~Iron Family~

The Wet Bandits

Peter was furious.

Like, seriously, he could barter for Nick Fury's last name or something.

He'd tried to hide his limp, but it was clear something was troubling him, so he just said that he'd pulled a muscle. Definitely not gotten blasted by Iron Man.

It smelled kinda bad, too--Peter decided he didn't like the smell of burning flesh. It didn't hurt much at first, but after he'd tried to put ointment on it the burn had stung so bad he'd bitten his tongue to keep from yelping. What was it with him and getting burned?

Diego had asked him what was the matter, commenting about how he could practically see steam coming from his ears. Peter had glared at him and gone back upstairs without a word. He sat on his sleeping bag with a growl to no one in particular, putting a hand behind his head and staring up at the cracking ceiling.

What was going on?

Now appliances and Avengers were both out to kill him.

No, not kill him, he remembered--the Avengers wanted to 'bring him in,' to question him and find out his true motives. Of course.

He should've known this was coming. They surely wouldn't let an unsupervised teenager swing around the city and do what they want, as sad as it was.

Life was so much simpler with May and Ben.

It only felt like a few minutes, but after an hour Billy came up and poked his head into the room.

Dinner, he signed, tapping the letter D to his mouth. Peter gave a thumbs-up to signify he would be right down and Billy left.

He got up with a groan and stretched his sore muscles. Each morning, Billy had been giving him sign language lessons. He was apparently coming along pretty quickly, as he had learned all of the fingerspelled alphabet, greetings, and such. He was enjoying it, and he could tell it made Billy happy.

Dinner was short.

Bernard came home, grumpy from his long day of work, and popped open a can of beer before heading down into the basement. Miranda had thrown a container of leftover mac 'n cheese in the microwave and called it dinner before leaving the room, so Diego made everyone turkey sandwiches.

"Order up!" he called, donning a paper Krispy Kreme hat. He gave a chef's kiss and they dug into it.

"Who made you chief chef?" Arnwaldo asked as a squeaking sounded from his seat. A stench filled the kitchen.

"Who asked you, Fartley?" Kayla countered with a mouthful of sandwich. Arnwaldo's face turned red.

"That's Francisco Arnwaldo Bartley the third."

"Not to me," Billy said with a grin.

No one seemed to notice how silent Peter was being, which was fine with him. He didn't want to talk in the first place, which was the meaning of 'silent.'

After dinner, he was thinking of turning in early, but his phone buzzed with an email from Mr. Stark. He read it with a deepening frown.

Hey Peter! This is Tony. So sorry I forgot to tell you I sold the tower. We're moving upstate in a few days to the new Avengers Compound, so I'll have to cancel this week and change the location of the next meeting to the compound. I'm not sure how far it is from you, but Happy can always give you a ride if your foster parents don't want to drive you too far. Don't tell him, but I think he enjoys it. It gives him something to do.

Anyway, I hope this letter finds you well and in tip-top shape. Please refrain from telling people outside your family you have an internship with me, as I probably mentioned, and also make sure to bring a change of clothes the next time you come. Morgan's gotten serious with her slime gun.