Long Days

Chapter 4

Peter was sitting at his desk in his room, staring out his window, and thinking of all the things he could be doing. He had an English paper to bullshit, biology cycles to get lost in, history dates to memorize. The list felt endless.

It was a rather mild Sunday. Thanksgiving was approaching, but the weather didn't seem to want to accept the coming winter chill. Peter was grateful. He wasn't sure if his boots from last winter even fit anymore, but he was positive that the tape on his sneakers wouldn't keep out the slushy ice.

Just as he opened a textbook, his phone buzzed.

:: Outside. ::

It was Happy. Peter took a breath to steady himself. He still wasn't sure what he was going to tell his mentor. Right before he walked out, he went back to find his suit at the bottom of his closet and stuffed it into his backpack to bring it with him. At least it would seem like he was always prepared for something.

Happy was leaning against the car on the driver's side, watching the door for Peter. When the kid finally walked out, he didn't exactly look like what Happy had expected. The boy's clothes didn't seem to fit him quite right; they seemed to hang loosely from his shoulders as if supported by a closet hanger instead of a muscular mutant body. The kid also looked paler than usual. Nevertheless, Happy decided not to jump to any conclusions. Maybe he was just sick.

The security guard thought this until Peter looked up from the ground and locked eyes with Happy. The boy quickly pulled his face away, but Happy had already seen it all ‒or maybe it was more accurate to say that he had seen nothing. Usually, the kid's face was lit up with excitement, and he talked a million word per minute. Today, his eyes showed no such spark, and he didn't even want to look at Happy.

Tony was right. Something was up.

Once in the car, Happy tried to strike a conversation with Peter, but the teen didn't seem interested. His responses were short, and his laughter sounded forced. He finally gave up when Peter frankly asked, "Hey, could we maybe talk about school later? I'm a little tired now." Peter leaned his head against the cool window and closed his eyes for the rest of the drive.

"Hey, you awake? We're here," Happy announced.

Peter picked his head up. They were parked in front of the Avengers' compound. He thought back to the time when his main goal was to be accepted as an Avenger, be someone that Stark could count on. That wouldn't be happening any time soon.

Happy escorted Peter to the stairs that led to Tony's lab. "Mr. Stark is just down there. I'll be here when you're ready to go." With that, Happy left.

At the bottom of the stairs, the doors slid open for Peter automatically. He couldn't immediately see Stark, but the thumping bass of Aerosmith ‒or AC/DC or Led Zeppelin or maybe none of those because Peter was pretty bad at differentiating the various rock artists‒ was confirmation that the mechanic was definitely at work. The lab was proof as well: metal constructs were scattered around, detailed blueprint holographs covered the walls, and the trashcan closest to Peter was filled with paper coffee cups and food wrappers.

"Pete!" Tony waved away the transparent-projection model he had been looking at. "FRIDAY, turn the volume down." As the kid made his way over, Tony couldn't help but smile; he really did miss the kid.

However, Tony's excitement was quickly replaced with concern. One look at the kid confirmed his suspicions that Peter was hiding something. For one, the kid didn't immediately skip over to Tony to catch the older man up on all his classes, friendships, and internet jokes. Furthermore, the kid smelled a little like he hadn't showered in a couple days, and his shoes looked like they were one thread away from dissolving into puddles around his feet. Despite all his judgements, Tony continued to grin at his mentee. If Tony looked uncomfortable or unhappy, Peter would get embarrassed and probably start apologizing for things he didn't even do. Tony forced himself to sound relaxed when he said, "How's it going, kid?" He playfully ruffled the top of Peter's head. Greasy. Too long.