MJ

5:01 PM

Tomorrow. Before school. 6:45.

5:01 PM

Stadium Field. Under the bleachers.

. . .

. . .

5:02 PM

Be there.

 

---

 

Sunday - May 1, 2016

Stark Tower - Penthouse Floor

06:43 PM

"Sir...Sir, I understand that, but-"

. . .

"I do know what emergency means, thank you very much. But it's been, what - three days since they infiltrated the facility? What good would it do, him being there now?"

. . .

"If I recall, section 3, subsection 2B of the Accords hasn't been approved yet, Sir. So you can't technically demand his presence at the scene."

. . .

"Well nothing was stolen, correct? And nobody was too badly injured?"

. . .

"How is that not the point?"

. . .

"Sir, Colonel Rhodes is more than capable of handling any and all of your concerns. That's why he's down there."

. . .

"As I said before, Sir, Mr. Stark is in the middle of a medical emergency that I am not at liberty to discuss otherwise he'd be telling you all of this himself, most likely with much less pleasantry."

. . .

"Yes. Yes, I- Of course, sir. Thank you, sir."

Pepper tossed the phone to the floor none-too-gently as Ross ended the call, letting out a loud sigh as she dragged a hand down her face, back pressing hard into the wall behind her.

"Guessing it went well?" Tony mumbled with a half-smirk and a tired drawl that hung off the end of his words.

The woman groaned, leaning her head back with a thud. "Suddenly, I completely understand why you always put him on hold."

Tony would have responded, but right then, another wave of nausea forced him to lean back over the toilet, dispelling another bout of bile into the waters below. Pepper didn't say anything, just watched with a passive look of weariness.

The lights in the bathroom were dim, illuminating just enough for the pair to see the vague details of the room. Towels, blankets, and pillows littered the floor along with empty glass cups, tissues, pill bottles, cracker boxes, and a mountain of ever-warming water bottles.

Tony's stomach rolled a few more times, but everything had well and truly been expelled. He groaned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning his body against the toilet, resting his head in his hand as he took a deep, shuddery breath and glanced over at Pepper. "Sorry you...had to deal with...him..." his voice trailed off into a breathy pant at the sheer energy it took to speak.

Pepper's face remained ever calm as she grabbed one of the water bottles and popped the cap, stretching it out before him. "Drink."

He didn't bother arguing, didn't have the energy for it. Pepper continued, eyeing him carefully as if making sure he was drinking enough to satisfy her. "Don't worry about it. I'm used to cleaning up messes. Though it's usually your messes I'm dealing with so this is a bit out of left field for me."

Tony all but dropped his hand away from his mouth, the bottle following as it hit his leg with a soft little thud. Pepper carefully reached over and pulled it from his grasp before he could spill it. He swallowed, thankful for the slight reprieve from the bitter dryness that had been filling his mouth for the past few days.

It had started on early Friday morning, those first trembles in his hands that slowly spread to the rest of his body, followed by strong waves of nausea and skull-splitting headaches. After a while, when the nausea had refused to cease, Tony elected to just stay in the bathroom, Pepper complying by bringing in a few pillows and blankets to stretch along the cold tile floor.

Things had considerably worsened in the hours to follow.

Now, Tony could barely even see straight as he continued to lean up against the toilet, confident he would literally collapse to the floor if he tried to sit up without support. The nausea was constant now, an ever-present rolling in his stomach that refused to let him sleep, making him grit his teeth and swallow down the churning liquids that threatened to bubble past his throat. His skin seemed to tingle with nerves and a pulsing heat, the erratic beating of his heart making his ears ring and his vision wobble.

He pressed his fingers against his eyes, could practically feel the throbbing force of the headache thumping just past his fingertips, could hear it grating against his eyes, clawing at his skull in sharp, poignant stabs of agony. But even with the crippling pain in his head, the billionaire still heard Pepper's words, and apparently, still had enough energy to feel exasperated.

"What...were they thinking?" he mumbled.

Pepper seemed to know what he was talking about, glancing down at the phone she'd tossed to the floor. "They didn't take anything even though they broke into the storage vaults. That and a records room."

Tony groaned, a pitifully quiet noise that trickled from his lips.

Apparently Thursday had been a busy day for everybody, Rogues included. The billionaire actually had to feel a stab of gratitude for his current predicament, otherwise, he'd no doubt have to be in DC dealing with the apparent break-in at the hands of Captain America and his merry band of idiots.

He mulled over the woman's words, sluggishly circulating them through his brain at a snail's pace until they finally started to make sense. "They were looking for something?" His voice was raspy and low.

"But what though? What are they even doing in DC? Why are they risking detection by breaking into random government buildings?"

Tony spit into the toilet, grimacing at the dry scratch in the back of his throat. "I don't know. And honestly...I don't care."

His apathy for his ex-teammates had already been growing in the past few weeks and in his half-conscious state, he literally couldn't bring himself to give a damn. He leaned his head down against his arm, shutting his eyes as he focused on breathing deep, steady breaths that kept his mind away from the frothing mess that was his stomach, away from the constant chills wracking his shuddering frame and the sweat dripping down his face from the heat brimming just underneath his goosebumped skin, away from the deep-seated agony burning all throughout his body.

He felt the blanket around his shoulders get pulled tighter around his form. He peeled his eyes back open and watched as Pepper readjusted the thick cloth, tucking it firmly against his shivering frame. She sat back on her haunches, staring at him with a soft, searching gaze.

"How are you feeling?" Her voice was gentle, a lull of music to his otherwise ringing ears.

"Like I'm having the worst hangover of my life. Which is pretty ironic all things considered."

She hummed, reaching for the water bottle again and extending it out to him. "You need to stay hydrated. You're losing a lot of fluids."

He grunted as he wearily latched his fingers around the bottle again. But he didn't bring it up to his lips. Instead, he rubbed the tip of his finger against the label wrapping around the plastic, picking at a lifted corner of the paper. He could feel Pepper watching him, could almost hear her thoughts racing through her head. He sighed, fiddling with the cap.

"Pep, you...you don't need to do this. Go help Rhodey. I-I got this."

He didn't even believe the words coming out of his mouth. But something in him just couldn't help but say them, couldn't help but offer the woman a free pass, an excuse to get away from the disgusting mess that was this situation.

Pepper's face didn't lose its soothing glow as she gently grabbed the man's hand - still clutching tightly onto the water bottle - and guided it closer to his face. He took over from there, dribbling a few more pitiful drops onto his tongue.

"Rhodey's a big boy. He can handle himself."

"So can I."

"...What day is it?"

Tony blinked, faltering slightly as he glanced up. He swallowed or at least tried to as he racked his brain, tried to pinpoint how long they'd been in there. But just the effort of remembering back to Friday made another blinding stab of pain pierce his skull as spots began to dance before his eyes. He gritted his teeth and rested his head back down onto his arm. "Not fair..."

He heard the woman give a small chuckle as she began to card her hand through his hair. It was little relief from the breath-rattling pain burning throughout his entire form, but the little comfort it did bring was appreciated.

"It's alright," she murmured softly. "I know you're in pain. I'm not going to leave you right now so you can go ahead and drop that idea." She tapped her fingers gently across his cheek. "It's Sunday, by the way."

"Sunday..." he echoed softly before shrugging. "I'm just gonna go ahead and take your word for it." In all honesty, it could have been December and he wouldn't have been able to tell.

Pepper continued to brush her fingers through his hair, not seeming to mind how moist it was from the sweat beading down his face. "I'm proud of you, Tony." Her voice was soft, a soothing echo that quietly bounced off the walls. "You know that, right?"

He hummed again, tried to let the words take away some of the grinding in his head or the churning in his gut. "Yeah, but maybe save that for when I'll definitely remember it. In fact, maybe just record it for posterity."

She smiled, dragged her hand away from his hair, and moved it to his forehead. He bit back a groan of relief as her cool skin brushed up against the burning surface of his own. She pulled it away all too soon, only to replace it with a damp washcloth, gently patting it around his face and down the side of his neck. "Your fever feels like it's going down. Any more hallucinations?"

Tony willed more energy into his eyes, forcing them to open once more. He scanned the walls, searched for any more moving shadows or encroaching black figures. "None that I can see." He shut his eyes again. "Then again, you very well could just be one bossy fever dream. You sure you're real?"

She rolled her eyes and flicked his cheek with the towel. "I'm very real, thank you very much."

The smile that had begun to pull at his lips slowly disappeared as he blinked, glancing down at the ground as he ran over her words again, rolled them around in his head like a marble bumping around an empty box. "Sunday..." he whispered more to himself than to her, but she heard nonetheless, furrowing her brows at him.

"Tony?"

"Tomorrow's Monday?"

"Yes..."

He glanced up at her for a moment, taking in the confirmation in her eyes before dropping his head again, running his fingers along his temple. "Peter comes on Mondays," he sighed, a sudden weight seeming to sit on his chest as he sucked in another rattling breath.

Pepper stared at him before glancing down at the washcloth in her hands. "Do you want me to tell him not to?"

"No," Tony said immediately, the fastest he'd responded in hours. "No, he'll...get all nervous. Probably think I'm having second thoughts about...No, just...I'll deal."

Tomorrow would mark the first day they'd seen each other since their talk, since their deal. Tony probably would have felt anxious if his body had the energy for it. But thinking of Peter just reminded the man of why he was doing this in the first place, who he was doing this for, because it definitely wasn't for himself. At least...not just for himself.

Pepper didn't seem all that convinced however as she threw him a concerned look. "Tony-"

"It's been three days since my last drink, Pep. The hallucinations are gone. The fever's going down. I should be fine by tomorrow."

He knew it probably wasn't true and if the scrunching of Pepper's face was any indication, she thought the same.

"Should be. But you don't know for sure. It's different for everyone. You might still have symptoms for a few days."

Tony narrowed his eyes, thought back to Thursday night, to the glass on the floor and the look in the kid's eyes. He clenched his fist, felt the tips of his fingers brushing up against the scars on his palm.

"I'm not canceling."

Pepper held his gaze for a moment before turning away with a sigh, holding up her hands in surrender. "Alright, alright." She pursed her lips and stared at him with a strict look. "Then that means you really need to take it easy tonight."

The billionaire couldn't help but scoff, shakily reaching out towards the pillow laying a little ways away, dragging it closer as he all but deflated onto the floor. "No problem." He dragged the blanket tighter over himself as he tried to absorb as much from the cool tile floor as possible, if only to alleviate the burning heat still crawling up his neck.

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Pepper began to grab at one of the spare pillows and began to fluff it. He sighed and lifted his head. "At least go take the bed, would you?" He sighed, not really wanting the woman to have to spend the night on the bathroom floor.

Pepper, however, seemed to completely ignore his words as she set the pillow down right next to his, laying down and reaching a hand out to grab his, latching her cold fingers around his burning ones. "Shut up and go to sleep," she murmured with a smile, gently caressing the back of his hand.

The man gazed back at her, staring into the deep blue of her eyes as he huffed out a little laugh.

"A really bossy fever dream."

 

---

 

Monday - May 2, 2016

Midtown School of Science and Technology - Stadium Field

06:30 AM

The sun was just starting to peek over the horizon, stretching over the sky into a calming wash of lavender, clouds dotting the surface in light pink waves. The light had yet to truly pierce over the buildings though, leaving a distinct nip in the air from its absence.

Peter walked in silence, listening to the sounds of his footsteps as he walked up the steps from the subway, breaking through the dismal gray of the underground and out into the burst of chilly air up above. He tightened his grip on his backpack with the one hand he could still properly move, hoisting it higher over his shoulder as he glanced down.

His left middle and ring fingers were bandaged together, the wrappings tight and restrictive. He could still make out the slight discoloration of the skin from underneath the bandage and the slightly crooked nature of the appendages.

Max had remembered.

But all in all, Peter considered himself quite lucky, for the man hadn't had enough time for a "proper" lesson, settling for snapping two of his fingers instead, as a "quickie."

("Why did you let him do it?")

Peter flexed his fingers as best he could, grimacing slightly before shoving his hand back into his pocket. He was very lucky.

He hadn't expected to come out of meeting Steve Rogers with such minimal damages. So if a couple of broken fingers were the price to pay for pulling off as unbelievable a feat as hiding a bullheaded super-soldier, then he'd take what he could get.

Peter blew a harsh sigh from his lips, pinching his face slightly as he fought to dispel the thoughts from his mind. He'd wasted enough time that weekend thinking about Steve Rogers and honestly, he'd be fine never thinking about it again because right now, he had something bigger on his plate.

The school was already coming into view now.

It was like clockwork. As soon as his eyes landed on the building, Peter felt his throat tighten with such force, he was shocked he was still able to breathe. It was startling, the sudden onset of nerves that began to trickle down his skin, bumping up against his jacket and curling around his bones like a poison that settled in his blood.

It was so strong that Peter actually found himself wavering in his steps as he began to approach the building, legs locking as his heart began to stutter, a dying car battery thudding on its last dregs. He could feel his phone in his pocket, feel the weight of it tugging him down to the ground, burning a hole in his pants, searing against his skin.

They were waiting for him.

Ned and Michelle...they were waiting for him.

He tried not to linger too much on the unsettling undertones of the short messages he'd received yesterday, nor on the fact that it had been MJ to text him and not Ned, who had been spamming his phone for the better part of the weekend. But he couldn't help the thrumming air of unease that seemed to have followed him from home.

It had been days since he'd last seen his friends, since he'd last talked to them. Not even his phone, which had been bombarded by messages, had elicited a response from him. Every time he even thought about responding to one of Ned's texts or MJ's calls, Peter's hand would freeze and his finger would curl back against his palm like there was a literal shield around his phone, an impenetrable force that he couldn't break through.

Friday, after his father and the Cons had departed early in the morning once more, Peter had elected to stay home again, stayed holed up in his room, his phone a good toss away from him.

He supposed he had to be a little grateful for Rogers and his impromptu soap-boxing, for the encounter had left him too exhausted to even think about going outside, like the energy he'd had to conjure up just to talk to the man had drained him of everything. He supposed he had Mr. Stark to thank for that. Two months ago, he never would have dreamed of shouting at someone who could very easily rip him in half.

It still wasn't very easy, though. After Rogers had left, the sheer anxious energy that had built up over the night from the screaming and - most notably - the touching had led to him sitting in the bathroom for a good long while, gripping the edges of the toilet so tightly there were now cracks in the porcelain from his violent retching.

But now there was no Rogers. There was no bone-deep exhaustion. There was nothing keeping him from stepping inside of that school again, no excuses keeping him from his friends.

But the churning in his stomach? That had only grown stronger and stronger.

Peter kept his eyes locked on the looming structure before him, blinking as the first few rays of sunlight began to peek out over the top of the building and seeped into his eyes. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the time.

6:36 AM

It took him a while to really register the numbers staring back up at him, took him even longer to uncurl his fingers around the phone and slip it back into his pocket as his body began to shiver with phantom chills, a notable cold tingle that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

This early in the morning, the school was quiet. Kids didn't really start showing up until seven, leaving the air quiet and undisturbed as he walked, his feet crunching underneath the damp grass below. But Peter almost found himself wishing for more kids, wishing for the sound of their loud voices, the revving of the busses, even the chiming of their phones, anything to keep him from listening to the steady pounding of his heart or the soft whisper of words that slowly began to trickle into his head.

("I'm glad we got to talk, Peter. I look forward to seeing you again.")

His heart hammered, an unsteady fluttering that made his hands shake.

He hadn't thought of O'Hara in days, not since the chaos of the past few days had started. With all the craziness of Tony and his father and the press swirling around, the words and the flowers and the sickly sweet coldness of her eyes had been pushed to the back of his mind, along with any and all feeling surrounding them.

But now that craziness was gone. Mr. Stark wasn't here. And all he could feel was that icy grip of cold air beginning to tighten around his lungs.

The thought of seeing that woman again, of even being in the same building as her made him itch to run, but he kept his feet rooted to the ground, kept his legs steady and his eyes steeled. He could still feel his phone in his pockets, could practically hear the chimes echoing in his ears, one for each text they'd sent, every message pleading for him to respond.

You're gonna have to face them eventually, Parker.

He knew it was true. He couldn't exactly avoid his school forever, especially since his father probably wouldn't be too happy about his growing number of absences. Still, it didn't help to settle the prickling of his skin or the sudden dryness of his mouth as he walked across the lawn of the school, the back stadium growing closer with each step, and the dread in his stomach sinking deeper and deeper.

 

---

 

"Would you stop pacing already? It's getting on my nerves."

Ned paused in his marching, turning his head to throw Michelle an indignant frown. "I'm sorry, alright? I'm stressing out over here!" he huffed, voice terse and high-pitched.

They'd been waiting for twenty minutes already and safe to say they were starting to get on each others' nerves. Multiple times Ned had insisted on sending Peter another text, only for Michelle to shoot it down and demand they wait for him like the original plan. The teen still had a few minutes until their scheduled meet-time, and Michelle wasn't planning on seeming any more desperate than Ned had already established.

Said boy bit his lower lip before glancing down at his hands, fiddling with his fingers as he shuffled his feet. "I...I'm worried."

"Shocker. It's hard to tell what with you bouncing off the walls every two seconds."

He turned back to her, eyes narrowing as his face tightened into a stern glare he usually reserved for Flash. "Really? You're gonna chose right now to be a jerk?"

Michelle held his stare for a moment before folding her arms over her chest and glancing away. "What do you want me to say, Leeds?" Her voice wasn't so much defensive as it was troubled, bordering on weary.

Ned's burning gaze seemed to falter at the girl's tone of voice, his hands stuffing deep into his pockets as he blew a sigh past his lips, glancing up at the bleacher bottoms overtop their heads. "I don't know."

There was nobody on the football fields today, no practices or drills taking place just beyond the seats, leaving them in uneasy silence as they waited. With the sun still struggling to rise, their waiting spot underneath the bleachers was fairly dark, the grass around their feet littered with cups, napkins, popcorn kernels, and anything else that might have been dropped during the games.

Ned kicked at an empty soda can before hesitantly turning back to the girl with a worried look. "What if he doesn't show?"

MJ lifted her gaze to stare back at the teen. Ned's face practically oozed with worry, eyes seeping concern and sadness as he continued to fiddle with his hands, fingers picking at his cuticles almost unconsciously. She swallowed, licked at her bottom lip, and hardened her gaze. "Then we'll figure something else out. But your panicking isn't going to do anybody any good so stop moving, would you?"

Ned groaned and aimed to kick at another can.

"He's not really good at staying still, you know."

Their heads whipped up towards Peter as he spoke. The teen swallowed thickly as he met their gazes, shifting his weight between his feet as he drummed his fingers against the strap on his backpack.

"Hey..."

For a second, nobody said anything. In the air hung a fragile silence that none of them seemed ready to break. Peter mentally began to brace, preparing for the lashing he knew he was about to get. But before he could even begin to psych himself up, Ned was lunging forward, wrapping his arms around Peter's thin frame as he nearly hoisted him off the ground out of sheer excitement.

"Oh my God! Oh my God! Are you okay? I'm so glad you're here. I was so frikkin worried, man! You weren't responding and I know that's normal for you sometimes but this totally felt different and I knew something was up but I just didn't know what and I didn't know what to do and neither did MJ and we just-"

Ned continued to ramble, words falling out of his mouth at a million miles per second. Peter tried to listen, he really did. But he couldn't seem to drag his focus away from the arms wrapped around him. He could feel them pressing against his skin, even through his numerous layers. The grip, so tight and restrictive, made his heart flutter in nerves as he felt the familiar bubbling of anxiety building in his gut, muscles coiled tight as he fought the urge to tear himself away from the sudden, unexpected touch.

Thankfully, Ned seemed to notice the stiffness of his friend as he cut off his ramble, instantly ripping his arms away as he took a hurried step back, holding up his hands in peace. "Sorry! I'm...I didn't...I'm sorry."

Peter had to hold in his breath of relief as he focused instead on the new look of guilt beginning to spread onto Ned's face at his apparent slip-up. He shook his head and took a step forward. "It's fine. I'm the one who should be sorry. I left you to worry for days with complete radio silence."

Just saying the words aloud made a wave of shame wash over his skin, prickling uncomfortably as he stared back at Ned.

Despite the nerves he'd been feeling at the idea of coming back to school and seeing his friends, Peter couldn't help the instinctive warmth that always came whenever he was around Ned. There was just something about him that was so...familiar, so safe and comfortable.

Michelle stood off to the side. She said nothing. Peter spared her a few nervous glances but didn't have the confidence to hold her gaze as he turned back to Ned. Said boy was staring up at Peter with large, worried eyes.

"What happened, man? You just up and left on Wednesday without any sort of warning or explanation and then you weren't at school on Thursday, which I was kind of expecting cause I mean...you know?" His face pinched into a tighter look of unease as he continued. "But you always show up the day after so when you didn't show up on Friday either that's when I really started to freak, especially when you still didn't respond and I was so scared that they'd done something horrible but I couldn't just go over there and ask them so I just-"

"Ned."

Peter cut his friend off before he could spiral into another bout of verbal barfing, Ned sucking in a shaky breath as he stopped. Peter took in the concern in the boy's expression, the way he was picking at his fingers, the overall tense posture of his body.

("Imagine what you must make them feel.")

He'd done that. He'd done that to his friend.

Peter swallowed the bile rising in the back of his throat and tried to give Ned a reassuring smile.

"I'm okay. I'm alright."

"...I thought they were hurting you."

More guilt. More shame. It was thick and sticky and it clotted in his stomach, knotting painfully around his insides. Peter shut his eyes, couldn't bear to look at his friend's face anymore, at the sheer panic and misery he'd caused. "I know. I'm sorry. I...I wanted to text you, call you, something."

("They don't deserve to deal with your issues.")

"But I just...I couldn't. I don't know how to explain it, but I was just...scared. I just...I-I..."

This time it was Ned cutting him off, waving his hands and shaking his head as Peter locked his jaw. "It's okay, Peter. It's...I get it. You don't have to explain it to me. You...you've never had to explain it to me," he murmured in a soft tone of voice, the same tone Ned always used whenever Peter was panicking. It was quiet and comforting, a gentle little lull that was so different from the harsh ringing of O'Hara's words. It made Peter turn to look back at his friend, eyes drinking in the newfound relief beginning to spread over Ned's face, washing away the fear and the dread.

"I...I'm just really glad you're okay."

Peter took a breath, then another, waited for the other shoe to drop, waited for Ned to turn around and realize how entitled he was to be angry, for the yelling and the screaming and the fury. Three breaths...four. No change. Ned's face was still the same, cheeks red and lips spread into a toothy grin, like Peter's mere presence had lifted his stress and returned the teen to his usual bubbly self.

It left a strange taste in Peter's mouth, an odd sensation that kept his heart rate elevated, and his senses honed in for trouble. Something about this just didn't feel right, something about Ned's sheer willingness to just forgive and forget so quickly. It wasn't supposed to be this easy. He didn't deserve to have it be so easy. Still, he fought down the unease and did his best to give Ned a convincing grin.

"You're kidding me, right?"

Both boys turned towards Michelle as she spoke for the first time since Peter's arrival, face twisted into a disbelieving sneer.

Ned furrowed his brow. "What?"

"You're letting him off just like that? After everything he put us through in the last few days?"

Anger. That's better. He deserved anger, not forgiveness.

"Michelle, come on. You know it's not-"

He cut Ned off before he could say anymore, taking a small step towards the girl. "MJ, I'm sorry. I really am. I just-"

She folded her arms. "Just couldn't give enough of a damn?"

"No! Of course not. It's...not easy to explain, alright?"

She narrowed her eyes, jaw clenching as she growled. "Well try. Cause we spent the better part of last week worrying our brains out over you, you jerk. And you didn't even have the common decency to let us know you were okay. Ned thought you were fucking dead, Peter!"

("Do they deserve to suffer alongside you?")

Peter whipped around towards Ned with a horrified look, his friend sheepishly glancing down at the ground as he rubbed at the back of his neck. "I-I didn't...well, I knew it was pretty irrational and-"

Michelle took a threatening step forward, Peter didn't bother in retreating, kept his legs rooted to the floor despite the tingling running down his spine. She jammed a finger towards him. "You don't get to play this off like it wasn't a big deal, Parker. Because it was. I didn't sign up to get dragged along on a fucking whim by you, alright? That's not something I'm just going to roll over and accept!"

She sucked in a breath. It wavered in the air, a sharp little gasp of noise that she tried to swallow down. Peter watched as the girl blinked furiously, eyes misty and face pinched into a tight expression of bitterness. He shrank back at the watery look in her eyes, stomach shriveling into a deep black pit. "MJ..."

But he didn't know what to say.

("Every good boy knows when to be quiet.")

Michelle sniffed, quickly shaking herself back into focus as she turned her gaze over to Ned instead, who was shuffling anxiously as he flitted his gaze back and forth between his friends. "Ned. I need to talk to him alone for a second."

Instantly, the nervousness faded from his friend's face, replaced by indignant anger as he turned to stare the girl down. "No way! I'm not gonna let you scream at him until the bell rings!"

Peter placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, Ned turning to look back at him. "Ned. It's...it's fine. I deserve worse."

And he did.

Ned, however, didn't seem to agree as he angrily pushed Peter's hand off. "Don't say things like that, Peter!" He rounded on Michelle again, a protective scowl crossing his face. "MJ, I swear you better not-"

"Ned, please," she finally murmured, voice lower than before as she raised her hands. "I need to talk to him. Just talk."

Peter quickly came to realize why she'd insisted they meet under the bleachers. She probably wanted as much privacy as possible when chewing him out, a real courtesy to him all things considered. Still, Ned seemed more swayed by her plea than Peter, his friend glaring down at the floor for a moment of thought.

The teen decided to speed things along, knowing he owed Michelle her few minutes of ranting. He turned to his friend, giving another reassuring smile. "Ned. It's alright, man. I'll be fine."

Ned glanced up at him, eyes darting around Peter's face like he was searching for some hidden context behind his words. When he found none, the teen sighed as he turned around and reached for his backpack laying on the ground. He angrily snatched it up before throwing it over his shoulder, pointedly glaring over at the girl. "Fine. I'm going to my locker to get my books and then I'm coming right back here," he warned, holding Michelle's even stare for a second longer before marching away.

Peter watched his friend's retreating form, didn't bother in turning to look at the girl. He tensed, bracing his shoulders for the onslaught as he readied to hear the girl tear him down. It was the least he could do, give Michelle a little time to blow off her steam and rip him a new one. Maybe she'd realize how much better off she'd be without him and he could finally stop feeling guilty about their friendship.

. . .

"You should have told me."

It wasn't a yell, wasn't a scream or a cry. It was simple and quiet, but it still seemed to ring around Peter's ears, echoed around the bleachers. Told her? There were so many things he'd kept from her that he couldn't even pinpoint what exact thing she was talking about. Still, he wasn't about to keep ignoring her, especially since it was much harder without the barrier of a few miles and a phone screen.

"I know."

"First I find out about..." she glanced down at his fingers, took in the sight of the bandages still wrapped tight. He moved his hand behind his back, Michelle huffing a sigh as she continued. "And then I have to hear about your mom from Ned and I just...You didn't tell me anything, like you just couldn't be bothered to say anything."

He stared down at the ground, gazing back and forth between each and every piece of garbage hidden in the grass. "That's not why I didn't tell you."

"Then why? Why didn't you tell me about your family?"

Peter sighed, glancing away with an exasperated purse of the lips. "Come on, Michelle. This isn't exactly something I can just talk about casually," he muttered, holding up his damaged fingers with an annoyed little wave. Michelle stared with a disgruntled scrunch of the nose. "People aren't supposed to know. They can't know. They'll just take it the wrong way and make a much bigger deal of it than it really is."

Peter could see it just in the way his friends were reacting, by how Mr. Stark always reacted. The bandages, the scars, the bruises...they made people uncomfortable, made them ask questions they didn't want to be asking, usually questions that stirred up trouble for him.

Michelle's face dropped some of its aggression as she stepped forward, voice hard and unwavering. "Peter. They're hurting you."

He glanced down at his fingers. He brushed up against the bandages, picked at the edges.

"Only when I deserve it."

He heard Michelle suck in a sharp breath through her teeth, shutting his eyes so he didn't have to see the look on her face. He didn't want to see how pathetic she thought he was, see the look of disgust and contempt mirrored on her face.

He continued to avert his gaze, kept his eyes locked on his fingers. He began to bend them, if only slightly. The small twinge of pain was enough to keep him grounded, keep him focused and zeroed in on the situation at hand. He heard Michelle's footsteps on the ground, felt her getting closer.

"And your mom? Why did you keep her a secret?"

Peter bent them back further, had to swallow down the burning pain building in his throat as the broken fingers began to pull and stretch. "There's no point in grieving people who are dead and gone."

He could feel O'Hara's hands curling around his shoulders. Another tug on his fingers and she was gone.

"...what?"

This time, he did look up. Michelle's face was pinched into a look of distress, an emotion he wasn't used to seeing on the girl. He held her gaze for another moment before turning away again.

"I...she died ten years ago, MJ. I should have moved on three different times over and yet I still...I-I'm still.." he could feel the words beginning to get lodged. He shook his head, cleared the blockage as best he could. "...it's ridiculous. And it's embarrassing. Ned only knows cause I've known him since, what? Ten, eleven? It's stupid to still feel so bad about it. I...I didn't want you to think less of me because of it."

But she did. He knew she did. She had to.

"I guess I just...didn't think you'd understand."

Michelle's body was tense, stiff as a rod as she clenched her fists. She shut her eyes tightly, gritting her teeth as she lowered her head, strands of curly brown hair falling down over her forehead. She quickly whipped around on her heel, marching over to her backpack. Peter instantly felt his heart sink, watching as the girl crouched down over her stuff, readying to leave.

"Wait! MJ, please...please don't leave. I'm so sorry for not telling you. I was just trying to act right and move on like I should have done years ago and I-"

She stood up, effectively cutting Peter off as he watched her turn back around. She was holding her sketchbook, pulling out some of the loose papers stuck in between the pages. He opened his mouth to ask what she was doing, only for her to shove the papers against his chest, the teen stumbling slightly before latching his fingers around the flittering pages.

He blinked at her, then down at the pile in his hands. "Um..."

"Look at them."

He scanned Michelle's face, tried to detect any hint of emotion, but she had it bottled up tight. Whatever she was feeling, she was hiding it well. Peter licked at his lips before hesitantly glancing down at the pages.

They were sketches, all of the same girl. Her face, her hair, her eyes, her hands. Close-ups, full-body drawings, each and every angle you could think of. She was a teenager, probably about their age with the same curly hair as Michelle, albeit shorter, only stretching down to the nape of her neck. Her nose and cheeks were dotted with pale freckles and she had the same birthmark as MJ, right above her lip.

Peter furrowed his brow, not really sure what the girl wanted from him as he flipped between the pages, seeing more and more of the same girl. "Who is she?"

"My sister."

He lifted his head, eyes widening slightly as he blinked back at her. "You...I didn't know you had siblings."

"Just the one." Michelle turned back down to the sketchbook and flipped to the very last page where a small polaroid picture was taped to the paper. The girl held it in her hands for a moment before extending it out towards Peter, her movements slow and hesitant like she was unsure whether or not to give up the photo.

Peter carefully reached out with his one free hand and gingerly grabbed the photo, flipping it forward.

It was the same girl, same curly brown hair, and deep-tanned skin, complete with amber eyes that were just a shade lighter than Michelle's. The picture was a close up of her and a little girl she was standing next to, arm latched around the girl's shoulder as they shared identical grins. The little girl was young, maybe only eight or nine with identical curly hair and dark-tinted skin. In the background, Peter recognized Coney Island, the bare details of a Ferris Wheel poking out of the top corner.

The photo itself was fairly old, that much he could tell by the folded, wrinkled corners and the pale stains dotting the surface. And considering the sketchbook it came from was seemed to be on the new side, Peter had to assume Michelle carried the photo in every new sketchbook she got, transferring it from one book to the next.

He glanced back up at her, watching as she hugged the sketchbook to her chest. "Lucy."

He traced the edge of the photo with his finger, stared down at this younger, happier version of Michelle, and couldn't help but give a tentative smile as he stared at the two girls together. "She looks like you."

"I look like her," Michelle corrected, taking a step closer so that she was standing shoulder to shoulder with him. "I was nine when this picture was taken. She was fifteen." She gave a small smirk. "I guess it took my parents a bit of time to decide they wanted two kids cause there's a pretty sizeable gap, huh?"

Peter extended the picture back to her, adding in the extra pages of sketches as well. "Does it really matter?" he asked with a tilt of the head. He'd never had siblings before and his only source of info came from Ned, who couldn't fight more with his little sister. But Michelle just chuckled and shook her head, bending down to place her sketchbook on the floor.

'No. It doesn't. Cause in every way that counts, she's everything you could possibly want in a sister." She opened the book back up and gently began to place the pages back in. "She's smart, kind, dedicated. She got a job at the pier just to help our parents. Back then we didn't have much money, didn't have enough to splurge on anything, just enough to pay the bills and put food on the table. So we'd usually just do little things together: board games, walking the pier, that sort of stuff.

She finished putting the pages back and closed the book, but she didn't stand back up again. She just kept kneeling, kept one hand on the cover of the sketchbook, and the other gently cupped around the photo. Peter didn't say anything, just slowly knelt down across from her. Michelle had never been one to open up about herself, especially with private information like her personal life.

Peter didn't know why she was telling him this now, especially since he'd just spent the better part of last week hiding his own personal life. Why was she repaying him with her own? Still, he didn't say anything as she stared at the photo, gently brushing her fingers against the edges.

"That was one of the reasons why I got into drawing. There's only so many ways you can keep a nine-year-old entertained when you can't afford your cable bill." She rubbed her thumb against the cover of the book. "Lucy bought me my first sketchbook, you know. My first pencils, pens, paint kits, all of it. Birthdays were never more than a day to get new clothes, shoes, stuff like that. But she saved up her money from work to buy me all of it for my ninth birthday."

She smiled and gently waved the photo. "We took this picture afterward. She was the first thing I ever drew."

Her voice was different. It wasn't her usual monotonous, aloof drawl. It was quiet, soft, almost like Ned's, full of an emotion Peter couldn't pinpoint. But something about it felt...off, like this was a whole other side to the girl he wasn't meant to be seeing, a side she'd worked to cover up under biting sarcasm and disinterested eye-rolls. This wasn't defensive. This wasn't cold or uncaring.

This was...real.

Peter swallowed, felt a gnawing in his stomach. He forced another smile. "She sounds like an awesome sister."

Michelle didn't respond to the comment, didn't even seem to register it. She lowered her hands, rested the back of them on her knees. Her fingers never strayed from the photo.

"A week later...she comes into my room while I'm drawing."

Her voice changed again. Peter noticed instantly and it makes his skin crawl.

"She seems happy to see me using her present. I tell her how much I love it."

MJ licked her lips, sucked in a small breath, too small to fill her lungs. "Then she starts talking to me...telling me how great of a sister I am, how lucky she is to know someone like me, to be related to someone like me. I'm laughing, thinking she's just being weird. She's laughing too...so much that she starts crying."

His fingers begin to twitch against the ground. He ignores the pain, just keeps watching the girl's face. It's twisting into a smile, a painful smile that makes her cheeks quiver. "Then she starts telling me how much she loves me, that nothing will ever change that."

She held up the photo. Peter noticed her hand was shaking. "And then she gives me this." She pointed to the picture, to the charm hanging around Lucy's neck. "Her necklace...the one she never takes off. An heirloom she got from a grandmother I never met." She drops her hand again, lets it sink back into her lap like she doesn't have enough energy to keep it up. "I'm shocked of course. She loves that necklace, never takes it off. But she insists." She smiled, cracked a grin, and let out a breathy laugh. "Secretly, I'm pretty happy cause I've always wanted a necklace like hers. Then she leaves. I forget about the whole conversation."

Another breath, shakier than the last. But she pushes past it like it's a barrier she has to break through. She swallows thickly, taps the edge of the photo, picks at the crease in the corner. She doesn't look up.

"They found her in the bathroom two weeks after this picture was taken."

Peter shut his eyes, turned his head away as he released a small puff of air, warm against his throat. "Michelle..."

She continued on like he hadn't spoken. Her eyes were glossy. "I've never worn it before...her necklace. It just sits in a drawer in my desk. I can't seem to put it on." The first tear falls. "It doesn't belong to me."

He can feel the gnawing begin to spread to his chest. He lets it, knows how futile it is to try and push it away. "I'm so sorry..." the words are soft, barely audible. But he knows Michelle heard it nonetheless. He knows it's useless, a pointless phrase that doesn't do anything to take away from the gravity pulling you down. But he just can't seem to say anything else.

She sniffs, wipes at her cheek as she quietly clears her throat. "Believe it or not...I was pretty lucky. My parents did as well as any parents could after that. Helped me through it, helped me grieve." Her fingers curled into the dirt, ripping at the grass poking up around her. "I...I stopped going to the pier though. Stopped walking along the boardwalk. Just...didn't feel right without her."

He watched her gingerly place the photo on top of the sketchbook like it was a piece of glass ready to shatter at any moment. "I kept drawing though. Thought it'd probably make her happy to show her that I never stopped using her gift." She brushed her fingers against the loose pages sticking out of the book. "Whenever I feel...I-I...I draw her sometimes. Makes me feel a little better. Makes me think she'd be happy with how I'm turning out."

For the first time in a while, Michelle turned her head to fully face Peter. He met her gaze, felt it was the least he could do after making her go through the sludge of memories. "Peter...my sister died five years ago. And I still miss her."

("It's ridiculous to hold onto such debilitating things like this.")

Peter turned away, tried to blot out the words beginning to mingle with Michelle's. He shut his eyes again, hoping to push them out of his head, hoping to get the sight of the office, the flowers, the cold out of his mind. Michelle reached forward and gingerly placed her hand atop his. He bit back a wince at the touch, eyes warily focusing in on their hands as he felt her brushing her thumb against his palm.

"My parents let me grieve. Your father...he didn't...did he?" Her voice wasn't accusatory. It was gentle, helped to ease the chill washing over his skin. He didn't look up, just kept his eyes locked on their hands.

"He likes to pretend she never even existed," he whispered, the words bitter on his tongue, thick and constricting in his throat.

Michelle continued to brush her fingers against his hand, strands of hair framing her cheeks as she spoke. "Of course you still miss your mom. You never had the chance to move on. He never gave it to you." Her grip tightened. It was strong...steady. "It's not wrong to miss her, no matter what he or anybody else says.

His chest was tightening, making it harder to get in a decent breath. He could feel his hands beginning to shake in her grasp, clenched them into fists to try and force them still. It only made them quiver more. Michelle narrowed her eyes and cupped her own hands around his, guiding them to her lap. "Peter, listen to me."

Breathe. Listen. He looked up, watched as her eyes began to water once again. The gut-wrenching pain settling in his stomach grew, almost made him want to hurl again.

"My sister lied to me. She lied with her smiles and her laughter and her reassurances that everything was alright. Because it wasn't alright. She wasn't alright. It wasn't..." her voice wavered, the words dying in her throat as she ducked her head, sniffling loudly as she blinked away the tears, focusing back in on her friend's face with a tight expression. "We couldn't help her...because she never let us. She drowned in all those lies...alone. I won't let that happen again. I can't. I can't watch you do the same thing."

And the way her voice cracked into a strangled gasp, the way a few stray tears finally began to roll down her cheeks, it made Peter want to scream, made him want to curl up and hide away from her, hide away from the anguish he was forcing onto her with his lies and his troubles and everything else she didn't deserve.

He bit at his lip, tried so hard to keep the sob from breaking through his throat. He swallowed it down, felt it bursting against his chest as a wave of guilt threatened to knock him to the floor. Instead, he ducked his head, hiding his face from hers as he felt his eyes pool with tears, the soft feeling of her fingers gently brushing at the scars on his hands finally letting them loose as he cried, opening his mouth with a pitiful whimper.

"...I'm a burden to you."

Michelle choked on a sob as she reached her hands out and wrapped her arms around Peter, dragging him forward into a hug. He shut his eyes, burying his face into her shoulder as he cried, the tears fully streaming as he clenched his teeth and shivered in her grasp. Her grip was tight, fearful and strong.

"Don't you ever say that to me again! You hear me?! You get that thought out of your head right now. I don't know who put that in there and I don't care because it's not true." She was crying now. He could feel her tears dripping onto his shoulder. "I'm here, Peter. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere. I'm here because you're my friend and I care about you. Ned cares about you. And I won't grieve anybody else just because they think it's easier to lie, that it'll be easier on me." She fisted at his clothes, tightened her grip around him like she was afraid he was going to disappear. "You don't get to make that decision for me, alright? You don't get to take that away from me. This is my decision. My choice and I choose to be right here. Right fucking here!"

She finally pulled away, bringing her hands to cup around Peter's tear-stained face. He blinked his watery eyes at her, couldn't seem to tear his gaze away from her as she gently brushed her thumbs against his cheeks, clearing the tears still streaming as she gave him a quivering smile.

"Peter, please...you can rely on me, on Ned. We're here for you...through whatever comes your way, whatever comes our way."

He took a breath, felt it wavering in his lungs as he fought to reign in his emotions, to pull himself back together. He shut his eyes, focused on the warmth of her hands around his cheeks, calm and comforting and everything he'd wanted for a while. He lowered his head but didn't pull out of her grasp.

"Does it ever stop feeling so bad?"

He had to know. He had to know if the gnawing would ever go away. More tears fell down his cheeks. She brushed those away as well, deep brown eyes meeting light hazel as she gave a small nod, allowing her own tears to freely flow as she smiled.

"One day...you'll remember her and it won't hurt. And we'll be here for you until that day comes...and every day afterwards."

Peter couldn't help the strangled laugh that fell from his lips, mingling with his hiccupped cries into one single emotion-filled noise as he leaned into her touch, leaned into the safety of her grip, the reassuring warmth he found himself craving.

It was the same feeling he'd felt back at the tower, back with Mr. Stark. It was bright and all-encompassing and just seemed to shut everything else out, leaving him warm and secure. Leaving him with a feeling he never wanted to give up, never wanted to lose.

So...if that meant turning to his friends for help...if that meant turning to Mr. Stark for help, then Peter would do it. He'd do whatever he had to to keep that feeling blooming in his chest, that feeling that helped him breathe, helped him feel the blood rushing through his veins and the steady beating of his heart.

For the first time in almost ten years, Peter was finally beginning to remember what it felt like to be cared for.

Footsteps.

They both turned their watery gazes towards the noise, eyes catching the sight of Ned sprinting across the field, backpack jumping against his back as he stumbled as fast as his chubby legs could carry him. His face was red and he was gasping out pant after pant as he finally reached the bleachers, shrugging off the back and letting it fall to the floor as he heaved, leaning his hands into his knees as he doubled over.

Peter and Michelle blinked at him...then at each other.

Ned lowered his head, hair falling down around his eyes as he finally spoke, voice wheezy and out of breath. "Okay...I...I'm here. I...I made...it. What did...what did I miss? Michelle, y-you better...better not have been yelling t-this...whole-"

He finally looked up, the words falling short as he caught sight of his two best friends kneeling on the grass, eyes puffy and red and cheeks glistening with tears. He opened his mouth, face slowly pulling into a frown as his brows furrowed. "Umm...I...o-okay..." Ned seemed lost for words for once, shifting his weight awkwardly as he glanced over his shoulder, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Is...are you two okay?"

Michelle lifted a hand and wiped her cheek, sniffing loudly as she threw the boy a half-hearted smile. "We're fine, Ned. We're just...everything's fine."

The boy glanced at her, took in the sight of her glossy eyes and quivering voice, and then turned his eyes to Peter, who looked the same. "Right..." Ned bit his lower lip, hesitantly lifting a hand and pointing a thumb behind him.

"S-should...I, like...leave?"

Peter turned to Michelle, then back to Ned. It took a second for the words to really process in his head. Nothing about them was funny. Nothing about the situation was funny, like...at all. But as Peter watched Ned shuffling awkwardly in the grass, cheeks red and hands fidgeting nervously, the teen couldn't help but feel a chuckle begin to work its way up his throat, growing into a full-blown laugh as he ducked his head, eyes shutting as he doubled over.

Michelle huffed in amusement before it too began to grow, her lips spreading into a grin as she lifted a hand to her face, pressing her palm into her forehead as she leaned back with laughter.

Ned glanced between the two of them, nervously giving a small little chuckle of his own before Peter was lifting his hand to latch onto the boy's sleeve, all but dragging him down to the ground with them. Ned stumbled, but quickly righted himself as a sincere grin blew across his face, spreading his arms wide and enveloping the two other teens in a bone-crushing hug as their chests bounced and their eyes filled with tears of a whole different variety.

Peter couldn't hear O'Hara anymore, didn't feel the cold chill of her office. All he could hear was the laughs of his friends and the feeling of warmth as they embraced him in their arms, ignoring the itch of the grass underneath them or the sounds of the busses pulling into the school.

At that moment, sitting under the bleachers, the three of them had something just a little more important than school.

 

---

 

"Good morning from the Studio 57 News Room at NBC Broadcast Headquarters here in New York. It is Monday, May 2nd, 2016. Good to be with you. I'm Joanne Green and this morning we have two top stories to share."

"First off we bring you the latest developments in the supposed Rogue Avengers attack on a government weapons vault in Washington DC. Here's John Peroka with more. John?"

"Good morning, Joanne. I'm here at the Damage Control facility in Washington DC where early Thursday morning, at a quarter past midnight, the DC Damage Control Storage Facility shown here was infiltrated and the guards on duty were brutally attacked. Eyewitnesses and recovered camera footage confirms that the attacks were staged by Rogue Avenger Steve Rogers and his associates, Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, Scott Lang, and Wanda Maximoff. Wanted war criminal and lethal assassin James Barnes was not spotted at the scene, nor was retired pararescue operator Sam Wilson, though sources from inside the facility speculate that he aided in the get-away."

"Now preliminary stock reports state that no weapons were stolen nor was anything tampered with save for a broken door down in the record rooms. While five guards are currently in the hospital with moderate injuries. Nobody was seriously hurt. Still, official word from Secretary Ross and Iron Patriot Colonel James Rhodes states that such attacks will not be ignored, nor will the implications be dismissed.

"The last sighting of the Rogue Avengers was over a month ago in New York City, with eye witness reports of the Falcon flying over Brooklyn, But this latest development has many people wondering what the Avengers are playing at here and what their ultimate goal is. And with these latest attacks, many are beginning to speculate that the Rogues are finally playing into their new criminal mentality with new fears rising every day. Back to you, Joanne."

"Thank you, John. In other news, we are following a breaking development unfolding in Midtown's schooling district-"

 

---

 

Monday - May 2, 2016

Midtown School of Science and Technology - Cafeteria

11:46 AM

"Whoa, whoa, wait. So...you're gonna be-"

"Staying with Mr. Stark."

"For..."

"For the whole summer."

Ned blinked at him before lifting a hand to his forehead. "I think I'm gonna pass out. I feel it. It's coming. Someone get a pillow."

Michelle threw her stale roll at his head, the bread bouncing off his face and landing on the table below. "Relax, fanboy. I don't have any smelling salts with me," she muttered before going back to her sketchbook. Despite how her face was tight with a look of concentration, Peter knew she was listening.

The lunchroom was loud as usual, kids stacking mush onto their trays, tables talking to their friends, and sneakers squeaking on the hard linoleum floor. Peter, Ned, and Michelle sat together at the end of one of the longer tables, the other members of their Decathlon team seated further down, too far to really hear anything important in their conversation.

Peter waved a dismissive hand in the air. "Besides, I'm sure he'll back out of it soon enough."

Michelle's pencil scrawled along the page, her eyes never lifting as she spoke. "What makes you say that?"

The teen glanced up at the ceiling, rubbing at the back of his neck as he puffed out a sharp breath of air. " I mean, come on. It's a pretty crazy idea, right? Offering to house me for like, two months? It's..." he trailed off, not knowing what else to say.

Safe to say, the shock from his talk with Mr. Stark on Thursday hadn't settled. And his offer still seemed just as ludicrous as it had on that day. For not only did it hinge on the fact that the billionaire wouldn't realize how...extreme a tactic it was just to keep an eye on Peter, but also on the idea that his father would ever agree to it.

Richard Parker was a bit of a control freak, especially when it came to his son. Just the internship alone was a huge diversion from his usual manic obsession to dictate anything and everything about Peter. It gave the teen a certain freedom he wasn't used to getting from his father. So to push it even further, to actually try and leave the house, leave his father's watchful gaze and dominating hand for even two months was...crazy.

It would never work. Besides, summer was still a few weeks away. He was sure Mr. Stark would come to his senses before then. He did tentatively believe the man's vows to keep Peter's secrets about his family, which in itself was a hard thing for the kid to do. But to actually believe the man was going to go through with the summer?

Peter's doubts were strong.

Ned was still bouncing in his seat, not really seeming to register what Peter was saying anymore. Michelle, however, seemed just a bit more observant, setting her pencil down as she finally lifted her head to meet his gaze. "What made him offer this? Why now? Do you know?"

Peter swallowed, afraid that the girl would ask. Michelle always was one to want all the information, even when that information was hard to give. He bit the inside of his cheek, glancing away nervously as he shifted in his seat.

"Well, we kinda...maybe, well more like I sort of...blew up at him on Monday...anddd then again on Thursday?"

God, just saying it made him want to cringe in embarrassment.

Michelle cocked a brow and Ned finally stopped bouncing, both of them throwing him incredulous looks. "Seriously?"

"You yelled at Tony Stark."

"We've established his name, Ned. Thank you." MJ muttered with a roll of her eyes before she turned back towards Peter, leaning in closer as the boy fidgeted. "Why did you yell? Did he say something to make you angry?"

Peter hissed in a breath through his teeth, continued to rub at his neck. "No. Not...exactly. I wasn't really angry. Just frustrated that he wouldn't let it go."

Michelle's face held onto its perplexed look before it slowly began to seep into something else, her back straightening as she slowly narrowed her eyes.

"Let what go?"

His fingers drummed against the table, resting his chin in his hand as he pointedly looked away. "He might have found out about my family, like...like the not-so-good stuff."

There was a beat of silence. Peter spared a tiny glance. Ned had effectively ceased his gawking and Michelle's gaze was unwavering as she stared the teen down hard. Peter drew his lips into a tight line, feeling his nerves spike just a tad.

"He knows?" Michelle finally asked, voice quiet and tight.

Peter sighed and gave a little shrug of his shoulders, missing the look his friends shared with each other as he spoke. "I think he always had a suspicion. It's probably why he offered me the internship in the first place." Not a complete lie. Peter was fairly positive without Mr. Stark's suspicions, he would have just left him alone to his own devices, suit and all.

"But after I...you know, screamed at him, I went to apologize and we sort of...talked. We came to an agreement which eventually let to him offering to house me for the summer." He pursed his lips and cocked a brow. "Not really an offer, actually. More like a statement of fact so I don't know if I really had a choice in the matter. I think he just wants me out of the house for a while."

Ned was nodding along, his earlier excitement curbed but still fairly visible in his body language. Michelle, though-

"MJ? You okay?" he asked, tilting his head as he noticed the girl beginning to stare off, eyes flitting back and forth across the surface of the table. She glanced up as he spoke, pushing a stray strand of hair back behind her ear as she huffed a dismissive puff of air. "Yeah. I'm fine."

Peter furrowed his brow, obviously not too satisfied. He opened his mouth to speak again, only to be cut off by Ned suddenly going stiff in his seat.

"Hold on a second."

They turned to him.

"Does this mean...Dude. You have to get me in there. Oh...oh my god. I actually have a chance to see the inside of Avengers Tower?"

"It's not called Avengers Tower anym-"

"I could meet Tony Stark."

"You've already met him."

"I could meet him twice!"

Peter scoffed, not able to keep the fond smile off of his face as Ned went back to basically vibrating in his seat. If there was one person who could always drag a smile out of him, it was Ned Leeds.

His eyes drifted back over to MJ, who had gone back to glancing down at the table, eyes hard in concentration as her fingers began to tighten around the edge of the table. Her body language read anger, but her face was troubled, confused almost. Peter's eyes scrunched as he leaned in closer, sliding his hand a little closer to hers just to grab her attention. She looked up.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked softly, watching as her eyes stared down at the still-visible bandages wrapped around his fingers. She blinked, gazed back up at him and pinched her eyes into a look that resembled the concern she'd shown that morning. Peter straightened up at the look, realizing the girl probably had something to say. She opened her mouth.

"What the hell?"

"What's going on out there?"

"Dudes, come look at this! It's insane!"

All three of them turned at the sound of loud exclamations and excited chatter rising from the side of the cafeteria. Kids were beginning to get up from their tables and crowd around the door leading to the outside lunch tables. They were either pressing their faces against the glass or pouring out the door.

All three teens shared confused looks.

"What's going on?" Ned asked, furrowing his brow as he watched the rest of the Decathlon members get up from their seats to make their way over. Peter narrowed his eyes and slowly stood up, craning his neck to try and see over the crowds, but it was no use.

"I...have no idea."

Michelle didn't waste any time, getting up from her seat without another word and making her way over. Ned and Peter shared surprised looks before quickly gathering their stuff to follow after the girl.

More and more kids were streaming out the door, leaving a river of bodies to follow as the excited yelling grew, ringing loudly in Peter's ears as he winced.

Outside the kids were even more riled up, standing from their tables and excitedly pointing and gawking at something in the distance. A little more pushing and shoving and the three of them were finally away from the crowds, eyes widening and mouths falling open as they caught sight of what everyone was staring at.

"Oh no."

Reporters. Floods of them were pressing up against the fence surrounding the perimeter of the school, only a few yards away from the outdoor lunch tables. News vans lined the back street, reporters from what appeared to be every major and minor news station were situated in the grass., even small-time bloggers were smooshing up against the fence. They were all pointing their cameras, their microphones, their eyes towards the crowds of kids, lights flashing and voices yelling over one another.

The kids around him were going crazy, taking pictures with their own phones, waving at the cameras, a few of them even posing as the shots were taken. Peter felt his heart spike into overdrive as he caught sight of the literal mob waiting for...him, held back only by a single flimsy mesh fence.

He huffed a short breath, catching the eyes of his friends as they shared his thought. They had to go.

But as soon as Peter turned to push his way back inside, back into the safety of the cafeteria and out of the view of prying camera lenses, he felt two hands latch on to his arms and drag him backward. He yelped as he was suddenly spun around, eyes meeting the grinning face of Flash, the teen smirking maliciously at him and his panicked look.

"Flash."

"Where you going, Parker? Your fans are waiting."

With that, the boy began to literally push Peter through the crowd and back towards the fence. He began to dig his heels into the ground, fighting to get out of Flash's grip as he was shoved. His mind was screaming, thoughts bouncing to literally rip himself out of Flash's prickling grip and just shove the jerk straight into the ground. But now there were eyes on him, the crowd now seeming to piece together why the reporters were there in the first place. He couldn't fight back, couldn't reveal himself. He was in the spotlight now.

"Let go of me, Flash!" He continued to thrash, but Flash's grip was surprisingly tight, too tight for skinny weakling Peter Parker to realistically break free from. He could hear Michelle and Ned yelling, but there was too much noise for him to make out their exact words, too many bodies in the way for them to actually be able to help.

Flash leaned closer, his mouth next to Peter's ear as he spoke. "Guess your little buddy-buddy friendship with Tony Stark isn't all it's cracked up to be." He straightened up, facing off for all the cameras as he smiled a shit-eating grin. "Smile for the cameras!" And with that, he shoved into Peter's back, sending him sprawling out onto the floor in front of the fence.

Peter immediately whipped his head up, eyes wide and palms pressing into the rough gravel below as he tried to see through all the flashing or hear against the grating screaming of each voice mingling into one another. He shut his eyes and lifted a hand to try and block out the blinding light, hastily trying to find his bearings and get back up to his feet, only for him to feel something latch onto his wrist and drag him towards the fence.

He grunted and shot his eyes open as he literally began to get dragged closer as one of the reporters closest to the fence latched a bony hand around his wrist and began to tug hard. People were shouting questions, pushing their lenses in front of his face, a whirlwind of stimulus and frenzy that made him begin to shake, the foreign grip on his arm making him want to scream as he felt the burning sensation of a stranger's touch.

Then Michelle was there, seemingly from out of nowhere. She shoved hard against the fence, effectively shocking the reporter enough to break his grip from Peter's arm, sending him crashing back onto the floor. Ned was suddenly next to him, helping haul him to his feet as Michelle's face grew red, eyes piercing into the crowd as she pointed at the guy who'd been tugging at Peter.

"Back off, you creep! That's assault of a minor! You could be charged for that, idiot!"

The guy sneered at her. More cameras flashed. "Hey, shut up, bitch. You're getting in the way of our story."

She didn't back down though. In fact, Ned moved to stand in front of her, shielding Peter from the view of the cameras and the reporters pounding against the fence like literal rabid dogs.

"Alright! Come on! Everybody inside. Inside!" A group of teachers and security officers shoved their way through the crowd of students mingling by the doors, some guiding them into the cafeteria while the others rushed towards the fence, stepping in between the three teens and the media hounds. Mr. Harrington was there, turning towards the kids with wide eyes that very obviously stated he felt way in over his head. Still, he began to guide the three of them away from the fence, casting nervous glances over his shoulder at the ravenous mob rattling the fence.

"Uh...Peter," he called, once the three of them were behind the safety of the school walls again. "You're needed in the office. I suggest you...you know, hurry along."

He blinked up at the man, opening his mouth to speak only for no words to come out. He sucked in a shaky breath before giving a slow nod of his head, like the information was taking an extra-long time to register in his mind.

His friends must have noticed the look beginning to spread onto his face, for Ned quickly whirled around to face their teacher. "We're taking him there."

The man hesitated, opening his mouth to speak, only for Michelle to narrow her eyes and take a small step forward. "We're going." She didn't even wait for him to reply before she was all but dragging Peter out of the cafeteria.

As soon as the double doors to the cafeteria closed behind them, the bellowing voices died down, getting quieter and quieter the further they walked. Peter didn't look up, didn't say anything as he placed one foot in front of the other, gently rubbing at the wrist the bold reporter had grabbed. His grip had been so tight, the teen was fairly confident the skin would begin to bruise later on in the day.

"You okay, man? Did that guy hurt you?"

He breathed, one breath in, one breath out. Even, steady, calm. He had to stay calm.

But he didn't feel very calm.

His hands were beginning to shake, fingers throbbing and heart pounding against his chest in unsteady, erratic beats. He could hear the air blowing through his nose, sharp and forced punches of air that did little to relieve the churning in his gut.

It was bad enough they were constantly swarming his house, so much so that he literally had to sneak out nowadays, but now this? Pounding up against the walls of his school? Surrounding the fences and blocking the bus loops with huge news vans? It was literal chaos and he was at the center of it!

How was he going to break this to his father?

They walked in silence, the quiet a stark contrast to the manic chaos they were leaving behind of students and reporters alike. It was little comfort, but it was something at least. The office wasn't too far from the cafeteria so before they knew it, they were standing outside the door.

One breath in.

"Peter."

One breath out.

He turned, met the worried gazes of his friends. He bit at his lip, eyes scrunching. "I...I didn't think they'd find the school." He swallowed, his throat bone-dry all of a sudden.

Michelle and Ned shared another look before the girl was taking a step forward. Peter lifted his head, stared back at her confident look. "It'll be fine. We'll deal with it and this will all blow over in a few days."

And the way she said it, the sheer unshakable certainty lacing her words almost made Peter believe it. "Y-yeah?"

"Dude, you kidding? Of course! These guys have the attention spans of baby squirrels with ADHD." Ned rolled his eyes, grinning with a knowing glint in his eyes. "Tomorrow I'm sure they'll be fawning over some new viral cat video or something. You'll see."

It was total bullshit.

This was the story of the year. Richard Parker and Tony Stark involved in one setup, two of the most powerful men in the city, one of them a current Avenger, the other a local hero around the streets and a staple in said city? And now with a kid in the center of all of it? This was media gold and Peter knew it.

And the way his friends were standing, their shifting postures and flitting eyes told him they were lying. It told him that they were just as unsure about all of it as he was, that they didn't really believe what they were saying.

But they still said it. They said it and they knew he didn't believe them but they said it anyway. They said it to make themselves feel better. They said it to make him feel better. Peter couldn't ignore that. So, if only to play along with their efforts, he gave them a small smile. It was shaky and nervous, but it was there.

"You think so?"

Ned scoffed. "I know so."

Peter chuckled, glanced down at the ground as he felt his hands lose just a bit of their shakiness. Michelle placed a hand on his shoulder. He flinched but didn't pull away as she stared at him with those deep brown eyes of hers, face calm and reassuring. "Everything's going to be fine, Peter. Just relax. Keep calm, trust your instincts, and keep breathing. Don't panic."

He tapped his undamaged fingers against his leg, gave a small nod of his head.

The girl glanced behind him at the door waiting to be opened before moving her eyes back to him, finally letting a small smile of her own spread to her lips. "You'll be fine. If not...you have our numbers. Use them."

Her voice was firm. His nod was steady this time.

She seemed satisfied with his answer, taking a step back with Ned at her side. Peter threw the two of them one last grateful look before taking his first real deep breath, turning to the door before him.

The principle was probably going to send him home, maybe call one of the Cons to come pick him up or if he was lucky, he'd be able to convince the man to let him walk home by himself. His father would most definitely be upset, likely over the fact that the media storm his son had inadvertently created was still causing issues, growing issues if the reporters now outside his school were any indication. But it would be fine. He'd think of what to say to his father on the way home, take the time to come up with something to calm the man down from his assuredly impending anger.

He could do this.

He curled his fingers, lifted his hand and rested his palm against the handle, shutting his eyes for a brief second before pushing it open, leaving his two friends behind as he stepped inside, shut the door...

...and promptly felt his heart drop into his stomach.

"There you are, Peter." Richard said with a smile as he turned in his seat, Principal Morita and Ms. O'Hara turning to look at him as well. His father was seated at one of the cushioned chairs opposite the principal's desk, O'Hara standing next to Morita as the man gave Peter a warm smile.

"Thanks for getting here so fast, Peter. I just got word that the reporters have moved towards the back dining area. I hope they didn't give you much trouble."

Richard was staring at him with his deep brown eye and his faded gray one, the pale chemical burns on his cheek seeming all the more pronounced in the harsh fluorescent lights above them, making each and every pale white dot stand out even more around his eye. His face was lax, a calm wash of passive energy that was concrete and near perfect. His posture, his tone, even the slight smile on his lips played into the look, giving him an aura of gentle concern that could truly fool anyone.

But his eyes...

His eyes were smoldering. Peter could see it in the slight twitches around the corners, the barely noticeable tapping of his fingers, the crease in his jawline that showed he was clenching his teeth.

His father wasn't just mad. He was pissed.

The man leaned forward in his chair slightly, furrowing his brow. "Peter. Don't be rude," he said softly yet sternly.

The teen was so lost in the sudden static panic building in his chest that he'd completely forgotten that Mr. Morita had spoken to him. He turned to the man, felt his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, his throat seizing as the air literally faded from his lungs, vision suddenly hazy and skull creaking under the pressure.

A tap of the foot. Richard was tapping his foot.

A cue.

You're on, Peter.

The teen straightened up, giving a small shake of his head as he smiled and placed a hand to his forehead. "Right...uh, sorry. I guess I'm still a little shaken up by all of this." He could hear his voice, feel the words leaving his mouth without so much as a second thought from him, instinct kicking in as he spoke.

O'Hara smiled and Peter felt his spine tingle as she stared at him. Ned and MJ weren't here to shield him from the chill of her gaze anymore. He was exposed. "I'm sure, sweetie. But rest assured we're going to take this very seriously."

Morita nodded, face hard and lips pulled into a stern frown. "That's right. I understand that it's probably a fairly difficult time for you two but you don't have to worry about a thing. We'll increase security around the perimeter of the school and set up points right outside every entrance. Nobody who isn't supposed to be in here is getting in and we're certainly not going to tolerate them harassing you, Peter," he said, giving the boy a gentle smile.

His heart was pounding, skin crackling as he dragged another reassuring smile onto his face, feeling the strings on his face pulling taut. "Thank you, but it's really no problem. I can handle a few camera flashes."

Keep breathing. Keep breathing.

Richard sighed, running a hand through his hair as he gave the principal an apologetic look. "I'm so sorry about all of this, Jim. I hate how much trouble we're causing for you." He glanced over the principal's shoulder and out the window, where they could still see news vans pulling up onto the street. Richard grimaced. "I knew they were getting pretty pushy but I never expected them to find Peter's school, let alone actually show up here. I figured they'd at least extend us the courtesy."

O'Hara hummed a sickly tune. "Courtesy isn't really what they're known for if I do recall correctly."

Jim waved a hand at Richard's apologies. "It's no trouble at all, Rich. I'm just sorry you have to deal with this at all."

The man gave a small nod of his head, straightening the buttons on his suit. "Yes well...it's being handled."

Peter felt his fingers curl behind his back, nails digging into his palms in a tight pinch of grounding pain.

O'Hara, of course, giggled incessantly at the man as she cheekily grinned. "I'm sure. You always seem to have a handle on these sorts of things."

"Well, let's just say I have plenty of experience fending off the overexcited media drabble. They really do mean well most of the time. It's just...they can be a bit...aggressive."

Morita chuckled at that. "No kidding. I basically got them breaking down the fences outside."

Richard sat up a bit straighter at that, face concerned. "I'll be happy to pay for any damages they might cause."

"Nonsense. You already give enough." Jim spared a small glare out the window. "Besides, it's not your fault, Rich. No sense in making you pay for it."

Richard paused for just a beat, grunting a humored huff as he drummed his fingers against his knee. "Well, someone's gonna pay."

He didn't look at his son as he said it, didn't need to.

Peter already knew.

Morita, of course, was oblivious to the sudden shift in Peter's body language as he chuckled. "If it's anything serious, I can always just pull the security footage and send them the bill. I'm sure those guys over at NBS and CBS have some money to spare.

They laughed. They actually laughed...like Peter's impending doom wasn't sitting a mere two feet from him, as if his father's rage wasn't lying in wait, creeping along the floor and latching onto his legs, dragging him down with the weight of his fear. Peter smiled, held in the scream trying to tear through his cheeks.

Richard sighed. "I guess you do have a point there. But all things considered, I think it would probably be best to take Peter home for the remainder of the day so we can plan what to do next. Safe to say, the two of us have a lot to talk about."

Keep breathing. Breathe. Breathe, idiot!

Jim nodded and O'Hara placed a hand on the principal's shoulder in support. "I'm sure. Well, just know that you have Midtown's full support. If you need anything at all, we'd be happy to aid one of our most generous benefactors and one of our best students. Safe to say, your family is very important to us here."

Richard smiled, a warm look of gratitude that must have taken decades to fake so well. "I appreciate that. Really I do." He turned towards the teen. "Peter?" he coaxed.

The teen turned his smile towards the principal, clenching his hands so tightly behind his back, he could hear the bones in his broken fingers beginning to shift and grind against each other. "Thank you so much for all of this."

Jim smiled back at him. "It's no problem, Peter. Just be careful out there, okay?"

Richard stood up from his chair and it took all of Peter's willpower to not flinch as the man wrapped his enormous hand around his son's shoulder, nearly engulfing his thin frame in his palm. "Don't worry. I'll be keeping a close eye on him."

His hold tightened, Peter swallowing the rocks pressing against his throat as he felt the man's fingers begin to dig into his skin.

Morita stood up from his seat and O'Hara followed as they escorted the father and son to the door, the woman cracking her mouth into a toothy grin as she stared down at the boy. "Bye, Peter. Remember, if you ever want to talk about anything, my door is always open."

Breathe. Breathe. Don't pass out.

Richard smiled and took a step towards the woman, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. "You're a doll, Holly." He turned and extended a hand to the principal. "Jim."

The man shook it with vigor, smiling as he opened the door for them. "Thanks for your time, Rich. You parked in the back, right? I think they're more focused on the front fences so you should be good."

"Got it. I'll see you next week for the finances meeting."

"See you then."

The door shut.

And Peter was alone with his father.

It was like a switch. As soon as the click of the door settled in the air, Richard's face lost its smile, eyes dimming and a set frown falling onto his face. His posture tensed and his breathing leveled out into a deeper, slower rhythm.

The hallways were terrifyingly empty, no stragglers or potential witnesses lurking the floor, no principals to watch or friends to observe. The silence was near deafening, echoing off the walls in thick waves of nothing, leaving Peter to listen to the pounding of his heart and the clicking of the bones in his fingers shifting with each twitch of his hand.

Richard didn't turn to him, didn't look at him or even so much as speak. All he did was turn on his heel and begin to briskly make his way down the hall. Peter watched him go for a half-second of frozen terror before sucking in a shaky breath and falling in line after the man. He tried not to look up, tried not to see the veins in the man's hand pulsing slightly in time to his heartbeat or the stiff manner in which he walked, as if he were physically holding in his anger.

They made their way towards the back exit to the school where, just as Morita had said, the faculty parking lot was empty of any news vans or impeding mobs. His father's car wasn't hard to spot in the line-up of beat-up old trucks, vans, and sedans that could be afforded on teacher salaries. It stuck out like a sore thumb by the edge of the lot.

They continued on in silence, even as Peter slid into the passenger seat and his father joined him, wordlessly started the car, and pulled away from the school.

Peter faced forward, didn't look at his father, didn't look out the window, just kept his eyes straight and his back rigid against the stiff leather seats, as if he could simply disappear if he remained absolutely still. His undamaged hand fisted around his pants, fingers digging into the denim around his knees as he begged his foot to keep from tapping. The air in the car was tense, so thick and suffocating that Peter could feel it wrapping around his throat, sinking deep into his chest as it pressed down against him, making his skin bubble with goosebumps and set a continuous stream of nerves tingling down the back of his neck.

But he didn't need his senses to tell he was in danger.

They continued on in silence for a good couple of minutes as Richard drove. He wasn't erratic or frustrated in his driving: stopped at every red light, merged seamlessly with oncoming traffic, used his blinkers. They were not the signs of a man teeming with rage. But his grip on the steering wheel told a different story.

It only took a few more minutes of driving for Peter to realize where they were going. But before he could decide how he felt about it, they were pulling up to another red light and Richard suddenly tapped his fingers against the wheel, impressions from his hands leaving indents in the grips.

"Do you enjoy causing problems?" He didn't turn, didn't look at his son. Just kept his eyes on the light and his voice unnaturally calm. Peter resisted the urge to squirm in his seat.

"No."

"Do you like making things difficult for people?"

"No."

"So maybe you can explain to me what your reasons are for continuing to do so. Hmm...? Care to share?" This time he did turn, pointing his burning stare at Peter.

"Well let me try. See, I give you one simple task. One. Take the internship with Stark and lie in wait until we give you further instructions." He took both hands off the wheel, making Peter flinch at his sharp movements. "Done. Simple. So simple, in fact, that even someone as incompetent and useless as you can't mess it up." The man scoffed, letting out a little chuckle as he ran a hand down his face. "And yet, lo and behold, you still find a way. I'm almost impressed, Peter."

The light changed. The man started driving. Peter kept silent.

"'Take the internship.' That means get him coffee, make copies, file his papers. But in your mind that somehow turns into 'set off a media storm scandal.'" He shook his head, lips pursed into a tight smile as he pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. "God, I could kill you right now," he chuckled.

Peter shut his eyes, felt the shakiness of his next breath hesitantly entering his chest, like his own lungs were too afraid to keep working. "I'm sorr-"

"I was willing to let it go when it was just those idiots around the house." The man continued like the teen hadn't even spoken. "Whatever. I can deal with that. But now they're proving just how far they're willing to go for this story." His eyes narrowed, grip tightening on the wheel in a white-knuckle squeeze. "And you know what? Why wouldn't they? This is only the story of the century that you just handed right to them, basically served it up to them on a silver platter."

He turned back to his son with a sharp, sinister stare. "See, you know what I don't like, Peter?" His voice was ice now. Peter could feel it beginning to frost over his skin in a familiar nauseating chill. "I don't like having to deal with unnecessary problems. And this...is definitely unnecessary. And I most certainly have to deal with it now."

Peter couldn't help it now. His foot began to tap against the floor of the car, matching in time to the frantic beating of his heart and the unnerving thrumming banging around his head. He tightened his jaw and tore his eyes away from the windshield, dragging them down to the floor instead as he longed for the silence again, no matter how unsettling it was.

Another red light. The car stopped.

"You know what I have going on, aside from the pointless, time-wasting trips I'm now making to your school? I have people at work coming up to me asking about you, asking if everything's okay with us, poking their noses in places it doesn't belong and accusing me of using my own son as a spy against Tony fucking Stark!"

Maybe it was the sudden shouting or the inclusion of Mr. Stark or maybe even some left-over confidence from his talk that morning with his friends, but Peter suddenly found himself glaring at the red-tinted floor from the lights outside the car, new bitter words leaving his mouth before he could think better of them.

"Well isn't that exactly what you're doing? Not my fault people are finally calling you out."

. . .

Silence.

. . .

Grave silence.

Peter's eyes widened and his heart seized up into his throat, effectively blocking any and all air from entering as he whipped his eyes towards the man. Richard was staring at him, face stoic and muscles tight.

It wasn't the first time he'd gotten that look. Just that weekend, he'd gotten it from Max after he'd egged him on and right before the man had slammed him into a mirror. It wasn't anything he'd never seen before.

But this was different. This was his father.

Sandra and Flint and even Max had their restrictions, the lines they couldn't cross with him. Lines put in place by his father. Even though he knew the dangers and was smart enough to avoid ticking them off, Peter always found it was just a little easier to talk back to the Cons. Because at the end of the day, they took their orders from someone else and that someone else typically made it a point to keep him alive.

But this was his father. His father took orders from nobody. There were no lines set for him, no restrictions. He could do whatever he wanted and nobody could stop him.

Peter remembered this too late.

The light turned green and Richard calmly faced forward once again. Peter felt his hands begin to violently shake in his lap as the man veered away from the center lane and turned off of the main street. His toes curled in his shoes and his ears rang with the sudden echo of blood circulating through. The car pulled off into another path and as they drove off this new lane, the traffic slowly began to dwindle, the people on the streets dropped to zero and the buildings began to grow more and more decrepit.

Another turn and Peter caught sight of the construction zone, an abandoned plot of land surrounded by crumbling buildings and empty walkways. He couldn't feel his heart beating anymore. It was going too fast, a blur of motion that left him breathless and light-headed.

Richard pulled into the lot and shut the car off with a resounding click, pulling the keys from the ignition and pocketing them.

"Get out of the car."

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

"I won't say it again." With that, Richard opened up his own door and stepped out, shutting it with a loud bang and leaving Peter to tremble in his seat. The teen felt each breath leaving his mouth in a violent heave of movement, like his body was physically throwing up each exhale. With a shaky hand, the teen latched his quivering fingers around the handle of the door and slowly pushed it open, taking a second to find his feet and rise up from the seat.

Richard had moved around the car and was now standing outside his door. Peter turned around, slowly pressed the door shut, and rested his palms against the glass, head down and eyes shut as he waited for the inevitable.

"Turn around."

Keep breathing. Keep breathing. Do as you're told.

Locking his jaw, Peter felt his feet crunching underneath gravel as he hesitantly began to move. But before he was even able to fully turn around, a huge fist was slamming into his cheek, the force so strong that it literally knocked him off his feet with a shocked cry. He landed hard on the ground, shoulder jarring into the gravel as he banged his head against the floor. He was barely able to glance back up before another fist was connecting with his face, knocking him back onto his stomach with a shuttering gasp.

"You know, when Max told me you'd been mouthing off to him, I almost didn't believe it," Richard sighed, shrugging off his suit jacket and draping it over the top of the car. "I didn't think you'd do something so stupid and so disrespectful." He began to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt. "I thought I taught you better than that. I'm very disappointed in you, Peter."

He lurched down, connecting another hit with Peter's cheek and another with his eye as he went down. The teen floundered on the floor, pressing his palms into the sharp stones below in hopes of finding some leverage, only for Richard to kick his arms out from under him, sending him sprawling back onto the ground. The teen groaned, eyes blinking back open in shock as Richard forcefully turned the kid onto his back and began to straddle him, threateningly leaning in as close as possible.

"See, I can't have you mouthing off to him. And I certainly can't have you mouthing off to me." He reached down and latched his hand around Peter's bandaged fingers. The teen's eyes widened.

"You understand?"

"Y-Yes! Yes, I understand!"

Richard pinched his face. "Hmm...I don't think you do." And with that, he curled his beefy hand into a fist, crushing Peter's already broken fingers in his vice-like grip. Peter shrieked as he felt the bones crunch under the stress, yanking and pulling at his arm as the man tightened his hold, throat burning at the sheer volume of his cry as his hand cracked with white-hot fire.

"I do! I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I just-"

Another fist to his cheek cut him off with a loud grunt of pain as Richard finally released the teen's hand, rising back up to his feet with a gleam in his eyes and a certain unsettling edge of calm in his voice, like he was simply talking about the weather and not beating his son on the edge of an abandoned construction zone.

"I know you're sorry. But I don't need you to be sorry, Peter. I need you to learn."

He reared his foot back and delivered a sharp, swift kick to the teen's gut, literally knocking the air out of him in a violent sputtering gasp. "I have. I-I have learned," Peter stuttered, voice cracking as the words wavered on his tongue, fighting to get out as he shook. "Please, I-"

"Well if that's true then why are we still doing this?" Another kick, this time to the face. "Why do you still force me to do this?" And another, quick and precise to the ribs. "Why do you have to push every button?"

Peter groaned, pressing his cheek into the gravel as he felt his eyes beginning to burn, hot tears prickling at the corners. Richard leaned down and grabbed a fistful of the boy's hair, lurching his neck up in a painful jerk. "You cause this. You make me do this. Not me. This is all on you so don't you start crying like you're the victim in all of this when you brought this all upon yourself."

He delivered a sharp slap across the face, making spittle fly from the teen's mouth. Peter dragged in a shuttering breath, eyes crunching as he grasped at his father's wrist, hoping to alleviate the pressure ripping at his skull. "I was just t-trying to do what I thought you wanted!"

Richard curled his lip, violently slamming Peter's head down into the floor, pressing his arm down against the back of his neck. "See, that's the problem. You're not supposed to think! Not when I don't tell you to." Peter gritted his teeth, felt the stones underneath slicing into his cheeks as his hands scrabbled against the ground. "You're supposed to wait and obey like a respectful, dutiful son. Is that really so much to ask?!" He drove his foot into the kid's side again, making him buckle under the intensity as he tried to curl in on himself, Richard's tight grip against his neck making it impossible.

"I give you food when you're good and a roof over your head. I even take the time to teach you important life lessons and you're still ungrateful."

Another kick. Peter gasped, felt his ribs creaking and his stomach squelching. He shut his eyes tightly, willed the tears back lest they make his father angrier. "No. I...I am. I'm g-grateful. I swear."

Richard wrenched the teen's head up again, Peter yelping at the sudden pain in his neck. "Well, I start to question that the second you begin to question my authority!" The man pulled back and delivered a full punch to the kid's nose, Peter literally falling backward at the force behind it as his nose cracked and blood spurted into the air.

He landed with a thud against the gravel, coughing against the blood dripping from his nose and into his mouth. He scrunched his eyes shut again, tried to fight down the churning nausea looming in his gut. He coughed, blood splattering the stones underneath him. "I was wrong...I-I'm sorry. I...I w-was wron-"

An extra sharp kick right to the stomach cut him off with a choked gurgle, the teen barely having any time to turn onto his side before he was spewing bile from his mouth, body shaking as his stomach heaved and rolled with the burning pain of each blow. His chest creaked and his head shrieked with an intense blinding pain, jaw locking and body trembling from the strain. He heaved a few more times and the last dribbles of vomit left his lips with a soft cry. No longer able to hold the tears, Peter ducked his head, felt the blood dripping down his face mingling with the new drips rolling down his cheeks.

He heard his father sigh, heard the sound of gravel shifting under the man's shoes. Peter didn't look up, just kept his eyes shut and his shaking hands fisting into the sharp stones below, the bright burning pain of his broken fingers making the tears fall faster.

"You think I want to do this?" His father's voice was calm, eerily so. "You think I want to make you hurt like this? Because I don't. I'd never want this, Peter. But I know it's necessary."

Distantly, Peter could make out the soft sound of far-off cars passing by. He prayed one would come, prayed there were some stragglers on the streets, someone to see, someone to come check, someone for his father to pretend for.

"I can't have you acting so disrespectful without any consequences."

But there was no one. No one to see. No one to help. No one but his father.

"What is it I always tell you?"

And suddenly the silence of the empty streets was killed by the familiar sounds of a belt buckle unfastening. Peter's breath shuddered. He opened his eyes and stared down at his fingers, crooked and bloodied against the darkening stones, lone tears dripping onto the skin.

"Discipline's...important."

He heard his father hum in approval. Everything in him teetered with a sudden chill, a thick, sticky fear that latched into his heart and began to settle in his bones. He coughed, sputtered on some more blood that was beginning to clog his nose and stick to his throat. His father was silent. Peter knew what he was waiting for. He spoke, voice shaky, uneven, pathetic.

"I...I'm s-sorry..."

He heard his father's voice above him, cold and uncaring. "What are you sorry for?"

"For causing p-problems. F-for causing you...problems. I-inconveniencing you. I shouldn't be s...such a pain. This is all my f-fault. All...all of it."

"Really? Cause just a few minutes ago, you said-"

"I was wrong." Peter's hands curled into the gravel, the bones in his fingers shifting and clicking with each twitch, crunching against his skin in a grating pull. "I...I was wrong. It is my fault. A-all of this is...is my fault. I make you do this. I-I'm sorry."

He heard the sand shifting again and suddenly his father came into view, the man crouching down next to him, eyes peering down at the bloodied face of his son. "That's right," he purred, slowly bringing the belt into view. Peter couldn't help the whimper that fell from his lips as he saw it, the ends fastened tightly in the man's grip, creating a thick, solid loop of leather. The teen heard the shaking of his breathing and the soft sound of his cries as the man began to brush the belt against his son's cheek, shutting his eyes so he didn't have to see the looming threat that made his body shiver.

Richard rested it against the underside of Peter's chin and used it to lift the teen's head up just a bit. "And what are you going to do to make up for it?"

Breathe. Breathe. He couldn't breathe anymore.

"Whatever you say. I'll do whatever you say, w-whatever you want."

He could practically feel it already, feel it slicing into his skin, tearing through his flesh in thick bands of burning leather.

"Because?"

"Because I o-owe you everything. I owe you my life. A-and I'm grateful for everything y-you...do for me, everything you teach me. Y-you're my father and you deserve...deserve my respect."

Richard whipped the belt away and Peter literally gasped in shocked relief as it moved away from him. The man straightened up but didn't put the belt away. "You need structure. You need discipline."

His head was fuzzy now, his tongue dry and his throat tight. It was hard to see, mainly because one of his eyes was swelling shut and the other had drops of blood from his forehead dripping in the way. "You're right."

"I'm always right."

"You're always right." He tried to glance up, but the man was standing just underneath the sun, which harshly glared down at him, as if even it knew just how disappointing he was. He turned away. "T-thank you for teaching me."

The gravel shifted again. Richard was stepping closer. Peter fought the urge to curl back up again, didn't really have the energy to anymore. He could feel the looming force of his father, the overwhelming suffocating air swirling around him. Richard's voice was deathly low, a quiet shiver that made Peter's spine tingle.

"Would you ever betray me, Peter?"

The belt snapped above him, a horrifyingly loud sound that made his bones ache and his stomach shrivel. His heart stuttered, a dying noise that echoed in his ears. "No. Never. I'd n-never betray you. I live to serve you."

Richard sighed and reached a hand down towards Peter's hair. He didn't yank at it, just rested it atop his head, a heavy weight that could snap his neck without even trying, an ominous threat. But when he spoke again, it was calm, collected, his usual tone of voice. "I choose to believe that, Peter. Because I choose to believe in my son as any good father does. And if you ever let me down again-"

The belt curled around his neck, tightening so fast that Peter didn't even have time to drag in a hasty breath before his head was being jerked back. Peter's eyes widened as Richard leaned down next to him, lips mere inches from the boy's ear. "...you can sure as hell believe that I will make you suffer." He could feel the man's breath against his skin, hot and hellish, and inescapable. The belt tightened. Peter wheezed and lifted his hands to his neck, felt the band cutting into his skin. "And why is that?"

Peter didn't fight the man's hold on him this time, didn't try and pry his fingers underneath the belt to try and alleviate the pressure. He whimpered and held back more tears, but he didn't fight.

"B-because I'll deserve it."

"Because you'll deserve it." With that, the man released the ligature, Peter falling to his hands and knees with a ragged gasp of air. But before he could really take a steadying breath, Richard was looping a hand around his son's arm, nearly crushing it as he dragged him up to his feet and shoved him towards the car, the teen slamming into the side with a grunt as he tried desperately not to fall back down to his feet. "Now get in the car."

With that, the man went about fixing himself up again, readjusting his tie and rolling his sleeves back down. Peter couldn't really hear him over the loud whining filling his ears, didn't turn to him. Instead, he focused on the car, focused on pressing his shaking hands against the glass, cold and chilly against his skin. He could feel the throbbing of his ribs, the blood on his face sticky and wet.

It took a few tries, but eventually, Peter was able to wrap his shivering hands around the handle and secure it well enough to finally pry the door open, sliding down into his seat and swallowing down the burst of pain that flared from his body as it jarred against the car.

Richard joined a few seconds later, shutting his door and setting the keys in the ignition without any hesitation. The car purred to life, vibrating under Peter's legs. The teen didn't move, didn't make any noise. Instead, he listened to his breathing, listened to the sound of his heart thudding against his chest, sickly and sharp in his ears as it mingled with the sharp whine. He stared down at his lap, stared at his quivering hands, and the sickening crookedness of his fingers, the skin red, purple, and black as it swelled. His lips were parted ever so slightly, his breaths too ragged and torn to safely breathe through his nose as his neck burned from the ligature he could still feel slicing into his skin.

The car pulled out of the lot without another moment's hesitation and a few turns later found them back on the main road, as if nothing had ever happened, a short seven minutes that had never occurred.

Said man drove without so much as an out of place twitch in his fingers, falling right back into the calm methodical routine of blinkers, turn signals, and merges, just like every other car on the road. So when he reached back over towards Peter, the teen couldn't help but flinch so badly he slammed his shoulder into the side of the door.

Richard rolled his eyes, but diverted his hand to the glove box in front of the kid, pulling it down and grabbing a spare towel stuffed inside, haphazardly tossing it to the teen. "You sure you can handle those bullies at school, Peter? They're really starting to do a number on you."

Peter hesitantly wrapped his fingers around the towel that had fallen into his lap, fighting not to rip the cloth to shreds in his trembling, white-knuckle grasp.

The stage lights were on, blinding in his eyes, burning his retinas. But the Audience was waiting. His line:

"N-nothing I can't handle...sir."

The car rolled to a stop at another red light, Richard turning to give the boy a hard look and ever so slightly reaching a hand over to grab the teen's face, gently turning his head to face him. Peter knew not to pull away, choked down the heart-stuttering fear that jolted at the touch.

The man let out a small breath, stared at his son's bleeding and bruising face. He lifted a thumb and wiped at some of the blood dotting Peter's chin. His finger was rough and scrapped up against one of the cuts on his face but Peter didn't flinch. Richard sighed.

"You know I love you, Peter."

Keep breathing.

And he did. Because who was he to disobey?

"...I know. I love you too."

 

---

 

Monday - May 2, 2016

Stark Tower - Main Offices

12:23 PM

Excedrin sucked.

At least, this was the conclusion Tony was beginning to come to as he glared down at the labels on the back of the bottle, trying to see which information he found first: the average wait time for the pills to take effect or the company complaint number. Safe to say, he had an earful for them.

But quickly deciding he'd rather not waste the precious energy he was just starting to get back on a couple of low-level corporate monkeys, the man sighed and pushed the pill bottle away from him, shutting his eyes as he rested his head down on the desk.

His body burned with a teeming exhaustion he could feel all the way down to his bones, a heavy weight that pressed down around him and made his tongue feel all fuzzy and his head all hazy. There was a constant ringing in his ears, a soft whine that was just loud enough to be annoying. It grated on his senses and made him long for the deepest, darkest room they could find, complete with sound-proof walls and a heavy-duty lock on the door.

Sunday had come and gone and while every hour without another dose of alcohol strengthened his resolve, the symptoms had yet to fully pass. The nausea had left by the time he'd woken up that morning, but in its place was a deep sense of weariness and a teeming throb of a headache that made him grit his teeth and fight against his instincts to get his suit and fly down to the corporate office of the closest migraine medication company to demand they explain their ridiculous wait-times.

Of course, this was the longest he'd ever held out for a detox session so safe to say, he wasn't about to bail out now. He'd made it this far. He was going to see it to the end, especially since all of Pepper's research suggested that he was in the final few stages. One more day and his system should be completely wiped of any and all traces of alcohol.

The thought made him feel...strange. Not bad, just...weird. He'd never gone more than a day or two without a drink for the past few decades or so, and even then the sheer anxiety that began to tingle through his muscles whenever he was in need of a fix always won him over in the end, leading to a glass or two even at the most inopportune moments.

It was classic alcoholism. He could see it now, even with the fuzz clouding his head at the moment. In his long list of failures, it definitely wasn't the worst, not by a long shot. But it was his longest-running misstep and the idea of finally stumbling back up to his feet was a foreign thought. Once again, not bad, just...weird.

He felt weird. There was no other way to explain it.

Oh, well. At least he was finally out of the bathroom.

"You know, I didn't think I could hate the guy more, but if Rogers ever crosses my path again, I am going to shove that shield so far up his ass they'll have to roll him to the ER."

Tony lifted his head up with a small smirk as Rhodey barged into the room, face streamed and posture rigid with anger. the braces on his legs whirred as he moved.

"Hey, platypus. How was your trip with Ross? You guys take pictures?"

"Plenty. And in all of them, you'll see Ross with that vein in his head growing larger and larger in every shot. I mean, by the time I left it was practically shouting orders."

Tony chuckled before resting his head back down on his arms. A small part of him still felt guilty over Rhodey having to deal with Ross instead of him, but that small part was largely outweighed by his burning disdain for the Senator mingled with the stomach bile he was certain he would have thrown up all over the man had he gone to see him.

Honestly, not a bad picture to imagine.

He heard the braces whirring again and a moment later a hand was resting down on his shoulder, a much calmer air radiating off the Colonel as he took a few deep breaths. "How you feeling, man?"

"Well...I'm currently living off of a steady diet of overpriced bottled water and shitty migraine medicine so all in all, it could be worse."

The weight didn't leave his shoulder. He sighed and lifted his head from his arms once again, eyes meeting the Colonel's concerned stare. Tony straightened up slightly in his seat, leaning back with a rub of the eyes. "I'm fine. Really. Should be fully cleared in a day or two."If there was anything that was going to make detoxing worse, it was talking about it. So he cleared his throat, resting his hand back down against the armrest. "Tell me about DC."

Rhodey sighed, shrugging his shoulders. "Nothing's really changed since I gave Pepper the update yesterday. Still no sign of any theft or tampering. The guards in the hospital are going to make full recoveries. No records were deleted, no flies corrupt."

The billionaire shook his head, pressing a hand against his mouth as he focused on breathing, focused on feeling the air enter his lungs. Rhodey kept talking, pacing back and forth across the room as he vented the frustrations he, no doubt, built up over his time with Ross. The Senator just seemed to have that sort of effect on people. His friend's words began to jumble together as Tony shut his eyes and waited for the growing ringing in his ears to settle, a deep hum that bounced off the walls and rattled against his teeth.

"I mean...what were they thinking? Are they just trying to make things more difficult for us?"

Wait. A question. Was it a question for him? Just in case, the man ran the words back around in his throbbing head and shrugged. "I wouldn't put it past them." He drummed his fingers against the armrest, grimacing slightly as his head gave an extra sharp twinge of pain. Rhodey grumbled something and took a seat in one of the chairs on the other side of Tony's desk.

The billionaire twisted around in his seat, turning to face the window, face the city below. "How hard of a hit are we taking from this?"

He could hear Rhodey tapping his own fingers against his leg braces, a tick Tony noticed he'd developed once the braces had actually come on. "People are angry, well...angrier. They're asking what you're going to do about it, what the Avenges are going to do about it?"

At that, Tony couldn't help but scoff. "Avengers. What Avengers? You, me and Vision are the only ones still here, the android hasn't left the compound in two months and the rest of our 'teammates' are terrorizing guards and playing laser tag in government vaults. Avengers..."

Any other time, Tony probably would have been feeling bad in that moment, recounting just how frayed and dismantled their team had become. But with the added pressure behind his eyes, the tingling anxiety bubbling over his skin, and the sheer stupidity of Rogers' actions, he found he could feel nothing but contemptuous anger. "What am I going to do about it?" He echoed Rhodey's question. "Nothing, if I can help it. Legally, I'm not mandated to, either. Not yet, anyway. Not until the Accords are fastened down tight. Till then, Ross can run around all he wants playing Big Boy Senator, but he's not going to drag me down into Rogers' little circus."

He glared out the window, fingers wrapping tight around the armrest. "I'm done dealing with that shit." Another twinge of pain. He grimaced and rested his head back into his hand.

"Ross isn't going to like that."

"Even better."

The sharp sound of clacking heels made them both turn towards the entrance of the office, Pepper storming in not even a second later, face tight with worry. She spared no hesitations, reaching for the remote on the corner of Tony's desk and whirring around to the TV hanging in the corner. "You need to see this."

"-coming to you live from Midtown School of Science and Technology, which earlier today, was confirmed as the official school of Queens resident, Peter Parker, son of corporate figurehead Richard Parker."

Tony lurched from his chair, ignoring the flare that spiked through his head. In the corner of his eye, he could see Rhodey doing the same.

"In the past week, Peter Parker has been confirmed in sightings with billionaire Tony Stark - owner of Stark Industries and top competitor with Parkstem Labs, Richard Parker's own company, leading many to speculate as to the relationship between the two and to Peter Parker's involvement."

"Earlier this morning, we brought you live footage of Peter Parker on school grounds but have yet to receive an official comment from either Parkers or Stark. Continued coverage on the school-"

"When did this first air?"

"40 minutes ago." Pepper muttered, muting the TV before angrily tossing the remote back onto the table. "They really have no boundaries, do they?"

Rhodey cocked a brow. "It's the media, Pep. Of course not."

Tony's eyes stayed locked on the muted TV, on the images of the kid's school splashed across the screen, mountains upon mountains of news vans and reporters swarming in the background. His head spiked. He swallowed it down. "Right. I, uh...okay. Okay, Happy. I need to call Happy and arrange a pickup for the kid." The words tumbled from his mouth so haphazardly he might as well have been puking them up into a toilet again. Pepper and Rhodey seemed to understand the urgency though, for they both pulled out their phones.

"Boss?"

"Not now, FRIDAY. Pepper, what time does he get out again?"

"2:30"

He ran a hand through his hair. Another spike, another surge of nerves. He could feel himself getting jittery. "Right. Okay, okay, two hours. Two hours. I can make that work. Just gotta..." He reached a shaky hand towards the pills on his desk, flipping it to the labels again. "How many more of these can I take without seeing God?"

"Tony-"

"Boss?"

"Okay, a lot of voices right not. Not really helping. Just-"

Pepper grabbed onto his arm, a grounding grip that slowly began to drag his wild thoughts back into the center of his mind. He stared down at her, at the calm collectiveness of her gaze. "Relax. Take a breath. Don't start freaking out."

He did breathe, took a few breaths actually, swallowing thickly as he steadied his hand. He scrolled his eyes along the labels, willing his heart rate to steady. "I'm not freaking out. I-how long until another dose?!" He scoffed and tossed the bottle over his shoulder. "Screw this garbage. I'm better off just chewing on a mint leaf or something!"

"Boss!"

He glared up at the ceiling. "What, FRIDAY?"

"Richard Parker has entered the building."