If They Knew All About You

Eliminate The Impossible

It was early. Had to be very early. Pete had his eyes still closed, face pressed into his pillow but he could tell either way. He would be able to feel the sun on his back if it had already risen above the horizon. FRIDAY knew to let it shine through the windows just enough so he wouldn't sleep all day. Plus, every morning, there were these light noises of life ringing outside his room, clattering of the kitchen cupboards and dishes, the soft vibrations of both Pepper and Mr. Stark's voices. Sometimes, it would even be the smell of eggs and bacon fizzling on the stove that would wake him up in the first place.

There was only silence now and darkness. He yawned widely, face still pressed into the soft fabric of his pillow. Then with a sudden jolt, Pete rolled onto his back. Memories came back to him as if someone had opened the flood gates in his mind. The lab. That call. Mr. Stark... His pulse was pounding in his ears as he reached for the bedside table, fingers fumbling for his phone in the darkness but coming up empty.

Reluctantly, he had followed Mr. Stark up to the penthouse and then back to his room the previous night. The hand that had been resting on the back of Pete's neck had been cold but determined as Mr. Stark had steered him to move along next to him. Pete's mind had been racing, desperate to find the right words to say.

"Mr. Stark, please..." His voice was only a low mumble, hardly audible and Mr. Stark pressed out a low shush in return. "You can't... T-Tony, please—"

The hand on his back disappeared and left him feeling even colder. "Go inside, I... I'll be right with you."

Pete's eyes shot up at him. "But—"

"Just... just go. Do the... pajamas and... and teeth-stuff, go on."

As he had stumbled through the door of his room, Pete turned but Mr. Stark had swung it shut right behind him. His eyes stung, fixed on the wood of the door before he pressed them shut in frustration, trying to calm himself, to think. Open-mouthed deep breaths were echoing in his ears and it took Pete a moment to realize that those weren't his breaths. There had been no footsteps that shuffled away from his room and it could only mean one thing: Mr. Stark, his father, was still right there on the other side of the door. Those were his erratic breaths that were ringing in Pete's ears, his heart racing just as fast as Pete's.

"Mr. Stark," Pete whispered, steadying himself against the door. "Tony?"

But he didn't answer, the beat of his heart just as erratic as before. Maybe he didn't hear, maybe he didn't want to acknowledge that he had heard. All Pete knew was that he wasn't moving, frozen on the other side of the door.

Frustration. Fear. There was a strong urge creeping up his spine to just run. That if he simply left, all these problems might go away, leave with him. Just as strong was the urge to pull open the door and make Mr. Stark listen, to make him see sense. To make him allow Pete to help. In the end, he did neither of these things. Instead, he pushed himself away from the door, his body still shaking with nerves.

Nobody was going anywhere tonight. Deep breaths. Those really were Pete's. If he... if he could just calm down, maybe he could make Mr. Stark see sense. Maybe he could make Mr. Stark see what Pete knew to be true: he wasn't just a helpless boy. He could be an asset, could help all of them fix this. Even if it would cost him his secret identity, at least his conscience would be clear.

Pete had no way to know if Mr. Stark simply had great instinct or if FRIDAY kept him updated, though he likely would have heard her murmur quietly outside in the hallway. Either way, only moments passed after he had sat down on his bed in his pajamas when the door to his bedroom was slowly pushed open. Mr. Stark did look calmer, but somehow that only made things worse. It made the lines on his face and the exhaustion in the way he held himself stand out even clearer. Pete knew he was staring but he couldn't help it. Only when Mr. Stark... Tony... came to sit down next to him did he drop his gaze down to his hands that were once again nervously picking at each other.