Peter didn't go to dinner. He skipped out, opting to eat in the cafeteria with all the others. And by others, he means alone at his table. Everyone else sat around him, gawking and whispering. It was like that wherever he went. People stared. People whispered. It was all they did. Peter hated it. Wanted them to stop. Peter ate quickly and got out, ignoring the trail of hushed gossip following after him.

He found solace in his bedroom. Now that it was equipped with things to entertain his boredom, he didn't feel the need to venture out to the library. He could hole up in his room, reading the books Mr. Stark purchased for him. But, even that felt like a punch in the gut.

Peter hadn't spoken to Mr. Stark since the incident in the workshop. In fact, Peter did his best to avoid Mr. Stark whenever possible. If he thought the man may be in a certain area, he avoided it. It seemed childish, but Peter couldn't bear to see the man's disappointing face.

But, Peter didn't think it was just him either. Mr. Stark hadn't sought him out. Never attempted to make contact. Perhaps, he too was avoiding. Funny, wasn't it? Both of them doing their best to tip-toe around each other. Avoid conflict.

How messed up was that?

Peter got back to his room, sighing out in relief to be alone. He fell back on the twin bed, rolling to his side. It's only been two days since he blew up Mr. Stark's workshop. Two days since his suspension. And he was bored out of his mind!

He missed the workshop. He missed tinkering on engines, drones and parts of the arc reactor that revolved around clean, renewable energy. He missed DUM-E. He missed going up to the penthouse. He missed working with Mr. Stark on the cars. He missed listening to Pepper. He missed Col. Rhodes telling him MIT and army stories. He missed Happy and his grumpy attitude. He missed... the normalcy of it all.

He missed home.

But Mr. Stark was mad at him. Mr. Stark even acknowledged that Pepper would be mad at him too. For doing something "stupid". So, he was outcast. Can't go up. Only be stuck at the bottom. Be holed up in his room until Mr. Reynolds or Nellie came to get him, drag him off to another round of drills or for a medical check-up.

He stayed in his bed, curled up with a hand underneath his pillow. With no internship and no connection, the best he could do to pass the time until another round of drills was to take a nap. Make himself drift into slumber and out of his turmoil, and into peace.

A knock woke him up from his drifting slumber. He picked his head up the pillow, groggily looking at the closed door.

Another knock.

Not part of his dream. He sat up, rubbing away the last reminiscences of sleep. Was it Mr. Stark? "Who is it?" Peter called.

"It's Rhodey, Peter," came the familiar voice of Col. Rhodes. "Could you open the door?"

Peter stiffened. Did Mr. Stark tell him? "Um… if I don't want to?"

He heard a soft chuckle from behind the door. "It's Rhodey, Peter," Col. Rhodes said. "Not Tony. You don't have to open the door."

It heartened Peter to know he could count on Col. Rhodes to not barge into his room. Most adults had no qualms opening his room and hauling him out. At least Col. Rhodes respected his privacy.

He also knew that he shouldn't turn Col. Rhodes away. The man did nothing. He didn't deserve the silent treatment.

Peter walked up to the door and unlocked it. Col. Rhodes stood in the hallway and smiled when he saw Peter. "Hey—do you have time to talk?"

There was no one else in the hallway with Col. Rhodes. Just him. Peter scrunched his face in thought, wondering if Mr. Stark sent Col. Rhodes as a messenger.

Despite the knotting feelings in his gut, Peter nodded and let Col. Rhodes into his room. The colonel examined the room, noting all the new items that now graced his bedroom. Peter used the distraction to take his seat on the desk chair, acting like he was finishing up homework rather than wallowing on the bed.

"What can I do for you, Col. Rhodes?" Peter asked.

"Rhodey," Col. Rhodes rectified. "You're not in the military. No need for formal titles."

"Rhodey," Peter tested, but he found it weird. The same amount of weird it felt calling Miss Potts, Pepper. He wasn't used to addressing adults by their first name. "O-kay… what can I do for you?"

Col. Rhodes gestured to the bed. "May I sit?"

Peter nodded and Col. Rhodes took a seat at the edge of his twin bed. Once seated, Col. Rhodes went straight to the point. "So… missed you at dinner the other night."

Oh. That.

"I was... busy," Peter picked up a pencil from his desk, nonchalantly tapping it against his opened schoolbook.

Col. Rhodes flickered down to the desk with Peter's schoolwork splayed out. "Like you are now?"

Peter stopped the tapping. Col. Rhodes was far smarter or more observant than Mr. Stark credited him. But, Peter kept up the charade, refusing to back-down. "Um, yeah. Got a lot of... papers… I mean reading. To do."

Col. Rhodes slowly nodded, but again, not fooled. He tilted his head, eyes fixed on Peter with a knowing look.

Peter extinguished, shoulders dropping. "Mr. Stark told you what happened."

"Tony didn't tell me anything. He's been locked up in his workshop for a few days now. Hasn't come out," Col. Rhodes claimed. "Then you not showing up to dinner... I can put two-and-two together. "

Peter sucked in his stomach, eyeing the colonel. The man was far smarter than Mr. Stark credited him.

"Figured something went down if Tony locked himself up in the workshop and you—skittering around corners and missing dinner," Col. Rhodes observed, gesturing to him and then the room. "Avoiding people in general."

"I'm not avoiding—" Peter meekly started, but Col. Rhodes stopped him instantly.

"Don't do that," Col. Rhodes ordered and Peter closed his lips. "I know avoidance. Tony does it all the time." He took a big breath, rubbing palms together before letting them fall open. "I get it. Tony has a, well… a temper. Hot-headed sometimes. Stark trait. His father had it and so does Tones. It can be alarming and scary. Faced a few in my time.

"So, I came by to see if you were doing okay," Col. Rhodes finished in one exhaust, a sympathetic gaze on the boy. "You okay?"

An easy question to ask and a hard question to answer. The answer had too many layers. Too complex for a single word, and yet, it would be answered in one. It always was when anyone asked Peter how he was. The truth was, Peter had to be. It was easier if he was. For everyone.

"Fine," Peter swirled chair away from Col. Rhodes. He looked down at his schoolbook, reading line after line about the Seven Years War between England and France. "I'm fine. Just catching up on schoolwork. All the internship work got me falling behind a bit. So... I'm fine. Really. Wasn't hurt or anything."

"Uh-huh," murmured Col. Rhodes, still inquisitive as ever. Then again, maybe Peter wasn't a good liar. His aunt always seemed to know the truth just by looking at him. "You know... I meant it when I said you could talk to me whenever Tony becomes an asshole. It's what I'm here for most of the time, anyway."

Peter snorted lightly at the image of Col. Rhodes' main job being to help traumatized individuals after Tony had a chat with them. Not that he was traumatized. Peter wasn't. If anything, he was angry at the belittling and lack of support. What was wrong with trying to be better?

The chair Peter sat on rotated until he directly faced Col. Rhodes. The man's hand on the back of the chair's seat as he pulled Peter closer. No more avoidance.

"Wanna tell me what happened?" Col. Rhodes offered. "I'm a good listener."

Peter considered it. He hadn't talked to anyone about what occurred. If he told Col. Rhodes the whole story, the man would side with him and confront Mr. Stark on his behalf. Peter desperately needed support and Col. Rhodes was offering to be it.

He relayed to Col. Rhodes the full story of what occurred a few days ago up in the workshop. He explained his reasoning for constructing a suit, for replicating Mr. Stark's repulsor rays and dismissed the accident as a minor incident. Nothing he couldn't handle. He went on describing Mr. Stark's overreaction and suspension, calling it unreasonable and unfair.

"So, yeah," Peter rambled to a finish, "He kicked me out. I'm not allowed back. He basically banished me."

Col. Rhodes was quiet through the entire narrative, only make a few winces like when Peter mentioned his crash-landing or Mr. Stark shouting at him. Otherwise, his expression remained neutral as he listened and analyzed the story.

"I'm sure it's not permanent," Col. Rhodes said to comfort. "You'll be back working on nanites or something in no time."

Peter didn't believe so. "He hates me."

"Tony? No—no, he doesn't hate you."

Peter disagreed. "He hates me because I messed up. Because I broke his workshop," he sulked, mouth in a tight pout. "He won't even consider letting me have a suit—"

"That doesn't mean he hates you," Col. Rhodes deterred, dismissing the notion as ridiculous. "It only means he thinks you're not ready yet. And he's right. You could have killed yourself pulling a stunt like that. And with DUM-E as back-up? Come on."

"I was fine! I have super healing, remember?"

"Can't heal you if your dead," Col. Rhodes reminded him, looking a bit stressed now as he rubbed his hands over his face. "You're not ready to be donning a suit, kid."

"I am ready!" Peter was maddened! He was stronger than ever. Faster than before. And bigger too. He grew some muscles, not exactly as buff as Captain America or Thor, but enough to know he wasn't puny.

"No you're not," Col. Rhodes shook his head. "Not even close."

"Why not?" Peter hotly demanded. "I defeated all those stupid drones and sentinels! I broke every course record here and—"

"No one is doubting you strength, Peter," Col. Rhodes said. "You are strong. You have the talent, but that doesn't make you an Avenger."

Peter's eyebrows furrowed in disagreement. He huffed, shaking his head and muttering how ridiculous it all was. Avengers were special people. They had powers no one else had. They are stronger. Faster. Better. How was he not an Avenger?

Col. Rhodes blew out a heavy sigh at the sight of Peter's disregard. "Did you know that Tony wasn't supposed to be an Avenger?"

"What?"

"Yeah," Col. Rhodes nodded, much to Peter's disbelief. "He didn't pass any of the requirements."

Peter stared, gob-smacked. How could Iron Man not be an Avenger? He was basically their leader. Or, used to be. Still is? "W-What... no—"

"It's true. Ask Tony about it," Col. Rhodes countered Peter's refusals. "He was rejected for the initiative due to compulsive behavior, self-destructive tendencies and narcissism. Can't play well with others. I mean, I can keep going..."

"But... he's Iron Man!"

"So?"

"What do you mean 'so'?" Peter said, shocked by Col. Rhodes offhand attitude about it. "Without him there would be no Avengers. Or... or New York! He stopped the bomb! He saved everyone—"

"True. He did save countless lives that day," Col. Rhodes agreed as he bobbed his head along, "but he wasn't recruited as an Avenger. He was a consultant. Hired to help them understand the tesseract and its properties. Everything in-between is confidential, but Tones told me he realized something that day."

Peter waited for Col. Rhodes to continue.

The colonel rested his elbows upon his knees and leaned forward, garnering Peter's attention. "Not everything is about one's capabilities," he said. "It's about responsibility. Power or rank doesn't mean anything if you can't take responsibility of the actions."

A voice called in the back of Peter's mind. A low hum of remembrance…

"Tony learned the hard way," Col. Rhodes continued. "A hero isn't about strength. It's about choices. Tony's made careless mistakes. Reckless ones too. But in the end, he learned that being a hero was about making the tough decisions. Not the power from his armor."

Peter stayed silent, thinking back to all the interview and publicity stunts Mr. Stark made over the years. The billionaire playboy turned hero. The idea seemed so far-fetched that the media never stopped reporting it. Still don't. Tony Stark was not someone anyone would label hero.

And many newscasters didn't. They only say a narcissistic person, who built an armor suit to use it as a means for his purposes only. Not for the country. Not for the world.

That was until New York happened. When Iron Man caught the nuclear bomb and shoved it into outer space, saving everyone.

He went from Iron Man to Avenger that day. He became a hero on the same day he learned that his choices mattered to the world.

Col. Rhodes took in Peter's silence as stunned realization. "I know it's hard to be sidelined when you have all this power at your fingertips, but Tony isn't doing it because he thinks you're not capable," he said. "It's because he doesn't want you to be making those choices yet.

"You're a kid. His kid," the colonel emphasized, holding Peter's shoulder in one hand to get Peter's attention. "Tony's a mechanic. He can fix whatever you broke in his workshop. What he can't fix is you." Col. Rhodes poked a finger on Peter's chest. "He can't build another you. And isn't that a mechanic's worst fear?"

To be unable to fix the damaged already done, Peter thought. He knew that feeling well enough. A faint memory pecked at him. The knots in his stomach twisted. Tighter and tighter. Flashes of something he desperately wanted to be pushed away reappeared.

Wasn't it odd how grief resembled fear?

Peter roped his arms around his body. "Yeah," he murmured, barely above a whisper. "I can understand that."

Col. Rhodes gave a firm nod. "Good, because you have a lot of life ahead of you, kid. Plenty of years to be a superhero and save the world," he remarked as he squeezed Peter's shoulder affectionately. "And don't worry about Tony. He'll come around. Right now as we speak, Pepper is berating him."

Peter's brows rose up. "Really?"

"Really," Col. Rhodes acknowledged with a smirk. "I wasn't the only one who missed you these past couple of days, kid. Trust me, Pepper probably already has Tony crying in the corner."

A chuckle erupted from Peter, surprising both himself and Col. Rhodes. He couldn't help it though. He found it funny to picture Pepper Potts scolding Mr. Stark.

"And he smiles!" Col. Rhodes announced, patting Peter's arm. "There you go. See? We got your back."

That sentiment warmed Peter's belly. The knots loosened a bit and he slowly relaxed, arms sliding off to his sides. "I missed you guys too, you know," he said. "Gets kind of boring around here."

"Well, if you want, I have time to spare. You wanna head up to the gym?" Col. Rhodes offered. "I'll show you some tricks that I doubt Reynolds taught you."

Sounded better than staying locked in his room. Peter nodded, jumping up from the chair to tie on his shoes. Col. Rhodes waited and when they were about to leave, the colonel stopped him.

"What about your homework?"

Peter shrugged. "Oh—I can do that in my sleep," he brushed it aside. "It's nothing."

Col. Rhodes rolled his eyes up, but Peter caught the little smile splitting his face in a humored exasperation. "Good god you remind me of him."

Peter didn't ask to clarify. Already, he walking five steps ahead of the man, eager to get out of the residential wing. "Race you to the top!"

Before Col. Rhodes could swiftly refuse, Peter already sprinted to the elevators.

Still no show with Mr. Stark.

The famed mechanic still kept himself locked in his workshop, refusing to come out for anything or anyone. Peter wondered what he could possibly be doing in there and wished he had the option to sneak a peek, but he knew it was best he kept his distance. Col. Rhodes and Pepper both said to Peter that no one was angry with him, or hated him. Including Mr. Stark.

"Tony has something on his mind," Pepper said one day during their internship meet-up. "And he can't stop until he gets it from his mind into something physical. But, I talked to him. He knows."

Knows what? Peter's isolation? Peter's hurt feelings? Pepper and Col. Rhodes being against him? Peter couldn't say. He may not be able to get back in the workshop, but Pepper has taken him under her wing. She let him review board minutes and explained the stock market's relationship with the company.

Happy came back into his life as well. After all, he still had his duties to instruct Peter in boxing and driving to fulfill. Peter had fun, but got overexcited at being back in the ring that he forgot to ease up his strength. He broke the punching bag.

Unfortunately, Happy had no interest in continuing the driving lessons. He respected his neck far too much to get it broken by a kid learning to drive. Peter's cheeks burned and rolled in his lower lip, embarrassed by his poor driving skills. Peter tried to argue that he needed the practice to get better, but Happy refused in a heartbeat and told him to practice on "other things".

No amount of begging or bargaining got Peter behind the steering wheel. Happy refused and with Pepper back to the city for a work conference, that left Peter stepping back in with his old team. With great reluctance, Peter dragged his feet to the afternoon practice he wished to avoid. Mr. Reynolds and his teammates were already there, having one-on-one fighting matches with each other. Peter was about a half-hour late, but he didn't care. No one else did either. They were used to him showing up whenever.

"Glad you could join us, Parker," Mr. Reynolds said to him. "Get yourself warm-up. You're up next."

Peter did his stretches, getting his muscles loosen as he watched Scarlet Fever and Lady Deathstrike go after one another. When they finished, Peter walked to the edge of the mat, ready to step up to the plate.

Mr. Reynolds called out Jack's name.

But Jack returned, "I just came off," he complained, face red and shiny with new sweat. "I already did two rounds back-to-back!"

Mr. Reynolds grunted and looked down his sheet. A frown set in, deep and drawn to the edge of his chin.

Peter's gut twisted in dread anticipation. He did not like the feeling crawling in his skin.

A long, regrettable sigh fell from Mr. Reynolds' lips. "Powers," he grunted. "You're up."

Powers! Not him. Peter groaned inwardly as Powers hopped up to the mat, a wicked grin splitting his face. Peter looked back at Mr. Reynolds for any relief, but the man simply gave him an apologetic shrug and a gentle push to the mat.

"You'll be okay," Mr. Reynolds consoled Peter with an oath of protection. "I'm watching."

That didn't stop Powers from torturing him all those other times. Mr. Reynolds was always there, but it never stopped Powers from trying to injure or kill him. Peter's visits to the medical wards were mostly due to Powers' version of 'friendship bonding'.

Peter grudgingly stepped up onto the mat opposite of Powers.

He wished Happy took him driving.

They faced each other at the center. Powers kept that wicked smile, his delirious eyes right on Peter that his stomach flipped uncomfortably. Why was he looking at him like that?

As they positioned themselves, Powers whispered. "You brought your toys?"

Peter's fingers curled toward his wrist. His fingertips brushed against the cool web-shooters, hovering right over the button. His spider-sense tingled, the hairs sticking up along his arm to the back of his neck. His finger kept itching to touch the button. Shoot him now. Shoot him.

Peter restrained the urge, waiting for Mr. Reynolds to give the go-ahead. Mr. Reynolds waved and issued them to start.

Powers' eyes glittered. "Because I brought mine!"

Something spherical dropped from Powers' sleeves and into his opened palm. Peter's spider-sense urged him to jump, but Powers already clicked on the ball. A puff of gas sprayed right into Peter's face.

Oh god! His face was on fire! Nostrils burned. Eyes stinging and vision a swirl of madness. Peter slammed his eyes shut, but all his five senses screamed in agony. He was too afraid to open his eyes again. Afraid of what the unknown substance Powers used on him. All he knew was that he burned and he needed to clear it.

All those hours spent in the chemistry lab at Midtown, Peter knew the drill.

Vision gone, Peter relied on his memory and the remaining, but whacked out senses to get him to the showers as fast as possible. He bolted, leaving all the screams and shouts ringing in his ears behind him. All of it blurred together. His legs felt hard and then jiggly and then stiff and back to wobbly. It was like the floor moved, shifting all over to keep him unbalanced.

God—what did Powers spray at him?

Peter smacked into something hard. He bounced off, flipping or tumbling or spiraling. Something was wrong. Vertigo overtook him and he did his best to find something to grab, to stop the spinning.

Voices continued. So many voices screaming inside his head and out. Voices of no one he knew. His eardrum went static, ringing over and over, but the voices remained. And a cackling. A loud, shrill cackle that went on and on and on and on…

Every muscle in his body was spazzing, or maybe simply stiff. Or flailing. He didn't know. He couldn't see what was happening to him. His spidey-senses drilled into his head, beating his brain to a flat saucer. God… it hurt. It hurt him so much. This was worse than a migraine. It was worse than when his senses were heightened the first time. This… this made him nauseous to the point he wanted to throw up everything: heart, lungs, liver, stomach, kidney and… everything.

Peter forced himself to stay composed, sealing his mouth to keep the vomit from exploding. With all his strength, he moved. Crawling to be more exact as he palmed his hands against something solid, his legs dragged behind him. One hand out at a time. One hand and then the next. Keep moving. Keep going.

He was near the showers by now. He hoped.

A chilly squall enveloped him. He must have made it to the locker room. Or the showers. He shivered, scaling up in hopes of finding something to help him.

A knob. His fingers slipped on a knob. He haplessly and furiously twisted until something hit him. Like little bullets raining down on him. Water. It must be water.

He threw his face right into the stream, letting the pellets hit his cheeks, chin and eyelids repeatedly. It cooled away the burns, dousing the fire. Steady breaths. Controlled breaths. He made it.

Thinking it was safe, Peter opened his eyes.

Blood. Lots and lots of blood. All of it pouring on him.

Peter shrieked and backed up, only for vertigo to hit him. His feet slipped. Balanced lost and the world rocked him off. He tipped. He thrashed his arms madly, desperately! His hands slid down a smooth surface, unable to hold a grip. His face was shoved up against a thickness that clogged his mouth. He couldn't breathe. Throat closing. Lungs expanding.

Voices grew louder and louder. Ringing too loud in his ears that it made his own mind scream in retaliation. Drown it all out. Keep everything out.

Peter wanted to release the scream. Could he scream? Again, something clogged up his throat and his body felt sticky, but every movement made him feel like he was falling, slipping out of control.

Breathe! Damnit! Breathe!

So many voices. All making nonsense. He wanted his aunt. He wanted Aunt May. Where was Aunt May? Where was she? Why did she disappear?

He buried himself, closing in on himself for safety. Let the blood wash off him. Let him lay still and be forgotten. Let the nightmares pass him. Let it all go away!

A voice among the brutal masses yelled to him. Peter.

His name. That was his name.

Peter!

He shook. Stay tight. Stay close. Let it all pass.

The other voices submitted, smothered by the Voice. Peter.

Peter recognized that voice. It belonged to someone. Someone he knew well.

Hey! Open your eyes for me.

His eyes were open. Weren't they? He saw blood. He saw so much blood. Was he dying?

You're not dying. I got you. You're okay, but I need you to open your eyes.

He shivered and shook and... his eyes were open! He saw his bloody hands. He saw the bloody sidewalk. He saw the bloody-

C'mon, please open your eyes.

As hard as he could, Peter tried. He peeled his heavy eyelids back. The effort alone was tiring. His eyelashes weighed a hundred pounds each, but Peter got them to open. He saw a bright light—a cruel blast that blinded him. But, centered in the middle, staring at him with all the concern of the world, was a face Peter never forgot.

"Uncle Ben?"