After - Peter

Peter felt foolish, presuming he had a choice. But the Midtown High request was taken with grace as the Black Widow swept him from the diner to an executive midnight blue car. Peter folded himself into the back seat, watching Hawkeye from the corner of his eyes. The immediacy of it all rankled after so long spent in slow, painful survival.

As the sky turned ashy and the afternoon light began to fade, they pulled up outside an apartment building. They were in the middle of Forest Hills.

He turned to her when the car slowed to a stop. Also in the back seat, she offered a small smile, an afterthought. Peter stared blankly at the back of the seat in front of him for a few seconds, blinking. He tried to track the logic that had led him to this position and found none.

Up the stairs to the seventh floor, down a corridor to the right—all tracked and memorised in Peter's mind just in case. Then—

'Hi,' a tall man with dark hair and crinkled eyes opened a scuffed blue door. 'Sorry, May's asleep. She's got an early shift. She doesn't know you're here yet—come in, come in, I'm Ben.'

They shuffled in—Peter and Natasha Romanoff, leaving the SHIELD agent who'd sat scowling in the drivers' seat outside the door. Peter felt horribly awkward.

'I'm Peter,' he said. There was a single orange lamp on an end-table beside the door. It illuminated cushions, a deep, splotchy sofa, a clean kitchen and blue walls. It was just the wrong side of cluttered but it was far, far better than benches and doorways and supply closets that smelt of bleach.

'Nice to meet you,' Ben said. He stuck out his left hand by way of greeting, shifting into the light after closing the front door. For the first time Peter saw he had no right arm.

When Ben moved away towards the kitchen to get glasses of water and set the coffee machine to quietly whir to life, Peter turned to glare at Romanoff. 'Really?' He hissed, scowling.

She smirked and shrugged, taking a seat at the table. Peter doubted they had never found out about his association with the Asset. Nothing was a coincidence when it came to SHIELD or Hydra.

'You'll be staying with Ben and May Parker for the time being,' Romanoff said, 'visit Stark Tower in the daytime for a bit. School in the area, like we said.'

Peter nodded. He'd never been in a home like this. The little of them he'd seen were of diplomats and politicians or the otherwise obscenely rich. He doubted the last man he'd choked with a garotte allowed his maid to leave the kitchen trash overflowing like that.

Natasha and Ben spoke quietly to each other as Peter looked at the bookshelf, the photographs, the bulky television. He tried not to listen, but heard it all anyway—nothing new. Nothing to shed light on the insanity.

Then, Ben Parker turned and gestured to the table between them all. He held a yellow mug. 'Coffee, everyone?'

'I'm not staying,' Natasha said, 'I've got people waiting for me downstairs.'

'Barton, huh?' Ben said with a shake of his head. 'You gonna get that cord cut anytime soon?'

'Hilarious, Parker.' She said breezily, turning to Peter. 'The Tower, ten o'clock tomorrow.'

Alarmed, Peter was left standing next to the orange light. Surely not. He listened as she walked away down the hall, down the stairs, and against all odds, through the building door.

'SHIELD agents are like that.' Said Ben. His voice was soft but it projected across all the same. He was a loud person, Peter knew. He rolled his eyes. 'Always going off to save the world. Makes them feel important.'

'You knew her.'

'Sure. I was a cop—ended up working as liaison with SHIELD. Romanoff and Barton were about the only bearable ones, and even then it was touch and go. Sit, Peter. I'll get the milk and sugar.'

As if dreaming, he sat. Ben brought the coffeepot over and poured.

'I'm sorry all this happened.' Ben held Peter's gaze. 'I don't know if someone's said that to you already… but I am. I'm sorry this happened to you.'

'It's okay.' Peter tried hard to copy Ben's accent.

'It's not, and I don't think anyone's really said that to you either. I know you haven't had a real chance yet, anyway.'

'Why am I here?' Peter asked. 'I mean, with you?'

Ben leant back in his chair and took a long sip of his coffee. 'May and me were thinking about fostering. We never had kids and I guess we still could, but we've both seen how many kids there are that need a place to stay. So we thought we'd give it a try. And then, you know, the all-seeing eye of SHIELD found out we were thinking about it, then you showed up in the same area…'

Peter nodded at Ben's shrug. 'I'm sorry they made you take me.'

Ben laughed, long and loud. It cut through the night and if Peter hadn't been so preoccupied, it would have infected him too. 'Oh, they made sure it was the Avengers that actually asked, not SHIELD. Anyway, soon as I heard about it I knew I couldn't say no. And once I'd told May there was no going back.' He looked at what must be their bedroom door fondly. 'She'll be force-feeding you her awful food before you know it.'

'She's bad at cooking?'

'The worst, Pete, the worst. You gotta tell her you like Thai take-out or something, for my sake.'

Peter cracked a grin. He traced his finger around the rim of his mug. Ben shifted in his seat and scratched at his eyebrow.

'I got a couple of things to tell you that'll make you more relaxed here, all right? But I just wanted you to know that we're in your corner now. I know SHIELD is probably trying to do what they always do, manipulate every little thing, all that. Even if they're sending Avengers over in their downtime. But, honestly? As far as I'm concerned? You're mine and May's responsibility from now on.'

'Oh,' Peter said. He had a hard lump in his throat.

'I'm gonna draw you a plan of the building so you know where you stand. Neighbours, too. Mrs O'Leary across the hall just moved out, so I think they're gonna try and put someone in there to keep an eye, but it shouldn't change anything. And there's a couple of new cameras around the block that popped up a few days ago, so I'll point them out sometime too.'

'I—Thank you.'

'We just want you to feel safe here. And—' Ben smiled conspiratorially, and for the first time in Peter's life he felt like he was in on the joke, too. 'The SHIELD social worker told me to tell you you're not being watched, but I thought that was just insulting your intelligence. Look at this, too—I got you a lock for your door. I was saving it for after they dropped you off so they wouldn't see.'

It was less of a lock and more of a deadbolt. It was large, heavy, and had somehow been stashed under the table. It must have cost a lot.

'I don't understand. Why are you trusting me like this?' Peter asked after a long moment of staring at the bolt. He was Hydra and for all they knew he was simply waiting to be collected for his next mission. He had killed, again and again. He hadn't questioned it until he was forced out into the world to scrabble around for answers.

'I figure it makes more sense for you to stay here than go.' Ben tilted his head. 'You could kill us in our sleep, I guess, but then you'd just be where you started. Besides, the worst thing in here is kitchen knives and they're so blunt from trying to cut into May's loaf cakes—'

'But your wife. May.'

Ben raised an eyebrow and looked at Peter head on. 'Why, you gonna give the knives a go?'

'No—I wouldn't—I don't—' Peter dug his fingertips into the wood of the table so hard he left dents without meaning to. He was lucky it wasn't worse considering he had an unsteady handle on his powers at best.

'Innocent until proven guilty.' Ben said quietly. His eyes, blue, bore into Peters. 'It's pretty much May's slogan. For all we know, or for all we care about, anyway—you just need somewhere safe to stay where you feel safe. And so all this, the plans and the lock and me telling you in the first place, is trying to get to that point.'

Peter had never met somebody with quite so honest a belief in the good of people. Until that moment he had never considered its existence. He felt, somehow, both cynical and wary. But Ben was one of those people, like Ned, who wore everything on their face and didn't care if they did. Peter couldn't fathom it.

'Come on,' Ben said, 'I'll show you your room.'

They left their mugs on the table and moved past the sloping couches to a small hallway. Peter's room was at the far end, the very corner of the apartment. Ben pointed out the bathroom just before it.

'We did a bag for you, stuff like a toothbrush and soap. It's on the shelf, it's all yellow. I'm gonna dip inside and get my screwdriver.'

The door to his room (his room) was just like all the rest. The doorknob was scuffed and round; it made a clunking noise when he turned it. It was nice and loud.

A twin bed with a light blue duvet pressed against the wall opposite. The sash window above it was tall on the wall and easy to operate. The blind above it was wonky but clean, which was like the rest of the room, too. It had spent more than its fair share of time as a glorified storage cupboard.

Peter was eyeing the wardrobe—wooden, with old suitcases on top—when Ben came back in. 'Sit,' he said, armed with an electric screwdriver and the lock, 'I'll start putting this in. Might need you in a minute to hold it steady, but we'll see. Think about what you wanna put on the walls, God knows it's depressing the way it is now without all our junk everywhere.'

Looking as blank as the walls, Peter stared at them. What would he need? Decorations weren't necessary. He'd never decorated in his life.

Ben was marking the door with a pencil. 'D'you like baseball or something? Football?' He glanced over his shoulder. 'Maybe you haven't had the chance… you were hanging out at that school, right? Natasha told me. Isn't it all math and science there?'

'I like science.' Peter said quietly.

Ben smiled at him through a mouth of screws before he spat them out in his hand. 'Another one,' he said, 'my brother and his wife are just—honestly, I don't even know what they do. Something with chemicals. You'll meet 'em sometime. Probably Passover, that's the next one.'

When Ben had finished the lock with minimal help from Peter, given him a sealed bottle of water and offered a meal Peter refused, Peter slid the bolt across and felt something settle within him. He waited an age to do it, staring at the thick screws holding it in, the specks of dust and wood shavings it had left behind. He didn't want Ben to hear. He felt inexplicably guilty about using it.

But once it was done, and the part of his brain that was always on a mission stopped shrieking, he looked around properly. He looked under the bed, in the duvet cover, the suitcases atop the wardrobe and inside it too. He found nothing but new clothes with tags on, too big for him but his all the same.

And he found a hatch in the ceiling. He stuffed his Spider-Man notes, his suit, the little money he'd saved and the chips from Ned into it as his heart thundered in his ears.

Later, Peter didn't intend to fall asleep. Instead he awoke, startled, with a spine that groaned. He had propped himself up in the corner of the bed and the walls, eyes flicking back and forth—until they closed.

He stilled to listen: his habit. The city rolled around him, as overpowering as ever. Even if he was indoors and safe, at least, from the elements. But there was more closer; the sound of pipes and televisions and fridges and cupboards opening. And closer still, a man and a woman.

'—now May, it's too early! It's just coming up a quarter to six—'

'Shut up! Be quiet, he's sleeping!' Then, quieter but still hissing: 'I cannot believe you! Kid arrived for the first time and you didn't get me up! Didn't tell me! You think I was gonna go to work on his first day here, please—'

It wasn't like the anger Peter had experienced before. There was emotion, but there was no aggression. He couldn't find hatred behind the words. But the guilt still sat in his gut, deep, that the conversation was happening at all. Because he had intruded, after all.

When he left his room he was silent, and even more so in the bathroom. He took longer than was probably normal and spent the time ran his fingers over every appliance and around the pipes to ease the monster in him. Before he left down the hallway, to meet May, he couldn't help himself—he checked the hatch for his Spider-Man gear.

He had not been as quiet as he'd hoped. Perhaps the plumbing, rattling and loud, alerted them. They were waiting at the kitchen table, bathed in grey light, Ben holding a coffee mug for dear life. May was running her finger around the rim of her cup like Peter had done the day before.

They brightened and smiled. Peter tried to give them one of his own.

'Honey, I'm May,' May said, jolting up from the table. 'I got eggs, d'you like eggs? We have bread for toast too—'

'Christ May,' Ben looked alarmed, 'say hello first,'

She glared at her husband but moved around the table towards Peter anyway. She didn't have a kind face like Ben did—or at least, not the same sort. Instead, she had a worried look about her, even when she was smiling.

'You like to be called Peter, right?'

'Yes,' Peter said. 'Or Petya.'

'We'll decide which to put on your school forms later, okay?' she said, 'but are you happy with Peter for now?'

'Yes.'

May's dark eyes matched his. Her mouth twitched downwards at the corners and she made an aborted motion with her arms—Peter was glad she decided against hugging him. Instead, he was bustled over to the table for a second time.

Ben poured him a coffee and smiled, a look of solidarity in his eye. Perhaps he was pleased May had another object of attention.

Four scrambled eggs (only a little rubbery) and two pieces of moderately charred toast later, Peter felt full for the first time in a long, long while. He hadn't waylaid the deep pain in his gut for another few hours, but had actually satiated himself. He felt tired.

Ben slid back from the table in a squeal against the linoleum. 'I'm getting dressed,' he said wearily, May's narrowed eyes following him to their bedroom.

'I'm sorry I wasn't there yesterday,' May said, aggressively tipping the last of the coffee into her cup. 'I think he forgets I'm an adult who can make their own choices about when to sleep and work.'

Peter smiled and shrugged in answer. He hadn't a clue how to respond. May sighed.

'We'll leave at nine, okay?' Peter glanced at the blinking clock on the stove; nine was still over two hours away.

'You're coming with me?' Peter asked, thinking about the settling nerves whispering around his body at walking into Stark Tower with the Avengers, enemies to the cause, all attention on him.

May smiled. 'Sure, I gotta show you the new cameras I found the other day. Sneaky bastards.'

'Ben said about those.'

She narrowed her eyes. 'Bet he said he spotted them, didn't he? I knew he was gonna try and take credit for that. Besides, I'm not gonna make you figure out the Subway for the first time on your own. I'm not evil.'

Peter stared down at a forgotten piece of egg on his plate. 'Thank you.' He said quietly.

'It's no problem, really,' May said. Her hand twitched on the table. 'In fact, how about we leave early? You'll be hungry soon anyway, right? Let's get bagels.'

'You don't have to do—'

'Honey, nobody's making me do anything I don't want to do.' May's eyes crinkled as she smiled widely. 'Just ask Ben about his camping phase.'

The F train to Lexington Avenue was an experience. There were people in the carriage, people in the graffiti and stickers, people on the platforms and people in the adverts. Peter had never seen so many clustered together, not even when he'd first arrived in Manhattan.

'Should have known,' May muttered as she bought him a MetroCard. 'We can get a cab if it's too much?'

Peter thought about the calm of slipping away into a crowd. He'd thought it would terrify him: an enclosed underground space with no visible exits. But he was fascinated at it all, the life and the smells and the daily grind of ordinary people. He'd never be one of them, but it would be nice to pretend. Then he thought of the amount of money May had just loaded onto the card.

'No, this is fine.'

May looked uncertain. 'Are you sure?' She asked. 'It's almost rush hour.'

Peter nodded.

When they exited into the chill morning of a city just about waking up, May pulled him closer with an arm and squeezed his shoulder. 'You're a proper New Yorker now, you'll fit right in.' Peter tried hard not to tense up at the contact. May didn't notice, so he took it as a victory. 'Went through those turnstiles quicker than me. And you got the accent down, too.'

'I do?'

But May was squinting at her phone. 'I think it's this way—maybe? We'll see. I have just… no sense of direction above ground.'

Stark Tower loomed before Peter really registered it. He'd eaten a cream cheese bagel before registering it also, and stuffed the paper into his pocket before May could get halfway through hers. She had been talking animatedly about how Ben might be doing, off shopping for food and room decorations he thought Peter might like. Every now and then she paused to send him a text about it. It was all alien to Peter.

Even though he was wearing his own clothes (Ben and May hadn't commented at all, for which he was thankful), the receptionist smiled at Peter in the same way he did the businessman he'd just been speaking to. Peter admired him for it; there was a large dubious stain around his shoulder blade that usually got some looks.

'Hi, I'm May Parker and this is Peter,' May said brightly, pulling Peter towards the starch desk. 'We're here for a meeting at ten.'

'No problem!' The man said. 'I'll bring it up on the system. Bear with me for two seconds please ma'am.'

He clicked about on the monitor with inhuman speed. Peter was taken aback by it, and a quick glance next to him showed May was too; her eyes had gone rounder and her left brow was raised.

'I've got an appointment at floor eighty-seven for ten for—Peter? I don't have a surname here, is that right?'

'Yes,' Peter said, feeling embarrassed.

The receptionist didn't seem to notice. 'Okay, this is all fine—I can't escort you to your meeting room as it's on a restricted floor, but after security checks an elevator will take you right to where you need to go.'

'A restricted floor?' May asked, frowning. 'Can I go up with him?'

'Sorry ma'am, only designated personnel can.'

May looked as if she wanted to argue. But Peter, out of place already by simply existing as himself in the building turned to her and smiled.

'It's okay. I'll be fine.'

'Are you sure?' She asked doubtfully. 'You're a minor and I'm your guardian, I'm sure they couldn't—'

'Really, May. Thank you though.'

They looked at each other for a long moment. 'Can I wait in the lobby?' May asked the receptionist, casting her eyes around the area. 'Some kind of coffee machine somewhere…?'

He brightened. 'Of course! We have a café in the East side of the building. I can escort you there, if you need help finding it?'

'Thank you, I'm good,' May said. 'Just point me in the right direction?'

When he did so, May walked in the opposite direction with Peter to the security counter. 'Honestly honey, I could get them to take me up as well if you wanted.'

Peter eyed the large security guard against the wall watching the lobby with beady eyes. He bulged out of his shirt.

'It's all right.' Peter said.

He left May in the lobby, her sharp eyes watching the guard scan Peter's face and scowl at his lack of surname. He was patted down, and while staring ahead Peter thought of all the places he'd be able to hide a weapon to smuggle in.

One concerning run-in with an Artificial Intelligence system later, Peter stepped into the behemoth of the Avengers' gym. It wasn't what he'd expected.

There were treadmills that looked like spacecraft and gleaming weights. The mirror refracted light like a laser. But it was too clean, too tidy. There might not be dust coating the equipment, but it wasn't because of use. He was willing to bet his web-shooters that it hadn't been used for a while.

'Mr Rogers will be with you shortly,' the AI said from nowhere. Her voice had a buzz around the edges, and though she spoke from thin air, Peter's sixth sense remained quiet.

It didn't perk up when Captain America entered, either—not that Peter would have noticed. His own mind filled the absence.

Peter couldn't remember a sensation as bizarre. The man stood so against everything he'd ever been. He might not have been aware of Captain America while with Hydra, but Captain America was definitely aware of him and the people that had raised Peter. The ideals. Steve Rogers had every reason to dislike Peter, to feel revolted when he looked at his hands to see the weapons which had likely killed comrades of his.

'Sasha, hi,' Steve said, raising his hand for Peter to shake, 'I'm Steve.'

Rooted to the spot, Peter stared at the hand as his mind thundered around and around; Sasha and everything he had done pretending to be him, Sasha, who they had made—

'He likes to be called Peter, Steve.' The Widow appeared behind him. Then she greeted Peter in German.

'Petya is my first name,' Peter said to her in German. 'They gave me Sasha later. I don't like it.' He was wildly irritated—it felt condescending when she said he liked to be called Peter. He was Peter. When May had said similar, it hadn't felt like that.

Captain America's eyes flicked back and forth between them as they spoke. Peter doubted he spoke German.

'We're just going to assess you today,' he said loudly. 'Get an idea on your abilities, see how far you can go with weights and stamina. Standard checks, really.'

'What was on my file?'

They exchanged a glance. Natasha spoke smoothly. 'Hydra mostly focused on your healing factor. But there was lots about your endurance and strength.'

They knew he was enhanced. Over the time spent in doorways and alleys, Peter had begun to realise that, muddled as his memories were, not all of his powers came from that final operation. He remembered the ease he killed grown adults as a child… considered it unlikely Hydra agents and spies would be so scared of a small boy if they did not know he was enhanced.

The Avengers and SHIELD didn't seem to know about Peter's stickiness, nor his sixth sense. They thought him Hydra's own prototype Captain America, perhaps. There was little chance it would have simply not been mentioned. It was far too individual; everyone had super-strength nowadays, and very few could walk on ceilings.

Privately, Peter was pleased he wouldn't have to dumb himself down. He wanted them to know he was dangerous and he hated himself a little for it. He wanted them to retract their pity, to realise he could handle it himself.

So long as he didn't run up the wall accidentally, he could show his strength and his agility. He could blame their improvements on puberty, perhaps. It was more believable than whatever was injected him (it had to be spider venom. He'd spent long and hard thinking about the possible culprit).

So he watched their eyebrows climb higher and higher as he sprinted endlessly on the treadmill and lifted every weight in the gym like it was nothing. He listened to their whispers because they didn't know he could hear them from the other side of the room.

'Why has this place not been used?' Peter asked eventually. He had been handed a water bottle by Steve, and went to great lengths to ensure their hands never touched.

Steve's brow creased. Natasha smirked and looked at her teammate.

'I don't—well. SHIELD collapsing was… a lot, for a while. We've been preoccupied.'

Peter knew when not to push. And he knew what he would be looking up again the next time he was at Midtown's library, too. Steve clearly had a lot on his plate.

'We ordered food, if you want some. We figured you'd be tired out after… well, I guess we got that wrong.' Natasha looked Peter up and down. He knew he was not nearly as tired as he should feel. He hadn't used his body properly in a very long time. He was mildly surprised at his new lightning-fast recovery rate.

Peter thought of May downstairs. A snide part of him expected she wouldn't be there, and certainly not if he stopped for a lunch he did not want nor deserve.

'I'm okay,' Peter said. 'Thank you.'

Natasha shrugged.

The following morning Peter braved the F train alone. It was astonishing that he managed to convince May at all. But Peter wasn't a child; he knew work wasn't something that could wait, and the people she cared for needed her far more than he. Ben's job, too, couldn't stop on Peter's whim. His ultimate aim was to affect their lives as little as possible, and take what they gave him while he could. And be thankful.

Ben had the day off. Somehow, he too agreed to stay in, on the assurances that Peter would be fine, that yes, he would quite like to return to a fully redecorated bedroom courtesy of Ben, and yes, he would text them each regularly.

Peter held back on the compulsion to tell them he'd frequently taken last place on the priority list for mission pick-ups. He was sure Ben and May were not worried about his welfare so much as they were worried he thought they weren't worried for his welfare. Which was, of course, ridiculous. They were the first and only adults to do so as yet.

It was like being smothered, in a nice way.

In a too-large hoodie and jeans, Peter tramped back to Stark Tower. He wondered what they would have him do this time, was still a little nervous about meeting Captain America again. Perhaps he'd remembered more about Peter; had read more of his file last night.

He didn't get as far as Captain America. He ran into Iron Man first.

'Um.' Tony Stark said as he rounded a corner. Peter was standing in front of the elevator deliberating on where he should go.

'FRIDAY,' Tony said, 'can you tell me why a child is standing in front of me right now?'

'This is Sasha, boss. He has a standing appointment with the Avengers.'

Stark looked confused in the way babies did when discovering the concept mirrors. He spoke very slowly as if remembering a well-buried and traumatic memory. 'A twelve-year-old has a standing appointment with… the Avengers?'

'Certainly seems so, boss.'

Stark glared at nowhere in particular.

Peter thought he ought to make a contribution. 'Uh, I was with Captain America and the Black Widow yesterday—'

'They're off gallivanting somewhere,' Stark said. 'Honestly I think I'm having some kind of seizure. Are you picking up a heat signature from him FRI? Is he real? Are kids allowed here, isn't there some kind of age restriction?'

'I can confirm I am picking up a heat signature,' FRIDAY said. Peter shifted uncomfortably as she read out his exact temperature. 'I believe all information regarding Sasha was provided at the briefing you attended last Friday from—'

'Holy shit!' The tablet Stark was holding nearly wobbled out of his hand. 'The spy kid!'

'Um—'

'I didn't know you were here, here. Wow. FRIDAY how long was I in the lab—no, wait, don't answer me—kid, you like science right? I swear you like science? Engineering?'

'How much information did you have about me—?'

'Look, I'm gonna have to babysit you since nobody else is around, so if you like science you can come fiddle with stuff in my workshop and we can do our own thing. Sound good?'

'I—okay?'

And so Peter was escorted into a multi-million dollar workshop filled with pieces of Iron Man suit, Widow Bites, and other corrosive chemical substances. He was given a corner of a desk and a stool ('My back can't take it anymore, kid. I need support.'), and free reign to tinker with anything so long as it didn't look flammable.

Peter knew not to walk into a trap like that. He thought of Adrik tricking him into making mistakes and decided he'd read the notebook in front of him instead. He was hoping for a paper similar to those he'd read at Midtown, but instead there was an endless equation. He worked on it, drawing from the cold day he'd obsessed over astrophysics to forget about the hunger.

Half an hour later he acted surprised when Stark rolled over to him and glanced over his shoulder. He couldn't know Peter had been listening to his nonsensical under-breath ramblings for ten minutes.

'Bold move,' he said, 'I gave that up as a lost cause.'

'Why?' Peter asked. It wasn't too far off.

'Eh, got stuck on it and then was too bored to figure it out. I think I made a hologram of Ringo Starr instead.'

'Who's that?' Peter asked, but Stark was already leafing through his workings. He ignored Peter in favour of his scribbled pencil work.

'Excellent,' Tony Stark breathed, a crazed look in his eye. Peter wanted to back away but felt it would be too rude considering the man's generosity.

'I , uh, just carried that number on,' Peter said, pointing, 'then just looked at the rest and changed some of the variables to—'

'Fixed my suspension problem,' he whispered, 'the repulsors…'

Peter felt a headache coming on. 'For the suits! Mr. Stark, I'm sorry, I didn't know it was anything to do with the suits—'

Stark stared at the pages for a long, painful minute. Peter was just beginning to think he was in the midst of a medical emergency until Stark's head rose so fast he likely had whiplash. 'Jesus, I don't care—no, wait. Here. Try this Will Hunting—'

For the next two hours Stark never stopped asking questions and poking at Peter's holey memory only to allow him to text May and Ben. He watched with a horrifying sheen to his eyes before starting on a new field of study. Even when Peter knew nothing about a topic, had never heard of it at all, Stark was not dissuaded. He almost seemed pleased.

'Boss, Ms. Romanoff would like the collect Sasha to continue his evaluation.'

Stark drew back reluctantly. He had been regaling Peter with the joys of clean energy, making notes on a crumpled sticky note to explain. Peter felt the uneasy feeling he did whenever he was called Sasha. He started talking about stealing Peter away for more of the same.

'I don't like to be called Sasha,' Peter said quietly, steeling himself to leave. 'Can you ask her to change it to Peter?'

Stark blinked. 'God, course—FRIDAY, you hear that?'

'Sure boss. Do you have any other amendments to make to Peter's file?'

Stark looked at him with a raised brow. Peter shook his head—perhaps in the future, he might have a full name. But in that moment, Peter was only happy. Happy that he'd experienced the gift of two full hours not caring about names or pasts. Safe in numbers.

AN: Hope you all enjoyed! This has become a 4 parter because Ben Parker got away from me (god i love him). Please let me know what you'd like to see, and remember, this is part one of an ongoing series!:) Thank you for reading it means the world!