Peter received the best news ever!
A week passed since the simulation and Peter, more or less, received little attention for his success. His team was happy to hold the record, but their attitude toward him changed little. All of them were bitter with his disobedience and treated him with the same regard as they would a fly. Luke Cage held some resentment against him, and Peter felt bad. He didn't mean to undermine Luke's authority, but no one listened to him. He had to do it and he hoped that his success would make them realize that. But, it didn't change much in the team's dynamic. Luke and Jack were still tolerable to be around, while the other were less so. Powers most of all. Peter's success brought scorn and intense disdain from the man, and he enjoyed making Peter feel it every time they had to practice together.
The Parker luck struck again, much to his dismay.
So, it surprised Peter that early morning when Mr. Reynolds walked into his room with an announcement. Mr. Reynolds decided to relax some of the restrictions imposed upon Peter. One of them being Simon no longer had to follow him everywhere and another was being outside. He didn't have free range like the others. Peter only had access to courtyard, but that was good enough.
Mr. Reynolds said Peter earned it. His demonstration in the simulation and his good behavior played a part in lessening the restrictions. Peter didn't care what the reasons were. He was thrilled to be rid of Simon and have a chance to breathe fresh air.
When Peter finally received his anointed recreation time, he bundled up in a sweater, coat and hat and nearly skipped to the courtyard. No one else joined him. Not on such a wintery day. It was cold, the frigid temperatures nipped at his nose and chilled his eyes that Peter blinked several times to keep them from freezing. The cold seeped through his coat and sweater, giving him a few shivers from the drastic change of environment. Autumn was gone for good.
Peter didn't mind the cold. He was outside and away from everyone, no longer having to deal with Powers' sick games and pranks. He relaxed and enjoyed the fresh air with the sun tinting his pale complexion yellow.
The snow from last night remained, mostly untouched by human footprints. Peter trudged his way to the bench, brushing away the feathery bed of snow off to the ground. He sat and took another breath as he admired the tundra landscape. The forest's canopy was white and sparkled in delight of the sun's pale rays. The watchtowers along the fence had little snowcaps on top, almost as if they were decorated hats. A few icicles stretched from underneath the roofs, but not enough to make it a wonder.
Didn't matter. It was a wonder for Peter to even touch the snow. Maybe he'll build a snowman. Something to occupy his eager builder hands and, embarrassingly, something to talk to. He knew it wouldn't do any good, but it would make him feel less foolish than talking out loud to nothing.
Peter leaned back into the bench, comforted by his solitude and freedom. No more Simon. No more being shut indoors. It wasn't much, but it was a lot all the same.
"Peter?"
Peter flinched. Fear clutched his heart as he whipped his head to the new voice.
His eyes enlarged.
It was Mr. Stark. Iron Man. His jailor.
Peter immediately stiffened in shock, unsure what to say or do. He hadn't seen Mr. Stark since he first arrived at the Compound. And last he heard, Mr. Stark wanted nothing to do with him.
It threw Peter off to find Mr. Stark standing about three feet away from him, dressed in a warm coat with a dark, plaid scarf snugged around his neck. He wore dark aviators, making it hard for Peter to deduce if the man's feelings on seeing him. Behind Mr. Stark was a large stranger. He too wore a heavy winter coat and a scarf with the addition of a wool hat on his head and gloves. He had his limbs pulled close to his body and his hands stuffed in his pockets. His feet rocked in hopes to keep moving, to stay warm. The man eyed Mr. Stark before darting it to Peter then to the door. The man seemed to be in a rush to return indoors. Mr. Stark was not.
"What are you doing out here?" Mr. Stark questioned, but gave Peter no time to answer. "It's freezing! Come on!"
Mr. Stark walked on, heading to the front door while the stranger waited for Peter to get up to follow. Peter resigned to defeat. He knew it was too good to be true.
He got up from the bench and followed Mr. Stark's footsteps out of the courtyard with the strange close behind him. If he couldn't enjoy his solitude outside, best to do it in the only place he knew Powers couldn't get to him—his room.
Peter wiped his shoes on the rug. Already, Mr. Stark walked away, no longer interested now that Peter was caged back inside the Compound. Dispirited, Peter turned to the left of the hallway, retreating to the safety of his room for a quiet nap. He didn't get far before an arm barricaded his attempt. The stranger stopped him. He gestured to Peter to continue following Mr. Stark, who didn't even noticed what was happening behind him.
The stranger shepherded Peter to the end of the hallway where Mr. Stark waited for one of the elevators to answer his beck and call. Peter stood between to the two men, forehead creviced as he glanced between Mr. Stark and Mr. Stranger.
Did he do something wrong? Was he not supposed to be outside? Did Mr. Reynolds lie to him? Was it some kind of cruel trick? More questions fluttered through his head at rapid speed, analyzing what he did wrong.
The elevator doors opened and Mr. Stark strode right into the center. Peter moved too, but not with such swagger as Mr. Stark. He timidly entered and moved toward the corner as if to make room for Mr. Stranger than to keep his distance from Mr. Stark.
Mr. Stranger went to join them, but Mr. Stark stopped him. "Elevator's full, Hap," he said. "Catch the next one."
Mr. Stranger—Hap, as Mr. Stark called him—gaped at the man, eyes drifting from Peter to all the available space. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah," Mr. Stark said. "Besides, I want some time with the kid. Him and me."
"Seriously?"
"Jesus—Happy," Mr. Stark cracked a grin, not all irritated by the man's questioning. "I'm not going to kill him. It's fine. See you later."
Mr. Stark tapped something on his wrist and the elevator doors shut, sealing Peter inside the tiny moveable room. With Mr. Stark.
Peter swore his chest compressed as the elevator climbed. Up and up, Peter worried where he was going. Worried what Mr. Stark wanted from him. What? What was it? Peter thought back the past couple days. Nothing sprouted from his mind. He did everything right. Every day was the same as it was months ago. He did all of his work. He didn't cause any trouble. He didn't antagonize anyone. He didn't do anything wrong.
Yet, he did. Or else Mr. Stark wouldn't be next to him.
Peter needed to do something. Say something!
"I'm sorry!" Peter blurted and instantly regretted it.
It was too late though. The deed was done. Mr. Stark craned his neck over his shoulder, arching a single eyebrow up inquisitively as he gazed down on him.
Peter fumbled with his hands, casting his eyes down to the floor to hide his embarrassment. "I… I-I mean to say sorry," he said, voice unable to hide the tremors, "for what I did."
"O-kay. I'm interested," Mr. Stark said, pivoting to look at Peter directly. He took off his aviators and tucked them into his coat's pocket. "What are you sorry for?"
The man's eyes rested on Peter and waited for the response. Peter choked on his nerves, his lungs hyperventilating. What was the answer? What did Mr. Stark want to hear?
Peter struggled for a moment. "Um… I-I… I'm sorry for, um, being outside," he said, praying that was right. "I know I'm not allowed out there, and I-I wasn't planning to run. Mr. Reynolds said I could go into the courtyard and I hadn't meant to stay there long. Or at all. I don't have to go back out if you don't want me too. I won't go out again. I won't—"
Mr. Stark put up a single hand. Peter shut his mouth.
"Going to stop you there, Spider-Boy," Mr. Stark said, but there was no anger in his tone. Only humor. "I'm not mad at all about you being outside."
"You aren't?" That was certainly a surprise.
"No," Mr. Stark assured. "You can go to the courtyard whenever you like. But, I wouldn't stay out there too long. Not during winter. You don't want to catch a cold."
"Well, being outside doesn't actually get you a cold," Peter started, but when he saw Mr. Stark lift his brows up again, he dropped his words. "Never mind. Sorry."
Mr. Stark rolled his eyes and chuckled right as the elevator doors opened. He stepped out, shrugging off his coat and unwrapping his scarf as he walked in. Peter trailed a little behind him, but came to a dead halt when he stepped out the elevator.
He expected a hallway. A long hallway with doors on either side and people going in and out or around, busy with work to ever take a look at his direction. Or all flustered and trying extra hard to know Mr. Stark was among them.
But, that was not what he found.
He stood in a gigantic workshop. A large, open area with modern, but reinforced walls that seemed well-suited for all types of mechanical testings. In the center of it was a circular, raised stage where holographic screens surrounded half of it. The workshop was cluttered with shelving units full of old gear, equipment and possibly nostalgia. There was also a massive platinum workbench a bit further away from stage, cluttered with tablets, papers and tools.
Peter walked into an alternate reality. Never, ever had he believed he would one day be standing in Iron Man's workshop. A dream every nerd in his high school had!
Peter gaped as he tried to follow Tony across the room. He rotated in his walk, trying to take in everything around him. Mr. Stark walked ahead without pause, tossing his coat and scarf to some mechanical creature that tooted when it caught the man's coat.
"Thanks Dum-E," Peter heard Mr. Stark say to the robot, who swiveled to hang the coat up.
Peter gawked at the robot, watching it hang-up Mr. Stark's coat and scarf with loose care. Then, something in the corner of Peter's eye distracted him.
He looked over and his eyes nearly exploded out of his head. "Whoa…"
The entire wall was dedicated to Iron Man armors. Each suit was incased behind glass that displayed all of Mr. Stark's classic Iron Man armors. They were lined up, one after the other, with perfect shine but still with their scarred dents and scratches from battles Mr. Stark won or survived.
Peter turned off from the path and made a beeline to the cases, starting the Mark I armor. He got real close to the glass that his breath left a condensation mark upon it. Peter didn't care. He drew his eyes to each armor, mesmerizing at how close he was to the original Iron Man armor! The last time he ever that close to a suit it was during the Stark Expo.
Peter stopped. He peered closer, nearly bringing his nose to the glass. It was the armor! The same armor Mr. Stark wore to stop Hammer and his killer suits. The armor loomed over him, the triangular chest piece glowed with alluring hope. Peter tipped his head back to look up into the metal mask and for a second, he thought he heard Mr. Stark's voice calling to him through the mask, "Nice work—"
"Kid?"
Or maybe Mr. Stark was calling to him.
Peter spun. Mr. Stark was standing near the stage, looking at him before glancing up to the Iron Man behind Peter.
"I don't wear them anymore," Mr. Stark said to Peter. "Figured it would be okay to put them behind glass. Look up at them every now and then to see what I've accomplished. How far I've gotten and how far I still need to go." He looked back to Peter. "Got a favorite?"
Peter nodded and pointed to the Iron Man suit behind him.
Mr. Stark spluttered a laugh. "Really?" he said, surprised. "Why?"
Peter didn't want to tell him the truth. "Oh, um, because of the palladium powered laser system," he said. "Pretty cool to cut through any metal. Also, the repulsors are cool and it's like, the first suit to have the new element, right?"
Mr. Stark didn't say anything. He leaned hard against the stage's railing, studying Peter with a peculiar curiosity. "You are a fan," he said. "Hardly anyone notices the differences between them."
Hard to when the man is flying out of reach and being blasted upon, all the while everyone is running in a giant stampede to get away. And, Peter, stuck and lost, trying to find his family when he had to be brave. Only then did Peter ever saw an Iron Man suit up close.
Peter shrugged though and dismissed his attention to details. "Most nerds know."
"Uh-huh," Mr. Stark said in regards. "Well, as much as you would rather talk about those suits, it's not why I brought you here." He pushed himself off the railing and went to the workbench, beckoning Peter to come along too. "Over here, Underoos."
Peter walked over to the workbench, his nerves tingling and his muscles tightening in dreadful anticipation. Mr. Stark was already fiddling with something on the workbench. His hands swiped here and there, but nothing seemed to move across the workbench. As Peter reached the workbench, he realized it was a hologram. The entire surface of the workbench was a computer screen with holographic images everywhere. Mr. Stark continued to swipe things aside until he tapped on a folder that contained a video recording.
He pulled it up and Peter recognized it as the simulation challenge he and his teammates completed a few days ago.
"I heard about your team's simulation test," Mr. Stark said, making the screen wider for Peter to easily spot his thin-framed body.
Peter's heart dropped right out of him and burrowed underneath where he stood. That was why Mr. Stark brought him here. Because of his disobedience and recklessness during the faux mission—everything that irked his teammates. That was what he was in trouble for. He should have known!
Mr. Stark pressed play and, together, they watched Peter disregard orders, sprinting straight toward the bomb as juggled an armful of junk. He heard Luke yelling and Jack yelling at him to come back, Silk Fever cursing up a storm and Powers planning to kill him after all of it. Peter was thankful he removed the earpiece when he did. He didn't need to hear Powers' plans while he worked on the bomb. But, he remembered Luke's angry voice, shouting at him to go back to the original plan. He remembered ignoring him too.
Peter couldn't watch the screen anymore. He turned his head down to stare at his shoes while the scene played out until its death.
Mr. Stark didn't press the replay button. "Impressive," he said. "Bold even, considering you broke chain of command."
"I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For going against protocol and disobeying," Peter promptly responded. So this was the reason he was in trouble with Mr. Stark. "I know I was to follow Mr. Cage's directions, but I saw a chance and I had to take it—"
"Even at the cost of everyone's lives?"
Peter swallowed a hard lump down his constricted throat. "Well, erm... I thought..."
Mr. Stark swiveled a chair around and plopped into it. "Did you even know if it was going to work?"
"Well, um, no..."
"Then why did you do it?" Mr. Stark grilled, but more out of curiosity than upset. "What made you throw everything out the window and charge right to the bomb with no certainties?"
Peter's knees shook where he stood. His eyes flickered downward again and he tried to keep his breathing steady. Do not panic. Do not breakdown.
"I-I, erm... I—"
"Gotta speak up, kid."
Peter let out a long, uncertain breath. "The plan was to save as many people as we can before the bomb went off," he started as Mr. Stark leaned forward into his seat. Probably to listen closely as Peter's voice was hardly above a whisper. "Mr. Cage came up with a good strategy to save most of the people. But, that's all anyone does. They all want to save the most people in the quickest way possible."
"And you don't want to?"
Peter raised his gaze to Mr. Stark. "I want to save everyone."
Mr. Stark's expression hardly changed. There was a mercurial shift in the man's expression. Something akin to thoughtful, but Peter couldn't be certain that was correct.
Mr. Stark tapped his fingers against the workbench's surface. "You're right, you know," he said to which surprised Peter as he didn't expect that response. "They all give up before the stimulation starts. They don't think about defeating the problem. They see a threat and already, they let it win. Sure, less lives are taken, but other lives were. But, again, they did the most good they could do."
Mr. Stark pointed to him. "But you—you came in with the idea of ending the threat entirely. To not let it win at all," he said. "You thought like an Avenger. Sure—you went against orders, but so do I. All the damn time apparently. And you want to know what, kid? I'm always in the right. Like you were here."
Peter glanced back to the screen, seeing his sweaty self standing in judgment before his teammates and Mr. Reynolds. "What if I was wrong?" he asked. "I could have gotten everyone killed."
"You could have," Mr. Stark agreed. "But, that's why you have a team. So everyone can work together and if the first plan doesn't work, then the second one will."
"Is that what you and the rest Avengers did?"
Mr. Stark shrugged. "More or less," he quietly answered. "Usually, our plans were made as we go along."
There was a ghost-like shadow which passed over Mr. Stark's eyes. A pinch in the man's lips grimaced, shifting under some invisible weight. When he noticed Peter's inquisitive gaze on him, the haunted look dissipated into a more neutral expression.
"Enough about that," Mr. Stark dismissed the conversation. "Wanna talk to you about something else entirely."
That made Peter even more nervous than before. What else did Mr. Stark want to talk to him about?
Mr. Stark reached underneath the workbench and pulled out a cardboard box. He tipped it over on top of the workbench, the contents spilling out. There were clothes—blue pants, blue shirt, and a red hoodie with a… wait. Peter looked closer to the objects. Blue pants. Blue shirt. Red hoodie with a spider symbol and a red mask with black goggles.
Holy shit! This was his old suit!
Peter reached for the red hoodie, his hand brushing up against the black spider chest emblem. "You kept it?"
"Yeah, of course," Mr. Stark said, moving most of the outfit to the side. "You seriously need an upgrade though. I'm surprised anyone ever took you seriously, swinging around in an onesie."
Peter frowned at the shade thrown at his sewing skills. "It's not an onesie."
"Still looks like crap," Mr. Stark replied, before drawing something to him. His web-shooters. He kept them too!
Mr. Stark pulled out a vial from the web-shooters. It contained Peter's web formula. "You know... I tested this out," he said after a moment, holding the vial up to Peter. "The tensile strength was off the charts! I swore you bought it from someone else, but after seeing that simulation, am I correct in saying you designed this?" He waved the vial before nudging his head to the web-shooters. "And those as well?"
Peter numbly nodded. "Yeah."
There was a clever grin on Mr. Stark's face as he studied the web-shooters again. "Basic in design," he said, "but… promising. Build this from scrap parts? From junk at Salvation Army? Thrift store?"
Peter swore his cheeks reddened. "The, um, garbage… actually."
"Dumpster diver," Mr. Stark stated, but he didn't seem at all disgusted by it. "Pretty impressive for a kid your age. And the web?"
"Created with some chemicals from school."
Mr. Stark nodded along. "Got mad skills, kid," he acknowledged. "Not just as Spider-man. Although, those are nifty as well."
Peter didn't know how to respond. "Err… thanks."
That made Iron Man chuckle. "Relax kid," he said, putting the web-shooters back down on the workbench. "You're not in any trouble."
That was good to know, but Peter didn't feel any less uncomfortable. He was anxious, stressed and uncertain. There had to be a reason why Mr. Stark brought him up here other than wanting to talk about his performance in the simulation or his web-shooters. The man avoided him for… Peter didn't know the exact length of time, but knew it was at least a few months. And now, Peter stood in the man's workshop, discussing his Spider-man outfit. Why?
"Your thoughts are loud."
Peter blinked. "What?"
"Do you overthink often?" Mr. Stark said without answering Peter. "Because that's not a good habit to have. If you want answers kid, just have to ask. Or search for them. Whichever the two."
If only it were that simple. He asked for Mr. Stark several times and was denied. He asked for answers and received no response.
Mr. Stark frowned a little. "I'm not going to bite your head off," he said, getting up from his stool and moving to one of the shelving units. "What's on your mind?"
Now or never, Peter supposed. "Why am I here?"
The one question he never got a true answer to. They were all hidden underneath complications or buried underneath the Accords. No one gave him a direct answer to the question. They all bushed around it. Maybe now, Mr. Stark would give him straight answers.
Mr. Stark plucked something off the shelf and came back to the workbench. "You're here because I wanted to get your input," he responded, pulling the web-shooters back to him. "Thought you would enjoy having a say in how you want these web-shooters of yours to work."
"Huh?" It was all Peter offered, stumped by the response he never saw coming.
Mr. Stark chuckled lightly. "As I said before, your original design is basic. Doesn't allow much flexibility," he explained to Peter. "Figured you and I can brainstorm and come up with some different components to add on. What do you say?"
Peter became aware that the object Mr. Stark took from the shelf was a toolbox. He was serious. Iron Man offered him a once in a lifetime chance to work with him on a project. The famed Avenger coveted his workshop and Peter heard rumors the man rarely let anyone inside, so Peter realized the significance of his situation.
His mouth remained agape and eyes unmoving. "What?"
"I'm asking you to—wait, hold on," Mr. Stark drew up another stool and passed it onto Peter. "Here—take a seat. You look like you're about to pass out."
Peter slowly lowered himself onto the stool.
"And why are you still wearing your jacket?" Mr. Stark snapped at something behind Peter. "Dum-E!"
Peter felt something pluck his hat right off his head. He snapped around, surprised to find the robot with the claw arm behind him, holding his hat and now pecking at his coat.
He pulled his coat off him and handed it to the demanding robot. "Thank you," he murmured to the robot who wheeled away with his clothes.
"There," Mr. Stark said with a smile. "Now, you're more comfortable." And he rolled his stool over toward Peter. Close enough that their knees almost touched. Peter instinctively scooted an inch or two back from him. "Look, kid—it's pretty straightforward. I'm asking if you want to remodel your web-shooters."
"No, um, I get that," Peter said, glancing at his web-shooters and then back to Mr. Stark, "but why am I here?"
Mr. Stark pulled his eyebrows forward, his expression drawn in a conundrum. "I think I did a thorough explanation on that."
Peter shook his head. "No… no, I mean—why do you care?" he changed up his words. "You never bothered yourself before nor cared to talk to me so… why am I here?"
He watched Mr. Stark's face morphed into full comprehension. Mr. Stark did a long, slow nod, sitting straighter in his seat. "I see—well, first off, I did care. Do care," he said to Peter with certainty of a confident man. "It's why I had Simon, Nellie, Vision and Reynolds with you."
Hearing all of those names knotted Peter's intestines. "The same people who made me miserable?"
"Miserable?" Mr. Stark questioned, tone doubtful of Peter's accusation. "If you call keeping you safe and well-cared as torture, then sure—miserable."
"They hated me."
"I find that hard to believe," Mr. Stark countered. "Especially with Vision, who constantly praises you, and Nellie, who adores you. As for Simon and Reynolds—well, they're good people, but with ego issues. Yet, I still doubt they hate you. Annoyed? Probably."
"Then they certainly showed it on daily basis," Peter retorted, thinking off all of the two men's' antagonistic behavior toward him. "Besides—if you actually cared, then you wouldn't be ignoring me. Or telling people that you didn't want anything to do with me. Saying that you were hands-off and—"
Mr. Stark flipped a hand up to silence Peter's rant. "Stop! Back up," he ordered, looking serious. "Who said that I didn't want anything to do with you?"
"Everyone."
"Like who?"
Peter gave him a list of names and all Mr. Stark did was shake his head. "Jesus Christ," he groaned, looking frustrated by the way his jaw went rigid. He looked back down at Peter. "I never said that. None of that is true."
Didn't matter if he didn't say it, Peter thought. "You still ignored me."
"Well, when you're as busy as I am," Mr. Stark responded with an irritated huff. "It's hard to do house calls. Unless it's important. I entrusted Reynolds and the others to look after you while I was away. If there was anything wrong—I was told about it. I came when there was a serious situation."
Peter thought of when Powers nearly smashed his face in. "I don't remember you being there."
"Probably because you were out," Mr. Stark replied, casually like Peter's allegation didn't offend him at all. "You wouldn't remember, but I was. Whenever you were in trouble, I was there."
Mr. Stark's face changed. It shifted into a more dark and intense scrutiny that made Peter grip the sides of his stool. "Listen, kid, I never said I wanted nothing to do with you. Nothing about a hands-off approach either," he added. "I've told others that. Multiple times, because being me, everyone wants to talk to you. Gotta learn to neutralize people and not get caught up with pointless matters. I've told a multitude of people that I do not care and to never bother me.
"But you!" Mr. Stark poked at Peter, his eyes unblinkingly and straight. "You were never one of them."
The man lowered his finger and busied his hands with an automatic screwdriver. "Whoever told you otherwise was lying to you," he stated. "Probably because they thought if I didn't want to talk to them, then I wouldn't want to talk to a child."
Peter shifted in his seat underneath Mr. Stark's gaze. "Yeah, well… you never did. Not even when we first met."
Iron Man's face wrinkled in reflection before the dawning of memory hit him and his face sunk in with guilt. "Yeah—I was annoyed, but not at you," Mr. Stark promised to the young boy. "Mad about something else and I'm sorry if I seemed like a jerk to you then. I had a lot on my plate."
"And you don't now?" Peter challenged, his arms crossing over his chest.
Mr. Stark smirked. "Not at the moment," he said. "Which brings us back to this very moment."
He pushed the web-shooters toward Peter. "You wanna work on these with me?" he asked. "Or do you want to go? Get back to you're… I don't know what you were doing before, but you don't have to stay here with me. You can go on your way."
Peter rolled his lips in and thought. Certainly, he was resentful at Mr. Stark for holding him hostage and keeping him away from his aunt. A lot of words bubbled in his throat, screams and protests that may purge the anger that returned in his heart. So many things he wanted to say to Mr. Stark and get the man to feel awful and full of guilt!
But, at the same time, Peter was lured at the idea of working side-by-side with the genius. Tweaking on his own web-shooters and updating it to make them better—it was a dream come true! And maybe… maybe Mr. Stark meant his words. Something of a miscommunication. Maybe Mr. Stark felt sorry for all that transpired.
And then Peter remembered. All the horribleness and the late night tears. The insults and beatings. It angered Peter all over again.
One of Peter's web-shooters was pushed toward him, followed by a hologram of some mechanical schematics. His eyes widened at the screen, studying the diagrams in front of him. It was magnificent! The designs showed different possibilities in using his web-shooters. Different combinations than a simple straight line of web.
"I took the liberty of coming up with a few different combinations," Mr. Stark's voice filtered into Peter's head. "Nothing too crazy. But, I figured it was a start."
Peter marveled at the design concepts before he shifted his gaze from the hologram to Mr. Stark. The man bore a quiet, knowing smile like he already knew he hooked Peter. "What do you think?" Mr. Stark asked, leaning against the workbench. "Got anything better?"
Peter flickered a glance back to the diagram and ideas were formulating in his mind. Growing and growing that it made Peter's hurt lessen and the dream came closer.
"Yeah," Peter replied with a smirk of his own. "I have a few thoughts."
Peter and Mr. Stark swapped ideas, drew up concepts and even started hammering away on his web-shooters. It was the most fun Peter had in a long time. He got to tinker with his web-shooters, work with tools that cost twice as much as his family's apartment alone and he witnessed his own designs come to fruition.
Best part was Mr. Stark complimenting on his own schematics. Peter flushed with pride so quick his face went red like a cherry tomato.
But, as always, good things came to an end when Peter's stomach let out a disturbed growl. When that gurgled noise punctured the sound of tools whirling and whizzing, Peter realized he was starving. What time was it?
Mr. Stark checked his watch. "Jesus! No wonder you're hungry," he remarked. "It's past eight."
"At night?"
Mr. Stark softly chuckled. "Yes… at night."
Peter panicked. "Mr. Reynolds is going to kill me!" he half-shouted, jumping up from his stool. "I'm in so much trouble—"
"Relax," Mr. Stark tried to calm him down. "Reynolds knows you're with me."
"He does?" Peter was surprised by the revelation. "H-How—"
"Either someone told him or he figured it out on his own," Mr. Stark shrugged. "If he doesn't know by now, then I need to reconsider his position as squad leader.
"Anyway, you best get down to the cafeteria to eat," Mr. Stark concluded, dragging Peter away from the workbench. "You're already skin and bones. Come on, hop to!"
"But…" Peter looked back to his web-shooters. Already torn apart and needed put together once they finished calculating and inputting their data, "… my web-shooters?"
"I'll finish up," Mr. Stark promised, "but you need to eat. A growing boy like you needs food. And a growing enhanced boy needs more."
He whistled at something and Peter heard the sound of mechanical wheels moving to them. It was Dum-E. It had his coat and hat. Peter thanked the robot, but he wished to stay. At least keep his web-shooters. He missed them. They were his life-line.
But, Mr. Stark wasn't letting him stay. He hustled the boy to the lone elevator, clicking on the button. "You did good, kiddo," he complimented Peter. "You are far smarter than you let people on. Well, except Fitz-Simmons. He told me you were quite a budding genius."
"I don't know about—"
"Ah-ah," Mr. Stark interrupted him. "Don't cut me off. Not when I'm complimenting you. You know—my dad never really gave me a lot of support, and so… I'm trying to break the cycle of shame."
The elevator arrived and Mr. Stark guided Peter to the center. "Anyway… great things are about to happen, Peter," he announced. "But first—you need to eat. Keep up that strength of yours."
Peter's furrowed his brows in confusion. "What do you mean 'great things'?"
The man only offered him a grin. "You'll see, Mr. Parker," he said and then addressed the AI. "FRIDAY? To the cafeteria please? Pete here needs his dinner."
The doors started to close and Mr. Stark gave him a small wave. "Good-night!"
The doors closed, trapping Peter and it sent him straight down to the cafeteria level. It was great misfortunate that he was intercepted by Mr. Reynolds, who appeared out of nowhere. Due to Peter's disappearance for nearly the entire day, he had make-up workouts to do before he went anywhere else.
On an empty stomach, Peter ran a time two-mile, completed three sets of fifty pull-ups and a full round of a hundred sit-ups and push-ups. Exhausted, sore and hungry, he was at near collapse when Mr. Reynolds deemed it was good enough and allowed him entry to the cafeteria.
With his stomach screaming in protest, Peter skipped the showers and went straight to the cafeteria for some food. It was basically closed with no warm food for his belly, but they offered him cold-cut sandwiches and fruit for the night. Peter gobbled it up, licking his fingers cleaned and sucking as much juice from the core of the apple to satisfy his stomach.
As his stomach settled into a comfortable contentment, Peter went for a quick shower, scrubbing off the layer of sweat and dust from laying on the gym floor. Cleaned and warmed from the hot water, Peter wrapped a towel around his waist and slide his coat over his bare chest. He carried his old, smelly clothes and shoes with him as he pattered back to his room, ready for a long night sleep.
His took a few steps into the room before he came to a halt.
There was a brown bag in the middle of his twin bed. On the bag was a note, scribbled with words that was hard to see in the dark.
Peter dropped his dirty clothes off to the side and flipped the lights on. He approached the bed and took the note off the bag:
These belongs to you – TS
Peter read the note twice before he put it down and grabbed the bag. He opened it, taking a quick peak inside.
"What the…"
Peter dug his hand inside the bag, snatching the object from within and pulling them out of the bag. His web-shooters!
He gaped at seeing his web-shooters back in his hands. They were not broken or unassembled like he last saw them. They were put together, modeled in much better material.
Peter sank to his bed, admiring the sleek and modern version of his web-shooters. He hooked one of them to his wrist, eager to test-try and see if they were in working order. He messed with the gadget, trying to get it to turn on when a beam of light shot out. Peter jerked for a second in fright, but when he realized it wasn't a laser, inched right back.
It was only a beam of light, shooting up to the ceiling.
Peter followed the trail to the ceiling. His face burst with amazement and he couldn't stop the giggle that escaped his lips.
Up on the ceiling was a projected signal very similar to the mask of his Spider-man suit.