Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You ready for school?” Came Aunt May’s voice from the other side of Peter's bedroom door.

“...What?” Peter mumbled.

“You’ve gotta go in, like, a few minutes.” She warned him.

That woke him up. He jumped out of his bed, but got tangled in his sheets and fell in a heap of limbs on the ground with a shout, and a thud.

“Ow.” He groaned.

He must’ve slept through his damn alarms. He wasn’t too surprised, though. He stayed up super late the night before.

…When he stumbled upon a robbery on patrol.

“You okay?” May asked. Although she didn’t sound too concerned.

“Yeah,” He winced, “Fine.”

“‘Kay,”

Fuck. He was going to be late.

🕸

After throwing on a t-shirt and sweats, just barely brushing his teeth, and grabbing a bagel, he narrowly made the subway.

Thank god.

He had an algebra quiz today, and was not about to miss it.

🕸

When he finally got to school, he was exhausted. He was running off of barely four hours of sleep, a bagel, and a prayer.

But all of that seemed to ease when he saw Ned and MJ, waiting for him in their hallway. He went up to them and groaned melodramatically.

“I’m so tireeeeddd,”

They were offensively indifferent.

After a long moment of silence, Peter spoke again:

“...Don’t you guys care?”

“Nah, it’s probably your own fault.” MJ shrugged.

“Peter, I love you, man,” Ned started, “But she’s right. When did you go to sleep last night?”

Peter glared at him.

“Exactly,” Ned said triumphantly.

“I hate you both,” Peter mumbled into his hands. They didn’t really care, though.

🕸

He walked to his first class, history with Mr. Harrington.

It gave him the perfect, beautiful opportunity to take an hour-long nap.

After that, he felt much, much better.

Then was algebra.

He had a quiz on inequalities, of which he absolutely nailed.

He hadn’t gotten his grade on it back yet, but he just knew it. It was so easy, and he finished it in only a few minutes.

🕸

He made his way to the cafeteria and sat down with Ned and MJ at their usual table.

“Soooo,” Ned smirked, “What happened last night?”

“Ned.” Peter warned flatly.

“C’mon,”

Peter sighed.

“There was a robbery.”

Ned’s eyes widened, clearly excited for the details to come.

“You know that’s not a good thing, right?”

“Don’t even, I see how excited you get when you see robberies and emergencies on the news.”

“Fine,” Peter admitted, “It was nothing, just a bunch of idiots at a dollar store with a knife.”

“You didn’t get stabbed, did you?” Ned, suddenly concerned, felt obliged to ask.

“...No,”

“...You hesitated.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You totally did,” Ned protested, “Wait, you got stabbed?!” Ned asked hysterically.

“I did not get stabbed. The knife grazed me.” Peter rushed to correct him, “And keep your voice down.”

“You always downplay all your injuries. I do not trust your judgment.” Ned said, scrutinizing him, “Let me see,”

“What? No!” Peter said, “Plus, I already bandaged it.”

“Did you?” Ned asked dubiously.

“...No.”

“Ned’s right,” MJ finally spoke, lowering her book, “Full offense, dude, but you have zero self-preservation skills.”

“Hey!” Peter scoffed.

“Don’t even.”

“Whatever, it’s already mostly healed.” He shrugged, “It’ll be gone by the end of the day.”

“Fine, but if it gets infected, I’m telling May.” Ned gave up.

“You wouldn’t,”

“Oh, I would,” Ned assured him.

Peter knew Ned wouldn’t do that, and he was really just warning him.

MJ would, though; she probably wouldn’t even hesitate.

🕸

After lunch, the rest of the day passed pretty smoothly.

He had Spanish class, which was a breeze; he was practically fluent in Spanish at this point.

And lastly, he had Photography with MJ.

Which was essentially just an hour where they tried to take as many unflattering stealth shots of each other. Peter kind of had an unfair advantage, what, being able to stick to walls and having super-human reflexes.

That didn’t stop MJ from getting horrible pictures of him. Maybe she had reflexes, too.

Eventually, the bell rang, and Peter had to say goodbye to his friends.

He made his way to the subway, put his headphones on, and turned on his favourite playlist.

🕸

The subway only brought him so close to home, so he usually had to walk a good chunk of the way home.

He liked taking shortcuts through alleyways; they were quicker and, for the most part, safer. For the most part.

He cut through one of the usual alleyways when something caught his eye.

Sick! A practically brand new DVD player sitting right there in a heap near the dumpster.

He grabbed it, inspected it for any major problems, and when he noticed it was pretty much perfect, he took it home.

🕸

Peter was nearly home when he caught sight of a bright red, roughly vintage - but still mint-condition - Ferrari. He could’ve passed out. He could’ve cried. It was so beautiful. He barely restrained himself from taking a picture with it. He was so nervous to be close to it, though, because it probably cost more than any sum of money he could ever make in his entire life.

He eventually tore his eyes off the vehicle and made his way inside his building.

He lived in an old apartment building that was far too expensive for the state it was in. It had some black mold, maybe some mildew in the lobby, some silverfish, and the occasional cockroach. It was so old, if any sort of fire broke out, the building would probably be screwed. The elevators had not been inspected in a concerningly long time. It didn’t really bother him, though. He’d lived in this apartment for basically his whole life.

He moved in after his parents died when he was 6. He hardly remembers his life before this apartment. Late home-cooked dinners with May and Ben, watching old action movies Ben was obsessed with, or sitcoms with May. Christmas, birthdays, first days of school. It was home.

The elevator dinged, and he reached into his back pocket, fishing for his keys, as he made his way to their apartment. He usually had to jimmy the door a little to unlock it, given its age and the rust.

“Hey, May,” He said after opening the door, dropping the DVD player on the table, and his school bag onto the floor.

“Hey,” She responded, “How was school today?” She asked as he made his way into the kitchen.

“It was okay,” He shrugged, “There’s this crazy car parked outside-” He cut himself off as he laid eyes upon the most expensive living being on earth; Tony fricking Stark.

Tony Stark was lounging on his couch, having a conversation with his aunt.

What the fuck.

He took his headphones off, in hopes of killing whatever strange hallucination his brain was displaying, but when it proved unsuccessful, he realised that this was very much real.

“Oh, Mr. Parker.” Tony surmised.

Peter’s brain short-circuited.

“What are you doing- Hey, um, I’m Peter.” He so violently stammered out.

“Tony.” The man introduced himself, as if that was necessary.

“What-what are you, what are you doing here?” He stuttered.

“It’s about time we met,” Mr. Stark said, “You’ve been getting my emails, right?”

Then it dawned on him.

The internship.

The internship he’d signed up for months ago. The one he had no shot at actually getting accepted for. The one that he almost forgot about.

God damn it. He’d been waiting for a response for so long with no prevail that he’d just given up.

“...No, sorry,” He admitted, “I haven’t checked lately.” Which was the truth. He felt so guilty that he technically ghosted the Tony Stark. Would he go to hell for that? “What were they regarding?”

He had to be sure.

“The internship.” Tony said, “Remember when you applied, what, a few months back? I accepted it.”

Peter’s breath caught, because no fucking way.

He got accepted.

He actually got accepted.

“You never told me anything about that.” May said, almost a little hurt, and guilt panged in Peter’s chest, “What’s up with that?”

“It was a long shot, I really didn’t think I’d actually get in.”

“Well, you did,” Tony chimed in, “You lied about your age, but you have a very impressive record; straight A’s, full-ride scholarship to one of the most prestigious schools in the state, won first place in the academic decathlon… I didn’t really have much of a choice.”

Embarrassment dusted the boy’s cheeks, hearing Tony Stark rave about how smart he was.

“You what?” Aunt May said flatly, and all of Peter’s previous joy was replaced by the sudden urge to hide behind the wall.

“You lied about your age? To Mr. Stark? Peter, what the hell?”

“It wasn’t a lie!” He floundered, trying to come up with an excuse, “It was a… Uh, a future truth!”

“...a ‘future truth’?” May raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

Tony stood off to the side, mouth slightly agape, trying to find anything to say, but Peter beat him to it.

“Is the internship….” Peter almost felt guilty asking, “Does the internship have any… Money, involved?”

Money has always been tight for them, but even more so now that Ben died. Peter tried to eat less and use less electricity and water, just enough that May wouldn’t notice.

“Yeah, we pay our interns pretty well, I mean,” Tony gestured to himself, “Look who you’re talking to.” He smiled before barreling on, “And I know you signed up to become a general intern for our scientific and technological programs, but your record was too impressive, I took the liberty of making you my intern.”

It felt like Peter was going into cardiac arrest.

“What, you mean like, I’m going to be… Your personal intern?” Peter was bewildered.

“Yep, help out in my lab, get me coffee, whatnot. The scientists in the S&E labs were a little upset, but nothing they could really do about it. Perks of being the boss, you know?”

Peter couldn’t respond. He was still stuck replaying the words ‘making you my intern’ over and over again in his head.

“I’ll have Happy pick you up every weekday, if that works with you.”

“He can’t, he has school.”

“Right, I knew there was a reason why we didn’t hire high school students.” Tony sighed, “How about after school? That work?”

Peter looked to May, searching for a wary, disapproving, or even upset look, but she just smiled at him. He smiled back. So big.

“Yes, that works, Mr. Stark.”

“Great, looking forward to working with you, kid.” The man said, offering his hand.

“Uh, yes, me too, Mr. Stark.” He smiled nervously and shook his hand.

Tony turned on his heel and beelined for the door, before looking over his shoulder.

“And kid?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Call me Tony,”

“Of course, Mr. Stark.” He smiled at him.

And with that, the man left.

Peter’s life was never going to be the same again.

Chapter Text

He was right: Peter’s life was going to completely change.

For the worse.

🕸

Peter woke up the next day with such an enormous sense of purpose.

He was starting his internship with Tony Stark today, and if that wasn’t something to get him out of bed, nothing was.

He made his way to school and was buzzing with excitement all the way until lunch.

“You guys remember that one internship I signed up for a while back? For Stark Industries?” Peter asked as he sat down.

“The one you never heard back from?” Ned asked, eyebrows knit together, “What about it?”

“Well, I heard back from them.” Peter said with a big, proud smile, “Or, well… Him.”

“WHAT?” Ned slapped both his hands on the table, drawing some attention to them, “Peter, are you messing with me right now?”

“Nope, I went home last night, and Tony Stark was sitting on my couch talking to my aunt.”

“OH, MY GOD, WHAT DID HE SAY?”

“He said he looked over my application and that he wants me to be his personal assistant.”

Ned looked like he was nearing a heart attack.

MJ finally decided to participate in the conversation.

“It’s about damn time he recognized you.” She smiled, which was crazy; MJ never smiled.

Peter smiled back. It was hard to get genuine emotions out of MJ.

“I start today, after school.”

“So, you’ll be going to the actual Stark Tower?” Ned asked, starstruck.

Peter nodded so hard it was dizzying.

“You better call me later and spare NO details about the place,” Ned commanded, “Maybe even bring me a souvenir.” He winked.

“I’m not stealing from Tony Stark.”

“Who said anything about stealing? Just long-term borrowing.”

Peter laughed.

This was going to be amazing.

Probably.

🕸

Peter was called out of class - his fourth and last period - just a few minutes before the bell rang.

Mr. Stark had said something about getting picked up before school would end, so that he could leave without any of his classmates seeing him getting into some strange car, with a strange man.

After Peter grabbed his stuff from his locker and left the school, he scanned the parking lot.

The man had texted him, saying to look for the grumpy man in the black armored car.

Eventually, he laid his eyes on a very shiny, very black car with a sufficiently grumpy-looking man in the driver’s seat.

The man rolled his window down, and Peter spoke before the man had a chance.

“Are you Happy?”

“Yes,”

“I’m-”

“Peter, I know,” The man cut him off curtly, “Get in.”

Huh, no wonder they called him Happy.

🕸

The ride over was silent, but Peter couldn’t seem to sit still.

His mind was racing in all different sorts of ways.

Some anxious overthinking, but mainly just excited thoughts.

Oh, my God, I’m actually going to be meeting Tony Stark! Like, officially this time!

Imagine the technology there!

Wait, do you think I’ll get to work on the Iron Man suit???

His speeding thoughts were abruptly cut off by the rather silent sounds of a garage door opening, and he realized he was here.

The Stark Tower.

The taciturn man pulled the vehicle into a reserved parking spot.

“The elevator,” He spoke, “It’ll take you to Tony’s lab.”

After a moment of silence, Peter took it as his cue to leave.

“Thank you, Mr….”

“Just call me Happy, kid.”

“Thanks, Happy!”

He made his way to the elevator, where he was scanned and greeted by a warm Irish voice.

Normally, it’d’ve startled him, but it was just too comforting.

“Hello, Mr. Parker, I’ve been instructed to take you to Mr. Stark’s lab.”

“Okay, great,” Peter smiled, “...And you are?”

“FRIDAY, Mr. Stark’s personal artificial intelligence.”

Wow. Already this was the coolest place he’d ever been, and it was only in the elevator.

🕸

They had eventually arrived at the lab, which would have to be at least 60 floors up, - thank God he had gotten over his fear of heights - and Peter stepped out of the elevator.

“Hello?” Peter called out, “Mr. Stark?”

When no response came, he took the cautious liberty of giving himself a small tour of the lab.

White was the primary colour scheme throughout the floor - but not a sterile white, a shiny, clean white - the floors a dark grey tile.

There were all different sorts of tools and metal parts everywhere. All expensive and good quality materials. Duh. The sight made Peter smile even bigger. 

- And only ache a tiny bit with jealousy. -

Imagine the stuff he could create here.

All of it just lying around, as if they were nothing more than scraps, and as good as garbage to Mr. Stark. The thought made Peter wince a little.

Peter treasured the old - and literal garbage - tech he had scrounged up, and the thought that this man probably wouldn’t even mind if someone had broken in and taken some of these parts and gadgets almost made Peter resent the man.

Almost.

Off to the east side of the floor, there was a small kitchenette. Granted, it was still bigger than the kitchen in Peter’s apartment, but that wasn’t the point. The kitchen had a luxurious coffee machine, a tall island, plenty of grey cabinets, and a great big silver fridge. One that probably served crushed ice. Like the ones Peter saw in movies.

He brought his attention back to probably the most advanced technological lab in the world and noticed that atop one of the workbenches, there had to have been at least 4 different long-forgotten mugs half-full of coffee, and a cold and sad-looking coffee pot. 

As if on cue, the coffeeholic had entered the lab, hand clad with yet another mug of coffee.

“Peter!” The man greeted. “You made it!”

“I don’t think a fever of 200 degrees could’ve stopped me from coming, sir.” He responded, a little too passionately.

But the man hadn’t seemed to mind his excitement; he only smiled earnestly.

“Come,” Tony gestured with his arm, “Let me show you around.”

Mr. Stark proceeded to give Peter a far more thorough tour than the one Peter had given himself. Once the tour had concluded, the two made themselves comfortable in the main section of the lab. They were looking at Stark’s current project - a new AI he hadn’t really had any big ideas for yet - and they just sat there talking about it and other nerdy things for hours.

Eventually and reluctantly, Peter took off.

🕸

That was the first of many meetings with the man, and they had been absolutely amazing.

So amazing, that Peter had started to ease a little, and that anxious, paranoid buzzing at the back of his head started to slack off.

He didn’t know it then, but that would be his undoing.

Chapter Text

“Peter!” Ned screamed, “Run, he’s going to shoot you!”

Quickly, Peter clicked the left joystick on his controller, but not quickly enough to dodge the skeleton’s arrow.

“Damn it!” Peter exclaimed.

“Does your spider-sense thing not work or something?”

“No, it doesn’t work on Minecraft, Ned.”

“Damn,” Ned sounded very disappointed.

“Your fault for insisting we played hardcore,” Peter said, flopping backwards onto Ned’s bed.

“Yeah, yeah,”

Leaning his head back, Peter noticed how dark it had become outside and checked the time.

10:38 pm.

Damn, already?

“I should probably start heading back,” Peter said as he got up and grabbed his suit.

“So soon?” Ned protested.

“Ned, I’ve been here for over six hours.”

“Damn, already?”

Peter snorted.

It didn’t take Peter too long before he got the suit on; it was muscle memory at this point. He bid his farewells to Ned and jumped out the window.

He loved going over to Ned’s. Whether it was to play video games, to watch Star Wars, to do homework, or even to stitch up some kind of wound Peter acquired on patrol. Peter had always loved Ned’s company.

Even Aunt May had grown fond of Ned, kind of like a second son.

And she never minded when Peter spent time at Ned’s; he often used it as a cover for his patrols.

Of which, he hadn’t actually gone on in a while.

He felt a sort of guilt festering in his stomach at that.

Eventually, he got home.

“Aunt May?” He called.

No response.

He came around the kitchen table, where he saw a note:

“Got called in for a late shift

leftovers in the fridge

- Love, May”

May had been picking up so many extra shifts lately, on account of how badly they were struggling without Ben’s income.

Peter felt so guilty, especially because of all the changes after The Bite™; it had insanely increased his metabolism, thus increasing his appetite, and he also needed to buy new clothes because of the growth spurt. Not to mention the surplus of showering thanks to the excessive perspiration.

He ate some of the leftovers from last night’s dinner and went out on patrol to ease his mind. He tried to take advantage of nights when May was working to go out on patrol; he figured as long as he beat her home or snuck in, it was fine.

It wasn’t long before he finally took off.

🕸

He was doing his laps around Queens like usual.

It was a fairly tame night. Nothing too crazy; some drunks, some sketchy people who seemed to smarten up whenever they caught sight of Spider-Man.

The usual.

Up until he notices a group of around five shady men walking along the side of the road.

Peter caught up and started to stalk behind them, listening to whatever it was they were - not so slyly - plotting.

“I bet he’s got some cash on him,” one of the - probable - leaders had said.

“Definitely, look at what he’s wearing.” Another big one chuckled.

The “he” in question was a man who was wearing a suit and a nice quality coat, and he was about twenty feet in front of the gang.

“Easy target,” The first man said, pulling out a blade.

“Nah,” Peter finally spoke, “I think we should just let him go.”

At that, all the men turned around, shocked to see Queen’s vigilante trailing behind them.

“What? Don’t I get a vote?”

The gang’s shared shock turned into anger, and suddenly their sights were turned on Peter.

Peter drew them into the mouth of an alleyway to keep any possible civilians out of harm's way.

Not that there were many at this time of night.

They all quickly surrounded him, each pulling out their own weapons, all of them different kinds of pocket knives.

“Oh no, small knives!” Peter said sarcastically, “My one weakness.”

“You think you’re funny, spandex?” The frontman asked.

“Oh, very.”

Quickly, Peter webbed two of the men’s knife-clad hands and kicked at another.

“You’re quick,” One of the smaller ones said.

“You and your mom are in agreement, then.” Peter turned his back on him to go for the bigger dude who had started swinging, when all of a sudden…

Peter heard a loud and deafening bang.

He was then met with a searing, white-hot, and burning pain tearing through his leg.

A familiar pain.

Peter looked down and saw a fresh hole in his leg, blood pouring fastly and sluggishly from it.

Fuck, he got shot.

Again.

Why didn’t he see it coming?

“Did you just fucking shoot me?”

“It would appear so.” The little smug one said.

Peter swung around and kicked the man hard enough to send him crashing into the side of the building and send his gun skittering across the asphalt and webbed him secure.

Great, only four left.

He grabbed one of the flying punches and flipped whoever the hell sent it upside down.

Once he restrained him with a sufficient amount of webbing, he moved on to the second biggest guy.

The guy kicked Peter so hard in the leg. The same leg with the hole.

“Oh, what the hell?” Peter winced.

He webbed the man’s hands together and, with a flick of the wrist, sent him flying.

The man screamed and landed on the ground with a thud.

Peter then grabbed the biggest guy and threw him at the smaller one.

2 in 1.

Peter webbed them all up a little more for good measure and left a note for the authorities.

“Ur welcome,

- Your Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-Man”

🕸

He figured he couldn’t do much good with a hole in his leg, and figured he did enough already, so he made his way home.

He couldn’t believe he had been shot again.

This didn’t really super bother Peter, because - unlike most 15-year-olds - he had gotten shot numerous times before.

Of course, it still hurt - so fucking bad - but it’s nothing new.

Normally, he’d’ve been able to dodge it.

He didn’t know why he didn’t see it coming.

That was strange.

He shrugged it off and tried to focus on how to get home without worsening his injuries.

🕸

Eventually, he climbed back in through his bedroom window.

He made his way to the bathroom and grabbed his sad excuse for a first-aid kit, then did his best to dress the wound.

There was an exit wound.

Thank God.

He did not feel like rooting around in a narrow hole in his leg at two in the morning on a Sunday night.

After taking off the suit, he made a tourniquet, disinfected the wound, and bandaged it.

He usually didn’t have to do much; his healing factor usually stepped up for the most of it.

But remembering the time he tried to hide a fever-inducing infection made him make sure to never just forget about a wound ever again.

Once he was sure it would probably be fine, he climbed into bed and finally let himself close his eyes and rest.

🕸