Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter paused, looking up from his Calc homework. 

Standing in the commons were the Rouges. Or, well, most of them. Captain America, Black Widow, Winter Soldier, and Falcon. Peter didn’t see Hawkeye, Wanda, or Antman. 

It was 4 out of 7. 

He frowned, pushing himself up and moving around the table. “What are you doing here?”

“We could ask the same of you.” Falcon crossed his arms. 

Peter cut off whatever Captain America was about to say. “FRIDAY, why are they here?”

"All previously listed Avengers have been pardoned."

“But why are they here?”  

"They have been pardoned. Mister Stark has offered them a place to stay."

It had taken Peter several months to convince Mister Stark to let him come and visit or even spend weekends.

“Bet they didn’t have to, wait,” Peter muttered, returning to the table and gathering his homework. 

Captain America stood in the way of the elevator. “What are you doing here, son? As far as I was aware, these floors are for Avengers only.”

“Then why are you here?” The words slipped out of his mouth before he could think not to say them. Peter froze. “I-I mean. Y-You just- the Avengers didn’t- the Rouges-“

“Kid.” Mister Stark stepped out of the elevator. “Just shut your mouth.”

His jaw clicked shut and he bowed his head, hurrying over to Mister Stark’s side. 

Mister Stark ruffled his hair. “Is that your history project? You said the teacher gave an extension.”

Peter winced. “Ah, no?”

“It better not have been calculous.”

Pressing the papers flat against his chest Peter laughed nervously. “What? No. I’d never be working on calculus homework instead of my history!”

Mister Stark raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“Yep! But you’re right!” Peter stepped to the side, giving his mentor a wide grin. “I should totally get on that history project! I should take advantage of the extra time my teachers have given me.” He quickly moved toward the elevator, trying to keep his head down. 

“Underoos.”

Peter winced, pausing. 

“If that history project doesn’t get taken care of there’ll be no lab time for you.”

He spun on his heel. “What?!” Peter nearly dropped his homework. “But you said we could work on the modules this weekend!” 

Then Peter hesitated.

Mister Stark looked tired, no, exhausted. There were bags under his eyes and there were coffee stains on his shirt. But that wasn’t the end of it either. His mentor also looked tense, shoulders held higher than normal, and his left hand hadn’t left his pocket. That’s where he kept his emergency button. 

Then Peter’s eyes drifted over to the Rouges, realization finally clicking into place. 

Mister Stark was stressed about the Avengers. In Germany, everything had gone horrendously south. There had been so many injuries. The kind of injuries that you can’t just walk away from. 

His mentor had chased after Captain America and was retrieved by the others. He had come back so battered and angry. 

Now Peter could see the same emotions now on his mentor’s face. If he pushed, Mister Stark would snap. 

Turning his attention back to Mister Stark, Peter settled. “Fine. But if you’re up late again I’m telling Pepper!”

He could hear Mister Stark snort behind him as he hurried into the elevator. “Deal. And turn around is fair play if you don’t finish your homework, young man.”

Peter rolled his eyes, though only because Mister Stark couldn’t see it. 

FRIDAY chirped. “Where to, Peter?”

He nearly said ‘lab’ but he had a feeling that if he pushed Mister Stark on a day like today it’d end poorly. “The living space please.” Peter hesitated. “And, can you lock out the Rouges - er Avengers? Whatever they’re called now. I didn’t know they were going to be here.”

“Sure, Peter. Would you like me to inform the Boss?” 

The question was a simple one, one he’d normally say yes to.

Peter hesitated. “Maybe? He might be mad that I locked the Avengers out of their rooms.”

He didn’t want to accidentally antagonize Mister Stark. And getting the Avengers mad at him as well might be a bad thing.

FRIDAY corrected him. “The Avengers’ dwellings are all located on the Avenger floors. They do not have access to the living space.” 

He stood a fighting chance against most of the Avengers. But he really didn’t want to fight them. Mister Stark had promised they could work in the lab this weekend. Fighting meant no labs, that was the rule. 

“Could you lock them out anyways?” Peter fidgeted. “Mister Stark doesn’t trust them.”

They had thrown a bunch of air runway stuff at him. It had been cool at the time, and it really had been so invigorating. 

He was fighting the Avengers.

But the look on his mentor’s face downstairs - it told Peter that there was something he was missing. This was about more than just the Accords. 

Faintly Peter remembered Colonel Rhodes falling from the sky. He’d been paralyzed. 

“Of course, Peter,” FRIDAY assured him. “Keeping you and the Boss safe is one of my top priorities.”

He thanked her quietly. 

There was more that had happened in Germany than anyone would tell him. 

Peter was beginning to put pieces together he hadn’t bothered to before. He’d been excited to help Iron Man, excited to meet the other Avengers. But now in the calm it felt . . . wrong almost. 

It was a fight, sure, but it couldn’t have just been against the accords. 

Mister Stark and Captain America wouldn’t have broken apart because of the accords, right? 

Peter frowned. He didn’t like how he couldn’t say that for certain.

For all he learned about Mister Stark, there was always something more. Something that his mentor was hiding. 

He didn’t know all the particulars about the accords. Peter knew they were about government regulations on the Avengers, but he always had a hard time remembering which side was which.

Well, Captain America had been on the run because he was working against the government, right? 

But why? 

He was literally captain patriot with his brand. 

The more Peter actually thought about it, the more sensitive sense and more confusing everything became. 

Spider-Man was a certified vigilante, but he worked with the cops plenty of times. 

Ben had been an officer, so Peter had grown up knowing a lot about police work. He knew they were doing their best. 

Working with the government didn’t seem like a bad idea. Peter thought it was a pretty good way actually to go about fighting. 

The cops always had more specific information on the individuals Spider-Man was tracking down, or knew the groups they were working with. 

There had to be something he was missing because it just didn’t make sense. 

The elevator door opened with aacknowledgmentgement from FRIDAY. 

Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

Why were adults so complicated and confusing?

He stepped into the living space, thanking FRIDAY as the elevator doors closed behind him. 

The living space was clean and empty, a familiar sight given Mister Stark’s insistence that the place be spotless. The couches and seats looked just as cozy and inviting as they always did. 

But Peter paused. 

Something was off.

His ears caught the sound of something skittering and his heart skipped a beat.

Peter spun on his heel, eyes scanning the room around him. “Uh, FRI?” He didn’t see anything. 

“Yes, Peter?”

Adrenaline was already racing through his veins, his heart rate increasing.

Peter took another step into the room, eyes scanning, but he couldn’t see anything. “Is there anyone else in the living space?”

“No.”

His skin crawled and Peter set his homework down on the coffee table with care, looking around the empty space. “You, sure? No one else is here?”

“Affirmative.”

It was probably just a mouse or something. He’d have to tell Mister-

That sixth sense went off, and Peter ducked.

Nothing happened. Nothing sailed overhead. 

His heart was in his throat and Peter stood again. It was like he was disoriented, and the world was too big to sharp but completely empty and silent. 

Unease prickled down his spine like spindles of a spider’s legs. “Are you sure-“

Peter felt the warning sense but he wasn’t anywhere near fast enough to dodge the glowing red force that slammed into him. 

His back hit the wall and Peter only had a moment to be grateful the wall cracked and not his back before he was flung to the other side of the room. 

Peter wasn’t about to go down because of a red glowy thing. His had hit the ceiling and he latched himself there, the glow sailing below him. It gouged into the wall, sending drywall spraying everywhere. 

“FRIDAY, what is going on?!” He shouted. 

The AI chirped. “Raw data re-processing.” 

Peter threw himself out of the way of another wall of red sparkles. “Did someone hack into the system?!” 

“Data re-processed. Identified Wanda Maximoff. Aka: Scarlet Witch. Boss is being notified.” 

The Scarlet Witch?

leaped leaped to another wall, ducking under the red magic sparkle stuff. “H-Hi, Miss Maximoff! Or-Or Miss Scarlet Witch? Um, please don’t kill me!” 

He did not get a response. 

Hehad  only a heartbeat to avoid the next attack. 

She wasn’t grabbing anything to throw at him. It was literally just raw power. Seriously, what was going on here?! 

The living space was getting destroyed and Peter realized he could see exposed wiring. He needed to avoid touching that at all costs. 

But his brain flashed to another building, massive wings blasting through seemingly random walls. 

Peter’s heart stuttered in his chest and he froze. The next wave of red slammed into him and Peter choked on his breath. 

No no no no no. 

The familiar groaning of a building’s supporting pillars groaning made Peter’s chest burn with panic.

No no no no no no.

“FRIDAY! The-”

A loud and familiar crack sounded. 

“Boss-”

Tony waved at FRIDAY. “Not now, FRI.”

“Who was that?” Sam repeated, gesturing after Peter. “The kid-“

Tony cut him off tersely. “Is none of your concern. In fact-” He glanced up at the ceiling. “FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Boss?”

“Lock all floors above this. No one below Iridium37 clearance is authorized to the upper levels of the tower.”

“Yes, Boss.”

He then turned to face Steve. “You know the deal, house arrest, don’t leave the tower.”

“Boss.” 

Tony sighed, headache growing. “What, FRIDAY?” 

“There is an intruder in the upper levels.” 

His heart seized. “Where?” 

“Living quarters.” 

Tony was already halfway to the window. “Who?” He pressed the emergency button without much of a thought. 

“Raw data re-processing.” 

He cursed. Raw data? That meant FRIDAY had somehow missed the intruder.  

“Tony-” 

He opened the window. “Not now, Spangles. I’m not in the mood-“

“Data re-processed. Identified Wanda Maximoff. Aka: Scarlet Witch.” 

Tony’s heart was in his throat and he turned to Rogers. “Why is-”

“She’s not.” Natasha cut in. “She’s asleep in her room. But she’s been having nightmares.”

Falcon crossed his arms and nodded. “Her powers go a little on the fritz.” 

“Tony, she doesn’t mean to hurt anyone.” Rogers tried to soothe. “She’s practically harmless.” 

“Major support beams on level 157 have col,apsed.” FRIDAY announced. “Peter is unaccounted for.” 

No no no no no no no.

He felt cold. 

No no no no no no no.

Tony didn’t waileaped leapt out the window, letting the armor pieces zip into place in heartbeats, blasting up. 

No no no no no no no.

“FRIDAY, where is Peter?” He demanded, desperately hoping he was wrong. “Is he under the rubble?” 

FRIDAY confirmed his worst fear. “Yes, Boss. Peter is under the rubble.” 

Then the sound of a call being answered. “H-Hey, Mister Stark.” 

Tony could have collapsed in relief. “Underoos! You’re alright?” 

Peter let out a weak laugh before hissing in pain, the sound of metal creaking and glass-like steel cracking. 

“What’s going on, kid?” Tony’s scanners couldn’t reveal much aside from ‘wow, yep, that’s pretty collapsed’. “Are you hurt?” 

Tony watched a portion of the rubble, four stories worth of rubble, shifted like a breath. 

“I-I-” Peter hissed out a curse, panting. 

“FRIDAY, what’s going on?” Tony demanded. “Is Peter hurt?”

Peter cut in before the AI could. “J-Just a broken arm.” He sounded like he was straining. 

“Broken arm?” Tony repeated, pit in his gut sinking. The kid didn’t just break bones. He leaped from building to building and caught buses with his bare hands. 

Again the rubble shifted like a breath. 

“Tell me you aren’t holding that up, Underoos.” 

Peter let out a strained laugh before coughing. 

The rubble breathed. 

“Peter,” Tony demanded. “Tell me you aren’t holding that up.” 

“D-Don’t worry, Mister Stark. I have, I have practice.” The kid was panting, clearly out of breath. 

FRIDAY was already panning out calculations, finding the shifting points, launching suits to lift the rubble. 

Tony was not amused. 

“Peter, the Iron Man suits will alleviate the pressure enough to let you slip free.” FRIDAY informed them, “They will arrive in 1 minute and 23 seconds.”

Tony wanted to snap at her, tell her to get them there faster, but he knew they were moving as fast as they could. 

“Underoos, don’t think for a moment we’re not going to talk about this,” Tony warned his kid. “I have no records of falling buildings on the spider baby.” 

“‘M not a-” Peter panted, the rubble breathing. “Spider baby.”

“Well, you certainly aren’t an adult.”

Peter puffed out a breath, an almost laugh. “It’s rude of you to pick on the guy holding up a building.”

“Only four floors.” Tony corrected, which earned him a snort. 

“Only four? Would you rather be the one holding this, Atlas?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Underoos.” Tony had never had the kid so relaxed around him. And the kid was currently under hundreds of tons of high-tech rubble. “I’m not a map.”

The kid’s laugh turned into a hiss and the rubble shifted. Peter panted for breath. “Yeah, okay. No laughing. This might be a little heavy and I need to not be moving my arms.”

Arms?

“Kid, isn’t one of your arms broken?” Tony was now more worried. “You better not be using both of them.”

Peter’s snort was derisive. “Sure, let me just hold up this building with one hand.” He panted out a breath. “Why do you think my arm is broken?” The snippy tone was also new to Tony. 

Tony turned back to FRIDAY. “How much time on the suits, beautiful?” 

Just as he asked the question, his ears caught the sound of the repulser fire.

“They’re here, Boss.” 

Chapter Text

“It was back when I didn’t have the suit.” The kid hesitated, clearly lying.  “Some dude was upset I was messing with his plans so he dropped a building on me.”

“I can’t help but notice you’re leaving out a bunch of details there, spidering.” Tony was not appeased by the answer. “Because I can’t help but try to recall the reports of a collapsing building in Queens before you got the suit.”

“I-Can we not talk about this right now?” The kid panted. “I’m trying to focus on the building not collapsing on me right now.”

The suits were in position, ready to lift. 

“Fine, but we’re talking about this once you’re done, Atlas.”

Peter snorted. 

An oblique nondisplaced fracture. Near displacement. 

“Do you know how close you came to needing surgery?” Mister Stark was pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Peter, normally more subdued around his mentor, couldn’t help his glare. “Do you think I wanted to be trapped under a building?”

“That’s another thing!” Mister Stark pointed at him, as though making an accusation. “What did you mean ‘I have practice’, Mr Parker? Because I had been under the impression that you hadn’t ever been crushed underneath a building.”

The rich and powerful, like Stark, they don’t care about us. We have to pick up after them. We have to eat their table scraps.  

Peter scowled, the radiating pain in his arm almost silent compared to the screaming tightness in his chest. “Spider-Man hasn’t always been on your payroll, Mister Stark.”

I’m sorry Peter.

What are you talking about? That thing isn’t even touched me yet!

True but then again . . . wasn’t really trying to. 

He closed his eyes, taking a breath in and hating how it tore at his lungs. 

Why are you tell me this?

Cause I want you to understand. And . . . I needed a little time to get her airborne. 

“But it wasn’t before we’d met, not was it?” Mister Stark’s voice was quiet now, quiet and still. It wasn’t a question. “I did quite extensive research before I even considered making contact with you. If there had been a collapsed building beforehand, I would have known.”

Peter grit his teeth. 

“So I’m going to ask again. When did a building fall on top of you?”

You must be Peter.

Yeah.

I’m Liz’s dad. Put her there.

Looking up, Peter couldn’t help the familiar anger that he’d felt that night. “Prom night. Because, even if you try to take away Spider-Man’s mask, Mr. Stark?” His chest felt like it would collapse, just like the building had. “I find the villains, or they find me.”

The answer didn’t seem to appease Mister Stark, if anything he looked more upset now. “What?”

“Why do you think they caught the vulture, Mister Stark?” Peter could feel the phantom pain of concrete. “Who do you think apprehended the vulture?” 

A dry laugh expanded his chest, letting air finally fill his lungs, but rush out just as quickly. “Adrian Toomes was my prom date’s dad because my week hadn’t been bad enough.” Peter looked down at his arm, now covered in a plaster cast. “And when I tried to stop him, he dropped a parking garage on top of me.” 

Looking up, Peter glared at Mister Stark. “So really, it doesn’t matter when it happened. You don’t get to pick and choose what you’re going to be stiff about when you weren’t there.” 

“Peter-” Mister Stark sounded upset, he looked like he had that day on top of the building. That moment when he had taken the suit. 

But he was interrupted. 

The medbay door hissed open. 

“Tony.” Captain America entered the room, looking just like he had not even half an hour ago. 

Peter didn’t want to talk about this with Mister Stark, but he certainly did not want to talk to Captain America as radiating pain and tight breaths threatened to drown him. 

“Get out.”

Both Mister Stark and Captain America looked startled, looking at him. 

He was in pain, he was being lectured on something that hadn’t been his fault, and this Rouge is now showing up and wants to try and pick a fight with Mister Stark. 

“I said, get out.” Peter glared. “I don’t want you here. I don’t even want you within 15 miles of here, much less inside the building.”

“Parker.” Mister Stark’s voice was warning and sharp. 

He didn’t care. He didn’t. “No!” He pushed himself off the bed, ignoring every pain that screamed at him to curl up in an unreachable corner. “You don’t get to lecture me about secrets when you’re also hiding things from me!”

Mister Stark took half a step forward. “You’re not ready to be up and about, kid.”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m ready or not.” Peter snapped, leaning away from the bed’s support. “I still have to get up and do something. Because if I don’t - no one will.”

“We’ve been through this-”

“We?” Peter scoffed. “You lectured me because I had no clue if you were listening to me or not.” His chest ached, his ribs burning with every breath. “I did everything to try and reach you! And do you know what I got in response? Silence! How could I know you’d ever heard me?”

Peter held his ribs with a hiss, hating how everything ached. 

“You need to sit back down, son-” Captain America tried to input. 

Mister Stark turned on him, accusative finger once again pointed. “Don’t, Stripes. This isn’t any of your concern.”

Peter rolled his eyes. 

“Tony, I’m just trying to-”

He hobbled past both of them. “I’m getting food. If the ceiling falls again, I’m not catching it.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Peter Parker was going to kill him one of these days of pure fright, or maybe just an aneurism. 

“Wanda didn’t mean to.” 

He threw his hands up, turning on Steve. “Great! That just fixes my kid’s arm!”

Steve held up his hands in surrender. “Tony, I don’t want to fight with you.”

“You say that a lot, Spangles.” Tony gave him a dry look. “But I think you don’t mean it as often as you say it.” 

“Look, Tony.” Steve sighed. “I want you to be able to trust me, trust us. Working alone, especially to protect the entire world, is going to tear you apart.” 

Letting out his breath all at once, Tony leaned back against the bed, crossing his arms. “Yeah, well trust doesn’t come free, Rogers. Especially not after what went down in Siberia.” 

Steve winced. “Fair.”

Running a hand down his face, Tony sighed. “Why couldn’t you have just trusted me before it all fell apart? I had a plan. I was trying to work with you.”

“You’re much harder to read than you like to think, Toney.” Steve gave him a wry smile. “I can never tell if you’re thinking up some crazy science thing or just wondering what time it is.”

Tony hated how much his words sounded like Peter’s. 

Peter wished again that Mister Stark’s pain medication worked for him. 

He’d been roughed up plenty of times as Spider-Man. But Peter didn’t normally break bones. Maybe a hairline fracture here or there, but never a clean break. 

It was not worth the new “never have I ever”. 

And, of course, because the upper rooms had been destroyed, the only kitchen available was on the Avenger’s floor. 

The only reason he didn’t consider just going back to the apartment for the weekend was May. She’d ask questions if he came home early, and absolutely pester him if he came home early with a broken bone. 

His healing factor would be able to heal it completely in a week, but in 3 days it’d probably be enough to not need a cast. 

Peter stumbled out of the elevator and ignored literally anyone that was existing in the same space as him.

He was in pain. He was exhausted. His metabolism was trying to kick into high gear so his body could start healing and his stomach was crying out.

There might be a cricket sandwich in the freezer. 

Peter went and opened the freezer and wanted to just cry when he found that there was no cricket sandwich to be found. 

It meant he’d have to make something. 

His arm screamed at him. 

Letting his head fall against the refrigerator, Peter closed his eyes and worked up the will to continue looking. 

There were plenty of fruits and lunch meats in the fridge, but there wasn’t something he could just grab. 

Why? 

Why wasn’t there something easy to snag?

Didn’t these heroes experience PTSD or depression?

Why would they think there would always be enough energy to make a single meal?

A hand fell on his shoulder. “You alright?” It was the widow.

Did Mister Stark send her condolences? Or at least mourning flowers or something?

Peter took a step back and closed the fridge door with a sigh. “Why are all heroes short-sighted idiots?” 

The sound of someone laughing drew his attention up. 

The red wing dude was laughing. Falcon? No. Hawkman? That one sounded about right. Hawkman was laughing. 

Peter squinted at him. “Did you eat my cricket sandwich?”

“Excu’ me?” Hawkman made a weird face. “Did you just say cricket sandwich?”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Well I didn’t say jelly sandwich, now did I?” 

“Is your arm alright?” The winter man asked.

“Perfect, actually.” Peter fell into a chair, placing his head on the table. “Just decided to wear a cast, you know? It’s a fashion trend that I’m sure is going to catch on.” 

His arm hurt. His chest hurt. His stomach hurt. His head hurt. 

Peter just hurted. Hurt? Hurtest? 

“Where’s the old man?” Hawkman asked. “He seemed pretty concerned earlier.”

He scoffed at that. “The world needs heroes.” If Mister Stark was here he’d tell Peter not to mumble. Peter mumbled. “When you have power you have a responsibility.”

“Is that what Tony thinks?”

Peter snorted. “He thinks that if you have powers and abilities that most people don’t have, and you refuse to be checked, you’re dangerous.” He wrinkled his nose at the last part. 

“Oh, really?” 

The table was cold and smooth, which Peter appreciated, but it was not soft. “He always forgets the secret part. The part that keeps you safe.”

Peter wished he had his mask right now.

He never felt this much pain when his mask was on. 

But his arm was broken. 

He wouldn’t be able to Spider-Man.

Peter stiffened, sitting up. 

He couldn’t be out and about being Spider-Man while his arm was broken. There was absolutely no way Mister Stark would let him. 

“So you think Tony is wrong?”

Peter’s brows furrowed and he looked over at the Scarlet Witch with a frown. “About what?”

“The accords.”

The accords? Did accord stand for something? Always correctly consider open ritual doors, son. 

That didn’t make any sense. 

“Government control over superpowered individuals.”

Oh. That thing. Peter remembered that thing. 

He frowned. “It’s not that simple.” Peter tried to concentrate on his thoughts instead of the pain. “There has to be a balance between order and chaos. Neither extreme is the ideal option.”

“Does Tony think that?”

Peter scowled and waved a hand at them. “Why don’t you go ask him yourself? Go be adult people and stop pretending like you’re not acting like high schoolers.”

Gossip and drama. 

Petty and ridiculous. 

“What’s this about high schoolers?” Mister Stark’s voice entered the conversation and Peter dropped his head back onto the table with a groan. 

Something was dropped on the table next to him. “Because I’m sure you’d be the expert here, Underoos.” His mentor sounded like he was poking fun, but not in a harsh way. It was weird. 

Peter sighed and looked up and saw that it was a cricket sandwich. He gaped and turned to Mister Stark. “You took my sandwich?”

He frowned. “No? This was from the lab. We packed some leftovers there, remember?”

Peter had not remembered.

“Yeah. I was- I was just testing you.”

Tony looked concerned. “FRI, are you sure it was just his arm?”

“Yes, Boss.”

Peter waved a hand in dismissal. “Metabolism. Go brrr through the meds. Jus’ pain. Don’t worry.”

“Go brrr?” Mister Stark placed a hand on his forehead. “Kid, what does that mean?”

Peter smacked his hand away with a huff, taking the sandwich. “Super metabolism. Pain meds don’t work.”

“Super metabolism?” Captain America asked, and Peter narrowed his eyes at the super soldier. 

He carefully brought his sandwich closer to himself. It was his sandwich. “I’m not sharing.” 

Mister Stark snorted. “No one’s asking you to, Spiderling.”

“Spiderling? As in Spider-Man?” Hawkman seemed aghast. 

Peter rolled his eyes. “Why are you so surprised?”

“Well, we thought you were Stark’s kid.”

Peter choked on his sandwich. 

Mister Stark patted his back.

Setting his sandwich down Peter coughed into his fist. “I-I’m sorry. What?” He looked at Mister Stark and then back at himself. “I don’t get it. Why?”

Hawkman crossed his arms. “You’re close.” 

“Yeah? He’s my mentor.” Peter squinted at the man before turning to Mister Stark. “Are we sure he doesn’t have any brain trauma?” 

His mentor began to wheeze in laughter. But he quickly regained his composure and shook his head. “You’re trying to distract me.”

“Did it work?” Peter smiled. 

“No.” 

Shrugging, Peter took another bite from his sandwich. “Worth a try.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth open.” Mister Stark looked disgusted. Peter didn’t really care. 

“You said super metabolism.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, meds and alcohol doing nothing. Don’t ask how I know.” 

Mister Stark pinched the bridge of his nose. “I will be coming back to that. So the pain meds aren’t working?”

Shrugging he took another bite. 

His mentor ran a hand down his face as he sighed. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Something came back to him. 

Peter straightened before glaring at Mister Stark. “Wait, no. I’m still mad at you. Go away.” 

“I’m a bit more worried about your aunt’s wrath than yours, pipsqueak.”

Oh yeah. Aunt May. 

Peter groaned. “She’s going to kill me.”

Mister Stark barked out a laugh. “Kid, you’re the apple of her eye. If anyone’s going to be on the firing row for this it’ll be me.”

He stopped to consider his mentor's words before nodding. “What flowers would you like at your funeral?”

“Not helping.” Mister Stark glared at him.

Peter huffed. “Good.” He shuffled his seat a couple of inches away. “I’m still mad at you.” 

“At least let me try to help figure out this pain meds situation, kid. You’re looking miserable.” 

“Good. I am.”

“Come on, just cooperate with me.”

“No. You’re still mad at me for not telling you.”

Mister Stark ran a hand through his hair before looking up at the sky, muttering under his breath about patience. “Kid, you brought up some valid points.” He looked at Peter. “But I need you to level with me when I ask you questions to try and catch up.”

Shifting in his seat, Peter considered his sandwich. “So you’re not mad.”

“No, I am mad.”

Peter winced.

“But that isn’t our main concern right now. Now, is it?” He was looking at Peter’s cast.

Peter also looked at his cast. He sighed. “Fine. But it is not my fault.”

Mister Stark ruffled his hair. “You’re a sacrificial idiot, at least part of it is your fault. You could’ve run the other way.”

He snorted. “No, I couldn’t. I’m not just the suit, Mister Stark. Spider-Man can save people. I couldn’t just walk away.”

His mentor rolled his eyes. “See, my point? Proven.”

“See your team?” Peter countered eyes narrowed. “Broken.” He mimed a little explosion with his one free hand. 

Peter rolled his eyes. “Stop being idiots and fix it. You keep telling me to stop trying to fix problems that don’t concern me.” He smiled and held up his arm in surrender, showing  Mister Stark. “Look. Not trying to fix it.”

Mister Stark narrowed his eyes at him. “I think I liked you better when you were stumbling over yourself.”

Peter glared at him. “I liked my arm better when it wasn’t broken. We don’t always get what we want.”

“Alright.” Captain America placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Why don’t we get you to the medbay? The longer we wait around here the longer you won’t have anything to help with the pain.”

Peter huffed but stood. “Fine.”

“Why are you listening to him and not me?” Tony looked offended. 

Peter smirked. “Because I’m still mad at you.”

Hawkman sighed. “I’m surrounded by children.”

“You’re only just now realizing this?” Winter man snorted. 

Chapter Text

Peter swung his legs back and forth as he slurped loudly and obnoxiously on a juice box, still scowling. 

“Son, do you know the symptoms of PTSD?” The Captain America asked him. 

Peter responded with a drawn out slurp, maintaining eye contact as he drank his apple juice. 

“K-Kid?” The Captain waved a hand in front of his gaze. 

Peter was unperturbed. 

Mister Stark entered the room, muttering curses under his breath as he tried to balance an absurd number of textbooks. Peter’s textbooks to be exact. 

Peter finished the box before throwing it at the trash can. He easily could hold his textbooks with his mostly unbroken, mostly healed arm with ease. (His right arm was apparently worse than he’d originally expected unfortunately) 

Peter sat back down, on a chair this time, and began flipping through pages in his textbooks. 

He was a nerd, but he didn’t pull out these textbooks to be a responsible student. Peter wasn’t even necessarily interested in World History, he had always been more about science. 

As he flipped through pages carefully, he ignored the adults in the room. 

He knew they were watching him, but Peter had long since gotten used to ignoring judgmental stares. 

Peter stopped on a page, scanning the lines before his eyes locked on a word. Then he began flipping through the pages again, stopping on the right page number and scanning the text before he arrived at the right word. 

It was an old cipher he had made and memorized. Peter found the process calming. 

Meditation had never really worked for him, not with his mind in constant motion. 

But he found giving himself a pattern to numerically repeat and pairing that pattern with a motion was helpful. 

Peter felt like one comment from a break down. 

He didn’t like lifting buildings off of his head. 

He didn’t like being lectured by strangers who thought they knew him. 

He didn’t appreciate his guardians acting like they were his parents. 

His parents were dead. 

Abruptly everything was too much. 

His bones ached and his body quivered with pain. The thunderous roar of a city flooded his ears like sirens. He closed his eyes as the lights became too bright. He clenched his teeth and could taste blood. 

Silently, Peter slipped from his seat to underneath the table, pulling the chair against his legs, acting as a barrier. He pulled up the hood of his hoodie as he rested his head between his knees. He plugged his ears with his hands as best he could. 

Breathe. 

The safest place when in an earthquake was under a sturdy frame, like a doorway or a desk. 

You’re fine, Peter

He couldn’t block out the noise entirely, and it set his nerves on end. 

Why am I even freaking out like this? I’m fine. Stop freaking out.

“Pete?” Mister Stark’s muffled but loud voice called his name. “You alright down there?” 

“Fine.” Peter answered, pressing harder against his ears. “Just chilling.” 

Liar, Liar, Liar. Don’t let them find your weaknesses. Don’t show your vulnerabilities. Don’t be an idiot.

“Alright.” Mister Stark didn’t believe him. 

Duh, because I lied to him. Get a grip, Parker.

Peter wanted to be home, in his own bed, with his own space that adults weren’t allowed into, with his home’s smell because the sterile smell of the lab was making his nose burn and-  

One of the human body’s ways to regulate high levels of intense emotions is to cry. 

Peter didn’t want Mister Stark to ask why he was crying - he didn’t want anyone to see him crying. 

Because then he’d have to explain this pain that he had no words for - he’d be looking like a pathetic child who couldn’t vocalize his needs and wants. 

He was mature for his age. 

Peter Parker was an intelligent young man. 

Nobody made room or excuses for him.

Too much relied on him. 

Peter wasn’t allowed to break. 

Because breaking was failing. 

And Spider-Man could not fail. 

And Peter Parker could not break. 

What use is someone with powers if they can’t do any good?

It didn’t really matter how long it took for Peter to finally run out of tears, and for his exhaustion to overcome his tears. 

He reluctantly extricated himself from his little fortification, sniffing and doing the scurry of shame to find tissues before anyone could see his I-just-balwed-my-eyes-out expression. 

No one saw him. 

He might as well as have been the only living being left in the tower. 

No one was there to notice or ask. 

And it would have irritated him if someone had asked, but it also really really hurt that no one was checking on him. 

It was a well worn path of conflicting that he battled with himself on the regular. 

The desire for freedom but also coddling. 

Despising being restricted, but also hating feeling forgotten. 

Peter locked eyes with his reflection, noting the bags under his eyes, the discolouration that indicated a proper cry session. His hair was askew, and not in a charming, windswept way. He looked awful. He felt oily and the lingering tears made his skin feel sticky and tight. The tang of blood had been long replaced by the disgusting feel of cotton, like he had woken up from a terribly long sleep without getting any rest. 

He crept down the halls, dreading the fact that he’d need to get food still before he could even try to sleep. 

The sound of murmuring voices became clearer, more distinct, and Peter couldn’t help but wince. He took several steps back, pressing his back against the wall and sliding down as he closed his eyes and covered his ears again.

Breathe. 

He’d already had a whole cry session.

In, 1, 3, 5, 7, 13.

Right now he needed to grab food and then sleep. 

Out 3 point 1 4 5 9 0 2.

He only had to deal with the noise for a couple minutes before he could retreat. 

You’re fine, Parker

He could do this. 

In and Out

And he did. 

He did it. 

He could barely remember most of the details, he didn’t bother comprehending any of their conversation (he didn’t have the capacity for that at this point), he didn’t look at anyone. Peter got his food and then left. 

So now he sat in the pitch dark on the ceiling, munching on a bag of cookies.

It wasn’t a good meal. 

It wasn’t even ideal.

But Peter did not have the energy to fight that fight tonight. 

So he ate his cookies, gathered his blankets before making a makeshift hammock in the top corner of the room, placing his back against the corner and the blankets obscuring him from obvious sight.

If anyone came looking for him, it’d be a moment before they’d see him.

They’d have to turn on the light, turn their gaze above eye level to the ceiling, identify Peter’s web hammock, and get Peter. 

So much more trouble than it would be worth. 

Probably.

Hopefully. 

Peter fell asleep sometime long after the night sky turned to dawn through the window. 

No one came to wake Peter up, but that was probably for the best. 

Despite his wariness, his body had demanded the rest. By the time he woke up again, the sun indicated a little past noon. 

The light hurt a little, but it wasn’t as bad as the day before. 

Peter had no interest in leaving his cocoon, but his healing factor required of him fooooooooood. His stomach gremlined, a squeaky and growly sound that indicated his hunger. 

He really did not want to walk on the ground right now.

So, ceiling walking it was. 

Ceilking? 

No. 

That sounded too much like ‘sulking’ and Peter was feeling particularly incensed after the disaster that was yesterday.  

It was just a Peter Jaunt. 

Peter Jaunt! Peter Jaunt! Does whatever the Peter want(s)! On he walks! Wow, he walks! Here goes the Peter Jaunt!

One benefit to having spider powers was the lack of traffic on the ceiling. 

And also, people didn’t tend to notice Peter if they weren’t looking for him. 

Which was often.

Sneaky Pete! Sneaky Pete! So Sneaky, You Won’t See! Here Comes Sneaky Pete!

Technically adults were present and conversing below, but Peter didn’t really care. 

. . . 

Though, that didn’t mean he wasn’t listening. 

“The kid seems like a good enough kid.” Falcon was talking, sipping from an obnoxiously pink mug that said ’Not It’.

The Black Widow snorted into her cereal, covering her mouth before speaking. “Of course he does, he’s Spider-Man.” 

Captain America had bags under his eyes, holding his mug upside down and clearly not having noticed this fact yet. “He’s a kid.” 

The dude with the metal arm pointed at the Captain with a spatula. “You were a kid.”

The Captain glared at the scruffy looking man. “I was 18.” 

“Riiiight.” Leaning over the counter, scruffy and dark crossed his arms. “And I am a professional at making flower crowns.” He then turned to the others and a smirk tugged at the edges of his dry expression. “He faked his records, the ‘fficial ones are wrong.” 

Falcon looked amused, glancing between the two men. “Really, Cap?”

“I will deny all accusations.” 

Peter sat on the ceiling, sitting criss-crossed. “I thought we weren’t supposed to lie.”

Most everyone startled at his voice, spilling drinks and breakfasts. The Black Widow didn’t even twitch, and scruffy nodded at Peter in acknowledgement. 

“Why is there a child on the ceiling?!” Falcon looked like he was having a heart attack. 

Peter scowled at the man, but he didn’t really have anything to throw at the peasant, so he’d remain in position. 

Captain America was the first to recover. “Mornin’, Scout.”

Peter frowned, squinting at him. “Did you willingly do the video PSA’s?” 

The smile of Captain America faded like Peter’s hope of having a normal life. “Pardon?”

“The ones they play in schools.” Peter paused. 

Did the videos just play in New York? 

He was pretty sure that they were all across the states, but he didn’t know for sure. 

He knew that district lines could affect police coordination, so it probably would affect schools too . . . 

“-no idea what the kid is talking about,” Captain America was trying to say.

Hmmm. 

Peter needed to get food. 

Ugh.

But he didn’t want to obey gravity right now. 

Oh wait!

The pantry!

He made his way over to the food trove, only to be greatly disappointed.

The cookies were all gone.

Who had eaten his beloved cookies? 

(It was him. Peter had eaten the cookies.)

Peter decided to stay in the pantry, shifting to sit on the tippy top shelf, munching on protein bars because apparently his healing factor didn’t think his dinner was enough.

He was pretty sure others tried to get into the pantry, but he had kept the door closed.

He loved his webs.

They were really great.

These protein bars were awful, but that didn’t really matter at this point. 

Peter was feeling cranky today, and because he wasn’t with Aunt May there was no one to stop him being a pest. 

Peter was really good at sticking around when he wasn’t wanted.

Chapter Text

Peter Parker woke up with an ache in his arm.

He groaned, sitting up, stomach doing flips at the movement.

The pain meds were wearing off.

Peter pushed his good arm beneath him, shakily getting to his feet. He leaned against the wall, using it as a support as he made his way to the common room.

Through the floor to ceiling windows he could see the New York skyline light up, filling the night with lights.  Someone was sleeping on a couch, their soft snoring letting Peter know where they were. Other than them, no one was in sight.

Peter staggered over to the kitchen, leaning against the counters as he took several deep breaths in.

His stomach rolled.

Pressing his forehead against the cool marble, Peter let out a pained breath. The pain from his arm was starting to make him feel nauseous.

Unbidden, his traitorous mind whispered, ‘ Mister Stark would know what to do. ’

He ground his teeth at the thought. Peter wasn’t going to go whining to Mister Stark just because his arm hurt.

It didn’t matter in the long run, anyways. Mister Stark didn’t have to care about a random teenager.

The snoring from the couch stuttered to a stop, and someone groaned as the woke up, stretching as they sat up.

Of course it was Mister Stark.

This was his tower for Pete’s sake.

It seemed to take Mister Stark a moment to realize that Peter was in the room. He yawned. “Do you normally roam around in the dark?”

Peter didn’t bother answering, straightening.

“What time is it?” Mister Stark squinted at his watch before sighing. “New record for consecutive hours slept.”

Mister Stark stretched, still groggy from his nap, before glancing up at Peter. “You need anything?”

Peter winced at the offer. He should say yes. He should ask for help, maybe a better bandage or something. “I’m fine.”

Mister Stark eyed him, not convinced. “You sure? You don’t look fine.”

“I’m not looking for your pity, Mister Stark.”

The words came out sharper than Peter had intended. His stomach turned in on itself as soon as they left his mouth.

Mister Stark blinked, surprised, but then the mask dropped. His expression softened, just a fraction, and his gaze grew more focused. “I didn’t offer you pity, Pete. I was just trying to help.”

Peter flinched, his gaze darting to the window. He didn’t want this. Didn’t want to feel like this.

“Yeah, well, it’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

Again, the words dripped from his lips like bloodied water, acrid and thoughtless.

Mister Stark frowned, getting up and moving toward the counter. “Is everything alright, Underoos?”

Peter bit his lip and tried to keep himself from crying.

“Sorry.”

That only made Mister Stark frown harder.

“Sorry for what?”

Peter took in a breath that was far too shaky.

“For being rude. Insulting you. For fighting.”

Mister Stark’s frown deepened, but his voice softened. “Peter, don’t do that. You’re not just ‘rude’—this isn’t about fighting or insulting me. What’s going on?”

Peter couldn’t meet his gaze, feeling exposed in a way that made him itch. His pulse quickened as a lump formed in his throat. “I just… I’m just tired, okay?”

Mister Stark crossed his arms, still watching him closely. “Yeah? Tired from what?”

Peter took a deep breath, bracing himself, but the words started to spill out faster than he could stop them. “From everything. From the fights, from being… useful all the time. From people needing me, even when I can’t give anything back.” He held his arm closer, careful. “From watching you barely even notice that I’m falling apart.”

Mister Stark blinked, and his mouth opened, but no words came. The rawness of Peter’s voice hung between them like a living thing, vibrating in the air.

Peter could feel it—the way the room felt colder, the silence suddenly stretching out longer than he’d expected. And then, just as quickly, Mister Stark took a step closer.

“Pete…” Mister Stark started, his voice a little too soft. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I wasn’t trying to—”

“But you did ,” Peter interrupted, his voice cracking slightly. “You pulled away, like you always do when things get hard. I’m just… I’m just not good enough, right?”

It was embarrassing how quickly tears were welling up in his eyes.

Mister Stark looked lost, but he didn’t back away. “Peter Parker, you are more than enough.” He sighed. “I’m just bad at showing it.”

Peter didn’t trust himself to say anything.

“Kid, you’re better than all of us,” Mister Stark said it like it was real, like he was confident that Peter was something special.

Peter’s eyes stung with tears and his voice broke. “Then why am I so alone?”

Mister Stark’s voice softened, the words coming slower now. “You’re not alone, Peter.”

Peter shook his head, trying to pull himself together, but the words slipped out before he could stop them. “Feels like it.” He couldn’t look at him—didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes, didn’t want to feel more exposed. He swallowed hard, his chest tight. “It doesn’t matter. You can’t just say sorry and fix it.”

Mister Stark paused, the silence heavy between them. Peter could feel him move closer, but he still didn’t look up. The ache in his arm, the tightness in his throat—everything felt so overwhelming, like the walls were closing in.

“I know I can’t fix everything, Pete,” Mister Stark said quietly, his voice almost too soft. “But I can try. I can try to be the Mentor you need me to be.”

Peter took a shaky breath, his voice cracking. “It’s hard… being here. Not knowing where I belong, or if you really care about me. Or if I’m just some kid you keep around because you feel like you should.”

Mister Stark’s footsteps stopped. Peter could feel his presence, but he still didn’t want to look at him. The tension in the room made his skin crawl.

“I care about you, Peter,” Mister Stark’s voice cracked, like it cost him something to say it. “I’m sorry it took me so long to show you that.”

Peter bit his lip, looking away. “I’m not normally this emotional.”

Mister Stark allowed the subject change. “How’s your arm?”

“Hurts,” Peter admitted.

“Is that why you’re up?” Mister Stark placed a hand on his shoulder. “Pete, did the meds wear off?”

Peter nodded.

Mister Stark breathed in deeply before he spoke. “Peter, if you’re in pain, please come get me.”

“You were sleeping.” Peter shrugged.

At that Mister Stark rolled his eyes. “And an itsy bisty spider wasn’t.”

“I’m fine, really,” Peter protested.

Mister Stark gave him an unimpressed look. “Sit down before you faint. I’m going to get some pain killers for you, alright?”

Peter followed the instructions, though not before considering just swinging back to the apartment regardless of his injuries.

Peter sat down, trying to ignore the sting in his chest, the quiet ache of his arm, and the discomfort of everything else. His gaze drifted towards the window again, the skyline glimmering in the distance. It felt like the world was too big, too vast for him to understand.

Mister Stark disappeared into the other room, leaving Peter to his thoughts. Every breath seemed to hang a little too heavy in the air. It wasn’t just the pain in his arm. It was the words they had exchanged, the things Peter hadn’t been able to take back.

He was so tired of this. Of fighting. Of being the kid everyone needed but no one truly saw.

“Here,” Mister Stark’s voice broke through the silence, and Peter looked up to see him returning with a small bottle of painkillers and a glass of water. He didn’t say anything, just handed it over.

Peter accepted the meds silently, swallowing them without looking at him. He felt embarrassed about how weak he’d sounded earlier, but the pain was starting to subside, just a little. He wondered how much longer it would take for this to feel less… broken.

“I’m sorry,” Mister Stark said quietly after a beat, sitting across from Peter. “I should’ve been there for you. I know I’ve pulled away, and I shouldn’t have. It wasn’t fair to you.”

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold back the sting of more tears. “I don’t know how to make this stop, Mister Stark. I want to be strong, but it’s just so hard.”

Mister Stark sighed, rubbing his temple. “I don’t have all the answers, Pete. But I’ll try. I don’t want you to feel like you’re carrying all of this alone anymore. We’re a team, okay? That means we fight together. And that means I’m here for you—no matter what.”

Peter finally met his gaze, and for the first time, he didn’t see just the mentor or the superhero. He saw Tony Stark, a man who had made mistakes but was trying, genuinely trying, to make things right.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” Peter said softly.

“You’re not a burden,” Mister Stark replied, his voice firm. “And you never will be.”

“You don’t have to care,” Peter said. He half hoped that Mister Stark would take the out.

Mister Stark sighed. “I know that, Underoos. That doesn’t change the fact that I do care.”

They sat in silence for a while.

It took Peter until the meds started kicking in to get the courage to speak up again. “Can you apologize to the Avengers for me? I didn’t mean to be rude.”

Mister Stark snorted. “Kid, you were sassy, not rude.”

Peter frowned. “Didn’t I say something rude to Captain America?”

Mister Stark waved a dismissive hand. “He’s an adult, he can take care of himself.”

“But, isn’t he the reason why you scrapped an armor set?” Peter asked.

“Scrapped?” Mister Stark looked confused.

“The fight after the airport,” Peter elaborated. “You flew off and didn’t come back with your suit.”

Mister Stark looked pained. “Oh. That one.”

Peter nodded. “Wasn’t that because of Captain America?”

Mister Stark gave him a pained smile. “You’re clever, kid. But Cap isn’t the reason why that suit was scrapped. It takes two to tango.”

“You did the tango?” Peter’s brows furrowed before his cheeks flushed. “I mean- that was an idiom wasn’t it?”

Mister Stark let out a soft laugh. “I think the meds are finally kicking in.”