Peters POV:

Even though having a pocket knife makes sense it doesn't seem like a suggestion that anyone who wasn't experienced in combat would make. And a pocket knife? Really? I mean, no offence, but what can a pocket knife do against guns?That old saying, don't bring a knife to a gun fight, well that still applies. 

"I get what you mean by a knife being more low profile, but don't you think blasters are a little more, oh I don't know, user friendly?" I don't mean it to sound like an insult and I don't think it does. Sometimes, though, I can't tell. The fact that nobody is looking offended is heartening. 

"Probably." Percy shrugs, "But I'm more comfortable with a pocket knife than whatever Stark'll cook up."

"I'm not sure if I should be offended." Mr. Stark might not know if he should be offended, but he's definitely disappointed. 

"Don't be offended!" Percy looks slightly worried, "You're only allowed to be offended when I'm trying to offend you." He gives what looks like an almost trademark smirk.

"You say you're comfortable with a knife? How'd you learn that?" Rogers asks, and for the first time since I told him we could trust Percy I see distrust on his face. He doesn't want to be quick to judge, that much is obvious. Except he doesn't trust Percy. Well, he doesn't trust how Percy become comfortable with a knife.

"When I was a kid-" Percy starts.

"Look, not that I don't love a good story but can we have the truth?" Mr. Stark tries to make this into a joke. It almost works. "But you know, sometimes the truth can be more entertaining than fiction."

Percy sees that Mr. Stark isn't trying to pick a fight, and to my surprise he doesn't either. Still, this isn't easy for him. Not easy at all. And if we're not careful, if we push him to far, we'll just get more lies, so carefully sculpted we won't be able to tell them from truth.

"Percy," I lower my voice so only he can hear, "if you can't tell us everything yet just tell us what you can. Please, if we know what you can do we can plan my Aunts rescue better. I have to save her, it's my fault she's gone in the first place. You know I have to save her, please, please help me do that." I don't know why I added that last bit, guilt trips should be below me. On most of the people I know, most of the people in this business, a guilt trip won't do a thing. Showing attachment is showing weakness. And showing weakness? You might as well already be dead. 

"I get in trouble a lot, with bad people. They hardly count has people once you see who they really are." He looks vaguely disgusted but also like he's making a joke. It seems like we should have a translator to tell us all the things he isn't saying, all the double meanings in his words. Except that would probably take a month or seven longer than we have. "So yeah, they never seem to like mean very much except for maybe as a punching bag or something. I guess with all that learning to defend myself sort of became a priority." 

"How good would you say you are?" Captain Rogers asks.

"If you can get me a balanced blade I can take Remix once I get close, doesn't matter how good she is." Percy shrugs as though it's no big deal.

"Don't you think that's a little over confident?" Captain Rogers seems annoyed, he doesn't like people who think they're gods gift to mankind. Normally I don't either, but I find myself believing Percy. Whoever or whatever is waiting for him, he can take it.

"I didn't mean to sound cocky, it's just that I've been training with blades since I was 12 years old. If she can take me then she's might as well have already won." Something like this would make most people proud, they'd say it with a condescending look on their face, staring down their nose at you. Not Percy though. He looks like he'd give anything to not have that experience, to not know how to wield a blade, to stand here completely befuddled, unable to do a thing.

"If you're sure?" Captain Rogers gives Percy a longer, searching look. Not of trust. Not of distrust. Not of a scientist looking at a specimen. Not of fondness. Not of dislike. Maybe it was a look of a child, seeing something for the first time. Maybe it was a look of looking at something but seeing something else entirely. Maybe it was a look of a man seeing someone he hadn't seen in a lifetime in someone else. Or maybe it was none of those thing or all of them or nothing at all.

"I'm sure." Percy sighs.

"What if I made you a pocket knife?" Mr. Stark asks, like a puppy seeing his human right by the treats.

"Don't you think it would be better if I didn't have anything that could be traced back to you?"

"It would be pretty useless if we sent Percy in with nothing but a high tech pocket knife and that gave him away." I butt in.

"Fine. I'll have JARVIS get you a normal knife." Mr. Stark makes it sound like we've asked him to drink cow pee or something at least as gross.

"Alright, so should we head over to- Wait, where are we supposed to meet her?" For the first time I realize I have absolutely no clue where Captain Rogers and Remix are supposed to be meeting.

"3840-10th street." Captain Rogers says the address like a chant, a mantra that has been playing over and over in his head.   

"Wait a second." Percy's eyebrows crinkle, "That's in Queens."

"And?"

"Oh, nothing. That's just where I grew up."

"Doesn't seem like much of a just." Mr. Stark raises his eyebrows. Guess it's expressive eyebrows hour.

"In my defense I was at boarding school most of the time." Percy uses his eyebrows in an expressive manner.

"I grew up in Queens too. Do you think it means something?" I add before Mr. Stark can ask why Percy spent so much time in boarding school.

"Sometimes the hardest part of a job is figuring out what information is important and what isn't. As of right now there's no reason to think that this is important. Even if it is some message about how she knows everything about you there's nothing we can do about it. I think the best thing we can do now is sleep." Mr. Stark yawns in an extraordinarily fake manner.

"You're joking right?" I wonder, trying to make my eyebrows as expressive as everyone elses.

"Peter, it's 1:39 am. I could pull an all-nighter, but doesn't Mr. But-I-Have-Homework need his beauty sleep?" Mr. Stark grins, his pupils dilated from a likely caffeine overdose.

It being 1:39 is unbelievable, but undeniable. Exhaustion is catching up to me, she's a backpack on the day we have to return textbooks, rubbing sand into my eyes like she always does when its been to long between naps. 

Even if I'd never admit it I'm pretty much useless in my current state. Instead of giving though I can strike a bargain, because collapsing to pressure is never cool (to be fair I was never cool in the first place, but that's a moot point.) 

"You know what, if you leave your workshop, eat something other than a granola bar, take a shower, and go to sleep I'll go to bed." I give a look like I'm not dead on my feet.

"I hate you." Mr. Stark looks almost like he's pouting, which is absurd.

"Tell me that after at least eight hours of sleep."

"Fine. But psycho killer kid has to call his mom." I decide not to fight Mr. Stark on called Percy psycho killer kid. Pick your battles, you know? And Mr. Stark letting Percy call his mom is a gift, really. It's telling him that he doesn't have to be here, that he isn't an enemy anymore, that maybe, just maybe, he might even be part of the team.

"It's late." Percy shrugs like it doesn't matter. "I don't want to wake her and Paul." 

It doesn't make sense though. Before it seemed like he'd felt genuinely guilty for making his mom worry and now he doesn't even want to call her? 

"But she's probably worried?" I don't mean it to sound like a question but it does anyway.

"My mom doesn't deserve this." It isn't just pain in Percy's voice. It isn't just bitterness either. Even though a statement like his should be fueled only by negative emotions it isn't. Because within his words there's a little glimmer, a tiny kernel of something. And if I didn't know better I'd call that spark hope.

"You know what your mom really doesn't deserve? Her son disappearing again." It isn't kind. It isn't sensitive. But it's what Percy needs, if only it is enough.

"Sorry Stark. Looks like you're not getting any sleep tonight." Percy won't look in my direction as he walks out the still open door.

Silence. Confusion. Long seconds pass. Now what? 

"Um," Percy's head pokes around the corner, "I don't actually know where I'm going."

A/N

Don't judge the chapter name, I was really tired when I wrote this and when sleep had been achieved I thought it was hilarious. 

Happy weekend to all you wonderful people! (before you ask, yes he will tell them soon I promise)