It got weird.

Not a bad weird. Different may be a better way to describe it.

Peter noticed the shift in tone and attitude directed toward him. No longer was he the invisible boy. Instead, he was noticed. Eyes watched him. Murmurs followed him. And all the adults suddenly became interested in him, making an extra effort to be affable and cordial toward him. More people addressed and greeted him than ever, all asking after him. It happened too much that Peter actively tried to go down corridors with less people.

Mr. Reynolds was one of the bigger changes. He no longer looked at Peter with annoyance or resentment. Instead, he acted in the same manner as he did prior to Peter jumping the fence. He treated Peter with sympathetic kindness and was far more protective over him, staying close and ensuring that he never teamed up with Powers.

Powers, on the other hand, got worse. Since he untangled himself out of the dissolved webs, he became quite the laughingstock amongst the group, and then word spread about the incident. Powers grew infuriated and Peter never missed those threatening glares Powers sent. Not that he did anything to Peter. Mr. Reynolds actively kept the two of them distant, preventing any kind of vengeance Powers may have planned.

Peter didn't care too much about it. He hardly saw much of his teammates anyway. The internship surprisingly kept him busy. Peter worked with Mr. Stark in the workshop twice a week for three to four hours a day, but he also had work to do outside the workshop. Mr. Stark wanted him to practice coding as it became apparent it was not his forte. He gave Peter a laptop to borrow.

"This is for work purposes only," Mr. Stark said as he handed the Stark laptop to Peter. "I better not get it back with the hard-drive full of porn."

Peter's face flushed crimson. "No, no, no, no" he said, ear turning beet red. "I-I would never do that."

Mr. Stark smirked. "I know, kid. Just messing with you," he joked, ruffling Peter's hair into a messy swirl, "but I am serious though. None of that."

Peter didn't. He used the laptop for work purposes only. He sat at the library, typing away and debugging codes into the late hours. He wasn't alone though. Vision accompanied him. On standby in case Peter ran into trouble with coding assignments. Peter thought it was to ensure Peter didn't use the computer for anything else. Not that he could. The Wi-Fi was locked and Peter didn't know the password.

In any case, Peter already knew everything. Mr. Stark kept his promise and updated him on what was happening with the Accords. At first, whenever Peter saw Mr. Stark, he bombarded him with questions, never giving the man time to answer the first few that he asked. Most of the time, Mr. Stark had no updates. Nothing had changed since they last spoke. It disheartened Peter. Sometimes he got mad. Or sad. Or worse, he felt dead. He dreaded the idea of being raised at the Compound for years to come. To never see his aunt again. Those feelings made his body heavy. Too heavy to move and he was left lying about for hours.

But, Mr. Stark did his best. He informed Peter of any new developments right away, sometimes even before Peter asked. The UN stopped demanding the AI designs and tried to compromise with Mr. Stark on other things he listed on his terms.

"It's something," Mr. Stark said after giving Peter the good news. "I know it's painfully slow, but we're moving now. We're getting somewhere."

Mr. Stark's little encouragements helped ease away some of the anxieties Peter endured. It would be better if the results came faster, but Mr. Stark was right. At least, they were getting somewhere.

Peter didn't mope all day about it. His life got busier with the internship, training and schooling. It was work, work and more work, with stress squeezed in between. Not that Peter complained over the overload. He relieved to miss practice here and there, and school wasn't too bad. Leo and Jemma were great as usual, sparking some fun discussions and intriguing ideas. Best part of all? Mr. Stark agreed to cease all therapy sessions. Peter no longer had to waste an hour listening to Dr. Samson trying to piece him together like he was broken.

When he had downtime, Peter snuck back into his room, pencil and paper in hand, to sketch out some inventions of his own. Since working with Mr. Stark, he got the opportunity to get a closer view of the Iron Man suits, the tech and specs of the design and how to put it all together. It got Peter thinking and day-dreaming of his own specialized suit for Spider-man.

He sat on his bed and sketched. Most of them were awful, but he liked a few of his suit designs. Each one unique, stylized in different colors and settings. Peter ensured a spider-logo was attached though. Iron Man had his arc reactor. Peter had a spider.

Peter labeled each design the same way Mr. Stark did. He was up to Spider V at the moment, thinking of ways to keep the material durable in fights without ripping or busting. Metal armor was took clunky and would be hard to swing around the city. Cheap cotton or polyester wouldn't do either. He needed a type of material that was durable, flexible and wouldn't hinder his microhairs from gripping the walls. He thought of spandex, but already could hear Mr. Stark laughing over the ridiculous idea of spandex as a uniform.

He checked the time. It's been a few hours. Time to stretch his legs and clear his head.

He departed from the residential wing to return to that little courtyard he enjoyed. Except, the door didn't open. It was locked. Peter slouched, saddened being trapped behind the glass. "FRIDAY? Can you unlock this door?"

The static of the AI voice came. "The director has it closed for re-landscaping," it said. "It will be available again in a week."

Peter dropped his forehead against the window. There went that plan. Peter turned away and wandered through the corridors, keeping to himself as he passed from one hallway to the next. A few people stopped him to ask after him, to which Peter always answered with a quick affirmative before he hurried away.

Needing to get out of sight, he grabbed the first door closest to him and entered. It was his great surprise that the room was not empty. It was the opposite. It was quite crowded. People were seated on couches, a few in front of a television, others in a circle around a coffee table and another pushed up against the corner near a bookcase. There was a foosball table with players wrestling each other over the handlebars to score a goal. Elsewhere was a billiards table, two players concentrating on where to aim to shoot a ball. One glanced up upon the close of the door and smiled at Peter.

"Hey there, Pete!"

It was Jack. And Luke turned away from the billiards table to look at him too. Jack waved him over and Peter, avoiding those odd looks from others, quickly joined them.

Jack gave him a strong pat on the back. "What are you doing here?" he questioned. "Decided to join the rest of us?"

"Need to clear my head," Peter said as he watched Luke make a hit. "What is this place?"

"Just a random lounge," Luke said and Jack made his line-up. "A place to relax in-between practices."

A social gathering, Peter deduced. One of the places Vision and others tried to entice him out of the library. "You come here often?"

"Enough to be the best pool players around here," Jack prided himself. He took his shot, but his ball rolled an inch too far in the left direction, missing the coveted hole. "Damn!"

Luke chuckled and moved around the table to position himself. Jack moved out of his way, leaning on his stick. "Gotta tell us… what is it like working for Stark?"

Peter shrugged. "Not bad. He keeps me working."

"I'll say! You haven't been around practice at all."

"Sorry."

"For what? Getting way from the rest of us? Not having to deal with Powers' shit?" Jack chuckled at the absurdity of Peter's apology. "You're lucky. Must be nice to be Stark's golden boy."

"It's not like that," Peter said, shifting his weight on his feet, bumbling his hands. "I just… he's helping me with something."

"Yeah? Like what?" Luke asked.

"To get me back with my aunt."

Luke and Jack stopped playing and looked at him. "What?" Luke broke the awkward silence. "I thought you were an orphan."

"I am."

"Then what's with the aunt?" Jack questioned.

"She's my guardian."

"I thought you didn't have a guardian," Luke said again, walking over to them. "That's what Mr. Reynolds said, right?" He directed his query to Jack.

Jack nodded. "Yeah. Said something about you being an orphan kid and to be careful with you," he said. "Well, at least, he said that months ago when you first arrived. So… you have family?"

"Do they know you're here?" Luke asked after.

Peter helplessly shrugged. "Yeah. She knows. At least, Mr. Stark says so. He's been working on getting me back to my aunt, but the UN is making it difficult."

They both looked sympathetically at him. "Ah, man. That sucks. Sorry about that," Jack said after a moment. "Kind of know what that feels like."

"Me too," Luke added.

Peter wondered what they meant. "Didn't you guys volunteer to come here?"

"Well, yeah," Jack answered for the both of them. "But—"

"What's going on over here?"

A strange, dark voice cut right through Peter's conversation with his teammates. Peter turned around and a towering figure stood menacingly in front of him. The man was double Peter's height, even when bent over to leer at Peter. Dark eyes drew into a frighteningly narrowed glare as the corner of the man's thin lips twitched into a scowl.

Suddenly, Peter was flanked by both Luke and Jack.

"Nothing," Jack answered, casual. "Playing a game here."

The man barely huffed at Jack's attempted diversion. "I'm talkin' to the little punk ass kid here," his eyes flickered back down to Peter. "What're you doing here? This isn't Chuck E' Cheese."

"Nor is it a 21 and over club," Luke tacked on. "Mind your own business, Maddicks."

"Can't. Not with the kid here," Maddicks nudged in Peter's direction. "Causing all sorts of problems…"

Peter's brows pinched together, nose wrinkled in puzzlement as he looked from Maddicks to Jack and Luke. What problems? He hasn't done anything except stand and watch Luke and Jack play billiards.

"Leave him alone," Jack said. "He's not doing anything."

"Yet trouble finds a way to show up wherever he is. We don't want him here," Maddicks glared down at Peter. "Get the fuck out, kid."

"You can't kick him out," Jack defended. "He has the right to be here if he wants to."

Peter was getting more and more confused what was happening. He hadn't done anything wrong since arriving. He stood by the pool table, watching and talking. "Hey, man, I didn't do anything," he said to Maddicks. "I'm just hanging out with—"

"You aren't wanted here

And Peter found himself right back in school, being socially rejected for whatever reason this time. "Yeah, yeah, I get that," he said, noting all the uneasy stares at him. "But why? I haven't done anything."

Maddicks' nostrils flared up, teeth grinding. "Don't play shit with me, kid."

"I'm not!"

"Leave him alone, Maddicks," Luke warned him again. "He has no control over it."

"Control over what?" Peter grew frustrated by everyone's lack of specifics. His head swiveled around to the different faces and his mind became dizzier. What were they hiding from him this time?

Maddicks huffed in disbelief. Peter paused, rapidly thinking of reasons. "Is this because of the internship?" he questioned, "because Mr. Stark asked—"

"Of course! Mr. Stark this and Mr. Stark that," Maddicks rudely mimicked Peter's voice. "Must be nice to be the Golden Boy. Get to do whatever the hell you want."

"I'm not… Mr. Stark's my boss," Peter countered, stressed by the sudden draw of attention. "I don't get to—"

"What? Hang-out with him in his fancy workshop? Skip training? Get fancy new gadgets?" Maddicks mimicked Peter's web-shooting skills. "And if you break the rules? Nah—you're the victim. You can do no wrong."

Maddicks' rants left Peter far more bewildered. "T-That's not true." He remembered the punishment he got when he jumped the fence.

Luke stepped up and Jack put a hand on Peter's shoulder to pull him back. "That's enough, Mads," Luke said. "If you want to stay out of trouble, then you best leave."

"He leaves," ordered Maddicks and there were a few murmurs of approval. "That's the only way for any of us to stay out of the hole."

Peter cocked his head. The hole? The mysterious hole Leo once brought up only to keep his lips sealed on the matter. But… what did the hole have to do with him?

"What do you mean the hole?" Peter asked. "I don't—"

Luke cut Peter off. "He's a kid! He has no control what other people decide," he argued. "If you don't want to go to the hole, then don't bother him. It's that easy!"

Peter tried to speak up louder. "What's the hole got to do with—"

"If something happens to him," Maddicks fired back, overpowering Peter's questioning, "we get sent to the hole. Whether we did it or not!"

Peter's stomach did an uneasy flip. This was not good. "What is the hole?" he asked, but it seemed his voice fell on deaf ears as no one acknowledged him.

Luke only drew his brows close together, defiant in his position against the accuser. "You're exaggerating," he declared to Maddicks. "Stop with the bullshit."

"You fucking know I'm not," Maddicks spun around on his foot, announcing to the gathered crowd who watched the scene unfold. "Watch what you do around him," the man warned, scowling, as he jerked in Peter's direction. "Step on his toe and you're down the hole. Forever."

Peter's eyebrows sharply dipped and his gaze narrowed on Maddicks in objection. "That's not true!"

Maddicks scoffed. "Yeah? Then where's Lester? Jack-O?" he challenged and Peter, at first, had no idea who he was referring to. "Last they were seen was two weeks ago. Off to figure out how to beat you."

Peter remembered. The man with the bullseye scar on his forehead. Holding a pencil right to his eye, threatening him while his friend, with a disfigured face and missing teeth, laughed. Bishop sent them away. Told them they were idiots and to get out. That was the last time Peter ever saw them, but Peter never bothered to look for them either. Why would he? They were bullies. He didn't need to find more trouble.

"I don't know," Peter answered, flustered by all the scrutiny. "Mr. Bishop sent them off. I wasn't—"

"And where do you think he sent them off to, eh?" Maddicks countered, screwing his face in revolt at Peter. "Now, do us all a favor and stay away. I don't need to lose any more teammates because of you."

Maddicks turned his back and headed off to a space away from Peter. Others followed, making a wide berth around Peter as they tiptoed away to join Maddicks. One by one, each person backed away from Peter like he was the plague, a ticking bomb that could get them killed. All except Jack and Luke, who remained at his side.

It was like middle school all over again. Rumors spread followed with rejection before being labeled as a social outcast. Not that Peter wasn't already an outcast. But now, it was more prominent in the Compound. No longer the invisible boy. Now, he was noticed and avoided like a pariah.

Peter resigned and headed for the doors.

"Peter!" Jack called, snatching his elbow. "Don't listen to them. You can stay if you want."

"Nah… it's all right. I gotta go anyway," Peter mumbled, pulling his arm free from Jack and stepping back from him and Luke. "I got… things."

Alone and unwanted, Peter left, shoulders hunched as he trekked back to his room. He never asked to be there. Not like them. He didn't volunteer to join the UN's army of super-soldiers. It wasn't his fault either if Bishop or someone else sent Bullseye and Jack-O to the hole or whatever it was. He didn't do it. He didn't ask for anyone to do it and he didn't know.

Peter let out a deep, frustrated sigh. Everything he did resulted in some backlash. He never did anything right. Everyone probably feared him because they all feared going into the hole. Whatever that was.

And Peter had no clue. What was the hole? Where was it? It bothered Peter he knew little about it while everyone else knew all about it and refused to indulge the knowledge to him. They all got disconcerted, ignoring his questioning or ordering him to forget about it. No one answered him.

Peter received a new message from his web-shooters. It was Mr. Stark, telling him to come up to the workshop. Peter was happy to get away from everything, busy his mind with mechanics and computer programming than stupid gossip and lies.

Nope. Didn't happen.

Maddick's accusations remained with him, even when Mr. Stark gave him the exciting task of tweaking the Quinjet cloaking hardware. Maddick's words seared in the forefront of Peter's mind, distracting Peter from his task. He tried to concentrate, but his mind rattled with too many questions. His curious intellect bombarded him for answers. Now.

Peter rolled in his lips, debating to ask or not. Mr. Stark's focus was far away from the present situation. He had his blowtorch in his hand, soldering two items that resembled pieces of a laser system. He didn't even noticed Peter lack of progress on his task. And probably wouldn't for hours until Peter had to leave.

Best to ask now rather than later. "Um... Mr. Stark?"

The man didn't hear him over the power of the tools, so Peter yelled louder. "Mr. Stark?!"

The blowtorch zapped out and Mr. Stark lifted his head, eyes looking at him through a pair of safety goggles.

With Mr. Stark's full attention, Peter continued, "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Mr. Stark pulled off his goggles and tossed them aside. "Stuck on something?"

He moved around to Peter's end, looking at the pieces of hardware at Peter's work-space. His brows furrowed in confusion as to what the exact problem was. "Did you do anything?" he questioned, examining one of the wires.

"It's not about this," Peter gestured to the project. "It's about something else."

Mr. Stark studied Peter's face for a moment, tentative to what the question regarded. "O-kay... what's on your mind, squire?"

Peter took a deep breath. "I've been hearing a few things," he started, uncertain what to say exactly, "and it kind of got me curious."

He looked at Mr. Stark. The man's face was perfectly blank. Nothing gave away the man's thoughts as he casually leaned against the desk, waiting for Peter to spit out his question.

"So, um, I was wondering, erm, about… if people wanted to uh… who don't..." Peter stuttered along, struggling to get the question out by the piercing look Mr. Stark wore. It made him have second thoughts. "I mean—what do we do when training is over?"

Mr. Stark merely lifted a shrewd brow. "Is that really your question?"

No. It wasn't. Peter sighed, deciding to ask him straight. "Mr. Stark... what's the hole?"

Mr. Stark's head snapped up so quickly, Peter thought he broke his neck. The pupils widened in those brown irises and his mouth dropped in stunned reaction. Then, his eyes narrowed, a fury growing behind that cool mask.

"Where did you hear that?"

The intensity of Mr. Stark persona and sharp tone caused Peter to scoot away. "Nowhere."

The man didn't believe him. "Who?" he demanded, pushing off the desk and towering over Peter. Like Maddicks did earlier, making Peter feel small. "Who told you?"

"No one!" Peter's voice cracked a bit in fright. His spider-sense tingling in warning that the man before him was on a verge of rage. "No one… I just heard it from, um... around."

Mr. Stark's lips pressed into a thin, taut line of frustration. His knuckles had gone white from his own intensity. Turning away from the workbench, the man scrunched his mouth, grumbling to himself. He drew his hand down his hardened jawline, none too pleased.

"What is it?" Peter asked, hoping to get a better understanding of what the 'hole' was and why it scared everyone. "What's the hole? Why is everyone afraid of it?"

"Forget it," Mr. Stark ordered in a clipped, dismissive tone. Almost hoping the conversation would be swept away by his command alone. "It's nothing to worry about."

"But everyone seems afr—"

"I said don't worry about it," Mr. Stark snapped, still enraged. "It has nothing to do with you. Don't worry about it."

Unless he was bad. Unless they thought he was too troublesome to rein in and then dumped him in the hole forever.

"But if I do something wrong or—"

"Nope. Zip it. Done talking," Mr. Stark shook his head, refusing to listen. "Got it?"

He waited for Peter to agree to his terms.

Peter didn't. "Why won't anyone tell me?" he asked, resentful of being kept in the dark. "What's the big deal? Is it a prison? Like a special jail for people like me—"

"I said we're done."

"—Is it underground? Is that why it's called the hole—"

"Stop."

"—how many are in there? Are they all bad or did they just not want to—"

Mr. Stark slammed his fist right down on the workbench. A single crack cut through the air, and all went quiet under its power. Peter tensed up, eyes on the knuckled fist for a moment before he trailed up the arm and to Mr. Stark's firm glare. The sheer anger shining through those dark orbs made Peter want to scrunch into a ball.

"Enough!" Mr. Stark seethed through his clenched jaw. "Done! No more talking about it. No more asking questions about it. Don't even think about it. Got it?"

Peter's words were trapped in his throat.

He nodded instead.

That wasn't good enough for Mr. Stark. The man grabbed Peter's arms, squeezing so tight that Peter swore a bruise was forming underneath the man's iron grip. Mr. Stark bent his head down, close enough that Peter could not look at anything else, but the man's livid gaze.

"Answer me!" Mr. Stark growled, demanding a response from him.

It was hard, but Peter choked out a reply. "Y-Yes, sir."

Mr. Stark didn't look satisfied, but he let Peter go and moved back to his area on the workbench. His shoulders were tense and his fingers raptured against the workbench as he pondered briefly while Peter remained frozen stiff in his stool.

Peter didn't know what to do. He wanted to apologize, ask for forgiveness, but before he could, Mr. Stark spoke up.

"You know what? I'll finish up here," Mr. Stark collected the hard drive he gave to Peter at the beginning of their time. "You can go."

Peter blinked, surprised by the sudden dismissal. And hurt too. "Um, Mr. Stark, I'm sorry if I—"

"No. No, no, no, and no," Mr. Stark said, not even looking at him. "It's obvious you can't focus at the moment. It'll be a quick job for me to do this. Don't need you here. Dum-E? Show Mr. Parker to the elevator."

And Dum-E rolled right up to Peter, picking at his shirt to get him to follow. Peter looked at Mr. Stark, trying to catch the man's eyes, but to no avail. So, he slipped off his stool.

"I'm sorry," Peter muttered, before he walked from the workbench to the elevator doors.

Mr. Stark said nothing more. Didn't even bother to say goodbye. He put on his safety goggles and picked up the blowtorch again, working away while Peter, dishearten, stepped into the elevator alone.

Peter hadn't returned to the workshop in days.

The first few days after the incident, Peter tried to come up with ways to apologize to Mr. Stark. He wrote out several apology letters, but his words felt fake. Peter didn't know what he was truly apologizing for. Was he sorry for bringing up the hole? No. Was he sorry he angered Mr. Stark? A little, but as Peter thought over it, he grew angrier.

Shouldn't he be receiving an apology? All he did was ask a question everyone else already knew the answer to. Yet, Mr. Stark acted like he made a personal insult against the man's mother. Their persistence to keep Peter ignorant on the matter was an affront to his intelligence. If anything, it only made Peter's interest on the matter more intense and pursue an answer.

He lounged on the bed after a long day at school, clueing information together to figure out what the mysterious hole was, when a knock ruptured at his door.

Peter stilled.

He lifted his eyes to the door. Was someone at his door?

Another round of knocking answered his question. But… who knocked? No one ever knocked at his door. They all entered whether he granted them permission or not. They barged right into his space, not caring to invade his privacy. So, it surprised Peter to hear someone knocking.

Peter hid the laptop underneath the pillow and slid off the mattress. His spidey-senses weren't going off. Perhaps it was Nellie? Checking in on him after his seclusion to his room.

Peter swallowed a big breath. "Who is it?"

"It's me, kid, " came a muffled voice behind the door. "Tony."

Peter's brows furrowed in great confusion before it melted into pure anxiety. Mr. Stark only came to Peter to take him somewhere else. Somewhere he's never been to. And, suddenly the hole became a lot more real than imaginary.

Maddicks was wrong. Peter got in trouble and now, Mr. Stark came to send him straight to the hole.

It took him moment to gather his bearings before he answered the door. If that was to be, what could Peter do to stop it?

Peter got to the door and opened it. Mr. Stark stood right outside, as expected. He was not as formally dress as normal when outside the workshop. He had on dark jeans and a faded rock band long-sleeve shirt. His hair was scraggly and face weary with the heavy bags underneath his eyes. The man looked like he hadn't slept in days.

The normally, dandy man appeared in duress. Something Peter never imagined to be possible.

Peter's guts twisted. Something not good to make the man look less than put-together.

Mr. Stark's shoulders sagged as he breathed out. "Can I come in?"

Did it matter? Peter stepped aside to grant the man entrance. Mr. Stark sauntered in, as normal, but with less arrogance than normal. He glanced around, looking for a place to sit and only finding the bed.

"Can I?" Mr. Stark pointed to the bed, asking to sit.

Peter nodded, but didn't move away from the door. He made that his position. Close to the exit to make a quick getaway if necessary. It was a good distance too. Kept him safe from Mr. Stark if the man decided to take action. Although, the man hardly looked strong enough to fire a bolt.

Mr. Stark sat on the bed, drawing out another exhausted sigh. He said nothing and Peter's muscles got tenser. Shouldn't something be said? Was Mr. Stark waiting on him to say something? To apologize? That had to be it, right?

Peter's hands wrangled together, fingers twisted painfully as the silence lingered. Why wasn't Mr. Stark saying anything?

Probably because he was waiting on him. Great.

"Um… I'm sorry."

Peter's words floated between them, echoing on and on. He winced at hearing his apology.

Even Mr. Stark heard the lameness in his apology. "Why do you keep saying that?"

Peter shrugged, uncomfortable. "I don't know."

"Don't keep saying it then," Mr. Stark advised, not at all harsh or strict. "Or else it won't mean anything."

"Okay."

Silence fell again. This wasn't good. At all.

Mr. Stark stroked his jawline. "I, um, wanted to talk to you about what happened the other day."

Peter slowly nodded, gaze downward as to avoid Mr. Stark's stare. This was it. Mr. Stark was going to reveal his final decision.

"What transpired up in the workshop… it's not," Mr. Stark stopped for a moment, lips rolled in consideration. "It's not all right. With what happened up there."

Peter's heart hammered harder in his chest. His breathing labored. This was it. No apology would change the man's mind. He already made his decision.

Peter drew in an unsteady breath. Keep cool. Don't break down. "What happens to me now?" he asked, his voice barely held together. "Do I, um… will I be sent to the hole now?"

"What?" Mr. Stark's forehead wrinkled in deep grooves, incredulous by Peter's words. "No, no, no—you're not…" He got up from the bed. "You're not going anywhere, Peter."

"I'm not?"

"No," Mr. Stark reaffirmed and he took a breath, bracing himself. "I shouldn't have yelled at you. I know that and I don't…" He sighed deeply, rubbing the side of his face as if to keep himself focused. "You're like me. When you're curious, you gotta know. Gotta know everything."

Mr. Stark inhaled through his nose. "So—I'm going to lay it all out. Right now," he said to Peter, but there was some hesitation. Almost like he didn't want to talk about it. "The hole is a… super-max prison for criminally enhanced individuals.

"Individuals who are deemed dangerous to society and need to be, uh, contained for the safety of others," Mr. Stark went on. "It's a system that was put into place when the Accords were created and it works. Well, so far it works. Keeps those intent on hurting people away from the public. But… yeah. That's what the hole is. A prison for—"

"People like me," Peter finished, a coldness seeping right through his pores and into his bloodstream.

Mr. Stark sharply shook his head. "No—not for people like you," he corrected him. "You're not like those criminals. You're the complete opposite."

"I'm enhanced though," Peter reminded Mr. Stark, not that the man needed reminding. He was sure Mr. Stark was quite aware of his status. "If I step one toe out of line—"

"You still wouldn't be going to the hole."

Peter's eyebrows bunched close. "Why not?"

"Because you're a kid," Mr. Stark answered without any preamble. "If a normal kid robs a store, he's sent to juvie. Not a super-max prison. Kids don't get trialed as adults."

"Sometimes they do."

"Not you."

Mr. Stark was definite in his response as if his word was spoken by a judge himself, declaring it into law. Peter dug his nail further into his cubicles that it stung in soreness. It didn't make sense though to him. Why would a super-max prison be some sort of intricate secret? Why did everyone deliberating kept that information from him?

"So—it's a prison," Peter muttered out. "If that's all it is, why was everyone being cryptic about it? Why did you get so angry at me for even asking about it?"

Mr. Stark looked guilty, flickering his eyes downward for a split second as he regained composure. "That was my fault. I got... overwhelmed and angry and those two combinations aren't good," he admitted, begrudgingly. "I didn't want to get you scared on this idea of a super-max prison. Didn't want you to worry your little head of yours. Thought I was doing the right thing, but I guess now, it was kind of stupid."

Peter seconded that statement. "Yeah, I'm fifteen. Not six," he told Mr. Stark. "I know what a prison is. It doesn't scare me."

Mr. Stark merely shrugged. "How am I supposed to know? I don't work with kids every day nor am I exactly a father," he pointed out. "I just thought the concept might freak you out. Didn't want that, so I told everyone to not talk about it to you. Gone a bit overboard, but… I was worried. Concerned how it would affect you and… I didn't want that.

"Although, my plan seemed to fail," Mr. Stark sullenly commented. "You heard about it anyway."

Peter nodded. It was hard not to hear about it when his character was being charged. "Yeah, I did because everyone blames me for sending others to the hole."

"What?"

Peter crossed his arms, recalling Maddicks accusations. "What happened to Lester and Jack-O?"

"Who?"

Mr. Stark's expression was of bemusement, like Peter had spoken nonsense to the man like an idiot. So, Peter spoke slowly. "Bullseye and Jack-O," he said again. "What happened to them?"

Still baffled, Mr. Stark shrugged. "I don't know," he confessed. "How should I know? I don't even know who they are. They sound like comic book names."

"They were members of Shadow Company," Peter said. "And now, I'm being blamed for their disappearance."

"Who's blaming you?"

Peter shook his head. "Doesn't matter who! No one trusts me. No one likes me and… I've become this pariah because you sent off two people to the hole."

Mr. Stark paused, trying to recall a moment in his past that revolved what Peter said. But the man's face never eased up. No dawning remembrance. "I'm at a lost kid," he said. "What are you talking about?"

Peter explained to Mr. Stark about the incident, describing both Lester and Jack-O in hopes it would trigger Mr. Stark's memory. It wasn't until Peter mentioned Bishop that a light of recognition reveled in Mr. Stark.

"Oh—right," Mr. Stark snapped. "Bishop did mention something that happened to you in the library, but I didn't dealt out the punishment, contrary to popular belief. Bishop asked me about it, but I told him to pick the appropriate penalty." Mr. Stark raised his hand sup innocently. "So—I had nothing to do with it and neither do you."

Peter peered, eyes arched in question. "Really?"

Mr. Stark nodded. "Yeah," he assured him. "You're not responsible for other people's actions, Peter. They did the bad thing and they have to face the consequences. What those two did—if I remember Bishop's story correctly—they threatened to take your eye out."

Peter nodded and he felt a ghostly impression of a pencil underneath his eye.

"That shit doesn't fly here because it's at the Compound," Mr. Stark said. "Laws are the same. You threaten violence to someone, you're going to receive legal action. They brought it on themselves and you were just the victim. Don't let all those jealous bastards get you to think otherwise."

Peter shifted his feet, feeling a little better. Mr. Stark was right. He didn't ask to have his eye nearly being taken out and he tried to tell Lester what he wanted. They ignored him and favored to make him blind.

Still, he doubted it was over any sort of jealousy. "I wouldn't say they're jealous," he said to Mr. Stark.

"I would," Mr. Stark countered. "Why else would they try to make your life miserable? You're living in a Compound full of fragile ego superheroes. Of course they'll take offense that some skinny kid walks in and makes them look like fools. Not all, but the majority would. They know that you're good. They know you're better than them and that can tick a person off."

The man was right. Perhaps Peter stepped on too many toes. "I don't mean to cause problems, Mr. Stark—"

"I know," Mr. Stark said. "It's just how it is. I wouldn't drown myself in those worries though. You're a good kid. You don't need to be making friends with anyone of those fragile egos. And, if you need to get away from them, come up to the workshop. Hide out there."

Peter's eyes widened. "Wait… I still have the internship?"

Mr. Stark chuckled, amused. "Of course you do," he said. "I mean… if you still want it. I know Rhodey told you I am a hard man to work with and the other days incident didn't really sell me well, but yeah… I would still like to have you on board."

"So… you're not mad at me?"

Mr. Stark shook his head. "No, I'm not," he paused. "Are you mad at me?"

If asked earlier, Peter's answer would be a strong affirmative. But now, with Mr. Stark confessions, Peter felt his anger ebb off him, replaced with understanding and acceptance. Maybe it wasn't the right way to react, but the man sounded apologetic. And he certainly looked torn up about his behavior.

Mr. Stark noted the silence and spoke again. "Because if you are, I get it," he said. "I was being an ass and I should have known better to not yell at you. But, I really do believe in you, Peter. I really think you're going to do something amazing with your life and I want to help you get there. Scout's honor."

The man held up a symbol of sort that Peter didn't recognize. Must revolve around that whole scout's honor. Peter pressed his lips together to form a soft smile. It was a relief to him that he was not going to the hole. Better yet, Mr. Stark wanted to keep him around, still allowing Peter the chance to come back to intern with him.

Peter wanted to keep working with Mr. Stark, to learn more and tinker with machinery. Mr. Stark was going to be working with nanotech and Peter wanted a chance to see it in action.

"Yeah, yeah, I still want to be your intern," Peter said to Mr. Stark. "Thank you! I just didn't know because I was some time that I heard anything from you until now and I didn't think you even wanted me again."

"That's my fault again," Mr. Stark confided to Peter. "After that incident, I had to take a break to, um, well, emotionally re-charge. Had a few talks with others and figure a few things out. You know—that sort of thing.

"Anyway—it got me thinking about something," Mr. Stark continued on. "Something I believe you would like, so I've busied myself these last few days trying to get it set up." He dug his hand into his pocket. "Wanted to give you something to make-up for my poor behavior up in the workshop."

Mr. Stark pulled out a phone-like gadget, tapping it against his hands. "It's against protocol," he informed Peter. "If Ross or the UN finds out… there's going to be hell."

His cryptic words made Peter intrigued. "What is it?"

"A way for you to call your aunt."

Peter's heart seized up. "What?"

"Yep," Mr. Stark nodded, cradling the phone in his hand. "I managed to track down the one and only May Parker's phone number. Configured it here on the phone to keep the ears and eyes of the UN distracted. That way, you can call your aunt and talk for a few minutes without the UN listening in on you.

"Unfortunately, it's only a one-time thing," Mr. Stark sighed, sounding just as disappointed as Peter. "Multiple signals would get the UN curious and then they'll start breathing down my neck and take you away. Can't have that, so… I got you this one shot."

Mr. Stark passed the phone onto Peter. Peter stepped away from his position at the door and moved to stand in front of Mr. Stark. The man sympathetically stared at him as he took the phone delicately, not wanting it to break in his freakishly strong grip. Right there on the screen was his aunt's number, ready to be dialed. It's been so long since he talked to his aunt. He had so much to say to her and wanted to hear her voice again, even if it was through tears and anger. He wanted to hear her and tell her how much he missed her and loved her.

A slither of a smile peaked on Mr. Stark's face. "Go ahead, kid," he said. "Make the call and do it quick."

Peter hit the call button.

He put it to his ear.

It rang.