SPIDERKID

Shannon knew the kid hated being called "Peterpatter", but it was what she called him when she found him at the Pacific Science Center in Seattle, a well-dressed four-year-old boy lost and confused amidst a sea of nerds and parents and kids and teenage couples.

It was what she called him after he introduced himself. Kid was haughty as heck and all "my dad is this" and "my mom is that" and "you better do this or else," and shit, but her mom must've found a hot new piece of ass or something because the woman up and pulled a friggin Houdini on her, so at the time, Shannon was so not in the mood for bratty toddler bullshit. She decided to call the brat Peterpatter and be done with it.

It was what she called him every time she came by to check up on him, because he lived nearby, because Richard and Mary were entirely too busy to take care of their own son, and his nanny was equally as neglectful.

It was what she called the kid when he refused to get out from under his bed because it's been over two days and his parents weren't home and wow, wasn't that just #horribleparenting or what?

It was what she called him when he broke down a month or two after, all alone in that large, hollow, overly ornate house that everyone in the neighborhood knew Richard Parker secretly hated and only tolerated for his lovely wife.

It was what Shannon called the kid when Richard's boss, a weird man with an eyepatch named Nicholas Joseph, arrived at the manor with a haggard-looking couple in tow: Ben and his wife May, Ben being the kid's closest living kin.

And when she found out that the couple that took him in lived right across the street from her house in Queens, well, the name just settled and stuck. Peterpatter.

And goodness, Shannon should have really known by then, shouldn't she? In retrospect, her ignorance was quite incredibly dumb given all the hints around her throughout her life, and it only keeps getting dumber with each remembrance, but really, again, for the millionth time, how was she to have known that fictional shit was actually real?

Anyway, the kid was Peterpatter, quite possibly the Peter Parker, but the whole superhero thing was just too crazy to comprehend, so Shannon just Repressed the shit out of the whole MISTER STARK I DON'T FEEL SO GOOD

Um.. yeah.

Kid's like a brother to her, so she just can't think... can't even imagine...

I'M SORRY... DONT FEEL SO GOOD... MISTER STARK... I DON'T WANNA GO... I'M SORRY... MISTER STARK I DON'T FEEL SO GOOD... DON'T WANNA GO...

"What's that you're doing, kid?" her mouth blurts out as she absently sits beside Peter. Peterpatter. He's working on little bits and bobs that seem connected to form a mutant wrist watch of some sort.

Renata's having one of her off days, but considering how Tony Stark's house just got bombed, and that it was an internet-known fact that Tony Stark was at Cafe Renata almost daily, Shannon figured people just suddenly got terrified of Renata by association.

Whatever. The guy was part-human, part-OF THE JOURNEY IS THE END-

...part-unkillable weed. Yeah. Emphasis on unkillable.

"It's a um... wrist shooter," the kid says, cutting off her thoughts. "Kind of like in those spy movies."

"...Right. And what would you use that for?"

"Um, it's for shooting... gunk at people that annoy me?"

"Shooting gunk at people," she repeats slowly. Well, there are easier and more... pleasurable ways to shoot gunk at people, but she's never going to say such a thing to a kid, of all people.

...Oh man, she so needed to get laid.

It's been nearly three decades!

Kid blushes bright red like a stoplight. "Well, not gunk, really, but just some fluid I made. It's white and real sticky, and-"

"Woah kid, stop it right there. Don't go talking to me about your white sticky stuff. I've known you since you were, like, four."

"I don't mean THAT stuff!" He all but screams at her, his face almost purple with pure mortification. "I'd never talk to you about that stuff anyway!"

"Right. Of course. ...But you do talk about it, right? I mean this in a purely concerned-sibling way, but sometimes you gotta let it out. I mean, not literally, but... well, also literally, if you catch my drift."

He then proceeds to deflate. "No. I don't catch anything. I suck at catching. I'm also done with this line of conversation. Get it, Shannon? DONE."

"Fine. Sheesh. Ruin my fun, why don't you? It's not like I've been recently made to look like a complete idiot by Tony Friggin Stark, you know. Not like I need a little pick-me-up." At his stony expression Shannon finally decides to let up on her teasing. "Alright, alright. Why do you want to shoot your white sticky fluid at people anyway?"

"It's just... Teenagers are an annoying species as a whole, you know."

"You're fifteen," she deadpans. "And therefore a teenager yourself... I think. Unless you're actually twelve? You could be twelve. You look young enough."

"I'm fifteen! Fifteen and ten months, thank you very much!" He cries out in a voice that mysteriously always seems to crack when he yells at her. Which is frankly adorable, by the way. "I'm almost at the age of consent in... in Washington!"

That was... oddly specific. "You wanna get it on with a girl from there or something?"

"I... no, it's just..." He waves his contraption around for emphasis, "I just mean that I'm not a kid, okay? Not anymore. So stop calling me 'kid', okay?"

It's a simple enough request, she thinks. "No problem, Peterpatter."

He throws a napkin at her, the blush fading from his cheeks. "You're mean."

"Tony Stark is meaner. Frankly, I don't get why you idolize Iron Man so much. I mean, yeah, he's likeable enough, funny, but when he's being an ass he always takes extra care to be the biggest one in the room."

"Call it a character flaw," a voice drawls behind her, and Shannon all but freezes. "One of my very few flaws. I always go by the saying, go big or go home."

I wish you'd just go home right fucking now, Shannon thinks uncharitably with a growl, turning to face Tony Stark.

"What?" He asks with a winsome smile. "It's been a week. Ban's lifted!"

"Mr. Stark!" Peter's voice once again cracks beside her.

Oh boy.

ooOoo

A/N: Endgame was INSANE! Like holy shit, my two favorite Avengers friggin kicked it, and now I'm left reeling even after all this time because MY TWO FAVORITE SNARKY AVENGERS FRIGGIN KICKED IT! I wrote this under the influence... of ice cream. Because that shit was depressing enough to warrant comfort food, and I needed the pint of Double Dutch, damn it all.

I probably have like ten million typos here, but eh, I typed this on my phone, so there.