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Chapter Text

Peter woke choking on a groan of pain, it rumbled deep in his chest causing his teeth to vibrate uncomfortably. It was not one of the best ways that he had found himself waking up, and it was likely one of his least favorites.

A gasp tore from his lips when he shifted his shoulders, a shot of pure pain lighting up the left side of his body from his neck to his hip. Even his toes curled in an attempt to get away from the pain that radiated throughout his body. His body raged about injuries he didn't remember receiving, nerves raw with every agonizing jolt.

Good god, what did he even do? 

The shrill ringing in his ears only intensified as he slowly dragged himself up from the springy surface he lay on, the slide of rough material across his skin causing his stomach to turn in indignant over-stimulation. Heaving a breath in, he tried to straighten his thoughts. The last thing he had been doing...what was it? At the rough bark of pain stabbing his side, he vaguely recalled a radio message sent from Tony, into the channel the Avengers used to locate Spider-Man in times of need.

Because of course, it had to do with them,

After turning eighteen, Peter was challenging to locate as he did his best to fade off the map. As a result, radio communication between himself and the other heroes of New York made up the majority of their interactions. After he graduated, days of homework and high school activities left in memories, he had kept to himself, keeping as busy as he could make himself in his small world.

May had moved out west to pursue her traveling nurse career like Peter had always encouraged her, the spring after he graduated. Without her around, Peter was stuck working the monotonous cycle of boring shifts at the local 7-Eleven to pay for the excuse he had for an apartment between his hours as Spider-Man. Gone were the days Peter had imagined for himself post-graduation, with ideas of swinging through the city and helping out his community no matter the time, fully committed to his alter ego.

The cold hard weight of adulthood had quickly leveled that hope within the first year on his own, when the power shut off for his apartment for the third time, he took on the humiliating red-collared shirt instead and hung up the mask for a few months. He told himself that it was a good change of pace, that the city was full of other heroes who could step in, and often did in the lapse of his alter ego within the city. Peter Parker had needs that had to be addressed, and Spider-Man understood, sorta. 

Peter had realized that the material needed for webs wasn't cheap, and without access to his old high school's labs and components anymore, it meant that the funding came from the old Peter Parker piggy bank. Graduating from Midtown Tech was a launching point, but unfortunately, one that left him plummeting as he figured it all out. It had been at least four months since he had the opportunity to face off any threat to Queens with the Avengers, with no lack of effort from Tony who hounded Peter down on any old radio channel that he had frequented in the past.

Ignoring the calls for aid when he could not leave the store unattended was like taking a punch to the gut, Peter's morals and self-worth diving into the dumps until he could get back out again. But no amount of petty robbery, and helping the little guy made up for ignoring the call for aid from other heroes. The heroes that only three years ago, Peter was chomping at the bit to prove himself too. After homecoming, and the fiasco with the ferry, Peter made himself small. He got through high school, kept his nose clean, kept the suit, and carefully worked to never reveal to Tony the true extent of that night.

May was all too ready to accept Peter's lessening of Spider-Man, believing his excuses that he just 'wanted to enjoy his year and a half of school without dangers and distractions'. So May handled screening Tony, and he stopped bothering Peter at home, and through the suit once Peter manipulated Karen's code in a way he was sure Stark would never figure out. Happy no longer was obligated to pick him up, or check in for Tony, so Peter's world had slowly shrunk. He had very much been alone for the last year and a half, that was until now.

Clutching his head in his hands, the awful persistent ringing in his ears was becoming staccato beats with the eerie sound of a heart monitor screaming for attention. What the fuck happened to him?  The sheets stuck to his fingers, irritation spiking in Peter's chest. Violently grabbing a fistful he tugged it away from his exposed fingers. The suit! Desperately grabbing at his forearms, relief flooded him as he realized that only his hands were uncovered, assumingly for the god-forsaken pulse monitor that just needed to shut the absolute fuck up. Ripping it off his pointer finger, Peter felt it crunch beneath his hand, shards of plastic falling lazily to the bedspread beneath him as he tossed his legs over the side of wherever the heck he was. 

Prying his eyes open, he couldn't help them slamming back shut as a splitting headache pounded behind his eyes. Lights flashed in the dark behind his eyelids, as he moaned in pain and shoved a hand over his masked face.

Staggering off the bed, his feet landed on the cold concrete floor, carrying him a few steps away as his balance swayed wildly. The monitor had stopped screaming at him, but a cascade of voices came from everywhere around him. His senses desperately tried to right themselves, walking the line of hypersensitivity. Losing his balance, he wobbled, feet stumbling over themselves till he caught himself against the wall. He allowed his bare hand to stick, taking some of the weight off of his aching legs and instead straining his already screaming shoulder.

Tony said that they needed me, some sort of alligator thing, with fog...lots of fog that stung Peter's eyes as he swung through it.

He recalled worrying that it was going to stick to his suit, the smell similar to sulfur and rotting food. He knew that reptiles were not the best smelling thing, but the alligators he had seen were on field trips, admittedly at a distance and they also did not resemble a hybrid of alligator and dog, with chunks of injured flesh oozing fog.

Was that even right? Peter's eyes slowly opened, daring to create little slits of vision that revealed a dark grey floor, and lighter grey walls. His hand was mottled with bruising and stuck to the wall in front of his face. When did he turn to face the wall? The familiar feeling of overwhelmed panic was starting to climb into his chest, his lungs squeezing both in pain and in the difficulty of hyperventilation. So when a hand suddenly grabbed onto his sore shoulder, Peter swung. His forearm connected solidly with whoever had attacked him, a satisfying woosh of pained air and staggering feet signaled that Peter had definitely sent them back several feet.

"That was so unnecessary," a wheezing voice argued. The man while unfamiliar, somehow Peter felt he had heard him before. Vision entirely blurry, he pushed from the wall and sent himself spinning back to face his attacker. The wall now supporting his back, he raised his hands into a protective position, stomach clenching in fear as he realized that his web shooters were gone. Whoever had taken him knew to disarm him, even with the disorientation from the drugs that they had given him.

"And who the hell told you that you could grab me, ass-wipe?" Peter spat out, squinting behind his mask at the other male. He was short, built wide in the shoulders, probably a good fighter if Peter could take anything from observing how the other man carried himself. Dark brown hair sat in a short crew cut, his pale face a mixture of features that Peter could not get his vision to focus on. 

Rubbing his eyes violently, he felt his body sway to the side,

"Woah! You need to get your ass back in the bed, now." The man barked, taking a step towards the teen. He lurched backward, knocking against the wall, the back of his head making solid contact with the drywall as Peter flung his arm out threateningly, making it clear that he would throw the first punch.

"I don't remember you being this feisty," The man added, seeming amused with his jumpiness. A throaty chuckle rang in the room from the far corner at the comment. Peter darted a glance at the newcomer, a darker man stood in what appeared to be the doorway that Peter had not noticed yet. They appeared to be holding him in some sort of medical ward.

"What the fuck did you guys do to me?" he snapped, clenching his hands into fists before him.

"Do?"

"Yes, do. Or are you just the meatheads holding me in the room."

"Listen here, you little shit," growled the man still standing in front of Peter. His senses suddenly screamed, and he twisted to the side as a muscled arm barely missed snatching him by the injured shoulder again. Dickweed, no one likes a dirty fighter. Feeling passive-aggressive now, he grabbed the man who had dove towards him, and using the momentum launched him into the wall across the room, beside the doorway by two fistfuls of his shirt. There was a tinkling of shattered glass and the deep crunch of drywall that caused Peter to preen at his ability to defend himself when so out of sorts.

The momentary shock fading, he bit back a groan as his headache intensified, his already blurry vision growing darker, as spots began to swim in front of him. The second male was helping his friend to stand, who was cursing, but they did not move any closer seeming to take the hint that Peter did not want them near him. 

"Little fucker. I thought you said Stark said he would be fine in here." Peter did not hear the darker man's response, his brain was stuck on Stark. He was with Stark again, or some proxy of the older man. Unease clenched his stomach as he tried to reason with the familiarity of the male that Peter had just chucked into the wall. Squinting harder, he tried to will his vision into clarity as nausea beat a drum in his stomach.

"So you aren't some villain then, huh, just Stark's bitch?" There was an indignant scoff and one of the men started to say something but paused when Peter suddenly yanked his mask up to his nose and puked on his own feet. His sticky hand holding him on the wall was the only thing that kept him from faceplanting into the puddle of his lunch.

"I want to see Stark." He demanded, wiping at his mouth.

"Jesus, kid." Disgust and respect warred in the other man’s voice.

"Stark!" He demanded again, this time louder.

"Yeah, okay." The voice placating now agreed. 

"How about you take a seat again," reasoned a deeper voice. Peter glared at the darker man who slowly approached him, hands held up in what was supposed to be a calming gesture. Mouth twisting into a frown, Peter straightened his spine, spitting on the ground, as he lowered himself into a fighting crouch. 

"Fine. We got it, you are serious. Clint, you watch him. I'll go get Stark."

"No shot, Sam. He is your babysitting project now, I'll get Stark. You get chucked into a wall first next time, then maybe I will consider being stuck with him." Clint bit out with his retreating footsteps. The door stood open, but Sam was still blocking Peter's path.

"He has like four whiskers on his chin, you could take him. You were just surprised," Sam called after his friend in good humor. Shit, ripping his mask down over his chin once again, Peter scurried around Sam, working towards the furthest wall from the door. He could hear the muffled sound of traffic behind it, there must be a cover hiding a window. Grappling at the wall, he tugged at what he could only assume was meant to keep him in his cage. When sunlight burst into the room, striking Peter in the eyes, he staggered to his knees, gagging twice, blackout curtains. The large bay window now exposed, he grit his teeth and yanked a fist back, intending to punch his way out. The glass would suck, but it would heal and he could be on his way, pretending none of this ever happened. 

Disorientation got the best of his senses again, and strong arms wrapped around his chest, yanking his feet from the ground. Twisting, he tried to punch at Sam's head, but the other man wisely hid directly behind Peter's own body. The glancing blows only skimmed his shoulders as Peter twisted and yanked himself around, the lack of affordable meals catching up to Peter at this moment, as he felt himself waning with every single wild swing. He cursed himself for being so lax, he knew the necessary calorie count, and he should have prioritized it over electricity in the apartment.

"Why the hell are you picking on the little guy?" A familiar, voice filled the room. Peter was star-struck momentarily, he had heard enough science videos in school to know who had entered the room. But the new presence caused Sam to loosen his grasp as he shifted to face Dr. Banner.

Taking his opportunity, Peter dropped to the ground, rotating his body to kick Sam's leg out from under him, causing an outraged shout from the other man, but Peter was already at the window. One solid punch landed, the sound of the glass vibrating with the force of his fist being the only result.

"It is reinforced, Spider-Man." Dr. Banner calmly stated, his voice only slightly tinged with worry. The second punch Peter delivered the promise of escape, as the sharp sound of the grass cracking tickled his ears. Sam was speaking to Banner in a panicked tone, but Peter was focused on just getting the fuck away before anyone else tried to tie him back to that bed,

"No one is tying you to the bed, Spider kid." Stark. Fist paused in the air, Peter cocked his head at the familiar laid-back tone of the one and only, Tony Stark. "Plus, I don't think you'd fancy pulling that glass out of your bare hands anytime soon. Think about what your outrageously beautiful aunt would say to me." Hot anger flared in Peter's chest at the mention of May. An unfair, ugly feeling of abandonment rang in his chest at the mention of the woman who had sacrificed so much for him and finally chose herself when Peter told her to.

"Why don't I just grab him, Stark?" Sam muttered, moving aside to let Tony step into the room. Peter glanced back at them, three blurry-shaped soldiers guarding the door, shoulder to shoulder. "Banner has a sedative ready, I just need a minute." Shoulders tensing, Peter lurched back to face the other men, fully perched on the window, several feet above the ground.

"That sticking thing is really creepy," Clint called from the doorway. Stark sighed, and Peter recognized the sound of him shaking his head,

"Super hearing, genius," The rebuke was less sharp than Stark had been with the Avengers last he had heard them interact, "the kid heard you."

"Oh," awkwardly muttered Sam, "I should have expected that, all you weirdos." That stung.

"What the fuck do you want?" Peter demanded, voice cold and riddled with anger. The room was full of stunned silence, then the sound of Stark scratching at his goatee,

"I would like you to not break that window. I will have to replace it anyway, but it is easier in one piece. You know, it was supposed to be Hulk proof, which I guess does not extend to you, which we should really-"

"Cut the crap, Stark," spitting his old mentor's name, Peter tried to will his vision clear enough to see what Stark was thinking.

"Why did you drug me?"

"Excuse me?"

Shaking his head, Peter turned back to the window, he wasn't going to sit here playing stupid with the rest of these clowns, he had a shift in the morning and desperately needed to go home and sleep a few hours before facing the general public.

"Woah, woah, woah," Stark's panicked voice chimed in. "I did not do a thing, you ingrate. Do you remember the fog? Asking for Stark and for the rest of the gang to bring you to me?" 

Peter scoffed, obviously disbelieving of that request. There was no way he would ever have asked for the man he actively avoided for the last few years. 

"I am not a liar," was the offended response. 

"Only when you think it best suits you, Stark." The other man was never great at taking responsibility, it was a secret superpower of his to make himself look good when he'd screwed everyone over. Using loopholes and quotes of failed expectations to boost his own stance.

"Ouch," Sam muttered abd Clint grumbled something in response as he stepped around Sam and took a position further into the room. The doorway was entirely blocked by four different men, all a level of threat. Peter felt the hair on his arm stand in alert.

"What happened to my wall?" Stark demanded, voice confused as he eyeballed the large dent in the drywall, and shattered picture frame. So that was the glass.

"You said the kid was sweet and harmless," was the irritated response from Clint, his ego clearly bruised at being tossed by someone smaller than himself. It caused Peter's lips to quirk into a small smirk beneath the mask.

"Ya, well. Last time I saw him, he was." Stark replied candidly, and that hurt a little. Peter was kidnapped, after being asked for his help, and his body was actively demanding that he lay down in a ball and not move for at least four hours while these stooges kept him hostage.

"What did you morons do to my eyes?" He demanded again. The room around them was a mess of colors smeared together, odd shapes and shades gave a general idea of where he was, paired with the smell of antiseptic and latex, but his eyes were not clearing from whatever had been done. Had they messed with his healing too?

"Your eyes?" Banner questioned, confusion coloring his tone. While Peter could not see him clearly, he was sure he had his head tilted, the same way he always had when figuring out a project in the videos Midtown Tech used to hold for chemistry. 

"Yes, my eyes, Mister seven PhDs," Peter spat, pointing dramatically towards his face. It was ridiculous, the way they all parroted back his questions to him as if they all needed to hear it twice for the meaning to beat its way through their thick skulls.

"Pal, we don't know what you're talking about," Sam cut it once again.

Peter pointed at Stark, ignoring the man named Sam and going for the head of the snake, "You said I am here cause of you. So, what did you do?" Peter growled, seething with anger.  

"Everyone leave me and the kid alone." Was all that Stark spoke, which wasn't entirely out of character, he liked to keep his ducks in a line out of the public eye. The familiar air of confidence and posh pride did nothing to calm Peter's growing sense of absolute agitation. Flashbacks of the ferry crossed his mind entirely unwelcomed.

"Tony, I just- I don't know if that is such a good idea," Banner murmured as he faced Peter who was all but shaking with anger still from his spot on the window. From where he stood, the splintered glass behind the young hero broke the bright evening light up, illuminating him like some righteous, Spider-Man. 

Stark did some sort of hand motion, and everyone sighed, before shuffling out of the door. 

"If he kills me you can have my stuff, Brucie Bear."

Bruce did not entertain that statement with a response, and simply drew the door closed behind them, the snick of the latch plunging the room into silence. 

"You mind if I sit down?" Stark questioned as he dragged a chair from the other side of the bed, to sit in front of Peter. He did mind, he very much minded actually. He'd rather toss the other man across the room just like his short-haired friend, but he held himself back. "So can you see at all?" Finally focusing on the question, "Or nothing?"

Peter considered for a moment, weighing his chance of getting answers versus slamming through this window and ridding himself of this mess once and for all. 

"A little."

"Well, chatter-box. I need more than that."

"It's all blurry, you absolute dick."

"See, here is the thing, I don't remember you being so aggressive. Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, remember?" The tone was passive-aggressive now, unappreciative of Peter's unwillingness to cooperate. "What would the old ladies say?" He tried a new angle. 

"Always ready to joke away responsibility, aren't you, Stark." Scoffed Peter as he dropped to the floor, glad for the millionth time that his mask covered the wince of pain that he could not help once standing. 

"Kid, I did not do shit to your eyes." Stark was showing his irritation outright now. Good, he was pissing Peter off too. "Just, explain it to me."

He considered for a moment, listening to the shuffling feet of the other three men outside the room, they clearly did not trust him alone in here with Stark, it was almost offensive, but he did toss Clint not too long ago so maybe it was a realistic perspective.  "When did you get the gang back together?" He snarked instead, biding himself another minute to plan in his head.

"Have you been living under a rock?" Snapped Stark, running a hand through his hair in frustration at Peter's antics. Which, is fair enough. Peter had been busy. But who in the modern world hadn't heard about the Avengers reuniting again? Peter had ignored enough of their calls for help to pretend that he hadn't known, he was uninterested in getting closer to that dysfunctional boy band.

Choosing silence instead, and rubbing at his aching ribs, Peter let himself lean against the wall beside the window, not willing to give up his chance of safety. "It is all blurry.” 

"Can you see my face?"

"No, but I can tell that it is still ugly." 

"Now, I know for a fact you don't think that. Ted told me all about how you love me." Peter could not see it, but he recognized the smirk in Stark's voice. The mention of Ned plunged a cold dagger into Peter's gut. Feeling ill, he wrapped his arms around himself, trying not to appear like he was crumbling in on himself, because screw Stark for bringing Ned up. He did not know a single thing about Peter. 

When the silence continued on well past awkward, Stark huffed a sigh and pushed himself out of his chair. Stepping closer to the window and Peter.

"Listen, Pete-"

"My name is Spider-Man." Slamming that wall of personal separation felt good, better yet was the little intake of breath that Stark made out of surprise. Desperate to get this over with, Peter rubbed a hand over his face, scrubbing his mask's fabric across the bridge of his nose.

"How did you get Karen to lock me out? I tried to break through for eight months, but whatever you did held fast." There was frustration in his voice, but even Peter could not ignore the pride that trickled throughout the question. It made him uncomfortable, hearing Stark with any sort of fondness, that time was over. Long over.

"You have a face, but I can't make out any of the features. You look like a poorly made, smudged finger painting." Peter evaded.

"I am only four feet away," came Stark's concerned response. Peter was glad to see the older man had the sense to pretend to be concerned, it was a smart way to get information, at least he wasn't entirely addled with age.

"Didn't notice," Peter choked out, feeling overwhelmed again. If Stark was being honest and did not do this in some sick attempt to get Peter to come out of hiding, then Peter was in much deeper shit than he thought he was. How was he supposed to be Spider-Man? Or worse yet, how was he supposed to work? He could not be homeless again, while it had only been two months, it was the worst two months of Peter's life, and there was no way he was going to ask May to leave her whole life behind to come back and take care of him again because he was such a fail-

"Pe-, Spider-Man. You have got to settle down, I think you are working yourself up." He wanted to tell Stark to shove his opinion up his self-glorified ass. But on a base level, Peter knew he was freaking out and that panicking was not going to help anyone. "I need to see your eyes-" Peter shook his head violently. His hands automatically climbed towards his chin to clutch at his mask. "It is just me, bud. I hate to tell you this, but I have already seen that impish face." Peter scoffed and considered that Stark had done well enough keeping his identity a secret, he did not have much to gain by twisting his arm into revealing himself. But then again, he had let Peter down in the past. "No one else will come in here," Stark reassured, sensing Peter's internal dilemma.

Secret identity had always been Peter's greatest concern, not that Stark understood any of that. "Pinky promise?" Peter spoke quietly, but firmly.

"Pinky what?"

He scrunched his nose, and repeated himself firmly, holding out a pinky.

"Are we little girls in tutus?" Laughed Stark in disbelief. When Peter's hand did not lower, he stepped close and sighed before clasping pinkies. Peter quickly shook his hand off, rubbing the feeling of the older man's grasp off with his other hand. 

"Whatever. Do not tell anyone about this. Sit your skinny ass on the bed." Stark said. Satisfied, Peter shuffled towards the bed as Stark wandered in that direction. Feeling for the ledge, he guided himself into place.

"Mask off, boy scout." Was the quippy order from Stark as he dug around in a drawer on the far wall that Peter had not even been able to see across the room. Tugging the mask off, Peter let himself enjoy the cool brush of fresh air on his face. How long had it been since he had it off? "Look here," was the demand before Stark stuck a tool, paired with a flashlight directly in front of Peter's eyes. The younger man hissed, as pain exploded between his eyes, radiating down his neck. 

"I know," Stark soothed, patting Peter on the shoulder. At the bitten groan of pain from the younger man, Stark yanked his hand back, "We gave you Cap's pain meds, are you in pain?"

"You gave me something?" Was the woozy reply, as Peter felt his stomach begin to turn on itself again. Please, he prayed, do not let me puke.

"You should barely be able to stand, no wonder you are throwing Hawkeye at the wall."

"Well, Cap is a lightweight, what can I say? He can't hang with the big guy." 

Stark scoffed at the idea of Peter being the 'Big guy' before shaking his head, "You have to stay, we can't send you out there without knowing we have a pain medication that works on you. We can't call you in and have you at risk without a chance of medical aid, that is irresponsible."

"Fat fucking chance, Tony." Peter spat. "Check out my eyeballs and send me on my merry way." 

"You know what, if you are going to say my name so venomously," Stark ground out, "then I liked it better when I was Stark."

"Ya? Well, I liked you better when you were just Ironman." Guilt immediately slammed into Peter's consciousness, was that really how they were now, was that truly what Peter wished, that they never knew each other?  Brushing the thought aside, he reminded himself that he felt cornered and if Stark wanted to be an ass then Peter could be too. Maybe, it had been too far. Stark still had not said anything, he was watching Peter, with his stupid blurry face, the tool held as if forgotten in his hand.

"What the hell happened to you, Parker?"

"Just check out my eyes," He mumbled, avoiding looking into Stark's face. The silence continued, before Tony seemed to settle on something, and nodded.

"It is the fog. You should be fine by tomorrow, we have seen it before. But Friday says you are underweight, and I could tell that just looking at you. I am a little concerned, May said you were fine." There was tangible concern in Stark's voice, but the teenager tried to ignore it. "May did say that you were busy, taking off being Spider-Man. I can't blame you, the whole homecoming fiasco and-"

"When did you talk to May?!" Peter tried not to let the betrayal sound in his voice. May was a busy woman, it was hard enough to get ahold of her as her nephew. She should not have to deal with Stark's crap, being hounded during her long shifts and nights.

Tony had his head tilted, "We check in about twice a month, and talk about our favorite Spider kid." God, that nickname was so old and grating, it made him feel like putting a fist through the wall, it could join the Clint Barton decalage.

"You shouldn't bother, May. She works long enough hours as it is," not to mention Tony had no right trying to pry into his life, going around Peter to do so.

"Well, she is a grown woman. Grown people have jobs, but she has enough time to take care of you, so I fit her schedule when she says it works best." Offense riddled Tony's retort, he obviously felt like Peter was accusing him of harassing her. "I have kept my distance, I do not keep tabs on you. She said you did not want me to, and that you wanted space so I obliged. In all those denied phone calls, she was never the one to tell me "not to bother checking in" That is what you said isn't it?" Snapped Tony, his temper flaring. 

"You have done a great job, really Tony. Finally listening to orders." He clapped sarcastically. 

"Why are you trying to make me mad?" That was a dangerous tone, that was the 'Here is a puzzle I want to solve' tone that Tony had for his tougher projects. Peter winced, trying to think of the best way to backtrack out of this position.

"You see, you call me Tony. Which, congrats only took about five years. But you pair it only with your meanest statements which tells me that you want it to hurt more." It was so painfully accurate that Peter felt his body still, feeling suddenly embarrassed like a kid caught having a tantrum. This is why he had avoided Tony since May left. The hurt, angry beast that he felt living beneath his skin that just wanted to cause wreckage, that had ruined his friendships, it wanted most of all to be let out against Tony. All of his frustration, the aggression, and the hurt he felt from homecoming night, just lived beneath his skin. Biting, and clawing for Peter to just let him have it, just like he did with Peter.

"Where did you go, Peter?" He was like a dog with a bone now, "What are you thinking?" Tony's words were quiet, heavy with concern and genuine care. Peter felt a knot grow in his throat, face growing uncomfortably hot. Forcing himself to turn around and take in his surroundings, he regrouped himself.

"Where am I?"

The sigh that Tony let out felt like disappointment, "The tower. Figured you would recognize it, you did ask to be brought to me. Passed out from the gas fog, it affects your senses."

Peter scoffed bitterly, "I asked for you?"

Stark suddenly was very interested in his tie, tugging it straight before standing up, "I am going to go ask Bruce about this. Will you please just stay the night while we monitor your eyes, I think you can leave in the morning."

Peter considered, before nodding, "I will need a phone, gotta make a call." 

Stark nodded before silently leaving the room, letting Peter stew in the alienation that he had created for himself.

Chapter Text

Eight hours earlier...

Peter eyeballed the clock above the 7-Eleven doorway, foot nervously tapping along with the tune of I Kissed a Girl by Katy Perry. A couple of teens burst into the lobby, laughing loudly as they darted to the coolers, and inevitably the slushie machine. It was the middle of summer, and Raspberry Delight was the flavor on every teen's tongue who came into this store, Peter swore it was a red dye 40 pandemic. He had tried it once and immediately faced the fact that at nineteen and a half, he was no longer with the times. Humming under his breath, he settled on rearranging the lighters beside the cash register, for the umpteenth time while the teenage girls made their way to the front.

One of them was eyeballing Peter in the least subtle way he had seen yet, eyes roving over his hair, that was much too long for his preference, and an ugly red polo shirt. She salaciously popped an oversized sucker in her mouth, while making direct eye contact. He knew she was probably aiming for seductive, but with the way it bulged out of her cheek, he couldn't help but think of Ned's middle school hamster who would hoard carrot chunks like it was the apocalypse. 

Mistaking his blank stare for interest, she tucked a strand of dyed blond hair behind her ear as she handed over a handful of ones to pay, "I got her too," She said smiling brightly as she pointed with a thumb at her friend, obviously more shy and sucking her slushie with purpose. 

"Four dollars and eighty-five cents, coming out of five dollars," Peter droned, quickly finding the correct change in hopes that she would stop eyeballing him and leave him to the last five minutes of his shift. Luck was not with him, in classic Parker fashion.

"You used to go to school around here right?"

Raising an eyebrow, Peter dropped her change into the awaiting hand, "Somewhere around here, yes."

"I told you I recognized him!" She squealed at her friend before turning back to him. Her seductive smile back in place. "I am Sam, I was a freshman your senior year, Midtown, right? I had the hugest crush on you, but you were with that girl, the really angry one, AJ?" She seemed genuinely lost on what MJ's name was, which gave Peter an irrational sense of frustration with the girl. 

"MJ," He corrected, turning to the cigarettes behind him, intending to restock so his coworker Sally didn't bitch at him for leaving it for her, as it "hurt her back to reach that high and stoop that low at her age" ignoring the fact that Sally was freshly forty-five.

"You aren't still with her, are you?" She asked innocently, clearly not catching the hint once again that Peter had better things to do.

"No," Peter mumbled, jabbing a finger into the tape lining of a cardboard box harder than necessarily required,

"So you are open to a date?" She was bold. He would give her that, and she was cute by his standards, but the idea of dating after MJ was equivalent to jabbing a screwdriver into his eye socket.

"No."

"Oh," came the timid response, and a clank of change dropping into the tip cup. "Have a good day anyway." The door chimed as the two shuffled out, leaving Peter to soak in his 'I-Am-A-Prick' energy as he methodically stocked the cancer sticks, per what May labeled them. 

"I hope you got those up there for me," came a snappy voice from the back room. His eyebrows shot up in surprise as he glanced at the clock, his shift was over by six minutes. Typical Sally, late and still making demands,

"Only the ones that would hurt you the most, you old bat."

Sally gave a dry chuckle, she preferred Peter with some bite he had learned. Timid Peter got shit-stomped in this joint, and standing his ground under the guise of humor had better suited him lately. Chucking his hat and name tag into the cubby below the register, he quickly clocked out, in a hurry to get home before the late lunch traffic. He had taken up the four a.m. to noon shift, finding nothing else to do with that time frame.

"See you tomorrow!" Sally called as she poured herself, an undoubtedly stolen, cup of black coffee that all but resembled jet fuel. He did not bother to respond, knowing she did not care as he ducked out the doorway and started his walk six blocks home. The air was sticky, the humidity causing sweat to bead on his nose with the beating sun warming his hair uncomfortably. Tugging at the long strands, he reminded himself to get a haircut this week. And rest of his walk was preoccupied with thoughts of finding his next job, the life of a clerk not resonating with him anymore. He had always dreaded the idea of running into old classmates and knowing that they recognized him without him even knowing their faces gave him the creeps.

It was only supposed to be temporary, he reminded himself. When the last three jobs ran short or fired him, he got into a dodgy spot of surviving on the street for two months, before saving enough with this job to afford his newest place. Maybe he had trauma bonded with the store, is that possible? He should have paid more attention to psychology

Speaking of home sweet home, he thought glumly as he wandered into his apartment complex. It was not necessarily the worst place that Peter could think to live, but the rent was cheap enough and the quality of customers low enough that he took to stashing anything of importance in secret hidey-holes throughout the apartment for when he was gone. The cash roll he had of almost three grand hid beneath the entryway of his bathroom, while his web-shooters and Spider-Man tech took place in the ceiling, in a loose tile, webbed to the ceiling where swiping hands wouldn't make contact.

"Heya, Petey!" A woman's voice welcomed him as he let himself into the landing of the apartment building. Misty, whose occupation he actively tried to not consider waved from her spot sitting in the, diseased surely, chairs around a dilapidated table. It was supposed to create a cozy environment, but it truly just gave those with no lives a spot to stare at everyone who came in and make up stories about their lives.

"Misty," he acknowledged with a curt nod before trucking up the steep stairs to his apartment on the third floor, ignoring her cooing after him about wanting to catch up. He used to take more time for conversation, but he just did not have it in him to put up small talk lately, even with the kinder people in his life.

Pushing his way into his apartment, after battling the four separate locks, he secured the door behind him before walking directly into his bed and faceplanting on the top of May's old quilt. His body ached, somehow. He had not even been out as Spider-Man in weeks and felt like he had been run over by a few rabid trains anyway. "Woe unto me" May would have said to his complaints.

May. He missed her like an organ. Right after graduation, May had brought up the idea of moving across the country, to the far West coasts. California, she had argued, mentioning forest hikes, beaches, less people. She knew Peter had all but entirely cut ties with Ned and MJ, and actively had avoided Tony for nearly two years at that point. Maybe she felt like it was the best opportunity for the both of them, but Peter could not get himself to leave Queens. He had an obligation, as a hero.

He scoffed into his blanket, bitterly recalling that he had not even done more than stop a few car robberies in three.

Lazily fishing his phone out of his pocket, he browsed his missed calls, spam, and a call from May greeted him. She always seemed to call when he could not answer, their weekly check-in usually relied on voicemails at this point. She was working her way up the corporate ladder, working on a doctorate on the side. Peter was proud of her and told himself that the lack of connection was just because of the time differences and that it did not bother him to keep his struggles to himself for her sake. 

Ringing her cell, he waited for what he would undoubtedly hear, a bubbly May asking for a voicemail. Disappointment rang when the time came to leave a message,

"Hey, May! The internship is going fantastic, I am working on some facilities that would work to purify rain puddles, ponds, and crap, for the neighbors of our world," He technically had put thought into designing something similar, like a giant LifeStraw. "The pay is great, my apartment is getting cuter as you'd say, and the quilt matches a few pillows I got. I have lunch with this sweet old lady beside me, she had four cats and I see her on Tuesdays, so I actually had better get ready to go see her. So, love you. Um, guess I will just catch you next week."

These tiny, dismal lies made him feel better, like an imaginary world he could dwell in the one-minute-long voice message. Tomorrow, May would apologize for being busy, she would tell him about a colleague and homework, and babble about her new world that Peter did not fit into, and at the end, she would say how proud she was of him making it on his own. Unaware of how hard-won, and tenuous that fact was. Dropping his phone onto his chest, Peter stared up at his ceiling, the questionable yellow landscape, marked with water and things he chose not to think about it.

A scratchy voice sounded from his tiny kitchenette. The side table and lawn chair he had for a dining table held his police scanner, which he typically left on at all times, the volume low enough that it only bothered him with its mechanical code and announcements. A wild, unknown animal was harassing a public park. He caught the word alligator before the speaker changed into something familiar, something oddly Friday-sounding.

"When the alligators run wild, and the capes come out. Occasionally the man in the can spots a spider chasing towards danger, he can only hope it follows him safely."

Peter rolled his eyes at the disgusting lack of attempted code. Three years of denied contact made Stark lazy, or perhaps he thought Peter was too stupid to catch on like he used to. Huffing to himself, he pursed his lips in thought, did he really want to go out? He had a shift again, his typical four a.m., and it was only noon...it wouldn't hurt to just swing in and see what was going on, right?

He was an idiot, he reminded himself as he climbed up to reach for his suit within the ceiling. Nothing with Stark was ever going to go well, which is why he did not show up unless it was world-ending. He argued as he tugged the suit on. He really should keep holding his ground, he can't be that bored, he reasoned as he shoved a hoodie on, ignoring the oppressive heat as he jogged out of the building, scanner in hand and suit concealed. 

This wasn't his best plan, but maybe it would give him something to tell May next week that existed in the land of reality. That would feel good, so this was okay. 

Once he was a few blocks away from his apartment, Peter ducked into an ally. Tugging his hoodie and jeans off to shove into a bag he kept webbed to the bottom of a giant dumpster, after listening for the location of this alligator thing everyone is on about, Peter shut off his scanner and tucked it inside the bag as well before replacing it beneath the dumpster with his phone and wallet. Drooping his shoulders, he let his head hang for a moment, facing the idea of seeing Stark again. 

Sucking in a deep breath, he nodded and launched himself into the air, before securing a web and heading out. 

It turned out, that next to no one was there to deal with this alligator crap show. There was a lack of the familiar sound of thrusters in the air, no calling of code names, or grouped heroes. Instead, Captain America was charging the damn thing, shield in hand, while someone else shot arrows from somewhere in the park's trees. Irritation gripped Peter by the hair, lips pursing as he debated leaving, maybe they had not noticed him yet.

The alligator thing galloped past him, leaving a smell of rotting eggs in the air. It was nearly the size of an SUV and seemed entirely confused. That was until it noticed Peter, turning itself towards him, he felt his stomach turn at the dog-like legs and ears that stuck off of its lizard body. It had to be one of the most monstrous animals he'd seen in his life, and he'd been around his fair share of New York's cat-sized rats. When he had spent his time on the streets, a few had even tried to join his bedroll, attempting to leech his body heat in the cold spring nights. If you thought rats were scary in the shining glory of daylight, at two in the morning they were downright horrifying, and yet they still didn't compare to this. 

"Boy, you are majorly fugly you know th-" A brutal slam of the creature's tail left Peter sailing through the air, snapping branches as he bounced through a small fir tree. Coughing at the lack of air in his lungs, he slowly pried himself out of the shrubbery, just in time for Captain freaking America to jog towards him.

"Spider-Man! It has been a long time, but am I glad to see you." Rogers drug a hand across his brow, beads of sweat liberated from their perch on the face of America's hero. 

"You know, I was just walking my dog, thought I would swing in." He gestured around to the park as if it was a more pleasant sight. One without trash littering the weeds, and without the sickly smell of dog crap drifting in the air

"You have a dog? Where is he, that thing will probably want to-" Missing the joke, Captain America was entirely too concerned about his imaginary dog. 

"Do not worry about Todo, Cap. He's off chomping squirrels or some shit." Rogers raised an eyebrow but was preoccupied listening to something in his ear, Peter could make out a tinny voice, but with Roger's finger pressing over the earbud, he had no chance of discerning the words. After a moment of twiddling his thumbs, Peter began scanning the trees for the hidden partner in the foliage. 

"You ever make a net with those webs of yours?" Rogers interrupted his search.

"Sure, that is kind of my-"

"Good. I will corral him, you catch him. I have an archer shooting a guided path, you hop over to that big oak," unaware of his own rudeness cutting Peter off, the Captain pointed out a large tree. Who doesn't know what an oak tree is? Peter thought bitterly to himself. As much as Stark mouthed off, he always let Peter have his say. Not patient enough or perhaps not interested enough, the Captain ran off without another word, leaving the teen to jog across the very abandoned park. Between his footfalls, he could hear the thwip of arrows being sent through the air in rapid succession. 

Soon enough, the disgruntled and fearful sounds of the alligator thing filled the air, as like a reverse bull run Rogers slammed on his shield creating a huge racket while guiding it towards Peter. Whatever the arrows were doing worked, as it barreled without varying its path towards the large oak. Choosing his form of web, Peter grit his teeth as he took aim, preparing to hog tie the creature and get the hell out of this place as soon as possible. There was still time to catch his favorite cartoon if he got back within the hour.

I should have taken a nap. 

The web made solid contact, grabbing hold of the alligator who let out a deafening bellow. Dragging it closer, he gritted his teeth as his muscles began to strain with the weight of the beast. Only when he got closer, did he realize too late that the damn thing was oozing some sort of fog that leeched towards him. The air became thick, and his eyes beneath the lenses were watering. Coughing violently, he was blindsided by the full weight of the thing rolling over top of him. Spider-Man let loose a cry as the alligator started to slam its monstrous head across his body. It wasn't necessary for it to use its teeth or claws, it was happy to bludgeon him to death with its scaley, shedding body.

O h my god, that is flesh stuck to my suit.

Disoriented entirely by the smoke and the brutalizing of his person, Peter took the first chance he had to get out of there like a bat from hell when Rogers hauled the thing away from his fallen body. His legs worked for the first forty seconds, but after that Peter found himself running into trees left and right, where did these fucking Christmas trees even come from? His vision began to swim, the greenery of the park turning into a solid smear of color, individual trees now unrecognizable to his vision. Vaguely Peter heard someone calling after him, the crashing footsteps of heavy pursuit following his path. He had to get out of here.

Shooting a web, he tried to swing away but found that his vision couldn't predict the placement of anything as his body collided painfully with the trunk of something immovable. Sinking to the ground, he found himself sucked into an overwhelming state of panic, only made worse by the sound of someone else coming near, calling for Spider-Man. "Get away!" He screeched, backing further into the tree's trunk as the looming shadow of a man gained ground. The voice was saying something, but it sounded underwater to Peter, the alligator still roaring. His senses screaming. It was all too much. Peter was embarrassed to hear himself gasping for breath, a superhero having a panic attack. This was a nightmare.

"I have to go," he all but begged, standing quickly and shaking his head. His vision wasn't clearing. What even was that fog?! 

Then, suddenly hands grabbed what Peter was unaware of until that point was definitely a broken shoulder. With a childish cry, he shoved himself as far away as he could, holding his hands out in surrender. It was all too much too quickly, his vision was gone, ears ringing with the blaring sounds of the alligator struggling in the distance. He thought he'd have a better grasp on this, but it was only intensifying, no amount of running away from the mayhem lessened his every sense losing its mind at the same time. His very skin was screaming as his spidey sense alerted him to danger, it was all around him. He couldn't see a lick of it, vulnerable, with a stranger hunting him through the trees that he could not get away from. The fog was messing with his mind, he felt small and all too large. Stuffed into a brush, sticks stabbing him through his suit. He wanted help, he needed someone,

"I want my dad!" Sinking to his knees, Peter buried his head into his legs, trying to force his lungs to accept that they were limited, and cut the hyperventilating down. "Call my dad." Groaning, Peter rocked himself, his entire body vibrating with a mixture of pain and adrenaline. He didn't know where he was, who he was, his mind was turning itself inside out. 

"Son, who is your father?" Rogers was here. He knew him, he could call him.

Dragging his head upward, Peter stared as best he could at Captain America, body swaying, "Tony, jus' call 'im. I wan' Tony."

"Did he just ask for fucking Stark as his dad?" A new voice squawked. Awareness was slowly slipping away from Peter, Rogers was speaking to him, or not to him he couldn't be sure. But after the third time of fighting his way back into consciousness, he vaguely imagined the sound of thrusters in the air before his face collided with the sun-warmed ground. 

Awareness began to swim around Peter in a mixture of memories and reality, he was too hot, the material of his suit sliding across his sweat-soaked skin. He mewled quietly, grabbing at his mask, buzzing fingers reaching to draw the claustrophobic material away from his face. The air felt heavy around him, carrying with it the fragrance of trees and the hot smell of baking earth. The fire, from the plane, smoke choked his lungs. His head felt light with the inhalation of everything around him. He did not remember seeing any trees around the beach when he was crashing into it, though he was a little preoccupied, details were an easy thing to miss when fighting for your life.

Peter felt worn, his body and chest aching from Toomes, ribs screaming at him as someone shifted him around, their hands prodding at his sore body. He batted at them, trying to show that he was here, and just needed to be left alone. Rogers had not been there, the night of the plane crash, right? The memories were lapping one another, overwhelming circumstances until he couldn't discern them from each other. There was the smell of the city and, the noises of far-off vehicles replacing the scent of smoke. The alligator, he'd been home, there was an alligator in New York of all places, and not even in the sewers. Not the beach then, he concluded. That was years ago. He could not remember the last time he felt like he had taken a beating similar to the ones from the vulture on homecoming night.

"Can you hear me?" Someone asked, their hands poking at his face, he recognized that grip somehow, the familiar testing for broken facial bones.

Who used to do that? 

"Don' call May," He slurred, trying and failing to sit up, his head fell back to the ground. No, someone caught it. A warm calloused hand gripped him by the back of the skull, motor oil. He tried to open his eyes, but everything was unclear. Conversation floated around him, as the world spun violently. 

"He was asking-" Someone was gripping onto his shoulder. "-Panicked for his dad-"

"We didn't know, no way I would have let it get that close if-" The voices faded in and out, warbling for a moment and crystal clear the next.

"Dad?" Peter slurred, confused entirely. His father had been gone for so long, why the hell would he ask for him? May was his closest kin, but she was across the country, and Peter was entirely alone.

"Right here, buddy." The hand holding his head moved to his cheek from outside the mask, a warm voice cutting through the confusion. He truly fucked up, he finally died. May was going to be pissed. The cadence of the voice lulled Peter into some sort of half-asleep state. He was in good hands, he knew that voice from- from somewhere, he was just too tired to remember right now. His arm began tugging away from where he had it close to his chest, clinging to something. "-don't bother, it is stuck to me." The comforting voice said, Peter's body jostled again, and an honest to god whimper pushed its way through his lips. He couldn't help it, every time that someone shifted him close to sitting up, it felt like his shoulder was splitting apart. Someone shushed him, and an unfamiliar voice cursed before apologizing again but was quickly hushed by the man holding Peter's head.

His ears rang with the rumbling of the voice where his temple was pressed into someone's shoulder. When was he picked up?  "-scan says there are a lot of broken bones. He did not used to be this fragile, or light." The last part seemed an afterthought, a disturbed observation that just needed to be said aloud. Peter let his head lull loose on his shoulder, mask skating across something materially, a sharp shoulder knocking against his temple. "Go to sleep, buddy." Someone muttered into what would have been Peter's hair if the mask weren't in place, sticking uncomfortably to his cheeks.

Peering blurrily up, he noticed a dark head of hair before his vision swam again, and his lids slammed shut with the pain in his head causing nausea to roll through him. His nose was itching from the smoke, Peter went to rub it and was surprised to find that he was stuck, both hands glued to a forearm wrapped around his ribs. He tried to let go but his grip fought him, powers holding fast to his anchor, deciding he was too tired to break that down, he let himself be lulled into blessed unconsciousness as steady steps carried his body elsewhere.  

Chapter Text

In the present...

Peter waited in silent agony for Stark to come back with a phone that he could use to call in to work; sending a prayer to whatever was above that he would not get fired for this. Technically, it was a medical emergency, and it had been at least four months since Peter had called in for a shift. But 7-Eleven wasn't known for its excellence in managers, just like it wasn't known for its top pay, but beggars can't be choosers and it was the only place to accept Peter's job application in his most desperate time, so it felt like a suitable punishment to keep the position he put himself into. Call him a masochist.

Twisting his hands into the sheets strewn across the hospital bed, he squinted at the wall across from him, with the closed door. A depressive acceptance settled on his chest when the room stayed the same blurred-out reality that it had four seconds ago. Stark is admittedly a genius...he could only pray that he was right assuming the fog would have the last of its effects by tonight, and Peter could resume his life alone tomorrow.

"Knock-knock," came a muffled voice in time with two firm knocks against the door. Rolling his eyes, he didn't waste his breath replying, and Clint let himself in a moment later. He stood for a moment in the door, as if waiting for Peter to launch himself like a rabid animal at him again.

"You grabbed me first," Peter pointed out, trying not to let himself feel bad about the obvious unease the older man felt about being in the same room alone with him.

"Okay, true. That's fair." Short, accepting. The younger man nodded, dropping his hand to stare into his lap at the bruises covering the back of his hands.

"Stark said those should be gone by tomorrow if that is what you are worried about."

"Bruises haven't worried me in a long while, but thanks bird-brain." He snarked, purposefully ignoring that the nickname was one of Tony's and came to him as naturally as breathing air. He hated being reminded through his own vocabulary of how much he'd let the older man influence him. It was like a contagion, the sarcastic nicknames and dismissive attitude. Shaking his head, he reminded himself firmly that he did not need the concern. After tomorrow, he hoped to never see any of the other heroes for at least two months.

Clint unaware of Peter's internal war only let out a dry chuckle at the nickname, sauntering into the room, apparently comfortable now. "Your dad asked me to give you this, he said you should be fine figuring it out," waving a Stark phone in the air, Clint began explaining how to navigate it, ignorant of the frown firmly etched into Peter's face.

"Who the hell said what now?" His dad? Was this all a giant joke to them, some messed up game of what would hurt the most right now? Clint's head shot up from where he had it hung over the phone, awkwardly bouncing it between his hands he stared at the younger man for a second, processing what Peter had said. "Were we not supposed to know that? Jeez. Well, shit. Stark never said anything about not mentioning it, I can just pretend you never mentioned it. I am pretty good at the secrets thing, you know with the whole spy-"

"He is not my dad." Interrupted Peter, uncaring of how uncomfortable Clint looked in his vague, blob-faced way. 

"Right," Scratching his head, Clint slowly handed Peter the phone, letting the younger man snatch it from his loose grip. Clint slowly retreated to the door once again.

Peter pointed a finger at his retreating back. "Don't you even think of eavesdropping out there. A man needs his privacy, and I don't want you justice warriors figuring out my identity, Stark knowing is bad enough." Clint waved a hand, muttering 'whatever' before closing the door behind him. Peter still waited a full minute until he heard the retreating footsteps fade from his enhanced hearing.

Biting his thumbnail, he took a deep breath before punching in his manager's number. The ringing echoed in his ear twice, causing the back of his skull to pulse in irritation,

"What do you want?" Came the typical reply. Frank had tolerance for about no one, aside from Sally, who he let run all over the place without regard. 

"Hey, Frank. It is me, Peter Parker. Listen, I had some medical stuff come up, I am in the hosp-"

"How long will you be gone?" Touched by the concern, Peter gave a middle finger to the air, sending a silent 'screw you' to the hole that Frank crawled out of. 

"I should only miss one shift."

"I can't keep you hired if you keep pulling crap like that." Lording the job over Peter's head was like Frank's sick sense of personal enjoyment, watching Peter battle frustration or tears had to be his kink.

"I haven't missed a shift in months, Frank. We both freaking know that." It insulted his integrity, he had been aiming for consistency. He only had to step out a maximum of three times in the last three months. Not to mention missing an entire shift? Hadn't happened in nearly six.

"Sally needs more hours, I am going to rethink keeping you, Parker."

"What the absolute fuck? Sally is not even a good employee," Peter was vibrating with anger, his tenuous home once again threatened, he needed this job. "She steals coffee. Wake up Frank!" Frank was quiet for a moment, leaving Peter to breathe into the receiver angrily.

"I am going to forgive this temper tantrum since you're in the 'hospital' but take off till your shift next Tuesday. Sounds like you could use a week." With that, the dial tone filled Peter's ear. Throwing himself down across his bed, he tried to reason with himself that he could afford it, that it wouldn't put him out too much, just a third of his meager savings. 

"Trouble in paradise?" Stark's voice startled Peter out of his momentary pity party.

He was unaware of the older man's entrance to the room, he'd been too busy trying not to curse out the world's worst boss. "I said no eavesdropping," he growled sitting up once again, grabbing a chunk of his hair near the roots, he gave it a light tug hoping to relieve some of the pressure locked in his skull. It was like a bouncy ball rumbling across his temples. 

"I didn't sneak up here, Mr. Bitter," Tony began to sit at his previously abandoned chair, the smell of greasy fast food wafting from a paper sack clenched in one of his fists. "Figured you'd pause your discussion if you wanted me gone." 

"Ya, well, I was occupied." 

"No shit," digging through the paper sack, Tony tossed a hamburger onto the bed, it bounced off of Peter's knee before rolling to rest near the edge of the gurney. 

"Not hungry." 

"I don't care what Pepper thinks, I am not eating Burger King, So you can just throw it away if you're going to be a weaner about it." Stark shoved a fry into his mouth anyway, apparently not counting them as food, and tossed two more burgers onto the bed. Peter frowned, tugging his mask off once more, his lip stung from where he had chewed too hard and bit through the thin skin. The taste of copper rang against his teeth unpleasantly.

Deciding a free meal was better than sitting in boredom for the next twelve hours, he eyeballed the clock, sighing inwardly at it only being a little after five. Unwrapping one of the burgers, he gave a mocking salute to Stark, who only chuckled around a fry as Peter ate in silence. Somehow, the second burger disappeared just as fast, the third well on its way before Tony spoke,

"Where are you working now? Noticed that you aren't around as much, so unless you have become a socialite, you spend your time somewhere I assume." It was an innocent enough question, the younger man mulled it, chewing the last half of his third burger, the food sitting heavier in his stomach now and a lump in his throat. 

"You got a drink? Or am I just supposed to will these little shits down my throat?" With a dramatic eye roll that Peter did not need to see to know happened, Stark stood and walked to the blur that was a sink, if Peter could assume anything from the sound of running water. "You better not be giving me a drink in a urine sample cup."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Parker. Or are we still back to formalities, Spider-Man was it?" Ignoring the barb, Peter took the offered glass and quickly gulped it down, Tony took it without asking for it to be filled again.

Sipping the second glass, he considered what it was Stark was after. "It feels more accurate, you disagree?"

There was an unattractive snort from the chair and a small groan as Stark-blob rubbed at his face. "I am still unclear what it was that I did wrong, honestly, Pete. I am lost."

This was the worst possible situation, stuck with Stark. He already accepted the bribe of food for conversation because Peter was weak. He should have held to his plan and stayed away of voiding the Avengers, he had been doing it for four months. And Stark, he had avoided him for much longer. Peter cursed himself, angry that he was here stuck, injured, and unable to tend to himself. He hadn't seen Stark since the night of homecoming, he'd been on a winning streak of 'Never facing your old mentor again' '

A burning shame that came with remembering the ferry night filled Peter's already aching chest. Stark had been pissed, but after the plane and Toomes the suit had shown up in a case, an uncomfortable Happy handing it over with a mumbled thank you. Peter was too busy trying to keep himself standing to really focus, pretending that he hadn't been impaled twenty-four hours earlier. The bruises from being crushed with tons of concrete had left Peter's chest and thighs the color of a plum, and he alone knew the cause. The slightly haunted look in his eyes and distrustful grab of the suit, Happy had summed up to a reaction from Stark taking the suit. 

"People just grow apart, you know?" Peter tried instead, tossing his empty paper cup to the ground, uncaring of dirtying his prison. 

"Not us," Stark reasoned as if he hadn't shown Peter that he wasn't a reliable factor in his life. Peter's face must have shown something because Stark changed tactics, "The hair is...new."

"Going for a new look." Dragging a hand through his hair, he tried not to be self-conscious of his appearance. Spending thirty dollars on a haircut just had not been his priority, but after the last time he had cut it himself, Peter knew he was just buying time till he had to pay for it. 

"You are not eating enough, you look thin." God, he was insufferable. Always telling Peter what it was that he did wrong. It was a never-ending cycle. He could not do anything to make this man happy. He was glad once again that he took the step to remove himself from Tony's world after the Toomes.

You can't endlessly disappoint what isn't around to see you. 

"What else am I screwing up then, Tony?" He demanded, not bothering to hide the irritation he felt brewing at being pried at.

"You were so cute, and cheerful three years ago." Stark yapped, staring at Peter with unwavering attention. The younger shrugged, lounging back into his bed, he fiddled with the control for the gurney. Tony seemed to wait for Peter to figure it out, watching as the teen began poking each button and letting a small range of movement before figuring out how to prop up the back, so he could sit back rather than lay prone. 

"Three years happened." He finally offered. 

"Is that what happened with Ned and MJ?" That was too far. Bringing them up was out of line, scowling darkly, Peter sneered,

"You lied about not keeping tabs, huh? Surprise surprise." 

"I said I wasn't keeping tabs on you and your aunt, wise ass. I did not mention your friends." Stark didn't take the bait, letting Peter snark and snap all he wanted. It gave him the sense of being an experiment, that Tony was seeking the information he wanted without being direct. "So, what happened there, Pete." Pete. Toomes was grabbing Peter with his talloned suit, three piercing metal barbs forcing their way through Peter's ribs and back. The vision of a gun, cold metal barrel facing Peter, the threat to his world, his identity.

Pete.

Pete.

"Pete?" Tony was crouched beside Peter's bed, a hand resting on Peter's knee from where the younger had sat up, frozen in place with his face turned into his own lap.

Glancing out of the corner of his eye, Peter rubbed at his aching shoulder, "Don't call me that," Stark opened his mouth to reply. "Please."

There was a sigh, and three pats to Peter's knee before Tony stood his position on the ground.  "Scooch over," he muttered, tapping the younger's legs as he began to sit. With no choice but to vacate his spot or be sat on, Peter grudgingly shifted over, allowing the older man to sit, with one leg up on the bed, facing him. "We need some honesty here, Peter." Crowding his space, he forced the younger to make eye contact, sensing how serious he was. Up close, Stark's face was clear, his dark brown eyes concerned, a wrinkle between his brows that Peter certainly did not remember three years ago, and there had been plenty of opportunities to see a frowning Tony Stark. 

"That's me, Peter Honesty Parker." The smirk he plastered on his face felt plastic, almost as insincere as the words.

Stark breathed deeply through his nose, eyebrows drawing together as his lips pressed into a firm line. "Are you skipping meals for May? She wouldn't be happy about that, I know you wouldn't tell her. But come on, the bruises should be fading, you look like you got beat up an hour ago." The world was moving through molasses, a distorted 'huh?' was all he could respond with. But Tony just continued to stare with imploring eyes, "The weight, kid. There is the same amount of you as when I saw you three years ago and you've grown. Stats don't match up, Friday said you are nearly twenty percent beneath your natural weight." 

"How long have I been here?" Frustration flit through Stark's face, his lips pursing before nodding as if conceding that the question was an acceptable one.

"You passed out for nearly four hours, the whole fiasco was a little after noon." He had lost four hours, just like that. Lying here, prone, at risk of his identity being pried into. He gulped uncomfortably, fingers tracing the eyes of his mask where it lay in his lap. The discarded burger wrappers wadded up beneath his leg, which he was carefully keeping adjusted far away from contact with Tony. Tony, he hadn't called Stark Tony even in his private thoughts in months. This is why it's dangerous to be back, to gain familiarity. 

"I can send May money."

"Don't you dare." The outraged bark left Peter's lips before he had a chance to weigh the thought. He could feel his face flushing in anger, mask now tightly squeezed in hand. 

"Well then help me the hell out here! What is going on? I am trying to be patient, but this," Stark gestured at Peter, the unsaid 'you' heard, "It is all way more difficult than before. I know I have lost my temper before, I apologized, I am trying differently." Peter outright scoffed, apologized, as if giving his identity as Spider-Man was a gift that Tony had any right to bestow or take away from him in the first place.

"Well, explain. What are you scoffing about, Maestro?" Sitting back to rest his spine against the foot of the gurney, Tony crossed his arms, eyes tight as he stared a hole into Peter's smirk. 

"I just forgot your apology is all, how clear it was, and meaningful." Confusion was growing with every word, Tony's mouth dropping into an indignant 'o' as Peter sneered at him. 

"It really is rich, seeing your stupid face right now. You really don't even get how your apology was bullshit, do you Stark?" It was unbelievable, the naivety of this entire thing. Poor Peter is skinny, let's toss some money to him and his aunt. Poor Peter is throwing a fit, I'll let him have his identity back after he saves my ass, my plane, my weapons, my name. Like Tony taking away his safety wasn't a big deal, like leaving him alone, to die under a building because Peter messed up and made a mistake, is just an oopsie. 

"You got the suit back, you learned the lesson." It didn't even sound like Tony believed himself.

A dark chuckle left Peter, his shoulders shaking, drawing tears of pain to his eyes as he shook his head in disbelief. "I honestly liked you better in the radio silence, dude." Raw hurt filled Tony's face, sending a sick feeling of satisfaction through Peter. Stark did not get to respond, as a solid knock sounded from behind him. Peter shoved his mask back in place a moment before the door swung open, revealing a very uncomfortable-looking Dr. Banner.

"I just wanted to check on Spider-Man's pain," he murmured, stepping into the room. Stark's face filled with guilt, clearly having forgotten that Peter was suffering in silent agony, classic. 

Peter squinted at Banner as he ambled closer. "Thought you were all, permanently green giant mode." He did not miss the amused look Banner shot Stark, who was slowly removing himself from his perch on the end of the gurney. 

"We figured things out, me and the big guy," he replied as he took a stethoscope from around his neck and gestured lightly to Peter.

"Have at me, Doc. I am your victim for," checking his imaginary watch, he made a show of thinking. "Half a day before I bust out of this joint." 

The press of the stethoscope caused his breath to catch, unfortunately, that did not go unnoticed, as Banner raised a questioning eyebrow. "You did make a grand show already of trying to do that, cracked the big window there." The gentler man replied as he shifted the scope to Peter's back. When he maneuvered Peter to access his back more, the hand on his shoulder caused stars to explode in Peter's vision.

"Oh," was all he could say as he began to sway in place.

A panicked Tony once again crowded into his space, hands posed to catch him, "I forgot about the broken bones," Stark quickly rattled off. "The shoulder blade particularly is really bad. Friday says his ribs need a lot of attention, but we would need a scan." Banner nodded patiently as if used to Stark's mother Henning of random heroes. "I am so sorry, Pe-, Spider-Man. I- I forgot, it's my fault." Peter forgave the slip-up, hearing the genuine guilt in Stark's voice.

"The ribs are fine, they are just screwed up now," he instead said, turning to face Banner's perplexed face. "They healed funkily, broke a lot of them, they just set bad with the super healing. I think I have a few fractures, but it really is the bitch of a shoulder right now." Banner seemed unfazed by the explanation, but Stark was open-mouthed staring at Peter. 

"Can I examine you outside of the suit? You can keep the mask on." Apathetic at the idea, Peter shrugged, shuffling towards the edge of the bed. 

"Do you want me to leave?" Stark almost sounded timid, as if he wasn't sure of his rights with Peter anymore.

The younger man was too tired to argue. "Do whatever you want, Tony. Your tower, your toys, your rules right?" 

Stark did not reply, and Peter did not care to see what face he was making anyway. 

Chapter Text

Banner flipped some light switches in the room, allowing brighter lighting to fill the room after the departure of the sun behind the surrounding buildings. Peter's headache had abated with the food, so maybe Stark was helpful for something after all. Tony had kept his silence, once again sitting in the chair at the foot of the bed, allowing Peter to have the space needed to wiggle out of his suit. It was embarrassing, the idea of squeezing out of the suit in just his boxers, but Peter tried to remind himself that Banner was a nudist whenever Hulk finally released control back to him. So, it could be worse. 

"Do you need help with your shoulder?" Dr. Banner asked, observing Peter slowly slipping out of the right side of his suit, tugging at the arms from where his left arm sat in his lap, all but useless. Even twitching his left arm sent shocks of pain crawling into his shoulder, the tight suit unwilling to slide free without tugging.

"Sure, Doc." It wasn't worth trying to save face and do it himself, it was slow going and his shoulder was screaming. He tried his best to ignore the cold hands of the other man slowly moving the fabric down his shoulders and gently guiding it off of his elbows. Peter sat still on the bed, suit loose around his waist. I am Spider-Man right now, he reminded himself, refusing to feel Peter Parker's nervousness at one of his idols helping him.

At a sharp inhale sounding from Stark, Banner shot a glance at his friend, a subtle headshake that Peter was sure Banner thought he wouldn't notice, quieted whatever Tony was going to say. Banner then maneuvered around Peter for a moment, allowing him to slowly slip into insanity as two pairs of eyes roved over his bare chest and shoulders.

"These scars," Banner sounded taken aback, "the two on your torso, and one on your back, those are pretty nasty, how did you treat them?" There was genuine concern from Banner, but also something else Peter couldn't pin. Deciding not to think too hard about it, he tried to recall what he did to help after Toomes' suit had left him punctured. He absolutely refused to tell May about the injury. she would never have let him patrol again if he rolled into her room in the middle of the night bleeding to death. And after how Tony reacted after the ferry, no way that Peter was going to risk anything regarding Spider-Man again by revealing to Tony that he'd been hurt. 

"Peroxide, I think." He eventually settled on, scrubbing at the back of his head through his mask in comfort. He tried to think through those next few days, he'd spent a full day and a half in bed, sweating, puking, and sick off his ass. He only left his bed once to meet Happy and collect the suit. May had accepted the idea of the flu, it wasn't common for Peter to get sick after the bite, but no one has true immunity, right? 

"Anything else?" Banner sounded like an official Doctor, his tone not allowing for any hint of what he was thinking to bleed through as he methodically evaluated the scars. It caused Peter's skin to prickle. 

"I don't know, it just did its thing, okay?" Feeling defensive Peter crossed his arms, blocking the largest scarring from sight. His healing had saved his life, internal organs healing and it closed, but it could only do so much it seemed without actual medical care provided by a trained individual. The scars were ugly, slightly raised, and tight-looking, but they did not bother him after the first year. Every hero was scarred, it wasn't something he was concerned about. He forgot about them most days.

"I am not accusing you of anything, Spider-Man. I am just observing that for how many scraps you are in, you don't seem to carry a lot of evidence. This must have been pretty bad, am I correct to assume that?" Stark had stood up and was pacing quietly behind Peter, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand. A predator watching him in the distance.

"Sure, okay. It was not a quick healing." Admitting it seemed the best route, it wasn't clear what Banner was seeking, but Peter wasn't in the mood for games. He wasn't in the mood for anything right now, he just wanted to get out of here and lick his wounds alone in his shitty apartment. 

"I am concerned about the scars on your back." Unease was beginning to creep up, causing his shoulders to raise nearer his ears as if he could shrink into himself.

"Is this really necessary? I mean, the new stuff sure, but why are we talking about the old ones," he demanded.

Dr. Banner nodded as if he expected Peter to ask something along those lines. "There is just a lot of scarring, hypertrophic ones, some even could lean towards becoming keloid in nature, your body was fighting to heal itself but without proper care, it seems that it has left permanent damage. Your back is excessively scarred, I just am curious as to what has happened and what effects you've been left feeling."

"Ya, sure. I can tell when someone is going to win the Power Bowl, it makes my back itchy." 

"Spider-Man-"

"Fuck! Just call me Peter, and stop asking about them!" He burst out, glaring at Banner with every ounce of anger he could muster. His muscles were tight, shoulders fully drawn up to his ears as he grabbed at his suit, tugging it as far upwards as he could manage. Hauling in deep breaths, he tried to force himself out of fight-or-flight, but with Tony standing behind him, entirely still and Toomes whispering in his ear, it was too much.

"I'm sorry. I let my curiosity get the best of me, I sincerely apologize. " Banner wrung his hands, "I would like to scan your ribs-"

"No." 

"Spid- Peter, I think Tony would agree with me that we should obser-"

"I said no." Peter firmly cut him off again. "It is just fractures, I know. I don't want anything extra." There was a silent conversation going on between Banner and Stark who was still lingering behind Peter. He could feel his eyes on his exposed back, and it only served to agitate him more. He should have told him to get out when he asked. Idiot.

"I am going to step outside, and find a shoulder sling then if you would just wait a few moments," Banner explained, finally backing away and giving Peter room to breathe. "I know you said Cap's medication does not work, do you think if we increased the dose it would provide any relief?"

He thought for a moment, before nodding. "Sure, three or so might help a little." Banner's eyebrows shot into his hairline, clearly not expecting Peter to anticipate his metabolism needing so much. 

"I am concerned that it might be too much, you could sleep for quite a while," he explained slowly.

The younger man shrugged. "Whatever, I don't care. I got laid off for the week, knock me out till next week for all I care." Taking his queue to leave, the Doctor slipped out of the door once again, his footsteps quickly retreating down the hall into another room.

"Are you going to keep prowling around back there, or are you going to enter line of sight again, Stark? You are giving me the heebie-jeebies." Humor tried and failed to latch itself onto the comment, but he had never heard Stark so quiet. It was disturbing Peter to sit in the unknown, unable to see even what the older man was thinking.

"Peter," Tony spoke, voice cracking just enough to make the younger man wince. 

"Don't cry about it. It's fine. You wouldn't even notice it if I wasn't giving you both a little strip-tease."

"No, no jokes, Peter Parker." He bristled at his name being said so loudly, still aware of Bruce sitting just a few rooms away. He glared at Tony as he slowly made his way back to the chair, plopping himself down in a manner that served a man at least fifteen years older.

The pride earlier that had puffed Stark was gone, he looked like a shell-shocked soldier now. "When did this happen, why did you not come to me?" He paused, dragging a hand down his face, "May can't have known, I know her. She would have ripped me a new one." He was right. May would have hauled Peter, kicking and screaming to Stark's doorstep, demanding his help, his time, and his money. Peter couldn't ask her to do that, they made it on their own for so long. He wasn't going to ask her to stoop to begging, especially not from the man who tossed him aside only a week earlier. He knew where he stood in the world of the heroes and it wasn't beside them. He was a glorified do-gooder to Tony.

Twisting in his spot on the bed, he opened his mouth to tell Tony just how he felt about coming to him for his help but paused. Stark was pale, his dark eyes tormented as they stared at Peter's back, whatever view of it that he still held. God, he needed out of here. His vision had gained a foot, that was the only bright side of this entire last thirty minutes.

"I'm alive," he reminded the older man.

"Have you seen them?" Stark asked, dark eyes burning a hole into Peter's face. The reality was that he hadn't looked at them much, he actively avoided thinking about that night and didn't push his luck trying to look at the results. He had treated it the best he could, and that was all the energy he gave it, willing it to erase itself with the turn of time. But he wasn't going to tell Tony that seeing what he'd let happen to himself made his stomach roil, so he shrugged, putting on the attitude that it couldn't bother him less, as if it was just a bump in the road of the Peter Parker life.

"You haven't seen anything capable of injury to that degree since-" Stark cut himself off, his eyes staring into Peter's soul with unbridled horror, then anger. "Not since you took the vulture down, don't try and pretend you have, I pay attention. For fuck sake, Peter!" Stark shoved himself upright, sending the chair flying into the door behind it. "You walked away from that, acting like you were fine. I sent Happy to check on you, why the hell didn't you say anything?"

Peter considered lying, there was surely someone else he had handled in the last three years who could have left this amount of damage. He wracked his brain, trying to think of someone, anyone, who he could claim took their price out of his skin. "Didn't seem that important," he muttered, slowly starting the process of sliding his suit back on.

Tony was outraged now, he could practically hear his heart trying to pound out of his chest as he hauled in a deep breath. "You can't even look at me. We both know that is bullshit." He shoved an accusing finger under Peter's nose. 

"You just don't have anything I want to see," he shot back, shoving his arm into the sleeve of his suit, gritting his teeth as he ripped it up his shoulder.

Tony was scoffing, marching back and forth in front of him. "Happy said he saw you, when he checked in. he-" He paused as Peter broke into laughter, the hallow pained sound of it causing a pause in Stark's pacing.

"He handed me the suit with the same pathetic apology that you gave me. Stop lying to yourself, Tony." He paused under the pretense of glaring at his old mentor, hiding the fact that he was practically vibrating out of pain and nerves.

"He was supposed to-"

"Fuck off with that!"

Stark's mouth dropped open, shock marring every feature on his face.

Peter wrenched his mask off of his head, allowing for the weight of his stare to rest on Tony without a barrier. "You should have done it, you self-righteous dick. You were just passing off the job, the totem of fixing Tony's problem giving to whoever was closest, it didn't mean a thing to me. Big yippee, you gave back the only thing that I held as more important than myself. I didn't need you to give it back, I needed you to admit you were wrong!" He was heaving with the effort it took to yell what he had dreamed of saying to Stark for three years. Frustration welled inside him as he felt his eyes burn with the rising of tears, the raw wound of hurt felt like it had been rubbed with sand, and lit aflame. "You left me, you almost let me die!" He gasped out, clutching at his chest as the phantom weight of the warehouse crushed his body, it was never going to fade. It prowled his mind, waiting for him to give it the time of day so it could remind him just how horrible it was.

"I did not know about the god-damn stab wound, Peter!" Tony's eyes were wild, his hands pulling at his hair now, as distraught as Peter felt.

"I am talking about the warehouse, good grief, you always think that you know everything!" He should not have opened this can of worms, there was never going to be a chance in the world that Tony would allow this to go away, it was going to be picked over, explained, and exposed, leaving Peter empty, and bleeding once again.

"What are you talking about, what warehouse?" 

"The one he exploded, you can't have missed that on the news! The giant, concrete building he sat on me. I was stuck," his voice cracked painfully, the once clear vision he had now swimming with tears, "It-" he gestured to himself, "Freaking sat on me. I was stuck, I didn't have Karen. I was alone. I could have died." Tony was holding his mouth, face ashen as he looked at Peter, staring at him like he had never seen him before. "You came in and helped me, gave me the suit which you know meant the absolute world to me, told me I was a hero, a good guy," he sucked in a wet breath, roughly rubbing at his eyes. "Then I mess up and you take it away, tell me I am nothing, that I can't do it. You took it all, the safety you gave me, Karen, the heater, the stupid parachute." The weight on his chest continued to grow. Digging a fist into his diaphragm he tried to rub it away, tried to convince himself that he could breathe, that there wasn't rebar sticking into his spine, pinning him in place anymore.

He bounced slightly as Stark dropped beside him on the bed, arms limp by his sides as he stared at the wall. Peter tried to clear his throat, willing the snot and tears to erase themselves. Because this was humiliating, he was supposed to be angry, not weeping on a gurney as Ironman stared at him like he was a stranger. As Tony looked at him with complete shock, as if he had no idea, that Peter had suffered because of him. He looked sick, caught off guard, processing too quickly and too slowly at the same time.

"You chased him down, I just thought it was you- I don't know." Tony paused, rubbing at his face roughly, "I thought you just weren't going to get it, we were just moving on. I didn’t know.” 

Peter snorted, the sound wet and disgusting. "He had a gun, idiot. He was gonna shoot me as Peter Parker at homecoming, I had to be Spider-Man. Saving your ass, I might add!" Outrage caused his voice to raise again, covering the sound of Banner entering the room. Peter upon noticing him, quickly turned towards the wall, cursing himself for letting Banner see his face, let alone when it was covered in tears. 

"I will handle it, thanks, Bruce." Tony's voice left no chance for any other choice, and Banner passed him a bottle of pills and the sling before silently exiting. Passing Peter three pills, Tony stood and poured another glass of water, allowing the younger man a moment to himself. 

Peter drained his glass, before settling himself back into his bed, staring a foot above Tony's head. He was tired, he just wanted to sleep for weeks, he wanted to be done. Five more minutes passed, before he slowly began to feel himself floating. The thoughts crashing around in his mind twisted themselves into smoke puffs, disappearing before he could remember what they were. 

"Peter, I-"

"Save it." Peter slurred, tugging the gurney's blanket over his body as he sunk further into the bed. "I don't care, tomorrow, I am out of here." 

"Please, let me talk to you. Listen, I have to-"

"Nope," Peter muttered, closing his eyes, mask back in place. He heard Tony sigh, then stand.

The briefest touch landed on his knee before the sound of retreating footsteps reached his ears.

And then, Peter heard nothing at all.

Chapter Text

After Tony left, Peter slipped into a black sleep, the kind he had been wishing for throughout the last two years. The floor didn't creak with the sounds of upstairs neighbors, no shouting broke into his dreams, and not once did the door handle rattle with the drunken confusion of another person trying to find their apartment. Peter existed in absolute oblivion for a few hours, and when he slowly rose out of his dead sleep, it was to his aching body. Thankfully it wasn't nearly as excruciating as it felt six hours earlier, his ribs felt almost normal. 

He lay awake for nearly an hour, staring at the night sky out of his window, the tops of the surrounding buildings barely poking their sleepy heads over the windowsill. He wondered how high the Med Bay was in the tower, he had been here he was sure, but it seemed so long ago that it twisted its memory on itself until he could barely recall it.

Bruce popped in once more in the middle of the night, somberly handing Peter three small pills again when Peter informed him that, 'Yes, the broken shoulder is hurting still' 

"We really should engineer something directly for you, Peter.” Bruce was lazily leaning against the end of the bed as he watched the younger man desperately chuck them back, throat bobbing as he swallowed them dry. “I think your metabolism is almost triple Steve Roger’s own, definitely twice it.” 

“Tony thought something like that,” Peter conceded as he began snuggling down into the cocoon of blankets he had emerged from. The clock hanging on the wall glared 3:46 a.m. back at his squinting eyes. 

“I wondered why he hasn’t already created something for you,” a frown locked itself in place between Banner’s furrowed brows. “Seeing how close you two-“ he paused as if rethinking what he was going to say, deciding not to venture down that road, he changed directions. “Tony clarified to Steve and Clint that there is no relation between the two of you if you wondered.”

The younger man silently mouthed an unattractive word to himself, before shoving a thumbs up out of his blanket. He simultaneously hated and appreciated the older man bringing it up, it had haunted him for the last hour. Clint’s frown at the denial stuck in his memory.

“It still leaves a man wondering,” Bruce murmured, shuffling across the room before once again plunging the room into near darkness as he shut off the nighttime overhead light. “Excuse me, if I ask too much. I truly did not mean to overhear anything between you two.”

Great, another extremely unwanted conversation to mark down in Peter’s book of most unfortunate moments.

"Why did you not seek Tony out for help? I just don’t understand. You were some sort of mentee, surely you knew that he would have synthesized something for your injuries.” 

“It’s expensive, and I didn’t need him crying about it being a mess. You know how he gets, caffeine sensitive, overstimulated, the tears and snot are just appalling.” Humor was always Peter's choice or redirection, masking his discomfort. 

"I used to struggle to ask for help too,” Banner all but whispered, a hand raising to brush against his lips, eyes far off. 

“Okay, this was great. But I am tired, and I'm sure you have something awesome and sciencey to work on,” hoping the dismissal would take hold, Peter directed his mind to try and think out his path home in a few hours. Even if his shoulder had healed a large part of itself already, he wasn’t sure about using it in full Spider-Man capacity anytime within the next three days. He’d have to force down everything in his pantry to get his metabolism up to the best possible standard, another dent in his savings just waiting to happen. 

“One last thing,” Bruce called from his position beside the door, hand propped on the knob, “You haven’t cursed yet.” A silly observation for a silly and far too nosey man, Peter thought to himself.

"What can I say, you aren’t nearly as much of a jerk as Tony is, he brings the worst out in a person.”

"You know what I think, I think you’re scared. I just don’t know why.” The door clicked shut behind him. 

The smell of hashbrowns and sausage tickled Peter's nose. May's bustling around drawing him out of his deep sleep. Frowning into his pillow, he waited for the distant smell of something burning to ruin the delicious smells that filled his bedroom, while May had improved somewhat at cooking but she usually left breakfast to Peter.

Thunk, "Fuck."

Peter's eyes shot open beneath his mask at the unfamiliar voice of a man in the apartment. The grey wall and medical cabinets that greeted his eyes momentarily confused him, right, not the apartment. Shoving himself upright, he twisted to look at the intruder. Clint, once again clear with the returning of Peter's vision, was bent over cleaning up what smelled to be a strawberry smoothie off of the ground. 

"What are you even doing?" His sleep-addled voice interrupted Clint's grumbling cleaning.

The older man shot him a glance before turning back to his spilled cup, "I brought you breakfast. I had a smoothie for you, but it fell, don't expect me to give you mine either. I'm not over that whole thrown-in-the-wall thing you did yesterday." 

"Whatever, Grandpa." Rubbing his eyes, Peter tried to force himself into clarity as Clint disposed of the mess of paper towels he had built into a small, soggy mountain. Mumbling the entire time about ungrateful kids and the last time he'd do something nice as Peter adjusted his bed to sit up comfortably again.

"Did you really sleep in that thing?" Clint asked, mouth full of smoothie as he plopped into Stark's abandoned seat and began rustling through a full McDonald's bag. Peter simply shrugged, the mask was uncomfortable, morning breath unfortunately confined to his face. "We aren't going to paint your face on every news outlet, you know?" Tossing three burritos towards Peter, Clint shoved a hashbrown into his mouth as he watched the younger man slowly unroll a burrito. 

"You never know, maybe you are all broke, they'd pay a pretty penny to see who is swinging around this joint," Peter muttered as he stared at the burrito, the smell of warmed cheddar cheese and eggs drifted to him through the material over his nose.

Clint chuckled as if Peter had shared an inside joke, sipping his smoothie as he watched him debate removing his mask. He only raised an eyebrow when the teen rolled the mask up past his nose. "Face recognition would find you, just by your chin, nose, and cheekbones. The facial structure of the lower face can tell you a lot about a person, you don't need the eyes most of the time." The burrito paused before it reached Peter's mouth, his stomach dropping at the threat. "I'm just saying," Clint was scrambling now, "I was trying to say that you can be comfortable for a bit. I don't have an interest in ruining someone's anonymity. If you wanted to, same team and all that." He awkwardly turned to his burrito, taking a large bite to keep himself silent. 

Peter chewed at his bottom lip, weighing the risk of showing his face. Clint was not wrong. But Peter had lived in a hidden world for so long that it was second nature for him to keep himself secret at all costs. This was an Avenger, with Stark off his tail and Peter an adult now, what was the harm of showing his face?  Breathing deeply through his nose, Peter snatched the mask off his head before ducking to his food once again, filling his mouth with the steaming breakfast. He glanced at the clock, blinking in silent surprise at the 11:37 a.m.

Did he sleep that long?

"How'd you get this so fresh, McDonald's is like miles away?" Most of the words were garbled around the second burrito that Peter was digging into, but Clint seemed to understand just fine. His blue eyes tracked over the younger's exposed face, ignoring the scowl he got in return,

"Cap likes to jog, I just asked him to stop by. That man is impressively fast, you'd think I made it a room over, the hashbrowns scalded my mouth." He tossed a wrapper into a small wastebasket beside the cabinets. Peter grinned at the idea of America's hallmark hero running fast-food errands. "You got a cute little smile. Has anyone ever told you that?" The unwelcome observation drew Peter's mouth into a frown once again. "No, bring that back. Surly tween Spider-Man is way less fun."

"I am nearly twenty," he snapped, frustrated at the assumption, Sam's jab at his facial hair yesterday fresh in his mind.

Clint blinked a few times, his head tilting, "Then you have been Spider-Man since you were like, what, fourteen?" Surprise colored his voice, and unease filled Peter as he took another timid bite of his burrito and gave a slight shrug, aware that he had given into Clint's fishing for details. Spies, they are too good, Peter had to be better about that. 

"I can't believe Stark let you do that." Judgment, a bitter edge lacing Clint's voice as he bit into another hashbrown. 

"What the shit could he do?" Peter snapped, throwing his burrito wrappers into the wastebasket.

Clint seemed to catch himself, raising his hands in surrender. "Not your dad, I remember." Great, that topic again, it had only been twice and Peter was ready to never have it mentioned again.

"You know what, where the hell did you get that idea anyway?" Peter demanded. "He has no boundaries, was it him? I could see Stark playing that angle." 

An awkward silence filled the room as Clint finished his smoothie, an obnoxious slurping grating Peter's ears. Eventually, he gave a small nod to Peter, "Technically, you called him dad," a hand rubbed at sandy brown hair. "But he didn't deny it when he flew to the rescue."

Stunned, Peter let himself fall back into the bed, his mouth dropped open as he tried to come up with some reason for his behavior. Clint seemed to have recovered from his momentary awkwardness as he disposed of the trash surrounding his feet, and wandered to the window, lightly tracing the cracks Peter left in its face.

Turning over his shoulder, Clint sent him a small smile, "The toxic foggy doggy got you, so don't sweat it. Stark only got a little disturbed when I told him that his kid was asking for him."

Peter wanted to die, he wanted to wither away and never be seen again

The need to be invisible was crushing him, Stark, as his dad. Peter calling him dad after the clusterfuck of homecoming, the warehouse, and the terrible mentor speeches. The three years of radio silence.

Stark knew. He knew he had asked for him in such a vulnerable way, it was the worst thing Peter had ever had happen to him.

"Did you seriously intend to just punch through this and climb away?" Unaware of how Peter was internally falling apart, Clint knocked on the window a couple of times. Dropping his head into his hands, Peter tugged at his hair, letting out a frustrated groan as he chanted idiot at himself internally. If he didn't think he could see Stark again before, there was no way Peter could ever look the man in the face again now. He had to get out of this place,

"This is my nightmare, how could this get worse?" he grumbled. 

"erm, well I guess, well you won't be happy. But I was supposed to tell you that Stark is coming at noon to drive you home."

The teenager glanced at the clock in desperation, betrayed by the bright 12:04p.m. Clint sounded like he had done it on purpose, and the small smile he gave as he wandered towards the door told Peter everything he had suspected. 

"Nice to meet you kid. I'll see you around, don't be a stranger." With a small wave, he ducked out of the door, ignorant of the double middle fingers that Peter stuck out at his retreating form. "Hey, Stark! Fed the kiddo," Clint chirped as a second pair of footsteps sounded in the hall.

There was nothing to do, without his webshooters Peter was stuck here until they were returned. He couldn't afford the material to rebuild those right now, not with missing work for a week. How could Peter's world implode so spectacularly in such a short amount of time? The burritos had felt like a nice gesture, a little comradery between heroes, but now they sat too heavy and bitter in his stomach. He kicked himself for thinking that Clint had innocently come to visit, conveniently keeping him here the nearly twenty minutes that Stark needed to force himself into the younger man's world once again. Spies, how many times had Stark told him, spies always come with agendas. Ironic words from a man who relied on those same spies to step in and manipulate Peter for him.

The door rattled with two firm knocks before Stark let himself into the room, a plastic sack loose in hand. They stared at each other in silence for a half minute, Stark eyebrows high on his face with surprise at Peter unmasked in the same room that Clint just left. Tony found his footing first naturally, walking into the room till he reached the end of Peter's gurney. It felt silly suddenly, for the teen to be sitting in a gurney, uninjured and freshly woken with half of the day already gone.

"Barton said he fed you, I hope it wasn't sugar. I once watched him eat an entire family-sized bag of Sour Patch Kids." The air felt stale as Peter forced himself to take an even breath, taking in the faded jeans and band tee that Tony wore. He had never seen the famous Tony Stark so informally dressed.

"I don't need a ride, I can swing back just fine."

Tony frowned, clearly not expecting to be denied again,"No luck, kiddo. Brucie said that you need to be off that shoulder for a few days, no superhero mucking about."

His stomach twisted, hearing it confirmed from someone else that Spiderman was out of the picture for a few days more. So much for reentering the picture on his week of forced relaxation. "I will take a taxi," he offered instead.

"Got cash?" Tony eyeballed the suit in disbelief, at Peter's silence he tried again. "No biggie, I can pay for the cab." Dick.

"Absolutely not," Peter spat. He wasn't going to take anything else. The suit was enough for a lifetime, he did not need to owe the older man anything else. May had walked to work enough times in Peter's life for him to accept someone handing him help for minor issues. He was an adult, he could do it himself, it was maybe an hour's walk back to his apartment. He knew that Stark was going to want to rehash last night's talk, he just needed him alone and stuck in a car.

"Your aunt would kill me if you show up at her place walking, I value my life too much."

Her place? Confused, Peter tracked Tony's face, his features relaxed but dark eyes prepared for Peter to argue further. He said he hadn't kept tabs on Peter, had that included May?

Of course, Stark thought May was still in New York, no way he would have left Peter alone for so long if he thought that the teen was alone in the state. May covered for me, Peter thought with pride, appreciation swelling in his chest for his aunt who valued his wants so much.

"Fine, you can drop me at her job. I'll go home with her for her lunch break," he fibbed quickly, Pushing himself off of the gurney. 

"Not so fast, twinkle toes," Tony shoved the plastic bag towards Peter, "You aren't marching out of here in that, you change and I'll meet you in the garage."

Peter changed into what he desperately hoped wasn't Tony's clothes but would have to be insane to convince himself that the MIT hoodie and sweats belonged to anyone else. The pink socks surely had to be Pepper's. Decked out in another level of shame, he left the small room behind for the first time in nearly twenty-four hours, suit and mask safely tucked into the plastic bag. Navigating his way to the elevator, he ducked inside before staring at the garage button, deciding to skip out on that chat, he jabbed a thumb into the lobby button.

"Hello," Friday spoke suddenly. "Boss has instructed me that you may only travel to the garage. I am sending you there now."

"No, Fri, come on." Hanging his head, he jabbed the lobby button two more times, but Friday did not reply, and he slowly passed the lobby anyway. Grinding his teeth in frustration, he waited for the doors to open, he'd forgotten the power Tony had in his own tower, freaky AI following his every bid like a crime boss's butler. "Thanks a lot," he muttered to Friday in bitter sarcasm as he stepped out.

Tony was parked directly in front of the elevator, the millionaire looking expensive and smug as he sat propped against his vehicle. The pink socks felt insulting now. "I knew you'd try to run, there was a time when you would have jumped on the idea of Tony Stark being your chauffeur." Ignoring his old mentor entirely, Peter yanked open the passenger seat and shoved himself into it. Secretly appreciating the fact that it was a simple, subtle version of Tony's usual car taste. "Plug her in." Tony ordered, pointing at the screen's awaiting GPS, Peter obliged in silence, and Tony exited the garage. "So, it has been a while." This had to be the most awkward conversation that Peter had ever had with Tony, he thought last night was bad but with the passion and emotion running high, it was far easier to bear than this. Tony sighed at the silence and glanced at the side of Peter's face. "Your web shooters are in the glove box."

Peter quickly dug them out, uniting them with the rest of the suit in his sack, refusing to break his silence for petty conversation with the older man.

"Peter, I want to make this right, I have been thinking about what you said, all of it."

"Tony, this is a lot for me, right now." Wringing his hands, Peter stared into his lap, wondering where it was that Tony even got a plastic sack, didn't rich people shop at places that packaged goods in cardboard boxes and canvas sacks?

"I know, I'm sorry." Tony did genuinely sound sorry for making the teen uncomfortable, that was what Peter wanted, wasn't it? For Tony to be sincerely sorry, to see how he had hurt him? So why did it not make him feel any better? If anything Peter just wanted to pretend it never happened, like the last three years of separation were a natural divide, him cleaving himself away from the closest father figure he had in years.

"I would like you to come back Friday, so we can synthesize a pain medication for you, it's necessary. I'm sorry it wasn't done sooner. It should have been, Peter." It felt like an olive branch, a reason to reconnect without having to rip everything up again. He considered it, it wouldn't hurt to have a pain medication that actually worked. He'd had enough injuries to push through in the last two years to have him debating against himself,

"Sure," Peter replied, watching the GPS, 7 minutes until arrival. "Do me a favor?" Stark raised an eyebrow in interest, waiting for him to continue.  "Don't tell May about this. It was a mess but nothing she needed to worry about. It is done, so why stress her out, you know?"

"You know, Peter people are allowed to be concerned about you and know that you need help." Knowing how he was deceiving Tony, he felt his stomach twist. "Do you promise to come Friday, nine in the morning?" 

"Ya, I promise." Staring out the window, Tony let them lapse into silence, while Peter stared at nothing for the remaining five minutes of their ride, steadily ignoring the other man as much as he could with less than two feet between them. When Tony pulled up to their destination, Peter unbuckled and propped the door open, preparing to launch himself out of the uncomfortable air he was choking in. "I'm going to run in and catch her before she heads home for lunch, but uh, thanks I guess?"

The manners he was raised with didn't allow him to make his escape in silence. Stark nodded, looking like he wanted to say more, but Peter was already closing the door. He watched as Tony slowly pulled away once he was in the entryway.

The memory of Stark calling him a liar felt like a dagger as he walked back outside the large glass doors and began the long trek to his stashed bag, and then home to his apartment. 

Chapter Text

Two days after slipping away from Stark, Peter hadn't moved from his couch in too many hours to be considered healthy. Sprawled out, a cartoon played from his lap on a tablet, the charger cord attached and too short, leaving him sitting in an uncomfortable position to accommodate it. The damn thing would die in ten minutes if unplugged, but he refused to pay for a new battery, not until he had to use the tablet for something other than entertainment at odd hours.  

He frowned at the far too-bright screen, fingers scraping around in a bowl on the floor for his last barbeque chips. The characters were poorly drawn, and the dialogue was unbearably cheesy, just when did artists get so lazy with their materials?  "That isn't even realistic," he grumbled as a fight broke out on the screen. "That punch would have broken her eye socket," he licked the chip dust from his fingers. Watching as blow and blow were exchanged. Once upon a time, he would not have given a second thought to the choreographed exchange, but now he could only see how the characters stood too quickly after being kicked down, normal humans exchanging blows back and forth without sway. 

He clucked his tongue in disapproval, the artist didn't even shift the character's weight to their back foot before throwing a wild punch, lazy. He should shut it off and get his laundry done, the pile was far too large in the corner of the room to be excusable at his age But as he was unable to go out on patrol, or to his shift at 7-Eleven, his motivation was lacking. His show paused as a 'Battery 20%'  lit the screen, the charger unknowingly having shifted away from its very particular angle required to charge. It was a bitch like that.

Deadening the screen, he set the tablet down on the end of the couch, resigning from his binge session. Head sinking back into the arm behind him, he pursed his lips, eyes tracing the familiar shapes in the ceiling tiles above him. He could grocery shop, he mused considering that the pantry was becoming a wasteland, the boxes, and cans disappearing at a concerning rate this week. He wasn't usually home this much, he'd only eat dinner at home in a normal week, but without a lunch break, or the free taquitos at the 7-Eleven, he'd been left to his own devices, dutifully chewing through his groceries.

The mere idea of taking anything out of his savings felt like asking himself to chop off an arm. Crawling off the couch, he forced himself into the kitchen, his stomach's hunger pains unable to be ignored as they shot through his midriff, the chips a meager offering to relieve the aches. Riffling through the fridge, the bald space within mocked his searching eyes. He settled on celery and peanut butter for lunch. Dismal. The pantry went from a friendly space of four items to three as he withdrew the peanut butter jar. 

He didn't bother to wash the celery, because if pesticides were going to take him out, then so be it. Forcing a whole celery stock into the jar, he shoved a massive scoop of peanut butter in his mouth, wandering back towards the couch.

Bam, bam. 

The front door shook with the strength of someone wailing against it, the door wiggling within the frame. With a frown, Peter glanced at the free puppy calendar from the library on his fridge. The rent wasn't due till Monday, there was no reason for the landlord to come and shake him down for rent like that. When the pounding continued, he sighed, head hanging between his shoulders as he accepted his fate of dealing with bullshit far too early in the morning. Snapping off another loaded bite of celery aggressively, he began undoing the four locks stacked into the door frame, before swinging it open. What was he going to tell the man, he didn't quite know, but he was hungry and irritated so he'd come up with something easy. 

"Fu'k" he mumbled around the peanut butter in his mouth, as the open door revealed an incredibly angry-looking Tony Stark standing in the ratty hallway. 

"I'd say that is about right, Parker." Alarm bells went off in his head, the tone just as cold and furious as he had heard the night of the ferry splitting apart. "Imagine my surprise," not bothering to be let in, Tony shoved his way past Peter into the apartment. "When you didn't answer for two days, and shut off your phone after promising to come back to let me design those pain meds, for your own good!"  He pointed a finger towards Peter, his eye twitching. Forcing down his bite of celery, Peter lowered himself into his lawn chair, setting the peanut butter down on the sad little table beside it, accepting his fate. "What did I do? Be patient, I told myself. Maybe he forgot that he made an appointment with me, so I tried to call May."

"Mister Stark," the other man shook his head, not allowing Peter to speak just yet.

"Your aunt, she is a busy woman and her phone was dead, okay so no biggie I tell myself. I will call her job, so I ask to leave a message for her," An aggressive set of eyebrows rose on his forehead, "A message to tell her thick-headed fucking nephew to make good on his promises." This was so much worse than Peter thought it was going to be. "You know what they told me?!" Tony was red in the face with outrage, and what Peter did not want to acknowledge was hurt filling the older man's eyes. "May Parker has not worked there in nearly two years, better yet, she moved across the country to California. So your little, 'drop me off at May's job' crap, that was crafty, I'm impressed. I never took you for a liar, Peter."

The little boy inside of him, always begging for approval, of his hero, felt like he had been stomped into the ground. He puffed his chest, forcing a bravado he didn't feel into his stature. 

"You both lied and for the life of me, I can't understand how you got May on board with it. That must have taken effort, what did you tell her? Evil Mister Stark would drag you away to a cave?" Stark laughed darkly, looking around Peter's apartment for the first time. Eyebrows sinking in a pinched  "Where the hell are we? I expected to find you laid out drugged or something, this is a cesspit."

"It isn't that bad," Peter defended, feeling ashamed of the life he had made for himself. He knew it wasn't the greatest, but he'd tried his best to make it a home, and one that he didn't despise walking into every day after work. Sure there wasn't art on the walls, and most things had a touch of personality that another person would call 'bothersome' but he was content. "Not all of us have the money to hire a maid and forgive me, sir. But my teakettle broke, so if you thought you'd get brunch, think again. I do have celery, which you can't have because I'm not in a sharing mood, but I can get you a big ol' glass of Piss off."

"You mean to tell me that this is yours" Tony choked out, staring in horror at Peter.

Feeling defensive and irritated at the judgment pouring out his way, he stiffened his upper lip, "Yeah, it is, jackass. And I didn't make May do anything, she didn't tell you on her own accord, she felt like it was the better option, clearly." Tony was stepping on the younger man's proverbial toes, dancing all over them really. The celery in Peter's grip creaked with how tightly he clutched it.

Stark's face turned thunderous, "There is a prostitute in your apartment's entryway, Parker. Are you seriously trying to tell me that your aunt knows you are living like this, and accepts that you are alone in this shithole?" Disbelief coated the question. 

"Misty is just fine," Peter defended, desperately hoping she had not propositioned his old mentor, the very idea of it made his skin crawl. "May knows I have a place. I didn't ask you to waltz into it, so you're trespassing, you know? I should call the cops. 'Millionaire Harasses Section Eight Housing Apartment Dweller, Breaking and Entering, while Verbally Accosting the Innocent' ' that will be your headline." He crossed his arms. "How did you even find me here anyway, Tony?" 

"I tracked your phone smartass."

"You had no right!" He should have expected that, he just never thought Stark would invade his privacy in that manner. He forced himself to take a breath, eyes jumping anywhere but Tony's face. He began to close the door left open upon Tony's arrival. No one else had to hear this, there were enough issues without the paparazzi appearing to watch Tony Stark yell at him.

"I had no right? Peter, I was concerned, my god. You are unbelievable." Stark unknowingly parroted Peter's words from just days before as he paced the tiny living room. Well, 'living room' was too generous a term, it was a corner of the room sectioned off by a small couch and tablet that served as a TV propped up on the end. Tony's hair stuck up in odd angles as he dragged his hands through it, tugging at the ends in stress. Peter peered into the empty hall, checking for eavesdroppers before closing the door, stiffly passing Tony to stand in his own kitchen.

"Since you obviously aren't living uptown like you said, are you even a lab assistant? Please tell me that is true." Stark stared at Peter as if he could give some grounding reality back that Peter had stolen from him.

Hunching his shoulders, Peter sat in the lawn chair, his jar of peanut butter and celery stick carefully set on the wobbly table beside him. He pushed the heels of his palms into his eyes, bright lights flashing with the pressure he used. He was feeling claustrophobic, no single person was supposed to be stripped this bare in such a short amount of time. It was overwhelming him in every way possible, the sound of an angry Tony Stark coming closer was like nails on a chalkboard. 

Two calloused hands grabbed Peter's wrists, pulling them away from his face. Raising his eyes in shock he prepared to berate the older man, but his hold was gentle when he held the younger man's wrists, crouching in front of the chair.

"Kid, the lab?"

He wasn't actually a liar, he could avoid and evade all day long but it wasn't his nature to make boldface fictions, so Peter shrugged in defeat. He was in too deep, he didn't even know that May was still screening calls with Tony after she moved. He had made up far too much in his voicemails to May to pretend he knew what she had shared with Tony, what she believed about his life. "She wasn't supposed to be talking to you," he complained, voice cracking with stress. He felt so betrayed, so backed into a corner, everything he had convinced himself was fine was being exposed.

Peter desperately tried to remain in control, the threat of overwhelming panic creeping up his throat.

"Peter," Tony shook the teen's hands to emphasize, "This is so not okay. There is so much messed up here, I can't leave you here." He knew that, but he had tried his best to keep afloat and not let anyone else see, he wasn't ready to admit he was failing. He was getting ready to switch to somewhere better...someday soon. It wasn't all that bad.

"I think I am doin' just fine. I don't need a mansion like yourself, in fact with the help of Marie Kondo, I have decluttered so much that-"

"You are thin," Tony did not so much as smirk, unappreciative of the prime example of stressed-induced wit before him. His dark eyes were determined. "You live in a crime zone, your metabolism isn't even at half capacity," When Peter cringed at that assessment, Tony only looked grim, "Yeah, I notice these things."

"Well then don't notice, I didn't ask for your bullshit and expectations," Peter snapped, trying to draw his hands back from Tony's grasp, but he held firmly, clasping both of the teen's hands between his own. "You aren't obligated to look after me anymore, consider yourself fired from the job like three years ago. You don't have to pretend to care, so just leave me alone"

"I care," he sounded hurt at Peter's dismissal, "and there isn't anyone else around to do it, kiddo." The words were soft, but the meaning landed as if he had yelled it. Peter was alone, he had done it to himself. He was afraid, just like Bruce said.

He was terrified of MJ getting hurt, or of Ned being dragged into his world as the guy in the chair. Toomes had taken away the false premise that Peter Parker and Spider-Man were different people.  Everyone around him got hurt, because of him. It punched the air right out of him, shoulders drooping in defeat.

His parents he couldn't help, but Ben, and Toomes threatening his friends, his family, going after Tony? That was on Peter. Tony was right, Peter was nothing without the suit, he should never have tried to balance the two worlds. He wasn't strong enough.

He tried, god he tried, he sent May across the whole damn country for her own good, even if it felt like it took his entire heart along with her. He looked up to Tony, he was so much that Peter hoped to be. When he saw that Peter wasn't enough, when he stepped away it had taken almost everything Peter saw in himself. He tried to prove himself and put everyone around him at risk, he almost died. He was nearly murdered because he thought he knew best.

Now Tony was here to see that he was still fucking up, he still couldn't do anything right. 

"Peter," Tony's voice was choked with emotion, a hand coming up to cup Peter's face, sliding over tears that the younger man didn't even know had rolled down his face. "I know this is screwed up, we aren't okay. I know, but let me help you, kid. I am signing up here for you." Peter blinked frustrated tears from his eyes, shaking his head. He wasn't anyone's kid, a burden his whole life and still dragging others down with him even if he tried to cut them loose. "I promise. I am here, let me help. Please, for goodness sake stop telling me I don't care about you." Rough hands cupped Peter's face, turning his eyes to Tony, to see the pleading look in the older man's eyes. "Let me take you home, we can figure this out together. We can deal with May later, but you need someone."

"I'm too much, Tony." He could barely see the other man, tears brimming as he finally acknowledged his greatest fault. "I need too much. It isn't fair to ask for." Strong arms dragged him into Tony's chest, his ribs squeezing with the strength of the hug, he was holding him together. Peter swears it was the only thing keeping him whole.

"You are human, Peter. Everyone needs a lot, I promise. I can handle it," Tony whispered into his hair.

"May is going to hate me," he choked out, mourning the mayhem to come when Tony told her what was really happening.

Tony denied that idea, rubbing a hand over his shoulders. "We will start somewhere small, okay? But you are coming home with me, I am not negotiating."

"Fine," Sagging into the older man, Peter tried to breathe, his chest feeling lighter than it had in months. "I'm lost." It felt good to say, to give it its weight. He was, Peter was living on the bare minimum, he was surviving and it was hard.

This was all so hard, but he was fighting tooth and nail, and he desperately in the bottom of his soul wanted someone else. Someone who could hear him, who cared, because as messed up as Tony was. Peter knew he loved him, even if it was hard to see, and if Tony didn't handle things right all the time. There was no doubt that he meant what he said, he would help.

"Come on, Parker. Let's go home." Strong arms tugging him upward, Peter rose to the promise of something better for the first time in years, and he was ready.

Chapter Text

Peter settled himself with a few deep breaths, pushing off the intense wave of overwhelm he was experiencing with Tony so near him in the cramped apartment. The knowledge that Tony felt this was below Peter, that the home he had scraped from the barrel of nothing that he had left in the last two years was crap, it felt like acid tearing at the back of his throat as he settled back into reality. He should never have accepted this apartment, he should have been better and made the original one work out, he should have been smarter.

He resisted crumbling back into the chair he had been sitting in. Forbidding himself from hiding away and showing more weakness than he already had, Peter wiped his face, ignoring the fact that he had just broken down in front of the older man. Tony, whom he had been avoiding at all costs and was furious with for three years. The man who had hurt him so deeply, but still called him kid fondly. The same man gave Peter a tight squeeze on the shoulder as if knowing that Peter was fighting himself once again. 

Slipping away from Tony's grasp, he quickly excused himself to the bathroom, shutting the door between himself and his crumbling world.

He sat on the toilet for a few minutes, just existing before finally pushing to his feet and gathering his bathroom supplies. It felt like a lie, leaving this place; like the other foot was waiting to drop dumping him back into the misery he called normal. Peter had fallen too many times to believe that harsh reality was not going to inevitably stomp Peter down into the pits of his own despair.

"Sorry," he mumbled as he emerged from the bathroom, digging within his small closet for something to shove his belongings into again. Tony waved him off, sitting himself on the edge of the couch as the younger man packed. Aside from his landlord, no one had stepped foot into this apartment the entire time Peter owned it. The body of another person only served to emphasize how cramped it was. After sweeping through his apartment and grabbing anything of value, or sentimentality, it broke Peter's heart in a new way to realize that all of his belongings fit into a backpack. His dingy backpack that he had kept after graduating, used to only fit a laptop and two textbooks. Now it carried the life of one, depressed Peter Parker. 

Embarrassed for Tony to see that Peter owned less than four complete outfits as the growth spurt last summer took out the majority of his closet, Peter shoved his clothes into his bag. Hoping that the older man was not paying attention. "You gotta move," he informed a confused Tony who stepped away from his position on the couch. Climbing onto the older man's vacated seat, Peter pushed the ceiling tile with the water stain that looked like a seal out of the way, swiping his hands around in the open space till his fingers felt the smooth fabric of his suit. Dropping back to the floor he began stuffing the suit and his webshooters into the bag as well. 

"You're hiding it in the ceiling again?" 

"Well, no one found it before," Peter defended, rubbing at the back of his head before moving towards the bathroom. Tony only hummed as he watched the teen slide the cheap piece of wood hiding his livelihood away, drawing out the nearly three thousand dollars tightly held together with two rubber bands.

"So we don't believe in banks either now, huh?" Amusement laced Tony's tone. "I am surprised it isn't in a jar, buried in the yard with the way you have it squirreled away. Get petty thieves often?"

"May always used to keep a good amount at home," Peter grumbled, grabbing his peanut butter and a spoon out of the kitchen, "And, I wouldn't say often but ya," It was true, a very dark day for Peter two weeks after moving into this apartment. "After the last time, someone broke in and stole it I did move my money out of the underwear drawer, so it is an improvement." That, Stark felt was less humorous as he frowned at his shoes. The dark leather was shining, and as Peter observed them he realized just how out of place they were in his home.

"That is all that you have?" At the tense nod, Tony pursed his lips before beckoning with a hand for Peter to lead the way out to the hall.

"I have to talk to the landlord," Peter mumbled. He had to move his furniture out and get his deposit back if possible. He knew for a fact that he had not damaged the place in any way, but with the location, he doubted that any tenant ever got their deposit back. He did have to move everything out, he couldn't leave everything behind for someone else to clean.

"Don't worry about it, I will handle the landlord, and if you want anything out of there the movers can handle it. Or burn it." Tony definitely seemed to prefer the last option. Peter ignored it as he grabbed the quilt off of his bed, holding it close to his chest as he stepped outside of his apartment. The four locks staring at him after Tony closed the door, felt resolute and uncaring of their own abandonment. 

"Ready to go, kid?" Tony sounded wary as if he could tell Peter was a half second away from going back inside and shutting the door,

"You know what, I just need to go in and grab-" He started to cut towards the door, desperately telling himself this was a mistake and he had to go back,

A firm arm shoved itself across Peter's chest. "No way, Pete."

"I said to fucking stop calling me that," Peter barked, fist clenched into the strap of his bag as he glared at the door. Tony seemed only partially surprised at the sudden burst of anger.

"I'm sorry." Sorry. Wide eyes shot to Stark's face, an uncomfortable grimace beneath the goatee. 

"No, you're ok, I'm sorry," Peter quickly amended, embarrassment at his emotional outburst burning his ears.

"Since when do you hate that nickname?" Tony asked, stepping away from the hall, and starting towards the exit, expecting the teen to follow.

"Since when do you apologize?" The younger man sniped back as he took the lead, stepping into the stairway that led down. 

"Listen, kid. We can't keep this up,"

"Then don't pry into crap that isn't yours, Stark." A firm hand snagged onto the backpack, tugging Peter to a sudden stop halfway down the first flight of stairs. Whirling around in outrage, Peter prepared himself to defend against an angry Tony.

But the older man only crossed his arms, watching him intently, eyes taking in the angry lines in Peter's brow. "We are going to have to talk, I mean it. I want to know everything, we have to talk it is nonnegotiable. I get this is a change," a wary hand dragged itself down Tony's brow. "I get you are mad, but you at least have to be consistent. You want to be a dick?" an unbothered shrug. "Whatever, be a dick. I am a big boy, I can take it. But don't keep lying to yourself that it is all you feel, because Peter Parker I can tell that you are scared." A finger poked the center of Peter's chest. 

Rocking on his heels, Peter stared with wide eyes. Mind blank. This, Peter, was not prepared for. "I don't want to talk," it came out more meek than he intended. 

"I don't want to fight and be your verbal punching bag," Tony brushed past him, turning to the final flight of steps before making eye contact. "We can compromise a little bit, you can tell Pepper I was the big boy in this situation, win win."

"Where is my win?" grumbled Peter as they turned into the lobby.

"You aren't alone."

Feeling nothing could defend against that, Peter ducked his head and stepped outside.

The walk into the tower felt like Peter was making his way off the plank, unknown faces passed in a blur as he ducked his head, counting tiles and praying that the next two minutes promised an elevator. Tony, Peter begrudgingly noticed, walked through the building without a glance at anyone around them. As if his appearance with a scruffy, long-haired teenager was a normal occurrence.

Spotting the elevator, Peter held back a sigh of relief as his feet carried him at a quicker pace toward the awaiting doors. The tower felt like he was under a microscope, all clinical bright lighting and grey decoration, glass windows lining every wall. It was a clear cage, with Peter scrambling for cover inside. 

”Not so fast, Peter Piper.” Tony had a small smile as he continued past Peter’s frozen frame, shiny shoes carrying him towards a closed office door. Once Peter followed him into the small space, a familiar voice filled the air.

"An unidentified person has entered the private elevator access, Boss,” Friday stated.

Tony raised an eyebrow, clearly, Peter’s stay as an unidentified stranger during his injury as Spider-Man had not made into into Friday’s identification system. His official visits to the tower were at zero, emergency health visits a two with minimal contact with Tony’s world. He was in all reality, a complete stranger to Tony. Sure he felt like Peter was something more, but had there ever been anything to show Peter otherwise? He made the suit, and Tony gave it a few upgrades from time to time, but that was for Peter's alter ego. For the hero, for Peter, the actual person, Tony hadn't even attempted to connect with him. The awkward hug incident made Peter want to tear his face off at the memory of it reemerging.

Due to his lack of playtime with Stark, Peter’s interactions with Friday had been entirely through Karen. And by that, he meant that Tony’s nosy protocols demanded Karen send health reports and updates on Peter to Friday during patrols. He had never actually talked to the AI

“Peter Parker, also known as Spider-Man. Give him complete access to the tower and workshops,” Tony rattled off as they stepped into the elevator. “Better yet, Fri. Deem him mini-boss, equal access to the tower as Pep, no need to report his comings and goings. Can't wait to see their faces to that."

“Understood, welcome Mini Boss,” Friday replied as they shot upwards. The enclosed space and weight of his backpack tugged Peter’s senses uncomfortably. He just wanted to sleep and eat.

"Is Pepper here?" 

Tony tilted his head in thought for a second, eyebrows furrowing as he prepared to answer,

"Miss Potts is in Tokyo for the next five days, Mini-Boss." Friday filled in. 

"I was getting there," Tony defended glaring at the ceiling briefly. 

"Of course you were," was the sassy reply, drawing a smirk to Peter's face. It made him feel better to see Tony treated as anyone else for once, Peter hadn't gotten to see his old mentor around anyone else much. Sure Happy was there, but as a chauffeur and security measure. Had Peter ever seen him interact with anyone not employed to the man? Friday seemed to think it okay to poke at him.

The elevator doors opened to exit entering a larger hallway with some sort of abstract art, Tony undoubtedly paid out the ass for the blobs of red and yellow paint on the black background. Surely costing more than Peter's college would have ever cost. The knot in Peter's stomach tightened as they made their way into the hall and into what appeared to be a wide entertainment space. 

"That remote is property of me, so give it back." Clint's familiar voice echoed down the hall as the two men drew closer. 

"That's just great," Peter mumbled as Tony marched into the living room, undaunted at Peter's surprise roommates. 

"I own that little piece of plastic, so technically it is mine." Tony snarked as he sauntered past a collection of couches that faced a large television stacked on a wall above a fake fireplace. 

"Ya, well Stark you can shove it up your-"

"There is a child," Came Captain America's chilled voice from the end of the furthest couch. The blond sat with a sketchbook propped on his knee, pencil hovering above the page upon their arrival. 

"Oh shit, you're here." Clint chirped as he turned and smiled at Peter. The teen stared back at the older man, fists tightening on his backpack straps as he tried to find his footing again. He felt okay with Clint knowing his identity, but now the face of freaking America was staring at Peter with calculating blue eyeballs.

"Peter is moving in for a little bit," Tony informed them casually. 

"Dude," Peter squawked, whirling at Tony in frustration. Stark raised an eyebrow, clearly unaware that he was exposing everything Peter had kept hidden all these years.

"Peter, I don't think we have met," Steve spoke, drawing himself up from the couch to step closer, arm outstretched to shake Peter's hand. Tony seemed to suddenly fall back into Peter's reality as Steve approached, a small wince the only sign that he realized how Peter was being hung out to dry. Taking Steve's hand in his own, Peter shook it twice before dumping it to grasp at his backpack once again. 

"Um, yes. Peter is an..." Tony clapped his hand on Peter's shoulder, earning a frown from the young man. "Intern, a special one of mine."

"That is so insanely creepy, Stark," Clint added.

"Mhm." Steve agreed as he took a spot on the couch again. 

"Whatever, no it’s not. But he is moving in for a bit." With that, Tony made his way across the room to the open-concept kitchen, digging into the fridge. It was easily twice the size of the one that May and Peter’s old apartment had, all bright silver chrome and blinking lights. 

"You need help carrying the rest of your stuff in kiddo?" Clint offered. Peter cringed, tugging at the back of his hair,

"No, I can get it." The backpack once again, felt like a sack of shame with its lack of bulk.

"I really don’t mind, I could get use of stretching my legs. I’ve been entertaining the grandpa,” a thumb jabbed at Steve. 

“It will get delivered I’m sure.” Peter tried  

"Mini-Boss, I do not have a scheduled meeting with movers, should I set some up?" Clint started to cackle at the nickname, unaware of the crushing weight Peter was slowly crumbling under.

"Friday, I will get it later." Tony stepped in.

"I will keep a reminder for you tonight to set up these details." 

"Whatever, this is all I have with me, okay, I don’t need help. Thanks, but no thanks. This is such bullshit, Stark, do I have a room?” Peter continued glaring at the back of Tony's head where he was still facing the fridge. He kept his eyes locked on the familiar male, trying his best to ignore that Clint had stopped laughing and was watching him closely. Tony only muttered something to himself before taking off to a hallway heading out of the large room, waving a hand for Peter to follow.

"See ya around buddy," Clint offered, but Peter just marched out of the room as quickly as his legs would take him.

This was exactly what he wanted, roommates and Tony Stark looking into his every move. No way this was going to last. 

Chapter Text

The walk to Peter's temporary room was awkward, Friday calling him Mini-Boss ringing in his ears along with Clint's cackle. Tony's leather shoes echoed in the long hall, the loud hotel art passing Peter in a blur as he followed after his old mentor, head ducked between his shoulders. Did this situation really seem all that feasible? Could Peter handle seeing these people daily, he knew that the Avengers were back in the tower. Hell, the entire planet knew that, and probably a couple of other planets. Being Spider-Man here would be easy, no real stress about his identity being connected to Peter Parker when he had the security of one Tony Stark over his head. But could Peter exist here? 

It's just for a week, he reminded himself. In a few days, he could bounce out of here, he'd have to dip into his savings, sure, but he could get a new place, a better one. He didn't need to slum it anymore, it felt like a silly punishment now, to stay there. He wasn't a martyr, he paid his dues. But the 7-Eleven was still there, he had solid ground beneath his feet to stand on. One sucky apology to his boss and he would be back where he was before, mopping the floors and checking out slushies for the summer months.

No. He was moving on, he knew it now. It was too familiar, he could be found by Stark, by kids from his old school. He had to get somewhere solid, restart the story with May, and give her some real information so that when Tony slipped up the fallout would not be as heavy as it would be if May found out that her nephew was neighboring with prostitutes and cleaning a gas station bathroom every night at work.

"It isn't a ton, this is a little last minute," Stark broke into Peter's thoughts as he turned to one of the few doors in the hall that they'd turned down. The room slid open, revealing a barren space. It was similar to a hotel if the hotel was owned by a millionaire who did not actually care too much about what the guests thought of the room. The bed was massive, seated in the center of the far wall, framed by two solid bedside stands. Peter crossed the room, tossing his bag onto the bed as he spun to take in the rest of the room. There was a door he could only assume led to the closet, and another that led to the bathroom. Aside from that, a small wooden desk and a painful-looking chair propped against the windowed wall filled the room.

"It is nice, like a grippy sock vacation without the socks and the suicide prevention door handles."

"Okay wisecrack, I get that it is a little," Tony rubbed at the back of his head and shrugged as he abandoned defending the room further. "We can throw some posters on the wall, you still into that nerd stuff, Space wars and such?" Peter could see it, the barren walls layered with posters, his interests clearly claiming the room as his own. A few shelves would house his proudest Lego creations, just like he used to do at May's. He used to collect the big box sets of Star Wars models for Christmas, but he'd had to sell the ones he kept for the most part, prioritizing food over childish delights.

"Don't worry about it, not staying here long." Digging into his bag, he decided it was easier to dump it across the dark grey bedspread. His clothes, and bathroom supplies spilled across the bed. Tony fished up his suit, taking in the wear with a judgmental eyebrow.

"I see you have been taking good care of this in my absence,"

Peter ignored his comment, instead ducking into the bathroom to shove his few bathroom supplies into a drawer. "Haven’t really had the time to get into my sewing kit, Stark.”

"I could always fix it up for you, it would give me something to fiddle with, you know me,” he wiggled his fingers. “Exploratory habits and a never-ending work ethic.” The suit fell back into place between his shirts, all wrinkled now and sparse across the bedspread.

”I figured you were busy, too busy for sewing patches on my play clothes.” Peter wasn’t lying, he truly did believe it. Stark was a grown man, one who barely bonded with Peter in a real capacity. Sure, there was an undeniable connection and Peter looked up to him in a way that embarrassed even himself. He was salivating for Tony’s approval, for someone who understand the need to be a hero. 
 May supported his decisions, she let her nephew be his own person. But did she understand his need to push himself as a hero? How could she? She saw him as a kid, her nephew, someone to protect. But he lost that right after Ben, he’d taken the protection that someone else deserved through his cowardice and self-centered tantrums.

He owed it to himself, to his uncle, to be a hero. It felt like an addiction, the need to throw himself into harm's way to help those around him. He was injured just like anyone else, it took a bit more strength and he healed faster, but he wasn’t going to let pain stop him. Tony understood that he saw Peter’s need to fulfill his purpose in life. It scared him in some capacity, to be so seen. No one saw through the Peter Parker bullshit like Tony. It was like the older man could see through the teen’s skull, and read his thoughts with an intense psychic ability. One furrow of his brow, a squint and he knew what Peter was trying to do. It was one of the reasons Peter cut him off entirely. No way Tony could believe his stories for so long, he was too smart to ignore the inconsistencies when the stories spilled from Peter’s own lips. May could be mistaken, excused for her confusion or even distractions Peter possibly fed her, but Peter couldn’t lie to Tony’s face directly, it felt like he was lowering himself.

Tony’s mentee. That’s how Tony saw him. It felt strange to be seen as an extension of Stark. There was an undeniable connection, a draw that surpassed two genius intellects finding community. Tony joked with Peter, remembering details he really didn’t have to. Peter had cut him off after the Toomes, too hurt to risk any real emotional vulnerability. 

“Do you regret taking the suit?” The question slipped off his lips before he could even weigh the consequences of it. The shark intake of Tony’s breath caused Peter to start packing away his sparse belongings as fast as he could. As if he didn’t ask the most pressing question he’d obsessed about for nearly two years.

"Pete,” again, that name. His anxiety skyrocketing, Peter shuddered as he turned to Stark, the older man watching him closely. "Sorry, it’s just, habit. In my head, you’re just, called that.” It sounded lame, but Peter took it for what it was, Stark had no idea how to give the nickname the wide berth it needed as it was just a spot of confusion for him.

"It isn’t you, it’s-” Stuffing his suit and web shooters into the desk drawers, Peter sucked his lip, staring out the window, letting Stark sit in a silence uncomfortable for them both.

"Does it feel too personal? I know you’re here with the Stark stuff, and the teenage angst.” The joke fell flat. 

“I know it’s confusing, shit. I don’t mean it to be,” cobwebs coated Peter’s throat, his lungs sticking together, refusing a full breath. The cold feeling of a gun barrel to his temple caused his heart to leap in his throat, his tongue too thick, mouth too dry. Pawing at his shirt collar, he tried to get it to loosen from where it was beginning to choke him. A large hand gripped his neck as smoke burned his eyes. Toomes glowing eyes stared down as he decided that Peter had been an annoyance for too long, and he was ending it now.

"I’m trying to communicate, with you. It isn’t natural.”

"That’s not exactly flattering.” Stark slipped into the space beside Peter, taking in the wide brown eyes of the younger man, staring out the window with a look that told him he wasn’t in the room with his body. Peter’s lips parted with a sharp exhale, dull fingernails scraping across his exposed collar bone, shirt collar tugging low by a fist at his stomach. Sunken cheeks and pale skin painted the boy a sorry scene, he looked haunted, like a dying man forced to continue on. 

“The problem is me, I just can’t do the whole connecting thing. It gives me hives,” Peter explained as the scratching continued. Stark sat on the desk, frowning now as Peter continued to watch the tops of the buildings around them in absent-minded discomfort.

"That's why you avoided me for two years?” Peter jerked, minutely, but a reaction all the same. Like Tony had jabbed a fresh wound, digging fingers into an injury already pleading for aid. "That was because of me, right? The ferry, and then the beach. The suit, all of it.”

"I was damaged goods far before you came into the picture, don’t give yourself too much credit. There was a line of Peter Parker fuck ups out the door.”

"But no one else treated you like I did, did they, kid?” Sorrow rang hollowly in Tony’s voice, causing Peter to slide his eyes to his mentor for a moment, appraising his answer. 

“Yours might have hurt a little bit more.” The admission was small in volume, but it felt like an absolute gut punch to the older man. The cowed teenager before him actively dodged his eye contact. 

“The suit is one of the biggest regrets of my life, taking it from you.” It was true, wasn’t it? Sure, Peter had made a mistake, but was it worth taking away something so crucial? That was the question he’d asked himself for days after Tony took it, did he deserve it? A dark, honest part of himself thought maybe he did.

"I had no idea about what you went through without it, if I had known it would put you in danger like that-“ Tony stopped, an emotional hitch in his voice as he too turned to look out the window. “I would never hurt you like that.”

"What about how it did mentally?” Peter demanded. He didn’t want Stark’s pity because he wore a few extra scars on his skin, he wanted Stark to see how it hurt him on a level so deep it wouldn’t even fade from his mind. 

“I didn’t have the best father figure,” Tony started, fiddling with his fingers. “Howard wasn’t exactly a gentle man in any of the ways a father should be. He didn’t care if he hurt you with his words, if he handed you a tool too hot to touch, or if you were struggling because of his decisions. He just expected that you’d take it as he was doing the best thing for you. Peter, it’s hard to teach yourself to be the opposite when you’ve have no direction aside from contempt and distaste from a father figure.” Tony never spoke of his father. Peter didn’t think he’d ever heard the older man even reference his father without directly having to respond to someone else’s questions.  “I am not excusing myself. But I just want you to understand, in all honesty, as Pepper has been telling me is the best way to say things. I came from a mom who slipped pills like candy, in a hazy world of her own most days. And an abusive father, who gave anything but his kid the time of day. I don’t know how to be a father figure, I’m trying. I thought I was doing something better, to give you tough love and direction, a forced time out for a bit so you could be a kid.”

Peter inched toward his mentor, letting their legs brush. 

“I regret it so much,” Tony whispered, his voice haunted. “You almost died, because of something I thought I knew best for. I won’t let it happen again, we will do better. I will do better.”

"I am not your kid, you don’t have to.” The words would have sounded harsh to anyone else. But Tony knew what Peter meant, there was no obligation for Stark to take up such a task. 

“What can I say, I’m attached. You got my heart kiddo,”

"That is disgusting.” 

“Really? I thought it was sweet. Pep would be all over me for something that emotional, she loves me vulnerable.”

"Dude,” Peter sneered, shaking his head in disgust.

“You are just jealous you don’t have a cutie like Pep encouraging you to be emotional and honest in exchange for kisses.” Peter didn’t respond, his chest aching at the memories of MJ, his choice to remove her from his life.

"You wanna talk about that?” Tony offered. Of course, picking on the change of mood.

Peter shook his head, instead wandering to his bed and plopping on the end of it, facing his mentor. “I don’t think I could handle that talk today, Tony.” The older man nodded, pushing himself off of the desk, shiny shoes carrying him towards Peter. 

With a solid hand falling on the back of his neck, and a brisk kiss to the hair, Tony ducked out the door, sensing Peter’s need for space. Or maybe Stark had surpassed his emotional conversation quota for the day. Either way, Peter appreciated the silence following the snick of the door closing. Scalp tingling with the affection shown.

Chapter Text

Peter managed to stay in his room for a few hours, debating rearranging the furniture before reminding himself that the stay here was only a short-term thing. He did not need to make the space his own, the ugly grey walls and hotel art were Tony's and Peter was not a solid enough presence to demand decorations, he did not deserve that. After the lies, and the hiding for two years, he could accept the grey walls and impersonal setting for a week.

The room was eerily silent, the traffic he knew filled the streets below with the close of the work day did not breach the windows into his space. The honking of frustrated drivers, screeching of tires, and the constant hum of the engines were muted, it was a bizarre change, and it made him antsy. His advanced hearing had been a piece of Peter for so long. His senses extended into the world, and having it cut off in such a way caused his skin to feel too tight. It was a claustrophobic silence that stuck to his skin, anxiety-riddled itches tracing trails across his arms and collar bones.

"Friday?" 

"Yes, Mini-Boss?" She replied immediately. Good to know she is here, he had not noticed any cameras, but the idea that he was seen without knowing it gave him an immense measure of discomfort. Who knew what kind of trust Tony had in him within his own home, maybe it was his right to put Peter under examination. 

"Is this room sound-proofed?" Laying across his bed, Peter glanced around the ceiling to spot the speaker from which her voice drifted down from the ceiling.

"Each of the Avenger's rooms has been sound-proofed for external and internal noises, it is the automatic setting for heroes with advanced senses as set by Mister Stark. Would you like to make an adjustment?" He could swear that the AI was tilting its imaginary head at him in confusion, her personality so clearly designed, it was like Tony to do that. To make something so void of life, take on the clear characteristics and tones of a living, breathing person.

"Am I allowed to make changes?" 

"Of course, Mister Stark allows every room's occupants to modify their rooms to the desired settings, with the exclusion of removing the health monitoring systems. I will remove the soundproofing now." With that, the soft sound of distant traffic hummed below his room once again. The city life was a balm to his nerves, letting his body fall into relaxation as it sunk into its background tone of monotony. He hadn't even been aware of the tension carried in his neck and shoulders since he had entered the room, the discussion with Tony he'd suspected as the sole cause of the tightness in his chest. Exhaustion wore at his eyes, bidding him to allow them to shut for a few minutes. His vision was once again normal, the effects of whatever it was that messed with his eyes had slipped gradually away throughout the day. Sight, blessed sight was something that Peter had never considered losing, and after that scare, he vowed to be more wary of floating mists, and possible harm to his eyes. 

He was dimly aware of the noise of the other Avengers down the hall, the muffled rumble of male voices drifting into his room without distinguished words. Roommates. He wasn't sure where the other Avengers lived. Did they all share a floor, like some sort of comedy crew, existing together for the entirety of their team life? He hoped not, seeing Tony was one thing, but facing heroes who he'd never even met before in his pajamas, or eating cereal was the last impression that he wanted to make. Spider-Man was small time, this was the real deal. Sure, he'd been offered the position of an Avenger by Tony in a last-ditch attempt to get Peter to emerge from his hiding hole for a year, but he wasn't actually on the same level as the rest of them. They were heroes, they'd earned their title time and time again, saving the world from threats Peter could only dream of facing. 

Clint had taken Peter off guard, he was disarming, as was the way with spies. He worked his way beneath Peter's guard well enough, taking advantage of his confusion in just the right way with the right words to encourage admissions from the younger man. Tony had always complained about the spies, telling Peter to never trust their intentions. Had Tony put him up to it? He doubted it, but it was still a possibility. Stark could be ruthless when he needed to. Tony’s dissatisfied gaze after the ferry filtered through Peter’s thoughts, the remembrance of the cold detachment in the older man’s face as he demanded the suit back sent Peter’s stomach plummeting. Had he ever been as disgusted with himself as he was when his hero reminded him that Peter wasn’t enough? His biggest fear, the force that kept him trying daily to help his city, was cruelly identified and labeled true. Yes, he took the suit. But he wasn’t wrong that Peter was nothing without it. The several months of hanging up Spider-Man so Peter Parker could eat two meals a day and afford a home proved that. 

He’d lost something in that conversation. A deeply crucial piece of his identity was finally shaken loose from his hazardous ideal. His eyes stung, curling in on himself as he thought over Stark’s words. He wasn’t enough. He hadn’t been for Ben, he hadn’t been at the ferry and he hadn’t been since then. He never was. Tony was just angry enough to say what Peter knew to be true and hid for so long. Peter Parker could be Spider-Man, but he wasn’t truly a hero where it mattered. He’d hurt too many of his family, and his friends to believe it.

But he was going to keep trying. Gritting his teeth, he rubbed at his stinging eyes. He promised himself he would prove himself to Stark, to himself, May, and everyone.

But for now, he’d take a nap. 

Peter woke to the sound of his door swinging open as clicking heels marched in, the sharp clacks echoing off the bare walls around him. Through slitted eyes, he took in the formal business skirt standing beside his bed. Not Tony. He blinked a few more times, trying to force himself into full alertness after falling asleep. The lighting in the room was golden with the sinking sun, he’d slept at least an hour or more, his sense of time loose with the last day and a half. 

Pepper Potts stood beside his bed, turning her sharp gaze around the room in a clinical manner. A small frown tugged at the corner of her lips, a wrinkle creasing the gesture. Green eyes glanced down at him, surprise flickering in them to see him awake, and she broke into a smile. Pepper Potts was beautiful the way a lion was, she oozed a regal air with her straight posture and intelligent stare. But for all her beauty, she was no less intimidating than her partner. Peter had not met Pepper in person, the few times he had gotten to see Tony were always a single-person gatherings and off the Avengers campus, excluding Happy.

The embarrassment to have met the renowned CEO lying down in a post-nap haze filled his cheeks with color. 

“Hello, Peter. I wanted to invite you to dinner with us.” Her voice was melodic, in a motherly manner, it reminded him cruelly of May. 

“Uh-" shoving himself up, ignoring that he’d taken Pepper’s pink socks off beside the bed to sleep, socks she clearly noticed given the smirk, he focused on avoiding the monumental task of dinner. “I appreciate that, Miss Potts, but I think I will just pass on dinner.”

"Mister Stark has set me to remind you, Peter, of the necessity of gaining caloric value in your everyday meals, and that you are not allowed to avoid the three main meals of the day.” Friday interrupted, curb stomping his polite refusal, while Pepper’s bright eyes watched him patiently. 

“Great!” Pepper clapped cheerfully. Dipping down in a neat crouch with her skirt, she scooped up the socks and handed them back to him, slight dimples framed the smile she aimed at him, an expectant eyebrow encouraging him to get ready. Awkwardly, Peter shifted to the edge of the bed, shamefully tugging the socks back on. Tony’s sweatshirt was loud and proud against his chest. 

“It is just me and Tony, maybe Happy if he decides he’d like company.” She reassured lightly, crisp heels carrying her to the door where she stood waiting for him. Peter felt minuscule beside her, the Stark tycoon CEO that she was in her pristine suit leading him out of his bedroom like he was a child. The hallway felt longer on the trek back towards the living space where he had met the other Avengers upon his arrival. If the older woman felt his nervousness, it did not show in the confident path she cut across the room and towards the kitchen.

The counter had gathered a collection of take-out boxes, the warm and comforting scent of Chinese food wafting out of them. 

"I find the room appalling, when Tony said he had a space ready for you, I thought he would try and make that guest room look less like a prison cell," Pepper joked as she began to locate a stack of plates. Peter did not respond, sliding into place on a barstool instead, tugging his sleeves in discomfort. The soft smell of Tony surrounding him soothed his nerves, but then thinking deeper into that fact, he felt weirded out with himself and turned towards the living room.

There was a lack of faces in the space around them considering that he knew the other heroes had been occupying the area upon his arrival. He had not heard them in the halls, but it seemed they had retired to their own rooms while he slept, giving the Stark's space in the kitchen. How many of his fellow heroes lived here, he couldn't remember what he had read before upon the announcement of the Avengers reuniting. At the time, it felt like a kick to the chest reading about the heroes, the name of Tony Stark sending anxiety rippling through his chest for months.

"What do you think, Peter?" Pepper said his name with much greater affection than he was prepared for, as if sitting in the Avengers tower and settling in for Chinese food was a typical evening. 

"What did you say, Ma'am?" He asked trying to recall her question.

"Please, call me Pepper," digging into the takeout bags, she lined out the Styrofoam containers on the counter. Stuffed boxes of chicken, stir-fried vegetables, and noodles had Peter's mouth watering at the sight of it all. "I asked what do you think of finding a few things to make the room more teenage boy and less empty?" She tugged her expensive suit coat off, tossing it across another counter, before rolling her white dress shirt's sleeves partially up her forearms. 

"I am only here for a week, I wouldn't want to do something you would have to undo, Miss Potts." May would have a cow if she knew that Peter had rung up a bill on their cost to just leave it all behind when he moved. Pepper tilted her head at him in confusion, orange ponytail swishing behind her, serving spoon laden with a healthy scoop of vegetables hovering over her intended plate.

"Tony did not mention this was a short visit, he said you had moved in." The question felt like an accusation, bright green eyes watching Peter's face. Somewhere along the line, Tony had misunderstood, how that happened Peter was not going to waste any time trying to figure out,

"No, Ma'am. I am here for a week, then I have somewhere else to be." A light eyebrow quirked, but she only hummed lightly to herself, stacking a plate with far too much food before sliding it toward the boy. He took it gratefully, aware of his stomach begging for food, the breakfast with Clint a million miles behind him,

"Friday, where is Tony?" Pepper dug into the fridge. Peter stuffed noodles into his mouth as politely as he could while Pepper gave him a fond smile and set a Sprite on the counter, even going as far as to crack the top for him with a loud pop.

"Mister Stark is heading to this floor now, I reminded him of his dinner plans several times before enacting 'Tony's Dinner Timeout' per your request," Peter smirked around his can, the harsh carbonation causing his eyes to water. He wondered how many meals Tony missed before Pepper took it into her own hands to create a protocol that enforced it. The idea that Tony Stark had a watchdog found much more humor in Peter than it should have. 

"I think the room could still use a few things, do you play video games, maybe a gaming console, a beanbag chair?" Pepper dished herself a plate, before starting on a third that carried significantly less vegetables than her or Peter's plate held.

"I don't have a lot of time for those things," Peter admitted as she sat beside him, her plate softly clinking as she placed it before her. 

"Is that because of Spider-Man, or because you don't have an interest?" That gave him pause, hurt welling inside of him. It was stupid. Ridiculous even for him to be hurt that Tony would have revealed his identity to his partner. They were all but married, everyone knew it, so why did it hurt him to know Stark had dished out his private identity without telling him? "I feel like you are upset about that question. Is it because I know?" She was smart, he forgot that Pepper Potts did not become head CEO of Stark enterprise by work ethic alone. Shrugging, he stuffed another bite into his mouth, avoiding looking at her as he slowly chewed his food. She was waiting for him to answer, he could tell that. But the soft sound of the elevator opening behind them saved him a few more minutes as Tony marched onto the floor.

"The food is cold." Pepper accused, a private smile playing at her lips while Tony approached the counter and opened boxes. The food wasn't cold by any standard, but Peter sensed that it was more of a private joke between the two, himself the awkward outsider.

"I do not think that locking me out of the lab's power is the best approach to getting me up here," he whined, taking up his plate without complaint and digging into the noodles. 

"Yet you are here," was the smug reply.

Stark opened his mouth, before focusing on Peter as if remembering that he was there. "Kid, you slept?" He squinted at the older man in suspicion, taking in the far dirtier jeans and shirt he wore.

"You get your robot to tell you that?" Friday creeping on his sleeping patterns was disturbing, but Stark only grinned.

"The bedhead gave you away, that mop doesn't hide much." Patting his hair, Peter grumbled, attempting to convince the long strands to lay down from where he could feel them sticking off his head.

"Peter and I were discussing the baren cell he is staying in," Pepper broke in, sipping her Sprite loudly.

"It is okay, Mister Stark. I don't want to mess it up too much for the next Avenger to undo when they move in after I leave."

Tony frowned, while Pepper chuckled. "Don't look so disturbed, Tony." Turning to Peter she shook her head, "This is our private floor, no one else lives here but you, and ourselves." This was getting worse by the minute, Peter felt himself tense. Here he was, taking up a room in their own home and still being difficult for them,

"I just assumed, with everyone being here earlier, Clint and Captain America," he felt foolish now, making assumptions. Peter lived in this foggy grey zone of Tony’s life, a never-ending awkward stage of foot in mouth. He was close enough to know details, to feel included, but constantly made the mistake of assuming a position he didn’t truly fit, one of a closer mentorship. 

"Don't worry sweetheart, this is a private floor. Most everyone is on their own level, a few choosing to share a floor. The others were here earlier, but that is a rarity in complete honesty." Pepper entirely unaware of the internal war going on in Peter, turned her attention to Tony.

"I didn't remember to tell them I had-" brown eyes looked at Peter, as Tony weighed his next words, "an errand to run." An obligation, a chore, Peter thought bitterly, the Chinese food heavy in his stomach. Pushing his plate further from himself, he tried to convince his stomach to stop roiling in anxiety.

"The room can be altered in a day, hell, kid I can have someone make it a Spider-cave if you want me to.” There it was again, the casual baring of Peter’s largest secret. Stark lived out and proud with his superhero identity, he never truly saw the risk that came with claiming your alias in such a manner. Being Spider-Man cost Peter everything, it constantly put people in danger. Who could guarantee that Pepper would never be in danger because of his secret identity? It took one messed up creep kidnapping the woman after the connection between Spider-Man and Tony Stark to start the downward spiral. Peter felt like a ticking bomb, sometimes it subsided, the itching, the twitching fingertips, and the urge to just bury himself ten feet deep and exist in solitude.

But it took one person, one special ex-mentor who unintentionally trampled Peter’s wishes, to cause the angry beast in Peter’s chest to surge up. He wanted to spit his frustrations at the older man, but with Pepper present, he choked them down.

"Peter,” Pepper smoothly stepped into the conversation. “Tony has told me a bit about you, he said you had an internship going on, would you tell me about that?” Tony across the counter choked on his chicken, shoulders shaking as he violently coughed into his elbow. Subtle. Genuinely, he wasn’t sure how Tony ever built the suit in the cave in Afghanistan. The man couldn’t touch Subtle with a ten-foot pole. “He mentioned something about water purifying for unsafe water sources. Do you have an interest in third-world philanthropist projects? Stark enterprise is always looking for ways to put its assets to good use.”

Peter glanced towards Tony, who silently sipped his water, eyes avoiding looking at either of his dinner partners. “Do you talk to May daily or something?” He demanded of the older man.

“She sends updates…pretty soon after she talks to you. She knows we are not exactly chatty,” the older man defended. So May was still playing middleman, guilt and pride caused Peter’s chest to warm. He hadn’t known how much work May was putting into covering for him with Tony behind the scenes. He was a horrible nephew, feeding his aunt stories of his life without even considering how much weight she put into them. She deserves to be free of that obligation, she lived across the country and was still cleaning up his messes. 

“That internship shut down. We were going in different directions,” Peter explained, glancing at Pepper. Tony stayed oddly silent across from him.

"What do you do then with your free time?” Pepper was curious, her conversation pointedly gathering information on him now that she had the opening. 

“I work.”

"Oh?” The silence continued, and he wanted to just explode. The floor could swallow him whole right this instant and he’d never care. The head of Stark enterprise, with Tony Stark himself present, was asking about Peter’s free time and career choices, with no apparent care to his avoiding the question. 

“Where do you work, kid?” Tony broke in, dishing himself more noodles. “Since you locked me out of the suit, my know-how is limited to your aunt when we can chat.”

"Downtown,” Peter chased a pea across his plate, leading it through a maze of loose noodles. 

“Do you work at one of the research facilities there? We know a few people down there, I know Banner had an interesting project that he-“ 

“I work at 7-Eleven, the convenience store,” he cut Pepper off sharply. Better to rip the band-aid off, and let them see how far his standards had slipped. They didn’t need to know that he had lost his real research job, or two, getting fired for missing work as Spider-Man far too often. Red barring his name in the community as an unreliable employee.

“My first job was at a grocery store,” Pepper offered, brushing a stray hair from her cheek. The younger man tried to give a grateful smile, recognizing her olive branch. Tony, on the other hand, had stopped eating and was watching Peter closely.

“I didn’t expect that,” he explained when Peter raised an eyebrow at him in challenge.

“It’s a pretty typical job for high schoolers and just graduates.”

Tony snorted, shaking his head, “You aren’t a typical kid, Peter.” His tone was sharp, a thin layer of disapproval covering it. Pepper stilled beside Peter in her seat, watching Tony just as carefully as the teen was.   

“What happened to I was taking a break and could do what I wanted?” Peter shot back, forcing himself to hold eye contact as he took a long swig of his soda. 

“You are Spider-Man.” 

“I was trying to be Peter Parker,” he ground out. 

“Peter Parker is still smarter than some high school dropout dishing out change and cigarette boxes.” That stung, Peter’s mouth opened in hurt, a reply reeling in his head. Truly, embarrassment kept his tongue leashed. Pepper was silent beside him, hearing how Tony clearly expected Peter to have reached some unspoken potential, something Peter already failed at on his own. “What about college, why didn’t you try that?” This is the root issue in their relationship, Peter realized. Tony had no concept, not the vaguest idea that Peter couldn’t afford to do the things Tony just expected him to do. 

“Tony-" Pepper spoke softly, a hand laying on Peter’s back softly as she tried to guide the conversation. 

“No, Pep. Do you know what this kid’s IQ is?” He pointed a finger at Peter, unaware of how the teen was shrinking in on himself. His shoulders curled protectively towards his ears, fingers digging painfully at his nail beds beneath the counter. The marble of the countertop caught his attention, frantic brown eyes tracing the swirls of grey. He had dropped a piece of carrot, it sat between his and Pepper’s plate. 

“It’s over a hundred and fifty, he might even be smarter than I am. That was only tested in freshman year, freshman! So I want to know why you’re slumming it, young man, you could be doing anything,”

"That isn’t true,” Peter mumbled, a shaking hand brushing his bangs from his eyes. 

“Explain that to me then.” A challenge. 

“No.”

"No?” Flabbergasted, Tony set his plate down harshly. Learning over the counter as he attempted to make Peter engage. 

“Ya.” His tongue attempted to wet his too-dry lips as Peter gripped the edge of the counter with his fingertips. 

“That isn’t a reason as to why, you’re just being stubborn. You told May it was a gap year, or is this like the internship you told her,” 

“Ah,” Pepper murmured, her hand slowly sliding off Peter’s shoulder as she lightly stepped down from her stool. “I think you two should have this talk alone,” with that, she slipped from the room, jabbing Tony in the ribs sharply as she left. 

“You told her about Spider-Man,” Peter accused when he heard a door down the hall they’d come from shut softly.

Tony frowned, “Is it that much of a secret?”

"What?” Peter squawked, eyes wide. “Of course it is jackass. You put her in danger,”

"Don’t flatter yourself, youngster. Pepper is fine, she’s got her big girl pants and has plenty of experience in this world.”

"I don’t give a shit, I didn’t want people to know.” His anger apparently wasn’t getting across, as Tony shrugged nonchalantly and leaned into the fridge behind him, arms crossed as he sliced Peter open with his eyes. 

“Pepper doesn’t count as people.” 

“She most certainly does,” Peter argued, fingertips digging into the lip of the counter. “I didn’t just blow the only friendships I had to shit, so you could drag more people into my mess, Stark.” 

Tony held a finger up in pause, shaking his head. “First, the name is Tony, Ironman if you’re feeling the need for something special. But seriously, Toomes is gone, buddy. Pepper is just fine,”

"For now!” Peter gripped at his hair, nails biting into his scalp. “But he said he’s coming back, he knows who I am. I can’t leave the city, I have to protect it, so I limited my damages, why can’t you fucking get that?” His pulse was pounding, a fierce headache growing behind his left temple. 

“I made sure he isn’t getting out, he isn’t going to come back,” Tony softly murmured, his gaze concerned. 

“Fine. What about his connections, his cronies?” 

“His cronies?” A small smirk twisted Tony’s face. He could never take things seriously when Peter needed him to. Why couldn’t he see that connections to Peter were a danger? Pepper wasn’t a hero, she was vulnerable. 

“He lost his daughter, he lost everything. He has connections, I’m not stupid enough to think he won’t use them.”

"Kid, he’s in such lockdown, he can’t fart without someone doing a cavity check.” 

“Stop joking!” Crack. Peter glanced at his hands in horror, a large chunk of marble broken off in his palms from where he had gripped too hard. 

“Oh, Peter.” Pity.

Humiliation flooded the teen, his head bowing. "I will pay for it.”

"I don’t need you to,” Tony said as if a two thousand dollar countertop was pocket change. It probably was. To Peter, it was almost the entirety of his emergency fund, his escape plan, barely enough to put a counter on a kitchen cabinet. Pathetic. 

“You shouldn’t have told her,” the marble chunk made a painful sound as he dropped it beside his plate. Pepper’s abandoned plate sat half-eaten beside it. 

“Is it because I didn’t ask you, or because I told her?” Couldn’t it be both? Was Peter crazy to be angry for both reasons, he didn’t think so. But admitting it didn’t feel like the right choice, so instead, he sighed, focusing on reigning in his anger and fear. Picturing his emotions as a spilled net, he imagined dragging it inwards to his chest and shoving it inside. Repeating this step until he felt detached, his body tingling just out of his full awareness. "You can shove everyone away because you’re scared, but it isn’t a way to live.” It sounded wise, but not possible now. Peter was too far gone, too invested in cutting himself free of risking others to undo the damage. “Why aren’t you doing something you’d like, you can’t convince me that you’re happy at a convenience store.” The older man shook his head, a rough hand pinching the bridge of his nose, “You’re like me, we are too smart to be content with the small stuff.” Peter hated that about himself, the unending hunger for something more. 

“It isn’t so bad,” he tried to defend, voice half-hearted at best.

"So why not go to school?” 

“Didn’t seem like it’s something I’d like. You know, senioritis and all that?”

"You are a poor liar.” 

“How would you know,” he demanded, frowning at Tony darkly. 

“Because you locked me out of the suit, with the AI that I personally crafted for you, you can’t even imagine the man-hours I put into that thing. You think I’m going to buy that you’re happy middling around when you can code something as complex as that?” It hadn’t seemed that hard to lock Stark out, in naked honesty. Sure, it took Peter a week but in his anger and fear of the older man finding him, Peter had worked endlessly until he found the solutions in the code he needed. 

“I will talk to May about it, get off my back, old man.”

"Will you?” Tony cocked his head, disbelief in his eyes.

Peter buried his head in his hands, pushing his palms into his eyes painfully. “I have to tell her I’m here, and explain a few things have changed, so what’s one more monumental conversation to be had for Tony Stark’s peace of mind?” An unamused snort came from his ex-mentor. He didn’t even know that the other man could make that sound, it was funny in any other context. 

“I can’t let you just waste away, kid. You’ve done enough damage to your body. You can’t kill your mind too, I can’t stand it.” 

“You ask too much of me,” groaned Peter, pushing himself to stand, fully ready to go to sleep for the night, his emotional turmoil subsiding into a deep need to shut out the world. 

“I am really asking you the bare minimum,” Tony replied as Peter began to trek down the hallway, the younger man didn’t reply. 

Chapter Text

The massive room felt hollow around Peter as he rummaged in the small dresser Pepper had put into the room for his clothes. She'd assessed wisely that he would not use the closet, the space all but another bedroom in his mind, and therefore the alternative arrived. Tugging Tony’s hoodie off, he let it slip out of his hand with a soft plop on the ground. Slipping into his familiar, worn shirt and sweatpants, he climbed into the large bed and sank beneath the quilt he'd brought to the tower. He felt grounded wearing something of his own in a space so not his. 

Grabbing his phone from where he’d abandoned it on the bedside table, checking for notifications. There weren’t any. In all honesty, there rarely were. May tended to check in once a week, near the weekends when she had more free time. Sometimes it was a call, sometimes an apology for being busy in a voice message, or a long text updating him on some tedious aspect of her life that he soaked up like desert sand in a storm. She had a partner and a boyfriend he never tried to learn more about, as hearing about it caused a fit of bitter jealousy to claim his emotions. 

May and Peter, that was the team, or it had been for much long of Peter’s life. With Ben gone, she had taken up the role of sole caretaker in a manner no one could match in Peter’s eyes. To share her, to be kept away by distance alone, unable to connect in her life as he once had, caused a turmoil Peter liked to avoid. So instead, he didn't think about it as he opened social media, intending to doom scroll on his burner account. It had a distinct lack of his old life and friends connected to it. He winced, their memory burning him. His fingers betrayed him, the pads of his thumbs quickly typing in MJ's handle, her profile staring back at him. She'd changed her picture, it had the face of a year older version of herself, a picture he’d never seen. Her profile was sparse, as it always had been. It made him feel a sort of peace, unable to see her life so adjusted without him.

If he thought that was a balm, opening Ned’s profile was like dumping acid into an open wound. Ned was all but the same, he got a new haircut and with age, he'd grown thinner. More painfully, he was attending a university, and picture evidence of his new friendships was posted everywhere. Worse, his classes with MJ shared in short snapshots drew Peter’s attention, gripping his chest in tight fingers causing his breath to hitch. His friends. She glared at the camera in clear disapproval for most of the photos, a middle finger in one or two different spots.

That was going to be their dream before Peter realized sure, he was smart, but he didn’t do extracurriculars more than any other individual, and his grades suffered with Spider-Man. His absences crawled upwards in amount throughout his sophomore and junior years, leaving his GPA less than shining. He wasn’t bottom of the barrel, but for the university, he knew his friends were going for, it felt hopeless to be accepted in comparison to the other applicants. Stark’s confusion as to why Peter avoided pursuing education flooded Peter’s mind. The confusion on his face as to why Peter hadn’t chosen something so typical, so clearly the next step for a young man graduating with high intellect and passion for learning and science.

It couldn’t be afforded, Peter had always been an inch above the poverty line thanks to May’s dedication to giving them a good life. But higher education wasn’t high school debate team uniforms and textbooks, it was hundreds of thousands of dollars, with scholarships as possibilities but never guaranteed. It wasn’t in the cards, not with his Parker luck. The dismal wish that Tony could just move on from education flittered across his deepest conscience.

He knew it would never be that way, Tony was like a dog with a bone. Why couldn’t he be happy that Peter was making do?

Was Peter happy with his career choice? No, he’d have to lose half of his brain to pretend to be content in that job for the rest of his life. He missed the days of messing with web formulas, with tinkering in his suit. He lived the forced life of a general citizen, his powers confined for the sake of livelihood. 

He could stay here...

No. He should be ashamed for thinking of taking advantage of the generosity of Mister Stark. May raised him better than that. He had his savings, he could find somewhere else to live. He didn’t need. He couldn’t let himself need. If he did, and he couldn’t provide it for himself, then he was a failure. He couldn’t accept that, he created this for himself and he could manage it. 

Tossing his phone to the opposite side of the bed, he let himself sink deeper into the fluffy pillow.

Pushing thoughts of his old life and dreams deep below the knot in his chest, promising himself that he was happy with his choices.

Consciousness rolled over Peter slowly, starting in his feet where someone poked an exposed toe. His leg twitched away, irritated with the bothersome tickling that had drawn him from his slumber, while the rest of him slowly floated to the surface, sleep clinging to his eyes with a sticky stubbornness. He was comfortable, body sinking further into sleep as the bed swallowed his frame in just the right way. His limbs all fit and no part of him was hanging out of the edges of the bed as it did at his apartment. The touch paused, an amused huff sounding from the end of the bed. When the intruder did not get up to leave Peter to his dozing, he huffed, recognizing the familiar cologne and smell of mechanical components.

Pulling his head out of its cave in the blanket, Peter frowned at an amused Tony Stark. He was dressed more to the mental image of Tony Stark that Peter had in his mind, an expensive shirt, collar untucked, and a pair of slacks. The ridiculous shiny shoes were replaced with something more comfortable. “You got some foot fetish you wanna share?” Peter grumbled, stretching his spine with a satisfying rapid fire of popping. The rest of his body ached in a way that told him he had slept like a rock, the same position held for too long, causing a dull thrum in his joints.

"There are worse things to have a fetish for," Stark quipped, tugging the blanket so that it once again covered the end of the mattress from where Peter had pulled it up in his slumber.

The teen nodded solemnly, smacking his lips. "I heard about someone who liked to smell their partner's used underwear.”

"What the hell did you just say?” Was the disturbed reply, a small sneer on Tony's face. Peter looked at him innocently. Freaking Tony out was one of his favorite hobbies now, as he hadn’t adjusted to the idea of Peter growing out of his puppy-eyed teenager stage. Reminding the hero that the innocent version of himself had died years ago gave a sick sense of satisfaction, knowing that Peter wasn't predictable any longer.

"Is this not honesty hour?” The younger man propped himself against the headboard, dragging a hand through his already ruffled hair. “Can’t blame a guy for trying to connect."

"I’d rather you never did again. What kind of creepy Reddit have you been stalking?”

"Ah, Reddit,” he murmured, in reminiscent amusement. “The boomer's Twitter."

"Boomer?” He knew Tony was older, but to be so unconnected to the modern world, Peter could not fathom it.

But the older man brushed off the comment, shifting back to his original goal, “Whatever, get up, sunshine. It’s time for you to start your day, we need to test out your shoulder and such, Banner’s orders.” Tony pushed off the bed, knees popping with the shifting of his weight. Peter caught him eyeballing the abandoned sweatshirt, something in his eyes flickering before he turned back to the teen, once again buried under his blanket. 

A started yelp sounded as the thick covers were ripped away, leaving Peter curling up with a dark scowl. He was struck by a sense of Deja Vu, memories of his aunt pulling similar stunts on the weekends to get him out of bed to run errands with her, usually to keep her to the grocery list she'd written and not the one her stomach told her. How long had it been since he'd thought of memories like that? When May usually came up, he distracted himself from the hole in his chest that expanded with her memories. But certain moments like this plunged him into a flash of fond moments that slipped away before he could appreciate them fully.

“It is already noon, Spider kid. Breakfast, then gym. Up and at ‘em.” Like May, Tony wasn't relenting.

Dragging himself from the bed, muttering the whole way, Peter yanked open his drawers, grabbing a new change of clothes before stumbling into the bathroom, a middle finger pointed at Tony. The bathroom floor was warmer with the inducted floors, his feet relishing the warmth as he went about his business, brushing his teeth while half-heartedly combing his hair into place. 

Tony was peering into his drawer when he emerged, a frown drawing his face at the meager contents. Spotting Peter, he began to lead him from the room. “We have this supercharged calorie bar that Banner helped concoct for Steve, and subsequently yourself. Congratulations, you are one of about four people who can eat these things and not blow up like a fat kid on Christmas.” The hall was silent, with no sign of Pepper as they emerged into the living area, the takeout containers cleared away from the night before.

“Fat kid on Christmas?” The younger repeated the phrase to himself, sliding onto the couch as Tony dug around in the kitchen cabinets. "I thought you said Pepper was supposed to be in Tokyo, or something like that, for a while." He failed to stifle a yawn. Tony’s rustling paused for a moment before continuing, the rush of the tap sounding in the kitchen.

"She decided there were bigger things to check in on here.”

"So, she wanted to come and see the stray you brought home." A bitter sense of self-deprecation brought a frown to Peter’s face, which the goateed man ignored as he handed the teen two large protein bars, a large glass of water was shoved into Peter’s other hand.

“Historically I am not the greatest caregiver, she wanted to make sure you settled in okay. There was a thing, with a cactus, I couldn't keep it alive. It's all schematics,” Tony informed, excusing his lack of a green thumb as Peter took a bite of one of the bars. While the teen was wary of its purple hue, he fell in temptation of its sweet scent of blueberries. He found that it didn’t taste half bad, even as the chalky taste of protein powder dried his tongue. 

“Shoulda told her to stay,” he grumbled, chugging half of his water as Tony settled into a seat opposite the teen.

“You try that, I’d love to see it.” They lapsed into silence as Peter scarfed down his bars, sipping water between large bites. 

“How many calories are in these things?” He could tell by taste alone that they were dense, appeasing his appetite in a way that no regular protein bar had before. Banner must have worked wonders to get something so compact to fulfill the needs of a super soldier like Steve, they were lucky to have someone willing to mess around with their multiple degrees in the kitchen. 

“Each bar has about a grown man’s daily calories.”

Peter's eyebrows rose in surprise, ”Jeez.” He couldn’t remember the last time his daily intake surpassed the needs of the teen's calories for a day. He had always been a little on the short end of meeting his calorie goals, he knew how food was expensive and tried to not put strain on May to make up for his surge in appetite. 

"What else is limited with your status right now?” Tony asked the question clinically, like Peter was a robot malfunctioning, Stark began peering at him as if evaluating him for changes as if he could see what Peter had found lacking in himself in recent months. It ruffled his feathers, being treated like that and his ease in conversation vanished.

“Let me tell you, my sexy time stamina is just absolutely de-"

"Cut it out,” the older man looked uncomfortable. “What has your metabolism been taking away? It’s natural, I just want to know.”

"I do appreciate you asking, truly, it is hard to be understood about these kinds of things. So, you also have to take those pills to get it up now? We should start a club, The Limpy Lovers.” That got a snort. 

“Your healing is minimal, your bruising is only now about gone. You can stick to things, and punch my windows, I know that. Have you noticed anything else?”

"No, it’s a recent development,” Peter permitted, frowning at the lack of response to his sarcasm. At another time, Tony would have responded in kind, a sharp verbal jab like Peter wanted. “The weight thing just started up, the getting skinnier stuff. My diet has made a change lately,” he crumpled his wrappers, holding his glass uncomfortably. “Everything is about normal, I guess my stamina is the only thing aside from what you creeped out already.”

“Good, then some good calories for a few weeks and you should be peachy keen again. Chubby-cheeked, bushy-eyed, and all that. Pep said we have to get you a haircut today, a bonding outing.” 

“She said that?”

"She said you are shaggy and need some TLC," Stark evaded.

"She said that?” This time, more disbelieving.

Tony shrugged, "No, but she said I should ask you if you want a haircut, but I know you’ll say no or try to argue so I’m saying we are doing it anyway.” He was predictable for Tony wasn’t he, halfway through his sentence and Peter had been already crafting an excuse as to why he didn’t need a haircut. 

“She is really nice, isn’t she?” He replied instead.

Tony smiled a small and personal smile. His eyes warming as he stared out the window for a moment, "She is the best, better half of me and all that.”

"Doesn’t take much,” Peter jabbed as the warm, emotional look in Tony’s eyes caused awkwardness to explode in Peter’s chest.

"Whatever, let’s go, urchin.” With that, he was left scrabbling off the couch to catch up with Tony as he strode towards the elevator. 

The exit out of the building was much less anxiety-inducing than entering, as no one looked twice when Tony Stark marched out the large doors, a teenager in tow, tennis shoes padding silently. Out front of the large entrance, parked a familiar black car, a bulky figure in the driver's seat. Peter's stomach dropped, his walk slowing enough that the other man paused with a concerned furrow in his brow, waiting for some sort of explanation for Peter's sudden lack of enthusiasm. Peter offered none, instead ducking his head and allowing Stark to tug open the door, holding it wide for the younger to slip across the wide back seat before Tony clambered in and closed the door with a solid sound. Successfully locking them in with one Happy Hogan.

"Where to?" The larger man asked, not yet glancing in the rearview mirror as he tucked away a paper he'd been reading. 

"My barber if you please," pointedly raising an eyebrow at Peter's unused seat buckle, Tony clipped his own into place, an accusing pointer finger poking its way at Peter's.

He frowned, if a car accident was going to be the death of him, then what the heck was he being Spider-Man for? "No way, old man. My bones can take it, worry about your osteoporosis-ridden skeleton. We should have you in bubble wrap before I would need a seatbelt" 

"First of all, that is so rude." He didn't seem to think so, his new frown line nowhere to be seen. "Secondly, the parenting book said that consistent boundaries regarding your safety are important."

"You read a parenting book?" It was impossible to hide the shock on his face, he knew that Stark had a fondness for him, but to be invested enough to read parenting books was a different level of commitment than Peter had expected. It was equal parts touching and horrifying. 

"Oh!" The car fell into silence at Happy's surprised exclamation.

Peter cringed to himself, staring out the window rather than meeting the heavy gaze from the head of security. He could feel the watchful eyes on his turned face, skin crawling with unease. The last time he saw Happy Hogan, he had been propping himself on his doorframe, convincing himself that he wasn't dying, burning a fever so intense the world took on a different hue of colors than he'd ever seen...

He'd been laying in bed since his return from the beach, May feeding him a steady stream of store-bought soups as he recovered from his 'flu'. In reality, Peter was sweating out infection, his back and stomach burning with angry gouges from Toome's claws. He had dunked the punctures thoroughly with peroxide after crawling into his bedroom window the night of the plane crash. His aunt had been blessedly sleeping as her half-dead nephew hauled himself into his room through his unlocked window.

His makeshift suit was soaked with blood, reeking of smoke and grime. Sand had plastered itself into the open wounds, stubbornly sticking even when he tried to flush the wound with water from the shower head. He had passed out twice before it felt like the sand was free of his injuries, waking to the cold water splashing over him at the foot of the shower stall each time. Exhausted, he had rummaged in his first aid kit and bandaged his side before passing out in his bed. The next day, he'd slept, waking once to use the bathroom and refresh his bandages, fearfully ignoring the fact that his wounds were nothing but gore and red hues. 

May had woken him two days after the crash saying that Happy was here for him. He had grimly accepted his fate, knowing this was the moment that Stark cut him off completely, probably after laying some hefty fine on his already bruised shoulders for the damages he'd allowed to happen while battling Toomes. He knew that the crash had been all over the news as article after article filled his Twitter feed, even the flattened warehouse made its way into the news. The sight of the stacked rubble caused such panic to fill his chest that he had tossed his phone across the room. He'd been studiously ignoring the calls and texts from Happy and Stark that had collected over the last two days, only replying to Ned and MJ's inquiries about his whereabouts, staying as vague as he possibly could.

Eventually, Peter had drug himself from bed, hauling on an oversized hoodie over her pajamas. Carefully checking that the bruising on his body was covered by the heavy material. May gave him space, tucking away in her room per his request, aware there was tension between Stark and himself. He appreciated that she let him handle things on his own; allowing him to navigate his new world. When her bedroom door clicked shut, he finally opened the apartment to an awkward Happy holding a familiar silver briefcase.

"Oh, hey." His eyes roamed the apartment behind the teen, looking for May most likely. He shuffled his feet awkwardly, avoiding Peter's gaze with a clear sense of guilt. The young hero slumped into the doorframe, choking down a groan of pain as he tried to make it seem more like a planned shift of his weight rather than his legs attempting to give out on him. 

"I got all the messages, too late I am afraid," his eyes once again slipped away from Peter's face. "Stark wants you to know that you did a good job, he was proud, we are all proud and appreciate what you did, saving the company and probably a lot of other things." It was possibly the worst apology Peter had ever received, between the butchered deliverance and blatant insult in being told that Stark was proud after destroying Peter verbally not so long ago, it was laughable. 

"Okay?" It was all he could think of in response, it caught Happy on the wrong foot. The older man sweating now, dragged a hand over his forehead before holding out the case towards the teen. Peter could only assume it held the paperwork, the NDA Stark crafted upon the severance of Spider-Man's ties with the older hero. If not the lawsuit too.

Slowly, with no small amount of pain, Peter reached for the case. Taking it gingerly, he watched Happy with distrustful eyes, waiting for the other shoe to drop, the dismissal from their services for the future. But Happy only watched him strangely, looking as if he wanted to say so much more. Peter just wanted the older man to leave, he could feel sweat dripping down his spine as pain pulsed everywhere, his cracked ribs punching his breath into small puffs of air with every movement. 

"Tony wanted me to tell you that he handled it badly and that you showed him you could handle yourself just fine." That was absolutely the wrong thing to say. Peter could feel his chest tighten with the threat of tears, his already worn emotions threadbare. Stark couldn't even muster the guts to tell Peter to his face that he had fucked up, that he was wrong and Peter wasn't failing on his own. The evidence of Peter's struggle with Toomes all summed up in a crappy apology and acknowledgment of his efforts.

Cracking open the case, unable to wait any longer in anxiety about the possibilities that it held, Peter blinked blankly at his suit. The familiar red and webbing sat innocently in the silver box, unaware of how desperately he'd needed it only forty-eight hours earlier.

"I guess that is it," Happy had ended, clasping his hands in an awkward clap. His duty done. Peter nodded, snapping the case closed, and backed into the apartment, forcing his back straight as Happy watched him awaiting a response. When Peter said nothing, clutching the case to his chest as if the head of security would change his mind and snatch it back from the teen, stripping him once again of his protection.

Happy nodded, once, then twice, shoving his hands in his pockets, "Are you okay?" He sounded afraid of hearing anything but an affirmative, and Peter was afraid of the repercussions of admitting that no, he wasn't. He had definitely broken several ribs, he was sure he had a concussion, and his spine screamed in pain with every movement. Fever raging within his body as he stood, with holes in his body, forced out of his bed to take the pathetic apology of a cowardly millionaire through his security officer.

So instead, he nodded, silently watching Happy from the doorway until the older man nodded, eyes concerned before turning to leave down the hall...

Where Peter sat now, once again with Happy as his chauffeur and Tony beside him, he could tell Happy was watching him with a similar expression of confusion and desperation, hoping for Peter to just say something that put them in a familiar pattern they'd once danced. As if Happy hadn't dropped him as soon as the lapse of Spider-Man released the older man from Stark's obligation of monitoring the teen. They hadn't been friends by any means, but Peter had tricked himself at times into thinking that the older man was fond of him, that he wasn't just a glorified babysitter for Peter when Stark required him to be. The older man had memorized his classes, and asked about his homework and aunt, joking with him in his own, dry manner.

But Peter was wrong about that, just as he had been about a lot of things. So the silence prolonged, the air feeling stifling. Tony was frozen, Peter pointedly staring out of the car window, fingers fidgeting with one another as he waited for someone to say something.

"You know where it is right?" Tony asked, smoothing over Happy's interruption.

"Huh? Oh, right, yes. Hairdresser." And with that, the car lurched into the road, smoothly slipping into the busy traffic. 

"Why do you say that, you know it's a barber. Am I getting highlights done? No." The protective sarcasm Tony took up to banter with his friend allowed Peter to slump into the seat, still staring out the window. Had he ever noticed how Tony tended to take humor up as a form of control in situations he felt out of his depth? Perhaps because Peter did the same now, he could appreciate and recognize the older man's attempts at filling the silence that undoubtedly would overtake the cab. Happy on the other hand, did not take up the banter and the car lapsed into a stale air anyway. 

Eventually, Happy pulled off into a location Peter knew no one but the elite could afford to exist. If it wasn't for the expensive cars that told him the tax bracket used his yearly income on cigars alone, the impeccably dressed suits trailing the sidewalks did.

"I am feeling a little naked here," he grumbled, unhappy with the fact that his worn-out Coca-Cola shirt stood out like a sore thumb, while Tony himself looked like any other suit on the street. "I look like your charity case, no way I am going in there."

"Any recommendations?" Tony asked, popping open the car door as he began to climb out, calling Peter's bluff. It would be worse for Peter to show up at some local barber with a famous Tony Stark on his heel, in comparison to using a location Tony felt appropriate. In moody silence, Peter slipped out of his seat, accidentally making eye contact with Happy in the mirror. The older man opened his mouth to say, well something, but Peter slammed the door shut quickly so that he never heard a word. Stark didn't comment aside from a quirk of the eyebrow and led him into a tall building. 

The building was awash in harsh lighting as Tony led him through the maze of the first floor. It was the most expensive strip mall Peter had seen, the two price tags he caught sight of almost causing him to swallow his tongue. But Tony didn't look twice, waving off employees like flies as he navigated his way towards a barber shop, enclosed in foggy glass walls. Peter knew it was to appear niche, but he felt like it was a snow globe, except there weren't cute snowmen and you couldn't see through the privacy glass. Stepping inside, the rich scent of shaving cream, and sandalwood flooded Peter's senses, not overwhelmingly but in a warm, comforting manner.

"Mr. Stark, you are nearly a month early for your next visit." An older man, with a curled mustache that Peter had seen in old Western movies as a kid with Uncle Ben spoke, approaching the pair. He was dressed like an old-time barber, the waistcoat and everything, the only other person in the shop. If Peter weren't terrified of embarrassing himself, he would have smiled.

"Right, you are, Roger." Tony clapped Peter on the shoulder, "I am here for the kid today." He brandished Peter like some scruffy trophy.

Roger did not miss a beat, turning to Peter with a smile, "Your first time I assume?" Peter couldn't tell if it was a poke at his hair, implying he'd never seen a haircut before, or a reference to this particular shop. But he was saved from answering as Tony continued,

"I trust you have my best interest in mind, with the news crews and all that?" There was a sense of threat in the statement that Peter couldn't figure out.

Roger just smiled coyly, and gestured to a seat, Tony ushering Peter towards it, "You are a lucky man, I am just about to take my lunch, but I can keep the shop open for such an old customer." Peter sat in the chair, the worn leather softly accepting him into its embrace. 

"Do what you think is best," Tony urged, sitting himself in a chair with a magazine in hand. The teen accepted his fate, knowing his recommendation probably meant squat to the two men. And so the next near hour passed with the click of scissors and a comb tugging through his hair. He allowed himself to space off, enjoying not caring about what was happening for once, the decision taken out of his hands. When the barber deemed his hair suitable, he tilted Peter backward in the chair. Tony smirked as the teen stared at him in shock, vision obscured soon enough by a nearly too-hot cloth plopping over his face. 

"There isn't too much to shave, but I can't let your first experience go without all the fixings," Roger explained, the scent of something woodsy filling the air where he stood.

After a few minutes, the cloth was removed and a soft brush slathered Peter's cheeks and chin in a cool foam. He'd seen videos like this on YouTube, the idea of a straight blade near his face causing a chill to fill his limbs. Vaguely he knew he was panicking, but Tony was calm, the sound of turning pages filling the quiet as he consumed his magazine.

Roger was drawing a straight blade across a leather strap, unnoticing Peter's hands clenching in silent fear. When the older man turned to Peter, he forced his eyes on the ceiling, counting down from eighty in a series of threes. When that didn't work, he began to clench his wrist, the tight pain of his bones being crushed together drawing him out of his haze slightly. 

Roger drew the blade down his left cheek, scrapping away at his skin in a way that caused Peter's toes to curl in horror. His breath stuttered, vision blurring as he started trying to recount web formulas by memory, doubling the measurements, then tripling them. When Roger gripped his cheek, turning his face towards Tony as he worked at his jaw, Peter stopped being able to think within his own control. The sharp edge of the cool metal against his cheek throwing him violently into the memory of the night of the plane with Toomes. It was too familiar, Peter trying not to move into the cool, sharp bite of the vulture's claws near his head. The sting of a cut on his cheek where rebar had dragged across his cheekbone with the crumbling structure of the warehouse. The tangy smell of iron filling his nose, blood warm on his face. Blood.

Roger tsked, pressing a cloth to Peter's jaw, but Peter wasn’t there. He wasn’t reclining in a barber chair, the ridiculous beard of shaving cream on his face while Tony watched him. Stark suddenly frowning with concern. No. Peter was thirty feet under concrete chunks, with a metal rod through his back, his cheek burning with a scrape he couldn’t remember getting. The smell of his own blood in his nose as he tried to breathe through too-tight ribs. 

“Kid?” Tony wasn’t here. He couldn’t be, he’d taken the suit. He had no idea that Peter was out here, buried alive, crying silently in pain, pain, pain. He’d taken away Peter’s ability to call for help, his safety, and now the teen was paying the price  

His chest ached with the thin breaths he was hauling in, a staccato rhythm timed with his heart, wrist screaming in pain from where it had been crushed, the bones grinding together. He was aware of his chest rumbling, some sort of deep whine he couldn’t help escaping as the panic clawed at his vocal cords. He needed out, the smell of blood thick, the sound of another voice too muffled to hear. But he was alone, there wasn’t a voice with him beneath the warehouse, that wasn’t right. 

“-hand me things when I was younger, trying to live in his shadow, attempting to learn things. He didn’t notice sometimes, Howard was a busy man. He’d just hand you the tool he finished with, got mad if you weren’t fast enough. But I was young, so I’d bite my lip, and take whatever it was, accept that it would most likely hurt sometimes. I didn’t tell him he burned me, or cut my hands,” Tony. That was Tony, he was sure of it. He could feel his brows furrow in confusion, vision fogged entirely. Blinking a few times, he felt silent tears roll down his cheeks, chest catching with uneven breaths. Tony was there. He was in a chair, bent close to Peter, a hand pressing something to the teen’s cheek.

His dark brown eyes scanned Peter’s face, taking in the furious blinking as the younger man began attempting to ground himself. His wrist screamed in pain as he tried to reach out to the older man, sympathy heavy in Tony’s eyes as Peter cried out. "I am afraid you crushed that hand, buddy. I didn’t notice till it cracked, scared Roger to death. He’s taking his lunch now.” Roger, the barber, right. This was just another bump in Peter’s road, another massive case of humiliation for him to swallow. Embarrassment flooded his cheeks, eyes watering again.

Tony brushed a hand across his cheek, drawing the towel away from where it was pressed to his face, spotted red in several places. “Do you know what I learned from dealing with Howard in the shop?” It was an odd question, Peter had only been half-listening. His brain slowly twisted the question, rethinking what Tony had been rambling to him about. In the end, he shook his head. “I learned that sucking it up, and accepting the pain as a part of being there with my dad, only hurt me. Burying it down deep didn’t do anything good for me, it just left me bleeding.”

Peter wasn’t sure he had all the pieces of the puzzle, but it was painfully obvious Tony’s meaning. He knew Peter felt off, he had thought Peter would tell him if he needed a change, or better yet, he knew now that Peter had accepted the flashback with open arms not even attempting to save himself. The teen blinked, eyes sluggish with exhaustion as Tony wiped the rest of the shaving cream from his face. The nick on his cheek stung with the brush of the cloth against it. He accepted it, his punishment. Thinking over what Tony said,

”I didn’t think it would be so bad,” he rasped, throat dry.

Tony only looked at him. “If you thought it was any kind of bad, you should have warned me, kid.” This was a wrench in Tony’s public image. Bringing in some homeless kid, who then had a freak out at probably the city’s most expensive barber. 

“I am sure Roger won’t say anything, maybe you could bribe him?” He offered, fairly certain that Tony had bribed people before.

His mentor scowled darkly, "I meant you should have told me for your own sake, shit. Peter, you have no self-preservation skills, do you?” He sounded angry as if Peter should have assumed Tony was first concerned with the younger man’s wellbeing. He could only blink, a slight shrug being his response. His body wasn’t really his yet, limbs heavy in the chair. His wrist was still in agony, he frowned at it. “You held it too tight when you started to panic,” the other man softly explained, guilt in his voice. 

“Oh. I guess that makes sense.”

"Let’s get you out of here,” Tony helped him stand, wrist cradled to his own chest like a broken bird. Every movement sent lightning blasting through his nerves. “Can you walk out of here like everything is normal?” He thought about it, before shaking his head. His mind still reeling, he should be back to normal by now. He couldn’t understand why he felt underwater still. 
“Peter, listen you’re in shock. I know your body wants you to tune out, but I can’t walk you out of here looking drugged from a foggy hair shop.” That did make sense. “Happy is outside, we just have to make it there.”

"Don’ wanna see him,” he argued through numb lips. The older man paused, staring at Peter with calculating eyes.

"That’s too bad, I mean that wholeheartedly. He is our only option right now, can you zone in for a few minutes while we walk out?” Unsatisfied with having to relent and see Happy, Peter slumped forward to rest his head against Tony’s collarbone. A warm hand rested against the back of his neck, a semi-embrace that while stiff, allowed Peter a moment to force himself into the present.

After a minute or two, he nodded into the older man’s chest, steeling himself, just five more minutes he chanted internally. Trusting Tony that he only needed to focus for a few more minutes. 

“Okay, let’s go.” 

Chapter Text

Tony watched Peter a moment longer, his face carved in harsh lines of concern as the teen stared blankly through him where he remained crouched beside the barber chair. Peter, on his part, was chanting to himself that he only had to force himself forward a few more minutes. Accepting Peter's condition as the best they'd get, Tony began to lead the way out. Leaving the teen to robotically follow after Stark as he led him through the abandoned barber shop. He locked his eyes on the older man’s shoes, head tucked down. He was like a kicked dog, he thought bitterly, always following orders as soon as he wasn't able to defend himself. 

The bustling tone of business' dulled in his ears as the pulsing blood of his own heartbeat knocked against his temple with violent intent. He could tell Stark tossed a look his way twice, once aborting a reach towards the younger man when the blank-eyed teen didn’t react to his worried behavior. 

Eventually, the two stepped out of the busy building, and Tony ushered him towards the car with a soft hand to his back, cupping his head to ensure he didn’t knock it against the doorframe when he climbed in. Usually, his hovering would have irritated the younger man, but right now he only felt relief that there was someone else looking out for him, his senses still taking in far too much, and far too little at the same time. A common struggle for himself it seemed lately.

“Much faster than usual,” Happy commented, twisting in his seat to look at his passengers. Peter’s gaze snapped to his face, fearful eyes rapidly examining him for danger. With his mind still floating in a dull haze, his body remained locked in flight mode, forgetting entirely his promise to himself to avoid engaging with the security head for as long as he could.

Happy’s face drew into a dark frown, causing the teen to clench the door handle near him, plastic creaking in his palm. ”What did you do to the kid?” He demanded angrily, accusing eyes landing on Tony as if he’d caused the pale, haunted teen to sit shaking in his seat in the car. 

“Not the time,” his boss bit out, tugging Peter’s seatbelt across his body, securing him in place before buckling himself.

But Happy was angry now, his face dark with blood, he jabbed a finger into the divider, "I told you to leave him out of your games, now look what you’ve done. He looks like he’s in shock.” He was correct, Peter couldn’t even feel his wrist screaming in pain, and the entire argument around him was becoming warbled in his ears, Tony's presence locking him in place in the back of the car.

"You don’t know what you’re talking about, this isn’t the time to have this discussion.” 

“No way, I held my tongue long enough. I told you to leave him alone.”

"This really is not going to help right now."

Happy looked about ready to crawl into the backseat, furious gaze running over Peter in examination. Tony oozing stress beside Peter. He was having a hard time grasping why it was exactly that Tony looked so frazzled, the millionaire was usually impervious to disruption. But then again, he’d never really been around the Peter Parker luck that always seemed to destroy the world around it, it had the effect of leaving people in its wake spinning on their heads. Peter knew that all too well. 

"Peter, how are you, how’s your wrist?” A tender touch tried to pry the wrist stuck to Peter’s chest away from where his other hand had come up to cradle it gingerly as they argued around him. He’d hurt his wrist before, something like this, an undoubtedly minor crack shouldn’t have shaken Peter so much. May would have...he actually wasn't sure what May would do anymore.

“M’ hand?” He mumbled through numb lips, blinking sluggishly. It was the wrong thing to say, Happy sucked in an angry breath, his nostrils flaring. Feeling anxiety tick up in his limbs, collarbone itching, he turned his too-heavy head towards the other man in the back seat. Peter tried to focus his gaze on Tony’s face, his eyes landing somewhere to the left of Stark’s cheek. "Can we go back to your place? My back hurts.” His stomach churned violently, anxiety racing beneath his skin. The space where the vulture had pierced his back was burning, he just wanted to crawl into bed and get away from the other men.

"Your back?” Tony leaned closer, peering around his shoulder as if the wounds were bleeding afresh. “Nothing happened to your back, you’re okay. You’re with me, we are going to go home to the tower.” Right. He was with Stark, he hadn’t seen Toomes in years, and his back was twinging but not in pain like he'd thought. 

“Oh, yeah.” Was his quiet reply. He desperately itched for a cigarette. It was a nasty habit, one he’d curved down into stress smoking instead of the daily habit he had at eighteen after May left. What’s the risk when your body won’t let cancer develop? It filled the hours and killed his appetite, a double whammy. It had been a few days since his fingers itched for the familiar weight to balance between them.

"We are taking him to his aunt,” Happy broke in, obviously unwilling to be steamrolled by his boss in this situation.

Tony sighed in frustration, turning to his friend, "May doesn’t even live on this side of the country, and you are aggravating the kid. So either cool it, or get out, Harold, and I’ll drive.”

The other man was silent, weighing the threat, before jerking back towards the steering wheel, the divider rising between them in silent fury. 

“Sorry,” Peter mumbled to his old mentor, slumping into his seat, knees drawing up to his chest, further protecting his arm. The car rumbled beneath him as Happy accelerated into traffic.

A hand rested on his knee, Tony squeezing it twice in comfort. “Not your fault, it was mine. Don’t you worry that little head of yours, I am going to take you home.” Home. That was the second time Tony called it that, and Peter didn’t know when he’d grown less disturbed at the idea. He blinked hard, realizing a few minutes had passed with him staring at the divider in silence. 

"I am okay." He was unsure of who he was trying to comfort. Tony pressed a hand to his shoulder and the rest of the ride went back in silence. 

When they arrived at the tower again, Happy did not drop them at the same entrance they had exited that afternoon, rather he took them into an underground parking garage. With the passing twenty minutes from leaving the barber shop, Peter had reentered his body with every minute. The detached numbness faded, leaving behind a fury at himself. He was angry that he had let something as simple as a shave toss him into a flashback, angry that the memory had ended in a full dissociative state.

He wasn't a fool. He knew what had happened once the haze had ridden itself from his senses. He knew the topic of PTSD, and the concept of dissociation occurring as his body's safety measure, removing him from an environment too upsetting to handle. That did not make the entire event any less humiliating, losing his shit on some old, rich man's barber, breaking his own fucking wrist. He could feel the sharp sting of his fractured bones with the movement of his arm, another guaranteed two-day healing stint if he kept consuming calories like Tony wanted him to. He had a better handle on this when he lived alone when he could keep his distance.

Happy's steely silence in the front seat and separation through the raised divider was the only bright side of this event. Tony had been silent, giving Peter space as he slowly unfurled in his seat, empty expression settling back into the same bitter frown he'd carried when Tony had met him earlier this week. If the hero was upset at the regression of Peter's attitude, he gave no hint, tapping away on a Stark phone. Peter glimpsed the name Pepper at the top of a message and averted his eyes.

Happy parked the car, roughly shoving his way out of his door to open Peter's. The teen paused for the slightest second, before remembering Tony was carefully watching him when he thought he wasn't paying attention and then climbed out. He forced his shoulders to relax from their squared position, seemingly carrying himself with a haughty calm as he stepped past Happy. He shoved his hands into his pockets, slowly shifting his view of the parking garage, taking in the few dozen closest cars. They had to be Tony's, they screamed expensive, and oddly vintage by the majority. He hadn't known Tony had an interest in older vehicles and had never seen the other man drive anything but a modern sports car now that he thought about it.

Happy silently observed Peter as Tony opened his own door, a pointed gesture from his security head. "Right, let's get you upstairs," He muttered, heading to the elevator door in the corner of the parking garage nearest to them. But Happy stepped in front of Peter, surprise causing his eyes to lock onto the gruff face in front of him. He cursed himself for his lack of self-control. 

"Are you here on your own accord?" He glanced at Tony with clear distrust, which was slightly fair in all honesty. There was no denying the blackmail of Germany, but Peter didn't view Tony as a manipulator of his choices for most things. Sure, Tony pushed his way when he wanted to in their past, but he wasn't sneaky about it, so Happy suggesting Peter had no choice raised an odd mix of feelings. But he kept his face bored, a cold detached eyebrow raising itself in question. Happy faltered for a second before doubling down. "I mean it, I will take you home right now, we can call May." It struck him funny, how no one had any idea how much his world had warped upon itself in such a short time. How long would it have taken them to notice May Parker had moved, her nephew scraping along without her, if Peter hadn’t fucked up?

"Thanks, dude." The nickname would have gotten a scoff or some light threat in the past, but Happy only watched him. "I can make my own choices, grown man rights and all that. But A for effort, stepping in for the little guy." Peter made his words sharp, clapping sarcastically. Cold anger drowned out the scream his wrist gave out with each clap, but Happy's wince made it worth it. He understood. Peter was angry at him for how he had let Stark dictate his approach with Peter before, the choices he had gone along with.

"Peter, I owe you a massive apology, I just need you to-"

"Don't give a flying fuck, keep it." He threw up a peace sign, shoving his hands into his pockets once again as he wandered towards Tony, unbothered. The older man watched him with an expression that told Peter that he didn't recognize him at that moment. But Peter didn't care, they could both eat dirt.

"Gonna push the button, old man?" He aggressively jabbed it anyway, not caring for Tony's response and he settled on leaning against the wall as they waited.

Happy had trailed towards them, "I will see you to your floor, make sure you're settled in." It was a useless attempt. Peter had been here nearly two days, the need for someone to scope out the space for him was now moot. Least of all did he need Happy Hogan to step into his life with any assumed measure of importance. He chuckled bitterly, looking at Tony with a can-you-believe-this-guy attitude, the older man didn't respond, clearly uncomfortable. 

"I think I'll pass."

"I just think that-"

"I couldn't give a shit less what that curly head of yours is thinking." He brutally cut the security head off as the elevator chimed and the door slid open. The teen sauntering inside stabbing the floor he wanted before resting against the wall, staring Happy down in the challenge. He wasn't going to let him enter, he'd bar the door shut before he rode with him. But Happy only looked at Tony angrily, shifting his focus to the weaker target.

"Why don't you head up, I am going to talk to Happy, is that okay?" He almost gave a shit that Tony was asking his opinion, but he just shrugged as the door closed in the faces of the other men. He could feel a cool anger simmering in his skin, aware it made him an asshole, call it an attitude adjustment, or a coping mechanism. He didn't care. He didn't want to waste another second on anyone else.

Unfortunately, Pepper had different ideas as the elevator reached Tony's private floor. She was lounging on the couch, laptop propped before her, several boxes gathered on the ground. When she took in Peter arriving alone, her brows furrowed, clearly expecting Tony to have stepped off the elevator behind him.

"Stark is chatting it up with Harold, thought I'd skip the love fest," he explained, starting down the hall to his room.

Pepper set her laptop out of the way, starting to stand. "I thought I could show you something," she broke in, trying to get him to linger, but he only waved a hand behind his back dismissively, ignoring her attempt at conversation as he ducked into his room and locked the door.

He could hear when Tony finally made his way to the floor again, his voice was not alone, an angry tone that belonged to Happy standing out against Pepper's own murmuring. Deciding he was not going to stay around for that pow-wow, Peter dug his suit out and began to change. He was slipping his web shooters on when he marched down the hall, beelining for the elevator.

"She doesn't even know, are you kidding me?" Happy was demanding, his back to Peter as he pressed towards Stark in the kitchen. "This is kidnapping, you are going way past your rights,"

"He is a legal adult, Harold."

"You know exactly what I mean."

"Do I?"

"Yes, you do. Tony, there are boundaries."

"Peter, where are you going?" Pepper interrupted his escape, causing Happy to spin and face him, Tony's curious face watching as Peter awkwardly finished tucking his suit's wrists in place.

"Which floor is best to leave from?" He directed the question to Tony, feeling his attire was enough to answer Pepper's inquiry. The other man rubbed at his beard, before speaking.

"I don't think that arm is going to like you swinging around, Banner said it would take another day for your shoulder to be back to an acceptable range."

"You said this was different," he shot back, unhappy at Tony already attempting to guide his behavior. He wanted to believe the man that he was going to handle Peter with more respect like he was a real person and not a pawn. Peter was an adult, the footing was not as unequal as it had once been, and he wasn't going to roll over as he had as a younger kid with his hero.

"I'm not saying you can't go, just letting you know what I think. Communicating, right?" Stark raised his hands in surrender, the teen squinting at him behind his mask's lens, waiting for a 'but' to be thrown in there, but he seemed to be done. 

"Are you coming back?" Pepper spoke softly, coming to stand before him, blocking the elevator. He only nodded silently, not wanting to be around them any longer.

Tony seemed to understand, "We have a landing deck through here," he gestured towards the right of the kitchen, where a balcony exit sat, but it required Peter to walk past Happy. "Or there is one on the training floor, three levels down, if you prefer. Friday can guide you, and let you back in, right Fri?" 

"I have registered Mini-Boss in my systems," She snarked to her creator.

Taking his dismissal, Peter popped around Pepper gently and entered the waiting elevator, leaving the tension-ridden floor behind him. "Take me to the training floor, please," He requested, and the elevator immediately started to drop. "Is anyone else there?" he asked as an afterthought, unsure about running into any of the other heroes.

"Clint Barton is utilizing the weight room with Sam Wilson." Sam, the other man the afternoon when Peter arrived at the tower's medical wing. 

"Who lives here now?" He wondered aloud, once again unsure of the new Avenger's dynamic.

"The only permanent residents are Captain Rogers, Sam Wilson, and Dr. Banner, the other Avengers come and go as they please.” Friday offered. He’d have thought more chose to stay within the city, but after the rogues reunited, some he knew preferred to keep out of the spotlight. Deciding he could handle the men using the training floor, he waited for the doors to open.

Friday guided him through a few halls, passing a large room with an indoor pool, and another that led to what looked to be a sauna. Eventually, he passed Clint in the weight room, loudly goading the man he was spotting on a bench below him. Two large, glass doors separated the room from where Peter stood peeking into the room avoiding their notice. He paused only a moment, calculating the weights Sam was pressed upwards. It was a reasonable amount, a human amount. His experience with Wilson had been short-lived, his attention on Barnes for the majority of their interaction. While he hadn’t thought that Wilson had anything enhanced, he wanted to confirm, call it recon if you will.

As he started to edge away towards the way Friday had informed him the exit was, Clint’s attention zeroed in. 

“Hey, Spider-Man!” Fantastic. Speeding his footsteps, he tried to make it further down the hall before Clint could make his way towards him, locking him in conversation.

At one time, Peter would have been elated at the prospect of one of his childhood heroes wanting to talk to him. Hell, three years ago he probably would have stopped as soon as Clint asked him to, obediently waiting for whatever the adult wanted of him, but that was a while ago, and truly Peter didn't think he had a social bone left in his body, certainly not for the Avengers. He’d gotten almost to the exit doorway when Clint caught up, grinning widely as if he wasn’t aware Peter tried to avoid him.

Irritation bloomed slowly in Peter's chest. He had not been out in the city in far longer than he was comfortable with. He needed to be out there, to fulfill his duty as Spider-Man. The last thing he wanted was for the gossip pieces to start up that the hero was dead or moved away, that had happened once and the crime in this place had skyrocketed for a few weeks while he got his appearance back out there between shifts.

“I wasn’t sure you’d still be here, how’s it been?” Clint was one of those people who felt comfortable immediately. Peter detested it. The older man had a jockey energy, a relaxed ease in his stance, clearly well-practiced. Peter never did get along much with the jocks, stinging memories of high school rising. He took comfort in his suit as it gave him a small boost of confidence until he remembered that Clint had already seen his face.

“Swell,” he tightly replied, squinting towards his escape in longing. The padding of footsteps coming down the hall signaled Wilson’s arrival. The teen sighed, unhappy with further interruptions. "I need to be going,” he excused himself, stepping towards the door again.

"You’re the reason my spotter left me to die, not cool,” Sam accused as he spotted the two, the last part was aimed at Clint who only shrugged. Peter hadn't seen him clearly since the airport fiasco, his time in the medical wing caught in blurry bouts of vision. The falcon looked relatively the same, minus the suit, his workout shirt stuck to his chest. He was wiping beads of sweat from his brow, eyes scanning Peter in skeptical evaluation.

“He’s quick, had to catch him before he made it out of here.” The sandy-haired man broke in, knocking Wilson on the shoulder with a fist, but the other man hummed cynically. The teen forced himself to stand, body lax under the scrutiny of the older men. At the airport, there was nothing but action, no standing around awkwardly getting an eyeful of one another. Peter had quipped with Sam, a few things he couldn't remember as he was babbling in nervous habit per usual at the time, but the other hero did not indicate remembering their last run, or Peter webbing him to the ground, and a few more violent approaches. 

“Did you have somewhere to go?” Wilson asked voice curious, gesturing to the Spider-Man suit. 

“As one typically does when trying to find the exit,” Peter snipped, gesturing at the doorway that he had been heading towards.

Clint snickered, elbowing Sam like Peter had told a joke. “You still staying here with Stark?” Clint was unbothered to hold him hostage, ignoring the Fuck off attitude oozing from Peter.

“You are here with Tony?” Wilson was appraising him with a thoughtful expression now, surprise coloring his voice. “I think the intern Steve mentioned has a couple of secrets.” This was a clusterfuck. Peter suddenly remembered why he preferred to live alone. Unable to deny the hidden accusation, Clint stared at him in expectation gauging his next move.

Peter settled on a shrug, rolling his shoulder back in faux ease. “Guest bed is comfy, Captain Fancy doesn't need to know everything. But like I said, I have places to be. So, I’m out,” gripping the doorway handle, he pried it open and stepped out. If the other heroes thought him unfriendly, better for it. He didn’t want to grow closer to the whole Scooby-Doo gang. Tony was enough to handle, and Pepper was a package deal it seemed. 

The landing area overhung a few closer buildings, ten or so stories shorter at the maximum. Calculating his route, he tossed a glance over his shoulder. Clint gave a wave like that of British royalty Wilson standing with his arms crossed as they eyeballed Peter. He decided to flip a double bird as he jumped away, Clint's laughing face only bringing the slightest twinge of a smile to Peter's lips.

The freedom of swinging between city buildings, throwing himself in the air with the agility of an acrobat was something Peter always reminded himself that he took for granted. His shoulder ached but it wasn’t anything he was concerned about agitating, he had been injured enough times to know his limits. Right now, he needed this. He needed Spider-Man. That was Peter’s crutch. The thing he tried to deny, that Spider-Man was an escape. As a person, he couldn’t do anything for his community. Peter Parker was a nerdy, odd kid who while witty, didn’t have the resources to create the change he hoped to see take place around him. He was alone, the inevitable position of his life always seemed to point to him as the sole survivor. Sure, he sped up ending the friendships he’d had with MJ and Ned. But it was bound to happen, if it wasn’t through growing up and away from one another, it was through harm befalling them because they knew Spider-Man. He couldn’t do that to them, he couldn’t lose any other people in his life.

His stomach twisted with memories of Toomes, the older man letting the teen know just exactly how much of Peter’s life he could reach into if he decided to. The raft was far away, but even with Tony’s assurance that he’d made sure Adrian Toomes would never be let out, Peter Parker was a risk. He was a danger, a hidden threat to those around him simply because of his choices. Peter Parker was best alone.

But Spider-Man was helpful, he was worthy of the attention he received. He wasn’t gloating with the thought, only factually weighing the worth of his position as Spider-Man to the accolades he received. He was always careful not to take much, he never accepted donations. He didn’t take from those who couldn’t give him much, the most he’d accepted were a few free meals. He could help, it was his duty to help, and Spider-Man was the reason he kept going. Peter Parker didn’t have anything for himself left.

Flipping in the air, he twisted his torso, aiming himself perfectly to land on the top of a parking garage. He smiled at the exclamations of citizens in the streets, the hands pointing after him in excitement. He was a symbol, a sign of hope and justice to the people below. He couldn’t leave this, as much as he wanted to go to May, to hit restart on everything he’d slowly fallen into, he couldn’t. This city needed him, the small people needed a hero who cared about the petty crime, not just the anti-heroes and aliens that befell it.

He bent his knees with the expectation of contact with the parking garage, feet sticking to the concrete with solidity as his joints absorbed the shock. The level was abandoned, locked cars his only company as he shook out his arms, muscles beautifully worn after not being out for so long. He hadn’t run into anything, he almost was disappointed. After being chained to long shifts, and exhaustion for so long, he’d hoped to be able to fill his role again in some capacity. The collaboration with Captain America and Hawkeye was a miserable failure on his end. 

“Karen, is there anything going on?” The AI was programmed to pick up any disturbances within the Police scanners. 

“It looks like the city is calm today, nothing is being reported.” Her voice was relaxing, a familiar presence that Peter found himself turning to in recent months for the company. 

“Tony Stark has attempted to make contact three times in the last two hours,” she added. Had he been gone that long already? The idea of returning to the tower felt equivalent to approaching the guillotine. He’d left Tony to face a very angry Happy, which wasn’t something Peter had seen often. The big man had been irritated before, he’d never been shy to tell Peter exactly what he felt about his shenanigans, but anger wasn’t an explosive nature that came out much for the security head. 

“Why don’t we let the little guy make contact for a bit, reverse the 'No Managers' program, and have it on standby in case he’s too clingy.” The cheerful compliance of his AI soothed some of his anxiety as she removed the blockages he’d carefully crafted against Tony’s contact. It had taken him several days to configure just exactly how to keep the creator of an AI out of its systems. No small feat, Peter was proud of himself for stumping Tony Stark. He forgot sometimes just how close his intelligence could be to Tony’s. The older man’s mention of his IQ rang in his ears, causing a wince. 

“Friday has noted the change, Tony will be informed soon I am sure,” Karen updated. Peter sat, legs dangling over the lip of the garage's walls, catching up with Karen a while longer. He had missed her, even if she was just an AI, he had benefitted from her friendship greatly. There were weeks when Spider-Man could not make it out of the apartment, but the mask found its way onto his head, just relishing the company of someone who knew him. Someone he did not have to hide from.

"Spider-Man?” He just couldn’t catch a break, could he. “Who are you talking to?" A security guard stood across the space of the parking garage a cigarette hanging from his lips, lighter forgotten where it sat in the air.

"Just catching up with the latest reports," Peter quipped, twisting himself fully around to face the older man. Considering him, he tilted his head. "Got another one of those I can bum?" 

"I have as many as you need," the guard replied good-naturedly. He was tall, over six feet, but his age had caught up to him, form stiff as he walked. Peter noted how he favored his left knee, a permanent grimace on his face as he approached the hero. He was the age Uncle Ben would have been by now, with a thick mix of salt and pepper hair peeking out of his cap, the label 'Security' stitched across it.

"Been a while since I have seen anyone up here that didn't own a car."

"Oh but you caught me before I could climb into my mini-cooper and scoot away," a gloved hand accepted a cigarette, then the lighter with a small nod. Pulling his mask to his nose, he set to work lighting it and drawing a thick lung full of smoke, the burn tingling his nerves in a way he didn't quite think was healthy.

"These are a bad habit," the guard lit his cigarette, juxtaposing his own words. Peter chuckled, turning back to look over the city, it was beautiful in its hectic manner. He never appreciated it in its full glory until he became Spider-Han. As Spider-Man he could see it all from high above, truly taking it all in. "You've been quiet out here lately, not a lot of our favorite web-head swinging through the streets.”

"It's been slow."

"That isn't always a bad thing."

"So they say." He wasn’t sure he actually liked it being slow, he felt caught between two worlds where he didn’t fit right into either. Did that make him a bad person, wishing that there was mayhem to appease his own needs?

"You heard the Avengers are back together?"

"Isn't it wild," he remarked dryly, sucking his shrinking cigarette. It was known enough that Spider-Man operated around the big heroes and kept small, focusing on the petty crime needs of the city. 

"I didn't think Ironman could forgive Rogers." The guard went on, leaning against the garage wall that Peter sat on. In all honesty, Peter couldn't either. When the news finally reached the public, well after the reunification of the heroes, it was after Tony had settled their differences. Though it was clear that Barnes would not be staying in the tower or even the city. Peter had kept out of it as much as he could, the media was never a trustworthy source, but it all seemed to agree that the grievance was deep, and emotionally wrenching for all involved. Peter still didn't know how he felt about Rogers yet, the hero's rapid abandonment of Tony after all that the man had done to keep the Avengers together, walking the political line for them. It all rubbed Peter the wrong way, he was glad to have missed that. 

He watched the guard, weighing if it was worth asking his name, or just enjoying the peaceful anonymity of two people protecting the people around them as best they could. Absently they smoked in silence for a minute more, the other man watching Peter in a way that told him he’d never met a hero before. While Peter pretended to care about what was happening a street below them, fingers rolling his cigarette slowly.

"The wife said I should give these up," a cigarette wiggled in the air, the guard spoke first.

"So you just sneak them at work?"

"Don't have to sneak them anymore." The tone was sad, reminiscent of a life lost. His chest felt tighter for the knowledge,

"I am sorry for your loss."

The guard only smiled sadly before digging in his pocket, he tossed another to Peter, who caught it lightly as the older man began to wander the grounds again. "Keep it for the road, I don't want to keep you from your duty." Peter only sent a small wave at the back of the guard. He was once again alone, lost in his thinking. 

"Karen, what is the probability of living with Tony working out?"

"I estimate that with proper conflict management, you have a probability of around 67% success." She always offered a positive light in her reports, even when they did not seem to be all that bright and cheery. Maybe she knew that Peter needed someone to reinforce him, she was smart like that. He nibbled his lip, breathing in another lung full of smoke, holding it till his eyes watered and it slipped out of his nose. Tony was different, that much he couldn't deny. The older man had never been emotionally available, and the disaster with the accidental hug haunted Peter still. He had never been so embarrassed, not only for the dismissal from Tony but for the hope that had exploded in his chest at the prospect of Tony seeing him so affectionately.

But it did seem like Tony was trying now. The purposeful eye contact, and checking in with Peter was almost too much, a sudden shift in the dynamic that the younger man had never foreseen dealing with. He had thought of working with Tony, of course, he had, on the nights that he couldn't sleep and his mistakes were all that his brain would allow him to focus on. Even then, in those instances, Tony was angry and frustrated, the older man constantly working against Peter, creating difficulty in their relationship. It was always Peter having to scramble to make up for his mistakes as Tony expected him to be better than himself, a millionaire, genius, philanthropist hero, a bar Peter could never even dream of reaching. He was just himself. 

Tony Stark reading parenting books, had not been in his imagined plans. Maybe if Peter had taken a few tabs of acid he could have come up with it, but never in his sober mind. It made his skin crawl, thinking about someone else taking responsibility for him again. May had been freed of that when Peter graduated, his avid work to save and bolster his savings was the only reason that he could convince her that he was self-sufficient and she could trust him to live on his own. Trust him. He was garbage, he was worse than that. He lied to her daily, giving her false hope of his future when in reality he had failed past what he ever dreamed he'd fall to. 

She tried to connect, he knew her too well to think that she was happy with the distance between them. "You are my kid," she'd told him. "I will always be thinking of you and worry." They had both teared up at her admission, Peter pretending that a particular moving box needed more tape so that he could hide his tears from her.

After the move, they were able to talk more. Her schedule was fluctuating, Peter wasn't dodging her, and they both missed each other like a lost limb. But after he lost his second and final internship, gaining the popular title of Unreliable in the science world, he'd let that slip away. May was the same as she always had been, she asked the right questions, she offered all of her life information, telling him about her new friends, and her new relationship, and asked Peter what he thought about her finding someone. 

He hated it. He hated it with such a vitriol passion that it scared him. He hadn't even let himself remember her boyfriend's name, the details of him entirely fuzzy through denial alone. It wasn't that May had found someone after Ben. Fuck, no. They'd been alone long enough, she was such a wonderful woman that any man would be lucky to have her. It was something else. It was that now she had something to keep her forever, there was no reason for her to return to Peter. Her move had never been a short-term plan, but secretly Peter hoped she'd miss him enough to return. But what was a nephew to a life partner, a possible husband, a new family? 

Ben and May always said that Peter was enough for them, that they didn't need to have children of their own. By the time Peter had come around, they'd spent their last years together raising him, trying to heal the hole in a small boy's heart after losing everything he'd known and loved. May and Ben had always lived far away, distant enough that he saw them for holidays and a few vacations. Uncle Ben would take him out on adventures, and sit in his chair with Peter to watch his favorite shows while his mom visited May and his dad. But he had parents, memories as much as a four-year-old child could have of them, that kept them always in the area of Aunt and Uncle during Peter's childhood. They never got a kid of their own, and he couldn't blame May if she wanted to try and have one now. 

So when Tony put a claim on wanting Peter, of seeing Peter as a child that Tony wanted to be important to, it felt like acid being forced down his throat. He did not need to be an obligation on someone else's shoulders, he'd worked too hard to remove himself from the position of a helpless child. So what if his apartment sucked, if the food was scarce and his job slowly sucked the life out of him. It was his own decision, no one had to clean up his mess.

"-Peter?" Karen's voice caused him to come back to himself, the cigarette burning his finger. 

"Shit!" he yelped, shaking his hand wildly, the smoldering stump between his fingers flying into the air, spinning as it fell down the side of the building. "What is it?" He demanded, feeling agitated,

"I said your aunt is trying to call you, I did call your name several times," she explained, her feelings unhurt by his brashness. He appreciated that about the AI, she didn't take anything personally.

"Karen, I don't think this day could go worse," burying his head into his hands, he took a deep breath, peering at the hub within his mask, May's profile picture smiling brightly at him. "Send her to voicemail," the call disconnected abruptly. His shoulders eased with a large sigh, feeling only a little guilty until May's profile popped up once again. Damn, "Answer."

"Hello?"

"Hey, Aunt May, how are you doing? it's been a little while."

"Did you just hang up on me, young man?"

"I am out in the suit, had to find a better spot, promise." Those promises felt pretty cheap these days.

May, blessedly unknowing only laughed. "It is a little early for you to be out and about isn't it?" It was true, he usually went out before his shifts, well into the night. He was touched that May remembered that, then told himself that it was foolish to be shocked that she kept tabs on him. She loved him, if only from a distance. "I spoke to Tony earlier." That bastard, of course, he'd called May when Peter ignored him. Curiosity got the better of Peter, he hadn't even known May was still speaking to Tony, she'd never mentioned it, so why now? At his curious hum, she continued. "He said that you two were trying to reconnect, that you were letting him in a little, is that true?" She sounded skeptical, he wasn't sure if it was because she didn't believe Tony, or if she did not think Peter would have let someone in after how he'd removed MJ and Ned from his life in his last year of school. Unfortunately, she had been privy to a lot of emotional turmoil over that decision.

"Something like that. I am giving it a week, and seeing how I feel about it. He seems to be different." He tried to force the anxiety out of his voice, to convince her and himself that it didn’t matter the outcome. It had to not mean much because losing it again would likely take him to the ground. He didn't have anything left, not really, and to be abandoned so outright was a cruelty not even he deserved.

"I am relieved to hear that, he's been so desperate for you to let him try again." Relief filled her tone. "He really wants to fix it with you, I know you had something go down, no he didn't say anything." She cut off his looming question. "I am not blind, I know something happened, but I wanted you to have the decision about when he could come back, I made sure he knew that." He did not doubt that May was stubborn when she needed to be, a fond smile toyed at his lips. "I think he could be good for you, in a few different ways.” How the tables had turned, May Parker advocating for Tony Stark to be a part of Peter's life. A few very strong-worded arguments they’d had when Tony first appeared in Peter's life came to mind, where she had opposed it vehemently stating that nothing good would come of Tony Stark. “Hero to hero and all that, you know I can't offer much in that manner," she added when Peter lapsed into silence.

He suspected it was an insecurity for her, knowing that there was a world separating them from each other, one she could never understand. She would always support him, he didn't doubt that, but she did not understand his innate need to go out and put himself in harm's way for everyone in the city. He didn't expect her to. Heck, before he had powers he couldn’t have dreamed of being the person to step in for others, it was a world of its own.

"I did not know you two were still chatting," he tiptoed around the accusation, unsure how to approach the topic. He appreciated her handling Tony, for guiding the man away from Peter when he needed it most, yet there was a sense of betrayal over the fact that she shared about his life with the older man even after she moved.

"He told you about that, huh?" She sounded vaguely surprised, as if Tony wanted it to be a secret too. "I kept out the major details, just shared a few things. He-" she paused, sounding oddly sympathetic, "he took whatever happened really hard. I know you did too, I am team Peter. But after the first year, he just wanted to know if you were okay, so I gave him some scraps." He understood it, but not really. 

"What did you exactly share?"

"Just about your job really, your interesting projects, nothing too personal." It wasn't personal at all, it wasn't even real. She would hate him if she knew he'd made it all up. He had to free himself of that lie, it had gotten too complicated to keep up anymore with Tony in the picture. 

"About that Aunt May, it fell through, I am middling around right now, just figuring stuff out." He knocked his heels against the building as May rattled on about adjustments and the need for change at his age. Her voice was familiar and comforting as she asked about his life, and his last couple of weeks as they’d missed each other's calls. Peter tried his best to be honest and ended up sounding avoidant at best. But she accepted it in stride and continued on, talking about her dates, and her life in California.

When she kept updating him about her latest art escapes, some pottery date that her boyfriend set up for them, he began to swing his way back towards the tower. Leisurely swinging between buildings as he listened to her growing teacup collection, "I don't even like tea, Peter. I just like painting them, they are so much fun. I need to send you one, you should give me your address, and I will personalize it for you. Don't go selling it when I am famous, I will know it is yours."

By the time he had landed on the pad outside of the training area again, May was explaining that she had dinner plans and had to go, but that she loved him and was so happy to hear his voice again. He bid her goodbye, affection filling his voice as she made exaggerated kisses into the phone. The end of the phone rang a different type of silence, one that felt like loneliness. He tried to ignore it, instead making his way into the tower. The floor seemed to be empty as he slipped inside, grateful that Friday didn’t acknowledge his presence. He tried to remember his way back, wandering a few halls, turning left in the direction he was almost certain he’d turned when leaving, but found himself wandering instead into a kitchen area of sorts, one of the seats unfortunately occupied.

He frowned to himself at the form of Steve Rogers sitting at a breakfast nook, a worn book in hand.

He was watching Peter, blue eyes examining him in his suit. "I guess that makes sense."

"Huh?"

"You, being Spider-Man. I knew Tony said you were young at the airport, but I didn't think he meant that young." The blond man rubbed at the back of his neck in discomfort, his book set aside on the table now. Peter shifted his weight, disturbed at Steve assuming his identity so quickly. The other man seemed to notice his dilemma, raising a light eyebrow in question. "You aren't that subtle, and Tony doesn't just pick up teenagers for playdates and internships. If you aren't stupid, it is obvious."

"Funny, it took you seeing me in the suit to connect the dots, maybe being a popsicle affected you a little more than you think." 

"Well, I am getting older."

"Right, the old man thing. Tony said you had a tendency for those grandpa jokes."

"He told you about me?"

"Yeah, he said you had a stick up your ass and think saying 'Fuck' isn't appropriate."

Roger's frowned, evaluating Peter in a different way."I hadn't realized you two were that close," he leaned back in his chair, leaving the teen to stand awkwardly in the room.

"What can I say, I am just a bubble of fun." Steve chose to ignore that,

"Superpowers huh, how did that happen?"

"What happened to your asthma and chicken legs?"

"The what?" He could read the agitation growing in Rogers by the tension in his shoulders, squaring them now instead of their leisurely slump. 

"Just like him aren't you, a mini-me for Tony, he has to love that." He took offense for Tony at that remark, he didn't know Steve well but he knew enough to know that he was never close to Stark, not enough to make accusations like that with that amount of bitterness. 

"You know him so well, I forgot you were BFFs, that was before the old bestie came out of the grave right?"

"What am I walking into?" Clint's voice broke into the petty argument, socked feet carrying him into the room from behind Peter. The younger frowned in displeasure at his senses not alerting him of the spy wandering their way. 

"Sup, Robinhood," 

"Still wearing the mask I see, how is that not stuffy?" Clint wandered into the kitchen, digging into the pantry as Peter slowly inched his way towards him. Hunger was catching up to him, he'd not eaten much earlier and Clint clearly felt the food was for them. The older man took mercy and tossed Peter another one of those chalk protein bars that they wanted him to scarf down.

"These are such crap, I would rather lick dirt than eat this." It wasn't that bad, but it was getting old quickly.

"Eat that and you can have a Dorito or two."

"Red dye 40, you sure that's allowed?"

"Peter was just introducing himself to me," Steve interrupted. Peter frowned as he unwrapped his bar, Clint's surprised gaze ignored,

"We fessing up in here?"

"Not likely," he grumbled, tugging off his mask in order to eat, wasn't like anyone didn't know who he was around here anyway.

Rogers grinned, feeling more relaxed it seemed with Clint in the area. "It didn't take a confession, just some critical thinking skills. Did you know Stark brought in Spider-Man?" Clint shrugged in a way that Peter took to mean 'What can I say'

"He is a little young, don't you think?" There was the stick in the ass that Stark warned him about.

"A lot of us start out younger, I like the haircut, it's trendy," Clint commented to the teen, handing Peter a bag of Doritos he'd sourced from a cabinet. He gratefully tore into it, accepting the treat as a thank you for putting up with the sass of an old war hero. He forced himself not to reach for his hair on instinct, feeling insecure about the sudden change.

"Well, I am glad you are here, welcome to the team," Steve said the word team wilted as if it was a point of contention, not sounding like he meant it all too much.

"Not on the team," another handful of chips was shoved into his mouth, mask resting on his forehead, pressing uncomfortably into his eyebrows.

"I thought you were moving in?" Steve's brow furrowed in confusion.

"Taking Tony up on the jacuzzi and free Thai food." The older men didn't look convinced, but Peter ignored them and began to search the fridge for something to drink.

"Where is Stark?" Rogers asked.

"Mister Stark is on his way to Peter," Friday offered, the teen's eyebrows raising in question as he emerged with some electrolyte drink. Who even chose the flavor watermelon anymore?

"Is it about to be bedtime?" The archer teased, and chuckled when he was flipped the bird as Peter chugged half of his drink. Wiping a hand across his mouth, he sighed before taking in the space around them. The counter was lined with coffee makers, a toaster, and a few boxes of food that surprised him for existing in the space of adults. 

"You all just pow-wow in here or something?"

"Team dinner is on Sundays, but this is a communal space we use, so you could say that." He tried to picture it, Tony taking the time to sit down and eat pasta with Captain America, Clint, and whoever else showed up. 

"I think Nat is going to be here for this week's dinner." That caught his interest. He'd had next to no contact with Natasha, but the Black Widow was always one of his favorite heroes growing up. She'd been with Tony and therefore was higher on his brownie point list.

"Kid?" Tony's voice rang through the halls. He knew that Stark knew where he was, Friday surely directing the older man to Peter as he spoke, but he replied anyway,

"In the kitchen thing," he shouted, nibbling another chip. Roger's had sat up, his face a professional tone that told Peter that he and Tony weren't as easygoing together as they'd let the media assume. Clint even seemed a little antsy, as if he too didn't want to be in the same room as the other two men. Interesting.

"Who gave the kid chips for dinner?" Tony quipped as he wandered into the area, he'd changed back into his worn t-shirt and jeans, the polished look of Tony Stark whisked away within the last few hours. The conversation with Happy and the stress that Tony felt seemed to have eased away in the time Peter was gone, he hadn't realized he was worried that Tony would still be wound up about it all.

Dark brown eyes squinted at Peter as he tucked the bag of Doritos under his arm, planning to take them to his room with him. 

"I ate one of those nasty bars, so don't get your panties in a twist."

"Panties untwisted, thank you for the update." A callused hand ruffled Peter's mask loose from his head, Tony turning it inside out to peer through the lenses, "This is so much better than the original." The first suit to be fair, had essentially been the most heavily tinted goggles Peter could manage to avoid the sensory overload that he'd battled with the appearance of his powers. He tried to grab his mask back, huffing as Tony stepped out of his reach, his eyebrow quirked in question at Rogers.

"Having a little reveal without me? You know how I get jealous."

"I was just asking Peter about himself," Rogers replied, hand folded on his book. Tony hummed in a disinterested manner, tossing the mask to Peter once again.

"I was telling him about the stick-in-the-ass assessment." The teen added, stirring the pot.

"Oh." Tony seemed surprised, Peter didn't know why. Did he think he'd fanboy over Captain America and become a chatterbox?

"He takes after you." There was a question in Roger's voice. He knew that Tony had told them that he wasn't Peter's father, but it seemed that there was still a suspicion in the blond about the topic. But

Tony didn't move to deny it, instead, he smirked and shrugged, not confirming or denying anything. He almost seemed a little proud, it made Peter's heart jump uselessly. "The kid catches on, you know what they say about kids and dogs, the judgment of character and all that,"

"They also both shit themselves unless they are trained not to," Clint's input was less than Peter's expectation. 

"Where is your room, I'll show you who can shit on the ground," he countered, frowning at the archer, but the other man only grinned widely. Roger's chuckled a little even, which took the win out of the comment a bit. Peter ignored it, instead turning to Tony,

"Bedtime?" 

"Pep wanted to show you something she didn't get to earlier." Right, he'd blown her off on his way to his room. He felt a little chagrined at how he treated her, she'd been nothing but kind to him and he'd let his mood dictate how he treated her. He should apologize, he thought glumly. 

“We still having dinner tomorrow night?” Steve asked Tony, a hopeful lilt in his tone.

Stark winced, tugging at his ear, "Sunday already is it?” So that made one person reasonable, family dinner for heroes who’d broken up like a crappy boy band, that just struck Peter as uncomfortable. 

“Nat is coming." It was offered like a bribe.

”That is just fantastic, Pepper will be thrilled.” A hand tugged at Peter’s elbow, leading him to what he could only assume was the exit. 

“See you tomorrow, Tony.”

Peter could hear the ‘ugh’ from Tony due to his hearing as Tony led him down the hall. He couldn’t help but grin at the obvious discomfort the older man felt at dinner.

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, Peter quite liked dramas when they weren’t his own. 

Chapter Text

"So, how is your shoulder?" Tony inquired, his head tilted towards Peter as he followed him into the elevator. His dark eyes roamed the teen's arm with x-ray intensity but were shrugged off.

"Hadn't really thought about it, feels just fine. I've swung on worse." He had. He climbed out of that obliterated warehouse, freshly impaled and crushed before swinging after Toomes again. He could handle a lot, his pain tolerance surprising even himself at times. He tried to focus on his healing shoulder and was surprised to find it ached. Not once had it bothered him, or made its strain known while he was out in the suit. The teen frowned, rolling it a few times to stretch the muscles.

"Do you want to try and run that by me again?" 

"I didn't think it did," he grumbled, feeling bashful. He hadn't meant to ignore his body's complaints, it was clear that Tony felt Peter should pay better attention to himself. There was a time when Peter would have felt his pain with clarity and taken it easy when he had the time to heal after long patrols. It felt like a lifetime ago that he had the time to spare lounging around to heal. It was easy when he was in high school and the weekends were split between Ned, MJ, and patrols rather than double shifts and passing out in exhaustion in a too-small bed. If it wasn't broken, or bleeding too badly, Peter just pushed it away to the back of his mind and continued. It had become a habit he realized, minimizing his own needs. "I don't think it needs more than an ice pack." The elevator stopped and the doors slid apart, but Tony only watched Peter's face, scanning it with a sincerity that had the teen shifting on his heels.

"You sure?" He was, so he nodded, forcing himself to maintain eye contact with the older man, who then nodded in satisfaction and exited to his private floor. 

"Pep?" He hollered, causing Peter to jump. The snicker that Tony tried to hide as Peter rubbed at his aching ear in annoyance, wasn't as subtle as the older man thought it was. The living room was empty as they neared it, the two large boxes still stacked beside the couch where Pepper had sat with them upon Peter's return this afternoon. The couch sat empty now, with no sign of the redhead, but the kitchen smelled rich and familiar in the homey aroma.

The sound of Pepper's heels clicked into the room, what he could only assume to be their room door shutting solidly. "Welcome back," she greeted Peter, smiling widely as she approached them. Tony accepted a kiss from her on the cheek in a manner that made Peter jealous, the adoration in the dark brown eyes that followed Pepper spoke of an intense affection and love that came with a partnership hard won.

Peter excused himself to his room to change out of his suit, slipping into his sweatpants once again. He paused, bare-chested in his bathroom, evaluating the scars on his frame, observing how they seemed harsher against the unhealthy pale of his skin, his ribs showing a little too clearly through his skin. This is what Tony saw, he realized. He looked ill, like a thing half-starved, hardened by the life he'd chosen. The scars Peter avoided looking at in the past, while their gruesomeness had lost their shock to him, there was no denying that it looked like the results of something traumatizing. Twisting his shoulder again, he felt the dull pull of his muscles, frowning at the fact that it still hadn't healed, his metabolism still slow. He knew his metabolism was somewhat shot, simply by feeling that his fingers and toes were always cold, as the first thing to go when his metabolism was waning had always been his body heat, already poor on the end of thermoregulation.

Begrudgingly he scooped up Tony's old sweatshirt, tugging it over his head as he made his way out of his bedroom and towards the voices of the two adults. The fabric was soft, worn in a way that told him it was a favorite of Tony's or had been before he'd given it to Peter. He should probably return it, but a selfish part of himself whispered that he didn't want to. 

Tony and Pepper stood beside the kitchen counter as Peter made his way to the couch, and let himself fall into it, spine relaxing into the cushions.

"Would you serve the lasagna?" Pepper asked Tony as she cheerfully sat beside Peter on the couch, manicured hands pulling one of the boxes closer as Stark began bustling in the kitchen behind them. "Peter, I just felt like I wanted to do something for you, and you don't have to accept anything you don't want to." A hand lightly patted his leg, "In fact, if you don't like it, I would like to just return it."  With that, she handed Peter a stack of clothing. He could tell his face was doing something complicated, one side of his mouth tugging into a small frown as he began to examine what she'd handed him. The materials were soft, but not in a manner that spoke of high expense, it was quality that he would get for himself, the quality he grew up with. 

He held one of the t-shirts in front of him, and the words 'Biologists take cellfies'  stared back at him. The next six shirts were a mixture of nerdy puns and acceptable plain colors. They were thoughtful, and detailed enough for him to suspect Tony gave a few opinions. When he did not object to the clothing, Pepper continued to pull things from the boxes. Sweaters, long sleeves, slacks, jeans, socks, underwear, the last of which they both pretended wasn't there as Peter tucked them into his pile. Tony's clanking in the kitchen was the only sound as Pepper slowly finished unloading her haul. He had a new backpack and a comfortable set of sneakers. He hadn't had this much clothes since his first apartment. He couldn't fathom how much it cost, well aware of what stores were asking for a single T-shirt now. But everything was bought in such perfect moderation, that he was struggling to argue that any one thing was too much, or unneeded.

A small part of himself argued that he didn't need Pepper to spend money on him, that he was fine and they should put their money to better use. But a larger part of himself saw the tension in Pepper's frame, the way that her fingers were twisting on themselves in nervous apprehension of his response. She was doing this for him, she wanted to provide him with something. He didn't know Pepper, he'd never even met her before yesterday, but it was clear that she was someone who invested fully, practically, and with care. She reminded him so much of May, sitting on this couch with him in the quiet, letting him stew on what he wanted to say as his fingers traced the seams of a pair of jeans.

"How did you know my pant size?" They were exactly to his measurements per the tags on the sides, he suspected that Pepper was a highly detailed woman.

"There are so many answers to that question, kiddo." Tony teased as he entered the room, arms laden with three plates of steaming lasagna. Peter felt touched by one plate being substantially fuller than the other two. Pepper was murmuring thanks to Tony as she took her plate while Peter carefully tucked the clothes around himself and Pepper back into the boxes, worried about staining anything with marinara sauce.

Only after everything was packed away did he accept his plate from Tony. The food smelled delicious, the aroma of melted cheese and herbs wafting from his plate caused his mouth to water, recognizing scent of a homemade meal. He dug in with gusto, savoring the taste of a real dinner, prepared with care and purpose. He'd never caught on to the whole cooking for oneself when he moved out. May was no professional chef and between school, and her shifts, he didn't spend a lot of time in the kitchen with her, let alone enough to learn to cook for himself. He had survived on assembled meals from boxes, and cold sandwiches for two years once he moved to his own place. Even the random take-out dinners couldn't scratch the itch of a homemade meal.

He felt like he could melt into the lasagna and die a happy man. "Thank you, Ms. Potts," he gave her a small, appreciative smile, hoping she could pick up the sincerity in his eyes. She gave a small nod, green eyes sparkling. "Your lasagna is also delicious," he meant it full-heartedly, his portion already half gone.

"Its actually Tony's. I don't cook much, but he doesn't want it getting out that he is my personal chef." Pepper teased, taking a large bite of her lasagna. He could feel his eyebrows shoot into his hairline, mouth propped open in shock. Tony Stark, cooking lasagna, you could have told Peter that the Hulk turned pink now and he would have been less surprised. His eyes shot to Tony, taking in the avoiding eyes and colored cheekbones. Tony Stark was embarrassed.

Peter could feel an impish grin spreading over his face. "Aren't you just a man of many mysteries? Tony Stark, private chef to Pepper Potts, secret master of lasagna." Tony shook his head, face turning darker as he grumbled into his plate. "It is really good, you'll have to teach me," he offered the older man a way out, trying to convince his face to take a chill pill. Tony's eyes jumped to his own, a hopeful glint in them. Peter tried not to let it make him nervous, seeing the clear want in his old mentor's eyes at the aspect of spending time with Peter. 

"Jarvis taught me." There was a hint of nerves in Stark's voice in that admission, Peter frowned in confusion, unsure how the AI and Tony became kitchen partners.

"An odd hobby to share with an AI." He didn't know what to say and hoped it wasn't offensive.

Pepper laughed, a hand in front of her face, eyes sparkling in humor. Tony was grinning too, shaking his head to himself, "Jarvis was a butler when I was a kid, he raised me. His name was Edwin Jarvis, and he and his wife Ana lived with us growing up. He taught me to cook sometimes, when I was bothering him in the kitchen, he put me to work." A reminiscent smile rested on Tony’s face, eyes fond at the memory of the older man.

"He raised you?" He wasn't sure what that meant exactly, it was clear Tony and his father hadn't had the greatest relationship growing up, but Peter wasn't sure what that extended to. He was struck by the intense want to know more about Tony's life, he didn't like feeling the distance between them. How many people had Tony expressed his childhood to in clear honesty? He wanted to be trusted in that manner, he hoped he could be.

"My parents weren't around much, or sober if they were." Pepper had grown still in her seat, quietly watching Tony with a soft expression on her face. This was a sensitive topic he'd stumbled into he realized, seeing the tension in Tony's shoulders and pride on Pepper's face. He understood being uneasy with facing such truths in one's life and appreciated it all the more.

"What else can you whip up?" His interest was piqued now.

Tony scrubbed at his beard in thought, clearly happy to change the topic away from his childhood. "I can make a mean eggplant parmigiana, and risotto, a few other things." 

"He can't bake," Pepper broke in, "before you think that the great Tony Stark is invincible, you have to hear about his attempt at tiramisu."

From there, the evening divulged into stories of Tony's mishaps in the kitchen, the tiramisu being an anniversary surprise gone seriously south. But the other man didn't seem embarrassed at his failure, if anything he was his own critic, poking fun at himself for his mistakes in a manner that Peter admired. Facing failure was Peter's biggest struggle, it didn't matter what the subject was, his need for perfection chained him to his own emotions.

He laughed more than he had in weeks in the next hour, Pepper commenting on his dimples causing a flush to rise in his face, recalling that Clint said something along the same lines. Tony saved him the embarrassed silence by retelling the time he gave Pepper strawberries for a birthday gift, forgetting her allergy. 

Peter had eaten nearly three plates of lasagna later in the evening and sat curled up on the couch, content and eyes heavy. He was comfortably warm, swamped in the MIT sweatshirt, listening to Tony and Pepper talk about some of Tony's earlier adventures before he 'matured tremendously' as Pepper put it. He began to doze when he heard Stark grumble to Pepper, a new sense of tiredness and strain in his voice as sleep tugged Peter's eyes lower and lower.

"We have the team dinner tomorrow, and surprise, Romanoff is coming back around for this one."

"For how long?" A giddiness brightened her tone, as joy underlined her question about what apparently was a close friend of hers. An unlikely pair in Peter's own opinion.

"Don't be excited, Pepper." Stark chastised his girlfriend. "I need your support, that woman gives me the creeps." Pepper only chuckled, and they lapsed into silence for a moment before Pepper's soft voice broke it to ask,

"Are you planning on taking him?" There was a rustling sound, which he could only assume was Tony's shrug.

"He had the mask off around Clint, and Steve today." She hummed softly, encouraging Tony to continue explaining. "He seemed to be stressing Steve out," there was no mistaking the humor Tony found in Peter's distance from the other hero. "I'll ask the kid tomorrow. He seems tired enough already. Do you think I should try and carry him to bed?" 

"I think he'd bite you." She replied factually, as a hand too small to be Tony's brushed through Peter's hair. He couldn't fight the content sigh that left his body at the contact, his nerves all but short-circuiting at the kind touch. He felt submerged, floating outside of his body the barest hint of consciousness tethering him to the feeling of his hair being pet in soft strokes. 

"How old is this kid, Tony?" She'd lowered her voice with her new proximity, curiosity but also concern in her tone.

"He is almost twenty, next month actually. He doesn't look like he's that old, does he." It didn't sound like a question more so than a statement. Tony took a deep breath, huffing it out slowly. "He looked even younger when I took him to the airport, he was just fifteen, facing off heroes triple his age just cause I asked him to. I was so stupid. I don't even know how to begin addressing that with him." Peppered muttered something, her hand leaving the teen's hair, but it returned soon and a thumb smoothed the furrow that had emerged in his eyebrows at the loss of contact.

"He is a smart kid, you have to address it, Tony. Smart people have this fantastic skill of creating problems for themselves that had no business being theirs in the first place." Tony began to grumble a response but Pepper pushed forward, her voice steeled with something Peter couldn't pin down, protectiveness maybe. "You have to address what happened with him, Tony. You can't let it keep going unsaid, walking on eggshells has never benefitted anyone. You both deserve some honesty,"

"I get it, but the kid turns into a time bomb whenever it gets too tense," he whispered as if he was afraid Peter would snap up from his doze and jump him. 

"He's hurt, and he's alone," Her voice sounded fractured, the hand pressing to Peter's cheek briefly. "He looked up to you, didn't he?"

It was embarrassing, but yes. Peter idolized Tony, and he thought he was the coolest man to walk the face of the planet. After homecoming, his impression of Tony carried a lining of bitterness and resentment, but it didn't change the fact that Peter looked up to Tony, he wanted to be important to the older man. He'd always desired a male figure in his life, an empty gaping hole in his chest existed and Tony filled it in a way that felt far too vulnerable. His desperation for Tony to want the same relationship scared the shit out of Peter, it made him flighty, and anxiety-riddled, fearful of rejection.

"He did at one time, a long time ago, I'm not sure about that now," Tony finally responded. "He got closer to Happy than I did. It was just so busy and he wanted a mentor, and I wanted to Pepper, I did. But I got cold feet, you know how I am with the whole-" he cut himself off.

"Happy was quite upset. I don't think I have seen him that angry with you."

Tony sighed, and there was the sound of him rising from his seat, "That is another problem for another day." A hand shook Peter's shoulder, squeezing twice as his eyes fluttered open. A blurry, but softly smiling Tony was crouched in front of him. "Ready for bed, tiger?"

Peter huffed, nodding to himself as he slowly crawled off of the couch, muttering a sleepy goodnight to the couple as he made his way into the dark bedroom. He left the room in comforting darkness as he wandered into the space. More awake now, awareness of how his stomach ached rattled at his senses. He felt off-center, bloated with the rich food. He knew he should have eaten less, pushing his limits, but it was too good, the company distracting him from his common sense. Now he was paying the price, the overly large meal stretching a stomach trained to survive on the smallest meals for a year solid.

He dutifully ignored it as he emptied his bladder, wincing through the stomach cramps when brushing his teeth. He'd barely placed his toothbrush back in the drawer when the cold sweat hit him, saliva flooding his mouth and then his knees slammed into the tiles, hands scrambling to open the toilet seat. Tears stung at his eyes, rolling down his face as he choked his meal out, acidity overtaking his senses, stomach heaving. He allowed himself a minute to breathe, grounding himself where he knelt over the toilet bowl. Exhausted, he flushed away the sick.

A pity. 

The toothbrush emerged for a second time tonight, this time with a hearty amount of toothpaste. "Friday," He garbled out around his toothbrush, brushing as fast as he could. "You g'nna tattle?"

"As you have requested privacy, I am not required nor allowed to report anything occurring in this room unless your life is in danger, or you have brought it up with Mister Stark yourself." Satisfied, he nodded, spitting into the sink and trudging towards sleep.

The bed swallowed his body, locking him in a comfortable lump of person. The evening had gone so well, that he couldn't be bothered with upchucking the meal, his metabolism had enough time to glean something from it. Shoving a hand over his face, he blocked the light from his eyes, not that there was much at all, but the comfort was the same. Feeling far too peaceful for the life he had, he relaxed as sleep began to tug him under. 

The hallways of Midtown Tech were crowded, the release bell signaling the exchange of lunch periods. Ned was chattering to Peter, discussing something that he couldn't focus on because his senses were going haywire, skin tingling, core rocking with the feeling of something not being right. Beyond them, coming down the hall was Flash, his hair slicked back in the same douche-bag hairstyle he always had, a sweater fitted to his shoulders, and eyes scanning Peter with a dark intent.

For a moment, Peter tried to reason with himself that it was just Flash, his senses were just ready for whatever dickwad thing it was that the bully would do to him now. Sometimes it was as simple as a barbed comment, others a shove or a punch to the arm. Whatever it be, it was always enough to get to Peter, but never enough to catch the attention of anyone in the school who gave a crap about bullying.

"Dude, you haven't been listening, I said at least two things that warranted a laugh," Ned complained. Guilt welled up in Peter, he hadn't been listening and in all honesty, he couldn't remember what it was that Ned was telling him about.

"I just have a lot on my mind," he explained and pushed a smile onto his face. He forced himself to look at his friend, refusing to give in to the urge to turn around and scan the hall for some secret danger. 

"Is it about your alter ego?" Ned whispered, his voice tinged with the same awed tone he always spoke in when the topic approached Peter's escapades. The whisper brought out an exasperated but humored smile from Peter, his shoulders lowering, senses quieting some. "Or is it about a specific someone on the debate team, that tries to pretend she isn't noticing you all class period?" Peter squawked a response that even he couldn't understand as the two friends came to stand before their lockers. Ned deftly put in his combination with a smug grin on his lips, "You can act like I don't see it Parker, but I have eagle eyes." 

"I think you are making something of nothing." MJ didn't stare, she was too cool for that. But then again, he did make eye contact with her a lot, maybe they were both staring. He shook his head, telling himself he was being silly as he began to open his locker. He reached for his science textbook, but his hand paused in the air, eyes wide as his senses skyrocketed. He could have sworn that his heart dropped out of his feet as he took in the large pipe bomb tucked within his locker's walls. 

"Dude what is that thin-" but his friend didn't get to finish his sentence, the hallway exploded from all sides. Concrete blocks smashed into Peter's body, dropping him to the ground beneath the grinding weight of the surrounding ceiling tiles. The haze and scream of the fire alarm robbed him of his senses, plunging him into an eerie ringing silence. He could feel warm blood pooling down his temple, slipping over his mouth, crazed eyes looking for Ned.

He was too late. The face beside him had been burned beyond recognition, the blue Hawaiian shirt was the only thing that told Peter it was Ned who lay dead beside him. 

Above them, the sprinklers were pouring water down into the hallway, ceiling tiles burning in the abandoned hall, only Peter and his senses accompanying him. His heart began to jackrabbit, a panic-filled wheeze sounding in his chest.

Then there sounded the scrape of metal, sharp footfalls coming down the hall, as Peter spun to face it, he felt his legs shake. Adrian Toomes was walking the hall dragging behind him MJ by her beautiful hair, Flash clutched in the other fist. Both students were crying, not fighting back against the force of the older man. "Peter Parker, we meet again. I told you this wasn't over," the familiar grate of Toome's voice shook Peter's core. He gasped for breath, pointing a shaking finger at the other man.

"They aren't part of this, let them go. They didn't do anything!" He was desperate, he was vulnerable. He didn't have his suit, he didn't have his web shooters or Karen to call in backup. He was alone,

"They are just as guilty as you, aiding and abetting a shithead hero. You didn't think you could have people in your life who weren't in danger did you?" MJ began to struggle, punching at Toome's thigh in weak attempts at liberating herself. Her wild eyes found Peter, nothing but terror shining back at him. "You are the danger, Pete. You've got to realize that by now, don't you?" It was true, he was the risk. Adrian dragged them towards Peter, them into a pile at his feet, the vulture suit clacking against itself as he moved. "Choose one," he demanded coldly. 

"I can't," he cried out, desperately wanting to scoop MJ into his arm and run. Flash was nothing but a bully, but he looked up to Spider-Man, he deserved a hero just as much, he couldn't prioritize those who were important to Peter Parker first.

Adrian shrugged uncaring and pulled a gun, pointing it at the back of each of the prone teen's heads, hateful eyes locking on Peter. "Choose."

In a moment of weakness, stomach feeling queasy, Peter pointed at MJ in desperation, praying that Adrian would release them both and that he would take it out on Peter. But the villain only nodded, accepting his choice, then with a flick of his wrist, shot MJ in the back of the head. Peter screamed as her head exploded, her eyes just a moment ago locked onto Peter's now was a mix of matter and blood on the floor. Flash was crying beside her body, the smell of urine filling the smoking hall.

"Come on, Spider-Man." Adrian cooed, mocking Peter for his trust in the other man. Peter was panicking now, completely lost as Flash looked up at him, betrayal burning in his eyes.

"You're Spider-Man?!" There was venom, absolute hate for Peter Parker scalding him as if Peter had insulted the other boy in a manner no other person had. Flash spit on the ground. "You can't do anything right, you ruin everything, Penis Parker. We are dead, because of you!" With that, Toomes stomped a steel-clad foot onto Flash, Peter watching in blank horror as his legs disappeared into gore and the other boy screamed.

And Peter? Peter ran. He ran down the abandoned halls, he ran out of the building, the world flying by in a mix of colors as he pushed with all his strength to his apartment. It was unrealistic, he should have never been able to get home as fast as he did, but he was running on terror, a fear so deeply engrained in his bones that he felt his heart flooding with it.

But he was too late, May was already gone. The apartment in such a state that Peter couldn't even will himself into the doorway before bending over to throw up.

"Oh god, oh my god, what did I do?!" The scream ripped itself from his throat, scraping his vocal cords raw as he fell to the ground, knees barely registering the pain ricocheting through them. The betrayal burning in Flash's eyes, the desperation of MJ, Ned's last moments trying to just get Peter to listen to him, it was too much.

Peter was choking, he was dying on nothing but air.

He deserved worse, he deserved to die.

He should die. 

When hands grabbed Peter by the shoulder he screamed, weakly throwing a punch as his attacker latched onto his back, strong arms holding him in place as he thrashed.

"Please, kill me. Please stop, I'm sorry. Kill me!" He begged, fingers tearing at the arm around his chest, but they didn't release, and Peter realized his body was wrapped in a net, his legs forced together. He was weak, and he failed. He failed everyone.

A man started to speak, his harsh tone digging into Peter's ears, forcing them to hear him by proximity alone. "Listen to me, Peter." But he only thrashed, head reeling as he tried to force distance between them. Sobs wracked his body, the voice still talking to him as he continued trying to wrench himself away. His body was giving out, shutting itself down in the horror of what he had seen. "I'm right here, you just gotta open your eyes." He couldn't. He was afraid of seeing May, the smell of iron and blood was so strong that Peter knew it was too late. He failed, he let them down. He was sobbing so hard that he began to retch, gagging loudly.

"Fuck!" The voice startled, and Peter was suddenly tossed to his side, painful cramps crashed over his body, stomach endlessly locking on itself, while the acidic burn of vomit and tomato sauce filled his nose. He hadn't known it was possible to become sick on grief alone, but he was vomiting everywhere in despair. While emptying his stomach, Peter realized someone was rubbing his shoulders, murmuring words he couldn't hear over his own keening. He didn't recognize for a the first few seconds that the pained sound was coming from him, ringing in his ribs and shaking his teeth. He was making a sound not remotely human, full of fear and such deep despair, he'd never heard a person make such a painful sound before.

He was never free, he would always be a risk, and he was a mistake.

Peter Parker should have never pretended to be a hero. 

The rubbing switched to soft pats on his back, like that of a parent comforting a small child. A deep voice was singing something far too muttered for Peter to understand, no, not muttered, a different language. Confused, he rolled his head to peer at the man crouched beside Peter, the lights of the city barely illuminated the room he was in.

Soft gasps still rolled Peter's body, every breath burning his raw throat, mouth too dry to believe he hadn't been screaming. "Tony?" he asked voice painfully laced with hope and tears.

Stark leaned closer, rubbing Peter's shoulders with firm movements, rocking his body back and forth. "Yeah. Yes, it's me. I'm trying to ward off the shock kid, you here?" He knew he was, he could smell sweat, urine, and vomit, but he also could smell smoke and blood. He could feel the heat of the fire surrounding him, skin itching with grime and whatever else,

"They are dead, oh fuck. Mister Stark, they are dead," he grasped the older man's forearms, ignoring the pained wince that emerged in the goatee, teeth gritted in the dark and reflecting the dim light around them. The silk floral robe beneath his fingers wrinkled in his grasp, hands shaking even as they latched onto Tony. "You have to let him kill me." He sobbed, head hanging off the edge of his bed. "I can't be here, you're all going to die. I have to go." Weak legs tried to propel himself from the bed, but they were tangled in his blanket so tightly that he just flopped off the frame, barely missing the puddle of puke. Tony had reeled back but dove forward again, trying to coax Peter back towards him, but the teen only shoved himself further across the room, pressing to the windows of his room. He needed space, he needed to leave before Tony was hurt, before Toomes came for Pepper.

Ripping himself free of the blanket, which mostly trailed behind Peter like a sad shadow, he started for the door. 

"Kid, listen to me, please." Tony grasped at the younger's wrists, trying to keep him in the room, which was spinning out of control rapidly.

The bed danced around the room as he wobbled in uncertainty, legs feeling like they were made of nothing but mush. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come back. Should have let him kill me." The words were bitter, but he meant them. He should have eaten the bullet at homecoming in the car, if Adrian had settled his grudge with Peter alone then his friends wouldn't be dead, but he was selfish and wanted to do something good, to show that he could handle the weight of being a hero. He wanted Tony to trust that Peter was capable, and for May to stop worrying about Peter when he left for patrol.

"Oh, May," he moaned, remembering that she was dead, their apartment destroyed because of him. He crashed to the ground again, legs too weak to hold him as he began to shake. He cried out in frustration, kneeling as he ripped at his hair, the pain doing little to help ground him.

Why couldn't he focus, why was his chest on fire, the booming of his heart splitting his head open as Tony began to slowly creep towards him, 

"I want my mom," he whined, curling into a ball on the ground, "I want my dad." He hadn't cried for his parents since he was eight, long ago accepting that some changes are permanent and best left alone in peaceful memories. But he was aching for the comfort of his parents, the safety he'd felt in their arms after nightmares as a child. He wanted to be held. 

"Peter, you are scaring me," a hand drug itself over his shoulders, squeezing at the back of his neck, grounding him. "You have to breathe, kiddo. Friday says your heart is going far too fast, we have to calm you down."

He wished a heart attack would take him, that he would just be gone. He deserved it, he did nothing but hurt and let those around him be hurt. He failed, he was the worst hero he'd ever known, never meeting his potential. "I wanted to be better," it was a strained whisper, tears pouring over his cheeks, the taste of salt and misery filling his mouth as he tried to breathe. His nose was full, snot surely running down his face, mouth panting short panicked puffs. He curled tighter in the ball he had formed, forehead pressed to the ground. "I can't be better than you, I am fucked. I can't do better like you want, I am nothing, I ruin it." A sob forced its way out of him.

"Oh, kid," absolute heartbreak, "what did I do to you?"

"I failed, it's me. It's all my fault." Small shoulders jerked with suppressed sobs, a too-thin frame battering away at itself from within.

"It was just a nightmare, Peter Piper" Tony's tone softened, consoling him, "You're right here, in the tower with me. It was just a nightmare, everyone is safe." But that wasn't right, he was there, and he'd seen them take the punishment meant for him. He shook his head in denial, refusing to let himself gain any hope. "Friday, check the status of-" Tony paused, "who are we checking on, kid?"

"May Parker, Ned Leeds, Flash Thompson, Michelle Jones." Their names were like ash on his tongue, choking his voice.

"Everyone is healthy and asleep in their homes," Friday's steady voice replied dutifully. He wasn't sure if Tony had security on them all, or if Friday felt it necessary to lie, but it released the abject terror in Peter's chest. His chest loosened just enough for him to sigh, breath still hiccupping as he turned his head to the side to stare at the sad, pity-filled face of the other man. Tony tried to smile, but it wobbled on the edges, and he could swear that the hero's eyes were glistening with tears. The teen wanted to be horrified, he knew by smell alone he'd surely urinated himself in fear in addition to vomiting on his floor, but his body was slowly stealing his mind away, floating him outside of his body, away from what he had just gone through.

Tony brushed a hand across his hair, a firm palm settling against his temple, ignoring the sweat that covered Peter's face. "It was all just a nightmare, kiddo, I am right here. Nothing is going to happen on Ironman's watch. Not to you." The tears had stopped cascading down Peter's face in a flurry, but when he blinked several fell down his nose, dripping onto the floor. He was cold, but also hot, his pants uncomfortable and head pounding, he inched himself towards Tony's lap, the older man's legs crossed beneath him.

He didn't need to ask, and he refused to let himself be ashamed as Tony wrestled him partially into his lap, arms wrapping around the teen and crushing him into his chest. He held Peter like he was a much younger child and with care that implied he was far more important to the older man than Peter deserved. The hands cupping his head and back were large, firm, and familiar, locking Peter in the present a little more with every second passing. His body sagged, letting his weight push into Tony, who took it without complaint, pressing a long kiss to Peter's head as the younger tried to settle.

With his mind slowly reconnected with his body, he realized that Tony was taking exaggerated breaths, letting Peter naturally fall into a mimicked rhythm. It helped as he focused on it, intentionally letting his lungs burn with expansion, his back aching in phantom pain. Exhaustion pulled at his eyelids, but he was terrified of what would find him in his sleep. So they stayed. They sat together until Tony muttered for Friday to start the shower and dim the bathroom lights to the lowest possible setting. Even then the arms around Peter's shoulders did not loosen, and Tony didn't try to urge him to climb to his feet and clean up, rather they continued to sit in silence. 

He lost track of how long it was that he sat there, face pressed solidly beneath Tony's chin, hidden away from the world. His hip ached with the cold floor beneath him, and his spine twinged in the same phantom pain it always did when he dreamed of the vulture. Heaving in a loaded breath, he forced himself to pull away, pushing up on shaking legs once again as he began to head towards the bathroom.

Tony didn't say a word as the door shut behind Peter, secluding him as he stripped and entered the shower. Shamefully, he scrubbed himself clean, tears of embarrassment rolling down his cheeks mixing with the warm water. Pissing yourself in front of another grown man was another low that Peter couldn't have imagined himself reaching. He forced himself to focus on the methodic practice of cleaning his hair, shampooing twice, conditioning once, staring at the wall for five minutes, rinsing, and exiting.

When he emerged from the shower, a stack of clothes sat on the counter just inside the door, which he gratefully tugged on. The shirt was a new one from Pepper earlier that night, warmed a small part of him. Exhausted, he tugged the door open, shuffling feet carrying him towards his bed, noting that Tony was sitting at the foot of it.

Dimly he noted that his mentor was indeed wearing a floral robe, his band-t and boxers peeking out of the weakly tied sash. It had to have been Pepper's as the robe ended barely mid-thigh on the man. His forlorn eyes watched Peter as he crawled into his bed, scanning the crumpled teen.

Only when he'd settled into bed again, tucked beneath his blankets, and pat the spot beside him did Tony move. He heaved a relieved breath as he began shuffling his way to sit beside Peter, his back against the headboard, hand falling into Peter's hair again. "Do you need anything that I can help with?"

Peter couldn't tell, he'd never had someone with him after a nightmare. When he lived with May it hadn't been this bad, the security of his aunt in the house with him kept his anxiety less, and it let his brain rest. But when she'd left...the nightmares had grown in intensity, leaving Peter wishing desperately for another person to be there and support him. Now that he did have someone, he felt frozen with humiliation and the wish to pretend it never happened. He'd already considered the likeliness of Tony ignoring this episode and found it dismal, there was no way the older man would let Peter pretend that he was fine, he wouldn't act like screaming himself raw and pissing the bed was something that he was okay with.

A bony shoulder shrugged, a weak twitch of muscles, "I think I am a little beyond helping," he admitted into his pillow, staring a hole into Tony's hip.

The hand stilled, palm resting at the crest of Peter's head, "You aren't too far gone, that's silly."

"Okay." He didn't have the energy to waste in convincing Tony that it was true, Peter Parker was lost deep in his wealth of self-neglect. He'd earned this for himself fair and square. The older man was only just slowly gaining enough insight into Peter's life to feel the same. It was a matter of time before Tony saw him as a risk better not taken, he'd fooled himself into thinking that this week could have brought out something more.

"Are these nightmares common?" Tony sounded like he'd hoped Peter would say no, but knew that it wouldn't be an honest assessment.

Peter didn't like lying, no matter how he spun it, so he just shrugged, muttering, "Some stuff seems to bring them out more than other days." Namely, the flashback he'd been thrown into at the Barbershop. He usually could shove his subconscious into submission, but when the scab of those experiences was ripped open in such a way, Peter could only hope for so much.

A thumb brushed his ear as Tony moved his arm over Peter's shoulders, a hold that he found he didn't mind. He'd never been this close to the hero but was too tired to freak himself out of the proximity. "I get that, my flashbacks always threw me on my ass after certain events," Tony flexed his free hand, as if shedding some phantom pain that filled his palm, fingers arching away from themselves before tucking into a loose fist. "You aren't a bad person, Peter." Tony turned to stare down at him, the younger's eyes seeking something in his face, unsure what it was. "I know you enough, Peter Parker. You don't deserve to be suffering, you're so good," his voice wavered, threatening to crack. "You are worth more than you give yourself."

A hand squeezed Peter closer, his nose pressing into the thigh beside his head. He nodded into the stupid robe. "It wasn't your fault." Peter just nodded again, muttering a vague response, but Tony pressed on, a soft hand guiding Peter's face to look up at the serious expression on Tony's.

In the dim lighting, he could make out the taunt line of Tony's mouth. "I said that it wasn't your fault," he was searching Peter's face for something.

It made the younger feel uncertain, a small forced smile on his face as he nodded up at his mentor. "Yeah, okay," he agreed, hoping Tony would leave it alone.

"Peter, it wasn't your fault." Firmer, as if the sentence needed to be heard in a way that Peter wasn't taking it.

"Okay, Tony." 

"No, Peter, it wasn't your fault." 

"I get it," he tried once again, a crushing weight filling his chest as he tried to force that faux smirk on his face, to get the older man to just back the fuck off of what he was trying to approach. But Tony shook his head, a hand holding Peter's chin, giving it a small but firm squeeze as his eyes bore down into Peter's,  "It wasn't your fault." The sentence was redundant in its words, but the implication was changing. 

"Fuck off, would you? I said I get it!" he tried to pull his head back from the fingers on his chin, feeling himself beginning to unravel. "Not you, I don't want to hear it from you. Okay, just leave it." There was a desperate pain filling Peter's tone. How many times had Ned, May, or MJ tried to tell Peter, tears in their voice as they attempted for him to believe that it wasn't his own doing, that he hadn't fucked it all up? How many times had he nodded along, pretending that he agreed that the ruined relationship between himself and Tony wasn't due to his immature, pathetic need to impress him and gain a father figure in some capacity from a man he respected?

"No, I can't let you think something else any longer. I am so sorry, Peter. It wasn't your fault, any of this, it was mine." Something snapped. A weary, furious, heartbroken piece of Peter's core gave out with the weight of the apology on Tony's face and the glint of a tear on Tony's cheek severed the self-control Peter had over himself as he lurched into heartbroken sobs, burying his face into the pillow beneath his head. Hiding.

It was Tony's, the issue with Adrian and the stupid plane, ignoring Peter's attempts to let him know what he'd found. The constant minimizing of Peter's efforts, brushing the teen off time and time again with weak assurances that Tony would look into it. Peter had done recon and used his instincts in a manner that he'd felt appropriate, turning it to Tony when he realized the dangers surpassed his own abilities. He'd been carrying this crushing weight of responsibility, that Peter was the failure, that he was the reason everything went to shit. Blinding himself in this self-punishing belief that Tony hadn't been in the wrong, lying to himself that his entire planet falling apart and losing the center of himself was just because of himself, a shithead teenager. 

"I am so sorry, kid. I should have told you so long ago, it was my fault. I should have listened, there was no reason for me to brush you off like that. You did so well, You're such a good kid. You deserved more from me, I let you down so much." His heart was tearing itself apart, he could feel it straining under the emotional weight crushing him, forcing sob after sob as Tony sniffled beside him. The older man's face twisted in regret as the once, overly cheerful and hope-filled teen he met four years ago, buried himself in the bedspread in an attempt to muffle the heartbreak-filled cries of a grown man carrying a young boy's hurt.

The raw wound of Peter's hope for a father, for his idol to find him worth a moment was bleeding all over again, a wrenching pain and disappointment crashing over him with the weight of the warehouse. He couldn't stop himself from falling apart, bawling like a baby, emotions finally spilling over his too-full cup. Tony murmured soft reassurances, interrupted by sniffles as he tried to coax Peter out of hiding in the bed, hands caressing his hair, his shoulder, anything he could reach and comfort the teen.

"I just wanted you to like me," Peter admitted, clawed fingers digging into the edge of the robe as he turned to stare at Tony, red-rimmed eyes holding so much betrayal and hurt that the older man had to force himself not to gasp under the accusation of it. He'd done so much more damage than he'd known. He could see in the young eyes watching him, tears rolling down in steady streams, that he had broken something in the boy. Something about Tony's forced distance, his refusal to take the kid under his wing has told Peter that he wasn't enough.

He'd let the kid down, subconsciously reminding the teen with every rejection that Tony surely didn't give a crap about him. He couldn't even save the kid's life in person, too caught up in the drama of the accords and the rogues to take the time and protect the only individual he'd ever wanted to mentor. He'd given the kid a scrap of hope with the suit, and the mentions of lab sessions and future projects, before stamping that hope into the dirt with every single dismissal. In his fear of emotional connection, the internal horror of possibly turning out like his father in any way with Peter, he'd passed the kid to Happy.

Sure, the kid grew on Happy somehow, but Happy hated kids as a general rule, Tony knew that, but it was better than having to do it himself, better than making a true attempt with the kid. So he'd just pushed it off, ignoring when Happy told him that Peter was concerned, that he really needed to talk to Tony. He'd destroyed that tender part of Peter that he'd given to Tony, the small green sprout of connection. 

Now the kid lay in his guest room, falling apart in heaving sobs that ripped Tony's heart open with every single painful cry. He was forced here by Tony's severing of his leased apartment, his delusional idea that Peter just needed somewhere steady to live. He'd thought the kid was weak from malnutrition and exhaustion, he figured he could give him some stability and he'd just level out with some compassion from Tony and better communication. How poorly had he misunderstood that Peter's struggle was deeply seated in Tony's treatment of him? 

"I wanted you to want me around, just a little bit," the teen whispered, fingers still locked in Pepper's robe as Tony sat frozen beside him. 

"I do, I want Peter Parker here with me. Spider-Man is a plus, but I like Peter best," Tony reassured, and it was true. Peter Parker was funny, he was the most genuine person he'd ever met, keeping his heart on his sleeve even when he tried not to. Tony had always had an interest in the genius kid behind the mask, he reminded him so much of what Tony could have been if he'd never been subjected to the emotional neglect of an addict mother and the cruel, barreling fists of a father who never wanted Tony in the first place. "I let you down." He admitted, pressing a kiss to the forehead of the kid, trying to force the depth of his regret into the affection.

Peter nodded, sliding closer so that he was resting his head firmly against Tony's hip. He didn't argue that Tony hadn't hurt him, didn't pretend that the older hero hadn't let him down in a way that emotionally scarred him. He only curled closer, seeking the affection the other man had for so long firmly refused. 

"You want a hug?" His mentor offered and Peter paused, in thought or maybe embarrassment Tony wasn't sure, "I would like a hug personally, no one has to know you aren't a tough guy."

Slowly, the teen pushed himself up, sitting up briefly as he met Tony's gaze, scanning his face for something. Whatever he saw, he approved of as with a small sad smile on his face as he dropped firmly onto Tony's chest, head resting on his shoulder. The teen's damp nose tickled Tony's neck He'd grown enough that his gangly legs had zero hope of ever letting the kid curl up in the manner he clearly wanted to. But it didn't stop Tony from crushing him in a firm hug, the small shudders of hidden cries respectfully ignored as the kid just let himself rely on someone else, tension slowly bleeding from his frame. 

"Go to sleep, I have you." A few damp strands of Peter's hair tickled Tony's nose, but he didn't let himself readjust, afraid the kid would think he was trying to move away. The silence was heavy around them but comfortable, the most comfortable they'd felt around each other ever if Tony thought about it.

The trust shown to him as the boy slipped into the deep breaths of sleep touching his heart, causing the older man's eyes to burn as he realized just how much he didn't deserve a second chance, but just how hard he'd fight for it now that he had it.

Chapter Text

When Peter woke, he pretended to sleep for another twenty minutes, Tony breathing deeply beside him.

The bed was tilted with the other man’s weight, the slope unfamiliar but comforting, reminding him of the nights he’d fallen asleep in May's room while catching up about their days in the busy seasons. The steady breathing of another person soothed him in a way he couldn’t explain, stealing away some ever-present weight of loneliness he carried. Laying beneath his blanket, tucked in after crying himself to sleep on Tony's shoulder, he felt at war with himself.

He found himself reveling in the sense of peace hovering over him, light sleepiness causing his limbs to feel heavy and relaxed, yet his mind jarred within his skull, overanalyzing everything that occurred in the blur of the night. Nerves ate at him as he lay as still as possible. Not daring to breathe too heavily and wake his slumber party partner. He truly walked the endless line of denying himself the comfort he needed while arguing that the possibility of the damage being worse with the comfort ripped away, an endless and repeating torture. He was stunned to realize how tired of holding himself out of arms reach he had been, the comfort he'd received last night had pulled a weight from his shoulders, stripping away a layer of self-protection he'd clutched so tightly in the recent two years.

A timid peek through his eyelashes revealed that Tony was sprawled out in the large bed, taking far too much room for a man his size. He slept like a starfish, like someone who knew they owned the space around them with a solid sense of confidence. Bold even in his sleep. The extended arms resulted in Peter tucked almost entirely on the edge of the bed, Stark unaware and snoring lightly to himself. The room was barely lit, the smallest tendrils of sunlight teasing their way into the sky, lighting the world in a soft mix of oranges and pink. Peter had curled up to face the older man in his sleep, leaving a scanty foot of space between them, fondly he noted that Tony's closest hand had two fingers reaching towards Peter, as if losing contact only in slumber.

He could have slipped out of the teen's room as he slept, knowing Peter undoubtedly cried himself into a heavy sleep. But he chose to stay. He wanted to watch over him. Appreciation for the hovering, and humiliation of last night, burned at his eyes. His nerves felt frazzled with the stress overload he'd experienced. Turning his face into his pillow, he heaved a deep breath, forcing himself to steady his emotions, unwilling to cry again so soon. He noted his bedding was an entirely new set, one he hadn’t even known existed. Tony must have stripped the bed quickly while he showered, unnoticed by Peter who was too exhausted to realize the care provided to him without asking. Another fist grabbed at his heart, clenching it tightly between its fingers.

The bedroom door creaked the barest whine behind Peter, signaling someone entering. He spun his upper body, neck craned uncomfortably to face the doorway. But it was only a familiar head of red hair that peaked into the room, announcing Pepper’s arrival to the space, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. When she saw Tony sleeping, she smiled softly, eyes tracing his form, brow relaxing. Then she caught Peter’s watchful eye and motioned for him to follow her out of the room.

He was comfortable, and for a second thought about pretending he hadn’t seen the invitation, but after a moment longer, decided that it was better than laying in bed staring at the other man sleeping. The awkwardness would undoubtedly crush them both when Tony woke.

So instead he rolled his way out of the bed as carefully as he could and slipped into the hall. His bare feet chilled with the flooring, regretting not grabbing a pair of socks. The hallway took on a different aura in the early morning, the hotel esc walls warmed with the rising sun, painted in creamy golds and yellows. Even the God-awful hotel art looked better to his artist's eye, he dared to think it felt almost homey.

In the kitchen, Pepper stood in front of the stove, dressed in the least formal outfit he'd ever seen the CEO in. Particularly his gaze was focused on how she wore a fuzzy pair of Spider-Man pants, the suspicious size of Tony. Ignoring his alias pasted all over as it was too early to analyze Tony Stark buying Spidey merch, he found it was an arguably reasonable outfit for someone in the early morning within their own home. But Peter honestly hadn't imagined that Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries, Wrangler of Tony Stark, owned a pair of clothes that didn't demand respect and practicality.

It seemed a silly thought now, the woman flipping pancakes without socks on as he slid himself onto a stool, watching her work. She was just a person, he tried reminding himself, swallowing the ball of nerves in his throat at the prospect of being alone with her, no Tony to field his awkward fumbles.

"I'm glad Tony is still sleeping," she tossed a soft grin his way, warmth radiating towards him in a manner that caused May to appear in his mind's eye, a rock settling in his throat. "I haven't seen him sleep in past four a.m. in years. That is without an injury keeping him down." She seemed to be teasing, perhaps unaware of the fact that he'd been screaming down the hall in the middle of the night, causing Tony to swoop in and save his ass once again. Even if it was just from his mind this time.

He fiddled with the seam of his shirt sleeve as she dropped a pile of pancakes on a plate that sat before him. She turned back to the oven and dumped a hearty pile of bacon into the pan, fat sizzling noisily. 

"I didn't mean to keep him up," he forced himself to admit, gratefully accepting the food as something to busy himself with. The odds that Pepper didn't know Tony had run out of their room for Peter was slim, and he was still too tired to try and pretend it was a normal night. Or to pretend Tony Stark sleeping in his room like a parent whose child was afraid of the boogieman was typical. 

"Nothing could have kept him from you, don't you worry that cute little face of yours," a syrup bottle and fork clicked on the counter as they were set before him. Shaking hands collected them to his chest as he eyed her, she had a downturn to the edge of her lips that shared her silent sympathy with him. She was far more nurturing than he'd expected. 

"I wanted to-" She glanced at him thoughtfully, eyes weighing something before she turned back to the pan, a pair of tongs flipping juicy bacon slices. "I wanted to help too. But Tony said it was best that it was just him." He was touched, warmed at the thought that she wanted to step in, to protect him from a silly nightmare. He was all but a stranger to her, but she'd provided nothing aside from attentive care and compassion to him, something he did not take lightly or for granted.

"I don't always know where I am," wanting to give her peace of mind for not being part of his humiliating night, "I am dangerous. Tony should have let me wake up on my own, I would have handled it." While he understood Tony liked him, hell he even believed his confession that Peter Parker was someone he wanted to have around. He could still see the grimace on Tony's face as his own hands crushed the older man's wrists. The bones were just a slight squeeze away from snapping under Peter's grip, powers rankled with the fear and adrenaline in his veins.

Sweaty palms drug across his pants, trying to forget the feeling of the stupid robe sticking to his hand. 

"Do you find yourself handling such terrors by yourself a lot?" Crispy bacon joined his plate of pancakes, syrup puddle unfortunately touching it. 

"I live alone," he dodged, quickly stuffing his mouth with food to avoid the real question. He knew what she was trying to ask in her poorly hidden manner. Did Peter often find himself screaming awake, sobbing to himself in his bedroom? A pathetic child's nightmare rendering him weak and unaware of his own surroundings. 

"Tony gets nightmares still, about Afghanistan." She nibbled a piece of bacon straight from the pan, watching him. He tried not to frown, he hadn't known that Tony still suffered from those nightmares. Sure, he'd understood Peter last night, and mentioned something about his own experiences, but Peter assumed it was past tense, something the older man had grown out of. He felt marginally better to know that Tony understood in a way no other did, he didn't need Peter to explain how irrational it felt to have dreams of an experience well past. How silly it felt when awake to know that he'd lost his marbles, crying out for his parents in fear.

"My point is, that it isn't a bad thing to let someone help carry the load, you don't have to be a strong man all the time, Peter." Everyone seemed to think that was something he needed to hear lately.

He dragged a piece of pancake through his syrup, avoiding her gaze as he thought it over.

“I need you to look at me," Pepper broke in, sitting beside him on a stool, her knee pressing to his thigh as he slowly turned to face her. "I think this is something you’ve needed to hear for a very long time,” two small hands held his cold ones, cradling them between like a small injured animal, like maybe he was one. “Some people like you, they want to know you, and you’re allowed to have that,” Pepper said dutifully as if explaining the sky was blue, or that injuries hurt.

She said it like Peter should have known that, a given fact of the universe. For some reason, it cut him deeply. Perhaps due to his nightmare, or maybe because he'd let Tony hear his fears, his deepest hurts from the older man. Now Tony knew what he felt, and there was no denying how Peter had systematically cut off his relationships one by one after their fight. Peter convinced himself that he was a cancer, someone not worth having around, refusing to accept that he was worth the dangers and risks.

Pepper was still watching his face, kind green eyes scanning his vacant gaze as he lost himself in thought. He felt a sting when he bit the inside of his cheek too hard, the slight tang of iron on his tongue. She waited patiently as he tried to gather himself.

He gave a wobbly smile, turning to his plate, too overwhelmed to respond. Pepper surely had mind-reading powers, as she said nothing more, just patting the back of his head as she began to serve herself a plate as well. The dim memory of Tony telling Peter something similar when he'd come to his apartment rang in his ears.

The two ate in silence, exchanging the syrup when needed. Pepper even poured him a steaming cup of coffee, shaking her head at his preference to drink it black. She probably assumed it was because he thought it made him appear older, while in reality, it was just the cheapest way that he allowed himself the experience. But she didn't press, and he appreciated that about her. Pepper Potts knew the look of a man avoiding the face of questions, and instead, she asked him about menial things.

She questioned him about his suit, wondering about his web designs and its general creation. She had a proud smile on her lips when he dove into an explanation of the webs, his own brain baby. He found himself wanting to tell her about what he'd figured out in trial and error, explaining the fun of creating different combinations, the thrill of sneaking onto school ground to utilize the chemistry lab, and how the cameras were so simple to hack to keep his occupying the room secret for so long. The proud affection in her gaze as he rattled on drew him in, coaxing information from his lips that he usually would have kept quiet. 

When she turned to asking about Peter's life outside of Spider-Man, stating 'Surely you do something else for fun, what are teenagers doing these days?' He heard his own words falter, the conversation slamming to a halt. The worn, wary side of his personality wanted to demand what she wanted to know, if Peter's life was so interesting, then maybe he should be allowed to keep it for himself.

But she was pouring him another mug of coffee, chewing on a piece of bacon with quiet interest as she let Peter mull it over, and he couldn't bring himself to snap at the woman. She was far too genuine and kind, May would have loved her, and Peter be damned before he upset someone so caring of a stranger.

So instead he forced his shoulders to lower from where they'd tucked around his ears, "I don't get to do much outside of working, and the occasional patrol anymore,"

"No friends to hang out with?" She seemed surprised as if Tony hadn't updated her on the recent Fuck Up that was Peter's social life.

"No, we split ways," he dodged, pushing his seat back to stand, and gathering up the dirty dishware. "I couldn't let them be at risk, so I made myself scarce." It was true. He stopped responding, stopped answering his door, using his powers to conveniently slip out of his room when MJ or Ned were allowed in, May too concerned to let Peter lock himself away.

"That sounds really lonely to me," Pepper softly said, she was leaning on the counter, sharp chin resting in her palm as she watched Peter wash his dishes. 

"It was, but you get used to it." It was true, slightly. The loneliness ate away at Peter, it always did. The painful truth is that if he wasn't who he was, he could afford to surround himself with those he loved. The truth was that if he could be selfish, and step away from Spider-Man, then Peter Parker could exist, and he could once again have a family. But Peter Parker's selfishness had already cost so much, first Ben, then Tony's trust, the people on the Ferry, the plane.

He couldn't let himself start down that slippery slope of self-indulgence. It was easier to lie to himself, repetitively telling his brain that loneliness wasn't that bad. That it wasn't a grindstone tied around his neck, limbs flailing in an open ocean trying to keep himself afloat every single day of his measly existence.

Pepper hummed as if she disagreed, but she let him focus on his task, distracting himself from the topic they'd approached. Eventually, she began to help clean the kitchen, a plate of leftovers for Tony set in the microwave as the two began to slip out of the kitchen. Pepper invited him to sit with her on the balcony, the one Happy had been blocking yesterday, and curiosity pushed Peter to agree. The cool air woke him, pushing the last bits of lazy relaxation out of his limbs as a chill covered his arms. 

The balcony was without a railing along its exposed sides. Perhaps the lack of safety protocols would be terrifying to the regular citizen, but to him it felt like freedom. The few chairs near the door were cushioned, Pepper resting in one already as she watched Peter take it in,

"Tony designed the landing pad for himself when he would come here, easier to get in and out, it used to even take off the armor as he walked in." That felt entirely in character of the older man, he shook his head fondly,

"He's so cool." Pepper let out a bright laugh, nodding in agreement as Peter wandered towards the edge. He felt himself leaning too far forward, the thrill of the drop causing his toes to tingle. Not a thrill, but some deeper sensation niggling at his brain.

He wasn’t wearing his web shooters, his wrists naked and weightless. If he fell, he’d twist, and turn, but he’d never be able to save himself. No amount of sticky hands would keep his shoulders within their socket with a massive jerk on their weakened muscles. It would be such a quick, peaceful fall, the tower well taller than its surroundings. It would be quiet. Peter craved quiet, his brain was always in survival mode, never letting him rest. 

Disturbed with his thinking, he stepped back towards Pepper, feet carrying himself to a larger patch of land. He wasn’t suicidal. He shook the thoughts loose of his head as he took a seat on one of the empty chairs, Pepper smiling over her mug. Fuzzy pants covered her feet where they were tucked beneath her.

”You should prepare for Tony to take you to the lab today.”

He’d assumed that he’d eventually be brought down, Tony had mentioned it a few too many times for Peter to lose hope about a lab session. It was exciting, the aspect of stepping once again into a real full-blown lab, a genius's lab. Better yet, Tony Stark's lab, freely shared with Peter. Pepper chuckled at the giddy grin on his face, 

“I am very glad that you’re here.” He kind of was too, he realized. Sure, Tony was gonna be up soon, and he’d have to face the older man in the daylight after the sob session he’d had. But for now, with Pepper on the balcony, over looking the city with the smell of coffee in the air, Peter was content.

Pepper was correct about Tony wanting Peter to join him in the lab, what she wasn't correct about was the intended purpose of the visit, which to Peter's discomfort, was for Banner and Tony to have a nerdgasm and synthesize him a specialized pain killer.

He should have known Tony would never let him get away from that, the threat of needles and tests looming over his head as soon as the older man proposed the idea over eating his reheated leftovers.

He'd bypassed the awkward acknowledgment of Peter's night terror, instead beginning to flesh out their day. Pretending he hadn't just crawled out of the teen's room, chest too tight in anxiety when he woke to the room empty, and the space the kid occupied long gone cold. Peter in return, didn't comment on the way that Tony looked him over, as if the nightmare could leave visual marks on the teen, injuring him in a manner other than his mental space.

"I don't think that is necessary," he interrupted Tony's tangent, gripping his wrist, the memory of how he broke it the day at the barber shop, his nerves tingling in discomfort. When Tony's evaluating gaze noticed the movement, they narrowed, his mouth taking an unhappy turn on the edges. Upset. Peter dropped his wrist as if it burned him and his unsteady fingers began opening the third chalky-tasting protein bar the other man demanded he ate. Tony himself gorged on syrup-soaked pancakes.   

"I don't see why you're avoiding it," he argued back to the teen, stuffing another bite of pancake into his face. Pepper hummed in agreement, she too confused at Peter's vehement avoidance of returning to the med bay and medical world. It was strange, Tony actually conversating, Peter waiting for frustration to emerge. For Tony to see that Peter was still too much trouble. 

"What you gave me the other day worked just fine." It hadn't. In fact, Peter wasn't sure it did anything aside from making him woozy, his intestines roiling on themselves. 

"Arguably, that is not true," a syrupy fork pointed at Peter where he sat on the couch, his new favorite location on Stark's floor. "You were fully able to chuck another grown man around, and complained of pain, therefore your argument is moot, and I think it's time we did it. It should have been done a long time ago, irresponsible of me truly to let it go this far."

"I don't even get hurt that often!" True by omission, he wasn't Spider-Man very often.

"You promised we could do it," upset, "I don't understand why you won't let me help you, kid." The nickname always gave the conversation a new depth of intimacy that made Peter's skin crawl. His subconscious screaming he was getting too close, that Tony was too familiar, he was at risk when he was close. 

He did say he'd let Tony make the pain medications, but it was just a piece of Peter's lie to get out of the tower, his desperate attempt at appeasing Tony so he wouldn't follow the teen into May's old place of work and unravel all that Peter had tried to delude May of in the recent two years. He hadn't planned on ever seeing the other man in person, not for the next six months at least, but the hero clearly felt Peter had given his word. Trapped. 

"Peter, what is it about creating a pain medication for you that you find yourself uncomfortable with?" Pepper, with her too smart brain and dedication to problem-solving. He frowned, not appreciating being put on the spot, Tony's head tilted in question as he too stared at Peter for an answer.

He shifted in his seat, limbs feeling antsy with the direct attention, and shrugged.

"There is a reason," she tried again. "You are very reasonable. I don't think you are brushing it off for no reason, that isn't very like you, right Tony?" Stark nodded, face deep in thought as he watched Peter. He didn't appear to consider that there was a deeper reason for Peter's denial, perhaps assuming it was a silly pushback from a rebellious teen. Peter found himself wondering how often Pepper had done this same dance with Tony, reassuring him of her confidence in his ability to make decisions, but acknowledging still that there was a deeper reason for deflection. 

"Are you-" Tony paused, clearly trying to figure out a word to describe what Peter could be wrestling with, fear, stubbornness, being frustrating for no reason,

"Uncomfortable?" Bless that woman. 

He shrugged, feeling exposed as Pepper accurately summed up the anxiety gripping his lungs and heart. Tugging his legs up, he hugged his knees to his chest.

Tony was frowning at him now. "Your DNA is safe with me, Banner wouldn't ever dream of using it for anything but the pain medication. You have to understand that we have to break down how your body utilizes the medication, not to mention your metabolism, which is off the charts. But you're safe here, I would never let-"

"It isn't that Tony, really." He felt bad that Tony still saw Peter's wariness as distrust of the older man. "I just hate needles." Childish. Weak. 

May had always known about his phobia of needles, taking it in stride at every well-child visit, holding his hand, and blocking his view of the needle at every visit. She was great like that, just taking his fear in stride, treating it as if it wasn't a big deal. But Tony wasn't May, and embarrassment burned at the back of the teen's neck. 

"Oh," Tony blinked in surprise. As if he thought it totally reasonable that Peter would have been concerned with his DNA being out in Stark's databases. They were safer there than anywhere else Peter could think of. It wasn't that he didn't like the idea of a medication that worked, there were times it was sure to benefit. But the idea of being poked and prodded, his blood drawn like he was some alien to evaluate, the sharp point of the needle digging into his skin. It all was too much, his body wanting to panic at even imagining the stabbing sensation.

"There isn't a way of getting around that aspect," the other man explained, voice sympathetic to the teen's dilemma. "But I can be there with you, whatever you need. But it has to happen for your safety." There it was, that parental tone of care but a firm decision. 

"Do you agree it is necessary for your safety?" Pepper prodded, allowing him room to speak on his own circumstances. He was painted into a corner, only a fool could disagree with that evaluation,

"It gives me the tingles," he snipped, feeling petulant at admitting that he knew it was the right thing to do. Tony nodded seriously as if the 'tingles' were something he understood, a common term. He was good like that lately, letting Peter feel normal in his own skin. 

"So what can we do?" He offered an olive branch, dutifully ignoring Peter's lapse in manners.

"I guess you jab me anyway, for the greater good or whatever." There didn't seem to be an escape for him. Not with Tony holding him to his hasty agreement earlier that week.

"Are you sure?"

He could only nod, to the poorly hidden delight of the older man who just stood, ruffling Peter's hair as he took his plate to the kitchen. “How many pokes are we talking about?” He demanded, trying to comfort himself in what to expect. Pepper pat the back of his head in sympathetic support. 

“One long poke. We need an intravenous draw, we will take about six vials. Oh, that was just fantastic, drawing blood from him like a tick. 

”You can’t just poke my finger?” He didn’t enjoy the feeling of being out of control, his body beginning to sweat in anxiety. 

“I’m sorry,” Tony offered, and he did sound it, his face tender as he took a seat across from Peter again. “I know it’s scary.” In another conversation, Peter would have taken offense, feeling patronized at the labeling of being afraid. But he was, and Tony was being sincere as far as he could tell. So he put his trust in the older man, nodding his head in acceptance.

”When do you wanna do this thing?” Stuffing the last of his protein bar in his mouth, he chewed bitterly against the chalky taste. These really do suck so much to eat.

“Now?”

He tucked his lips into a grim line, moping as he began towards his room to change, fate sealed. 

Tony took mercy on Peter and accepted doing the draw in his personal lab, agreeing that the med bay gave I am going to die of tuberculosis vibes, as Peter so kindly put it.

He tried to contain his excitement in the elevator when Tony asked Friday to take them to his personal lab. The fanboy in Peter secretly hyperventilating in shock, but something must have shown because Tony had a self-satisfied smirk on his face the entire way down. The older man probably didn't get to share his lab much, aside from Dr. Banner, Peter couldn't imagine any of the other heroes having an interest in the things going on in a lab. 

It was exactly what Peter expected, pieces of Iron Man suits strewn across steel-topped work benches, band posters on the wall as if it was a teenager's bedroom. It was cluttered, but tidy, perfectly Tony. A massive hologram sat in the middle of the room, that the older man made disappear with a wave of his hand.

"This is not exactly sanitary," Peter admitted, scooping a large pile of wires, and circuitry off of a rolling chair so he could sit. Inside, he was squealing, the mess completely meaningless to him. He had a superhero's immune system, he could probably impale himself on anything in the space without anything more than a short bleed. 

"Okay, I wouldn't say it's a monk's bedroom, but it isn't the worst," was the petulant defense. Swooping an arm across one of the tables, the scrape of metal pierced the quiet, Tony wincing as it shrieked its entire journey into a neater pile than it had been. "Banner is gonna probably melt a little when he sees it, but he can handle a little stress. It's good for him, lets him test his new balance," he wiggled his fingers in the air around his head.

"What's up with that? I thought he was avoiding the human world and all that, afraid of hulking out again." Peter curiously asked as he picked up an abandoned gauntlet from the table beside him, twisting it as he tried to find out why Tony was working on it.

Banner had been off the map since Sokovia, too afraid of the damage his alter ego caused in Sokovia being repeated in future battles. When Tony had brought Peter in for the battle with the rogues, he'd let Peter know that 'Green guy is playing invisible, can't handle the stress right now' when the teen had asked about the scientist. It wasn't the update Peter was hoping for at the time, but they were about to fight what Tony identified as friends at the time, so he let it go without question. 

"He did some major yoga or something," Tony replied as he puttered around, swooping things into containers and tidying the space. 

"How is it, having the rest of them back in here?" Clunky segue, but Peter was tired of tiptoeing around the topic. If Tony could pry answers about Peter's fear of needles out of him, than he felt he could ask a few uncomfortable questions about sensing the tension between Steve and Tony. Clint's careful walking of the line of friendly and polite in conversation with Stark hinted that things weren't exactly back to normal

Tony faux gagged in response, pinching the bridge of his nose, "I was supposed to ask if you wanted to go to that dinner tonight. I don't blame you if you wanna hide in your room, order some takeout, do teenager things." 

"I'll go, what better way to see the Avengers up close? I could take pictures, probably get a pretty penny for an inside scoop of awkward family dinners with the heroes of New York." He got a dry chuckle for that, "But I am serious, how can you stand having them here?"

"They aren't the most uncomfortable company," he was sure that was true, imaging Hitler here was way worse. "But it isn't exactly the best either, but we are setting differences aside. I am letting some things go, practicing being the bigger man as Pepper likes to call it."

"Couldn't be me," Peter grumbled, setting the gauntlet down with a solid thunk. Tony seemed stressed, rubbing at his wrist absently, eyebrows furrowed in thought. He turned to watch Peter, smiling at the way he was poking at the random pieces of tech around him, unable to sit still.

"Some things are not worth being upset about forever, it's all in the grey area. Not everything is black and white anymore, Rogers made a mistake, one he let get too far to turn back and explain. I think I understand that better now than ever." It was uncomfortable watching Tony parallel himself to Steve. It simply wasn't the same. Tony's mistake with Peter was a shared burden, both parties not handling their fallout well.

Tony Stark was big, he was big actions, big ideas, big words. He filled the space he occupied in a way that Peter always found to be impressive, but watching him now, he just saw a man navigating loss and discomfort. Forcing himself forward in a path he clearly didn't prefer, swallowing awkward interactions one after another for the greater good.

The world likes to preach that Iron Man was self-centered, that he was a spoiled kid, grown into a man who oozed entitlement. But Peter knew better, he could see how Tony was strained, forcing himself to try. He knew of Tony's efforts to do more for their community, the charity work, and humanitarian efforts set into motion by the man after Sokovia, overlooked by the masses.

"How are you?" 

Tony blinked, looking as if he was trying to puzzle it out himself, a small shrug as he sat himself on a freshly cleared rolling chair. He sunk into the seat with greater weariness than one man deserved to carry, it made Peter's heart clench, seeing his mentor show that vulnerable side of himself. 

"It helps to have you here, and Pepper, Banner too." He wasn't sure how much he was really helping, considering that he was out for blood until last night, but he appreciated that Tony saw him as someone in his corner. 

“It really just made me realize how much of a poor man I am.” The teen just blinked in confusion, tilting his head. They were surrounded by millions of dollars of tech, in a building Peter could only dream the cost of. Tony Stark was the pinochle of silver spoon in hand from birth on. Peter couldn’t imagine how Tony could ever see himself as something resembling poor.

As if sensing the disconnection in his statement, Stark gave a tired smile, ”In the things that matter I am a poor man, kiddo. Money in monitory, fun, yes. But people, friends, family.” The last two words fell from his lips quieter, reflecting on the change of friendships in his life. He paused for a long moment, a silence settling over the two of them, one man thinking, another patiently waiting.

“You know, I thought it was having stuff, being successful. To my old man having this that really mattered,” a weak hand pointed towards the disassembled suits and the general room.

“But in the things of the heart, yes I know it’s corny,” he cut himself off, anticipating a tease, but the teen only nodded seriously, brown eyes sad as he listened carefully to what the older man was sharing. 

“In the things of the heart, the relationships that give you strength, I’ve had very few. Pep, Rhodes, now you. I thought that it was developing here, with the rest of them.” He rolled his lips in, a flat depressed line. “ 'Tony Stark is not recommended', a team of one. That’s how I was listed for Fury. Not recommended.” Peter could see the hidden hurt, the way Tony didn’t quite grasp how he’d been entirely written off in such a manner. The benefit of the doubt not offered,

”I did stupid shit, I get it. But then we had this whole Avengers thing going, a team. I’d never had a team before. I didn’t fit in growing up, I was too rich for the friends I liked and shut away by Howard. Then college, I was too young, Rhodes a guiding force for me there,” a bitter chuckle rang as he shook his head. “But that was it. So for the first time, I had to learn to work with a group and learn how to take that risk, and then I did. I wasn’t ready to have it taken away, I didn’t think it would happen, I thought I finally found it. I think that’s the hardest part of it, finding my footing again.”

His heart hurt for his mentor, seeing the childhood deep hurt of seeking a relationship so wanted, yet terrified of achieving. Seeing how the continual disappointments crafted a man who kept his own company, and boasted his own worth when others wouldn’t see it. He couldn’t imagine being betrayed in such a manner, a whole team split on opinions after Tony worked so hard to pull them together.

Hell, he’d funded the whole team, creating technologies that no government would ever offer to heroes. Not without controlling them, locking them into their greed and gains. But Tony gave it freely, in exchange for friendships. Then it was thrown in his face, those weapons actively turned against him.

"Do you have to see them much?"

"Official meetings and such ensure that I see Roger's a bit more than I'd like, but the therapist is calling it good exposure therapy." Therapy. "Bird brain isn't usually here much, he lives with his family on a farm in Iowa," 

"You're joking?!" Tony grinned widely as if he too couldn't believe that Hawkeye, spent his time feeding chickens and gardening in the flattened landscape of Iowa. 

"He has a few kids, Cooper is probably a year or two younger than yourself." It explained Clint's comfortability in the med bay with Peter, apparently having had to navigate teens before.

What other heroes had hidden lives that they kept away from each other?

"Needless to say, he usually doesn't stick around much, I think he's keeping local since Natasha is coming back. And for you,"

"Me?"

"He has apparently taken it on himself to fill the role of a supportive friend, one who also has teens," a grimace of discomfort. Right,

Peter's cheeks suddenly burned with embarrassment, he'd forgotten that Clint and Rogers had taken him at his word and called Tony, saying that his kid was injured and asking for his dad. He found himself suddenly unable to look Tony in the face, afraid of what those expressive eyes would let through, discomfort, disgust?

The familiar urge to run away once again tingled in the back of his mind, 

"Pete, it's okay." For once, the nickname didn't bring with it a phantom pain and cold sweat.

"I was surprised when Clint told me that my kid was injured, no denying that. Confused a little bit, but I didn't tell him he was wrong, did I?" Clint had been shocked when Peter snapped that Tony wasn't his dad, reeling at Peter's accusation of Stark making it up at a manipulation tactic. In the moment, he'd been too embarrassed and angry to think about the fact that Tony hadn't corrected his teammates, setting the record straight right away that Peter was a random teenager he picked up and mentored for a short while.

Clint said Tony had dropped everything as soon as Peter asked for his dad, heading for the teen as soon as he heard. Banner only confirmed that only later, after Peter's vehement denial of family relations, that Tony told them-, well he wasn't sure what he said, just that Peter wasn't his biological kid as the younger implied.

Feeling sick, he dragged a hand over his hair, tugging at the curls still rolling at the top of his head, staring into his lap, "I haven't gotten around to saying sorry for that," he muttered, "putting you in that position to have to come in like that, I'm sure it was probably confusing to have to explain later."

The sound of the wheels of the chair echoed in the room as he rolled towards Peter, a foot knocking into Peter's in an attempt to snag his attention back from his lap. Then a hand cupped the back of his head, the teen's startled gaze shooting to the older man's face.

"I am whatever you want kid, free rein. Parent, friend, uncle, mentor, I am here for it all." His eyes were somber, locking onto Peter's with purposeful focus. And for a moment it was Ben before him, thick glasses and kind fatherly guidance poured out of his eyes. But then it was Tony again, dark eyes and goatee, yet the connection he felt was the same.

His tongue felt too thick with emotion to respond, so he just nodded, giving a wobbly smile. 

"Boss, Dr. Banner is requesting entrance to the lab," Friday interrupted. Tony pat the teen's knee and rolled back towards his table, clapping his hands together abruptly, the sound ringing in the room,  

"Let Jolly Green in, let's get this done, right kiddo?" Unease once again filled Peter, but he nodded at the sound of the elevator opening.

Banner stepped into the room, arms carrying a small clear box under an arm. Peter felt his heart rate double as he caught a glimpse of a shining needle in its contents. Banner, looked relaxed, a cheerful smile on his face when he saw Peter, he wandered into the lab confidently, nodding at Stark who motioned him towards them.

“Good morning,” the greeting was warm, the scientist setting the box down gently on one of the tables, plastic clacking against the steel top. He did everything gently Peter had noticed, as if he was afraid he’d shatter whatever he touched.

”Tony said you were ready to start the medication manufacturing?” If the nerdy purple knit sweater didn’t give professor vibes, his mannerisms sure did. Polite and poised, softly spoke. Peter made himself nod politely, eyes still following the needle as Bruce unpacked the box. Its contents were simple, a rubber band typically used by the nurses who drew his blood as a kid. A band-aid, disinfectant, little glass tubes all in a row with different colored bands. He swallowed thickly, forcing himself to breathe deeply. 

“Have you had blood drawn before, Peter?”

”At doctor visits, yeah.”

“It’ll be quick,” Tony reassured, catching Bruce’s raised eyebrow.

”I promise I know what I’m doing,” Bruce joked as he gestured for the teen to come to the table where the supplies lay. 

Forcing himself to stand on rubbery legs, he approached the table as if the supplies would jump off and bite him. Slowly easing himself up to sit on the top, legs swinging in anxiety. Tony took guard on his left, patting his leg as Bruce tied the rubber band tightly on his upper arm, his T-shirt sleeve brushing against the tie. The cool of the alcohol pad cleaning the space in the crook of his elbow caused goosebumps to rise on his arms. Fear or chill, he wasn't sure.

When Bruce brought the needle closer, he paused for a moment, waiting until Peter nodded in permission to press the needle into his flesh.

At the poke, and feeling of the needle dragging its way through his flesh, the sickening pull of his nerves, Peter blanched. He felt his body lock, shoulders rigid with tension as Bruce fiddled with the vials, unaware of Peter beginning to freak out. When Bruce slipped a vial onto the attaching end, the sharp squeal of metal sounded as Peter clenched the table top on either side of his thighs. He could feel the individual indents that his fingers pressed into the metal, and then the warmth of someone else placing a hand over his. Briefly he darted terrified eyes to his left, Tony stared back, lips turned down in concern, face drawn.

"Right here, Spider kid." He tried to take comfort in that, but when Bruce swapped the vial for another, the needle shifting deep in his arm, Peter gasped. It was a pained sound full of fear, his breathing hitching, then starting again at a rapid pace. He knew reasonably that he was safe, the part of his brain in charge of logic argued that it was Tony and he wouldn't let anything bad happen to Peter, especially in his own home. But the panicked part of his brain slammed him right back into the rubble of the warehouse, to the rebar pulling at his tendons and flesh alike from where it impaled him. 

Peter did not often get injured as Spider-Man, be it because he was freakishly durable, or from having a rapid healing factor, most injuries barely left a mark and if they did it was almost guaranteed to be gone within a day or two. The fight with Toomes was a level of bad that Peter had never experienced. Usually, he would have backed off of a villain, regaining his sense of stability between hits, and evaluating how to protect himself. But the night of the beach, he was on nothing but pure adrenaline, panic keeping him disconnected from the sheer amount of abuse his body endured. He'd never been impaled, maybe a few scattered stab wounds of the minor kind, never truly skewered kabob style.  

When the warehouse came down on him, Peter only got so far in his attempt of escape, ending unfortunately in the direct path of a falling chunk of concrete attached to rebar. He had laid there, breathing in agony and panic, the metal rod piercing his side, sticking out like something out of a horror movie. The feeling of his skin tugging with every breath, the metal shifting against his ribs haunted him, mirroring at this moment with the needle deep in his skin, Peter unable to move away.

"Kid, you with me still?" Tony sounded on the brink of panic, voice muffled in Peter’s ears as if a room away. He wanted to reassure him that he was fine, but Bruce was swapping the vial again, hands shaking and jarring the needle and Peter was once again thrown in his past.

"I'm hurrying, Tony, two more vials," Bruce muttered, concerned eyes roving Peter's rigid form, evaluating the wide eyes and million-yard stare.

When Peter clenched his hands around the bench, he'd scared the shit out of the two men, Tony lurching close to Peter in the blink of an eye, hands hovering unsure what to do as Peter stared straight ahead at the wall, entirely unresponsive. Aside from the short, rapid puffs of air forcing themselves out of Peter's nose, he was entirely still. Frozen like an animal backed into a corner, riddled with tension. 

Tony's hand was resting on Peters, tapping a loose pattern as he spoke in a soothing tone, voice low and forced calm,

"What does your aunt do at these kinds of Doctor visits?" Peter did not reply, but he twisted his hand out of beneath Tony's and slim fingers latched onto the older man's. If Tony was afraid of the teen crushing his bones into dust, he did a solid job of not showing it, just squeezing back a few times as Bruce swapped the vial once again. The teen's body released a sharp full-body jerk, just as it had every time Bruce touched the connecting end of the needle contraption. 

"Done, done," Bruce's relieved voice updated, quickly drawing the needle out of Peter's arm, pressing a piece of gauze to where a small bead of blood emerged. Peter did not blink, sitting as still as a statue through Bruce touching the needle this time, his face turning a shade of green rather than the sickened pale it had when the needle first touched his skin.

The vials clinked, the sound dulled by their contents absorbing some of the sound. Bruce's careful touch placing them into the cushioned interior of the box once again, then he wrung his hands in silence after closing the lid, unsure of what to say to the frozen pair.

Stark was still holding Peter’s hand, muttered praise for enduring the blood draw. He caught a few insults to the medical world, but paid it no mind. Rather, he watched how Tony hovered. Soft hand patting the teen on shoulder, fingers dragging through the short hair on the side of the teen’s head.

He’d never seen Tony so downright paternal, his focus solely on the kid before him. Tone softer than anything Bruce had ever heard before from the older man, who usually ran so loud and sarcastic.

When Tony had informed Bruce, Steve, and Clint that Peter in fact was not a secret love child that Stark paid to keep hidden for his entire life, Bruce accepted it, reasoning that if anyone was going to avoid the role of a paternal figure, it would be Tony. No sane scientist in the world that knew anything of the famous Howard Stark, was blind to his poor parenting and abusive perspective of his son growing up. The topic was covered in enough gossip circles that Bruce had expected Tony to act out in the way he had, to carry himself with the sarcastic armor that he did.

But a soft Tony Stark? It wasn’t something Bruce imagined capable, a complete one eighty from what he knew Tony grew up with. 
And for a moment, Bruce saw what Tony had denied that day, his clear instinct towards Peter as a parental figure to the rough teen.

Turning his gaze to the younger again, he was taken aback at the contrast in the Peter he’d met and the one sat before him. The sharp lines of his face, and suspicious brown eyes were softened in childlike fear. His pupils blown as he still teased the line of hyperventilating. Before Peter had been so hell bent on acting as if nothing was wrong, even when baring some of the worst scarring Bruce had ever seen on another living person. 

Then there had been the bravado and cold attitude the teen had taken with Tony the afternoon in the med bay. The older man had taken it in stride, accepting the teen’s insults and curses as if it was normal, keeping his temper in check. Bruce had been stunned, maybe even afraid for Tony in some capacity.

How a kid who called Tony his father only a few hours earlier, could spit such venom and want so far away from the same man, had confused Bruce completely. He didn’t understand their relationship, but he could see that something had changed in it, for the better.

Watching as Peter slowly tilted his head towards Tony, tuning into the words rambling from the man, his thumb still brushing the side of the teens neck where it sat on his shoulder. Bruce realized Tony had the situation well covered. Deciding his job here was done, Bruce scooped up the box and lead himself to the exit.

Tony’s coaxing of Peter to help him with coding the last thing he heard as the doors slid shut, allowing them their privacy once again. 

Chapter Text

After Bruce ducked away, those awful vials were tucked back into the carrier as he disappeared into the elevator, Tony began pulling up holograms one after another, rapid fire. He’d softly let Peter’s fingers fall away from his own, as he began to point to the images and formulas, stepping into the middle of the room, a collage of blueprints, and scribbled notes hovering four feet in the air in a semi-circle around him.

“I'm trying to create something for your suit, it is a communication pathway. Specifically, it isn’t tied to your main power source. So, if by chance you lose coms, there is back door access. I hadn’t had the time to put it in your suit, as we've been a little distant," a generous way to put it. "So any ideas, Super Brain?” 

He appreciated the space Tony was allowing him, the clear option to dive into something else rather than drowning them both in awkward silence as Peter came down from the fear-soaked high that his body had locked him in. There was always a crushing sense of being melodramatic after appointments with needles, something about the needle gone from view and suddenly he could breathe again. Like a sick magic trick, a puppet cut loose of his strings. One minute after the awful needle pulled free of his arm and no longer was he locked in his skin. Rather he was left floundering for that feeling of justification of how that entire process was so terrible. Bruce hadn't even been in the room for more than eight minutes.

Forcing himself to push forward, he let his head tilt in thought, examining the floating diagram of his suit and its technology. He hadn’t realized how many sensors Tony had throughout it, reading every ounce of information across the suit. He knew that the suit was complicated, of course he did. It would be silly to think Tony hadn't done more than necessary, the new suit alien in comparison to the sweat suit he'd donned originally. But seeing it now in its barest form, blueprint blinking in a soft blue light, he felt overwhelmed with gratitude for all the work that Tony put into it. 

“That should be pretty simple." Stepping into the middle of the room beside Tony, he marveled at how the images reacted exactly as his hands mimed in the air, shifting some to the side, others pulled closer. How Tony could ever get used to that, he couldn't imagine, entirely in awe of the technology literally at his fingertips.

“Show me what you got, I’m gonna grab the suit, where is it?” His mentor was halfway to the elevator already, an excited grin on his face.

“It's tucked in the lowest dresser drawer on the left in my room,” Peter answered, half listening as he began to access the codes embedded in the suit. How many protocols did Tony have in this thing!? He’d locked the millionaire out as a precaution with his own dedicated coding, not imagining just how many ways Tony kept tabs on him.

He’d first set the suit to deny transmission of its information to the older man, a second set of coding designed to block incoming methods of secondary contact. Muting any attempt made to reach him in the suit, through Karen or general coding. But he'd been too full of hurt at the time to analyze the protocols and settings set into the suit. 

He could feel the way his eyebrows lifted in surprise at a protocol listed ‘Itsy Bitsy, Birdy Detector’ He had a sense of disappointment for his past self that began to blossom in his chest, debating for a moment if he dared to investigate it further. 

“Friday, what’s this protocol do?” He prodded deeper into its setup, eyes scanning for a creation date, the code flying by as he scrolled its history.

"'Itsy Bitsy, Birdy Detector' Created as a safety protocol for Peter Parker as Spider-Man, it requires an immediate update to Tony Stark if contact with Adrian Toomes or The Vulture were detected.” So he'd sort of listened to Peter, realizing that Toomes was more than just a teen's wild hunch. There is it, he stopped scrolling, eyes watering.

The date sat like a stone in his conscious, a few days after the ferry. He'd updated it after he grounded Peter from the suit. It felt like a blow to the chest, the knowledge that Tony had put forth an attempt to protect him, with the timing just wrong enough that Peter suffered the consequences all the same. He wasn't sure what he imagined happened to his suit, maybe he assumed that Tony shoved it in a drawer in his pretentious lab, not giving Peter a second thought after stripping him of his suit. But update it with a protective measure? After the older man had finished blowing up at Peter, laying out just how the teen had failed him, he'd still taken the time to do something. Peter wouldn't have guessed it in a million years.

What could have happened, if Tony had known sooner that Peter was facing off with the Vulture all alone, chasing him across the city? The intense amount of feedback on the suit's sensors would have surely brought the older man to his side sooner rather than later. But he'd refused to give it back, grounding the teen from his hero identity as a punishment. So instead, Peter had thrown on what essentially was a freakin' tracksuit, a pathetic amount of protection against an iron suit. He'd been stripped of his suit's tech, left with his phone and subpar original web shooters, entirely cut off from the older hero. The bitter fury at Happy screening his calls rose in his chest, his supposed 'handler' going as far as to hang up on him when he'd tried one last time to reach out and warn the older men of the danger coming their way.

When Tony had returned him home from Germany, with no contact as Peter was ferried through a collection of set-up Uber rides and emailed plane tickets to his phone, he'd implied that he'd come back for the teen in some capacity of working together. It seemed that Spider-Man was finally going to be taken seriously. Stark even assigned Happy to Peter as a 'handler' an official go-between for the teen while Tony focused on the things going on with the Avengers. He'd taken it all at face value, naive, believing that his hero identity was being given space to grow with the bigger heroes. He'd wanted so badly to earn the approval of the Avengers, to be a member of their team. But instead, he'd been sent home with his tail between his legs and a verbal lashing. 

"Was he going to give it back to me?" The thought escaped his lips, Friday taking it as a direct question,

"There were several beginning attempts diverted with trails for pardoning the rouge Avengers." Of course. It had only been a few months after the whole fiasco at the airport, and whatever else happened that severed the team in such a manner. He'd kept out of the gossip rags, too bitter to pay attention to what rumors came out of what really went down, hidden agendas, and possible outcomes for the rogues when Tony decided to try and pardon them. He hadn't expected it when the news declared Tony Stark official babysitter of the ex-Avengers, made Avengers again. 

"Found the suit, this thing needs some touch-ups," Tony declared, the elevator doors barely opening before he'd started speaking.

Swallowing his questions, too tired to dive into that discussion, Peter only nodded in agreement. No argument as Tony swept a hand across the holograms, everything disappearing once again, unnoticing what had caught the teen's eye. A topic for another day, Tony's bright eyes and infectious grin stabbed into his chest as his mentor tossed the suit into Peter's arms.

"Where do we start?"

"I've got a few ideas."

"Team Dinner is set to begin in the next twenty minutes," Friday's voice broke Peter of his intense concentration, soldering gun spluttering as he jerked away from the exposed wires of his web shooters. He'd lost track of time as he fiddled with his equipment, mostly reinforcing what already existed, tightening the loose wires from their hazardous layout. It was relaxing being able to pour himself into his suit once again, he'd missed it.

Tony let out a few colorful sentences when Friday finished her declaration, but his eyes remained glued to the diagram of Peter's suit where he'd been evaluating the fabric's needs for reinforcements for the last hour. When he made no indication of abandoning his project, Peter set his own down, unfolding himself from the rolling chair in a slow stretch. His elbows popped as he twisted them, the dull ache in his joints subsiding from sitting with them bent for so long.

Sensing Tony would happily work away and ignore the dinner entirely, he felt obligated to play devil's advocate. Truly, he was largely encouraged by his stomach's intense hunger pangs, digestive system quick to adapt to the calorie jump, and already reminding him that he'd missed a meal.

"We can come back to this later, Tony." The other man didn't reply, just shook his head sharply, lips tucked into an unhappy line. They stood in silence beside each other, neither really seeing the hologram before them as Peter waited for Tony to see reason. It was sooner than he expected, Tony sighed deeply a minute later, shoulders dropping and hands loose at his sides. A depressed slump in his spine that hadn't been there the last four hours. 

"I guess it's time to face the music," 

"It can't be that bad, Banner will be there, right?" Tony chuckled darkly, as if Peter was missing an obvious hiccup, but did not offer to fill in the blanks. Clapping the teen on the shoulder, he gave him a playful shove toward the elevator door,

"I need to feed you dinner anyway, Pep would have my head if I let you skip a meal. You've been doing good with those protein bars, in another week I'd assume your system will be fully back to normal." Another week. Originally, Peter only planned to stay a few more days, but the idea of leaving didn't settle right with him now. He found he liked the idea of staying here, working with Tony, and not worrying about taking care of himself a while longer. As they stepped into the elevator, shoulder to shoulder, he thought over his plans for the future. His apartment search would have to begin again, not to mention he'd have to drag himself back into the 7-Eleven. 

When Tony directed Friday to the training floor, Peter was confused. He hadn't gotten to explore the entire floor when he'd visited it, but he remembered the kitchen he'd stumbled into enough to know that it wouldn't house a half dozen heroes eating dinner. He wasn't sure what he expected for New York's mightiest heroes, but dinner in a gym wasn't exactly his first thought. 

"Training floor?" 

"Neutral territory," was all that Tony offered, his tone already tense. But he gave a small private grin for Peter's sake. A silence settled over the two of them, not uncomfortably as Peter followed Tony onto the training level, dutifully memorizing the turns he took this time, dedicated to not getting lost anytime soon. Eventually they neared a tucked away room, deep into the belly of the floor, that carried both the rise and fall of voices and the rich smell of something cooking. 

Tony hesitated for a second with his palm almost to the door's handle. It happened in such a manner that the teen was sure that the older man didn't mean to, it reminding him of the pause before plunging himself into a cold shower. Like his body froze him for a split second, testing his dedication to facing whatever sat behind the doors. Whatever went down between the heroes, Peter was certain that the world knew next to nothing about it. He didn't like feeling out of the loop, especially when it came to a nervous Tony Stark. He'd never seen the man as off kilter as he'd been since they left the lab, carrying the air of a man facing the firing squad.

But before he could ask, Tony was pushing the the door open, leaving him to trail after.

They stepped into the mouth of a larger version of Tony’s main area, this floor having a large wooden dining table that easily sat a dozen people, separating an entire kitchen space and lounge area. It was clean, professional and as Tony said, neutral.  

Natasha was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, stirring a large pot, steam rolling out of the top in lazy swirls. Clint was there too, a relief to Peter for some reason, and waved to them cheerfully from his position beside the woman. They’d been locked in conversation, but at their arrival had turned to watch the door. He hadn't seen Natasha since the day on the tarmac, only briefly making eye of fact with the female Avenger.

He’d imagined her taller up close, maybe it was the cool detached manner she held herself that blew her up in his conscious. Instead she stood a little shorter than May, she smiled softly at him, an eyebrow raised in surprise. Before turning her gaze back towards Stark, she and Clint carried the same twin look of evaluation when peering at Tony today. As if they weren’t quite sure if he was entirely in check. 

Sam and Steve were nowhere to be seen, which eased the atmosphere immediately as Tony’s shoulder lowered, his strides gaining length and they moved deeper into the room.

He nodded at Barton, remaining out of the kitchen but watching them closely from his position beside the table. 

“Natasha, I see they chose you to slave away for us tonight,” 

“I apparently am still the only adult who can cook here, aside from Steve who I hear made last weeks meal,” Tony didn’t deny the accusation, just smirked as if to say not one of my skills. Peter felt proud to know that Tony in fact could cook, and did a damn good job. A personal insight to the older man that the others lacked. 

“Banner will be attending,” he tossed out as he turned to take in the room, Natasha’s stirring paused for a moment, before resuming with more dedication. “Pepper is busy, unfortunately, but I’m sure you gal pals have already discussed that and plan to catch up at another time,” she smiled widely at that. 

“I told her I’d send you back with some stroganoff for her.” 

“Always the errand boy,” Tony teased, waving Peter forward from where he stood behind the older man. “This is my intern, Peter,” 

He nodded a greeting, keeping his mouth shut as the redhead gave a small smirk. 

“You’re different than I imagined,” he only shrugged, unsurprised at her insight into his identity. Tony had always warned him about spies, and she was one of the best. He didn’t understand how Tony could live around people whose job was to dig up information hidden from them. How could a person feel safe, with the eyes constantly tracking them? 

He couldn’t pin what Natasha’s face did when the door behind them opened, Steve and Sam’s voices filling the space behind them all. Her eyes flicked to Tony, almost too fast to see, but the emotion in them she kept tightly tucked away. Raising a bright eyebrow at Peter’s squint. 

Steve slowly rounded the table beside Peter, politely leaving him a reasonable amount of space when he slipped past to set a large salad bowl on the counter. Apparently Tony and Peter missed the memo of the potluck, or maybe Roger’s was old school and brought a side to all group meals. May had a neighbor like that, an older lady who constantly made the same snicker salad whenever they invited her to dinner after her husband passed away. 

“Why don’t we eat,” Clint chirped, spinning to dig in the cupboards for plates. Peter waited with Tony at the back of the room while Sam and Steve greeted the other heroes, polite and meaningless conversation filling the room.

”Tones?” Excitement welled in Peter at the voice of James Rhodes. He spun to greet the war hero but froze as he took in the hardware on his legs. Banner hovered behind Rhodey, waving a shy greeting to the rest of the room. But Peter was locked onto the leg braces, clearly something Tony had constructed, he hadn’t realized just how permanent the damage to the colonel’s legs had been. 

The day on the tarmac Peter had been knocked around a little too hard, benched by Tony for most of the second half of the fight. He wasn’t necessarily against it, his body worn from fighting other heroes with intense strength. During his time out, he’d missed the injury War Machine had taken. He’d heard the upset reactions of Tony, and the commotion after, but he’d barely seen the other hero before he was whisked off once again. Stuffed into a hotel to waste time before being returned home like an unwanted puppy. 

To see how the hero walked, his legs whirling in Peter’s enhanced hearing, it caused a stone of realization to settle in the teen’s gut. This reunion, the pardoning of the other rogues, it went deeper than he could understand. He’d missed too much to fully understand this group's dynamic, only vaguely picking up on the stiff interactions and undercurrent of something simmering unsaid below the surface. 

“Honey bear, just in time. Steve brought the salad,” Tony too had perked up at the arrival of his oldest friend, joking with a fondness in his eyes. The others continued exchanging greetings, several of them remarking on how glad they were to see Rhodes back in the tower. Peter assumed that his presence was a rarity, much like Natasha’s own arrival. Peter tried to gain his bearings, listening to three different conversations at once till Rhodes singled him out, his braces clicking as he moved to stand beside Peter, dark eyes jumping between Tony and the teen, 

“I assume this is Junior?” he was looking at Tony, pinning his best friend with an exasperated eyebrow. Tony only grabbed Peter by his shoulders and shoved him towards the other man, brandishing him like a favored pet.

"Intern Peter, meet my best friend, James Rhodes.” Peter stiffly stuck out an arm, ensuring his grasp was the proper side of tight as he shook the colonel’s hand. 

“It’s an honor to meet you,” Tony snickered behind him. “I didn’t get to really say hi last time, you know with the fighting and all the running around. But I would have if I had the time, I’m Peter.”

"You’re less squeaky than the last time I saw you,” Rhodey grinned and the teen could feel his ears burning. His first impression being that of a squeaky kid wasn’t exactly his finest moment. 

“The kid has moved in with me and Pep for a bit, we are getting in our lab hours that we’ve always talked about.” Stark sounded every bit the part of a proud father whose son returned from college for the summer. Rhodes clearly having noticed the same thing, gave an understanding smile and nodded, 

“‘Bout time you got him here, Tony wouldn’t stop yammering about his kid genius. You should have heard his ramblings.” Tony didn’t deny it, if anything, he looked proud of the fact, shining eyes jumping between his friend and Peter.

“I am glad to be here,” he replied truthfully, following Tony’s sudden beckoning to load a plate with food, the other heroes were already beginning to find seats. Sam and Steve took the opposing ends of the table, while Clint sat between Natasha and Bruce their backs to the wall. It left the other side of the table empty for Tony and his company, who eventually came to sit in their available spots. Peter's plate loaded as high as he could get it after Tony's encouragement to continue getting more until Peter felt it unreasonable, and bargained that he could come back again, and no he did not want the rabbit food either.

He couldn't help but wonder if there was such a thing as too many kitchens on a single floor as he sat tucked between Tony and Rhodey, both adults protectively turned the slightest bit towards him. It felt more like a conference than a team dinner, the air stifled with professionalism. But soon enough Sam was asking questions, goading Clint about their workouts, while Natasha conversed with Steve quietly near the end of the table. Peter fended for himself with Rhodey, mouth full half the time that the older man asked him questions, which was on purpose he realized when Tony laughed loudly and called his friend out for stressing the kid. 

"Mister Stark offered to help me get the suit reconfigured, there is a bit of maintenance I let go, but the lab." He shook his head in awe at Rhodey who'd asked what the two of them had been up to today. "I could never get used to the lab, it's the coolest thing. We could fix anything in there, right Mister Stark?" Tony nodded, softly smiling as Rhodes continued asking Peter about what he wanted to do with his identity now that he was out of high school. A brief pat on the arm from Tony let him know that the older man was disappearing into the kitchen after Clint mentioned bringing some scotch made from corn locally in Iowa that he'd brought for Tony to try.

"I have a lot more free-time now, I wanted to get out there this week and see how the city has been. I haven't been nearly as active as I hoped to be this year," he admitted to Rhodey, who nodded in understanding, 

"Sometimes it's good to have down time, Tony wasted a whole summer after college, he ever tell you about that? I am pretty sure he taught Dummy to play ping pong that year, right Tones?" Tony who'd disappeared into the kitchen a few moments before with Clint's glass, as well as his own, appeared beside Peter again, amber liquid lazily sloshing in the short tumblers as he passed one to Clint. Settling into his seat, he smiled impishly, 

"That robot never learned it, I am pretty sure he just liked hitting stuff without getting into trouble and-"

"He's a little young to be dragging him into this world, don't you think, Tony?" Steve had a manner of speaking that grated Peter's nerves. There was just the slightest hint of patronizing, as if Tony had brought up a whim of an idea, some half-baked plan, and presented it to the group. It was insulting to the man's intelligence, let alone the assumption that Tony was deciding what Peter chose to do with his powers and his life. The teen couldn't help but frown at the ancient hero, the stubborn tilt of his chin, blue eyes locked onto his mentor.

Roger's question hung in the air above them as Tony took a deep pull of his whiskey, the chunk of ice within the glass tinkling as he avoided looking at Steve, refusing to take the bait. Natasha did respond, to Peter's surprise. "I am fairly certain most all of us within this room, chose to do what we do on our own and at very similar ages." Not quite a chastisement, but a clear disagreement in her tone, there was a furrow between her brows that hadn't been there at the beginning of dinner.

Rhodes was quiet on the other side of Peter, staring at the Captain, body stiff. Bruce seemed to be trying his best to disappear into his seat while Clint nodded in agreement, fork spinning between his fingers, "I think Tony made it pretty clear that Peter is in charge of what he's doing." 

"I am an adult," he reminded the group, forcing steel into his spine as he sat. He'd avoided the Avengers, turning down the chance to be on their team, and for a long time he'd told himself that his pride had taken away the opportunity of a lifetime. He'd wasted a lot of mental energy kicking himself for being stubborn and denying the chance of comfort to spite Tony. But right now, packed around the tension-riddled table, he wasn't sure that he'd made a mistake as he'd believed for so long. This patched-together crew didn't remind him of the regal team of heroes that banned together time and time again in the past, rather it felt like a dysfunction-stricken family.

"How old are you, Peter?" There was genuine curiosity in Sam's even tone, 

"Nearly twenty."

"He's young, Tony. Don't you think he should be in school?" Steve pressed, truly seeming concerned now. Wasn't this the hero who tried everything possible to enlist in the army and serve his country? The hypocrisy was stifling, sucking the air out of the room bit by bit with every demanding question made by Rogers. Peter felt his gaze snap to Tony, the older man avoiding Peter's eyes, hand rubbing at his chest absently, he quickly sucked down the rest of his whiskey, a grimace on his lips, his glass spinning in his grasp.

"You want another?" Clint offered, eyeing the empty glass with surprise, Peter himself felt uneasy watching Tony squirm and drink so rapidly. He'd barely been sat for two minutes, it wasn't often Peter even saw the older man drink, he'd noted the lack of alcohol in the Stark's level this morning when Pepper puttered around the kitchen. He'd always imagined a collection of expensive liquors, a personal bar, something that pointed to Tony's historical inclination to partying and alcohol. 

"I'd better not, the apple doesn't fall far from the tree," a self-deprecating smile teased the edge of Stark's lips, his fork poking at his pasta. "Nat, I think this might be your specialty. You should come around more often." Natasha smiled softly, accepting Tony's compliment with a tilt of her head, forgoing the fact that his plate was almost entirely untouched. Peter's own plate was clear as he waited for everyone to eat one plate while his stomach demanded seconds, yet his manners required he stay seated until everyone had at least partially caught up.

"You shouldn't tarnish his memory like that," the disapproval was palpable in Steve's voice, shaking his head in heavy disappointment at Tony's claim to his father's drinking. It was like his comment vacuumed the air out of the room, a clear line being crossed with his correction. The silence became heavier if possible, Bruce squirming in discomfort without trying to hide it anymore, everyone's eyes were locked on Steve, but his attention didn't leave Tony's eyes where they were locked in a challenge, justice warrior stance taken as much as possible while sitting in an Ikea chair. 

"Right," Tony rubbed at his wrist, nodding in false understanding, "I forgot that you knew Howard for twenty-one years, you're right. Howard wasn't a drunkard, just sloshed on most occasions, how could I forget." That seemed to settle Steve some, an abashed look in his eyes as he pointed a hand at Peter.

"It isn't a good example, talking about one's parents like that in front of the kid. I know I didn't know Howard that long, I just-" but Clint seemingly to decide that the wartime hero had said enough and cut in. 

"Bruce, what is it that you've been working on, I hear you've been in the tower for a few months now."

Bruce glanced at Tony, seeming nervous about the redirected attention of the group. "I have been working on a few humanitarian efforts, creating a few programs that work to mediate damage costs and insurances in the face of unprecedented hazards,"

"Clean up for us," Tony stiffly offered, stripping the sugar coating from his friend's words, Bruce nodded solemnly, a hand motioning at Tony as if to say that.

"It started with Ultron, Tony and I realized just how much collateral occurs, insurance can take months. Healthcare coverage is even more of a joke, but with the development of these laws, we hope to create relief systems, and help mitigate some of the stress for the citizens." He was touched by the awareness taken by Tony and Bruce, the wreckage behind heroes too often left to be handled by those unfortunate enough to have lost their belongings, loved ones, or livelihoods.

"That's smart, I guess I hadn't thought about that," Clint offered shamefully, a hand rubbing at the side of his face, eyes thoughtful as he watched Tony. It wasn't hidden information, but definitely not something that the media liked to paste on the front cover. How Tony's own teammate didn't know of his and Banner's efforts didn't make any sense to Peter. When the Avengers announced their reconnection with one another, it had been portrayed as the Accords being settled, Tony working to pardon the other heroes who'd run off and reunite the team. But in his limited life experience, if Peter had learned one thing, it was that things put back together rarely fit like they were originally intended. There were always going to be pieces that wouldn't slip back, abrasions being smoothed over, and a lighter touch on the fragile connections.

"I think that is an honorable focus, if you need any help on it let me know," Tony scoffed, Steve frowning at the response,

"No offense Rogers, but I tried that, remember the whole reason the team split up? Different format, same issue. We don't seem to see eye to eye." Sam muttered something to himself too low for Peter to hear, his head in his hands as the night continued to deteriorate.

"I think we've learned how to communicate better-"

"Oh, have you?" Rhodes aggressively interrupted. "See, the last time I saw you try and problem solve, it ended up with my best friend in a dead suit, your shield in his chest, laying in Siberia for twelve hours." Not to mention the fact that the colonel also lost his own legs, relying on Tony's mechanical prowess to recreate his ability to walk.

"What the fuck?"  Clint and everyone else swiveled towards Tony, varying degrees of shock on their faces, while Steve shrunk back into his chair. None looked as horrified as Tony, his dark eyes sparking in disbelief that Rhodey would bring what apparently no one felt was necessary to share with the team.

It suddenly made sense, the backup mode of communication in Peter's suit. The bruised and battered appearance of Stark at the airport, the absolute anxiety that Tony radiated when coming around Steve. Asshole facade fully enacted around the other hero, it wasn't Tony being butthurt over a disagreement with the Accords, it was fear. Peter couldn't look away from his mentor, imagining what could have happened. Another parental figure lost, this time before Peter even had the opportunity to mess it up himself. 

"It was a mistake," the pleading in Roger's voice did nothing to soothe the raging monster in Peter's chest, his hands shaking with fury as he watched the man who Tony felt was his friend, who he homed and funded for years, tried to excuse himself for leaving Tony for dead in the freezing temperatures of Siberia. 

"No man behind, wasn't that a motto somewhere in your army days, Asswipe?" He spat, chair flying backward as he shoved to his feet. He felt ready to strangle the hero, heart pounding at the idea of his mentor stuck in a suit, slowly freezing to death hoping that someone knew where to find him. "That suit probably weighs nearly four hundred pounds, didn't you think of that?" Iron Man moved with an ease that many forgot came from the mechanics alone, the suit itself was immensely heavy. The protective nature came from the intense makeup of the metal, the solidity of its creation allowing for Tony to be tossed through buildings, fight aliens, and general mayhem that his human body could never handle. Its strength was also its weakness, like the power steering of a car once the mechanics stopped, it became nearly impossible to haul around, let alone an injured fully human man stuck within its confines. 

"Shit," Sam muttered, looking at Steve as if he'd never seen him before, even on the other end of the table, he was still learning away from the captain. 

"Why would you do that?" Natasha asked, voice suspicious as if she had an inkling as to what kind of emotional fallout could have brought the two to head.

"It doesn't really matter, Friday did her job, she made sure I had a rescue beam up and out there for space force to pick up," Tony was rubbing at his wrist, an unstable grin on his face. Peter could see the way his pulse thrummed beneath his chin, and could practically hear Tony internally screaming at the exposer.

"He was after Bucky, I couldn't let him hurt my friend," Rogers attempted to explain, holding his hands out to stop the verbal backlash, but it did little to help.

"So you choose friends?" Clint demanded disgust on his face. It made Peter feel marginally better to see the other Avengers so blindsided by this information, but he still didn't understand why  Tony had kept it a secret. His ex-friend left him for dead. Did he even know someone would come for Tony? Or was he so blind to his fear of Bucky's endangerment that he chose the lesser sacrifice? 

"He's a damn super soldier, Steve. How could you think Tony would-" she stopped herself, face paling. Turning empathetic eyes to Tony, she tucked her lips into a thin line, "You said you were going to tell him, that is why I didn't. You promised me."

Now it was Tony's turn to pale, eyes too dark in his face as he stared at her with betrayal. "You knew the whole time?" 

"Knew what?" Peter barked, feeling antsy at the lack of information. Tony looked heartbroken, and Steve shameful as he began to speak,

"I didn't tell him, they left a video for Tony, things got out of hand, I just wanted to keep Bucky safe."

"Video of what, coward?" Rhodes' voice was cold, a cruel edge of indifference in it as he stared the captain down. The colonel had obviously been sitting on this information, the absolute fury and disgust on his face, as he stared the blond down, matched the feeling writhing in Peter's chest.

Steve tried to catch Tony's eye, but the other man was staring at his empty glass, entirely detached from the crowd of heroes around him. Accepting his fate, Steve squared his jaw, "They had a video of Tony's parents the night of their death, it was orchestrated by Hydra. Bucky was brainwashed, he was a different man, but Tony wouldn't listen." He was practically begging for the others to understand, the silence and shocked faces doing nothing to appease the growing panic on Roger's face when no one took his defense.

"So you two decided to beat the shit out of him, and leave him behind to die to get away clean, neglecting the fact that he just watched his parents murder for the first time?!" Tony waved a hand at Rhodes, indicating for him to leave it or something else, Peter would never know because Steve said,

"I didn't want it to happen that way, Howard was a good man," and then Peter was over the table. In the blink of an eye, he was on the older man, fist connecting with his jaw, sending Steve flying backward in his chair. He didn't hold back as he landed on the older man, landing blow after blow on Steve's arms, crossed in protection over his head. He wanted to hurt him, for him to feel the fear Tony had to have felt, facing two heroes alone, and then left injured in the subzero weather of Siberia.

"He let you stay here, he gave you a purpose!" With the strength of the enraged super soldier, he was thrown off of the captain, landing on his feet beside the table just as everyone began to react to the outbreak of violence. Tony was shouting something at him, but all he could see was red, fury so intense he could hardly breathe with it as he launched himself at the staggering hero again, twisting with his own momentum in the air to kick with both legs as hard as he could, the captain crashing into the wall with a satisfying crack. 

Surging forward, he hauled the blond to his feet, holding him against the wall, toes dangling. Peter was easy to underestimate, he pulled back his strength in almost every interaction he had, and he wasn't sure he even understood his full capacity, holding a reign on himself as to not reach out and punch Roger's face into a smear on the wall took everything in Peter. "He paid for your fuckery, the gear, the food, the housing, the equipment. That shit doesn't grow on trees, the government you served doesn't make that crap, they didn't pay to pardon your asses. You absolute shit smear, you spat in the face of a man who took you in after his own Father spent his life looking for you, his shitty father that you didn't even know." Steve was staring at him in a daze, confused at the sudden strength of the teen, blood trailing down his face from where his nose sat crooked on his face.

"Enough!" Tony's voice boomed beside his head, glancing to the side he took in the panicked eyes of his mentor, face drawn as he held a hand out towards Peter. "Set him down, I don't want you this upset,"

"I am not upset, I am fucking pissed," he slammed the captain against the wall for emphasis, satisfied with the way that his head bounced against the wall. He wanted to scream, to beat the other man into admitting how he'd fucked up, how he chose wrong and had hurt someone so important to Peter. He'd never felt so overwhelmingly angry in his life, never wanted to hurt someone in the way he did right now.

"I am right here, kiddo." A hand softly patted his shoulder, tears springing into the teen's eyes. He shook his head, refusing to let the anger go from where it filled his chest,

"How can you stand him being here? Tony he doesn't deserve it, he hurt you," his voice cracked painfully, Steve's face a blur through the tears that refused to stop rolling down his cheeks. How someone could call Tony a friend, live with him, fight with him, and then turn around and throw it all away? Not only that, threw it away while brutalizing a human man, who reacted in agony to his own parent's death played before him. Finding out that his friend knew all along, and still chose to protect the murderer, brainwashed out not, Peter would have tried to fight him too. Losing a parent was a pain so deeply wound in your being that you never got over it, it overwhelmed everything. He'd almost taken Tony from him too.

"Come on, Rogers you're upsetting my kid, let him go." He hadn't noticed Steve's hands grasping at his wrists, alleviating some of his weight from dangling by his collar that was choking him. Steve dropped his hands, rolling his dazed blue eyes to Tony, 

"I'm sorry, Tony." Tony gave a grim nod, choosing not to respond as Peter stepped back unsteadily, shoving Steve away from him so that his body slumped against the wall.

He rubbed at his eyes, ignoring the way that Tony was offering him comfort as if Peter's secrets had been exposed and not his own. Everything about this was unfair. He let himself be led numbly towards the door, noting that none of the others had tried to check on Steve, Bruce noticeably absent. 

"It's okay," Tony muttered, a strong hand on the back of Peter's neck. He wanted to comfort his mentor but found he could only cry. He was so furious, so angry with the unfairness Tony faced, pardoning his attacker, taking him into his own home by force of circumstance. They made it out of the door, and half way back to the elevator before Peter broke,

"It isn't right," he sobbed, holding Tony's forearms as he turned to face him, eyes roving the older man's concerned face. "He hurt you. He could have killed you. What would New York do?!"

"I am not that crucial to New York, buddy." The joke was weak, a layer of discomfort taking the humor out of it.

"What would I do, I'd be alone." May was gone, Tony at a distance sure, but Tony dead? The last father figure that Peter shut away, a father that could have been taken away for good and Peter never knew it. He didn't try harder, he should have given Tony more chances.

"Just breathe," Stark encouraged, pulling the younger into a tight embrace. He felt like he was coming apart at the seams, his idea of the Avengers, the heroes of his childhood, just another wrecked collection of liars and fuck ups. 

"Tones?" Rhodey's voice called as he rounded the hallway. Spotting Peter clinging to his friend, his steps faltered, before moving closer at a slower pace. "You two okay?"

"We are fine." Peter refused to comment, instead forcing himself to take deep even breaths. "How is Cap's face?"

"Broken," you'd have to be stupid to miss the satisfaction there, but Rhodey didn't say anything else.

"Good," the teen muttered into Tony's shoulder, "I wish I broke more of him." Tony softly whacked his ear in chastisement before sighing,

"This is a shit show," and it was. It was the single worst dinner Peter had ever had, and he'd been in trouble with May enough time to suffer through some pretty horridly made meals. The food burnt, and clearly not made with love, but he suffered through just as May had, both in uncomfortable silence. Those didn't hold a candle to the passive-aggressive, yet short, dinner tonight.

"I'm sorry, I just couldn't take the way he was-"

"Save it honey-bear, we need a nap." Jostling Peter, he began their walk to the elevator again, tugging the moping teen beside him, "We can talk about it later, but this is a lot for me."

Unable to argue with that, Peter forced his legs to carry him beside his mentor, following closer than he had to perhaps, but unable to force himself to take more distance. 

Chapter Text

The return to Stark’s floor was a solemn experience for Peter, bony shoulders tucking away into himself as best he could. He felt like he was coming unraveled, mind spinning itself in maddening circles, partially unnerved by the way he’d lost his cool, attacking another human for the sake of anger. He'd fought people, of course he had, most of his time as Spider-Man was spent fighting the petty crimes of humanity. But he'd never lost control, hitting to do damage for the sake of damage, pleased to see the blood on Roger's face.

He’d never let himself be so utterly angry, slim grasp on his emotions lapsing in place his emotions. 

The Peter Parker from two years ago would have never allowed himself to come unglued like that, even for the sake of Tony, but he wasn't the same.

He was a shattered, a stuck-together reflection of himself. A facade, endlessly pretending he had it together, ignoring that after the warehouse he’d glued himself together wrong. 

Stark chatted to Colonel Rhodes like it was any other day; as if he wasn't housing someone as unstable as Peter on the same floor. 

What if Peter hurt him?

He’d already attacked the older man verbally, continuously pushing him away, prioritizing himself over Tony just as the rogues had. He was barely better than Rogers. He was a liability, if he couldn't control himself, he couldn't be trusted. He’d be putting Tony at risk,

He was internally horrified, letting only a detached expression fall over his face while the older men spoke, voices muddled in his ears. May would be so disappointed in him. Spider-Man, attacking another hero over a fight that didn't even include him. It couldn't happen.

Tony left him to himself in the elevator, probably sensing the dark cloud that hovered above the teen, assuming he was stewing in anger at Steve. He was, God he was. He was furious at the betrayal Tony endured once again but deeper than that Peter was in fear of violating his ethics. He attacked someone.

His fists ached, wrist twinging from where it still hadn't fully healed before coming into contact with the face of one Captain America. 

When Peter began drifting towards his room, passing Tony who'd accepted the distance, he thought he'd make it to his room. Needing to be alone, to just think to himself without the presence of someone else. He just had to make it to his bed, where he could curl up under the covers and hide from his mistake, safe from the boogie man who haunted his every step.

But a hand caught his wrist, a firm grasp pulling him to a stop. Slowly he trailed his eyes up, following the dark hand, the crisp sleeves, and the forearm that eventually trailed his gaze to Colonel Rhodes' face. He was looking at Peter with a sense of shrewd examination, perplexed at the sudden emptiness reflecting in the teen's eyes. 

"Don't feel bad, kid. We all lose our cool sometimes," but Rhodes hadn't, none of the other Avengers had lifted a finger. Shame filled his face, cheeks reddening with embarrassment as Tony's own best friend confirmed that Peter had lost it, he'd crossed a line.

Nodding to get away from this conversation, to escape the two pairs of eyes watching him so closely, he turned back towards the hall, feet carrying him quicker than before to avoid any other interruptions.

He needed space, he needed to leave.

"I am going out, I'll be back, don't stay up."

He could hear Tony beginning to move after him, intending to intercept his departure but Rhodes began to whisper something, the footsteps stopping abruptly. Peter forced himself to not listen to the words, afraid of what was being said. 

He spent the next six hours patrolling the city, looking for anything that he could put his focus into. When he did find small pockets of crime across the city, he handled it quickly, making his absolute surest that he never laid a finger on the culprits. He’d never used this much web fluid in a single patrol, the sticky tendrils holding car thieves in place against the vehicles. Splatter bombs separating mugger from victim. Using the webs as extensions of himself to haul the no gooders where he wanted them. 

He wasn’t afraid of himself. He was being careful, wary of what he could do in a way he never had been before. His hands felt dangerous, knuckles tingling in phantom remembrance of that smashing blow he landed on Cap’s face. The crunch of his nose still ringing in his bones.

He couldn’t let himself slip, not now. Not after he’d done so much to shrink his world, to erase the risk of collateral damage simply because of his existence. It took half a week, and a few consistent meals for his self control to slip, for what he knew lurked beneath his skin to emerge. The anger he’d kept buried for so long, since his parents, Uncle Ben, Toomes, cutting off his friends, Tony, every single jagged hurt and betrayal done to him or by himself roiling behind his mask of indifference.

He has to be stronger, 

I wanted you to be better.

Only when he was nearly out of fluid did he begin to head to the tower, frustrated with himself when he had to walk the last few blocks, saving the last of his energy and webs to launch himself onto the Stark balcony and slip into his room.

It was late enough that there was no one up to bother him when he finally slunk back into the building. The floor dark around him, his footsteps accompanying him in the empty room, and that was just fine.

The next day, he slipped out early in the morning, rising before his alarm even had a chance to make itself heard. After shoving four of those awful bars into his face, he launched off of the balcony of Stark’s landing pad. His new cartridges in place on his wrists, extras in his suit. 

He found nothing to do, no amount of crime active in the early morning. He hadn’t expected it, but it felt good to do something for the city again. To exercise his self control, body burning with the ache of long underutilized muscles. The mental calculations of every swing blocked his thoughts, pushing away the guilt of ignoring May’s messages, of refusing to open his old social media pages in fear of his friends successes staring back at him. Ex-friends.

He wasted a couple hours on random rooftops, pretending his skin wasn’t prickling in his suit from the chill. Unwilling to turn on its insulation when it would warm up naturally in the rising temperature with everything else around him. He could endure it, it wasn’t anything too much, weak thermoregulation or not. He wasn’t weak, he wasn’t slipping.

By the time the afternoon rolled around his body forced him back to the tower for food. The heightened intake of calories once again reminding him why he’d forced himself to only eat small meals for nearly two years. His body’s tendency of metabolizing quickly always reared its ugly head when he had a few days of good meals in a row. He hated the way his body began to feel weak, to fall into a pattern so quickly even against his own wishes.

Wary of returning to demands and questions, he was relieved to find Tony locked away in another meeting according to Friday. The floor blessedly silent once again when he slipped in through the balcony. 

Pepper reportedly was gone for a few days, leaving a kind note to Peter about ordering whatever he wanted for food, and sleeping a regular schedule. She even doodled a little spider for him and left a sandwich already made for him settled in the fridge, no mustard just as he liked it. The distaste for the condiment mentioned in passing to Pepper the other morning together on the balcony before Tony woke for breakfast. 

He tucked the note into his bedside table’s drawer. Unsure why he kept it but unwilling to toss it away as he returned to his meal.

The floor seemed larger without anyone else in it, the space swallowing his every sound and motion. Muting everything in an uncomfortable manner, as if it knew he was an intrusion.

Only a week, then he’d be gone. 

Plate and crumbs cleaned away, all traces of his presence removed from the public domain, he decided to return to his room. Intent on showering the sweat off his body from the last two days as he felt just how much his muscles were begging for rest, his sleepless night catching up to him. He hadn’t pushed himself this hard in months…the shower leaving him sleepy, and swaying in exhaustion.

He let himself stand beneath the spray for far too long, reminding himself that Tony could foot the bill, a far too long shower being a luxury he hadn't let himself have for far too long. Only when he almost fell into the wall in exhaustion did he twist the far-too-confusing shower knob, cutting the spray before slipping out of the shower, cool air bringing goosebumps to his flesh as he exited to his room, leaving the steaming bathroom behind him.

The bed called to him as he took the time to redress in regular clothes, the suit tossed carelessly across the end of his bed. He wondered if the comforter was made of goose down, the fluff squishing below his frame when he dropped himself into the bed, promising himself a short nap. Sleep tugged at him immediately yet refused to fully settle over him until Friday confirmed three times that no one could enter unless he gave permission.

Only then did his muscles unlock, but still his mind wouldn’t allow him to fall into a deep, empty sleep. Rather images of Tony sprawled across a snowy scene haunted him. Peter’s own hands dripping in crimson as his mentor begged him to stay, crawling after the teen as he fled the scene. A series of similar dreary and confusing dreams filtered by, leaving him drowning in guilt and anxiety.

When he woke that evening, the sky turning gold with dusk, his nerves felt like live wires exposed, body more tense than before he’d slept. Both palms bore deep crescents where his fingers had pressed his nails into his skin as he endured nightmares.

Forcing himself to shake off the dream, he scoured the kitchen for food after questioning Friday about Tony’s location. Only after learning that the older man out with the Colonel, not lurking for Peter’s return, did he slip from his room, eating his fill before returning to his duty for the night. 

He couldn’t sleep anytime soon, Tony’s form twisted on the ground watching him accusingly from behind his eyelids every time he let his eyes close for too long.

On the third consecutive day of patrol, Peter flushed Tony’s call. Ignoring the first attempt of communication from the older man in a method other than Friday’s updates, and sticky notes stuck to the coffee maker.

It was clear that Peter was himself busy, only returning to the tower for meals, never staying longer than it took to brew a cup of coffee and shove food into his stomach.

The espresso pods that Peter had been flying through to keep himself awake in the lapse of sleep were always conveniently refilled, a thoughtful measure to take. Tony was obviously giving him space while ensuring Peter was taken care of.

He didn’t feel deserving of it, but he chugged a cup with too many espresso pods in it anyway before leaving after breakfast that morning. Taking advantage.

So when Tony called him, only to be ignored, Peter felt a twinge of guilt before reminding himself that the city needed him. He was only doing what he used to, he argued constantly to his conscience.

He was utilizing his free time as he’d dreamed of doing as a younger, more naive hero. 

By nearly three, Karen updated him on a gas station in his old side of town being held up. A teen girl’s voice rang fearfully, filling Peter’s ear as his radio tapped into her calling the police for help, explaining that a man had barged into the building, gun in hand, twitching and screaming for nobody to move.

His heart hurt for her as he listened to the shake in her voice when she said she was hiding behind the shelves, pleading for help, and then the dial tone.

Throwing himself across roof after roof, he knew he’d make it before any officers that had responded. He immediately lurched into action, ignoring the way his wrist ached and how the headache behind his eyes pounded. He’d let himself dehydrate for two days too long while patrolling endlessly. It wasn’t very impressive for Spider-Man to swing around with a water bottle on his hip, so he’d pushed through.

There were people in harm's way, he could handle a headache if it meant saving them.  

The gas station was quiet, they always were. You could drive past nine out of ten hold-ups without ever picking up on something being wrong, the silence covering the radiating fear and tension in the air.

After ensuring that there was only one robber, Friday scouring the security system twice for him, he slipped in through the building’s back door. The deadbolt on the inner portion of the door gave way under his grip. They’d forgive him. 

As soon as he breached the premise, adrenaline filled his veins with the aggressive demands for someone to speed the fuck up before I start shooting customers echoing in his super hearing.

It was always the same, threats and screaming at the people complying in fear. Nothing new. 

Moving on silent feet, he forced himself to slow down and take in the surroundings of the lobby. The gas station attendant panicking as they pleaded that the register didn’t have anything else to give.

Squeezing out of the door labeled employees only, he shifted into a crouch trying to plan his approach when a flash of blond hair in the corner of his eye, catching Peter’s attention. Familiar eyes stared at him in awe, his heart sinking when he recognized the face of the young girl he’d brushed off from his school. The one who’d tried to hit on him at his 7-Eleven job, who he’d shut down with indifference of the bright smile and cheerful eyes. 

Now those kind eyes were red-rimmed, staring at him with hope instead of disappointment like they had the last time they’d parted. That was the difference between Spider-Man and Peter Parker. 

“He’s over-“ she started to point, foolishly speaking loudly to him, fully trusting his ability to save her from harm. The intruder, hearing her voice whirled to face the new threat, face slacking in shock at seeing an actual hero in the gas station. Then a frown overtook the bitter-eyed man’s face, a sneer twisting the thin lips behind his long beard as the gun raised towards Peter. 

“You ain’t getting in my way today,”

”I wouldn’t dream of it truly.” He reassured, standing to his full height, forcing his limbs to loosen from the aggressive stance they had taken. Friday estimated the police five minutes out in his ear, his eyes scanning the store to confirm that it was only the four of them inside. How long had it been since he’d been in a hold-up like this, months? Half a year? The time he’d wasted, losing his touch. 

“I’ll put a bullet in you,” he didn’t doubt he’d try. 

”As basic as that is,” leaning against the coffee counter, vanilla late machine knocking into his elbow, he crossed a knee over his other leg. “It really wouldn’t stop me, you know how it goes. You shoot me, I smack you, you cry, I still hand your ass over to the cops. I get a donut, you get a cold cell.”

”Or I could aim for the head,” it wasn’t entirely inaccurate. His senses tingling suddenly, confirming the man’s intentions.

“Think of the mess you’d be making for poor-” he peered over the miscreant’s shoulder, the attendant's name tag barely legible at the distance behind the counter. “Tod to clean up.”

”It’s Rod,” the greasy man corrected, apparently names were more important than following the unspoken rule of hold-ups, which was unless it was to answer a question. First timer. 

“I’m not going back to the slammer,” a weird motivation for a man holding up a gas station. 

“You know most of you guys are getting caught these days, the ski mask really does little to protect you, and like I said,” spreading his arms wide, he blinked the lenses slowly in a way he knew disturbed people. “A bullet isn’t gonna stop me from snagging your ass.” 

The gun twitched, his senses losing their urgency as the man considered turning himself in. When the firearm began to raise, Peter frowned in confusion when his body didn’t urge him to duck, or fight. Maybe the robber was handing himself in. But he wouldn’t be Peter Parker if that was the intentions of the grimy man.

Unfortunately for him, and everyone he interacted with, he was Peter Parker, an inescapable curse following his every step. Cold horror gripped him when the gun veered away, instead aiming at the blond girl still kneeling across from Peter,

”It’ll stop her,” was the cold reply before the sound of the gun exploded in Peter’s ears. His body was unable to move fast enough to stop the awful sound of bullet hitting flesh, and her cry of pain.

Lurching after her falling form, he turned his back to the attacker. A stupid decision, but his gloved hands were already grasping at her body, searching for the injury. Heedless of the opening he left for the attacker. 

Panic swarmed his mind, white noise in his ears drowning out how the entrance swung open, ridiculous bell tinkling at the departure of the shooter, his footsteps loud against the concrete.

Peter was too busy kneeling beside the teen to take after him. Her blouse was dark, the stain growing with every second she lay on the ground. He ignored the way it began to pool behind her back, soaking his knees. 

“Call an ambulance,” he barked, hands pressed into the wound on the girl’s upper chest. He couldn’t see the wound, but he could hear the way her breath rattled loudly in her chest. And then, she stared up at Peter, her eyes blank, stare entirely unfocused in the pale of her face.

Freckles stood out violently on her cheeks, she couldn’t be more than sixteen. 

”Shit, shit, shit,” he chanted, beginning compressions. He couldn’t see her breathing, those haunted eyes looking at nothing at all where they strayed locked above his shoulder.

In the midst of his counting, the employee emerged at his elbow, and pushed him aside, taking over the compressions, “Go get that piece of shit,”

The sound of the girl’s ribs cracking with the compressions chased Peter out of the store.

“Friday where is he?” He demanded, fury replacing his fear, a list of directions to take filling his ear as soon as Friday examined the cameras surrounding their location.

He was done letting this happen, he wouldn’t let this happen again. 

The man hadn’t gotten far, barely four blocks before Peter found him, his jacket and gun abandoned in a weak attempt to fit in with the crowd around him. Friday confirmed it was the same man, his mask taken off foolishly in the middle of a shop district, cameras catching him red-handed.

Peter trailed him for another block, waiting till the man moved into a small quiet ally before lowering himself to the ground. His body was shaking with anger, an anguished and fury-laced scream vibrating in his chest silently. 

Kicking an abandoned can, he watched with grim satisfaction as the murderer jumped in fear. His scraggly beard parted to reveal his shocked mouth hanging open. Then he began to bluster, turning to anger to cover his fear.

“Come any closer and I’ll gut you,” he pulled a knife out of his pocket, it wasn’t the shortest blade he’d ever seen, but definitely not the most impressive. 

“You killed her,” forcing a calm he didn’t possess into his steps, Peter advanced towards the man. His body moving in the smooth gate of a predator. 

“Better her than me,” 

“That just isn't true,” with a slight shove of his back foot, he was in the man’s space before he could register that the teen moved. The knife glinted in the air as it spun after Peter swung towards the exposed elbow, the joint forced upwards with a sickening crack.

He barely heard the man’s begging as he hauled him up, the sniveling form trying to curl away from the hero. He didn’t give a shit, he deserved it. He could feel the feeble wrist bones crunching, snapping beneath his hand. His strength unchecked in a manner he’d never struggled with. But he just didn’t give a fuck right now.

Peter’s heart had always hurt for the victims he’d seen as Spider-Man. He felt pity for the loss, he felt despair for the deaths. But he’d never been this furious. His mask entirely expressionless as he dragged the wailing murderer towards a wall, shoving his back against it, skull bouncing against Peter’s forearms with the whiplash. 

“You deserve what’s coming,” it was a guttural grow that ripped from his chest, the words burning his throat. In a last-ditch effort to free himself, the attacker shoved his remaining elbow deep into Peter’s throat. His esophagus screamed in agony at the crunch of his larynx. 

Then he snapped again, patience well worn thin.

His fist smashed through the wall beside the man’s face, brick and mortar showering his feet. The smell of urine in the air as terrified eyes peered up at his mask, the facade of his hidden strength fully stripped at the loss of control. 

“Mama, it’s Spidey!” A child’s voice cried in awe behind them, unaware of how Peter’s hand was crushing the man’s scapula into pieces, bones giving way with simple snaps. He’d never realized how feeble the human body was. 

When the child’s mother began to speak to another person, panic in her tone, he stepped back, unwilling to, he didn’t know what he planned to do, but no innocent child needed to see anyone beat. Not even pieces of shit like this, 

He dropped the man’s limp form, consciousness having left him at the immense and sudden pain of his shoulder's obliteration. 

He wanted to feel bad, wanted to regret it, but Peter could only feel anger. Choked, violent anger at the loss of the girl, furious despair at himself for proving he was a hazard. A danger. The fear nipping at his heels since the Avengers dinner finally proved a reality.

He couldn’t be here.

Karen was already detailed the update of police heading his way for the slumped and broken form of the shooter when Peter leapt out of the ally. The judgment of the jump was off, causing his leap to send the dumpster launching into a wall with his push off of its surface to reach the nearest roof.

The crowd gathering at the mouth of the ally left behind as Spider-Man fled, cameras following his lurching form.

He swung himself higher than usual as he escaped across the city. Body twisting in a flip on its own accord, trained through years of swinging between buildings. He tuned out the radio in his ear, ignoring the reports of the police at both sites.

Only when he launched his highest swing yet did he give a thought to the fact that he didn’t know where he was going, he wasn’t even sure where he was, his thoughts only focusing on angling himself exactly as needed to curve his velocity to ease the jerk of the next web.

Except he didn’t shoot another web to secure himself. He continued to fall, the wind whistling its muted tune as he cut through the air. The sound of his last web connecting in his ears, cracking in a sick mimicry of the shooter's bones.

He’d never really let himself free fall before, in the past he was too focused on the next step, the person he was helping to let himself waste a second longer than necessary. When he used to help people, he hadn’t had someone die on his call. Hadn’t fucked up this extreme, Spider-Man’s casualties were victims before his arrival, never after. 

He was surprised to find it peaceful, falling without direction, the wind blowing his limbs loose where he let them. He should catch himself, he thought absently, noting the way the floors surged past him, each level indicating the danger growing, he wondered what it would be like to fall fully. A spider puddle on the ground, a splatter, and done. Morbid, but a thought he twisted in his mind, heedless of the panicked voice yelling in his ear.

Tony somehow had overridden his order to Karen to keep contact to emergencies only. A recent allowance he made due to his guilt of ignoring Tony’s call.

He raised his wrist to shoot a web, panic rising as he realized just how low he was getting to the rising pavement.

He started to aim a frantic wrist but his body slammed sideways with a force that knocked the air from his lungs. Cold, unrelenting iron crunching his ribs as he was swooped into the arms of Iron Man. The armored embrace crushed him to the older man’s chest, the grip too tight and pinching.

He tried to twist himself to face the other hero, to demand just why the fuck he was grabbing him like that, but Tony refused to tilt his face down, focusing rather on traveling to the nearest roof with his cargo smashed in his arms.

Accepting his fate, Peter fumed. Feeling childish being carried away from this, the city undoubtedly witness to this humiliation.

When they landed with a heavy crunch on the gravel top of the nearest building, only then did Tony loosen his arms, letting Peter scramble away. He could feel the way he squared himself, preparing for a right, puffing himself in a weak attempt of intimidation. The roof was all but entirely flat, a few AC units dotting the space, leaving Peter exposed in the middle, cold blue eyes in the Iron Man suit locked onto his form.

“Dude, what the fuck!” He spat, dragging his mask free, knowing Karen would disable the surrounding cameras. “I was gonna catch myself.” 

Tony stepped forward, and for a moment Peter expected the mask snapping open to be empty just as it had been when he sent the suit to swoop in and grab Peter after the vulture left him to drown. But this time the mask revealed the disbelieving face of his mentor, stress lining his eyes and mouth.

The rest of the suit began to retract, letting the older man step free of it, hands twisting together as he cautiously stepped towards Peter, he looked the teen over, twice toe to head before speaking,

“Were you kid?” It was fear Peter realized. That was the emotion that filled the face of the man across from him. Tony looked terrified as if he couldn’t believe what he’d seen. It felt overkill, it wasn’t like Peter had crashed into the concrete, he’d just fallen a little farther than usual. He was fine,

“Before you decided to grab me like a disobedient brat," he stabbed an accusing finger at the other man, feeling backed into a corner. "I was starting to shoot a web,” he defended, not sure if he really believed his own argument. Tony clearly didn’t, shaking his head,

“You were too far, traveling too fast.” 

“I was fine,” he scoffed in offense, he could handle himself. 

"Do you even know what you were doing?" Was the distraught reply, the frantic tone causing Peter's shoulders to rise towards his ears, cowering from the question. He opened his mouth to reply, but Tony stuck a finger out, demanding he wait until he'd said his peace.

"I just needed some space, there is nothing wrong with that." He broke out ignoring the gesture. The rise of anxiety in his chest was causing him to feel cornered, the bare expansion of the rooftop doing nothing to help his enclosing sense of claustrophobia. He needed to get away from the way he’d let himself lose control, from the anger and fury that let his morals slip. From the girl,

her blank eyes watching in death where she lay on the floor.

"Karen let me in. She was concerned for your life." So he hadn't overridden her, Peter was comforted that his coding skills had still outsmarted the older man, ignoring that she'd gone behind his back on his own. But Tony wasn't letting him go that easy,

"The AI you have programmed for your own will, let me in because she thought you were a danger to yourself. Tell me that isn't a reason to be concerned, Peter. You weren't even responding to me, I was freaking out and you were silent."

He was just locked in his own thoughts a little too much to reply. It was normal. That happened to people. He didn't understand why Tony was making such a big deal of this,

"So the AI fucked up, big deal, in the future she will adapt," he tried spinning the blame onto Karen, refusing to feel guilty, she betrayed him first. Tony let out a bitter laugh, looking at Peter with false humor, his shock that Peter would even argue that position palpable in the air.

"The issue isn't with Karen, buddy," he stepped closer, Peter stepping away on instinct, unsure of the older man's intentions. He wasn't crazy. He just made a mistake, he misjudged the risk, and he wasn't trying to do anything permanent.

Tony paused, hurt in his eyes as he watched Peter run from his once again, their work on honesty and growing closer feeling like a flimsy band-aid over the last few days.

“I was scared," he all but whispered across the roof, the words for all their lack of volume, slapped Peter across the face.

Stunned, he gaped at Tony, "I wasn't trying to kill myself," he wasn't. He didn't appreciate being accused of this.

"It didn't look like you were trying to save yourself. I am not coming after you, kid. I am concerned about you." 

“I’m not in charge of your point of view, Tony.” The older man nodded, eyes taking a deeply sympathetic look,

”I saw the news, buddy, I’m sorry.” He’d find out, he’d see that Peter was a danger. “She wasn’t your fault, you can’t blame yourself like that and take unnecessary risks. You have to be careful.” Careful, unlike how Peter had just brutally injured a man, his anger escaping into his actions.

Wrong

wrong

wrong 

“They’ll find him,” he stepped close again, gauging Peter’s prepared stance, the clear urge to run in his every cell. “He won’t get away,”

”I didn’t let him get away,” there was grim satisfaction in his voice, but also offense. Was he that poor of a hero that Stark thought he’d just let him get away without consequences?

That he couldn’t handle a bank robber?

When had his quality fallen so low? When you felt good at hurting him, a twisted piece of himself spoke.

Stark frowned, head tilted as an earpiece began transmitting, its light tinny voice barely registering in the teen’s hearing. 

He couldn’t hear the response of the earpiece, but he could see the way that Tony tried to hide his shock, taking in with painful detail just how the man glanced at Peter as if to confirm the kid before him was indeed the hero who just left a man in critical condition in an ally. 

He’d lost it, his chance at redemption. 

“I think we should head back,” was all Tony could murmur, hands out in an attempt to calm the teen. When approaching a rabid animal, one should always err on the side of caution, moving in slow motions while displaying submissive body language.

“No,”

”I don’t think you need to be out here, ‘Roo.” The reference to his nickname at the airport dug a hole deep in his chest, heart stuttering painfully. 

“I can’t.” The pleading was painful, crackling with youthful agony. 

”You aren’t in trouble,” appeasing him like a child. He didn’t need to be coddled, he was a grown man. He could scrape his knee without needing a kiss, he did not need to be handled with kid gloves any more. 

”It isn’t safe, I knew her. It’ll happen again, I can’t,”

”Oh, kid. Shit, I’m sorry.” He didn’t get it. How could he, Tony didn't know how Peter had treated her so poorly during their last interaction, he wasn't aware how Peter let his own bitterness bite at the kind hands that reached out to him. 

“I do understand,” his mentor sounded gutted, “I lost someone in Afghanistan, and I went on a rampage afterward, I did damage I didn’t have to. Your emotions take over, I understand.” He was just excusing him, letting Peter off easy. He didn’t see the risk standing before him. 

”You can’t take me back, it’s a curse. It’ll happen again.” Next time it would be Pepper or Colonel Rhodes. God forbid it be Tony. “I can’t hurt you like they do.”

Tony’s face did a thing, first, he looked stunned, then deeply uncomfortable, and with a sharp shake of his head, a grim determination filled his eyes. He walked confidently towards Peter, ignoring how the teen tripped over his own feet to back away, to gain back the space rapidly was diminishing. 

“You aren’t saving me any pain running away, ‘Roo.”

”Don’t call me that,” Peter begged, twisting his mask between his hands. He didn’t deserve that nickname, he’d barely earned it at the airport, and he was ten times the hero back then compared to his current self. 

“We figured it out, Steve and I. We had an agreement, sure we bump heads but that’s just how it is. I’m not being hurt,” he was all but slowly chasing Peter across the roof, as the teen continued to backpedal, shaking his head, 

“He’s an asshole, he shouldn’t even be there.” 

“I didn’t say I love paling around with him, but we are trying to be a team again. I’m not in danger with them,”

”You are with me,” he pleaded, shoving his hands behind his back when Tony backed him against the lip of the building. No where left to run unless Peter could commit himself to flinging himself off of the building backwards without a mask. 

“Do you hate me?” There wasn’t an ounce of humor in his mentors face, only a deep, and pitying sadness that pinched at Peter’s nerves.

”No, but-“

”Do you want to hurt me, make me suffer?”

”Of course not.”

”Will you let them hurt me?” Tony was leaning closer, their foreheads almost touching as Peter shook his head, thoughts rampant in his mind. 

“I’d punch his stupid, American pie face again if he tried,” he didn’t think he could stop himself. He didn’t know if would want to if Steve tried to hurt Tony again. 

“I really do not see the danger, kiddo.” For being the smartest hero Peter knew, Stark could play stupid with the best of them.

“I lost it!” The words burst from his chest, anger and fear coating them as he flung them away from himself. His hands clasped over his own mouth as if he could shove the confession back in. Tony shook his head,

”You lifted a building off yourself, ‘Roo. If you wanted to hurt him you would have. You didn’t kill him,” 

“I don’t just mean him,” he argued. 

“You made a mistake, you’re afraid, it’s something we will work on.” He wasn’t sure how Tony could sound so assured of himself, so certain that he could fix it.

”We can’t risk that, I gotta go,” Peter tried to wiggle free, hoping Tony would step back, but only succeeded in walking straight into the unmoving form of his mentor. 

Two heavy hands clamped on his shoulders, holding him in place. He could only shove his hands further behind his back, refusing to touch Tony.

But he saw because Tony somehow saw a lot of things that Peter felt he had hidden recently

“Did you hurt those?” He was already reaching forward, dragging a forearm back around Peter’s body. The teen is unbalanced trying to force his hands away while also wrestling free,

”They look fine, what are you doing?” Suspicion filled his tone, goatee frowning as his brown eyes patrolled Peter’s face. Reading an answer painted across the teen's face,

”You aren’t dangerous to me,”

”You can’t know that-“ his hands were gripped tightly, forcing them to splay between them, Tony’s grasp loose around his wrists once Peter gave in.

“These aren’t a risk,” he shook the teen's hands for good measure, “You have to trust yourself. You can’t start running now, we have to talk this out. We are trying a new pattern, remember?”

”I wasn’t punching faces in when I agreed to that,” he spat, shoulders dropping in defeat.

”You could do much worse, you’re overwhelmed, this isn’t a light load to jump into. Happy was right, I didn’t start this right, I should have come to you differently.” 

He bit his lip, refusing to acknowledge Happy’s concern, a fit of dark anger swirling still around the topic of the security head. But Tony only pulled him into a tight hug. Forcing the teen to lean his head against the shoulder in front of him. 

“Deep breaths.” Feeling a fool but unwilling to deny it, he did. Unhappy to feel the way in which he relaxed in the embrace, Tony supporting a generous amount of his weight. 

“We will figure this out as a team, me and you.”

He didn’t have the energy to argue with the older man, rather he just let his forehead bury in the safety of a caretaker for a moment longer. Denying his urge to keep debating his own downfall, and allowing Tony to support him. 

Chapter Text

"You can't keep saddling yourself with the responsibility of everything around you." Tony's voice carried an exasperated frustration, the argument well worn in the last two hours that he had sat Peter on the balcony, both heroes sitting, partially in their suits, on the porch furniture. His mentor was leaning forward, crowding into Peter's space as he tried to get the stubborn teenager to understand that the world wasn't within Peter's control and therefore not something he could continue beating himself over the head for with every passing news headline.

"With great power, comes great responsibility," Peter recited, his tone reverent as Ben's words passed through his lips. He knew that Tony understood that heroes like themselves could not just escape responsibility when they felt like it. He knew that he couldn't take responsibility for everything, but how could anyone deny that he hurt, and broke everyone around him?

He had to carry this vigilance, even Ben saw that.

"Who told you that?"

He felt his expression drop, the familiar hallowing in his chest when he thought too long about his uncle. He hadn't discussed his uncle with Tony before; the topic was something always a little too emotionally charged to bring up in topical discussions. Hell, even he and May didn't speak of Ben often, let alone with the man he all but saw as stepping into the space Ben left behind with his death. 

"It had to be someone important, I know you have a high sense of ethical responsibility, kid. But this goes further, who told you that you had to take care of everything, all the time?" 

"Uncle Ben didn't exactly say that he just wanted me to do better-" Painfully similar to what Tony himself had told Peter himself.

"Do better?" 

"He didn't know that I had these powers," his hands flexed within the confines of the suit, deceivingly innocent in the slender slope of his wrists and fingers. Even when he clenched them tightly into fists, his eyes had a hard time believing that they were the same hands who had caused such harm.

"He knew that I could have done greater if I tried." Ben always pushed Peter to be the best version of himself, he believed there was something greater than the life Peter was dealt if only Peter could push towards it.

As a younger kid, Peter often hid from his faults, burying himself in the closet when he got home from a rough school day, only coming out after Uncle Ben sat with his back pressed to the door, and bargained for Peter's freedom from himself. Pretending that he wasn’t afraid of losing everyone, keeping his aunt and uncle at arm's length for years.

There was a pattern that Peter followed, always turned towards a mask of unbothered ease, never mentioning nightmares of his parent's deaths as a child, pretending that he hadn't gotten in a scrap with the schoolyard bully until Aunt May answered the impending phone call after work, disappointment in her eyes. But Ben knew Peter's nature, the ways that he ran from the truth, from his own consequences. 

"Let me get this straight," Dangerous words coming from someone as sharp as Tony. "He wanted you to punish yourself for messing up, for the things that naturally fall apart in the fallen world that we exist in? Got it," Tony nodded in faux agreement, clearly feeling that Peter was misdirected. 

"He didn't say that," bristling in defense of his uncle now, he crossed his arms across his chest, shielding himself. Tony didn't know Ben if he did he would understand, he regretted that they would never meet

"Then what did he want you to do?" The older man pushed, pressing further heedless of the way that Peter had grown defensive. It was a harrowing feeling deep in Peter's chest, realizing that Tony would never let him get away easy, no longer accepting of Peter pulling space for his self-preservation methods. 

Stopping himself from shooting back something sarcastic, Peter forced himself to think it over, the two lapsing into silence. When did his sense of guilt become so intertwined with the expectations of his uncle? He knew that Ben did not mean that Peter should punish himself, if he had known about Peter's powers he might have said something different. He would never have let Peter do half the things that he did as his alter ego, he was even more protective than May in some manners. His goal was not to hurt him, he knew that. 

What was the context that his uncle had given him that advice...his memory blurred with every single moment that he'd spoken those words to himself in the wake of the events of his life. He found himself unable to confidently summarize what he felt about his uncle was implying in the original conversation, the emotional connection so battered and reformed by Peter's own conscience that it slipped from his grasp as soon as he focused on it. 

"I didn't get to ask him, he died pretty soon after." That cooled some of the simmering temper out of Tony's shoulders, his face falling into sympathy again, Peter unable to meet his eyes.

"I like to think we are pretty close, right?" Tony prodded, waiting until the teen nodded in agreement, still avoiding looking at his mentor. "Then listen to me closely, I want you to really hold this close. I don't think any parent would tell you that what you do, this martyr attitude and seclusion that you turn to, is healthy. You're alone, and when you are alone you are vulnerable, and therefore at risk. Worse yet, you aren't living." Ned and MJ's faces flashed in his mind, their growing expressions of disappointment and despair with every emotionally distant interaction he'd had with them near the end.

"I know," he admitted begrudgingly, pulling at his hair in frustration at this conversation. "But you can't tell me the people around me don't get hurt, how can you explain that, Tony?"

"Bad things happen to good people, and you are a good person. You’re all but shitting rainbows, you can’t tell me you’re not good.” It wasn't worth telling Tony that Peter had long lost the sense of self-assurance he once carried. 

"I have to be responsible, there is a pattern, come on, Tony. Genius with me here, there is a common denominator with everyone and it’s me.” He jabbed an accusing thumb into his collarbone, forcing himself to face the older man. “I realize it sucks, sure, I am a little lonely,” So wretchedly so. “But the people I love aren’t as durable as I am. Toomes forced me to face a fact that was always there, I can’t protect the innocent people around me. So, because I love them, I’m not allowing myself to bring them into this world of mine. I can’t leave Spider-Man and I won’t let them suffer because of that,”

"That sounds like a really lonely life, Underoos.” He could hear what Tony wasn’t acknowledging, that Peter was making sense on some level. Tony himself had experienced Pepper being at risk, his whole home destroyed and Pepper almost killed. His own very human best friend living in an exoskeleton of carbon steel and hydraulics to move around. There was always a risk, and the hero never paid for it. 

“The girl, she’s dead isn’t she?” He redirected.

Tony’s eyes dropped away as he nodded. Peter knew she was, he’d heard the death rattle in her chest, and his fingers felt the lack of pulse beneath her still-warm flesh. But he held out hope that just maybe she'd gotten the help needed to survive. 

“It was quick,” It was the only comfort Tony could offer him, but he knew that her death wasn't quick, not enough anyway. He heard her suffering breaths, but he appreciated that Tony tried to protect him from that knowledge, perhaps fearing Peter would spiral, falling into a hidden suicide plan that Tony seemed to think lay beneath the surface. But he just felt numb, mind stealing him away from the waiting sense of failure in his chest, cutting it off before there was an opportunity for a wave of guilt to drag him under, drowning him in silence.

“I knew her,” because of course he had. He’d never had someone familiar on a scene with him as Spider-Man, he’d underestimated the emotional guard of strangers facing danger alongside him in place of friends and family. 

“She went to my school, she had just seen me at the 7-Eleven, and tried hitting on me. But she mentioned MJ and I turned into a dick. That’s how she will remember me, can you believe that.”

”She will remember you as the hero who tried to step in, you couldn’t have known she’d start trying to help, her decision wasn’t your own.” The comfort felt wooden, stiff in a formal manner that told Peter that it was something Tony repeated to himself in moments like these. A topical emotional band-aid, patting a soldier on the back, telling them the atrocities of war were out of their hands and they shouldn't blame themselves. 

“She will remember Peter Parker blowing her off like she didn’t matter,”

”You are the same person, just because she didn’t know it doesn’t mean it isn’t true. You can’t place all of the blame on Peter Parker, you’re ruining your perception of him.” But wasn’t he the issue, how could Peter pretend not to see the patterns?

”Someone has to be redeemed," He wasn't kicking himself just for the fun of it, it would be silly to ignore the facts, "Spider-Man is brave and smart. He doesn’t hurt others, he works alone, and it’s better that way.” The way his voice cracked in the middle was not lost on either man, but Peter only swallowed down the embarrassment. 

”Is that what you think, that you’re better just living a life of solitude, never allowing yourself to grow close to someone again?” The despair in his mentor's voice brought tears to Peter’s eyes. He blinked several times, forcing himself to focus on a building in the distance, clearing his blurry vision. He felt bad for the boy that Tony pitied, but couldn’t quite let himself fully step into his shoes. Some things had to remain clinical, and his wants for himself were something that got in the way of other's well-being. 

He mulled over the words, chest twisting in self-pity and empathy for the boy he was, and was trying not to be. It has to be this way. He didn’t know how to not run away, let alone how to fit what he’d damaged so drastically. It felt ludicrous, the idea of entering into Ned’s world as if Peter hadn’t brutally left his best friend for several years, or attempting to smooth over the jagged wound he'd torn in his own and MJ's hearts at his abandonment. 

“We are getting closer,” he hedger, trying to appease some of the worry that Tony was failing at keeping off his expression, or perhaps the older man thought it would get through to Peter by letting him see it. It was hard to tell, this raw and vulnerable side of Tony Stark was still new. It was true, he was allowing himself to spend time with Tony, it was the most he'd visited another person in nearly two years.

“I am only one person, as much as I love getting closer to you, kiddo. You had people before me.” He did, he had May, he had his friends, and his dreams of joining the Avengers. 

“I think we should get ahold of your aunt,” Tony spoke, the words rushed as if he forced himself to say it before chickening out. Each forced word poured over Peter like a glass of ice water, causing his spine to straighten, shoulders rising in self-defense.

He knew that May was a problem he could only keep off for so long, but the anxiety at her name sent him reeling. “I don’t need to drag her back here,” defensive explanations and hurt warred within him, he didn’t need to have someone sweep him up off the floor.

He was self-sustaining, for the most part.

She had given up too much already to run back to her pathetic nephew and his poor life choices.

”I don’t think I can do for you what your aunt can, I think it’s time-“ Tony tried but Peter cut him off, gesturing at his own chest and then towards Tony,

”I let you do the whole needle thing, I moved in. I let you get rid of my apartment, and I got the pain medication. I accepted help, I’m here. Tony, please you can’t bring her back. She has a life, she’s happy and has a boyfriend,”

”A boyfriend?!” It seems that her check-ins with Tony oriented around Peter solidly, considering that her new partner and adventures were most of what Peter himself heard about when talking to her.

”Yes, she’s very in love she says.” He held his hands out, clearly indicating that he was just the messenger, his mentor's expression remaining scandalized all the same.

“You never mentioned that,” accusing, but how could he? Every single thought he gave to May and her growing world on the other side of the country brought a crushing sense of panic.

He felt battered, body crashing against the rocks with every update on how May and whatever his name was were having fun together. Drowning in his misery with every comment she made dancing around wanting to bring Peter out so “her guys” could meet one another. 

How could he even pretend to want to talk about her life so separate from his own, let alone keep the absolute visceral depression from his face when someone asked about her in a capacity he couldn’t answer anymore?

”I think some honesty between you two would be a good thing.” Tony spared Peter the real accusation, that Peter was lying to May and had no plans to stop or address it in the near future.

”I’ll think about it, that’s all I can give you.” Accepting it, Tony lounged back into his chair, head tipping back as he let the silence sprawl between them. A lazy comfortable thing, the evening air stirring their hair, easing the summer heat from their skin.

“Pep is back tonight, she wanted me to tell you. Will you be here?” Are you going to run away from me, Peter heard the real inquiry in the hesitant tone of the hero staring at him. 

“I don’t think I should go out tonight,” he murmured, eyes locked onto his own hands where they sat, innocently staring palms up in his lap. Tony frowned in the corner of his vision, but quickly wiped it from his face as he stood abruptly,

”Good, I have some things I need to do in the lab, so get your tail out of between your legs, I have had enough serious talks. Lab date.” He joked, clearly sensing Peter could use the distraction, but the excitement gleaming in Tony’s own dark eyes hinted that he wanted to see Peter just as much as he wanted to give the kid an escape. 

If Peter were a millionaire, he’d live in his lab. He didn’t know how Tony could ever convince himself to step foot out of the space, the dinner time protocol that Pepper created suddenly made more sense the longer Peter tinkered. The quiet was cushioned by light music in the background, the usual blaring volume diminished as Tony had immediately ordered it lowered to all but being silent for Peter's senses. Not the music truly mattered much, as Tony had gone down a rabbit trail of stories and commentary during the first hour they spent in the lab. The older man filled the air, purposely leaving little room for Peter to sit in silence, let alone begin to spiral into self-deprecating thoughts.

It was...nice. Peter felt relieved to let himself be swept up into the older man's world, hearing about his teen years; noting to himself how the stories carefully excluded any mention of Tony's parents. It left a bitter taste in the teen's mouth, the idea that Tony had little to no positive stories to share with his family. But it also brought out a deeper appreciation in Peter for Tony's ramblings. He understood the desire to share history and connect with another person, without digging into the deeper painful cracks of the relationships behind it all.

He caught himself a few times staring after the hero, taking in the light tone and easy slump of his shoulders as he worked, trying to imagine how Howard had treated him poorly. Guilt swirled in his gut as he reflected on how he kept May at arm's distance, a parent who loved him.

Tony mentioned the experiences with his father being less than favorable...the insight of Colonel Rhodes only added to the negative take on Howard Stark that Peter had been introduced to. He'd only known the name of Howard Stark as the title of a popular creator and genius, the man himself Peter had never given a second thought to.

As Tony manipulated a piece of tech across the room, Peter's enhanced eyesight picked up the shiny tone of Tony's palms, the skin smoothed with burns long ago healed. Tools too hot to touch, Tony had mentioned when speaking of his father's treatment of him It made Peter's stomach turn, the idea of a wide-eyed little boy accepting the pain that came with trailing after his father. The headlines about Tony being a pompous ass who refused to be handed things by strangers suddenly sat heavier on Peter's conscious. 

Did the world know Tony Stark at all?

"-Rhodes didn't ever forgive that time, but honestly, he knew better than to let U help, or he should have." Tony's voice broke in as he continued chattering on, bent over one of his gauntlets, soldering gun in hand. He had been regaling another one of his college stories with his best friend, which oddly enough the robots were central to many of them, unaware of Peter's trailing thoughts. 

"You were young in college right?" He glanced at his mentor through the hologram before him, a Stark tablet balanced on his knee from where he was adjusting his suit's code.

Somewhere between the sandwich Tony had made him for a late lunch, and the long retelling of Tony passing out in a bush outside of his dorm leaving Rhodes to haul him inside before the college RA saw him…Peter had admitted to himself that he did not quite want the safeguards against Tony in his suit anymore. 

"I was a little older than you when we first met, somewhere around fifteen," Stark glossed over as if it wasn't one of the most impressive things Peter had ever heard of, a fifteen-year-old attending MIT.

Picking throughout his coding, he tried to remember just how he'd gotten around Tony's safeguards, opening access to Friday and Tony in his communication channels.

Tony hissed as he burnt himself again with the soldering, muttering darkly to himself about needing glasses. 

"Your mom didn't know you were out getting wasted at sixteen?" May would have had Peter pulled out of MIT before he could sober up if she caught him acting that way, 

"I think she did, but she didn't care too much," Dum-E bobbled closer to where Tony sat, a wet rag in claw, wet with what, he wasn't sure. The older man took it with an appreciative nod, shooing the bot away from his workbench once again. "Parenting styles are different than they used to be, mind you, mine were a little questionable in their own generation, but that was the charm. Rich, emotionally unavailable, and intoxicated was a look," the humor fell flat in Peter's ears. He tried to imagine it, Tony existing fully on his own at the same as when Peter was still saving his allowance to buy Lego sets. 

"How did you meet Colonel Rhodes?"

"Call him Rhodey, kid. You'll give him a heart attack," 

"He has a title," he tossed a ball of rubber bands that U had pressed into his side, almost toppling the Stark pad on his knee. The happy squeals of U brought a grin to Tony's face as he watched the bot navigate through the lab, narrowly dodging a few things Peter would have been appalled at falling over. 

"You are not in the military, so lucky for you, you won't get push-ups for calling him by his name." Fair. "I met him after my roommate moved out, and he picked me up as a roomie soon after. Not unlike how a rat adopts lice, but without the itching mind you."

"Your roommate moved out?"

"No one feels comfortable getting laid when their roommate is barely into puberty the next room over." He…couldn’t quite argue with that, but felt bad for Tony all the same. 

“There is something bitterly painful in never fitting in fully anywhere, isn’t there, Tony?” The thought came to him, passing through his lips before he could consider how depressing it sounded. It rang in the silence of the lab in the same manner as a sudden shout. Tony’s tinkering ceased as Peter pretended he meant to speak out loud, trying to pretend that he didn’t truly feel that way. 

The truth was ugly, but no less obvious. Peter was too aware of himself and his responsibilities to ever slip back into being a teenager, unable to selfishly focus on his own goals and tedious shortcomings. But he wasn’t secure enough in his abilities to fully step into the light, accepting being an avenger. Claiming his alter ego proudly like the other heroes around him had. Worst of all, Peter couldn’t ever fully connect with May, Ben’s death carving a crevice just too dangerous to attempt a crossing.

”I’m sorry you know that, ‘Roo.” He sounded sorry, he sounded heartbroken for Peter. Shrugging his shoulders, Peter threw a smile on his face. It felt shaken and patched together but Tony accepted it all the same. 

“I’ve got you now, right?” An olive branch, tender in its youth and green as could be, but offered all the same. His mentor snorted and nodded,

”Can’t get rid of me now, you know I can cook. I can’t risk that getting out to the public, imagine the publicity stunts I’d be dragged into.”

”Dr. Banner requests that you let him into the lab, he has a gift for Peter.” The crackle of the speaker a split second before transmitting the AI's voice did little to lessen the shocked jump from Peter when Friday’s voice cut into the space. It was too easy to forget she existed at all times. 

"You care?" Tony inquired, a brow quirked at Peter.

It felt rude to say that he hoped to have more time with Tony alone, Pepper's return tonight already an impending end to the silent dance that he and his mentor had committed to in her absence. He saw the last few days now for what it was, a waste of time, shoving away from Tony like he had before, they could have been in the lab like this for days. He waved a hand towards the older man, dismissing that Peter cared one way or another. 

"Let him in, my fair lady," Peter felt his lip quirk at the nickname but returned to his coding. He settled on allowing Tony access to his coms again in a controlled setting, he couldn't bear to give full access back to the older man, they just weren't on the same footing. The teen wasn't a fresh-faced hero, he'd run the same gemmate as the others, and he'd let Tony in gradually to the suit.

"Peter!" Bruce's voice was bright, downright cheerful even, as he marched into the lab. The lab coat he had on was comically contrasted with what Peter would argue was a terrible case of bedhead,

"You been up all night again, Banner?" The words were garbled as Stark munched on a snack, where it came from? Peter had no idea, he hadn't even heard the older man rip open the package. 

"A couple maybe, I got caught up on a project, and then formulating these for you," he stuck a small bottle of pills out towards Peter, the label marked with the teen's name. "I figured that it would be better in a pill form for your body to break down gradually, intravenously it would hit you like a punch to the face, a more gradual release of the pain medication would serve you better. It was a little tricky, more fun than Cap's and you were right," a wild grin turned towards Tony, "It was nearly three times as much as what Cap needed. You'll have to tell me how you calculated that." 

"I appreciate these, but shouldn't you have them?" He hadn't been in charge of his own medication before, it felt almost criminal to be holding the orange bottle. 

"You're a grown man, as long as you can open the cap, you can do that right?" Rolling his eyes, Peter obliged and twisted the lid, proving his dominance over the child-proof lid. 

"I knew you could do it, buddy." 

"Mrs. Potts requests that you two attend dinner now," in surprise, Peter glanced towards the clock on Tony's wall, shocked to see how late it had gotten.

"You joining us,  Brucie bear?" Obedient to the will of the CEO, Stark had plopped his snack onto his work table and was ambling towards the elevator.

He waving off Bruce's polite denial of the invitation, as the wild-haired man explained that he had to get some sleep now. Peter was touched that he had made it his last task before going to find some hard-earned rest, to personally deliver the medication. The pills rattled in their case, clasped in his hands.

"My young Padawan, we need to make haste, before she comes to find us," Peter obliged, swiping away his screen as he jogged towards the elevator, the three of them slipping into the small space. 

“Peter, Tony mentioned you fabricated your own web material,” Bruce’s eyes were eager, and the teen blushed at the clear fascination that the scientist had regarding the subject. He wondered how much Tony had explained, if Bruce knew the countless hours of trial and error, the combinations he’d created as he continued playing Spider-Man. 

His genius was always something be played close to the chest. He wasn’t a show boat…even Tony bragging for Peter left him itching in his skin. 

“It was a little something I did in my spare time at school, extracurricular hours and all that,” he tapered off, unsure how to end, but Tony wasn’t accepted his modesty,

”Bruce the kid came up with it at fourteen, tinkering in a lab for a high school. He’s a genius, can you imagine what kind of trouble we could get into here,” the elevator lurched away just as Tony gestured towards the closed doors. “He’s just too humble for his own good, he needs to flaunt it. Patent something,”

”My webs?” He hasn’t thought about someone fabricating something similar, 

“Well, no. Something though, we can figure that out, I know a legal guy.” Bruce chucked at Tony, finding his praise humorous as Peter slowly turned a darker shade of red. When the lift halted for his floor, he bid them goodnight, making Peter promise to visit sometime. 

“They don’t make them like anymore,” Tony commented when the two of them lapses into silence, “Bruce is one of a kind. Smart, kind, ethical.”

”I didn’t realize there were that many maniacal scientists running around,”

“Shut it smart-ass,” a hand shoved him gentle towards the wall, the teen rocking on his heels, a large grin on his face. “You hang out with enough of us and you see there is a type,” he didn’t approve of the way Tony seemed to lump himself into that group. 

“Lab days are cool, I could do more of these,” Tony perked up at the idea, a cheerful light once again in his eyes as they exited to his floor. 

“You sticking around a bit longer?” In all honesty, Peter hadn’t even looked at apartments. He had not given his return to self sustaining in misery anytime to imagine a new path, so he just shrugged,

”If you’ll keep me, I thought I’d stay a bit longer.” Tony all but floated as he walked beside Peter, and frankly, the teen felt the same. 

Chapter Text

Life at Stark Tower was different than Peter ever imagined it would have been, not only did he get to spend time with Tony, but that was all he did for nearly a week straight after choosing to stay a while longer with the other heroes. A juvenile piece of his mind saw like an extended sleepover, a daydream that his younger self would have concocted in his wildest dreams. His cynical side kept bracing for it to be taken away, this solace of his own within the tower. He tried to force himself to live in the present, enjoying the time together as much as possible. It was nice, being in the presence of real people for longer than a few hours at a time.

Karen had been Peter's only friend for far too many months. Frankly, she was the only company he had, her companionship a balm he could soak up in the monotony of daily life. There was no doubt that the AI was the most intricate piece of technology he'd ever come across, her persona and mannerisms so similar to those of his aunt, that he caught himself several times in the last year thinking of her as a genuine friend, a real person. It was a bitter pain when he reminded himself that Karen was a hand-crafted AI made to entertain him, an indentured friend.

However, with Tony and Pepper, there was no obligation to converse with Peter, to ask about his day, or to waste time finding out which cereal he preferred in the morning. It was real, friendships that slowly unfurled with each passing day. Sure, sometimes he did not get Tony's references, and the older man lectured him about his age and lack of pop culture references way too much, but it did not emphasize the space between them so much as bridge it. He and Tony had crossed a line. He wasn't sure where it happened, or even what they had done particularly, but Peter knew it was done, the week together was spent with the teen following the millionaire throughout the tower, helping in the lab, learning how to cook in their private kitchen. He could probably sustain himself in an actual kitchen on his own, a feat he was beginning to think would never occur when he did live alone. Peter had even earned what the couple deemed 'Peter's corner' a corner of the couch that the teen buried into whenever he joined them in the shared living space, a familial likeness in deeming a space his own.

When Peter and Tony had returned to their floor after Bruce visited the lab, Pepper had been ecstatic to see them. She spent their dinner together the first night catching up solely with Peter. She did not mention the accident but her eyes carried a different sympathetic light that let Peter know she was not out of the loop. The three of them continued around the elephant in the room.

It stayed like that, no one mentioned that Peter had days where he just seemed to float around, tethered only to Tony who took up the role of anchor to him in those moments. They did not know that most of their shared meals barely spent more than an hour in his stomach before he'd have to throw up in his personal bathroom. Friday an unwilling partner in keeping that fact hidden. Peter pushed through, he'd adjust. 

Peter and Tony alternated between the lab and small daily trips around the city. An entire day was even spent shopping and furnishing Peter's guest room; he accepted the offer only after Tony agreed to try watching Star Wars with Pepper and Peter for a movie night. It felt...normal, the awkward spell between the two men entirely dissipated in the wake of Pepper's return.

It was impossible to not notice that a softer Tony Stark emerged in the following days with his partner around. Peter couldn't help but be jealous of how the two complimented each other. Pepper brought out a confidence in Tony that surpassed the bravado of a hero, she made him confident in himself, a softening of his edges appeared with her presence, and communication gained clarity and purpose with her as his support. To the untrained eye, it would appear that Tony was antagonistic, possibly even disruptive of the peace within his own home, but to Peter, he saw how he relied on Pepper. When tough conversations came up, Tony leaned towards her, his eyes tracked back to her constantly as if checking for guidance in how he handled the conversation.

It was comical, the self-assured Tony Stark looking to her for direction as he tried to encourage Peter to think of a new job, pushing past the surely frown on the teen's face. He grew only bolder in the evening when he brought up college once again during the three's shared meal of the day. To his credit, Tony didn't drop the subject when Peter began to argue back, Pepper's small smile boosting her Stark’s confidence as he began to discuss purpose, and direction in the teen's future. The conversation between the two adults was obviously well-worn, yet it didn't prickle Peter's pride like he imagined it would have from someone else. Their concern for him warmed his heart.

The two would make wonderful parents,

Tony's conversation about possible future employment faded into the background as Peter bounced his eyes between them. Pepper lounging on the couch, a cup of tea wafting the aroma of lavender and honey in the air from between her hands. He observed the way that the steam swirled in the air, dissipating as she blew on the mug to cool. Tony gestured towards Peter over his half-finished plate, the two sitting across from each other at the table, the meal long ago gone cold.

Pepper often existed on the perimeter of the two men, he noted, but not in the uncertain manner of hovering from someone who did not fit in, rather it was a content watchfulness. A small pleased smile was her default expression, eyes soft as she watched Tony interact with Peter, a proud warmth radiating from her green eyes. Though she sat away from them, searching for a 'cozier' seat, he knew she was providing space for the two, letting Tony take the lead about Peter's future, without adding pressure by her direct observation at the table.

Did they want children? 

Tony Stark as a father wasn't a topic that Peter often let himself mull over. He saw the older man as a mentor, a pseudo-father figure often enough, a selfish dream of his. But Peter Parker wasn't his kid. He tried to imagine Tony changing diapers, hushing a baby on the couch in the early morning hours as Pepper slept. The Tony Stark he thought he'd known was a shadow of the man emerging in the last week, maybe it wasn't so unrealistic for the Stark name to continue into another generation. What would that mean for Peter? An uneasy squeeze in his chest disrupted the passing evening's comfort, the cruel pieces of himself hoping that Tony would never split his attention away from Peter, the teen finally reveling in the parental connection.

Maybe it wouldn't change things for the worse, Tony was different, he did not swagger and dismiss Peter as he once would have. His stiff persona presented to Peter in Germany was nothing but a distant memory. This Tony was attentive, his features rarely hiding what he was thinking. The sunglasses, and purposeful swagger in the public eye made more sense as he watched how Tony carefully tried to school his expression; his exasperation, pride, humor, and concern never fully concealed. Peter appreciated it, there was such comfort in not having to guess what the older man was thinking, or felt when speaking with Peter.

He found plenty of opportunity to get familiar with the facial repertoire of the older man as, unsurprisingly, the discussion of college continued to be a well-worn topic between the two men. Tony's confusion as to why Peter would not be interested in pursuing higher education always won out over his frustration, the furrow in his brow deepening with every evading conversation topic the teen threw his way. How could Peter explain that he simply could never afford MIT now? His grades had tanked his last two years in school, GPA dropping enough that any high-level education would not accept it.

It wasn't like he could explain to the educational board that he had adopted the persona of a superhero, and because of that he was always dodging out of class and assignments whenever he felt the city needed him. There was no death in the family and no record of mental health declines to credit to his lack of motivation. No. There was just Peter Parker failing to show up to class, slowly fading into the background of his extracurriculars. He did not doubt that May would have fought to make it work if she felt that he desired to go to school, she would have taken another job to support Peter's dreams, accepting loans for him.

He couldn't- no he wouldn't let himself saddle her with more obligation. He was an adult, full-fledged, living on his own. He could accept that education was not in the cards, the surmounting debt too much, he was a hero. He could be content with the life of Peter Parking riding in the back seat.

What he could not be content with was revealing to Tony how he was too much of a charity case to afford college, yet too middle grounding to fit the scholarships. He was too prideful to accept aid from Tony, no matter how much money the older man had. He had not earned it, he'd let it slip away. He had to accept the reality he'd created for himself. To his credit, Stark accepted Peter's evasions, he did not force the truth out of the teen. His dark eyes remained disbelieving when Peter argued that school wasn't his thing.

His clear befuddlement only grew when Peter said he never saw college as a future path for himself. When the older man had asked how May liked Peter's plans, he'd quickly changed the subject, pointing out that Tony was not in an idealistic situation himself, sometimes the future unravels in ways you never considered and people have to adjust.

So they existed, as Tony and Peter in the tower, learning each other's nuances and habits.

They did not discuss what happened the night of the Avengers dinner, but the reality weighed heavily between them. When Team meetings were called, Peter conveniently was 'napping' according to Friday, and Tony did not press. Perhaps he thought Peter was afraid of himself, losing control again and harming Steve. In all reality, Peter felt so angry with the blond man, he did not think he would offer anything but venomous jabs and glares, aspects not particularly conducive to team-building exercises.

He'd written the other man off, no amount of explanations would ever find root in Peter for forgiveness. When it was the accords, Peter understood, political ideologies and personal beliefs- they varied from person to person and how could he hold that against another human? But for Steve to hide from Tony that he knew about his parents, to rest in cowardice and avoid the hard conversation with Tony after all they had been through, he simply did not understand it.

How could he live with himself, letting Tony work on their tech, feed them, house them, create freaking medical treatments that are only oriented towards a superhero's genetics, and never consider revealing the truth? How long had he known, how long had Natasha known? He had to force it out of his mind, he wasn't sure how Tony did not combust with every interaction. The older man's acceptance of the situation and personal perspective were just out of Peter's grasp, he could ask...but he wasn't sure he could remain calm through it. He avoided the other heroes, as much as he could, only Clint and Natasha came around that he knew of, aside from the resident scientist living a few floors below.

Natasha's time at the tower came and went. Twice she came to see Pepper. Apparently, her knowledge of Steve holding information from Tony was not a dividing factor for the duo. Even Tony was as friendly with her as they had been before, joking about the leftovers Natasha brought up with her that he'd forgotten in his rush with Peter out the door. The teen had not seen her during the first visit, but he stumbled upon the trio sharing brunch in the shared living space. 

He tried to ignore the way that the spy's eyes crawled over him, detailing the way he stumbled out of his room at nearly noon. The dark bags beneath his eyes felt more obvious on his face, like blaring neon signs, signaling his poor sleep habits. But the spy only smiled, commenting that he’d put on good weight. It was factual, so he nodded in acknowledgment, saying a quick good morning to Pepper, answering a few questions that Tony clearly locked him in the room with, before retreating to his room.

Uninterested in gaining familiarity with the Avenger, he'd stayed locked away until Friday informed him of Natasha's departure. Something about her steady gaze unnerved him, the creeping sensation that she saw through what others did not was overwhelming in the two times they'd met. Aside from Bruce, Clint was the only Avenger who seemed to attempt a connection with Tony, while Natasha appeared closer to Pepper than Tony himself. 

What the connection between the Clint and Tony was? Peter really couldn't pin it down. The archer was down to earth, raising a family in Iowa of all places, with no taste for flashy lifestyles and busy schedules. He traveled to his home for the first half of the week, before coming back to the tower. Peter learned he would check in with Tony once a week when Clint had shown up after dinner unannounced by Friday with a brown bag in hand and a cigar in the other, the night after Natasha's last visit.

The teen had frozen in his seat on the couch, not panicked but wariness blazing in his dark eyes, his Stark phone forgotten till Tony rounded the corner, a cheerful grin on his face as he greeted the archer. With a passing greeting to Peter, the two sat on the balcony, the door cracked and their lull of conversation washing over Peter's nerves as he settled back into place. Ignoring that he was intruding by keeping the two older heroes in the line of sight, he resolved to observe and gain a deeper understanding of their relationship. 

Peering over the edge of the couch, he watched as Tony sunk deep into his seat with the passing hours as the two chatted, lazing in the dwindling hours of the day. He observed the manner that Stark unfurled, exhaustion but contentedness in the lines of his body. He didn't carry this air of casualness with the other heroes, even Banner who Peter had viewed as Tony's closest hero friend, left Tony walking a practiced dance of performing pleasantries and idle conversations. There was something here that was new, he could see it in the way that Clint kept forcing himself to relax his shoulders. The spy working to force down a guard around Tony that had previously existed. How much of this new development was credited to the cluster fuck of a dinner that Steve laid the cards out at? Did Clint finally see Tony in the light that Peter, Pepper, and a few others did? 

Boredom grew as Clint talked about someone named Cooper, discussing his adeptness in science class, the boredom only expanding when Tony in turn asked about the farm. Economics came up and the price of seed, which Peter nearly fell asleep to. He let himself lay down, eyes closing as the two voices carried in through the open doorway, the night deep into its latest hours. 

"How is he doing?" Clint's voice was quieter as if he suspected Peter might be listening, though the pair had never glanced back into the living room after sitting on the furniture together.  

"He is better, less quiet," Tony replied, his words echoing into the closed space of a drinking glass.

"He was such a chatterbox in the suit, I never imagined he'd be so secluded when I actually got to meet him, or so young." Tony hummed noncommittally, the rasp of whiskers against a calloused hand against his chin, a habit of his that Peter was fond of. 

"You should have seen him a couple of years ago, he was nothing but energy and questions at every turn. My security, Happy, he about had an aneurysm. He was teaming with life, completely enraptured with everything, it was cute."

He hadn't thought that those pieces of himself had fallen so far behind. Yet, it was true, that that version of himself was even less recognizable than his current self. He wondered how much of Happy's entertaining his questions and jokes were done so because of a job requirement, an indentured sense of company. He'd thought that they got along genuinely on the occasion when Happy did not shut him down immediately, or listened to his stories the full way through. Admittedly, after the beach, he was never truly certain where they had stood. 

It wasn't the same, the world, him. He didn't have the naive joy that he once carried, and his questions were better answered on his own. He didn't want to face the exasperation of Happy or the possible denial of Tony, he'd instead refastened himself into being self-sustaining. He'd clammed up, as Spider-Man, he could speak how he wanted, put all the false swagger in the world into his step because at the end of the day, Peter Parker went home and Spider-Man took a nap in a backpack. There was no risk in being a mouthy hero, his purpose was to save the city and they'd accept him any way he came as long as he fulfilled his role. Peter Parker did not come with the same facets, so, quieter and smaller he became.

"He's whip-smart, starting this stuff all on his own, makes his own webs and everything. I didn't bring him out," there it was, the slight defensiveness in Stark's voice about being responsible for Spider-Man, a child, roaming the streets with Tony Stark funding a million-dollar suit on his back.

"I never doubted that, Tony." It sounded honest, "We all have done things, bringing him to Germany, that is your own thing. I don't pretend to think I have made better calls in the past, it is what it is. I believe what you told Steve, the kid would be doing this with or without you, even I know that and I have met him like three times." The tension that had risen dissipated just as quickly. 

"I don't think he's sleeping well," an untrained ear would have thought that Tony was changing the subject, but there was concern and a hopeful lilt in his voice; as if Clint could offer some parental insight that would solve Tony's unspoken question. "Friday stopped updating me about the nightmares, but I think it's more likely that the kid figured out her reporting and turned it off,"

"Nat mentioned he’d looked tired…You let him alter Friday?” Clint questioned- the clink of a bottle sounded against glass as Tony paused.

"He has equal access as Pepper and I when it comes to Friday and the tower." Another silence. Tony muttered something too quiet for Peter to hear with a passing horn honking below, but Clint chuckled richly. 

"What about checking him into some program, lining him up in some therapy?" Peter's eyes snapped open at the suggestion, breath halting in his chest,

"No, he isn't that kind of kid." There was no room to question that assertion, Clint only hummed.

Feeling an intrusion now that the topic had shifted to himself, Peter slunk off the couch, slipping towards his room to allow the two men greater privacy. Within the seclusion of his room, the noises of the city and the two older heroes were stifled into silence by the soundproofing. A dull ache lodged itself almost immediately in the back of his head, his senses disrupted by the sudden lack of stimulus. Contrasting the dislike of his body's senses, he drooped in relief from the barrage of sounds.

He distracted himself by readying for bed, taking too long organizing his belongings on the countertop in the bathroom before crawling beneath his blankets. Slim hands scoured beneath the duvet cover for his phone charger, the dark room offering no assistance in his search. Eventually, the awkward groping of the bed resulted in the cord, deftly plugging in the Stark Phone he'd been given.

Ignoring his blank message app, he sprawled across the bed frame, staring towards the ceiling until his phone locked itself from lack of activity. His brain was stuck running itself in circles considering Clint's suggestion, therapy. He didn't feel like he needed therapy...but did anyone? He tried to consider what it would be like, to flay himself open in the name of honesty, drawing tragedy and regret from raw wounds in his psyche. Tony's assessment that Peter wouldn't go, felt most accurate. The idea of trusting a stranger with his secrets, with Spider-Man, and the internal nightmares he carried day in and day out, just was out of reach. He wasn't traumatized, he functioned, and what he did struggle with, he kept at bay. 

You can't bottle everything up forever, Peter Parker party of one. May had advised deep into the heart of summer when he'd cut off Ned and MJ. He'd spent a solid week in bed, with no Spider-Man, no friends, and no purpose, he let himself spiral and dwindle. His aunt's hand had carded through his hair, sympathetic eyes watching him cower in his bed from the reality that he'd fashioned for himself.

At the time, he could not explain to her just how much had fallen apart, what insurmountable blame he placed on his shoulders for the way things had turned out. The silver case holding his suit lay untouched beneath his bed, he hadn't opened it since Happy returned it to him, and it only felt like a blaming finger anytime he glimpsed the shiny case beneath the bed sheet edge. His aunt had pressed, prodding for answers, she cried and pleaded for him to explain what was wrong. Why are you treating yourself like this, why won't you let anyone in? Toomes face leered at him beneath his eyelids when he'd squeezed them tighter, hoping she'd leave out of frustration. 

Then she threatened therapy, the name of his childhood psychiatrist thrown out as a last-ditch attempt to shock him out of his funk.

It worked, sort of. He got up, he showered, and natural light once again was allowed into his room. The suit did not come out, MJ and Ned were not brought back, but he got a job. He began to pour himself into building a personal savings. After work, he dedicated himself to learning coding online for months before attempting to crack into the suit and manipulate Karen's inner workings against Stark's agenda. May had taken it for progress, Peter had taken it for a distraction, only wallowing in the late hours when he found himself ripped from sleep by nightmares. He struggled in secret, bottling it up, just like May warned against. The fear of her dragging him to a therapist, paying out money for conversations that Peter wouldn't bite into, and working on issues that he couldn't share for the safety factor alone, kept him going.  

Forcing himself to take deep breaths in the present, he clenched his muscles, slowly letting himself relax from his head to his toes. A practiced method of letting his body fall into sleep that he'd adopted after Toomes. He refused to let himself stress about this now, things were better, therapy was only mentioned, and Tony was in his corner. He was fine.

You gotta clue your aunt in, kiddo. The hole only gets deeper when you keep digging, time to pay the piper. Tony was right, Peter was running from telling May what was actually going on. He wasn't even sure how he'd convinced himself to begin weaving stories of success, internships and friends to her. Originally he was sure that it grew from a fear of her returning to the same old job, giving up on a dream for his sake. Maybe it had then twisted into a fear of his own failure, of disappointment. Whatever it was, it was cloaked in a rancid layer of terror that she would be in danger, and people Peter loved, well he'd decided too long ago that they were better kept away if there was any risk. He just couldn't let anyone else be hurt.

Tony filtered in and out between obligational meetings, catching Peter between patrols. The city was warming up to the idea of Spider-Man patrolling its streets, the joyful shouts of children like tinkling bells in his ears when he tossed himself in the air, adding a more than dramatic spin just for the excited squeals that echoed between buildings. He felt at ease, a piece of himself slotting into place again as he threw himself headfirst into his role as a hero.

He'd missed it, not just the thrill of being loved by the civilians, while it was comforting it wasn't necessary to him, but to be valued, it was like a drug in his veins. A high he couldn't shake, the clear adoration and appreciation of his actions for their result. Peter Parker took a backseat, the week going by with Spider-Man focusing on developing his scope, expanding his area of protection as the days went on. It was going well, half Avenger half not, and entirely content with his position

The teen found himself waking from his long nights, unbothered by the lack of sleep anymore. He'd learned to live with the few hours of sleep he caught at a time, his body once again filled with nutrition, did not require as much sleep as it once did. Nightmares trickled in most nights, none as explosive as the night Tony had intervened, but enough to keep him wary of sleeping and ready to wake. 

On a bland Wednesday, Tony brought up the idea of interning in the tower, fishing for Peter's interest.

"I don't think a high school diploma is enough of a qualification for a Stark Tower internship position," he'd logically pointed out, avoiding eye contact. 

Tony only waved the excuse away, as if the qualifications for an internship were the least of Peter's concerns. "Maybe not for a general intern program, but I was thinking of my own... personal intern. You could get paid for the time you let me drag you down into the gloom," the lab was anything but gloomy, but his tongue was too frozen in his mouth to make a smart-ass comment that would successfully dismiss the proposition. The moment passed quickly as Tony introduced the next step of their program, a complicated formula that he 'didn't deem his pay grade'  dividing the attention to something else. 

The offer sat with him for the rest of the afternoon.

It followed him the next day as he swung around the city.

It taunted him a few days later when he browsed colleges, bitterly swallowing at the blatant requirements surpassing his means, but forcing himself to apply to a few, promising himself he was not invested in the result.

It hung in his shadow when Clint asked him to join him for an afternoon, proposing a gym day while Tony was occupied and Pepper locked into a meeting. The older hero was oblivious to Peter's internal turmoil regarding his future plans as he shepherded the teen from machine to machine in the team gym. 

"You're telling me you could lift that this whole time, and helping old ladies cross the street is how you like to spend your time?" Clint's voice was partially impressed and appalled from where he spoke from his position at Peter's feet. The gym was empty aside from the two of them, and it had taken a tremendous amount of convincing for the older man to give up his original position of a spotter, standing behind Peter's head. It hadn't made the teen uncomfortable, no- Clint had earned a position in the last week as something more of a friend, it was more than Peter didn't want to obligate him to a job he'd never have to step into.

The archer seemed to have settled down from hovering like a mother hen when Peter had moved up to benching nearly four hundred pounds without breaking a sweat. 

"The elderly are criminally underserved," Peter pointed out, the bar settling again above him in its rest. Clint shook his head, arms crossing before his chest, 

"Here we thought you were just some harmless, do-gooder." Harmless...an interesting assessment for an enhanced individual patrolling the streets, "Tony said you had great potential and all, but you know how it goes around here sometimes-" Clint rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly, "-no one listened to his idea when you really did stick to the low-level stuff, half of us said he was crazy."

Peter shrugged as he reached for his thermos- a gift from Pepper with some editorial additions by Tony in the decalage of Spider-Man stickers. The smell of strawberries assaulted his nose, the thermos filled with 'something fruity and electrolyte filled' Tony had prescribed, while vigorously shaking the bottle in the kitchen this morning. 

Clint was in essence babysitting for the day, 'an adult accompanying you in my absence'  Tony countered when Peter complained of not needing a sitter over breakfast. He hadn't truly minded the company when Tony was unavailable. Clint had been around a few times since the day Peter observed them on the balcony. He always arrived bringing an ancient Wii to Stark's floor so he and Peter could systematically work through the classics. The archer was something of neutral territory, aside from Bruce he was the only hero that seemed to wander into Tony's world to visit. The awkward team dinner experience remained unmentioned between the trio, Clint focusing on getting to know Peter in the time spent together.

“Did you work at a gas station before this, or is Tony pulling my leg?" Clint added another stack of plates to the bar, the amount unseemly considering that twenty minutes ago he thought two hundred pounds would have squashed the kid. He shoved his irritation down at the idea of Tony getting a little too honest about Peter's life with the other hero. 

"Excuse me, I organized the cigarettes, not just a gas station cashier, but an employee of the month two months in a row." That got a grin.

"You are a genius, right? Tony says you are not interested in doing something else." Study groups, science experiments, molecular biology, MJ and Ned, holding back a wince, he only lifted the bar, dropping it towards his chest two, six, ten times before letting it set back into place. Once upon a time, the idea had been a surefire plan, attending university with his friends had always been the end goal. For what, he hadn't put much thought into it, by the time he reached high school, Spider-Man was in full effect, and the attention and time put into his future slowly had been eaten away. 

"The world runs on blue-collar work, I am just fulfilling my civic duty," dismissing the topic and keeping his application to several universities to himself, he sat upright. Rolling an imaginary ache from his shoulders, a tension headache building at the base of his skull.

"I feel outdone right now, hop up, let's try something new, ever shot a bow?" Sensing Peter's unwillingness to expand on his current employment, Clint shepherded him toward the archery range. "You have to be better than Tony. For all of his skills, aim-assist is the only reason that Iron Man has a success rate above twenty-five percent on the battlefield." He tried to picture Tony struggling with the bow as Clint gathered a large compound bow and arrows from a utility box.

"I am going to assume the draw strength doesn't matter?" A sheepish smile and a shrug from the teen, and he was back, guiding Peter's stance, and adjusting his shoulders.

"You gonna join us for missions again soon?" A gentle tap and Peter raised his elbow, the fletching of the arrow brushing his cheeks as he adjusted his weight between his feet. "The last one didn't go so hot, but that was unorganized, admittedly." 

"Aren't they all," he was bitter about the few too many tree branches he'd crashed through. Another tap and he widened his shoulders, testing the drawstring. 

"Usually we are all tapped into the communications, Steve can be pushy, but the communication is better than that." Peter drew back the string, trying to aim down the point of the arrow. He was sure some gym class or middle school camp had introduced the bow, a vague memory of aching shoulders and arms in a pre-Spider-Man body rising in his mind, but it wasn't nearly as natural as he'd imagined it would be. The weight of the bow pulled at muscles he ordinarily wasn't aware of, pushing the discomfort aside he aimed at where he imagined the arrow would land. 

Thwack, the fletching scraping his cheek from where he'd held it too close. The arrow struck dully above the target, burying deeply in the foam backboard. He'd been so sure it would come naturally but found himself analyzing the path of his shot, breaking it down into a way that he felt he could approach better.

"This is a lot of math," accepting the second arrow that the archer held out, he drew it back, the challenge gaining his interest. He'd never had a taste for weapons or violence in general. Aggression was not a piece of Peter Parker, therefore Spider-Man too preferred to immobilize and disarm in most situations. He saved the more harmful approaches for inhuman, and violent attackers, prioritizing his safety when he had to.

"Math?" The archer’s voice clearly disagreeing with Peter's opinion.

His fingers tickled with the release of the bowstring, Thwack. This time it struck just an inch above the target. More certain in his approach, he waited for Clint to scoop another arrow off the floor from where he'd dropped them.

Noting the progress between the first and second shot, surprise colored the older man's voice, "You’re using math for this?" 

"Don't you?" Adjusting his stance, Peter notched the third arrow, muttering under his breath as he edged his aim downwards. Thwack. It sunk into the yellow of the target. Proud of himself, he turned hopeful eyes towards the archer, but Clint was watching the target, eyebrows furrowed as he examined the yellow ring. 

"Damn, I should use math, it would have saved me a lot of practice. I play it by feel, second nature at this point, I don't think as clinically as that. You genius' like to make it fancier than it has to be,"

"I use it all the time for swinging, protect the tendons and all that," he'd always come out of swinging just fine, maybe a little sore in his early days, but he preferred to plan his twists and turns to be practical and comfortable. There was an aspect of Spider-Man that the public never considered, boiling down to the idea that because he was enhanced, it was easy. That wasn't how things functioned in the real world... just because he had strength, and agility, did not mean that he knew how to swing himself in the air and arc perfectly to land in the spot he intended. It took calculation, practice, and brains to do it. Contrary to belief, launching through the air at shocking speeds and throwing himself over the edge of buildings was not his natural instinct. The method of travel he used took a lot of fine-tuning, a fact that went unknown by almost everyone. 

"I'm impressed," with a broad smile, Clint tossed another arrow to Peter, loosening a hidden tension in the teen. He felt himself ease into the interaction, the two passing arrows back and forth as Clint prattled on about the arrows he uses, discussing his time before the Avengers, learning to shoot at tin cans in backyards during his spare time. There was appreciation in his voice when discussing how Tony fashioned together particular arrows for the archer upon request,

"He doesn't do anything half-assed, I know it may seem like we don't know that, but the entire Avengers team sees how hard Tony works for us." If Clint thought it would soften Peter towards Steve, he was sorely mistaken. Hearing that the others saw how hard Tony worked for them and still split amongst themselves in such a manner. It all left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

"There is a difference between acknowledging something, and treating someone with appreciation." Call Peter young and naive, but he believed there was a significant difference, one that either destroyed or built a friendship.

"I can't pretend to understand it all," Clint held the bow loose by his side, arrow twirling in his other hand as the archer held eye contact with Peter. The teen squared his jaw, preparing to argue for Tony's honor as the hero continued, "If I were Steve things would have gone down differently, but it wasn't me. I haven't always done right by Tony, I have said some hurtful things. Taken advantage of his willing generosity, and probably more he'd argue that I am still unaware of. But we are a team, and forgiveness comes and changes are made, we can only be patient with one another. Tony hasn't kicked Steve out, so-"

"How can you say that, he is afraid of him." Shit. He hadn't meant to expose Tony's wariness of Steve, but the fury in his chest had snapped past his self-control, his loud mouth getting him into it once again. Clint nodded guiltily, chin dropping to his chest for a moment before he straightened himself, his blue eyes locked on the target again, detached in the manner that Clint was not seeing the room but recalling some distant memory. 

"It hurts me to see Tony uncertain around him now," it felt like a confession, muttered into the few feet between the two men. "I should have asked more questions at the airport, I just assumed there were some standards that certain people would not cross. If I had known Steve hurt him like that, teamed up on him, things wouldn't have gone past easy."

"Standards such as not ramming a shield into the chest of a human man?" Friday had been forthcoming when Peter asked about the day in Siberia that Tony experienced. He scoffed, his blood feeling heated in his veins, "I thought a few things about him before, but there isn't much redeeming him for me now. You can't ask me to forgive that." Clint's mouth tugged down at the corners, watching Peter, noting the way the teen's chest rose and fell in rapid, angry pants.

"Have you talked to Tony about this?" He had. Sort of. He wasn't exactly going to tell Tony that he was rolling over, letting that traitor stay in the tower, when Stark admitted he was letting it go, seeking a uniting for the team, a broken reflection of a family.

"Somewhat," he shoved his hands in his pockets, feet shifting awkwardly with the lie.

"What did he say?"

"Some shit about moving on, forgiveness, and all that crap for the sake of the team." He didn't try to hide his clear disapproval of Tony's choice of pacifism. Let them know that someone was not going to let their crap slide.

"You can't trust a team without moving past old struggles, he has talked to Steve, a few times. They don't exactly argue quietly." It gradually made him feel better, knowing that Tony was willing to lay into Steve still. Sure, the rogues were pardoned, and their freedom was bought with Tony's blood and efforts, leaving Steve locked tightly into government expectations and boundaries within the tower. But that did not promise Tony safety or emotional stability, lord knows Peter was struggling to find the latter when it came to the Captain. 

"What would you have done, had you known?" He wasn't sure what he hoped the archer would say, but couldn't argue with his response when Clint's shoulders slumped and he admitted,

"I try not to ask myself that, it only leads to regret and I don't find that to be helpful." Tucking the bow back where it came from, Clint gestured for Peter to follow him as he began exit the archery range. "Tony mentioned that you have an aunt, do you see her much?" Again with the too much sharing, whatever was in that brown paper bag had gone to Stark's head.

"Nah, she moved across the country." Wary of the sudden change in conversation, Peter stiffly followed the older man into the communal kitchen, scooping an orange for himself out of a fruit bowl while Clint examined the internals of the fridge. "We talk every once in a while,"

"Do you have any other family?" The sharp scent of citrus bit at Peter's nose, stinging his sinuses as he shook his head in the negative. Ignoring the way that the orange rind stuck beneath his thumbnail as he peeled, the two began trading answers back and forth about each other's family.

Cooper, he learned, was Clint's son, when he spoke about his family, Barton's voice took a fond note. There was a reminiscent affection as he relayed that Cooper reminded him of Peter. Uncomfortable at the association, Peter quickly changed the conversation, steering Clint into digressing details about his two other children, his hands busy assembling sandwiches for the two.

Gaining insight into the archer's world was surreal. Humanizing the Avengers into real people, with ordinary lives at home was not something that Peter ever thought would happen. Staying with Stark had changed so much so quickly, blending his two worlds. The wariness of the archer had faded, leaving the customary brash side of Peter's self-defense crumbling from the pressure of his curiosity as his boyish fascination and awe of the hero won over. 

"What do you do in your free time, got any friends around here? Moving I imagined uprooted a few things for you." Moving away from the topic of family, Clint broached into what was possibly, even more of a tender territory. The concern in his voice was genuine as he seemed to consider that Peter could have been put at a loss by moving in with Stark. Forcing down the hackles Peter felt rise at the prodding into his life, he took a large bite of his lunch, chewing for too long to stall, before he shrugged as if the question was meaningless to him,

"Just me, but Tony and I hang out now." The other man's sandwich paused before his mouth, eyebrows drawing into a frown,

"No one?" Peter only gave a nonchalant nod, giving a 'what can you do about it' expression. If that unsettled the other hero for a specific reason he wouldn't ever know as the room dropped into a red hue, a dull droning alarm sounding from the ceiling. 

"There is a need for Avengers downtown, reports of primates ripping through the city are pouring into the communications of law officials." Friday barked into the space around them.

"Someone keeps letting the zoo hybrids out it seems," Clint was already throwing his sandwich away, expression perplexed, "You think this is related to the alligator thing?"

"Only one way to find out," Peter muttered, he stuffed more of the sandwich in his mouth as footsteps entered the room behind him.

"Robin Hood, you ready to suit up?"

"Stark," With the brief acknowledgment, Clint was already heading out of the door, presumably to his floor. Assuming his inclusion, Peter pushed out of his chair, brushing crumbs from his shirt as he too began to exit the kitchen,

"Not you, twinkle toes." That gave him pause, his hand paused just before the door handle.

The deep breath he took turned into two, then three before a sense of calm came back over him. Biting his lip hard enough to hurt, he swallowed the two or three retorts that first came to mind, instead slowly spinning on the ball of his heel to face Tony. The older man was watching him with concern, a hand rubbing his chest absently as he waited for Peter's response. 

Spreading his arms wide, Peter gestured around him, "Pray tell, why am I here, if not to help out with the other heroes in this tower?"

"We've got it covered, just let us handle this one." Tony was putting on his 'be reasonable' voice, hands placatingly waving in the air as if Peter would just nod and accept being grounded unnecessarily. It was clear that Tony felt protective of him, perhaps imagining that Peter Parker's struggles extended into his alter ego. Spider-Man once again in need of direction provided from the sidelines of another hero.  

"I don't want to," it felt childish, but the truth rang firm. "You said this was different, so let it be different." The moment Tony accepted that Peter was not going to stay huddled in the tower as the city was ravaged came and went, frustration flittering briefly before Stark raised a finger to point at Peter,

"We are working with Steve, you stay in the comms, listen to me, and don't argue with Cap about stupid shit," ah, so he was once again expecting the impossible from the younger hero. In what world could he take orders from Captain-Stick-Up-The-Ass without some sort of petty argument for the sake of his sanity? He worked as a team of one for too long to expect orders and direct obedience, and wasn't his whole thing being sassy? It was his cathartic release of massively built frustration. 

"If he doesn't bring up stupid shit, what is to argue with?" He was already out the door, Tony on his heels as they jogged to the elevator together. 

"Consider it a lesson in self-control," Peter could only scoff, holding up his hand in the air 

"I solemnly swear on my scout's honor," 

"We both know you were never a boy scout." Well, that was true, but he wasn't going to say it out loud. 

Chapter Text

Tony started rattling questions off to Friday as soon as they entered the elevator. Inquired about citizen reports and damage control, requesting that she update Banner about the needs for which they could provide aid. He spoke with authority, mind working so fast that Peter felt caught in a whirlwind just listening to the man set out plans with the AI. So he stood silently in the corner of the elevator, squeezing at his wrist anxiously, his foot tapping till the lift opened again,

Reaching Stark's floor, the two heroes separated in the hallway, ducking into their respective rooms to suit up. Excitement thrummed beneath his skin as he burst into his room, the space suddenly seeming so small with his need to get out into the city. Tugging his shirt off swiftly, he shivered as millions of goosebumps pebbled his skin, hands already digging into his designated Spider-Man drawer-Not that he would ever call it that to Tony's face- before the soft sound of the fabric hitting the ground reached his ears. The lycra material of the suit was cool in his hand, the whole suit updated, and again without holes. He no longer would look like the homeless reflection of his alter-ego after the TLC. Spider-Man was ready to fight alongside the other heroes again. Redeeming himself. Checking his cartridges, he began to swap them out for fuller canisters, not wanting to risk running out and being sidelined. Cockblocked by his own gear was not how he wanted to face off alongside the Avengers.

The door swung open behind him, knocking harshly against the wall as Tony sauntered into the space, occupied by securing two bracelets to his wrists. The scars on Peter's back, milliseconds before completely forgotten, now felt equivalent to neon signs on his skin. He stood frozen, back to the older man. If he'd noticed the scars again, he made no sign, Tony only plopped onto the edge of Peter's bed, still fiddling at his wrists. 

Stripping the rest of the way, the teen hurried into his suit, praying Tony didn't notice his mentee scrambling about in his underwear.

"Friday, where are the other Avengers?" Tony inquired of the AI.

"Captain Rogers and Agent Barton are en route to the location of the attack. Falcon is currently out of the city on an approved outing, while Banner has requested to be put on backup." Peter had wondered where Wilson was when he was in the gym with Clint, refusing to reveal his interest and ask the archer. Tony it seemed had already known about Sam's whereabouts, moving on quickly. "Listen, kid." Tony turned his eyes towards him, imploring stare full force, "I need you to promise you'll listen to Steve today." Ya, fuck that.

"I am not listening to that-" Roughly shoving his mask partially onto his head, he glared at Tony, "-that himbo." Stark's eyebrows shot to his hairline, a flabbergasted smile slowly spreading over his face. He always enjoyed the sass, particularly when Peter wasn't aiming it at him, it was a commonality between the two, sarcasm and perhaps some brutal honesty. May had favored it a lot less in the last few years, she was a softer person than her nephew. A kinder one. But Tony, he could weather the storm, the two of them drank poison from the same vine.

"While I appreciate the passion you carry there, buddy. I think the old-timer has a little more intelligence than what is required for the title of a hi-"

"Shove it, Stark." 

Hands raised in self-defense, Tony conceded his point, continuing rather with his first statement. "I need you to function with the team for today-"

"Not part of the team." Tightening the suit, he tugged the wrists, cartridges sliding into place where the webshooters sat.

Giving a flat look now, Tony ignored the interruption, "-Because I can't take any more poking around from Ross. Any conflict within the team leaves room for his ugly mug to come around. It's me. I am on the line here. It is my neck stuck out for them during their pardon, they are under my protection, it's part of the conditions, one big happy family."

"I am sure that they are all just super appreciative-" He snarked, but Stark poked a finger towards him, head shaking in silent disagreement.

"Any reason to suspect something, and they are knocking on my door. Scrutiny is their middle name." 

"Ah yes, the United States Scrutiny Government."

"Listen here, Smartass-"

"I get it, Tony. I won't make trouble for you.” He tugged his mask in place, observing Stark through the awakening hub screen, “I will listen to his annoying ass, and follow orders." He would, he had no interest in making Stark's life difficult. He could handle taking orders and operating as a team for a day. Consider it a taste test of what he could have had, and how he was right to deny a spot on the big A-Team all those years ago.

Tony nodded appreciatively, shoulders drooping with the release of some weight. Then he stood, clapping his hands twice loudly. "Let's get to it, young grasshopper."

“Barton, you access the roof of the Westwood store, take the position for covering any loose ends. Stark, I’ll take the west side of the block, you sweep in from the east. Media coverage has stated there are three of these things. Peter, you help limit the damage to surrounding structures.” Steve’s voice was tinny in Peter’s ear, Karen permitting the coms to link within the suit once again with the teen's alterations to the code. The confirmations of the others came one after another, like ducklings following their obnoxiously blond, and self-serving mother. 

”Spider-Man,” he corrected under his breath, aware that the Captain had already moved on, discussing with Tony the best way to incapacitate the threats. On a good day, Peter had issues with authority. Pair that with the slight air of superiority that made up Steve Rogers, and Captain America alike, and suddenly he was biting back sarcastic comments left and right.

Forcing himself to recall his promise to Stark, he focused on his next swing. Friday had informed Peter after he suited up, via Karen, that they were facing three overly sized, horrifyingly muscled, and hairless apes. It reminded him of the old movie, Planet of the Apes that Aunt May forced him to endure the summer he turned thirteen. That is if Planet of the Apes was a horror film and perhaps married King Kong and had a baby.

The three beasts had ripped through the city streets, smashing vehicles and buildings alike on a blind rampage. His hub played the police reports coming through; largely detailing their own injuries taken while attempting to rescue trapped citizens in the buildings and streets, and updates of two unfortunate fatalities. Throwing himself with all his strength, Peter swung as fast as he could towards the mayhem. His shoulder pulled painfully with a bad catch, tendons barking. He ignored it. Desperate to stop any further damage to the public. The persistent whir of News choppers followed behind him, like vultures to the kill. 

”Are we trying to foster these things, or dishing out a little dirt nap?” Barton asked the question Peter himself had been wondering as he swung through the city. He never asked what they did with the alligator thing- He hoped it was humane. As if it cared about smashing Peter to death with its big fat tail.

“Take a left on Germain Street, three blocks down, and on your right, Peter.” His AI updated, accepting his thanks cheerfully.

The next web sent him hurtling around the edge of a building, the street swirling below as cars and people streamed down the road. The sound of general panic and terror rose from the fleeing individuals, the blaring of horns accompanying the traffic-jammed vehicles. There was nothing he could do there, the panic taking over reason as the public fled from what lay ahead. He couldn't blame them, the city had been free of this kind of harassment for a while, this degree of danger was sure to throw hysteria into action,

Ahead of him, where Karen had directed him, smoke billowed in thick, black drags across the bright afternoon sky. The smell of hot metal and fumes filtered through his mask, carrying on the breeze in thick waves, the combination causing his eyes to water. He glimpsed Tony already at the scene, suit flashing in the sunlight when he arched above one of the tallest buildings before diving towards the ground out of sight again. The sound of the repulsor shots brought out a stutter of excitement in Peter's chest, ever the fanboy.

Nearly reaching the scene, he hauled a deep breath in, ribs expanding with the polluted air, his thrill building nonetheless. "Chill out, Spider-Man. This is just like any other day," he muttered to himself, forgetting the coms, Barton's chuckle sounded down the line.

"Kid, you almost here?" Tony inquired, the gold and red suit emerging and disappearing behind a parking garage. Followed by car alarms blaring and crunching metal. The teen responded in the affirmative, tossing himself one last time into the air, body twisting to land on his feet. His knees bent in anticipation, dissipating the jarring of his body when he landed in a crouch in the middle of a large roundabout. The planted poppies in the median innocently flowed in the breeze around him. A contrast to the busted windows, and smashed vehicles around him. His face pinched in an exaggerated wince when he realized his landing smashed a good chunk of them. Gently shifted off of the squashed blossoms, he peered at the streets around him, all abandoned of signs of life.

"Where are you all?" He did not see Barton or Steve, and Tony had not reemerged from the back of the parking garage. The city block felt caught in some sort of time warp, the mayhem glaring oblivious, but seemingly paused in the midst of it. Rubbing at the back of his head, the mask's material sliding beneath his palm, he twisted to look down the street to his right, then to his left. Nothing. He'd be prepared to lurch into action, standing alone with his hands propped on his hips, he felt silly. 

"Did everyone go home, Mr. Stark? I'm not seeing-"

"On your left," came Tony's strained reply, the sound of the suit blasting towards Peter echoing in the abandoned city block.

"Pretty sure that is trademarked," Clint quipped. "Bringing in the strays," Stark retorted, ignoring the obvious inside joke that Peter did not have the time to dissect as the Ironman suit hurtled above him. He could only watch in horror, glad of the mask obscuring his gaping mouth, when the apes burst into view. All three of them furiously in hot pursuit of the Ironman suit. Each of the apes was nearly half the size of a small car, their black-eyed deeply sunk in each of their skulls highlighting how the mangled jaws of the creatures jutted forward with formidable incisors.

One looked reasonably blasted to shit, Tony's repulsor charges having left blackened wounds all over its pale skin. It also looked the angriest as its screaming face grew closer as they lurched down the street. The sound of the ironman suit clunking to the earth behind him could barely be heard above the horrendous screaming of the beasts. 

"I have citizens stuck in a car, I need you to cut the door open, Stark." Roger's voice filled Peter's mask through the hub. That would explain the hold-up in Steve's appearance. 

"Copy that," Tony twisted himself to take off from his position, jerking to a stop as he caught himself, recalling that Peter was there too. Somehow the suit's mask managed to appear conflicted, "Kid-"

"Go. I can handle these things for a few minutes." He did not need to be babysat. Clint was somewhere around on a roof, he wasn't alone. Tony hesitated a moment longer, but when Steve started to rattle off his location in street names, the suit blasted away. If Peter thought he'd done damage to the city's poppies before, well they were just obliterated now. Absently, he hoped no one was too fond of them, shaking loose a limp collection of ragged flowers off his foot. 

Jumping into action, he shot a web into the air, hauling himself toward the third floor of a nearby building. The sound of the apes caused the hair to stand on his body in primal fear. He'd rather face a wizard, or something other than an animal any day of the week, the alligator thing having left a bad taste in his mouth. Forcing it down, he focused on webbing off two of the streets, waiting for the beasts to near the round-a-bout. At least there wasn't any fog, he was grateful for that small mercy.

"Laying a web, I see. Boxing everyone in, smart." Barton observed, cozy on his rooftop as he watched Peter rapidly close off the street from the soon-to-be-captured apes. Jumping back and forth, he layered thick webs over one another, fashioning a barrier to the streets where the citizens had fled. Eyeing his work, he requested Karen to change to the Splatter-Webs as he liked to call them, adding another dense layer over the original web strands till he could barely see through them to the other side.

"It is only smart if you can get out," Stark argued over the coms. Peter rolled his eyes in exasperation at the overprotectiveness.

And then they were there, chasing after the teen as he jumped between buildings, arms flailing wildly as he shot web after web, dragging them across the exiting streets to cover their escape. One of the apes clipped his foot mid-swing, sending him sailing off course, shoulder connecting painfully with a brick wall. Hands sticking, holding him to the wall, he hissed. Aching tendons from earlier flared to life again, unhappy at the rough crash.

"Mother fuc-" 

"Got him," Barton announced just as a flash bang went off at the feet of the ape, shrill outraged screams echoing all around Peter. Unfortunately, Peter had also been facing the blinding light, his retinas searing in agony at the disorienting flash. "Dude, what the hell, I'm over here!" Appalled at the lack of forethought, he clambered higher up the building, blinking black spots from his vision, entirely off his game now. Unease filled his chest as he could barely make out the shapes below, heightened senses rattled. The suit had muffled some of the sound. His ears were largely unaffected,-thank god for whatever Stark added.

"Barton, what the hell were you thinking?" Stark was outraged, the sound of shrieking metal in the background of his coms. Tony grunted with effort, working to free what Peter could only assume to be the citizens Steve needed help with. What kind of damage is done that the super soldier couldn't even pry them out? Something slammed a few feet below the teen into the building, bricks shifting with the force of it. He backpedaled up the building, blinking hard to clear his vision.

"That's my bad, sorry kid," Clint sounded sheepish, "I forgot about the senses, Steve isn't like that. I just assumed-" 

"Assumed he'd know you were tossing a grenade at his toes?!" Tony was clearly not going to let that go soon. Diffusing the situation as best he could while temporarily blinded, Peter added, "You know what they say, Clint," huffing for breath, he scuttled across the building, fingers sticking to the smooth glass windows, "When you assume, you only make an ass out of you and me."

"I am more focused on how gross it was to watch you just crawl across-"

"Better communication, team," Steve broke in, silencing the others. Head aching with a building headache, Peter evaluated the circling apes, their gazes locked on him. He imagined this is what it felt like to play cat and mouse, not relishing his position as the mouse, he nervously swallowed. 

"Peter, keep them distracted till Stark and I can make it back, we are finishing up. Barton, communicate before assisting in the future."

"Aye, aye, Captain." The archer replied. Peter only bristled, distract them, he could do more than that.

Lurching off his position, he shot a web at the feet of the blast-marked ape, a splatter bomb locking its legs into place on the road. It immediately began tearing itself free. Adding three more shots before considering it locked down for the time being, he launched himself towards a light pole. Using his momentum to throw himself upwards, he landed at the top, swaying uncomfortably when the remaining two apes began shoving at the pole. They were definitely dedicated.

The smaller of the two apes caught on first, changing tactics as it began to grapple its way up the pole. "I think I liked the alligator more, it could not climb," Peter assessed, abandoning his position in favor of somewhere higher from the ground.

"Flashbang coming in, right between them." Thankful for the warning, he averted his eyes as Clint incapacitated the two. A second arrow hit the repulsor-stricken ape, its body lurching as the makeshift taser zapping loudly. The electrical snaps popped in the air dramatically. "This just isn't your day, pal, is it." If the ape had any hair, it would have started smoking.

"Kid, Friday says there are citizens in the bookstore to your left, two of them. Can you get them evacuated?" 

"Sure can," taking opportunity with the apes distracted, he dropped to the ground, quickly crossing towards the bookstore. Its vintage appeal was decimated by the busted store sign hanging above the door, its splintered remains scattered in the doorway. The glass window facing the street had met the same demise, chunks of glass glittering on the ground.

“Yo, who's in here?" Ducking through the doorway, he snuck a glance back towards the apes. Clint was shooting a barrage of arrows with different effects, keeping their attention away from Peter. "Karen, can you use thermal please?" Without reply, his hub changed, the bright figures of two people huddled in the back of the store behind shelves were made obvious. The inside of the store was untouched, thankfully making his way deeper into the store a quick process. Rounding the shelves, he shook a finger in the air, hub changing back to reveal the faces of two teens crouched with their arms around each other. "Honestly folks, did the spandex not give it away, rescue has come."

"What the hell is out there?! We heard screaming and hid." They were young, in high school if he was going to guess an age range. "Will said we should stay in here till it was over...are we safe to leave yet?" The girl sniffled, eyes bright with unshed tears.

"Smart man." He shot finger guns at the other kid, but Will only watched him with wide eyes, arms wrapped tightly around his counterpart. Moving on, Peter shrugged "As for are you safe, so-so." Wavering a hand in the air, he peered at the isle title. Who hung out in the homemaking section? Judging by the hickeys all over Will's neck, they had not been focused on the reading material. "Anyway, that is why I am here, we should be safe to leave through the back door." With the exiting streets closed and Clint out front, Peter was fairly certain it was the best route out, "Karen is that right?" He asked, just to be sure.

"Captain Rogers has been notified to return and guide them to safety upon their exit."

"Great," clapping his hands, he motioned for them to stand, "You are going to meet the world's most ancient fossil, you're gonna love it. Next time, pick a better make-out spot. Somewhere less dusty perhaps." The teens looked at each other, not moving from their position. Sighing, he grabbed each of them by a forearm, gently pulling them to their feet. "This way," he urged, hurrying them to the emergency exit. Shoving the door open with his shoulder, he endured waiting for the tentative approach of the others. They peered out the doorway in suspicion of danger, eyes nearly exploding out of their head when they saw Captain America heading towards them.

"Ah, Steven," He ignored the frown on the Captain's face as he jogged towards the trio, shield at the ready on his arm. "These two need an escort," pushing the awe-struck teens towards the older hero, he went to return inside.

"Spider-Man." Ugh. Spinning on his heel, he looked up at the other hero, the lenses of his mask squinting in annoyance. "We are escorting the last citizens from the surrounding blocks as Friday is locating them. Stark said to wait for us before you do anything drastic." The old man would say something like that, saving the big moment for himself, show off.

Without reply, he traced his footsteps back through the shop, stopping at the sidewalk. The streets were empty, the splatter web no longer holding its prisoner where he had left it. Peter frowned at the two apes working their way up towards Clint’s spot on top of the roof. The archer sent calculating arrows their way, slowing their approach but not able to end it. Wasn't there a third?

Light exploded across his vision as the weight of a truck slammed into his back. Not a truck, he corrected as his skull smashed into the concrete below him, head bouncing a second time with the force of attack. Waiting for his exit, the third ape had leaped on him, adding insult to injury by stomping on his prone form. Spider-Man's ribs screamed in pain, and his weak attempt to stand diminished as the ape grabbed both of his legs in an iron grip. It dragged his scrambling form to the middle of the street, head bouncing against the curb.

He could tell that the material of his suit split on contact. Hot blood warming his scalp. The uncaring animal screamed in delight at the rich smell of iron. Stark was yelling in his coms, Barton arguing back, but he couldn't focus on either of them.

Twisting onto his stomach, his hands found no purchase as he was hauled across the pavement. Nails bending painfully with the way he dug his fingertips into everything-anything-to getaway. Panicked puffs of air overheated his face. Hub detailing his skyrocketing vitals-as if he didn't know he was freaking out.

His ankle screamed in urgency, a guaranteed extensive injury if he did not pry it loose of the ape soon. Using his arms to launch himself up from the ground, he rotated in the air, breath shoved out of his lungs with the impact of his frame slamming back down. But it was successful, his back dragging across the ground instead of his belly. He aimed a webshooter towards his attacker's head, a difficult angle considering his feet were three feet above his head. Not to mention it was King Kong hauling his skinny ass along.

The web shot high, useless as it sailed away into the city block. It did not go without consequence as the ape stopped in its tracks when the web thwipped past. Peter could only stare in muted horror as it slowly turned its humongous head, beady, fury-filled eyes staring down at him. One side of its face was marked with a repulsor blow. The ape he webbed to the ground earlier.

"Oh, shit."

Then he was flying in the air, the ape hauling him by both legs upwards, only to slam him into the ground again. Mercifully, he landed on the dirt of the median rather than the pavement. His teeth didn't have the same appreciation as they rattled in his skull. Vision blacking out for a moment, consciousness possibly fading out too. His ankle was certainly broken now, it felt like someone had jabbed a hot poker deep into the joint. 

"St'rk!" He garbled, head spinning. Then his leg was free, a meaty thunk sounding above him at the same moment the grip loosened. The beast lurched away- or rather fell- tossed off its feet with the momentum of Captain America's shield making contact with its face. Scrambling to his knees, the teen hauled his mask up his nose just in time to puke on the few standing poppies. Poor things.

He spit, trying to clear the taste of bile from his mouth, when thick hands hauled him to his feet, digging painfully into his armpits. Offended at the recent rag doll treatment,  he rolled his head towards the nuisance, staring up at the jawline of Steve Rogers. 

"You have to get out of here, Spider-Man," Steve scooped his shield up from where it had fallen. The ape still sprawled across the pavement, body twitching as it came into the world of the conscious again.

Tucking his mask in place, Peter shook his head in refusal, instead searching the rooftop for Clint. The sandy-haired male had left his original rooftop, now over several buildings, clearly having jumped across. Peter would have found it impressive if the apes weren't closing back in on the archer. “I’m good, plenty of fight left,” Shuffling his way toward Clint, he shot two webs, one from each wrist, to the upper corners of two buildings. Pulling them taunt, he overlapped the webs in his hands, forming a makeshift slingshot. Steve was stalked towards him, an unhappy turn to his mouth.

Hurrying, Peter leaned his weight fully back, making a mental note to thank Tony for figuring out how to make the suit resistant to the web material -this would be a terrible moment to get stuck.

“Tony said to keep you down, don’t make me-“ But Peter wasn’t listening, hastily shoving himself backward till the webs started to whine, he launched himself overhead, body shooting through the air. Steve left below, unable to intervene as the teen began swinging his way toward Clint.

"There is no ‘I’ in team, kid," Steve shouted after him in irritation. Hearing the nickname Tony gave him come from the blond, it gave him the ick. So he continued on his way, unbothered at disobeying the Captain, but characteristically unable to hold his own comment back.

“There is, Steve. It is right in the A-hole, it might take an abstract eye, but I hear you're an artist. I am sure you can find it if you try hard enough." Barton choked on a laugh. 

Peter gained height and speed quickly, landing beside the archer. “You need a hand?”

Barton’s arrows were noticeably low, less than half left in his quiver. “These things are tough as nails.” The man frowned darkly, watching them advance. He was clearly unhappy about not having a greater effect against the beasts. 

“They’ve got genetic mutations and all that, you can’t hold it against yourself.” Without waiting for permission, he grabbed the older man around the chest, throwing them both over the edge of the building. The larger of the apes had begun to find its way towards their rooftop. Unwilling to take the risk, he’d made the split decision to try swinging around with another grown man. Sending a new web mid-fall, it sailed across the median, sticking securely to a neighboring building.  

Not his greatest idea. Carrying Clint along with him wasn’t the issue, Peter could do that. No- it was landing. With one arm holding the web, the other being Clint’s only security from becoming a smear. That left Peter with zero of two arms available to stop his trajectory, and one leg-considering his other ankle was out of commission. Twisting midair, so his back would absorb most of the impact, he prayed for the best.

Clint’s panicked yelp was almost enough to pull a laugh from the teen, but the absolute agony shooting through his leg when they careened into the building robbed the moment of humor. Barton bounced against the teen, squishing him against the bricks with his weight. The arrow fletches poking his face were just as unwelcome.

“Are you trying to get us killed, use your legs genius!” Clint barked, the paternal anger richly coating his tone. Peter rotated them, using his good leg to begin repelling down the building.

Gritting his teeth, sweat trickling down his temples, ”Can’t. Foot’s broke.” He ground out, blinking to clear the tears of pain out of his vision. Clint was silent as they reached the street, speaking when they’d both evaluated their safety. The only ape on the street was currently being battered by Captain America. 

“What happened to your head?” The archer demanded, noticing the scarlet coating the back of the teen’s head. “You should be benched, for the foot and bleeding,”

”Who is bleeding?!” Stark demanded, the volume too loud in the teen's ears. Concussed somewhat for sure. He never regretted letting his body fall so far from its standard so much, his healing a year ago would have already erased the effects of his slammed head. 

“Clint, you need to get out of here. We can’t cover you on the ground.” Steve yelled, giving an impressive one-two to the blaster-marked ape. It didn’t look like good odds for the beast. Its movements slow with exhaustion, arms swinging wild haymakers without direction. 

“Tony, I need a lift, Spider-Man is hurt,” Clint revealed, ignoring the way Peter's arm raised in the air, his 'Are you freaking kidding me' clearly conveyed in his silent outrage. To ensure the archer knew how unappreciated his little update was, the teen threw two matching gestures up with his hands.

”No, I’m not.” He quickly followed in the coms, irritation prickled his nerves. He was fully capable of helping. “I’ve fought with a lot worse. You’re not benching me, Tony.” He meant to sound firm, but the last statement came out pleading.

Tony's coms were silent a second, before he gave a soul-suffering sigh, ”I will be to you in one minute.” Peter nodded to himself, hopping towards Steve, leaving Clint- the traitor- trailing behind him, bow drawn. Steve was all but finished with the ape, but the teen made quick work of jumping in anyway. The two made an admittedly good team as Peter worked to pin the ape in place with his webs. It lay on the ground, limbs glued to the floor, chest rising and falling in huffs of air.  

“Where are the other two?” Clint asked, worry rippling throughout the question. The three heroes turned to scan their surroundings, unsure where the others had gone.

“Barton, we need you out of this block. They are too quick on the ground for you to be down here.” Steve continued scanning the roofs as he moved off of the street, the others on his heels. It was a fair assessment, Peter was concerned with the probability of the apes getting their hands on the fully human man as well. He had a wife and kids. A family to go back to. Some things were more important. 

“Use the bookstore, we know the exit is clear,” Peter suggested, nodding in approval Steve began leading Clint that way. Peter watched them pick a path through the mayhem, the teen trailing a good distance behind them on the lookout. The whirling of thrusters grew in volume as the Ironman suit burst into view, Tony accurately predicting his arrival in a minute. The mask’s bright eyes locked onto Peter as he dipped toward his mentee, not losing speed until he began landing beside Peter.

The teen stood taller, adding more weight to his bad foot, trying to mitigate the pain while saving face. “You got everyone away?” 

“Anyone who didn’t have time to evacuate on their own, we’ve got out to the local police force. They have shut down the surrounding three blocks.” The Ironman mask clicked as it sprung open, dark eyes scanning Peter purposefully, mouth pursed as Tony took in the head wound.  “That still bleeding?” A gauntlet-covered hand gestured towards the split in the Spider-Man mask.

It wasn’t bleeding anymore, so he shook his head, ignoring the way that the dried blood clung to the fabric, tugging at his hair. “It’s healed up. I forgot it was even there," it was not technically a lie, not fully anyway. It was largely healed, and he did forget it was there until someone decided to readdress it every two minutes.

“I'm sure you did.” Tony sounded like he wasn't buying it. 

DANGER, his entire body exploding in the prediction of harm, hair standing on end. 

“Incoming!” Steve and Barton shouted from the sidewalk a split second later. The heroes had stopped upon the sound of Tony's arrival and paused two shops down from the exit Clint was to make.

Ducking on instinct alone, Peter barely dodged an AC unit that passed where his head had been, instead it nearly struck Clint who stood behind him.

The crisp sound of Tony's mask slamming into place sounded as Steve's shield flew past them. The thunk of metal against flesh sounded far too close for comfort behind Peter. “Go help Clint, get him out of here. Stay low. I need you to.” Tony ordered, voice sharp before his thrusters carried him away. The two apes had made their reappearance, Steve's shield halting the advance of the larger ape on the ground, while the smaller screamed from a rooftop freshly shorn of its AC unit. 

Reluctant to follow through on Stark's demand, he warred with himself, watching Tony blast the fallen ape, its form jerking roughly as it was knocked unconscious. He gave a sympathetic wince as the meaty body slammed into the ground beside Steve's shield. It barely had stepped away from where the shield had landed before Tony sent it to the dirt again.

"That looks like it might hurt a little bit, don't ya think, Robinhood?" He glanced at Clint, who shrugged in agreement, Steve stood unamused. Peter's eyes tracked as overhead, the smaller ape began to circle back towards Tony, leaping between roofs to get closer while keeping out of projectile reach.

"Kid, go," Tony barked, kneeling over the unconscious ape, reaching towards its feet. Peter obeyed, running as fast as he could with his ankle towards the others. He knew where to take the archer, he could get him out quickly. Not exactly thrilled with leaving Steve to cover Tony, he refused to disappoint Tony and ignored his request. 

"This wa-" He started to explain to the archer but was stopped as the other man held up a hand, nearly poking him in the eye. He skidded to a halt beside him, face barely escaping further harm by Clint Barton's pointer finger.

"What is that?" Barton demanded frowning towards Tony. Confused, Peter followed his gaze, watching as Stark began closing a large set of metal cuffs over the ankles of the ape. With his enhanced sight, he could tell they were aged, even rusted in spots, and shaped like no set of cuffs he had ever seen. The manacles gleamed a strange purple color as the second cuff closed, then sent a sparkling cast over the creature. The effect passing in the blink of an eye.

"I got them from a wizard." Of course, Tony would know a wizard. The suit whirred loudly as he rose from the ground, heading towards the ape that Steve and Peter had worked together to take down. The cuffing process began again, Tony having pulled another set out of-he didn't actually know where he got those things.

The teen jumped as an arrow whistled past his head, its taser already zapping in the air as it flew towards the second ape that had clambered down towards the streets. It was on a death march towards Stark, seemingly furious as he manhandled the other two. The beasts did not have an aim, there was no goal, no purposeful actions. Just animalistic mayhem. What sent them out here? It was not often that Peter found himself confused, the petty crimes he usually dealt with always had a clear means and reason. There had to be something more, perhaps something the wizard that Tony found could explain. The last ape had learned, dodging from Clint's shot with ease. Smaller than the others, it utilized its agility well.

"Rogers, you about ready?" Tony brushed his hands free of imaginary dirt, metal clanking against itself loudly. 

"Any minute now," was the reply, Steve jogged towards his shield, shoving it into place on his arm. The Ironman suit nodded and then began blasting away at one of Peter's web blockades. Slowly tearing a hole into its center. Clint shot another arrow, one that exploded in a large plume of smoke, causing the last ape to shriek, scuttling away from Tony. Three more arrows flew in succession, similar explosions pushing the ape towards the now reopened street. Peter had to admire the teamwork, the three older heroes pushing the ape towards the exit.

"You need to follow fast, Rogers. Friday will keep track of you with the city cameras. No water breaks." A trap, they were following it back wherever it had come from. Steve began to advance, Clint sending another arrow that sunk deep into the leg of the creature. Limping now, it slunk towards the exit, head swinging around as frantic eyes looked for an escape, sensing the overwhelming odds against it. Predictably, it took the bait, lurching towards the exit, remarkably fast with its hobbled leg. Animal-like reasoning. 

"Barton, find a way out," Steve ordered as he gave chase, a burst of speed carrying him through the exit, hot on the ape's trail. Taking his queue Peter jogged towards the bookstore, Clint on his heels. He cast a final glance over his shoulder, glimpsing Tony hauling the apes into an unseemly pile. It was slow going, even the Ironman suit struggling to lift the mass of the creatures. Clint ducked into the shop, kicking the shop sign's remnants out of his way. One of the apes began to scream again as the two reached the shop's back exit, the sound of metal crashing into metal following soon after.

"What the hell," Tony shouted, followed by the sound of shattering glass. Peter did not think it was possible to run out of the shop as fast as he did, feet hitting the sidewalk before he could think of how he left Clint alone in the store. Tony was nowhere to be seen-no-he was slowly prying his way out of the crumbled top of a vehicle. The captured apes still in a pile, cuffed in place. Peter felt his brow crease in confusion. Then something lurched off of a nearby roof, slamming into the Ironman suit, successfully cramming it deeper into the car's frame. The whole car curled inward, essentially caging the suit as Tony's limbs flailed. Another ape. Significantly larger, it grabbed Stark's leg. The thruster sparked, smoking slightly as it crushed itself around Tony's foot. A pained cry left the older man.

"Since when are there four of these things? I thought Friday knew how many there were," Stomach plummeting towards his toes, a cold sweat of fear settling over Peter as he watched his mentor deflect the new beast with a repulsor blast. A flare followed, buying momentary relief from the blows it had begun raining down on the suit, the ape pawing stumbling back as it pawed at its face in agony. The suit's hand thrusters roared to life, the top half of the Ironman suit emerging from the shell of the car. 

"I had Friday divert all attention towards locating any hiding citizens in the nearest buildings, I didn't think to have her searching for non-human forms. It must have hauled itself over the buildings." Tony's voice was strained as he dragged himself free, blasting pieces of the car loose. The relief was short-lasting for Peter, as the suit clashed against the ape. Its muscular arms pinned the suit's arms to its sides, hauling Tony away from the other heroes. A repulsor blast exploded from Tony's chest, breaking him free. Without his suit's other leg thruster, he was grounded. Stuck with only Peter and Clint as backup. Steve several blocks away at least as he followed the third ape. 

"It's back up, Mister Stark!" Peter warned, so large, the repulsor shots seemingly only to stun it, the ape was standing on its feet again, head shaking as it righted itself. He began to rush towards his mentor but was stopped as Clint grabbed him by the shoulder, halting him mid-step. "Stand down." He was watching Tony, concern in his blue eyes, but grip unyielding where it held the teen back. "Tony asked us to keep you out of unnecessary danger, this qualifies." 

"That thing is enormous, he barely handled two half that size." The suit was grounded, and Tony was a sitting duck. "We have to help."

"He will let us know if he needs help," Clint replied with full faith that Tony would fulfill his word, foolish. The beast was on Tony’s front now, grotesque bare muscles bulging as it grabbed hold of his suit, the sickening crunch of metal signaled the loss of a hand repulsor. Then clawed fingers began digging at the face plate. "Stark said stay low, Spider-Man.” Barton was unnerved, clearly sensing that the other man was in danger, but unwilling to let Peter enter the field. He drew his bow, once, twice. Unwilling to risk shooting Tony, he lowered it with a curse.

Stark gave a high-pitched yell, discomfort, and slight panic filling his voice as the animal grabbed the faceplate, and with a mighty rip, it flew off and Stark’s mic went with it, plunging him into silence.

“Fuck.” 

“Oh god,” The teen gasped as he caught a glimpse of panicked brown eyes over the chimp's shoulder. Another repulsor shot left the suit’s chest, sending the ape flying. Undeterred it began charging towards the man once again. Then his body was moving on its own, lurching into action as he threw himself into the air, a web already finding hold. “Karen, Alone Time mode!” He snapped, forcing his AI into silence, shutting down her control and guidance until he was ready to have someone in his ear. He could hear Clint shouting for him, ordering him not to engage the mutant chimp. But he was already crossing the street, landing in a run; ankle burning as he forced it to carry his weight. He couldn’t stop, couldn't stand by to watch Tony be brutally pulled to pieces. Mauled in front of his own eyes because he followed an order. He couldn't lose another Ben. Peter’s lack of action had already resulted in the death of one family member, he would not let it happen again. 

Tony sent the ape flying off of his chest with the guided strength of the suit, the animal spiraling away before lurching to its feet with a new fury. Peter watched in horror as its thick legs bunched, preparing to throw itself at Stark. He wouldn't make it, not with his ankle giving out like this, his running speed easily halved. Changing tactics, he charged at a parked car, leaping onto its roof, knees fully bending, ankle screaming as he kicked off, sending it several feet back with the strength he put into it. He distantly heard the arrow Clint let loose, but in his heart, he knew. It wasn’t going to get to the beast before its outstretched hands found the exposed flesh of his mentor's face. Trademark smirk sure to be ripped from his skull.

Twisting in the air, Peter contorted his body. The next few seconds passed in what he could only explain as slow motion. Heartbeat in his ears, he could have sworn he was floating in molasses. He slipped between Tony and the animal. Every detail of its outstretched hands visible in his enhanced vision. Then, time sped up. The clawed hands instead of digging into Tony's shocked face, instead grasped Peter’s shoulder. His bones grinding together with the power of the ape's hands. He felt his scapula snap, collarbone going with it.

Screaming through his teeth, white-hot agony raging through his every nerve, he grasped the animal's skull, its murderous black eyes locked onto Peter's mask now. Then, he twisted with all the strength he had left. Nausea rolled through his body, not only from the pain but also the hollow sensation of the ape's neck cracking with clean sharp snaps. In his panic, he couldn't control the force of his hands, the skull of the animal collapsing like wet paper mache between his palms. The gore that soaked his front was unimaginable.

The Ironman suit bounced off of his back, the force of the beast's momentum sending all three of them flying several feet back into an undignified lump. Peter lay there for a moment, wheezing under the immense weight of the ape, his ears ringing loudly, leaving him deaf to anything but his pain. He couldn't feel much for the few moments he hauled in breath, and then there was a sharp burning pain overtaking his waist. Fuck. The arrow had found its mark, slow enough that it would not have saved his mentor, but quick enough that it still pierced the animal and also Peter. It had carried almost entirely through, snapping with the way that they had all fallen.

He felt what was left of the arrow shift within his lower stomach, a sickening detail he prayed his mind would erase with time. With every pained inhale, the shaft pulled at his skin, fletching tickling within his gut in the most god-awful sensation he’d ever endured. Dimly he realized he’d crashed back into Tony, the older man grasping his body in a backward hug, talking to him, hauling him to sit up against the Ironman suit's chest. His vision bleached of color as the arrow tugged all the way loose from his body. Leaving nothing but a hole, and a massive sense that Peter had fucked up. He’d saved Tony, he would never regret that, but he had thrown himself yet again into death's cold hands.

“You can’t listen to orders can you, kid? Taking after the wrong hero, I’m a bad influence, Pepper told me but I can't deny it." An iron-clad glove squeezed Peter's good shoulder. The wound from the arrow blistered in pain with the pressure of Tony's second arm hugging him. But it was becoming detached, a secondary thought to the overwhelming fear in Peter's chest as he turned to face the older man.

Tony was pale beneath the facial hair, sweat dotted his brow, but a shit-eating grin rested on his lips. It was the kind of smile that said “I can’t believe we just survived that” and he had. Peter saved him. He wasn’t lost, he wasn’t laying out on the concrete-body shredded- because Peter listened to a command, Peter hadn’t let him down, he hadn’t failed. Forcing his battered body to obey one last command, he twisted within the confines of Tony's arms, tugging the older man in for a crushing embrace. Someone was running towards them, shoes echoing in the quiet of the city block.

The warm chuckle of Tony filled his ear as Barton rounded their fallen bodies. He stared at the fallen ape, shock carved into every line in his face-but also something else- Clint was panicked. Blue eyes locked onto Peter with a growing sense of horror on his face. He should get a mask, he let his head drop onto the cool metal of the suit's chest, eyes closing as he let himself rest for a moment. This had been a long day already. He just wanted to sleep, body crying out for rest.

“The arrow missed you?” Oh, yeah. That.

“You were a minute too late,” Tony sassed.

“No, I wasn’t,” Clint’s normally cool voice was spiked in anxiety, eying Peter's suit that was already too covered in gore from an exploding chimp to gain a sense of any major injury.

Peter himself was locked in a forced silence, voice mum with shock and pain, his side burning. It was his fault for Clint looking at him with such fear, he’d chosen who to give his efforts to, and Tony won at Clint’s expense. The arrow hadn’t missed, not by a mile, Peter could feel the absolute burn of pain and warmth of blood in his suit, he couldn’t make himself lie. But he also couldn’t force himself to admit that he’d put himself in the path of what he knew would possibly kill him with his metabolism the way it was currently. He really should have told Tony about the inability to stomach a whole plate of food. There was so much wrong with his body. 

But he needed to save his mentor, his father figure. It did not erase the burning regret that it came at Clint's cost. Clint, who had come to Peter with an open heart, was willing to take his bullshit and mean words if it meant Peter possibly could have a person on his side. The man who gave him McDonald’s and constantly tried to be his friend. Clint, who in a moment of connectedness told Peter about his childhood, trying to understand Peter, describing his fear of injuring a child in the way he had been hurt. And Peter had forced his hand; his body bearing the mark of the older man’s weapon.

He’d let him down, the closest thing he’d had to a friend aside from Tony and Pepper in two years.

He held out a placating hand, using the Ironman suit to push himself onto shaky feet. Hunched over, he stumbling towards Clint to argue that it was okay, it was worth it. But the words were stuck to his tongue, gluing his mouth shut as his knees shook. Then he was being shoved, shoulders wrenched so that he spun to face Tony, the older man’s mouth moving faster than Peter could read, eyes roaming Peter's mask. His shoulder was tearing itself apart internally, bones rubbing against their own shattered ends underneath Tony's grip. How was he even standing right now? 

There was frustration in Stark's eyes, a hand ripped the mask off Peter's head. Whatever he saw, Tony didn’t like, face losing all color. Peter grasped at his arms, letting himself hang off the suit by sticky Spider-Man grip alone. Something, something, was wrong.

He couldn't focus, stuck smiling to himself, “I saved you, saved my dad.” And fuck, he was dying, wasn’t he? Clint was panicking, yelling into his coms, and Tony watching Peter as if he was already gone. Like he was staring at a ghost. Maybe he was, it didn’t matter, Tony was safe. But it was getting harder to focus, even as he started to register their voices again.

“I don’t have my mask, the hub, I can’t get a reading on his suit,” that made sense, Peter hadn’t thought about that, the severance of communication between the two AIs about his health status. Tony’s eye into Peter's suit had been ripped away, the teen allowed communication between the suits to return, nothing more.

His body lurched sideways, tugging his mentor with it as he was unprepared to have to catch the teen's dead weight when his legs gave out. There was blinding pain, everything was screaming, his body was burning. He did not think it could get worse, but then Peter was crying out as Clint shoved deep into his side, two hands holding pressure on his wound.

“It’s gone straight through,” Clint cursed colorfully, blue eyes riddled with fear as he looked at Peter's exposed face, but Peter was watching the sky, examining how he was dying on the prettiest day of the week.

Two metal arms lifted his body, and he felt himself distantly complain at the discomfort. Then he was passed to someone else, he wanted to stay with Stark. To whine that he didn’t want passed off, but they were already in the air.

He’d lost his mask, 

When did that happen?

Chapter Text

Body pulsing with various aches and pains with every thrum of his heartbeat, Peter barely maintained his thin grasp on reality. In and out he floated, barely noting how the rush of the wind around him managed to suck the air away before he could draw the thin oxygen into his lungs.

Groggily, and with no small amount of humor, he likened the experience to a resurfaced memory from his childhood of Uncle Ben, showing a much younger Peter, his -twice removed something or other- cousin. The kernel of memory came from one of his first holidays with May and Ben...he'd been barely nine, surrounded by new faces he'd never seen. Secluded on the couch with his uncle, he stared apprehensively at his cousin, a small infant with a dusting of hair and too-red skin. Squirming in Ben’s grasp, the baby had been crying insistently, Peter growing overwhelmed with the noise.

“Watch this, Pete,” Ever the force of calm, Ben puffed a short breath of air over the baby's face, ending the screaming abruptly as the baby twitched away, holding its breath. “It activates the the bradycardic reflex.” He explained quietly, smiling as the baby held tightly to his finger. Peter mouthed the word silently to himself, bradycardic, the word clunky and ill-fitting to a child's tongue. The crying spell was gone, instead, a steady curiosity took place as the baby stared up at Peter. Sensing his nephew's confusion at the large word, Ben smiled gently at Peter. “It triggers a breath-holding reflex.” Peter wasn’t sure why he didn’t just say that first. “Nature is amazing, isn’t it? The simplest of solutions can fix such emotional issues,” His uncle continued, such content amazement in his voice that Peter could only nod dumbly.

Even as a small child, he had been impressed with his uncle's knowledge. He always had the answers. It was something he loved, the constant growth of knowledge he gained from their conversations. Peter was a clingy kid, always had been. But after his parent's deaths, he was full of fear, trauma, and far too much intellect. He found solace with Uncle Ben, in a house of extended family he didn’t know, supported further by the steady presence of May. He found a safe place, with the gentle middle-aged uncle who had compassion to match Mother Teresa.

He'd hoped to grow up like Ben. Yet, as he'd grown older, Peter had concluded that he wouldn’t be like his uncle. No, he had more questions than answers on a good day. And right now, tucked into the arms of someone flying in the air, he felt sorely at a loss for information.

Tucking his face into the chest of the person carrying him, he tried to shield his nose and haul in a comfortable breath. But it still didn't feel right, it wasn’t a lack of air being drawn in. It was his ribs, screaming with the inflation of his lungs, which fought against his crushed rib cage for room. When did his ribs cave?  He could recall being smashed, Concrete digging into the tender skin of his back and pinning him to the ground. Nerve endings screaming as rebar and rubble stabbed into him, agony holding him in place. His ribs were broken in several places, threatening to puncture into his lung.  He shook his head weakly, clearing the memories threatening to overrun his reality- there had been an ape.

It wasn’t the warehouse, he had Tony. His mentor had been there, holding Peter- “ ‘ony,” he grumbled, head lolling on his neck. He felt so drained, he couldn't remember ever feeling like his neck weighed this much in his entire life. Clinically, he knew that the human adult head averaged a weight of nearly eleven pounds, they’d learned that in anatomy and physiology in high school. Flash quipping that Peter’s weighed half that, mostly full of air and space. He didn’t miss those days...locked into a program eight hours a day...made even longer by extracurriculars and- focus. 

He was missing something. Left arm looped across his chest, he was being held too tight against a chest plate. Warm arms holding him, not the cold metal embrace of Tony in the suit that he could have sworn he was held in just moments ago. Above him, the blue sky blurred in and out of focus. Forcing his gaze towards his savior, he squinted,

"Sam?” The hero, he’d been gone, too far to help. Peter had been alone, stuck beneath the rubble-

No.

He'd been with Stark and Clint.

Where was Tony?

"Stop talking till we get help,” it wasn’t unkind, the manner in which Sam spoke. Dark eyes scanned Peter’s face for a mere moment before focusing again on the horizon. The Falcon's face was drawn in stress, whether from the fact that he was hauling another grown man with a suit not designed to carry the load or because Peter was injured, the teen couldn’t tell.

He tried to reason how Sam had come back to help, how he'd known at all, but then his hair was ticking his eyes, redirecting his focus again onto a series of nothings. He was in a haze, a floating, gooey feeling that left him hanging loosely in the Falcon’s grasp. He wasn’t tethered to his body any longer. Entirely unaware of the way Sam clenched his jaw, a deep unease taking over in the older man when the teen didn’t respond to him asking if Peter was comfortable. It felt like trying to hug a bundle of cooked spaghetti noodles, the way that Peter lay limp, with no effort to hold onto the hero carrying him through the sky.

It felt like he was losing the kid.

When Tony called, Sam was bothered. After months of waiting for clearance, he was finally on a trip away from the city. An event he had planned for weeks, going as far as to pay the hefty cost of flying his sister up to a neighboring city, away from the others, from his life as Falcon. He was going to be Sam Wilson for the day, relishing a simpler time with a family member, someone who knew him inside and out. Simply put, Sam wanted nothing to do with official business till he stepped foot in the Avengers tower again at the end of the night.

So when his pocket rang with the obnoxious, yet fitting, ringtone he'd set for Tony Stank, he ignored it; instead paying an amount of inurnment amount of interest to an antique globe Sarah found. He had less than a few seconds to wonder what the other hero could have wanted. As soon as the first call faded, the second followed right on its tail.

You've got to be kidding, cursing himself for not turning his phone off before the calls had a chance to come through, he pinched at the bridge of his nose. The smell of old antiquities and the rising frustration of his day potentially cutting short brought a tension headache out. Unaware of, or possibly uncaring of his off-day, the phone did not stop ringing in his pocket, insistent on his attention.

"Sarah, I'm stepping outside for a moment," he excused himself, his ever-patient sister waving him off as she went back to her browsing. His headache faded with the bought of fresh air greeting him as he stepped out of the store, the shop bell tinkling cheerfully at his exit, me too, little bell. The phone began to ring again for a third time. Aggressively he jabbed at the answer button, shoving the phone to his head as he wandered down the sidewalk.

"Listen, Tony-" But his complaint went no further, Stark's tone filling the receiver as he asked if Sam could get back to Manhattan in under ten minutes. Of course, he could. The Falcon suit traveled at the same rate of speed as Tony's Ironman suit. It was a double-layered inquiry, after being in the tower as part of the new Avengers for nearly a year, Sam had learned to read between the lines. Identifying quickly that this was Tony's way of asking for help, without asking for it. Tony Stark came off strong, antagonistic, doubting even, but Sam didn't let himself take it to heart. Where others found the millionaire's personality grating, he enjoyed the nuances of working with him. He even poked fun at the other man, just to rankle him a little.

Not willing to return so quickly, especially for some uncommunicated need, he jumped in before the conversation could rabbit trail, "You have got to learn to be direct with me, Tony, we've talked about this, what-"

"It's just me and the kid, Rogers is off on the trail. The whole thing switched up, Clint is on the ground. I'd feel better with backup." Honesty. He could work with that.

Sighing deeply, he hung his head, accepting his fate. "Have Friday send me the info and location, I'll be right there." Ever the workhorse, he'd brought the suit with him.

The store bell chimed again when he ducked into the shop, explaining to Sarah the change in their afternoon plans. She adapted quickly, of course, she did. Not a word of complaint left her lips as he walked her to his car. Grateful for the understanding smile and firm hug she gave him, he passed her the keys, digging into the trunk for the Falcon suit.

He promised her his return in an hour, questioning himself not for the first time, if he had committed to something he wanted as he took off to the skies. Friday sent an update of the situation through his hub, detailing Stark and Roger's plan to follow one of the creatures home, setting a trap with Spider-Man, little twerp is good. This would be easy. All he had to do was go in, play backup while they finished up, turn around, and get the remainder of the evening with his sister.

Or so he thought.

When he tried to ask Tony where they wanted him, silence rang back in the coms. The hub continued blinking a red dot on his map, marking his destination. Friday's communication went one way with anyone that Stark did not purposefully allow access to. Not that Sam could blame him, the team had split in half not long ago; asking for shared custody of Tony's brainchild was a lot to hope for.

Bitter at his crashed plans and stonewalled communication with the team, he flew in stewing silence. 

He wasn't sure what had changed in the eight minutes it took him to get to the trashed city block, but it was drastic. Spider-Man was stumbling toward Clint, hands outstretched, Tony standing stiffly behind. The Ironman suit battered in a way Sam had never seen before; one of the gauntlets and lower legs were crunched. The brightly red metal no longer made of smooth lines, but jagged angles. Even the mask had been removed from Stark's face- his profile was the only thing Sam could see. 

"Yo, did you guys-" Jogging towards the trio, his voice faded in shock as he stopped beside the bodies of two fallen apes. They looked exactly as Friday had informed him, hulking and hairless. Stuck piled against one another, they were shifting in exhaustion, tugging at odd medieval cuffs that locked their limbs together. Thought Tony had a taste for something a little more twenty-first century, he thought to himself. He could never predict this team, it was truly a gamble sometimes. You'd think that as heroes, they'd be prepared to handle whatever came their way. But you couldn't foresee some things and have to take a moment to be flabbergasted. It was a Sam Wilson philosophy, and how he got through a lot of their days.

Feet carrying him towards the group of heroes, he peered at the lumped form of the third ape, sprawled ten feet away from the others. The sheer size of it was daunting, but the lack of a head left him speechless. The animal's skull was smashed in, mess and gore reminding Sam of the overripe watermelons that exploded in the Louisiana summer heat as a kid. He took a wide berth around the carcass, stepping around chunks, too happy to speed walk towards Clint who waved him over, beckoning him to hurry as Tony faced off with his protégée.

Sam couldn't help but wonder if Peter had lost his cool again, the body of the ape fresh in his mind. The teen did not exactly scream mentally steady with his rage-filled eyes and biting sarcasm. All signs seemed to point towards the kid, webs stuck all over the place, the unfortunate ape who no longer had a cranium. He felt like a live-wire, ears perked for trouble.

Tony had ripped off the Spider-Man mask, leaving the kid swaying where he stood, hair standing in spiky disarray. His mentor steadied him with a hand on the shoulder, speaking to him frantically. 

"-saved my dad," Peter mumbled, the words a smeared mess of slurred syllables. Sam barely caught them as he came into hearing range. 

"Steve, how far out are you? The kid needs medical attention immediately," Clint barked into his coms. "Tony doesn't have a suit that can fly, you have to get Friday to send another one- his coms are out- do it anyway damn it!" 

"What is hurt, Peter, you have to tell me," Tony began patting the teen down when he got no response. Peter was out of it.

Moving to stand beside Tony, Sam took the teen's uneven pupils, the altered eye movements shifting the kid's gaze away from watching Stark talk. He showed zero recognition of his mentor's requests, all text-book signs of a severe concussion. The skinny face of the teen was a frightening shade of grey, he looked like he'd been put through the wringer, body slumping suspiciously at the shoulders, hinting at something broken. Even his suit was smattered in gore, pieces of what Sam desperately hoped weren't brains, clinging to the Spider-Man emblem.

"I don't have my mask, no hub, I can't get a reading of his suit." He'd never heard Stark so rattled, so fearful. "Pete!" He shouted, startling Clint and Sam as he lurched forward, barely catching the teen as his swaying legs gave way, toppling him towards the ground. The kid began to weakly cry out, short hiccups rasping in the air as he gasped for breath, good arm clutching at his side. They all were frozen for a moment, unsure of the next step, and then Clint shoved Tony aside. Ironman's hands were shaky and hovering over the teen unsure what to do, but Clint was steady, pressing onto the blood-soaked abdomen of the prone kid.

They all cringed when Peter choked on a scream of pain. Clint's hands soaked red too quickly for collected ape blood alone to explain. "It's gone straight through," he assessed. Tony grimly nodded, no one taking time to explain just what the actual fuck happened in eight minutes, to Sam. There was something about a kid being hurt, it disrupted everything, a deep sense of unsettlement laying over the group.

Peter had gone quiet now, blank doe eyes turned towards the sky.

He hadn't even noticed Sam's arrival.

The teen whined when Stark hauled him into the stiff arms of the suit. "Take him to the tower, Cho is waiting. Please, you have to hurry." Stark had never used a please with Sam before that the darker man could remember. Shocked and confused, he could only accept the brutalized Spider-Man being pushed into his arms. Wrangling loose limbs and trying not to let the teen's face smash into his chest plate as he gaped back at Tony.

"What am I supposed to say?" He'd never even seen a Cho, much less passed off a battered young adult, with injuries he didn't even know the extent of.

"Clint, I need your coms," the earbud was quickly passed over. "She will know, I can't fly. This suit is fucked, Steve should be sending another. I don't have time to waste, he was shot, he has to go." Sam didn't argue, only nodded grimly, taking his assignment to heart. Bracing his cargo as best he could, he launched into the air.

Flying in silence, the five minutes to the tower dragged by in agonizing seconds. The first half of the flight, he thought the kid was unconscious. He may well have been, only mumbling something once, before lapsing into silence. Then he'd spoken Sam's name with such confusion, sounding so lost that it physically hurt Wilson's heart to hear it. So he shushed him, silently bidding the kid to keep his strength and awareness so he could explain just what the hell happened when they landed. Spider-Man followed orders, as not another word passed through his blue lips.

As soon as Sam's feet reached the landing pad outside of the training floor, Friday was speaking to him within his hub,

"Wilson, enter the elevator and it will take you directly to the medical floor. Dr. Cho is waiting to receive Peter." Struggling to walk with the slumped form of the kid, Sam wished he'd been enhanced for once. While the teen was remarkably lighter than he'd expected, he was still over a hundred pounds. 

"Where is Stark?" He demanded of the AI, watching anxiously as the floors flashed by when they clambered into the elevator. 

"Mister Stark has just taken off with the arrival of an undamaged suit." Thank God. The elevator cheerfully dinged, oblivious of the heaviness in the air. The sliding open of the doors revealed a clean, white hall that Sam recognized as the med-bay. He'd barely stepped a foot into the hall before several individuals in scrubs burst into the hall, pushing a gurney in front of them. A dark-haired woman in a white coat marched with purpose toward Sam. Pointed at the gurney she spoke quickly,

"Put him down, please," as soon as the teen was on the bed, she began checking his eyes with a small flashlight. "How long has he been unconscious?" 

He could only guess, estimating from the last time the kid had talked to him, "Maybe, three minutes now? He might have been in and out on the way over." His answer seemed acceptable as the doctor, who he presumed to be Cho, directed the others to take Peter to the OR. The group acted as one, Peter flying down the hall on the gurney, body too still in the large bed. Sam followed on wooden feet, feeling compelled to make sure that Tony's kid got as far as he was allowed to take him. Which ended up being the entrance of the operating room, a nurse telling him to find a seat and they'd be with him as soon as possible.

He sat in one of the small hospital chairs, the Falcon suit obnoxiously bulky within its confines. Tugging the goggles free from his face, he rubbed at his eyes. Trying to reason with the rapid change of emotions in his chest. He was angry, but also overwhelmingly concerned about the kid. He'd barely met him, but Spider-Man was a piece of the team. More importantly, Peter was something bigger and more meaningful to Tony.

Relieved to hear the clatter of feet coming down the hall, he let himself relax. Staring at his clasped hands while he waited for Tony to round the corner. The steps paused, before starting again in a hurry, growing faster as Friday directed Stark to 'mini-boss' 

He began to ask Tony to explain what happened, but instead, it was a woman who charged towards him. Her bright red hair tucked in a neat ponytail posed a strong contrast to the heels clutched in hand, and her bare feet pattering on the med-bay floor.

Pepper looked around the space, eyes searching for what he suspected was Tony. Settling for Sam, she rushed forward, sparing him a glance before her eyes locked onto the closed operating room door, “Is he in there?" It was rhetorical, he'd heard Friday tell Pepper that Peter was in the room, but he nodded anyway. Pepper sank into a chair, heels dropping carelessly to the floor as she clutched at her mouth in despair.

Feeling awkward at the bright tears glittering in her eyes, he shifted in his chair, "Tony will be here soon," he reassured, pointlessly, they both knew nothing was going to keep Stark away from the kid.

"We were supposed to play Uno tonight," Pepper spoke in a hushed voice, not turning to look at Sam. She didn't seem to be speaking to him in the first place, so he did not respond. Instead waiting in silence alongside Pepper. Guilt tugged heavily in his chest, for what? He couldn't be sure, maybe it was because he had let the first two calls go by. If he had been a few minutes sooner to the scene then maybe- shaking himself loose of that thought, he refused to let blame start now. He wasn't the focus, the kid was.

His mouth turned down in sympathy at the rattled CEO of Stark Industries sitting beside him in silence. The sight of a family member, desperately waiting to hear something about their loved one, held in the limbo of a waiting room, was never a comfortable sight. "Pepper-" he didn't know what he was going to say, and they were both spared the empty platitude as Tony burst into the hall,

"Pepper!"

"Tony!" She'd already burst from her seat, rushing towards her partner. Sam took a bystander position as the two clashed together in a desperate mess of tangled arms. Tony's hand white-knuckled where it clutched at the back of Pepper's suit jacket, eyes locked onto the operating room doors just as hers had been just moments ago. 

"What happened?" Pepper demanded, an edge of hysteria creeping in. She clutched Tony's face in her hands, forcing his eyes to meet hers. Tony could only shake his head, mouth opening and closing a few times as he tried to find the words. Seeming overwhelmed he stepped out of her embrace, beginning to pace the hallway, rubbing at his wrist. With her arms once again empty, the CEO wrapped herself into a tight hug, bare feet shifting on the ground. 

"It was just so fast. I told him to stand down, Clint was supposed to keep him-" 

"What happened?" Pepper redirected firmly, not allowing her partner to unravel just yet. Not before she knew what had gone on, leaving the boy in an operating room while the others remained unharmed.

"Clint shot him-"

"What?" Sam and Pepper broke out in unison, one voice filled with anger, the other shocked. Tony quickly continued, looking toward Pepper with pleading eyes, silently begging for patience as he tried to gather himself and explain.

"He jumped in front of it, Clint couldn't have stopped it, no one could have. The idiot kid launched himself between me and one of those sci-fi apes, Clint was trying to- Pepper, I told Peter no." Sam winced with the crack of Stark's voice. Emotional was not a word that he would use for Tony, not by a long shot, but when it came to the kid, Sam was finding that he didn't know a thing about Stark.

"Wilson," Sam's spine straightened with the redirection of Tony's intense gaze. "You got him here," treading down the hall, Tony's mouth tucked tightly into a thin line. Pepper drifting after him as they made their way towards Sam, a pair of strong arms hauled the Falcon to his feet, dragging him into a short but firm embrace.

Speechless Sam could only nod, sitting again in his chair, accepting the thanks as Tony slumped in a chair. Pepper, some of her usual grace returning with the reassurance of Tony's presence, sat softly in the seat between the two men, hand rubbing at Tony's shoulders as he held his face in his hands. Offering silent comfort. It was all they could do, remaining uninformed about the kid's condition, lining the wall in plastic chairs.

"He's part of the team." Sam offered, feeling guilty for internally complaining to himself for being inconvenienced by returning at Tony's request. At the end of the day, of course, he helped, there was no need to thank him, it was the right thing to do. The human thing to do. 

"He is," Tony agreed, not looking up from where his eyes had settled on the ground. Pepper swallowed thickly, gaze trailing back to the doors, hand never leaving Stark's shoulder. Reaching towards Sam without turning her head, she squeezed his forearm, her free hand small and cold against his skin. "Thank you, Sam." 

He found himself praying that he hadn't carried the kid here just to die while his family waited outside the door. That is what they were, he could see that now. When the kid had first been brought around, Steve had explained to him that Tony brought an intern to move into the tower. Sam had been suspicious, entirely sure there was something to be gained by Stark by hauling the teenager into the tower. He'd listened to Steve prattle on about Tony's poor sense of responsibility, his habits, and the risks ofbad impressions for young adults. The Captain had lost some credibility when Rhodes exposed some of the information hidden about what transpired between the two leads of the Avengers. How could it not. But watching as Tony worried his hands, eyes shining when they did leave the ground to watch the OR doors, Sam knew it was real. This was Tony's kid. Blood or not.

They sat for nearly half an hour before Clint joined them, the march of heavy boots on linoleum the loudest sound since Pepper's thank you. Tortured blue eyes scanned Sam, Pepper, and then Tony, taking their grim demeanor and haggard faces. Like everyone before him, his feet carried him to the operating room door, hands clenching and unclenching as he stared at the solid metal, bearing the shared sense of frustration with the blank surface. No sign of life was to be seen or heard through the hospital doors.

Grabbing at his hair, Clint gave it a sharp tug of frustration, turning towards Pepper and Tony. He first looked at the red-head, "Pep, I didn't mean to-" The normally even-tempered archer was rattled, a common theme today, eyes roving Pepper's face for understanding as the words continued to pour out. "I would never put him in harm's way. I didn't think he could even move that fast- I didn't know he'd throw himself there-I was trying to save Tony, that thing it was rabid and-"

"It's okay," Pepper stood, steadily walking towards Barton as he gestured wildly around the hall.  He shook his head, refusing to be let go so easily, "If it was Cooper- I would kill me. It's not okay, he could-" Sam knew how much Clint’s kids meant to him, the man would rather die than see harm befall any of them. 

"Clint, it's done," Tony asserted, voice tired but firm as he stared at his friend. Pepper drew the archer into a tight embrace, accepting Clint's repentance full heartedly. Sam appreciated the lack of blame, and with it came an uneasy feeling he realized, that were the situation was reversed, Tony would not have gotten off as easy. Not a year ago at least.

"We just have to wait to see how he is doing. I doubt an arrow wound is all he's got right now." Stark sounded grim, voice tinged with resigned anger at himself. The self-deprecation rolled off of the two other males in waves. Clint dropped into a chair as well, a sorry foursome they made lining the hallway. Clint had grown closer to Peter than Sam had, the archer taking a liking to the kid, Sam had assumed it was because of Clint's own son, just a few years younger. But no, the two were friends, he realized, feeling foolish for assuming that Peter was a child in the minds of his teammates.

He was a teammate, a hero of equal footing. Clint had given him his friendship as an equal, earning the right, whereas Sam had held him at arm's length due to the difference in age. He'd seen him as a mentee, not a hero who managed himself like any of the others.

"We know it wasn't your fault," Pepper tried again.

Tony slammed his hands violently against the armrests of the chair, the bang echoing in the hall, startling Pepper into silence. "It is the kid's fault. No one else, just that self-sacrificing, no sense of self-preservation-" He cut himself off as the doors opened, Helen Cho grimly nodding in greeting. Tony lurched to his feet, but she waved him back into his seat. Ironman dejectedly slumping again into his chair.

"How bad is it, Helen?" 

Cho leaned against the opposite wall, eyes jumping between them all, scanning for injuries, "Does anyone else need something looked at, I understand Peter is injured, but anyone else?" Only when the group responded in the negative did she continue, face turning grim.  "It is not good, but it could be worse." Tony scoffed, shaking his head. "He's clearly been through worse and survived, have some faith, Tony." Three confused faces turned towards Stark, but he set his jaw firmly, keeping that information to himself. Helen continued, speaking slowly as if it made the news any easier to digest. "He had a punctured lung and rebroke quite a few ribs. He split his head, it needs quite a few stitches, I am concerned with brain swelling, as his concussion symptoms were extensive. He didn't know where he was, or how he got here."

"Is he out of the woods?" Will he survive?  Sam hadn't let himself voice his concern that the energy-filled, sarcasm bomb on a teen could die, not wanting to put that weight into the air. 

Cho shook her head, but did not look fully convinced herself, "It is difficult to say. If his health were in a better position, I could predict his outcome, but he's still underweight. His reserves, his vitamins, fat deposits, it is all zapped. It is better than it was," she spoke to Tony, "He has started to rebuild those deficiencies, but healing is taking them as fast as he can provide it. It is taking what he needs to survive, his body is going to begin eating itself to keep him stable." No one liked that, Pepper looked sick, Tony even more so. "We are going to cast his ankle and wrist, they are in varying levels of fracture. His teres major is torn, as well as-"

"Oh, god," Tony gasped into his hands when the list continued on. Pepper listened in silence, tears sliding down her cheeks, ignored where they splattered on her lap. 

"His scapula was broken, but it was a clean break, and should heal just fine. The collarbone was in a few pieces, but it is stabilized and we will continue monitoring it. The real concern is the arrow wound," she gave a sympathetic look, the archer curling in on himself. "It went through a large portion of his intestines and nicked his liver. I am concerned about sepsis, we are mitigating the hypovolemic shock and blood loss. Peritonitis is his greatest risk right now." She spoke as a friend now, "Tony, thank god you finally got him in to make a pain killer, he'd be in a world of hurt compared to what he is in now, without it." It did little to bolster the man, who shook his head mournfully. 

"Is he going to make a full recovery?" Pepper's voice was frail, 

"I am just a geneticist," Helen sounded apologetic, "I am here because I can work with Peter's DNA, I understand his healing factor, and I can provide input and direction. But I can't operate on him, I can only tell you what I think- that is not a guarantee."

"He's been eating nearly twenty-five thousand calories a day, how is his healing this bad?" Stark was frustrated. He was not a man who could stand to be in the dark, even Sam could see that. His nature was to tinker and fix, he operated within the world of machinery. When it came to this, people, were far more complex, and Tony was sorely out of his depth.

Helen only shrugged, unphased by Tony's challenging opinion, "I don't believe he's been getting that much in, Tony, it just doesn't make sense. You are a genius, think about it." She wasn't cruel, just clinical as she urged Tony to think.

"He eats with us, we've seen him. And he has been eating the substitution bars on top of meals," Pepper tried to reason now, brow creasing in confusion as she looked towards Tony for confirmation. Even Clint nodded in agreement, having watched the kid force down those bars several times a time with a barely contained grimace. 

Helen only shook her head again. "That is something to ask Peter when he wakes up, I can only give you my opinion. I do know his metabolism is better, but only a little past half capacity. The wrist fracture is still healing from almost two weeks ago." No one spoke, all grimly aware now of how the teen had been going out as Spider-Man, injury ignored. He hadn't even hinted that his wrist was bothering him.,

"He should be out of surgery in a couple of hours, there is a lot to do and it has to be done quickly. His healing is fighting to close any incision they give, the medication which slow that process is not nearly as effective on him as it is for Steve." They winced in unison. "But he is alive and peacefully sleeping. Tony I would like to give him an IV to combat his metabolism, it will give him the best fighting chance, or else his body will keep dragging what it needs from anything he has left."

Tony nodded, "Do whatever you need." Helen quickly excused herself, presumedly to convey the agreement to Peter's doctors.

"I am going to sit here, you all should go." Tony bid, his hand clasping Peppers, clearly not meaning her. 

Sam pushed to his feet, accepting the dismissal, reaping the results of his efforts to befriend the kid, an outsider to this inner circle. Clint out of respect, followed quickly after.

"Update me?" Clint requested of Pepper, the woman promising to do so as soon as they heard anything. Sam tried to feel better about all he heard from Cho, but watching how dejected Tony and Pepper looked, clutching each other to steady themselves, he could only worry. 

Tony stayed glued in his chair, denying the coffee and distractions that Pepper offered. He couldn't do anything to help the kid and no way in hell he would indulge in and enjoy anything till he saw the rise and fall of the kid's chest. So the two sat in silence, hands clasped until a nurse emerged from the twin doors to tell them that Peter was being transported to a recovery room. Alive.

His knees cracked loudly with the speed at which he stood. Ignoring the dull ache of his bruised wrist and ankle, he ushered Pepper back down the hall. An eerie silence followed their clattering footsteps, the couple following the silent nurse as she wove deeper into the med-bay floor. The medical level almost always ran with a skeleton crew, which meant that there were no voices or noises of activity. With only the Avengers utilizing the facility, it was all but a ghost town.

Hell, the luck that Helen was in the tower was unprecedented. Only due to the manipulation of the alligator's DNA with the first attack weeks ago had Banner requested the renowned geneticist come in and evaluate his research on the mutations. She was an ace in the pocket when it came to a genetically modified super-teen who until recently...had refused to let anyone study his body for the potential use of medications.

She had fully committed to the teen it seemed, as she greeted the couple at the recovery room entrance. The sign on the wall detailed in scrawled writing that ‘Spider-Man’ occupied its space for the time being. A gentle hand caught Tony’s wrist as he made to step into the room with Pepper, “Can I talk with you for a moment,” Helen requested. It killed him to send Pepper into Peter's room alone, his need to see the kid so strong, his feet almost took him in any way. He nodded stiffly, offering a weak smile to his partner when Pepper squeezed his hand, prying open the door. He glimpsed a sleeping form in the bed as Pepper dutifully went to sit beside the teen. He forced steel into his spine. It was just a moment, he could spare Peter’s saving grace a moment of his time. 

Quirking a questioning eyebrow, "What have you got for me, Doc?" The false cheer in his voice rang off key, hallow as his smile. 

"Peter is an adult...but I need a next of kin. After a lot of discussion with the physicians, I suggest putting Peter into a medically induced coma," sensing the impending denial, she sped up her explanation, "It would just be for the time that his body is doing the most healing. It is straining him, letting him rest is our best option for a successful recovery without setbacks. His brain has swelled with the head wound, he's fighting it. His cortisol levels are all over the chart. I wouldn't be surprised if a full scan found his amygdala working overtime." Fight or flight response, he could see the possibility, as much as he tried, he could only know what the kid told him.

"For how long?” The words emerged choked, cracking with the responsibility of deciding such a thing. 

"Two days, probably even less.” Tony nodded, as she took a deep breath, "He will have to be ventilated, we already know he needs IV support." He closed his eyes, pained at the idea of the kid strapped into a bed with tubes everywhere. "I will need to take blood to properly fashion a sedative, the typical propofol is not going to cut it. I can’t risk throwing regular medication at a metabolism of this magnitude.” He could agree to that, relieved that the teen was unconscious already, free from the awareness of prodding needles and blood draws. 

"He has a fear of needles, it’ll have to be quick.” Just in case the kid woke up. The kid had been through enough, was there ever going to be an end to things that risked this young man? 

Though the geneticist didn’t think Peter would even feel a punch to the face with the amount of drugs pumping through his system right now, she agreed anyway. "I will do it myself, I want the medication synthesized within the next hour." Stark met her eyes, weary brown eyes taking in her hopeful smile. "As soon as his brain is just a smidge less swollen, we will wake him up. A coma under seventy-two hours rarely has side effects, and I assume by twenty-four he will be in the clear to reverse the coma." It was just a day, he reasoned with himself. Cho knew best about these kinds of things, all of the Doctors did. It did not make the decision seem any smaller.

Helen dug into her coat pocket, drawing a pamphlet out, causing Tony to frown when as she tried to pass it to him. Biting the metaphorical bullet, he forced himself to grab it quickly; ignoring the way it caused his fingers and palm to tingle with the firing of imaginary pain sensors. Family Support for Teens with Eating Disorders. He read the bold letters silently, twice, before responding, "And who the hell do you think that this is for?" Offense rang in his every single cell, Peter wasn't suffering from an eating disorder. Tony would know, he would have seen the signs. He tried to shove it back into her hands, but the return was denied as she quickly tucked both hands into her coat pockets. He scoffed as his arm awkwardly drifted down to his side, pamphlet clutched in a tight fist. The kid ate three square meals a day, packed with the bars as a snack between meals. Friday would have said something, 

Helen's dark gaze was steady and unyielding, "I may not know the specifics of what he has been through," she pointed a finger at the closed door, "but that boy is traumatized. No one walks out with scars like those without some sort of baggage. I doubt you knew about it, you would have called me in." An accurate assessment, "Which means I highly doubt that he sought care, he seems to have a familiar stubborn streak like someone else I know." Her tone softened as Tony wilted, "It is not uncommon for teenagers to develop eating disorders as a form of control, in a world out of their grasp, food is a controllable subject. It also is not something we can throw medication and sutures at, this is delicate, you have to be careful with him." Her two cents given, she excused herself, ending the conversation. 

"Friday?" He spoke the name quietly, the silence in the hall fragile, a fractured sense of honesty with Peter already at breaking point. "Has Peter been making himself throw up the meals when he goes to his room?" It felt crass to ask such a sensitive question in public, but he had to know. 

"Information detailing what occurs within Peter's room is contained to life-threatening injuries under the privacy setting you set for all Avenger's rooms." Life-threatening, he would have to restructure what exactly that meant to the AI. When Peter first came around, Tony had to keep himself from fretting and feeding the kid at every chance he got. Peter was thin, face gaunt, and eyes too large. He'd always been smaller, preciously short in his youth, and naturally of smaller stature, the kid didn't have much to lose in the weight department. When Tony discussed a meal plan, the kid gave no hint of discomfort around food. He'd been down on his luck, living in one of the worst hotels Tony had seen, he'd assumed that the kid was frugal with his spending. Eating less to afford living costs-guilt still battered him at the prospect of Peter going hungry while Tony let him- frustrated with his own protocol, he puffed an irritated breath out of his nose,

"Override that setting."

"That is not possible." Excuse me? "Peter has been given equal access as 'mini-boss' to you and Ms. Potts. I am unable to go against his request." Fuck. He shot himself in the foot, trusting the kid to take care of himself with full ability to hide from the AI. He was smart-too smart- fully capable of manipulating the code and rules. Impressively so. Unhappy with having to wait for Peter to wake, the impending conversation sure to disrupt the peace they'd bought, he hung his head. When did things get so complicated? Were kids always this tough...He never thought he would have to be asking his own kid- his charge...whatever Peter was- such difficult questions. Let alone do so after waiting three hours for the kid to get out of surgery. 

He swallowed down his anger at the young adult's choice to throw himself in harm's way to protect Tony. If the roles were reversed, he would have done the same thing. No, he couldn't hold that against the young hero, he was angry with himself. He should have followed his gut, benching the kid for this mission, he tried but when Peter had grown cold and biting, he'd backed off. He would rather cold and distant than silent and in a coma. Too late for second thoughts, this was the hand fate dealt them, he'd have to adjust. 

Finally, he stepped into Peter’s hospital room, approaching the bedside tentatively. Pepper was holding the teen’s hand, carefully grasping his fingers around the pulse ox. The teen looked less pale, the gauze tapped to his head smashing half of his hair down. He looked ruffled, Tony thought fondly. 

"A coma?" She whispered, worrying her lip. Not ready to rehash that reality this second, he kissed her forehead, breathing in the scent of her perfume and something distinctly Pepper. He drew strength from her closeness, his entire world all but held in the four walls around them. A soul-weary sigh rushed from him, body complained as he leaned toward the bed to brush a hand over the kid’s unruly hair. The room was near silent, disturbingly quiet for its occupancy.

Fingering a damp lock of hair, he brushed it back in place, "Cho thinks it will be just for a day, I think it is our best option." 

"What about his aunt?" May. He didn't know, hadn't decided yet. It was clear Peter didn't want to impose on his aunt, afraid of being a ball and chain. He begged Tony enough to leave the woman out of it for Tony to assume calling her came without consequence. But this wasn't a simple broken wrist, for goodness sake, they were inducing him into a coma. If the roles were reversed, he would want to know immediately. He'd want to be called the moment the kid was in the operating room.

"I'll handle it." He evaded. Sensing his internal dilemma, Pepper didn't ask any further questions, only leaning against his side from where she sat. He stiffly passed her the pamphlet, grateful he didn't have to say a word. He couldn't quite face the possibility, still figuring out how he would ask the kid himself. Pepper sniffled, a hand quickly brushing away a few stray tears, the pamphlet quickly tucked away as she gripped Tony. 

The two of them kept a silent watch over Peter till Cho returned for the blood draw and to place the IV. Peter had not even twitched with the poking and prodding, so different from the last time Tony had been around the kid during a blood draw. The two handprints on his metal workbench are still there. Tony forced himself to watch the pulse ox, the steady heart rate calming some of his nerves as the kid blessedly slept on. When she'd finished, she'd ushered the couple from the room, ordering them to return to their level, demanding that they refresh themselves, and eat something before returning. 'Peter wouldn't want you to neglect yourselves' she'd reasoned when Tony refused to leave the room. Neither Pepper nor himself could argue with that and begrudgingly did as she bid. Tony was grateful for her recommendation even if he did not want to admit it, he did not think he could stomach watching them catheter and intubate the kid. 

Only after Cho confirmed Peter was ready for visitors again did the pair return, exhausted but unwilling to return to their own beds. Pepper sat with Tony for the night beside the hospital bed, leaving only in the early morning to find busy work for herself, describing that she was worrying herself sick with nothing to do. She exited with a quick kiss to Peter's brow.

Tony felt ridiculous, unable to work or distract himself. He couldn't stand to think that his kid was lying on a gurney all day in silence. He'd heard of locked-in syndrome, the idea that Peter was possibly lonely, or afraid in a paralyzed body haunted Tony. Your anxiety has manifested into a hyper focus with your ADHD, his therapist had assessed over a phone call when he told her how his worry kept him up, but it did nothing to stop the dread. 

So he talked, read, listened to podcasts, or prattled on about projects. Anything to give the room a sense of life that so desperately was lacking with the teen's silence. By the eleventh hour, he realized that he was being selfish, he'd been so focused on staying with Peter that he didn't consider the kid's aunt on the other side of the country, unaware of her nephew's condition. Pepper's original question about updating the woman had slipped from his mind as soon as he stepped back into the room.

He warred with himself for an hour, phone going in and out of his pocket nearly a hundred times as he debated if he should call her. Peter will likely make a full recovery, Cho had reassured several times. But if he didn't...

Scooping the phone off of the foot of Peter's bed where he set it, Tony scrolled his contacts. May Parker. Staring at Peter's peaceful face, he took a deep breath, he would want her to let Tony know if something like this happened. Surely this qualified as necessary information, so why did it feel like betraying the kid?  He groaned, forcing himself to hit call. Maybe she wouldn't answer-

"Hello?"

"May," 

"Tony?"

"How's the weather?" Why he asked that he wasn't sure. He didn't really do these things, he had people. Pepper, or even Happy, who were better with people...Pepper more so than Happy on that one. Tony Stark was uncomfortable with tears and tension, two things this conversation ensured.

"What's wrong?" In the time spent calling May once a month to hear about the Spider-Kid, the woman had learned to read Tony's mood. Disturbingly so. He winced at her quick assessment, forgetting what it was like to speak to an urgent aunt. He did not miss those days, the ones when May called furious to hear what exactly Tony had done to cause her nephew such distress after the Toomes situation. He felt cut to the quick by her motherly disapproval of those conversations. Though the answer never went anywhere for her...Tony knew he messed up, he knew he let the kid down, and the only thing he could do was respect the kid's wishes to not reveal Tony's briefly taking back the suit to her. And perhaps he was ashamed to admit how he lost his cool, his inner Howard voice breaking through as he rebuked the wide-eyed teenager. 

"I am calling about the kid-"

"Is he alive?" She was upset now, an urgency in her tone that had him quickly explaining as best he could,

"He is okay," Jury is still out on that one. He tried again. "He is recovering, we have the best doctors looking over him. I-" He chewed his next words over, trying to weigh how they would come out and what result they'd warrant. "It wasn't good, May. But he is okay," he could hear the sniffling on the other end of the call, the background noise of her call quieting as she found someone more secluded to continue their conversation. "We are putting him into a medical coma for a day,"

"Oh my god, Tony."  There was no way to sugarcoat it, not that, the word coma beating him over the head every time he heard it.

"Don't freak out, let me explain," the kid was lying in front of him, breathing on an assisted machine, ties, and tubes every which way, he could barely not freak out himself. "He isn't critical, Cho is just concerned by his metabolism being shot."

"How?!" She was losing it, the rationale loosening with every word he shared.

He tried to not let her hysteria encourage his own fears, breathing deeply through his nose to gain an internal sense of calm again. "May, I can't begin to explain it," He didn't want to blame the kid, but he should have told her weeks ago about the web of fake stories he'd fed her for two years. Tony didn't begin to understand how to clear this clusterfuck. "I just wanted to tell you," he didn't have the answers. Selfishly, he wanted to talk to someone who was all but in the same position, who felt the same for the kid, who understood the overwhelming sense of distraught that had not left the bottom of his gut since the teen threw himself in front of the ape.

"I am coming," she was angry, "I will be there by tomorrow-no shit- the day after. Don't you dare tell him I am coming. He has been avoiding me for months, I will not have him running away because you can't keep your mouth shut." Ouch. He ate that one, understanding where it was coming from. She was scared, her son, the child she'd raised for nearly twelve years was being put into a coma across the country for injuries she did not know the extent of.

"I'm sorry, Tony." Oh. For some reason that struck a chord, the telltale tingling in his nose warning him of the impending emergence of tears. "I know it isn't your fault." But it was, wasn't it? He didn't bench him, he was the reason the kid threw himself into harm's way. "Peter does what he thinks is best, even if it harms himself." It was like she could read his mind, the way in which those words spoke to his own guilty conscience. "He has cut himself off from his friends, me. I am glad he has you, that he is around you again, someone he isn't pushing away. I won't say I am not angry, or bitter that he's decided to do the same with me. I am so far away, I can't grab him by the ear like I could when he was a kid." May had been sitting on this, the words heavy with a mournful acceptance. Whispered fragilely into the phone, Tony could only nod as he took them for what they were, the confession of a mother who felt she was losing a child. 

"We agreed we would work together to keep him on the right track," she reminded him. They had, he'd been disillusioned by the twerp, just as she unknowingly had, but he'd been giving it his all to help the kid get onto his feet. He thought he had been, an eating disorder, he couldn't bring himself to choke the potential diagnosis out. She'd know soon enough. He needed to talk to Peter first. Adult to Adult. 

"What happened, Tony, what happened to my baby?" Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he began from the beginning,

"First he punched a monumental hero of the United States, known as Steve Rogers, then he threw him into a wall. I did not tell him this," he glanced at Peter, just to double check the kid was asleep and not eavesdropping, "but it was entirely epic."

Peter woke feeling like he'd crawled through a desert, his throat burned with a dry pain, skin prickling as sensation crawled into his limbs. Awareness rolled over him, urging his mind to sluggishly rise from the dark, tarry sleep he'd been in. He felt sodden, bogged down in every manner. He couldn't find out how to open his eyes, they were heavy, leaden with sleep. Entirely too relaxed for a normal rest, he tried to reason with himself. Tried to order his body to move, but he could only twitch his fingers. 

Then there was Tony. With his sight gone, his hearing and smell worked overdrive, pulling in the smell of something distinctly mechanical and Tony. Pepper's perfume permeated the space, faint enough that he doubted she was near. He could only hear the shifting of one person and could feel a large, warm hand clasping one of his own. He tried to ask where he was but could only groan weakly. Then a straw poked at his lip, jabbing into his gum accidentally on the way into his mouth. Tony's awkward apology would have been funny had Peter not been so focused on downing the entire glass of water. He made a complaint as Tony drew the straw away, 

"You have to go slow, buddy. You are gonna upset your stomach." It made sense, somehow, but his addled mind was frustrated, lost as to why exactly he was in pain, why Tony wouldn't' let him drink the water. His eyes wouldn't open, a loud beeping filled the room, stabbing into his sensitive head. His brain was going to explode, white hot pain in his temple with the overload of stimulation. The sensation of tape on his skin pulling at his skin, tearing at his arm hair, it itched and hurt. The dig of a needle in his arm as he twitched his elbow away from his body, it shot a sense of horror and fear throughout his body. He didn't understand, he hurt, his shoulder and chest pounding in agony. A hand brushed hair off of his forehead, it was all too much, calloses dragging painfully across his brow.

"-helen, what-" The beeping was insistent now, tears of pain forced their ways out of his closed eyes, he was drowning in sensation with no way to lessen any of them.

"-stimulation. There is sure to be pain-"

"Give him more then." Then a cool flood rushing over him, head to toe, taking away the sensations slamming over his body. The hand clutching at Tony's loosened as Peter slipped back under,the wave stealing his awareness too.

Chapter Text

Peter spent a lot of his time alone thinking about himself the last three years- not in a grandiose, self-glorifying manner. No, he thought about himself in a way that allowed reflection and evaluation. What else is there to do, when the only person you know is yourself, the only person you talk to is yourself, and the only person who knows you is yourself?

You fill your time evaluating yourself, at least Peter did.

The persistence of his thoughts never left him, his mind never quieted into peaceful emptiness. In all honesty, he wasn't quite sure that it ever had, he'd always been scattered, pulled every which way in his attention. He preferred a tendency of hectically balancing plates and had always craved a certain level of chaos, a natural attraction to busyness and eruption.

The stillness, it never spoke to him, it didn't whisper sweetly into his ears about rest and slower lanes. He had busy hands, a creator's instincts, and the energy to follow through with it all, May called him her little 'busy bee'. In the three years passing, something he avoided thinking about at all costs, was how he tended to self-sabotage himself.

Peter hated that side of himself, his habit of preemptively jumping into action, solving problems before they emerged, creating for himself more issues. His overthinking created what May would call self-fulfilling prophesies in his life because of his martyr spirit. He wasn't a martyr, he didn't think so. It wasn't because he was selfless, it was because Peter Parker was helpful in small doses.

He could help old ladies find the prunes in supermarkets. He could, and often did help his elderly neighbor carry groceries in, and even do larger tasks such as stopping petty thievery as Spider-Man. He was helpful, it was his nature, and he put those around him first. Most occasions. He had strengths too. He was a doer, a tinkerer at heart. He could be a great friend, he had a talent for the sciences and believed in standing up for what is right. Those did not quite lighten the faults he carried.

One of those such faults was commitment issues, as MJ had theorized the winter before graduation. If she had made that assessment nine months earlier, he would have scoffed, arguing back that, no-he did not have an issue committing to things. He had never been the kind of kid to start a project and fall off, he always stuck with his first draft, he was afraid of letting anyone down that he had said yes to, and found himself ruminating over the incompletes in his life.

Last spring, he would have had an arsenal of reasons to say he was not afraid of commitment, but that was before he'd spent the greater part of the last summer making sure he was unavailable at every turn that Ned or MJ tried to hang out.

When Ned wanted a movie night, Peter did not feel well or had to patrol. When MJ wanted to go out on dates around the city to the museums, Peter was occupied helping May around the house, or he had to work. There was rarely an event that Peter could not excuse himself from for some reason or other, he was a master at it. He could have taught professional courses on Avoidance.

He picked up as many shifts as he could at whichever job had them, filling his hours with busybody work so that he did not have to lie. He did have to work, what did it matter that his shift didn't exist until after their conversation? As soon as the excuse was made, he dialed his manager, stating that he was trying to save for an apartment next year and needed to take as many hours as he could possibly take.

His plans of getting a shared apartment and rooming with Ned had no longer been an option, not since the Vulture. He couldn't risk anyone following Spider-Man home to his friend, a conclusion he made and was putting off sharing as long as possible. It was an irresponsible dream of two children...the hero and the guy in the chair taking up Batman style in their cheap apartment in the middle of Queens.

Self-sabotaging...

"I think, I'm going to find a place of my own, actually." He'd told Ned- successfully crushing their dream-as they sat in the other boy's bedroom, squished in a too-small bed for the friendship duo. He effectively fucked over the joy of their last Christmas break starting, interrupting Ned's lengthy explanation of how to best manage slamming in a movie marathon on a work night when they finally lived together.

His friend had been so full of excitement, staring at Peter with stars in his eyes, he couldn't bear to let it go on any longer, to let the false hope thrive, so the words rushed out of his mouth unplanned. Ned's expression morphed to hurt as he stared at Peter, expression detailing that he never even considered that their childhood dream would never come to fruition. The weight of it all caused Peter to squirm, guilt chewing at his chest.

"If this is about MJ, I don't mind you having her over, dude. We are going to be adults soon, it's very natural that-" Ned, ever the good friend, tried to reason with Peter, taking the high ground with a mature perspective. There had never been a dark cloud that Ned Leeds could not find a silver lining to. Peter admired the endless optimism his friend carried, and he envied it even more, as his own newfound sense of realism constantly darkened doorways lately.

Taking his silence as Peter's swaying opinion, Ned opened his mouth to explain why their future didn't have to change from the plans they made six years ago.

"I want my own place, dude." Peter shot him down. He didn't mean it to sound so harsh, so final. The implications that Ned had made about Peter and MJ's developing relationship were nearing the land of absolute embarrassment- between that and the guilt of lying to his friend- it was too overwhelming, so he forced the excuse out. He didn't allow himself time to think about how it would sound to his friend's ears, the implication of 'You aren't who I want to live with, I'd rather be alone' landed that way all the same.

Crestfallen, and frustrated, Ned then demanded to know just "what the hell had crawled up your ass and died lately!?"

The night deteriorated from that point on,  the conversation ended when Peter stormed out of the house, Ned cursing him for his stubbornness as he went. Peter blocked the rest of the memory out, too ashamed of how he treated his friend, hurtful statements flying left and right from both parties, hearts thoroughly wounded. The majority of their text messages ceased after that night, leaving their interactions stilted until Peter stopped showing up at all after graduation.

"You know what your problem is, it's commitment issues," MJ then diagnosed a week later from Peter's lower bunk bed, where she had sprawled out, hands crossed over her chest as he finished organizing his school bag. With Christmas break ending the next day, he had embraced the distraction of preparing to return to the busy halls of Midtown Tech, fiddling with each pen for far too long before slipping it into his pencil bag. He forced himself to keep his distance all night, refusing to cuddle on the bed or give too much affection. He knew what he was going to do and couldn't bear to take comfort in her, to allow himself a closeness that would soon be ripped away. He didn't want to be any more unfair than he had to be.

"Did you hear me, Parker?" He did, of course, he did. He listened to everything she said, he could listen to her talk for hours, years even.

"I don't follow," he'd lied, a shaky smile tossed her way before he turned to his textbooks, unnecessarily stacking them on his desk.

"You are showing commitment issues to Ned, he told me about the apartment." His hand froze as she broached the forbidden topic. Sometimes it was hard sharing a best friend with your girlfriend. "What is going on in your head, talk to me." MJ did not plead, she had a clear 'no drama' rule, and chasing wasn't her thing. Yet her tone was begging now, edged in distraught and tinged with despair. It felt like a hot knife slicing through his core, he was such a piece of shit. He'd done this, and there was only himself to point a finger at.

But he dug his grave deeper, feigning confusion. "I don't follow," he repeated.

Her expression screwed up as if tasting something sour, nose wrinkling with the way she sneered, "I don't buy that crap. I'm not Ned. I don't carry the same blind spot, Peter. I see you avoiding him. It isn't hidden like you think it is, why are you cutting off Ned?” He tried to think of something, but she continued, "Why are you cutting me off?"

"I'm not cutting you off," he defended immediately. He hadn't meant to ruin her break too, he timed this all poorly.

"Kiss me then." She challenged. He couldn't call her bluff like she wanted him to. It was wrong, to give her false hope, to kiss it better and continue his plan to abandon them in the next four and a half months. So he had only shook his head, eyes dropped to his lap, unable to take in her hopeful expression. "That's what I thought." A bitter acceptance filled her voice, a scoff following. She started to leave the room. "As long as you treat yourself like you're nothing, you won't allow anyone to show you different. Figure your shit out, then talk to me." She then left, the room felt hallow as the front door shut with a slam.

He didn't figure his shit out, and the friendships kept shredding bit by bit until graduation...

The severance of his friends left a lot of time to reflect on how he handled it -everything- wrong. It gave him time for introspection while his hands were occupied stocking shelves or swinging high above the streets of Manhattan. Revealing slowly in the passing months that through the power of choice, he built the proverbial house he slept in.

The long nights that left him tossing and turning only offered more time to reevaluate his decisions, questioning if they were the right ones. He didn’t sleep much...he thought about sleeping more than he got to sleep. No amount of melatonin, exhausting his body, or a combination of the two, could bring him a good night's rest. He tried to figure out why...the nightmares were their own thing, he knew what caused those- they weren't the issue- he couldn't get his mind to shut off. He ran mental circles all night long, reflecting or regretting.

He thought about sleeping so much that he decided that there were three types of sleep for Peter throughout his life. First was the typical sleep, the rest of a child after a long day, patterned and expected. He would return from school, eat dinner, and peck away at homework before bedtime- the first sleep Peter would summarize as existing before high school. It was crawling into bed, waiting for goodnight kisses, and staring at the glowing stars on his ceiling until he fell asleep. The second sleep was less pleasant, it was the sleep of survival, snagging five hours was as much as he needed. He lived on high-strung nerves, anxiety, and nightmares, drifting between tormenting thoughts and dreams whenever his head came to rest too long on a stable surface. The second sleep, set in with Toomes, solidifying its stay after the warehouse and Tony's tongue-lashing.

There was a brief intermission with the new, third kind of sleep right after Peter cut off his friends. Ned had been the first factor he'd eliminated, selfishly he waited to break his own heart last with MJ. Once he'd cut her off, his final tie to his old life, then sleep was like a drug. A less permanent eraser of self, sucking him into a comatose-like sleep, body lax and unable to carry him much farther than to be the bathroom and back. For two months it was all he could do, sleep. His days blurred with the days he spent lounging in sweat-stained sheets, the month swishing by in a rapid succession of forgotten days, never feeling like he'd slept enough. Peter did not have sleep which left him feeling well rested anymore, he had not found a dreamless abyss of unconsciousness in longer than he dared even consider.

So when he opened sleep-crusted eyes at almost twenty, to the familiar white walls of the med-bay, feeling better than he had since in two years, he was confused.

Dim memories of waking once before teased at the corners of his sleepy mind, the panic of fighting his own overwhelmed senses echoing in sympathy. His senses were content now. No blaring headache or sensation of too-tight skin. He wasn’t exactly comfortable, he could feel where his body was healing, ribs and shoulders largely taking the spotlight with their aching. There were heavy weights of casts wrapped around his ankle and wrist, but he was distinctly alive, blinking bleary eyes at the ceiling above him.

It took a few minutes for his memory to recall just why he was back in the medical wing. Fuzzy images of apes, blasted webs, Tony's scared eyes trying to catch his own, and the feeling of wind in his eyes. He'd really stepped in it this time, didn't he? Lips smacking together, mouth feeling full of cotton, he peered to the sides of his bed, searching for something to relieve the terrible taste in his mouth. Nothing else to do now, he was here, so he settled on addressing small things first, one at a time. His first focus was to satiate his thirst, and then itch his foot beneath the cast.

His scan of the room was fruitful, as he spotted on a small rolling bedside table, a hospital mug of water, a straw sticking out of its lids. Internal thanks welled in his chest for whoever had predicted his thirst as he began to inch across the bed, but mid-roll as his inner arm zinged, the familiar dig of a needle shifting beneath his skin causing a cold sweat to break out his body. It was fine, he could deal with it. Hospital stays, almost always equals needles. And it was already there, he hadn’t even glimpsed the shining needle, the need to freak out simmered as he reasoned with himself about his phobia, taking three deep breaths. If he was being truthful, he still debated tearing it out before accepting that was a poor idea. Pull up your big boy pants, Parker. Unsure what was even traveling through the clear line into the junction of his elbow, he didn't risk removing it. So he settled for inching as far to the side of the bed as he could, arm held out to ease the tug of the needle while he retrieved the glass.

Successful in his efforts- aided by the sticky grip in an unfortunate fumble of poorly coordinated digits. He settled into his pillows again, rolling his sore shoulder,  the thick pad of gauze taped over the entire side of his body shifting with the movement. He felt like a Halloween mummy, weighed down with bandages and casts, entirely sure he made a sorry, lumpy sight. The hospital gown did well to cover most of his body, he could only glimpse splotchy bruising on the arm attached to the bandaged shoulder. They were fading green and yellow, all the way down to where the cast sat on his wrist, the rest of the bruises were in the same stage of healing he could judge from the dullness of their aching.

Sucking on the straw, he let himself take in the various aches of his body, settling himself into his skin as he dared to face the music as to what he’d thrown himself into when he jumped in front of Tony. He categorized the right side of his body as distinctly and thoroughly battered. Shoulder, wrist, and ankle wrapped and cast. At least he could still go to the bathroom on his own, taking comfort in the fact that his dominant hand was unscathed. When his throat began to ache something awful, he drained the rest of the cool water, relishing as it appeased some of the discomforts.

"Fri?”  He sat the now empty cup down, a gasp of pain stealing his breath away when the motion of twisting shot lightning throughout his stomach. The hand not holding him up, clutched at his side, the bandage wrapping his entire abdomen thick under his grasp. He really did a number on himself. He could only imagine the speech coming his way, unease rumbled beneath his skin at the prospect of facing Tony. He wanted to see his mentor, to ask just what the hell those atrocious apes were, and ask if everyone was okay. To see if Tony was okay, he needed confirmation that his efforts were worthwhile. Beaten to a pulp without success, that was just embarrassing as well as a waste of effort.

“Yes, Mini-boss?” Friday responded, ever-present throughout the tower, and unsympathetic to his internal plight. He sunk deeper into the pillows, eyes slipping shut with a renewed sense of weariness when the pains throughout his body grew sharper. “Do you think I could get someone to give me some more pain meds?” Pain medications had never been his go-to, no, he just shoved his way through, accepting that some things took time to heal. That was when his healing did its job, injuries as large as broken bones healing in a matter of hours, now things ached for weeks, and Peter was tired of it.

"Mr. Stark has been informed of your awareness and request,” The AI answered a minute later, "Dr. Cho is heading to your room." Unsure who Cho was, he had nothing left to do but wait and find out. Busying himself, he counted the tiles of the ceiling twice to pass the time. He was bored enough to start finding the square root of the tiles when the door opened, and a small woman peered in. He didn't recognize her, dark hair pulled into a bun, and eyes clinical as she scanned the monitors beside him as she came further into the room.

"Friday said you are feeling your injuries?" He nodded mutely, feeling nervous under the care of a stranger. The flimsy hospital gown feeling too exposed, he tugged the light blanket further up his leg, tucking it around his waist as she continued speaking. "Tony is coming, I just thought I could catch you before you two play catch up. I know how Tony can be-"

"A total chatterbox, I know. Trust me, I have told him to tone it down, but I don't think he can. It is in his blood, the whole Italian thing." Awkward babble bubbled up, pushing past his self-control. He'd always been a talker.

"-what I was going to say, was that he is very thorough," her eyebrows raised in amusement, eyes humored. "You are just like him." The statement sounded like a confirmation of something she'd heard. A preconceived notion before meeting him settling in place. He winced at the implication of the relation, an old drum beating a familiar tune. A small part of him wondered if the similarities were natural, or because of how he looked up to the older man.

"I don't know what you heard, but I am no long lost love child. He is much too short to be my papa, plus, the lack of awesome facial hair on my end. Don't let him know, his ego needs nothing more, but I have always wished to grow a-"

"I know all about who you are, Peter Parker." She flipped through a chart, ignoring how he caressed his nearly hairless chin. Sensing she wasn't the humorous type, he changed gears.

”Was anyone hurt?”

“No one aside from yourself. You didn't let anything happen to Tony." She saw through his hedging, addressing his concern. "Are you hungry?"

"Absolutely. I could slam down like, six pizzas right now." She squinted at him, evaluating his answer in an odd manner that left him feeling defensive. The wracking up of his metabolism had done a number on his meals, he could eat triple what he used to, his already enlarged teenage boy appetite now just a drop in the bucket. She didn't comment further, only wrote something in her notes, the chart flopping back into place. Digging into her pocket, she offered a small orange bottle, his name labeled on the side.

"Two of these every three hours, no more and no less, for two days. You may not feel like it," He certainly did. "But you are doing a lot of healing right now. I am sure Tony will give you the laundry list. These need to be taken with some amount of food." There was her intense stare again. "The protein bars you've been taking are sufficient, but these are heavy on anyone's organs. You will damage your intestinal linings, keep hydrated and fed."

"Take with sustenance, gotcha." He shot finger guns, kicking himself internally for the awkwardness, but she only nodded. Stating she would be back in a couple of hours to check on him and answer any questions, she refilled his water and left as quickly as she'd come.

Tossing two of the pills back, he swallowed down the tacky taste of their coating, the bottle shoved beneath his blanket for safekeeping.

He didn't have to wait long, the recovery room door swung open, nearly slamming into the wall as Tony burst into the space. Looking more tired than Peter remembered Stark looking as of late, the older man approached the bed on steady feet and a hand brushed over Peter's hair, pulling a dopey grin out of the teen. He couldn't help it. Tony was here, and healthy. He'd kept him safe, and he was okay, that was the only thing that mattered to him. He pushed his head into Tony's hand, I'm here and I am okay. He gave him a single pat on the side of the teen's face, before sitting beside his legs on the bed.

Face serious, dark eyes watched as Peter tried to remove the grin from his lips. “You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"You had heart issues before me, old man." Tony snorted, rubbing at his eyes as stress seeped from his shoulders with Peter's cheerful sass. Already bored with the bland hospital room, he gestured loosely around them. "When am I breaking out of this joint? Not that I don't care and appreciate it all, but I haven't seen a single hot nurse. I miss my pants too.”

"Technically, I have been your nurse for the last day," Tony smirked, finding himself far too funny. But Peter had wondered about the small collection of bags beside the hospital recliner. Cho had stolen his attention away from it all earlier, but it looked as if the older man had camped out beside Peter's gurney.

"So, they didn’t give me a cute nurse then. I sure hope you didn't sponge bath me, I'd hate for you to have found my tramp stamp." Tony considered that his hands held up for Peter to just pause a second,

"Run that past me again, you have a what?" If he hoped Peter was going to claim it as a joke, he was surely disappointed.

"Don't drink too much, it was a dare. Bad company corrupts good morals, it applies to coworkers too." He'd go to his grave before May knew that one. Not one of his proudest moments, but truly not one of his worst either. Settling back in his bed, he pushed his head into his pillow, molding its all but useless self into something more comfortable. Moving on quickly, he asked "How busted am I?"

"You needed four different surgeries if that gives you a hint." Stark avoided looking into Peter's eyes, eyes bouncing between the bandages, hidden and visible alike. He hadn't been joking with the nurse comment, and Peter's heart warmed at the hovering, then nose-dived sharply towards his toes as his brain caught up to the four surgeries bit.

He huffed a shaky breath, trying to think just what had gone so bad that it required surgery. He hadn't ever needed one as Spider-Man, it was horrifying. Just how bad was his healing?

"At least it wasn't five?" He tried, not liking the serious gaze Tony adopted.

Tony looked entirely unimpressed, "We had to put you into a coma."

Well, shit.

That was a lot worse.

"Is this the part where you tell me we are in the year 2027, and I am in fact, well past my legal drinking age without having a twenty-first shindig with all of my many friends?" The humor fell predictably flat as the older hero refused to take the bait, instead, he rubbed at his wrist in silence. It tugged at Peter's heart, he hated to see the appearance of Tony's anxiety and hated even more to be the cause of it. It hurt him to imagine the older man sitting beside Peter's unconscious self, full of fear, waiting for him to pull through.

The 'Thank you for staying' sat on the tip of his tongue, refusing to be formulated. He didn't know how to communicate that level of gratitude, and the tense emotions brought the coping mechanism he was known for, humor. The jokes did not stop with Spider-Man, it was one of the few areas that translated over in the life of Peter Parker, the never-ending commentary.

"It has been a little over two days since we brought you here, took you a bit to wake up with the meds wearing off. No, you didn't have a sci-fi nap, you were out for a little over twenty-four hours. Cho thought it was best that we let you do most of the healing without being up and active." It was smart, sleep was a magical healer. He'd slept off most all of his injuries in the past and appreciated not being present for any amount of pain that surpassed the one he was in.

He raised his casted hand in question, giving it a little wave as if asking 'What about me' hoping Tony would jump up to get the tools to remove it. The cotton beneath the cast was hot, causing his skin to itch just far enough beneath the material that he knew he couldn't reach it. He wished there was a pencil or something that he could use to stick down into its confines and solve the persistent bother.

The other man stared in thought at the cast, chewing his lip before answering, "That depends on a few things. Cho thinks it can be removed in a few days, If you keep the IV till tomorrow, paired with good meals following consistently. Those two things together should bolster your healing again, the ankle was a gnarly break, and weight-bearing bones like that don't like to rush." He'd forgotten about the IV with the excitement of seeing the older man.

With the needle freshly brought to mind, his stomach swooped in distress, leaving him woozy, "I want this thing out." He didn't ask, he didn't want to give room to be denied. He'd heal just fine.

A deep feeling of unhappiness arose in his chest when Tony stiffened his spine, jaw setting into a familiar stubbornness. Peter knew he was about to be put between a rock and a hard place.

"I respect that you chose to throw yourself in the way of a five-hundred-pound animal for me." He sounded bitter in Peter's opinion, but this didn't seem like the time to point that out. "But you broke a significant amount of bones, your brain swelled, and you were shot by a damn arrow, Peter." The lack of a nickname was sobering, Tony unwilling to soften his blows with some pretense of normality any longer. "So why don't you cut me some slack, and accept the IV a little longer."

"It sucks." He felt frayed around the edges just thinking about the needle, holding himself calm by force of will alone, the bit of drugs left in his system aided as well.

"It sucks more to sit outside an operating room for four hours without knowing if your kid is going to pull through." His kid, that was probably not what Stark hoped he'd take from it, but Peter preened inside for a moment.

"How bad was it?" He felt a morbid curiosity regarding his brush with death. Death once cheated was luck, twice had to be some sort of talent.

Tony did not speak, his face pale and mouth grim. In the silence, Friday took the opportunity to rattle off a list of Peter's injuries, tacking on the operations needed for each one. He felt his face droop into a chagrined seriousness with every addition to the extensive list. He could only face what he'd done in his carelessness, watching Tony stare at the IV line in his arm, eyes far away. Friday finished, the silence extending, leaving Peter to process just exactly how bad it had been. While he didn't feel half of the injuries anymore, knowing he had cut it so close sucked the wind from his sails. He didn't have anything to say, only pulled the blanket higher, feeling cold and small. Ever the gracious Saint as of late, Tony stood and dug around in one of the bags he'd kept in Peter's room.

Drawing out a familiar MIT sweatshirt, he returned to sit on the end of the bed and passed it to Peter. Watching quietly as the teen gratefully tugged it over his head as gingerly as he could, torn muscles in his shoulder- that he would have never known of had he not just been drilled with the list of how he fucked up- did not make complaint with his jostling, but the reset shoulder blade and collarbone griped at him without shame as he tucked his arms into the sleeves.

"I have been kidnapped, beaten, waterboarded," Tony began, carrying on even as his voice shook, causing Peter to shrink into the bed. "My house has been blown to pieces, Pepper inside at the time. I have watched my best friend free-fall in a disabled suit, I almost lost Rhodey.” He paused, gathering himself. “I have had a lot of fearful situations happen in my life. All those and still I have never been as afraid as I was when I had to pass you off, without any idea if you'd make it during the flight to the tower."

"I had to, Tony." He pleaded, begging for his mentor's understanding. He hated to be the cause of the haunted look in Tony's eyes, he couldn't tell if Tony was even seeing him as he was, or picturing something worse, gaze locked onto Peter's face. Peter couldn't apologize, he wouldn't. He did what he had to in order to keep Tony alive.

His mentor nodded minutely, his continence tired. "I'm not angry that you chose to do it, that you protected me, 'roo." It took Peter a moment to process that, he'd expected an ass-chewing. He waited in suspicion for Tony to continue, for the speech about self-preservation to start rolling out, but Tony only smiled tiredly. "I appreciate it, I know how it would have gone if you didn't. I would have done the same thing for you, in a heartbeat. I see it, and I appreciate it. I just wanted to let you know how worried and afraid I was. Let's not do anything similar for a while, okay? We have other things to focus on right now."

"How is Clint?" Tony winced but quickly schooled his expression in an attempt to keep Peter from seeing it.

It wasn't that great of an effort, Peter picking up that the archer was not in a good place. "Is he hurt?" He hadn't been injured at all when Peter had last seen him.

His mentor shook his head, looking weary as he leaned against the foot of Peter's bed.  "He is processing. There is a lot of guilt that comes with shooting an ally, particularly one that's around the same age as his own kid. He went home." Left, as to not face Peter. He wished that he could have explained himself, he'd tried to convey that it wasn't Clint's fault at the scene. He laid down on the wire all by himself. It had all gone by so fast, Tony's suit was damaged, and Steve was far off, there was no time to second guess himself. He did what had to be done when he realized Tony wouldn't make it if the beast got ahold of him.

"Sorry about your suit." There had to be fifty hours of work to do in rebuilding the destroyed limbs and mask of Tony's suit.

Tony only waved the notion off, "It is not a big deal."

It certainly was. The suit itself probably cost more than Peter’s entire life’s expenses rolled up together. Not to mention the time put into the whole thing. Peter had one suit, and sewing it back together was a bitch. It must be nice having the ability to just exchange it for a less decimated option whenever you pleased.

"I don't care about the suit, it is replaceable. Some other things are not," a hand pat Peter's knee where it sat beneath the blanket. "The good news out of all of this is that Steve found where the animals were coming from. It was an exotic pet underground that got shut down and wanted to get even with the city for its 'unjust laws on animal ownership' The wizard has it covered now, the realm of magic is his jurisdiction it seems. He's a grumpy old dude, with an aggressive manner of territorialism." That left so many more questions Peter wanted to ask, but clacking heels filled the outside hall, stealing his attention away from the topic.

A soft knock sounded and the door swung open, a familiar head of red hair poked into the space. Forgetting the wizard topic, he smiled brightly at Pepper as she stepped into the room, happy to see her again no matter the circumstances.

She huffed a relieved breath when she took in Peter awake and talking in the hospital bed, rushing towards his bed. Her green eyes shone, and with a fond smile on her lips, she pulled him into a gentle hug, "I was so worried about you, I can’t believe you’re okay.” Her grasp tightened, clutching him to herself, a hand cradling the side of his face. He awkwardly pat her with the hand not in a cast, letting his head rest against her shoulder for a moment, letting her feel that he was here and okay. The familiarity of her perfume eased something in him, the presence of his two closest adults sneaking away his internal stress.

While he took comfort in Pepper being in the room, her arrival only caused Tony to grow tense, shoulders squaring as Pepper went to stand beside him. The two made a united front at the end of his bed, Tony speaking slowly but strongly. "We've got to talk with you about something, buddy. Are you up for it now?" It rang all wrong, causing Peter to suck a breath between his teeth, feeling overwhelmed at the unknown, but unwilling to tell their expectant faces no. There was a small comfort in the face Stark looked equally uncomfortable, yet worryingly concerned for a man who had just minutes ago told Peter he would heal just fine.

“There is-" Tony paused, restarting his train of thought. "We have a program that Helen got us set up with, it has an inpatient if it's necessary.” He was staring at Peter as if he should be connecting dots together, waiting for some sort of outburst. Peter only blinked, the bruises on his face a sickly yellow beneath the overhead lights, eyes confused. Pepper shifted, the teen's brown eyes shifting to her instead of her partner, observing how she began to fidget nervously at his lack of response.

He scratched at his scalp beneath the bandage, pulling free hairs caught in the tape, uncomfortable with the whole thing, trying to guess at what he was missing that they thought he was aware of.

When Pepper squeezed Tony’s shoulder in encouragement, he went on, “Let’s just face the fact. This eating disorder thing. We have to address it, you can't starve yourself. I don't know why you won't let yourself eat, I am trying to understand, really I am. Helen said it could be a grab for control in your life, but it-"

"Dude, what the hell are you smoking?" Peter was beyond confused. Truly. He had no idea what Stark was saying, or why he would think anything. He'd been so sure that Friday would not report anything that had gone on in his own space. He'd questioned the AI extensively the day after he'd been unable to hold a full stomach's meal down, covering all loopholes she could use against him. Yes, he had difficulty holding the food down, but body dysmorphia was so far from Peter's radar, that he hadn't considered someone even suspecting that.

Tony carried on as if he expected the denial, the words clearly rehearsed to himself while Peter slept beside him. "Peter, your metabolism should be normal. If it was, you would have been healed of the majority by today. You haven't been letting yourself keep it down, you can’t lie to me, it's statistically-"

Peter choked out a laugh, deeply uncomfortable. "You think I have an eating disorder, what the shit?" Tony shook his head, staring at Peter with determination and pity. Pepper's face was perplexed,  head tilted as she listened.

Stark rubbed his wrist, expression stubborn. “We can't help you if you deny it, this has to be done with you fully on board. Google said that anorexia has a death rate of-"

"First of all, Google only ever tells you that you are dying, or have cancer. Sometimes both!" May banned Peter from googling his illnesses as a kid, Peter would have thought that a genius would follow the vein of wisdom. Stark still surprised him, and sometimes he had to remind himself that Tony was human, and he didn't have all the answers either. "Secondly, I do not have an eating disorder. I am not choosing to not eat, or go throw them up or whatever you’re stressing about." He wished he could keep it down, he had dreamed of the days coming when he would gain access to full meals again. He had just begun readjusting to regular meals, so what if he couldn't hold down a meal larger than the average person's serving yet? It would improve with time, he considered it exposure therapy.

"You can't deal with this by yourself, Parker. We agreed no more putting yourself in harm's way," Tony was growing frustrated, determined to dig the truth out of Peter's story. It rankled the teen, to be accused like this. He didn't have an eating disorder, there wasn't a hidden problem to address with the older man, yet no answer Peter could provide would lessen Tony's growing agitation at Peter's perceived lies.

"You just said you weren't angry at me," Peter snapped, accusing the older man, arms crossing defensively. Stress tightened his already sore muscles, causing pain to flare. He couldn't do this back and forth, the promises of 'not mad' and mad the next.

At the teen's own agitation, Tony looked confused, "I am not talking about the monkey, kid. I am talking about being honest, I am talking about the warehouse, this habit of yours to face it all alone." Oh, no he didn't, not with Pepper standing over Tony's shoulder, eyes confused as the older man revealed what Peter had shared in a moment of vulnerability. He'd known they'd talk about this, but he never thought this would come out as he lay already injured in a hospital bed, still wrapped in casts.

He felt cornered now, giving into his instinct to shove the threat away, make it leave. "What would you know about that, huh?" He didn't understand what the older man was getting at as Pepper's concern grew, gaze jumping between them rapidly.

"You can't face this one by yourself, I won't let you kill yourself because you are stubborn. I couldn't help with the warehouse-" Tony began, but Peter couldn't hold back his own response, cutting off his mentor again with his mention of the warehouse.

"Whose fucking fault was that?!" Pepper gasped as he yelled, his voice angry and bitter. "I certainly didn't leave my walkie-talkie at home, Stark."

"That isn't what I am saying, this is coming out wrong," Tony tried to diffuse, backtracking as best he could.

Peter was already upset, carrying on heedlessly, "I didn't just go do that for fun. It didn't feel fucking fun." Even at the mention of the warehouse, his back began to twinge, imaginary pain lighting the once-impaled muscles.

"Why are you getting angry, I am just trying to help. I am not talking about you going to the warehouse, I am talking about what happened after, the facing it alone, like this." The other man tried to amend, sensing he'd stepped over a line. Pepper squeezed his shoulder, silently begging him to let off, sensing how Peter was beginning to unravel, sharp eyes taking in how his fists were clenching and unclenching beneath the hospital blanket.

"I think you don't know what you're talking about, window-licker. So you should just shut your mouth." He was out of control, he needed Tony to leave, to let him figure this out.

"Peter-"

"Why don't you go away!" He wanted him out of the room, he didn't want to take in those begging eyes, or the pitying tone. He was confused and hurt, Tony didn't even understand, he hadn't asked, he wasn't there.

"Why don't you step out, Tony," Pepper murmured, a crease between her brows. Peter's heart monitor beeping loudly in the background, the teen's face angry, and nose flaring with the deep breaths he was taking.

Stark opened his mouth to argue with her, but then nodded, turning to Peter once more, "Calm down, please, I see that-"

"Get the fuck out!" Peter barked, and then the older man did, stepping out and shutting the door behind himself. Pepper sat silently in his place, while Peter tried to calm his angry breathing, chest heaving now. He was spinning, confused, and angry. He didn't get it. He had no idea why Tony wouldn't believe him. Peter wasn't a liar, he wasn't lying.

"I am not lying," he snapped, eyes jumping to Pepper's face, defending himself from Tony's accusation. She nodded patiently, not confirming or denying anything. Peter rubbed his uncast hand over his face, scrubbing harshly. "I'm not! I'm not freaking bulimic, this isn't what this is. I am not lying." Scooching closer, she reached towards him, trying to catch his hand from where it began scratching at his chest. He jerked back as if her touch burned,

"I don't want to hurt you," he explained before she could ask.

She only nodded, reaching again towards his hand, uncaring, "You are going to scratch through your skin, honey. You aren't going to hurt me," she sounded sure of it. Peter frowned uncertainly, pulling his hand back again when her fingers brushed it. "Peter, do you want to hurt me?" Of course not. He would never. "I don't think you are going to hurt me, you don't want to, you're in control."

"I hurt Steve."

"Didn't you want to?" He felt dirty admitting he did, but Pepper continued, "I want to myself. I think you did, you didn't snap, you punched a bully who needed it." It was a fair assessment, but then there was the shooter, the ape whose head he'd-

"Peter." His tortured eyes watched her, looking for direction. "Let me hold your hand, sweetheart." His shaking hand was offered, and she grasped it between her own, tracing his fingers, and examining the bruises and callouses.

"I am going to talk to you about what Tony was trying to say, and I want you to listen until I am done, okay?" He felt like a child suddenly, ashamed of his outburst. He settled on watching as she traced each finger, smooth repetitive movements setting a pattern. The tactile touch settled him, forcing himself still so as to not upset her.

"I think we both know Tony was upset and afraid, and that can make anyone a little…" she thought for a moment, "…sensitive, and I think it is a fair thing to say that you prefer to handle things on your own, and perhaps don't let others know when you are struggling, right?" When Peter didn't speak, eyes still on their hands she continued.

"Cho has recommended we look into an eating disorder treatment, it doesn't make any sense that your metabolism hasn't regained its normal patterns, which suggests that you aren't keeping the full meals down," she paused, allowing Peter a moment to deny it, but he only nodded, and she went on. "Her professional opinion was that it can be related to control, which I think we all can agree you have not had a lot of. So, if you aren't doing this to yourself, then we need you to explain it to us." Pepper seemed to catch on quicker to what he was trying to tell Tony, her practicality prioritized over her emotions. “Tony thinks you're hiding something from us, and he's going on the only thing he knows and has been told to look out for. Do you understand?" 

"He thinks I am hurting myself with food, and I'm doing it secretly in his spy tower." Pepper hummed her confirmation, and he shook his head, huffing a breath. "That is the dumbest thing he's thought in a while. Pepper, I am not doing any of it on purpose," the words were small, the explanation stilted.

He didn't know how to phrase it. Had Tony or Pepper ever been so deprived of food that they'd been unable to eat normally again for a time, their stomach so trained to accept small portions that it physically could not keep in a full meal? While the painful stomach cramping was torture on its own, the additional havoc of forcing an unprepared intestinal system to handle the richness and density of meals with more than three ingredients at a time. It was not pretty. He was aware that, yes, Tony had not exactly had the best treatment in Afghanistan, but he'd been fed to keep him strong and his brain stabilized while creating weapons.

It wasn’t the same, being hungry compared to starving. Starving was a unique punishment, one that clung on in the shadows even when circumstances changed. He didn't know exactly how to convey that to the calm-faced woman sitting on his bed. She was patiently holding his hand, being there without demanding anything more. He gave her a grateful squeeze. 

"You're a good woman Mrs. Pepper Potts." It was true, he envied her patience and calm demeanor. His and Tony's own hotheadedness easily flared each other's tempers, but she remained calm, seeking a direction for their angry confusion and poor communication.

"Do you want me to get Tony, and we can try to explain this again, listening to one another this time?" At his shrug, she stepped out of the room, Peter trying to gather his explanation as best he could. When a cowed Tony entered the space, he took position standing beside the end of the bed, Pepper, their mediator sitting back on the bed. Together they waitied for Peter to explain, patiently letting him gather himself. 

Shifting in anxiety beneath his covers, he tried to put it in a way that could explain without freaking everyone out more than they were. "Eating me-sized meals makes me queasy, but it is only from eating so much. It's getting better this week, sometimes I don't-"

"This whole time!?" He didn't like how the disappointment seemed internalized to Tony rather than Peter now.

He wasn't trying to blame the other man, it was unreasonable for the older man to expect himself to be a mind reader. Peter wasn't forthcoming because it wasn't anyone else's issue, he was handling it. "Tony, you never could have known, I am just like that." Self sabotaging. "I am handling it." Stark clearly disagreed. Entirely unhappy with that answer, he threw his hands in the air and let out an ugly scoff,

"Except for the fact that you aren't, Peter. You could have died, all because you weren't honest with me like you promised you would be!” He hadn’t thought it was that bad, truly. He ate the protein bars, he got to feel full for a few hours at a time, he did eat, just not as much as Tony had hoped. He’d been eating so much more than he used to, it felt like success.

Pepper tapped Tony on the shoulder, frowning down at her partner. The two silently had a conversation between themselves while Peter's eyes dropped to the white hospital blanket. He tried to let them have their space, as much as he could in the small room. Grateful for the break, as his thoughts were whirling, trying to analyze it all from another perspective other than his own. Even with the lack of large meals, it was still more nutritious than he had eaten consistently living on his own. There was clear improvement happening, he wasn't stuck suffering. It felt like being on cloud nine first moving here, he'd take throwing up after a few meals any day over feeling like he was starving to death like he had when on his own. It felt so wrong to complain to Tony about being provided for. Hey, thanks for feeding me and making sure I eat, but I'm gonna throw it all up in an hour and a half. No thanks.

They lapsed into a tense silence, Peter pretending his hands weren't shaking with crippling anxiety because he did it again. He made Tony mad, he had handled it wrong, repeating the cycle. How long until Tony remembered what Peter had told him the day he dragged him out of his apartment, that Peter was too much?

There were so many inconsistencies and hidden challenges innate to being in Peter's world. He didn't know how to not keep things to himself. How do you break four years of solitude, surviving on only your own support, in just under three weeks? It wasn't a light switch. You couldn't just force him to move in and suddenly change his nature. He had always been private, worried about putting too much on others. He lived here for free, the most he could do was handle an issue with adjusting to having food again on his own.

It was a small issue, it was just Peter. "It's just me, I didn't think it was worth bothering-"

"Stop right there," Tony was offended, and Peter slammed his mouth shut, explanation dying on his lips as he shrunk in the bed. He let the comfort of the hoodie wrap him in some measure of peace, he was warm, he was healing, and he didn't get why Tony was taking this all to heart. He was fine. "You're killing me, Underoos." He wasn't trying to, this is why he kept it to himself. "It isn't just you. You aren't the smallest thing on my list, I have told you this. You matter as much as the most important people in my life. How many times do I have to tell you this before you come to me with this stuff?"

"Maybe a lot of times," he offered, the anger gone and feeling exhausted in its wake. Tony squinted at him, probably suspecting Peter was trying to diffuse the situation with a joke. But he was serious, shrunk into the oversized hoodie, worrying the right sleeve as he stared at Tony with stressed eyes, he had nothing more than to admit that he needed to be reminded.

"How many?"

He only shrugged. How long would it take for his brain to believe he was fully invested in Tony, and to train himself to allow asking for help? 

Tony only nodded to himself, "A lot of times. I can do that."

"I am hungry," he felt the need begin overexplaining like a child caught disobeying. "I eat, it's just a lot on the system. I feel tight, pained, uncomfortable. It is rich, it's so good, but pasta and all that, it just bogs me down. I want it, it isn't on purpose." His voice tapered off, feeling ashamed of it all. Maybe it was a bigger issue than he'd let himself think. 

“Do you understand why we are upset?” Had Tony asked the question, he would have bristled, quickly angered and defensive of himself and his choices But it wasn’t Stark, and Pepper’s question struck a chord, bringing frustrated tears to his eyes. For some silly reason, he’d seen her as being on his side, and to hear her try and walk him through seeing their disappointment in him, it hurt. He could only nod, trying to push off speaking over the lump in his throat, but Pepper repeated her question intently.

He swallowed thickly, body and heart aching. “I hid it and let Tony down, and you.” He picked at his nails as he mumbled the words into his lap, refusing to see their confirming expressions. The words were damaging enough, he didn’t need to see their faces.

A hand slipped beneath his chin, slight fingers raising his chin as to connect his eyes with Pepper’s concerned gaze. She grasped his chin lightly in her hand, orange brows furrowed as she looked over his face. "Sweetheart, we are upset because you’re minimizing yourself and these issues. This is not unimportant…the lying is difficult,” Tony hummed in agreement. “But it isn’t lying so much as hiding it, and you aren’t the only one who has done something like that,” she nodded her head toward Tony, who began blustering a response. She continued on, holding his chin all the same, words soft. “You can’t treat yourself like you’re not important, you aren’t letting us help you like we could.”

Her words paralleled MJ’s, stabbing his heart painfully. “I didn’t think it was that bad,” it felt a dismal response to her earnest tone, but he wanted her to understand. He knew it wasn’t good, or normal, but he hadn’t thought it could risk him. He thought he was eating enough, his thermoregulation having stabilized once again, muscles healing in a few days rather than a week. It all seemed positive,

”You don’t have to wait for things to become too difficult to handle before coming to us,” She reminded him, her hand slipping to hold the side of his face, a mother explaining the simplest of things.

“When you’re already taxed, it isn’t just the super healing that slows down. Your body has no reserves to use up in mass healing. It’s simple biology, life needs sustenance, your body uses all you have with your metabolism, and can’t store energy and whatever else it needs in the future.” Peter never really was a biology kind of kid, but Tony made sense with his explanation. It was a route of thought he’d never considered, his short-sightedness catching up. For a genius, he was stupid sometimes.

“The IV needs to stay, until tomorrow when we bring you back upstairs.” Pepper’s tone left no room for argument, He understood but wished they’d stop bringing it up. The heart monitor kicked up a notch with his spike of anxiety earlier and shot higher still for a moment as he forced himself to breathe and calm down. The medications were settling in now, leeching the pain from his body, eyelids growing heavy.

“We will start with a dietitian, and you can keep up on the bars, okay?”

"Sure can do,” he jumped at the opportunity to move away from the discussion of why, preferring planning actions. “They are small, pack a punch but don’t kill my guts in overload.” He should have done that sooner…he’d just wanted to enjoy feeling normal, eating dinner with a family at night at a table. The whole shebang. “I am hungry right now.”

"I’ll grab some of the protein shakes and bars then,” Pepper replied, patting Tony on the back twice, solidly, her job here done.

Then they were alone.

"Sorry for calling you a window-licker," Peter muttered, a small smirk emerging on his face at the outrageousness of it all. This whole thing had flared up, and burned out so quickly, it was all just silly. 

Tony snickered and pinched the bridge of his nose, head shaking slowly.

The two of them giggled quietly to themselves, then slipped into a tensionless quiet.

"Well, I am sorry for implying you were lying to me, consider us even. For the sake of honesty, I do think that you hide that you're struggling, far more than I thought, and I don't think you take the best care of yourself." It wasn't inaccurate, so he nodded accepting Tony's point, not bothering to argue against it. "I think it is time that we talk about it." Peter winced, deciding to play stupid, giving his best blank-eyed look of confusion, but Tony only waggled a finger, "The thing. We both know it, this elephant has got to exit the room." He ignored the teen's groan of complaint, sitting in Pepper's abandoned spot, and nudged the casted foot beside him.

"I won't give you a walk-through of it all," Peter's voice was strangled, and the other man peered at him in question,

"Do you mean you won't or you can't?" Peter nodded at the second, slumping into the bed further at Tony's lack of pushing for more information. "Can you tell me what happened, in rough terms?" In a reasonable layer of himself, he knew that Tony had zero information about the warehouse other than Peter had been in it and could have died. His explosion the first night in the tower had not exactly been a detailed relay of it all. 

"He exploded it, it fell down, I got i-impaled, and crushed underneath it." He drew in a deep breath through his nose, hands fidgeting with themselves. "I tried to call for help, but I was too far under, and there wasn't anyone around, so I freaked out and I picked it up."

"You picked what up?"

"The building." Stark gaped at him, brows high on his forehead as he processed what Peter said, twice he opened his mouth to speak, closing it and holding his chin in thought.

"The whole thing? Just lifted it?" Peter felt a little pride swell in his chest at the awed tone and shrugged with a small nod. "That is a tremendous amount of weight."

"You're already calculating it, aren't you, super-nerd?" His assessment was scoffed off and Tony seemed to sober as he rethought what Peter said, expression falling into regret.

He placed a hand on Peter's knee, squeezing it as he bowed his head. "There isn't any amount of apology I can give to you for the past we've had, kid. Not that would make up for it." There wasn't, Peter realized, but it didn't bother him.

He didn't care, he just wanted to move on, "I'm more focused on moving forward, I am tired of the past." It followed him around enough as it was, he didn't need Tony to grovel and bring it up a hundred times. He just wanted to go back to enjoying things without drawing back. He wanted to lay his anger down, to be done with it, so he did. 

"I forgive you, Tony."

He could physically feel the moment he decided to stop being angry at the man for the night with Toomes, forgiving what did or did not need to be forgiven alike. The weight shed like an old skin, letting him rise into the hopeful future of mentorship, and connectedness with one of the people who understood him, and one of the only ones he felt safe keeping close with. He tried to grasp at the old familiar anger, to heckle it into rising in his chest, thinking of what Tony had done, how he'd treated him.

Nothing

He felt a distant disapproval, but the jagged wound and the sting of it all, it was faded into a distant scar of emotion.

A deep breath of relief pushed through his nose, eyes drooping lower as peace filled his chest.

He felt peaceful. 

He smiled at his mentor, the boyish grin he used to wear so easily, shining from his face.

It punched the air from Tony, to see the happy eyes of a fifteen-year-old Peter Parker watching him from lean face of the teen, now nearly an adult. The horrible, haunted look of carrying deeper burdens was nowhere to be seen in the sleep-weary face of the kid, not right now. He looked content, even if he was bruised, battered, and sleepy.

I forgive you, the words so heavy, yet easing the load from both of their shoulders.

Peter graciously pretended not to hear Tony's sniffling at the foot of the bed, his head bowed, and Tony clasped Peter's hand from where it slipped down in a tentative reach towards his own. 

Chapter Text

Tony didn't lose his nervous edge during the last twenty-four hours of Peter's stay in the medical wing. He wrung his hands, chugged black coffee, joked a lot, and generally carried an air of not chill.

Peter caught him rubbing at his wrist several times before the older man adopted a sense of subtlety, pointedly changing the subject whenever the teen stared at the offending hand, pointedly raising an eyebrow.

He waited for Tony to confess the cause of his stress, and that was all he could do as he’d long ago determined that Stark would share what he wanted when he wanted.

No matter how often the younger reassured Tony that he was fine and adjusting well- all things considered, he still hovered around him, anxiety-riddled and spacey.

The silver lining to this new development of Mother Hen Tony was that he supplied a bribe of snacks whenever Peter got antsy about the IV needle in his arm and complained. He’d never been in the Med Bay with Peter.

Sure he'd dropped the younger off here in the past, but he hadn't stayed, and never ever had he seen Spider-Man with more than a few bumps and bruises at a time, and it showed. Yet for all his hovering, the hero remained a stickler of a nurse; refusing to listen to Peter's attempt at bargaining the removal of the casts. He wouldn’t even let the IV be removed anything more than an hour early from when Cho it was okay.

It turned out, to Peter's unending surprise, that for a broken ankle, it was recommended to use what the doctors deemed a knee scooter...it looked entirely as ridiculous as it sounded. He was less than enthusiastic about its presentation and argued back and forth with Tony about its necessity.

At least he did until Pepper put her foot down, snapping in the calm way only she could, that they both were children and needed to redirect their focus. Neither of them had been willing to argue with her, so Peter accepted the scooter and Pepper punched her partner in the arm for smirking when Peter struggle-bussed his way onto the damn thing.

Using the aid required Peter to roll around, propping his knee on the seat to alleviate any weight from his broken ankle, free foot propelling him like a basic amoeba.

It took a lap or two around his room to master maneuvering, and while it was still lame by all standards, he found himself having the time of his life the afternoon on his release day. Unharmed leg strong enough to send him zooming, he’d begun launching himself up and down the hospital hallway, whipping into a fishtail and skidding to a stop with a heel to the ground.

Stark was not having the time of his life in comparison, calling after the teenager through the doorway for the fourth time in as many minutes to "Please take a damn chill pill while I get these bags."

They both had been stir-crazy waiting to be discharged from the hospital wing and it showed, Tony on the impatient end while Peter bounced off the walls in typical fashion for himself. He’d woke in the morning feeling light and energized.

It was all so much easier, between the pain medication and the comfort of being with Tony, he gained a level of rest usually unobtainable.

While Tony was gathering their things, Peter avoided helping as he "Needed both hands or else he'd fall off the scooter"

They both knew it was the biggest load of crap, but it was only a few bags and he'd smiled so cheerfully after saying it that the older man crumpled like wet paper and shooed him and his scooter out the door to wait. 

Finally stepping out of the stuffy hospital room, Stark had to dodge around the scooter as Peter began lapping the hallway.

"If you don't settle down, I'm going to break an ankle tripping over you, and then you are going to pack horse up, carrying me and the bags." 

Smirk entirely unbidden from the other man, Peter lazily looped around Tony a final time, before hurrying ahead to the elevator, spinning a full one-eighty stop, just to see Tony stressed.

For all the hovering everyone was doing, he felt fine, sans the inconvenience of the bulky casts.

His body was healing at an acceptable pace, the IV nutrients and shoving down four protein bars each meal boosting the process with every passing day.

A doctor with too large of glasses had given Tony a packet and speech about the new dietary plan, summarizing it as beginning boringly bland and small, eventually working up to heavier portions and complexities.

For the current time being, food was to be obtained by caloric density in the smallest deliverance possible, he couldn't argue too much. Peter handled the information overload of meal planning better than Stark, as Tony spent the entire time telling everyone to slow down as he wrote into a tiny notebook, antsy about forgetting a single instruction.

Peter didn't understand why Stark didn't have Friday document the details but he'd bit his tongue and waited patiently alongside the doctor as Stark frantically scribbled.

He didn't care, he was cheerful, everyone was alive and the sun was shining…

“Do you think Pepper is back yet? I wanted to ask her about getting a few things for my room.” With the turn of a new chapter, he found himself inclined to decorate the bland space where he'd lived for the last two weeks. During the night, he mentally ran circles trying to imagine the walls covered in posters, adding bits and pieces of himself into the spirit of the space.

It was exciting to be able to make something his own again. When he'd lost his first apartment, he'd left in a sorry state, his savings account entirely tanked, and homeless for nearly two months. During his time in the shelters, he'd pawned everything he had but May's quilt and whatever he could fit into his backpack. He kept his belongings small even after getting into the apartment where Tony had found him, which had been his longest stay and after it had been broken into and his meager savings stolen, he began pinching pennies, promising himself not to spend any energy or hard-won funds on decorating a space that could be taken away from him.

“I’m just a pretty face and wallet to you two, it's hurting my creative spirit.” Snarking like it the idea of Peter settling in didn’t send him over the moon, Tony rolled his eyes. “Not sure you're aware, but I can help pick out things just as well as she can. Have you seen my suit, it’s a classic.”

The joke about money didn't bother Peter surprisingly, he only nodded sagely, pressing the up button on the elevator as Tony finally stood beside him at the doors.

“Red and Gold, like the Saint Louis Cardinals. Very classy, Tony.”

“I don't exactly know what that is,” Tony snipped, hauling one of the three duffle bag's straps up his arm where it had slid down. “But I am going to cut that off before I get dragged into discussing sports ball.”

“Did you seriously call it sports ball?” Peter’s voice climbed a few octaves, “It's baseball, America's Greatest Pastime event and you-”

“As I was saying, Junior. There is something else I wanted to talk to you about, I didn't get the chance as we got to check out a lot later than I expected,” he huffed, stepping into the elevator after Peter rolled himself in. They were indeed leaving the floor nearly two hours later than they'd planned.

Peter sighed with no lack of theatrics and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. “Can I get a snack before we start on phase two? I need something in my guts before I can take something for my achy-breaky leg, or Cho will chase me down.” She certainly hadn't said it explicitly, but he didn't doubt it would happen.

“I think we should watch something on the couch. You owe me a movie redo,” an accusing hand left the scooter to point at Tony. “Don't give me that grumpy face, it's your fault. You fell asleep during the Fellowship of the Ring last night, it was criminal.” The fact that Peter fell asleep soon after was moot, Tony's snoring had done its damage to the pride he took in the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy.

Tony flapped a hand toward the teen as he selected their level, “I watched the gnomes run around for at least ten minutes, I did my part. I have put this off long enough, and we should talk. We’ve only got a couple of hours before-” but as the elevator doors opened Peter dodged out, barely squeezing around Tony in the doorway. He swung the scooter wide, sending himself off toward his bedroom, escaping the impending discussion.

“Immature!”

The complaint came too late, the escaped patient careening down the hall, wheels soundlessly carrying him through his bedroom door. Overjoyed to be home again, he dove off the scooter to flop on the bed, smashing his face into the quilt still laid out where he'd left it. Taking comfort in its familiarity, his free hand began searching beneath his pillow for his abandoned phone. It had predictably died since he'd left the tower, and after a minor struggle for the charger chord, it began blinking to life after he plugged it in. 

“Ms. Potts has left you a collection of items required for showering with your casts, should you want to do so,” Friday informed him, queuing him in on the idea that maybe he should refresh himself before rolling around in his clean sheets.

Ever the Mistress of Prediction, he found that Pepper had indeed left a Walgreens bag full of cast covers on the counter.

There was a second sack containing a shoulder sling, and a packet of Skittles beside it. He couldn't help smiling, imagining her picking him out a treat at check out. Prying open one of the cast covers he began scrutinizing the instructions.

The last experience he'd had with a cast was when he was the summer he turned eight when he broke his arm falling off his bike jumping a homemade ramp. Back then when bath time rolled around, they'd duct-taped saran wrap around the bulky cast. Needless to say, this was a definite step above what he thought he'd be dealing with for the next couple of showers.

Pinching his shirt between two fingers, he brought it to his nose and sniffed the collar, nose wrinkling in distaste at the smell of antiseptic and soap that clung to the fabric.

Carefully guiding the scooter through the bathroom door, he dug up a change of clothes, ready to swim in their nearly scentless nature. He'd tried to force himself into nose blindness in the Med Bay as the overwhelming amount of cleaning products began burning his nostrils after too long, but unlike his hearing, his nose could not tune certain things out as he'd hoped.

As the shower water warmed, he stripped and began wrapping the casts, wasting only one with his clumsiness before stepping into the entirely too-large shower stall. The warmth of the water seeped into his core, sore muscles loosening as he let himself stand and enjoy the water pressure.

He'd never again take for granted Stark's quick heating water. The shower in his apartment never once surpassed lukewarm on a good day.

He worked methodically, washing away the evidence of the hospital, iodine stains, and antiseptic smell alike, running off with the soap suds. He held his shoulder as still as possible, unwilling to agitate it with the renewed wakening of warmed muscles.

The cold air nipped at him as he stepped out of the shower again, water trailing behind him as he hopped about, attempting to shove clothes over stiff limbs.

The sharp ding of the elevator slipped through the crack in his door, and he thanked his lucky stars for Pepper's return, buying him a few more minutes from Tony as he struggled to shove his leg cast into a pair of pants.

Deeming it a lost cause, he rolled his way back to the dresser, grabbing a loose pair of basketball shorts. It felt scandalous, his legs bare in the sight of Stark and Ms. Potts, even a little mortifying if he was honest with himself.

He'd seen Tony in a tank top, he reminded himself as he sat on the bed and began tugging the shorts over the cast, it was the end of July, and a man had to live in shorts sometimes.

“Kid?” Stark's concerned shout reached his enhanced hearing through the walls.

“Yeah, yeah. Coming,” he grumbled, slipping the sling over his head. He could hear a muffled female voice talking to Tony as he glanced around his walls one last time, picturing what size posters to tell Pepper they should look for together. She had a taste he could trust, she had to if she agreed that Tony had awful taste in the room's current sad state.

Snagging his towel off from the bed as he passed it, he began scrubbing at his damp hair. Low voices murmured over one another as Peter navigated the hall by memory alone, steering himself with one hand as he scrubbed the towel over his face,

“Pepper, I need someone who has an eye for decorating.” He said into the fabric, “Sorry Tony but you can't join this club, it's just for the gals. I was thinking, we should start with a couple of posters,” he dragged the towel free, letting it hang over his good shoulder. “Do you think we could find-” his voice faltered, sentence dying on his lips.

May Parker sat at the opposite end of the couch from a stiff Pepper Potts and a wary Tony Stark.

She looked much the same, aside from the fact that she was tanner, her hair sun-bleached, and her face older. Then there was the fact that she dressed differently. Her hair was in a style Peter had never seen before, and she wore loafers on her feet instead of her beloved tennis shoes. She was a paradox, a well-known stranger, sitting with her shoulders squared even as she smiled at him. Crow's feet marked her eyes, she looked happy, healthy, and more importantly, here.

“May?” Peter turned a questioning stare to Tony. Pepper too was staring at her partner, the redhead's confusion was better hidden than his own, captured in the slight furrow of her brow. Her irritation was less so controlled, blatant in the rigidness of her posture and folded hands from her spot beside Tony.

“Oh, baby,” May's voice sounded equal parts pitying and concerned; brown eyes taking in the casts, sling, and scooter. Peter paid her little notice at first, his gaze locked his mentor as he rose stiffly from his spot between Pepper and May, beginning to approach him slowly.

Stark chewed at the edge of his thumbnail, a sign of nervousness, eyes darting around the teen's face blatantly waiting for an explosion from the younger.

The blaring question of why May was here took precedence, Peter caught between suspicion of Tony going behind his back and the bright hope that May had returned for him, finally free from her duties in California. Recalling his manners, he returned focus to his aunt,

“You came back,” a wobbly grin slapped quickly in place as Peter's hands gripped the scooter's handles, trying to process everything.

Tony stepped closer, a hand reaching for Peter's shoulder to draw him closer or to provide comfort, he wasn't sure. But the touch grounded him, and he let his weight sway partially into the older man's side. Mind still spinning on itself, he turned a wide-eyed stare to the other man, raising both eyebrows in question.

“Pete, come sit down.” Nickname grating his nerves, he watched as May gestured to the cushion where Tony vacated, her tone hopeful and fond. With a pat from his mentor, Peter began rolling himself towards the couch, letting let May take his forearm, aiding his dismount from the scooter, bum leg dragging the cast heavily behind as he plopped between the two women. Pepper placed a hand on the small of his back, patting twice in encouragement, the motion hidden from May by his body.

“Let me get a good look at my kid,” May's familiarity ensnared his focus, more than happy to relish her return while he could. She embraced him lightly, wary of the casts. “You're so different. I can't believe it, I left a teen and have come back to you.” Her hands cupped his cheeks, squishing him once before dropping to his shoulders, face pinching notably in displeasure when she felt the sharp lines of his frame.

“Let me guess, you're about to tell me how roguishly handsome I have grown to be, and ask if I got a girlfriend yet, right?”

She snorted at the sarcasm, catching herself from delving further into the typical long-lost family member spiel. “You let me enjoy this face, young man. I haven't seen it in months. You look...” She paused, taking in the unsure light of his eyes and tentative smile, “You look just like your mom.”

His face had changed, she was right, even he could see that with the loss of weight and the growth spurt after high school, he'd grown into an adult. The Parker late-bloomer genetics did not offer much in the manner of facial maturity before then.

But he hadn't seen the resemblance reflected in the mirror, his mom's face never clear in his memories. Her pictures long ago packed away. It warmed him, having May asserting her familiarity with him, knowing his past and place within the family. Silly, but touching all the same.

A crooked grin overtook his face, boyish delight developing at her fawning.

“Well, I can't get over how tan you are.” He really couldn't, May had worked so much that her complexion never left its natural hue in New York. Now she was positively glowing, the sun having left her warmed in its wake, hair glinting gold on its bleached stands.

She was California's now, blushing at the observation as she punched him lightly in the side. Feeling the edge of ribs against her knuckles, she blinked in shock, both hands suddenly prodding at him, taking in the leanness under the baggy shirt. “You're so skinny!” A divot formed between her eyebrows as she looked at him in suspicion.

“The increased healing factor has taken a lot out of him. It was pulling from his body's reserves, he's okay, May.” Tony jumped in with a half-truth, saving Peter a very awkward conversation.

The teen tossed an appreciative glance toward Tony, pushing May's touch off of his side gently with his free hand, “I am doing just fine, Mr. Stark is fattening me back up again.” May nodded, not quite satisfied but accepting, huffing a breath out of her nose.

“Getting fat doesn't fix your broken bones. Good grief, Peter. What did you do?”

“I did what I had to,” he clenched his teeth, unwilling to regret his decision. He felt defensive of himself suddenly, bristling at the potential argument to come.

But May only frowned, seeming to understand, “You got yourself in a doozy this time, didn't you?” He couldn't even begin to explain to her how a doozy barely scratched the surface, Friday's long list of injuries and complications running through the back of his mind from the morning he woke for the second time this year in the Med Bay.

“Parker luck,” he supplied in explanation, the only way to summarize the series of misfortune that he seemed to entangle with. 

“That isn't real,” she laughed as if it was a joke, then smiled softly, “I came for you.”

He'd waited all this time for her visit, had dreamed of it so much that he hardly could contain his excitement, chest tight with anticipation. “This is great, how long are you staying? There is so much that I want to do with you, we can go to Delmar's. I can show you this cat I found, you'd love him. He's like always there, we call him-”

“No, Pete.” She interjected softly. He swallowed thickly, and Tony kissed his teeth behind him in quiet twin displeasure, aware of Peter's discomfort with the name.

May suddenly seemed nervous, she pat his hand in consolation for cutting him off from planning her visit. “I-I came to take you home with me.” Worried eyes watched as he stared back in unhappy confusion. It seemed her plan had been kept mum from even Tony, as the older man sputtered.

Peter tried to understand her sudden desire for change, head tilting as he ran her sentence through his mind twice, three times before the words made sense.

“May-” Tony's stressed complaint started, but he was silenced quickly by a raised finger as May took the floor with a practiced speech.

“I have been saving my overtime pay, I have a bigger apartment now. You would love it, it's only ten minutes from the beach, and it has three bedrooms,” her explanation sped up with excitement, hands gesturing between herself and her nephew. “I wanted to tell you sooner but you've been avoiding my calls. I want you home with me again.” It wasn't home, Orange Cove California was just shy of three thousand miles away from where Peter had accepted his home in New York. The proposal was so preposterous that he couldn't find the words to explain nicely to his aunt how that was never going to freaking happen.

Excuses piling in his mind, he stared at her, feeling solidarity in the way that Pepper smothered an unhappy hum to herself.

“May we've talked about this, he is-”

“He,” she interjected over Tony again, “-is my nephew. I know what we've talked about in the past, Tony.”

“That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?” Peter joked, wearing a smile more like a grimace, glancing between the two adults in his life. “I’m pretty sure I have a say, which is why I chose to stay here after graduation.” 

Stark sat heavily in the free armchair, hands steepled beneath his chin as he turned his dark gaze to Peter, scanning his face for something. He couldn't think too deeply about what was held in the confines of his mentor's gaze, the emotions entangled and hidden in the pinched lines of his face. His mind was caught in a frenzy, expectations of the week thrown with May's proposal. 

May nodded, continuing, “I know, I remember what I agreed to, and Peter I did.” Imploring brown eyes locked onto his own.

“I let you try to do this independently as you asked me to. I know you wanted to do this alone and have built a life here.” He hadn't until very recently, but there was no way he would ever come clean to her now. “But you know, it has been a couple of years now, I thought maybe- maybe this has gone too far. I don’t want to worry about you half the country away, seeing you every couple of years,” her eyes began to water, “I want you closer, and with your internship dropping this is perfect timing, don't you see?”

“Internship?” Pepper questioned, looking towards Tony. May sent a confused glance their way, Peter quickly grasped one of her hands, pulling her attention back to himself, slamming a lid on his panic.

“May I appreciate that idea, but I can't impose on you. That's a little crazy, not that you're crazy. It is just that the idea is, well it's super insane. That is a massive change, and uh-last minute too.” The quicker he could show her that he was doing well, and enjoying himself, the sooner she would leave the topic alone.

All he wanted right now was to see her and for it to be like it used to be, May and Peter, the team united once again. But they shared the same stubborn streak and she only shook her head.

“Please, don't lie to me.” His heart sank to his toes. He wasn't sure if his disapproval of the plan, or calling it insane offended her, but she was ruffled now.

“If you're doing so well, then you’ve made some new friends, or reconnected with old ones?” He couldn't smother the wince from his face, and she nodded as if expecting it.

“You only just started seeing Tony again, which I am grateful for, I appreciate it, Stark. But Peter you can't tell me you are okay...I know it has been a rough couple of years. I know you, you can't tell me you're fine while you are wearing casts, your metabolism is poor,” she pointed towards Tony, who held his hands up in surrender at Peter's glare. Traitor. "I may not be a super scientist, but I can see you aren't the same. You looked wilted, sweetie.”

“Wilted, come on, what am I, a houseplant? May, let it go. I am positively flourishing out here. Plus, I'd hate to have to maneuver my way back with you on a plane while in these bad boys.” Sarcasm full force, he gestured towards the casts before folding his arms over his chest. He turned his back fully to Pepper, body subconsciously forming a wall between the new home he'd built and his aunt's dreams of reunification. The motion was not something Tony missed, his mouth down turning at the edges. 

“You haven't been yourself, not for months. You don't talk to me anymore, I don't think it's healthy how you've been.” May's voice was quiet but cracked with emotion, “This could be a chance to do something for your own good, a change of scenery.”

Suddenly he wasn't an adult, but a young child sitting in a plastic seat with a social worker who smelled like cigarettes, explaining to Peter with her coffee breath that he was being sent back to live with his aunt and uncle. His child mind unable to accept that his dead parents weren't able to care for him any longer, only able to grasp that they were hurt and taken away from him. It's for your own good, she'd said, giving up reasoning with him and leaving him to cry on his own as she began to process paperwork.

His voice came out weakly, “May, I don't want to-"

“Don't make me beg for you to do a good thing for yourself.” Her head dropped, the sun catching the strands and lighting as they framed her face. “You can take a break and heal, put the costume away, be a kid.”

He wasn't a kid, he hadn't been in a long time. He'd hung up the suit before, it wasn't an addiction, but it also wasn't a fun costume, the word rang sour in his head. The term emphasizing that she didn't grasp how deeply Spider-Man had engrained himself within Peter Parker.

It wasn't a second personality adopted when he donned the lycra suit, it was him, they were the same. He didn't want to take a break like he did in high school, he embraced his role in the city. He shook his head in denial, preparing to argue, but May wasn't hearing it.

“Peter, would you at least consider it? I can wait, you could come early next year if you prefer. I won't lose you to this, I can't. This is a wake-up call. Someone is going to-to kill you,” she stammered, emotion choking her voice. The others were silent as she took a deep breath, steadying herself.

“I could get killed as Spider-Man just as easily in California as I can here,” unwilling to hurt her feelings by blatantly telling her that he had no interest as Spider-Man or Peter Parker in moving to California, he tried to reason with her in another manner. Spider-Man wasn't being put in the closet because of safety, his safety was always at risk wherever he faced crime.

She tucked her lips into a thin line, nodding in acceptance of her nephew's unwillingness to forfeit his alter ego. “If you were closer, at least I wouldn't have to watch you be brutalized on National television again, half the country away, waiting for someone to let me know if you're hurt.” She lost him there, he was not sure what she was talking about. The news?

Tony coughed quietly at Peter's befuddled look, drawing his focus. “The News chopper got a bit of the fiasco downtown, Friday got to them a little later than we would have liked.” Sudden fear crept up his spine, aware of how the media would twist Clint's shot into something perverse and cruel.

“It was handled before anything major happened,” Tony reassured, answering the unspoken question in Peter's eyes. 

“What could be more major than watching my kid get tossed by a giant monkey?!”

“Don’t they have to pay me for the footage I’m in?" He asked Stark, "That feels like taking advantage of my Good Samaritan work. Pepper can we sue?” He’d always wanted to get even with the organizations that portrayed him so poorly, summarizing him to some runt hero causing mayhem. 

“You aren’t an actor kid, the news has its public rights,” Tony replied, face scrunching in thought."Although we could counter with a sue for defamation of character.” Pepper watched the two men in disapproval, but there was a humored sparkle in her eye.

“That’s totally bogus. Anyway, aunt May, it was an ape, monkeys have tails. And I would say the ape dragged me, I think toss is a little dramatic.” She did not take that reassurance well, eye twitching a bit when she turned to stare at Peter,

“Not helping.” Tony muttered.

“Right," he sunk back into the couch cushion, hands raised in surrender.

He hadn't remembered the news helicopter, he'd been too busy in the fray of things to consider that his aunt could have watched his life action ass-beating. In the back of his mind, he knew this was normal, the world broadcasting tragedies for the public to consume. He’d forgotten the limelight found things like this and latched on. They didn't usually focus on Spider-Man much with his lapsing presence in the city, but the Avengers and Spider-Man working together were sure to be a headline. The nationwide headline was a little unprecedented.

“At the end of the day, it is a lot to take in another person, California isn't cheap. I am actually applying to-”

“Dan and I are both overjoyed at the idea of you coming to live with us, we can even help you find your own place after you find your footing. You can find a job there, something in your realm, I am sure Tony has connections, right?”

“Dan?” Peter wracked his brain for a face to pair with that name.

“My partner, Peter. I have told you about Daniel.” When he stared blankly she continued, “He is a skipper for the fishing tour service in Orange Cove, I told you this, don't you remember?” She sounded hurt by Peter's lack of effort to recall any of that. It was entirely fair on her end, he didn't remember a single thing about Daniel if he was honest. He always replied to her when she told him about her boyfriend, but he'd never cared to remember it. It went in one ear and out the other, the only detail about him he remembered was May's want to have them meet.

He itched to get on his scooter and go to his room, but everyone was watching him oddly like he was acting strange, probably ‘cause he was.

Lapsing back into his coping method of humor, he smiled broadly, throwing his head back in mock self-deprecation,

“Daniel! Right.” The grin felt plastic and ill fitted on his lips. “I forgot the nickname, Dan, Danny, Danny Boy. I don't know why that didn't stick in the old noggin.” He rapped a knuckle against his head. “Everything is A-Okay, no need to rescue me. Ask Tony.”

The older man looked like a deer caught in the headlights, bad idea, he couldn't handle the pressure of this family drama. Peter redirected again,

“I have been busy lately, I'll admit that, and I know that this looks rough but it isn't. The casts are only here for a few days.” He tapped on his leg for emphasis. “I will do better keeping in contact. I've got Tony looking out for me now, I am all taken care of."

“Peter Benjamin Parker, last year you were texting me about the difference between using whole milk and heavy cream in macaroni. Now, I am lucky to get an update from you once a month. You barely reply when you do message me, and answering my questions don't count.” That took his rebuttal away.  “You are distant, I gave it enough time, and I think it would be a good change.” His mouth quirked, affection swelling as he watched May rant. She was full of fire, she was alive and doing well. He couldn't make himself care about the verbal barrage, busy taking in the features of the face he missed so sorely this last year.

"Not that I am not thrilled to see you again, but why are you here now?” He redirected, curiosity too large to ignore his own question any longer. There had been plenty of other times that he'd been thrashed around for everyone to see, her sudden arrival was odd. 

“Tony told me you were hurt.” So, that's how she knew.

“Yes, well. I told you that he had been hurt and would be okay.” 

“I don't consider a coma something to be taken lightly,” she argued back, forgoing Tony's attempt at diplomacy.

“Well yes, neither do I, which is why I contacted you.” Tony wrung his hands, Peter watching as the older man bolstered himself at the three pairs of eyes turning to him. “I promised May a long time ago, that I'd keep an eye on Peter if she was not able to. Frankly, if he were in a coma in California, I would expect the be called immediately.”

While it was surprising to hear about their agreed collaboration, Peter found he couldn't blame him. 

“Peter is due for a new round of pain medication,” Friday suddenly spoke, causing May to jump in surprise.

He was grateful, the tension in his body causing already tender wounds to flare. Everyone suddenly recalling he was about thirty-three percent bandages, began to fuss over him in tandem.

“I just need to lay down, and take a nap, I'm okay. The hospital bed was like a Super 8 motel, that's all.” It may have been made more uncomfortable because he shared it with Stark but what did that matter?

He looked at his aunt apologetically, feeling suddenly exhausted. “Are you staying here?” He glanced at Pepper.

The CEO suddenly took up the role of hostess, smiling brightly at May. He was grateful for her ability to read the room, tension riddling him, while his aunt awkwardly hovered, unsure how to help him. “You are more than welcome to stay in the guest room on our floor.” She asserted, Tony nodding with too much enthusiasm from his chair.

“I wouldn't want to impose, I know this is not how you envisioned the rest of your week going." May brushed a hand through Peter's hair affectionately. "Daniel and I can find a hotel.”

The floor dropped out beneath Peter where he sat on the couch. Daniel was here. He had to meet him, and worse, share his time with May with this Daniel. The plans for the week crumbled before his very eyes.

There was a gob-smacked look on Tony's face, apparently equally unaware of May's tag-along.

“You two are welcome to stay,” Pepper said, a tinge of uncertainty in her voice. She tried to catch Peter's eye as she helped him get to his feet, but he studiously focused on getting his casted leg in position on the scooter, preparing to disappear. 

"You are very gracious, Pepper. If it really isn't too much for you and Tony, then I'll take you up on that. Daniel took himself around the city on a tour while I came here, we planned to meet up again later tonight. He can't wait to meet Peter.”

Back to being a child in the background of the conversation, Peter began slowly rolling himself away from the couch, his mentor watching as he approached his position on the armchair. He avoided the heavy stare, trying not to let his crushing disappointment show.

“This will let us have so much time together, honey.” May sounded relieved. “I-I don’t want this to be our final discussion about you moving. It doesn’t have to be now,” she certainly sounded like she wanted exactly that. “I just want to know you’re safe, and not alone anymore. We can talk about it soon, okay?” He nodded, unwilling to deny the woman who raised him, and so clearly thought he was on the ledge of death for some reason.

“I can only be here for three days, work wouldn't allow longer than that.” Ten minutes ago, that news would have been crushing, but now it was a safety line.

“Does Daniel know about, this?” Tony inquired as he waved a finger around the tower, pointing to himself and Peter last.

Curious about that himself, the teen glanced back at his aunt, standing beside Pepper at the end of the couch. She tucked a piece of nonexistent hair behind her ear nervously, “Daniel knows that Peter is-was, an intern,” it came out like a question. Peter raised an eyebrow, even Daniel had been roped into his realm of lies.

“I haven't exactly given him a full rundown on who for, or how this connection exists. He doesn't know about any of the Spider-Man stuff.” She peered at Peter as if he could provide direction, but he was just as stumped, nothing realistic came to mind to explain how he was living with a millionaire, let alone Tony Stark.

“We could say that Peter is my long-term personal intern, and he is working with Dr. Banner and myself on our humanitarian efforts. The long hours could require him to stay on-site?” The personal intern idea raised its head once again, but Peter couldn't find anything better to offer, so he shrugged at Tony's idea.

It was outrageous, but also it was Tony Stark...people came to expect those kinds of things from the hero.

Pepper nodded in agreement, “It could work, it technically is not far from the truth.”

Perhaps if you looked at it through a broken glass, that could be reasoned.

“No Superhero information needed then, just good ole' Peter Parker Brains,” Peter quipped, relief in his voice. 

May smiled fondly, satisfied with the solution. She approached and carefully hugged him. He had to stoop off of his scooter so she could reach him, starling internally at the height difference, he hadn't noticed how he'd grown taller than her, the couch equalizing their heights when they hugged the first time.

“After you rest, can I come in and visit? Daniel can occupy himself for the day around the city until you're ready.” Every comment of May wanting to have 'her boys' meet suddenly weighed on his shoulders, “I know you don't feel well, I didn't mean to just lay that all on you right up front.”

The smile on his face was as rigid as it could be when he replied that he couldn't wait.

“Let me tuck in the baby, then we can talk some more schematics,” Tony offered as he scooped Peter's abandoned towel off the couch, picking up on his lack of true enthusiasm better than his aunt. 

“That sounds like a good plan, this has been a long day for Peter. May, how about you and I get to know each other better while Tony gets his medication?” Pepper's voice was warm as she began heading into the kitchen, gesturing towards the space, “Do you like tea?” His aunt followed behind, looking over her shoulder at Peter once with a soft smile.

Comforted knowing that she was not leaving the building soon, Peter began to roll down the hall, Tony following quietly in an uncharacteristic manner. Once in his room, Peter excused himself to the bathroom, where he sat on the lid of the toilet in silence for a few minutes, wrapping his brain around the new twist in his plans. Only when the world felt a bit less overwhelming did he exit to face his mentor.

Tony had taken the necessary steps to get the room comfortable, the windows heavily till it was barely lit, and noise cancellation set in place. In the dim lighting, he spotted two small pills on the bedside table with a glass of water. The man himself was no longer in the room, but he hadn't gotten very far, as Peter could hear Pepper and Stark arguing in hushed voices from the space beneath the door.

Allowing his nosey nature to take over, he attuned his hearing to the whispers outside of his room, noise cancellation only doing so much for a person standing in the hallway.

“-you should have told him. I can't believe you sprung this on him, and on me.” Pepper sounded angry, letting Tony know just what she thought of this whole thing. He'd assumed she hadn't known, by the stiff lip she'd given Tony during May's visit, but the duel blindside confirmed itself now.

“She's going to hear you,” Tony pleaded, sounding like it wasn't the first time he'd asked for his partner to lower her voice. May had always cowed him in the past when they went toe to toe; something about her protective motherly nature daunting him.

Peter didn't fare much better, it was half the reason he kept his nose so clean as a kid, upsetting May was nothing to take pride in.

“She's calling Daniel on the deck, she won't hear anything. Don't try to change the subject on me, Anthony Stark.” He winced for the older man, tucking himself in the quilt as he eavesdropped in a more comfortable position.

“She only said she was coming, she didn't say she was bringing the boy toy, how was I to expect that?” While whiney, it was reasonable. Pepper eased up, a soft sigh barely entering the room,

“You saw his face, this is too much. She just tore him open and he has been home for three minutes. And now this?!”

“I can't exactly kick the woman out, now can I?” Exasperation layered Tony's tone. Peter had really stepped in it asking if May was staying with the Starks, he should have waited for them to offer the space themselves. While it was his home now, he overlooked the fact that the Starks perhaps didn't want to play host to his brief family reunion. He had not missed the stress building in Tony's responses throughout May's talk.

“She is trying to make him leave, she can't just uproot the boy.” He appreciated Pepper standing up for him. “I can't believe you didn't warn me. I almost sent her away at the entrance, I had no idea who she was.”

“She got an earlier flight, Pep. I'm not Vision, I can't predict these things. She didn't tell me what time to expect her arrival either, she was supposed to get here tonight after I told him.”

“You could learn a thing or two from Vision about honesty and frankness.” He'd never heard her sound so pouty, Peter couldn't help the snort he let out, eyes sliding shut.

“I think that was a bit of a low blow, Dear.”

“I know.” The light smack of a kiss followed, “I am just upset for him. You have to go talk to him, make sure this isn't going to overwhelm him.”

“I was trying to before you kidnapped me.” Another kiss sounded followed by Stark’s steps. When the the door opened, light from the hall briefly brightening the space before Tony closed it behind him.

“I'm Switzerland, don't shoot.” He whispered into the dark of the room. Peter rolled his already closed eyes, mentally following Stark around the space as he made his way to the bedside table. The scrape of fingernails against wood, and the roll of two pills signaled his gathering of the meds for Peter.

The teen held a hand up blindly, accepting and swallowing them dry. A banana appeared next, its sweet aroma waking his stomach. So he muttered his thanks, peeling it without sitting up.

“Don't thank me, it's basically sugar.” It felt like an appeasement, a banana instead of the protein bars. “So, I called your aunt.” Tony waited for him to gather a response, sitting on the bed near his casted leg.

”It appears you did, Mister, I’ll let you handle it.” The words lacked any bite.

“That’s fair, I’ll take that. Are you mad at me for it?” Tony's tone was braced as if expecting their newfound closeness to evaporate. But Peter wasn't, it would be unfair to be angry about it. Tony didn’t reveal anything, only informed her of something drastic by all standards.

So he grumbled a no, shook his head, shook his head and began chewing the banana obnoxiously the way he knew Stark hated.

Huffing a sigh of relief, Tony patted his head, avoiding the tender area where Peter had head-butted the curb. “I didn't know she was bringing the boyfriend, or that she felt so strongly about things, I would have warned you about that had I known.”

Peter couldn't help the tortured groan of frustration that rumbled throughout his frame, burying his face in his pillow.

“Sorry, 'Roo. I shouldn't have procrastinated telling you, even if I thought I'd have the rest of the evening to tell you. She asked me to keep it quiet, in case you were going to bolt.” She knew him so well, Peter should have known she'd work around his aversion to confrontation. How could he forget, she only spent the last year and a half of his high school watching him become a master of avoiding his friends, always conveniently gone upon their arrival. 

"It's fine Mr. Stark, she's here now. Guess it is time that I have to meet my new daddy too, a dream come true."

Tony made an uncomfortable sound, hand again patting Peter in sympathy. "He would be an uncle anyway, no new papa for you."

"No, not him anyway." Peter nudged the other with his foot, catching the glint of a wide smile that Tony tried to hide as he retrieved the water glass from the side table. Pushing himself to sit, he accepted the cup, the normal level of comfort returning to the room between them.

“Are you tired, or did you just need some time alone?” Tony accepted the empty glass, setting it back in its place as Peter settled in his blankets again.

He appreciated Tony's willingness to let him have what he needed, giving him space to decide for himself.

May had never been pushy, not that Peter could remember, but back then he was a child, he expected for her to guide him and rarely pushed against her. He did not have a stage of rebellion, even being Spider-Man was something she accepted with guidelines, chores first, home by two unless someone was in danger and dying. She never set her foot down too harshly, and he was rarely under an iron grip.

But she'd never communicated to him this fear of hers that they were going to separate too much to repair. He'd never considered her fear that he was choosing a life to die in, he thought himself far too durable, but seeing how things were recently, maybe that risk was higher than he'd imagined.

"She's not controlling, she's never been this pushy, I don't understand the sudden onset of it all." He muttered, choosing to not answer Tony's question, instead opening the door for something more. His mentor hummed in thought, considering best what to offer the conflicted teenager, the dark of the room allowing for more honesty. 

"Coming from someone whose best friend had a mother who could be labeled as 'pushy' in college. Not that I would ever tell Rhodey that, and you're sworn to secrecy too." The younger mimed zipping his lips, not that Tony could see it anyway, his sight much less adept than Peter's own. "As far as my very limited parental habit knowledge extends, I think sometimes," Tony chewed the words for a second longer, "Sometimes it is hard to let go of taking care of someone, particularly someone you've spent your life making the best decisions to keep them safe. This can be especially hard to step away from when you perceive that someone is putting themself in harm's way with their choices, directly or passively.

"So it's my fault."

"No, kid. You are a superhero, who gets smashed around and chooses to put yourself in that position because it is who you are, a hero." Tony shook his head, "She's only human, and one who loves you dearly. She doesn't understand your desire to protect the city, she sees her kid choosing to put himself in harm's way, not taking the greatest care of himself. And resisting that parental urge to just take you home...it's hard. She's doing better than I did because I terminated your lease and took you with me. At least she is giving you the choice." 

"I think this is harder, making me choose to go with her or stay. I have you now, I'm not alone anymore. Not that aunt May isn't so important to me, it's just, she doesn't- she can't." He tried to think of the words to explain the vast separation of their lifestyles, but Tony beat him to it.

"She doesn't understand the side of you that needs to help here."

"No, she doesn't. I have to find a way to tell her I don't want to leave without hurting her feelings, I can't upset her, it hurts me to do that. But, I can't do the beach, look at all this pasty glory, I'll burn." Stark let him take the cheap way out with humor, laughing good-naturedly. 

"We can figure that out together if you want. But just remember, she's scared for you. I am too sometimes." He didn't know what to say to that, so the silence continued for a moment too long.

Sensing that he was commenting on sensitive territory, Stark's tone softened, speaking quieter. "I think if you were honest with yourself, you'd realize that because you were scared of someone being hurt, you made the decision for them to lessen the risk. May is just doing the same thing, it isn't personal. It is fear, and fear is a danger to anyone's common sense." It was clear what he meant, Ned and MJ were never given the choice, Peter made it for them all.

Leaving him with that thought, Tony grabbed the empty water glass, hauling himself off of the bed with a sound of a man much older. A hand pat Peter's head softly.

"Go ahead and take a nap, cowboy. This is going to be a wild ride." 

Chapter Text

"Peter, May is requesting to enter your room." Friday's voice cut through his slumber like a hot knife through butter, causing Peter's head to lurch out where it had been buried in a pile of pillows, a trail of drool cooling on his chin. He'd slept so deeply that he was unsure of the time, the room encased in near-solid darkness. He wasn't sure it was even the same day and considered ignoring the AI, his urge to curl up and sleep so strong that he had to force himself into awareness.

Shuffling his body up the bed to lean back against the headboard, he tried to wrap a half-aware mind around what Friday said. His limbs felt sodden with exhaustion, a weariness that wasn't there before, pressing into him. His sleep had been spliced with restless dreams, and now sleep's sticky tendrils wrapping him into a solid two out of ten on the intelligence scale. Trying to reboot himself, a jaw-cracking yawn split his face. "Who?" 

"May; otherwise known as Maybelle Parker, born Maybelle Reilly. The Widow of Benjamin Parker, May Parker was born in the year of-"

"I get it. Stop." He groaned wearily, "Information dump, too much," he slumped back against the bed, eyes slipping closed. "I know who May is. I just was sleepin', forgot she was here." In the middle of his chaotic nap, he'd convinced himself that May's return to Manhattan was a dream concocted from subconscious desires and stress. 

"Understood, Mini-Boss."

"Friday, could you just call me Peter? I can't take this 'mini' stuff anymore, I'm going to develop a complex, and start buying strippers or something." The AI did not chuckle, and he felt oddly judged by something that didn't even have true-born morals. He'd have thought Tony's AI would operate with sarcasm better as her creator was essentially made of it, or perhaps she was weary of it and let the comments go unacknowledged.

His own Karen would have made some comment in return as she'd adapted over time with some social coaxing from Peter. Her interactive responses could be credited largely to the extensive homework on humor that Peter had her read, or watch on the internet. The use of social media was the breakthrough, he'd joyously discovered. After a long season of teaching her what generational humor was and its importance, she'd passed as 'funny' in his book, after she exited the millennial humor, adapting into something more, him. 

He hadn't talked to his own AI since the day with the apes, his suit put away while he recovered. Unlike Friday, Karen was secluded in his hub, limiting their communications until he could don the mask again. He should probably reassure her that he was okay, considering that he'd forced her into silence and again threw himself into danger. Tony had programed her as something of a friend and mentor in the beginning, she showed genuine concern for his well-being. Did Friday worry about Tony? He'd considered Karen something of an anomaly, taking on empathy and concern throughout their time together, but perhaps Tony had fashioned that nature in both of his creations.

"Should I allow her in?" Friday inquired into the silence, retrieving Peter from where he had gotten lost in his thoughts.

"Um, yeah, that's fine, she can come in." He fruitlessly attempted to pat his hair in place, 'regal' a far fetch away, but he tried his best to look put together. He wiped the drool off of his face, face twisting in disgust. 

A small click sounded from his left as the door's lock disengaged. Not a second later the handle twisted, slowly as if May thought he was sleeping, her socked feet whispering on the floor as she snuck in. The hallway's light traced her frame as she peered into the dark, head swiveling as brown eyes adjusted to the change in lighting. Sounds spilled in from the hall, the hum of the fridge, and Pepper's voice carried into the silence. He turned his hearing to the outside room, picking up on her teasing tone, she was saying something about a failure with a succulent. 

Spotting Peter slumped against the frame of the bed, May shut the door behind her, eliminating the noise of Tony and Pepper, encasing the room again in the soundproofing.

"Hey, May," He croaked, throat tight with emotion, he straightened his shirt where he sat.

"This quiet makes my ears ring," her voice was hushed, groping in the dark towards him, arms outstretched to feel for the bed. A smile quirked at his lips, sleep itching his eyes as he followed her path to the edge of the mattress where she moved to sit beside his legs. The room resembled walking into a windowless space in the middle of the night, at least that is how Tony summarized it a week ago when he'd come in while Peter rested.

Tony and Peter had personalized the room to suit Peter's senses his second night here, increasing its ability to dampen the constant stimulation coming in at all hours. They found his senses far surpassed Steve's, and Tony had taken the challenge in stride to create the perfect environment for Peter. May didn't ask him to brighten the room for her sake, accepting Peter set his space a certain way, even as she had to enter the space blindly. 

"Friday, remove the soundproofing, please." The hum of traffic filled the room immediately, and the daily sounds filled Peter's ears, taking on its natural drone at the base of his skull.

"I didn't want you to get rid of it for me," May sounded guilty, "It was just strange, I was only commenting." Her hand rubbed at the quilt below her, a fingernail tracing a line of stitches. 

"I don't mind, I only use it when sleeping. Tony said it feels weird in the ears for you guys, I get it." His aunt nodded, chewing her lip. He wondered if she thought him unable to see her as clearly as he did, the concern on her face glaringly obvious. He didn't point it out, and she gathered her thoughts in silence, which was fine by Peter.

He barely felt awake, the weight of the casts annoying, blankets catching on them when he shifted around. He couldn't wait till he was free of the damn things, restricted was not a notion he enjoyed.  "You don't happen to have a pencil on you, do you?" The rise in body temperature when sleeping caused his arm to sweat beneath the cast, and sensitive skin prickled with a distaste for its stifled environment. He couldn't remember his last cast being so itchy as a kid. He only bath nights and how he lost his weekly allowance of four quarters into its abyss, the impromptu money pouch proving a failure.

"I can go get one?" She offered, confused but ever willing to help.

"It's okay. It's just a cross to bear for my impotence." He subconsciously straightened the blanket across his lap. "What brings you around these parts?" He tried to lighten the mood, which felt impending and wary.

"Are you due for another round of medication? I can get it. Are you in pain?" He wasn't really, he hadn't even moved enough to test his healing limbs. The collarbone felt tight, but it always did, but wrapped in the sling, it didn't complain loudly enough for him to care. "You've slept for nearly three hours." It sure didn't feel like he'd gotten that much rest, it was probably near dinner time. Pepper liked to eat right at six as if they lived in an episode of 'Leave It To Beaver' the family all gathering around the table.

He liked it.

"It's all healing just dandy, don't you worry. I barely know something is wrong." It was all but the truth. This was a walk in the park compared to homecoming night, the casts were just an annoyance. He swallowed the reassurance that 'he'd been through worse', considering how he'd never mentioned crawling into their shared apartment half-beaten to death. He dug the grave for that truth and he'd fight tooth and nail to keep it buried far below, away from May.

His aunt shuffled up the bed oblivious to his near slip-up, hand swiping lightly over the covers, tapping against his foot. Locked in now, her hand rose to cup his cheek, his unshaved scruff brushing her palm. That was if you could call it scruff, Tony had likened it to a small mangy patch; because he was sensitive like that. But like in most things, May had a more delicate nature than Stark.

Her thumb brushed over the hollow of his cheek, tracing over his cheekbone. "Are you okay, how are you handling this all?" Which part? Wearing casts contrary to his enhanced healing ability? The fact that his body had been slowly emaciating far more than he'd realized? Or the part where she was here, boyfriend in tow to try and handle all of his mess? The question was loaded, and Peter was caught on the wrong end of the barrel. 

"You know me, I bounce back." Safe, a tepid non-answer, he had become well-practiced at those in the last year.  

An unhappy line developed between her brows as her hand dropped back to her lap. He was spared her signature searching look, the dark obscuring his guilt-ridden eyes and shrinking confidence in his avoidance skills. May didn't seem to agree with either part of his statement, her no-bull-shit voice in place, "Do you want to try that again?"

He gave up a little ground, gangling limbs reaching out as he let his weight sway towards his aunt. She welcomed him into a warm embrace, so distinctly May that memories of simpler times left him nostalgic, body weight held up by the strong-willed woman who raised him for so long. She buried her nose into the side of his head, a shuttered breath brushing his ear as she clutched his unharmed shoulder tighter. She accepted his affection and the small white flag, her composer softening further, "How are you truly?"

"I'm okay, not the worst." He admitted into her shoulder, letting himself soak in her contact. "I am very well taken care of, contrary to common belief." 

"I don't doubt it, Tony is better prepared for all of this than I am." He decided not to address that, not yet. "I was so scared reading the headlines and seeing the footage," Her breath hitched. Peter wrapped his good arm around her waist, and gave a reassuring squeeze. "Everyone was so impressed with you, talking about how Spider-Man fought, how smart you were with the webs and the trap." She paused, clutching him tighter. "But I could only see my kid, being tossed and slammed to the ground. Tony said you'll be fine, but it won't leave my mind. Watching you get thrown, limping, in danger."

"It is part of the job." The words weren't harsh, just factual. He signed up for the highs and lows of protecting this city, and defending its people. If it wasn't him in danger, it was someone less capable, less durable. He sat himself up, slipping from her grasp, but her hand held his own, not giving up connection just yet.

"I know, I realize that." She settled back into her spot, her legs beneath her, the quilt bunching with her weight. It felt right, her sitting here on the same quilt strewn over her bed for his entire life. Although it was faded, and the edges frayed more than in his childhood memories, it was all the more her with every popped stitch and patch. "I love you, you're one of the biggest parts of my world. I worry. It's part of being a family." 

"I wish I didn't worry you so much," he muttered into his lap as his free hand readjusted the shoulder sling's strap from where it dug into his neck. “I’m handling everything just fine.”

He hated causing distress, his whole persona as Spider-Man was to help lessen worries. Yet in his own life, even with his precautions not to, he stressed the people around him.

“‘Fine’ isn’t what Tony thinks.” When Peter sat in sullen silence, his aunt shook her head in disapproval. “He didn’t have to say it, he doesn’t have to, his emotions are all over his face when it comes to you.” An unfortunate truth as Tony adopted the whole heart-of-the-sleeve approach lately. It was a blessing and a curse. 

“We both know that Tony likes to push boundaries and go where his nose doesn’t quite belong," he pointed out, "it’s an endearing trait but also obnoxious. Remember our neighbor, Mr. Hendrix whose German shepherd that would shove its nose up every new person's ass? Tony is a bit like-“

”You can joke all you like, but I am grateful there is someone able to push through this act.” May was never one to put up with the bullshit, was she?

“Act? I think that is a little uncalled for, you know I was never one for theatre. All the face paints made me break out, and I don’t like tights. Don't get me started on the irony of that.” May took in a rather angry breath, then began fumbling at his bedside table, her hand smacking around till she found the lamp. A click and light poured into the room, illuminating Peter’s hands twisting in anxiety. His fingers clenched tightly around each other, soundlessly fiddling.

“You fooled me." He didn’t like that, stomach twisting as she watched him squirm. Her voice was resigned as if reciting an age-old story, “I should have known, I watched you shut away and obliterate your friendships. I knew something was different with you, I mean, obviously, things were not right after whatever happened with the plane and Tony.” Peter straightened his spine, forcing himself to take a deep breath, face falling blank. “I let you make your choices and looked after you as best I could. That was different because I was there, I just-" She gathered herself, settling into a calm. "I didn’t think you’d do it to me. I should have listened to my instincts and stayed.”

"Personally, I think that 'obliterate' is a strong word." He bypassed everything else, unwilling to take the bait and divulge anything.

"Oh, please. I saw enough tears from all three of you to be fooled by your pretending that that isn't exactly what happened. I let you, and while I didn't agree, I knew you were working through things, you were growing up. But I also knew you had me," She stared at him hard. "Then you started pushing me off too, it was so gradual, I thought it was a natural thing, but I see now you did it on purpose. I should have come back sooner, I hoped-"

Aggravated itched at his nerves, "You'd come back and what, May, clean up my mess? No, thanks. I won’t keep dragging you down with me, you’ve given up enough.” His jaw ached with how tightly he clenched his teeth, brows pinched together into an unhappy frown.

"Clean up what?" She let loose a hallow laugh, "I don't know where to start, or what to talk to you about. I feel like I hardly know you, honey. You don't call, you are evading, you lied about having an apartment," The anger faded from her face, shock in her eyes as she realized she'd slipped, confessing her latest update on Peter Parker's Fuckups.

"I did have an apartment, I just don't now." The defense was weak, and half-hearted at best. Frankly, even to his own ears it sounded like the biggest case of bullshit he'd ever heard. 

"Where?"

He looked away, shame warming his ears at the idea of telling her, admitting he'd slummed it up in the worst part of town for over half a year. 

"Honey I know, you don't have to lie to me. I called," her voice cracked, "I called the landlord to see if I could get a few things for you while you're here. I thought you'd like to have familiarity, with some of your own clothes, maybe a couple of books. But the Landlord said Peter Parker didn't rent there. I asked if you moved, but he said Peter Parker had never been a tenant. So where does that leave me? I feel like an absolute fool." The words were soft, a sad smile on her face. "But hey, at least you have the quilt. No pillows to match I imagine, assuming that was a lie too." It was a lie, not wholly his own fault, the quilt was a monstrosity of colors, with hues of orange nowhere to be found outside of Halloween stores. 

"I had an apartment," he repeated, he wished Tony was here to confirm that Peter did, in fact, have a home. Tony always lessened the pressure when May was mad, he reverted to jokes and appeasements quickly, avoiding parental upset at all costs. 

"Okay, why did you lie to me about living in the other apartment then? Where were you staying?"

"What does it matter, Tony severed my lease. It's gone, I am here now. That is what matters, May. I am here, things are fine now."

"So, you admit that things weren't fine?" She appeared relieved as if Peter's confirmation that he had nowhere to leave Stark Tower and return to was the best alternative she could think of. “You’re different, where is that Peter joy and excitement? I thought being on your own and developing control as an adult in a new stage of life would help. But you’re weary, baby. I can see that, you haven’t taken care of yourself.”

He was tired, he didn't feel like getting into this, there were too many cans of worms to open at once. He would drown in worms, so he played dirty. "Aunt May, I missed you," sincerity oozed out of his pores, only adding the slightest tinge of a whine to his tone and with it, erasing six years of his maturity. "We only have a few days, do we need to spend it arguing?"

Her expression was torn, mouth screwing in thought. "Peter, I have to know you're safe. If you won't come back with me," she held out a finger, interrupting his impending interruption, "which I still think you should, then you have to be at least honest with me." She and Tony and their intense desire for honesty, didn't mesh with his current wants, but when did Peter Parker ever get what he wanted?

"Honesty, okay, this is it." A deep breath, and he committed, "You don't deserve to be stuck with me any longer. You did your time, let me go." He set his jaw, letting the light expose his conviction. She wanted honesty, and that was the root of it all, stripped down and naked for her to evaluate. 

"How dare you,” a quiet but heavy demeanor of offense dripped off of the words. He made a grievous error. “Don’t you think a single millisecond that being your guardian has ever been something I thought dragged me down. You can be as bitter as you want, but don’t put those poisonous words in my mouth. I love you, from the bottom of your feet to the top of your head, Peter Parker. I love you more than anything. I don't and will never regret taking care of you. I signed on, I chose you. Don't make that a bad thing, it never was, don't paint it in that light. It's a lie." 

“Come on, I didn’t mean it like that.” Back peddling did little, he was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and the only thing to do was face it. His least favorite thing to do. 

"How else could you mean it?” She prodded, unconceived. 

“I keep screwing this up," his hand rose to tug at his hair, the roots protesting in pain, "this is all coming out wrong. You don't understand what I am trying to say,” He couldn't get the meaning across, and couldn’t face her, not after that, so instead he stared at the wall. The lovely blank walls that only a few hours earlier he’d been planning his poster placements on. This conversation was long overdue. He'd have to be the world's biggest idiot to think this could go on forever. A dreamer's hope had taken seed in his heart, that just maybe he'd be in a better spot by the time it rolled around, a change of scenery in his life that resembled the lies he'd told her. 

“Do you want to know what I think?" She waited to catch his eyes, her own watery but determined. "I think that you are just saying exactly what you’ve been hiding from me for so long. Let’s not hide behind parsed truths any longer. You think you're a burden, don't you?” She could read him so easily, this was exactly why he kept her across the country where she was safe, and his secrets were safe with him. 

“It’s not like that, not all of it. It's dangerous to be part of my life. It is, you can't say it isn't, you haven't seen what I have seen. You haven't heard the threats," a nervous glance confirmed that his aunt hadn't considered that others had threatened his world, shock froze her eyebrows perched high on her head. "It is a burden to have to clean up my mess, I didn't exactly let people down easy before. I tried to trade myself out for something else, so you wouldn't feel like it was such a loss."

"You're my kid." She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world as if only a fool would assume she’d let him go easily. Well, dress him in a leotard and give him a scepter, he’d made himself the biggest jester in town. He’d rather cartwheel down the hall and swallow frogs than admit he underestimated his importance to her in such a manner. 

“Kids move out, they move out all the time. They leave across the country for college and job offers. It isn't like this was never a possibility, me being far away."

"Yes, but it was supposed to happen naturally, not because you think you're a burden to the people who love you. You were supposed to move into a college dorm, apply for scholarships, ask for help on job searches, and tell me you'd visit for the holidays. You weren’t supposed to lie to make me happy as you erase yourself from my radar." She had been happy with it, that was the biggest letdown. It worked. What did it matter that his life wasn't as grand as he made it seem, it served its purpose. Even for a short while, she hasn’t been concerned about him. 

"So, I didn't live at the apartment complex I told you that I did, May. And I didn't call enough, I tried to take a little distance. It won't happen again. Message received.” The cocky grin on his face felt hollow, minimizing the offenses to her face felt like a weak move. “You’re here, I’m jobless, living with Tony. Healing just fine, all good things.”

"I don't know what to trust,” she didn’t seem to be convinced of his assessment. “What is even worse, is that I don't know how to convince you that you aren't a burden and that you deserve people."

"I don't think that I don't deserve people." He thought just that exactly. 

"Well, in that case, look me in the eyes and tell me that you deserve to be loved and have people. Tell me you believe it, and you’re aren't going to keep shoving me away if I leave you here.” His mouth opened, false confidence ready to repeat the words, but they turned to ash on his tongue.

The sadness tugging her mouth down aged May before his very eyes. “Baby, how can I leave you here if you aren't safe?"

"I am safe. I live with the frickin' Avengers. King Kong couldn't take me if he tried, that was if I was his type, or blonde. I mean, a few things would have to change for him to desire me, but the idea is that I am so safe. Bubble-wrapped level of safe."

"I meant safe from you." His back thumped against the bedframe, shocked at the bald accusation. He hadn't realized he'd even leaned so far forward during the argument, May's hand still holding his own. She continued softly, "I need to know if you will put yourself first, you deserve friends and good things. I am glad you have this," she pointed at the room around them, "but will you keep it?"

"I think so."

"Will you?"

"Yes. I-i really like it here, with them. I feel like I fit. Also, I did love theatre, acting was always something I was good at."

May snorted, brushing a hand over her forehead as she inhaled, letting loose a deep sigh. "I feel like I am handling this so poorly. I'm out of practice, with this whole parenting thing. Am I handling this okay?"

"Better than I expected, really. I thought there would be some yelling.” He nudged her in a joking manner, one of an old friend regaling their history, “Let's be honest, I was a goody-two-shoes, you never had to pry answers from me...plus, I got John Cena'd on live television and put into a coma. I don't know if anyone handles that update very well."

"Tony did," she sounded both pleased and surprised, the emotions resonating in Peter. She crawled up the bed, to sit shoulder to shoulder with him, the tension fading from the room.

"He's very different." She said nothing to his description, silence giving him space to talk, voice hushed as if exchanging secrets." At first I thought he was just putting on a face, a new tactic to get me to agree about joining the Avengers boy band, but it's him. The biggest secret around is that Tony Stark is a big softie, it's all smoke and mirrors. We are ordering a life-sized poster of Yoda." 

"Yoda is totally the best," her words were fond, gracious smile on her face. Weary, but content she looked at her nephew as if recognizing him once again. 

"You know I agree, full-heartedly. It’s good, he’s doing the right things…unlike the choices I’ve made lately.” She didn’t immediately verbally confirm his assessment, which he appreciated. Emboldened by her respectful listening he carried on, “He cares, about the dumb stuff, about me. Even Pepper does, they both tell me they like me here. I’m letting myself enjoy it, and take the help.” The stack of brand-new clothing from Pepper was a testament to that. 

"Tony has always cared," May sounded regretful, "he showed it in the wrong ways, and too late when he figured that out. But he cares, he's always tried to look out for you, he wouldn’t ever tell me what happened between you two. He said it was your right to decide, he meant that, even if it meant letting you go."

He hadn't considered the possibility of Tony keeping out of Peter's life as a byproduct of Tony's care. He didn't consider that Tony was respecting the notion that Peter had wanted out as he'd slowed down being Spider-Man. There were some months when Spider-Man never emerged at all, and for all intents and purposes, on paper Peter quit. Tony never interjected himself once. 

"He's gotten much better at the whole mentor thing, even if he didn’t sign up for it," it felt like a weak summary of how they'd grown together. Tony had stepped in for enough emotional meltdowns and made enough medical decisions to qualify as a parental figure in Peter's mind. He inexplicable trusted the man, looked up to him, loved him. He felt at home.

"Listen May, about going back with you,"

"Let's give it some more time, we have a few days. You can meet Daniel, we can talk."

"May, no." She sucked in a small breath at his bald denial. "I love you, I appreciate you so much, time and time again you have done right by me. But listen to me," he reached out to hold her hand and squeezed it. "I am not a kid. You can't come in and fix this, you don't have to. I don't want you to. I know you think it would be a good change, and shit, three months ago, it would have been. But not now, I have Tony, Pepper, and the others. I am not lost in the wind like I was last year."

"You were lost in the wind?" She didn't sound remotely surprised, only politely giving him space to explain. 

"Just a little bit. You were right, a gap year wasn't going to fix things. But I can't leave what I have here, not now. It isn't that you aren't as important-" 

She saved him from putting his foot in his mouth, patting his leg. "I know." He swallowed his relief. "You have a home here, don't you?"

"I think so."

"I knew you said you were giving Tony a chance, but you have to understand my surprise, and where I am coming from. This has barely been a month, I didn't think you'd let someone in this quickly. It's Tony, I didn't think you would let him in at all." It was a fair assessment. He'd closed off every single relationship he had, including letting himself fade away from her world. "The selfish part of me wants to haul you home anyway, kicking and screaming." 

"You could try for old time's sake. One last hurrah." He pumped a fist weakly in the air. 

"It was a hypothetical idea," she replied ruefully. "You've grown. My baby is a grown man." He rubbed at his own cheek, feeling the sharp lines of his face, wondering how different it was for her to see him change in two years. "You're an adult, I can't make you do anything. I know that. I was just-"

"Scared?" He offered, recalling Tony's words. 

His aunt nodded, throat bobbing with a swallow, a husky 'Yes' choked out into the room. 

"This is who I am. I am Spider-Man."

"I know, Peter, I just-"

"May, hear me out." He continued when she didn't push, softer but no less firm. "This is who I am, I am a hero. I can't-no- I won't stop doing this. I owe it to this city, I owe it to Ben, to be like him."

"Your uncle was a police officer, he wasn't chasing down mutant animals and aliens. This is not the same thing."

"He wanted to help and he did in the capacity that he could. My abilities, these powers, I can help too, in a different way." May sniffled, but nodded her understanding, eyes misting as they always did when Ben came up.

“This isn't a costume," he recycled her earlier assessment, letting his hurt fill the word. 

"I wish it was," she whispered, "if it was, then it would be easier for you to take a step back." She wasn't wrong, and he could see her wishful thinking. May Parker hadn't ever given Peter up, and she'd done her best for him her entire life. To ask her to just accept that he was putting himself in harm's way, how could any parent handle that without trying to reason something safer? He understood. 

"For a long time May, I told myself that Spider-Man and Peter Parker weren't the same person. I lived both lives separately, but something happened, that showed me that we are the same. I can't be him, without being me. But Peter Parker's people, they aren't like the Avengers. You are at risk when I keep you all close, yet I can't give up Spider-Man." He felt choked, admitting his choice. "I can't give it up. This is my purpose, my duty. With great power comes great responsibility, Ben told me that."

"So that’s why you let them go," May's voice was understanding, but mournful. He couldn't meet her gaze, instead staring forward at the wall as he admitted to her what he'd done to himself. 

"MJ and Ned, they were in danger. I couldn't handle that, not after losing my parents and Ben. I can't lose anyone else. It isn't because I don't love them, or you. I do."

"I get it."

They sat together, Peter sniffling quietly, May deep in thought. He felt lighter, his soul released of some unseen weights, pieces of truth out there, finally. "I am letting myself have people, safely, here in the tower." He hoped she would understand, "I can't give them up to move with you and put you at risk. It's a lose-lose."

"You aren't my little teen anymore, It's hard to let that go, I will try, and I'll do better. But you can't cut me off, please, you're all I have too. This goes both ways."

"Okay, May.”

She didn’t press and ask him why Tony severed his lease after Peter told her he’d only stay a week. She didn’t pry into why Peter wasn’t with his internship, she didn’t demand to know about his loss of weight or the reason he wore casts. She let him keep his secrets, she saw that they didn’t matter. The only thing she wanted was for her nephew to stop running away, and to be willing to move forward with her.

She probably detected the way he seemed to brace himself whenever she looked at him with a question in her eyes, Peter appreciated it. 

"So, Daniel," he drug out the first syllable of his name obnoxiously. "He's here too, what is he doing, feeding the pigeons on a park bench or something?" He felt he should ask, inquiring about her world, and the boyfriend he'd done his best to forget existed. 

May brightened at the change of topic, an impish smile on her face. "He did mention a pigeon pooping on his jacket. I told him that he was a native now."

"I have never had that happen to me." Sometimes, May's humor went over his head. 

"Aren't you a lucky boy?" She teased. "He is exploring the city still, and was seeing Lady Liberty last I talked to him." A worthy attraction in Peter's book. "This isn't how I wanted to introduce you two," May was sheepish. "When Tony called me, I was so panicked and upset, he didn't want to send me alone. In case something with you was worse than Tony described." 

"What did you say happened?" He didn't imagine May just told him, 'My nephew got his ass whooped by a monkey, by the way, he is Spider-Man' 

"I told him that you fell down some stairs and broke a couple of bones. I didn't mention the coma part, it felt like something to see first and harder to explain." Great, he was some clumsy kid to the never-before-met boyfriend, a lovely starting point. She was wise to only inform him of some of Peter's details, explaining how someone in a coma less than twenty-four hours earlier was up and chilling around the house as if nothing happened, it was not a realistic approach. 

"How are we going to explain that I miraculously healed tomorrow when I get these casts off?" He waved the mentioned arm about, as much as he could in the sling. 

It didn't appear May had considered that part, a tinge of distress coloring her eyes. "How important is keeping your anonymity with him?"

"Preferably very." You could never predict how someone would react to news as large as an alter ego; he'd heard enough horror stories about families and friends turning on individuals who'd won the lottery. His ability to exist freely as Peter Parker...he wasn't willing to risk it. Who knew how he would react, May knew him as May Parker traveling nurse, not as May Parker the aunt to Spider-Man. 

"Okay," she didn't press, he loved her all the more for it. "What about...could you just wear the casts a day and a half longer until we leave?"

"Sounds like our safest bet to me." Not ideal by any measure, but manageable. "Is he here yet?" 

"Not till you're ready."

"Okay, well. I don't want to see him," he was teasing, but testing the waters.

May nodded serenely, "That is okay too."

He slumped into her side, smiling, "He can come for dinner. For now, tell me about this pottery frenzy you are in. As I remember, you promised me a tea cup." 

Chapter Text

His sleep did not magically free itself from the tormented pattern he endured for the last week. Even bogged down with pain medication and exhaustion, his nap was peppered with dreams, the occasional odd memory mixed into the misery, leaving Peter shaken awake just an hour after he first closed his eyes. What had upset him? He wasn't sure; his memory failing to recall whatever it was that had chased him out of unconsciousness, but whatever it was had left his chest too tight,  ribs squeezing his heart uncomfortably into his throat.

Chugging what was left of the water on his bedside table did little to ease the pressure. The feeling of hopelessness and fear clung to him like cobwebs.

He lay still beneath his covers, blinking into the blackout lighting. Slipped into box breathing, his eyes fashioned together abstracts in the darkness above him. His restless fingers flexing aimlessly into a fist on his uncast hand. Tensing his muscles, he tries to ease himself back into a restful state, knowing that however long he slept was not enough for what his body needed.

It sounded like a fruitless effort, and turned out to be so anyway.

It had been a weak hope, and he wasn't surprised when it did little to calm him; he felt ready to spring up from the mattress.

Irritated, he flipped and flopped, digging his pillow to cradle his head better. The casts were bulky, the rough material clinging to the silky sheets somehow, its material unpleasantly singing its dismay at the maltreatment. Even the sling never felt quite comfortable enough to relax again fully.

Giving up attempting to lapse back into sleep, he began dragging himself into the main area, the scooter dutifully rolling him across the floor. As he cracked the door, the seal of silence broke as he stepped out of his solace.

From further down the hall, the sound of whispering brushed his ears, Tony's low tone all but hissing as he wandered down the hall towards the living space. In the wake of his free foot shuffling on the floor, the adults stopped their low argument and hid the tension from where it sat on their faces as he came into view.

The furrow of his brow did very little to hide his displeasure at walking into something less cheerful than he'd left earlier. And Tony, never one to address conflict head-on, quickly offered to make lunch, pulling out a stool for Peter to take, tucking the scooter beside the couch for the younger before digging into the fridge.

The two women ignored Peter's prodding eyebrow raise, offering subdued smiles instead before asking how he felt and how he slept. It was a class effort, this keeping of secrets. If he were a lesser person, he would have paused in the hallway, listening to their words before they had the chance to notice him creeping up on them. Lucky for them, he was still heavily drugged and didn't think to take the time to do that. Settling on waiting them out, he sat quietly at the breakfast bar, everyone filtering into the kitchen quietly.

If Peter found the unexpected family reunion this morning to be awkward, well then, lunch was, by comparison, so much worse. 

The wilted feeling of normalcy he'd felt in the tower in the past month only continued to droop as the minutes ticked by, leaving Peter paddling wildly to remain afloat in the flow of conversation with both May and Stark. It was the worst sense of Deja vu he'd experienced yet as the two halves of his life slipped in and out of symbiosis, their jagged disconnections tearing holes in his stories faster than he could think his way out of most of them.

Tony chatted minimally, keeping the conversation focused on Peter's time at the tower, doing his part as the aware party of Peter's true story, mitigating May's more probing questions. Appreciation fluttered in his chest at the other man's attempt to ease Peter's mental gymnastics.

Feeling foggy and reaching the line of overwhelmed, Peter took shelter in mechanically chewing another protein bar, the small snack offering an oasis for him to latch onto as Tony assembled sandwiches across the counter. May, who was entirely unaware of his grappling with story lines, shifted in her chair to lean more comfortably against the counter where two of them sat at the bar. The same bar where Pepper had made him breakfast in a much more peaceful quiet.

Forcing his shoulders to crawl down from where they'd hiked to his ears, he listened to the conversation between May and Tony. Trying and failing to ignore the way in which Tony's shoulders were held too stiff, clearly yet to shift off the frustration of whatever discussion was being hidden from Peter. His movement jolted occasionally, as if he were too deep in thought to remember where he was in the process of lunch assembly. Twice, he set down a sliced tomato, only to pick it up again and haphazardly slap it onto an awaiting piece of turkey.

Pepper's concern was well hidden, but she hovered closer to her partner than she had before, a silent support.

May smiled brightly at Peter, winking in humored partnership as she teased Tony, breaking away from her last train of questions that her nephew left hanging in the air, chewing purposely to bide his time.

"Tony, are you putting mayo on the outside of the bread?" She used to tease Happy with the same tone, part fun and part connection, a sort of olive branch. Happy never knew what to do with it, stammering and attempting some joke response. But Tony took it in stride, sweeping it up quickly, 

"May, trust me. The mayo will make it way better. I don't know if you're aware, but I am a top-notch chef," Tony twisted to point a spatula at Peter, silently requesting his support. His eyes danced over the younger, in what was clearly a quick but thorough examination, before he turned back around to the spread of sandwiches. 

"It's true." Peter offered. He couldn't muster more than that as exhaustion and nerves chewed at him beneath the surface. He couldn't clear his mind enough to reason if the crawling sense of anxiety hadn't left him from earlier, unsure where to lean, Tony, or May. 

Teeth digging mercilessly at his bottom lip, his eyes tracked how May ran a hand over her hair twice when the conversation went nowhere else. It was evident that May was sensing how she was the odd one out; it was tangible how Peter and the others were trying to pretend that this wasn't blaringly different from the pattern they'd developed over the past weeks.

The four of them locked in a dance where no one knew the next steps. The polite diffusion masking an undertone of frustration between the adults around him.

Pepper scrolled her phone quietly, glancing at Tony and Peter every once in a while, her brow furrowing as she turned back to the screen.

In contrast, a soft hand rubbed over Peter's shoulders, his aunt's nails lightly tickling the base of his neck once before resting in her lap, a soft smile on her face as she looked him over. His next breath came a little easier, posture softening in her presence. He softened his body, leaning towards her, leeching comfort from her proximity.

It wasn't her fault that he couldn't relax; he couldn't blame her for not knowing how to act now that he'd replaced her with someone else and didn't know how to adjust to her return. She flew across the country to be here for him; she was talking to him like they used to talk, slipping in questions about his life and what he'd been up to. It was normal. There was no reason for him to feel so torn, she'd proposed moving, sure, but she was May.

And it was sweet, the way she remembered nearly everything that Peter had shared about his life in his creative bouts of storytelling. Mentioning bits and pieces of lab projects and coworkers that soared over his head because to him, it was a hodge-podge mixture of reality and fibs, as entire timelines shifted and were drawn longer than the real job lasted.

For the genius he was, he hadn't planned on recalling his flubbed last two years of life that he'd spliced together over the phone, throwing May off the trail of his fuck ups. So he kept trying his best to keep up, catering to her questions without delving too much into too much detail. Or he simply changed the subject, ignoring the back of his neck heating with Pepper's critical gaze with every expert verbal dodge he made.

May seemed only the lightest bit flummoxed at the polite avoidances he had shown her, trying to find a vein of conversation that he would lean into. "So then, Peter, will you go see your neighbor for dinner on Tuesday still?" May glanced towards Tony, "You said he should be able to take the casts off in a couple of days, right?"

Even if he didn't, Peter was willing to chew himself free from the obnoxious weights on his limbs. The scooter was only acceptable because Tony promised that it would allow his ankle to heal faster, and it was borderline fun at times.

Stark murmured something affirmative, nodding a couple of times without turning around, leaving Peter to pick up the conversational slack. "With the apartment gone, Aunt May, I think it's okay for that habit to end." He watched Tony's methodical cutting of a cheese block into slices across the kitchen. "Plus, she's got her bingo nights still, and you know, the cats," he finished lamely, wiggling his arm to draw the sling's strap into a more comfortable position. He pretended not to hear Tony's snicker. 

May's face drew into a thoughtful scrunch, nodding as she saw his logic, "If you think that is best." She smiled brighter then, "Are you keeping in contact with that instructor?"

"Which one, May? I had like four in each cohort," he eyed his protein bar in dismay as he finished it off with a resolute bite. His ability to chew in silence no longer available and hands left empty. 

"The one with Donna and Harold." Again, names he wasn't sure were real or made up. It at least clued him in on the development group she was asking about. 

He pinched at his inner arm uncomfortably, body rocking with a nod of false remembrance. "No, Dr. Dubois is busy, and I don't want to bother him much." Dr. Dubois was real, his name pronounced in a French twist that Peter could never stammer correctly when talking to the man. He was a renowned biochemist who found Peter's attention span displeasing. The whole name butchering didn't help, and when Peter missed his third day on site in a month, the mentor's familiarity dropped off entirely as Peter was handed his things and walked out of the building. All in all, not someone he attempted to keep in contact with, for far too many reasons.

"Oh, so what will happen with that project you were in, the one like the life straw?" May tried to catch his eye, twisting in her chair to face her nephew. A cold sweat broke out on Peter's brow, bitterness resting in the back of his throat. 

The project. He'd forgotten he'd mentioned it, as the study was from nearly a year ago, and his connection to it long gone. Why had he waited so long to tell her about it? Well, there was one reason in particular. While he was proud of it and always would be, it bore the cost of returning to that particular internship after badly burning his bridge a second time.

Begging for a third chance required something heavier than taking up the nobody jobs and paperwork trails that he'd been relegated to for his second chance in the new institution. His project, a personal brain-baby inspired by the work in Africa he'd seen Banner do, was deemed proficient enough for his return, just with the minor fact of his rights to it being signed away, and his name expunged from the project. But of course, when he finally had the balls to bring it up out loud, it stuck around in conversation.

He'd chosen to misrepresent the topic when brought up with Stark, letting the older man assume it to be a piece of the larger lie he'd given May. Now, sitting between the three of them, with May bringing it up out loud, requiring him to lie in person, he froze. And Anthony Stark, the nosiest person Peter knows of on the planet, who had purposely lost himself in the process of frying sandwiches in a pan on the stove to avoid conversations, tilted an ear towards Peter in the expanding silence. His proverbial ears perked at the hint of something being hidden away. 

He was Spider-Man, for fucks sake, why was he freaking out about this?

Scratching at his neck, he feigned nonchalance, as if he'd only spaced off for a second. "I actually scrapped that project, figured I found something more interesting that could use my time." He scooped a salt shaker up to fiddle with, twisting it between his fingers as he eyed Tony's back. Pepper's eyes felt like weights, only dragging him further into the mess he had made of this all.

"Well-" May was thrown but trying not to show it, "-ok." 

Peter scraped his eyes free of the countertop, offering a weak smile. "Sorry, May. My head is still a little-" a wayward hand gestured around in a fluttery manner as Tony slipped a plate in front of Peter, the sandwich cut into even halves for easy handling. He jumped on the escape, quickly biting into it, relishing the taste. 

"May, you mentioned Daniel, and I don't think Peter could have told us about him in the way that you can. What is he like?" Pepper inquired, kissing Tony on the cheek as she took a piece of lunch meat off the cutting board. Tony shot her a small look of disapproval, the weight of it lost in the quirk of his mouth as he handed May her own plate. 

The conversation eased as May, all too relieved for a solid direction, began explaining just how they had met, describing Daniel's job, working with fish, and whatever else a boat captain did. Pepper nodded as she listened, smiling at the right parts, making polite comments without taking control of the conversation. Ever the CEO of Stark Industries, she spoke over the tense air with something softer, comfortable with catching up with all that his aunt had gotten up to in her free time. 

Peter didn't really catch much of what May said, too busy monitoring how his stomach was twisting after finishing half of his sandwich. The pain medication and him causing nausea to rear its head once again. He pinched off a piece of lettuce to nibble from the remaining half, not wanting to seem done so soon.

Pepper happily questioned away, seeming genuinely interested and happy to hear everything May shared. Even Tony asked about Daniel, inquiring about his background, his family, which the dude apparently had a ton of. May happily fleshed out what even Peter had to admit, sounded like the perfect man, down to the romantic sunset picnics on the boat. Even if it seemed like something ripped from one of May's old romance novels, to Peter's ear. Not that he was judging. 

"He's been supportive and loving. I thought after Ben that-that," May blinked, brown eyes shimmering as she smiled. She began laughing at herself, brushing at her eyes, "It was just hard for Peter and me, we had each other. I couldn't imagine someone ever coming into my life who made me feel even slightly the same way as Ben. But he does, he's a good man." She locked eyes with Peter. "He accepts me and makes me laugh. I think you'd get along; he's heard so much about you. My first guy," she pushed lightly at his shoulder, causing Peter to grumble in mock complaint, his ears burning. 

"He would be ok with Peter moving in with you two?" Right, because they lived together. Tony's question was fair, probably even necessary; nonetheless, it made Peter's stomach swoop.

"If he were not, then he wouldn't be in my apartment. I was very upfront that I had a nephew that I wanted to bring out west with me." She raised a hand to ward off whatever Peter was preparing to say, "If that nephew wanted to, I am not saying it's certain, just that the idea has been proposed for a long time."

"Not certain yet, because Peter's choice matters most." Tony's tone felt pointed, at what, Peter wasn't sure, but May raised an eyebrow in dry understanding. 

"Peter, who is right here, thanks. Also, Peter, that's me, who said thank you, but no." Weakly interjecting himself into the conversation felt like the right way to dissuade whatever was brewing in that moment. The two of them looked properly chastened, quickly nodding in agreement.  

"I would like to revisit that still," his aunt offered somberly. "When you're feeling better."

"When I feel better, your boyfriend will be here, and I just can't see that discussion happening like either of us hopes it will," he responded honestly, digging his knuckles into his eyes. The splashes of light from the pressure did little to settle the unease in his stomach and chest that agreed to share living in his body for the morning.

"I don't know the dude, but I'm super happy he fits you, May. I just can't really see having him here making this easier to discuss; there isn't that comfort there yet, for me to argue playdates at Dad's house with the stepdad present." Tony's breath hitched, but Peter didn't give a hint that he noticed. 

"He isn't your stepdad. I don't expect that for you, honey." May didn't bat an eye at his claim to Tony in a parental standing; if anything, her face softened, allowing her crow's feet to peek through. He couldn't help but note that she also didn't argue that the idea of marrying Daniel wasn't on the table. 

"We could just tackle that horse now?" Tony offered, gauging Peter's response.

"Not sure that's a phrase," Pepper muttered.

"Schematics, Dear."

"I think this is probably our best time to do it," Peter admitted, pushing himself out of the chair to stand on one wobbly foot. "As willing as I am for all heart-to-heart conversations," he ignored the pointed looks from all of the adults around him. "I am not willing to have emotional conversations when sitting on hard plastic seats, so if someone would fetch me my steed, I would appreciate it."

May quickly slid the scooter beneath his waiting leg, following him to the couches, where he began settling himself into the cushions as the others followed. Forcing a deep breath into his lungs, he swallowed against the ball of nerves roosting in his throat. 

"You want to start, bud?" Stark encouraged quietly.

He wet his lips, nodding his acceptance of beginning the navigation of his future in real time. "May, I know that you're concerned with me being here, where we don't get to see each other. And the Spider-Man thing, which I acknowledge has not been so hot for me this week. It-it gives you a lot of stress and, well, more concern. Concerned twice over, even," he huffed a dry laugh. One that no one else mimicked. 

May's head tilted for a moment, her voice hesitant and serious. "It isn't just this week. I will admit it was a breaking point. But I always planned to bring you with me. I didn't plan for us to stay here for our entire lives." He had known she wanted to travel; she always talked about how she and Ben wanted to see the world, but he hadn't known she wanted him to go with her. "I figured you'd go to college and then we would plan from there," her legs settled to rest beneath her on the cushion, hands clasped as she locked gazes with Peter. "When college wasn't something you wanted to do anymore, I thought we'd move together, especially after you'd stopped talking to your- them." 

She seemed pained to have to bring up the loss of his closest friends, and the feeling echoed within him as she continued. "After we'd settled on me moving into this new position, you begged me to give you a year to figure things out here by yourself. Honey, you have to see, I knew how you worked so hard to build up your savings, with the apartment searching and all of the planning." Gaining speed, her voice grew stronger, falling into something more steady. "You'd been so lost to yourself that summer, I couldn't tell you that I thought it wasn't a good idea just when you'd found a direction again. You were an adult, and I-well, things were different. You were-" she clearly avoided the word different again, "-more connected, and you explained to me what your goals were, you made a presentation with your plan, and had me watch it. Now, I don't know your plan, Pete." He bit back a wince at the nickname, ignoring how Tony took in a breath as if he were going to speak up about the discomfort for him. "I can't stomach leaving you again, not when so much has changed, and with losing some connection, and you aren't sure on your feet."

"I have connections." The defense was paltry, and they all knew it for what it was, complete bullshit.

She did not let the deflection work its magic, only shaking her head softly. "You just said you don't talk to your supervisor, and you don't mention any friends whenever we do get to talk. You abandoned what, the last I heard from you, was a huge personal project. You have not reconnected with any of your old friends," the layer of heartache that always came up when she mentioned Ned and MJ coated her words. "You don't have the internship anymore, or even an apartment. So I thought- well, maybe you were ready for a change of scenery for a bit. That this was a good time to go somewhere where you can just be Peter for a while."

"I can't leave Spider-Man, May." He tried to make his voice steady at the topic of leaving his alter ego coming out so early in the conversation. He thought he'd have time to find a way to explain to her how it was impossible to take Peter Parker anywhere without Spider-Man.

"You could take a break-" Ready to haggle and beg, May's tone changed to one of bargaining. It brought him for a split second back to his bed, buried in his own sweat-stained sheets, depression rotting away his entire existence, leaving his body weak and mind tearing itself apart, his aunt the only anchor in the storm.

It gave him a sense of clarity within that memory. He'd forgotten how often she had to resort to rationalizing, begging, and coaxing him to see the reason or just to do anything when he'd lost himself. He hadn't seen at the time how ill-fitting the role was on her, like she was forcing herself to guide him into seeing reason. They'd never had to work around each other like that before. When he wasn't broken, they were partners. Wrong or right, they'd been a team after Ben. It put a sour taste in his mouth to realize just how much he'd forced her to adjust to his refusal to do something good for himself for so long. 

Pinching at the flesh of his palm between his thumb and pointer finger, he forced himself to speak his mind. "I don't think either of us forgot the two-month period where I didn't leave my bed, or the four months after that where nothing even felt real to me. I desperately needed a sense of direction-" Pepper sat straighter in her seat, sending a questioning glance at Tony, who only clenched his jaw. "-you helped me a lot then, May you were my only help. You made me see that Peter Parker needed to reset into being my primary focus, and at the time, it was necessary. But I can't just shut it off and call it a day. I can do something, and that power comes with a responsibility."

"To whom?"

"What does that even mean, May?" She saw the good he did for the city, but the question didn't make any sense to him. He had a responsibility to the people, the low-level struggles overlooked and uncared for, petty crime left to rot and eat away at the structure of-

"I am asking about your responsibility to care for whom, the city, or you?"

"Can't it be both?" He tried to temper his frustration at such an odd question; couldn't she see how it wasn't that simple?

"My Peter," May sucked in a breath, "Our Peter," she pointedly stared at Tony, "-has given up so much. Too much. I think we can all acknowledge that, Peter, you've placed yourself lower than those around you, and it has cost you. It cost you your friends, your partner, and opportunities." They knew it, they all knew it, but no one had so baldly spoken out loud about how much Spider-Man overshadowed the important pieces of Peter's life.

He'd accepted it as the cost of being a hero. But May saying it like that, it sounded cruel and empty. "It isn't that simple," his words emerged weakly, thin, and breathy.

"Of course not, baby. But can't you see that there is a line that you aren't looking at? The line where you should be prioritizing yourself, honey, and taking space to make sure you don't fade away in support of Spider-Man. I understand you want to help, and I don't dare tell you that you shouldn't, but you-you don't even hardly look like yourself. Where is the balance, who is making sure that you're taking care of you?" 

"I wouldn't say that I don't look like myself. I mean, sure, I have a few more wrappings than usual, I'll admit it." 

Tony shook his head, muttered, "Bud," into his palm. 

"Let me address something, I know that quote, it's Ben's, isn't it?" Peter's silence answered May when words could not. "Did he explain that to you?" He never had the chance to, so Peter could only shake his head. May's eyes were serious, a weight trapped within them, but also warmth. "With a heart as strong as yours, and a mind as sharp, guided together with an empathy like yours, Peter. You are a powerful person; you change lives simply by interacting with them. That means your actions, how you treat others, what you do for good and evil, those outward actions matter. But so do the inward actions, how you treat yourself, how you ensure you're protected, and loved. Your responsibility does not end with others, but rather it begins with a responsibility to yourself."   

He blinked twice, trying to ease the burn in his eyes. Twin tears escaped, trailing down his cheeks. When she explained it like that, adding onto what Tony had tried to explain to him as well, it all sounded right.

How did he ever twist it so much in his mind, making himself believe for a second that Ben would tell him that he was to put others before himself? 

"I am glad you have Tony and Pepper. I am, don't look at me like that, Tony." Whatever face Stark had made was long gone by the time Peter looked at him. May continued, voice softening. "You weren't there when you two stopped talking, Stark. I was. I saw how crushed he was. I saw my boy, who desperately wanted your approval because he only ever looked up to you, change when something happened, and it all stopped, and he just- just," Peter winced as her eyes filled with tears, her bottom lip wobbling. "He imploded, and it was hard and it was long and it took a lot to get him out of bed, and to get on his feet. I was scared he was giving up, I thought I would come in one morning and he'd be-"

"May, come on." Embarrassment ravaged him, face burning in humiliation as she exposed how weak he'd been.

"Peter, you are asking me to go back home and leave you here, trusting you to them. If we can't be honest, what are we even hoping to accomplish?" She had a point, even if she was far more honest than he was. He nodded, silently bowing his head. 

"I am not saying that being in California will be the best." She sniffled, rubbing her nose with a sleeve. "I don't know if it will, but it sounds like, I don't know-" May cut herself off in frustration, hands twitching in her lap.

"It sounds to me like you don't want to leave Peter here without knowing he has support and people who love him to check in and guide him." Pepper filled in, voice empathetic. "Which, I would say, a month ago, I would have told you to take him on the next flight." She didn't look over when Tony's head whipped towards her in blatant shock and hurt. "But he has us, and the rest of what is left of the Avengers. There is an element that Tony carries, a piece of himself, that is a hero and sacrifices for the good of the cause. I don't get it- not always." A sad tilt to her smile softened her words, "I don't think you could either, May. It isn't in us. But they need others who can understand it, and they have it here."

"I can wrap the kid in a suit of armor and give him a forcefield to go with it, and it would sustain him in California." To admit that out loud sounded like it pained Tony, but he pushed through, "I would even go as far as to say that it is a realistic option, but that doesn't mean it's the same support and guidance he would get here. There are doctors, medical technologies, equipment, labs, and whatever else that this kid could use, that I can't pack up in a FedEx box and send your way." 

"I know that, Tony."

"He is never going to be a kid who can surf the waves and smoke pot on the beach with his friends. Peter, type A, Parker is not going to change character just because he is a few thousand miles away."

"I wouldn't ask him to do that-"

"-Then how is asking him to set aside Spider-Man anymore realistic?" No one had anything to say to that, it seemed.

Peter didn't dare look up to see what May's face was doing as he quietly asserted, "I am not two separate people, I am Spider-Man, and Peter Parker. I have a balance now, I don't need you to help my find it again. I did it myself."

"And something that I know for certain," Tony's voice wavered, concern raising Peter's eyes to his face, watching how the other man's jaw flexed with an emotional swallow. "Is that I am not letting myself screw it up again, not with him. We have talked, and we are keeping things honest. We are going to do our damnedest to communicate for his betterment. I won't let you guys down again, not this time." There was a promise in there, iron-spined and solid.

"The hope here is not to keep Peter away from you, not even for our most selfish wishes." Pepper added, "We just want him to choose for himself, as Peter and Spider-Man, what he feels would be the best, without letting him lose sight of himself."

"I won't be any safer in California. I think if we are honest, you'd be less comfortable with me operating unsupported there than here, where I have Tony and the Tower." He wasn't actually a hundred percent certain about that, but he knew the thought would have crossed her mind.

"No, I think you're right," May murmured in agreement, gaze thoughtful as she looked between him and Tony. "A lot changed in a week, huh?" 

He took a moment to fully look around, the sense of anxiety bundled in his chest far looser than it had been at the start of the conversation. Tony's small smile bolstered him in a way he couldn't explain, easing a small something from his shoulders. "Try a couple of months." He huffed a dry laugh. "Things aren't perfect, May, but it is a crap-ton's worth better than they were, and I think it's only going to get better." He let her swing an arm over his back, the touch light over his shoulders as she kissed his temple. She seemed more at peace, like whatever she was hoping for had shown itself. 

"In the heart of all things vulnerable and communicative. Do you two want to talk about what is bothering you?" He eyed Tony's guilty expression and the regret building in the downturn of May's mouth. If he was going to dive into hard conversations post-nap, they could damn well discuss whatever it was that had them whisper-fighting. 

Tony cleared his throat, leaning his forearms onto his knees as he sat forward. "Your aunt was rightfully concerned that I was not certain about what it means to truly parent someone, and I haven't been upfront with her." 

"I think I am a little past the point of parenting," he couldn't help the twinge of defensiveness that rose in his chest for himself and his mentor. 

"You are never done being a parent. Sure, I don't tell you that you've played enough video games at night now, and I don't force-feed you zucchini anymore. But I will always be a parent to you, and that means making the hard choices, even when it goes against your own heart. Like leaving your kid behind, again, because he's asking you to, with someone who has not kept a promise to me-"

"You are within your rights, May. I don't fault you for that," Tony assured, not seeming in the slightest offended. "I know what you are upset about is that I lied to you, May." Peter was confused, stress building as Tony seemed to curl into himself, a hand rubbing at his wrist again under their watchful eyes.

"How are you feeling, kiddo?" May's arm around his shoulder gave the slightest squeeze, alerting him to how his bouncing knee was jiggling the two of them as he watched Tony speak.

"Fine, just confused why you're mad." His knuckles cracked under the pressure of his hands gripping together, tendons protesting the treatment, even through the cast. 

"She is upset that I have not told her about the whole-" Tony huffed, looking towards Pepper for help when the words did not offer themselves to him for an explanation. Peter knew Pepper would not offer the words, not this time. While she was a supporter, her side pressed entirely against her partner's; Peter could see in her eyes that she felt this discussion was to happen between the two of them. She laid a hand on Tony's shoulder, squeezing it in silent encouragement as he scrounged up the words for himself. 

"Your aunt and I had an agreement about keeping tabs on you and keeping each other in the loop. I did not tell her about our concerns with your well-being, which was something that we had agreed to do with each other." 

That was easy enough, "Aunt May, he called you when I got whacked around, I don't see how-" 

"The weight loss, my love." May finally laid bare the source of their argument. Oh, of course. His mouth opened, and then closed again. Perplexed on how to discuss his sudden inability to control his own stomach, without breaching into his million poor mistakes, the words did not come to him either. He was a fish out of water, yet again. His theme today it seemed. 

"I was respecting that he did not want me to tell you about certain areas of adjustment that we were going to discuss soon." Tony began again, "This whole attack of the monkeys-"

"Apes." The correction slipped out before Peter could help it. He sank into the seat a bit when May's eyelid twitched.

"-Apes, thank you." Tony took it in stride, and Peter nodded. "The apes, fast-tracked us to the Peter Parker weight-watching party talk, which I knew was coming up soon with you, because we are making progress."

"Tony, you said he was in a coma, because he was underweight and his body couldn't heal." That does sound a little distressing, the tension skyrocketing around him again, Peter tried to make it sound better-

"I could heal, it was just draining my life force a little bit." 

Tony's head swung towards him, his mouth open in horror, "Dude!" 

Even Pepper looked like she was holding back a face, because maybe explaining how your body's super healing was attempting to drain your every cell and nutrient resource of its stores to force too many injuries into healing for survival, which actually isn't helpful, wasn't the best idea. His aunt actually sniffled because, of course, she would be upset at that stupid statement. What was he even thinking?!

"Sorry! I am freaking out a little bit!" He was, his knee jumping quickly enough that he felt like he was vibrating, May having pulled her arm away already to let him fidget on his own.

"Peter, why don't you use the scooter and loop the room a couple of times, get your body moving?" Unwilling to argue with a chance to get some antsy energy out, he nodded his thanks to Pepper and quickly set to doing just that. No one moved as he snagged his scooter and began propping his leg onto the seat. 

"I am a little upset, yes." Braving through the sniffles, May sat straighter. "I was telling Tony that my trust is a little shaky when something so important was never mentioned before this. It seems relevant to me to know that my nephew was apparently starving for a period of time." When May's voice broke into what was almost a sob, Peter's socked foot slipped on the ground, leaving him to rebalance as he entered the kitchen. Forcing his shaking hands to fill a glass of water, he drank it slowly.

"He did not want me to call you. I was here, we are working on communicating, and it isn't going unaddressed."

"But I can't know?" Confusion and offense colored her tone. Peter's heart sank to his toes. Unable to force the next sip of water down his throat, he quickly spit it into the sink, rinsing it down the drain with the rest of his glass. 

"He asked me not to tell you; he wanted to deal with it on his own first. We are supporting it." Peter felt like he was forcing Tony into the line of fire for his own decisions.

"Is this because it is a Spider-Man thing? Another thing I just won't get?" 

"It is a human thing, May." He spoke before Tony had to dig his grave any deeper. Darting his eyes everywhere around the adults without actually looking into their faces, he forced the words through wooden lips. "It's a thing that- it is my own fault. I-I am working on it. Things are better; I am gaining it back. It won't ever happen again, and it won't help us to talk about it. Honestly, I can't talk about it, May. I can't, I begged Tony not to tell you. I just need you to trust that I am okay." His gaze, against his own control, locked onto Tony. The older man's eyes were wet, but so full of support. 

"You just said parenting is hard decisions, well, I asked him to go against his promise to you. It is my fault. I am not twelve, I'm nearly twenty. If you're mad, be mad at me. It is not fair to be angry at him. I didn't tell him till recently." She didn't need to know that it was yesterday; the support had come in so many other areas, it was just as solid as Tony holding him in the aftermath of his nightmare when he first came to the tower. "This is a human thing, and I am healing and I will be okay."

"I won't let him put himself in harm's way. No one here will, and if anyone will understand it-"

"I understand-" May cut in softly, "-well, I don't. I see that this is something bigger than an update on how he's doing. I see that now. I'm sorry for accusing you of being irresponsible. Like I said, parenting requires you to make the hard decisions, even if it means going against your own promise. You were just being a good parent." Looking ashamed, May wiped at her eyes. 

"It isn't you," Peter offered, slowly rolling around to stand to the side of Tony, leaning into the soft hand that the older man rested on his lower back. 

"I won't understand?" She asked once more, seeming to genuinely ask what he thought.

He chewed on it, considering both her question and also thinking of the best way to answer.

Tony pats his back.

"I don't want you to have to." He settled for naked honesty. "I don't want to have to tear it all up, for you to process and understand. I have done that already for myself, and if I need you to know, I will tell you, but let me try on my own, properly, I have help." He didn't have it in him to walk his aunt through his mistakes, the fight with Toomes, the almost dying in the bedroom beside her. Every decision he made, to unveil them all, would break a level of trust between them he wasn't sure he could survive or repair. He didn't feel the urge to share with her how he suffered from his own choices. She hadn't clawed her way up like Tony had, like Peter had in so many ways.

To have her understand was to break her first. He wouldn't do that. Because of that trust, May nodded in acceptance, and the room fizzled into a worn silence, which was before May began to silently cry. But her eyes weren't sad, they were deeply relieved as she looked at the three of them beside one another, "I am so proud of you. All I have ever wanted is for you to fight for yourself and ask for help because you're worth it." Her words settled into him. 

"I am, and I know I am." And it was true.