SpiderMan Avengers One shots Dad!Tony

Alone With You

A thunderous boom shakes the baren walls of the unstable apartment complex. A flash briefly illuminates the rundown hallway and Peter moves ever so closer to his older brother. The brothers stop at a door painted white but chipped and stained in sevral places. 

It takes the eight-year-old three tries to get his shaky hand in the lock to open the door for him and his five-year-old brother. He pushes the door open with more force than he should have to. When he steps in he assists his little brother in taking off his coat and hanging it up on the coat rack loosely hanging from the wall. 

"Mom! Dad! We're home!" 

...

10 years later there was still no response. Harley and Peter searched the appartment for hours but found not a single trace. Harley called his parents twenty-two times while Peter sat on the couch sobbing in fear. 

The next morning when they were still gone, Harley called the police. There was no record of Mary or Richard Parker anywhere and they thought it was a prank. It was as if Mary and Richard did never exist. 

But Peter and Harley knew they did, even if their parents left 10 years ago, they will never forget. 

...

The autumn air feels nice on my warm skin, and I tighten my hangs around the straps of my backpack. I dig the tip of my worn-out converse into the dirt waiting for Harley to come. I hear the voice of my brother and the laughing of some boys around him. 

I watch as he smiles at them and waves goodbye before walking over to me. "How was your day, Petey?" Harley asks with a smirk. I roll my eyes and follow him down the rest of the stairs and onto the sidewalk. 

"How long do you work today?" I ask dodging the question. It's not that I had a bad day, but Flash is really freaking annoying most of the time. Scratch that all f the time.  

"Five to eleven," I sigh. Ever since Harley turned 18 they have been giving him longer and later hours. Harley never complained because we need the money but I don't like being 'home' alone. 

He places a hand on my shoulder, "You know I don't want to. And you know that I have to," he says in that tone he always uses. It's kind of like his dad's voice. 

"Harley, if you just let me work you wouldn't have to work as much. A lot of 15-year-olds have a job!" I exclaim throwing my hands in front of me frustration. 

"We've already talked about this. My answer is still no," Harley said in an assertive voice. 

"But-" 

"No, Peter. You are not going to get a job," Harley said. When Harley first got a job he acted differently but never told me why. After a few months of working there, he said the company got closed down and he needed to find a new job. He still never told me what actually happened. 

I didn't respond, instead, we just walked the rest of the way to our 'home' in silence. Our home isn't really ours and our 'home' is barley even a home. One of the windows is broken out and we have a tarp hanging over it, screwed into the wood to try and keep it warmer in the house. 

We have only the furniture we were able to sneak out of the house and some others we found on the curb for free. We have limited running water, they forgot to cut it off from the plumbing. However, if we use too much they will find out we are here. 

Harley and I figures out how to get electricity for free and splice the neighbor's cable. 

We've never gotten caught so far. But we've only lived here a few months. We got taken to an orphanage and when Harley turned 18 we finally got out. No one really wanted to adopt us, we were always too old. 

...

I huddle under the three thin blankets laying on top of the uncomfortable mattress. I can never sleep until Harley gets back from work, I never know if he is safe or not. I never know if he will make it home without being mugged or worse. 

So, whenever Harley is gone and I have no homework, I set my hand against the wall and marvel at my new abilities. Testing it out, I see how high I jump and stick to the wall. I already know though. I can jump and stick to the ceiling. 

I told Harley the morning it happened. It was through the midst of a panic attack. I told him about the white stuff coming from my wrists and everything. He told me to never use them. Ever. 

So I never use them, besides when I am home alone waiting for Harley to arrive. But after awhile it gets boaring and I wind up laying on the matress curled up in the blankets if it is cold out. 

The door squeaks open and I jump up from my bed, just incase. Harley walks in, his hair a mess and his eyes wide. He is out of breath and pauses for a moment, looking at me. 

"We need to go. Now."