1
Peter woke with a start, his alarm clock buzzing loudly right beside his bed. He quickly reached over to shut the darn contraption off and stared up at the ceiling for a while. Today started another week of school. Horrible horrendous high school. Taking a deep breath, Peter rolled out of bed and sloppily made his way out of his room and to the bathroom.
He had a mouth full of toothpaste when there was a knock on the door. He gave a small grunt to acknowledge the person on the other side. The door opened as Peter began gargling some water to rinse out his mouth. Turning off the faucet he smiled at the man standing at the doorway. "Morning, sir." He said, morning grogginess still in his throat. Steve, a captain in the military, did his morning checkup routinely. Peter never knew when his father was going to show up to make sure he was ready for school in a decent amount of time, but the times he didn't Peter always managed to be late for school, so this might be a good thing. "In my defense, the alarm clock never went off." He lied sheepishly while Steve looked at his watch and crossed his arms.
"That's funny, because I could have sworn I heard it go off at exactly zero-seven hundred hours." He leaned against the door frame while Peter chewed the inside of his bottom lip and then smiled with a shrugged.
There was a small knock behind Steve and he turned to see Tony standing there, looking half asleep in a robe. "Leave the boy alone Steve. You're just wasting his eating time." He gave a small wink to Peter and shuffled into the bathroom. "Everyone get out! I gotta take a piss."
The two other males left the bathroom and Peter quickly descended the stairs and half ran to the kitchen. Steve was close behind and made his way into the kitchen as well, watching Peter make a bowl of cereal. Peter tried not to look up as he sat at the table and shoved a spoonful of Frosted Flakes into his mouth. "Dad, am I about to get the only lecture about time? Again." Peter let his spoon sit in the bowl as he finally looked up to eye the other.
Steve took a seat across from the teen and smiled. "No, I suppose I'll spare you this morning. Hurry up though, I'll drive you to school."
Peter shook his head quickly. "No thanks. I don't need to be showing up to school in your truck."
"What's wrong with my truck?!" Steve asked, eyebrows furrowing.
"It's a piece of shit." Tony said as he descended the stairs. He made his way into the kitchen and started making coffee. "I keep telling you to buy a new one."
Crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, Steve looked over at Tony. "Now that is a classic Ringbrothers 1958 Ford F-100."
Peter snickered and looked over to Tony in the kitchen. "Hey dad, remember when we had to fix the engine three times in one hour?" He asked then shoved another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.
Tony laughed as he got a mug down from the cabinet. "I do. Damn thing belongs in a museum."
Steve stood up abruptly from his seat and went into the other room, grabbing his coat and hat. Entering the kitchen again, he snatched up his keys and pointed to the teen. "Laugh all you want. But I better not get another phone call about you being late, Peter."
"Yes sir." Peter looked down at his almost empty cereal bowl and suddenly didn't feel that hungry. Once Steve had given Tony a quick kiss and ruffled Peter's hair, he left and Peter placed his bowl in the sink. "Why is he always so uptight?" Peter asked Tony.
Tony took a sip of his coffee and leaned against the counter. "Military life. That's what it does to people." He looked out the window and took another sip from his mug. "Get dressed, I'll drive you to school."
0o0o0o
Peter arrived to school on time thanks to his father's crazy fast driving. He shoved his winter coat and scarf into his locker and pulled out all the books he'll be needing for his morning classes. Slamming his locker shut, he ran down the halls, sliding a few times on the melted snow filled floors. He barged into the classroom just as the bell rang, getting the attention from the teacher and all of his classmates. Quickly feeling his face go red, he looked down and made his way to his seat. Sitting down, he didn't bother to look up at the teacher who he knew was still watching him.
"Late Rogers-Stark." The teacher said as he made his way around his desk and to the board.
At this Peter looked up at the man who now had his back turned to him. "What?! But I made it in the classroom before the bell rang!" He watched as the teacher, along with the rest of the class turned to look at him.
The teacher moved his glasses down the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "Your behind needs to be in your seat before the bell rings in order to be on time in my class young man." With that he pushed his glasses back up his nose and turned back to the board. "Now class, let's open your textbooks to page one-eighty-four."
Peter felt his stomach sink. There goes another L on his attendance mark and his loving military father was going to have a fit. He opened his textbook to the assigned page and laid his head down, suddenly not caring about the lesson. This teacher had it out for him. Ever since that time Peter corrected him on a math problem which the teacher was positive was his way or no way. But Peter was smart and knew the teacher was wrong. So in front of everyone, he proved the teacher wrong. Ever since then, the teacher has grabbed any little excuse to get Peter into trouble.
"Head up in my class, Peter!" The teacher yelled.
Sighing, Peter slowly rose up into a sitting position. He rested his chin in his palm and stared at the board. All this was easy. Peter had his father, Tony, to thank for teaching him a bunch of complicated stuff early on. He grew a love of science thanks to Tony. So math seemed to come naturally to him since it shared a link with science so often. Peter felt a rough nudge on his back and he sighed, turning around slightly to see his school bully smirking at him. Peter rolled his eyes and turned back around.
The teacher gave them a set of problems to do and then sat at his desk. Peter set to doing the work in his notebook quickly, wanting to complete them so he could nap the rest of the track. Another nudge on his back told him this was going to be anything but a smooth class today. Peter turned around once more. "What, Flash?" He asked just above a whisper.
Flash tossed his notebook at Peter and sat back in his seat. "Do the problems for me." He looked to his little goon friend sitting next to him and smiled.
Feeling the trouble today, Peter turned around, Flash's book in his hands and set off to doing every problem wrong. He finished off his own work before handing Flash back his notebook and standing to hand his work in to the teacher. The teacher looked most unpleasant at having Peter up there first, but checked off his work and half congratulated him on getting them all right.
Taking his seat, Peter watched as Flash got up from his seat with only a minute left of class to get his work checked off. Grabbing his bag and shoving his books into it, Peter watched as the teacher looked over the work and shook his head. He'll have to run to his next class if he didn't want to go home with a black eye. Flash turned to glare at him, and Peter couldn't help the smirk that came onto his face. Now Peter watched the clock as Flash returned to his seat. Ten seconds to go. He was already halfway off his seat. The sound of books being shoved quickly into a bag behind him. Five seconds.
The bell rang and Peter flew out his seat and out the door quickly. But he knew Flash was just as quick to chasing after him. Running down the hall, he shoved his way into the staircase and flew down the stairs, skipping some, in hopes of making it to his next class without a sore rib. "Peter!" He heard from way too close behind him. As he pushed through the doors into the next hallway, it was packed with students. Peter pushed through the crowd and receiving complaints from the students around him. Someone tripped him, and Peter hit the floor hard, pain shooting up his elbow. He rolled over, grabbing at his elbow and sighing in pain.
When he noticed Flash push through the now formed circle, Peter scrambled to his feet and made to get away. Flash was quick to grab Peter's backpack and yank him back. Peter turned quickly to face Flash in hopes of blocking what he knew would be a hurtful blow. Not quick enough. Flash's fist hit Peter hard on the corner of his left eye. Before Peter could come back from that blow, there was another fist hitting him hard in his stomach. Doubling over did nothing as Flash pulled Peter upright once more and hit him in the face, this time Peter was so dazed he didn't exactly know where he was hit.
Suddenly Peter was looking up at Flash. He must have fallen to the floor from that last hit. Boot made contact with his rib. So much for trying to make it to class with his ribs not hurting. "Trying to make me look like an idiot, huh?!" Flash yelled.
Peter could hardly hear the words coming out his mouth, but he understood them. Even the cheers from the crowd seemed distant. "You…are an idiot…Flash." Peter managed to choke out.
Another boot to his ribs. These were going to stay bruised for a long time if they weren't already broken. He sure did feel the pain as if they were. Flash continued his questions, Peter coming to at the last one. "Are you that pathetic? Fag fathers, no friends, no life. Are you a faggot too? Huh?!"
Now Peter had done a lot of internal therapy to not take anything Flash says seriously. But at this moment with his head pounding, ribs burning, stomach on the verge of sending his morning cereal to his throat, those words hurt. He loved his fathers, and didn't care if he had friends or not. And in the end, it was he, Peter Rogers-Stark, that would have an outstanding life, not Eugene 'Flash' Thompson. Blood seemed to rush back into his head and Peter began to rise to his feet. It wasn't for long though as Peter received another punch to his stomach and was once more down on the floor.
"Flash!" Peter heard someone yell. There was arguing. Yelling. But of what Peter had no idea. The bell rang and the first stupid thought that came to Peter's mind was that he was late to class again. "Hey." Someone said to him, snapping their fingers in front of his face.
Peter blinked a few times, not realizing his eyes were closed in the first place. He looked around to the empty hallways and then up at the person sitting beside him. "Gwen…Stacy?" He asked, attempting to sit up but feeling his head spin like crazy and lay back down.
Nodding, Gwen turned his face from side to side, checking for bruising and cuts. "Yes, and your name is?"
"Peter." He replied, closing his eyes once more, but the snaps woke him up quickly.
Gwen shook her head. "No sleeping. Come on, we have to get you to the nurse."
Peter quickly shook his head and pulled together all the energy he could muster and stood up. He hated school nurses. Not only did they never know what they were doing, but they would call someone to come and pick him up or inform them of what happened and the last thing he needed was either one of his father's coming down here. Especially Steve. Peter had been humiliated enough for one day. "No, I'm okay really. Just late to class. And I made you late. I'm so sorry." The words came out in a rush, stumbling over one another that he's not sure if Gwen even heard them all.
Raising an eyebrow, Gwen held up her hand. "How many fingers am I holding up?" She asked.
Peter looked to her hand. "One of those punches must have messed up my glasses." He said sheepishly. In truth, the room was spinning and all he wanted to do was go to sleep. It was a nanosecond later that cold water was being splashed on his face. Peter woke with a start and stood up abruptly. He looked around to see he was in a school bathroom. The worst part was it was the girl's bathroom. "What?" He asked, suddenly feeling wide awake as the cold water dripped down to his shirt, making his chest feel cold.
The faucet was shut off and the sound of heels brought Peter to look at his caretaker. Gwen grabbed some paper towels from the dispenser and patted Peter's face dry. He was in such shock and flustered that he just watched as she carefully dried the now swollen bruises on his face. "Don't worry, no one comes in this bathroom. Hasn't worked all year. Except the sinks of course." She tossed the paper towels into the nearby trash.
Still in a stunned state, Peter just stared at her. He caught himself and shook his head, attempting to clear it and looked down. "I-" He began but didn't know what else to say. Well, he did, he wanted to thank her for stopping Flash, for helping him clean up, for taking care of him when everyone else just stood around and watched. This Gwen Stacy was something else. And he knew her. Not exactly know her, but knew her. He's seen her around school. He shares three classes with her. He knows she's on the debate team and that she's super smart. He knows that she's very beautiful and that he's had a crush on her since the first time he ever lay eyes on her back in freshman year. He also knows until today, he's never spoken to her before. And now she knows him as the wimp who got beat up by Flash. Again.
She eyed him and raised her brows. "Are you feeling okay?"
Peter quickly looked back up at her and nodded in response, giving a sheepish smile. "Yeah." He managed to choke out of his throat. "Thanks." He added in a rush.
Smiling at him, Gwen picked up her bag and books, also handing Peter his bag. "You're welcome. Might want to get class before you miss the whole thing." She spoke kindly and softly.
Whether it was to be kind to his throbbing head or because she was just sweet, Peter didn't know, but he took his bag from her and nodded, smiling a bit wider. "Right."
Gwen said her goodbye, Peter waved, and she left the bathroom. Peter hung back for a bit, relishing in the kindness of this girl whom he never thought would give him the time of day in any situation. Also in hopes that by standing here the swelling in his face would go down. Placing his backpack on the floor, Peter lifted his shirt to see his ribs and parts of his stomach were bandaged. His face grew hot and he felt embarrassed all over again. Gwen had patched him up while he was unconscious. Or maybe he was awake, he just couldn't remember. The point is she had seen him practically shirtless. Peter felt a large amount of hate for himself at that moment.
Pushing his shirt back down, he scooped up his backpack and walked with his head down out of the bathroom. He didn't want to go back to class. Not after everyone had seen what happened. Not after no teacher came out into the hallway to help him. Not after Gwen had been so kind and he felt just so stupid. Running to his locker, he grabbed his coat and scarf, shoved his books into his locker, and left the building. He knew he could go home right now and not get into any trouble. His father's worked long hours. It was rare if he got to see them come home at all. Most nights he spent eating dinner by himself.
Tony was the owner of Stark Industries. He built weapons even though he was against the idea completely and wished to one day make his company into something more humane, but as he states, it's money. Steve was a captain in the military and was often at an office filling out paperwork or commanding a training base. Both of them did very amazing things in Peter's eyes. Sometimes though it'd be nice to have dinner as a family like they used to when he was a kid.
Either way, Peter chose not to go home. Instead he ventured to the subway and made his way to Times Square. He listened to a few street performers play their homemade instruments and tossed a few bucks into the hat that was on the floor in front of them. Then he walked around the crowded streets and sat on the TKTS red stairs.
Feeling a bit hungry, Peter put on his hood and walked to the nearest hot dog vendor. He looked around at all the other people here and wondered if any of them have ever skipped school after getting beat up and humiliated in front of the girl you liked. Didn't seem like it, seeing how there was a couple feeding French fries to one another. Looking down at his meal, Peter quickly finished and tossed everything into the trash.
He entered the subway once more and took the long ride down to Coney Island. The amusement park wasn't opened and normally you weren't allowed on the beach this time of year, but Peter went anyways and sat on the snow filled sand. It soaked his pants, but he didn't care. He tossed a few snowballs lazily and watched as the waves crashed onto the shore, melting the snow and revealing the dark brown sand underneath. As he stared out at the water, his phone began to vibrate.
This could only mean one thing. The school called his parents and now one of them was calling to see where he was. If it's Steve, it's a loud phone call. If it's Tony, it's a calm but serious phone call. Pulling out his cell, he looked at the screen and cursed himself as a picture of Steve showed on the screen. He had to pick it up but he didn't want to. In truth he was a bit scared. Sliding the green bar over, he placed the phone to his ear. "Hey dad." He said, trying to keep the fear out of his voice.
"Where are you?" Steve replied roughly. Anger was clear in his voice, but Peter could hear the worry and panic in his voice as well.
Peter looked out to the water once again. "Coney Island."
"Good, so am I. I'll pick you up. Stay by the Cyclone." With that he hung up.
Sighing, Peter lay back in the snow covered sand. He stared up at the cloudy sky and wondered just how long he would be grounded for this time. After a good five minutes, Peter gathered his bag and began walking toward the roller coaster. He stood there at the corner for another three minutes before his father's 'classic' truck pulled up. Peter got in, keeping his hood on and looking out the window as Steve drove.
Steve turned the radio off and put the heat higher. "So, are you going to tell me what happened at school today?"
Peter stood quiet for a moment before looking down at his lap. "Just stupid stuff." he mumbled.
"Can't hear you. Speak up." Steve said in his more military tone.
Peter couldn't help but wince at the curtness of his father's tone. "Just…stuff, sir."
The truck came to a stop at a red light and Steve turned to look at Peter. "Like what?" Peter gave a shrug and Steve shook his head. "Not good enough. Peter look at me when I'm talking to you."
When Peter shook his head and looked back out the window, the light turned green in his favor and Steve was forced to pay attention to the road. They were quiet the rest of the ride. The truck pulled up in front of their house and Peter grabbed his bag, opening the door quickly. "I'll see you later." He got out of the truck and shut the door, hurrying up the small steps to the door.
He heard the other door slam shut and the boots on the steps. "Peter, we still need to talk."
"No, we don't. I'm home now. You can go back to work." Peter unlocked the door and made his way up the stairs.
Steve stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "Peter get down here!" He yelled. He waited a moment until Peter slowly descended halfway down the stairs. Steve pointed in front of him and Peter sighed, walking the rest of the way down the stairs to stand in front of the much taller man. "Take off the damn hood." Steve said, crossing his arms.
Peter had no choice now. He took off the hood, but kept his head down. It didn't take long for his father to notice the swellings. He placed his hand under Peter's chin and lifted his head to get a better view. "Not as bad as it looks." Peter said with a grin.
"What happened to you?" Steve said, worry clear in his voice.
"Bully is all." Peter replied.
"Who?" Steve demanded. Shaking his head, Peter made his way into the dining area and took a seat, letting out a yelp of pain, regretting it as soon as his father walked in, demanding once more to know where else he was in pain. Peter lifted his shirt to show the bandaged up areas. Steve peeled off the bandages to reveal several dark bruises, though they seemed to be healing up quickly and evenly. Nothing broken. "At least you patched them up expertly." Steve complimented.
Peter nodded and thanked Gwen a million times over in his mind for helping him heal faster. "You know the one I'm always talking about? Flash? Well, he did this."
Nodding, Steve took a step back and sighed. "I see. Well, we'll just have to give this Flash kid a little scare now, won't we?"
"Oh gosh pops, please don't." Peter knew that Steve wasn't afraid to teach a person a lesson or two. He's done it before.
"You're right. This is your battle. Just...do the right thing." Steve fixed his cap and took his keys out of his pocket. "I've got to get back. But this conversation isn't over young man. Room, now."
"Yes sir." Peter said, smiling at his father. It was nice to have Steve actually give him a chance to take care of something by himself. He made a mental note that his sometimes stuck up military father has a soft side that loves and worries for his family's safety. He made another mental note to seriously thank Gwen tomorrow. Not only did she help him, but this gives him another chance to speak to her. And maybe it will turn into more chances. Peter lay on his bed, the pain of the day kicking in once more. He got up, took some aspirin, and threw himself back on the bed, pulling the covers over him and finally going to sleep.
0o0o0o
When Peter awoke again his room was dark. There was some shuffling downstairs and he could smell a smoky sauce in the air. Getting up hurt, a lot. He left his room and quickly jumped in the shower. The hot water did little to stop the pain, but it released some of his tense muscles. That was a plus. Getting out, he dried himself and tied the towel around his waist. Heading back into his room, he pulled out a pair of winter pajamas and put them on, noticing as he buttoned his shirt that the bruises on his stomach and chest were just about gone.
Walking downstairs, Peter entered the kitchen where he found Tony over the stove, an apron over his suit minus the jacket, and Steve at the counter dicing up tomatoes in his own uniform minus the jacket. He didn't speak as he watched them for a moment. There was no memory of these two ever cooking at the same time and as of late years, either of them cooking at all. Especially not dinner. Crossing his arms, Peter leaned against the wall and cleared his throat, grabbing both of the male's attention. Tony smiled and motioned to the cabinets. "Care to set the table." It wasn't a question but more of a do-this-now demand.
Reaching over the cabinet nearest Steve, Peter made eye contact for a moment and they smiled at each other. Peter could already tell what the dinner conversation was going to be, but he didn't fear it now as he did earlier. Not after what Steve had told him before he knocked out. But he did still have to explain to Tony why he had some bruises on his face. Good thing everything seems to have swelled down after his nap. Setting the table, Peter sat in his chair and watched as his father's finish up their cooking.
Steve took his seat as Tony brought a hot pan around and placed hot spaghetti onto each of their plates. Setting the pot back onto the stove, Tony then brought three water bottles to the table and handed them around before finally taking his seat. "Dinner is served!" He boasted proudly. "This pasta is handmade, so hope you enjoy it. I've never made it before. Might kill all of us." He picked up his fork and twirled it around in the strings, moving them to soak up the sauce.
Eyeing the plate, Peter now feared for his life. But he picked up the fork anyways and twirled some strings onto it. Bringing the fork up to his lips, he looked around the table and realized his fathers were at the same position. They all gave a small nod and shoved the forks into their mouths. Peter first tasted the sauce which must have been home made. It was bursting with way too much tomato paste and what he thought to be pepper. The pasta was a bit stale and probably not cooked all the way through. But it was the first meal they've all had together in a long time and Peter was determined to make the best out of it. He swallowed and looked to Tony with a smile. "It's good." He said in the most delighted tone he could muster up.
Steve on the other hand, dropped his fork onto the plate and sat back in his chair. "This sucks." Closing his eyes for a moment, Peter looked over at Steve and raised his eyebrows. Sighing, Steve picked his fork back up and smiled at Tony. "I'm just messing with you. It's…good." He twirled some more strings around his fork and took his time in bringing it back up to his lips.
Looking back and forth, Tony placed his fork back into the spaghetti and shrugged, looking to Peter. "Steve made the sauce." He accused.
Realizing the blame was being put on him, Steve dropped his fork once more and sat back in his chair again. "Oh, so it's my fault now?"
"I'm not saying that. I'm just saying you made the sauce." Tony set his fork down as well. "So defensive. Do you not like your own sauce?"
Glaring a bit at the other man and crossing his arms, Steve continued to bicker. "My sauce is awesome. You love my sauce."
"Okay! Whoa!" Peter dropped his own fork and pushed his chair back away from the table. "Where is this going?" He held up his arms close to his ears, ready to cover them in any moments need.
Tony and Steve glanced at each other and then looked down to their plates. It was Tony that looked up at Peter first and motioned for him to sit close to the table once more. "Sorry son. We didn't mean to…argue." Picking his fork back up, Tony looked down at his plate. "Peter, what happened at school today? Heard there was some incident."
Peter knew Steve was listening intently even though he didn't look up as he shoved another forkful of food into his mouth and reaching for his water bottle just as fast. Motioning his own fork around the plate, Peter shrugged his shoulders. When this got Steve to finally look up from his food, Peter took a deep breath and thought of what to exactly tell his parents. He couldn't really tell them that this guy usually threatens him into doing his work just enough so he can pass. Or that out on the field or court this same guy often has a knack for tossing a ball Peter's way when he wasn't paying attention. Or that this same guy tossed him into a very filthy garbage can just last week.
But he had to tell them something. And if he worked around this right, seeing how they already knew some of his history with Flash that he's told them, he might get out of this with no punishment for leaving school grounds. He shoved some food into his mouth and chewed on it quickly, then took a large gulp of water. "Um, that Flash guy I told you about before, he uh, thought I called him an idiot." He shoved another forkful of food into his mouth, letting this sink into his parent's heads.
Tony shrugged his shoulders as he looked at Peter. "But he is an idiot." Unable to help the laugh that escaped him, Peter clamped his hand over his mouth. Steve on the other hand nudged Tony. "Right, sorry. So what, you called him an idiot. And that gave him an excuse to beat the hell out of you?"
Nodding and shrugging his shoulders at the same time, Peter took another gulp of his water. "In his mind, it is. Anyways, I got my behind beat. But Gwen helped me patch up so everything is cool." Wait, did he really just say her name? To his father's? Peter could feel his face fall as he slowly looked up at the two men whom exchanged a glance and then looked to Peter. He could already hear the millions of questions coming at him, but if he answered the first one right, he could change it from millions to just a few.
Smirking a mile wide, Tony set his fork down and leaned back in his chair, water bottle in hand. "So, who's this…Gwen?" He rolled the name out in a soft purr and giggled before taking a sip of water.
Peter was shaking his head already. "No one. I mean, she is someone-but no one that I-we've never even- until today but." He took a breath, hating himself for answering that first question in the worst possible way. His face felt as hot as it was probably red and he looked down at his knees.
"Quite the stutter, Peter." Tony boasted. "That's how we could always tell you were nervous."
This was just horrible. Peter didn't want them making comments at him for liking someone, but he didn't want to put Gwen's name in a bad way. Mustering up his words, Peter looked back at his parents and gave a small grin. "Her name is Gwen Stacy. She helped me out today. After Flash that is. Gave me some medicine or something. After Flash." He stopped and took a deep breath. Repeating himself was going to get him nowhere. "She's a really nice girl." Peter couldn't help the genuine soft smile that came onto his lips as he thought of her wiping his face after the cold water woke him.
The two adult males were quiet for a moment, watching Peter with interest. Giving each other another glance, Steve cleared his throat and got up from his seat. "Well good for her. But you left school grounds during school hours. Punishment, finish eating and then clean the dishes."
Peter just nodded and kept his smile on. The thought of Gwen's kindness melted his heart in a positive way. Finishing this meal was going to be a piece of cake. And he never minded cleaning up. He did it every day anyways. When all was said and done, Peter made his way into his room and finished up the homework assignment from the only class he made it to. Pushing his book bag to the side, he opened up the side draw of his desk and pulled out his camera. Peter had saved up a lot of allowances to purchase this camera, and since Christmas wasn't far off, he planned to take some pictures of the decorated houses tomorrow after school. This was a favorite hobby of his, and he figured it would clear his mind greatly. There was a knock on the door and Peter set the camera down atop his desk. "Come in!" He called as he dug in his drawer once more for a memory card to put into the camera.
The door opened and Tony leaned against the door frame in his robe and smiled at the teen. "Hey kiddo. Just wishing you a good night."
"Night dad." Peter said, looking up and smiling at his father, then setting back to his task.
Tony made to leave, but then turned back. "Hey, Peter. Next time, give that kid a run for his money." When Peter looked up at him, Tony winked and then closed the door.
Peter giggled to himself. The day he could take on Flash would be the day he could fly through the streets of New York City. But it was fun to mess with the big dumbass. Maybe when it gets warmer, he'll lead Flash and his coon pack on a wild chase around the city on his skateboard. Finding the memory card, he shoved it into its slot and turned the camera on. An empty card. Perfect. Everything was set and ready for tomorrow and Peter decided to call it a night, shutting off the light and crawling into bed.