Peace of Mind
Chapter 1
Eyes fluttering open Peter groaned, wishing the light streaming in through his broken blinds would go away. He shoved his head into his pillow and ignored the faintly musty urine smell that lingered in the cloth despite the many times he had thrown it in one of the seventy five cent washers at Lee's Laundromat Emporium.
The next moment his alarm clock went off, a clunky little thing he'd inherited from the previous owners of the apartment after Uncle Ben had moved them in following Aunt May's death. The cracked screen flashed the time in neon green.
Peter groaned, sitting up and ignoring the twinge of pain in his stomach. The organ let out a plaintive gurgle and Peter absent-mindedly rubbed his tummy.
Uncle Ben would be gone by now. Most kids would probably love that, having the house to themselves, but for Peter it made something in him writhe with disappointment. Things had been different since May had passed away two years ago.
Rubbing at his eyes, Peter threw his hand out, fumbling around to find his glasses. When he felt them, he pulled them open and haphazardly shoved them on his face.
The world came into view. It was a dirty studio apartment, water damage threatening the southwest corner of the room where a little kitchenette stood in all of its bleak glory. Only one burner had ever worked since they had moved in and it was seldom used. Uncle Ben generally only ever ate takeout.
Peter stood up from his nest of bedding on the floor, stretching out. Beside him was the coffee table they had brought with them from the house when they had moved, a squat thick oak piece which had been a wedding gift to the Parkers. It was the only item Uncle Ben hadn't sold off. Just beyond it was the couch, rescued from a dumpster.
There wasn't much else in the apartment: a broken kitchen table with three mismatched chairs and a clunky tv from the early 2000s seated on a small nightstand. They didn't have much.
Peter proceeded to carefully fold his comforter, though it was stained and ratty. He tucked his paper thin pillow in the middle before setting it in his corner. He kept his backpack there and two garbage bags which he used for keeping dirty and clean laundry, exclusively.
He felt like he had a pretty good system for everything.
He changed, pulling on an oversized Mets' sweater, faded and worn by time and wear. His jeans were a little small, coming up to his ankles and he had to dig around in the dirty bag for a pair of used and mismatched socks.
He headed to the bathroom, stepping around his uncle's pile of dirty laundry on the floor and glancing up at the bathroom mirror. A thirteen year old boy stared back, face thin and slightly gaunt, still terribly boyish and not nearly old enough by Peter's opinion. His image was distorted by the warped surface and rust creeping along the areas where the top layer had been scraped away.
He pulled his toothbrush out and halfheartedly dry brushed, meanwhile pushing at his curls, stiff and oily from not having showered for the last four days. Their water had been turned off, and honestly, Peter often forgot.
Spitting in the sink, Peter briefly turned the faucet on for some water, one hand cupping it to bring to his mouth to swish and spit.
Sniffing, Peter's eyes were once again drawn to the mirror. He wasn't a handsome youth, too small and nerdy. He had asthma, a poor immune system, and an incredible ability to aggravate every bully in his school. His uncle, when he noticed Peter's existence, reminded him of his lackluster qualities.
Peter's stomach made another angry grumble.
"I know, I know," Peter mumbled under his breath, patting the suffering organ.
The free food program at school changed going from middle school to high school, the free breakfast being cut out and lunch being the only meal prepared and served. It was generally the only meal Peter could look forward to for the day, unless he visited Mrs. Popova and scored some stale cookies she always kept in a jar. Uncle Ben usually forgot him.
Padding his way out of the bathroom, Peter glanced at the blinds, considered attempting to pull them down, but decided against it. He usually always lost that battle. He grabbed his only pair of shoes, ones he'd scored from a free bin, and tugged them on. They were a size too big and to deal with this problem he had stuffed cardboard and newspaper in the toes.
Slinging his backpack over his shoulders, knees and back groaning in protest at the load of textbooks in it, he headed to the entryway. He grabbed his key from off the coffee table and was soon out the door.
The brisk chill of mid-October weather bit through his sweater, immediately making him start shivering.
The walk to school was brisk, the load of books biting into his shoulders, and soon enough he had worked up a light sweat. Arriving at the front, he glanced up at the modern structure and the practical sign containing the school's name.
Midway High was just one of many schools peppering the city. Its only distinguishing feature was a remarkable science program, one, of course, funded by Stark Industries.
Huffing, Peter mounted the steps just as the warning bell sounded. Once inside, he tried to maneuver through the crowds of students milling about and those that were actually headed toward class.
Someone bumped into him and he nearly lost his footing, causing him to fall into someone. He mumbled an apology, looking over at the tall girl scowling down at him.
Peter apologized again, flushing with embarrassment. Her face softened a little.
"Peter, right?" she asked.
Peter vigorously nodded his head, surprised anyone knew his name.
"MJ," she said, eyes roving over him with a pensive gaze.
Peter blushed a deeper red as he saw the way her eyes lingered on his ankles which were exposed by his too short jeans.
"You're smart," she stated.
Peter wanted to face palm for once again blushing a deep red.
"Y-ye-I-I guess," he sighed slightly at the end, frustrated at how words always seemed so slippery.
He could form what he wanted to say in his brain just fine, but getting it out in a comprehensive way was nigh impossible sometimes.
She tilted her head, squinting as she considered him, "Anyways, I'm going to get to class."
Peter froze, trying to think of something to say in response.
She smiled a little, frowning just a bit at how flustered Peter was.
"Oh! Yeah, that, class, yeah-you-we should-probably…" Peter trailed off as she disappeared into the quickly thinning crowd.
Looking at the clock, he was startled to realize that he only had a few minutes. He ran, bursting into the classroom just to see that his normal seat in the far back had been taken by a large quantity of boxes for printing paper. In fact the entire last row had been occupied forcing several students forward.
Peter desperately looked for a seat apart from a classmate. However, the only open seats were the one next to Flash and one next to a Filipino boy whom Peter didn't really know. It wasn't difficult weighing the options and seconds later he was sliding into the seat next to the boy.
The kid side glanced at him nervously.
"Hey," he greeted.
Peter froze, not used to his peers paying any attention to him except to complain that he smelled or, to join in with Eugene "Flash" Thompson in making Peter's high school experience a living hell.
The kid side glanced at him again, he was fiddling with the hem of his shirt.
"I'm Ned," he stage whispered.
Peter waited for an insult to come from his classmate, usually someone would say something about him smelling.
"P-peter," he whispered back, finally looking over at Ned.
The guy looked nervous, but his face was kind and friendly, and he hadn't ignored or been mean to Peter.
"Hi, Peter," Ned whispered back.
The teacher hadn't walked in yet and the whole class was talking at full volume.
A beat passed.
"I-um- I- your shirt is cool," Peter whispered, eyeing Ned's graphic tee. It showed the Millenium Falcon.
It was the right thing to say because Ned's face lit up.
"The second episode is my favorite."
Excitement flooded through Peter. That was his favorite episode too! Since starting high school he hadn't made any friends, not to say that middle school had been much better. A tentative hope was blooming that Ned could possibly become one.
"It's mine too," Peter replied, a wide smile spread across his face.
Ned's grin spread further and the two shared a congenial look. Ned opened his mouth -about to say something- when the door swung open.
Mrs. Pritchard stepped in. The chatter died down.
"Morning everybody, sorry about the mess in the back, Principal Rubios is having the records room refurbished and I am afraid everyone is pitching in a bit of space for the next week."
There was a roll of murmurs, but nothing too exciting.
Mrs. Pritchard was the advanced secondary algebra teacher. She was relatively young, always wearing her hair in a messy bun and sporting math themed shirts or skirts. She was a favorite of the freshman class.
"Alright," she clapped her hands together, smiling at her students, "today we'll be learning about radical expressions, and, if you're lucky, we will touch on imaginary numbers and a few geometric interpretations. But first-"
She stepped over to her desk, shuffling through a few papers before grabbing her laptop and flipping it open. She tapped away at the keys, preoccupied.
"My favorite part is when Luke loses his hand," Ned whispered.
Peter nodded his head, that was definitely one of the best parts of the movie.
Mrs. Pritchard let out a 'hmm'.
"Daily announcements: the science fair is coming up in November, the 26th, and I believe that you'll need to have submitted your project proposal by the end of next week to Mr. Henning."
She clicked her tongue, scrolling through her email.
"The Homecoming dance is October 30th, tickets go on sale the week before. Ummm, let's see, oh, the last day for the Stark internship application is today. There are a few of you whose applications I am still waiting on."
She sent Peter a significant glance. Peter ducked his head, shoulders rising. Mrs. Pritchard had spoken to him a couple weeks ago about it, prompting him to put in his application.
Ever since she'd seen him scratching out some rudimentary code in machine language on a piece of paper during class she'd taken to prompting him to join STEM oriented clubs or to apply for things like the Stark scholarship. Peter thought it was nice that she was trying to help, but he wasn't sure he was good enough to be doing any of those things.
"Otherwise, I believe that's everything. Why don't we jump right into the content? I'll bore you to death with a powerpoint, but after that we'll roll up our sleeves and get some real work done."
She continued, bringing up the powerpoint. Notebooks flipped open and the scratching of pencils against paper could be heard as the lesson commenced.
"Man, an internship with Ironman, that would be amazing," Ned whispered.
Peter nodded his head vigorously. Tony Stark was one of the coolest people in the world. He literally had saved the planet and had done it all with the power of his mind, building and creating some of the most amazing things.
"Did you put in an application?" Ned asked.
Peter shook his head, glancing down at his hands. The idea of even submitting an application was too crazy, he would never be chosen, he wasn't good enough, didn't have the right experience. Just thinking about it was nerve-wracking.
"What?!" Ned whisper-shouted, "but you're so smart! I've seen your grades and Mr. Henning raves about how good you are in chemistry."
Peter shrunk under the compliments, eyes widening. Did Mr. Henning really talk about him doing well? A smile grew on his face and he glanced at Ned to judge the boy's honesty. Ned was looking in all earnestness at him.
"I-I don't know," Peter replied with a shrug.
"Dude, you should totally apply! In fact I could even-"
"What is so interesting Mr. Leeds?" Mrs. Prtichard cut in.
She had stopped her lecture and was looking at the two with all the reprimand of a teacher.
There was a series of titters and laughs throughout the room. Ned flushed.
"Nothing, Mrs. Pritchard," he mumbled.
She raised a brow before returning to the lesson. A couple moments passed before Ned leaned in, facing forward and comically attempting to be discreet.
"We'll talk later," he whispered.
Peter nodded, eyes wide with excitement, before he turned back to the lesson.
The lesson ended and everyone stood up, preparing to leave and get to their next class. Ned turned to Peter when they got into the hallway.
"I'll help you apply," he said, "we can get lunch together and I'll bring my laptop."
Peter felt elation fill him. Adjusting his hands that were gripped on his back pack handles he nodded his head.
"Y-yeah, that would be great, yeah," he replied, smiling widely.
Ned smiled back looking just as excited. The two started to turn when Peter suddenly remembered that he didn't know where to meet Ned.
"Wait, where?" he called.
"In front of the library!"
Peter's alarm left and a smile grew. He watched Ned disappear into the crowd and was happy he'd found such a nice person who also liked Star Wars.
Something slammed into his shoulder sending him sprawling to the ground. The breath was knocked out of him. Blinking, he looked up to see Flash standing over him with a cruel look of amusement on his face.
"What's up Penis Parker," he shot out, walking on and leaving Peter on the ground.
Peter stood up, catching the looks people were sending his way. He lowered his gaze to the ground and hunched his shoulders, embarrassment and frustration filling him. He headed toward his next class wishing Flash would just leave him alone.
Time didn't pass fast enough, but after an excruciating two hours, lunch finally came. Peter raced to the library just to find that Ned was already waiting for him. It made a smile break out across his face, one he couldn't contain.
"Did you wait long?" Peter asked with concern.
Ned was grinning as well and shook his head 'no'.
"So, I figured we could just fill the stuff out online real quick. I already told Mr. Henning and he agreed to write you a recommendation, and I asked Mrs. Pritchard and it seems she already wrote one for you and is just waiting to submit it."
Peter followed Ned into the library, listening to him speak the whole time. It amazed Peter about how excited Ned was about this. He watched as Ned seated himself at the computer, still chattering on, this time about C++ and how he was writing a code for his science fair project.
The application website came up, the clean streamlined design of Stark Industries' logo in the corner of the page. Peter watched as Ned began to fill out all of the information.
"W-wait, aren't you-" Peter fell short as Ned stopped and looked at him.
Peter flushed with embarrassment and wrapped his arms around his middle, head ducking down.
"Aren't I what?" Ned asked, oblivious.
Peter shrugged his shoulder.
"Well, aren't you applying?" Peter asked in a small voice.
"I already did!" Ned replied, smiling.
"Bu-but why do you want me to apply?" Peter asked, absolutely confused.
"Because it's like, the coolest thing ever!" Ned replied, it now being his turn to be confused.
Peter struggled to respond, but Ned had already turned back to his work. Within a few minutes the application was filled out and Ned was submitting it.
Peter was astounded that Ned was willing to help out someone who was, in simple terms, a rival. Adding one more person to the pool of applicants only decreased Ned's chance at getting the scholarship. So why was he doing this?
The rest of the day passed reasonably well, Peter still in shock at having found a friend. Him and Ned talked about their favorite shows and movies and comics, about science and their favorite programming platforms and about how Batman and Superman were great, but Aquaman was kind of the best. Peter didn't realize someone else who liked all the same things as him could exist in the world.
They parted ways after school, Ned having to take the bus home while Peter began his walk back.
It was slightly warmer than it had been this morning, the weak sunshine having made some impact. Peter however was still chilled. He had learned by now that there wasn't much he could do about it and it quickly slipped to the back of his mind.
Today he was buzzing with energy from the excitement of having found a new friend and having applied for the Stark internship.
He wanted to tell someone, or anyone really. Uncle Ben passed momentarily in his mind. He dimmed as he thought about exactly how his uncle would respond.
Sniffing, he rubbed at his nose and shook his head, trying to get away from those thoughts. Today had been awesome.
It hit him who he should go see. Glancing up to see what street he was on, Peter dodged across the street and took a left at the block.
Mrs. Popova lived just a couple blocks away from him and she was always home and always welcomed company.
A smile returned to his face and he was so caught up that he barely noticed a new sound.
It sounded off again and Peter recognized it as being a cat. Looking up at the source of the noise he saw a thin, black cat meowing, it's figure slightly occluded by the leaves from the tree it had gotten itself stuck in.
"How'd you get up there little guy?" Peter asked.
The cat turned to look at him, large luminous green eyes blinking once. It meowed again, loudly.
Thinking a moment, Peter began to take his backpack off. He set it against the trunk and took a step back to assess the tree's climability.
It was an old cherry, roots having brought up some of the sidewalk. It had a few low branches that looked sturdy enough and soon Peter was awkwardly hauling himself into the greenery.
When he was on the same branch as the cat he held a hand out to the creature. It had stopped meowing and was looking at him.
"My name's Peter, what's yours?"
It cocked its head and blinked. Peter smiled.
"I know, I bet you're called Misha."
It sniffed his hand, but didn't do much else.
"Alright buddy, I just need to get you down from here."
Peter unzipped his sweater and inched a little closer to the animal.
He held a hand out again, this time making an effort to grab the cat.
"It won't be so bad," he reassured.
Finally getting a good hold on the cat, he pulled it closer to him and tucked it into his sweater. He began his descent, extra careful of his passenger. At the last branch he miscalculated his footing and fell.
It wasn't a very large drop but he landed on his back and had the air knocked out of him
Blinking his gaze into focus he realized that the mostly docile creature had not enjoyed that part of the journey and was now meowing loudly.
"Sorry about that," he apologized.
Peter unzipped his jacket. The creature immediately clawed its way out and he watched it scramble away and zip down the street.
Smiling forlornly he waved after its disappearing figure. He seized his backpack and continued his journey anew.
He made it Mrs. Popova's without further incident. She lived in an apartment building, one Peter knew the code to. It was a large, older brick building with narrow halls and tiny rooms. She lived on the fifth floor.
He mounted the stairs, out of breath by the time he reached the top.
Knocking on her door he waited until the door swung open.
"Petya! It is such long time, why you don't see me more?"
She was quite old, a frail bundle of bones brought to life by two sharp, crystal blue eyes. Her hair was a stark white, still curled, and had once been a vibrant red.
She ushered him in.
Peter set his backpack down and started his usual routine of helping wash her dishes and clean the things she couldn't manage. Meanwhile she sat at the kitchen table and listened to him talk about his day, every so often insisting he have a cookie from the cookie jar.
A couple hours passed and Peter knew he needed to go home. Mrs. Popova noticed him eyeing the clock.
"Ah, go on home little Petya, I am sure they must miss you."
Peter smiled wanly, thinking about his uncle.
"Thank you Mrs. Popova."
Peter left, the street outside now slightly dark, bathed in twilight. It was much colder now and as soon as he stepped out he started shivering. He hurried home.
He opened the door to his apartment and stepped in. The tv was on and Uncle Ben was seated on the couch. A couple empty takeout cartons sat on the counter. Peter, as quietly as he could, tiptoed to his corner, setting his backpack down and headed to the bathroom.
Inside he let out a deep breath, hands trembling from exhaustion. He looked in the mirror and felt an insurmountable weight settle on his shoulders.
He shook his head choosing to focus on the day he had had. A small smile tugged determinedly onto his face.
"Look, I don't even- I don't understand why this," Tony flapped his hand, indicating the figurative space around him, "is even necessary!"
Pepper stood by, arms folded and a look of exasperation on her face.
"Tony-" she started.
"No! No, this is just, stupid," Tony bowled over her, "I don't have time for this. Why-why do I have to play their games, jump through their hoops, it's been six months."
Pepper let out a sigh and rubbed her forehead.
"It's because it's been six months, and Tony, we need this. A little good press, something not about Segovia, would be exactly what the company needs right now."
Tony let out a sigh and shook his head, eyes rolling.
"And maybe this is just what you need," Pepper added in a softer tone.
Tony continued to stare at the wall, ignoring Pepper's appeals.
"You already agreed to this Tony, you can't avoid it."
Tony huffed, moving over to the bar and beginning to prepare himself a drink. Pepper followed.
"At least look at the names?"
Tony sighed, turning around with his glass in hand. He met Pepper's imploring look. He dropped his head, fingers massaging his eyes.
"Fine," he answered begrudgingly.
Pepper smiled, walking over with her ever present Ipad in hand.
"But," Tony held up a hand, "but, you have to help."
"Help?" Pepper asked incredulously.
Tony grinned, turning back to the bar and starting to prepare another drink.
"An hour -or so- break with me-"
"But Tony-"
"Ah, ah," Tony interrupted, pressing the glass into her hand.
He gave her a look, mischievous and every bit as charming as always.
"Just for an hour."
Pepper caved. Grabbing the glass she held it up. Grinning, Tony clinked his against hers.
"To teenage monsters!"
"Tony," Pepper reprimanded.
Tony chuckled, attention already on something else. He snatched the tablet out of her hand and went over to the couch. He flopped onto it unceremoniously and began messing around the with tablet. Pepper followed.
"It's that app," she said.
"I know," Tony retorted, glancing over his shoulder at where Pepper was standing.
Pepper gracefully seated herself on the couch, scooting up to Tony to be able to see what he was doing. Tony positioned himself so she could see better.
He'd pulled up the files of the many, many candidates. The internship was offered only to the New York city area and yet there were over several thousand applications.
"Ooh, look at this, Jonathan Proust, plays violin, piano and the, oh, nice, trombone," Tony looked over at Pepper, glee in his eyes.
Pepper gave him a look and he dropped it for then, turning his attention back to the list.
"How am I supposed to pick? There's so many of them! I'm sure they are all smart little cookies deserving of access to my labs."
"C'mon Tony, take this at least slightly seriously."
"Fine, fine," Tony said.
Scrolling through the list of names, hundreds of high schoolers were shown. They varied in everything, from skin color to height to names to backgrounds. Each one had credentials that would merit being brought into Tony's lab and given his tuition. All of them were brilliant. But the question was if they were brilliant enough.
The thought of having to deal with and handle a teenager, probably pimply, full of hero worship and not nearly smart enough to be messing with Tony's things, was honestly the most boring and painful sounding thing Tony could think up. The only reason he'd ever agreed to it back in July was to humor and appease Pepper. Within that time he had forgotten all about it.
Even now, on the couch, he was merely trying to get her to relax. After so long had passed, Pepper taking the search much more seriously than Tony had, she nodded off. Tony, who had adjusted their positions at some point, was running his fingers through her hair, his drink half gone and forgotten, alongside Pepper's empty glass, on the coffee table.
He wasn't looking at the list anymore, attention on Pepper.
She was totally going to expect him to have made a choice by the morning. Tony sighed and took up the Ipad. Bored, he began making a simple randomization code. Once finished, he ran the humongous list of students through it.
A name flashed up: Eugene Thompson.
Tony's face crinkled with disgust. What kind of name was Eugene? No protege of his could have a name like Eugene Thompson. Besides, Tony reasoned, he looked more squirrely than the usual high school boy. Probably brought lunch to school in a Buzz Lightyear lunch box with a note from Mommy telling him to have a good day.
He ran the program again. This time it gave him a different name: Peter Parker. Tony shrugged, finishing the selection process and leaving it so Pepper would know who he chose. Setting the Ipad to the side he leaned his head back against the couch, ready to fall asleep.