A/N: Heh. Sorry. There's a whole lot going on in my life right now, but I bring to you: a new chapter! Please enjoy it, I think I finally gave you all what you were waiting for (hehe)! P.S I wasn't sure how this chapter came across, so please leave your thoughts!
Warnings: Mentions of guns, organized crime, and a (VERY) brief mention of a car crash.
"I really wish you hadn't seen that."
Peter's Spider-sense continued to go haywire, his entire body jerking backwards by instinct. Everything after that happened very quickly.
Mr. Ammons pulled a gun from his belt and shot, only missing Peter because of his abilities. Papers flew around them in a janky tornado, obstructing the older man's aim a little bit. They continued this fatal tango until the gun clicked and the large man looked down at it, not very phased. He put the empty object away calmly and folded his arms. The hero was stuck to the ceiling, there from avoiding the shots.
"Well. It's safe to say I jumped the gun." He actually laughed at his own joke. (What the crap is going on here? Is this some weird fever dream?) "Let's talk about this, Spider-Man. We don't really have to fight... Have a seat." He waved to the old foldable chairs that were set up by the rusty card table.
"Karen, activate interrogation mode," Peter whispered, trying not to let Mr. Ammons hear him (This way he won't recognize my voice). "I'm not here to talk. Why do you have all these pictures of the Avengers? What are you planning?" He dropped down from the ceiling gently, feet not even making a sound on the dirty floor.
Ammons quirked an eyebrow at his strange voice, but didn't mention it. "You won't rat me out, right?"
Peter was shocked. "What kind of question is that? I work with Tony Stark. One phone call, and this operation is done."
"Let me rephrase that. You won't rat me out." He smirked and pulled his gun back out, sliding a new cartridge into it. Aiming it behind Peter's shoulder, he fired, hitting the picture of Mr. Stark directly on his mentor's chest.
Peter flinched. He was lucky for his mask, because without it, he would not have been able to hide the shock and fear from his face.
"What?" If it weren't for the interrogation mode, his voice would have come out squeaky.
"I have people everywhere, little bug," his teacher spat, finally showing some malice. "Everywhere. Let me ask you this, do you care about your friend Iron Man. Is he mentoring you… maybe even a deranged father figure?" His voice was snide; he was clearing mocking. "I don't want to kill you, Spider-Man. At least, not yet." The subtle threat sent chills down Peter's spine. "But at the snap of my fingers, I could take out Tony Stark and all of his little friends in an instant."
"Why should I keep quiet if you're going to kill us anyway?"
That raised eyebrow dropped. "Finally, the right question. While taking out Stark so early would be… disappointing, it's all means to an end. I'd do what I have to do. And you must want time to try? To try and... figure me out, what have you."
Unfortunately he was right. If Peter could figure this whole thing out, which he planned on doing, he could save Mr. Stark and the others. But if he failed...
The teacher quirked one corner of his mouth up at how still Spider-Man was. "This isn't about how badly I want you monkeys in costumes dead. This is about tasting sweet vengeance for everything you've done." Peter couldn't think of anything he, or any of the others, had done. They were only trying to help people… "Killing all of you now would be too easy… too painless. I'm going to make it hurt."
He hadn't realized his gym teacher was a sadistic sociopath, but hey. Stuff happens. "It's not going to change anything. You won't ever rest," Peter said, trying to talk some sense into this madman.
"I'm not looking for rest, I'm looking for justice." His blue eyes flashed. "Now, run along, little Spider. Don't let the door hit you on the way out. And don't forget. I'm everywhere."
Peter hesitantly shot a web out of the window (even though he was anxious to leave), slapping a listening device on the sill. As he swung away, pit in his stomach and hands clenched, he only hoped that Ammons wouldn't notice it.
xXx
"Peter!" May grabbed him in a fierce hug. "You did amazing! I'm so proud of you." She patted his head, curls bouncing. "And Ben would be, too. Oh, if he could see you right now…"
He hugged her back, burying his face into her shoulder. "What do you think he would say?" Peter's words were slightly muffled by her gray sweater.
May pulled away briefly to look into his eyes. "You know what? I think he would mess up your hair," she demonstrated. "And… loosen your tie… and say-" she lowered her voice. "'You must be adopted, because that isn't from me!'"
He could see his uncle doing that… in fact, he had seen his uncle do that. They were at one of his Science Fairs, and Ben had ruffled his hair, and loosened his tie, and said those things. Then, May had shot him a look that said, 'Speak for yourself', and they had laughed. It seemed like so long ago…
Peter hugged May again, pulling away after a second. "Love you, May. I'm going to go talk to Ned and MJ. Meet you back here in ten?"
He was already walking away when she responded with a wink and, "Of course, anything for my genius nephew. Love you too, baby."
Peter was lucky. He really was… because at least his last words to her weren't angry or spiteful. At least he got to tell her he loved her. At least he didn't forget.
Hit and run. Hit and run. Hit and run. Hitandrunhitandrunhitandrunhitandrunhitandrunhitandrun-
"Hit and run."
He shot up in bed (if it could be called that), gasping in the crisp air. The echo of his words rang around him in the dark night. Feeling a sharp ache in his chest he went back down to the small mattress. Cold tears were streaming down his cheeks, paving little rivers under his eyes.
Peter tried not to think about May, and he hated himself for it. Every time he did, it made his heart hurt from the agony of losing her so unfairly. Dreams like this were usually the only instances where he allowed the pain to creep through to the surface.
He wondered now if she could see him. If she was disappointed in him… it would make sense. He was living on a roof, barely able to stay alive, and unable to protect his newfound family from a psycho gym teacher. If she was watching, she would be so upset. Peter couldn't help but feel like he was failing in every aspect.
He let the sobs rack his body for a while, until the steady throbbing of his head lulled him into a dreamless sleep.
xXx
"Okay, admittedly, this doesn't add up." Tony leaned over the keyboard, addressing Bruce from behind him. The Doctor was working on some genetic tests, trying to improve treatments for Steve (and Peter now, too).
His friend blinked up at him. "What?"
"Well, I promised not to be nosy, but you know me." He took off his large red sunglasses and shoved them in his pocket, shrugging. "Anyways, here," he leaned forward again, "On Peter's records from the Social Worker, the kid's 18. But, look at this, his school records say he's 16. The kid himself told us he was 17. So, my question is, how old is he? This also means he either lied to a social worker, the school, or to us, and I'm not sure which I'm most mad at. And that's not all!"
Bruce raised an eyebrow. "It isn't?"
"No! I looked up the records with his social worker, Mary Osten, and he claimed that he had no living relatives and that he was old enough to live on his own! Which he isn't! And remember his Aunt Jane? Yeah, doesn't exist."
Tony waved his arms around in mild frustration. Bruce absorbed this, then just nodded thoughtfully. "You should ask him."
"Well, yeah. I plan on it… in fact, he's scheduled to come over today, so we'll have a nice heart-to-heart chat."
"Don't be too hard on him, ok?" His friend said after observing the mechanic's tone. "He obviously did it for a reason."
"I know, I know. I like him… he's a good kid. I just- can't understand why."
Bruce smiled. Tony would never admit this, at least he didn't think so, but Bruce knew that he cared about Peter, in his own way. It would all work out. Probably.
xXx
"So, uh, kid. Peter." Tony awkwardly changed the subject of the conversation from science. He fiddled with the cuff of his sleeve, which was about the only thing he did when he was nervous. "Can we talk about something, bud?"
"Sure, Mr. Stark… What do you need?" (Mr. Stark is never nervous. What is he going to say?) Peter's body responded to his mentor's energy with foot tapping and hand wiggling, despite his best efforts to remain still.
"Where do you live?"
The question was so unexpected that Peter was taken aback for a moment. His initial shock faded, giving way to cold panic (he knows. He knows). He tried to formulate a lie in his head, but as he spent more time with Mr. Stark, it was getting harder and harder to fib. Words floated through his mind, "...a deranged father figure."
"Queens," came his automatic and choppy response.
"Yeah, but… where in Queens?" (just… start with the truth, and lie if you have to.)
"A-a little apartment building on 41st."
The mechanic's face remained still and unreadable. Peter was unable to tell where exactly he was going with this. "With your Aunt."
After his dream last night, Peter couldn't help but flinch. (His Aunt. Not May.) Everyone thought he lived with his Aunt Jane… he didn't even remember how he came up with that one…
"Y-yeah," he sniffed, feeling hotness behind his eyes (oh no, I will not cry in front of Mr. Stark. Not like this). "M-my Aunt…"
The familiar sick guilt settled in his stomach. He hated this.
"Your Aunt Jane." Peter nodded in confirmation. "Who also happens to not exist." Tony stood then, looking away with his arms crossed. The kid froze, the cold panic seeping from his stomach into his veins (crap).
The statement hung in the air for an uncomfortably long amount of time, but it also could've been a second. Peter wasn't sure.
"Now, according to Mary Osten, you're 18. With no living relatives. You know, I could have sworn you were a Junior this year." Mr. Stark would still not look at him. He wasn't sure if he wanted his mentor to look at him, because his face would surely be disappointed. He couldn't handle that right now.
"And you told us you were 17, but the school thinks you're 16." Tony finally locked eyes with him, but the emotion was not one Peter expected. It was… concern? This was the look May gave him when he came home from school with a black eye, or ran a temperature. This was the look of… of… of a parent. Of a father. He didn't know how he felt about that.
"Give it to me straight, kiddo, please. What is going on?"
"I-I," he stuttered, not sure how to approach this. "I don't… I mean, I-I can't…"
Tony waited, firm but concerned.
"When M-May died, I had to sell almost everything," Peter relented, choking a little on his Aunt's name. "A-and after the funeral, there wasn't much money left… Not much for me to use, at least. W-we didn't really have that much to begin with…" he trailed off, then refocused. "I used some of it to buy a storage unit downtown, but there wasn't enough to keep rent on the apartment. I-I didn't want to go to an orphanage… I wanted to stay here, with my friends. Right after the funeral was when the spider bit me."
The older man had to physically restrain himself from stopping the story to offer sympathies and apologies. He felt terrible... and had the foreign urge to pull Peter close. This was just one blow after another… couldn't the poor kid catch a break?
"Then I met with that social worker lady… she had so many stacks on her desks of kids who needed her attention w-way more than I did. I… I forged a birth certificate in the local library so she thought I was 18. A-and then I just lived wherever for a while. T-told everyone I was with my Aunt Jane… they all bought it, after a couple weeks ago. I asked one of my old neighbors to… to act as my Aunt for 50 bucks for Parent-Teacher Conference. I really do live on 41st, though. On an apartment building…"
On an apartment building? What is that supposed to mean? How on God's Green Earth did no one figure this out until now? He kept his mouth shut, deciding to ask questions later.
It felt so good to tell the truth that Peter didn't stop until the story was over. An immediate combination of relief and regret flooded his system when he finished. He looked down, terrified of what Mr. Stark thought of him now. He would be angry… take away the suit, throw him out, the whole nine yards.
"Jeez, kid-"
"I'm so sorry! I didn't want this. It all just happened and-and…" he sniffed again and was furious to discover that tears were running down his face. "And I know those things are wrong… but I couldn't help but think of those kids who… who had nothing." Peter wiped at his eyes in a failed attempt to stop the stream. "I understand.. If-if… you don't want me coming around anymore…"
His ramble was stopped by Mr. Stark wrapping him in a tight hug. All hesitance was forgotten as he returned the grasp. Peter held on to his suit jacket and cried for a while longer, enjoying the contact. It was familiar and comforting… something he hadn't felt in a long time (not since-).
"Peter," Mr. Stark whispered after the cries had slowed to heavy breathing. "This is a hot mess, kid, not gonna lie. But I'll fix it ok? Just let me handle this one." He had no idea how Tony would handle this. The whole thing didn't seem fixable. "Why don't you spend the night here tonight, alright? I'll have someone bring in some spare clothes or something."
Too tired to argue, Peter just nodded and allowed Mr. Stark to lead him to a spare bedroom upstairs. He collapsed on the bed and was asleep in seconds.
xXx
"He's been living here?" Loki turned up his nose in a mix of disgust and horror. Beside him, Tony rubbed his face in his hands and swore. The dirty roof, tiny "living space", and motheaten mattress and blanket had the pair shocked. Once Loki had found out that Peter was homeless, he'd been outraged, but this was a whole new level.
Tony was more genuinely disappointed in himself than he had been in a while, and that was saying something. How could a teenager be living on a roof and calling himself the lucky one? How could he not complain? But the question that bothered him the most was: How could I be living in a penthouse while the kid works at a deadbeat job just to feed himself? I'm a billionaire for crying out loud!
The odd overprotective feeling that had come over him today since he talked with Peter kicked in with a passion, causing a swirl of conflicting emotions in his head. Anger, sadness, self-loathe, those were familiar, but fear was there, too. Fear for the kid. His kid.
Loki was so angry that his hands were refusing to unclench, and he didn't know why. Why did he care so much about where the child lived? It was none of his business, right? If that were true, he wouldn't feel this surge of… feelings. It was unwelcome.
"I just… can't believe no one knew," Tony said, trying to keep an even expression. Thank goodness for sunglasses at night, because otherwise, he feared the God would see right through him.
Loki scowled. "This building is an offensive place."
"Now that is something we can agree on, Glinda." The rat droppings and bug carcasses were a testament to that.
"Well," Tony finally said. "Let's get his stuff, I guess. Whatever there is… Oh. My-"
"What is it?" The other man said, looking annoyed as he bent over to grab a blue suitcase.
"That day he was cold… he was sleeping outside!" He swore again, frustrated. "That was one of the coldest nights this winter."
"Valhalla help us," Loki muttered, also collecting a bunch of computer parts and a backpack. "What are we going to do with this child?"
A/N: This one took me a while to get right, so let me know your thoughts!
REVIEWS:
Beachgirl25: Ah! I hope you are satisfied with this chapter. And there's more to come!
xSapphirexRosesxFanx: Sorry, that happened a little differently lol :)
Belbelanne: Here you go! Hope that answers a little bit!
orangiethefox: Thank you, you're too nice! And I'm glad you liked it.
Akenji: Sorry the update didn't exactly come soon, haha. But thank you so much!
See you next time,
-katilange :D