him.
“Boss, I suggest you keep watching. Skipping to the relevant time stamp now.”
Tony leaned forward, brows knitting together in curiosity. What did Friday think he needed to see?
He sucked in a breath when he saw a familiar, small figure stumble out of the alleyway.
Peter was there, limping away from where Spider-Man had just been, a panicked look on his pale face, backpack flung haphazardly over his shoulder, and most concerningly, a large blood stain spreading across the torso of his white shirt.
“Peter?” he breathed, wide eyes locked on the boy as he glanced back to the alleyway, then down to his shirt, before turning and limping away, wincing with every movement.
He raced up the stairs without another word, bursting through the doors, panting as his wild gaze scanned the room, making sure all the Avengers were there.
“I think I know why Peter’s afraid of Spider-Man,” he blurted out, having Friday take control of the TV.
That made the Avengers sit up, their exhausted slumping against the cushions forgotten as they straightened to listen to Tony.
“Just watch,” he breathed, flicking his hand so Friday started the video.
They watched as the camera showed the alley — the one they knew to have no camera coverage on the other end — before Spider-Man swung in, shooting into the alley, a moment of silence as Friday sped through the video feed, before going back to normal speed just in time for Peter to limp out, pale, shaking, and covered in blood.
Everyone stared at the TV, even after Peter had left the camera view and the feed had turned off, leaving them staring open-mouthed at their reflections in the dark screen.
Finally, Steve’s broken whisper cut through the silence. “Spider-Man did that? To Peter?”
No one responded. No one knew how to respond.
Before they got a chance to try and think of something, the elevator chimed and Peter stepped out, a strained smile on his face. He was still sweaty and pale, and though he tried to hide it, they could see his limp when he walked towards them.
“Hey guys, what’s up?” he called, cheeriness forced into his voice.
“Peter,” Tony started, voice low and eyes blown wide. “What are you doing here?”
Peter tilted his head, genuine confusion flooding his expression. “Um, it’s lab day?”
Tony stood, firm hands squeezing his shoulders. “No, I mean why aren’t you at the hospital?”
All of the little remaining color he had drained from Peter’s face, breath hitching in his throat.
“What?” he breathed, huge, terrified eyes locked on Tony.
“We saw the footage, kid. We know what happened, what- what he… did. Well, not exactly what, but we know you’re hurt, kid.”
Peter blinked up at him, mind reeling as he tried to understand what Tony was talking about.
Before he could protest, Tony was pushing him back into the elevator. “We’re going to the med bay,” he demanded, voice firm but hands gentle as they guided him back.
“No. No, that-that’s really not necessary, Mr. Stark,” Peter squeaked, eyes pleading.
Tony just sighed, gaze soft and pained. “Listen, kiddo. I know it’s scary, but we can help you. It’s okay. It’ll be okay. We just need to get you some help to make sure you’re not too badly hurt right now.”
Peter quickly looked away, eyes locked on the floor as he bit his lip. He wasn’t sure what was happening but he knew it was bad.
He was suddenly thankful he hadn’t been able to afford enough extra food this week to keep up with his metabolism, slowing his healing down to not too noticeably faster than that of a regular human with how little he’d been eating. Though, that lack of food slowing his reflexes is how he got most of the injuries today, so it was still annoying.
Tony led him into the med bay room, gently pushing him into a seat. He went to find someone, leaving Peter to sit awkwardly in the sterile, too-white room, before he returned with a kind, professional looking woman.
“Hi, Peter. I’m Helen. Tony said you might be hurt?” Her voice was calm and comforting, but Peter still shrunk back a little. He didn’t really like doctors. He didn’t really trust them ever since it was a doctor to tell him that his Uncle hadn’t survived, that their attempts to save him had failed. He knew it was irrational, that it wasn’t their fault, but he never could bring himself to feel comfortable in the presence of a doctor since then.
He shook his head, glancing at Tony. Maybe if he was convincing enough, lied well enough, they wouldn’t need to check?
Tony’s chest ached at the hint of fear in Peter’s eyes, his obvious reluctance to accept help. He tried to give him an encouraging smile, a supportive hand squeezing his shoulder, but Peter never lost that cornered animal look. It broke Tony’s heart.
“Well, that’s good,” Helen said carefully, eyes searching him. “But you understand, we still need to check you over just to make sure. Is that alright?”
Peter wanted to shake his head again, deny anything they tried to do and just run out of the room without a word. But he knew that might only make things worse.
So, he stayed silent, eyes stuck on his lap, the thought of his identity being exposed stuck in his mind, sending him spiraling towards a silent panic while Helen gave Tony a concerned look. The man just shrugged helplessly.
“Is that alright, Peter?” she repeated again softly.
After a long moment of hesitation, he finally gave a reluctant nod. No matter what he did, he wasn’t getting out of this.
“Okay, good. Can you remove your shirt, Peter? Tony mentioned concern about a chest wound from the security footage.
Peter’s eyes widened a fraction as he realized what Tony had seen.
He had put his stuff in the same alley as always, the alley with the blind entrance allowing him to enter and exit without worrying about being caught because he and random criminals always got rid of the cameras there the moment they were put up. But this time, he had forgotten to use the right entrance in his panic, and went in and out through the monitored opening.
He was starting to realize what Tony thought happened to him.
“Peter?” Tony’s voice brought him back to the present, where he had just been staring at a wall, lost in thought.
“Right, sorry,” he muttered, carefully pulling the shirt off. It was black, so it hid the bloodstains that still managed to get through, but nothing could hide the way he had to peel it off his red-stained skin, or his wince at each movement as he moved his arms above his head to gingerly remove the fabric.
When it was fully off, Tony was staring at his chest with wide, teary eyes.
“Peter,” he breathed, a hand coming up to cover his mouth.
When Peter looked down, he realized just how bad it looked.
He was practically skin and bones at the moment, thanks to his lack of proper nutrition, which was also contributing to the bright purple and green bruises marring his skin, the burn marks angry and bubbling, charred black in the middle, along with the deep gashes from the alien’s blades still red and puffy, leaking blood through the mangled stitches he had whipped up with shaking hands.
“Shit,” he breathed, staring at his own chest. It looked a lot worse than he had realized.
When he looked up, Helen was quickly gathering supplies, a tremor of panic in the air, while Tony was frozen to the spot, eyes welling with tears.
“Did- did he…” the man breathed, voice cracking.
“Well…” he started. Technically, this was because of Spider-Man. But he also didn’t love the idea of his alter ego being kicked off the team for what seemed to be trying to kill Peter.
So, his current options were: get kicked off the team because he’s a “child”, or get kicked off the team because he’s an attempted child murderer.
He pondered the options for a bit longer than he probably should have.
“No,” he finally sighed, looking down.
“Peter, you can tell me. I’ll believe you, I’ll help-”
Peter cut his mentor off, a twinge of guilt running through him as the man’s voice grew more desperate and panicked.
“He didn’t do it. Because…” he took a deep breath, twisting his fingers. “Well, because he is… me. I’m him.”
The room froze, Helen and Tony stuck in place as they stared at him, trying to compute what he said.
“What do you mean?” Tony demanded.
“I’m Spider-Man,” Peter breathed with a weak laugh. “I panicked when you asked me to meet… myself. So I said I was scared of him. Me. whatever. I didn’t expect it to go like this. Just… got complicated,” he sighed, finally meeting Tony’s eyes.
Tony’s expression was locked down, the kind of blank look he got when there was too much to process. “No. No, that’s not possible because Spider-Man is a man. He’s close to my age, not fifteen. I’ve heard his voice and he’s definitely taller than you.”
Peter bit his lip. “Yeah, about that… I kinda use a voice modulator and lifted boots specifically for that, to hide my identity. This kinda derailed that though, I guess.”
Tony blinked, staring at him. Peter stared back.
They kept staring until Helen cleared her throat.
“Okay, revelations aside, he really does need medical assistance, so if you could excuse us, Mr. Stark…”
Tony stepped aside so Helen could reach him, but didn’t leave, still staring at Peter, who still stared back.
Finally, Peter winced as Helen undid his messy stitches, and Tony snapped out of his stupor, immediately at Peter’s side, letting the boy lean against him slightly as he carded his fingers through his hair.
“Christ, kid. You’re somethin’ else, you know that?”
Peter let out a dry laugh, looking up at his mentor.
“Wonder where I get it from,” he replied, a teasing smile directed right at Tony.
Tony huffed, ruffling his hair. “Yeah, no idea kid.”