Steve couldn't sleep.

A few fruitless hours of tossing and turning in a bed probably costing more than his childhood home had proven this. He raised a hand to his face, rubbing his forehead and letting out a soft groan as he pushed his hair back and stared up at the ceiling.

Just like everything else in the room, it was perfect and pristine, a clean swathe of pale cream that left no room for indents, scuffs or marks. No matter how long his eyes peeled over every inch of it, he could find none, nothing, no mark of life on the surface.

As a kid, the ceiling above his bed had been full of cracks, the drywall and plaster falling down like snow around his head whenever the upstairs tenants moved about, the layering so thin he could hear each footfall and track them just by listening to the creaking.

But just like every night nowadays, Steve's eyes gave up the search for even a speck out of place in the sea of faultless craftsmanship. No drywall. No footsteps. No counting the cracks until he fell asleep. Just him and the silence.

("Don't do anything stupid until I get back.")

At least...he wished for silence.

Steve shut his eyes, tried to fight his way past the waves of noise and static that always seemed to fill his head whenever it hit a pillow. But tonight, in keeping in time with the past two months, it was just too goddamn loud.

(Gunfire ringing in his ears.)

(A train screeching on the tracks.)

(Bucky, Bucky, Buck-)

He kicked the sheets off in a fit of frustration, sitting up with a sigh as he finally relented on the fact that he most definitely wasn't falling asleep that night. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and pressed his feet down into the cold wood below.

At least that was still the same, an accomplishment that wasn't easily achieved when comparing a room at Stark tower with a crummy one-bedroom apartment in DC. In fact, his old apartment could probably fit inside the new massive bedroom, with plenty of room to spare no doubt.

But as Steve racked his eyes over the detailing of the wooden floors below, he still found differences. There were no little traces of dust that he couldn't wipe clean no matter how many times he dusted. There was no variation in the spacing between boards. There was no discoloration or staining in the wood.

He hesitated for a moment before he shifted his foot slightly, pressing down with his heel, then lifting up to press down with the ball of his foot.

No creaking. No noise at all.

Just silence.

He let out a little breath before lifting his head, resting his hands against the edges of the bed that also made no noise no matter how many times he shifted.

Steve missed his old apartment. He knew it was a selfish thought; Tony was more than generous in offering his Tower after the whole mess in DC and Steve was plenty grateful. But there was just something about the sleek, cold walls and high-tech AIs installed into the ceiling that just reminded him of how out of place he was, like a bright, neon band wrapping around his arm shining "I don't belong here" in an obnoxiously loud fashion.

At least in DC, in his old one-bedroom apartment with the leak in the bathroom and a crack in the foundation just above the kitchen lights, he could pretend he was still in Brooklyn, pretend a lifetime hadn't passed him by in the blink of an eye, pretend the world hadn't left him behind and he wasn't lost in time.

But here, in the tower, it was like being stuck in the middle of Times Square again. (He still couldn't stomach the idea of going back there.)

A car horn echoed faintly in his ears. He blinked out of his thoughts and turned towards the walls of the room, which were really just glass windows encompassing the entire wall, stretching from floor to ceiling.

The lights from the city could be seen even from where he sat, as high up as he was, faintly illuminating the room in pale, blinking hues of reds, greens, yellows and blues, flashing up from the streets below. Steve slowly pushed off of the bed, feet softly thudding against the floor as he walked towards the glass. He gently pressed a hand onto the cool surface and glanced down.

At least the view was better. He had to give it that.

Buildings surrounded the Tower on all sides, none as tall but equally as bright, shining down onto the streets and the people below. Colors swirled into one another in the distance as streams of cars blurred into a single steady river of bright, shining light. And above it all, the moon shone steadily, illuminating the clouds in a brilliant sheen of silver.

Another car horn, an engine revving, the loud bas s  of a nearby club. It was distant, faint, but ever-present. Tony had mentioned something about sound-proof shudders installed into the windows, but Steve didn't bother in trying to activate them. Even if he blocked out the noise from outside, it still wouldn't be quiet.

("Who the hell is Bucky?")

He opened his eyes, glanced away. The room suddenly felt cramped as he felt the urge to get out and run laps. But this wasn't DC. This wasn't his apartment. This was Manhattan; a cold, fancy building in the middle of a bustling city he no longer recognized.

Still, the need to move was present in his muscles, making him clench and unclench his fingers anxiously.

Steve hesitated for a moment before slowly turning his head towards the door.

 

---

 

Tuesday - May 10, 2016

Location Unknown

08:31 AM

"Let me just remind you all that I have a master's degree in electrical engineering so I think I know what I'm-OW!"

"What now?"

"Just a...minor shock. Nothing to be-OW! Damn it!"

Sam leaned back in his chair. "Scott, man give it a rest already would ya? You're not gonna get that piece of crap to work." He vaguely gestured towards the back of the warehouse. "I don't even know why you brought that thing out here. Everything in that office back there is shot to hell."

Scott lifted his head away from the tube TV he'd managed to scrounge up from the manager's office at the back of the warehouse and threw the other man a miffed glower. "You know, I don't happen to recall this much negativity when I got you that chair."

Sam glanced down at the chair they'd also found in the office and rolled back a few inches before folding his arms over his head. "Well there's a much smaller chance of you catching fire with a chair than with an actual tangible piece of potentially-explosive technology"

"Your lack of faith is staggerin-OW! Son of a bitch!"

"Wanda, make sure the fire blanket's prepped."

The girl didn't even glance up from her novel, just gave a half-hearted thumbs-up, to which Scott rolled his eyes and continued to meddle.

Outside, a sharpened piece of wood flew through the air and stabbed into the side of the wooden fence lining the perimeter of the property, Clint lowering his arm as he admired his handiwork, placing his hands on his hips as he glanced over at Natasha. "Well? Come on! I'm still waiting on an answer."

The woman continued to lean back against the side of the warehouse, legs folded underneath the rusted air conditioning unit as she sharpened small bits of wood with her knife. Beside her, a growing pile of makeshift wooden darts was already completed and ready for aiming. She rolled her eyes and shrugged her shoulders. "What kind of question is that anyway?"

Clint grabbed a shard. "A perfectly innocent, highly curious one."

Natasha watched him let loose another throw, this shard sticking perfectly parallel to the last one, merely a few inches to the right. "Well, what's yours?"

"Easy. Burma drop. 2001. Hands down. To prove I wasn't a spy, some of the roundups demanded I down a full jar of Tokazaki peppers. Said no foreigner could handle it the way a real local could."

She quirked a brow. "And?"

Clint scoffed and threw another shard. "And what? I'm a professional. Of course I did it. Lucky for me, we raided the bunker a couple of minutes later, coincidentally."

"...you pressed the panic button, didn't you?"

"My eyes were melting, Romanoff. Of fucking course I did."

She snorted and sliced off another splinter of wood, Clint smirking as he leaned up against the side of the warehouse and folding his arms over his chest. "Well? I shared mine. What's your craziest blown cover story?"

Natasha held up the shard and narrowed her eyes as she blew on it a bit before nodding and setting it down to join the others. "Uhh...I don't know, I guess I'd have to say...the Blue Fangs probably."

"In Kabul?"

"Yeah. 1993."

Clint reached for another shard and pressed the tip of his finger against the point. "Wait. I thought the Blue Fangs was an all-male terrorist group."

"Yeah...Your point?"

The archer couldn't help the snicker he let loose, Natasha rolling her eyes with a smile as she picked up another roughened, rounded piece of rotting wood and began to whittle it down.

"Ow! Goddamn it!"

"Would you stop it already?"

"Back off, Wilson!"

The two assassins glanced towards the windows before sharing a knowing look with each other. Clint shook his head and tossed another shard. "That guy's gonna be the death of us all."

Natasha let a little smile remain on her face as she watched the little flecks of wood flitter to the ground with each score of her knife. "I like Scott."

"Oh, I like him too. He's a good guy, but my god does he love to talk." Clint let out an amused huff. "I'm telling you, one of these days, Sam is going to strangle him with the string of his sneakers."

"I don't know. I think Scott could take him."

"Oh yeah?"

"Haven't you ever wondered where those two first met? Cause I have my suspicions."

Clint chuckled and went back to aiming another shot. Natasha set down another finished shard and gently twirled her knife in her hand, watching as her friend let loose another perfect throw. "Besides, you don't seem to have much of a problem with his ramblings," she murmured, leaning forward slightly to let her forearms rest on her crossed knees.

The archer threw her a sidelong glance before shrugging. "Well, that's cause I've got a trained ear. Have you ever had an hour-long conversation on which character is the best in Princess Pony Palooza? Cause I have." He walked over and picked up another shard, but didn't move back to take aim. "By the way, it's Daisy. My daughter will fight me on that but she doesn't know what she's talking about."

He glanced down at the piece of wood in his hands, running his fingers over the edges as he caressed the sides. He took a breath, didn't say any more.

Natasha watched him for a moment before silently reaching out, gently rubbing her thumb against his shoulder. For a moment, Clint didn't react to the touch, just kept his eyes locked on the piece of sharpened wood in his fingers. But after a moment, he sniffed and blinked back into reality, clearing his throat and stepping back. "I'm fine."

Natasha gave a muted nod and turned away, knew it was best not to try and prod him on the subject. Instead, she cast a small glance towards the window of the warehouse, decided to try and switch topics. "How's Wanda doing, by the way?"

Clint perked up at that, planting his feet again to take another throw. "The kid? She's holding out. She's tough."

"She's young. She's gonna be, what, 24 in September?

"October actually."

Natasha gave a little smile as she picked up another piece of wood and fiddled with her knife. "She seems to be quite fond of you and Scott."

Clint threw her a strange look before giving a doubtful shrug of his shoulders. "I don't know."

"I do. You're good with her."

Clint hesitated a little longer to throw the next shard, tossing it back and forth in his hands for a bit before letting it loose a few inches off target. "Maybe. As good as we can be, I guess." He huffed and smiled again. "Steve's pretty good with her, too. If I didn't know any better, I'd say that guy's spent some time around a couple of kids."

Natasha rolled her eyes, felt a tight ball of annoyance spark in her chest at the man's name. "That's just Steve being Steve. That idiot likes everyone who so much as holds a door open for him."

Clint didn't reach for another shard, chose instead to lean up against the air conditioning unit and lift his head towards the sky, squinting as he tried to catch sight of one particular figure. "He's been pretty quiet. He said anything to you, you know...in between your scoldings?"

The woman scoffed and lifted her head as well, raising a hand to try and block out the early morning sun. "Don't act like he didn't deserve them."

Maybe once upon a time, the rusted gantries that loomed over the waters of the Hudson River had served a useful purpose, but now they were nothing but an eyesore in the sky, a perch for the birds, and a seat for one Steve Rogers far enough away to keep him from having to interact with his teammates.

The lingerings of last Thursday night still rang fresh in her head, the feelings of fear and worry that had arisen after Steve had missed his call-in and remained missing for the better part of the night and following morning still too potent for her to truly let it go.

"Aw, give the guy a break, Nat. It's been rough being cooped up in here for so long. I don't blame the guy for taking a couple of hours to clear his head."

"A couple of hours offline? In a city teeming with cops and politicians just itching to put us behind bars?"

"I don't know. New York's pretty democratic and you know how much they love us hero types."

"Clint."

He raised his hands. "Okay, okay. Believe me, you don't have to tell me how serious this all is," he sighed with just a hint of bitterness lingering on the edge of his words. It didn't remain though as he carded a hand through his hair and threw her a gentle glance. "All I'm saying is maybe cut the guy some slack. Not a lot, just...a bit, you know? It's been hard on him."

Natasha's face remained firm. "It's been hard on all of us without him making it even harder."

She turned her head away sharply, a loud huff falling from her lips as she scored her knife across the wood hard enough for it to suddenly splinter into two. She grunted in annoyance and snatched up another piece before quickly going to work sharpening the tip with harsh strokes. She kept her eyes trailed on her work, so much so that she tried not to notice Clint watching her intently, arms folding over his chest as he leaned up against the side of the wall.

"...Nothing happened, you know."

She pressed her tongue into the side of her cheek and stopped scoring, glaring over at him with a heated look. "What?"

Clint didn't seem fazed by her aggression. "You being all huffy about this. I know it's just cause you were worried. Well...nothing happened."

She stared at him for a moment, didn't say anything. After a second, she turned back to her wood carving and continued to score it, albeit a little gentler this time. She didn't look up as she spoke. "This time. Who's to say that'll be the case next time."

"Who's to say there'll even be a next time?"

"Clint-" She set the finished piece aside and set the knife down as she looked up. "It's Steve. There's always a next time."

He shrugged his shoulders and moved closer to her. "Then...next time, we'll have his back." He threw her a smile. "Like always, right?"

Natasha scoffed as he bumped her shoulder, rolling her eyes as a smile of her own crept onto her face. She picked up her knife once more, twisting it in her hands. "Yeah. Like always." She turned it around and sheathed it back into her holster.

"Ah, ah! Yeah! Suck it, Wilson!"

The two assassins glanced towards the window at the sudden shouting before sharing a glance and shaking their heads. Natasha hopped down from her seat on the AC unit and began to walk towards the gantries. "Come on."

The metal mesh fencing that surrounded the perimeter of the warehouse stretched along here as well, an old faded sign the only piece of evidence that the land had once been active.

PORT MORRIS RIVERSIDE STORAGE

AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL VEHICLES ONLY

The metal of the towering structures was rusted and old, creaking softly with each passing breeze like an ominous moaning. Along the side was a questionable-looking stairwell that led to the top office. Their footsteps made different individual noises with each step they advanced, the metal grinding underneath them in protest as they moved.

Up at the top, supported by the metal pillars below, was an abandoned outpost of sorts, a small little structure no bigger than a security office, with smashed windows overlooking the bay and a rusted roof that Steve currently sat atop. And despite the fact that he'd most definitely heard them coming, he didn't turn their way.

Natasha glanced up at him, hesitated for a moment before taking a breath and beginning the climb up the final few steps to the roof of the structure. Clint followed a little ways behind.

"You still pouting up here?" she called as she cleared the climb and stepped onto the roof. Steve sat along the edge, legs hanging off the side as an old, ratty notebook sat in his lap, a pencil in his hands. He still didn't look up, just kept lightly brushing the tip of the pencil against the paper.

"I'm not pouting."

"You tell her, Cap." Clint sat down on the final step of the stairwell. "Us men call it brooding."

Natasha gave an unconvinced nod. "Right."

Steve pulled the pencil away from the paper and lifted his head, gazing out at the waters stretching out before them before glancing their way. "Just enjoying the view."

Natasha followed his gaze and squinted her eyes against the glare of the sun reflecting off the waters. "Right, cause nothing says relaxing like staring into the oil-stained, garbage-filled waters of the Hudson."

"Exactly."

She glanced back over at him, noticed his posture, the way his eyes lingered on the waters. Something was...off. That much was for certain. He wasn't radiating his usual aura of confidence and optimism. He wasn't even looking at them. She turned to look back at Clint, and from the face he made, it was obvious he'd noticed it too.

Natasha let out a small breath to steady herself and slowly crouched down, letting her legs swing out to hang over the edge of the structure. Clint remained standing on the stairs, leaning against the rails.

"So why are you up here?" Her voice was much softer than she'd been expecting.

Steve finally turned to her, fiddled with the pencil in his hands. "I just said-"

"Steve..." Clint murmured softly, cutting him off before he could spout off another excuse. It was rare for the archer to use the man's first name.

The soldier must have realized there would be no lying to them, for he turned away again and glanced down at the sketch in his lap. "It's quiet. Quieter..." His voice was low, so different from its typical headstrong ring.

Natasha narrowed her eyes, felt a bubble of unease blooming in her chest. This didn't just have to do with her scolding of him. This was...something else. She leaned forward slightly. "Are you alright...?"

He still didn't turn towards her. She noticed his fingers beginning to tap against his knee, rhythmic in a sense but with no discernable pattern she could make out. He said nothing for a moment, eyes hard and focused on nothing in particular.

Finally,

"Do you two know anything about Richard Parker?"

A pause. Natasha and Clint shared a glance.

"Uh..."

"Hey, guys? I think you better come look at this! Like right now!"

The three of them perked their heads at Scott's shout, the obvious notes of concern evident in his voice. Steve seemed to snap out of his stupor immediately, setting his notebook aside and rising up to his feet. Clint started to make his way down the stairs first with the soldier right behind him. Natasha made to follow, only to pause as she caught sight of Steve's notebook, more specifically, of the sketch he'd been working on:

A hyper-realistic drawing of a spider.

She furrowed her brows and just barely took a step towards it before Clint's voice rang out. "Nat, come on!"

She turned towards the stairs, spared the book one last hurried glance before pushing it to the back of her mind and climbing down to meet the others, the thought just about forgotten as they rushed into the warehouse, instantly catching sight of Scott, Sam, and Wanda crowding around the now-working TV.

"What happened? Did you actually start a fire in here or som-" Clint's chastising voice cut off midsentence as they pushed through and caught sight of what was playing on the TV, a sight that had left the other members of their team tense and rigid, a sight that made Natasha furrow her brows and Steve blink in shock. Clint spoke first, face twisting into a disgusted grimace as he growled.

"What the hell...?"

 

---

 

"Welcome back to the Studio 57 News Room at NBC Broadcast Headquarters here in New York where we are continuing to follow up on our current developing story. Right now we go back to Nina Fisher with more updates. Nina?"

"Good morning, Joanne. For anybody joining us now, I am currently standing outside Parkstem Labs where we have a host of reporters anxiously awaiting the start of today's press conference. Now, early last week, CEO of Stark Industries, Pepper Potts, and Richard Parker himself both confirmed that a press conference would be held in regards to the recent situation centering around Parker's own son, Peter Parker, and top competitor, Tony Stark."

"Now several theories and allegations have been made surrounding the current situation but up until recently, we'd received no official word from either party regarding the matter. However, today just might change things."

"The conference is set for 9 AM where we will continue to bring you live coverage as it happens. We have also recently confirmed that not only are Richard Parker and Tony Stark going to speak, but Peter Parker himself will also be present."

"Now, 14-year-old Peter Parker is not usually seen by the public, Richard Parker on record saying he prefers to keep his son's life private and out of the eyes of any prying individuals. However, with the recent developments, I think it's safe to say it's well past time to hear from the boy himself. Joanne?"

"Thank you, Nina. Now as she mentioned, we will be covering the entire conference for those of you wishing to watch so make sure to stay tuned to channel 57 for the latest. In other news...

 

---

 

Tuesday - May 10, 2016

Parkstem Labs - Second-Floor Lobby

08:42 AM

Peter could safely say with great certainty that he was going to pass out. Or puke. Maybe both.

Probably both.

He could hear the frantic tapping of his foot against the cold marble floors, the sound echoing in his ears around the massive lobby. The only thing that could maybe drown it out was the sound of the reporters shuffling about outside the building - the unlucky majority who hadn't been selected to attend the live conference in person and had to be content filming from the front lawn.

Peter tried not to count how many voices he could hear mingling about with one another outside or that puking possibility was going to increase by a good chunk. Instead, he glanced down at his hands folded neatly in his lap as he sat atop one of the numerous couches situated in the building's second-floor lobby.

The lobby itself sat on a balcony of sorts, overlooking the first-floor reception area and the building entryway made up of large glass windows that stretched from floor to ceiling. Two ornate marble staircases stretched from the bottom floor up to the second on either side of the balcony overhang.

His father sure did love to flaunt his money.

Peter sighed and shifted slightly on the uncomfortably stiff couch. He'd sat on these exact same couches countless times when he was younger, waiting around for his father to be finished for the day, sometimes even going as far as to fall asleep on them when his father got lost in his work and forgot about him.

(When confronted about it by the security guards, his father had played it off as Peter insisting to stay of his own accord rather than go home, despite Richard's supposed protests. The guards had chuckled, joked about stubborn kids, and had wished his father a good night. They said nothing to Peter.)

Now that he was older, Peter was grateful his father trusted him enough to stay home alone after school and get started on his chores. Mainly, he was grateful he no longer had to spend hours alone with the Cons on babysitting detail when his father finally got tired of dealing with the questions that came up whenever passing employees saw Peter sleeping in the reception area.

Now the Cons had their own work to do, as did Peter.

Speaking of...

"How long do you think this shit's gonna last?" Flint muttered as he rolled his neck, shifting uncomfortably in the fancy dress shirt he'd been required to wear. Sandra was silently scrolling through her phone, legs crossed over each other as she sat on the couch closest to the other men, Curt sitting against the armrest as he glanced around with a bored expression on his face.

Max didn't look up from adjusting his cuffs as he leaned up against one of the nearby pillars. "Long enough to satisfy those idiots barking out there."

The others didn't say anything, simply rolled their eyes in deep disdain, casting not-so-subtle glares Peter's way that he was all too happy to pretend he didn't see. His father had assigned them to stick close to him while he and Pepper dealt with the mass of reporters that had been allowed into the building.

Peter wished he'd been able to speak to the women at least for a second when she'd arrived early that morning, but his father had whisked her away before she could so much as get a word out to him. She'd arrived alone, curtly explaining to his father that Tony would be coming later and that she was only there to oversee and help him with prep work.

He could hear them in one of the back rooms, the bigger ones they used exclusively for gatherings and conferences. These reporters seemed much calmer than the ones outside, the sounds of occasional laughter filling the distant air followed by the dulcet tones of his father's rich, rumbling voice. Peter didn't listen to whatever the man was saying, didn't want to focus too much on how suave and confident his father sounded.

There was no way he could sound like that. No way he could make a mob of reporters docile and calm with nothing more than the quick tongue and sharp wits his father always armed himself with.

This was going to be a disaster, plain and simple.

Don't puke. Don't puke. Don't puke. Don't pass out, either. Don't pass out...or puke. Multitask. Easy...

The sharp sound of his phone buzzing nearly made Peter fall out of his seat. Max threw him a strange look, to which the boy averted his gaze and quickly pulled his phone out of his pocket, tapping on the new message that had appeared.

 

---

 

Group Chat - Ned/MJ

Ned

Dude, we got a code red situation over here. May keeps trying to force-feed us her cookies and I'm 90% sure she's actually put some sort of poison in them this time.

. . .

MJ

You're so dramatic. They're not that bad.

. . .

Ned

Figures you'd get the one cookie without any pepper in it.

Besides, you don't get to talk considering you weren't here to experience the Meatloaf Fiasco of 2015.

I still don't know how you guys got the stains off the ceiling.

. . .

Peter

We taped a sponge to the end of a broom and just sort of whacked it for a couple of hours.

And anyway, I warned you not to eat her food anymore. MJ, did I not warn you two?

. . .

MJ

Warning received and promptly ignored.

. . .

Peter

Then any casualties are not my fault.

. . .

MJ

Whatever, loser. It's my first time meeting your aunt. I'm not about to make a bad first impression by refusing her evil food, no matter how much it growls at me.

That's just how I was raised.

BTW, May's really cool.

. . .

Peter

Thanks. I'm pretty fond of her myself so you can't keep her.

. . .

MJ

It's fine.  The pepper cookies are a bit of a deal-breaker for me anyway.

So how you feeling?

. . .

Peter

Like I'd rather be downing platefuls of May's cookies than sitting here right now.

. . .

Ned

Don't even joke. I might need to go to the hospital and get my stomach pumped again.

. . .

Peter

One time. That happened ONE time and you just can't let it go, can you?

. . .

. . .

. . .

I'm scared, guys.

. . .

MJ

It's gonna be okay. You've been prepping for this all week, right?

. . .

Peter

Yeah. Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts have been giving me some pointers, going over everything that might be asked, what to say and all that but idk I still don't feel ready.

. . .

Ned

Knowing you, you wouldn't feel ready even after ten years of prep.

. . .

Peter

Ten years isn't a very long time at all when you think about it.

. . .

MJ

Peter, listen. Everything's going to be fine. Just take a deep breath and stay calm. It'll be over before you know it and then we can laugh about how much Flash is gonna hate seeing you get so much TV time.

. . .

Ned

Dude I think he might actually explode

. . .

Peter

That makes two of us

. . .

Ned

Listen, man. MJ, May and I are all gonna be cheering you on from here. And you'll have Mr. Stark there, too, right. So you're about as far from alone as you can possibly get. Just keep thinking of us, pretend you're just talking to us and not a room full of flashing cameras and screaming reporters.

. . .

Peter

Thanks for that image.

. . .

Ned

No problem.

. . .

MJ

Ignore him. Everything's going to be fine. You're going to be fine.

You can do this Peter.

We know you can.

. . .

Peter

thx guys

. . .

MJ

PS May says hi

. . .

Ned

Oh god. She has muffins. Peter! Why is she bringing out muffins?!

. . .

MJ

Why are they gray?

. . .

Peter

Oh, her truffle muffins. Lol good luck guys ;)

. . .

Ned

PETER!

 

---

 

He slipped his phone back into his pocket with a smile, the small feelings of reassurance fleeting but appreciated nonetheless. He perked slightly at the soft sound of hurried heels clacking their way. He and the Cons turned towards the small woman quickly making her way towards them: one of his father's many nameless employees.

"Mr. Dillon. Ms. Deel. I need you to look over these forms before we send them off to the warehouses for processing. They're in regard to the load we're expecting from Japan next month."

Max furrowed his brow and took the clipboard from her hands. "No problem, Christy. But I thought we were getting the shipment from Japan this month."

Sandra shook her head and stepped closer. "We're trading with Singapore this month. Japan's not till three weeks from now."

"So why are we clearing out this much space at the warehouse? Three shipping containers? I thought we were getting new processors from Singapore so why the hell do we need that much storage space? I, ugg...Christy?"

"Sir?"

"Who's lead in the warehouses?"

"Sanders is the manager down there, sir. Has been since Robbins retired last month."

"Well get him on the horn for me. I want to know what the hell he's doing down there."

"Yes, sir."

Peter turned away with a small sigh, deciding to tune the rest out as he glanced towards the windows. With everything he saw them doing in private, it was hard for him to remember that the Cons did actually have jobs at Parkstem, not that they'd ever really interested him much, at least not enough to keep listening in.

However, with Max and Sandra preoccupied and Flint and Curt too apathetic to look up from their phones, none of them noticed the slight commotion from outside.

But Peter did.

He straightened up in his seat, casting a wary glance behind him at the distracted Cons, and slowly rose up from the seat he'd been strictly ordered not to move from. Approaching the balcony railing, Peter rested his hands on the cold steel and leaned forward, trying to see through the windows out onto the lawn of the property where hordes of reporters and news vans currently flocked. But the crowds were too thick. Whatever they were floundering about, he couldn't tell.

At least, until it strolled right through the front doors.

Tony Stark waltzed in with as much confidence as one could muster, dressed in a suit that looked more expensive than some of the cars outside with yellow-tinted sunglasses perched atop his nose. Happy followed behind him, glaring at the mass of reporters that were trying to push against the barriers and shove their mics as close as they could to the billionaire, who had yet to spare them all so much as a glance.

Peter could feel an immediate shift in his gut, a sense of relief that swelled into his chest and made a smile bubble onto his face for just a second.

The feeling made way for apprehension. He stole another nervous glance behind him. The Cons still hadn't noticed.

He decided to chance it and carefully began to make his way towards the stairs. Mr. Stark had made it to the security checkpoint, seemingly having a heated conversation with his driver that Peter could very pointedly pick up as he approached.

"Jesus Christ, just put your shit in the bin, Happy. It's security. What are they gonna do? Scan your texts and steal the cornbread recipe your mother sent you?"

"Okay. I don't appreciate that. That recipe is a family treasure."

"I'm sure. Well if need be, we can always sue for emotional distress, so relax."

At that moment, the man turned and finally made eye contact with his intern nearly tripping over his own two feet as he made his way down the stairs. Tony smiled as the kid lifted a hand and gave a wave, the man stuffing his hands into his pockets as he called over his shoulder to Happy, "Let me know if you need to make an arrest. I'll arrange a police escort for you."

Peter only slightly stumbled as he finally cleared the last few steps in a couple of hurried paces, Tony approaching in a much calmer manner.

"Hi," his voice squeaked out in a soft little chirp of relief and anxiety rolled into one.

Tony smirked at the kid and glanced down at his attire with a nod akin to approval. "Well, someone's looking sharp,"

"Thanks. I hate it." He tugged at the collar of his shirt, to which Tony swatted the kid's hand away. "Not surprising considering your usual attire is sweaters and jackets that are, oh I would say...maybe 23 sizes too big for you?"

Peter scoffed and folded his arms over his chest. "Whatever. I like being cozy." He scrunched his nose and threw the billionaire a questioning grin. "And anyway, I don't think right now is an appropriate time for you to be pointing out criticisms considering you're just now showing up for a press conference that starts in..." he glanced towards the clock. "...less than twenty minutes."

Tony scoffed as he made his way over towards the front entrance once more, casting a glance around at the front lawn that was so full of people and vans that you could no longer see the grass underneath their feet. "What are they gonna do? Start without me?"

"You obviously don't know my dad very well."

"Lucky me."

Peter blew out a humored huff, rolling his eyes and giving a small shake of his head before lifting his gaze to follow where the man had gone off to. Once he noticed, however, his smile faltered. He hesitated for a moment before walking up to join the man at the windows, feeling his stomach roll slightly as he caught sight of the scene he'd been trying hard to ignore for the past hour.

It was like a sea of noise and chaos right outside the glass: cameras flashing, voices shouting, the smell of diesel and fumes from the idling vans sharp enough to smell even from inside. Peter swallowed thickly and lifted his arms to fold over his chest, shoulders tightening.

"Is this...what you were expecting?" He murmured softly, eyes never straying from the commotion unfolding before them.

Tony must have picked up on the slight shift in the kid's tone, for he spared the boy a glance, cast one more annoyed glare towards the scene, and rested his hands on Peter's shoulders, gently guiding him away from the flashing cameras and prying eyes. "More or less."

Peter tried to shut the noise out, tried to focus instead on the sounds of their footsteps against the floors below, sharp and calculated. He tapped his fingers against his arm and turned to look up at Mr. Stark, who blew a small sigh from his lips as he continued. "With all the craziness going on in the world right now, I guess people just want something a little more manageable to focus on other than world politics and war criminals."

The teen noticed the slightest hint of bitterness in the man's voice. He didn't comment on it.

"So our tabloid story of the week-

"Is the perfect distraction."

Peter glanced back towards the window. It wasn't working. He could still hear them. He could probably hear them from miles away. "Right..."

It wasn't new information. They'd been discussing the circumstances around the conference for the past week now. With Peter taking the week off of school both for his own security and to prep for the meet, he'd spent the majority of his time at the Tower, working with Tony, Pepper, and Rhodey as they practiced any and all scenarios that could play out during the conference, including potential questions, hang-ups, and emergencies. They'd gone over etiquette, what to expect, what types of unexpected things to expect, and everything in between.

Still, imagining a lawn full of reporters and actually seeing them before his eyes were two very different things.

Somehow, his imagination didn't hold a candle to the real thing.

Another set of footsteps suddenly came into range and the two of them looked up towards Happy as he approached, face pinched into his usual look of displeasure. Tony grinned as he approached, nudging Peter in the shoulder. "Finished interrogating the security guard? Cause that janitor over there is looking a bit suspicious. You might wanna go run his plates."

"Shut up."

Peter finished stifling his giggles and threw the man a smile. "Hi, Happy."

The man grunted in response before giving the room a thorough scan. "You seen Pepper?"

"She's with my dad keeping the reporters calm. I-"

The words choked in his throat as a meaty hand latched around his bicep and wrenched him backward, nearly tearing his shoulder from his socket as his shoes squeaked against the floor and a sharp grunt fell from his lips. His eyes left Mr. Stark's now-shocked face and darted up to meet the furious gaze of Max as the man glared down at him, face pinched as he gritted his teeth and leaned in closer, words tight and venomous. "What the hell did I say about moving your ass from that seat, you little-"

"Hey-"

The word was sharp, cutting right through Max's own as the man ripped his gaze away with an angered gleam to see who would dare interrupt him from his scolding. Peter could feel him jolt, however, as he finally registered just who Peter had been talking to. The teen tried to ignore the biting pain now cutting through his arm in favor of staring at Mr. Stark, who looked more than ready to cause a scene.

His face was stoic, shoulders pulled back as he stared at Max with a piercing stare that did well to hide the anger Peter could see bubbling up behind his tensed jaw. Behind him, Happy wasn't doing as well of a job to hide his own anger, staring at the man with a glare that even overshadowed the look he'd given the security guard from before.

Peter swallowed the sudden lump forming in his throat, heart stuttering ever so slightly as he caught Mr. Stark's gaze.

Don't do anything.

He hoped his eyes conveyed the message well enough for the billionaire to get it.

Please.

They weren't afforded the luxury of privacy this time. Now there were eyes on them, cameras that couldn't wait to catch something interesting should the opportunity arise. They couldn't afford to disturb the waters. Not today. Not over something so trivial.

Peter noticed the man hesitate for a moment. Perhaps he was thinking the same things as Peter, realizing this wasn't a battle worth fighting as he subtly lifting his hand behind him, motioning for Happy to stay back. The burning look behind his own eyes seemed to dwindle slightly as well, replaced instead with an air of tense calm.

Max didn't seem too threatened by the looks he was currently receiving, for he simply straightened up as a strained smile worked its way onto his face. He didn't release his hold on Peter as he stared back at the billionaire. "Mr. Stark...nice of you to finally show up."

Tony narrowed his eyes and fixed his own version of a terse smile onto his face. "Well, you know me. I like to make an entrance." His gaze darkened, if such a thing were possible.

"Now let him go."

For a moment, Max didn't make a move. Peter felt his heart rate picking up speed as the seconds ticked by. Max wouldn't really provoke anything, right? Not today? Not with all these cameras right outside? And for one brief, horrifying second, Peter was back in the Tower, back to last week, feeling two hands latching onto his wrist, a tight tugging as each force showed their dominance, their dominance over him.

Don't puke. Don't puke. Don't puke. Don't-

Without warning, Max released his hold, Peter quickly taking a step back away from all of them as he flicked his gaze back and forth between both Max and Mr. Stark, who had yet to take their eyes off of each other.

"Where's Parker?" Tony's voice was curt, obviously not in the mood to prolong their conversation for any longer than absolutely necessary.

Max sized him up for a second, sharp eyes glaring at the billionaire with a look of pure disdain before he sniffed. "This way." He turned around and glanced back over his shoulder. "Peter, stay-"

Tony cut him off. "The kid's coming with us."

Mr. Stark... Peter sighed internally, wishing the man would stop trying to poke the man's buttons. He faintly cleared his throat. "It's fine. I...I can just stay here. I-it's not-"

"You're coming with us."

Peter shut his mouth as Tony turned back towards Max, fixing him with another pointed smirk. "You don't have a problem with that, right...Max?"

The man gritted his teeth before grunting. "Of course not." Max lifted his gaze and snapped his fingers, Peter following his gaze and realizing for the first time that the other Cons were watching from the balcony, leaning against the railings as they watched the scene with bored expressions. "Make sure everything runs smoothly down here. I'll be right back."

He didn't wait for a response before he was making for the stairs, not bothering to check and see if the others were following him. Mr. Stark glanced back towards Peter, who pointedly ignored his watchful eye as he fell into step behind Max. They made their way up the stairs and walked down the winding halls of the second floor.

It had been a while since Peter had spent much time in his father's building.

He liked Stark Tower better.

Their silent walk eventually led them to a large waiting area complete with couches and armchairs overlooking the large windows displaying the bustling front lawns below. Max stopped walking and angled his head towards the couches. "Wait here," he muttered gruffly as he turned away to continue down the hall.

Mr. Stark glanced towards Happy. "Go with him. Check on Pepper, see how she's doing."

The man nodded while Max rolled his eyes and let out a little scoff. But he didn't object as Happy fell into step behind him, the two men disappearing down the hall in a terse silence.

For a moment, Peter just stood there, arms still folded tightly over his chest as he watched them walk off, listening to the dwindling sounds of their retreating footsteps. He resisted the urge to rub at his arm where Max had grabbed him, felt the dull throbbing of the skin teeming underneath his sleeves. Mr. Stark was looking at him, he could feel the man's eyes on him, feel them scanning him over in silence. He didn't turn around to look at him.

"They're a bit...on edge today." His voice was quiet. But they were alone in the hall, so it echoed nonetheless.

He could hear the contempt in the man's voice before he'd even opened his mouth. "Sure."

Peter sighed and spun on his heel, head low as he made his way towards the window. "You're gonna have to learn how to get along with them, you know." He scanned the lawn, counted the number of vans he could see just from this one view. Thirty-four.

"Or at least, you will if you're...like, serious about sticking around." He tried to keep his voice level, tried to leave the words as nonchalant as possible.

He needed to give the man as many outs as he could. It was only fair.

Mr. Stark paused for a moment, and when he did approach, his footsteps were soft. "You having doubts?"

Peter glanced up at him, was grateful to see no lingering hints of anger in the man's face. "No," he lied. "I-It's just...I know they can be a lot. But they're sort of a package deal," he murmured before finally relenting and giving a gentle rub to his sore arm as he took a seat on the nearest couch.

Tony stayed standing for a moment longer before sitting down next to the kid, giving a little shrug of his shoulders. "I know how to work my way around a prick or two." He smirked and nudged the kid again. "Don't worry. Gonna take a bit more than that to scare me off."

Peter leaned away from the touch with a chuckle and tried not to dwell too much on the strange sense of relief he felt hearing the man say those words. He glanced down and noticed the slight crookedness of the tie he'd spent almost half an hour working on at home. Deciding it best to keep his mind off of the scene outside the window, he set his phone down on the couch and lifted his hands to start fiddling with the fabric.

They sat in silence for a while, Tony typing away on his phone, presumably talking to either Rhodey, who had been too busy with some sort of government matters to attend from what Peter understood, or Pepper and Happy, who had yet to return. And all the while, Peter kept messing with his tie while simultaneously cursing whoever it was that had insisted ties were to be considered formal wear.

The couch vibrated softly, signaling a new message on his phone. Peter didn't look away from the mess hanging around his neck as he sighed and tried not to accidentally strangle himself. "Can you see who texted me please?" he asked gently, hoping the man wouldn't mind helping him out while he fought the fight of his life.

Tony glanced over at him and threw him an amused snort as he watched the kid struggle before picking up his phone and turning on the screen. He furrowed his brow as he read the text.

"Why is your friend sending you an SOS text with an emoji of a skull and an erupting volcano? Is this drug lingo?"

Peter snorted. "God, he's so dramatic." At Mr. Stark's perplexed look, the teen continued with a roll of his eyes. "He and MJ are at May's place to watch the conference and she's force-feeding' them her cooking." He took his hands away from his tie to add in a few air-quotes.

Tony cocked a brow and leaned back in his seat. "I'm guessing that's bad."

"Oh, she's worse than you."

"Jesus. How many paramedics should we send over?"

Peter tried to hold in the laugh bubbling in his chest, a welcome departure from the permanent anxiety he'd been feeling all day. "It's not that bad! Honestly, after a couple of meals, your tastebuds die and you don't even feel the burning anymore."

Tony scoffed with a smile and shook his head, Peter grinning as he continued to mess with his tie, giving a little shrug of his shoulders as he did so. "Besides, Ned should be used to it by now. He's been over to her place loads of times?"

The billionaire tilted his head. "I didn't know May was close with your friends."

"Just Ned. He's known her since we were like ten or something. We used to hang out at her house all the time in middle school, doing projects, playing video games, building leg-"

He cut himself off with an audible snap as his cheeks warmed just a tad. Tony, unfortunately, seemed to catch wind of the sudden bout of embarrassment sweeping over the kid, for he smirked and leaned in closer. "Building what exactly?"

"Uh...it's...not important-anyway! She's meeting MJ for the first time today so hopefully, it goes well," he finished off in a quick flurry.

Mr. Stark narrowed his eyes just a tad as his smirk remained before finally granting Peter a hint of mercy as he moved on. "Well, having met both of them, I think they'll hit it off fairly well."

"Fingers crossed- god!" Peter huffed and gave a good yank to the decorative noose hanging around his neck. "I hate this stupid thing. It's impossible."

"You can lift buses and leap off of buildings, but you're drawing the line at a Windsor knot?"

He pouted. "It's hard."

Tony blew a sharp breath from his lips. "Jesus, come here." He reached out and Peter stiffened for just a second before relaxing as the man began to undo his mangled knot. "You're fourteen years old and you don't know how to tie a tie?"

Peter lifted a brow. "At least I know how to make toast without setting the toaster on fire."

"Why would they even have a blackened setting?"

The teen laughed, Tony giving his own smile as they fell into another bout of silence. Peter left his fingers to fiddle together in his lap as he watched the man's hands expertly twisting and weaving the fabric around itself. He could hear Tony's heartbeat, steady and calm. It was easier to drown out the noises from outside as he followed the melody, tapped his fingers in time to the sound.

It was strange having someone sit so close to him without the usual sense of prickling uncomfortableness stinging through his body. Usually, when people were even within a single arm's length of him, Peter couldn't wait to take a few steps back, an inch at least, just anything to keep them out of range. It was rare that he ever allowed people to approach, even rarer for them to be so close as to touch him. May and Ned and MJ and...no one. Nobody else...except-

Peter lifted his gaze towards the man's face before quickly averting it again. His fingers kept tapping to the beat.

It felt different with Mr. Stark. Even with May, even with his best friends, after a while, it would become too much. Even with them, Peter had his limits. But with Tony...he brought with him a feeling Peter didn't get with May, or Ned, or MJ. It was the same feeling he'd felt in the Tower on the night of their deal. It was the same feeling he'd felt standing behind the billionaire as the man faced off against his father with no traces of fear on his face. It was the same feeling he'd felt prepping and planning and preparing throughout the week with him for the moment that was fast approaching.

It was a strange feeling, a foreign one. It was a feeling he had no words for.

But somehow...it made him feel...different. It made him feel like his father didn't matter, like the Cons didn't matter, like there was nothing beyond the walls of the tower, nothing waiting for him, watching him. Nothing to scan over his shoulder for.

Peter wanted to keep that feeling, wanted to bottle it up and save it for when he needed it. And it was a feeling he only felt when Mr. Stark was near, which perhaps was the scariest part.

Because it wasn't just that Peter was alright having him close by.

It was that...he didn't want him to leave.

His fingers slowly clenched. What a stupid thought.

Peter blinked back into reality as Tony leaned back and finished up the knot, flipping up the collar of the teen's shirt to position it correctly between the flaps. "There, see? Only slightly harder than lifting a car."

The teen said nothing for a moment, swallowing the strange mass in his throat as he blinked and glanced away, a small smile forming on his face nevertheless. "Thanks," he said softly.

He suddenly felt Mr. Stark's hands still, the man's form stiffening ever so slightly. Peter immediately picked up on the shift, lifting his eyes back towards the man's face. Tony's eyes were hard, brows furrowed and lips pulled back into a firm frown of concern and anger that was concealed well but not well enough for Peter to completely miss.

For a second, Peter was confused. That is until he glanced down and noticed the bruise on his collarbone, dark and ugly but well hidden by the collar of his shirt, the collar Tony now had in his hands.

He's forgotten all about the mark. It wasn't like it was important, after all.

Still, he pulled out of the man's grasp and tucked his collar up to conceal the mark as he turned away. "It's nothing," he whispered. "Don't worry about it."

Tony narrowed his eyes, face pinching into a look of frustration. "As of recently, it's now my job to worry about it."

Peter said nothing, just looked away and glued his eyes to the floor, hands wringing around each other.

Somehow, the bruise that hadn't bothered him before suddenly felt much hotter, burning with embarrassment. He fiddled with the sleeves of his shirt. He hated how form-fitting they were around his wrists, wished he could pull them up over his hands like he always did with his jackets that were two sizes too big for him, perfect for hiding in.

Mr. Stark must have noticed Peter's shift in demeanor, for he hesitated for just a moment before blowing out a soft sigh as he rubbed at the back of his neck. "But...I'll give you a pass today."

As Peter glanced up, the man continued. "Figure we already have enough to deal with right now."

Hard to argue there, Peter had to admit.

Tony leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hands fold together between his legs as he stared out the window for a moment. Peter didn't follow his gaze this time. He already knew what was out there. He didn't want to look at them again, not when he could still hear them perfectly fine.

More reporters must have arrived. It was louder now.

"How you feeling?"

Peter's small fingers twisted the button on his shirt cuff. He didn't look up. "There's a lot of them." It wasn't an answer, but in a sense...it sort of was.

"More than you were expecting?"

"I don't know what I was expecting." This time he did lift his head, watched the people down below skittering on the lawn, the flashing of cameras similar to the intensity of a lightning storm, leaving the air hot and crackling, goosebumps prickling against his skin.

"But it wasn't this..."

Mr. Stark watched him for a second, eyes deep in concentration. His fingers tapped together neatly, a soft little noise Peter registered deep in the back of his mind. The halls were silent. Any excess workers apart from essential staff had been dismissed for the day, leaving the walls with no noises to echo back at them, nothing to block the distant noises of the reporters hidden somewhere deep within the building.

"Tell me what you're thinking about," Mr. Stark murmured, voice soft.

Peter traced the lining of the tiles below his feet with his eyes, scanning the cracks and the segmented pattern they all followed. There were no blemishes, no dents, or imperfections. He licked his lips and took a breath, raising a hand to rub at the back of his neck. "It's not what I'm thinking about. It's...what I'm trying not to think about."

"Alright...what are you trying not to think about?"

The teen pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek and let out a humored scoff as he glanced away, rubbing at his arm. "I'm...trying not to think about all the ways this could go wrong. And yet...it's all I seem to be able to think about. I mean, literally, there are like, no other thoughts in my head right now. It's almost impressive."

Tony smirked, letting out a little chuckle as he leaned back in his seat. "Okay. Walk me through it."

Peter cocked a brow and turned to him. "What?"

"Explain it to me. Tell me what could do wrong."

The teen scrunched his eyes and let out an unsure huff. "I...I don't-"

"Right off the top of your head, what's the first thing that comes to mind?"

"That's not-"

"Don't even think about it. Just blurt it out. First thought."

"No, I-"

"What is it? Just say it."

"Fine. Aliens."

Whatever the man had been planning on saying next halted in his throat as he blinked at the kid's statement. He stared at the boy for a second before furrowing his brows, leaning back as he removed the sunglasses from his face and folded a leg over his knee, a hint of a smile making its way onto his face as he pinched the earpiece between his fingers. "...Aliens. That's the first thing on your list of possibilities?"

Peter pursed his lips. "Don't act like it couldn't happen. We're in New York for goodness sake, not even five years from the last extraterrestrial incident."

"I-"

"Like, what if something bursts through the roof and starts vaporizing people? These rooms don't have many exits and- oh, now that I'm thinking about it, fires are another contender for the list. How many fire exits are in the building? I should know that. Maybe we should write it down."

Tony cracked a grin and waved his hands in the air, effectively halting the boy's tirade. "Alright, alright. Excluding the very high possibility of aliens coming down just to crash our conference and blow people up - thanks for putting that image into my head, by the way - what else could happen? Seriously."

"Seriously? ...I could explode."

"Peter-"

"You could explode."

Mr. Stark pushed his shoulder, Peter grinning as the man threw him a light glare that was softened by the smile on his face. "I mean it! Come on. No messing around." He leaned in a bit closer as he folded his glasses and tucked them into the pocket of his jacket, the look on his face growing gentler as he stared down at the boy. "What are you afraid of?"

Peter met his gaze, held it for a moment as the smile on his face weakened. Now that the sunglasses were off, it was easier to notice the color of the man's eyes. They were warm, a deep brown that tapered off into a lighter shade of auburn near the centers. They were much different from his father's eyes, easier to handle when they lingered on him, easier to look at.

He sucked in a small breath, held it in for a second before swallowing thickly and turning back towards the windows. More vans, thirty-eight now. "You know what I'm afraid of, Mr. Stark."

Peter could see the man give a slight nod from the corner of his eye, lips pulling into a tighter line as he took a deep breath. "Yeah..." He seemed to take a second, a moment to pause and mull over his words before he was turning in his seat to better face the boy, inching a bit closer as he did so. "Listen, kid. Everything's going to be fine, alright?"

"That's what everyone keeps telling me." He fiddled with his fingers, giving the man a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Still having a hard time believing it."

Mr. Stark swallowed, shifted in his seat slightly as he tentatively reached out to put a placating hand on the boy's shoulder. Peter watched his moves carefully, but he didn't flinch, didn't pull away. His eyes lingered, but he remained still."Look, I know you're nervous. It's normal. But we prepped for this, right?" He bumped a gentle knuckle against the kid's chest. "We have a plan, we have strategies in place. We've been practicing for this all week. There's nothing they can ask that we haven't already considered."

Peter fidgeted in his seat, twisting away slightly. "You don't know that."

Tony sat up a little straighter. "Pete, I've been doing these things since I was old enough to talk," he smirked. "I know what I'm talking about here."

He sounded so confident, so sure. It would be so easy to just agree with whatever it was he was saying, go along with it and rely on it with absolute certainty, absolute clarity, let his nerves and fears wash away as the irrational thoughts they were, forgotten and discarded.

"So...I just have to trust you?"

The words were heavy, foreign...uncomfortable. They made Peter uncomfortable, not just an itch he couldn't scratch, but an itch he couldn't find, a niggling feeling of doubt and fear clawing at his chest, making his lungs squelch and his throat shrink. His skin prickled at the mere idea, the simple string of words. It was near startling, the sheer volatile reaction he felt within him at just uttering such a sentence.

But it needed to be said.

He had to try.

Tony seemed to have the same idea, the slight look of uncomfortableness that had spread across his face dwindling slightly as he swallowed it down and glanced away uneasily. "We have to start somewhere."

They did have to start somewhere.

Peter just hadn't expected it to be this hard.

Mr. Stark glanced back over at him, shifted again in his seat. Peter didn't remember the man being so fidgety. Maybe he was just as nervous as Peter was. Somehow, that made the boy feel a little better.

Tony blew out a breath and suddenly began to rummage through his pocket. "I guess this is as good a time as ever."

"For what?"

"Well, I was only going to bring this up if I had to, but since we're already at alien invasions and spontaneous combustion in terms of the panic scale, I figure now is as good a time as any. Here." He pulled something out of his pocket and dropped it into the boy's hands. Peter fumbled with it for a moment before securing it in his palm. Unfurling his fingers, he blinked down at the coin now sitting in his hand.

It was old, obviously an antique of some sort and yet its condition was pristine. The gold material reflected back into his eyes, cold against his skin. On one side was a symbol of a compass rose, the star-shaped pendant stretching out towards the edges of the coin, and on the other was an image of a bird of some sort, emblazoned by the sun.

He stared at it for a moment, simply let it rest in his palm, traced his eyes over the details. He quickly blinked back into reality a second later, lifting his head back up towards Mr. Stark.

"What is it?"

"I'll give you three guesses."

"No, I-" Peter scoffed and rolled his eyes. "I know what it is. Just...why are you giving me a coin?"

Tony smirked at him. "Cause it's a magic coin."

"Why? You gonna pull it out of my ear?"

Peter chuckled as the man pushed his shoulder. "I mean it, you little twerp. This right here is the luckiest coin you'll ever hold."

"Okay?" he murmured with a confused tilt of the head. Tony let out a sigh and leaned back a bit in his seat, motioning with his hand as he spoke. "Look, when I was little, I had my fair share of press conferences to deal with. Safe to say, my family was fairly famous."

"Just a tad, right?"

"Almost not even worth mentioning."

They grinned at each other before the man was glancing back down at the coin Peter still held in his hand. His smile settled, softer than before. "I was scared. Obviously, I mean, come on. This shit's scary. I didn't know how to talk to a crowd of people, let alone say what they wanted to hear."

His eyes shifted away for a moment. Peter watched him carefully. He brushed his fingers against the edges of the coin. "But a, uh...a family friend of ours...I guess he could see how nervous I was cause he sat me down and gave me this."

He carefully picked the coin out of Peter's palm, holding it up between his fingers. "He said it was his lucky coin. That as long as I had it with me, it could never steer me wrong," he playfully rolled his eyes, tracing the compass symbol on the surface of the coin. "That as long as I kept it close, everything would work out...one way or another."

Tony said nothing for a moment as he turned and placed the coin back in Peter's hand. The boy glanced down at it, ran the tips of his fingers against the serrated edge. He liked the feel of it in his hands. It wasn't too big, a bit larger than a normal quarter, and yet still sizable enough to play with.

"And?" He asked when Mr. Stark remained silent. "Did it work?"

"I didn't explode if that's what you're insinuating."

The man shrugged his shoulders a bit. "I know it's pretty ridiculous, but just having it with me made me feel a little bit better." He chuckled, glancing down at his hands. "Call it childhood naivete."

Peter glanced over at him before turning back to the coin. Tony nodded. "After a while, I didn't even need it anymore. My natural charm had finally started to develop."

"I think I'm a bit of a late bloomer on that front."

"Ergo, lucky coin."

Peter's smile faltered a bit. It was a nice sentiment and the coin was beautiful, but that's all it was. A pretty thing to look at, nothing more.

"Thanks, but I think I'm going to need a bit more than a lucky coin to get through this," he sighed, offering the coin back.

Tony stared at him for a moment before gently pushing the kid's hand away. "Humor me."

Peter blinked at him skeptically but ultimately decided to just shrug and slip the coin into his pocket. It wasn't worth debating over anyway. It was just a coin.

"Hey." The billionaire placed a hand on his shoulder again. This time, Peter didn't watch his movements, just met the man's gaze and let the heavy feel of his hand ground him, anchor him down before his thoughts could spiral. His palms were warm.

"I'm going to be right by your side the entire time, okay? Right there." Tony smiled, not the flashy, million-dollar smile he dazzled the cameras with, but the genuine smile Peter only saw when they were alone, when they were behind closed doors and the only other people that could see were the man's closest friends. It was a privilege Peter didn't take lightly.

"Everything's going to be fine...because I'm going to make sure of it."

And even though the sharp distant squeak of tires rolling up signaled the arrival of another news van, even though the distinct sounds of cameras flashing could be heard between the walls of the building, and even though the excited whispers of employees walking the floors seemed to echo down the air vents, Peter paid them no mind.

He didn't have to. Because Mr. Stark was there. And that was enough to make him feel just a little bit braver.

The air was broken, however, by the sound of approaching footsteps. Peter knew them instantly, could pick them out of a crowd. Instantly, he was shooting to his feet, pulling out of Mr. Stark's grasp and placing a good few feet between them as Richard Parker rounded the corner.

He was dressed just as sharply as Mr. Stark, a dark eggplant-purple blazer that matched his pants and went well with the black button-up underneath. He glanced between the two of them quickly, though it was enough to have Peter standing just a little straighter. The man fixed Mr. Stark with a warm smile they all knew was far from genuine.

"Mr. Stark. Nice to finally see you."

Tony leveled him a cool stare, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Well, had to get this over with eventually, right?"

Richard hummed before turning and motioning for them to follow. "Let's get going. Peter?"

The teen avoided meeting Mr. Stark's gaze as he rushed forward to walk next to his father, as he'd requested. Immediately, the warm atmosphere he'd felt with Mr. Stark increased tenfold, becoming a stiflingly-hot aura of heat and tension as he felt his skin bubbling with apprehension. He said nothing as they walked, just matched his father's swift pace as they made their way through the halls.

Though it felt like an eternity, it only took a moment before they found themselves at the entrance to the conference room, the large double doors shut with two security guards standing in place beside them and Pepper waiting in between them. As soon as they rounded the corner, she caught their eye and began to walk over.

Richard spoke first. "We ready to go?"

The woman shifted her gaze before clearing her throat. "One moment. Tony, can I talk to you for a second?"

The billionaire turned to her with a slightly confused look before letting out a breath and angling back towards Peter. "Hang tight, kid," he said before following the woman a little ways away where they couldn't be heard.

Richard watched them for a second before sniffing, turning to the two guards at the door. "Rosso, Blake, give us a second, will you? I just want to talk to my son before we go in."

Peter stiffened.

Uh-oh.

The guards shared a look before nodding their heads. "Of course, sir," one of them said before they stepped back and moved towards the end of the hall, out of view.

Peter didn't turn to look at his father as the man walked up, stopping right next to him. Richard started to fiddle with his cuffs, straightening them out as he perfected the links and began to brush his hands down his blazer, wiping it clean of any dust. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and low, but it wasn't soft like Tony's.

It was nothing like Tony's.

"I don't need to remind you of what we discussed."

It was true. He didn't.

Peter hadn't just spent the week preparing with Mr. Stark. His father had had his own tips and tricks that he'd wanted to share, the last remnants of them still present and visible on Peter's skin, dark and ugly, but learned.

"Don't disappoint me."

He felt the bruises beginning to burn again, a deep ache he could feel in his bones. He gritted his teeth. "Yes, sir."

Thankfully, Pepper and Tony made their way back quickly, the woman giving Peter a gentle smile that he tried returning, though he could feel how strained it was as it tugged against his cheeks. She turned towards his father with much less warmth. "They're in there waiting."

Richard straightened out his tie and smiled. "Then let's not keep them any longer."

He followed the woman towards the door, pulling at the handle without even glancing behind him at Peter. The teen felt his fingers beginning to curl into shivering fists as his muscles seemed to lock up, chest tightening as his gaze followed the slowly creaking door.

Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder once again. He jolted, eyes lifting to meet the comforting, confident gaze of Mr. Stark as the man gave him a quick squeeze, guiding him forward.

"Deep breath."

Peter obeyed, sucking in a shaky gasp before he felt his breath still. He chewed on his lower lip for a moment before his eyes hardened and his shoulders tightened.

He could do this. He could get through this. Mr. Stark believed in him, believed he could.

Trust him.

The words echoed in his head, ringing through his ears as they stepped through the doors.

 

---

 

For a brief, fleeting moment, Steve hesitated, an unfamiliar feeling for him.

His steps were slow and calculated as he crossed the distance between his bed and the door he'd been staring at for a while now. He'd had plenty of restless nights in the two months since coming to the Tower, but he'd never gone as far as to wander the residence during said nights. He wondered if maybe this was overstepping his bounds. After all, this wasn't his home, not really. He was just a guest here, an unexpected intruder. It wasn't really his place to just...roam, right?

(I'm with you till the end of the line, pal.")

He ripped the door open without a second thought, stepping out into the frigid air of the open halls.

Immediately, without the lights from the city below, he was thrown into darkness, the halls long and foreboding. Not really looking forward to stumbling around in the dark, the soldier briefly considered altering his plan. Maybe there was a flashlight or something in his room somewhere. The more he thought about it, though, the more unlikely it seemed. No way Stark would have such outdated tech as a handheld flashlight in his Tower.

Before he could consider anything else, however, he watched as the footlights lining the floors of the hallway dimly began to glow with pale yellow light.

He blinked for a moment before smiling. "Thanks, JARVIS."

"Of course, Captain."

Another perk of the tower, he supposed.

For a while, Steve just wandered. He didn't have a set destination in mind. Instead, he just followed the path of lights JARVIS seemed content in providing for him. He didn't question the turns or the doors he walked through, either. The AI wouldn't lead him somewhere he wasn't supposed to go, would it? He hoped not, he was just starting to get warmed up to the thing...person...voice?

As he walked, he vaguely felt his hands automatically fold behind his back, fingers tapping together into a rhythm he no longer had to think about. Four taps. Pause. One tap. Pause. Long, tap, long, long. Pause.

It didn't make him feel better, but it at least gave him something to do.

He traced the light, followed it with his eyes as well as his feet, allowed it to take up as much space in his mind as possible, if only to push out everything else. He couldn't see anything but the light, just focused on the light...and the tapping.

Tap, tap, long, tap.

Pause.

tap, long.

Pause.

Continue. Focus. Don't listen.

How long until morning? How long until he no longer had to find ways of distracting himself? How many more nights of this would it be? Would it ever stop? Would he ever sleep?

He received no answers to his questions. For once, all was silent.

Steve didn't know how much time had passed when suddenly, the light was growing. He quickly zeroed back into the present and realized the new light was coming from the room up ahead. He spared a small glance up towards the ceiling, where he had to presume JARVIS...lived? At least, that's where his voice always came from.

He slowly rounded the corner and found himself in a large living room. More specifically, the living room situated on the Common Floor of the Tower. How he'd gotten there, he had no clue. But his focus strayed away from that.

Instead, it followed his eyes, which trailed over towards the kitchen. The light was on, illuminating the room in a dim glow that spilled into the halls.

"Guess I shouldn't be surprised that I'm not the only one up," Tony murmured with a half-smirk from his seat at the counter.

"Let me guess. Bedbugs?"

 

---

 

Tuesday - May 10, 2016

*Port Morris Riverside Storage - W arehouse 2B

08:58 AM

"What the hell? Why are we watching this crap?"

Scott glanced over at Clint as the man fumed before rubbing at the back of his neck and staring sheepishly at the newly fixed-up TV they all currently stood around. "Well, this thing has like, 4 channels, and they're all tuned in to this, so..."

The archer glared. "Then turn the damn thing off. I don't need to see that egotistical asshole showboating all over the place."

"No, wait." Natasha took a step forward before Scott could make a move to fulfill Clint's request. "I want to see this."

Steve didn't lift his eyes from the screen. "Same here."

The picture was grainy and filled with static from time to time, but it was enough to allow them to see. He watched as three individuals entered the room and began to make their way across the stage. The only one he didn't immediately recognize had to have been Richard Parker. And from first glance, nothing seemed to stand out to Steve in terms of any red flags. Perhaps an in-person meeting would elicit a different response, but from what he could see, the man seemed fairly normal.

Of course, the same couldn't be said for the other two figures making their way across the stage. This Steve knew from firsthand experience. He tried not to let his gaze linger too long on Stark and instead focused in on Peter.

The teen seemed alright at first glance. Amazingly, the wounds Steve had helped clean that night on the roof were gone, leaving nothing but clean, white skin that seemed just a bit paler than usual. Maybe it was just the TV screen, though.

Clint flicked his gaze between the others, rolling his eyes as he noticed they were all watching the screen with avid interest. He scoffed. "Whatever. Do what you want but I'm not listening to this garbage."

Sam turned to glance at him over his shoulder. "Really, man? You're not just a tiny bit curious?"

The man folded his arms. "About what?"

"About this Parker kid."

"Why would I care about that kid? Why do you care about that kid?"

The words were out of Steve's mouth before he could think about them. "Cause Tony does."

Immediately, everyone's attention was diverting to him, strange looks and confused stares meeting his eyes. Natasha, in particular, leveled him a calculating look. Steve internally cursed his slip-up before giving a small shrug of his shoulders, hoping to convey a sense of indifference that would make sense. "At least, I assume he does, given what I've seen so far."

Clint huffed, the noise loud enough to get everyone's eyes off of Steve and back over to the archer, thankfully. "Which is what, exactly? A paparazzi-snagged, ill-timed photo of these two out of context? That doesn't tell us anything, Cap. For all we know, and for what the rest of the world knows, Stark's just using this kid somehow. Seems more fitting than for him to just suddenly turn into this kind-hearted, caring individual with a deep concern for the younger generation." He cocked a brow and glanced around at the rest of the team.

"Does that sound like him to you?"

Apart from Natasha, the others murmured something akin to agreement. The woman sharply rolled her eyes and turned her back on the archer, focusing instead on the TV screen once again.

Clint walked off somewhere towards the back of the warehouse while the others circled back around the TV. Steve stayed rooted to his spot, eyes glued on the fizzling screen as the sound of yelling reporters began to fill the room. When he spoke, he made sure it was loud enough for Clint to hear, loud enough for him to get.

"There's more to this. I'm sure of it."

 

---

 

Tuesday - May 10, 2016

Parkstem Labs - Conference Room 1A

09:00 AM

"Alright, let's go ahead and get started."

Pepper stared out over the podium at the sea of reporters staring back at the stage. Row after row of chairs sat occupied by what had to be over sixty reporters, huge boom-mikes, cameras, and stands dispersed throughout the crowd and stationed near the back of the room. Peter took a seat in the stiff chair that has been set out for them, sitting in between his father and Mr. Stark. On the long table in front of them decorated with a draping white sheet sat three mics positioned accordingly,

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience and your cooperation here today," Pepper started with a smile. Her pristine white outfit contrasted the fiery auburn color of her hair, tied back neatly into a ponytail that brushed against her back. The sharp chuttering of cameras filled the room. "As I'm sure you all already know, my name is Pepper Potts. I am the CEO of Stark Industries and am happy to be here at the invitation of Richard Parker."

She gestured towards the table, his father giving a smile and a wave to the cameras, as calm and composed as if he were simply greeting a group of school children.

"I will turn things over to him in a moment, but before I do, I would just like to establish some ground rules."

Peter could feel his knee starting to bounce underneath the table, the movement stiff and robotic. His hands were shaking. He resisted the urge to sit on them.

"This is nobody's first conference. We all know how this works. If you have a question, you wait to be called on, same old procedures. Nothing new." Pepper's gaze turned just a tad stricter, her voice losing none of its professionalism. "However, I would like to make it know that there is a minor in our presence today."

Eyes shifted over to him. He tensed, felt his back stiffen and his leg still.

"As such, if we could keep this conference and any potential questions PG in nature, please."

Richard cleared his throat. The eyes shifted away. "Yes, If you could all restrain yourselves from corrupting my boy until he's old enough to drive, that would be very much appreciated."

A murmur of chuckles. It did little to mask the sound of shuttering cameras or the sound of Peter's stuttering heart.

Pepper nodded and let a warm smile fall onto her face. She gave Peter a quick glance, long enough for the boy to realize the smile was meant for him. "Thank you for your understanding. Now, without further ado, Richard Parker."

His father scooted his chair closer to the microphone situated before him, clearing his throat once again as he smiled. When he spoke, his voice was warm and melodious, a comforting tone that eased the tension just a tad.

It was unnerving. Peter wasn't familiar with it.

"I'd like to extend my thanks on behalf of myself, my son, and my associate, Tony Stark, to you all for taking the time to attend this little meeting of ours. Our hope today is that this will clear up any misconceptions that have arisen in the past couple of weeks."

He folded his hands together in front of the microphone, leaning in just a tad closer. "So, as I'm sure you all know, Mr. Stark and I have been in close contact over the past two months, mainly in regards to my son, Peter."

They were staring at him again. He tried not to count the number of reporters, even though he already knew the number by heart. Distantly, he remembered Mr. Stark telling him that the size of the conference would be vastly smaller than usual. The idea of anything bigger made Peter's stomach churn.

His father continued. He tried to pay attention. "The reason behind these meetings is because Mr. Stark approached us to offer Peter an internship at Stark Industries."

More than a few hands raised at that. His father paid them no mind, however, as he continued on. "Mr. Stark explained to me the details regarding the matter and after considering it and discussing things over with my son, I ultimately decided to allow Peter to work alongside Mr. Stark, shadowing under his lead to learn about the field he's shown interest in for quite some time now."

Richard cleared his throat, his eyes growing sharper as he sat up straighter, shoulders squaring. "Understand that this matter was not a politically-fueled one. Never have I once considered, nor will I ever use my son for something as silly and inconsequential as some nonexistent rivalry and I resent any notions that suggest otherwise."

Peter stole a small glance over towards Mr. Stark. The man's face held no discernable emotion but the slight increase in his heart rate betrayed the anger that had no-doubtedly flared at his father's comment. The teen faced forward once more, caught a glimpse of the crowd, and quickly averted his gaze back to his folded hands. He tapped his thumbs together, tried to look as normal and as calm as he possibly could, which was no easy task considering each flash of a camera made him want to jolt in his seat and curl underneath the table.

How bad would it look if he actually did that?

Peter considered it longer than he probably should have.

Richard scanned his eyes over the crowd, most likely to let his words sink in before turning towards Tony. "Mr. Stark? Do you have anything you'd like to add?"

The billionaire gave a shrug and leaned back in his chair, draping one arm over the lip, looking fairly bored with the whole ordeal. "I think you summed everything up nice and neat, dear. Pete?"

Peter's eyes shot up. Mr. Stark gazed down at him casually, as if he hadn't just called his name in the middle of a live broadcast press conference. "Anything you wanna say?"

The teen stared at him, internally wondering if he was crazy, before hastily giving a frantic shake of his head. Mr. Stark didn't seem phased. "No? Then I think we're good," he said as he glanced over at Pepper.

The woman nodded and stood from her chair off to the side of the stage, returning to her place at the podium. "Very well then. We'll open the floor up for questions."

A sea of hands shot into the sky until Peter was sure that not one single reporter had their hand down. Richard took a moment before gesturing towards one particular man seated towards the front of the stage. "Mr. Stark, why did you approach Mr. Parker's son in the first place? Surely you had to have known that it would garner some suspicions."

Peter knew it was the first question they would ask. Mr. Stark had said as much.

Said man didn't seem too bothered, giving a little shrug of his shoulders as he leaned closer to the mic. "Well, to start off, I was fairly hesitant to even begin an internship program. So, when I did decide to open up an initial application process, my idea was to simply select a handful of applicants from the top of the list and have a trial run of sorts. However, when I went over the list of applications, there was only one that stood out above the rest and met my expectations."

The man shifted in his seat, gesturing slightly with his hand as the room flashed with camera after camera. "Now, the database of applicants that I collected was specifically designed to include no names, pictures, genders, or even dates of birth. Applicants provided the information, sure, but I didn't consider it while looking over everything. Didn't want it influencing my choice, even unconsciously."

The man let out a little humored scoff as he leaned back and folded his arms over his chest. "So, safe to say, I was fairly surprised when I finally learned that my number one applicant wasn't just eight years under the age limit we'd set, but also the son of my-" he lifted his hands and quoted the air. "-quote, unquote, competitor."

Peter hid his smirk. Richard took a drink of water to hide the way his eyes rolled.

"Still, I'd devised the redaction system to solely remove any biases." Tony rested his elbows against the table and thrummed his fingers against the surface. "I couldn't exactly just remove his application simply because of his last name, now could I?"

The reporter from before spoke again, eyes narrowed slightly. "So, it wasn't at all politically motivated?" He asked, none of his suspicions hidden in his voice.

"Not even a little bit." Tony sighed and rolled his eyes proudly for them all to see. "Look, if I thought the kid was working as a spy of some sort, I would have kicked him to the curb the second I got suspicious of something. But nothing even close has ever come up." He turned towards Richard. "At least, not on my end."

Peter's father shook his head. "Nothing here, either."

"There."

More hands went into the air. Tony scanned them before picking on a brunette near the back. "My question is related to that, then, but is for you, Mr. Parker."

"Go ahead."

The woman glanced down at her notebook for a moment before lifting her head again. "Why, when he approached you, did you agree to this arrangement? Weren't you at all concerned about what he could have potentially planned?"

Richard nodded solemnly. "Of course. I was concerned not only as CEO of Parkstem Labs, but as a father."

Peter resisted the urge to glance over at his father. He just kept his gaze bouncing around the room, never letting it linger on a single place for too long

"I've kept Peter as far from the public eye as I could because I didn't want something like this happening." The man gestured around the room. "For the most part, I wanted his life to be as normal as it could be. I wanted him to grow up the way he wanted to, not the way the media did. So...when we got this offer, I was skeptical. I was skeptical of the program and of who was offering it. So, this was not a decision I made lightly. We went through months of discussion and back and forth before I allowed my boy to even step foot in that building."

The man let a smile spread across his face, gentle and warm. "And now that he has, I do not regret my decision. Ultimately, it came down to my son's wellbeing. I believed this internship would be good for him and that's what my choice came down to."

His father reached over and draped a heavy hand onto his shoulder. Swallowing down his instincts to shift out of reach, Peter lifted his head to meet his father's piercing stare and gave the man a convincing smile.

(Convincing enough for the cameras, at least.)

Richard smiled back, chuckling softly as he patted his son's shoulders, repeating the action long enough for the cameras to snag a few photos before pulling away again. Peter shivered but retained his calm, casual look for the cameras to pick up.

Much to Peter's surprise, the conference quickly fell into a smooth rhythm of sorts. Reporters would ask questions, either for his father or Mr. Stark, and they would bounce around with it for a while before handing out a satisfactory answer, drawing out time, and hamming things up with the crowd. Thanks to Mr. Stark's and Pepper's deliberate selection process when deciding which reporters to allow in and which to bar at the door, no outrageous or insulting questions had arisen.

Thankfully, as more and more questions arose, each reporter seemed more interested in either his father or Mr. Stark than they did in him. Maybe if he were lucky, he'd be able to make it through the entire conference without having to answer a single question. And with each half-hour, with every chunk of time that was bitten off as the conference continued, that hope continued to grow.

By the halfway point, Peter was actually starting to get bored.

"How long has this program been in effect?"

"Two months. Maybe a little longer."

"How many interns do you now currently have?

"Still just the one. But we're opening up the application windows again so we can start growing the program for the summer."

He glanced over and briefly caught Mr. Stark's gaze. The man took a sip from his glass to hide the wink he sent Peter's way. The teen grinned and held in a little chuckle as he tuned back into the conference he was beginning to zone out of.

Another reporter was talking, male this time. "Mr. Stark. In 2010, your company ceased the use of any interns, outside consultants and massively limited the number of partnerships you engaged in with other companies. Coincidentally, this was right around the time of your business partner, Obadiah Stane's untimely death."

Mr. Stark's heartrate suddenly jolted out of rhythm. Peter blinked back into reality as his ears picked up on the out-of-tune noise and glanced over at him. His face hadn't changed, not even a twitch out of place. But his body language had shifted. His shoulders were stiffer and he was sitting a little straighter now. The boy furrowed his brows slightly. The reporter continued.

"In other words, your company has, for the longest time, retained a status of internal networking to bypass the potential for any spies, undercover operatives, anything like that. So...why now have you decided to completely throw that out the window to start up a new internship program, specifically with the probationary position being held by the son of your top competitor?"

For a second - longer than it had taken either him or his father to answer anything - Mr. Stark said nothing. Peter watched him carefully, not too blatant for the reporters and cameras to pick up, but enough for him to notice the way the man's hand went to brush up against his wrist, pushing and prodding the area tenderly as if it were sore. Peter heard his father's chair scuff against the floor as he turned towards the other billionaire as well, apparently interested in his answer.

Finally, Mr. Stark took a breath, released some of the tension that had suddenly built up in him. He leaned against the table and shrugged. "Figured it was time for a change."

Reporters stared eagerly, pens ready and waiting to write. Richard's eyes narrowed slightly, perhaps out of intrigue. Peter just kept watching him, listened to his heartbeat slowly fall back into beat.

"Look, there's plenty of kids out there like Peter who have the brains, just...not a lot of places to show them off. Not a lot of opportunities to use them to their fullest potentials. I want to change that. And what better place to start than in my own company?" The man glanced around the room for a moment before his eyes fell on Peter. He paused for a moment before leaning back in his chair. "And as for who Peter is, well as I've stated numerous times before...I just don't care all that much. Doesn't change what he can do."

He glanced at the kid one last time and gave him a little smirk. It was, by all means, casual to the cameras. But Peter saw what was behind it. And he couldn't help but smile back.

"And he can do a lot."

It wasn't a surprise to him anymore. After months of trying to pound it into the boy, Peter finally understood on some level why Tony kept him so close, his reasoning behind all of it. Spider-Man, Berlin, the internship, his father, they were all components, key parts to the man's decision. But they weren't his real reason. Peter could understand it all just a little better now.

Still, hearing it out loud, hearing him say it for millions to hear, for millions to confirm, it made it just a little more real, made it that much easier to believe.

Peter smiled, glanced down to watch his thumbs tap together again. Everything was going perfectly fine. What had he been so worried about anyway?

"I have a question for Peter."

Right.

Instantly jolting in his seat, the boy whipped his head up towards the crowd, wide eyes scanning for the new voice that had spoken. He noticed her sitting off to the side, a pretty woman with long blonde hair and a perceptively piercing gleam in her eyes. Off to the side, he heard Mr. Stark huff a curse under his breath, muttering something or other about how this particular woman had gotten in. Did he know her or something?

Quickly losing any and all confidence he'd acquired from the man's earlier statement as he felt eyes on him once again, Peter instinctively looked to him for help. Mr. Stark blinked down at him for a second, looking momentarily lost, as if something had thrown him off. Was it the woman? Who was she anyway? Still, the man shook it off and gave the boy an encouraging nod, grabbing the teen's mic and angling it down for him to speak.

Peter leaned away from it for a second, staring down at the intimidating structure before swallowing thickly. He could do this. They'd prepped for this. He could do this. Slowly, he moved forward, getting as close to the mic as his brain would allow, which wasn't very close at all. He cleared his throat, wincing as he heard himself on the speakers.

"...U-um...y-y...y-yes?"

God, help him.

The woman didn't seem as all moved by the boy's struggles to speak as she delved right into her question. "Mr. Parker, when you received news of your acceptance into the Stark Industries Internship program, were you shocked?"

He licked his lips, curled his fingers into his palm to try and stop his hands from shaking. "Um...I-" he must have leaned in too closely, for the mic let off a loud whine of feedback. Everyone winced, Peter more so. He glanced back over at Mr. Stark, who, once again, gave him an encouraging nod.

"S-sorry. But, um...yeah. I guess."

"How did you send in your application? Mr. Stark explained before that the log-in system is blocked for any users under the age of 22."

Had he just said that? He really should have been paying attention. Still, they were nothing if not prepared. He sent a silent prayer of thanks towards Pepper and Rhodey for the mock questions they'd thrown at him the week prior in their haste to prep, the rehearsed words weighing heavy on his tongue

"Right, well I uh...I m-maybe, sorta...h-hacked in."

Thankfully, Tony took that opportunity to save them from his mediocre performance, jumping right in and stealing all eyes away from the boy beside him. "Like I said, people. I chose him for a reason. And I gotta say, hacking into our database is a pretty good initial interview." He paused for a moment before awkwardly clearing his throat. "But, uh...that's not an invitation for anybody else to give it a shot. Seriously. Just don't. Takes a lot of work to put those firewalls back up."

Another murmur of chuckles rippled through the room. Peter breathed a deep sigh of relief, casting a thankful glance his mentor's way, who responded with a smirk of his own. That hadn't been...terrible. At least not as bad as he had thought. Maybe-

"You must have been pretty determined to get your application in if you were willing to go that far."

Both Peter and Tony jolted as the voice continued. The woman had yet to sit down. Instead, her eyes were as sharp as ever, face hard and calculated as she held her notebook tightly in her hand, a small smile of sorts on her face. It was slightly unnerving. "How come?"

Peter hesitated for a moment, racked his brain to try and remember if that had been a practice question they'd gone over during their rehearsal week. He couldn't remember now. It must not have been. But maybe he could still work with it. It didn't seem too difficult.

"Well-"

But the woman apparently wasn't done yet.

"Or, better question: why did you send in your application in the first place? Surely you had to have known there was a possibility you would get chosen. And if so...why choose to apply to Stark Industries, specifically?"

Whatever he'd been planning on saying died in his throat. Peter didn't know how to answer that. He felt his heartbeat starting to quicken. He didn't know what to say. She spoke again, but somehow, Peter already knew where it was going.

His stomach churned.

"Your father runs one of the most successful manufacturing industries in the entire nation. There are countless opportunities here for you to learn all under the guidance of your own father, a decorated and world-renowned scientist and inventor. But you chose not to. You chose to completely forgo that option despite the fact that it was right at your fingertips."

What was he supposed to say? What was he not supposed to say? What were they expecting him to say? What was his father expecting him to say? He didn't know. He hadn't prepared for this. His chest tightened and his fingernails began to dig into his palms as his breathing shortened. He could hear Mr. Stark shifting in his chair. Mr. Stark...the man had said everything would be fine. So why was she asking this? Why couldn't he say anything anymore? What was happening?

"So...why choose your father's top competitor? Why, out of all the other capable and credible industries in the nation, or even in this city alone, did you apply to the one that has the most direct competition with Parkstem Labs, the one that threatens your father's company the most?"

He didn't want this. He didn't want to do this anymore. He wanted to stop this now. He wanted her to stop.

"I guess what I'm trying to ask is...why did you decide to turn against your own father?"

("Would you ever betray me, Peter?")

And suddenly, without warning, all the air in the world was gone.

The edges of the room faded away, shadows encroaching around the walls, hazing the image, distorting the crowd. Everything was starting to spin, tilting out of line, curling in on itself. He could hear the cameras still, louder than ever, hear them clicking, hear them clicking in his ears-

-clicking like a belt-buckle being unfastened, looped and brandished, ready for use, ready for whipping. The cameras stung, shuttered louder with each slash, with each blow they moved closer, flashing before his eyes, bright, beautiful colors, wings of different sizes, shapes, hues.

He could feel sand pressing against his face, hot and coarse and rough, sticking to the blood dripping down his cheek, sticking to the tears slipping down his face. The cameras, the lights, they were crawling along his arms. He could hear their wings beating against his ears, fluttering all around him.

"I think I can answer this-"

"Actually Mr. Stark, I'd like to hear from Peter."

He could feel his father looming over him, a suffocating presence that pressed him into the ground, crushed his chest beneath his feet, pressed his spine into the dirt. He could feel his breath against the back of his neck, hot and muggy, making his skin bubble in the heat.

He wasn't betraying him, right? Not really? He couldn't be. No, there was no way. He would never. He could never. His father would never allow it. He would have been dead already, right? It would have already happened? His father knew this, knew he wasn't betraying him. Peter would never. He would never. He would never betray him. He would never betray him. He knew that. His father knew that. His father had to know that!

Where was everybody? Where was Mr. Stark? They were gone. He was alone, alone with him, as it always had been. As it always would be. He was alone, he was back in the parking lot. There was nobody around, nobody on the streets, nobody at their windows. There was nobody to see, nobody to help, nobody to stop it. He was alone. He was alone and his father wasn't. His father was never alone. He had eyes everywhere, ears everywhere else. He was everywhere. There was nowhere he could go that his father would not see him, nowhere he could hide where he would not be found.

He couldn't escape, couldn't escape the Dark Room, couldn't escape the parking lot, couldn't escape now.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this. He couldn't-

"Breathe."

On instinct, he sucked in a breath, realized it had been a while since he had, for it rushed into his lungs in a relieving gasp of air. He didn't think, didn't think about the voice or how he could hear it. He just kept listening.

"Breathe. Breathe. It's okay. You're okay."

Was he okay? Was he breathing? Who was speaking?

"You're okay. Everything's alright."

Mr. Stark. He knew that voice. It was Mr. Stark. Why was Mr. Stark talking to him? Why was Mr. Stark in the parking lot? Could anybody else hear him?

Slowly, Peter blinked back into reality. The room reappeared, faded back into view as the darkness slowly dissipated from the edges of his sight. The reporters were back. They didn't look fazed. How much time had passed? Nobody looked concerned...had it only been a few seconds? Had it really not been longer than a lifetime?

"Peter..."

Mr. Stark was talking. But nobody else could hear? Nobody else without supersenses, apparently.

He didn't look over at the man as he discretely whispered under his breath to the panicking boy by his side. "It's alright. It's okay. I'm right here."

Gently, Peter felt something brush up against his wrist, fingers carefully tapping against his arm, pulling him from whatever fog he'd been drowning in.

Without a second thought, without a moment's hesitation, Peter whisked his hand underneath the table and wrapped his fingers around Mr. Stark's palm, securing it tightly, ensuring the man couldn't disappear, ensuring he couldn't fade away in a whirl of butterflies like last time.

No...this time, he was here. He was real.

Peter felt the man jolt slightly at the sudden movement, but he didn't pull his hand out of the boy's grasp. Instead, he carefully wrapped his own fingers around the boy's shivering hand, carefully rubbing his thumb against the back of the kid's hand, grounding him, steadying him.

"You're okay. It's okay. I'm right here."

Mr. Stark was here. He was right there.

"You can do this."

Peter stared out into the crowd.

Hundreds of eyes stared back at him, sixty-plus pairs, each of them ready and waiting to hear what he had to say. What did he have to say?

. . .

. . .

. . .

What did he want to say?

Slowly sucking in a deep breath, Peter carefully leaned into the microphone. He maintained his grip on Mr. Stark's hand, hidden underneath the table, hidden from any prying eyes.

He could do this.

Mr. Stark believed he could.

(Trust him.)

. . .

Ever so slowly, he reached his other hand into his pocket and pulled out the coin.

"S-sorry. I, uh...I've never done this s-sort of thing before so it's...it's a little scary. You're...a little scary." He paused. "No offense."

They laughed. They actually...laughed, and not...at him. Peter hesitated for a moment before he gave his own little nervous chuckle.

They settled, focused back on him, back on whatever it was he would choose to say.

...He had to make it count.

"Well, um...it's no secret who I am. M-my dad's one of the most...famous people in the world and t-that's...awesome." He smiled, giving a little shake of his head. He noticed a few reporters smiling at him. He tried not to look at any of them as he took another breath, long and deep.

"And sometimes...it isn't."

They were quiet. Nobody was talking over him. Nobody was ignoring him. They were actually...listening. It felt strange. He fiddled with the coin.

"Don't get me wrong, I...I love everything my dad does, a-all the people he helps with his tech, all the things he does to help...everyone. It's all amazing. Everyone...e-everyone knows his name. And that means everyone knows my name...at least...m-my last name."

His father was watching him. Mr. Stark was watching him too. Neither of them said anything either.

"I'm known as...as Richard Parker's son. That's...that's who I am to you all. There are worse things to be, I know. I-I'm honored to have that title." He swallowed, glanced down at the table. "But there are days where...I don't want a title. I-I don't want the ties that come from being Richard Parker's son. There are days where...w-where I don't want to be...just that. I want to be more. I want to be myself, known as myself. Not my father's son. Just...me."

The words were flowing easier now, as was his heartbeat. Slowly, he slipped his hand out of Mr. Stark's grasp. The man didn't make a move to stop him, just moved his own hand away as Peter shifted in his seat, straightening his back just a little more. When he spoke again, his voice was louder. His eyes were clearer. He used both hands to play with the coin now, passing it back and forth between his fingers, rolling it along his palm.

"So, yeah. I...I sent in that application. I didn't really think about it, I just...did it. I did it for me. I didn't expect to get chosen cause I thought...I thought Mr. Stark would see Richard Parker's son trying his hand to get at his secrets and reject me right off the bat." He paused, glanced down at his hands for a moment, flexed his fingers. His palms were warm. "But he didn't."

He lifted his gaze to stare at them all again. "He didn't see that. He didn't see that title, just...my work. The things I can do as...myself."

. . . . .

The TV echoed throughout the old, run-down house, Peter's voice carrying with it as May, Ned and MJ sat on the edge of their seats, glued to the screen as he spoke.

"I was surprised. And...a little scared. I didn't know what was going to happen. I don't think he did either, to be honest. But we just...did it. Because we wanted to, because I wanted to. And that's...all there is to it. There isn't anything other than that, no political agenda or...or hidden message. I know that might be hard to believe but...it's true.

. . . . .

Mr. Delmar cranked up the volume dial on the radio as he leaned up against the front deli counter. The rest of his regulars, along with Rosa and Murray, listening on in a silence that was uncharacteristically strange for the usually-bustling bodega.

"Here, at Parkstem, I know I could learn a lot, could help a lot. It's...it's incredible. it's an incredible place. But I know that every time I walk through these halls, people...people will see my father. They won't know my first name. Just my last.

. . . . .

"I wanted something more than that. Maybe that's selfish...if it is, then I'm sorry. I know I've been given a lot. I...have more opportunities at my fingertips than most people get in their lifetimes. I understand that. I know it's a privilege and I'm grateful for all of it."

Danny pressed the cigarette back into his mouth as he watched the mounted TV. The shelter was unusually quiet for this time in the morning, but the boy didn't really mind. He puffed out a ring of smoke, finishing it off with a grin as he watched the screen.

. . . . .

"It's just...I don't want to go through life wondering if I deserve everything I've been given. People hear my name and they immediately assume things about me, assume because they know who Richard Parker is, that I'll be the same. But I'm not. I know I'm not.

The warehouse was silent. Nobody said anything, not even Clint, who was just as enraptured as the rest of the team, all eyes on the flickering screen.

Steve remained silent as he watched the boy, watched Tony. His fingers tapped melodiously against his leg, brows furrowed as his mind reeled.

If Natasha heard the gears in his head turning, she didn't let it on.

. . . . .

Peter let out a small breath, letting his eyes work over the crowd as he spoke. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to live up to my father. With everything he does...all these amazing things...I doubt it. And here...at Parkstem, I know I'd never be able to forget it."

He smiled. Surprisingly, it wasn't forced or strained like before. If felt natural, it felt right. He ran his fingertips over the edges of the coin. "But at Stark Industries, my name means...nothing. Nobody calls me Mr. Parker, not even Mr. Stark. He just calls me Peter." He could feel the man's eyes on him, felt them pushing him forward. "I don't have to live up to anything there. I just have to be...myself."

Peter sighed, hesitated for a moment of thought before lightly shrugging his shoulders, the tension gone. "I guess that's why I applied. Cause I wanted people to know my name. My real name."

No hands went into the air as he finished. Nobody stood from their seats to ask any questions. For a brief, fleeting moment, all was quiet in the room. Finally, one man shifted in his seat, cleared his throat softly before he spoke.

"And? What do you think of the program?" He shrugged. "Was it worth it?"

Peter stared down at him for a second, letting the question ring around in his head. He fiddled with his fingers, glanced down at them for a moment before stealing a small look over towards Mr. Stark. The man was gazing at him with a bright gleam in his eyes, something akin to pride reflecting back at him.

Peter grinned and faced forward once more, voice loud and confident, without waver, without pause, without delay...

"Without a doubt."

 

---

 

Tuesday - May 10, 2016

Port Morris Riverside Storage - Warehouse 2B

10:57 AM

"I'm going out."

The rest of the team started out of their thoughts at Steve's sudden proclamation, the group watching with wide eyes as he began to make his way towards the exit.

"What?"

"I'll be back later." Without another word, he was already out the door. Natasha blinked for a moment, casting a small glance behind her at her baffled teammates before quickly chasing after the man, leaving the rest of the team to stare after them in silence, the faded noise of the conference winding down on the TV echoing around the room.

Natasha pushed the rusted door open, heard it slam against the wall as she stepped out and whipped her head around, hair twisting around her neck as she scanned the area. She noticed a sliver of the man disappearing around the back of the building. Narrowing her eyes as her jaw set, she marched over.

The early morning sun had risen, nearing its mid-day peak above their heads. But it still did little to mask the strong smell of the waters beside them, or of the faded scent of the rusted metal ironworks around them.

She rounded the corner of the building and found Steve already preparing his motorcycle, pulling it away from the wall and readjusting the handles as he prepped to get on. "Steve. Steve, wait a minute."

He didn't even acknowledge her.

Natasha held in a growl and stalked forward, slamming her hands down on the handles as she stood in front of his way, his head finally lifting to meet her piercing gaze.

"Hey. What the hell do you think you're doing, Rogers?"

Steve stared at her, and for a moment, Natasha was caught off guard. There was something about the look in his eye...something strange. It wasn't hostile, or violent. It wasn't even sad, nothing close to the look she'd been seeing on his face for the past two months. This was...something else. She couldn't put her finger on it. It was...new.

The soldier took a breath, let it out slowly. "Please get out of my way, Natasha." His voice wasn't angry. It was calm, composed. Somehow it annoyed her even more.

"No. Not until you tell me what the hell is going on. Where are you going? What's..." She cut herself off, swallowing thickly as she took a deep, calming breath. She exhaled slowly, shutting her eyes for a moment as she focused on regaining control of her emotions. She blinked and met Steve's gaze once more.

"What aren't you telling me?"

For a moment, Steve didn't say anything. He stared back at her, jaw tensing. It looked as though he wanted to speak, but whenever he'd get close, he would turn away, eyes drifting off to the side. Natasha gazed at him silently. Slowly, she reached out a hand and placed it on his shoulder.

"Steve...?"

Finally, he pulled away, pulled out of her grip, and stepped back. When he spoke again, his voice was firmer. "Natasha, in all the years I've known you, I've never once pried into you or the things you weren't comfortable with, never strayed over the line you established for me." He stared at her, eyes hard. "Do me a favor and extend me the same courtesy."

He straddled the bike. Natasha stepped out of the way, watching him with wide eyes. "Steve-"

"I'll be back by tonight." He started up the engine and revved it up loudly, the noise reverberating around the lot. She watched him carefully, watched as he shut his eyes and didn't take off right away. Instead, he gazed back up at her, spoke in a low tone of voice that barely carried over the humming of the bike

"I promise I'll explain everything eventually. Just...not now. Not yet."

She stared at him, straightening her back as her eyes narrowed. She felt her fingers twitching by her sides, itching to curl into fists. "You've been saying that for months now. How long until you actually mean it?"

Steve said nothing. He watched her for a moment longer before turning forward once more, twisting the handles and kicking off of his back foot. She watched him drive off, hair swishing in the breeze left behind.

For a while, Natasha just stood there, stood and watched, listened to the sounds of the pier, the sounds of the city far off in the distance, far off and out of reach.

 

---

 

Tuesday - May 10, 2016

Parkstem Labs - Conference Hall 1A

11:35 AM

The sound of reporters calling after them echoed in Peter's ears as he followed his father out the doors. The halls outside the conference room were thankfully empty, leading out into the grand lobby further down the stretch. Richard said nothing as they walked further away from the room, further away from the noise they'd left behind. He had requested that Pepper and Mr. Stark finish up the conference without them, saying how he'd wanted to check up on his son to make sure he was okay away from the noise and drama of the reporters.

Mr. Stark had looked hesitant to leave Peter alone with his father, but a reassuring glance from the boy as well as the looming thought that said decision wasn't optional, the billionaire had watched Peter leave through the doors with his father.

Of course, now that Mr. Stark wasn't there to act as a buffer of sorts, Peter felt much more exposed despite the fact that the halls were empty and it was only one pair of eyes on him now. Suddenly, his father stopped. Peter stumbled to a halt right behind him, fiddling with his hands as he watched the man turn.

Richard gazed over his son's head at the doors they'd left behind, eyes seeming to scan the empty halls for any signs of prying eyes or listening ears. Seemingly satisfied, he finally turned his eyes down towards Peter.

For a moment, the man said nothing, just stared at him with his calculating gaze. Peter hesitantly met his gaze, face tense, and posture stiff as he waited for the man's assessment, waited for his judgment.

He held his breath.

Finally,

"Good job."

Richard turned away without another word, pulled out his phone, and began to type something out. Peter didn't really watch him, didn't focus on his movements. Instead, his wide eyes stared at nothing in particular, jaw falling ever so slightly as he blinked in the silence. Hesitantly, a smile began to spread across his face, chest blooming with a bright flash of joy as he gazed back at his father with a bright gleam in his eyes.

He noticed someone approaching from the end of the hall, a man he didn't recognize with a file in his hands. "Mr. Parker," he called, his father lifting his head away from his phone as he caught sight of the newcomer. He let out a little grunt, lifting a hand to Peter. "Stay here," he instructed before walking off, leaving the boy alone in the middle of the hall.

But not for long.

"Kid!"

Peter jolted as another new voice reached his ears. He turned just in time to see Mr. Stark advancing towards him, Pepper and Happy close behind on his heels. The man had a huge grin on his face, arms spread wide as he scoffed.

"Are you kidding me right now? That was fantastic."

Peter could only stare as the man grabbed his shoulders and began to shake him. He couldn't help the laugh that bubbled past his lips as his sneakers squeaked against the floor. "I cannot believe it, you were incredible!"

Pepper came up behind him, smiling brightly at him. "Peter, you were amazing, sweetie. You did so well."

"I mean, you had them eating out of the palm of your hand."

"You handled everything perfectly, honey."

"Speechless. You literally left them speechless. I only ever do that when I'm drunk and end up falling off the stage."

"Don't give him any ideas."

"Please! He doesn't need any advice from me. Kid's already a bonafide professional."

Peter's head swiveled back and forth between the two of them as they spoke, cheeks blushing as he lifted a hand to rub at the back of his neck. "I...I don't even know what I was saying up there," he mumbled with a little smile, glancing down towards the ground. He didn't really know how to react to the praise. It was...new.

Tony grinned down at him, taking his sunglasses and resting them on Peter's face. The boy laughed as the man pushed them further up the bridge of his nose. "Well, wherever it came from, they lapped it up big time."

Happy pulled out his phone, lifting it into the air for them to see. "There are already updates online about it. People are loving you."

Peter stared at him, a dumbfounded look spreading across his face. "Seriously?"

Pepper smiled. "You're surprised?"

"Well-"

Tony scoffed and waved his hand. "Come on! What did I tell you? All you had to do was flash those puppy-dog eyes of yours and they'd be putty in your hands." He nudged the boy with his elbow, Peter chuckling as he stumbled a bit. "See? Told ya you could trust me."

The teen paused, let the words ring around in his head for a moment. He stared up at Mr. Stark through the yellow-tinted glass, which did little to hide the excited look on the man's face. He took a breath, let it out slowly as he shuffled his weight back and forth between his feet, bringing his hand up to take off the glasses. He glanced down at them for a moment before his smile returned.

"Yeah..."

Footsteps.

He lifted his head just in time to watch his father approaching. Quickly handing Mr. Stark his glasses back, he straightened his posture and faced the man as he walked up. Richard smiled and gently clapped his hands together. "Well, Mr. Stark. I think we can officially call this a success. I did say as much, didn't I?"

Peter glanced over towards Tony. The man regarded his father for a moment before letting a cool smile onto his face, stiffer than the one he'd given Peter but fairly convincing nonetheless. "Right. Of course."

Without warning, Peter felt a hand on his shoulder once more, pulling him backward. He stumbled a bit before righting himself, Mr. Stark's hand remaining tight in its grip on him. "Well, Mr. Parker, you wouldn't mind if I take Peter off your hands for a while, would you? To celebrate?"

Peter stiffened, eyes darting back over to his father. Over his shoulder, he could feel Pepper and Happy closing in around them, standing closer to both him and Tony as they faced off against the man in front of them. Mr. Stark's grip tightened a bit on his shoulder. Peter remained still, kept his eyes on his father's face.

Richard said nothing for a moment. Instead, he let his eyes gaze over each of them, scanning them up and down in silence. The once-jovial air had quickly and suddenly turned tense, Peter listening to each of their hearts increasing in speed as they stared at one another, except for his father's of course. His father's heart never sped up. It already remained the same, a steady, constant thrumming, heavy and loud in his ears.

He felt his fingers twitching at his sides. He resisted the urge to fiddle with them, resisted the urge to curl them into a fist.

Finally, Richard sniffed, giving a dismissive wave of his hand as he turned away. "I'm in a good mood. You do what you want." He glanced over his shoulder at Peter, who held in his sigh of relief as he felt the man's eyes land back on him. "Just be home by 8."

"Yes, sir."

With that, Richard gave them all a parting nod before heading off in the direction of the most noise, most likely to talk to the mass of reporters outside still drooling for more news. He heard Tony's small sigh of relief as the man left, his hand slipping off of Peter's shoulder as he turned to face the group. "Perfect. I know a great little restaurant just down the road with easy access to a back-door escape alley should the need arise."

Happy nodded. "I'll bring the car around."

"I'll come with you."

Pepper and Happy quickly departed, leaving the two boys alone with each other once more.

Peter lifted his eyes towards the man as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, breathing out a deep, long sigh of relief. It was clear that Peter wasn't the only one who was relieved that the conference was finally over. Tony glanced down at him and threw him a warm smile that Peter graciously returned.

The teen suddenly jolted, glancing down. "I almost forgot. " He reached his hand down and began to rummage through his pocket before quickly pulling out the coin. He let it sit in his palm for a moment, letting his eyes trace over the details one last time as it stared back at him. Silently, he held out his hand, held it out back towards its owner.

Tony stared down at it, seemed to think about something because he said nothing for a few seconds. Finally, when he lifted his gaze back up, he was smiling again. "You know what? Why don't you hold on to it for me? Wouldn't wanna horde all that luck for myself."

Peter blinked up at him before turning his eyes back onto the coin. There wasn't a whole lot about it, in all honesty. It was nice to look at, but there's wasn't much else besides that. And yet, hearing the man say he could keep it for a little while longer made him feel strangely happy. He smiled and slipped it into his pocket once more.

Tony seemed satisfied by the kid's grin, for he chuckled and looped an arm around Peter's shoulder as they began to make their way down the hall. "You continue to surprise me, Mr. Parker."

Peter scoffed humorously, glancing down at the ground as they walked towards the back exit of the building. "That makes two of us."

Tony lowered his head to look at him. "You should give yourself some more credit, you know? I wasn't just pandering to the crowd back there. I did mean everything I said to them, about why you're my intern." He paused for a moment, facing forward once more. "It's not just because of...you know?"

Peter shifted his eyes from the floor over to the man's face for just a second before facing forward as well. He smiled. "Yeah. I know." He fiddled with his fingers again. "Thanks."

Tony said nothing in response, content to just walk in the silence apparently. Peter didn't mind. After sitting in a room of shuttering cameras and dozens upon dozens of pens clicking, heart beating, and shoes tapping against floors, it felt nice to just walk in silence, listening to nothing in particular.

In fact, it wasn't until they were nearing the back of the building that Tony finally spoke once again.

"Oh, by the way, once we get to the restaurant, it gives us the perfect opportunity to start going over how we're gonna set up your room."

The teen furrowed his brows with a confused smirk. "My room?"

"Yeah, at the tower."

Peter stuttered in his step. The man continued on uninterrupted.

"I guess I could always just set you up with one of the guest rooms, Lord knows I got a ton of them. But if you're going to be staying long-term, might as well give it a personal spin, right?"

The boy shook his head, eyes wide and mouth agape. "Wait, wait. That's...this summer? It's actually happening?" He couldn't keep the dismay out of his voice, which had suddenly become strained.

"Yeah. I guess I did forget to mention it, huh? Well, anyway, I cleared it with your dad and everything, so we're good to go, kid."

His father. The pit in his stomach opened even further.

"He...he approved?" he whispered. He could feel the tips of his fingers starting to go numb. He stopped walking. This time, Tony did notice. The man turned back around, gazing at the boy with a confused furrow in his brows. "Well, he wasn't thrilled, but I managed to wear him down."

Peter said nothing. Instead, he turned his gaze to the floor, eyes flickering between the cracks, flickering in thought. This wasn't right. This wasn't supposed to happen. His father would never approve of something like this. Not in a million years. So, how-?

He jolted as a hand rested on his shoulder once again. He lifted his eyes and met Mr. Stark's gaze, who was now staring at him in slight concern.

"Hey...this is a good thing, right?" he asked softly.

Peter stared at him, took in a deep breath before letting a smile form back on his face. "No. Yeah, no. It is. It's great," he breathed, swallowing the bile that had suddenly formed in the back of his throat as he grinned back at the man. Tony hesitated for a moment before returning the smile, looping his arm back around Peter's shoulders as they began to walk once more.

Suddenly, his grip felt much heavier.

Without a word, Peter glanced back over his shoulder. He could still make out the main lobby, could see his father surrounded by reporters, all smiles and grins as he spoke, face warm.

The boy's smile slowly melted away as his eyes lingered on his father.

"It's...great."

 

---

 

"Let me guess. Bedbugs?"

Steve spared a small glance down towards the footlights before hesitantly walking further into the room. He moved slowly, warily, as if he wasn't sure he was supposed to be there. He probably wasn't.

"Honestly, I'm more used to bedbugs than I am million-dollar designer sheets." It felt strange to talk right now, foreign, like his mouth was moving without his brain's say-so.

"Please. Egyptian cotton barely goes for anything more than $700 bucks nowadays."

"Hmm, as good as garage then."

"Exactly."

He smiled. It was stiff, forced.

Tony wasn't dressed for bed. He was wearing jeans and a normal t-shirt, giving Steve the impression that the man hadn't even considered the possibility of calling it a night. There was a glass of scotch near his hand - untouched. He wondered for how long it would stay like that.

The billionaire swiveled in the chair so that he was now fully facing the man, folded his leg overtop the other, and rested his elbow on the counter. "Something wrong?" His tone was casual, not invasive at all. Still, Steve couldn't help the small prickle that ran up his arms, like the man was staring right through his defenses.

"No. Not really. Just.."

("You know me.")

("No, I DON'T!")

"...couldn't sleep."

Tony nodded, glanced back down towards his glass. "Course."

Suddenly feeling the need to get the focus away from himself, Steve shuffled on his feet. "What about you?"

The billionaire shrugged his shoulders and threw him a lopsided smirk. "Don't you know? Inspiration's business hours are usually between one and five in the morning. Not including holidays, of course."

There was that snark again. He wondered if Tony could ever have a simple conversation without it. He didn't bother in pointing out the fact that the man wasn't in his lab, either.

"Right. Then where's Pepper?"

"California. Working with the company I seem to keep forgetting I have."

Steve shrugged. "Well, you're a busy guy."

"Maybe that line will work better coming from you."

They both chuckled softly at that, the sound scratching against Steve's ear in an almost pleasant way. Tony smiled and softly rapped his knuckle against the counter. "You know, I'm not used to having much company on these little late-night breaks of mine."

Sensing his unwarranted presence might not be too appreciated, Steve reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, glancing behind him at the hall he'd come from. "Sorry. I can leave if you-"

Tony whipped his hand up and shook his head. "No." He paused for a moment, exhaled a sharp breath as he flicked his eyes towards the ground as his face took on an awkward look. "I, uh...I didn't mean that I...you can stay if you want. I'm not a landlord here."

This time it was Steve's turn to feel awkward. "This is your place, though. I'm just an...unexpected intrusion."

Tony's lips pulled into a firm line and he raised an unfazed brow. "Cap, I've had rooms for all of you guys installed up here since 2012." The soldier couldn't help but blink in surprise at that as the man continued, spreading his arms out to gesture around the empty room. "You're not intruding on anything. Neither would the others if, you know...they ever decided to stay."

Steve said nothing as Tony turned away, fingers running around the rim of the scotch glass that still sat untouched on the counter. He wasn't used to seeing the billionaire like this, so...unguarded. Usually when they crossed paths, Tony was the sheer persona of confidence, owning every room he walked into, only showing people what he wanted to show them. But now, this late at night, his defenses weren't as ready as usual, his typical aura of snippy cockiness wasn't prepped and aimed.

Living in the tower as he now was, Steve was finally beginning to see a side of Tony Stark that he had never seen before. And he looked...blue. He looked like how Steve felt.

The soldier shuffled on his feet again and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "You know, Nat's still looking to rebuild her covers after she blew through all her old ones."

Tony glanced over at this.

"If she stayed here with you, or...with us-"

"She wouldn't have to." The billionaire jumped on immediately. He'd taken the bait. Steve continued.

"And Sam's been talking about how things seem much more boring in DC after the whole fiasco up there."

Tony huffed a chuckle. "Nothing's ever boring here."

Steve smiled and moved closer, grabbing the seat next to the billionaire. "I'll talk to them. Maybe they could get this tower looking a little livelier."

"I'm sure Bruce will be happy to have playmates again." Tony didn't look up, kept his eyes locked on the glass. Steve caught on nonetheless, shaking his head just a tad with a knowing smile.

"I'm sure he will."

He turned his head away, glanced over towards the large glass windows that made up the walls. The darkness of the living room only enhanced the bright lights that filtered in from the city below. Steve tapped his fingers against his leg.

Tap, long.

Pause.

Long, long.

Pause.

"Listen, Tony...I just wanted to thank you."

Tony waved a hand at that, clicking his tongue and tilting his head. "Ah, don't worry about all that stuff. Teammates, remember? This is like...a thing they do, right? Help each other out?"

Steve chuckled, rested his elbows against the counter. "Yeah. Something like that."

"Look at that. I'm already becoming a pro."

Tony got up from his seat, grabbed the glass of scotch, and moved over towards the sink. Steve watched as the man poured the liquid down the drain and started up the faucet.

("Accidents will happen.")

Steve's fingers paused in their movements, eyes flitting down to the counter. Teammates. That's what they were, they were teammates. And teammates wouldn't keep this secret. Tony had opened up his home to him, offered his help. Steve had to at least repay that with the truth. It was the least he could do.

("When history did not cooperate-")

His fingers began to curl, nails digging into his palms. Now was the perfect time. They were alone, nobody to overhear, nobody to see the fallout, no reporters to cash in. It was quiet and private. He had to tell him.

("-history was changed.")

He had to tell him. He had to tell him the truth. Tell him the truth. Tell him. Tell him!

"It's the noise."

Tony lifted his eyes and blinked at him, reaching down to turn the faucet off and place the glass on the drying rack. "What's that?" he called, running a towel over his knuckles.

"Why I couldn't sleep. It's...I...there's just...a lot of noise." His stomach churned. There was bile in his throat. He pushed it down. He pushed it all down, pushed it away to deal with later.

Meanwhile, Tony's face was pulling back into a grin of sorts. "Oh, sorry. Maybe I forgot to mention it, but there's a soundproofing feature built into each of the rooms. You just-"

"It's...not that kind of noise."

It wasn't the truth, at least not the right one. But it was something. He owed the man...something.

He knew Tony wasn't great with emotions, not even his own. He honestly didn't know what he was hoping to get out of his little confession other than guilt over not making the correct one and for a moment the billionaire just stared back at him, leaning up slightly against the counter. But whatever Steve had been imagining could not have prepped him for what the man said next.

"...You up for a road trip?"

 

---

 

Tuesday - May 10, 2016

Queens, NYC

11:48 PM

The city was asleep tonight.

The streets were empty, the lights dim, even the alleyways were barren and alone. Everything was calm, quiet, and peaceful.

And Peter could not be more annoyed at the fact.

The feeling of wind blowing past him was muted by the suit as the subway whisked past, the gears grinding and screeching as they flew by. He watched the lights of the train blending into the night as it skated along the tracks before finally ending, silently watching the caboose as it sped away. He wondered who was on the train tonight, wondered where they were going, what they were doing.

Were they happy? He hoped they were.

Peter supposed it was a selfish thought, wishing for crime on the streets tonight, hoping for chaos and misfortune if only to serve as a distraction from his swirling thoughts. But, damn it, he'd had a very long day. The least the universe could do for him was throw out a petty purse snatcher for him to hang with.

And yet, the city was quiet. There were no purse thieves, no bank robbers, not even a cat in a tree for him to save. He was not needed tonight.

He kicked his legs back and forth against the roof ledge he currently sat on, ears pricked for any signs of distress as they had been doing all night, only to hear nothing but silence. He sighed, glancing down at his hands as he simply listened to the sounds of his own breathing instead.

There was nobody tonight. Nothing but him and his thoughts...and his new trinket, of course.

He twisted the coin around his fingers, rolled it along his knuckles as it reflected the lights of the city across its golden surface. He found he strangely liked playing with the thing, liked holding it in his hands, liked twisting it around his fingers or brushing against the edges with his palm.

Lucky? Maybe not. But at least it was a nice thing to have nevertheless.

Still, as he fiddled with the coin, as he traced the edges with his fingers, Peter couldn't help but remember why he'd been hoping for some action on the streets tonight.

His thoughts were too loud.

Get over it, Parker. You knew this was happening. Deal with it.

And he had known it would happen, at least, he knew there was a possibility of it happening. But if he were being honest with himself, never in a million years would Peter have guessed that his father would agree to letting him live at Stark Tower for the summer.

God, even thinking about it felt so...weird.

School let out in a little more than a week. Summer would be here before he even knew it. Ten days for him to try and process what was about to happen, to try and make sense of something that had no trace of reason, no hint of logic.

What was his father thinking?

Never, not in the fourteen years that he'd been alive, had Peter ever stayed anywhere that wasn't his own house, never had he been out of the gaze of his father for longer than a few hours, sometimes a few days if the man had to travel for work. He'd never had sleepovers, not with Ned, not even with May, who lived right across the street. His father never allowed it, never let Peter stray from his grasp too far. It had always been a constant, always a rule he'd grown up with. Home was home, and there were no two ways about it.

So...how was this happening?

How could his father be alright with the idea of his son spending two months away from home, two months with his sworn rival, a man he couldn't despise more, two months out of his grasp, out of range, out of sight?

How could his father just...give him up so easily?

Peter swallowed thickly, kept running his fingers along the details of the coin. His father was one thing. But Mr. Stark...? Mr. Stark was a whole other problem.

How would the billionaire not get sick of him?

Things were different now. They saw each other for a few hours at a time. It was perfect, enough time to talk and hang out, and yet it still ended. Peter still left before he could get to being too much, before he could start grating on the man's nerves as he knew he eventually would. But now? Now Peter wouldn't leave. Peter would always be there, always be just around the corner.

He was a lot to deal with. His father said so, the Cons said so, he knew it was true. So...how long until Mr. Stark started to say it too?

Would he end up regretting taking Peter in? Would he end up regretting more? What if this messed everything up? What if this was the worst possible thing they could have done? What if this was a mistake, a big mistake, a huge mistake, the biggest mistake of his entire life that ended up ruining everything, ruining everything that he'd been hoping for, everything he'd grown to love, everything-

"Slow night?"

Peter lurched from his seat as his heart shrieked, coin leaping from his jolting hands as he all but fell off the side of the roof. He frantically scrambled along the wall, one hand sticking to the surface while the other reached out to catch the falling trinket. He sighed, tightened his hold on the coin, and quickly crawled back up the wall, flipping onto the roof of the building as he glared around, only to balk as he caught sight of who had spoken.

"What the-?"

"How you doing, Spider-Man?" Steve Rogers actually had the gall to look calm and casual, like this was the most normal thing in the world and not the most messed up scenario Peter could have possibly imagined in that moment.

He took half a second to curse the universe for just about the fifteenth time that night. He could practically hear it sneering at him in response.

He was happy his mask was in place, hiding the look of sheer incredulity smearing across his expression. "What the hell are you doing here!?" He practically shrieked as he stalked forward, careful not to get too close.

Steve Rogers sat against the ledge of the rooftop, feet resting against the top step of the fire escape he'd no doubtedly used to get up there. His clothing was casual, nothing insinuating any mission or job or real reason to be out loitering the streets of Queens. So what the hell?

As if reading the teen's mind, the man simply shrugged his shoulders. "I'm just checking in."

Peter narrowed his eyes behind the mask. "Why?

Steve furrowed his brow. "Cause I wanted to?"

"Why?"

"I...I don't know. Do I need a reason?"

"I would prefer one."

The man smiled, glanced away for a second as he stared out over the rooftop. Peter watched him, watched him sit so relaxed and content, the bastard. As if Peter weren't standing there with every muscle on edge, every nerve teeming with anticipation, every hair standing on end. Steve turned to look back at him. There was a trace of hesitance in his eyes that Peter couldn't care less about.

"I was...in the neighborhood. Figured I'd stop by to see how you're doing."

He scoffed. "Uh, no. No, no, no. We're not doing this. We're not acting like this is some normal thing." He gestured with his hands. "I know you don't care about the consequences of your actions, but I do. And the consequences of this will be supremely bad. I mean like, jail for the rest of my life, kind of bad." He waved his hands like he was trying to scare off a stray cat. "Now, shoo. Go away. Scram, before anybody sees you"

Steve didn't even bother looking around this time, simply gave the boy a gentle smile. "Nobody's around, son."

"That you know of!"

"That either of us knows of. We would have heard it if there were."

Peter opened his mouth to retort, only to pause as he realized the man was telling the truth. Even if Steve couldn't hear anything, Peter had super hearing too. The chances that both of them would somehow miss the sounds of any approaching onlookers were slim to none.

He fidgeted on his feet, gripped the coin in his fist tightly. "I...that...doesn't matter."

The Captain raised a brow, cocky smile still in place, begging to get slapped off. "Doesn't it?"

"No, it doesn't. Cause I don't want to see you!" Peter shouted, voice raising louder than necessary. It was fairly impressive the sudden anger he felt at just being in the soldier's presence. Or maybe he was just cranky. It had been a really, really long day that seemed to have no end in sight. "In case you've forgotten, I. Don't. Like. You. For a multitude of reasons that I shared the last time we met. And, correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't I punch you in the face last time, too?"

"That you did."

"Now to most people, that'd be a pretty good clue that we aren't compatible. But maybe that was just too subtle for you."

Steve sniffed. He didn't seem too bothered by what Peter was saying. Didn't even really act like he'd heard the teen at all. He scratched his chin, watched the clouds overhead breeze by for a moment of silence before facing him once more.

"So how are you? Been getting along alright?"

Peter faltered, blinking in stunned silence. "Wha- did you not hear the words that just came out of my mouth?"

"I did."

"Then why are we still talking?"

Steve didn't stop smiling. It was a gentle thing, not mocking or contemptuous, the sort of smile that said the man was just happy to be there. Peter, however, was not.

"I saw you on TV."

"I-" Peter faltered, forgot whatever it was he'd been lining up to say. He hesitated, glanced around for a second before cocking a brow behind the mask. "You did?"

Steve nodded. "Yeah. You were really good."

Peter remained silent for a second, mainly because he was focusing on squashing down the sudden feeling of pleasure that had risen at the man's compliment. His words meant nothing to him. Nothing. And that included his praise.

"Well...that...t-that doesn't change anything. I still don't have anything to say to you, so I suggest you leave before something bad happens."

Steve lifted a brow. "Is that a threat?" Strangely enough, his tone of voice didn't sound at all threatened. He hadn't even tensed up at the boy's comment, just kept sitting there like he hadn't a care in the world.

Peter huffed and folded his arms over his chest. "No. But something bad always happens. More specifically, bad things happen when you're around. Now go away." His voice was firmer this time. He was done with this...whatever it was.

The captain didn't make a move to follow in his request, however. Instead, he just stared at the boy, watching him with those bright blue eyes of his that made Peter squirm under their earnest gleam. "I just want to talk." And the sound of his voice, the sheer gentle quality of kindness had Peter curling his fists tighter, but he hadn't the slightest clue as to why.

"Look, I know this might be a shock to you, but the world doesn't revolve around what you want, Captain, and I certainly don't have to bend my schedule to your demands." His voice was harsh as he growled before suddenly spinning around on his heel as he began to march towards the edge of the roof. "I'm leaving. Feel free to stay here and get arrested."

. . .

. . .

"Peter. Please."

He paused. He didn't want to, but he paused.

"Just for a bit."

There was something new in the Captain's voice, a tone that hadn't been there before. It was subtle, but Peter's ears still twitched as they caught the quiet hints of it. Whatever it was, it was enough to stop him right at the edge of the roof, muscles tensed and body poised to leap off and swing into the night, forget the encounter and go on with the rest of his night.

He heard no footsteps. Rogers wasn't approaching. He could still leave if he wanted to. The man was too far away to do anything to stop him.

But he knew that tone.

So he paused.

And after a moment of silence, he sighed and turned back around.

He lifted his head and met the man's gaze. His eyes were soft, blinking back at him as they reflected the lights of the city around them. Peter flexed his closed fist, felt the coin pressing against his palm before silently slipping it into a pocket of the suit.

Finally, he turned away and let out a deep breath. He had another long night ahead of him.

"Come with me."

 

---

 

Even taking the longer route of back alleys and darkened, abandoned parking lots to avoid any potential witnesses, it only took ten minutes to arrive, even with Peter slowing his usual pace so the Captain could keep up.

He landed on the roof of the complex and waited a bit for Steve to climb the fire escape of the adjoining building and leap over. Once he rolled to a stop, the man popped up and cast a wary glance around at their new surroundings, which weren't all that different from the previous rooftop they'd been on. It looked like he wanted to say something, but Peter didn't give him the chance as he moved away, approaching the rooftop access door.

Pushing the creaking door open revealed a dark and rusted stairwell leading down into shadow. Peter said nothing, simply began to make his way down. He didn't bother glancing behind him to see if the soldier was following. He could hear him.

Even with the added night vision of the suit, Peter knew the path step for step. He reached the bottom of the stairs and pushed against another door, this one leading him into another darkened room. But even with the lack of light, the massive size of the room could still be sensed by the echoes of their footsteps alone.

He heard Steve walking around hesitantly as the teen began to search along the side wall, hand feeling up against the surface. When he finally found the light switch, he grasped the handle and pulled it down, the building suddenly flickering before humming to life before their eyes.

Row after row of ripped and tattered felt chairs stretched out before them, lined up in front of a massive stained and shredded screen towering high above their heads. The aisleways were filled with debris and dust, most likely from the walls, which were crumbling and bare, revealing brickwork and broken stone bits. Decorative curtains lay in pieces around the floor along with fallen bits of the ceiling. And further into the back of the building was a balcony with a few more rows of seats all facing the giant screen in the front.

Peter watched as the soldier gazed around the room, twisting his head as he took in the sight before him. "What is this place?" he finally asked after a moment.

"Blue Booth Theater." He didn't turn to look at the man as he spoke, instead choosing to slowly walk up and down the aisles. "It was a small little joint back in the day, never anything spectacular, not even in its prime. It was just something only the neighborhood knew about, a little hidden gem." He brushed a hand over one of the seats, scraped some dust away. "It closed down years ago. Nobody ever comes around here anymore, except me."

Steve watched the boy for a moment before turning to face the screen once more. Peter noticed his eyes flickering around the giant structure, a hint of nostalgia seeming to enter his deep-set irises. When he spoke, his voice was soft. "Back in Brooklyn, well...back in my Brooklyn, there was a place like this I'd go to sometimes. My mom would bring me."

Peter turned to face him. The soldier smiled wistfully. "It was pretty expensive so sometimes we'd sneak in through the back and watch the cartoons from the rafters."

They were silent for a minute, simply listening to the creaking of the building, the settling of the metal structures holding the complex up. The air smelled of dust and woodchips.

Peter hesitated for a moment before reaching up and pulling the suit's mask from his head. He could feel the soldier's eyes on him and tried not to squirm as he took a seat against the armrest of one of the aisle chairs, placing his mask against the headrest of another before turning towards the man with a sharp look in his eyes.

"Alright, you said you wanted to talk. We're alone now, so talk." He folded his arms. "What do you want?"

The sooner they got this over with, the better.

Steve glanced around for a second before choosing to lean up against another nearby chair, facing the boy as he slipped his hands into his pockets, perhaps to look less imposing. Peter tried not to notice, tried to ignore the feeling of slight relief that arose as he studied the man's relaxed, nonhostile stance. "You never answered my question before."

"Which was?"

"...How are you?"

Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead turned his gaze towards the screen. "Fine. Why do you ask?" His voice was clipped and terse as he drummed his fingers against his arm. The question was pointless. He knew the reason.

"Well..." the Captain trailed off for a moment, glanced around like he was hesitant on what to say, awkwardly shifting his weight for a second. Peter gritted his teeth as he felt his annoyance growing. The least he could do was say it straight-out instead of dancing around it.

Steve cleared his throat. "The, uh...the last time we saw each other...I witnessed a fairly unsavory situation and I was just-"

Peter expelled a sharp breath and pushed off of his seat as he quickly rose up to his feet. "Let me stop you right there, alright, because if I hear you start talking about how you've been beside yourself with righteous and virtuous concern for poor little Peter Parker I'm going to punch you in the face again."

Steve tensed his jaw. Peter scoffed and felt his fists clenching again as he gestured to his surroundings. "This...is none of your business. My family is none of your business, none of your concern. I don't need you poking around in things that don't involve you, things that couldn't be less connected to you." He scrunched his nose as he glared. "I don't care what you saw. I don't care what you think. You stay out of my life and out of my way. I don't need you causing any more problems for me just because you don't get how my family works."

He was making orders. He shouldn't have been making orders but goddamn it, he was angry. And he was tired. And he was sick of people not listening to him. He knew his family better than any of these people. So why did they all think they knew what was best? They didn't. They couldn't.

The soldier obviously didn't hear the internal war waging in the boy before him, for he took a deep breath and straightened up a little taller. "Family's not supposed to treat each other like that, son." His voice was gentle, sympathetic, pitying.

Peter gritted his teeth and stalked closer. "This. This is exactly what I don't want from you. I don't need your advice or your wise teachings..." He took a breath, felt how shaky it was, and cursed himself for it. "I don't need your pity. Save it for something that matters."

The building creaked again, shifted with the winds, an ominous groaning that echoed through the walls, rattled under their feet. Peter took another few breaths, deep and long, felt them expand in his lungs before blowing them back out again. He shook his head. "I don't even know why you care." He drummed his fingers against his arm, felt them tingling uncomfortably. "You don't even know me."

Steve didn't seem bothered by his outburst. He kept his hands in his pockets and watched him with a careful eye. "Doesn't matter. I know you don't deserve that."

Peter said nothing, simply stared at him. He felt the burning in his chest beginning to recede with each breath he took. He swallowed thickly and dragged his gaze away again. "Like I said, " he muttered softly. "...you don't know me."

They were silent as Peter sighed and sat back down on the armrest, leaning his forehead into the palm of his hand as he shut his eyes. He could feel the weight of the day beginning to drag him down, a new heaviness in his bones that made him long for sleep, to curl up and let his problems fade out of existence for a few blissful hours.

"You asked your question. I answered. Now please just...leave." His voice was small, tired. There was no anger this time. "Go away and leave me alone."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Peter knew the Captain didn't deserve his anger, didn't deserve to have him snapping in his face. He just happened to be the unlucky bystander who picked all the wrong words and the worst time to say them. At least his prickly attitude would do well to drive the man off, show him that he wasn't worth the time or the headache.

He kept his eyes closed and his ears perked, listening for the sound of footsteps, the sound of steps walking upstairs, or the sound of a closing door. But after a while of silence, no such noises reached him. He resisted the urge for a moment before finally relenting, opening his eyes to find Steve was no longer leaning against the chairs but was now sitting on the floor in front of him, legs crossed and hands resting in his lap. He was watching Peter with a gentle look in his eyes.

Peter stared at him for a moment and waited for the anger to return to his chest...but it didn't. Instead, he shockingly let out a little amused scoff as he raised a brow. "You're not very good at following instructions, are you?" He asked in a quiet voice.

Steve returned the smile, albeit slightly embarrassed as he shrugged. "Sorry."

The teen rolled his eyes but didn't yell. In all honesty, he was starting to get too tired for all of that. Even with the slow crime-night, the rest of the day's events had taken everything out of him, leaving him drained and spent of nearly all he had.

Peter lifted his eyes and found Steve's gaze once more. For a second, the two just stared at each other, light hazel eyes meeting icy-blue. And as he gazed into them, Peter noticed the look in the man's eyes, noticed the slight film over his gaze, the layer shrouding over them.

He knew that look, just like he'd known that tone.

Now he was curious.

Taking a second to hesitate and consider how bad of an idea this was, Peter leaned back and pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, eying the soldier strangely. "Alright then. I answered your question...now it's my turn." He placed his hands against his knees, tapped his fingers against them. "Why are you here?"

Steve leaned back as well, giving a little shrug of his shoulders as he glanced away. "I already sa-"

"You're also not a very good liar."

The man went quiet.

Peter leaned closer. "You're one of the most wanted men in the world in one of the most heavily monitored cities in the world. Cameras, pedestrians, drones, this city is dripping with anything and everything that could get you caught and you just decide to stroll around for the sake of talking to me?" Peter took a moment, watched the man's reaction.

The soldier didn't show much outwardly but Peter did notice when he began to tap his own fingers together. It seemed random at first, but after another second of observation, Peter began to notice a pattern, not enough to decipher what it was, but enough to know it was there. He narrowed his eyes.

"Why are you here...really?"

The lights above their heads flickered, enhancing the shadows stretching around them, crawling along the floors. Another gust of wind, another creak in the walls. Peter felt a strange new air hovering around him, a hesitation, an apprehension that made him wary of the man's response and yet so curious all the same. He said nothing, waited instead for the man to fill the growing silence.

Finally, Steve broke their stare, running a hand against the back of his neck as he blew out a long sigh and leaned against the aisle chair propped up behind him. "I don't know. I guess...I didn't have anywhere else to go."

Peter watched him, watched him drop his hand back into his lap, start up the tapping again. "Couldn't sleep, so I started...wandering and found myself wandering into Queens. I don't know why. I didn't...plan on coming here, but then I saw you and...I just..." he trailed off before glancing away. 'I don't know."

The teen blinked, brows furrowing slightly as he focused on his hearing, focused on his senses. He could hear the Captain's heartbeat, steady and calm. No skips, no jolts, no sudden shifts.

He was telling the truth.

"How long have you been wandering around?" he asked quietly.

"Since the end of your press conference."

"Seriously? That was like...ten hours ago. What do you mean you couldn't sleep? It was noon. Just go home and try again, I'm sure this time-"

"Son..."

Peter stopped.

"...it won't matter. I know I won't be able to." His eyes were serious, his voice soft. "I know."

Steve lowered his head, ran his hand through the back of his hair as he let out a deep breath. And for the first time, Peter took a moment to truly look at the man. His posture before hadn't been loose and casual as he'd first thought, but...tired. Limp and exhausted.

It reminded him of someone.

"Okay, then...why don't you talk to one of your teammates? Why bother trying to have a conversation with someone who's made it abundantly clear that he doesn't like you?"

Steve lifted his head at that, actually smiled a bit as he thought it over. He shrugged his shoulders. "Honestly, I think it's because of that."

"What?"

The soldier propped up one knee and rested his wrist atop it. He leaned the back of his head against the chair behind him, gazing up at the lights hanging precariously over their heads, swaying in the breeze brought in from one of the holes in the back of the building. "My teammates...they have an image of me in their heads. They rely on me, look up to me. I'm their leader. I have the answers, the solutions, I know what to do, when to do it, and how. They look to me for assurance."

His jaw tightened slightly. Peter could see it outlined in shadow. "I don't want to mess up that image. Not for my sake, but for theirs. I don't want to take it away from them. They need the stability. They need that constant. They need to look at me and feel secure, feel safe."

He lowered his gaze to stare back at Peter, who was watching him intently, eyes sharp as he listened. The soldier's smile returned. "But with you...I already know what you think of me. You don't like me, so there's..."

Peter blinked. "Nothing to lose..."

"Exactly."

The teen furrowed his brows slightly and glanced down towards the ground.

He'd...never really thought of it like that before.

There had never been anybody in his life that he'd ever shown outward aggression to, straightforward hostility. Not once had he ever said the words, 'I don't like you' to someone without the thought of retaliation popping into his head.

But that thought seemed almost...muted with the soldier. Steve was sort of a blank slate. Peter expected nothing of the man, thought nothing of the man. So his negativity towards him...it wasn't laced with fear.

Because Spider-Man wasn't afraid of him.

Spider-Man didn't have to be afraid of him.

Spider-Man...had nothing to lose.

Peter was so lost in his thoughts that when the man cleared his throat again and gave a little humored scoff, the teen almost jumped. "You know, to be honest, I've been thinking about you a lot this week."

"That's creepy."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Come on. Can you blame me? The last time I saw you, I find out Spider-Man isn't old enough to drive, is piloting a high-tech super-suit, and lives in a house with some pretty questionable characters. I feel I have the right to be concerned."

Peter could feel his frustrations returning like waves crashing into the beach, receding slightly only to return moments later. He slid off of the armrest and instead sat down on the floor, crossing his legs underneath him. "You don't, actually. I can handle myself," he muttered as his eyes filled with a new annoyance. This song and dance was starting to get real old real fast. "Look, I know what you think and I don't care. My family is my business and that's that." He hesitated for a second before continuing. "Besides, if you saw the press conference like you say you did, then you saw my dad, too. Does he really seem like the malicious type?"

The bruise under his collar hissed at him. He swallowed it down.

Steve held his gaze for a moment before glancing away. "No. He seemed...he seemed like a good guy."

He inhaled a stuttery breath, ignored how it burned his throat on the way down. "He is. And I don't like you implying otherwise. Just because I sometimes don't get along with the rest of them doesn't mean I need your pity or your concern. It's unwarranted."

The soldier paused for a moment before nodding his head, lifting his gaze to stare at the boy intensely once more. "I'm sorry if I offended you. It wasn't my intent."

His voice sounded genuine. Peter decided it would have to be good enough. He huffed, folding his arms over his chest as he glanced up at the lights. "Not gonna be around them for much longer anyway," he muttered more to himself than anything else.

But Steve, curse the bastard, heard him anyway. "What? What do you mean?"

Peter glanced at him, studied the genuine curiosity etched onto the man's face. His fingers began to twitch against his knee, longing for the coin tucked safely away in his pocket. He didn't bring it out though. Instead, he shook his head and turned his gaze away. "Nothing. Forget I said anything."

He could feel the soldier watching him, felt his eyes tracing him up and down. Peter reached down and ran the tip of his finger along the edges of a nearby brick, the coarse texture muted by the layers of the suit.

"Does it have something to do with why you seem so...out of sorts?"

Peter didn't look up as the man spoke. He traced his finger against the stone, over each bump, every groove. The brick was old, faded and gray, crumbling around the edges and tattered with dirt and dust, the same layer of grime that seemed to coat everything in the building with a thick layer of foggy, hazy air. he noticed the man was still looking at him, still waiting for an answer. Peter let out a sigh and finally glanced up, flashing the man a disgruntled look.

"Look, I'm only going to tell you this so you don't start showing up every night sniffing around for info on my wellbeing or whatever crap you're on about but..." he trailed off for a moment, dropped his gaze back down the brick by his hand. He flicked a speck of dust away. "...I'm going to be spending some time away from my family for a while."

Rogers furrowed his brow. "Is everything alright?"

"Fine. I'm just...going to be spending the summer at Stark Tower." He took another breath, though he found it to be more strained than before. "Mr. Stark insisted."

The man blinked at him for a moment of silence, tilting his head slightly as he seemed to shake off some sudden shock. "Oh. That's...that good."

Peter turned his head away.

. . .

"That is good...right?"

The teen sniffed, felt the dust tickling his nose as he kept his eyes locked on the tattered screen looming above their heads. He wanted to go to bed.

"Yeah. It's...it's great."

Distantly, he heard a squeaking, most likely from a mouse or two. He always came across a few whenever he spent the night in the theater.

It was a rare occurrence, but there was always the odd night where his father wouldn't be home (or he would, and he'd just not care to do anything about it) and the Cons would get drunk, shoving him out of the house and locking the doors behind him. On those special nights, Peter would retreat to the theater, to the manager's office. There, he would find a pillow, a tattered blanket, a few emergency medical supplies, and a couple of bottles of water. He'd been building up his little emergency hidey-hole for years now, so he was well-prepared.

And in all honesty, his nights in the theater, his nights sleeping on the cold concrete floor surrounded by the sound of skittering mice and squirming roaches roaming around the floors, those were the nights when he got the best sleep. He could sleep for hours at a time in the theater, sleep with no threats, no worries, no looming eyes (unless you counted the mice that were always curiously watching him from a distance). He loved Blue Booth, both back then and what it had become now. For it was still his little hidden gem.

Still...sleeping in the theater was as close as he'd ever gotten to a night away from home, and even then, it was only for a few hours until he'd eventually trudge back home and his father would wordlessly let him back in, passing the Cons who were always black-out unconscious in the living room.

Blue Booth and Stark Tower were two very different things. There were no mice in Stark tower, no roaches, no open cavities in the wall letting in the moonlight or cold drafts making him tug his ratty blanket tighter over his shivering form. There would be no going home in the morning at Stark Tower. There would be no going home.

Stark Tower would be his home.

He shivered. And there wasn't even a draft this time.

Peter had been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed Steve, who was still watching him curiously. The teen spared the man a small glance before dragging his gaze away to the floor once more.

"Has Tony ever talked to you about the Diner?"

The teen blinked, furrowed his brow, and lifted his head. "What? No..."

Steve smirked and innocently glanced away. "Well, maybe he'll end up taking you one of these days."

Peter hesitated for a second, taking the time to read the man's painfully obvious body language, before unabashedly taking the bait. "What are you talking about?"

Steve turned back to him, a newfound genuine smile on his face as he let out a little chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as he sucked in a breath. "Well, this isn't my first experience with insomnia. Back when I lived at the Tower, there would be nights like this where I'd find myself awake. I'd wander around, no set destination in mind, just walking. And this one time, I come across Tony. He's sitting in the kitchen by himself in the dark. Initially, I'm afraid I'm intruding, but when he sees me, he calls me over to chat. We do for a little bit, but then, out of the blue, he asks if I want to go somewhere."

Peter watched him intently as the man spoke, noticed the much more relaxed demeanor now settling in the Captain's posture as he told the story. He seemed happier somehow. Peter filed it away as interesting.

"Initially, I'm confused but I say why not. I didn't really think much of it but not too long afterward, we're pulling into the parking lot of some dingy little 24-hour diner off the edge of Manhatten."

At the slight look of bewilderment spreading across the teen's face, Steve grinned. "I know. I had the exact same thought. Didn't really seem like his kind of place but sure enough, once we step inside, he and the waitress are sharing pleasantries and catching up like old friends so I didn't really question it."

Steve's smile widens as he leans back. "Now, not even a minute after we sit down, we hear some waitress near the back of the diner letting out a string of curses. I'm talking every word in the book and then some."

Peter cracked his first grin.

"Tony asks what's up and she says the jukebox in the corner is acting up and has been playing the same song for the past hour."

"Seriously? What song?"

The soldier smirked and pressed his tongue against his cheek. "Billy Joel's Piano Man."

"That's like...a six-minute song."

"Oh trust me, I know."

The teen snorts. Steve continued, waving his hand in the air. "Tony recognized it right off the bat. I, of course, didn't. There was a multitude of cultural phenomenons that I was a bit behind on.

Peter shook his head, an amused look of shock on his face. "Oh my gosh..."

"Oh, it gets better. We go over there, see what we can do. Well, Tony does. I'm just a bystander watching the catastrophe unfold. At first, he suggests just unplugging the machine, but apparently, the building was old and finicky. Something about the outlet connecting to all the other power sources and how plugging or unplugging anything in could cause a surge. I don't know. Not my thing, you know?"

Peter nods, suddenly finding himself hanging off of the man's words.

"Anyway, Tony, in all his magnificent glory, declares that he can fix it no problem."

"Uh-oh."

"'Uh-oh' is right. Now, I don't know who made this jukebox, but apparently, they were an evil son of a bitch who got off on the suffering of others because this thing was shot to hell and back. And after an hour and a half, three milkshakes, five screwdrivers, and four loops of the song now playing in reverse, Tony is getting ready to fire up a suit and blast the machine into the stratosphere. The song is on its twentieth loop, we are now the only customers in the place, and two of the waitresses are passed out snoring in some booths in the back."

Peter's laugh was starting to echo against the walls of the building, Steve snorting across from him as he shook his head and sighed. "Once we hit the two-hour mark, I finally pulled him away from the mess and we declared defeat and surrender. The waitresses comped our drinks for our troubles, Tony gave them all three-hundred-dollar tips just because, and we enjoyed the rest of the night listening to that song over...and over...and over again."

The teen stared at him with an incredulous smile. "Wow..."

"Oh, yeah. I can recite you every single word of that song. I can recite you every single word of that song in reverse."

Peter scoffed a humored huff, furrowing his brows. "Why didn't you just leave?"

Steve shrugged his shoulders. "We were having a good time. By three am, the workers were awake and singing the song and we were on our fifth milkshakes." The man paused for a moment, taking a deep breath as he smiled. "After that, whenever the two of us found ourselves awake at some god-awful hour, we'd head down there. Drink, swap stories, and laugh about our hellish experience at the hands of that jukebox." He leaned in closer and threw the kid an exasperated look. "I don't think I need to tell you what he made his ringtone for me after that."

Peter grinned. "That's awesome."

"I did not think so, which, of course, only solidified his resolve to keep it forever."

The teen smiled, glanced down at the ground as he took a breath. The new air of ease was strange, but welcome nonetheless. "I like that song."

Steve hummed, tapped his fingers together as his smile grew. "You know what? I do too."

The soldier said nothing for a moment. The smile on his face faded somewhat, a bittersweet expression that reached his eyes, dulled the gleam in them somewhat. Peter watched the changes quietly, watched as the man let out a deep breath, the strange pattern of taps starting up again in his fingers. When he spoke, his voice was softer.

"We used to be good at it back then...the talking." He cast his gaze around, eyeing the pieces of debris and dirt piled around them, remnants of what once stood proud and tall. "By the end, we struggled with it, but back then...back then it came naturally. It was easy."

He let out a small huff of air through his nose and when he smiled again, it was somehow...sadder.

"I guess I miss that. How easy it all was."

Peter swallowed, chewed on the inside of his cheek as he found himself looking away from the man, averting his gaze from the openness being expressed to him. It made him uncomfortable how easily the man was speaking to him. They weren't close, they weren't even friends. Why did the man seem so open with him? Why was he sharing all of this? How could the man...trust him so quickly?

As the question burned in his chest, Peter couldn't help but spare the man another quick glance. Rogers wasn't looking at him anymore. He was still leaning against the aisle seat but his head was turned away, eyes focused on the balcony above their heads, focused on the broken lights and shattered projection glass that sat against the back walls.

And the longer Peter looked, the longer his question echoed in his head, the more he began to understand.

There was a reason as to why the man didn't seem eager to leave, why he was here in the first place, why he'd been so insistent on talking to Peter at all, why he'd shared that story.

Peter knew he recognized that look in the man's eyes, the sound in his tone.

But could Steve Rogers, could Captain America really be...lonely?

As he pondered the question, Peter finally found his hand in his pocket, felt his fingers latching onto the coin as he silently pulled it out. Even in the poor lighting of the theater, the gold surface of the trinket shined brightly in his eyes, the emblems distinct and prominent. He traced his fingers along the etchings, felt the grooves and bumps of each line, each curve.

("As long as I kept it close, everything would work out...one way or another.")

. . .

. . .

. . .

Well...if Spider-Man really did have nothing to lose...

"The security cameras outside are fake."

Steve seemed to jolt at his words, gazing at him with a furrowed brow and a confused look. Peter kept his fingers on the coin, if only to stop them from twitching awkwardly. He glanced away. "They're...just decorations meant to scare away any loiters or homeless people lurking around, meaning this place is always empty." He took a deep breath, and then took a couple more. He kept his gaze averted, kept his eyes glued to the floor. He could feel the man watching him anyway.

"So, if...if you, uh...if you ever need somewhere to go when you're wandering aimlessly...I guess you could...y-you could come here...if you want." He swallowed the rock that had suddenly appeared in his throat. "Just don't mess up the place."

Somewhere, a hanging piece of debris clattered to the floor. Peter cleared his throat. "...any more than it already is."

Steve seemed to regard him for a moment, a brief pause of silence where neither of them said anything. Peter kept his eyes on the coin, ran his fingers along the edge. The soldier shifted in his seat, leaning forward a bit more.

"Will I see you here?"

Peter shrugged and didn't lift his eyes. "Maybe. I keep some supplies here so...we might cross paths."

Another pause. "Are you okay with that?"

For a brief flash, Peter lifted his eyes and met the man's gaze. It was just for a second and then he was playing with the coin again, but when he shrugged this time, it wasn't as tense as before. "I guess. You know...just as long as it's only once in a while."

"Course," Steve chuckled, letting a small smile slip back onto his face. "I appreciate it."

Peter sniffed, licking at his lower lip as he quickly rose up to his feet, suddenly finding himself with a strange need to move around. He held the coin tightly in an enclosed fist. "Yeah. But I feel I should reiterate. I still don't like you."

The Captain's smile didn't disappear as he rose up to his feet as well. Peter took a few steps back, widened the distance between them. The soldier didn't comment on it as he turned away and eyed the doorway they'd come in from. "Duly noted. But who knows? You spend enough time with me and I might just bump up to annoying-but-tolerable-acquaintance."

Peter scoffed, but said nothing to correct the man as he began to head for the exit. But as he reached the stairwell, he stopped in the doorframe, glancing over his shoulder at the boy. His smile softened, his eyes growing gentle. It didn't make Peter as angry this time.

"Be careful. And keep an eye on Tony for me."

The teen blinked at him, hesitated for a moment before giving a muted nod in response. "I will."

Steve turned away and took a few steps, only to pause one final time. "Oh, and congrats on the summer thing. Good luck with that."

And then he was gone.

Peter kept his gaze on the stairwell for a good long while, even after he heard the sound of a distant door closing and the even softer sounds of footsteps retreating away from the building. Finally, he lifted his head, eyed the rafters above them, creaky and rusted, letting loose a few particles of dust every time the building settled.

He knew he should leave, should get back out to patrolling (even though he hadn't heard any commotion the entire time they'd been talking), should get up and do something.

But even with these thoughts in his head, he found himself sitting back down on the floor, legs folding back underneath him. The room suddenly felt much bigger now that he was all alone, the walls stretching higher, the shadows stretching further.

He lifted his hand and slowly pulled open his fingers, revealing the coin resting on his palm.

In the back of his mind, mingling with the sounds of the building swaying, the mice squeaking and the dust particles swirling in the air, Peter heard the sound of cameras shuttering, distant voices shouting in the air, questions ringing and microphones shrieking.

The coin had worked well enough then.

("Good luck with that.")

But as he heard Steve's voice cut through the mess of noise, he couldn't help but stare down at the coin with a newfound ache in his chest, a weight that made it that much harder to get up, to move, to do anything other than sit there, sit there for hours, days, years, long enough for everything to move on and disappear around him, disappear and fade away.

He curled his fingers back around the coin, clenched it tightly, and held it close to his chest, sucking in a shaky breath as he shut his eyes and pulled his knees up, scrunching up as small as he could as the silence loomed over him, heavy and suffocating.

Something told him he was going to need a lot of luck to get through what was coming...more than could be held in a single coin.

 

---

 

"Stop looking at it."

"It's mocking me. I can feel it."

Steve rolled his eyes as he watched the billionaire glare across the diner at the evil machine lurking and waiting in the corner, lights flaring in defiance, glass smirking in triumph.

"Just ignore it."

"Oh, you know Cap? I hadn't thought of that. It's almost like there's something...some strange thing that's preventing me from getting my mind off of it. Any idea what that might be? It's on the tip of my tongue."

A particularly loud blast of music cut through just then, a very pointed fuck-you to their table.

The soldier scoffed and glanced down at the table with a smirk. "You're the one that dragged us here, you know."

Tony rolled his eyes and rested his arm against the lip of the tattered booth. "Whatever. You had seven years of listening to this song to catch up on and I managed to fit it all into a single night. Am I good or what?"

Steve said nothing, simply shook his head as he turned his head to gaze around the place once again.

Rita's DineRite Diner wasn't anything spectacular. A small little building on the edge of Manhattan, away from the gaggle of Times Square and the well-traversed areas. A line of booths sat against the windows while a counter stood opposite, lined with crooked metal stools. The floors were stained, a black and white checkerboard pattern that stood out against the bright red of the cushions.

He turned back to Tony, who was glancing out the window at the deserted street beyond, fingers drumming against the side of his milkshake glass, which still seemed comically too big to Steve. "So how'd you stumble across this place? Doesn't really seem like a common hangout for billionaires."

Tony waved a hand. "When Pepper and I first moved here, back when the Tower was still under construction...I don't know, I was craving a milkshake. And I wasn't about to make it myself." He gestured around. "This happened to be the only 24-hour place around, which was good considering it was 3 in the morning. That was...two year ago?" he shrugged. "Now I'm a regular."

Steve glanced over his shoulder at only other occupants, two waitresses (at least the ones that were still awake) that were scrubbing down tables while chatting away with each other, not even bothering to spare the two Avengers passing glances.

"Is that why we're not being swarmed right now?"

"Ah, these guys are used to me and whatever colorful friends I bring with me."

"Right."

The wincing sound of a harmonica echoed against the walls before suddenly falling silent as the song finished. Tony, Steve, and the workers in the diner all froze in their positions, eyes silently twisting around towards their captor in the corner. For a brief moment, nobody said anything, the air still and tense.

Tony cocked a brow, voice low as he spoke, like he didn't want to alert the predator lurking. "Maybe it's dead..."

But not even a second later, the harmonica started up again, a collective groan resonating through all of them as the song began once again. Tony didn't hold it for long though as a smirk fell onto his face, chuckling as he turned back around to face Steve.

"What is this? Twenty-two?

The soldier rubbed at his face. "Twenty-three." He sighed and dropped his hands back to the table, casting one last glance around the diner as he noticed they were now the only customers in the entire establishment, which hadn't been the case when they'd first arrived.  He let out a humored huff. "I don't know if you've noticed, but the place has cleared out."

Tony took a sip from his shake. "Wonder why."

They both chuckled under their breaths at that. Steve ducked his head and let his eyes focus in on the checkerboard pattern under his feet. He  could feel his fingers tapping as his eyes traced the obnoxious pattern lining the floor, a clear reminder that his mind was still anything but clear, despite his new surroundings. He still felt the cramped itch in his legs, still felt the desire to run and just keep running, if only to release the pent-up anxiety beginning to pool heavily in his stomach.

But he knew there wasn't anywhere for him to go, so he settled for the tapping of his fingers, let them go at their own pace, not even bothering to think about it as they moved.

This song was sad.

After their twentieth run-through, he was finally starting to pay attention to the lyrics. And his conclusion? Piano Man was kind of a downer.

Seemed fitting, if he was being honest.

"What're you saying?"

He jolted from his thoughts and glanced up at Tony. "Hmm?"

The billionaire gestured lazily towards Steve's tapping fingers. "I know Morse Code when I see it. You were tapping up a storm in the tower and back in the car." He tilted his head slightly, eyes gleaming dully in the fluorescent lights overhead. "What are you trying to say?"

Steve glanced down at his hands and paused in his movements. The tapping wasn't really something he thought about anymore, was more of a subconscious thing if anything else. He'd find himself doing it whenever his mind wandered, whenever he felt an itch to move and a barrier stopping him from doing so. He hesitated for a moment before letting out a little sigh as he shrugged his shoulders.

"It's...it's nothing. Stupid, really. It's...it means 'bumping gums.'"

Tony sputtered on his drink, snorting a bit as he held a hand up to his face to keep in whatever it was he'd nearly spit up. He laughed, setting his glass down as he threw the man an incredulous look. "I'm sorry - what?"

"It was a common phrase back in the day," Steve assured, shaking his head with a smile. "Means 'talking nonsense'. I, uh..." he trailed off for a moment, felt the familiar tightness suddenly enter his chest, the same feeling that arose whenever this particular topic entered his head. But strangely enough, Steve found himself pushing past it before he could think too hard on it.

"My friend...Bucky and I...we used to have these old radios, official, military-grade. We fished them out of a back alley trash shoot behind the Enlistment Center." His smile widened. He noticed it wasn't as strained as before, wasn't as strained as he would have imagined it would be. "We'd talk on them from our houses, but we were always worried that somebody would catch us with them so we came up with that code phrase to make sure it was always us on the other side." He moved his hands again, gently tapped his index finger against the table.

"Tap on the receiver twice to start. I'd say 'bumping gums.' He'd reply 'speakeasy, flatfoot.'"

He stopped, kept his eyes trailed on his hands, focused on the movements, instinctive and ingrained into his muscles. "It was...nice. Having somebody to talk to on the other side."

Tony gazed back at him, his usual carefree smirk gone, replaced instead with a look Steve couldn't really read. "Right..."

The tightness was still there, still heavy against the soldier's chest. But there was something strange in talking about him, something almost...cathartic, relieving.  Like he didn't have to hold onto the memories alone, could share the weight of them, share the load of carrying them. He cleared his throat and blinked back into reality lest he get lost in his memories. "What about you?"

Tony took another sip of his drink and raised a brow.

"Why were you awake tonight?"

The billionaire hummed and pulled the glass away, setting it back down onto the table as he grinned once more, but it felt different from before. "I'm always awake, Cap. Too much going on up here," he said as he tapped a knuckle against his temple. "It's easier with Pepper away for work. I don't have to pretend to sleep for an hour and then sneak out of bed and stay in the lab for the rest of the night."

Steve's brows pinched slightly. He didn't say anything, but the disapproval he felt was plain and obvious. Tony must have picked up on it, for he simply shrugged. "We all need a hobby..."

The soldier glanced down at his own shake glass, ran a finger along the sides, and allowed the condensation to drip onto his skin. He waited for a moment before lifting his gaze once more, voice softer than before. "Aren't you tired?"

Tony let out a little breath, rapped his knuckle against the table, tapped it softly. When he finally spoke, his voice matched Steve's, low and quiet.

"Sometimes it's not about how tired you are. Sometimes it's about filling the time with something...other than your thoughts."

"Yeah..." Steve murmured. He lowered his gaze back to his glass. His fingers kept tapping. He suddenly lifted his head, however and let out a very deep sigh. "This is...the longest song I've ever heard in my entire life."

Tony chuckled. "Even more so when it's on an infinite loop."

"Jesus..."

"It could be worse. We could be listening to an eight-hour track of the Macarena. At least we got a classic here."

"First off, I don't know what that is-"

"Oh my god, we're listening to it on the drive back."

"-Secondly, my version of a classic can't even be played cause nobody owns gramophones anymore."

Tony let out an amused little huff. "Heh...right. Man, you are old."

The soldier scoffed. "Tell me about it. This is, what? A fifties diner?

"Yep."

He gave a little shake of his head. "Still seems too new for me."

He reached down to grab his glass, lifting it to his lips to take a quick sip, if only to give him something to do as the tightness in his chest expanded somewhat. He could feel the billionaire's eyes on him as he set it back down on the table, letting out a deep breath as he rested his head against the back of the booth cushion. He glanced at the man but didn't move as he began to speak.

"Just you wait, Cap. We'll get you settled into the modern world in no time." The man said confidently with a smirk. "After all, you have the best tour guide at your service."

The song ended with its usual flourish once again only to start up once more not even a minute later.

Tony threw the machine an evil glare before facing the soldier once more. "Tell you what, we can even get you an old-timey, antique-looking gramophone to keep in your room far, far away from me. Whenever I get close to tech that's older than me, I start to break out."

Steve chuckled, gazed up at the harsh lights buzzing overhead before sitting up once again. "My family didn't even own a gramophone, funnily enough.

"Really?"

He nodded. "Too expensive. So Bucky and I would just loiter outside the records stores to hear the new stuff." He thought back to it and the smile on his face broke out into a full-blown grin as he laughed. "Man, the number of times we got chased off. Eventually, we would start to bring our own chairs just to piss off Ol' Man Ricky."

It felt strange talking about him again after so long keeping quiet.  It was a good kind of strange, like drinking milkshakes in the middle of nowhere at three in the morning.

Tony said nothing for a moment before nodding, letting his own smile spread across his face. "Man, I gotta meet this friend of yours. Sounds like my kind of guy."

Steve drummed his fingers against the glass, felt the water drops coating the tips once again. He listened to the music, listened to the slightly staticky quantity that came from the old, rundown jukebox. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly.

"Hmm...he is the best."

Tony fiddled with his napkin, didn't face the soldier as he began to fold the corners of the paper into some nonsensical shape. "And I will you know."

Steve looked up. Tony did as well.

"Meet him. I will...eventually."

And the confidence in his voice, the sheer surety that echoed in his tone, something about it made Steve feel a little better. "Yeah."

The billionaire puffed and grabbed his glass, lifting it up into the air just a tad and reaching it forward. "But for now, I guess I'll settle for his lackey."

Steve gazed back at him for a moment, watched the genuine, relaxed smile now displayed on the man's face and he couldn't help but smile back as he lifted his own glass, silently tapping the edges together as they both shared a real, worthwhile smile.

That is, of course, until the workers began to sing along with the song. Apparently, the thirty-first time was the charm.

Steve and Tony stared at each other with wide eyes as the torturous music began to mingle with the off-tune, carefree voices of the waitresses and cooks harmonizing poorly with each other.

"Tony."

Steve didn't need to say anymore. His tone said it all.

The billionaire cracked another grin and lifted his glass to his lips once more. "Awesome."