A Bird Without Wings (Discontinued)

When angels fall (With broken wings)

None of the tests they could run showed any results.

As of this moment, they were in the dark about what was happening.

Peter was curled in on himself, eyes red, but face set in stone.

Tony sat by him, one hand on his shoulder, staring at Helen. "There's no more tests we can do? Nothing?"

"Other than testing his new abilities, no. I'm sorry, Tony. There isn't any way to fix this."

Peter exhaled sharply, twisting away from his father's hand, and darting out the door.

"Peter-?"

The teen raced through the medbay, through the penthouse, into the elevator, and out into the street.

Without a conscious decision on where to go, his feet automatically turned towards the one person he knew that would understand.

Halfway there, it started raining, and Peter was left to stand on Ned's doorstep soaking wet.

He'd forgotten his phone, and as he stood in the rain, he muttered angrily under his breath.

No one was answering, and in a moment of frustration, he slammed his hand onto the wall, and...

Couldn't pull away.

Huh.

He frowned at his hand, tilting his head curiously. "That's weird."

Reflexively pulling, he made no headway, until he let his hand relax, and fall limp, then it unstuck.

"Whoa." He banged on the door again, hoping from foot to foot. "Please tell me he's home."

Apparently not.

He waited there for another minute or so, but gave it up as a lost cause.

With nowhere else to go, he turned back to the tower, chewing his lip in worry.

He knew his dad had to be worried sick.

Peter had left without his phone, or money, or anything, really, with it even a word of explanation, and he deserved the yelling he was going to get.

Barely ten blocks away from the tower, Peter dropped onto a bench to actually tie his shoe, which had been undone this entire time.

When he looked back up, he was greeted by a familiar car, and a very unhappy looking Happy.

Peter groaned in resignation, jogging over. "Am I in big trouble?"

"You're never leaving the tower again," Happy muttered. "It's not worth the grey hairs. Get in, you'll catch your death of cold."

"Now you sound like a grandma."

"Take that back."

His dad was waiting when they pulled up in the garage, and he wanted no time in pulling Peter out of the car, and into a hug. "You're giving me grey hairs, kid," he murmured, soft and relieved. "You can't do stuff like that. I know you're overwhelmed, and scared, but it's going to be okay, I promise. We'll figure it out. Just don't run off like that. I think you took ten years off my life."

"Wouldn't want that," Peter murmured. "You don't have much left to spare."

"I can assure you I'm not dying unless I'm killed," Tony said cheerfully. "And did you just call me old?"

The teen grinned wetly, burying his face in his dad's shirt. "Just a little bit."

"I'll forgive you this once," he teased. Then his tone lost the playful edge. "We're gonna figure this out, kiddo. I swear."

"I know," Peter mumbled. "You're Tony Stark. If you can't do it, nobody can."

"You've got a lot of faith in me."

"Mm."

"Alright. C'mon. Pepper left some food in the oven for us."

"Hit harder."

"I'm hitting it-" Peter gasped a breath. "As hard as I can!"

"No you're not."

He dropped his stance to glare at his dad. "Oh really?"

"Yup." Tony loved forward, lifting his arm higher, and tapping his shoulder. "Shoulders set, face back, and slightly down. Keep it tucked in, or you'll be presenting a big target for whoever you're facing."

Peter rolled his eyes, but adjusted his position. "Why am I getting these lessons?"

"Because you're my son, and no son of mine is going to be defenseless if something happens. You're my son, I have enemies, and therefore they might target my weak points. You and Pep. So you will learn self defense if it kills me."

"Before this is over, I just might."

"Enough with the snark. Alright. Let's try the punching again, but this time do it with your weaker hand first."

Peter heaved a sigh , bringing his fists up again, and wishing this would end.

He put that frustration into his next hit, and the punching bag flew across the room into the opposite wall.

He gaped at it, looking between the cracked wall and his hand.

His weaker hand.

"Alright." Tony clapped his hands together. "I'm getting Natasha to train you."

The day came soon enough, where the teen faced Black Widow across the training mat.

"Tony said you're having trouble harnessing your new powers?"

Peter sent a dark look over to where his dad was spectating. "Tony is also having trouble keeping his mouth shut."

"Alright. Let's begin."

Day by day, he gradually got better.

There were a whole lot of bruises in the beginning, mostly from where he hit the mat, but he eventually started getting hits in.

That point came after weeks of training, and they were both so shocked that they stopped dead, Peter rambling apologies that she waved off.

"The whole point is for you to hit me," she grinned. "Nice job."

He accepted the praise happily, crouching for another round.

Of course, accidents happened a lot, but he was getting used to it.

Several times he had hit the mat hard enough to dislodge his hearing aids, and each time Natasha helped him up with an apologetic expression.

Soon enough, they could spar for several minutes without him being knocked down, and that was pretty cool in itself.

Whew. I battled writers block for hours while writing this.

Hopefully you enjoyed!

Seeya next time, my lovelies.