Pictures

Tony couldn’t figure out what, exactly, this mutant was.

She seemed to have some kind of power that had to do with warping things, or time, or space, maybe? But during the fight it hadn’t been clear, because he’d been too amped up, too focused on getting the civilians safe and trying (and failing) to capture the mutant. Looking at photos and footage of the fight—even looking at the holograms he had constructed—didn’t cut it. He somewhat remembered it, though; it had been like the whole world was a bad photo-shop. Only, all the actual photos he had were normal. The warping didn’t show up through the camera.

That’s what had given him the idea. If he could get into the same headspace he had been in during the fight, position himself so he could see the space and figure out where and how it had been warped (like the entire world was shifted, or melting, and it would have been really cool, actually, if it wasn’t genuinely terrifying). All he needed was for someone to pretend to be the mutant to complete the picture. He wasn’t sure if it would work, but he knew that re-enacting things could help jog your memory, and he couldn’t think of anything else to try.

So he turned to his lab assistant. “Hey, spidey, can you help me with something?” he said, still half-focused on his calculations (because first he’d thought this was some kind of science thing, but no, he was pretty confident this was part of the mutant’s powers).

“Sure thing, Mr. Stark, what do you need?” Peter replied.

“Uh, I was wondering if you could look at some pictures and re-enact them with me. You know, you be one of the people and I be the other one.”

Which, to be fair, wasn’t the clearest way to put it. But he didn’t know. How could he have known?

“What?” Peter asked immediately. Tony detected something in his voice, but chalked it up to confusion, because, yeah, okay, it was a weird idea.  

“You know. I’ve got some photos, and I was wondering if you’d help me re-enact them. So I can feel more inside it. Like, uh, roleplay, except way less embarrassing. It shouldn’t take too long. What, is it a stupid idea?” he asked, because now that he was saying it out loud, yeah, it sounded kind of dumb. But he was running out of ideas, and he really needed to figure out exactly what exactly they were dealing with before they faced her in battle again.

“Yeah. It is a stupid idea,” Peter said, and his voice was harder than Tony had ever heard it, which maybe should have snagged something in his brain, but he was more than a little wounded and so it didn’t flag.

“Alright, sorry I’m no Einstein like you,” he snapped back. “Just thought you’d be willing to help me…” he trailed off, because halfway through him talking, Peter had flinched. Hard. And then braced himself on the table.

“Pete, kid, you good?”

Peter glared at him. Full-on anger, of the likes of which Tony had never seen. And they’d gone up against terrorists and murderers. That did flag.

“I thought you were different,” he said, not meeting Tony’s eyes. “But I guess they weren’t wrong about you, Mr. Stark.” With that, he stormed out before Tony could ask just what he meant by that (even though he already knew, because enough people had said it to him, when they found him throwing up from alcohol poisoning or pills or fucking up in any number of ways but that was him in his years ago, he was different now), leaving Tony scratching his head over the whole interaction.

He hadn’t thought he’d said anything particularly over-the-line. Sure, he shouldn’t have snapped at the kid, but…the kid had been so angry. Maybe he should apologize? Or ask Pepper what to do? She always seemed to know.

Really, he couldn’t make heads or tails of the whole thing. And he was more than a little upset. Because Peter knew that Tony hated what people said about him, thought about him—he’d thought the kid knew him and cared about him, and anyone who knew about him and cared about him wouldn’t have said that. It was too low a blow, especially since what he’d said hadn’t been that bad, just a bit harsher than their usual banter. What gave the kid the right?

Tony sat down on the couch in his office, barely noticing his hands still tinkering with a circuit he’d been working on, as he thought. He put his head in his hands. The kid was wrong. Tony had changed. But he was just a kid, too, and maybe didn’t understand just how hard that would hit, coming from him.

A notification showed up on his StarkPad. He glanced at it idly, and then picked it up, sure that he’d misread it.

Nope: Internal Transfer Request, Parker, Peter, the notification read.

What the fuck?

He texted Peter asking him if they could talk about it, at least (which he considered growth, really, because the Tony that he used to be wouldn’t have even bothered), but Peter just read the text and didn’t respond. Really, this was immature.

He approved the transfer anyways. He’d just corner the kid in a different lab instead of his own and ask what the hell was going on, get to the bottom of this, and then the kid would come back to his lab.

The opportunity came three days later, when Peter came in for his internship, now working on floor 79. About an hour after FRIDAY had informed him of the kid’s arrival, Tony got into the elevator and searched the floor (dedicated to cars, and really, Peter preferred working with cars for hours a week instead of just talking to Tony?) until he found the kid, working alone in a room on an engine.

He went into the room and shut the door behind him. “Peter,” he started.

Peter looked up at him, startled. As soon as his eyes met Tony’s, they narrowed. “Get out,” Peter said, gripping the tools in his hands.

“No. I want to talk to you,” Tony said evenly. “What you said the other day, that wasn’t okay. It hurt.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “I’m so sorry I hurt your feelings, Mr. Stark. That must have been really hard for you. Now get. Out.”

“No,” Tony objected, because here he was, baring his heart for the kid, talking about his feelings, and Peter had just thrown that all back in his face. “You and I are going to work this out. I’m sorry I snapped at you. But you weren’t exactly nice either. You called my idea stupid,” he finished, and soon as he said it mentally berated himself for how childish that sounded, but it was too late. He’d said it.

“That’s because it was stupid!” Peter said, raising his voice. “I don’t even understand how you…” he shook his head, his nostrils flaring. “I don’t want to see you anymore.”

Tony was confused. And pissed. He walked closer to Peter.

“This is my lab. You don’t get to just walk away from this.” 

Peter backed up. “Mr. Stark—“

“No, I’m talking now. Because okay, I’m sorry, I yelled at you, but at least I’m trying! What you said the other day? Not okay. You not apologizing? Worse. You seriously need to figure out how the world works, kid, because you have no right to act the way you’re acting right now.” He moved closer to Peter again, who backed up until he hit the table behind him.

“No right?” Peter said. “Just because you’re my boss or whatever, you think—“

“Because I’m your friend, Peter!” Tony said, because goddamn, usually he wasn’t the one being the good friend, but here he was, apologizing. “Friends do things that—“

“No, they don’t.” Peter said, his voice icy. “You don’t get to say that. How can you even say that?”

If Tony hadn’t been so angry, maybe he would have noticed how Peter had pressed himself up against the table as much as he could. Maybe he would have noticed his shaking hands, raised in the defensive position, or his eyes, skittering wildly, looking for an exit.

But he didn’t see any of that.

Peter felt like he was going to throw up.

Tony Stark. Iron Man. His childhood hero. He’d never even considered that he’d ask that. That Mr. Stark would be like Skip. So he’d been caught off guard when he had asked that. And he hadn’t even treated it like a big deal. Exactly like Skip.

Do you want to look at some photos with me, Einstein? I promise it’ll be fun, Skip had told him, and now Mr. Stark wanted to do the same exact thing.  

Peter hadn’t even second-guessed his idea to transfer. He’d hoped that Mr. Stark would leave him alone on floor 79, that he’d give up. But Skip had never listened to the word no. So why would Mr. Stark?

As he and Mr. Stark had been talking, he had pressed himself against the table. He could feel his hands shaking as Mr. Stark stalked towards him and (he hadn’t expected Mr. Stark to do this why would Mr. Stark do this it didn’t make sense Mr. Stark was his hero and basically his dad) he tried to back up further but he couldn’t.

“Friends do things that—“ Mr. Stark started.

“No, they don’t,” Peter cut him off, because he could remember exactly what Skip had told him friends do, and now he knew better, friends don’t rape their friends. “You don’t get to say that. How can you even say that?” he asked, and he hated how he could hear the pleading in his voice, but how could Mr. Stark do this.

Mr. Stark moved closer to him. Peter’s heart was beating out of his chest.

“I am so beyond done with this, Peter. After everything—after Germany, and the yacht, and the suit—“

“I don’t owe you anything,” Peter said, which wasn’t true, because he did owe Mr. Stark a lot of things. But not this. He didn’t owe anyone this.

“I didn’t say you owed me anything. But I thought…y’know, I thought we were buds. I thought you wanted—“

“Well, I don’t!” Peter said, except he couldn’t really see Mr. Stark’s face anymore because Skip was saying I know you want this and he was shaking and the room was getting very, very small, and he couldn’t breathe, why couldn’t he breathe, and he didn’t know whether Mr. Stark would just do it anyways because Skip had said well, it doesn’t matter if you want it, anyways, when he had said he didn’t, and he couldn’t breathe and his heart was beating and his hands were shaking and everything was so loud…

“Peter?” Mr. Stark asked. If Peter had been less out of it, he would have heard the concern and uncertainty in his mentor’s voice. He would have seen him take a step back. But Peter couldn’t see anything except Scott’s face.

Peter shook his head.

“No, no, get off,” he said, because there were hands on him, or were there hands on him, he couldn’t tell, and Mr. Stark couldn’t do this. “Off, get off of me.” He was vaguely aware that he was on the floor, had Skip put him there? No, because Skip wasn’t here, he wasn’t here, but Mr. Stark was, and Mr. Stark was like Skip so…

“Peter. I need you to breathe for me, okay? You’re safe. Nothing’s going to happen to you. You’re having a panic attack, but you’re safe,” Mr. Stark’s voice said, and Peter was confused because Mr. Stark was going to hurt him but maybe he was going to listen now and he needed a clear head and he tried to follow as Mr. Stark breathed, his slow inhale and exhale. After a few minutes, the room had become its original size and he realized yes, he was sitting on the floor, with Mr. Stark sitting a good ten feet away from him.

“Can you breathe now?” Mr. Stark asked.

Peter nodded shakily.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” Mr. Stark said. “I’m not going to hurt you, okay, kid?”

Peter nodded again. Because Mr. Stark said he wasn’t going to hurt him, but Skip had said it wouldn’t hurt too, so that didn’t mean a thing.

“Can you tell me what got you so freaked out?”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “Are you kidding me right now?” he asked before he could stop himself, and then nearly clamped a hand over his mouth because he shouldn’t make Mr. Stark angry, not when he didn’t know what he was going to do, not when he was still shut in this room with him.

Mr. Stark’s brow furrowed. “No, I’m not kidding you. I know I got upset at you. Did that scare you? Was I yelling, or…”

Did Mr. Stark just not know that propositioning a teenager was wrong? Because Peter knew it was wrong, no matter how much his brain was yelling at him in a voice that sounded too much like Skip’s you deserve it, you deserve it, you slut he knew that it wasn’t right.

“It probably has something to do with three days ago,” he said, sarcasm seeping into the words no matter how hard he tried to keep it out.

Somehow, that didn’t clear anything up for Tony. “Is it because I snapped at you? Did you think I was going to hurt you?”

Peter was tired of this. Maybe Mr. Stark was trying to goad him into saying it, he didn’t know, because all of this was so confusing and there was another voice that wasn’t Skip’s in the back of his head saying Mr. Stark wouldn’t do that, he wouldn’t do any of this, but he’d been there. He’d heard it.

“The pictures. You wanted me to…I don’t want to do that, Mr. Stark. And you shouldn’t have asked me to. It’s not right. I know it’s not right.”

He just looked more confused. “Pictures?” he said. “They scared you? Did you think I was going to go all Iron Man on you or something? Because I’d never do that.”

What?

“I’m pretty sure Iron Man isn’t in that type of picture, Mr. Stark,” Peter said hesitantly, because honestly, there probably was Iron Man porn, but he really hoped Mr. Stark didn’t watch it, because that would just be way too self-aggrandizing.

“Uh, yes, I am. That’s the whole point. I would be Iron Man and you would be the mutant. How would I jog my memory if I wasn’t in the whole re-enactment thing?”

It took Peter a minute to sort through Mr. Stark’s response.

Once he had, it took everything in him not to bash his head in right there. So I can feel more inside it, Mr. Stark had said. He’d wanted to be able to remember their fight with the mutant so he could figure out more about her powers. The voice in Peter’s head had been right. Mr. Stark would never do that.

Relief coursed through Peter’s body. And guilt, because he shouldn’t have thought that of Mr. Stark, but to be fair, his wording had been…really, really bad.

“You need to work on your phrasing,” he said, sort of joking, even though he was still shaky and not really in the mood to make jokes.

“What?” Mr. Stark replied, confused, again. Because of course he was confused; everything Peter had done in the past three days must have made it seem like he was out of his mind. He had to explain himself. Mr. Stark wouldn’t think any less of him. Right?

“Um. I used to know this guy. He was my babysitter, when I was a kid, and, uh, he was really nice at first, and I, y’know, trusted him, but one day he showed me some, uh, inappropriate pictures. Like…you know. And he made me do with him, what they were doing in the pictures. And so when you said you had pictures and you wanted to re-enact them you didn’t say anything about the mutant or the fight, which isn’t your fault, but I just assumed—“

“That I would be like him,” Mr. Stark finished. “God, Peter, I’m so sorry.”

“Not…” Peter said, then took a deep breath because he was not into the idea of having another panic attack so soon after the last one. “Not your fault. Just a really, uh, fucked-up communication situation.” He smiled. “Rhymes. Communication situation.”

Mr. Stark smiled, too, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Your babysitter. Is he…”

“In jail,” Peter confirmed.

Mr. Stark let out a breath. “That’s good,” he said. Then he looked Peter in the eyes. “Peter, I would never do that. Ever. That’s despicable, and wrong, and…and I’m really proud of you for getting angry and telling me to back off. That was really good.”

Peter grimaced. “I should’ve talked to you about it. If I hadn’t jumped to conclusions, then…I don’t know. I’m sorry I thought—“

“No apologizing, Peter. For you, that word is banned during this conversation. Save it for when you decimate a building on patrol, or something, I don’t care, but this? You don’t apologize for this. You did what you had to do to protect yourself, and I’m proud of you.”

Peter nodded.

Mr. Stark didn’t hate him. Mr. Stark was proud of him.

“Thank you,” he said.

Mr. Stark shrugged, and pulled out his StarkPad. “You mind if I reverse that internal transfer, then, kiddo?”

Peter shook his head. He’d already been regretting it.

“Great. Why don’t we go up to the lab?” Tony said. “And we’ll order food. You need some energy after all that.”

“Thai?” Peter said hopefully.

“Of course.”