[Peter]
Okay, deep breath. Let's do this.
After seeing Bobby like that… lying in the medical bay, still and silent, the monitors beeping a slow, steady rhythm that felt way too quiet for Iceman.
That weight followed me back to me bed. It sat with me as I peeled off the suit, the familiar ache in my bones amplified by the ache in my gut. It wasn't just about Bobby. It was about everyone else.
My mind wouldn't switch off. I couldn't take Vulcan or Iceman on by myself even if I gave it my all, there was only so much I could do. I needed upgrades. Serious upgrades. Sonic web-shooters? Electro-webs? The ideas started swirling, a chaotic storm of half-formed equations and schematic sketches forming in my head. I couldn't believe I only thought of this now.
But where would I build them? It's not like I can build them here with Aunt May around and where would I even get the money?. The Avengers labs are… well, they're the Avengers labs. State-of-the-art, sure, but always busy. Scientists everywhere. My current suit isn't mine, it's a gift from Stark but I want to make it my own.
This wasn't just about a new gadget. This was about needing a dedicated space, a sanctum of sorts, where I could push the boundaries of my own tech, experiment without accidentally setting off the smoke alarm alarm (again).
The thought of asking hung in the air, heavy and unwelcome. Asking… Tony. Mr. Stark. Iron Man. He had the space. He had the resources. He also builds things. But I don't want to rely on him for everything, especially with how busy he is running the biggest tech company and The Avengers with aftermath of New York.
The image of Bobby on the bed flashed back. No. Stubbornness was a luxury I couldn't afford. Letting pride get in the way of actually protecting people? That was just stupid. I swallowed hard. Okay. Tony.
Getting to Tony Stark usually involved navigating layers of security, Pepper Potts, Happy Hogan, and about a dozen AI assistants. But today, thanks to my… relationship? with the guy, I sometimes had a more direct line. I sent over a short, hopefully not-too-awkward message requestioning a brief meeting. My thumbs hovered over the send button for a full minute.
A few minutes later, my phone buzzed. A simple, unfeeling text from FRIDAY: "Mr. Stark will see you in Workshop 3B. Bring snacks. He's low on churros."
Okay, classic Tony. At least that was familiar. I threw on a clean-ish hoodie and jeans, grabbed the half-eaten bag of generic tortilla chips from my backpack (no churros, sorry FRIDAY), and headed for the elevator.
Tony's workshop was exactly as chaotic and brilliant as ever. Holo-displays flickered with schematics I couldn't even begin to decipher, robotic arms whirred and clanked, and the air smelled like hot metal, oil, and expensive coffee. Tony himself was hunched over a workbench, coaxing sparks out of something that looked suspiciously like a miniature arc reactor, blueprints projected around his head like a crown of light.
"Ah, kid! To what do I owe the pleasure?" he said, not looking up, his voice amplified slightly by his work helmet.
I managed a weak smile. Quick-wittedness was his domain today. Mine was currently buried under a pile of anxiety. "Uh, hey Mr. Stark. FRIDAY said you were out of churros, but I brought chips?"
He finally looked up, pushing the helmet onto his forehead. His eyes, even behind the smudges of grease, were sharp. "Chips? Parker, you wound me. That's like bringing a spork to a black-hole-creation convention." He paused, his expression shifting slightly, he must have seen something on my face. "Alright, out with it. You look like someone just cancelled science class forever. It's not much to most people but you... well you get the just. What's up?"
I took a deep breath. This was it. No backing out. "It's… about Bobby. Iceman."
Tony's posture straightened. "Yeah. Nasty business."
"Exactly," I said, stepping further into the organized chaos of the workshop. "And it got me thinking." I gestured vaguely. "My suit, my webs… they're good, but when im facing someone as powerfulas Vulcan..."
"I need to be able to fight back, Mr. Stark. To stand a chance. I need to research new materials, new energy sources, maybe figure out some kind of adaptive shielding. Things that aren't just stronger webs or faster swinging." My mind raced ahead, laying out the potential projects. My mind was kicking in now, finding comfort in the technical challenge. It reminded me of when I used to fix and make things in the garage with Uncle Ben
"Okay," Tony said slowly, rubbing his chin. "And you can't do this in the general R&D labs? We've got dissolution tanks, particle accelerators, 3D printers that can print in anything if you ask nicely."
"It's not… it's different," I fumbled, my secretive and emotionally guarded flaws making it hard to articulate the real need. "Those labs are great for team projects, for replicating known tech. But this… this is more experimental. More… Peter Parker," I finished, a little lamely. "It needs a lot of trial and error, late nights, potentially making huge messes…" I wasn't just being polite; I genuinely worried about being a hindrance, about my impulsive tinkering messing up something vital. My poor time management meant my work schedule was unpredictable Chaos.
I looked him in the eye. "Mostly, though… I need a place that's just mine. Where I can focus completely. Where I can fail on my own, without getting in anyone's way. A personal lab. Dedicated just to Spider-Man tech."
Silence hung in the air, thick with the hum of machinery. Tony crossed his arms, his expression unreadable.
"A personal lab," he repeated slowly. "You realize the real estate value of a dedicated science space in the Tower? You're asking for a significant chunk of… well, my philanthropic generosity."
"I know," I said quickly. "And I wouldn't ask if I didn't think it was vital. For keeping people safe. Like Bobby." I gestured towards a large, unused corner of the workshop bay, cluttered with old crates and forgotten projects. "It doesn't need to be huge. Just… a space. With power and maybe a decent workbench. I can bring my own tools, figure out the equipment as I go." My adaptable nature was already trying to scale down the dream to make it seem more feasible, more humble.
Tony walked slowly around his own workspace, picking things up, putting them down. He circled back to me, stopping close. His gaze was intense, assessing.
"So, you want a Batcave," he stated, not a question.
I blinked. "Uh, I guess? Without the whole billionaire angst and brooding?"
He almost smiled, a flicker of his chaotic charm returning. "Right, because you're just sunshine and rainbows. Kid, you've got enough guilt to power a small city. Don't act like you don't brood."
He had a point. A big one. The guilt-ridden part of me was practically vibrating. Uncle Ben, 3D-Man, hell, even Bobby now– maybe I could have been faster, smarter, something.
"Look," I pressed, ignoring the jab, "Seeing Bobby… it was a wake-up call. This job… it feels bigger now. More complicated. I can't just rely on luck and sticking to walls anymore. I need to evolve. And I can't do that properly without the right tools and the right space. It's not about wanting a cool clubhouse. It's about being responsible. About doing what I can to make sure that doesn't happen again. To anyone." My voice tightened slightly on the last word.
Tony was quiet for a long moment.
"Okay," he said finally, his voice low, devoid of its usual theatrics.
My head snapped up. "Okay?"
"Yeah, 'okay'," he repeated, a hint of his usual amusement returning. "You want a Batcave, you got it. But don't blame me when Alfred is a sarcastic AI and the only bats are the ones you accidentally lure in trying to build a sonic emitter." He walked towards the cluttered corner. "This spot here? It's about… twenty by thirty? Gives you a decent footprint. We'll get FRIDAY to do a sweep, clear out the junk. I'll have some basic benches and power conduit laid out by tomorrow. You want anything fancy, you spec it out. My treat. Consider it… hazard pay for dealing with my mentorship."
Relief crashed over me with such force I almost staggered. It wasn't just the lab; it was the fact that he listened. That he understood the need, even the messy, emotional, secretive need. "Mr. Stark… Tony… thank you. Seriously. This… this means a lot." My voice was probably a little shaky.
He waved a hand dismissively, though his eyes held a flicker of genuine warmth. "Yeah, yeah. Don't get mushy on me, kid. Just make sure whatever you build doesn't turn the entire Eastern Seaboard into a giant spiderweb. Or worse, sentient. I've been down that road." Guilt-driven? Definitely. But there was something else there too. A layer of genuine support beneath the sarcasm.
"I'll do my best," I promised, a grin finally spreading across my face.