Saturday mornings of SpongeBob. It didn't get any better for a four-year-old.

Peter wiggled from his seat on the floor to the tune of the song as he blinked up at the TV, watching the bright yellow sponge dance around the screen. He giggled before lowering his head and continuing his work. He currently sat in the living room, legs folded underneath him as his fingers grazed over the assorted multi-colored beads scattered across the coffee table.

The four-year-old plucked a bead up, rolling it between his fingers with a smile before picking up the half-finished project in his other hand. It took a few tries, but he finally managed to line the hole in the bead up with the string in his hand, watching as the string slipped through the hole and the bead slid down to connect with the other beads already lined up on the wire.

It only took a few more beads before he was finished, clumsily tying the end of the strings together. He beamed at the finished craft before hastily rising up to his feet. Checking to make sure his Mommy wasn't nearby, the boy quickly forgot about the show playing on the TV as he raced to his room. Closing the door behind him, he went over to his closet and pulled out an empty shoe box from the back. Opening it up, he slid the now-complete necklace into the box and placed the lip back on. He leaned back to gaze at it before scrunching his little face.

Something was missing.

After a second, the boy grinned in realization and back up to his feet. Moving over to his little toy desk, he rummaged around the tiny drawers, pulling out a long red ribbon from the bottom of one of them. Taking his plastic scissors, the boy fumbled to place them in his little fingers before snipping the ribbon away from the roll, whisking it up into the air and running back over to the shoebox. He looped the ribbon around the box and tried to tie the ends together. It took a few moments of fumbling but Peter finally got the ends to loop into a lopsided bow.

Taking a step back to admire his work, the little boy nodded in satisfaction before sliding the box back into his closet, piling a few clothes and shoes on top to hide it from view.

He shut the closet and leaned against the now-shut door. His hands raised to cup over his mouth as he tried to silence the giggles pouring out, hoping his Mommy wouldn't hear. He didn't want to ruin the surprise. And wouldn't she be surprised when she found out what he'd managed to do all by himself. He couldn't WAIT to show her!

The boy blinked back into reality and rushed out of the room as he realized he was missing the rest of his show.

 

---

 

Wednesday - April 27, 2016

Parker Residence - Third Floor

05:42 a.m.

He stared down at the necklace.

Despite how fragile he knew it to be, it felt like it weighed a thousand pounds in his hands. The beads, which had once been colorful and shiny were now dull and glassy. The string was thin and frayed in certain areas, making his movements extra careful for fear of snapping the thin line. Bits of dust had settled on the orbs, the teen brushing his fingers gently over the beads to clear them of the specks. All in all, the necklace had seen better days. Though he supposed he should have suspected it.

After all, ten years is a long time to wait in a shoe box.

Peter stared down at the long-forgotten gift, his body seemingly frozen as he simply watched the light filtering in through his window catch on the glass beads, shimmers of colored specks dotting the walls of his bedroom.

He currently knelt right beside his closet, the shoe box open beside him, lid resting against his feet. The aching of his knees against the carpet was the only indicator for how long he'd been on the ground. It felt like it'd been only seconds, but it was obvious from the pain that it must have been longer...much longer.

It was hard to describe the feeling bubbling in his chest. He knew it was there simply by his shaking grip but he couldn't place it into words. Whatever it was, it was cold and sharp and prickled against his skin like a million tiny needles slowly pressing into his body. A dark gaping maw that had opened in the very center of his stomach, harsh and black and suffocating, sucking in another piece of himself with each passing second. It curled around his lungs, squeezing tight in a vice-grip of metal wire that cinched the blood and left him white and breathless.

It was like he was in a dream, everything around him seeming to float, hazy and pale like the world was hidden behind a thin white veil.

Unreal.

That was the word he'd been looking for. He felt unreal, fake...pretend.

A high-pitched ringing made him jerk in surprise, his heart seeming to jump-start like a car battery. He whipped his head around towards his phone, which was vibrating on his desk, sending a thin rattling noise reverberating through the air.

Peter blinked and sucked in a breath, feeling it rattle around his chest like coins in a jar. He let out a ragged cough and sucked in another bout of air, cursing himself mentally for being so dramatic as he hastily struggled to his feet.

He moved over towards the bed and gripped the straps of the bag already packed and waiting for him. It was already almost a quarter to 6. He'd have to hurry up if he wanted to make the train on time.

He hoisted the bag over his uninjured shoulder and turned back towards the door, his feet kicking up against something as he took a step. He glanced down and paused as he caught sight of the shoe box. It was old, the sides dusty and curling from age, the logo from a company that no longer existed faded and pale, printed on the side.

Peter took a moment to just stare at the box, fingers twitching as he blinked. He glanced down, eyes meeting the necklace still clutched tightly in his hand. His fingers grazed over the beads once more, cool and smooth to the touch as they kissed against his skin. He hesitated for a moment, turning his head towards his desk, more specifically, towards the trash can situated right next to it. As soon as he laid eyes on it, however, his throat hitched and he felt his skin beginning to freeze over, a dull thrumming vibrating just underneath.

Letting out a small sigh, the boy turned away. He spared the necklace one last glance before stuffing it into his pocket. He kicked the empty shoebox off to the side and quickly left the room without even sparing a glance towards the calendar, without even looking at tomorrow's date.

He knew what it was. He knew it was best not to think about it...

...anymore than he already had.

The house was cold so early in the morning. Peter could feel his body aching ever so slightly as he made his way onto the elevator, the floor jolting under his feet as it began to descend. He gently ran a hand over his forearm. It had been almost a week since it had broken...been broken and with his appetite slowly returning and his strength right alongside it, his healing factor was finally kicking in. The bruises on his face had faded into an almost unnoticeable discoloration, his leg had mended with little less than a small limp in his step and his shoulder had finally closed up and stopped bleeding.

Still, Peter pushed up the flopping sleeves of the too-big jacket he always wore, taking in the burn marks still stretching up along his skin. They had faded considerably, to the point where they almost went unnoticed with a passing glance, but one well-placed stare was enough to uncover them. Peter knew they most likely weren't going to go away. Not this time, not with how severe they'd been.

No, they were simply another addition to the mess of scars and marks that ran up his arms. It was no wonder why Peter always wore the same jacket overtop all of his clothes, no matter the weather.

He simply had no choice. After all, it wasn't like he could bare to look at them.

Still rubbing his arm, the elevator slowly came to a stop on the bottom floor, the doors opening onto the dark level. The entire floor was barely lit, only a few of the lights on in the small kitchenette off to the side. Still, even in the dark lighting, Peter could make out the Cons strewn about the floor. Considering most of their work took place during the night, they usually spent their days...enjoying themselves.

Today, Flint was sitting by the mini-bar, piles of miscellaneous white powder spread across the polished surface and across the skin of his hands and face. He gave a big sniff of empty air as Peter passed, not even sparing the boy a glance as he pinched the bridge of his nose and grunted.

Max and Curt were on the couch together, the former holding a smoke of some sort. The wafts of pungent air made Peter wrinkle his nose and turn his head away as the man puffed a bloom up over his head as he leaned back against the sofa. Curt, on the other hand, seemed content to simply swig a couple sips of beer as he flicked his lighter cap off and on again, the distinct metallic clinking filling the air as he lazily stared at the TV. The glow illuminated the room in eerily blue light.

Sandra was on the couch perpendicular to the one her colleagues were using, sitting on the lap of a mystery woman. The two moaned passionately as they made out, a pile of multicolored pills sitting on the table in front of them. Peter didn't bother checking to see who the mystery woman was. Sandra was known to bring home tons of strays of all shapes and sizes, ages and genders. Whoever the woman chose on a particular day, Peter never saw them again. He tried not to think too much into it.

Thankfully, the Cons were either too drunk, buzzed, loaded or...preoccupied in Sandra's case to take any notice of him. Of course, it might have just been the way he slunk in the shadows, his small figure slipping through the gleams of light and sliding out of their lines of sight.

Years of practice and Peter had finally gotten the knack of being invisible.

Realizing that the front door would be swarmed by reporters, even at this early hour, the teen cautiously made his way towards the back door, which lead through the garage and out onto the street behind their house. He case a wary glance behind him at the mound of cars and vans parked outside his house before giving a small shake of his head and beginning his walk down the street.

The sky overhead was still dark considering the time with a few pale streaks of color beginning to spread as the sun just barely began to emerge. The teen continued to keep his eyes on the street however, making sure to watch for any other vans of TV cars pulling up alongside him just in case one of the stake-out groups had made him during his escape.

Luckily, no such thing seemed to happen as the street remained fairly empty. Peter blew out a small sigh of relief, fingers drumming against the straps of his bag as he wondered whether or not the reporters had decided to focus on Stark Tower instead of their regular old townhouse.

The thought almost made Peter break his stride before he was clearing his throat and continuing on his way. His skin prickled ever so slightly as he recalled the feeling of a hand latching onto his wrist, grip desperately tight.

He hadn't heard anything from Mr. Stark since that day in the park two days ago.

Immediately, a bout of anger flared as Peter thought back to the encounter, to that disaster of a day. So far, he'd been doing well to not think about the ordeal, but inevitably, a thought or two would slip through and he'd sink into a sea of overwhelming emotion and anger now that he finally had the ability to step back and think over the entire exchange.

And every time he thought about it, he got angrier and angrier.

How could Mr. Stark do something like that? How could he deliberately and with such...disregard just go against everything he said he wouldn't do?! He'd told Peter that he'd never push, never demand an answer. He'd said that Peter wouldn't have to worry about keeping secrets from him because he'd never ask about them! And what does he go and do? Practically cause a scene in the middle of a public fucking park and almost made him spill his guts!

Peter could remember with disturbing accuracy the unadulterated terror that had shot through his body that day, the paralyzing fear that had swept through him as he saw someone get inches...millimeters away from the truth.

Even now, as the teen walked down the sidewalk, he could feel himself getting angry.

Why had the billionaire been so adamant in the first fucking place?! This had never happened before. Sure, over the years there were always people who had gotten suspicious, people who had noticed a few things here and there, a few who might have begun to piece some things together. And maybe even a few of them tried to push Peter about it, get him to spill something. But the boy was steadfast, even back then, and as soon as he'd show that he wasn't about to crack under their pressure, they'd backed off. They'd left it alone. They'd given up. But Mr. Stark hadn't g-

Peter slowed his walk as the thought entered his mind.

Mr. Stark hadn't given up. He'd seen...and he kept pushing. He didn't shy away or avert his gaze and pretend he hadn't seen anything. He hadn't let Peter lie his way out. Everyone always just accepted the lies, even if they were obviously just that.

Peter didn't...he didn't know how he felt about that. He knew it should have worried him. After all, having someone sniffing around was dangerous, especially when said someone had just proven themselves to be determined, to not be swayed easily. But...whatever feeling that was churning around in his stomach...it wasn't dread. He didn't know what it was.

The teen furrowed his brow and pulled the jacket tighter around himself.

Despite his persistence in the park, Mr. Stark had been quiet for the last few days. Peter figured it was a good thing. The man was giving him some much-needed space and Peter could take the time to straighten himself out, which was obviously needed considering the complete lapse in judgement he'd suffered.

Even if Mr. Stark had proven to be just a bit more persistent than some from the past, that didn't mean he was suddenly the answer to everything. Peter was a fucking idiot for even entertaining the notion for a fraction of a second. Ten years of hard work were almost flushed away just by talking to the man for a few minutes. The teen would have scoffed at the hilarity of it all if it wasn't so infuriating.

All these years of lessons, of keeping his mouth shut, hiding his wounds, throwing out excuses, coming up with lie after lie after lie and he'd almost spilled his guts to somebody just because they were nice to him? What a fucking joke.

What right did he have to start pouring things out to Tony Stark? Did he want to get them both killed?

Peter stuttered in his stride at the thought.

The full severity of the situation began to crawl up along his spin, making his movements stiff and his breath falter ever so slightly before he was clearing his throat and continuing down the path.

Everything was beginning to fall apart, Peter could tell that much. The walls he'd so painstakingly built up were beginning to crack ever so slightly and the boy could see exactly what was causing said destruction. He could see his own downfall right before his eyes.

He took a deep breath, hands fisting into the hem of his jacket. He had to breath. He had to keep his head and calm down, cement down what he knew and roll with what he was being given. Ten years he'd been learning and he couldn't just throw away those lessons now, not when they were so vital to his survival. And if that meant taking a couple of days away from Mr. Stark, then so be it. It was worth it as long as he remembered everything that was at stake, everything he'd been taught, everything that was right.

He knew the rules. He couldn't forget the rules. He couldn't let Tony make him forget the rules.

After all, it wasn't like he wanted to see the man or crack a few jokes to lighten the sour mood that had been plaguing him the entire week or just sit and talk to someone he had grown so comfortable around or-

Peter bit his lower lip tightly, scrunching his eyes shut as he focused on the sharp sting of pain that came as he broke the skin instead of the thoughts that had begun to ring, allowing them to be drowned out as he raised his sleeve and wiped away the drops of blood that had formed.

He needed to focus. He needed to stay sharp. And he had to follow along.

Peter spotted the subway sign not too far off and began to make his way over, knowing it wouldn't be long before school started. The familiar blight of frustration and nausea settled into his stomach as he thought of the crowded halls of the place that had once been his safe haven. Now it was nothing but prying eyes and grating whispers from nosy students and concerned friends.

Ned and MJ had practically hovered over him yesterday, much to his annoyance, but he'd bitten his tongue and held back any sharp retorts he wanted to fling, worried of a repeat performance of Monday's fiascos. Pete knew they were likely to do the same today, despite his frustrations and a sharp longing to just be left alone.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets, fingers grazing over the small beads of the necklace. They were cold, smooth. He liked the feeling of the polished surface against his skin.

MJ might not know what tomorrow was, but Ned did. And usually, the boy was smart enough to give his friend plenty of space on said day, knowing kind words and reassuring pats on the back would be met with either stoic disassociation or biting fury. Neither Peter or Ned truly knew which it would be until said day came. It was pretty much a toss of the coin.

So with that in mind, perhaps the bubbly boy would be wise enough to convince his female counterpart that it was best to give Peter his space for the rest of the week.

Peter almost perked at the idea. Perhaps today would be different. Perhaps today, he'd finally be left alone with nobody prying to know how he was feeling. He sighed at the thought, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips.

Who knew? Perhaps wishful thinking would finally pay off today.

 

---

 

Wednesday - April 27, 2016

Midtown School of Science and Technology - Student Services

09:32 a.m.

"So how are you today, Peter?"

"Wishful thinking"...what a laugh.

The teen shifted slightly in the seat, grimacing as the hard backing of the wooden chair pressed uncomfortably against him. "Fine, I guess," he murmured, already feeling a bout of unease drifting over him.

The room was cold, unbelievably so. He could feel goosebumps already spreading up along his arms even from underneath his sweater and jacket. In fact, he was almost shocked he couldn't see his breath swirling around him every time he exhaled. But he shouldn't have been all that surprised.

Ms. O'Hara's office was always freezing.

Said woman sat behind her desk, hands folded neatly overtop some papers as she leaned forward. She had pale blue eyes and brunette hair that stretched down to her neck and curled upwards at the ends. She was incredibly thin, almost as if her skin was simply stretched overtop her bones. Her hands were bony and brittle, like sewing needles pinned together to form a claw. Her lips were ruby red and stretched wide into a bright smile.

"Yeah? You feeling alright? Getting enough sleep?" Her voice was honey sweet with a slight Mississippi drawl laced on the back end of her words.

"Mm-hmm."

She nodded, staring at him in silence with that same bright smile. It never wavered, not even as the seconds ticked on in total silence. Peter shifted again. He cleared his throat softly, lifting his gaze for a moment before dropping it back down. Finally, the woman blinked and leaned back ever so slightly. "Well, I called you in here today because Mr. Harrington seems to be quite concerned about you in his class."

Here we go.

"Is something...w-wrong with my grades? Cause last...last I checked-"

"Oh no, sweetie. Nothing like that. You're one of Midtown's best and brightest." She chuckled, smoothing her hands along the front of her dress. It was white with pink flowers that were so obnoxiously bright Peter couldn't look directly at them.

"No, his concerns aren't exactly academically inclined so much as they are emotionally. He expressed to me that you've been acting a bit off this week." Her face finally changed, taking on a more sympathetic glimmer, though her smile remained. "Quieter than usual, not much participation in classes you're usually so astute in. I talked to a few of your other teachers and they confirmed this with me." She tilted her head. "Any of this ringing a bell?"

Peter shrugged, tracing the carpet pattern with his eyes. "I guess? I mean...I-I haven't really...noticed anything."

He should have seen this coming. This wasn't the first time he'd been summoned by Ms. O'Hara. In fact, this was the third time he'd seen her this school year. Usually, it was Mr. Harrington that initiated such meetings, much to the boy's chagrin.

Her office hadn't changed much since he'd last seen her. Lots of potted plants and pictures of happy smiling students. Diplomas and numerous certificates adorned the walls behind her. She even had some motivational posters here and there. And it was always...always cold.

Ms. O'Hara squeezed her curled hands ever so slightly and leaned closer to the boy. "Is there something you want to talk about Peter?"

He didn't beat around the bush. "No."

"Any problems with your friends? Maybe some issues making friends?"

"Nothing like that."

She paused for a considerable moment before speaking again. "Perhaps some trouble at home then." Peter instantly noticed the slight change to her tone. It was sharper, more pressing. He lifted his gaze for just a flash right in time to see her eyes narrow ever so slightly. Her smile never wavered. "I know this media storm must be quite hard on you and your father. Are the two of you dealing with it alright?"

He shifted in his seat again and rubbed at his arms, careful to be gentle with the wound still lingering underneath the sleeve. "About as well as we can...I guess. H-he doesn't seem too...worried about it. Thinks...thinks it'll blow over in a couple of w-weeks."

She giggled, the laugh ringing in her throat like a bell. "Well, he would know best, wouldn't he? I'm sure he's no stranger to dealing with these news hounds. Though, I must say, these stories I'm hearing about are quite shocking. I never would have imagined you'd be hanging around people like Tony Stark."

She leaned closer and put a hand up to one side of her mouth, like she was whispering a secret to him. "It's no secret that his and your father's companies don't exactly get along." She hummed before bouncing her shoulders and straightening up. "I don't mean to pry but I'm surprised your father allowed it."

He shrugged, eyes still tracing the carpeted design of the rug underneath her desk. More flowers.

Peter had never liked their little meetings. Something about them just made his skin crawl. Something about her just set him on edge. Her chipper, southern-sweetness never really settled the wave of uncomfortable air that washed over him whenever he was near her. Peter didn't really know what set it off. After all, Ms. O'Hara was always so sweet, so...cloyingly sweet. Whatever it was, Peter always assumed he was the only one with such unease towards the woman, for nobody else ever really said anything.

She was the school's golden child. They were always making announcements over the PA about some other award she'd one or a certificate of recognition she'd received from all her charitable work. And from the outside, Peter could see why. To anybody else, any passer-byer, she seemed like the happiest, sweetest person to ever set foot in the school. She skipped around with a bright smile and a wave of her dresses, passing out compliments and handing out advice like candy on Halloween.

Peter was probably just being awkward...again.

Ms. O'Hara blinked at him for a moment before unfolding her hands, resting them on the surface of the desk as she brought her chair closer and leaned in once again. "Peter...are you sure everything's alright? I know it's not my place to say, but I'm feeling quite concerned. It's never wise to get caught up in the news, and hanging around people like Tony Stark can only bring trouble." She gave a little shudder as she said the billionaire's name.

Peter felt his fingers curl into his palms at the obvious dismissal. He didn't know why.

"And not just trouble for you, you know. This can affect your father just as poorly!" She leaned in even closer, so much so that the teen began to squirm underneath her gaze. "You wouldn't want that for your father, now would you?"

Peter grimaced and sat up in the chair, lifting his gaze to her. "No...I just-"

"And it's no secret what people are saying about you in all the papers and on TV." Her sweet voice swept right overtop his, effectively silencing him as she continued. "Now, I'm sure the majority of it is just a bunch of bubble gum, but maybe you should think about stepping back, getting out of the public eye." She leaned back and nodded her head. "It might just be causing you more stress than it's worth."

The teen sighed and slid back down in the chair. He knew the woman was just trying to help him, but something about her words...or maybe it was her tone...? Whatever it was, it made him bounce his leg against the floor, eager to get up and excuse himself.

He said nothing, though. If he wanted this to be over as soon as possible, it was best to just let her finish and think he was soaking in everything she was saying. Soon enough, she'd be talking about colleges and AP classes and whatever other nonsense counselors thought made kids feel better.

Absentmindedly, his hand slid into his pocket and he pulled the necklace out just a tad, fingers grazing over the beads. It calmed his heart ever so slightly, which had begun to pick up in speed as soon as he'd entered the cramped room. It took him a moment to realize the woman was talking once again.

"-don't know, Peter," the woman said as she pushed her chair back away from the desk. She reached down towards the floor and pulled out a small watering can, no bigger than a coffee pot. "Perhaps this is some case of teenage rebellion, sticking it to your father by siding with his competitors." She stood up and began to pour water overtop the potted plants sitting atop her cabinets, glancing back over her shoulder with that same sticky smile. "Quite childish if I do say so myself, and not exactly beneficial to your mental health, sweetie."

Peter suppressed another aggravated sigh as he swung his eyes over towards the wall next to him, spying another motivational poster. This one was of a kid in the desert, holding up a huge boulder with both his hands and legs as the ginormous rock pressed him down into the ground. Even in the illustration, Peter could see the look of terror on the kid's face. Below the image were the words, "NEVER GIVE UP!"

He grimaced at the picture with a low groan and turned away with a shake of his head. "It's not...it's not like that," he finally muttered, completely over this visit already.

"Hmm..." from the hum that left her throat, the woman didn't seem satiated. She turned back around and dropped the watering can back down on the floor next to her desk. However, before she could open her mouth again, her eyes caught sight of what the boy was fiddling with. "What's that?"

Peter, who had gone back to not paying attention, snapped his gaze over to her and cocked a brow. "What?"

She pointed. "That. In your hand. What do you have there?"

"Oh..." the teen breathed, glancing down towards his pocket, where the necklace was now more visible than before. He tightened his grip on the beads for some reason as he pulled it out completely. "It's nothing, really."

"Doesn't look like nothing," she chirped, eyes shiny and bright like glass marbles sinking into her skull.

Peter shrugged his shoulders as he let the necklace fall into his cupped hands. "It's just...just something I made a long time ago..." he hesitated for a moment before continuing. "...for my mom."

He waited for her to respond, only to lift his head when she remained silent. She hadn't sat down at her desk yet, simply standing there, staring at him. Peter felt a shiver trail up his spine as her gaze seemed to pierce through him. Her smile had finally dissipated, though Peter didn't know if that made him feel better or worse now that her face was empty. She didn't even blink.

He swallowed, feeling his throat go dry for some reason. He tore his gaze away from her face and glanced back down at the necklace. This was getting awkward.

"I think I see what the problem is now, Peter."

Before he could even raise his head and respond, the woman was snatching the necklace out of his hands. "Hey!" He shouted, more of an involuntary response than anything else as he stared at her in disbelief. She glanced at the necklace with mild distain before turning back to him with another smile.

"You're a clinger."

"I..." he blinked up at her. "...a what?"

"Oh, it's all starting to make sense now, sweetie," she cooed with a chipper grin. "I've seen things like this before, you know. Usually with kids who aren't very emotionally developed or deal with something traumatic at an early age."

She leaned against the lip of the desk, twirling the necklace around in her hand. Peter watched her movements like a hawk, wincing under her gaze as she turned back to him and said in a voice much too enthusiastic, "You lost your mother, what? Ten years ago?"

Peter stiffened in the chair, dragging his eyes away from the necklace and over towards her face. His eyes narrowed and he could feel his fingers curling around the chair. "Something like that." His growled, suddenly finding himself growing angry. "What does that have to do with anything?"

The woman waved her empty hand dismissively. "Oh, Peter. It's very common to see children who deal with such loss early on to develop problems later on in life, usually disciplinary issues like rebellion, disobedience, or even aversion to social situations.

He grit his teeth, glaring up at her as he clenched his fingers into full fists. "I don't have disciplinary iss-"

"Don't interrupt.

Peter felt his jaw snap shut at the words, heart spiking as he instinctively lowered his head. His fists continued to shake by his sides, but he kept his gaze locked onto the floor.

"As I was saying, it's very common for these...troubled children to cling to certain things, whether it be their past loved ones, friends, objects, even more abrasive substances like drugs and alcohol." She paused for a moment before leaning forward. Peter, in response, leaned away until he was pressing up against the back of the chair. "You haven't dabbled in these horrid things, have you, Peter?" She whispered.

He steadied his breath, trying to calm himself down as he looked back at her. He fought to keep his face neutral. "No." He spat the word out sharply. The woman either didn't notice or didn't care.

Her smile, instead, grew even wider, if such a thing were even possible. She got up from the desk and crouched down so that she was now kneeling in front of him.

"Good. You're a good boy, aren't you, Peter?"

He said nothing. She seemed content with his silence.

"And good boys don't become bright young men by grieving over people who are dead and gone, darling. I understand it might be difficult to let go, but this was ten years ago, sweetie. It's ridiculous to still hold onto such debilitating things like this" She held up the necklace and shook it ever so slightly.

Peter fought against his own muscles to keep his arms down, keep them from ripping the necklace right out of her hands and pushing her away. He could feel his teeth grinding together. He had to keep quiet. Just shut up and everything would be over soon.

Just shut up, Peter. Shut up.

So he didn't say anything, not even when the woman turned and tossed the necklace into the small waste basket beside her desk. She wiped her hands off and let out a long dramatic and overexaggerated sigh, smiling down at him with a bounce of her shoulders. "There! See? Out of sight, out of mind! Now don't you feel better?"

Quiet. Quiet. Quiet.

His knuckles were quickly turning white.

Ms. O'Hara moved back around to the other side of her desk and sat back down in her chair with a small sigh. "Now...that's not the only reason I called you in here today, Peter." She folded her hands once more and leaned in closer again. "I wanted to talk to you about how you handle these issues of yours, how you cope. I can see that growing up without a nurturing motherly figure has bred some...challenges."

Peter narrowed his eyes, lifting his gaze up from the carpet. "What's that supposed to mean?" he muttered, ignoring the blatant warning bells going off in his mind. He could feel a tingling sensation thrumming at the base of his skull. It made him squirm in the seat as he rolled his shoulders, wincing as his injury flared ever so slightly.

The women giggled with a small roll of her eyes. "Come now, Peter. Don't be so sensitive." Her eyes seemed sharper than before, pale and icy and completely overwhelming. "Now, I wanted to know how you handle the things that bother you. Like...whenever you have a bad day, how to you deal with it?"

The teen blinked his eyes and threw her a weird look. "What? I...I don't know..?" The tingling hadn't gone away. He was confused. He wasn't being threatened right now so why were his senses going nuts? He wasn't in danger...right?

"Come on, Peter," she teased. "Give me something here. How to you cope? How do you manage it? What's your process?"

The boy let out a small sigh, glancing away as he straightened back up in the chair. Just answer, dummy. Answer and you can finally get out of here. He gave a shrug, thinking about it for a moment longer before responding. "I guess...I don't know, I guess I just talk to my...to my friends about it"

"Edward Leeds and Michelle Jones?"

"Ned and MJ. They...they don't like being called by their full names."

The woman hummed and took a second to just look at him. Peter didn't like it. It was like she was examining him, studying him like a frog on the dissection table. He felt exposed, like a loose wire. Hot and electric and dangerous.

The tingling was getting stronger.

Finally, Ms. O'Hara leaned back in her chair with a small breath, gazing at him with something akin to...disappointment? "Oh, Peter. Peter, Peter, Peter..." she sighed, shaking her head sadly. "What makes you think that's okay?"

The teen stared at her with a dumbfounded look. Had he said something wrong? Why was he looking at her like he'd just confessed to drug dealing to the football team while simultaneously cheating on a final? The tingling grew, to the point where it was hard for him to keep still in the chair as it vibrated underneath his skin, seeming to shake his bones and rattle his teeth.

The counselor stood up from her chair and gazed down at him. "This isn't good, Peter."

Feeling a small bout of confidence (or maybe it was just anger), the teen folded his arms over his chest. "What? Isn't talking to my friends supposed to be healthy?" he muttered sarcastically

"Yes. But being a burden to them isn't."

Peter froze at the words, wondering for a moment if he'd heard her correctly. He felt his back go rigid against the chair as he sat up, attention completely grabbed now. He furrowed his brow and stared at the woman with wide eyes. "What...what did you say?" he murmured, the tingling now spreading throughout his entire body. Something was wrong. Something was wrong.

Ms. O'Hara held her smile as she cupped her hands together, slowly taking a few steps away from the desk. "I understand you must have many bad days, Peter. It's not easy being a teenager these days, what with the mound of problems you must face. But these problems are your own, your own mess to clean up." She murmured, waggling a finger in the air.

"I don't...I-I don't understand..."

"Come now, you're a smart boy. Figure it out."

"I'm just...talking to my friends! There's...t-there's nothing wrong with...with that," he tried to say, tried to bite back. But whatever ferociousness, whatever fire had been burning in him before was quickly dying. All of the doubts that had been ringing around in his ears, it was echoing. Loud and ominous and grating against his senses.

"But you're not just talking are you, Peter? No, you're discussing matters that they have no part in. Sharing your misery. Does it make you feel better to make them feel worse?"

"No! I-"

"'Misery Loves Company'. Are you trying to take a page out of that book?"

"I'm not try...I didn't-"

"Are you a selfish boy, Peter?"

He said nothing as he lowered his gaze to stare at the floor. His brow was furrowed and his lips were parted as he tried to find his voice, tried to refute what she was saying, tried to do...anything. But it was like the words had frozen to the sides of his throat. It was like his hands were stuck to his sides and his feet were pinned to the floor. He couldn't move.

All he could do was listen.

"What makes you think it's alright to share these concerns, hmm? However bad they're making you feel, Peter...just imagine how they make your friends feel." She stepped closer. "Imagine how they must hurt inside when they hear about your problems, when they realize there's nothing they can do to help you."

"No, Ned! He can't just waltz into school looking like he's three seconds from passing out and not expect us to be conc- to not say anything!"

"I...I didn't-"

"Imagine what you must make them feel." She was standing behind him now, he could hear her breathing. Hear her voice. It swirled around him, bouncing off the walls, surrounding him.

"Inadequate."

"No...I-I just..."

"I want...I want you to tell us the truth. I mean, don't you trust us?"

"Useless."

"I didn't mean...m-mean t..."

"Please, we're your friends. We only want to help you. And we can't do that when you keep shutting us out.

"Pathetic."

"Don't thank me. Just...just don't."

Peter felt the air in his lungs violently jolt out of his body as he felt Ms. O'Hara rest her hands atop his shoulders. His heart stuttered against his ribs, cracking, piercing. "What makes you think it's alright to share these concerns, hmm? Are they your friends' responsibility?"

His voice was shaky, barely above a whisper. "No..."

"Do they deserve to suffer alongside you?"

Ned helping him redress his wounds. Ned letting him sleep at his house when the Cons had kicked him out. Ned holding him behind the bleachers as he sobbed his eyes out. Ned putting his needs on hold all for him, all for him. For years...

"No."

"Do you want them to hurt just as much as you?"

Michelle giving him her migraine pills. Michelle feeding him parts of her lunch. Michelle defending him against his bullies. Michelle lying for him. Michelle dressing his wounds. Michelle worrying herself because of him.

"No..."

The woman patted his shoulders, the teen holding in the moan of pain as her hand pressed down on his wound. "There! You see? You're already learning, darling! I know these issues can be challenging, but it would be both in your interest and your friends' to keep these things to yourself. When you need to talk, you come to me! I'm trained to listen to your problems, to deal with your nonsense. Your friends aren't. They're innocent. They don't deserve to deal with your issues, with your life, do they?"

I'm sorry...

"No."

He could practically hear the smile in her voice. "Exactly. There's nothing wrong with a little silence." She leaned down until her lips were right next to his ear. "Every good boy knows when to be quiet. Isn't that right, Peter?" Her nails curled into his shoulder, digging into the skin in a vice-like grip. "Isn't that what your father taught you?"

He wanted Mr. Stark.

"Yes."

She straightened back up and removed her hands. "Such a wise man, your father. The school is very grateful for the annual contributions he donates to us, you know?" She didn't seem bothered by his silence as she stepped back from the chair, moving over towards the cabinets by the back of the room. "I understand this is a lot to process," she murmured straightening out a picture of her next to a smiling young girl. "Tell you what? We'll talk about this more at a later time. I want you to let this all sink in, really understand and let it take root."

She moved back over towards the desk, pausing for a moment to place a hand on her chest. "You know I only want what's best for you. We all do, Peter."

He could feel his hands shaking at his sides. He didn't meet her gaze.

"So!" She clapped her hands together again. Peter winced. "The next time you're feeling anxious or nervous and feel you might want to share your problems, talk about your feelings, remember..."

He glanced up right as she lifted a hand, placing a slender finger up to her lips. He sucked in another breath. The air was so cold, it made his lungs burn. "Bottle that all up, hold it deep inside you and let it build up. Don't share it with anybody, no matter what. And then when we meet again, unload it and share it with me. I'll deal with it. I'll deal with you."

She tilted her head and let out a titter of a laugh. "You know nobody else deserves to deal with the mess."

Peter lowered his head and wrapped his arms tight around himself, trying to draw in a sliver of warm in the otherwise frigid room. But his own body was cold to the touch.

"Yes, ma'am."

The woman glanced down at the watch on her bony wrist. "Well, that's all the time we have, sweetie. I have to go and talk to Ms. Petroza." She grabbed a couple of folders out of the filing cabinet before closing it back up, glancing at the boy with a grin. "You go ahead, gather your things. The bell's gonna ring in a few minutes so you can just wait out the rest of the time in here, think about everything I told you."

With that, she made her way over towards the door, opening it just a tad before stopping and turning back. Her eyes seemed to snap right through his thin little frame as she beamed, lips blood red and teeth pearly white. "I'm glad we got to talk, Peter. I look forward to seeing you again."

And with that, she slipped though the door, leaving Peter all alone.

For a moment, all he did was sit there. He didn't move. He didn't speak. He didn't twitch. All he did was sit and stare at the carpet underneath his feet, at the flower design stitched into the rug. Snapdragons. He was pretty sure they were Snapdragons.

He lifted his head, sucking in a rattling bout of air that stung the whole way down before slowly rising up to his feet. It was like his body was frozen, like his joints were solid ice. The air was thin, a frigid grip that snaked underneath his clothes and licked at his skin. He shut his eyes and suddenly he was back in the Dark Room, in the dark, in the cold. There were chains on his wrists, his ankles. Blood dripped down his skin, dripped onto the floor, dripped into the pools below. It was so cold, they were beginning to freeze, solid drops of frozen sweat, frozen tears, frozen red pins. He could feel it biting into him, curling around his bones and cutting straight through his muscles, icy patches of frost coating his cheeks.

He tried to speak, opened his mouth to scream, only for the cold to spread over his throat, coat his tongue. He tried to move it, only for it to shatter as soon as it touched his teeth, dissolving into nothing as ice spread overtop his mouth, freezing the words inside into muted screams, muffled by snow.

He wanted Mr. Stark.

He wanted his friends.

He wanted Uncle Ben and Aunt May.

He wanted his mom.

But he couldn't. He couldn't have them...because he was too cold, and he couldn't call out for them.

His tongue was gone. It had frozen off.

He opened his eyes and suddenly he was back in Ms. O'Hara's office. His eyes scanned over the room, so small, so...escapable. And yet, it was the Dark Room all over again. Only these chains were different. These chains were invisible, and yet just as strong.

Peter let out a small breath, if only to make sure he still could, before taking a small step. He crouched down onto his hands and knees, not really trusting his legs to carry him any father than a foot as he crawled along the floor and over towards the trash can. He reached a shaky hand in and pulled out his mother's necklace, only for him to pause at the thought.

Could he really call it his mother's necklace if she'd never even worn it?

He thought about that as he sat back against the wall, holding the necklace close to his chest. He thought about that and kept thinking about that, just kept thinking, thinking, thinking.

. . . . .

She shut the door with a soft little click, back pressing against it for a moment as Holly O'Hara took a second to breathe. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Checking her hair in the black screen, she quickly turned it on and scrolled through her contacts before coming to one with no name listed.

Only a number.

She pressed on it and brought the phone to her ears. It only rang twice before the person on the other end picked up.

"It's done." Holly murmured softly, knowing full well the boy on the other side of the door had the capabilities of hearing her. Though, she had no doubts he would be a little too busy...processing their latest chat. She listened to the voice on the other end for a moment before responding. "No, no trouble at all."

Another moment.

She grinned and let out a chuckle. "Don't worry," she said with the same cheery voice as before. "He won't be saying anything to anybody. Trust me."

Another set of instructions. She listened carefully before agreeing, ending the call and sliding the phone back into her pocket. She let out a small content sigh, primped her hair one last time and made her way down the hallway, shoes clacking against the hard tile underneath.

 

---

 

Wednesday - April 27, 2016

Stark Towers - Conference Room A

03:16 p.m.

Tony stared out the window. Above the skyline, an unbroken layer of white and gray hung overtop the city, a brilliant sheen where the sunlight illuminated the clouds, dark where it did not. The usually shining glass buildings scattered across the city were dulled and muted with the overhanging atmosphere of dim shade. People bustled along the sidewalks as normal, despite the less than pleasant weather licking at their heels. It made them quicken their strides ever so slightly with the looming threat of being caught in the eventual downpour that poked through the clouds.

He sucked in a small breath, feeling the cool air swirl around his throat before seeping down into his lungs, crisp and clean. He glanced down at the glass in his hands, a common sight nowadays. He lifted his other hand and slowly began to trace the lip with his finger, carefully following the thin rim in a lazy circle. He thought about a chip of glass sticking up from the surface, cutting into his skin, blood dripping down the side. But all was smooth, undisturbed. No chips. No blood.

Tony's eyes flashed for the briefest of moments, just long enough for them to trace the line of scars he'd seen. Red and raw and angry, snaking up the kid's paper arm like blood splatters, like lava crackling underneath the ground, bubbling hot magma all across the surface of his skin.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and whipped around, heart stuttering in shock as his wide eyes rounded on Pepper. The scotch sloshed around in the glass as he turned on his heel, the woman rearing back slightly at the man's response. He bit out a sharp sigh and placed a hand to his heart. "Jesus, Potts! What the hell are you trying to do to me, huh?"

She pursed her lips. "I called your name three times."

He stared at her for a moment before blowing a scoff. "Couldn't have hurt for a fourth."

"Tony."

"What?" He muttered, glancing her direction, annoyance bubbling in his chest at the look of resigned frustration on her face. "I've got everything down, memorized, scripted. I'm good. I'm...I'm good."

He turned back towards the window, trying to ignore the feeling of her eyes boring holes into the back of his skull. "Are you?"

"What?"

"Are you? Good, I mean. Cause frankly, you don't seem it."

The man cast her a small glare over her shoulder. "What's that supposed to mean?" He really didn't have the patience to go into another debate. That seemed to be all they'd been doing these past few days, ever since Monday, ever since he'd gotten back from the park. And not knowing whether or not his temper would hold out long enough to spare Pepper from the brunt of it, Tony wasn't really in the mood to test it out.

The woman seemed unperturbed, however, as she turned away, the tell-tale sound of her heels clicking against the floor. He angled his body ever so slightly so that he could easily watch as she picked up a stack of files she'd brought in earlier and began to distribute them around the table. She didn't look up from her work as she spoke. "Tony, you need to focus. You can't be thinking of Peter right now."

He narrowed his eyes, tightening his hold on his drink ever so slightly before rolling his eyes in a dismissive manner and raising his glass, taking a sip before turning his head away. "I'm not." His voice was light, casual in his usual carefree tone, nothing like the boiling pit pooling in his stomach.

Pepper wasn't fooled, however, as she finished setting down the last of the files and turned on her heels, arms folded as she stared at him with a hard look. "I mean it, Tony. This is important. Ross has been on the prowl for months now. He's going to be hounding you today."

"I know."

"Rhodey said he'll be waiting for you to make a mistake so he can slip in whatever ridiculous protocols he wants to add to the Accords to make them even more hostile and aggressive."

"I know, Pepper. You can save it with the goddamn lectures and just finish your fucking job, alright?" He scowled at her for a moment before sucking in a breath and sharply turning away again. He raised his glass, cursing his damn hand for the slight tremor and took another sip. It burned as it slipped down his throat.

He was being an ass, that much he knew. But he couldn't really bring himself to care at the moment. There was just too much on his mind, too much weighing down on his chest, threatening to snap his ribs and cave in his sternum under the pressure.

He heard the sound of her heels once again and took another breath as he felt her hand come to rest gently on his shoulder. Tony didn't turn away from the window. The clouds were getting darker.

"He's gonna be alright."

Another breath, shakier than the last. "You didn't see him."

Pepper sighed and let her hand slip down to her side. "I know."

"No, you don't, alright?" He rounded on her, scotch spilling over the side of his glass and dripping onto his shaking hand. "You don't know. You don't know anything and neither do I and that's the fucking problem! Two months and I Still. Don't. Know!"

He shot the glass towards his mouth and slammed the remnants of the drink down his throat. "I don't know what Richard's doing to him. I don't know what he's telling him. I don't know anything because that fucking kid refuses to tell me!" He pushed past her and stalked over towards the cabinets lining the back wall, towards the glasses and the bottles of scotch lined up neatly.

Pepper said nothing as he wordlessly plucked up the bottle of scotch, popped the cork and refilled his glass. He wondered if the Senators would mind if he drank. He didn't care what they thought either way, he was still going to do it, but it was nice to imagine being able to piss off Ross even more by drinking during their "oh so important" meeting. Just another way for him to stick it do the pompous asshole.

Some issues in Washington had lead to the Senators extending their stay, leading to the meeting that was scheduled for yesterday to be postponed to today. Which meant a day of yelling, cursing, and running circles around agendas and policies that should never even see the light of day, let alone make it through legislation. Tony supposed he should have been grateful for the extension. It gave him more time to think. More time to...he didn't even know what.

Tony didn't know what to do anymore.

His little meeting with Peter had left him feeling...something. Hopeless? Afraid? Loathsome? Maybe a combination of the three? Maybe none of the three? He didn't know. He didn't know what he was feeling. All he did know was that his little plan was currently crashing and burning.

Whatever progress he'd assumed he was making had proven to be all for nothing. It hadn't made a lick of difference. Peter still didn't trust him. Peter still wasn't talking to him. How the hell was he meant to help this kid if Peter didn't let him?! Was he helping him at all?

Tony lowered his head, staring back down at the glass in his hands, at the amber liquid reflecting his face back up at him.

Two months. It had been two months since he'd met Peter. Two months of getting to know the kid, of opening up to the kid, of trying to crack through that tough exterior shell. Some of it had been annoying. None of it had been easy. But for the longest time, Tony truly believed he was...helping. He believed that Peter was getting better, improving with their little talks, their little workshop moments. He thought Peter was finally starting to trust him. Was it all in his head?

Pepper watched him stare at his glass for another moment before giving a small shake of her head, pushing back a stray strand of hair that had fallen out of her ponytail. "Tony, we said it yesterday and I'll say it again." Her voice was dead serious, no play whatsoever. "We have to call this in. File a report. We need to go to the police."

As soon as she said it, he was shaking his head. "No."

"At this point, it would be irresponsible not to!"

"We can't."

She narrowed her eyes and took a step forward. "Stark, it's this boy's life that we're talking about here, not some trivial SI meeting that you can't be bothered to attend or some secret project that only you can know about. You can't afford to wave this off. Put your goddamn ego aside for one minute and admit that you can't do this by yourself!"

Tony slammed the glass down on the table, the bang echoing throughout the entire room. "Goddamn it, Potts! You think I don't want to go to the police, to CPS, to the damn Coast Guard or whoever I have to go to to get that kid out of that house?! You think I wouldn't be there already if it was a viable option?!" He shouted, eyes burning as he glared at her, the woman returning his stare with full force.

"So why isn't it?!"

"Because he lies!" he screamed, throwing his hands up in the air. "He lies, Pepper. He lies about all of it to cover for that dirtbag of a father! He lies to everybody; to his friends, to CPS, to the police. He's a liar...and a damn good one at that."

Pepper shook her head, letting out a small scoff. "He couldn't possibly be that good, Tony. To fool an agency that must see cases like his all the time?!"

Tony didn't say anything for a moment, staring at her for a good long while, staring into her brilliant blue eyes that could scan through his words and pull out the lies without even missing a beat, that could pierce through his shell and find whatever mess was underneath. He'd been prey to those eyes before and he knew he would fall victim to them again some time in the future. But not today.

Instead, he blew out a small sigh and grabbed the lip of one of the chairs, rolling it away from the table before plopping into it, feeling just how tired he really was. He couldn't remember when the last time was that he'd gotten a good night's sleep, not just crashed on the couch in the lab or fallen into a drunken haze.

They'd been arguing about this for the past two days, they being him, Pepper and Rhodey. The latter two seemed adamant in calling the police, in filing a claim against Parker for the safety of the kid, getting angrier and angrier at the billionaire for his reluctance.

They didn't know. They didn't know what Tony knew.

He leaned back against the chair, hands folding overtop his stomach as he twisted the chair to face the back wall, away from the woman. "...I checked."

Pepper sighed in frustration, running a hand down her forehead before gently slapping it down against the side of her hip. "Checked what, Tony?"

"Everything. Everything that could possibly help us out here, everything I could possibly do. I...I checked his CPS file."

She groaned, shutting her eyes as she turned away. "Tony..."

"I know, I know. Privacy. Legality. All that shit. I don't care at this point."

Pepper continued to shake her head for a moment, glancing away towards the window Tony had been preoccupied with before. "I thought those files were secure."

"Usually they are." He used his foot to twist the chair around again. "Peter's a minor so they were sealed pretty tight, but I mean...come on. Who are you talking to here?" The usually snappy reply didn't hold the same snarky energy it usually did. It sounded so...flat.

"And? What did you find out? If he has a file, then he's been checked out. They've investigated."

Tony pursed his lips together and gave a small nod. "yeah. They've investigated. They've investigated six times in the pat ten years."

"What?!"

"I read the notes on each and every one of them." He reached for the glass that was still on the table from when he's slammed it down, bringing it closer and leaning back down in the chair again, resting it against one of the armrests. "The first one was issued back in 2008."

Pepper stared at him, face flashing through a mirage of different emotions, none of which truly settling before being replaced by another. Slowly, the woman lowered herself into one of the other chairs. "2008..."

"He was six years old." Tony leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he tightened his grip on the glass, knuckles slipping into a shade of white. "And you know what I found? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Every single time somebody files a report, they send out a worker to investigate the house, investigate the family. And every time, the report passes with flying colors, saying how the house was spotless, the family was sweet and Peter was happy and healthy, displaying none of the warning signs they look for."

Pepper stared at him in confusion for a moment, opening her mouth to ask a question before it dawned on her. She tilted her head as her lips parted ever so slightly, eyes crinkling as she sucked in a shaky breath.

"He..."

Tony didn't lift his gaze from the glass in his hands. "He was lying at six years old. Pepper. Lying well enough to fool his social worker." He lifted his head to stare Pepper right in the face, eyes empty and hollow. "Imagine how good he is now. And with his powers healing all of his wounds in record time, there's never any evidence to suggest otherwise."

He slipped in another sip from the glass and pushed himself out of the chair, realizing he couldn't sit still anymore. Pepper followed him with her eyes as he began to pace back and forth, swirling the glass in his hand. "At this point, they've chalked up every report as people trying to catch their five minutes of fame by filing against a celebrity, by trying to bash Richard's name. And considering every time they've sent a worker, nothing seems to be wrong...they've started believing it."

Pepper shook her head, staring down at the floor for a moment. "God...Maybe - and I didn't say this on record-" she added, lifting her head and pointing a finger at the billionaire, who shrugged his shoulders and rolled his eyes in response."-but...maybe a camera? It wouldn't be hard to plant one in the house, would it?"

Tony clicked his tongue and shook his own head, lifting the glass to his mouth and taking another sip. "No dice. It would never make an actual case. It's illegal to record anybody within their own home without their consent. Right to privacy laws or some shit. It would never be an acceptable piece of evidence."

He paused to give a small humorless scoff, gesturing to himself with the glass. "And if I'm the one who turns it in, well...you know what people will think. That I'm just trying to weed out my competition by making false claims and wild accusations." He took another sip before his eyebrows furrowed and he pulled the glass away with a huff. "'Competition.' What competition? Do people really think I'm threatened by this guy?"

Pepper didn't bother to answer as she continued to stare down at the floor, knee bobbing up and down before she hesitantly lifted her eyes once more. "A wire?"

Tony didn't even bother turning to face her at that. "You think Peter will agree to wearing a wire? The kid barely even lets us touch him, let alone let us listen in on what's really going on." The man raised the glass only to notice that it was empty. He sighed in annoyance and strode over to the cabinets again.

"Like I said before, the only chance we have is Peter." He picked up the bottle of scotch again, pouring more into his glass. "He's the key component to all of this and...and-" He blew a curse past his lips as his shaking grip caused some of the scotch to miss the glass and spill onto the table. He angrily slammed the glass container down on the table, the entire structure shaking with the force.

Pepper slowly rose back up to her feet. "Tony..."

He didn't respond for a moment, simply clasping both hands onto the edge of the cabinet, head down as he sucked in violent bouts of air through his nose, eyes scrunched shut as he focused on feeling it enter his lungs and not on how badly his hands were shivering.

"You just...you didn't see him."

Tony raised a hand to his face, draping it over his mouth and down his chin. "He was so...scared." He could hear Pepper's heels against the tiles once more, coming closer. He sighed and gave a small shake of his head. "I thought I was helping."

She placed a comforting hand overtop his own. "You are, Tony."

He pulled away. "Am I? Because Monday just confirmed that we're still at square one. We're still at the fucking drawing board. This kid is stuck between a rock and a hard place. He's screwed if he talks, he's screwed if he doesn't. I...And I've given him a way out but he's been so hardwired to distrust me that he's never going to take it!"

"Yet! He won't take it yet, Tony. But come on. You honestly can't stand there and tell me that you've had no effect on this kid. Just look at how he is now compared to when we first met him!"

"Monday-"

She raised her hand. "I get it. Monday...Monday you two had a bad day."

He scoffed and pushed past her, walking back over towards the window. She was determined, though, and followed him. "But that doesn't mean you just give up." She paused, coming to stand right next to him. He could feel her eyes boring into his skin, burning holes through his skull. "You're not thinking of giving up...are you?"

It took a second for the man to answer, which was a second too long as the woman narrowed her eyes. "Tony!"

He reared back, lifting his hands in a placating manner. "No! Of...of course not. Of course not. It's just..." He licked his lips and turned his head away, glancing back over towards the window, at the bustling world just outside the glass. Peter was down there somewhere. Peter was down there and Tony didn't know if he was alright, if he was safe and he couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand not knowing.

He angled his head down ever so slightly and could just make out the cars and vans parked outside the building, reporters and cameramen not seeming to be deterred by the threat of rain in the foreseeable future, determined to camp out for however long it took for them to get their pictures, to get their scoop. The man curled his lip before narrowing his eyes and turning back to Pepper. "Can you honestly tell me with one hundred percent certainty that I haven't made this kid's life harder in some sense of the word?"

Pepper blinked at him, furrowing her brows and opening her mouth, only for the billionaire to beat her to the punch. "Richard. His classmates. The fucking media! And that's not even getting into Spider-Man, into the shitstorm that could come if Ross somehow gets him on his radar, if he decides that maybe he wants to make the Accords a nationally-sanctioned registry instead of an international one."

Tony felt his hand shaking again and grabbed his wrist in an iron grip. He couldn't stop thinking about the park, about that damn kid, about the two months they'd spent together. Even before Monday, he'd been having his doubts, uncertainties about just how effective a mentor he was being, how well he was doing in terms of helping the kid. Even before the disaster that had struck, the same fears had been bubbling within him: was he really what was best for this kid?

But for the most part, he'd been able to subdue such fears, bury them down. Every time they'd meet, every lab day they'd spend working on this project or that, every time he'd pick the kid up for lunch or talk about the dumbest of things with the greatest of ease...every time Peter talked to him about something personal or Tony shared something of his, he'd pushed the thoughts down. He'd had enough going that he could ignore his hesitations, disregard the doubt.

Then Monday came and it all came spiraling back.

Was he really what was best for Peter? Was he not just making his life more difficult by making him juggle so much more? Flack from his father, grief from the news, stressing over secrets. All of that came because of the time they'd spent together. And beforehand, Tony could sum it up to being the price to pay for helping the kid in the long run, in getting his trust and eventually getting him away from that house.

But as soon as that day in the park came, as soon as Peter revealed just how much he still didn't trust the man, just how bad things still were for him, just how much he was still hurting, still suffering...Tony knew. He wasn't doing enough.

He wasn't enough.

The man glared over at Pepper, eyes hard and voice cold. "Can you tell me without a shadow of a doubt that I haven't somehow made things worse for him?"

She stared at him for a moment, opening her mouth to speak, only for nothing to come out. Tony blinked at her and gave a small nod, turning away. "Neither can I. You just...you didn't...see him."

They said nothing. A roll of thunder sounded from the clouds above.

"Boss? Secretary Ross and his colleagues have entered the building. Mr. Hogan is escorting them to you now."

Tony didn't look up at FRIDAY's message. He simply kept his gaze on the city, on the clouds spreading out over the buildings, dark and gray and heavy. "Go. I'm already going to have to deal with a whole handful of people criticizing me on everything I do. I don't need to add one more to the mix."

Pepper narrowed her eyes and took a step forward. Tony could practically feel her shaking next to him, overcome with emotion. She jabbed a finger into his chest, causing him to turn and stare at her as she got right in his face. "I do know one thing for certain, Tony. If you give up...if you let this boy go...you will regret it."

He stared down at her, into her chilling blue eyes. He wouldn't let her see just how much the words made his stomach churn. "Close the door on your way out, Potts."

She continued to gaze at him for another few seconds before whipping around on her heel and stalking over towards the door. She made it through the entrance before resting a hand on the frame and turning to look over her shoulder.

"I hope you know what you're doing. Not just for your sake...but for his as well."

With that, she disappeared down the hall, leaving nobody to hear as Tony blew out a sigh and rubbed his face.

"That makes two of us. It doubt it'll be enough."

 

---

 

Wednesday - April 27, 2016

Airspace over Trenton, New Jersey

07:35 p.m.

"Would you stop touching buttons, for the love of GOD?!"

Scott reared back only slightly at the retort before lifting his hands innocently. "I'm sorry! I've never been on a fancy high-tech super ship before. Excuse me if I'm a little curious!"

Sam glared over at him and shifted in his own seat. "Yeah, well I don't need your five-year-old sense of curiosity ejecting me from the plane or some shit." He folded his arms and glanced around warily at his surroundings.

The plane Shuri had sent for them was what she deemed as "boring and discreet as I could possibly make it," which meant it was still an impressive piece of tech. Not too different from the Quinjet, the ship was spacious and comfortable, with seats lining the walls and tables with coordinates and holomaps situated in the center. The sleek vibranium walls lead to smooth angles and curves that made the ship almost look organic in design.

While Scott and Sam currently sat against the back wall of the ship, Clint was sitting on the opposite side, feet propped up against one of the tables while he twirled an arrow around his fingers and Wanda was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a stack of magazines positioned next to her, one already in her hands.

Scott paused for a moment, glancing away from the metal surface he'd previously been knocking at and stared over at Sam with wide eyes. "Can it do that?"

"I don't know! I have no idea what this Wakandan shit can do and I don't wanna find out! Now stop-" He reached over and physically latched his hands onto Scott's wrists. "-pressing buttons!" The two of them quickly began to push and shove as Scott tried to free his hands and Sam tried to literally drag him away from the expensive and potentially threatening buttons.

Steve didn't bother swiveling the pilot chair around as he called over his shoulder. "Enough back there."

Natasha smirked from her seat next to the soldier and twisted around to stare at them. "Don't make us turn this plane around, kids."

Scott pouted ever so slightly and finally pulled his hands free of Sam's hold. He stuck his tongue out at the man, ignored his rolling eyes, and walked over to plop down next to Wanda. She gave him a humored look before glancing back down at the magazine. Scott let out a sigh and propped his arm up against his knee, resting his cheek against his fist as he glanced glumly over towards the cockpit. "Can you at least tell me if we're getting there anytime soon?

"Oh, my lord!" Sam shouted as he too got up from his seat and moved over towards the others. "Here!" He reached into his pocket and shoved a bag of something brightly colored into the other man's hands. "Not stuff your face and please shut up!"

Scott happily opened the bag of jelly beans and began to pop them into his mouth as Sam kicked Clint's legs down and took the seat next to the archer, who was throwing him a betrayed look. "You were withholding this from me the whole time? I told you I was hungry!"

Sam didn't seem to fazed as he leaned back against the chair and folded his arms underneath his head, shutting his eyes. "It's for emergencies only."

"What kind of emergencies?"

"'Scott-won't-shut-up-and-is-three-seconds-away-from-getting-strangled' kind of emergencies."

Clint glared at the man before turning towards Scott, who shrugged and popped another jelly bean into his mouth. "I approve."

The archer scoffed and folded his arms, leaning back against his own chair. He glanced over towards Wanda, only catching a small glimpse of the magazine she was reading. "What'cha reading, Wanda?"

The girl looked up at him before shutting the magazine and holding it up for them to see. "It's good to keep up with the news, especially since we're so good at making the headlines nowadays."

"Right, cause..." Sam opened one eye and glanced at the title. "...People magazine is always chalk full of the tough-to-tackle political issues."

The girl waved her hand and leaned back against the floor. "What do you want me to read? A newspaper? I'm not Steve."

"Hey." The man turned his head to throw a look over his shoulder.

Natasha shrugged. "She's got a point."

Steve shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. At least the others were relaxing a bit before their mission. They'd set out not too long ago, set for Washington DC, more specifically, the Damage Control facility that had been the target of numerous robberies, robberies that were not even being reported, let alone dealt with. As he'd expected, the mission briefing had been met with reluctance, once again coming mainly from Scott and Clint.

It didn't take as much convincing as last time for the two of them to come along, but they were still understandably upset. It wasn't just them, though. Steve could tell that the team was stressed, tensions high. With the looming threat of indefinite imprisonment in a floating metal prison thousands of miles into the ocean, it wasn't hard to see why. Steve luckily hadn't experienced too much of the Raft, but the same couldn't be said for the others.

They didn't talk about it much, he didn't push them. Wanda, especially, seemed to distance herself from the very thought of the prison. Steve didn't bludgeon them with the memories. Lord knew there were plenty he himself didn't want to think about.

His thoughts must have begun to show on his face, for he noticed Natasha glancing over at him from the corner of his eye. He quickly cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder at Wanda, pointedly avoiding the spy's watchful eye. "Is there at least anything we should be worrying about in there? Hill hasn't mentioned hearing anything too serious about us recently."

Wanda smirked a bit and flipped through the periodical. "Not unless you want the secret to firming up your beach bod in seven days."

Scott perked up. "I'll take that."

"Seriously?"

He shrugged. "Well if you're gonna keep bribing me with hush-candy, I'm gonna have to start exercising more."

Sam opened his eyes and sat up a bit in his seat, folding his arms and throwing the man an annoyed look. "You could always just stop talking so much."

"Come on. This is no time for jokes."

Sam rolled his eyes while the others let out little chuckles. The two of them had been going back and forth for forever now. Something or other about a rivalry that started at the compound, a one-on-one fight. Sam never talked about it and had practically forbade Scott from even mentioning it, so they could only speculate. However, his gaze wasn't focused on Scott and instead zeroed in on one of the magazines stacked in Wanda's pile, a bit of the cover sticking out just enough for him to see. He furrowed his brow. "Stark?"

Clint, Scott and Wanda glanced over at him. "Huh?"

He reached down and plucked the magazine out of the pile. "He's on this issue."

The archer rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively. "So what? That egomaniac's always in the news. It's like his lifeblood," he scoffed, Wanda snickering from her seat.

Sam glanced over at the man before turning back to the magazine in his hands. "Oh, really? So 'Stark Vs. Parkstem: The Battle For the Boy' doesn't peak your interest?" He asked, flipping the magazine over for them all to see.

"What?!"

Steve winced at the loud shout that echoed around the cabin of the ship, his own eyes widening ever so slightly at the title. He glanced over at Natasha, watching her grimace slightly before mumbling a small curse. He narrowed his eyes at her, watching as she turned to him and gave him a small knowing look of 'tell you later'. He clicked his tongue in a disapproving manner before standing up from his seat, leaving the ship on autopilot. Natasha followed behind him as they both slowly made their way over towards their chattering teammates.

"Alright, alright, settle down," he tried, only for his calming words to basically wash completely past them. Scott stared eagerly at the cover of the periodical before turning to Sam with childlike excitement, practically bouncing on the floor. "What's it say?!"

Sam scanned his eyes over the cover, taking note of the page number the story was on and quickly flipped through the pages, a curious silence falling over the others as they watched his eyes trail over the page. "Uhh...'last few weeks, we've been speculating,' blah, blah, blah...'seen with a mystery boy at a local NYC deli' yada, yada, yada...'Sources have uncovered that the unknown teenager seen on multiple occasions with billionaire Tony Stark is actually the son of Parkstem Labs tech superstar, Richard Parker, fourteen-year-old Peter Parker.'"

Clint laughed from his seat. "Yeah, right!"

"See for yourself!" Sam thrust the magazine into the archer's hands. Clint stared at the pages for a moment, blinking his eyes before his jaw slackened in shock. Something resembling a huff of laughter escaped his lips as he passed the magazine towards Wanda, who in turn passed it to Scott.

"What the heck is Stark doing messing around with a teenager?" Clint sneered. "He hates kids!"

Scott scanned his own eyes over the article, Natasha glancing at it from over his shoulder. "Apparently that's what everybody else is wondering. Neither Stark nor Parker have made a comment on the subject so everybody's kinda been left to delve up their own theories." He lifted the magazine to Natasha, who only glanced at it for a moment before handing it over to Steve.

He gingerly plucked it from her hands before smoothening it out, hesitantly eyeing the article.

It was the first time he'd seen Tony in months...

...and he was sitting on a curb...a New York curb...in Queens. He didn't believe what he was seeing. Tony Stark, billionaire nitpicker who had his own private elevator just to avoid being contaminated by other people's presence was sitting on a dirty curb outside of what appeared to be a deli of some sort. He was dressed casually, in nothing but jeans and the T-shirts he used to wear around the tower, talking to some...kid.

It was a boy, apparently fourteen if the article was actually true, but he could have been younger. He looked younger. He was a tiny little thing, with pale ivory skin and soft brown curls that hung down around his big doe-brown eyes.

Steve couldn't help but take in the look on their faces, on Tony's face. He was smiling...actually smiling. And not just the common Tony Stark, million-dollar smirk that he plastered on for every photo shoot or business meeting. No, Steve knew that smile. It was fake and hard and pretentious. This was...this was not that. This was genuine. This was Tony actually looking relaxed, talking about...something with this kid who looked so happy just sitting next to the man.

Staring at the picture, Steve couldn't help but look away, passing it back to Natasha. It was like he was looking at something intimate, private, something he shouldn't be seeing...something nobody should be seeing. He couldn't help but wonder if Tony was worrying about the article. Knowing him, he probably was, in his own stubborn way.

Steve had been so engrossed in the picture that he hadn't realized the others had been talking around him. He quickly tuned back in.

"-o way. I so do not believe this!"

Wanda's face scrunched up. "What is Stark playing at here? Why is he messing around with the son of his rival competitor?"

Natasha read over the article, face hard. "According to this, some people are speculating the kid's a spy." Steve noticed her voice was colder than usual. She was angry about something. He glanced at her, but couldn't read her face. Not surprising.

Sam leaned forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. "For who? Stark or the dad?"

"Nobody seems to be in agreement on that yet. Could go either way."

Clint chuckled in his seat, shaking his head as he grinned. "Damn, and here I thought Stark couldn't be anymore of a dick. Guess I underestimated him yet again."

Steve's face twitched at the words as he folded his arms over his chest. "I don't believe it."

The others turned to him.

"There's been no official comment from either Stark of this...Parker guy. As far as we know, this story is nothing but media fluff. Besides, using a kid to get to his dad...seems a bit much, even for Tony." Steve shifted on his feet, feeling his muscles tense underneath his hands. "As long as I've known him, he's never once shown any interest in Parkstem Labs. It's like Oscorp to him, not even a blip on his radar."

Wanda's eyes glowed red ever so slightly as the magazine was suddenly plucked out of Natasha's hands and floated over to her, landing in her own grip. She shook it ever so slightly towards the others. "Well, he's with somebody in this picture. I don't know who..." she flipped the magazine around and glanced down at the fine print. "...Peter Parker is, but who's to say this kid isn't him?"

Natasha folded her own arms and threw the girl a look. "Are we really gonna start trusting the media now? With everything that's happened, wouldn't it be wise of us to take everything with a grain of salt nowadays?"

Clint took the magazine from Wanda's hands and stared at it for a good long while. "Well, unless they've gotten very creative with their photoshop skills, this picture is legit." He straightened back up and tossed the periodical down onto the floor, near Scott. "This kid exists, and for some reason, he's hanging around that parasite, Stark. Now, why any sane person would stay within three feet of that douchebag, I don't know. He's never really been the sweetest, even towards kids."

Scott gazed down at the picture, lifting his head back up hesitantly. "Seems to be pretty happy in this photo, though," he murmured cautiously, knowing the overall consensus when it came to the billionaire in question.

Clint barked out a laugh, leaning forward to face the man. "Yeah, okay. I know you don't really know him, Scott, and for that I envy you. But here's a little tidbit on Stark." His face curled into a condescending little smirk, eyes filling with a dangerous glint. "The guy's a world class conman. Everything he says and does is a trick. A trick to the media, to the public, to his teammates." His voice took on a hard edge as he continued. "He'll lie right through his teeth and blind you with a thousand-watt smile while stabbing you right in the back."

He leaned closer, causing Scott to rear back in response. "Stark only cares about Stark...and he'll roll over anybody to protect himself."

Steve felt his stomach churning at the words, swallowing the bile rising in the back of his throat as his fists clenched. "That's not true, Clint." His voice was soft, tired. The others glanced up, obviously noting the air of exhaustion surrounding the words. Clint either didn't notice or didn't care. He stared right back up at the man, eyes narrowing.

"Oh, really? You're telling me that we've never had to pay for his lies before? That we've never been on the brunt end of the stick catching the flack for his mistakes, for each and every time he chose to lie to us? What do you think Ultron was? That was a full blown personified lie coming back to bite us all in the ass because Stark couldn't push down his goddamn ego long enough to actually trust us, his own teammates!" The man blew out a sigh before turning his head away, sucking in a breath before lifting his gaze and staring Steve right in the eyes.

"You don't lie to your team, Cap. You just don't."

Steve said nothing at that, watching as Clint shook his head and leaned back down in the seat, a new tension hanging heavy in the air, the same terseness that always seemed to arise whenever the topic of Stark came to the table. The solider lowered his gaze and stepped away from the others, silently making his way back over towards the cockpit. Natasha watched him leave before wordlessly following, leaving the others to keep discussing.

Sam shrugged his shoulders and gestured lazily to the magazine, a new wave of heaviness weighing down around them. "Well, whoever this kid is, he better scram ASAP. Messing around with Stark will only get him burned." Wanda and Clint grumbled their agreements, their faces dower and annoyed.

Scott glanced around at the others, taking note of the palpable tension now sitting among them. He scrunched his face for a moment before cracking a small smile, reaching over towards Wanda's pile of magazines and taking the first off the top. "What I really wanna know is what the secret is to being a successful woman in the professional field while also being a superstar mommy."

The others threw him strange looks, but he continued with a smirk. "I mean, that's a tough gig and I could definitely use the six helpful tricks to being a CEO in the office and in the home."

It was obvious what he was trying to do. The man held his breath as he waited to see whether of not the others were gonna take the bait. Clint stared at the man for a moment before letting a small smile fall onto his own face. Leave it to Scott to try and clear up the air. He reached over towards the magazine pile and picked up another issue, slapping the cover with the back of his hand. "That's nothing. Apparently my skin can be too clean?! I need to find out the secret to perfect skin with nothing but banana peels, rose water and cucumbers."

Wanda giggled and yanked out another magazine. "Maybe afterwards, I can fill you in on the #fashionformula for every body and budget."

Sam patted his stomach. "Oh, good. I have been feeling a little bloated in these outfits lately."

Natasha could hear the laughter of her teammates ringing out around the ship, her lips spreading into a soft smile as she watched Scott pass out the magazines with a stupidly-huge grin on his face. The man, despite his constant spew of annoying word vomit, seemed to have a knack for getting them all to relax and unwind, which was a good skill to have nowadays when they constantly seemed to be at each other's throats.

Speaking of, the woman glanced back towards Steve, who was sitting back in his chair at the front of the ship, manning the controls for a plane that could probably fly itself better than any human could. She sucked in a small breath before slowly making her way over to the co-pilot seat next to him, silently sliding down into the chair. The man didn't glance her way, just kept his eyes on the clear glass ahead of him, the clouds dark and gray as the sun began to dip down below the horizon.

"So who is he?"

She sighed and leaned back in the chair. "Just some kid."

"Come on, Natasha. I know you know more than that."

She didn't answer for a moment, long enough that Steve wondered if she was going to at all. After a second, she brushed a strand of hair away from her face. He noticed she seemed to be reluctant to speak, which he filed as odd. Natasha had never been one to shy away from snooping through people's personal histories and had even less of a problem with sharing them. Yet, she still seemed...reserved.

Nevertheless, she shrugged and quickly placed back on a mask of indifference that he'd grown so accustomed to seeing. "He really is Richard Parker's kid, I can tell you that."

The soldier drummed his fingers against the cool metal surface of the controls. "So what is Tony doing messing around with his competitor's kid?"

"Not whatever you're thinking, Steve, so you better nip it now." She folded her arms, knee bouncing as she glanced away, eyeing the sleek design etched into the walls of the ship. "I don't know whether it's just coincidence or something else that got the kid on Tony's radar, but it's nothing like that. You know Tony."

"Maybe I did. But we aren't exactly on the same wavelength anymore, Nat." He paused for a moment, face scrunching slightly in thought. "Richard Parker...I know that name. Heard he's a pretty good guy."

The woman didn't respond to his comment, choosing to brush past it altogether. "I've only met the kid a few times. He's nice. Quiet, reclusive, painfully shy."

"Doesn't really sound like Tony's kind of kid."

"You'd be surprised."

"...I bet I would."

It wasn't hard to miss the resigned tone of voice he spoke with, hand resting against his mouth as he stared out the windows of the plane, gazing over the dark expanse of graying clouds.

The woman hesitated for only a moment before pressing her foot hard against the floor and pushing her chair so that it was now fully facing him. He cast his eyes over to her, cocking a brow in response. She leaned forward in the chair, clasping her hands together. "You okay?"

He held her gaze for a second before dropping his hand and nodding. "Fine. I'm...I'm fine."

"You're still a pretty shit liar, Rogers."

He smirked. "Well, you're hardly impartial."

"It doesn't take super spy skills to read your pages. You practically bookmark them for me."

He huffed a small laugh, spreading his lips into a tight smile before moving his eyes back over towards the window. He knew it wasn't likely that the woman was going to drop it anytime soon, but maybe she'd get the hint and just leave him alone until they reached the drop-point.

"...He has a point, you know. Clint..."

Steve shut his eyes and sucked in a deep breath, not even bothering in turning his chair to face her. He knew what her face would look like. It was the same look she'd been giving him for months now. He didn't need to see it tonight.

"He...he wasn't talking about me."

She folded her arms. "He might as well have. You should tell them the truth. Tell them about why you and Tony really fought in Siberia...Tell all of us."

It was never an easy thing to pick out emotion in Natasha's words, for she was an expert in only letting people hear what she wanted them to hear. Still, Steve knew her well enough at this point to detect the subtle undertones of hurt lacing the back edges of her words.

An itch began to spread through his muscles, making them coil around his bones as his knee bobbed up and down and his fingers continued to thrum against the armrest.

It had been nearly two months and they still didn't know, didn't know the real story behind why he and Tony had fought.

As far as they were concerned, as far as he let them believe, he and Bucky had taken care of the super soldiers holed up in Siberia, disposed of and erased the problem. They had filled in the rest of the pieces when he'd told them of the fight between him and the billionaire.

He'd never corrected them.

They'd ask for details, he'd say it was complicated. Back and forth.

Coward.

He could still see it. The look in Tony's eyes as he watched his parents be killed right before him, the culprit within an arm's length, standing in the same room, breathing the same air. The wave of betrayal that had masked over his features as he learned the truth, a truth Steve had been so desperate to conceal.

The guilt that pooled in his stomach sat heavy, a bitter tang forever resting in the back of his throat. Natasha suspected, she always suspected. Steve supposed she was giving him the benefit of the doubt.

You don't deserve it.

He turned his head to meet her gaze, hoping his eyes conveyed the truth in his words. "It's not that I don't trust you, Nat."

She raised a hand to stop him. "I know. I get it. I do. It's not easy. But we're here to listen." She gestured towards the others, whose voices were loud and echoed through the ship, merry and filled with a sense of relaxation that wasn't usually present anymore. "And I know those bozos are pretty quick to anger nowadays, but...I'm still here. I like to consider myself a pretty level head."

The normal smirk she used was gone, replaced with a gentle smile that she only used for special occasions, the smile Steve knew to be genuine. "I'll listen...when you're ready."

Steve blinked at her, chest aching as he felt a sense of closeness he hadn't felt since Siberia, since since he'd lost Tony and Bucky all in such a short period of time. He smiled back at her, voice quiet. "Thanks, Nat." He glanced over his shoulders at the others, who were still gathered in a circle tossing jokes and laughing around. He smiled and gestured towards them. "We're still a few hours out. You should relax while you can."

She watched them for a moment before blowing out a breath, gently smacking her palms against her knees and stood from the chair. "Can I trust you enough to leave you alone?"

He rolled his eyes. "I really don't think there are any ejection buttons up here."

"You'd be surprised. Wakandans, man. They don't play."

He chuckled, the woman giving him a pat on the shoulder before stepping down the steps that lead up to the cockpit, ambling lazily towards the others. He turned away and faced the giant windows of the glass windscreen before him.

The clouds were heavy with rain, thick and dark and gloomy. The sun had long-since sunken into the gray expanse, leaving the sky yearning for its light.

The man let out a small sigh, leaning back into the chair as he gazed out over the scenery, suddenly reminded of the Quinjet. Flying back from a mission, the voices of his teammates joyful from a successful raid. Nat poking fun at Clint, Wanda and Vision complimenting each other on their attacks, Sam cooing over them to get a room, Tony chastising them for making a mess on his ship and yelling at Steve to control his rowdy toddlers.

Steve's small smile slowly dissipated as he was dragged back to the present, a present that seemed to drag on with each and every day of hell they now found themselves in, where every hour brought the threat of detection, of SWAT guards and S-JOC snipers aiming to kill.

The guilt that had been hanging in his stomach for months mingled with the flare of anger that always surged through him at the thought, the thought of the Avengers in literal shambles because of the billionaire's actions, actions that had led to them ending up in that bunker, fighting for their lives.

It only strengthened the idea curling around his mind. Yes, he had his fair share of guilt to carry, and he'd hold onto it for as long as he needed.

But he wasn't the only one with ashes on his hands.

 

---

 

Wednesday - April 27, 2016

Ridgewood, Queens - 57th Street

08:56 p.m.

It had to be getting heavier. The necklace hadn't weighed so much that morning, Peter was sure of it.

Loud voices, and cheerful laughter filled the street as the gathered people milled around, beer bottles in hand, sandwiches in others, smiles on their faces. The glowing neon sign of Delmar's illuminated the street, masking everyone's faces in glowing red and blue light. A small radio had been set up, blasting music from its speakers that echoed down the street. A group of people had gathered in the street, cheering on the tournament of cornhole that was commencing.

It was Wednesday night, Delmar's and the other stores on the strip had specials on the last Wednesday of the month, letting people gather around their stores, chatting about their days, unwinding with cold drinks; Franky's Bar, Rosa's burger joint, Stella's taco truck. Even the stores that didn't sell food closed up early for the night just to join the monthly get-together: Mr. Murray's newsstand, Ms. Ricardo's flower shop.

It had become something of a tradition on 57th street. Everyone in Queens knew about it.

Peter noticed a few other games commencing in the street, but didn't feel like jumping down from his perch to join. He was out of the way on his little seat, away from any pushing and shoving. He'd already been bumped in the shoulder earlier, eliciting a wince of pain from him as his injured shoulder ached in discomfort. The pain had long-since subsided, but the teen decided it would be best to stay off to the side, away from the crowds.

A particularly loud cheer erupted from the crowd. Someone was probably winning. Peter didn't look up, though. He just kept looping through the colors on the necklace. Gray, red, yellow, white, black, gray, red...

"You're a good boy, aren't you, Peter?"

His hand shook, the beads clattering together.

The back of his neck tingled all of a sudden, causing Peter to turn his head towards the soda can being tossed towards him. He caught it easily, lifting his eyes towards Mr. Delmar as the man approached, cleaning his hands off with the rag he kept in his apron.

"There! See? Out of sight, out of mind!"

He quickly shoved the necklace back into his pocket as the older man approached. "What's the matter? Not gonna join?" The man angled his head towards the games in the street.

Peter shrugged his shoulder and tapped his finger against the unopened lid of the can. "Not in the mood, I guess."

Mr. Delmar leaned back against the raining next to the boy. "Long day?"

"Something like that, yeah."

The man opened his mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by hands falling onto his shoulder. Both Peter and Mr. Delmar turned towards the newcomers, Rosa and Mr. Murray. The former was a short, round, dark-skinned woman with black hair tied up into a bun with a bright red bandana resting against her head, stained apron tied around her waist. The other was a tall, skinny man with pale graying hair underneath his newsie cap. The woman smirked, bright red lips spreading wide. "Boy, this party was made for long days." Her voice had a simple southern hint to it, reminding Peter of his early-morning chat. Unlike his guidance counselor, however, this woman's voice was warm and comforting.

Peter tossed her a smile. "Hi, Rosa."

She sidestepped the other men, coming up on the boy's other side and pinching his cheeks ever so slightly. He scrunched his eyes at the touch, but didn't pull away. "How you doin', baby?"

"I'm alright."

Delmar folded his arms. "Yeah? Cause my daughter said you haven't moved from that perch of yours all night. She can see you from the window." He jammed his thumb behind him in the direction of the store. Peter glanced back, taking note of Gabriella manning the register inside. She noticed his staring and gave a small wave, to which he gave one in return.

Mr. Murray tipped his hat back and leaned up against the side of the bodega. "What's up, little man?"

Peter shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing's up. Just...you know, don't feel like mingling right now."

"Well, where are your little friends?" Rosa asked. "The chubby boy and funny girl. You usually love bringing them down here. You three always dominate in the cornhole tournaments."

The teen glanced down at the soda can in his hands, sliding his nail underneath the tab.

"Misery Loves Company!"

"At home, I guess. I don't know." He flicked his flinger up, the metal sliding through the can as the familiar hiss of air being released met his ears. The others must have taken note of the quiet edge to his voice, for Mr. Delmar raised a brow at the kid. "Jeez, just how long of a day are we talking about here?"

Peter raised the can. "The longest," he said before taking a drink.

Murray leaned closer. "Yeah? Home or school?"

"Both."

The man hummed before reaching down and picking up an opened beer bottle he must have brought with him from his newsstand. "Yeah, well word of advice, kid." He gestured to the bottle before taking a swig. "Alcohol. Solves all your problems."

Rosa clicked her tongue, glaring at the man. "Tch, don't tell him that!" She grabbed Peter's hand and gave it a little shake. "Don't you listen to this bad man, Sugar. His days are numbered."

Peter snickered as he watched them begin to argue back and forth, smile spreading onto his face as he watched. He had to admit, after the day he'd had, the sight of so many people milling around, chatting happily and enjoying themselves was quite a sight.

After his little...talk with Ms. O'Hara, Peter had stepped out of her office to take in the empty hallways. Before the bell rang to let kids out of their classrooms, the teen had been pushing through the front doors to the school, slowly stepping down the stairs and just...stood there, no plan.

There weren't many options for him. He couldn't go home, not with the Cons lurking around there doing God knew what. He couldn't go swing around and pass the time as somebody better, not with his arm still fairly out of sorts. And he couldn't stay in that school, avoiding everybody's eyes, ignoring their whispers, reciting lie after lie.

So he'd left. He'd ignored the messages that had begun to pour in from Ned and MJ wondering where he was and he'd started walking. He hadn't really had a clear destination in mind as he'd started off, just knew he couldn't stay within the walls of the school, couldn't stand the thought of being in the same building as Ms. O'Hara, even if she was on the other side of it. Just the thought of her being around was enough to have him scurrying off.

He tried staying in Midtown, but quickly realized the story of him and Mr. Stark was still a hot topic. He couldn't go five blocks without seeing a newspaper with his name or a TV blabbering on about Mr. Stark and his father. And where there wasn't, there were people staring at him.

Peter Parker had always been content in the background, but now here he was, front and center, on display for everybody to see.

After an hour or two of avoiding eyes and ducking his head, Peter finally ended up back in Queens, one foot after the other. He didn't head to Springshore. Didn't feel like dodging his neighbors' questions and judging looks. He contemplated going to see May before deciding against it, not wanting to risk the Cons seeing him out of school.

So instead, he'd been milling through the neighborhood, avoiding the rich side of town, where just about everybody was friends with his father and might recognize him. He'd instead headed down to 57th Street and the adjoining neighborhoods, where everybody recognized him for very different reasons.

Here, they didn't just know him as Richard Parker's son. Instead they knew him as Peter, the quiet kid that walked the streets with his chubby little nerd friend, spouting off random geeky facts or buying sandwiches and betting on who could finish first or playing card games outside the stores.

They still didn't know him, but they knew better than the papers, better than those in Manhattan. They were neighbors, a community. He knew them, knew that Mr. Delmar always sneaked him extra sandwiches, that Rosa paid him here and there for a few odd jobs she'd have him do just for the sake of stuffing a few bills in his hands, knew that Murray always rolled his eyes and winked at Peter whenever his father was mentioned at some charity ball or some other stuffy brown-nosing event. He knew Queens. He loved Queens. And maybe it was because he was so different from the other people that came from the rich side of town, but they seemed to love him back.

Mr. Murray tapped Peter's shoulder with his beer bottle, startling the kid back into conversation. "You know, my newsstand just got a new story. A very interesting story if I do say so myself." He brought the bottle to his lips and swigged another sip before pulling it back. "You wanna explain it?"

Peter shrugged. "Not really."

"Come on. Being the only news source with an exclusive from the Peter Parker? My babies will sell like hot cakes!"

Mr. Delmar bumped him in the shoulder "Leave the kid alone, man."

Murray raised his hands in defeat. "Alright, alright, I'm just saying."

Rosa rolled her eyes before glancing towards Peter, eyes sympathetic. "You getting much trouble for that?"

Peter shrugged his shoulders, staring down at the can in his hands, watching the condensation drip down the sides, splashing down against his skin. "People talk. I try not to listen."

The air of silence followed keyed Peter into the fact that the others were probably sharing looks. He didn't look up. He didn't need to see them. He got enough of that from his friends. It was another reason why he'd skipped school. He couldn't take those damn looks.

"They don't deserve to deal with your issues, with your life, do they?"

He gripped the soda can just a little tighter. He knew she was wrong. She was awful! She had to be wrong! And yet...he couldn't help but see some truth to her words, hear a sense of logic in them.

He wasn't anybody else's problem, and yet they seemed to make it their mission to worry about him. Ned, MJ, May, Mr. Stark, hell even his teachers, Mr. Delmar, the store owners! Each and every one of them spent time thinking about him, worrying about him. It made him feel sick, made the guilt in his chest build up. They didn't deserve that. They didn't deserve to worry so much about him when he could very well take care of himself. He didn't need their sympathies, their concerns. He'd never asked for them! But who was he to complain? It was his own damn fault for making them worry. It was his own fucking fault for not lying well enough!

He rubbed his finger against the sleek metal of the can, smooth and cold, drops of water sliding down.

Lies...so many lies...to so many people.

He heard someone clear their throat, causing his eyes to lift towards Murray. The man was shooting him a strange look before it disappeared and he was shrugging once more, tipping his cap back again. "Usually when I get a high brow in the newspapers, they can't WAIT to share their story, gabbing it up to all the local reporters trying to extend their little flash in the pan. What a bunch of idiots. I can't stand them. Talking about how it's hard to be successful when they started out in the bottom, talking about Queens like it's a rat infested little hovel. The whole lot of them can go screw themselves for all I care, living it up on the rich side of town, staring down at us from their ivory towers."

Peter furrowed his brow, not really sure where the man was going with this or why he'd brought it up. He grunted, however, when the man suddenly wrapped an arm around the teen's shoulders, dragging him in closer. "Well, screw them! We got ourselves one of their own, and we're slowly converting him to the dark side!"

"You're damn right!" Rosa beamed, ruffling the teen's hair.

Mr. Delmar rolled his eyes. "Please. As far as I'm concerned. Pete here was born and raised right here on 57th street. I don't care who his big-shot daddy is. He's one of us, through and through."

Peter stared at them, feeling their hands on him and the uncomfortable closeness of their bodies near his. And yet, the teen couldn't help but smile as their words sank in, eyes misting ever so slightly as he let out a small laugh, mainly just to clear up the shakiness in his voice. "Thanks, guys."

Rosa pursed her lips. "Then again, in true Queens fashion, we are incredibly nosy. "

Peter snorted and pushed them away. "Talk to Murray then. He lives and breathes the city gossip. I'm sure he knows more about this story than even I do."

"Nuh-uh. I got no earthy idea why you're hanging around with Tony Stark."

Rosa raised a brow. "Or why that douchebag daddy of yours would let you."

Peter shrugged. "You got me there. I'm still at a loss on that one."

Delmar huffed out a laugh before curling his fingers into a fist and knocking Peter in the side of the arm. "Whatever the case, I gotta thank you, kid. With this story of yours blowing up all around the city, I got people from all over coming to the store, buying up my shit. You ever feel like taking another picture with that friend of yours, don't hesitate to use my bodega as the backdrop again, huh?" he joked, Peter smiling as he remembered the picture that was being used in almost every newspaper was the one of him and Mr. Stark sitting outside of this very bodega. He supposed it would cause foot traffic to blow up.

Rosa shrugged her shoulders. "Well I don't know. Maybe that friend of yours will fancy some burgers next time. How bout it?" She elbowed him in the side, Peter giggling as he shied away. "I'll keep that in mind."

Murray furrowed his brow, gesturing towards the kid with his bottle. "So...are you guys friends? Is he your boss? What's the story here, kid? I'm dying. What are you two?"

Peter opened his mouth to respond, only to find no words to release. He paused and sucked in a small breath as he found he didn't really have an answer for the man. What were they, really? Sure Mr. Stark had described him as an intern, but did that mean he was really his boss? He didn't act like a boss. Didn't order him around like one. A mentor, maybe? But Mr. Stark didn't really seem like the mentoring type. More like the kind to keep you around because you're interesting and entertaining and he doesn't have anything better to fill his time.

Distraction.

Peter winced at the word that entered his brain, mind jumping back to Central Park for just a flash before he pushed it away. He couldn't get into that now. "He's not...I-I guess...we're just..." He sighed and gave a small shrug. "I guess I don't know." He tried to ignore how the realization made his stomach churn ever so slightly.

Mr. Murray didn't say anything for a moment before clicking his tongue and pointing the bottle at him again. "Well if I were you, I'd figure it out soon...before the papers do it for you."

 

---

 

A roll of thunder made Peter lift his head towards the sky. The sun set hours ago, leaving a black sky in its wake, too black to make out any clouds, but Peter could tell they were there, waiting to let down a downpour all day. He knew he should get home before it did start raining, but his feet kept moving and they weren't moving towards home.

He'd left the gathering outside of Delmar's hours ago, when the approaching storm had begun to filter out the crowds. Mr. Delmar had offered to give the kid a ride home, but Peter had declined, saying he could get home just fine on his own. Another lie. He just wanted an excuse to stay away for as long as possible.

He felt a small drop of water land on his nose as he stood on the sidewalk which was fairly empty save for one or two people rushing past, most likely trying to get home before the rain started. There was an eerie sort of quiet around him, a silence not well known in Queens. There was always a car alarm, a voice, an engine, something. But now, it was as if the entire neighborhood had buckled down and scurried inside to wait out the storm.

As his lifted gaze began to drop back down, Peter's eyes caught a gleam of light in the distance, his feet finally stopping at he made out what it was. Stark Tower, bright as could be in the darkening sky.

Once again, a gnawing pit seemed to stretch into his gut, a yearning sense of longing as he reached his arms up to wrap around himself, a particularly strong gust of wind blowing past him before dying down again. Another drop of rain.

It was Wednesday. Technically an internship day. He was supposed to go to the tower, see Mr. Stark. Was he expecting him? Had Happy been waiting outside of school this afternoon...waiting for him? Did Mr. Stark want to see him?

He shook his head and pressed on down the sidewalk. From up above, someone called down at him from their window, telling him to get inside and asking where he was going. He said home. Another lie. His throat stung, the taste bitter on his tongue. He kept walking in the opposite direction of his house.

So many goddamn lies...

It wasn't wrong. He knew that. He was helping people with those lies, saving them from the harsh reality of the truth, keeping that fear from them. The lies were so much simpler, so much easier, so much nicer to look at, to hear. But they were just so...heavy, so hard to carry; to remember what detail he'd told to whom. He had the practice for it of course, ten years of it. It still didn't get easier. It got more automatic, of course, but never easier. Not when it was hard to know where the lies ended and the truth began on some days.

"Tell me what they did to you. Let me help you."

Not to mention, it got exponentially harder when people started poking at the lies. And Mr. Stark seemed to love poking at them, finding the holes, sniffing out the details. The teen couldn't help but give a small humored scoff. "At least he's motivated, I'll give him that," he muttered to himself.

Despite the frustrations he'd felt towards the man that morning, Peter couldn't help wondering what he was doing right now, what they would be doing if he'd shown up. Would they be working in the lab? Designing the specs for the new nanotech he'd shown him on Thursday...the last truly "normal" day they'd had together. It seemed so far away now, with everything that had happened.

As he stared at the glowing building in the distance, Peter found himself missing that "normal", missing those interactions, easy and simple and real. He didn't have to pretend as much with Mr. Stark, could bust out the little lies instead of the usual big ones. Another drop of rain. And another. Peter wondered what Mr. Stark would say if he saw him right now, the teen cracking a small smile as he thought of the man throwing out a joke about him looking like a little lost spider, searching for a water spout to climb or something like that.

Peter sucked in another breath, calmer this time. Who was to say they couldn't get back to that "normal" again? Maybe that's exactly what Mr. Stark wanted too. Now that he'd seen firsthand that Peter wasn't going to crack under his line of questioning and pushing and prodding, maybe the man would drop it and let them go back to their usual weekly routine of lab work and impromptu take-out dinners.

The teen swallowed the lump in his throat as he smiled, a new sense of confidence from his talk with Delmar and the gang filling his chest.

I could talk to him, pretend everything's normal. Maybe pretend hard enough to make it true.

He wanted to see DUM-E. He wanted to see Pepper and Rhodey and even Happy with his grumblings. He wanted to work on his lab projects and beam as Mr. Stark complimented him on something. He wanted to see Mr. Stark. He wanted to see Tony.

Another group of raindrops landed on his face as the teen straightened up, hoisting his backpack higher up onto his shoulders as he whipped his head around, trying to spot the nearest alleyway before he lost whatever confidence had suddenly bubbled into him.

Bingo!

With a grin, he ran over, quickly sliding behind the dumpsters as he unzipped his bag. Despite his injuries perhaps implying otherwise, Peter had been itching to swing for a week now! With his bum leg, messed up chest and broken arm with matching mangled shoulder, he'd done away with the idea of crime-fighting for the time being, knowing he'd either stress his injuries more or get some new ones by trying to fight bad guys with a horde of disabling wounds. Nevertheless, he'd taken to carrying the suit around anyways, an empty feeling weighing in his stomach whenever he left it at home.

Reaching into his bag, he grabbed his suit, smiling as his fingers ran over the familiar texture. Quickly stripping down to his boxers, he slipped the suit on, grinning like an idiot at the feeling of comfort as the suit morphed to his skin. Stuffing his clothes back into his bag, he slipped the mask onto his head and down over his face, breathing in deeply as he felt a surge of power trail through his muscles. He curled and uncurled his fingers, relishing in the feel of the suit, of Spider-Man.

He rotated his shoulder, wincing ever so slightly before doing another set. He could do this. He could power through it. He shook off his nerves of seeing the billionaire, steeling himself with the thought that everything would go back to normal if he just pretended it was. He could do this. He'd just ask Mr. Stark to forget about everything that'd happened in Central Park, forget about this entire week and get things back to how they were. Things were good before, they could be good again. He could do this. They'd be fine and he'd forget about tomorrow, forget about what it meant, forget about the weight of the necklace in his bag, the necklace he refused to take out, the necklace he refused to think about.

He. Could. Do. This.

 

---

 

Wednesday - April 27, 2016

Stark Tower - Conference Room A

11:04 p.m.

Tony blew out a haggard sigh as he leaned back against the chair, the full weight of the day sinking through his bones, seeming to draw his body down towards the ground. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Pepper escorted the Senators towards the elevators, the day of discussions, propositions and arguing finally drawing to a close.

At least...it was almost closed. If he could just get rid of this tick that didn't seem to want to leave.

Ross brought the glass of scotch to his lips as he glanced over the roughly drafted documents they'd written up during the meeting, a copy of the ones the Senators were taking with them back to Washington to go over with the rest of the Accords committee. The man glared down at the papers with a disgruntled gleam in his eyes, the look making Tony feel just a little better as he watched Ross toss the stack down onto the table, turning back to him.

"This is never going to work, you know. What you're advising..."

Tony sighed and rested an elbow on the chair's armrest, rubbing at his eyes. When was the last time he'd gotten some sleep? "What? Giving people rights? Creating a fair and plausible Accords that actually does its job of, oh I don't know...keeping people safe?"

"The Accords already do keep people safe."

"I mean all people, enhanced individuals included."

Ross scoffed and turned away. Tony narrowed his eyes and straightened up in his chair. "I know you'd probably rather go on believing that they're dangerous criminals who should be locked up and experimented on-"

"Don't be absurd, Stark. I know how much you love it, but try to restrain your base instincts for once." The man stared down at the glass in his hands. When he spoke again, his voice was slower, a bit quieter. "These Accords are important-"

"I agree."

"-in that they give a certain sense of regulation...control. Do you know how many enhanced individuals there are out there right now? A number."

Tony matched his gaze but didn't say anything. Ross continued. "Based on the numbers we've been running, it's close to a million, just in the US alone. So far, the public knows of only a handful: your colorful friends."

The billionaire's face twitched at the comment, but he continued to remain silent.

"And all those people, all those numbers...they're a threat."

Tony scoffed and leaned forward. "Why? Because they're different?"

"Because they have the power to become a threat."

"So does everybody else in the world, Ross! What? We gonna start going home to home demanding vetting checks just cause you're a little paranoid?" Tony couldn't help the frustrated smile that fell onto his face as he held in another rebuke. He pushed himself out of the chair, pushing it up against the table as he sucked in a steadying breath. He could feel his left arm give a twinge of pain. He resisted the urge to grab his wrist. "Look, I still believe in the Accords, in a sense of accountability. But the Accords you seem so adamant in pushing through, it's just...it's ridiculous, downright dangerous. Demanding that every enhanced individual check in on some national registry? Provide DNA sampling? It's-

"Necessary."

"Laughable...if it wasn't so horrifying," he muttered, more as an afterthought than anything else. He turned back towards the man. "And what would happen if someone refused? Huh? You gonna throw them on the Raft?"

The Secretary narrowed his eyes. "If we need to."

Tony couldn't help the laugh that fell from his lips at that, bringing a hand to his forehead. "God...I don't know how you landed this job."

"Decades of hard work, work that's paid off time and time again." The Secretary set the glass down onto the table, folding his arms behind his back. "But I could very well ask the same question about you. Just what are your qualifications to even be considered in this process?

Tony blinked for a moment before spreading his arms and gesturing around at the office. "Uhh...a multi-billion dollar company? The high-tech suits sitting under your feet? The two world-ending events I helped stop. Tell me, Ross. What was it like when you flew a nuke into a wormhole? We can exchange notes."

This time it was Ross who let out a little chuckle, the man staring down at the floor as he shook his head, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his suit. "God, you are such a narcissistic little prick."

"Mandatory. In the job description."

Ross glanced back over at the table, at the stack of papers still sitting in the center. "You have no business with this. This is government work, cleaning up the mess you and your clowns made."

"So...you want me to take responsibility for my messes by...not taking responsibility for them? Can you see the confusion here, sir?" he asked, the last word simply dripping in attitude, something Ross obviously picked up on if the way his brow twitched was any indication.

"Taking responsibility...is that what you're doing with Steve Rogers? With Leipzig? With letting those criminal friends of his escape from the Raft?"

Tony rolled his eyes and began to make his way towards the door. "Not my fault you can't keep track of your stuff," he called over his shoulder, leaving Ross in the room alone. The man was quick to follow him, however, much to the billionaire's chagrin. Maybe he could lose him in the R&D department...

"Rogers is dangerous. His gang of rebels is dangerous. And with him out there wreaking havoc-"

"What havoc has been wreaked?" Tony turned onto a long hallway, the large windows lining one entire wall revealing the dark sky currently spreading, soft rolls of thunder echoing outside. "It's been unusually quiet on my end of the street."

Ross furrowed his brow in annoyance. "We've gotten reports of weapons arsenals being rounded up on the streets. Manufacturing plants being taken down, creating illegal alien weaponry. Damage done to the sellers and the surrounding area lines up with the Rogues."

"You want me to go after them for beating up a few penny-thugs? What's next? Arrest King T'Challa for littering?"

The Secretary sidestepped the man and got in front of him, causing him to halt in his tracks and throw the man an unimpressed look. "They seem to think that continuing their band of vigilantism will go without consequences. It won't. Sooner or later, they're gonna hit something big and I'll have to deal with it, meaning you'll have to deal with it. And I-"

"Can't officially call me in for anything classifying under a FPCON-B3 emergency. So until they kidnap the President or hijack a military base, I'll be wasting my time on more important things." The billionaire muttered, stepping around the man to continue down the hall.

"Like Richard Parker?"

Tony froze in his step, fingers twitching by his sides as he turned his head back towards Ross. The Secretary was now folding his arms over his chest, face infuriatingly smug.

"What?"

The man let out a little chuckle. "You've made quite a start in the news lately, Stark. You think I don't keep up with it?" He stepped closer, shoes clacking on the cold tile floor. "What's his name, again? Peter Parker?"

It felt wrong, hearing the kid's name come out of his mouth. Tony could feel himself getting angry, but fought to keep his face neutral as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "What about him?" He cursed at the slight edge to his voice.

"I just think it's interesting. Seeing you with this kid." He quirked a brow. "I don't need to be concerned about anything, do I? You know how people talk."

Tony narrowed his eyes at what the man was insinuating. "I know plenty," he growled before quickly taking a breath and steeling himself. He knew what Ross was trying to do. He was trying to rile him up, get under his skin. It wasn't going to work. He wouldn't give the bastard the satisfaction. So he bit down what he wanted to say and simply shrugged his shoulders. "The kid's harmless. We're starting an internship program here. Haven't made it official yet; we're still in the trial period. I just looked through the top candidates and this kid was at the top."

Ross lifted his chin. "So the fact that he's Richard Parker's kid is-"

"Purely coincidental."

The Secretary smirked. "Nothing's ever coincidental with you, Stark."

Tony felt his fingers curling in his pockets. "Well...first time for everything," he chipped back, feeling his teeth gritting together. He whipped around on his heel, effectively hiding his face from the man's prying eyes. "Look, this meeting was scheduled to end-" he checked his watch- "ten minutes ago." He started on down the hallway once more, the sound of footsteps behind him alerting him to the fact that Ross was still following him.

"I have an early day tomorrow, SI paperwork to sort through and a lab to tend to. Whatever other concerns you have with the Accords, and I'm sure I'll be hearing about a few," he muttered under his breath, "we'll discuss it at the next committee meeting. It's in DC so you'll have the home field advantage, as I'm sure you're just chuffed about."

They walked in relative silence for a few moments after he finished, enough to have the billionaire thinking maybe he'd finally gotten the man to take his hint and shut up while he tried to locate the closest elevator to shove him into. He'd been dealing with him for the past eight hours. He was just about ready to grab the closest bottle of alcohol, lock all the elevators from ascending to his private lounge and drink himself into next week. Fifteen or so bottles should do it, right?

"...So he's just an intern, huh?"

The question was so jarring and unexpected that Tony turned back around. "What?"

Ross stared at him with narrowed eyes. "Parker's kid. An intern?"

"Jesus...yeah. Did you forget to take your pills today, sir? You're about two minutes behind," he scoffed, hoping the dismissal and insulting comment would anger the man into lecturing him about responsibility or some shit. He didn't care. He just wanted him to get off the damn subject. Just the idea of Peter being on Ross' mind was enough to have Tony on edge.

The Secretary didn't seem ready to let it go, however. "Cause I've had my fair share of interns, Stark and uh...I never took any of them out to lunch before."

Tony turned back around and began walking once more. Where was the goddamn elevator when he needed it?! "I was in the city. We bumped into each other." The billionaire sucked in a frustrated breath as they finally reached the end of the hallway, which opened up into a large waiting area, complete with elevator and large floor-to-ceiling windows. He spared a glance and took note of the city shining underneath.

"Uh-huh...sure."

The condescending drip in Ross' voice had Tony stupidly turning away from the elevator so he could face the man instead, temper flaring. "Look, can we just drop this and move on? Just forget about the damn kid."

Ross didn't seem fazed by the man's anger, cocking a brow and quirking his lips instead, which only made Tony's irritation grow. "You seem uptight, Stark. Something else going on, here?"

The billionaire shut his eyes as he sucked in a shuddering breath, trying and failing to keep his anger at bay. He was already at the end of his rope with the Secretary and the douchebag just had to keep pushing him? What was he gaining in all of this?!

"Look, Ross. Peter Parker is just some random kid. Why do you care so much?"

"Why do you care so much?" He called, the slight mocking edge to his voice making Tony curl his hands into fists.

"I don't care, alright?!" He snapped, voice raising as his eyes blazed. "He's just some stupid kid that does some crap for me here and there. That's it! That's all he is. The only reason I even remember his name is because of his dad." He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Trust me, if I'd known the kind of trouble this kid would end up bringing me, I wouldn't have even considered talking to him, let alone actually letting him get near me."

He folded his arms over his chest, hoping to mask the shudder in his hand as he glared at the Secretary. "In case you haven't noticed, I already have enough issues to deal with without bringing some stupid brat into the mix." He narrowed his eyes and leveled the man a hard stare. "But the second this kid stops being useful, the second I don't need him anymore, he's out, alright? Gone. You'd forget him like that," he muttered with a snap of his fingers. Ross watched him with a thoughtful look.

Tony let out an annoyed sigh, glaring down at the floor. "Trust me, there's nothing special about that kid. Soon enough, he won't even be worth my time anymore."

The words were sand in his mouth, dry and course and awful but he had to say it, say anything to get this douchebag off his case. After a moment of ringing silence, Ross huffed out a small humored laugh. "That sounds more like you, Stark. Was worried you'd gone soft there for a second," he scoffed as he began to make his way over towards the elevator of his own volition.

Tony watched him for a second, raising a hand to rub his shaking wrist before slowly trailing after hm. "Please, the last thing that'll get me to go soft is some annoying little brat. At least he confirmed for me that college-aged interns is the way to go."

"Pshh...I could have told you that."

As the two of them moved away from the window, they failed to notice the shadow that stretched along the floor, a long, dark form that lead back to the teenager perched against the outside of the building, not two feet away from the windows, within perfect earshot of the conversation even without his super hearing.

For a moment, he just sat there, the billionaire's words ringing around in his ears; loud and piercing. They echoed around his head, bouncing back and forth from ear to ear, scratching away at his chest and curling so tightly around his heart he could feel the blood dripping down into his stomach.

Peter didn't say anything. Didn't look back towards the window, towards the billionaire. Instead, he glanced down at the necklace in his hands, fingers trailing over the beads once more.

His shaking hand slowly curled into a fist, fingers wrapping tightly around the wire, old and frayed and ready to snap.