Chapter 1
Tony groaned when the lights in the lab finally flickered on.
“What are you doing? How long have you been down here?” Rhodey asked, his voice louder than it needed to be.
Tony continued to lie face-down on the couch.
“Tony,” Rhodey shook his shoulder, “why is FRIDAY telling me you haven’t left the lab in four days?”
Tony shrugged. “Maybe something’s wrong with her sensors because I’ve been all about this tower doing- just- so much stuff,” he was somewhat aware of the way his words were slurring together.
Rhodey’s brows pulled together. “Have you been drinking?”
“No,” Tony wasn’t lying, “haven’t been eating either, but I’m sure you knew that.”
Tony yelped as Rhodey hauled him up into a sitting position. “What’s wrong with you?”
Tony stumbled away from him. “Leave me alone, Rhodey.”
"You know, I wasn’t going to say anything but now I think I have to.”
Tony didn’t know why Rhodey went into the military, the man was clearly terrible at following directions.
“I don’t know what you did-”
Tony’s stomach churned. “I didn’t do anything,” he denied.
Rhodey spun him around. “How long have I known you?”
“I don’t know, thirty years?” Tony guessed.
Rhodey nodded with a hum. “And I’ve been around Peter enough to know that his behavior at that restaurant wasn’t normal. What’s up with that?”
Tony blew out a breath, his fingers came up to pull at his hair. “I wish I knew, but the kid’s been cagey, and won’t tell me anything.”
“And you can’t remember what you did?”
Tony paused and slowly turned to face him. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
Rhodey folded his arms over his chest, sitting in the chair next to Tony’s— the one he kept around mostly for Peter. “I’m not an idiot, I know it has something to do with you.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Tony denied.
Unless Peter could somehow see into the future and know that Tony was going to betray his trust like an absolute piece of shit, then it wasn’t Tony’s fault Peter was upset.
Rhodey considered him for a long moment. “Tony, I know how Peter interacts with you, I’ve been around you two more than enough to know that. Something happened between the two of you because it’s only you who he’s being weird around.”
Tony narrowed his eyes.
“I don’t belong here.”
“So you think I did something?”
Rhodey shrugs. “Unless you think it’s a coincidence that not even two weeks after you returned from your most recent attempt to run from your feelings, Peter now wants to do the same thing.”
Tony wanted to deny it, but there would be no point. Rhodey would just call him out on it. “Peter-”
“Do you honestly believe Peter hasn’t put the dots together, yet?”
Suddenly, Tony was flashing back to the conversation he had with Pepper.
“Do you really think he won’t notice? That he won’t piece things together?”
“That I think of him as my kid?”
“That you’re avoiding him.”
“No. It couldn’t be that.” Tony shook his head. “He was- he didn’t mention it when I got back.”
Rhodey scoffed. “Why would he?”
“Because he said…”
“Okay,” Tony accepted, “but don’t let me be one of them, got it?”
Peter’s smile was small but genuine as he looked at Tony. “Sounds good to me. Next time DUM-E tries to poison you, I’ll just let him. Might even be good for my mental health.”
Tony dropped his head into his hands.
Tony was such a fool. Looking back, it’d been too easy. When it came to Peter, the kid always found a way to deflect or talk for hours without ever actually saying anything.
It was never as simple as that.
“Care to share what’s going on in that head of yours?” Rhodey prompted.
Peter loved playing word games, arguing over semantics, and being a general pain in Tony’s ass.
Tony rounded on Peter the second they were alone. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t get involved?!”
Peter tugged off his mask. “No, you said that you would go in and do the heavy lifting and I would watch to make sure no one escaped.”
“And then you agreed.”
“I said it sounded like a good plan,” Peter said, “I never said I was going to follow it. I just said that it sounded good.”
“Peter’s definitely upset with me,” Tony realized, “but there’s something else going on— I just can’t put my finger on what.”
“Well, the first step to fixing a problem is admitting there is one.”
Tony looked up from his hands to glare at his platypus. “You’re not helping.”
“Tony, the only thing that will help you is talking with Peter.”
“I tried!”
“I know, Tony, believe me— I know. I’m almost certain that the trip to the bathroom was nothing short of an interrogation.”
Tony didn’t answer.
“Look,” Rhodey began in a, somewhat, gentler tone, “I may not know Peter as well as you, but I do know that he hates anything resembling vulnerability. And I also know that he trusts you, a lot; he’ll come to you in his own time. Just try to be patient and, for the love of God, stop playing detective.”
Tony folded his arms over his chest. “So, what? I’m just supposed to wait with my thumb up my ass?”
“Tony, you can still support someone without knowing every single detail of what it is.”
“But you said it had something to do with me,” Tony pointed out.
“And you, the resident expert, said there was something else going on,” Rhodey challenged.
“...Maybe I just need to change my approach,” Tony considered.
“No,” Rhodey interrupted, bringing his hand to his face. “You, on your own, need to figure out what you did and apologize with words, Tony, not over-the-top gifts. The rest will figure itself out.”
“How am I supposed to do that on my own? I don't know what I did to make Peter upset, I’m not Peter!”
“But you know him; pinpoint when the odd behavior started and start thinking about what you did around that time. And if you can’t think of anything, then maybe it was nothing you did and something else entirely.”
“But you said it had something to do with me,” Tony complained.
“I could be wrong!”
“FRIDAY, record that and save it; you know what folder it goes to.”
Rhodey scoffed and checked his watch. “You’re ridiculous. Take a shower, eat real food, and get some sleep— you make bad choices when you’re sleep-deprived.”
Tony flipped him off.
“You know I’m right, Tones.” Before Rhodey fully left the lab: “And I meant what I said earlier, no more playing detective!”
“Yeah, yeah, be patient, wait for him to come to me; I get it.”
~
“This is everything right?” Robbie asked.
Peter flipped through the photos once again. “Yep, everything’s here!” Peter rechecked his phone, but still no word from Tony, and probably more importantly, he only had an hour to get everything set up.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Robbie pick up one of the photos. “How do you get these shots?”
Peter peered at the photo, it was one of Tony in the Iron Man suit. The red and gold of the suit matched the orange-tinted sky perfectly, and the lighting was just right.
Peter had taken the photo on a roof while Tony had been scanning the streets trying to find him.
Peter could admit to himself that this shot was more luck than skill. Tony had only held the pose for thirty seconds before he’d spotted him.
“Oh, it’s because I’m Spider-Man,” Peter said, keeping his tone playful, “but don’t tell anybody, it’s a secret.”
Robbie rolled his eyes.
“Think about it, man, have you ever seen me and Spider-Man in the same room?”
“No, but I have seen you trip over your own shoelaces.”
“It’s all part of the act, man, I’m like Clark Kent without the glasses.”
“That’s his entire disguise, though.”
“No, he also carries himself differently,” Peter pointed out.
“Sure,” Robbie agreed, “just like you’re Spider-Man.”
Peter gasped and looked around. “Careful, we don’t know who’s listening.”
Robbie laughed. “Just get to work, Parker.”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya.” Peter refused to glance at his watch again as he began to set up the photos.
By Tony’s standards, the event wasn’t huge at all. By Peter’s standards, it was fucking ginormous. People from different states were there with their art pieces: sculptures, paintings, drawings, etc.
Peter felt a bit like an imposter.
“Jameson wouldn’t have submitted your photos if he didn’t think you deserved to be here.”
Peter hummed. “Weren’t you the one who called my photos amateur hour?”
“Yeah, when you were sixteen. You’ve grown a lot since then, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I guess.”
Tony was a big motivator; and a good muse, too— well, the suit was. He’d meant what he’d said, Tony Stark was his favorite hero, no suit required. However, the suit was nothing to dismiss.
Peter would gladly fight anyone who said Tony wasn’t an artist because that Iron Man suit was a masterpiece. If presented with the opportunity, Peter would happily spend an entire day taking photos of the Iron Man suit.
He thinks if he asked, Tony would let him, if only to get Peter to leave him alone.
“Hey, Tony, can I have-”
“Yep,” Tony agreed without ever looking up from his project.
“You didn’t even let me finish what I was saying.”
“Don’t need to,” Tony said before shoving his tool in his mouth, signaling the end of the conversation.
“Hey, who is this?” Robbie was holding another photo.
“He’s the centerpiece,” Peter answered, plucking the photo from his hands, “he’s also my friend, looks a whole hell of a lot like Tony Stark, doesn’t he?”
Probably because he was Tony Stark.
“Parker, are you telling me that you couldn’t convince Stark to model for you?”
Peter sighed dramatically. “I tried, but he stopped returning my texts.”
Peter tacked the photo in the middle. The other photos were taken either early morning or just before sunset.
All of the other photos featured Iron Man, except this one.
Peter had been on the roof of his apartment, not doing anything but fiddling with his camera and feeling sorry for himself.
Tony, for whatever reason, decided to stop by after whatever gala he’d ditched; still dressed in his suit, it was a dark blue but looked black in the moonlight.
It was a full moon that night; Peter had wanted a picture.
“You’re going to ruin my picture,” Peter mumbled.
“If by ruin you mean make better, then yeah, I will,” Tony said, his hands tucked into his pockets as he grinned at Peter.
Peter took the photo.
He had a disclaimer below the photo: Not actually Tony Stark.
Peter didn’t think it would be necessary; he figured most people would just assume there was no way somebody like him would ever know Tony Stark, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
“Fifteen minutes, kid, are you ready?”
“I wish I could tell you that I think of you like my kid without ruining everything.”
Peter forced himself to slowly let out his breath, pushing the memory of Tony aside. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
“That’s the spirit,” Robbie straightened his tie, “I think I’ll head back to the hotel and get a headstart on writing up the notes.”
Before Robbie could get too far, “Oh, and Robbie?” He waited until the man was facing him. “I’m not a kid.”
Robbie considered him with an odd expression before shrugging it off.
.
More people than Peter expected came over to view his exhibit. It didn’t escape his notice that a good portion of the attendees were on the younger side.
“Hey,” it was a man, barely, he looked about Peter’s age, “mind if I get a picture?”
Peter raised a brow. He knew what the man meant by the way he held his phone, but— “Not for free, you can’t.” —It was more fun to pretend that he didn’t.
The man clicked his tongue. “That ain’t what I meant, and you know it.”
Peter smiled and shrugged. “Yeah, I’m just messing with you. What do you want a photo of?”
“I just need some kind of proof that I showed up and looked at some cool shit for class.” The man talked with his hands. Not unlike the way Tony would— good God, Parker, get a grip.
“Oh?” Peter’s interest was piqued.
“I needed a few more credits to be considered full-time at my college and I thought a digital photography class would be an easy A.”
“Is it?”
The man laughed. “It would be if I knew the first thing about a camera.”
Peter snorted.
“I don’t even own an actual camera,” The man said, “I’ve just been using my phone’s camera.”
“Well, it’s a good camera.” The words were out of Peter’s mouth before he could stop them. “Works in low light, it’s got lenses for wide angles and lenses for magnification without compromising the quality. See, with a lot of phone cameras when you zoom in the quality is grainy and distorted but not Starkphones.”
The man considered him with a thoughtful expression. “You really know your stuff, huh?”
Peter made a so-so motion with his hand. “I’ve done photography for the Daily Bugle for a few years now, so I know a little bit.”
Plus he’s tinkered with the phone lenses a few times under Tony’s supervision. Some of the upgrades to the cameras were due to Peter’s own bitching and moaning about how shitty phone cameras tended to be.
“Never let it be said Tony Stark can’t take criticism,” Tony mumbled as he tinkered with the phone.
Peter squeezed Tony’s shoulder as he walked by him. “No one’s saying otherwise.”
“Okay, but if they did—”
“How old are you?”
Peter folded his arms over his chest. “Asking my age before my name? How forward of you.”
“I know your name it’s, uh, Paul Parker?”
Peter shook his head. “It’s Peter.”
“I was close.”
“No, you weren’t.”
“I got the last name right.” The man’s smirk set Peter on edge with how achingly familiar it was.
“It’s displayed behind me, I’d be worried if you didn’t, Mr…” Peter trailed off, prompting the man.
“Keener,” The man answered, “Harley Keener.”
“Well, Harley, to answer your question,” Peter couldn’t quite remember why the name was so familiar, “I’m nineteen, and you?”
“Eighteen, I’ll be turning nineteen soon, though.” Harley looked back at the photos. “I take it you’re getting a degree in photography?”
Peter grinned. “Biochemistry, actually. Photography is just a side thing for me, helps pay the bills and all that. What about you? I’m guessing not photography.”
Harley scratched his neck. “Welding. I was gonna do Automotive technology but this is a whole helluva lot cheaper.”
“I hear you.” Peter sighed. “My scholarship helps a lot but it doesn’t cover everything.”
Harley’s mouth thinned. “I had an…offer but turned it down because I couldn’t just leave, y’know? I got people dependin’ on me, it ain’t as simple as he thinks it is.” Then, “Sorry. You probably weren’t expecting all that.”
Peter waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it.” Seeing Harley wanted a topic change, “So, you’re a mechanic, I take it? In your free time,” Peter clarified.
“I am but how’d’ya know?”
“You’ve got calluses on your hands, a strong grip, and upper body, but, most damningly, you’ve got motor oil on your jeans.”
“What?” Harley looked down at his jeans, finding the spot Peter was talking about. “That’s hardly even there!”
“My friend’s a mechanic; I can spot motor oil from a mile away.”
Harley sniffed. “Whatever; let’s just get a picture.”
Peter held out his hand. “Here, I can take it.”
Harley regarded the hand with an odd look. “You’re getting in the picture too; it’s part of the assignment.”
Peter frowned. “I…guess that’s fine. An assignment is an assignment, after all.”
“Great!” Harley beamed and positioned the two of them so the display was in the middle. “Smile, Parker.”
Once the photo was taken, Harley showed him. “I think it turned out pretty good.”
“The longer I look at it, the more tempted I am to tell you to crop me out of it.” Peter laughed. He was only mostly joking.
Harley snorted and after checking his watch: “Here, give me your number so I can send it to you.”
“And definitely not to ask me for help with your photography class, right?” Peter typed in his number and sent a message.
“Well, I wasn’t going to, but now that you mention it…” Harley trailed off with a thoughtful expression.
Peter rolled his eyes.
.
Talking with Harley was both fun and painful. He enjoyed Harley’s company, and could easily see the two of them becoming friends— they’d make a good pair in the lab, too, Peter found out.
“If you ever happen to find yourself itching for a reason to come to New York,” Peter started.
“You sound like my friend.”
Talking to Harley was relaxing, part of that Peter attributed to his accent, and the other part is what made it so painful— Harley was so achingly similar to Tony, it was driving him mad.
It was like the universe somehow knew Peter was trying to run from his problems and was shoving as many reminders as possible to spite him. This is why Peter wasn’t surprised to see Bucky Barnes stalking up to his exhibit.
“Damn Parker Luck,” Peter muttered under his breath as he locked eyes with the man.
It took every ounce of self-control for Peter not to make a face as the man came to a stop in front of his exhibit.
“Not going to say anything?” Peter questioned after a minute of silence.
“Didn’t know I needed to talk to appreciate art.”
Peter cracked his jaw. “What’re you even doing in Tennessee?”
“It’s a free country, isn’t it?” Barnes asked, still not taking his eyes off the photos.
Peter looked away from him. “I suppose it is.”
“Stevie got an invite; I guess a friend of a friend is the coordinator or something.” Barnes stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Brought me along thinking the distance would help.”
“Is it?” Peter found himself asking.
Barnes looked at him. “Is it helping you?”
.
Peter was going to die.
He was going to die cold and alone underneath a building that he knew he was strong enough to lift off of him.
“Ah- fuck,” Peter wheezed as he tried to get his hands on the floor to ground himself.
Peter’s mask was gone, he didn’t remember when or how he lost it— he just knew it was gone. Not that it mattered; what was the mask going to do for him? Certainly not save him, maybe it would let him call for help. Then again, who would he even call? Tony, who had fucked off to some other country without so much as a heads-up?
A scream got lodged in his throat as his arms gave out, jostling the piece of rebar that was currently lodged in his thigh, effectively pinning him in place.
Peter’s chest heaved; all he could taste was dust and salt.
Did he tell May that he loved her? Did he ever call Ned back about the new Lego set? Did he ever return that book to MJ?
Was he really going to die not knowing what he’d done to make Tony mad?
“Are you still alive?”
“What-” Peter coughed, “the fuck do you think?” He rasped.
The man didn’t respond. The ruins of the building creaked and crumbled as the man traversed the rubble, lifting and tossing anything that stood in his way.
Oh, great. He was enhanced.
“Quick question: are you here to finish the job or help me?” Peter choked back a whine as the metal in his shoulder was jostled. “Because if it’s the, ah, first one, I might have to change my answer.”
“Help,” The man answered, curt but not rude. Just sharp, to the point. Then, unceremoniously, he lifted the last piece of rubble standing between the two of them.
“Oh, it’s you.” Peter felt simultaneously relieved and on edge. “Please tell me you left your guard dog at home.”
Barnes blinked at him.
“Rogers, I’m talking about Rogers,” Peter spelled out for him.
“Steve’s on a mission with Romanoff. You’re Stark’s kid.”
Peter scowled and shoved down the fuzzy feeling. “I ain’t his kid; we’re just friends.” When Barnes reached for the piece of metal, white-hot pain raced up his spine.
Barnes paid him no mind, instead choosing to focus on the piece of rebar going through his thigh. A smart decision. “It’s going to hurt.”
“Yeah, no sh-” Peter’s head smacked into the pavement, his hands scrambled for anything to grab onto.
Realistically, Peter knew it only lasted for a few seconds, but it felt like a lifetime.
“The longer we waited the worse it was going to be,” Barnes explained, a little fucking late, “you were beginning to heal around the metal.”
Peter was too busy panting to articulate a smart response.
Peter missed Tony. He would have given him a heads-up.
“It didn’t hit an artery.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Peter grunted as Barnes tied fabric around his thigh. “My healing factor’s good but it can’t do miracles.”
“I’m going to lift you up now.”
“Oh, now he tells me what he’s going to do?” Peter muttered, unable to find the strength to actually protest.
If he laid there longer he might’ve gotten the strength to move himself. Or he might’ve bled out and died. One of the two.
“Are you always this whiney?” Barnes asked and then lifted him right off the second piece of metal.
Peter groaned into the man’s shoulder. “I think after being impaled twice, I’ve earned the right to be a little bitchy, yeah?”
“Do you have somewhere I can take you?” Barnes ignored the first part.
Peter was too tired to care about the way his skin was crawling and burning. “I’ll point you to my apartment. I’ve got supplies there.”
By the time they made it to the apartment, Peter was hanging on by a thread. The trek was made longer due to Barnes taking the back way, and the constant jostling from being carried up the stairs was torture.
“Where’s your supplies?”
Peter blinked his eyes open and waved his hand in the general direction of his bathroom. “Under the bathroom…probably.”
Barnes was back within a minute. At least Peter thinks he was. “Why are you helping me?”
“You asked me that on the way here.”
“Did I?” Peter’s eyes drifted to the window, he wondered what time it was for Tony. “Oh, well. Tell me again.”
“Stark likes you.”
Peter pressed his fingers into his eyes. “If he likes me so much, then why’d he run from me?”
Barnes lifted his leg up to wrap his thigh in a bandage.
Maybe Tony finally realized I’m a freak?
“I doubt that,” Barnes said.
“Doubt what?”
“That he left because you’re a freak.” Barnes met his gaze. “Be a little late in the game for that.”
Peter snorted and threw his arm over his eyes. “I guess you’re right. I just wish I knew what I did.”
Barnes didn’t respond.
Peter moved his arm away from his eyes to prop himself up. “You’re a good listener.”
“You’re delirious.”
“Probably.” Peter flopped back down, only remembering the wound in his shoulder when it connected with the floor.
After checking the stitches and bandages, Barnes deposited him in his bed. “Will you be okay?”
“I’ll survive.” Peter watched as Barnes gave him another once-over before heading to the window. “Hey.”
The man paused at the window.
“Let’s keep this between us, yeah?”
Barnes answered with a nod.
Peter waited until he could no longer hear the clanging of boots on the fire escape to let the tears flow freely.
It was an impulsive decision. A decision made out of pure patheticness and a raw sense of desperation and need for proof that Tony didn’t hate him.
‘I need help. please im sorry’
~
“No,” Peter answered, “not really.”
Barnes nodded. “Have you talked to him?”
Peter leaned against the table. “I…have. In a very roundabout way. I found out why he was avoiding me, at least.”
“Why?”
“He…”
Oh, what the hell? Who was Barnes going to tell? Rogers?
“He thinks of me as his kid,” Peter answered.
Barnes tilted his head, his brows furrowing ever so slightly. “Okay?”
Peter's eyes narrowed. “Why’re you saying it like that?”
Barnes’ expression didn't change. “Was it not obvious?”
“No!” Peter cried. “How was I supposed to know?”
“He calls you his kid. Blatantly.”
Peter kind of appreciated Barnes’ bluntness.
“Yeah, but I always thought he meant it like his-” Peter slumped and sighed. “No, he definitely meant it like that.”
Barnes blinked at him.
Peter put his hand to his head. “How could I have missed the signs?”
“Purposeful ignorance.”
Peter paid him no mind. “He makes me so mad, you know? Every other moment of every day I'm fine, I pull myself together and get my shit done. But then he strolls in with this look in his eyes, asking me what's wrong and I just crumble! I fold like a house of cards. It's crazy!”
“How dare he make you feel safe.”
“Right?!” A few people shot him an odd look. “And I say I'm mad but I know the second I even so much as hear his voice, I'll stop being mad.”
Barnes just nodded.
“I just don't get it,” Peter admitted, “why would anyone who knows me want me as their kid? Who in their right mind would sign up to be part of this shit show?”
“I'm sure he wonders the same question about you.”
Peter narrowed his eyes. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“You two are more similar than you think.”
In the same second that Peter doubted that he also believed it.
Peter could smell whiskey on Tony’s breath, but he wasn’t going to mention it; not when he was still coming down from being able to hear colors.
“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” Peter decided. “Say, where’s your little guard dog? I find it hard to believe he’d be okay with you wandering around.”
“Will you stop calling him my guard dog?”
Peter shrugged. “I guess he’s closer to a chihuahua, anyway.”
Peter knew he wasn’t imagining the way Barnes’ lips turned upward for a fraction of a second.
Whatever response Barnes may have had, though, was cut off by a loud crack and boom of thunder. Peter could feel the building rumble from the shockwave.
Peter turned his head in time to see the windows begin to get pelted by rain. Combined with a gust of wind, the raindrops sounded like pebbles hitting the glass.
Oh, great. Robbie took the car.
The weather was supposed to be clear, though; Peter had checked before telling Robbie he'd be okay with walking back to the hotel.
Peter bit his lip as he pulled out his phone, he’d just opened the weather app when it dawned on him: he’d never changed the location.
“I’m such an idiot,” Peter muttered as his palm connected with his forehead.
“What?”
“I told Robbie he could take the car, insisted I was okay with walking back to the hotel because my dumbass never changed my location on my phone.”
Suddenly, all the jackets people had either on or draped over their arms made a lot more sense.
Peter glanced at the window, the rain still coming down as hard as ever. He checked his watch, still no response from Tony, and the event was set to end soon.
Peter clenched his jaw.
Why was everything going so wrong?
“-ride?”
Peter blinked his eyes back open. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Do you need a ride?” Barnes repeated slowly.
“Oh! No, no, I’m okay. I’ll figure it out,” Peter rushed out. He felt hot and cold at the same time, he felt restless.
“The alternative is getting struck by lightning.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.”
Getting struck by lightning was actually sounding pretty good right about now.
Barnes looked troubled. Well, his brows pulled together slightly and his lips thinned with a downward tilt.
“Buck, there you are!”
Oh, great. Just what the situation needed.
“He needs a ride,” Barnes didn’t waste any time.
Steve didn’t seem fazed at Barnes’ abruptness but did seem surprised at Peter’s presence.
“Hi,” Peter said because he didn’t what else to say.
Steve’s eyes flickered between the photos of Tony and his face. “Aren’t you Tony’s…” Steve was looking for a word.
“I had an internship. Still do. Kind of. It’s a long story,” Peter said, before settling on: “he knew my father and all that.” Peter tucked his hands in his pockets.
Steve just hummed before looking back at the photos. “These are good, did you take them yourself?”
“Yep.” Then, after hearing his aunt’s voice in his head, “Thanks.”
Steve took in the photos for another moment before looking back at the two of them. “I guess it’s a good thing I drove a car this time.”
~
“The damage is already done,” Tony announced to the Iron Man sticker on Peter’s dresser, “I may as well read it, again, right?”
Tony could feel the judgment in the sticker’s eyes. But before Tony could continue his argument he heard his phone ping with a notification.
Tony realized that the watch was no longer able to read Peter’s vitals; Peter must have taken off the watch.
Tony flopped back on the bed.
‘You okay, kid?’
No response.
Tony waited a minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. Still no response.
Peter probably took it off to shower.
Tony forced himself to let out the breath he’d been holding. He scrubbed his face with the hand that wasn’t holding his phone.
‘Sorry for not responding, kid. Work’s consumed everything, you know how it is.’
Then, after a moment of deliberation.
‘Call me when you see these.’
Tony wasn’t sure why he had such a bad feeling about this.
-
“Thank you, guys, I owe you!” Peter said before stepping out of the car.
Steve shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, we were heading this way anyway.”
Peter gave a tight-lipped smile before closing the door and briskly walking into the hotel entrance.
Faster than he should have, he stalked to the little store not too far from the lobby of the hotel. It was some kind of mix between a gift shop and a convenience store.
On one side was food and drinks, and then there were all kinds of trinkets on the other side for people to buy souvenirs.
Peter paid that side no mind, though. His attention was on the drinks, he scanned the shelves before grabbing whatever drink had the highest content of caffeine and grabbing as many as he could hold.
If the person at the register thought it was odd, they didn’t show it. Just rang up each drink and gave the total.
“Do you need a receipt?”
“No.” Peter grabbed the bag and walked straight to the elevators.
Why had he agreed to go to this stupid event? Why had he let Jameson talk him into getting his name out there? Why? What for? He didn’t even want his name out there. He just wanted to be able to keep his apartment and eat every now and then.
And why had he opened his mouth to Tony before he left? More importantly, why couldn’t he just be normal? Why did he run off Tony?
Peter barely avoided tearing his wallet as he ripped out the key to his room. He’d never been more glad that Jameson had booked two different rooms for them.
Peter kicked off his shoes as he tore off his watch. He tossed his phone and wallet on the table next to the bag of drinks.
Peter didn’t bother checking his phone when it vibrated. It was probably some stupid ass email or app notification.
Peter opened the first can and chugged it down. Then the second. The third, fourth, fifth— he kept going until the bag was empty.
At first, it was horrible.
Everything was too bright, too loud, and too much— Peter thought his heart was going to beat out of his chest, he felt short of breath; he felt like he was dying.
Peter sprawled on the couch, his arm over his eyes.
Everything was so loud; that it overwhelmed all of his senses until it was all he could pay attention to— all thoughts of Tony, Rogers, and Barnes were drowned out.
.
“I don’t know, Harry,” Peter murmured, even though he knew they were alone he couldn’t help but worry about getting caught.
“C’mon, Pete, live a little! You’re always so high-strung, this will help you mellow out!” Harry assured, pushing it closer. It hadn’t been lit yet.
Peter eyed it cautiously. “Isn’t this illegal?”
“Only if we get caught.” Harry snorted. “Besides, you didn’t seem to care about legality the other day.”
“I feel like drugs are worse than trespassing.”
Harry shrugged. “But you know what’s worse than both of those combined?”
Peter raised a brow at him.
“My best friend growing grey hair at fifteen!” Harry flopped on him dramatically.
“I’m not going grey,” Peter huffed and pushed him off.
“Pete, I found three grey hairs the other day. Three.” Harry held up his fingers. “Look, Pete, if you really don’t want to, I won’t force you.”
Peter considered it. “Fine. But if I have an asthma attack and die, know my blood will be on your hands.”
Harry waved his rescue inhaler at him. “That’s what this is for, Pete.”
“Where did you get that?”
“I keep one on me at all times, Pete. You know me, I’m always prepared.”
Peter snorted and lifted his hand to cover his smile. “Oh, really? Then what about all the times you had to look at my paper in class?”
Harry grinned at him. “I prepared by sitting next to you, Pete.”
Peter shook his head but held out his hand.
.
Peter moaned at the light shining too bright in his eyes. Reflexively, he pulled his wrist up to look at the time on his watch.
Oh. Right. He’d taken that off.
Peter let his arm flop back on the bed. He didn’t remember how he got here, didn’t remember much else past downing too many drinks.
Chasing a high he had promised to leave behind.
Technically, he did. Energy drinks weren’t illegal, there was nothing wrong with chugging a bunch of them. On paper, he seemed like a typical college student.
But even if no one else knew, Peter did. He knew what he was doing, what he was chasing, what he was pretending it was.
“It’s fine,” Peter muttered, “I’m fine.”
Guilt and disgust still churned in his gut.
“I need a shower.” Peter forced himself out of the bed, stumbling his way to the bathroom, ignoring the pounding in his head.
The hot, steaming water helped release some of the tension from his shoulders; tension he didn’t even recognize that he had.
Peter let out a breath and stretched under the spray. The throbbing had dulled enough to let him think clearly.
Not that he wanted to. Truthfully, he didn’t want to do much of anything.
Peter resting his head on the tiled wall turned into Peter sliding down until he was hugging his knees against his chest and letting the water hit his back.
He wasn’t paying the water bill.
.
Peter didn’t know how long he’d been in the shower, had no idea how long his episode of patheticness had been.
But, if the clock on the wall in the bathroom was right, it was only eight-something in the morning. So, Peter lets himself feel a little less bad about how long the shower might have been.
Peter wiped his hand across the steamed-up bathroom mirror and immediately recoiled.
“Oh fuck.” Peter winced as his fingers connected with a bruise on his forehead. “Fuck.”
Peter moved his hand to grasp at the edge of the counter.
He remembers getting to bed now. He remembered standing from the couch, making it two steps, before tripping over a cord and faceplanting on the ground.
From there, he’d cursed out the floor and then collapsed on the bed. Not bothering to get under any covers or anything.
“You know, just when I think I can’t reach a new low, I prove myself wrong.” Peter focused on brushing his teeth, keeping his gaze locked on the sink and not the purple and red mark on his face. “It really is a talent.”
When Peter stepped out of the bathroom he realized that the cord he’d tripped over was his phone cord, which meant that he’d forgotten to charge his phone.
Any hopes that he may have some charge left were dashed when his phone refused to turn on. At least, that’s what he’d thought at first.
Except the quick access tab was showing up on the screen— it was just everything else that wasn’t.
“Okay.” Peter sighed. “This is okay.”
Taking out his laptop, he quickly searched for ways to restart the phone manually. He’d read the article twice and followed the directions exactly.
The phone flashed something at him and then there was a loading screen titled: erasing.
Peter shut his eyes and leaned back in the chair. “In what world does restart mean reset?”
He set the phone face down on the table. “I can’t do this anymore.” Peter sobbed. “I just want a break.”
Peer didn’t stop crying when there was a knock at the door, not bothering to check who it was before he was ripping the door open. “What?!”
“Holy shit, Parker, are you okay?” Robbie asked.
“No!” Peter answered before he could think better, still very much reeling from the fact that he’d lost everything.
Robbie coaxed him to sit on the couch.
“I’m sorry,” Peter apologized, his thumb and index finger pressed at his eyes to stop the tears, “it’s just been a rough morning, that’s all.”
“I can tell,” Robbie said, sounding unsure, “do you need anything? Maybe a ride to a hospital or…?”
“Don’t threaten me like that, Robbie.” Peter was only half-joking.
Robbie let out a small amused sound. “Seriously, do you need anything?”
Peter sniffed. “A cigarette?”
Robbie shot him a look. "I was thinking something along the lines of Tylenol or Advil.”
“Eh, it was worth a shot.” Peter shrugged as he tried to control his breathing. “Can you just give me fifteen minutes? My phone kind of factory reset.”
Robbie winced. “I can’t give you a cigarette but how about some breakfast and coffee?”
“Oh, Robbie, you don’t have to do that,” Peter started.
“You can pay me back by not telling Jameson that I’ll be using these next two days as vacation days, deal?”
Peter could tell that he wasn’t going to win this one. “Okay, thanks, Robbie.”
“Just tell me how you like your coffee.”
“Black with two shots of espresso,” Peter requested.
Robbie raised his brows but didn’t say anything. “Alright, good luck figuring out your phone.”
Peter waited until the door shut to groan.
Well, no better time than now to face the music.
“Here’s to hoping there’s an automatic backup feature on these phones,” Peter muttered as he turned on the phone.
Most of his stuff should be okay. Peter had backed up a lot of stuff when he’d switched phones. It was just annoying, truly, nothing to be upset about.
“Why did I set up two-step verification?” Peter wondered. “And why offer the email route if you’re not going to let me?”
He tried to click it once again only for it to refuse, saying there was a better way.
“No! There’s not a better way because the other ways aren’t possible!” Peter yelled as if the phone could hear him.
Honestly, even if the phone did hear him, he doubted it would care.
“Okay, I can just disable this, right?” Peter pushed the phone away to grab his laptop. “I’m disabling this.”
After that hurdle, it was mostly smooth sailing. Just scrolling through the app store and trying to remember all the apps that he would need to re-download.
Fortunately, his messages were able to be recovered. Turns out, Tony had texted him last night. Well, it had hardly been night, but the storm clouds made it seem like it was.
‘You okay, kid?’
Peter took a breath at that message before reading the next two, some apology, and then— ‘Call me when you see these.’
Peter pushed the phone away from him.
Absolutely not.
That was something that could not happen. Peter knew— he knew what would happen if Tony actually picked up.
Tony would ask how everything was going, Peter would lie and say everything was great and okay, Tony would call him out on it, Peter would resist and deny and then ultimately break down into tears and be a pathetic snotty mess all over again.
And that could not happen. Peter could manage just fine on his own.
Peter didn’t need Tony Stark, he absolutely one hundred percent could manage without him. He could be an adult, he was doing it before Tony even entered the picture.
No, Peter didn’t need Tony.
But Peter wanted Tony.
Peter wanted Tony here now; not necessarily to do anything, just to sit by him while he figured it out. He wanted Tony to squeeze his shoulder or ruffle his hair, make a comment about his shitty posture, or how tight his jaw was clenched.
“Peter, it is a miracle your teeth haven’t shattered,” Tony said as he poked Peter’s jaw, which turned into him pinching Peter’s cheek, “what’re you even so stressed about? Lay it on me, how can I help?”
Peter wanted Tony to ground him, to bring him back to reality, to keep him from spiraling into the deep end.
“Wait.” Peter breathed.
Peter wanted Tony’s approval, he wanted to make Tony proud, he never wanted to know if he’d disappointed Tony. He wanted Tony’s advice, his guidance, time, and attention— all very big and selfish asks, he knows.
Peter dropped his head into his hands. “I’m such an idiot.”
Tony had always made him feel so safe; safe in a way that Peter hadn’t been able to experience in a long time.
Peter had always classified Tony as special, he’d been put into the family category under no particular title. He never truly thought about the implications of putting him on the same tier as Aunt May, his mother in every sense but blood.
At some point in time, Peter had begun to think of Tony as his dad and thus had begun to rely on the man as if he were.
Peter bit at the skin of his fingertip.
But if Peter accepted Tony as his father, would that mean he gave up Tony as his friend? Would things change between them forever in some inexplicable way? Would the carefully established trust built between them crumble?
What would happen to them?
Before Peter had thought of Tony as a father, he’d considered Tony his friend. He’d relished in the moments when he could support Tony— of course, he’d hated when Tony needed that support, but he’d always been happy that Tony trusted him enough to let him in.
What would happen to those moments?
Peter wanted Tony to be his dad, but not if the cost was losing their friendship. Peter couldn’t have it both ways, that wasn’t how things worked.
A knock on the door brought him out of his thoughts.
“Thanks, Robbie,” Peter said, taking the bag and coffee from the man, “are you sure you don’t want me to pay you back?”
“I’m positive, Parker.” Robbie looked him over. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah.” Peter sipped the coffee. “I’ve mostly got my phone figured out, it’s just annoying. Do you need any help with the notes from the interview?”
Robbie shook his head. “Just focus on editing the photos so we have something good for the paper.”
Peter gave him a thumbs-up.
“How’d the event go, by the way?” Robbie leaned against the doorway.
“It went well!” If Peter ignored the unexpected guests. “People liked it. More than I thought they would.”
“See! I told you it’d be fine.” Robbie pointed out. “Have some faith in yourself.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Peter waved him off. “Go enjoy the rest of your vacation.”
“You too, Parker. Something tells me you desperately need one.”
Peter found himself agreeing.
.
For the next two days, Peter did not enjoy the rest of his vacation. He kept himself busy at all times, as busy as he could manage.
Editing photos for the Bugle, reading new research papers, updating his calendar, learning how to play sudoku, again— okay, that one was supposed to be fun and it would have been if Peter’s head wasn’t so foggy.
Peter chalked the fog up to boredom, even though he thought he’d liked sudoku. Why else would he have brought it along? He couldn’t really remember the thought process.
Eventually, there was no more putting it off.
If Tony was going to be his ride from the airport to home, then Peter needed to talk to him.
Peter almost hung up after the second ring—
“Hello?” Tony rasped.
“I feel like every time I call you, you’re asleep,” Peter said.
Tony hummed. “You know you can call me at any time.”
Peter cleared his throat and ignored the warm feeling in his chest. “I know, I know. The same goes for you.”
“I know, you drilled that into my head years ago.” There was some rustling on Tony’s end, most likely him getting out of bed. “But, I’m hoping you didn’t call to talk about the past?”
Peter sighed. “Well, the trip is pretty much over. Robbie and I leave tomorrow morning, so I thought I’d give you a call-”
“Just tell me what time you need me to be there.”
“Uh,” Peter tried to remember, “I wrote it down somewhere, let me just find it.”
How did Peter lose a bright pink sticky note?
He looked around the room before looking at the lamp. “Why did I put it on the lampshade?” Peter wondered, “Sorry about that, they’re estimating the landing to be at around two pm. At least I think it was two pm. I’m mostly sure it’s pm not am, since we’re leaving in the morning so it has to be afternoon. Right?”
“...Right.”
“Anyway, if you’re not up to it I can call a cab or walk or something.”
“Pete, no.” Tony sighed. “I’ll be there at two, we’ll get food on our way home because I know you’ll be hungry, and then I’ll force you to unpack and be responsible.”
It really wasn’t Peter’s fault that he’d started thinking of Tony as his father, not when Tony said stuff like that.
“Peter? Hello?”
“Huh?” Peter tried to refocus on the conversation. “Oh! Yes, okay, thank you.”
“How’s the trip going?”
“It’s uh, it’s fine.”
“Fine?” Tony questioned.
Oh, God, it was happening.
“Yep!” Peter’s voice went high-pitched. “Everything went according to plan!”
“Uh-huh.” There was that tone, the tone that preceded Tony’s interrogations. “...Are you-”
Peter panicked and blurted the first thing that his mind came up with: “I relapsed!”
“You what?!”
“Oh- oh, that sounds so bad.” Peter wanted to bash his head against something. “I didn’t- it’s not- it’s- it’s-”
He heard Tony take a deep breath. “Peter, it’s- well, it’s not okay, but-”
“I didn’t- it’s not drugs! I swear, I didn’t- it wasn’t like that.”
“Okay.”
Peter should have just called a cab at the airport. Or walked. “I promise-”
“I believe you.” Tony’s voice was firm. “Peter, what happened?”
“Nothing happened! It’s not that serious, I swear, I just blew it out of proportion, poor word choice and everything. I’m fine now.”
“So, you weren’t fine before?”
Peter didn’t want to respond.
“Peter, whatever is going on, you know you can talk to me, okay? I’m not going to judge you or be mad at you.”
“You’ll be disappointed,” Peter said.
“No, Peter, I’ll be proud that you asked for help. I’ll be happy that you trusted me enough to go to me for help.”
Peter sniffed.
How had things gotten so bad? How could Peter have let things get so out of hand? When did Peter become weak enough to burst into tears over every little thing?
“Peter, what did you mean when you said you relapsed?”
Peter wanted to take a shower.
“Peter, did you hurt yourself?”
Peter felt his forehead. “Not on purpose. I tripped.”
“You tripped?” Peter could hear the disbelief in his voice.
“I’m sorry,” Peter apologized, “I'm sorry for being such a mess recently.”
“Peter, listen to me.” Tony paused. “When we met, I was at one of the lower points in my life. I didn’t sleep or eat unless I absolutely had to and I- fuck, kid, I made a lot of bad decisions. I roped you into shit you had no business being part of. I…” Tony was saying something else but Peter couldn’t hear it over the sound of blood rushing through his ears.
“I see how it is.”
Tony paused at the tone shift. “Okay, wait-”
“No, no.” Peter shook his head, even though he knew Tony couldn’t see him. “I get it. You think I’m weak.”
“No! Peter-”
“You think I can’t handle it, don’t you?!” Peter accused. “Think I’m just some stupid kid playing dress up!”
“Peter, I never said that,” Tony insisted.
Peter couldn’t hear him. “Well, I’ve got news for you! With or without Barnes’ help, I would have made it out from under that building!”
“What?!”
“I am perfectly capable, okay? So, I have bad days sometimes— everybody does! And you know what? I’m so capable that I’ll find my own way back from the airport.”
“Peter, take a deep breath.”
Peter did as instructed. “And just for the record, I always fucking knew you were too good for me, I’m just glad you decided to get with the program and realize, too!”
“Peter, that wasn’t what I was saying. I-”
Peter hung up on him. He rubbed his eyes and collapsed back on the couch. “I need a nap.”