A/N: hey it's back! hoping to update again this Wednesday! thanks for reading!

All of Peter's favorite conversations started with do you remember when, and they all happened at the same place, a diner on the edge of Queens.

It had dirt smudged, checkered floor, and smelled like grease, French fries and ketchup, and it was littered with real people. The kind who yelled and shouted when they were angry, the kind who wore clothes with rips and t-shirts with stains.

More importantly, the kind who was his Aunt May.

She sat across from him, laughing, as Peter sipped his chocolate shake through a straw, and they both recounted the time Ben went to war with a mouse.

"It took him weeks," said May. Her plate was empty in front of her, and so was Peter's.

"He was so determined," said Peter. "He took a whole day off work."

"I was so angry about that." She was smiling and shaking her head. "Wasting his PTO… do you remember, he had it a little box by the time you got home from school and the two of you drove out to field and let it go."

"All that talk and he couldn't even kill it."

"Yeah," said May. She looked at Peter as her voice trailed off. "You get your kindness from him."

Peter beamed, before shifting his eyes back down at his milkshake, taking a sip, and relaxing his back against the sticky plastic booth he sat in. It was uncomfortable in a comfortable sort of way. A familiar way. A way Peter could enjoy, but never really own. Like the time he found an old Iron Man t-shirt in a box of his childhood things.

He could look at it. Smell it. Remember what it was like for Iron Man to be his hero, but not his father. Then he'd folded it up. Put it back in the box. He couldn't wear it anymore. It didn't fit.

"So, what do you have any plans for your weekend?" May asked him.

"Oh," said Peter. "No, not really."

Not really was a compromise Pepper had worked out between Peter and Tony. There was a charity gala at the end of the week that Peter didn't want to attend. There was a business trip over the weekend that demanded both Pepper and Tony to fly to Japan, and miraculously, Pepper had convinced Tony to let Peter stay at the penthouse by himself, only if he tagged along to the gala without whining about it.

A few hours of suffering among the stuffy and rich would be worth a weekend on his own.

"What about you?"

"Not much," answered May.

Peter wondered what her not much translated into. May adjusted the bracelets covering her wrist.

Whatever it meant, she didn't sound very excited about it, but Peter didn't press. Just like she hadn't pressed him, and anyway, it was just as well. Peter didn't like hearing about Greg, who was, unfortunately, still part of her life somehow, and he didn't particularly want to share details of his life with her.

These trips to the diner were strictly trips to past. Short visits. Long enough to be comforted by something familiar, but never long enough to hurt.

"Oh," said May, her eyes narrowed in on him. "You just… have something…" She looked down at her shirt, causing Peter to look down at his own hoodie and seeing a dark spot where he must've flung some of his chocolate shake onto it. May chuckled. "Still messy I see."

"Yeah, yeah that's me," said Peter, reaching across the table and accepting a wad of napkins from her.

Peter was dabbing his hoodie with the napkins when the flash of a camera stopped him cold. It was instant dread and frustration. When he jerked his head to the left and stared out the window, he was able to connect that flash with a person and all his bad feelings were validated.

He'd been a Stark long enough to spot paparazzi even if it was just one lonely guy with his phone, taking pictures of him while he was simply having his and May's ritual post decathlon met snack.

"Shit," said Peter, dropping his head. "There's always someone trying to take my picture."

May looked around, trying to find the offender, then finally, returned her eyes back to Peter, filled with nothing but sympathy.

"You're a Stark now," she said, in a gentle voice.

He didn't need any more reminders. Every day he was reminded in a new way, and sure, he'd been prepared for it, even before the adoption was official, but the diner was his safe haven, or at least, that was what he thought before now.

"I… I should get going," said Peter, shifting around in his seat, then eventually, sliding out from the booth. "Are… are we gonna meet up again? Next time?"

May smiled at him from her seat. "Of course, next time."

Peter nodded his head, then left the diner.

He put his hood up, shoved his hands in his pockets, and started his walk to the subway, wishing he'd get lost in the crowd, wishing May would keep her promises to show up at all his decathlon meets and their ritual snack afterwards.

Most of all, Peter hoped Tony wouldn't get weird when he found out he was visiting with May again.

"We're still on for this weekend, right?"

"Yes, Ned," answered Peter, without looking up. His voice was robotic, and his hand scratching his pencil furiously across the worksheet in front of him.

His lunch went ignored, pushed into the center of the table and forgotten as raced to get his weekend homework completed before he ever stepped foot in his home. It was because his and Ned's plans were still plans he was rushing through trigonometry.

Being left at home, alone, for the weekend, was an exercise in freedom Peter was completely ready for, and he didn't want to waste a second of it doing something like homework.

"I figured he'd change his mind," said Ned, after taking a sip from his milk. Two seats over from him, Michelle turned the page of the book she read.

"Yeah, me too," said Peter. He owed Pepper for that one, for convincing Tony to leave the country without him.

"Stark."

The realization that it was Peter's name that was being shouted hit him slow, and when it did, his head snapped up and around at the table next to his. It was Flash who demanded his attention, calling him by his new name, as always, like it was some kind of taunt.

"What's your bodyguard doing here?"

Peter followed Flash's gaze, and to absolute horror, saw Happy Hogan striding across the cafeteria, heading straight for Peter and his friends.

"He's not my bodyguard," said Peter. He didn't even know why he was still talking. He wanted to be a puddle on the floor.

Flash gave him a look. Peter looked at Ned or MJ for support.

MJ shrugged. "If the suit fits."

"Dude," said Ned. "Tony literally said he was your bodyguard before."

Before Peter could remind Ned who's side he was supposed to be on, Happy was dangerously close and not stopping his advance. He took a breath, then stood up to meet him, trying not to focus on the way he seemingly had the entire cafeteria's attention.

"Happy," said Peter, ignoring the way his voice squeaked, at the way he sounded out of breath besides just being sat down. "What are you – what're doing here?"

"Oh, I had a security conference with some of the staff – "

"-wait, what?"

"Don't give me that look," said Happy. He pointed a finger at him and waved it around. "You'll be happy they're trained if you have an incident with the paparazzi."

Peter blinked at him, then lowered his voice and gritted his teeth. "Do you have to be here, though? At my school? In the cafeteria?"

"Yeah," said Happy. "I'm picking you up. Grab your things. Let's go."

Peter nodded to his lunch tray. "It's only lunch."

"I see that. Boss's orders. He's pulling you from school early today."

"Why?"

As soon as he asked the question, he wished he didn't. He rather Happy not explain to him, in front of his friends and classmates, whatever reason Tony had for making him leave school early. Peter swallowed. Apparently, Happy had some self-awareness, after all.

"I'm sure he'll explain when you get there," said Happy. "Get your stuff."

With slumped shoulders, Peter shoved his books and worksheets in his bag, mumbled goodbyes to Ned and MJ, and, on his way out, dumped his lunch in the trash can, wishing, just for once in his new life, that all eyes weren't on him.

Happy pulled the car up and parked in front of a brick building. A huge digital hung above the door, lit up with lights that spelled the name of the arcade.

Dread and bad feelings twisted in Peter's stomach when he read it.

Something was wrong.

Nothing peaked Peter's suspicion like Tony's sudden and immediate attention, like being pulled out of school in the middle of the day and taken to an arcade. Tony knew him too well. Arcades were bribes, and that made Peter's mind reel with possibilities about what could be wrong, until Happy opened the door and broke him out of his anxieties, shooed him out of the car.

Peter followed Happy into the building, where it was dark, save the lights from the game machines flashing all around the room. They went up a black and metal spiral staircase, and found Tony sitting in a corner booth, sipping a glass of iced water.

Tony and Happy exchanged words Peter didn't pay attention to. He gripped the straps of his bookbag and looked around instead.

They were in upscale arcade. A more mature version of the type of places Peter liked to go and spend a few hours with Ned. There was a bar and a dance floor and an unmanned turn table off in a corner.

Happy told them both goodbye with the nod of his head, then disappeared down the staircase, leaving Peter and Tony alone.

"How was school?" asked Tony, as he stretched his arm over the booth.

Peter sat down quickly, on the edge of the seat, and shoved his bookbag on the table. "What's going on? You're not going to make me come with you to Japan, are you? You're not changing your mind?"

He pressed Tony with a look that was so often used against him. A truth finding look. Peter tried to find the true somewhere in Tony's eyes, but couldn't. Even when Tony wasn't wearing sunglasses, he wore sunglasses.

"No, I'm not," said Tony, with a frown. "As for your first question, I thought you might be able to tell me."

Peter paused and racked his brain and panicked, thinking about anything and everything he could have done as Spider-Man to warrant a conversation worthy of getting pulled out of school for.

Tony let out a breath and pulled his cellphone out of his suit's pocket. He pushed his thumb against the screen a few times, then he scrolled a little bit, before holding it out for Peter to see.

It was a picture of him and May, at the diner in Queens, on some gossip website. There was a bullshit headline under it.

PETER STARK SEEN WITH MYSTERY WOMAN

LEARN ABOUT THE WOMAN WHO GAVE UP HER NEPHEW FOR WEALTH

"Great," said Peter, letting his back hit the seat. "Now they're going after her."

"You didn't tell me," said Tony. "You didn't say anything about meeting up with her."

"You knew she was coming to my meets," offered Peter. Even he knew the excuse was weak. "I – I didn't think it was a big deal."

"If you thought it wasn't a big deal, you would have talked to me about it," said Tony. "I thought we were past this. The secrets."

And Peter had thought all the helicoptering, all the excessive worrying, were over too. Somewhere, somehow, they both went back to old habits, as if Peter's brief stay in May and Greg's nightmare house, the adoption, and the gossip websites hounding them had all worked together and forced them both in safe behaviors.

One step forward, two steps back. Peter knew it was the case, but also, he'd forgotten how much he loved his secrets.

"I guess I just didn't want you to get weird about it."

"Of course I'm gonna get weird about it," said Tony, raising his voice slightly louder. "Last time she was in your life- "

"I remember, okay? I don't need a recap."

"Okay," he said, in a softer voice, losing the edge it had just a moment before. Peter looked down at the table and stabbed his bookbag with finger. "I just don't really think you should be spending time with her."

Peter snapped his head and narrowed his eyes at Tony. His words had been phrased as a suggestion, but the order behind them was clear.

"What? Why?"

"I thought you didn't need a recap."

"So I'm never allowed to see my aunt again?"

"I didn't say that," said Tony. The conversation paused. Down below, one of the arcade games made the jackpot sound effect. Someone was cheering. Congratulations to them, Peter guessed. At least someone was having a good time. "We should put this conversation on pause. Until Pep and I get back. Then we can discuss it."

Peter didn't think there was anything to discuss it, didn't see why it was such a huge deal. He knew what had happened last time. He had been there. It had happened to him, not Tony, and while it still hurt to think about, Pepper had been right when she had told him it was okay to forgive.

He could forgive her, and have post-meet snacks with her, and remember Ben with her, without letting her resume the motherly role she once held in his life.

That, Peter knew, without a doubt, was dead and gone.

"Enough talking," said Tony. He sat up a little straighter and tried to erase the worry from his face. "I thought we might have some fun, hang out a little bit, before I'm off in Japan with boring business folk."

Peter forced a laugh, forced himself away from the conversation when he really wanted to keep pressing against the issue. "You're only going to be away for a couple of days."

"And you're gonna miss me the entire time," Tony told him. "I know I'm gonna miss you. Those corporate types, stiff as boards."

Peter laughed and continued smiling, only letting the act drop when Tony looked away. He wondered if miss was a code word for worry. He wondered if Tony regretted letting Pepper talk him into leaving him alone for the weekend. He wondered these things, quietly, but didn't say anything out loud.

He didn't bring May back up, because even though he wanted to, he didn't want to argue with Tony. Not a day before he flew out of the country, and certainly not hours before being stuck at a boring charity gala.

Those sucked even when Peter was in the best mood.

"So, how about it? Ready to lose to your old man before I have to go off and do boring grownup stuff?"

"I'm almost grown, you know," said Peter. A genuine smile forming. Peter knew that Tony knew he wouldn't be able to say no to arcade games, and he also knew that Tony knew he'd never be able to win against him.

"I'll believe it when you stop wearing Iron Man pajamas."

"That was one time!" Peter shouted after him, as Tony slid out of the booth. "And only cause I lost that bet."

"Yeah, sure."

Peter grumbled as he stood up and followed after Tony as he walked towards one of the old school games. A determination to win overtook him. As the afternoon passed by, he forgot all about May and the media and the weight of Tony's worry. They had fun, and for first time in the past couple of months, in that dark arcade, he wasn't in the spotlight.

All of Peter's least favorite conversations started with fake pleasantries, awkwardly muttered out with Tony's hand on his shoulder, as he got shuffled around the museum's ballroom and introduced to random rich and influential people.

The kind of people who wore dresses that sparkled and shoes that shined. The kind of people who smiled daggers and whispered what they really thought only once he walked away.

Even without his sensitive hearing, Peter would be able to hear them. Their whispering was loud, because it was the kind of whispering that was meant to be heard.

Peter wasn't cut out to be a Stark, they said. What was Tony thinking, they wondered, adopting a teenager from Queens and giving him his last name and making him an heir to an empire. It hadn't hit him, until that moment, hearing it in hushed tones between sips of champagne, that that was exactly what Peter was.

An heir to an empire. A prince to a throne.

His life would never be normal, at least what he thought of as normal, again. The media, the attention, the spotlight, they were all there to stay.

Peter was choking. Drowning in a sea of people, where he was just an imposter, one that was stuck and could never truly leave.

"You okay?" Tony nudged his arm with his elbow.

"Y-yeah," said Peter. "I just need – I'm gonna go get some water."

He darted away from Tony before he could be introduced to anymore of the fake and the sparkly.

Peter stepped out of the maze of bodies and out to the side, politely smiling at one of the waiters as he took a champagne glass filled with water from the tray he carried. He took a breath, then a sip and closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them, he'd be back in his bedroom at the penthouse, safe and unseen.

"You're going to need something stronger than water to deal with all this, Stark."

Peter blinked his eyes open. There was a black-haired boy slouching against the wall next to where Peter stood. He had his hands in his pockets and his head tilted towards the ceiling.

"Not even the hosts can get through these sober," he told him. When Peter only blinked at him again, not offering a response, he shrugged away from the wall and extended his hand. "Harry Osborn."

Peter accepted the handshake. "Osborn, like – "

"-Oscorp, yeah," said Harry, voice dripping with contempt. "That isn't important, though."

Peter quietly disagreed. Without Norman Osborn and his shady research into cross genetics, there'd be no Spider-Man. On second thought, maybe it was a positive thing to move the conversation away from Oscorp.

"What is important is that I can help you with your problem."

Peter squinted. "My problem?"

"Your sobriety problem," Harry elaborated. He stuck his hand out casually and grabbed a glass of champagne from a waiter as one walked by. "And your lack of directional skills. Clearly you're lost if you're hanging around these relics."

"They're not so old," said Peter, offended on Tony and Pepper's behalf.

"They're dust. Now come on, Stark, hurry up."

Before Peter could ask any questions about where they were hurrying to, Harry had his back turned and was walking off, expecting to be followed. Peter looked back in the crowd. Tony and Pepper were mid-conversation with someone who he'd been introduced to earlier in the evening but didn't remember.

All those introductions had bled together, had melted into one, awkward memory Peter was happy to avoid, even if it meant following Harry Osborn out of the ballroom and down a lonely corridor.

Peter was pretty sure they weren't meant to be there, but Harry didn't seem to be bothered by it, so he pretended he wasn't either.

They didn't stop walking until they came to a much smaller room, an exhibit with a few pieces of art on the wall and a few couches, which were surrounded by other teenagers that looked around Peter's age.

They wore sparkly jewelry and glittering dresses and fancy suits. Peter wondered if they felt like an imposter in their dress clothes, too, but he didn't have to think about it very hard. Of course they didn't. They didn't hail from Queens. Most of them probably had never stepped one toe in that direction in the span of their entire lives.

They all held champagne glasses in their hands, with the exception of one boy, who held a cigar between his teeth.

On the floor, near them, there were decks of cards and scattered poker chips, and bottles of alcohol sitting in round containers of ice.

Peter stared at them, and they stared back, looking very much like they had been waiting for him, and now that he was there, expected something from him.

Harry pressed the stolen glass of champagne into Peter's hand, and he accepted it.

"First rule about galas," said Harry. "The private parties are always better."

Harry strutted past him and went to join his friends, leaving Peter standing in the threshold alone, swishing the liquid around inside the glass.

Peter supposed he didn't really have a choice, or much of one, if it was between staying here, in a dimly lit room with just a few people his own age, or going back out there, where it was packed with adults gossiping about him like they were still in middle school.

He took a breath, then a sip of champagne, before joining the real party.

A persistent, irritating shake on his shoulder slowly pulled Peter out from his dream, but even after he was awake, he kept his eyes shut.

There was an ache behind them, somewhere. Too much champagne, and Peter couldn't be sure without checking the time on his phone, but it seemed obvious by the darkness of his bedroom that it was too early to be awake on a Saturday morning.

"Kid, we're about to head out," said Tony, in a low voice, as he squeezed his shoulder.

Peter blinked his eyes open, and slowly forced himself to sit up. Tony hovered over one side of his bed, and Pepper stood on the other.

"Don't go throwing any parties while we're away."

Pepper laughed. "He's not you, Tony."

It was obvious, even without Pepper pointing it out. Peter wasn't Tony. Not even close. All the whisperers at the gala had been quick in pointing that out.

"We'll see you Monday after school," said Pepper, before kissing him on the forehead. "Enjoy your freedom."

"And don't burn my penthouse down," Tony told him, as he and Pepper sandwiched him into a hug. "Love you, Pete."

"Love you too," said Peter.

Tony gave him a smile, and ruffled his hair, before him and Pepper left his room. Peter listened to their heartbeats and their footsteps all the way up until they stepped out of the building and onto the streets below.

Once they were gone, and out of his earshot, he sunk back down into his pillows and pulled his comforter over his head. Freedom and independence could wait until the sun came up.