Peter ambled down the stairs in the dark, yawning as he went. He'd woken up on time today, before his alarm went off. But it looked like his dads were a bit behind schedule. He flipped on the lights.
"Mmmmph," said Pops, who rolled over on the couch. He was tangled in blankets and sleeping with his legs draped over the back of the couch.
"Uh, Pops?" Peter asked.
"Hunh?" asked Pops. He blinked a couple of times then looked around. "Peter?" He righted himself quickly. "Peter! What time is it? Did you miss school?"
"Relax, Pops, it's only 6:30," said Peter.
"Oh," Pops replied. He threw off the blanket, got up, and stretched. "Well I better get started on breakfast, then. What do you want today, pancakes?"
"Yeah, pancakes would be good. Thanks Pops," Peter said. Pops ruffled Peter's hair as he made his way into the kitchen. Peter sat down on the couch and grabbed his notebook, which he'd forgotten on the coffee table the night before—but his comic wasn't the first picture he came across. This drawing mirrored the last panel on the page before, but instead of Captain America, Iron Man, and the Iron Avenger, it was a drawing of Pops with his arm around Dad, and each of them with a hand on Peter's shoulders as he stood in front of them. They were all smiling, and Peter could see the globe featured every year at Stark Expo behind them. Peter smiled softly at the drawing. Pops must have done it before he went to sleep—he was an incredible artist. Peter put his notebook into his backpack before heading into the kitchen to help his Pops with breakfast.
"So, what are you up to today, squirt?" his Pops asked him as he stirred some batter.
"Oh, uh, I think I'm just going to head to the library after school. I wanted to do some research on small-scale genetic engineering. You know, bacteria and that sort of thing," Peter lied. Really, he was going to make his way over to Oscorp and explain the mistake that had been made, but Pops didn't need to know that.
"Oh. Sounds complicated," Pops said. He poured some batter on the griddle, forming a perfect circle. Peter never understood how he managed that—his own pancakes tended to be much more blob-shaped. Peter opened up the fridge and got out a pack of bacon. He put a pan on the stovetop and turned on the gas. "Are you planning your science fair entry already this year?"
"Uh, something like that," Peter said. More like undoing the damage from the last one. Peter put some bacon in the pan. He noticed Pops staring at him. "What?"
"Are you entering that Young Scientist contest?" Pops asked.
"What?" Peter asked. "No, no, Pops, it's not that at all—"
"Because I think you should," Pops said. He flipped the pancake. It was a perfect golden brown color. Peter just blinked at his Pops.
"You think I should? Why? It would make Dad so angry," Peter said, puzzled.
"This isn't about your Dad, Peter," Pops said seriously, his blue eyes still looking intently at his son. "You might want to flip that bacon over, son." Peter nearly jumped when he realized the bacon was starting to burn. He flipped it over, ripping two pieces in half in the process. He turned back to his Pops, who now had six perfect pancakes on the griddle. "Look, Peter. Neither your Dad nor I are self-made men. Your Dad inherited his company. I was given my strength. We both know that it's ten times as hard to prove yourself when everything you are isn't your own." Pops put the pancakes onto a plate and added more batter to the griddle. "If you want to be a self-made man, Peter, if you want to prove yourself with a contest, I think you should go for it. But your Dad and I will be proud of you no matter what you choose."
"Thanks, Pops. But I'm not entering the contest," Peter said. That, at least, wasn't a lie.
"Whatever makes you happy, Peter," Pops said. Peter scooped the bacon onto a plate and took the food to the table. "We know you'd steamroll those other kids."
"Pops," Peter groaned. Pops just chuckled. He put another six pancakes on the plate and then joined Peter at the table. Peter heard the gentle thump of feet on the stairs, and seconds later his dad appeared in just sweatpants and a wife-beater. The arc reactor keeping him alive glowed bright blue through the fabric. He stretched and yawned.
"Well you two have been working hard for such an ungodly hour," Dad said.
"Tony, it's seven in the morning," Pops said. He got up and grabbed a couple of mugs from the cabinet. Tony plopped in a chair at the kitchen table.
"Exactly," he said. He took a fork and put two big pancakes onto Peter's plate before grabbing a couple for himself. Steve set down a mug of coffee in front of Tony. They shared a look—it was a look that Peter knew well. It meant that all was forgiven—on both sides—and that nothing more would be said about it. Tony took the mug. Peter took a bite of his pancakes. "So. What's the plan for today?"
"You're going to work," Steve said. "Peter's going to school, and then the library for a bit. And I'm—I don't know. Cleaning the house and checking in at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters to check the status on the—" He looked at Peter, then back to Tony. "—the situation." Tony nodded.
"So what are you really doing Peter?" Dad asked. Peter nearly choked on his pancakes.
"W-what?" he asked.
"What is it? A party? With alcohol and half naked girls? Drugs? Is Uncle Bruce giving you his ganja?" Tony said.
"Uncle Bruce does weed?" Peter asked.
"No, your Dad just likes to pretend that he does," Pops said, an amused grin on his face. Tony took a big bite of pancake and then swallowed.
"I mean the library—really? What kind of kid did we raise, Steve?" Tony asked. Steve chuckled and shook his head.
"A good one, the last time I checked," he said. Tony shook his head.
"I knew signing him up for the boy scouts was a bad idea. But you just looked so cute in that tight little scout leader uniform—"
"Oh God, ok slowly going into territory that will destroy my sanity and my childhood at the same time, dads," Peter said quickly.
"Then what are you still doing here? Don't you have a bus to catch?" Tony asked. Peter looked at his watch. 7:30. Crap. He shoveled the last bit of pancake into his mouth and ran to the living room to pick up his backpack and camera.
"Have a good day, son!" his dads said at the same time, just as Peter ran out the front door.
"Bye!" Peter called back.
Amazingly, he was just in time for the bus that morning, and the ride was relatively uneventful. He walked down the hall at school and got to his locker. He put away his books and got out what he needed for English class.
"—I swear I didn't say anything!" Peter looked across the hall. Flash had cornered Mark Thompson, one of the geekiest, wimpiest seniors at Midtown High. He might have been even worse of a nerd than Peter.
"Yeah? Then how did Mr. Kaplan know I didn't write it?" Flash asked, furious.
"Maybe because you're so stupid it was obvious that Mark's writing wasn't yours," Peter said loudly, shutting his locker door. A couple of kids in the hall 'oooh'ed. Peter swallowed as Flash turned around slowly.
"What did you just say, Parker?" he asked in an undertone.
"You heard me," Peter said, sounding braver than he felt. Flash moved away from Mark, who ran as soon as he saw the opportunity. He started towards Peter who, this time, was at least smart enough to back himself towards the open hall rather than the wall of lockers.
"I always knew you were a faggot, Parker, but I didn't know you'd get off on me beating you up," Flash said savagely.
"What can I say?" Peter asked dryly. "I just can't resist a philistine with a penchant for picking on the weak." Flash screwed up his face real funny, and Peter smirked. "Oh, sorry, philistine's probably too big for you, isn't it? It means fucking moron." Flash took a swing, but Peter ducked—Flash didn't catch him until the next swing, which caught Peter on the jaw and sent him staggering backwards, his teeth clanging together painfully.
"You are so dead, Parker," Flash said. Peter put up his fists. Flash laughed. "What are you gonna do with those, fag? Break them on my abs? Go ahead, I'll give you a free punch." He splayed his arms wide. "Come and get me, Parker." It was probably foolish, but Peter took the bait. He threw a punch right at Flash's stomach—and instantly felt like he must have broken his hand. His entire hand. Peter drew it back in pain, and Flash just laughed at the look on his face. "I don't even need to beat you up, Parker. You're doing just fine on your own." He grabbed Peter by his shoulders and lifted him off the ground, pinning him to the lockers. Peter felt his stomach knot as he had that internal oh shit moment. Flash smiled nastily. "But I'm still going to anyway."
"Mr. Thompson! Mr. Parker! What's going on?" Mr. Kaplan came down the hall, a furious expression on his face. Peter nearly rolled his eyes. What did it look like was going on? Flash put Peter down and took his hands off him.
"Nothing, sir," said Flash. "Just chatting."
"Yeah, just chatting, I'm sure. Did you chat yesterday, too? Is that why Mr. Parker has a black eye this morning?" Mr. Kaplan asked, folding his arms.
"I don't know how Parker messed up his eye," Flash said easily.
"Parker?" Mr. Kaplan asked. Peter shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't a snitch.
"I fell. On a doorknob. It's a long story," Peter said. Mr. Kaplan frowned.
"Get to class. Both of you," he said. As Peter passed, he pulled him aside. "You know, Parker, I can't help you if you won't help yourself."
"I can deal with my own problems," Peter said. Mr. Kaplan shook his head.
"You don't have to play the hero, Parker. There's no shame in asking for help," Mr. Kaplan said. Peter bristled.
"Thanks, Mr. Kaplan, but really, I'm fine," Peter said briskly. He walked past Mr. Kaplan and took his seat in English class, which was, once again, right behind Gwen Stacy. She turned as he sat down.
"Are you ok, Peter?" she asked. "I saw Flash going after you and got Mr. Kaplan. He didn't hit you again, did he?"
"You got Mr. Kaplan?" Peter asked. He'd thought for sure it was Mark.
"I wasn't going to let him beat you up in the middle of the hallway," Gwen said, sounding scandalized. Peter gave a small smile.
"Thanks, Gwen," he said. Gwen smiled back.
"You're welcome," she said. The bell rang and she turned back around. Mr. Kaplan shut the door and started his lecture. Peter pulled out his notebook and started to draw his comic again. Just an ordinary Wednesday morning.
Peter glanced at his phone, double-checking the address of Oscorp head quarters. It was, unsurprisingly, only a couple of blocks from Stark Industries, but Peter had never bothered to come by the lesser tower. It was impressive, Peter had to admit, with its hexagonal windows and OSCORP written all down the side. But, Peter concluded, it looked rather gloomy and industrial compared to the light and airy Stark Industries building.
Peter made his way through the revolving doors and into the lobby. Everything seemed to be made of marble. Peter walked over to the welcome desk. A pretty brunette with her hair in a slick bun typed away at a computer. She didn't look up as Peter approached. Peter cleared his throat, but still no reaction.
"Uh, excuse me," Peter said. The woman blinked and then looked up slowly, disdainfully. "Yeah, hi, my name is Peter Parker and I was hoping I could talk to someone about the Young Scientist competition—"
"We have fliers over there," the woman said shortly and then looked back at her screen.
"No, see, I was entered—"
"We do not take complaints or questions about losing projects. It's in the terms of service," the woman said and then leveled a glare at him.
"No, see, that's the thing, I didn't lose. But I need to talk to whomever's in charge of the contest because—"
"That would be Mr. Osborn himself," the woman sighed. "He judges every Young Scientist competition. What's your name?"
"Peter. Peter Parker," Peter said. "But there's been a mistake—"
"I can get you an appointment with Mr. Osborn in…July," the woman replied. Peter blinked.
"July?" he asked. "But—"
"That's the best I can do, Mr. Parker," the woman said curtly.
"No, but you don't understand—there's an exhibition next week, and I'm supposed to RSVP—"
"Weren't you given a number to perform that action?" the woman asked.
"Yes, but—"
"I suggest you take your problems through the proper channels, young man," the woman said, and then she turned back to her computer.
"But—" Peter's protest was shot down with a hostile glare. Peter closed his lips.
What now? Peter thought, looking around. He slowly edged over to the floor directory on the wall. Executive Offices was listed as being on the forty-fifth floor, the top floor. Peter glanced surreptitiously at the brunette. She wasn't watching him. There wasn't anyone else in the lobby. Peter jabbed the elevator button. The elevator dinged and opened. The brunette looked up in alarm, and Peter ducked inside.
"Hey!" she called out, getting up from the desk. Peter pressed the close doors button before punching in 45. "HEY!" The woman appeared just as the doors had a crack left. Peter smiled and waved as the doors shut before the enraged woman could stick a hand through. The elevator sped upwards, going uninterrupted all the way to the 45th floor. It opened out onto another lobby. This time a blonde sat at an oak desk, chatting either to herself or to someone via Bluetooth. Peter couldn't tell, but he guessed it was the latter. She pressed the small device on her ear, giving Peter a funny look.
"Can I help you?" she asked.
"I need to see Mr. Osborn. It's about the Young Scientist contest—my name is Peter Parker, and I'm the winner this year, but—" Peter started, but he was again interrupted.
"Do you have an appointment?"
"Well, no, but I just found out yesterday, and here's the thing, I didn't—"
"I can't get you in to see Mr. Osborn if you don't have an appointment, Mr. Parker," the blonde said with a bit of a frown.
"Look, I know, I get it, but the thing is—"
"Why don't I make an appointment for you?" she asked. She typed a few things on her computer. "How does July sound?"
"No, see, July is way too late, there's this exhibition next week—" Peter tried to explain, but just then a door opened, and a bunch of men began to exit, laughing.
"And that, gentlemen, is what Oscorp calls assisted negotiation," spoke a man in a very nice suit. The men all laughed again.
"I like your style, Norman," spoke another man—a General, Peter thought, going by the decorations on his uniform. The General clapped the man in the nice suit on the shoulder. "We'll call with our offer."
"I look forward to it," said the other man, Norman Osborn Peter assumed. Peter stepped aside as the General and a few other military types left out the elevator. Peter saw his opening and took it.
"Mr. Osborn! Sir! I need to speak with you!" Peter said quickly. Mr. Osborn looked at Peter curiously, just noticing his presence.
"You don't have an appointment!" the blonde said shrilly.
"It's ok, Rhonda, let the boy speak. What's your name, young man?" Mr. Osborn asked.
"Peter Parker, sir, I'm the winner of your—"
"My young scientist competition, yes I know—you made that brilliant cell generation enhancement serum," Mr. Osborn said with a smile. He took Peter's hand and shook it. "It's good to meet you in person, and good to see you're quite the enterprising young man! What can I do for you today, Mr. Parker?"
"Well, see, the thing is, yes, that's my serum, but I never entered the Young Scientist contest—that was my entry to my school's science fair last year, and the principal entered me in this contest. But the thing is, my Dad kind of—uh, well, let's just say he isn't Oscorp's biggest fan and he would kill me if he knew I'd entered this contest, so, I'm really sorry Mr. Osborn, but you should just pick another winner," Peter said all in one breath, afraid someone would interrupt him yet again. Mr. Osborn frowned.
"Oh, I see," he said. "What a shame—Peter, do you have a minute?" Peter blinked.
"Um, yeah, I guess," he said. His pops wouldn't expect him home until six or seven, and it was only four-thirty. Mr. Osborn put his arm around Peter's shoulder.
"Rhonda, clear my schedule for the next half hour at least," he said.
"But, sir—"
"Just do it, Rhonda," Mr. Osborn said. "Come take a walk with me, Peter." Mr. Osborn steered him back into the elevator, which they took down to the fourth floor. The doors opened and, had Peter not been well acquainted with his father's labs at Stark Industries, he would have gasped. The lab was huge and it was filled with researchers in white lab coats.
"This, Peter, is where all of the research and development of Oscorp is carried out," Mr. Osborn said. He led Peter through the floor, pointing out various experiments and accomplishments as he went. Peter felt a bit guilty—could this count as corporate espionage?—but mostly he was excited. His Dad still made weapons, sure, but their main business was in green energy and other green technology. It was fun to see all of Oscorp's military designs.
"…and over here is where we've kept your little project, Peter, until we're ready to display it next week," continued Mr. Osborn. Indeed, Peter could see the tri-fold that explained his experiment, and the sample of the serum in a glass phial. "Very impressive, Mr. Parker. We've housed it here with our other biological experiments—Doctor Connors was particularly interested in your work. He's looking to develop large scale cellular regeneration, and he thinks the formula for your serum might help with his research. Shall we go say hello?" Peter nodded, and he followed Mr. Osborn down a hall and into another room. This room was lined with glass cages. The sound of hissing from all the lizards and snakes and other critters made the hair on the back of Peter's neck stand on end. He could see plenty of small cages containing insects as well—the tarantulas and other spiders gave Peter the 'heebie jeebies' as his pops might say. At the back of the room sat a man looking into a microscope, and beside him, writing notes on a clipboard was a girl, presumably his assistant. She was blonde and—
"Gwen?" Peter blurted out in surprise. Gwen looked up, startled.
"Peter?" she asked. Doctor Connors looked up.
"Mr. Osborn," he said.
"Doctor Connors!" Mr. Osborn replied. "Well, now we're all introduced! Doctor Connors, this is Peter Parker, our winner of the Young Scientist award."
"Parker?" he asked. "Oh, yes, the cell generation serum—brilliant work, young man. I don't get half as much innovation from most of my grad students," Doctor Connors said with a grin. He held his hand out and Peter shook it.
"Nice to meet you, sir," Peter said.
"Pleasure's all mine," Dr. Connors said. "I'd love to sit down and chat with you sometime about your research—I'm working on limb regeneration at the moment." He laughed and tapped his left shoulder, which, Peter was startled to notice, had no arm attached. "I've got selfish reasons for that, obviously."
"I'd love to work with you some time, Doctor Connors," Peter said earnestly.
"Great! Maybe I can have you and Gwen working as a team, eh?" Dr. Connors said.
"That sounds like a wonderful idea, Doctor Connors," Mr. Osborn said. "Now, I'm afraid I need to get back to the office now, but I'll leave you in Doctor Connors' capable hands, Peter." He clapped Peter on the shoulder and met his eyes. "I really hope you'll rethink your decision." Mr. Osborn got out a business card and slipped it into peter's jacket pocket. "Give me a call if you do."
"Sure, Mr. Osborn. Thank you, sir," Peter said. Mr. Osborn nodded and then walked out the door. Peter turned to Gwen. "So what are you doing here, Gwen?"
"I've got a voluntary internship here for the next couple of weeks," Gwen said.
"Gwen has been an enormous help already. Indispensable—if you're not careful, young lady, I might end up hiring you on," Dr. Connors joked. "So, Parker, what do you think so far of our little operation here at Oscorp?"
"It's…pretty fantastic," Peter admitted. He approached a glass cage containing some sort of yellow and black salamander. "So for limb regeneration you're researching the way salamanders re-grow their appendages?"
"That's right," Doctor Connors said. "Hopefully, one of these little guys will hold the key to helping millions of amputees the world over." Gwen followed beside him as he inspected all the different lizards and salamanders.
"So cool," Peter breathed. Gwen grinned.
"I completely agree. Doctor Connors' research is just—fascinating," Gwen said. Peter smiled at her.
"I didn't know you had a thing for science," he said. Gwen shrugged.
"You never asked," she said simply. Peter felt his heart skip again as she looked at him.
"Uh—no, no I guess I didn't," he said, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Why hadn't he combed his hair again before he left school? And, oh, God, was this shirt even clean?
"Well, I really need to be getting back to my research," said an amused Dr. Connors from behind them. They turned around. "But, I'm sure if you wanted to have more of a look around, Gwen would be happy to show you, right Gwen?"
"Of course!" Gwen said.
"Uh, sure, sounds great," Peter said. "Thank you, Dr. Connors." Dr. Connors settled back down at his microscope.
"No problem, Mr. Parker. I hope to see you around again soon," he said. With that, Gwen took his hand—Peter was suddenly glad that he didn't blush easily.
"Come on—they're prepping one of the best new inventions in the place for the exhibit next week over this way," Gwen said, tugging him out of the room and back into the main research area. Gwen guided him past puzzled workers and giant equipment to an enclosed area near the back of the facility. A few scientists were gathered around, futzing with all sorts of switches and dials.
"What is this thing?" Peter asked Gwen. In the enclosure what looked like several large laser guns all aimed at a central point in the air.
"I'm not sure what they call it," Gwen explained, "but they think they've unlocked the way to affect and change existing DNA—you know, so you could replace defective chains in a living person." Peter blinked.
"No way," he said. He looked closely at all the different instruments. "That can't be possible. What are they using?"
"I don't know—it's some big secret," Gwen said. "But one of the guys told me it can affect change at the atomic level." Peter was skeptical. Not even his dad had ever managed something like that, and his dad was a genius.
"Hey! You kids! We're about to fire this up—step back," shouted one of the lab assistants. He threw them two pairs of goggles. "And put those on if you're going to stand around." Peter pulled the goggles over his head as Gwen did the same. They took a few steps back.
"All clear?" shouted a researcher.
"Clear!" called back the lab assistant.
"Starting at 20% capacity," the researcher called back, and then he pushed down a lever. The guns lit up in a bright white light, all focusing in the center. Peter could see that they had a phial of something in the middle, though he didn't know what.
"Increasing capacity to 50%," shouted the researcher. Peter had to admit that it looked similar to the process involved when his dad made new vibranium for arc reactor cores. "Increasing to 80%!" The light grew brighter, and the equipment hummed loudly. The phial in the middle began to shine. "90%!" It was pretty incredible to behold, really. Peter could feel the vibrations in the floor and through his whole body. But there was something swinging just above the light—what was that? Whatever it was it was getting swung pretty violently. Peter stepped forward, closer to the device—it was a spider, he thought, and there was no way it could hold onto that string of web for much longer—and it was directly in the path of the lasers!
Peter had no love for spiders, but he had no idea how this project might react to a life form getting thrown into it. He stepped even closer, opening his mouth to tell them to shut it down—
"Hey—"
"100%!" The light shone even brighter, and the vibrations nearly shook the whole building. The web snapped and the spider fell through the lasers—right onto Peter's hand.
"Gah!" Peter shouted. He flung his hand to get the little devil off, but it bit him before it went flying. "Ow."
"Peter! What's going on?" Gwen asked.
"Ok, and power down, folks," yelled the researcher. The device shut off and someone went to fetch the phial.
"Uh, nothing," Peter said. "Just a bug got on me."
"Oh," Gwen said. "It probably got out of Dr. Connor's lab."
"Yeah, probably," Peter agreed, examining the rather prominent bite on the back of his hand.
"Oh, that looks painful," Gwen said sympathetically. "I think we've got first aid around here somewhere."
"Uh, that's all right Gwen, I'm sure it'll be fine," Peter said. "I should really be getting home—my dad's expecting me." Truthfully, Pops probably wouldn't worry until nine or ten—Peter regularly stayed pretty late at the library. But suddenly he wasn't feeling too well.
"Oh, ok," Gwen said. She smiled. "It was nice seeing you, Peter. Make sure you clean up that bite—and you could probably do with some ice for that eye while you're at it." Peter laughed.
"Yeah, ok. Thanks for the tour, Gwen," Peter said. He headed towards the elevator, his stomach doing somersaults—and not the good kind. He stumbled out of Oscorp, breathing much more heavily than normal.
"Ok, this isn't good," Peter muttered to himself. Could he even make it to Brooklyn? Even with the subway, Peter felt he might end up passing out before he got there. He looked down the street. There was only one option—he'd have to walk to Stark Industries.
Peter had never seen his dad's company from a conventional view. He was always taking back doors from the underground garage, or flying into the helipad on top of the building. No one at the company knew of Peter's existence, for his own safety. But as Peter struggled to walk to the building, he wished that someone did—because what was he going to say when he got there?
"Just two more blocks, Pete," Peter muttered to himself. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead. There was no way that this was normal—what was it? Radiation sickness? Fucking Oscorp.
After what felt like an age, Peter finally saw the great Stark Industries building come into view Peter staggered towards it. He could feel the eyes of people on the street following him, but he didn't care. His vision was starting to get fuzzy. Peter shoved open a glass door to the building, relieved to be inside. Unlike Oscorp, the floor was hardwood, and the walls were all painted calming shades of light blue. There were potted plants arranged throughout the lobby and plenty of seating areas. Peter's first instinct was just to fall asleep on one of the leather couches, but even with his mind addled he knew that security would just throw him out. He walked to the front counter and leaned on it heavily.
"Can I…help you?" asked the man behind the counter.
"I…" Peter was finding it difficult to speak, difficult to stand, difficult to—anything. "I…need to see Tony Stark. Right now."
"Um, all right sir. Do you have an appointment?" asked the man. Peter groaned—enough with this appointment crap already! "Are you all right sir? Would you like me to call someone for you?"
"Yeah, my dad," Peter said, unthinking. "No. Wait. Tony Stark. I need to see him…immediately."
"Sir, are you in need of medical attention?" asked the man behind the desk.
"Just get my dad!" Peter nearly shouted. His knees started to buckle, and he was glad he was leaning on the counter.
"Look, kid, I'm going to call an ambulance," said the man, picking up the fancy black phone and pressing a button.
"No, no, no, just get my dad," Peter moaned. His head was swimming, his stomach was revolting, and his blood felt like it was boiling. "No, no, wait, tell Tony Stark Peter Parker is in the lobby, please. Please just…Peter Parker is in the lobby, that's all.
"Peter?" Peter would have turned around, but he wasn't capable of it. But he recognized that voice—it belonged to Uncle Clint. He felt Uncle Clint grab him under his arms and hold him up. "Peter, are you ok? What's going on?" Peter's head lolled back and he could see Uncle Clint looking at him in horror. He was dressed strangely—he was in a tux.
"Clint? Peter?" Another voice was added to the mix, and though Peter couldn't see anymore he knew it was his Aunt Tasha—he forgot that her day job was actually working for Stark Industries. Wait, why couldn't he see? Had he closed his eyes? He couldn't remember closing his eyes. Then again, he couldn't remember much of anything. Where was he again?
"Clint, go put him on the couch—Peter, can you hear me?" Peter felt himself floating through the air, and then he landed on something soft.
"Mmm," was all Peter could manage.
"What happened?" Clint asked, but Peter couldn't tell who he was asking, and at any rate he couldn't answer.
"I don't know, he just walked in like that," replied a panicked voice—the man at the counter, Peter thought. But the counter to what?
Stark Industries! Right! Peter opened his eyes—his vision was blurred, like he'd taken out his contacts. Light shone brightly above him—so brightly, so painfully that he closed his eyes again with a soft moan.
"—go get Tony down here now."
"—needs an ambulance—"
"—Tony—"
"—call Steve—"
The voices were too muffled and were speaking too quickly for Peter to understand. He felt like he was floating far above the clouds and everyone else was still on earth, too far away to hear, and eventually Peter floated right off into unconsciousness.
Peter yawned. What time was it? He opened his eyes and shifted to look at his alarm clock—he was surprised to see his dad sitting in the corner of his room, reading something on a clear tablet.
"Dad?" Peter asked. His dad put down the tablet and was instantly at his side.
"Peter!" he said. "How are you feeling?"
"I feel fine," Peter said. "What—" He was going to ask what his dad was doing in his room, but suddenly his memory came flooding back and he paused.
"What happened after you passed out?" Dad asked for clarification.
"Yeah," Peter said.
"Well, I came down to the lobby in a panic, and you'd scared your Uncle Clint and Aunt Tasha half to death, not to mention my receptionist. I'm pretty sure you ruined their date, Peter—Aunt Tasha and Uncle Clint's date, that is," Dad said. "We took you to the hospital, but by the time we got there, they said you were fine. Nothing wrong with you that they could tell. Told us to take you home and just let you get some sleep. You woke up a couple of times in between getting to the hospital and leaving the hospital, but I doubt you remember—you were pretty out of it."
"No, I don't remember anything," Peter said.
"Do you remember what happened? Why were you at HQ, Peter?" Dad asked. Peter thought—and then he remembered. And then he lied.
"Well, I was at the library, and when I finished I decided to take a walk in the park—a bug bit me and then I started feeling weird. After a couple of minutes I realized I wouldn't make it back home, but HQ wasn't far away so I just tried to make it there," Peter said. It was close enough to the truth, right?
"So maybe it was an allergic reaction," his dad said. He pulled Peter suddenly into a hug. "Ok, no more nature walks for you. And I'm going to get you a prescription for Epipens from now on."
"Daaaad," Peter groaned at his dad's over-protectiveness. Tony took Peter's face in his hands, looking him right in the eyes, eyes that exactly mirrored his own.
"I thought I was going to lose you Peter," Tony said seriously. "Never. Again. Never." This time Peter pulled his dad into a hug, feeling suddenly quite guilty—guilty for not telling the truth, and guilty for making his dad worry himself sick. Eventually Tony pulled away. "I need to tell your pops you're awake. Oh, and Aunt Tasha and Uncle Clint—they were too concerned to leave until they knew you were better—they're downstairs." Peter felt doubly guilty. "I'm glad you're ok, son."
"Me too," Peter said. His dad disappeared out the door. Barely a minute later his pops barreled into his room and wrapped Peter in a hug so tight Peter could barely breathe.
"Don't you dare," said Pops, "ever scare us like that again." Peter chuckled.
"I'll do my best to avoid all insects and arachnids in the future," he replied. Pops ruffled his hair.
"You better," he said. Aunt Tasha came in through the door, followed by Uncle Clint. Uncle Clint was still dressed in his tux, and Aunt Tasha was in a ruby red backless gown. Presumably she also had heels, but she was walking barefoot through the Stark-Rogers-Parker house.
"Oh, I ruined a really nice date, didn't I?" Peter asked apologetically.
"Hey, don't worry about it champ," Uncle Clint said. "You're more important than a date."
"We're just glad you're fine, Peter," Aunt Tasha agreed. "We'll get going now, we just wanted to make sure you'd be ok." They each gave Peter a quick hug before saying goodbye to Steve and leaving.
"So, kiddo, what movie do you want to watch? It's already one in the afternoon—no point in sending you to school, and I'm not letting you get out of this bed, anyway," Pops said.
"Well, what've we got?" Peter asked. Pops started to cycle through the DVDs they owned, but by the time Tony came back upstairs they'd already moved on to Netflix, turning on the latest Star Trek movie. Steve made popcorn, Tony made a running commentary through the entire film about similar technologies Stark Industries was working on, and Peter made sure that neither of his dads fussed over him too much.
Peter, of the three, was the least successful in his venture.
At night, the tiny family all fell asleep together on Peter's bed, a superman movie still running in the background. And Peter was sure that his life had returned to normal—well, as normal as it ever was.
How very wrong he was indeed.