Identity Crisis

Peter dragged his feet across the floor, in no hurry whatsoever.

While May was usually pretty relaxed about when he could and couldn’t go out as Spider-Man, the first day back to school was strictly off-limits. It was the same thing every year – she’d always want a breakdown of his new classes and teachers, and after an evening spent doing his homework, she’d reward him with dinner from the Thai place down the street. The family owned one, not the one that had been bought out by some giant corporation who sold Som Tam that tasted like plastic.

And usually, the school work didn’t bother him. Mounds of homework weren’t something he typically dreaded; it was something he could often knock out in a couple of hours, max. Except this time —

“Dude,” Peter came face-to-face with Ned at their locker, exasperatedly tossing his backpack to the ground near his feet. “I don’t know what I’m going to do about World History. If I don’t bring up my average from last year, I’m screwed.”

Ned offered a sympathetic pat against Peter’s shoulder, watching as his friend tossed handfuls of textbooks from their shared locker into his backpack. They were shoved in like there was a black-hole in the bag that could fit just about anything.

“Too bad it’s not like, Sith Lord History or something,” Ned chuckled to himself. “You’d write a killer essay on The Battle of Yavin.”

Peter managed a half-smile, looking over at Ned while he zipped his backpack shut. “You know it.”

Despite them both clutching the straps to their backpacks, Peter and Ned proceeded to give each other a handshake that resulted in something else entirely. It went on for a good thirty seconds, with a few students exchanging odd glances at the two on their way out.

And then, as if nothing had happened, they began to walk down the hallways. Most of the crowd already left, leaving them as the tail end to the rush of high-schoolers that had made their way through the double doors leading outside.

“So, what are you gunna do?” Ned asked, matching Peter’s pace — slow, casual, slightly despondent.

Peter shrugged, opening one of the large doors ahead and keeping it open for Ned.

“I don’t know, man. I was thinking of asking if MJ would help me —”

“Watch out, losers!”

A cluster of boys pushed through them, two of them on skateboards that hit the concrete steps with force. While Peter just barely managed to dodge to the side, Ned was side-swept straight into the metal railings of the outside stairs.

They were gone before either could call out. The few that weren’t skating ran away laughed as they ran down the steps, acting as if they hadn’t almost given a student a concussion.

“Rude,” Ned muttered under his breath, brushing off his jacket with a huff.

“Would that be weird?” Peter was quick to ask, ignoring the boys from the Lacrosse team that had pushed right through them. “Asking MJ. That’d be weird, wouldn’t it?” He paused as he hit the last step, only speaking up once his feet resumed pace, head shaking to himself. “It would be weird. It would be totally weird.”

The two walked side-by-side down the campus sidewalks, at a much slower rate than most the other kids.

“Isn’t she already helping you study after Decathlon practice?” Ned asked, adjusting the strap to his backpack. “Why would it be weird?”

“Yeah,” MJ chimed in, “why would it be weird?”

Ned whirled around so quickly that he lost his footing, nearly falling straight on his backside had Peter not been there to steady him.

“Jeez-us!” His exclamation was countered by Peter’s silence, the both of them looking at MJ with eyes so wide it rivaled cartoon drawings.

“H-hey, MJ. Hey,” Peter managed to squeak out, his throat gulping a few times over. He liked to think he was getting better at the art of stealth lately, what with his spider-senses growing stronger every day. Yet MJ’s ability to sneak up on him always made him wonder if she had superpowers and he didn't.

He looked around with confusing astonishment as to where the hell she even came from.

“Whaddup,” MJ greeted, tone neutral and dry, expression matching it perfectly.

Ned held an open palm against his chest, of which was heaving inwards with a great deal of exertion.

“Okay, I’m okay. My heartbeat is returning to normal. I think. Oh god, is it? Peter, check my pulse, is my resting heartbeat okay?” Ned shoved his arm out towards Peter, waving it up and down with demand and urgency. Only once Peter glared at him with eyes that could shoot daggers did he let it drop back down to his side, the unspoken hint received. “Nevermind, I’m good. Or I’m not and I’ll keel over and die. It’s whatever.”

MJ raised an eyebrow high, while somehow keeping the rest of her face expressionless. It was a feat that never failed to impress Peter — and slightly terrify him at the same time.

“So...what would be weird to ask me?”

Peter gulped again, the movement in his throat so strong that he could feel his Adam’s Apple bounce. MJ had to have noticed, because he noticed, and if he noticed then she noticed and the idea of her noticing had him biting at his lower lip in a useless attempt to quell his nerves. Which he promptly stopped once he realized what he was doing, not to mention the fact that he had yet to even answer her question —

“It’s uh, it’s nothing,” Peter insisted, snapping himself back into the moment. “Really. It’s just—”

“Peter’s flunking World History.”

Peter shot his head around at a rate that made him dizzy.

“Ned!”

“What?” Ned innocently shrugged.

“I’m not flunking —” Peter turned back to MJ, “I’m not flunking World History.”

MJ remained unfazed. She looked at them both, eyes darting back and forth while her backpack slipped down her shoulder. She didn’t move to adjust it, instead let it hang in the crock of her arm.

“But you’re close,” she needlessly stated.

Peter paused. He gave himself a second to think over his answer, ultimately shrugging with,

“Kinda.”

“You flunk any of your classes and you’re off Decathlon.” MJ stared at him, hard. “You know that.”

Peter could feel his stomach flip-flopping beneath his chest, twisting hard like a pretzel. This was exactly why he didn’t want MJ to know. Not to mention, she was relying so much on him to pull the Decathlon team through to championship this year. It only added unnecessary stress onto her plate, and whatever stress he put on other people made him stress out and it was just a whole recipe of...well, stress.

Besides, he wasn’t flunking, per-see.

Just very, very, very close to it.

Peter sighed. Whatever way he put it, he was still going to need to bring his average up. Especially with both May and Mr. Stark watching him to make sure his academics stayed afloat.

“So...that means you’ll help me?” His voice was full of such pathetic desperation that even Peter felt sorry for himself at that moment. How could anyone ever say no to him?

“Nope. Can’t. Totally booked up for the semester.”

Taken aback, Peter managed to keep the defeat from washing over his face. He instead nodded with a little too much energy for what the situation deemed appropriate. What little bit of hope he had snapped like an old, already stretched out rubber band — the kind May would keep hidden at the bottom of her junk drawer in the kitchen.

He tried to play it cool, all while simultaneously completely failing at playing it cool.

It didn’t go unnoticed by MJ.

Nothing went unnoticed by MJ.

“Get yourself a tutor, Parker,” she casually stated, choosing to walk in-between them to get by. Her phone was already out of her pocket and in her hands. Somehow, she never once looked up from the device as she walked down the campus sidewalk. How she managed to avoid any bump-ins with other classmates or street lamps amazed Peter.

“Yeah..I’ll get right on it.”

Peter sighed, both he and Ned having turned around to watch her leave. Or at least watch what they could see of her through the mass crowd of kids gathering around the outer skirts of the track field.

The sight piqued their interest, a clique of teens all pooling together in one spot.

Ned found himself standing on the toes of his sneakers to see what the commotion was about, chattering excitement that could be heard even from where they stood.

“Holy cannoli!” Ned suddenly squeaked, his voice immediately losing what little puberty he had managed to go through. “Is that—!?”

That’s when Peter realized what all the fuss was about.

His eyes took sight of the second tallest teenager in the crowd — not because the guy was short, it was just that no one’s height could match Daniel Kane’s towering six-foot-five, so tall that he was planning to dress up as The Hulk next month for Halloween.

Still, the crown of curly, brownish-red hair standing next to the other classmates was indisputable. Peter didn’t need to get any closer to realize who it was.

“Ned,” Peter quickly turned to face him, an apology written across his face. “I totally meant to text you, I’m so sorry —”

“Text me what?” Ned craned his head around, brows creased with confusion. “Wait, you knew he was —!?”

“Awesome, sweet! Thanks, Har!”

The voices from the crowd became sharper as the activity settled down, most of the kids dispersing across the track field, others going the complete opposite direction and heading off school grounds. Peter and Ned both turned back around, watching as Flash got off one of the bleacher seats and slid his crutches underneath his arms.

Peter couldn’t help but roll his eyes; it was only the first day of school, and the plaster cast on his leg was already full of signatures.

“No problem, man. Here you go.” Harry clicked the lid back on the sharpie and handed it over, smiling politely. “And please, it's just Harry.”

“Oh yeah, totally, whatever you want, man.” Flash struggled to stuff the pen back into his pant pockets, all while juggling both crutches and staying balanced on one leg. He ultimately decided to just hold it.

Ned stared at Peter with a mouth so unhinged that his jaw might as well have been on the ground.

Peter grimaced sheepishly in return.

“Dude...” Ned mumbled. The look of sheer disappointment on his face was enough to send Peter plummeting back to elementary school, when after spending months saving up their allowance to buy the Jurassic Park lego set, Peter had instead used his half on an impulse to buy a Chem science kit.

Only Ned definitely seemed much angrier back then than he did now. Now, he just seemed hurt and upset.

Peter desperately wished for anything but that.

“Hey, Pete!”

He didn’t have time to dwell on it. Harry’s voice tore through the distance between them, the taller teen already having started a light-paced jog to reach them both.

At the same time, Flash had looked away from his scribble-covered cast, realization pushing him forward on his one good leg.

“Hey, wait, hold up!” Hobbling on his crutches, Flash struggled to try and keep pace. “You forgot to sign your last name! How are people going to know — can you just —”

Flash stumbled to a stop, waving casually, as if it was his choice to not meet Harry’s quick jog. His heavy breathing may have given him away. “No problem, I’ll write it in for you!”

Peter quickly turned back to Ned, words rushing out of his mouth like a broken dam.

“Okay, so, Harry’s back in town. And he’s enrolled in Midtown now, temporarily, just for the semester. Maybe. But anyway, I just found out this weekend, I swear. He was at Flash’s party, it’s not like we spoke before that or anything. I wasn’t keeping secrets from you, I just totally forgot, this weekend was crazy and —”

“I believe you,” Ned’s heartfelt response didn’t leave time for Peter to feel any relief. “After all, this is the guy who just abandoned you out of nowhere and didn’t even drop a DM when your uncle died —”

“Ned!” Peter hissed, keeping his voice hushed as he insisted, “He was our friend!”

“No, Peter, Harry was always more your friend than he was mine.” Despite the indignation coating his tone, Ned kept his voice low. “And even then, he always used you to get what he wanted.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “We were twelve, Ned, how’s that even possible?”

Ned held his chin high, arms crossed over his chest as he responded, “I stand by what I said.”

Peter bit his tongue. Ned didn’t often disagree with him, typically one who would go along for the ride, stand by his side no matter what. His guy in the chair, a title they were both proud of — and one MJ would constantly make fun of.

But something about this clearly hit a little too close to home. Ned had always been a little overprotective with him, sure, but to still be upset over something that happened almost four years ago?

“Come on, man.” Peter’s eyes flickered rapidly to his left, noticing just how close Harry was approaching them both. “He’s coming this way. We’ll talk about it later, just be cool, alright?”

Peter could tell that Ned wanted to keep arguing. Had Harry’s presence not tore right through their hushed debate, he may very well have.

“Pete!” Harry greeted them both with hands on each of their shoulders. “And Ned! It’s so good to see you, big guy. It’s been ages!”

“Yeah,” Ned shifted on his feet, distancing himself from Harry’s touch. “My number hasn’t changed. Just so you know.”

Peter squinted his eyes, making a face that not even he knew how to describe.

“Ned, your parents didn’t give you a cell phone til you were thirteen.”

With a confidence Peter knew was all bark and no bite, Ned met his gaze squarely. “Either way, it hasn’t changed.”

Whatever face Peter was making only intensified — his eyes squinting, nose curled up— it was total disbelief etched into his every pore.

Next to him, Harry made a sound that might have been a chuckle. Possibly that, or a cough, or a mix of the two. It sounded like a blatant attempt at clearing his throat to break the tension that he had walked in on, one that Ned remained oblivious to.

“So what’s up, you guys? Was today as overwhelming for you as it was for me? Because seriously,” Harry whistled through pursed lips. “What a tsunami of information to take in. Between classes and teachers and — you know, people keep telling me this rumor about a kid that died while on a field trip with Mr. Harrington? Is that true?”

Ned took a deep breath in to answer.

“First days are always rough,” Peter just narrowly managed to cut in before Ned could go on a tangent of useless and ridiculous stories. He nodded towards the three-ring binders Harry held under his arm. “What classes did they assign you?”

“Oh, here,” Harry fumbled to gather the binders from underneath his grip, managing to hold all three at once. Each was thick and full, leather-covered with what Peter had to assume was real, authentic leather. “Take a look.”

The class assignment sheet was the first of many papers he had gathered, already three-hole punched and placed neatly in his binder. Peter’s eyes scrolled down the list.

“Hey!” He pointed a finger in the middle of the paper. “Look at that, we’ll have sixth period together.”

Harry leaned over to get a better look at the assignment sheet, the both of them too preoccupied looking at the piece of paper that neither saw Ned rolling his eyes. Which was a surprisingly difficult thing to miss, considering Ned purposefully rolled his eyes more than once.

“Awesome!” Harry smiled as he looked back up at Peter. “Trigonometry and World History, two of the easiest classes we’ll have all year.”

“Actually, the thing is...I’m...” Peter trailed off, unsure of how to say ‘I’m a teenage genius who excels at chemistry and robotics but can’t nail basic history classes to save my life’. He managed to settle on, “World History has never been my strong suit.”

Ned snorted so loud that he nearly caused himself to choke.

Peter shot him a glare in return.

And for the second time that day, if Harry had noticed anything odd between the two of them, he kept it to himself.

“Well, if it isn’t your lucky day, Peter Parker.” His slap to Peter’s back was matched with a grin so wide it practically split his face in half. “Because World History is what I excel most at, right behind computer-aided design and economics.”

“Of course you do,” Ned muttered beneath his breath, just loud enough for Peter to hear.

“Why don’t we meet up tonight, maybe sometime after six?” Harry suggested. “I can help you with the Battle of Leyte Gulf assignment? Get you back on track in class?”

Peter’s eyes grew wide, matching the grin that slipped onto his lips. “That’d be... fantastic, Harry, thank you!”

“Of course! Anything for my ‘ol pal.” Harry gave one last slap to Peter’s back before tucking his leather coated binders back underneath his arm. “You still live in Queens, right? We’ll meet up at your place! I’ll text for the details later.”

Peter nodded as he pulled at the strap to his bag, suddenly feeling less weight against his shoulders as his stress came down a notch, maybe even two. “That’s – that’s great, thank you so much, Harry.”

Harry smiled in return, pointing a finger towards Ned as he began to walk away. “See you around, big guy!”

“Yeah, bye.” Ned’s smile was much more forced, less genuine, barely even polite.

Peter waited until Harry was out of earshot before looking over at Ned.

“See? He’s helping me out!” Peter insisted. “C’mon, that’s like, the opposite of using people.”

Ned’s lack of an answer was an answer within itself for Peter. His anger, or whatever Ned wanted to call it, wasn’t going away anytime soon.

With a quiet sigh, Peter had to admit that on some level, Ned was right. Back then, Harry was more of his friend than Ned’s. It wasn’t a personal thing; it was just how it was. Maybe there had even been some petty childish jealousy back then that Peter wasn’t aware of.

It was hard to say; elementary school felt like ages ago. Even middle school felt like a lifetime ago.

Besides, even if he and Harry became friends again, nothing could come close to what he and Ned had now. This was his guy in the chair he was talking about. No one could replace that.

“I’ll get you a pack of Jolly Rancher Crunch and Chews before class tomorrow,” Peter said, playfully nudging a fist against Ned’s shoulder with a halfhearted smile.

Ned didn’t look his way as he insisted, “I want a signed autograph of Doctor Bruce Banner.”

“Another one?!”

“They're collectibles, Peter!”

 

 

“What do you think?”

Tony didn’t look up from his cell phone as he answered, “The lavender Orchids look best with the centerpieces.”

There was a pause, followed only by Rhodey clearing his throat.

“Well, I’m...sure Pepper will be thrilled to hear that.”

Tony glanced up from the phone’s screen, realization hitting him at the same time his eyes locked onto Rhodey's. The heavy sighed that came from his chest, combined with Rhodey’s cool stare, perfectly summed up what a shit-show of a day he had been having.

Day, week, month – it just never seemed to stop.

“Sorry, Rhodey,” Tony apologized, his words laced with exhaustion as he stuffed his phone deep into his pant pockets. “Too many things going on at once.”

Give him bonus points for telling the truth, because it was an honest answer. He found himself heavily preoccupied these days, bouncing back between one person and the next, inundated with what felt like a million things happening at once. It wasn’t new, that was always the life of a Stark — to be busier than what they could handle.

But for some reason — for whatever reason — Tony was struggling to juggle all his balls lately. Why was he even thinking about Pepper’s wedding décor when he had been talking to Peter? Jesus, he couldn’t even keep things straight in his own head.

“You wanna go over this another time?” Rhodey asked, as if sensing his stress

Tony ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back with callous fingers.

“No, no...let’s do this now while you’re here.” It wasn’t like the cluster headache growing between his eyes was going to go away anytime soon. He might as well push through it. “What more did you find?”

The tight hold of anticipation didn’t have long to grow, Rhodey having guided the manila folder closer to him on the round table they sat at. The sound of paper sliding across glass seemed to echo in his ears.

“Not much, man,” he huffed, leaning back in his chair. “There’s only so much public records will tell us, and you know the rest won’t be released without a subpoena.”

Tony opened his mouth to talk.

Rhodey held one stiff finger in the air. “Which the court will continue to throw out, so stop trying.”

His shoulders deflated like a balloon losing its air, and Tony gave Rhodey a look, the kind that said it all. He leaned forward, snatching the folder into his hands, fingers skimping through the pages with frustrated interest.

“Have I mentioned yet that it’s complete and total bull hockey that the government can take me to court over my suits, but OsCorp with all their Goliath sized rock androids gets immunity from the Senate Armed Services Committee?”

Tony grabbed a paper and tossed it over his back. Grabbed another, tossed it in the air. Rhodey watched with furrowed eyebrows as three, four, five papers went fluttering to the floor, landing on the carpet of the conference room without a sound.

“OsCorp isn’t receiving immunity, Tony,” he stressed. “They’ve been hiding their experiments — hiding them good, where only a magical wizard could get you to them.” Rhodey had enough – he leaned forward, yanking the folder out of Tony’s hands before he could rain anymore discarded papers to the ground. “You were flaunting yours all over the world.”

Tony eyeballed him. Rhodey met his gaze head-on.

“Touché,” Tony admitted succinctly, his hand grabbing towards his friend with a ‘gimme’ motion — growing more childish by the second.

It was with palpable hesitation that Rhodey handed the folder back over.

Tony flipped through the pages with more ease this time around, setting the discarded ones down next to him. The same ones he had seen by now, read over and over again, memorized even. He looked desperately for something new, something that would get them over this increasingly demoralizing plateau they had encountered.

‘Mighty Avengers’ be damned, it turned out there was only so much they could do on their own. Not even SHIELD had much more to offer them. It was like they had stumbled onto a goldmine and quickly had to evacuate before gathering even the smallest piece of gold.

“Not going to lie, kinda wishing that we hadn’t burned a bridge with Ross right about now,” Tony muttered under his breath.

Rhodey raised his brows, the crow’s feet around his eyes briefly lifting. “There’s no way in hell Ross would have helped us with this, bridge burned or not.”

Tony made a sound deep in his throat, a murmur of agreement. It was wishful thinking, desperate thinking at its core. But Rhodey was right. Even if they hadn’t forever pissed off Ross with the dismantling of the Accords, the former lieutenant turned Secretary of State would have instead watched with buttery popcorn as they struggled to expose OsCorp for all its dirty deeds rather than lend a helping hand.

The folder plopped back onto the surface of the round table, papers scattered out from within, dumped from his grasp without a second thought.

They were useless.

“I thought we’d have more on them by now,” Tony quietly admitted, his hand scrubbing at the bottom of his goatee.

“We’re already on top of the situation,” Rhodey gave the words time to settle. “Remember…it’s only been a few months. Hydra wasn’t taken down over a summer, and these guys won’t be either. We just gotta keep pushing, gather every bit we can. Eventually, we’ll have enough to at least get that subpoena going.”

Tony heard Rhodey, each word he said made crystal clear sense. But somehow it all still meant nothing.

“It’s not good enough, Rhodey,” his voice fell hollow, tired. “I’m telling you...they’re up to something bad. I can feel it. Without a shadow of a doubt, I know it.”

Rhodey pulled the discarded folder back towards him, shuffling the handful of papers back inside. All while giving Tony that look. The one he absolutely hated, refused to acknowledge or even look at as it was staring him down.

The one full of pity.

“I believe you, man. Whatever you saw down there, I believe it. But the court doesn’t, the committee needs proof. Until we can get that, we gotta go about this the right way.”

It was funny – in the most sincerest, non-funny way possible. Tony used to associate OsCorp with sleaze, with notorious research facilities scattered across the east coast that underpaid their participates for borderline illegal studies. Down the road, someone would expose them — some overly eager college student who thought this was going to be their big break. But the truth never stayed in the press long. They had a great legal and PR team keeping them from receiving nearly any negative publicity.

Tony used to associate them with the likes of AIM, Roxxon and hell, even the Daily Bugle. Never a threat, never even a competitor in the eyes of Stark Industries. A nuance, at most.

He had a much different take on them these days. Suddenly, OsCorp was associated with havoc, means to chaos, having power to gain access to technology that they were too unruly to possess. Skulls of long since dead Chitauri manipulated, forged with their mad minds.

He associated them with freezing ice water, the smell of sulfur and dead sea life.

Blood and screams. And cries.

Tony shoved the thought aside so fast it may as well have been on wheels.

“You find out anything more about that...super-soldier knock-off project? The Oz Formula?” His closed fist tapped knuckles against the table for no apparent reason other than quelling his bubbling anxiety. His head began to ache with too much caffeine, or maybe not enough.

Rhodey shook his head, his mouth setting in a grim line. “Everyone I ask about it plays clueless. And honestly, they might very well be.”

Tony cocked his head to the side. “So, the right people aren't going to talk?"

Rhodey leveled him a taut look. “I think we haven't found the right people."

Tony ran both hands down the length of his face, scrubbing his skin. His determination was running thin, his obstinacy becoming weaker with every wall they hit. And they were hitting a lot of walls these days. In no other terms did he just want to get this done and over with, call it a day and file away another case settled.

He was beyond tired of focusing so much on OsCorp. On goddamn Norman Osborn.

Especially all things considered. 

“But I did find out something interesting that you may want to know,” Rhodey’s voice cut through his runaway thoughts.

Tony dropped his hands from his face, just in time to see the folder open back up. Rhodey’s fingers delicately plucked out a paper-clipped stack of documents.

“Norman’s son, Harrison Osborn – they transferred him out from his private academy here upstate,” he said, sliding the documents towards Tony’s side of the table. “Something about the building being burned down from a kitchen fire over the summer. They couldn’t get repairs done in time for the new semester so students were placed elsewhere in the interim.”

“Okay...so the Osborn offspring has to make new friends at a different school.” Tony shrugged, barely even skimming through the papers with a bout of disinterest. “Where exactly does this get good?”

Rhodey tapped a finger at the small stack of papers, urging Tony on. “Look at what school he’s attending now.”

Tony looked down, forcing his eyes to properly read the document with patience that he, quite frankly, didn’t have. The words were monotonous, meaningless, a bunch of names followed by ages — all ending with addresses somewhere here in New York. It had his eyes nearly glazing over.

That was, until he finally caught the printed text that stood out the most. He was getting good at that — picking out the word Osborn like a needle in a haystack. His pointer finger pressed heavily against the paper, trailing sideways to keep track of it all.

Harrison Osborn, okay, that wasn’t a surprise. Age sixteen, noted. Temporarily relocated to high-school —

“Well,” Tony drawled out. “I’ll be damned.”