Hi everyone! Hope your week is going well! This is fulfilling a prompt I am doing on tumblr. You can find me there at elizabeth-234

It is 925: "The exasperation at that eternal shyness of yours."

Hope you like it :)

"Come on, Peter. Come on." He shifted his feet back and forth across the carpet, lifting one on top of the other before the pressure became uncomfortable and he switched the stacking order. The throng of people before him, while shorter now, stretched way longer than he hoped. Who could blame them, though? This was Iron Man after all.

The announcement for the competition had been made at his school in the beginning of the year. The aesthetics of the advertisement took over the school, leaving modern and flashy print glued across the corkboards wherever you walked. Tony Stark was holding a science competition for his company, the S.T.A.R.K. or Stark Training: Aimed at Reaching Kids. That, in itself, would have been enough for Peter. Just being in the same room as Mr. Stark would send him into cardiac arrest so he was certainly going to need the shock of the defibrillators after this. Not only was Mr. Stark going to judge the competition, but also the prize was an internship at Stark Industries.

You can imagine the pandemonium created in the announcement's wake at Midtown. All the students and staff were in an uproar. You couldn't walk into a room without someone mentioning it and people were trading ideas like Pokémon cards. There was a rumor that some student had hired professionals to come up and develop an idea for them.

Peter did none of those things. He couldn't afford minions to crank out ideas and even if he could, he wouldn't have wanted to. The thought of using someone else's project plans didn't appeal to him. What was the point of competing if it wasn't your work?

The beginning rounds were held at the high school you attended and from there only two were selected to move on. Peter had been one of them. The other had been a boy named Seymour, much to the chagrin of his friend, Flash Thompson. He had seen the latter boys project one day when he had been showing it off at Decathlon practice. Loath as he was to admit it, it was a noteworthy concept. One that he thought for sure would win out against his own. Seymour had been the dark horse of the fight and in the end pulled ahead of Flash.

Peter left school late one day after the announcement was made. He had hid in the bathroom trying to avoid some of the students asking him questions about his project and slunk toward a rarely used stairway to evade the never-ending questions when he ran into Flash. The boy was slumped on the stairs, his head buried in his knees, and the barest of shaking emanated from his shoulders. Peter had wanted to turn around right then. To get out of the stairwell as fast as possible but it was to late. Flash's back went ridgid. The boy tried to brush the tracks off his face but Peter could see the swollen eyes that widened as his face blushed a dark red.

"What are you doing here Parker? Nobody wants you here." His voice bounced along the walls, echoing their venom. Peter really didn't care for Flash. The boy would always go out of his way to make Peter feel like crap but even after all of that, all the hungry lunches and ripped up assignments, Peter could felt bad for him. Could sense that the boy was hurting. But it wasn't enough to make him want to stay and comfort the boy.

He made to rush down the stairs keeping a wide birth between them. As he walked, Peter looked back and took in the boy's empty gaze at the wall. The stairs leveled off and the door was in front of him but he couldn't leave. Peter's stomach clenched and he had the feeling he shouldn't leave without saying something. He took in a deep breath, feeling his chest inflate as he turned around. The boy didn't even glance at him. That was good. Peter concentrated on the stairs just to the left of Flash so they didn't have to look each other in the eye.

"Just so you know, Flash." The boy's face morphed in a moment. All sharp lines and deep crevices stared back at him.

"What Parker? Going to gloat?"

Not rising to his taunt he went on as if Flash didn't speak. As if the hate filled glare wasn't aimed at him. "I thought that you deserved the spot. What Seymour did was wrong and you had the better project. It's unfair that he used his money to get what he wanted and, well, I'm sorry." Peter left his, not to be dramatic, enemy on the stairwell. The boy as still as a statue, mouth carved open, and left staring at the back of the boy he taunted.

Peter's hands shook as he pushed the door open; his breath came out in a large burst, which had been cradled in his chest for too long. Try as he might Flash scared him. Not in a fear for his safety but he was always conscious of what the boy would do next, what new insults and taunts would come hurtling his way. A small warmth ignited in his chest as he stepped into the sun. Even if he was scared he had still spoke up, had said something nice to Flash.

A voice echoing over the speakers broke him of his reverie and Pter was out from under the sun and back in the poorly lit room. This was it. He was in the precursor to the final round. The line Peter was waiting in would lead him to a larger room with a panel of judges. All he could picture was the restaurant critic from Ratatouille, his gaunt and serve mien judging Peter to be a complete failure. If he passed this round, no, when he passed this round he would get to meet Mr. Stark. Would then present his project to the man. Still, that possibility was making his palms sweat.

Peter had chosen the back of the line in an effort to be strategic. There had been a commotion at the front as people piled on top of each other trying to catch a peak inside the room and wanting to present first. To be seen first. Peter, on the other hand, had hung to the rear. He was still having a hard time wrapping his mind around the fact that he had made it this far and although his stomach was in a near constant state of churning he wanted to prolong this experience as much as possible. Not quite believing that he wasn't in a dream.

May's face had crumpled with tears when he had shown her his project, making the guilty noose around his neck loosen with the knowledge that he was working to fix his past mistakes. It had been about a month before the competition announcement that Uncle Ben had died. That Peter spawned the tragedy from his actions and was left there to bear witness. Now, nearly at the end of his freshman year he was finally beginning to breath through the haze. He liked to think of the burning he felt with each breath as a sort of penance.

Peter became obsessed with the competition, believing that by perfecting it, it would make up for everything. The work and time he spent on it distracted him, let him focus on that instead of his memories and he would be forever grateful to Mr. Stark for the chance to participate. Not that the man would ever know. Peter's project could help people in the future. The shiny texture of the solution mirrored the wetness streaming down May's face when he explained what it was for. She knew, even if he didn't explicitly state, why he had made it.

Now here he was. The once packed hall was sparsely filled, a few groups left waiting to the sides whispering and glancing at the doors. There were two people in between him and the coveted doorway. They were not enough to drown out the rusted hinge on the left door sending a creak into the air with every pass through it. Announcing one step closer. The hinge groaned and Seymour came strutting out toward him. Papers flew into the air before gracefully falling to the ground unlike Peter who imitated gravities affect on a sack of flour.

"Watch where you're going, Parker. What are you even doing here anyway? There's no way you could win this thing. What would a genius like Mr. Stark do with someone like you?"

Peter's lips thinned as his knees strained against the floor. "At least I didn't have to buy my way here," he mumbled to the carpet. He gathered the papers in his hand trying to ignore the harsh words from behind him.

Seymour must not have liked Peter's response because the next thing he knew a pain erupted from his back. The ground came rushing up as his head slammed into the ground. The room spun but Peter knew he had to get up as quick as possible. That was rule one: avoid being vulnerable. Bracing his palms on his thighs Peter glanced up from under his bangs not seeing anyone in close proximity anymore. Peter rubbed a hand down the side of his face wincing as he pressed against a sensitive spot. Trying to organize his papers he noticed a speck of red on the cover page and traced it back to a gash on his arm. It stung as his hoodie soaked up the excess blood.

He had just stacked his papers in the proper order when the doors opened and he caught a view of the room he had only imagined before. It was mostly empty. No stage for which he was grateful but the most important facets of the space was the four people sat behind a long, sleek table. It took him a second to realize that the unobstructed view was because no one was in front of him. It was his turn. Peter's spine cracked as he straightened it walking forward. He tried to ignore the shaking in his legs as he walked.

The one woman on the panel was easily recognizable. Pepper Potts commanded attention everywhere she went and this was no exception. Peter's eyes were drawn to her determined eyes as the rest of the people looked to her for cues when to continue on. He couldn't focus on the others present at the table and the shaking had migrated from his legs up his torso, into his arms and fingers. He cleared his throat as he set up his presentation; the eyes glinted as they followed his jerky movements. With his back turned he was able to think clearer than before. Steeling his resolve he swiveled his feet and the table came into his view again.

Heat spread from his cheeks down his neck and he struggled to take a breath, his vision tunneling on the crown of Ms. Potts' head. One of the older gentlemen, the one on the end with a pinstripe suit, spoke while looking through the papers in front of him.

"Okay, next we have?" Silence blanketed the room as Peter waited for someone to answer. The man took in Peter's glassy eyes and motioned for him to answer.

"Oh, ah. My name is Peter Parker, Sir," finally getting the words out. He wiped his hands across his jeans as they all wrote something down.

"Are you alright, Mr. Parker?" Ms. Potts spoke with concern. His eyebrows furrowed while his palms somehow became drenched again. Was it that obvious he was about five seconds away from having a total nervous lapse? But instead she signaled to Peter's pants. For a split second Peter worried he had peed himself but a hint of red caught his eye and his eyes darted to his arm. The folds in his shirt had moved around leaving the tear open in the air.

"Um, yes, Ma'am. Thank you. I must have fallen outside." He could practically feel the weight of their eyes moving from the stain to his face, making his chin throb. The other man, smaller in stature and balding asked if he needed a Band-Aid. An idea came to him so he declined.

"Alright, young man. Get started anytime you want. Why don't you give us a short introduction of yourself first?" Peter nodded but couldn't look toward the judges, so he concentrated on the tiles right above Ms. Potts. He could do this. Peter knew he could. His stomach just wasn't sure he would get through it all.

There had been a week time to sign up. It was a week where the papers on the corkboard outside of the office taunted him. They seeped the endless possibilities onto the floor while whispering to him, telling him that he didn't have enough courage to sign his name. He would purposefully go different routes to class in order to not pass the sheets; to pretend it wasn't happening. But under the cool stars on the fire escape he would think about it. Dream about walking on stage, shoulders back, voice loud, and confident while dazzling the judges. It was the Peter he wished he could be. Not the one that was scared off by some papers on a clipboard.

At the end of the week he was a mess. Far too many hours he spent in the bathroom. The mirror could predict his pale face and twitching left eye before Peter had even stepped in front of it. The last day of the sign up he had woken up late and thrown on clothes from earlier in the week, the wrinkles now permanent in the material. The floor moved under his feet as he meandered down the hallways. They squeaked against the tiles as he stopped after realizing what hallway he was in. The paper now full of names called to claim his. With care he moved closer to inspect it, like cornering a sacred animal he bowed his head in an imitation of reverence. A pen appeared in his hand and he shoved the shaking fingers flat against the wall on either side of the white. Peter took his time scanning down the list of names, knowing the school was long vacant by now.

It looked like everyone had signed up. Some of the smartest most outgoing people in the school were on the list. How could he, little Peter Parker compare to that. When he first came to midtown he was so nervous. Ben hadn't been there to help him through and although May tried to do her best, she didn't understand how people couldn't love her darling boy. When the teachers called on him unexpectedly they learned that they would get a stutter from their target and snickers from the rest of class in return. So they, thinking they were being benevolent, avoided him. The other kids were less pitying of the boy in second hand clothing. There was no learning curve for them and he was alone.

The unexpectedness of it all hurt the most. It was different than the dream he had in middle school. There Peter had thought that all his Peterness would disappear with age. That he would be able to look someone in the eyes without stammering like a fool and have that infernal blush come across his cheeks not be so severe. It had been like that since he could remember. He would come home from school lethargic wanting nothing more than the comfort of his room. He felt much better in his own space, but the magical transformation never occurred and Peter was still the same.

This, though, had called to him. Peter's name was signed and he was out the doors before the pen had fallen to the ground. His feet pounded on the walkway as he weaved through the people to get to the subway. The keys jingled in his hand as the door creaked open. He didn't call out to May as he ran to his room, not noticing the light was off under her door, and keeping the lights off Peter crawled under his covers.

He had done it. His heartbeat was reverberating throughout his chest but he had done it. Peter had signed up for what could have been the biggest experience he would ever have. The covers were warm by the time he was calm enough to think clearly. Peter asked himself what Ben would say, how he would get Peter out of his head, and look objectively at the situation. One of the last things he had said before he had… gone came to mind. It was right before school had started.

"It's okay to be shy Peter. There is nothing wrong with that. In fact it can be a good attribute. I just want you to remember that you can't let that, or anything, stop you from doing something you want to do. Courage and bravery aren't the absence of fear, Peter. They are acting in spite of fear because you know it's right course of action." The words had stayed with him and he tried to remember them when he got in a tough situation. To not let any fear get in the way of what he wanted to do, but it was hard and Ben wasn't there anymore.

Peter remembered that night with clarity as he stood before the judges. He remembered how his stomach had ached from nerves but his mind was light with accomplishment. He signed the paper and worked the whole year to be able to stand here in front of these people.

"All right. I'm Peter. Um, my name is Peter Parker. I go to Midtown High School in Forest Hills and, um, I'm fourteen. I'm a freshman there. I, uh, like science a lot; especially Biology." He made the mistake of glancing up and saw their blank faces. Peter was sure that ever-single student that had stood where he was right now had said something along the same lines. What could he say to stand out?

"Um, well, in my spare time I'm a Ham." Someone coughed and he poked a finger into his collar to loosen it. "I mean that I'm an amateur radio operator. I like taking apart the radios and putting them back together." Their pens scratched the papers, but they didn't look any more interested than a few seconds ago. Knowing he wasn't going to win the personality test, for he was sure they were grading him on everything, he decided to jump into the presentation.

"So, what I have, actually, what I made is," He took a deep breath. "Spider silk. Well, a synthetic version. In nature it is known for being stronger than steel but thinner than human hair." The cards he was holding tumbled to the ground and he stared down in horror. Enough time passed that he felt awkward picking them up and Peter had practiced enough times he was fairly confident it was memorized so he started again.

"So, um, it's thinner than human hair but when force is applied, it is stronger than steel. Through a series of tests, starting with the silk of a spider I made this formula to basically help stitch wounds back together. Guess it's a good thing I fell cause now you all will get a live demonstration of this." He held up his arm.

"The solution I created is able to aid in the healing process. After applying it to the wound it will adhere to the edges, bonding with the tissue or whatever material there. Working it's way across the gash the liquid will weave together mimicking a web-like structure. The strands weave over and under each other lending strength to the other fibers. The tensile strength of the average spider silk is just above one GPa, which is measuring force per area. This is how much force is necessary to break the material. Not only does the strength compared to it's weight make the spider silk about five times stronger than steel but the shape of the structures make it even more durable."

Peter also concentrated on the flexibility of the fibers. While most scientists saw a weakness, Peter viewed it as a strength. The actual strands of spider silk could stretch and soften, bending under outside forces. They would bend but never break. Instead as the pull of the force became greater the fibers would stiffen causing less damage to the web or in this case wound. That was the property that had been the most difficult to perfect and the one that appealed to Peter the most.

When applied and secured to the edges it would travel with the person, breath with their movements. It would then harden and, once letting the body worked it's own magic, would dissolve into the skin. All this packed away in a can for easy application. Walking up to the presentation table he set his arm down. The fibers of the towel brushed against his skin as he pulled the small can of The Weaver.

"I only need the smallest amount for this but you will see it working right away." He tried to get the tub open with his mouth but it wouldn't budge. His cheeks burned. Remembering he had another hand he peeled it off of the towel and opened it with a pop. "Right well, all I have to do is pour a little bit directly onto the wound like so and… there you go."

There was a camera on the table getting a close up of his arm and it showed the way the fibers were growing, connecting. He twisted his wrist right and left to show the flexibility of the material and continued to explain how long it would last, admitting that he needed to figure out how to extend its longevity, and the side effects, so far he had found none. He finished up and looked at the silent room.

The flush came back full force as he saw them all leaning forward at various angles. One of them cleared their throat and the little man spoke again. "Very interesting, Mr. Parker. We have to go through the deliberations and then will let all the contestants know what we have decided. Thank you for your presentation."

It was over. Peter tried to muster a smile as he thanked them. His head bobbed before gathering his stuff, tripping over his feet in haste. Someone stood to help him but he couldn't turn back and just waved them off. Mumbling a thank you he left the room, making sure the doors were shut quietly behind him. The door leeched the warmth from his back. It could have gone worse, he supposed.

The line dwindled down until there was no one left in the lobby. Peter had been sitting in the shadows of a tall plant so he could observe the door without being seen. Three of the judges walked out, conferring about the different candidates and talking about when the next meeting was. No one saw Peter but he moved his legs closer to his chest in case. Another man held the door open for Ms. Potts, his back to Peter as they locked up. The couple spoke in quiet tones but Peter could hear them as if they were standing right next to him.

"Well, Pepper. I'm still not convinced this is a great idea. I felt ancient watching some of those babies."

"Oh, don't be dramatic. Plus, the term ancient lends the idea of wisdom. Senior, yes. Ancient, no." The man snorted but smartly didn't reply. "Someone gave you a chance when you were young, Mr. went to MIT at age fifteen. Come on, that one kid with the flying surf board was pretty cool."

"It was Flashy," the man said grudgingly. "But I think his washboard abs had something to do with your enjoyment of it." There was a soft smack and Peter imagined Ms. Potts hitting the man on his arm, smiling with the wind up.

"Did not."

"I thought that spider web kid had something there. There was just something about him. I can't put my finger on it." Their shadows were the only remainder of them in the room now.

"A little timid but I agree, Tony." Peter's blood ran cold. It couldn't be him. There had to have been another Tony, one of the other judges but three of them had left the room already. Had Peter missed him somehow? The sounds of their laughter faded around the room as Peter pressed his eyes to his knees, trying to control the wetness forming.

He was sure he had ruined it. The idea was good; there was no denying that. He knew it would be a helpful product but had the execution of the presentation made it seem weaker? Peter had tainted it but they had talked about him, had said there was something about his presentation. That sounded hopeful.

Rejection letters floated through his mind. The image of him walking into school, empty handed made his stomach clench as he curled into himself more. The hole in his chest opened up as he replayed every falter, every misspoken word and the judges' blank faces stared at him from the other side of the room.

Ben's words came back to him. Bravery was not the absence of fear but acting in spite of it. He had done that. Peter knew how afraid he had been, not sleeping the whole week before but he had gone up in front of them. He had a damn good idea and in the end he had done it. As he sat on the cold tile, his butt hurting from sitting in one position too long, the dust from the plant wafted into his nose and around him settling on the ground. He thought that maybe, this time, Ben would be proud.

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