Chapter Text
Peter tears off his rubber gloves with a snap and dumps them into the trash can beside him, wrinkling his nose at the tackiness left behind on his fingers. Recently washed petri dishes are stacked up on the counter in front of him. He lets out a quiet sigh.
When he left high school and managed to jump straight into a job at Little Corporation, he hadn’t exactly expected to be rubbing his gloved hands across various gross substances stuck to petri dishes. Spell-checking reports, signing off on substance request forms, posting mail, cleaning the work surfaces - his responsibilities were as far down the bottom of the ladder you could get at a rapidly growing business.
As mind numbing as it is, at least his extracurricular activities keep his mind from turning to mush.
“You headin’ out?”
Peter takes his sad eyes away from the petri dishes to look at his friend and sort-of coworker, Saul. If anything's been his lifeline at Little Corp, it's the people who work around him.
He works in a tiny department, on the bottom floor of the building, with two other people and their boss, who keeps himself tucked away in the office and barely emerges. Saul and Kate are brother and sister and in the year that Peter's worked there, he’s really clicked with Saul, despite his aloof and uncaring nature. Kate - while he likes to think they're friends - barely speaks, but Peter's always on the receiving end of her tiny smiles so he knows there's a little bit of affection there.
“Yeah, gotta rest these hands so I can be in top shape tomorrow.” Peter wiggles his fingers.
Saul snorts. “Won’t be long, Parker. We all gotta start somewhere.”
“Only way is up!” Peter replies overenthusiastically as he passes Saul, slapping him on the back and pulling his backpack over shoulder, “Catch you tomorrow, bud.”
“Bye,” Kate says, almost too quietly for Peter to hear as he passes. He grins at her and raises a hand. He doesn’t even spare a glance at their boss’s closed door before he exits their dimly lit lab, emerging into a corridor that sends bursting light into his eyes.
His heart thuds faster and faster as he gets closer to the large lobby, swerving in between all of the scientists and technicians that pass him.
He's almost free.
When he opens the door and the hot summer air hits him, he breathes it all in, letting out a relieved smile. Then with a hop in his step, he takes off round the corner of the building into a little alcove he’d discovered on his first day of work. He pulls off his clothes, revealing a full body suit underneath and yanks a mask out of the secret compartment in his bag, tugging it over his face. One smack to the middle of his chest causes the suit to retract, fitting to every bump and line on his body. With a loud whoop, he shoots a web to the corner of Little Corp’s building and pulls himself through the air.
And his evening has begun.
-x-
“Sup, freakishly short adult male!”
Tony Stark jerks his head up from where it's resting on the back of his lab chair, dazed and confused. He blinks the sleep from his eyes. He doesn’t remember drifting off. His glasses are skewed on his face and he adjusts them quickly, looking around in panic at the voice he’s certain he’d heard. He glances at his monitor and sees a small group of people crowding into his lobby.
He leaps out of his chair in a rush, readjusting his clothes as he runs to his elevator, smashing the button for the floor below.
When the doors open, he’s greeted by a branch narrowly missing his nose.
“Keep your branches to yourself, sprout,” Tony maneuvers his way past Groot to the rest of the posse that has spread out over the lounge. “Not that I don’t love the company - and actually, I don’t - but what brings you to my humble abode?”
Rocket and Nebula are stretched out on the sofas, Rocket guzzling down a can of beer that he’s pinched from the kitchen. He crunches it in his tiny paws with ease and throws it across the room, missing the trash can by miles. He doesn’t get up to retrieve it.
“Was passing through and thought we’d drop in and see if your planet was still in one piece. Everything seems a-okay,” Rocket replies, reaching his tiny arms above his head in a tired stretch. Tony looks at Nebula to confirm.
“Quill and Gamora removed us from the ship and took off. The rat was invading their privacy and they were getting irritable. They’ve gone on ‘vacation’. Earth was the closest planet we could inhabit.”
“I know that somewhere in that head full of nuts and bolts there’s a part of you that knows when to lie and you’re choosing not to, just to spite me,” Rocket retorts. The corner of Nebula’s lips twitch upwards for a second.
Tony runs a hand over his face. “Fine, whatever, okay, you can stay here for a few days but then you’re packing up your space-y weirdness and going to the compound.” He turns to walk away but hesitates and turns back round, “And for the sake of Earth’s sanity, please, please do not leave the Tower like that.” He gestures to their clothes and general appearance.
Nebula, Rocket and Groot looks down at themselves in confusion.
“You insultin’ my sense of style, Stark?”
“You’re a talking raccoon; she’s a blue bald lady and he,” Tony jabs a thumb at Groot, “Is a thing.”
“I promise I’ll rummage through a few dumpsters when I go outside, for the sake of authenticity.” Rocket shoots him a grin.
“Great.” Tony turns to go back into the elevator when an alarm that he'd never wanted to hear again rings through the Tower. He double taps on the side of his glasses, heart pounding loudly in his chest.
“Who?”
“Steve Rogers. The mediship is on its way to you now, sir. ETA five minutes.”
“Incident report.”
“Nothing so far. Romanoff is with him.” He lets out a shaky sigh, pulls his glasses off of his head and rubs a hand over his face before putting them back on. When he turns back to his guests, they’re all on their feet and staring at him with a battle-ready intensity.
“At ease, aliens. No war to fight.” Yet.
“Who?” Nebula asks and if Tony imagines a tiny hitch of worry in her voice, he pretends not to notice.
“Steve, no word on why yet.”
The heavy silence that fills the room creates an entirely different atmosphere to what it'd been moments before. Tony throws himself down onto the couch and stares at an empty spot on the vast white walls, flinching slightly when the raccoon next to him kicks the coffee table.
“That purple jackass is particles in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere and our people are still getting whacked,” Rocket huffs.
“Cut off one head and two take its place,” Tony mutters, more to himself than to Rocket.
“They’ve arrived, sir.” Tony jumps to his feet and takes off towards the elevator. The ride up in the elevator is short and the doors open just as Steve flies by on a stretcher, Natasha at his side, and two doctors stringing up bags as they run. Tony chases after them, but the stretcher and the two doctors disappear behind frosted glass doors, leaving him and Natasha in an empty corridor.
Tony swings round to glare at Natasha.
“What the hell happened, Romanoff?” Tony asks, more bite in his voice than intended. Her stern eyes flicker between his.
“Don’t you dare start blaming me for this, Tony. You think this was a mission-related incident?” She gestures down to her outfit and it’s the first time Tony notices she’s in a red cardigan and jeans get-up. “We were shopping a couple of blocks away, there’s no way we were recognised. One minute we’re talking about lunch and the next...” She holds up a dart-syringe hybrid, “This is sticking out of Roger’s neck and he’s... dying.” She flips around and smacks her fist into the white wall, leaving behind a tiny spatter of blood. Her hands push on the wall, head sunk down between her arms, and she breathes heavy.
Tony blinks, coming back to himself. “Is he…”
“I don’t know. I don’t know, just—" She flips back around to him. “Instead of asking me questions I don’t know the answer to, go and do your thing and test what was in this.” She places the dart into Tony’s hand and curls his fingers around it. She looks at him carefully. “Be quick.”
Tony nods and gives her a two-fingered salute, stepping back into the elevator.
-x-
Peter shoots out a web and swings himself up onto his favourite perch, an apartment building roof garden. He sits down and hangs his legs over the edge, staring out into the vast city. The flashing billboards and low rumbling of traffic beneath him is soothing and he leans back on his arms, staring at the building that stands out amongst them all in the distance.
Stark Tower, lit up, a beacon in the middle of New York. A bittersweet feeling pulls at his gut and he smiles underneath his mask.
Some part of him always thinks that he’ll end up there one day, having coffee over a kitchen counter with Steve Rogers or working on a new web formula with Bruce Banner. But it’s been years since he’d been bitten, years since he’s become the friendly neighborhood Spiderman. He’s taken down a couple of big fish, but none of his work seems to grab any kind of attention.
Not that he’d done it for that. He does it because he has to. He just thinks that maybe, just maybe…
He hears shouting below him and sees a man attempting to pull a purse away from an elderly, frail woman. He lets out a breath, stands to his feet, and backflips off of the building.
-x-
Three days have passed and Steve still hasn’t woken up.
“Whoever did this intended to kill. You’re lucky they went for Rogers and none of the others. If this happens again, I’ve got no doubt it’ll be a kill shot.” Doctor Yen tells Tony, her bluntness making him grimace. It's why she's the best, though. No bullshit.
He’s still in his lab, staring up at the formula in front of him. He hadn’t been able to do it. Whatever had been in the dart had left nothing but a speck and that speck had piledrived his system, pages upon pages of formula showing. There's no way he's going to be able to get through it all, let alone find some sort of clue towards what the hell it is that's currently running through the veins of one of his best friends.
“Your face looks nasty,” He hears Rocket say next to him. He hadn’t even noticed him turn up. Rocket’s eyes notice the garbled mess on the screen in front of him. “That looks even nastier.”
“I don’t know what it is,” Tony says quietly, like he’s hoping no one else will hear him. “And it’s going to take four of my lifetimes to figure it out.”
“So not long then,” Rocket grins up at him. Tony snorts and nods his head at the screen.
“Got any weird alien mojo in that furry head of yours that can help with this?”
Rocket laughs. “Give me a wrench, I’ll take your flashy contraption apart in seconds and put it back together in the shape of Quill’s dick. But that?” He shakes his head.
There’s a knock at the door of his lab and Bruce enters, sending Tony a small, sad smile.
“Hey, Tony.”
“How’s it hangin’, Brucie,” Tony replies, not hiding the lack of joviality his tone usually holds. “Any luck on your end?”
“That’s why I’m here.” He nods in passing at Rocket and takes a seat next to Tony, looking up at the screen. “I can’t tell you what it is, what it’s made of or where it came from but I can tell you one thing.” His eyes dart to the right, connecting with Tony’s. “It’s not good. It’s lethal to us -- any of us. Even Cap. My guess is whoever made it hasn’t perfected the formula yet. Cap was the test run. Next time--”
“--It’ll be a kill shot, yeah, I got it.” Tony swipes his hand through the air and sends the long stream of nonsense out of their sight.
“Bad time to take a little ‘vacay’ to planet Earth,” Rocket grumbles and shakes his head as he walks out of the lab, leaving Bruce and Tony alone. They sit in silence, taking in their situation.
“Tone, you know what this means?” Bruce says quietly.
Tony swallows and nods. “Friday?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Activate Purple initiative.”
The entire building starts to tremble, cogs turning deep inside the walls, until the Tower stills and the silence feels heavier somehow. Tony rises from his seat.
“No one comes in, no one goes out. We’re not risking it. We don’t know how strong those darts are, they could pierce armor, maybe even give your big guy a nasty pinch.” Bruce nods and rises from his seat too.
“We should go and tell the crew.”
-x-
“You release it into the ocean and pow,” Saul makes a gesture with his hands, “the spores spread out and start eating the plastic, bit by bit, until the oceans are back to their natural order.”
Peter grins at him. “Yeah? Man, that’s awesome. All that in a tiny little jar?”
Saul shrugs and puts the container in front of Peter. “Would have been awesome.”
Peter’s grin falters. “What? He denied you? Again?”
Saul puts his arms behind his head and leans back on the chair, closing his eyes and letting out a yawn. “Yeah, it’s whatever. Must be a reason.”
“He didn’t even tell you why?”
Saul shakes his head, but his enthusiasm for his little project has quickly dissipated and he’s fallen asleep.
But Peter’s still thinking. He lifts his head and glares at the closed door on the other side of the lab. Mr Diaz hasn’t accepted one of Saul or Kate’s projects in the whole time he’s worked there. Not one.
Suddenly, the door that Peter's staring so vehemently at opens and Mr Diaz emerges stiffly, coffee mug in his hand. Peter’s eyes follow him across the lab over to the kitchen and after swallowing down the lump in his throat for the third time, he makes a decision.
He slides off of his stool, swipes Saul’s jar off the counter and heads over to him. When he's stood at his side, Mr Diaz either decides to blissfully ignore him while he waits for his coffee to pour, or he just hasn't noticed Peter's presence yet.
Peter’s stomach flutters with nerves, having never stood the near to the person he’s been working for for over a year. Up close, Mr Diaz’s skin is smooth; scruffy facial hair dark in contrast to his olive skin. His hair is product-free, yet is perfectly ruffled, fringe falling just above the square, black glasses on his nose. He can’t be less than ten years older than Peter.
It takes Peter a while to realise that he’s staring instead of attempting to capture his attention, so he lets out a gentle cough and Mr Diaz looks at him aloofly, taking his coffee cup out of the steaming machine.
“Yes?”
Peter opens his mouth and closes it again. He hadn’t really thought past the point of approaching him.
“I—”
“Either you get to the point, or I’m leaving.” Peter frowns and quickly pushes his hand out, showing Mr Diaz the jar grasped tightly in his fingers.
“Why?”
Mr Diaz’s lips actually seem to twitch upwards into an almost-smile, but when Peter blinks, it’s gone.
“Why what, Mr Parker?”
“Saul’s been working on this for months, sir. Why turn it down?”
Mr Diaz takes the jar from Peter, fingers brushing his. “Mr Parker, did you look at the compound sheet for this?”
Peter clenches his jaw. “I skimmed it, yeah.”
Mr Diaz leans forwards and Peter considers taking a step back but stands his ground, eyes roaming over his boss’s face. Mr Diaz’s lips quirk upwards into a smirk.
“I suggest,” he whispers into Peter’s face, “You look again.”
And then he’s gone, leaving Peter in the kitchen with his arm still outstretched. Peter can’t bring himself to move.
-x-
He can’t believe it. He missed it on his first read, having no doubts in Saul’s capabilities of designing and executing exactly what he’d been intending to. But it’s there.
Saul’s bent over a counter, ponytail tied at the nape of his neck, goggles on. Kate’s tapping away at her laptop, eyes wide and focused. Hoping they won’t miss his disappearance, he slips away towards Mr Diaz’s door and knocks gently twice before entering.
He’s never been in his office before, but it’s exactly what he’d been expecting. Bookshelves, a large wooden desk, a tiny counter with vials and specimens, a coat hook with a plain white lab coat hanging from one of the ornate hooks. His eyes fall on Mr Diaz, who’s looking up at him expectantly.
“Yes?”
“I took it home last night. Read it again. And I—” Peter swallows. “I–I’m sorry. You were right. If you’d approved this, if this had been put into the ocean, all of the plant life and corals…” He lets out a huff, smiling to himself over his own lack of trust. “They’d be dead in fifty years.”
Mr Diaz looks up at him from his desk with bright eyes, smirk dancing around his lips.
“Well done, Mr Parker.” Peter can’t help it if he straightens a little at the praise. Mr Diaz leans back in his chair and gestures towards an empty seat opposite him. Peter rushes to sit. “I have a question.”
Peter’s eyes widen in surprise, but he nods. Mr Diaz leans forwards. “What are you doing here?”
“Sorry, sir?”
“Here. Little Corp. In this lab, cleaning and filing. Saul has been working here for five years and you spotted in an evening what he missed over a hundred checks. So I’ll ask again… Why are you here?”
Peter swallows, running a hand through his windswept hair. He misses the way Mr Diaz tracks the movement. “You gotta start somewhere.”
Mr Diaz huffs a laugh and looks down at his desk. When he looks back up at Peter, his eyes are glittering.
“Maybe we should just change where you start, then.”
-x-
Peter’s feeling amazing. He’s flying through the air, suit on, stomach filled with hope and excitement and for the first time in a long time, he’s starting to feel faith. In himself.
He’s on his way to Ned and MJ’s, well overdue for a movie night and a catch-up session. They have a shared apartment round the block from their old high school, but are hardly there, since college is a luxury they're able to afford.
One day, Peter, he tells himself, imagining the hustle and bustle of college students and those long, long lectures—
Something whistles past his ear. He almost loses his web, hurriedly swinging his other arm around and attaching himself to the side of a nearby building. He hops down onto a balcony, looking around. What was that?
His arm moves before he even registers that it’s doing it. He hisses when the skin on his thigh is pierced by something sharp, but he’s pulling out the object before it can insert itself completely and opening his palm to examine it.
It’s a dart, filled with some sort of amber liquid. And some of it's missing.
He can feel it. It’s spreading through his leg, burning hot and he panics, Peter stands there and panics, wastes precious time, and before he knows it, he’s back to flying through the city, launching himself further and further as his vision starts to fade. The beacon of New York is right in front of him and even though his bones start to feel weak and his muscles start to feel like they’re on fire, he lifts an arm and shoots at the ‘S’. He’s delirious, he doesn’t know what he’s doing, but it’s the only thing his half-functioning mind can think of and then he’s launching himself higher and higher, soaring through the air, and then everything goes black.
-x-
“Intruder detected.”
Tony jumps to his feet from the floor, Nebula joining him quickly, their game of cards forgotten.
“What?”
“Someone’s here.” Tony sticks his arms out and his suit assembles itself around him, though he forgoes the helmet. “Friday, where?”
“Top floor, helipad.”
Tony takes off running to the elevator and doesn’t hide his surprise when Nebula follows him inside. She gives him a curt nod. I’ve got your back, it says. Tony throws her a quick smile before bending down and typing the override code into the elevator. He presses the top floor button and holds his breath.
The doors open and he’s hit with a breath of fresh air, which is almost a huge relief, having been cooped up in the tower for a week. But there’s no time to savour it. He looks around quickly, on his guard, waiting for an assault or aliens or gunshots or something—
“Tony.” He turns to Nebula, who's pointing at a splotchy red and blue body in the centre of his helipad. He uses his thrusters to launch himself forwards and falls to his knees at the person's side. He rolls them over and sucks in a breath.
It’s the spider-guy - he’d only heard about him in passing, been asked a few questions about whether he's affiliated with the Avengers.
The sun glints off of an object in his hand. There, lying in the open palm of Spiderman, is an almost-full dart. Exactly the same as the one that had shot Steve.
“Friday, alert medical, I’m coming down.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Nebula asks as she walks up beside him. She gazes down at the unconscious masked hero. “Must you all wear such ridiculous suits?”
Tony lets out a burst of laughter, despite the situation, and pulls the dart from the gloved hand.
“Take this to Banner, I got the spider-boy.” Nebula leaves and Tony looks down at the body in front of him. He eyes up the mask. “Sorry about the invasion of privacy and all that, but you need to breathe.” And he pulls it off.
His heart stops for a second. Man, it’s just a kid. Slightly curly, damp, brown locks stick to his glistening forehead and he almost looks like he could be asleep, if it wasn’t for the rapid rise and fall of his chest and sickly sheen of sweat across his entire face.
Tony hauls him easily into his arms and carries him inside.
-x-
Peter clenches his closed eyes and he wonders how much he must have drunk with MJ and Ned to feel this awful. It takes about thirty seconds of moaning quietly under his breath before he realises the room he’s in smells different. New.
His eyes snap open and he throws himself upright, looking around wildly for danger. The room spins and he slumps backwards again, screwing his eyes shut and grabbing at his head. He freezes.
No mask.
“So, Mr Parker, mind telling me what you were doing on my helipad?”
That's it, it's over. He’s been found out. Years. He’s kept his identity secret for years. May's going to kill him. Ned and MJ are going to hate him.
“Whoa, whoa, cool it kid, cool it.” The voice that spok to him earlier gets closer and he realises that he’s breathing heavily, panic hard in his chest, sucking in oxygen. “It’s fine, it’s all fine, you’re safe.”
There’s something about the authoritative tone in the strangers voice that calms him and his breathing evens out. He sits with his eyes still closed for a moment, trying to remember what happened.
The whistle. The balcony. The dart. He tries harder. He remembers the fire in his body, the weakness of his muscles as he ran towards something. A bright light, brighter than anything else in the city. Stark Tower.
He opens his eyes and looks straight at Tony Stark.