Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Do you know what time it is?”

The lamp on the desk flicks on, illuminating the man sitting in the chair, and if not for the fact that Peter is the one being caught sneaking in through the bedroom window, he’d give his foster father credit for the sheer drama of the moment. It’s straight out of a movie.

Peter straightens up to his feet and makes a show of checking his left wrist, which is bare. “I lost my Rolex.”

Skip stands up, his face thunderous. “It’s past 2 AM. Where the fuck have you been?”

“Out.”

“Out,” Skip repeats. “Out where?”

“I was just around. Y’know—”

He’s cut off by Skip grabbing his arm, dragging him around the bed that had been providing a barrier between them. “No, I don’t know. Were you out getting high again?” He sniffs, as if he’d be able to smell the drugs on Peter.

Peter shakes his head. “No.” Which is the truth, for once.

He was out selling drugs. There’s a distinct difference.

Skip’s grip on his arm is tight and bruising, but Peter doesn’t try to pull away. Skip only gets more angry when he does. “You’re lying,” he hisses.

“I’m not.”

Skip shakes him. “What are you on?”

“Why? Do you want some?”

That earns him a backhand, and Peter stumbles against the end of the bed. He jumps back up, not wanting to be lying over the bed.

“I’m not high,” Peter insists. “I was just at a party but I only had a couple drinks. I swear.” He raises his hands placatingly.

Skip gives him another shove, towards the middle of the room, and stalks around him to the still open window. “I’m nailing this shut,” he says.

“Right now?”

“Yes.” Skip stomps out of the room, but returns after only a few minutes, toolbox in tow.

“Are you kidding me?” Peter asks, incredulous. “What if there’s a fire?!”

“Then you can burn to death, and we’ll all be better off for it.” Skip slams the window closed. He opens the toolbox on the bed, pulling out a couple of nails and spilling them across the bedspread. The hammer is next.

Peter can only watch, stunned, as Skip follows through on the threat, hammering first one, and then another nail into the window sill. He goes for a third, but brings the hammer down on his own thumb and starts cursing, which serves him right.

Tiffany, Peter’s foster mother, appears in the doorway. “What the hell are you doing?” she demands.

“Making sure he doesn’t sneak out,” Skip says. He sucks on his sore thumb, then starts shaking his hand out.

“He’s gone insane,” Peter tells her.

Skip waves the hammer in the air, and Peter ducks instinctively, even though Skip is across the room. “You’re going to start doing what I tell you, or there’s going to be hell to pay.”

“Like there isn’t already,” Peter shoots back at him.

Skip sneers at him. “You want to go try your luck with someone else, boy? Go on then. Pick up the phone. Call your social worker. Tell her how mean I am. But you can be sure I’ll tell her all about the drugs you’ve been bringing into my house, and you’ll wind up in juvie, where the best you can hope for is being someone’s little bitch. And then you can kiss that fancy school goodbye. No more school. No college applications. No future for you. Not that you’re going to amount to anything anyway.”

Peter’s breathing hard by the end of Skip’s little speech, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Before he can reply, Tiffany steps into the room, her hand raised toward Skip.

“Honey, let’s go back to bed. It’s late.”

“I know it’s goddamn late,” Skip says. “He’s the reason we’re all up late.”

“You can deal with him in the morning. Just come back to bed.” Her hand lands on his arm, coaxing him to put down the hammer finally.

Peter ducks back out of the way when Skip walks past him, but he doesn’t reach for Peter again, just stomps out of the room.

Tiffany pauses to gather up the toolbox before following, not giving Peter a second glance.

After she’s gone the door slams shut and locks. From the outside.

- - -

The thing is… The thing is Peter should be able to stand up to Skip.

Ever since that field trip at the beginning of freshman year, when he’d gotten bitten by that weird spider, Peter has been stronger, and faster. He can hear better, he can jump farther, he can stick to shit, like there’s super glue on his hands and feet, and it lets him climb up the wall when the ladder for the fire escape is broken. 

He should, by all accounts, be able to use these abilities to get himself out of the shitty situations he’s always finding himself in.

And yet, every time Skip raises his voice, or his hand, Peter freezes. The most he can do is mouth off, and that just earns him a harder hit. But if Skip is hitting him then he’s not—

Peter would rather take a beating than the alternative.

He’s lived here since he was thirteen. Skip and Tiffany had been so nice at first, helping him with the paperwork to get into Midtown. Not even his social worker, Ms. Dennis, thought he’d get in. No one has thought he’d be able to keep his grades up enough to stay. And he wants to stay at Midtown. He wants to graduate and go to college and get the fuck out of here.

Ms. Dennis had made it clear, when he moved in with the Westcotts, that if this didn’t work out his next stop was a group home. And none of the group homes are close enough for him to still attend Midtown.

So he doesn’t stand up to Skip. Not even when Skip is drunk and acting insane and nailing his window shut. Peter could pry it open, but it’s not worth the fight that would ensue. Not worth the beating he’d get for it.

It’s better to let Skip cool down for a few days, wait until he’s not thinking about the window anymore.

Peter is playing the long game.

- - -

It’s Tiffany that lets him out the next morning. She has dark circles under her eyes, and crosses her arms over her chest as she stands in the doorway. “If you didn’t stay out until all hours of the night, he wouldn’t have to lock you in.”

“Right.” Peter nods. “I’m the one who’s a problem.”

“Watch your tone.”

He rolls his eyes.

She glares at him. “If you sneak out again, I’ll be the one who calls your social worker and tells her we don’t want you anymore.”

Peter narrows his eyes at her. “No you won’t,” he says.

“Try me.”

“Skip won’t let you.”

Tiffany’s eyebrows climb up her forehead. “He doesn’t dictate everything in this house.”

“Yeah, he does,” Peter says. “And he’s not going to kick me out.”

The reason for that lies between them, unspoken, and all the louder for it.

Tiffany pulls back her hand, and then slaps him across the cheek.

Peter turns his head with the blow, and then brings a hand up to his stinging cheek as he looks back at her.

“Get out of my sight,” she says.

“This is my room,” he points out.

“Out!” she shrieks at him.

“Okay, okay!” Good thing he’s already dressed for the day. He ducks down, grabbing his backpack, and scoots around her to get out the door.

He’d rather spend the day away from the Westcott’s apartment anyway.

- - -

Peter roams aimlessly. He spends half the day at the library doing his homework, and eventually finds himself texting Ali that night, when he’s bored out of his mind and he’s eaten all the granola bars he had stashed in his backpack.

Ali and his crew are hanging out in the usual spot, a house across the street from the largest park in the neighborhood, and Peter makes his way there at a slow pace, not in any hurry.

“Parker, where have you been hiding?” Eric demands, as soon as Peter knocks on the door.

“I’ve been around,” Peter says, shouldering his way in. The house is a mess, furniture askew and mess littered across the floor. “Do you slobs ever clean up?”

“The maids haven’t been by,” Eric says with a laugh. He shoves Peter between the shoulders. “That’s why we keep you around.”

Peter stumbles, but stays on his feet, narrowly avoiding hitting the couch. “I’m not cleaning up after you,” he says. He eyes the coffee table. “Is that coke?”

There’s a gun there too, but he’s trying to ignore that.

Ali is leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, arms crossed. “Not for you,” he says.

“C’mon man, just one hit,” Peter begs. It’s getting late, and he’s going to have to go back home eventually. He’d rather be high when he does.

“You got money?”

Peter frowns at him.

Ali scoffs. “That’s what I thought. No.”

“I’ll get you some later,” Peter tries.

“No,” Ali says, staying firm.

“Just one—”

“You already owe me, Parker. You lost the last batch of pills I gave you.”

Peter takes a step back, but Eric is behind him, and there are a couple of other guys there now too, among them Diya, who’s large enough to actually be frightening even when he’s not actively threatening anyone. He turns back to Ali. “I had to, the cops busted that party.”

“And you didn’t pay me back,” Ali says.

“I can make it up to you.”

“Yeah,” Ali says, “you can.” He waves a hand, and Eric moves, pulling aside some of the drywall to reveal a hidey-hole. Inside the wall cavity there are white blocks of drugs packaged and stacked, cocaine probably. Peter stares. He’s never seen so much at once.

“What the fuck?” he mutters. That’s got to be several millions worth of drugs. “When did you guys go big time?”

“I’ve got a new partner,” Ali says, as if it’s no big deal.

“Who is it?” Peter asks. “The fucking cartel?”

From behind, Diya smacks him upside the head. Peter stumbles forward, rubbing his head. “Ow.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Diya says.

Eric removes a few smaller packets, holding them out to Peter. He doesn’t move to take them.

“You go to those rich white kid parties, right? Find some buyers, move the merchandise, I might forgive your debts.”

“Is this coke?” Peter asks.

“Heroin.”

“Those kids don’t do heroin,” he argues. “They like weed and coke and pills.”

Ali’s eyes are narrowed, his mouth thin.

Peter raises his hands. “I swear. You want me to sell them shit it’s gotta be shit they’ll buy. They won’t buy heroin. They want the fun, easy stuff.”

Ali shakes his head, but waves a hand at Eric. “Fine, give him coke.” He points a finger at Peter. “Don’t sample any of it.”

Peter raises his hand. “Scouts honor,” he says.

That earns him a confused look from everyone in the room since none of them have ever been boy scouts, himself included. He smiles. “You got any oxy?”

“Take the coke and get out, Parker.”

“Right, yeah. Just—”

“Now.”

Peter shoves the coke into the pocket of his backpack, and goes.

- - -

Skip is in the living room when he gets home, watching ESPN Classic and drinking beer. That usually means he’s in a good mood, and sure enough he doesn’t even comment on what time it is, or on where Peter has been. He just waves Peter in, saying, “Come watch the game.”

Peter hesitates at the edge of the couch, fist tight around the strap of his backpack. “Who’s playing?”

“‘09 NBA Finals,” Skip says. “Lakers are about to win.”

“It’s boring if you already know how it ends.”

“It’s Kobe,” Skip argues. “This is greatness in action. Sit down and watch.” He gestures to the other seat on the couch with his beer bottle.

It’s not really an option, when he phrases it that way. Peter sets his bag down on the floor and sits, as close to the edge of the couch as he can.

Skip opens another beer from the six pack on the coffee table, and holds it out to Peter.

“You know I’m fourteen, right?”

“You want it or not?”

Peter takes the beer.

Tiffany is nowhere to be seen. Which is for the best, really, because the game isn’t even over before Skip has closed the distance between them on the couch, crowding into Peter’s personal space, his hands roaming over Peter’s skin and down to his pants.

The beer isn’t strong enough. Peter wishes he’d done some of the coke.

When Skip finally gets off of him, some time later, Peter doesn’t move. He lays there on the couch, listening to the thump of the basketball and the squeak of the shoes and announcer's voice on TV as the old game plays, but the screen is just a blur of colors. 

After a little while, Skip comes back and nudges him. “Get up.”

“Why?” Peter asks.

“You can’t lay here all night. Go to your room.”

Peter groans, rolling over until he rolls off the couch and onto his hands and knees. 

Skip is standing over him, drinking another beer. He frowns down at him. “What is your problem?”

“Besides you?” Peter mutters. He yanks his shirt back on.

“Don’t get smart.”

Peter rolls his eyes. He stands up and grabs a beer off the coffee table. They’re nearly room temperature at this point, but Skip doesn’t protest.

Back in his own room, Peter downs the beer quickly, ignoring how gross it is, and when that has no effect, digs through his backpack for the coke. It’s stupid to use the drugs he’s meant to be selling, Ali will have kept track, but Peter can just charge more to make up for it.

He uses his school ID to make a line on his desk, and rolls up a dollar bill to snort it. It burns his nostril, but the high hits within just a few minutes, and it’s not that he feels like none of the past half hour happened, but it just feels like it matters a lot less. He feels something close to happy, or what he thinks happiness might be, for a little bit.

And he’ll take what he can get.

Chapter Text

Ned is too nice to be Peter’s friend. Ned is clean cut and he gets good grades and participates in after school activities and he helps his grandmother cook dinner every night and the hardest drug he’s ever done is tylenol.

Peter has no idea why Ned is his friend.

It started because Flash, one of the kids Peter sells to, was bullying Ned, and Peter had stood up for him. He hadn’t done much, really. He’d just told him to knock it off. Flash, who’s intimidated by Peter but tries to act like he isn’t, had turned away from shoving Ned into the locker and shoved Peter instead, and then he’d stalked off down the hallway, his jock friends following him, and Ned had turned to Peter with hero-worship in his eyes. And Ned has been Peter’s friend ever since.

It’s really useful sometimes. Like now, when Peter can sit down at lunch and ask, “Did you do the math homework?”

Ned nods. “Of course.” He frowns. “You didn’t?”

“I was busy,” Peter says. He doesn’t elaborate.

Ned’s frown deepens, but he turns away, digging into his backpack and producing his notebook. “Here.”

“You are a lifesaver, man.”

There’s a scoff from further down the table, and they both turn to find Michelle Jones pointedly ignoring them, her nose in a book.

“What’s your problem?” Peter asks her.

“You’re cheating, that’s my problem,” she says, looking away from her book to stare at him.

“My friend is helping me with my homework.”

“Whatever you say.” She looks back down at the book.

“Right. That’s what I say. Why don’t you mind your own business?” He glares at her.

She doesn’t acknowledge him again.

He turns away from her, annoyed.

Ned looks a bit nervous. “Maybe you shouldn’t copy—”

“She’s not going to tell anyone. I’ll mess a few up so it’s not exact. Don’t worry.”

Ned is still chewing on his bottom lip, but doesn’t complain again.

He copies the problems and solutions down in between scarfing down his lunch and is nearly finished when Flash interrupts them.

“Hey, Parker.”

“Hey, Thompson.”

Flash is glaring, but he’s the one who approached Peter, so Peter just stares back at him.

After a minute, Flash finally says, “I’m having a party this weekend.”

“That’s nice for you,” Peter says.

“At my house,” Flash adds.

Peter just nods. “And I’m supposed to care because… Why?” He looks around at the jocks that are always following Flash. Well, what counts for jocks at this school. They play lacrosse. They’d be eaten alive at any other school.

Flash looks annoyed. He leans down, hands braced on the table. His voice is low. “Look, just show up and bring some shit, okay?”

Peter leans toward him, his own voice low as well. “What shit are you talking about, exactly? Use your words.”

“You know what I mean.”

Peter raises a brow, trying to look innocent. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Fuck you, Parker. You better be there.” Flash reaches forward, shoving Peter in the shoulder.

Peter laughs.

Flash turns, stalking off, and Peter keeps grinning at his back. This is actually good news for him, he can probably off-load all of the coke Ali gave him at Flash’s party, and at a good price. But messing with Flash is its own private joy.

“Did Flash just invite you to his party?” Ned asks.

“Sort of,” Peter says.

“You’re gonna take me with you, right?”

Peter looks at him, frowning now. “I don’t—”

“We never get invited to parties! This is awesome!”

Peter stares back at Ned, at a loss for how to tell Ned he can’t go. Peter’s not sure if Ned has realized that Peter sells drugs. Ned knows that Peter does them, sometimes, but selling them is a whole other ballgame. And Ned always gets this look on his face, like he’s so worried and disappointed when he finds out Peter’s been using. It’s almost enough to make Peter feel bad about doing it, because Ned is the only person who ever asks him how he’s doing. Ned invites him over for dinner with his family sometimes. Ned’s lola sends him home with leftovers in tupperware dishes.

“Peter, we have to go!” Ned insists.

Peter hesitates. “It’s probably going to be lame.”

“It’s going to be awesome. You’ll see!”

- - -

The party is lame. Its only redeeming quality is that it’s a rich kid party, so everyone has raided their parent’s liquor cabinets, or bought whatever they’ve seen their parents drink, which means the liquor is top shelf.

Peter drags Ned past the living room, where Flash has set up an actual fucking DJ booth, and into the kitchen, looking for alcohol.

Ned’s eyes are wide, despite the fact that he wore a funky hat. “That’s a lot of booze,” he says.

“What do you want?” Peter asks. He reaches for the vodka and tips a generous amount into a red solo cup.

“Uh… whatever you’re having.”

“You sure? There’s probably some seltzers around here somewhere.”

“No, it’s fine,” Ned insists.

Peter shrugs and mixes up two vodka sodas, but adds a liberal pour of cranberry juice to Ned’s. Ned still makes a face as he drinks it.

“Why are you two at this lame party?” someone asks, and Peter turns to find Michelle standing in the doorway.

He frowns at her. “How did you get invited?”

She actually looks hurt for a moment, and he almost feels bad, but then her expression returns to her normal blank look and she says, “Flash is in AcaDec. He invited the whole team.”

“I’m in AcaDec too,” Ned says, confused. “And I’m only here because—” He stops, blushing, and takes a drink.

“Flash is an asshole,” Peter tells him. “You should ignore him.”

Ned keeps drinking.

“I like your hat,” Michelle tells Ned.

“Oh, thanks!”

Peter feels grateful enough to her for that that he asks if she wants a drink, but she shakes her head.

Ned says something else to Michelle about the Academic Decathlon they’re both in, and Peter waits a minute before he says, “Hey, I’ll be right back.”

He ducks out of the kitchen and into the hallway, looking around for one of the guys who usually buys from him. The baggies of coke he’s carrying in the pocket of his hoodie feel like they’re burning a hole through it.

He finds Aiden first, standing in the hall and talking to a girl. Aiden spots him and grins. “Hey, you made it!”

These guys are only happy to see him when they want drugs.

Aiden raises a hand, and Peter clasps it. Aiden pulls him into a back-slapping, bro-ed out hug.

“Uh, yeah man,” Peter says. “I’m here.” He steps back, taking a few sips of his drink.

Aiden grins at the girl. “Pete here is the party guy.”

“Party guy?” she asks.

Aiden leans down toward her, and even Peter can tell that he’s looking down her dress as he does. “Have you ever been high?”

The girl shakes her head.

“You’ll love it, babe.” He turns to Peter. “How much?”

Peter eyes him. “$60.”

Aiden looks a bit taken aback. “That’s more than last time.”

“You want enough for both of you, right?” Peter’s not actually going to give him more than one bag. One bag is plenty for them both. But Aiden’s just promised this chick a high. He’ll pay whatever price Peter names just to prove he can buy it.

Aiden grumbles, but pulls his wallet out. “You’re lucky I have that much on me.”

“I think you’re the lucky one, man. If you didn’t have it you wouldn’t be getting anything.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Aiden hands him the cash, and Peter slips him the baggie.

“How do you know it’s safe?” the girl asks.

“It is,” Peter says.

“How do you know?” she asks. “People die from that stuff all the time. It’s on the news.” Her eyes are wide, and not in the excited way that Peter is sure Aiden was hoping for.

“It’s fine,” Aiden tells her.

“But what if—”

“Look, Peter will do some with us. Yeah?” Aiden nudges him. “If he’s willing to do it and not just sell it then it’s safe.”

“I don’t need to—” Peter tries to say.

“Just a little.”

“Fine, whatever,” he says.

Which is how he winds up crammed into the bathroom with Aiden and his girlfriend, who’s name Peter still doesn’t know, snorting lines off the countertop.

Aiden’s girlfriend looks startled after she’s done it, and her eyes are watering. “It tastes bad,” she says. She’s wiping at her nose.

“Have a drink,” Aiden tells her.

Peter hands her his vodka soda, and she downs half of what’s left of it.

He leaves after they start making out against the wall.

One down.

The party is a lot more fun now that he’s high. The music is better, and he dances to it a bit as he walks around. He makes a new drink, and sells a couple more bags for a good price, including one to Flash. When he finally finds Ned again, Ned is sitting outside on the back porch, talking to Michelle.

Peter stumbles out the door, nearly tripping over them. “What are you guys doing out here?”

“It was hot inside,” Michelle says.

“It is hot inside,” Peter agrees. He shoves the sleeves of his hoodie up, baring his arms to the cooler air. He sits down next to her, and looks up at the sky. It’s cloudy, and the clouds are tinged red from the city lights. “I wish you could see the stars.”

“You have to leave the city,” Michelle says.

“I’ve never left the city,” Peter says.

“Never?” she asks, sounding curious.

He shakes his head.

“What about for vacation?”

“You have to have parents to take you on vacation,” he says. He imagines what that would be like. He’s had some nicer foster parents, but even they never spent a lot of money on him, and vacations cost money.

Michelle looks distressed. “Oh, I, uh… sorry,” she says.

“Why are you sorry?”

She hesitates. 

Peter reaches out to pat her knee, which is bare except for tights. She’s wearing a short skirt and boots. “It’s not your fault I have shitty foster parents,” he says. Pat pat. Then he realizes what he’s doing and jerks his hand back, away from her. “Sorry.”

Now Ned is frowning at him. “You haven’t said they’re shitty before.”

Peter laughs. “They are very shitty. The absolute shittiest. Skip could not be shittier if he tried. And I think he tries, sometimes. Y’know? I think he sits there and thinks ‘how can I make Peter’s life suck donkey balls today?’ and the answer that comes to him is fucking—”

“Are you on something?” Michelle asks, suddenly. She grabs his chin, peering at his face.

Peter pulls away from her. “I’m high on life,” he says.

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters. She gets to her feet. “I’m going home. Ned, do you want to leave?”

Ned looks between them. “I’m not sure we should leave him.”

“You should go,” Peter tells him. He peers into the cup he’s holding, trying to judge how much alcohol is left in it. Not enough. “I’m going to get another drink.”

He stumbles back to his feet, heading back in the house. Ned doesn’t follow him.

The next drink leaves Peter feeling nauseous all of a sudden, and he’s still in the upstairs bathroom when the cops bust the party.

The only way out is through the window. It’s a straight drop from here to the ground two stories below, but Peter got sticky powers now. That’s not a problem for him. He’s also high as a kite, and not afraid of dying at the moment, which helps too.

The thing that is a problem is that the window is on the front of the house, and he’s spotted hanging from the windowsill by about five cops. They gather below him, yelling, and Peter looks down, waving at them.

“Just hold on,” someone yells.

“Don’t fall!”

Peter lets go.

No one catches him, but he manages to land on his feet in a low crouch, and then promptly tips over onto his ass.

They ask if he’s hurt, touching his legs, and he jerks away, trying to stand up.

Then, when it’s evident that he’s fine, they pat him down and find the cocaine in his pocket.

They’re a lot less nice to him after that.

- - -

Peter demands a lawyer first thing when they drag him into the police precinct.

The officer pulling Peter along by the arm just says, “Later,” and pulls him past a bench full of kids from the party. 

One of them jumps up, pointing. “That’s him! That’s the kid who had the drugs.”

“You keep your mouth shut!” Peter screams back at him.

“He was selling them!”

Peter tries to launch himself at the rich bastard who’s selling him out, and he’s strong enough that the officer loses his grip on him. “You bastard! You think you can sell me out! You think I don’t know people who will kill you?!”

The kid pulls back, and by then there are several officers jumping on top of Peter, tackling him to the ground. His head hits the floor, and he sees stars for a minute. By the time his vision clears he’s been dragged to his feet and he’s being hauled away from the other kids.

They leave him in an interrogation room, and it’s a long wait before two cops come in.

“I want a lawyer,” Peter says again. His head is pounding. “I want to sue you for police brutality.”

The skinnier cop rolls his eyes. “Sure,” he says. “You’ll get one. We need your parents' names.”

“I’d like to know them too, so if you figure it out let me know.”

That earns him a confused look.

“I haven’t got any parents,” Peter says.

“Who have you got then?” Chubby Cop asks.

“The great state of New York.” At their blank looks, Peter explains, “I’m in foster care.”

“Number for your foster parents? Or social worker?”

He gives them Skip’s number. Not that Skip is going to pay to bail him out.

Well, maybe if he decides he wants his cock sucked badly enough.

Skinny Cop leans forward across the table. “So according to everyone else at the party, you brought the drugs.”

“They’re lying.”

“You had a gram of coke on you. In dime baggies. We’ve got you on possession and intent to sell. You’re drunk and high, that’s intent to use. These are all felonies. You’re looking at being locked up in juvie until you turn 18, and that’s if they don’t try you as an adult.”

“I’m fourteen,” Peter says.

“I don’t give a shit how old you are. You were dealing drugs. But I know you’re not smart enough to be the mastermind behind the operation. So, here’s your option. And it’s your only option. Tell us where you got the drugs, and we can help you out. Cut you a deal. We’ll tell the DA you cooperated.”

Peter stares at him.

As if it’s that easy. If he turns Ali and his crew in, Peter is as good as dead. Peter works for Ali, but Ali works for someone even bigger and meaner. There’s always someone bigger and meaner. Always another curtain to pull back, another layer to uncover. These cops are idiots if they think Peter knows anything that will help them.

The only thing Peter knows is how not to get himself killed.

“Help yourself out here,” Chubby Cop tells him.

“I want a lawyer,” Peter says. “You can’t even make me any deals without one. So you guys are just full of shit. And I’m not telling you anything. You can go to hell.”

“You want to go to juvie tonight then?”

“Yeah, sure,” Peter says. “Sounds better than where I normally sleep.”

Skinny Cop sneers at him, shaking his head. “Book him,” he tells his partner.

Chapter Text

“Daddy, did you see me?!”

Morgan slams into Tony’s legs at a full tilt, and he stumbles back a half step before he catches her, lifting her up into his arms.

“Of course I saw you!” he tells her. “Couldn’t miss the world’s best gymnast. America’s next gold medalist.”

Morgan giggles. She’s still wearing her leotard, and holding onto her is like trying to hold onto a wriggling seal. Tony sets her back down, and she darts off, back towards the other little girls who’d “competed” today.

Tony’s still not entirely clear what the judging criteria was. Morgan has evidently excelled however, because she’s won first place. So he feels justified in thinking that she’s smarter and better than all the other kids, because she’s just been given a medal that confirms it.

Pepper is beside him, still holding onto the camera but no longer filming, and she smirks as if she can tell what he’s thinking.

“Is it wrong that I’m glad she beat Tayden?” Pepper asks, voice low so she won’t be overheard.

Tony leans toward her. “Which one is Tayden’s mom?”

“The blonde with the bangs.”

“Oh, god no in that case.” He laughs, and Pepper starts laughing too.

“We’re horrible people,” she says, one hand covering her mouth to try and hold it in.

He wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her in close. “You knew I was horrible long before you married me.”

“The first or second time?” she asks.

“I was arguably worse the second time, and you knew what you were getting by then,” he points out.

Pepper hits him on the chest, and pulls away. “Come on, let’s get out of here. She’s going to want a celebratory lunch.”

Tony shouts over to the group of children, “Morguna! Let’s go eat!”

Morgan detaches herself from the group, darting back over. “Can we have cheeseburgers?”

“Of course we can,” he tells her, taking her hand. “We can have whatever you want.”

- - -

Tony is down in his workshop that night, channeling his inability to sleep into working on refining his new nanotech. He’s made a wristwatch that morphs into a full gauntlet so far, which is beyond useful, but he wants an entire suit made out of the stuff. Lightweight, portable. Available on the go, everywhere, at a moment's notice. No more getting caught unaware without a suit.

If he’s halfway through his third glass of scotch while he works on it, well, the only ones around to tell on him are his bots and his AI. Pepper and Morgan went to sleep hours ago.

Pepper gets this look on her face whenever he has more than two drinks now. Ever since they’d gotten back together. His drinking was a large part of why they’d broken up, of course, so he can’t say he blames her.

But late at night, when he only has his work to distract him, it feels much more obvious that there is something missing from his life. Someone. And the only way he’s ever known to cope with that is to try and stop feeling so much. Hence the alcohol. And, once upon a time, the drugs.

His son, Peter, has been missing for ten years now. Snatched from his pre-school, right under his bodyguard’s nose, and then lost forever when the ransom drop went wrong. They’d found the kidnappers, eventually, but there’d been no sign of Peter. The men who’d taken him had stayed quiet on whether they’d killed him or not, trying to avoid additional charges, and without any evidence Peter is still just… missing. His body has never been found.

It’s the not knowing that grates at Tony. The uncertainty.

Pepper clings to that uncertainty and still holds out hope that he’s alive, but Tony had lost that when they’d paid the ransom and not gotten him back. And that difference was what had driven them apart barely a year later and into a divorce.

Not so far apart that they hadn’t managed to hook up and get pregnant with Morgan, six years later.

Morgan, who brought them back together. Morgan, who is the reason Tony got—mostly—sober. Morgan, who is the bright shining star of Tony’s life and who he is terrified of letting out of his sight.

She’s the same age Peter was when he was taken now.

He pours a bit more into his glass at that thought, and refocuses on his tech. The nanites are miniscule and fiddly, drinking while working on them isn’t ideal, but it means that it takes all his attention to do anything right with them while he’s inebriated.

“Boss,” FRIDAY says, breaking his concentration.

“Hmm?” Tony hums.

“There’s been a hit on the Peter Protocol that you should see.”

He looks up, at the middle space above his desk. “What?”

“The Peter Protocol, Boss.”

“No, I… I heard you. What?”

“There was a hit on a set of fingerprints that were run by the Crossroads Juvenile Center in Brooklyn.”

Tony blinks. “I… What?”

“A 14-year-old boy was fingerprinted during intake and the prints are a match to those on file for Peter Stark,” FRIDAY says.

Tony is still staring at nothing. “What?” he says again.

FRIDAY pulls up a holoscreen above his desk, and uses it to display a mugshot. It’s a young teenager with messy brown hair, glaring at the camera.

“What?” Tony says, feeling like all other words have abandoned him.

“His name is Peter Parker. He was arrested for felony possession of a controlled substance with intent to sell in Queens earlier tonight. He’s 14-years-old and a ward of the state.”

Tony doesn’t even want to blink, because that means looking away from the picture. Is it Peter? It could be Peter. Brown hair and brown eyes, which are common, yes, and it’s too grainy to tell the exact color but the shape of his eyes, that’s the same as Morgan’s, and that’s Pepper’s jaw and her chin and oh my god it’s Peter.

Tony’s arm is hurting. His heart is about to pound out of his chest. He’s having a heart attack. His son is alive and he’s going to die of a heart attack before he ever really sees him again.

He stands up, shoving the chair back. “Where?” he gasps out. “Where is he?”

“Crossroads Juvenile Center,” FRIDAY says.

Tony’s at the door when FRIDAY asks, “Would you like me to call Agent Irena Gould?”

That stops him in his tracks. Irena has been the lead on Peter’s missing persons case at the FBI for the last five years.

“Yeah,” he tells FRIDAY. “Wake her up.”

Then he heads upstairs, to wake up his wife.

- - -

“We need a DNA test,” Irena insists.

“It’s him,” Pepper says.

They’re gathered around the dining table, and it’s still unreasonably early. The sun is up now, at least. Irena looks tired, but she looks better than Tony and Pepper do. Tony hasn’t slept at all.

“And we’ll know that for certain after we do a DNA test,” Irena says. “I’ve put a call in. Someone will be coming by here to take a sample from you, and they’ll take a sample from Peter Parker as well. We’ll have the results no later than tomorrow. I promise.” Her expression is imploring. “I need you both to wait.”

“We’ve waited ten years,” Tony grouses.

“And you need to wait another day to do this right. We need to be sure.”

“Did you look at him?” Pepper asks. “His fingerprints matched!”

“Those prints were taken from Peter’s toys. They were degraded to begin with. We can’t go off of just that.”

Pepper sits back in her chair, her arms crossed. “So you want us to leave him in jail?”

“Well,” Irena says, “he’s not going anywhere, at least.”

“What about the drug charges?” Tony asks.

“Let’s worry about that if this turns out to be Peter,” Irena says.

“I think we should be prepared,” Pepper says.

“I’ll call a lawyer,” Tony tells her.

Pepper nods, satisfied. But then says, “He’s fourteen, what was he doing with cocaine?”

Irena just tilts her head a bit. “Social services won’t give us his file yet until we prove you’re his parents. We’ll find out more soon.” Pepper huffs, and Irena adds, “I know this is a lot—”

“You don’t know anything,” Pepper tells her. “Have you lost a child?”

Irena’s expression remains even. “No,” she says. “But my job is looking for missing ones. Anytime I can bring one home is a rare good day. I want this to be a good day as much as you do. We just need to do it right, and that means getting the DNA test first, before you go over there and see him.”

Tony’s hands are clenched into fists under the table. “She’s right,” he admits, even though it galls him to do it.

“You’re just saying that because you’ve thought he was dead all this time,” Pepper says, caustic.

“I am not,” Tony argues. “I saw the picture. I think it’s him. But I want to be sure.”

Pepper has evidently had enough of them, because she stands up, then shoves her chair back into the table hard enough to jar it. “I know what my son looks like, but fine. Get the DNA test. It will be a match.” She storms out of the room.

Tony and Irena are left sitting in an awkward silence. Eventually Irena says, “The tester will be here later this morning. I’m going to head back to the office. If you need anything else in the meantime, give me a call. I’ll reach out with any updates as soon as I have them.”

Tony nods, and shows her out.

He goes back to sit at the table and pulls his phone out, studying the mugshot again.

Pepper’s right, he thinks. The DNA test is just wasting time. It has to be Peter.

Tony’s not sure what he’s going to do if it’s not.

- - -

Rhodey comes over that afternoon and offers a welcome distraction from Tony’s spiraling anxiety that even Morgan hasn’t been able to provide.

Looking at Morgan just reminds Tony of Peter right now. They really do look so similar.

“Let me see the picture,” Rhodey says, and then, after he gets a look at the mugshot: “Damn. If that’s not him, the resemblance is uncanny.”

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do if it’s not,” Tony says, elbows on his knees. They’ve retreated down to his workshop, where there’s no chance Morgan will overhear them.

“You’re gonna keep going, just like you have been,” Rhodey says, firmly.

Tony looks up at him, eyes narrowed.

“You’ve got another kid, man. You can’t do what you did before. You can’t shut down.”

“I know that.”

“Okay,” Rhodey says. “Just checking.”

Tony shakes his head. “Pepper is convinced it’s him. She’s the one to worry about.”

“Pepper’s not the one who nearly killed herself when—”

“Can we not do this?” Tony interrupts. “I would really like to not do this today.”

“I’m just worried about you.”

“Worry about me tomorrow after we get the test results.”

Rhodey sighs, and leans against the workbench. “C’mon, you know I worry about you all the time.”

Tony rests his chin against his fist as he looks up at his friend, the bottom of his face covered by his hand. He quirks his brows, as if to say ‘yeah.’

“Have you eaten?” Rhodes asks. “Has Pepper?”

“I don’t know,” Tony admits.

“Let’s eat then. I’ll even cook for you. My mother’s specialty.”

“Is she going to come over and cook it?”

“I can cook it,” Rhodey insists.

Tony shoots him a skeptical look.

“You wanna eat or not?” Rhodey asks.

- - -

The results of the DNA test come in the next morning. Irena calls them on the phone, and the first thing she asks is if they’re both there.

“Pepper is getting Morgan dressed,” Tony says.

“It might be best if just the two of you were on the call,” Irena says, hedging. 

“What did the test say?”

“I’d really rather—”

“Irena.”

“Get Mrs. Stark. Please.”

Tony grits his teeth, but puts her on hold and goes to find Pepper.

Morgan likes to pick out her own clothes, and today she’s chosen a princess dress. Tony thinks it might actually be pajamas, but whatever. She’s clothed. Pepper is braiding Morgan’s hair when he enters her room, and barely hangs onto the ends of the braid when Morgan turns her head to look at Tony.

“Hi Daddy!”

“Hey munchkin. I need to borrow your mom. Can you go hang out with Uncle Rhodey?”

“Let me finish her hair,” Pepper says.

“Irena is on the phone,” he says.

Pepper freezes.

“She wants to talk to both of us,” Tony adds. “She hasn’t said anything yet.”

Pepper lets go of Morgan’s hair. “Go find Rhodey, honey. I’ll braid it later.”

Morgan scampers off, and Tony waits until they’re in their own bedroom before unmuting the call.

“Alright, you’ve got us both.”

“Is it him?” Pepper asks.

Irena doesn’t beat around the bush. “It is. DNA confirms it’s Peter. I just got the results.”

Tony’s forgotten how to breathe. The air is lodged in his chest, the same place he’s locked away the impossible notion of his son being alive all these years. He can’t let it out. It can’t be real.

“He’s alive,” Pepper breathes. “It’s really him?”

“It’s really him,” Irena says.

Pepper bursts into tears, her face pressed to Tony’s shoulder.

He still can’t breathe.

“Tony, it’s really him.” She’s shaking his arm. “Tony.”

He finally gasps. “How?”

“We’re still looking into that. He’s been in foster care here in New York for several years. I’m having him pulled from gen pop at juvie right now. They’ll hold him until we get there,” Irena says. “I’m headed to your place. Wait for me, please. It’s better if we all go together. There’s going to be some paperwork to sort through with the charges against him, but I think you can lobby for probation or house arrest. You said yesterday you were calling a lawyer, right?”

Tony blinks, coming back to himself. The charges. Right. Peter is alive and Peter is in jail. They found Peter because he was arrested.

“I’ll get someone,” he says.

“Excellent,” Irena says. “I’m stuck in some traffic but I’ll see you shortly.” There’s a pause, and then she says, “I’m so happy for you.”

Pepper is still sobbing too hard to speak. Tony manages to say, “Thank you,” before he hangs up the call.

He wraps his arms around Pepper, holding her, and tries to figure out why he’s not sobbing too. He thinks he must be in shock.

The fingerprints and the photo had been so convincing but he’s been preparing for disappointment this whole time. He’s been ready for it. He’s dealt with disappointment before, many times.

Peter is alive. Tony is going to see him again today.

- - -

Tony’s first glimpse of Peter in the flesh is from behind a one-way mirror. The boy looks unkempt, wearing a blue jumpsuit with his hair sticking up like he’s run his hands through it a lot. But, he has spent the past two days locked up here.

He has a black eye. That hadn’t been there in the mugshot.

Tony presses close to the window, watching him. The guard leaves him alone, undoing the cuffs Peter had been wearing for the walk over here from the cells, and Peter settles into the metal chair at the table, looking bored. Or trying to, he’s looking around the room like he’s cataloging everything in sight.

Beside him, Pepper has her arms wrapped around herself, staring hard into the other room. “That’s really him,” she says, voice soft.

“It really is,” Tony says, feeling a bit awed. Their son is alive.

Peter’s attention seems to be caught by something on the ceiling, his head tilted a bit. He stands up, walking toward the mirror, and Tony’s eyes widen as Peter gets closer.

Peter is staring straight through the mirror, like he can see everyone on the other side. He raps his knuckles against the glass. “Hey, Officer Fuckface. Did you know you’ve got raccoons living in the ceiling? You can hear them, all scritch scritch scritch.” Peter raises a hand, miming a scratching motion. “They’re too big to be rats. You should call an exterminator. But like, a humane one. One that will relocate the poor little bastards to Staten Island where they belong.”

Tony can’t help the startled, choked laugh that escapes his mouth.

Behind him, Rhodey says, “I don’t know why we bothered with a DNA test.”

Peter is still talking. “I can help you out. I know a guy. But I charge a finder’s fee. Right now, I just want a pack of cigarettes. I need to trade for some ramen. That shit’s like gold in here.”

And there’s the humor gone, because that’s Tony’s 14-year-old kid, currently locked up in juvie, asking for cigarettes to use as currency.

“I want to talk to him,” Tony says.

“I should go in first,” a mousy looking man pipes up from the back of the room. When all the attention turns to him, his eyes widen. “Uh, hello. I’m Kevin Murphy. On-call social worker for the facility.”

“Where’s Peter’s normal social worker?” Rhodey asks.

Murphy shrugs. “I handle everything for this facility.”

“That’s a lot of cases.”

“You’re telling me,” he agrees, with a laugh, like he’s found an ally. Rhodey’s expression remains even, and the smile drops off Murphy’s face. “I just… maybe someone else should tell him. Before the Starks go in there. He’s gonna know who they are. I mean, everyone knows who they are.”

“So now we’re worried about his feelings,” one of the officer’s says. “Did you all forget that this kid was caught with—”

“It is standard procedure for someone else to go in,” Irena says, cutting off that tirade.

“She’s right,” Pepper says.

Tony turns to her, surprised.

“We should find out how much Peter knows,” Irena adds. “He might know he was kidnapped, or he might know nothing, but we need to ask him.”

“If he knows he was kidnapped then why wouldn’t he have ever told anyone?” Tony demands.

Irena shrugs slightly. “We’ll have to ask to find out.”

Tony turns back to the window. Peter appears to have grown bored with trying to talk to them through the window, and is sitting in one of the chairs, tipping it back onto two legs, one foot caught on the leg of the table for balance. He’s still staring up at the ceiling.

“Alright,” he agrees. “But you’ve got about twenty minutes before I’m going in there.”

Chapter Text

When the door to the interview room finally opens, a man and woman Peter hasn’t met before enter. They’re in suits, the woman dressed a lot nicer than the man. Which doesn’t mean good news for him.

“Hello Peter,” the man says.

Peter frowns, dropping the chair he was tilting backwards back down onto all four legs with a bang. That’s probably the first time he’s been addressed by his first name since he was arrested.

This guy is playing nice cop then. Peter can work with that.

“How are you doing?” the man asks.

Peter gives the man a bright smile. “I’m peachy,” he says. “Three square meals a day and no one has made me their bitch yet. This place is awesome. I mean, I might drop the soap tonight, so ask me again tomorrow.”

The man’s eyes are wide, his expression otherwise fixed into a grimace. “Right, uh… I’m Mr. Murphy. This is—”

“Irena Gould,” the woman introduces. She holds out a hand to Peter. “I’m with the FBI.”

Peter eyes her hand warily, and eventually she drops it. “What’s the FBI doing here?”

Irena sits down across the table from him, and Murphy takes the other chair. “We have some questions about your past,” she says. “When you were arrested and your fingerprints were taken, there was a hit on an older case.”

“I want my lawyer,” Peter says immediately. “Get that P.O.S. from the public defender’s office down here. I have rights. I don’t have to talk to you.”

“You’re not in any trouble.”

“Yeah right. That’s why the FBI is here.” He crosses his arms. “Law-yer,” he says again, enunciating clearly. He looks over at the mirror. “Lawyer!” he yells.

“I’m fairly sure you have a new lawyer at this point,” Murphy mutters.

“What?” Peter asks.

“Nothing,” he says. “Sorry. We’ll get you a lawyer. But you’re really not in trouble. We just have a couple questions. You’ve been in foster care since you were four years old, correct?”

Peter doesn’t really want to answer any of their questions when they’re ignoring his request for a lawyer, but that’s an innocuous enough one. He nods.

“Do you remember how you came to be in foster care?”

“Someone found me in a park,” he says.

“And do you remember how you wound up in the park?”

Peter frowns at him, shaking his head. He doesn’t remember much before the age of five or six, to be honest, and he’d been in foster care for a while by then.

“Did you just come by to dredge up all my childhood trauma?” he asks. “Because I assume my shitty parents ODed or took off or something, either way they’ve never turned up, but that’s fine. They passed along a propensity for drug abuse that I’m making good use of. Why do you care?”

Irena doesn’t seem phased by anything he’s said. She pulls a folder out of her briefcase. “The case your prints were a match for is a missing persons case from ten years ago.”

Peter blinks at her. “What?”

She opens the file, and pulls out a picture that she turns toward him. It’s a little boy, around three or four years old, with curly brown hair. He’s smiling widely at the camera and wearing overalls, sitting in a fancy looking office chair.

Peter stares at the photo, then up at Irena. “Who’s the kid?”

“That’s you,” she says.

Peter shakes his head.

“Do you remember how you got to the park? Who took you there?”

“Lady, I don’t remember jack shit,” Peter says. “I was like four. No one remembers shit from when they were four.”

“You were kidnapped,” she tells him, “from preschool. We’re not sure how you got to New York. You were living in California. Malibu, to be exact. The men who kidnapped you tried to arrange a ransom, but they were spooked by the undercover cops at the ransom drop and they ran. You were never found.”

“That sounds like a Law and Order episode,” Peter tells her.

“You were very young, so it’s not surprising that you don’t remember.”

“I don’t remember because that’s not me.”

“Your fingerprints were taken when you were arrested. They match. And yesterday we tested your DNA. It’s a match as well.”

Peter’s eyes widen. He jumps to his feet, backing away from the table. “That’s what that doctor was taking a swab for?! No one told me that! You can’t do that. You can’t just test my DNA without telling me. That’s a violation! I didn’t consent to any of this—”

“Peter.” Irena has her hands raised, placatingly. Her voice is still perfectly even, perfectly pleasant. Like she often tells people they were kidnapped as a small child. “I know this is a lot to take in.”

“This is bullshit,” he spits back at her.

“It’s the truth,” she says. “Your parents are here. They’d like to meet you.”

“I haven’t got parents.”

“You do. They’ve been looking for you for a very long time. They’d really like to meet you.”

He glances at the mirror, wondering if these mysterious parents have been watching this whole time.

“Why don’t you sit back down?” Irena suggests, calmly.

“Why don’t you tell me who the fuck my parents are supposed to be?” Peter says. He crosses his arms and doesn’t move.

She eyes him for a moment, then says, “Tony and Pepper Stark.”

There’s a moment where Peter gapes at her, then he starts laughing. “Fuck, lady. That’s a good one.”

“I’m not joking.”

“Yeah right.” He glances at the mirror again, and stares it down this time. “Is this what you fuckers do for fun in here? Just mess with people? Go fuck yourselves!”

Murphy is on his feet. “Sit back down,” he tells Peter, sternly.

“Leave him alone,” Irena says. Then: “Peter, I’m not lying to you.”

“Yes you are.”

“Your name is Peter Stark.”

“No it’s not.”

“Would you like to see the DNA test results?”

Peter turns back to her. “Yeah, I would, actually. If you’re gonna take my DNA then I want to see it.”

She pulls another piece of paper out of her file, and lays it down on the table.

Peter stalks over to grab it, wrinkling the paper with how strongly he’s gripping it. It takes him a moment to focus and read, but sure enough that’s his name, and also Tony Stark’s name. It’s a paternity test. Jesus fucking Christ.

Irena has taken another photo out of the folder. Peter doesn’t want to look, but can’t stop himself. It’s the same little boy, this time with a man who is unmistakably a younger Tony Stark. The facial hair is the same. And the redheaded woman is probably Pepper Potts-Stark; Peter isn’t sure, he hasn’t seen as many pictures of her.

They all look really happy. They look like a family.

“That can’t be me,” he says.

“Why not?” Irena asks.

“I… I don’t…” He shakes his head.

“I promise you, Peter, it really is you. Your parents are here. They’ve been looking for you for a really long time.” After a long pause, she asks, “Would you like to meet them? I can give you a few minutes if you’d like.”

A few minutes. A few minutes for what?

In the end, she takes the decision out of his hands, and gives him the few minutes. Someone brings him a water bottle.

Peter downs the entire thing, and all it does is make him feel nauseous when Irena returns and hovers in the doorway, asking him, “Ready?”

“To meet Iron Man?” Peter asks. “Yeah, sure. Why the fuck not?”

His first thought is that Tony Stark is shorter than he expected.

Then he can’t think of anything, because he’s faced with Pepper Potts-Stark, who looks like she’s been crying, and she’s reaching for him.

Peter stumbles back, away from her, and almost regrets it when a look of devastation crosses her face.

Tony grabs Pepper’s arm, holding onto her, and they all stand there, at an impasse. 

Peter raises his hand and waves it, once. “Hi,” he says.

“Hey,” Tony says. His voice sounds choked, even though his eyes are clear.

Pepper swipes at her eyes and laughs a bit. “Sorry, sorry,” she says. “I just… I’m so happy to see you.” She smiles at him.

No one has ever said they’re happy to see Peter before. No one has ever cried over him before.

“We’ve been looking for you for a really long time,” Tony says.

“I, uh…” Peter is still holding onto the water bottle. He squeezes it in his fist and it crinkles loudly. “I didn’t know I was missing.”

“Can I…” Pepper hesitates. “Can I give you a hug?”

Everything inside Peter is screaming at him to say no. To reject that much physical contact. But… she’s his mother, evidently.

He’s never had a mother before.

He’s seen kids with them. And it always looks nice. They’re always hugging them, or taking care of things. Ned’s mother brushes his hair out of his eyes all the time and always has snacks ready for them when Peter comes over.

It would be nice to have a mother.

He nods, and Pepper steps forward, her arms already open.

The hug isn’t that bad, but also not as nice as what Peter has always imagined. She’s squeezing him tight, her arms wrapped tight around his back, and he doesn’t know what to do with his own arms, so he winds up doing nothing. He just stands still and lets her hug him.

Pepper eventually pulls back, but holds onto Peter’s shoulders, staring at his face. Her hand comes up to run over his hair, which he knows is greasy and unwashed because they only gave him two minutes to shower this morning. She doesn’t seem to notice.

“I’ve missed you so much, sweetie,” she says.

Peter can’t say it back.

- - -

Tony is the one who eventually looks around the dank interview room and says, “How about we blow this joint, huh?”

Peter blinks at him, confused. “What?”

“If the lawyer I brought with me is worth even a fraction of what I’m paying him, we should be able to get you out of here,” Tony says.

“Out…” Peter frowns. “Out of juvie? Really?”

Tony nods.

Murphy, who’s been hovering in the corner with Irena during their reintroduction, finally speaks up. “He’s still facing felony charges. Those aren’t just going to go away because we found out he’d been kidnapped ten years ago. He was still selling cocaine.”

“I wasn’t selling it,” Peter argues, maintaining his lie.

Tony raises a hand, fingers coming together in a ‘zip it’ signal. “Not a word,” he says. “I know there’s an officer or two watching this.” He nods to the mirror.

“I already told them—”

Tony shakes his head. “Inadmissible if you said it without a parent present.”

Peter stares at him.

Is Tony Stark trying to help him beat charges for dealing drugs?

This entire day is surreal.

“I’ll go find out if you can leave,” Irena tells them, before stepping out of the room.

They’re left waiting again, and during the wait Tony and Pepper start asking Peter questions. Where does he live? Where does he go to school? Who are his friends? What does he like to do?

Only a few of Peter’s answers to these are acceptable to give them. He can’t mention Skip. He’s not sure if Ned is still his friend after Peter blew him off at the party and got arrested. The only thing he likes to do is get high so that he can stop thinking about how much his life sucks for a little bit.

“I go to Midtown,” he tells them. “It's a specialized high school for science and technology.”

They eat that up and start asking about his classes and his grades. His grades aren’t amazing, but they’re not horrible either, so he doesn’t feel too embarrassed about it. He could do better if he had time for homework, but he tries to avoid going home, so.

Irena finally comes back and saves Peter from having to explain why he doesn’t do any extracurriculars. She has another man with her, who moves to shake Tony’s hand. And behind him is… holy shit, that’s War Machine.

James Rhodes smiles at Peter. A big smile, like he’s also happy to see him. “Hey Peter. It’s really good to have you back, kid.”

Peter stares.

“This is your Uncle Rhodey,” Tony tells him.

“Uncle?” Peter asks.

“Just Rhodey is fine,” Rhodes says. He bumps Tony’s shoulder with a fist. “Don’t overwhelm him.”

Too late for that, Peter thinks.

He hopes Tony and Pepper don’t want to be called Mom and Dad.

The lawyer holds out a hand to Peter too. “Hello. You must be Peter. I’m Henry Gallagher, your lawyer.”

Peter’s new lawyer is wearing a very expensive watch, he notices.

“Hi,” Peter manages.

Gallagher clears the room of all the officers, and gets rid of ones observing from behind the mirror, just by saying he wants to talk to ‘his client.’

“There we go,” he says, before sitting down at the table with them.

“What are we looking at?” Tony asks.

“Well, he was caught with .8 grams of cocaine on him in multiple dime bags, which is why they’ve charged him with intent to sell. They also have several witnesses from the party who claim Peter was selling to other kids, and that he’s a known source. He had it on him when he was arrested. There’s no way we can get around the possession charge. Our best shot is to get rid of the intent to sell charge and get probation.”

Pepper reaches over and grabs Tony’s hand at that, and Peter slinks down in his chair a bit.

“We can probably cut a deal with the DA if you’re willing to give up your supplier,” Gallagher tells Peter.

Peter shakes his head. “I’m not a snitch.”

“Why don’t you look out for yourself?” Tony says.

“I am,” Peter says. “He’ll kill me.”

“No one’s going to kill you.”

Peter shakes his head. “No.”

“Peter—”

“No.”

Tony’s lips are pressed into a thin line, but he just says, “We can talk about it more later.” 

Pepper doesn’t seem as satisfied. “You’re fourteen,” she says. “What were you even doing with cocaine in the first place?”

Peter crosses his arms defensively. “I was getting high,” he says. “What else do you do with it?”

Tony turns to him then. “Look, whatever you’ve gotten yourself into… We’re going to help. Okay? I know… I know you’ve been alone for a long time. But we’ve found you. And we’re here now. And we’re going to help you. And whatever you were doing, you don’t have to do it anymore. The drugs, the alcohol—I’m assuming there was alcohol as well—that’s over now. You’ve got us now.”

It’s an impassioned speech.

Peter wonders if he’d be making it if he knew Peter has been letting his foster father fuck him so that he can keep going to the fancy school Tony had just been so pleased to hear about. If he knew that Peter doesn’t do drugs because anyone is forcing him to, but because he likes them.

He doesn’t reply, just stares back. He’s not sure what Tony wants to hear from him.

Tony turns back to Gallagher. “What about getting him out of here?”

“Given the, ah, highly unusual circumstances, they’re releasing him into your custody for now. He’s already been arraigned, so we’ll get a trial date soon.”

Peter sits back up straight, looking between them all. “Wait, I’m really getting out? I… I don’t have to stay here?” He’d been expecting to stay here. He’d been expecting to be locked up here until he was 18, like that cop had said the other night.

Gallagher nods.

It’s not until he’s back in his own clothes, stepping outside the gates and being herded towards a fancy towncar, that it starts to sink in fully.

His parents are Tony and Pepper Stark. They’re fucking billionaires. They just basically bought his way out of juvie when he was locked up for selling cocaine to rich kids because he is now one of the rich kids.

…

He has no fucking clue how to be who they want him to be.

Chapter Text

Tony twists around in the passenger seat of the car so that he can peer into the back and keep an eye on Peter. The kid is pressed up against the door of the car, looking like a caged animal.

“Are you hungry?” he asks.

Peter doesn’t answer.

“Peter?” Tony prompts. The kid jerks around to look at him, startled. “You want something to eat?” It’s late, and they were stuck in that interview room nearly all day. He’s pretty sure they all missed not only lunch, but also dinner.

Peter still doesn’t answer, so Rhodey, who’s driving, says, “Well I’m starving. Which drive-thru do you want?”

“Uh, I don’t care,” Peter finally says.

“Do you have a favorite?” Pepper asks.

Peter shakes his head.

The kid must have a favorite food. But pulling answers out of him has been like getting answers from a brick wall ever since that initial, tearful introduction. Peter has clamped down on everything.

It’s better than the yelling and cursing, Tony supposes.

They wind up with McDonalds, cheeseburgers and fries, and despite Peter’s protests he wolfs the food down like he’s starving. Pepper sets her fries down next to him too, and after a moment Peter takes those as well.

It’s not until they get to the Tower that Peter says anything unprompted, and then he’s craning his neck to look out the window and saying, “Wait, you actually live here?”

“We have a penthouse on the top floor,” Tony says.

“Holy shit.”

Peter remains wide-eyed on the drive into the garage and the walk past Tony’s array of sports cars.

“I’ll leave you here,” Rhodey says, jerking his thumb towards his own car. He steps forward, pulling Tony into a hug, and pats him on the back. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t really need to.

Rhodey is the one who’d been there when Tony was at his worst, missing Peter. He knows what getting him back means.

Rhodey turns to Peter then, who’s staring at one of the cars, arms wrapped around his chest like he’s afraid to touch anything. “I’m really glad you’re home, Pete.”

Peter frowns at him. “Uh… thanks.”

Rhodey gives Pepper a hug as well before he heads out, and then they’re all in the elevator, where Peter still looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Welcome home, Boss,” FRIDAY says.

Peter jumps, looking around wildly.

“That’s just FRIDAY,” Tony tells him. “She’s an AI. She runs the house.”

“An AI?”

“You’ll get used to her,” Pepper says. “Tony’s always had an AI running things. When you were little it was JARVIS. He had a British accent.”

Peter shakes his head. “I don’t…” He crosses his arms tighter. “I told you I don’t remember anything.”

Pepper looks a bit stricken. “I know. I didn’t mean… It’s okay.”

Peter looks away from her.

The elevator doors open, finally, spilling them out into the foyer, and Tony says, “Here we are,” gesturing grandly.

Peter steps in slowly, looking around.

Tony’s not sure what to do now. He winds up pointing out the direction of the kitchen and living room, the stairs down to his lab. Peter merely nods at it all, his gaze drifting around. He stares up at the chandelier over the sitting area for a long moment, mouthing, ‘Wow.’

Eventually his attention is drawn to the windows. They’re floor to ceiling, looking out over Manhattan and straight at the top of the Chrysler Building, which is lit up. The view is impressive. The view is the best thing about this place. Peter’s standing frozen, staring out at it.

Tony looks over at Pepper, raising an eyebrow. She shrugs back at him.

“Do you want to see your room?” Pepper asks.

Peter turns back to her, and finally says, “My room?”

Pepper nods, smiling at him. “It’s right down here.” She gestures for him to follow her down the hall.

The room is next to Morgan’s, and if not for Pepper there would only be a guest room there. But behind that door is a room that Tony has avoided like a plague ever since they built this Tower and designed this penthouse.

He hadn’t avoided Peter’s room in Malibu. Going into that room had felt like penance. That had been a toddler’s room, filled with little boy things. Wooden toys and stuffed animals and big LEGOs that weren’t choking hazards. And that room, along with everything in it, had gone hurtling off a cliff and into the ocean.

Before it was lost, he’d gone in there to remember Peter. To remember the little boy he’d had and lost and to grieve.

This room is… a fantasy. Tony hasn’t had anything to do with it. Pepper had decorated it when they moved in here and every year she updates it and it’s a fantasy she’s maintained while Tony has never once opened the door.

She’s the one who’s had hope, this entire time. She’s the one who had never given up. And now, because of that, she’s opening the door to a bedroom that’s outfitted for a teenage boy, and able to welcome their son home.

Peter has stopped in the hallway, looking at the door to Morgan’s room. Her name is on it, in bright pink letters. “Who’s Morgan?” he asks.

That stops both Tony and Pepper in their tracks.

“Your little sister,” Pepper says, recovering first. “She’s four. She’s staying with a friend of ours tonight, but you’ll meet her tomorrow.” She smiles. “She’s really excited to meet you.”

Peter is not smiling. “She knows about me?”

“She knows she has a big brother,” Tony says. “And she knows you’ve been missing.”

“But does she know about me?” Peter presses.

“What do you mean?”

“Like…” He shakes his head. “Nevermind.”

“What—”

“I said nevermind,” Peter says, sharply. He turns back to his own bedroom, edging around Tony to get in the door. He looks around, at the blue walls and heavy wooden furniture. The windows have thick black out curtains. There’s a desk in the corner. Shelves waiting to be filled.

Pepper walks over to the closet. “There are some clothes in here but I’m not sure if they’ll fit.”

“It’s fine,” Peter says.

Pepper turns around, watching Peter closely, and eventually Peter says, “I’m really tired, so…”

“Yeah, of course,” Tony says. “Bathroom is through there.” He points to the door to the ensuite. “There are some pajamas in the drawers, right Pep?”

She nods. “Yes. And socks. Everything you need should be here.”

“Even underwear?” Tony can’t stop himself from asking.

Pepper shoots him a look. “Yes,” she says, a bit primly. “Everything.”

Tony has to hand it to her, she did not do this room by halves. She has earned the right to say ‘I told you so’ as much as she wants about it.

Peter looks a bit startled. “You… bought me underwear,” he says. “Wow, okay.”

“It’s just generic,” Pepper says, as if realizing this might be a step too far. “You can buy whatever you want tomorrow.”

Peter nods. “Yeah, sure. I don’t really— It’s fine.” He frowns. “I really am tired. I didn’t really sleep in… uh, juvie, so…”

Pepper nods. “Get some rest, sweetie,” she says. She steps towards him, and Tony can tell she wants to hug him, but Peter takes a step back, and Pepper stops in her tracks, her hands hovering at her sides. “We’re right across the hall if you need anything.”

Peter just nods, looking uncomfortable, and Pepper finally turns away from him. Tony wraps an arm around her before he says, “Good night.”

He doesn’t get a response of any kind from Peter.

After closing the door gently, they make it back to the living room before Pepper asks, “Do you think he liked his room?”

Tony hesitates. “I think he’s a little too overwhelmed to like anything right now.”

Her face falls for a moment, before smoothing back over. She nods. “Yeah, yeah you’re right. Tomorrow will be better. We got him out of that horrible jail. We’re all home. We’re…” She looks over at him. “He’s home.”

Tony reaches for her, wanting to hold her close. “He is.” He can still hardly believe it. It doesn’t feel real yet.

It feels like more of a fantasy than that bedroom has been all these years. If Peter being alive and out there somewhere was a dream, then having him come home feels like an illusion. Tony keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for someone to tell him ‘sorry, there’s been a mistake, this kid isn’t yours actually.’

But this is his Peter. Rhodey was right, Tony really didn’t need the DNA test to know for certain. He knows it from meeting him, from talking to him. That’s his son.

And he’s home.

- - -

Neither Tony or Pepper are getting any sleep. Tony’s not sure what time it is, other than late, but they’re both still lying awake, staring at the ceiling. Pepper had dozed off for a bit, but Tony hasn’t even gotten that much.

“Should we go check on him?” Pepper asks, her voice soft and quiet in the dark room.

“He’s probably asleep.”

“I just want to check,” she says.

Tony is reminded, suddenly, of when Peter had been a newborn, and Pepper used to go watch him sleep. She’d done it with Morgan too. She still does it with Morgan. 

“He’s fourteen,” he points out, because he’s been stewing over that fact the entire time he’s laid here, unable to sleep. His son is fourteen. There are ten years unaccounted for. Ten years and all Tony has to go on when it comes to knowing what’s happened to his son are flimsy social services records. Ten years his son spent in foster care when he should have been at home, with them. Should have had a family all along.

“I’m his mother,” Pepper says. “He won’t mind. He’s probably asleep, he won’t even know.”

“FRIDAY,” Tony asks, “what is Peter doing?”

“Peter is currently awake,” FRIDAY provides, helpfully.

Pepper sits up. “He’s awake?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How long has he been awake?”

“I don’t believe he has been asleep tonight.”

Pepper’s hand lands on Tony’s arm, pushing, and he sits up as well.

“Alright,” he says. “If none of us are sleeping then what’s the point of pretending?”

“I’ll make some hot chocolate,” Pepper says. “You go get him. He used to love hot chocolate.”

Tony makes his way across the hall while Pepper heads to the kitchen, his hand hovering over the doorknob to Peter’s room. He can’t hear anything from inside, but the kid is probably trying to sleep.

He knocks, then opens the door. “Hey, Pete?”

The curtains are open to the view outside, letting in enough light to see. When Tony opens the door, Peter scrambles out of the bed, getting tangled in the covers and falling to the floor.

Tony starts across the room. “Hey, it’s alright,” he says. “FRIDAY, lights.”

Peter’s wedged himself into the corner, next to the window, and is staring up at Tony, eyes wide with… fear.

Tony backs away, hands raised. “Sorry,” he says. “It’s just me.”

That doesn’t seem to be reassuring. Peter doesn’t know him, after all. He’s a stranger to him. He and Pepper are both strangers who Peter has just been forced to move in with.

Peter doesn’t know that Tony would literally lay down his life to protect him.

He steps back further. “I didn’t mean to startle you. FRIDAY said you weren’t sleeping. Your mo— Pepper is making hot chocolate. You want some? Might help you get to sleep.”

Peter gets to his feet, still watching Tony warily.

“I can tell her no, if you want me to,” Tony offers.

Peter shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

It does not seem like it’s fine. Peter hasn’t moved away from the corner yet.

Tony watches him for a moment, then takes another step back. “How ‘bout you meet us in the kitchen?”

Peter gives him a jerky nod.

“Okay.” Tony nods back at him. Then turns to go, with just a glance over his shoulder as he does. Peter is still watching his every move.

Pepper has the hot chocolates ready to go by the time Peter joins them, and sets one in front of him with a flourish.

Peter gives her a small smile, moving to cradle the warm mug in his hands. He’s found a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt to wear, but they look big on him.

Tony heads for the coffee machine, but Pepper reaches out a hand to stop him. 

“You’ll never get to sleep,” she admonishes.

“Coffee helps me sleep, actually,” he argues.

“At least drink decaf.”

“Don’t use bad words, honey.”

Peter starts coughing, and they both look over at him. He’s wiping at his mouth with his sleeve, and Pepper hurries to hand him a napkin.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” She hovers at his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Peter coughs a few more times, and practically shoves the napkin in his mouth to scrape his tongue. “What’s in that drink?” he finally manages.

Pepper looks startled. “Chocolate,” she says. “Milk.”

“What else?”

“I… Peppermint? Whipped cream?”

“Ugh, it’s the peppermint,” Peter says. He walks over the sink and turns on the water, sticking his mouth under the faucet to rinse it out.

Pepper and Tony stare at him.

“I’ve always made it with peppermint,” Pepper says, softly.

“I can’t drink it,” Peter says, surfacing from the sink. His face is wet, and the front of his t-shirt damp.

They’re all left staring at each other, across the kitchen island.

Somehow, it’s this discrepancy that seems to hammer home for Tony that he brought home a very different child than the child that was taken from him, in a way that picking him up from juvie for drug charges didn’t. Those were due to whatever life Peter has been forced to live since being taken. The circumstances he’s been forced into. This is… this is just Peter growing up. His tastes changing. When he was little he liked peppermint and now he doesn’t.

“I’ll make you a new one,” Pepper says. She herds Peter back down onto a stool at the counter. “No peppermint this time.”

Chapter Text

Fucking billionaires. With a B.

Peter feels like he’s stepped into the Twilight Zone. The Stark’s penthouse is insane. It’s taller than every surrounding building, and every room has floor to ceiling windows, including his bedroom. He keeps getting lost just staring out at the view. He’s never been this high up before. His ears had popped in the elevator. And that’s not even to mention just how fucking fancy everything inside the place is. All the furniture and decor is very obviously expensive. The clothes that Pepper has filled Peter’s closet with have tags from designer brands on them and price tags that start in the $300 range.

He’s afraid to touch any of it.

His bedroom is huge. It has enough room for a desk and a sitting area with a television. The bed is king sized, and the most comfortable thing Peter has ever slept on. And there’s a private bathroom attached, with a separate tub and a shower that has the best water pressure he’s ever experienced in his life.

The tile floor is heated under his feet when he gets out of the shower, and the towel rack is too. He wraps up in one of the fluffy towels and wipes some of the condensation off the mirror to peer at his reflection.

He still looks like himself. Skinny with messy hair that really needs a trim, and currently sporting a black eye thanks to a guy he’d mouthed off to in the cafeteria at juvie.

He’d spent a lot of yesterday staring at both Tony and Pepper, trying to figure out if he looked like them at all, and he supposes there might be some resemblance. Tony has brown hair too, and brown eyes. The shape of his jaw, that might be the same as Pepper’s.

It’s not a lot to go on though. Lots of people have square jaws and brown hair and eyes. None of that is unique.

DNA is unique, and that had been a match. Fingerprints too. He really is Peter Stark.

He doesn’t feel any different than he did when he was Peter Parker. He just feels like he’s been dropped into a reality show, and that any minute someone is going to jump out and yell ‘psych!’ and tell him it was all a joke.

He finishes getting dressed and makes his way out to the living room, attention immediately caught by the view out the window. It’s even more impressive in daylight. He’s pretty sure you can see all the way to freakin’ Maine from here, it’s so high up.

“Oh! You’re up.” Pepper approaches him from the kitchen, and she looks like she’s going to hug him. Peter backs up a step, and feels bad again when her expression freezes.

He feels like he’s being mean to her without even intending to.

He wants her to like him. He should probably just let her hug him next time.

“Morning,” he says.

“What would you like for breakfast?” she asks. “I can make whatever you want. Pancakes? Waffles? Eggs? We have bacon and sausage too. Oh, I could do french toast.” She perks up at that.

Peter stares at the back of her head as he follows her back into the kitchen. He normally eats cereal, or maybe a granola bar, and that’s when he eats breakfast at all. “Uh…”

“Do you like french toast?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had it.”

Her face falls, and he’s not sure why he’s said the wrong thing again when all he’s said is the truth.

“I’m sure you’ll love it,” she says, suddenly determined. She smiles at him. “And I’ll be sure to leave off any peppermint.”

He gives her a tight smile back.

“Is there anything else you don’t like? Or… are you allergic to anything? I know about your peanut allergy, of course, but—”

Peter shakes his head. Whatever that weird bite had done a few months ago had taken care of his peanut allergy and his asthma. “I’m not allergic to anything. I, uh… grew out of it.”

“Oh. Okay then,” Pepper says. “Well, that’s good. We always had to check the labels on everything but that's good if you don’t have to do that anymore.”

“Nope.” He thinks it might be better to not tell her about the number of times he’d been accidentally exposed to peanuts before the allergy had gone away.

Pepper turns to the stove top and her ingredients, and that leaves Peter with nothing to do. He got his phone back when they let him leave juvie, luckily, but the only person who has texted him is Ned. The message is from two days ago, asking if he’d gotten away from the party okay.

Peter texts him back: i got arested

Ned must have his phone in hand, because his reply is immediate. wtf?!

Peter: it’s fine, i’m out now

Ned: what happened?

Peter: u wouldn’t believe me if i told u

He gets up, walking over to the windows to snap a picture of the view to send Ned.

Ned: ?

Peter: found my real parents. they’re rich

Ned: what?

Ned: where are you?

Peter: Stark Tower

He doesn’t see what Ned’s response to that will be because Tony finally makes an appearance. “Oh hey, you’re up.”

“It’s morning,” Peter says.

“That it is,” Tony says. “Did you sleep okay? Once we all got to sleep, that is.”

Peter shrugs.

“It’s a nice view, right?” Tony says, head nodding toward the window.

Peter nods.

Tony steps up beside him, and Peter edges away a bit, so that they’re not standing right next to each other. “Do you want to go out on the balcony? Might be a little chilly, but—”

Pepper interrupts him. “Go outside later,” she says. “Breakfast is ready.”

“Oh, did you cook?” Tony reaches out for Peter's shoulder to steer him towards the kitchen, but Peter ducks away.

“French toast,” Pepper says. She’s standing in the doorway, wearing a little apron over her pajamas and everything.

This is the most domestic scene Peter has ever been a part of. Literally none of his foster parents have ever been this sickeningly nice, not even on the first day.

He stays silent through breakfast, only nodding or shaking his head when Tony and Pepper ask him questions. The french toast is good, but super sweet. He eats it anyway, along with the fresh berries that Pepper put out on the table too, and she keeps smiling at him.

“Happy is going to bring Morgan back home in an hour or two,” Tony says, “so you can meet her.”

Right, Morgan. His little sister. He has a sister.

He’s had foster siblings before, but that’s different. That’s more of an every man for himself situation. There had been a few times where full-blooded siblings had been in the same house as him, and they’d always been different. They’d looked out for each other. It had mattered that they were siblings.

Peter can barely look after himself. How is he supposed to look after a little girl?

“I need to get my stuff,” he says.

“We can get you anything you need,” Pepper says. “If you want to go shopping then—”

“I want my stuff,” Peter says. He doesn’t have much, but he doesn’t want Skip to have it.

Mostly he just wants his Midtown sweatshirt. He’d had to save up money for that. And he needs his laptop and his books, those were issued by the school. He’s got half finished homework assignments too that will be late by now, but maybe his teachers will accept ‘I was in juvie and found out I was kidnapped’ as a valid excuse. Maybe he can leave off the juvie part, and just tell them he was kidnapped. That sounds a lot more sympathetic.

“Where is it?” Tony asks.

“Westcott’s apartment.”

“If you give me a list then I can—”

“Uh, no,” Peter says. “I can go.”

“Not by yourself.”

“Why not?”

“You can’t—” Tony cuts himself off. His lips are pressed together into a thin line. “It’s not safe for you to be out on your own,” he says. “If you want to go, then okay. But we’ll go together.”

“Tony,” Pepper says, her voice tight.

Tony turns to her, one hand raised in a shrug.

Peter frowns at him. “Not safe? To do what? Walk around the city?”

“Peter, we just got you back.”

“Yeah, so? I’ve been walking around the city on my own since I was like six. I can go get my stuff from Skip.”

“This isn’t up for discussion.”

“Up for…” Peter stares at him. “Am I locked in here?” He gets to his feet, hands balled into fists. “What was the point of getting me out of jail if you’re just gonna lock me up?”

“You’re not locked up,” Tony says. “We just need—”

“Oh, fuck you.”

Peter turns away, stomping out of the room.

Tony chases after him, and Peter’s instincts tell him to run, but he’s not familiar enough with this apartment to know where to run. He heads for his room, but Tony catches up to him in the hallway, grabbing his arm to stop him.

Peter jerks out of his grip, flattening himself against the opposite wall.

Tony takes a step back, his eyes wide. His hands come up in surrender. “Hey, it’s alright,” he says.

“Can I leave?”

“Pete—”

“Then it’s not alright.”

“Could you listen for a minute,” Tony begs. “You’ve been home for one night, dammit. Just… give me some time.” He runs a hand through his hair. “No, you can’t go out on your own. It’s not safe. Pepper and Morgan don’t go out on their own. They have bodyguards. We’ll get you one too. And even then it’s…” He takes a deep breath and stares at the wall for a moment before he continues. “For now, one of us has to be with you. You were released from juvie into our custody. You can’t go off on your own. After we figure out your probation, or community service, or whatever it winds up being, we can discuss something else.”

Peter slouches back against the wall. Of course Tony would bring up juvie and his looming trial. Being locked up in a swanky penthouse with wi-fi and cable is infinitely better than juvie. “Fine, whatever,” he grouses.

“Okay,” Tony says. He leans back against the wall as well. “Okay,” he says again.

- - -

Morgan bounces into the apartment in a burst of pink tulle.

“Mommy! Daddy! Uncle Happy said Peter’s here! Where is he? I want to meet him. When did he get here? Is he in his room?”

Tony lifts her up, settling her on his hip, and says, “Yes, yes, he’s here. Why don’t you take it down about ten notches so that you don’t scare him off.”

“Is he scared?”

Tony doesn’t answer that. He bounces Morgan on his hip, then sets her back down.

Morgan spots Peter sitting on the couch then, and runs across the room towards him. “Peter!”

She stops just in front of him, waving frantically. “Hi, I’m Morgan. I’m your sister. I’m four.” She holds up four fingers. “Your room is next to mine.”

Peter stares at her. “Uh… Hi,” he manages.

Morgan climbs up onto the couch next to him. “Mommy always said we have the same hair and the same eyes,” she says, reaching out for his hair.

Peter ducks backward, out of her reach, but that just topples her into his lap, and he has to grab hold of her shoulders to set her upright again. Morgan doesn’t seem to mind.

Pepper is watching them from the armchair, looking like she’s going to cry again.

“Do you want to see my room?” Morgan asks. “I have LEGOs we can play with. Your room doesn’t have any yet because Mommy said she didn’t know what kind you would like but now you can tell her which ones you want.”

Morgan gets off the couch and then grabs Peter’s hand, trying to pull him after her. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

Peter looks over at Pepper and Tony, but they’re no help. They’re both watching this entire thing fondly.

“Go play,” Pepper tells him.

“Play?” Peter asks. He hasn’t played with toys in years.

She nods.

Morgan is still tugging on his hand.

Peter feels like he’s not being given a choice.

- - -

Tony drives them over to the Westcott’s apartment in his McLaren, mostly because when they went down the garage Peter had been eyeing it, and all Peter can think when he parks it on the street is that it’s not going to be there when they come back.

He says as much, and Tony laughs. “Don’t worry, no one is getting past the aftermarket security I put in.”

Then the humor drops off Tony’s face as he stares up at the apartment building, and for the first time Peter feels embarrassed about the conditions of the place. It’s not the nicest on the block, but it’s not the worst either. It’s a far cry from the Stark’s penthouse however.

Everything is a far cry from the Stark’s penthouse.

“I can go up on my own,” he tries, one last time. Embarrassment churns in his gut at the thought of Tony standing in the Westcott’s apartment, at him seeing the tiny twin bed and desk with a scratched up surface in Peter’s room. He’s not sure why he’s embarrassed though. It’s not like he chose the place.

Plus it’s a Saturday. Skip and Tiffany are both off work.

Tony shakes his head. He gestures to the door of the building. “Lead the way.”

Peter has his key with him, and uses it to get in. He’s hoping that no one will be home, but he’s not that lucky. Skip is sitting on the couch, watching TV, and jumps up at the sound of the door.

He points at Peter, clearly not seeing Tony behind him. “The fuck are you doing back here?”

“I’m just here for my stuff,” Peter says.

“Like hell. Your social worker said they were moving you. Anything you left here is mine now. You want it back you can fucking pay me for it.”

Tony steps into the doorway then, a glare already on his face. 

Skip’s eyes narrow. “Who’s this? Your new sugar daddy?”

Peter winces.

Tony’s eyes widen, shocked. “I’m his father.”

Skip scoffs. He keeps his attention on Peter. “You think you can bring some other guy you met on the street here to scare me? What’s he gonna do?”

“I just want my stuff,” Peter says.

“Ask for it nicely,” Skip tells him, an ugly smile on his face.

Peter glares at him.

“Hey, what the hell is your problem?” Tony demands.

“This little fucker,” Skip says, gesturing at Peter.

“That’s my kid you’re talking about. Leave him alone.”

“Tony—” Peter tries to break in.

Tony shakes his head at him. “Go get your stuff so we can get out of here,” he tells Peter.

Peter starts toward the hallway, but that requires walking past Skip, who moves toward him. There’s a noise behind him, like something charging up, and Peter and Skip both turn to see Tony standing with a hand out, aimed at Skip. His hand is encased in an honest-to-god Iron Man gauntlet, the center of his palm glowing blue with a repulsor blast.

“You can stay right there,” he tells Skip.

“The fuck—” Skip says.

Peter stares, and Tony has to tell him again to go get his things.

Tiffany is hiding in the hallway, watching the standoff in the living room with wide eyes. When she spots Peter she glares. “Why did you come back?

“I just want my stuff.”

“It’s all junk.”

“It’s stuff for school.”

She shakes her head, and follows him as he walks down the hall to his room. “Who is that man?”

“My new sugar daddy,” Peter says.

Tiffany rolls her eyes. “Who is he really? What’s the thing he’s got?”

“It’s Tony Stark.”

She scoffs. “Yeah right.”

“If you’re not going to believe me…”

“At least make up something believable.”

“It’s really Tony Stark. I’m his long lost son.”

“You’re so full of shit,” she says. She reaches for him, and her nails dig into his arm. “What’s going on? They told us you got arrested.”

“I did. And then Tony Stark got me out of juvie because it turns out he’s my dad and I was kidnapped ten years ago. Don’t you recognize him?”

She lets go of him, crossing her arms as she watches him stuff his school things into his backpack.

He’s got an old laptop and some parts he’d been working on refurbishing, but he’s not sure it’s worth trying to bring them. They’re just junk, really. Stuff he dug out of the garbage, so actually it’s all literal trash. But he’d been hoping to get the laptop working so he wouldn’t have to rely on the one from school that’s locked down with restrictions.

“You’re serious.”

“As a heartbeat.”

She watches him pack silently, and when he’s done she grabs his arm again, stopping him before he can leave. “You better not tell them anything.”

“Tell them what?” Peter asks.

“Any lies about me or my husband,” Tiffany says. “Everyone knows you’re a little liar who’ll say anything to get what you want. They might not know it yet, but they’ll figure it out pretty soon.”

Peter yanks his arm away from her. “Don’t worry,” he says. “You’re the last people I want to talk about.”

When he gets back to the living room, Tiffany trailing behind him, Tony and Skip are still in a standoff. He edges around the side of the room, giving them both a wide berth.

“Got everything?” Tony asks.

Peter nods.

“Good, let’s go.” He lowers his hand finally, and the metal covering his hand retracts back into his watch. Peter stares at it, fascinated.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I’ve already got a buyer for that laptop,” Skip protests.

“It’s not yours to sell, asshole,” Peter says. “Go find your own shit to make money off of.”

“The hell it’s not,” Skip yells at him. “I own you, you little fucker, and all of your shit.” He starts across the room. “Give it here.”

“Back the fuck off before I make you,” Tony says. He steps in between them and starts pushing Peter towards the door. “Ignore him. Let’s go.”

But Peter finally feels like he has the upper hand on Skip, and can’t help wanting to rub it in. He smirks at him from over Tony’s shoulder. “Not anymore, you sick pervert! I’m out of here. You can find someone else to deal with your shit!”

Skip starts after him, but Tiffany finally steps in, trying to calm him down—her method involves yelling at him that he’s going after Tony fucking Stark and does he have a goddamn death wish—and the two of them are still yelling as Tony pushes Peter out into the hallway.

“Hey, calm down,” Tony says, hands on Peter’s shoulders, steering him down the hall.

Peter shakes him off. “I’m fine,” he says. “He’s just an asshole.”

“Yeah, I saw that.”

The yelling from the apartment doesn’t cut off until they enter the stairwell.

It’s not until they’re back in the car that Tony asks, “Is he always like that?”

Peter shrugs. “Does it matter? I don’t have to live there anymore, right?”

“But you’ve been there for the past year.”

Peter shrugs again.

Tony’s hands are tight on the steering wheel, his knuckles white. “Why did you call him a pervert?”

Peter stares out the windshield. “He always watches weird porn.”

“How do you know what kind of porn he watches?”

“He does it in the living room. Like I said, he’s gross. It doesn’t matter. I don’t have to live there anymore.”

He can tell Tony is staring at him, but Peter doesn’t turn to look at him. Eventually Tony starts the car up, and drives them back to the fancy penthouse in Manhattan.

Chapter Text

Pepper finds Tony later that afternoon, holed up in his office, pouring over the file that Irena had gotten from social services.

“What are you doing in here?” she asks.

He doesn’t look up from the page he’s been rereading for the past fifteen minutes. “Peter broke his arm when he was seven,” he says.

Pepper sucks in a breath, letting the door fall shut, and walks over to peer over his shoulder. “Is that his file?”

Tony nods. “It says he fell.”

“Fell?”

“It’s a little sparse on the details. They moved him right afterwards though, so I suspect he didn’t actually fall.”

Pepper leans against his arm. After a long pause, she asks, “What else is in there?”

Tony lets out a huff of a laugh. “Absolutely nothing,” he says.

“What?”

“Nothing. There’s nothing else in here.”

“Nothing?”

“Everything else is about how much of a problem Peter is. Bad grades, fights, sneaking out, running away, stealing, drugs… Not a word about the people he was living with.”

“What happened when you went to get his things?”

Tony shakes his head. “That guy was a piece of work,” he says. “And there’s not a single word in here about him. Just checkmarks next to everything on the home visits, every single time.”

“Piece of work?” Pepper prods him.

“He was yelling, even with me there.” Tony can’t tell her what exactly Skip Westcott and Peter had been yelling at each other. He’s still not sure what to make of it himself.

She bites her lip. “Maybe he just yells. Peter got that black eye in juvie, not from his foster home.”

“Did you see the mark on his arm? His wrist is bruised too. And he’s got another bruise, higher on his forehead.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I’m going to call his lawyer. I want him to look into this Westcott guy and why CPS never saw anything.”

Pepper crosses her arms. She staring down at the papers on Tony’s desk, like they hold any answers.

“He’s scared of me,” Tony says.

“He’s not—”

“He is.”

Tony had been surprised by it, but after seeing where Peter was living, after seeing who he was living with, the surprise has worn off. Replaced with resignation. He’d been hoping that Peter’s social service file would shed some more light on the situation. Tell him if it was just this latest home that had been abusive, or if that had been a problem Peter’s entire life. But there’s nothing here. Just the broken arm when he was seven.

Pepper is silent. After a long minute, she says, “We just uprooted his entire life. And it’s for the better, but everything about this is unfamiliar to him. We’re unfamiliar to him. He doesn’t remember us at all. We have to… We have to build new memories with him. We have to build a new life with him. It’s going to take time. He has to get to know us all over again. We have to get to know who he is now.”

“We can’t act like none of this happened to him,” Tony says, gesturing to the papers in front of him.

“That’s not what I said.”

Her hand wraps around his, tugging until his chair spins away from the desk to face her. “He’ll tell us about it when he’s ready to, Tony. When he trusts us.”

“And if he never tells us?”

“He will,” she says, sounding sure of it.

- - -

Morgan has latched onto Peter like a leech, despite only meeting him that morning. No doubt glad to finally have a live-in playmate. Tony finds them in her room, where Morgan is dictating to Peter how to build a house for her barbies out of LEGO.

“How’s it going in here?” he asks, poking his head in.

Peter looks up at him, a bit of a strained expression on his face. “Um… it’s fine, I guess.”

“Peter is helping me,” Morgan says.

“I see that,” Tony says. “Why don’t you both go tell your mom what you want for dinner?”

Morgan gets to her feet, darting past Tony towards the kitchen.

When Peter follows her out into the hallway, Tony tells him, “You can tell her no, you know?”

Peter shrugs. “She’s alright.”

Tony can’t help the soft smile on his face. He’s always known that Peter would be a good older brother. He’d been such a gentle little boy, and it’s nice to see that that part of him is still in there.

“She likes movies too,” he suggests, because he’s sure that Peter will get sick of the little kid toys soon.

“I don’t watch much TV,” Peter says.

“What do you like to do?”

“Hookers and blow,” Peter answers, without pause.

Tony pauses, and Peter snickers. 

“Your face is priceless,” Peter tells him.

Right, he walked right into that one. The kid must have some interests. If not, they’re going to have to find some.

“You’re a little young for that,” he finally says.

Peter shrugs, shooting Tony a look out of the corner of his eye. “I’m not that young.”

Tony had thought he was really grown up at fourteen too, off on his own at MIT. Where he’d been going to parties with college kids and drinking and, yes, just starting to embark upon doing drugs. He’d been smoking pot though, not snorting cocaine.

Not yet, anyway.

He always thought he’d protect his children from that. Break the cycle and all that shit. Raise them better than his father had raised him.

But he hasn’t had the chance to raise Peter at all.

Peter walks ahead of him into the kitchen, where they find Pepper and Morgan. Pepper turns a bright smile on them both. “There you are. What do you want for dinner?”

“Cheeseburgers,” Morgan declares.

Pepper turns to her. “It’s Peter’s first dinner at home. We’re going to let him pick, okay?”

Morgan turns to Peter. “Pick cheeseburgers,” she tells him.

“Don’t listen to her,” Pepper says. “Peter, what’s your favorite?”

“Uh…” he looks between them, looking overwhelmed. “I don’t know.”

“You must have a favorite food,” Pepper says. “We can order anything.”

“I don’t… Cheeseburgers sound fine to me.”

“But—”

“We can do burgers,” Tony says. Pepper shoots him a glare, and he tries to convey to her with just a look that she needs to back off. “Homemade? Do we have everything?”

They do. Once the patties are made, Tony drags Peter out to the balcony to help man the grill.

Peter is more interested in the view. “Is that a landing pad?” he asks, peering through the glass barrier to the lower level.

“I mostly land there with the suit,” Tony says. “Sometimes the quinjet.”

“Jet?”

“Usually just if someone else on the team stops by.”

Peter turns towards him. “Team like… the Avengers?”

Tony nods.

Peter shakes his head. “Holy shit,” he mutters, under his breath.

“You met Rhodey,” Tony points out. “You’ll probably meet the others.”

Peter looks a bit wide-eyed at that.

“They’re mostly upstate these days,” Tony says. “But if there’s anything going on in the city they always commandeer my conference rooms.”

Peter remains silent, turning away again, and Tony goes back to focusing on the burgers.

Eventually, Peter asks, “Are they gonna let me go back to Midtown?”

“Your school?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t see why they wouldn’t. But there are some other private options we can look at in Manhattan.” Tony hasn’t given a lot of thought to schools for Peter yet, but he’s considered it for Morgan so he’s not entirely out of the loop on which ones are the best.

“I worked hard to get into Midtown,” Peter says.

“The private schools have better—”

“I’ve done a lot to go to Midtown,” Peter says, insistent. His eyes are narrowed. “I worked hard to get in and I’ve been liv— I like it there. My… My friends are there. I know my grades aren’t, like, awesome, but that’s just ‘cos I don’t always get my homework done. I can start doing it.”

Tony eyes him. The burgers are sizzling on the grill, loud in the silence between them. This is most earnest he’s seen Peter be about anything yet. He hadn’t even been this passionate about getting out of juvie. “These aren’t the friends you got the drugs from, are they?”

Peter rolls his eyes. “No,” he says. “They don’t go to school.”

“Who are your friends at Midtown?”

“His name is Ned. He’s nice. He’s smart.”

“Just Ned?”

Peter crosses his arms. “Yeah, just Ned.”

One friend. One non-druggie friend.

It’s a start.

“Okay,” Tony says. “I’ll talk to the principal.”

Peter looks surprised. “Really?”

“Really.” Then Tony gestures to the burgers. “You want cheese?”

“Of course.”

- - -

Tony discovers one interest of Peter’s the next day when he finds the kid standing outside the workshop, peering through the glass walls at the tech inside.

“You want to go in?” he asks.

Peter jumps, and spins around to look at him. “I wasn’t— I was just looking.”

Tony nods at him. “It’s okay. I’ll show you around.” He steps up to the door, holding his hand over the panel to unlock it, and then holds it open, gesturing for Peter to go in.

Peter eyes him warily, but eventually edges past him. His attention is drawn to the far wall, where there are two completed suits standing. One is an upgrade for Rhodey, though Tony refuses to use any garish paint colors on it. The other is the latest Iron Man suit.

When Peter was little he used to hang out in the garage while Tony worked on cars or other tech, bopping his head along to the music. Tony had just about taught him what all the tools looked like, so that he could fetch things. Pepper had rolled her eyes at it, saying it was child labor, but Peter had loved it.

Tony had loved it too, but mostly he’d loved spending time with him.

“You want to take a look at them?” he asks.

“Can I?” Peter asks.

Tony nods, and goes over to pull the helmet off the suit. It opens in his hands, the faceplate sliding back. He gestures for Peter to come closer. “Here.”

Peter’s eyes are on the helmet, not on Tony.

“Try it on.” Tony holds it out to him.

Peter sets it over his own head slowly, and the faceplate closes down. “Whoa,” he breathes, his voice coming out a bit tinny. “This is awesome.” He turns, looking around the room with it. “How does it scan everything?”

“That’s FRIDAY. She’s embedded in the suit.”

“Cool.”

Peter turns toward the window, and takes a step toward it, his attention once again caught by the view. With the HUD, it will have a map overlay of landmarks.

After a few minutes Peter reaches up to take it off, and then holds the helmet in his hands, turning it over, his fingers tracing along the seams of the plating.

“I’m working on making one out of nanites,” Tony says.

“Like… nanobots?”

He nods. “You know what they are?”

Peter shrugs. “Sort of. Not really.” After a moment he adds, “There’s a robotics club at school that my friend Ned is in and he was talking about it.”

Tony demonstrates with his wrist gauntlet. “It’s made from a bunch of microscopic robots. Basically tiny, much smarter versions of that idiot over there.” He gestures over to Dum-E, who raises his arm with a whirr.

Peter looks over at him. “It can hear you?”

“That’s Dum-E. He’s older than you even.” 

Peter sets the helmet down on a workbench and walks over to Dum-E, reaching a hand out towards him. Dum-E beeps, waving his arm around and nearly knocking Peter in the head.

“Why do you call him Dum-E?”

“I built him when I was sixteen, it seemed like a good name at the time.”

“And you still have him?”

“I hang on to a lot of junk,” Tony says. He watches Peter wander around the room for a bit more. “You want to look at the nanobots?”

Peter pauses, looking away from the toolset he’d been poking at. He shakes his head. “They sound complicated.”

“I can explain it.”

Another head shake. This time Peter starts backing away towards the door. “I’m gonna go back up to my room.”

“You don’t have to—”

But Peter is already out the door, turning to dart up the stairs.

- - -

The principal at Midtown doesn’t want to let Peter back in.

“We have a zero tolerance policy,” Morita says. He’s looking nervously between Tony and Pepper, who are sitting in the uncomfortable chairs across the desk from him.

“Zero tolerance policies target under-privledged students and enforce punishments that go far beyond the offense committed,” Pepper says, her eyes narrowed at him. 

She’s dressed for work, her legs are crossed at the ankle, and she sits in that chair like it’s the head seat in the boardroom. 

“And until last week,” she goes on, “Peter was in foster care and attending this school on scholarship. He received free lunches. Only 10% of your student body is on free lunches, which is far below the percentage that’s typical of public schools in Queens’ County. So, I think we can all agree that Peter has been one of your under-privledged students. His life has not been easy. Yes, he got caught with drugs off school property. At a party that many other students of this school were attending and that was in fact being hosted by another student.

“Have those students been expelled? Suspended?” Pepper arches an eyebrow. 

Morita’s mouth opens, like he’s going to reply.

Pepper doesn’t give him the chance. “I already know that they haven’t. The fact that Peter was the only one charged with a crime is because he didn’t have anyone advocating for him at the time. As you can see, that has changed. He’s our son, and he’d like to keep attending this school. There’s already been a lot of upheaval in his life lately, and we’d like to minimize anymore by keeping him here. You can help us do that.” 

She smiles then, softening. No longer Pepper the CEO and now Pepper the mother. “All of his friends are here. All the teachers he knows. This school is part of his routine. Routine is so important for teenagers, especially ones like Peter who are going through such a big change in their life. It would be so beneficial for him to be able to stay.”

Morita stares back at her. “I… um. I mean, I’m sure we could talk to the board and work something out.”

“Wonderful,” Pepper says.

Tony shakes the man’s hand before they go.

Outside, Pepper puts her sunglasses on and says, “You were no help.”

“You didn’t need me, honey. You had that handled.”

“I can’t believe they were expelling him and not the other kids!”

Tony pats her shoulder. “But now they’re not. You’re like supermom. Next up, bake sales.”

“Bake sales,” Pepper repeats.

“Well, maybe we should actually get him to join a club first. He mentioned his friend was in robotics.”

“But does he like robotics?”

Tony shrugs. Peter has been home for nearly a week, and he still has no idea what Peter likes or doesn’t like. He won’t even express a food preference. The only request he’s made is to stay at Midtown.

At least they can make that happen.

Chapter Text

“What do you mean I have a bodyguard?” Peter demands.

It’s Saturday night, and he’s been out of school for a week at this point, and he's finally supposed to go back Monday. He’s surprised that he’s looking forward to it.

Well, he’s kind of looking forward to getting away from Tony and Pepper, if he’s being honest. They just stare at him when they think he’s not looking. And this whole happy family thing they’ve got going on is over the top.

No one is this happy and perfect. Peter is tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

They’re not even mad about the drugs. Hell, they’re not even disappointed. They think he was snorting cocaine because he was kidnapped and forced to grow up in foster care with a string of abusive dickwads for guardians instead of growing up in the lap of luxury, and what they don’t know is that Peter does it because he likes it.

“Happy is going to be your bodyguard,” Tony says.

Happy, who Peter had met at dinner earlier tonight but who he had not known was a bodyguard, does not look very happy about his new job. Morgan calls him Uncle Happy, and he’d said he worked for Tony when Peter was a baby. Peter had assumed he was some kind of family friend.

He’s also guessing that Happy is some kind of ironic nickname.

He glares at both Tony and Happy. “I don’t need a bodyguard for school.”

“Yes you do,” Tony says.

“It’s high school. What’s gonna happen at—”

“You were literally kidnapped from school,” Tony says. “This is not up for negotiation.”

“Did I have a bodyguard then?” Peter asks. “It must not have done any good.”

Tony sucks in a harsh breath at that. He says, “Happy is the best there is.”

Peter eyes Happy, looking him up and down. Happy remains silent, like he’s attempting to melt into the background. But he’s a big guy, burly with hidden muscle. “He can’t follow me around. What’s everyone gonna think?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean ‘what do I mean?’ I can’t just show up with a bodyguard. No one else at school has a bodyguard.”

“We’re going to have to make an announcement about having found you,” Tony tells him. “We were thinking tomorrow. Sunday is usually a good day for that sort of thing, no one is paying a lot of attention to the news. And that way it’s before you go back to school.”

Peter stares at him. “You’re… you’re gonna announce it to everyone?”

Tony nods. “Just a press release. No interviews or photos or anything.”

“What are you gonna say?”

“That we found you. That you’re safe. That we’re glad to have you back home.”

Peter crosses his arms over his chest. “Why don’t you tell them I got arrested too?”

“They don’t need to know that.”

“That’s the truth though.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“You don’t think anyone is gonna care about how you found me?” Peter asks.

“Juvenile court records are sealed. No one is going to find it. And even if they do, they aren’t allowed to print it.”

“I don’t care if they print it,” Peter says. “I think you care if they print it. I think you care if everyone knows that your kid was selling cocaine and—”

“Honestly, Peter, you getting arrested is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Tony says. “I don’t care what you were doing or why you were doing it.”

Peter stares at him, but Tony is being really earnest about it. He actually believes what he’s saying.

“Yeah, well you didn’t have to spend a couple nights in juvie trying to decide which gang to join. I don’t have a lot of options in that regard, you know? And my cellmate had a shiv so he was making a compelling argument for his group.”

Tony’s jaw is clenched, but all he says is, “You can look over the statement before we put it out if you want.”

“Whatever.” Peter crosses his arms. It’s not like he has a say in whether it goes out or not, so what does it matter what it says?

“One other thing,” Tony says. “I talked to Henry Gallagher. You remember him, right? He’s the lawyer we’ve hired for your case. He contacted your old social worker for us, and they’re looking into the Westcotts.”

Peter’s arms drop to his sides as he stares back at Tony. “What?”

“They’re investigating—”

“Why?” Peter hasn’t said a word about them to Tony. Why would he call CPS?

Tony sighs. “Pete, I was there. I saw how he treated you. You said he was…” Tony trails off.

“I just said he was an asshole.”

“Yeah, I saw what an asshole he is. You never should have been living with him.”

“So you called a lawyer?”

“CPS,” Tony says. “And they’re investigating. They might want to talk to you.”

“I don’t have anything to say.”

“Peter—”

“No,” Peter says. Then: “Y’know what, whatever, I don’t give a shit. Do whatever you want. But leave me out of it.”

He spins on his heel and storms away, taking satisfaction in the way the wall shakes a bit when he slams his bedroom door.

- - -

Peter has told Ned what’s going on, but that doesn’t stop Ned from blowing up his phone after the news story drops the next day.

Ned: don’t be mad but i told MJ too

Peter: MJ?

Ned: Michelle. Were friends now. You have to be nice to her

Peter: i’m nice to her. when shes nice to me

Ned: she was really worried when i told her you got arrested but she was glad you found your parents and stuff

Ned: are you coming back to school?

Peter: tomorrow

Peter: i have a bodyguard now

Peter: so that i can’t get kidnapped again or some shit

Ned: that is so cool

Ned: is it like the secret service

Peter: no

Ned: i can’t believe iron man is your dad

Ned: is he really cool?

Ned: have you seen the suit?

Peter: he’s not that cool. and yes. i tried the helmet on

Ned: he’s IRON MAN

Peter: you come live with him then

Ned: can i?

- - -

Ned is the only one who makes the connection between Peter Parker and Peter Stark, at least until Monday morning, during homeroom, when Mr. Harrington takes role, gets to Peter’s name, and says, “Oh my god, sorry! Sorry Peter. It’s Stark now, right? They haven’t updated the whole system yet. Here, let me scratch it out.” He starts scribbling with his pen. “And move you down here to the S’s.”

Peter, who’s sitting in the back row, has a great view of every single person in the room turning to look at him.

He slouches down in his seat and tugs the hood of his hoodie over his head. Happy is hovering in the corner of the room, wearing a suit and looking entirely out of place.

Mr. Harrington tries to move on to the next student, but Flash says, “Wait, Peter Stark?!” He points at Peter. “This is a joke, right?”

One of the girls says, “Isn’t that Tony Stark’s kid that was kidnapped as a baby? That story is so sad.”

“Oh yeah, I listened to this podcast—”

“Mr. H, you can’t be serious!”

“Parker—”

Peter slinks down further.

Mr. Harrington is trying to regain control of the classroom. “Guys! Guys! Quiet down everyone! Quiet, please. Please! Thank you. Hands up if you have a question.”

Half the hands in the class go up.

“Betty?”

“What’s going on?” she asks.

Mr. Harrington looks cornered. “Well,” he says. “There was a memo— I mean, I’m sure you all saw the news yesterday. It was on every channel. And all over Twitter. I thought you’d all… Anyway. Peter, why don’t you tell them?”

“Nah, you got it handled, Mr. H,” Peter calls up to him.

Mr. Harrington looks stricken. “Well I… Okay. Alright. So it turns out that Tony Stark is Peter’s father.”

“Bullshit!” Flash exclaims.

Peter frowns over at him. “What's your problem, Thompson?”

“There’s no way Tony Stark is your dad!”

“Uh, yeah,” Peter says. “I’ve been living with him for like the past week.”

Flash’s mouth drops open. “I thought you were in juvie.”

Peter smirks at him, and is about to respond, but Mr. Harrington breaks in. “Okay, that’s enough. We do have a class to get through.”

Flash is still glaring at Peter, and everyone else is staring. It sets a precedent for the day.

- - -

By the time lunch rolls around Peter is thoroughly sick of being the center of attention. He’d like for everyone to just fuck right off and leave him alone. He’s used to being pretty invisible at school, to both other students and to the teachers, and today has been the exact opposite.

Betty had even approached him after homeroom, wanting an interview for the school news.

He sits with Ned and Michelle at lunch, and even Ned isn’t immune to the uproar. He’s still excited about the fact that Peter lives with Iron Man now.

Ned does pause in his Iron Man worship, halfway through eating his lunch, to say, “Isn’t it nice to be back with your own family though, and not a foster family?”

Peter frowns down at his own lunch, and shrugs. He has a packed lunch. He has never in life had a packed lunch before, but Pepper had handed him a lunchbox this morning, and it’s got a large sandwich, a baggie of a carrot sticks and a tiny little tupperware with french onion dip, a bag of chips, and even a snack size bar of chocolate. There was a napkin included, along with a gatorade that was nestled next to an icepack.

Do all moms do this? Or is she just making up for lost time? Is she just being extra nice because he’s been gone for so long?

“It’s alright,” he tells Ned.

Michelle is eyeing his lunch. “Did your mom fix you that?” she asks. “That’s nice of her.”

Peter can’t actually think of anything bad to say about Pepper. Pepper is very nice and she tries really hard to make sure he’s happy. He just nods.

“What about your dad?” she asks.

“He’s fine,” Peter says.

“I’m sorry you got arrested,” Michelle says, her voice low even with the din of the cafeteria. “We shouldn’t have left you behind.”

Peter shrugs. “I was being a jerk.”

“You weren’t—”

“Yeah I was.”

She frowns at him.

“Anyway, it’s for the best.” He pastes on a smile. “If I hadn’t been arrested, I wouldn’t have been fingerprinted. And that’s how they found out I was a missing kid and all that. Tony even told me he’s glad I was arrested because that’s how they found me.”

“Did you get community service or something?” Ned asks.

“Dunno,” Peter says. He starts dipping the carrots into the dip. “I haven’t seen a judge yet.”

They’re interrupted by Aiden, who looks more nervous than usual. “Hey, Parker.”

“It’s Stark now,” Peter says.

Aiden blinks at him. “Oh yeah, right. I heard about that. Flash is, like, so pissed off.”

“Why?” Peter asks.

Aiden shrugs. “Who knows with him? Anyway, you got a sec?”

Peter glances at Ned and Michelle, then says, “Be right back.” He leaves his lunch behind and drags Aiden out of the cafeteria and into the hallway, which is more sparsely populated. 

Happy follows him, of course. Peter glares at him and pulls Aiden further away so that Happy won’t overhear.

“What is it?”

“I’m having a party next weekend and I need—”

“I don’t have anything,” Peter whispers, cutting him off. “Keep your voice down.” He glances over his shoulder at Happy, but he’s looking at the display case.

“You always have something.”

“I literally got arrested. And then moved. I don’t have anything.”

Aiden looks annoyed. “Well who does?”

Peter frowns. “Owen,” he suggests.

“That guy that sells out of the back alley?”

Peter nods.

Aiden doesn’t look happy. “His stuff’s not as good.” That evidently isn’t a deterrent though, because the next words out of his mouth are, “Do you think he’s there now?”

Peter tilts his head. “Only one way to find out.”

Ditching Happy is easier than it should be, given that his job is literally to just watch Peter, but he’s still looking at the display case, and Peter perfected the art of sneaking away from adults many years ago. He doubles back through the cafeteria, stops to stuff the remainder of his lunch into his lunchbox and says a quick goodbye to Ned and Michelle, and then exits through the sidedoor.

The hallways are pretty deserted. Owen always sets up shop in the alley behind the train stop, and you have to get off school property to find him. He’s usually there after school, but he skips lunch and hangs out there most days too.

He meets Aiden at the back door, and they sneak out together.

Owen is hanging out with a girl, both of them on their phones. The girl doesn’t even look up when Peter and Aiden approach them. Owen, on the other hand, eyes them both distrustfully. “What do you want?”

Peter glances around the alley. “It is seriously gross back here, dude.”

“Leave then.”

“What do you have?” Aiden asks.

Owen looks him up and down, and then says, “Adderall.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Fine. How much?”

Owen names his price, and Aiden ponies up the cash for a baggie of pills. Then Peter pulls out his own wallet.

Tony had given him some cash this morning and called it lunch money, and that was after Pepper had given the packed lunch. So Peter doesn’t need to spend the money on food. There’s plenty of food at home. The Stark’s fridge is so packed Peter barely knows what to do with all of the options. They make an event out of every meal.

“I’ve got $40,” he says, holding it out.

That only buys him 4 pills.

He pulls one of his textbooks out of his bag, setting it on the ground, and uses the heel of his hand to crush one of the pills against it.

“You’re doing it now?” Aiden asks.

“No time like the present,” Peter says. He holds his hand back out to Owen. “Give me one of those bills back to snort it with.”

“I don’t want your snot all over it.”

“It’s money. It’s already got shit on it. You can have it back in a minute.”

Owen sighs, but hands him back one of his twenties.

After snorting the pill, Peter grimaces. He shoves his book back into his bag and then he leans against the wall, not caring anymore how gross the alley is.

He goes back into school a different person than he walked out of it. He is floating on a cloud. Nothing is touching him. Who gives a flying fuck that everyone is staring at him? They can stare all they want. His life is awesome. He just found his parents. He doesn’t have to go back and live with Skip anymore. He has a mom who does super nice shit like pack him lunches and ask what he wants for dinner and buy him clothes and smile at him all the time, like she actually likes having him around. She’s so nice. And so pretty. He hasn’t told her that she’s pretty yet. She dresses super nice for work in fancy dresses and tall heels. He should tell her that she’s pretty. Mom’s probably like being told that they’re pretty. He should 100% do that. As soon as he gets home.

He just has to get through the rest of the day at school, with Happy hovering over him. Happy who is not happy. Unhappy Happy. Ha!

“Where were you?” Happy demands, as soon as he finds Peter again.

“In the bathroom,” Peter says. “I have chemistry now. We should get going.”

“Hang on.” Happy reaches for his arm, dragging him to a stop. “You can’t run off like that. I’m supposed to be watching you. If you’re going somewhere, you need to tell me.”

Peter jerks away from him. “Hey, man. Maybe you should pay better attention to where I go then. It’s not my fault you lost me.”

“I didn’t lose—”

“It’s not my fault I got lost before either,” Peter adds.

Happy frowns at him. “No one has said it’s your fault.”

“I don’t even remember it,” Peter says.

Happy is staring at him now, a deep frown on his face.

The bell rings.

“Oh, time for chemistry! I love chemistry!” Peter spins on his heel, starting off in the direction of the chemistry lab. He has chemistry with Ned. And chemistry is one of Peter’s favorite classes because it’s pretty hands on, and sometimes they get to blow stuff up.

Before he can get more than a few steps away Happy has grabbed his arm again, jerking him to a stop. “Hold up,” he says. “Look at me.”

Peter stares at the knot of Happy’s tie. “What?” Happy reaches for his chin, and Peter jerks away from him, stumbling back a step. “Leave me alone!”

“Did you take something?”

“No,” Peter lies.

“Your pupils are completely blown.”

“That’s just what my eyes look like.”

“I know what it looks like when someone is on something. What did you take?”

“Nothing,” Peter insists.

“Who gave it to you?”

“No one gives drugs away, Happy. You have to buy them.”

“Who sold it to you then?”

“No one. I told you, I didn’t take anything.”

Another bell rings, and now he’s late for chemistry because Happy won’t drop this.

“I’m late now,” Peter says. “Are you gonna tell the teacher it’s because you were interrogating me?”

“I’m going to tell Tony and Pepper you were on something.”

Peter starts walking backward, towards the class he’s late for, holding his hands out expansively. “Be my guest. I don’t care what you tell them.”

“You should. They care—”

“Well I don’t.” Peter glares at him. “I have chem class now.” He spins around, and stomps off.

Happy follows him, because of course he does.

Peter makes a point of ignoring Happy for the rest of the day, trying not to let the man’s presence harsh his vibe. Despite the argument he’s still feeling really good. All his classes are a breeze, and while normally he hangs out in the back of the room to avoid being noticed, he figures if everyone is already staring at him today then what the hell. If they’re gonna stare then he might as well answer the questions, and he gets the answers right. He’s always right.

It’s not that he doesn’t know this shit, it’s just that he doesn’t have time for this shit. He’s busy. Life is busy. He likes school but school is also not the most important thing on his list. He’s gotta find food and money and avoid Skip on his bad days and—

And he doesn’t have to do that anymore.

He’s sitting in physics class, thinking about how he doesn’t really have to worry about jack shit anymore.

Except Pepper and Tony don’t know the real you, that voice in the back of his head whispers. They’re taking care of him now, but they think the worst thing he’s ever done is sell a little coke to some rich kids at a party.

They don’t know anything about him at all.

Chapter Text

Tony and Pepper’s idea of punishment is to sit down and have a ‘family meeting’.

Peter’s not sure what to make of it at first when they ask him to join them at the dining table with very serious expressions, but then they confront him with Happy having tattled about him being high at school yesterday.

“He’s lying,” Peter says.

“Happy doesn’t lie,” Tony says.

“Well, he is. I wasn’t on anything. Where would I even get anything?”

“From someone at school?”

“I thought I was supposed to be the source of all the drugs at school,” Peter says, with a roll of his eyes.

Pepper reaches across the table for his hand. “Peter, we want to trust you. But we’re your parents and we need to make sure that you’re safe. And that includes making sure you’re safe at school. That’s why Happy is with you. And we trust him. So if he says he saw you take something—”

“He didn’t see jack shit,” Peter spits out, pulling his hand away from her and crossing his arms. “And so what? I’m telling you he’s lying.”

“Happy doesn’t have any reason to lie about this,” Tony says.

“But I do?”

Tony just raises an eyebrow.

Peter stands up. “So search me then. Go through my stuff. I don’t have anything.”

He’d left the other three pills tucked into the pocket of a hoodie in his locker at school. He’s not an idiot.

“I don’t want to have to go through your stuff, Pete. If you have anything I want you to hand it over.”

“I don’t have anything.”

“Did you take anything yesterday?” Pepper asks.

“No,” he insists.

He almost feels bad for lying to her. Almost.

But then she sighs, like he’s being difficult, and looks at Tony. It’s the same way every foster mother he’s ever had has looked away from him, not wanting to deal with him. Foisting him off onto someone else.

Tony’s arms are crossed. It’s clear neither of them believe him, but Peter’s used to the people he lives with thinking he’s a lying piece of shit.

At least this time it’s justified.

“Is that all, or do you want a piss test or something as proof?” Peter asks.

“You can go,” Tony says, making a tight gesture towards the hallway. “But if Happy sees you doing drugs at school again then we’ll have to reevaluate letting you go there.”

Peter rolls his eyes, but takes the out from this conversation, and heads for his bedroom.

- - -

Peter likes his room, and generally everyone leaves him alone when he goes in and closes the door, but Pepper seems to have taken on decorating it as a mission. “You haven’t changed anything in here,” she says, standing in the doorway one evening after school.

Peter is propped up against the headboard, scrolling through videos on his phone. “It’s fine.”

“We should get some stuff for the walls.” She gestures. “We can repaint if you want.”

“It’s fine,” he says again.

“What color do you like?”

Peter looks down at the plaid comforter. There are several colors in it, but it’s predominantly navy. The walls are painted blue as well, broken up by the large windows and the light curtains.

“Blue is fine.”

Pepper’s lips purse. “I don’t want it to be fine. I want you to like it.”

“This is the nicest room I’ve ever had,” he says. “I mean, when I was nine I had a foster home where I spent like six months sleeping on the floor with just this old sleeping bag because there were so many of us so really, this room is great. The bed is comfy. I like the windows.”

He’s trying to reassure her, but her eyes have filled with tears, and he wishes he could take back telling her anything about his past.

“Maybe some posters,” she insists. “We could go shopping.”

Peter has never been shopping for posters. He says yes just to make her happy.

Pepper walks across to his closet, and starts flicking through his clothes. “We can get you some new clothes too,” she says. “I think everything I bought is too big.”

“It’s fine,” Peter says again.

“Peter, those jeans are falling off of you.”

They are, but he’d found a very expensive belt in his closet to hold them up with.

“You need shoes too,” Pepper is saying, stepping deeper into the closet now. “And we can find some swim trunks.”

“Swimming?” He gets up finally, walking over to hover at the door of the closet, watching her. She’s sorting through the racks, arranging things.

Pepper nods. “There’s the pool deck here, and the hot tub. And we might go out to LA later in the summer. Or up to the lake house.”

He should probably tell her that he doesn’t know how to swim.

She turns, crouching down, and pulls out a box from the back of the closet. “Have you gone through this yet?”

He shakes his head, then says, “No,” because she’s not looking at him.

“Here.” She pulls it out into the middle of the closet floor, kneeling down next to it, then beckons him over. “These were some of your things I saved from the old house. Most of it’s gone. I don’t know if you remember those Mandarin attacks from a while back, but he turned out to be an old adversary of your da— of Tony’s, and he attacked us at home. The whole house was reduced to rubble and most of it fell off the cliff. But I saved a few things.”

She hands him a blanket then. It’s folded carefully. Peter sits cross-legged across from her and sets it on his lap, running his hand over the top. It’s quilted, with a pattern of green and blue rabbits. The fabric is worn soft and thin.

He traces his finger over the stitching, up around one of the rabbit’s ears.

“You used to take that everywhere,” Pepper says.

He glances inside the box. There are other things there, toys and books and a few stuffed animals. A couple articles of clothing. Baby things. Reminders of something that feels completely foreign to him.

There are no soft reminders in a box of Peter’s actual childhood.

He holds the blanket back out to her. “I don’t remember it.”

Pepper falters, reaching out to take it from him slowly. “That isn’t— I know you don’t. That’s okay.”

“I’m not gonna magically remember,” he says.

“Peter—”

He gets up, walking back into the bedroom, but then realizes that the room he’s been using as an escape this past week isn’t one right now. He crosses his arms over his chest, feeling weirdly cornered even as he stands in the middle of the room.

“I’m sorry,” Pepper says, approaching him slowly. “I didn’t show you to make you feel like you have to remember. I just… I just wanted to share it with you. They belong to you.”

He shakes his head. “No, they don’t.”

“I’m sorry,” she says again. “Sweetie.” She reaches for him.

He steps away from her.

She looks sad again. He hates making her look sad, but that’s all he ever seems to do.

- - -

Having a little sister is… interesting. Morgan wants to play all the time. Or just spend all of her time with Peter. She follows him around like a little shadow unless he goes into his room and closes the door, and then he honestly feels kind of bad for shutting her out.

“We don’t have to play Barbie,” Morgan tries to convince him. “My friend Ava said her brother won’t play with them. She said brothers don’t like Barbie. I have LEGOs and ooh! I have a kitchen. Come see my kitchen.”

“You have a kitchen?”

Morgan nods vigorously. “Come see, come see.” She reaches for his hand, trying to pull him along.

“Okay, okay.”

The toy kitchen is in the playroom, not in her bedroom. There is an entire room designated ‘the playroom’ and it’s filled with toys and a little table and chairs with craft supplies and even a television and bean bag chairs for watching movies. Morgan’s kitchen is as tall as she is and made from wood, with lots of intricate accessories like little frying pans and plates and toy food.

Peter settles onto one of the bean bags to watch her.

“I’m going to make you lunch,” Morgan declares. “What’s your favorite?”

“Thai food,” he says.

“What kind of Thai food?”

“Pad kee mao and spring rolls.”

Morgan looks perplexed, her hands on her hips as she stares back at him.

“It’s noodles,” he explains. “In a sauce. But you can make me anything.”

“I have noodles!” She turns back to her little kitchen, throwing open the cabinet door and dragging out a basket that she upends onto the floor. All manner of toy food spills out, and she starts digging through it until she finds what looks like spaghetti noodles.

She amuses herself ‘cooking’ for a while, and Peter pulls his phone out, just scrolling mindlessly through videos. It’s not long before Morgan is shouting, “Order up!” like she’s working in a diner.

Peter laughs. “Where did you learn that?”

“Daddy takes me to get waffles at the diner and they always yell ‘order up!’ when the food is ready and then the waitresses bring it to you. Stay there. I’ll bring it to you.”

She brings him a little plate with the toy noodles and a toy egg roll.

Peter’s not sure what he’s supposed to do with it. “Um, thank you,” he says.

“You have to try it.”

He stares at the plastic food, then back at her smiling face. Slowly, he picks up the fake egg roll and mimes taking a bite. “Mmm, yum,” he says.

Morgan seems satisfied with this. She leans in to give him a hug, arms circling his neck, and Peter wraps his arm around her back. Morgan’s body is radiating warmth against him, and he feels very aware of how tiny she is when she’s pressed up next to him like this.

She pulls back quickly, and turns back to her kitchen. “I’m gonna make Daddy some coffee,” she declares. “He says he needs it to live.”

“We all have our vices,” Peter says.

- - -

Peter has a nightmare that night. He has them occasionally, but this one is particularly bad. It starts off in one of his old foster homes, from when he was a little kid. The ‘dad’ at that home had been a special kind of asshole, always getting pissed off over the tiniest thing and yelling about it. It was impossible to do anything right. Peter had spent most of his time trying to stay out of the way. His favorite hiding place had been down in the basement, because no one ever looked for him there, and out of sight was out of mind.

In the nightmare, Skip finds him there, crowding into the crawl space until Peter can’t escape.

When he wakes up the images linger in his mind, vivid against the back of his eyelids and in the dark of the room.

He gets out of bed, going over to look out the windows. The cars down below are the size of beetles, crawling along.

Restlessness eventually drives him out of his bedroom. The rest of the apartment is silent and still. It’s just past midnight, and he knows Tony usually stays up late, but it appears that even he’s gone to bed early tonight.

Peter peers out the windows in the living room, studying the view of the surrounding buildings. The Chrysler Building is the closest and tallest, but others that he doesn’t know the names of loom closely as well.

The lights from outside seem to make the penthouse feel even darker by comparison. He feels alone up here. Like if he stepped outside and started screaming no one would even notice.

The door to the balcony is locked. He tugs at it, then checks for a block of wood stopping the door, but of course this place is too fancy for that. There must be a panel or something like there is for Tony’s workshop downstairs.

There’s nothing obvious on the wall, but looking around has drawn his attention to the bar. There’s a backlight behind the glasses, casting a glow out over the whole thing. It looks like it’s meant for display, but the shelves are empty. Peter has ignored it up until now because of that, but on closer inspection, all the alcohol has just been locked away in the lower cabinets.

Pepper’s office is down on the other side of the penthouse, but a quick look at the top of her desk nets him what he needs: two paperclips.

He makes short work of the lock on one of the cabinets, using the light from his phone to see by, and is rewarded with a collection of top shelf whiskey.

Peter grins to himself, crouched on his knees in front of it. “Jackpot.”

He’d been half expecting some sort of alarm to go off when he picked the lock, or for the AI to tell him to stop, but nothing has happened. He grabs a bottle from the middle and then rearranges things so that it won’t be obvious anything is missing, and closes the door back up. There’s no way to redo the lock, but he has no idea how often Tony gets into this. Maybe he won’t notice for a while.

This is probably the nicest alcohol Peter has ever drunk, and he’s drinking it straight from the bottle. It burns a bit going down, but not in a bad way. In a warm, pleasant way. Like it’s heating him from the inside. Like it’s spreading through his body, chasing away the chill that’s been lingering ever since he woke up.

He sits on the couch for a while, drinking, before deciding to try the door to the balcony again. It’s still locked.

“Come on, open,” he says, smacking his palm against the glass. “Where’s the lock?”

“The lock is next to the plant on your right,” FRIDAY answers him. “But you are not allowed out of the penthouse without an escort.”

Peter jumps, startled, and looks at the ceiling. “What the fuck?”

She doesn’t say anything else.

He finds the lock where she said it would be, and finally gets the door open. It’s cold outside, and the chill wind cuts through his thin pajamas.

Peter walks up to the edge, looking down past the glass railing.

It’s a dizzyingly long way down.

His head is swimming just staring down at it, his stomach swooping as he stands so close to the edge. There’s a part of him that wants to jump, but he’s never really thought about dying before and he knows he’d land at the bottom as a splatter of human remains. He’s not sure why he’s thinking of it now, but the thought is there, intrusive.

Maybe it’s just because it’s never felt so easy before.

He brings the bottle up to his lips, chugging down more of the whiskey.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

He turns, and finds Tony standing in the doorway, lit from behind by the lights from the living room.

Peter hadn’t noticed the lights turning on.

He raises the bottle. “Drinking,” he says.

Tony stares back at him, eyes wide.

“This is some good shit,” Peter adds.

“It should be, it costs thirty grand.”

Peter looks down at the bottle. “Oops.”

“Just come inside,” Tony says, voice a bit strained. He steps out onto the balcony, starting towards him, and Peter backs up a step.

Or he would back up a step, but there’s nowhere to back up to. His back is against the railing.

Tony stops moving. His hands come up, trying to look non-threatening. “Hey, why don’t you step away from the edge?”

“I was just looking,” Peter says.

“Okay.”

“I wasn’t going to— I was just looking.”

“Come inside,” Tony says. He holds out a hand to Peter, beckoning him closer.

Peter stumbles toward him. When he gets close enough, Tony grabs hold of his elbow, and then steers him inside.

Pepper is standing in the living room, watching them. She rushes towards Peter. “Sweetie, what were you doing out there?”

Peter waves the bottle again. “I was trying to get drunk,” he answers. He’s mostly achieved that goal, actually. The room is spinning a bit. There are two Peppers. He raises his other hand, covering up one eye, so that there is only one Pepper. That’s better. He likes her, but he can barely handle one of her.

Tony snatches the bottle out of his hand. “How much of this have you had?”

“Dunno,” Peter says.

Pepper pulls him over to sit on the couch. “Why did you go outside?”

“I wanted to scream into the void.”

She blinks at that. “You… okay.”

Tony has stalked over to the bar, and evidently found the unlocked cabinet. “FRIDAY, why didn’t you tell me as soon as he picked this?”

“I don’t have a protocol for that, boss,” FRIDAY answers.

“I set up locks on all of this,” Tony argues.

“They’re set for Morgan, boss.”

Tony slams a fist onto the top of the counter. “Set them for the kid that actually breaks into things and gets drunk.”

“Tony,” Pepper says, “calm down.”

“I’m calm,” Tony says. “Our fourteen-year-old just drank half a bottle of whiskey and nearly jumped off the roof. I’m as calm as this situation calls for.”

“I wasn’t on the roof,” Peter argues. “There are, like, ten more floors to get to the roof.”

“Thanks for the architecture lesson on the building that I designed,” Tony says.

Pepper pulls Peter to his feet, and wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Let's get you back to bed,” she says.

“I’m sorry I drank the expensive stuff,” Peter tells her, as she directs him down the hall.

“It’s okay, honey. We can talk about it in the morning.”

“I didn’t know it was that expensive.”

“We don’t care that it was expensive,” Pepper says.

“Tony said it cost—”

“Tony doesn’t care how much it cost,” she tells him. “He’s just worried about you.”

“Why?” Peter asks.

Pepper fluffs the pillows on his bed, and then nudges Peter to sit down. Her hands smooth over his hair. “Because we love you.”

He frowns at that, his eyes dropping to stare at the ends of her hair hanging over her shoulder.

Pepper keeps combing her fingers through his hair. “What happened tonight?” she asks.

He shrugs.

“Did something upset you?” she asks. “You haven’t tried to break into the alcohol before now.”

“I couldn’t sleep.”

“Bad dreams?” When he doesn’t answer that one way or another, she says, “I get bad dreams too. And so does your father. You can always come wake us up if you can’t sleep and we’ll find some other way to pass the time.”

The idea of going to them and waking them up for something in the middle of the night is a foreign one to Peter. He can’t imagine doing it.

“Promise me you’ll come get us next time,” she says.

He shrugs.

“I want you to promise,” Pepper insists. “It’s really okay if you do. I’d rather you do that than be by yourself and feeling bad.”

“Can I go back to sleep?” he asks.

She sighs. “Alright.” She lets go of him, but waits for him to lie down and then pulls the blanket over him, tucking him in. “Goodnight, sweetie.”

No one has ever tucked him in before.

Chapter Text

“I don’t know if I should dump it all down the drain or not,” Tony says, when Pepper comes back from putting Peter to bed.

She walks up the steps to the bar, and then crouches down to survey how much is locked in the cabinets.

“How did he get into it?”

“Jimmied it open with a couple paperclips from your office.”

She looks up at that, the frown set deeply on her face.

“Oh yeah, he planned it out. I got the whole story from FRIDAY. And first thing in the morning she’s getting some new code to monitor him more closely and wake us up next time he does something like this. He looked like he was going to jump when I found him outside.”

“He wouldn’t—“

“You didn’t see him, Pep. He scared the shit out of me.”

Pepper stands up, leaning against the opposite side of the bar. “Well, I think you scared him too. He’s worried you’re mad because he drank something expensive.”

“I don’t care what he drank, I care that he was drinking in the first place.”

“That’s what I told him.”

“He did go straight for the vintage Scottish—“

“Tony.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Well don’t say it,” she tells him. She rakes a hand through her hair. “I don’t know what to do,” she admits.

Tony stares back at her. “I was counting on you having a good idea here.”

She shakes her head. “He said he had a nightmare. I think that’s why he was drinking.”

“He said that?”

“Not exactly, but near enough. I told him to come wake us up next time.”

Tony frowns. As much as he would like for Peter to feel comfortable enough to do that, he’s not counting on it.

“He wasn’t drinking for fun,” Pepper says.

“He’s doing it to cope with something,” Tony says. It’s a feeling he knows all too well.

Pepper’s gaze locks with his, sympathetic. All Tony can think of is when Peter had been angry at being told they were his parents in juvie and had been lashing out at Irena.

My parents passed along a propensity for drug abuse that I’m making good use of.

That didn’t come from Pepper. Maybe Tony did pass these coping mechanisms onto his son. Maybe Peter’s just using the only means he knows of to deal with his problems.

“You still think we should wait for him to come to us?” he asks.

Pepper nods. “He told me about one of his foster homes,” she says.

“Was it Westcott? Because I’m pretty sure that asshole did more than yell at him.”

Westcott had definitely been hitting Peter. Tony’s sure of that. He’s just not sure if there’s more than that or not.

He keeps replaying that encounter at Westcott’s apartment over in his head—the nature of a few of the things Westcott and Peter had been yelling at each other, Peter’s comment about Westcott watching ‘weird porn’—and shying away from the conclusion he can feel it pointing to.

He hasn’t gotten any word back since he raised the issue with CPS. And Peter hasn’t mentioned a thing since he’d gotten mad that Tony was even having it investigated. He’s worried that pushing the issue is just going to push Peter further away.

And maybe he’s wrong. He wants to be wrong.

Pepper shakes her head. “No, he hasn’t mentioned him at all. He just said he had to sleep on the floor in one house, so he liked his bed. But that’s a start. That’s more than he’d told us last week.”

Tony’s gut clenches thinking of Peter not even having a bed to sleep in. When was that? How long had it gone on?

And why is there no mention of it in his CPS records? Why is there no mention of anything useful or helpful in those records? That’s all Tony has to go on for where his son has been all these years, for what’s happened to him, and according to those files nothing did.

Pepper just looks sad and exhausted. “I don’t know how we punish him for this, if we even do. He doesn’t even have anything for us to take away. We haven’t bought him much yet.” She sighs. “I was going to take him shopping this weekend.”

“I think therapy might be better. I’m pretty sure he’ll see that as a punishment anyway,” Tony says.

She nods. “Probably.”

“I’ll set it up,” he says.

- - -

Peter emerges from his first therapy appointment with his face just as stony as it had been when he went inside. Tony’s been sitting in the waiting room, getting some work done on his phone, but he hasn’t been able to hear a single peep out of the other room due to the noise machines whirring loudly all over the place.

The therapist, Dr. Patel, who had come highly recommended as a specialist in not only adolescent psychology but also substance abuse issues, waves at Tony from over Peter’s shoulder. “Hello, Mr. Stark. Peter and I had a good first session.”

Peter’s eyebrows go up, and he shoots her a look, but he doesn’t make a comment.

“You did? That’s good,” Tony says. He’s a little skeptical about her definition of ‘good.’

Dr. Patel nods. “If Peter agrees, we can make this time our regular appointment going forward. But I’ll let you two talk that over. You can call my office back.”

He nods. “Yeah, thanks. Ready to go, kid?”

“Depends on what you’re gonna make me do next,” Peter says.

Tony herds him toward the door. “Eat dinner. That okay with you? I thought we could go out.”

He gets a shrug in reply, but he wasn’t expecting much. Peter has been fairly quiet in the couple of days since they caught him drinking, and he’d taken the pronouncement that they’d found him a therapist with resignation rather than defiance.

Tony’s curious as hell about what just went on inside that first session. But part of the deal here is that Peter gets to decide if anything gets shared outside of sessions, so the doctor can only encourage him to talk or to let her share.

Back in the car, he can’t help but ask, “Did you like Dr. Patel?”

Peter shrugs.

“If you don’t like her we can find someone else.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Peter says. He’s staring out the window.

“Of course it matters. You’re the one that has to talk to her. You should like her.”

“I’m not talking to her,” Peter says. He turns to look at Tony. “You can make me go, but you can’t make me talk to her.”

Tony stares at him. “I think it would help if you talked to her.”

Peter scoffs.

“I’ve done therapy,” Tony says. “I know it can feel like the last thing you want to do is tell some stranger everything you’re thinking and feeling and everything that’s happened to you, but it does actually help. You’d be surprised how much it helps to just get everything off your chest.”

Peter shakes his head. “Good for you,” he says. He turns back to the window. “Can we go home now?”

“You’re not hungry?”

“No.”

- - -

One thing Tony is grateful for is that Peter and Morgan get along. He’d been worried Peter would find her annoying, but it seems like the opposite has taken place. Peter humors her with whatever she wants to do, and Morgan has no qualms about bossing him around and making requests. The times they’re together are the only times he sees Peter truly smile at anything, or laugh.

He lets Morgan hug him, and hugs her back without acting like he’s never experienced one before. Which is a far cry from anytime Pepper tries it, and even further from the way he shies away from any touch at all from Tony.

Peter seems determined to keep at least a three foot distance from Tony at all times, and Tony feels that distance in his bones. He has his son back, and he can’t even give him a hug. The most he gets away with is a touch on the arm or the shoulder, and even then Peter pulls away quickly, until he’s once again three feet away. Out of arm's reach.

Right now, Peter is a little closer, but only because the proximity is being forced upon him. They’re sitting on the bleachers, watching Morgan’s gymnastics class, and Pepper had pulled Peter down to sit between her and Tony when they arrived.

“You didn’t do gymnastics when you were little,” Pepper says. “You were taking dance.”

“Dance?” Peter asks, skeptical.

She nods. “I have lots of pictures and videos, if you ever want to see it.”

“Like ballet?”

She hums. “A bit. They did a lot of styles though.”

Peter still looks like he doesn’t believe her.

“We tried to put Morgan in dance but she refused to wear the tights. Hence gymnastics.” Pepper gestures out at the floor. “Leotard, no tights.”

Peter’s watching where Morgan’s class is wrapping up on the mat. “She’s pretty good, for a four-year-old.”

“She won a competition recently,” Tony puts in.

Peter just hums at that.

Once the class has finished, Morgan runs up to them, climbing the bleachers to stand in front of Tony, her hands on his knees. “Daddy did you see me do a flip?”

“I did,” he tells her. She’d been practicing them for half the class, bouncing off the springboard into a flip and then landing on her butt. “You did great.”

She turns to Peter, grabbing his hand. “Peter, come do a flip with me!”

“He might not know how,” Tony says, trying to forestall her.

But Peter has let himself be dragged to his feet. He glances back over at Pepper. “It’s okay?”

“Sure,” she says. “The class is over. Just ask the instructor if you can get on the mat. Or maybe try the trampoline.”

Morgan’s class is taught by a young man and woman, and it’s the woman, Ms. Dee, who Morgan drags Peter over to talk to. She must say yes, because then Morgan is leading Peter over to the mat, nearly skipping.

Pepper leans forward, resting her elbow on her knee and her chin on her palm, watching them.

“He’s good with her,” Tony says.

She nods. “I knew he would be. Remember he used to ask for a little brother or sister?”

“I think he thought babies were like toys.”

Pepper looks thoughtful. “Has he mentioned anything he likes to you? I tried to get him to pick some things out when we were shopping over the weekend but it was like pulling teeth. I bought him that Playstation and Xbox anyway but I don’t think he’s opened them yet. He’s just on his phone all the time.”

“Toys?” Tony asks. She nods. “And you think he told me?”

She looks over at him, eyebrow raised. “He’s got some torn apart electronics in his room, I figured you gave them to him.”

Tony shakes his head. “No. He brought that with him. And before you ask me, I already tried asking him about it and he told me it was, quote, just trash. So I have no clue where he got it or what he’s doing with it.”

“But he likes building things?”

“Well, he built an entire castle for Morgan out of LEGOs.”

“LEGOs?” Pepper’s face brightens. “We can get him LEGOs.”

“I don’t know if he’ll do anything with them on his own,” Tony cautions her.

Pepper already has her phone out. After a minute she holds it toward him, the browser open to a site showing off a miniature Millennium Falcon. “What about this? It says it’s for teens. Morgan only has the little kid ones.”

Tony squints at it. “Why is the photo of an adult man playing with it?”

She looks at the screen again. “It does look complicated. It says it has over 7000 pieces.” She taps at the screen. “I’m getting it,” she declares. “Maybe he’ll invite his friend over to help with it.”

“The mysterious Ned we’re probably never going to get to meet?”

“That one, yep. Do you think he’d like this too?” She shows him another LEGO set, also from Star Wars.

“Why are they all from Star Wars?” Tony asks. “We don’t know if he likes Star Wars.”

Pepper sighs. “We don’t know what he likes at all.”

“He likes Morgan,” Tony says, gesturing out at the mat.

Morgan is showing off her flipping skills to Peter, who claps for each time. Then it must be Peter’s turn, and Tony’s not expecting him to do anything more than a cartwheel or something, but he runs a few steps and then jumps into what looks like an aerial, landing on his feet.

Pepper sits up. “Where did he learn that?”

“I have no idea.”

Morgan seems ecstatic. They’re too far away to hear what they’re saying, but then Peter repeats the trick for her. He evidently knows how to do a backflip as well, but he stumbles on the landing for that one—his feet stay planted, but he wobbles so much he nearly falls over—and the other instructor for Morgan’s class approaches, hand out to offer a correction.

Tony gets to his feet, already starting down the bleachers, so that he can intervene.

The man’s hand lands on Peter’s back, the same move he does with all the kids in the classes, but Peter jerks back away from him violently, and then grabs Morgan’s arm, pulling her away as well. There’s a glare on his face.

“Hey kids!” Tony calls over.

Morgan looks over at him. Peter’s still glaring at the instructor.

“Ready to go?” Tony calls.

Peter must have heard him, because he leans down and picks Morgan up to carry her over. He’s still casting glances over his shoulder until they get to the edge of the large mat.

Tony holds his arms out for Morgan, and she reaches out to him. “That was good,” he tells Peter, as he settles Morgan on his hip. “I didn’t know you knew any gymnastics.”

“I don’t,” Peter says. He shrugs. “I was just copying what the older class was doing earlier.”

“You hadn’t tried that before today?” Tony asks, skeptically.

All he gets is another shrug in reply.

He lets it go. Pepper has caught up, and is telling Peter the same thing.

“We can sign you up for classes too,” she’s saying. “If you want to, that is. Morgan loves it. And it’s great exercise.”

Peter shrugs. “I dunno.”

Pepper takes the lack of an outright refusal and runs with it. “Let’s check at the front desk,” she says, one hand on Peter’s arm to steer him towards the door. “I bet they have something you’d like.”

Chapter Text

Peter’s lawyer finally gets in touch again and says they have a trial date. For next week.

“That’s soon,” Tony says.

“There was an opening on the docket,” Gallagher says, sitting across the living room from them.

Evidently when you’re super rich the lawyers come to you, instead of you having to go to their offices.

“Are they gonna send me back to juvie?” Peter asks.

“What?” Pepper turns to him. “Of course not, sweetie.”

“I thought they only let me out until the trial,” Peter says.

“Technically correct,” Gallagher says with a nod. “The judge will do the sentencing next week. They’re not dropping the intent to sell charges, so we’ll have an adjudicatory hearing where you’ll plead not guilty. I’m only expecting them to find you guilty on the possession charges. The evidence is too strong for that. But they’ve lost all their witnesses for you selling it.”

“They have?” Peter asks.

Gallagher nods.

“Why?”

Gallagher eyes Tony then, and says, “They’ve all been deemed uncredible seeing as they were arrested at the same party, and none of them are willing to testify.”

Peter looks between them. “What, did you pay them off?”

“No,” Tony says.

“Honestly,” Pepper scoffs. “You think we’d pay people off?”

“Kind of,” Peter admits.

“We did not pay anyone off,” she insists.

“Didn’t have to,” Tony says.

“Tony,” Pepper admonishes.

“Not that I would’ve,” he says, “because that would be wrong.”

“Moving along,” Gallagher says, “before I become aware of anyone committing witness tampering—”

“I swear,” Tony says. He laughs. “Reputation counts for a lot, is all.”

Peter frowns. “So you mean none of them are testifying now that they know I’m Peter Stark?”

Tony merely shrugs.

Peter leans back, crossing his arms.

“Don’t worry about it so much, kid,” Tony says.

“Let’s get back to what you expect the judge to do,” Pepper says, trying to redirect the conversation.

Peter listens, feeling a bit numb to it all. Gallagher expects him to get probation. Or, if the judge is feeling lenient, community service. He’s planning to point out that Peter is in therapy, that he has a stable home life now. That he goes to a good school and gets decent grades.

“Do you have any extracurriculars?” Gallagher asks. “Those will look good.”

“He just started gymnastics,” Pepper says.

Peter frowns. He thought she’d made him sign up for that because she thought he was good at it, not because it would look good to some judge.

“Anything else?” Gallagher asks.

“You could sign up for something at school,” Tony says. “You mentioned robotics club.”

“I don’t want to—” Peter starts to argue.

“Oh, that sounds good,” Pepper says, before he can finish.

Gallagher writes something down. “Get it done before next week.”

Peter stares between them all. “Do I even get a choice?”

“You can pick which club you join,” Tony tells him.

- - -

Robotics club is not taking new members this late in the school year. Not that Peter wanted to join anyway.

“You can sign up for AcaDec,” Ned says. He grins, sounding excited about it. “We don’t have any competitions left this year so we’re just practicing now. But regionals and then nationals will be next fall. So now is actually the perfect time to join.”

Michelle is trailing after them in the hallway, and says, “Don’t join if you’re not going to really do it though.”

Peter turns to her. “Why? You don’t think I could do it?”

“You have to actually study for it. I’ve never seen you study for anything.”

“I don’t have to study,” Peter says. School is like the one thing he’s good at. Understanding the material has always come very easily to him, he’s just bad about doing the homework.

“You will for AcaDec,” Michelle says.

Peter frowns at her. “Why? Is it harder than our classes?”

“Kind of,” she says. “It’s just different. Our team did pretty well this year and if you’re going to join you can’t just slack off.”

Ned nods. “She’s right.”

Peter looks between them. “I’m not going to slack off.”

Ned is quick to say, “I don’t think you would. Just… you have to go to all the meetings.”

“So I’ll go to all the meetings.” Peter’s annoyed now that they don’t think he can do it. It’s just a club. He could be in a club if he wanted to. He’s just never wanted to before. He’s had other stuff to do after school.

AcaDec is run by Mr. Harrington, who is more than happy to let Peter in.

“There’s a try-out, of course,” Mr. Harrington tells him. “But I’m sure you’ll do fine. You always ace the tests in class.”

Peter does do well at the try-out, and gets assigned as an alternate on the team for now. They’re not picking new assignments until next year, so Mr. Harrington tells him he’ll have a shot at being a regular then.

The first practice is on Thursday after school, and consists of the team captain, a junior girl named Liz, asking them quiz questions while everyone takes turns with the buzzers to answer them.

Peter spends most of it sitting with Ned and Michelle and manages to buzz in first on several of the questions.

It’s really geeky. But even Flash is there, looking annoyed when Peter buzzes in before him. And Peter enjoys knowing the answer to things, he enjoys getting it right. He knows the answer to most of the questions Liz is asking, he discovers, even when he’s not up at the buzzers.

It’s not not fun. Not that he’s going to admit that to Tony and Pepper.

- - -

He’s also not going to admit to them that he likes the LEGOs that turned up in his room earlier this week. He’d ignored the huge box for a few days, but boredom had eventually driven him to open it up and dump the contents out onto the floor. 

That proves to be a mistake, because it comes in about a hundred small, numbered bags of pieces, and he has no idea what he’s doing. He’s only ever built LEGO sets with Ned before, and Ned is very particular about his LEGOs.

Peter takes a picture of the mess on the floor, and then of the box he’d torn open, and sends them to Ned.

Ned: OMG

Ned: YOU HAVE THE MILLENNIUM FALCON

Peter: is that what its supposed to be?

Ned: i’m dying. you’re killing me right now

Ned: did u start it already?

Peter: no i just opened it

Peter: there’s a massive book in here wtf

Ned: 👁👄👁

Ned: PLS

Peter: i dont even knw where to start

Peter: where are the little people it comes with

Ned: . . .

Ned: man don’t make me beg like this

Ned: it looks bad

Ned: i’ll do it but pls

Peter: do u want to cme over and see the legos

Ned: THANK YOU YES

Peter has never had a friend over to his place before. But he’s never had a place nice enough to have friends over to, or had things they’d want to come over and see, so he’s not quite sure how to go about asking if Ned can come over.

Pepper is in her office because she had a call with someone overseas, so he knocks on the door, and waits until she says, “Come in,” to open it.

“Peter, hi.” She looks happy to see him.

“Hey,” he says. He looks around the room, at the bookshelves lining the wall and the sleek chairs. The only time he’s been in here before was to steal office supplies.

“What are you up to?” Pepper asks.

“Uh, nothing,” he says. “I mean, I was just…” He chews on the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t know why he feels nervous asking her for this. She’s the one who bought him the LEGOs. “Can I have a friend come over? He wants to see that LEGO set you bought.”

Pepper’s face lights up as she nods. “Of course you can. Is it— Who is it?”

“Ned.”

“When is he coming over?”

“Uh… like now? I guess.”

“Oh! That’s fine.” She’s still smiling. “Do you want to have him stay for dinner?”

Peter shrugs. “I guess.” That seems only fair, seeing as he’s eaten dinner at Ned’s house loads of times.

“Excellent,” Pepper says. Then: “It can be a little tricky getting up to the penthouse if you’re not coming up with someone who has access. Tell him to enter through the lobby and we can go down to get him.”

Peter hadn’t thought about that. He’s only been in and out himself when he was with someone since Tony and Pepper don’t let him go anywhere on his own. He nods. “Yeah, sure.”

Ned stares around in awe when he arrives. “I can’t believe I’m inside Avengers Tower.”

“This is just the lobby,” Peter says, though he has to admit the lobby is impressive, and he’d gaped at it the same way Ned is when he’d first walked through it. It’s several stories tall, with glass walkways crisscrossing it from floors above, and entirely lined with reflective glass windows that make it seem even bigger than it already is.

Ned stares at Pepper too. “Oh my god, you’re Pepper Stark.”

“Hello,” she says, holding out a hand to him. “You must be Ned.”

Ned shakes it reverently. “You know my name.”

Peter is regretting having invited him over.

“Peter has talked about you,” Pepper says.

“He did?” Ned turns to Peter.

Peter stares at him. “Dude.”

“I can’t believe this is your life now,” Ned murmurs in the elevator.

Peter rolls his eyes, but really all he can think is: You and me both.

Ned pulls it together until FRIDAY says hello, then he geeks out over that and it takes some extra strength from Peter to pull Ned away from staring around the living room and to his bedroom.

Once he finally gets Ned alone, he says, “You’re being weird.”

“I’m being appropriately awed by the circumstances we have found ourselves in,” Ned shoots back. “You’re the one being weirdly blasé about the fact that you’re a Stark now.”

“You’ve known about this for like two weeks,” Peter says.

“Yeah, but I hadn’t seen them,” Ned says. “Is your dad here?”

“He’s probably down in his workshop. He spends a lot of time down there.”

“Is he working on the suit? Oh my god, that’s so awesome. Do you think he’d let us watch?”

“I thought you wanted to see the LEGOs?”

“The Iron Man suit is way better than the LEGOs, Peter,” Ned says, as if Peter is being dense.

Peter sighs, deeply, but resigns himself to leading Ned back out of his room and down to Tony’s workshop.

He lucks out. It turns out that Tony is out for the moment and won’t be back until dinner, so all they can do is stare through the glass wall into the workshop, squinting for a better look at the suits across the room. Ned is still impressed.

They finally wind up back in Peter’s room, where Ned does in fact want to see the LEGOs at last, but by then Peter is feeling kind of bored with the whole thing.

He used to want to have the kind of house that he could invite a friend over to, desperately, when he was little. But that was never an option. Not when he always felt barely welcome himself in the places he was living. Not when he was always sort of embarrassed for any friends he made at school to come over and see where he lived.

Ned, for instance, has a nice house crowded with nick nacks and funky lamps and heavy curtains, and he lives there with his entire family, including his grandmother. It’s not huge, but he and his sister both have their own rooms, and the most important thing about it is that whenever Peter has visited, no one ever yells at anyone else. There is always food available. Ned’s parents and his lola are nice.

Peter has never had nice people to introduce a friend to. He’s always felt like he needs to protect his friends from his foster parents.

And now that he does have nice parents, the whole thing feels a little… juvenile. They’re playing with LEGOs for god’s sake. He plays with LEGOs with Morgan, who is four. He has a court date in a few days. He’s not a little kid, no matter how much Tony and Pepper try to treat him like one. 

Ned is super into it though. He has sets like this at home and has tried to get Peter to help with them before. He’s started putting together the base for the Millenium Falcon, and after getting through one of the little plastic bags of LEGOs he stops and says, “I’m really happy for you.”

Peter frowns, looking up from where he’s been hunting for the next bag. “Why?”

“Just… This is all really great.” Ned gestures out to the room. “You’ve found your real parents. And your dad is Iron Man. That’s so cool. But like, even if he wasn’t Iron Man, that would be really cool. I’m really happy you have a family and a nice place to live. You never used to let me come over, and I never asked why or anything, but—”

“There wasn’t anything to do there, that’s all,” Peter says. “I didn’t have stuff like this.” He gestures to all the LEGOs scattered around them. “You were the one who had stuff to do at your place. I didn’t have anything. That was why.”

“But you said they were shitty to you, remember?”

“What?” Peter asks. “No I didn’t.”

“Yes you did,” Ned argues. “At that party, you said—”

“I was high as fuck at that party,” Peter says. “I didn’t say anything.”

Ned sits back a bit. “Okay, whatever. I’m still really glad you live here now and that you have your real mom and dad. They’re nice, right? I mean, they always seem nice on the news. And your dad is a literal superhero, so he kinda has to be nice too, right?”

“They’re fine,” Peter says. Then, in an attempt to end this conversation, he picks up one of the bags and tosses it at Ned. “Where do these go?”

“Uh… we don’t need these yet. We need bag number three.”

- - -

Tony takes him out to get fitted for a new suit for court. It’s not bespoke, whatever that is, but it’s still insanely expensive and Peter feels weird wearing it. He feels like someone pretending to be something they’re not.

Pretending to be rich. Pretending to be respectable. Pretending that he grew up going to fancy places with his real mom and dad. Pretending to be Peter Stark.

It’s a nice dose of reality when he’s faced with the courtroom and the judge and the bailiff reading out the charges against him. That feels more like the life he’s used to living. Like where he should be.

Mr. Gallagher has told him to be quiet, so Peter keeps his mouth shut. He only speaks when he’s told to. He only says what he was told to say.

He gets probation.

That’s evidently a win, because Tony and Pepper seem pretty happy about it. They shake hands with Gallagher and tell him thank you. Peter mumbles out a thank you of his own.

The way the judge had looked down at him is stuck in his head. The way he’d said, “Well, you’ve certainly screwed up, young man. But I’m not immune to the circumstances of this case, and to what you’ve been through. You have an opportunity here to reunite with your family and turn your life back to a good path. You have resources at your disposal that most people in your position can only dream of. Don’t waste it.”

As if Peter has had a choice in any of this. As if he chose to move in with Tony and Pepper and become rich overnight. As if doing so magically erases how shitty his life has been up until now.

Is the money and the fame supposed to fix everything? Is he supposed to forget all the years he didn’t have parents that he’s spent scraping by with no one to look out for him but himself? Tony and Pepper act like it is. They’re so fucking happy all the time. Everything is always so fucking perfect in their life. The perfect house and the perfect clothes and the perfect marriage and the perfect daughter and now they’re trying to shape Peter into the perfect son.

Whatever the fuck a perfect son is. Peter wouldn’t know, because he’s not one, and he never will be. He wouldn’t want to be even if he knew how.

Chapter Text

“Hey, how about a celebratory dinner? You wanna go somewhere fancy? We’re all dressed up.”

Peter peels his gaze away from staring out the tinted window of the car to where Tony has twisted around in the front seat.

“Celebratory?” Peter asks.

“We’re not celebrating the fact that he’s on probation,” Pepper says.

“We could celebrate the fact he’s not back in juvie,” Tony says.

Pepper narrows her eyes at him.

Peter looks between them. “Was that an option?” he asks. “I thought you knew I was getting probation. The lawyer said—”

“Tony thinks he’s being funny, but he’s not,” Pepper says.

Tony points at her. “You’re not seeing the humor because you’ve never spent a night in jail, honey.”

Peter stares. “You have?”

“1996. Miami,” Tony says.

Pepper is still glaring. “We agreed never to speak of that again.”

“What did you do?” Peter asks.

Tony’s grin slips. “Something stupid,” he says. “That’s a story for when you’re older.” Then: “So, dinner?”

Peter still wants to know what Tony did to wind up in jail. “If I say yes will you tell me what you did?”

“Ha, no,” Tony says. “But you just indicated interest in dinner, and that’s enough for me. How about gyros?”

They wind up at a little hole in the wall Mediterranean spot that only has a few tables. Happy stays in the car, pulling out a novel and waving them off when they ask him to join, so they squeeze around a small table in the corner with their food.

“If we’re not celebrating that I got probation then what are we celebrating?” Peter asks.

Tony shrugs. “Anything you want.”

“But not probation?”

“I just don’t think it’s something to celebrate,” Pepper says. “Were you listening when they went over all the rules? It’s not meant to be easy.”

Peter sucks on the straw of his soda, eyeing her. “Yeah, but the rules for probation aren’t any different than the rules you guys already have.”

Pepper’s lips are pressed into a thin line. “There’s attendance at school and therapy and staying clean and—”

“And you were making me do that before. So… absolutely nothing has changed now that I’m on probation. Except someone is gonna make me piss in a cup every so often.”

Tony has his hand up, one finger raised, but then he lowers it. “Okay, you’re actually not wrong there. I don’t think we ever said rules but I can see how you’d think that.”

“They oughta shave a month off the sentence,” Peter mutters.

“You can petition the judge.”

“Really?”

Tony snorts. “No. Kid, we make you go to school and therapy because we care about you. Not as punishment. And it’s not really punishment when it’s part of your probation either, it’s just meant to help you get better.”

“I’m fine,” Peter says. He doesn’t need someone checking in on his schoolwork and he definitely doesn’t need therapy. How is a therapist going to help him? Tell him ‘wow so sorry your life sucked but isn’t it better now?’ Like yeah, sure, everything is better now. Everything is absolutely fucking amazing now. What’s the point of talking to a therapist if his life is so amazing now?

“Okay,” Tony says. “How’s your gyro?”

Peter looks down at his food. “It’s good.”

“Good. This is my favorite spot. I ate here after the Battle of New York.” Tony leans back, looking around. “They’ve never even remodeled. I love it.”

Peter chews on his bite of food slowly, then asks, skeptically, “This is your favorite restaurant?”

Tony nods. “For gyros and shawarma, anyway. I wouldn’t ask them to make me carbonara.” 

“Not, like, someplace with a Michelin star?”

“You know what a Michelin star is?” Tony asks.

“I’m not stupid,” Peter spits out.

Tony frowns a bit. “I’ve never said you were stupid, Pete.”

“I know what it is.”

“Okay.”

Pepper is watching their conversation like a tennis match.

“You can’t seriously say this is better than someplace super fancy and expensive,” Peter insists.

“It is,” Tony says. “I’ll take you to a fancy place if you want. You can compare. The food is better here.”

“Fine,” Peter says. He leans back in his chair, sucking on the straw of his soda again, and silence descends over their table.

Tony and Pepper exchange a look, like they think Peter can’t see them. They do that a lot.

Is that a them thing, or a parent thing? Skip and Tiffany had never done it. None of his foster parents had, actually. So it must just be them. This silent communication, speaking to each other without saying a word, and leaving Peter out of the conversation. 

He doesn’t know what the look means. Probably it means that they are sick of him. Everyone always gets sick of him eventually.

Too bad for them. Tony and Pepper are stuck with him.

- - -

Michelle plops down a stack of papers in front of Peter at lunch at school the next day. “I hope your new resident bad boy status isn’t going to prevent you from studying,” she says.

Peter looks from the stack to her. “Resident bad boy?” he asks.

“The rumor mill is working on overdrive today,” she says.

“And?”

“And I don’t care. You signed up for AcaDec. These”—she taps the top of the stack—“are the study questions for this year. You need to know all the answers.”

“How do you know I don’t know them already?”

Michelle picks up the first page, reading off it: “In his film Felix in Exile, William Kentridge created a sense of metamorphosis through what aspect visible in this still image? Was it A) naturalism in the rendering of figures, B) black and white with minimal color, C) shifts from—”

“Do I get to see the image?” Peter asks.

She turns the paper around, shoving it close to his face. He leans back, trying to focus on it, but she’s already turned it back around to keep reading. “Shifts from interior to exterior settings, D) strong drawn lines with—”

“Fucking hell, I’ll study,” Peter says, hands raised in submission.

“Thank you,” Michelle says primly, setting the paper back down and lining it up with the rest of the stack.

Peter turns to Ned, who’s just been watching this entire thing unfold. “I thought I signed up for the geeky extracurricular, not the one with a drill sergeant.”

“It’s both, and I take that as a compliment,” Michelle tells him. She finally takes her seat at the end of their table, pulling out a lunch box and a book from her bag.

“You didn’t tell me what the rumor mill was saying,” Peter says, leaning across the table towards her.

Michelle already has her nose buried in her book. “That’s because I don’t care.”

He turns to Ned. “What have you heard?”

“Everyone’s just talking about how you’re on probation,” Ned says.

“How do they even know?” Peter asks, frowning.

Ned shrugs. “Betty helps out in the office for extra credit and she overheard Mrs. Baumgartner, the counselor, telling Ms. Hurley, the secretary, who then told Mr. Harrington and Coach Wilson because they were both in the office for some reason and Betty told me she wanted to do a story about teenage recidivism rates for the school newspaper, and asked if I thought you’d agree to an interview. I told her probably not and that you’re a really private person.”

Peter blinks at that. “And so now the whole school knows?”

Ned nods. “Yeah, of course.”

“Of course,” Peter mutters.

Well, it’s not as if they all didn’t know he’d been arrested at that party in the first place. It’s just that he wasn’t the only one to get arrested. But of course he’s the only one who went to juvie. He’s the only one on probation. Everyone else who got arrested that night didn’t spend more than an hour or so at the precinct.

The unfairness of it rankles.

Pepper’s right that it’s not something to celebrate. He’s got the same rich parents as all these other kids now, and even that isn’t fixing everything.

“Are you okay?” Ned asks.

Peter tears into the neat little lunch that Pepper packed for him, not feeling very hungry but knowing he’ll be starving later if he doesn’t eat something when he has the chance. “I’m fine,” he mutters.

- - -

The thing that feels so weird is that Peter knows that if he were still living with Skip and Tiffany, then he would be celebrating getting probation. Because they would have left him to rot in juvie until his sentencing, and he’d be so damn grateful to get out that he’d be thanking whatever lucky stars he had that it had happened. He’d be begging them to let him move back in so that he didn’t wind up at a group home too far away from Midtown to keep attending, because Midtown is his ticket to college, and college is the only way he’s getting out of here. If he can just keep up decent enough grades then he can ace the SAT and he can write a sob story of an essay about his sob story of a life and get into a school somewhere far away from here, where he can wrack up a ton of debt but at least he’ll come out of college with a fucking chance to have a decent life.

That has been his plan ever since he took the PSAT early for a science club in eighth grade and did so well on it that the guidance counselor sat him down and asked him what he wanted to do with his life and told him that he could probably go to college if he worked hard. No one had ever told him that before.

But now, now, probation feels like it’s dragging him back down. Because now he’s being handed all kinds of shit that he’s never even known he was missing before, things he never even knew to want, and yet he can’t get away from this. He’s never going to get away from all of this shit. He’s going to carry it around with him forever because this is just who he is now.

He swallows one of the Adderall pills that he was keeping in his locker, and that makes the rest of the day go by a little easier. 

When AcaDec practice comes up, Michelle is happy that he’s already read through all of her study materials. She gives him a surprised little smile, then asks, “When did you even have time?”

“I’m a fast reader,” Peter says. “Go ahead, ask me about Kentridge again.”

“I’m going to be quizzing everyone. You can buzz in.”

“Okay. But I’m ready,” he insists.

Her expression is as unreadable as ever as Peter beats everyone else to the buzzer again and again. Eventually Mr. Harrington makes him step down to give everyone else a chance.

“But I know the answers,” Peter argues.

“Yes, we’ve seen that,” Mr. Harrington says. “Save it for competition.”

Competition isn’t until next fall. That’s so far away. Peter wants to hit the buzzer now.

“I thought you only signed up because your parents made you find something?” Ned says, later.

“Yeah, but now I kind of like it,” Peter admits.

Ned grins. “I told you it’s actually fun!”

Fun isn’t really the word Peter would use. It’s more satisfying than it is fun.

“Do you want to work on the Millenium Falcon some more?” Ned asks.

“Um, sure,” Peter says. He hasn’t touched the LEGOs since Ned left, so they’re still scattered in the corner of his room.

Happy is waiting for him outside the school in a fancy towncar, parked right at the bottom of the steps, and when he sees Peter coming he gets out of the car to stand on the curb.

“Ned’s gonna come home with us,” Peter tells him.

“Says who?” Happy demands.

“Uh, me,” Peter says.

Happy shakes his head. “I’m not taking anyone else unless Tony or Pepper clear it.”

“What?” Peter stares at him. He can feel his cheeks growing hot with embarrassment. “They’re not going to care. They’ve let Ned come over before.”

“Call and ask them then.”

“We can do it another time,” Ned says, already taking a half step back.

“What no,” Peter says, turning to him. “He’s being ridiculous.” Peter spins back around to Happy. “We’ll just take the subway if you won’t drive us.”

“Oh no you won’t,” Happy says.

“Watch me.” Peter turns on his heel, intending to walk away from Happy, but finds his path blocked after only a few steps by the larger man’s bulk. Peter glares up at him. “Really?”

“Get in the car, kid. You can ask to have a friend over tomorrow.”

“I’m taking the subway home,” Peter insists. “C’mon Ned.”

Ned is acting nervous now though, and shakes his head. “Tomorrow’s fine,” he says. “He’s probably right, we should have asked first.”

“It’s supposed to be my house too,” Peter argues. “They’re supposed to be my parents, not just foster parents who I have to—” he cuts himself off. “Y’know what, fuck it. Forget it.”

Happy is watching him, that decidedly unhappy expression he always wears on his face. He gestures to the car.

“Fuck you too,” Peter says. He turns away from both of them, and starts stalking off down the sidewalk. It’s the wrong direction for the subway stop he needs to get back to the Tower, but he doesn’t care at this point. He’s not getting in that car.

“Kid, wait!” Happy chases after him.

Peter ignores him, breaking into a jog to try and put some distance in between them.

Happy dogs his every step, but doesn’t try to grab him to stop him. He catches up when Peter is forced to stop and wait at a crosswalk, stumbling to a stop and resting his hands on his knees.

“Fuck’s sake, kid,” he grumbles. “Stop running.”

“Running is good cardio. Clearly you need it,” Peter says.

“I’m calling Tony if you don’t come back to the car with me,” Happy says, straightening up and pulling his phone out of his pocket.

The light on the crosswalk changes. “Do it then,” Peter says over his shoulder, stepping off the curb.

“I am. Right now.”

“Tell him I’m walking the entire way because you were being an asshole to my friend.”

“Oh, I’ll tell him someone was being an—Hey boss. The kid won’t get in the car. He says he’s walking home.” A pause. “Of course I’m following him. I’m right next to him.” A longer pause. “He wanted to bring another kid home but said he hadn’t okayed it.” A shorter pause. “Okay, you know what, next time tell me that before I’ve followed him for five blocks while he throws a tantrum.” Then: “Kid, would you stop? He says your friend can come over.”

“Too late now!” Peter yells back. He spins on his heel to walk backward for a few steps, smirking at Happy. “Hope you wore comfortable shoes, Happy!”

“Oh, are you kidding me?”

Peter gives in about three miles later and takes the stairs down to the subway, mostly because he’s getting tired of walking too and it’s way too far to walk all the way back to Manhattan. Happy is still following him, but he’s doing so silently now. Peter hasn’t looked back at him, but he can feel the daggers Happy is glaring at him.

It’s not until he gets to the bottom of the stairs that he realizes he doesn’t have a metrocard anymore. It had gone missing a few weeks ago when he first came to live with Tony and Pepper, along with his ID that said ‘Peter Parker’. The ID has been replaced with one that says his name is ‘Peter Stark’, but the metrocard was never replaced.

Whatever, hopping the turnstile is easy. He swings over it in one easy jump, a hand braced on either side of the railing, and starts to walk off like he hadn’t done anything out of the ordinary, when suddenly there’s a shout from behind him.

“Hey, stop! You in the blue hoodie!”

Peter makes the rookie mistake of turning to look, and makes eye contact with the rent-a-cop who must have been stationed to watch the turnstiles. The guy is pointing at him.

“Stop!”

Peter takes off running for the stairs.

Behind him, he can hear Happy yelling. “Hey, stop, he’s with me! I’ll pay for him!”

Another rent-a-cop is partially blocking the stairs now, and Peter dodges around him, skidding down the stairs so fast he’s practically falling and disappearing into the crowd below. The man runs after him, but he’s stymied by the crowd trying to get up the stairs. Peter ducks his head and keeps his gaze down, trying to blend in.

He makes it onto the next train before the cop manages to spot him, and he finds a seat, sinking into it with a sigh of relief.

Then Happy sits down next to him, and asks, “Do you just like getting in trouble?”

Peter looks up at him, startled. He thought he’d lost Happy too.

“If you want to get lost in a crowd, ditch the distinctive logo and color scheme,” Happy tells him, poking at Peter’s chest.

Peter looks down at his Midtown High School hoodie. “Is that, like, professional advice?”

“I’ve been doing this job a long time, kid. I never forget a face. I’m paid to notice stuff like that so that I notice details about someone who’s acting suspicious.”

“You’ve been my bodyguard for two weeks,” Peter says.

“And I was your father’s bodyguard since long before you were born. Before he even met your mother. So.” Happy leans back, adjusting his suit jacket. “You’re not going to lose me in a crowd.”

Peter stares at the flashes of tunnel outside the window. It probably says something about him that his first instinct is to take that as a challenge.

“And next time you don’t have money for something just ask for it,” Happy says. “That was way too much drama for $2.75.”

- - -

There’s knowing Tony is Iron Man and then there’s actually seeing Tony do Iron Man stuff. Peter has seen the suits and even put the helmet on that one time—the HUD inside is awesome, it picks up on everything, just feeding in information intuitively before you even know to ask for it—but up till now Tony’s mostly acted like a stay at home dad. He works on some stuff in the lab, but not on any set hours. Peter’s not sure that he actually has a job.

So when he turns up to breakfast in a three piece suit it’s actually a noticeable change from his usual slacks and jackets over a really random t-shirt look.

“Do we have court again?” Peter asks. That’s the only other thing they’ve gotten dressed up for.

“Huh?” Tony asks. Then he seems to realize why Peter’s asking. “Oh, no. I have to leave for a few days. Work stuff. Well, not work work. It’s not for SI. It’s Avengers business.”

“Don’t you wear the Iron Man suit for that?”

“This is more, um… delicate business,” Tony says. “Politics.”

“Oh.” Peter turns back to his cereal.

“Don’t leave, Daddy,” Morgan whines. She tries to climb out of her booster seat to reach Tony.

He reaches over for her, settling her on his lap. “Just a few days, Morguna. I’ll tell the Secretary of State you ordered me back home. How’s that?”

“Tell him,” Morgan says.

Tony presses a kiss against her hair. “Highest order in the land.” He pulls Morgan’s bowl over in front of them. “Here, eat your yogurt, Madame Secretary.”

Tony seems content to let Morgan spend the rest of the meal on his lap, and Peter tries not to stare. Morgan does that a lot. She climbs all over both her parents, but clings to Tony in particular, always begging to be held.

Peter can’t remember anyone ever holding him like that. But maybe they had when he was that age. Before he was kidnapped and had this entire life taken away from him. All this easy affection.

“Where are you going?” Peter asks later, when Tony’s headed out the door.

“Vienna,” Tony says. “There’s a UN Conference. It’ll be on TV actually. But it’ll be super boring.” He reaches out to squeeze Peter’s shoulder. “Try not to give Happy too much grief while I’m gone, yeah?”

“I haven’t been giving him grief.”

“He likes driving that car,” Tony says. “Just let him drive it. Humor him. He means well.”

“He was being a jerk.”

“He means well,” Tony says again. “He missed you too. He just worries now in a different way than the rest of us.”

Peter’s still frowning over that when Tony leaves.

Chapter Text

Vienna is going exactly like every bigwig political conference Tony has ever been to, lots of hand shaking and hand sanitizing and sneaking off with Natasha to roll their eyes at the whole thing. That is, right up until a bomb goes off, killing the king of Wakanda—the very nation that started this entire mess with the Accords—and the person fingered as responsible is none other than Steve’s old war pal turned terminator, James Barnes.

“Odds on Steve letting the proper authorities handle this?” Tony asks Natasha, while they’re looking over the wreckage.

“I think the prince—sorry, new king—of Wakanda might be our bigger problem.”

He turns to her, eyebrow raised. “Oh?”

“Oh,” she agrees. Then she asks, “Are you going after him?”

Tony shakes his head. “I might have signed, but I took the semi-retired option, remember? This isn’t world-ending.”

“So who’s—”

“Rhodey’s handling it.”

Rhodey brings Barnes in 17 hours later, along with Steve, Sam, and the king of Wakanda, who all violated the brand spanking new Accords to go after him on their own. The most galling part of the whole thing is that T’Challa is going to get away with it scott free, while Secretary Ross is yelling at Tony down a phone line about prosecuting Steve and Sam.

They stick Steve in a conference room, and Tony is elected the one to go in and try to talk him around.

Steve isn’t interested in the nostalgia gimmick Tony tries first. Instead he asks, “Where’s Pepper? I didn’t see her with you. Doesn’t she normally come to these sorts of things.”

“Normally, yeah,” Tony says. “She does tend to smooth over my inept social interactions with people I can’t afford to piss off. But she’s home with the kids. Which is where I’d rather be, actually. Morgan gave me strict orders to hurry home. She gets very cross when I disobey.”

“And how’s your son?”

“Oh, so you did hear about that?”

“Everyone heard about that, Tony,” Steve says. He smiles. “I’m happy for you.” Then he asks, “How’s he doing?”

Tony looks away, his gaze darting around the glass walls and out to the activity surrounding them. “Uh, alright. Considering…”

“Considering what?”

Steve’s a friend, but not a good enough friend to air this laundry. And Tony doesn’t know who’s listening in. “He’s had a rough time,” he says. “We’re working on it. He’s doing well in school.” He frowns, looking back at Steve. “Gotta be honest, getting dragged all the way to Europe for this mess… it’s shitty timing.”

“I’d rather none of us we’re dealing with this,” Steve says. “But you know I can’t leave a situation alone when I see it going south. Sometimes I wish I could.”

Tony scoffs. “No you don’t.” He stands up, reaching for his jacket to shrug it back on.

“No, I don’t,” Steve acknowledges, with a slight smile.

“Sometimes I want to punch you in those perfect teeth,” Tony grouses. “But I don’t want to see you gone from the team. Nothing’s happened that can’t be undone if you just sign. We can make the last 24 hours legit, and Barnes can go to an American psych center instead of a Wakandan prison.”

Steve stands up then, walking across the room to look out the window at where the screens are showing a live feed of Barnes in his cell. He stares at it for a moment, then says, “I’m not saying it’s impossible, but there would have to be safeguards.”

Finally, Tony thinks. “Of course,” he says. “Once we put out the PR fire, these documents can be amended. I’d file a motion to have you and Wanda reinstated—”

“Wanda? What about Wanda?”

“She’s fine, she’s confined to the compound currently. Vision’s keeping her company.”

“Oh, god. Tony.” Steve turns away, frustrated. “Everytime I think you see things the right way—”

“It’s 100 acres with a lap pool,” Tony argues. “It’s got a screening room. There’s worse ways to protect people.” It’s hardly a prison cell. 

“Protection? Is that how you see this? It’s internment.”

Tony scoffs at that. Trust Steve to see the worst in it when he’s just made the best of a bad situation. “She’s not a US citizen and they don’t grant visas to weapons of mass destruction.”

“She’s a kid!” Steve yells. “Do you protect your kids like that too? As long as they’re safe in your fancy house with a lot of toys then you’re not locking them in?”

“Leave my kids out of this,” Tony tells him, flatly.

“No, I think it’s relevant. Do you have them locked up for their protection? How’s that going over with the teenager? You can’t just control everyone else because you—”

“Give me a break!” Tony yells at him. “I’m doing what has to be done,” he says, quieter, “to stave off something worse.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Steve says, before he stalks out of the room, evidently done with this conversation.

Tony leans back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling for a moment.

Well, fuck.

- - -

When the power goes out and Barnes escapes, Tony honestly thinks for a moment, ‘this might as well happen.’ It’s the tone of the whole trip. It’s been one disaster after another. Of course Barnes has escaped. Why did Tony ever think anything was going to go according to plan on this trip?

When they catch up to Barnes, he’s busy taking out every man who comes near him. Tony only has his nanotech wristwatch gauntlet on him, and he’s probably an idiot to go up against Barnes with just that, but he’s done more idiotic things before.

Pepper’s going to kill him if she hears about this.

The sonic blast from the gauntlet disorients Barnes for a moment, and a bright flash knocks him out further. Enough for Tony to get close and to get a hit in. But Barnes has picked up a gun from somewhere, and Tony barely gets his hand up in front of it in time to block the bullet from being shot into his face.

Barnes looks surprised that he blocked it, and to be honest Tony is a little surprised too. Also, Pepper really is going to kill him if she ever hears that he got shot at without the suit on.

Then Barnes punches him in the gut, hard enough to send Tony partway across the room, and he lands on a cafeteria table, sending it tumbling, and decides to just lie there for a moment while he tries to remember how to breathe.

By the time he makes it back to his feet, Barnes has taken out Natasha and Sharon as well, and gotten away from T’Challa.

Steve, Sam, and Barnes are all missing when the dust settles.

- - -

“Pep, hey,” Tony tries moving the phone so that the video is picking up the left side of his face. The side that doesn’t have a spectacular black eye. “How’s the home front?”

“Oh my god,” Pepper screeches. “What happened to your face?!”

Evidently the camera is picking up everything.

“Just a slight snafu with the plans here,” Tony says. “I’m gonna have to stay a couple more days.”

“Tony.” Her voice is firm. “What’s going on?”

He tells her the whole story, from Steve still refusing to sign to the mess with Barnes and how all of them are on the run now. He leaves out the part where he nearly got shot.

“I’ve got to be the one who brings him in,” Tony explains. “The team. His friends. If it’s not us, then they’ll shoot first and ask questions later. And he won’t talk to anyone else. Not when it’s about Barnes. All Steve sees when he looks at him is his old war buddy, he doesn’t see the Winter Soldier.”

Pepper’s lips are pressed into a thin line. “Be careful,” she says. “Steve’s stubborn.”

“You don’t have to tell me that. I’ve met him.”

She hums in agreement. “You should put some ice on your eye.”

“I want to say hi to the kids.”

“They’re going to want to know why you’re hurt.”

“I’ll give them the child friendly version of the story.”

The video tilts as Pepper gets up to walk, finding Peter and Morgan both in Morgan’s playroom, watching a movie. “FRIDAY, pause. Dad’s on the phone,” she says.

“Daddy!” Morgan is up off her chair, reaching for the phone already.

“Hey Mongoose,” Tony says.

Pepper hands the phone to Peter, who holds it out so that both he and Morgan are in frame. His eyes widen. “What happened to you?”

“Just a minor scuffle,” Tony says.

“I saw the bombing on TV,” Peter says.

“I wasn’t hurt in that,” Tony quickly assures them. “But the guy who did it—”

“The Winter Soldier,” Peter says.

Tony raises an eyebrow at how well informed Peter is. But then, it had been all over the news. “Yes. We captured him. But he escaped again. That’s how I got the black eye. But I’m fine.”

“Does it hurt?” Morgan asks, her eyes wide.

“No, not at all,” Tony assures her.

 Peter doesn’t look like he believes him.

“I’m going to be a couple days late coming home because we have to go capture him again. But just a couple days. Promise.”

“Daddy, you promised to come home,” Morgan protests.

“I know. I’ll tell him to stop escaping.”

“Do you know where he is?” Peter asks.

“He’s not that hard to find,” Tony says, even though that is a bald-faced lie. “I’ll be home by this weekend. Be good for your mom, okay?”

Peter’s nose wrinkles at that, but Morgan says, “We’re always good!”

“Ha, I know,” Tony says. “Be extra good.”

“Bye bye, Daddy.” Morgan waves. Peter doesn’t say good-bye, but he gives a small wave at the camera as well, before handing it back to Pepper.

She’s back in her room before he asks, “How’s Peter doing?”

“He’s alright,” Pepper says. “Ned came over again. Happy drove them both after school. So maybe we’re over that.”

“Let’s hope.”

“He’ll get used to having a bodyguard,” she says. “It’s a big change.”

“Y’know, Steve accused me of locking the kids up and just calling it protection,” Tony says.

“What?”

“We were fighting about Wanda. He said it didn’t matter how nice the house was, it was still a prison.”

“What does that have to do with—”

“He was the one who brought the kids up. I said it wasn’t the same.”

“It’s not,” Pepper agrees. “Wanda would be in an actual prison otherwise. She’s basically on house arrest.” A pause. “Why would he bring the kids up?”

“We were fighting.”

“Still.”

Tony shrugs. “I guess it seemed relevant.”

Peter probably agrees with Steve. Tony chews on the inside of his cheek, frowning deeply.

She frowns at him, her gaze a little too knowing. “Peter’s just not used to having a bodyguard following him around. But he’s safer with one. And that’s what matters.”

“Right. No, you’re right.”

“I know I’m right,” Pepper says. “Now go put some ice on that eye. And take care of everything so you can come home.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

- - -

The fight in Berlin turns uglier than Tony expected, faster than he expected. Everyone is fighting dirty. Steve won’t be reasoned with, T’Challa won’t compromise for anything less than Barnes’ head, and Tony feels like he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place.

Then Rhodey gets hit, and the moments Tony spends staring at his best friend’s unmoving, bloody face before FRIDAY tells him that he’s still alive are some of the longest of his life.

Everything seems to matter a little less after that. Barnes matters less. The Accords matter less. Rhodey could have died and for what? He’s paralyzed and for what?

For fucking nothing. What are they even fighting over? Tony’s not sure he can even tell at this point. It’s like the fights he used to have with his father. They were ostensibly over Tony’s grades or his behavior but really they were just fighting to fight because at their core there was something fundamental about the two of them that clashed and they needed a release for it.

There’s a fundamental flaw in the Avengers team. Maybe it’s Tony and Steve. Maybe they were never meant to get along and be teammates. Maybe this is the end result. An international conflict, people dead, and a teammate permanently injured.

When he gets the news bulletin from Germany about the doctor that faked his identity and set them all up, he feels numb to it. Of course it was all a set up. Everything from Barnes bombing the UN onward has felt like a mad rush toward something but it’s been getting them nowhere.

He has no idea where Steve and Barnes are right now. And quite frankly he doesn’t care. He could find out. He could go ask Sam.

But Sam is being held in the middle of the Atlantic, underwater, in a prison meant to hold the worst enhanced individuals far away from society.

Tony’s back in New York. It’s a Saturday afternoon. He just found out his best friend will never walk again. 

He’s going home for lunch with his kids.

Chapter Text

Pepper sings along to the radio in the car.

Peter learns this when she picks him from school for a change, with Morgan in the backseat, playing on an iPad, and her own bodyguard, a tall guy named Lou, riding shotgun.

“Shouldn’t he be driving?” Peter asks.

“I like to drive,” Pepper insists. “I hardly ever get to.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the salon,” she says. “My stylist just moved out to Long Island, and I haven’t had a chance to find anyone new yet, so I’m stuck driving out to see her until I do. And you need a haircut.”

Peter reaches up for his hair, which is as messy as ever. It gets curly when it gets long, and it’s hanging down over his forehead and to his collar right now. “Just me?” he asks.

Pepper’s paying attention to the traffic, so it’s a minute before she says, “No, I’m getting mine done. I just asked her to fit in a cut for you while we’re there. If you’d rather go to a barber or something we’ll have to have Tony take you next time.”

“There was a shop on the corner that did my last one for 8 bucks,” Peter says.

It’s a long drive, and Pepper eventually turns the volume on the music up after she’s done quizzing Peter on what he did at school and how his clubs are going and how his test in history went. He’s not sure how she even knew about the test, because he hadn’t told her, but she’d wished him good luck this morning.

Pepper listens to old music too, but instead of loud rock bands like Tony she has a mix of pop and folk music.

Peter doesn’t know any of these songs, but Pepper is humming along to them all, and occasionally starts singing the lyrics softly.

He leans his head against the window, watching her as she taps her fingers against the steering wheel. Her voice isn’t bad. It’s something about love, or lost love. He’s not sure.

She doesn’t sing the next one. The lyrics have made him wonder enough to ask, “How did you and Tony meet?”

“Hmm?” Pepper doesn’t look away from the road. “Oh, I was his assistant.”

Peter blinks at that. “He was your boss?”

“This was ages ago,” Pepper says. “I worked in accounting first, and then I worked for him directly. And then we started dating, so I switched to being Obadiah’s assistant instead. And he was even worse to work for than Tony, which is honestly saying something. I quit working after you were born though, and didn’t go back until—” She breaks off, silent for a long moment. “Anyway, that's not really relevant to how we met. It was at work.”

“Don’t they have, like, rules about dating your boss?” Peter asks. He’s honestly curious. This is a much more salacious story than he was imagining.

Tony and Pepper just seem so perfect and the fact that he was her boss when they got together is throwing a wrench into the picture Peter has had of them.

He knows they got divorced and then remarried again, so clearly they haven’t had an absolutely perfect relationship. But they certainly seem to now.

Pepper shakes her head, laughing. “Oh, be quiet.”

“Does this mean he’s a lot older than you too?” he asks, realizing he’s never considered that either.

“8 years,” Pepper says. “Which is not that much. Why are you asking me about this anyway?”

“I just wondered if you were, like, super rich before you met him and that’s how you knew each other.”

“Oh. No.” Pepper laughs a bit. “I was living with this horrible roommate in LA. We had a tiny apartment right off the highway and it was a constant battle with cockroaches in the kitchen. I think Tony just about died the first time he came over.” She pauses then, frowning a bit. “If you’re asking if I married him because he was rich, then the answer is no.”

“That wasn’t why I asked,” Peter says, even though it was. Then: “Why did you marry him?”

“We were friends first,” she says, “when I worked for him. And Tony didn’t have many friends. He never let anyone get close enough to see past all the”—Pepper waves a hand in the air, wrist twirling—“show he used to put on. He didn’t trust anyone. And I’d just gotten this job doing something completely different than what I’d been doing. And anyway, we just clicked. I think he was surprised that I didn’t put up with his bullshit.”

Peter stares at the side of her head, watching her profile as she watches the road. “What did you want to do?” She seems to like being CEO and running a huge company, he can’t really picture her doing something else.

“Hmm?” she asks, distracted by something on the road.

“For work,” he says. “You said working for Tony was different than what you’d been doing.”

“Oh.” Pepper hums. And there’s a long pause before she says, “I was modeling before that. I’d done it during college for extra money, and then started doing it full time after because it was easy. But my degree was in accounting.”

Peter stares at her, trying to fit that into the mental picture he’s had of Pepper all this time. She’s a bigshot business woman. Being a model doesn’t really fit with that. She’s pretty, of course, but still…

“You’re asking a lot of questions,” Pepper says. She’s grinning.

“I don’t have an iPad to distract me like Morgan,” Peter points out. “I have to come up with my own entertainment.”

Next to him, Morgan doesn’t even register that her name has been said. She has headphones on too.

“I’m entertainment?” Pepper asks, her brow furrowed.

“You’re interesting,” Peter tells her.

That makes her smile, and he feels like he said the right thing for once.

- - -

Having a good day out with Pepper does not guarantee a good week ahead with her. Tony is still gone, and it’s clear from the way Pepper’s acting that something big is going on. Peter has checked the news for more information about Vienna, but the big news story now is that the Avengers shut down an airport in Germany to have an all out brawl and half of them are now in prison or on the run. There’s no mention of Tony being hurt any worse than he was before, so he’s not sure why Pepper is so worked up. Unless she’s lying about Tony being okay.

Whatever is going on, it’s made her nervous enough that she won’t let him go to Ned’s, even with Happy on his ass.

“Just for the afternoon,” Peter asks, feeling like an idiot for even asking in the first place. He never used to ask his foster mother’s permission to stay out. They liked it when he was gone and didn’t care about where he was.

“Not tonight,” Pepper says, her tone distracted. She’s on her phone.

“We’ve got a project for history,” Peter lies.

“Can you do it over zoom?” she suggests.

“Happy will be with me? Isn’t the whole point of him being with me that I can go places?”

“Peter, please,” Pepper says. She finally looks up from her phone. “There’s just a lot going on right now. It’s best if you stay home. Why don’t you ask your friend to come here?”

Peter narrows his eyes at her. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing for you to worry about.”

“Except for how it means I can’t go out.”

Pepper’s lips purse. “Just until your fath— Tony gets back.”

“When’s that?”

“I’m not sure,” she says.

“Why? Is he okay?”

“He’s fine.”

Peter’s not convinced. If Tony’s fine then why hasn’t he come home yet? If he’s fine then why is Pepper so worked up? She’s hiding something.

He spends the rest of the day pacing around the penthouse restlessly. It should be hard to feel caged in here, but it’s surprisingly easy. Thousands of square feet full of every amenity but when he’s locked inside it feels as small as any of the tiny apartments he’s ever lived in. His skin feels tight.

He wants to raid the liquor cabinet and go scream off the edge of the balcony again, but Tony and Pepper had cleaned that out after the last time. There’s not a drop of alcohol in the house—at least none that he’s found—and the AI alerts them any time he goes outside.

He feels trapped.

- - -

Saturday morning provides a shock in the form of Ms. Dennis, Peter’s old social worker. She turns up unannounced, smiling, saying it’s just a routine visit.

“Just to see how things are going,” she says, her smile fixed firmly in place. She’s dressed nicer than usual, Peter notes, and her hair is done. Like she dressed up for this meeting.

Pepper seems flustered. “My husband isn’t home,” she says. “He’s on a business trip right now.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. I really wanted to meet you both,” Ms. Dennis says.

Pepper shifts some of the things Morgan left on the table, stacking them neatly. “I’m sorry it’s such a mess,” she says. “It’s been a busy week. Maybe you should come back when Tony’s home.”

Ms. Dennis peers around curiously. “Oh that’s alright. That’s what these unannounced visits are for, dear. You don’t need to clean.”

Peter watches her from behind the corner of the hallway, not yet ready to announce his presence. She’s being weirdly nice to Pepper. But then, she was always nice to Skip and Tiffany too.

Ms. Dennis sits down, smiling at the coloring books. “Whose are these?”

“Morgan’s, my daughter,” Pepper says. “She’s napping. Peter’s been in his room most of the morning. I can go get him for you.”

“Oh no, that’s alright. I’ll talk to him in a bit. How is he settling in? Any trouble?”

“Oh, um, no,” Pepper says. She finally sits down as well, perching on the edge of a chair and lacing her fingers together in front of her. “He’s doing really well.”

Ms. Dennis has a file with her. Of course. “I see he got probation.”

“Yes. We’re making sure he adheres to that.”

“So no trouble at all? Really?”

“Um…” Pepper hesitates.

“It’s alright, you can tell me. I’ve known Peter for a long time. I know how he is.”

Pepper crosses her arms. “What do you mean ‘how he is?’”

Ms. Dennis’ back is to Peter now, so he can’t see her expression, but Pepper’s is fierce.

“He’s settling in just fine,” Pepper says. “I don’t know what you’re expecting me to say but he’s not any trouble at all. He’s my son. I don’t even know why you’re here.”

“This is just a routine visit, ma’am.”

“Why?” Pepper demands. “Where were you when he was in all those other homes being abused?”

“He wasn’t abused in any homes. I don’t know what he’s been telling you but—”

“He didn’t have to tell me—”

Peter decides this is a good time to break up this conversation, before they both decide he’s some sort of sad victim of the system. He steps into the room saying loudly, “Wow, Ms. Dennis. Long time no see.”

“Oh.” She turns towards him. “Peter, there you are.” She eyes him up and down. “You’re looking well.”

“They bought me new clothes,” he says.

She turns to her folder, making a note.

Because he knows what she wants to hear, he adds, “And I haven’t missed any school.”

Another note. “Your mother said you’ve been sticking to the terms of your probation. Is that right?”

Peter shrugs.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Ms. Dennis mutters.

“He has,” Pepper insists.

She wants to see his room next, before peering around the house and poking through the kitchen like this is any other home visit and the Starks aren’t filthy rich and don’t have two refrigerators and a walk-in pantry.

Pepper seems nervous about the whole thing, so Peter glares at Ms. Dennis and asks, “Are you done?”

She looked annoyed at him, but just says, “I think I have everything.”

“Good. Then you can leave.”

“Don’t be rude,” Pepper admonishes, softly.

Peter just glares at Ms. Dennis.

Ms. Dennis does take her leave, but not before giving a card to Pepper and telling her to call anytime.

“No card for me?” Peter asks sarcastically, propped against the wall and watching them.

“You have my card,” Ms. Dennis says, her annoyance finally making it into her voice.

“Must have lost it,” Peter mutters.

She huffs, and holds one out to him, which Peter wasn’t expecting. He takes it, then makes a show of reading it over before dropping it into the little trash can that Tony and Pepper keep next to the hall table for throwing away junk mail.

“Thanks,” he says.

Ms. Dennis’ lips are pressed into a thin line. She turns on her heel and steps into the waiting elevator, pressing the down button several times.

Peter gives her a wave goodbye.

Once the elevator doors close, Pepper says, “Why are you antagonizing her? What if she makes a bad report on us?”

“She won’t. She always writes that everything’s fine no matter what so that she doesn’t have to do any extra work. I’m surprised she even showed up. She probably just wanted to see what the penthouse looked like on the inside and say she’d been here.”

Pepper stares at him.

Peter shifts on his feet. “Don’t worry about her. I doubt she’ll come back. She only came to the Westcott’s like twice in over a year, and the second time was under duress. She won’t bother you.”

“Under duress?” Pepper asks, picking up on the wrong part of that.

“A neighbor called the cops with a noise complaint or something.” Peter waves it off.

Pepper still looks worried. “Were they—”

Peter takes a step back, away from the entryway. “I’m gonna go back to my room.”

Pepper is frowning, but she drops it and says, “Alright sweetie.”

- - -

The second shock on Saturday happens when Tony turns up that afternoon, carrying take-out bags.

Peter’s still hiding out in his room. He’s gotten out the tech he was working on refurbishing at the Westcotts, spreading it over his desk and spending the past two hours poking at the motherboard for a broken drone he’d found. So he misses Tony’s grand entrance, and is instead startled by him knocking on the door and then opening it immediately after.

“Hey kid,” Tony says, like Peter didn’t just nearly jump out of his chair.

Peter stares at him. Tony looks even worse than he did on the phone the other day. One of his arms is in a sling. “What happened to you?” Peter asks. He thought Tony only got hurt when the Winter Soldier escaped. There wasn’t any mention of him getting hurt in another fight. Pepper hadn’t said anything either. But maybe that’s why she’s been so on edge.

Tony glances down at himself. “I’m fine,” he says. He raises the arm. “Just a sprain; I’m babying it.”

If it weren’t that bad he wouldn’t be bothering with the sling. Peter’s had sprained wrists and shoulders before, he knows what they’re like.

Tony peers at the desk. “What’s all this? Have you been working on something?”

“It’s just junk.”

“Looks fun.”

Peter shrugs.

“Is that a—”

“It’s nothing,” Peter says, shoving the parts across the desk and further out of Tony’s view.

Tony leans back. After a moment he says, “Okay. Well, I brought back some take-out. You want to come eat lunch with us?”

Peter figures he doesn’t have a choice.

Morgan is ecstatic to have her father back, and Peter walks into the dining room to see her trying to climb him like a tree. Normally Tony picks her up, but with his arm in the sling he crouches down to her level to hold her instead.

“How’s my favorite daughter? Were you good while I was gone?”

Morgan giggles. “I’m your only daughter.”

Tony pokes her cheek. “Oh, that must be why you’re my favorite then.”

Morgan spots Peter and waves to him. “Look Peter! Daddy’s home!”

“Yeah, I already saw that,” Peter tells her.

“And we’re gonna have cheeseburgers for lunch!”

They’ve had cheeseburgers for one meal or the other every other day this week because Morgan was upset Tony was gone and it was one of the few ways to placate her. All Peter can manage to say is, “Again?”

Morgan has wiggled out of Tony’s arms and is dancing her way towards the kitchen. “Cheesy cheesy cheesy,” she sing-songs as she goes.

“Again?” Tony repeats, levering himself back to his feet.

“We’ve had it a lot this week,” Peter says, not even trying to hide the long-suffering tone.

“Well, once more into the breach,” Tony says, his hand landing on Peter’s shoulder to steer him into the kitchen as well.

- - -

Peter can’t pinpoint what it is, but all through lunch he feels like Tony and Pepper keep having this silent conversation over his head. Like there’s something else going on that he has no clue about. Pepper fills Tony in on everything he missed, while Tony says very little about what he’s been up to, and Peter struggles to figure out what the correct responses and questions are.

“Did you catch the Winter Soldier?” he asks, eventually.

Tony grimaces. “Uh, not exactly. He’s still on the run.”

“I thought you said he was easy to find.”

“Oh, he was. He wasn’t as easy to catch.” Tony tilts his head to the side, shrugs a bit. “I’m leaving it to the professionals.”

“I thought that was what you did and stuff,” Peter says. He picks at the fries that accompany his cheeseburger.

“I’m semi-retired now, remember?”

Peter shrugs.

“You gonna tell me what else you got up to while I was gone?” Tony asks.

Peter shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says. “Pepper said I couldn’t go anywhere until you got back.”

Pepper protests at that. “I didn’t say that.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“Where did you want to go?” Tony asks.

“I don’t know,” Peter says. “Anywhere? For a walk around the block? To my friend’s house? You guys don’t let me do anything.”

Tony looks at Pepper, and there’s more of that silent conversation thing they do.

“You can go out,” Tony says. “You just have to have Happy with you. Or if he’s not available, one of us.”

“Which is stupid,” Peter says. “I’m not a baby. I can take care of myself. I can certainly go for a walk around the fucking block by myself.”

“You said Daddy’s word,” Morgan pipes up.

Peter shoots her a glare.

“Hey,” Tony admonishes. “Don’t. This is about your safety. It’s not up for debate.”

“It should be. I don’t need a babysitter,” Peter says.

“A bodyguard isn’t a babysitter.”

“I’ve been just fine on my own for my entire life—”

“No,” Tony says, “you haven’t been. You only think that because someone kidnapped you and abandoned you on the other side of the country. I’m not going through that again. You’re not going out on your own. This is not a discussion.”

“I haven’t gone anywhere alone since I moved in with you,” Peter says. “There’s no privacy anywhere in this fucking apartment because you’ve got your AI watching my every move. I can’t take a shit without you knowing about it. This is worse than juvie.”

“Worse?” Tony scoffs. “Yeah, okay. All we’re doing is trying to keep you safe.”

“You’re trying to control me,” Peter insists. “You can’t keep me locked in here forever and just keep buying me shit like that makes it alright.”

Tony’s lips have turned into a thin line. “You can yell all you want, I’m not changing my mind.”

Peter glares back at him.

Pepper finally chimes in with, “We’re not insisting on a bodyguard as punishment.”

“Could have fooled me,” Peter says. He shoves his chair back, leaving half his lunch uneaten, and stomps back toward his bedroom.

He ignores Pepper calling after him, and slams the door to his room shut behind him hard enough that it bounces against the door frame. 

Then he’s stuck in his bedroom, full of distractions in the form of the latest technology and toys, but unfortunately not a single thing he actually wants.

It would help, of course, if he could figure out what he wanted.

Chapter Text

Peter has snuck out of a lot of places before. He’s snuck out of houses and apartments, bedrooms and basements and attics and closets. He’d learned to pick locks when he was seven from an older kid in the home he was living in, and he hasn’t looked back since.

Sneaking out of this penthouse is proving to be an actual challenge.

It’s the AI, FRIDAY. There’s no hiding from her, except in the bedroom or bathroom, and even then she can detect heat signatures to know someone is in the room.

After the argument on Saturday, Peter kind of just wants to prove he can do it. He wants to know he could leave if he really wanted to. If he needed to. And unfortunately what he’s discovering is that he can’t sneak out of this place. He gets as far as the doors of the lobby before FRIDAY’s voice comes from overhead telling him he doesn’t have access to the exit without an escort except in case of emergency.

Time for Plan B.

Peter has tried to ditch Happy before and failed, but Happy himself had told him what he’d done wrong. He also hadn’t been trying very hard. This time, he changes into a black hoodie and ducks out of class early on Monday, during the second to last passing time, and out the back exit. Happy is waiting in front and unlikely to notice he’s missing until school lets out and Peter isn’t there.

Hopefully. Unless the gym teacher alerts him to Peter’s absence. Coach Wilson gives fewer fucks than even Peter does about attendance though.

He has to climb the fence in back, but that’s easy with his sticky powers, and then he’s free and clear.

He grins, walking down the street away from school. It’s nice to just be alone for a change. He hasn’t been by himself in ages. There’s always Pepper and Tony hovering, Morgan begging him to play with her, Happy watching him, or FRIDAY’s cameras in the ceiling.

He still has one adderall left so he takes that just for the hell of it, then stops by Delmar’s for a sandwich, gives directions to a group of lost tourists, and wanders around a park in his old neighborhood for a bit. He finds a stray dog there that he gives the rest of his sandwich to before he’s finally feeling like maybe he should start making his way back home. It’s been a few hours out on his own, long enough to prove his point that he doesn’t need a bodyguard watching him and he can handle himself. He’ll just head back now, be home in time for dinner, and Tony and Pepper will have to see sense and understand that they’ve been acting crazy about this whole thing.

Except, Peter has the worst luck. The absolute worst. He’d thought it might be turning around a bit, what with the whole finding his parents and having them turn out to be super rich and famous and everything, but actually, no. Because if he had any luck at all, then he would be able to escape from them once in a while without having everything go to shit.

Instead, just as he’s heading for the subway to head back to Manhattan, he runs into Diya of all people.

There’s no way Diya has stopped working for Ali in the past month. Peter is not that lucky.

Peter tries to duck out of sight, but Diya has spotted him.

“Hey man, long time no see,” Peter says, still backing away down the sidewalk.

The surprise that had been on Diya’s face has been replaced by a sneer. “No one has seen you around in ages, Parker.”

“Funny thing, my name’s actually—”

“I don’t want you to be funny,” Diya says.

Peter has made the mistake of backing towards an alley. Diya forces him further into it.

“I’m always funny,” Peter says. He raises his hands up in surrender. “Diya, man. We’re friends.”

“We were. Before you skipped town with an entire batch of goods.”

“I got arrested. The cops took it.”

“You don’t look like you’re in jail to me.”

“I’m out on probation. Is Ali still mad about it? I can pay him back. I’ve got money now. How much does he want?”

“You always say you have money,” Diya says, “and you never do.”

“I really do this time,” Peter insists. “Just tell me how much and I’ll get it.”

“Oh, now you’ll get it. You don’t have it on you.” Diya shakes his head. He reaches for Peter’s arm, and his grip is like a vice. “Why don’t you come make these excuses to Ali yourself. He’s been wondering where you are.”

Diya pulls him out of the alley, and Peter stumbles after him, with the awful feeling that going with Diya is a very bad idea.

- - -

Ali is still holed up at the same house. There’s a party going on right now, and Diya drags Peter inside, past some people hanging out on the front porch.

Ali is holding court in the back room, a couple of girls crammed onto the couch with him, and when Diya shoves Peter into the room he’s in the middle of telling some story, gesturing broadly. But he stops short at the sight of Peter, his eyes narrowing.

“Hey Ali,” Peter says. He gives him a small wave. “Long time no see.”

Ali motions, sending the girls out of the room. They go, giving Peter a long look as they do. Then Ali demands, “Where the fuck is my money, Parker?”

Peter tries to act nonchalant. “So it’s kind of a long story, but the short version is that I got arrested and the cops took the whole stash. And I moved in with some new folks. I’m actually on probation right now. I’m pretty sure there are, like, twenty violations of the terms of my probation in this room alone. I really shouldn’t be here, but I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Do I look like an idiot to you?”

“I’m not lying. My probation officer is very strict. I’ve been drinking so much gatorade to flush my system I’m pissing blue.”

“Diya, hit him for me.”

Diya obliges, punching Peter across the face, and Peter stumbles, landing on his knees from the force of the blow. He blinks at the floor for a moment, before levering himself back to his feet.

“You owe me a lot of money,” Ali says, once Peter is standing again. “You take my pills, and you lose them. You take my crack, and you lose it. That’s my livelihood you’re fucking with, Parker. My goddamn money. Do you think it just grows on trees? Do you think everything is just easy come, easy go?”

Peter stays silent, for once.

“Answer the goddamn question,” Ali demands.

“I told you, I got arrested—”

“And yet here you are, walking around.” Ali gestures to him. “You look fine to me. You look better than fine. Those look like the new Nike’s. You’re spending money on that and not paying me back.”

Peter swallows hard. “I’ve got money,” he says. “I can pay you back.”

Ali is staring at him, something hard in his eyes. “You’re gonna do something for me, Parker, and then I’ll call it even.” He smirks. “You’ve got amazing timing, I’ll give you that.”

“What?” Peter asks.

“I’ve got a shipment coming in tonight. You’re gonna pick it up.”

“Shipment?” Peter asks. “Of what?”

“What do you think? Since you seem to be so good at getting away from the cops, you can get it past security.”

Peter stares at him. Ali wants to use him as a fucking mule now?

“I really can’t… I’ve got money, okay? I can pay you back. I’ve got like $100 on me, and I can get you more. As much as you want.”

“I don’t want your money anymore,” Ali says. “I want you to do this.” He nods to Diya. “Take him upstairs.”

“Upstairs?” Peter asks, dodging away as Diya reaches for him again.

“It’s not coming in until late,” Ali says. “I’m not giving you a chance to run again.”

“But… How late? Because I have to go home,” Peter says. “My… They’ll notice if I don’t go home.”

“Yeah right. No one is gonna miss you.”

- - -

Peter has his phone on him, but he’s had it turned off this whole time because he didn’t want Tony to track it. Now, faced with the alternative of running drugs for Ali again, he turns the phone over in his hands, finger pressed to the power button.

“Who are you texting?” Eric asks, suspiciously. He’s been assigned to watch Peter, which isn’t too bad because Eric has always been the nicest of Ali’s crew. Peter likes him, mostly. When Eric isn’t watching his every move like a nanny.

“No one,” he says.

“Give it here.” Eric holds his hand out.

“My phone? No.” Peter clutches it to his chest.

Eric makes a grab for it, and they play keep away for a few minutes. Peter is faster, and stronger, but Eric is willing to hit him, and eventually Peter gives in and hands it over.

“You can’t have it on you later anyway,” Eric says. “I’ll hang onto it for you.”

“What the fuck are you guys into?” Peter asks. “This is like, cartel shit. This is Narcos. Ali’s acting like he’s some kind of kingpin. You want me to sneak shit past dock security? Are you insane?”

“He’s got a new partner.”

“He’s gone insane. I want out.”

“Yeah right.” Eric pushes Peter into one of the bedrooms. “Just sit down and shut up until it’s time to go.”

There’s a couch shoved up against the wall. Peter sits down.

On the other end of the couch, a girl is sitting with her head leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. She’s quiet.

“Are you okay?” Peter asks her.

She nods. “Y’know how there are parallel universes?” she asks him.

“Sure,” Peter says.

“Do you think that every single thing you do creates a new one? Like, in one universe I sat down. And in another I didn’t. And in one I talked to you, and in another I didn’t.”

“Sounds plausible.”

She looks at him, nodding slowly. Her pupils are blown wide. “You want some blow?”

What Peter really wants is to leave this house. He’d like to go visit the parallel universe where a few hours ago he didn’t sneak away from his bodyguard, because in that universe maybe he’s at home eating dinner with his family. And for the first time ever that sounds better than doing drugs.

But he’s not in that universe. He’s in the universe where he’s at a house party, being offered cocaine, while he waits for a guy who’d just as soon shoot him as smile at him to force him to make a supply run for him.

“Sure,” he says.

- - -

Peter has no idea how much cocaine he’s done. He lost track after, like, four lines or so, and those were all kind of close together. Plus there were some pills. And at some point he must have gotten a drink, because he remembers playing a drinking game with that girl. Amy, her name is Amy. They’d played never have I ever and Amy has never kissed a girl. Peter has kissed a girl. When he was eight, but it still counts.

“Well sure you’ve kissed girls,” Amy says, sprawled against the arm of the couch. “You’re a boy.”

“I’ve kissed boys,” Peter says. He takes a drink.

“That’s— that’s not how the game works.” She pokes him in the leg. “You’re supposed to say things you haven’t done.”

“Never have I ever fucked a girl,” Peter says.

Amy pokes him again. “Never have I ever been to California,” she says.

Peter hesitates, then drinks. He’s been to California, he just doesn’t remember it.

The last thing he remembers is having another bump and then suddenly he’s hunched over a toilet, puking his guts out, and Amy is next to him. He can’t tell what she’s saying. Someone is yelling. A man. Peter wants to move away from them he can’t because he’s too busy being sick.

Amy runs a hand over his hair. “Hey, babe, you okay?”

Peter spits into the toilet. “No.” He still feels sick.

She reaches over and flushes. “Can you get up?”

He stumbles to his feet, draped over her shoulder, and she leans him against the counter.

“Water, water,” she says, sing-song. There’s a faucet running somewhere. “You’ll be fine. You just had too much. You’re okay.”

His heart is pounding so loud he’s surprised he can hear anything else. He’s shaking like a leaf.

A cup touches his mouth, moisture against his lips, and Peter opens his mouth, drinking instinctively.

The water does nothing to settle his roiling stomach. “No,” he moans, trying to push her away. He falls, landing on the floor.

“God, he’s fucked up.” Oh, that’s Eric. 

There are… several Erics standing in the bathroom. Lots of Erics. Lots of Amys. The entire room is spinning. Peter closes his eyes, trying to make it stop, but the spinning feeling continues. Now he’s the one spinning, hurtling through space, through the universes, topsy-turvy, over and over.

The floor is cold. He presses his face against it. It feels so good against his overheated skin.

Amy pokes at his shoulder. “Wake up. You have to wake up. Wake up.” She’s shaking him now, and yelling. “Wake up!”

He’d really rather not.

Chapter Text

Peter wakes up in the hospital.

It takes him a confused minute to figure it out after he opens his eyes, but this is definitely a hospital room. He’s lying in bed, propped up at a bit of an incline but otherwise flat on his back, and hooked up to a bunch of machines. And he feels like absolute shit.

The most obvious source of pain is the pounding headache. His entire body aches.

There’s a cuff on his arm that keeps squeezing tightly every few minutes, taking his blood pressure. The press of it is bruisingly hard. He reaches for it, trying to pull it off.

“You gotta leave that on, buddy,” someone says, grabbing his hand to stop him.

Peter looks over to the other side of the room, and finds Tony sitting in the chair beside his bed.

“Hey, good morning,” Tony says. “Or, well, I think it’s actually afternoon. You’ve been out for a while. Your mom’s here too, she just left for a little bit to go to the cafeteria.”

Peter swallows. His throat feels like it’s been scraped raw. “What—” his voice breaks off halfway through the question, the rest of it lost to a hoarse cough.

Tony holds up a cup of water with a straw. “Just a few sips,” he says. He taps a button to raise Peter’s bed up a bit more before holding the cup out to him.

The water is amazing and Tony takes it away too soon.

“You’re in the hospital, if you haven’t figured that out yet,” Tony says. He sets the cup back down. When he turns back there’s a deep frown on his face. “You overdosed.”

Peter stares back at him.

The last thing he remembers is… the bathroom, with the girl from last night. He must have passed out.

“Someone at the party you were at called 911, and it’s a good thing they did because they had to pump your stomach in the ambulance,” Tony goes on. “You were completely unresponsive. How much did you—” He stops, looking down, and his jaw is clenched. “You’re really lucky.”

“I have really shitty luck,” Peter mumbles.

“You’re lucky to be alive right now.”

Peter stares down at his hands. There’s an IV stuck into the back of one and the other has a pulse monitor taped to one finger.

“What happened to everyone else?” he asks, wondering who at that house would have called the cops in the first place.

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” Tony says. “You’re not allowed to see any of them ever again. In fact, you’re not allowed out at all anymore. If that means you’re homeschooled and never leave the Tower again then so be it, that’s what we’ll do. I can’t believe you ran away to go to a party. Do you have any idea how worried we were?”

“You’re gonna lock me up?” Peter asks. He can’t muster up any anger over the prospect, just resignation.

“If that’s what it takes,” Tony says. “I didn’t get you back just to watch you kill yourself.”

Peter picks at the edge of the tape on the IV. “There are plenty of things at home that I could use to kill myself. I don’t need drugs to do it.”

Tony is silent, and when Peter finally looks over at him, he finds that Tony is staring at him, eyes wide and mouth slack. He looks like Peter just sucker punched him.

“You don’t mean that,” Tony says. “Pete…” He moves, sitting on the edge of the bed, one leg tucked up under him, and reaches for Peter’s hands, holding them in each of his. His hands are warm while Peter’s are freezing. “Why would you want to do that?”

Peter doesn’t answer.

“Hey, kid, c’mon. Look at me.”

Peter shakes his head, staring determinedly down at his lap.

“Why do you do the drugs?” Tony asks. “Huh?”

Peter doesn’t have an answer for that. He’s never had an answer for that, not really. 

Well, that’s kind of a lie. Being drunk or high gives him a brief moment where he doesn’t have to think about how he really feels about his life. Because up until he got arrested and found out Tony and Pepper were his parents, his life has just been one shitty thing after another and waiting for whatever the next shitty thing was going to be sucked. It made him anxious even when things were going well because there was no way they would stay that way. The other shoe was going to drop. He’d get kicked out or screw up at school or piss someone off. So as long as he was high he could forget for just a few minutes that everything sucked and was always going to suck and relax.

But he can’t explain all of that to Tony. He can barely articulate that to himself, much less anyone else.

“You can’t…” Tony’s voice is choked, his hands gripping Peter’s tightly. “Pete, you can’t keep doing this to yourself. I know it seems like an easy solution when you feel like shit. Okay, I’ve been there. I’ve done it. I know, I do. But you’re just a kid. This isn’t the life you want.”

“Maybe it is,” Peter mutters.

“It’s not. I know it’s not. You just… I love you so much, kiddo. You gotta start to love yourself a little bit too.”

Peter starts crying at that, the tears dripping down his cheeks and ugly snot gathering in his nose that he sniffs back. “You don’t even know me,” he tells Tony. “How can you say that?”

“I do know you. You’re smart and you’re kind and you’re a good big brother, you’re protective, and I could keep going, honestly, but you could be the worst person in the world and I’d still love you because you’re my kid.”

Peter shakes his head. Tony’s wrong. He tries to pull his hands back, but Tony holds on tight.

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew everything I’ve done. You wouldn’t… You’d wish you’d never found me.”

“I’m never gonna wish that.”

Peter sniffs. “Yes you will. You don’t even know. You don’t know anything.”

“Tell me then. Whatever it is. It’s been eating you alive, kid. I can tell. Just tell me.”

Peter’s crying in earnest now, hunched over. He can’t seem to make himself stop. He doesn’t remember the last time he cried like this but something about the hospital, about how shitty he feels, about Tony sitting here with him, telling him he loves him no matter what. It’s pushing him over the edge.

“Just tell me what’s wrong,” Tony begs him. He still hasn’t let go, hunched over with Peter.

“I didn’t want to sell the drugs,” Peter finally admits, after a minute or two of sniffling.

“Okay,” Tony says.

“But… But one of Ali’s guys, Eric, he used to hang around my old school, and he’d sell pills. And I needed… I needed the money. Because the home I was at had everything locked up, and they’d only give us like one meal a day at school. So if I had money I could buy extra. But then I tried some and it was just… I liked it. So I kept selling more so that I could buy more. And… And Ali… Once I started selling for him I couldn’t stop because he’d have killed me so…”

Tony is silent, but his grip is firm. 

“And then… then I moved in with Skip and he started… and…” Peter chokes, and can’t say it.

“What happened?” Tony asks.

“I had to,” Peter says. He’s still crying, but he feels like he has to get it all out now. He feels like he’s kept all of this in for so long that if he doesn’t say it now he never will, and it will eat him alive. “Living there was the only way I could stay at Midtown and I worked so hard to get in because— because I wanted to go to college but— But it wasn’t like he was starving me or anything like that other house so I figured it could be worse, y’know? It wasn’t that bad, really.”

“Peter, what was…”

“Most of the time he just wanted a blow job, so it wasn’t always, like, always that. Just sometimes. Like when he was drunk or something.”

Tony shifts a bit, and when Peter glances up he sees that Tony’s eyes are wide, and damp with unshed tears, but that there’s also a resigned expression there. Like he knew. Like he expected Peter to tell him this and had just been waiting. He doesn’t look shocked, anyway. Not the way Peter was expecting.

How could Tony have known? Peter had never said a word about it. He’s never told anyone before. Skip and Tiffany are the only people who know.

Peter tries to pull his hands back again, but Tony is still holding on. He’s not letting Peter go.

Tony clears his throat. “Just… Just to be clear, by that, you mean he—”

“Like, when he got drunk he’d— he’d want to have sex.”

Tony’s breath is shaky, staring down at his lap for a moment. “Okay,” he mutters. “Okay, we’re gonna have to talk about you thinking that’s actually what sex is but okay.” His hands squeeze Peter’s, and he lifts his head, eyes searching for Peter’s. He waits to make eye contact before he says, “I’m really glad you told me.”

“You knew,” Peter accuses him.

Tony shakes his head. “I didn’t. I… I suspected. But I didn’t know. I’m glad you told me.” He squeezes Peter’s hands. “You don’t have to cope with it like this, kiddo. Okay? Let me and your mom help you.”

Peter balks at the idea of repeating this to Pepper. “I don’t want to tell her.”

Tony hesitates, but says, “I think we have to tell her. But I’ll do it for you if you want.”

Peter sniffs, and tries to pull his hands away again, and this time Tony finally lets him. He scrubs his palms over his cheeks.

“Can I give you a hug?” Tony asks.

Peter nods, and Tony pulls him forward, tucking Peter’s head under his chin. It’s not the most comfortable position ever, seated on the hospital bed like this, but Peter just shifts closer, wrapping his arms around Tony as best as he can when he’s still attached to all the wires. Tony’s arms are warm around him, and heavy over his back, holding him close. He hasn’t really been held like this before, not by a man. Tony smells like cologne and metal and sweat, not sweet and perfumed the way Pepper does.

He leans into it, ducking his head against Tony’s chest. He can’t stop crying. It’s gross, he’s getting snot and tears all over Tony’s shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Tony tells him. He rubs his back, the touch warm and comforting through the thin hospital gown Peter is wearing.

“I’m sorry,” Peter says again.

Tony shushes him.

Peter stays there, face pressed up against Tony’s shoulder, until his legs start to fall asleep. Even then he doesn’t want to move.

- - -

Pepper finds them like that later, and Tony just sits up saying, “Hey, you just missed the sob fest where we agreed he’s never going to touch another mind-altering substance again in his entire life.”

Peter leans back against his pillows. He doesn’t remember agreeing to that, actually.

But Pepper smiles at him. She looks tired, and unkempt in a way he’s never seen her before, but the relief on her face is obvious. “That’s really good,” she says. Then she leans over to hug him, and her hand is against his hair, pressing his face against her neck. “You really scared me, honey.”

Pepper smells like vanilla, and Peter inhales deeply, bringing his arms up to hug her back. “I’m sorry,” he says.

After a few minutes she pulls back, but she keeps hold of his hand, and sits down in the chair closest to the bed. She smoothes down the edge of the tape on the IV that Peter has been picking at.

“The doctor says you’re going to be fine,” Pepper tells him. “So that’s really lucky. We can go home later today.”

She and Tony both keep using the word lucky.

Peter still doesn’t feel lucky.

Surely if he was lucky, he’d have never been kidnapped in the first place. There must be an alternate universe where Peter Stark was never taken from pre-school and got to grow up with Pepper and Tony as parents, and never had the shit-tastic life that Peter has led. A universe where he never met Ali, never tried any drugs, never lived with Skip.

But by that same measure, there must be a universe that is the same, but where he wasn’t arrested. Where the cops didn’t bust that party, and he’s still going through life not knowing about his parents, not knowing that they’re looking for him, that they care. That they love him.

Not knowing that there is an alternative.

So maybe he is lucky.

Chapter Text

Five Months Later

Peter still doesn’t like therapy, even after months of having it every week. Dr. Patel is nice enough, but the questions are annoying and invasive and he can always think of at least twenty things he’d rather be doing than sitting in her fancy office.

Today, she wants to talk about Skip.

“Your father mentioned that he’s being sentenced tomorrow. How do you feel about him being found guilty?”

Peter shrugs. “It didn’t have anything to do with me.”

Which is true. Skip hadn’t been on trial for what he’d done to Peter. He could have been, Tony had asked Peter what he wanted to do, had given him a choice that Peter was afraid he’d handed away when he’d finally admitted everything. But given that choice the last thing Peter wanted was to repeat all the details to anyone else, much less do it in public, on the record.

“Okay,” Tony had said. “That’s fine. I’ll take care of it.”

“How are you gonna do that?” Peter had asked.

“Don’t worry about it, kid.”

A week later the police had found a bunch of child porn on Skip’s computer and arrested him.

Peter’s not an idiot. He knows Tony did something. But he also knows that Skip’s guilty of that and more, so he doesn’t care how it gets done.

“You’re still allowed to have feelings about it,” Dr. Patel tells him.

“I don’t,” Peter insists.

He’s lying.

- - -

Ned is bouncing on his feet in the lobby, staring around at everything, when Peter goes down to meet him the next day. 

“You’ve been here loads of times,” Peter says, as he herds Ned toward the back elevator that goes up to the residential floors.

“It’s cool every time,” Ned insists. “You literally live in Avengers Tower. It does not get any cooler than that.”

“Actually Tony and Pepper were talking about moving,” Peter says.

Ned’s face falls, almost comically. “No!”

“Well, the Avengers kind of broke up and they do everything upstate now anyway so they don’t need the Tower anymore, I guess. I’m not sure where they want to go though.”

“What about Stark Industries?”

Peter shrugs.

“You can’t move away!” Ned says. “You’re my best friend!”

Peter turns away from the elevator door to stare at him, startled. Ned looks a bit distraught at the thought of Peter leaving.

Ned is the only friend Peter has ever invited over here, because to be honest he doesn’t have any other friends either. Ned was friends with him back during foster care and through all the shit that happened when he first came to live with Tony and Pepper, and stuck around even when Peter got pulled out of school and homeschooled for the remainder of the school year after he ODed. He texts Peter updates about classmates and gossip “so you won’t be behind when you come back.”

He’s Peter’s best friend too. But he’s not sure he’d ever admit that out loud.

Instead he says, “We’re not leaving the city.”

Ned relaxes. “Oh, thank god.”

He doesn’t seem to have any problem with the fact that he just admitted Peter was his only friend.

The elevator doors slide open onto the foyer of the penthouse, and Peter heads out and straight toward the kitchen. “Pepper said she was gonna leave us snacks.”

“Excellent!”

The snacks turn out to be fruit, but Peter digs through the pantry for some chips too.

Ned has his backpack with him, and he pulls out a folder. “I brought you the forms for AcaDec. You’re already kind of on the team from last year so I don’t think you’ll have trouble getting back in. Competition season starts as soon as school does though because Nationals are in October.”

Peter takes the form, glancing at the fields. He hadn’t even considered doing AcaDec again.

Between Skip’s sentencing date this Thursday and the first day of school on Monday, he hasn’t considered much other than making it through the next seven days.

“Uh, thanks.”

“And here’s robotics,” Ned says, shoving another form towards him.

“Where did you get all of this?” Peter asks.

“At meet-your-teacher night.”

Right. Peter had skipped that. 

“Everyone kind of thinks you were in prison all summer,” Ned says.

“At least I have a reputation going for me.”

- - -

Peter decides on Thursday morning, at roughly 2 AM, that he wants to go to Skip’s sentencing.

Possibly it was the nightmare he’d just had that decided it for him, but possibly it was just finally down to the wire on making the decision. He had to decide one way or the other.

He barely sleeps the rest of the night, and is sitting in the living room playing on the Switch that Pepper got him when Tony gets up.

Tony stops when he spots him. “You’re up early.”

Peter hits pause on his game. “I want to go,” he says.

Tony blinks at him. “Go?”

“To the sentencing.”

“Oh.” Comprehension dawns on Tony’s face. “Okay,” he says. “Sure, we can go.”

“I want to talk to him.”

Tony’s expression is a bit pinched. “I don’t know if that’s possible.” Before Peter can protest, he adds, “I’ll try.”

Peter nods, and turns his game back on.

“Why do you want to talk to him?” Tony asks.

“Seems like my last chance to tell him to fuck off before he goes away for years, right?”

There’s a long pause before Tony replies. “Okay.”

- - -

They have to wait around court for most of the day before Skip’s sentencing finally takes place. Pepper had insisted on coming as well, which means Morgan is home being babysat by Happy, but she has a tablet with her so she can still get some work done.

Peter feels on edge the whole day. Anxious with knots in his stomach and jittery. It takes him a while to realize he used to feel this way most of the time, and just hasn’t been feeling it lately.

Tiffany is evidently playing the supportive wife up til the very end, because she’s here too. Peter runs into her outside the bathrooms, and she looks surprised to see him, her eyes widening before they narrow in on him.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

“I like watching the justice system in action. It’s why I keep getting arrested,” Peter says.

“So you’re here for you?”

“No. I’m here to watch Skip get sentenced to so many years behind bars he’s gonna be old and wrinkly when he gets out. What are you here for? To ask for a divorce?”

Tiffany’s hand lands on his arm, her nails digging into his skin. “Did you do this?” she hisses. “Who did you tell?”

Peter shakes her off. “He’s not on trial for that shit, is he?”

“Then how did they—”

“Maybe he’s just an idiot who got caught. Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with me at all.”

“Bullshit,” she says. She’s blocking his exit from the small hallway leading to the bathrooms. “Why else are you here?”

“I want to see him go to prison. Why are you here?”

“I’m going to tell the judge it was a set up.”

“He’s already been found guilty.”

“It’ll be a mistrial.”

Peter stares at her, alarmed by the possibility.

He must have taken too long in the bathroom, because Tony turns the corner looking for him then, and his expression turns grim when he spots Tiffany.

“There you are,” Tony says.

Both Peter and Tiffany turn towards him.

“You okay, kid?”

“Fine,” Peter says. He moves around Tiffany, feeling her glare on his back as he walks away.

“You set this whole thing up, didn’t you?” she says, accusing Tony now.

Tony’s expression stays cool. “I highly doubt there’s any evidence of that.”

“I know you did it. You’re not going to get away with it. I’ll tell the judge!”

“What motive would I have for setting your husband up and sending him to prison?” Tony asks, head tilted to the side a bit as he considers her.

Tiffany frowns, still glaring.

“Might want to consider that before you make any accusations.”

He turns away from her, his hand landing on Peter’s shoulder. “Let's go,” he says.

Around the corner, away from Tiffany, Tony says, “You didn’t tell me she knew what was going on.”

Peter shrugs. “She lived there too.”

Tony’s jaw is clenched. “Yeah, I guess she did.”

Pepper is waiting for them outside the courtroom. She looks between them, a frown on her face. “Everything okay?”

“Peachy,” Tony says.

Her frown deepens.

“Can we go in yet?” Peter asks.

“Yeah, it’s up next,” she says.

The inside of the courtroom is not quite what Peter expected, but his expectations were set by episodes of Law and Order. It’s a lot less fancy.

Pepper herds them toward a bench in the middle, and she and Tony sit on either side of Peter.

It feels both comforting to have them both by his side, and also not. He’d rather be on the end of the bench and not have to climb over anyone to get out if he wanted to.

Tiffany is giving him the cold shoulder now. She hasn’t glanced at him since she came in and took her seat further towards the front.

The bailiff at the front tells them all to rise for the judge, and it’s not until after the judge and the lawyers have all arrived and settled in that Skip is finally led in by a couple of cops. He’s wearing a brown jumpsuit, like he’s already in jail, and they have to uncuff him before he moves over to talk to his lawyer.

The bailiff is calling out something, but Peter’s not really paying attention. He can’t stop staring. Skip looks smaller. There’s just something about how he looks now that makes Peter wonder why he was afraid of him before.

“You okay?” Tony asks, voice nearly a whisper.

Peter nods. He finally tears his gaze away and looks around the rest of the courtroom, at anything else.

“Any comments from the state?” the judge is asking.

“The state would ask that you sentence this defendant to the maximum time allowed by law. The nature of his crimes is heinous and preys on the most vulnerable in our society, our children. He has shown no regard for the countless victims created by his acts.”

“Thank you,” the judge says.  He flips through a few of the papers in front of him before looking over at Skip. “Mr. Westcott, do you have anything you'd like to say for yourself before I render my sentence?”

Skip mutters something to his attorney.

“Mr. Westcott?” the judge prompts.

Skip’s attorney stands up straighter. “My client doesn’t have anything to say, your honor.”

“Alright then.” The judge shuffles some more papers. He finally looks out to the broader courtroom, acknowledging the sparse group of people gathered to see this. His eyes linger on Peter for a moment, before he says, “If there’s nothing else?”

Tiffany stands up, approaching the divider and waving her hand. “This whole thing is a set up! Judge, they’re setting my husband up.” She points back at Peter and his parents. “They did.”

The judge’s mouth is set in a very thin line. “Ma’am, sit back down. Your husband has already been found guilty.”

“But it was a set up!”

The lawyer for the state stands back up. “Sir, I assure you—”

The judge waves his hand. “Ma’am, sit down.”

Skip has turned around now and is staring straight at Peter.

Peter has to lean around Tony to give Skip a wave.

Pepper grabs his wrist, dragging his hand back down. “Stop that,” she mutters.

Tiffany is still yelling, and the judge is threatening to have her taken out of the courtroom now. But this entire trip was worth it for the look on Skip’s face right now. Peter doesn’t care that Skip knows he was set up, he’s just glad that Skip knows he helped set him up. Sort of.

Tiffany finally sits again after the bailiff crowds her back towards her seat.

“If everyone is done having outbursts,” the judge says, tone clipped, “then we’ll get on with it. Mr. Westcott, I’m sentencing you to ten years in prison and a further ten years of probation. In addition you’ll be required to register as a sex offender upon release.”

Skip doesn’t look up or protest, but Tiffany gasps. She leans forward, trying to reach Skip, and he finally turns around and steps closer to the divider. Close enough that she can wrap her arms around his neck.

She’s forced to let go not long after then Skip is led out of the courtroom by a couple of cops.

“That’s it?” Peter asks. He’d kind of thought there would be more to going to court.

“You wanted more drama?” Pepper asks.

He shrugs. “I dunno.”

Tiffany glares daggers at them but doesn’t speak as she stalks out of the room. Soon enough it’s just them left as the judge and the attorneys pack up.

“Ready to go?” Tony asks.

Peter stares at the spot where Skip was standing. “Is ten years a lot for what he did?”

Tony looks like he bit down on a lemon. “For his first count of pornography charges, I guess it’s not bad. Could have been more. The judge split it in half with the probation.”

“But he won’t be a foster parent again when he gets out?”

It hadn’t really occurred to Peter until just now that that was important to him, but it is. He wants Skip going to prison to have made a difference, to have changed something. It can’t change the past but maybe it will help someone else.

Peter has felt like he was living hand to mouth for most of his life. It’s kind of nice to think that he had a hand, however small, in helping someone else.

“No,” Tony confirms.

“He’ll have to register as a sex offender for the rest of his life,” Pepper says. “He won’t be allowed around any children at all ever again.”

Peter chews on the inside of his cheek. “Okay,” he says.

He stands up, ready to leave now. “Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

Peter hits snooze when his alarm goes off, and keeps hitting it until Tony knocks on his door then opens it to say, “Rise and shine! First day of school, very exciting day ahead.”

Peter stuffs his head under his pillow.

“Alright, you asked for it. Morgan—”

There’s a bounce as Morgan jumps on Peter’s bed. “Peter, wake up. Wake up. We have school.” She says school like she’s saying Disneyland. “Mommy made pancakes!”

Okay, the pancakes do sound good.

Peter rolls over, squinting over at Tony. “Why is school so early?”

“You can ask the principal that when you get there.”

“The principal hates me.”

“He disliked your behavior,” Tony corrects, tone a bit condescending and annoying. “This year he’s gonna like you because… well, you’re not going to be getting arrested, for one. So what’s not to like?”

Peter rolls his eyes, flopping onto his back with his arms spread. “You sound really sure about that. Maybe I’ll come up with new ways to break the law.”

“Please don’t. My lawyers are only so good,” Tony says. Then: “Five minutes, breakfast.”

Peter closes his eyes, chasing those extra five minutes of sleep.

- - -

Sophomore year starts off very differently than Freshman year had. For one, Peter’s being dropped off by Happy, not making his own way there on the subway, and he has friends waiting for him, despite the fact that he missed the end of last year and was generally a bad friend to have in the first place.

Freshman year he hadn’t known anyone here, but he’d been under orders from Ali to scout out prospective clients at his fancy new school. So that had been on his mind with everyone he met. He’d been a nobody though, he’d flown under the radar, both socially and in classes. 

At least, until he’d gotten arrested.

This year everyone is staring at him as he walks down the hall. He was kind of expecting it, but it’s still causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. He keeps feeling like he should look over his shoulder and has to fight the urge.

“Oh Peter! Peter, hi!” Betty is flagging him down from beside her locker. She’s clutching several books to her chest. “I didn’t know you were coming back this year,” she says, when Peter slows to a stop in front of her.

“Where else would I go?” he asks.

“Oh, um,” she hesitates. “I don’t know. Everyone thought you got arrested again. That’s what Flash said.”

“How would Flash even know?”

Betty shrugs. “That’s just what I heard,” she says. “Sorry. It’s good you’re back.” She smiles at him. 

Before she can say anything else, another girl approaches them, and Betty turns towards her, looking more excited to see her than she had been to see Peter. “Liz! Hi!”

“Hey.” Liz gives Betty a hug, books and all, and then raises a quizzical eyebrow at Peter.

He waves at her. “Hi.” Liz had captained the AcaDec team Peter had been on briefly last year, so he’s assuming she remembers him.

Comprehension dawns slowly on her face. “Oh, hi! You’re back.”

“Everyone seems so surprised by that…”

Liz bites her lip. “Well, I mean, no offense, but weren’t you in juvie all summer?”

“No, I just ODed and had to be homeschooled so I could attend lots of therapy. They decided I’m better now so I get to come back to school. But do you know if Owen is still selling Adderall behind the gym? I thought I might get in on that action. My allowance is only, like, 500 bucks a week so I need the cash.”

They both stare at him.

Peter grins.

Liz laughs. “God, you have a dark sense of humor!” She reaches out, her hand landing on his arm and squeezing. “You’re going to do AcaDec again, right?”

Peter tries not to look down at her hand. “Uh, sure,” he says.

She squeezes again. Her hand is very warm through his t-shirt. “Good. You were really good at it.”

“And maybe you can give me that interview about your parents?” Betty puts in.

“Uh… Maybe not.”

She sighs.

Peter looks up and spots Ned further down the hall, staring at them all. “I gotta go,” he says. “See you around.”

“Bye Peter,” Liz waves at him as he goes.

When he reaches Ned, Ned’s eyes are wide as saucers. “Did Liz just touch you?” He hisses.

“Huh?”

“Liz! Liz Allen! Senior Liz Allen.”

Peter blinks at him. “What about her?”

Ned glances over Peter’s shoulder, then takes him by the arm and drags him down the hall and around a corner. Finally he stops and explodes with, “Dude! She was flirting with you!”

“She was not,” Peter argues. “She was just… being nice?”

“Why would she be nice to you?”

“She’s a nice person?”

“She touched your arm.”

“Maybe she’s a touchy person.”

“Peter, you’re killing me.”

- - -

Tony picks Peter up from school himself, no Happy in sight, and takes him and Morgan both to an arcade as a reward. “For making it through the first day of school unscathed,” he says. “Well, one of you did,” he shoots a significant look at Morgan in the rearview mirror. “One of you didn’t make it through three hours before the principal called home. But I’m taking you both anyway.”

Peter twists around in his seat to look at Morgan. “What did she do?”

“Morgan got into a fight,” Tony says.

Morgan crosses her arms, her mouth set in a scowl. “He deserved it!”

“You can’t hit people,” Tony says, in a tone that suggests it’s not the first time he’s said it.

“Can I kick them?”

“No.”

“What did this other kid do?” Peter asks.

Morgan launches into her story. “He was calling my friend Emma names and he made her cry and then he laughed at her for crying and so I punched him.” She demonstrates, swinging her fist in the air.

Peter has no idea who this other little girl is, it’s the first time he’s heard of her. “Sounds like he deserved it,” he says.

Tony shoots him a look, and Peter shrugs, settling back down into his seat. “Be that as it may,” Tony says, “we have to save hitting people for when we don’t have other options.”

“What am I supposed to do then?” Morgan demands.

“Tell an adult,” Tony says.

“And when that doesn’t work kick the kid in the balls,” Peter tells her. “That’ll stop him.”

Morgan starts giggling, and Tony says, “Thank you for that.”

- - -

Peter doesn’t want to admit that the arcade is fun, because it feels too childish. It makes him feel the same way the LEGOs do, like he wants something, for no reason other than because it brings him enjoyment, and that feeling still reminds him of wanting to do drugs. Doing drugs felt grown up though, like he was doing something only adults do. This is for little kids. He feels out of place.

Morgan is having a blast. She doesn’t seem phased by the way Peter is hanging back. She grabs his hand to drag him from machine to machine to “help her win,” and Peter doesn’t have the heart to tell her no. And the games are fun. 

Tony’s keeping an eye on them, but seems content to just watch. Which adds to the feeling creeping up Peter’s shoulders.

He’s eventually able to beg off when Morgan gets drawn to a Ms. Pac-Man machine and Tony decides his time to shine has come. 

“This is a classic,” Tony is saying. “I once beat your Uncle Rhodey at this while—” he cuts himself off.

“While what?” Peter asks.

“You’re not old enough for that story yet,” Tony says. He settles in across the table from Morgan. “Watch and learn, kids.”

Peter jerks his thumb over his shoulder. “Actually, I’ll be right back.”

Tony looks up, a frown already on his face.

“Just have to go to the bathroom,” Peter says.

“Oh, okay.”

The bathroom trip earns Peter five minutes by himself, but the feeling doesn’t abate. Possibly because the decor is the same, brightly colored and reminding him that on his first day of kindergarten he’d been left alone to navigate the bus route back to his foster home and gotten lost. He’d wandered around for hours until it was dark and a woman had taken pity on him and taken him to a police station. Then he’d been moved to a new home and a new school.

He doesn’t head straight back to the Pac-Man table. Instead he wanders towards the front of the building, looking idly over the prizes behind the glass at the table as he passes by them. Most of it is crap. There’s a restaurant at the front that’s fairly busy.

He’s debating getting a soda, just to kill some more time, when someone very short bumps into his legs.

He thinks it’s Morgan at first, but a glance down finds him looking at a head of blonde curls. “Uh, hi,” he says.

The little girl stares up at him. Her eyes are welling up with tears.

Peter stares back, his own eyes wide. “Um…”

“I— I can’t find my mom!” He can barely make out what she’s saying as she starts hiccupping.

Peter keeps staring.

The girl starts crying in earnest, and grabs his hand, clinging.

Oh, okay then. “Um, it’s all right,” he says. He pats her head. “There there. Don’t cry.”

She cries harder.

He crouches down. “Hey, it’ll be okay. We’ll find her. What’s your name?”

She sniffs and scrubs at her face with her free hand. “Lila.” She looks younger than Morgan, by a year or two.

“That’s pretty. My name is Peter. What’s your mom’s name?”

Lila looks confused.

“That’s okay, we’ll find her anyway. Is her hair the same as yours?”

Lila nods. Well, that’s helpful. Blonde woman missing a child, can’t be that hard to spot, right?

“Were you in the restaurant or the arcade with her?”

Lila points towards the restaurant.

Peter stands back up and leads her by the hand toward the restaurant. It’s not very big though, and a glance around doesn’t reveal anyone looking around frantically for their child like he assumes Lila's mother would be. Who knows though, maybe she hasn’t noticed Lila is gone. He used to wander away all the time as a little kid and his foster parents usually didn’t notice for hours.

Tony and Pepper notice everything though. Real parents are different. Tony’s probably already noticed that he isn’t back yet.

“Can I pick you up?” he asks Lila. “That way you can see?” After a nod he lifts her onto his shoulders, finally earning a smile as she clings to his neck. “There now you’re up high and you can see better. I’ll turn in a circle and you yell if you see your mom, okay?”

He turns in a slow circle, then stops and waits. But Lila remains silent, her hands tight on his shirt collar.

“Okay, no mom in here. Let’s try the arcade.”

He lets her ride on his shoulders as they walk back towards the arcade, holding onto her legs like he does for Morgan when he carries her like this. Lila is smaller.

“Just shout if you see her okay?” Peter says. Maybe he can do a circuit of the arcade area and Lila will see her mom. He’s not sure what to do if she doesn’t find her in here.

He’s only made it to the basketball hoops before there’s a shout of “Lila!” and then a frantic looking blonde woman is rushing towards him, her arms already held out.

Peter reaches up to take Lila down off his shoulders. “Are you Lila’s mom?” he asks.

Her mother snatches her from him, holding her close. But then she looks at him. “Who are you?”

“Uh…”

“He’s Peter!” Lila pipes up.

Peter gives Lila’s mom a small wave. “I just found her. But now we found you. So, uh… bye.”

Lila’s mother is staring at him, a mixture of relief and gratitude on her face, and she looks ready to say something to him so Peter turns to flee.

He turns a couple of corners, a bit lost in the maze of games himself now, only to run smack into his own frantic parent. “Peter! Where have you been?!” Tony looks a bit frazzled, dragging Morgan behind him by the hand.

“Uh…”

“Have you been in the bathroom this whole time?”

Peter hesitates, but says, “Yes.”

Tony frowns. “Are you sick?”

Morgan’s attention is on the driving game they’re standing next to. “Daddy, can we play?”

Tony looks between them, but Peter doesn’t say anything else, just crosses his arms, so Tony crouches down to Morgan’s level. “Morguna, I think we’re done with the arcade. Your brother’s not feeling well.”

Morgan turns her puppy eyes on Peter. “Just one more game,” she begs.

“One more is fine,” he says quickly.

He tries to let Morgan win, but she has to stand up to even reach the pedals in the first place so really she never stood a chance. It’s not a fair game. And it’s more fun than playing with a 5-year-old has any right to be.

Chapter Text

Peter finds Tony downstairs in his workshop the next afternoon, hunched over something mechanical with a soldering iron. There’s old rock music blasting.

The music turns down as he walks in, and Tony doesn’t lift the protective mask he’s wearing as he says, “FRIDAY, stop messing with the music.”

“Peter is here,” FRIDAY says.

Tony sits up then, setting the soldering iron aside, and tilts the mask up on his forehead. “Hey kiddo.”

Peter hovers in the doorway. He’s only been in here a few times, and it always feels kind of daunting. It’s such a big space, full of expensive equipment. He feels like he’s going to break something if he looks at it wrong.

It also feels like the type of space he’s normally not allowed inside of. Like the foster home he’d lived at once that had a special room for the woman’s doll collection. She’d had some really rare and expensive ones, and she’d kept it locked up tight so that none of the kids could try to play with them. He still thinks the dolls were super weird, but the workshop has that same feeling; like it’s Tony’s space and Peter is intruding by even knocking on the door.

Which is probably stupid. Tony has told him to come inside before. It’s probably okay that he’s here.

Probably.

“What’s up?” Tony asks.

“Pepper took Morgan over to her friend’s house for a playdate.”

“Which friend?”

Peter shrugs. Morgan has quickly become very popular at her new kindergarten and he can’t keep up with all the names of other kids she mentions being friends with. “One of the E names,” he says.

“There are like five of those,” Tony says. He starts counting off on his fingers. “Emma, Eva, Emily, Emma Number Two, Ethan… or was it Evan?”

Peter blinks at him. “You remember all of those?”

“I remember everything,” Tony says. He taps his temple. “Steel trap.”

Peter’s not sure how to respond to that. He kind of suspects Tony made up half those names just now.

He takes a few steps closer to Tony’s workstation. “What’s that?” he asks.

Tony gestures for him to come closer. “New legs for Rhodey. Well, upgraded ones. I made one set already but these are going to be better.”

Tony has talked before about Rhodey’s injury, so Peter asks, “Is he still going to be on the Avengers?”

Tony looks away, back down at the mechanics in front of him. “Not much of a team to be on right now,” he mutters. “But yes. These will work with the suit upgrades I’m making, so he can still use it. Can’t have someone else as War Machine, can we?”

“I thought it was Iron Patriot?”

Tony looks affronted. “Blasphemy, from my own son. In my own house.”

Peter grins. But then he looks down at the mechanics as well, reaching out tentatively to trace a finger over them. “But if there’s not an Avengers team, then how’s he going to be War Machine? How are you going to be Iron Man?”

“Kid, I was Iron Man long before the Avengers were a thing. I can do that with or without the rest of the band. So can Rhodey. I might actually prefer it,” Tony says. “It’s kind of nice not having Captain Uptight telling me what to do all the time.”

“You haven’t gone out as Iron Man since last spring though,” Peter points out.

“Well, there hasn’t been anything that needed taking care of. No alien attacks, no super villains trying to take over.”

“What about all the stuff here in New York?”

“What stuff?”

“Like…”—Peter gestures, hand flailing through the air—“stuff.”

“No one’s attacked New York this year. For a change of pace,” Tony says.

Peter frowns. That isn’t what he meant. He didn’t mean big attacks really, because of course Tony would go out and help with those. He meant more like… helping people in general. People like the little girl at the arcade.

The Avengers had never done that though. Tony’s never done that. He’s always used all his power to fight against big stuff like alien invasions.

But maybe there needs to be someone helping regular people with smaller problems. Maybe if someone were doing that, they’d have helped him when he was little and lost.

“Penny for your thoughts, kid?” Tony says. He reaches up, poking Peter between the eyes, and Peter stumbles back a step. “You look like you’re thinking hard about something.”

“That’s just how my face looks,” Peter says. He hesitates, then asks, “What made you want to be Iron Man?”

Tony turns toward him more fully, giving him his full attention. He looks like he’s really considering it before answering. “I did it because it was a way to fix the mistakes I’d made,” he says. “You know about SI, right? And that we used to make weapons?”

Peter nods.

“I had to do what I could to get those out of the hands of the wrong people. And I needed the suit to do it. So that’s how it started.”

“Why do you do it now then?”

Tony’s eyes crinkle up a bit. “I mean, getting to fly around isn’t a bad gig,” he says. He smiles, before looking more serious. “Someone needs to do it. Someone needs to be here to handle the big threats that the government and military can’t. They don’t know what to do with aliens and shit like that. And I have the ability to do that, so why not me?”

Peter looks over at the Iron Man suits, lined up in a row along the wall. There are a couple of them, different prototypes Tony has said, improvements he’s working on. An extra in case one is damaged.

Tony follows his gaze. “I’m taking a step back though,” he says.

Peter looks at him, surprised.

“I was already doing it before, really, but after everything that went down in Europe, and the team kind of breaking up, it’s more for real. I’m only on call for something major. So you don’t need to worry about any ‘business trips’”—he uses air quotes—“or stuff like that. I’m gonna be here at home.”

Peter looks at him for a long moment. He wasn’t actually worried about Tony still being an Avenger. Sure, he’d been injured the last time he left on Avengers business, but Peter hadn’t thought it was bad enough to make Tony reconsider the entire job.

Or it hadn’t seemed that bad. He does still rub at his left wrist a lot, Peter’s noticed. Like it still hurts. So maybe it had been worse than it seemed. And Rhodey had been hurt very badly in that fight.

“So who’s going to handle the other stuff?” Peter asks.

“Honestly, there are new guys popping out of the woodwork everyday. For every one of us that leaves the team there’s three more ready to go. Seems like all anyone needs to be a superhero these days is a mask and a gimmick. They had a guy who’s thing was ants with them in Germany.”

“Ants?”

“He controls ants. And shrinks down to the size of one.”

Peter wonders if he could control spiders.

He hasn’t given a ton of thought to powers that he got after being bitten by that spider on a field trip last year, because aside from the increased strength and ability to eat whatever he wants without gaining any weight they seem a bit useless. Why does he need to be sticky and able to climb things? What’s he going to use that for?

But what use is controlling ants? Evidently ant guy found a use for it in a fight.

“You’re thinking again,” Tony says.

“Am I supposed to not think?” Peter asks.

“No, but let’s put it to use. Want to help me with Rhodey’s new legs?”

Peter looks down at the complicated mess of machinery on Tony’s workbench. “Really?”

“Really,” Tony says. “Grab a mask and pull up a stool.”

Peter dons the protective gear and settles in beside Tony, leaning in close to him as he starts working again so that he can see what he’s doing.

Tony doesn’t turn his music back up, instead he talks through everything, explaining where things go and why he’s welding certain pieces together. How to fit things to get the maximum amount of movement, how to place the delicate circuit boards and wires.

Peter absorbs it all like a sponge.

- - -

A mask and a gimmick.

The gimmick is actually easier to come by than the mask. He’s able to work on it during lab time at school, sitting hunched over his notebook trying to work out the formula and then mixing everything up in a beaker in the drawer by his desk. The first few attempts just result in a sticky mess, but finally he gets it right on the third try.

Web Fluid. 

Spiders have webs, and it’s one extra power the bite didn’t give him. He’s going to have to manufacture something to shoot them with, but then he should be able to use them for everything from tying someone up to rappelling off a building.

Maybe he can swing between buildings with them.

The mask and the rest of the costume is harder. There’s nothing in his closet at home that he can use, and getting out on his own is still difficult.

He has to lie to Pepper.

But if he’s going to do this, he’s going to be lying to her a bunch anyway, right? It’s for a good cause. She’d understand, if she knew the reason behind it.

It’s not like he can tell her “Hey Mom, I’ve actually been hiding my superpowers from you and I’ve decided to use them to become a vigilante. Don’t worry, I’ll be home before midnight and instead of doing drugs I’m going to try to help people. I feel like this is what my therapist would call really healthy growth wouldn’t you agree?”

She would not agree. Well, maybe with the helping people instead of doing drugs part. But she’d flip out about the superpowers he’s been hiding from her. And then she’d tell Tony, who would also flip out. And the last thing he needs is the two of them flipping out, homeschooling him again, and having Happy follow him around everywhere. They’ve only recently relaxed on the whole bodyguard thing.

Plus he really wants to go to Midtown for sophomore year. He’s got a good feeling about it.

She lets him go to Ned’s after school, with plans for Happy to pick him up there later that evening. They’ve eased up a lot on the bodyguard thing over the past couple months. Happy still drives Peter around, but he doesn’t follow him inside places anymore, watching his every move.

Instead of going to Ned’s, Peter heads to the nearest thrift store. Stepping inside is like stepping back into his life before. He used to shop at thrift stores all the time. Now Pepper buys all of his clothes and everything he’s wearing has price tags that still make him uncomfortable to look at. T-shirts shouldn’t cost that much, honestly.

The stuff at the thrift store is cheap. And he finds what he needs pretty quickly. Which leaves him with some free time before he has to go stand in front of Ned’s apartment building and make it look like he’s been there this whole time.

The last time he was in this neighborhood on his own was when he wound up at that party.

He should probably just go to Ned’s early.

- - -

It’s another two weeks before Peter gets the chance to try out the whole thing. He’s got a costume, he’s got a mask—he chose red and blue for the colors, partly because that was what he’d found at the store and partly because he’d thought they went well together—he’s got devices that he’d mentally dubbed ‘webshooters’ that let him shoot out a string of the web fluid with just a press of his finger, he’s got a police scanner app on his phone. He’s ready. He’s going to do this.

He lies about having a project to work on with Ned after school at the library, and about being offered dinner at Ned’s house, which buys him until at least 8 PM before Happy’s going to be looking for where to pick him up. Then he finds an empty alley to change into his costume, uses the web fluid to stick his backpack high up enough on the brick wall that it won’t get stolen, and scales the side of the building.

He surveys everything from the roof, at least fifteen stories up, and checks in on the police scanner app. There’s not much going on, so he practices with the web fluid for a while, and jumps from one building to the next, using a string of fluid to slow his fall to shorter buildings.

It holds his weight easily.

There’s really just one other thing he really wants to try with it.

He stands on the edge of a roof, bouncing on his toes, gathering his nerves, and shoots out a string of fluid to the building across the street. It latches on and is like a firm rope in his hands, but with elasticity. There’s just a bit of give.

The first drop is terrifying, but also exciting. He swings across to the other building, sticking to the wall, and then shoots another string towards a building a bit further down the street. It only takes a few times before he gets some momentum going, and the next thing he knows he’s flying between buildings, high above the cars on the street below, the webs more of a guideline than anything else.

He could fall at any moment, but he won’t. He’s got this. His stomach swoops with every swing. He feels high on the adrenaline.

He feels free.