There was a butterfly in the tree.

Four-year-old Peter Parker watched it with avid interest, watched it flutter its wings, bright orange against the greyish-brown of the dead tree limb it perched on. He remembered his father telling him all about the different types, teaching him how to tell between species. It was a Painted Lady. He remembered how funny the name had sounded. It was his mother's favorite. He wished he could show it to her.

But he couldn't.

Because she was in the box.

The insect didn't seem to mind the slight drizzle falling from the sky, not heavy enough to require any umbrellas, but still present enough to be annoying and uncomfortable as Peter shifted on his feet.

He didn't want to leave, though. Because then Mommy would be alone.

There were a lot of people, each of them in clothes that were just as dark as the suit his father had dressed him in that morning. Peter had asked him about it then, as the man had fixed the boy's tie, asked why they had to get so dressed up in funny, uncomfortable clothes.

("Because we want to look nice when we say goodbye to Mommy.")

Peter didn't understand.

He didn't want to say goodbye to Mommy. And he didn't want to wear those funny clothes.

Even now, standing silently in the mist beside his father, listening to the old man speaking slowly as he read something from a book, watching the butterfly in the tree, Peter didn't understand.

He didn't understand how his mother could be dead.

Even the word seemed strange. He remembered asking about it once, gazing up at the wall of butterflies his father kept in his office, pinned up behind panes of glass. It seemed strange that none of them moved, not even a twitch of the wings, no beating against the glass or flying around the room. They just sat there, wings stretched, cold and still.

("They're dead, Peter. That's why they don't move.")

("What's that? Dead?")

("It's, uh...it's like falling asleep. Only you don't wake up. And no amount of shaking or yelling or jumping on the bed can wake them up.")

("But that's how I wake up you and Mommy. It...doesn't work sometimes?")

("You don't have to worry about that, kiddo. It's damn near impossible to sleep through you.")

Peter had laughed. He remembered that. He remembered laughing as his father had ruffled his hair. And even though he knew his father knew everything, knew his father was always right, Peter still wanted to try. He wanted to go up to Mommy and try, knock on the box, shake her shoulder, even. There was no bed, but he'd even try jumping if that was that it'd take. Whenever he jumped on their bed at six in the morning, she'd always pretend that she was still sleeping, even going as far as to snore loudly. He would giggle and bounce between the two of them.

He wanted to tell her to get up, to stop messing around and pick him up, tell him that Daddy had been goofing off that one time and that he really could wake her up if he just tried hard enough.

But she didn't get out of the box. Nobody knocked, and he was too scared to try, too scared to open it up and see her pinned up like the butterflies on the wall.

So, no. Four-year-old Peter Parker didn't understand how his mother could be "dead", didn't understand how she could just...not be there anymore when she'd been tucking him into bed one week earlier, marveling at the "amazing job I did" of putting the star stickers up on his ceiling.

And quite frankly, he didn't want to understand. Not if it meant his mother would be gone. Not if it meant he would never get to see her again, hear her again, sit on her lap or embrace her after school.

It had something to do with that night. He was almost sure of it.

People had been asking him all sorts of questions about it, men in uniforms with grumpy faces that made him nervous. But there wasn't much about that night that he could remember, other than his mother.

He remembered her, remembered how scared she'd been, more scared than he'd ever seen her be before. He remembered sitting in the dark, sitting in the closet, listening to the storm outside. But most of all, he remembered seeing his mother on the floor, laying still and silent with pools of red draining out of her.

Blood. He remembered that word, too. Remembered it from his third birthday party when he'd slipped and scraped his knee on the playground rocks. That was what his mother had called it, what she had wiped away with a clean tissue before kissing it better.

Who would do that now?

He lifted his head back towards the tree. The butterfly was still there, perched silently, wings flittering ever so often, a little twitch of movement to signal its life.

Slowly, his gaze traveled down away from the tree to scan over the crowd. They were strangers, people he'd never seen before holding tissues and standing around with sad faces as they listened to the old man. Strangers. All of them. Except, of course, for Auntie May and Uncle Ben.

They stood next to him, standing shoulder to shoulder with each other. May had a crumped handful of tissues constantly pressed against one of her eyes, leaning into Uncle Ben while he stood in silence, face drawn into a look Peter wasn't used to seeing on the usually jovial man's face. He didn't like it. It felt wrong seeing him so sad.

The drizzle never let up, not even as the man finally finished speaking and the people slowly began to disperse. He watched them come up to his father, giving him gentle pats on the shoulder as he shook their hands. He looked sad, too. Not as sad as Uncle Ben or Auntie May, but sad nonetheless. He wondered if his father was thinking of the butterflies back home as well.

Eventually, the crowd slowly dwindled until it was just him and his father with Auntie May and Uncle Ben. His father went over to talk to the old man that had been speaking for most of the time, leaving Peter to stand alone under the tree. He watched the butterfly.

"Pete?"

He turned his head.

Uncle Ben smiled down at him, his cheeks stretching strangely as he carefully knelt down in front of the boy. Peter watched the damp grass begin to soak into the man's pants, but he said nothing, not even as Auntie May crouched down to do the same. His mother didn't like it when he got his clothes dirty. He decided not to follow in their movements.

"Hey, champ," the man said softly, different from his usual boisterous tone. "How you doing?"

Peter blinked at him for a moment, fiddled with the hem of his pants. "Okay."

Because he didn't know what else to say.

"Yeah? I've never seen you look so handsome, bud. Doesn't he look handsome, May?"

The woman smiled, tears slipping into the corners of her lips. "The cutest little boy I've ever seen."

Uncle Ben chuckled, but it sounded off, thicker than normal. His throat bobbed up and down. "With all those science T-shirts you love so much, I almost didn't recognize you like this." He reached out and gently began to finger at Peter's tie, straightening it out just a bit before resting his hand against the fabric, his smile wavering.

His mother bought him those shirts. Who would get them for him now?

"It itches," was all that came out when he tried to voice the question.

They were silent for a moment, staring at him in a way he'd never seen before. It was the same look all of the strangers had been giving him, looks that made him uncomfortable, made him want to curl up against his father's leg and hide from their view. But he didn't. His father wasn't here.

Uncle Ben moved his hand from the tie up to Peter's shoulder. "Honey. Please listen to me, alright?"

Peter always listened to Uncle Ben, even before he'd started to give him that strange look.

The man took in a deep breath and Peter could actually hear how shaky it was, the same sound he made whenever he ran too much in gym and needed to use his inhaler. Did Ben need an inhaler? He'd never seen him use one before.

"I...I want..." The man glanced down at the ground for a moment, enough time for Auntie May to place a hand on his shoulder. He sniffed and lifted his head once more. "If you need anything, Peter...anything at all, I want you to come and see us. I know this is...I...this is all so confusing, isn't it?"

Peter didn't say anything. Ben didn't seem to mind.

"And I...we...whatever we can do...to make this easier, we'll do it, alright? So if you need us...doesn't matter what it's for, doesn't matter what time it is." His grip around the boy's shoulder tightened. His eyes grew misty like Aunt May's.

"Don't hesitate. You're always welcome with us."

"What does that mean?" His voice was soft. "Hes...itate?"

Ben blinked at him and gave a gentle smile, brushing a strand of hair out of the boy's face.

"Don't be afraid to ask for help."

Auntie May smiled, it wavered on her face, framed by the tears falling down her cheek that she hastily wiped with the tissues in her hand. "That's right, baby." She cleared her throat. "Anything you need, we'll be there, alright?"

"And you won't just have to come to us, you hear? We'll stop by all the time to see you, watch movies, do whatever you want, okay? How does that sound?"

Not good enough. It wasn't good enough.

He wanted his mother. And they couldn't give her to him.

But not wanting to be rude, the boy gave a little nod of his head, which seemed to be enough for the two of them, for they quickly opened up their arms.

And suddenly overcome with the most emotion he'd felt in that entire week, Peter sniffed and stepped into their arms, tucking his chin into Ben's neck as he felt them wrap around him. The boy's glasses pressed painfully against the bridge of his nose, but he didn't care. Because he knew them. They weren't strangers.

"We're here for you, Peter. I don't want you to forget that, alright? You're our kid, too."

The grass squelched as he heard his father approaching. Peter lifted his head to gaze at him as Uncle Ben and Aunt May stood up, turning to face him. No words were passed, but Ben did reach out to pat his father on the shoulder and shake his hand. Richard gave a silent nod to the both of them before they were stepping back. They both gave Peter little smiles and seemed to hesitate before finally turning to walk back down the hill.

It was just the three of them now.

Peter gazed at his mother for a moment, wondered whether or not she would get up if they stood there long enough. Finally, Peter lifted his eyes to stare at his father. The man was gazing down at her as well, watching her in silence. After a moment, he turned to glance down at Peter.

They stared at each other, and, suddenly overcome with a strange feeling he couldn't describe, Peter lifted his arms into the air. His father blinked down at him, remained silent for another second before slowly crouching down. He placed his hands underneath Peter's arms and lifted him up into the air, settling him against his hip as they stood and watched Mommy for a while.

Finally, when the drizzling had all but ceased, his father took a deep breath and turned his head towards Peter.

"Blow Mommy a kiss."

Peter didn't hesitate, did as was instructed, same as he'd done a thousand times whenever he'd get on the school bus and wave goodbye to her from the window. She didn't catch it this time though, didn't put it in her pocket to save for later. She didn't do anything.

Without another word, his father turned and began to carry him down the hill. Peter rested his chin against the man's shoulder, wrapped his arms around his neck and his legs around his torso. He kept watching, kept waiting for the box to move, for her to get out, to smile and laugh and tell him it had all been a bad dream. But she didn't.

Instead, the boy turned his gaze towards the tree. And just as they made it to the bottom of the hill, just as it left his line of sight, Peter realized.

The butterfly was gone.

 

---

 

Friday - May 20, 2016

Midtown School of Science and Technology - Courtyard

01:38 PM

"Question, my friends. Do you believe that this three-ring, two-inch binder filled with notes on the migration patterns and trade routes of the imported goods of eastern Turkey are worth saving?"

"I don't know. I guess it depends on what classes you plan on taking next year cause I suppose it could come in handy if-"

"I - no. That was a rhetorical question. The answer is no."

"Rhetorical questions don't have answers."

"Okay. Would you two just let me enjoy this please?"

Without another word, Ned held his binder over the courtyard trashcan and dramatically dropped the thick book in. Peter and Michelle shared a look as the boy wiped his hands and let a satisfied smile work its way onto his face. "Yeah. Feels good."

Peter patted him on the shoulder. "Happy for you," He spared a glance into the trash. "And it seems you're not the only one who's willing to part with his stuff," he said, peering down at the mound of notebooks, papers, binders, and even a couple of backpacks that sat discarded in the garbage.

Ned smirked. "Yeah, man. For the next two months, my hands will hold no pencils, papers, binder, or notebooks. Nothing but Legos, video game controllers, and all the junk food I can afford on my meager 10-buck allowance."

Michelle glanced over towards the road, watching one of the buses pass by, the windows rolled down to display the horde of cheering kids sticking their heads out with their fists pumped and their mouths spread wide into screams of joy.

"Yeah. Something tells me the number of noise complaints is about to spike."

There were still plenty of kids milling about the courtyard, either waiting by the carline for their parents or sitting by the tables talking to friends before they all departed for the first week of summer. The excitement was palpable in the air, the usual aura of apathy and boredom giving way to cheer and relief that the school year was finally over.

Peter pulled on the straps of his bag as he, Ned, and Michelle made for the sidewalk. Usually, the two of them rode home with their parents, but for some reason, they were electing to walk today. Peter didn't ask about it, didn't want to make it seem like a big deal, but it felt strangely nice not walking alone as he usually did.

"Well," Ned stretched his arms into the air, shutting his eyes as he let out a sigh. "First year of high school is officially over and I would give it a solid B minus."

"Good passing grade."

"81 percent at least."

Peter gave a shrug of his shoulders as he watched another line of buses cruise past. "I could have done without Flash on a couple given days-"

"All of them?"

"-But." The boy scoffed and rolled his eyes at MJ's comment. "I can't really complain too much." His gaze softened just a tad as he spared her a sheepish little look before quickly averting his gaze back to the sidewalk. "Made some friends. That's already better than middle school."

He focused on stepping over the cracks in the sidewalk, timing out his gait so that he didn't have to stretch to pass over them. It helped relieve the quickened pace of his heart and the sudden urge to spare a glance over at Michelle.

Luckily, the sudden silence was filled as Ned jumped in, nudging in between the two of them as he grinned. "Yeah, man! Our little duo has become a trio!" He paused, face growing thoughtful for just a second before he was glancing over at Michelle. "Right?"

This time, Peter did look over at her. She stared at the two of them before blowing a scoff past her lips, brushing a few bangs out of her face before stuffing her hands into her pockets. She didn't look at Peter. "Not like I have anybody else to hang out with."

"...I think that's a compliment...

The girl's face scrunched up a bit in what they quickly recognized to be a restrained smile as she rolled her eyes and finally relented with a half-smirk. "It is, genius. I'm sure I could do worse than you two losers."

Peter grinned as well. "Hey, if you're hanging out with us, then that officially makes you a loser, too."

This time she did look over at him. Peter felt himself stiffen ever so slightly, breath stuttering in his throat as he waited for her reply, a strange feeling settling in his stomach. It was a half-day. The sun was higher than usual, meaning it hit her eyes at a new angle. They were bright brown, dark and warm at the same time.

It took him a fraction of a second to wonder why he was thinking about her eyes. But before he could answer, she already was. She sniffed and flipped her hair, turning to face forward once more. "There are worse things to be called."

Peter released a breath. His smile remained, as did hers despite her best efforts to conceal it.

Suddenly Ned was back. Peter had forgotten he was there for a second. The boy swung his backpack around as they were walking and pulled at the zipper, yanking something out of the pack. It took Peter a second to recognize it as the yearbook they'd been passing around at lunch. Ned flipped it open as they strolled along the sidewalk, Peter gazing over at the brightly-colored cover.

The Midtown Tech logo was emblazoned in huge print with the iconic blue and gold of the school swirled around the front. In the corner sat a little nameplate with Ned's name carved in small letters; a personalized touch his mother always splurged for, regardless of the extra thirty dollars it cost.

For a brief, fleeting moment, Peter imagined what it would be like asking his own father for a yearbook, imagined listening to the man agree wholeheartedly before prattling on about his previous high-school days. He would pull out his own yearbook and flip through the pages, pointing out this classmate or that teacher, taking the time to stroll down memory lane with his son.

Peter liked to imagine this rather than the reality of what would likely happen should he ever ask his father for such a ridiculous request. But Ned was always more than happy to share with his friend - as they'd been doing since middle school - so Peter had never felt the need to ask.

"You think Tony Stark would sign this?" Ned held up the page that showed them all at the Decathlon regionals, trophy held above their heads as they grinned on the stage. Michelle glanced at it with a cocked brow.

"Something tells me he's no stranger to signing autographs. Probably the first time he's ever had to sign a yearbook though."

"I still cannot believe - gosh, I wish they'd gotten a picture of afterwards when he showed up. Or, better yet, a pic of Flash's freaking face! God, I would hang that on my wall."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Personally, I don't think a five-by-five pic of Flash's stupid face is really worth the headache that would come from the press getting hold of a picture like that. We just got done dealing with the last media fiasco. I'm good for the next two months."

Ned began to flip through the pages of the book, reviewing the signatures on the final page, mostly from other members of their Decathlon team. "Fine. Fine. But two months from now, I'm getting my money's worth out of being friends with someone who knows an Avenger."

Ned stopped walking. The others faltered slightly, taking a second to realize he was no longer walking beside them and stopping in their tracks, turning back to face him. He stared seriously at his book, face grim, lips pulled into a tight line. Peter and MJ spared each other a look at the sudden shift.

Finally,

"I should frame my Tony Stark autograph."

They rolled their eyes as he started to walk again. "But first I'd have to show Flash, of course. Rub it in his stupid face."

"You really think he'd buy it?" MJ asks.

"Maybe we can get a picture of him signing it. I would frame that too. I'm gonna need to buy some more frames."

Peter shook his head. "Oh my gosh. You're gonna get me fired."

The girl let out a scoff and threw him a skeptical look. "Please. This is the same guy that came to some random, publicly-funded high-school Decathlon tournament just to see you."

Peter turned his head away, if only to hide the sudden heat that had risen around his cheeks at the unexpected statement. But she continued before he could even consider dwelling on it. "If you asked, he'd probably show up to school in his suit."

Ned stopped walking again, but this time, it was so he could zoom forward right into Peter's path, almost making him run right into him. He stared at the boy with wide eyes and a face so intense he could have been in the middle of a warzone and Peter wouldn't have been able to tell the difference.

"Dude...prom. Iron Man can come to prom."

Peter blinked. "Wha-?"

"Think about it. Get him to come to our freaking prom."

"I- that's three years away." Peter used his shoulder to gently push past his friend as they started walking again, Ned trailing after him with a new desperate plea in his tone.

"We'll start planning now! Tony Stark showing up to our prom would no doubt be the highlight of my life. Better than the birth of my kids sort of highlight! He could fly you in nonchalant, just totally chill about it. Maybe you two could do some sort of super-secret handshake thing. Oh, and you gotta make sure he says hi to me, or maybe one of those cool-guy head nods from a distance."

"Why don't we at least wait until junior year before we start making plans to bring Iron May as my date to prom?"

Another line of busses filed past them, these just as filled at the previous batch, echoing with the cheers and shouts of students embarking for home. Along the sidewalks, other groups of kids walked with backpacks slung over their shoulders and lunchboxes in hand, signs that all the other schools in the area had just finished letting out as well.

Storefronts were crowded, the streets were loud, and all around them, discarded homework papers fluttered in the breeze or slid along the ground, the first real sign that summer had officially started.

"So, what now?" Ned called with a grin that spread from cheek to cheek, walking just ahead of them with a backward gait so he could face them as he spoke. "We starting off this summer right? Delmar's then Arcade Monsters?" He didn't wait for a reply and pumped his fist. "I'm getting all the mileage I can get out of this now that I actually have my partner in crime to hang out with this year."

Peter steered the oblivious boy away from the telephone pole he was walking towards as Michelle cocked a brow. "What do you mean?"

"My dad usually keeps me pretty busy during the summer, so I don't get to hang out with Ned all that much."

Ned's grin got even wider, if such a thing were possible. "But this year's different! Your dad is out of the picture so we're gonna live it up!"

The smile on Peter's face faltered, wavered and twitched at the corners before turning into a small frown. He turned his eyes back over towards the road, watching as cars filled with teens raced down the street. The previous warmth he'd felt before fizzled out like fingertips pinching around a candlewick.

"He's not...out of the picture. He's just...I..." His voice tapered off as the words seemed to die on his tongue. He didn't even know what he'd been going to say, only that he should have said something. Instead, he let out a little sigh and shrugged his shoulders. "I guess."

He stared down at his shoes, watched them as they stepped over each and every crack, every divide in the concrete in a steady, rhythmic pattern. He drummed his fingers against the straps of his bag, paced it so that each step was another wave of taps. It was a nice little distraction from the sudden silence that had sprung up between the three of them. It was enough of a clue to the fact that Ned and Michelle were probably sharing looks, the newly tense air not lost on them either.

Peter didn't even realize that he'd quickened his pace until Ned had to do a quick little jog to stay level with him. "So? You...wanna go get something to eat?" He asked hesitantly.

Beside him, Peter noticed Michelle's eyes grow sharper as she stared at Ned with a pointed questioning look. Peter furrowed his brow at the reaction and it was only when the girl looked at him and noticed he was staring that she turned away.

"Oh, uh...I can't. I gotta finish packing before Mr. Stark comes to pick me up tonight."

MJ lifted her head again, a sharp movement that made her hair swish around her eyes. "Tonight? I thought you were leaving tomorrow."

Had Peter been paying more attention, he would have noticed the slight urgency in her tone and the look she and Ned shared once again. But his mind was elsewhere. Had been elsewhere ever since the press conference over a week ago, since Mr. Stark had revealed his plans. He kept staring at his shoes. His previously warm thoughts towards the billionaire shifted and cooled.

"Yeah, I thought so too, but Mr. Stark doesn't wanna waste any time since my family is so 'unpredictable' as he put it. But I mean, come on. I've lived with them for years. What's one more day going to do?" The words were spoken with a strange new tone and it took Peter a moment to realize it was bitterness. His gait had quickened once again and he was chewing on the inside of his cheek with a sudden heaviness in his gut that hadn't been there before, fixed to a fit of newfound anger that had seemingly come from nowhere.

Only it hadn't come from nowhere.

Peter had been stewing with it all week.

He didn't even know if he could call it anger. Frustration, maybe? Nerves? Whatever it was had left him jittery and on edge for the better part of the week. With each day that had ticked by finalizing exams and exchanging scores with classmates, Peter had felt the looming presence of the future like a bad storm, the clouds dark and ominous on the horizon, bringing with them uncertainty and change.

And now that it was here, now that it was all about to begin, he couldn't shake the nauseated feeling brewing in his gut, thunderous and loud.

Ned threw him a quizzical look, seemingly just as baffled by the sudden shift in demeanor as Peter was. "I think he's just trying to help, dude."

"Yeah, well his help isn't always needed."

With these last words, Peter forced his jaw shut, clamped it down hard, and bit the tip of his tongue, but it did little to push down the sudden wash of shame that flooded over him. Mr. Stark was offering him more than he could imagine and here he was complaining about it?

What the hell's the matter with me?

Peter had been asking himself that same question since the conference, since he'd first heard the news and had felt a whole wave of emotions, none of which being happiness.

He shut his eyes and blew out a sharp breath from his nose, tried to take a second to just listen to the cars driving past and nothing else. He blinked his eyes back open and met the staring gazes of his friends. He shook his head and rubbed at the back of his neck, averting his eyes. "It's...whatever. I'm being overdramatic obviously. I guess I'm just nervous." He threw them a little smile. Michelle didn't return it but Ned was all too happy to.

"Nervous? Dude, I'm surprised you're not vibrating right now. This is single-handedly one of the coolest things to ever happen to me, and it's not even happening to me!" He beamed, seemed to bounce from foot to foot as they walked. "My best friend not only knows Tony Stark, but is actively going to live with him. Are you kidding me right now?!"

"It's only temporary." His voice sounded far off, distracted. Different from the carefree, casual tone of before.

"Still! It's awesome!"

Peter didn't respond, and this finally seemed to be a big enough sign to Ned that his celebration was perhaps a bit too premature. The grin on his face faltered slightly and he tilted his head, leaning closer to the boy beside him. "It...it is awesome, right?"

(Hey...this is a good thing, right?")

(A good thing.)

(A good thing.)

(A good thing.

(A good-)

"Peter-?"

He jerked a bit at the sudden tap on his shoulder, causing Michelle to jolt her hand back just a tad. He stopped suddenly in his tracks, causing the others to trip slightly in their haste to do the same. He gazed back at them, switched his gaze between both of their faces. They stared back at him in silence, as if waiting for him to speak.

Now that he wasn't walking and he wasn't filling his ears with the melodious sounds of his footsteps, Peter could finally hear just how fast his heart was beating now, thudding in his chest like a drum about to break through the batter head. When had that happened? Just a second ago, he'd been perfectly fine and now it felt like his ribs were about to crack.

Why couldn't he think about Mr. Stark anymore without feeling a sudden bout of prickling unease?

He sucked in a little breath, choked down the shakiness, and licked his lips, tightening the straps on his backpack if only to give his hands something to do.

"I should, uh...I should get home. I still got a lot of packing to do before tonight."

Ned, ever the expert in his friend's little idiosyncrasies, noticed the inconsistency right away, taking a little step forward with newfound concern shining in his eyes. "You sure? I-"

Whatever he'd been planning on saying next was cut short as Michelle placed a hand on his shoulder and stepped forward. "That's fine. You do what you need to do." Her voice was firm, similar to the tone she used whenever they were practicing for Decathlon: authoritative and with no room for discussion. Peter found that he was surprisingly grateful for it. He didn't feel he was up for much conversation anymore.

However, the firmness that had suddenly found its way onto her face softened just a bit as she let out a little breath. "Just...make sure to text us when you get to the Tower, okay?"

Peter smiled, found no trouble doing it this time. "Definitely."

Ned reflected his friend's look as he grinned. "Yeah, and I promise we'll get together soon cause you gotta tell us all about it. And I mean, word for word, every single detail down to the color of the floors."

Peter let out a little chuckle and rolled his eyes, giving a little wave as he turned on his heel and crossed the street where the awaiting subway platform lurked, ready to take him home.

The two of them waited for a minute and watched him cross the street, remaining silent right until he disappeared underneath the subway entrance awning. And as soon as he did, Michelle was whirling around on her heel, face cross. "'Do you wanna get something to eat?' Are you kidding me, Ned? Have you forgotten what we're supposed to do today?"

They began to walk back the way they'd come from, away from their houses.

"I know. I know. I was just excited."

"Well focus! This is important."

"I know that," he shouted back defensively, hands suddenly wringing together with a nervousness that hadn't been present two seconds ago. He lowered his head. "I'm sorry."

Michelle waited for a brief second before letting out a sharp breath through her nose, running a hand through her stray curls, causing them to frizz up even more. "Don't be. I'm not angry. I..." She trailed off, felt her throat suddenly go dry. She swallowed, despite its difficulty, and stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jacket once again. "I'm nervous."

Ned glanced over at her, face withholding none of its surprise at the girl's bold openness, a rarity of sorts. It didn't last long, though, for soon enough, Ned's shock gave way to like-minded nervousness.

"Me too. I thought we'd have more time."

"Same here. But if Peter's going there tonight, then we can't put it off any longer. We have to do it now."

They stopped at a crosswalk. Michelle reached out to press the pedestrian button on the side pole. They stood side by side and waited, shifting their weight from foot to foot. Among the crowds of students filing home, the sight wasn't an odd one. They didn't stand out at all, blended in perfectly with the mass of kids and teens, all with backpacks in hand and grins on their faces.

The only difference between the pair and those other students was the fact that their faces held no such grins and their destination was far from home. Their home, at least.

Ned swallowed, kept fiddling with his hands. The crosswalk changed to green. "What if he doesn't meet with us?"

Michelle's face remained hard as she started forward once again, steps fast and precise as she walked. Ned had to jog slightly to keep up with her, but he kept silent, didn't complain once. He was just as eager as she was to get to their current destination.

"He's going to meet with us. I'll make sure of it."

 

---

 

Peter found himself walking slower than usual, which was already a feat in itself. Any slower, and he could potentially make the argument that he wasn't moving at all.

Emerging from the subway awning, Peter stepped out onto the streets once again and took a deep breath, let his eyes wander around the surrounding streets of Queens for a moment.

The roads were still filled with cars and bicycles carrying students home. Along the sidewalk Mr. O'Conner walked his bloodhound, Boxer, who shambled along with as slow a gait as his elderly owner. The pair sidestepped the group of middle-schoolers chasing after each other with backpacks flying. Across the street, Mrs. Li swept outside her Thai restaurant and further down some teenagers were buying magazines from DeMarco's newsstand, the only competition Mr. Murphy had in all of Queens. The two men always liked to poke fun at each other, bickering about who got the most action from the local teens and their weekly allowances.

Peter let his eyes linger for a moment before turning away. For a brief moment, he considered turning the other way and heading down to 57th street, stopping by Delmar's or Rosa's for a minute. But he dismissed the idea soon after. He could only put it off for so long.

So he started walking again, albeit as slowly as possible.

Peter was no stranger to stalling his walk home. Everyone in Queens knew his name, and not just because they knew who his father was. Nearly every day when he walked home from school, Peter found himself taking the scenic routes, bypassing the straight shot to his house to instead take the side paths that winded around the streets and storefronts of Queens.

He was familiar with the feelings of reluctance that always accompanied his trip, feelings that made his feet drag and his head angle towards the streets, looking for something, anything that could buy him some more time. A neighbor that needed help bringing in his trash cans. A pair of kids looking for a lost dog. He'd even once stopped to help an old lady wash her car, which had bought him an extra ninety minutes of free time that was later repaid with a lashing at home for his tardiness (the cookies and lemonade she'd given him as a reward made it all worth it, though).

But there was something different about the reluctance settling in Peter's stomach today. His destination wasn't the problem, it was what he'd have to do once he got there.

Peter took a breath, felt it expand in his lungs before blowing back out.

He was almost finished packing.

Considering how few belongings he actually owned, it hadn't taken much time at all. The majority of the clothes he owned, a couple of textbooks for entertainment, and his phone charger were really all he'd packed. All that was left to do now was to finish packing his toothbrush and recheck everything for about the fourth time to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything.

And then?

Peter had been putting off thinking about the 'then' for that entire week. But his window of opportunity to relish in the ignorance was quickly shrinking with each second that ticked by.

He was leaving tonight. It was happening in hours. Not weeks or days. But mere hours from now. The thought bounced around in his head but he couldn't seem to staple it down, truly grasp and understand it no matter how hard he tried. Every time he did, the thought was buffered away by two striking but equally as loud thoughts.

You're leaving home.

Followed by,

You've never left home before.

Over and over, those thoughts had been chasing each other in circles around his mind, ready to spring up into the silence of a conversation or a lull of calm where his mind was empty and free of any distractions like exams, or yearbook signings, or his friends laughing by his side. And with each cycle they made, the tighter and tighter Peter's chest got.

The longest he'd ever been away from the stiff mattress of his bed or the cold gray of his walls was when he'd gone to Germany with Mr. Stark, and even then, the sheer restlessness that had followed his acceptance of the man's offer (demand, really), at the prospect of leaving the familiar closed quarters of his house had almost been enough to convince him to call off the entire trip.

The only saving grace for him was the reminder that it would only be a few days at best. Not two months. Two months of sleeping in a bed that wasn't his, listening to footsteps that didn't belong to his father or Max or Sandra. Perhaps the thought should have been relieving, but Peter found he couldn't conjure up any emotion other than unease.

Whose footsteps would he have to listen for at the Tower?

His feet shuffled along the sidewalk, dragging with a certain hesitance that almost made Peter imagine that his feet could simply fuse to the concrete should he walk slow enough.

Mr. Stark couldn't take him away if he was stuck to the floor, right?

What right does he have to steal me from my dad?

The thought was so invasive and sudden that it crashed straight through the cycling already going on in his head, causing him to finally pause in his step as he blinked in the silence. Where had that come from? And why had it felt so...natural to think?

("You don't want to go to the police? Fine. Then you go to me.")

He furrowed his brow, hesitated for a moment before slowly starting his walk again. He raised his hands to fiddle with the sleeves of his jacket - a jacket he was still wearing even though summer was about to begin.

Peter knew why Mr. Stark was doing this. It was the same reason May and Ben used to insist he come over for dinner or spend his time doing homework at their house instead. It was the same reason why the billionaire had insisted Peter stay with him that day he and his father had come to the Tower, why the phantom grips of his hand around Peter's wrist still stung weeks afterward. Why, every time Peter, his father, and Mr. Stark were ever in a room together, the latter would always get in between him and his dad, effectively blocking each other from view.

And it was the main reason why Peter had been teetering on the edge of nausea for the better part of the week.

("Anything to keep you as far away from them for as long as possible.")

Peter turned off of the main road and onto his street. Instantly, the houses and apartments started shifting from drab and dilapidated to expensive and lavish, the pick-ups and sedans switching to Porsches and Bentleys.

Peter knew his father, perhaps knew him better than anybody. He knew the man could be trying at times, could let his temper get the best of him, and sometimes made very questionable choices, very pointed mistakes.

It was hard sometimes. It was worse than hard other times. The Cons could be harsh, cruel even. And his father, for the most part, never even blinked when they turned on him, never stopped them or said a word of command.

Years ago, when Peter was younger and he'd step into his house, when he heard the locks click into place behind him, caught a glimpse of the fridge door bolted shut, or saw the flash of a belt wrapped around Max's knuckles, he remembered being upset, feeling indignant, angry at how unfair it all way. How Max was never shy in dealing out whatever punishments he saw fit, when Sandra and Curt got too drunk or high out of their minds and dragged him out of bed to entertain themselves, when Flint would blame his mistakes caused by his own stupidity on Peter, he remembered the anger. He remembered feeling angry.

But most of all, Peter remembered when that anger finally subsided, morphed into something different, something calmer, something a bit more tolerable to live with day in and day out:

("Family's important, Peter. Family means everything.")

Resignation. Acceptance.

They were his family, flaws and all. The Cons had put their own lives on hold to come and help his father, help him. They kept the house in order, helped his father grow his business, helped them get to where they were today. Peter knew the privilege of living on the street he did, knew that it hadn't just happened overnight. The Cons had helped them, had helped build them up. The least he could do was swallow his own ungratefulness and deal with their...idiosyncrasies.

And as for his father?

("You little rat! You ever embarrass me like that again and I'll knock you senseless till you're pissing blood!")

...There were good days and bad days.

He knew his father wasn't perfect, far from it. There were days - after he'd returned to his room spitting out the remnants of a tooth or cleaning up his newest welts courtesy of a lashing - that the anger returned. The unfairness of it all. Some days it was harder to push down. And others...?

("Well aren't you my little science guy? Mary! Come look at our boy. And bring the camera!")

No family is perfect. It took a while, but it was a lesson Peter had finally learned years ago. His family was no exception. They had their squabbles. They had their disagreements. And they had their bad days.

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

But Richard Parker was still his father. And Peter loved him with every fiber of his being.

So if agreeing to live with Mr. Stark, if agreeing to live in a new unfamiliar place with unfamiliar rules - the prospects of which made Peter's heart beat at a million miles per hour - was the price to pay to protect his father, then Peter was happy to foot the bill, to swallow his fear and leap off that ledge.

Just because the people around him didn't seem to understand how his family worked didn't mean he'd let them suffer for it.

His house came into view, the tallest building out of all the already impressive structures on the street. It stood tall on the corner. Peter fiddled with his pocket, fingers finding the key. He noticed his father's car was still in the driveway, same as it had been that morning. He hadn't left for work. He must have taken the day off to see Peter off.

The boy took a small breath, a habit built from ten years of staring up at his home, ten years of psyching himself up to walk up those final steps and enter, prepared for whatever would be on the other side. And for the last time for the foreseeable future, Peter did just that, mind now filled with two new thoughts that cycled around and around each other in an endless loop that left him breathless.

My father is all I have left.

Followed by,

Nobody's going to take him away. Not even Tony Stark.

 

---

 

Friday - May 20, 2016

Stark Tower - Common Floor

02:26 PM

"So, hear me out. What if I just take like, six of these things right now so I'll be good for the whole week? Like, quota totally filled right off the bat."

Pepper took the prescription bottle from his hands and unscrewed the cap. "Why don't we stick to the recommended doses for at least a little while before we start playing fast and loose with your drug regimen?" She dropped two Paroxetine tablets into Tony's outstretched hand. The man didn't bother sitting up from the reclined position on the couch he'd been sporting for the better part of an hour (though it was still better than the pacing he'd been keeping up since three that morning.)

He glared at the offending tablets for a moment before popping them into his mouth, dry-swallowing them after a second. He sighed and leaned his head back against the armrest, staring up at the ceiling above his head as he folded his hands back over his stomach. "For all we know, this Dr. Torres could be out to kill me. Like, in the slowest and most inconvenient way possible."

The woman roll her eyes and went back to rearranging the cushions on the adjacent couches. "We ran her through thirty background checks, vi-cap, blood scans, medical history, and a whole host of other things that have us teetering very close to the edge of getting our pants sued off for illegal workplace practices."

He didn't bother glancing over at Pepper, just kept scanning his eyes over the ceiling tiles above him. "What's the point of being a billionaire if you can't spend your hard-earned money on paying out completely arbitrary lawsuits?"

"This is why our legal team hasn't gone on vacation in two years."

"They're lawyers. I thought at the end of the day, they go home and stand in a corner to charge."

The billionaire thought back for a moment to the woman he'd met a few days ago. Dr. Torres was a small-statured Honduran woman with dark brown hair and light caramel skin. With personal recommendations from Cho, who had apparently worked with the woman back when she was first researching the baseline theories of her Cradle experiment in Central America, Tony had reluctantly decided that perhaps his anxiety was high-time ready to be treated, at least somewhat. Enter his new physician, who seemed as phased by his superheroing and multi-billion dollar accompaniments as a pediatrician is with getting spit-up on their coats, which is to say, not at all. That, at least, Tony appreciated.

But perhaps a second opinion was in order. Two pills a day seemed pretty ridiculous.

Footsteps approached. Tony lazily craned his neck further over the edge of the armrest and watched as both Rhodey and Happy stalked upside-down and unhappily onto the floor, bags of groceries in their arms as they dropped them on the counters. The latter spoke first.

"Okay, I'm willing to put up with a lot of impromptu additions to my job description, usually at the expense of my pride, but 'grocery delivery man' is where I'm drawing the line."

Tony let out a little groan as he rolled unceremoniously off of the couch. Meanwhile, Rhodey leaned up against the counter, already making work of unloading the bags. "At least you're getting paid for this, man."

The billionaire ambled up to his feet and slowly began to trudge over to the kitchen, reaching into his pocket to pull out a twenty. Rhodey scoffed as the man slipped the cash into his friend's pocket without a word as he walked past. Pepper followed and walked around the other end of the counter as she began to pull items out of the bags as well.

"We need to make sure this place is stocked with semi-edible foods so we're not charged with child negligence for leaving a fourteen-year-old in a building with nothing but vitamin water and-" She pulled another item out of the bag and narrowed her eyes at the label. "-whole wheat fiber bars..."

Happy reached over and plucked it out of her hand with a grunt. "They keep me regular."

Tony made his way over to the sink and didn't waste any time as he started to unroll some paper towels from the dispenser to the side. "Not that hearing about the current nutritional status of Happy's colon isn't what I want to be doing right now, but did you actually get something edible?"

None of them decided to comment on it when he started to stuff the paper towels against the drain at the bottom of the sink. Rhodey simply continued to put newly purchased food items into the pantry. "Relax. I've been buying food for you for years. And I feel I should tell you," he gestured with a box of Cheese-Itz. "the fact that you're diet is so strikingly similar to that of a fourteen-year-old kid's is slightly concerning."

Tony finished plugging up the drain and turned on the faucet. "What are you, my mother?"

The colonel just rolled his eyes and shut the pantry door, turning instead to Pepper and he began to unload two gallons of juice. "Is everything else ready?"

The woman nodded and glanced over her shoulder. "They just finished with his room an hour ago. Everything else is set."

At that exact moment, Tony turned off the faucet and dunked his head into the now-full kitchen sink.

"Except for, you know...that."

Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy watched him for a moment of intrigued silence, the bodyguard folding his arms over his chest as he cocked a brow and leaned up against the back wall. "In all honesty, he's taking this much better than I was expecting."

They all nodded in agreement.

Tony finally extracted his head from the new pool of water with a sharp gasp, wide eyes blinking around the room for a fraction of a second, as if searching for some new, changed phenomenon. When he apparently didn't see what he'd hoped to, the man let out a little sigh and leaned up against the counter. "Nope. Still here. This nightmare is never-ending." He rested his forehead against the counter. "God, I miss alcohol."

Pepper approached, stopping by the fridge for a second and returning with a new bottle of vitamin water in her hands. She bumped it against the side of his head. "Make do with this."

He gazed at the bottle for a prolonged stretch of time before snatching it from her hands and twisting the cap off with a look bearing striking resemblance to a child's pout.

Happy turned to Pepper. "What time's he supposed to get here, anyway?"

"Tony's picking him up at 6."

Said man pulled the newly opened water away from his lips and dropped it into the still-full sink, water slashing around the counter as it landed in the pool. "Four hours. Jesus..." He turned to the prescription bottle Pepper had left on the counter, reached over and grabbed it. He twisted it around to glare down at the fine print on the front, if only to try and stave off the sudden flare of sheer, heart-stopping panic that arose at the reminder that he would soon be responsible for a real, physical, oxygen-breathing, blood-pumping teenager.

"How long did you say until this stuff starts to kick in?"

The woman folded her arms. "Five weeks."

"Awesome." He tossed the bottle over his shoulder without a second thought, where it also landed in the still-filled sink with a distinctly smaller splash than the water bottle. He brushed past the others and made his way back over to the couch, leaving the three of them alone in the kitchen once more.

Pepper watched him leave for a moment before quietly turning to the others, who were also doing the same. "Can you give us a minute?" she asked softly.

Happy grunted - his usual reply of affirmation - and walked off down the hallway. Rhodey paused for a moment to give his friend another once-over before turning to Pepper, giving her a gentle pat on the shoulder. "Good luck," he smiled before following after Happy.

Tony sat in silence against the couch, hands folded together as they pressed against his mouth. His eyes stared off at nothing and he didn't turn as Pepper slowly walked over, carefully taking a seat on the armrest next to him. He felt her eyes on him, felt them scanning him up and down. He still didn't move, didn't tell her to stop.

Five weeks.

Four hours.

Maybe if he snorted another ten of those things, he'd stop feeling so gut-wrenchingly anxious.

"You really don't think the arcade cabinets were a bit much?"

He let out a little breath, felt his shoulders bounce with the action. "It's a game room. What are you supposed to put in a game room? Teenagers don't play pool. Besides, I'm pretty sure Peter mentioned them... I mean, once. In passing. Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, I might have dreamed that. I- anyway, kids play with that stuff all the time. There used to be lines out the door at the arcade near my high school. Of course, that was before I rigged all the machines to do nothing but infinitely scroll through the name Johnny Grinski over and over again. That jock-head had every snot-nosed, hormonally-challenged teenage boy breathing down his neck for erasing all their high scores. Of course, he had nothing to do with it, that idiot couldn't screw a cap on a water bottle but that didn't stop them from pouring Kool-Aid mix and Nesquik into his gas tank and-"

He blinked. Swallowed the next wave of words threatening to spew.

"I'm rambling."

Pepper shook her head. "To the point where I don't even remember where the conversation first started."

He turned away again, but this time his eyes focused on the floor, the sleek, pristine surface without a scar or blemish. He felt his fingers twitching, but he fought to hold them still, curled them tighter around each other. When he spoke, his voice was soft. Pepper heard nonetheless.

"I have to get this right, Pepper."

"You will."

"I...I can't mess this up."

"Well, you'll do that too."

He glanced over at her with a furrowed brow and finally leaned back a bit in his seat, bringing his hands to rest in his lap. "Alright, I'm going to need you to walk me through this cause up until a second ago, I was under the impression that you were trying to make me feel better."

Pepper took a deep breath and paused for a moment, seeming to think hard about her next choice of words. "Listen, if these past three months have been any indication, this isn't going to be easy, Tony. In fact, this is probably going to be one of the hardest things you've ever done."

"I feel I should remind you of the week-long desert trek vacation I took back in 2010."

She rolled her eyes once more. "My point is that this is going to take a lot of commitment."

He turned away.

"Commitment that you're already showing."

Tony furrowed his brows at that, but he didn't look at her. He drummed his fingers against his knee. She continued.

"If you'd asked me back in March if I thought you'd be redecorating your tower and calling in favors with your favorite remodelers and movers all for the sake of some kid, I would have been seriously concerned for your mental well-being."

A joke about always having to be concerned about his mental well-being tickled the tip of his tongue, but he kept silent. Pepper shifted in her seat and lid down from the armrest to sit right next to him. She placed a hand overtop his. His fingers stilled.

"But no matter how committed you are, you're going to make mistakes. Because at the end of the day, despite your iron-clad suits perhaps pointing differently, you're still human."

Tony hesitated for a moment before turning to gaze back at her bright blue eyes. They gazed at him with a certain affection, and the fact that it wasn't the affection he hoped for killed him a little inside, but just like the jokes, he bit this back as well.

Pepper gave him a gentle smile and tapped his hand. "The only question you have to ask yourself is: how prepared are you to fix those mistakes when they do happen?" Her shoulders bounced with the gentle chuckle that arose from her. "And if these past couple of weeks have been any indication, I'd say you're going to do great."

He stared at her, swallowed the thickness that had been stuck to his throat since he'd woken up that morning with the heavy weight of the day's future hanging heavy in his gut like a lead weight, the name 'Peter Parker' etched into the stone.

"Your faith in me is very much appreciated and very much not reciprocated."

The joke didn't make him feel better, but at least his tongue wasn't burning with the restraint anymore. Pepper smiled at him. "I figured as much. But whatever does come up, whether it's deciding what to eat for dinner, or buying the kid clothes that actually fit him, or deciding whether a minifridge in his room is going too far to the extreme, you'll have help." Her eyes flashed with a certain fierceness, a loyal bond they'd shared long before they'd ever gotten together.

"You're not doing this alone. The sooner you both figure that out, the better." She winked and leaned in a little closer. "So maybe you can lead by example."

Tony raked his eyes over her face, made note of each and every little detail from the speck of green in her left eye to the five sparse freckles she'd always hated dotting the bridge of her nose. And the reassurance that those details would never be too far away, the reassurance that those flaws and imperfections that only helped to make her even more perfect in his eyes would never leave as he'd always feared, was enough to allow him a small smile.

"Not a bad idea."

The woman retained her smile as she rose up to her feet and leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss against his forehead. Tony shut his eyes, allowed himself a brief indulgent second of picturing his life with the woman standing before him before quickly blinking back into the reality at hand. Pepper had already moved away. Tony moved on.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket, which she'd been ignoring all day in favor of helping them all prep the tower for Peter's arrival. But she couldn't put off her work any longer, Tony knew. "I need to go wrap up some things with our shareholders but I'll be back in time to see him get here."

He nodded. "Right."

"In the meantime, try to relax. It won't do Peter any good coming into a tower that's filled with nothing but crazed hyper-nervous energy."

"He's been my intern for three months. He'll be surprised if that's not what he gets."

The woman shook her head but said nothing else as she made for the hall. Before she could fully round the corner, however, she paused and turned back around. Tony gazed at her curiously. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, as if deliberating whether or not to voice her question. After a second, she spoke.

"Kool-aid and Nesquik?

"Oh, you could hear that engine explode from a mile away."

"What did he even do to you?"

"Nothing. I was bored."

The woman smiled at him, gave a little shake of her head, and finally disappeared from sight.

Tony watched her go for a moment before turning back around. He let out a little breath and rose back up to his feet, sparing a second to just take a look around the room.

Nothing had been changed too drastically on the common floor save for a few new decorative touches courtesy of Pepper to "make it seem less billion-dollar chic and a bit more live-in ready rather than too-expensive-to-touch", which seemed to include a throw blanket over the couch and some books for the coffee table. A new, updated surround-sound theater system had been put in, hooked up to every and any video game console created since 1972, which Tony had been collecting over the past week. The grocery run Rhodey and Happy had just returned from marked the fourth that week, leaving the panty and fridge near bursting with foods that could potentially entice a teenager into eating. But other than that, the floor remained fairly unchanged.

The same couldn't be said for a few of the other rooms in the tower.

His building had no shortage of spare rooms and floors sectioned off for any potential uses. Of course, the new game room was a stark difference to the combat-projection training floor he'd originally imagined the room to be, but he wasn't complaining. Nor was he miffed about the uses his father's dusty collection of first edition books were now getting in the newly furnished study he'd prepped, filled wall to wall with stacks of novels and texts. And then, there was the biggest change of all: the addition of a new room on Tony's private floor.

Of course, the fact that the Tower was now ready and waiting for the kid's arrival only solidified the fact that Tony was not.

It was easy to feign confidence when Peter had been by his side that day of the conference, but now that there was nobody to pretend for, Tony could feel the anticipation creeping in his stomach, churning his gut and forcing stomach acid up his throat. So much could go wrong. Over and over, the billionaire found himself running through a list of all possible catastrophes ranging from dealing with a bored teenager to the Tower literally burning down.

And the more stressed he got, the more he kept thinking of the more extreme possibilities.

How common were earthquakes in New York again?

He glanced around. Nobody was around to answer.

Maybe he'd ask Peter about it, assuming his heart held out long enough to actually get the kid and see his plan through.

What a plan, Stark. What a plan.

And yet, with each wave of regret and nerves that washed over him, nothing grounded him more than the simple task of brushing his fingers against the scars on his palm.

They didn't hurt anymore, were barely even noticeable save for the pale pink color that stood out among the sea of roughened callouses adorning his skin. But they were there for a reason. He was doing this for a reason.

A pretty damn good one, all things considered.

Tony paused...thought about it for a moment. Quickly, he spun on his heel again, marching towards the sink still filled with water, ready and waiting to accept his face.

It would be fine. He still had another four hours to find his balls hiding somewhere in that water.

 

---

 

But in all honesty, he should have expected something unexpected to come up in the thralls of his personal panic.

Expecting the unexpected was practically in the job description at this point. But this fact did little to stave off the flare of annoyance that rose in him at being disturbed during his game of 'calculating the predicted jail sentence of accidentally losing a kid that's in your charge'.

"Friday, what the hell am I looking at here?"

He glared at the TV before him that had suddenly come to life at the AI's previous proclamation a moment ago. The CCTV footage showed the downstairs lobby.

"There seems to be some sort of disturbance in the main entryway."

And...yeah. At quick glance, he noticed that there seemed to be a crowd gathering, but there were no guns, no blood, literally no signs whatsoever that he should give a single shit.

"Why on God's green earth are you telling me this? I'm pretty sure 'reading the room' is a common enough skill that everyday smartphone bots can figure it out, let alone a multi-functional, billion-dollar-

The words froze on his tongue as the crowds parted on the screen, revealing a glimpse of the center of the commotion. Tony's eyes widened as he stiffened where he stood, jaw going slack as he blinked in shock at the sight.

"What...the hell?"

"Perhaps you would like me to connect to Siri to confer with her on whether or not my evaluation was correct."

"Shut up. Get me downstairs."

 

---

 

"Look, I don't know how many times I have to tell you, but we have to see Tony Stark today." Michelle's voice held an air that suggested she was trying to be pleasant, but the sour look adorning the receptionist's face wasn't helping to keep the clear annoyance from seeping into her tone.

Said woman was buffered by two other receptionists, each sparing sidelong glances at the two teenage appearances in the lobby like they were little skittering bugs underneath their feet. The head woman had sharp angular features and an expression that she'd just gotten a whiff of something unpleasant, for she stared down over the brim of her glasses.

"And I'm done trying to explain to you that without an appointment, you two are not getting past this lobby."

Ned and Michelle spared glances at each other. They'd expected things to be a bit difficult, but this was presenting with a challenge they hadn't really planned for. All things considered, they probably should have. They weren't exactly asking for a simple pass into the local nightclub.

Still, Michelle retained her serious expression, seemingly unwilling to back down. "How are we supposed to make an appointment when we're not even eighteen yet?"

"That is not my concern. Take it up with your parents, but until you do, I'm afraid I can't help you." Surprisingly, the receptionist didn't look at all upset with the statement.

Ned took a step forward, eyes pleading as he fiddled with his hands. Behind them, a line of disgruntled employees was forming, their patience obviously wearing thin as they waited for access to the front desk. Nevertheless, the teen spoke, albeit softly, and with a notable waver to his voice. "Please. This is like super, mega, ultra-crazy important."

The woman sighed. "What isn't with kids like you." She adjusted her glasses and pursed her lips, drumming her spindly fingers against the counter. "I'm sorry, but it's a security matter. I can't let two unverified, unidentified children into this tower."

Ned opened his mouth again only for MJ to shove past him, stalking closer until she was pressed right up against the desk, elbows leaning against it. The woman blinked in shock as she reared back slightly.

"My name is Michelle Jones. The sweaty kid is Ned Leeds. We're from Midtown School of Science and Technology and we're friends with Peter Parker. You heard of him, the kid that's been on every news channel for the past two weeks now? Yeah, he's our best friend and we have to talk to Tony Stark about him." Her eyes narrowed and she didn't step away from the desk. If anything, she leaned in. "It's important. We don't have any other way of contacting him or that's what we'd be doing."

The woman didn't seem phased. "Likely story. Look, for the last time, you can either make an appointment or leave. There are no other options."

Michelle sniffed, leaned back for a moment before brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She spun on her heel. "Okay. I'm done with this. Come on, Ned." Without another word, she started towards the security barriers further into the building.

"MJ-

"Now just where do you think you're going?"

"Is there a problem here?"

Everybody turned at the voice and stared up at the fairly sizable security guard currently glaring down at them, arms folded and chest puffed in an obviously intimidating manner. The receptionist couldn't help the slightly smug look now spreading onto her face as she began to brush the wrinkles away from her blouse. "Right. I was just telling these two...individuals that unless they have an appointment, they're going to have to leave."

Ned instantly took a step back while Michelle took one forward. "Listen, I know this sounds really sketch but I swear-"

"I don't care about the details, kids. Now, I'm going to ask you two once to leave the building of your own accord, otherwise, we're going to have to escort you off the property."

"We'll just camp outside then!"

"-Or we can contact the police if you still refuse to cooperate and press charges for trespassing."

"Michelle..." Ned grabbed onto her arm, forcing her to look at him. He looked nervous, shifting his weight back and forth between his feet as he spared glances between the angry-looking security guard and the door behind him. MJ stared at him for a moment, seeming to consider the look of unease on his face before tightening her lips into a thin line. She pushed his hand off and turned to the guard once more, eyes narrowed and face hard. She folded her arms and straightened her back.

"You can go, Ned. But I'm not leaving until I talk to Tony Stark."

The guard clenched his jaw and opened his mouth as he took a threatening step forward-

"Woof. She sounds serious. I'd back off if I were you, man."

Everyone - kids, guard, receptionist, and the poor employees caught in the crossfire - turned their heads towards Tony Stark as he strolled up to the chaos, seemingly unfazed by the sudden mess forming in his lobby. He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he approached, the nearby employees in line quickly backing off as he did.

The guard quickly tried to right himself, blinking out of his stupor as he tried to straighten up, voice suddenly much deeper than it had been a second ago. "Mr. Stark, sir. Don't worry, we have it handled-"

"Yeah. I'm sure you do. That's why I have the makings of a mosh-pit forming in my lobby."

The guard opened his mouth before quickly shutting his jaw, lowering his gaze as he found he had nothing to say. Tony threw him a sidelong glance before turning his attention to the two kids staring up at him. He turned towards the only one of the pair who didn't look like they were about to pass out at the sheer sight of him, the girl. To her credit, it only took a fraction of the time it'd taken the guard to blink back into reality, and once she did, the hardened look returned to her face and her voice.

"We need to talk to you. It's about Peter."

That seemed to be enough of a trigger to get Ned out of his stupor, for he shook his head and gazed up at the billionaire with nothing short of the most pleading eyes he'd ever seen, just shy of full-on begging. "Please..."

Tony switched his gaze between the two of them for just a moment, but he'd already made up his mind from the second he'd seen the CCTV footage upstairs. He turned on his heel. "Come on."

Suddenly guard-what's-his-name was in front of him. "But, sir, I don't think-"

"Unless the Odd Couple over here is hiding pipe bombs underneath their gym clothes and gel pens, I think I'll be fine."

The guard shut his mouth. Satisfied, Tony sidestepped him and kept making for the elevator, calling over his shoulder as he did so.

"You two. Hurry up. Double time. I don't have all day."

He ignored the pointed looks everyone in the lobby gave them as they walked out and over towards his private elevator, an equally shocking sight for those working at Stark Industries. The number of people who used that elevator could be counted on one hand with a couple of fingers to spare. Ned kept sparing nervous glances around him, but Michelle kept her eyes forward, posture still as stiff and rigid as before. Tony made no comment, not even when the three of them stepped through the newly opened doors, watching as they slid shut a moment later.

The elevator ride up the Common Floor was nothing short of unbearably awkward, but Tony made the best of it by averting his gaze to his phone, which had nothing on the screen except for a game of Tetris (which was the first app he could find that would make it seem like he was busy and thus save him from having to fill the silence between the three of them.)

Thankfully, neither Ned or Michelle said anything. The former seemed too preoccupied with keeping himself conscious while the latter simply stood with a stoic silence that almost made Tony even more uncomfortable. So when the doors finally slid open onto their floor, Tony all but bolted out of the cramped compartment. The kids hesitantly followed him out.

And as soon as they did, his mouth took over for him.

"Okay, now that I have you two here, this makes for the perfect tester opportunity." He spun around to face them and gestured with his hands at the room around them. "Now, on a scale of one to ten - one being a backwoods trailer park and ten being the Queens Victorian estate - how comfortable are you in this living room? Better question, do you feel safe enough to breath in its general vicinity without fear of dampening its monetary value?"

They stared at him. Blinked a few times.

"Great, I'll take that as a solid maybe. Sit" He spun around again and made for the kitchen. "I told Pepper it was going to take more than a ten-dollar throw from Home Goods to cover up a Fendi Casa sofa. Might as well have bought a whole new couch." He grabbed another water bottle from the fridge, if only to have something for his hands to do, and turned back around. The kids were still standing there, looking very much unsure of themselves. At least, Ned looked unsure. Michelle still seemed fairly indifferent to it all.

He waved a hand to the couch. That seemed to be enough of a clue as they slowly made their way over. He watched them sit, took a swig of the water, and let out a little sigh, tapping the bottle against his leg before tossing it onto the nearby loveseat. They watched him in silence.

"Okay, so...correct me if I'm wrong - I know I have a tendency for forgetting, ignoring, or outright refusing to show up to meetings here and there - but I'm almost positive I didn't have anything scheduled with the Little Rascals today."

Michelle spoke first. Her eyes were just as sharp as they had been with the receptionist and the guard. Her voice just as firm.

"Do you remember who we are?"

"You wouldn't be here if I didn't, Ms. Jones."

That seemed to catch her a bit by surprise, but she didn't let it show for too long on her face. Ned, on the other hand, just stared at him with even wider eyes, if such a thing were possible. Tony didn't divulge the fact that the girl's earlier declaration of their identities to the receptionist had been a very helpful reminder.

"Can we get on with why you're here?"

"You know."

Tony rolled his eyes. "I think you're overestimating my skills. Not an easy thing to do."

"About Peter. You know about his family."

Instantly, his posture stiffened. He didn't let it show save for a quick tapping of his fingers against the side of his leg. Tony flickered his gaze back and forth between the two kids for a moment, took a deep breath as he pondered how to continue.

"Sorry, could I get a few more details? I'm not really on the ball today and-"

"Don't play dumb," Michelle cut him off with a glare. "Peter told us you already figured it out, that you know about how they treat him."

He stared at her, took in the sheer viciousness in her eyes, a heated gleam that made him want to choose his next words carefully. He blew out a breath and folded his arms over his chest. "When'd he say this?"

"Three weeks ago. Right around the time when we started planning on coming to talk to you, to figure out if it's true." She rose up to her feet, didn't take her eyes off of him. "So? Is it? Do you know?"

Her voice was soft, but the question still seemed to ring around the room. Tony held her gaze for a moment of tense silence, the air seeming to shift towards a darker atmosphere in a heartbeat, in the short span of time it took to broach the topic. His fingers started to tap against his arm, a steady beat that matched the drumming of his heart. His options seemed to fan out before him, a deck of cards he had to consider carefully.

He could always deny it. Things would most definitely be easier if he didn't have to worry about two random kids and whether or not their patchwork cloth of information would end up being a thorn in his side. But, they said Peter had already told them. And if that were the case, then these two kids had somehow done something even he had not yet been able to do:

So, if Peter could find it in himself to trust these two...then,

"Yeah. I know."

She took another deep breath. "For how long?"

"In terms of official confirmation: for almost a month now." He glanced away. "But in terms of gut feelings, basically since the day I first met him."

Michelle stared back at him, didn't say anything. She merely gave a muted little nod as her gaze fell to the ground.

And suddenly she was coming at him.

"Whoa-!" Tony jumped back mere centimeters from the slap aimed at his face. Ned was now on his feet, rushing towards the girl as she reared back for another swing. Her face curled into a snarl as the boy grabbed onto her arms and pinned them down.

"MJ! What are you doing?!"

"You self-centered, narcissistic son of a bitch!"

Tony took another step back lest the girl suddenly break free of the death grip her friend currently had on her. He lifted his hands in a placating manner. "All true. But why don't we take a step back towards the calm-and-rationale-explanation line so we don't have to cross the 'calling my security guards and admitting that they were right' line, which I really don't wanna cross."

The girl continued to glare, looking like she was near ready to start spitting in fury, only for Ned to pull her back another inch. She glared over her shoulder at him as he spoke. "MJ, please. We said we were just going to talk."

Maybe it was the kicked-puppy-dog eyes he was flashing at her or the pitiful tone in his voice, or maybe a combination of both, but whatever it was, Michelle stared at him in a fragile moment of silence. Her lips were still curled, fists still clenched tightly at her sides, but that didn't stop Ned from holding his gaze on her, eyes wide, and open and vulnerable. Tony watched them, muscles still coiled, breath held.

He could see the girl's chest rising up and down haphazardly, the slight tremble in her fisted hands, and the tenseness making her arms shake. She swallowed thickly as she stared back at the boy. And whatever emotion she found in his face seemed to be enough to convince her. Slowly, the heat in her own face began to cool, eyes regaining their previous impassive haze as she took a deep breath and relaxed in his grip. Ever so slowly, Ned released her.

She turned towards Tony again and suddenly the glare was back. But she didn't rush him again so he considered it a step in the right direction.

"Fine. For starters, you can try to explain why the hell those assholes haven't been arrested yet."

Tony gazed down at her, at the obvious anger still boiling underneath the surface. He shut his eyes for a moment and lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. This was so not what he needed today. But it was here now, so he was going to have to deal with it, in one way or another. And at the moment, he didn't have the energy or the desire to lie, surprisingly enough.

Kid, you better be right about these two.

"Cause I haven't called anyone."

This time, it was Ned's turn to whip towards him with a newfound energy. "What? Why? You said you've known for a month now. Well, why haven't you done anything about it?"

Tony pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. Michelle still looked furious while Ned looked like he'd just been told he was getting kicked onto the streets by week's end. He said nothing for a moment, simply let his thoughts organize themselves in the ongoing mess gathering in his brain. He glanced down at his hands, flicked a wad of dust out from underneath one of his nails.

"You kids hungry?"

They shared glances. "What? No."

"Well, I am." He turned on his heel and made for the kitchen. He could hear the flabbergasted sputterings of the kids behind him followed by the quick footsteps of their angered gaits. Not surprisingly, Michelle was the one to voice said grievance.

"Hey! Did you not hear what we just said?"

"I did." He opened the fridge and started to scan the shelves.

"Well, we want answers."

"I'm sure you do." He pulled out a package of turkey and shut the door, turning to gaze back at them with a much sterner look. "But unless you want me to call back that stellar employee of mine who's just itching to toss somebody out today, I hope you'll grant me the courtesy of a second to come up with a satisfactory answer without you two gremlins biting at my ankles." He tossed the package onto the table. "Remember who you're talking to."

MJ folded her arms. "I don't give a single shit about who you are-"

"Clearly."

"All I want to know is why you're not helping my friend!"

The billionaire turned away from them again, one part to grab the bread from the box near the toaster, and the other to mask the grimace that stretched across his face at the girl's accusation. He took a deep breath, let it in slowly before exhaling it even more carefully. He could feel the nerves he'd woken up with that morning beginning to return, the kids' sudden appearance not helping with the calm and collected demeanor he'd been trying to conjure up for that afternoon.

He began to undo the plastic wrap at the end of the bread packaging, still didn't turn to face them as he spoke. "The situation is...a delicate one."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

He slammed the roll onto the counter. "Exactly what it sounds like!" He spun around to face them once more. Ned shrank back while Michelle simply leaned in closer. "I'm walking a fine line here and I can't afford to be careless with my actions, not when this is a situation that could potentially garner the attention of everybody on the east coast with nothing more than a simple headline."

The girl gritted her teeth, her face darkening another shade of red. "That's why you're staying silent? Cause you're afraid of bad publicity?"

Tony straightened up and threw her a dark glare of his own. His tone was low as he spoke. "I'm staying silent because Peter asked me to."

That seemed to shock both of them, for they exchanged glances once more. The anger melded into disbelief as the girl blinked at him. "What?"

The billionaire sighed and turned away again. He had to check the flare of annoyance that had risen, push it back down. He knew why they were here. He couldn't begrudge them for it and he certainly had no right to start getting angry with them. These were the thoughts he had to remind himself of as he debated whether or not to just call back that security guard anyway, have him deal with the mess he'd rather have avoided entirely. But he did no such thing. Instead, he just pulled out two slices of bread from the roll and turned back towards the kids.

They were still standing, looking very much out of place. He gestured towards the stools sitting up against the counter. He spoke as they made their way over, pulling a plate down from one of the cabinets at the same time. "Let me ask you something. If you were to go up to Peter with the suggestion that you maybe tell a teacher, or a guidance counselor about the concerns you've been having, what do you think his response would be?"

He set the plate down with a little thunk, dropped the pieces of bread onto it. Ned's eyes were tracing something on the counter as his face grew pained but Michelle was still refusing to lower her own gaze. Her brows were furrowed.

"I-"

"You don't have to guess, do you? You already know." Tony turned back to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of mustard. "Well so do I. I haven't said anything, haven't called anyone, haven't gone to every media outlet and new station blasting them to run this story 24/7 because the person it would affect most begged me not to." He set the bottle down next to the plate and crossed his arms over his chest once more. "I can't ignore that."

He watched the girl, watched her eyes flickering back and forth across his face. Maybe they were searching for some sort of deception behind his words, but he knew she would find none, and after a moment, she knew this as well. She wet her lips, fingers curling slightly as she opened her mouth again.

"No."

They both turned towards Ned, who had been mostly silent for the majority of the conversation and they were both shocked at the sudden look of distress spreading across his features, his cheeks reddening as his hands shook in trembling fists.

"No, no...no. It's supposed to be different with you. You're an adult. If you tell someone what's going on, they'll believe you!" He got up from his chair. "They might not have ever believed me, but they have to believe you! They have to!"

Michelle blinked, lips parting slightly. "Ned-"

He pushed her outstretched hand away and kept his wavering gaze on the billionaire as he approached. Tony took a step back but Ned kept advancing. "You can't just sit here and do nothing. You can do something about it. You can do something I never could. You can get people to listen. And they will listen to you! You're Tony Stark! They have to listen to you!" His hands were shaking as he held them out before him, gesturing wildly. His pitch in his voice rose.

"You can stop this. You can fix this, all of it! All you have to do is say the word, snap your fingers and it's gone! Please, you have to! You have to do it because nobody else is going to!"

"Kid-"

Ned's eyes were starting to water. "Nobody has ever done anything. Nobody! In seventh grade, I told our guidance counselor about it and she berated me for badmouthing and spreading lies about one of the school sponsors and called my parents to take me home. She didn't even check in with Peter about it! Nobody ever does. Nobody ever takes it seriously!"

Ned kept moving forward, so much so that Tony suddenly found himself pressing against the fridge as the boy all but got in his face, eyes nearly dripping with desperation and fear. "So, you have to do something. You can't just sit by and do nothing. You can't! I can't watch that anymore!" He pressed his hands to his face, covered his eyes as his shoulders shuddered. "I can't watch them do those things to my best friend anymore. I can't watch him die because nobody cares enough!"

Suddenly Michelle was there, gently placing her hands on his shoulder as she tried coaxing him back. He sniffed and lowered his hands, meeting her gentle gaze for just a second before wiping his face on his sleeve and turning to face Tony once more. The billionaire said nothing, just stared back at the kid as he spoke, voice soft.

"Please...you..." He swallowed thickly, voice cracking. "You have to help him."

Ned took a shuddering breath and looked away, Michelle leaning closer as she kept her hand secured tightly on his shoulder, fixing him with a gaze softer than Tony thought she was capable of.

His eyes jumped back and forth between the two kids as if he couldn't make up his mind as to who he should focus on. And yet, as he stared at them, stared at these two random kids that had no business being in his Tower let alone having a screaming match with him, Tony found himself fixed in the newfound silence.

Neither Ned nor Michelle seemed to be anything truly remarkable. They seemed to be your typical high-school freshmen straight out of school, young and dumb and inexperienced in just about everything. If he were to pass them on the street, the thought of a second glance wouldn't even cross his mind.

And yet, here they were, standing up to him, standing up to the threat of jail-time, of a record and public embarrassment and a whole host of other problems all for the sake of someone besides themselves.

And suddenly Tony was struck with a thought.

Neither of the two seemed to be anything special.

But then again...neither had Peter.

He took a deep breath as he leaned up against the counter, Ned's pleas still ringing in his ears. "That's what I'm trying to do, kid."

Michelle rounded on him while Ned peeked out from his hunched position. "How? You just said you weren't going to tell anybody about it. So how the hell do you expect to change anything when you're too afraid to even try?" Her eyes darkened. "How can you hope to make anything better when you can't be bothered to give a damn?"

Then again, Peter had never had as big of a mouth.

"Why don't you take a good long look at where you are, huh?" Tony gestured with a pointed glare that he couldn't push down. "You think you'd be sitting here if I didn't give a damn? You think I'd be listening to this clusterfuck of a conversation if I didn't give a damn?" He scoffed and pushed a hand to his forehead. "You think your friend would be packing for a two-month-long stay here if I didn't give a single shit about him, about any of this?"

The skepticism was still present in the girl's eyes, but it was buffered by something else, something that seemed to keep her from making another comment. Ned still said nothing, just kept staring up at him with his watery gaze.

Tony shook his head and glanced down. Seeming to remember what it was he'd been doing before, he opened the package of store-bought turkey, vaguely wondered why he was touching store-bought turkey when he could afford to buy twenty grocery stores without even breaking a sweat.

"The truth is, kids, that I've been giving this an extremely long stretch of thought, and it's not as easy as you seem to think it is." He withheld the grimace building inside of him as he touched the slimy pieces of meat and started folding them onto the bread. "It's not just a matter of strolling into the NYPD and making a statement, otherwise you would have already done that."

Ned sniffed, wiped his nose with his sleeve. Tony pretended not to notice, doubly pretended not to shudder. "It's different with you. We're just two random kids. But if Tony Stark filed a report, people would listen."

"Yeah, the wrong kinds of people." He wiped his hands on a nearby napkin and turned towards the drawers, pulling out a butter knife. "Not the kinds of people that would actually get off their asses and help Peter, but the kind of people who would instead start shoving cameras into his face, demanding his input on the blatant lies I'd just told."

They looked confused. He let out a little sigh and rested his elbow against the counter. "What makes you think people would be any more inclined to believe me?"

Ned's eyes crinkled. He blinked at him, took a few shuddery breaths as his face scrunched. "You're Tony Stark. They...they have to believe you."

And the sheer innocence, the belief, and optimism coating the kid's words almost made Tony want to agree with him, shrug his shoulders and say the kid was right rather than what he knew to be true if only to preserve it. But lying to himself had never helped things. More lying certainly wasn't going to help either.

"I wish that were true."

Michelle let out a deep sigh and folded her arms over her chest. "So what are you saying?" Her voice held root traces of frustration.

"I'm saying things are complicated." Tony picked up the mustard and swirled some on the spare piece of bread, picking up the butter knife and gesturing with it. "Extreme, politically charged complications that make this mess much muddier and a whole lot pricklier. The changes of the public believing my word over that of the Father of New York, Richard Parker, are slim to none." He focused his energy on smearing the mustard around the piece of bread rather than expelling the gust of fire that rose just thinking of the man's name.

Michelle watched him, her face retaining a look of restrained constipation. But as his words seemed to register in her mind, her eyes glazed with a different type of emotion, a somber realization of sorts. Tony actually found himself missing the disgusted anger from before, for even that was better than the disappointed dejectedness now entering her gaze.

"You have to try..." Her voice was soft now, wasn't pointed or sharp. In the words, he could hear the echoing desperateness of a fourteen-year-old girl asking for his help.

Tony set the bread down on the pile of turkey and patted it down before glancing back up. "And do what? Throw out some claims that have no evidence or backing from the actual victim of it all? The victim who will claim I'm just making shit up? The victim who will never even consider the idea of refuting his father?" He angrily slammed the knife down into the center of the newly-minted sandwich and began to cut it diagonally. "He's your friend. Am I wrong?"

Obviously, he wasn't. He knew it, and judging from the looks crossing over their faces, they knew it too. Michelle lifted a hand and brushed her fingers through the bangs hanging down over the side of her face while Ned stared down at his hands, pressing them so hard into the counter that the knuckles were starting to turn white. But after a moment, the boy lifted his face once more, swallowing thickly.

"We can't just do nothing."

Tony held the boy's stare for a moment before sliding the newly finished meal across the counter towards the two of them. "I never said to just do nothing."

He watched their gazes sharpen. He blew out a little breath and folded his arms. "In about four hours, I'm going to be heading out to pick him up and keep him here for the better part of two months. I'm sure he told you about that." He leaned up against the fridge as he spoke. "And during those two months, I'm going to try my damndest to get him to see clearly for once. Away from that house, away from their influence, maybe, just maybe I have a shot of getting through to him. Maybe I'll be able to convince him that he can trust me, that he can rely on me to help him out of this situation."

Tony shook his head, shoulders giving a little shrug. "But this can only work on his terms. If I go behind his back and try to run this story, our only shot of getting him away from them goes down the drain."

Neither of them said anything, just kept staring at him as he spoke. His fingers tapped up against his arm. "I'm his best bet at escaping this. So I have to make it work."

Michelle finally lowered her gaze at that, staring hard at her hands, as if the answers to all of their problems were etched onto her skin. "That's why you offered this? Offered to house him?" It was phrased as a question, but Tony knew it was anything but.

"I'm just trying to help him, in whatever way I can." He sighed and lifted his gaze towards the ceiling, tracing the lines in the patterning with his eyes. "I just have to pray that he'll be able to see that. But I can't make him see it, and neither can you two." He stepped away from the fridge and back over towards the counter, resting his hands on the cold surface. "Ultimately, the choice is up to him. We just have to hope he'll make the right decision."

The girl's fingers twitched, slowly curled back into fists. She lifted her eyes. "And if he doesn't?"

("He loves me, Stark. More than anything.")

It was a possibility. It was a possibility that had stolen more than a few hours of sleep from Tony in the past weeks. And every time the poisonous thought drifted through his ear and wrapped itself around his head, the chest crushing, stomach flipping realization blared at him like a truck about to barrel through him, crush him to nothing under the gears.

What if you can't?

What if you can't help him?

They were still staring at him. He could feel their eyes on him, peering through him up and down, searching and scanning for the solution like it was tattooed on his face. When he finally spoke, his voice was low. But they heard nonetheless.

"...He turns eighteen in four years."

Michelle's gaze sharpened. "Are you kidding me?"

"What do you want me to do, huh? Fly in there guns blazing, dragging him out kicking, and screaming? I'm pretty sure it's that exact type of bullheaded brash decision-making that's gotten me in trouble in the past." He took a deep breath, let it steady him, ground him. "I can't afford to make those same mistakes with this. There's too much at stake. Without his help, we're fighting a losing battle here. The only way this will work is if he cooperates with us and until then, I'm doing the best I can."

He knew those words. He'd been reciting those very same words to himself for who knew how long, every time the guilt started to weigh too heavily on his back. He knew it was true, knew it was both their saving grace and their downfall.

He could only stretch his hand so far. Sooner or later, it would fall to Peter to close the gap.

Michelle drummed her fingers against the counter, didn't look up at him. Which was what made Ned's sudden jolt startling to them both.

"In that case...we wanna help."

Tony blinked. "What?"

The boy narrowed his eyes, a new determined look entering his eyes that completely washed away the misery of before. "Look, you've known Peter for - what? Three months. Well, I've known him for three years." His face was hard as he spoke, voice even more so. "He's my bestest friend in the entire world and there's not a single thing about him that I don't already know."

A new gleam entered his eye, a knowing look that Tony instantly recognized as a subtle signal. He stood up a little straighter at the sight of it, narrowing his own eyes slightly as the distant thought of a web-slinging vigilante entered into the back of his mind. Could that mean-?

"When it comes to Peter, we're the experts." Ned continued while ignoring the hint entirely, gesturing to himself and Michelle, who seemed just as surprised by the boy's new behavior as Tony. "So if you want to get on his good side, you're going to need our help," the teen finished with a sharp nod of his head and a fold of the arms over his chest, staring at Tony with a new defiant gleam in his eyes, as if challenging him to disagree.

He met the kid's stare head-on, watched it grow steadier with each passing second. He pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek and slowly let his eyes travel towards Michelle. Her earlier shock at the boy's sudden turnaround seemed to have worn off, for now, her brows were furrowing with a similar determination as she leaned closer to Ned, their shoulders brushing against each other in a newfound comradery, facing off against him together, standing up for their friend together.

. . .

. . .

. . .

"Give me your phones."

That seemed to be enough to shock Ned out of his sudden inexplicable bravery, for he blinked and exchanged looks with Michelle to make sure he'd heard correctly. Tony didn't relent, simply extending out his hand.

"Phones. I know you have them. With kids like you, they're practically glued to your hands."

"I don't think you're one to judge our use of technology considering you've built your entire personality around it."

"Quiet. Phones. In hand." He ignored the girl's comment and made a grabbing motion with his hand once more. After a second of hesitant confusion, the teens reached into their pockets and deposited their phones into his awaiting grasp.

He worked quickly and silently, tapping away at the first device before switching to the next. They watched him with intrigue, eyes trying and failing to keep up with his flying fingers. During all of this, Tony noticed Michelle's gaze drift towards the untouched plate of sandwiches he'd made, brows furrowing slightly as she seemed to finally acknowledge its existence.

"Did you seriously give us turkey and mustard sandwiches?"

"And here I thought Peter was judgmental when it came to my culinary skills."

He handed them their phones back. Ned turned it over in his hands like Tony had somehow been able to transform it into a new Starkphone before their very eyes. "What did you do?"

"Added my personal number to your contacts."

They both froze, eyes darting from their phones up to the man before them. He folded his arms once more, remained unfazed.

"Peter's list of trusted allies is painfully small and yet somehow, you two seem to have clinched a spot. In that case, I'm going to need you. And as newly appointed teammates, communication is key. That might actually be for marriage, but whatever. Same difference." At their still confused looks, he rolled his eyes. "If I call, you'd better answer. And if I see this number on Twitter, we're going to have words."

Michelle's face slowly returned to passive indifference, though her eyes weren't as fierce as before. Ned, however, was still staring at his phone as if it might blow up in his face.

"Oh my god...this is the greatest day of my life."

Tony ignored this and glanced up at the ceiling. "As a matter of fact...FRIDAY?"

"Yes, boss."

"Add Michelle Jones and Ned Leeds to the exclusive access list. Don't bother with badges. They show up? Let them in, no questions asked."

"Yes, sir."

MJ's shocked face was back while Ned's had turned a shade whiter.

"If you think I'm going to be able to keep a fourteen-year-old kid entertained for the entirety of the summer, then you're kidding yourselves. I'm going to need you to give me a break every once in a while." His gaze sharpened. "You better not abuse that. If you're going to throw a house party in my tower, at the very least, I'd better be invited."

"I'm gonna throw up."

"Not on my floors your not."

He turned his attention to Michelle, who was watching him with a new curiosity in her gaze. Her eyes were still piercing and calculating as they searched him up and down, but Tony remained still in their searchlights. Ever so slowly, he stretched out a hand across the counter.

"So?"

She didn't make a move to accept it, simply stared down at it with that same sharp look. Finally, she lifted her head, face stone-cold, voice exactly the same. "You swear to take this seriously?"

"I wouldn't have just given my personal number to two high-schoolers if I wasn't already one hundred percent committed to this." The sheer super-charged certainty in his voice startled not only Michelle but himself as well. He brushed it aside though in favor of meeting the girl's gaze. She exchanged a little glance towards Ned, who had now calmed and now looked just as serious as her.

Finally, she turned back to Tony and reached out her own hand, sliding it into his outstretched palm as they shook.

Tony nodded and released his grip, stepping back with a little smirk as the two teens stared back at him, a newfound determination shining in their eyes, mingling with a strengthened gleam of hope that Tony prayed would remain strong and steady, for all of their sakes.

"Alright, then. Welcome to the team."

 

---

 

Friday - May 20, 2016

Parker Residence - Third Floor

04:32 PM

The sky was overcast outside, so much so that even though it was well before sundown, it was still dark enough to require the lights in his room. Above him, they reflected against the sleek surface of the coin in his hand, gleaming bright before his eyes.

Peter stared down at it in silence, ran his fingers along the edge, tracing the details on one side before flipping it over to the other to begin again. Luckily, he'd been able to keep it hidden during the Cons final sweep of his room and his suitcase, checking and re-checking to make sure the things he was taking were approved. (His suit was stashed safely away inside the air conditioning unit on the roof and would stay there until the very last minute).

And now that they were gone? Now that he was finished packing?

Peter tore his gaze away from the currency in his hand and spared a glance around the room.

It had never particularly been anything to gawk at; no posters or decorations of any sort. No true touches that made it feel lived-in. But it was still his, something for him to call his own.

Now he couldn't even say that anymore. Not when the laptop he kept on the desk, the papers that always sat strewn about the surface, and the few books he was allowed to own were all gone, hidden away in the suitcase sitting by his feet. In a few hours time, this wouldn't even be his room anymore, at least not for another two months.

He scanned his eyes along the walls, tried to take in each and every detail, burn them into his head. The spackling pattern of his ceiling that always looked like a face to him when the shadows of night seeped onto the surface. The rough, creaking of his bed, hard to the touch. Each and every floorboard that squeaked with his footsteps, every inch accounted for, every board that made noise ingrained in his head. He recited the path he always took around his room, expertly avoiding the creaky boards as he'd walk in silence.

Stark Tower wouldn't have creaky floorboards. It wouldn't have a steel-touch bed or faces in the ceiling.

It wouldn't have his mother. She'd never lived there. He wouldn't feel her in the walls.

He swallowed and turned back down to the coin, if only to spare his eyes the sight around him.

It'll be fine. This is a good thing. He's trying to help.

The words sounded right in his head, but they did little to ease the pressure that had been sitting on his chest for the better part of that week, getting heavier and heavier with each tick of the clock and every hour that passed, leading closer and closer to six pm.

It'll be fine. This is a good thing. He's trying to help.

Round and round they went, a three-fold chant that swirled through his head and echoed in his ears. He kept tracing the coin in his hands, felt the cold texture seeping into his skin. He shut his eyes and began to recall the details of his room once more, from memory alone. The hairline fracture in the bottom corner of the bay doors. The moth that sometimes crawled in from the crack in the ceiling. The lights from May's house, always buffered by the cold light of her TV, showing old reruns of M*A*S*H or Family Feud.

It'll be fine. This is a good thing. He's trying to help.

He kept going, listing each and every detail. He had to remember. He had to get them right. The water ring stains on his desk. The pencil scratches he'd etched into the wood. The wobbly shelf on his bookcase.

It'll be fine. This is a good thing. He's trying to help.

He stretched his mind out. Began to recite other things, other lists he'd ingrained into his mind over the years. Sandra likes her eggs scrambled and watery. Flint takes his clothes ironed and pressed. Curt keeps his books in alphabetical order. Max takes his coffee black with two spoonfuls of sugar. Three makes it too sweet. One is not sweet enough.

His eyes opened once more, and suddenly, as if drawn by an invisible string tied to his head, he felt himself swivel, eyes tracing over towards the empty desk by the wall. Correction: the nearly-empty desk by the wall. The desk that held the only remnant he'd debated about stashing in his suitcase for the entire week.

It'll be fine.

Carefully, he rose up to his feet, slipped the coin into his pocket as his eyes traced the drawer. He felt himself moving, heard nothing but silence as his feet ducked and dodged the boards he knew would creak under his weight. Back and forth he'd deliberated with himself, found reasons to open the drawer and reasons not to. Reasons to reach in and find a pocket of his suitcase to slide the drawer's treasure into and reasons to keep it safely sealed in its cave.

This is a good thing.

He reached the desk and his hand slowly stretched out towards the drawer, the only one he knew still held something. Hesitantly, he pulled the drawer open - a drawer he hadn't needed to open in years - and stared down at the piece of stained, crumpled notebook paper pressed down into the bottom of the drawer, the only thing it had ever held.

He's trying to help.

One through twelve. His eyes scanned the lines, scanned the list. They were all there, listed in the messy handwriting of a six-year-old, copied from the more pristine, professionally drawn-up list his father had given him.

He read the top line over and over again, and once he finished a third time, he went in for a fourth.

. . .

The Household Rules

- I, Peter Parker, swear to obey by these rules for the good of the family. -

. . .

At the bottom of the page sat a scrawled, messy little signature. Peter remembered trying to copy what his father always did when signing things, tried to make it as loopy and professional as possible. He remembered signing without complaint, without a second glance at the words he'd just written, their meanings completely lost on him. He remembered how happy his father had looked as he'd signed. Peter remembered smiling back at him.

There had been countless papers, countless lists all saying the same thing, the same numberings, one through twelve. He remembered writing list after list, ripping up one paper and filling another with those same twelve lines, those same twelve rules. Over and over he'd write until they were ingrained in his brain, burned into his eyes, etched into his memories until he could never forget.

But still, this first paper sat in his desk, silent and patient. Sometimes he'd take it out and look at it, recite that first line over and over again.

For the good of the family.

Slowly, Peter reached out his hand towards the paper, noticed the slight tremble in his fingers.

He jolted back however at the sound of his door opening. He'd been so preoccupied that he hadn't even heard the approaching footsteps. He whipped around and came face to face with Curt leaning up against his doorway, cigarette in mouth.

Peter stared at him, slowly straightened up, and pulled his hand away from the drawer. Curt stared at him in silence, eyes trailing him up and down. Finally, he lifted his prosthetic and pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, blowing out a little stream of smoke before he spoke.

"Your father wants to talk to you."

Peter blinked at him but didn't say anything. Curt didn't seem bothered by his silence as he turned away and shut the door once more, leaving him alone again.

The teen stood there for a moment and didn't make a move, just let his fingers tap up against his legs as he swallowed. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, loud and uncomfortable as it thrummed against his ribs, pressing against his sternum, threatening to break through and leak out onto the floor.

But it didn't. It sat there in his chest, still and trapped. Slowly, he turned his head back towards the drawer.

Without a word, Peter grabbed the paper, carefully folded it up, and slid it into his pocket, where it sat up against the coin, hissing as they brushed up against one another.

He opened the door, swallowed the sudden smoke clogging up his throat, and stepped out of his room, shutting the door behind him with an audible click.