Peter Parker

Lunch is weird.

I pick at my food. It's good, it's really good, but my stomach is doing circles as I eat, surrounded by the Avengers, who seem to find my presence perfectly normal. At least, they're acting like it.

I really hope I'm not offending the Black Widow by not eating a lot. That would really suck.

Colonel Rhodes showed up to the table just as we sat down, so I ended up between Sam and Tony towards the end, completely incongruous with the heroes around me, and shrank as much as I could.

Steve pulled Tony aside before we sat down, and I watched Tony's eyes narrow, and I watched his lips move. He told him about my enhanced healing. That's fine, I guess. At least I don't have to be the one to say it. It seems everyone else has noticed the much better bruising, but they haven't mentioned it.

In fact, the conversation has been stupidly domestic.

I don't really know what I expected, I guess. In some part of my mind, I had to know that they were human too. Well, mostly human, but whatever. I guess…I half expected them to be talking about the next up-and-coming supervillain, or a strategy meeting for whatever. I expected something…I dunno, exciting.

In reality, I'm listening to Earth's Mightiest Heroes debate skin care routines.

"Okay, okay, but do you put on moisturizer or just lotion?" Sam asks, eyes alight with much more interest than I might have expected. "Because I've been looking around for a new routine, and everyone says different things."

"What's the difference?" Bruce asks, chin propped in his hand as he watches, looking distinctly bored.

"Oh, poor bastard," Tony says. He glances at me, and I blink in surprise. "Um. Poor individual." I almost laugh. I've heard much worse from the fosters. He doesn't need to censor himself on my account, but I'm not going to say as much. "No, there's six million labels out there, but it's brand that matters. How do you think I stay so ruggedly handsome?"

Clint scoffs. "I'm sorry, I'm trying to search for the end of your ego, but it's kind of starting to strain my eyes. I wash my face and shave. That's it."

"Oh, hell nah," Colonel Rhodes says in something like actual horror. "You don't use aftershave or anything?"

"No." Clint seems almost affronted.

"Excuse me while I call your wife so we can fix this," Natasha weighs in, one leg propped on her chair as she lounges with the air of a lazy housecat. "Bucky, what do you use?"

Bucky opens his mouth to respond, looking a little confused, but Tony cuts him off. "Robocop gets no opinion. He was born without pores. Screw him."

Bucky blinks, and Steve laughs a little. I'm glad, I was afraid that would start a fight. "It's infuriating, isn't it? Buck, it just means you naturally have good skin, don't worry about it. Peter, do you use anything?"

I blink as all eyes turn to me, and my eyes flit from one expectant face to another. I know it's probably Steve just being nice, trying to include me in the conversation, but I suddenly feel exposed. I sit on my hands as they start to shake. "Just, uh…j-just acne care."

Nice. Well, that was relatable for a bunch of thirty to forty something models. Way to go, Parker.

"Your skin's important, Peter. Acne care is good, but you should look into some other stuff, too. I think I have some samples from my last dermatology appointment…if you'd like, you can try some," Natasha says easily.

OhmyGodohmyGodohmyGod the Black Widow is talkingtomeaboutskincare wtf oh my God Natasha Romanov goes to a dermatologist what how did I find this situation what the hell is happening how should I respond oh my God—

"Um. Thank. You?"

I cringe.

Maybe I'll just die right here. Maybe I'll just let the embarrassment steal me quietly away. Maybe, if the Grim Reaper shows up in a cloak with a scythe and starts trying to coax a reluctant youth into death, I'll thank him and offer to drive.

"You're welcome. Would you like something different? You're not eating much." Her voice is surprisingly…formal, I guess. It's a little weird.

I see Sam share a meaningful glance with Bruce at that comment, but I don't pay attention to it. "I, um…" I glance at my plate, still piled with spaghetti and sauce—someone made it for me, so apparently they thought I ate way more than I did—and I feel really bad wasting it. "N-no, thanks. I'll try to…finish this."

"Don't push yourself. Whatever you can eat is fine," Sam says with a smile.

I nod, blushing so furiously I think you could cook an egg on my forehead. This is so embarrassing. I'm so embarrassing. Holy shit. I'm eating lunch with the Avengers, what the fu—

I can't even understand this.

We finish eating, and someone puts my food in a Tupperware for later, insisting I'm welcome to anything in the fridge, and that's so weird. Ben and May and I never had much extra food—things were tight as it was—so I wasn't used to snacking much, and I was lucky if the fosters had something besides Ramen or spoiled milk, towards the end.

Natasha drags Bucky away for something, and Colonel Rhodes and Steve leave to discuss something about a General? Clint says he's going to call his family (which I didn't know he had, so that's weird) and I'm left with Sam and Bruce and Tony.

They all have very intentional looks on their faces, and I swallow.

"Can we talk for a few minutes, Peter?" Sam asks.

I'm not really sure if it's one of those things adults do when they ask you like you have a choice but you really don't, so I nod, afraid to say no. We stay around the now-cleared dining room table, and I idly trace the carving on the wood's edge. It's flowers and greenery. It's a nice distraction.

"So…you're enhanced?" Tony starts, shifting a little. His fingers tap the table in…impatience? Anger? I can't tell. I don't know if he's angry.

I flinch. I don't know what to do. Or what to say. I don't want them to get mad. Steve didn't get mad, though. "…yes. I…I'm really s-sorry I didn't, didn't tell you, I—"

"Hey, it's fine," Tony says, waving a hand through the air, leaning back in his chair. He doesn't seem mad. He seems a little on edge, but…I think I'm still safe. "We all have secrets, it's all good. I'm glad you're healing."

I nod. I play with the hem of Bruce's shirt, which is sagging around my shoulders, and stare at the table.

"Peter, can you tell us any more about what happened last night?" Sam asks, his voice low and steady. His hands are folded on the table, and his eyes are earnest.

I wince. I was expecting the question, but I don't know what to say in response.

"Um…I…wh-which part?" I ask. So, so much happened last night. I killed a man—I became a murderer—and then I ran from it. I ran and ran and fell apart to the point where I'd rather throw myself off of a twenty-story building than deal with the aftermath. Not to mention the fosters. It is not home, it never will be, but no matter how horrible it is, it's a roof and a place, and even that's gone. All my stuff is still there, if they hadn't already thrown it out or reported me to CPS as a runaway.

I don't know what they've done or what's happening, and everything is slowly crumbling as I watch and stare, so I really don't know which part of my fractured façade they want to discuss.

"First, how are you feeling?" Bruce asks, taking the reins for a moment. He adjusts his glasses, looking at my neck. I'm on one side of the table, and Bruce and Sam are on the other while Tony is on the end, so none of them can really reach me. I think I prefer that. "Your injuries look better, but I want it in your own words."

"Um…I'm fine," I assure. "I heal fast." Oh. Duh, Parker. "I-I mean…I have some, uh…some other bruises, but they're healing too. It's j-just bruises."

Bruce nods, and smiles. "Thank you. I'm glad. Can I do a physical later?"

I flinch, and maybe he sees the way my eyes go glassy or my hands freeze, because he backtracks. "Only if you're comfortable. We don't have to do anything you don't want to."

I don't mind the physical, but he can't see the scars.

"…maybe," I say quietly.

"That's cool," Sam says. "Nobody's forcing anybody to do anything. Right, Tony?"

There's warning in his voice, and I look to Tony. He's thrumming his fingers on the table, chin propped on his hand, and he rolls his eyes at Sam's address. "I'm a pushy asshole, not a demon, Wilson."

"Well, at least you're aware of your defects."

Tony scowls.

"Actually, can you give us a minute?" Sam asks, looking at Bruce and Tony. I sit up straighter, a little afraid at the thought of being alone with him, even though he's been nothing but nice. But, it might be…easier to talk if questions aren't coming from three different directions. "Is that okay, Peter?"

I start at the address, unprepared. I don't know what the right answer is. "U-Um…I don't care." Neutral seems safe.

Tony's glaring at Sam so intently that I think the Falcon will melt, but Sam seems unimpressed. "Cool. Then I'm deciding to have a one on one session. Beat it, Tin Can."

Bruce sighs and gets up, fisting a hand in Tony's suit. "You heard the man."

"Shit, Bruce, this is Armani," Tony complains, shrugging his hand off and straightening the suit jacket. "Careful, careful. Why aren't you being mean to Green Bean? And by the way, my undying curiosity is starting to kill me, you know. Pete, I'd kind of like to know if the kid I snatched off a freezing rooftop is okay."

His eyes are earnest, and a little more real than the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist I see on TV. I wonder, in a spurt of curiosity, how much of the Iron Man the world knows is the real person. It's not my business, of course, but…I still wonder, now that I'm interacting with him up close. He's…not nice. Well, that's mean. He's not…not nice like Sam, or Bruce, who ask questions and make sure I'm comfortable, and stuff.

He's…not not nice. After all, he did kinda save my life, and now he's worried. He's just…the word that comes to mind is rough.

Wait. Prickly. Yeah. Tony Stark is prickly.

Holy shit, I'm losing my mind.

After a pause that is surely too long, I open my mouth to respond, but the words die in my throat. Does he…want an answer? Does he want to stay? I don't—

"I'm evicting you," Sam announces. "Get out."

"It's literally my Compound."

"FRIDAY?"

"On it. Boss, I'm afraid if you don't leave the dining room in the next sixty seconds, I will be required to deny you access to the lab for the next forty-eight hours."

Tony blinks at the ceiling, turning blank eyes to Sam. "Override code. Now."

"Nope." Sam says, popping the p. He looks far more satisfied than I thought he would.

"FRIDAY, override code 'Boss Man is in charge.'"

"'Boss Man is in charge' override code has been overridden by: 'Boss Woman owns your company.'"

Tony blinks again. "You recruited Pepper."

"I did." Sam's smile is s smug I think Tony's going to burst a blood vessel.

"You're cancelled."

"No, you're evicted," Bruce says, grabbing Tony's wrist. "The Hulk is going to bodily carry you out of the room if you don't follow me."

Tony stands stock still for a couple more seconds before looking to Sam. "This won't stand."

"I'm quaking. Now get out."

Tony gives one last attempt of resistance before Bruce bodily drags him from the room, and it's quiet. It's kind of funny. Kind of domestic. It's very different from how I imagined the super secret home base for the Avengers, and…well…it's nice.

It's nice, but it's unfamiliar, and I'm scared. I don't know what'd expected of me now. I look at the table, still fidgeting a little, and wish I was tougher than I am. I feel so small.

"Peter?"

"Hm?" I ask, glancing at him. Sam's so nice, too. I feel bad being scared of him. He's literally a hero, and he seems to genuinely care about me when he asks questions.

But he doesn't know. He—he doesn't know.

Crush's silhouette flashes behind my eyes, and I blink rapidly until it fades.

"Can we talk about last night? Whatever part you want to talk about?"

I breathe, shaky and uncertain, and shrug. "I-I don't…I don't know. Where to, um…start, or anything." And I don't know what I can say. They're looking for answers, but what can I give them? What can I say that won't make them hate me, arrest me, turn me in, or worse, send me back to the fosters so they can send me to Oscorp?

"That's fine. Do you want me to ask questions?"

Maybe that would be…easier, I guess. I can barely answer his current questions, let alone recount everything from scratch. "Can I…not answer them? If I don't want to?"

"Of course."

His answer is immediate and steady. Maybe he's telling the truth. Maybe it will be okay if I don't tell them yet. "I-I…um…okay."

Sam smiles, and leans back, looking relaxed. The dining room table chairs are deceptively comfortable, so I try to do the same, kind of sinking into the cushions like they're trying to swallow me. "These are comfy," I mumble without meaning to.

Sam laughs. "They are. Last Thanksgiving, I fell asleep halfway through eating, I was so full."

I smile at that, a little amused at the concept of Thanksgiving in Avengers Compound. I wonder what kind of conversation that was like.

"So can you tell me about the bruises? Is that something you're comfortable talking about?"

I flinch, my mind flashing back to the gray, then the white, then the red. The failing consciousness, the desperation, the blood. "Um…not everything."

"That's fine," he says. "Just tell me what you can."

What can I say? I fidget more spastically, feeling skittish. I don't want to be here.

I almost laugh. There's nowhere else I can go, either.

"Someone gave them to me," I say eventually, immediately feeling stupid. No shit, Sherlock. Did he think you gave them to yourself?

But Sam doesn't laugh, or look confused. "I'm sorry that happened. Can you tell me why?"

"We were…um…fighting."

"Why were you fighting?"

I flinch, scratching my face, and shrug a little. I don't know what to say. "I…I didn't want to." The last thing I want them to think is that I'm some idiot who runs around starting fights for no reason. But I don't know how to say that my foster parents force me to use my enhancements in a fight club to make them enough money to feed their addictions, either. "Someone, um…made me."

Sam's eyes narrow, and I flinch. I hate it, I hate that, but it's so instinctive now that I can't…I can't not. When Jacob's eyes narrow like that, I know I'm going to be hurt. When Melissa's eyes narrow like that, I know I'm going to be hurt.

Sam sees. His face instantly relaxes, smooth and unaffected, as if it was never upset in the first place. "Why did they make you?"

I shift, shrugging a little, not looking at him.

"Hm. You don't want to tell me?"

Hesitantly, I shake my head. I don't, because then…well, I don't know what'll happen then. I don't think I know anything right now.

"Peter," he says, and it's calm and easy, but it's also a little demanding. I look up at his tone, and he's looking at me, dark eyes intent in something like concern. "I know you don't know me well, but I'm not here to hurt you. I want to help you, if you'll let me. Avengers Compound is a safe place, and no one's going to hurt you."

Before I can really censor myself or my actions, I glance dubiously at the prominent gouge in the table, from where Natasha had thrown the steak knife.

Sam follows my eyes. "Oh. Well…Natasha has good aim."

That hardly makes me feel better.

"My point is, I know it may be weird talking to me about this, but if someone hurt you, I'd like to know what I can do to help," Sam continues, leaning forward a little. I'm glad the table separates us, so the gesture is comforting instead of frightening. "I understand if you don't want to tell me everything, but the Avengers have connections, and friends. If someone's hurting you, we can try to make sure it stops."

I flinch, and put my head down, staring sightlessly at the table as images fill my head. The fists, the belt, the bottles, the club…I want it to stop. More than anything, I want it to stop, but…I don't know how. I've resolved myself, I know that I can't let myself be hurt anymore, in a club or in a house, but…I don't know how to do it by myself. And resolve will mean nothing when I'm facing Melissa and Jacob and their threats again, I know that, but…I don't know.

I don't know anything. I feel helpless and useless and vulnerable.

But I can't tell them. I can't, because that will mean telling them about Crush, and I can't do that. I'm nothing, but still, I can't admit to my heroes that I'm just another killer. I'm shaking my head before I make a conscious decision to do so, hard enough for the muscles in my neck to tense. I can't. I can't.

"Hey, hey, that's fine," Sam says, leaning forward, reaching a placating hand to the middle of the table. "Everything's fine. You're safe here. Yeah?"

I take a shaky breath and try to stop shaking, giving him a nod. I don't want to look at him. I don't want to see disappointment or frustration.

"You're doing great, Peter, really. I don't know what's going on, but you're being a champ about it. Do you want to be done?"

I hesitate, then nod. I want this to be over, but being done for now is fine, too. "Yeah."

"Okay, then we're done. We can talk some more later." I breathe, already feeling lighter knowing I won't have to say anything else, at least right now. "That being said, I need you to look at me for a minute, okay?"

Something in his one shifts, and I glance up, wary, but I have no reason to be. His eyes are earnest and kind, and looking at him isn't all that scary. "I need you to answer some things for me, okay?"

Hesitant again, I nod.

"That's great. Listen, Tony told me about where he found you. I need you to be straight with me. Were you…thinking of committing suicide last night?"

I flinch, but I can't look away from him, because there's no judgment. There's no surprise or contempt. It's just a blank look of concern, and that's easier. I…I can do concern, right now.

I take a breath, and it quivers on the way down, but I speak anyways. "I…I think so. It…I wasn't sure, if…"

I trail off, and he understands, nodding. "You were thinking about it, but you hadn't made up your mind yet."

"Uh-huh," I confirm, sitting on my hands so I avoid tapping them all over the place as an outlet for the adrenaline in my blood.

"Okay. Are you still having those thoughts right now?"

I blink, and glance at him, because I really don't know the answer. I…well…not really, if for no other reason than I knew I wouldn't get away with it here. That was concerning in and of itself, but…this was a good place. Nobody hurt me here. Hell, they were heroes. I still felt guilty for being here, but there was a modicum of safety, anyway. And Sam was nice, and Tony was obviously concerned about me, and Bruce was, too, and everybody was nice.

"…no," I finally decide, shaking my head. "No, I don't…not right now, no. Last night was…the first time I thought about it, and…I think it was more…" I search for the words, trying to find a way to accurately describe the dark, dark clouds in my head, the threatening rain waiting to spill over and wash what was left of me away. "I think…last night…I-I was really overwhelmed. And, and hurt, and…it was too much."

Sam nods patiently, letting me stammer through my clumsy explanation, and waits a few seconds to make sure I'm done talking. "Good. That's good, Peter. I want you to know, we may be keeping an eye on you, just because we're worried, but that makes me feel better. If you ever start feeling that way again, while you're here, you can tell FRIDAY, okay? She'll make sure one of us comes to help you."

I'm too tired to argue about being watched, so I nod. "Okay." In a moment of lizard-brain dominance, I mumble, "You're good at this."

Sam laughs, looking a lot more relaxed than when he sat down. "I'm not a therapist, really, but my work with the VA has helped a lot with listening. I can't promise I'll have all the answers, but I'm always ready to lend an ear, okay?"

He holds out his fist in the middle of the table, and for a brief, startling second, I see Jacob's fist coming at me, but it doesn't move. He's waiting for something. I glance at him, a question in my eyes.

He smirks. "Fist bump."

I blush. Brilliantly. Horribly. Oh.

I tap his fist with mine and silently call the Grim Reaper, asking for directions to the netherworld so I can get out of this situation.

"If you're done, Boss has requested your presence in the lab," FRIDAY'S voice startles me enough that I jump, glancing at the ceiling in a panic. "He'd like Peter's input on some things."

I blink.

I blink again.

"Hey, look at that. Stark doesn't let any of us except Bruce in his lab. Look at you, climbing the ranks," Sam laughs, standing and stretching, making his way to the fridge. Geez, how is he still hungry? "Go on, kid, he hates waiting."

I blink yet again.

There is no effing way Tony Stark is inviting me to his lab in Avengers Compound.

I'm hallucinating. Maybe Sam has anti-psychotics, or something, because I'm hallucinating, or—or I've been kidnapped and thrown into some alternate reality where I'm somehow the main character, and—

"Peter," Sam says when I still haven't moved, staring dumbly at the ceiling. "Do you need directions?"

"I think I need anti-psychotics," I mutter without thinking. "I'm imagining a world where I'm the main character."

Sam cackles, completely caught off guard, and I blink back to the present as I somehow realize that yes, this is a situation happening right now, and no, I am not imagining my surroundings. "No, you don't, but that was funny. FRIDAY will tell you where to go."

Dumbly, I stand and walk like a broken puppet as I contemplate the last twenty-four hours of my life.

"May, Ben," I say, ignoring the twinge of pain in my chest as I continue on past the high-tech displays, the expensive furniture, the heroes dotted throughout the top-secret government compound as they talk about supervillains and skincare.

Holy shit.

"…I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore."

A/N: Hehe. Hi. Long time no see. Hope you liked it! I'm running away now because I don't like this chapter. I hope you do anyways. Thanks for reading :)

Also, this is random, but I wanna share. I'm currently applying to grad school for creative writing, because I wanna be a novelist (I want it so bad I can physically feel like an ACHE it's not even funny) and I'm drafting a lot of novels right now. This is stupid and I feel kinda stupid, but I'm currently having a very large case of rapidly declining self-esteem and imposter syndrome, bc I don't know if I can get in anywhere I applied (lol goals) and some encouragement would kinda be nice. But you totally don't have to. Just. Um. I'm gonna go…stand over here. Yeah.

If you're curious, my writing sample was a short story about a man named Adam and his wife Juno, and they travelled to the Dock (a huge hub of intergalactic legislation and business located on and in an asteroid) to plead for aid for the rest of humanity, in which failure meant no protection and probable enslavement or annihilation from other alien races. Most of humanity had already been wiped out by a particularly vicious race who enslaved humanity and then left them to die when the ecosystems collapsed and Earth shut down, and they're now spread out between three satellites. So it's that. I'm thinking of drafting it into a full novel, but idk yet. Lemme know if it sounds interesting! Or not, that's fine too!

Pam: Hey, funny you should ask, hahaha…haha…ha…X'D

Blondie 24-7: Thank you so much!

Guest (Please update!): Thank you!

Guest (Update soon?): Here ya go!

ANYWAYS! Reviewers, thank you so much for supporting meeeeeeeee I love you allllllllllll: AvengersAssemble13, butcherbunny, Nate Macrae, Micam9, WALU1G1, dala45, Dacquerie, PoisonIvy533, TheKingOfTheMotorMouth's, megan844, Pam, sillysammijo, ShadowedRose17, Blondie 24-7, Dobby and Padfoot, IbarraD1, TC Howl, Guest, Horrorfan13, smh204, moranemily36, and Guest!

As always, I love you all, and thanks for all your love and support! Until next time :)

Also: Tony is prickly. That may be the best concept I have ever conceived. Please and thank you.