Peter's eyes snapped open as the sound of a loud boom pierced his ears, dragging him from sleep with a vicious tug.

The child sat up in bed and rubbed at his eyes. Taking a second to orient himself, the four-year-old grasped for the teddy-bear lying next to him as his eyes tried to adjust to the darkness of the room. Above his head, the faint glow of the star stickers on his ceiling provided little light, but a great deal of comfort in the otherwise dark room.

Before the child could begin to wonder what it was that had awoken him, he heard another boom from outside. He whipped his head towards the window and noticed that it was pouring down rain, the thick black drops clinging to his window, staining the glass a dark inky color. He sucked in a cold breath and clutched his bear tighter as another BOOM sounded.

But this one sounded strange. It was different from the others, sounded sharper. More like a BANG.

Before the boy could listen for the sound again, his door swung open. It slammed against the wall, causing him to jump in shock before he realized it was just his mother. However, any sense of ease that had begun to form was quickly extinguished when he saw the look on her face.

"Peter? Come on, honey. We gotta get up."

She looked scared.

"M'mmy?" Peter mumbled, tongue still slow and sleepy against the roof of his mouth.

She rushed over to him and ran a hand through his hair, plastering a small, quivering smile onto her face. Peter noticed that it was bruised and a trail of red liquid was running down her nose, similar to when he got hit in the face one time in the playground. He remembered her picking him up, holding him close, and giving him kisses all over his cheeks. She wasn't doing that now.

Before he could ask anything, she was lifting him out of his bed and carrying him towards the door. Another BOOM rolled from the clouds outside.

"Where we going, Mommy?" He wasn't supposed to be up past his bedtime. Why was she taking him out now?

"We're gonna go on a little trip, sweetie," she said quickly, her voice shaking slightly. Peter could feel her shivering as she held him close. Was she cold? The child glanced over his mother's shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around her neck. Daddy wasn't anywhere to be seen. He was coming with them, right? Peter liked it when they all went on trips together. Mommy and Daddy didn't fight.

He loved it when they didn't fight.

"Where's Daddy?"

They were on the first floor now.

His mother gave him a frantic look before giving a little shake of his head, plastering on another smile. "Daddy's at work, sweetie. It's just us."

Peter frowned. It was dark and Daddy was still at work? His mother never liked that. She always yelled when he came home and the sun was down. Was she going to yell at him this time?

Another weird-sounding BOOM rang out around the house, only this time, Mark ducked down to the floor, clutching Peter to her chest as tightly as she could. Peter squirmed in her grasp. She was hugging him too tightly.

Before he could say as much, however, his mother was back on her feet, nearly sprinting towards the front door. He bounced in her arms, tightening his hold around her neck as he wrapped his legs around her torso. However, Peter felt his mother give a sharp gasp as she stopped suddenly and stiffened, tightening her hold on him.

Peter noticed she was staring at something and he tried to crane his neck around to peek at what she was looking at. He noticed a dark figure standing by the front door, the shadows of the darkened house hiding their face.

A monster. He'd never seen one in real life before.

He stared at it with wide eyes, watched it gazing back at them, still and silent. The monster had something in its hand. Something shiny. Something it was now pointing straight at them.

Just as suddenly as they'd stopped, his mother was running again, Peter jolting in her arms. "Mommy, I don't like this!" Peter wailed, burying his face into the crook of her neck as more weird BOOMS rang out around the house. It was too loud. He didn't like it. It was loud and his Mommy was scared.

Now he was scared, too.

But before he could say anything else, he felt his mother slow down. She let out a hard, heavy pant as she stopped by the hallway closet. Peter kept his coats in there. He would hide in there whenever they played hide and seek. His mother always found him, though.

Wrenching the door open, she all but threw the four-year-old inside before closing the door behind them, Peter letting a pained whine sound in his throat.

His mother was by his side in an instant, gently shushing him as she carded a hand through his curls just like she did whenever he was sick. "Shh, shh, shh, baby. It's okay. Everything's going to be okay," she whispered, a new, calmer smile adorning her lips. Peter slowly quieted down, small tears dripping from the corners of his eyes.

"Now, listen to me, Peter. We're going to play a new game, alright? It's like Hide and Seek. You're going to hide in this closet and not make a single sound, okay? You're going to be really quiet. You think you can do that for Mommy?"

Peter, usually excited by the prospects of a new game, shook his head. "I don't wanna play. There's a monster out there!"

He reared back slightly as his mother placed a hand to his mouth, glancing over her shoulder for a moment before slowly dropping her hand. "I know, baby. But I really need you to do this for Mommy. I have to go and help the monster."

"NO!"

"Shhh!" She cupped his cheeks and pulled him close to her chest. "It's alright. The monster's not bad. Mommy just needs to talk to him, alright? But I need you to stay in here and be really quiet so he doesn't find you, alright?"

Peter sniffed and wrapped his fingers around the fabric of his mother's pajamas. She'd been sleeping, just like him. Had the monster woken her up? What kind of monster was this?

Slowly, the boy gave a little nod. He heard his mother give a deep sigh of relief as she grabbed his cheeks once again and pressed her nose against his. Unable to resist the sudden giggles that escaped his throat, he smiled and curled up in her lap. His mommy was here. Everything was going to be okay.

Which was why he was so confused when he felt tears dropping onto his arm. He glanced up and noticed them streaming down her face.

"Why are you sad, Mommy?"

She stared at him and said nothing for a moment. Peter continued to blink at her with his big amber eyes. Slowly, she carded a hand through his curls once again and smiled. "I'm not sad, sweetie. I'm...happy. I'm happy that you're safe," she breathed before wrapping her arms around the child, bringing him into a tight hug as more tears dripped onto Peter's neck. She placed a kiss against his forehead and stroked her fingers along her cheek.

"Peter, listen to me, baby."

He stared up at her.

"I love you, and nothing is ever going to change that." She whispered before raising a shaky hand. Peter looked down and noticed that his mother's pinkie finger was extended towards him. "Promise me, Peter. Promise me you'll always remember that."

The toddler stared at the shaking hand before lifting his own, smiling brightly as he intertwined his finger with his mothers. "I will, Mommy. But you're acting silly." He giggled as he wiped the moisture off her cheeks. "Can we play this game again in the morning? Maybe with the monster? Maybe we can be friends."

Mary let a fresh wave of tears spill out over her cheeks, but her smile never wavered as she combed a hand through the child's hair. "Of course, sweetie. W-whatever you want." She murmured, shutting her eyes tightly as she let out a shaky breath. Slowly, the woman rose up to her feet as she grasped at the coats hanging above Peter's head. Quickly repositioning them so that they concealed the child from view, the woman turned towards the door.

Peter could see his Mommy's chest shaking as she breathed. She looked back at him one last time and gave a shaky smile before quickly opening the door, stepping out before closing it once again, leaving the child by himself in the darkness.

Peter was instantly greeted with the sound of those weird BOOMS once again, only this time, they were painfully loud. The child raised his hands and cupped them over his ears as he tried to block out the harsh noises. Eventually, he couldn't differentiate between the loud thunderous BOOMS from the raging storm outside and the sharp BANGS coming from right outside the door.

Peter didn't know when, but at some point, he'd started to cry. He didn't like this game anymore. He wanted his Mommy to come back. He wanted her to be happy, smiling as she held him, telling him everything would be okay as she rocked him back and forth.

BOOMMM!

He wanted to see his Daddy happy, too. Daddy had been sad for a while. Sad and grumpy. Mommy said Daddy was just a little tired and sometimes it made him sick. But he never heard Daddy sneeze like he did when he was sick. Maybe grown-ups got a different kind of sick. He'd have to ask his Mommy when she came back.

BANG! BANG!

More tears began to stream down his face as he openly cried, soft whimpers falling from his face as the loud noises shot through the air, piercing through his skull painfully. He hated storms. They were always too loud. But this one was worse. This was louder than any of the others.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

He scooted back as far as he could, his back hitting the wall as he sobbed, his cries getting louder and louder as he began to call for his Mommy to come back. He didn't like this game anymore. He wanted his Mommy. Where was his Mommy?

CRRAAACCCKKKKK!

Peter nearly leapt off of the floor at the horrendously loud clap of thunder that had rolled through the air, shaking the entire house. He sat in silence for a moment, blinking in the darkness as he waited for more BANGS to ring out.

He waited a minute.

. . .

. . .

Two...

. . .

. . .

. . .

Three...

. . .

None came.

All he could hear was the sound of rain hitting the roof of their building, the soft hiss of water running along the walls. The child bit his lip as he wrapped his arms around himself, unsure of what to do. He wanted to go and see his Mommy, but she'd told him to wait here. He didn't want to make Mommy angry.

However, after another five minutes had passed of no movement whatsoever, Peter slowly rose up to his feet. He didn't care about winning the game anymore. He just wanted to see his Mommy.

Quietly, Peter stepped over the different shoes that lined the floor of the closet as he made his way over to the door. Stretching his little arm up, the boy wrapped tiny fingers around the handle of the door and grunted with effort as he pushed it open.

"Mommy?" He called, having expected to see the woman standing right outside the door, waiting for him. When he saw no such thing, the child hugged himself tightly and began to slowly move down the hallway. Thunder could still be heard rolling outside, each crack making Peter wince and walk faster as he searched for the woman.

As the child trudged down the hall, his eyes began to adjust once more to the lack of lighting in the house. He was able to make out the disarray around him. hallway tables were overturned. Picture frames lay cracked and shattered on the floor, and streaks of color were smeared over the walls. Peter blinked at the harsh red coloring of the markings, a new sense of worry bubbling in his stomach. Someone drew on the walls? Weren't they going to get in trouble for that? He would if he ever did. He hoped his Mommy didn't think he did this.

"Mommy?!" He called again, now even more agitated and nervous than before. He could feel new frustrated tears welling up in his eyes as he quickly began to pick up the pace with each passing second, so much so that he was nearly running when he finally made it to the living room.

He froze in his tracks when he caught sight of the room.

The table was broken and lay in pieces on the floor. The TV screen was cracked, a harsh bright glow flickering on and off as the machine fought to stay alive, illuminating the room in a startlingly bright light while simultaneously casting darkened shadows around the room.  The walls were cracked and darkened, different holes littering the surface on each wall around the room. Even the carpet was now messy and stained, puddles of dark red splattered across it.

Of course, the biggest puddle was in the center, stemming from the limp body now laying on the floor.

BOOM!

Peter stared wide-eyed at the scene, unsure of what do to. Hesitantly, the child began to make his way towards the center of the room, his legs seeming to move as if independent from his body.

He could feel his chest slowly heaving as he tried to suck in a breath, tiny fingers curling into the hem of his pajamas. Small, bare feet inched closer, stopping when his toes sunk into the wet carpet.

BOOM! CRACK!

Slowly, the child looked down at the sight by his feet. The figure lay unmoving as the flickering TV cast periodic bright flashes of light onto the still form. Limbs were sprawled out randomly as if they'd simply collapsed to the floor suddenly. And in the center of their chest, there were three small dark holes, each bubbling with the same dark liquid that was staining the carpet.

Peter stared at the figure for a moment longer before he finally found his voice again.

"Mommy...?"

Before he could even take another step, a soft creak met his ears. Whipping his head back up, Peter felt a gasp fall from his lips as his eyes fell on the same shadowed figure from before. The child felt himself stumble backward, his frantic gaze meeting that of the monster.

He felt himself freeze as two glowing eyes pierced right through him.

CRRAAACCCKKKK!

 

---

 

Friday - March 25, 2016

Parker Residence - Third Floor

05:54 AM

His body was moving before his eyes had even fully opened, jerking from the bed as a startled gasp flew from his lips. A choked brick of air lodged in his throat as Peter spiraled out of bed, landing with a harsh thud against the hardwood floors. He let out a muffled grunt as his cheek pressed against the floor, legs still tied up in the sheets as he laid half-sprawled on the ground.

He felt his heart racing as he remained on the floor, felt the sweat on his face beginning to drip onto the wood as he slowly began to position his arms underneath himself as he pushed into a sitting position, carefully untangling his gangly legs from the sheets. Once he was in a semi-comfortable sitting position, Peter rested his arm in his lap and took a deep breath, felt it rattle around in his chest like loose change.

He swallowed, or at least tried to with the feeling of sand coating his throat, and brushed the back of his hand against his forehead, which as he'd noted before, was plastered with sweat, his hair matted and wet against his skin.

Breathing out through his nose, the teen blinked the last foggy remnants of sleep from his eyes and glanced over at the clock, the lights blinking back at him. 05:55 AM. His alarm hadn't even gone off yet.

Slowly rising up to his feet, Peter padded over and pressed his hand down to silence his alarm before it had the chance to go off. As soon as he did, he glanced over towards the door, focusing on his senses as he took a deep breath and listened.

No noises. No breathing aside from his own.

The house was empty.

Despite the fact that it was a part of his morning routine to check for any signs of life in the house the second he was awake, and despite the fact that more times than not they would be gone by morning, Peter still found himself breathing out a little sigh of relief.

He tried not to feel too grateful for their absence, but sometimes it couldn't be helped.

Without sparing another thought on the matter, Peter gathered up his clothes for the day and headed for the shower, ready to rid himself of the sweat-drenched pajamas currently sticking to his body. Within a few moments though, the near-scalding water of the shower was washing it away, washing it all away, including the last few traces of his dream.

He let the spray hit against his face, holding his breath under the pressure.

He'd noticed it again. In his dream. When he'd looked at his mother's face, the details were becoming fuzzier. It was harder to tell whether her eyes were green or blue, whether her hair reached her shoulders or stretched to her back.

He knew what it meant. And for some strange reason, he couldn't pin down an emotion to connect with it.

Sure, forgetting the details of one's own mother seems like a fairly cut and dry recipe for despair and self-loathing, but if Peter was being honest with himself, he couldn't really feel anything other than a sense of vague apathy, a gnawing emptiness sitting heavy in his stomach.

It was like forgetting the name of a stranger he'd met on the street. A little bit of embarrassment, sure, but nothing truly crushing, nothing that could imply anything between them other than cordial pleasantry.

Was that what she was to him now? A stranger? A face to forget on the street?

Peter turned away from the water, silently reaching a hand to shut it off.

He didn't want to think about it anymore.

Instead, he grabbed a towel and stepped out of the shower. Taking a second to dry himself and put on his clothes for the day, he turned towards the mirror and carefully smeared his palm against the fogged glass, a clear, watery patch reflecting himself back.

The marks were gone. Thankfully, with his family out, a full night's rest had allowed his healing factor to successfully wipe away last night's remnants, discard and throw them away, like they'd never happened at all.

Hanging his damp towel up on the back door hanger, Peter mentally added laundry to the list of chores he'd need to do when he returned from school as he exited the bathroom.

It only took a moment to collect his papers, notebooks, and pencils, (as well as to catch a glimpse of the message that had popped up on his phone while he'd been in the shower stating 'We'll be back by tomorrow morning. The house will be perfect when we return'), and as soon as they were haphazardly shoved into his bag, he was throwing it over his shoulder and making for the door.

Peter stepped out into the hallway. Once again, the sound of comforting silence met his ears, and he chastised himself for how good it made him feel.

Making his way down to the second floor, Peter hesitated for a small second before doubling back into the kitchen. He knew it was pointless, knew what to expect, but still. He wanted to be sure.

And sure enough, just like yesterday, just like the day before, and the week before and the eight years before then, the big metal lock on the refrigerator door remained, identical to the one on the pantry closet and the front door downstairs.

Peter didn't sigh, didn't grumble or roll his eyes or anything. He simply took a small breath, swallowed the feeling in his stomach that he reminded himself was not hunger and continued on down the stairs.

Thankfully, unlike the lock on the fridge, the locks on the front door were already opened for him. Grabbing his keys out of the bowl by the counter (keys that only ever let him get into the house, never out), Peter pushed open the front door and stepped through. He hoisted his bag higher up his shoulder as he turned back and locked up.

The sky was still dark overhead, but despite this, Peter felt a strange and inexplicable optimism in his bones, perhaps because they didn't ache that morning. With the house empty, he could finally invite Ned over to finish the last touches on their Death Star that the other teen had been dying to complete. Peter began to make his way down the steps as he let a small smile onto his face. Maybe if he played his cards right, he'd be lucky enough to keep said optimism throughout the day.

And right as he made to take the final step, the street roared as one of their neighbors tore down, horn blaring as they let loose a stream of grit and ash into the air. Peter jolted at the sudden noise hard enough for his foot to miscalculate its final step, twisting painfully underneath him as he landed awkwardly on the pavement below.

He grunted as his back made contact with the steps, blinking up at the sky above him as he slowly rested his head against the bottom step, letting out a long, deep breath.

That's more like it. When are you ever lucky, Parker?

 

---

 

Friday - March 25, 2016

Stark Tower - Main Offices

11:42 a.m.

("Everyone has something to feel guilty about.")

Tony ran his fingers along the sides of the pen in his hands as his eyes traced over the words on the document below him. It might as well have been in an alien language of some kind though because no matter how many times he scanned the lines, they registered in his head as nothing but a garbled mess, too tangled to decipher.

It didn't help that the clock above the doorway seemed especially loud that morning. Or maybe it was just the headache throbbing behind his eyes. Either way, he leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose as he let out a deep breath. He could feel the blood rushing around his ears, loud and uncomfortable as he tried to focus on anything else.

Attempt number four of trying to find a suitable distraction was on the cusps of failure, just like its previous predecessors. And even though SI paperwork was fairly high on the list of desperate measures he usually wouldn't bother with (made obvious by the stack of untouched papers cluttering his desk that should have been handled months ago), Tony was quickly finding that he was running out of options.

("The only difference is that you're standing right here.")

The kid was still in his head.

Two days and the words were still beaming in the forefront of his mind like a neon sign in Times Square, blinding and annoying and impossible to look away from. Two days of going over the events on replay in his head, wondering for the life of him how he'd ended up on the roof of the Tower with a kid he'd spent the entire day with.

Looking into the situation from an outside perspective, Tony would have cocked a brow and laughed in his own face at the ridiculousness of it all. But considering he was stuck on the inside, stuck in a position he couldn't afford to laugh at, he remained pensive and silent, continued to fiddle with the pen in his hands.

It was hard to brush the image away, though, discard the sight he'd seen. A small little glimpse was all he'd caught, but even a peek into what the real Peter Parker was like seemed to be a valuable nugget of information. After hours upon hours of deliberation, that was what Tony had finally chalked it up to, had finally concluded that outburst on the roof had been. It had been Peter, the real Peter. The Peter he'd met in Berlin, the Peter he'd heard on the comms, laughing it up and swinging around without a care in the world.

The Peter hidden deep under layer and layers of...not-Peter.

And real-Peter was very, very different from not-Peter.

("You're not off hiding in some safe house like a coward, shielding yourself from the destruction you caused!")

Real-Peter could get pretty loud.

And it had to have been real-Peter. It had to have been what the kid could be like if he was ever given the chance, what he'd be like if he lived a normal life with a normal family in a normal home.

The stuttering, and hand-wringing and profuse apologizing of not-Peter couldn't really be him. Not after seeing what he'd seen on that rooftop. Not after seeing him in Germany.

There was a real-Peter in there. He'd just been hiding this whole time. And Tony had finally caught a glimpse of him.

("You stayed to fix your mistakes. He didn't.")

In the midst of a conversation he'd rather have avoided. Go figure.

Tony's fingers traced the edges of the pen as he twisted it around in his hands, pressed the tip against the end of his finger. The clock kept ticking above his head, loud and obnoxious. Had it always been so obnoxious? How had he never noticed it before?

He twisted his chair away, turned to face the window instead.

The longer he thought about it, Tony realized, the longer he wanted to know more about the kid he'd seen on that roof, the kid he'd seen in Germany. A glimpse of the kid he'd seen on the day he'd recruited him, peeking through when he'd explained to Tony why he was Spider-Man, why he did the things he did.

("So those people who think they're alone know there's someone out there who's with them.")

That kid wasn't afraid, wasn't shy to standing up and speaking out, and he certainly wasn't quiet when it came to defending people he believed to be wronged, as was evidenced by that night on the rood. Perhaps that was the most shocking thing. Real-Peter had emerged not to tell Tony off, not to fight or defend himself, but to defend Tony, to defy the man's own words and say point-blank why he was wrong.

And the ferocity that had hidden behind his words, the raw anger and defiance concealed beneath them almost made Tony believe that it had been Peter in Siberia and not him.

Instantly, his grip on the pen tightened, phantom pain shooting through his wrist.

("You're not off hiding in some safe house like a coward, shielding yourself from the destruction you caused!")

The teen's words rang like bells in his mind, crawling through his head in a self-pleasing wave of righteous anger.

He knew Peter still didn't know any better. He knew the kid still didn't have all the information. Even with Tony's explanation, Peter was still looking at the situation with a biased lens of admiration for Tony, a skewed view based solely on his desire to keep his idol in a mounted position of awe. Tony knew this. Tony could accept this.

And yet, hearing someone repeating what he'd been craving to hear for weeks now did feel a little good (even if it did come from a teenager with as much knowledge on the political inner-workings of the situation as a tortilla.)

But validation always felt good, no matter where it came from. And it only fueled the anger that had been brewing in his gut, keeping him warm since Siberia.

It hadn't taken long for not just Steve, but for all of the other Avengers to break away from everything and crawl underground like cockroaches hiding from the sun.

Tony's fingers traced the edges of the pen, the smooth surface gliding across the calloused skin. He took a breath, felt how hot it was as it escaped.

Here he was, busting his ass off, trying to get the Accords under control, trying to keep them as practical and sane as he could with Ross breathing down his neck, dripping and drooling to slap it with as many strict protocols and breaches of human rights as he could possibly get away with. Even before things had taken a turn for the worst, he'd known the documents would have to be revised, would have to be worked on and amended.

He'd been prepared for that battle. But then Cap had to go and drag him into an entirely different fight.

So here he was now, left to pick up the damn pieces while the others gallivanted off elsewhere, hiding from the mess they had created, not even bothering to lend a hand of aid.

Well, you're not likely to get shot the second someone sees your face.

Instantly, the thought was buffered by a new flare of rage as he gritted his teeth and tossed the pen away. "Well, they fucking deserve it!" He snarled to himself at that thought of sympathy. It's not like they needed any more of that. The media already gave them plenty.

And yet, even as the words left his mouth, he could feel the bitter taste they left, despite his best efforts to ignore it. Even as his mind tried to stay focused, tried to convince him that he was merely frustrated at the devastation and work his ex-teammates had inconvenienced him with, he knew, deep down, that that wasn't even close to the true reason he felt so much hate.

No...the real reason was much simpler, but that much more devastating.

("He left. He left you!")

Tony took a deep breath, fought to still the shaking that had suddenly started in his hands.

"You actually planning on doing any of that or is it just there for decoration?"

The breath instantly morphed into a sigh as he twisted his chair towards the new voice, hiding the tremble in his hand underneath his desk. Rhodey's arms were folded against his chest as he leaned against the doorway. The clock above his head ticked on, seemed to be even louder than before.

"You know I'm more of a Predock, Tschumi-style connoisseur." He tapped his foot against the floor, watched how his friend's eyes meticulously scanned him up and down like an anatomist before dissection. He tried to squash down the sudden annoyance beginning to bubble.

"Got a reason to be here or did you just want to lecture me some more? Cause I gotta say, my schedule's pretty booked."

"I can tell."

He couldn't do this again. He couldn't sit and listen to them again, couldn't hear all their reasons as to why they were concerned, reasons why they would be better off leaving instead of staying around to watch his inevitable destruction.

His hand was still shaking, wrist throbbing with spikes of pain flaring up and down his arm. He rubbed against the skin, didn't look the man in the eyes.

"Why are you here, Rhodes?"

The man spoke softly, in the same tone of voice he'd used alongside Pepper when Tony had returned from the library that night. "Why do you think I'm here, Tony? I came to check up on you."

"I don't need a babysitter."

"I never said you did."

"You don't have to say it." He used the toe of his foot to spin the chair towards the window once more. "There's a reason why I always kick the crap out of you whenever we play poker."

He heard the Colonel's footsteps as he entered the room, heard the soft creak of the desk as the man sat against the corner of it. The clock was still ticking. Those things were battery-operated, right?

"We're worried about you, Tony." There was a hand on his shoulder now. He still didn't look up, didn't solidify it with eye contact. "I'm worried about you."

"So I've noticed."

The hand disappeared. "And yet you don't seem to care."

Tony pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek before suddenly rising up to his feet as if he could outrun the sickening tightness now growing in his chest. "I have everything under control," he said as he walked over towards the doorway. He glanced around, eyes settling on one of the stationary chairs lined up outside the room. He made to grab it.

"Yeah, you say that. But how long until I catch you in a repeat performance of last week, huh, drinking with no limits? Tomorrow? Two days from now?"

He sat the chair right underneath the doorway and ambled atop it, grabbing the clock off the wall and stepping off with a sigh.

"We keep having this conversation for any longer and I'll book you a seat for an hour from now." He set the clock down on the desk and flipped it over, removing the covering and quickly pulling out the batteries.

Silence. For once, he welcomed it.

Rhodey had stopped speaking too. Tony finally cast the man a small glance and tried not to throw up at the look of resigned disappointment etched onto his longest friend's face. He turned away again, fiddled with the batteries now in hand, guilt rising. He crushed it down, packed it away to deal with later.

"You act like nothing bad has ever happened to me before."

He slid them into his pocket, didn't know what else to do with them. "No. But I know how you act when bad things do happen." Rhodey took a step forward. "Why do you think we're so worried?"

Tony scoffed and rolled his eyes, turning his head away. "I'm getting tired of saying it to you two, Rhodes, but I can take care of myself."

The Colonel's face pulled into a sterner expression, guarded with a look of genuine care that made Tony want to curl away and hide.

"That's the thing, Tony. I'm getting tired of telling you that you don't have to."

He took a breath, took several, felt them all swirl around his lungs carefully before blowing back out. He'd have to take some painkillers. His wrist was killing him.

"Yeah, well...gotta give you something to do, right?"

With that, Tony brushed past the man and headed for the doorway once more, but this time he didn't stop right outside of it but instead kept going. He heard Rhodey's footsteps once more, but they didn't make to follow him.

"Where are you going?"

"Wherever you aren't."

The Colonel scoffed, but Tony could hear the undertones of amusement, similar to those that had been in his own statement.

"Isn't the kid coming by today?"

"Not till later." He turned and started to walk backwards down the hall so he could keep looking at the Colonel as moved. "You should talk to him. Get him to stop being so intimated by you. I'm getting tired of acting like a human shield."

"And how do you suggest I do that?"

"Get creative. You won me over, didn't you?"

Another scoff. "Yeah, and look how great that turned out."

Tony grinned as he made it to the elevator, the doors closing before his friend could reconsider letting him go.

It didn't take long to reach the penthouse, but it took longer for Tony to feel comfortable enough to enter. For the past few weeks, he'd been spending most of his time in the labs, electing to either stay up throughout the night or sleep on the couch he stored there.

There was just something about how quiet it was up in the penthouse now.

Maybe that was what he liked about having Peter around. Whenever the kid did feel open to talking, it was at least something to fill the gap.

At the very least, the kid was a good listener.

Perhaps that was the difference between talking to Pepper and Rhodey and talking to Peter. The listening...

He thought back to the roof. All things considered, he supposed it could have gone a lot worse. For a topic he'd been avoiding like the plague, letting it finally come out into the open hadn't been the soul-shattering, blood-curdling experience he'd imagined it to be.

And maybe that had something to do with who he'd told it to.

When Peter had listened, when he's stood there, fists clenched and eyes blazing with a defense Tony couldn't even muster for himself, there had been no signs of pity, no shows of sadness. No, Tony had seen something else when Peter had looked at him. It hadn't just been awe. It hadn't been sympathy or cloying smiles of assurance mixed with empty words of empathy.

It was understanding.

Peter had understood. And for some reason, the thought made Tony's stomach churn uncomfortably.

You really couldn't have picked a worse time to pull something like this, huh. He thought to himself as he walked onto the penthouse floor and made his way towards the couch.

Peter Parker's case was a sensitive one, this much Tony was sure of. Never before had he found himself meticulously choosing his words, careful to avoid saying anything that could make the kid nervous or panicky or downright terrified.

It was exhausting, thinking two steps ahead of everything he was going to say and do when usually he acted first and dealt with the consequences later, usually by throwing some money around.

He took a seat on the couch, shocked by how comfortable it was. Or maybe he was just tired.

(You're only going to make this worse.)

The words were in his mind before he could stop them. And with them came a new tight feeling in his chest, an uncomfortable weight that made him focus a little harder on taking a deep breath, on getting enough air to fill his lungs.

(You destroy everything you touch.)

He was being ridiculous. The kid had made it abundantly clear just what he thought of Tony Stark. It was obvious the teen idolized him, and they had already been making progressive strides, if their little stunt through the Tower had been any indication. His plan was going to work. A little more time and he'd be able to get the kid to open, to tell him about what was happening and get him out of there, away from those people, away from that house.

(Let him go before you destroy him too.)

He could do this. He could figure out a way to help the kid he now suddenly found to be his responsibility, the kid he now found himself itching to see, if only to assure himself that he was still there, that he was alive and existent and real. He could do this. He could find a way to help Peter. He would find a way to help Peter. He could do this. He was Tony Stark.

(The man with everything. And nothing.)

 

---

 

Friday - March 25, 2016

En Route to Stark Tower

02:56 p.m.

Happy glanced up towards the rear-view mirror, catching a glimpse of the teen currently staring out the window, cheek resting on his propped-up fist. The man furrowed his brow before turning back towards the road. "You good, kid?" He called, forcing himself to keep his eyes forward.

Nevertheless, he caught a glimpse of Peter lifting his head. "Umm...yeah. Y-yeah...I'm fine." He murmured softly before turning back towards the window.

Happy stole one last glance towards the teen before giving a small shake of his head, turning back towards the road.

He should have been grateful. He should have been relieved. He should have been, well...happy. After all, the man was sure that had it been any other teenager, they would have been yapping his ear off or rambling on about some inane new topic on their phone, and god knew the ill-tempered man didn't need any of that crap.

But, there was just something...off about the way Peter acted.

Maybe it was the hunched shoulders. Maybe it was the way he never seemed all that comfortable around him. Or maybe it was the fact that Tony had finally filled him in on what the billionaire assumed to be happening in the Parker Residence behind closed doors.

He was willing to bet on the latter.

Happy couldn't say he was a very...loving person. His social circle consisted of a group of people that, for the longest time, had been nothing but colleagues and employers. And, sure, while Tony, Pepper, and Rhodey had, over the years, surpassed the barrier of common workplace acquaintances to fill the slots of his only willingly-maintained friendships, he wasn't what one would call nurturing.

However, he just couldn't shake that unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach whenever Peter flinched every time the driver spoke. He couldn't help but squeeze the steering wheel just a little tighter every time Peter apologized for something he didn't need to apologize for. He couldn't help the way his brow furrowed every time the teen huddled in on himself.

No, he wasn't a loving man, but he wasn't heartless either.

"Are you sure you're alright, Peter?" He called once again, peeling his eyes away from the road to stare at the kid from the mirror.

Peter lifted his head to look up at the man, surprised he'd actually used his full name. He'd only ever heard the man call him "kid". As he stared at the man, he noticed the shift in his eyes. They weren't as cold and uncaring as usual. In fact, Peter almost thought he was a small hint of concern in them. He shook it off, surmising it as a mere trick of the light. Nevertheless, it made him smile just a little bit as he gave another nod of his head.

"I'm sure. T-thanks...Happy." He said softly, giving the man a small, reassuring smile.

Happy continued to stare at the teen for a moment longer before giving a satisfied nod of his head, turning back towards the road. Got to say, Tony. You sure know how to pick 'em. He muttered to himself, though he couldn't really tell whether he was being sarcastic or not.

As his mind drifted over the billionaire, Happy couldn't help the small sigh that fell from his lips. It wasn't much of a secret that Tony was struggling. It didn't surprise Happy. He'd seen the man when he'd returned from Siberia. It...it was bad. Like...like really bad. Of course, with him being Tony, the man easily played off any and all concerns towards him.

Happy had been with the man long enough to know when he was lying and when he wasn't. And this was nothing more than another lie. Just another cover to deflect any and all comforting words or pitying looks. He knew Tony couldn't stand being pitied.

Despite their constant squabbling, Tony had long stopped being 'just a boss' to Happy. It pained him seeing his friend struggle like this. He'd fully been expecting the man to shut himself off, to refuse any help and delve into a downward spiral, something he'd had the misfortune of experiencing before.

But something was different this time.

Two days ago, he'd had to help Pepper, Rhodey and most of the staff search the building for their missing employer. At first glance, Happy had assumed that the man was off drinking in private somewhere. But much to his shock, Pepper had explained that the man was actually roaming around the tower with Peter!

Somehow, the teen had done something that not even Tony's closest friends had been able to do. He got him to relax, open up, have fun, even if it was only for a couple hours.

He'd distracted him.

Happy glanced back up at the mirror, taking in the teen sitting in the backseat once again. At first glance, the teen didn't seem like anything special, but somehow he'd been able to basically do the impossible. He'd somehow gotten on Tony Stark's good side.

Happy could honestly say he didn't know all that much about Peter, other than that he had a pretty shitty life and he wasn't all that comfortable around strangers. But there was obviously something else there. Something else that Tony had seen, something he connected with.

Somehow, this kid had been able to penetrate the billionaire's sharp, thorny exterior, if only for a little while, and he'd brought out something brighter. He'd brought out a little bit of the old Tony, something they'd feared had been killed off in Siberia

I don't know what you're doing kid... Happy thought to himself. ...but I suggest you keep on doing it. For Tony's sake.

 

---

 

Friday - March 25, 2016

Stark Tower - Living Quarters

03:34 p.m.

The fact that Tony barely even moved as Rhodey draped the blanket over his sleeping form was enough to send a jolt of concern shooting through the colonel. However, taking into consideration the number of days he assumed the billionaire had gone without sleep, Rhodey could honestly say he shouldn't have expected anything less.

Didn't mean he had to like it, though.

Tony looked pretty awful now that he wasn't hiding behind forced smiles and purposely avoiding their gazes. The bags under his eyes continued to darken, his hair was messy and unkempt and the lines on his face seemed to deepen with each passing day.

Rhodey glanced down at his watch, brows furrowing as he took in the time. Assuming Tony had fallen asleep shortly after their little talk, then that meant he'd been asleep for around four hours. Knowing Tony, Rhodes assumed the man had only meant to close his eyes for a few minutes at the most. Of course, Rhodey wasn't about to wake him up. Any sleep was good enough when it came to his idiot best friend.

Glancing over towards the glass coffee table in front of the couch, Rhodes took notice of the Stark Pad sitting on the surface. With a small sigh, the colonel reached down and plucked up the device, flipping it open as he tapped his fingers across the screen, pulling up the most recent files.

As he'd expected, they were files of info on the upcoming meetings with the Senate and the UN delegates regarding the newest revisions to the Accords, the earliest of which being a conference set for next weekend. The man let out a tired groan. It seemed that with each passing day a new revision or law was being added to the Accords.

Of course, Tony had to go over each and every one of these changes, speaking out whenever one took things a step too far in regards to individual rights and freedoms, something that happened all too often.

Scrolling down on the screen, Rhodes skimmed over the papers and documents being displayed as he mulled the information over in his head. He stole a silent glance over towards the exhausted man sleeping on the couch before narrowing his eyes, tightening his grip on the pad as he made his way over towards the elevator, the soft whirring of his leg braces filling his ears. Tony wouldn't have to concern himself with this particular meeting.

"D-wing, FRI." He called as he turned his attention back to the screen.

"Right away, Colonel." The elevator immediately began to descend back down to the occupied floors as Rhodey scrolled back up to the very first file as he began to fill himself in on the information he would need while taking Tony's place in this upcoming meeting.

As the elevator slowed to a stop, Rhodey wordlessly stepped out, intent on making his way over towards the large, usually empty West Lounge located on this floor. It was generally unoccupied, most of the employees unaware that it even existed, making it the perfect place to do his work uninterrupted. The office he had in the Tower was always too cramped for him nowadays, the positioning of the desk too difficult for him to maneuver around with his new accouterments. (And even though he knew Tony would rip out a section of the Tower just to build him a new, triply-sized office if the colonel voiced said problems, he kept his mouth shut. Nobody else needed to know.)

His braces whirred as if to remind him of their existence, of the inconvenience they now constantly embodied.

Rhodes let an annoyed scoff fall from his lips as his eyes scanned over the files, focusing on something other than the crushing anger that seemed just as constant as the braces and the pain nowadays.

Geez, how can they seriously expect this to fly with us? he thought to himself as he re-read some of the new implications they wanted to add to the Accords. The documents were already a mess of rules, regulations, and injunctions that needed to be cleared. Of course, all the drama with the Rogue Avengers wasn't much help in the matter.

The colonel felt his grip on the pad tighten at the thought of the other Avengers, an involuntary jolt of pain flaring in his legs. He gritted his teeth and swallowed the grimace building in his throat. After a moment, the pain calmed back to its usual levels.

He still remembered that day, remembered when Tony had first introduced him to the idea of the Avengers. At the time, they'd both chalked it up to some crackpot comic book fantasy some weirdo in an eye-patch had conjured up, as far from reality as gods and aliens.

Then the gods and the aliens had shown up. And suddenly reality became much less concrete.

But one thing that Rhodey had remained steadfast in believing was that adding Tony Stark to a team requiring trust and cooperation was just asking for catastrophe. And anybody else who knew the man would have probably said the same thing...but for much different reasons.

It was no secret that Tony was a difficult personality: headstrong, arrogant, narcissistic, and just a tad full of himself. Just a tad. However, while most people blew off this behavior as just something that evolved in a person born of such privilege and wealth, Rhodey knew that wasn't the case.

When Rhodey had first met him, he hadn't met Tony Stark, the billionaire philanthropist that had people eating out of the palm of his hand. He'd met Tony Stark, the fourteen-year-old genius, alone and out of place surrounded by the looming walls of MIT. The only connecting string between said kid and the other students who all sized him up and wondered to themselves why some high-schooler was in their lecture hall was his brain, and even in that department, he was different. One conversation was all it took to let people on to the fact that they were no match for him or his intellect.

And in a college where some of the "best and brightest" went to shine, this didn't sit well for most. Because of this, there were days where Rhodey wondered what might have happened to Tony had he not been assigned as his roommate.

At first, budding freshman James Rupert Rhodes had been less than thrilled to be starting his new college experience babysitting some bratty kid. He'd worked his ass off just to get his application looked at and here comes this annoying fourteen-year-old who most likely just had his father call up the dean for a shiny new acceptance letter. It was no wonder why nobody liked him.

However, after a few weeks (weeks where no words were shared between the two of them, with Rhodey spending as little time in his dorm as possible and Tony barely ever leaving it) the colonel had quickly begun to understand the true reason as to why his roommate was there in the first place. With only a few words, he could make the teachers and professors look like babbling idiots playing with chalk. Of course, this made him even more of a target, but now not even the teachers would defend him when the tormenting raged on.

And after one particularly crappy week of studying for midterms, Rhodey had found a strange new study partner in his underaged roommate, who may or may not have helped him study for and pass his very first real exam, albeit shyly. (When Rhodey had later thanked him after receiving the highest score in the class, Tony had shrugged and insisted he hadn't done much. Rhodey had immediately deemed him alright from that moment on.)

Being his only friend at that school, Rhodey had quickly fallen into the slot of unofficial bodyguard. Most kids had the brains to leave the scrawny boy alone whenever his 6'2 roommate from Philly was with him. Quickly become something of a big brother to the kid, Rhodey and Tony quickly became an inseparable pair. But it still never seemed to be enough

With the constant berating and bullying, Rhodey watched as that shy, nervous teen began to evolve into something else. His quiet demeanor shifted into a snarky, prickly exterior with a large mouth and a cocky attitude, with the skills and the brains to back it up. Every insult thrown at him was instantly hurled back with a dazzling smirk and a snarky retort.

Throw in the fact that Tony's father all but barely even looked at him right up to his untimely death, and you had the makings of a genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.

Team player? Not so much.

So, of course, watching Tony become so close to the Avengers had been an extreme shock, one that both delighted and worried Rhodey all the same. He watched as his best friend began to finally emerge from the shell he'd created in college and reach out towards other people, reviving just a little bit of that young, trusting fourteen-year-old Rhodey had met.

But as it turns out, Rhodey had been right to be worried. For as he'd expected, things hadn't lasted. Of course, he'd never expected it to affect Tony as badly as it had.

Safe to say, Rhodey had seen both the best and the worst from Tony Stark. He'd seen him at his highest and at his lowest, and he'd been with him through it all. He'd protected the kid. He'd comforted the orphan. He'd even fought alongside the superhero.

But he'd never expected to have to console the grieving teammate.

Honestly, there were days where Rhodes was surprised his best friend was still alive. There seemed to be more attempts on his life than the President's. But each and every time somebody threatened him, whether it was schoolyard bullies, psychopathic businessmen, or government assholes, Rhodey could honestly say he'd had a very strong urge to punch each and every one of them in the face.

But he'd never wanted to punch a face more than when he thought of Steve Rogers and the other Avengers.

Quickly taking a calming breath, the man pressed two fingers to his eyes as he sighed loudly, mentally taking note of the fact that he was approaching the lounge. However, he felt himself pause and blink in mild surprise as he caught sight of the room's other unexpected occupant.

Sitting in the corner of one of the larger couches was Tony's intern, Peter. The teen was surrounded by different papers and folders, a large textbook open in his lap as he scribbled in a notebook. Beside his feet sat an open backpack that seemed just as messy as his workspace. The teen was so absorbed in the work around him that he never even noticed the colonel enter the room.

Well, at least until Rhodey cleared his throat.

Peter's eyes flickered up towards the new sound and instantly blew to twice their usual size. In the blink of an eye, the kid was leaping to his feet, papers sliding to the floor as the large textbook landed awkwardly with a loud thud. "M-Mr. Rhodes. I mean, C-Colonel Rhod...uh...Colonel, sir..." He spared a small glance towards the mess at his feet and stumbled onto his knees, frantically beginning to pile them up. "I was just...I mean, I-I didn't think anyone else used this room and...well, FRIDAY said t-that, uh..." He grabbed another paper, crushing it in his grip as he refused to meet the colonel's eyes.

"S-sorry. So sorry, I'll just clean this up a-and get out...out of your way. I really didn't mean to, um..."

He paused in his ramblings as he noticed one of the pieces of paper now being held out to him. He spared a small glance up at the man holding it out to him before quickly whipping it out of the man's hands and tucking it close.

"It's alright. You don't have to go anywhere," Rhodey said slowly, suddenly feeling a bit hesitant for reasons unknown

Peter, if he was relieved by the words, didn't let it on as his cheeks burned red. He crammed the papers into his hands and haphazardly deposited them on the couch, shifting his weight between his feet as he continued to switch his gaze between the couch, the entryway, and the colonel as if debating how to proceed.

But after a second, the boy slowly settled back on the couch, now as close to the far end as possible, as distant from Rhodey as he could get. He grabbed his pencil and stared hard at his notebook once again, but the red blush now creeping through his ears and down his neck didn't go away. If anything, with each passing second of silence, it grew redder.

Rhodey stood still for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. Should he leave, or was this what Tony had been hoping for. I'm guessing he didn't mean scare the teen out of his wits, he thought to himself with an internal roll of the eyes.

Before he could decide, Peter hesitantly voiced his own doubts. "What are...uh...w-what are you doing here?"

Rhodey glanced down at the teen, opening his mouth to respond, only to be cut off as Peter turned his wide-eyed gaze towards him once again. "Not that...that's not like, I didn't mean that in an invasive way or anything. I was just...you don't have to...I was just trying to...um..." He seemed to forcefully snap his jaw shut before he could vomit out any more garbage, cheeks deepening in their harsh red color as his curls drooped down to cover his panicking eyes.

"S-sorry..."

Not for the first time in his life, Rhodes was shocked silent, barely reserving enough sense to keep his jaw from hanging open. Jesus, Tones. You really weren't kidding." He thought to himself as he stared at the teen who seemed to be inching closer and closer to passing out with every breath he took.

Finally, taking another second to clear his throat (wincing slightly as Peter flinched back at the noise), Rhodey gestured lamely towards the pad in his hands. "I was just coming down here to do a little bit of work." He explained, Peter trailing hesitant eyes on him. "How 'bout you, kid? What are you doing down here?"

Peter blinked up at him before glancing back down. "I, uh...well when I came in here, I...I asked FRIDAY if she knew where Mr. Stark was and...and she said that he was asleep and that s-she could wake him up for me if I wanted her to." He fiddled with the pencil in his hand. "I...I told her no, I-I don't really know if I was a-actually allowed to do that but...but Mr. Stark looked really tired the last time I saw him s-so...so I thought I'd just let him sleep." He flicked the piece of paper in his grasp. "I have enough work to k-keep myself busy anyway."

Rhodey regarded the teen for a moment before glancing down at the pad in his hands. After reassuring himself that the kid wasn't about to pass out or anything, the colonel tilted his head towards the unoccupied cushions next to the boy. "You don't mind if I sit, do you?"

Peter bit his bottom lip as he dropped his gaze, silently shaking his head as his grip on the pencil tightened. Giving a small nod, Rhodey moved around the couch and gently took a seat next to the noticeably tense teen.

Flipping open the tablet once again, Rhodey began to bring up the files, only this time, his attention was anywhere but. Instead, he opted to watch the teen next to him out of the corner of his eye.

Peter's leg was now balancing on top of his knee, his foot bouncing nervously against the cold tile floor. Resting on his leg sat another folder, sheets of crumpled paper laying on top. Locks of wavy brown hair drooped down in front of the teen's eyes, but he didn't seem to pay it much attention as he fought to keep his hand steady while focusing on his work. Actually, now that Rhodey looked at them, he could make out some little faded scratches adorning the kid's knuckles, like cuts from a knife. Before he could double-check to make sure he wasn't imagining anything, Peter subconsciously pulled his sleeves down, the skin disappearing underneath his layers.

Rhodey bit his cheek in deliberation as he wondered once again about what the best course of action was regarding the boy. He could opt to stay silent and respect the teen's obvious wishes to be left alone. But he knew that such a thing would do nothing in easing and settling the tension that already existed between them. Plus, he just knew he would have to hear it from Tony about how he'd "chickened out" of talking to a fourteen-year-old kid.

With a small annoyed sigh, Rhodey set the StarkPad down and rested his elbows on his knees, turning his head to look at Peter. "Calculus, huh?" He asked with a slight tone of uncertainty.

Thank god Tony's basically unconscious right now or I would never live this down.

Peter blinked in slight confusion, obviously not having been expecting the colonel to wish to speak to him. "...huh?" He asked softly.

Rhodey gestured towards the papers in Peter's lap. "You know, I thought Calculus was saved for upper-classmen. Tony told me you were just a freshman."

The teen blushed slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. "M-my teachers thought I should move up a...a couple of levels. " He murmured quietly, not elaborating any further than he had to.

His foot began to tap faster.

"Right..." Rhodes breathed out, unsure of how he should continue, if at all. "Uh, so...how is school going for you, anyway?" He hoped the uncomfortable grimace he could feel in his chest wasn't present on his face.

He expected the teen to flounder a bit, stuttering on an answer like he'd been doing before. He didn't expect him to stare down at his notebook for a moment of silence Rhodey was hesitant to fill, fiddling with his pencil for a second before tapping against the paper. His face took on an unreadable expression. He didn't look up, not even as he let out a sigh that almost sounded...exasperated?

"You don't have to do this."

The colonel furrowed his brow. "Do what?"

Peter glanced over at him, never sparing him more than a second of eye contact before redirecting his gaze back down to his work. His jaw tensed slightly before relaxing once more. "This. The 'pretending to be interested' part. The 'getting to know me' spiel." He sniffed, turned his head away again. "It's unnecessary."

Rhodey blinked in confusion for a moment before cocking a brow. "What are you talking about?" He asked with genuine befuddlement before swallowing, rubbing at the back of his neck as he tried to display a confidence he didn't feel. "I...am interested," he added with less certainty.

Peter seemed a little amused by the man's pathetic attempt, for he let a little smile fall onto his face. "No you're not." he shrugged his shoulders. "It's okay. I don't expect you to be. I...I know Mr. Stark probably put you up to this."

True.

"Probably told you to try and warm up to me,"

Also true.

"In fact, you probably wouldn't have tried at all had he not said something."

Potentially very true. Rhodey found that, with this third realization, a sudden feeling of shame began to grow in him.

"But you really don't have to. I...I know it's a pain." Peter glanced down at his notebook again, began to mess with the corner of the page. "And it's probably...really inconvenient for you to...t-to suddenly have some random kid roaming around your building nowadays, especially when you...probably had no say in the matter."

Rhodey blinked down at him, said nothing as the kid glanced towards him, and smiled once again. It didn't quell the uneasiness stewing in the colonel as the kid probably intended it to do.

"So, you don't have to do this. You...don't have to talk to me. You don't have to...pretend to care. I'm sure you have better things to be doing, anyway. But I'll tell Mr. Stark t-that you dropped by so you don't get in trouble."

Rhodey shook his head, tried to find something to say. But his mind was drawing a blank. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. "It's...not like that," was all he managed to get out. But there was little else to say when he knew for a fact that the kid was at least somewhat close to the truth. His apprehensions about sitting down hadn't been well-hidden, that much he could now admit. He just hadn't expected the kid to be able to pick up on it.

Peter blew a small huff of air through his nose, almost amusedly. "No offense, sir, but it's always like that. It's just, this time, you're my boss's friend and not one of my dad's competitors trying to get all buddy-buddy with me so I can be their little trump card in winning him over." He swallowed and focused back down on his notebook. "It happens all the time. It's...it's okay, really. It's not me they're interested in. It never is."

Rhodey watched as the kid fiddled with his pencil for a second longer before letting out a little sigh, shutting his notebook as he began to shove it back into his backpack. "Anyway, I...I'm sorry for taking up your time, sir," he murmured softly as he hoisted the bag over his shoulder and stood. "I'll...I'll leave you alone now." He said nothing else as he began to make his way over towards the exit.

The colonel watched the teen begin to leave, his words making a familiar feeling rise up in his gut. A feeling he hadn't felt in decades. A feeling that had him opening his mouth before he could think better of it.

"You know he used to say the same thing."

Peter stopped in the doorway. Rhodey could see him tense as he deliberated whether or not he should actually stay. Thankfully, after a moment, the teen hesitantly turned back, a look of confusion marring his features.

The man let out a small sigh as he stared back at the teen. "Back when we were kids, or well...back when he was a kid. I was, you know, the proper age to be when you're in college," he said with a light chuckle.

"M-Mr. Stark?" Peter asked quietly, remembering reading up on something that had confirmed that Tony had been around his age when he'd gone to college.

Rhodey nodded his head. "Yeah. Tony was...well, I guess...a little like you." He watched as Peter continued to stare back at him with his large hazel eyes, unsure and doubtful. "He was...quiet, reserved, kind of reclusive, definitely nothing like the jackass he is today," he muttered, a small hint of satisfaction flaring in his chest as he watched Peter give a small chuckle.

"Anyway...when I met him, he thought a lot like you, too," He mused, watching as Peter slowly dropped his bag back down on the floor, hesitantly taking a seat on one of the armrests of the nearby chair.

"Considering who his father was, it was safe to assume that a lot of people out there wanted to use him, and on some level...it was true. Kids would use him, teachers would try and blackmail him, even business hacks would try and coax him into revealing some of his father's secrets. There was even a point, when we first met, that he assumed I was using him too."

Peter glanced down at the floor, expression blank, face unreadable.

"Yeah...he thought a lot like you, kid. But it wasn't true then and it still isn't true now."

The teen's eyes quickly lifted back up, Rhodey walking over slowly. He noticed the kid paying particular attention to his movements so he made sure not to get too close this time. "I know where you're coming from, kid. Considering who your dad is, it's not surprising that people try that shit on you all the time."

By the way Peter ducked his head away, Rhodey assumed he'd hit the nail on the head.

"But like I told that bumbling idiot in college, I couldn't give a tiny rat's ass about who your dad is," he scoffed, Peter giving him a strange look. "I'm not doing this for money, or fame, or to avoid getting in trouble with my best buddy - whose ass I could totally kick by the way so I don't know where you're getting your information. I'm doing this...because I want to, because I want to know about that kid standing next to me, whether he's a college kid who's way out of his depth or a new intern working for my friend. Cause to me...he seems like someone worth getting to know, at least enough to ask about how school's going." He winked.

Peter stared up at him, large brown eyes blinking up in a way that made Rhodey understand everything Tony had been rambling on about since he'd first met the teen. "Now, I'm like Tony on this one, kid. This whole thing is a little new to me, so you're just gonna have to be a little patient with me." He smirked. "But I promise I'll get the hang of it sooner or later."

The teen hesitated for a moment, glanced down at the floor in thought as he seemed to absorb everything the colonel had just said. Rhodey actually found himself holding his breath as he watched the kid deliberate. There wasn't much he'd be able to do if the kid didn't feel like giving him a chance to prove himself. However, after a moment, Peter gave a small chuckle as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe you guys should get a book on this or something. I...I think it would save you a lot of hassle."

Rhodey scoffed and rolled his eyes. "What? A How to Talk To Your Company's Newest Child-Intern? You know, I think that's a best seller this year," he muttered while Peter gave a scoff of his own.

"Yeah, you're definitely a friend of Mr. Stark."

"Hey, I take insult to that."

The teen gave a laugh while the Colonel chuckled. The tense feeling that had settled over the two slowly began to evaporate as they sat together, and for the first time, Rhodey finally began to see what both Tony and Pepper had been talking about.

Maybe this kid was as interesting as they said.

"You wanna hear some more embarrassing stories about Tony?"

. . .

. . .

"Yeah."

 

---

 

Date: L$wD *0

Location: 7?#hGt&

Time: 2gl%*5sk

There was a song playing. He knew it. He knew he knew it.

Tony's eyes snapped open as the music filtered into his ears. He knew this song. It was his mother's favorite. It would basically play nonstop in his house all the time. He could rely on it to be playing whenever he would wake up or visit.

But he hadn't heard it in decades. Not since what happened. He just couldn't. It was too painful.

Of course, that wasn't the only strange thing going on around him.

He currently sat in the backseat of his father's car, the familiar feel of the weathered handle where he would scratch nervously felt underneath his hands. He could still feel the fingernail imprints carved into the wood.

He turned towards the front of the car, his hands curling as he took in the sight of his mother and father sitting quietly, not saying a word. He prayed they would remain like that. God forbid they try and speak to him.

Ripping his eyes away from the sight, he gazed around the rest of the backseat and noticed the strangeness of it. While most of it was familiar, there were many things that didn't belong. The various empty bottles of scotch, the tools and inventions strewn about the floor, the red and blue shield lying propped up against the door.

Tony blinked the shock from his eyes and instead turned back towards the seat in front of him. He noticed there was a piece of paper stuck in between the folds of the leather.

Tentatively reaching a shaky hand forward, he wrapped his hand around the paper and pulled it out, revealing it to be a newspaper. Turning it towards him, he noticed it had a large picture of Steve, Bucky, and the Rogue Avengers on the front with a tattered Iron Man suit lying at their feet, a large main headline printed above it in dark, bold, permanent letters.

CAPTAIN AMERICA ENDS THE MADNESS - IRON MAN TURNED TO SCRAP METAL
American Savior kills destructive billionaire in stunning victory

He could feel his fingers curling around the paper, his breath coming out in strangled gasps. Throwing the paper down as fast as he could, Tony ran a hand through his hair as he fought to steady his breathing, though he knew it was a losing battle.

"What's wrong, dear?"

He whipped his head up, meeting his mother's gentle gaze as she turned around in her seat to stare back at him. "You seem a little pale."

Tony couldn't hold back his bitter scoff as he glanced over towards his window. "Yeah, well...that's rich...coming from a dead woman." He growled out, his fingernails cutting into his palms as he clenched his fists. He could hear a small huff sound from the front. "And we just can't disappear fast enough for you, huh?" His father muttered.

Tony narrowed his eyes, his teeth grinding together as he turned fully to stare out the window, only for his eyes to widen at the sight. Before him lay the tattered remains of Sokovia, the city burning before him as bodies lay scattered around the road, charred, bloody, and broken. A large plume of black smoke billowed out into the air, turning the sky a deep shade of grey.

"What is this?" He whispered out, his voice shaking as he stared back up at his parents. He watched his mother stare at him with sadness in her gaze. "You know what this is, baby." She murmured lovingly, gently touching his hand. "This is your legacy."

He turned to stare back out the window, at the paper lying at his feet, at the stained shield next to him. He ripped his hand away. "No...no, I never wanted...this. I just...I tried but..." He couldn't finish. He let out a soft groan as he rested his head in his hands. "I don't even know why I'm talking to you. You're dead." He growled, mostly to himself than to anything else.

"Are we dead? I don't know. I feel pretty real." Howard quipped from the driver's seat.

Tony let out an annoyed sigh and glared back out the window. However, the obvious dismissal did little to deter his father. "I can't say I'm surprised by all of this, son." He muttered from his seat, eyes never leaving the road. "It's the same thing over and over again. You screw up. You try and fix it, and in the end, you just screw it all up even more."

"Gee, thanks, Dad," Tony muttered, trying not to let the true effect of the words show on his face.

"And now you're going about it again."

As he continued to stare out the window, Tony couldn't help but sit up a little straighter as he caught sight of something in the distance, standing next to the road. He narrowed his eyes as the car drove closer, inching himself towards the window as he placed a hand against the glass. As they quickly approached, his eyes widened in shock as the car sped past Peter, Tony catching the empty look on the teen's face as they shot past.

"You honestly think you can help this boy?"

He whipped back around towards the front, where his father was still speaking. His mother had turned back around to face the road, her loving eyes now nowhere in sight, leaving him alone to the mercy of his father's words.

"Come on now, Tony! You can barely even help yourself! And you certainly couldn't help us."

The billionaire furrowed his brow, never even noticing as the surroundings outside the car began to change, the burning city being replaced with a dark, silent road, no other cars in sight save for the lone motorcycle coming up behind them.

"You couldn't even catch our killer."

BANG!

Tony slammed painfully into the side of the car as it jerked back, the treeline along the side of the road speeding closer.

CRRAAASSSHHH!

 

---

 

Friday - March 25, 2016

Stark Tower - Living Quarters

04:13 p.m.

Tony jerked awake violently, his eyes wild and his chest heaving as he fought to remember where he was. taking a second to drink in the sight of the sleek walls and clean furniture, he slowly began to realize he was in the Tower. Blinking away the last remnants of his dream, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, placing his head in his hands as he concentrated on keeping his breathing even and steady.

It had become sort of a routine after every nightmare he had. Safe to say, he was basically a pro at it by now.

Still, such a thing didn't make the dreams any easier to deal with. Dragging a hand down his face, the man rested his hands against his mouth as he stared down at the floor, the sound of crunching metal and fading music ringing in his ears.

He didn't know how long he sat there, staring blankly at the tiled floors, thinking of how many bottles he could down before Rhodes or one of the others came to check up on him. Finally, a tired sigh fell from his lips as he rose up to his feet, the blanket that had been situated on his lap falling to the floor.

Absentmindedly, he reached down to pick it up, only to take note of the fact that it hadn't been there when he'd first fallen asleep. With a furrowed brow, he stared down at the cloth before realization finally pinged in the back of his mind. And to think he didn't even bring me my sleeping mask. He thought to himself, unable to keep the small smile from his face.

Folding the blanket quickly, he placed it down on the couch and glanced over at his watch. I should be able to get those reactor blueprints out before Peter gets here and- His eyes grew as wide as saucers as he stared down at the hands on his watch, shaking his wrist frantically as he wondered momentarily if his watch was broken.

He'd been asleep for nearly FIVE hours!

And Peter was already here...

Shit.

He was in the elevator before he could even blink, shouting at FRIDAY to take him to whatever level the kid was on while simultaneously cursing out his best friend for not waking him up, any and all warm feelings he'd been having towards him quickly going up in flames. He tried to ignore the ringing echo of his father's words as the elevator doors opened up onto the new floor.

Combing a hand through his hair while simultaneously placing a pair of sunglasses over his assumingly dead eyes, Tony slid his hands over his suit in an attempt to rid his appearance of any and all traces of the sluggishness he was feeling as he approached the lounge corner.

The sound of Peter's voice met his ears. He opened his mouth, a snarky quip on the tip of his tongue as he made to round the corner, only to freeze as he took in the sight before him.

"No, he did not!"

"I swear! I swear he did! Anyway, it was easy for him to get the cow up the stairs, but nobody could get it down. So all in all, the school had to call in a crane just to get it out of the stairway."

"And nobody ratted him out?"

"Well I mean, once people figured out it was him, his street-cred in the school basically skyrocketed. Nobody was gonna ruin that. The respect was real. Besides, everyone was just having a good time watching the dean go into hysterics."

Peter couldn't help the laughs that spilled from him, his hands going to cover his mouth as his eyes shut, his body hunching over on the couch as he fought to take a breath. It was a losing battle. Rhodey sat on one of the adjacent couches, a similar smile on his face while Pepper stood behind him, an amused glint in her eyes. Happy sat on the armrest of another couch, his eyes rolling in exasperation while a small smile graced his lips.

"You think that's bad?" Pepper scoffed. "You haven't lived until you're in a meeting with the Senate and your boss hacks the PA system to loop the Macarena throughout the entire building."

"Are you serious? Peter gasped, mouth ajar as more giggles spilled out.

"They called the meeting out early. He only did it cause he was hungry and wanted some Chick-fil-A." Happy muttered

Peter exploded into another fit of laughter, only this time, the others were quick to follow. Honestly, Tony didn't know whether to be happy or annoyed. Probably a little of both, with a sprinkling of pride. Those really were some of his best moments.

"You say that like I should regret those actions but don't pretend that you weren't ordering a breakfast sandwich right alongside me."

He watched as all four people turned to face him, a strange feeling sparking in his chest as he watched Peter's already cheery expression grow even happier as he caught sight of his mentor, a large smile spreading on his face.

Judging by the looks Pepper, Rhodey and Happy were giving him, they had caught the teen's shift as well. He cast them small glared of warning before turning towards the teen, clapping him on the shoulder. Peter only tensed for a moment before relaxing. "What's up, kiddo? Been looking all over for you."

Peter showed no signs of annoyance at having to wait for the man, simply beaming up at him as he glanced back over towards Rhodey. "I was just talking to Colonel R-"

"Rhodey, kid." The colonel corrected, folding his arms over his chest as he threw the teen a smile. "It's just Rhodey."

"Heh...Rhodey. I was talking to Rhodey. He has some...interesting stories about you," he said, choosing his words carefully as he gazed back up at the man. "Does he, now?" Tony asked, casting the man a look to which Rhodes held up his hands innocently.

"Well, I might just have to return the favor sometime. After all, I'm not the only one with a colorful history." He scoffed, smirk growing as he caught sight of the colonel's pale look.

Pepper let out an amused huff as she smoothed her hands along the hem of her skirt. "Well, I, unfortunately, don't have time to play games and swap stories like you boys." She teased, the men throwing her light glares as she patted them on the shoulder before resting a gentle hand on Peter's head. The teen ducked slightly before letting a small smile rest on his face. "I'll see you later, Peter." She called sweetly as Happy began to follow her out, patting the teen on the shoulder as he left.

"See you later, Happy. Bye, Ms. P - Pepper." He corrected, remembering how she'd chastised him in a similar manner to Rhodey.

Said man rose up to his feet, the soft whirring of his braces meeting their ears. "I have some work to do as well. So if I'm excused from Babysitting Detail..." He murmured, sending a wink Peter's way while the kid just chuckled.

As he walked over, he and Tony shared a silent look. Rhodey gave a small smile to the inquisitive look on his friend's face, nodding his head in a knowing fashion. Tony glanced back down towards Peter before giving a smile of his own. Told ya' so. His gaze seemed to say.

"See ya' Tones." The man said, clasping a hand on his shoulder as he began to make his way out of the room. "See you later, Squirt."

Tony turned to watch him leave, his chest feeling much lighter than it had in a while. He rested his hand on Peter's shoulder as the teen looked up at him expectantly. "Well, you ready to go to work?" He asked with a smirk.

Peter grinned once again, his hazel eyes seeming to glow with anticipation as he began to bounce around on his feet while Tony lead him towards the elevator, the action reminding Tony of an excited puppy. "Yeah! I was thinking about those designs for the reactor and I came up with some new ideas last night!"

"Last night? You mean when you should have been sleeping and dreaming like a good little Spider-Child?" He scolded in a mocking tone.

"What makes you think I didn't dream about these designs?"

Tony couldn't help but snort out a laugh at that, Peter doing the same by his side as they walked. After a minute, Peter's face grew thoughtful, his nose scrunching up slightly, something Tony had noticed only happened when he had a question he was a little unsure of asking.

"I know that look, kid," he called, Peter glancing up at him. "What's on your mind?"

. . .

. . .

"In your junior year of college, did you really get your hand stuck in a vending machine?"

"...I paid for my Doritos. I was getting my Doritos."

 

---

 

Friday - March 25, 2016

NYC - Upper East Side

08:05 p.m.

The sky was dark and clouded. There was no moon tonight.

Peter stared up at where he imaged the moon could be, crumpling up the sandwich wrapper in his hands, a remnant of his latest reward from the nice Chinese family whose tire he'd helped fix earlier that night.

Stomach pleasantly full for the first time that day, Peter let out a deep breath and shut his eyes, letting his legs dangle over the rooftop ledge as he let the late-March breeze hit the only parts of his face that were exposed, mask now pulled up over the bridge of his nose.

It had been a relatively quiet night, save for a couple carjackers and an ATM robbery here and there. So, finding himself with little to do, Peter had taken up one of the nearby rooftops to survey for anything else that needed his intervention while taking a second to relax.

Peter lifted his head to glance up at the muggy sky overtop, the dark swatches of muted color hovering just above him. Something about the sight reminded him of that night, standing on his balcony talking to the last person he'd ever expected to meet. He hadn't lied to Mr. Stark that night. With how severe the light pollution of New York was, Peter had never really seen a sky full of stars. He'd seen movies, paintings, pictures online, glow-in-the-dark ceiling stickers from an age long past, but never with his own eyes.

He tiled his head, let his gaze drift past the lights of the Hudson River. If he squinted, he could just make out the silhouette of his house in the shadows.

He could feel his fingers twitch slightly as he stared at the building before silently turning away. Mr. Stark had allowed him to head out as Spider-Man straight from the Tower that night with the addendum of making sure to save at least one kitten. Peter had chuckled, promised he'd do his best and had headed out, completely bypassing his house since nobody was there to miss him.

It was nice putting his suit on without constantly looking over his shoulder.

Recently, he'd taken to stashing his suit on the rooftop of his building inside the compartment of their large air conditioning unit. Keeping it in his room was too risky now that Mr. Stark had displayed how easy it was to find his suit, even with his newly-built secret compartment. God forbid the Cons ever do their monthly sweep of his room and find it stashed away.

God forbid they ever figure out he was Spider-Man.

Peter let out a sigh, cast a wary glance around to make sure nobody was present, and pulled his mask off, relishing in the immediate sweep of air that brushed past his face. He rested it in his hands, glancing down at it as he brushed his thumbs over the lenses. His suit was so different now from what he'd first started with. And even then...it hadn't started with a suit at all.

("Why are we doing this, Dad?")

("We're going to help people, Peter. We're going to help you.")

He remembered a lot of it. Not all - there had been too many to count - but the more invasive tests he remembered. He remembered how frustrated his father used to get, seeing no results in his own son, nothing but failure after failure. Peter remembered feeling so helpless, so useless, unable to do anything to cease his father's growing anger. So he'd taken the tests without complaint. It was the least he could have done.

Still, his father worked. He'd work into the night, throughout the mornings, leaving Peter alone for hours, days, weeks even. He'd see nothing of the man save for an occasional glimpse of him as Peter would bring him his dinner (or at least, the dinner May and Ben would bring over for him). He remembered the confusion, the loneliness.

But most of all, he remembered when the Cons first showed up.

In the beginning, they were nice, sweet even. They would work with his father for most of the day, but sometimes they would play with Peter, listening to him talk about his neighbors across the street, the new toys they'd bought him, the shirts they'd gotten for him that were almost exactly like what his mother used to by.

Then they'd started to watch him whenever his father would be busy and May and Ben were working.

They stopped being so nice after a while.

Then they really stopped being nice.

Thinking back on it, Peter supposed he couldn't be too angry, not with his father. He had finally gotten fed up with Peter's lack of results so he'd brought in people who could do something, people he could work with, and they had produced. He remembered watching them test out their new powers, watching how happy his father seemed, how satisfied.

Of course, that was right around the time when his father stopped letting him work under his desk, stopped ruffling his hair when he passed, stopped looking at him with anything but pure disdain.

And Peter knew why. He'd failed his father. He'd failed where the Cons hadn't.

Which is why when Peter pushed through those two days of near-fatal fevers after being shoved into his father's failed spider-serum experiment to find that he'd finally acquired powers, he'd immediately assumed that things would finally go back to normal.

They didn't. If anything, they got worse.

Peter stopped asking his father questions, stopped trying to treat the Cons as anything other than threats to hide from, stopped wondering about what his father was always doing in his lab.

So when his father included a newly renovated lab beneath the floorboards of their revamped house, Peter had remained silent. When he started to see strangers, workers, new scientists all milling around in the sub-levels, Peter had remained silent. When he watched his father's workers bring in their first haul of stolen goods, Peter had remained silent.

("There's only so much my company can specialize in, Peter. Sometimes we need to...branch out. Find materials elsewhere. You understand?")

That was before he'd stopped talking to Peter. Before he'd started to expect nothing but silence.

And for the longest time, Peter remained silent. There was nothing for him to say, nothing for him to do. His father was trying to help people, that much he was sure of, had been sure of since he was little. And the mistakes he made along the way? What could Peter do to stop them? What could he do to help?

Of course, that was before Ben. Before the suit. But Peter remembered when it first came into the picture.

("You wanna grab some ice-cream, bud? You look like you could use it. Maybe then we can talk about that shiner you got there.")

Peter was grateful the mask was off, for suddenly the air around him felt muggy and humid. Suffocating.

Ben was always trying to make him feel better. He and May. Where his father had sunken into his work, his neighbors had risen into the roles that were sorely lacking. He remembered them cooking dinner, shopping for clothes with him, surprising him with gifts on Christmas morning when he'd snuck out first thing that morning (before the lock on the front door existed) to be with them.

And even as his father continued to change, they never did. They would sneak him over for dinner once his father had implemented the fridge lock (at the Cons' suggestion), helped him with homework he could easily do on his own, cleaned up the cuts and bruises he would "get at school", sharing concerned looks about the cuts and bruises he'd definitely not gotten at school.

(He remembered listening to them scream at his father from his room, remembered watching May cry the next time he came over with a bloody nose, remembered how angry Ben had looked. But most of all, he remembered the fact that after that last talk with his father, they never tried to again. And it was then that Peter had learned that he wasn't the only one who was scared of his father.)

And despite their attempts to get Peter to spill something about his father, despite how annoyed he would grow to become whenever he'd have to fend off their inquiries, Ben and May Brenner had quickly risen to fill the hole that had appeared when his mother had died and his father had disappeared down in that lab forever.

Then Ben was killed.

Because he just had to move in front of Peter, in front of the bullet.

He just had to talk to the monster.

("You're my champ. You know that, right?")

May didn't blame him like he blamed himself. But how could he not blame himself? It seemed that everyone he loved, everyone who ever tried to protect him just ended up suffering because of it, because of him.

He looked at that alleyway the same way he looked at the hallway closet. With guilt.

Peter glanced down at his hands, at the mask resting in his grip.

It was then that he swore to never be the one being shielded behind someone else's bravery, someone else's courage. Instead, he would be the one protecting others. He would be the one in front of the closet, in front of the bullet, in front of the monsters. He would be the one to make sure nobody ever cried for their mom or mourned their husband.

He would be the one to make sure nobody ever felt the way he felt. Because nobody deserved to feel alone.

Saving his father from his mistakes was just a bonus. Because now he could do something. Spider-Man could do something. Spider-Man could help.

And even though Peter knew of the dangers of living as Spider-Man under the same roof as the man whose work he was constantly interfering with, he knew he had no choice. With each robbery he stopped, each haul of chemicals he prevented his father from stealing from this plant or that, he knew he was helping him, helping the man, even if he couldn't understand it now.

With each mistake he made, his father turned deeper and deeper down a road Peter couldn't let him get lost on. Every bad decision, every questionable choice was just another step down that path.

So, Spider-Man was an obstacle. A diversion keeping him from sinking too deep. His father would make his mistakes and Spider-Man would fix them. He would keep him from getting lost.

A car engine roared in the distance. Peter's ears twitched at the noise as it echoed against the buildings before fading from his senses. He took a deep breath, held it in his lungs for a moment.

Sooner or later, his father would learn. He would grow and move on from his work, his experiments that seemed to have no point, no end in sight. He would stop sending out goons to rob the nearest chemical plants, stop forcing Spider-Man to go out and stop them. The Cons would leave, walk out of their lives forever and it would just be the two of them again.

("You know I love you, Peter.")

Richard Parker was a good man.

Peter knew it. And Spider-Man would help keep it that way until he came to his senses.

Peter stared down at the mask for a second longer before shutting his eyes, a tired sigh slipping past his lips as he simply focused on breathing for a moment. Just in and out. Back and forth. Repeat. His fingers twitched against the mask. The wind blew strands of hair across his forehead. A scream tickled his ears.

...Wait.

Quickly jolting into action, the teen shoved the mask back onto his head and rose up to his feet. In the distance, he could see a haze of glowing orange light crackling and illuminating the darkened sky as a plume of grey smoke rose up. Narrowing his eyes, he raised his arm and fired a web at the nearest building, leaping off the ledge as he began to swing towards the explosion.

Within a few moments, the teen was jumping on the roof of the building next to the explosion. Glancing over at the front of the building, Spidey took notice of the fact that he was standing before one of the larger chemical plants on the East Side.

Great.

That most likely meant the explosion came from inside. Turning back towards the building itself, Peter noticed that the bottom half of the structure was glowing a bright orange, the windows shattering as flames poured out. The rest of the building itself looked as if it'd just been hit with a category four earthquake. The people who had been lucky enough to escape before the front door was compromised stood in front of the building as the structure whined in protest. The walls were cracked and crumbling. The windows were shattered, glass littering the floor like a glittery carpet and the metal foundations creaked ominously. From inside, more rumbling explosions could be heard.

Something tells me this thing isn't gonna hold for much longer. Peter thought to himself as he fired a web at the most structurally sound part of the wall before him and swung forward.

Leaping through one of the broken windows, the teen rolled along the ground of the second floor, which thankfully didn't seem to be on fire yet (though the warmth of the floor below told him he didn't have much time) before hopping back to his feet. Inside, small flames smoldered in the corners of the room, not big enough to cause him concern, but the loud creaking and groaning underneath his feet was.

Quickly spotting two employees huddled in the corner, the ground splintering underneath their shivering feet, Spider-Man leapt into action. Glancing back over towards the window, he noticed two lampposts situated right outside the window. Firing a few webs, he successfully created a hammock out of the sticky substance, hoisted between the two posts.

Without another thought, the teen fired another two webs at the employees, tugging them forward just as the ground fell away under their feet. He could still hear them screaming as he hurled them out the window, where they landed safely on the webbing.

Moving from room to room on that floor, Spidey continued the process with every employee he found, hurling them to safety before moving on to the next one. As he continued to work, he could feel the air becoming thicker as smoke from the lower levels continued to filter through.

On the third floor, the vigilante entered the last room he'd yet to clear, webbing up the man on the floor and yanking him to safety seconds before the huge filing cabinet could land on him. Hoisting the unconscious man into his arms, Peter shuffled over towards the window and smashed it with his elbow, webbing up another safety net before hurling the man out as well. He watched the paramedics hoist him down from the webs as he turned away.

Racing towards the stairwell once again, Spidey felt his heart thudding in his chest as he caught sight of the smoldering flames that seemed to blanket the bottom floor. He felt an unsettling feeling settle into his stomach at the sight but pushed it away, realizing there were most likely more people trapped down there. People who needed him.

However, before he could launch himself down towards the lower level, a sharp tingling erupted in the back of his head. Eyes widening, he had just enough sense to launch himself towards the nearest window before another explosion shook the entire building. He could feel the heat prickling at his back as the force of the explosion propelled him through the window.

As he tumbled through the air, he could just make out the approaching roof ledge he was hurtling towards. Bracing himself to tumble against the rough concrete, Peter did not expect to careen into another large warm force as he fell. However, the grunt of pain (that didn't come from him) that sounded on impact let him know that it was definitely another person that he'd just rammed into. However, he didn't have much time to process that as he rolled along the roof, shards of glass and gravel piercing his skin painfully as his limbs twisted incorrectly.

As he rolled to a stop, the teen simply lay there for a moment, struggling to catch his breath as he scrunched his eyes in pain. His ears rang painfully in his head, a sharp grating noise that made him want to grab at his temples.

Pushing down the nausea that had suddenly sprouted in the back of his throat, Peter let out a pained groan as he slowly pushed himself to his hands and knees. As he tried to fight through the blistering pain thudding against his skull, he vaguely tried to recall what it was he'd rammed into on his way up. He didn't think he'd thrown any civilians onto the roofs, but perhaps he was wrong.

As he slowly began to crack open his eyes once again, his senses flared once more as the sound of a clicking safety pin tickled his ears. Snapping open his eyes, he couldn't help the strangled gasp of shock that fell from his lips at the sight before him.

But what reaction could one expect when they were staring down the barrel of a gun, held by none other than one Sam Wilson in full Falcon gear as he leveled a steely-eyed glare.

To be honest, not how he'd imagined his night to go.