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Peter always hid his wings. It was a skill taught to children at a young age, the ability to conceal them, drawing them close and away from sight. When you had wings like his, keeping them hidden was the best choice. Peter didn’t have warm colors or soft plumage. People didn’t compliment his wings. The reactions he got were never subtle, the way people would scowl or wrinkle their nose in distaste. Where some wings were exulted, Peter’s were the kind you hid away, not meant for polite company. He had raven wings, something that no one wanted to have.
He hadn’t always been ashamed of them. The shame was something he learned over time. His parents had never treated him differently, never given him a reason to hide. Maybe it was their matching canary wings that helped them accept him for who he was.
It wasn’t until his parent's death that he understood. Black wings weren't something you celebrated—not like you might when a child was born with beautiful tawny feathers. Color meant everything, society judged a person by their colors, and Peter’s were as black as pitch, only if the sun caught them right did you see a touch of green shimmer in the light. He was a true raven.
It had been a long time since he had been in the sun with them, though. Peter had stopped showing his wings after his parent's funeral. He’d been young, but old enough to hear the whispers, to hear what black wings meant. An old woman at the funeral had gasped when she saw him standing in the back of the church, wings tucked behind him. His aunt had tried to move him away, but he still heard her, murmuring beneath her breath. She’d call him an abomination. He hadn't known what she meant, but the tone was clear.
Later, the priest who’d given the service spoke to him, too, coming over to the back pew where Peter was sitting. The man’s eyes had been cold and hard as his gaze flicked over Peter. He remembered wanting his aunt, shifting in his seat. The priest had been straight to the point, telling Peter to put his wings away, that churches weren’t the place for ravens. He hid them that day and kept them hidden since, no matter how uncomfortable it was.
As he grew, he learned that ravens were no different than Grims. They were both bad omens, the bringers of death. Raven’s were the outcasts. No one wanted black wings. It was believed they brought bad luck to those who touched their feathers. When his Uncle Ben died, it confirmed those beliefs for Peter. Death followed him wherever he went, taking those that got too close to his wings.
His aunt wasn’t anything like him. She had beautiful white wings, speckled with tan and brown feathers. They were soft and comforting. She rarely kept them from sight, and Peter couldn't blame her. White was pure. Caregivers and nurturers often had white wings. His uncle’s wings had been a soft gray, a mark of wisdom. He’d never hid his either.
The only person that hid their wings as often as him was Tony, and Peter had no idea why. He’d seen pictures of the man from years ago, his pewter wings looming over his back, gold-laced primary feathers nearly touching the ground. Intelligence and confidence, his feathers said. They were nothing to be ashamed of, hiding them made no sense. Peter would give anything for wings like those.
With his wings safely tucked away, Peter bounded into the elevator of the tower, greeting Friday. He had never shown Tony his wings, not wanting to see the disgust in his eyes when he saw Peter for what he really was. The only person other than May who’d seen them was Ned, and his friend didn’t look at him differently. Ned accepted Peter for who he was. He didn’t buy into the old beliefs about colors. Ned’s family was modern and looked at things differently than most people.
“Hey, Friday, can you take me to Mr. Stark?”
“Of course, Peter. Boss is in the garage.”
The elevator moved, going down a few floors. A minute later, the doors opened, and Peter stepped out into the open space. Cars and motorcycles lined the wall. In the center of the room, toolboxes and equipment made a loose circle around his mentor, who was hunched over an engine that hung from a lift. Music blared, making Peter wince. He walked toward Tony, tossing his backpack on the floor and taking a seat on one of the stools.
“Um, hey, Mr. Stark,” Peter said, hoping to be heard over the music.
Tony jumped, nearly whacking himself in the head with a wrench. He turned to face Peter, balancing the tool on top of the engine he’d been taking apart.
“Friday, cut the music,” Tony said, eyeing Peter. “Shouldn’t you be in school?”
Peter rolled his eyes. From the candy wrappers and coffee cups littering every surface, he’d been down there a while.
“School got out an hour ago.” Noticing the bags forming under the man’s eyes, his head tilted to the side. “How long have you been down here?”
Tony huffed, looking at his watch with a shrug. “Not long.”
Friday took that as her cue to chime in. “It’s been sixteen hours since you came down here, boss.”
Peter raised his brow. “How come you get to go without sleep, but I get a Night Night Protocol in my suit?”
“Because spider-babies need their sleep—and I’m an adult, so I can do what I want.”
Peter scowled. “I’m not a baby, Mr. Stark.”
“Of course, you’re not.” Tony rolled his eyes. He tipped his head toward the open toolbox. “Grab a wrench and get over here. I’m teaching you to take apart an engine today.”
Peter did as the man said, and they worked quietly for a few hours. They were putting the engine back together when Peter’s shoulder blades began to ache, his wings needing to stretch. The problem with hiding your wings for an extended period was that they got sore and itchy. They weren’t meant to be confined for hours at a time. You needed to stretch them to release the tension.
The longer they worked, the more Peter shifted and rolled his shoulders. The constant ache was nagging at him. It wasn’t usually so bad, but he hadn’t taken a break all day. Normally, he’d slip into the bathroom at school at least once to stretch them, but he hadn’t gotten the chance today. He was paying for it now. He moved his neck from side to side and arched his back a little, trying to relieve the tension.
Tony must have noticed because he paused what he doing to look at Peter.
“You know you can take them out, right?”
Peter’s heart jumped. “What?”
“Your wings.” Tony waved his hand at him. “You can take them out. I know you’re pretty private about them, and it’s none of my business, but you don’t need to hide around me.”
Peter wet his lips, tightening down the bolt his wrench was on. “I’m fine. Just a little sore. It’ll go away.”
“Look, you can tell me off if you want, but what’s so bad that you’d rather be in pain?”
Peter put the wrench down on the engine and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t like talking about my wings. Can we just drop it?”
Tony studied his face for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, sure, but just know you don’t need to hide around me. I mean, I know what it’s like to want to hide. I don’t want you feeling that you need to around me.”
Peter huffed a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Like you have anything to hide. I’ve seen your wings. I’d kill for wings like yours.”
Tony stiffened, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “Any pictures you’ve seen were from years ago. Things can change.”
“Don’t see how they could change that much,” Peter murmured. “At least yours don’t make people cross the street to get away.”
Tony frowned, looking at the wrench in his hands. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure they would, actually.”
“What do you mean?”
Tony set the wrench down and turned, taking a seat on one of the stools as he motioned to the other. “Sit, kid.”
Peter sighed but took a seat, clasping his hands in his lap. He twisted his fingers together. He hated talking about his wings.
“When I say that I understand wanting to hide, I mean it.” Tony paused, glancing at the engine and back to Peter. His shoulders sagged, and he sighed. “I’m sure you know how I became Iron Man.”
Peter shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah, I guess. Some terrorists or something got you. It’s how you escaped.”
Tony nodded. “Yep, got it in one.” He scratched at his goatee. “How well do you think they treated me? Or any prisoner for that matter?”
“I don’t know—not well?”
“You know that you can force someone wings out, right? That if you’re in enough pain or fear, they’ll appear—literal fight or flight response.”
Peter scrunched his face. “That happened to you?”
Tony nodded. “Long story short, my wings came out, and—and they messed them up pretty bad.” Tony stared at the wall behind Peter, his face a blank mask except for his eyes, which were tight with emotion. He looked down at his hands. “They cut them. I don’t have much left. That’s why I don’t show them.”
Peter didn’t know what to say. Losing your wings was like losing part of your soul. Even though he hated his own, the idea of losing them was sickening.
“That’s horrible, Mr. Stark. I’m so sorry.”
Tony waved him off. “It’s fine, Peter. I’ve adjusted, but now you know why I hide them.”
Peter glanced down at his hands before looking back at Tony. He took a breath to steady himself. “I—I’m a raven.”
Tony’s gaze flicked to him, searching his face. Peter shifted on the stool.
“That’s why I hide mine,” Peter said. “People who get too close—my parents, Ben.” He looked away. “Ravens bring death.”
“Kid, what happened to them has nothing to do with your wings,” Tony said, “and anyone who told you that is full of shit.”
Peter lowered his gaze. He was quiet when he spoke. “You don’t need to pretend. I know what people really think about wings like mine.”
Tony scooted his stool closer to Peter, brushing his fingers through Peter’s hair. “I’d be proud to have wings like yours, and so should you. Someone very special to me was a raven. He was an amazing man. His name was Jarvis.”
“I thought that was your old AI’s name.”
Tony shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I modeled the AI after him. You know what Jarvis taught me?”
“What?”
“That in ancient times, ravens were revered for their intelligence and loyalty. It wasn’t until recent times that they got a bad wrap. Don’t let silly beliefs shape who you are, kid.”
Peter frowned. “You wanna see them?”
“Only if you want to show me.”
Peter stood and rolled his shoulders. He closed his eyes, reaching with his mind to where his wings were held, and released them. The weight shifted on his back, the knotted muscles stretching. He shook them out, letting them flutter for a moment before settling. He opened his eyes, not knowing what to expect. Tony was standing eyes trained on the wings that were peeking over Peter’s shoulder.
“They’re beautiful, Pete,” Tony said. “I haven’t seen raven wings since Jarvis. Your color is—it’s so deep, like obsidian. I never thought black could be so rich.”
Peter ducked his head. “You really don’t mind them?”
“Mind them? Kid, they’re amazing.”
“Thanks, I guess. I mean, it’s nice to have them out. I don’t usually do this.”
Tony shook his head. “You can’t keep hiding. It’s not good for you. They need to stretch.”
Peter flexed his wings, feather rustling. “I know, but people—”
“Honestly, I don’t care what other people think, and neither should you,” Tony said, “but if you’re not ready to let people see them, at least bring them out when you’re here. I worry about you, kid.”
Peter bit his lip. “Yeah, I guess I can do that.”
“Good, now how about we go grab some lunch. I’m starving.”
Peter glanced at the clock. “Lunch was hours ago. I think it’s officially dinner now.”
“Dinner, lunch, all the same. Food’s food.”
Rolling his shoulders, Peter stretched his wings as much as he dared, not wanting to knock the tools and equipment over. He settled them back down and pulled them close, concealing them from sight.
Tony’s brow furrowed. “Kid?”
Peter shrugged. “I’m not—I need to get used to it, a little at a time. It feels weird having them out.”
Tony gave a short nod. “You’re calling the shots here, kiddo. You do you.”
“Thanks, Mr. Stark.”
They made their way up to the kitchen and raided the fridge. It wasn’t a healthy or balanced meal, Peter ended up eating a bag of gummy worms and a bowl of mac and cheese, but it was nice to eat together. Neither of them talked about their wings. Instead, they chatted about Peter’s web-shooters and the ways they could improve their reach. They talked about school and Ned and Legos.
When they moved to the couch to watch a movie, Peter shook out his wings, letting them stretch in the open room. Tony didn’t draw attention to it. He just smiled and grabbed the remote. To some people, it might not have been a big step, but to Peter it was. It was a start, the first step down a new path. Warmth settled in Peter's chest as he curled up on the couch. He could get used to this.