Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter felt his entire body go numb.

This couldn’t be real. It just couldn’t. It must be a dream, a nightmare. Maybe he never killed Mysterio, maybe this was just another illusion, but it wasn’t real.

Peter stared up at a photo of his own face, broadcast for the world to see.

Please, don’t let this be real.

“Peter.”

He spun, feeling off balance, and looked down to where MJ stood, pale but determined. “You need to go,” she said.

His eyes darted around. New Yorkers were pulling out their phones, snapping photos, making him easy to find. They would be coming for him. Who they were didn’t matter - CIA, Homeland Security, SHIELD, HYDRA - they would be coming to take him in. He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t. 

They knew who he was. Oh, God, everyone knew.

It was all over. They knew who he was, where to find him-

May.

“MJ, I- I gotta find May. I gotta- Just stay safe, okay?” Peter choked out.

“Go!” she urged him.

He started swinging.

He launched himself through the air, pushing himself faster, faster. His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out without stopping, swinging and shooting one handed.

Guy In The Chair (16:07): Missed Call

Guy In The Chair (16:08): Dude chedk the news

Guy In The Chair (16:08): Mysterio told everyone that your spidey

Pepper (16:08): Peter we’re putting our lawyers on this. Don’t go home.

Happy (16:10): Sit tight kid, I’ll be at your apartment in ten.

Peter tried not to think about the fact that May hadn’t contacted him. He clicked on her name, about to call her, when his phone buzzed again.

MJ (16:11): they can track your phone

Shit.

To Guy In The Chair: have to get rid of phone, i'll call may

Then, against Peter’s instinct, he crushed his phone in the palm of his hand and let it drop to the street below.

Trying not to think about how cut off that left him, he kept swinging. He told himself not to think of anything else, not until he saw May. He had to get to May. If something happened to her, then he would really be alone-

He skidded to a stop on the roof of the building opposite his apartment. Everything looked fine - no sirens, no uniforms - except-

His neck was tingling.

He scanned the street. There was a van for a television company that he didn’t recognise, and a couple of cars which were a touch new for this neighbourhood. There was no one out on the street, no cars driving through. Something wasn’t right.

He focused his hearing, struggling to filter out the city noise. He caught the tone of a familiar voice, and narrowed in on it.

“-totally unacceptable. He’s a child! He has rights!” said May, angry but seemingly unharmed.

“Ma'am, your nephew is currently a suspect in a terror attack,” someone else was saying, voice official and firm.

“This is ridiculous! He’s sixteen. What are you going to do to him?”

“He will be arrested. I’m not sure you’re understanding-”

A slick car raced down the road and skidded to a stop outside of the apartment block. Happy got out of the car, looking harried, but was intercepted by two people emerging from the TV van, who flashed badges and had guns on their hips. He could see Happy draw himself up, challenging, but he was being pushed back towards his vehicle.

Peter’s stomach dropped down to his toes. 

He couldn’t go home.

Panic buzzing through his veins, he flipped back, swinging fast. He didn’t know where he was going, didn’t much care as long as it was away from here. 

Where could he go? They knew who he was, they knew who he would turn to. He would be putting his friends in danger. In this city, between camera phones and CCTV, there was no way that Peter wouldn’t be spotted. He had to keep moving, at least until night fell. 

He moved mindlessly through the familiar landscape of New York, directionless. He avoided the busier streets, sticking to industrial areas where few people were around, or poorer neighbourhoods where the people were unlikely to call the police, and the police were slow to arrive. At one point, he heard helicopters blades whirling in the distance, and ducked into an abandoned factory until it moved past. It might not be the cops, but he wasn’t willing to take risks.

By the time the sun was setting, he was exhausted. His stomach was empty, his arms burning from carrying his weight for hours. He longed for his own bed and May’s terrible cooking. He hadn’t eaten since lunch, and with his enhanced metabolism, he was running out of steam. He was no closer to finding a solution than when he left his apartment block behind him. He thought about seeking out Happy, heading over to the Avengers Compound, but his involvement with the Avengers was public knowledge. It’s one of the first places they would look, once it’s clear that he wasn’t going home. Sure, the Avengers would be able to hold off anyone who came after him, but he couldn’t ask them to break the law. Not for him.

God, he missed Tony.

Tears pricked at his eyes, throat tight and hot. He was sure that if Tony were here, he would have the perfect solution, something brilliant and stylish, and he would swoop in with his sunglasses and smile and save Peter. He would call him Pete or kid , and throw an arm around his shoulders, and Peter would feel safe.

Peter just wanted to feel safe.

Okay. Okay, so, what were his options? The Avengers were out. Happy and Pepper, too. Ned and MJ were too obvious. Who else was there? Who would want to help Spider-Man, but wouldn’t be suspected of helping Peter Parker? 

Oh. 

No. No, he would think of someone else.

...Except he had been swinging around for hours, and he hadn’t come up with any other solutions.

He groaned. There was no way. 

Not Flash.

Who knew if Flash would even want to help him? His hatred for Peter was infamous, and had been going for longer than his idolisation of Spider-Man. Maybe Flash would hate Peter more that he loved Spider-Man.

Flash’s words from the trip come back to him. 

I really respect him. He makes me want to become a better man.

What other option did Peter have?

He swallowed down the sick feeling in his stomach, and shot a web. 

It didn’t take long for Peter to reach the Thompson house. Despite his fatigue, he wished it had taken longer. He wasn’t ready for this, but there was no sense in wasting time. Perched on the roof, he listened to the sounds of the house. He could hear typing from one of the bedrooms, but it was silent except for that. Was that Flash, or one of his parents? 

Then Peter heard a familiar, obnoxious laugh, and more typing.

Yeah, definitely Flash. 

Peter crept down the roof and across the wall of the house, until he came to the right window. He peeked in, and saw Flash sitting at his desk, face lit up by his laptop screen. He was alone. Steeling himself, Peter eased open the window, and slid through the gap, dropping to the ground almost soundlessly. 

Flash didn’t look up.

Peter shuffled awkwardly. How exactly did one get a person’s attention after breaking into their house? He opened and closed his mouth, finally settling on clearing his throat pointedly.

Flash yelped, almost falling out of his chair. “Spider-Man?” he said, standing suddenly so that his chair rolled backward. “Oh my god, it’s you! I- wow. I mean, it’s just- an honour, sir. And, listen, what they’re saying on the news about you - I know you aren’t really Peter Parker-”

Peter winced. “Flash. It’s me.”

“What?” said Flash dumbly.

Taking a slow breath, Peter pulled his mask off. “It’s me. It’s Peter.”

“You- Peter? No,” stammered Flash.

“Yeah.”

“No. You- you can’t be Spider-Man!” yelled Flash.

“Shut up!” hissed Peter, nervously tilting his head towards the door, which was cracked open.

“No, my parents aren’t- You’re Spider-Man?”

Peter looked down, pointedly, at the easily recognisable spider emblem on his chest. “Uh, last time I checked, yeah.”

“But- but-” Flash gaped, eyes wide. 

“Listen, Flash,” said Peter, “I can’t go home, they’ll arrest me, I need somewhere where no one would think to look for me. Are you going to help me? Or are you going to call the cops? Because, like, I’d rather know now, so I can get a head start.”

Flash ran a hand through his hair. “Can you put the mask back on?”

He blinked. “What?”

“The mask. I want to say yes, but then I look at your face and change my mind-”

“Flash," said Peter. He wasn’t sure if it’s the effect of being in the suit, of if he was just too exhausted, but he’d never found Flash less intimidating. Right now, Peter could not see his friends or family; he had no plan, no future; and he was a wanted criminal. Petty high school bullying was the least of his problems.

“Fine! Yes, you can stay here,” said Flash, a sour expression on his face.

“Thank you,” breathed Peter. 

And then - starving, spent, adrenaline fading - he promptly passed out.

Chapter Text

Peter awoke to a rhythmic poking in his ribs. His head throbbed at he opened his eyes against the light. He groaned.

Flash stopped nudging him with his foot.

“What the hell, Penis?” said Flash. Apparently, it hadn’t taken him long to get over his love for Spider-Man.

“How long was I out?” asked Peter, pushing himself onto unsteady feet. He wobbled, and Flash lifted his hands as if to catch him, but changed his mind last minute.

Flash said, “Like, five minutes. Why’d you faint? Are you injured?”

Peter turned his face away. “Haven’t eaten in a while.”

“Jeez, I didn’t realise you were that poor,” sneered Flash.

Peter clenched his jaw. “I didn’t really have time to stop and eat when I was running from the law.”

Flash paused at that, as if remembering what had brought Peter to his house. “Right. Uh, want something to eat?”

Peter took a moment to push down his pride before saying, “Yes, please.”

Flash nodded, uneasy, before leading him down to the kitchen. The space was large and modern, but kind of clinical. It reminded Peter of a showroom, rather than a family home. It held none of the warmth of May’s apartment, no framed photos or old knickknacks. He felt homesickness twist at his gut. 

“Uh, there’s some leftovers in the fridge,” said Flash, digging around, “looks like lasagne, or some chicken tikka masala. Or I can order something.” He folded his arms, clearly uncomfortable with being nice to Peter. The feeling was mutual. 

“Leftovers are fine. I don’t mind which.”

Flash nodded, and pulled a plate of lasagne out, throwing it in the microwave. The pair watched it rotate, the room silent except for the hum of the microwave. Peter wondered what May had eaten for dinner. He hoped she wasn't too worried, that Ned had been able to contact her. Aw, who was he kidding? She was probably freaking out. 

Once the microwave beeped, Flash took out some cutlery and put the food on the table. Peter mumbled a thanks - he might not like the kid, but May had instilled manners too deeply not to - before taking a seat. 

He dug into the food, cutting into it clumsily, hands shaking hard enough to almost make it impossible. He chewed so fast that he barely tasted it, desperate to fill the aching pit in his gut. If anyone came looking for him now, he would barely be able to swing out of there, let alone fight his way out. He was halfway through the meal before he noticed that Flash didn't take a seat. The boy was watching him, expression hard to read.

Peter flushed. "I get hungry fast."

"Because of your powers?" asked Flash, sounding uncertain and nothing like the side of himself that he presented at school.

Peter cleared his throat. He kept having to remind himself that he was allowed to talk about this. He didn't have a secret to keep anymore. "Yeah."

Peter finished the rest of the meal in silence. He hesitated on where to put his plate, but Flash said, "Just put it in the sink. Our cleaning lady will be in tomorrow."

"Okay," said Peter. Cleaning lady. Sure.

"You should probably shower," said Flash. "Don't want you stinking up the guest room."

Peter tried not to blush. He did want a shower, after all. He would just appreciate bit if Flash had offered nicely.

"Sure, whatever," mumbled Peter. Now that he had a full stomach, he was feeling sleepy, eyes drooping. It must be pretty late.

Flash gave him a clean towel, and then dug through his draws. He shoved some clothes at Peter - a soft t-shirt, older than anything Flash would wear to school, and some sweatpants - and pointed him in the direction of the nearest bathroom.

Peter was grateful to peel out of the suit. As much as it was comfortable, it had started to feel kind of claustrophobic. Like a big target on his back, proclaiming come arrest me! He left it crumpled on the bathroom floor and got into the shower. There were way too many buttons and knobs; Peter was big on engineering, but this was too complicated for his brain at that moment. He poked at it until he got the water flowing at a reasonable temperature. It soothed his aching shoulders, and he closed his eyes and tried to focus on the sensation, push out the anxiety that plagued him. It didn’t quite work, but he breathed a little easier after that.

It felt strange to wear Flash’s clothes. Intimate, somehow. Somewhere, at some point, Peter had forgotten that Flash was a person, with old clothes that he kept even when they were too worn to wear outside. All those little quirks that made up a person; even high school bullies had them. 

He padded out of the bathroom, damp haired and barefoot, his towel in one hand and his suit in the other. He made his way over to Flash's room, where the other boy was sat at his desk, flicking through his phone and rotating slowly. When he didn't look up, Peter cleared his throat.

Flash blinked up at him, and wrinkled his nose at the sight of Peter wearing his clothes. He stood and gestured for Peter to follow him down the hall. "You can use this guest room," said Flash, opening a door. The room beyond it was at least double the size of Peter's bedroom back home. 

"Wait- won't your parents notice?" Peter asked nervously.

A strange expression flickered over Flash's face, quickly replaced by his usual sneer. "My parents are busy people, Penis. Besides, they know I'm mature enough to be left alone."

"Alright," said Peter. It seemed like he had hit a nerve. "Well. Thanks."

"Whatever. See you in the morning," said Flash, retreating back to his room.

Peter stood at the doorway for a moment, just breathing. He started counting his breaths, the way Tony had taught him, but then he was thinking about Tony, which only made his breathing pick up. He pushed it all down and went into the room, turning on the lamp and switching the main light off. It left the room looking a tad more cosy, but it couldn’t quite hide the emptiness. Peter’s stomach hurt thinking of his bedroom, with his old tech on his desk and lego pieces on the floor, just waiting to be stepped on. He felt like a child on their first residential trip, scared and homesick, half certain that his home would disappear the moment he took his eyes off it.

He looked around before tucking his suit on top of the closet - not the most inspired of hiding places, but it wasn’t immediately visible to anyone who didn’t regularly crawl along ceilings. 

Nothing left to do, he tucked himself into the bed. The mattress was soft, too soft, and the sheets smelled floral and impersonal. There was no bunk above him, just the white expanse of ceiling. He bit the inside of his cheek, but he couldn’t stop the tears spilling, rolling down his cheeks and soaking the pillow that wasn’t his. His shoulders shook, but no sound escaped him. The whole situation was humiliating enough without Flash hearing him cry. 

It took him a long time to fall asleep.

Chapter Text

Peter waited until he heard Flash getting up before he got out of bed, like a kid at his first sleepover. He didn’t want to push his luck, and who knows how Flash would feel about Peter making himself at home in his house. 

Once Flash had had a chance to use the bathroom and get changed (hanging out with his high school bully wearing pyjamas was too weird to contemplate), Peter knocked on the boy’s door. He heard Flash startle and take a sharp breath - yay, super senses - before opening the door. He looked a little wide eyed, like he hadn’t expected Peter to still be there. Maybe he had assumed that the whole fiasco was a wild dream.

“Morning,” Peter said cautiously.

“Um- yeah. Morning,” said Flash, bleary and sleep ruffled, despite being dressed for the day. It seemed that Flash was not a morning person.

Peter cleared his throat. “Breakfast?”

Flash nodded, and started down the semi familiar path down to the kitchen. 

With the mindlessness of a well worn routine, Flash grabbed cereal and milk out, pausing only when he took out a second bowl for Peter. He avoided eye contact when he shoved the cereal box in Peter’s direction.

“Thanks,” said Peter.

Flash grunted, ambling over to the coffee pot, which was the fancy kind with a timer, so it was already brewed. He poured himself a cup without offering Peter, but that was fine - Peter felt jittery enough without a caffeine boost. 

Peter eyed the flat screen on the wall, and wondered who needed a TV in the kitchen. Then, a thought occurred. 

“Hey, Flash? Mind if I put the TV on?”

“Knock yourself out,” grumbled Flash, cradling his coffee reverently from where he leaned against the counter. 

Peter fumbled with the remote until he landed on a news channel. J. Jonah Jameson filled the screen, papers spread in front of him, a stern look on his face.

“ -still evading law enforcement. In a statement from Police Captain George Stacy, the public were instructed that if you see the vigilante commonly known as ‘Spider-Man’, under no circumstances should you approach him. He is considered armed and very dangerous. Instead, please call the hotline at the bottom of the screen now. This is a man responsible for countless deaths, not to mention terrorist acts and property damage. 

Reports on the man behind the mask, Peter Parker, are beginning to come together into harrowing picture. The criminal lived with his aunt, following the death of his parents, and then later his uncle, under what were considered suspicious circumstances. Some now speculate whether Spider-Man may have been involved in-”

Peter hastily muted the TV, stomach twisting viciously. He wiped his sweaty palms on his sweatpants, before burying his face in his hands. He felt the hot prickle of tears behind his eyes, and squeezed them shut, firmly telling himself that he wasn’t about to cry in Flash’s kitchen. 

“Jesus, are you crying?”

“No,” said Peter, belligerent, voice muffled behind his hands.

A pause. Then, “I don’t know what you’re crying about. Everyone loves Spider-Man, and now you get credit for it.”

“Are you serious?” asked Peter, voice shriller than he liked. He sat up and twisted in his seat to look at Flash. “You heard him! I’m a criminal, a- a murderer!”

Flash snorted. “Sure. Peter Parker, a savage killer.”

Peter’s hand tightened into fists, knuckles pale. “I have. Killed people, I mean.”

Footsteps echoed as Flash crossed the kitchen to sit at the table, a couple of seats down from Peter. He didn’t look in Peter’s direction, keeping his eyes fixed on his coffee. “Y’know why Spider-Man’s everyone’s favourite? He does more than fight. The rest of the Avengers, they battle aliens and shit, save the world, and that’s great. But Spider-Man isn’t just there to save the world and then forget about it until the next invasion. Spider-Man’s there in between, helping out with car accidents and carrying old folks’ shopping home. He’s not a soldier. He’s just some guy who wants to help.”

Peter was wide eyed. “Oh,” he whispered.

Flash’s jaw clenched, and he rolled his shoulders, as if shaking off some invisible weight. “That’s why no one cares what that Jameson dickwad has to say. Look.” He swiped the remote, and flicked the channel to some other news channel, turning the volume back up.

“-second day of protests, including outside of several police precincts, The Daily Bugle, and the Mayor’s Office. So far, all the protests have been peaceful, but tensions are rising as the manhunt for the New York hero continues, and the number of protesters continue to rise. We will now switch over to Manhattan, where Reporter Mary Jane Watson is currently at the protests outside of the Daily Bugle Offices.”

The camera switched to the city, panning across a teeming hoard of people, before cutting to a smart looking redhead. 

“Thank you, Olivia. As you can see, the crowd here outside of The Daily Bugle is showing no signs of slowing down. Protesters include everyone from pensioners to children, from all sorts of backgrounds. Many are holding signs and banners with slogans such as ‘Support Spidey, Support Heroes’ and “Spider-Man saved my life’. Let’s see if we can talk to some of the protesters.”

The reporter turned to one of the people surrounding her, a motherly, dark skinned woman holding a baby. 

“Hello, ma’am. Would you be willing to tell our viewers why you are here today?”

The woman turned to the camera, a determined expression on her face. “I’m here today because last year, a drunk driver missed a red light and almost rammed into my car; I was eight months pregnant at the time. Spider-Man jumped in the way and stopped the other car before it hit me. And now, it turns out he’s only a child, a brave child, risking his life to save others. I am here to say that we won’t stand by as Spider-Man is treated like a villain.”

A chant began to rise among the crowd, indistinct but getting louder. The two woman turned towards it.

“Save Spidey! Save Spidey! Save Spidey!”

Peter turned to Flash, and swallowed down the tight feeling in his throat. “Thanks, man.”

“Yeah, whatever. Doesn’t mean I like you,” grumbled Flash, but it held no real menace.

“Don’t lie,” teased Peter, feeling lighter. “Everyone knows you’re my number one fan.”

Flash spluttered wordlessly, flushing, and Peter burst out laughing.

“I like Spider-Man, not you!”

“I don’t know if you missed it, but I am Spider-Man.”

“No, you’re the asshole in my kitchen, ruining my morning!” said Flash defensively, folding his arms like a petulant child.

Then, the pair froze in place.

Someone had just opened the kitchen door.

Chapter Text

“Dad?”

Peter’s eyes danced between the newcomer - apparently Flash Senior - and Flash. The boy’s whole demeanour had changed the instant he had spotted his father. The cloak of arrogance that he wore daily had been peeled back, and suddenly Flash looked unsure and small and very young. 

“Eugene,” said Mr Thompson. His voice was low and flat, not at all affectionate.

“I, uh, didn’t realise that you would be back so soon. Is mother-?”

“Your mother is still in Japan for business. In fact, I’ll be joining her by tonight. I just needed to pick up a few things before my flight.” The man glanced over at Peter, who’s heart began pounding in his chest. He waited for recognition to strike, but Mr Thompson’s eyes skated over him, before turning back to his son, a clear dismissal.

“Oh,” said Flash.

Mr Thompson said, “I trust that you are keeping up with your studies?”

“Yes, father.”

“Well, hopefully your grades will be improved, if you’re being truthful. We don’t want a repeat of last year. Being bested by a scholarship student - how embarrassing,” sniffed Mr Thompson, nose wrinkled as if he had smelled something bad.

“Of course, father,” said Flash, voice high and reedy.

“Well then, I should be going.”

“Oh. When- do you know when you’re coming home next?”

“Eugene, you know how these things are,” said Mr Thompson, a touch irritated. “We’ll be back when we can.”

“Right. Okay.”

Mr Thompson nodded sharply and left, the door of his study echoing loudly a moment later.

Silence pervaded the kitchen. Any sense of easy cohabitation from breakfast had disappeared like smoke, leaving the pair in an uncomfortable quiet. Peter thought he should feel relieved at not being recognised, at Mr Thompson's complete lack of interest - and he did - but that feeling was overshadowed by a sense of… pity, maybe? The whole scene had felt sterile and forced. The interaction felt like it would belong better at a doctor’s office or bank than in a family home. He couldn’t imagine May ever speaking to him like that - like he was a distraction, a pest. 

Flash was still, eyes focused on the doorway that his father had left through. His ears were burning a dark red, and his hands were balled into fists at his side. Despite not looking in Peter’s direction, Peter got the sense that he was actively avoiding looking. 

“Um,” said Peter. Then, he realised he had no idea what to say. He flailed for a moment, before saying, “So that was your dad?”

Flash folded his arms. “Obviously,” he sneered halfheartedly.

“Right,” said Peter. He pursed his lips, wracking his brain for anything to say other than he seems like an asshole.

“He’s a very busy man,” said Flash, still not looking at Peter.

“Yeah.”

“And he wants the best for me,” continued Flash.

“Okay,” said Peter.

Flash tilted his chin up. “In a family like mine, there are certain expectations, certain standards. You wouldn’t understand.”

Peter’s jaw ticked at this. “You’re right,” he said, “I don’t understand. In my experience, family expectations include things like actually caring about each other.”

Flash inhaled sharply at Peter’s slight. Peter winced. He hadn’t meant to be cruel, but between missing his own family and the adrenaline at almost being caught, his words had turned vitriolic. 

“My father does care about me,” said Flash, finally turning to face the other boy, eyes dark and furious. “Does yours? Oh, wait. You don’t have one of those.”

Peter took a full step back, as if physically hit. He squeezed his eyes closed and tried to think of anything but the proud way Tony had looked at Peter, just before-

Peter pushed the aching feeling of grief down until he felt like he could speak without bursting into tears. He tremulously said, “I- shit. Look, I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to -”

“Whatever,” said Flash, cutting him off. “We’re not friends, okay? We aren’t even acquaintances. If it wasn’t for - you know - I wouldn’t have let you within fifty feet of my house.”

“That doesn’t mean that I should be mean,” said Peter, stomach swirling with guilt. He wondered when he had gotten sharp tongued. It wasn’t like him - or, at least, it wasn’t how Peter thought of himself. Ben and May had always taught him kindness and patience. Tony’s words haunted him: I wanted you to be better.

Flash laughed humorlessly. “Like I care about what you think, Penis.”

Peter sighed. “Man, really? We don’t have to be enemies, you know.”

“Grow up, Parker,” said Flash. “Not everyone wants to be your friend. Contrary to popular belief, you can’t always get what you want! You already have everything - a girlfriend, the best grades, fucking superpowers - maybe this is the universe balancing things out.”

“I get everything I want? That’s what you think?” choked Peter, incredulous. “My parents are dead. My uncle is dead. Tony is- Tony-” Peters teeth rattled with how fast he closed his mouth, a sob caught behind his teeth.

Flash blinked, pulled up short. “Tony? As in, Tony Stark? That Tony?”

Peter glanced away, swallowing thickly. “Shut up, Flash.”

“Oh my god. The internship! When you were talking about meeting the Avengers-”

“I said shut up,” hissed Peter. 

Then, because tears were rising up faster than he could stop them, he darted from the room, retreating to the guest room he had slept in. He closed the door shut, and crawled up to the corner of the ceiling, where he would be out of view to anyone who entered the room. 

Only then did he allow himself to cry.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t until dinnertime that Peter ventured out from his room. If it wasn’t for the empty growl of his stomach, he might have holed up there longer, but his enhanced metabolism was unforgiving and he needed to eat. 

He walked down to the kitchen and bounced on the balls of his feet. He looked in the fridge, in the cupboards; Flash had a verifiable bounty of food. The fridge was stocked with enough to feed him and May for weeks. He took out some ingredients, only to replace them just as fast. It felt wrong to be taking food without Flash there, almost like stealing. He huffed. 

Frustrated by his own stubborn morals, he shuffled up to Flash’s bedroom. He rested his fist against the wood for a moment, and steeled himself. He lifted his hand and knocked decisively. “Flash? You in there?”

A pause. “What?”

“Are you hungry? I can- I could cook dinner?”

The peace offering hung in the air for an awkward beat. Then-

The door opened. “Do you even know how to cook?”

Peter shot Flash an offended look. “Of course.”

Flash cocked his chin out challengingly. “Prove it.”

“Prepare to be amazed.”

“Whatever, Penis.”

Peter lead him back down to the kitchen and began grabbing ingredients out. “You got any allergies or anything?”

“Why would I have stuff I’m allergic to in my fridge?” snarked Flash, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

“I don’t know,” said Peter defensively. “I just didn’t want to accidentally poison you.”

“You don’t?”

Peter tilted his head consideringly. “Only a bit.”

Flash laughed. The sound was tired, less barbed than usual. “Fair.”

“Is spaghetti bolognese good?”

“Sure. Where did you learn to cook?”

Peter chewed his cheek as he got to work dicing an onion. “My uncle Ben used to do most of the cooking. My aunt May… well, she isn’t a great cook. After Ben passed, I taught myself a few basic recipes. It was either that or take out for the rest of my life.”

The kitchen was silent after Peter’s explanation. He turned to see Flash looking vaguely uncomfortable. “Neither of my parents cook. We have someone come in once a week whilst they’re gone. She cooks a weeks worth of meals and puts them in the fridge for me.”

Peter blinked. It was becoming increasingly obvious to him that Flash’s life experiences were very different from his own. “It’s easy, once you know how.”

“Well, it can’t be that hard, if you can do it.”

Instead of getting offended, Peter just laughed at the weak insult. “Sure. Come on, you can help cut the veg.”

“What?” said Flash, eyes wide. “No way.”

“Come on. What are you, scared?” goaded Peter.

“No,” said Flash. 

“Come cut up the mushrooms, then.”

Flash sighed heavily. “Fine! Fine.”

Peter put a pan on the heat, pouring some oil in. He explained the steps as he went: first the onions, the hard veg, then the softer stuff. The mince meat. The water to boil. The pasta in.

Once the pan of bolognese was set to simmer, with their hands left unoccupied, the boys were left in an awkward hush. Then, Flash surprised Peter by volunteering, “Sorry. About earlier.”

Peter’s mouth gaped unattractively. He gulped. “Thanks.”

Then, because Flash’s curiosity always got the better of him, “So… you know the Avengers?”

Peter gave him a half smile. “Yeah, a little.”

“How did you- I mean, how?”

He closed his eyes, wrapped his arms around himself. The memories were bittersweet, tinged with the heavy taste of grief. “Tony. He worked out who I was. When the stuff with the accords happened…”

“You were there? Did you fight Captain America?” asked Flash eagerly. For a moment, he reminded Peter of Ned. 

“Yeah. It was awesome. I mean, it was crazy.” Peter chuckled. “Like one minute I was worried about my trig homework, the next I’m on a private jet to Germany.”

Flash shook his head. “And then, what? You went back to school and decided not to tell anyone?”

Peter sobered abruptly. “It was a secret for a good reason. I’m a wanted fugitive, remember?”

“But- you could have been the coolest kid in school, and instead you just- you let me take the piss out of you on a daily basis?”

He flushed. “I didn’t care about that.”

“Peter Parker,” sneered Flash, although it lacked any real bite. “Always so morally superior.”

Peter smiled sardonically, thinking about how he had risked lives so that he could chase after MJ. “Not always.”

A beat. “The snap. You- Did you fight against him? Thanos?”

Peter flinched. It was still fresh for him, even if it was five years ago. The sickening fear that he might die on an alien planet, so far from home. The look of horror and defeat on Tony’s face. “Yeah,” he croaked.

“Fuck,” breathed Flash. 

“Yeah.”

“Wait- oh my god, you stole my car!”

The serious atmosphere cracked, and Peter giggled into his hands. “Oh man.”

“You- you wrecked my car! I can’t believe this!”

“In my defence, it was a genuine emergency.”

That seemed to settle Flash some. “It better have been. God, my dad was so mad.”

Peter stopped laughing, abashed. “Sorry. I can- pay you back?”

Flash rolled his eyes. “No, you can’t.”

“No, I really can’t,” agreed Peter. “But I could talk to Pepper about it?”

“Pepper Potts? I mean, Pepper Stark? Or-”

Peter winced. “Yeah.”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe you know her.”

“She’s awesome,” said Peter. “In fact, she’s trying to sort out the whole…” He made a vague gesture. “The whole wanted criminal thing.”

“So cool,” said Flash. “I’m still mad about the car, though.”

Peter smiled. “That’s reasonable.”

“If I get to meet Pepper Potts, we can call it even.”

“Sure thing. As soon as I’m no longer a fugitive from the law,” said Peter.

Flash waved a dismissive hand. “If anyone can fix this, it’s Pepper Potts. She kept Stark out of jail all those years, and I’m pretty sure he broke the law five times before breakfast.”

“Yeah,” said Peter with a genuine grin, “You got that right.”

The timer went off, startling the boys. Peter put his hand over his thrumming heart and gave a breathless laugh. He directed Flash to grab some plates out, who obeyed with only an eye roll. Before long, they were sitting at the table, eating together like friends. 

“Pretty good, huh?” said Peter.

“It’s alright,” allowed Flash.

“That’s practically a glowing review, coming from you.”

“Shut up. I still don’t like you.”

Peter only laughed, and took another bite of bolognese.

Chapter Text

“Hey! Penis! Come look at this!”

Peter rolled his eyes, but followed Flash’s voice up to his bedroom. “Look at what?”

Flash gestured to his laptop screen, which was paused on a video from CNN, before hitting play.

“-protests continue. In response to the manhunt for the vigilante, Sam Wilson, who took up the mantle of Captain America earlier this year, released this press conference earlier today.”

The screen switched to footage of Sam, decked out in red, white, and blue. He was stood in front of a podium, looking out with a thoughtful expression, and for a moment, he was eight years old and watching with breathless awe as Tony Stark told the world I am Iron Man.

And then he was a teenager in his high school bullies’ bedroom, and Tony Stark was rotting in the ground. 

He took a breath. Not the time. 

“I wanted to take a moment to publicly clarify the opinion of not only myself, but of The Avengers, on the topic of Spider-Man,” said Sam. The camera panned across to behind him, where Clint, Mr Banner, and Bucky stood, all looking sombre. Not so many of the original Avengers were left now, and most of the New Avengers were too busy trying to solve all the problems that came with the dusted returning. 

“When I met Peter Parker, he was just fourteen years old. A child. And already, he was braver than anyone I’ve ever met,” said Sam.

Peter sat heavily onto Flash’s bed, breath leaving him in a woosh. He hadn’t realised, but up until that moment, he hadn’t been sure.

“He’s still just a kid, and yet already he has risked his life time after time, and what has he asked for in return? Money? Fame? Glory? No. That’s not the reason that he puts himself in danger,” Sam said, voice steely and determined. “He does it because it’s the right thing to do.

“And what is his reward? A target on his back. So this is what I have to say to you, to the people who have branded him a criminal: shame on you.

“Tony Stark saw something in that kid. That kid, he would say, is the future. That kid is everything I wanted The Avengers to be. Tony would be absolutely furious at what has happened this week. He would be fighting tooth and nail to bring his kid home to his aunt. So that’s what we’re here to do today. We’re here to say it, because Tony can’t. Because Tony sacrificed his life for us, for all of us, and because Peter would have done the same in a heartbeat. 

“And Peter, if you’re watching this, hang tight kid. And remember that there’s a place for you on The Avengers, as soon as this mess is sorted.”

Sam gave a lazy salute, and stepped away from the podium as the room erupted into a sea of noise, reporters yelling out questions and brandishing their microphones.

Flash hit pause and looked at Peter, a strange, almost fearful expression on his face. “Peter?”

“Yeah?” Peter said thickly. It was only then that he realised that at some point during that speech, he had begun to cry. “Shit,” he muttered, wiping the tears away hastily. “Sorry, I, uh, I don’t know why…”

Flash swallowed. “You and Tony were really close, weren’t you?”

Peter’s throat went painfully tight, and his eyes burned with fresh tears. “He was like-” he cut himself off with a sharp intake of breath, because he had never said the word before, and he wasn’t about to say it to Flash of all people. “Yeah,” he finished lamely.

“I’m sorry,” said Flash quietly.

“I swear, I don’t usually cry this much,” said Peter, cheeks heating up.

Flash just nodded, eyes trained up and away. 

“Sorry, I’ll go,” said Peter, standing from the bed and starting towards the door.

“Peter,” said Flash, “You don’t- I mean, I think you’ve got a pretty good reason to cry, y’know?”

Peter laughed wetly. “It’s funny, but it’s not even because of this whole thing, y’know? It’s just- Tony. I know it’s been a while, I should be over it by now, but I just- I miss him.”

Flash shrugged, uneasy. “I still-” he stopped, scratched at his neck. “I still cry about my grandma sometimes. We were pretty close, y’know? She used to look after me when…”

“That sucks, man,” said Peter.

“Anyway, she died ages ago now. I just mean- I don’t know.”

“I know,” said Peter softly. “When people die, it just- you’re never the same after, y’know?”

“Yeah,” said Flash. “She used to make this apple pie for me whenever I got sad, and now I can’t eat apple pie anymore, y’know? ‘Cause it’s never the same as hers.”

“You still got the recipe? We could make it together.”

Flash hardened. “Fuck off.”

“What?” said Peter.

“Don’t fucking joke about that, man,” said Flash, standing up with shoulders squared, as though he wasn’t shorter than Peter, and Peter wasn’t, y’know, Spider-Man.

Peter’s brow creased. “I wasn’t joking, Flash. I get it, if you don’t want to, but I was being serious.”

Flash faltered, eyes probing, as if waiting for Peter to say psych! “Should have known,” he grumbled eventually, “Precious Peter Parker would never make an edgy joke.”

Peter rolled his eyes, covering his relief. It was a surprise, how relieved he felt - like he actually cared about Flash's feelings. “So is that a yes or no on the pie? I have been known to make a pretty mean pastry.”

Flash hesitated. “I’ve only got one copy of the recipe, and it’s handwritten, so you better be fucking careful, okay?”

Peter knew that Flash was putting some trust in Peter, allowing him near something personal and sacred like that, so Peter said, “How about you take a photo of the recipe on your phone? That way we don’t even have to take it into the kitchen.”

Flash visibly relaxed at the suggestion. “Fine. It’s not gonna be as good as hers, though.”

“Probably not,” said Peter.

And that’s how the two boys ended up baking. As Peter rolled out the pastry, squatting to try and see how thick it was, Flash said, “It’s a smart tactic, y’know?”

“Hmm?” said Peter, squinting at the pastry. 

“Putting pressure on the government to pardon you by pitting the public against them. I mean, bringing Tony Stark into it? Now everyone’s gonna be pissed as hell on his behalf.”

“Oh,” said Peter. Truthfully, he hadn’t really thought about it like that. He had never been a political kind of guy. 

“Probably Pepper’s idea.”

“Probably,” agreed Peter, carefully draping the sheet of pastry over the pie dish. 

That evening, they had apple pie after dinner. Flash said that it wasn’t as good as when his grandma had made it, but Peter thought it was still pretty good.

Chapter Text

In September, Flash went back to school.

Peter… didn’t. 

He’d been staying at the Thompson’s for long enough that he wasn’t weirded out by being alone in the house, but the cabin fever was getting to him, and school starting up without him just rubbed salt in the wound. 

“It’s not that bad,” Flash had said, packing his bag on the first morning. “Loads of kids would love to ditch school, y’know.”

“Not me,” said Peter.

Flash had said, “Of course not, you nerd,” and his voice was almost fond. Peter had to bite his tongue to stop himself from pointing it out. Flash’s kindness was a shy thing, and pointing it out was the surest way to make it disappear. 

“Take notes for me?” Peter said hopefully.

“Whatever,” said Flash, which Peter now knew was code for yes.

Peter was left puttering around the huge house, wondering if this was what Flash usually felt like. It was pretty lonely.

He had flicked over to the news station to see a smart looking woman reporting from outside the familiar gates of Midtown High. He shook his head. Just as soon as the buzz seemed to die down, something else would stir it up.

“-a brief statement from Michelle Jones, who some say was Peter’s girlfriend previous to his exposure as Spider-Man. She had this to say.”

Peter’s stomach swooped, like the feeling he got when he dropped from a high roof. MJ faced the reporter, expression bored. “Am I mad that he didn’t tell me about his side job? I don’t know, are you mad that mainstream media is being used to propagate right wing ideals and your journalism career has turned into an intricate puppeteering act?” 

He burst out laughing, and didn’t bother to listen to the news anchors opinions on MJ; he already knew that MJ was about the coolest girl he had ever met, and some dude in a suit wasn’t about to change his mind. 

When Flash finally got home that day, it was to a barrage of questions from Peter. He was starved for information, and Flash was a goldmine of knowledge. How was Ned? How was MJ? What are people saying about Spider-Man? What were they covering in AP biology?

Flash shoved him good naturedly and said, “At least let me get in the door, you great nerd.”

Only when he had a coffee in hand, and a cookie in the other - courtesy of Peter’s attempts to keep busy - did he deign to spill all the gossip he had acquired over the day. And there was a lot of it. Flash was always getting in everyone’s business, and after half an hour and some ambiguous hand gestures, Peter could firmly say he knew way more than he wanted to about some of his fellow student’s sex lives. Peter had never been all that interested in hearsay and break ups, but after a month of nothing but Flash, it was like water in a desert. 

“Ned and MJ stuck together,” Flash told him as he downed the dregs of this coffee. “A few people tried to ask them about you - even a couple of teachers - but MJ shut them down fast.”

“Good,” said Peter proudly.

Flash looked at him. “You’re really into her, huh?”

Peter shrugged, face hot. “Yeah. It sucks that I can’t see her.”

“Pepper will get this fixed soon. Public opinion has been changing, and a couple of politicians have come out in support now. You’ll get to kiss your girl before you know it.”

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled dejectedly. The longer this went on, the more it felt like it wouldn’t get fixed. “You got notes for me?”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Flash, grabbing some half rumpled sheets from his bag. “Here.”

Peter scanned over them. They were disorganised and messy, but he figured that in combination with his textbook he would be alright. “Thanks, man. I owe you.”

“You already owe me,” retorted Flash.

“Add it to my tab,” said Peter.

“Why do you care so much about class, anyway? You know that you’ll be getting tons of job offers once you’re a free man.”

Peter shrugged. “I want to go to college, and I don’t want to get in on Spider-Man alone.”

Flash made a noise in his throat. “Where do you want to go?”

Peter looked down at the notes, shoulders stiff. “Tony was gonna pay for me to go to M.I.T. He said that I’d like it there.”

“Oh,” said Flash. He had been tentative around the subject of Tony ever since Peter had cried talking about him. “That’s cool.”

“Don’t know how I can go now unless I get a full scholarship,” said Peter morosely. “That’s not gonna happen if I drop out of high school.”

“What about Pepper?”

“What about her?” Peter asked, bemused.

Flash said, “Wouldn’t she pay? If that was what Tony had wanted?”

Peter made a small, wounded noise. “I can’t ask her for that. She’s already done so much, trying to help me. I can’t ask her for that.”

“Peter, he wanted you to go,” said Flash, blunt even when he was trying to be soft.

Peter said, “Yeah, and he wanted to live and raise his daughter, too. Some things don’t work out.”

Flash let out a slow breath, trying not to snap. “Why are you punishing yourself?”

“What?” said Peter, voice tiny and afraid.

“That’s what this is, isn’t it? Guilt? Because you survived, and he didn’t.”

Peter wrapped his arms around himself, like it would stop him falling apart, stop him from turning to ash and floating away. “No,” he lied.

“Peter,” said Flash, exasperated. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“I can’t help it,” he said weakly.

Flash said, “Don’t I know it.” A beat. “Wanna order pizza and watch some bad movies?”

“Hell yeah,” said Peter. His smile was fake, but by time the pizza was arriving, it had turned into something more real - the wave of grief receding, as it always does, in the end.

After a week of trying to teach himself from his books and Flash’s scrawling notes, Peter lost patience. Screw being smart, he thought, screw being cautious. He had already lost his freedom, hadn’t he? He was already under house arrest. It was worth the risk. It was.

Peter edged out of the back door slow, like he expected to be swarmed by police at any moment. He was being paranoid, he thought. There was no reason that the Thompson’s house would be under surveillance, and the fences were high; no one would see him in the garden. 

He sucked in a breath, eyelids fluttering closed at the sweetness on the air. There were apple trees, branches drooping under the weight of the fruit. A few had already dropped, rotting in the late summer heat. The air was fresh, just on the cusp of autumn like this. The humidity of August had waned, but the sun was still hot on his skin, lighting his eyelids in brilliant crimson. His feet were bare, a habit from boyhood, back when he lived with his parents in the house with the backyard and the swingset. He was heady with nostalgia, toes curling in the grass. 

Eventually, he wandered over to the trees, plucked an apple, ripe and red. He bit into it, reveling in its crisp taste. He dropped down and laid back, sunlight dappled under the shade of the branches, munching happily on his apple. May would have loved this, he thought.

He lost time. 

It was several hours later that he woke to a distressed yell. 

“Peter? Peter! You asshole, where the hell are you?” 

“I’m out here!” Peter called, embarrassed.

Flash stuck his head out the door, shoulders slumping with relief. “You dick! I thought you got caught!”

“Nah, just took a nap,” said Peter. He brushed a hand over his face and winced. The shade had moved, and his skin was hot and burned. 

Flash wandered over and snorted a laugh. “You look like a tomato,” he said.

“Thanks,” said Peter wryly.

“At least you’ll match your suit,” Flash said cheerily. He dropped down by Peter’s side. “Haven’t been out here in awhile.”

“Why not?” asked Peter.

“Guess I just forgot it was out here.” A pause. “Sometimes, when I was little, my mom and I would have tea parties out here.”

“That’s adorable.”

“Shut up,” Flash said. “Had to stop after my dad found out. Said she was gonna turn me into a girl.”

Peter frowned. “That sucks, man.”

Flash shrugged, but he didn’t meet Peter’s eyes.

“We could have tea parties,” said Peter.

“Stop,” said Flash.

“I’m serious! Do you have a tea pot?”

“You’ll find out when I use it to pour boiling water on you-”

“Pretty sure that isn’t proper tea party etiquette,” said Peter, unsteady with laughter.

“I’m gonna-” started Flash, but Peter never found out what he was about to threaten, because Flash abandoned words and tackled him instead. Peter squawked and rolled, allowed Flash to flip them, only to reverse it in a move he had picked up from watching the Black Widow. 

“Do you admit defeat?” Peter asked imperiously.

“Never!” yelled Flash.

Then Peter poked his ribs.

“Okay, okay! You win! St- Stop!” he yelped, breathless with laughter. 

Peter graciously rolled off to the side. His lungs felt cleaned out by all the laughter, and his face hurt from grinning. In the late afternoon sun, grass stained and sunburnt, he felt like everything really might be okay.

Chapter Text

“What’s up with you?”

“Huh?” said Peter, peering up at Flash from where he was buried under his duvet. His hair was stuck up at improbable angles, and the bags under his eyes were deep purple.

“You’re moping,” said Flash, arms crossed. It made him look like an angry housewife.

Peter said, “Am not.”

“It’s half past three and you’re still in bed,” said Flash.

“Who are you, my mother?” said Peter, the joke flat and half-hearted.

“Come on, Penis,” needled Flash, “Just tell me.”

“It’s the anniversary,” Peter blurted, “of Ben’s death.”

“Shit,” said Flash succinctly.

“Yeah,” said Peter. He felt heavy and sad and he didn’t have enough energy to pretend otherwise. “It’s weird, ‘cause technically he’s been dead for, like, almost nine years now? But it hasn’t been that long for me, y’know?”

“Sorry, man.”

Peter hummed. “I just- I miss May. I hate that I can’t see her. I hope she isn’t spending the day alone.”

Flash looked at him. “Want me to go pick up ice cream? I’m gonna get ice cream,” he said.

“Aw, you don’t have to do that,” said Peter, embarrassed. 

“Too late,” said Flash, already out of the door.

Peter huffed, but secretly was pleased. It felt pretty good to have someone there, someone who cared. He had spent most of the day dozing, waiting for Flash to get back from school.

On that day in particular, he craved his aunt’s warm hug, the way she would brush his hair back from his eyes. He ached for Tony’s proud grin and teasing words. He just wanted to feel like a kid, just for one day, wanted to feel like someone else could fix it all for him.

Peter had almost fallen back asleep when he heard Flash call from the front hall, “I found something better than ice cream!”

He heard the front door close, and two sets of footsteps.

Two sets of footsteps.

Peter froze, feeling electrified.

There was someone else in the house. Someone else was in the house.

He listened hard, closing his eyes to focus. He could hear Flash, his familiar breathing, the swoosh of his jacket, and beyond that, someone else.

Peter would recognise the sound of her heart from a mile away.

“MAY!” he yelled, springing out of bed and down the hall, leaping down the stairs and tumbling into his aunt. His forward momentum almost toppled her, and she laughed as she steadied them. 

“Missed you too, Petey,” she said, eyes sparkling. She squeezed him tight enough to almost hurt, before holding him out in front of her, inspecting him with narrowed eyes. “Have you been eating? Eating properly, I mean, not just take out. And sleeping? If I find out you’ve been staying up all hours of the morning, I swear-”

“May! Take a breath, okay? I’m alright, I promise,” he said, hands on her shoulders. 

“God, I have been so worried!” she said, voice wobbling just a tad, and Peter felt ill thinking about how much he had put her through.

“I’m so sorry, Aunt May, I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t you apologise to me,” she said fiercely. “None of this was your fault, okay? None of it.”

“Okay,” he agreed softly. Then, remembering that they weren’t alone, he turned to Flash. “You brought her here?”

Flash shuffled awkwardly. “You seemed like you needed it.”

Peter looked at him. “Can I hug you?”

“Absolutely not,” said Flash, nose wrinkled.

“You see what I’ve had to put up with?” said Peter, trying not to laugh.

His aunt laughed. “Gotta say, this was the last place I expected-”

“Stop,” said Peter. 

“What?” said May.

“Just-” he made a vague shushing gesture. He cocked his head. The hairs on his arms were standing up, and his neck tingled uncomfortably.

Something was wrong.

He held his breath and listened hard.

Except that he didn’t have to have superhearing to hear them break the front door down.

“Holy shit!” yelped Flash. 

Peter began dragging them towards the back of house, but then-

The smash of glass as the patio door was broken through.

“Go!” said May, “Run, Peter!” 

But Peter shook his head. He wasn’t about to leave them, and besides, there was nowhere else to run. 

“Parker! Put your hands up!” 

They were cornered in the kitchen. There were at least fifteen guys in full SWAT gear, more around the house if his hearing could be trusted. For some reason, Peter couldn’t stop looking at the tupperware full of cookies he baked yesterday. 

“Just come quietly, and this doesn’t have to get violent,” said the guy at the front of the SWAT team. He was the only one without the face guard and full tac gear. 

“Like hell,” spat May, stepping in front of Peter. “You’ll have to go through me first.”

“God damn it,” muttered Flash, before stepping up beside May. “You’ll have to go through me too. Damn it, Peter, I really hate you right now. Fuck.”

“Guys,” said Peter, defeated, “It’s okay.”

“No, it fucking isn’t!” yelled Flash.

“I mean, we can just go through you two,” said the SWAT guy. “Like, there’s two of you and I’ve got 60 officers with guns, so…”

Peter felt like he was being crushed, like he was buried under six feet of dirt. “Guys,” he said weakly, “it’s okay.”

“Peter, don’t you dare,” said May.

“I’ll go with you,” he said to the lead officer. “Just don’t hurt them, okay? They had nothing to do with it.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Peter took a sharp breath, because he knew that voice.

“Holy shit, is that Pepper Potts?” screeched Flash.

“Pepper,” breathed Peter.

“What is this?” the lead officer barked.

Pepper - it was really her. He hadn't seen her since the funeral. His memory of her had been frozen to that day, of her dressed in black, holding Morgan's hand. She looked different now. Her hair was shorter, her suit sharp but colourful. The clack of her heels was a familiar sound. “This is a letter from the Supreme Court, granting Peter Parker complete clemency,” said Pepper smartly, producing a letter with a polite smile. 

The officer squinted at the letter suspiciously, before reluctantly saying, “This seems to be in order.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Pepper said cheerfully.

A deep sigh. Then, “Okay. Move out!”

The SWAT guys grumbled as they shuffled out, looking disappointed. Glass from the patio crunched under their heavy boots, but they didn't look back at the damage they had done.

“If I find out that this letter is anything less than one hundred percent genuine-”

“You know where to find me,” said Pepper.

“And in the meantime,” said May, taking a shaking Peter into her arms, “I’m taking my kid home.”

Chapter Text

“I still can’t believe it,” said Ned. “I mean, Flash Thompson?”

MJ shrugged. “It was kind of obvious.”

Ned gaped at her. “You knew?!”

“You didn’t?” said MJ with a cool look.

“You’re so smart,” murmured Peter fondly. MJ rolled her eyes, but squeezed his hand in hers.

“I can’t believe you didn’t, like, snap and smother him in his sleep,” said Ned, trying to shove his books into his overflowing locker.

“He’s not that bad,” said Peter.

“Not that bad?” repeated Ned incredulously.

“Hey, Penis!”

Ned shot Peter a look which said, see?

“Hey, man!” said Peter. “How’d the bio test go?”

“Meh,” said Flash. “Can I borrow your notes?”

“Sure,” said Peter. “Pretty sure I still owe you.”

Flash smirked. “I think it’s gonna take a lot of note borrowing to pay that back.”

“Good thing I take a lot of notes,” said Peter, pushing open the school doors. 

Peter had been back for eight days, which coincidentally was the exact memory span of the average highschooler. The excitement had already passed, and Peter was back to being largely invisible. 

Unfortunately, the memory span of the media was a touch longer than that of the average highschooler.

Outside of the school gates were a swarm of reporters, protesters, and supporters. Their yells and chants overlapped into a sea of noise loud enough to make Peter’s ears hurt. He blocked it out, and searched out the sleek black car with tinted windows. “See you, guys!” he said, jogging over to the car. The driver’s window rolled down. 

“Hey, Pete.”

“Hey, Happy,” said Peter. Happy had been driving him to and from school everyday, helping him avoid the cameras.

“You’re in the back today,” said Happy.

Peter blinked. He hadn’t been sitting in the back for a long time. Not since Tony. 

He tried not to feel disappointed that it wasn’t Tony in the back. (He almost succeeded.)

“Hey, Pepper,” he said, sliding into the backseat, the leather cool against his palms.

“Hello,” said Pepper. “Apologies for being so cloak and dagger, but Happy doesn’t get enough excitement these days.”

Peter laughed. “It’s okay, I appreciate the nostalgia.”

Pepper smiled, but Peter thought it looked a little sad. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get things ironed out.”

Peter’s eyebrows drew together. “Please don’t apologise. Really, you’ve done so much for me.”

Pepper shook her head. “Peter, I don’t think I’ve made things clear. You’re still a part of this family, you know that, right? Tony being gone doesn’t change that.”

Peter felt his throat close over. He wouldn’t have known what to say, even if he could speak. He looked away.

“Pete? You okay?” she said softly, with all the gentle kindness of a mother. 

“Yeah,” he said, cheeks stained red. “Yeah, of course.”

Pepper looked at him sadly. “Oh, Peter. Come over here,” she said, arms open. “I think we’re there.” Shyly, Peter leaned into her, wrapping arms around her like she was much more fragile than she was. She smelled of perfume and warmth and beneath that, something that reminded him of Tony. “As long as Happy and Morgan and Rhodey and I are still here, you’re still gonna be part of this family, okay? We’re always going to take care of Tony’s kid. I mean, we’ve got a trust fund in your name big enough to put you through M.I.T. We’re family.”

And in Pepper’s strong, capable embrace, Peter finally felt like everything was going to be okay.