Tangled Webs
The silence in the room fell heavy.
Peter was sure that if the others couldn't hear the frantic thumping from his heart before, they certainly could now. His skin was hot and flushed from the sudden bout of nerves, sweat sticking to the inside of his suit like gum. He could only pray that the material trapped his B.O where they couldn't smell it; because from the feel of it, he was sweating enough to flood the whole compound.
They all just stared at him, every one of them speechless. It made Peter all the more nervous, his fingers gripping his mask tighter — any tighter and it might burst into a billion fibers.
Which would probably just make Mr. Stark even more mad.
“Jesus, kid.” It was Tony who ultimately spoke up first. “I didn’t say you had to give your full name.”
Peter’s jaw dropped. “But you —!”
Tony spun around with a wave of his hand. “What next, you want to give Natasha your social security number?”
The group briefly looked to Natasha, her face one shade whiter than it had been a minute ago. She had since clicked the trigger back on her gun, stuffing it deep into her belt with her attention solely on the floor down below.
For a woman that could scarcely be read, the obvious coated her expressions like neon lights.
She'd just held a threatened a young boy with a gun. And she wasn't thrilled about it.
Sam, on the other hand, burst out laughing.
“Holy shit!”
Steve released his hold on Peter, so suddenly it was like the grip burned his hand.
“Language,” he mumbled, distantly, as if the words came out without thought.
Having been controlling the room with a sense of authority, it didn’t go unnoticed when Steve stepped back. His demeanor had been stripped down to something that couldn’t be conveyed.
He watched Peter like a hawk, his eyebrows knitted tensely; his shock was unconcealed and out in the open, just like the others.The revelation unnerved him no different than Natasha. The fresh-faced, young teenager under the mask was clearly the last person he'd be expecting.
Sam bent over and slapped his knees, his laughter breaking through the tension in the air. “Hot damn, we recruiting the Micky Mouse Club now?”
“Wilson,” Tony threatened.
“No, no, this is great,” Sam insisted, waving a hand frantically Tony's way, clearly not getting the hint. “We should get Scott Lang’s daughter in next — give her a little ant-person suit and call her ‘Stinger’ or some nonsense.”
"Sam…” Steve quietly admonished, each second that passed accompanying a step further away from Peter.
Sam didn’t pay much attention to the tone that said ‘don’t start’. He shook his head, laughing the whole time — each laugh growing louder every time he looked at Peter.
Peter, despite wearing the suit from the neck down, suddenly felt more naked than ever before. He rubbed the nape of his neck nervously, sensing Vision staring at him from the side and the woman he was with — a girl with long, red hair flowing past her waist, was eyeing him with a strictly suspicious expression.
If there were ever a time Peter felt like an object on display at a museum, this was it.
He briefly considered how bad the consequences would be if he jumped back into the air duct and made a sudden escape. It couldn’t be too hard to start a whole new life at his age, right? There was a F.E.A.S.T shelter in Chinatown he could hang out at, drop out of school, start over —
Who was he kidding? He was screwed. Of all the ways the Avengers could have found out his identity, this had to be the worst.
Peter was beginning to regret not taking the offer to join the team a few months ago. At least then he’d have some dignity in the reveal
“Tones…” Rhodey stood near Tony, whispering to stay quiet. “What’s this about?”
Peter noticed that Wanda had begun to slowly approach him, looking at him curiously; her eyes never diverted from his. For each step she took, Steve took one back, distancing himself from not just Peter — but everyone.
“This…” Tony lifted his arm in presentation. “Is Spider-Man.”
Peter forced a smile and an awkward wave.
“No, no, no,” Sam laughed. “This is Sesame Street right here.”
Peter's smile instantly dropped.
"Cut it out, Sam," Natasha hissed. "It’s not funny.”
Her tone was low and solemn, holding less power and control than usual. Maybe it was her that finally got through to Sam, or maybe the tension in the room that had finally grown too thick. His laughter died off, quickly, leaving only silence in its place.
Tony walked past Peter, slapping his back in a reassuring but forceful way that sent him stumbling forward on his feet.
“He’s my recruit. Kid-genius, freaky enhanced abilities, likes to climb up walls and apparently in ceiling vents…”
Tony’s voice began to drown out in Peter's ears, a peaceful yet mysterious hum overtaking its place. Wanda came face-to-face with him, and his heart beat heavily, pounding like a drum in his chest. The hairs on the back of his neck told him something was wrong — very wrong.
But he couldn’t move.
Her fingers were close to his chest, dancing wildly and in sharp movements. The vibrant red that swirled around them was memorizing, and Peter watched the glow with an unbreakable entrancement. It was beyond anything he had seen before; a red energy that floated around her, almost through her, like embers rising from flames.
Then, like a switch, the world around him returned.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Tony shouted, pulling her away from him — yanking her back. “What did you do?”
Peter blinked and shook his head, and then again when the haze didn't quite clear away, before looking between Tony and Wanda with a growing sense of confusion.
“The malysh is innocent,” Wanda simply answered.
“Holy cow." Peter’s eyebrows shot up, and he pointed right to his forehead. “Did she just read my mind?”
Whatever occurred didn't seem to startle the others nearly as much as it did for Peter. Sure, Mr. Stark looked like he was about to blow the whole facility apart, all without his Iron Man repulsors, but aside from that there wasn't any shock from the team.
Not regarding Wanda's actions, anyhow.
The reveal of who Spider-Man really was, however — Peter could tell that wasn't going away anytime soon.
“Wanda…” Vision stepped forward, a slow movement that brought him towards her. “You cannot—”
“I feel violated,” Peter squeaked out.
“He tells the truth. He was only trying to help.” Wanda stepped away from him, her arms returning back to her sides. She made sure to look at both Steve and Tony when she spoke next. “He stole nothing.”
“Yeah, I was trying to get to that, Maximoff!” Tony exasperatedly sighed, rubbing at his eyes with both clenched fists. “I thought we were past the whole mind-assaulting phase.”
Peter looked around, noticing that no one seemed even remotely bothered at the incident. They all remained calm, as if it was 'mind-assulating phase' was a usual occurrence for them.
Chase a wanna-be magician with supernatural powers, reveal himself to the Avengers, have his mind read by some magical Sokovian woman…the day was turning out to be a lot worse then he imagined.
“I think it would be best if we leave, Wanda,” Vision advised, gently reaching out for her hand.
The arm stayed outstretched to her, and he patiently awaited her response.
For a moment, Wanda stared at Peter, her eyes locked with his. Nervously, Peter looked away, his eyes flittering up where he counted the ceiling tiles, one by one.
Anything to avoid the stares that burned a hole straight through him.
Finally, and after a long pause, she took his hand. “That is fine, Vis.”
Wanda began to leave the room with Vision ahead of her as they departed. Peter didn’t miss the over-the-shoulder glance she gave him before exiting.
And the smile that came with it.
Oddly enough, it wasn't a creepy smile. Peter had seen his fair share of creepy smiles before — Toomes, that was a creepy smile.
No, hers seemed…genuine. Kind.
As if she had seen something in his head. Something that made her sympathize with him.
He wanted to mention it, but never got a chance.
“So, if Dora here didn’t take your tech...” Sam began to ask. “Who did?”
Peter’s head shot over to the team, and awkwardly, he raised his hand.
“Uhm, if I may…” He cleared his throat, hoping it got rid of the squeak that almost lined his voice. “It was Mysterio.”
Rhodey scrunched his eyebrows. “Mystery-who?”
They were all looking at him again, but their expressions had changed. Shock and disbelief had turned into strict confusion — even Tony's face had morphed from bordering on a stroke of rage to something more akin to bafflement.
“Uh, well…that’s—that’s what I call him. Mysterio." Peter didn't realize how silly it sounded until he said it to a group of adults. "Like…Mystery in Spanish, but not…I don’t know, he spoke to me in Spanish and it was really weird and I tried —”
“Kid,” Tony interrupted, snapping his fingers. “The point — get to it.”
“Right, right.” Peter nodded. “He was here. I followed him here, from Queens. He took the Hudson River and has this…this fog. This really weird fog that he uses — it stops my suit from working, it creates this, like...technological blackout. He had to have taken the helmet, Mr. Stark, it’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Tony bit back a sigh, rubbing at his temple until the skin went pink — all while Rhodey shrugged his shoulders, noticeably at Tony, all but ready to tap out of the situation.
Natasha, on the other hand, hummed quietly. Cconsidering his words.
“The guy from Times Square…” she thought aloud. “What’s his motive for stealing that kind of tech?”
Steve, who had been careful to keep his distance, and who had been quiet for a good part of the conservation, suddenly stepped forward.
“Tony…” A pause only briefly took the room. He looked right at Tony when he spoke. “Can we talk. Privately.”
It wasn’t a request — Tony knew it. Hell, the entire room knew it.
It was an instruction.
An order.
Peter decided the floor looked a lot better than anyone or anything else around him, and he nervously shuffled his feet, wishing now more than ever that spider-bite had given him the power of invisibility.
Tony and Steve stared at each other.
From the outside, it looked as if they were communicating with only their eyes. And while Tony had the sense of pride and cocky confidence that could steal an entire room, Steve’s demeanor spoke leadership. An unspoken demand of ‘I’m asking nicely, but I don’t need an answer from you.'
Ultimately, Tony caved.
As he followed Steve out of the room, he shot his head over at Peter.
“Down the hall and to the right, fifth door — code 131964. Wait for me there.” Tony point a stern finger in his direction. “Do not touch anything.”
Peter gave a sharp nod.
With that, the two were gone, having departed somewhere down the hallway. Rhodey left with them, walking down the opposite direction and finding a security guard with whom he started up a conversation that they couldn't hear.
It was then Peter became painfully aware that he was still surrounded by two remaining Avengers, both staring at him as if he were an anomaly.
He wasn’t sure who made him more nervous — Sam, being that the last time they were near each other he had webbed up Falcon into a cocoon.
Or Natasha, who probably knew 564 ways to kill him before he could blink.
Peter pointed to the doorway. “I should…uh…listen to him…you know, go and…yeah.”
Clutching the mask tightly in his gloved hands, he tried to leave the workshop.
Both stood in front of the door, unwavering.
While Natasha moved away slightly, Sam hadn’t budged an inch.
Peter squeezed between the two, muttering, "Sorry…just gotta get by...sorry...almost through," as his red and blue spandex brushed against Natasha and his shoulder bumped into Sam. It had to be the most embarrassing moment of his life, 6th grade de-pantsing in the cafeteria included. He quickly darted down the hallway the moment he could.
Sam poked his head out the door, hand cupped over his mouth.
“Yeah, you wouldn’t want to get grounded!” he hollered.
Natasha looked at him, disgusted.
He turned back to her and shrugged. “What?”
Natasha scoffed, loudly, shaking her head as she left the workshop; going the opposite direction of where Peter was jogging down the hallway.
Sam wasn’t far behind, muttering underneath his breath as he followed her along. “I miss having Barton around more often. Man at least has a sense of humor.”
The door to the conference room closed with an audible click. Fluorescent lights from above turned on automatically, one by one until the entire room was lit up. The chairs surrounding the meeting table remained empty, the corners untouched; it was quiet and secluded, the chaos from outside blocked off and hidden away.
Steve waited a moment before turning around from the door, his hand resting on the knob a moment longer than it needed to be.
“Tony…” It came out all in one breath. A sigh that, if Tony hadn't been walking away from him, might've blown him right off his feet.
“You know," Tony waved his hand flippantly in the air, back facing Steve as he walked into the conference room. "It’s a pretty sad day when you can have billions of dollars worth of security, and none of it stops a wannabe magician from breaking in and stealing your stuff.”
His act of nonchalance got him nowhere. Not a single response, not even a scoff — not even a tsk.
Turning on his heels, Tony cocked an eyebrow at the blue eyes staring him down. If he didn't know better, the way Steve's face had fallen flat held the same burden he'd seen all those months ago.
The same weight on his shoulders that Tony swore they'd gotten rid of.
“What?" he didn't so much ask as he did demand, with an annoyance lacing his tone that he couldn't hide. "You want to lecture me about responsibility? About the dangers of my technology? You want to start this up — again?”
'This' didn't need clarification. The way Steve dropped his head low to his chest, with a shake that followed, proved as much.
He stayed like that — for how long, Tony wasn't sure. The silence that passed cut into the air in a way that made his next breath hard to breathe in, and the one that followed after more stiff and stale. The tension was palpable; they had tainted the empty corners with the friction of their lingering hostility. Never truly gone, always just stuffed away where neither of them could see it.
When Steve looked up, a different expression had crossed his face. A twisted mix of sadness and frustration, etched deep into the lines of his skin.
"Oh, c'mon, Rogers." Tony tried to roll his eyes, but failed half way there.
The look was all too familiar to that day in the lounge, with the Accords paperwork sitting in front of them all. The look took him right back there, all those months ago. A time he didn't want to relive, an otherwise repressed blip that they all struggled to put behind them.
Their shared leadership in the team was a mangled mess that barely held on by a thread. A daily struggle of walking on eggshells and working around delicate — extremely delicate emotions, stemming from them both. A truce was formed by the shake of their hands over his fireplace, where the Accords burned away on top of wooden logs with sparks of flaming embers. Barnes was safe in Wakanda — exonerated. Tony helped rescue their team — rebuild the Avengers, start anew.
But their friendship had never been repaired along the way.
Tony knew it would only be a matter of time before they butted heads again.
And he didn’t know if he had the patience in him to deal with that tonight.
"Tony..." Steve finally broke the silence with a sigh to his word. A sigh within Tony's name. "He's a kid."
Tony worked his jaw, cracking it along the way.
“Don’t you think I know that?” he answered, sharply.
Steve went to speak, his lips parting only for a quiet puff of air to escape his mouth. His chest heaved as it did, going so far as to drop his shoulders.
“To be honest..." Steve slowly let go of the doorknob, making small steps into the conference room and towards Tony. "I was hoping that you didn’t.”
The way he approached him — a defeated, grim frown — Tony finally rolled his eyes, meeting his stare with his own.
“Oh knock it off with the ‘I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed’ face, Rogers.”
Steve grabbed the back of a chair, initially going to move it out of the way only to stop once touching it. His hand gripped the headrest, tighter than what they both knew it could handle.
“Did you know he was a kid?” Steve asked. “When you recruited him? Did you know?"
“Of course I knew!" Tony took purposeful steps to stand on the opposite side of the conference room, keeping his head low as he rubbed firmly at his temple. "Now, why the hell is this your concern right now when our top of the line, highly secured facility was just broken into!?”
His voice shouted well above Steve's, a shout that echoed the large, empty room. There weren't enough chairs or furniture to muffle the sound. If anything, the noise bounced off the sleek conference table and ricocheted against the corners surrounding them.
The increase in volume did nothing to deter Steve.
“How old is he?” Steve asked, the firmness to his voice barely heard with how quiet he spoke.
Maybe that’s what felt condescending to Tony. Or perhaps it was the nights events that took a toll on him — his stuff was stolen, the Spider-kid was in deep trouble when he got his hands on him — and now, of all things, he felt like he was being lectured to.
Their mending friendship be damned, Tony really, really didn’t have the patience for this tonight.
“Christ, Cap — he’s fifteen, okay? Fifteen." Tony spun on his heels to face him, planting both his hands down on the conference table that separated them. "Now remove the patronizing icicle out of your ass —”
"Fifteen?" Steve echoed, his jaw momentarily disconnecting with eyes that grew wider than the ceiling lights. "Fifteen...Tony, he's —"
"Guess I shouldn't mention he was fourteen in Germany," Tony satirically tossed in, almost as if he knew the additional information couldn't possibly make Steve any more angry than he already was.
To his surprise, it did.
"Tony!" Steve stressed, his tight grip on the headrest whitening the skin on his knuckles. "Why? He's a kid, why would you...why bring someone so young into this mess?”
Tony's head snapped up.
“That’s what this is to you now?" His palms pressed harder against the conference table. "A mess?”
Steve noticeably took a sharp inhale, his mouth not fast enough in correcting himself.
“Because if you feel that way," Tony was quick in continuing. "At least say it’s a well organized and funded mess —”
“It’s war,” Steve harshly interrupted.
“Than I guess we need all the soldiers we can get,” Tony retorted.
The hesitation on Steve's end didn't go unnoticed. The lulls between his responses, the way his jaw clenched up with consideration to each word he spoke — he was likely more aware of the fragile, and easily breakable, alliance between them both.
It made the conversation taking place far more difficult than it should've been.
Placing one hand firmly on his hip, Steve met Tony's gaze head on.
“How could you...in good conscience, recruit a fifteen-year-old boy?” Steve's eyebrows arched high. "A boy."
“Because we had no other way to get through to you, Rogers!" Tony snapped, slamming his hand down on the table below him. The echo barely reached over his own volume, a shout that tore painfully from his throat. "You were blinded by Barnes, willing to do anything and lose everything over him. We needed something — I needed something to gain the advantage, to make you realize you were relentlessly sacrificing everything for one damn person! I need an enhanced to knock your ass flat on the ground to realize that!”
Steve looked away, and said nothing.
It was the one thing that pissed Tony off the most about Steve Rogers — while simultaneously also being the one thing that he admired the most. The man never engaged in anger. Always pacifying to the tee.
He didn't react to Tony's outburst, but he didn't ignore it, either.
Slowly, and quietly, Steve rolled out the chair where his hand gripped the headrest with taut skin across his knuckles. He sat down, leaning forward with elbows on his knees, and resting his chin in the palm of his hands. Looking somewhere near the floor where nothing but his thoughts captivated his attention.
For a long while, he didn't speak. And Tony didn't encourage him to, either.
“I could have killed him out there —" Steve's voice was hoarse when he finally spoke up. "He could have died in Germany.”
If Tony shook his head any harder, it may have fallen right off his shoulders.
“I wouldn’t have let that happen," he insisted, the same hoarseness briefly taking his words as well.
Steve dropped his hands, straightening in the chair as stiff as a rod.
“Not everything is in your control, Tony.” Steve gestured a hand to the door. “Tonight should be proof of that.”
Tony grounded his teeth. “What I do with my recruit is none of your business.”
“It is now," Steve quickly threw back, with a hard shake of his head to follow. "Somebody that young — you can’t just throw away a life like that.”
“I’m not throwing it away, I’m bettering it!” Tony’s temper flared — his words came out sharp and crisp, with his skin flushing red.
“By sending him out in the field to get hurt, or worse?” Steve shot up an eyebrow, high. "You know how dangerous this line of work is. If he dies —"
“Whose suit do you think that is, Rogers? It’s my tech on him. I wouldn’t send him out there without the equipment to protect him — I wouldn’t send any of you out there without protection!” Tony pointed at him, his finger steady. “Just remember where that shield of yours came from.”
“Is that what this is?" Steve furrowed his brow, crossing both arms tightly over his chest. "Was he some sort of Stark Industries experiment gone hay-wire?”
“Steve — Christ, no, he —” Tony scoffed, walking away from the conference table with a hand running down the length of his face.
“Is that why you feel responsible for him?” Steve kept talking, even as he kept walking away. "Was this something you caused —"
"No, Rogers!" Tony spun around, extending his arm out and pointing sharply to the door. “I’ll have you know he was doing this long before I got involved! Without the protection, without any of the protection! If it weren't for me, he'd probably be road kill by now!"
“He’s only fifteen!” Steve finally shouted, his voice booming across the room — hitting Tony at full strength, even as they stood far apart from one another.
Tony rolled his eyes. “Give me a break!”
“He’s a child!"
Suddenly, Steve shot up from his seat, the chair rolling across the room with a speed and force that had it smashing into the wall with a resounding bang.
Tony couldn't help but whip his head around as the chair collided with drywall, watching as it left a small dent at impact.
Steve didn't give it so much a glance.
“Give him all the gadgets in the world and it doesn’t change the fact that he’s still a child!” Steve emphasized, taking long, fast, strides in approaching him. No longer letting the length of the room separate them. “Of course he came here tonight — he didn’t know any better! He's too young!"
“No," Tony turned back to Steve, quickly, shaking his head before he even met the man's gaze. "You don’t get to say that, you don't know Peter.”
There was a firmness that lined every syllable that came from his mouth — a Stark way of speaking, control and ownership taking the room by with ruthless force.
The look on Steve's face showed that it had no impact on him.
“I’m beginning to doubt that I know you,” Steve admitted, almost too soft to hear.
Tony wish he hadn't heard it at all.
Turning away on the balls of his heels, Tony gripped painfully at the back of his scalp, tugging at his head with muttered curses underneath his breath.
“Christ. I can’t…" Tony turned back around, his shoulders sagging with resignation. "I can’t do this with you again, Rogers."
“The fact that you would recruit such a young boy into this line of work," Steve didn’t let up, not even as Tony brushed past him — desperate to get to the door. "Somebody who hasn’t even graduated high school yet —”
Tony was reaching for the doorknob when he bit back, “Get off your high horse —”
“Come ON, Stark!”
His voice shouted so loud it finally made Tony flinch, his head jerking back in shock.
Steve stormed up to him, shoulders pulled back tautly.
“We’re all grown adults here —" When Tony went to open the door, Steve slammed it shut. "We understand the repercussion to our actions, and we’ve accepted the possibility of dying out there. But him? He’s just a kid.”
The words resounded in the room, rolling off the walls like thunder; each echo somehow more powerful than the last. Tony gripped the doorknob in his hand, his head craned painfully to the side as he stared at Steve — not daring to let himself blink.
For as angry as Steve was, his expression failed to match the rage in his voice.
“I’ve watched a lot of good men die in senseless wars. Men,” Steve stressed, pushing away from the door and taking a step back. “If the kid dies, that’s on you.”
Tony broke the stare, looking away and towards the doorknob — still gripped in his hand, still twisted to be turned.
He didn't respond.
He didn’t want to respond.
He didn’t want to tell Steve that he felt the exact same way, because then it’d add fuel to the fire of why he was letting Peter be involved.
He didn't want to admit that some day — most days — he regretted bringing the kid into their world of superheroes. It scared the living hell out of him when he imagined the worst possible scenario's that could happen. Injuries, death.
Not responding kept that fear inside, where he didn't have to deal with it.
Or the repercussions of admitting it to someone else.
“Is it worth it, Tony?” Steve asked. “Is he worth it?”
Tony looked up at him, never answering.
It was all the answer Steve needed.
Without another word, Tony left the room, the door shutting with a loud thud.
Peter spun.
He spun, and spun, and spun around in his chair, watching the room swirl by him as if he were on a roller coaster.
Not touching the hundreds of exciting gadgets around him was harder than he expected, like putting a kid in a candy store and then giving him broccoli to eat.
Mr. Stark couldn't just lock him in a closet where he'd be less enticed by his surroundings — no, he had to come here, another workshop off the corner of the compound. From the looks of it, the room held most of the prototypes for the Avengers weaponry. The widow bites scattered across the bench were screaming for his attention and it took Peter all his restraint not to touch them.
Bringing the chair to a slow stop, Peter found himself sighing. He admitted defeat in going home anytime soon. Hours had passed since he was caught at the Avengers compound, and after texting May that he’d be staying at Ned’s tonight — and then calling Ned to cover the lie — he had nothing to do but wait.
And waiting was the worse part.
Just when he was beginning to think they had forgotten about him, the sound of electronic keys being dialed caught his attention. A few beeps passed before the door was granted accessed, opened up and revealed —
“Mr. Stark, I’m so sorry, I —”
Tony glared at him, waving the door shut without turning his back. His other hand pointed a finger viciously in Peter's direction.
“I told you to stay away, kid,” Tony hissed. “What will it take for me to get into that ridiculously rebellious adolescent head of yours?”
Peter gulped, hard enough to shake his throat. “Mr. Stark, I —”
“Do I need to speak in opposites?” he asked, walking right past Peter. “If I say 'Yeah, Pete! Go after the dangerous criminal wearing a fishbowl for a helmet!' will you stay away then?”
Peter stood up from his chair, turning to face him with his Spider-Man mask still gripped in his hands.
“He was —”
“Once again, you have gotten in way over your head,” Tony angrily ranted, only pausing to take in air. “You’re the one who wanted to stick to the streets, you're the one who wanted stay low to the ground, remain in the neighborhood —”
“He was in my neighborhood, Mr. Stark!" Peter tried tearing through his tangent, the best that he could. "If you just hear me out —”
Tony turned around, so fast it made Peter dizzy. He could practicality feel the anger radiating from the man. With his hip leaning against the table, Tony crossed his arms and arched his eyebrows. A beat passed in silence before Peter got the hint.
It wasn’t often he was allowed an explanation.
Not often at all.
“It wasn’t like I was chasing him." Slowly, cautiously, Peter began to approach Tony. "I was on patrol, and I saw him…” he paused, realizing everything he said sounded so much better in his head. “So…I followed him.”
Tony stared at him so intensely that Peter thought, for just one moment, he may have broken the man. His expression was deadpanned, his movements were nonexistent. Only Cap himself could compete with how frozen he'd become.
Yeah, Peter decided. It sounded a lot better in his head.
“And you never once thought to call, I don’t know, anyone!?” Tony wasn’t shy about yelling at this point.
Peter could tell he had passed his breaking point long before entering the room. Something bad had happened between him and the others, and knowing he was the cause of that left a sickening feeling of guilt to settle in his stomach.
“…I called Happy.”
Tony immediately pinched the bridge of his nose, and Peter quickly went to recover.
“And — and I tried calling you! But my phone shut off, the-the suit fritzed out and —”
“And now I have missing tech with no clue on where to find it!" Tony moved his fingers up to his forehead, pressing in so hard it was a feat his skull didn't cave in. "What happens if this guy replicates himself into the President of the United States? Did you think about that, Parker? One push of a button and he can nuke a whole country! And that’s on me.”
“I just wanted to help.” Peter's voice was soft. Quiet. Almost too hushed to be heard.
Tony snapped his head over to look at him, and suddenly — and violently — Peter was back at Staten Island. The disappointment and regret that flashed across his eyes was a punch to the gut, so hard it stole his next breath.
“I just wanted to be like you.”
“Well…you didn’t,” Tony snapped.
“And I wanted you to be better.”
It wasn’t his finest moment. Everything about this night had turned into a train wreck, and he was half-expecting his suit to be confiscated again. It surprised him Tony hadn't gone there yet, and he surely wasn't going to give the man any ideas.
For once, Peter kept his mouth shut.
Tony turned around — practically spun around — leaning heavily against the workshop counters, muttering a few choice words under his breath.
A beat of silence passed before Peter spoke again.
“You know…I should be mad too.”
Just like his plan tonight, the words left Peter's mouth before he thought them through. His eyes went wide as he watched Tony spin back around, with such unspeakable anger that Peter had to take a step back.
“It's just, I didn’t—I didn’t want anyone to know about Spider-Man,” he tried to defend himself, quickly, backtracking his words as fast as he could. “You made me take my mask off —”
“Can it, kid!” Tony shouted, his lips pursed. “You put yourself in that situation the moment you snuck into this compound.”
There was no arguing with him on that. Peter frowned, knowing he couldn’t go back in time and change things. The damage was clearly done for the night; they just had to move forward and fix what had happened.
Peter hoped that they could move forward and fix what happened.
“Listen, Mr. Stark, I know Mysterio stole The Chameleon, but we can find him! Maybe if we —”
“We are not doing anything, you hear me pipsqueak?” Tony snapped. “Because not only did star spangled asshole chew me out a new asshole, but now he’s decided we’ve regressed right back to Germany and aren’t on the same side anymore. And that’s because I decided to keep your little ‘secret identity’ from the team. On top of that, some very, very dangerous tech is now in the hands of your floating fish-bowl bad guy. So I repeat, we are not doing anything! You are going home.”
Peter stood still, the mask in his hands no longer being twisted and fiddled with. His hands fell motionless, his only movement the heavy drop of his shoulders.
Being yelled at wasn't new to him; he had been yelled at countless times, by many adults. Some being prominent authority figures to him like May, some being meaningless teachers that didn’t know the whole story to his problems.
Being reprimanded by Tony Stark was different.
Mr. Stark was someone he looked up to, someone he wanted to impress and do good by. When he was Spider-Man, he could do that. Spider-Man made him feel tall and big, somebody who could help anyone, with anything.
Right now, Peter felt small. And he hated that feeling.
“Yes, sir,” he mumbled, knowing full well there wasn’t anything more he could say. Even his mouth, with all he could ramble and babble on about, didn't dare utter another word.
Tony had pulled up the nearest stool and immediately collapsed onto it, rubbing at his temples aggressively. He didn’t even look up as the Peter began to walk away, never even noticing as he came to a sudden stop halfway across the room.
“I’m…I’m really sorry, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, waiting in anticipation for a response that never came.
He turned his back again, heading right for the door.
“Kid…”
Tony hadn't even finished speaking when Peter turned around, a glisten of hope noticeably sparking in his eye.
Tony craned his neck over to look at him, but the sigh that followed wasn't one Peter wanted to hear.
“Security’s not going to let you out, not while we’re on lock-down.”
Peter frowned. It wasn't just from the unexpected answer; now he was confused to how he was supposed to get home.
“Where—where should…where should I go…?”
“Your quarters. East wing," Tony answered easily, spinning around on the stool and pointing to his right. “Follow the red Android if you have trouble finding it.”
Peter hid the shock from his face and better than that, he kept his mouth shut.
Internally, his head was screaming the same thing over and over again.
‘That...that wasn't a test!? I have a room here!?’ He awkwardly made his way out of the workshop, walking down the hallway while fighting off a grin that he didn't feel deserving of. 'I've been here so many times before and I've never been to my own room!? That's so uncool!'
Walking through the building, Peter realized that Tony wasn’t kidding — the entire facility was on lock-down. Guards were stationed at every door, each one of them looking at him like he was some sort of strange, uninvited monster. Of everything he had dealt with tonight, he was mildly thankful that making his way to the east wing of the compound — in his Spider-Man suit, mask clenched in his hands — wasn’t the most uncomfortable thing he had encountered.
It was close, though. Especially when he needed to stop and ask the front desk security guard which way the Avengers lodging rooms were.
It didn’t help that he found her to be a little cute, too.
By the time Peter approached his quarters, his feet were dragging on the ground. Exhausted didn't begin to describe how he felt. Between the impromptu ride upstate, to trying to catch Mysterio before he could do any harm — a total fail, because that was the streak he seemed to be on lately — to the Avengers finding out who he was, Peter wanted nothing more than to crawl up and go to sleep.
It wasn’t hard to tell which room belonged to him; seeing the Spider-emblem painted on the door was a dead giveaway. He slowly pushed it open, hesitant on going inside.
That was, until, the lights automatically turned on and he saw exactly what the inside held.
“No way…”
Eyes wide, Peter’s jaw dropped.
A small smile finally tugged on his lips.
The room was huge. The size of May’s entire apartment, at best, and entirely modeled for somebody like him. It wasn't just a bedroom, it was personalized. Each corner had something for him. On one side was a high-tech computer, X-Box, and Playstation. Another had a small personal laboratory, set up with things like his web cartridges and model of his web-shooters. Hell, one side was complete a rock wall, surely a jab at Peter’s growing interest in climbing.
He was overwhelmed, looking at his surroundings with starry eyes.
If he had known about this, he definitely would've joined the team.
On top of the sleek, mahogany wooden dresser laid a pair of sweatpants and neatly folded up t-shirt. Upon inspecting it, Peter realized they were spare clothes of Tony's — the AC/DC t-shirt that smelt of iron and grease a dead give away.
With nothing better to wear, Peter hit the emblem on his chest and stripped off the suit for more comfortable attire. He tightened the drawstring of the pants, but the shirt still hung baggy on him, about two sizes too big. It would have to do for now.
The bed in the middle of the room looked extremely inviting and he practically collapsed onto it, bouncing slightly as he did. He knew it had gotten late — or early, he didn’t even want to look at the clock.
Peter could feel it in his bones, an exhaustion that hit him deep.
And boy, were the pillows super comfortable.
Peter laid his head against them, briefly noting how it felt like being surrounded by an abundance of clouds. Soft, fluffy, feathery clouds. It was a huge difference from his old, lumpy twin bed back home.
Closing his eyes, he let out a deep sigh and relaxed, ready to sleep away the rough and grating day. Tomorrow would bring something new and better — it had to. Things couldn't keep going this way for him.
Not even his life sucked that much.
Only, Peter tossed and turned and huffed and groaned, ultimately plopping onto his back with an exaggerated groan.
Of all nights he couldn’t fall asleep, it just had to be tonight.