12. neverland

The restlessness goes away. It's followed by nightmares.

Always different, but always the same. He's trapped behind the glass, in the small prison, with no way of getting out, but it doesn't always end with fire. Sometimes Peter's trying to punch his way out, bruising his knuckles until they bleed. Sometimes he's screaming for help while the cage slowly fills with water, screaming until he can't anymore, until he's under it and drowning. He prefers those to the empty ones. The nights he sits in the box with just him and silence, not attempting to bust out, not attempting to fight. It's so foreign. So apart from him. Peter always fights, at least when he's awake.

Tony is a recurring character. He stands on the outside, staring and blinking and silent, but those occasions are rare. More often when he visits the nightmares, he's trying to rescue him. He tries everything he can. His plots are intricate like the weapons he builds, but the end results are never any different. It ends with both of them clawing at the glass uselessly, while a giant timer with neon lights ticks away somewhere off in the distance, pinned up in the ceiling like a scoreboard.

The glass never breaks, and the timer always hits zero.

At least when he had been plagued by the restlessness, he didn't want to sleep. His legs and mind didn't want to turn off, so they didn't, but now he desperately wants to close his eyes and rest. Instead he closes his eyes and the horror show begins. He supposes he should be thankful his mind likes to switch things up occasionally. He's never bored by them.

Despite being unable to save him in the nightmares, Tony's always waiting for him on the other side. Shaking him back into reality by his shoulders while he sweats and screams and thrashes in his sleep. It's become their new routine. Tony wakes him up, waits for him to gather his bearings, then they move to the TV armed with the comforter from Peter's bed and a pillow. Peter takes the couch. One night of struggling on the bean bag chair is all it takes to convince Tony to have a recliner put in Peter's room, and that's where he sits, doing whatever work billionaire avengers do in the middle of the night while they wait for their traumatized wards to fall asleep watching Netflix. He stays as long as it takes, and sometimes he's still asleep in the recliner when morning comes. Other times, just his laptop remains in his place.

It's smothering. Peter's fourteen, not four, but he's not bothered enough to tell the man he doesn't need him. That he's had nightmares before him and can handle them just fine on his own. Besides, even if he does tell him, he doubts Tony will listen. They may not be at the compound anymore, but it's still a rule. If it's night, and Peter's not asleep, he can't be alone. So, Tony's there when Peter wakes up, every time, and sees him when he's scared and not awake enough to pretend to be anything else. And that's the part Peter hates the most. Letting Tony Stark see him afraid, because Iron Man is never afraid, or at least he never acts like it.

The night before his freshman orientation at Midtown, Peter lays on his couch, covered up to his head with the blanket, but his attention isn't fixed on the TV. He stares at Tony. A soft glow from the television lights the space surrounding them, and a smaller light radiating from Tony's laptop screen makes his facial features more pronounced. It doesn't take the man long to notice Peter's watching him instead of the TV. He looks past his computer screen to meet his eyes.

"You don't always have to act like the tough guy," says Tony. Words don't need to pass between them for Tony to guess, and guess correctly, the thoughts going through Peter's mind. For better, or for worse. "We all get them."

"The Avengers?" asks Peter, then when Tony nods in the affirmative, he asks another. "Even you?"

"Especially me."

Peter looks back at the TV. Two men are chasing each other around a beach with swords, but he's not sure who's supposed to be the good guy and who's supposed to be the bad guy. Without context, it's impossible to tell the opposing teams apart. He never figures it out. His eyelids become too heavy, and not even the threat of revisiting the glass prison can prevent him from falling asleep.

Morning comes too early, and when he walks into the kitchen, dressed and ready for the day, Tony and Happy are already waiting for him. Tony presses a silver tumbler into his hands. Peter slides open the top, releasing the unmistakable smell of freshly roasted coffee and letting it fill the room, then frowning. Tony knows better.

"Coffee won't work on me."

"That coffee will," says Tony. "Brucey's specialty. Made it in the lab for Steve and Bucky. It'd probably give a normal person a heart attack."

Curious, Peter takes a sip, and it's surprisingly good for something concocted in a lab, so he keeps drinking it as Tony pushes a breakfast bar on him and they all head across the room and into the elevator. Happy's eyes appraise him as they descend down to the lobby

"Coffee won't fix the dark circles, boss," he says.

"Well, we do the best we can," says Tony. He turns to Peter, frown setting in as he gets a closer look. "Don't you think you could've at least ran a comb through your hair?"

He makes a move to smooth down Peter's wild, brown curls, but the door to the elevator opens and he bolts out from it, eventually turning and walking backwards into the lobby, with the silver tumbler filled with the magic coffee and his breakfast bar occupying both his hands, leaving the two grown men fussing over his appearance behind. His life has slipped further into the normal category, where the adults in his life care about things like eating good meals and hair and dressing properly. He'll never admit it out loud, but he doesn't mind it.

He only acts like he's bothered, the same way he'd like to pretend the nightmares don't bother him, and the connection causes him to push away the thought that it's more than futility keeping him from asking Tony to leave him alone after nightmares.

"What? Am I supposed to be pretending you're my mom now, too?"

Happy laughs. "You're right. He is growing on me."

"Wanna say that a little bit louder, Einstein?" asks Tony, emerging into the lobby, and looking around to insure no one is around to have heard him. He finds the lobby empty, then turns to Happy. "And you're fired."

Tony does, eventually, get his way about Peter's hair when they're in the backseat of the car and he's handed a comb. He accepts it with a sigh, combs his stupid hair, eats the gross breakfast bar meant to satisfy his metabolism and finishes off the coffee, letting the tumbler fall to the floor by his feet. A look from Tony convinces him to pick it back up and place it in the cupholder. He looks at the empty container, and he does feel more awake. On the jittery side, but more functional at least.

He'll text Bruce and thank him later. That, and ask him to send some more. Peter doesn't expect the nightmares to give him a break any time soon.

Happy pulls the car to the side of the road outside of Midtown. There's already students sprawling about the property, some walking towards the school's entrance and some hanging back, clumping into groups and chatting. They all look so completely normal, and Peter gets crushed under a wave of jealousy. Their coffee is from Starbucks, not manufactured in a lab, and he's willing to bet they aren't tortured by nightmares during the night.

Peter's about to open the door and tell them goodbye when Tony stops him.

"Let's go over the story one more time."

Peter groans and throws his head against the headrest. Nothing drills in the point his situation isn't normal more than Tony ordering him to recite his cover story. He's tried of the story. He's tired of repeating it back to Tony and Nat, and he's tired of the two of them reciting it back to him as if they're trying to brainwash him into believing it's true.

Tony studies him. That's never a good sign.

"Maybe you should skip today," he suggests. "Orientation isn't required, and you could use some more sleep."

"Like I'm going back to sleep after drinking all that coffee," says Peter. His eyes lock with Tony's, his head still pressed up against the black seat. He tries another tactic. "If I stay home with you, you'll just have to listen to me whine all day."

Tony narrows his eyes at him.

"I'll be annoying."

"I'll lock you in your room."

Peter grins. "You'd never do that."

"Yeah, yeah you're just lucky I'm nice," says Tony. He fishes for something in the pocket of his suit jacket, and pulls out a small, black box. He opens it to reveal a silver smart watch. "Hold out your hand."

"How's this any different – "

"This one won't try to kill you," says Tony. Softer, quieter, than usual. "And you can take it off whenever you want, you'd just be stupid do it."

Peter stretches out his right arm, watching as the same hands that pried the Oscorp tracker off his bloody wrist clasps on a brand new one. It's exclusive Stark Industries watch, and Peter's sure, it's made just for him.

"It's tracking me?" He holds his wrist in front of his face, examining it and pushing a few of the buttons. He brings it down and begins to scroll through its menu with his thumb.

"It's keeping you safe," says Tony, rephrasing. "It'll let me know if you're in trouble."

Peter nods. He understands, but it doesn't mean he likes it. He tries the door again, but Happy's child safety lock is still enabled.

"Still waiting for you to explain your backstory."

Peter gives him an annoyed huff but launches into the story of his fake mother's death, a few odd details about their home in the mid-west, how he spent a few months in child services before they contacted Tony, how he resents Tony for forcing Stark Industries responsibilities too soon. That last part, Tony always explains, is the most important. It'll make him relatable. Harry feels the same way about his father, or at least that's what Tony guesses.

And he's right, if Peter's conversation with Harry on the balcony at the gala held any sort of truth.

Once Tony is satisfied Peter has a thorough understanding of who he's pretending to be, the door comes unlocked and he's allowed to leave the car. He doesn't even make it off the road and onto the sidewalk before Tony's window comes down.

"Happy will be out here at 11:30 sharp," he tells him. "Try not keep him waiting, alright? You might give him an aneurysm."

Peter smiles and nods, then watches the car pull away. Once it's out of sight, and he's free of the near constant adult supervision he's had since being pulled out of New Life, he turns towards the school, pauses for a moment, before walking towards the entrance.

Other students are already staring. They're already whispering, and he's pretty sure a few have taken pictures of him on their phones. He walks past them and into the school without giving them so much as a glance. It doesn't bother him. Not anymore. His nerves from the gala have disappeared, and anyway, these kids have nothing on meeting Norman Osborn. If he can survive that, he can walk into a school.

And he's been practicing. Tony's been making a point to take him out more during the day, and he's been to dinner with Tony and Pepper a few times since.

The staring and the whispering become more pronounced once he's inside the school, but he moves quickly, looking all around for Harry Osborn, as he walks to the auditorium. He's starting to believe Harry really does have the power of invisibility, but when he enters the auditorium, he finds Harry, sitting in the second to last row, face in his cellphone.

Peter approaches, and Harry looks up.

"You too?"

"Yeah," says Peter. He looks around the auditorium, pretends to debate, before finally saying, "Can I sit with you?"

"Sure," says Harry, lazily beckoning to the chair next to him. "You look like you haven't slept in a week."

"Zombie Blaster Five." The lie is easy and ready as Peter sits in the red, uncomfortable theater chair and gets settled. "Stayed up all night, but I still can't get past level nine."

The last part is true, just misplaced in time. Lies are more believable with reality mixed into them. Another great piece of advice from Nat that makes him worry how many times he's been fed lies and didn't catch onto it.

"That's a tough one. The key's in the doctor's medicine cabinet."

Peter frowns, trying to reassemble the level in his mind and replay it out, wondering how he missed that, then shakes it off. Not important. Focus on the mission. "Wait – I thought your dad won't let you play."

Harry shrugs. "YouTube."

It's a depressing thought, and the scene plays out in his mind. Harry Osborn alone in a room that probably looks a lot like Peter's does now, watching YouTubers play games and living vicariously through them.

And so, when Peter offers to let Harry come over and play on his game system, it isn't completely because he's trying to win his trust. Part of it is sincere, or at least, it makes him feel better to believe that.

Harry directs a death glare to someone sitting in the row behind them, but raises his eyebrows, looking incredulous at Peter's offer. "Yeah, that's what I'm going to do. Go over to Iron Man's penthouse and play video games."

"He doesn't, like, walk around in the Iron Man suit. At home he's just – "

"-Tony Stark?"

"I see your point," says Peter. He doesn't actually, but the thought crosses his mind he may see Tony like the rest of the world if their first meeting hadn't been a life or death situation, if it hadn't ended in his rescue.

"Hey, loser!"

Peter has to adjust his body to properly crane his head and look towards the back row. A girl with curly black hair pulled up in a messy ponytail is staring at him. He can't read her face, and he's a little shocked. She's the first student besides Harry to speak to him directly since entering the school. Since being called Stark.

"Tin man made you change your last name, huh?" she asks, leaning up from the chair and titling her head.

"W-what?"

"I've been sitting back here saying Stark for the last five minutes and I get nothing from you."

"Cause he's ignoring you on purpose, right, Peter?" asks Harry, but he doesn't give him the chance to respond for himself. Harry looks at the girl, eyes narrowing, channeling some of Norman's disgust. "We're in the middle of a conversation."

"So he ignores being called Stark and responds to loser?"

"Um – "

"Mind your own business."

"He did," says Peter, fast and loud. It's a mistake. He should let Harry be correct, both for his safety and his mission of befriending the other boy, but he doesn't want to dismiss the girl. It's nice to have someone talk to have in a normal way, without trying to snap his photo or being afraid.

She blinks at him. No doubt surprised she got an answer. "What was it before?"

"Parker," he answers, automatically.

"Too bad. You lost the alliteration."

Peter smiles at her before turning back around.

"Don't listen to her," says Harry. "That name is currency. Shame it has to be an Avenger's name – "

"Why is that bad?"

"The Avengers are bad people," says Harry, as if it's obvious. "Murders and city destroyers, all of them."

"Dude, they're literal super heroes."

"Depends on who you ask, I guess," he says, with another shrug, turning his attention to the stage as someone stands behind a podium, tapping on the mic and bringing the chattering of the auditorium to a slow, steady, stop.

The man who introduces himself as Principal Morita begins talking, and Peter turns off his brain, fixing his attention to his new smart watch. He'd been horrified at the idea of wearing a tracker, again, but this tracker isn't really a tracker. It fits loosely. It has a lot of other cool features built in, and Peter uses his time stuck in assembly wisely, getting familiar with them. He's coming around to Tony's claim that life has choices at every turn.

Keep the watch on, take it off. He thinks this choice is pretty simple. He's not stupid, after all.

Peter's eyes snap open. The glass prison is engulfing him.

It hasn't grown since last time he's visited in his nightmares, but he's shrunk. He's tiny, with no muscles or extra senses. He's five years old again, and impossibly aware of it. This is a time from before.

This is starlight, still muddled from distance traveled, but less so. It feels incredibly close.

He's sitting cross-legged on the floor, close to the glass that faces the rest of the training room, dragging a blue and red toy car across the concrete floor. Playing pretend. It's on a race track, going fast, fast, then faster. The car's in first place. It's about to win the gold medal, when suddenly, it blows up. Peter makes a sound he thinks resembles an explosion and throws the car into the air. It never falls back down, but he forgets about it. The doors to the training room come open with a screech.

He stares apprehensively at first, but he breaks into a smile when he sees it's familiar face approaching. Richard Parker is dressed in the clothes he wears when he teaches at the high school. A sweater vest, worn and ragged, and a pair of khakis. He comes to stop before he reaches the glass, stands eerily still and watches his son through his wide-frame glasses. One of the lenses is shattered.

"Dad!" Peter stands up and puts both hands on the glass. "Can we go home now?"

Richard puts both hands in his pockets and continues to stare at Peter. His expression is almost sad, but it's just a caricature of the emotion. Like someone wearing a mask that's fixed and unmoving. Eyes give it all way, and Richard's are blank. There's nothing behind them. Empty.

Peter wavers a bit under the stare, and takes his hands away from the glass, frowning at the handprints he leaves behind. "Dad. I miss you… can you l-let me out? Then we can be together."

"I'm sorry, son," he says. "I can't do that. This is for your own good."

"I want to go home!" says Peter, anger igniting and releasing in the same moment. His tiny hands ball into fists and pound the glass. "Mom's waiting for us. We're gonna miss dinner! She'll be mad at you!"

Richard is standing straight with perfect posture, unchanging and not effected.

Peter's trembles, anger already spent, and his voice becomes quiet, almost pleading, "We're going to miss our favorite show, the one with the funny scientist – "

"TV's a waste of time," says Richard, harsh and unforgiving, and it causes Peter to move back into anger.

"Let me out of here!"

He hits the glass again, somehow knowing his fists should be bigger and stronger, but still, nothing happens. His dad turns from the spot and walks away, while Peter watches his back get smaller until he's on the other side of the room. A metal stretcher pops into existence in front of him, and there's a small boy strapped down on top of it. A woman also appears. She's holding the boy's hand, and she's humming a lullaby under her breath.

Despite the distance, Peter can hear it clearly, and it's not like the songs his mom sings to him before bed. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck stick up.

Richard sticks his hand up into the air and a syringe materializes. He brings down his hand fast and hard, stabs the boy in the arm without warning, and twists. The boy lets out a yelp, but his cries are silenced by the woman, until he stops.

"Dad… what are you doing?"

Peter strains his eyes to see, but it's getting harder and harder as smoke fills the prison and stings his eyes. The last image he manages to see if his father the biology teacher handing the woman a wad of cash and her retreating out the door, leaving the boy behind to wail without the comfort of the creepy lullaby. He waves his arms desperately, trying to clear the smoke, trying to see clearly the kind of man his father had been, but he cannot.

He's too far away.

And then suddenly, he's even further away. He's back in his bedroom, arms still flailing, and fighting two hands on his shoulders. Coming to his senses, sleep wearing off, he stops his struggle and lets Tony lift him into a sitting position back against the headboard. He can't look at Tony in the eyes, so instead he shifts his gaze to the floor where his blanket has been thrown, while he catches up on his breaths.

"A bad one?" asks Tony.

"Y-yeah," says Peter, still looking at the floor, enjoying feeling cold air on his skin. They're all bad, but he knows what he means. "My dad was there. He wouldn't help me."

Peter manages to lift his face to finally look at Tony. Something familiar is playing out on his expressions. Pity. His grip on Peter's shoulders become tighter, and there's a second Peter thinks the man might pull him in for a hug. He breaks eye contact. This time he looks down at his wrinkled sheets. After being traumatized by his nightmare dad, he's not sure he can handle accepting a hug from the man who only pretends to be one. Tony must sense the hesitation, because he lets go.

They're not there yet.

Tony gathers his comforter from the floor and grabs a stray pillow from nearby, carrying them over to the couch for him while he trails behind. They reach the couch, Tony hands him his pillow, Peter arranges it and lays down. The comforter comes falling over him before Tony takes his place in the recliner, without his laptop, or even a tablet. He picks a movie, and once again, their space becomes filled with artificial light from the TV.

A/N: Apologies for this being a day late, and also, thanks for reading! You guys are the best!

Look for the next one at the end of next week!