Chapter 4

Peter was sitting at his desk in his room, staring out his window, and thinking of all the things he could be doing. He had an English paper to bullshit, biology cycles to get lost in, history dates to memorize. The list felt endless.

It was a rather mild Sunday. Thanksgiving was approaching, but the weather didn't seem to want to accept the coming winter chill. Peter was grateful. He wasn't sure if his boots from last winter even fit anymore, but he was positive that the tape on his sneakers wouldn't keep out the slushy ice.

Just as he opened a textbook, his phone buzzed.

:: Outside. ::

It was Happy. Peter took a breath to steady himself. He still wasn't sure what he was going to tell his mentor. Right before he walked out, he went back to find his suit at the bottom of his closet and stuffed it into his backpack to bring it with him. At least it would seem like he was always prepared for something.

Happy was leaning against the car on the driver's side, watching the door for Peter. When the kid finally walked out, he didn't exactly look like what Happy had expected. The boy's clothes didn't seem to fit him quite right; they seemed to hang loosely from his shoulders as if supported by a closet hanger instead of a muscular mutant body. The kid also looked paler than usual. Nevertheless, Happy decided not to jump to any conclusions. Maybe he was just sick.

The security guard thought this until Peter looked up from the ground and locked eyes with Happy. The boy quickly pulled his face away, but Happy had already seen it all ‒or maybe it was more accurate to say that he had seen nothing. Usually, the kid's face was lit up with excitement, and he talked a million word per minute. Today, his eyes showed no such spark, and he didn't even want to look at Happy.

Tony was right. Something was up.

Once in the car, Happy tried to strike a conversation with Peter, but the teen didn't seem interested. His responses were short, and his laughter sounded forced. He finally gave up when Peter frankly asked, "Hey, could we maybe talk about school later? I'm a little tired now." Peter leaned his head against the cool window and closed his eyes for the rest of the drive.

"Hey, you awake? We're here," Happy announced.

Peter picked his head up. They were parked in front of the Avengers' compound. He thought back to the time when his main goal was to be accepted as an Avenger, be someone that Stark could count on. That wouldn't be happening any time soon.

Happy escorted Peter to the stairs that led to Tony's lab. "Mr. Stark is just down there. I'll be here when you're ready to go." With that, Happy left.

At the bottom of the stairs, the doors slid open for Peter automatically. He couldn't immediately see Stark, but the thumping bass of Aerosmith ‒or AC/DC or Led Zeppelin or maybe none of those because Peter was pretty bad at differentiating the various rock artists‒ was confirmation that the mechanic was definitely at work. The lab was proof as well: metal constructs were scattered around, detailed blueprint holographs covered the walls, and the trashcan closest to Peter was filled with paper coffee cups and food wrappers.

"Pete!" Tony waved away the transparent-projection model he had been looking at. "FRIDAY, turn the volume down." As the kid made his way over, Tony couldn't help but smile; he really did miss the kid.

However, Tony's excitement was quickly replaced with concern. One look at the kid confirmed his suspicions that Peter was hiding something. For one, the kid didn't immediately skip over to Tony to catch the older man up on all his classes, friendships, and internet jokes. Furthermore, the kid smelled a little like he hadn't showered in a couple days, and his shoes looked like they were one thread away from dissolving into puddles around his feet. Despite all his judgements, Tony continued to grin at his mentee. If Tony looked uncomfortable or unhappy, Peter would get embarrassed and probably start apologizing for things he didn't even do. Tony forced himself to sound relaxed when he said, "How's it going, kid?" He playfully ruffled the top of Peter's head. Greasy. Too long.

Peter responded "I'm fine" before he could stop his reflexes. On Friday night, he had arrived to the conclusion that he wasn't totally fine, but it didn't really matter. During the car ride, he had decided not to involve Stark in his home life. If not for himself then for May: she'd be so embarrassed. Besides, he didn't want to be the billionaire's charity case. Wanting to change the subject, he asked, "What're you working on?"

Tony saw the diversion tactic, but he allowed it. The kid was unusually tense. Science might help him ease up. "C'mon over here, and I'll show you what I got for you." Putting a hand on Peter's shoulder to guide him to a different corner of the large lab, Tony noticed how bony he was. He was sure now that the kid had lost weight. Tony stopped them. "Did you eat lunch?"

Peter looked up at his mentor. He couldn't read Tony's face, but the question was out of place. It wasn't really lunch time. "It's, like, three o'clock."

"I know what time it is."

Peter knew he should lie. If he told the truth that he didn't eat lunch because there was no school on Sundays, it would lead to a bigger conversation that he didn't want to have. At the same time, he was hungry. Hunger and exhaustion were the most reliable things in his life right now. In the end, he looked away from Stark and succumbed to the thought of food. "No, I didn't eat lunch."

An hour later, Peter had forgotten to act like he wasn't starving, and he was wiping pizza crust dust off of his hands. A large pie and a half's worth of pizza dust. Plus the bag of fries. And a large chocolate milkshake. He hadn't felt so full in weeks. Now all he needed was a nice long nap…

"Pete! You with me?" Tony nudged Peter's leg. The kid had inhaled all the food then put his head on the table as if to go to bed. His sleepiness wasn't much of a surprise. The kid was so tired that he couldn't even follow the new codes that Tony had written for his Spider suit. Fortunately, Tony thought that this state of mind would make it easier for the kid to open up.

Peter gave a chuckle. He was so sleep-deprived that it was making him feel groggy. It felt like he had been drinking at a party for the past few hours, but it was late so everyone had gone home, leaving him alone on a couch with his thoughts. Except he wasn't alone because Tony was here. "Yeah, yeah, I'm awake. What's next?"

Tony took a seat next to the kid. "How about we just talk for a few minutes?"

"We don't really need to do that," Peter mumbled.

Stark was trying to choose his words carefully. He didn't want to corner the kid, so he started with a concrete question. "I just want to know what happened to your shoes."

"Oh," Peter said, genuinely surprised. He could handle a simple question like that. "Well, they're getting to be a little old. And, like, a little over month ago, I was trying out Ned's bike, but the chain popped out while I was going downhill, so I couldn't stop and I fell and my sneakers scraped really hard on the concrete‒"

"They're pretty beat up," Tony pointed out, stopping Peter from completely rambling. "You didn't get a new pair?"

Peter flushed. "Uh, no. It's not really in the budget right now."

"In the budget?"

"I don't really want to get into this, Mr. Stark."

"Pete, if this is a money thing‒"

"It's fine. I'm handling it." Peter's easy-going sleepiness was turning into angry fatigue.

"You're fifteen. You shouldn't have to‒"

"I said it's fine!" Peter snapped. He pushed back from the table and stood up. Fueled with food, Peter became defensive and bold. "Listen, you can't help me. You wouldn't even understand."

"Then help me to," Tony demanded, also standing. He was failing to keep the edge out of his voice. "You're here in dirty clothes and torn shoes, and you're starving and exhausted." Tossing his hands up, he exclaimed in exasperation, "What's going on? Why can't I help you?"

"It's-," Peter wavered for a moment before deciding to verbally punch Tony in the gut with "It's none of your business!" He grabbed his backpack and made for the stairs.

"Wait," Tony called out after Peter. He couldn't believe how badly this conversation had played out. "Peter, wait!"

At the sound of his full name, Peter stopped. Tony never called him 'Peter.'

When the teen turned around, Tony had caught up to him. Up close like this, Peter could see concern all over his mentor's face. "Please," Tony begged, "I'm sorry. We don't have to talk about this. Just promise me that you'll talk to me if you're in trouble. Please."

Peter was silent at first. Then, "Fine. But I'm not in trouble. I'm fine." He pulled away from Stark and continued to the door. Remembering his manners, he added, "Thank you for lunch, Mr. Stark."

That night, Tony was sitting on his bed, staring at the floor.

"So, he just kept saying that you wouldn't understand?" Pepper asked, rubbing Tony's back. She could tell how worried he was about Peter. And from his description of the teen, she felt worried, too.

"Yeah." He shook his head. What problem could be so complex that Tony Stark wouldn't understand it? "What do I do?"

Pepper sighed. She knew his anxiety would be acting up until he was sure that Peter wasn't in danger. "There's not much you can do. I think you just need to give him some space. He believes in you, Tony. He'll come to you when he's ready."

Tony leaned forward to put his face in his hands. He hated himself for not being able to help Peter right now, but he knew Pepper was right. He couldn't force the kid to talk. He just hoped that Peter would come to him before it was too late.