It was just his luck, again, that the moment Peter Parker landed an interview at Stark Industries R&D in the biophysics department for an internship, Spider-Man was needed.
At SI.
Because some Super-Villain Wanna Be had it out for Stark and had chosen that exact day when Peter was there to make a big entrance. While the internship wouldn't pay him a single dime, it was a ticket into a possible job, since SI was looking to hire. The internship was to test the candidates and weed out the wrong ones.
The intruder had been among the hopeful group, revealing himself the moment they had walked out of the elevator and into the presentation room. He was armed to take down a small country and he didn't hesitate to fire at everything that moved.
And there were a lot of people here. A lot of movement.
He wanted Tony Stark, proclaimed it loudly and repeatedly, and he got Iron Man.
Peter had been busy helping panicking people run out of the danger zone, trying not to get hit by falling debris, glass shards flying through the air, or projectiles fired from the weirdo's gun. He relied on his spider sense to evade danger, used the web shooters to pull people quickly from danger, and generally tried to keep a low profile – because he wasn't in costume. What he had was the Deadpool sweater jacket from his backpack and a matching red and black cowl. Not much, but it helped, especially with the dust, and to hide most of his lower face.
The Deadpool merchandize had been Wade's idea. He had ordered a ton of the stuff, handing it out to whoever wasn't fast enough to say no, and Peter had been the recipient of everything from pajamas to t-shirts and jackets.
"Even asked for Deadpool toilet paper," the merc had told him, flourishing. "They said no. Spaceballs had their own toilet paper, but I couldn't get it! Don't get me started on the flame thrower! Why does a movie get flame thrower merchandise and I get told off by some faceless sales rep?"
Peter had consented to the jacket. He drew a line at the underwear.
The hooded jacket now helped conceal his identity to a degree, and the cowl showed only his eyes after he had pulled it over his mouth and nose. It had to do.
He was also on the twentieth floor and one window front was already gone, nothing but empty frames, and the guy was still firing. He grabbed a terrified woman around the waist and flung her toward the staircase, right into the arms of a security guard. She barely had time to scream.
Peter hid behind a row of cabinets as more unfriendly fire hit his general area, but he caught a glimpse of the panicky woman being dragged to safety.
Good.
Then the desk next to him blew up, sending him scrambling for cover. Small fragments tore into his clothes, lodging into his hair or drawing tiny red trails over the exposed skin of his hands.
Iron Man had made an appearance about five minutes ago, trying to contain the threat without getting blasted himself, but it was hard in the confined space. Between him and Wanna Be it was hard to find a safe place, let along get the rest of the people out, though Peter had managed the latter by now. The woman had been the last one.
Peter peeked around his meager cover.
Wanna Be was still blathering on about how he would kill Tony the moment he got his hands on him, his back to Peter, shooting at anything and everything that moved or looked wrong.
Okay. Here's goes.
He aimed the web shooter, again glad he had packed them automatically. The one time he had forgotten them and landed in a situation where Spider-Man would have been able to help had been enough. Peter always carried them with him now.
He fired, lodging the strong web line on the man's back, and pulled.
Wanna Be screamed out in surprise as he fell over, the guns still rattling on, and bullets tore into the ceiling plating. Something inside blew and showered everyone with sparks. More debris rained down everywhere and Peter coughed, running for new cover.
He miscalculated a little.
Just a little.
Wanna Be threw out an arm in his general direction. A blast went off, his spidey senses screaming, and Peter twisted, but the shockwave hit him in the side. It was a grazing hit, but it was a hit nevertheless. The full impact would probably have broken several ribs. The glancing blow would definitely leave him with a huge bruise and possibly cracked ribs.
Peter went flying and instinctively shot out a line as he went through one of the few still unbroken windows, high above the streets. His back took the brunt of the impact, rattling his teeth, and he just knew he would be black and blue all over.
The line took and he felt it pull at his arm, but he swung back toward the building, bumping harder than normal against the window panes. With a wheeze, Peter came to a rest, clinging to the windows with ease.
His ears were ringing. There was a bloody tear in his pants. A rather unsightly burn hole on the sleeve of his hoodie. His back hurt, his arms ached, his shoulder joint was on fire.
Above him was another explosion that rained more glass down on the already cordoned off streets. Emergency response teams were taking care of everything.
And here he was, literally hanging by a thread.
Time to get moving.
Iron Man would take care of Wanna Be.
SD
He made it home unseen. Well, at least he hoped so.
Peter had quickly disappeared into an alley, removed the hoody and stuffed it into his backpack, then limped off, away from the gathering onlookers. His leg was screaming at him, the blood thankfully mostly invisible on the black material.
At home he peeled off the ruined pants, hissing softly. The cut was deep, would need a few stitches, which he hated applying but had to, and he disinfected it.
It hurt like hell.
His ribs felt like someone had used him as a punching ball, his muscles protested every move, and he just knew he would looked rather colorful by tomorrow.
So much for the internship.
Damnit!
He might try reapplying, after things had blown over.
This had been truly a bust.
So, the temp agency would get another call with him asking for work tomorrow. Or the day after. Right now he wanted to sleep for a week and forget about the whole fiasco.
He grabbed his cell, going through his messages, finding one from Deadpool, which was a selfie of him, full gear, holding some kind of half-eaten sandwich in one hand, in front of some ancient temple. Peter had to chuckle.
Wade had taken another job that took him somewhere in South America to an undisclosed location, swearing it wasn't a hit. If someone died, it would be because he had shot first. Or thrown a knife. Or a grenade. Could have been self-inflicted death, too – which meant, the bad guy had shot first and Deadpool had retaliated. Whatever.
Peter understood Deadpool's need to work off some of the tension that couldn't be dealt with fighting petty crime in New York City. The chimera needed to just let go and hit something, preferably bigger and badder than Deadpool, thrilled by and thriving off the challenge. Sure, there had been a few villains hitting the streets, but nothing that really took the edge off.
He had noticed the chimera's restlessness, the way Wade had been on the laptop or listened to messages on his phone more often.
"Job offers?" Peter asked one night, voice casual.
Wade looked almost guilty, like a kid caught with his hands deep in the cookie box. "Uh… kinda?"
Peter tossed a bag of chips at him and Wade caught it easily. "Anything interesting?"
The brown eyes were wide, then Wade looked away. "Kinda? I mean, all of that stuff is interesting. Except for the freebie job someone's trying to wheedle out of me."
"Freebie?"
"Some kind of transporter thing. Not my style." Wade's fingers drummed on the laptop. "The rest is the usual. Not that I'm looking for work," he quickly added.
Peter sat down on the couch, cross-legged, looking at him. "You have free choice, Wade. I'm not asking for you to hang up your katanas."
"You said no killing," he reminded him softly.
"When you're working with me. I'd appreciate it if you didn't take hit jobs or the like, but I'm not your handler and never will be. You're a mercenary. I know what that entails."
The other man blew out a breath. "I don't…" he started, then stopped. "It's not a life I have to live," he finally said. "I want to change. Never lied about that, baby boy. This… is like… porn? You look at the pictures, but you don't want to do it? I mean, I do the sex. With you. Always. I'd never say no. But not the stuff they show sometimes."
Peter twitched a smile at the rambling words. "Gotcha," he only said.
Wade huffed a little laugh. "Only you would. Anyway… I got a reputation and people are looking for me. I weed out the no-go stuff. Like the unaliving. There's other things here, too. I'm good at retrieval, too. If someone ends up dead, and it isn't me, then it's not because I wanted to kill them."
Peter popped a few chips into his mouth, chewing as he mulled it over.
"Go then."
Wade blinked. "Ah-hu? Go? Like in, leave? Vamoose? Take on a job?"
A shrug. "If you need a change in scenery, take a vacation…?"
"Not from you," came the quick reply.
"I hope so."
Deadpool pushed the laptop off and suddenly Peter found himself flat on his back with a lapful of Wade Wilson. The expression in those dark eyes was intense.
"I'm not leaving because of you, Peter. Never because of you. You're everything to me and always will be." A sheen of silver crept into the brown.
Peter cupped the scarred cheek. "I know. I can feel the restlessness, though. You need this. Maybe one day I'll tag along, but for now this is my home. My city to protect."
Wade's smile was soft and gentle, so knowing. "Ours. Still learning here. Takes a while to get it right. I'm not used to… being part of a team."
He smiled back, bright and loving. "We got a lot of time to get you used to it."
The kiss was promising and warm. "Looking forward to it."
SD
Deadpool took the job after a longer phone call, all in Spanish, and Peter didn't ask for details.
SDSDSD
It didn't do anything to the bond. There was no strain due to the distance. There were no echoes from whatever Deadpool was or wasn't doing, though they hadn't experimented with what happened should Deadpool die. Peter's theoretical approach to it was that nothing would happen. The chimera's death wouldn't break the bond, so there would be no ill effect for Peter.
At least someone was having fun, he thought darkly as he let the phone drop.
Oh well…
SDSDSDSDSDSDSDSDSD
The Parker luck wouldn't let him have a breather.
It had been almost a month since the incident at SI and his injuries had healed. There was hardly more than a thin red line left of the cut in his leg.
Peter hadn't reapplied for an internship at SI. He had called only once and been told that the program was currently on hold after the incident.
So he had taken the next best temp job that paid decently enough, and sold more pictures of Spider-Man or any other costumed hero or villain to the Bugle. James had ordered him to keep his eyes on whatever crazy mutant, preter or super hit New York's streets. He was running a separate page on the 'threats' now. The Bugle sold like crazy whenever the Avengers went on a mission, so Peter did his best to tag along.
Never as Spider-Man, just to be sure, but he always wore the costume underneath his clothes.
Just to be ready.
Tonight he was patrolling solo, which wasn't as much fun as sharing those nights with Deadpool. The mission in South America had taken a sour turn and last he had heard of his partner was that he would be back as soon as he was done.
Done with whatever it was that needed doing, since the original mission had gone belly-up for whatever reason.
So he was alone.
No fun.
Running into none other than Iron Man as he watched the docks tonight wasn't fun either. Spider-Man felt a sudden tension run through him, the spider sense buzzing gently, just before Iron Man came into view. He landed gracefully and Spider-Man immediately checked for a quick escape route.
"You are a hard man to track down, Mr. Parker."
Shi-it! Abort, abort, leave, now!
He knew he had a snowball's chance in hell to get out of here in one piece before that fancy suit tracked him down, but Peter was convinced he could disable enough of the armor to at least get a good head start, then go underground and start a full-on freak-out.
Leave New York. Leave the country. Hell, just leave!
"Huh?" was all he said out loud.
Iron Man's helmet retracted completely, the latest design change Tony had made, apparently.
"If I had known Spider-Man was applying for an internship at my company, I wouldn't have dodged the grand speech that had been set up. Welcome to SI, blabla, tomorrow in your hands, the future is yours, yadayaya." He waved a hand. "You know the stuff already."
"I didn't…"
Tony held up the aforementioned hand. "Don't. The cameras were shot, true. There is no witness to you doing what you did. Aside from Iron Man. I saw you, kid. It was easy to add one and one after that, but you were a hard man to find, even with facial recognition software. Took me just over a month, really, which is shoddy, I know, but I wanted to know who had been rescuing people, then was blown out of the window and never went splat. Actually, someone who swung away on web lines not unlike Spider-Man. Just not in a Spider-Man costume."
Peter really, really wanted to run now.
But to what avail?
They knew who he was. They knew where he lived, most likely. Where he worked. And they now knew who the man behind the mask was, the man bonded to the chimera.
"What do you want?" he asked evenly.
"Well, for one I wanted to sate my curiosity about the mysterious assistant I had in taking down Mr. Fawn. That's the guy with a grudge against me, a mile wide, because I cut back on his projects. Disgruntled employee." Tony shrugged. "I'm not here to threaten you, Peter."
"Then why?"
"Like I said, curiosity. The rest of the Avengers don't know about my little discovery and I will keep your secret to myself if you ask me to." Tony suddenly smirked. "But I could get in a good word for the internship. You've got an impressive resume. As Peter Parker, but also as Spider-Man. The only question is, why an internship?"
"You're not hiring," Peter replied neutrally. "I know. I tried. And you know my past employment history."
"Ah, yes. I saw you hopped from one of our sister labs to the next, always booted off after the trial period, which coincided with the end of the project you were hired for. Which is too bad, since you're quite talented." Stark looked thoughtful. "Actually, I'd bet Bruce would love to meet you. You have an impressive resume, kid."
"Never impressed anyone else," Peter commented flatly. "Or I would have been able to hold on to a job."
"Ever thought that you were overqualified? That they were scared that you might demand more money after the trial period?"
Peter blinked. Nope, he hadn't. He knew he had done a good job at each project, had made no mistakes and worked to get everything finished right at or just ahead of the deadline.
Tony nodded to himself. "Thought as much. For a genius, not so bright."
"Now you're quoting Black Widow. Who was talking about you."
He grinned. "Are you looking into a more permanent position?"
"Kinda. Just… I need to be kind of… flexible?" Peter hedged carefully. "Because my… other job really runs at the oddest hours."
Tony chuckled. "Yes, I can see that. Have you ever thought about freelancing for SI's R&D? Work with the teams on projects? Run proposals for your own stuff? Some of your papers have a lot of potential, Peter. Enough to get me interested in further researching into that direction."
"Uh…"
Peter didn't know whether to break in fanboyish glee or step back and examine the offer from all sides, because it was too good to be true.
"Might be an alternative to being constantly broke. Then again, you are bonded to a loaded guy."
Peter felt a flash of anger, eyes sparking. "I'm not depending on Wade's money, Stark!"
The other man chuckled and held up his hands. "Whoa, calm down, kid. Just sayin'. I'll shoot you an email with the freelance contract. Let me know if you're interested."
Peter gave him a wary look and a shrug. "Okay."
"Accepting it won't make you an Avenger, Peter. That's voluntary and still on the table, should you ever want to say yes. There are no strings attached to my job offer."
"Doubt it," Spider-Man answered automatically.
Tony looked rather contemplative. "I'll be in touch," he said after two long seconds.
The helmet formed around his head and he powered up his thrusters.
"See ya, kid."
And Iron Man took off.
SDSDSD
Peter remained behind, confused, relieved, strangely numb.
He crouched on the roof, the docks silent and dark around him, mind whirling.
Iron Man… Tony Stark… knew who he was. He knew who Spider-Man was, who Peter Parker was.
And he had promised to keep his secret.
He breathed deeply.
The rest knew about his bond to Deadpool, but only Stark knew who Spider-Man was. It was a bigger reveal than showing his true identity to Wade. He had trusted Deadpool, knew he was safe with him, but now the Avengers knew.
He shivered.
Why was this such a big thing? he thought faintly.
Because it had been taken out of his hands, was the answer. It hadn't been him making it. He had been careless. He had tried to help and Iron Man had seen him, had added it all together.
Spider-Man finally got up and shot out a line, swinging off the docks.
SD
He took the long way home, making sure he wasn't followed. Sure, Stark could get his address and probably already had, but it was instinct.
SD
No one followed him. There was no tracker on him and when the doors shut behind him, Peter pulled off the mask.
He fell onto the couch and groaned, closing his eyes with a pained expression.
Shit!
tbc...