Chapter 2
Peter slammed the door to his room and flopped ungracefully onto the bottom bunk of his bed. Frustration, guilt, and worry swirled in his gut, making him feel vaguely nauseous.
How had things gotten so out of hand?
He knew Mr. Stark, knew he had a tendency to mask his panic and worry with anger-- and loathe as he was to admit it, Mr. Stark had had a good reason to be worried after Peter had… well, nearly gotten burned to death.
That was the thing, though. Beyond the surface level anger at the altercation they’d had, there was the matter of what had happened at the end. Peter frowned, playing it over in his head. Mr. Stark had grabbed his wrist, and it had hurt-- which, like, really didn’t make sense. First, Mr. Stark would never intentionally hurt Peter-- that was a fact, inarguable despite the ugly blue and green marks that marred his wrist. And Mr. Stark had seemed incredulous when FRIDAY had suggested that he was harming Peter, which had ended up spiraling into… Peter wasn’t exactly sure what. A panic attack, kind of, but there wasn’t an obvious cause. Maybe that had been the last straw in what had already been a difficult day?
Peter stood up, feeling the need to move.
And then.
Then Mr. Stark had yelled at Peter to get out.And Peter had bolted moments later, embarrassed by the tears stinging in his eyes and heavy with the knowledge that Mr. Stark hadn’t wanted him there. He’d left and taken the subway home, his mind swirling with get out get out get out and Mr. Stark’s furious, disappointed face. And it hurt, thinking about it hurt because disappointing him again was the last thing Peter had wanted to do, but it seemed it was all he could do--
Peter’s harried pacing froze as he registered his phone buzzing frantically on his desk. He hesitated for a moment-- what if it was Mr. Stark-- then swallowed harshly and picked it up, checking the caller ID. Peter wasn’t sure if he could handle talking to Mr. Stark right now.
“Hey, May,” he said, hoping he sounded semi-normal, as he pressed accept call.
“Peter, honey,” May responded hurriedly, “I’m so sorry, I know we were supposed to do Thai and a movie tonight, but it turns out I have to stay for the overnight shift.”
“Oh,” Peter’s shoulders slumped. He’d been looking forward to the distraction. “Um, okay, that’s fine.”
“We can do it tomorrow, okay?” May’s tone was apologetic, “Listen, I know you can handle yourself, but since it’s Friday, do you want to stay over somewhere else so that you don’t get bored alone? I know Ned’s out of town right now, but I can call and ask Tony if--”
“No!” Peter said emphatically, before registering that his response would probably make May suspicious. “I, I mean, I just…”
“Did something happen between you and Tony, honey?” May asked, sounding confused.
“Um,” Peter hesitated, “No. No, everything’s fine, May, I just have a lot of homework to get started on, and maybe I could catch up on some shows or something…?”
He couldn’t tell May what had happened, he realized, because then she’d freak out over him running into a burning building and she’d probably be angry at Mr. Stark too.
“Okay, if you’re sure…” May trailed off then, sounding doubtful, and Peter made up some excuse about having to go, hoping he didn’t sound too hasty to end the conversation.
Everything after that was a blur of homework and dinner and Star Trek episodes that he’d already watched, trying to distract himself from the fact that Mr. Stark was disappointed in him and wanted the suit back and he didn’t know what else--
Because Peter had just started settling into his new routine, with lab days every week and the occasional weekends spent at the Tower, with the new knowledge that Mr. Stark wasn’t just a distant mentor anymore and that maybe, maybe Peter was more than just an intern to Mr. Stark, more than some overenthusiastic kid he had to monitor out of guilt.
But now? Now Peter felt himself being unsure about all of it. Part of him was still angry, but worse, he was worried. Last time they’d had an argument this bad, Mr. Stark had taken the suit and all but refused to speak to Peter for months. He was hoping that this time around they were closer, that it’d be easier to fix the fallout, but a niggling doubt wore away in Peter’s head that something about the situation was worse this time. Maybe this time Peter wouldn’t be able to make it up to him-- and, and--
And you left.
Maybe that’s what was bothering him most. Mr. Stark had been in the middle of a panic attack, for god’s sake, of course he’d snapped at Peter. But instead of seeing past that and trying to help him, Peter had run out of the room blinking back tears like a little kid, and it had been selfish and stupid and wrong of him.
Self hatred and worry bubbled up in Peter’s chest and he swallowed, glancing out of the window. He was tempted to just go now, take the subway back to the Tower and fix this mess, but he was scared. Scared of Mr. Stark taking the suit back, rejecting him-- and that would be final, because Peter didn’t think he could bear to face him again after that.
Also, it was freezing and stormy outside, and if May heard that Peter had traveled fifteen miles in that kind of weather at night she would probably have his head.
Peter sat down heavily on his bed, fiddling with his phone. Usually, he’d be over at the Tower right now, working together in the lab or watching a movie, Tony’s arm casually thrown over Peter’s shoulder and Peter relishing in the closeness. To Peter he wasn’t just Tony Stark anymore-- Iron Man, billionaire, egotistical genius. Now he was Mr. Stark, who laughed at Peter’s stupid science puns and listened to his ideas and helped him with Calculus homework. Who maybe wasn’t as perfect as Peter had thought but he didn’t care because he was Mr. Stark and he was there for Peter and that was enough. Peter no longer felt jittery in Mr. Stark’s presence, worried he’d mess up or say something dumb-- instead, Mr. Stark’s closeness provided a steady comfort. But now-- now the nerves were back, and Peter really, really didn’t want to lose another-- lose Mr. Stark.
Peter swallowed. Maybe he should just... he glanced down at his phone, and before he could let himself overthink it, he opened Mr. Stark’s contact and called him. He needed to talk to him, needed to make sure that everything would be okay even though they’d screwed up.
The phone rang out.
Peter clenched his jaw, attempting to keep his panic at bay. Mr. Stark always picked up. After the Vulture incident, he was so paranoid about missing Peter’s calls that he’d pick up regardless of his situation-- in the middle of an important SI meeting, while he was shaving, or one time, weirdly enough, in the Oval Office with the exasperated President sitting in the background.
But now… now Mr. Stark wasn’t even shooting him a text to make sure everything was okay.
That was it, Peter decided. He didn’t care how much he’d messed up. He refused to lose Mr. Stark. So, plan B. He pulled his coat on, hoping that May wouldn’t freak out too much if she found out, and walked out onto the street, shivering in the cold night wind as he set off towards the Upper East Side.