Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Happy, pull over at Bill's. As long as Pepper's on that business trip, I  take the chance and get my cholesterol unhealthy high, even if that's the last thing I do today."

Tony pointedly ignores the judgmental gaze in the rear mirror. After today, he needs that cheeseburger or the next person talking to him on an empty stomach gets fired. The car door opens and Happy looms over him, blocking his way. 

"What should I get you?"

"Don't bother, I'm getting it myself." 

His driver doesn't budge, staring down at him with his arms crossed over his chest. Tony raises an eyebrow.

 "I'm not going to harass anyone. Stop looking at me like I'm a second away from suing someone for breathing in my direction."

Happy looks ready to close the door right in Tony's face.

"You sued people for lesser things."

Tony snorts, but his lips pull down quickly as the man before him still wears a scowl. He rolls his eyes.

"Good god, let me have a bad day for once, alright?"

"I would, only if your bad days wouldn't end up giving a bad day to everyone in your close vicinity."

"You make me sound like an asshole."

"You are an asshole, Tony."

"Geez, thanks, I love you too. Now move so I can get something to eat."

Happy begrudgingly steps aside and walks after Tony into the diner. The billionaire skillfully ignores the gasps of surprise and the poor attempt to take pictures of him secretly as he strides straight up to the counter. 

"Two cheeseburgers and a large fry. To go."

"Please get in line and wait for your turn, Sir."

"Excuse me?"

Tony slowly pulls his sunglasses down and glances at the skinny teen behind the register. 

"Bad hearing comes with age, huh?" mutters the teen under his breath. 

Happy makes a choking sound behind him.

"What was that?"

Tony takes off his sunglasses and pockets them in his breast pocket, earning another round of awed murmurs from the other customers.

"There is another customer in line before you, Sir."

He scans the worker in front of him. Barely old enough to work, with natural untamed curls, slight bags under his eyes, pale features, a stainless uniform despite it getting late, and bitten-down fingernails, probably a nervous habit. 

The teen in front of him does not seem nervous thought. No, Tony knows that expression.

"Is that so? And where would that customer be?" he humors the teen, well, the boy who glares up at him from under his brown curls.

"Parker, what is going on here?"

"Hey, Dave. Long time no see," greets Tony, leaning with his hands onto the counter, earning him another scowl from the boy.

"Mr. Stark! What a pleasure to have you at our place again, welcome."

The store manager beams at him, an almost comical contrast to the glare the teen's sending him, who still hasn't begun to type in his order.

"Parker, why isn't Mr. Stark getting what he ordered? Having a hero and celebrity like Tony Stark here at our place might be a bit overwhelming, but you cannot simply freeze."

Turning to Tony, Dave gives an apologetic grin while he puts a hand on Parker's shoulder. "Please be understanding. The boy probably never has seen a celebrity like Iron Man in real life."

Facing Parker, Dave gives the teen a little push. "Go on, get Mr. Stark his order."

The teen doesn't move an inch. 

"It's not his turn yet, Sir."

Tony is about to ask Happy to go outside if he continues making choking sounds whenever the kid decides to open his mouth. Dave's fingers dig into the boy's shoulder, a thin veil of sweat building up on his upper lip in record time.

"I am so sorry, Mr. Stark. I don't know what's gotten into him today. He's usually a very polite young man."

"Parker," Dave turns to the boy with anger growing on his face as he hisses in his ear. "You will take his order now and do it in record time, you hear me?"

Before the teen can answer, the door to the restroom opens, and an older, nicely dressed lady walks up to the counter. Tony watches with morbid fascination how the scowl on the teen's face instantly softens. 

"May I," asks the lady, and Tony steps aside, only now noticing the baby-blue-colored purse lying on the counter. 

"What would you like to order today, Mrs. Moore?"

Dave glances wide-eyed from his employee to Tony and back to the teen, who smiles as he asks the woman what kind of bread she would like her order to go with.

"I'm so sorry. I will take your order myself, Mr. Stark."

"Oh no, don't bother. I haven't been the next one in line. I can wait."

He notices the teen glancing his way, eyes squinting as he hears Tony's words. Interesting. 

After taking the lady's order and going as far as to bring her drinks to her table himself, the kid finally stands in front of Tony again. 

"Welcome to Bill's Diner. What can I do for you, Sir?"

Dave, who hovers near the counter, looked like he was about to get an aneurysm. 

"Two cheeseburgers and a large fry. To go."

Seeing that Tony finally gets his order taken care of, the manager leaves them with the teen angrily punching numbers into the cash register. 

Tony absentmindedly rubs his shoulder while the kid turns around and gets their order packed up. It bruised because, believe it or not, getting hit by a truck hurts even with Iron Man armor. He catches the teen glancing his way, and if it hadn't been this quiet inside the diner, Tony probably wouldn't have heard the mutter the teen let out under his breath as he puts the bag down on the counter. 

"Serves you right, asshole."

Tony blinks. 

Happy chokes.

"Here's your order, Sir."

The teen looks up and stares at him. 

"You did that on purpose."

"Have a nice afternoon, Sir."

Happy grabs his arm and drags him out of the diner, the bag dangling down his other arm.

"Did you hear that?"

Tony tears his arm out of his driver's hold. He loosens his tie before pulling the whole thing over his head and throwing it blindly into the car. He grabs the bag, tears open the wrapping, and takes a gigantic bite of the cheesy and beefy goddess before pointing a finger at the diner.

"Tell me I imagined that."

Happy tiredly wipes a hand over his face. He wordlessly grabs the bag and places it on the backseat, while Tony takes another bite while walking up and down in front of their car, chewing angrily.

"I'll go back. I make that kid apologize and then get him fired."

"Tony, the last thing you need is the news writing about you getting a high schooler fired from a burger place."

"Since when did I care what the news tell about me, Happy?"

"Since you are an Avenger and fiancee of Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries?"

Tony visibly deflates, taking a last bite of his burger before throwing the rest in a bin. 

"Drive us to the tower. I need some time in the lap."

"You need sleep," mutters Happy, holding the door open for his boss and rolling his eyes as he closes it behind him.

One thing is for sure. It probably won't be the last time hearing about the kid named Parker.

Happy looks back at the diner, shaking his head.

"You've done it, kid. You screwed the pooch."
 

Chapter Text

"Friday, make an order at Bill's. The usual. And tell them I want it delivered by Mr. Parker."

"Of course, Sir."

His eyes fly over the holographic of his newly planned particle accelerator, scanning over the faulty storage ring. Leaning against the table behind him, Tony crosses his arms over his chest before reaching out and turning the image sideways. His hand goes for his coffee cup.

"Mr. Parker is not available to do deliveries, Sir."

"Why? Cause he's 14? They can send him on a bike then."

"Mr. Parker isn't working at Bill's anymore, Sir."

Tony raises an eyebrow, turning away from his new toy.

"He quit? Because of me? I don't know if that's flattering or insulting."

"He got fired, Sir."

Now, that grabs his attention. 

With a flick of his wrist, the holographic image shrinks down, and he walks towards his coffee machine, setting up a new pot.

"Call Bill's and get me Dave in line, Fri."

"Of course, Sir."

After four rings, Dave's voice echoes through the speakers.

"Bill's Diner, what can I do for you today?"

"Dave, it's me. Tony."

"Mr. Stark?"

"The one and only," Tony answers and stares at the coffee machine as if that would speed up the brewing process.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Stark?" asks Dave his voice unsure.

Tony decides to go straight to business.

"You fired your employee."

There is a short silence on the other end of the line.

"Yes. I did fire Mr. Parker. You will not have to meet him again. I want to apologize for the incident last night. We will take greater care of who we hire from now on."

"Didn't you say the kid was usually polite?"

Tony pushes DUM-E away, who is about to pour a gallon of sugar into his cup.

"Peter is polite and a sweet kid. I am still unsure what came over him last night. The customers love him for how kind and nice he is."

"But you still fired him," deadpans Tony.

Dave sighs.

"I cannot let something like last night go without some consequences, Mr. Stark. The other employees will start acting out of line if they think I'm a pushover."

"We wouldn't want that, would we?" asks Tony and promptly ends the call.

"Friday, where does Peter Parker work now?"

"Sir, I must inform you that your interest in an underage high schooler could be classified as worrisome by the general public."

Tony raises an eyebrow.

"Are you calling me a child predator?"

"I wouldn't dream of it, Sir. I forgot social norms do not mean much to you."

Tony rolls his eyes before going over the information that pulls up on a holographic. 

"I've never been a fan of Pizza Hut. One meat-lover with extra cheese, and don't let anyone else go to the door."

Tony puts the coffee on his lips, taking a large gulp, only to spit it right back into the cup.

"When did you do this? " he scolds the happily buzzing bot whose claw tries affectionally nuzzle against his hip. 

"You sneaky little-, why haven't I upgraded you to a clothing rag, huh? I would be better off having you immobile and in one place than trying to assassinate me on a daily basis."

With a frown, Tony watches the coffee run down the drain. He sends a glare DUM-E's way as he opens the faucet to let the water run. After rinning his mouth he goes back to work on his project, although coffeeless.

"Sir, your order is on the way up the elevator."

He glances up from where he leans over his workbench, pulling up the safety goggles

"Already? Color me impressed, that's twenty points for Pizza Hut."

After cleaning his hands Tony makes his way up to the penthouse, eyes focused on the elevator. The elevator doors push open, revealing the sight of a top-to-bottom water-dripping delivery boy.

Tony raises an eyebrow at the growing puddle forming under worn-out sneakers. 

"Well, well, well. What a coincidence to meet again."

The boy doesn't bat an eye, even while standing in the elevator to the Avengers Penthouse with Tony Stark awaiting him.

"You stalked me."

The adult narrows his eyes at the accusing tone.

"You insulted me."

The kid juts his bottom lip, jaw clenching in tension as dark eyes glare from under his drenched cap up at Tony.

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Did not!"

Tony snorts.

"What are you, five?"

The Parker kid glares some more.

"Old enough to know you're being a creep."

Tony crosses his arm over his chest, not intimidated by the glowering teen.

"Okay, I'll bite. What's your deal, kid?"

There is a minuscule moment where the kid's frown shifts into surprise before the tension on his face grows, bringing back the angry puppy look.

"I don't know what you are talking about."

God, kids are exhausting. He should have ordered a coffee too.

"What's your deal with me? Where does all the hatred come from?"

The kid shifts, mirroring his pose which would have looked more intimidating if he wasn't clutching the obnoxious red delivery bag in his pale hands. 

"What? Never been called out for being an asshole before?"

"Hey!" chastises Tony but the kid's glare only turns icier.

"You got me fired," he says, a statement, not a question.

Tony shakes his head, hands on his hips.

"I didn't do anything."

Whatever he had said, it must have been the wrong thing because, the next moment, Tony had an angry kid standing in front of him, shoving a moist pizza box against his chest. 

"That's exactly the problem with you," mutters the kid under his breath before turning and stomping towards the elevator. He rapidly pushes the button to close the door.

As the doors begin to close the teen seems to relax a little. His brown eyes find Tony's.

"For your information, I dropped your pizza on the way here. Twice."

Tony's eyes narrow. He is calling a bluff but when he opens the box the sad truth in the form of a soggy and messed up pizza greets his eyes.

"God, that is a crime scene," comments the man before snapping his head up.

"Friday, bring the kid back up. We weren't done talking yet."

"Mr. Parker has already left the building, Sir," answers the AI. Tony ignores how Friday almost sounds relieved, too focused on the murder of a perfectly innocent pizza. When he looks up again, there's a spark of determination gleaming in his eyes.

"Alright, Mr. Parker. This means war."

Chapter Text

"Dinner had been lovely, Tony."

He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his lip tugging upwards as he holds the passenger door open. 

"Only the dinner?"

Pepper rolls her eyes but takes a step closer. She lays a slender hand on his shoulder, where it slides down until it rests on his chest. She leans in closer, her breath tickling against Tony's ear.

"The ambiance had been lovely too."

She pats his chest playfully before slipping into the seat and closing the door herself.

An amused grin grows on Tony's face. He rounds the car, about to take them back to the tower, as his wristwatch vibrates. 

"What's going on Friday?"

The watch's display grows bright, a holographic map of Manhattan pulling up. 

"I gathered new information as per your request, Sir."

Tony's grin widens. The evening promises to get even better.

"Hey, Pep," he says as he slides into his seat. Pepper turns to him, an eyebrow raised in question. Tony's eyes are gleaming.

"How do you feel about getting dessert?"

When the car pulls up in the parking lot, Pepper throws her fiancee a skeptical look.

"When you asked for dessert, I didn't expect you to talk about an MCFlurry."

Her gaze falls onto the giant single letter over the restaurant that flickers every few seconds, in dire need of a repair. 

"I could get you an apple pie if that's more of your culinary likening," suggests Tony jokingly, already unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Why are we here, Tony?"

He turns to her, one leg outside of the car.

"To get my date a dessert she deserves?"

Pepper crosses her arm over her chest, unimpressed.

"We drove past three McDonald's on our way here, Tony. Why this one?"

"Because this one is special?"

"Tony."

"Okay, there is someone I need to talk to. I'll be back in a moment."

He closes the door, muffling Pepper's protest, and walks past Teens, who are loitering in the parking lot, listening to their music through speakers.

"Is that Tony Stark?"

Several voices grow louder as he steps into the grease-smelling place, walking up to the surprisingly empty register.

"I want to talk to Mr. Parker."

The young woman behind the counter stares at him wide-eyed. He snaps his fingers in front of her face. 

"Mr. Parker. Little tyke about this height, brown hair, brown eyes, carrying an expression like the whole world is plotting against him, you know him?"

The girl still gapes at him, and Tony is about to ask for the manager when a familiar mob of unruly hair rounds the corner. 

Peter Parker carries two very heavy-looking sacks of frozen chips in his arms, only to drop them when his eyes catch sight of Tony. 

"What are you doing here?"

Hah, there it is. The familiar accusing tone Tony had been searching for.

He turns towards the girl.

"You can skedaddle now. I've got the person I want to talk to."

"Yeah, I mean, sure, Sir," stammers the girl. She turns and nearly walks into Peter, apologizing before stumbling in a hurry to get into the back of the kitchen and out of sight. The kid picks up the frozen food and places it on the counter. 

"What are you doing here?"

"Is that your default sentence? Oh no, wait. You are also great at calling people asshole."

The kid has the nerve to roll his eyes as if Tony was the one being annoying.

"What would you like to order, Sir?"

"I would like an MCFlurry, an apple pie, and the reason why you are so pissed at me when we never met each other."

Tony watches the boy like a hawk preparing the food, the pizza murder from last time still in mind. 

The apple pie lands with too much force on the counter. It's the same with the MCFlurry, sending little specks of chocolate and caramel sauce flying around. Tony glances at his three-piece suit, or better, the sleeves where some sticky sauce has rained down.

"That's 6,27$, Sir."

Tony slides a hundred bucks over the counter. The kid looks ready to pick the ice up and throw it into Tony's face.

"Don't you have it smaller?"

"You can keep the change if you tell me what's on your mind."

Tony notices with satisfaction how the Parker Kids' glare turns heated as he stares at the bill before squinting his eyes as he looks up at him. The man only notices now that the uniform hangs loosely down the kid's frame, not there long enough to get one that fits.

"I have nothing to talk to you about. And I won't accept this," the teen dared push Tony's money back, making it slide straight into a large smear of chocolate sauce, causing it to stick against the counter. 

It's Tony's turn to glare.

"Listen here, kid. I don't know what I did to you, but two things are getting on my nerves more than being dragged into business meetings. Number one, no knowing things, and number two," Tony pulls a second finger up, wriggling it annoyingly and maturely as he is in front of the kid's face, "is meeting people more stubborn than me."

The kid has the nerve to swat his hand away.

"Sir, this is a McDonald's."

Tony furrows his brows, watching the kid bend down and vanish behind the counter to pop up again with a paper bag. He watches how his food gets vigorously stuffed into the bag and almost swears when the teen picks up the dirty hundred-dollar bill with a napkin and flings it right into the paper bag.

"Here's your order, Sir. Please don't forget to rate us online and leave a review. Have a nice evening."

The kid has the nerve to send him a smile, so polite and sugary sweet, it causes Tony's hair to stand up straight at the sheer fakeness.

"Listen here, kid. You've done well being as annoying as you were, but when I want something, I won't stop until I get it, okay? So do us both a favor and tell me what I did to you to make me stop going crazy with not knowing!"

The teen lets out a long sigh, leaning his hands on the counter. 

"You made me do this, Mr. Stark."

Tony furrows his brows, wondering what the kid is yapping about, as suddenly, the kid grabs his wrist.

"No, please, Mr. Stark, don't get me fired!"

It grows silent in the room, all eyes directed at the counter where Tony Stark stands red-faced with a seemingly angry look in front of a terrified-looking teenager, the latter close to breaking out in tears.

"I need this job! I have to keep it to pay my aunt's medical bills. Please don't make me leave!"

Tony's smug expression exchanged with pure shock when the teen began to act, causing a scene worth of people pulling their phones out and pointing their cameras at the drama unfolding before them. 

He tries subtly pulling his arm away, but the teen has a surprisingly firm grip, continuing to hang half of the counter and pleading to let him keep his miserable and low-paying job. 

When the manager runs out from the back, the smell of cigarette smoke clinging to his clothes and demanding to know what the teen has done to make Tony Stark want to get him fired, Tony knew he had to retreat if he didn't want to get beheaded by Pepper for pulling attention. 

"This isn't over, Parker."

He finally breaks out of his grip. Rubbing his wrist, the man straightens up and walks out, leaving behind a group of people who still point their phones at him, ready to sell Tony Starks dramatic leave to the next best tabloid.

"Tony, what happened?" 

Pepper watches the people coming out of the McDonald's, searching for the celebrity who just stormed out. 

"Just a little disagreement, nothing to worry over."

"Don't tell me you picked a fight with an employee."

When her fiancee keeps quiet, Pepper turns towards him, eyebrow raised.

"Tony?" she asks, her tone suggesting not to lie this time.

"I wouldn't even call it a disagreement, Pep. It's just a teen getting a little cocky."

"You picked a fight with a minor working at a McDonald's?"

He stops at a red light, looking at her frown.

"Now you're making this sound worse than it is."

"I cannot believe you sometimes."

Great. 

Pepper is angry. 

Back at the tower, the elevator ride is painfully silent.

"Thanks, kid," mutters Tony as he watches Pepper walking straight to her room, wincing as her door slams shut. 

Throwing his ruined jacket over a workbench, Tony rubs his hands together. 

"You brought this up on yourself, Parker," he mumbles as he pours a drink. Turning towards the middle of the room, he takes a large gulp of the golden liquor before setting the glass down, pushing DUM-E away, who is about to pick it up and dunk it in the sink.

"Friday, pull up information about Peter Parker. And not only where he works. I want to know everything."

Chapter Text

"Sir, your order will be delivered in approximately thirty seconds."

"It's about time. I am famished."

Tony pulls the cap deeper into his face before glancing up from his StarkPhone. The voice of his AI rings with a hint of judgment out of the phone speaker. "It certainly would have been quicker if you ordered from the shop at Forest Ave and not Manhattan, Sir."

He grins at that. "But where is the fun in that, Friday?"

Tony squints at the silhouette of a person walking purposefully in his direction. He puts his right ankle over his knee, the embodiment of relaxation. Catching the paper bag flung at him with ease, the corners of Tony's mouth draw up into a self-satisfied grin. What could be better than the magnificent smell of tacos and victory? The reason for his markedly good mood stands a few feet before him, staring him down with a heat that makes Johnny Storm look like a matchstick.

"I hope you choke on it."

What a sight. 

Peter Parker in a Taco Bell server uniform, looking earnestly pissed off. Tony should take a picture while it lasts.

"Nah, what kind of harsh greeting this is after I've made it possible for you to get a free ride with the Staten Island Ferry. How did you like it? Took some selfies with the Statue of Liberty?"

God, could the kid's glare turn any more vile? 

The teen crosses his arms over his chest. "You can use the Staten Island Ferry for free. You didn't do anything." 

"Listen to that," Tony praises mockingly. "Should have expected the smartest student of Midtown High to catch on quickly."

The kid narrows his eyes at the comment. "What do you know about Midtown High?"

He ignores the teen's question and bites into a taco. 

"How is your strikingly looking aunt doing?" he asks instead, noticing how the kid stiffens up at the question. 

"Could be better," answers the teen slowly. The hesitation in his answer makes the corner of his lips tug upwards. It entertains him immensely how the kid fishes for information, trying to estimate how much Tony truly knows about him. 

The man decides to humor him. 

"Oh, I could imagine. If my nephew traipses across the city far past his curfew, I'd be worried sick, too. You're quite lucky as she's working a double shift, not knowing anything about your little side jobs. She's probably thinking her darling nephew is at home, sleeping like a little angel."

The kids stares at him, jaw clenched and lips pressed into a thin line.

"What are you working so hard for, huh? What could a high schooler like you need three jobs for, Mr. Parker? Yeah, that's right. I know about you playing Mr. Fix-It for your school pals and the little photography quip for the Bugle."

Tony stands up, pulling out a hundred bucks. He steps over to the teen and slips the bill into his breast pocket.

"That's for buying a new camera. Maybe you get some better motives than Spider-Man." He sniffs. "How about Iron Man? Rumors say he got a new suit. It's very photogenic."

Clapping the teen on the shoulder, he is about to walk past when a hand wraps around his wrist. 

Peter Parker looks about ready to punch him in the face.

"Even if I did tell you what you did, it wouldn't change anything. Because you fail to recognize that your actions cause repercussion, and I am sick of it," spits the teen before letting his arm go. 

Tony's eyes widen before he grins in self-satisfaction. 

"Ha! I knew there was something!"

Parker looks at him like he lost it. "That's what you take from this? Are you serious?"

The billionaire pays no attention to Parker as the teen stomps down the direction he came from, too busy celebrating himself for trusting his hunch and being right. It needs Friday's voice to make him look around and notice he's the only person left in front of the fountain.

"Sir, Mrs Potts asked you to keep from picking fights with employees, especially minors."

Tony rolls his eyes.

"Friday, please. Where did that look like a fight?"

"You are right, Sir. I apologize. It seems more like a case of bullying."

Tony lifts an eyebrow.

"Did you forget what the kid did to me? Who's side are you on, Friday?"

"Sir, you demanded a minor and underpaid employee of a Taco Bell to deliver your order from Manhatten to Staten Island in the middle of the night with a shop of the same brand meters away from your current location." 

"Are you trying to guilt trip me? Cause it's not working."

"I am merely appealing to your understanding of humanity and responsibility, Sir."

He takes the rest of the food and throws it into a bin. "How am I responsible for a teen using a fake ID to work in the middle of the night? That stunt of teen revolution is his problem, not mine."

"Sir, you are being childish."

"Bold of you to assume I'd care if you call me that when I hear that from Pepper all the time."

"Sir, it would be best to keep from irritating Mr. Parker any further. I am afraid you will find yourself in more trouble than Mrs Potts and the PR Team can prevent from happening."

Tony snorts.

"Please, what could that kid do? Cause another scene at a new Fast-Food place? The pace with which the kid is fired and newly hired is astounding."

"Sir, you have been responsible for Mr. Parker getting fired from his last two part-time jobs. It won't come as a surprise if further confrontation leads to a situation that will be hard to handle."

Rolling his eyes, Tony unlocks his car. He slides into the seat and takes off his sunglasses. 

"I believe it when I see it, Fri."

Chapter Text

"Anthony Edward Stark, what did you do?"

The man in question jumps as the door to the conference room bursts open, giving way to a furious-looking Pepper Potts. Tony pulls at his tie, loosening it with a roll of his eyes before turning around, face morphed into a wide apologetic smile.

"Pepper Virgina Potts, you cannot imagine how delighted I am to see you. Is that a new blouse? It looks magnificent."

"Something's wrong, Mrs Potts?"

Tony turns to glare at Steve, the latter raising a single eyebrow before gesturing for him to look at his fiancee. Tony's head reels back, facing Pepper. Her lips form a thin line, pressed together firmly as she tries to suppress most of her anger and keep a professional face.

"Ten bucks, Tony screwed the pooch," whispers Clint behind his hand with a snicker. Natasha's lips tug upwards at the corner. Tony turns with a glare, pointing a finger at the archer.

"Shut your mouth, Legolas. Mommy and Daddy are talking."

Clint grimaces at the comment but kicks his legs up the table. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back to enjoy the show.

"Feet down, now."

Clint's boots are off the table in an instant.

Tony smirked at how quickly the archer cowered at his fiancee's words. One glance at Pepper makes him realize he did not have the privilege to laugh, as he's currently the main target of her wrath. The man quickly schools himself, setting up his best placating smile. "Darling, although incredibly smart, mind reading isn't on my list of traits, so tell me what I can do to get you to relax again."

Pepper crosses her arm over her chest, eyes narrowing.

"Don't you dare try to tell me to relax when you caused the press to run wild and SI stocks to go into an all-time-deep in a day, Tony!"

Sam whistles. "That's almost impressive. What did he do?"

Tony turns, glaring, pointing his finger at them. "The peanut gallery is closed for today. No clever comments coming from any of you, capiche?"

The rest of the team keeps quiet as they watch Pepper scolding the man whose shoulder sinks further as the strawberry-blond woman asks him if he has completely lost it.

"Pepper, darling. Please, whatever I've done, the PR Team can manage it," he tries, but Pepper is having none of it.

"You know what, tell me if they can," says the angered woman. She glances towards the ceiling. "Friday, if you would be so nice."

"Of course, Miss Potts."

The flatscreen at the wall turns on, all heads turning towards the live broadcast playing on the big screen.

"Is that the Tower?"

Steve leans his arms on the table, brows furrowed as he stares at the drone footage playing, showing a side of the well-known building, thoroughly covered in black and white paint.

"What even is that?" asks Sam, who tilts his head in confusion.

Tony's mind is blank. His building got used for some crazy idiots canvas to portray their juvenile act of rebellion or whatever that imitation of a zebra on crack is trying to be, and he finds out about it in the news.

His Tower.

Full of paint.

"Friday, volume up," he snaps, jaw clenching in anger.

The voice of the news anchor raises. Every person in the room has their eyes on the screen, where a camera zooms in on the large image of a quadrat filled with black and white rectangles that overtake most of the glass facade.

"A statement regarding the allegations is still pending from Stark Industries. The burden of proof will be challenging for the concern to sweep under the carpet; the video has already been shared over a million times and is spreading like wildfire on the Internet. It shows SI owner Tony Stark, also known as Iron Man, in a dispute with a minor working part-time at a fast food store. The huge QR code painted on the Stark Tower with graffiti spray, which is scannable even from several miles away, regained the attention of the video a thousandfold."

The camera focuses on the reporter, who now takes out her cell phone and opens a QR-Scanner, demonstrating how the code causes a link to a video to pull up.

"How in the world did someone paint this on a building? Doesn't the lines have to be perfectly straight for a scan to work? That's honestly impressive. Hey, don't glare at me. You are the one who caused that if the lady on the TV is right," defends Sam himself when the billionaire throws him a bitter look. Before Tony can tell Sam to shut up, he gets shushed by Natasha, who watches with interest as the video begins to play.

"Good luck to your PR Team," comments Clint, grimacing in unease when Peter Parker's voice echos through the conference room, begging to keep his job. 

"Tony, how could you do that to a kid?"

Tony is ready to throw his drink at Steve at the disappointment that drips from the man's voice while the blond's face shows a hint of anger.

"I got framed! This kid is pulling your leg. He's acting," Tony tells them as he points at the screen, but the image of him leaning over the counter of a specific fast food chain, holding onto the arm of an employee who begs him not to get fired, doesn't help much to convince his fellow teammates. Tony doesn't know if the news channel or the person uploading the video has pixeled the kid's face and laid a voice modulator over the sound of Parker's voice to keep his privacy. What he did know is that the caption under the video didn't help make him look less like a grade-A douchebag.

"Tony Stark getting high school employee fired from a part-time job. Damn, Stark. That's low even for you," states Sam, shaking his head.

Tony could tear his hair out in frustration. 

"I told you, the kid's acting!"

Steve, who had stood up from his chair, puts a hand on his shoulder on his way out, having seen enough. 

"Maybe you should stay out from the next few missions until it's settled."

Tony blinks at him in disbelief. 

"You're kidding, right?"

Steve pats his shoulder.

"We all have bad days, Tony. But this isn't the way. Get this sorted out, and you're back on the team."

The others follow soon, walking out of the conference room and leaving Tony with a still frowning Pepper.

"Steve's right, Tony. You have to get this sorted out."

She gives him a last look before also walking out of the room.

Tony runs a hand over his face, a tired sight leaving him before telling Friday to turn off the TV. His knuckles are turning white with how hard he's balling his hands into fists as he stalks around the room, mind going miles a minute. A million and one questions are running through his head, questions he couldn't answer, and that drives him more mad than the fact his tower got turned into a memorial of his failure to keep his cool. Why didn't Friday notify him someone put a hand on the Tower? How did they paint the facade of an eighty-story tall building? 

Even though there were many questions without an answer, Tony had a hunch about who was behind all of this. Who had to be behind this petty act of revenge? 

On his way out, Tony checks his reflection in the glass door, pulling his tie straight. 

"Friday, give me the kid's location."

It's time to go looking for Peter Parker. 

Chapter Text

"Tony, where are we driving?"

"Honeybear, is that distrust I'm hearing?"

"Don't deflect on me, Tones."

Rhodey curses as the billionaire pulls into a parking bay meant for busses, pointedly ignoring the honk of the cars for forgoing using the turning signal. 

Tony turns towards the man, pulling down his sunglasses.

"Why are you here?"

"It's called minimizing collateral damage."

"Hardy har." 

The billionaire rolls his eyes.

"Who sent you? Dear old Cap or my mildly disappointed and highly furious fiance?"

"Nobody needs to send me. I can tell on my own when my best friend is about to throw his image down the bin," replies Rhodey. 

"I liked you more when you held my hair back as I vomited all over college toilets."

"I've never held your hair back, Tones."

Ignoring the other, Tony pulls back onto the street. "We're going to a lovely little place called Subway to visit my favorite server and deliveryman, Peter Parker."

"That's the kid from the video, isn't he?"

"It's the name of the kid who painted all over my building and seems to carry an incredible amount of unnecessary distaste against me," counters Tony.

Rhodey can only sigh. 

The store is empty when they arrive. 

He can spot the kid behind the counter, cleaning. Shutting the car door rather loudly, he catches Parker glancing up, and Tony feels a sense of smugness when he observes the panic rising in brown eyes as the teen hurries over to flip the open sign around. 

Too late.

The doorbell rings, and the teen's shoulders visibly tense up. 

Tony saunters into the small place as if owning the place. He glances around with mild interest before settling his gaze on the person behind all the trouble he is currently dealing with. 

Peter Parker has the nerve to look pissed at them being there, and Tony wants to laugh at the absurdity of it as he should be the one glowering at the teen. But being the adult, he straightens his shoulders, throwing a press smile into the room.

"I want the Turkey Special and the Chicken one for my friend."

"We are closed already."

"The door is still open."

"You are a terribel costumer."

"That's mild coming from you."

Despite the icy glare, the kid walks past them to flip the sign and lock the door. On his way back, he throws Rhodey a curious glance before settling his icy glare at Tony.

Tony wipes some imaginary crumbs from a table. He leans back, arms crossed over his chest as he watches the teens scrutinize him from behind the counter. Rhodey sits down at a chair, keeping silent for now.

"You're going to take our order anytime now?"

The adults in the room throw each other a look at the string of curses that the kid doesn't even try to tone down as he turns around and rather aggressively grabs a tablet and two baguettes. 

"I want the mustard honey sauce," throws Tony in while the teen shoves the baguettes in the oven. 

The kid looks him straight in the eye after pulling the heated bread out before he squeezes a giant heap of garlic sauce onto one half.

Tony thinks about waiting before asking further questions, eyeing the knife with which the kid is spreading the sauce over the bread.

"How did you do it?"

"I don't know what you are talking about."

The kid puts a good amount of Tuna cream onto the bread.

"I said I wanted turkey."

The kid looks up, takes out the container with the turkey slices, and walks into the storage room. He excites the room with a steel container containing more tuna cream, which he promptly smears onto the already with tuna dripping baguette. 

"We are out of turkey," he says without batting an eye.

Rhodey watches the encounter with amusement.

The kid continues working on their order, avoiding every question by adding condiments no one asked for with skilled fingers. 

"I know it was you, don't try playing dumb. The question is how you did it."

Peter looks up, mustering Tony as if staring long enough, will tell him what the man would dislike the most before grabbing a handful of olives and onions and placing them onto the baguette.

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Mr. Stark."

The teen peels the black gloves from his hands and throws them into a bin before handing over their order. 

Ignoring the monstrosity of a sandwich the kid tries to poison them with, Tony's eyes widen at the sight of Parker's hands. 

"You are doing this on purpose, aren't you?" he asks, squinting at the in-black color-covered hands. 

"You are making no sense, Mr. Stark."

The kid turns around, and the man catches sight of a black streak on the kid's neck, looking like a handprint from rubbing his neck with dirty hands.

"You are covered in paint one day after my Tower got vandalized!"

"Oh, this?" asks the teen innocently, glancing down at his blackened hands. His eyes meet Tony's, a little twinkle playing in them.

"The chain of my bicely popped out. Got my hands dirty getting that back in."

"You don't even own a bike!"

"Okay, I think it's time to calm down," Rhodey pulls his friend back by the arm before casting a glance at the knife the kid's about to put away. "Both of you."

The teen glares at them before he begins to clean the place up. Rhodey turns around and pulls Tony towards a corner, feeling the kid's eyes following them without stopping his tasks. 

"Tony, I get you are mad, and the story with the bicycle does sound suspicious, but what you are doing borders on stalking a minor. The kid is at least as stubborn as you. Throwing accusations at him without clear evidence is getting us nowhere," he hisses under his breath, pulling on the sleeve of his friend's suit as the latter continues glaring over his shoulder.

"Oh, it's us now?" mocks Tony, grimacing at his friend's advice. He should be the one doing the rational thinking, but the longer he bothers getting to the bottom of the enigma called Peter Parker, the more agitated he becomes. The kid glares back at him. Tony makes an "I'm watching you sign" which gets rudely interrupted by Rhodey, who forces his hand down and hisses at him to stop picking a fight.

The kid shakes his head and sticks his tongue out at him before turning and washing out the dirty rag in his hands.

"Tony, I'm always on your side, but even you'd have to agree this isn't the way. You cannot continue following the kid and pressuring him to talk to you."

"And what is your plan?" asks Tony, tearing his heated gaze from the kid and turning towards his best friend. "He manages to make the company lose millions of dollars in a day with that little paint job. The least he owns me is a couple of answers."

"This wouldn't have happened if you didn't stalk and shove him in a corner in the first place."

"Are you telling me this is my fault?"

"Yes. That's precisely, what I'm doing. It would help if you backed up, Tony. I'm serious. Act civil and don't throw your money around, and you might get an answer, but don't force the kid."

Tony knows Rhodey has a point, as much as it pains him to admit it. 

Glancing past the man, who's giving him a calculated look, he catches the Parker kid squinting at them from behind the counter. When the teen notices he's getting observed, he quickly looks down, corners of his mouth pulling into a frown.

Tony sighs, pulling his sleeves straight.

God, kids could be complicated.

Chapter Text

Peter's forehead leans against the door. Only after the engine of Mr. Stark's car howled and the tires started to roll did the teen dare push his fingers between the blinds and pull them aside to peek out of the window.

They are finally gone.

With a deep sigh, Peter raises a hand, ready to run it through his hair, only to stop when he realizes that it's still covered in paint. 

If Aunt May knew about what he did, he would get sentenced to a week's worth of house chores. Including a deep clean of the bathroom.

"Not my most glorious moment."

After several minutes, with the help of half a bottle of dish liquid, an old sponge, and lots of hot water, Peters's hands were reddened but free of paint and smelled, according to the dishwashing label, of gentle citrus dreams, whatever that meant. 

While drying his hand, the teen couldn't help thinking about his act of revenge. It was petty.

Peter feels ashamed to use his abilities for something so childish and silly. He is Spider-Man. He should be the one keeping people from vandalizing, and what did he do? Smearing one of the most important buildings in NYC, just because he let Mr. Stark provoke him.

"If I simply hadn't said anything. Why can't I keep my big mouth shut?"

The guilty conscience grew while he worked on a persistent sauce stain on one of the tables with his rag.

Mr. Stark mentioned his action costing Stark Industries millions. At the same time, Peter felt like the man didn't care about the money but rather about his image, and the flippancy with which the man talked about losing money sparks Peter's anger anew.

It's already dark outside by the time the teenager closes the shop. With his hoodie deep in his face and his head ducked, he quickly walks down the street. May won't be back until tomorrow morning, and if he hurried, he might manage to patrol for two hours before going to bed. 

On his way through the city, he walks past a construction site. He halts, and his eyes wander along the scaffold that takes up the whole facade.

"A truck hit the front at full speed a few weeks ago."

Peter turns away from the destroyed building. A man leans against one of the street lights. He has his, several times patched coat tightly wrapped around his body, a bottle sitting comfortably in his hand. He tosses his head, taking a hearty sip before pointing at the building. 

"One of the best shelters in the whole of New York. Never mind how busy you got treated like you meant something. They even let your furred friend in there if you had one. Now, we can only hope they rebuild it. To our luck, they put another cafe here."

"I heard about the incident," manages Peter to get out, voice hoarse. 

"You're okay, boy?"

The homeless man squints his eyes at him, and something in Peter's stomach coils as the guilty conscience hits full force at the thought of a man without a roof over his head worrying about a random teenager. 

A man who didn't have a roof over his head because Spider-Man hadn't been here. 

"Yes, I mean, not really," stammers Peter before taking a deep breath, attempting to collect himself. The man eyes him with worry, partly curiosity, and takes another sip while waiting for the teen to finish his sentence.

"It's just that I knew someone. Someone who came here often."

Peter feels ashamed when he catches the man's eyes widening with realization. The man shortened the distance between them, stepping closer, and despite the strong smell of alcohol prickling in his nose, he knew he wasn't in any danger. A heavy hand lays on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry about that, boy."

It's embarrassing how his eyes start burning. Peter had to look away from the empathy-filled, bearded face.

"I don't know who you knew from the bunch, but I know many people hanging around here, and most are decent. I'm sure whoever it was, he would appreciate a fine young man like you to remember him. Many people in this city don't recognize us as humans, but you are alright, boy."

The hand on his shoulder gives another tight but comforting squeeze while Peter uses the back of his hand to wipe over his eyes. He manages to whisper a small thank you.

The man didn't look happy with a crying teenager in front of him. 

"You want some?"

Peter eyes the bottle with a high percentage of alcohol before his eyes fall back onto the worried eyes of the man. A small smile blooms on his face, and he has to chuckle at the ridiculousness of the situation. He sniffles and wipes at his other eye.

"No, thank you. But there's something else."

The man pulls the bottle back with a grin.

"I'm listening, boy. Spit it out."

Peter manages to give him a grateful smile.

"Would you tell me your name?"

The homeless man raises an eyebrow in disbelief before grinning.

"The name's Jason."

Jason holds out his hand. Without batting a lid, Peter takes the hand, including the filthy fingerless glove, shaking it tightly.

"I'm Peter."

Chapter Text

“Why are we lingering around here?”

Clint stands before his colleagues, his hands on his hips, glancing curiously at the people gathered in the hallway.

“We watch Tony talk on the phone.”

"Ah."

The archer peeks at where Sam is pointing, and his eyes fall on Tony, who is wildly gesticulating. The glass separating them from the conference room had to be isolated well because the man behind looked like he did not hold back on the decibels.

"Fury?"

"Fury," Steve confirms with a sigh.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Seventeen minutes,” Natasha replies dryly.

Narrowing his eyes, Clint watches as the billionaire stomps across the room, throwing his arms in the air, face scrunched into a scowl.

"It's about Spider-Man again?" he asks, reading the name on Tony's lips, followed by more words that Steve shouldn't be hearing. A glance at the blond's puckered brows told Clint the man had heard them either way.

“When are their conversations not about Spider-Man?” throws Sam in.

"At this point, it feels like Tony's obsession with the teenager who supposedly smeared the tower exists for him to use as a distraction from Fury and his constant questioning about the spider guy."

All eyes turn to Sam, the latter looking around as he feels them staring at him. "What? I thought that was quite logical.”

“It does sound logical. We didn't expect you to come up with such a sound conclusion."

Clint easily dodges the hand aimed at the back of his head.

Sam scoffs. “Who are you, Bucky 2.0? Don’t look at me like that, Steve. I didn’t insult anyone.”

Steve had already opened his mouth when the door to the conference room burst open.

“Is it time for the daily gossip again?”

“Oh, hey Tony. Didn’t know you're here too.”

Tony gives Clint a look that tells him what went through his mind without having to say a single word.

“You say that after watching me through a window for minutes?”

The spy stepped back, hands raised guiltily, but the smile betrayed him.

"Caught."

Tony rolls his eyes.

“Just keep poking fun at me. If Fury starts constantly breathing down your neck and placing unjustified expectations on you, you don’t need to come to me crying like your high school crush broke up with you.”

He turns away from the group.

“Friday, Lab Lockdown. I don't want to hear from anyone today unless it's an emergency. You know what, scratch that. Emergencies go to Cap."

“Of course, Sir.”

The others watch their colleague walk straight towards the elevator.

"What are we betting that he doesn't look for Spider-Man and continues spending looking for Parker?"

Sam glances at Clint.

“How do you know the boy’s last name?”

The archer shrugs his shoulders innocently.

"Wanted to know what was so special about the teen that made Tony make such a fuss over him."

Steve sighs deeply. “I hope you’re not spying on him too. It’s enough if Tony doesn’t know when to stop.”

“Calm down, Steve. I know how to behave.”

Steve didn't look convinced.

"Great, now that he's locking himself in his workshop and not letting anyone in, I'd better ask Bruce if he knows how to clean my wings of this weird plant slime."

While the rest of the team discusses the last mission, Tony arrives at his workshop.

"Friday, place an order with Subway and tell them to have Parker deliver it."

“Sir, Ms. Potts forbid you from ordering any more food on the premise of harassing Mr. Parker.”

Tony sputters, turning to one of Friday's cameras and pointing at it with narrowed eyes.

“Excuse me? Me, harassing anyone? That kid insulted me multiple times and made my property look like a kindergartener’s art project who was left unsupervised with caffeine and a load of black paint.”

“Ms. Potts says you are the adult in the situation and should act accordingly."

“Okay, first of all, I don’t want to hear one more word of what Ms. Potts said. And secondly, I don't care who says what. Friday, send the order.”

“Mr. Parker doesn’t work at Subway anymore, Sir. Should I proceed with the order?”

Tony looks up from his table.

“No, cancel that. Don’t tell me he got fired again.”

“Mr. Parker's contract had not been terminated by the company.”

That catches the genie's attention.

“Would you look at that? He quit himself?”

“The letter of resignation had been submitted by May Parker.”

Tony crosses his arms over his chest, a smirk on his face.

"Sooner or later, Parker got caught.”

"That seems to be the case. For once, you don’t seem to have anything to do with it, Sir.”

The man lifts an eyebrow.

“Please, how is it my fault the kid gets fired all the time?"

“Sir, do I have to remind you that Mr. Parker was terminated from his previous part-time jobs after you placed an order there or interacted with him? There is a 94% chance that you are responsible for him getting fired.”

Tony taps the end of a screwdriver thoughtfully against his chin. If he hadn't been so annoyed by Fury, he would have almost felt guilty. Frowning, the man turns around, leaning his hip against the table.

Several people had told Tony to drop the matter. But he wasn't Tony Stark if he stopped doing something just because someone said so. A small part of him knew that he was overdoing it, and if Fury would let him alone for five minutes, he would step back and think more rationally. Probably.

But Fury does not give him a break, Tony is stressed, and there's this teeny tiny detail that throws him off about his and the kid's encounter, which makes leaving the subject rather difficult.

It was that first meeting with Peter Parker that Tony couldn't get out of his head.

It plays again and again behind his inner eye, over and over again. The boy who mutters that one sentence to himself doesn't leave the man in peace.

“Serves you right, asshole .”

But what exactly should serve him right? That he had been in pain? That he had got hurt?

He's well aware of the countless people who can't stand him and probably even more who would love to see him disappear.

But why would Parker be one of them?

The whole thing didn't make any sense.

Parker's credentials and academic achievements spoke for the boy. On paper, Peter Parker was a picture-perfect student. He is helpful, hard-working, and, above all, worryingly intelligent.

So why was he so incredibly hostile towards Tony?

Nerds like Peter should love him. And according to the after-school activities the boy frequented, he is one. So even if Captain America or worse, Hawkeye were his favorite Avenger, given his educational background and other interests, he would have at least had to jump for joy or stammer as the hero worship overcomes him at the sight of Tony.

Instead, he insulted him with the coldest look Tony has received from anyone in a long time, and that's saying something.

There must be something that he's missing.

Tony stares at his desk with a frown, his chin resting on his intertwined fingers.

The scenario runs through his head again. He and Happy enter the diner. He places his order. Parker tells him to wait. Tony rubs his shoulder.

“Serves you right, asshole .”

Parker had only glanced up at him as he muttered those words under his breath. Tony wasn't sure if the boy had even intended for him to hear it, but judging by his reaction, he didn't care.

"Friday, put all information we gathered about Parker on the table."

A whole row of holo screens pops up in front of the man, who takes a step back and looks at the entire wall of information with his arms crossed over his chest.

Had he abandoned the boy? Had he met him at a convention and didn't give an autograph? Was his school denied a field trip to Stark Industries?

“Is there a time when Parker and I were in the same place?”

"It cannot be ruled out, that you and Mr. Parker were in the same place, but the probability is less than 12.45%."

The whole thing was making him crazy. The longer, the man looked into the topic, the more questions arose. And he hadn't even begun to theorize how on earth Parker managed to paint his tower.

Tony tiredly rubs a hand over his face.

There has to be something, a common denominator.

“Parker quit all his jobs?”

“His aunt quit all jobs within the last four hours. He also works in an animal shelter, but the work counts as voluntary and is unpaid.

With a frown, Tony watches as DUM-E makes coffee in the kitchenette.

“An animal shelter. How long has the kid been working there, Friday?”

“Since August 21st, Sir.”

“That's not that long.”

A few days before he met the kid at Bill's.

His fingers fly over the holographic keys, and after a few seconds, the image of an inconspicuous building surrounded by a three-foot-high metal fence floats in front of him.

Forest Hills Adoption Center, is written in capital letters above the entrance sign. Tony’s index finger taps tirelessly on the tabletop as he scans the shelter’s website.

“When did Parker start his other part-time jobs?”

“21. August. Sir.”

“What a weird coincidence,” murmurs the man, pushing the steaming cup away from him, which DUM-E has placed on the table next to him. He is close to something, he can feel it.

That also means he couldn't afford food poisoning right now.

“Friday, tell Clint to get his ass over here. He owes me a favor.”

The man enlarges the website of the shelter, his brows furrowed.

“You asked for me?”

Clint stands against the door, eyes checking the holograms before landing on Tony. The man stands up, hands shoved in his pockets before closing the windows between them with a flick of his wrist.

He steps closer, drawing the archer in by throwing an arm around his neck, causing the other man's face to contort in confusion. Dark brown eyes gleam with something Clint can not pinpoint, but he knows, that it cannot mean anything good. Turning towards the door, Tony pushes his colleague forward.

"Say Legolas, when was the last time you got checked for allergies?"

Chapter Text

A ringing accompanies Clint as he enters the Forest Hills Adoption Center. 

“I'm here, Tony. How's the sound?”

“Flawless. As you'd expect from my technology. Before you ask, the camera is also working as it should be. The finest image you can get.”

Clint fingers his hearing aid, tempted to turn the man off. Before he gets to it, a brunette woman rises from behind the reception desk.

“You must be Mr. Smith," she welcomes him with a smile.

“That's me,” Clint replies with a smile that mirrors the woman's. He holds out his hand to her. “Pleased to meet you, Miss?”

“Oh, you can call me Diana. Mr. Smith, we appreciate your interest in adopting one of our dogs. During our phone call, you didn't give much information about what you were looking for. If you'll join me in the office, we can discuss your ideas and see which dog will be the best fit for your home."

Clint follows the woman who had introduced herself as Diana. The latter holds the door to the hallway open for him, and he smoothly slips past her. As the door opens, there is a chorus of yapping and whining that the archer would have heard loud and clear even without his hearing aid.

As if anticipated, Diana turns toward him with a gentle smile. “Please, don't be put off, by the noise and the energy. These dogs have all been waiting a long time for a new home. Every new visit causes their excitement to grow, but this does not mean they will be like this when you take them home."

“I understand. These are special circumstances.”

Diana laughs but lacks mirth.

“Special circumstances, I guess you could say that.”

Clint flinches slightly as the clatter of a coffee mug thunders in his right ear. “Good God, what a volume. Now I know why Pepper doesn't want dogs.”

“Tony. Shut up.”

Clint has turned away from Diana and is about to cut the connection or put the man on silent.

“Mr. Smith, are you all right?”

Clint looks over his shoulder. Diana is standing in the hallway with her clipboard in her hand.

“Yes, excuse me. I need to blow my nose.”

To make his excuse believable, Clint pulls a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and turns away from the woman.

“I cannot concentrate with the nonstop commentary in the back, Tony. You want something from me, then let me do my job in peace,” the blond man hisses into his tissue.

“All right. No need to get mad.”

“Last warning or I'll mute you.”

“Aye aye, Katniss. I'll keep quiet.”

Satisfied with the answer, Clint turns back to Diana. 

“Thanks for waiting.”

“No problem. You don't happen to have an animal hair allergy, do you?”

“No, it's just the last bit of a stubborn cold my kids brought home from school.”

Diana's face lights up, and Clint knows he has said the right thing.

“Oh, you have children?”

“Yes, three of them.”

Clint keeps up the small talk on the way to the office. His hands were buried in his pockets, and his eyes roamed over the kennels and the dogs inside. 

Tony's plan was vague. 

The question is whether you could even call it a plan. 

“Tell me, do you have volunteers working here?”

Diana stops, and Clint catches up. 

“Yes, we have a few, and we are more than grateful for them. Our volunteers help us walk the dogs, or they take them out to play.”

“Can everyone do that?”

“We need all the help we can get, but we thoroughly check everyone who wants to work here. Some dogs have had a difficult life and need special attention and someone to care for them who has a good understanding of dogs.”

Once in the office, Diana offers Clint a coffee. Half an hour later, the shelter director holds the door open for Clint again.

“Come on, I'll show you all our dogs, and then, we'll see if we have one that suits your family.”

After just a few minutes of looking around the facility, Clint realizes the shelter is full. When he shares this thought with Diana, she nods.

“That's true. We mainly keep our heads above water with donations, so there's not much money left for advertising. At the moment, the trend towards pedigree dogs is on the rise again. Many people are getting dogs from breeders, meaning that the dogs in the shelters are considered a second choice or not even considered at all.”

While Diana is still speaking, the spy notices a movement. Two kennels away, something red moves behind the fence. Diana continues to talk as she walks ahead, but Clint's attention is drawn towards the kennel they are approaching. 

Clint glances inconspicuously into the kennel. 

Tony was right.

There he is.

Peter Parker.

Clint frowns. From everything he had heard from Tony and Rhode's stories, what he saw sitting in the kennel was not what he expected from the infamous pain-in-the-ass teen. 

The boy looks miserable.

Peter Parker is sitting on a thin blanket, which couldn't offer much protection from the cold or the hardness of the concrete floor beneath him. He has pulled the hood of his sweater over his head, but it's not enough to hide a pale face with a few impressive dark circles under his eyes. The boy's gaze is fixed on his lap, or rather on the head that is resting there.

Clint's eyebrows move upwards. The dog the boy is in the kennel with is of a stately size. The brown head with the black ears and black muzzle almost takes up the boy's entire lap, but Peter doesn't seem intimidated by the dog. 

With almost mechanical movements, Peter strokes the animal's head down to its neck and over its back. The dog has its eyes closed and is lying beside the teenager, deeply relaxed, its enormous chest sinking in deep rhythmic movements. 

It would have been too endearing a sight if two things had not ruined the wholesome picture. Firstly, there were Peter's eyes. At first glance, the blank stare might suggest, that the kid was lost in his thoughts, but Clint knew that wasn't the case. Peter's eyes hadn't drifted off, and his thoughts weren't traveling either. 

Clint knew that look all too well. 

He'd seen it countless times before.

Peter Parker is grieving.

The man watches as Peter's hand never stops stroking the dog. The teen runs his fingers gently over the caramel-colored fur until stopping before touching the white bandage wrapped around the dog. 

A hand on his arm draws Clint's attention back to Diana. The older lady glances at the teenager before looking Clint in the eye and signaling to follow her. 

They turn a corner and enter another corridor. 

“That was Peter, one of our volunteers. He walks some of our dogs.”

Clint nods before turning to Diana. 

“The dog in the kennel didn't look like he could walk.”

The dog's hind legs had been bandaged up to the hip, and from what Clint had observed, Peter avoided touching them as if he feared his fingers would burst into flames on contact.

When Diana's face contorted into a painful expression, Clint knew he had hit a sore spot.

“That is Lucy, one of our newcomers. A lovely dog. She loves people and would spend the whole day cuddling if she could.”

“But,” Clint interjects. 

The woman puts on a pained smile.

“Was it that obvious?”

“Pretty much,” Clint says with a grin, attempting to lighten the mood. 

The principal looks down at her clipboard. “You're right. Lucy cannot walk. She was involved in an accident, which is one of the reasons she ended up with us."

“Her owner can no longer look after her?” 

“He died in the accident. Lucy broke both her hip bones. She survived the worst of it, but she needs new hip joints to be able to walk correctly. She is being treated, but, at the moment, she can only stand or sit for a short time."

Diana wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. 

“Sorry, I'm being unprofessional. It's just that she's a wonderful dog, Mr. Smith. We're not a big shelter, and new hip joints and the follow-up treatment costs more than we can afford.”

“And what if she gets adopted?”

After regaining her composure, Diana put on her glasses, and her slightly reddened eyes met Clint's. 

“Not many people take in sick or injured animals, Mr. Smith.  Not to mention the cost of surgery, Lucy is already eight. She is a mongrel. There is no clear breed identification. She's over 27,5 inches tall and weighs around 110 pounds. Furthermore, she previously belonged to a homeless person. No matter how lovely this dog may be, all these criteria make it more than difficult to place her. If we don't find someone to take Lucy in soon, we will be forced to put her to sleep.”

“That's why the teen we saw is so depressed, isn't he? He knows Lucy doesn't have much time left.”

Without saying a word, Diana beckons Clint to follow her. She takes the man outside and sits down on a bench. Clint sits down next to her and looks at her expectantly. Even without hearing Tony, he knew that the man's interest must have been piqued by now at the latest.

Diana plays with the pen attached to the board before looking up. 

“You're here to adopt a dog. I'm stealing your time.”

“No, not at all. I'd like to know more about Lucy,” the archer asserts. 

The directors give him a skeptical look, but Clint nods with the most sincere expression he can muster. 

“I must confess,” the woman begins slowly, ”I suspect that Peter knew Lucy before she came to us.”

Clint furrows his eyebrows. He hadn't expected that. His face must have spoken for itself because Diana giggles as she looks at him before becoming serious again.

“I know it sounds crazy, but you have to know, I've been working with animals since I was twenty, and I know what a dog looks like when it meets someone again. They remember you. They don't simply forget people. Every time, I ask Peter about it, he almost vehemently denies it, but Lucy knows him. Besides, his behavior is conspicuous.”

“Conspicuous?” asks Clint, noticing Diana's smirk as she talks about the boy.

“Yes, conspicuous," Diana repeats. 

"Peter claims to have had nothing to do with Lucy, but he makes time for her every time he visits. He's here to walk the dogs and thus has nothing to do with Lucy as she can't go outside, but for some reason, this boy finds her and decides to devote half an hour of his day to a dog he doesn't know."

“Maybe he loves animals and has taken linking to her?”

“I suspected that at first, but the more you think about it, the crazier the coincidences become. You have to know, Lucy was brought to us in mid-August, and less than two days later, this boy from Queens contacted us and wants to volunteer for our shelter.”

Diana turns and looks directly at Clint. 

“And you know, what is the most absurd part? Peter actually claims he will pay for Lucy's operation. I told him he could forget it, but he talked about it several more times until I told him I didn't want to hear more about it. That's as far as it goes, minors sending us money.”

“That's an impressive string of coincidences.”

Diana laughs. “You can say that again. Do you get why I doubt Peter's denial of knowing Lucy?”

“It certainly raises questions,” Clint confirms with a smile.

“Definitely. Who knows, maybe Lucy saved Peter's life too?”

At Clint's questioning look, the directors explain what she means.

“You must know, Lucy and her owner are real heroes."

“Heroes?” echoes Clint with growing interest.

“Exactly. They all deserve more appreciation for saving that baby, but who cares about a homeless man and his dog saving a life? Without Spider-Man, it probably wouldn't even make it into the news."

Spider-Man? The whole thing just got more and more intriguing.

 Clint leans forward with interest.

“You have to tell me this story. Does Lucy and Spider-Man have a history together? You can't leave me hanging now without an explanation.”

“It's a good thing you're the last appointment for today, otherwise, we'd have a problem with the schedule,” jokes Diana with a laugh, enjoying her client's enthusiasm.

“All right, then. Earlier this summer, there was an incident near Central Park. A young mother's stroller brake broke, but she noticed it too late. The stroller rolled towards the intersection. Lucy and her owner were there, and Lucy ran after the baby, barking like crazy. Her owner ran after her and into the crossroads. It was around noon, and you can imagine the traffic. Lucy's owner got hold of the stroller and was about to pull it off the road when an ambulance on duty pulled up. There would have been a terrible collision if Spider-Man hadn't appeared out of nowhere. He intercepted the ambulance at full speed with his bare hands."

“Sounds like a meeting of heroes.”

Diana laughs, and her smile reaches up to her eyes.

“You could call it that. Isn't it ironic? Lucy and her owner were saved by a hero who, compared to the Avengers, gets as much credit as a homeless man and a dog saving a baby.”

“Not exactly fair, is it?” agrees Clint. 

“Well. There's nothing we can do about it.”

“Who knows? Maybe we can find a way to do something?”

Diana shakes her head but tries not to correct Clint, but the doubt is written all over her face. She overplays it by clapping her hands down her thighs before standing up.

“What are you saying, Mr. Smith. Are we ready to look at your dream dog?”

Clint gets up from the bench. He holds out his hand to the director.

“Let's find a dog that deserves a new home.”

Chapter Text

Even before the dogs bark, Peter senses his alone time getting interrupted. He hears the bell of the entrance door and the voices of Diana and a man despite the three doors between them.

"You're a good girl, aren't you?"

He glances down at the dog, who uses his lap as a pillow. Lucy's head rests heavily on his leg. The feeling of pins and needles in his lower body changed into numbness, and Peter knew it would hurt to get up after sitting on the ground for so long.

Running his fingers through Lucy's fur, feeling the warmth reminds him that it is worth it. The movement of his hand grows slower. Lucy has her eyes closed, lax in his lap. She is either asleep or dozing. Whenever Peter had met her outside, she loved sunbathing on her orange, worn-out blanket, gazing lazily at the people walking past.

"I'm sorry you can't go outside at the moment."

Lucy's head grows blurry, and Peter blinks, hastily wiping his eyes. The white of her bandages is blinding, and he quickly averts his eyes, feeling the lump in his throat growing just looking at them. He continues petting the dog's head until the sound of an incoming message catches his attention. The lump in his throat grew heavier as Peter had a hunch who was messaging him.

After school, he had come directly to the shelter. May had probably arrived at their apartment by now, asking where he was. With a heavy heart, Peter lets his head fall back against the pale yellow-colored concrete wall, staring at the ceiling.

Yesterday had been terrible.

*Twenty-two hours before*

“Please, Aunt May. You can't do this. I've almost got the money together!”

Peter stands before his aunt, his arms full of half-washed clothes steadily dripping a mixture of water and foaming laundry deterned onto the floor.

May shakes her head unperturbed.

“Peter, you're fifteen. You will not be working, especially not several jobs at once. School comes first.”

The teenager barely keeps from rolling his eyes at the argument.

“My grades didn't drop once. I study just as much as before. When I get the money together, I'll quit all jobs. I promise.”

May sighs. She knew her nephew was right. She would never have guessed from his grades what Peter was up to while she was at work. He had his homework and assignments finished on time, and there was not one failed test or a decline in his grades.

A slight pressure behind her eyes adumbrates an impending migraine.

When she got home from her late shift, May hadn't expected to catch her nephew pulling not one but several uniforms out of the washing machine and trying to hide the wet clothes from her. The moment Peter caught sight of her standing at the bathroom door, he resembled a deer caught in the headlights. He stood there frozen, brown eyes blown wide with shock. May already had a joke on her lips, amused by her nephew's expression, when her eyes fell on the T-shirts in his hands. She had recognized the colorful uniforms and logos on the shirts, and her face grew stern.

Peter had caught the disappointment on his aunt's face and quickly walked after her with the bundle of clothes still in his arms, trying to explain himself while his arms and T-shirt were soaking wet.

“Peter, this is not just a matter of whether you're working part-time.

Baby, that dog isn't ours. You cannot spend hundreds of dollars for an animal that lives in a shelter!"

May regrets her choice of words when Peter's jaw tightens. The teenager takes a step towards her, voice quiet but firm.

“They're going to euthanize her, May. The shelter cannot afford the procedure. They have a limit on how much money they can spend per animal.”

May puts her hands on her nephew's shoulders. She pauses for a moment before continuing in a softer voice.

“Peter, sweetheart. It's incredibly noble of you to want to help this dog, but that's not your job. You are not responsible. The shelter must provide and care for their animals. It can't be the job of a fifteen-year-old to contribute several hundred dollars to get one of their dogs the medical treatment it needs.”

He steps back and shakes her hands off. Peter wants to punch the wall in frustration. This whole situation is driving him mad, and he feels so helpless. With every new word, Peter feels more and more how the ground under him breaks away when it becomes clear that May won't budge.

How could he explain that this isn't about a random dog? This is about Lucy.

Lucy, who had belonged to Jeff, with whom he had shared a few hotdogs and several fond memories just weeks before?

Jeff, who had died because Spider-Man thought it was a good idea not to get involved once the Avengers came into play?

But how was he supposed to explain this to May?

“Aunt May, please! Can't you trust me on this?”

“Peter, how am I supposed to trust you if you take on several jobs behind my back, sneak out at night, and use a fake ID? It's like you're leading a double life. I hope for your own good that Ned has nothing to do with that fake ID.”

Peter looks down in shame at these words.

"Peter!" calls May out, not believing Peter pulled his friend into this mess.

She sighs. At times like these, May wishes Ben was here. She doesn't like to admit it, but glancing at her nephew standing crestfallen in the dimly lit hallway, she feels out of her depth.

“Why didn't you ask me before if you could work?”

"Because you don't understand. Because you would have said no."

The words were on the tip of his tongue, but Peter was careful not to say them out loud. He hated being in conflict with May, but there was no way he could explain to her why he was responsible for the dog without mentioning Spider-Man.

The wet clothes fall to the floor with a slapping sound.

Peter takes May's hands in his and holds them tightly. He looks up at her, his tone pleading.

“Just let me go on for two more weeks. Please, Aunt May!”

May squeezes his hands gently. Her thumb rubs the back of his hand, attempting to offer comfort. It hurts her deeply to see her nephew so upset. But how could she let Peter go on like this? It would be irresponsible.

“I'm sorry, Peter, but I can't do that. You did whatever came to your mind without thinking of the consequences, and although all of it was with good intentions, this isn't how it works. I'm sorry, but you will quit those jobs.”

May's eyes softened as she saw the moisture glistening in Peter's. She opened her mouth, but Peter had already bent down, picked up the soaking shirts, and disappeared into his room.

May looks after him, about to call his name, but turns around as the door lock clicks.

She goes to the bathroom to take something to counter the headache.

It was going to be a long evening.

Peter quietly closes the door behind him. For a moment, he stands motionless in his room. His chest aches as he takes a deep breath, wondering why breathing alone hurts. Peter rubs over his sternum. He can't remember hurting himself while patrolling. But even if he had, it was pointless looking after it. It would heal in the next few hours anyway.

Silently, the boy leans against the door. His legs give way beneath him, and he sinks to the ground as if in slow motion. Emptyheaded, Peter looks down at the uniforms in his lap, and his lip trembles again as he pushes them aside and off him.

With a shaky breath, he pulls his knees to his chest and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes.

He can hear May pulling back the chair in the kitchen. The beeping noise of a phone not being picked up follows as she waits for someone to take the call. When a voice answers, Peter stops listening and stares at the wall instead.

His face grows hot.

Peter starts biting the inside of his cheeks, his fingers clawing into the fabric of his pants.

“I'm so sorry,” the boy whispers into the dark room in a choked voice.

With a quiet sob, Peter buries his face in his knees.

The teen's shoulders shake as a wave of guilt washes over him. He can hear May wishing someone a good evening, and at that point, the tears run freely down his cheeks.

He had failed.

None of this would have happened if he hadn't been such a coward.

“All because you're such a scaredy-cat.”

He didn't know how he had attracted Iron Man's attention. What Peter did know, is how it feels to have his heart leap out of his chest in fear of someone finding out about Spider-Man when Tony Stark started showing up during his patrols.

Peter had always given the Avengers a wide berth.

Even though he wants to help, he wouldn't dare to butt into their business. The Avengers are a close-knit team that can manage without the help of a small-town hero like him. He's a vigilante, doing small stuff for the little man.

Peter is proud of his work as Spider-Man, but with his self-made and obviously patched suit, he blushed at the mere thought of one of the Avengers seeing him like this.

It was one of the reasons why, when he saw the Venus flytrap that was being held in place by the Avengers, which was as tall as a house and moved at a supernatural speed by plant standards, he turned one hundred and eighty degrees on a roof, speeding off in the other direction.

He had been happy with keeping it simple that night. Spider-Man prevented some muggings and caught the drivers of two vehicles taking part in an illegal car race through Downtown Manhattan.

It took until the next day for Peter to get a view of what his choice the night prior had resulted in. He had sat at the dinner table, his smartphone probing up at a cup of milk and watching the news while inhaling some cereal.

The spoon fell out of his hand with a clatter, landing on the floor, but Peter had only eyes for the tiny screen and the picture of a destroyed building. He gapes at the destroyed homeless shelter, the one he had met Jeff in front of more times than he can count.

May hadn't been there and hadn't noticed her nephew struggling to breathe as a horrible foreboding washed over him at the sight of an ambulance while the news anchor talked about the death of an occupant of the shelter and an injured animal.

“I'm sorry Lucy,” whimpers the teen, still leaning against his bedroom door.

Peter's eyes are squeezed shut, but the tears won't stop flowing, despite how often he wipes them away. The detergent stung his nose, and Peter knew he should wash his face and arms, but he couldn't bring himself to care and get up.

Just because he didn't want to deal with the Avengers Jeff was dead.

Because of him, Lucy had lost her owner and the ability to walk.

Because of his mouthing off Tony Stark, Lucy might not be there at the end of the month.

At the thought of the injured Malinois mix and the money he still misses to provide her help, another sob runs through the boy, shaking his entire body. Peter bites his knuckle to stifle the sound.

The last thing he wanted was for May to hear him, come to his room, and see him like this.

Even if she was angry, she would comfort him.

Peter didn't want that. He doesn't deserve any consolation.

*Present*

The barking and whimpering of the dogs around them grow louder as Diana and her guest approach the floor with Lucy's kennel.

Without stopping petting Lucy, Peter pulls the hoodie over his head.

He stares down as he feels eyes on him, having picked up on the fact of the visitor that Diana is showing around watching him, his Spidey-sense prickling.

Whoever it was, Peter wished for them, as he glanced at Lucy's relaxed face, that their dog would never meet Spider-Man or Peter Parker.

Because both of them mean bad luck.

Chapter Text

Update

Hello, dear readers. I'm sorry about not mentioning this sooner. I won't be able to post a new chapter anytime soon. A close family member has to get treated for an injury, and I'm the only person available to take care of them during their recovery. I am working full-time and have three dogs to care for, so, I'll be honest, I'm a bit overwhelmed right now.

If things are going well, I might be able to get into writing at the end of the month, but I can't promise anything. 

I'm very grateful for all your love and support. Writing this fanfic brings me a lot of joy. I try to get back on track as quickly as possible.

Take good care, be healthy, and have a nice day. See you (hopefully) soon.