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Being a Stark [Superfamily]

Chapter 8

They’ve installed a clock in the room.

Normally, Peter would arrive at his workbench and start up his project, put stuff together and compare these with the blueprints he’s got.

Then, after a while, he would take a small break – a coffee Dum-E would bring him, along with something to eat. He would talk a little bit with the other interns – though ignoring that redheaded MJ-girl who seems to be interning as some sort of reception-girl of this floor.

He would then work some more, until it was time for lunch or dinner. Then he would go to the cafeteria a few floors below, and enjoy a good meal while scanning the whole room in search of Mr. Stark before returning back to his work.

Normally, he would actually manage to make something, but not today.

They’ve installed a clock in the room.

Peter knows it was probably Francis who came up with the idea. An attempt of him to keep Peter from working over day after day for almost five weeks. The guy’s surely just looking out for him, making sure he’s not working too many hours he’s not getting payed for.

But the clock is ticking, and it’s distracting Peter in a bad way.

His hands start to tremble after only an hour of sitting behind his workbench. He stutters whenever he’s trying to ask Dum-E for something. He’s sweating underneath his clothes – he already took off the suit within the first half-hour of being here, feeling too hut underneath it.

His vision is blurry, heart is racing too fast, and his work is not moving forward.

“You okay, Peter?”

Peter doesn’t know who asked the question. All he does is nod and wave away the question, rubbing his forehead as the seconds tick by in his ears.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

He hears every minute pass by, reminding him of its presence in the room.

At home, he’s already made sure to change all his clocks into digital ones. Aunt May had found it strange, but eventually she, too, seemed to have found the perks of simple clock-reading. At school, it had been easy to drown it out with ear-pieces put in, listening to quiet music while not paying attention. Other clocks only show the hours and minutes, keeping away from the seconds.

He avoids bell-towers, or places where he can hear the seconds ticking by. Luckily, there aren’t too many places like that in New York.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

“Peter do you need a moment outside?”

Peter looks up, seeing Francis standing there. He looks worried, as if he wants to carry Peter outside, himself. Peter just swallows and takes another deep breath. His hands are balled into fists – they have been ever since he dug into his bag in search of his medication, only to find that he doesn’t have the box with him.

That thought, in turn, made him realize that he hasn’t only forgotten the box at home, but the pills in general as well. For the past week, none of the white pearls have been taken. And Peter feels the effect immediately.

“Yeah, I’ll go take a breath,” Peter says, pushing himself up and getting back on his feet. He’s aware that Francis is saying something else, but Peter doesn’t hear it. He just stumbles forward, keeping his hand on the wall as he heads towards the door that will bring him to the roof.

And that’s when he sees him.

Or at least, he thinks he sees him.

Harry.

It’s just in a passing; the familiar young but tired face of his previous best friend. Just a glimpse of it, in a small crowd that is walking out of the elevator.

Peter stands still, feeling his face get cold as he watches the boy pass by. Harry – Peter’s almost sure it’s him – hasn’t seen him yet. He’s just walking forward, looking disinterested as he follows the crowd into another room.

But right when ‘Harry’ walks through the door, his head turns a bit, and his eyes meet with Peter’s.

Exactly then, somebody puts his hand on Peter’s shoulder. That causes a reaction inside the boy, who ducks down while grabbing the person by the wrist, turning it around in a hold that must be painful. When he turns around to look the person in his face, he quickly comes to see that it’s one of the other interns with a pained look in his face.

Peter pulls away, letting go of the arm and holding his hands up.

“I’m- I’m sorry! I just… You startled me,” Peter says quickly, stuttering over his words. The teenager just rubs his wrist, hissing upon the contact. Peter’s sure there’ll be bruises on the skin after a little while.

Without saying anything more, Peter jumps into the elevator. He just needs a moment to catch his breath. Leaning against the walls, he rubs his forehead again.

“FRIDAY, can you get me to the roof, please?” he asks.

“Perhaps it’s better to seek medical help, Master Parker?” FRIDAY suggests, but Peter shakes his head.

“I need some air. The roof will do.” FRIDAY doesn’t protest after that, instead starting up the elevator and bringing him up to a floor that’s not even selectable with the buttons. The only way to get there is probably with FRIDAY.

The moment the elevator opens again, Peter stumbles into the hallway, hurrying himself to the doors that would bring him outside. He notes quickly that it’s a one-way door, but he’s sure FRIDAY will let him back in once he wants to go back.

The roof is small – mostly due to the special design of the tower. If he looks down, he can already see the flying deck from the Avenger’s floor. That floor has by now once again changed into Mr. Stark’s penthouse, of course, since the heroes have relocated to the compound upstate.

Like this, he could easily jump down until he was on Mr. Stark’s floor. Of course, he knows he’s not going to. Instead, he sits down on the edge, swinging his feet down and lying back down on the ground. His eyes are open, looking at the clouds painting the sky. His heart is still beating too fast, and he knows his hands are still shaking.

Just deep breaths. In, and out. There are no seconds here, nothing that keeps ticking repeatedly. He’s fine right here.

The stupid idiot that he is; forgetting his pills. It’s normally the first thing he thinks about before leaving… anywhere. In this past half-year, he’s been following his therapy-sessions faithfully, keeping track of the medication schedule he’s given and doing the exercises every day before going to bed. For the past three months, he hasn’t had any reactions in any way – though that’s probably because of his continuous avoiding behavior to things that trigger him.

But now, sitting here with his hands on his forehead and his teeth biting his lips, Peter realizes it quickly enough. He’s forgotten his medication for the past week, all because of his intensive hours at the internship.

Suddenly, Peter’s cellphone goes off in the pocket of his jeans. Peter jumps up, feet still dangling dangerously over the edge of the roof. He doesn’t pull them back, but does fish out his phone, staring at the screen for a moment.

He doesn’t recognize the number at all, so he hesitates a bit. Who would want to call him? Last time an unknown number called him, it had been Oscorp about the journals.

“With Peter Parker,” Peter says as his usual greeting.

“FRIDAY tells me you’re having a little moment on the roof. Should I be worried about teenagers jumping down?”

Oh, crap.

Mr. Stark?!

“Oh, hi Mr. Stark! I just- I’m not-“ Peter starts, but he can’t find his words. He jumps back to his feet and starts walking away from the edge. “I was just getting some air, is all.”

“Yeah, because you can’t open a window?” Mr. Stark asks, and Peter frowns for a bit. What’s it to him, after all? He should have just designed some balconies or something.

“Uh,” Peter starts, but then he closes his mouth. What’s he supposed to say here? That he ended up panicking because his mentor decided to install a clock? Stark’s just going to laugh in his face, that’s what’s going to happen! “I’ll just get back inside.”

“That’s probably for the best, yes,” Mr. Stark says before hanging up again. Peter’s mouth falls open as the phone still hangs next to his ear.

How rude could a man be? Just hanging up on him like that? That’s just- Peter can’t even express how angry he’s suddenly feeling right now. Especially when he looks up to see the door leading back to the elevator open up, inviting Peter back inside.

“Holy shit, what an asshole!” Peter shouts out, uncaring if FRIDAY might hear it from inside. Mr. Stark can know, for all he cares! Peter just needed a breath, a bit of fresh air to clear his mind. All he gets is this? An instruction of Mr. Stark to just open a window?

Right when Peter wants to walk back to the door, still muttering out curses under his breath, a cold chill passes through him. A warning; something is about to happen.

But in all his frustration, the warning came late; right when Peter turns around, he’s swooped up in the air by a pair of hand hauling him up underneath his shoulders. Peter’s legs swing around, attempting to wiggle free from the hold.

One look down quickly makes him think twice about that plan.

“How’s it goin’, Peter?”

Oh great. As if his day hasn’t been crap enough already. Now he’s got the Goblin on his ass again.

“Harry, let me down!” Peter returns. He knows he can’t shoot anything into his face, because falling from this high would certainly be lethal, and he’s not sure he’ll be fast enough seeing as how high he is. The glider keeps on bringing them up.

“If you want to, I can do that,” the Goblin says in his usual screechy voice; a voice that doesn’t fit Harry at all. Then he releases is grab on Peter a tiny bit, giving Peter the feeling that he’s about to fall. He lets out a shout, and suddenly grabs on to the Goblin’s hands in an attempt to hold on to something.

“Not what I meant!” Peter shouts in return. The Goblin just laughs.

“You should have learned, after what happened with Gwen,” he answers. Then he lets the Glider move forward again, taking Peter away from Stark Tower.

Crap, now they’re going to think he just bailed. That’s going to be another blow on his points…

As Peter is hanging there in the air, he quickly thinks back of his phone-call with Mr. Stark. However short it had been, Peter could have sworn it sounded like the guy was flying. Is it possible that he was in pursuit for the Goblin, and tried to get Peter away from the roof to make sure he was safe?

And in return, all Peter did was being slow and muttering out curses towards the man. What an idiot, he is!

“Seems like we have company!” The Goblin suddenly shouts, and Peter dares to turn his head to the side. He’s proven right when he can see a glimpse of Iron Man following them.

Holy crap! Peter thinks to himself.

“Goblin, let the kid go,” Iron Man’s calm voice calls out. Peter feels another cold chill pass him by. Excessively, he starts shaking his head, gripping the Goblin a bit tighter by the arm. He knows what’s going to happen next, and of course he knows he’s not going to fall down to his death, that small moment of freefall is scary enough for him.

“No no no, Mr. Stark!” Peter mutters out, but the Goblin smirks.

“As you wish, Iron Man,” Harry says, doing exactly what Peter expected him to do. The hands under his shoulders slip away, and Peter feels himself lowering down a bit. Except, his grip on the Goblin’s arms is strong.

Perhaps too strong. Too sticky.

Crap, he’s going to have to fall if he doesn’t want Mr. Stark to realize there’s something fishy going on here. Or spidery. Great.

Peter lets go.

He falls for maybe just a few seconds. In that time, he sees the ground get closer. He hears the Goblin escaping, and Iron Man’s thrusters getting louder. He feels the air all around him, blowing into his hair. He feels his heart skip a bit, his breath escaping his lungs.

As he looks up in the sky, he sees Iron Man’s mask in front of him. What is Mr. Stark thinking there, underneath that face-plate? Underneath that permanent angry look of gold and red. Is he scared? Is he relaxed, having done this many times before? Is he angry at Peter for not getting inside sooner?

Peter doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s falling. He’s going down, knowing that Iron Man will catch him.

Much like Gwen knew he was going to catch her. Which he did. Only too late.

For a moment, it seems like Peter is falling much quicker than Mr. Stark can fly. But he should know that’s impossible. Mr. Stark knows what he’s doing. But, what is that little drop there, in the air? Peter looks at it in long silence, before he realizes it’s a tear. He’s crying.

Maybe Mr. Stark should just let him fall; let him know the fate that befell Gwen. He would deserve it, after all. He made one promise to her father; to keep her out of everything. He had tried, but not enough. He gave in to temptation, made her part of his life.

And she’s the one who ended up under the ground.

“No,” Peter whispers out, but he doesn’t know what he means with it. Is it a plea for Mr. Stark to stop chasing after him? A warning for himself, to say that he shouldn’t think like that? That he doesn’t deserve this? He doesn’t know. Things are just too much right now.

He’s still falling.

Five seconds may have passed ever since he let go of the Goblin. In five seconds, his mind has wandered everywhere, his heart is already aching, and his fingers are trembling. But not because of the fall; because of Gwen.

It’s always Gwen, it will always be about her. He won’t ever be capable of letting that go.

There’s a light shock when Iron Man wraps his arms around Peter, pulling him back up. A small gasp escapes his mouth, and the breath that has escaped from his lungs suddenly comes back up. Out of reflex, Peter’s hands grab on to the metal arms holding him. He closes his eyes, hearing Mr. Stark say something but unable to hear it.

This is what should have happened with Gwen, back then. She should have been caught.

Whatever Mr. Stark is saying, Peter opens his eyes to see them nearing Stark Tower once more. The Goblin is probably long gone, Peter doesn’t know really. Right now, all he wants is to feel the ground under his feet, to be safe within four walls, even if there’s a stupid clock ticking in his ears for the entire day.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed since he was taken and now, but he knows it can’t be much. Mr. Stark drops him gently on the ground, but Peter still stumbles forward and starts breathing heavily. Behind him, Mr. Stark steps out of his suit.

Wrapping his arms around him, Peter slowly sees his vision become darker around him. In front of him, he can see the dark tower again. Gwen’s scared blue eyes staring at him, hoping that he will catch her as she reaches out her hands towards him. She doesn’t scream – she never did, she’s always been extremely calm even in the most stressful situations.

Peter remembers vividly shooting out his web, seeing how it reaches her slowly, but not fast enough. She falls down more quickly than the web goes. But eventually, it does make contact, and Peter pulls up.

Then there’s that noise; that crack that follows. The sound that indicates that he’s too late, he’s always been too late. And Peter gasps for breath, leaning forward as he puts his hand on his chest, remembering too well how her lifeless body felt in his hands as he cradled her close to him. As he wept, cried for the girl he loved, feeling her dying in his arms. One heartbeat, one more, and then nothing.

“Kid?”

Peter pushes himself from the ground, turning around to face Mr. Stark. But all he sees is Harry, staring at him with a huge grin on his face, mocking him as he grieves. He shakes his head and takes a step back. This isn’t real, he tells himself. He knows it isn’t real. Harry isn’t here – the Goblin isn’t here. He’s not at the clock-tower, he’s at Stark Industries. He’s safe here.

But his eyes don’t agree, and Peter quickly holds out his hand, ready to shoot some webs in Harry’s face as a first defense. He just needs to get out.

“You killed her,” he hissed at the Goblin, who somehow holds up his arms as if to prove he’s innocent.

“Peter, what’s wrong?”

Peter sees the Goblin’s mouth move, but the voice doesn’t match the person. It sounds deeper, more sane. More… worried? Peter pulls back his arms and wraps them around himself, trying to keep a tight hold as he keeps on stepping back from the figure in front of him. Everything is wrong.

“You killed her!” Peter repeats in a hiss, preparing himself to throw out a web, but his hand is shaking too much; he can’t aim right now.

Besides, while the Goblin might have dropped her, her death isn’t entirely on him to blame. He was there as well, after all.

“I-,” Peter starts, taking a shaky breath while shaking his head again. “I killed her.”

“Okay, Peter, I know that what you’re seeing seems real, but it’s not. It’s me, Tony Stark. You know I won’t hurt you, Peter.”

Peter’s eyes go back up, focusing on the Goblin in front of him. Slowly but surely, Harry’s face slowly shifts back towards another, familiar and more friendly face. A face that looks as exhausted as Peter is feeling at the moment, with dark circles under the eyes and an unshaven beard on his chin, hair messy and sticking everywhere.

He’s not in the tower, he’s at Stark Industries, on the balcony of Mr. Stark’s penthouse. The arms that he thought he had wrapped around himself aren’t actually his own, but the inventor’s instead.

Peter is still breathing heavily, chest heaving up and down with dried tears still sticking on his cheeks. His hands are clutching on Mr. Stark’s, as if afraid to let them go. Shame hits him immediately, making him want to puke on the spot.

And to think what can happen when he forgets to take his medication…

With soft sobs, Peter turns around, pressing his face against Mr. Stark’s shoulder and feeling all his restraints letting go.

“Just let it all out,” Mr. Stark says calmly, gently patting him on the back as they stand here in the middle of the balcony, the Iron Man suit standing still behind them and the wind softly blowing in their faces. Peter doesn’t want to look up, to see that he lost control in such a public place, in front of the father that doesn’t even know he has a son.

After what must be minutes, Peter starts to pull back, quickly rubbing away a tear and trying not to show too much that he’s been crying. It’s a lost cause, of course, but that doesn’t mean that he won’t try it. Mr. Stark takes a step back as well, giving Peter a long look before turning his head away.

“Come with me for a second, Peter?” Mr. Stark asks, and Peter wants to laugh it out. For the entire week Peter has been working his ass off here at an internship he only got to be near this exact man, and now, after-hours, the guy just invites him up for, what? A drink? As if.

But Peter doesn’t refuse. He finds it difficult to do that, feeling as if he would be a bad son if he would just head back home and ignoring his invite.

So Peter follows Mr. Stark towards a window he didn’t know was actually a door. Mr Stark opens it, gesturing for Peter to come inside. The teenager hesitates only for a little bit, but then he agrees.

Once Peter manages to get a good look at the inside, his mouth still manages to fall open. There’s such an open space here, seemingly endless place to move around. Mr. Stark already makes his way to what must be the living room, but it’s difficult to put the spaces in different ‘terms’ since there’s no wall separating the living room with the kitchen or the dining room.

“Just sit down for a minute, Peter. I’ll get you a hot drink,” Mr. Stark says, pointing towards the couch before heading towards the kitchen. Peter would almost have expected Mr. Stark to have servants to do that for him, but he’s glad to see that Mr. Stark is pretty independent when it comes to that kind of thing.

Once Mr. Stark returns with a steamy cup that smells a lot like a hot chocolate, Peter takes it over with lightly shaking hands, offering the man a small smile in gratitude.

“My mother used to make me this, back when I was sad or having a hard time,” Mr. Stark says, pointing towards the cup but not looking at Peter, instead keeping his head pointed towards the couch in front of him and sitting himself down on it. “It happened sometimes, that my dad got angry with me whenever I tried to show him something I made. My mother and Jarvis always stayed with me whenever that happened, of course.”

He talks about it as if it’s just a fact that doesn’t matter too much. Mr. Stark looks at his hand, eyes seeming tired and ready to close to catch a long sleep. Peter doesn’t talk at all, deciding to let the man talk instead. He takes his first taste of the chocolate, noticing immediately that it’s not the best he’s tasted so far, but also not the worst. Somehow, the taste of coffee is strong in it, as if he actually spilled some coffee-powder in it.

“There was no reason for me to complain, of course, but then they died” Mr. Stark then continues, and then his eyes meet Peter’s, and he looks serious. “I was only a little bit older than you are when I was diagnosed with major depressive disorder. It almost killed me, too.”

Peter lowers the cup, eyes widening at the sudden heart-to-heart he’s having with Mr. Stark here. He quickly thinks back of the conversation he overheard between him and Steve, thinking back of how the guy had been going on and on about the medication Mr. Stark supposedly forgot to take.

Of course, Peter knows who he gets that from, thinking of how he actually forgot his pills back at home for the past few days. He’s such an idiot.

“With trouble, and lots of vows of silence, people helped me through it, but I had been instructed to take these,” with that, Mr. Stark fishes out a bottle of pills, shaking it around a bit before lowering his hand and fumbling around with the lid. “The year I met your mother has been when I was allowed to stop taking them completely.”

Oh, crap. Peter doesn’t think he’s ready for this conversation, yet.

“Can you-“ Peter starts before clearing his throat again. “Can you tell me about her?”

Mr. Stark gives him another long look before nodding. Then he puts the bottle with pills away and clasps his hands together.

“Your mother must have been one of the most passionate person I’ve met,” he starts, eyes meeting Peter’s. The teenager nods as he leans forward a bit. His hands have now stopped shaking at last, though his heart is still going too fast. “She came to work with a smile on her face, always bringing out the creative ideas that would once again become popular with the public.”

Then Mr. Stark stops, biting on his lip and sighing loudly. His hands are balled into fists, veins showing underneath his skin.

“We were good friends, spent almost all of our time together, working on stuff.” Then Mr. Stark stands up, walking towards the bar and pouring himself a small glass of what must be scotch. Peter almost wants to comment how he shouldn’t combine that with his medication, but he figures that’s not his place. “And then she met your father. That must have been the happiest I’ve ever seen her.”

Mr. Stark downs his glass in once go, already preparing to fill it up again.

“Our contact wavered a bit after that. She spent less and less time at work, and eventually she resigned her job, leaving to go to Oscorp instead to work with him. The last time I saw her, we parted our ways after a stupid fight.”

Peter takes a few seconds to take it in. It’s a vague description of what he’s read in his mother’s diaries, but he figures that it matches pretty much. He tries another taste from the hot chocolate, finding quickly that he enjoys the slight bitter taste.

“You loved her, didn’t you?” Peter asks, and Mr. Stark keeps his head down, instead downing his glass once more in one go. After that, he simply takes the bottle with him, and starts walking back towards the couch.

“Your mother did mean a lot to me, yes,” Mr. Stark says, shrugging a bit. “Which is why her departure had been such a hard blow for me. Outside the knowledge of the press, Obey quickly sent me back to the hospital to get my act back together. Once again putting me on these pills.”

Peter takes a deep breath and then sighs out, thinking of how he’s doing at the moment. He’s only sixteen, but he knows what the doctors diagnosed him with; PTSD, recurring flash-backs of what happened back at the tower, with Harry’s. He knows it’s the reason why his school performance has been dropping. Why he hasn’t tried to make contact with other people to make new friends.

Why he avoids every single belltower, meaning every church in the neighborhood. He doesn’t want to be near them, fearing too much that he would relive the moments where he had Gwen so close within his grasp, but he only arrived too late.

“What I’m trying to say with this, kid, is that there’s no shame at all in dealing with some mental issues. More people than you know have had trouble with it in the past.” Then Mr. Stark gets up once more, dropping his glass on the table and slowly nearing Peter at his couch. “I know you’ve lost more people than you should in such a young age. And it’s good that you try to keep them in your mind, but you also mustn’t forget to live in the present, to make new friends and form new families.”

Peter suddenly wonders if Mr. Stark even follows his own advice. Another sigh escapes his mouth, and their eyes meet. For a few short seconds, all Peter can see is what he sees in the mirror; that same dark shade of brown. There’s no speck of other color in it, just that one chocolate-darkness – that’s how Gwen liked to describe it.

“Why were you on the roof, Peter?”

Peter shakes his head. His hands ball into tight fists, and his breathing speeds up again. He can’t say it; he doesn’t want to seem so weak. He doesn’t want Mr. Stark to know him like this.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me, kid,” Mr. Stark adds. Peter blinks a few times, turning his head to the side in an attempt to avoid his gaze upon his own.

He doesn’t want to lie to him. He’s his father; in any normal circumstances, Peter would have spilled the beans a long time ago.

“I’ve been forgetting my meds,” Peter admits. Mr. Stark stays quiet as Peter clears his throat again. “In June, my girlfriend died. The Goblin took her, I was there, but I couldn’t save her.”

Peter licks his lips, trying to tell himself he should keep talking.

“In October, I got diagnosed with PTSD and Major Depressive Disorder after my aunt sent me off to a few doctors. They started treating me immediately, giving me meds and sessions. I still failed my classes, but by January, things started to get a bit better.”

“Is there any history of depression in your family?” Mr. Stark suddenly asks. Peter thinks for a while, thinking back of what Mr. Stark just said a few minutes ago. Then he nods. Of course, the man wouldn’t know it’s him Peter is talking about.

“Now I’ve just been so busy with the internship, I’ve been forgetting my meds. And then Francis installed an hour-clock to keep me from working overtime, since I tend to forget time as well, and I didn’t react too well to the clock since it kept on ticking every second away,” Peter continues. “I got so close to just, smashing the clock with my bare hands, and that’s when I knew I had to get out.”

“Why is the clock bothering you?”

“What?”

Mr. Stark raises his eyebrow, but he doesn’t move at all. His elbow is on his leg, and he’s leaning forward a bit. His fingers are no longer bound together – though Peter is sure they shouldn’t be out of their bandages so soon.

“Why is the clock such a bother?” Mr. Stark tries again. Peter blinks a few times before answering.

“The seconds. They remind me of the bell tower where Gwen-“ Peter starts, but he doesn’t finish the sentence. It’s probably clear enough, anyway. “I heard it ticking all the time, and it became too much.”

Mr. Stark stays quiet for a few minutes before standing up again. Then he picks up his cellphone and starts typing stuff in such a speed that Peter wouldn’t even be able to follow. Right now, all Peter wants is to just go to bed, but he’s still got a few hours to go at work. He should return.

Peter puts down his empty cup, standing up as well. That’s when Mr. Stark turns back to him.

“You, go back home. You’re taking the rest of the day off,” the man says, pointing towards Peter with his cellphone. Peter opens his mouth to protest, but Mr. Stark stops him. “I’ll arrange it with the school, you won’t lose any points over this. Just get back to your medication and take care of yourself for a bit.”

Then he looks back at the phone, continuing his message of whatever it is he’s typing.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Peter says, nodding towards the man who isn’t even seeing him right now. Peter decides not to pay too much attention to it, and starts making his way towards the door.

“Oh, and when that Arc Reactor is finished, show it to me, will you?” Mr. Stark adds without taking his eyes off the phone. Peter stands still for a moment, but then nods.

He goes home after that, and by the time he returns next Monday, he notices that the clock has been removed, replaced by a digital one. On his desk lying one little note.

One step at a time. -TS

Peter grinned and lowered his head, feeling something inside of him that he hasn’t felt since Uncle Ben’s death.

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