Someone was moaning in pain.

Peter's hands were wet and slick. He wiped them blindly on his grimy jumpsuit, but the dampness dried into a sticky coating. He didn't want to look down at them. "Please don't make me do this anymore."

"Then climb the wall and leave, bug. You're always free to go." The woman's voice sent shivers down his spine.

Peter stood unmoving.

"Go," She repeated coldly. He knew he shouldn't have spoken—shouldn't have begged to be allowed to stop.

Peter turned and pressed his hand to the cold concrete blocks at his back. He felt a suctioning bond form. He scurried up the damp surface. What would happen if he got to the top? He hoped she wouldn't let him get all the way up. It hurt so much worse the higher he got.

The shock seized up his limbs and broke the adhesive bond holding him to the concrete. Peter fell backwards, the wind whipping through his hair as the ground rose up to meet him… and then the impact.

Peter jolted up from his bed, his heart pounding. He flung his legs over the edge of his mattress and sat shivering, hugging himself for warmth—and comfort.

"You are safe. You are in your room at Avenger Tower, in Mr. Stark's penthouse. It was a dream." FRIDAY's voice droned comfortingly through the familiar nightly chant. "Would you like me to get Mr. Stark?"

"No." Peter gasped. "Let him sleep."

There was a pause. "Boss is not asleep."

Peter cocked his head. Wasn't he? He'd been asleep in his room when Peter had finally gone to bed after a late night reading. Peter listened for the man's presence in the penthouse. A chair scraped in the kitchen.

Peter blinked, confused. Stark had really taken a liking to hanging out in the kitchen lately. Was he having trouble sleeping, too? Or just over-working himself, maybe?

Peter had joined him there twice in the middle of the night, and it didn't seem to bother the man. Each time he had been working, but seemed to welcome the company. Peter could go sit with him again.

He forced his hands back down to his lap to get a good look at them, reassuring himself that they were clean. No blood. He wiped at his face. No tears.

He rose and made his way to the kitchen.


Stark's eyes shot up as Peter entered the room. He hoped he wasn't imposing. He glanced at an empty seat at the table and the man was quick to take the hint.

"Sit down, Pete. I'll get you something to drink." Stark's voice was rough and tired like he'd just woken up himself, which didn't make sense.

A glass of water was set down in front of him. "Thanks," Peter spoke quietly into the silent peace of the kitchen.

They both settled into their seats and Peter wished he had thought to bring his phone, or at least a book to stare blankly at. But Mr. Stark never seemed to think it was weird if Peter sat there in silence, doing absolutely nothing. And that's what he really wanted to do—just sit in the man's comforting company.

The shadows of his nightmares always receded in Stark's presence.

Stark got right to work, eyes scanning his screen in front of him. He started humming quietly to himself as he tapped out an email. Peter could feel his gaze settle on him every few minutes, but whenever Peter worked up the courage to glance up, Stark was always looking back at his screen.

"What–what are you working on?" Peter cleared his throat.

Stark's gaze shot back up to meet his. "Oh, just dealing with the R&D department, kind of wishing I had an intern." The man smiled lightly.

"Anything I can help with?" Peter ventured.

Stark gave him a searching look. "Are you looking for something to keep you busy? Or something to put you to sleep? Because this part of running the department is sure to put you right to sleep."

"I guess that wouldn't be so bad."

"Scoot on over, then. I'll get your opinion on this project proposal."

Peter scooted his chair closer. He could feel the warmth of Stark's body, hear his irregular heartbeat, and catch the scent of coffee and vetiver body wash the man smelled of at night. Mr. Stark's presence fell around him like a blanket, and Peter felt peace.


Peter felt better when he went back to his room but he still couldn't go back to sleep. He ended up just lying down, staring at the ceiling and thinking. He couldn't remember all the details of the nightmare but it left him feeling off. The feeling clung and he just couldn't shake it.

He knew that if he fell asleep-and back into the dream- he would only feel worse, and his brain resisted. The moment his eyelids drooped, his heart would race and jolt him back to wakefulness.

After hours of this, Peter gave up and read, occupying himself until Harley would be awake. He usually chatted with him in the morning. It helped get rid of the residual funk the dreams left behind.

But Harley didn't answer any of his texts that morning. Peter kept glancing over at his phone as he read through Electricity and Magnetism by Edward M. Purcell. All the messages were left on read. Peter frowned and sent another.

Want to video chat later? Peter texted.

It was a couple minutes before the message stated "read" underneath. Peter sat up, watching the phone expectantly. But no reply came through.


The sparring room was quiet except for the soft hum of fluorescent lights overhead. Peter stood in the center of the mat, his hands up in a defensive posture, his sharp eyes tracking Natasha Romanoff as she circled him like a panther.

"You can't just block forever," Natasha said, her voice low and firm. "Defense is good. But if you don't engage, you're just delaying the inevitable."

Peter shifted his weight, bouncing lightly on his toes. "I'm just here to practice, not... you know, hurt anyone." The last nightmare was fresh in his mind. He was perfectly content to practice his ability to fend off an attack without actually causing any harm

He tensed as she closed the distance between them, her movements deliberate and smooth. When she feinted left and darted right, he sidestepped, raising his forearm to deflect her strike. Her fist barely grazed his shoulder.

"Not bad," Natasha said, resetting her stance. Then, without warning, she lunged low, her small frame moving with an almost gymnastic fluidity. Peter saw her leg sweep coming and leapt over it, but her momentum carried her into a follow-up kick to his side. "One."

Peter stumbled back, his hand instinctively coming up to guard his ribs. "Ouch."

Natasha smirked. "I told you: if you don't engage, I will." She advanced again, her movements a blur. Peter managed to deflect her first two strikes—a high jab and a spinning backfist—but her third attack, a sharp jab to his ribs, landed cleanly. "Two."

Peter clenched his jaw, staying light on his feet as she pressed forward. She came at him with a flurry of punches and kicks, her strikes flowing seamlessly together. He blocked her punches with his forearms and redirected her kicks with quick pivots of his legs, but the relentless pace was overwhelming. When her elbow snapped forward, it caught him on the shoulder. "Three."

"Come on, Peter," Natasha said, stepping back to circle him again. "I know you're faster than this."

Peter's continued to dodge and deflect, moving fluidly and confidently. But eventually Natasha landed "Four, five, six, and seven." She was relentless this morning… and what was with all the counting?

"You're hesitating," Natasha said, her voice sharp. "You're so busy trying not to hurt me that you're leaving yourself wide open."

Peter's eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing. He focused on her movements, deflecting each attack with increasing precision. When she swept low again, he caught her leg mid-swing, gently pushing it aside. Natasha used the momentum to pivot into a spinning elbow, which tapped his jaw. "Eight."

"Seriously?" Peter muttered, shaking his head as he backed away.

Natasha shrugged, her smirk widening.

Peter exhaled sharply, tightening his stance. This time he leaned into the senses that were buzzing up and down his spine in warning just before each hit. When Natasha lunged again, he moved with her strikes, deflecting and redirecting with fluidity. He parried her high kick, dodged her spinning backfist, and even managed to sidestep her low sweep. For a moment, he felt untouchable. He let out a little laugh.

A sweep caught his ankle, and though he didn't fall, it left him off-balance long enough for her fist to tap his ribs again. "Nine."

"You're predictable," Natasha said, stepping back briefly. "Your defense is good, but without offense, it's like building a wall with no roof. Sooner or later, someone's going to get in. You need to take me out."

Peter scowled, his jaw tightening. He saw her next attack coming and countered with a perfectly timed parry, redirecting her strike harmlessly to the side. But as he stepped back, she spun into a high kick that grazed his temple. "Ten."

"Come on, Peter," Natasha said, her voice carrying a sharp edge. "Stop holding back."

Peter growled under his breath as she eventually landed "Eleven, twelve, thirteen, and fourteen."

Peter's frustration finally boiled over. When Natasha lunged again, he caught her wrist mid-strike, twisting it just enough to throw her off balance. His other hand gently pushed her shoulder, and with a fluid motion, he flipped her over his hip. Natasha landed on the mat with a soft grunt.

Peter froze, his breath hitching. "I'm sorry Nat, I—"

Before he could finish, Natasha's leg shot out, sweeping his feet out from under him. He landed hard on his back, the air rushing out of his lungs. She sprang to her feet, smirking down at him as he lay there groaning in embarrassment.

"Fifteen," she said, her lips quirking into a small smile. "For luck. Now go hit the showers."


The penthouse was quiet and empty when he got back. Actually, not just the penthouse. It seemed like even several floors below were empty. The absence of voices, footsteps, or even the faint sound of Tony tinkering in the lab left a hollow ache in Peter's chest. The place felt too big, too quiet, too empty.

"Hey FRI, is Mr. Stark around?"

"I'm afraid not, Peter. He did leave leftovers in the fridge for you, however."

Peter frowned. "Are any of the Avengers in the tower?"

FRIDAY paused. "No."

Where was everyone? He sank onto the couch, his head falling into his hands. There was nothing really wrong, not exactly, but the loneliness pressed on him like a weight. He pulled out his phone, but Harley still hadn't texted back.

Peter frowned. He almost never texted Stark, but he had nothing to lose.

Hang out in the lab today? He pressed send. Tony was always up for some lab time. That would make Peter feel better.

But after a couple minutes he got a reply: Sorry, kiddo, maybe tomorrow. Won't be back til late this evening.

He tossed the phone aside and leaned back, glaring at the ceiling, frustrated with himself for feeling so lost in the silence. He knew Stark couldn't be around all the time. The guy was really busy, and it was amazing he'd freed up so much of his time so far for Peter. But it was still lonely.

Maybe things would be better when school started. Maybe he'd make a few friends, join a few groups…

The sound of the elevator doors sliding open caught his attention. Peter sat up slightly as Pepper walked in, her presence warm and composed as always. "Hi, Peter," she greeted, her voice soft and cheerful. "Back so soon from training? How about we go grab some ice cream? My treat."

That was interesting timing. Had Stark sent her to check on him? Or as consolation? Either way, he really didn't feel like going out. Peter shrugged, his voice flat. "No thanks."

Pepper frowned slightly, but she wasn't dissuaded. "Alright. How about we go shopping? You need anything? New shoes, a jacket? Maybe some gadgets to tinker with? It'll be fun, and you won't be sitting up here all alone."

Yeah, she had been sent to babysit. So instead of inconveniencing Stark, was he supposed to waste Pepper's time? "No," Peter muttered. "I'm good."

Pepper tilted her head, studying him carefully. "We could go see a movie."

Peter sighed, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "I just... don't feel like it, okay?"

Her lips pursed, but her tone remained gentle. "Why are you shooting me down, kid?"

Peter hesitated, guilt tugging at the edges of his irritation. Why was he acting like this? He didn't want to be alone, not really. But he was tired and angry…and sad. And he just wanted to chat with Harley and spend some time with Mr. Stark. And it was disappointing to realize that he was probably annoying them and getting in the way of whatever they actually needed to do.

He ran a hand through his hair, avoiding her gaze. "I think I'll just go to the lab for a while. Maybe work on something."

Pepper's expression shifted. "The lab, huh?" She smiled softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "That sounds like a good idea. Go tinker for a while, clear your head. You'll probably feel better afterward."

Peter looked up at her, surprised by her easy acceptance. "You think?"

"Yeah. Go, have fun. Don't' skip dinner, though. I think Tony said he put leftovers in there for you."

Peter didn't think he would return for dinner if no one was going to be around. The lab had granola bars and drinks. He'd be fine.


Peter worked for a while on his polymer mixes. He took a break to devour a box of protein bars, and then returned to check on their progress. It was all pretty expected. He sighed, bored. "Maybe just one more round and I'll head upstairs."

He returned to the chemical supply closet and looked around for a different reagent to prep. Once he'd chosen something different, measuring out the amounts he anticipated needing, he carried the beakers to a fume hood.

"Chemical contamination detected. Neutralize immediately." FRIDAY advised from above.

"What?" Peter looked around, startled. "What do you mean FRI? There isn't anything here that could be a contaminant."

"Lab decontamination will commence in 30 minutes." A countdown popped up on a screen.

Peter stared at it, bewildered. "What the hell are you talking about?" He looked at the stock solution. Had something been mislabeled? His heart started to race. Of all the stupid things. His day was already so crappy, and now this!

"What do you need me to do?"

A second screen showed chemical formulas. "Find a solution to neutralize the contaminant. You have 28 minutes and 36 seconds. Hurry."

"Uh—alright, I can do that." Peter scanned the chemical composition. "This can't be right."

"Running out of time."

"Okay! Okay!" Peter huffed in frustration as he ran possibilities through his head. He snagged a pencil and started writing out potential reaction equations. He ran to the chemical cabinet, grabbed a beaker and started to add reagents. Once he was satisfied, he ran back to the fume hood and doused the offending solution. It bubbled and frothed, and then settled into a perfectly inert liquid.

The countdown disappeared. "Good job, Peter. You didn't blow up the lab."

"How did this even happen? Did Mr. Stark somehow mislabel the stock solutions? I don't get it."

FRIDAY was silent.

Peter sighed and got back to work. What a weird day. He cleaned up the lab ware and moved on. There was no way he was going to continue the experiment until he figured out what was going on with the contents of Stark's chemical cabinet.

He stuck his hand under the microscope with a heavy sigh and pondered the tiny setae. They were such a mystery.

If his dreams were anything to go off of—and Peter was equally terrified and hopeful that they were—then an outside electrical charge was not the answer. Getting zapped could simulate adhesion or completely wipe it away. Peter thought about that. It just didn't make any sense.

Unless…

Peter jumped up off the lab stool, swinging the stereoscope lens out of the way. Perhaps he just wasn't thinking of it the right way. An outside electrical charge was not the answer. But how would he test the new theory swirling around his brain?

He'd need some equipment from MedBay. Or perhaps one of the other labs. Dr. Banner had a lab here at the tower, didn't he? Some sensors, monitors… he needed to set up a biofeedback system. His heart raced with excitement at the prospect of finally figuring out this mystery. He ran, giddy, towards the large glass doors, intent on taking advantage of the current emptiness of the tower.

"Maybe their absence will work in my favor after all," he muttered to himself, his fingers stretching eagerly toward the door handle.

The moment his hand closed around the cool metal, the world around him shifted. The lab plunged into pitch-black darkness. A red warning light began to pulse, casting the room in an ominous glow. Then came the blaring alarm.

"Security breach!" FRIDAY's calm, detached voice announced.

Peter froze, his senses prickling with alarm. His hand tugged instinctively at the door, but it wouldn't budge. "Huh? What security breach?" He tried to open the door but it was locked. "FRI, let me out!"

"I'm sorry but I can't do that Peter. It's part of the lock down procedure."

The unease in his chest began to morph into frustration. "Is something happening? Is someone in the tower?"

"I don't believe so," FRIDAY answered smoothly. "My programming requires I lock the lab down to contain the security risk."

"But I'm in the lab!"

"Perhaps you are the security risk."

Peter threw his hands up in frustration. "I'm not the breach! FRIDAY, let me out!"

"I cannot."

"Then get Mr. Stark."

"I cannot allow a security risk to make communications outside the room."

"This is insane! Are you malfunctioning?"

"That's entirely possible, Peter," FRIDAY replied with a touch of something Peter swore sounded like humor. "You'd better run through this code to be sure."

Peter gawked as lines of code began scrolling rapidly across a screen on the wall. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Perhaps you can override the system," FRIDAY suggested.

"But that will take forever!"

"You had better get started then."

Peter groaned in frustration as he pulled up a seat and started skimming over the code. It took some time to find it, but there was something off halfway through. "Okay, I think I've got it. There's a wonky bit of code here that–"

Before he could finish, the screen blinked off, and another screen lit up beside it.

"Hey!" Peter barked.

"You'll need to verify your identity if you wish to proceed. I can't allow a potential security risk to alter my protocols."

"Verify my– I have no idea who I am!"

"The real Peter would be able to solve this problem. Please evaluate the following definite integral."

Peter's jaw dropped. "What? FRIDAY, this is absurd!"

"It's the only way," she replied innocently.

Peter let out a manic laugh, burying his face in his hands. "Fine. Let's play this ridiculous game."

Muttering under his breath, he began scribbling notes on the console's notepad. "Split the integral… simplify the expressions… , and then… ∫310 f(x) dx" His muttering trailed off into frustrated grumbles.

At least there wasn't a countdown this time. That was something.

Nearly 30 agonizing minutes later, Peter leaned back in his chair, rubbing his aching temples. "Got it! It's 8. Are you satisfied?"

"You are correct," FRIDAY said smoothly. "Two more problems should suffice, to be sure."

Peter groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. "Okay, send them over."

More calculus appeared on the screen as Peter's jaw twitched. "Um, okay, and then ∫23 4x dx …" He simplified as quickly as he could, double checking his work. He didn't want to find out what happened if he was wrong. "I have 10."

"Correct. Here is the final one."

Peter worked through that one even faster than the others, getting into the rhythm of problem solving. "It's 24. Are we done?"

"Identity confirmed. You are, in fact Peter."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Who else would I be? Now can you let me override your insane security protocol?"

The original screen came back on, and Peter got to work untangling the lockdown. His irritation began to fade as he typed, replaced by faint amusement.

Was FRIDAY just messing with him?

He fixed the code and the alarm turned off, the overhead lights switched back on, and the door lock disengaged with a series of clicks. Finally. How long had he been stuck in the lab without really accomplishing anything? Over three hours?

"I'm leaving, FRIDAY." Peter warned the AI. "I'm tired and hungry. If anything else happens, I'll just break down the door by force. I'm not kidding."

"Okay."

Peter glared at a ceiling sensor as he reached for the door, hesitating with his fingers hovering just an inch from the handle. "I'm leaving now."

"Sounds good."

He opened the door. No alarms blared. The lights stayed on. A cage didn't drop over his head from the ceiling. He breathed a sigh of relief. What a day.

Peter got in the elevator, thinking about all the weirdness. Something was nagging at him.

"Wait a minute—eight, ten, twenty-four? That's a date. That's today's date!" August 10, 2024. FRIDAY, are you trolling me? Why would–Oh my god."

The elevator stopped at the penthouse, the doors sliding open. FRIDAY's voice chimed warmly, "Happy Birthday, Peter."