Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Act 1: The Better Before the Worse

• First week of June, Senior Year

‘Just remember to breathe’ was the last thing May had said to Peter. 

To be exact, it was “Just remember to breathe, Peter,” May said, holding Peter’s shoulders squarely and looking at him firmly. “Just pretend your presentation isn’t worth half of your final mark and it’ll all be fine” , but all Peter could remember was her crushing grip and the word ‘breathe’. It resonated in his head like a dizzying ambulance siren, spinning around and around Peter until the memory of May settled deep in his ribcage.

That Monday morning, Peter recalled, was a nightmare on its own. Without a regret, he had spent the majority of his weekend evenings swinging through the grittier parts of New York until daylight had broken. Normally, Peter would nurse his morning headache, call it an occupational hazard, and get on the bus to school, but he woke up so incredibly late. And he forgot he had a physics presentation second period. And he had a chemistry assignment due after lunch.

May caught Peter that morning scrawling out his presentation notes onto cue cards. After a beat of silence, she sighed, “You didn’t practice, did you?”

Peter gave her a weak smile. Before he could even start the entire ‘I had Spiderman things, and plus I already did the write up!’ spiel, May pushed his breakfast into his hand and looked pointedly at the clock. Shit, Peter was so late. 

“I’d hurry up if I were you,” May said. Peter jolted up from his seat. 

With one foot out the door, May stopped him. She gave him one of those crushing hugs that stilled Peter’s anxious trembles and pulled away to look at him. May put her hands on Peter’s shoulders and met his gaze. She was so sure of herself and was so sure that Peter was good, that Peter was worth it. 

“Just remember to breathe, Peter,” May said. Her lips quirked upwards. “Just pretend your presentation isn’t worth half of your final mark and it’ll all be fine.”

Then, Peter was gone. 

Peter couldn’t remember if he said he loved her. He couldn’t remember if he even looked at May before he left her in their apartment. Peter couldn’t remember the last moment, the briefest moment, he had with May at all. All he remembered was her firm hands and her sure gaze and the word ‘breathe’ and oh, God, all Peter wanted to do was be able to breathe again.  

-

‘She was supposed to be at work,’ Peter thought. She was supposed to be at work. She was supposed to have been saving lives, administering medicine, and walking down the hospital halls with a coffee in hand. She wasn’t supposed to have bled out on the operating room table, then stitched up and put away in the morgue. Peter looked up at the white hospital lights and blinked away his tears. She was supposed to be at work.

Peter didn’t think about the stillness in her chest, he didn’t think about her cold, limp hands, and he tried his best not to think about the bullet holes in her chest. He tried not to think about Ben, either. 

“How are you doing, Peter?” 

He looked up at the surgeon’s face. Peter couldn’t remember her name. “She was supposed to be at work,” he croaked. “I just… Wasn’t she supposed to be at work?”

The surgeon - Doctor Liyue Hsi, Peter read off her name tag - nodded slightly. “She was on her evening break. Your aunt stepped out to grab a coffee, and then,” Dr. Hsi swallowed thickly, “and then, she was shot. She saw a little girl getting molested by a group of men in the back alley.”

Dr. Hsi’s voice was wavering. “Just before your aunt went under, she said she had to stop it. She said she couldn’t turn around and walk the other way, even though she was so scared. I hope you know your aunt is… She was an incredibly brave woman. She saved that little girl’s life today.”

“I know she’s brave,” Peter said, more to himself than to Dr. Hsi. He looked down at his hands, then at his web shooters hidden under his hoodie sleeves. He could’ve stopped it if he was there, he could’ve saved May and the little girl. Peter felt his stomach sink. “But… Why did she have to be brave today?”

Dr. Hsi took a sharp breath and sat beside Peter. “May told me to tell you that she loved you and that it’s not your fault. Listen, Peter, I know what you’re thinking right now, but it’s not your fault .”

“But I could’ve-”

“It’s not your fault,” Dr. Hsi said firmly. “Don’t blame yourself.”

“So, what’s going to happen to me? I don’t have any other… Aunt May was my only family. Am I going into foster care?” 

“If I’m honest, you’ll most likely not be put into a foster home. It’ll be easier to get emancipated than put in the system. You turn 18 in a couple of months, May left you everything in her will, and you’ll also become the main beneficiary for your uncle’s life insurance. It might not be much, but I hope it’ll keep you afloat until your birthday.” Dr. Hsi patted Peter’s back twice, then stood up awkwardly. She lingered for a second and said, “If you need anything, just call me, okay? I was good friends with May and I’d hate to see you suffering,” before turning around and disappearing behind the hallway corner. 

“Okay,” Peter said. He looked at the business card Dr. Hsi pressed into his palm and tossed it out as he left the hospital. 

• Second week of June, Senior Year

The only solace Peter found in his last couple weeks of school was the numbness that came with being Spiderman. When Peter went out after dark in the suit Mr. Stark made, a coolness washed over him and he could forget how truly alone he was. When Spiderman was swinging from building to building, webbing up criminals, Peter felt like he was fighting for the cause May died for. 

It was the week after she died when Spiderman caught a group of men raping a 7 year old boy behind some abandoned construction buildings and all Peter could think of was May bleeding out on the pavement. He webbed them up after a bone chilling hate settled into Peter’s skin. He wanted nothing more than to punch in their teeth because oh, God , these were the same kind of low life fuckers who killed May and Peter was so, so angry. He was angry because there was a hurt boy in his arms and the only family he had left was dead and Peter couldn’t hurt the men because the little boy had seen too much violence already.

So, Peter called 911 and cradled the boy in his arms, comforting him and letting him cry in the crook of Peter’s neck.

“You’re going to be okay,” Peter hushed, rocking the boy back and forth, “You’re going to be okay.” 

The ambulance was on its way. He could hear the sirens wailing in the background and thought of May’s swirling words. “You’re going to be okay,” Peter whispered one more time. He didn’t know if those words were for him or for the boy in his arms. 

When Peter went back to May’s apartment, he stripped off the Spiderman suit and laid in May’s bed. He closed his eyes and pretended like he was 10 again, sleeping safely between Ben and May’s arms, believing that the world wouldn’t hurt him again after taking his parents. Peter closed his eyes and pretended like he was surrounded by people who loved him, people that would protect him, people that would fight for him.

Peter opened his eyes after the brief moment of pretending. He looked up at the white popcorn ceiling, watched the sun rise above the horizon through the window, and opened up his school work. 

No one at school knew that May had died and Peter planned to keep it that way, even if it meant not telling Ned or MJ. He was graduating in less than a month, so all Peter had to do was keep his head down, work hard, and not let his grades slip. He ignored the jabs and insults from Flash, and ignored Ned’s texts. 

It wasn’t a problem keeping her death a secret from Mr. Stark either. Throughout Peter’s junior year, Mr. Stark’s involvement with Spiderman activity and Peter’s half-real internship had dwindled down to an occasional visit or infrequent, awkward call. Senior year was even worse. Mr. Stark didn’t call anymore, and Peter had gotten used to the radio silence. 

Peter stopped saying he had an internship with Stark Industries. Ned stopped telling people, too. 

-

“Dude, what’s been up with you recently?” Ned asked. He stopped Peter by his locker before their morning class. “You’ve been all spacey and you haven’t responded to any of my texts, which is totally not like you. I get that graduation is soon, but don’t be an ass and take it out on me. So, what’s your deal?”

Peter closed his eyes and tried really hard to shut his locker door gently. The metal frame indented along the side from Peter’s fingertips. There were a lot of things he hated, like being late or peppermint candies, but more than anything, Peter hated lying to Ned. He couldn’t look into his best friend’s eyes and pretend like everything was fine. Ned was right, though. Peter was taking his issues out on him and it wasn’t fair. 

“Sorry, I’ll look at your messages soon. I’m just having a hard time right now,” Peter said half heartedly. It wasn’t the truth, but it wasn’t a lie. “I’m having a hard time finding a job. Money’s been tight and...”

This conversation was something Peter tried not to bring up even before May passed. There was a tightness in his chest whenever he thought of the bills piling up, and even if Ben’s life insurance helped, Peter knew it wouldn’t cover the hospital bill, rent, and tuition. Nonetheless, Peter would rather talk about his shallow pockets than the May sized hole in his chest. 

“And I can’t afford to go to Columbia with you.” After a pause and meeting Ned’s boring eyes, Peter clipped out a small apology. Anger melted out of Ned and was replaced by a tidal wave of disappointment.

“Even with the scholarship they’re giving you?” Ned asked, still hopeful. 

Peter shook his head. He spent the tuition money he saved up on rent and May’s hospital bills and now, the entrance scholarship won’t be enough. Ned sighed and readjusted his backpack strap. 

“It’s okay,” Ned said softly. “We can talk about it after class. Maybe we can try and work things out together with MJ, if you wanna tell her. I’m sorry, though, I feel like an ass. I shouldn’t have been angry with you for such a stupid thing like ghosting me for a couple of days. You don’t have to apologize for being worried about money.”

“Nah, I shouldn’t have ghosted you anyways. I’m sorry, too.” 

The overhead bell rang and they started walking to class. Over the years, both boys had matured both physically and emotionally. Peter filled out along his shoulders and got taller, growing out of his awkward demeanor. He walked with his shoulders set square - a skill he learned from watching Cap - and looked forward without wavering. Ned, on the other hand, leaned out and developed more of an easy, laid back attitude. He didn’t idolize Peter anymore, and even if his favorite superhero was still Spiderman, Ned understood that Peter was still Peter under the red and blue spandex.

“It sucks we won’t be roommates after all,” Ned said just before they reached their classroom. “Columbia’ll suck without you. Are you planning on community college instead?”

“It’s kind of late to apply to college, and even then, I can’t afford it if they don’t offer me a scholarship.” Peter and Ned sat down in their seats at the front of the classroom. “I think I’m going to take a gap year and work. Maybe I’ll be able to save enough money to go to Columbia with you next year.”

“Why don’t you ask your boss Tony Stark to pay for school, Parker?” Flash said, walking past Peter and bumping him harshly with his bag. “I thought Stark Industries pays off all of their interns’ student debts.”

“I don’t intern there anymore, Flash,” Peter sighed. The thing Peter hated most about the end of a school term was how late all the teachers were to their classes. So, he was stuck dealing with Flash’s comments until they arrived. 

“Oh, but you said you did,” Flash goaded, “and did you forget that Stark Industries pays tuition for former interns too? Unless you did something embarrassing and got yourself fired.”

“Can’t you shut the fuck up, Flash?” Peter snapped. He turned around to face Flash, who sat right behind Peter. “I don’t have the energy to deal with you prying into my life, which - big surprise to you - doesn’t involve you. My old internship isn’t your issue, so stay out of it.”

For a brief moment, Flash looked surprised at Peter’s retaliation. His perplexion didn’t last long, turning from surprised to a practiced, malicious façade. 

“Sure thing, Penis, but I was just saying that if your internship was ever real, Stark would’ve paid the tuition for you,” Flash said with ease. “Being poor must really suck, doesn’t it?”

White hot anger zapped through Peter. “Having shit parents must really suck, doesn’t it Flash?”

“At least my parents are alive, Penis. Can’t say the same about yours, or that deadbeat uncle Ben of yours, can we?”

Peter shot up from his seat, his chair recoiling back and clanking on the floor. The classroom stilled. 

He leaned over Flash’s desk and put a tense hand on his shoulder, and like before, Peter tried really hard not to let his anger take over his strength. It was hard not to crush Flash’s clavicle, so Peter just gave it a bone-bruising squeeze and said darkly, “Keep his name out of your fucking mouth or I’ll rip your tongue out.”

It was barely a whisper, but Flash heard him loud and clear. 

Peter let go of him, picked up his chair, and got out his class notes before their teacher walked in. His classmates erupted in a fit of whispers and leaned in to ask Flash what Peter said to him. They couldn’t hear what he said to Flash, but from the way Peter’s eyes darkened and the way Flash paled, they knew it wasn’t anything good. 

“Sometimes, Peter,” Ned started, “you’re really scary.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” replied Peter. “It’s just that the shit Flash says… it’s way out of line.”

“I know, but hey, if you being scary means Flash shutting up, I like scary you,” Ned said. “It’s a good look.”

Peter grinned. “Thanks.”

“What did you say to him, anyways?”

Peter’s smile dropped. “I said I’d rip his tongue out if he talked shit about Uncle Ben again.”

“Yup, you’re definitely scary,” Ned nodded. “I swear, if May ever heard you say that, she’d wash your mouth out with soap and talk your ear off.” Ned paused, looking pensive. “Now that I think about it, you definitely got your scary from her.”

His chest tightened at the thought of May.

“Yeah, sure did,” Peter croaked. 

“How is she, by the way? I haven’t seen her in a bit, maybe I should drop by after school, bring a lego set, and say hi.”

“She’s- she’s okay, I guess.” Another lie; Peter couldn’t look at Ned. “She’s just been caught up at work.” It’s been a week since she died. The hospital was cremating her remains. 

“Is she picking up more shifts?”

“Something like that.”

Class ended quickly after that and Peter went to his second period, which he had alone. It was a quiet period, so he put on his headphones and did the mindless work assigned - he could do these physics problems in his sleep. After working cathartically through each question set, Peter’s mind started to drift. 

-

It wasn’t a secret to May and Ben that Peter was different from them. 

Not different in a bad way, but his brain just worked in ways they couldn’t understand. He could get lost for hours in his space books or fantasy novels with aliens and supernovas, because space was just so vast and Peter wanted to know everything there was about it - whether it be fact or fiction. He would read volumes and volumes of the astrophysics books he borrowed from the library, and even if his 9 year old brain didn’t understand it all, he gobbled up the information hungrily. When Peter wanted to know something, there was truly nothing that could stop him from learning. 

And when Peter hated something, there was nothing that could make it even tolerable. 

“C’mon, Pete, there’s only a couple of lines left,” Ben said from across their wooden dinner table. The legs were uneven and chipped along the bottom, making the table jostle upwards on Peter’s side when Ben leaned against it. 

“Can’t I just do some extra math homework instead? It’ll balance out,” Peter groaned. “I hate this stupid essay and this stupid book.”

“I know it sucks, but you don’t have a choice, bud.” Ben picked up Peter’s discarded pencil and tapped Peter on the nose twice with the eraser end. “The faster you finish, the faster you can go watch Star Wars for the 800th time.”

“It’s just that this book is so boring,” Peter said. He snatched the pencil from Ben’s hand and put it back down on the table. “Why can’t we read, like, The Martian or something.”

“Even if your class read The Martian, you’d still have to write an essay about it, Pete,” Ben chuckled. “Listen, I get it. The book sucks, you’d rather be doing something else, but don’t you owe it to yourself to try? I know you don’t wanna write this essay about frankly, a crap book-” Peter smiled, “but I know you. I know that you only like putting your best work forward and I know that’s why you only stick to doing what you know and what you like. But can’t we at least try, Pete?”

Peter looked down at his paper, biting his lip. He’d been working on it all week for no more than 5 huffy minutes a day, and now, Peter only had an hour before bed to finish it. It was due the very next morning, and Mrs. Simmons never forgot to collect homework. It was a hard essay, Peter thought, because he was supposed to write about how he related to the main character. Reading the book was the easy part, but putting his words, his life , onto paper for his teacher to read? For her to mark up and say this part was good and that part was bad? That was the hard part. 

“But I’m scared.”

Ben looked deep into Peter’s eyes. Peter never knew how Ben always understood what he felt without Peter explaining the funny feelings in his chest. Was it his superpower?

“I know it’s scary, Peter. It’s okay to be scared, but why don’t you try being brave and write a couple more lines before bed?”

“How can I be brave if I’m scared, Uncle Ben?”

“The only time you can be brave is when you’re scared, Pete. Everyone gets scared sometimes, but it’s all up to you,” Ben said, pointing to Peter’s heart, “to decide what you’re going to do about it.”

“But what if I’m wrong?” Peter asked. He clutched his wooden pencil and pressed the point against his lined paper. “What if I get a bad mark?”

“Then we know you’ve done all you can,” Ben said simply. “It’s okay to be wrong and it’s okay to fail, as long as you keep trying, alright? So, are we going to finish up that essay tonight?”

Peter nodded slowly. Ben smiled at him and ruffled his hair. Peter knew that Ben was right because Ben had never, ever lied to him before. 

“Will you sit here with me, Uncle Ben?” asked Peter, slowly. “I think… I think I’m less scared when you’re here.” 

“Sure thing, Peter. I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

-

After Peter’s physics class, he made his way to the cafeteria. 

“So tell me, Parker, did you really punch Flash in the face and threaten to beat in his dad’s teeth during first period, because I heard 9- wait no, 10 different versions of that story,” MJ said, sliding beside Peter at their usual table. She had two trays, one for him and one for her. 

“God, people are already talking about that?” Peter groaned, taking a tray. “And no, I didn’t. I wish I punched Flash though, that would’ve made my day.”

“Yeah, and then people would start saying you tried killing him.” 

Peter snorted. 

“Rumors work weird here. I can’t even talk back to Flash without him saying I threatened to snap his neck, or something.”

MJ smiled in that lazy way that made Peter’s stomach do flips. “It wouldn’t be as funny if people actually believed him. Flash just seems like a fraud, like the boy who cried wolf or whatever.”

“What are we talkin’ about,” Ned said, sitting across from Peter and MJ with his lunch. “Something interesting, like first period?”

“Well, I’m trying to get Peter’s side of the story,” MJ said. “I’m more interested in the truth than anything else, but I do always enjoy any instance where Flash eats his own words.”

“Since Peter doesn’t want to share with the class on how he totally made Flash shit his pants, I will,” Ned said before Peter could stop him. In a low voice and leaning in, he continued, “He said he’d rip Flash’s tongue out while squeezing his shoulder.”

Ned made a face. “In retrospect, it doesn’t sound as scary, but you gotta trust me MJ, Flash was totally scared shitless. You shoulda’ seen the look on Peter’s face - man, I didn’t know he could look that angry.”

Looking at Peter pensively, MJ said, “So Flash really is the boy who cried wolf. No one believed him when he said you were going to rip out his tongue. I didn’t believe that was the real story either, but…” MJ lowered her voice. “I heard he talked crap about your parents and Uncle Ben this time.”

“Which was a major asshole move,” Ned added, and MJ nodded. “I can’t believe he’s still a jerk after all these years.”

“It’s whatever, to be honest,” Peter shrugged. “I don’t have to see him ever again after graduation.”

“Don’t forget we have decathlon after school. Harrington said he’s handing out field trip slips,” MJ said.

“Damn, that’s still happening? I didn’t think Harrington was serious about the grad trip thing,” Ned said. “I’m kind of excited, but I don’t know if I can convince my moms to let me go on such short notice.”

“Yeah, you better be excited for this one, loser. Harrington said it was a miracle getting this whole thing arranged.”

Peter’s stomach churned as he pushed his lunch leftovers around; a couple orange peels and some grains of rice. 

“Did he tell you where we’re going?” asked Peter. 

“Nope, all he said was that we were going to be very excited.”

“Dude, what’s even the point of being AcaDeca’s captain if you don’t have any information,” Ned teased. 

“Oh, shut up, Ned. Be grateful I’m telling you now and not making you wait till after school.”

“Wow, I’m so grateful right now. Thanks a lot for the information, MJ, you’re the absolute best friend anyone can have who’s completely all knowing and totally told me where our grad field trip is,” said Ned dryly.

“You’re welcome loser, and don’t you forget that.”

-

The end of Monday’s school day came way too fast for Peter’s liking. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen, but then again, any club with Flash was bad news. It was a toss up between seeing Flash after what happened during first period and the location of their impromptu field trip. 

“We’re heading to - drum roll please,” Harrington started. The decathlon, on cue, started stamping their feet. “The Avenger’s compound!”

Yeah, it was the field trip location. 

Peter won’t lie. After hearing the words ‘Avenger’s compound’, there was a brief moment where excitement shot through him, because holy shit , it’s the Avenger’s compound? Peter had only been there a few times, mostly on Spiderman business or whenever Mr. Stark invited him over out of what Peter thought was pity. Mr. Stark had let Peter tinker around in a secondary lab with the Spiderman suit and other miscellaneous electronics a couple days a week for a handful of months when Peter was a sophomore, fresh out of the Vulture incident. He wouldn’t lie, the compound never got old. It was immensely overwhelming each and every time Peter went over.

But after thinking about it for a moment, Peter was filled with this sinking feeling of dread, because holy shit , it was the Avenger’s compound and Mr. Stark didn’t know May was-

He could never know. 

At least Ned was happy. 

“Alright, alright, calm down kids,” Harrington called out over the decathlon team’s excited shouts. “Let’s just get the semantics straightened out and you can all go back to celebrating. MJ, can you hand out the slips?”

MJ got up from her seat and picked up the small stack of paper before passing them out. 

“Here’s the deal, kids. This event, I should say, isn’t technically a field trip because it takes place on Wednesday after the seniors graduate. Normally, this would be an issue due to funding and other teacherly problems, but,” Harrington paused, grinning at how his students clung onto his every word, “it’s being completely paid for by Stark Industries.”

Peter gaped. 

“Crazy, right?” Harrington laughed. “Even if this trip isn’t through the school, I’m still in charge of form collection, which brings me to my next point. MJ, pass out the other papers.”

Peter watched MJ pull out a stack of stapled papers and hand out a package to each student. 

“Everyone has until the end of this week to give me back all these papers read and signed. No papers, no Avenger’s compound, capisce?”

The decathlon team nodded. 

“As we all know, Stark Industries is incredibly thorough, so read the papers. Everyone here has to sign NDAs on pages 2 to 5, and follow the protocols listed on pages 6 to 10. That’s a list of what you can and can’t do, what you can and can’t bring, and generally what is or isn’t allowed to happen when we’re inside the compound. Before I continue, are there any questions?”

Cindy’s hand shot up. “What if something happens that’s outside of the listed protocol?”

“Good question, Cindy. From what I understand, if something out of our control occurs - which it shouldn’t, but due to the location of our trip, anything can happen - there will be on staff assistance. Other than that, it’s imperative that we all use our common sense to decide what we should or shouldn’t do. No funny business-” Harrington looked at Peter, “and nothing stupid-” he looked at Flash. “Let’s not make a fool of ourselves on this trip, alright kids? Any other questions?”

Flash, curse his name, asked the question Peter had been dreading. “How did you get us a trip to the Avenger’s compound, Mr. Harrington?”

Chuckling, Harrington said, “Funny story, actually. I was contacted by Stark Industries’ head of security, who's awfully grumpy for someone named Happy, and he said that S.I. had noticed our decathlon team.”

Fuck, Peter was so screwed. 

“I know, it’s crazy to think Midtown High was even on S.I.'s radar, but they said they were impressed by our last season and offered us the all expenses paid trip. It’s partly for PR, but still, it’s such an amazing opportunity that I’m sure no one here will give up.”

Was Mr. Stark still keeping an eye on Peter? Did he know about May? Without a doubt, this trip was all Mr. Stark’s doing. 

“And on to my next point. I’m sure everyone here knows what NDAs entail, so I’ll let you read through them yourself, but once you sign those papers, you’re agreeing for S.I. to conduct a background check on you.” Harrington shushed them before anyone could protest. “Trust me, it’s nothing more than a police background check, but as I said before, Stark Industries is incredibly thorough and want all their bases covered. If anyone here has any concerns about the background check, feel free to come talk to me privately about it and we can get things arranged. Anything else?”

There were a flurry of other questions that Peter elected to ignore. He felt his phone buzz through his pocket and elected to ignore that too. He felt that same sinking dread from before settle into the pit of his stomach. 

Ned leaned towards Peter. “Did you know about this?”

“Had no clue.” Peter’s phone buzzed. 

“I thought so,” Ned said. He knew about Peter’s deteriorated relationship with Mr. Stark. “Do you think Tony Stark did this for you?”

“I…” Peter started, feeling his phone buzz in his pocket again. It felt like a hot coal searing into his leg. “I have no clue.” 

Peter’s phone buzzed a couple more times before Ned beckoned him to answer it. It was Mr. Stark. The last time Peter talked to Mr. Stark was in May, when Peter wished him a happy birthday and Mr. Stark responded with a short ‘thanks kid’. The time before that was Mr. Stark wishing him a happy 17th birthday.

… 

Mr. Stark : You like your graduation present?

Mr. Stark : Your teacher has told you already, right?

Mr. Stark : Oops, I hope I didn’t ruin the surprise.

Mr. Stark : C’mon kid, don’t leave me on delivered. 

Mr. Stark : I know we haven’t exactly talked this past year but…

Mr. Stark : Shit, maybe we shouldn’t have this conversation through text.

Mr. Stark : And don’t tell Aunt Hottie I said a bad word.

Mr. Stark : How is she, by the way? Maybe I should pop by and say hi later.

Mr. Stark : C’mon Pete, you’re killing me here. I know you’re not that busy. 

Mr. Stark : Can’t you be like all your other little friends who’re stuck on their phones? I know you’re reading these messages through the notification tab like every other kid.

Mr. Stark : I know all the tricks you young people do. 

→ Reply to “You like your graduation present?”

Really? A trip to the Avenger’s compound?

And yes, my teacher did tell us.

Mr. Stark : Why? You don’t like it? Pepper and I thought it would be a great graduation gift.

→ Reply to “Why? You don’t like it? Pepper and I thought it would be a great graduation gift.”

No, it’s great. Thank you.

Seriously, thank you.

How did you know about my decathlon team and graduation?

Mr. Stark : You think I don’t keep tabs on my favorite spider?

Mr. Stark : I really hope no one’s reading over your shoulder right now.

Mr. Stark : And you mentioned your decathlon team before. Something about the Vulture and being in Washington. 

Mr. Stark : And Pepper reminded me about your graduation. 

Oh.

Mr. Stark : Wanna come up to the compound this weekend? We should talk before your field trip and I’d rather do it in person.

Mr. Stark : For old time’s sake?

Mr. Stark : I’ll even send Happy to pick you up.

Sure.

Sounds good.

Mr. Stark : Wicked. Don’t tell grumps I told you, but he secretly really misses you.

Mr. Stark : Me too, kid.

Mr. Stark : It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

Yeah, it has.

Listen, I gotta go. AcaDeca is finishing up soon.

Let me know when Happy’s picking me up.

...

-

The first thing Happy said to Peter when he got in the backseat of his car was, “Does your aunt know where you’re going?”

It was a nice sentiment. It was nice that Happy still remembered all the hell May could raise when Peter was off on his own. It was nice that Happy was still scared of May after all these long, empty years of not seeing each other. It was nice, except Peter had no way of telling her. 

“Yea, it’s all sorted out, Happy.” Peter buckled his seat belt and leaned back into the cushioned interiors of the all too familiar car. “I can stay the weekend, I just need to be at school on time. I start at-”

“At 8am, I got it, kid.”

The ride upstate wasn’t that bad, surprisingly. There had been no flying alien robots hijacking the 2 hour drive and Happy let Peter turn on the radio, albeit dialed down low. But like the low rumble of the car engine, Peter felt his spidey sense strumming louder and louder behind his eyes as Happy drove closer to the compound. Maybe it wasn’t his spidey sense, maybe it was just Peter’s anxiousness. Peter hated the gut twisting feeling all the same.

Throughout the time it took for Happy to drive upstate, Peter had only made small talk with the driver 3 times. One about May when Peter first got in the car, one about how Peter was doing in school, and one about Spiderman. It was three awkward, clipped conversations, but it was heartwarming to see Happy trying to make an effort in a conversation with Peter. He knew that Happy wasn’t his biggest fan. 

Mr. Stark was waiting for them in the garage, watching Happy pull up and park the car in the only empty spot in the endless, vast parking lot. 

“I was starting to think you got lost on your way here, Haps,” Mr. Stark said, knocking on the driver’s side window before Happy could get out of the car. “You losing your touch?”

“The kid was in the car,” Happy grouched. He opened the car door and got out of the car. Peter followed suit. “It’s not like I can speed with him in the back seat. I feel guilty, kid’s like my conscience.” 

Mr. Stark made a face. “Since when did you have a conscience about speeding?”

“Since you stuck ‘underoos’ in my back seat and made me a babysitting taxi service.”

“Oh, can it Happy, I know you love the kid and that hot aunt of his. Speaking of which,” Mr. Stark said, turning to face Peter, “Have you gotten your permission slip signed? If I don’t see you on that trip, I’ll personally get you by making Happy drive you to the compound.”

“It’s not ‘personally’ getting him if I’m the one driving, Boss.”

“Well, I’d be personally asking you to get him, wouldn’t I?”

Before Happy could protest against Mr. Stark’s statement (Peter saw his mouth open and his brows furrow), Peter interjected, “Yeah, it’s signed.” He forged the signature, “I handed it in yesterday.”

“Good, good,” exclaimed Mr. Stark. “Now, off to the labs, right Peter?”

Peter nodded slowly, still unsure. When he didn’t follow Mr. Stark inside, still lingering by the car like he believed Mr. Stark would change his mind at the last minute and make Happy drive Peter home, Mr. Stark walked back over to Peter and swung an arm loosely around his shoulders. 

“Well, c’mon Pete. Things need fixing and pizzas need to be ate. Or is it eaten? I guess it doesn’t matter when it’s in your stomach, does it?”

Unsure of not only what to say, but whether or not this entire thing was a fever dream, Peter trailed along beside Mr. Stark. A couple years ago, Peter would be shoulder to shoulder, eye to eye with his… mentor? His handler? Regardless of his relationship with Mr. Stark, or lack thereof, since the last time the two had met face to face, Peter shot up a couple inches. He wouldn’t have noticed at all if Mr. Stark hadn’t pressed his entire weight onto Peter’s shoulders, jumping up with a groan. 

“God, why’d you have to get so tall? You’re a freakin’ beanstalk, now,” Mr. Stark said, using his body weight in an effort to make Peter shorter. “I don’t like looking up at you. I’m gonna put you in the dryer to shrink you back into my pocket sized Petey.”

“I don’t think that’ll work,” Peter said. He’s been avoiding saying Mr. Stark's name, solely because he didn’t know if it would be rude to call him Tony again after so long or if it would be ruder to keep calling him Mr. Stark. 

“Well, why not?” Mr. Stark asked petulantly. 

“Cuz I’m not made of cotton, first of all,” Peter said. “And second of all, I don’t think I can fit into a dryer anymore. You know, because of the-” he gestured to his legs, “extra height I’ve acquired.”

“That I don’t have?”

“Well, I didn’t say it.” Peter’s lips quirked up at the edges. Not quite a smile, but it was enough for Mr. Stark.

“You know what, kid?” Mr. Stark asked, opening up the doors to his personal lab and urging Peter in. “Never doubt a mad, grudge holding super genius because one day I will make a super evil shrinking device with the sole purpose of making you shorter than me.”

Caught off guard, Peter barked out an incredulous laugh. “You sure will, Mr. Stark.”

“So, we’re back at Mr. Stark now,” Mr. Stark said, shaking his head. “It’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh in a while and it’s ruined by the infamous ‘Mr. Stark.’”

Peter didn’t mean to say it out loud; it just slipped. His guilt must’ve shown on his face because Mr. Stark said, “No, I get it. I’ll just have to bribe it back by buying your body weight in food every couple of days. Speaking of which-” He sat at his work bench while Peter stood awkwardly by the door, “Lab nights are back on. If you want to, of course.”

Mr. Stark looked up from his tools, searching for a reaction on Peter’s face. There had been a thousand thoughts, concerns, and questions that flashed through Peter’s head, all of which related to May. The only words he could scrounge up were, “Is it paid?”

“Er, I mean it could if you want it to be,” Mr. Stark said. “Why, you trying to save up for something?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

Thankful that Mr. Stark didn’t ask any questions - just made this sort of confused, disgruntled face and agreed - Peter felt like he could, he would , consider the offer. 

“Well, if you really wanted to buy something, let me know. I’ve got more than enough money to spare,” said Mr. Stark with a shrug. “In the meantime, why don’t you come sit down. You got your spidey suit?”

“Yeah,” Peter said tightly. “It’s on under my clothes.”

“Paranoid, are we?” Mr. Stark smiled, and for a brief moment, Peter felt like he was 15 again. “Okay, go change out of it in the washroom, we got our work cut out for us.”

When Peter walked to the washroom guided by Friday, he thought about what Mr. Stark said. It would be so easy to give into his offer, to let Mr. Stark pay the bills and fret over him while Peter was out studying at Columbia with Ned. It would be so easy to live, not worrying about what his future would look like when Ben’s life insurance payments stopped coming and when he couldn’t find a job. It would be so easy, but Peter didn’t want it. 

As he stripped off his Spiderman suit, Peter thought about how much he didn’t want it. That life would be easy, yes, but it came with telling Mr. Stark that May was dead. It came with knowing that Mr. Stark would send Peter to live with a foster family. It came with being a burden to Mr. Stark. God , why did Peter’s ribs hurt?

And what if Peter actually allowed himself to get attached to Mr. Stark again, like when he was 15? What if Mr. Stark pushed Peter away for the second time? Peter couldn’t live with himself knowing that he had two chances to work with Mr. Stark, to be his actual intern and learn from the Avenger, and both times, Mr. Stark decided that Peter wasn’t worth it.

Mr. Stark’s magnetism was like a star’s massive gravity and Peter was a far away planet, caught in the hypnotizing solar system that swirled around and around. Peter couldn’t help but be drawn into Mr. Stark’s typhoon of a life. He was drawn in when he was 15, and he was drawn in now, walking back to Mr. Stark’s lab with his suit in hand. 

Mr. Stark was sitting awkwardly with some metal craps in his hand, face scrunched up with concentration when Peter walked through the door. Friday let him in with no problem.

“Hey, there you are. You wanna set your suit down on the table?”

Peter looked down at the clutter scattered on the table top, knowing each and every item had its place, and shook his head breathlessly. “I’ll go set up in the- uh- the secondary lab like before.”

“What? No!” Mr. Stark said. “Here, I’ll make some space for you.”

Grabbing the scraps bin, Mr. Stark made one grand sweeping motion and all the little knick knacks, tools, and other miscellaneous objects were ‘put away’. “See? All clean! Now put down the suit and pop the main frame open. I got some updates to upload.”

Peter did what Mr. Stark told him to do numbly. He watched as the older man fiddled with the seams, looked at the wires, and poked at the widening hole that Peter forgot to sew back up.

“Should I just make a new suit? I already have some ideas for a nanotech spidey suit written up - Fri pull those out for me - and ooooh, what’s this?” Mr. Stark muttered, talking more to himself than to Peter. “Did you upgrade your web shooters without me?”

“I, uh, had time in tech,” Peter said, chest tightening, “and the chem lab was empty.”

“How do you feel about making a new suit today, Pete?” Mr. Stark asked, turning away, and Peter was getting this sinking feeling again and, and, and-- “If we start now, Fri can have it all ready by dinner and we can go for test runs tomorrow. Ohhh, and then on Monday after you go on patrol, Happy can pick you up and we can fine tune all the settings- see what you liked or didn’t like,” Peter couldn’t breathe now and Mr. Stark kept drowning him out, “So, how does that sound?”

A moment passed without saying anything. Mr. Stark was looking at him, and even though Peter wasn’t looking back, he felt Mr. Stark’s boring gaze. Peter knew from the way his hairs stood on end and from the impulse to keep his eyes open. 

He knew that from the outside, Peter looked very, very still. Even though his heart was hammering in his chest and his chest was so tight that he couldn’t really breathe and he really, really felt like he wasn’t in his own body, but watching everything behind his eyes like his life was a television show, Peter’s body was still and felt like it was on fire. 

“Pete?”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Peter croaked. His head was pounding. His ribs ached. Fuck, his hands were shaking now and his knuckles were white. 

“Peter,” Mr. Stark said again, voice low. “Everything alright?”

“Nah, everything’s fine. I just remembered I forgot to do my, uh… make up test,” Peter said, stumbling over his words. The lie caught in his throat. “Cuz, I uh, I failed.”

“You failed.” Mr. Stark wasn’t amused. 

“Forgot to study, was out Spidermanning,” Peter clipped. In his head, he counted up to ten and back down to zero. He breathed steadily in through his nose and out through his mouth before counting up to ten and back down to zero again. 

“Listen Pete, I know what not-alright looks like,” Mr. Stark said slowly, “and I know what not wanting to tell anyone about it feels like. I’m not going to force you, but I’m here. And I want you to be here too, not just in the lab with me, but in my life as well. I’m here for you, okay?”

“Can you just- just-” Peter heaved, “Fuck, I need air.” 

And Peter bolted out the door. 

Mr. Stark followed him. 

It was the common room balcony that gave Peter the safe haven he sought. He sat on the ledge of the thick stone railing that looked over the compound’s gardens and gulped in the humid air by the lungful. There was this dizzying feeling that came with looking at his own dangling feet over the gardens and Peter was reminded of the crushing ache in his chest. 

“Wanna talk about it, kid?” 

Peter jumped. He didn’t even notice the sound of the glass panel doors sliding open behind him nor did he hear Mr. Stark’s footsteps coming closer and closer to him. 

“It’s just that I don’t,” Peter started, “I don’t get why I’m here.”

Mr. Stark quirked his head to the side, confused. “Because I have updates for the suit?”

“No,” Peter said. “I don’t get why I’m here as in why am I staying for the weekend. I don’t get the grad trip, I don’t get the sudden texts and the invitation back after radio silence, and I don’t get why you suddenly care again.”

“I’ve never stopped caring about you, Peter.”

“You have one hell of a way of showing that, Mr. Stark.”

“Again with the Mr. Stark?”

“Well, you’re not Tony again after ignoring me for half of junior and senior year.”

“Got me there,” Mr. Stark winced. “Okay, why don’t you come down first and we can talk about it.”

“No,” Peter said softly. He looked down at the gardens and felt the dizzying feeling rush through him again. If he just tipped forward and closed his eyes, if he just let gravity weigh his body down... “Maybe I should go see Aunt May.”

“You’ll see her on Monday,” said Mr. Stark. He was right beside Peter now, leaning back onto the stone railing to look at Peter. “C’mon, let’s get out of the heat.”

“Can I have my suit back, first?”

Mr. Stark made a face. Tactless, he said, “Is that what this is all about?”

“I, er-”

“The suit makes you feel safe, doesn’t it?”

A beat passed and Peter nodded. 

“But it’s not only about the suit.”

“It’s not.”

“You can have to suit back, Pete. I’m not taking it from you again. I just- please , just come down from the ledge, Peter.”

“I’d survive, you know.”

“What?”

“If I fell from here. I’d live.” 

‘If I jumped’ was left unsaid, but both Mr. Stark and Peter knew the words written between the lines. Peter could hear Mr. Stark’s heartbeat hammering in his chest. 

“Let’s not test that theory. I’m not asking again, Peter, let’s go inside.”

Without another word, Peter swung his legs back over the railing and followed Mr. Stark through the sliding glass doors. 

“Don’t do that again,” Mr. Stark said once they both were inside. He locked the glass door behind Peter and sat them both down at the common table. They both know the lock wouldn’t hold against Peter’s enhanced strength, but it gave Mr. Stark peace of mind. 

“Do what? Sit on the edge of stupidly high places and say stupid shit?”

“Exactly, don’t do that again.”

Peter scoffed and willed his anger down. “I don’t see why you care.”

“Peter.” Frustration riddled Mr. Stark’s voice. “I care- I’m trying to make this, make us , better again because I care about you.”

“And I wonder who’s fault it is for the way we are?” Peter snapped, standing up abruptly from his seat. “You can’t just pretend like things didn’t change, you can’t just pretend I’m still that starry eyed 15 year old you picked up for Germany that clings onto every word you say. I’m not, Mr. Stark, and I won’t be, no matter how much you pretend I am. It doesn’t work like that. You can’t turn back time because you pity me again.”

Peter unclenched his hands. He counted up to ten and back down to zero in his head, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. He sat back down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to shout.”

“No,” Mr. Stark said tersely, “I should be saying sorry. You’re right, I shouldn’t have pretended like- like nothing had changed. Because it has. And I’m sorry that things have changed.”

“Just… Why am I here, Mr. Stark?”

A beat passed. “Because I have suit updates.”

Scoffing again, Peter said, “Then I’m going home. I’ve upgraded it myself for a couple years now, I can keep doing it without your help.”

Peter stood up again but before he could start walking away, Mr. Stark grabbed onto his wrist and willed him to sit again. 

“No, stay. Sorry.” Mr. Stark took in a breath. “You’re here because first of all, I missed you.”

His heart jumped. “You missed me?” Peter wanted to ask so badly, then why did you push me away? but instead, he swallowed the heavy question.

“Yeah, Underoos, I did. I was washing the dishes and I got water all over the wall - don’t laugh, I got enough of that from Pepper - but then I saw the picture we took for the internship back when you were 15.”

“The one where I’m holding the internship paper upside down?” Peter cracked a small smile. 

“Yeah, that one,” said Mr. Stark softly. He shook his head and continued on. “Second of all, Cap and I have been amending the Accords. The council’s been calling for a meeting with Spiderman for a couple of months, but I’ve been holding them off because they don’t know you’re not 18 yet. That means Steve doesn’t know how old you really are; I keep saying that you’re young. So, we need to talk about how much you’re willing to release about yourself and what that means in relation to the new Accords.”

“As in, sign the Accords when I’m 18 and go public?”

Mr. Stark nodded. “I’m trying to get a work around on the secret identity part, but the council hasn't exactly been,” Mr. Stark threw his hands in the air, “ cooperative .”

“Then I can’t-”

“Peter.”

“I won’t sign it.”

“Are you serious? Listen, I get that the secret identity part is important to you, but you need to sign the Accords to operate, operate legally that is, as Spiderman. The Accords are going to be passed whether or not you sign them and it’s going to be easier to fight crime with your signature on the dotted line.”

“Still. The moment I go public, everyone I’ve ever known will be put in danger, not just the people I care about,” Peter said, eyes flashing. He thought of MJ and Ned, remembering the paralyzing fear he felt every time a villain fell adjacent to them. “It’s not just- it’s not just Aunt May and my friends who’re put at risk. It’s everyone. It’s my classmates, it’s Delmar’s, it’s the people I pass by on the street, it’s-”

“I get it, I get it. Will you think about it, though?”

“I can’t look out for the little guy if my face is everywhere.”

“Have you considered moving up a pay grade?” 

Peter shook his head. “I won’t sign the Accords unless the mask stays on.”

“This feels like arguing with Cap all over again, Jesus,” Mr. Stark groaned. “Okay how about this, we’ll call for a council meeting after you turn 18. From now till then, we’ll have time to try and push through changes, such as keeping your mask on or whatever, and you’ll have time to go through what the Accords really stand for this time ‘round.”

It was a good deal, Peter wouldn’t lie. He’d be 18 by the time of the council meeting and there’d be a chance to fully understand what he was signing onto. “Deal.”

Mr. Stark shot Peter a genuine smile, one he hasn’t seen in forever. “Are you serious?”

“I think I’ll be okay with whatever else is in the Accords this time, since you and Cap are going through it with a fine comb. I trust your judgement, but I just…”

“You want to keep your mask on.”

Peter nodded. “I want to keep them safe.”

“Then we’ll fight for it.” Mr. Stark looked back up at Peter. “So, you’ll sign?”

“As long as the mask stays on,” Peter said.

“As long as the mask stays on. Got it.”

-

It was weird having his own room at the compound, especially since Peter hasn’t been here since the end of his sophomore year. It was even weirder that Mr. Stark decorated it for him with things he actually enjoyed, like books about space and Star Wars and chemistry. It was weird, Peter thought as he laid down on ‘his’ bed and looked up at the smooth ceiling, to have something be so distinctly his without it belonging to him. 

In another life, maybe this room reserved for Peter would’ve felt like home. Maybe Peter wouldn’t have felt this deepset aching of wrongness, of unbelonging when he takes his shoes off beside the bed. Maybe if Peter could turn back the time to before fighting Toomes, to before wrecking that ship, he could’ve melted worry free into the cushions of the bed instead of having that sinking, sinking feeling in his chest that won’t go away. The bedsheets, in that alternate reality, would be soft with use and washed, and the pillows would be flattened and worn out. 

When Peter closed his eyes, all he could smell was the chemical fumes of the freshly painted walls, and when he opened them, all Peter could feel was the foreign fabric of the pyjamas he found in the closet brushing against his arms and legs. God, maybe it was a mistake to come here after all. 

“Good evening, Mr. Parker,” Friday called out, making Peter jump slightly. “Mr. Stark wishes to inform you that if you ever require anything that isn’t available in your room, please let me know and I’ll be able to get it for you.”

Friday’s disembodied voice was something that Peter couldn’t quite get used to, but still, it was a voice of comfort. He fondly thought of Karen.

“Tell Mr. Stark thanks for the offer, but I’m good,” said Peter. He looked around at the fully stocked shelves of clothes and toiletries, the mini-fridge that Peter was sure was stocked full, and at the desk that had new tech Peter was scared to break. “There isn’t anything I’ll need that isn’t already here.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Parker?” Friday asked again, soft and as full of care as an AI could be. “It would be no hassle, I assure you.”

In a way, Friday’s concern for Peter was an extension of Mr. Stark’s. Under her smart words and the layers and layers of coding, there laid Mr. Stark’s heart and worry because Friday, at the end of the day, was another tool Mr. Stark used to help the people he cared about discreetly.  

“Seriously, Friday, I’m all set.” 

“Alright, Mr. Parker.”

Then, Peter was left alone. 

And when was Peter ever not alone?

No matter what Mr. Stark said about how much he missed Peter, he had left him. He’d left him after Germany, he’d left him after the Staten Island Ferry split in half, and he’d left him after promising to never leave him again, after the Vulture dropped a building on Peter. Now, with a blanket pulled up to his nose, Peter was sure that after the Accords were sorted out, Mr. Stark would leave him again. For all the shit Mr. Stark claimed, he had a real funny way of showing Peter how much he cares. 

But Peter’s heart did a weird lurch and tug, the same way it acts when Peter thinks too hard about Ben or May, when Mr. Stark said he missed him. Thinking back on the conversation that happened in the common room after Peter dangled his feet over the balcony edge and tried hard not to let gravity run its course, Mr. Stark had casually - almost too casually - implied that he kept a picture of Peter in the kitchen. Not quite implied as much as blatantly stated, but Peter wasn’t going to place any bets until he could check himself. 

Peter let his eyes flutter shut, even if his spidey sense strummed lightly on every single one of his nerves. He thought of the hum of the car engine under the leather seats and the way Mr. Stark scooped his metal scraps into a bin for Peter. He thought of the plethora of pizzas Mr. Stark ordered for lunch and the shitty, greasy Chinese takeout they got for dinner. When Peter closed his eyes, the entire day flashed past his closed eyelids and his chest tightened at every reminder of the Accords or May or fixing his Spiderman suit. 

That night, Peter fell into a restless sleep. He dreamt of Ben and May and the library and ash white hair and those awful, awful hands all over him.

Chapter Text

• Third week of June, Sunday. Senior Year

Since May died, Peter hadn’t been able to sleep through the night. 

Saturday night was no exception. 

Whether it was for better or for worse, the bedsheets didn’t smell like the laundry detergent May liked and the air had a distinct clean, almost artificial, citrus smell to it. Nothing made his head swirl or his knuckles white or his heart pound against his ribs beside the widening gap May left, but nothing in the room had any sense of comfort to Peter. It was just books with uncracked spines, a dark oak table with an ergonomic chair Stark Industries manufactured, and untouched non-perishable snacks that Peter would leave untouched. 

When Peter opened his eyes on Sunday morning, blinking away the wisps of his dream and looking up at the advanced light fixtures built into the smooth ceiling, he let out a groan. 

“Good morning, Mr. Parker,” said Friday. “Mr. Stark is waiting for you in the dining room.”

Peter rolled onto his stomach and buried his face into the pillow. “Friday, what time is it?”

“It’s currently 8:42 in the morning.”

Cursing, Peter pulled himself out of bed. “Tell Mr. Stark I’ll be down soon, I’m just gonna get changed.”

“Of course, Mr. Parker.”

After changing and brushing, Peter followed Friday’s directions to the kitchen and dining room. Mr. Stark was already sitting by the main dining table with two plates set, checking his phone and watch frequently.

“Sorry I’m late,” Peter said, biting off the Mr. Stark before it could slip out again. “I slept in.”

“Figured. Don’t worry about it, I thought you needed the extra sleep anyways,” Mr. Stark said with a knowing look. “But since you were late, you have no choice on what’s for breakfast.”

“Oh?” Peter raised his eyebrows. After Mr. Stark waved him over, Peter sat down beside him and fiddled with the napkins on the table. 

Mr. Stark wagged his finger at Peter. “And no complaints about it either. I hope you like breakfast burritos.”

Peter snorted. “Since when do I complain about free food, especially burritos?”

“Hmm, that’s what I thought.” Mr. Stark checked his phone again. “They should be here any minute.”

While they waited for breakfast, an awkward silence settled between them. To fill it, Mr. Stark pulled out his Stark pad and Peter pulled out his phone. He opened texts from MJ and Ned, and responded to their endless, endless questions about how the compound was, how Mr. Stark was, and why Mr. Stark reached out to Peter again.

“You’re still using that archaic thing ?” Mr. Stark said incredulously, looking at Peter’s wrecked StarkPhone.

Peter drew his phone into his chest protectively. “Well, yeah?” His phone was fine, thank you very much. 

“I gave that to you, like, years ago.”

“I know, that’s why I’m still using it.”

“Jesus fu- c’mon Pete, there’s like 12 new models out now. 15 if you count the ones being released this year. Get one of those.”

“It’s not like this one doesn’t work? And plus, I rebuilt and recoded it with Ned so it links up with Karen and the suit.”

“And you chose to keep,” Mr. Stark tapped twice on the largest crack running down Peter’s phone, “that? You could’ve at least replaced the screen- wait, how’d you even crack the screen? I made it.”

Peter thought about how the phone slipped out of his Spiderman suit pocket when he was at the top of a tower and plummeted down before Peter even noticed. “I dropped it.”

“You sure you didn’t snap it in half on purpose? I mean look at the size of that crack, it’s like the freaking Grand Canyon.” Mr. Stark took Peter’s phone and examined it from the bottom port up to the back camera. “But considering your occupation, I guess it’s not in terrible shape. Still, it’s time for a much needed update.”

“What?”

“After we eat, we’re going to the labs again and getting you a new phone. You can ask Ted and Michelle or whoever if they want one too, then after , it’s suit time.”

“It’s Ned,” Peter said automatically, but once what Mr. Stark said finally clicked, he blanched. “Wait, are you serious?”

“I can be an asshole but I’m not cruel,” Mr. Stark said. “I can’t exactly have you running around buck naked with outdated tech again, so yes Pete, I’m serious. I’ll give you one of the unreleased phones and we’ll overwrite the coding with the one you made with Ned and you can see if your nerd friends want one.”

Peter nodded and snatched his phone back out of Mr. Stark’s hand. His question was met with an overwhelming “YES YES YES PETER GET ME ONE IF YOU DON’T I’M GOING TO BLOCK REPORT AND DEACTIVE YOU ON EVERY SINGLE FUCKING ACCOUNT” from Ned and “ah late stage capitalism strikes again. steal from the rich and get me a wicked phone robin hood” from MJ. 

After Mr. Stark and Peter ate their breakfast (and Peter having to deal with Mr. Stark asking if he wanted more or if he was still hungry or if he wanted snacks or fruit or water or juice or-), they went down to the labs. It was just like how they left it yesterday. 

And like yesterday, Peter felt a deep sense of unbelonging set into his bones.

It’ll be okay , Peter told himself, just breathe, in and out, nice and-

-

“Slow down there, Petey Pie, or you’ll get stains all over the spandex,” Wade said cheerily. “If you really wanted a reason to strip bare naked, I have an alphabetized list starting with a-fucking me .”

It was Tuesday night, the day after May had died. Peter still had patrol. At least Wade brought tacos?

“Yeah, go fuck yourself, Wade,” Peter said, words without any real bite to them. He continued to stuff his face, mask pulled up to his nose.

“Oh, I will,” Wade crooned. “Wanna lend me a hand, Bambi?”

Peter huffed out a laugh. “Give me one good reason, shithead.”

“You get to put your hand on my dick?” Wade, underneath his mask, wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and made Peter bark out another laugh. For a moment, Peter felt a semblance of normality return to his life. 

“I’ll push you off this roof, don’t test me.”

“But I’ve been such a good boy!”

“Good boy, my ass. Which dumbass here wasted half his ammo playing dodge the bullet with Matt?”

“Uh-”

“And then complained about said lack of ammo during our patrol?”

“Um-”

“Yeah, what a good boy,” Peter said, smiling crookedly. Banter came easy with Wade. Being himself came easy. Breathing came easy. “So go on, be a good boy, Wade, and pass me the rest of the tacos.”

“Since when were you such a dommy mommy, Petey Pie?” grumbled Wade. He caved, just like how Peter knew he would, and passed the greasy paper bag with tacos over to the smaller vigilante.

“Oh, don’t tell me you don’t like it.”

It’s been almost two years since Peter had met Wade, completely accidentally. It was the summer after sophomore year, just after Peter had turned 16, when he’d been caught in a crossfire.

That summer night, Peter didn’t go out as Spiderman, but like all nights, the suit was underneath his long sleeved clothes. He had to be prepared for anything, a lesson he learned from the Vulture, so the moment he heard a gunshot, Peter’s feet were moving without him realizing and his hands were fishing for his mask in his jean pockets. There were dozens of gunshots Peter heard before he got there.

Then, just as he was pulling on his mask and turning the corner of a dim lit alley, Peter came face to face with Deadpool. He was pressing the barrel of his gun against the forehead of a whimpering, bulbous shaped man, and pulled the trigger before Peter could stop him. The blood stained the soles of the Spiderman suit.

At 16, Peter had been idealistic like it was no one’s business, but it didn’t mean he was stupid. He knew who Deadpool was, he knew his reputation, which is why, despite his jittering nerves, Peter shot a web upwards and took haven on the nearby building's roof. Pulling up his mask to his nose, Peter threw up his dinner and dry heaved until he felt two taps on his shoulder. It scared Peter that his spidey sense didn’t work on Deadpool.

Deadpool, introducing himself as Wade Wilson, explained how both him and Porkie McPorkiePus saw Peter’s face and as a result, shot him, then went on a long tangent on how Peter needed to get better at keeping his face hidden if he was going to keep his identity a secret and how children like him shouldn’t be out past his bedtime (it’s only 10pm, it’s not late) and how he couldn’t believe Spiderman was fucking 9 years old (uh, I’m not nine , Wade!).

Wade, out of the ‘kindness of his heart’, had offered Peter an internship (another internship! Would you look at that?). When Peter had prodded, Wade admitted that he knew he couldn’t stop him from being Spiderman, but couldn’t in good conscience let Peter go out fighting crime as an untrained child soldier. 

If you’re choosing to be a child soldier, you might as well know how to fight, Wade had said. And I already know what you look like, it’s not like you can get in more danger with me looking over you. 

And that was the start of Team Red. Technically, Wade and Matt already knew each other and teamed up on occasion when they wanted to wreck havoc or cause chaos, but the addition of Peter had really solidified Team Red’s team-ship. Wade and Matt were like two awful influences that resolved personal issues by punching them, and most times it was Peter wrangling them up, but he wouldn’t trade them for the world. Not even for Tony. (Mr. Stark had been Tony back then, and had meant the world to Peter.)

Now, Peter’s world on that humid Tuesday night was in the morgue of a hospital. The tacos Peter was eating turned to ash in his mouth when he thought about it too hard.

“Uh oh, I know that look,” Wade started, frowning. “Something’s bothering my baby boy. Tell me, do I have to beat up another creep for you?”

“Nah, it’s- it’s nothing, Wade.”

“C’mon, you didn’t even say anything about me calling you baby boy, and you always say something so I know something’s up. Is it that little shit Flash again? Oh, when I get my hands on that fucker-“

“My aunt’s dead,” Peter whispered, “and I don’t know what to do.”

Wade stilled beside him. Peter knew how deeply Wade experienced grief with Vanessa. 

“I’m sorry, Peter.”

“It’s okay.”

“I wish I could tell you it gets easier, but it really doesn’t.” Wade shook his head. “When did she…”

“Yesterday. Yesterday night,” Peter said, voice shaking. “She was working, Wade. She was at work, and still…”

Wade cursed softly. “Do you need anything? I know we don’t talk about this shit, but-”

“Yeah, I get it. You’re here for me if I need anything,” Peter said, “I’m fine.”

Giving him a look, Wade nodded. Peter was grateful he wasn’t pushing it. They both knew that if Peter really wanted help, he’d ask when the time came. Wade put his heavy arm over Peter’s shoulder and pulled him into a half hug. It said more than anything Wade could ever say. It said, I’m here for you. I love you. You’re going to be okay. 

When Wade gave his shoulder a final tight squeeze, looking at the sun rising over the skyline, it said, You’re worth something. You’re worth fighting for. I’ll fight for you if no one else does. 

-

“Hello? Earth to Peter?”

Peter looked up from the phones he was fiddling with.

“There you are, you stopped listening 15 minutes ago, right after I started monologuing about the coding on your phone-” Mr. Stark’s voice faded to the background. “Oh there we go, I’m losing you again. Where’s your head at these days?”

Shrugging, Peter unplugged the reprogrammed phones from the work table, finally satisfied with the internals. He put the soldering tools down and picked up the backings and display screens Friday remade for him. Now, time to put everything together.

“Since you weren’t listening the first time around, I was wondering if I can use some of your coding for the newer models of the StarkPhones. You’ll be credited and get a cut of the profits if you’re worried about that, but seriously Pete. Some of it’s ingenious.”

“It wasn’t just me,” Peter said with a small smile growing. “Most of the genius comes from Ned, actually.”

Because Peter wasn’t thoughtless, he had Friday help make screen protectors and phone cases. He wasn’t barbaric or rich enough to afford using a phone without a protective case, and Peter knew that if he had a cool Star Wars phone case, Ned was going to want a matching one. MJ’s phone came with a little stylus for doodling that sat flush against the inside of the phone case. It felt a bit like putting together a goodie bag to Peter when he put the phones in the cases with the screen protectors one, put them each in a plain, black phone box, and then put the boxes in a gift bag. There were no names or brands attached to either the phone or the packaging, which Peter and MJ would like, but Ned would hate for lack of bragging rights. 

“Alright, I’m all done with the phones,” Peter said, looking at Mr. Stark. 

Mr. Stark had been sitting at the other work table, watching Peter work all morning. He gave input when Peter asked, which was rare, and when Mr. Stark had an idea, he’d ask Peter what he thought of it. He didn’t run over Peter’s pet project or over take it in any way. Peter rather liked this way of working in the lab. 

What Peter didn’t like was Mr. Stark’s analytical eyes judging every choice he made, like why he chose aluminum over titanium or why he used these dimensions on the blueprint but changed it midway through. He felt Mr. Stark watching him work from the initial blueprint sketch up to him applying thermal paste to soldering to putting the complete phones in three seperate unlabeled boxes. 

“Alright, Pete, off to work on the Spidey suit.”

And so they did. 

It was more of a collaborative job than the phones. Mr. Stark had enough ideas to make two suits all at once, so two suits they made. One was the nanotech suit Mr. Stark suggested the day before, and the other was a mix between an Iron Man suit and the original Spiderman suit. 

Like before, Peter had been pleasantly surprised when he’d be able to do most of the building, assembly, and programming. It’s an engineer’s pride to build their own crap to use, and Peter had spent the better part of his highschool career studying nanotechnology like it was no one’s business. He spent the better part of his childhood studying the Iron Man suit too, so it all came quite naturally to him. He worked and Mr. Stark piped in his ideas and they worked together and it was fine and Peter didn’t know what else he expected out of lab hours. 

The nanosuit fit into two slim, black inconspicuous bracelets that doubled as his web shooters. They were simple enough to put on and take off, and Peter made sure that Mr. Stark didn’t include a 24 hour tracking device hidden in the bands. Peter found that the nano suit was intuitive and comfortable to use within the first half an hour of testing it, even if when activated, the suit formed under his clothes (and over his underwear, thank you compsci) and left little room for imagination. 

The iron-spider suit, on the other hand, took eons to get used to. It felt heavy and inflexible, despite being made from the same nanites, compared to the original Spiderman suit and the other nano suit. The only real upside was that it was powered by a secondary arc reactor, hidden under the spider symbol on the back of the suit. It felt much more mechanical to Peter, and the heaviness stemmed from the similarities to the Iron man suit. 

Peter fitted the iron-spider suit to a normal looking watch. The analog watch had a black face, which was really where all the nanites were stored, with white hour marks and arms. With a press of the button, the watch face transforms from an analog to a hypersmart digital watch with Karen built in. With three presses, the nanites are released and form the iron-spider suit under Peter’s clothes (and over his underwear). 

Under inspection and a metal detector, his bracelets and watch look just as they appear to be: a watch and metal bracelets. They can’t be activated by anyone other than Peter, and under very extreme situations, Ned, MJ, and reluctantly Mr. Stark. 

“Well damn, Pete,” Mr. Stark said, patting Peter on the shoulder. “You’ve out done yourself.”

“Thanks,” said Peter softly. He still didn’t know what to think about working in the lab with Mr. Stark again, but he had to admit it was nice to just work without worrying about the consequences of getting things wrong. He had unlimited supplies here, unlimited access to chemicals and metals and equipment and things Peter can’t afford. Things Peter has been borrowing or stealing or using from Midtown. 

“I believe this calls for lunch,” said Mr. Stark, “What are you feeling today? I could go for burgers but Pep said I needed to watch my cholesterol. Don’t want to antagonize the dragon, so I hope you have healthier tastes than me.”

Peter opened his mouth, but Mr. Stark cut in again, “And don’t say salads either or I’ll set something on fire.”

Peter closed his mouth, smiling. “Well, how do you feel about sushi?”

“Great! Sushi it is. Sushi’s healthy, right?” 

“I guess?” Peter didn’t take food and nutrition in highschool or any of the cooking classes. “Well, I’d say it’s healthier than burgers.”

“Well that’s good enough for me. Fri, you know the drill.”

“Already on it, Sir. Sushi is on it’s way.”

Lunch, like breakfast, was full of awkward lulls in the conversation. Even when Mr. Stark had been Tony, Peter thought the two didn’t know that much about one another. They bonded over science and debated on their opposing views about the vastness of space. They talked shop and talked about how the holes in Peter’s shoes weren’t lab safe because they weren’t ‘closed toe shoes’ anymore. They talked about how awesome Pepper was and how cool Rhodey was and Vision’s true origin story- not the publicized reader friendly version. They talked about how dumb Midtown’s science classes were and how dumb the Rogues were and how dumb bullies were and how dumb having crushes were. 

On second thought, nevermind. They used to be pretty close. 

And now, they didn’t even know how to talk to each other. 

Peter didn’t have much to say to Mr. Stark either. But apparently Mr. Stark did.

“So, how’s Michelle?”

That’s what they were going to talk about?

“She’s fine.”

“I mean, how are you and Michelle doing?”

“I know what you mean,” Peter said, chest rising with a huff. “We aren’t dating.”

Mr. Stark raised his eyebrow. “Really? Because I remember some real cute conversations about her from you.”

“C’mon, I was like 15. You can’t use those conversations against me anymore.”

“Oh but I can if you still like her.”

“Just finish your sushi,” Peter muttered. “And I don’t like her.”

“Alright, alright, don’t get testy with me now,” Mr. Stark placated with a smile. 

“And how’s Pepper doing?”

“That’s supposed to embarrass me?”

Peter barked out a laugh, a habit Mr. Stark noticed that happened everytime Peter thought something was incredulous. “No, I’m just curious.”

“She’s great. An angel. The light of my life. I wanted to bring her down so she could say hi again, but she said she didn't want to overwhelm you."

“You really love her, don’t you?” Peter asked. He looked up from his half eaten sushi tray, prodding at the grains of rice. 

He saw the soft smile on Mr. Stark’s face. It was different from how Mr. Stark smiled at him, different from how Mr. Stark smiled during interviews. When Peter caught Mr. Stark smiling at him on occasion (less frequent now that it had been years ago), it had been with this sort of unbearable mirth, eyes in half crescents and mouth split wide open with an unapologetic grin. It made Peter’s heart heavy.

The smile Mr. Stark had for Pepper had always been softer around the edges, melting away at the corners of his eyes. There was no harshness that came with interview smiles. There was no hatred, no resentment - not that Peter expected any, but those sentiments had been prevalent in most of Mr. Stark’s expressions. For Pepper, there was only devotion and admiration, tinted with a mischievous streak. 

“We’re expecting, you know?” said Mr. Stark. He looked a fool, smiling like that. It was a good look on him, Peter thought. He glowed. “We’re keeping it down low, but I thought I should tell you.”

Peter took the time to look at Mr. Stark again, trying to burn that goofy, dopey smile into his memory. When Mr. Stark met Peter’s eyes and his smile faltered for the briefest of moments, Peter brightened his expression. It felt artificial, but his smile brightened Mr. Stark’s. 

And if Mr. Stark was happy, Peter was happy too.

He didn’t know how to convey the depth of his sincerity in words, but Peter hoped Mr. Stark understood him. Softly, Peter said, “You’re going to be an amazing dad.”

As if there was no lost time between them, Mr. Stark understood exactly how deep that sentiment ran. It meant more than being a good father, it meant not being Mr. Stark’s father, it meant being affectionate, it meant compassion and love and physical touch and understanding. It meant being the father that Mr. Stark never had. It meant being Ben. Peter pretended not to see the redness in Mr. Stark’s eyes and pretended not to hear the wetness in his voice. Mr. Stark pretended not to see Peter’s lips quiver.

“Thanks, Pete.”

Chapter Text

• Third week of June, Monday. Senior Year - Part 1

When Peter arrived at school the following Monday morning in the back of Happy’s car, he was met with a flurry of students. He, in his tired, uncaffeinated state, had been too preoccupied with ‘resting’ his eyes and fending off sleep to remember telling Happy to drop him off farther away from Midtown. 

There was a reputation around Peter that circulated around Midtown’s underclass students that he was a liar. It was fueled from Flash’s endless rumour mill that no one actually believed, but it was enough to make the reputation stick. Usually, people left Peter alone if he kept his head down, and for that Peter was eternally grateful, but showing up in a fancy car with a chauffeur? And the chauffeur was THE Happy Hogan? That was exactly the opposite of keeping his head down. 

Happy decided to come early too, dammit. 

Getting out of the car, the very nice sleek black car that screamed WEALTH, the car that no one at Midtown could afford, was an experience that Peter wished to never experience. He felt a bit like Mr. Stark being crowded by paparazzi sharks. 

“Just duck your head and run, kiddo,” Happy said. He was amused. “The longer you wait, the more people are going to look at you.”

“Laugh at me while you’re at it,” Peter muttered, grabbing his backpack and unbuckling his seat belt.

“Oh, I am.”

Peter opened the car door, careful not to rip it right off its hinges. 

And fuck, were there ever people looking at him. 

He closed the door quickly, also careful not to leave any dents, and walked as fast as he could to the main entrance. Running would catch more eyes.

With his ears burning hot red and his neck flushed, Peter managed to make it to his locker without any sort of interaction from Flash.

“AcaDeca meeting today at lunch,” MJ said, slamming Peter’s locker shut.

Peter would never admit it, but MJ scared the living shit out of him more often than any other person he has ever known. 

“Jesus,” Peter muttered, “Way to scare a man into his grave, MJ.”

“Your little spidey sense ,” MJ said in a mock whisper, wagging her fingers at Peter’s face, “didn’t do anything?”

“Generally, a teenage girl shutting a locker in my face doesn’t seem life threatening, so no .”

“Even if that teenage girl is the captain of the AcaDeca club, who will cause bodily harm if you aren’t at our meeting at lunch?” 

“Especially if it’s her.”

MJ smiled, looking content with herself. “Maybe you should reconsider that statement.”

Ned, appearing out of thin air, opened his locker between MJ and Peter. “Stop flirting, I’m getting nauseous here. Save it for after school where it’s preferably, not in my fucking face.”

“I-”

“We’re not flirting-”

“Yes, you guys are,” Ned smiled placatingly. He had that stupid, knowing grin on his face that told Peter that Ned wasn’t letting his go or letting Peter win this. “And once you two sort out all your messy, sticky feelings, you both will owe me big time. ”

“Drop it, Leeds,” said MJ, pointing a warning finger at Ned. 

And Ned? That maniac? He just smiled back at MJ. Like a fool with no self preservation skills. Peter thought he held a healthy amount of fear and respect for MJ, like everyone should. 

Ned leaned in closer to MJ, pushing away her finger. He whispered, “Never,” and guffawed at MJ’s baffled face. 

“See you guys at decathlon!” he said, walking away with his books. 

Why, dear God, did Ned have to bring up this topic? Why now? Peter couldn’t even look MJ in the eyes anymore, and opted to open his locker again to fiddle with the lock. At least his hair was long enough to cover the tips of his burning red ears. 

“So, Parker,” MJ started, readjusting her side bag. “See you at lunch? Room 303?”

Smiling weakly, Peter said, “Well, if I wasn’t there, I’d risk body mutilation. You can count me in.”

“Great! I’ll uh-” MJ jutted her thumbs behind her to point down the hall. 

“Well we should, uhm, get to class before-” Peter replied, shutting his locker door. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna go-”

They did that awkward shuffling dance where Peter went right and MJ went right and they bumped into each other and then Peter went left and then MJ went left and-

Well, the point was made. Peter was the human embodiment of awkward nerves and it affected everyone; even MJ, who was the coolest person Peter had met. Thinking of what awaited Peter during lunch, that same sinking feeling in his gut reappeared. 

-

“Nelson, Murdock, and Page! How can I help you today?”

“Hey Karen, it’s Peter. Is Matt in today?”

“Oh, hey Pete! Sorry, I didn't read the display name, but Matt’s in right now. You planning on swinging by?”

“Ha ha, you’re hilarious. Can you tell him I’m coming in at 5pm? I wasn’t sure if he was busy so I didn’t text his cell.”

“Course. You want to stay for dinner?”

Peter smiled at Karen’s kindness. “If you’ll have me, yes.” 

“Great, we’re having Italian tonight,” Karen said brightly. Peter could hear her jot it down in her daily planner through the telephone speaker. “And aren’t you supposed to be in school? It’s what, 10:23 in the morning? You should be in class now.”

“Well, I...”

“Go on, Peter.”

“Nevermind, I don’t have a good reason. I’m hiding in the bathroom to avoid chemistry class.”

“Hm, that’s what I thought,” Karen said. Even through the phone, Peter could hear her smile in her voice. “Go back to class and we’ll sort things out later, alright?”

“Sure thing.”

“Have fun mixing acids together and melting cauldrons.”

Peter snorted. “That’s not exactly how chemistry works, but alright. Bye!”

“Later!”

Karen, Peter thought, was one of the nicest people ever. Like, ever ever. Like in the entire world ever. The reason for his conclusion? Karen always, without a doubt, made fun of Matt whenever Matt was making fun of Peter because she and Foggy were the only people who could reign in Matt’s awful sense of humor that Peter didn’t quite get. And, Karen always saved Peter some of the muffins their clients brought (it didn’t matter if they were stale, Peter loved free food).

Sighing, Peter picked up his bag and walked back to his chemistry class. Balancing stoichiometric equations was awfully boring, but at least Peter was graduating in two weeks time. Two weeks until Peter was free of needing to find the average isotopic mass of an element over and over and over again. Two weeks until Peter didn’t have to do titration labs. 

Peter shoved his phone - the old one, not the one he made at the compound, he was saving those for after school - into his bag, turning it off completely. He slipped through the back door of the chemistry lab (because yes, there were two doors) and sat beside Ned, pulling out his notes. 

“You didn’t miss anything,” Ned told him. “We’re still doing-”

“Acid base titrations, got it,” Peter replied, looking at the unchanged board. 

“I don’t know why we’re doing acid base shit again, we learned it three units ago.”

“Cobbwell is just giving us busy work so he doesn’t have to teach for the next two weeks.”

“If that ain’t the peak of highschool education, I don’t know what is.”

“It’s better than cramming a new unit in two weeks, that’s for sure.”

Ned groaned, “God, tell me about it. Dell assigned an extra credit paper due by Friday about whatever the hell he’s teaching this afternoon. MJ texted me about it a couple minutes ago.”

“Extra credit? So it’s optional?” Peter smiled when Ned confirmed. “Yeah, I’m not doing that.” 

“Only you can literally afford losing out on a 3% bonus because you’ll still have the highest GPA in our year,” replied Ned. “Which I hate you for, by the way. I want your brain. Hand it over, now.”

Peter gave Ned’s extended hand a high five and the two of them spent the rest of their chemistry class laughing quietly between themselves. The rest of the class was talking too, much louder than Peter and Ned, so Peter told Ned that he had a secret.

“What, what is it?” Ned said in a frantic whisper. “Is it… internship related?”

“Well, sorta. I have a gift. For you and MJ.”

“Oh my god, it’s the phones, isn’t it? I literally could not stop thinking about it all day yesterday and-”

“Okay, pipe down bud, we’re still keeping things really casual now. But yeah, I’ll give you guys them after school.”

Ned shot Peter a wide grin. “Does it have Karen installed?”

“Karen the AI, yes, not Karen the lawyer friend. Karen is installed in all three cuz it’ll be easier for us to keep in contact, and it’s our code. Oh, that reminds me, Mr. Stark said that-”

“Yeah, that…?”

Hesitating slightly, Peter said, “On second thought, I’ll tell you after school, I don’t want you to combust in the middle of chem.”

“You’re an awful person Peter and I hate you for that,” Ned said, whining. “You know I hate waiting, so why must you torture my poor heart and soul? Can’t you just tell me? Tell me and I’ll love you forever and ever and you’ll be my bestest best friend and-”

Peter let out a cackle. “I’ll tell you after school, don’t worry.”

“I hope your twitter account gets banned.”

“Now that’s just low,” Peter whistled. 

-

Lunch came pretty fast; chemistry ended nicely, physics was pretty easy, and then suddenly, Peter was walking to the cafeteria. MJ was already at their table with their trays, so Peter sat down while waiting for Ned to come back from their lockers. 

“Where’s nerd number two?” MJ asked, holding a book open with one hand while using her other to poke at her sad broccoli with a fork.

“She’s sitting right across from me, what do you mean?”

“You’re hilarious, Parker, the peak of comedy. I don’t hear you denying being nerd number one though,” replied MJ.

“Why deny the truth?” grinned Peter. “We all gotta embrace who we are, and it’s only time til you admit to secretly loving Star Wars like the rest of us.”

“We both know I watch it for the hot ladies. Not that I’m-”

“Objectifying them, just appreciating them, I know the drill MJ.”

Looking up from her book, MJ gave Peter this look. When their eyes met, her smile - half amused, half incomprehensible - split across her face, Peter’s stomach did flips. He opened his mouth to attempt to continue the conversation wittily, but looking back into her eyes and seeing MJ’s lazy grin, Peter felt like nothing he could ever say would encapsulate the entirety of what he felt. 

So, he settled on saying, “But you definitely watch Star Wars for young Anakin, not the plot.”

MJ snorted and pushed Peter’s lunch tray towards him. “Shut up and eat your limp broccoli.”

“Or you’ll make me?”

“Sure, unless you like your sauce congealed and cold,” said MJ, heavy on the sarcasm, “I won’t judge your fatal character flaws.”

Huffing a laugh, Peter asked, “Fine, name one fatal character flaw of mine.”

“For one, you like congealed sauce. And that’s gross .”

Peter shook his head, chuckling. “That doesn’t count, MJ, name another one.”

Poking at her broccoli before closing her book, MJ looked at the cafeteria ceiling, pondering. 

“You know what, I plead the fifth.”

“You plead the fifth?”

“Yeah, I plead the fifth. You can’t make me say shit,” MJ said, sticking her tongue to mock Peter. “Ha, suck on that, Parker.”

“You’re such a loser, Jones,” Peter said with a laugh. 

“Yet you want me to insult you?” MJ scrunched up her nose. “That’s lame.”

“Well you’re lame,” replied Peter petulantly. 

When MJ didn’t say anything, just giving him another one of those mischievous grins and a half hearted shove, Peter felt the tips of his ears darken as his own grin split open.

“God, what did I say about flirting in my face?” said Ned with a groan. “Feeling perpetually single right about now.”

Peter’s blush darkened. His cheeks were hot and his neck flushed pink, both getting worse when Ned teased him about it. And when Ned teased him about it, Peter couldn’t look MJ in the eye for fear she’d actually see how much she meant to him. 

“Well,” MJ said, “Let’s hurry up and finish lunch so we can get to the AcaDeca meeting in five.”

“Yes ma’am,” Ned saluted. “Sorry I took so long at my locker. Betty caught me in a conversation.”

“Oh?” Peter raised an eyebrow. “Did she now? I thought you said you were feeling perpetually single .”

“Eat your lunch, Parker,” replied Ned.

“Guess you can’t take your own medicine now, huh?” Peter smiled placatingly. Seeing the glare Ned gave him made Peter feel so incredibly happy cuz man , it was nice to tease Ned instead of being the one that’s teased.

“Three minutes, now.”

“Sorry.”

-

Decathlon meeting ended up being more pleasant than what Peter previously expected. They announced next year's captain and the competition front line up, which made Peter’s heart hurt a little. He’s spent his entire high school career in this club, before and after the spider bite. Sure, he hadn’t always been the most committed, especially after getting the ‘Stark Internship’ for the first time, but Midtown’s decathlon team had been a constant in Peter’s life. He’s spent hours and hours in the classroom, spent endless lunches and afternoons with his seniors, his classmates, and now, his successors. 

The decathlon team has gone on before Peter and it’ll go on after him, but it doesn’t mean Peter won’t miss his time on the team. 

“Whatcha thinking about up there?” MJ asked, bumping her shoulder against his. 

Mr. Harrison has been talking at the team for a couple minutes now, about everything and nothing. Sometimes, it’s nice to hear him just talk. Peter didn’t know how many times he’ll get to see Mr. Harrison after he graduates and he refuses to be one of those people that hang out at their old high schools. 

“You’re all spacey,” said Ned, “and spacey Peter is a sad Peter.”

“Nah, it’s nothing guys,” Peter replied, looking up at Mr. Harrison. “I guess I’ll just miss this. You know, seeing you guys every day, being on the team and stuff.”

“I get it,” MJ said. “I sure as hell won’t miss this hell hole, but I get it. It’s weird cuz I can’t wait to get out but I’ll miss the team.”

“I dunno, it’s just like… I feel like everything that we’ve done… Will anyone even remember it? Did it even matter?”

“Probably not, but I had fun,” Ned said. “I don’t think it matters to me if anyone after us remembers what we’ve done as long as we do, right?”

“I guess.”

“Don’t worry Peter, people will remember us as the year who got to visit the Avenger’s compound. It’ll make everyone jealous when they see our picture with Tony Stark,” said MJ, giving Peter a consolation shoulder pat.

“Wait,” Peter interjected, “We’re meeting Mr . Stark ?” 

“Fuck, I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe this is happening to us,” Ned gushed. “This trip is gonna be so fucking cool .”

Peter was still trying to wrap his head around the decathlon team meeting Mr. Stark and taking a picture with him. Should he be more concerned about how the team would react or Mr. Stark? They have equal chances of embarrassing Peter, and despite what others thought, Peter still cared about his pride. 

“C’mon MJ, what else is on the itinerary? Do we get to visit the labs or the kitchens or are we getting free lunch cuz I have a feeling they’d have awesome food and I really wanna try it out or or or are we gonna be able to have a live Q & A with Tony Stark cuz I have so many questions for him or are we-”

“I’m not saying shit, Leeds,” MJ replied. Ned pleaded, grasping her arm and shaking her gently, incessantly begging for any morsel of information MJ could give him. “Give up while you’re ahead cuz I’m not saying shit.”

“But you’d tell us if we’re meeting Pepper Potts, right?” Ned asked, still holding onto MJ’s arm.

It was barely a smile, barely a change in expression actually, but the corners of MJ’s lips quirked upwards for the briefest of seconds. 

“Holy shit,” Ned gasped. “You’re joking.”

“I didn’t say anything, Ned,” replied MJ with her face set back to neutral. 

“But you made the face.”

“Did I?”

“You saw it, didn’t you Peter?”

Peter met eyes with MJ. 

“No, you guys don’t get to do that. Go practice your couple telepathy outside of this conversation we’re having.”

“What? You do the same thing with Betty all the time,” Peter exclaimed. “And we’re not dating.”

“And that’s the difference between me and you two. I actually dated Betty-”

MJ scoffed, “Yeah, on and off for like two years-”

“-So, I know what couple telepathy looks like from first hand experience.”

Whining, Peter asked, “Are you ever going to let this go?”

Ned patted Peter on the knee, practically laughing in his face. “Never, my sweet friend, never.”

-

It was a whole event giving the new phones to Ned and MJ. It was more Ned overreacting than MJ, but it’s what Peter expected. Ned loved the matching cases, played with the settings and loaded up Karen as his beefed up version of Siri, and nearly cried out of joy when Peter told him Mr. Stark wants to use some of Ned’s coding for the upcoming StarkPhones. 

MJ, on the other hand, took the phone Peter gave her and gave him such a sincere smile that it almost made him cry. Her phone case was clear, made specifically so it wouldn’t oxidize or brown. That way, MJ could put her drawings on the back of her phone. 

“Thanks, Peter,” MJ said, fiddling with the phone’s stylus. “I don’t know what to say. Just, thank you.”

“I, uhm,” stuttered Peter, “I- you guys still don’t have full access to Karen’s systems. Still haven’t figured out that part, but you guys can still see, uh, locations and health reports and use her to call.”

“Aw man, maybe we should just develop our own AI,” Ned responded. “We could call it something cool as hell.”

“Why do I have a feeling it’ll be some dumb Star Wars reference?” MJ said, pocketing her phone tenderly. “Something stupid too.”

“Well, if the majority agrees…”

“And that’s if - and only if - Peter wants to name our AI after a Star Wars reference.”

“Hey! I can personally ensure the name Peter agrees to will not be stupid.”

“You better because I will personally ensure that our AI will not have a stupid name.”

“Wow, who knew co-parenting would be so hard,” Ned said, bumping his shoulder against MJ’s. 

MJ bumped Ned’s shoulder back. “It would be easier if our AI’s third parent would contribute to name suggestions. Any thoughts, Peter?”

It was nice to see MJ and Ned bickering like this. It was nice to see them get lost in their own conversations, feeling incredibly out of place and welcome at the same time. 

“Yeah, any thoughts from the third parent?”

“I think you guys are full of crap,” grinned Peter. “I can’t believe you guys are shitting on Star Wars names. What’s wrong with space names in general?”

“Oh my god, you’re even worse than Ned.”

-

Peter went back to the apartment after giving Ned and MJ the phones. He laid his phone face down on his desk and suddenly, his limbs felt limp and heavy. His body, though firm from constant movement and exertion, had this deep and unnerving weight that was cast upon Peter as if a weighted blanket was thrown over him. It made Peter slowly droop to the floor, falling almost comically; first landing on his hands and knees before laying on his stomach, face pressed on the dusty hardwood. 

In an hour, Peter would get up. 

In an hour, Peter would activate the nano-Spiderman suit hidden bracelets made in Mr. Stark's labs, head over to Matt’s office for a chat, and have dinner before going on patrol with Team Red. 

In an hour, Peter would put on this façade of a happier person instead of the muted, angry monster that he’s become. 

But in an hour. For now, Peter would allow himself to ease into the numbness of sleep, drifting so far down in his dreams that May’s last hug felt real and firm against his skin, that the curls in her hair would tickle his nose as he kissed her forehead.

He would have to get up, but for an hour, Peter would dream.

Chapter Text

• Third week of June, Monday. Senior Year - Part 2

The Wednesday after May died, Peter went to go see Matt Murdock. 

He came only because Wade said Matt would be able to help. He didn’t want to let anyone else know about May because saying it out loud would only solidify what Peter was avoiding. If Peter told others about May, it makes what happened much more real. And it still doesn’t feel real.

“I’m surprised that social services haven’t paid you a visit yet,” Matt had said.

Matt, if anything, was the unexpected. He was caring like no one’s business but his brain worked faster than his heart at times. 

“I’m sorry for your loss, Peter,” he had said afterwards, pulling Peter into a side hug. “I should’ve started with that, I’m sorry. You loved your aunt very much, and I know she loved you too.”

It was different from the hug Peter got from Wade. With Wade, his feelings were all consuming, like the high tide receding only to come crashing back like a tsunami and the hug from Wade reflected that. It was heavy, overwhelming, but welcome because Peter was a drought ridden plain that would gratefully soak up any water offered. 

Now, being properly pulled into a hug by Matt, Peter felt like wet sand being smoothed over by the ocean’s gentle waves. Peter has known Matt for almost two years, he knew what made the man tick and what made him feel better after a shitty night. Peter had patched Matt up more often than Wade had, simply because Matt wanted Peter to practice his first aid skills, and Peter had crashed on Matt’s couch several times after patrol. If Peter knew Matt, then Matt knew Peter just as well.

Which is why Matt pulling Peter into a full hug, cradling Peter’s head and flattening his hair, meant so much to Peter. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” said Matt.

“It’s only been two days,” Peter whispered. His voice trembled when Matt pushed back hair from his eyes. “I don’t want to go into foster care.”

“Let me see what I can do.”

• Third week of June, Monday. Senior Year 

Peter knocked twice on the glass doors of Nelson, Murdock, and Page. “It’s Peter!”

“Come in,” Karen called from inside, “the door's unlocked.”

The handle of their firm’s door was cold to the touch, a heavy metal handle that Peter tried really hard not to bend out of shape when he tugged the door open. His bag was dropped to the floor as Karen pulled him in a quick hug. 

“Hey Pete,” said Foggy, “how you holding up?”

Peter shrugged. Asking Matt for help meant telling Karen and Foggy, which didn’t exactly go over well for him, but it was the best decision at the end of the day. “I’ve been better, but I hear we’re getting italian for dinner.”

Snapping his fingers and pointing at Peter, Foggy drew out a small laugh from Peter. “That’s right, and who’s card are we charging it to?”

He appreciated Foggy so much. He always tried to make Peter smile. “Matt’s?”

“Bingo! The kid gets free garlic bread tonight, charged under Matt’s name of course.”

“If it’s under my card, it wouldn’t exactly be free, would it?” said Matt, opening his office door to greet Peter. “I think we should charge it to Wade’s card.”

Peter barked out a laugh. “How do you even have Wade’s card?”

“Simple, he gave it to me.”

“Did he, Matt?” Karen asked. “Or did you make another one of those bets.”

“It’s not my fault he’s shit at chess,” Matt grinned. “I’m a blind man and he still can’t beat me at chess with two functional eyes.”

“Is he coming over for dinner, too?” Peter asked.

“God, no,” Foggy said. “He still scares the crap outta me.”

“He has literally hit on you, Fogs,” said Karen. 

“Exactly, that’s what scares me! What does he want from me?”

“Okay, to be fair,” Peter started, “Wade hits on everyone, it isn’t personal. He’s as harmless at heart.”

“As long as you aren’t a dog abuser,” Matt added. “He has a real soft spot for pets.”

“Yeah, unless you’re that,” Peter echoed. “But he likes seeing people’s reactions. Wade gets a kick outta that. It’s funnier if you go along with it, but if you tell him to stop seriously, he’ll leave you alone.”

“I tell him to shut up all the time, but he still makes comments about my ass,” said Matt. 

“Well, that’s because you like it, Matthew,” Karen said. “And you instigate arguments with him so you can’t complain about him not shutting up.”

“Alright, alright, let’s move on,” replied Matt, grumbling. “How was school, Peter?”

“Yeah, tell the class why you skipped chemistry to call Karen in the morning,” Foggy said. 

“What is this, a teenage gossip circle?” 

“We have to get our drama somewhere, not all of us are still going through the throes of puberty and high school,” replied Foggy. “Now tell us, I’m invested.”

“Well, you know how I told you guys last week that Mr. Stark invited me back to the compound?”

“Yeah,” the three of them chorused.

“And you guys know how he invited my decathlon team for a field trip to the compound after graduation?”

“Yeah.”

“So, Mr. Stark offered me the Stark Internship again.”

“Yikes,” Karen hissed. “And how do you… Do you still want it after all this time?”

“I mean, yeah. And it’s paid now, which is great.”

“Hey! We pay you!” Foggy exclaimed. 

Laughing, Peter said, “You guys also make me use my alias to get pictures for your cases. Not that I’m complaining, but…”

“It’s Stark,” Matt said. 

Peter nodded, “Yeah. I can’t really say no.”

“Man, it feels like I just lost custody of my favourite child to my asshole ex,” Foggy said.

Peter knew exactly what Foggy was talking about. To make time for the Stark Internship, it meant cutting back on patrol hours, cutting back on time spent with Wade and Matt and Foggy and Karen. It meant, in some way, shape, or form, that Peter was prioritizing Mr. Stark over them even after Mr. Stark had left Peter. 

“So,” Karen started, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “What’s going to happen with this? With avoiding foster care for the next,” Karen checked her phone calendar, “Eight weeks?”

“I was, uh,” Peter started. 

“We should keep working for it,” Matt said, heaven sent. “I’ve been in contact with your new social worker, some lazy piece of crap that makes our lives easier but his work attitude is mildly concerning, and he’s pushing for either emergency foster placement or temporary housing.”

“And?” beaconed Peter.

“Well, since you’re technically employed with us-” Peter huffed out a laugh, “oh, don’t give me that, it’s on your tax returns, Karen made sure of it. But because you’re turning 18 so soon and you have proof of income outside of your uncle’s life insurance payments that go on for a couple more months, it’s highly unlikely your social worker with his amazing work ethic will do anything further.”

“Oh. That seems easier than I thought it would be.”

Foggy laughed. “Only because Matt is vicious and your shit social worker doesn’t care for his job. We’ll still have to go to court and get it all sorted out officially.”

“And how long will that take? I heard waiting for a court date could take months, and if it’ll take months, I’ll be eighteen and it won't matter anymore, right?”

“We have most of the papers ready and I have a couple favors from Judge Batzer that I can call in to push the paperwork through fast,” Matt said. “Even if you did turn eighteen before everything is figured out, there still are a lot of legal benefits - like ensuring you still get life insurance payments - that come with going to court.”

“I guess the only thing to consider right now,” started Karen in a soft tone, “is if you want to keep going and if you want Mr. Stark’s help. I don’t think you’ll be able to keep this from him much longer.”

“No, I want to keep going. I don’t even want Mr. Stark to know about May,” said Peter, voice feeling constricted. “I want to see this through.”

“Alright,” Foggy said finally. “So I guess we didn’t lose full custody after all. Huzzah?”

“Don’t get all sappy now, Foggy.” Peter grinned at Foggy’s statement. “It’s more like Mr. Stark gets to see me every other weekend. You’re stuck with me full time.”

“That’s relieving to hear,” Matt said, patting Peter on the shoulder. “I’m glad we get to keep our resident dinner guest. I sure as hell wouldn’t touch half the things you eat with the end of my walking stick and Karen doesn’t have the stomach for it either.”

“I really don’t,” Karen laughed prettily, “and it’s wonderful that - you know, you’ll still be around, Peter.”

Something in Peter’s heart gave a sudden lurch. 

“It’s nice to be around,” he said softly. Taking a breath to reinvigorate himself, Peter continued, “So, legal work. Should we get started?”

Gesturing to the stack of papers on his desk, Matt said, “There’s no time like the present.”

-

Patrol that night was brutal. But Peter knew he was chasing something deeper, more sinister than simple robberies and bank heists. The wickedness of the city was so thick, so tangible that Peter could almost taste it. The vileness of the city’s underbelly clung to Peter like the smell of smoke in the late night air. 

Matt had said the same thing. Something was going on in New York and Team Red was going to put an end to it, no matter what the risks were.

-

More often than not, Peter would lie in bed thinking about Ben. 

After Ben had passed, it happened every night, and after May passed, Peter thought of them both. It was cyclical; he goes to bed thinking about what Peter could’ve stopped and he wakes up to keep himself busy until he can rest again. 

Throughout the day, there wasn’t time to think about them. Peter kept himself busy between school work and decathlon and Spiderman, and now, the renewed Stark Internship so his mind wouldn’t drift. In his tendons, there was this heaviness that Peter wanted to crush and grind between his bones so it would stop. The heaviness wore him down day after day, letting Peter’s life become mottled with reminders of them. 

So when Peter laid in bed at night, looking up at the shitty popcorn ceiling, he thought of Ben, May, and him hiding under the couch to play hide and seek as a kid. 

Would anything have been different if Peter wasn’t Spiderman? Would Ben still have gotten shot? Would May have died? Would Spiderman’s bad karma still have clouded over their lives? Maybe if Peter hadn't done anything after the trip to Oscorp, he would’ve been getting ready for graduation with Ben and May. If Peter hadn’t decided to put on the suit he made, if he didn’t make his web shooters, he’d be making a midnight snack with May in the kitchen while Ben slept, blissfully unaware of their spilled sugar and laughter. 

It’s been two weeks since May died. It’s been a couple of years since Ben died, and a couple more since his parents died. When would it end? When would the Parker luck let up? When was it Peter’s turn to kick the bucket because at this rate, it could be any day - or maybe living was his punishment. Maybe he had to live through everyone’s death, maybe that’s the only thing the universe would settle for. 

It haunted him how Peter would do something, like ace a test, and he’d turn around to tell May. He’d open their apartment door, feel his breath rise to his chest, and for the briefest moment, Peter would think that she was home because her perfume was fresh in the air.   

Or maybe he’d have these moments of normalcy, sitting beside Ned and MJ or Wade. Peter would feel normal enough to eat from a plate pushed in front of him, or he’d feel normal enough to sit in the living room and watch television. These moments of normalcy overcame Peter’s insurmountable grief for just long enough to pretend like nothing was wrong. 

Peter closed his eyes. It was getting bright out; dusk had broken and it’s Tuesday morning. 

For once, it would be nice to sleep without dreaming of them. Maybe just one night, only one without seeing their faces, one good night's sleep. Peter only wanted one. Was one too much to ask for?

-

Tuesdays and Fridays were always lab days. 

When Peter was in grade 10 and Mr. Stark had officially offered him the scholarship with all the bells and whistles, Happy had picked him up from after school at 3pm and drove him to the Avengers compound. During the 2 hour long car ride, Peter would attempt to make conversation with Happy, then slip his earbuds in and finish his homework. On the way home, Peter would text May and fiddle with whatever he worked on that day with Mr. Stark. On Friday’s, sometimes Peter would stay the weekend, but he always went home at 8pm on Tuesdays. 

It was one thing for Peter to sleep on the way to school, early mornings and all, but it was another beast entirely for him to curl up in the back seat of Happy’s car that Tuesday afternoon. 

“You alright, kid?” asked Happy, catching Peter in fetal position while looking quickly over his shoulder to check his blindspot before turning. “You tired or something?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Peter muttered, rubbing at his eyes with the palms of his hands. 

Peter guessed he fell asleep because that’s the last thing he remembered before Happy pulled into Mr. Stark’s private garage. He woke up when Mr. Stark gently shook him awake with a laugh. 

“Jeez, Hap, he’s out like a light,” said Mr. Stark, poking at Peter’s cheek. “Did he get knocked out with horse tranquilizer?”

“I’m napping,” Peter grumbled, swatting at Mr. Stark’s hand, “not deaf.”

“My bad, Pete,” replied Mr. Stark with a chuckle. “Why don’t we get some food in you and head down to the shop.”

Noncommittal, Peter hummed and grabbed his school bag from beside him. He rubbed away the sleep lingering at his eyes and followed Mr. Stark into the compound where Friday greeted him enthusiastically. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Parker. Nice to see you again,” said Friday, opening the elevator doors for them. 

Mr. Stark made a face. “You make her call you Mr. Parker?”

Stammering, Peter replied, “I didn’t ask her to, Friday just does it. And- and, she calls you Boss, that’s weird too.”

“I’m her boss, that’s not weird.”

“And my last name’s Parker.”

“Alright, if you’re bickering with me, that means you’re fully awake,” said Mr. Stark. The elevator doors opened and Mr. Stark led them into the kitchen where he opened the refrigerator door to toss some fruits at Peter. “Eat up, Underoos.”

Peter caught the two oranges and the apple Mr. Stark tossed his way. 

“What are you feeling for food? I’ll order some now but you’re welcome to any of the food in the fridges here,” said Mr. Stark. “Well, anything on the communal shelves. Just between me and you, Steve’s a little possessive with his food.”

“What?”

“Don’t tell him I said that.” Mr. Stark pointed at Peter. “Now, eat your fruit and I’ll order some dinner.”

The kitchen sinks were so much nicer than what Peter remembered them being two years ago. The faucets were fancier, there was a new dishwasher and drying rack, there was-

Oh. 

There was a picture of Peter there. 

Why was there a picture of him here?

Peter picked up the frame gingerly, as if it would turn to dust if he held it too tightly. The picture was exactly what Mr. Stark said it was: the two of them with the internship document upside down and smiling like there was no tomorrow. Looking back, it was the only picture the two of them had together even after all that time they spent together in the lab, even after all those inside jokes and laughter and smiles. The only picture that Peter had with Mr. Stark was for the internship. How pathetic was that?

“Pete?” Mr. Stark called from somewhere behind him, still facing the fridge. “The faucet’s running and you know what Pep thinks about water waste.”

The picture frame was back in its place faster than ever and Peter finished washing the fruits under the tap. “Got it. What’s for dinner?”

“I don’t know, I had Happy order whatever he wanted for dinner. He said it should come in half an hour or so,” said Mr. Stark. He closed the fridge doors and walked to the drying rack beside Peter to find his mug. “Let me get another cup of coffee and we’ll head right down to the lab.”

Peter nodded without saying a word. He took a bite out of the apple so the silence between them wouldn’t feel so awkward. 

“Alright, off to the lab we go!”

-

When Peter got home that night, he dropped everything by the door and stood under the blistering heat of the shower spray. 

He went to his room, sat at the edge of his bed, and slipped on the Spiderman suit. 

-

“Are you happy, Peter?”

“What?”

“I asked,” said Wade, laying on the floor of his apartment, “Are you happy?”

“Are you?”

Wade hummed. “No. I’m not. But I’m going to be alive for a long time- I’m allowed to be depressed as shit.”

“And I’m not?” Peter asked, tone rising.

“Hold your horses, Petey Pie, I didn’t say that.” Wade sat up to look at Peter. “Some real shit went down in your life and you’re allowed to be upset. I’m just making sure you don’t go full on Red and take out your anger by beating the shit outta people.”

From the couch, Peter kicked jerkily at Wade. “Isn’t that how you deal with your shit?”

“Uh, yeah ,” Wade said exasperatedly, “and that’s exactly how I know it ain’t the path for you, sweet cheeks.”

“What, you worried about corrupting my innocent morals, Wade?”

“Now you’re getting it,” beamed Wade. 

Scoffing, Peter said, “I think it’s a bit late for that.”

Wade just smiled at Peter. “Yeah, you’re right. Red and I are awful influences.”

“So, we going on patrol or not?”

“Mhm!” Wade said while pulling on his mask and gloves. “Red said he got a lead on those rapists you caught last week. Something about-“ Wade waved his hand around noncommittally, “serial rapes and trafficking being tied to the cocaine slave production he’s been tracking.”

Last week, the week after May died, Spiderman had caught a group of men raping a 7 year old boy behind an abandoned construction site. Rapists weren’t something new to Peter, but that night was the first time he felt anger in it’s deepest sense. It burned at his skin, under his suit, under his clothes. It burned and burned until the flame overtook Peter completely. He had asked Matt to look into it because if it was Peter hunting them down, he didn’t know how far he’d go after getting the information he needed.

Peter pulled on his mask.

“Let’s go.”

-

Peter was losing time.

He couldn’t remember the events of Wednesday or Thursday, and now, it was Friday afternoon and he was sitting in the back of Happy’s car on their way to the Avenger’s compound. He didn’t talk to Happy much and he didn’t look at the messages on his phone from Ned and MJ. 

There was a quietness to car rides that Peter always hated. It rumbled his bones and gave him a headache and Peter had always been prone to motion sickness, but he always thought long car rides were meant for chatting or sleeping. Since Peter wasn’t in the mood to talk, he sank into the leather seats and closed his eyes. 

All he could think about, all he could see behind his closed eyes were the faces of all those scared children Peter pulled out of cages while Matt and Wade burned down the cocaine factory. The fire had been all consuming, burning everything and everyone it touched, yet too many criminals had gotten away. Wade had sent Matt out to help Peter shuttle the children to safety and died from the fire himself. It didn’t matter that Wade would heal, it still hurt to see Wade die. 

Happy looked at Peter’s grimace from the mirrors - Peter felt his gaze on him - but said nothing. 

Peter woke up when Mr. Stark prodded at him through the open car window.

“Jesus, kid, are you getting enough sleep?” Mr. Stark asked, leading them both into the compound kitchens. It still felt weird for Peter to be there. 

“It’s finals week, what do you think?” replied Peter, grumbling. 

Mr. Stark made one of those disgruntled faces Peter was all too familiar with. “Well, before we head down to the lab, I got an update with the Accord revisions.”

Surprise zipped through Peter, shaking the drowsiness from his system.

“I can keep the mask on?”

“Well,” said Mr. Stark slowly, “that’s what we’re working towards, yes.”

Peter sank back into himself. He knew he shouldn’t have expected things to come together so easily; nothing was ever easy for Peter. It was a wonder how he still expected things to go well for him, like a fucking stupid –

“Don’t worry, Pete, I’m on it. The actual update was that the Council is ready to consider keeping secret identities as a thing to be implemented in the Accords.”

Scoffing, Peter asked, “ Ready to consider ? What a joke.”

“Hey, the fact that they haven’t denied it outright speaks volumes on how hard I’m trying to get this for you,” Mr. Stark said. “The Accords don’t just apply to you, they apply to your other…” Mr. Stark motioned aimlessly with his hands, “vigilante friends, too.”

“I just-” started Peter, tone rising. Everything was too much; he didn’t want to be outed, he didn’t want them to sign away their freedom, privacy, or livelihood, and Peter most certainly didn’t want anyone targeting Ned or MJ. “This is really important for me, you know?”

“I know, kid, and I’m trying my best here,” said Mr. Stark. “Ross is just an incredible pain in my ass. It’s not a secret he’s using every connection he has to pull the rug from under the vigilante community until they yield. I swear, his personal motto is if you can’t beat them, beat them harder.”

There was a moment of silence between them where Peter guessed he was supposed to say something or maybe let out a laugh. 

A couple years ago, Peter would’ve done exactly that without having to think about it, without this heavy feeling in his chest. Mr. Stark had always made these dumb statements to elicit a response from him; a response that he wasn’t getting now. 

All Mr. Stark got was a heavy look when Peter realized it was never going to work. 

“I know you’re disappointed, Pete,” Mr. Stark tried, “and that’s okay. Things like this don’t happen overnight-”

“Okay, the last thing I need right now is a lecture,” Peter snapped. “Not from you.”

“Peter, what is going on with you?” Mr. Stark shot back. “Listen, I get it, we’re both frustrated, but I’ve told you repeatedly that I’m trying my best. Hell, I even roped Cap into this, so the least you could do is show me a modicum of respect.”

“And the least you could do is not act like you’re not uprooting my goddamn life,” stressed Peter, almost shouting. “You don’t get to be the frustrated one here after you storm back into my life and pretend like nothings different when everything is!”

“You think I wanted this? You think I wanted-”

“Wanted what? Wanted me back in your life because I’m the fuck up you never cared for?” Peter shouted, feeling his stomach drop to his feet. Maybe he didn’t mean it, maybe Peter was putting words in Mr. Stark’s mouth, but he couldn’t stop. He just wanted to hurt. “I knew it, Mr. Stark, I fucking knew it from the day you took my suit away. I knew it then and I know it now.”

Peter saw Mr. Stark’s breath hitch. He saw how Mr. Stark clenched his fists and tensed his shoulders like he was getting ready to yell back or suit up - just like how he did when Steve went rogue. Peter hated how scared he felt. 

“Peter,” said Mr. Stark. “Can we start over?”

“The conversation? Because I’m pretty sure it’s over,” replied Peter, getting ready to leave. “I know when I’m not wanted and I’ve been raised better than to overstay my welcome.”

“Kid, sit down,” said Mr. Stark with no room for disagreement. “I meant start everything over. The mentor-mentee thing, the internship, us. I screwed it up really badly, not you.”

“I’d say we had a pretty good second run at things, wouldn't you?” said Peter sarcastically. “It only took a couple of lab days before we decided to go on our merry ways again.”

“Jesus, can you stop being so difficult with me? You’re not a kid anymore, so stop acting like one, Peter. I’m trying my best, my honest best, to get you what you want out of the Accords because I care for you, despite what you think,” Mr. Stark replied. “I know you’re going through something, and I get why you don’t want to tell me about it.”

Peter scoffed.

“But I’m not going to let you walk out of here thinking that I don’t want you here. I want you in my life, not because of the Accords but because I’ve missed-” Mr. Stark’s voice breaks. “I ignored you for the past two years and I’m not letting that continue. I’m not.”

When Peter didn’t say anything– he was scared he was going to say something and screw it all up again, so he just stood there looking at the scuff marks on his shoes, Mr. Stark sighed.

“Are we good, Pete?”

He didn’t know. Would anything ever be right between them again? Will there be a time where Peter doesn’t feel like a stranger in Mr. Stark’s life? Will there be a time in Peter’s life where he’s truly comfortable around Mr. Stark?

“I can’t tell you,” Peter said softly, head swirling. “I can’t.”

“You don’t have to.” 

There was another moment of silence between them. Mr. Stark looked at Peter so sincerely, so truthfully, that Peter had no choice but to cave.

“Then we’re good.”

The air between them was thick with awkward tension, with misplaced anger, with all the unspoken words that spanned over years of no contact. This game between them repeated over and over again, only settling when someone took the fall. And Peter always took the fall. 

Things hadn’t changed since he was 15, and they wouldn’t in the future. They’d circle back to the moment in time where Mr. Stark came out on top and Peter was still that kid, looking up to him from down where his bones were broken beneath the fallen construction buildings. 

Peter looked at Mr. Stark once more, but didn’t understand the mess of emotions that flashed across the older man’s face.

Mr. Stark plastered on a smile. 

“Great! Let’s get to work, then.”

Chapter Text

• Third week of June, Friday to Saturday. Senior Year

Peter went to bed early after working in the lab with Mr. Stark. 

His room at the Compound was almost exactly how he left it last week, except his laundry had been taken care of and the toiletries had been replaced. The smell of fresh paint still lingered in the air. 

After a blistering shower and rubbing his skin raw, Peter sank face first into the soft mattress. It had been a long day and an even longer week. The hour Peter spent under hot water couldn’t wash away the sight of all those children in soot covered rags, begging to be let out of cages in that smoke filled basement. 

They didn’t recognize Spiderman. All they saw was another masked man and they were so scared he was going to hurt them too. The horror on their faces, the way they backed away from him, the way they pressed into one another for protection was all too familiar. Too familiar for comfort. What the hell did those fuckers do to them?

It was only after Spiderman had started pulling the locks off of doors, prying open metal bars, and directing them to safety did they start to trust him, start calling for him to help, start telling him where other kids were being held. Half of the older kids, teenagers like Peter, had led the younger ones through the exit where Daredevil was waiting, and the other half stayed with Spiderman to ensure all the kids got out. The only good thing about that haunting experience was the fact that no one was left behind in that shithole basement. 

He made Daredevil check for any other heartbeats lingering. Everyone made it out alive.

One of the older kids had approached Spiderman that night to ask for help. His name was Jacob, he was sixteen, and he told Peter everything that happened in those cages from the abuse to the rape to the slave labour to the trafficking circle to the fourteen other fucking locations Jacob knew about simply because he’d been sold fourteen times. 

He asked Jacob if he knew any names or addresses. Jacob shook his head, but described what he thought was the head of the organization. Tall, older white male. Disarming. Charismatic.

Peter knew the type. He knew the type too fucking well. 

Daredevil and Spiderman stayed with the kids until the authorities arrived before they pulled Wade out from the flaming rubble and made their way back home. When they finally got to Wade’s apartment and layed Wade’s limp body down on the couch so he could heal properly, Matt pulled out a bottle of the strongest alcohol he could find from the kitchen and knocked it back. Peter, on the other hand, pulled off his soot covered mask and sat beside Wade, curled up into himself. 

On that couch, all Peter could think about was Jacob’s description. Tall. Disarming. Charming. 

And now, with Peter’s face buried in the pillow of his bedroom at the Avenger’s Compound, that tall, ash blond haired man was all Peter could think about despite his best efforts to forget. 

It had been years. It had been years and years and years, but Peter still felt like that scared little boy sometimes, wide awake in his bedroom praying that his door would stay closed. He’d pray that May and Ben would come early from their late night date, he’d hide under his bed, he’d even climb out the window and sit on the fire escape just so he wouldn’t have to see Skip. None of that mattered because the night always ended with Peter and Skip and the feeling of being suffocated, smothered, held down by the man who was supposed to look after him. Peter would hear footsteps from down the hallway and his bedroom door would creak open and he’d stumble in and–

“Hey Peter, can I come in?” said Mr. Stark. 

Peter woke up in an instant, jumping out of his bed in a silent cry with his heart hammering. He looked around the room frantically, ready to fight, when three things clicked. This wasn’t his room and the door was still closed. His door was still closed and Mr. Stark was waiting in the hall and his door was still closed . Thank God, his door was still closed. 

Mr. Stark knocked twice on the door. “You good in there?”

“Yeah,” Peter stammered. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and willed the rush of emotions down. “Yeah, you can come in.”

The moment Mr. Stark opened the door, Peter could smell the burn of alcohol in his breath. 

Peter sat on the edge of the bed, muscles tense, while Mr. Stark sat on the chair by the desk. 

Was it wrong that he was glad Mr. Stark didn’t sit beside him on the bed?

“Listen, I just wanted to apologize to you,” said Mr. Stark. “These last years have been really rough.”

It didn’t matter what Mr. Stark said to Peter, he couldn’t hear him over the smell of alcohol in Mr. Stark’s breath. Skip used to do that too. He used to drink himself sick and cry at the foot of Peter’s bed, begging for forgiveness. He’d beg and beg and beg and then-

Peter didn’t trust his voice, so he settled for nodding. 

“You used to be such a happy kid, Pete. I don’t know what happened. You’re so angry now and I can’t do anything, anything , about it.” Mr. Stark rubbed his face with the palms of his hands, groaning. “And you’re right. I left and uprooted your life after two years and I feel like such a shithead for doing that to you. Fuck , I feel like I’m turning into my father.”

“I, um,” started Peter. “Do you want me to call Ms. Potts? I don’t know if I’m the right person for this.”

Mr. Stark shook his head. “No, I needed to talk to you. I really am sorry for everything, you know? I’m sorry for leaving, I’m sorry for taking the suit away, I’m sorry for pretending like you don’t mean the world to me. I’m sorry, Peter.” 

Logically, Peter knew Mr. Stark wasn’t Skip. He was the farthest thing from Skip; Mr. Stark wouldn’t hurt Peter like that. But Peter would be lying if he said he wasn’t scared right now. It’s been years since he’s last seen Skip, but he can still feel those bruising hands and the burn of liquor. Skip did this exact routine. Skip’s ghost left a trail in every corner of Peter’s life.

Either Mr. Stark didn’t notice Peter’s discomfort or he didn’t care. “You were like a son to me and that scared me. I didn’t think I’d care that much about you until you crashed my plane and it scared me so much. Knowing how much you mean to me scared me, kid. And I hate being scared, so I pushed you away.”

“Mr. Stark… I think I should call Ms. Potts to come get you.”

Mr. Stark must’ve drank a lot because one moment his head was in his hands, and the next he was slumped over on the table, passed out. Friday notified Peter that Ms. Potts was on her way with Steve to bring Mr. Stark back to his room. Seeing Mr. Stark passed out like that made Peter’s heart hammer in his chest. He wasn’t Skip, Peter told himself. But if Mr. Stark was any better than Skip, why would Mr. Stark be in Peter’s room this late? Was he just waiting for the inevitable or was Peter letting Skip’s ghost taint him once again?

The door was left open from when Mr. Stark entered, so Peter could hear their footsteps from the hall. Ms. Potts and Steve looked almost the exact same from the last time he saw them, save for the pajamas. It was almost refreshing to see them if it weren’t for the current situation.

“Hi, Peter,” said Ms. Potts softly. “I’m so sorry about Tony, I don’t know what got into him. I’m sorry we’re meeting in these circumstances, but it’s wonderful to see you again.”

“I, yeah,” stuttered Peter. “Yeah, it’s nice to see you too, Ms. Potts.” Peter nodded awkwardly at Steve. “You too, sir.”

“Please, call me Pepper,” she said with a gentle smile. Peter was reminded of how deeply he missed her company and nodded. 

“You can call me Steve too, if you want.” Peter looked over at Steve, surprised. He gave the super soldier another stiff nod. 

Pepper made her way to Mr. Stark, pressing a hand on his cheek. “He’s out cold. Tomorrow’s going to be an embarrassing day for him.”

“He deserves some embarrassing days, Pep,” said Steve with a light smile. “Maybe it’ll humble him.”

“He needs the humbling for sure, but I’d be grateful if it didn’t include him drinking himself half to death. In front of Peter, nonetheless,” Pepper said. “You can take him now, Steve, I’m going to talk to Peter for a bit.”

“Yes ma’am.” And off Steve went with Mr. Stark held up in his arms.

When Pepper was sure Steve was out of ear shot, she looked at Peter. Not just looked at him, but really looked through his façade. She saw his tense shoulders, his trembling hands pressed to his sides. Pepper saw how scared he was.

As gentle as she could, Pepper asked if he was alright. She still stood by the desk Mr. Stark passed out on. 

Peter shook his head. “I’m not comfortable around alcohol. I wasn’t expecting Mr. Stark to be that, uh.”

“Drunk? Me neither. I thought he quit drinking years ago, honestly.”

“Do you know why?” Peter couldn’t talk anymore, so he motioned with his hands like everything was self-explanatory. He clammed up everytime he thought about the last twenty minutes.

“Well, he said you two had a pretty big fight earlier,” replied Pepper evenly. “I know he can get pretty overwhelming when he’s all worked up.”

Peter just nodded, not able to say anything more. She didn’t know, but Peter could get pretty overwhelming in a fight too. 

“Listen, if you want to get lunch with us tomorrow, you’re more than welcome,” Pepper smiled, still genuine as ever. “Well, us being me and Tony. Maybe Steve but he might have plans. Tony said he hasn’t gotten around to telling you what’s on the itinerary for your grad trip on Wednesday, so lunch would be a perfect time to do so.”

Peter nodded again. Pepper took one more look at him and motioned for a hug that Peter took grateful. If he tried hard enough, he could pretend like her steel grip was May’s. 

“I’m really sorry about Tony, Peter,” she said. 

“I just don’t like alcohol,” he mumbled.

-

When Pepper left, she told him to get some sleep.

Peter spent the rest of the night wide awake, watching the locked door. 

It was like he was 10 again.

-

Lunch went just about how Peter thought it would’ve gone.

Mr. Stark apologized and Peter suspected that Pepper told him what he told her. It was fine that she told him if it meant Mr. Stark not drinking around Peter. 

About halfway through eating, Steve had joined them.

“Hey Steve,” Peter said. Mr. Stark raised his eyebrows.

“Hey Peter.” Steve took the seat next to Mr. Stark, across from Peter. “So, what were you guys talking about?”

Pepper hummed and motioned for Steve to help himself to food. “Well, we were just about to discuss Peter’s trip to the Compound this Wednesday. Did you know he’s graduating on Monday?”

“He is? Wow, congratulations, Peter,” said Steve. “What did you major in?”

Well, that was quite a loaded question. Steve didn’t know how old Peter actually was and Peter sure as hell wasn’t telling any of them how he couldn’t afford Columbia.

“Highschool,” Peter said quietly. “I’m graduating high school, not university.”

“Oh,” replied Steve, eyebrows furrowed. He gave Mr. Stark this look that Peter guessed could only mean ‘we’ll talk about this later’ and turned back to look at Peter. “I guess that’s still exciting. You turnin’ 18 this year?”

Peter nodded.

“Any plans?”

He shook his head.

“Huh.” Steve poked at his food before taking several, heaping bites. “I guess Tony wasn’t exaggerating when he said you were young. The Accord really will hafta’ wait.”

It was Mr. Stark’s cue to groan now. “Let’s save the Accords talk for when my head isn’t splitting open, Capsicle. Pep, the itinerary for Wednesday, please.”

“Classy,” Pepper huffed, amused. “As if your headache isn’t the consequence of your own actions .”

“Can’t I enjoy one breakfast without attacks on my person?”

“Never.” Pepper reached over to pat Mr. Stark’s arm out of fake pity before pulling out her cellphone. “So for Wednesday, how discreet do you want your ‘internship’ to be, Peter?”

“As discreet as possible,” replied Peter. He hated the attention, but it would be really, really nice to see Flash’s face when he realized the internship was real. “But if anyone asks about the internship…” Peter shrugged and hoped Pepper understood.

“If anyone asks, you’d like some official backing,” said Pepper. She tapped at her phone a couple of times before looking satisfied. 

“Wait, do people think your internship is fake?” asked Steve.

Peter shrugged again. “I mean, yeah. It’s not like Stark Industries has a reputation of taking interns without at least a bachelor's degree.”

“So all these years,” Mr. Stark squinted his eyes, “no one believed you?”

“I knew it was real, Ned and MJ knew it was real,” said Peter. “So I didn’t care what others thought. They knew and that’s enough for me.”

“Yeah, well that’s definitely going to change,” Pepper said, “because we’re doing a trial facility tour with the support staff and we’re introducing you to all of them.”

“What?”

“And you’re getting an intern card.” She looked at Peter with a soft smile. “Do you like Head Intern or R&D Lab Intern more? I’m getting the card sent up now, so decide quickly.”

“Um,” Peter stuttered, “the lab intern one, I guess. Is this really going to happen?”

“Just be glad it’s me orchestrating all this, not Tony over here,” Pepper snorted. “He probably parade you around just to prove a point.”

“I second that,” Steve said, giving Mr. Stark a grin. “It’s probably best if you do whatever Pep says. It’ll save you the headache cuz you sure as hell won’t win against her. Look at Tony, he never wins.”

“I’m hungover, Spangles, not deaf.”

Steve chuckled. “I’m glad to see you’re sobering up.”

“Alcohol doesn’t agree with me anymore,” moaned Mr. Stark miserably. “I don’t remember being hungover like this twenty years ago.”

“Probably because you were twenty years younger,” replied Pepper. “Now, the trial tour starts at two, so finish up eating and we’ll meet back here in an hour.”

“Me too?” asked Steve.

“If you want,” Pepper shrugged. “This will be the first Compound tour of many and it’ll be good practice for the newer staff to get comfortable around the Avenger’s.”

“Other Avengers will be there?” Peter asked weakly.

“Not if you don’t want them to be, Peter, but I can’t promise they’ll make an appearance if you asked.” Pepper checked her phone again. “But if it gives you any peace of mind, Natasha is on a mission, Clint and Sam live off base, and Wanda, Vision and Bucky are just about as antisocial as they come. It looks like the roster for Wednesday is just Steve, Tony, and I.”

Peter felt like melting into his seat. He wasn’t ready for Wednesday. He wasn’t even ready to graduate. 

“Great.”

-

The intern card was just about everything Peter wanted it to be and more. It was sleek, printed a subtle navy-maroon colour with his name and title engraved on the front beside a picture of him. Peter had no idea how Pepper managed to get a picture of him and send it down to the manufacturers so fast, but he had a very strong feeling Friday was involved. 

After Peter had gotten his intern card, he met all the staff, who were justifiably perplexed on his relation to the Avengers but didn’t question it, and had a dandy time trailing behind them as they led the trial tour. He tried really hard not to pay attention so Wednesday would still be fun.

“So, high school huh?” said Steve, appearing beside Peter. Peter didn’t even notice him until they were walking shoulder to shoulder. “I still can’t believe how young you are. I dropped a jet on you three years ago.”

Peter smiled at that memory. “You certainly did make a lasting first impression.”

“As did you,” grinned Steve. “It’s not everyday you see a twig sized kid carrying a multi-tonned jet.”

Peter hummed. For a couple moments, they just walked beside one another in a comfortable silence while Pepper and Mr. Stark lead the tour group. They were walking along the halls of the upper management laboratories, introducing Peter to the necessary staff before moving onto the next department. They repeated the routine while making their way up to the staged living rooms, where the tour would end. 

“Tony really cares about you, you know?” Steve said, voice quiet. “He doesn’t have the healthiest way of showing it, but he does.”

“Listen, I appreciate this. I really do, Steve, but can we please, please not talk about this right now?” replied Peter, voice pleading. “Everyone tells me he cares about me, but that doesn’t explain or excuse anything that happened, so let’s,” Peter sighed. “Let’s drop it, alright? I don’t want to argue.”

Steve looked at Peter, almost pitifully, but his eyes were genuine. Apologetic. “Got it. Tell me about your friends, then. Ned and MJ, right?”

“Michelle, not MJ,” corrected Peter with a smile. “She’s very clear on how only her friends can call her MJ. I called her Michelle until halfway through sophomore year when she suddenly deemed me cool enough to be her friend.”

“Well, she certainly sounds like a character.”

“She’s great. Funny as hell. Thinks making fun of Star wars is the peak of comedy but she still watches it with Ned and I.”

“And Ned?”

“My best friend since we were young. He’s been with me through everything, thick and thin,” said Peter. Sometimes when he thought too hard about what Ned had put up with throughout their friendship, Peter’s heart hurt. “The best friend I could ask for, you know? Doesn’t put up with my bull shi-, I mean, with my crap, but helps me out without a complaint.”

Steve chuckled, “It’s alright, you can swear around me. Grew up in Brooklyn, remember?”

“Swearing around the American Idol still feels wrong,” Peter mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. Wade would clutch his pearl necklace and gasp, calling Peter a sinner for defiling the ears of his role model with filthy cuss words, and Matt would smack the backside of his head. “It’s a respect thing, you know?”

“Please never call me the American Idol ever again, I get enough of that from Tony,” groaned Steve. “But Ned sounds like a great friend. Sorta reminds me of Bucky.”

Peter knew the history between them, the whole sha-bam. Gay history class with Wade was inescapable. Still, Peter feigned confusion to keep Steve talking. “Bucky?”

“More shy than you’d think, but he’s great. Stupid, though, and messed up in the head before Hydra did their thing,” said Steve, chuckling, but Peter was slightly horrified. “It’s okay, you can laugh. I’m quoting him verbatim.”

“I’m… sure he’s great.”

“I think you’ll like him when you get to know him. Once you’re done with university and the Accords are sorted out, you’ll probably be spending some more time on base so I’ll introduce you two then. Sam’ll take a piss outta you being a kid, though.”

“Sam?”

“Sam and Bucky come as a package deal. Buy one get one free. Practically joined at the hip despite how much they bicker.”

“Wouldn’t you feel left out?”

“Nah, Bucky and I have history, and Sam had my back when no one else did. I’m glad they’re bonding or I might’ve put them in couple’s therapy.”

“Oh my god, Wade was right.”

Steve made a confused noise, and Peter barked out a laugh that only grew as Steve prompted for an explanation.

“Me and Wade- we have this ongoing joke, gay history class,” said Peter, barely able to talk over his laughter. “He comes up with these crazy conspiracy theories to prove that every public relationship in the history of history was gay. He made one about you and Bucky and recently added Sam into the mix and I really didn’t expect him to be right.”

Steve let out a loud guffaw, making the tour group turn back and look at them. Mr. Stark gave Peter a look and Peter shook his head back at him, smiling. 

“You’ll have to introduce me to Wade,” Steve grinned. “I’m not sure how sound his theory is, but he seems like a funny guy.”

“The day you meet Wade is the day the world ends.” Peter smiled back at Steve. “I’d rather die than have you two be friends.” 

-

After the tour ended, Peter had been very proud of himself with how little he remembered of it. He owed Steve the credit for that - they spent most of the tour talking and he ignored every word the tour guides said. Occasionally, Pepper would pull Peter out of his conversation to introduce him to more staff, but other than that, Wednesday’s trip would still be interesting.

Peter went home after an early dinner with Mr. Stark, Pepper, and Happy, where Peter’s good mood stilled into something more somber. The conversation was stilted, so Peter kept to himself and focused on eating whatever Pepper put on his plate. He was so hungry, but he could barely bring himself to eat. Every bite tasted like chalk in his mouth and his appetite dimmed, no matter how delicious the food looked. 

The car ride home was equally as nauseating. Happy had tried making conversation with Peter, asking him about his graduation ceremony on Monday, but Peter couldn’t find it in him to say more than four words at a time. Peter hoped Happy took no offense. Happy dropped him off near his apartment and Peter made his way up the stairs, opening the front door.

The first thing Peter noticed when he got home was the draft.

Peter didn’t leave the windows unlocked unless he was going out as Spiderman, and he sure as hell remembered closing the blinds and locking the windows on Friday morning before leaving for school. 

The second thing Peter noticed was the dried splatters of blood and glass leading from Peter’s room to the washroom. 

There was only one trail. 

Whoever had broken in was still in Peter’s apartment, and he had a good idea of who it was.

“I hope you plan on replacing my window, Wade,” Peter called out. “You better not be dying in my bathtub again.”

Wade groaned in response and Peter made his way to the washroom. When Peter opened the door, Wade was lying in the bathtub with his left arm missing and both legs broken.

“Hey-o sweet cheeks,” Wade said chirpily, voice slightly strained. “You come here often?”

Peter was not impressed. He hated how hurt Wade was and he hated how Wade didn’t take it seriously.

“I thought we had a deal.”

“In my defense, I was already on my way here when this happened.”

“What did you do, jump into a meat grinder?”

“Close, I was pushed into one.”

“ Wade ,” warned Peter.

“Aw, I didn’t know you cared so much about little ol’ me!” 

“I’m so close to castrating you,” Peter glared. “Don’t test me.”

“You just want an excuse to touch my privates,” Wade sang. “They’ll just grow back bigger and better, baby, so go ahead.”

There was a momentary stand-off between them where Peter glared at Wade and Wade made a funny face back before the two of them started laughing. Peter wasn’t any less worried about Wade, but he couldn’t stay mad at him. 

“Seriously, what happened,” asked Peter, sitting on the edge of the bathroom and looking at Wade, who was maskless.

“You remember those kids from Tuesday night?”

How could Peter forget?

“Well,” Wade said, “a couple of those shithead wannabes decided it would be a fun idea to go after me. You know, to get those kids back.”

Peter hummed, feeling that weighted tiredness return. “And they thought you’d keep the kids after getting them out?”

“Yeah! That’s the craziest part,” exclaimed Wade. “They actually, like actually actually thought I stashed those kids under my floorboards or some shit, like I’m some sorta psychopath. I took care of them though. Happy to report they won’t be making a reappearance in this story, Petey-Pie!”

“God,” Peter groaned.

“I’m pretty sure my name is Wade.”

Peter swatted at Wade.

“Hey! I’m an injured man! I just lost my arm, you can’t hit me!”

“You think about that next time you try something stupid,” said Peter. He looked at Wade once again and sighed. “Do you wanna run a bath while you’re here? I’ll see if I can make you some food.”

“You’re an angel, Webs,” Wade gushed. “Where would I be without you?”

“Bleeding out in your own apartment, I bet.”

-

It took Wade half an hour to reset his broken legs and another hour to get the blood out of the bathtub. Wade promised to leave some money for the water bill and the window while devouring the pancakes Peter managed to make with the overripe bananas he had. 

“You know, you never answered my question last week,” said Wade, in between bites.

“Hm?”

“Are you happy?”

It was in these rare moments between Wade and Peter where he realized the depth of their friendship. Wade would take a bullet for Peter - and has several times over - but it was rare for him to worry about Peter’s personal life in this way. 

Wade had asked Peter if he was happy. He hadn’t answered.

And Wade asked again.

Peter still didn’t say anything.

“You know, it’s alright if you aren’t. You don’t have to be happy to do something meaningful.” Wade smiled at Peter, mouth full. “You don’t have to be happy in order to be loved. I’ll love your bubble butt, no matter what!”

“I know,” Peter said softly. 

“I know you know, but sometimes you still need to hear it.”

-

After Wade left, Peter sat balled up on the bathroom tub where Wade had laid bleeding out hours before. The water was off, and some part of him wished Wade hadn’t shown up. Not that he’d have the energy to do so, but Peter wished he could wash the lemony smell of the compound away without thoughts of the water bill. Instead, he was fully clothed, lean arms wrapping around his legs that were brought close to his chest so Peter could lay his head against his knees. 

It’s cold, Peter thought, eyes fluttering shut. When Peter was ten, he used to curl up in the bathtub when his emotions were too large, too encompassing to manage, and the cold surface of the bathtub would be Peter’s anchor. When Peter was ten and every memory felt too large, the old enamel bathtub became a place of cool comfort where his misdeeds were forgiven. May would coax Peter into bed afterwards, rubbing his back and pressing an affectionate kiss on his forehead before switching off the overhead light and closing the door. 

It’s cold, Peter thought, settling into himself. Peter felt like he could float away at any moment. He wasn’t a kid anymore; Peter had no right to be acting like this because god dammit , he was almost eighteen and he was still crying in the bathtub? 

It’s cold, Peter thought before drifting off to sleep. I miss May.

Chapter Text

• Fourth week of June, Monday: Graduation ceremony 

Highschool graduation was never something Peter looked forward to, much to May’s dismay. 

She had been so excited for him to start a new chapter in his life, so proud of how much he’s accomplished, but Peter honestly was more excited to never have to attend another class with Flash. Ned said both were valid reasons, but told Peter afterwards that he too was looking forward to classes without Flash. 

Now that Peter was here, about to go on stage wearing his graduation gown and cap, he felt scared. Somewhere in the crowd, Matt and Wade were there to support him, but there was no Aunt May or Uncle Ben. There was no Mom or Dad to hand him flowers and clap and shout and holler in joy when his name was called, there was no May giving hugs and crying, there was no Ben to tell Peter how proud he was. There was Matt and Wade, bearing good news and promises for a hefty dinner, and there were Ned’s parents, and there was MJ’s mom. He appreciated them being there, but they weren’t May or Ben or Mom or Dad. 

Deep down, Peter hoped they were watching over him. Somewhere in the afterlife, Peter imagined them happy and young and full of love, looking over Peter and rooting for him. It was a small comfort, these thoughts, but they were what gave him courage to walk across the brightly lit stage when his name was called. 

Peter walked and in between making sure to put foot in front of foot and not to trip and to smile and shake Mr. Morita’s hand, he could hear Wade and Matt’s cheering and hollering. And as he walked to the other side of the stage, slipping behind the curtains, it finally hit Peter that he graduated. There would be no more late nights in the tech room with Ned, no more stupid debates with MJ across a lunch table, no more complaints of chemistry or physics or biology or calculus homework. 

This would be the last time Peter would see all of his teachers and peers in one place. 

Was it a relief? Was it something to be mourned? Will Peter actually miss highschool or will he miss the convenience? Maybe these bittersweet emotions stemmed from Peter finally realizing there was no going back (even if he wanted to) and there was no reliving the years he spent within these halls, or maybe they stemmed from knowing he had no future to run towards. 

When the ceremony ended, Ned and MJ enveloped him in a tight hug. 

“I’ll miss you guys,” said Peter, ache deep in his chest. They didn’t mention May’s absence and didn’t ask about Peter’s future.

“We have all summer together,” Ned replied. “You can’t get rid of us yet.”

As MJ brought Peter into another hug, burying her face in the crook of his neck, Peter felt her shuddering breath and silent cry against his skin. “You know we’ll always be here for you, right?”

He held her like she was something fragile, something too precious to even touch, and cupped the back of her head gently as Ned turned away. Peter’s heart fastened as he pressed a single, almost mournful kiss on MJ’s freckled shoulder exposed from her dress, and pulled away to look at her. She wore a similar expression to his own.

“I don’t want to leave you, Peter,” MJ said quietly, like the idea of her words was too painful to say out loud. It was rare for her to be this vulnerable; Peter could barely recall a handful of times where she let her walls down like this. There was no sarcasm, no snark, not unfaithful jokes to mask her true feelings in her words now. Just the full truth and all that stood between them.

“You gotta, MJ,” replied Peter softly. “Not yet, but you got into Stanford. You’re moving across the country and I’m so proud of you, and you’re not going to be held back by anything.”

Emotions were high between them, and even through Peter’s own teary smile, he could see MJ’s unwavering will. She was going to leave for Stanfard, regardless of what she said or felt, because it was what was right for her. And there was nothing Peter admired more about MJ than her determination to see things through. 

Ned, who had gone off earlier to find Betty, came back with three plates of thinly sliced graduation cake. 

“I come bearing gifts,” he joked. “I know we’re sad and all, but can we be sad and eating cake?”

Peter chuckled wetly and dropped his hands from MJ’s waist to take a plate. “Only cuz you’re asking so politely.”

Between the sickly sweet custard filling and chalky frosting, the cake was ash in his mouth that Peter ate spoonful after spoonful. He waited for MJ and Ned to be done their share before wiping at his mouth with the napkins provided by the reception hall and walking over to the photo booths. He dutifully took pictures with Ned and MJ at the request of their parents, then took another round of pictures with Matt and Wade at either side of him, smiling broadly.

Only Peter knew how much Matt hated their cover story crafted by Wade’s overactive imagination. Wade had properly dressed as a civilian, under the story as a burn victim that he abused to gain brownie points with Ned’s mothers, and Matt had worn his usual suit and sunglasses. Wade and Matt were Peter’s “eclectic gay uncles” who called themselves a mismatched pair of lovers, filling in for the absence of May that no one dared question.  

In gentle, quiet conversations, Peter, Ned, and MJ continued to talk about everything and nothing. They waited until their guardians were ready to leave before giving each other a tight hug and promises to hang out over the summer. 

When Peter was leaving, Wade’s heavy arm loosely draped over his shoulder and Matt ruffling his hair affectionately, he realized he left his phone on the table by the napkins.

“Give me a minute!” Peter shouted over his shoulder, jogging back to the doors. 

People were trickling out of the building slowly but no one lingered inside the reception hall. Peter rounded the corner and pulled open the clanky metal doors with a nervous jitter and prayed - he prayed , like the good atheist he was - that his phone was right where Peter left it when he saw-

“Mr. Stark?”

Mr. Stark had been looking at the displayed picture of Midtown’s graduating class, gently touching the spot beside Peter’s name before looking up like a deer in headlights. 

“Oh, uh,” replied Mr. Stark, caught in a rare moment of vulnerability and pulling his hand back to his side quickly. “Peter. I thought you left.”

“I did, or well, was going to. I forgot my phone.”

The two of them stood there looking at each other, not moving. Peter felt like he wasn’t breathing either. He hasn’t breathed properly since Friday night. 

“Well, I won’t hold you up any longer,” Mr. Stark said finally. He turned around, wiping his hands on the front of his pants, and began to walk away before Peter called after him. 

“Wait! Were you… Were you here the entire time?” 

Another raw expression flashed over Mr. Stark’s face. 

“I was.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Mr. Stark gave Peter his million watt smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Well, I couldn’t embarrass my favourite intern on his graduation day, could I?”

“You wouldn’t have embarrassed me,” replied Peter. In truth, Peter wouldn’t have liked the attention, but he was never ashamed of Mr. Stark. How could he be? 

“Alright,” replied Mr. Stark, just as soft. He waited a moment before asking, “Humour an old man and take a picture with me?”

“A picture?”

“Yeah, graduation gown and all. C’mon, we’ll be quick and you can head off to wherever you’re rushing off to.”

Peter nodded and walked over to where Mr. Stark was. With every step, Peter could feel the swish of his graduation gown brush against his arms and legs with a hyperawareness; every fiber felt too stiff, every hair on his body tingled, and his arms felt like they didn’t belong on his body. 

“It’s alright, I don’t bite Peter,” joked Mr. Stark. “Say cheese!”

The flash of Mr. Stark’s phone camera was bright, brighter than Peter expected. He took a second to scrunch up his face and rub at his eyes before looking over Mr. Stark’s shoulder to see the picture. It was sweet, in some awkward way. Peter’s hair was curly and slightly askew from when Matt had ruffled it and his smile was stilted, but Mr. Stark looked happy. 

“I’ll send it to you later, Underoos,” said Mr. Stark, still looking at the photo. His voice was quiet and he didn’t meet Peter’s gaze. “Now off you go, I don’t want to keep you too late.”

“Alright, Mr. Stark,” replied Peter in a soft tone. “See you on Wednesday?”

Mr. Stark’s face lit up. “Sure thing, kid.”

Peter jogged past Mr. Stark to where he left his phone, and by some miracle or work of God, it was still there. He pocketed it and gave Mr. Stark a final smile before walking out of the reception hall.

“What took?” asked Wade. Matt slapped the upside of his head, eliciting a yelp. “Alright, alright, nevermind Bambi. Let’s head to dinner.”

-

Matt had picked out a quieter restaurant for dinner, both for Peter’s and Wade’s sake. They sat at a table near the back entrance, knees knocking together while they waited for their food. Wade headed to the washroom, giving Matt and Peter some privacy.

“So, you said you had good news?” Peter asked.

“Great news, actually,” replied Matt. “I got word from Judge Batzer that your case is going through. All the paperwork is good, we just need to confirm a court date and we’re set.”

“Are you kidding me?” Peter jumped up from his seat, ecstatic. “Are you serious right now, Matt?”

“Dead serious. We can go after your graduation trip on Wednesday.”

Peter clasped onto Matt, head buried in the man’s shoulder with tears springing to his eyes. “Things are going to be alright?”

“Yeah, it looks that way,” smiled Matt. 

• Fourth week of June, Wednesday: Graduation trip to the Avenger’s compound 

Peter wasn’t by, any standard, religious. 

He didn’t know the difference between Catholicism or Protestantism (or if there was even a difference), but Peter was sure of one thing. There was a higher power and it fucking hated him. It hated his guts, because why else would Peter have to get up at ass o’clock in the morning to go on a trip that would most definitely end awfully?

Nonetheless, Peter woke up early Wednesday morning. He put on his shoes, grabbed his bus pass, and headed down to Midtown High for one final visit. When he arrived at school, there was already a crowd lining up in front of the yellow school bus.

“Excited, Penis?” asked Flash, clipping Peter’s shoulder with his backpack. “We’re all gonna see what a fucking liar you are.”

“You honestly never shut up, do you?” replied Peter. “Can’t you mind your own business for once?”

Flash grinned and Peter imagined shoving his head into a pile of putrid, steaming shit. Peter just let out a long, withering sigh.

“But you’re so fun to rile up, Parker,” said Flash, “and what would life be without a little entertainment?”

Peter scoffed. “Listen, this is probably the last time we’ll ever see each other, so lay off me. It’s too early in the morning for your crap.”

“My point exactly. This is the last day I get to make your life miserable so I have to make the most out of it. The earlier I start, the better.”

“You’re incredibly fucked in the head, Eugene.”

Grinning again, Flash said, “If I’m fucked in the head, I wonder what you are. Dead parents, dead uncle, the little orphan no one wants - that must do wonders for your mental health, no?”

Peter stilled, blood hot. With fists clenched and knuckles white, Peter started walking towards Flash, who started backing away with placating hands. 

“Talk shit about me all you want, but I told you to leave my uncle out of it.”

“Chill Parker, it’s just a joke,” Flash chuckled meekly. “What, you can’t take a fucking joke now?”

Flash’s face pissed Peter off, and for once, he hated his sense of responsibility. It would be incredibly gratifying to just knock the arrogance off his face. Maybe a solid punch would take the doucheyness out of Flash’s personality and instill some sense into him.

“No, it isn’t ‘just a joke’ . I said to keep his fucking name out of your mouth or I would rip your tongue out,” replied Peter, voice low. Flash paled at Peter’s words. “Should I make good on my promise or are you going to apologize? Because frankly, I’m sick of hearing you speak and this is the last chance I’m giving you to shut the hell up.”

“Jesus, sorry Parker,” mumbled Flash. “Shit, I’ll fucking leave you alone alright? Happy?”

Peter waited a moment before responding. He looked deep in Flash’s eyes, those cowardly, pieces of shit eyes, before nodding. Flash ran off immediately and Peter watched him line up to get on the bus, feeling conflicted. 

On one hand, Peter didn’t like hurting people. He couldn’t stand when Matt or Wade scared people for names, locations, and dates, and he most definitely wouldn’t allow them to hurt criminals, no matter how much they deserved it. It made Peter physically sick, hearing the blood curdling screams that followed their investigation scare tactics. Peter had no right to scare Flash into doing what he wanted, he had no right to use his super strength or all things in class to hurt a civilian. 

But on the other hand, Flash was an asshole who went too far, and Peter? Peter was always fucking angry. He didn’t know when it started - the hot pulse of anger beneath his skin - but it didn’t go away, and it scared Peter. It scared Peter because what if this anger meant he was no better than those low lifes who used their anger to hurt others? What if it meant that he wasn’t worth fighting for, worth protecting, but something to be hunted like the scum Team Red chases?

“Peter!” Mr. Harrington called from the bus, breaking Peter from his thoughts. “C’mon, line up!”

Readjusting his bag, Peter made his way over. There was still another twenty minutes until departure, but there was no harm in waiting on the bus. He’d save seats for Ned and MJ, and text Wade to pass time (if Wade was awake). 

Peter lined up, saying good morning to Mr. Harrington as he boarded onto the bus, and settled into an empty row near the back. From his bag, he pulled out his phone.

…

ned: shit, im late

ned: well, not late late

ned: late as in im not 30min early 

mj: you need to fucking chill

mj: I can literally see your ma’s car on the road

ned: stalker alert?!?! how do u know where i am

mj: because I’m in the car behind you? fucking dumbass lol

ned: rude

mj: it is what it is lmfao

ned: wait where’s peterrrrrrrrrr

ned: peeeetttteeeeeeeererrrrrrrr

ned: peterererererrrrrrrrr my fav person my best friend my little food garbage disposalllll

ned: where are u :(((

I’m on the bus already

I got here early

Saved seats for you two!

mj: unlike ned? lol

ned: thats so uncalled for mj…. u know how much i hate being late

You aren’t late though?

ned: well, my moms says if i’m not 30min early, im as good as late 

ned: and are yall gonna defy my mothers? my OWN two mothers?

mj: dude why would you weaponize your parents like that your moms are too scary to say no to

ned: i know, thats exactly why i weaponize them :D cuz i know u cant do shit abt it

mj: I resent that you’re right

ned: lolol

( mj is typing…)

…

Peter closed the group chat with his bickering friends and opened Wade’s messages.

…

You up? I’m bored

(14 minutes later.)

wade ヾ(＠＾▽＾＠)ﾉ: oh my JESUS ∑(゜Д゜;) is this a booty call text?!?!!? 

wade ヾ(＠＾▽＾＠)ﾉ: ur too precious for me (. ﾟーﾟ) my lil BABY

wade ヾ(＠＾▽＾＠)ﾉ: thx bubble butt but no thx ｡･ﾟﾟ*(>д<)*ﾟﾟ･｡ i have MORALS you know

Wade why are you so dramatic, I’m BORED not horny

Nevermind, don’t keep me company

The bus is about to leave, bye!

wade ヾ(＠＾▽＾＠)ﾉ: NOOO DONT GO IM SORRY

( wade ヾ(＠＾▽＾＠)ﾉ is typing…)

…

The drive down to the Compound was both entirely nerve-wracking and exciting. 

Peter knew the other AcaDeca kids were going to ask pointed questions about internships at Stark Industries because of how closely related SI and the Avengers Council have become over the past two years. They were going to test the validity of Peter’s sophomore extracurricular, one that Flash ruthlessly bullied Peter over while Ned and MJ defended him.

If they asked this time around, they would get a definitive and resounding answer.

Yes, Peter was an intern. Yes, Peter knew Mr. Stark. Yes, everything he had claimed in the past years would be revealed as truths and his title of a liar, of a cheat, of a scummy wisher would be washed clean. 

In Peter’s little fantasy, Mr. Stark would sweep Peter into a big hug or ruffle his hair while throwing an arm over his shoulders. Flash would gape and gasp and eventually weep from sheer envy, MJ and Ned would look proud as ever, and the rest of the AcaDeca team would finally forgive him for all those missed practices in the name of the internship. Mr. Harrington would go bug eyed, finally realizing that the AcaDeca team was only on SI’s radar because it had been Peter who they’ve been looking out for. It was a whimsical fantasy, one where everything turned out perfectly happy, so Peter mentally sorted this daydream alongside the other painfully optimistic and unattainable ones. Still, Peter hoped that, in some infinitesimal way, his daydream would come true.

They were pulling into the guest parking garage of the Compound. It was vast and bright and had more shrubbery than Peter expected; Mr. Stark’s personal garage was a warm grey with no greenery and he had assumed all parking lots would look the same. From his seat, he looked through the window and saw the tour guides he met on Saturday, and allowed Ned to shake his arm excitedly while chattering on and on and on to MJ. 

It was finally happening, Peter realized as he followed Ned off the bus. He couldn’t avoid anything that would happen, not anymore. 

“Welcome to the Avenger’s Compound, Midtown High!” said Ibrahim cheerily. He was the tour guide that Pepper introduced on the weekend, alongside Meara. “It’s a pleasure to have you as our first official tour group!”

The AcaDeca team smiled and clapped and listened attentively to both Ibrahim and Meara's introductions. He was a biomedical engineer that also majored in tourism, landed a paid internship at Stark Industries at twenty one, and got promoted to work for both R&D and the tourism development departments at twenty five. Ibrahim then got invited to work for the Avenger’s council via Stark Industries’ recommendations to spearhead the growth of the new group tours that were happening, which he was incredibly excited and passionate about.

Meara, on the other hand, was a history and law buff. She worked as a paralegal at her father’s law firm all through highschool, went to Oxford for law, and got hired by SI right after graduation for both her incredible pro-bono work and her hyper competence. Her promotion from SI’s legal team to the Avenger’s compound tourism development department was due to her scarily accurate intuition about what people wanted, what needed to be done, how it could be achieved, and how far it could be taken within the elasticity of the legal realm. 

Both Meara and Ibrahim were smart, driven, and passionate. Despite their big accomplishments that could’ve diminished the AcaDeca’s self esteem, it had only made Peter’s peers more excited. They wanted those opportunities to prove that they could do great things, if Stark Industries gave them a chance. 

“Alright, let’s get started, shall we?” said Meara, wagging her eyebrows in that exaggerated way to entice laughter. “I’ll say your name and hand out our guest passes, but before that, understand that keeping your pass safe is incredibly important. Your pass will allow you to enter rooms, to access the cafeteria, to access washrooms, and it’ll be incredibly troublesome for both you and I if you were to lose it. Keep it in the ID holder and keep your lanyard on at all times.”

Everyone nodded and Peter suddenly remembered how many holes were in his backpack. Maybe they’d happen to have extra lanyards that Peter could borrow because it was increasingly clear that the card in his bag could fall out at any time. He ruffled through his bag and pulled out the card that Pepper had printed for him, pressing it into the palm of his hand.

"Betty Brant. Level 1 guest card. You can head to Ibrahim and walk through the metal detector."

When Meara was calling out names, Peter thought of everything that could go wrong. It was irrational because they had met on Saturday specifically for today, but what if she didn’t see his name on the guest list? What if his name had a red “access denied” stamped beside it? What if-

“Peter Parker,” she called and Peter could feel everyone’s eyes on him. 

He walked to the front, his pass in hand, and felt embarrassment simmer underneath his skin. Instead of the frown he expected, Meara greeted him with a smile and passed him an empty lanyard. “Pre-approved pass. Good to see you again, Peter.”

Peter smiled back, albeit weakly. “Good to see you too.”

He looped the lanyard over his head and took off his bag before walking through the metal detectors. The simple black bracelets and the watch he wore, which held the nanosuit and iron-spider suit respectively, wouldn't set off any metal detector and registered as normal accessories. 

"Name, Peter Parker, Research and Development Lab Intern. Clearance level: Four."

Peter heard a chorus of confusion behind him, saying "Lab intern? Level four?" He half expected Flash to laugh and ask what bribes were involved, but instead, Flash’s mouth settled into a grim, straight line. 

Maybe it will be a quiet day. 

After everyone passed the initial security detail, Peter found himself trailing at the back of the group beside MJ. Ned, of course, was lingering beside Betty and talking excitedly with Ibrahim about the events for the tour. 

“How are you holding up?” asked MJ. “I know it feels like a lot, but I think it’ll be fun today.”

“Really?” Peter was surprised. MJ was more of a ‘expect disappointment and you won’t be disappointed’ type person, so her optimism was unexpected. “What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know. Just a feeling,” she said, and that was that. 

The pair walked together, shoulder to shoulder. Despite Peter’s growth spurt, MJ had always managed to be taller than him, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Throughout junior year, before Peter got taller, MJ had this perpetual hunch in her shoulders to make herself smaller that Peter hated. Karen, the lawyer friend, had that same hunch, but MJ’s worsened when she tucked her nose into a book or drew.

“Welcome to the Avenger’s history gallery. This section includes the origin stories behind everyone’s favorite heroes and their turning point from someone ordinary to a hero,” said Ibrahim. “Meara will conduct a guided tour, but feel free to wander around.”

The history gallery was beautiful in every way. It was dimly lit throughout the long walkway, but the glass display cases lining the walls were bright. The Avenger suits were displayed on life-like mannequins, ranging from the oldest to newest suits. Other displays showed stills of pivotal moments in each Avenger’s life. The first display shown was Steve coming out of Dr. Erskine’s machine, perspiration glittering on his taut muscles. 

“Captain Steven Grant ‘Steve’ Rogers is a World War II veteran, a founding member of the Avengers, and Earth's first known superhero,” said Meara, quoting it from the engraved description on the display. “Rogers grew up suffering from numerous health problems, and upon America's entry into World War II, he was rejected from serving in the United States Army despite several attempts to enlist.

“Rogers ultimately volunteered for Project Rebirth, where he was the only recipient of the Super Soldier Serum developed by Doctor Abraham Erskine under the Strategic Scientific Reserve. The serum greatly enhanced Rogers' physical abilities to superhuman levels. This still model shows how a single decision, the decision to take action against injustice, can ripple through generations and spur others to use their strengths for the greater good.”

The next display was Mr. Stark, in Afghanistan. He looked sick with red rimmed eyes and held several sheets of paper against a light table with a car battery attached to his chest. 

The first draft of the Iron Man suit. 

Mr. Stark never talked about what happened in Afghanistan other than it was bad, so Peter had never pushed. Sometimes Peter wished he had pushed, that he had found out exactly what happened between Stane that turned Tony Stark into Iron Man before looking at the display. It was uncomfortable and raw and personal; Peter couldn’t bear to look at it any longer.  

“Anthony Edward ‘Tony’ Stark was a billionaire industrialist, another founding member of the Avengers, and the former CEO of Stark Industries,” continued Meara. “With his great wealth and exceptional technical knowledge, Stark was one of the world's most powerful men following the deaths of his parents and enjoyed the playboy lifestyle for many years until he was kidnapped by the Ten Rings in Afghanistan, while demonstrating a fleet of Jericho missiles. With his life on the line, Stark created an armored suit which he used to escape his captors.

“We all know how that escalated to the infamous ‘I am Iron Man’ line. After his public announcement, Stark agreed to serve as a consultant for S.H.I.E.L.D. where he used his position to upgrade their technology. With the world yet again being threatened, Stark joined the Avengers and helped defeat the Chitauri and Loki,” said Meara. “This still model is my personal favorite because it shows how a mind, a truly brilliant mind, will not be stopped by any constraints. All of you have the potential to become revolutionary scientists, ones that change history like Mr. Stark, but it takes great effort and hard work to do so. Now, onto the next display.”

The other displays were nice, though Peter might’ve thought they were nice because he didn’t know the other Avengers beyond a hello. Meara explained Dr. Banner’s first transformation into the Hulk and the relation to D.I.D, she explained the bare bones beginnings of Clint and Natasha’s friendship, she explained the development of Vision and Ultron and Sam Wilson and the Winter Soldier and Pietro and Wanda. By the time the guided tour had finished, Peter had been antsy and hungry.

“Isn’t this all so cool?” asked Ned. “I love the Black Widow display, she’s so kickass. Wanna take a picture with me? I wanna send it to my mom.”

Peter and Ned took pictures upon pictures of each other, with each other, and then as a group of three with MJ. It was easy to smile for Ned, easy to be a coward and hide everything with a laugh.

-

After the pictures and the gallery, the AcaDeca team had an hour before lunch where they were let loose in the general intern labs. ‘Let loose’ as in under the intense supervision of Meara, Ibrahim, and the other lab supervisor present. 

“Hey Peter, look at this,” exclaimed Ned, holding up a little robot made from scraps and held together by loose hinges. “All I need is to finish the circuit board and write the code, and I’ll have a bot fighter!”

Despite the modest appearance, it was an impressive bot compared to the wonky looking lamp Cindy Moon was taping together. 

“Want me to make one for you?” asked Ned, already rummaging through the metal bins for more parts. “We can start bot fighting over the summer- hey MJ, pass me those wires, thanks. You wanna make the controllers?”

Peter smiled at Ned’s earnesty. “Sure, Ned. Red and blue ones?”

“You know it,” grinned Ned. 

Being in the general intern labs was somewhat disorientating compared to Mr. Stark’s personal and secondary labs because most of the equipment was stored in different places. It could be due to Mr. Stark having no respect for putting things back in order (he strived in organized chaos and knew where everything was), but Peter was glad to find the labeled cabinets. 

“Okay… extra IR receivers… some Dupont wires… Oh! An R3 board, wicked.”

“You seem to know your way around,” said Betty, peering over Peter’s shoulder.

“ Jesus , you scared me.”

“I said, you seem to know your way around. Makes me wonder if Flash is lying.”

Peter frowned. “What do you mean?”

Betty nodded at Peter’s intern card. “You know what I mean. Why didn’t you shut Flash up back at school if you had proof all along?”

“I doubt he’d believe me, even with proof,” Peter said, huffing out a small laugh.

Leaning against the cabinet doors, Betty gave Peter a pensive look. “There’s something you’re hiding and I’m going to find out what. A highschooler doesn’t get level four clearance pass while our tour guides are stuck at level three.”

“Well,” Peter started and Betty glared at him, “good luck with that. Now, I kinda need the spare motors bin- um- it’s kind of behind you, sorry-”

“Oh, sorry, lemme just-” Betty ducked under Peter’s arm. 

“Thanks,” smiled Peter, feeling awkward. “Gotta go back to building before Ned bites my head off.”

“Tell Ned I said hi!”

“Tell him yourself,” said Peter, “I’m not getting in between you two.”

As Peter started to walk back towards Ned and MJ’s table, Betty shouted, “Wait! I’m going to figure it out, Parker! I will! Might as well tell me now!”

Ned made a face. “What was that about?”

Peter shrugged. “She was curious about how I got the internship. Betty says hi, by the way.”

“Really? She told me this morning that if I said another word to her, she was gonna stick it where the sun didn’t shine.” Ned shuddered.

“Your relationship with Betty is extremely confusing,” replied Peter. “I don’t know why you two keep getting back together.”

“The fights make it fun.” Ned glanced at Betty, who had started helping Cindy with her lamp. “You can’t deny the chemistry between us, either. Should I go say hi back?”

“I-”

“Thanks, Peter, I’m going to go talk to Betty.”

Sighing, Peter resigned himself to finishing the second bot and the controllers. It was marginally easier than making the Spiderman suit in concept, but Peter didn’t have access to the same supplies available in Mr. Stark’s labs. There was a fabricator in the lab, though smaller and less intuitive, but Peter didn’t want to draw attention to himself. 

“You can use the fabricator, Peter,” said the lab supervisor, Jiyeon. “You know how and you have clearance.”

She must’ve seen Peter looking at it too many times. 

“Nah, I’m almost done anyway.” 

“It’s up to you,” Jiyeon shrugged. “But you could always make a casing for your robots. Your friend seems too preoccupied to help anyway.”

Just as Jiyeon said, Ned and Betty were deep into an argument that had drawn the attention of most of the AcaDeca club. It was about some trivial thing and blew up to become some sort of comical, immature argument and the other AcaDeca members crowded around them. Using that as a distraction, Peter caved and brought both of the bots to the fabricator. 

Peter opened the lid, placed the bots on the scanner to measure the dimensions, and fiddled with the settings on the fabricator. 

“How are you doing that,” asked Flash, voice low. 

Despite being an asshole, Flash was as curious as any other AcaDeca member. It was just Peter’s luck that it was Flash that wasn’t taken by Ned and Betty’s latest argument. 

“Well, I am an intern.”

“I see that now ,” muttered Flash, irritated. “Show me how it works.”

“You wanna use the fabricator?”

Flash was holding his own creation by his side, but Peter couldn’t quite see what it was. 

“You could ask Jiyeon if you want to learn so bad.”

“Well, I’m asking you, aren’t I?” snapped Flash. “Just show me.”

“Fine,” Peter said with a sigh. “You see this glass screen here? You put whatever you made, in my case: the bots, and the fabricator takes a 3D scan of it so it can measure the dimensions.”

Peter pressed the central button on the control panel in front of the screen, recalibrating the fabricator and showing Flash how the scanning worked. Then, he took the bots and put them onto the lab tables beside him.

“Since I’m making an armored casing, I’m removing the bots. The dimension scans will show up as an interactive hologram where you can rotate it and whatnot.” The scans of both bots showed up in the middle portion of the fabricator and Peter showed Flash how to manipulate the holograms. 

“You can also check the internals of whatever you’re making and see what can be removed.” Peter plucked out from the hologram an extra metal plate from a bot and balled it up, throwing it over his shoulder like Mr. Stark. 

“From here, you can make just about anything. I can remake the bots with other materials from the fabricator, I can make accessories like miniature repulsors, or I can make an armor casing, which is what I’m going to do. You just select whatever portions of the hologram you want to copy, adjust the hinge placements and flexibility, change colors and materials, and hit fabricate. Makes sense?”

Peter looked back at Flash and saw the rest of the AcaDeca team watching him in silenced awe. Ned just stared at Peter, gaping, and MJ wore another unreadable expression. 

“Um, hi?” said Peter, and the spell was broken.

“Holy shit, Parker-”

“Me next!”

“No way, I called dibs-”

“That was awesome !”

“I’m in line, so I’m next!”

“How did he do that?”

“He’s an intern, dumbass!”

“Alright, alright,” called Meara over the AcaDeca team’s clambering. “Unfortunately for everyone, our free time in the intern labs has come to an end.”

The team groaned collectively. 

“So, collect your items. If you wish to bring your creations home, line up in front of Ibrahim who will give you a bag to put it in, and if you don’t, please put it in the trays near the back of the labs.”

Betty’s hand darted up. “Will we have time to come back to the lab after? Because I really want to use the fabrication thingy machine.”

Meara smiled. “I love your enthusiasm, Miss Brant. If we have extra time at the end of our tour to return, but only those with proper clearance and training can use the fabricator. You’ll have to ask Jiyeon, Ibrahim, or Peter for assistance if you want a turn with the machine.”

The team groaned again and Peter’s face flushed. Flash had a sour expression, but didn’t say anything nasty. 

“C’mon kids,” Mr. Harrington said finally. “Let’s listen to what Meara has to say and get ready for lunch.”

-

Lunch was a quiet affair. Well, as quiet as it could be after whatever happened in the labs.

Part of the fifth floor on the Compound was sectioned off for the AcaDeca team to have lunch in. The fifth floor, from what Peter grew to learn, was often not in use and served as a hosting floor for small events, unimportant press conferences, staff meetings, and now, tour groups. The fourth floor was the general cafeteria that looked like a mall’s food court with individual stores and central tables, chairs, stools, and garbage disposals. 

Due to Stark Industries’ ethics regarding both employee equity and reducing food waste, the food services are free of charge as long as there is a valid access card of any clearance level. All employees, interns, student tour groups, and higher ups could order using the self-serve kiosks and are able to check for allergens, choose serving sizes, drinks, take out containers, and more.

For the AcaDeca team, this eating arrangement was the most futuristic cafeteria to ever exist. And for Peter, who hasn’t been on the fourth floor in favour of the Avengers common room kitchen, the plethora of food options was overwhelming.

“After you order and collect your food, please make your way up to the fifth floor and try not to bother any employees having lunch,” said Ibrahim, walking the AcaDeca team towards the ordering kiosks. “If you brought your own lunch, you can wait for your peers or make your way up. Either way, Meara and I will be waiting for you upstairs. Have fun, kids!”

“Dude, I’m having intense decision paralysis right now,” said Ned, eyes wide. “I don’t know what to pick, there’s too many options. Like, do I go with burgers, but I can get burgers back home, or do I get something new? But what if I don’t like it? Meara said to order what we can finish or bring home, and if I don’t like it, I won’t want to bring it home but I can’t waste food and oh my god, Peter, what am I gonna do?”

“Ned, just get…” Peter furrowed his eyebrows, looking over his friend’s shoulder. “Just get the burgers and I’ll get something else, and we can switch if you don’t like it.”

Ned nodded and put in his order before stepping aside for Peter. Despite his previous decision paralysis that mirrored Ned, Peter decided to get a platter of lasagna, a side of french fries, a salad, and an iced coffee. When Peter went to pick up his order, large compared to other students, the server gave Peter a weird look. 

“Sharing with friends,” Peter mumbled, though they didn’t ask. He could see the warning in the server's eyes as if Peter wouldn’t be able to finish what he ordered, yet Peter couldn’t fault them. They must’ve had a lot of overly ambitious orders from other AcaDeca members. 

Peter waited for Ned before bringing his lunch back up to the fifth floor, carefully holding his tray. At the table, MJ was arguing with Flash.

“Hey Ned,” said Peter, not taking his eyes off the fight. “Go get Mr. Harrington. I’ll deal with this.”

Ned bolted off and Peter approached the table.

“I can’t stand it,” snapped Flash. “Why does fucking Penis Parker get to have everything? He gets to have a cushy fucking internship, he got to skip out of practice whenever he wanted, he gets my spot on the team. I work just as hard as Parker does, so why is he special?”

“Maybe because he isn’t an entitled dick? Have you considered that, Eugene ?” MJ said, just as angry as Flash. “Your mommy and daddy won’t be able to buy you a nicer personality like how they bought you into MIT.”

“You’re a bitch, Michelle Jones,” spat Flash. “You’re a fucking asshole, you know that right?”

“Ha, that’s ironic for you to say,” replied MJ hotly. “Who spent their entire life bullying Peter? Who spent all of high school calling Peter a liar? Between us, who fat-shamed Ned and calls Peter ‘Penis’, hm? Tell me who . You’re the asshole and you’re just jealous that Peter has something going on in life that didn’t involve a money exchange.”

“MJ, stop. That’s enough.” Peter stood in front of MJ, blocking her view from Flash. “Thank you, but that’s enough.”

“He deserves to hear it. He’s awful and bitter and a shitty person.”

“Maybe he does, but don’t be mean on my behalf,” said Peter. “Please. Go to Ned and calm down. I’ll talk to Flash.”

MJ glared at Peter. “Just letting you know, this is a shit idea and I hate it.”

“Hate it all you want, but that won’t change my mind.”

“Fuck you, Parker,” MJ spat, turning away and walking to Ned. 

As MJ left, Mr. Harrington appeared. “Is there a problem here, boys?”

“No, sir,” said Flash tersely. “We were just talking.”

Mr. Harrington turned to Peter, eyebrows raised. “Peter?”

Peter looked at Flash, eyes daring. “Were we just talking, Flash?”

“Listen Eugene, I don’t want to lecture you on our last day as a team, but if there is an issue here, I have a responsibility to resolve it,” replied Mr. Harrington. “I know you two don’t necessarily get along and I’ve tried to let you two resolve it between yourselves, but if there is a problem, I’ll have to contact both of your guardians one last time.”

This time, Flash met Peter’s eyes almost pleading, and Peter understood his desperation.

“No worries, Mr. Harrington,” Peter said as sincerely as he could. “We had a small disagreement, but we were talking it out.”

“So no funny business and nothing stupid, I hope?”

Peter and Flash both shook their heads and looked at Mr. Harrington, who nodded once reluctantly. “I’ll let you boys get back to lunch, then.”

After Mr. Harrington walked back to his table where Meara and Ibrahim sat, Peter sighed and turned to Flash. “I thought you said you’d leave me alone.”

“Well, I wasn’t talking to you was I?”

“Jesus, Flash, you don’t know when to stop,” said Peter. “You need to know that being an asshole is going to get you nowhere in life. You can’t bully your way through MIT.”

“What are you, my fucking Dad now?”

“Well, obviously not because you’re still an asshole.” 

“It’s not fair how you just- just get everything , Parker,” said Flash. “You know, a cool ass internship, you know people here, you’re smart. You have everything.”

“Flash, you realize I’m an orphan right? I’m poor as shit , and yeah I have a cool internship, but I worked really hard for it. There’s more to life than an internship and connections, like actual living parents.”

“Well, at least your aunt cares for you. My parents can’t stand me,” muttered Flash. “Jeez, why am I telling you this? Can’t you leave me alone? Go to your stupid friends and leave me alone, Penis.”

Peter sighed. "Flash, what I’m saying is that MJ was wrong.”

“What?”

“You’re obviously smart, you’re driven. You honestly can do so much more than me because you can afford better resources. Yeah, you’re privileged, but you can also work hard.”

“I don’t see where you’re going with this, Parker.”

“What I’m saying is to pull your head out of your ass and stop letting your parents define your future. If you want something, go out and get it instead of being a jealous bully about it.”

Flash looked up at Peter, eyes pensive and slighly red rimmed. 

“Sorry,” said Flash. “I mean it this time. Man, I get so angry sometimes, you know? And then I can’t control what comes out of my mouth.”

“I get what you mean.” Peter looked down at his feet, remembering the tight feeling in his chest whenever Mr. Stark brought up the Accords. “It’s like when you’re mad, all you want to do is hurt the other person and it doesn’t matter if you mean what you say. All you want to do is hurt.”

“Yeah,” Flash breathed. “Are we cool?”

“No. I can’t forgive you for what you said about my uncle.” Peter paused. “But I won’t be angry about it either. It’s not worth the energy.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Thanks, Flash.” Peter looked back up at Flash, then glanced over his shoulder to where MJ and Ned were talking. “I gotta apologize to MJ, but I really hope you have a good time at MIT.”

“Thanks. For all it’s worth, I hope you figure out a way to Columbia, too.”

Chapter Text

• Fourth week of June, Wednesday: Graduation trip to the Avenger’s compound

Maybe Peter was wrong. Maybe he shouldn’t have defended Flash from MJ, because now she wouldn’t even look at Peter. 

“MJ?” Peter asked quietly. They were walking side by side down the hallway of the Compound’s twelfth floor with Ned ahead of them, talking to Betty and Cindy. “MJ, please, I’m sorry.”

“I defended you, Parker,” MJ snapped. “I defended you all these years against that dick Eugene and you turn around and defend him?”

“I know, I’m sorry. That was shitty of me.”

“He called me a bitch and you told me to stop. You don’t get to walk away from that.”

“I messed up, MJ, I shouldn’t have let him say that, but I also-“ Peter sighed. He loved MJ, she was an amazing friend and his feelings for her went deep, but she thought every one of his issues were also hers. I also don’t need you to fight my battles for me.

“Hm? But what? You know, these past weeks, you’ve been out of it. Ned and I didn’t want to say anything, but seriously, Peter. What’s going on with you?” asked MJ, turning to face him. “You’ve been here, but you haven’t been truly present for weeks now. You stopped talking to us, stopped telling us about patrol, and we’re worried for you. I’m worried for you.”

“I’m sorry, MJ.”

“Is that all you have to say to me?” MJ said, incredulous. “The only connection we have left to you is through Karen, the goddamn AI that will only tell us if you’re breathing or not. Sorry isn’t enough this time, Peter.”

“I know, I promise I’ll tell you everything,” Peter replied. The look on MJ’s face was haunting and clear: if Peter didn’t come clean soon, there was going to be no forgiveness between them. More than anything, Peter wanted to tell her, wanted someone to share the burden of his secrets with that would just be there for him, but it was hard. The longer he waited to say something, the harder it would be to form the words. It would stick to the roof of his mouth, like a tar. “Just not now.”

“Then when?”

“The entire place is rigged with microphones, you read the paperwork. I’ll tell you when we get back to Queens. I’ll tell you and Ned everything.” 

“If you bail…” MJ didn’t have to finish her sentence for Peter to understand what she meant. 

Peter nodded solemnly. 

“I still don’t forgive you,” MJ clipped before increasing her pace, walking beside Ned. 

The rest of the walk down the hall was short, if lonely. Ibrahim led them to the staged Avenger’s living rooms, a room where none of the Avenger’s actually used. The staged living room served as a shortcut between the main hall and restricted rooms that were interconnected by hidden passageways, which then were connected to the actual Avenger’s living room. ‘How did Peter know all this information?’ , one might ask, and Peter’s answer would always fall back on his internship.

The actual reason was slightly, slightly , less official. During one of the first lab nights shortly after the Vulture incident, Mr. Stark was still renovating the Compound after deciding to keep both the Tower and the Compound. 

While Peter worked on his own projects, Mr. Stark had the Compound’s blueprint projected by his lab table, pulling things out and adding things in. Peter would’ve had to have been blind if he didn’t see where those passageways led, the entrances to them, and if he tried, Peter would bet he had access to some of those passageways. The real challenge would be getting past the security detail posted behind the hidden doors. 

“This, my friends,” Meara smiled, “is the Avenger’s living room. You’ll find a table near the back of the room with chairs, so please take a seat when we tell you to, but feel free to look around and make yourselves at home in the meantime.”

Ibrahim opened the doors for the AcaDeca team and Peter understood why his teammates gasped. There were tall windows made of thick, reinforced glass that stretched from the floor to the high ceilings, which had fancy light displays. The room itself felt like Peter’s bedroom in a sense; there was a sort of crafted, artificial homeyness in the air. The sofa, large and plush, was barely used aside from the occasional visitor, the television that laid flush into the wall hadn’t been turned on since it had been installed, and the bookshelves were full of books that neither Peter nor the Avengers have read. From an outside perspective, the living room felt warm and welcoming with just enough disarray to sell the lie that the room was in use, but from Peter’s perspective (on top of his heightened senses), everything felt too manufactured to be welcoming. 

“Have you been here before?” asked Ned. He flopped ungraciously onto the sofa, which was a dark forest green lined with two white fleece blankets. “This is sick! Hey MJ, can you pass me the remote?”

MJ tossed the remote from the glass coffee table onto the sofa before sitting beside Ned. Peter took a seat on the other side of Ned, still wary of MJ. She could act like everything was alright in front of Ned, she could still joke around with both of them, but Peter knew what happened was something that would linger. 

“Nah, I don’t usually end up here,” Peter replied and kicked up his feet onto the coffee table to feign nonchalance. “I stay down in the labs.”

“Ha, we can see that. You totally proved everyone wrong with all that crazy science magic you did. I wonder if we’ll have a chance to go back,” Ned said, grinning. “I wanna see if I can make a portable carrier for our AI, Jay Jay Blinks.”

“Jay Jay Blinks?” MJ groaned. “Seriously?”

“Well, I can’t just name it Jar Jar Binks because of copyright issues, I had to improvise!”

“I thought we said no stupid Star Wars names.”

“Nuh uh, you said no stupid Star Wars names. If I remember correctly, which I do, both Peter and I thought space names were amazing. This is a democracy, not a matriarchy.”

“Maybe it should be a matriarchy considering your amazing naming skills, Ned.”

“Oh, so you agree? You think I have amazing naming skills?”

Peter huffed. “Did you really just quote Mean Girls to us?”

“Well,” Ned protested, “what else was I going to do? Take attacks on my naming skills lying down?”

“I think the name ‘Jay Jay Blinks’ tells us enough about your naming skills, buddy,” replied Peter.

“But who are we to judge?” MJ retorted. “You named Stark’s AI Karen.”

“Hey! Don’t diss Karen, that’s Plankton’s wife! It was funny at the moment, but in hindsight, not my brightest idea. I gotta clarify each time I mention a Karen to you guys.”

“Karen the lawyer friend is pretty hot,” MJ said, shrugging. “Well, for a paralegal working for a defense attorney.”

“Matt’s a good person though, isn’t he? Well, for a defense attorney, at least. Doesn’t he only defend the innocent?” asked Ned.

Peter nodded. “He’s great. He pays me too, so I can’t say anything.”

“Ah, typical defense attorney. Buying your silence with money.” MJ said with a concealed grin, finally looking at Peter. In that moment, making eye contact with MJ, Peter was reminded why he needed to come clean with everything. For MJ. For Ned. For the sake of their friendship. For forgiveness. Her face went solemn.

Ned made a humming noise in the back of his throat. “How about Dount Cooku?”

“Dount Cooku?” MJ groaned in disbelief. “That’s it, naming privileges are revoked.”

“Hey! That’s not fair, Dount Cooku is a wonderful name for an AI.”

“Yeah, if you want our AI to turn to the Dark Side and literally have a name that means crazy.”

“I knew you were a Star Wars nerd, MJ!” Ned said excitedly.

“It’s like, you know,” replied MJ, waving her hands dismissively, “common knowledge at this point. And how can I not know when it’s all you two talk about. Why can’t you think of names based off of Poe or something?”

“You just like Poe because Peter thinks Oscar Isaac is hot,” replied Ned. “Man, who knew naming things were so hard?”

“We can decide later,” Peter said. “I think Meara is calling us over now.”

Meara was in fact motioning for them to sit in chairs near the back of the room. Each chair had names assigned to them, and luckily (probably Pepper’s doing), Ned, MJ, and Peter were all sat together. Flash was sat in between two freshman members that looked as if they’d rather be doing a twelve page long physics assignment than make small talk, and Betty was sat beside Abe, who seemed about 4 seconds away from sicking up his hubristically large lunch. 

“I know you all are wondering right now, ‘what are we doing here?’” Ibrahim said, standing in front of the AcaDeca members. “Today is going to be a real treat because– drum roll please– Mr. Stark himself is going to be meeting you guys!”

“WHAT-”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No fucking way!”

“Eugene, language!”

“Please tell me you’re serious, please !”

Meara grinned. “Yes, Mr. Stark is going to be meeting with the Academic Decathlon team of Midtown High. At his own insistence, too. He wanted to oversee some portion of our first tour group and get some first hand feedback.” 

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck-”

“Eugene, language !”

“Sorry, Mr. Harrington.”

Meara laughed again. “I know this is a little overwhelming, but Mr. Stark said he’s open to as many questions as you want. He’s actually on his way now.”

“And before everyone starts freaking out again, let me remind you of our policies,” said Ibrahim. “No invasive questions about his personal life, respect his personal space, and allow your peers to ask questions too. All questions about science and Stark Industries are welcome and encouraged, so everyone has free range with that.”

“Also, at the end of the questions segment, Mr. Stark has offered to take official pictures for your high school display, so the photographer will be taking candid pictures as the questions are happening. After that, there will be a group photo and possibly individual photos, if Mr. Stark has time,” Meara said. 

By the time Meara had finished speaking, Mr. Stark had entered the room, likely through the interconnected passageways, without anyone other than Peter noticing. And with him, there was none other than Miss Pepper Potts. 

“Pepper?” Peter exclaimed before he could stop himself, and the rest of the AcaDeca members turned around to look at where Mr. Stark and Pepper were. 

“Told you we wouldn’t be able to scare him,” muttered Pepper under her breath. 

“Welp,” said Mr. Stark, looking back at the AcaDeca team who all looked like deer in headlights. “The act is up. Surprise?”

-

Peter really should’ve seen it coming. 

Like, genuinely. After all, it was Tony fucking Stark, and Starks always had a flair for dramatics. 

As soon as Mr. Stark and Pepper entered the room, Mr. Stark swung a loose arm around Peter’s shoulder and grinned. Peter thought he saw Flash’s eyes start to water and he felt like an asshole for enjoying it. 

“Midland High, meet my favourite intern, Peter Parker.”

“It’s Midtown High,” said Peter, shifting his shoulders and sliding out of Mr. Stark’s side hug. It made no difference because Mr. Stark followed Peter, arm firmly around him. 

“Same difference?”

Pepper turned to the AcaDeca team, still frozen, and clarified, “Tony knows it's Midtown, he just likes to tease Peter. Anyways, should we all get seated and start with the questions?”

It was eerie how silent the AcaDeca team was. They looked between Mr. Stark and Peter without a word spoken, as if the image in front of them was a desert mirage caused by the thinning oxygen in the living room. Peter pulled away from under Mr. Stark’s arm and nudged him towards Pepper.

Mr. Stark and Pepper sat at the front of the table, looking back at the neat rows of students buzzing in their chairs with excitement. The quietness bled into murmurs, which led to hushed conversations that filled the room with questions of Peter’s real position with Stark Industries. It was hard not to internalize everything, all the judgement and doubts, but because of it, Peter got used to making himself small and less noticeable. Peter tucked his head downwards and compressed into himself, shaking his head so the front sections of his hair covered his eyes. 

“First question, anyone?” asked Mr. Stark. 

It was surprising to everyone that the first question wasn’t about Peter, and that it didn’t come from Flash. Instead, it was Cindy Moon who raised her hand with such a vicious speed that made Pepper smile.

“As the obvious trendsetters in the current business and technology market, how do you balance both your involvement in the Avenger’s Committee and running Stark Industries?” 

“Wow,” said Pepper, “that’s actually a great question. I assume this is directed at Tony, Miss…”

“Cindy Moon, Miss Potts, and actually I wanted your input as the current CEO of Stark Industries. The Daily Bugle said that your involvement with the Avenger’s Committee had pushed for the renegotiation of the Sokovia Accords,” replied Cindy. 

“Are you looking for a job, Cindy?” joked Mr. Stark, making Cindy flush in pride. “Shit, I should hire you to do our interviews instead of those empty headed journalists.”

Pepper whacked Mr. Stark in the arm and scolded him for his language, resulting in a muttered apology and a laughing AcaDeca team.

“So Miss Moon, let me tell you that running Stark Industries isn’t an easy job when you have to deal with him ,” replied Pepper. She motioned at Mr. Stark, who was tapping his fingers against the table top in faux innocence. “And even though I do control the paperwork and final decisions for Stark Industries, Tony still has a large influence over what happens. Like, what phones to release this year, what technology to invest in, or how we should proceed with overcoming a large technological issue.”

“She says it’s easier to run SI as the CEO than it was when she was my personal assistant,” Mr. Stark quipped, cracking a smile from Pepper. 

“Well, I don’t have to wait on paperwork to be signed anymore,” replied Pepper. “Did you know Tony hates being handed things? Everytime I needed something signed, I’d have to trick Tony into it.”

The AcaDeca team laughed again, and Peter was reminded of sophomore year when he tried giving Mr. Stark a tablet. Keyword was tried , because the tablet ended up on the lab floor with a dent in the side. 

“But to answer your question, Miss Moon, I’m able to balance dealing with the Avenger’s Committee and running SI because I have a lot of good help.” Pepper nodded in thought. “There’s people I trust to make decisions on my behalf and to inform me when my direct involvement is needed, and because of them, I’m able to put my best work forward. I also expect my employees to put their best work forward, which makes my job easier at the end of the day. Thank you for your question, Miss Moon, that was very insightful. Any others?”

A freshman raised his hand, arm shaking.

“Yes, Mister…?”

“Frank, Miss Potts,” stuttered Frank. “I-I have a question for Tony Stark, if that’s alright?”

“Call me Tony, please,” Mr. Stark cut in. “Go for it, Frankie boy.”

“Well, we all know the story behind the arc reactor, but how exactly did you refine the technology from using palladium to developing Starkium– er Vibranium? I don’t quite know what to call it.”

“It’s actually called Badassium–”

“ Tony .”

“Sorry, sorry, I forget that you guys have young, impressionable minds. It’s a funny story, actually, as I was dying from blood poisoning and everything,” grinned Mr. Stark. “We now all know how Wakanda has the largest reserve of Vibranium, but back in 2010, no one had a clue what exactly Vibranium could do.”

“And?” asked Frank. 

“I sure as hell didn’t know, but my pops left me a little gift. Some blueprint of a potential this or that, and with a particle accelerator I had lying around, I was able to create an allotrope of Vibranium that I called Badassium. Or Starkium now because the patent didn’t go through. On the periodic table, it’s officially called Vibranium, but the allotrope I made is called Starkium and it’s what I use to power my arc reactors.”

“Woah, cool,” Frank breathed. “Can we build an arc reactor?”

Mr. Stark looked at Pepper, who made eye contact with Mr. Harrington, Meara, and Ibrahim. 

“A replica,” suggested Pepper, “no power source, revised design, and I think it should be good. Meara, Ibrahim, what do you think?”

“Sounds good to me,” Ibrahim said. “Let’s continue with the questions for now and we can get one of the labs prepared. Mr. Stark, would you like to send Jiyeon a list of materials we’d need?”

“Sure,” replied Mr. Stark breezily. He picked up his tablet, presumably to draw up a kid-friendly version of the arc reactor. “Let’s get the next question going.”

It was MJ who raised her hand this time, beating out Flash and Betty by half a second. 

“I’m Michelle,” she said shortly. 

“Oh, so you’re Michelle,” Mr. Stark cut in, looking up at her. 

“Yes, I am,” she replied bitingly. “My question is for Miss Potts, actually.”

Peter felt his stomach drop.

“Please, call me Pepper.”

MJ hummed. “Okay, sure. So Pepper, regarding Stark Industries hiring policy, how likely would it be if, say one of the AcaDeca members, were to apply?”

Ned breathed in sharply, giving MJ a hard look. Peter looked at his lap, wishing he could just sink into the floor and disappear. Why was MJ asking that question? Out of everyone here, Peter least expected MJ to ask that question. He could feel everyone’s eyes burning holes into his skin. 

“Oh, wow. I wasn’t really expecting this question from you, but that is a good question,” replied Pepper. “As you know, Peter is an intern at Stark Industries, but his hiring process was an outlier to how we usually do things. So unfortunately, we don’t hire high school interns. Though, I’m sure Peter has told you all about his experience at work.”

“So Peter is an intern?” asked MJ raising her eyebrow at Flash, who looked away. “Good to confirm.”

“We can’t comment further on his hiring process, but if you’d like tips on how to succeed at any Stark Industries job interviews, Tony and I would be happy to talk to you later about it.”

MJ hummed again, looking pleased with herself. “Sure, that would be great. Thanks Pepper.”

“So Parker’s actually some kind of genius?” Flash muttered. 

Everyone looked at him, making Flash flush and stutter. “You know, you said he was an outlier and Stark Industries doesn’t hire highschool lab interns.”

“Was that your question, kid?” asked Mr. Stark. 

“N-No. I was going to ask–”

“Since everyone’s here, let me clear some things up,” Mr. Stark interrupted. Peter looked up at him, grimacing. “Peter was an intern two years ago, and he is one now. He’s easily one of the smartest people I’ve ever worked with; he’s innovative, he’s passionate, he’s hardworking, and most of all, Peter’s honest.”

“I know that there has been some discourse over Peter’s employment at Stark Industries, but both Tony and I can confirm that Peter’s a big help at SI. He’s an intern, one of my favourite ones too,” Pepper said. 

Peter’s mouth was set in a firm, hard line. Internally, he was grateful that Mr. Stark and Pepper cleared the air, but God , it was so awkward to publicly announce it to everyone. 

“What was your question, kid?”

Flash stammered out a question about how the metal alloys of the Iron Man suits changed over time and why, to which Mr. Stark answered happily. There were other questions after that and Peter had tuned them all out, except Ned’s.

“Hi Mr. Stark, Miss Potts, I’m Ned Leeds and I’m such a big fan of you both. It honestly feels so surreal to even be here and talking to you, but I’m really, really curious about something.”

“Sure thing, Ned,” Mr. Stark replied. Pepper smiled and only Peter knew it was because Mr. Stark didn’t purposely mess up Ned’s name this time. 

“So there has been some debate within the science community about this and I wanted to clear things up directly with you, Mr. Stark,” continued Ned. “Between the science bros, them being you and Dr. Banner, who holds the record for the biggest experiment failure?”

“Oh shit, tough question,” replied Mr. Stark, eliciting another smack from Pepper. 

“I feel like we should ask Bruce,” said Pepper. “He’d give your disasters a run for your money.”

“Should we call Brucey Bear to come?” asked Mr. Stark, already pulling out his phone.

The AcaDeca team’s hopes rose before Pepper shot the idea down. 

“Don’t bother, Tony, Bruce has his cell off. He’s on vacation, remember?”

“Damn.” Mr. Stark hummed, giving Ned’s question some deep thought. “Honestly, I’d probably have to give the record to Bruce. One of his experiments did quite literally turn him into the Hulk we all know and love, and none of my biggest experiment failures ended up with me turning out big and green. So, Bruce wins this time.”

After Ned’s question, the AcaDeca team took pictures with both Mr. Stark and Pepper. To Mr. Stark’s credit, he was a lot more patient with Peter’s teammates than Peter thought he would be, indulging in several people's requests for selfies, videos, and autographs. 

It was nice seeing Mr. Stark like this. Seeing him joke with his peers, seeing Mr. Stark allow his real personality to bleed through his carefully crafted persona. It was nice to see that Mr. Stark still treated Peter specially, even after meeting his classmates.

With every group photo taken, Mr. Stark stood right beside Peter. In others, Mr. Stark and Pepper stood on either side of him, beaming while ruffling Peter’s hair. 

-

Just like Pepper suggested, the AcaDeca team was allowed to build arc reactors after photos. They had no function other than to light up really pretty and to look like the original reactor, but it was a fun experience for all of the team. Mr. Stark held the tutorial and everything, teaching Peter’s teammates about the history behind arc reactors, how to properly solder and wire things, and then allowed everyone full reign over the fabricator under his loose supervision.

Ned made a miniature lightsaber that served as a candle lighter, and MJ insisted on making a ring holder in the shape of the mutilated Black Dahlia body. Peter thought it was incredibly morbid, but at least it made MJ happy, if not more obsessed with the murder case. 

After that lab session, the rest of the field trip went by quickly. They visited the biochemistry labs, which was the department Bruce ran (when he was here), and they visited the communications department that synchronized all overlapping information from Stark Industry and the Avenger’s Committee. 

From MJ and Betty’s request, the AcaDeca team was able to meet with one of the human resources managers that was responsible for hiring new employees to get pointers. Though a lot of the AcaDeca team tried to feign disinterest, they all were making plans on how to apply for an internship over the summer break. 

Then, as the AcaDeca team was walking briefly through the legal department, Peter overheard the funniest thing. They were trying to recruit Matt Murdock as a consultant, to which Matt repeatedly and strongly refused, and the legal department was stumped on the reason why. If only they knew the reason why Matt refused, they’d stop asking for his help. 

The longer the day went on, the less Peter remembered from the trip. He was tired, bone achingly so, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the conversation he needed to have with MJ and Ned after the trip ended. 

He couldn’t enjoy the snack break, where the sweet, plump orange slices soured in his mouth, and Peter couldn’t enjoy the flashy tech demonstrations after that either. 

The final stop of the day was attending the gift shop. Every student had fifty dollars loaded onto their ID cards and were allowed to roam free in the shop, where all items were available for purchase. 

What Peter didn’t count on was Steve being the gift shop cashier. None of the AcaDeca members seemed to recognize Steve out of uniform with his beard and longer hair, which gave Peter a chance to approach him. 

“Hi, Peter,” said Steve. “Funny seein’ you here.”

Peter snorted. “Yeah, what a coincidence. Why’re you the gift shop cashier?”

“What can I say?” Steve grinned. “I needed to pick up an extra job and Pepper oh-so-graciously offered me the position.”

“You’re hilarious, truly,” replied Peter. “Here to embarrass me like Mr. Stark?”

“You caught me,” Steve said, still smiling. “Why don’t you go pick up something from the gift shop? I’ll even give you an employee discount.”

Peter hummed. “Maybe I will.”

The gift shop was actually super cool. Of course, there were the standard superhero figurines and history books, but they also sold things like 1980’s themed spy equipment that worked. There was just too much to look at, too many sweet and shiny things to pick from, so Peter ended up picking out a pair of Spiderman themed docs. Technically, Spiderman wasn’t an Avenger, but the gift shop had a vigilantes section. Matt would be so smug to know that both Spiderman and DareDevil were included in that section, but not Wade. 

Along with the shoes, Peter got a bunch of snacks and headed back to Steve. Still no one had noticed that Steve was Captain America (the name tag on his shirt read ‘Chris’), but Cindy had tried to get his phone number and Betty had asked how old he was.

Ned got a matching pair of Spiderman themed docs, as well as some science tutorial books on how to recreate some of Mr. Stark’s and Bruce’s safer experiments, and MJ ended up buying a high tech smartwatch that she planned on syncing with her phone. 

“I hope you had fun,” Steve smiled at Peter as he was checking out the items. “I didn’t want to cause a big scene for you, so I’m glad no one noticed I was here.”

“More like you didn’t want to cause a big scene for yourself,” scoffed Peter. It was lighthearted and Steve gave him a huffy reply back.  

“You got that right, so don’t go around telling people now.”

“Aww, don’t worry Chris , it’ll be our little secret,” Peter grinned. Taking his stuff, Peter waved goodbye at Steve and walked towards Ned and MJ. The bus home was ready and Peter’s stomach sank to the floor.

Though it was nice to banter with Steve, the end of the day was here. The banter won’t take away the dread. 

-

On the bus back to Midtown high, all Peter could think about was how the hell do I tell Ned and MJ everything? How much of everything do they want to know? What Peter told MJ was true; he wanted to tell them everything, but saying that he’ll do it was much harder than actually doing it. It was for the better, Peter knew it was. But just because it was for the better didn’t mean it hurt any less. 

Peter invited them over to the apartment. It had been sectioned off into two distinct areas: to sell and to keep. The three of them entered the apartment wordlessly, taking off their shoes and shrugging their backpacks off onto the couch from habit.

“Where’s May?” Ned asked finally, peering around into the kitchen as if May would be baking her god awful meatloaf. The oven hasn’t been in use for weeks. “Is she at work?”

Where’s May? Peter asked himself periodically, only when he forgot she had died. And when he remembered, he’d think, Come home, please. Come home and breathe, be solid, be here for me. Just come home.

“No,” replied Peter, so slowly it was as if the words were a bitter cough syrup in his mouth. The words got stuck again and again, tasting metallic and awful. “I think we should sit down before I say anything.”

“It was a couple of weeks ago– some gang members or something they were– God , a couple of weeks ago, something happened.” He couldn’t speak because the words got all jumbled up in his head. He couldn’t look into Ned and MJ’s eyes and say the words ‘May is dead’. 

“Something bad happened?” MJ prompted, getting Peter’s train of thought back on track.

Peter nodded and decided if he couldn’t look at them and say it, he'd look at the lines of his palms. The faint scars that bled into the creases of his palm, connecting the life line and the fate line. “Crime has gotten worse, have you noticed? People disappearing, kidnappings, deaths covered up as suicides, overdoses, or accidents.”

“Yeah, my ma has been pretty worried,” Ned said softly, placing a comforting hand on Peter’s forearm. 

“It hasn’t been just that, it’s been escalating. It’s been so extreme that kids-” Peter started to tremble, clenching his fists so hard that his knuckles started to turn white. “They’re just kids, you know? Just some kids– and- and these kids have been taken by some gang members— and shit, it's so awful. They’ve been raping them in public just because they can.”

Ned gasped softly and MJ looked away, looking sick. 

Peter took a deep breath as the cold feeling of nausea was cast over him. “So when May was at work one day, she saw this little girl– God, she couldn’t have been older than eight or nine…”

“And the little girl was getting…” MJ swallowed and nodded. “She was getting assaulted.”

“Yeah,” Peter chuckled wetly. “And you know May. If she sees something wrong and if she can do something about it, she always said that she had a responsibility to help. She was at work and she went to stop those men and she got shot.”

“Peter…” Ned said.

“She got shot and she died. And I didn’t know what to do because I don’t want to be that kid at school with no parents, a dead uncle, and now, a dead aunt,” Peter said, tears burning in his eyes. “A little orphan that no one wants.”

When MJ placed a hand on his shoulder, Peter shrugged it off and rubbed angrily at his wet face. “And I know I’ve been an asshole, I know, but I don’t know how to deal with this other than going after the monsters who killed her.”

“You could’ve told us,” said MJ softly. “We could’ve helped, we could’ve– we could’ve–”

“I know, MJ,” replied Peter. “I’m dealing with it.”

“Fighting your way through life isn’t a healthy way of grieving, Peter,” Ned said with a tone of finality. 

“It isn’t, but that’s the way I’m dealing with it ,” replied Peter. The helpless feeling reappeared in his chest. “I don’t know how else I can live, Ned. How can I? After everything? After my parents? After Ben? And now May’s gone too? What else am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, but opening up to us was a good first step,” Ned replied. “I love you, you know? I’m here for you, MJ and I both are.”

Ned’s words were so sincere it made Peter start to cry into the crook of his elbow. He brought his knees to his chest, burying his face into them to hide the tears because he hasn’t cried in front of anyone who wasn’t May since Ben had died. 

“I know,” said Peter. “I wish you didn’t, that you weren’t here for me, sometimes.”

“You’re not going to hurt us,” MJ replied, wrapping her arm over Peter’s shoulder. Ned put his arm over Peter’s shoulder too, and the three of them huddled together on Peter’s couch. 

“I’m scared I will, and if not me, then someone after me will find you and use you to get to me. To get to Spiderman.”

“You’re not going to hurt us.”

“I will.”

“You won’t.”

“It’s inevitable, can’t you see?” Peter stressed. “I’m cursed, I hurt everyone I love; my parents died, Ben got shot because of me, and May died stopping a rape that only happened because Spiderman hasn’t been doing his fucking job! ”

“It doesn’t matter, we’ll be here for you no matter what,” Ned replied, eyes wet. “You don’t have a say in that, not now and not ever. You’re not alone, Peter, get that through your fucking head.”

“I won’t let you guys die for me.”

“Then we’ll be here for Peter Parker, not Spiderman,” said MJ. “Daredevil and Deadpool are better equipped than us in that aspect, but for you? For Peter Parker? The little science nerd that loves Star Wars and legos and collecting movie stubs? We’re his friends and there’s nothing that’ll stop us from being friends.”

“Yeah, Peter,” Ned chimed in, “exactly what she said.”

“No, I can’t. If I lose you guys, I don’t know what I’d do.”

“You won’t,” said MJ.

“You promise?”

“We promise.”

-

It was nearly midnight when MJ and Ned left the apartment. 

It was almost 1 am when Peter got to Matt’s apartment, entering through the window.

It was just past 10 in the morning when Peter, Matt, Foggy, and Karen arrived at the courtroom in formal wear. Peter had borrowed an old suit from Matt.

It was noon when they walked out, smiles wide. It was official: Peter was an emancipated child. He didn’t really understand all the legal jargon Matt used, nor did he fully get what Matt was trying to achieve outside of emancipation, but it worked. Matt had also got things sorted with the bank and the insurance company with his shark-like lawyer skills.

After Peter turned 18, he’ll receive the rest of Ben’s life insurance payments as a lump sum, any money May or Ben had in the bank would be under Peter’s name, and some other stuff that, once again, Peter didn’t get. But most importantly, foster care and social services won’t be going after his ass anymore, and hopefully after Peter turned 18, they’d finally cease all contact. He couldn’t fucking stand foster care.

There was a relief Peter felt after walking out of the courtroom, slugging off the suit jacket, but there was still a nib of anxiety eating at him. He had come this far, he had survived this long without Mr. Stark knowing, but now that it was in paper? Now that the fact that May is dead and Peter is his own person is filed into the real, hackable legal system in a way that was for sure accessible to Mr. Stark? That made the relief twist into a knot of nausea. 

How had Mr. Stark not known that May died? It wasn’t as if Peter had gone out of his way to digitally hide her death certificate or the change in the beneficiary holder for Ben’s life insurance. Maybe Mr. Stark didn’t set up Friday to send him updates about May, or maybe it just hadn’t occurred to him to check. Or maybe, and hear Peter out for this one because it’s unlikely, but what if Mr. Stark is actually respecting both Peter’s and May’s boundaries by not using Friday to check up on them unnecessarily?

Peter hoped that it was one of those possibilities, because the worst one he could think of was Mr. Stark already knowing. If Mr. Stark knew and just… chose not to ask Peter about it, chose to let Peter believe that he was successfully keeping a part of his life to himself, Peter wouldn’t know how to live with the shame.

“You doing alright there?” asked Karen, touching Peter’s forearm softly. They walked shoulder by shoulder down Hell’s Kitchen with Matt and Foggy ahead of them to their office. 

“Just thinking.”

Karen hummed, looking up at the hot afternoon sun. “Don’t keep everything up there only for yourself to hear. You can talk to us, you know?”

Peter sighed, but it came out as more of a dry, heaving sob. “It’s hard to talk about it.”

“I know, but if you wait too long before telling someone, the hard becomes the impossible. You’ll forget how the words sound in your mouth, you’ll forget how to breathe with all the thoughts stuck in your throat.” Karen looped a loose arm around Peter’s shoulder as an act of comfort and practiced casualness. “You don’t have to tell us, but don’t keep it all in, alright?”

Don’t keep it in. 

Don’t keep it to yourself. Don’t tell anyone, or else it’ll hurt more. Don’t lie to me, Parker. Don’t cry. Don’t make a noise. Don’t move. 

Don’t be scared. Don’t be brave. Don’t keep it all in, alright? 

Don’t. Just, don’t.

“I’ll try my best not to.”

Chapter Text

• First week of July, Sunday. Matt Murdock’s apartment. Age: Seventeen

"How are you feeling now that school's out?" 

"Good, I guess. A bit lonely."

"I heard about Columbia. I overheard you telling MJ."

"Figured. You and your super hearing."

"Something has to compensate for the blindness. Why is it lonely?"

"It's all kind of aimless, you know?"

Matt adjusted his red sunglasses with a shark-like grin. "I see.” 

"C'mon Red," groaned Peter. “It’s like… I don’t have anything to work towards. No future, no education. Mr. Stark still asks me what I'm doing in September and I don't know how much longer I can dodge the question."

"Why don't you just tell him?" asked Matt. "He has money to spare."

"Is the Matthew Murdock really telling me to ask Tony Stark for help?" replied Peter dramatically, stretching over the couch. "What alternate reality have we fallen into?"

Matt smiled crookedly. Peter thought Matt’s smile was incredibly charming for a lawyer that spends his free time punching criminals. Maybe it was Matt’s smile that won over Peter’s loyalty, or maybe it was the fact that he let Peter crash whenever he wanted to. 

"Yeah, sounds like a shit plan anyways," said Matt. "Stark has the pockets to get you into any school you want, though. He has a big enough guilt complex to do it too."

"Guilt complex?"

Matt scoffed. "Bigger than the sun, that one. Almost as big as his ego."

Peter frowned. He hadn’t thought about Mr. Stark’s guilt all that much. Sure, Peter figured that Mr. Stark had felt somewhat poorly about going no contact in the latter half of Peter’s high school career, but that didn’t necessarily mean Mr. Stark harboured mass amounts of guilt about it. Then again, Mr. Stark had stumbled drunk off his ass into Peter’s room, and even if he didn’t know how awfully Peter took to drunk older men in his room, it was still a shitty thing to do. 

“Don’t think about it too hard, Peter. I think it’s…” Matt grimaced slightly. “Well, it doesn’t really matter what I think if you like Stark’s reinvolvement in your life.”

“But… is it all because he feels guilty?”

“That’s my best bet,” replied Matt, “but Foggy says I don’t always have the clearest point of view, whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

Peter smiled and let out a breathy laugh. “Yeah, I have no idea what he’s implying there. How are you and Foggy, by the way?”

Matt gave Peter one of his overdramatic, pained groans. “Let’s go back to talking about the absolute clusterfuck of a life you’re living. How’s that going for you?”

“I don’t know, you’re going to have to ask my lawyer.”

“Touché, Peter, touché.”

There was a lull in their conversation where Peter sank into himself. Though lightly stained by blood, the couch in Matt’s place was soft enough to tempt him to lay face first into the cushiony seats. Instead, Peter buried his face into the palm of his hands, rubbing at his eyes. All this talk about Mr. Stark and guilt complexes would have to wait; there was a job to work. 

“Any update on the crime rings?”

Matt paused, presumably picking up on Peter’s distress, before giving Peter a single nod. “Remember what Jacob, that kid from two weeks ago, said?”

“The one from the first bust, right?” Matt nodded again and Peter continued, “He said fourteen locations and gave a description of the ringleader. The big boss was a creep.”

“Yeah,” scoffed Matt. “A real piece of work that covers his tracks. I haven’t been able to find any solid leads on his location or where they’re snatching the kids, but then again, no one reports a transient as missing. But last night, I was on patrol near Pier 88 and overhead something.”

“What did you hear?”

“There’s an encampment along 39th, between Ninth and Tenth avenue.”

Peter sprung up, pulling on his gloves and mask. “I’ll text Wade to meet us there.”

“Peter, it’s a small homeless youth encampment,” Matt said forcefully. “You’re not going to show up in your suit - they’re going to scramble as soon as they see you. They sure as hell won’t stick around for a conversation with me or Wade, either.”

“So what are you saying? I go undercover and let them snatch me up?”

“God, no Peter. What I’m saying is for you to talk to them, like a real person. I look like a youth pastor, probably could be if I wanted to, and we both know Wade definitely isn’t suited for this job. You look like them, you can probably relate to them in some tragic, teenaged way.” Matt waved his hand nonsensically. “They’ll only trust someone they can relate to, and they don’t trust easily.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“I heard that those kids have been through some real shit, Peter. And I’m thinking it’ll bring us closer to the ringleader.”

-

Growing up, Peter wasn’t wealthy. Uncle Ben didn’t have a showy sports car like Flash’s dad nor did he ever have the newest electronics as soon as they came out. But Peter had the privilege of having two working guardians, a home to come back to, and food on the table. It was a quiet and happy life before calamity struck for the second and third time.

The kids in the homeless encampment were a stark reminder how ruthless the world was. Matt was right; Peter understood them. He understood the hunger and the burning anger and the feeling of filth under his skin that couldn't be washed away because someone put it there. And above all, he understood the mistrust.

The sun was setting when Peter walked up to them, wearing an outfit from his own closet that he assumed would build some rapport. His shoes were held together by long strips of duct tape, his shirt was so worn out it was almost see through, and his ratty jeans were stained with mysterious splotches, barely holding at the seams, yet Peter was still the best dressed among the others.

"You a new one?" asked one of the older kids. She had this haunted look in her eyes that made her seem twenty five, but she was so small. Her arms were wiry thin under her thick swad of sweaters she wore despite the early summer heat.

"Yeah," croaked Peter. "Got kicked out and heard this place was safe."

"Sucks for you. What was it? Evil stepmom or shit step dad?"

Peter huffed out a dark laugh. He never was good at lying, so he went with an old truth. "My uncle brought home a friend that had a certain proclivity for younger guys. Got kicked out for being assaulted."

The girl whistled. "Sorry, man. I'm Mars."

"Peter."

Mars motioned for Peter to come sit beside her on one of the empty crates. "How old are you, Peter."

"Seventeen," said Peter. "How about you?"

"Sixteen. I've been on the street for three years now, and let me tell you; it doesn't get better but it does get easier. More familiar." Mars reached into her pocket and pulled out a little note pad with a pen. "But you shouldn't be on the street. You don’t have that look on you."

Mars grinned and Peter’s heart ached for her. 

"Don't have that look?"

"You’re too soft, too nice for this. Usually, I can tell which kids can make it on the streets and which ones can't." Mars shrugged and bit her lip, scribbling something on the paper. "Here. Take this. It's directions to the church. They'll help you out, get you off the streets."

There was something raw in Mars’ voice, something so viscerally sincere that clawed at Peter’s heart. 

"Why don't you come with me?"

Mars grinned again, mischievous and all teeth, but Peter was drawn in by the sadness in her eyes. Tucking a piece of curly hair behind her ear, Mars said, "Someone has to look after the kids." She motioned back to the small encampment site. "Well, they aren't all kids, some are older, but they're just as lost as you are. Some stay, some can get out, but I should be the one to help them."

"You sound like you're going to be spending the rest of your life out here, helping kids off the street," Peter said quietly. There was something about Mars, something so deeply sad and profound that made Peter ache. "You can get out too, you know?"

"I know, but," Mars shrugged, "you know. There's small happinesses in every moment in life. If I stay, I can help another person get on their feet, and that's enough for me."

"You’re a good person, Mars." 

"You seem pretty dandy yourself."

"So how'd you get here? You know, on the streets, knowing the ins and outs of… Er- homeless paradise?" 

Mars snorted and Peter felt oddly proud of himself for making her laugh.

"Homeless paradise?" She asked. Peter shrugged, smiling back at her. "Well, since you told me your story, I guess it’s only fair if I told you mine."

The sun set had faded into a deeper blue color with just traces of orange and yellow in the sky. Mars glowed underneath the street lights and the silvery shine of the stars above. 

"The abuse started when I was five, but only got real bad after my dad had died," said Mars, bringing Peter back to the present. "My mom was a real piece of work, always screaming about this and that, always hitting me with whatever she could find, but my dad held her back. Sometimes I wish he didn't so she would've jus' throttled me to death."

Mars gave Peter a wet, breathy chuckle, and Peter looked up at the moon. 

"After my dad died, I spent a lot of time outside just so I wasn't home with her. Spent so much time on the streets that my mom thought I was whoring myself out for money. She kicked me out after that, said she couldn't keep a slut under her roof."

"I'm sorry."

"Nah, it’s fine. Don't miss her at all, just wish I'd nicked a picture of my dad before I got kicked out." Mars sighed and stood up, brushing the dust off her pants. "I should go check on the others. If you leave now, you might be able to catch the church before they close doors."

"Wait, Mars." When Mars turned back to look at him, Peter saw a flicker of sadness pass through her eyes. "Thank you. For everything."

Mars smiled back at Peter, that mournful sadness still creasing at her eyes. "Do you know why I’m sending you to the church instead of letting you stay here?"

"Why?" Peter croaked in such a hollow whisper that he wasn’t sure if she had heard him.

"It's because you have a chance to get out. Some gangs, the Irish or the Russians or whatever, have been recruiting homeless kids this past year," Mars said in a low tone. "They've been, Christ, they've been kidnapping kids, kids younger than me, and it's been a miracle that they haven't gotten any of us yet. And when they do, because I know it'll happen , I want to be able to get as many kids out of that mess as possible."

"Mars…" Peter started, chest tight. "You don’t have to stay.”

She gave him another wet, breathy chuckle. "I can't help it. I wanted to be a teacher when I grew up. I gotta help people."

"Do you know anything else about the…" Peter made a showy, confused face. "The gangs? So I can avoid them?"

"Not much. Just that they stick kids into shipping crates by Pier 88 after they snatch 'em. Heard a rumor about them being kept on a boat and under a restaurant, though. Don't know anything about the scouting process."

"A restaurant?"

"44th and 11th, under the Troika restaurant, I think.”

“Thank you,” said Peter, but he felt like the words weren’t enough. “You’re gonna get them all out, I know it Mars, and then you’ll get out. Seriously, thank you for everything.”

Mars huffed out a breath. “You’re a sweet guy. You should accept help when it’s offered, alright?”

Peter smiled, but it felt strained. “I will if you do.”

“See you around, Peter.”

-

It was decided; Matt would go to the Troika restaurant and Peter would go with Wade to Pier 88. The sound of water disorientated Matt so he couldn’t hijack a boat, and Peter didn’t think he could handle seeing anymore children in burning buildings for the rest of his life. Though the boat wasn’t a guarantee that there weren't children and fire involved - because Peter was sure there was most certainly going to be children and some sort of pyroactivity going on, but at least it was a change in scenery. The idea of hijacking a boat also made Wade happy, and Peter wasn’t going to complain about his enthusiasm. It wasn’t going to be a bloody op. They were just going to scope out the area, possibly save some kids. 

They would go on Wednesday, giving Peter time to prepare mentally because Matt knew he would need it. 

-

After talking to Mars, Peter tried his best not to think about Skip. 

He spent everyday trying not to think of him. 

It had almost worked, this method of pushing the trauma so far back in his head that it was negligible, that the hurt didn’t feel so encompassing and raw so Peter seldom thought of Skip at all. Not as Spiderman, when he was catching petty criminals or serial rapists, and not as Peter Parker, when he was playing legos with Ned. 

This method, though sound and mostly fool proof at least short term, relied on one thing: the knowledge that someone was there for Peter. That someone had been Ben first, the man that had pulled Skip’s heavy body off of Peter, then it had been May, the woman who stilled Peter’s nightmares. 

Now, they were both gone and Peter was brought back to the first day he met Skip. It was almost ironic how Peter remembered that first day with such astounding clarity but he couldn’t recall any details of after the first time Skip crawled into Peter’s bed, weeks after their introduction. 

He was nine, and Uncle Ben had brought home a friend. 

“Hey Peter,” Ben called, tossing his keys into the key bowl and taking off his jacket. “I want you to meet someone. This is Steven.”

The first thing Peter noticed about him was that he was tall. Skip was much taller than Ben, not much broader though, but Peter had never been a tall boy. With his gray hair and large hands and tall, tall body, Peter thought Skip was a giant. Or a human tree. Maybe a troll like in Harry Potter, but trolls didn’t have hair or glasses or a button up shirt with squares. 

“Go on, introduce yourself Pete,” urged Ben, so Peter did.

With his hand stuck out for a handshake, Peter smiled, teeth crooked. “I’m Peter Parker. I’m Uncle Ben’s nephew. Nice to meet you, sir.”

“What a polite boy,” Skip smiled at Ben, then turned to Peter, eyes gentle. He kneeled so they were roughly the same height and took his hand. “Nice to meet you Peter, I’m Steven but you can call me Skip.”

“Hi Skip, whatcha doing here?” asked Peter. It was still a little strange how tall Skip was, but maybe all grown ups were supposed to be tall. May said that tall people either drank a lot of milk or their parents were tall. 

“Well,” started Skip, looking back at Ben. “I’m a social worker.”

“You’re not my new social worker, are you? I like Miss Han.”

“No, not at all. I met your uncle at work a couple weeks ago and he said he was looking for a babysitter.”

Peter wrinkled his nose. “I don’t need a babysitter, I’m nine .”

Both Skip and Ben laughed. Ben said, “I know Pete, but Aunt May and I might have to start staying late at work, and someone has to cook your dinners, right?”

Peter thought about his disastrous attempt at microwaving eggs. Who knew they’d explode? It was pretty cool, but since that day, he decided that cooking was best left to the grown ups. 

“Skip will just be here to hang out with you for a couple hours at night to help out with dinner and put you to bed,” said Ben, but Peter still wasn’t convinced. “I hear Skip knows a lot about space.”

“Really?” Peter said, suddenly excited. “You do?”

“You like space, Peter?” 

“I have an entire shelf just for my space books,” exclaimed Peter. “Wanna come see?”

Skip gave Peter a smile- a sickening one that Peter wouldn’t recognize as awful until months later. “I’d love to. Please, lead the way.”

Taking Skip by the hand, Peter dragged him to his bedroom. 

From then, Skip had been babysitting Peter. It went from two days a week when both Ben and May worked the night shift, to almost every night. Ben and May went on more dinner dates, leaving Peter home with Skip.

Peter liked Skip, so it wasn’t much of a bother. May always made sure to save some leftovers for Peter to taste test, and Skip helped Peter with homework.

“Hey Einstein,” Skip said, ruffling Peter’s hair. “Ready to start on your math work for the night?”

Peter flushed. It was odd how Skip acted differently in front of Ben and May. Gone were the nicknames (Einstein became Peter) and the physical affection (hugs and forehead kisses and sitting real close to each other dwindled down to pats on the shoulder). Ben always called Peter by nicknames - mostly Pete or squirt or kiddo - and May always kissed Peter on the cheek before school even though he was getting too old for it, so why did Skip stop? Was it something Peter did? Did Skip not like Peter? Peter never had someone hate him, other than Flash, but having grown ups not like you was completely different. 

“What are you thinking about in that big brain of yours,” asked Skip. “Is my Einstein worried about the math test next week?”

“No, it’s nothing,” Peter sighed. He didn’t want Skip to think he was being stupid. 

“You are so incredibly smart for your age, you know?” said Skip. “That’s why I call you Einstein. You’re smart and mature, like no other nine year old out there. Tell me what’s wrong. I don’t like seeing you upset.”

“I dunno, it’s stupid.”

“Nothing you say is stupid. You're my Einstein, remember?”

“It’s just that sometimes,” started Peter, “it feels like you don’t like me.”

Skip furrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You know, you don’t hug me or call me Einstein in front of Uncle Ben or Aunt May.” Peter shrugged and looked away from Skip. He didn’t want to see Skip’s face once he realized how stupid Peter was being. He couldn’t bear it. 

“Well of course I like you Peter,” said Skip. His voice was syrupy and he put a finger under Peter’s chin to look him straight in the eyes. When Peter made eye contact, Skip’s dark blue eyes scared him because it seemed to look right through his soul. “But sometimes it feels like you don’t like me, so I have to hold back. Don’t you like me, Einstein?”

Peter was startled, then nodded his head quickly. “Of course I like you!”

“Will you show me? Will you show me how much you like me?”

Peter thought Skip was one of the smartest adults ever; he could cook, he knew a lot about space, he could do math, he could play legos. If Skip really thought that Peter didn’t like him, would he leave? Would Skip stop coming over to babysit? That meant Ben and May wouldn’t be able to work as much, and Peter knew that they worked because they needed the money. 

“How can I show you?”

“Alright, come on then.”

Skip led Peter to his bedroom and Peter thought they were going to play legos again. Peter reached for the lego box on the bookshelf beside his bed, stepping onto the mattress. 

“Put that down, Einstein,” Skip said gently, sitting beside Peter on his bed. “We’re going to be playing a different game today.”

Skip had that look in his eyes again. It was frightening. 

Peter didn’t remember anything from that night, but Peter remembered the times after. 

He remembered the sheer weight of Skip’s body, the burn of the pushing and pulling, the bruising grip on his wrist. He remembered the soft words kissed into the shell of his ear. He remembered the embarrassment even if he wasn’t sure what was really happening, because he knew deep down whatever was going on had to be hidden. Peter knew that if Ben found out, things would be worse because Skip would make it worse. 

So he kept quiet. 

It got worse anyways. 

The night everything stopped, almost a year after it started, Skip had been drinking and Ben came home early from his night shift. It started out with the creak of the door, the bitterness of alcohol in Skip’s breath, then the burning feeling. Peter didn’t dare fight anymore, he just lied face down in bed and cried quietly as he waited for Skip to be finished with him. 

A few moments later, there was another creak of the door and Peter thought it was a second Skip there to join in. He started to cry louder.

“Stop, please ,” screamed Peter. “I don’t want to play this game anymore, just stop ! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! ”

Skip was off of him quicker than ever, making Peter look back with tears still in his eyes. It was Uncle Ben, pulling Skip by the scruff of his shirt and throwing him to the floor before drawing his fist back. 

“Get off of him, you piece of shit! ” yelled Ben, pummeling his fists downward. “I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you! ”

It was too dark for Peter to see what was going on between Ben and Skip. All he heard was the rhythmic slam of Ben’s knuckles against bone and the knock of Skip’s skull against the hardwood floor. No matter what Skip did, Peter didn’t want him hurting. 

“That’s my kid , you bastard!” shouted Ben. “ My fucking kid, my baby , and you think you can lay a hand on him? You’re deranged, you’re sick in the fucking head !”

“Uncle Ben,” whimpered Peter, listening to Ben heave as he continued to wrestle with Skip in the dark room. “Ben, I’m scared.”

There was a pause, and the only sound that filled Peter’s bedroom was heavy breathing. Skip stopped moving. 

“I’m sorry, Pete,” said Ben, getting off of Skip. “I’m so sorry, Peter. This is my fault, shit . I’m sorry.”

“Ben,” cried Peter. His name was like a mantra, something that could take away all the mess, and Peter was unable to say anything else. “Uncle Ben.”

“Let me call the cops and I’ll be right back, alright Pete?” Ben said, his own voice watery. “Let me- let– fuck , I need to call May. I’ll be right back, okay? My phone’s in the living room.”

As soon as Ben made movement towards the door, Peter cried harder. 

“Please, please Uncle Ben,” Peter pleaded, “I promise I’ll be good, just don’t leave me with him.”

Ben scooped Peter into his arms and Peter wrapped his arms around his uncle's neck. “It’s going to be alright, okay Peter? You’re going to be okay.”

“Uncle Ben,” Peter whimpered, and he knew Ben understood everything he was trying to say. 

“You’re going to be okay,” Ben whispered, rocking Peter back and forth while he cried in the crook of his uncle’s neck. “You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”

After a couple of days, May sat beside Peter on the couch, allowing Peter to curl up at her side. 

“How you holding up, kiddo?” asked May. “Feeling any better?”

Peter shrugged, face smushed against May’s arm. Truth be told, Peter couldn’t look Ben in the eyes, he couldn’t eat, he couldn’t walk without feeling this weight, this shame dragging him down.

“Why didn’t you say anything, Peter?” asked May, in a desperate whisper. “Oh, you must’ve been so scared.”

Ben’s words rang in his head. The only time you can be brave is when you’re scared, Pete. Everyone gets scared sometimes, but it’s all up to you to decide what you’re going to do about it.  

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Peter replied slowly; it took every ounce of energy to form words in his mouth. “I wanted to be brave.”

Peter must’ve said the wrong thing because May started crying into her hands. 

“You were so brave, do you understand me Peter?” said May, her voice breaking. “You’re brave and smart and kind, and don’t you ever let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“I don’t…” started Peter before he began to cry as well. “I don’t want to be brave, Aunt May. I don’t think I can be brave anymore because all I see when I close my eyes is his face and I’m so, so scared.”

“I’m so sorry,” said May. She said it again and again, wrapping Peter into a hug where he cried harder. 

-

Grief was a funny thing, Peter decided. 

There were times where he’d want nothing more than to be that little boy again curled up at May’s side, crying about Skip solely because it meant that May would be there, be solid and living and breathing and crying. What Skip did was unspeakable, but Peter would go through it again and again if it meant bringing May back to life. She’d be there to hold him again, and so would Ben. 

The apartment was bare; Peter had sold the television, his mattress and bedframe and desk and dresser, and the microwave. He gave his lego sets to Ned for ‘safekeeping’, but really, Peter gave them away because he was tempted to sell them. The common area of the apartment held the fridge and stove top that came with the building, the dinner table, and the couch, while Peter’s room was stripped completely bare. His clothes had been emptied from the dresser, so he could sell it, and were stacked into neat piles in May’s room where he was sleeping. 

Over the past couple weeks, Peter spent more time at Matt’s apartment in Hell’s kitchen than in his own place. Peter couldn’t handle it, he couldn’t handle the memories haunting him at every step within the walls he grew up in. His bed was sold for obvious reasons: Peter couldn’t sleep in the same bed Skip ruined, and the other appliances were sold for solely monetary reasons. 

The couch, though, felt like Peter’s last tie to May, and the dinner table was his last tie to Ben. Peter wouldn’t sell them, no matter how desperately he needed the money. 

Money was another issue and it was only going to magnify after Peter’s eighteenth birthday. Ben’s life insurance payments would end on his eighteen birthday, where Peter would receive the rest of the money as a lump sum. Although the lab days with Mr. Stark were paid generously, and Nelson and Murdock paid Peter part time wages, Peter didn’t make enough money to cover rent, nevermind food. 

“I thought you said you’d be as long as I needed you, Ben,” Peter whispered, laying on their bed. He looked up at the popcorn ceiling, remembering all the times he’s thought the same thing over the past four weeks. You lied. You lied to me. I need you now more than ever, and you’re a liar. I hate you for that. I hate you for Skip. I miss you. I love you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

“You know, sometimes I wish I didn’t have a choice. That I didn’t have to be good. Because I’m not, Ben, but I really want to be. I don’t know how I keep messing everything up.” Peter pressed the heel of his palms into his eyes burning with the threat of tears. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to be wrong, anymore.”

“Can’t you tell me what to do?” asked Peter, rubbing harder at his eyes. “God, I sound pathetic, begging a dead man for help.”

Something heavy started swelling in Peter’s chest when he thought about all the sacrifices Ben and May made for him after what happened with Skip. They took time off work, worked less hours, brought Peter to the hospital, paid the bill and paid for therapy. They brought Skip to court for Peter and got Skip put behind bars. They made sure Peter felt loved and protected more than ever, made sure he stayed away from any news related to Skip because they knew Peter would start to spiral, and Peter didn’t know if he even deserved it. 

It was shameful, what he and Skip did. It was shameful and awful and Peter hadn’t told anyone about what happened until Mars asked. She was the first after Ben and May, and now Matt knew because he was listening, because he’s always fucking listening when on patrol , and Peter couldn’t bare the thought of Matt asking him to talk about it. Matt had always been careful with Peter, more open and giving. He had always asked Peter how he was doing in a way Wade didn’t, even if Matt wasn’t the type of person to talk about his own feelings. That aspect of their friendship had always been unbalanced, but Matt was like Ben in that way; he knew when to push and when to let go. 

“I’m scared, Uncle Ben,” said Peter finally. “There’s something happening and I don’t know if what I’m doing is enough. And that makes me more scared than I’ve ever been before.”

The only time you can be brave is when you’re scared, Pete. Everyone gets scared sometimes, but it’s all up to you to decide what you’re going to do about it.  

“But what if I’m not enough? What if I mess up again?”

Then we know you’ve done all you can. It’s okay to be wrong and it’s okay to fail, as long as you keep trying, alright?

“I wish you were here to tell me that yourself.”

• First week of July, Tuesday. Avenger’s compound. Age: Seventeen

Sometimes, it felt like Mr. Stark wasn’t doing anything. The advancements with the Accords came to a plateau, and Peter was going to be left with nothing but empty promises. Other times, Peter wanted to be the one to give into what Stark wanted, to be the complacent one instead of being such a pain in the ass. 

“Alright Underoos, pull out your calendar. How does August 15th sound?”

“Sound for what?”

“The meeting with the Accords Council? The one you agreed to?”

“I thought you said we were going to set a meeting date for when the changes to the Accords got accepted.”

“You see,” Mr. Stark started and Peter’s lungs started to burn. “I thought we agreed to have a meeting with the Council regardless if the revisions got accepted.”

“Fucking amazing,” muttered Peter.

“Peter, I don’t invite you over for lab nights so you could sass me over something that I frankly have no control over.”

“Yeah,” Peter replied, voice tight. “You invite me over to stumble drunk off your ass into my room at night. What a great boss.” 

Mr. Stark looked away from Peter, body tense and still. “I’m sorry for that. Genuinely, Peter. That was wrong of me and I honestly don’t drink anymore. I promise you.”

How much were Mr. Stark’s promises worth, after all this time?

“Sure,” replied Peter steely before turning back to his suit on the lab table. He knew that if he continued to talk back, he’d say something that he wouldn’t be able to take back. Something worse than aiming to hurt Mr. Stark, something that would only hurt Peter instead. 

“Listen, Pete. I’m trying here, I really am,” Mr. Stark said. 

“You keep saying that, but how true is it?”

“We’re here, aren’t we? Lab nights are back on, I invited your decathlon team to the Compound, I went to your graduation.”

“I didn’t ask for those things. Don’t hold them over my head.”

“Fine, then. I’m fighting the entire Accords Council for an alteration that doesn’t affect me solely because you asked me to. I’m making lab nights paid because you asked me to,” said Mr. Stark. “I’m not asking you to love me or even like me, all I’m asking for is some politeness.”

Peter sighed and all the fight, the hate, the white hot anger deflated out of him. He didn’t have to like Mr. Stark, even if Peter really, truly wanted to, but respect had always been a big thing to him. “Sorry. You’re right, I was out of line.’’

“You know,” Mr. Stark started, walking towards Peter and sitting on the lab chair beside Peter. “It’s funny how we only fight over the Accords, right? Everything else is mostly water under the bridge, but the Accords? That seems like something we’ll never agree on.”

He was right; as long as the Accords stood between Mr. Stark and Peter, they wouldn’t be on solid ground again. But that didn’t mean Peter liked it. He could give in, he could go public, he could finally, finally be the Iron man protegé Mr. Stark always wanted to have. What cost did that dream come of? Would Peter lose Matt? Lose Wade? Lose MJ and Ned? 

Maybe Peter should just take what he could get– Mr. Stark’s friendship once again. The peace of it, the security. The knowledge that food was plentiful and accessible. The comfort.

“Can I be honest for a moment?” Peter said abruptly. He wasn’t thinking, he was just chasing the rising feeling in his chest. He had been chasing and chasing and chasing it for years, but he still didn’t know what it was. 

Mr. Stark nodded and Peter continued, “I’m tired of fighting with you, Mr. Stark. I’m tired of everything, actually.”

“Peter…” Mr. Stark said, drawing out his name in a low, quiet way. His eyes were full of confusion, but underneath everything, there was always concern. “Are you alright?”

It was these small, fragile moments where Peter remembered how life was in grade 10. May was alive, Tony genuinely cared for him, the shine of being a superhero was still bright. Oh, the innocence, the naivety of it all. The blessing of ignorance.

“I don’t know anymore.”

“Do you want me to help?”

Peter sucked in a harsh breath, pressing the base of his palms against his eyes. His voice came out in a croak. “More than anything, yes.”

Mr. Stark looked at Peter so intensely it was like he was peering through his soul. “But I can’t, can I?”

Peter shook his head. “It’s out of my control.”

“What about May? Have you told her?”

“She’s-” Peter couldn’t say it. The words got caught in his throat, as if just saying the words made them more palpable, more acceptable than they were. He shook his head again, dispelling the words.  

He didn’t have May anymore. He wouldn’t ever get her back either. Peter knew that, yet some days he had wished that it was possible to breathe in, close his eyes, exhale, and will her back into existence from the sheer grief he felt for her. 

Couldn’t Peter be selfish for once? Couldn’t he want and wish and desire? Would it be so wrong of him?

Be brave. Be brave, Peter. Keep trying. Be brave.

‘I don’t want to be brave anymore.’

Then let someone else be brave for you. All you have to do is try again. 

“I’m not agreeing to the Accords as is, they’ll have to be modified before I sign.”

The words felt like cement, thick and grainy and gave Peter a choking feeling as soon as he said it. It also felt like relief, like flying. Like soaring, actually. 

“Okay,” Mr. Stark said softly. 

Peter let out a small smile, flat at the eyes but a smile nonetheless. “And I want an increased pay with more hours.”

Mr. Stark snorted at that, making Peter huff out a similar laugh. “Alright, kiddo.”

“And can I get MJ and Ned summer jobs too?”

“Let’s not try your luck here.”

Peter laughed again, voice wet with emotion. “Thank you. For not pushing about whatever’s going on in my life.”

“Pepper says I’m finally learning boundaries,” grinned Mr. Stark. “I know I’m still not great at them, but I really am trying.”

“I know,” said Peter, and this time he really believed it. “We can start over, if you want.”

“What?”

“The mentor-mentee thing, the internship, us. You asked a couple weeks ago. We can start over.”

“Really?” said Mr. Stark. His eyes were wide and Peter could see the hopefulness in them. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” replied Peter. “I’ll try my best not to get mad over the Accords things anymore as long as you try your best to push through the changes. I don’t want to fight over it anymore.”

“Thank you, Peter,” said Mr. Stark. “Thank you for another chance.”

Peter closed his eyes, counting from zero up to ten and back down again. It was hard, forgiving people and letting old scars fade. But Peter needed out. He needed help. He should accept help when it’s offered. He needed to try again. 

Did Mr. Stark deserve another chance? Peter didn’t know, but he was willing to give it to him if it meant not having to fight. God, he was so tired of fighting. 

“You’re welcome, Tony," said Peter. The name Tony rang in his head, over and over again, reminding Peter of how right it felt to say.

Chapter Text

• First week of July, Tuesday night to Wednesday. Age: Seventeen

Peter got Happy to drive him to Hell’s Kitchen instead of Queens after the Tuesday lab night. 

“Staying with a friend,” Peter had said. It wasn’t a lie because he was crashing at Matt’s apartment, but Happy was more aware of the vigilante news than Peter gave him credit for.

“This friend wouldn’t happen to be the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, would it?”

“Technically, he prefers the name Daredevil. You can drop me off at 39th and 11th, I can walk.”

Happy protested, but in the end, Peter was dropped off and Happy drove off muttering. It took Peter a couple minutes to find the encampment site he visited on Sunday. 

“Look who’s back,” Mars exclaimed. “You look great!”

“C’mon Mars, it’s been like two days,” replied Peter, smiling. “I couldn’t have changed that much.”

“Nah, you haven’t, I’m just giving you shit.” Mars motioned for Peter to sit with her on the empty crates like last time. “Why did you come back?”

“No reason,” said Peter. “Just felt like it.”

Mars laughed and Peter felt another rush of pride for making her smile. The late night heat was bearable with the breeze, yet Peter couldn’t help but wipe off sweat beading at his hair. Maybe it was from the heat radiating off of the take out box Peter brought from the Compound’s kitchen. 

“I brought some food,” Peter said, and before Mars could protest, he pushed the large container into her hands. “C’mon, I didn’t steal it, I promise.”

“I know, but I don’t want you to spend money on me when you should be looking after yourself first.” Mars shook her head. “You should eat.”

Even under the dim street light, Peter could see the hollowness in Mars' face. She was only a year younger than him, but the lives she’s lived and the experiences she had made her more mature than Peter. It was unspoken between them not to mention the sallowness.

“I already ate. I brought the food for you.”

Mars gave Peter a reluctant look before accepting the container. It was Cantonese fried rice, full of vegetables and meat that gave the rice deep and rich flavors, paired with a side of crispy pork meat sliced into juicy, bite sized pieces. 

“You went back home?” Mars asked.

Peter furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you said last time you got kicked out for being raped by your uncle’s friend. Did your uncle take you back?” Mars shrugged. “I mean, that’s what I assumed the food meant. You bought me food with the guilt money your uncle gave you.”

“Nah, nah, it was nothing like that,” replied Peter. He sighed and thought of what actually happened. “It was more complex than that, I suppose. A lot of things happened between then … and now.”

“Hm.”

“But you were kind of right. My… pseudo mentor and I have been doing better so he gave me a raise. Thus, the food.” Peter motioned at the container in Mars’ hand and grinned when he made eye contact, her cheeks full and her mouth speckled with grains of rice. 

“Thus, the food,” replied Mars, raising the container at Peter grandly. “What kind of work do you do with your pseudo mentor?”

“Nothing too interesting, I’m mostly another pair of hands in the lab for when he needs help. Not that he needs much help anyways, but he lets me work on my projects.”

“Shit, you’re one of those stupidly smart kids, aren’t you? Like the gifted science kids that end up at MIT on scholarship?”

Peter laughed lightly. “Well, sorta, but not like that. I just like to make stuff, nothing serious enough to get me anywhere good.”

Mars hummed again, looking at Peter with her mouth full. 

The two of them talked for a while longer before Peter got a text from Wade, telling him to go to Matt’s place. It was a bummer to leave Mars, but it was getting late and the city needed Spiderman more than Mars needed Peter’s company. She had to look after the other kids at the encampment site too and Peter was doing her no justice by taking up her time to talk.

So after they said their goodbyes, brief and full of friendly teasing, Peter set off for Matt’s apartment. 

-

“Howdy, Webs!” exclaimed Wade. 

Wade was suited up (he rarely wasn’t suited up, honestly), and Peter could smell the sharp, metallic smell of blood on his suit. He could see dried blood flaking around the creases on Wade’s suit too, the brown specks floating to the ground with Wade’s every movement. 

“You should clean your suit, Pool.”

“What do you mean? It’s fine, there’s not even a smudge of dirt on it, just some blood!”

Matt scoffed. “That’s exactly Peter’s point. I’m going to have to deep clean my couch as soon as you leave.”

“I thought you were fine with blood?” Wade asked.

“Oh I am, I just don’t want your ball stench contaminating my apartment.”

“You weren’t saying that last night-”

“ Moving on ,” Matt cut in loudly, clearing his throat. “Pete, go suit up, we’re going on patrol.”

“Normal patrol?” asked Peter.

“Yeah, normal patrol. We can go around Queens too, since you’ve been spending more time around Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Wooooooooww, the real Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is actually venturing outside of Hell’s Kitchen? That’s a first,” Wade said, smiling sweetly at Matt. “I can’t believe we’re taking his patrol virginity.”

“Oh, fuck off Wade, I go on patrol outside of Hell’s Kitchen all the time,” growled Matt, making Peter huff out a quiet laugh. Matt turned to Peter, “Shush, you.”

“So you’re saying you willingly venture out of Hell’s Kitchen on a regular basis?” Wade said with a fake gasp. “That’s like saying I don’t like the Golden Girls!”

“Well I guess that means no more Golden Girls for you, honey,” Matt replied, grinning wolfishly. “Bye Bye Betty White!”

“You take that back , she’s a national treasure!”

“One more word and I’ll cancel my Golden Girls subscription.”

Peter stood up before Wade could say anything else. 

“I think I’m going to go get changed in the washroom,” said Peter, “I’ll let you two sort this out… Whatever this is.”

-

Patrol, for the first time in weeks, was exhilarating.

Realistically, there was no reason for three vigilantes (if people even thought of Deadpool as a vigilante rather than a merc) to patrol together. When Team Red patrolled together, they tended to go around Hell’s Kitchen, Queens, Brooklyn, and any other unclaimed areas of New York. To get from place to place, Matt (unwillingly) and Peter (more willingly) clung to Wade’s side as he activated his teleportation belt he got from a man named ‘Wire’.

‘Cable,’ Matt had mouthed after, ‘Not Wire. Wade’s fucking with you.’

Either way, the teleportation belt was super handy and Peter really, really wanted one. He hated taking the subway; the smells were amplified and Peter could smell every bad breath, every shit stained underwear, and every sweaty armpit regardless of how far he was from them. Swinging from place to place was cathartic, but it also meant Peter would have less webbing fluid for patrol. Biking took too long, walking took even longer, and Peter couldn’t drive (lack of car, not lack of license, take that Wade!). 

After Team Red finished their rounds in Hell’s Kitchen, taking down fourteen mild robbings, an attempted unprovoked stabbing, a provoked stabbing, and breaking up three drug deals, Wade had teleported them to Queens. 

“I’m just sayingggggg, I would totally use that more than you if I had it,” whined Peter. He’d been trying to convince Wade to give Peter the teleportation belt for the past twenty minutes. He did this every time Wade used it. 

“Nuh uh, Bambi eyes, don’t go using that tone with me,” replied Wade, wagging his finger back and forth in front of Peter. 

“C’mon Red, back me up here. Tell Pool I’d use it more than him.”

“You want me to lie? I’m a good Christian. I mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually, religiously can’t lie, no matter how much I want to. Good ol’ catholic guilt, you know?”

“God-”

“You’re rubbing off on him, Red!” Wade gasped.

“Shit,” Matt groaned dramatically with a grin. Peter swore Matt got off of teasing him. “Fuck. Webs, don’t repeat anything that comes out of my mouth. In fact, don’t repeat anything that comes out of either of our mouths.”

“What am I, some toddler?”

“Yes,” Matt and Wade chorused.

“You’re like our itty bitty baby brother! You shouldn’t be talking back to your big bros,” cooed Wade, bopping Peter’s nose over his mask.

“More like my fucked up, gay ass uncles.” Peter swatted at Wade’s hand and gave Matt a half hearted shove when he laughed. “You fucking degenerates.”

“I’m charmed by your language, Webs. Truly.”

“Who knew Bubble butt had such a potty mouth?” Wade stage whispered, “Tomorrow’s Bugle headline– Spiderman Swears like a Sailor. ”

“Nice alliteration, Pool.”

Wade beamed under his mask, something that Peter could never figure out how to get accurately on his own mask. “Thanks, Red.”

Patrol around Queens was quiet, so Team Red spent half of their round walking up and down the streets chatting. Matt kept an ear out for anything interesting and Peter had Karen (the AI) linked to the police radio in case trouble was reported outside of Matt’s hearing range. Wade contributed by telling funny anecdotes of his coworkers at St. Margaret's with comical impersonations that had Peter bending over in laughter. 

The second half of the patrol was more exciting. Half way through a reiteration of Wade’s latest encounter with Domino, Matt overheard the beginnings of a robbery. When Team Red got to the location of the robbery, there was a man holding a gun to Mr. Delmar’s head while the other was rummaging through the cash register.

“Are you kidding me?” exclaimed Peter, bursting through Delmar’s front doors with an incredulous look on his face. Well, no one could actually tell, but Peter hoped the animatronic eyes portrayed enough emotion to get his message across. Wade will have to show Peter how he did it, but Peter thought Wade would claim ‘power of breaking the fourth wall’ again, so fat chance. 

Peter continued, “You’re seriously robbing Delmars? There’s a bank across the street and you chose to rob a sandwich shop?”

The guy grabbing the cash, Mr. Criminal number 1, just shrugged. “Times are tough, you know?”

“C’mon,” Peter whined, “he has the best sandwiches in Queens, couldn’t you have left him out of it?”

“And do what, rob Joe’s Pizza instead? They have the best 29 minute guarantee in the fucking world, I wouldn’t touch that place.”

“Oh, that does it,” Peter shouted. “Red, Pool, some back up please!”

“Shit, Daredevil and Deadpool are here?” said Mr. Criminal number 2, lowering the gun from Mr. Delmar’s head. “For a sandwich shop robbery?”

“Well, it’s Delmar’s and I’m basically the main endorser for the sandwiches, so yeah. All hands on deck required for a sandwich shop robbery,” Peter huffed, crossing his arms. “You can either lower the gun, Mr. Criminal number two, or you can be skewered by my good friend Deadpool. It’s really your choice, sir.”

“Why am I Mr. Criminal number 2?”

“Cuz he saw you second, dumbass. Obviously I’m better at this,” Mr. Criminal number 1 said, still stuffing the cash in his bag. 

Matt and Wade were standing outside of the shop, leaning against the brick wall and listening to Peter argue with the robbers. Usually, they let Peter take on the robbers or petty theft situations, while the two of them took on the darker stuff. It wasn’t like Peter couldn’t handle seeing men or women or kids getting sexually assaulted, it was just harder for him to process it than it was for Matt or Wade. It was harder for Peter, fresher and more raw, especially since May died, and Peter was learning to let people help with hard things.

That’s why Peter needed to take on the pettier stuff once in a while. The bickering, the low risks, the grandiose and animated body language made it fun– brighter, for Peter. Matt had told Peter before entering that Mr. Criminal number 2 didn’t have a bullet in the gun barrel, and in fact, the gun had so many missing parts it was essentially a stage gun. 

“Red, Pool, back up!” called Peter again. “Now, please! Mr. Criminal number 1, put the money back into the register.”

“Or what?”

“Or else I’ll hang you from the meat hooks in Mr. Delmar’s back room,” said Wade cheerily. He swung open the doors with flare, the little bells jingling above his singing voice. “That sounds fun, doesn’t it? Romantic, even? We can call it a date.”

“Don’t– Don’t take another step,” Mr. Criminal number 2 said, jumpier at the addition of Matt and Wade to the room. “Or I’ll shoot.”

Matt scoffed. “You talk a lot of shit for someone holding a broken gun. What’re going to do, throw a plastic gun at me?”

“I’ll- I’ll–”

In a singular, fluid motion, Matt pulled out his weird ass ninja sticks and propelled one at Mr. Criminal number 2. It hit him dead center of his forehead, knocking him to the floor and making him drop the gun. At the same time, Wade threw one of his knives at Mr. Criminal number 1, pinning him to the wall behind him by the fabric of his shirt. Peter, after both criminals had been temporarily stunned, webbed them to their respective surfaces (after removing Matt’s stick and Wade’s knife) and smiled at them. He hoped the smugness in his smile showed in the animatronic eyes, and if it didn’t, they’d have to take his word for it. 

“Well, Mr. Criminal number 1 and 2, look what we have here. The police will be here in…”

“Thirty five seconds,” supplied Matt, tilting his head slightly. 

“In thirty five seconds,” replied Peter. “No more robbing, got it Mr. Criminal number 1 and 2?”

“Or else we’ll find you,” Wade sang. 

Mr. Criminal number 1 and 2 nodded frantically, both of their heads limited in motion due to the webbing fluid.

“Police are going to be here in twenty seconds,” gruffed Matt. 

“We gotta go, hope to see you never!” Peter shouted over his shoulder as he walked through the doors. “Not you, Mr. Delmar, I’ll be back soon!”

Matt followed Peter out the door with Wade at his heels. Wade wagged his fingers at Mr. Criminal number 1, blowing him kisses. “Ciao!”

Peter and Matt held onto Wade, and in the blink of an eye, the three of them were at May's apartment. Peter’s apartment.

“Wow, I’m fucking exhausted.”

“It’s only like, three in the morning, Wade.”

Wade sprawled onto the couch. Peter sat at the dinner table while Matt leaned against the wall.

“Don’t you have work tomorrow, Matt?” asked Peter. “Shouldn’t you head back soon?”

“I guess, but I’m my own boss. I go to work when I feel like it.”

“Actually, I think Foggy Bear wears the pants in the relationship. And Kare Bear has the key to both of your chasity belts, I’d never want to get on the wrong side of that woman,” Wade shuddered, peeling off his mask. 

“That was intense imagery I did not want to see,” replied Peter. “I need to wash my eyes with bleach. Maybe drink some while I’m at it.”

“You’re actually disgusting, Wilson,” Matt spat.

Wade smiled grandly. “Oh, don’t make me blush. Keep talking to me like that and I might cream my pants, Red.”

“I’m gonna beat your ass-”

“Well now you're begging me to pop a boner!”

“Alright, alright, stop it! My ears are bleeding, holy shit,” Peter shouted. “Take the dirty talk back to your apartment, Matt.”

“Oh, you’re bringing me home?” Wade asked Matt sweetly, batting his eyes. “Why, I’m a proper southern girl and we’re moving way too fast. If you buy me dinner first, I’ll be a real darlin-”

“I hate this fucking team,” Matt groaned.

“Aww, we love you too,” Peter cooed.

“I should head back though. If I sleep through another morning coffee meeting, Karen’s going to be pissed at me and she’ll put me on decaf.”

“The horrors of decaf,” gasped Peter mockingly, and Wade snickered when Matt groaned at the thought. 

“Wade, can you bring me back?”

“Sure thing, sweet cheeks.”

“I thought Peter was sweet cheeks,” asked Matt.

“Peter’s a lot of things, but your ass in that suit deserves some lovin’.”

“You repulse me.”

“Well, if you wanna feel my ass up as we teleport, I promise I won’t tell anyone,” sang Wade. “I’ll pick you up for patrol tomorrow, Bambi!”

Matt held onto Wade’s forearm reluctantly, and the two of them disappeared from the apartment living room. 

Peter wished he went to Matt’s for the night. Matt wouldn’t mind, not really, but still it felt like he was intruding sometimes. Maybe Peter could’ve crashed at one of Wade’s safehouses or stayed at Ned’s, but it lingered. The feeling of being a leech, of being a parasite, lingered, and it’ll stay with Peter for the rest of his life, that awful fucking stench.

And Peter would rather stay in the barren apartment than smell like a parasite. 

• First week of July, Wednesday

Peter woke up at the crack of dawn. Not because he set an alarm or because he naturally wakes up early, it was because his sleep schedule is so entirely fucked. 

The day passed like the tide after a tsunami. Nothing was significant enough to remember after a tragedy. The only thing Peter remembered was the haze that settled over him from dusk to dawn. The summer heat made Peter drowsy for the most part, but other than that, the heat was better than the cold. 

Ned and MJ were talking in their group chat, and Peter couldn’t bring himself to look at their messages. He sank into the couch instead, staring at the shapes forming on the popcorn ceiling as the heat passed. Though every picture dissipated each time Peter blinked, if he looked hard enough, Peter could see little moons and dogs in the bumps and found comfort with the stories they’d tell. 

That evening, Wade had picked him up as promised. Matt had set off for Troika restaurant, leaving Wade and Peter for the docks. 

Working with Deadpool took an entire new set of morals, especially with a job that involved child trafficking. He’d have to turn away when Wade pulled out a gun or knife, only comforted by the fact that Wade wasn’t leaving behind dead bodies. They’d recover, but Peter could taste their blood in the air. 

This wasn’t like the patrol from the previous day. It wasn’t light or funny or exuberant. It was gritty and grimy, and Peter wouldn’t be able to sleep for days after seeing how those kids were held. 

It started off with Wade and Peter arriving at Pier 88.

“Hear anything, Bambi?” asked Wade, deactivating his teleportation belt. Peter unlatched himself from Wade and adjusted his web shooters. Today, Peter opted for a darker Spiderman suit that was coloured in all black with gray-blue highlights. This wasn’t normal patrol; Peter didn’t want to draw attention to Spiderman’s involvement in the grittier crimes of the underground to keep the police off his tail.  

Peter tilted his head, straining his ears in the same way Matt taught him. “First boat on the left, the big one. Can’t hear how many people, all I know is that there’s a small commotion on the lower level and guns.”

“Race you there?” Wade grinned from under his mask. 

When they both boarded the ship, it took them barely three minutes to take out the security detail. From those three minutes of fighting, Peter came to a realization. 

This wasn’t the Russions. It wasn’t the Dogs of Hell, it wasn’t the Cartel, and it sure as hell wasn’t the Kitchen Irish. Even though it involved drugs, it wasn’t the Chinese either. Everything was too clean to have been the gangs, and Wade knew it too.

It was the Americans, and they had been running everything from drugs to weapons to trafficking, right from under the government’s noses. 

After counting to three, Peter kicked open the door leading from the deck to the lower cabin while Wade non-permanently incapacitated the crew. The two of them stalked down the cabin aisle silently with their backs pressed to one another. Wade was leading, finger on the trigger of a pointed gun, and Peter was walking backwards, webbing up the unconscious crew members and keeping an eye out for lingering threats. 

It wasn’t until they reached the lower compartments of the ship where things really went wrong. The upper floors were drugs, laundered money, weapons and shit that Peter didn’t care much for, but the lower compartments held the kids. 

Peter closed his eyes when Wade took the shots. He knew that this wasn’t something Wade could’ve been talked out of after seeing the state of the kids. 

God, there must’ve been forty of them at least, all under the age of 10. All starving, held in dirty cages covered in their own piss and shit, chained together like a rats nest by steel collars. These kids weren’t just being sold as child prostitutes. These kids were being sold into a fight club where they’d have to fight or die, where their owners sat them at the foot of their bed making the jump or bark or plead with a single word. They were going to be raped, beaten, then killed for the amusement of rich and sadistic people, and that made Peter sick to his stomach. 

Wade cursed when he saw the state of them, then pressed a notch on his watch that connected him to Matt. 

“The kids are here,” clipped Wade. His voice was thin and strained, eyes unwaveringly trained on the cages. “How are things on your end?”

Matt, from his side of the phone, was breathing heavily. “I’ll let you know when I finish. I’m in the middle of things.”

He hung up on Wade, and Wade pressed another notch on his watch. It connected him to the police. Wade rarely called the police for anything less than a fucking horror show, and whatever was on the boat was more than that. 

“Pier 88, first and largest boat on the left,” Wade said in that same strained voice. 

“Pardon me?”

“Roughly forty kids that need emergency medical services and twenty five incapacitated gang members. Fourteen dead. Be here in five minutes.”

Peter was silent throughout the entire conversation, focusing solely on removing the chains from the children's necks without vomiting in his mask. He broke through all the cages by prying open the locks, then carefully peeled back the metal collaring the kids necks. Their necks were rubbed raw and blistering with infection, pus, and blood. It looked like a brand had been burned onto the back of their necks between where the cervical spine joined the thoracic spine, hidden beneath the steel collars. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he hushed when one of the children started crying. She looked about seven, but she was so underweight that Peter couldn’t tell. “The police are coming to help you, alright? Just be brave a little longer, it’s going to be alright. You’re okay, sweetheart.”

Wade looked steely at Peter, in a way that told him Wade had his mind made up. “I’m going after the captain.”

Peter swallowed. “Are you sure he’s here?” 

“His stench is worse than anything I’ve ever fucking smelled. He’s here, if he hasn’t jumped ship already after hearing the commotion.”

“And when you get him?” asked Peter. There was no if when it came to Wade. It was always a matter of when. “Are you going to kill him?”

Wade looked almost serene with his reply. “No. I’m going to do something much worse. Get off the boat, baby boy, and go tell Red. I’ll be right behind you as soon as I get the shithead I’m looking for.”

-

Peter got off the boat just before the police arrived. The webs he used were short term, meaning they’d have dissolved with no residue by the time the police arrived on the crime scene. He’d made his way around the squabbles of police, deactivating his Spiderman suit, and walked back to 44th and 11th. Matt was there waiting for Peter, standing on the rooftop with a singular boy sleeping beside him.

“Aren’t you going to drop him off at the police station?” asked Peter. 

“Well,” Matt started with a grimace, “I figured that would be more your speed.”

“You hurt, Red?”

“You try fighting a bunch of trigger happy gangsters, Webs, see how you like it. Take the kid to Brett Mahoney at the 15th Precinct Police Station, he can help. Meet me back at mine in an hour.”

“Pool’s going after a captain,” Peter warned. “It’s going to get messy.”

“Crash at mine, then. I’ll call you if we need you.”

“Got it,” Peter nodded. He didn’t want to be involved with their interrogations, and Matt respected that. “See you in a couple hours. Make sure Pool doesn’t kill him.”

-

The first thing Peter did at Matt’s apartment was run a shower.

It took everything in him not to vomit– Peter needed the calories, so he turned to dry heaving instead and stood under the cold water spraying down on him to wash away the gritty scum on his skin.

Peter rubbed at his skin until it was red and stood under the water until his bones froze. He hated using hot water at Matt’s, even if Matt insisted he could afford it, because Peter knew how much hot water cost in New York. 

“Fuck!” Peter said, slamming his palm against his forehead. “ Fuck , this is so much worse than I thought.”

His forehead hurt, but at least the pain gave Peter clarity. Peter shook the water from out of his eyes and turned off the shower, stepping onto the floor mat with a shudder. 

“How did it even get this bad? Jesus, what am I getting into?” he muttered. 

There were too many things happening at once. Peter’s head spun thinking of all those kids, bare boned and pleading. He didn’t want to think about them anymore. He couldn’t. 

So, Peter activated the nano Spiderman suit and started cleaning it with the wet wipes Matt kept by the toilet. Even if the nano suit was self cleaning, it gave Peter some peace of mind knowing that he cleaned it himself. It was meticulous work, getting in between every plate and hinge with the wet wipes and a little bit of soap, but it kept Peter’s shaking hands busy and his mind off of patrol. 

While waiting for Matt and Wade to return, and trying his best not to think about what they were doing to the captain, Peter settled on Matt’s couch for a nap. His phone buzzed from the bottom of his bag, the bag Peter left at Matt’s house before patrol, and Peter knew it was Ned. 

Closing his eyes, Peter thought of what Ned would think of him knowing what he’s letting Wade do.

Maybe it would give both of them some peace to not talk about it.

-

“Peter… Peter !”

He woke up with a jolt.

“Oh, it’s you,” Peter replied. 

Matt grinned, still in the Daredevil suit. It smelt of musk and blood. 

“How was the interrogation?” Peter asked groggily. “Where’s Wade?”

“It was fine,” Matt clipped. “He went home.”

Matt was lying through his teeth, but Peter wasn’t going to press it. 

It had always been a show watching Matt take off his suit. It was just so intuitive; the face mask came off after two tugs, the gloves detached from the arm pieces, then the chest plate and sleeves came off with a zipper and a shimmy. It looked so satisfying to slide out of the Daredevil suit. Matt grabbed a gray tee shirt from the closet.

“I could make you a new suit, you know,” Peter said. “Nano tech and all. We could match and Wade would be the odd one out.”

Matt snorted. “Nano tech, huh? You sure it won’t turn evil and end up trying to kill you?”

“What kind of sci-fi shows have Foggy been telling you about?” Peter rolled onto his stomach, arm fishing for his bag by the side of the couch. Damn, it was just out of reach. “Trust me, it’s fine.”

“Hm, I think I’ll stick to what I have now,” Matt replied. He went to wash his hands and face in the kitchen sink. Peter watched Matt wince, clutching his side, as he made his way to the kitchen.

“Jesus, Matt, are you hurt?”

“I’m fine ,” replied Matt.

“Are you?” Peter looked closer at Matt, who was still shirtless. Even in the dark, Peter could see the blooming purple bruises and red dripping down his side. “Is that– Matt, sit down. I’ll get the first aid kit.”

Matt groaned, but relented. He sat at the small table by the kitchen counter while Peter pulled out the first aid kit stashed under the kitchen sink. 

“It’s just a small cut, Pete,” Matt protested.

“Yeah, if you call getting stabbed three times in the back a small cut,” Peter said with a scoff. “You’re starting to sound like Wade.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“Well you won’t bleed out, if that’s what you’re asking. Can’t say anything about the scarring, Red. Any glass in the cuts?”

Matt shook his head. 

After putting on surgical gloves, Peter unrolled a bundle of disposable towels and opened a fresh wash bottle of saline solution. He held the towels under each open wound, which were puffing at the edges, and rinsed the wounds with the solution. 

“Does it hurt?” Peter asked. 

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Matt replied grittily. 

“Well, I kinda hope it hurts.”

“Wade’s an awful influence on you, Webs,” said Matt with a short grin. 

Peter just grinned back. Taking a disinfected pair of tweezers and a gauze sponge soaked in the saline solution, Peter dabbed at the fluid draining from Matt’s wounds. The blood had started the clot, but Matt still needed some stitches. 

“This is pretty fucking gross, just letting you know,” Peter replied. He threw out the used gauze and changed his gloves. “How many stitches do you think you need?”

“Why don’t you tell me, Doc?” Matt shifted in his seat slightly, pondering. “At least four for each cut.”

Peter followed Matt’s advice to the tee. He was used to stitching Matt up, but it was still nice to get a confirmation on what to do. He treated each wound with some antiseptic topical ointment before covering it up with a gauze patch. “There, all done. Hopefully it won’t scar awfully.”

“Thanks,” Matt replied. He put on his shirt carefully, with little help from Peter, and sat back down. “Have you thought of getting an MD, Pete? With all the practice you get from me, you’ll whiz through medical school.”

“Nah, I don’t think medical school is for me,” Peter said. “My aunt, she… Yeah, she worked at a hospital, so I don’t think I could… It’ll be too much, you know?” 

Peter shrugged, taking off the gloves and throwing away the used supplies. He put back the first aid kit, making a note of what was missing so Karen could restock the kit. He grabbed a face towel from the bathroom and rinsed it under cold water before giving it to Matt. 

“You could go to law school, too,” Matt replied, wiping his face with the towel. “You also help out plenty at the office. Foggy and I went to Columbia, passed the bar exam and everything, so we could help you if you want.”

Peter shrugged again. “I’ll think about it. I dunno, I think I might want to go into something more…”

“Sciency?”

“Yeah, maybe?” 

There was so much Peter wanted to do, yet it all seemed unfathomable. 

“Let me know if you want to go to law school,” Matt said after a beat of silence. “I can write you an amazing reference letter.”

“Who knows, maybe I’ll ask Foggy for one instead.”

Matt laughed. “Yeah, maybe that would be a better move.”

-

Peter stayed at Matt’s apartment and pushed back the images of patrol. He imagined stuffing the memories into this little box at the back of his head behind every other good, positive, happy memory. All the bad shit was trapped behind a lock and key.  It was where it belonged. Out of sight, out of fucking mind. 

Apparently, Matt and Wade didn’t get much out of the captain. He had been in charge of running the trafficking off of the boat and knew it connected to something bigger in the city, but didn’t know much other than that. 

So, Team Red was back to chasing ghosts and Peter wanted nothing more than to pretend like he hadn’t seen one of the most horrific cases of child trafficking. 

• Second week of July

Since school let out, Peter hasn’t really… seen MJ.

He wasn’t avoiding her, if anything it was Peter reaching out to MJ about going to the movies or hanging out while she always bailed. Ned knew what was going on, and he knew to stay out of it– at least stay out of it directly.

The three of them hadn’t addressed the May situation, either. It was hard to admit what happened and Peter wasn’t ready to continue talking about her like she was dead. 

“Man, what do I do?”

“I’m telling you, dude, just suck up and apologize. Write her a fifteen page essay on cold case murders or forgotten historical female figures or buy her some funky ass rocks. Girls like rocks, right?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think I can afford crystals, and even if I could, MJ doesn’t really believe in all that,” Peter sighed.

They were at Ned’s house, sitting at the dinner table. Ned’s mothers were at work, which meant they had left plenty of feed for both Peter and Ned to eat in the fridge. The bots they made at the Avenger’s compound were plugged into their respective laptops, and they were both hard at work writing code.

“Well, what does she like?” Ned asked, eyes trained on his laptop.

“She’s your friend, too?”

“I don’t know her like that ,” Ned shuddered, “I just know MJ as MJ. Not MJ as an angry girlfriend.”

Peter flushed. “She’s not my girlfriend,” he muttered.

“But you want her to be,” replied Ned. “After she isn’t angry anymore, that is.”

“Can you talk to her?”

“Oh, I did. We were texting before you came over.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And did you ask her to forgive me?”

“No, we were talking about Howl’s Moving Castle, dipshit. I told you I’m not getting involved.”

Peter groaned. 

“Listen, Peter. I love you and everything, but Flash did call MJ a bitch. And you essentially told her to shut up and go away after she defended you.”

“Isn’t that an exaggeration?”

“Kind of, but it’s also what happened. I get it, you didn’t want MJ to be mean for you, but MJ was saying what everyone was thinking. She was defending you and me, Pete.” Ned looked at Peter, patting his arm gently. “She wasn’t fighting our battles, she was being our friend.”

“God, I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but she’ll forgive you. She’s our friend , after all.”

Peter didn’t really think of how MJ would react. That was something that kept happening; Peter wouldn’t think and jump in, making everything a million times worse even if he was trying to fix things. The fucking Parker luck. There was a moment of silence between Peter and Ned, where the only sound filling the room was the clicking of keyboards. 

“I think she was just extra mad about what you did because she likes you,” said Ned, startling Peter. 

“Huh?” 

“You know, she felt extra hurt because she likes you. You didn’t call Flash out for calling her a bitch, not that she needed you to, but still, it’s the thought that counts.”

“No, no, she what now?” replied Peter. “Am I hearing this right?”

“Dude, you’re so fucking stupid.” Ned looked back up at Peter and shook his head. “If you want a clarification, ask her yourself you fucking genius.”

-

“Hey, MJ, do you like me?”

“No, that sounds stupid… Hey MJ, it’s been a couple days. Do you want to go on a date?”

“Fuck, I sound so dumb right now… Hey MJ, I like you.”

Peter paced back and forth in the living room of his own apartment. He had been devising a plan to get MJ to talk to him again. To properly talk to him, to stay up late texting him, to sleep while on a call together, to wake up and tell him about the weird dream she had. MJ had been civil, but they haven’t been connecting like they used to. 

The first step in his plan was to get her to agree to meet up. He wasn’t going to do it the coward’s way, Peter was going to apologize in person. It just so happens that the first step was the hardest because she kept bailing.

So, Peter was going to invite her to go to the museum. If MJ liked anything, it was making fun of racist old white people’s accomplishments and looking at dinosaur bones while saying ‘that looks like it would make a good soup’.

The next step was to apologize. He got that one down. ‘I was dumb. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Flash was wrong to call you a bitch and I should’ve called his misogynist ass out.’

Then, he was going to confess. Yay. Great plan. It was solid and sound proof in all aspects, except for the fact that MJ wasn’t agreeing to meet up. And the fact that MJ might totally reject him (which is fine, totally fine, but Peter might go cry face down in some dirt later if that happened). 

What if Peter bribed her with going to visit Karen Page after? MJ loved Karen, and Karen loved MJ possibly more than she loved Peter, so maybe that would work?

-

Update: it didn’t work. 

Peter didn’t end up convincing MJ to go to the museum with him, which was fair, but she said she didn’t have time to go to Hell’s Kitchen for Karen. Which was a lie– she definitely did have time. She always had time to hang out with Karen and it was summer break. What else did MJ have to do if not waste each passing day dying under the heat of the sun with friends?

Anyway, since MJ didn’t want to hang out, Peter ended up at the Stark Tower. There wasn’t much to do at his apartment and Peter didn’t want to continue crashing over at Ned’s or Matt’s, so the Stark Tower it was. The Stark Tower wasn’t the Avenger’s Compound, but it was still nice. Over the past couple of years, the Stark Tower had been undergoing several renovations and had not been sold, despite Tony’s initial wishes. Instead, Pepper overtook the Tower and offered Peter a room (which he took). 

Technically, the room belonged to Spiderman and it was barely furnished, but it had a warm bed and food. The Tower was also so much more accessible to get to than Upstate New York, where the Compound was, and Tony didn’t live at the Tower. 

“Oh, there you are Pete!”

Did Peter jinx everything?

“Tony,” Peter started, “I thought that you…”

“That I was at the Compound? Well, Friday told me you’ve been staying in your room at the Tower more often, so I thought we could furnish it together,” said Tony. “We could fill it with whatever nerd stuff you like, no judgement here.”

Peter huffed out a laugh. “I think calling it nerd stuff negates the ‘no judgement’ statement.”

“Semantics, semantics,” Tony scoffed playfully, waving his hand in the air dismissively. “We could look through some catalogs together and you can pick out whatever you like. You didn’t really get any creative control over your room at the Compound so I thought I’d make it up to you by letting you go off the rails with your room here.”

Raising his eyebrows, Peter gave Tony a wary look. “Are you sure?”

“Well, I also need to refurnish the penthouse suite,” Tony quipped.

“The penthouse suite?” 

“C’mon, keep up, kid,” replied Tony with a grin. “Haven’t you heard? Pep wants to move back into the Tower.”

“What?!”

-

Pepper’s pregnancy, which Peter had most definitely not forgotten about, had progressed far enough to be the main reason for moving back to the Tower. Tony said she still wasn’t showing, but it was only time until the transit from the Compound upstate to the Stark Industry Tower would be too much for day to day issues, meaning Pepper had to choose between working from home and working from the Tower. And being able to get ahead of the issue, or any issue in fact, was Pepper’s strongest suit. 

“So, which room am I in?” Peter asked. 

Tony had brought him down to the refurbished labs on the floor beneath the penthouse suite. Happy had brought some of Tony’s most prized possessions that were salvaged from the Miami house as well as the old labs beneath the Tower, most of which were splayed haphazardly under white clothes or propped in cardboard boxes. 

“Your room room, or your lab room,” Tony replied. He pulled off the cloth from the nearest structure beside him, revealing what looked like an old fax machine while muttering. Peter guessed that’s not what Tony wanted. “You mind helping me out?”

“Both, I guess? I mean, I don’t really know where anything is,” Peter said, pulling another cloth off. “Is this a… giant projector?”

“I’ll show you around later.” Tony squinted his eyes. “Oh man, I haven’t seen that thing in ages. I wonder why Happy brought all this junk in, I told him to bring up the cool stuff I needed.”

“Maybe this is the cool stuff for Happy.” 

“Considering how he lives in the 80’s, I wouldn’t doubt it.”

Peter folded the cloth and placed it onto one of the work tables. He hauled up one of the cardboard boxes covered in a fine layer of dust and put it on the table too. “Hey, what is this stuff?”

“Probably just some spare parts,” Tony replied, preoccupied fiddling with one of his forgotten creations. “Poke at it and see if it explodes.”

Pouring the contents with one hand onto the table slowly, Peter used his other hand to fan out the miscellaneous objects. It was mostly bits and pieces of a project Tony had scrapped or disassembled for it’s internals, but Peter found the repulsor casings to be the most interesting. The wires were frayed and the guts had been ripped out to most likely be reused in another project, but Peter could see the logic behind each engineering decision. 

“It’s from one of the earliest Iron man suits,” Tony said. He had been looking at Peter from across the room. “Cool, isn’t it?”

“You think it’ll explode if I hook it up to a battery?” asked Peter. 

“Peter,” Tony warned, “I’m still the adult responsible for your wellbeing when you're on internship hours.”

“But I thought you said to poke at it and see if it explodes?” Peter grinned. 

“Has anyone told you that you're a little shit?” Tony groaned. “Oh, fine, go ahead and blow your fingers off. See if I care.”

Peter shook the repulsor casing in his hand, hearing the parts rattle. “I think I’ll take that as a challenge.”

Working in the half done, disorganized mess of a lab was honestly not that big of a challenge Peter thought it would be. In fact, it was quite fun rummaging through all the equipment and drawers to find the parts he needed while Tony hovered over him– sorry, as Tony ‘monitored his activity like the responsible adult he was’. It took Peter thirty minutes, start to finish, to assemble a hopefully functional repulsor powered by a couple of super juiced up double A batteries. 

Peter popped in the batteries and motioned for Tony to stand beside him. It was still intimidating being near Tony and allowing himself to forgive him, but slowly, Peter was starting to enjoy Tony’s quick humor and sharp remarks.

“You ready?” asked Peter. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be. Just–” Tony groaned exaggeratedly. “Don’t blow up the building, alright Pete?”

“No promises,” Peter grinned. He pointed the repulsor to the wall and pressed the button attached to the base of his palm. 

The repulsor shot out a large beam of light, becoming so hot that Peter dropped it and made Tony yelp. It left a black scorch mark on the wall beside the windows. A fucking success . 

“Oh my– Peter ,” Tony spluttered. “I think I just had a heart attack. Never, ever will you be allowed any of my repulsors again, I’m hereby banning you from the–”

Peter couldn’t help himself but to laugh. It was just so fucking funny; the burnt wall, Tony’s surprise, and the hot repulsor at their feet. He didn’t know why he found it so funny, but all Peter could do was laugh at the absurdity of it all. 

Tony relaxed at Peter’s laughter. “Alright, Underoos, I think that’s enough excitement for today. Let’s go get something to eat.”

Chapter Text

• Third week of July: Stark Industries Tower. 

“Hey… Tony?” Peter started. 

“What’s up, Pete?”

The two of them were sitting in their shared lab, currently fully repaired and cleaned, working hard on their own projects. Pete had been hanging out at the Tower more often, but had yet to stay the night. He chose the crash at Matt’s apartment, which was just a couple swings away, yet he was adamant about not overstaying his welcome. At least in the Tower, Peter had a proper bed and his own room. 

“I was wondering…” Peter cleared his throat. He looked down at his suit splayed out on the work table instead of looking at Tony. He didn’t want Tony thinking he was stupid. “I was wondering if I could… maybe… stay at the Tower overnight sometimes? Y’know, since the room is painted and it has some furniture, and I’ve been doing patrol here lately instead of in Queens , so staying here would mean that I wouldn’t have to –”

“Peter,” Tony cut in and Peter stilled. “The room is for you, alright? You don’t need to ask to stay in it.”

“I know, but…” Peter shrugged. 

“Alright, here’s what we’re going to do,” Tony replied, brushing the dust off his hands. “Come here, Underoos.”

Peter made his way to sit at Tony’s table. He would never admit it because he knew it was illogical, but there was a sense of dread settling into the pit of his stomach. 

“The room is yours, and it’s completely fine to stay overnight at the Tower. You don’t need to ask to eat the food in the common rooms or kitchens or from the employee cafeteria. You can come and go as you wish, and there is truly, truly no room you can’t access.” Tony made Peter look him in the eyes. “I want this to be very clear, alright? I don’t want anything, I really mean anything, from you other than for you to feel comfortable here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Kid, I’m sure. I’m not going to make any more fake promises. The room is yours and it will always be yours as long as you want it.”

The knot of nerves in Peter’s stomach unfurled. Was Tony not going to ask about May? Should Peter bring her up? Did Tony know? Did he not care anymore?

“Thank you,” Peter said eventually, and that was that.

Looking down at Tony’s work table, Peter noticed new drafts for an Iron man suit. A detachable nanotech housing unit within an arc reactor, connected to a pair of high tech glasses donned ‘EDITH’. 

“Even dead I’m the hero,” Tony said, peering over Peter’s shoulder. 

“What?”

“It’s what EDITH stands for. I always loved acronyms.”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit… I dunno, morbid?”

Tony hummed pensievely. “It’s going to happen one day, might as well make a cool acronym from it.”

“And what does Pepper think about that?” Peter asked. 

“Well, she made me promise ‘no more surprises’, so I think I’ll be fine.”

The thought of Tony dying, just the mere idea of it, was enough to make Peter feel sick. 

“Don’t joke about that,” Peter said. He thought of Ben. May. He thought of Wade’s neck, snapped in all the wrong angles. He couldn’t lose another person. Not again. 

A look of recognition flashed in Tony’s eyes. 

“Sorry,” replied Tony. 

Peter took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He could feel Tony looking at him, but he needed to calm the pounding in his chest before it exploded. 

Ten. Nine. Eight… 

He was fine. Tony was fine. It was all going to be fine. 

Peter had to tell himself that. Otherwise, he’d spiral. 

-

The day after Skip was arrested, Peter realized what it meant to be truly scared.

It was bigger than being frightened from the mice hiding in the cabinets or understanding that dogs could bite. It was bigger than being scared if there was a monster hiding under his bed, because Peter knew the real monster had already been in it. It couldn’t be helped. Peter couldn’t be saved. He was drowning and his lungs had been pierced by every haunting memory of Skip. 

Sometimes, Peter would wake May and Ben up with his night terrors. It was a reoccurring dream. Skip. Peter. That burning feeling. Then it ended with Peter sinking to the bottom of the Hudson River, tangled in fistfuls of his thick, suffocating duvet. 

He woke up fitfully, sweat clinging to his forehead and gasping for air. 

“Shhh, it’s okay,” May whispered, brushing Peter’s hair back with her cool hands. “You’re safe, you’re safe.”

“I’m–?”

“Do you want Ben to come in?”

“Not…” Peter shook his head, emotions still cluttered. “Not yet.”

Peter hated being scared of Ben. He hated seeing how being scared hurt Ben, which was the last thing Peter ever wanted, but it wasn’t something controllable. It didn’t occur to Peter before Skip that Ben had the capacity to hurt him. He didn’t even think that people had the desire to hurt others until Skip. And then, as if a switch had been flipped in his head, Peter saw the world with clouded lenses. 

Men were only capable of hurting others. All men, including Uncle Ben. 

It was illogical. Peter was being silly. There was no sense or reasoning in it, because Peter knew that Ben wouldn’t. Ben pulled Skip off of him and put him in jail, yet coincidently, Ben had been the one to introduce Skip to Peter. His brain knowing Ben wouldn’t hurt Peter (not like Skip, at least), didn’t mean he fully understood it or believed it. 

He wanted to believe it, though. More than anything. 

And if Peter was scared of Ben, who could Peter trust?

Other times, in Peter’s moments of lucidity away from thoughts of Skip, he’d sit at the dinner table with Ben with his school work. Ben would crack open the living room window regardless of the weather and put on one of his John Lennon records. It would feel like how everything was before; the days passed quickly without a worry and Peter would go to school humming the melody of the songs Ben played the night before. 

The soft strum of a guitar echoed in the living room with John Lennon’s smooth baritone voice singing over swishing, glittery percussion. Peter could barely hear it past the scratchy noise of his pencil tip dragging over his assignment papers and Ben’s pacing steps. 

“You need any help there, buddy?” asked Ben. 

One of the most introspective things about Ben was his keen sense of balance. Of when to push and when to yield. Ben knew how to poke and prod at Peter without it feeling squirmish. And with that, Ben understood when to give Peter space. 

Peter shook his head. “It’s just math.”

Humming, Ben took the seat across from Peter with a cup of warm water. “Well, if you need any help, let me know what I can do for you, okay?”

“I’ll try,” Peter mumbled. He could feel Ben’s eyes on him, he could feel the heat of the cup, he could feel the churn of emotions in the air. “Seriously, I’ll try.”

“Promise?”

Peter looked grimly down at his paper. He could see his new English work Ms. Simmons assigned the day before from under his scraps of rough math calculations. That class was unbearable– word had gotten out to the teachers on what happened with Skip, though without details. The only thing his teachers knew was that Skip was an unsafe male figure in his life and Peter needed some time off from class to deal with it. Ms. Simmons decided to escalate the situation by assigning a weekly self-reflection where everyone had to write an entry on what made them feel safe versus what made them feel scared. 

It was awful. She was awful. There was nothing Peter wanted more than to pretend like nothing happened. There was nothing Peter wanted more than to sweep the shame aside. 

“Peter?” Ben called out again. 

“Sorry,” Peter replied, “could you repeat what you were saying?”

“Do you promise you’ll come to me if you need help?” There was a croakiness in Ben’s voice that made Peter’s heart splinter into thousands of little glass shards. “Listen to me. I need– I need you to promise me this. Promise me you’ll come to me.”

“I…” Peter drew in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”

Ben pressed the heel of his palm against his eyes, shoulders rounded. Peter had learned that from him. He could see the trembling in Ben’s legs, the whitening knuckles. John Lennon’s hazy voice played over Ben’s heaving breaths. 

“I’m sorry,” Peter said again, this time quieter. “I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“No, no,” croaked Ben again, and Peter could feel the pit of shame igniting within him again. “I made a really big mistake and I should be the one saying sorry. I’m sorry, Peter.”

It was always ‘I’m sorry’. It was always crying and pleading for forgiveness. It was always Skip’s face being reflected against Ben’s. And Peter hated how he couldn’t stop it.

“Peter,” Ben strained, “ Peter .”

“I’ll try,” Peter promised finally. He didn’t mean it, but the words gave Ben some relief. “I can’t– I won’t–” Peter shook his head again and again, correcting himself. “I’ll try. I’ll try.”

He really did try. He tried for years. He was eleven, trying to relearn how to let Ben love him. Trying became easier and shifting into something natural. And then a couple of years later, Peter was fourteen relearning how to live without Ben loving him with no lasting success. 

When it was just him and May around, there was never a question on if May loved Peter. Peter knew she did. But he also knew that there was a seed of hatred and resentment that burrowed deep inside of her chest that twisted at each thought of Ben. Because if it wasn’t for Peter, he’d be alive. If it wasn’t for Peter, May would be too.  

-

Tony took Peter out for lunch after working in the labs. 

There was a small Italian eatery outside of the Stark Tower, to which Tony obnoxiously had a membership to, but served wonderful crispy bacon and tomato sandwiches with a side of hot soup. 

“So tell me about yourself,” Tony said, sipping from his cup of hot coffee. 

Peter laughed a little and swirled his straw in his iced lemonade. It made a clinky, shimmery noise. “What is this, an interview?”

“Gotta practice for job interviews someday,” replied Tony. “But I mostly want to catch up. Tell me about patrol.”

Patrol with Team Red was slowing down. They had no leads on how the drugs were being imported; the pier operation was shut down permanently yet the distribution of heroin was unaffected. In fact, it was as if there was a spike in heroin overdoses in the past week to spite Team Red’s bust. Most importantly, all traces of child trafficking disappeared and they were left with nothing. 

“What do you wanna hear?” asked Peter.

“Anything you want to tell me.”

“Well,” Peter started, leaning back in his chair, “I stopped a robbery at Delmar’s.”

Tony made a pleased sounding hum and took a bite of his sandwich. “Oh right, I heard about that on the news. Heard you’ve been working more with Daredevil and Deadpool, too.”

“Where’d you hear that from?” replied Peter, perplexed. 

“You guys have been all over WHIH and the Bugle lately,” Tony said. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

“Sorry,” Peter replied quickly. He picked up his sandwich, warm to the touch and barely crossing the line between crispy and soggy. The heaping bite Peter took was perhaps too ambitious, but it was good. He took a sip of lemonade before continuing. “Yeah, I’ve been working with them. They’re cool. We patrol together sometimes.”

It was more than that, but what Tony wanted to know wasn’t always what he deserved to know.  

“And–” Tony started before cutting himself off. It was as if his mouth got ahead of himself, and Peter had never seen Tony look so regretful. 

“And?” asked Peter, even though he had a sickening idea of what Tony was going to ask. 

“Nevermind.” Tony waved his hand in the air, dismissing the conversation. “I hear your birthday is coming up, though. Any requests? Any indulgences I can exploit?”

Peter shrugged. “I don’t really need anything.”

“I find that hard to believe. MIT textbooks aren’t cheap, trust me, I’ve been there. I mean, I didn’t actually think about that kind of stuff, but I heard from Rhodey-Bear how overpriced that shit was.”

“I’m actually not…” Peter cleared his throat and gave his lemonade another swirl. “I’m not going to MIT.”

“Oh. Columbia?”

“That was the plan.” Peter shrugged and found himself struggling to look back up at Tony. He replied in a small, wiry voice, “Can’t afford it though.”

“Well there we have it,” Tony exclaimed. “A perfect birthday gift. Let me set up a meeting with the admissions officer from Columbia and call Pepper, and by September, you’ll be on campus.”

“No, no, I can’t–”

“Why not? If you want to be in school, be in school.”

“It isn’t fair.”

“But you got accepted, right?”

Peter nodded, hands wringing in his lap.

“So it’s not like I’m buying your way in. I’m just financial aid, a scholarship if you will. Seriously, Pete, it’s fine.”

“I dunno, it still feels like,” Peter struggled to find the right words, “like I’m being given this unfair advantage. Like I’m taking away from someone who deserves it more.”

“You deserve an education just as much as anyone,” Tony said firmly. “You seem to have this idea of yourself that you’re somehow less deserving of things you want. I don’t know where it comes from, but Peter. Listen to me, alright?”

“Alright.”

“You deserve to be happy. You deserve it, more than anyone. Tell me honestly, don’t try to lie to me because I’ll see right through you– Do you want to go to university?”

Peter nodded, eyes trained on his limp sandwich and cold soup.

“Then let me talk to the admissions officer to get tuition and housing sorted. Let me do this for you.”

“Okay,” Peter breathed. “Okay, okay. Alright.”

There was a lull in the conversation where Peter sat back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. His chest rose and fell in synchronization with the swaying light fixtures, and Peter found comfort in listening to Tony’s heart beat steadily. 

“Is it really alright?” asked Tony. 

“It’s perfect,” Peter replied softly. Everything was soft and hazy through the sting of tears pricking his eyes, but it really was perfect. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Tony laughed lightly at his response, but Peter could hear the wetness of emotion catching at the base of his throat. “You’re welcome, kid. Jesus, I missed this.”

“I missed this, too.”

-

After lunch with Tony, Peter went up to his room.

The walls were painted a neutral muslin colour with large windows that had built in exits and entrances for patrol. Tony made an effort to keep the room minimalistic for Peter’s sake, yet his living area was more like an apartment than a single bedroom. There was his bedroom, obviously, which had a king sized bed in dark oak frame, a matching desk, and ceiling to floor bookshelves that were built into the walls. There was a full washroom equipped with both a bathtub and a standing shower, a kitchen area stocked with fresh produce in double doored refrigerators (which were restocked every two days, according to Friday), and a dining area that joined with the common area.

It felt foreign. It felt like a hotel that Peter had no business being in, yet Tony had made it familiar. There was no longer a lingering, sterile lemony smell in the air– Tony set out a bowl of peaches that sweetened the summer air and reminded Peter of May in the best way possible. The bookshelves had room for Peter to build his own collection, or his textbook collection as Tony would call it, but it was decorated with little Lego figurines Peter had mentioned in the passing. 

It was a comfortable space, one with locks and fail safes and exit strategies, one with small hiding spaces and food. It was a place where Peter could ask for help and receive it, where Peter could set boundaries and have people respect it. It was safe. 

Peter sat on the leathery, dark green couch in his common area. He pulled out his phone and opened the group chat with Ned and MJ.

…

Hey guys

Can we all meet up? I have some good news

ned: yooooo so he lives !!

You’re hilarious.

ned: but ye sure, im free now

ned: @ mj? 

mj: wait I have to check with my dad, he’s being a hardass right now.

(3 minutes later)

mj: he said okay. I have to be home for dinner though.

Want to meet at the park by MJ’s place?

ned: good with me :D

ned: be there 30min?

I’ll be there asap. So probably around 30 minutes

mj: alright, let me know when you’re here.

…

Happy was surprisingly happy to drive Peter back to Queens. What a weird turn of events. It turned out that Peter saved Happy from having to deal with the new security trainees that kept setting off the garage alarms, leaving that task to the normal security management team.

By the time Peter got to the elementary school park by MJ’s place, Ned and MJ were both there.

“You need a ride back?” asked Happy through the rolled down car window.

“Sure, in maybe two hours.”

Happy nodded, saying how he was going to stay in Queens for the time being, and Peter thanked him as he drove off. Peter walked towards Ned and MJ, who were sitting on the swing and kicking at the sand aimlessly.

“Hey guys,” Peter said, clearing his throat. 

Ned smiled at Peter, bless his heart, but MJ looked back at Peter with her owlish eyes. They both said nothing, waiting for Peter to continue. 

“I just… um… I just want to apologize to you guys in person. Especially to you, MJ,” Peter started. “I’ve been trying to be more honest, and even though it’s hard, I know that I care about both of you too much to keep lying to you.”

“Peter–” Ned tried.

“No, you don’t have to say anything. You’re my guy in the chair, and I haven’t been letting you help, and you have every reason to be mad at me,” Peter replied. “And MJ. I’m sorry about Flash and basically just being a bad fucking friend. You deserve to be respected. I– God. I’m sorry.”

Peter stood in front of them, swaying slightly between his feet. He was nervous about what they were going to say.

“Honestly, I came here expecting to stay fucking angry at you,” MJ said. “And I hate being angry at you.”

“I hate you being angry at me, too,” Peter smiled softly.

“I love hating Flash though,” Ned chimed in, making MJ snort out a laugh. “What a fucking dick.”

“He is. And on top of what he said, how I reacted, and how distant I’ve been, both of you have every right to be mad at me,” replied Peter.

“We do,” MJ said. “But you’re missing one more fact.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry–”

“Peter, May passed away. You don’t have to apologize for mourning. Yeah, you were distant and didn’t keep us in the loop on patrol but that’s not what made us mad. Was it annoying and somewhat concerning? Yes, but Peter,” MJ said, “none of that is your fault. I was only kind of mad about the Flash thing, but it’s all blown over and we won’t have to deal with his bullshit anymore.”

“Wait, then why were you avoiding me?”

“I was packing, you dipshit,” MJ scoffed, “I’m moving across the country and not everyone can leave things to the last minute.”

Ned smiled, turning to MJ. “You’re not gonna tell him the other reason why?”

“What other reason?” Peter asked, though he suspected that other reason was what Ned told him previously. 

“Shut it, Leeds,” MJ snapped. 

“Oh, so it’s toootallly not because of the fact that you like–”

MJ clasped her hand onto Ned’s mouth, recoiling with a disgusted groan when he presumably licked her palm. 

“–Peter and how you’re sooooo emotionally closed off that you’re pushing–”

MJ jumped off her swing seat and tackled Ned, who fell onto the sand with a chuckle. She pressed her hands over his mouth while Ned swatted them away, still speaking.

“–him away because you’re scared of being another person who leaves him, which is just–”

“Shut UP, Ned, oh my God!” MJ shouted.

“–such a convoluted, illogical way of thinking in my opinion.”

“I could kill you right now,” MJ hissed. 

“You could start by thanking me,” Ned replied with a grin.

“And now he knows, he knows .”

“Well,” Peter piped in, “if it makes you feel better, Ned told me last week.”

MJ’s eyes widened, whipping her head towards Ned who was still pinned to the sand under her. “You what ?”

“Someone had to,” Ned replied, “and if it makes you feel better, Peter likes you back.”

“Ned!” Peter shouted. 

“It’s not like you guys were exactly subtle about it, everyone, and I mean everyone, could tell. I just kick started it– Er, well, currently kick starting it.”

“You enrage me, Leeds,” MJ said, picking herself off the floor and dusting the sand off her clothes. She turned to Peter, eyes downcast. “Well, is it true?”

Peter’s throat tightened, as if his body was physically restricting his ability to confirm the admission of affection. Pushing past the scratchy voice and sudden dryness, Peter said, “It’s– it’s true. I, uh… I like you, MJ. I always have.”

“Oh.”

“Um… Sorry?” Peter rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “For not saying anything earlier? I don’t know how to make this situation better.”

MJ shook her head, loose curls falling from behind her ears and framing her face. God, she looked so pretty. “I like you, too.”

Peer grinned and his heart did loops in his chest. 

“Now tell him why you’re avoiding him because this idiot was seriously thinking it was because of the Flash situation,” Ned said, lying comfortably in the sand as if he hadn’t been pushed there.

“Do you ever shut up?” MJ snapped. 

“When I choose to, yes. Go on, tell him.”

Peter looked at MJ, beaconing her to continue.

“When I leave for Stanford,” MJ started, “it’s going to feel like I’m leaving you behind.”

“You’re not,” replied Peter firmly.

“But it feels like I am. It’s a five hour flight from here. A forty five hour drive. An uncountable amount of hours for you to swing all the way to Stanford, and I felt like if we just… got used to the distance before I leave, leaving won’t be as hard.”

“MJ, leaving is always going to be hard, but that doesn’t mean we’re going to be any less close. Maybe we won’t be able to hang out every weekend, but that won’t stop us from calling every other night– which we basically did until… recently– but,” Peter continued, “I’ll always be here for you. Ned and I won’t leave you.”

“And I won’t leave you, either,” MJ replied softly. “I promise.”

“We promise,” Peter said.

“Yeah, we promise,” Ned replied.

“Oh, c’mon, Ned, get up. The sand is gonna be everywhere.” Peter walked over to Ned, pulling him up. “Anyways, I have some good news.”

“Guessing from the fact that Happy drove you here, this news is Tony Stark related?” Ned asked. It was his turn to brush off the sand from his clothes, but with marginally less success than MJ.

Peter smiled, making MJ frown with suspicion. 

“It is.”

“And?” MJ asked.

“And guess who’s going to Columbia this fall!”

“No fucking way!” Ned shouted. “Are you serious?”

MJ broke out into a full grin, pulling Peter into a hug before she could stop herself from her own estaticity. 

“It’s not through yet, but Tony said he’s going to sort out the tuition and living costs, so I’m pretty sure it’s going to happen.”

“Like 30% sure with your ‘Parker luck’ or like–” MJ said.

“No, no, like 99.9% sure,” Peter cut in, “as in, this is my birthday gift from Tony.”

“I still can’t believe you know Tony Stark,” Ned said. “And that he’s paying for your tuition. Oh my God, are we going to be roommates?”

Peter scrunched his nose. He hadn’t thought about that. “I’ll have to bring that up with Tony.”

“I can’t believe we’re going to be roommates.”

“That’s the plan,” Peter grinned.

“Man, usually I hate nepotism, but I’m really glad you know Stark,” MJ said. “You’re almost a full blown nepotism baby now. Just got to enroll you into some posh etiquette classes and pay your way into social circles, and there we have it. A nepotized Peter Parker.”

“I’m not sure nepotized is a word,” Ned replied.

“If it works, it works,” Peter grinned

“I’m so fucking happy for you right now,” MJ said. “If anyone deserves this, it’s you.”

Peter pulled MJ into another tight hug, then motioned for Ned to join it. It was comfortable being with both of them like this– being wrapped up in their arms with no fear of being hurt. Peter loved both of them, and deep down, he knew they loved him just as much. 

-

After two hours, Happy returned faithfully to pick up Peter. He didn’t offer where he went, but from his sour mood, Peter thought it was best not to ask.

Peter returned to the Tower and settled into his bedroom without seeing Tony. The next time they crossed paths, which was pretty frequently as some of the only residents at the Tower, Peter would bring up the roommate conversation, but for now, he was pretty content with lounging on his dark green couch with a math revision workbook on mathematical proofs.

“Hi Peter,” Friday said from the comms system, “Boss is requesting access to your floor.”

“Sure, let him in.”

Peter set aside the workbook onto the coffee table, tabbing his page with the pencil he was using. Hopefully Tony took it upon himself to bring dinner; Peter didn’t feel like using the kitchen yet, although he had some leftovers from lunch. 

Tony came in with a couple of take out containers, like Peter expected, but his face was somber. 

“Hi?” Peter said cautiously. 

Giving Peter back a tight lipped smile, Tony set the containers down by the dinner table. “Do you want to eat first or talk first?”

“Talk, I guess?” Peter’s stomach churned. 

Tony nodded and made his way from the dining area to sit beside Peter on the couch. 

“I heard that you roped Happy into driving you to Queens.”

“Yeah. Sorry?”

“No, no,” Tony chuckled, “that’s not what that talk is about. Continue to exploit his presence, it’s hilarious. But… while you were talking to your friends, guess who Happy finally decided to visit.”

Peter’s heart sank to the floor. “May.”

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” Tony said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Why didn’t Peter tell Tony? Why didn’t he tell anyone? It was as if these questions mocked Peter, because obviously, Peter didn’t want to. 

That thought must’ve translated onto Peter’s face, because Tony shifted in his seat, apologizing. 

“I wish you told me earlier.”

“I didn’t tell you at all,” Peter said darkly. “I didn’t want you to know.”

“I’m sorry I found out this way.”

Peter found some modicum of restraint in him not to scoff in Tony’s face. Still, it was hard to remove the bite of bitterness from his words. “But you’re not sorry you know.”

“No,” Tony replied, “I’m not.”

Peter sank into the couch, wishing he could fall deeper and deeper into it and be swallowed up by the leathery fabric. It was hard to even look at Tony, and it was harder to participate in a conversation Peter wanted to avoid entirely.

“You see, all this time I thought you and May were fighting,” Tony continued. “Fighting over Spiderman issues, like who you’re working with–”

“You have a problem with Red and Pool?” Peter asked protectively.

“Not necessarily, but I thought May did. I thought she, Jesus , I thought she wanted you to stop working with them, which is why you were staying over at the Compound and Tower more.”

That was a ridiculous thought. May was personally charmed by Matt, though not his night time persona, and she positively scared Wade into behaving well. It was true that she disliked Deadpool’s killing stance and Daredevil’s violent predispositions, but she knew how Team Red operated when working with Spiderman. 

“I didn’t want you to know,” Peter repeated, clinging onto that small fact like if he said it enough, it would make Tony un-know the truth. 

“And I wish I knew earlier. How long has she…” Tony paused. “How long has it been since she passed?”

Peter flinched slightly. It felt foreign to hear those words coming from Tony’s mouth, not because of the true-ness, but because Peter deeply wanted Tony not to know the truth. 

“It was the first week of June.”

“Jesus, Pete,” Tony cussed softly. 

“I’m not going to apologize for not telling you,” Peter replied stiffly. There was still a swirl of anger in his chest, partially at Happy and partially at Tony. That spark of anger flared when he thought of Tony’s advanced technology and the ease of access he had to May’s medical files. “You couldn’t have found this all out through Friday? Why grill me about it?”

“I’m not going to use Friday to invade your privacy, Pete.”

“Didn’t seem to bother you before, did it?” Peter thought of Tony’s invasive baby monitor protocols. 

“I’m not the same person I was two years ago.”

Peter sighed. 

“Let me help you.”

“She’s dead, there’s not much you can do for me.”

“You could move into the Tower?” Tony said, and before Peter could protest, he continued, “You already have a room here, and you can stay for however long you want. Presumptuously until you go off to university, but there is no flawed logic in the plan here, Pete.”

“I can’t–”

“Why not?”

Because the feeling of being a leech, of being a parasite, lingered, and it’ll stay with Peter wherever he goes. That awful fucking stench. It was one thing to stay temporarily at the Tower, and it was another beast entirely to move in.

And how could Peter live in the Tower, smelling like the rottenness of a parasite?

“I just can’t.”

Tony turned to face Peter more properly. “You’re not a fucking burden, Peter.”

“I’m–”

“You’re not a fucking burden ,” Tony said again. “You’re young–”

“I’m not incompetent –”

“–and sometimes you need help. That doesn’t make you incompetent, it just means you’re learning. You’ve been through some really tough shit and I’m sure you’re perfectly capable of handling it, but,” Tony replied, “sometimes help is nice, agree?”

“I’m not going to take advantage of you,” Peter said finally.

“Accepting help doesn’t mean you’re taking advantage of me. Accepting help, agreeing to live at a place where you’re safe, where you have food, where you can learn, isn’t taking advantage of me. It’s called taking care of yourself.”

Peter shook his head again and again. He couldn’t. He couldn’t leave the apartment. It was May’s. He couldn’t leave it.

“Her apartment is home,” Peter said. It’s where Ben lived. It’s where May lived. It’s where Peter lived. 

“You don’t have to move in permanently,” Tony suggested. “How about until school starts? I can pay off the rent on her apartment so you can stay there whenever you want, but you said it yourself. Patrol is heavier here and Daredevil is based much closer to the Tower than to Queens, so living here most of the time makes more sense.”

“And my stuff?”

“It’ll be wherever you want it, kid.”

Peter thought about it. In the end, the apartment would still be there and Peter would make sure it stayed as clean as May would’ve liked. At the Tower, Peter would have access to food. To a science lab. To Tony. 

“Alright,” Peter breathed, and all was settled into place. 

• Fourth week of July

The next couple of days were spent with Peter deciding what to bring to the Tower and what to leave at the apartment at a painstakingly slow pace. He refused to let Tony or Happy up into the apartment– he was far too embarrassed of how barren it had become to allow them to set foot through the doorway.

Having to go through all of May’s stuff, and by extension, Ben’s old stuff, was hard. Peter decided that their stuff should stay at the apartment, but Peter would bring most of his stuff to the Tower with some small mementos of them. He’d bring Ben’s thick, leather jacket that was soft with usage, and he’d bring the throw over blanket May clumsily crocheted when Peter first went to live with them. He’d bring her camera, too. 

He’d also bring two photo albums of May’s large collection. The first album was a murky choice because it documented Peter after he lost his parents. From age five to eight, the photobook showed the growth from mourning and anger, to loss with a refound love that came in the shape of Ben and May. 

The second album was sparse in the middle, but it was because the time frame spanned from when Peter was thirteen to sixteen and Ben had passed around then. Specifically, Ben had passed when Peter was fourteen, and shortly after, Peter became Spiderman. The second album was Peter’s most loved and most hated one because it documented Peter being able to finally let Ben love him again without any fear, and then it sparsely documented Peter and May mourning. 

In between the two albums Peter chose, there was a third that captured the ages nine to twelve: the years of Peter’s life that was largely overtaken by Skip and the memory of the monster. It was an obvious choice to set that photo album back into its place as Peter couldn’t bring himself to set fire to the nauseating period of time. 

Peter tucked everything into a storage box Tony gave him and set it on the counter to bring down to Happy’s car. Before he made his way down, Peter gave the apartment one last look over. He’d be back, and everything would be here. Everything would be here, except Ben and May of course. 

With a final sigh, Peter picked up the storage box and made his way down to the car. He made sure that the door was locked three times before walking down the flight of stairs

-

Telling Team Red about the development with Tony had gone exactly how Peter predicted. 

Peter (not Spiderman) had left the Tower at midnight, telling Friday to tell Tony of his absence, and made his way down to Matt’s firm where Foggy, Karen, Matt, and Wade were waiting. The situation was slightly tense when Peter knocked on the office door.

“Come in, it’s open,” Matt called.

As soon as Foggy saw Peter, he let out a giant sigh of relief. “Thank God you’re here. This menace of a man can finally stop harassing me and can start harassing you.”

“I can’t tell if you’re talking about Wade or Matt,” Peter joked. 

“You’re awful,” Matt replied with a groan. 

“Not as bad as Wade,” Foggy said with a shudder. 

“Aw, Foggy bear,” Wade crooned, “how sweet.”

Peter brought a chair from the waiting area to Karen’s desk, where she was sifting through a stack of loose papers. Matt was on her right, tapping his fingers idley against the wooden table top and Foggy was on her left, futilely pushing Wade’s playful kissy lips aside. 

“Anyways,” Peter started, drawing Wade’s attention away from Foggy, “I’m moving out of the apartment.”

“You’re what?” Foggy exclaimed. “I thought we sorted out rent for the next couple of months and Matt talked to your landlord, so there’s no way rent raised or you’re being evicted. What the hell?”

Before Matt or Karen could chime in, with alternate causes and solutions to Peter’s decision, Peter cut in. “I’m moving into the Tower. The Stark Tower, that is. I’m not being kicked out, it’s just–” Peter shrugged meekly, “for convenience.”

Wade whistled, making Karen shoot him a sharp glare. Wade pretended not to notice it and turned to Foggy. “So you really are losing custody of your favourite child to your asshole ex.”

Foggy spluttered. “You weren’t even there for the conversation, how did you even know about that?”

“The boxes told me.”

Matt shook his head, causing Foggy’s incredulous questioning to fall short. “Nevermind that. Peter, are you sure about this?”

“It kind of… already happened?” 

“ Peter –” Matt started, but Karen cut him off.

“Look, this might not be a bad thing,” Karen reasoned. “Think about it. Peter’s closer to Hell’s Kitchen now and he won’t have to worry about income or food or transportation.”

“Or lab supplies,” Foggy added.

Wade hummed, tapping his gloved finger against his chin while jutting his hip out. “Y’know, I’m trying really hard not to let my massive daddy issues cloud my judgement here, which is something you should try Matt–”

“ Wade ,” Matt warned.

“But let me ask this,” Wade tutted. “Would Tony Stark ever spontaneously become an army officer that– surprise, surprise – hits his kids and abandons his wife, making you act out and become a thug, then tries to get his act together but still ends up disappointing you by abandoning you once again with your mother– like it ever surprised you at this point– but this time, it financially cripples your mother and causes you to run away in fear of further driving her into poverty?”

“Um… No?”

“Then he’s alright in my books,” Wade cheered. “To Petey-Pie having a non-shit father figure!”

There was a beat of silence that followed Wade’s speech, to which Wade either ignored or didn’t notice. Instead Wade pranced over to Peter and gave him a sweeping hug, spinning them both. It was somewhat nice being spun around comically, with his face pressed against the scratchy fabric of the Deadpool suit and with Matt pinching the bridge of his nose as Karen stifled a laugh. When Wade put Peter down, Foggy looked mildly concerned and green at the gills; there was no doubt in Peter’s mind he was imagining himself in Peter’s position. 

“Cheers?” Peter replied.

“Listen, Peter, it’s not like I’m not happy for you,” Matt said. “I am, I really am. I’m just–” Matt motioned with his hand, floundering for the right words, “I’m concerned. Obviously I trust you to make the best choices for yourself, but it’s Stark that I don’t trust.”

“He doesn’t have the best track record,” Foggy continued.

Peter nodded slowly. He understood where Matt was coming from because of what he’s heard of Tony, either from Peter’s own recounts or from his reputation, but this time Peter was nearly certain that Tony would make good on his promise. 

Nearly certain, and that small sliver of uncertainty stemmed from the infamous Parker Luck. 

“I don’t think you have to trust him,” Peter replied. “It’s only a temporary solution, until September, probably.”

“Why until September?” Karen asked. She looked up at Peter, and Peter knew she knew. 

Wade let out a small theatrical gasp and Peter smiled meekly at Matt’s warning look. Foggy just shook his head, his shaggy blonde hair bouncing. 

“Well because Tony’s paying for my tuition and I’m going to Columbia?”

“My Petey-Pie’s all grown up and heading off to college,” Wade said in a faux teary voice. “Who knows what he’s going to do next! Get married, have seven kids, work at a tape analysis company– The possibilities are endless!”

“Alright Pool, let’s not get too ahead of ourselves now,” Peter replied warily. “It’s just school, and plus, Matt said it himself. I could ask Tony to pay for school because he has the money to spare.”

“And I recall saying he has a guilt complex almost as big as his ego, too,” Matt huffed. “Is he doing this because he’s guilty about how he’s treated you in the past or is he doing this because he cares about you?”

“I think it’s somewhat in between those two points,” Karen said. “Let’s say Stark is doing all this, the internship, letting Peter move in, Columbia, because he feels guilty. Would that be such a bad thing? Let him feel guilty, honestly! Peter’s benefiting from it either way.”

“But what happens when Stark no longer feels guilty?” Matt asked.

“Then he better be doing it because he cares about Peter,” Foggy replied.

Wade let out a silly sounding sigh. “I doubt he doesn’t care about Webs over here. It’s so hard to hate his cute little face. Only Baby Jesus knows how much I’ve tried.”

“Wade?!” 

“Kidding, Webs!” Wade said with a nervous chuckle. “That was before you agreed to introduce me to Captain America, AKA my childhood hero, icon, and pansexual awakening.”

“But I haven’t?”

“Well you better get on it then, or else,” sang Wade.

Karen waved her hand, dismissing their tangent. “Either way, I think Peter should let Stark help him out, as much as we all dislike the situation.”

“I’d offer to pay, but I’m still paying off my student loans,” Foggy said apologetically. “And payments for my family’s shop.”

“I spend all my money on guns,” Wade offered, “and the occasional ethically sourced cocaine. Blood money’s no good for tuition, either.”

Peter smiled at them both. “As much as I appreciate those offers, I would never expect you guys to help in that aspect. Just being here, giving me a job, and inviting me to dinner is more than what I deserve.”

“Peter, I really am happy for you and I do truly hope it works out,” Matt said. “If I had the means to, I’d honestly pay for it all myself. I don’t trust Stark in any capacity whatsoever and I can’t shake the feeling that Stark’s going to back out of it.”

“I really hope he doesn’t,” Karen added.

“I might kill him if he does,” Wade continued. 

“ Wade !”

“Kidding again, Webs!” replied Wade, though he sounded substantially less sincere than earlier. 

“Well,” Foggy said awkwardly, “are you excited to start at Columbia this fall?”

Peter nodded, though there was an anxious pit in his stomach that churned at the thought of going to university. Despite that, it would be the fresh start that Peter needed. 

“What are you majoring in?” asked Matt. He looked as if he had accepted the fact that Tony was helping Peter, and that Peter was letting him. 

“Biochemistry, but I’m thinking of minoring in photography.”

Foggy grinned. “I’m happy for you, Pete.”

Things seemed to settle from that point on, and everyone crowded Peter with questions about school. Most questions were teasing, asking if Peter was going to be creating sludge monsters from a witch’s cauldron, but others made Peter look forward to moving on campus even more. 

Foggy recalled his and Matt’s university days as roommates, while Karen chimed in with funny tidbits of her experiences. Wade didn’t go to college or university, but he told mildly horrifying stories about his time in the Special Forces and the CIA-sponsored mercenary group. Despite all of the initial protest, Matt agreed that he was grateful of Tony’s reappearance in Peter’s life.

Peter was grateful, too, but it went deeper than having access to post secondary education. There was that small seed of fear that Matt touched upon, but thinking of the lengths Tony had gone to reassure Peter that he wasn’t a burden, Peter was inclined to ignore that fear. 

-

When Peter was eight, Ben and May had taken him to Niagara Falls. He couldn’t remember much of it now other than the spray of the water against his face and the heat of the sun. The three of them had gone into the caves with the rest of the tour group, May and Ben on either side of Peter while holding his hands, and screamed when the water hosed them down. 

Despite wearing those tacky plastic yellow raincoats the tour guide gave them, Peter was soaked from head to toe. He remembers this fact solely from the picture May took of him with Ben, both of them standing stiffly as water dripped from their noses and poured out from the holes in their shoes. Peter looked cold and miserable in the photo, arms held tightly to his body as his shirt and shorts clung to his wet skin, but he remembered absolutely loving it.

After that, the three of them had a picnic under the afternoon sun which dried them off. They shared finger sandwiches that Ben packed and oranges that May peeled. They fed the geese some birdfeed they brought, and allowed Peter to fiddle with May’s camera as she and Ben sunbathed on the grass. 

That was the moment Peter fell in love with photography. The first picture he took with May’s camera was of her and Ben, eyes closed and hands intertwined. In that moment of time, it was just the two of them enclosed in their own little world and Peter was simply an observer in their love story. He snapped a couple of pictures of them, skin golden and glowing under the sun, and he knew that photography was for him. No matter what happened, a photo would remain frozen in the period of time it was taken. It wouldn’t change, it wouldn’t morph into something different, and it certainly wouldn’t age the people caught on frame. 

Peter looked at the photo of Ben and May, serene as ever. He touched Ben’s face lightly, protected by the thin film of plastic from the photo album, and smiled. He had forgotten how Ben looked without the worry lines.

He put the photo album back onto the bookshelf in his room at the Tower and adjusted the positioning of May’s camera beside it. Maybe… Just maybe, Peter would continue May’s tradition and start documenting his life again. 

And maybe, if he agreed, Tony could be a part of it, too. Peter would like more than two pictures or three pictures of them together.

Chapter Text

• Second week of August

“Peter… Peter .”

A firm pair of hands shook Peter awake. The sun was bright in his eyes, obscuring Pete’s ability to see who was there, but he knew it was safe. Peter rubbed at his eyes with the sleeve of his pajamas. Through his bleary eyes, Peter could make out soft brown curls and a pair of shiny metal glasses. May?

“C’mon, Pete,” said May softly. “It’s time for Sunday brunch. Ben has already set the table, so go wash up, sleepy head.”

“Uncle Ben? He…?” He was alive? Peter looked around, heart pounding. He was in his room at May’s apartment, laying under his thick, blue duvet. 

“Yes, he set the table already because you slept in.” May smiled and Peter felt warmth spread through him. She walked around Peter’s bed and opened the window. “You should go thank him when you’re up. Don’t want the food to go cold, so you might want to hurry.”

Peter peeled the blanket off of him, letting the hot summer air in the room blow against his skin. It all felt so real , yet…

No. Fuck it. Fuck it . Who cared? They were here, they were solid, and Peter missed them. 

Peter changed out of his pajamas and headed to the bathroom. He didn’t feel any different from earlier. He looked the same, he still had his powers, and most importantly, he had May and Ben. After using the bathroom, washing his face, and brushing his teeth, Peter reassured himself. 

He’d be fine. He won’t cry seeing them. They’re fine.

“Peter!” May called again. “Your eggs are getting cold!”

“Oh, May, don’t rush the boy,” Ben hushed. He was cooking the pancakes– God forbid May cooked them– and Peter could smell the butter in the air. “He’s a teenager, he needs his sleep to grow.”

Peter walked into the living room and sat at his spot on the table as naturally as he could. “Morning Uncle Ben. Thanks for setting the table this morning.”

“No problem, kiddo. Why don’t you get some coffee or orange juice and start on your eggs?”

“I, um,” Peter stuttered. Ben looked exactly like how Peter remembered, except maybe a little shorter, but that fact can be attributed to Peter’s own growth. He wore a blue sweater and some khaki pants, glasses perched on top of his head. “Sure thing.”

Did Peter like coffee? He couldn’t remember if he drank it with a splash of milk or not. Did he like sugar in his coffee? He couldn’t remember if he drank coffee with May after Ben passed, and he didn’t waste money on coffee after she passed either. Nevermind, orange juice was a safe choice. 

Peter poured himself a cup of juice from the pitcher May put on the table, taking a sip before starting on his eggs. The eggs were incredible. They were light and fluffy, slightly buttery with bits of cheese melted in. Peter didn’t know how hungry he was until he started eating Ben’s cooking. 

“So Peter, excited for MIT this September?” May asked. She sat beside Peter, like usual, and poked at her eggs. She liked eating when everything was on the table; it gave her ‘variety’ May claimed. 

“MIT?” He was going to MIT? 

“I know, I can’t quite believe it myself,” replied Ben over his shoulder. “It would’ve cost a pretty penny if you didn’t get that scholarship from the September foundation.”

“Oh that,” Peter coughed. “Yeah, I guess it worked out pretty well, didn’t it?”

Ben came to the table holding a plate of pancakes in one hand. They smelt heavenly, like nothing Peter has ever had before in his life. In Ben’s other, he had a dish of golden brown hash browns and crispy breakfast sausages fried to perfection. 

“We’re proud of you, kiddo,” Ben said. “We knew you’d get in, it was only a matter of time.”

Things were different here. Peter knew it, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. May stacked a pile of pancakes onto Peter’s plate and poured syrup over it. She flicked at Peter’s nose playfully with her sticky, syrupy fingers with a giggle while Ben ruffled Peter’s hair from over the table. 

“Thanks, Aunt May,” Peter said softly, waving off her hand. He plated some sausages and two hash browns, dipping each bite in syrup. “Man, this is great.”

Ben beamed back. Peter found it comforting to see the faint crows feet along his eyes and the laugh lines in his face. This Ben had lived a happy life, full of joy and laughter that Peter’s Ben wasn’t given. Yet with every gray hair appearing in his brown hair and worn line on Ben’s face, Peter was reminded of his morality. Of the feeling of slick, hot blood staining his hands as Ben bled out from a bullet wound. 

Peter rubbed at his eyes again, willing the memory to recede. 

“I see you’re still waking up,” May teased. “Should’ve gone for the coffee today.”

“You want me to bounce off the walls?” Peter huffed out a laugh when both Ben and May let out a teasing groan. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“So, what did you want for your birthday this year?” May asked. “It’s in, what, like a day now?”

“Turning eighteen already?” Ben replied. “Wow. Oh jeez, I must be getting old. I feel like I’m still eighteen and here you are, becoming a fully grown man.”

Peter shrugged. “It doesn’t feel like anything’s going to be different. Maybe we can have a small dinner party instead of gifts?”

“Huh, a dinner party? Why is that— oh shit, I forgot to tell you about tonight,” Ben exclaimed, jumping from his head. He scurried to the kitchen counter, ruffling through some opened envelopes – none of which were overdue bills from what Peter could see – and plucked a sheet from the pile. 

“What’s that?” asked Peter. 

The paper was thick cut and a manila cream colour, stamped with a glossy red wax seal. 

“Dear Mister Peter Parker and guardians,” Ben started to read. “Hold on, I need my glasses for this. Have you seen them around?”

“On your head, dear,” replied May breezily. 

“Alright, alright, let me start again. Dear Mister Peter Parker and guardians , Stark Industries would like to formally invite you to our annual dinner dedicated to the hardworking recipients of the September Foundation scholarships. Please note that…. Blah, blah, blah… The event will be hosted by Tony Stark and Pepper Potts to commemorate all the incredible knowledge that has been gained through the September Foundation and shine light on recent, innovative discoveries within every academic field. And… blah, blah, blah… Oh! Here, listen to this,” Ben exclaimed.

“Mister Peter Parker has been invited to speak on behalf of his recent medical patent regarding the development of lightweight, fast expanding disinfectant medical gauze, and how his significant developments with spider webs has affected the medical field in all sectors.”

“Wow, Peter, this is a pretty big deal,” May said. “That’s incredible.”

“And… and that’s tonight?” Peter blanched. 

“Yup.”

“And when did you get the letter?”

“Last week.”

“Uncle Ben!” Peter exclaimed, incredulous. 

“What? I wanted it to be a surprise!”

“But I don’t even have a speech ready, or a presentation, and oh my God, I don’t even know how I even made this fast expanding gauze stuff because this is all in my fucking head -”

“Oh, Peter,” Ben replied soothingly. “Of course it’s in your head. Where else would it be?”

“And plus, Tony loves you. If you don’t want to present, you don’t have to and no one will hold it against you. Seriously, kiddo, no pressure,” said May. 

Peter didn’t know what to do. 

“Do you know who will be there?” asked Peter.

“Whoever you want. It can be a family event,” Ben replied simply. Somehow, Peter thought it would be more complicated than that, but Ben seemed so sure in his answer. 

“Listen, kid,” May started, seeing the worry on Peter’s face. “It won’t matter who’s going to be there or who won’t. We’ll be proud of you no matter what to decide to do, alright?”

“Alright…” Peter replied warily. “I’ll do it.”

“Yes!” Ben exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air as May squealed with laughter. 

“Come here, kid, give your old man a hug,” Ben grinned. As Peter rose shakily from his chair, he was pulled into Ben’s warm and sure grasp. “Jesus, Pete. I’m so proud of you. I’m so fucking proud of you. Look at you, my boy’s all grown up. I love you, kid.”

May joined them in their hug, wrapping her arms around them as time seemed to slow. Peter kissed the top of her head and rested his chin on her hair for the briefest moment. She smelt like the peachy shampoo Peter loved, mixed in with the sandalwood undertones of Ben’s cologne. There was nowhere Peter would rather be. It was home, being with them. There was no greater privilege than being held in their arms, being able to feel how solid they were, being able to feel their lungs expand under his grip. Peter pressed his face against Ben’s shoulder so he wouldn’t see him crying. 

“I love you too, Peter,” May whispered, stroking Peter’s hair. 

“I love you, too,” Peter choked. “I love you so much. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I love you and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything.”

“I know, Pete, but you have nothing to apologize for,” Ben said. He wiped the tears from Peter’s eyes, and Peter could feel the scratchy wool from his sweater against his skin like it was real.

“I love you, and I’m sorry, and you’re both–” Dead. 

“Yes, and it wasn’t your fault, alright? None of it is,” replied Ben.

“Are you sure?”

“None of it is,” May said firmly. “Not Skip, not Ben’s death, and certainly not mine. There is nothing, absolutely nothing , to apologize for. You understand me?”

Peter nodded, face still pressed against Ben’s shoulder. 

“I just… I miss you two,” Peter murmured. 

“I know, honey,” May replied. “But we’ll always be here when you need us, alright?”

“How–?”

“Just close your eyes and breathe,” May said. “And you’ll find that we’re a lot closer than you think.”

Peter took a deep breath in. He pressed his eyes closed as tightly as he could, trying to savor the last moments he had with Ben and May. “Alright.”

-

When he opened his eyes again, Peter was in his room at the Tower and it was dark out. He exhaled, feeling the cavity in his chest expand.  

Peter came to his senses wearily. He knew it was a dream, but it felt so real. It was real. It was as real as life itself, as real as the air around him, yet Ben and May were still dead and Peter wasn’t home. 

The Tower had become familiar, but it wasn’t home. Peter tried to remember the warmth of Ben’s arm and May’s steely grip, closing his eyes tightly, but the dream was fleeting. He didn’t know much, but Peter knew for certain that he wanted to go back.

When sleep escaped Peter again and again, he decided that busying himself would take his mind off the stir of emotions in his chest. 

“Friday, what’s the time?” he groaned, reaching over on his side table for his phone. The brightness was blinding. 

“It is currently 3:04 am on August 10th, Peter,” Friday responded. “I believe today is your birthday. Happy eighteenth birthday and I hope you’ll enjoy the day.”

“Thanks,” Peter replied with a tired grumble. 

He peeled off his blanket with much reluctance and dragged himself to the washroom. After properly getting ready for the day and eating a quick breakfast, only an hour had passed and it was still an unreasonable time for an eighteen year old (an eighteen !! year old) to be awake. 

“An early morning patrol wouldn’t hurt, right?” Peter asked himself under his breath. 

Truthfully, he was already half out the window while activating the nanosuit contained in his bracelets as he rationalized his decision to himself. The summer heat hadn’t settled in yet thanks to the early morning, so swinging from building to building in the breezy wind was a nice wake up activity.

Patrol was mostly sightseeing, once again thanks to the early morning, so Peter passed another hour and a half easily. When he arrived back at the Tower, he went for a quick shower and settled onto his couch with the math revision book he was working on. As Peter worked quickly and methodically through the questions, he found his mind drifting back to his dream. 

It just felt so real. It couldn’t have been just a dream. Maybe Peter had fallen so deeply into his dream that the lines between reality blurred and he had accidently woken up in a world where Ben and May were alive. Maybe, just maybe, Peter could find a way back there. If there was even a chance to, Peter had to try.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, remembering what May had told him. Breathe in… Breathe…

“Hello Peter,” Friday called, “Boss is requesting access to your floor.”

Peter let out the breath he was holding. “Yeah, let him in.”

He placed the math book onto the coffee table and leaned back against the couch. Tony came in, two trays of food in hand.

“Happy birthday, Peter!” Tony exclaimed. “Jesus, you’re doing math? It was strippers and a bender every birthday since I was fifteen. Man , you’re tame.”

Peter barked out a laugh. “You should be grateful I’m tame. Can you imagine me doing all that?”

Tony reconsidered. “That’s a thought best left alone. Anywho, I brought pancakes and bacon for breakfast. Eat up, Underoos.”

Smiling and taking a tray from Tony, Peter ate his food in a comfortable silence. The pancakes reminded him of the ones Ben cooked, though not as rich. The top was glossy from the cooking oil and sticky from the syrup, and the bacon was crispy. It was good, but it wasn’t Ben’s cooking. 

“Did you make this?” Peter asked. 

Tony shrugged halfheartedly, but the small smile he wore through bites of his own food gave it all away.

“It’s good,” Peter said, but Tony started to disagree. “No, seriously, it’s really good. I didn’t know you could cook.”

“You learn more and more about me everyday, kid.”

“I can’t cook,” Peter replied. “My uncle Ben said I could burn water as a kid.”

The thought of Ben gave Peter mixed emotions, but that memory was a fond one.

“Couldn’t cook anything other than microwave dinners,” Peter grinned, “but even then, my use of the microwave was highly restricted and closely monitored.”

Tony snorted. “Trust the chemistry genius to figure out a way to blow up microwaves at age seven.”

“Oh, you have no idea. Didn’t know metal wasn’t supposed to go in the microwave and got yelled at within an inch of my life when I tried to heat up canned soup by microwaving the entire can.”

“ No ,” Tony groaned. “You did not .”

Peter laughed at Tony’s horrified face. “Did it a couple of times before he caught me, too. Honestly, I think we were both just surprised the microwave didn’t blow up the apartment after the first time.”

“Yeah, no. Fri, enroll Pete into some cooking classes right now. I’m not going to have some college kid blow up the Tower just because he doesn’t know what’s not allowed in the microwave.”

“ Tony ! Wait, Friday, stop that request– override that request? I don’t want to be in some cooking class, I know what goes in the microwave.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Peter,” Friday replied. God, she sounded smug. Obviously she had favorites. 

“You might know now , but what if you accidentally cook up an incurable skin-eating bacterial acid trying to make pasta sauce from a can?” Tony gasped theatrically, “God, the horror of a teenage boy cooking!”

“You were a teenage boy cooking once,” Peter tried to counter, “so you know it really isn’t thattttt bad.”

“You’re forgetting I’m Italian on my Mom’s side. And I was taking culinary classes from the moment I could hold a spoon.”

“Aunt May is Italian,” Peter shot back, and for once, saying her name didn’t hurt. 

“She can’t necessarily cook, can she?”

Peter laughed, making Tony grin from ear to ear. At this point, their breakfasts were finished and abandoned on the coffee table as the pair talked. 

“Okay, how about this,” Tony said, settling into his seat to face Peter. “Instead of taking cooking classes, I’ll teach you myself.”

Peter gave Tony a wary look. “And you’re confident that it won’t end up with an incurable skin-eating bacterial acid?”

“That’s the point of me teaching you, Pete.”

“Hm, let me think about it.”

“You’re kidding me,” Tony replied, deadpan.

“I have a lot of things to consider! Like, what if I actually do blow up a microwave? Actually, that would be pretty cool and you’d be there to replace it so I could blow up another one. Okay sure, cooking lessons with Tony is a go.”

“You’re just using me for free microwaves,” moaned Tony jokingly, clutching his heart. “How will I ever recover from this betrayal?”

Peter laughed again, this time giving Tony a playful shove. He hasn’t seen such a whimsical or playful side of Tony before, and while Peter suspected Tony was playing it up to make Peter laugh, he still enjoyed it. It meant Tony was trying. He was trying to be there for Peter, trying to be a part of his life, trying to make him happy. And the fact that Tony was trying was enough for Peter. 

“I’m sure you’ll find a way,” Peter grinned, and the two were back to bickering. 

After a while, Tony cleared the dishes and had some coffee sent up. 

“Any plans for your big eighteen with friends?” Tony asked.

Peter shook his head. “Red and Pool didn’t think patrol on my birthday would be a good idea, so we’re hanging out tomorrow. MJ and Ned were busy getting ready for school, so we have plans for the weekend. Nothing big planned for today.”

“Just you and me, huh?” 

“I guess it’s just you and me,” Peter replied, trying to smile. He was grateful that he got to spend time with Tony, but he couldn’t lie. He wanted to spend time with his friends too. 

“So, anything you want to do? And don’t say strippers and a bender because that’s an automatic no.”

“I–”

“Don’t even try.”

“I wasn’t!”

Tony gave Peter a jokingly distrustful look. “Well, what were you considering? Need me to get the private jet ready? The Iron Man suit? Unicorns and aliens and spaceships?”

“You can get a unicorn on such short notice?”

“A horse with a birthday hat is the best you’re getting,” Tony backtracked. “But I’m sure I can manage with everything else– aliens and spaceships included.”

“The offers are nice and all – I really do appreciate it – but I was wondering if we could, I dunno,” Peter shrugged, “like, watch a movie together or something.”

There was a soft look in Tony’s eyes. The crinkles in his eyes reminded Peter of the smile lines Ben had. 

“Sure, Kid. We can do anything you want. What movie were you thinking of?”

Peter smiled meekly. “Star Wars marathon?”

“Ah,” Tony replied, shaking his head. “I should’ve guessed. Do you want to get set up here or in the home theater?”

“Depends. Does the home theater have caramel popcorn and comfier seats?”

“Yes and yes. Honestly kid, it’s like you underestimate me.”

“Just double checking,” Peter said. “Home theater it is.”

“Home theater it is.”

-

It was nearing 3 in the afternoon when Peter decided to pause the movie marathon. Not for his own sake, but because he could sense Tony getting fidgety, as if his hands were itching to get back into the lab. 

So off to the lab they went. Peter mentioned the bots Ned and him made (but left at Ned’s house) and showed Tony some of the coding saved on his laptop. Tony was impressed and gave Peter an endeared hair ruffle that Peter swatted away half heartedly. 

As Tony worked on modifications to the newest iteration of the Iron Man suit – Mark 54, Peter recalled, Peter worked on the AI he and Ned discussed. Though there was nothing wrong with Karen, there was a sense of pride that came with being able to create your own projects. 

An hour passed, and Tony abandoned Mark 54 for another project: buying Peter a new wardrobe. Not that Peter didn’t already receive more clothes than he could wear in this lifetime.  

“It’s not unwarranted, Pete. You need new clothes.”

“You already bought me new clothes.”

“No, technically that was Pepper. And plus, you need more clothes to bring to Columbia.”

“C’mon, it’s like a twenty minute drive. If I need clothes, I can get Happy to bring them for me.”

“Or,” Tony replied with that mischievous glint in his eye, “I could buy you a car and you can drive back every weekend.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Aw, Pete. Too embarrassed of me to come home for the weekend?”

“More like I have no need for a car,” Peter replied, rolling his eyes. “I feel like I’ll crash it.”

“So you’re up for driving lessons?”

“With you or Happy as my instructor, I’m set to get a lifetime's worth of speeding tickets. No thanks.”

“If you get speeding tickets because of me, I’ll pay them off,” Tony waved his hand and dismissed Peter’s voice of reason. “I’m adding driving lessons to our To-Do list, end of discussion.”

“We have a To-Do list going?”

“Yup, and it includes more clothes shopping, cooking class, and driving lessons. Oh, and finishing our Star Wars marathon. Anything else you want to add?”

Peter crinkled his nose, thinking hard. “I can’t think of anything right now. I’ll let you know.”

“Sure,” Tony said easily. 

-

Dinner came quickly and ended quickly. 

Pepper joined them for dinner, and Peter could start to see the baby bump growing. The conversation was light, talking about the plot of Star Wars which Pepper recalled vaguely but could never remember the details. 

Then Tony brought out a cake, and Peter couldn’t help but want to cry.

He was so incredibly touched. The cake was amazing, covered in doodles of Spiderman and Iron Man made with icing, and there was ‘Happy Birthday, Peter’ written in big, swooping cursive over the top of the cake. 

Pepper gave Peter her gift first. Peter opened a small jewelry box to find a thin, gold coloured chain and two rings looped through it. 

“I called the hospital to collect the remainder of May’s things,” Pepper explained. “She wore Ben’s ring on a necklace, and I thought you might want to too. Tony helped enforce the chain, so it shouldn’t come off unless you really yank it off. I also have her urn set away in your room.”

“Pepper,” Peter replied softly, cradling the necklace in the palm of his hands. “Thank you. I can’t describe in words how much this means to me.”

It was such a thoughtful gift. He gave Pepper a hug and asked her to help hook the necklace clasp. The weight of the rings against his chest was unfamiliar, but welcome. It was a constant reminder that Ben and May will always be there for him, that they were close to Peter when he needed them.  

Tony gave Peter his presents next. The first one was a manila cream coloured envelope sealed with a glossy red wax seal addressed to ‘Mr. Peter Parker’. Peter opened it delicately, trying not to tear the paper while peeling the wax away. It was his acceptance letter to Columbia. Peter was going to university. 

“You’re kidding me,” Peter exclaimed. “No, you’re kidding me.”

His eyes scanned the document rapidly over and over again, triple checking that the word 'Congratulations!’ was really printed on the paper beside his name. He pointed at the letter, showing it to Tony. 

“Is this real?”

“As real as you and me, Underoos. You’re off to Columbia in September.”

Peter beamed, and before he could repeat his thanks, Tony handed him another gift. The box was about the size of a tissue box, but he felt something solid, heavy, and hard inside when shaking it. Peeling back the tacky Iron man patterned wrapping paper, Peter held a brand new camera in his hands.

“I… What?”

“I noticed the photo albums– you and May kept pictures and I wasn’t quite sure what else to get you. I know I’m not May or Ben and we’re only starting to understand each other again, but I want to be a part of your life. And I want you to know that I want to be a part of your life. And being a part of your life means helping you document it.”

There were no words to describe the depth of emotion Peter felt. His hands trembled as he held the camera and Peter’s heart caught at the base of his throat. In fear of dropping the camera, Peter placed it back in the box on the table. 

“I don’t know how to thank you enough for this,” Peter whispered, wringing his hands. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this.”

“You don’t have to do anything to deserve being loved,” Pepper replied gently. 

She rubbed Peter’s arm encouragingly, making Peter pull her into another tight hug with tears threatening his eyes. 

“I really hope you understand that Tony and I care for you,” said Pepper. “You mean a great deal to the both of us.”

Peter pulled away from her hug, pressing his palms into his eyes. “You guys mean a lot to me too. Just… Thank you. For inviting me back into your lives.”

“Thank you for accepting the invitation,” Tony said, giving Peter a soft look.

By the way Tony’s hands clenched into fists and unclenched, Peter knew he was nervous, scared, and anxious. And from the tight smile on Tony’s face, Peter knew what he wanted to do.

“C’mon Tony,” Peter said with finality, opening his arms for a hug. “It’s my birthday.”

Being engulfed in a hug from Tony reminded Peter of hugging Wade, surprisingly. It was emotional to the point of being almost overbearing, but it was full of such a deep affection that Peter couldn’t help but be swallowed up in it. He never thought that his relationship with Tony would ever be repaired. He never thought that him and Tony would be more familial than their previous mentor-mentee dynamic.

But here Peter was. 

And Peter finally thought of Tony like how he thought of Ben. 

-

That night, Peter dreamt of Ben and May again.

Ben was in a suit, and sitting beside him was May in a stunning, dark blue dress. Peter was wearing a suit that Tony bought him and sat with May on his left. The three of them were waiting in an expensive restaurant at a table with four empty seats and a high chair. 

Then, Peter’s parents came in, followed by Tony, Pepper, and their little baby wrapped in a bundle. It was only after they took their seats at the round table, with Tony on his right, when Peter realized what was happening. 

It was a family dinner. 

And Tony had become family. 

• Third week of August

August 15th came faster than Peter expected it. 

Honestly, he almost forgot what he agreed to until Friday reminded Peter of it the day before, and then everything came back to him. The revised Accords. The fucking secret identity. 

“Tony!”

Tony knocked twice on Peter’s bedroom door. “All good?”

“Yeah, come in,” Peter called. “How does it look?”

“Suit looks good on you,” said Tony. “Tie’s a bit crooked though.”

Peter had been given a tailored suit for a personal Accords meeting with the Secretary of State and had asked Tony to help sort it out any last minute issues. Tony, already dressed in a suit, had sat in the living area of Peter’s floor waiting for his call.

“Help me out?” 

Tony chuckled, patted Peter on the shoulder, and adjusted his tie before straightening Peter’s lapels. 

“Jesus, this is making me feel old,” Tony said. “I remember when I put on a suit for the first time. I was, what– nine? And my butler Jarvis did all of this for me; helped me lace my shoes, straighten my tie, comb my hair and everything.”

Peter gave Tony a smile. “So does this make you my butler?”

“Ha ha, very funny. If I’m your butler, you’re a nine year old boy.”

Peter stuck out his tongue childishly, earning a messy hair ruffle from Tony. After the two calmed down, they made their way down to Tony’s garage.

“Jarvis sounded like a good man,” Peter said finally.

“He was,” Tony replied. “I miss him, sometimes. Both him and his AI counterpart.”

“Do you think Vision– the part of him that’s Jarvis– still thinks about you like, y’know, the you he knew?”

“Alright, you’re going to have to explain that again.”

Tony unlocked the car, and both of them got in. As Tony drove them to the Accords meeting that took place in an unknown location (to Peter), they continued talking.

“It’s just,” Peter sighed. “There’s a part of Vision that is Jarvis, right?”

“Technically, yes. And there’s a part of him that is Ultron.”

“And Jarvis was a true AI, right? As in, he progressed past theory of mind and into self awareness?”

“Once again, technically yes. I still don’t really see where you’re going with this, Pete.”

“So within the subsection of Vision that’s comprised of Jarvis’s coding and programming, there’s all of the memories Jarvis had with you. All of the decisions he made of his own volition, all of the biases, thoughts, personality. All of that is still in Vision.”

Tony shook his head. “Even though Vision has some of Jarvis’s code, it doesn’t mean he has any sort of connection to me on a personal level. Vision said himself that he’s neither Jarvis or Ultron.”

“Fair, but Vision still has all of the building blocks that makes Jarvis ‘Jarvis’. It’s up to Vision to decide if he uses those building blocks, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t have them,” Peter reasoned. “I guess I was wondering if Vision ever used those building blocks and remembered you as family instead of a coworker.”

“Sometimes it’s easier to let things go,” Tony replied quietly. “It’s easier to not think about it than to spend days wondering what I could’ve done differently.”

“I guess you could ask Vision if you could copy Jarvis’s code?” Peter offered, then made a face. “What if he says no? Technically you made him. You made Jarvis and Ultron, too, which one could argue are Vision’s parents, making you an AI grandparent. Would copying and reprogramming parts of the original Jarvis code make the second Jarvis Vision’s child, or would it be the original Jarvis? I wonder how AI lineages work with so much overlapping source code.”

“Okay this conversation is getting too convoluted. Let’s save the discussion of AI ethics until after the meeting,” Tony said, shaking his head again. “We’re here.”

Peter groaned. “Do we have to?”

“You promised,” Tony replied, “and plus, I think you’ll be surprised with what the compromise ended up being.”

-

One of the great blessings, Peter learned in the meeting, was that Thaddeus Ross was recently pulled off of the Accords Council after weeks of arguing with Tony. Instead, the Secretary of State appointed to oversee the renegotiation of the Accords was this kind looking Chinese lady in her mid forties that towered over Peter. Despite her height, good posture, and athletic build, her eyes were compassionate.

“Peter Parker, as in Spiderman, correct?” she asked. She turned to Tony and gave him an acknowledging nod. 

“Yes ma’am.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mr. Parker. I’m Secretary Huang and I’ve heard a great deal on why the Accords are such a big issue for you from Mr. Stark here.”

Peter gulped.

“Oh, no need to be scared honey,” replied Secretary Huang gently. “I want the Accords to protect the public as much as it protects you. Tell me why you think the disclosed identity aspect should be removed– not in Mr. Stark’s words, but in your own words.”

“I,” Peter stuttered, looking at Tony. Tony nodded back, encouraging Peter to continue. “Well, as Spiderman, I monitor the neighborhoods susceptible to petty and violent crimes.”

Secretary Huang hummed encouragingly when Peter paused. 

“And because of that, a lot of criminals arrested with my help usually have a vendetta against me,” Peter said. “They might not be big threats to national security or to the Avenger’s, but they’re big threats to the people in my life that don’t have the resources, skills, or powers I have. If I disclose my identity, all the people I interact with on a daily basis will become targets for criminals, and I know that it would be operationally impossible to provide protection for everyone. It’s just safer for everyone I know if my identity remains a secret.”

“I see,” Secretary Huang said. “You see, your point of view and stance is quite understandable, but I’ll be honest. With the current public perception of superheroes, mutants, and the enhanced, if you want to continue being Spiderman long term, the identity disclosure will become non-negotiable and you will have to unmask.”

“But–!”

“ But ,” Secretary Huang continued, “that doesn’t mean I agree with the decision. The public will feel safer knowing who’s behind the masks of the heroes and vigilantes, but it’s also an excuse for them to dig up every wrongdoing or fault in your life for fun. And frankly, I don’t believe it’s in any masked hero or vigilante’s best interest to strictly enforce the disclosed identity mandate and make them undergo to that level of intrusion.”

“So what does that mean?” Peter asked. 

“Well, Mr. Parker,” Secretary Huang replied, “it means this is your official warning that the disclosed identity mandate cannot be avoided forever. I’m calling to remove it from the revised Accords contract and putting it under revision.”

“So–?”

“So with this version of the Accords, you specifically, as Spiderman, promise to work for the good of the public and no one other than the public. You promise to aid the government, the Accords Council, and the Avenger’s committee when needed. You will be supervised by a senior member of the Avenger’s committee, who will report any significant details to the Accords council, but you will not be tracked or registered into a DNA-fingerprint system outside of your own volition.”

Peter nodded, head reeling from processing what Secretary Huang was saying. Obviously, he hadn’t actually read the Accords because Tony had it covered, but it actually sounded good so far. 

“And for the disclosed identity mandate,” Secretary Huang continued, “your identity will be revealed to me, as well as the members of the Accords Council and Avenger’s committee you allow. Other than that, no disclosed identity mandate will be enforced. Is that reasonable, Mr. Parker?”

Peter nodded again, this time more ecstatically. “Yes, Secretary Huang.”

“Read through the Accords contract thoroughly and return it to me signed when you’ve made up your mind. And if you violate any of the regulations enforced, the Accord Council and the UN are within their rights to put you under trial for abuse of power or imprison you depending on the severity of the violation. Understand, Mr. Parker?”

“Understood,” Peter gulped. 

“Don’t worry,” Tony said, patting Peter on the shoulder, “that won’t happen to you. The regulations enforced are far more reasonable than before. You’ll have time over the next couple of days to read over the contract and I’ll give it over to Secretary Huang, alright?”

Peter nodded.

“I believe our business here is done, Mr. Parker,” Secretary Huang said with a smile. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you long term, but I hope this will save you some worry for the time being. I’ll work for it on my end, and we’ll touch base when I make more progress. Mr. Stark will be your senior supervisor, and I expect to hear reports once every two weeks.”

Peter and Tony thanked her, and took a couple copies of the Accords with them before heading back to the Tower. 

Peter had a long day of reading to do, but at least all of it was moving towards a more permanent solution. Although the compromise Tony reached with Secretary Huang was temporary, it was what everyone wanted. Hopefully, Secretary Huang is able to remove the disclosed identity mandate entirely from the Accords contract instead of putting it under review. 

All Peter could do was wait. 

-

Sometimes, Peter lost track of when May died. 

She passed on the first Monday of June. Now, Peter was half way through August. It was strange how time had passed within a blink of an eye, yet each day Peter lived felt like it dragged on for eternity. Despite the long days, Peter was unable to recall most of the past two and half months unless he focused on the details. 

But when had Tony become Peter’s first line of defence? When had Tony’s presence in Peter’s life become like the first snow of winter? It was like when Peter was little and went to bed one night, oblivious to the snow blanketing the city little by little. When Peter woke, the snow amazed him with its sudden appearance. It was so magical that it was immobilizing. And like the snow in New York, Peter had no way of predicting when Tony’s presence became such an integral part of his life. 

Yet Tony’s presence in his life couldn’t block off May’s loss. It dampened the hurt, yes, but there was still this abyss in Peter that dragged him down. 

Maybe that abyss in him, those stones on his chest weighing him down, didn’t come from losing May. Maybe it was always there. That urge to compress into himself, to breathe out and become unnoticeable, to sink into the ground and disappear. Peter couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t felt like that. Not before losing May and certainly not before losing Ben. 

There was a lot Peter couldn’t remember now. It was getting better, but sometimes Peter wished he could disappear into himself and forget every wrong done against him. To forget everything would mean Peter could be rinsed clean of his shame. And to be rinsed clean would mean that Peter could breathe again. 

Chapter Text

• Third week of August

The third week of August brought Peter two things: the realization that school was coming and he still hadn’t thought about course selections, and the deep twist of emotions in his gut that told him things were going to end up like shit. And like any other (future) university student, Peter decided to deal with it by avoiding it. 

Talking about shit, patrol has been nothing but ‘hot garbage’ as Wade eloquently put. The late summer heat was unrelenting even at night; the humidity and moisture clung to Peter’s Spiderman suit despite the internal cooling installed. Matt and Wade sweat through their suits every patrol without the fancy homeostasis technology Peter had, yet weren’t as bothered by the heat as he was. 

So on Team Red’s usual Monday night patrol, Peter was already complaining that the heat would be the death of him while sitting on the roof of some building. 

“C’mon Webs,” Matt said, voice soft, “it’s really not that bad.”

“You have ventilation in your mask! And I,” Peter replied, gesturing at his face, “obviously do not. My mouth is so dry right now, I swear.”

“Aww my poor baby,” Wade cooed.

Peter swatted halfheartedly at Wade, huffing. “Buy me water?”

“I’m surprised your fancy smancy suit doesn’t come with a built in Kool-Aid dispenser,” Wade replied, tapping at his chin inquisitively. “Especially considering all he stupid shit you do to get me to be your Kool-Aid dealer.”

Matt snorted. “I bet he tried, it just didn’t–”

“It didn’t fit,” Peter cut off, huffy. 

“Oooh, sore spot, is it?” Wade sang, giggling. Peter swatted at Wade again with more vigor, making Wade shift his body to dodge the hit. 

After a couple of moments and a quick trip to a bodega for Peter’s drink of choice (blue gatorade because there wasn’t any Kool-Aid), Team Red started getting ready to continue their patrol.

“Karen,” Peter said, calling on his AI, “any recent 911 calls?”

“Currently all 911 reports have first responders dispatched on site. No reports of violent crimes or gang violence so far, but there is a reported drunk and disorderly conduct outside the apartment complexes 14 minutes from your location. Are there other parameters you would like me to check for?”

“Nah, thanks Karen.”

“What did she say?” Wade asked.

“Nothing other than a drunk outside some apartments,” Matt replied. 

Wade and Peter gave Matt a couple of minutes to listen, but it seemed like a quiet night. The three of them settled back onto another roof. 

“Yeah,” Peter sighed. “We have no leads on this case. There hasn’t been any movement near the piers, the building we burnt down hasn’t had any visitors, and I’m honestly starting to feel like whoever’s running this damn thing has their eyes on us. They know we’re coming for them and they’ve been dead silent.”

“We got under the Troika restaurant, too. From what Jacob told us, there should be eleven locations left,” Matt added. 

“At least eleven locations,” Wade said. “But I have a feeling Jacob was really underselling the sickos running the entire thing.”

“I was talking to Mars recently, asking her about how bodies were disappearing day after day and she said that there was a pattern emerging with which transients went missing,” Peter continued.

Matt tilted his head. “There wasn’t a pattern before. Couple of months ago, the victim profile was all over the place– sex, age, race didn’t matter, but all of the sudden it does?”

Peter nodded, “The most targeted victims are teenage girls; the younger the better, but mostly girls around thirteen.”

“Fucking pathetic,” Wade muttered. 

“But teenage boys are going missing, too,” Peter said. “Late teens to early adults.”

Wade barked out an angry laugh. “Of course. Of fucking course. Going after the easy targets and gaining recruits for the pedophile club. What’s next? They’re going to stop waiting for the homeless kids and start snatching bodies out of gay clubs? Church choirs? Pre-schools?”

That very idea made Peter sick.

“Pool has a point,” Matt started. “They’re not going to keep waiting for victims. Even if we aren’t catching them in the act, we know more and more people are going missing every day. And if whoever’s doing this is really developing a type, the homeless population of New York only has a limited number of those who fit the bill. We should get ahead of it.”

“And how exactly are we going to do that? I mean Red, you could totally join a church choir, but I’m not sure how well I’d fit into a preschool. Wade’s fine with the gay club, I’m assuming, but there’s no way I’ll be let in.”

“Sister Margaret's was basically a gay club,” Wade shrugged. He seemed to still be storming in his own thoughts, no doubt debating internally with the boxes. After a moment, Wade continued. “Here’s the thing you should know about seedy clubs, Bambi. If you’re jailbait, you’re practically escorted in on a red carpet, and you’re the definition of jailbait.”

“What are you implying?” Peter asked, feeling his stomach drop.

Wade grimaced. “Jailbait is the easiest way in.”

“Of course you don’t have to,” Matt assured him. “Honestly, you shouldn’t do it at all.”

“But it would be better if I did.” 

Matt gave Peter a thin lipped frown that confirmed what Peter said. 

“Listen, Webs,” Matt started, “I want you nowhere near any shithole full of pedophiles and sex offenders.”

Peter clenched his jaw and his shoulders tense. His spidey-sense was going off just thinking about that. He said darkly, “But it would be better if I did, right?”

“Not for you,” Wade replied in a quiet tone. “Not for me, either. I don’t know if I’ll have the self-restraint to not kill them on sight.”

“Okay, let’s just think about this first, alright? No one’s doing anything until we have more information,” Matt said, hands out placatingly. 

“But if I’m the bait, or the one being recruited into this fucked up gang or whatever,” Peter started, knuckles white, “then what are you two going to be doing?”

“We’ll be running the back end: giving you information through comms or posing as buyers,” Wade cut in. “Red’s on comms, and I’ll pose as a buyer.”

“There’s no way on God’s green Earth that I’m letting either of you into some shit hole full of pedophiles without me,” Matt said angrily. “Peter and I have enhanced hearing, so there’s no reason why you and I can’t both pose as buyers.”

“C’mon Red, look at yourself,” Wade said. “You said you looked like a youth pastor last month, you’ll be thrown out as soon as you try to step foot into any pedophile hell hole.”

“Well maybe the youth pastor look would work,” Matt retorted sharply. “You and Peter shouldn’t be going in there without me. End of discussion.”

“Guys,” Peter tried.

“You don’t trust us to hold our own in there? Is that why you’re so opposed to this?”

“No, I just don’t want you killing whoever you come across.”

“I’d only kill the pedophiles. They deserve it. They’re going after kids, Red, they’re going after fucking kids .”

“Guys, please,” Peter tried again, but Wade and Matt ignored him.

“Their death isn’t in your hands. We need them to tell us about the ringleader so we can stop anything from happening again, and they won’t be able to if their heads are detached from their bodies.”

Wade went silent and held his breath. Peter knew he wanted to say more.

“Listen,” Peter replied, making Wade and Matt look at him, “we don’t even know if this– this club even exists.”

“Oh, it exists, Bambi,” Wade said darkly. “It’s a matter of finding it and burning it to the ground.”

“But when we find it,” Matt added, “we need to get as much information on the ringleader and how people are going missing. Which means no killing,” Wade narrowed his eyes, upset, “and that I’m coming in with the two of you.”

Before Wade could counter Matt’s statement, Peter agreed. Wade sighed, then squared his shoulders. “So first order of business: find out where the missing kids are ending up.”

-

It was a lot easier said than done. 

The next two days, Wade put out feelers to his contacts at Sister Margaret’s while Matt ran his individual patrols around Hell’s Kitchen. Peter, with Karen and Friday’s help, started a thorough investigation on all arrested, accused, and convicted offenders related to organzied crime or human trafficking. 

The captain from the piers incident Wade and Matt interrogated (violently intimidated), had been given three life sentences with no chance of parole on the charges of child trafficking, the possession, production, and distribution of drugs, and the illegal possession of firearms. The captain, Michael Arminson, cut a deal with the district attorneys in exchange for protective custody, but what he knew wasn’t as substantial as Team Red hoped. 

Despite the little information Arminson provided, Peter still was able to identify three other ex-cons tied to the case who were released on parole. Hanyu Parhar, charged with possession of methamphetamine, lived near the Brooklyn side of the Brooklyn bridge. Isaac Tabar, charged with illegal possession and distribution of firearms, lived in Central Harlem. Harrison Ruiz, charged with drug trafficking, lived in Mott Haven. 

Peter would look into Parhar, Matt would look into Tabar, and Wade would look into Ruiz. 

-

Parhar was incredibly easy to track down.

The hard part was figuring out how to approach him. 

It was one thing to catch him in the act, but to just knock on his door? In the full Spiderman suit? Wasn’t it a bit much? If Peter was Matt, he’d knock on the door and wait until Parhar opened it to knock down the door, and if Peter was Wade, he’d be inside waiting for Parhar to come home. 

Despite feeling a bit silly, Peter waited outside for Parhar to answer the door. Inside the relatively shit bungalow, Peter could hear Parhar pick up a gun and tuck it into waistband before looking through the peephole. Peter waved at Parhar in the full red and blue nanotech Spiderman suit.

“Get lost, Spandex,” Parhar shouted through the door in a sharp New York accent. “I don’t want anything you’re selling.”

Peter tilted his head to the side, almost challengingly. “I’m sure there’s something you want to buy.”

Peter heard Parhar grab the inside door handle and was pleasantly surprised by Parhar’s self control. The door didn’t open, but Peter could hear the locking mechanisms of the handle strain under Parhar’s grip.

“Fuck off,” Parhar shouted again. “Fuck off, fuck off !”

“Don’t worry Mr. Parhar, I’m not here to sell you anything, but,” Peter replied, pulling out a set of photos and holding them up to the peephole, “I do have some incredibly incriminating pictures of you. I wonder what would happen if, say, these pictures were to make their way on to the desk of your parole officer, Ms. Jung?”

Parhar cursed explosively. “You’re blackmailing me?”

“Not quite.”

“So what do you want, shithead.”

“Let me in and I’ll tell you.”

Parhar breathed in sharply, then unlocked the door jerkily. “Give me those fuckin’ pictures first.”

“I’ll give you them when I have what I need,” Peter said smoothly, walking into the house and slipping the photos into a pocket.

It smelt like stale beer and of ammonia. It really was a shit house.

“What kind of sick joke is this? Spiderman comes to my house, blackmails me, and just takes a leisure walk in my living room?” said Parhar angrily. “You think I’m a fucking joke?”

Peter scoffed. “If you think child trafficking is a joke, then yes.”

Tossing pictures of the injuries sustained on the children from the pier onto the table, Peter then held Parhar by the nape of his neck and brought him face to face with the images. “You think this is a joke? You think the people you smuggled drugs in for were a fucking joke when they did this to children? Huh?”

Peter let go of Parhar, allowing him to drop face first onto the garbage littered table. “Tell me everything about them. Now.”

Parhar clambered to his feet, his tough guy façade gone. 

“I– I–,” he stuttered, picking up the photos. “They did this?”

“Yeah, tough guy, guess where they were getting the money to pay you,” Peter replied. He tapped twice on a photo showing the neck brandings on the kids. “They were selling kids. All that cash you made must feel real good now, doesn’t it?”

“No no no no. No. No, that’s– That’s not who I was working for. I had no part in this,” Parhar continued, breath short. “Listen, you got to believe me. All I did was make sure the cops stayed away from the piers as they brought in packages, but I swear, it was just drugs. Not…” He shook his head. “Listen, I have a niece. I would never do this shit.”

“All your jobs were arranged by someone called Michael Arminson, right?” Peter asked.

Parhar nodded, eyes still glued to the photos. “Yeah, some shit for brains recruit that hired me to do his dirty work.”

“We caught him on a boat with those kids held in cages. Have you actually seen what was in those packages?”

Parhar let out an annoyed laugh. “Those boxes were huge, Arminson never let me near any of the good stuff.”

“Big enough to hold half a dozen kids?” Peter asked in a pointed tone. 

A look of realization came over Parhar’s eyes. “Shit. Shit . Yeah. He– He– Jesus, what did I do?”

“Tell me where he brought the packages.”

“I don’t know, man,” Parhar exclaimed. “Listen, the cops busted me after my second job with Arminson. I don’t know jackshit!”

A web shot across the table and pinned Parhar’s hand down. Slowly and deliberately, Peter took a step towards Parhar. He could hear Parhar’s heart racing erratically. 

“Tell. Me. Where.”

“I don’t–”

Peter shot out another web, pinning Parhar’s elbow to the table.

“Not good enough. Tell . Me .”

“Man, some place,” Parhar squeaked. “It was like– like some bar along 116th street in East Harlem! Arminson said if I ever wanted something harder, I should go there! It’s called–” Parhar shook his head. “The Golden Helin!”

“Better.” 

Peter gathered all the pictures and tucked them into his pocket. “If I don’t find anything, expect another visit from me.”

He made his way to the door before Parhar spoke. “And the pictures of me? I can’t go back to jail, man, I just made things right with my sister.”

Peter paused. He pulled out the pictures of Parhar in a drug deal that were taken recently. He tossed them at Parhar’s feet. “Here. Just remember I have copies. One wrong move and I’ll send them to your sister and to Ms. Jung.”

-

The next day, Peter woke up pissed off and with a migraine. 

Even after a cold shower and three bottles of water, his head felt like it was being pounded in by Hulk himself. Really unfortunate timing as Ned and MJ were supposed to come to the Tower. At least Tony brought breakfast up for him.

“You know you can tell your friends no, right?” Tony said in between bites. “You can reschedule to tomorrow.”

“It’s fine,” Peter sighed. “We already planned for today. It’ll be too much of an inconvenience to reschedule.”

“I see,” Tony replied. “Maybe we can figure out some sort of super aspirin before they come over? Bruce had some made for Steve way back when. I could dig up the formula and tweak it to your metabolism.”

Peter considered it for a moment. “Sure, why the hell not. Ned and MJ are coming around noon; how long do you think it’ll take?”

“It’ll be done before noon, trust me kid,” said Tony. “Now you finish your breakfast, rest up, and drink your juice while I go work on your aspirin.”

“Sure thing,” Peter said. 

For a moment, Peter thought about how easy it would’ve been to add ‘Dad’ to the end of that sentence. Three words. Sure thing, Dad . Peter shook his head, clearing his thoughts, but immediately regretted throttling his splitting headache. Tony put his dishes in the dishwasher and took off to his lab, but not without bickering with Peter for a couple extra seconds. 

By the time Ned and MJ made their way to the Tower, much thanks to Happy’s taxi services, Peter had taken the aspirin Tony gave him and his migraine receded. 

Peter greeted MJ and Ned at the entrance, and took them up to his floor.

“You can leave your stuff anywhere,” Peter said, trailing behind an overexcited Ned. 

“Yo, are you going to give us a tour of the Stark Tower?” Ned gasped. He tossed his backpack and sweater onto the couch before flopping onto the soft, leathery seats. “Dude, this is nice .”

“If you want, sure. Do you want anything to drink?”

MJ on the other hand, laid her stuff on the kitchen island and started opening cabinet doors at random. Peter didn’t know what she was looking for, but he was 95% sure MJ was doing it to find dirt on him. Endearing, because she was looking at forks and plates. 

“A coke?” Ned said.

“Just some water for me,” MJ added. 

As Peter got the drinks, MJ pulled out her laptop and sat beside Ned on the couch. Ned reached into his bag and placed the bots, which he and Peter made on the Avenger’s compound field trip, onto the glass coffee table. They were almost done, except for the few bugs in the code Ned didn’t have time to fix. 

“So, I was thinking,” Ned started, “we could load our AI onto these bots and use them like they’re Alexas on steroids.”

“You really spent hours and hours of your time over the course of several months only to make Alexas on steroids ?” MJ asked. 

“Yeah, and?”

MJ laughed, earning back a grin from Ned and Peter. “Well then I’m going to abuse the hell out of the audiobook function.” 

Peter brought out his laptop from his room and sat beside MJ on the couch. There was a mess of wires that attached to the bots, but after a couple of minutes of fiddling, the bots were up and running. The controllers were passed between MJ and Ned, who fought over which person got the blue one as Peter loaded the code from their AI into the two bots. 

“Hey, why are there only two?” MJ asked, turning to Peter. “Where’s mine, dipshit?”

“Hey, don’t ask me! Ned’s the one who made them,” Peter laughed. “I just made the controllers.”

“ Ned .”

“Listen, I got distracted by Betty!” Ned protested.

“Famous last words of a dead man,” Peter said.

As Ned and MJ bickered, Peter drank from his water bottle. The aspirin worked, but Peter could still feel a light pressure behind his eyes. 

“Okay! Okay! We’ll go make another one for you right now!” Ned relented. “Right, Peter?”

MJ gave Peter a look and he knew that she was just teasing Ned. Peter smiled. “Well, I don’t know…”

“Please, she’ll kill me!” Ned stage whispered. “What will I tell Betty?”

Peter snorted, making MJ break into a fit of laughter. 

“I hate you guys so much,” Ned moaned. 

“Good thing we love you,” MJ teased, bumping her shoulder against Ned’s. 

Ned moaned again, flailing in his seat.

“Alright buddy, let’s head down to the labs. I’ll give you guys a tour of the Tower after some lunch, too,” Peter said.

Ned gave Peter a dramatic hug, leaning across MJ. “My savior! Saving me from a slow and painful MJ-induced death! How will I ever repay you!”

“You can start by letting go of me,” Peter grinned, mischievous. 

Ned let go of Peter immediately, straightening up on the couch. “Lab time?”

“She’s the boss here, ask her,” Peter replied.

“I have to think about it,” MJ said.

“MJ!”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” MJ replied. “Lead the way to the labs, Spider-boy.”

-

Ned and MJ stayed at the Tower for dinner, then were driven home by Happy. They did end up making a third bot with a deep red–black colour for MJ with a beta version of their AI loaded onto it. The AI was nowhere near Karen’s or Friday’s level of development, but it had a self learning algorithm that would improve with time and use. 

Lobot was the tentative name for the AI, coming from Star Wars, but MJ argued Lobot was a short for lobotomy. It was fitting.

There were still loads of improvements needed for Lobot considering how the bots didn’t have speakers installed, but the end of the summer was coming and Peter finally felt at ease. They decided to enjoy the rest of their summer before school started again. 

• Fourth week of August

“So,” Matt started, “Team Red debrief.”

The three of them were one of Wade’s safe houses in Mott Haven. For a safe house, it was surprisingly organized with a fully equipped weapons closet. 

“Parhar gave me an address. The Golden Helin on 116th street in East Harlem. He said that’s where Arminson told him to go if he wanted any harder drugs,” Peter said. “I don’t know if that’s another trafficking center for the kids, but I’m fairly sure we’ll find leads there.”

Matt nodded. “Tabar mentioned the Golden Helin, too. Not in quite as many words, though,” he grinned, and Peter could imagine that same smile on Daredevil as he stood over Tabar, teeth bloody. “Tabar also mentioned a place in West Bronx. Tremont, specifically. Called it a crackhead whorehouse they used for low priority storage.”

“I wonder what they considered low priority storage,” Peter replied. 

“And I wonder who ‘they’ really are,” Wade added. “I asked around at Sister Margaret’s, but there hasn’t been much noise on the disappearances. No one takes jobs like that anymore.”

Matt hummed, his right hand massaging his left palm methodically. “Considering who you two fought at the pier, we can be fairly certain this operation is entirely American based. When I went to the Troika restaurant, the men there were all American, too, but I think they’re trying to ally themselves with the Chinese.”

“How do you know that?” Peter asked.

“I heard one of the men mention Madame Gao,” Matt responded, “and I’ve dealt with the heroin trade she runs first hand. If this group of people are working with Gao’s associates… If they’re trading human slaves for heroin, then–”

“Then this is a lot bigger than we thought,” Peter finished.

Wade looked at Matt, eyes furrowed. “Madame Gao… Madame Gao… I think I’ve heard of her before.”

“Spoke in riddles,” Matt replied, before giving them his shark-like grin again. “Dead under Midland Circle.”

“No,” Wade said before he gasped like he had an epiphany. “Couple a’ years ago, Weasel gave me a job from Gao. She had like, a shit ton of illegal immigrants that produced all the heroin she made.”

“Wade,” Peter sighed.

“Hey listen, I was a man of questionable morals back then, and plus , she assured me she paid them well. She paid me well, so who was I to argue?”

“What did she have you do?” Matt asked.

“It was a simple hit job to take out a competitor. Nothing complicated, and she gave me a couple bags of free sugar to take home,” Wade replied. A dreamy look glazed over Wade’s eyes and Peter knew he was reliving the week-long high from after that job.

“Moving on, what’s your update from Ruiz?” Peter asked Wade.

“That fucker wouldn’t talk until I had three knives in his thigh,” Wade replied, snapping out of his daze. “You know what, I was almost impressed! I was just about to start with the shoulders before that pig squealed. He said, and I’m quoting him loosely here, that I should take my sweet, voluptuous ass to the Red Hooker Bar.”

“Did he really say that, Wade?” Matt asked exasperated. 

“He didn’t exactly say sweet and voluptuous– it was more like Freddy Kreuger fuck faced ass, but I think he really meant that my ass was hot as shit , because I promise I kept my mask on the entire time!”

“No, no,” Matt interjected. “Did he really say Red Hooker Bar?”

“Welllllllll, I think it was something like that, but I got distracted after he complimented how tight my ass looks in spandex.”

“The Red Hook Pier,” Peter said immediately. “The Red Hooker Bar is the Red Hook Pier. Do you think there’s anything down there?”

Matt’s face darkened in recognition. “Yeah, there is. Gao used it for drug exchanges. There was a warehouse built underneath the construction buildings that she used to hold the heroin.”

“Do you think there’s any left?” Wade asked, voice hopeful. Peter gave him a sharp look, to which Wade claimed to be joking.

“I think we should go to the Golden Helin first,” Peter said. “Matt, you’ve dealt with Gao before whatever happened at Midland Circle, so we have some workable knowledge on whoever’s finishing her dirty work. What we need to figure out is how Parhar and Tabar are connected to the Golden Helin.”

“I disagree,” Matt said. “I think we should check out Red Hook Pier first. We’ll have an advantage because I have insight on Gao. We might be able to get some information about the Golden Helin while we’re there.”

“I’m with Red on this one,” Wade said. “It’s best to play to our strengths. And plus, Gao did use illegal immigrants as slaves, who’s to say her successors aren’t buying out child slaves?”

“Alright,” Peter relented. “Let’s go to Red Hook Pier.”

-

There was something sharp in the air.

Peter didn’t know if it was because of the water or if it was from Team Red’s own sense of urgency, but the air burned Peter’s lungs. It smelt distinctly of salt and ozone. It smelt like a brush with death. 

“It’s down here,” Matt said under his breath. 

Peter followed Matt closely, ready to spring into action as Wade covered their backs. The three of them treaded lightly down a flight of concrete stairs, leading to the basement entrance of a construction building. The lights on the side of the building were a dim yellow and flickered irregularly. The metal handrails creaked with the wind. Peter held his breath.

“Shit,” Matt cursed softly. “Three guarding the door, fully armed, and ten others in the back room. We need to kill the lights.”

“We’ll distract them, Webs will get the lights,” Wade replied. He pulled out his katanas and spun them reflexively in his hands. “Ready?”

Matt and Peter nodded. In one explosive kick, Wade barreled through the door and deflected the influx of bullets with his katanas. Matt followed quickly behind, and as Wade broke the knees of two men, Matt kicked in the sternum of the third. 

The third man stumbled backwards, gasping, but Matt grabbed his arms, pulled him forwards, and kneed him several times in the face. The two other men writhed on the floor in pain as Wade wiggled his fingers in their faces before using the butt end of his katanas to knock them out.

As Wade and Matt were fighting, Peter scaled the walls. With three successive electric webshots aimed at the overhead lights, the electricity in the building was fried and the lightbulbs burst into glass shards. 

“Glass!” Peter called out. It was more obligatory than needed because Matt could sense it and Wade didn’t care.

The sound of fighting drew out five men from the back rooms, but Peter swung from the ceilings and kicked two of them in the chest. He dodged a punch, grabbed onto the arm, and used it as leverage to throw the man over his shoulder. It was a flurry of limbs and rib bruising punches, with the occasional loose gun shot, but he was able to pin back three of the men to the wall with webs as Matt and Wade fought the other two. Fighting in such close quarters wasn’t something Peter specialized in, yet it was as exhilarating as swinging from building to building.

Matt smashed his baton across one man’s throat, causing him to choke, before delivering a violent kick to his head. The other man had a limp arm twisted unnaturally and was lying face and stomach on the ground as Wade broke the other, standing on the man’s back. 

“Back room,” Matt gruffed. 

With another swift kick from Wade, the back door burst open. This time, Wade didn’t have his katanas in hand to deflect the rain of bullets that descended upon him. Matt and Peter barrel rolled to the side, barely dodging the bullets.

“Motherfucker!” Wade cursed. “That actually hurt!”

Wade pulled out his guns and leaped into the air before Matt and Peter could stop him, and fired several shots with his deadly precision. 

“Pool!” Peter cried out. 

“No worries, Bambi, they’re all still alive,” Wade replied, panting. “Barely, but they’ll live to see another day.”

“Red?” Peter asked quietly.

“They’ll live.”

With a nod from Matt, they joined Wade in the back room. It was hard to ignore the pained and labored breaths from the five men on the floor as they futilely reached for their guns, which Matt kicked away, but Peter’s eyes stayed trained on the table. There were floor plans for several buildings detailing secret entrances and locking mechanisms. One of those buildings was the Golden Helin. 

“It’s floor plans,” Peter said. “There’s some for the Golden Helin.”

Matt picked up one of the men on the floor and pushed him roughly against the wall. In his low, gravelly voice, Matt asked, “What do you know about the Golden Helin?”

The man stuttered and wheezed.

“I didn’t puncture his lungs,” Wade added breezily, leafing through the papers. “It was all leg and arm shots. He should be able to talk just fine.”

Matt tightened the grip he had on the man’s jacket and smashed him against the wall again. “The Golden Helin.”

The man wouldn’t say anything, so Matt let go of the jacket, allowing him to drop to the floor. Matt crouched in front of him, baton in hand, and let out an annoyed sigh. “Alright, fine. Let’s start off easy. Who are you working for?”

“Ma–Madame Gao,” he said, eyes darting back and forth.

“Bullshit,” Matt said. He inclined his head slightly, listening to the man’s heartbeat. “You’re lying. Who are you working for?”

“Don’t tell them jack shit, Wang,” one of the other men groaned.

“So, Wang , is it?” Matt asked challengingly. “Webs, Pool, you mind?”

“Got it, Red,” Wade replied. 

Peter and Wade dragged out the other men from the back room. They laid the men in the corner and played a game of rock paper scissors to decide who had to drag the other men to the corner, too. Wade ended up losing, so he dragged the other men through the glass lined construction basement as Peter restrained them with webs. 

After briefly checking the men’s wounds and ensuring none of them were in critical states, Peter leaned against the wall waiting for Matt to call them back in. 

“So how’s your day going, Webs?” Wade asked. He retrieved his lost katanas and wiped them clean on one of the men’s jacket. “Anything interesting happen lately?”

“Nah, same old, same old,” Peter replied. “You?”

“You know what’s weird? I’m really craving Mexican right now.”

Peter laughed. “You always want Mexican food, that’s not weird.”

“Nuh-uh! Mexican is my after patrol food, not my mid patrol food,” Wade objected, index finger wagging. “You see, Webs, I have a very thorough and organized system going on. Chinese is before patrol, hot dogs with curly fries or pizza for mid patrol, and it’s allllwayyys Mexican after. You gotta get with the program, Spandex!”

Peter laughed again. “Shit, now I want Mexican food. Wanna go for Taco Bell after?”

“You did not just say that,” Wade gasped. “There’s no way in hell we’re getting Taco Bell when Ms. Lopez’s food is right there .”

“Oh, that street vendor by 52nd and 6th? Are you sure it’s open now?” 

“Trust me, Ms. Lopez is always open. In fact, I’m half convinced she stays open for my nightly trips.”

Before Peter could reply, Matt called for them.

“Now you guys stay put, alright?” Wade warned the men, wagging a finger at them. “Naughty, naughty.”

Peter and Wade entered the back room and saw the man sitting on a chair, trembling as Matt grinned. Oh, that grin. There really was the Devil in Matt when he wore that grin. 

“Go on, Wang, tell them what you told me,” Matt said.

“These floor plans are for– for the buildings we renovated,” Wang stuttered.

“And who did you renovate the buildings for?” 

“They call themselves the Trials,” Wang continued. “They outsourced work from us, Madame Gao’s people.”

“Thank you, Wang, I can take it from here,” Matt said, giving Wang a few pats on the back that made the man flinch. “So Wang here works for a successor of Gao, a woman called Leyi who partnered with the Trials. Leyi supplies drugs and hard labor to the Trials and the Trials pays Leyi back with money made off of the trafficked children.”

“Hey, I– I didn’t know where that money came from,” Wang protested weakly. 

“He said that Leyi hand picks recruits herself the same way Gao did. She doesn’t take the kids.”

“So the workers are all illegal immigrants,” Peter concluded neutrally.

“Leyi is just providing them work so they can have a better life,” Wang spat. “America claims to be the land of dreams, but my people, my family still rot in poverty. It was Madame Gao and Leyi who were able to provide work for us.”

“Listen,” Matt said in a low tone, “I get it. Immigration, the construction work– fine, but the drugs? The money paid with children’s blood? That’s what I have an issue with. You do not get to benefit off of the suffering of homeless children regardless of what you say.”

“I didn’t know,” replied Wang, defeated. “We didn’t know.”

“That’s not good enough,” Matt said. “Tell us how to find Leyi.”

“The Golden Helin.”

Peter looked at Wade and Matt. He nodded. “Let’s go.”

-

Matt pocketed all the floor plans, which ended up being for three other buildings, and Team Red headed back to Wade’s safe house. Before they left, Peter alerted the ambulance and felt sorry for the men working for Leyi. They didn’t have much of a choice other than to follow the orders given, regardless of right or wrong, because they’re need for money triumphed over their morals. Wang was right. They lived in poverty and their income relied solely on Gao and Leyi. 

The current plan was for Matt to scope out the Golden Helin tomorrow before Team Red ambushed it after hours. For now, Peter would eat his tacos from Ms. Lopez before heading home.

-

“Everything set up, Red?” Wade asked over comms.

It was two in the morning and Matt had given them the run down on the Golden Helin’s security. A basic two man entrance detail checking IDs, three more guards in the office, and some very suspicious hardware behind a secret entrance in the office. Still no Leyi in sight. 

“Everything’s good to go,” Matt replied. “Kill the lights, Webs.”

Peter activated the EMP that blew the bar’s fuse box. 

It was a scramble inside the Golden Helin. The security detail shot at the door multiple times in panic, but Team Red stayed in surveillance position. As soon as the security details stopped shooting and stilled, Wade moved in.

He swung through a window, feet first, and landed on a security guard before barrel rolling to the left, firing off three non fatal shots. Wade wrestled another guard, but rolled across him, holding onto a wrist, breaking his arm in a quick arm bar.

Matt and Peter followed Wade through the window, but went straight for the office. Matt opened the door, letting Peter swing through it and web the security guards’ feet to the floor before the guards had a chance to shoot. With a few quick punches, Matt incapacited the guards and took their guns, placing them in the corner of the office. 

“Look through the papers,” Matt said. “I’ll work on the lock.”

Peter wasted no time and flipped through the papers scrawled across the desk. Nothing looked particularly interesting: tax documents, loan repayment bills, drink lists, so Peter started going through the cabinets. 

“Nothing important,” Peter said, closing the cabinet drawers. “Anything interesting is probably behind the secret entrance.”

With a soft click from the lock, Matt stood up from his crouched position. “Got it.”

He pulled open the doors as Wade entered the office. The secret entrance led to a dark and narrow staircase going down with a small blinking light at the bottom. Peter gave Matt a moment to analyze the environment.

“Webs, scale the ceiling, head down, and get whatever is down there. The stairs are rigged to blow. Pool,” Matt nodded at Wade, “cover our asses. Some of the guards are waking up. I’ll secure our exit; the cops will be here in five.”

“Got it,” Peter confirmed as Wade saluted.

Jumping onto the ceiling, Peter crawled down to the bottom of the stairs. When he reached the bottom, it was almost pitch black except for the small, blinking light on a box set on a table. Peter was careful not to step on the floor and instead stood upside down on the ceiling. He extended his arms, shot two webs at the box, and tugged it upwards. Big mistake.

As soon as the box was removed from the table, the stairway lights turned on and were a bright red color. There was a low, almost inaudible beeping that started coming from underneath the table. Peter didn’t wait to figure out what it was; he needed to get the hell out of there. 

“Shit!” Peter cursed, holding the heavy box in one hand while using the other to climb back up towards the exit. “Red, better hurry up with that exit. Something was triggered when I took the box!”

Peter didn’t wait for a reply– he knew Matt heard him. There was commotion on Wade’s end too. The guards, as if they knew Peter took the box, all woke up with a new vigor and were in a fast paced, bloody fight with Wade. Whether it was their blood or Wade’s, neither party seemed to be concerned about the injuries sustained.

“Pool, we gotta get out of here,” Peter shouted. He jumped from the ceiling onto the office floor, webbing three men to the floor. “Where’s Red?”

“Here,” Matt shouted, calling from outside of the office. “The police are outside, we gotta go. Now . Follow me.”

Matt ran towards the back end of the office and turned right. Peter followed him, but looked back just in time to see Wade still engaged in a fight with the two other guards.

“Let’s go!” Peter called over his shoulder.

Wade tossed a guard over his shoulder while kicking the other in the chest. The guard fell from Wade’s hands, tumbled through the secret entrance, and down the stairs. As soon as his body hit the stairs, the Golden Helin’s overhead lights turned red. The beeping turned into a deafening, endless blare that crescendoed louder and louder. 

Matt grabbed Peter by the wrist and pulled him out of the bar just before the Golden Helin blew to pieces.

Through the fire and smoke, Wade tumbled through the door with half his face and upper body blown off. His suit was covered in black soot and blood, and Peter could see Wade’s organs spilling out of his body. He was just… lying there. On the floor. Bleeding out and growing back, in this vicious cycle that made Peter sick. All he could think about was Ben bleeding out in his arms. May with holes in her chest, lying still in the hospital. 

“Don’t look,” Matt said softly, turning Peter’s head away from Wade. “We have to get out of here. The cops are already putting up a perimeter.”

“What… Wade…” 

Matt grimaced. “Take the box and go back to the Tower. I’ll take care of Wade, alright? Just… Damnit, Webs, just get home safe, okay?”

Peter nodded numbly and took off.

-

It was well past three in the morning when Peter arrived at the Tower. 

While Peter was swinging home, he was staving off the anxious, dread-filled feeling in his chest. Karen, the AI, tried to guide him through breathing exercises to slow down his heartbeat, but Peter was verbally unresponsive to all of her attempts at conversation. He guessed at some point, Karen contacted Friday, who notified Tony that Peter needed help because Tony was there to greet Peter as he tumbled onto his floor. 

“Woah, woah,” Tony said, kneeling and putting his hands steadily on Peter’s shoulders. “What happened, Peter?”

At this point, Peter had yanked off his mask and deactivated his nano-suit. He was taking in deep breaths, but his lungs seemed to be full of smoke and cement instead. His mouth was full of ash. He leaned against the wall and banged his head against the drywall lightly.

“Patrol,” Peter choked out. 

Tony brought a bottle of water to his lips, tipping back the cool liquid into Peter’s mouth. After a couple gulps, Peter felt slightly better. 

“Want to tell me what happened?” Tony asked gently. He sat beside Peter, a cool, damp cloth in Tony’s hand wiping at Peter’s forehead. 

Peter shook his head, eyes shut tight. Don’t think of Wade. Don’t think of Wade. 

All he could think about was Wade. 

Tony was talking in the background, but all Peter could hear was the deafening boom of the Golden Helin collapsing in on itself. All he could see was Wade’s bloody body tumbling out from the death and destruction, organs splattered onto the pavement. 

“I need,” Peter tried. “I need–”

“Yeah, Kid?” Tony asked softly. “Anything. Everything.”

“May,” he choked out. “Ben.”

Peter heard Tony sigh.

“Patrol with Team Red was hard today, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. Wade… He…” Peter couldn’t continue past that, but Tony seemed to understand. 

There was a moment of silence between them. Tony steeled himself, looking at Peter. 

“Listen, I’m telling you this as… As someone who cares for you. A lot,” Tony said, swallowing. “As someone who thinks of you like a son.”

Peter looked up at Tony, eyes bleary. 

“You need to step down from Team Red.”

Chapter Text

• First week of September

You need to step down from Team Red.

A couple of days passed since Peter’s conversation with Tony, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

You need to step down from Team Red.

I can’t. I won’t.

The conversation tasted like blood on his mouth. It was uncouth. Tactless. Unavoidable. Peter didn’t have the same privileges that came with living in Queens: he couldn’t neglect a conversation with Tony by physically being away from him. At least, Peter reasoned with himself, not until he moved into his dorm room with Ned. 

But Peter shouldn’t run from a conversation. Not this time. 

Almost everything was packed, except Peter’s signed copy of the revised Sokovia Accords. It was a thin stack of papers that outlined what Peter could or couldn’t do and what the corresponding consequences were for breaking those outlined policies. It wasn’t until recently where Peter had to consider if the things he did on patrol were within the constraints of the Accords. All those stifling laws suffocated Team Red. 

He was disgusted by it, actually. Disgusted.

It was silly to think so. It was wrong; Tony himself had helped forge the laws written in the Sokovia Accords, yet the Accords felt like a sickness Peter had to purge himself of. He knew it was silly to think that, but he couldn’t help what he felt. 

Later that day, MJ would be flying out to Stanford. Ned and Peter would see her off, then tomorrow, they would move into their own dorms. For now, Peter would have to muster up the courage to talk to Tony.

“Friday, is Tony on his floor?” Peter asked, fiddling with his necklace. He wore that necklace everyday without taking it off since Pepper gave it to him for his birthday. The rings were his anchoring point and the solidness of the metal reminded him of Ben and May. 

“He is, as is Pepper. Would you like to head up to the penthouse?” 

Peter spun the two rings around the necklace chain, careful not to warp the metal. “Would that be alright?”

“Tony would like to remind you that you have unrestricted access to the Tower, including the penthouse suite.”

“Okay,” Peter breathed, standing up. “Could you tell him I’m coming up, then?”

“Of course, Peter,” Friday replied. She opened the elevator door for Peter with a soft ding and he walked through the doors.

Before now, Peter had no reason to go up to the penthouse suite. Tony always came to Peter’s floor. The penthouse had always seemed like a fortress, like an impenetrable piece of the Garden of Eden that Peter didn’t have the right to enter, so Tony always traveled down to Peter. As the elevator rose a couple of floors, Peter thought of what he’d say.

When the doors opened, Peter saw Pepper sitting primly on the edge of the large, charcoal coloured couch, watching the news playing on the television. On the far left of the suite, near the kitchen island bar, Tony was pouring himself a cup of coffee and Pepper a cup of warm water. 

“Hi,” Peter said, a touch self conscious. 

“Hey kid,” Tony replied. “Want anything to drink?” 

“There’s juice in the fridge,” Pepper called from over her shoulder. 

Peter declined their offers and smiled, then sat beside Pepper. The penthouse was bigger than he expected and furnished minimalistically with large window panels that stretched up to the ceiling. There was plenty of natural lighting, but the room was also brightened by the overhead lights.

“So Peter, are you excited to start at Columbia tomorrow?” Pepper asked. She turned off the television as soon as Peter started tuning into the news. Something about an… explosion?

“Yeah, for sure,” Peter replied, eyes drifting. He shook his head and gave Pepper his full attention. “Actually, I’m more excited to be living with Ned, but I think Columbia will be great.”

“Living away from home is always great,” Pepper said. “God, I remember when I moved out for school. Eight months of bliss and independence, followed by four months of telling my parents where I was 24/7. I think you and Ned will like the independence.”

Peter let out a breathy laugh. “I don’t know how independent I’ll be when I’m a twenty minute drive from the Tower.”

“He thinks I’m going to call him everyday and ask what he ate for dinner that night,” Tony scoffed playfully. He brought over the drinks and a plate of lemony tea biscuits. “Maybe I should do it just to spite you, Underoos.”

“Please don’t,” Peter groaned. Through his whines, Peter smiled at Tony's insistence. 

“Well now I have to,” Tony said, holding a biscuit in his hand while motioning with it. “Like you said, you’re only twenty minutes by car– Pepper and I could come and have dinner with you every night.”

Pepper stifled a laugh. “You could feed Tony cafeteria food and I think he’d still be happy eating with you. If you ask me, I think he’s going through a spot of separation anxiety.”

Tony’s ears burned red, but he shrugged and played it off nonchalantly. “Maybe I like cafeteria food. Who can turn down some regurgitated meatloaf, am I right?"

"Actually, if you visiting means Ned and I won’t be subjected to overcooked rice and dry meat," Peter said, giving Tony a mischievous look, "then maybe I won’t mind it after all."

"Well Tony," Pepper said, voice light and playful, "don't you think it'll be cruel to subject them to such culinary horrors?"

"It would be torture," Tony replied. "Fine, you've convinced me. Dinners are all on me."

Peter said, "Dinner is always on you.”

"It's the thought that counts," replied Pepper, patting Tony’s arm consolingly. 

"So Pete, you said you wanted to talk? And I'm assuming it wasn't going to be how you and Ned are exploiting me for free food, correct?" Tony asked.

Peter's shoulders tensed and his mouth set into a grimace. 

"Yeah, it’s about patrol that night. I just… I thought that it would be better to have this conversation before I left for school. Y'know, to clear up any misunderstandings."

Tony nodded and Pepper gave him a stern look Peter couldn’t understand. Pepper placed her now lukewarm cup of water onto the coffee table in front of them and then turned to Peter. He was vaguely reminded of the stern lectures MJ gave him about missing decathlon practices.

"Look, I want you to understand that the conversation you and Tony had a couple days ago wasn’t ideal. The situation was… Messy, to say the least, but Peter,” said Pepper, placing her hand on his shoulder briefly, “Tony cares for you. I care for you. All we want is for you to be safe and happy, and–”

“You think that Team Red is doing me more harm than good.”

“It’s not quite that,” Tony replied carefully. He looked up, motioning with his hands like he had rehearsed this speech. “Daredevil, Deadpool, whoever they are behind those masks, I’m sure they’re friends.”

Peter bristled at the mention of Matt and Wade. “Uh huh. And the point you’re getting to is…?”

“I’m– Pep and I– We’re not sure that being a part of Team Red is the best course of action,” Tony said. 

A flit of anger rose to Peter’s throat. It took all the willpower in him not to say something he’d regret because he knew that Tony and Pepper were only looking out for him. Not that he needed it.

“They’re my friends ,” Peter said. “Just as much as Ned and MJ are. Maybe even more so, in some aspects of my life. Leaving Team Red isn’t something I’ll even consider.”

Tony gave Pepper a look, eyebrows furrowing quickly before smoothing out. 

“Let’s not say leave,” Pepper suggested. “How about something temporary? Maybe for a month? You can do all of your normal patrol, just…”

“Try to avoid team ups with Daredevil and Deadpool,” Tony continued.

Peter buried his face in his hands, frustrated. “This is because of what happened at the Golden Helin, isn’t it? The Accords Council are on your asses now.”

“Yeah. They are,” Tony said. “They called me as soon as the fire started, asking me if I cleared the mission then got on my ass for not bringing in Daredevil and Deadpool. I said I cleared it and I could stop whatever the Bugle was saying about you, but your friends are out of my control.”

“The Bugle?”

“It’s not about that,” Pepper cut in, voice soft.

Peter looked up at her. 

“The Accords aren’t the only reason why we think that a temporary–” Pepper gave Peter a stern look, “and only a temporary absence from Team Red would be good. Peter, after all that crime fighting, have you ever stopped and considered what it’s doing to you?”

“No,” Peter replied softly, but he was lying. He thought about it every night. Dreamt of those kids with brands on their neck and soot in their lungs. He dreamt about not being able to save them, just like he wasn’t able to save Ben or May. 

“I do. Tony does. We think about it every night. Everything you do with Team Red is so brave, do you understand me? You’re fighting the worst of the worst without any help outside of Team Red, and it’s so incredibly brave,” Pepper said. “But just because you’re brave, it doesn’t mean that what you experience has no effect on you. Patrol with Team Red is taking a part of your soul from you.”

Peter felt like he was eleven all over again and maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to be brave anymore. Maybe he’ll let someone else be brave for him this time. 

“What I said that night was tactless and I’m sorry for not thinking,” Tony said. “I saw your face, I saw how scared you looked, and God , I’d do anything to make sure you never felt like that again. I’m sorry, Pete.”

“I’ll…”

Tony and Pepper looked at Peter.

“Let me sort some stuff out first. I’ll have to tell them and get things arranged, but,” Peter gulped. He swallowed a lump in his throat, so acidic, so vile that it tasted like the same sickness the Accords brought. “But I’ll step down from Team Red for three weeks. Nothing more than that.”

There was another exchange of incomprehensible looks between Tony and Pepper, but they both agreed to three weeks.

Three weeks without Team Red patrols. 

It would be fine, right? It was just three weeks.

-

Matt Murdock had the Devil in him.

If there was anything Peter was sure of, it was that. There was nothing quite like seeing Matt get several punches in the mouth only to rise again with a blood filled smile across his face. Sometimes on patrol, there would be a ringing in Peter’s ears, someone calling for him far away, but the Devil had risen and Spiderman always stood beside him. And patrol would continue. 

There was a reason Peter was in Team Red. There was a reason Peter fought. It wasn’t because there was an anger in him that needed an outlet, no, it was because others had an evil in their soul that needed to be displaced. 

Matt wasn’t the Devil, but he sure fought like one. He was boxing at Fogwell’s Gym, some place Matt’s dad boxed at, and Peter made sure to be loud on his way in. Matt could get too into his own head when practicing his drills. 

“It’s me,” Peter called. “Foggy sent me to get you. We’re having lunch at the office.”

It was almost mesmerizing watching Matt box. He was a couple inches taller and had 30 pounds of muscle on Peter, so where Peter was lean and flexible, Matt was sharp and solid. When Peter called out to Matt, he watched as Matt’s shoulders unflexed and loosened. 

“What time is it?” Matt asked, out of breath and shaking out his hands.

“Eleven thirty am,” Peter replied. “Want me to pack your stuff?”

Matt gave Peter a grin. “Yeah, my locker is the first one on the right. You can just shove in my wraps and gloves, I’ll take care of them later tonight.”

Matt pulled off his boxing gloves and quickly unwrapped his hands with practiced ease. He dropped them on the side of the boxing ring where Peter stood. 

“I’ll hit the showers and be out in ten. Call for me if I’m not done by then,” Matt said, jogging towards the change rooms. 

Peter hummed in agreement, taking Matt’s boxing stuff to his locker and throwing it haphazardly in. Despite Matt being a neat person, his boxing locker seemed to oscillate between an extreme safety hazard (due to loose practice sticks) and hyper-organized. Right now, it was a mess. Peter had to strategically balance the practice knives under the boxing gloves so it would lie flat.

“Alright, let’s go,” Matt said. His hair was still damp and the first button of his dress shirt was undone, but he was dressed for the office. He smelt lightly of fresh soap. “Have any idea what’s for lunch?”

“Foggy said there was a new Korean place that opened up,” Peter provided. “I told him to go crazy with ordering. I’m treating today.”

“Wow, that’s a first,” Matt joked, bumping his shoulder against Peter’s as they both laughed. 

The two of them walked from the gym to the office. It was a comfortable, busy walk with enough people around as white noise that their conversation wouldn’t be overheard.

“So, I should start off by saying that it wasn’t Tony’s fault,” Peter said.

Matt sighed, low and tired. “If you have to start off with that, then what other choice do I have than to blame Stark?”

“Matt, please.”

“Alright,” Matt replied. “Go on, tell me what’s on your mind, Peter.”

“I think I should step down from Team Red temporarily. Only for three weeks.”

Matt stopped walking and faced Peter with a frown. “Did Stark tell you to do this?”

“No.”

“Peter,” warned Matt. There was a twinge of annoyance in his voice, and Peter couldn’t tell if it was directed at him or Tony. Or if Matt could tell that he was lying. 

“No, I think I should, too,” Peter replied. “I mean, yeah, Tony and Pepper said that I should relax a bit with the Team Red patrols, but I think I need a break. Maybe not effective immediately, but soon.”

A beat of silence passed between them. Then, Matt started walking again. 

“Let’s go have lunch. We can talk about this later, with Wade.”

-

Lunch was a small affair with only Peter, Matt, Foggy, and Karen. 

Peter had entrusted Foggy with his debit card to cover the lunch expenses. It was the first time he had used the card in a while, partially because Peter was relentless in saving up every dollar earned, but also because Tony had covered everything else. But this time, it was only right that Peter used his own money to treat them all to food.

When Peter and Matt arrived at the office, Karen had already laid out newspaper on top of the table and unpacked the food from the bags. Foggy had ordered several stews, three different types of Korean fried chicken, spicy rice cakes, and black bean sauce noodles. 

“I got some alcohol too,” Foggy said, looking up at Matt from his seat. “On my card, because I don’t think it would be right to use your card for that, Peter.”

“All good,” Peter replied. He looked at how much food was on the table. “Man, I don’t even wanna know how much that cost me.”

Karen laughed, then motioned for Matt and Peter to wash their hands and take a seat. After everyone started eating, she asked, “Are you excited for school?”

“You know, Pepper asked me the exact same question this morning.”

“Oh, kill us, we’re curious!”

Peter shrugged. “It’s school.”

She gave Peter a look that dissolved his façade, making him grin. “Okay, okay, yeah. I’m pretty excited. I’m really excited, actually. All my stuff is packed up.”

“You promise you’ll still visit?” Foggy asked, clutching his heart. “My favorite child, leaving for school already– I remember that first day you came into this office all beat up and dragging Matt in half dead.”

“Good memories,” Matt sighed. “Good times.”

“You really knew how to make a first impression,” Karen replied, chuckling to herself. 

“Time really flew, didn’t it?” Peter said. “But yeah, I’ll visit. It’s really not that far, I don’t know why everyone’s making a big deal out of it.”

“Because it’s you , Peter,” Foggy exclaimed. “Matt and I loved Columbia. It’s where we met and started this whole thing. Now, you and your best friend are going together? That sounds like a pretty big deal to me.”

“Hm, I guess so,” Peter relented. “I think I’m nervous, though.”

“Nervous about what?” Karen asked.

“Not sure. I just…” he sighed. “Something is going good in my life and I can’t help but wait for the other shoe to drop, you know?”

Matt ruffled his hair, fingers greasy from chicken and all, making Peter shout out in protest and the others to laugh. “C’mon, you’re starting to sound like me. Brighten up. Things will be fine.”

The four of them finished up lunch, packing away the leftovers in the fridge. Karen hugged Peter, thanking him for lunch and Foggy followed suit. Matt swung his arm over Peter’s shoulder fondly and the two of them walked downstairs together. 

“Thanks for lunch, Peter,” Matt said, standing by the door leading to the street. 

“You’re welcome. I’d treat more often, but I’m afraid Foggy has bankrupted me in one meal.”

Matt chuckled. “Well, I guess next time will have to wait.” Then, in a lower tone, he continued, “We need a Team Red meeting to discuss what we’re going to do. Did you want to do it tonight, or wait until later.”

“Let’s do the night after tomorrow. I move in tomorrow,” Peter replied.

“Alright,” Matt nodded, “I’ll let Wade know.”

-

By the time Peter walked back to the Tower, Happy was already waiting in the car. Happy drove Peter back to Queens, specifically to MJ’s place, where he would meet Ned and MJ. 

The drive was calm and Happy talked briefly of the new security protocols he was enforcing at the Tower. When they arrived at MJ’s place, Peter was dropped off as Happy found parking.

Peter made his way inside, let in by Ned, and took a seat beside MJ on the living room couch. Ned went to use the washroom, letting Peter have a moment alone with MJ. 

“You must be tired of this question, but are you excited for Stanford?” Peter asked MJ. 

She gave him a shy smile, a genuine smile. “Yeah. More excited than anything I’ve ever been.”

“Wow, you’re practically vibrating in your seat, huh?” Peter teased, knocking his knee against hers softly. 

“Oh, shut up loser,” MJ replied, sticking out her tongue. “I bet you and Ned are excited for Columbia.”

“Kind of.”

“Only kind of?”

“I’m not excited for the part where I don’t get to see you everyday,” Peter admitted. 

MJ took his hand into hers and interlaced their fingers. “I’m not excited for that either.”

“You know, we never really talked about what we are.”

“A little late to decide, don’t you think?” MJ smiled, bittersweet. “My flight is in seven hours and we’re only talking about this now.”

“I know,” Peter replied softly.

“We wasted so much time,” MJ whispered. “So much time we took for granted.”

“I know.”

“But…I don’t think it matters what we are.”

“You don’t?”

“No,” MJ said. She gave Peter’s hand a squeeze. “You know I love you. I love Ned, too. You two are my best friends and that will never change. So even if I really like you now, that won’t change the fact that I love you.”

Peter gave her hand a squeeze back and his heart ached. “I love you and Ned, too. And I really, really like you too, but you’re right. I don’t think it’ll matter because you’re my best friend at the end of the day. I think I’d die if you weren’t my best friend.”

MJ flicked his forehead. “Damn right you would. Think of how many times I covered for your sorry ass in decathlon.”

“Not just you, I had to cover for him too!” Ned hollered. 

He came and sat on MJ’s other side, and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Damn, I’m going to miss your smart mouth.”

“I’ll miss yours,” MJ replied, using her other hand to mess up Ned’s hair. 

The three of them stayed on the couch for a couple more minutes before MJ’s parents called for them. They loaded MJ’s luggage into her parents’ car and then sat in Happy’s car for the ride to the airport. They spent as much time together as they could before MJ’s flight, even visiting the airport's gift shop to buy matching tacky keychains that Peter would wear proudly on his backpack everyday. 

When MJ had to leave for her flight, she gave her parents brief hugs before running over to Ned and Peter. She gave Ned a tight hug and another mischievous hair ruffle that had him tearing up as he protested, then gave Peter a hug. 

“I’m going to miss you so much,” Peter whispered, eyes shut tight. He was scared that if he opened them, he’d start to cry. All he could do was hold her like she was water in his hands. And she was slipping right through his fingers. 

“I love you,” MJ said, pressing her face into the crook of Peter’s neck. She pulled back, cupping his face with her hands. “I love you so much, Peter Parker.”

Peter looked back at her, stunned. MJ was standing in front of him, in his arms, and she was the most beautiful girl in the world saying how she loved him. His heart twisted in joy and the bitter realization that she was leaving. 

He opened his mouth, just barely able to say, “I love–” before MJ shook her head and cut him off. 

“Just wait,” she said, brushing her thumb against his cheek. Her voice was wet and through the airport speakers, they called for all passengers of her plane to board. “Wait and tell me when you see me again.”

“Okay. Don’t forget about me when you're off at Stanford, alright?” Peter replied softly. 

MJ smiled, kicking Peter’s foot. “How could I ever forget such an ugly face, loser.”

Peter chuckled and nudged her. “Go, you’re going to miss your flight.”

MJ nodded and wiped at her own tears, before walking towards her boarding zone. After her plane took off, MJ’s parents drove Ned back home and Happy drove Peter back to the Tower.

Peter went to bed that night, feeling like there was a part of him missing. 

-

The next morning, it was Peter’s turn to move into his dorm. 

All in all, it had gone smoothly from key pick up to shuttling boxes of Peter’s stuff up to the apartment. Tony had upgraded the dorm accommodations from a single room with a bunk bed and two desks to an apartment style suite. Peter was glad that he wouldn’t have to use a communal bathroom shared by an entire floor of the university first years, and instead shared a bathroom with his best friend.

In their apartment, Ned and Peter had their own room, a shared living area, washroom, and kitchen, as well as several stocked snack cabinets. They lived near all the campus and library buildings, but the downside of this was that if Peter wanted to go patrol, it would be hard to sneak out of his window without being caught. The area was incredibly populated with university students (who were always awake). 

It could be worked around. Peter could always do what he did in highschool and climb into a dark alley away from CCTV cameras and activate his nano-suit from his bracelets. 

Peter moved in an hour before Ned moved in, so he was already putting clothes into his closet when Ned and his two mothers came. Pepper and Tony had stepped out to buy some food from the pastry shop across the street. 

“Peter!” Ned called. “I’m here! Where are you?”

“In my room,” Peter replied. He closed the closet drawers and left his room to say hi to Ned’s parents. 

“Yo, this apartment is nice,” Ned said. “Tell Mr. Stark I said thank you for covering rent.”

“He’s actually on his way back. You can say thank you by yourself.”

Ned’s eyes widened. “No. No. There’s no way in Hell that Tony Stark is meeting my moms.”

“Pepper also came,” Peter added, smiling. 

Ned ran over to his mothers and had a quick exchange in Tagalog that Peter couldn’t follow, except for the words ‘Iron Man’ and ‘Peter’. When Ned finished the conversation, basically whining at the end, it was clear that he had not won. 

“What’s up?” Peter asked.

“They really want to meet Mr. Stark and only got more excited when I said Ms. Potts was on her way too,” Ned replied, shuddering.

“Is that really a bad thing? I mean, I love your parents, they’re incredibly nice people,” Peter said.

“Yes, I know, everyone loves my moms, but you don’t understand ,” Ned hissed. “If you think I’m bad when I’m excited, you have no idea how much worse my moms are. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Ned.”

It was, in fact, only fine for Peter. When Tony and Pepper came back with fresh pastries and several cups of interesting caffeinated drinks Tony wanted to try, Ned’s mothers were waiting excitedly with a brimful of questions. All of which Ned had to translate from Tagalog to English, and then Ned had to translate Tony’s responses from English to Tagalog. 

After that exchange happened, Peter realized that Tony could’ve used Friday to translate instead of Ned, but chose not to say anything in case that realization would cause Ned to have another mental breakdown. 

Pepper, much quicker than Peter, realized the same thing. She had a pleasant conversation with Ned’s mothers by pulling them aside and using her smart watch as a translator while Peter and Tony distracted Ned with the pastries. 

After the adults left, Ned and Peter went to their respective rooms to unpack their clothes and make their beds. They ordered dinner, paid for by Tony of course, and played Star Wars on the television in the living area. 

For the first night after moving out, Peter was doing pretty well. Classes started next week and all Peter had to worry about was how to juggle Spiderman with his upcoming calculus homework.

-

“What do you mean you’re quitting!” Wade cried out. 

“Pool, shut up! It’s like one in the morning,” Peter hissed. “And I’m not quitting, I’m taking a break.”

“I told you he’d be upset,” Matt said.

Peter and Wade sat on the ledge of an apartment complex roof as Matt paced behind them. 

“Of course I’m upset, Red! What the fuck!” Wade leaned back, flopping onto the roof with his legs still hanging off the edge. “I fucking hate this universe. My Bambi is leaving me. Who else has a bubble butt that nice?”

“Red does?” Peter suggested.

Wade perked up, the whites of his mask turning into smiling moon crescents. 

“No, don’t throw me under the bus for your stupid decision, Webs,” Matt grumbled. He nudged at Wade’s head with his foot, to which Wade responded by hugging his leg and refusing to let go. “C’mon, do you see what I’ll have to deal with in the three weeks you’re gone– Pool, I swear to the Heavens if you do not remove your hand from my ass, you will not have bullet privileges for a month.”

“A month !?”

Matt warned, wagging his finger in Wade’s face, “A month .”

“Webs would never do this to me,” Wade sniffled. “Right?”

“I would’ve said three months,” Peter grinned. 

“Oh, so you’re leaving me AND siding with the Devil. I see how it is,” Wade replied, pouting. He rolled over to his stomach and resembled an inch worm with his face pressed to the gravel and his ass stuck in the air. 

“Oh shut it, you big baby,” Peter cooed. 

Wade sniffed again, earning another dramatic sigh from Matt. 

“Anyways, we have to figure out what to do with our investigation now that Webs is taking a three week vacation. We’re still looking into Leyi, but it looks like she went underground after the Golden Helin blew up,” Matt said. 

“We also have to figure out who the point of contact between Leyi and the Trials is,” Peter said. “Any thoughts on how to do that, Pool?”

“What about the box?” Wade asked.

“Yellow and White?”

Wade shook his head. “Nope, not my boxes, Bambi. The box that you took from the Golden Helin.”

“Oh shit , the box.”

Matt let out a huff of laughter. “I’m guessing you forgot about it, huh?”

“Even more than that,” Peter replied. “It’s still in my room at the Tower. Should I go get it now?”

“No time like the present,” Matt said. 

Wade looked at Peter from his inchworm position. “You want us to go with you to get it?”

“Nah, it’s all good, Pool. I’ll just go get it and head back to my dorm afterwards. I’ll get started on the decryption tonight,” Peter replied. 

“Sounds good to me,” Matt said. “Team Red, meeting adjourned.”

Matt and Wade left via Wade’s teleportation belt (Peter still wished he had one), and Peter swung his way over to the Tower. As he was swinging, he had Karen the AI tell Friday to open his bedroom window and not to wake Tony or Pepper. Instead, Friday will leave a note for them when they wake saying how Peter swung by (literally) at night because he forgot something unimportant. It was only a little lie. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. 

The box was still tucked under his bed, just as Peter left it. He grabbed it and left for his dorm room. 

-

When Peter got back to his dorm, obviously back in his civilian clothes, the first thing he did was check if Ned was awake. It was just past three in the morning and Peter honestly wasn’t surprised to find Ned still up.

“Hey dude, I might need your help with something,” Peter whispered. “But feel free to say no.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, of course dude,” replied Ned. “What’s up?”

Peter entered Ned’s room, already decorated with his Star Wars posters. He placed the box on Ned’s desk. 

“I need to decrypt this box and I think I’m too brain dead right now to even attempt it,” Peter said.

Before Ned could swipe the box from Peter with his grubby little hacker fingers, Peter held it firm in place. 

“I need you to understand something before I give you free reign,” Peter started. 

“What? What?” Ned asked, vibrating in his seat. “Come on, you’re killing me here, just tell me, just give me the box.”

“God, you definitely drank three too many energy drinks,” Peter muttered. “Alright, this box was retrieved from a Team Red patrol, which means that it can have some very, very dark information on it.”

“Okayyyy…?”

“So I need you to promise that you’ll only decrypt it, not look at the files.”

Ned started to whine, but the look Peter gave him shut him up pretty quickly.

“Alright, I won’t look at the files…” Ned sighed. “You know, it would be cool to meet Daredevil once. I’d like to know who my best friend is teaming up with, y’know, as your guy in the chair.”

“You don’t want to meet Deadpool?” Peter asked, amused. 

“I think I’d die on the spot if I ever crossed paths with Deadpool,” Ned replied, shuddering. He already plugged the box into his computer and started typing away. 

“I’ll ask Daredevil to consider meeting you,” Peter smiled. “He’ll think you’re great.”

“Really? You think so?”

Of course, MJ and Ned didn’t know Matt was Daredevil or Wade was Deadpool, but Peter didn’t think those connections were extremely hard to make. Peter thought of Matt’s impression of Ned: incredibly smart, but uses his brain power to be funny instead. Quite a lot like Foggy in that aspect.

The thing about Ned is that his grades in high school were not a true reflection of his genius. So what, Ned didn’t care about learning why plant cells shrivel in salt water, but he did hack a multimillion dollar suit made by Tony Stark at the prime age of fifteen. And he had done it without breaking a sweat. From a laptop. In a hotel. Peter was convinced that Ned was one of those people that would be an absolute menace with cybercrimes to the point where the government would have no choice but arrest Ned and offer him a job in government information security. 

Within the time it took Peter to shower and get changed out of his dirty clothes, Ned was already 90% done decrypting the firewall from the box. 

“Weak ass defense system,” Ned said, taking a long sip of his drink. It was one of the caffeinated drinks Tony wanted to try, but ended up leaving at their dorm. Peter didn’t know whether or not to be grateful for Tony’s forgetfulness. “It’s like whoever coded this shit was stupid.”

Peter laid on Ned’s bed, closing his eyes and waited for Ned to finish decrypting the box. It wasn’t long before Ned stopped typing and pressed a button on the top of the box, revealing several hard drives and images. Peter stood up and looked at the horrifying images held within it. 

Ned turned away, respecting the promise he made to Peter. “The firewall from the box was more like a key to open the box; the actual box code didn’t have any information. Trust me, I checked. But whatever is inside that box… Peter, that’s nasty business. It’s a curse.”

“I know,” he said.

“I’m glad you trusted me enough to help you,” Ned replied. “Team Red business isn’t for me– creeps, pedophiles, gang members scare the shit out of me, but I’ll do whatever I can to help, dude.”

“Thanks, Ned,” Peter said, patting him on the shoulder. “I appreciate it. Who knows, maybe our next gig will involve cyborg aliens from space and I’ll need you to hack our way through their alien spaceship from the future.”

Ned gasped a little and Peter could really see the sleep deprivation in his eyes. “Oh my god, that sounds awesome! Yes please, I would actually kill for an opportunity to see what alien coding looks like. Do you think binary is a universal idea? Well, I know that the ones and zeros won’t be ones and zeros in their binary, but would aliens still–”

“Alright, buddy, I think it’s time you go brush your teeth and head to bed,” Peter said. “Drink some water, too. Thanks for all the help, Ned.”

“Anytime, Peter,” replied Ned, smiling. “Good night.”

“Night.”

Peter took the box, careful not to accidentally drop it or show Ned the images, and brought it to his room. He placed it on his closet floor, throwing a shirt over the open top to cover the images of hundreds and hundreds of children with a branded neck, all bound together by chains and collars. They were all naked and Peter could see every bruise, cut, and injury on their body. 

If those images were already that horrifying, Peter couldn’t imagine what was on the hard drives. All he knew was that he had to get these to Matt and Wade. 

Peter was about to call Wade when he remembered Tony and Pepper.

Three weeks off. Three weeks of no Team Red patrol. Peter made a promise to them and that promise hinged off of trust. That promise kept Spiderman within the safe zone of the Accords. That promise kept Spiderman out of jail. 

But that promise was three weeks long. 

Three weeks more of these kids losing their lives. Three weeks of Peter not doing anything. Three weeks of death, rape, drugs, and child trafficking.

Fuck the promise, fuck the Accords. 

Peter was terrified, but he wasn’t going to let his braveness be robbed of him by some promise, by some set of arbitrary rules that deemed him illegal and malicious if he wanted autonomy. 

Uncle Ben had said that the only time he can be brave is when he’s scared, that everyone gets scared sometimes, but it’s all up to Peter to decide what he’s going to do about it.

And Peter decided he was going to fight. 

He couldn’t let Matt and Wade carry the burden of bringing justice to those children as he spent three weeks on a fucking break.

He picked up the phone and called Wade, then Matt. He didn’t want to think of what Tony or Pepper would feel about this, but Peter knew he was doing the right thing. 

Peter was doing the right thing, wasn’t he?

Chapter Text

• Second week of September

Chemistry, Peter finds, was a lot like getting punched in the face. 

It was not particularly hard. It didn’t hurt, at least not most of the time, but chemistry was just…

What was the word? 

Ah. 

Yes.

It was fucking miserable.

Alright, Peter knew it wasn't hard, but there’s only so many punches in the face a man can take. And his fucking professor was like, the Hulk or something. So yeah, maybe it did start to hurt a little. Maybe it started to hurt a lot, but Peter wasn’t going to let his stupid professor know that he was already drowning and it’s been barely three days into course work. He wasn’t going to let her have the satisfaction. 

Despite the awful, awful chemistry lectures, Peter quite liked the chemistry labs, which were taught by another professor. They went over lab safety policies, paid for a lab coat that made Peter feel like Dr. Doofenshmirtz from Phineas and Ferb, then started with a revision titration lab. 

It was always fucking titrations. They were fun and easy, but Peter was so sick of them. He could do them in his sleep, except he needed at least one eye open to make sure his solution didn’t turn bright pink without noticing. The worst part of the lab was the fact that Ned wasn’t in his class. 

Ned, an electrical and computer engineer, didn’t have chemistry until third year. It was all theoretical math and linear circuits until then, which made Peter’s heart clench with sympathy. Ned loved chemistry labs. Maybe it was because he was able to start fires in controlled environments and mixed chemicals and Peter was 95% sure Ned got a rush off of getting the math right, but Ned really did like chemistry. 

In both his chemistry lectures and labs, Peter was paired off with a nice blonde girl named Gwen. It turns out, she was also in Peter’s photography and calculus classes, being another biochemistry major with a minor in photography. Her apartment was also right across from Peter’s. A little freaky, if Peter thought so himself. 

Either way, Gwen was a good chemistry partner and already had a part time job at the Daily Bugle where she worked as a journalist. 

“I could ask around and get you a job,” she offered. 

Gwen was sweet, offering to get a job for someone she met an hour earlier. 

“I’m alright,” Peter replied, grinning. “I’d love to work in journalism one day, but I think I’m going to try and focus on school for now.”

“Well,” Gwen shrugged, “we have the same major and minor. We’re either going to be best friends or mortal enemies.”

Peter barked out a laugh. His hands were preoccupied with swishing around the Erlenmeyer flask for their titration lab, so laughing was risky in fear he cracked the glass. 

“I have a feeling we’re going to be both,” Peter replied. 

Gwen chuckled to herself before noting down the burette volumes. 

After three days of knowing Gwen, Peter learned several things. First, it was possible to have absolutely no idea what was going on, and still know everything. MJ had that superhuman ability, too, but hers mostly pertained to whatever Peter was getting into. Gwen, on the other hand, had looked just as lost as Peter when their chemistry professor went off on a tangent about who knows what, but she still managed to have a comprehensive set of notes by the end of it. Peter’s notes looked like chicken scratch.

Second, Gwen had a best friend named Harry, who was a biotechnology engineer. And Peter was not allowed under any circumstance to meet him. Gwen claimed that she had a hard enough time dealing with them separately; she’d positively implode if Peter and Harry met. Imagine what would happen if Peter brought Ned with him to meet Harry. 

Third, if there was anything Gwen valued in life, it was her journalistic integrity. Almost worse than Karen Page, that one. Peter wondered how Gwen would react if she knew that Peter was friends with Karen Page, the woman who played a hand in exposing Wilson Fisk and who faced Frank Castle and lived. (Well, Frank Castle faced Karen, but the public didn’t really care about the details. They just wanted a good exposée.)

In the three days of knowing Gwen, Peter had four classes with her. There was a lot one could learn about a person after spending that much time with them. 

The last thing Peter learned about her was her stance on Spiderman. 

“He’s a real hero,” Gwen said. 

They were walking from their calculus class to a nearby diner for lunch with Gwen’s other friends that Peter just met. Some were in their math class, others were in their photography class. Peter didn’t know any of their names. 

“Isn’t he a bit…” The other girl started. “Y’know… Dangerous? Working with Daredevil and that mercenary?”

Peter bit his tongue. 

“Ah, Deadpool.” Gwen replied. “Depends on how you look at it. Do you think Tony Stark is dangerous?”

The other girl bristled. “Not necessarily, but that doesn’t mean I think he’s safe.”

Gwen huffed out a little laugh. “That’s fair. But if you look at what– say Daredevil stood for, you’d realize that behind all that violence, there’s also a lot of compassion. That statement could be extended to Deadpool, in a sense. Spiderman might be dangerous, but not because of his association with them. I think what he’s doing is important and he’s my favorite superhero.”

“Personally, I think they’re all cool as hell,” one of the guys said. “I want a fucking katana.”

“Don’t you think you’d accidentally stab yourself?” asked another guy. 

“Don’t you know your head from your ass?” 

“Fuck off, George.”

“See, now you know how stupid of a question that was,” replied George. “Plus, the threat of accidental self-stabbings makes it more fun.”

“You’re so dumb,” the girl said, shaking her head. 

Peter, Gwen, and the three other people sat at a table and leafed through the menu. Peter ordered a bolognese pasta dish with garlic bread and a chocolate milkshake. 

“So Peter, what do you think of Spiderman?” Gwen asked. 

“He’s cool, I guess,” Peter replied. “I like Daredevil and Deadpool more.”

It was weird not calling them Red or Pool. Peter had to bite his tongue again before he slipped and called them by their nicknames. 

“You fucking like Daredevil more than Spiderman?” the second guy asked. “Aren’t you from Queens? Have you no loyalty?”

“Aren’t there more Spiderman sightings in Manhattan now?” Peter refuted, grinning. 

“Shit, are there?”

“Yup,” replied Gwen. “The Bugle is going crazy trying to get a clear shot of him in action. Suspiciously sneaky, that one, but I’ll catch him one day.”

Peter made a note in his head to never go patrolling around Gwen. 

“But let’s go back to Peter liking Daredevil more,” the second guy said. “Dude. Why ?”

“Why not?”

“Well first of all, Spiderman has powers. Like, sticking to the walls, super strength type of powers. Daredevil does not,” he said. 

Peter was about to protest before snapping his mouth shut. Daredevil’s powers weren’t something broadly advertised. The other guy took this as Peter losing the argument. 

“Second, Spiderman has a great ass.”

The other girl laughed and threw a fry at him. It went wayward and hit Peter in the shoulder instead. He picked it up and tossed it right back at her. 

“Daredevil has a great ass,” Peter supplied, feeling like Wade. 

“Yeah, but can he stick to walls?” the second guy.

“Maybe not in that traditional way, but sure.”

“Alright whatever, Gwen, you settle this. Who do you like more?”

“Spiderman,” she replied without hesitating. “He’s just cooler, you know? Not a lot of superheroes are doing what he does. He fights crime and…” She shrugged. “Spiderman looks out for the little guy. Keeps the neighborhood safe.”

“See!” exclaimed the second guy. He turned to his friend. “George, what about you?”

“Deadpool,” George replied. “What? I literally said I wanted a fucking katana.”

The other girl sighed. 

“Alright, what about you, Nancy?”

“I don’t really like any superheroes,” Nancy replied. “They make a big mess out of everything. They help, sure, but they sure love the attention.”

“Don’t be such a negative Nancy, Nancy,” the second guy teased. 

She threw another fry at him, this time aiming perfectly. It hit him square in the face. Peter decided it would be best to finish his lunch before she ran out of fries and decided to grab a fistful of his pasta to throw. 

“Are they always like this?” Peter asked Gwen.

“Nancy and James? Yeah, pretty much. I’ve known them since high school, and they’ve pretty much bickered the first day they met and never stopped.” Gwen replied. 

“You know, it’s a shame that Harry couldn’t be here,” George said. “I think he’d like you, Peter.”

“Maybe a little too much,” Gwen replied. “That’s what I’m scared of. I’ve been separating them.”

Peter laughed. “I should bring my friend Ned around too. You guys would like him.”

“Don’t you have any girl friends?” Nancy groaned. “I’m tired of being outnumbered.”

“Well,” Peter shrugged, thinking of MJ. “My… girlfriend goes to Stanford.”

“Girlfriend? With hesitation?” James asked. 

“It’s tricky. She’s my best friend, too.”

“Ah yes, the tragic best friend zone. More than friends, less than lovers.”

Peter bristled at that description, eliciting laughs from the table. 

“C’mon, I’m sure it’s not that complicated if you’re calling her your girlfriend,” Gwen teased.

“Yeah, cheer up buddy,” George said. 

Lunch finished up shortly after that, and Peter bought an order of lasagna for Ned. If Ned didn’t eat it, Peter would. 

It was a nice day out. Peter thought he’d explore campus or visit the library with Ned, then maybe swing by the Tower for dinner with Tony and Pepper. If he finished up the rest of his chemistry work before dinner and looked over the upcoming calculus assignment, Peter would be free for patrol tonight. 

Three days into the semester and Peter was already trying to catch up on school work. If that wasn't the true university experience, he didn’t know what was.

-

For the past several weeks, Peter had been bringing food and supplies to Mars. 

He’d visit her before patrol, drop off the groceries and chat for a couple minutes, before heading off to Team Red’s meeting location. It was almost like clockwork. 

Peter had finished dinner with Tony and Pepper, who very excitedly asked him all about his classes and new friends and classmates and on and on and on. Afterwards, Peter left for patrol. He had been avoiding public sightings with Team Red for a week now. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going on patrol with Team Red. 

Before heading over to Matt’s apartment, Peter (as Peter) visited the encampment site with some supplies. It was nothing fancy: some wet wipes, some food, some water, extra socks and underwear. There were less and less people there everytime Peter went to visit Mars. 

“How’ve you been?” Peter asked. 

He sat beside Mars, like he always did. Peter handed her the supplies and she took out a bottle of water to sip. 

“About the same,” Mars replied. 

“There’s less people here.”

“Astute observation, Holmes.”

“Thank you, Watson.”

Mars sighed eventually, wrapping her arms around her knees and rested her head on her arm. “Some of them– about half, actually, got cleaned up.”

Peter blinked. “That’s good.”

“Yeah, but the other half.” Mars shook her head. “Poof. Gone missing. No clue where they’ve gone. One of the younger girls insists on doing head counts now. I wish…”

“Yeah?” Peter said softly.

“There’s just no room at the homeless shelters. They’re all understaffed, underfunded, overpopulated. I wish there was more room, more everything .” 

Peter thought of Tony. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Peter murmured. “Can you tell me more about the people who’ve gone missing?”

“Three this week. A girl and two guys, all around sixteen. They usually show up for meals, but haven’t been around all week,” Mars replied. “Peter, I’m really scared.”

“It’s going to be alright,” Peter replied. He didn’t know that, but he wanted it to be true. 

“How? When? Because I’m so sick and tired of being fucking homeless, of having to look over my shoulder everyday– I’m so sick of being scared .”

“Nothing is going to happen to you, okay?”

“How can you be sure?” Mars asked, teary eyed. She brought her knees to her chest and curled up into a ball. 

“I’m–” Peter snapped his mouth shut. “I’m friends with Daredevil. I’ll ask him to keep a look out for you.”

“Isn’t he like,” Mars let out a watery laugh, “super violent?”

“Only with people who deserve it. People who hurt others. He’ll keep you safe, alright?”

Mars nodded. 

“You should get some sleep,” Peter said. “I gotta get going.”

“Thanks for the stuff,” Mars replied. 

“Take care of yourself. Stay safe.”

“You too, Peter.”

Peter truly hoped Mars would be safe. He would talk to Tony in the morning, then it would take a couple of days for things to be arranged, but Peter would make sure it happened. All Mars had to do was stay put and stay safe for a couple of days. 

-

When Peter got to Matt’s place, Wade was already there with a laptop he swiped from Weasel. Matt was taking a short nap on his couch, already in the Daredevil suit. He snored in his sleep. Peter thought it was endearing. 

“Oh, good, you’re here,” Wade said, barely looking at Peter. Instead, his tongue stuck out from his mouth and his eyebrows were furrowed with concentration.

“What are you up to?” Peter asked.

Taking a seat by the table beside Wade, Peter looked at the computer screen. Wade was still stuck on the lockscreen. 

“Need a little help there?”

Wade deflated and shifted the laptop towards Peter with a sad nod.

“Do you know the password?” 

“Nope.”

“Didn’t Weasel tell you?”

Wade grinned. “That fucker told me I wouldn’t be able to guess the password. I took it as a personal challenge.”

Peter laughed lightly. “You didn’t guess the password, though. I did.”

He turned the unlocked laptop back to Wade. Wade let out a gasp, rousing Matt from his sleep momentarily, and leaned over to give Peter a bear hug with wet, sloppy kisses on his cheek. There was only so much Peter could refuse Wade’s affections, but it was almost always over faster when Peter let Wade be Wade. Secretly, Peter liked it, but he would never admit to it in case Wade took it as further encouragement to disrupt patrol with his affections. 

“What was the password?” Wade asked, eyes twinkling. “Was it Betty White’s birthday?”

“The hint was: A day Wade will never remember. You know when Betty was born by heart.”

“ Dammit , I didn’t look at the hint.”

“The password was Weasel’s birthday,” Peter said. 

“Yeah nope,” Wade said, leaning back in his chair. “I would’ve never guessed that. Sometimes I forget that Weasel was even born, you know, from a real uterus. I like to think he spawned from the spot of mold growing under the bar and never left Sister Margaret’s.”

“He does seem like the type, doesn’t he?” Peter replied. 

“Anyways, thank you very, very much, my dearest Petey-Pie. Your achievements are Team Red’s achievements, meaning,” Wade beamed, “I did in fact guess his stupid password.”

Peter laughed again, allowing Wade to have his happiness. 

“You brought the hard drives?” Wade asked.

Peter fished into his bag for them and placed all three, alongside the photos, onto the table. Wade wasted no time and connected the drives to the laptop. He was glad that Wade was using Weasel’s laptop instead of Peter’s because he did not want anything from those drives corrupting his technology. 

Wade sifted through whatever was on those hard drives. Wade made quiet, strangled sounding noises with the back of his throat as Peter closed his eyes and rested his head against the table. He didn’t want to see what was on those drives. 

“The thing at the Golden Helin,” Peter started, making Wade perk up. “You know, it’s all over the news. With your name and Red’s name all over it.”

“Not surprised Stark kept you out of it,” Matt replied. He sat up properly on the couch, groaning quietly and stretching his neck. 

“He’s my senior supervisor with the Accords Council,” Peter said. He frowned, thinking about the Accords. “They’re coming after you two, by the way.”

“I know. Barton’s been trying to catch me alone for weeks.” Matt stood up and walked to sit by the table with Peter and Wade. “Wasn’t successful, but it’s fun having him try. Sooner or later, they’ll escalate it, and I’ll decide what to do then.”

“And what do you think about the identity reveal aspect?” Peter asked. 

Wade shrugged. “Personally, I don't care. Most people in my circles know I’m Deadpool, but I now that I’m half mixed up into both of your personal lives and…” He deflated again. “I really don’t want to make your lives any harder.”

Matt grimaced. “There’s a lot about the Revised Accords that I agree with. Identity transparency isn’t one of them. I can’t imagine how it would be for Foggy if people ever found out I was Daredevil. It was hard enough telling him and Karen; I don’t want to tell others about things that don’t concern them.”

“That’s the thing,” Peter replied. “I signed the Accords and there is a lot– like a lot, that I agree with. I don’t think that vigilantes and heroes are above morals or the law, it’s just that there is only so much the law can do for people.”

“The law and justice system is complex,” Matt said. “It’s often beautiful, but elastic. The elasticity, the layering of legislations, the unforgiving and obsolete nature of law can allow the wrong to be proven right. The unjust, just. Call me biased, but I think the concept of law is beautiful. But with every institutional system, there is corruption, and I think that we as vigilantes operate to fight corruption where law is unable.”

With a sigh, Peter said. “I hate the stupid system.”

“Do you wish you never signed the Accords?” Matt asked.

“Yeah,” he replied softly. “Sometimes. I know it’s for the better, but…” Peter let out a frustrated noise. 

“But?” Matt prompted.

“My uncle used to say something to me,” Peter said. “Even before I got my powers, he would tell me all the time that ‘with great power comes great responsibility’. And now I have these powers, ones that I can use for good, ones that I can use to help others, and the responsibility to use them suddenly doesn’t fall to me?”

Peter shook his head. “I don’t think it’s up to the Accords to decide whether or not I can use my powers. It’s up to me to decide how I use them. It’s up to me to be brave enough to use them.”

“I get where you’re coming from. That’s exactly why I’ve been avoiding Barton,” Matt replied. 

He gave Peter a comforting half smile before turning to Wade. “Where are you at with the drives?”

“About three liters into bleaching my eyes, if I’m honest,” Wade replied, voice taut with stress. “Red, go get the floor plans you stole from Red Hook Pier.”

Matt went to his dresser and pulled out the three floor plans tucked in a secret compartment. He splayed them out on the table for Peter and Wade to look at. Running his fingers over the paper, Matt felt the indents and raises in the paper from the ink.

“Bambi, look at this here,” Wade said, pointing at the computer screen. “The floor plans Red swiped from the Pier didn’t have any indication of location, aside from it being numbered locations one, two, and three, but look.”

Peter stared at the computer screen. Wade had a picture of the outside of a building uploaded on the screen. 

“I’m looking.”

Wade gave Peter a sharp look. 

“You really need to start playing GeoGessr,” Wade tutted. “Alright, I’ll spell it out for you, only because you’re my most favorite sticky situation in the entire world. This building,” Wade tapped twice on the screen, “is the building in these floor plans.”

“And you know that for sure?” Matt asked. 

“Yup, because I’ve been there before. And because the same floor plans are in the next picture.” Wade pressed a key and the image changed. It was the exact same floor plans as what Matt had on the table.

“And the other two floor plans?” prompted Matt.

“I’m pretty sure they're here, too,” Wade said. “Give me a couple of hours, a bottle of bleach, and I’ll sort through this shit-fest.”

Matt sighed. “Bleach is under the bathroom sink. Don’t leave my apartment stinking again.”

“You two can go patrol while I’m busy,” Wade sang. “Jeez, can’t wait to sift through literal child abuse and then kill myself.”

As Wade settled deeper into his seat, Peter and Matt geared up for patrol. They weren’t doing anything intense, probably just stopping a mugging or two, but nothing more than that. It’s all for plausible deniability because Peter, on a technicality, was allowed to patrol alone. It would be perfectly acceptable for Peter to stop a robbery on patrol. And, say, if Daredevil happened to be there, stopping the same robbery, why wouldn’t Peter ever so graciously accept help?

So, Peter and Matt left the apartment. They headed in opposite directions to cover more ground before they reconvened at a later time. Matt had been training Peter’s sense of hearing more and more, making it so that they could hear each other, even if they were several blocks away. Obviously, Matt had a keener sense of, well all of his four senses, but Peter was getting better and filtering out the white noise and listening for Matt’s signature Daredevil gruff. 

“Hey Red, I have a favor to ask,” Peter said, swinging from building to building. The wind was sharp to his ears, so he stopped and sat on the roof of a cute little bookstore. He’d have to bring MJ when she visited for Christmas. The bookstore was delightfully morbid. 

Peter heard Matt murmuring briefly before hearing a flurry of fists and kicks. There was a moment of silence, followed by Matt saying, “Yeah, Webs?”

Matt’s voice was kind of fuzzy and blended in with the sound of traffic, but Peter strained his ears hard. 

“Remember a couple of weeks ago, you sent me to investigate an encampment along 39th, between Ninth and Tenth avenue?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“One of the girls, Mars, she’s the one who keeps me updated on all the kids going missing,” Peter explained. “She’s getting scared. Keep an ear out for her, alright?”

“Got it,” Matt replied. “Patrol is pretty dead on my end. Head back to the rendezvous point?”

“I’ll be there in five.”

-

When Peter and Matt got back to Matt’s apartment, Peter was pretty much dead on his feet. 

He was tired, he was hungry, and all he could think about was starting his stupid calculus assignment due the following week. Sure, it was only a placement test, but Peter wanted to blow it out of the water. He was good at math. 

“I think we should save debrief until after you get some sleep,” Matt said. “You could crash here, or Wade could drop you off at your dorm.”

“God, dorm please,” Peter begged, stretching over Matt’s couch grumpily.

“I’m pretty sure my name is Wade.”

Peter swatted at Wade lazily. “I hate when you make that joke. It sucks. You suck.”

“I don’t think I’d be a Catholic if Wade was God,” Matt muttered, more for himself than for Peter or Wade to hear. 

“Yeah, yeah, bully me all you want,” Wade said. “But I know the truth.”

“And what’s that?” Matt asked.

“You can’t get enough of me,” Wade replied triumphantly, giving a playful bop on Matt’s nose. “Toodles! Off to put the baby to bed.”

“I’m not a baby,” Peter murmured. 

“You’re myyyyyy baby,” Wade cooed, tousling Peter’s hair. 

“Shut up.”

Wade picked up Peter and turned on his teleportation belt. In the blink of an eye, Peter was back inside his dorm room. 

“Thanks, Pool,” Peter said quietly. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Yeah, yeah, go shower Webs,” Wade replied. “You smell like hot garbage, and not the good kind either.”

In another blink of an eye, Wade was gone. It took all of ten minutes for Peter to have a snack, take a shower, and pass out on his bed. 

-

That night, Peter had the most peculiar dream. 

It was so peculiar that half way through, Peter realized that it wasn’t a dream at all. It was a memory, and he just happened to be living through it in reverse. 

It started out when Peter was about thirteen. Ben had decided he wanted a pool day, so the three of them headed off to one of Ben’s work friend’s house. Peter spent all day diving into the pool with the other children as Ben, May, and Ben’s friends sat on the patio and drank cokes. 

But when Peter dived into the water, time shifted. Underwater, he was ten years old and swimming at Long Beach. He could feel the sand under his toes, but when he came up for air, he was back at Ben’s friend's house. 

Ben and May didn’t have a lot of money, but they did the best they could to make Peter happy. They’d take an early bus or a train, each with a backpack full of their necessities, and go on a one day vacation to Liberty Island or to swim at the Flushing Meadows lake. It wasn’t grand, but it was happy. 

In Peter’s dream, he came up for air and climbed out of the pool. As he was wrapping a towel around his head to dry his hair, the surroundings changed again. This time, Peter was at a community pool, and Ben and May were relaxing in the hot tub. He was eight at the time. He couldn’t quite hear what they were saying because the slosh of the water was too loud, and there was this terrible echo, and when May called out, all Peter heard was his name over and over again.

“Peter,” May called, voice ringing and hazy all the same. “Peter… Peter… Peter…”

“Peter!”

He woke up, eyes bleary. “What?”

Ned was standing over him, eyes owlish. “You have class in twenty minutes.”

“Shit!”

Then, he scrambled to get ready. At least it was Friday.

-

Why, why, why did Peter, as a biochemistry major, have to take a class on microeconomics?

When he was running to class, bagel in his mouth and three high calorie protein bars stuffed in his bag, Peter texted Tony a simple ‘Lunch? 12:30?’ before slipping his phone back into his pocket. The last thing he needed was to drop it and get his hands dirty when picking it up.

Thanks to Ned waking Peter up, he got to class on time. Microeconomics was a dreadfully boring subject, full of useless charts and the professor went on about pizzas and colas for thirty minutes. At that point, Peter gave in and stopped taking notes. He got it, alright? Lose one pizza, get 5 cokes. Trade offs. Wahoo.

Peter wanted to die in that class. 

Tony texted him back, agreeing to lunch and said that he’d pick Peter up from his dorm. Class was over after another long, drawn out hour, and Peter settled into a study room at the library to complete his calculus assignment. Before he knew it, it was almost time for lunch.

He dropped his bag off at his dorm, said hi to Ned who was leaving for class, and waited for Tony to arrive. As he waited, he texted MJ about his classes – ‘Econ is so dumb, I hate it. I miss you’ to which she would respond – ‘why the fuck are you taking economics? thats dumb. I miss you, too.’

MJ really understood Peter’s plight. God, she was perfect. Peter sent her pictures of what his apartment looked like and received a couple back of what hers looked like. She shared a room with a funny red head named Mary Jane, who coincidentally also went by MJ. Peter wondered if they went by MJ one and MJ two, or if they both called each other MJ with no regard to logical order. Or maybe, they went by Michelle and Mary Jane.

When Tony arrived, Peter told MJ that he’d call her later with Ned, and he headed down to the parking lot. 

Peter got in the car and said hi to Tony before they took off to whichever restaurant Tony decided upon for lunch. They ended up at some Italian eatery and Tony ordered half the menu for Peter in fluent Italian, and it came as quickly as Tony ordered it. 

“How are your classes?” Tony asked. 

“I told you all about them yesterday,” Peter replied, eyes rolling.

“You had another class today,” Tony argued. “How was that one?”

Peter groaned. “I hate economics.”

Tony laughed in his face. Wasn’t he supposed to comfort Peter?

“Like, c’mon! I’m a biochemistry major, I’m minoring in photography, what use is a microeconomics class to me?” Peter said. He stabbed the chicken with his fork aggressively. “I hate pizzas and colas.” 

That was all it took for Tony to go from laughing to roaring. 

“Hey! Don’t laugh at me. My professor went on about that for an hour. It was hell.”

“It was one class, Pete,” Tony said. “Who knows, maybe you’ll start liking it after.”

“She said that the first class would be the peak of the semester,” Peter replied. He took another aggressive stab at the chicken, stuffing his mouth. 

Tony roared with laughter again. After he calmed down, Peter asked about how Stark Industry was fairing (pretty well) and how Tony felt about Pepper’s pregnancy (also pretty well, but way more nervous). 

“Actually, can I ask you for a favor?” 

That would be the second favor Peter asked in the span of 24 hours. Wow, he was getting bold, wasn’t he? He made a note in his head to do something nice for Matt and Tony later on. 

“Yeah, sure kid. What’s up?”

Peter squirmed in his seat a little. “So, I have this friend. And she–” He sighed. “She’s homeless. Has been for a while. I don’t know how much you’ve heard about this, but a lot of homeless kids have been going missing recently.”

“I heard Pepper mention something in the passing,” Tony replied carefully.

“She’s been trying to get other kids off the street, but all of the homeless shelters are overpopulated and underfunded. It’s been hard, and she’s terrified, and I really don’t have any facilities to ensure that she’s safe, but I really want her to be safe, so…” Peter looked at Tony. “Would you, um, help me?”

Tony’s face softened. “Of course, Pete. I’ll call up Pepper right after lunch and get it all arranged. Do you know where your friend usually hangs around?”

“There's an encampment along 39th, between Ninth and Tenth avenue,” Peter replied. “It’s a youth encampment. She’s the one who keeps everyone else safe. Her name is Mars.”

“She sounds like quite the person.”

Peter hummed in agreement. 

“I’ll try and get accommodations set up for them as soon as possible. Hopefully, it’ll be done by the end of tomorrow,” said Tony. 

“Thank you,” Peter replied. “Really, thank you. I think I owe you big time.”

Tony laughed. “Owe me? For what?”

What a silly thing to ask. Did Tony really not know how much life he put back into Peter’s world? Did he not see how much he had helped Peter?

“You know,” Peter shrugged. “For always helping me.”

“Always, Pete,” Tony replied. “I’ll always help you.”

• Third week of September

When Peter wasn’t keeping himself busy, he was thinking of Ben and May. 

He would wake up, brush his teeth, make breakfast and think to himself ‘I wonder if Ben and May are proud of me for getting up’ before carrying on with his day. Or, Peter would spot some beautiful sunflowers and think ‘I bet Ben would love those’ before walking straight past them. Was that normal? To mourn and to love in such a way? 

It had been almost four full months without May. Weeks had gone by and Peter’s life hadn’t stopped alongside hers, even when her death had been as arresting as death itself. 

Learning to live without her was a lot like learning to live with Tony. Peter missed her terribly, missed both her and Ben, and he always would. Everything was hard at first, and Peter was so, so angry, but it was only hard until Peter allowed his anger to decompose. When he let Tony help, when he let others in, breathing became a lot easier.

So now that things were getting better, all Peter could do was wait for it to get worse because it always got worse. Even if Peter had been quiet, even if he had been good, it got worse anyways. That’s just how his life worked. 

Peter was a smart boy. He learnt his lesson once before and he wasn’t going to forget it. 

All he could do was wait. 

• Fourth week of September

“So, how do you feel about volleyball?” 

“I’ll pass.”

“Fine. Sure. Volleyball isn’t for everyone. How about basketball?”

“Gwen, I’m not joining any sports team.”

“Come on, I just landed half a page on the school newspaper and the only requirement is that I write it about varsity sports,” Gwen said. “I don’t know anyone on any team and you’re an easy way in.”

Peter rolled his eyes. They were in their Friday photography class, which ended up more like a free period where students were allowed to wander through the campus grounds in search for the ‘perfect picture’. It was all frustratingly subjective of course, but that freedom let Peter and Gwen chat all through class. 

“And what makes you think I’d be good at sports?”

“Peter,” Gwen replied, tutting. “Boys are so dumb. Have you looked in the mirror recently?”

“Actually, no, I’m like a vampire. Can’t stand the mirrors.”

Gwen shoved at Peter playfully and he laughed. “Can’t you just, I don’t know, go to some tryouts?”

“God help me if I make it in,” Peter muttered under his breath.

“Are you religious?” 

“Not necessarily,” Peter replied. “Do I believe in God? Questionably. In a higher power? Sure. The Devil?” He thought of Matt and smiled. “Without a doubt.”

Gwen hummed. “Interesting distinction.”

He gave Gwen a half smile. “I have a Catholic friend. His vocabulary rubbed off on me in more ways that I’d like to admit.”

“Sounds like quite the pessimist.”

Peter barked out a laugh. “Gwen, you have no idea.”

After a moment or two of walking in a comfortable silence, Gwen turned back to Peter. “So, how do you feel about football?”

-

It only took Gwen the rest of class to convince Peter to try out for basketball. She bribed him with a set of her chemistry notes for a week. 

As it turned out, basketball tryouts were two hours after their class, so Peter and Gwen set off to get lunch before heading to the gym. 

“You really couldn’t ask James or George to do this?” 

“What? You mean the string bean and the pipe cleaner with eyes?” Gwen laughed. “Yeah, right. They’d have an easier time being a badminton pole than actually playing. They told me to ask you.”

“I fucking hate sports,” Peter said vehemently.

“Really?”

“Why do you look so surprised?”

Gwen shrugged and motioned casually back at Peter. “You look like a gym rat.”

“Trust me,” Peter said. “At my highschool, I avoided sports like it was the plague.”

“Consider yourself trusted,” Gwen replied, rolling her eyes. “Look, the doors are open. We can head in.”

Basketball tryouts were uneventful. As Peter ran laps, did circuit training, and practiced reflex drills, Gwen talked to the coach and team captains. At some point, more and more members from the basketball team came up to Gwen voluntarily. ‘For the interview’ they said, but Peter really knew it was because Gwen was a rather pretty girl. 

When it was time for the practice game, Peter was teamed up with one of the returning captains.

“You’re a good kid, Parker,” Joshua said, in between bated breaths. “Good stamina, strength. Fast reflexes. I think you’ll make the team.”

Joshua passed the ball to Peter, who pivoted and aimed for the hoop. It went in.

“Thanks, Joshua, but if I’m honest, I’m not going to join the team.”

Joshua’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you kidding me?”

“I’m only here because she asked me to. She needed a way in to interview the team,” Peter said, looking at Gwen. He gave Joshua an apologetic smile. 

Joshua looked at Gwen, then looked back at Peter, cursing under his breath. “Damn, I thought I’d get her number after this. Lost the best scout of the season and the pretty girl all in one go.”

“Woah, you can still ask her out,” Peter replied. “We’re not together, like at all. I have a– Gwen’s just a friend.”

That’s all it took for Joshua to perk up. He gave Peter an amicable punch on the shoulder and went off to continue the game. Peter got subbed out and wasn’t all that torn up about it. After tryouts, Peter took a quick shower, said bye to some of the other guys, and met Gwen by the gym doors. 

“You did pretty good there. I think you’ll make the team,” Gwen said. “I thought you said you hated sports?”

“I do,” Peter said. “And I told Joshua I’m not joining the team. Did he try to get your number?”

“Yeah, him and about thirteen other guys. Turned them all down,” Gwen replied. 

“Hm. I hope you have something interesting to write about, now.”

“I sure do,” Gwen said. “I’ll write about Peter Parker , the best player trying out who refused to join the team.”

“Very funny,” Peter replied, nudging Gwen gently with his elbow. 

“But yeah, I have plenty to write about. Want me to send you the article later to proof read?”

“Sure,” Peter said easily. 

And they walked back to their apartments. 

-

When Peter got back to his dorm, Ned wasn’t back yet. According to his class schedule, Ned would be home for dinner in two hours, so Peter decided that he’d get a quick, pre-dinner meal before that. 

He walked over to the food hall and headed back to his dorm to do some homework as he ate. 

Ned came back and decided that they needed to get Vietnamese noodles for dinner, so they ordered half the menu to be delivered to their dorm. The noodles were so spicy that it made Peter’s ears ring and lips burn but he couldn’t get enough of it. As they ate, they video called MJ.

She told them all about her literature classes and asked about Ned’s electricity and magnetism labs. She asked about Peter’s day, to which he told her that he was bribed into trying out for the basketball team by Gwen, and she laughed in his face. The other MJ was in the room, so Peter and Ned said hi, and their MJ purposefully didn’t ask Peter about how patrol was. He would text the group chat all about it later. 

After cleaning up, Ned set off to do his homework and Peter got ready for patrol. He laid out all of the next morning’s work, set an alarm, and looked at the three framed photos on his desk.

The first picture was a copy of the photograph Peter took of Ben and May at Niagara falls when he was eight. It made him smile every time he looked at it. 

The second picture was a photo of Ned, MJ, and him at graduation, all hugging and smiling. That one was pretty self explanatory, and it was even more special because Wade and Matt took the photo for them.

The third picture was of Tony, Pepper, and him, taken when the AcaDeca team visited the Avenger’s compound. Tony and Pepper were on either side of him beaming with joy, and one of Tony’s hands was ruffling Peter’s hair. He loved this picture, probably even more than the one Pepper took of Tony and him when Peter first moved into his dorm. 

Peter held the third picture in his hands. 

“Sorry, guys,” Peter said. “I have crime to fight. Three weeks is a long time.”

He gave picture Tony and Pepper two small taps and placed the frame back on his desk face down before leaving for patrol.

-

Mars and the rest of the homeless kids had settled nicely into the accommodations Tony arranged for them. There had also been an increase of funding for the surrounding churches and homeless shelters, lessening the burden that Mars carried. 

This time, Team Red’s meeting location was one of Wade’s safe houses in Central Harlem. Peter didn’t know how many properties Wade owned, but all of the ones Peter visited had a fully stocked armory and he had no clue how Wade financed everything. When Peter arrived, Matt and Wade were already discussing the plan of action. 

“So I was thinking,” Matt started. “We never followed up on the lead Isaac Tabar gave us.”

Peter furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Remind me again what that lead was.”

“Tabar mentioned a place in Tremont. West Bronx. He called it a ‘crackhead whorehouse’ they used for low priority storage,” Matt explained again. “We got Ruiz’s location– Red Hook Pier, and Tabar gave us the Golden Helin. If we’re looking for Leyi and Gao’s people, maybe a low priority storage house would be where they’re hiding.”

“Any intel from the drives?” Peter asked. 

“Gimme a mo,” Wade typed furiously on Weasel’s laptop. “West Bronx. Tremont. Here you go.”

He turned the laptop towards Peter and Matt. There were floor plans, alongside several financial statements, shipment routes, and delivery schedules for the next three months. 

“Wade, you said you compiled all the information on the drives, right?”

“Yup.”

“How many locations were listed?”

“Ones with kids, about sixteen. Ones with drugs and weaponry, seven. We’ve been to five of those locations in total.”

Matt nodded. “The first one with Jacob. Then, it was under the Troika restaurant and Pier 88. Red Hook Pier, and finally the Golden Helin. That leaves us with eighteen locations to hit.”

“Are there any overlaps between locations? Look for similar shipment routes or bank deposits on the same day, or maybe if they’re sloppy, any repeating names and dates,” Peter asked. 

Wade poked his tongue out in concentration and typed furiously. 

“Well, the one that Red mentioned has the same delivery schedule as three other drugs-and-weapons locations to one storage unit,” Wade said. “One of the three locations was the Golden Helin, actually.”

“So the place in Tremont is probably just drugs,” Peter reasoned. 

“We should still check it out. Tabar mentioned it specifically.”

“Of course,” Peter said. “Are there any locations near the Tremont location?”

“One other one,” Wade replied. The look in his eyes darkened. “One with kids in the basement. From the pictures, I’m guessing around ten kids, all teenagers. I don’t know when these pictures were taken, but I’m guessing there’s either gonna be a lot more than ten kids there or no kids at all.”

“Let’s go,” Matt said, and they were off with the blink of an eye. 

-

Peter would never get over how cool Wade’s teleportation belt was. It took them all of half a millisecond to arrive in Tremont. Because Wade admitted to his inability to not kill the child abusers, Peter and Matt were to get the kids out while Wade took care of the drugs and weapons location.