Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Peter walks into school on Monday morning feeling good about life. As he should, right? With the Avengers back in town, everything’s going well.

He sits down at his desk, greeting MJ and Ned with way more enthusiasm than is normal, and hums along to the morning announcements as he pulls his chemistry book out of his bag.

Flash shoving past him, forcing all his books to the floor and off his desk, all while muttering slurs and insults under his breath doesn’t even break his mood.

Peter smiles wide and bright, ready to get on with another day of learning.

It’s Chemistry first thing, which is always fun - Mr Harrington’s one of his favourite teachers, and Peter enjoys having him every Monday morning.

Mr Harrington arrives late, looking oddly excited.

“Hello, class!” he says cheerfully. Usually he’s much more subdued than this.

Something’s off, thinks Peter. It might be his spidey sense telling him this or just his common sense, but Mr Harrington’s acting different than usual and it’s silently freaking Peter out.

“Guess what?” says Mr Harrington. Woah- Mr Harrington normally hates rhetorical questions. “We’ve got a field trip booked at the end of this week!”

Oh. Well, that’s… not that big of a deal.

Peter’s actually pretty wary of field trips. So far, post-Spider-bite, Peter has yet to experience a joyful field trip. There was Oscorp… then Washington… so yeah, he has reason to be cautious.

Of course, his classmates are delighted. Everyone’s interrogating Mr Harrington. They all want to know where they’ll be going.

Peter sinks into his seat. His joy has officially been wiped from his soul. Maybe there’s a chance this field trip will be better than most?

Yeah, who knows…

“It’s to Stark Industries!” exclaims Mr Harrington, and Peter feels like crying.

Flash turns on him with a wide, manic grin.

“Did you hear that, Parker?” he says, “We’re going to your workplace. Shouldn’t you be excited?”

Peter groans and buries his face into his hands.

Of course, this isn’t a good thing. If Peter were anyone else, it sure would be, because that’s one hell of a field trip! But he’s Peter, and his Parker luck just had to come in to boot every inch of happiness out of his life.

“Mr Parker!” Mr Harrington calls suddenly, startling Peter.

“Er, yes?”

“Can I talk to you after class?” says Mr Harrington.

His luck just can’t get any worse, thinks Peter. He’s totally doomed. There’s no way Mr Harrington wants to just talk about his brilliant grades, or anything good like that.

After class, Peter lags behind, waiting until the rest of his classmates have filed out of the room, Ned promising to save him a spoonful of halo-halo from his nana’s lunch box.

“So, Peter,” begins Mr Harrington. “What’s really going on?”

Peter frowns. “Uh, I don’t think I understand, sir,” he says.

“Peter,” admonishes Mr Harrington. “Is the internship real?”

“Of course it is!” says Peter. (It isn’t. It’s a cover-up.) “It’s one hundred percent legit, sir!”

Mr Harrington’s brows furrow. “I hope that’s the truth,” he says, and Peter feels his heart drop into his stomach, “But… there have been rumours…”

“They’re just rumours sir,” says Peter, quick to interrupt. “I’m not lying. I swear.”

Mr Harrington doesn’t look convinced.

“I want to believe you, I really do,” says Mr Harrington, “But there’s no way this deal is real.”

“I didn’t know you had a kid,” says Steve on a sunny afternoon.

He’s got his legs slung over Barnes’ lap, relaxing in the sunlight that pours through the windows. It’s ridiculously domestic, and Tony feels faintly sick from just watching the pair.

“Kid?” repeats Tony, lazily sketching out a design for an electric engine for one of his older, gassier cars on the kitchen table.

“Yeah, he said his name was Peter.”

Tony chokes back a laugh. So they met Petey, then. His little Spidey-son. The kid he treasures more than most, the one who he doesn’t deserve. It’s sappy to think of, but it’s all true.

“Peter’s a good kid,” he says, only realising the implications of his words once they’ve come out of his mouth.

Steve thinks Peter’s his biological kid, doesn’t he?

Steve watches him, brows furrowed, fiddling with Bucky’s fingers in his lap and humming a strange tune, so old it’s practically foreign.

Tony’s about to confess - he really is. It’d be the right thing to do - no more secrets, right? The Rogue Avengers have only just returned; he can’t afford to mess things up now, can he?

But then… a brilliant little idea forms in his mind. The perfect prank (not really). He could pretend - and hear him out on this - to be Peter’s biological father. He could easily get away with the ‘I slept around a lot and Peter’s the result’ trope, even with Nat breathing down his neck.

It’d be easy!

So, Tony turns to Steve, and says: “Peter’s the best son I could ever wish for.”

Steve’s face softens. He smiles warmly at Tony, saying, “That’s real sweet, Tones,”

Barnes nods along, face blank.

Over the weekend, Tony finally got the go-ahead to call the Rogue Avengers back to the USA as free, innocent citizens. The Rogues returned to the Tower early on Saturday morning.

At some point along the way, they must’ve found Tony’s small spidery child running around bossing FRIDAY about.

Tony can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of fatherhood towards the boy. Peter’s like his own, and ever since the kid’s aunt died, he’s been living in the Tower full-time, scoffing his face with more food than a God (and Tony would know, he’s experienced it before) and crawling around on the ceilings like a fiend.

It’s a sort of domestic bliss Tony never really expected in his life. He knew he might have to settle down at some point - maybe have a kid or two - but he didn’t really want to. And then all of a sudden, Peter barges in, and Tony’s ready to be a dad.

It’s weird. Totally unexpected, and Tony can see why the Rogues might be doubtful of the new changes.

Barnes and Steve stay lounging on the couch a little longer. Tony eventually gets bored of his sketches, deciding he wants to put his drawings into motion, and leaves for the lab.

His lab is directly under the penthouse, one floor above the Avengers’ personal floor. The Tower had been designed for safety first: therefore anything dangerous is higher up to prevent fire spread, or whatever. Schematics. All Tony’s interested in is making shit, blowing shit up, and rebuilding it from scratch all over again. Maybe just to prove a point.

So, when Peter comes home, Tony’s in his lab, having the time of his life, blasting Sweet Child O’ Mine to the heavens and fixing up one of Clint’s bows that he managed to break on the first day back at business.

(It’s honestly impressive how klutzy a super secret spy can be. If Tony didn’t know any better, he’d laugh and scoff at the very idea of Clint being a master assassin.)

Tony’s expecting his cute spider-son to be happy and cheery as per usual, and is surprised to find Peter traipsing in, miserable and solemn about life.

“What’s wrong?” asks Tony.

Peter glances up with a start, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

“Er- nothing, Mr Stark!” he squeaks out.

Well. Something’s definitely very wrong. The kid never calls him ‘Mr Stark’ anymore. It’s always ‘Tony’ and, on one very rare occasion where Peter was delirious and bleeding out after a patrol-gone-wrong, ‘Dad’.

Tony goes over a quick mental list. What could be wrong? Maybe the kid got in a fight and lost- wait, no, Peter isn’t that type of kid. That’s the sort of thing Tony used to do, and he’s the worst role model ever.

Besides, if Peter got in a fight, he’d end up in detention, and then he’d probably cry. Wait- is that it? Has Peter been given detention?

“Did you get in a fight?” is what comes out of Tony’s mouth.

“No,” mumbles Peter, finally giving in. “I- uh- the science classes of Midtown High are taking a field trip to Stark Industries,” he admits, staring at his shoes and shuffling on his feet nervously.

“Why’s that a bad thing?”

“Because, Mr Stark, it’s the end of the world! None of them believe me about my internship-”

“Woah, woah, calm down. And what’s with ‘Mr Stark’?” says Tony. Why is Peter so bothered about some dumb internship? It’s not even a real one anyway, it’s just a cover-up, right? 

“Why does the internship matter so much?” he asks, which, in hindsight, is probably not the best way to word the question.

Peter’s left at a loss for words. He glances once or twice at Tony, never making eye contact, and opens and closes his mouth like a fish gaping for air out of water.

“Are you alright, kiddo?” asks Tony.

Peter seems to deflate. He shrugs, saying, “Oh, yeah, you’re right, it’ll be fine,” but now Tony’s really worried.

Something’s wrong, says Tony’s fatherly instincts that he definitely doesn’t have.

Peter leaves, dragging his feet across the floor, and Tony turns back to Clint’s bow with a frown.

What could be wrong? There’s clearly something bothering his kid, but what?

That night, after Peter’s gone to bed early and Tony’s sitting there at the dining table thinking what could be wrong when Clint suddenly - and rudely - interrupts his thoughts.

“You’re acting funny, Stark,” says the oversized Dodo man. “What’s wrong?”

Without really thinking about it, Tony replies, “I think my son’s trying to hide something from me.”

Because, well, he does. There’s no other explanation, right? Peter’s gotta be hiding something- oh, wait. His ‘son’.

The entire table is staring at him now.

He fiddles with his fork, not usually one to be nervous.

“You have a son?” says Clint. “You’re kidding me.”

“Er-” says Tony, only to be cut off by Natasha.

“Of course he does,” says Nat, a strange glint in her eyes. “Haven’t you met Peter?”

How does she know his name?

The shock of Tony having a son lasts surprisingly long. Throughout dinner he’s hounded by questions, all while he tries to nibble away at his pho.

“How old is he?” asks Steve, finally able to ask the questions he wants.

“Does he live here?” asks Ant-man, who really shouldn’t be at the Tower right now, but no one’s saying anything and Tony can’t be bothered to bring the touchy subject up.

Wanda’s burning holes into the side of his skull, her curious eyes staring him down as she holds back a barrage of her own questions.

“Hey now,” says Rhodey, batting away the unnecessary and frankly very intrusive questions. “Give the man some space.”

Silence settles over the table.

It’s awkward, but it gives Tony a break from the prying, so he’s happy to slurp up his noodles while everyone stares at him.

Once he’s done, Bruce - his saviour, his grace - finally breaks the silence. “You said you think he’s hiding something?” he prompts, and the floodgates break.

“Oh my God,” groans Tony, “He’s been acting so off and I just don’t know what to think - is this normal? Beetle guy, you’ve got a kid, right? You too, Hawkman? Is this normal for kids?”

Ant man (Tony thinks his name is Scar, or Stan or something) shrugs, “My kid’s still a little baby.” he says.

“Same here,” says Clint.

Great. They’re useless.

“Why don’t you try to smooth things over?” offers Bruce, “Or maybe just… confront him flat-out?”

“No!” Tony says quickly. No, that’s the worst idea. “He’ll just run away. Peter’s- he’s not good with emotional confrontations. He’ll get spooked, like- like a bunny.”

And then flee the scene.

“Holy shmoly, man,” says Ant man slowly. “You actually care about him, don’t you.”

“Er, duh?” Tony narrows his eyes. He looks around. The Avengers look… surprised. “Wait, did you think I didn’t care about my own kid?”

“Of course they didn’t,” says Nat, rolling her eyes; “They think Peter’s the result of a one-night-stand, conceived by accident and kept for… well, whatever reason imaginable.”

“Ouch,” mutters Tony, because yeah, that hurts - none of them thought he’d actually give a damn about his own kid, and that’s kinda upsetting to think about, but oh well. He’ll live.

Anyway, Tony’s got a situation. And it needs solving. Because this is Tony’s real-life child. It’s his kid. He cares.

See, initially, the whole ‘field trip home’ concept hadn’t actually been that bad. But… Peter thinks. A lot. Maybe he’s an overthinker, maybe not - but either way, he lets his own downfall play in his head over and over until he’s just about ready to jump out of Happy’s limousine on the way to school.

Happy glances at him over the rear-view mirror. “You OK, kid?” he asks.

Peter stares at his clenched fists. No, he’s not okay. “I’m fine,” he mumbles.

He should really say something. Tell someone. Tony, Happy, Pepper, hell, even one of the Avengers that he’s only known for three days!

But how? How is he supposed to explain that oh, yeah, he’s getting bullied for having a supposedly fake internship at Stark Industries? How can he say that without worrying Tony? He loves Tony, he really does - almost like a father - but over the time he’s known him, it’s become obvious that Tony has a tendency to be… overprotective.

And yeah, Peter got away with it last night (mostly), but now Tony’s on his case.

That’s okay, he tells himself, he can deal with this.

“We’re here, kid,” Happy says, flicking the child safety lock off.

Peter looks up at his school. A thick, nauseous pit of something upsetting dwells in his stomach. He is so not prepared for this.

Taking a deep breath, Peter opens the door and, with very little finesse, drags himself out of the limo.

“Have a good one,” Happy calls over his shoulder, zooming away as soon as the door is shut behind Peter.

Happy at least has the decency to park behind the school building to, you know, prevent anyone from seeing the entire limousine Peter takes to school. So Peter wanders around the building, taking his sweet time and arriving in the school buildings only seconds before the bell rings.

It at least squashes the amount of time Flash’ll get to be a nightmare.

“Oi, Parker!” speak of the devil and he shall appear, thinks Peter.

Flash saunters down the hallway, a huge grin on his face. His cronies trail behind him, sniggering and laughing at Peter as they approach.

Oh, shit.

As soon as he’s within reaching distance, Peter gets slammed into the row of lockers behind him. It’s done with such force that it’s sure to leave a dent.

“Hey, Flash,” he says.

Flash smirks. “Waddup, Parker?” he sneers, “Excited for Friday?”

Friday. The day of the field trip. The day Peter’s been dreading ever since it was announced - yesterday.

“Sure,” says Peter.

“Are you excited for your secret to be exposed?” asks Flash. They both know it’s not a question. It’s more of a dare: fight me, if you think you can.

Peter chooses to ignore it. He shoves Flash away, shouldering his backpack back over one shoulder and trudging off to Math.

Unfortunately, Flash won’t let him go.

“Come back here,” he hollers, his voice echoing through the hallway.

Peter freezes. He isn’t scared of Flash. He’s literally Spiderman. Why would he be scared of some stupid high school bully?

All it is is name calling. And a little bit of shoving- some pushes, some insults, some playful banter. That’s all the school sees.

All they see is the boy with the fake internship and the rich kid with parents who own a fortune. Peter is nothing compared to Flash Thompson.

So, Flash is a little bit more than a high school bully. He’s got the upper hand.

Peter can’t fight back without risking his secret identity.

Flash slings an arm around his shoulder.

“Hey Parker,” he says, his breath hitting Peter’s ear. Gross, thinks Peter, he can practically hear Flash’s inner thoughts now that they’re so close together. “Whaddya have next?”

“Math,” whispers Peter - so quietly that only Flash can hear it.

A teacher passes them by. She doesn’t so much as blink at the scene, walking by as if everything’s perfectly okay.

“No one likes Math,” Flash whispers back, guiding Peter out of the hallway.

Uh-oh. They’re headed for the boys’ restrooms.

“I’m sure you won’t mind skipping,” says Flash, and Peter begins to pray.

One shoe dropped down the toilet later and Peter is limping, soggy and miserable, down the hallway to his Physics class.

Math was a bust: he had to completely skip it to try and dry his shoe under the hand-dryers in the restrooms. He didn’t have any luck, but most of the loose water got flushed away, so at least he’s not walking on what feels like puddles anymore.

Mr Warren is the Physics teacher. Out of all his teachers, Mr Harrington - his Chemistry teacher - is probably Peter’s favourite. And his least favourite? Well, that’d have to go to Mr Warren.

Mr Warren eyes Peter’s shoes as he trudges in. He doesn’t say anything outright, and Peter nearly manages to get to his seat without a worry.

“I wasn’t aware that the forecast had changed so suddenly,” says Mr Warren, still staring at Peter’s one soaked shoe.

Peter clamps his jaw shut and sits down, grabbing his books out of his bag. Luckily for him, they’d been spared from a flushing.

That evening, Peter joins the Rogues for family dinner. It’s a new, awkward tradition that settles each evening and attendance is mandatory, no exceptions.

Tony extends an invite to Peter. Peter’s reluctant, to begin with.

“I’ll mess up somehow, I always do,” he tells Tony, but Tony’s adamant.

“I’m not believing a word of that,” he says, grabbing a spanner out of DUM-E’s robotic grip. “And you’re coming.”

“But why, Tony?”

Tony thinks for a moment. He… to be honest, he doesn’t want to be left alone. The Rogues scare him in a way that he knows they shouldn’t. But also, there’s something so domestic about bringing the kid to family dinner.

“You’re coming with me,” decides Tony, and it’s no longer up for debate: Peter’s going to family dinner with the Avengers whether he wants to or not.

So, later in the day, when Pepper drags Tony and Peter out of the lab, they head for the Avengers’ floor.

Peter sits at the table, staring at his food and not blinking. He isn’t bored, per-say, just… miserable. Small talk lifts the tension only slightly, and all eyes seem to be on Peter as he picks at his food.

Especially Tony’s. Tony, who is oh so used to watching Peter scoff down family-sized meals in seconds, stares at his kid (yes, his kid) who sits there, glum as a plum, not eating even half of what he usually does.

Tony just wants his kid to be happy. So, he does what he’s been told to do. He asks the big question: he addresses the elephant in the room.

“What’s going on, kiddo?” he asks.

The room goes silent.

Peter shrugs. He probably doesn’t know what to say. Maybe he’s thinking up a lie, or considering what the consequences are of telling the truth.

“Who is it?” asks Nat after a long silence.

Tony frowns. What does she mean? Who is who?

Peter freezes, suddenly on the spot, looking like he’s just killed a man.

“Calm down,” orders Tony, and the tension leaves Peter’s shoulders.

They all watch as Peter excuses himself from the table. Tony waits. Waits until he’s out of earshot. Until he’s off the floor. Then, he turns to Nat, and begins his interrogation.

“What’s going on?” he asks. “What’re you talking about? Who is who?”

“You can only know so much from reading a person’s body language,” Nat begins, “but I’m a top-of-the-world trained spy.” Barnes scoffs, and is given a black look. “I’m experienced,” she says, still glaring at Barnes, “and I know what I saw.”

“The kid’s getting bullied,” Barnes explains.

Out of the two answers, Tony prefers Nat’s. Yes, Barnes was straight to the point, yes, his answer was short and neat, but it didn’t reveal a massive secret. Tony would’ve preferred to be kept in the dark.

Well, he really wouldn’t, because that would mean the bullying would last longer.

Tony’s furious. He wants to storm that shit-ass school, find his kid’s bullies and beat them to a pulp. But, as always, he’s stopped.

Steve holds a firm hand on his arm. Tony realises he’s tried to get up from the table in his anger, and sits back down, feeling the blood rushing in his ears. He’s so angry he can’t even think.

“It’s not the right thing to do,” says Steve.

Yeah, he gets that. But he wants to do it anyway.

It’s the justice that’s deserved. It doesn’t matter that it’s not legal, or maybe not even morally correct.

He’s overprotective: sue him.

“Not now, Tony,” Steve tells him, and for once in his life, Tony listens.

Peter wouldn’t want this, he tells himself.

But he needs to know what’s really going on. And luckily, he’s got an open chance. This field trip… it’s to Stark Industries. To the Avengers’ Tower. To homebase, New York. Right under Tony’s nose. He’ll be able to see everything. And if anything is out of place - even the smallest glance or a teasing nickname - Tony’s going to be down there in a matter of seconds.

Chapter Text

“Peter,” says a kind yet very robotic voice. “It’s time to wake up.”

“Five more minutes,” mumbles Peter, half asleep and enjoying the last shreds of his dream.

He’d been dreaming about chasing a nice, easy-going villain around Queens, having the time of his life as the wind blew through his hair.

And now he’s here. In bed, feeling groggy, his hair a mess, and sleep in his eyes.

“It’s quarter to eight, young sir,” says FRIDAY, up above Peter’s head.

Peter squints. “Why’s that important?” he slurs.

He doesn’t have school today, right? There was something going on… school wasn’t on like normal…

“You have a field trip today,” FRIDAY prompts.

Peter falls out of bed.

Oh, joy, he forgot about the field trip. And he’s only got fifteen minutes to get to the school in time for the roll call.

“Shit,” he hisses under his breath, rummaging around on the floor for his socks. He should really clean this up - it’s a total mess. He finally finds two (mismatched) socks and pulls them on, starting the hunt for an appropriate pair of jeans.

Once he’s pulled an outfit together, he half-stumbles, half-falls down the stairs to the kitchen, his waistband sagging down his hips and his belt knocking loose against his knee as he walks.

Uh-oh, says Peter’s brain. He turns around and, oh. The Avengers are lounging in the living room, watching him with amused looks.

He forces himself to give a meek wave and hurries into the kitchen.

The clock on the wall reads ten to eight. Right, then. There’s no time to make breakfast. He’ll just have to live without.

“There’s toast on the counter!” calls a voice from the living room - Peter doesn’t know who it belongs to (it’s certainly not Tony; he’s already in his lab).

Peter grabs five slices, buttering one of them before giving up and shoving all five into his mouth at the same time. He runs back past the Avengers, saying a muffled, “Thanks!” and speeding into the elevator.

It’s a long, slow journey.

Peter hums under his breath and taps his foot, as if willing the elevator to move faster by tapping it.

Eventually, finally, the elevator lands on the ground floor.

Peter doesn’t waste a second. He’s out of that annoying rotating door before the business man in the ugly suit can question a thing, and is sprinting down the streets like a madman.

He doesn’t really need to be rushing himself. He doesn’t even want to go on this stupid field trip.

But he has to. If only to please Tony who - quite rudely - insinuated that he wouldn’t give Peter any ice cream for pudding if he didn’t go.

Rude, and harsh.

By eight o’clock, Peter’s skidding into the parking lot of Midtown high, not at all out of breath because he’s literally Spider-Man. Though he has to put on a front, so he gasps for breath for a good few minutes in front of the bus until he’s ready to face Flash and his cronies.

“Look who it is!” crows Flash. “Penis Parker!”

“Thomspon,” warns Mr Warren, but he doesn’t look even a little bit concerned. Great. Two bullies in one bus, just what Peter wants.

As the bus sets off, Peter’s ushered to the only seat left: the one right in front of Flash. Luckily, Ned’s there too, but he’s got his eyes and ears stuck on a video of some dumb back-flip Spider-Man pulled off the other day.

“Hey, Ned,” he says, budging Ned up and squeezing into the seat next to the windows. For some reason, buses always make him nauseous. He doesn’t have a problem with other vehicles; it’s always buses, and only buses.

The bus sets off at a casual pace, not rushing but not going too slowly.

“So, Parker,” says Flash once they’re out of the parking lot. “When are you gonna fess up?”

“Uh, never?” says Ned, “Because he isn’t lying about, like, anything?”

Well. Technically, he is. There is no internship. As stated before, it’s just a plain-old cover-up. All a lie.

“Ned-” begins Peter, trying to cut the conversation short, but Flash beats him to it.

“Shut up, Nerd Leeds,” he snaps, turning his nose up at Ned and giving Peter a similarly malicious glare. “I’ll prove that you’re a faker, Penis.”

“Sure, whatever, Flash,” mutters Peter, shrinking into his seat.

He just wishes this was over. There are so many better places he could be right now, but ice cream matters to him. It calls to him in a way most desserts don’t.

The rest of the journey is fairly peaceful. 

Flash and his cronies cackle like witches the entire way, crowding around Flash’s phone watching compilations of Spider-Man beating up rookie criminals who’ve got nothing better to do than rob people.

Peter just stares out of the window, watching the world go past. Ned sticks to his phone and MJ, on the other side of the bus, doodles in her sketchbook.

All is good with the world.

The Avengers Tower stands tall in the skyline, sitting neatly between other major skyscrapers. The bus pulls into the parking lot and the students pour out, Flash elbowing his way to the front of the crowd while Peter and Ned lurk at the very back.

Once all the boring safety-checks are completed, Mr Harrington leads the trip into the Tower.

Peter’s been here before. Obviously. So he knows what to expect. The buzzy atmosphere is no surprise to him. Nor is the organized chaos. Next to him, MJ grins wide like a cat with its eyes on its prey, narrowing in on unsuspecting individuals to quickly sketch out on her sketchpad.

At least she’s not drawing him, for a change.

Their tour guide arrives, and- it’s Harley. Harley fucking Keener.

Peter’s boyfriend. Possibly the love of his life. Standing there looking far too proud of himself. The grin on Harley’s face is genuinely impressive. He’s grinning ear-to-ear and has already singled out Peter from the crowd.

“Hey, Petey,” he murmurs, quietly enough that it’s only meant for Peter’s ears. Much louder, he says, “Hello, Midtown!”

The crowd of chattering students quietens down instantly. All eyes are suddenly on Harley, who’s still got that stupid grin on his face.

“I’ll be your tour guide for today,” says Harley.

A couple of girls swoon. Peter can’t blame them - Harley’s voice is a gift sent directly from God himself.

“My name’s Harley Keener,” continues Harley, “I’ve been told to tell you a little bit about myself - I’m your age, which is why I was picked out to be your tour guide-” it is so not the reason, but whatever- “- and I’m an intern here at Stark Industries.”

“How did you get your internship?” asks Flash, immediately barging to the front.

Harley, being a long, lithe stick of a man, stands about a foot above Flash’s head. He squints down at Flash, perhaps a little bit condescendingly, and says, “I was personally picked out by Tony. Oh, by the way, guys, I’m gonna want y’all to put up your hands if you wanna ask a question.”

Flash frowns. “So can high-schoolers be interns here?” he asks.

Harley shrugs. “I dunno,” he says, even though he probably does. “I’m a bit of a special case, I guess. I didn’t have to go through the same stuff the other guys did.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence where Flash stares, eyes narrowed, at Harley, who is looking around the group curiously.

“Is everyone here?” asks Harley.

Mr Harrington gently nudges Flash aside, taking his spot at the front of the group, and says, “Yes, mister- sorry, what was it?”

“Keener,” prompts Harley. “Anyway, if you’re all here, we can get started with security checks and what-not.” He pulls out a badge on a lanyard that was hiding under his shirt. 

“This is a security badge,” he tells them. “There are six levels of security. The first is minimum security - or, black passes. Those who wear them are lowest in the system and require the least amount of attention. The idea is to keep unwanted intruders out. This may apply to one-time guests and tours, such as yourself, or to the press- though there are talks of a separate, lower-level badge just for press.”

Harley takes a deep breath before continuing: “Low security - the next level - is a step up from minimum and gives access to caterers, janitors, plumbers, electricians, so on and so forth, you get the deal. Their badges are green.”

“Medium security has its own sub-sections and covers the largest chunk of badge-holders. This applies to most employees. They have purple badges. High level security is for the heads of departments and the higher-ups, with white badges. Maximum security is for the upper employees - the people at the top. They’ve got blue badges.”

“And finally, ‘all-access’ covers people like the Avengers, family of the CEO Miss Pepper Potts and the company owner, Mister Tony Stark. Their badges are red and gold.”

Harley’s eyes sweep over the group of students, half of which clearly hadn’t bothered to pay attention to him as he spoke.

“Er- yeah,” he says awkwardly, guiding the group over to the security gates. “I’m going to hand out a black pass to each of you and you’ll collect it on your way through the gates. Does that make sense?”

Flash’s hand shoots up yet again. “What passes do interns get?” he asks.

Harley glances at Peter.

Please, don’t tell them, Peter begs silently, but he knows the message hasn’t passed on to Harley.

“Purple, I guess. That’s employees and stuff. Mine’s a bit higher-” he shows off his red and gold pass- “-because I personally intern for Pepper Potts.”

This catches the group’s attention. Even MJ looks interested for once.

“Does Mr Stark have a personal intern?” asks Flash. He’s got this massive, ugly smug grin on his face like he’s won something.

Harley raises an eyebrow. “Yup,” he says, popping the p. “Now, if we’re done with the questions…” he makes a smooth gesture at the security guard waiting at the gates.

The security guard nods back and pulls out a shiny black box overflowing with black passes on black lanyards. Peter hovers at the back of the line that forms, standing with Ned and watching as Harley hands out the badges.

“Eugene Thompson, Midtown High,” reads the screen above Flash’s head, showing his name and badge level as he walks through, scanning his pass.

“Cool,” Ned whispers, rushing forward to grab his own badge.

The line thins out until it’s only Peter, MJ and Mr Warren, who’s leading the back of the group, left on the other side.

“Ladies first,” says Peter.

MJ gives him a black look. “Just for that, you’re going before me, nerd,” she says, flipping open her sketchpad.

“Get a move on, Parker,” snaps Mr Warren.

Peter shuffles over, meeting Harley at the security gate.

“Hiya, darlin’,” he greets, his smooth, gentle voice washing over Peter’s head in calming waves.

“Hi,” breathes Peter.

“That’s Flash, yeah? ‘Eugene Thompson’?”

“Uh-huh,”

Harley peers through the gates, watching Flash as he and his buddies laugh, tripping Cindy up as she walks past.

“He’s a piece of work, huh?” says Harley, burrowing through his box.

“Sure is,” agrees Peter.

He isn’t the type of person to wish death upon someone, but if there was a more peaceful way to get rid of someone forever, that’s what he’d want to happen to Flash.

“Uh, sorry, babe, but I can’t find a pass for ya.” says Harley, “You’re gonna have to go through with your usual pass.”

Peter freezes. Fuck, he’d forgotten about that. There was a point at which he’d asked Happy if maybe, pretty please, he could get a new, black pass - just for one day, promise! But clearly that hadn’t happened.

“I can’t-” begins Peter, but Harley’s having none of it.

“Ah-ah,” he says, wagging a finger in front of Peter’s face. “Just go through, scan your badge, and the only people who’ll see it are the ones who are paying attention. No one’s paying attention.”

“What’s with the wait-up, Parker?” hollers Flash, bringing everyone’s attention to Peter. “Shouldn’t you already have your own badge?”

Mr Harrington sends Flash a withering look and calls for silence, but the damage is already done.

“Everyone’s staring,” mumbles Peter.

Harley smiles warmly, patting Peter’s arm. “Just go for it,” he says. “It’ll be fine; I promise.”

Okay. Peter can do this.

He begins to walk towards the security gate, and fishes around in his pockets for his badge.

Shit- he can’t do this - he doesn’t have his badge on him.

“Harley,” he hisses, whirling around, “I don’t have the stupid freaking badge!!”

Harley blinks. “Whaddya mean.” he says.

“I must’ve forgotten it.” says Peter.

“Shit,” says Harley.

Peter makes a gesture as if to say, ‘well, duh’.

“Just go through anyway,” says Harley.

Peter risks a glance at the big, scary security gates. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Flash staring- no, glaring.

Peter takes a deep, full breath and walks towards the machine. He keeps his hands by his side, no badge in sight, and walks through. The machine pings once, twice, and a security guard pulls him aside.

Oh, fuck me, thinks Peter. He wants to crawl into a ball and die.

“Sorry, sonny, but you’ve gone through the wrong gate,” says the security guard, his eyes stuck on the screen above Peter’s head.

What?

“The employees’ gate is just over there.” says the security guard, pointing to another set of security gates a few feet over.

Flash is still staring. Harley’s grinning widely and MJ hasn’t taken her eyes off her sketchpad.

Oh, God, thinks Peter, I’m doomed.

The journey through the employees’ gate is fairly simple. Walk through, let the machine scan you because you conveniently ‘forgot your pass’, and exit the other side, ready to start your day.

Peter grumbles to himself the entire time, cursing himself for thinking that Happy would finally cut him some slack. He loves the guy, he really does, but Happy’s obsession with security goes a bit over the top sometimes.

“Gather up,” calls Harley, bringing the group back together.

No one really notices Peter, but Flash, who’s had his eyes on him the entire time, is frowning again.

“I’ll figure you out, Penis,” he sneers, shoving past Peter to rejoin his friends.

“What an a-hole,” mutters MJ, sneaking up behind Peter and scaring the life out of him.

“Jeezus, MJ!”

Harley keeps his gaze settled on Peter throughout the tour. He guides the tour over to the first stop: the Avengers museum.

It’d been strangely easy to convince Pepper to let him lead this tour. He’d flown in from Nashville that morning, ready to surprise Pete, only to find out that his boyfriend was away on a field trip.

It took a full five minutes to grill the information out of Tony, and the location of the trip, and immediately Harley knew he was going to be leading that tour.

He always knew Peter had a hard time at school. After particularly rough days they’d often video-call, either one of them calling to rant to the other. Harley loves listening to Peter complain. It’s weird, he knows, but something about it makes Harley smile - like, Peter trusts him with his worries, and knows that Harley isn’t going to judge him.

The only problem is this ‘Flash’ kid. A) dumb nickname, b) horrible person, apparently. Harley can’t count the amount of distressed texts he’s gotten over the year he’s known Peter. And Peter tries to hide it, he really does, but the effect Flash has left on him is obvious.

So, Harley keeps a firm eye focused on Peter and, in the back of his mind, Flash.

“Y’all’re free to take a look around,” Harley tells the group, really laying into the rugged southern accent.

Flash, who’s been staying at the front of the group the entire time, grins, beckoning to his friends and running off.

“No running!” Harley calls after him, but if the boy hears him, he doesn’t seem to care.

“So, Harley, what’s going on?” asks Peter, rounding on him.

Harley grins. Peter’s adorable when he tries to act all interrogate-ry.

“Nothin’ much, what about you?”

Peter rolls his eyes, “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Fine, fine,” says Harley, “I may or may not have wheedled my way into leading the tour. The intern I took over from was more than happy to lend me her notes and be done with it.”

Peter’s face scrunches up as he scrutinizes Harley.

“...Alright,” he says eventually. “I’ll believe you.”

“Communication is key in relationships, babe,” says Harley, shooting Peter a shark-toothed grin and giving him finger-guns.

Peter sighs, does a quick sweep of their surroundings, drags Harley behind a monument of Doctor Strange and pulls him in for a kiss.

“Love you too, Petey,” says Harley, his grin never leaving his face.

Woah. He’s really in love, huh.

Peter blushes scarlet and ducks down, hiding his face from sight. Aw damn, Harley was enjoying the view.

Suddenly, a clatter echoes through the museum hall.

“What was that?” whispers Peter, his face buried in Harley’s shirt.

“I dunno, but I got a feeling Flash has something to do with it,” says Harley, prying Peter’s clenched fists out of his shirt. “C’mon, let’s go find out.”

Peter lets out an aborted whine. He lets Harley go, trailing behind him like a lost puppy.

He’s right. Flash is standing in the middle of the museum, by the 1940s exhibit of the Howling Commandos, staring at Captain America’s original shield that’s clattered to the ground by his feet.

“What’s going on?” asks Harley, taking charge of the situation as best he can.

A couple of security guards pop up out of nowhere and Harley has to shoo them away.

“Flash,” he greets.

Flash looks up from the shield. His eyes narrow once he catches sight of Peter behind Harley.

“What’s your deal?” asks Flash, skimming right over Harley’s question. “How do you guys know each other?”

“We just do, Flash, so what?” says Peter.

“He’s my boy,” says Harley, feeling like bragging all of a sudden; “My boo.”

Behind him, Peter visibly cringes.

Flash’s lip curls into an off-putting sneer. “Gross,” he says, “Don’t tell me you’re a fairy as well as Penis, Keener.”

Oh, wow, thinks Harley. That’s awfully straight to the point.

“And what if I am?” challenges Harley.

Flash gives him a long, condescending look, as if he’s trying to calculate his rates of success.

“Piss off, Flash,” snaps Peter.

Flash gives them one last roll of the eyes, looking them both up and down in disgust, and disappears into a crowd of his friends, who are all watching with matching looks of distaste on their faces.

“For someone who goes to a STEM school, he’s not very smart, is he?” says Harley, picking the discarded shield up off the floor.

He does a once-over of the item, checking it for scrapes or dents, and when he’s sure it’s okay, he fixes it back in its original case.

“He is,” says Peter, “Just not… emotionally.”

“So he’s immature?”

“Yeah, sure.”

The next stop is Stark Industries’ personal museum: the place where they get to show off all their major (and minor) inventions from over the years. Plenty of Tony’s creations sit in glass cases scattered around the room.

“Stark Industries, founded by Howard Stark in 1939, is a multinational industrial company and the largest tech conglomerate in the world,” says Harley, “Stark led and ran the company from its creation up until his death in 1991, where it was taken over by a good friend of his; Obadiah Stane. Later on, Tony Stark officially assumed the position of CEO after becoming of-age.”

“Since then, Pepper Potts has been appointed CEO by Mr Stark himself due to personal reasons.” he continues.

And finally, “Any questions?”

Five hands shoot up. Harley curses under his breath, but answers each question with a tight smile fixed on his face.

Once the class is enamoured by the nerdy creations of the Starks, Harley turns back to Peter.

“I think it’s going well so far, don’t you?” he says.

Peter shrugs and looks away. Harley catches Flash in his line of sight. Is the guy really that bad? He’s been giving Peter enough of a hard time, and it’s really starting to get on Harley’s nerves.

“I should go,” says Peter, gesturing to his friends - the weird scary girl and the funky nerd - and scurrying off without another word.

Harley takes them to the business department before finally letting them run free for lunch. Peter hovers around the entire time, feeling oddly lost, when a hand comes down on his shoulder.

He turns around, expecting Harley again, but finds none other than Captain America standing there.

“Hey there, son,” says Captain.

“Uh- h-hi?” stammers Peter. They’ve never actually spoken before - at least, not one-on-one. It’s kinda intimidating.

“We were there-” oh shit, there’s two of them- where’s the second one? Who else is here? “-in the Avengers’ museum. I couldn’t help but notice that you were having a bit of trouble with that boy.”

Peter’s eyes widen as his senses narrow in on a figure lurking in the shadows. Holy smokes, that’s the Winter Soldier.

“Er-” he says stupidly.

“If he’s causing you harm, you should really tell someone,” says Captain.

“We could help,” agrees the shadows.

“I, uh, really appreciate it, but no thanks,” says Peter hurriedly. He doesn’t want Captain America and the Winter Soldier to accidentally murder a high school student. “It’s not a problem, really.”

“If you’re sure, son,” says Captain, but he doesn’t look convinced. He’s got that weird, overwhelming look of worry on his face that makes him look a bit like a puppy.

“I’m sure,” squeaks Peter.

The Captain frowns, but doesn’t say anything else. He lets the Winter Soldier drag him away, keeping a complex stare set on Flash as he goes.

“Who was that, Pete?” asks Ned, suddenly appearing next to Peter with three loaded cheeseburgers and fries: one for Ned, two for Peter.

Peter won’t get away with telling the truth. He knows that Ned will make a big deal out of it - as much as he loves the guy, Ned really doesn’t understand the meaning of subtlety.

“Just bumped into someone,” he lies, taking his food from Ned. “Let’s go sit down.”

Chapter Text

By the sixth stop, Harley’s starting to get bored. They’re entering the more fun parts of the building: physics, chemistry, all the cool stuff that goes ‘boom’, but nothing interesting has happened.

Peter’s still… well, he’s sulking, let’s be honest, here, and Flash is still getting in his way.

On the fourth stop, during their tour of the marketing department, Harley had overheard a conversation between Flash and Peter.

“Soon, everyone’s gonna find out how much of a liar you are,” Flash had promised.

Peter just sighed and walked away, only for one of Flash’s goons to trip him up.

The sight made Harley’s blood boil.

Harley fiddles with his phone, leading the group into the R&D labs.

“This is where the fun stuff happens,” he says. “I know the Physics department was fun with the dorky experiments, but R&D’s my personal favourite. I’m sure you’ll all find out why soon.”

So far, no one’s really noticed the group. Sure, employees have scurried away from them as not to be roped into annoying teenager questions, but no one’s noticed Peter. Yet.

Peter spends most of his time in Tony’s personal labs, but Harley’s almost a hundred percent sure that he visits R&D at least once a week. The place thrives when he’s there, and whenever Harley visits, if Peter’s not with Tony, he’s messing about in R&D with the other interns.

Someone’s bound to recognise Peter, and that stupid bully will get proved wrong once and for all.

“Y’all’re gonna be doin’ a competition,” announces Harley. The class erupts into cheers. He grins, “I’mma be your judge.”

“What’re we supposed to do to win?” asks a cute Asian girl with pigtails. ‘Cindy Moon’ is what her badge says.

“Make something with this,” says Harley, kicking the box beneath the main desk. “It’s a load of useless shit- I mean, stuff, and you’re free to do whatever you like with it. I’ve been told to tell y’all ‘the less explosions the better’, but I love blowing stuff up, so I can’t really talk. Oh, and work in however big a group you want.”

The competition starts and Harley can finally take a step back: the first time since lunch ended. He watches as Peter makes a bee-line towards the box of scraps, burrowing through it like a mole digging its den. Harley grins as Peter emerges from the scrap box with a ball of red yarn. He has no idea what Peter’s planning, but from the ecstatic look on Peter’s face, it’s gonna be good.

Then his smile drops when Flash approaches. Harley goes to warn Peter, but a hand closes around his arm, tugging him back, stopping him.

He whirls around - who would stop him? A student who needs help and genuinely didn’t notice?

“Oh,” he says, staring into the eyes of the Black Widow.

She smirks. “Oh, indeed,” she says. Her eyes lift over his shoulder, glancing at Peter.

Harley turns back, and finds Flash leaning over Peter’s shoulder. Peter still hasn’t noticed his bully looming over him, too enthralled by the scrap box to realise. Anger curdles in Harley’s belly.

“Why did you stop me?” he asks. She’s a spy. She’s bound to have known what he was going to do.

“Evidence,” she answers simply.

Harley scowls but stays in place, watching as Flash raises a foot and kicks Peter in the back. Peter tumbles over head-first, landing heavily on his hands and knees. Flash grins smugly.

“Feeling clumsy today, are we, Parker?” he taunts. 

Flash’s eyes land on the scraps clutched in Peter’s hands. More specifically, a small, supposedly useless motor engine that’d been thrown out days ago for being too old-fashioned for R&D’s liking.

“What’s that?” he says, snatching it from Peter’s grip.

Peter reluctantly lets him, staring after the motor engine mournfully.

“Looks dumb,” says Flash. He drops the motor engine and, in one smooth action, kicks it across the room.

It flies into the air, smashing into a sprinkler and breaking the glass, causing a chain reaction. The sprinkler begins to pour, setting off the other sprinklers that are attached to the same system and, in the same vein, setting the fire alarm off.

The ringing is sharp and piercing and definitely isn’t helped by Peter’s superhearing. Harley rushes over to plant his hands over Peter’s ears, scowling at Flash.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Flash shrugs, apparently indifferent, and walks away.

“Flash,” warns their teacher, Mr Warren, but he doesn’t make a move to do anything. It just annoys Harley further.

A few minutes later, the lab is back to normal, albeit slightly damper than usual. Peter’s already gathered his materials and is back at his station, deep in concentration as he works.

Flash is spending the building time laughing and cracking jokes with his friends rather than focusing, and it shows in his creation: a sad looking miniature race-car that can barely manage more than a meter of movement.

“Alright, time’s up!” calls Harley. He’s been stuck to his phone like a teenage addict the entire time and hasn’t gotten a chance to look around, but he’s sure Peter’s created something brilliant.

Flash’s group, of course, shoves to the front, presenting his invention first. It’s a bulky, dreary little thing. The vehicle, about the size of a watermelon, is fitted with a pre-made motor, three wheels stuck in odd places, and antenna sticking out of the top of the car. The car’s clearly modeled after a race-car. Flash gives it a little push and the motor chugs to life, its wheels rotating and lasting about four feet before it totters off balance, crashing into the floor.

Flash grins as if he’s been awarded gold at the Olympics.

“Very good,” Harley says stiffly, prompting the next contestant to step forward.

One girl presents an auto-collecting trash can that goes around picking up litter it finds left on the floor. A boy who introduces himself as Abe shows off his automatic lighter - a friction-based pocket craft that creates sparks at the press of a button.

Peter’s group is last. It’s him, the scary girl, and the lego nerd. Ned and MJ, Harley thinks - if he’s remembered correctly.

“We- we made a, uh, a robotic spider.” Peter stammers, stepping aside to reveal a small, compact little robot perched on the worktop behind him.

It had little robotic legs, a small round disk as its head with glowing red eyes and the previously mentioned ball of yarn wrapped around a thin metal spool. Upon noticing the crowd watching, the spider twitches, its tiny robotic parts churning as it twists round, sticking its butt in the air and shooting off the yarn. The yarn, equipped with a miniature grapple, tightens around an iron rung hanging from the ceiling and lifts the baby spider machine in the air.

A bit of a giveaway, but cute nonetheless.

Harley resists the temptation to coo at the cute robot as it swings back and forth, struggling to collect its own balance.

“The idea is that it can, I dunno, record stuff- like a spy.” explains Peter.

“We stylized it off the Black Widow,” says MJ.

“Or Spiderman,” chirps Ned.

“Wicked,” whispers Harley, admiring the spider. Its spindly legs curl and twirl as it lowers itself back to the ground. “How does it know what to do?”

“Oh, it’s remote-controlled,” says MJ, plucking a remote out of Peter’s hands from behind his back.

“Actually,” interrupts Peter, “There’s an electro-magnet in the grapple-gun. The remote switches the magnet on and off. It’s the best we could do with what we’ve got, but if this became a legit thing, I’d probably use an AI system, or something.”

“But you’d still be operating the grapple-gun with a magnet?” says Harley.

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Peter pauses, then, after a second, says, “What do you think?”

“I love it, Petey,” says Harley, momentarily forgetting the audience gathered around them. “How do the legs work?”

“They shrink temporarily when a voltage is applied, but the backlegs use wires that constrict and such when pulled,” says Peter.

“Where’s the battery stored?”

“In the head. Though, if it were a proper device, we’d want space to fit the recording device and something to keep the memory in.”

The two of them, Peter and Harley, fit together like pieces in a puzzle. Their brains connected the first day they met and never went back. It’s so easy to slide back into habit, rabbiting on to each other about their newest inventions.

“How many Watts does it use? Or- no, it’s milliWatts, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, uh, we haven’t actually measured that yet,” says Peter.

“Oh, no, darlin’, I wasn’t expecting you to.” Harley says, moving closer to inspect the spider further.

“Erm, excuse me?” says Flash, knocking past Peter with his dumb race-car in hand. “Are you going to say who won or not?”

“Oh, right…” Harley straightens up, looking around. Everyone’s staring. Oops. He does a sweep of all the inventions created, but there’s no point, really - he’s already decided. “It’s gotta go to Pete.”

Flash’s face turns red. “You can’t do that,” he says indignantly.

Harley blinks. “Why not?”

“Because- just because!” snaps Flash, raising his race-car up, “Mine was better!”

Harley squints at the race-car, and then at Flash. “Er, no, it’s not,” he says. “I mean, it’s good and all, but I’m just saying…”

“Flash, he’s the judge,” urges the kinder of the two teachers. “And maybe he’s right. You can’t always be the best.”

A couple of murmurs spread through the crowd. Flash scowls, throwing his race-car to the ground. It smashes into a load of little pieces as he storms off to stand angrily by the door.

Harley watches him go, unamused.

“Well,” he says, “how about we move on.”

“What’s next?” asks a blonde girl with the name ‘Betty Brant’ labelled on her badge.

“Industrial chemistry.”

Peter winces. Ouch, industrial chemistry. Knowing Flash… that’s going to be a disaster, then. Industrial chemistry is where all the explosive stuff goes down - miniature big-bangs popping up all over the place. You can’t get out of there without at least a little bit of your eyebrow singed off.

Harley’s quick with it, steering them through the department in record time. But not fast enough to avoid an accident.

Someone trips. Over a shoelace, or someone else’s foot, who knows. Either way, their falling causes a domino effect.

Cindy falls into Betty who tumbles into Abe who shrieks, pulling one of Flash’s cronies down with him. Flash’s cronies go down in a group, as if tied together, and finally, down goes Flash, who, at the very last minute, snatches hold of Peter’s shirt and tugs him into the domino pile.

Along the way, someone manages to knock over something or other. A glass flask falls, knocking Peter on the head and crashing to the floor. The flask shatters into a million pieces as a clear liquid spills over the floor in an enlarging puddle.

“Uh oh,” whispers Peter.

His spidey senses go off like fireworks in his head, but he can’t move without displaying an amount of strength Puny Parker shouldn’t have. So he has to sit there, watching the strange liquid come closer to him as his fellow students begin to detangle themselves.

It takes too long and soon Peter finds out what the liquid is. It’s some sort of acid - probably hydrochloric, considering how it’s eating through his clothes and sizzling against his flesh.

Shit, that hurts. Now, Peter does have superstrength. But it still hurts like a bitch. And he’s still sitting there, clenching his teeth and putting up with the pain when Harley shrieks, “Shit!” and rushes to his side.

“Holy shit, Pete, are you okay?” he asks, helping Peter up and inspecting the wound.

The acid’s bitten through his sleeve, and has begun to nibble at his outer layers of skin. A minor injury, in Peter’s opinion.

“You need to go to the nurse,” says Harley, grabbing Peter by his (unharmed) arm and leading him to the door.

“No!” begs Peter, “Seriously, Harls, I’m fine. It’s just a scratch.”

They both observe the acid burn on his arm.

“Pete,” begins Harley.

“Harley.”

“You can’t-”

“I can, and I will.” snaps Peter. That’s the end of the conversation. 

He snatches his arm back and hurries back over to where a lady in a lab coat is hastily sweeping up the glass and setting up a small hands-off area around the spillage.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, but the lady shakes her head.

“It’s okay,” she says. “Stuff like this happens all the time- wait. Do I know you?”

Has she recognised him? “No…?” says Peter, but the uncertainty in his voice makes the lady frown.

“Well, if you say so…”

“Parker!” barks Mr Warren, looking enraged. He’s got Flash hovering behind him. “What have you done?”

“Nothing!” squeaks Peter, but Mr Warren obviously isn’t about to believe him.

“You can’t just go and cause a spillage in such a dangerous place! Didn’t Mr Keener say not to touch anything, or weren’t you listening?”

“Mr Warren-”

“I’ll be speaking to your aunt about this.”

Peter pales. Aunt May has been dead for what feels like a very long time, now. The school hasn’t had to contact his guardian so far, and they have no idea that he’s under Tony’s responsibility now. There’s no way to explain that one.

“Please don’t, I’ll do anything!”

“Anything?” says Flash, a cruel grin stretching across his face. “Mr Warren, everyone knows Parker’s been lying about his internship. Maybe you should get him to confess.”

Mr Warren’s eyes narrow. “Yes,” he says. “Mr Parker? I expect you to apologise to this young lady.”

He gestures to the lady mopping up the mess nearby.

Peter and the lady exchange a glance. She shakes her head, as if to say, ‘you don’t have to’, but it’s not like Peter’s got a choice.

“I’m sorry,” says Peter.

“For?” prompts Mr Warren.

“For causing a spillage.”

“That’s not what I mean, Parker,” says Mr Warren, his voice a hint of a warning.

There’s a creaking sound from behind Peter. He glances over his shoulder to find Harley standing there, visibly seething with anger, his fist clenched around the edge of a workbench as he watches.

“I didn’t lie! I’m not lying!” protests Peter.

Still, Mr Warren won’t believe him. No one will. They all think he’s some sort of loser who makes up wild lies to make himself look better.

“Okay!” says Harley, calling in the group, and conveniently interrupting the situation. “Our next stop is Dr. Stark’s personal lab.”

Peter frowns; he’s fairly sure that’s not a part of field trips. Like, ever. Harley’s planning something, and that usually never ends well when other people are involved. 

The class erupts in excitement.

“His personal lab!” squeals Cindy.

Someone else, over the fray, says, “He’s hot!” and Peter wrinkles his nose at the thought.

Tony, being hot? Ew, no way. He’s an old grumpy git half the time.

The crowd easily moves on from the incident, and as the students thin out, MJ and Ned find their way to Peter.

“Dude, are you okay?” asks Ned.

“I’m fine,” grumbles Peter. Really, he is. There’s nothing to worry about. One small acid burn won’t hurt him. It’ll heal up in a matter of minutes and all will be resolved.

Harley stays at the front of the group, leading them to the elevator and keeping himself away from Peter. There’s no real reason for him to be upset, but they’re teenagers, and shit happens. Harley’s no doubt more upset with Peter snapping at him than the actual reality of the situation. They both know Peter will heal it away too quickly for it to be a problem, but Harley still worries.

“Friday,” says Harley, “Take us to Tony’s lab.”

“Access granted,” says FRIDAY, spooking the group.

“What was that?” asks Betty.

Harley grins, “Oh, it’s just the AI plugged into the building. She has eyes and ears everywhere, by the way.”

Peter shrinks into his hoodie. That’s never a good thing. FRIDAY doesn’t usually keep her eyes open at all times, but she has a tendency to watch over Peter, which means there’s a good chance she’s caught a lot of stuff on camera - stuff to do with Flash.

Tony’s speakers are blasting the Hotel California guitar solo when the tour group arrives on his workshop’s floor. They hover in the elevator awkwardly as Harley checks ahead to make sure Tony isn’t doing anything incriminating.

“Come in,” calls Harley, and the students flurry in like water flowing through a broken dam.

It’s Tony Stark’s personal lab, afterall, who wouldn’t be excited?

Peter’s one of the last in, as per usual, and is spotted by Tony straight away.

“Welcome,” Tony says awkwardly, clearly caught off guard. He’s wearing his signature tank-top, the arc reactor glowing through, an eerie but calming blue light in the dark room.

“Er- Fri, turn on the lights, would you?” says Tony. “Welcome to my lab… kids…”

Harley muffles a hitched giggle.

“Mr Iron Man, sir,” says one of the kids, “Is that arc reactor real?” he asks, pointing to Tony’s heart.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. It is.” Tony surveys the group. “Er… any other questions?”

Peter darts through the crowd like a snake, grabbing Harley by the arm and pulling him to the back of the crowd.

“What’s going on?” he hisses.

Harley shrugs, a smile ever-present on his face. “I thought y’all might wanna see the great Mr Stark’s labs,” he says.

“Yeah, I get that, but it’s clear that Tony hasn’t slept in, like, a month,” says Peter.

They look back to Tony, who’s swaying slightly on his feet as he answers a question about advanced quantum mechanics.

“It’s quite simple, really,” says Tony, “The uncertainty principle - that’s what you asked about, yeah?” the kid nods- “You just have to consider that, given a quantum state, the Born rule lets us compute…”

He drivels on in the background as Peter turns back to Harley.

“What were you thinking?”

Harley shrugs again. “It’s fine,” he says airily. “Tony’s fine. I’m more concerned about you, darlin’.”

Peter raises an eyebrow. “Me?” he says. “Harley, it’s just a little burn, okay? It’ll heal, like, immediately-”

“That’s not what I’m talking ‘bout, snookums,”

“Please- stop with the weird pet names, babe.”

“I will when you agree that something's wrong here, baby doll.”

“Oh, that’s worse- look, I get that you’re concerned, but I have it covered,” says Peter.

Harley gives him a doubtful look.

“I’m fine,” he reaffirms, but it’s clear that Harley isn’t taking no as an answer.

“Excuse me!” says a familiar annoying voice. 

Peter tunes back into the crowd. Tony seems to have taken the opportunity to begin a Q&A, and so far hasn’t fainted yet. It’s impressive, certainly, but Peter’s getting worried. There’s no saying how long Tony’s been up.

The voice, belonging to Flash, continues, “What would happen if, hypothetically, a high-schooler were to impersonate an intern?”

Tony blinks slowly. “Impersonate an intern?” he repeats. “Why would they do that?”

“Just, hypothetically.”

“I dunno,” says Tony, frowning. “Got anyone in mind, kid?”

Flash’s face lights up. “Yes,” he says eagerly. “You see that boy over there?”

Oh no. He’s waving his hand frantically in Peter’s direction. The crowd disperses around Peter like the Red Sea to reveal him to Tony, who sniffs and narrows his eyes.

“What about him?” says Tony.

Okay, something’s off. Tony’s being… weird. Very weird. And it’s seriously starting to concern Peter.

“He’s spreading rumours that he has an internship here even though everyone knows he’s lying.” Flash says.

“How do you know he’s lying?” asks Tony. He’s still got his gaze on Peter, harsh and calculating.

“W-well, he, uh- it just doesn’t make sense, y’know?” stammers Flash.

“What if I don’t know?” challenges Tony.

Flash is at a loss for words. It’s clear that he’s nervous; that he doesn’t know what to say next.

“Peter Parker,” Tony begins, “is one of the best people I know. He’s smart, he’s kind, he’s gentle, he’s loyal, he’s caring, he’s everything I could ever want to be. Do you get that, kiddo? He’s better than me in every way.”

Flash just nods numbly. His face is drained of all color. On the contrary, Peter’s blushing like a tomato.

“Anyway, if that’s all-”

“Wait, you actually know Penis Parker?” interrupts Flash, having woken himself out of his stupor.

Tony freezes. “What was that?” he says.

“Why him?” asks Flash. “What’s so special about someone like that? You do know he kills everyone he loves, right? You’re in danger, sir.”

“I’m sorry?”

“His parents died, and then his uncle, and no one’s seen his aunt for months so she’s probably either run away or offed herself too.”

Tony turns on Peter.

Peter trusts Tony, but it looks like Tony’s finally turning on him. Peter understands that - he’s made a lot of mistakes over the years, and maybe… maybe Tony’s just gotten sick of it.

“What’s the meaning of this?” asks Tony.

“I’m sorry,” says Peter, because he doesn’t know what else to say. What is there to do but apologize? Hell, he’ll even give up the suit if that’s what it takes to get Tony to trust him again.

Tony frowns. “No, no, Petey, not that- I’m not mad at you, honey,” he says, taking Peter into his arms for a loose hug. “I’m just… confused. Who is this? Why’s he saying this stuff?”

Peter bites down on his lip, hard. The pain is enough to ease his mind.

“He’s telling the truth, you know.” Peter says.

He’s like a virus: Flash is right. No one survives the Parker luck.

The hug tightens. Tony whispers, “I don’t think that’s true, Roo,” so quietly that Peter’s sure no one else could hear it. “Now why don’t we prove them wrong?”

At that, he gently pries Peter away, nodding to Harley and turning back to the class. “I’ve got some friends I think you’d like to meet,” he says. “I know they’re not half as exciting as my workshop, but apparently kids these days just love the Avengers. Can’t see why, honestly.”