As promised, Peter's dull prison morphed into an actual teenager's bedroom. Mr. Stark's interior decorator took notes on Peter's personal interest and style to accommodate his image. It all happened quickly too. Peter returned from schooling to find his room resembling almost his old bedroom. The empty bookcase was stuffed with an array of science-fiction, classics and non-fiction books on the greatest minds in history. His walls were adorned with two posters: a silly Albert Einstein one that Peter didn't particular care about and then another poster, which was a framed, original Star Wars poster. The best part—it was autographed by the three main actors.
"Ned would be so jealous right now," Peter mumbled to himself, wishing he could take a snapshot of it to send to his friend.
Thankfully, Mr. Stark followed up on his promise to not go overboard. Everything was basic and meant to bring a homier vibe to the room. Peter quite liked it. He kind of wished it was his actual bedroom.
The clothes came in on the same day too. His wardrobe tripled in size. He had jeans, shorts, trousers, T-shirts, dress shirts, hoodies, sweaters and even a suit jacket with three silk ties. For what occasion would he need those, Peter didn't know. The ties felt and looked fancy. He put one on, trying to remember what a knotted tie looked like, but soon gave up when all he did was wrinkle it. Another time.
To his surprise, Peter spent most of his days with Mr. Stark. Either in the lab or in general. On weekends, Peter joined Mr. Stark and Miss Potts for family dinners. It became normal for Peter to walk in without an invitation. It was even more normal for him to stay up late with Mr. Stark after dinner to work on the cars in the secret garage. Peter enjoyed getting his clothes and skin stained with oil and grease as he learned the inner-workings on different vehicles. By far, his favorite was the hotrod roadster that Mr. Stark claimed needed more work before being able to drive. Peter thought it was good as it was, but Mr. Stark always found something that needed work.
A few times, Mr. Stark's friends joined them at dinner. Colonel James Rhodes was a normal visitor to the penthouse. He asked Peter how he was getting along and if Mr. Stark treated him well, which Peter wondered why the man kept asking him that. Mr. Stark wondered that as well.
"He's fine, Rhodey," Mr. Stark piped. "Look! See? Young, healthy and still alive."
"Probably because of Pepper's interference," Col. Rhodes quipped in return. The man turned to Peter. "Don't let him drag you around, okay? Has anyone told you his nickname?"
Peter shook his head. He figured Iron Man was the nickname. Or Boss, like FRIDAY calls him. Also, he didn't think anyone would dare give Mr. Stark a nickname.
"It's Mr. Stank," Col. Rhodes said with a fun smile. "Gotta call him that around the—"
"Hey—hey… don't corrupt my kid," Mr. Stark interrupted, pulling Peter away from his friend. "Don't listen to Rhodey. He's ill. Not right in the mind."
Col. Rhodes ignored Mr. Stark and entertained Peter with more embarrassing tales of Mr. Stark's life, particularly when the Mr. Stark was a young student at MIT. Peter couldn't believe half of what happened, but Col. Rhodes insisted it was all true. Mr. Stark denied everything.
Peter also got to know Mr. Stark's shadow or "forehead of security" as Mr. Stark liked to sometimes title his bodyguard/driver/friend. But Happy Hogan only grumbled at the nickname before he pretended not to hear Mr. Stark asking for him to pick up lunch for him.
Peter learned Happy was a former boxer before he became a full-time bodyguard for Mr. Stark. He was recruited by Mr. Stark after he watched Happy lose a match against a younger boxer. Happy didn't want to go into details about that aspect of his life. Despite the lack of friendly demeanor and the constant groans, Happy was willing to teach Peter some boxing moves. Granted—not with him, but with an Everlast punching bag.
Mr. Stark suggested that Peter may learn better with an actual person rather than a punching bag. Happy thought otherwise.
"I'm not going up against a person who could take out Cap," was Happy's comment, but Peter didn't know what he meant by that.
Peter made sure to not go full strength on the bag. At the beginning of his training with Reynolds, he punctured three bags before Reynolds stopped him altogether from using them. Happy taught him the jab and the cross maneuvers, along with keeping his fists raised to protect the sides of his head.
"See here?" Happy tapped to the side of Peter's head. "One punch there and you're out. You want that?"
"No."
"Then fists up!"
Mr. Stark sometimes joined as he also practiced mixed marital arts with Happy. Although Happy hated it when Mr. Stark brought in the martial arts into the boxing ring. He called it 'dirty fighting'. Mr. Stark called it improvisation.
"Gotta learn to fight in any way you can," Mr. Stark instructed as Peter hung outside the ropes, watching him and Happy swap hits. "Your enemies don't fight with honor. They fight to win."
Happy looked to the ceiling in exasperation before he shot a look at Peter to ignore Mr. Stark's pointers.
When not in the boxing ring or faced with a giant punching bag, Peter and Happy were seated right next to each other in a car. Mr. Stark issued driving lessons for him, mortified that Peter didn't know how to drive properly. Peter was stoked. He originally thought he would be test driving one of Mr. Stark's cars, but that hope deflated when he saw Happy with a basic Sedan. He should have known he wouldn't ever get the chance to drive one of Mr. Stark's luxury cars.
Happy's style of teaching was not the same as May's instructions. She was patient and slow, talking softly as she told Peter where to grab the wheel and when to hit the brakes gently. Happy was more volatile. He panicked. A lot. Even when Peter wasn't moving the car at all, Happy was huffing and puffing like his heart was under attack. His instructions were blunt and clipped, pointing rather than saying. It was a difficult first day and Happy swore to Mr. Stark he would not ride with Peter again.
Nonetheless, they got back into the car the next day. Mostly because Mr. Stark said so, despite both of their protests.
"Why can't you teach me?" Peter whined, not wanting to get back in the driver's seat with Happy as his instructor.
"Because I don't let others drive me," Mr. Stark said, pushing Peter toward Happy and the car.
Then what was the point of Happy? Peter thought as he ducked into the driver's seat once again.
Vision floated in and out of Peter's life as well. He always joined Peter whenever he was in the library, fascinated with whatever Peter studied. He engaged and discussed different theories on physics, chemistry and biology. More importantly, Vision was intrigued with Peter's view of the world. The android always found Peter's views fascinating and a tad optimistic, which Vision claimed was a good thing.
"Optimism defines the very future of the world," Vision recited with a hum.
Vision's obsession with the future bewildered Peter, especially Vision's idea of Peter leading it. When he tried to deflect that idea, Vision acted humorous as if Peter told a funny joke. "Children are the future," was all Vision would say to him. It only made Peter's stomach queasy.
Besides those awkward conversations, Peter found Vision quite informative and easy to converse. And Vision always peppered him with questions and analyses on human behavior, wishing to learn more in order to adapt or "grow" as Vision said.
"I had a friend who often taught me such things," Vision told Peter when they were walking the halls. Peter gave him a brief lesson on stereotypes. "She was very kind, but a loner. Like I was upon birth. She helped me understand."
"What happened to her?" Peter queried as he never met the woman Vision fondly spoke of.
Vision's eyes hooded a bit, drawn away almost. "She's gone."
Peter knew the agonizing feeling. The yearning, longing and the suffering were all too familiar for him. He wished it upon no one else—human and android alike. Peter extended his hand, offering friendship to the android. No one should be alone.
Outside the boys' club, Peter had Pepper. She had an uncanny ability to anticipate every need of his. Like when he was composing his literature essay on East of Eden and he felt a twitch of a hunger spike, Pepper came shortly into the room with an orange and granola bar. Or when the AC was blowing so much cold air in the vent that before Peter could ask to raise the thermostat, Pepper came in and draped a blanket over his shoulders. It got Peter to believe she was telepathic, until Pepper laughingly dismissed the notion.
"After being Tony's assistant for so long," Pepper said to him one day, "I learned a thing or two about anticipating another's needs before they even know it."
That made sense in Peter's mind. He imagined being Mr. Stark's assistant wasn't an easy task, especially even before he became Iron Man. Now, she was CEO of the greatest tech company in the world. And, she would sometimes steal Peter away from Mr. Stark ("He's not your personal intern, Tony. He's the company's intern."). She took him under her wing, having him shadow her as she ran Stark Enterprises. Pepper believed it was important for him to see both sides of how a business runs, and not only focused on developing new tech. They spent entire business days in her office. Peter met board members, listened in on conferences and learned how to negotiate, market and even give back to the community through charities, outreach and participation.
"I wish I could actually visit Stark Tower," Peter wishfully commented. "Is it anything like Oscorp, Ms. Potts?"
"Pepper, Peter," she amended on his behalf, "and no. Nothing like Oscorp or Hammer Industries. Stark Industries is one of a kind. I'll check in with Tony to see if we can set up a visit. Although, we'll probably lose you on the R&D floors."
Peter's eyes rounded. "There's more than one floor?!"
Despite the teasing promises to visit Stark Industries and see everything, Peter settled on using Mr. Stark's workshop. At first, Peter was only allowed entry if Mr. Stark was with him, but eventually, Mr. Stark bestowed him with some privileges. Peter was granted access to the workshop without Mr. Stark's presence as long as Mr. Stark approved it. He was only allowed to work on Stark internship projects and nothing else. So, naturally, Peter used that alone time in the workshop to craft his secret suit.
It was late, one afternoon when Peter got permission from Mr. Stark to be alone in the workshop. He finished his afternoon practice with his team, skipping showers all together to race up to the workshop to get started. He pulled out his notebook, flipping through the pages to get him back to the latest design. He had been working diligently on his new suits, taking cues from Mr. Stark's suits and their discussions on different fighting techniques. Peter jotted notes down to incorporate different items into a suit. A suit that would make his old one look like pajamas—or a onesie as Mr. Stark liked to call it.
With this new, high-tech suit, he could become more. Not Spider-boy or Spiderling. No one would mistake him as some minor league vigilante. No one would look at him like a kid. But an actual Avenger. The Amazing Spider-man!
He was certain his creation would impress Mr. Stark, but at the moment, he kept it a secret. No need to show it to Iron Man until it was all finished. Until then, Mr. Stark and everyone else could not know what Peter was building behind their backs.
DUM-E, Peter's partner-in-crime, nudged him a little in greeting. "Oh, hey there, buddy," Peter patted the robot. "Sorry—I don't have a coat on me. You don't have to take my bag. Don't… fine. Take it."
DUM-E whirled as it spun Peter's backpack away, carrying it off to be hung with the rest of Mr. Stark's coats, scarves and whatnots. Peter found his page in the notebook and gathered up the necessary tools. He had his own workshop table, cluttered with miscellaneous items that Peter worked on for Stark Industries or for Mr. Stark. But, he shoved those aside to make room on his newest project—repulsors!
Peter spent countless hours trying to come up with repulsors that wouldn't interfere with his webbing or his ability to stick onto surfaces. He knew repulsors weren't necessary, but he couldn't stop the idea of flying gnawing on his brain. No harm in trying to find a way to incorporate into his suit designs. That was how Peter saw it. He wanted to fly like Iron Man. Joined him up in the blue skies. Maybe even travel around the world. Reach for the stars…
Okay… he was getting carried away. Space was an complete different arena.
Peter studied several different specs of Mr. Stark's repulsors, coming up with the idea of compacting it into a gadget attached to him. Possibly in the soles, but that may make it clunky when he moved. Peter needed his suit to be flexible and light so that it wouldn't hinder his spider abilities. So, he developed it through a singular gadget. Just as a practice run before trying to imbue it with his suit (once he works his way into getting the necessary fabric).
His main concern at the moment was his need to figure out how to harness and control the energy to do what was needed. He already built his mini-version of the repulsor, but the concept to get it to stabilize was what worried Peter. He needed to do a practice run. A test try. And the only place he could do it was in the workshop.
Like any scientist, Peter cleared the area to make room for his trial run. He had to be careful because Mr. Stark believed he was working on his internship duties. And none of those assignments required unstable particles of energy.
DUM-E circled him, whining as he followed Peter around the workshop. It sounded like it was in distress, its robotic arm kept swinging over to the nearest fire extinguisher.
"That's not necessary," Peter told DUM-E. "I'm not going to blow up the place. But if it makes you feel better…"
That was all DUM-E needed to hear before it wheeled over to the fire extinguisher and snatched it up in its claw.
That's encouraging, Peter meekly thought as he latched the repulsor gadget on his hand. DUM-E rolled around him, whining and its robotic claw poised and ready to put out a fire.
"Give me some space, Dum-E," Peter advised. "Don't want you to get hurt."
DUM-E made some disapproving noise. Even FRIDAY spoke up.
"I do not think this is a good idea, Peter," FRIDAY's voice rang out overhead. "Boss would not want you to injure yourself."
"I'll be fine," Peter promised them as he situated himself. "I have it all under control."
DUM-E moved away, giving Peter the space needed to launch his test. He nervously breathed out, looking over at DUM-E, who watched from the sidelines, claw askew. "Wish me luck, buddy."
DUM-E tooted.
Peter breathed deeply. "Okay… okay, let's do this," he muttered to himself as he clicked on the gadget.
It came alive, glowing as a whirling sound came overly vocal.
Careful… careful… Peter repeatedly told himself as he stuck out his hand, watching the gadget turn from white to a bit blue. Peter swore his heart was bursting out of his chest as he braced himself for the flight test.
Just a little nudge, Peter reminded to himself. No need to crash into the ceiling.
He raised his arm a little, projecting a nudge to lift him off his feet and float a little above the floor. At least, that was the objective.
The repulsor ray brightened and the sound turned into a whizzing before an eruption of bursting fire. Peter flew up, far more than he wanted. In his shock, he jerked his hand again. Big mistake.
He felt his body twist, a mass of energy shooting him right into his stomach. He soared across the workshop, crash-landing into one of Mr. Stark's shelving units. He cratered in the middle, knocking the whole unit down as boxes and objected rained down on him. Schematics, diagrams, tools and spare parts all dumped on him, nearly burying him.
The rattling noise grew loud, but went silent real quick.
It took Peter another moment to overcome the shock. He lay there, amongst the heap of mess, as he gasped for breath. It took another frantic second to confirm that he wasn't dead. He was still him, albeit, slightly injured and stunned.
"Whoa… that was scary," Peter muttered and he looked back to his hand. His hand, luckily, wasn't severely injured. Only a minor burn. The gadget, however, was completely busted. Nearly destroyed.
That was disappointing. He must have gotten the wiring wrong. Or overstimulated the device when he accidentally jerked. He undid the gadget from his hand and began to remove all the fallen objects off him, trying to get back up.
As he pulled himself out of the wreckage, a blast of cold substance blew right in his face. Peter jerked back, throwing his hands up to shield himself until the spray ended.
Peter reopened his eyes and found himself covered with AFFF foam. He almost resembled a yeti from all the white froth that outlined his entire body. Peter turned, wiping the foam off his face as he glared at the instigator.
"DUM-E…"
DUM-E was holding the fire extinguisher, tooting happily like he miraculously saved Peter's life. Peter reached for the robot, using DUM-E to help stable himself as he climbed out of the mess. He needed to clear all this up before Mr. Stark finds out.
"What the HELL happened?"
Peter's whole body went rigid. That was Mr. Stark. That was definitely his voice. Definitely the sound of his marching feet coming closer. Definitely his grip on Peter's shoulders before being spun around to face him.
And that was definitely Mr. Stark's angry face. His eyes were dark, face burning and his mouth a taut line of fury. Peter had the sudden urge to make a run for it, but Mr. Stark already captured him in a strong clutch. There was no way he would ever escape this disaster.
Mr. Stark's furrowed eyebrows nearly touched each other as he examined the wreckage of his workshop. "What did you do?" he snapped. "You blew up my workshop!"
"I-I…"
Mr. Stark wasn't listening to him. He stood, seething as he looked over Peter to the wreckage the boy caused. All those parts, tools and diagrams torn and ruined. Ideas lost and possibly thousands—no, millions!—of dollars destroyed. And Peter caused all of it.
"I'm sorry."
Mr. Stark's dark eyes snapped to Peter. "You say that a lot," he grunted, pushing Peter aside to examine the smashed equipment from where Peter collided. "What happened?"
Peter's legs trembled. "I-I was just trying to, um… I was testing out something. It backfired, but I didn't—"
"Testing what?" Mr. Stark demanded. "I don't remember giving you anything that required testing something that would set off a bomb."
"It's wasn't a bomb."
Mr. Stark gestured to the wreckage. "Looks like it to me," he coldly remarked. "What were you doing? What's in your hand?"
Peter dropped his gaze to his hand. He was still holding onto the broken gadget. Before Peter could move it behind his back in a lame attempt to hide it, Mr. Stark wrenched it out of his hands. Mr. Stark raised it up to his face, peering it with an inquisitive examination.
His intelligent eyes darkened. "You were replicating one of my repulsor rays?"
No words uttered from Peter's mouth. He remained in complete terror.
Mr. Stark didn't appreciate the silence. "Answer me, Peter!"
Peter gulped, his throat sore. "I… I… it wasn't—yes."
Mr. Stark frowned, turning back to the destroyed gadget. His fingers brushing up against the charred edges. "Why?"
Peter shrugged.
"That's not an answer!" Mr. Stark reproached, a vein bulging on the side of his neck. "Tell me the truth, Peter. Why did you try to replicate my repulsors?"
Peter's heart was nearly bursting out of chest. He was afraid of Mr. Stark. He didn't think the man would physically hurt or even kill him, but the anger in the man's eyes told Peter he was in serious trouble. Enough trouble to even get his privileges revoked. Or worse, he would be kicked out of Mr. Stark's good graces forever. Be back to his regular routine of being trapped with Mr. Reynolds and his teammates. Mr. Stark may even stop his assistance in getting him back to Aunt May!
Mr. Stark stepped closer to Peter. His eyes locked on him. "Peter…"
"I was trying to be better!"
That burst of an explanation threw Mr. Stark back. The man leaned away, eyebrows shot up in bafflement and mouth agape in complete surprise.
"What?"
Peter berated himself. He shouldn't have said that. "I mean… I just wanted to build something of my own. To use as… as Spider-man."
Mr. Stark's face remained puzzled. His eyes narrowed in thought, trying to connect with everything happening with Peter's words. Then, his mouth went to a straight line. "Well, that was stupid," he snapped. "You could have gotten yourself killed."
"It was a mild misfire," Peter tried to defend himself. "I made a small mistake—"
"You call millions of dollars' worth of damages a small mistake?" Mr. Stark sounded exasperated at Peter's defense. Almost like it wasn't even worth the time to listen. "This isn't a small mistake! And then I come in here and find you in a middle of a disaster zone with DUM-E holding a fire extinguisher! Do you know how that looks?"
"Pretty bad?"
Mr. Stark flippantly huffed. "Yeah, short stuff, pretty bad," he said, still heated as he looked back down at the fallen shelving unit. Peter overheard Mr. Stark grumble to himself. "Give a little and it just shoots you right back in your face."
Guilt weighed heavily on Peter. "I'm sorry—"
"Stop saying that!" Mr. Stark rebuked. "Sorry isn't going to cut it! You nearly got yourself killed! Do you know that?"
"My powers—"
"Doesn't matter!" Mr. Stark shouted over him. "I don't fucking care that you have super-strength or healing powers—none of that would help you if you're dead! And I don't need you dead!"
Peter's whole body was vibrating now. He had never been at the end of Mr. Stark's temper and he suddenly wanted his Aunt May. Or Pepper. She would tell him to cool down. She would defend him. Not that he didn't rightfully deserve the reprimand, but Peter wasn't enjoying the lecture.
Mr. Stark huffed as he snapped his fingers at DUM-E. "Put that away! You're trigger-happy with that thing," he said, and DUM-E mournfully tooted his obedience. Mr. Stark searched through the mess, mumbling about what was broken, salvageable, and trying to put a few of the diagrams and papers back together in the right order.
"This is a right mess," Mr. Stark mumbled again as he climbed out of the collapsed unit. He had several items in his arms as he strode to the workbench to dump it there.
Peter stayed still, wondering if he should be going or not. Did Mr. Stark want him gone? He hadn't said a word to him in a while. Maybe the man forgot about him? Probably best to go.
He only took one step toward the door when Mr. Stark called him out. "Ah-ah, no. You—come here," he ordered, gesturing for Peter to come to the workbench.
Peter dragged himself over, slopping wet from the foam as he stood beside Mr. Stark. It took a maybe a minute for Mr. Stark to speak to him again. "Why Peter?"
Peter askew his face. "Huh?"
Mr. Stark let out a long sigh. "Why are you trying to replicate my suit?" he clarified his question. "Hmm? You want to fly out of here? Trying to build something to beat me?"
"What? No!" Peter was offended, eyes wide in hurt. "No, no, no... I was just trying to be like you! I wanted to… to make my own suit."
That gave Mr. Stark pause. "Your own suit?"
Peter begrudgingly nodded as he took up his notebook. "I've been writing down some ideas."
Mr. Stark swiped his notebook, flipping through the pages where Peter wrote down all his thoughts, ideas and designs for his Spider-man suit. He watched Mr. Stark's hardened face soften a bit, his eyes relaxing in contemplation as he studied each page he looked through in the notebook.
The man came to the last design, looking it over before he raised his studiously gaze to Peter. "How long have you been thinking about this?"
Peter shrugged. "I don't know. Ever since you showed me your Iron Man suits, I guess."
"So nearly a month now," Mr. Stark muttered, more to himself. "And what exactly is the purpose of this suit? Why are you making one?"
Again, Peter shrugged and avoided eye contact.
"Don't retreat on me," directed Mr. Stark. "Talk to me. Why were you building a suit?"
Peter guessed there was no way to avoid it now. Might as well come clean and damn the consequences.
"About a month ago, you told me I had to make a choice for myself," Peter started as Mr. Stark settled an arm on the workbench, leaning in to listen. "Either stay as 'Spider-boy' and save kittens all day or… become 'Spider-man' and do more good for the world."
Peter lifted his gaze, spying Mr. Stark's eyes fluttering in recognition of his own words. "I've been training. I've worked really hard. I took down one of your sentinel drones with one punch just the other day!" he went on, remembering how he punctured a hole right through its metal rib-cage. "I'm no longer 'Spider-boy'. I can do more now. I can help the world! And, so, I wanted a suit that showed that I'm ready.
"That I am Spider-man."
Peter watched Mr. Stark's face shift. The anger he previously held seemed to have leaked out, replaced with a deeper understanding. The man looked tired, worn as if he was too old to be dealing with something he branded as childish, but to Peter, it wasn't. It was his life. He was Spider-man.
Mr. Stark may have been right at the beginning that he wasn't much of a hero. Not in that onesie, but he has improved since then. He noticed the differences. He was much stronger, faster and acutely aware of his entire surroundings. His fighting abilities improved. He didn't rely so much on his webbing anymore. His tactical maneuvers and accurate hits helped him take down many of his teammates, much to their disgruntles. The old Spider-man was gone. Spider-man 2.0 was here.
It took another long moment as Mr. Stark sat himself down on a stool. "Why didn't you tell me this, Pete?" he questioned.
"Because I thought you wouldn't let me."
Mr. Stark ran a hand down his face. "Smart—I wouldn't have let you build a suit," he admitted. "Not without supervision."
Peter perked up. Was he saying… "Are you saying that you would let me build a suit?"
"I'm saying that I would have considered it," Mr. Stark corrected, "But after this incident… I'm not sure you're even ready to have any specialized suit. Or even a mask!"
It was like another punch into his heart. Squashing it under a massive wave of rejection that it stung him enough to want to cry. He didn't, but it hurt. The disappointment etched in Mr. Stark's face was far worse than the anger the man had earlier.
"I trusted you, Peter," Mr. Stark said. "I gave you access to the workshop because I believed you. I thought you were mature enough to handle yourself and to know what not to do. And then you proved me wrong."
"I didn't mean too—"
"I know… I know," Mr. Stark calmly stated as he massaged his temples with his fingers. "Still, you're not ready, Peter. You have ways to go."
Peter's shoulders dropped. His mouth turned downward as he cast his eyes away from Mr. Stark. They were burning, filled with embarrassment and shame.
"I'm sor—"
"Don't!" Mr. Stark said, holding out a single finger. "Don't say it."
Peter closed his mouth, trying to breathe through his nose with great difficulty. He knew he was in trouble. There was no denying it. And with trouble came a load of consequences. Punishments.
Mr. Stark took a deep breath and then dropped a hand on Peter's shoulder. The man's hand squeezed gently. Almost like he was trying to give Peter some reassurance that he wasn't furious with him. Or something akin to it.
"Okay—let's get this over with," Mr. Stark announced, squeezing Peter's shoulder a little more to get the boy's attention. "You're suspended."
"I'm what!?"
"Suspended," Mr. Stark repeated as Peter shook his head against the idea. He couldn't be suspended, but Mr. Stark only countered his shakes with nods. "Yeah, kid, this is a serious offense. Look—you're not fired. You're just not going to be able to come to the workshop for a few weeks."
"But… what about the internship?" Peter enjoyed his internship. He loved working on algorithms, and tinkering with engines and coming up with mechanical designs with Mr. Stark. It made his days at the Compound bearable. More fun and fascinating! He can't imagine not coming up to the workshop. Not only that, if he lost his internship, how could he help his aunt with no income? He needed that money. They needed that money! Mr. Stark had been sending depositing Peter's internship income into his aunt's account and if that stops… how would his aunt pay the bills? Or pay for food? Rent?
It caused Peter to panic. "Please, Mr. Stark!" he pleaded, feeling his eyes wetting. "Please… I need this internship. I can't—"
"You still have it," Mr. Stark reassured him. "You just won't be working with me. Maybe Pepper will take you? But, I'm pretty positive that she's going to be just as furious as I am when she hears what you did today."
"…not unless you don't tell her?" Peter hoped.
Mr. Stark gave him a doubtful look. "Oh, she's going to hear this," he affirmed. "I'm not going to keep this a secret from her."
Peter sighed dejectedly, head bowed to hide his sadness from Mr. Stark. He doubted Mr. Stark wanted to deal with a crying child. It would only make the situation worse.
"I'm sorry," Peter said, again, despite the annoyed look Mr. Stark shot at him. "I guess I'll go."
"Go?" Mr. Stark questioned, shaking his head. "You're not going anywhere until that mess is cleaned up."
Peter looked back at the wreckage he caused. "Seriously?"
"Yeah, kid. Seriously," Mr. Stark said, standing his ground. "You made it, you clean it up. Welcome to the adult world. Now—hop to! You can have DUM-E help since he played a part in it as well."
DUM-E rolled right up next to Peter, chirpier than he had been. At least one of them was excited about it.
Mr. Stark gently pushed Peter toward the mess. "Start sweeping, Cinderella."
It took Peter and DUM-E a few hours to sweep up the entire mess. It was a good thing Peter had super-strength or else it would have taken longer to lift up the broken shelving unit. The center of the shelving unit was busted, dented in from where Peter crashed. Most of the objects too were smashed to bits, but Peter tried his best to get the pieces back together, or at least, boxed together. The documentations was the hard part, trying to get all the pages matched up together. DUM-E helped moved all the boxes to the side as the unit no longer was able to hold very much by mean of storage. Only a few boxes. The rest had to be swept to the side of the workshop.
Mr. Stark never left. He stayed in the workshop, tinkering on a few things here and there. Probably to calm himself down. Like a meditation technique. Or maybe to watch Peter to make sure he didn't screw up even more. Most likely the latter was correct.
When Peter finished, he returned to his workbench to gather his notes. Only, Mr. Stark snapped up his notebook, holding it out of reach. "I'll keep this," he told Peter, "if you don't mind."
Not that it mattered if he did. Mr. Stark wasn't asking for permission. He was taking it. Peter reluctantly surrendered his notebook and retreated out of the workshop, backpack slugged over his shoulder. He was too afraid to ask Mr. Stark for anything. Or even to know if he was still welcomed to dinner tomorrow night as normal. Probably not.
The elevator came and Peter hurried inside. He didn't have to say anything. FRIDAY already knew where to go. As the doors closed, Peter took a quick peak. He watched Mr. Stark stop his tinkering, falling into his stool and dropped his face in his hands. Then the door closed. The elevator moved down.
Peter royally screwed up.