Hey everyone! Sorry it's been so long; a lot of stuff came up and I had a lot of time to think about the future of this story. I decided to make a pretty substantial change to my initial plans that ironically already worked out well for the chapters I'd already written. For you guys on FFN, the edit to what it is will be included in the AN of the first chapter, while for you guys on AO3 the edit to what it is will be in the tags. I also won't be responding to many comments and reviews anymore since it took a lot of time; I'll still be reading them though even if I don't respond! Regardless of that, I'm continuing the story the way I want it to be told; feel free to stick around if that hits your fancy! More chapters (hopefully) coming soon.
"So, it's all well and good now that you're free. Is that what you're thinking, Peter Parker?" A voice whispered at the edges of his consciousness.
Peter blinked into consciousness inside of a nearly black room, a spotlight hovering over his head. The fog was dense and thick, and despite his better eyesight, the surroundings were impermeable. A cold shiver ran down his spine, but it wasn't his senses warning him of danger. This room was very familiar to the assassin; one that he had often escaped to whenever he wasn't plagued by nightmares or awake. He'd dubbed it the 'Mind Prison' because, for as much as it served as a reprieve from the outside world, it also happened to be where he locked his thoughts away.
He stared into the abyss, knowing full well what this place could do if he wanted it to. Something about what the voice whispered had crept under his skin, and, with a squint, he remarked, "We've already been through Hell and back. How much worse do you think it's going to get, Weaver?"
"That wasn't me, friend," Another voice chimed nearby, and a figure much similar in appearance to him appeared off to the side. He sat on a crate, spinning a knife dexterously between his fingers. The biggest differences between himself and Weaver were that Weaver's scars weren't healed over and still bled, and the eyes were a solid black. He also had a tendency to part his slightly long curly hair more heavily on the right side. Weaver stuck the knife into the crate and added, "How many of us do you have in here? It's going to get rather crowded if this keeps up. We don't need anyone new stepping on our turf."
The voice seemed to laugh at the thought, and for a second, Peter swore he saw many figures, darker than black, moving through the room just out of sight. With an amused tone, the voice chimed quietly, "More than you know, Weaver. Oh, and you're mistaken; I've been here longer than you, friend."
Weaver seemed to frown at that, and, raising an eyebrow, he yanked the knife out of the crate and pointed it at the darkness. "That doesn't mean anything here. And don't call me a friend; I don't know who you are."
"You don't?" The voice hissed in quiet contemplation. With a hum, it said, "That should be amended."
Peter felt a ghostly touch against his body, and he lifted his hands to see barely visible webs attached to his joints. Turning, he saw Weaver attached by the same strings. The former asset frowned, before a familiar feeling crept through his bones, and a realization dawned on him as he glanced up. "...You're my spider instincts?"
"I'm glad they failed to rob you of your full intellect," the voice hissed, and a large spider skittered out of the darkness. Webs stretched from it into the darkness, and he once more caught glimpses of dark figures in the distance as they lurched forward with the spider moving. The spider remarked rhetorically, "I'm sure you recognize me now?"
Weaver stilled, and an odd look crossed his face. "...Why didn't I recognize you?"
The spider ignored that, and with an enthusiastic chitter, said, "How exciting! Now that we're free, I can finally spread my legs!" To emphasize the motion, the spider stretched its legs out, and with the motion, the webs extending from the spider moved with it. Figures in the dark stumbled forward once more, and Peter and Weaver were yanked a foot towards the spider. Peter instinctively planted his feet, tugging against the webs, while Weaver slashed out at the webs with the knife. The knife broke against the strand and clattered to the ground.
Weaver's eyes narrowed, and he snarled, "Lay one leg on Peter and I'll personally squish you like the insect you are."
"Arachnid, my friend," the spider cooed, before it laughed. "Besides, I would doubt that. You said the length of time you've been here doesn't matter? I would beg to differ. Y'see, your... other self here, Weaver, has had me his entire life. You came to join us eight years ago. That would make you the unwelcome presence in the Mind Prison, going off your claim, especially since your... services should now largely be retired."
Peter's mask seemed to pause at that, before glowering at the spider. "If you've been here the entire time, why couldn't I remember you?"
The spider once more ignored the question, staring at Weaver as if inspecting an animal for the slaughter. "I suppose you can still be of... some use, not just to Peter. Admittedly, I haven't gotten to play in a while. I'm sure you'll be able to assist my reattachment to the world... won't you, impersonator?"
"Wh-"
"Why don't you just go ahead and wake up for me, Peter? I need to borrow your mask. Just for a little while, I promise. Then all can go right back to how it needs to be." The spider towered over Peter now, monstrous in size. Astoundingly, its mouth seemed to morph into a crooked smile. "See ya on the flip side."
As the spider drove its mouth down to consume him, Peter snapped awake, jolting upright in bed. The weighted blanket kept him from moving much further, and he squirmed uncomfortably under it, brushing it to the side so he could slide off of the bed and onto the floor, back propped against the bed. He stared at the ceiling, unable to shake the unease from the dream. That's what it had to be, right? Just a dream? Peter thought to himself. He let out a breath and rubbed his right arm to ease his nerves.
"Are you alright, Peter?" FRIDAY's voice chimed, and Peter stuck his feet to the ground so he wouldn't leap. He still flinched, and noting this, FRIDAY dialed her volume down until it was nothing more than a caressing whisper. "Apologies, I was unaware you would react poorly to my interruption. Are you alright? Would you like me to get assistance?"
Peter clutched a fist into the carpet, before realizing the force of his grab would murder the flooring. As he let go of the carpet, pieces of it came off onto his palm, and he picked them off. "No, no. I'm... I'm alright," he huffed, before running a hand down his face. "Just... y'know, I know I've only slept in this room a week, and you've asked me this question every time I've woken up. I think it's safe to say, at this point, that it's unnecessary to get anyone when I wake up, alright?"
"Noted," FRIDAY remarked, though there seemed to be some displeasure in her tone, which, admittedly, Peter wasn't quite sure how she managed that with no emotions. "I would like to remind you that Boss asked me to check on you regardless of your personal requests if it becomes serious. He put me in charge of your safety while in your room and asked me to contact the nearest person should you be in mortal jeopardy."
"Of course he did," the former asset huffed. "Really, I'm fine. I didn't have a heart attack or hurt myself in my sleep or something like that, so there's nothing to tell the others about."
An affirmative noise hummed gently from the ceiling. "Very well, if you say so. Boss wanted me to remind you of the schedule you guys laid out for today."
Standing, the mutant rolled his eyes as he got ready for the day, scrunching his nose as he caught sight of the early time. "I remember it perfectly fine. We're exploring to kill some downtime until the Leeds get back from work and school, and then Tony and I are meeting them to get the rest of the items to complete the remnants of the Parker legacy," he muttered the last part dryly, before sighing. "What are we even going to tell them?" He tried to do a voice, but strained it too hard, which caused his voice to lower to a whisper. With a displeased frown, he simply typed the rest out and had the TTS read it. "Are we just gonna walk up to them and go, 'Hey, I know you've had these items for ten and a half years, but could we have them? They technically belong to me. Oh, yeah, by the way, I wasn't actually dead! I was just being tortured, trained, and forced to kill others!'"
FRIDAY seemed to pause for a moment, before remarking, "From my knowledge, that would not be an intelligent course of action."
Peter had finished getting changed and was running a comb idly through his hair, before giving up when the messy curls wouldn't cooperate. He had the TTS read, "Yeah, from my knowledge, that would be stupid. I'm not exactly keen on divulging that information, either. No one should be burdened with that knowledge if they don't have to be."
"Your guardians didn't have to be burdened by this knowledge, and yet they embraced it anyways." The AI pointed out.
He spritzed some throat spray down his throat and did a small vocal warm-up that had been recommended to him to get his voice back in working order, ignoring the statement for the moment. As he finished and soothed his throat with water, he quietly muttered, "If they hadn't been burdened by that knowledge, we wouldn't be where we are now, now would we?" With that finishing remark, he set off down the hallway, the thought of what could've been weaving its way quietly through his thoughts.
Peter squinted up at the tall structure deep in the city's heart, the sunlight glinting off of the skyscraper and illuminating the expensive structure. As he did so, he caught glimpse of the lettering that still adorned the side of the building, though it was clearly torn into as it was being disassembled. Turning to Tony, he remarked, "This is the tower you guys talked about?"
Tony, clad in sunglasses and casual clothing in a failed attempt to blend in more, nodded. "It used to be where Pepper and I... well, mostly Pepper, used to run Stark Industries. After the Chitauri invasion, though, I remodeled it to be the Avengers headquarters. It seemed fitting at the time."
The mutant nodded. "It's... definitely hard to miss, Mr. Stark- sorry, Tony. You asked me to call you Tony."
The genius simply smiled. "We'll work on it, Pete." A smug grin had dressed his face at that remark, and Peter rolled his eyes. Tony had made it a point that, whenever Peter wouldn't refer to the inventor by his name, he'd purposefully call him anything but Peter. The former asset supposed it was effective, because it did make him feel more inclined to get the name right... though he supposed the nicknames weren't that bad.
"Do you miss the access this building gave you to the rest of New York?" Peter asked as he got back in the car and buckled. Mr. Hogan, or as he preferred to be called, Happy, was in the driver's seat. It was just the three of them today; Pepper had wanted to join them, but she was instead called into meetings she couldn't miss as the SI CEO.
Tony slid into the back seat with him, buckled, and seemed to ponder the question a moment, before shaking his head. Sliding his sunglasses off, he said, "To be honest, Peter, even though I play with the best of them, I'm not overly fond of crowds or the paparazzi. They knew exactly where I'd be here and, even though I could have as much security as I'd like, some enthusiastic reporter's gonna find a way in." As the car drove off, he concluded, "But the Compound is much more secure, discreet, and hidden. The general public wouldn't really be able to interrupt us there."
Peter gave a quiet hum of agreement, staring out the window at the passing scenery. "Yeah, I remember catching a glimpse of the crowd on that first day after the aftermath. It was... large." A small frown dressed his face at the memory, and his somewhat pleased mood became soured at the thought.
The car fell silent for a few minutes, before Tony chimed, "Y'know, after it all, we went to get shawarma. It was pretty damn good if I say so myself. Wanna grab a bite for lunch?"
The mutant's brows furrowed as he turned to give his guardian a quizzical glance. "After saving the world from a nuke and an alien invasion you guys got food as your first course of action?"
Tony gasped in faux offense. "Of course we did! And we damn well deserved it!"
A smile crept onto Peter's face, before it became more uncertain. He rubbed his right arm. "I'm deserving of visiting the place you guys went after you became heroes...?"
The implication wasn't lost on the philanthropist, and he reached a hand out, placing it on Peter's knee. "God, Peter, yes. You're more than deserving of it," He turned to Happy. "To shawarma!"
As it turned out, the shawarma joint was nothing like Peter would've expected. Considering that the Avengers, especially Tony, had talked well of the place, he'd figured it would've been at some high-end restaurant. He was humbled to discover it was a rather nondescript corner food joint that was rather shabby. The former asset didn't need his better senses to tell this place was an old part of New York City, and despite its appearance, it felt inviting. The food was excellent, and Peter listened quietly as Tony rambled on about their first visit to the establishment, before continuing on to other visits they'd done to the place. They'd been faithful through the years, and had even refused an endorsement when it had been offered, saying that they'd preferred to keep the restaurant as something only the daring and the inquisitive should take part in.
As the day drew on, Tony continued the tour as they made their way closer to Queens. It still floored Peter how many people lived in New York, despite its rather cramped conditions. The assassin was grateful that Tony kept to places that were sparsely populated; the hubbub he heard as they drove through the busier parts of the city was enough to have him wincing from the cacophony of muffled voices. But the closer it got to the meeting time, the harder it was for Peter to distract himself from the nervousness that had crept up on him whenever he thought of greeting the Leeds. He'd been wracking his memories, trying to remember how they were, but all that met his search was static. The mutant fidgeted uncomfortably whenever he thought Tony or Happy weren't looking (of course, though, he knew they had seen his impatience).
Eventually, five thirty rolled around, and there was no more delaying it. The car pulled up to a small house in Queens and parked by the curb. Tony let out a breath, fiddling with the sunglasses. "We're here."
Peter's hands were clenched in his lap, and his shoulders had tensed without his notice. "I know."
"What do we want to tell the Leeds?" The billionaire asked, staring Peter in the eyes.
The former asset maintained eye contact for a few seconds before diverting his gaze. "...Preferably nothing... but that's not going to work out, would it?"
His guardian let out a sigh, averting his gaze to stare at the ceiling. "I wish it would, kid, I really do. But..."
"...They deserve to at least know I'm alive, if they still care, so they don't get upset about us removing my grave... and it's the only way we'd get the stuff." Peter concluded, staring at the house.
"Hit the nail on the head," Tony nodded. "But how much of that I explain is up to you."
Peter furrowed his brow. "So I'd say the rest?"
The philanthropist shook his head. "I'm happy to do all the talking if you don't want to. What I'm saying is that I'll only disclose the bare essentials needed to get the items and whatever else you'd want me to say."
"Why? Because it'd be easier than outright saying the kid they met all those years ago became a murderer?" The mutant muttered, eyes dark.
"No. You deserve to have the option to disclose whatever the hell you want to about your past," Tony replied. "It's not my story to share. They don't need to know anything you don't want them to know. As far as I'm concerned, I'm fine with leaving them with a lot of questions and never answering them if it would make you uncomfortable to divulge that knowledge."
He bit his lip, processing the information. Then, he quietly blew a breath out between his teeth. "...If they still remember me, they... they at least deserve to know a bit more than the basics. Not... not what happened in that time, or my powers, or anything like that. Just... y'know, that I didn't die, and couldn't... be around. I don't really know."
Tony hummed in quiet thought. "Alright, then how about this? I'll only do the exact bare minimum needed to get what we came for unless they show genuine recognition. If they do, I'll explain the basics, and we'll play it by ear after that. If I'm starting to say something you don't want them knowing, or you want me to say something else, just let me know or even interrupt me. How's that sound?"
Peter gave a hesitant nod. "That... that sounds good to me."
"It's alright to be nervous, Peter," Tony assured, before sliding his sunglasses on. "To be honest, I'm not doing so hot myself. But that stuff isn't going to get itself. Are you sure you want to do this?"
He fidgeted, and Peter seriously debated turning back now. But, ultimately, he swallowed and nodded. "Let's get it over with."
With a nod, Tony left the vehicle, dismissing Happy to do his own thing as he did so, and Peter followed shortly behind. The two walked over to the house, and the mutant could hear his and his guardian's heart beats louder in his ears as they stopped in front of the house. There was no turning back now. Tony pressed the doorbell and waited, and the former asset subconsciously held his breath in anticipation.
He heard muffled voices from the other side of the door, and a part of Peter felt a faint twinge of familiarity from the tone. The door swung open, and they were greeted by a thickset Filipino woman. She smiled warmly, though confusion colored her gaze. Upon seeing Tony, she did a double take, before asking, "Oh, uh, Mr. Stark, I wasn't expecting you to actually show up."
Peter raised an eyebrow as he glanced at his guardian, and Tony smirked. "No, that's alright, Mrs. Leeds. I'd doubt the authenticity of a request from someone like me, too."
"Please, call me Reyna!" She chuckled warmly, before stepping away from the door. "Come in. Do either of you want refreshments?"
Both Tony and Peter followed Reyna inside, and Peter was immediately struck by how homely the humble abode was. The walls were a warm orange, and family portraits adorned the walls sporadically. Two worn pale couches lined the walls, across from a television perched atop a TV stand. Three potted flowers sat on the windowsill, with a parted flower curtain allowing the plants to bask in the evening light. An odd feeling crept through his bones that he couldn't quite describe; was it nostalgia, unease, or something else?
Longing, the quiet voice of Weaver whispered, which caused Peter to pause, frowning. The voice seemed to move closer, and Weaver let out an amused huff. What, did that dream make you think Eight Legs got rid of me?
A very pleasant nickname, another voice rang, that Peter recognized to be the spider's. I said I would only borrow him for a little while, and I kept my promise.
You didn't have to phrase it so creepily, Weaver muttered. All you did was-
"Kid, you alright?" A solid hand gently grasped his shoulder, which jolted Peter out of the internal conversation. He glanced up at Tony, who had a slightly worried smile on his face. In a whisper, he added, "If you're getting overwhelmed, we can just get this done quickly. I don't want you staying here too long if it'll make you uncomfortable."
Peter's nose scrunched as he tried to piece together what he'd missed while focusing on the internal conversation; Reyna was now sitting on one of the couches, with a hefty, well-tanned man sporting a thick mustache beside her. As he returned to reality, he heard a noise off to the side and turned to find a young man around his age entering the room, with dark yet warm skin and a happy smile adorning his face. He was on the heftier side as well, but seemed to take it in good stride, and he sat next to what Peter could only presume were his parents. Tony stepped forward to gesture him to the other couch, and Peter followed suit.
Following orders again? The spider asked critically. Aren't you tired of that at this point?
In this case, it's polite. I think, Weaver responded.
Peter's eyes narrowed as he sat down, and he thought back, Is the running commentary really necessary?
No, but it's fun to do anyways, the spider mused.
"You're probably wondering why I reached out to you," Tony began, taking off his sunglasses. "And must be wondering about my young companion here."
"I didn't think you had a kid, Stark," the man mused with a hearty laugh. "Before we get to the discussion, we should do introductions. I'm Jonah! You already met my wife, Reyna, and this is our son, Ned."
"I-It's an honor to meet you, Mr. Stark! I'm a big fan!" Ned gushed, grinning from ear to ear.
A small smile pulled at the corner of Tony's lips as he clasped his hands together. "Feel free to call me Tony; we're here on pleasant terms, after all. This is Peter; he's a bit shy."
That's an understatement, Weaver muttered.
"Peter?" Reyna mused, head slightly tilted. "Why, we used to know a Peter! Unfortunately, he disappeared 'bout a decade ago. Real tragic, him and his folks were pleasant."
Aren't you in for a surprise? The spider remarked, amused.
"Well..." Tony paused, gauging Peter's state. Seeing that Peter was nervous, but not outright uncomfortable, he continued, "That's actually what we're here to discuss."
Jonah frowned. "No offense, Tony, but that topic is a bit sensitive for us. We were good friends with the Parkers; May and Ben were good folks, treated us very kindly. Their nephew was awful nice too, even if he was a shy one. What happened to them was terrible. You may be Tony Stark, but we don't gotta talk to you none 'bout that case."
A sinking feeling began tugging at Peter's chest at the mention of his deceased relatives, and his hands instinctively clutched at his pants. His gaze drifted to the floor, and the static that rang passively at the back of his mind buzzed louder.
Noting his charge's change, Tony frowned, and quietly asked, "Do you want to sit this out? You haven't been away from it for very long, I don't want to bring up anything triggering."
The buzzing was loud, enveloping his senses like a weighted blanket. His vision started fading, and his body felt numb. So numb. Why is it so numb?
However, he was snapped out of his reverie by a rather distracting shout internally. WATCH IT!
Startled back to reality, Peter looked around, furrowing his brows, before his mind connected that the shout came from who he associated as Weaver. Curiously, he responded back in thought, ...Did you do that, Weaver?
Of course I did, Weaver huffed, upset. You weren't breathing and I wasn't just gonna sit back and have you pass out.
That probably would've solidified your guardian's worries, the spider chimed, mentally pointing out the external situation. Which you might want to respond to, lest you cause a panic.
Indeed, everyone in the room looked quite concerned at the passage of events. Tony wasn't sure why Peter had suddenly jolted and glanced around the room like he was being watched, before stilling again. A quick cursory glance at the others in the room told the billionaire that the family shared his same worries. Tentatively, he reached a hand out and settled it on the closest hand, frowning when he noticed that the fabric was starting to tear under the mutant's strong grip. "Hey," he whispered, "Let's take a quick breather, why don't we?"
Peter blinked, finally taking in his surroundings since the trigger cropped up, and the worried faces pointed his way. Tony's request registered like molasses, but he got the message regardless and gave a quick nod. With that affirmation, Tony excused them and both made their way into the kitchen, far enough to be out of sight and out of hearing. Peter pressed himself between the fridge and the sink, letting the cold marble beneath his hands ground him back to the present.
Tony was a bit unnerved by his ward's continued silence. He hadn't spoken since they left the car, and while the quiet usually hadn't bothered him priorly (he knew the kid was still adjusting to having the freedom to talk, after all), it was the kid's mannerisms that made him concerned. The billionaire had a sinking feeling he knew what the mutant was experiencing; after the invasion in New York, every little mention of the traumatic event sent him reeling. He couldn't think about nukes or extraterrestrial beings for months after the incident, fearful of the subsequent panic attack. After the mess with Killian, though, Pepper had convinced him to book a therapy appointment and get help dealing with the PTSD. God, he loved that woman; she saw he was struggling and guided him to the help he needed to start coping with those memories. The kid, though, had no one but him and the Avengers to rely on. He wasn't even fifteen, for god's sake, carrying the weight of an untold amount of trauma. Tony knew with full certainty that they still didn't know all of the horrors the former asset endured, even with all the recorded information. It made him wonder how much of that information was accurately recorded, and how much was kept off of the files.
The hero shook his head to get out of his own thoughts, knowing that would be a discussion for another day. The kid needed him now. Those what-ifs could wait for another day. Peter was staring at the floor, hands fidgeting, a frown pulling at his features. He looked distracted again by god knows what. Raising a hand, he snapped his fingers a foot away from Peter's face, hoping to catch his charge's attention. Once more, the assassin looked startled, as if he was broken out of a conversation. He'd ask Peter about that later, after they weren't in the Leeds' home. "Earth to Peter, you with me now?"
Peter's shoulders dropped once he realized it was Tony that had snapped his fingers. The loud noise had caught him off-guard, and broke him out of trying to figure out what the hell was going on with his thoughts. It was hard to focus on an external conversation when an internal one kept cropping up, and the former asset had no clue why this new occurrence was happening today of all days. Think about that later, he chided himself, though narrowed his eyes when it was met with an amused huff from Weaver and the spider. "Y-yeah," his voice felt raw and his throat felt scratchy, which added to some of his worries. Clearing his throat in an attempt to make it sturdier, Peter followed with, "Sorry, I don't know what's gotten into me today."
Tony furrowed his brow. "Is it because of the talk with the Leeds?"
The mutant shook his head, concern etched into his features. "No, I don't think so. It's just difficult to concentrate when two conversations are happening at once."
Okay, now the philanthropist was worried. As far as he was aware, there'd only been one active conversation in the house. Was his hearing good enough to pick up on the neighbors or anyone walking down the street, or was it something else? "Two conversations?" Tony asked.
To our credit, we could talk and distract you more, the spider mused. If I say so myself, only occasional interjections is benevolent.
The teenager narrowed his eyes at that, and muttered, "Yeah, well, 'occasional interjections' are still distracting."
The kid was... talking to himself? At least, that was Tony's first thought, after a reply like that. The thought that it was definitely more complicated than it seemed followed, and the billionaire found himself agreeing with that notion. Tony wasn't honestly terribly surprised if the kid did have internal discussions. Hell, considering the kid had to stay silent for so many years and masked his true thoughts, the philanthropist was more surprised how sane Peter was. Lord knows he'd do anything to talk his thoughts out if he'd been in his charge's predicament. Dismissing those thoughts for later, Tony rested a hand on Peter's shoulder. "We'll talk about that later," he huffed out a breath before staring out the window, coming to a decision. "Why don't you sit this one out, squirt?"
"What?" Peter asked, tipping his head. He was too caught on the notion of needing to leave to care about the nickname. "Do... do you not need me here?"
Realizing how that could be taken, Tony cursed himself for the wording. "God, no, that's not what I meant at all, kid," He let out a sigh. "You just seem really distracted and overwhelmed, and this isn't gonna be a pleasant conversation. I don't think it'll be good for you to hear about residual pieces of your trauma, even if they're vague."
Are we that fragile? Weaver asked, tone dark. That's for us to decide whether we can handle the discussion or not.
He does have a point, the spider rationalized idly. It's only been a month since we were removed from that mess.
Peter closed his eyes and let out a breath, before opening them once more and fixing his gaze off to the side. "Oh... sorry for taking that the wrong way," he muttered quietly. Taking the given points into consideration, he swallowed thickly, before nodding. "Yeah... maybe that's for the best."
Tony released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, then gave Peter a worried smile. "Alright. I'll try to be quick, so you're not waiting too long," He then frowned as he glanced back at the living room. "Do you think you'll be fine hanging here? I know your hearing is great, but I don't want you waiting outside. I know you've got your phone on you, but I brought some headphones I've been working on with me just in case. They aren't finished by a long shot, but they should work well enough."
As Peter was handed the headphones, he eyed the rather typical looking accessories with a quizzical eye. "What's so special about these?"
With a knowing smile, the billionaire enthused, "They're a special kind of noise-cancelling headphones. Once I'm done with them they should even be strong enough to combat your enhanced hearing; though they will be adjustable so you can hear outside noise if you need to. Unfortunately, they're not quite to the point where their noise-cancelling is good enough to match your recorded hearing range, but they should help if you listen to music. I was planning on giving these to you when they were done but brought them in case you needed them while we were out."
Peter's eyes widened at the kind gesture, and he stared at them with a small smile. "Thank you," he said softly, plugging them into his phone.
Tony grinned warmly and barely resisted the temptation to ruffle his ward's hair. "No problem, kid. I'll come get you when I'm done." With that, his guardian walked back out of the kitchen and reassured the Leeds that yes, he was fine, and no, he wouldn't be joining them for the rest of the discussion.
Not wanting to eavesdrop more than he had to, the former asset put the headphones in and was immediately taken aback by how much the headphones already blocked out. While he could still hear the discussion in the other room, it was reduced to indiscernible mumbles. Peter noted with interest that it also tuned out the whirring of the air conditioning and the quiet hum of the plugged-in devices around the house. The lack of stimuli was... relieving for once. He'd just accepted the fact long ago that he'd always be bothered by the small things no one else seemed to hear. He couldn't help but wonder if this was what normal, unenhanced hearing would be like.
Probably not, Weaver mused, louder than usual. He seemed to notice, it, too, for that remark was followed with, Huh, I guess without all the background noise you can hear us better. Interesting.
Something that makes it easier for you to notice us, huh? The spider added, intrigued. Pleasant; that means you can't ignore us nearly as well!
Peter let out a sigh as he stared at the ceiling. Great, it seemed he couldn't escape this conversation with the headphones. Deciding to prove the spider wrong, he pulled up what Wanda had pointed out the other day to be a music app and grabbed one of the playlists she'd made for him. He pressed Shuffle and closed his eyes, letting the music drown out his thoughts and provide a small break from the worries of the present.
The Leeds seemed to be taken back after Tony's initial explanation. True to his word, he'd only given the basics; that Peter Benjamin Parker was, in fact, not dead, but had been in captivity the last ten and a half years. He omitted the unnecessary details; the identity of his captors, the lengths they went in torturing the mutant, the reason he was targeted, the body count attached to his charge sitting in the kitchen- anything that would lead to uncomfortable questions and probing.
To the credit of the family, they had kept their questions to a mindful minimum, mostly due to his silence being answer enough for some of the worse questions. The billionaire felt awful for the lies of omission, but letting them know the bottom line was already a burden to carry in and of itself. He wasn't sure how well the somewhat normal family would take the full truth; that the kid they'd met all those years ago had witnessed atrocities no one should've been subject to, and had taken the lives of others to stay alive. Watching their body language and expressions told the hero all he needed to know about how they were all taking this information.
Jonah had long since straightened from his priorly relaxed position. He was hunched forward, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together, a deep frown on his face. The look in his eyes was something Tony personally empathized with; the look of resentment and bitterness at such a young soul's unwarranted torment, mixed with the fires of fatherly protective instincts and the yearning for justice. On the occasion he would give his son a side glance, gauging his reaction and further solidifying to Tony that the real estate agent was pondering on what would've happened had that been his own son that was taken and not Peter.
Reyna's smile had disappeared prior to the conversation starting in earnest; had been gone since he and Peter went to the kitchen and the young man stayed behind. But the look on her face now was almost haunting. The worry lines creasing the head baker had deepened, and she was pressed against the back of the couch for support, one hand squeezing her son's and the other clenched in her lap. It wouldn't take a genius to see that the news was a mother's worst nightmare and that Reyna Leeds was absolutely horrified anyone was cruel enough to harm a child in such a way. While Tony was in no way involved with HYDRA, and fought villains for a living, he found himself wanting to stay on the Filipino woman's good side. The rage that burned behind her dark gaze, dedicated entirely to the organization she wasn't even aware of, was daunting to the hero. Secretly, he wondered how terrifying it would've been for Ross to feel the wrath of this mother, and came to the conclusion that it would've been glorious to witness.
Tony was honestly impressed with how well Ned was holding up. He would've thought the fifteen year old would've long since backed out of the conversation, but he hadn't once made to leave. Quite the opposite; the teenager was seated firmly, returning his mother's grasp and gave his full undivided attention to the superhero. No longer was he starry-eyed at the appearance of the billionaire- rather, he had listened to the explanation with a somber expression, not even voicing a question of his own. On more than one occasion, the philanthropist saw Ned glance over to the kitchen with a concerned look, almost as if he felt the need to enter the kitchen and give his ward some comfort.
In all honesty, the hero was astounded that the Leeds were taking the information so well; or at least as well as one could take such devastating news. Once he had wrapped up the summary, he let out a breath. "So... yeah, that's why we came to collect the Parker memoirs."
There was silence following his conclusion while the family mulled the discussion over. Reyna was the first to break the silence, and she fixed her gaze on the billionaire, expression unreadable. "So you're Peter's new guardian, correct?" Tony opened his mouth to answer, but Reyna continued, "No offense, Tony, but are you sure you're qualified to raise a child; to raise this child?"
Tony closed his mouth, taken back by the question. However, he expected it would've come up at some point, given his messy celebrity history. "I know that I wasn't the most responsible person in the past. To be frank, I was a mess. I still am a mess, if I'm being honest with you," He threaded his fingers together, before releasing a sigh. The philanthropist looked Reyna dead in the eyes and concluded, "However, that kid... he's had so much shit thrown his way. When I first met him, he didn't trust anyone, refused to speak, and kept running away. But, now... he trusts me enough that he's let me make him new prosthetics. He no longer tenses when I'm nearby, and actually instigates conversations when he's curious. In the month and a half since I met him, he's grown so much, and while I'm no father... I'm so damn proud of that kid for everything he does. It hasn't been that long, and yet... I don't want to think about what life would've been like had I not had the pleasure of meeting that young man. It's going to be a long road to recovery- hell, there are aspects that he'll likely never recover from- but I want to be there through it all, every step of the way, so long as he wants me to be. My father... he wasn't exactly the shining example of fatherhood. Actually, Howard was a terrible father. I want to break that cycle and be the best damn guardian to that boy I can possibly be. God knows he deserves the world after all he's been through... and I'm willing to do what I can to give him that."
The room fell silent once more, though there was an approving nod from Jonah and a smile from Ned. After a few moments, Reyna nodded as well, her neutral expression melting into a tired smile. "I'm glad I can trust you with his livelihood then, Tony."
"So..." Jonah began, contemplation marring his features. "What are your plans for Peter's future, if you don't mind me asking? His education must be in shambles, as well as his socialization."
"Well... to be honest with you, I didn't want to make too many plans. I'm not sure how comfortable Peter will be with how society functions, nor how long it will take for him to be comfortable enough to integrate into it once more. I don't want to make that decision for him, nor do I want to rush him. However, I did have a few things in mind, depending on how quickly he adjusts," Tony explained, before finishing, "Formal schooling is out of the question at the moment; he doesn't do well with crowds, and I'm equally unsure how well he would take being among so many people his age. About two weeks ago, Pepper and I sat down with him and figured out what he did and didn't know educationally. I think the current working plan is that us Avengers will teach him the subjects he needs to learn in the hopes that one day he'll be caught up in regards to educational level. As for socialization... that one's going to be going slower. He spent a lot of time in an environment where there was either limited interaction, or the interaction would be harmful. He does alright around a group of our size, but it took a few weeks for him to get used to us. I definitely think he should have more people his age in his support system, but it's not going to be an easy process, getting him acclimated to normal interactions."
Jonah hummed in agreement, and Ned chimed in, "I think I could help with that." When everyone turned to look at him, Ned rubbed his neck sheepishly and continued, "I know enough that it wouldn't be entirely foreign, and I'm not that much older than he is. When we were younger, I hung out with him all the time. While it's going to be different now, I'm at least not a complete stranger. It sounds like he could really use someone his age to gain a sense of normalcy. Oh, and MJ! MJ, a friend of mine, is also really chill. She's laid back and low energy; she'd be a good influence on him."
Tony pondered the suggestion, before smiling. "Ned, right? I like your style. You're a good kid."
Ned grinned ear to ear at the compliment from his hero. "T-thank you, Mr. Stark! I-It's the least I could do, really. Ah, uh, would you be fine if I invited MJ into this? I know I didn't ask, but-"
The billionaire cut him off with a polite raise of his hand, amused by the change in tone. "Yeah, I'll give her a try. I'll give you my personal number; just let me know a good time to meet MJ and we'll see if Peter likes her."
Ned was pretty much bouncing in place at the notion that he, a normal teenager, was getting the personal number of the Tony Stark. Excitedly, he pulled his phone out and handed it to the philanthropist, who promptly put in his contact information. "This is great! Oh man, I can't wait to tell MJ! I should go tell her now!" He got off of the couch and went to make his way to his room, when he paused by the kitchen, a concerned look interrupting the prior excitement. He turned back to the adults, then said, "I'm gonna go check on him and make sure he's okay. If I wanna be his friend, I wanna make sure I make a good impression!" With that, the teenager disappeared into the kitchen, pocketing his phone.
Tony let out an amused huff. "You guys have a good kid."
Reyna and Jonah shared a knowing look, and with pride in their eyes, they both said, "We know."
Peter had his eyes closed, though he was far from being asleep. His music had long since stopped working its magic of drowning out his thoughts, and was instead intensifying them when a few songs that caught his interest played. He couldn't help but wonder what experiences some of the songwriters had gone through that compelled them to make such lyrics, and pondering on it led him to wonder how his own experiences would sound portrayed in the same fashion. Would he even want to sing about such events? Would it sound good out of his own mind, or would it be better kept under lock and key? Was he even capable of singing after years of neglecting his vocal cords?
You don't usually wax existential, Weaver pointed out, amused.
Why would you want to sing anyways? The spider asked, confused. It's just fancy vibrations, which are just as achievable through spinning webs.
"I don't know, it just... sounded interesting," Peter muttered, gaze dropping to his lap. "Writing out what you went through and turning it into something enjoyable sounds like a far more productive use of my experiences than overthinking them."
"Yeah, that sounds neat!" A new voice interjected, and Peter had to stick himself to the ground to keep from leaping into the air. Eyes wide, his gaze fixed on Ned as he entered the kitchen, the other teenager looking sheepish. "Oh, I'm sorry, I would've let you know louder if I knew you were listening to music! Did I, uh, interrupt something?"
Yeah, our conversation, outsider, Weaver huffed, annoyed. Can't you respect that we're finally getting the chance to talk to Peter? Jeez.
Ignoring that, Peter slid the headphones out and winced at the sudden return of his normal hearing level. "Ah, n-no, you're fine."
Ned gave a nod to that, though that sunny countenance the former asset had spotted when the other teenager had first entered the living room didn't return. He made his way over and stuck out his right hand for a handshake. "I don't think I got to introduce myself to you! I mean, I know you know I'm Ned, and I know you're Peter, but it just doesn't feel genuine until we shake on it!"
Peter stared at the hand with suspicion, raising an eyebrow. "Shake... on it?"
Ned tilted his head curiously, before realizing what the issue was. "Oh, right! You wouldn't know, huh. This is called a handshake; it's what people do when they greet each other."
Peter shook his head, a small amused smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "I know what a handshake is, I just didn't know the expression," he stood, before frowning at the offered hand and giving his own right hand a cursory glance. Pursing his lips, he glanced to the side and went in for the handshake. "...Sorry if my hand is cold."
As they shook, Ned took note of how cold Peter's hand was, before remembering the mention of prosthetics. With a gasp, he asked, "Oh, is that your metal hand? Dude, that's so cool! Can I see it?"
He wasn't... put off by it? Weaver asked, perplexed.
Taken back by the positive reception, and stuck in an awkward spot, he carefully peeled off the glove and rolled up his sleeve to the elbow, revealing half of his prosthetic arm. Ned was immediately blown away by the design, and grinned from ear to ear. "Oh, man, that's awesome! What can it do?"
Show him webs! The spider enthused suddenly, eager to have the opportunity to fulfill its web-spinning fantasies.
Uh, no, let's not, Weaver growled. That just leads to more questions.
Furrowing his brow, Peter mulled over what features the arm did have that wouldn't be bad to show. With a hesitant nod, he grabbed the wrist and began to twist it, pressing the hidden buttons on each side to detach it from the inner wiring. It came off quietly, and Peter held the hand out to Ned as if it were a normal gift. "I can, uh, detach each jointed part of my prosthetics. I... I can do it to the fingers, elbow, and shoulder too, but it's easier to do it at the wrist."
Ned inspected the technology like it was a gift sent from heaven, admiring the intricate detailing up close. He wasn't aware that there were small web patterns etched into the silver, dark gray, gold, and dark blue metal, nor would he have noticed the grooved gripping pads embedded along the inside of the fingers and palm. The teenager silently wondered why the hand would need gripping pads, after an experimental press of his own hand against the metal one proved it stuck pretty well. Noting Peter's expression, though, he decided not to push it, and returned the hand to its rightful owner. As Peter pressed the hand back into place, Ned whispered, "Oh, that's so cool."
Peter stared at it as it clicked into place, and muttered, "You... really think so?"
Ned nodded eagerly. "Yeah! I, uh... I'd let you see something cool of mine too, but I don't really got much. Oh, but I could tell you about some of the school projects I'm working on instead! I don't have any of them on me, they're all at Midtown, but still!"
Peter tilted his head. "School projects? Midtown...?"
Ned gasped. "Oh yeah, you wouldn't know those either! Let me tell you about them!"
I wonder how long this is going to take, Weaver remarked with an amused huff.
It was around 8:30 PM by the time Peter and Tony left the Leeds' home. The evening had been... interesting, if Peter said so himself. He quickly found out Ned was quite the chatterbox; he'd gone on a long tangent about his personal life, from how many Lego sets he had (a topic Ned seemed particularly fond of, and promised to show Peter more of at a later date, implying he still wanted to hang out with him even though he was a freak, monster, killer-) to what school life was like (from what Peter could tell, it was a mix of torture and fun, which were two words that absolutely did not belong together in his vocabulary. He later discovered that it actually wasn't that bad, just that Ned had exaggerated the environment. He was supposed to despise something called 'homework', which didn't sound too sinister to him, but he didn't know any better). They'd stayed long enough that they'd been invited to join in on their dinner of Lechón, and talked all throughout the lengthy dinner. While Peter didn't contribute much to the discussion (mostly due to being distracted by his inner conversation), it still felt... funny. Not bad, just... unfamiliar. He'd have to ask Tony about it later.
The drive back was a bit quieter for the first few minutes, with Peter staring out the window and Tony keeping an eye on the road. After a few more beats, however, Tony remarked, "Y'know, kid, I'm proud of you."
Stirred from his thoughts, Peter stared at his guardian with a frown. "For... what?"
"Doing so well around the Leeds today," He remarked, a soft smile on his face. "I was worried you wouldn't want to have anything to do with them, after everything was said and done."
Peter cast his gaze back to the back seat, where the camera, the suitcase, and the vinyls were resting comfortably. With a quiet mumble, he returned his gaze to the window and remarked, "I mean, I wanted the items. It was the least I could do."
Tony let out an amused huff. "I saw how you were getting along with Ned. These eyes may be old, but they're not blind," He gave Peter a proud smile. "I'm glad you were comfortable around them, they're good folks."
Anything's better than those assholes that took us, Weaver muttered darkly.
They were quite amusing, the spider agreed. And certainly non-threatening.
"Why the hell would they be threatening?" Peter muttered, frowning out the window.
The smile slowly left Tony's face, once more replaced with concern. "Is that... 'second conversation' happening again?"
Peter stirred from where he was leaning against the window, head tilted slightly. "Hmm? Oh, uh... I guess?"
Tony gave a nod and let the silence settle for a moment, before continuing, "How long has it been happening?"
The mutant gave a non-committal shrug, refusing to stare at his guardian. "I guess... since we went to the Leeds? Well... unless you count the weird dream I had when I woke up this morning... or the occasional comments the last few weeks."
Furrowing his brow, the philanthropist remarked, "Are they just... you talking to yourself, or something else?"
With a frown, Peter picked at his prosthetic. "I... think the latter? The thoughts definitely aren't mine, but they sometimes line up with what I'm thinking..." Shifting, his gaze dropped to his lap. "The voices sound different from mine, a-and I think I can feel a different subset of emotions attached with those remarks, too. They've been talking a lot today; before it was just the one, so it was, y'know... kind of easy to just assume it was me? But now I'm... not so sure."
Tony cast a glance at his charge, concerned. "Do you think it's any cause for concern?" To be frank, the billionaire hadn't really heard any of the other heroes talking about different voices in their head, at least to the degree that Peter was mentioning. The fact that it had been going on for the last few weeks told Tony it wasn't just a random occurrence, and with the way it was described, it didn't sound like anything he knew of. Maybe he'd have to see about contacting Cho again, see about her input.
Aw, we're not that bad, the spider pouted. We're a blast to have around!
You'd be more enjoyable to be around if you weren't so intimidating while we were in the Mind Prison, Weaver muttered, exasperated. It was much nicer in here without your input.
Peter narrowed his eyes at the conversation, then itched at the back of his neck. "I... don't know? I mean-"
His train of thought was cut off by the sudden zinging of his spider sense, and he immediately fell silent as his gaze stared out the window, body tense. It wasn't necessarily a warning of danger nearby that the mutant was typically used to, but the sensation wasn't unfamiliar, either. It wasn't one he had priorly felt a lot of, at least before he'd moved to the Compound. After that, the sensation became far more normal; it was magic, somewhere nearby. The thing that alerted him about it was just how strong the magic presence was. It felt vaguely familiar to Wanda's brand of magic, but the feeling felt more in-line with the vibe Vision's stone gave off. The sensation got stronger, until, up ahead, he spotted an odd-looking building.
Noting his ward's sudden cut-off and apprehension, he asked, "Is it danger?"
The former asset shook his head, but asked, "Could you stop in front of that building?"
Tony frowned but did as he was asked, pulling to a stop in front of a rather large building. It didn't look too out of place compared to the buildings next to it, aside from the occasional fancy lining. What caught his eye, however, was the patterned window at the top of the building. He wasn't sure where he'd seen the symbol before, but something about it felt familiar; perhaps it was a design he'd seen in another country? No longer driving, his gaze fixed on Peter, and he spotted the tell-tale signs that the kid's spider sense had gone off. "Do we need to call in the others?"
Peter shook his head. "You know that weird stone that Vision has on his head?"
Now the billionaire was confused. "You mean the Mind Stone? Yeah, I know it," he leaned closer to the assassin to get a better view of the building. "You mentioned being able to sense magic; are you getting the same feeling now?"
The mutant nodded. "Identical to the Mind Stone, but... not quite the same. It feels a bit different," he frowned, gaze latched onto the building. "That's not the only magical presence in that building, but it's the strongest."
Tony watched with confusion as Peter unbuckled then stepped out of the car. Noting this, Tony quickly unbuckled and got out himself. "Where you going, kid?"
Ignoring the question, Peter walked up to the door. The magical sensation was almost overwhelming with how much the building gave off, and he found himself wincing as he stood on the doorstep thanks to the different mixing presences. Something about the strongest presence, the one most like the Mind Stone, called out to him. He wasn't sure what it was about the place, but it seemed... like it wanted him there.
That's kind of freaky, Weaver chimed, concerned. Why are stones liking us? More accurately, why is that a thing? That seems incredibly weird.
It seems friendly, the spider remarked curiously. Almost like it knows we can sense it and wants to sense us, too.
Before he could truly think about what he was doing, Peter knocked on the door, and only realized after the deed was already done that it may not be the smartest decision. He took a step back, thinking about retreating, when the door swung open. "What do you want?" A cold, clipped voice asked, unamused.
The owner of the voice was a tall, slender Caucasian with a goatee that could rival Tony's and streaks of white along the sides of his hair that broke up the darker color. He wore a dark blue, brown, and gold outfit that looked far too fancy for New York, and adorning his shoulders was a red cloak. He had a necklace around his neck that was in the pattern of an eye and a deep bronze-like gold in color. The man, the cloak, and the necklace gave off a magic presence that made Peter's eyes twitch, and he took another step back from being so close to such a strong sensation when he wasn't prepared. His eyes latched onto the necklace, and he clocked that the necklace was what was giving off that similar vibe the Mind Stone had.
Peter had stilled, unsure of what to do. Luckily for him, Tony had been close behind and clasped his hands on the mutant's shoulders, helping to ground his charge. "Sorry about that, sir," he gauged the reaction on the assassin's face to mean that this guy was more than he first looked, and decided caution would be a better approach over his usual charismatic and often times snarky usual method. "He's a curious kid. Don't mind him any."
Stephen's eyes narrowed at the two strangers at his doorstep. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the man was Tony Stark (lord knows the media never got enough of the billionaire), but what did take a bit more thought was wondering why the superhero was with a child. The Sorcerer Supreme was about to respond when he began to actually give the kid more than a once over. His trained eyes easily spotted the scars that littered the young man's face like a road map, and he frowned as the offending marks continued past his unkempt hairline and down past his chin. As a normal person, that amount of scar tissue would be concerning; but the sorcerer was a former doctor, who knew what kind of ramifications such damage could cause to an individual. How on earth such a young child had so much battle damage was beyond him. To further add to his concerns, the teenager seemed vaguely familiar, and Stephen couldn't quite remember why. Considering his memory was fantastic, that was worrying.
He was going to give them the usual treatment that he gave most hapless citizens who thought the Sanctum was a tourist attraction and send them away post-haste, but... something about the pair made him hesitate. The entire thing felt odd; a well-known and renowned superhero, driving around with a badly scarred teenager that kept looking at the Eye of Agamotto discreetly. So, instead, he remarked, "Ah... Tony Stark. I wasn't expecting to find your kind around here."
Tony was... unsure how to take that. It sounded like an insult, but the hesitance with which the man spoke caught the philanthropist's attention more. He seemed caught off-guard by Peter, which, considering how scarred the kid's face and neck was, wasn't much of a shock. All he really cared about at the moment was making sure the teenager didn't cause the guy that looked like a wizard any trouble. "It's always great to meet a fan," he responded with clipped sarcasm, "But the kid and I are gonna be on our way now."
Stephen quirked a brow. This wasn't the typical snark Tony Stark was renowned for, and, frankly, what he was expecting. It must've been the kid that mitigated the hero's usual pompous rhetoric. He seems protective of the child, the doctor noted, taking in the billionaire's mannerisms. I wonder what that's about?
As the two began to walk away, the Sorcerer Supreme watched them leave, curiosity piqued. The pair drove off, and Stephen closed the door, but he couldn't help but wonder what that encounter was about. They certainly weren't the typical tourists that liked to pester the Sanctum; Tony Stark had been living in New York most of his life, so he'd have no reason to come here. It seemed the kid had been the one to approach, for a reason the genius lacked context for.
Wong was waiting for him when he returned to the library, and his companion remarked, "You're usually annoyed when a tourist knocks on our doors."
"It wasn't a tourist," Stephen replied as the cloak moved off of his shoulder, hovering nearby. "It was Tony Stark and a young teenage male I've never seen the hero fraternizing with before."
"Ah, and here I thought Tony Stark hated the younger generations," Wong chimed wryly, continuing to peruse his book. "What did Stark want?"
"That's the curious thing. It was the kid who had knocked," He sat with a sigh, careful of where his hands were so he didn't hit them against the table. "Something about that kid was off, Wong."
"Off? How so?" The sorcerer asked idly, turning the page.
"The kid's face and neck were covered in about 74% scar tissue, an alarming number of which were large enough to be lethal. His sleep schedule must be atrocious from the depth of his periorbital edema, and he kept staring at the Eye of Agamotto as if he knew it was more than just a frivolous decoration," Strange mused. Something about the interaction rubbed him the wrong way. "On top of that, something about the young man felt familiar, yet I cannot pinpoint why."
Wong paused his reading, staring at the pages as he processed that information. "Do you think we should keep an eye out for the kid, then?"
Stephen considered the notion, cupping the Time Stone's protective casing in a shaky palm. Clasping his twitching fingers around the metal, he gave a succinct nod. "I think that would be the wisest course of action, for now; at least until we learn more."
"We wouldn't want him being a preventable threat, after all," Wong joked idly.
The doctor paused at that remark, furrowing his brow. "Yeah," his grip tightened around the Eye of Agamotto. "We wouldn't."