Peter's head pokes out from behind the corner of a building. He's watching a man wearing a beanie jam a slim jim up and down into the driver's side window of a parked car. The rest of the street is deserted, besides the two of them, and lit by one flickering streetlight. All the others have gone completely dim. He's been at it for several minutes. This repeated motion, and every so often, with the car door remains locked, he makes a growl of frustration.

A dumb thief. Can't even steal a car that's outdated enough to have a manual locking system.

And that's where the debate starts for Peter, why he hasn't swooped into action with his web-shooters and Spidey suit just yet. If he's going to make mistakes as Spider-Man, he's determined to learn from them.

He straightens out, decides there's no real reason to hide since his face is already hidden behind a mask, and starts towards the man. His concentration can't be parted from the car, or maybe, all those lessons with Nat about taking light steps are finally paying off. Peter wants to believe it's the latter. He comes to a stop, frowns when he's still unnoticed, then kicks at a few chucks of concrete that's come apart from the road.

When that still doesn't get the man's attention, Peter clears his throat. The possible thief jumps, then spins around to face him, and the tool in his hands falls to the ground by his feet.

"Hey man," says Peter. His mouth is twitching, almost like he wants to say something, but has no idea what words to use. Peter gets this a lot these days. Queens natives just aren't used to seeing a kid dressed up in spandex fighting crime. "So hi… just a quick question, are you a bad guy?"

"W-what?" he asks. His mouth is hanging open this time, instead of moving up and down, but after a few seconds, it slams shut. His features grow sharper, the shock of Peter's appearance wearing off. "Who the hell are you supposed to be? This isn't Halloween."

"Just a friendly neighborhood hero," says Peter. "Spider-Man."

"You sound like a kid." He breaks out into laughter. "You know, you missed trick or treating by a few months."

They always laugh. At first. He's usually quick to make them stop.

"Well you look a car thief," he tells him. "But last time I busted a guy for this sort of thing it turned out to be his car and then I felt awful about ruining his night and webbing him up for no reason, so if you could just answer my question you'll help speed this process along."

"This is my car. Locked myself out."

"Oh," says Peter. He takes a few steps backwards and looks over the empty street, then trains his spider eyes back on the thief. "You're a bad liar. And bad at stealing things. If you're going to be a criminal, can't you at least be good at it?"

Several things happen at once. One of them is the bane of Spider-Man's patrols. The alarm that goes off to alert him it's dangerously close to curfew. The other sets off Peter's finely tuned web-shooter reflexes. Webs fly out and cover the thief's hands before they can reach the gun strapped on his belt.

"W-what is this stuff?" he asks, as he's trying to pull his hands apart.

"Really? You were going to shoot me?" Peter aims some more webs at his feet. "Not cool. I thought we starting to become friends."

He's not listening to Peter. He's still struggling in vain to free himself from the webs.

"Don't worry. It'll dissolve once the police show up." Peter tilts his head, thinking, then frowns under his mask. "Or maybe afterwards. They might be waiting awhile, actually…. Well, I'd love to stay and chat but I'm going to miss curfew."

Peter extends his arm to the sky, shoots a web upwards and watches as clings to the side of the building before propelling himself upwards. The thief misses his trick, still too concerned with being stuck, and it's Peter's biggest disappointment of his night on patrol. He loves seeing the stunned expression on people's faces as he flings himself up and away. It's his favorite part. Soaring from building to building, catapulting through the air. There isn't anything in the world like it, nothing else that makes him feel as free as this, and the first time out on his own, it'd been like meeting a friend he didn't know he missed.

On the way to his destination, he gives the police a quick call and gives a tip with all the correct information, then hangs up just in time to clear his landing. He's on the roof of a familiar building, and he walks directly to the metal trash can in the corner, opens the lid, pulls out his bookbag and unzips, grabbing his street clothes. He changes quickly, stuffs Spider-Man into the bag, then climbs down the fire escape, wearing normal, unnoticeable clothing.

They can't risk it. Someone seeing Spider-Man crawling or swinging in and out of the penthouse where Iron Man lives with his family. The rumors it might create on top of the rumors that already exist. It's better if there's no connection between the two. Safer. Peter doesn't know who's more dependent on Spider-Man's identity staying a secret, him or Tony.

It means a little more to Peter, or at least, he thinks it does. He's keeping more than one identity a secret. He's Peter Parker pretending to be Peter Stark who sometimes dresses up and protects the streets of Queens. A line of dominoes, really, because if one is revealed, the rest will follow.

Peter makes it back to Manhattan, back to the penthouse exactly one minute before the clock strikes one. It's early for a curfew, but at first Tony wanted to make it midnight. There had been a negotiation involved. Pepper mediated, and the end result landed on one AM.

"How was it?"

The question is fired the very second Peter steps off the elevator. He looks around in the direction of the voice to see Tony standing at the kitchen table with a box of pizza, and it's the smell that entices him forward. As he gets closer, he notices there's a tablet lying flat on the table next to where Tony is standing, with a YouTube video opened on the screen.

"Good. No injuries," says Peter. His eyes drop to the pizza. He's indignant, though his stomach is begging him for food. Nothing makes him hungry like a night of patrolling Queens. "You know, I'm probably the only vigilante that his – that has someone waiting up for them with snacks."

"Everyone has someone."

"I'm Spider-Man. I'm tough," says Peter. He tries to stand a bit taller. "You don't have to wait up for me."

"You're fourteen. Your metabolism pays the shopper's second mortgage," says Tony. Peter takes a seat on the chair across from where he's standing, and he pushes the pizza box across the table to him. "Eat."

Peter grabs the biggest slice from the box, and as he's leaning over the table, catches the title of the video Tony has queued up.

"What Peter Stark's icy Christmas Eve tells us about Tony Stark's parenting." Peter squints his eyes to catch the channel's name. It's some news station's YouTube channel. "You're watching those guys? MJ says they're just propaganda, not news."

"Apparently they're also trying to compete with TMZ," says Tony. "Someone's been taking pictures of you coming in and out of Dr. Walters' office."

"Great," says Peter, then struggles with a stray piece of cheese, dangling half in his mouth and half on the pizza. The battle only ends when Peter uses his free hand to disconnect it.

"Yeah, you're looking real tough right now." Tony throws a waded-up napkin at him. "You're being careful, right? To not be seen as Spider-Man?"

Peter nods. "Can I go out again tomorrow?"

Tony just looks at him. It's true they've had this discussion. Tomorrow is Sunday, and not only Sunday, but his last day of being a kid who doesn't attend school. The start of a new semester. And he's excited about that. Finally getting to go back to school. He's not excited about Tony putting even more limits on his time as Spider-Man.

"A week is too long," says Peter. "I can't wait until Friday."

"I think you're underestimating how difficult going back to school is going to be. With all the discourse around… everything." Tony's eyes flicker back to the tablet for a few seconds then return to Peter. "Just this week. Just so you can adjust, and then we'll work out a better schedule for Spider-Man, alright?"

"Yeah, okay," says Peter. Sounds fair, even if he isn't looking forward to taking a week off from being Spider-Man, from the feeling of being completely free and slicing through the air.

He continues munching on the pizza as Tony reads something on the tablet. Another article, probably, and Peter doesn't understand why he's become so obsessed with reading everything that comes about speculating about the Norman Osborn scandal, about what really happened the night Harry Osborn disappeared. Maybe it's his job as an Avenger to stay informed about what people are thinking, or maybe it's just his latest obsession, one to replace Oscorp now he has no reason to be researching it.

Peter finishes with his pizza and makes a move to stand up and head to bed when Tony stops him. He pulls a folder from a black bag on the table. Peter recognizes it. It's the folder that holds all those childhood photos with his family. He'd forgotten all about it, and seeing it again causes something unpleasant to unfold in his stomach, like the pizza is fighting to come back up.

"I found this when I was cleaning up the workshop today," he tells him. "Figured it's about time you had it."

"Oh thanks," says Peter. He accepts it from Tony just for the show it. If he doesn't, Tony will stress out and he'll call Dr. Walters and it's really a lot of drama he rather avoid, so instead, he pretends it's not a problem.

Like the sight of randomly being handed evidence of a life he's trying to keep buried, to stay disconnected from, isn't distressing. Plays it cool as he thanks Tony for the after-patrol pizza and tells him goodnight.

Once he's hidden in his bedroom with the door shut, he stands staring at the folder in his hands, considering popping it open. He's made peace with his past. He's made peace with remembering his past in every detail that he's capable of, but this… this is evidence. Maybe the last remaining relic of the Parker's since he's denounced his last name for good.

There's some part of him that wants to burn it, make it impossible for anyone else to see, but when he realizes there's no way of him to do so without alerting Tony or Pepper, he settles for shoving it in the back of some drawer he doesn't use. At least now he won't have to look at it.

Maybe he'll even forget it's there.

School on Monday morning isn't as bad as Tony told him it would be.

He repeats that in his head over and over again as he's forced to deal with, once again, people whispering behind his back, brave classmates assaulting him with questions about Harry to his face, and finally, the regular amount of attention and fame having Stark as a last name attracts. Taking months off of school plus the added scandal of his best friend's disappearance seems to have made him target number one.

The person everyone wants to talk to for all the wrong reasons.

By lunch time, he's giving up on his mantra altogether and considers letting Tony be right. All he wants to do is sit with Ned and MJ, like the old days, and talk to Ned about the new season of their favorite show hitting Netflix. MJ has other ideas, and adding to his misery is Ned, who seems curious about all of her questions.

"This feels like an interrogation."

Peter's eyes shift from Ned to MJ. Behind them, the cafeteria is as bright and noisy as he remembers, with all its moving parts. Students with trays, students yell-talking to be heard over the other million conversations happening all at once, teachers patrolling and annoying posters advising healthy eating habits. It gives him a headache.

"It wouldn't feel like an interrogation if you didn't have anything to hide," says MJ. Her book is sitting unopened on the side of her lunch tray instead of in front of her face, like it usually is, and she doesn't take her eyes off Peter while the cross-examination continues. It's as if her eyes see right through him, as if she thinks she's as skilled as someone like Nat in uncovering the truth.

"I don't have anything to hide," says Peter. His palms are open, his position relaxed. Just like Nat and Clint taught him so many months ago. Either Ned nor MJ look convinced, though, despite his efforts. "Come on guys, if I knew where Harry was, why wouldn't I be talking to the police?"

"That is the question…" MJ trails off, and Peter rolls his eyes, opting to take a drink from his water bottle for an easy excuse not to respond.

His eyes trail past them again and land on Flash. He's sitting at a table with a bunch of people Peter doesn't know, or care to know, for that matter. He doesn't need to focus his hearing in on the table to know the rumors about him are the topic of their conversation, too. They're whispering, with their heads put together, as if they would need to whisper to not be heard with all the noise happening in the cafeteria, and every so often, one of them looks over at him.

He's used to being talked about, but not like this. He misses the days people talked about him because his association with Tony, or because they wanted a photo with him.

Once he's done taking more than a couple exaggerated long drinks and it's clear his friends aren't going to let this specific topic go anytime soon, he switches his attention to Ned.

"You really think I know where he is and I'm keeping it quiet?"

"Well," says Ned. "It's just all a little suspicious, that's all, like one minute we're all eating lunch together than the next Harry's dad is some criminal, Harry's missing and you're saying you're going to be out of school the rest of the semester."

"I already told both of you why I had to leave school."

He tries and fails to keep the frustration out of his voice. To keep going over this when he wants distance from it. The lie he's been instructed to tell hits a little bit too close to home for him to be comfortable with it. Time to adjust. To work on his mental health. He can only guess at what everyone else is thinking, but he feels he's pretty accurate.

Poor Peter Stark. Heir to billions but still can't think straight, even after months of therapy.

"I like the theory that you're the killer the best," says MJ.

"What? Why would I ever be the killer?"

"You don't really seem to care that your best friend's missing…"

"I care," says Peter.

The thing is, it's sort of hard to pretend to be distraught over Harry's disappearance when he knows Harry is perfectly fine, maybe even better than ever, living his best life out on a farm in the middle of nowhere, where he can draw and play video games with Cooper and Lila.

"Doesn't seem like it."

Peter looks at his watch, and for once in his life, he's thankful the end of the lunch period is near. The bell rings as if on cue, not saving him from a teacher but from MJ's questions, and he's at the trash cans dumping his tray before another word can leave her mouth. He doesn't stick around for Ned, either, and instead zips to his locker to grab his textbook and straight to class. This period it's Biology.

Another letdown. It's without Ned, and when he gets to the doorway of the classroom, he stops in his tracks when his eyes fall over the projection of a seating chart on the white board. It's the classic sign of an uncool teacher. The kind who doesn't let the assigned seating happen naturally over the course of the first week. The kind who feels they need to control it themselves.

As luck would have it, this particular teacher sat him right next to Flash, and since it's in the science wing, instead of being uncomfortable just having a desk right next to him, he has to be doubly uncomfortable sharing a worktable with him. The table in the very center, and that's the very worse place to be with everyone spreading rumors about him.

"Is there a problem Stark?"

Peter tears his gaze away from the seating chart and finds the speaker. A man wearing a sweater vest and khakis. Mr. Brewer, he's guessing, his new biology teacher.

"Umm no," says Peter. "Sorry… just spaced out."

He moves from the doorway and sits at the worktable just as the late bell rings. Flash glares at him, as if he's choosing to sit here out of his own free will.

A good-natured order comes from Mr. Brewer to for everyone to quiet down, as he shuffles around the room passing out sheets of paper, as he introduces himself. He gives the same I'm-a-teacher-but-I'm-still-human speech all the other teachers give, and it's really predictable. Until he gets to the worktable Flash and Peter share, and he passes two sheets of paper to each of them.

He pauses, looks Peter dead in the eye and says, "Get comfortable with your neighbor. They're going to be your lab and project partner for the rest of the semester."

If Peter thought he could have audibly protested, he would've, but there's a look on Mr. Brewer's face he doesn't like. Instead, he exchanges more glares with Flash. At least they're on the same page about their miserable situation.

The projection of the seating chart is replaced by a projection of the syllabus, prompting Peter take a glance at the papers given to him. One is a permission slip to go and tour Lilly Research Laboratories. He's never heard of it. He slides it under the syllabus and looks back to the front of the classroom as Mr. Brewer begins to explain what to expect out of his Biology course.

"So… Stark," says Flash, he leans over and quiets his voice. "Where did you hide the body?"

Peter's been with Tony enough times during media ambushes to know how to handle bad questions, or at least, how Tony handles them. Make a comment to mock the asker's stupidity or ignore them completely. Starks don't have time to deal with idiots. That's the path he chooses, because he can't afford to get caught talking out of turn with a teacher he's pretty sure already hates him.

He keeps his focus where it's supposed to be, up front and on Mr. Brewer, while Flash continues to whisper at him.

"Or maybe daddy hid it for you?"

Peter pushes his pencil down and the tip of the lead breaks off. He clicks the end a few times to make more appear and takes notes.

"Or maybe Iron Man offed Harry as revenge for what Norman did to all those other kids. Maybe he turned Harry into some mutant f –"

"-Shut up, Flash," says Peter, finally snapping. No matter how hard he tries, he can never play it as cool as Tony.

"Stark," says Mr. Brewer, and Peter's spirit drops. He forces his eyes back to Brewer. "I understand you're used to being treated like a celebrity but we're all going to be treated the same in this classroom. No one talks while I'm talking, no matter how important they may think they are."

Peter clicks his pencil again, unsure of how to respond. He knows how Tony would respond in this situation, but that's not appropriate here. He just stares back. Opting to go with his original way of dealing with his problems, and eventually, Mr. Brewer moves on, taking his attention as well as the rest of the classroom's away for Peter and back to his boring syllabus.

"…and as you can see," Mr. Brewer goes on and points a laser pointer at a single word on the board, but his eyes settle back on Peter. "… we'll be spending a lot of time talking about genetics."

Peter grips his pencil tighter as he tries fights back the fear creeping through his brain waves. That Mr. Brewer is using word play. That he knows about him. That any one of these kids walking around in the school's hallways or any person out in the world could stumble upon the truth easily. It'd be easy, giving the timing when Peter Stark was introduced into the world via press conference and the bust of new life.

Easy for someone to guess Peter is one of those mutant freaks Flash talks about.

That he's no Stark. Tony isn't really his father, but he's just some son of a crazy, psychopath scientist.

Something squeezes in his chest, something like a warning, or the noise that used to fill his head. The room spins, and his eyes dart around the room searching for something to bring him back out of his thoughts. The cool, black table under his hands, a poster on the wall behind where Mr. Brewer half-sits on his desk while he goes on and on about Biology, the analog clock hung up on the wall. He takes a slow breath in, then exhales, and he's back.

He avoids looking at Mr. Brewer directly the rest of the period and spends the rest of the day in a haze. Not really listening to his teachers, or his friends, or the people whispering behind his back.

Peter takes the elevator directly down to the workshop when he gets home, and finds Tony kneeling next to one of his newest Iron Man suits on the floor. He slings his bookbag on the desk and jumps up on desk next to it instead of sitting in the chair.

"Can I go out as Spider-Man tonight?"

Tony looks up from his work, shoots him with a stern look, then looks back down.

"But why not?" asks Peter. It's a long-shot. He knows the chances of Tony giving in aren't great, but he has to at least try.

He needs Spider-Man, because Spider-Man is always in control, even when Peter Stark isn't and is about to be exposed for the fraud he actually is by his biology teacher.

"All the reasons we discussed the other night still apply."

Peter gives him a heavy sigh, but he knows from the tone being used not to push Tony anymore.

He jumps off the desk, begins rifling through his bookbag and pulls out a few of his homework assignments for the evening. This time he settles into the actual chair and gets comfortable as he zips through his homework to the familiar sounds of metal clanking against metal. He's almost completely done when Tony's head pops up from the suit.

Peter has the permission slip ready and waiting by the time Tony joins him at the desk.

"Sign this for me?"

"In trouble already?" asks Tony, snatching the paper out of his hands. "Lily Research? Why are you guys going there?"

"Maybe cause my biology teacher's psycho."

Tony scribbles his signature across the bottom line and slides the paper back across the desk. "You gonna find something to eat before Happy picks you up for your appointment?"

"I forgot about Dr. Walters," says Peter. Shoulders falling. "But… maybe I could skip just this once."

It's the wrong thing to say. Peter can tell by Tony's expression, his suddenly darkened eyes, that alarm bells are ringing in his head. Now he's being looked at as if he's just another problem that needs to be solved.

"Did you have a bad day today?"

"No. It was great."

"So you're absolutely fine?"

"Yeah," says Peter. He slams his textbook shut and works on packing up all his things back into his bookbag, though he can still feel Tony's worried gaze slicing into him.

"You haven't tried to get out of going to a session in a long time," says Tony, and Peter sits back up, becomes completely still. He doesn't look at Tony. "I'm gonna call Happy and tell him I'm driving you tonight."

It's Tony's less obvious and nice way of telling him he knows he's hiding something, and he's going to personally see it that he gets to his appointment.

"Go on upstairs and get ready, almost time to leave."

"Okay."

He pulls his bookbag on his shoulders, and trudges to the elevator.

No point in arguing. Not when it comes to therapy. Tony will make him go, no matter how bad he claims his stomach hurts, or how tired he claims to be. Peter's tried, unashamedly, every excuse he could think of, and the day he ran out of the imagination to create new ones, he stopped actively resisting and accepted it as part of his life. At least until today. Today he slipped up.

He's determined not to do it again.

And he does manage to dodge all of Tony's pointed questions on the ride over to the office, and even manages to steer the conversation away from school and rumors and biology teachers in Dr. Walter's office. Of course, when it's over, Tony and Dr. Walters talk privately for longer than Peter appreciates. He hates being stuck in the waiting room with his sound-proof headphones Tony makes him wear when he doesn't want to be overheard.

"Hey Tony," says Peter, as he's buckling his seatbelt. "Do you think we can trust Dr. Walters?"

"What do you mean?"

"She knows about… me," says Peter. "Where I come from. What if she says something? Like to the media?"

"That's against the law," says Tony. "I wouldn't worry about it, kid. She's one of Pepper's oldest friends, and she's got great taste in people."

Peter silently agrees as the car pulls out of the parking lot. He likes Dr. Walters, even if he doesn't enjoy being dragged to therapy to discuss things he rather just leave alone. She's not a threat to this illusion they've built, but he does still worry about other people figuring it out. He can't shut it off, just like Tony can't stop fretting over him. A vicious cycle, really, and one Peter fears will swallow them both up.

A/N: This just might be the first time I've ever uploaded something earlier than I've said. I can't even believe it. This one is going to be like, five chapters long (I say that now but all my stories lately have been running longer), and the second to last story in this series. Thanks so much for all you reading! You guys are awesome!

And thanks to Krishnaa, Peacockgirl, Guest and waves for your comments on the Christmas One-Shot!

Guest: Peter just wants to save all the animals! And thanks! I love writing it!

waves: So glad this little story could bring a smile to your face and I hope you got some good stuff Black Friday shopping. Hmmmm might wanna stick around for this story, that may or may not happen...