Chapter 17
“The kid needs to go to school.”
Tony, who crouches on the floor of the living room driving a screw into DUM-E’s hand joint, oil soaking tussled hair and staining his band shirt, breathes out an airy laugh. “You think he needs it? Kid’s smarter than anyone in this Tower.” He pauses, then, and grins. “Except for me, of course.”
“I knew you’d say that,” Sam says, and rolls his eyes. He sits down on the floor so he’s at Tony’s level. DUM-E, still unable to use his hand while the joint is being repaired, acknowledges his arrival with a string of low whines and clicks – much like a dolphin, Sam is thinking affectionately, as he listens to the AI’s friendly tune.
The billionaire doesn’t say anything and so Sam speaks again. “He’s going to have to go to school at one point, you know,” he tells him. “That is, if he wants any chance of getting a job in the future. No one will hire a kid who has no qualifications.
“He doesn’t need a job,” Tony retorts. “He’s living off my income. I have more than enough to provide everything he’ll ever need for him, you know.” He finishes tightening the screw and delivers a final, firm pat to the joint. When an unfamiliar rattle from inside of the structure follows the blow, he frowns and picks up the screwdriver once more. It’s a wonder that he’s still paying attention to the conversation on hand at all, what with how intensely he seems to be working on DUM-E.
Sam puts a hand on Tony’s arm and looks into his eyes. “I’m serious, Tony.”
Not yet phased by the austerity of the matter, Tony shoves the screwdriver into his unsuspecting palms and launches to his feet. “Hold this,” he says, and disappears from the living room faster than one could snap a finger.
Sam glances at DUM-E, who slowly swivels his hand to the left and to the right, as if were the head of a puzzled dog. Whatever is broken in his joint rattles again with the movement. He puts a placating hand on the robot’s arm. “He’ll never focus on anything other than you, will he?” he says with a grin.
The bot replies with nothing more than a low whine and, while Sam has no idea what it’s supposed to mean, he takes it as an answer anyway.
It’s then that Tony steps back into the living room clutching one of his many toolboxes. He resumes to his previous spot on the floor, plucking the screwdriver from Sam’s palm. “Thanks.. DUM-E, bud, you’re going to have to sit still for a bit longer,” he says, and the bot obedienty lowers his claw to his creator’s level. “What was it you were saying, Wilson?”
Sam isn’t sure that the older man cares about what he has to say in the first place, but he’ll take what he can get when it comes to Tony – it isn’t often he emerges from his lab, especially before Peter came into the picture. “I was saying that Peter needs to go to school, Tones. The experience, the qualifications – it’s all valuable. We can’t deprive him of that.”
“He doesn’t even need to get a job, why-”
“Tony.”
“DUM-E, hold still.”
“Tony, just listen-”
A metal plate falls from DUM-E’s outer joint structure, hitting the floor with a painful clatter, and Tony’s moth opens in an owlish ‘o’ shape. “That isn’t normal. Who beat you up? Was it Bucky?”
Sam can feel his temper grating the longer Tony ignores him. “You don’t unders-”
“Do you not see what is happening to my child?”
“Tony.”
Something in his tone must jar the man because he finally pauses, and his eyes steadily look up to meet Sam’s. There’s something he can’t figure out on his face, something he isn’t willing to try and understand. “Fine,” he says shortly. “I guess the kid could do with getting out a bit. We don’t want him to get- you know, socially awkward. From talking to no one but us.”
Sam thinks back to every time Peter has spluttered and turned red while trying to communicate with store employees and says, with a smile, “I think it’s too late for that, Tones.”
“Mmm.” Tony picks up a miniature LED torch from his toolbox and uses it’s narrow beam to peer into DUM-E’s structure, his focus implied by how his tongue sticks out from between tightly-set lips. “Ooh, buddy. You must be in so much pain.”
Now, Sam knows that Tony has never been one to pay attention to what’s important, but it’s beginning to grow frustrating. He only just manages to swallow the anger that swells in his chest and in his throat as he asks, “are you listening?”
“Listening? Yes.” The man looks up at Sam and then shoves the torch into his hand. He scoops a pair of tweezers from his toolbox. “Hold that. No, not like- no, shine it into here. Press that button and the beam widens- ah, you know it. Hold it there for me. And keep it still.”
Sam obliges, though he does so with some reluctance. The torch beam keeps a steady glow onto the internal structure of DUM-E’s joint, exposing a mass of wiring and levers that he could never hope to understand. He asks, “Peter is still out with Clint, Nat and Bruce?"
"Thankfully, yes.”
“He’s not that bad.”
The billionaire swears as something sparks. “He’s a good kid.” It sparks again, and this time he sighs. ”You know how long they’ll be with that farmer’s market happening.”
The Tower has been strangely empty as of late and Sam regrets declining the offer to go out with Peter, Clint, Bruce and Natasha when he’d been given the chance. At the time, he’d felt as if he just needed a day to chill out with no one but himself for company, but it was a few hours after they’d left that he’d realised just how much he yearned to stretch his legs. Their plan detailed going to the park and getting ice creams to battle the increasing heat, but there’s a farmer’s market in the area and Sam knows for a fact that Natasha will drag them through it for hours upon hours without end. They’d be much too scared to object – that’s just how things work around here
As for Steve, he’d taken Bucky out with him and gone to buy new clothes. He’d been talking about how ratty all his shirts were getting and decided it was time to go to the mall and find some more. They planned to go out to eat afterwards and then tag along with the others at the farmer’s market. Calling it a ‘cheesy old man date’ got old fast.
Meanwhile, Thor has gone back to Asgard for a while, speaking of an incident involving some sort of creature he hadn’t ever bothered to elaborate on – no, things are never that simple for him. He’d simply announced his departure and then took off from the Tower’s roof, lightning cracking in his wake. Without his large body and voice to fill the expanse of the building, it’s been so much quieter, so much emptier.
“Here’s the thing,” Tony begins, “if we want to send him to school, there’s a lot of- fuck, this wire-”
“Of what?”
Tony exhales heavily. He’s frustrated, but Sam has always been one to press matters, especially when they’re this important. “Of legalities. We don’t have custody over Peter. The school would look at who his legal guardian really is and they’d begin to ask questions. The police would be involved.”
“So… it’s illegal for him to be here?”
“That’s where it works for us. Legally, we can harbour Peter here. There’s no where else for him to go. But we don’t have the legal custody over him that we’d need to keep him here and let him continue a public education.”
“I know someone with a real good team of lawyers.”
Tony nods wistfully. “Me too. I heard he’s really rich.”
Sam rolls eyes for the second time during this conversation. Trust Tony to take the first chance he can to boast about his wealth or his intelligence.
“Perfectly legal, especially if his previous guardian kicked him out.” Tony grins mischievously. “Adjust the torch. Perfect, thanks.” He twists the tweezers to the left and then to the right. “We just need to prove to the court that we are deserving of his custody, and his asshole Aunt is not. Which, considering that she kicked him out and we haven’t killed him yet, should be perfectly easy. This’ll be over in no time and we’ll have him in school again in maybe two weeks. Sounds good? Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Sam feels a weight lift from his chest. “Yeah, sounds good.”
The older man’s smile turns more sincere. “J, contact my lawyers."
.
Turns out that getting custody is not as easy as they thought.
When Sam learned that they had to go and talk to the kid’s asshole Aunt in order to get permission for the custody switch, he’d felt his heart drop to his toes. Talking to her is the last thing he wants. Even just the thought of seeing her makes liquid disgust rise in this throat. He’d hoped that they didn’t have to even see her at all, but nothing can be as easy as that, can it?
Unsurprisingly enough, Clint had gotten excited when Sam told him of the news. He’d been waiting to rip into the woman ever since he’d learned the whole story of how Peter ended up on the street - and no one can blame him, really. Of course he wouldn’t dare do anything close to physical but Sam knows that he longs to, deep inside.
(They all do, really.)
They didn’t have to talk to her themselves, though. Upon hearing this, Sam’s heart’d leapt back up again. Tony assured them that his team of lawyers are all too willing to do all the work – there’s a good reason as to why they’re paid so much money to do their job – and they could get it done smoothly within maybe a week, if communications with the asshole Aunt go well.
However, Clint had been adamant of the idea that maybe convincing her would be easier with a more personal perspective of how Peter is managing in the Tower. This, both Tony and his team of lawyers had agreed on – and it was then that the plan was set.
They would contact Peter’s Aunt, they would get her permission to sign over Peter’s custody to themselves, and then the case would be taken to court. From there, Tony’s lawyers would battle it out until they come to a conclusion in their favour – and Sam is positive that it will be.
However, there are some issues that they’ve yet to address – such as making sure that his Aunt doesn’t expose the true reason as to why she booted Peter out (Peter explicitly tells them that he doesn’t want his identity exposed as of yet, so it seems that convincing her to lie in court would be the only way to adhere to that). The aggressive lifestyle that the Avengers live is also something that would predictably come up in court, for their target-ability would make a dangerous environment for any normal teenager.
This is Peter, though. Spiderman. The same Spiderman that took down muggers just because he can. The same Spiderman that helped everyone above himself, no matter what. The same Spiderman who looks out for everybody, who sacrificed so much to do what is right. The same Spiderman who lived for a year alone on the streets after the only family member he has kicked him out of the house.
The same Spiderman who is perfectly capable of caring for his own ass when he has nothing left to care for.
So, they know that Peter fucking Parker can take care of himself. The problem is making sure that the law doesn’t know why he can take care of himself… while letting them know that he can. Sam gets a headache just thinking about it.
The issue that Sam is most concerned about, though, is telling Peter the news.
What if the mere mention of his Aunt sends him spiralling into another bout of panic? What if even the possibility that he may have to see her again makes him react badly? What if he gets angry, starts to fight against them? How are they meant to know whether or not he’ll have to see her?
It’s with these questions in mind that he’s sitting Peter down in the living room one Thursday evening, Clint by his left side, the soft patter of rain dappling the window outside a soft tune of white noise behind the murmur of the Tower. The low rumble of approaching thunder tumbles through the clouds miles away, accompanying every growl a bolt of lightning that momentarily bathes the city in flashes of white.
Peter looks like the embodiment of anxiety, sat on the opposite sofa bouncing a leg under drumming fingers. His hair is ruffled and only slightly greasy from the amount of times he has run a hand through its strands. At the short distance he’s sat away from the kid, Sam can see his breathing beginning to grow shorter with every inhale. The atmosphere is panicking him – he can tell that much.
“I feel like a dad about to lecture my child,” Clint comments into the silence.
Sam wants to snicker, because that’s exactly what it feels like.
But Peter doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t so much as do that stupid giggle he does when someone makes a joke he doesn’t find funny, but he wants to be polite about it anyway.
Instead, he looks up and asks, “are you kicking me out?”
And… something inside of Sam shatters.
They sit in silence for a full minute and it is the tensest silence he’s ever felt. It’s the saddest, most dreadful silence that pulls at Sam’s heart and twists daggers through his stomach and sends electricity through his very heart. It’s a silence that leaves Sam time to think about how tragic Peter’s sentence really fucking is. How it highlights how much his Aunt’s foolishness has imprinted into his brain. How much that fucking upsets him. He feels so much at that moment, but all he can think of to say is, “are you fucking joking?”
Peter’s shoulders tighten, and Sam gets to his feet. “Are you joking right now? Are you kidding? Do you really think that we’d kick you out, Peter? You really think, after all we’ve done for you, after all we’ve fucking done, that we would just- just fucking leave you on the front door? Just like that.”
“Woah, man,” Clint says, standing too. “Chill-”
“No! No, I won’t chill. Because- I’m just so mad, that Peter’s fucking asshole Aunt has damaged her kid’s mindset this much, has made him think we’ll kick him out and he’ll be alone all over again- I just-”
“Calm down, man,” Clint all but murmurs into his ear, “you’re scaring him.”
This jars Sam and, when his eyes catch sight of Peter pressed into the back of the couch, watching him as if worried he’d pounce upon him at any given moment, his sudden bout of anger all but melts away. He sits back into the sofa with a long sigh. “Sorry,” he says, then. “It wasn’t you, Pete. I just get angry at- at her.”
“Yeah.” Peter shrugs passively. “Yeah, me too.”
“I hope you realise that what she did to you wasn’t okay,” Clint adds, then. “What she found out was… it was big. Finding out your kid is Spiderman couldn’t be a walk in the park. But kicking you out to the streets without even listening to your side of the story, without hearing your perspective… that just isn’t okay. Not at all.”
Peter fidgets helplessly in his seat. He glances down at his hands and then away from them again. Finally, as he looks back up at Clint and Sam, he asks them, “why were you guys so… so cool about it, then? If it’s a big thing to find out?”
“Because we’re used to it,” Sam tells him honestly. “We’re surrounded by people with superpowers, Pete. Take Steve, or Bruce, or Thor. Learning that the ratty kid Clint picked up one day while going out to get Netflix snacks is actually Spiderman? The Spiderman who’s been missing for more than a year? It’s not exactly something surprising.”
“Not to say that finding out that you’re Spiderman isn’t surprising,” Clint says. He smiles easily at Peter, something small to let him know that the conversation isn’t supposed to be as heavy as it has been. “I can’t lie – I didn’t see it at first. I really didn’t. But now I’ve gotten to know you even more after finding out and I can see it. Really.”
“See it?” Peter repeats, frowning.
“You’re honest. You’re heroic. You always try to do the right thing. You think about everybody but yourself first, even if you’ve never met them before. You’re kind. You’re smart – God damn, you’re definitely smart. And I think the most important thing is… is that you’re just so good.” Clint takes a seat beside Peter and pulls him into his chest closer. “You’re so, so good, Peter. And I don’t think that’ll ever change, whether you’re Spiderman or not.”
The emotion that Peter conveys then is the most touched, most validated emotion that Sam can feel from where he sits, and he traps Clint in a hug not even the Hulk could escape from. The archer doesn’t try to get out, though; he wraps his arms around the boy and holds him. Sat alone, Sam tries not to feel awkward.
It’s half a minute later when Peter finally unhooks himself from Clint’s grasp. Moisture touches the corners of his eyes – the happy kind of tears, Sam thinks. Voice choked, Peter says, “I feel like you didn’t sit me down here just to tell me that I’m good.”
Sam feels his heart drop.
“Here’s the thing, Pete...”