9. peter breaks through

When restlessness turns into misery, Peter opts to stay with Tony.

He's familiar, the most familiar, and nights with him are always unpredictable. They go back to the diner, and some nights, they go other places. There are occasions where Peter falls asleep in the car before they ever reach a destination. He falls asleep thinking about stars and the speed of light and how there's no way of knowing if anyone else sees the world the same way, even sees colors the same way, as he does. The morning after these sort of nights, he wakes up in his bed, no idea how he got there, but also, not really caring enough to investigate.

Some nights the misery is too heavy for the car to carry, and Tony takes him to his workshop. It's a huge room somewhere underneath the compound, filled with everything and anything necessary for Tony to continue to improve his Iron Man suits. It's impressive the way Tony's thoughts are turned into reality and Peter is happy to help him, happier still when Tony isn't interested in working on his suits and retreats to his desk off in the corner, because on those nights, Peter gets to spin his own thoughts into inventions.

He never shows them to Tony. He's afraid he won't approve.

It's an odd night when they wander down to see Bruce in his lab. Stepping inside, Peter's reminded of the night he first saw Tony's suite. It's a mess, and Bruce is in the center of it, sitting on a stool in front of some test tubes, guzzling down a cup of coffee as he stares intently at a spare piece of graph paper with handwritten notes scratched across it. Tony guides Peter to the office part of the lab, with Bruce's desk and behind it, a couch with a comforter draped over it. Apparently, it's been a long time since Bruce has slept in his own bed.

Tony takes something out of his pocket, unfolds them and once Peter recognizes what they are, what's going on, he lets out a groan. Unfolded all the way, the object turns into over the ear headphones, the kind Tony designed just for Peter, the kind that prevents him from hearing anything, even if nothing is pumping through the speakers.

"Aww, come on," says Peter. He refuses to take the headphones Tony tries to push on him.

"Sorry, the grown-ups are going to have a conversation now," says Tony. He plugs the headphones into a laptop sitting on Bruce's desk and pushes both of them into Peter's hands. He tumbles down into the couch with the force. "Bruce has Netflix. Watch something."

He looks up at Tony, and with an annoyed sigh, slings the headphones over his ears. He complains about them, but actually, they're nice. He's used to hearing everything. It's fresh air to hear nothing. He considers taking them off, listening in anyway, but FRIDAY is always watching and as soon as Peter opens the laptop, he's greeted with Netflix, already opened. A show grabs his attention. It's something relatable, so he watches it and thirty minutes into episode one, he falls asleep.

When restlessness turns into emptiness, he finds Nat and Clint, who are usually in the common area. They let him sample their drinks, but just a sip, no matter how many times Peter tries to explain to them about his metabolism. They teach him how to play poker, or more importantly, they teach him how to bluff. He's not good at it at first. It's just like lying. He can never get his face to match his words when they aren't the truth, but eventually, he gets better. He catches on, but he's never good enough to fool either of them.

It isn't until they're joined by another avenger, one that's a stranger to him, that Peter wins a hand. He's sitting on the floor, arms laid on the glass coffee table where they play, with Nat and Clint somewhere on the couch behind him. Peter reveals his hand to the dumb-founded man sitting across from him.

"You cheated," says Scott, sitting on the other side of the table. His words are more lost than certain, and he begins looking at the cards Peter laid faceup on the table, as if he expects them to be counterfeit.

"What's wrong, Lang? Can't handle getting beat by a kid?" asks Nat.

Scott eyes the two sitting on the couch. "You two helped."

Peter takes all the chips. "You owe me fifty bucks."

"He owes me fifty bucks," says Clint, snatching the bill from Scott before Peter can take it. "I'll take that off your tab."

When restlessness turns into anger, Peter spends the night in the gym with Steve.

Sometimes they throw punches at each other. Steve holds back. Peter doesn't, but it's okay. He's learned he can punch as hard as he wants, try as hard as he can, but he can never really hurt the super-solider. All of his energy gets thrown into it, all of the rage and the fear and the times he wanted to punch back but couldn't. It gets burnt up fast, and he's back in the suite quick those nights, ready for a shower and then, ready to pass out on his bed, wet hair making his pillow damp and uncomfortable.

It doesn't matter. He's asleep too fast for it to bother him.

Other times, like tonight, Steve holds the punching bag and Peter simply hits. Imagining he's hitting more than a punching bag. It's Monroe or Norman Osborn, but more often than not, the punching bag takes the form of One. There isn't a plan for his downfall yet, just his rescue, and that's fuel enough for his most impactful punches. He plants one in the center of the bag, and if Peter didn't know any better, he would say he saw Steve readjust his footing afterward.

"Done for the night?" asks Steve, after Peter quit punching. There's surprise in the question. It's early. Even for gym nights.

"Steve," says Peter. Thinking. Thinking of a way to phrase his question without making it sound suspicious. "What would you do if you had to face a natural enemy?"

"A natural enemy?" Steve repeats, one eyebrow raised. That obviously hadn't been successful, and a bad way to phrase his question, but he still hasn't figured out a way to make his webbing fireproof.

"Yeah," says Peter. "You know, have you ever seen that superhero show on Netflix? There's this one guy, who's weak to these rocks from space – "

"That sounds stupid."

"Well it is. But it's a good show," says Peter. He shakes his head, getting back on to the point. "Anyway, what I'm trying to ask is, how would you beat a guy with space rocks if you were weak to them?"

Steve lets go on the punching bag, and it swings gently on its ropes without a force holding it still. He's considering Peter, analyzing his question, trying to find something wrong with it, like his motive, but Peter pretends he's playing poker. He keeps a straight face, or at least, he tries. It's still hard not to fold under scrutiny.

"Why are you asking this?"

"Just curious."

Steve's face says he doesn't believe him, but he answers the question anyway. "I would call that an obvious weakness, so you look for a complex advantage. Study how they fight, not what they fight with. A personality weakness is more easily exploited than… umm, space rocks?"

Other nights, the restlessness is hard to define. It's presence creeps through his bones and crawls through his thoughts no matter what he's doing, no matter who he's with, so he leaves it up to fate. Tonight, he's uneasy on the couch in the common area of the compound, where they normally laugh and play cards, and he's alone, but only because Clint had to take a call from his family into the other room. He's lost on the cellphone Tony makes him carry around, scrolling through the social media feed, even though he doesn't belong to any of the networks. Staring at other people's lives through the glass is overwhelming. He'll never be convincing enough to fit in with any of them, let alone Harry Osborn.

Peter sits up straight when he hears footsteps approaching, and watches as Bucky enters the common area, not sparing him a glance as he fast-walks across it and heads to the other side, moving towards the hall that leads to the lobby.

"Hey, wait!" Peter scrambles off the couch and races across the room, but his rush of adrenaline ends once he's standing in front of Bucky, who's towering and intimidating, even with his metal arm covered by a thin, long-sleeved black shirt. "…where are you going?"

"Outside."

"Can I come with you?"

"Is it going to be a repeat of last time?"

Peter doesn't like thinking about that night, and wants to remark that it's already different, by the very nature he's asking permission to go, instead of sneaking out of his bedroom window, but he manages to hold his tongue. Getting smart, as Tony calls it, will not get him anywhere, and he desperately wants to go somewhere, wants to be outside where the air is fresh and not suffocating, where the stars decorate the sky.

"No," says Peter.

"Then come on."

Peter sends Clint a text explaining where he went, and then follows Bucky as he makes his way out of the compound. They are out the front doors quickly and the breeze that greets Peter is familiar. He's forgotten how much he misses it. Just being outside. It didn't happen at the facility, and at the compound, it doesn't happen often enough.

They don't speak as they walk towards the track, but it isn't the comfortable quiet him and Tony share when they're driving in the car. It's the sort of silence that happens when no one knows what to say, and the awkwardness is obvious to both parties. As they keep walking, and it becomes clear to Peter that Bucky isn't going to be the first to speak, he looks up. It's a good night for stargazing. The sky is black and clear and lit up from the light of the moon, with a little help from the stars.

But because looking straight up at the sky and walking isn't a good combination, he runs straight into Bucky's back, not realizing the man had come to a sudden stop.

"Oh, sorry Mr. – "

"Bucky," he says. Then he looks at Peter. "What's so interesting up there?"

Peter looks up again. His thoughts spill out. There's too many of them to hold. "It's sort of like looking into the past. We're so far away… even at the speed of light, it takes years for the light from the stars to get to us. And we'll never see the stars as they are now, just as they were…"

"Does that bother you?"

"Yes," says Peter, looking away from the sky, back at Bucky's blank face. "Doesn't it bother you?"

"No. I've never thought about it," says Bucky. "You shouldn't spend so much time looking into the past, though. Especially if you don't like what you see."

He turns, and continues walking, leaving Peter to question what is about his past, his memories, that makes him so eager to be rid of them, besides the obvious four years in hell. He should want to remember his parents, but he doesn't. Those memories. They seem wrong. He rather bury them, he rather pretend. He should want to remember his aunt and uncle, but he only wants them to stick around when he's happy, when he's laughing with Tony or Nat or Clint and he can feel them laughing, too.

Peter breaks into a run to catch up with Bucky, and when they fall into more silence, he can't let it continue.

"Do you come out here a lot at night?"

"Yes. You're welcome to join me, anytime."

"Thanks," says Peter. "But I won't be here much longer. I'm moving to the city, with Tony, for the mi – "

"-Don't call it a mission," Bucky interrupts with a soft voice, but Peter can tell, he's fighting hard to control his tone.

Tony's announcement to the rest of the team that Peter would be going undercover to steal Osborn's secrets didn't go over smoothly. Peter couldn't hear the details. He'd been trapped in his bedroom with Tony's annoying soundproofing protocol activated, and he hadn't heard a thing. He did sense the mood afterward. It wasn't great, and it's the same mood that's radiating off of Bucky now.

"What should I call it, then?" Peter challenges. He doesn't appreciate the lack of faith in him, or the hostility towards Tony, who's just trying to help.

Bucky accepts. "A dog-fight, and you're one of the dogs. You think you're fighting to get the truth, but really, you're just fighting for Stark's ego."

This time Peter stops, and he can feel the fire growing under his eyes. Tony wouldn't do that to him, he wouldn't put him in that situation for anything less than seeing a monster put away where he belongs. He takes several steps backwards to meet Bucky's stare, and he crosses his arms.

"You're wrong," says Peter, and then he turns, walks in the opposite direction and heads back towards the compound. Bucky doesn't follow him, and just to spite him, Peter takes one last look into the past before he goes back inside the compound.

Starlight traveling at the full speed of light. Stars that will only ever exist in the past. Memories that can only be seen for what they were and not what they really are.


"Nice shirt, Nat," says Clint. He appears out of nowhere, and as soon as she steps into the lobby of the compound.

She stops, glares at him, then continues walking. He falls in line by her side, while she straightens her dark blue button up shirt and purposefully ignores her black dress lacks. Interview clothes. Not interview clothes Natasha would wear, but clothes Natalie Mullens, single mother of two, would wear. Bad clothes were only one part of the equation, the easiest part, the costume, but luckily, she's a good actress and the whole world is a stage.

She said all the right things. She asked all the right questions and she laughed at all his jokes. Not in an obvious and obnoxious way. In a subtle, small way. There's a difference. One is desperate, the other is charming, and that's all that really matters when it comes to job interviews and first impressions, which really, are exactly the same thing.

Never mind being qualified, although Nat does have documentation claiming that fact, whether it's lying or not, Principal Morita never checked. Barely looked at it. He'd been too caught up talking with her.

"You have to look the part," she tells him, as they enter a large hallway, lit only by the sunshine streaming in through the windows. They both come to a stop, look at each other knowingly and shift their eyes towards the ceiling without tilting their heads. "We know you're up there."

There's some scuffing to be heard, up from the ceiling, and then seconds later, Peter lands in front of them with a crash. The hard fall doesn't seem to affect him whatsoever. He's too busy messing around with a metal device clasped around his right wrist, pushing a button and watching as nothing happens. He groans, lets his head fall against the floor, and looks up at them.

"You weren't even caught off guard, like, a little bit?"

This new game, if she can call it a game, sprang up a week ago. He tries and fails to sneak up on her, to scare her, because he can't grasp someone being so talented without enhanced senses. Super powers are given, but talent is made, over years and years and years of practice. Peter only sees the results. He can't see how she got there. It drives him crazy.

"No."

"Breathing too loud again?"

"Thinking too loud," she says.

"You can hear people think?" He's twisting his face the way he does when he's trying to figure out and piece together a problem. Watching his thoughts move so fast is almost as entertaining as watching him and Tony go back forth at each other.

"You can't?" She raises an eyebrow at him, and his confusion breaks. A small smile forms in its place. It's something that was once rare, in the beginning, but as time passes, is becoming much more common. Sometimes, she even catches him laughing.

Clint extends his hand to help him up, and he accepts it, springing to his feet and following them as they continue down the hall.

"What's that?" asks Clint, pointing the metal around his wrist.

"Oh, this?" He runs in front of them, then starts walking backwards, to show off whatever gadget Nat is sure he made on one of those nights he spends in the workshop with Tony. On those nights restlessness takes over. "It's a web-shooter! Or it's going to be, you know, so I can swing around like spiders do, almost like flying…!" He lowers his voice, his animated excitement still there, only now it's focused on a problem. "It doesn't work right yet… the web fluid gets stuck in the blaster…"

He's still walking backwards, but his attention has turned. Now it belongs to the web-shooter prototype, and that's something Nat can't imagine is Tony-approved. For someone who doesn't seem to mind putting Peter in a risky situation, he's at least safety conscious and becoming more so each day. He has to be to ask her to sacrifice her sanity and take up a post in a high school.

"Does Tony know you're trying to propel yourself from ceilings?"

"Well," says Peter, looking up from the web-shooter, meeting her eyes. "He doesn't not know about it."

"Oh, great," says Clint. "Can we be there when you tell him?"

Nat has a better question. "What do you mean he doesn't not know?"

"I'm not keeping a secret," he says. Then shrugs. "He's just busy."

They all stop walking, and Nat observes him, testing the lie for its weak point. He doesn't break eye-contact or move his feet or fidget with anything. He doesn't do anything of the things Peter usually does when he's lying. The poker lessons, along with Tony's basic lessons, are paying off, and she has no doubt he'll at least be believable enough to fool his peers, but he'll never be able to lie to her. It's a benefit of being one of his teachers. She knows all his tells.

She makes a mental note to warn Tony about the possibility of a flying spider-boy later. He's not the only one who knows super powers don't make young boys invincible.

"Are you even supposed to be down here?" asks Clint. Another good question. Peter doesn't normally roam around the compound unsupervised. All sorts of people are in and out, anyone of them could be a potential leak.

"Tony says it's fine. He doesn't want me in the suite because he's working on something top-secret."

"Is that what he said?"

Peter shrugs. "No. But it's what he meant."

He tells them goodbye, and is on his way, citing that he needs to go and talk to Bruce. About what, Nat doesn't know, and he's off before she can ask. They both watch him as he goes, practically running, and almost running into someone as he passes them.

"He seems better," says Clint.

"He's getting there. Hopefully tomorrow doesn't ruin it."

"He'll be fine. We'll both be there watching, if something happens."

"Both?"

"Tony didn't tell you? I'm the newest recruit in the security detail."

Seems like a little much for a fancy charity event. Especially an event meant to blindside Osborn and gage his reaction to the boy he may or may not recognize. If Tony's going overboard on security, well it isn't necessarily a bad thing. Just means Nat had been correct that night on the balcony with Bruce. Peter's a good influence on Tony, whether or not he's a good one on him, remains to be seen.


Tony leans against the kitchen sink and watches Peter stare at the plate of spaghetti in front of him. He picks up the fork, slowly wraps spaghetti strands around it and brings it up to his mouth, then stops. He cringes at Tony, begging him with his stupidly persuasive brown eyes to not make him eat it, but when Tony is silent, he takes a small bite. He chews it, swallows and then his expression changes.

"This actually isn't terrible," says Peter. He eats another bite, then another and Tony releases a deep breath.

A man who's never had to cook for himself in his life and a picky eater. They're a match made in heaven.

Peter eats two plates filled with spaghetti before bolting off to his bedroom, forgetting his plate on the kitchen table and giving Tony no choice but to rinse it off and place it in the dishwasher himself. Seconds later he follows him back to his room and opens his door. Peter shoots up from where he's sitting on the floor next to his bed. Looking guilty. Looking like he's bursting with secrets.

And Tony's heard from both Nat and Steve that the boys got plenty of them.

"Do you ever knock?"

"When you pay the bills, you don't have to knock," says Tony. "What are you hiding under your bed?"

"N-nothing."

"Nat told me about your spider web thing. Show me. I'm curious."

With a sigh, he moves his foot under the bed and kicks out the web-shooter prototype. He picks it up and throws it to Tony, then sits on his bed and watches him, gripping the edges of his mattress. Tony examines it, impressed that by its quality and kicking himself for not noticing what Peter had been up to all those nights they spent in the workshop together. Tony finds a button, presses down on it and something shoots out from the front and sticks to the wall, looking very much like an overgrown spider web.

"Really can't get past the spider thing, huh?"

"I'm embracing the meme."

Tony stalks across the room and touches the substance. He tries to peel it off, but it won't budge. It's too strong, and it's stuck too tight.

"You made this by yourself?"

"Yeah."

He walks over and hands the web-shooter back to him. Peter takes it hesitantly, as though he expects Tony to snatch it away at the last second. "This is really good, Pete. Well done."

"Really? You're not mad?"

"No. Just don't go jumping off anything crazy, until we can test it out, alright?" asks Tony, and Peter nods his head. "And you need another one. One for each hand."

"I don't want… I don't like anything on this wrist." He holds up his left wrist. The one that's only healed on the outside.

Tony can't fault him there, so instead, he moves on to the other secret. These conversations, the ones after dinner, where Tony picks through Peter's thoughts and gets rid of the ones he doesn't like, are becoming familiar, but they are necessary. It's like cleaning. He can't let the mess build up if he doesn't want to deal with a bigger one later.

"Is it fireproof?"

"Huh?" Peter almost drops the web-shooter on the floor, but quickly recovers.

"The webbing? Is it fireproof?"

"No."

"Oh, because Steve told me you said something interesting the other night," says Tony. "And I was sitting here trying to piece it together and I realized what's more of a natural enemy to spiders than fire…?"

"…Insecticide?"

"Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you."

Peter groans and falls backwards on his bed.

"Forget about the psycho kid with fire hands," says Tony. "He's not your problem to solve."

He sits back up after a couple of seconds of silence. "But just say I see him – "

"-When would that ever happen?"

"Just say that it does – "

"-Then you turn around and walk the other way and call one of us to take care of it for you."

Peter looks unhappy at the offered solution, almost as if Tony has stolen something important from him, but he doesn't argue about it anymore. He stares at him, waiting for him to continue talking, and Tony takes this as a sign that the troublesome thought is dealt with and gone.

"Promise me," says Tony.

"I promise."

And at first, Tony is relieved to hear him say those words, but he's not. They match his face, but they are still wrong. He's lying. He's making a promise he doesn't intend to keep, and the kicker is, Tony almost believed him. It causes him pause. Causes him to look at the boy in front of him and remember him as he was the night he found Tony in his dark suite, knee-deep in Osborn research. And then there's doubt. Doubt that he's doing the right thing by putting Peter front and center in an undercover operation, even one at a high school.

But he shakes it off. Mind over matter. He moves on.

"Who are you hanging out with tonight?"

"Oh, I think I'm just going to watch Netflix and go to bed."

Tony places a hand on his forehead. "Are you sick?"

"No," says Peter, laughing. He shakes Tony's hand away. "Just tired. It's been a long day, and tomorrow's going to be longer, you know?"

He's right. Tomorrow will be a long day, but Tony can't help feeling a little… sad. In an odd way. He's gotten used to late nights in the car with someone to keep him company. He's gotten used to sharing his workshop with Peter, but he supposes if the restlessness is going away, he should be happy for him.

"I thought TV's a waste of time."

Peter hits him with a grim expression and gets up from his bed to rummage around for pajamas in his dresser. He turns his head back at him. "Don't make it a big deal, please."

"Okay, I'll make some popcorn instead."

"You're going to watch with me?"

"Why not? What else do I have to do if I'm not driving you around the state of New York?"

"Awesome," says Peter, grinning at him and pulling a t-shirt from a drawer. He points a finger Tony's way. "But I'm going to have to catch you up, cause I'm not starting all over just for you."

He exits into his bathroom with his clothes folded under his hand to take a shower, leaving Tony standing in his bedroom alone, just his thoughts to keep him company. He does have better things to do. Continue his disturbing dive into Richard Parker's dark history of proposing all the wrong theories. Improve his suit. Obsess over of the possible complications sure to come to them once Pepper makes the press release, once Monroe sees the news plastered around over the internet.

But he's still shaken by the lie. The ease at which it left Peter's lips. Maybe spending time with him will help prevent another one. Maybe.

He leaves the room. He makes popcorn.


A/N: I'm sorry this is so late! I lost a day of writing to a work event, then another one to binge watching the new season of Orange is the New Black and then I had to do some backtracking, but the next one won't take as long. Should be up by Wednesday!

Thanks for reading, guys!