Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was just after 7AM when Peter's alarm buzzed, though he was already awake.

He'd gotten into the habit of waking up early, ever since the web-slinging nights started. This morning was no exception—he'd been out past midnight, stopping a mugging in Brooklyn and helping an older woman find her lost dog on the Lower East Side. Not exactly headline-worthy material, but Peter wasn't doing this for the attention.

He stretched, yawned, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, then tiptoed into the kitchen. May was already up, nursing a coffee and scrolling through the news on her tablet.

"Morning, Pete," she greeted, barely looking up. "Want me to make you something?"

Peter smiled gently. "I'm alright. I'll grab something to take with me."

"Suit yourself. You've got about ten minutes before you miss the bus."

Peter scarfed down a piece of toast, grabbed his backpack, and double-checked the secret zipper compartment where he kept his web-shooters. He always took them with him—just in case. The suit itself remained hidden in a duct behind his bedroom wall.

The walk to Midtown High was familiar, almost routine now. Crowded sidewalks, honking cabs, the occasional shout from someone who definitely needed anger management. All of it was part of Peter's daily backdrop. But under the mask—under the surface—he was someone else. He was helping. He was doing good. And for once, it felt like he was managing it all.

School came with its usual chaos: Flash being obnoxious, teachers rushing through content, and MJ pointing out every grammatical error in their textbooks like it was a personal hobby. Ned was waiting at Peter's locker, excitedly waving a half-built LEGO Iron Giant in Peter's face.

"You still coming over after school?" Ned asked.

"Totally," Peter said, stuffing his books into his bag. "Just not for long. I might have some... plans later."

"Spider-stuff?" Ned whispered, eyes wide.

Peter hushed him. "Keep it down, man."

Peter had tried to keep the Spider-Man stuff from Ned but Parker luck struck against him. He had forgotten about some plans he had made with Ned after school and Ned had come over to wait for Peter in his room. Just to Peter's luck, Ned had caught him sneaking back in through his window sporting a wound from his previous fight with an attempted robbery.

Peter tried to deny it, but it was clear he had been caught in the act. Ned had become part of his Spider-Man support system following that, he became his guy in the chair and someone to keep a look out for him in case he had any more medical emergencies. It took a bit of the pressure off of him, knowing he's not in it alone.

Classes flew by. Peter aced his chem quiz, dodged Flash's attempts at humiliation, and helped MJ figure out a stubborn physics equation she insisted was wrong on principle. Everything felt good. Normal. Balanced.

And then came sixth period.

A knock at the door. Ms. Warren leaned out into the hallway, nodded, and then looked at Peter.

"Mr. Parker, the principal would like to see you."

Peter blinked. His classmates gave the usual "ooooh"s like he'd been caught cheating on a test. He frowned, confused but not concerned, and made his way to the front office.

Principal Morita was waiting, smiling in that "this isn't a bad thing" kind of way.

"Peter, have a seat," he said, motioning to the chair across from his desk. "Relax. You're not in trouble."

Peter sat, one foot nervously tapping the floor.

"We've been reviewing candidates for Midtown's entry in this year's Stark Foundation Regional Science Fair."

Peter's heart jumped at the name.

"The judging panel's going to be... well, let's just say you'll be in the company of some pretty esteemed scientists. Possibly even some from Stark Industries themselves. And your teachers all unanimously put your name forward."

Peter blinked. "Wait—seriously?"

"You've got the grades, the record, and the brain. You're a shoo-in. So, congrats. You're on the team."

For a second, Peter forgot how to speak.

This was big. Huge. Not only would it be a chance to really flex his inventions without the whole Spider-Man angle, but Stark Industries? He might meet someone from Tony Stark's actual team. Maybe even the man himself. He shook that last thought off, there was no possibility that Tony Stark would have the time to attend in person.

He walked out of the office with a dazed smile, barely registering MJ's snarky "did you finally get expelled?" as he returned to class.

Peter slipped back into class just as Ms. Warren was erasing the whiteboard. He ducked into his seat beside Ned, who was already leaning toward him with a suspiciously expectant look.

"What was that about?" Ned whispered. "You okay?"

Peter hesitated, then leaned in. "It was about the science fair."

Ned's eyes lit up. "No. No way. You got in? The Stark Foundation one?"

Peter gave him a subtle nod, grinning. "Apparently, I was nominated. Principal Morita said I've officially made the selection."

Ned nearly exploded with excitement, shaking Peter by the shoulders like a soda bottle. "Dude! That's insane! That's, like, Nobel Prize-adjacent! Stark people might actually talk to you!"

"Shhh," Peter hissed, waving him down. "Don't tell anyone, alright? I don't want Flash turning it into some weird competition, or MJ roasting me for selling out to corporate science or something."

Ned nodded with faux solemnity. "Got it. Top secret. Stark-level clearance only."

Peter couldn't help the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Ned's excitement was contagious—and even if he was trying to keep it low-key, part of him was definitely buzzing.

The rest of the day flew by in a blur. Peter couldn't focus on much beyond the idea of what was coming—what he might be able to build, the chance to showcase something that wasn't strictly Spider-Man-related but still him.

When the final bell rang, Peter and Ned parted ways outside the school gates. "Come by later," Ned called. "We'll brainstorm ideas!"

"Will do," Peter said, already pulling out his phone to text May.

By the time he reached their apartment in Queens, the sun had begun to dip low across the buildings. The door was unlocked, like always, and the smell of pasta sauce drifted through the hallway. He just hoped to himself that she wasn't somehow finding a way to burn it this time.

May popped her head out from the kitchen when she heard him shut the door. "Hey, there you are. Dinner's gonna be ready soon—how was school?"

"It was good, probably better than good-" Peter dropped his backpack and kicked off his shoes. "Actually... I've got some news."

May raised a brow, drying her hands on a dish towel. "Good news?"

"Good news- I think. I got selected for this science fair. The big one—the Stark Foundation regional thing."

May's eyes widened. "The Stark Foundation?"

Peter nodded, pulling out the packet Principal Morita had given him and handing it over. "Principal Morita said there's going to be people from Stark Industries there. Scientists. Engineers. Big-deal types. They're even providing materials if we need them for our projects."

May sat at the kitchen table, flipping through the forms with an impressed whistle. "Peter, this is amazing. This could open some serious doors for you. Do you know what you want to make yet?"

"Not exactly," Peter admitted, sitting beside her. "But I've got a few ideas. I wanna build something cool, but... y'know, low-profile." Nothing that screams 'this was inspired by a guy who can crawl on walls.'

May gave him a quizzical look but didn't press further. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it'll be great. Want me to help you fill these out?"

Peter nodded, sliding the documents closer. It felt good to have her involved. She wasn't just the adult who paid the bills—she was May. The one person who'd stood by him no matter what. The last family member he had after losing Ben.

As they sat together, filling out emergency contacts and project preferences, Peter felt that rare, fleeting sensation of calm. Of control. Of normal.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, for just a second, he let himself wonder...

Maybe things didn't have to fall apart this time.

The next morning was a blur of homework, coffee that was way too strong and bitter, and May forcing a granola bar into Peter's hand on the way out the door.

"You have to eat something that isn't vending machine garbage," she said, holding the bar like it was a legally binding contract. "You're a growing genius. Feed the brain."

"Yes, ma'am," Peter said, grinning as he stuffed it into his backpack.

By the time he reached school, Midtown High was already buzzing with early-morning chatter. Peter slipped into his seat in homeroom just as Ned did, plopping down beside him with the kind of energy only someone who didn't spend their nights web-slinging across the city could have.

"Okay," Ned whispered excitedly, leaning in. "I did some digging. I've got a list of past winners of the Stark Fair, and get this—last year's winner got offered a summer internship. Like, paid. That could be you, man."

Peter blinked, part of him thrilled, the other half immediately anxious. "Yeah, I mean... it'd be cool," he said carefully, avoiding the weight that word Stark suddenly carried.

The more time Peter had time to sit on the idea of being around Stark Industries and the possibility of Tony Stark himself, the more anxious he began to get. Meeting Tony Stark would be a dream come true, he'd been a huge Iron Man fan since he was a kid. He remembered going to the Stark Expo with May and Ben when he was a kid. The moment he discovered his interest in science, he became a huge fan of Tony Stark himself.

Except back then, Peter wasn't hiding a huge secret that could get him into serious trouble. Tony Stark is smart. What if his involvement with Stark Industries and this project gets him caught for being Spider-Man?  He couldn't risk being found out. Not by Stark or the Avengers.

Ned frowned. "You okay? You've been getting more and more weird about this since yesterday. This is literally what we talked about back in, like, sixth grade. Genius inventors, making our own thing, going pro."

Peter gave a tight smile. "Yeah. I know. It's just... a lot."

The truth was, Peter had been out late again the night before. There'd been a break-in at a bodega near 74th, and a car chase that nearly landed him in the East River. His suit still smelled faintly like engine oil.

"I just don't wanna get too noticed," Peter added, more to himself than Ned.

Ned nodded slowly, picking up on the subtext. "Right. You mean... because of the other thing."

Peter glanced around to make sure no one was listening. "Exactly."

Ned leaned back in his chair, voice low. "Well... you're doing good work. As Spider-Man, I mean. You're helping people. Even if you don't want the attention, you kinda deserve it."

Peter didn't answer. He appreciated it—he really did—but he couldn't shake the gnawing feeling in his gut. The Stark Foundation was huge. If anyone was gonna notice something strange about Peter's tech or his ideas, it'd be them.

And if Tony Stark—the Tony Stark—ended up showing up in person...

No. He wouldn't. Right?

Peter shook it off.

That afternoon, he stopped by Ned's place after school. The Lees, Ned's parents, welcomed him with their usual cheerful nods and a tray of dumplings they insisted he take "for brain fuel."

By the time they got to Ned's room, Peter had already inhaled half the tray and was licking sauce off his fingers as he dropped onto the floor, papers spilling out of his bag.

"Okay," Ned said, closing the door and dramatically tossing a notebook on the carpet. "So, hear me out. Power converters—overdone. Compact drones? Cool, but might get us flagged by Homeland Security. But what about—wait for it—a modular AI assistant. Like JARVIS, but, you know... not JARVIS. 'Cause copyright."

Peter chuckled, flopping onto his back. "So basically Alexa with homework help."

"Exactly," Ned grinned. "But cooler. And less creepy. Maybe."

Peter stared up at the ceiling, his smile fading just a touch. "I don't know. Maybe we should keep it simple. A solar charger? Portable energy storage?"

Ned paused. "You're worried about drawing too much attention, huh?"

Peter sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. I mean, if this thing gets any kind of notice from, like, real scientists, they'll start asking how I figured some of this stuff out. I can't exactly say, 'Oh, I got it from reverse-engineering Stark drones I accidentally webbed to a lamppost.'"

Ned smirked. "You did do that once."

Peter pointed at him with a dumpling. "And I barely got away with it."

They sat in silence for a moment, papers scattered around them like puzzle pieces, their half-sketched ideas blurring with old snack stains and coffee rings.

Ned finally said, "You know... you don't always have to be Spider-Man."

Peter blinked. "What?"

"I mean, yeah, the suit's cool, and saving people is amazing, but you're still Peter Parker. You're still you. And you're allowed to do stuff like school fairs. Or science projects. Or hang out and eat dumplings with your best friend without worrying about every siren you hear out the window."

Peter looked at him, genuinely touched. "You really think that?"

Ned gave a dramatic sigh. "Well, statistically speaking, no, but emotionally? Yes."

Peter laughed, full and real this time.

"Thanks, man."

"Anytime, dude. I'm your guy in the chair, remember?"

Peter reached for a pencil and started sketching again, this time with a little more focus. "Alright. No drones. No AI. No vigilante red flags."

Ned nodded. "Low-key genius. We can do that."

They spent the next hour tossing around ideas, half-building, half-goofing off, talking about everything from science tech to which superhero would win in a fistfight ("Thor, obviously," "No way, Bruce Banner as the hulk could take him.").

It wasn't perfect, and it wasn't flashy—but it was the kind of day Peter needed.

No swinging off rooftops. No criminals. Just best friends, science plans, and dumplings.

For now, it was enough.

Chapter Text

By the time Peter got home, the sun had already dipped below the rooftops of Queens, leaving a soft, orange glow spread across the sky. May was on the couch, reading some crime thriller with her feet tucked under a blanket and a mug of tea at her side.

“Hey, kiddo. You eat at Ned’s?” she asked, flipping a page without looking up.

“Yeah. Dumplings,” Peter said, already halfway to his room. “They were awesome.”

"You working on your science fair thing?"

He paused in the doorway. "Yeah. I've got a couple of ideas. Nothing crazy yet."

May looked up then, giving him a warm smile. "You'll figure it out. Just don't forget to sleep, okay?"

Peter smiled back. "You too, May."

Once he got inside his bedroom, Peter exhaled and crossed to his desk. Notes were scattered across it — schematics, calculations, napkins with half-sketched diagrams, tons of ideas he'd gathered to send to Ned so he could help him decide on his project. He pushed some parts aside and opened the closet. The suit waited inside, neatly folded behind a false panel.

A few minutes later, Spider-Man was soaring over the skyline, wind tugging at the fabric, the cool air a familiar balm against his skin. Up here, he could breathe. He could let go of the pressure — from school, from pretending to be someone normal. From being just Peter Parker.

Tonight’s patrol was quiet. A loose dog that needed help getting across traffic. A guy scamming tourists near the subway. Low-level stuff, but he didn’t mind. Queens felt… safe lately. Not perfect, but safe. He wondered if it was because of him, or if something was brewing, hiding beneath the calm like the silence before a storm.

As he perched on the ledge of a building overlooking a dark alley, he tapped the side of his mask to check the time.

10:43 PM.

"Okay," he muttered to himself, "one more swing around the block and then science fair mode."

He launched forward.

By the time he made it to Ned's, it was almost midnight. Peter tapped on the window of Ned's room, still in the suit, clinging to the outside wall like a shadow.

Ned opened it without even flinching. "You're late."

"I got held up," Peter said, crawling in and flipping the mask back.

"Lemme guess. Purse snatcher? Again?"

Peter shrugged. "Hey, they add up."

Ned rolled his eyes and pushed a new blueprint toward him. "Okay, while you were out impersonating an Avenger, I managed to make sense of your nonsense notes and made them more organised."

Peter nodded, already dropping his bag and heading to the workstation. “Thanks, man.” Peter leaned over the desk, observing the notes he recognised as his own, but now organised into categories. "What's this?"

Ned hummed as he made his way beside Peter. "I figured I'd give you a push to which one I thought you should pick."

Peter smiled as he looked at the hand-drawn arrows around one of the collections of notes. "A self-powered circuit using magnetic induction?"

"Boom." Ned grinned. "Clean, compact, super efficient. You're welcome"

Peter smiled, rubbing his eyes. "It's perfect."

"I figured you'd see it that way," Ned moved over to grab a box from under his desk. "That's why I already went ahead with picking up some supplies."

"You're the best," Peter beamed.

"I know, I expect you to mention me as the greatest friend ever in your winning speech," Ned shrugged.

Peter looked back at the idea. When he first came up with the initial idea, the school had just had a blackout. He'd always planned to develop it more but it ended up getting pushed aside for Spider-Man business. It was something so far fetched at the time but now he felt drawn to it for the need to prove himself that he can do it.

Peter got to work, the clock ticking quietly in the background. They talked less this time—more focused. Ned handed Peter the required parts when needed while Peter soldered and adjusted components with the careful hands of someone who had disarmed explosive tech mid-battle. Once Peter got into the zone, Ned dipped back to his algebra homework, finding it a bit hard to focus with the urge to go back and watch what Peter was doing.

Around 1:45 AM, Ned finally yawned and leaned back in his chair. "Okay. Okay. I'm tapping out. If I don't sleep, I'm gonna start seeing equations in my dreams."

Peter laughed softly, wiping his hands with a towel. "Go to bed, man. I'll finish tightening the wires and then head home."

Ned gave him a tired thumbs-up before flopping onto his bed fully dressed.

As Peter kept working, he looked down at the nearly complete device they'd built together. Sleek, small, and efficient—kind of like Spider-Man, if he thought about it.

Two lives. Two identities. Constantly trying to keep one from drowning the other.

But tonight, both parts of him got to matter.

And that made it a pretty good night.

-----------

The day of the science fair arrived faster than Peter expected.

One second he was triple-checking the circuit layout with Ned at 2 a.m., the next he was standing in Midtown High's gymnasium surrounded by folding tables, extension cords, and the faint smell of stale coffee from the teacher's corner.

The space buzzed with nervous energy — students scuttling between booths, teachers scribbling names on clipboards, and the occasional hiss of a soldering iron still finishing up some last-minute tweaks.

Peter stood beside their table, eyes scanning over their finished project: a compact device that used electromagnetic induction to wirelessly power a small LED board from several feet away. It wasn't flashy, but it was clean, efficient, and grounded in real-world application.

Plus, it worked. Consistently.

That part alone made it feel like a miracle.

"You ready?" Ned asked, adjusting his Midtown polo like it was a tux.

Peter took a breath and gave him a half-grin. "As I'll ever be."

Their table was near the back, just like Peter had preferred. Less attention that way. But the judges would still have to make their way there eventually. He glanced around the room and spotted a student already "presenting" their project — looking confident that they were going to be the one chosen.

Peter turned back to their setup and flicked the switch.

The lights on their panel glowed softly, powered only by the energy emitted from the box sitting several feet away. The thin copper coil buzzed quietly, doing its job perfectly.

Ned smiled proudly. "You know... this is actually kind of cool."

Peter gave a soft laugh. "Now you believe me?"

"I always believed you," Ned replied. "I just... worried that it wouldn't get finished in time."

Peter didn't say anything for a moment, his eyes still on the project. "I'm glad we did."

Nearby, the sound of footsteps and chatter meant the judges had started making their rounds. Teachers and scientists Peter didn't recognize moved from table to table, asking questions, nodding thoughtfully, and occasionally scribbling notes.

Peter's stomach twisted a little. This wasn't the kind of attention he was used to. Or wanted.

But as the group slowly worked their way across the gym, he couldn't help but feel... proud. Of himself. Of Ned's help. Of how the project came together. No Spider-Man gadgets. No reverse engineered StarkTech. Just them.

"Hey, what if you actually win this thing?" Ned whispered.

Peter raised a brow. "You mean, you don't already have a speech prepared for me?"

"Oh, I do," Ned grinned. "But seeing it come together and knowing you have a real shot at this is still insane."

They both laughed — light, unguarded. It felt good.

But that easy feeling didn't last long.

Because across the room, Peter caught a glimpse of someone in a dark suit talking to one of the teachers. A face he recognized from the news. From articles. From every tech magazine Peter ever secretly read under the table at lunch.

No way, Peter thought.

He blinked.

Then blinked again.

Was that... Tony Stark?

Peter was so distracted by seeing Tony Stark that he didn't notice the cluster of judges making their way toward Peter's table. Their suits were sharp, their clipboards ready. Peter felt his throat tighten, palms slightly clammy despite having rehearsed this exact moment a dozen times. Maybe more.

Ned stood off to the side, trying not to draw too much attention but offering Peter a supportive nod and a tight-lipped smile. The silent kind of encouragement only your best friend could give — the "you've got this" without saying a word.

Peter squared his shoulders as the lead judge, a woman with silver-streaked hair and sharp eyes, stepped forward.

"And you are?" she asked, pleasantly but professionally.

"Peter Parker," he replied, voice steady despite the jittery feeling crawling up his spine. "And this is my project: a compact renewable power source designed for small-scale electronics — essentially, a micro energy converter that harvests ambient electromagnetic fields and converts them into usable energy."

One of the other judges let out a soft, impressed whistle.

As Peter began his explanation, his nerves slowly gave way to focus. He knew this. He built it from scraps in the corner of his room, soldered wires between doing homework and sneaking out as Spider-Man. He walked them through the design, the components, the small breakthrough he'd had that helped him reduce the converter's size by half without losing efficiency.

Still, even as the words flowed, his eyes kept drifting — just for a second at a time — to the back of the hall.

To him.

Tony Stark stood casually with a small cluster of professionals. He wasn't a judge — not officially. But he was one of the keynote guests and sponsors of the event, and his presence alone was enough to turn half the room into anxious perfectionists. Peter had spotted him within minutes of arriving and had been pretending not to notice ever since.

But now? With Tony only twenty feet away, easily within earshot, Peter's brain kept screaming, don't mess this up.

He didn't know why he cared. Stark wouldn't notice him. He was just another face in the crowd.

Still, Peter's fingers tightened subtly on the edge of the table as he wrapped up his explanation. "...It's not meant for anything high-demand, but it could be a step toward more sustainable tech in everyday tools."

The judges jotted things down. One of them smiled. The silver-haired judge nodded once.

"Very impressive, Mr. Parker," she said, and Peter's chest swelled just a little.

As they moved to the next table, Ned stepped closer, whispering, "Dude. You crushed it."

Peter let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and gave a shaky grin. "Yeah? Think they bought it?"

"They didn't just buy it — they'd pay full price and leave a tip."

Peter chuckled softly, grateful, but his glance still flicked once more toward Tony.

He didn't notice that, this time, Tony was looking right back.

Even worse. Tony Stark was heading straight toward him.

Peter froze. Completely. Like full-on buffering screen-level freeze.

“Uh, Pete?” Ned whispered, elbowing him lightly. “Tony Stark is coming over here. Like... Iron Man. Actual Iron Man.”

“I know,” Peter hissed under his breath, standing a little straighter and trying not to look as panicked as he felt.

Tony stopped right in front of their booth, giving the table a once-over before glancing at Peter. “Parker, right?”

Peter blinked up at him. “Y-yeah. Yes, sir. Peter Parker.”

Tony gave a nod, casual but unreadable. “That’s quite the rig you’ve got here. Electromagnetic energy scavenging? Not exactly science fair 101.”

Peter swallowed. “I—I just thought it could be useful. Especially for everyday tech, you know? Like powering emergency lights or charge stations in blackout zones... places that can’t rely on constant power.”

Tony looked back down at the small, humming device and let out a low hum of approval. “Smart. Resourceful. A little bit genius, actually.”

Peter’s face flushed, and he tried very hard not to squeak like a fanboy.

Tony turned his attention back to him, brow raised. “So tell me, Parker — you ever consider applying for an internship at Stark Industries?”

Ned looked like he might explode next to him.

Peter blinked. “Wait, what?”

“You’re sharp,” Tony said simply. “You’ve got hands-on skill and an actual reason behind what you build. That’s rare in people three times your age.”

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it again, brain short-circuiting. “I—uh—I mean... I didn’t even think something like that was possible for me.”

Tony shrugged like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Most kids don’t. But I don’t recruit ‘most kids.’ I recruit the ones I notice.”

He reached into his jacket, pulled out a sleek black card with gold lettering, and held it out.

Peter stared at it.

It was just a contact card for Stark Industries. Probably one they used at events to give to prospective employees.

“You think about it,” Tony added. “Talk to a parent or guardian. Maybe your school. We’ll be in touch.”

And just like that, he turned and walked away, already halfway to the next conversation before Peter could even finish blinking.

Ned stared at him, jaw dropped. “Dude. DUDE.”

Peter still hadn’t moved. “I think... I might throw up.”

Chapter Text

Tony hadn’t planned to show up. Not originally.

It was supposed to be a simple gesture — sponsor the science fair, slap the Stark name across a few banners, maybe shake a couple of hands. Pepper had even gently suggested he take the day off. “You can trust the team to handle the judging, Tony,” she’d said. “You said last year that going to these were pointless.”

Tony agreed, he remembered the chaos that had happened when one of them made a rookie mistake and almost blew up the entire building. Or maybe it was deliberate, a hope to try and bring out Iron Man instead.

But something itched at him. Maybe it was the boredom. Maybe the guilt that always found him in quiet moments. Or maybe it was the report he’d skimmed a few days ago — a list of the top-scoring submissions. One name had stuck out.

Parker, Peter. Queens. Midtown High. Age: 15. Independent build. Subject: “Autonomous Electromagnetic Scavenging Module.”

It hadn’t sounded like something a normal teenager cobbled together between video games and algebra homework. But it did sound... promising. At least if the kid does right by it then it would be

So, Tony went.

And when he finally got to Peter Parker’s booth, he saw it.

Not just the machine — though, to be fair, it was impressive. Clean design. Creative logic. Smart engineering with the kind of layered purpose that reminded him too much of himself when he was younger, angrier, and building things in garages to keep from falling apart.

No, what really sold it was the kid behind the table.

Nervous as hell, fidgety hands, eyes darting between his friend and the crowd — but when Peter talked about the project, something sparked. Confidence, curiosity, heart. That spark was rare. Most kids just recited what their teachers told them. This one meant it.

Tony had already made up his mind halfway through the presentation.

He didn’t need a résumé. He didn’t need a transcript. He needed that.

So he gave the kid his card.

He knew Pepper would just call him impulsive. Would grill him about his lack of judgement when she finds out. Which gives him more of a reason to get out of here ASAP.

And as he walked away, tuning out the rest of the voices in the room, Tony found himself smiling — a real one, not the one he used when cameras were watching.

There was something about this Peter Parker.

Something familiar.

Something important.

“Let’s see what you do next, kid,” he muttered to himself, already drafting an alert to FRIDAY to pull more data on Midtown’s little genius.

Just in case.

For the rest of the time, Tony lingered near the back of the auditorium, arms loosely crossed, sunglasses hiding just how closely he was watching Peter Parker.

The kid stood off to the side, trying — and failing — not to look completely shocked when his name was announced as one of the winners. He glanced over at his friend with wide eyes, then back at the small crowd applauding. He didn’t even pretend to hide the grin that broke out across his face.

Tony smirked. I Knew it.

While the commotion of the winner announcements went on, Tony took his moment to sneak out. He didn’t stay for the photos. Didn’t do press, didn’t wave. Just slipped out the side door, dodging the curious eyes of a few teachers and one overly ambitious reporter.

By the time he made it back to the Tower, the sun was already beginning to set. The prototype he’d left in pieces still sat waiting — an energy regulator he'd started working on for one of the new Arc modules. Clean lines, complicated internals. Just the sort of puzzle that usually made him forget about everything else.

Usually.

He didn’t make it twenty minutes before the lab’s ambient music cut out mid-track.

He didn’t even look up.

“Hey, Pep.”

There was only one person in the entire Tower who would have access to his lab and override his command to FRIDAY to be uninterrupted.

“Tony.” Pepper’s voice was clipped — not angry, just... wary. Which was worse in this case.

He finally turned from the table and gave her a sideways look. “Before you say anything—”

“You went to the science fair.” She said, the accusation clearly in her voice.

“Okay, after you say anything.”

“And offered a high school student an internship.”

Tony shrugged, already fiddling with a coil of wiring like it wasn’t a big deal. “It was more of a soft offer.”

Pepper folded her arms. “You don’t do soft offers, Tony. We don't take high school interns. You don’t do high school interns. You hate high schoolers.”

“Most high schoolers,” he corrected. “This one’s... different.”

Pepper’s brows lifted, unimpressed.

Tony sighed, dropping the wire and turning to face her properly. “Look, I know how it sounds. But the kid’s got something. Not just brains, though yeah, he’s got those too. He’s got drive. And heart. And I’m not gonna sit around and wait for someone else to snap him up. Or worse — for him to slip between the cracks and become the next supervillain of the month.”

Pepper stepped into the lab, softer now, but still unconvinced. “Tony... you can’t treat him like one of your toys. You can’t pull him in just because he’s interesting to you right now and then lose focus when the next new thing comes along.”

“I won’t,” Tony said, serious now. “I mean it.”

Pepper tilted her head. “You promise?”

“Minimum three months,” he said, holding up three fingers. “Probationary period. Like a trial run. If he’s not everything I think he is, I’ll let it go. But if I’m right... I’m not letting him fall through the cracks.”

Pepper sighed, rubbing her temple. “You’re impossible.”

Tony gave her a half-smile. “That’s why you love me.”

“No,” she muttered. “I love you despite that.”

He went back to his bench, confidence returning as he picked up the prototype again. “Just trust me on this one.”

Pepper lingered a moment longer before turning to go. At the door, she paused.

“What’s his name?”

“Peter,” Tony said, smiling slightly. “Peter Parker.”

Pepper stayed at the edge of the lab, arms folded, expression unreadable. “Okay. Then what do you actually know about this kid? Beyond a flashy science project and some good instincts.”

Tony didn’t miss a beat. He held up a hand and waved it slightly, prompting a holographic interface to bloom to life above his workstation. With a few quick taps and a muttered “FRIDAY, pull up the Parker file,” the image sharpened into view.

A Midtown High student profile appeared, Peter’s face looking way too young to be catching this much attention from Tony Stark. His school ID photo was as awkward as they came — slight slouch, a nervous smile, mop of messy hair.

“Name: Peter Benjamin Parker,” Tony read, almost absent-mindedly. “Fifteen. Lives in Queens with his aunt, May Parker. Parents are listed as deceased... and his uncle passed away about a year ago.”

Pepper’s arms slowly uncrossed. “So she’s the only family?”

Tony gave a quiet nod. “Yeah. And from what FRIDAY pulled, she’s doing her best. But it’s a one-income household. He’s balancing a lot.”

He flicked his fingers and shifted the screen. A new display popped up — Peter’s class schedule and grade summary. The numbers didn’t lie.

“Advanced STEM track,” Tony continued. “All honors courses, AP Physics, AP Chem, the works. Straight A’s in almost everything. Even got a perfect score in one of the standardized tests Midtown ran last semester.”

Pepper leaned in, reluctantly impressed. “That’s not just smart. That’s focused.”

Tony smirked. “Exactly. When I was fifteen, I was skipping out of MIT classes to sneak into clubs and make poor life choices. This kid’s engineering home projects in a one-bedroom apartment and still has time to make his classes look like child's play.”

Pepper squinted at him but let it slide.

“Look, he’s not just some bookworm either. Debate team, robotics club, decathlon, even some local volunteer stuff—” Tony paused, brows drawing in. “Huh. He’s dropped a few of those lately.”

Pepper caught it too. “Recently?”

Tony clicked through the timeline. “Looks like everything but Decathlon. Dropped off the grid for the others about a month and a half ago.”

“Doesn’t that concern you?”

He waved it off, too fast. “He’s a teenager. Maybe he realized he wanted to focus on school... or friends... or building jet engines in his bedroom. Whatever. Still a kid. And that’s all the more reason to step in now, before a bright kid gets too lost in his own head.”

Pepper sighed, rubbing her forehead. “You’re impossible when you get like this.”

“Persistent,” Tony corrected, spinning a wrench between his fingers. “The word is persistent.”

She tilted her head, giving him a familiar I-know-you-too-well look. “Fine. I’ll have Legal draft up a letter for Midtown and his guardian. Get something official out—”

“No need,” Tony said, too casually. “Already got plans.”

Pepper narrowed her eyes. “Plans?”

Tony gestured vaguely toward the exit. “Gonna drop by. Face-to-face. Chat with the aunt. Keep it... personal.”

“Tony,” she said sharply. “You can’t just show up at the kid’s apartment. You’ll scare the hell out of both of them.”

“I’ll be charming,” he replied with a wink.

Pepper crossed her arms again. “She doesn’t know you. That’s not comforting.”

“She’ll get to,” Tony said, already walking away from the workstation. “Besides, I figured the whole in-person pitch might go over better than a cold letter.”

“Tony—”

But he was halfway across the lab now, pretending not to hear her.

“FRIDAY, remind me to bring cannoli. Queens runs on cannoli.”

Pepper sighed again, long and drawn out. “And you run on chaos.”

Tony just grinned, pulling up the schematics again with a casual flick. “Takes one to mentor one.”

Pepper shook her head and exited the lab. As soon as the door slid shut behind Pepper, the illusion of control cracked a little.

Tony stayed still for a moment, watching the hologram of Peter Parker flicker in the air — that school photo grin, awkward but determined. Pepper wasn’t wrong. Teenagers weren’t exactly in his wheelhouse. And yet... something about this one had stuck.

He let out a long breath and straightened.

“FRIDAY, close it,” he said, quiet.

Peter’s file disappeared with a soft hum.

“Open the file on Spider-Man.”

The screen shimmered into new life, red and blue visuals casting color across the lab. Footage began rolling — rooftops, back alleys, blurred camera phones. A figure in motion. Purposeful. Careful. So much restraint for someone who could clearly do more damage than good.

Tony didn’t say anything. He just stared.

He’d been tracking the vigilante for weeks, maybe months now. At first, it had just been curiosity. New kid on the block, flashy moves, tight moral compass. But then the sightings started piling up. The saves. The escalation.

He knew the vigilante had to be enhanced. That is what made him more dangerous. Tony had been through enough bad guys now to know that one can start out as good, but it's easy for the power to go to their head and for it all to shift. He might be good for now, but that might not be the same case in a few months time.

Tony shifted his weight, arms crossed tight across his chest. The way this kid moved — there was skill, yes. But instinct too. And discipline. Like he had to help. Like every night was a second chance for something he refused to talk about.

And the suit — no traces of any advanced tech, no known vendors. Whoever he was, he’d either built it himself or stayed far off-grid enough to avoid detection. Both were impressive. Both were dangerous.

The map lit up, activity clustering mostly around Queens.

Figures.

Tony stared harder, jaw tight. Queens was where Peter lived. Where he was heading. Not that there was a connection. Not yet. Peter just happened to give him the perfect excuse to investigate Spider-Man's home base.

But something buzzed at the back of his skull — that subtle tug he only ever got when the pieces were almost lining up.

Tony ran a hand through his hair, eyes flicking to a freeze-frame of the masked figure holding up a collapsed scaffold, civilians scrambling away in the background. Not for the first time, he wondered: how old is this kid?

And if he was wondering that… how long before someone else did?

It was clear the vigilante couldn't be older than mid-twenties. Possibly more towards the early-twenties. Either way, he was new and he was young, easily impressionable.

Fury wasn’t going to ignore this for much longer. And the UN? Forget it. They’d slap a label on the kid and toss him into a containment unit before they ever asked why he wore the mask.

Tony wouldn’t let that happen.

He needed to get ahead of it. He would get ahead of it. The visit to May Parker's place wasn’t just about congratulating a kid with a brain. It was recon. Preemptive damage control. And maybe, if he was right… someone in queens will drop some information that will lead him directly to the masked man's identity.

A way to protect him before the world started calling him dangerous.

He stepped back from the display, still thinking.

Spider-Man was clever — but Tony Stark was watching now.

And he didn’t plan on being outsmarted.

Chapter Text

It had been a couple of days since the science fair, but Peter could still feel the buzz from it lingering in the back of his mind—like static. He kept replaying the moment they'd called his name over the mic. How his hands had gone cold and sweaty all at once. How Ned had clapped like a lunatic beside him. How Tony Stark—Tony freakin' Stark—had stood there in the back of the crowd, watching.

He hadn't dreamed it. He knew that now. Because that night when he told May, she hadn't just believed him. She'd grabbed her coat and said, "We're celebrating."

They got Thai. From the good place.

She even let him get extra dumplings and dessert. Said something about how Stark better not be filling his head with nonsense. Peter didn't say anything. He didn't really know what to say. He'd been grinning too hard anyway.

Now, standing on the sidewalk outside their apartment building, that same electric feeling returned—only it was different this time.

The car parked by the curb was not from around here. Sleek, glossy, expensive enough that even glancing at it felt illegal. It definitely wasn't there that morning.

Peter narrowed his eyes, a curious smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

He bolted inside, practically two-stepping up the stairwell, ready to burst in and tell May about it. "Hey, May, you will not believe what's parked outside—like, this car has to be worth more than the entire block, seriously, I—"

He stopped mid-step as the door shut behind him.

There was a shift in the air.

It wasn't just May on the couch.

Sitting next to her, one leg crossed casually, was Tony Stark.

Peter froze.

Tony Stark did not.

He was already watching him—calculating, cool, like Peter was a new piece of tech he hadn't decided how to take apart yet.

"Hey, kid," Stark said, like they ran into each other all the time.

May gave Peter a look—somewhere between apologetic and amused. "We have a guest."

Peter blinked. His brain short-circuited for a second. Then, slowly, he stepped further into the room, heart thudding like a war drum in his chest.

Tony Stark. In their apartment. On their couch. Talking to May. Tony Stark.

An Avenger.

A genius.

His hero.

“I, uh… what- what are you doing here?” Peter said suddenly, voice a little higher than he meant it to be. “Like, in Queens. In my apartment.”

Tony arched a brow. “What, you think I don’t do field trips?”

Peter smiled nervously. “But you’re Tony Stark.”

“That’s true,” Tony said, shrugging. “But I’m making exceptions these days. For certain science fair winners.”

Peter laughed awkwardly, hands fidgeting at his sides. He didn’t know where to put them. His fingers itched—part nerves, part instinct. Behind the thin wall of his bedroom, his suit was stuffed in the back of his closet, the mask still damp from last night’s patrol. The thought made his stomach twist.

He suddenly felt exposed. Like Tony could see straight through him and into the walls. Into the suit.

Into the secret.

“Anyway,” Tony said, unaware—or pretending to be—of the internal panic building behind Peter’s eyes. “You’ve got the brains, you’ve got the initiative, and judging by that little circuit trick, you’ve also got some engineering instinct I could work with.”

Peter’s mouth went dry. “Thanks. I’ve, uh… always looked up to you.”

Tony gave him a look—part amusement, part something softer.

“Yeah, well. Let’s make sure I give you a good reason to keep doing that.”

There was a beat. Long enough for Peter to wonder—just for a second—if Tony knew. If he’d seen the same patterns Peter had tried so hard to hide. But then Tony gave a light exhale and turned toward the door.

“I should go,” he said, voice lighter again. “Let you and May talk it over. You’ll get the official paperwork soon.”

Peter followed, still trying to process the last ten minutes of his life. He opened the door for Tony, but before the man stepped out, he paused.

“Oh, and Peter?” Tony glanced over his shoulder. “The internship? It’s not a favor. You earned it. But you better not let me down.”

And then he was gone.

Peter stood there in the doorway for a moment longer, watching the stairwell like it might explain something. It didn’t.

May appeared beside him, holding a mug of steaming coffee that had clearly gone untouched. “Okay,” she said slowly. “What… just happened?”

Peter closed the door behind him and leaned against it. “I have no idea.”

May raised an eyebrow. “Tony Stark. Showed up. In our apartment. To offer you an internship.”

Peter nodded. “Yup.”

She blinked. “Is this one of those ‘we’re both in a dream’ moments?”

“Feels like it.”

May stepped back, still looking dazed. “So, this is real?”

“I've got a three-month trial for the moment.” Peter glanced up at her, his voice small. “But he said I've earned it.”

May didn’t answer right away. She just looked at him, and Peter could see her trying to hold a hundred thoughts at once. Pride. Worry. Confusion. Awe. Finally, she let out a breath and smiled, soft and tired. “Well… I guess we should start reading over your best clothes and figuring out how we’re going to get you into the city every day.”

Peter laughed under his breath. “You think I should do it?”

May took a long sip of coffee. “Peter... I think… if this is something you want, you’d be crazy not to. As he said, you've earned this”

Peter looked down at his hands, still half-shaking. “It’s not just about the internship. I think he’s... watching me. Like he’s trying to figure me out.”

May tilted her head. “And what do you think he’s going to find?”

Peter looked up again. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t know.”

May walked over and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. “You’ll be okay, Peter. You've been talking about Stark Industries since you were just a kid,” she reminded him and she pulled back from the hug. "Good things are allowed to happen to you Peter. You just need to let them."

Peter smiled back at her. She was right, he would be stupid to push away this opportunity because of Spider-Man.

___________

The city looked different at night, but Peter always found it easier to breathe above it.

He needed this.

Not because something big was happening—just the opposite. Nothing had happened since Stark left their apartment. May had gone to bed, after pretending she wasn’t freaking out about her nephew being offered an internship by Tony freaking Stark. Peter had sat in his room for a good hour, staring at his suit hanging in the closet like it might jump out and expose him at any second.

Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Okay,” he muttered into the night, shooting a web and launching forward. “So… Tony Stark knows my name. Came to my apartment. Met May. Cool. Totally fine. No pressure.”

He landed on a rooftop and took a breath. The silence stretched.

He crouched near the ledge, watching a couple walk down the sidewalk below. He was mostly talking to himself at this point, but it helped. It always did. The mask didn’t just hide his face—it filtered his thoughts.

The suit felt tighter tonight, not physically, but metaphorically. Like it was pressing down on him.

It was all because of Tony Stark. An Avenger. A billionaire genius. And now, apparently, Peter’s future boss?

What if he found out? What if he put two and two together and figured out that the weirdly nervous Queens kid and the acrobatic vigilante in red were the same person? Would he shut the internship down? Would he drag Peter to some underground SHIELD cell?

He groaned and leaned his forehead against a vent pipe.

This was getting too real.

“Maybe I should just tell him,” Peter whispered to the empty rooftop. “Just… lay it all out. Tell him the truth, ask for help. He's one of the good guys, right?”

But the idea of saying the words out loud—I’m Spider-Man—made his chest feel like it was caving in. What if Stark didn’t take it well? What if he saw Peter as a threat, a liability?

Worse—what if he looked disappointed?

A shout snapped him out of his spiral. Peter’s head jerked up.

Down the block, a guy was running with a purse clutched to his chest, a woman yelling after him. It wasn’t a huge crime, not world-ending. But it was something.

It was his something.

Peter stood in a smooth motion, firing a web without hesitation and swinging after the guy. The chase was over in under thirty seconds. He hung the thief upside down from a lamppost and tossed the purse back to the woman with a practiced ease.

“Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man,” he said with a mock salute, before vanishing back into the dark.

A small win. But it helped.

Peter swing himself away and sat on the edge of a rooftop, legs dangling over the side as he watched the city below. He took another deep breath, eyes fluttering shut. "Just breathe, man. You’re doing fine. Totally fine."

But the hum of repulsors cut through the air like a blade.

His eyes shot open.

The glow hit the rooftop first—red and gold and far too familiar. Then the sound followed, that signature whirr-thunk of a suit landing. Peter scrambled to get his mask back on, fumbling slightly as he stood up.

Iron Man touched down about six feet away.

Peter froze. "Oh no."

The helmet tilted, reading him.

"Spider-Man," Tony's voice said through the modulator, calm, almost casual. "Fancy seeing you here."

Peter’s heart pounded so hard it felt like it was shaking the suit. He forced his voice steady. "Uh—hey. Iron Man. Wow. What are you doing in Queens?"

Tony didn’t answer right away. The blue eyes of the mask locked onto him like spotlights.

"Your name keeps popping up in my system logs," Tony said. “FRIDAY’s flagged about nine patrol incidents in the last three weeks. All you. Most of them small-scale stuff, but... it’s enough that you’ve made a blip.”

Peter blinked. “A… blip?”

"Yeah. A blip." Tony crossed his arms, the servos in his suit shifting with a faint hiss. "Which, in Avenger terms, is either good or very, very concerning."

"I—I mean…" Peter’s mouth went dry. “I’m just trying to help out. This neighbourhood needs someone watching its back. I’m just doing my part. That’s all.”

Tony stepped forward once, not threatening, just firm. "You’re doing more than helping grandmas cross the street, kid. You’re out here chasing armed guys, stopping robberies, breaking up fights between gangs. That’s real risk. Real consequences."

Peter shifted his stance, nerves crawling beneath the suit like static. “I’m not trying to cause trouble. I’m just… trying to protect people. That's all I've ever wanted.”

Tony’s head tilted slightly, like he was analyzing something beneath the surface. “You’re not the first person with powers and a mask to say that. You probably won’t be the last. But take it from someone who’s seen this go sideways a lot—being a vigilante isn’t a sustainable lifestyle.”

Peter’s stomach dropped. “I’m not—”

“You are,” Tony cut in. “You’re acting alone. No team. No oversight. And I get it—maybe you think you’re helping. Maybe you are. But all it takes is one moment. One wrong decision. One person in the crossfire.”

The rooftop air felt thinner. He hadn’t expected this. He thought if Iron Man ever showed up, it would be for something huge, a big mission maybe—or worst-case scenario, to arrest him. But this? This was worse.

Because Tony wasn’t angry.

He sounded worried.

“I’ve seen people get swallowed up by the mask,” Tony continued. “They forget where the line is. Or they stop seeing it altogether. I’ve been there.”

Peter glanced to the side, anywhere but those glowing blue eyes.

"And that’s why I need to know who you are," Tony said, voice softening just a touch. "Not to out you. Not to expose you. Just so I know who I’m dealing with before things go south.”

Peter’s breath hitched.

He couldn’t. He wanted to—some part of him ached to just say it, to tell someone like Tony Stark who he really was. To stop hiding. But the fear wrapped around his lungs like a chain.

If Tony knew it was him—Peter Parker, awkward science nerd from Queens—what would happen? Would the internship offer disappear? Would May find out? Would the safety net he’d built come crumbling down?

Would Tony look at him like he was just a stupid kid playing hero?

Or what if all of this was just a trick? What if the real plan was to get rid of Spider-Man once and for all? To learn his identity so he couldn't hide when they come for him to lock him up. He wasn't completely unaware of the accords that had caused a riff between the avengers not too long ago.

Peter shook his head. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I want to—but I can’t.”

There was a pause. The quiet kind that crept between two people and threatened to stretch forever.

Then Tony’s voice, even quieter now: “You’re making it harder than it has to be.”

Peter took a step back. “And you’re not making it easy.”

He fired a web without thinking.

Tony’s systems must’ve tried to react, but Peter had already yanked himself backward off the rooftop, flipping mid-air and catching another webline. His body went into full escape mode, adrenaline turning his thoughts into noise. Go. Go. Go.

He weaved through a tight alley, then another, twisting down into the lower rooftops of the residential blocks he knew like the back of his hand. The whirr of repulsors followed, but only for a short distance.

Peter hit the fire escape of an old building and pulled himself into the shadows, crawling into the narrow gap between two old AC units. Heart thudding in his ears, he pressed himself flat, eyes locked on the sky above.

The red-gold blur hovered overhead for a moment, searchlights flaring briefly as it scanned.

Peter held his breath.

Then, after a tense pause, the suit angled upward—and shot into the sky, vanishing between the clouds.

He didn’t move.

Not for minutes.

Eventually, he let out a slow, shaky breath and peeled off his mask, the fabric damp against his forehead. His hands were still trembling.

“Great,” he whispered. “Awesome. That definitely didn’t make me look guilty.”

He dropped his head back against the cold metal and shut his eyes.

One close call too many.

Tony Stark was officially on his trail now.

And sooner or later, Peter knew—he was going to find him.

Chapter Text

The next morning hit Peter like a freight train.

His alarm blared, but he’d barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw glowing blue lights and the shifting metal of Iron Man’s suit. His mind replayed the conversation on loop—Tony’s voice, calm but pointed, asking for his identity. Demanding it.

Peter dragged himself out of bed and tried to shake the feeling, but his chest was still tight with nerves. He went through the motions—shower, breakfast, pack up—but everything felt off. Even the way his hoodie sat on his shoulders irritated him.

By the time he got to Midtown, his spider sense hadn’t stopped buzzing. It wasn’t the intense kind, not the danger’s-here-now kind—but a low, persistent hum in the back of his head. Like his body knew he was being watched. Judged. Hunted, even.

He sat through first period barely registering a word that anyone said. His teacher might as well have been speaking underwater with how distant everything sounded. Every time someone walked past the classroom door, Peter’s head jerked up. His heart wouldn’t settle.

In second period, he dropped his pencil. Twice. Causing him to receive a few nosey looks in his direction as they heard it hit the floor.

By the time lunch came around, he looked like a ghost—pale, sweating, twitchy.

“You good?” Ned asked as they headed to the cafeteria.

“I'm fine,” Peter said, maybe a bit too quickly.

Ned raised an eyebrow but didn’t push it until they sat down at their usual table in the corner.

“Okay,” Ned said, lowering his voice. “Now you’ve got to tell me what’s going on, because you look like you just walked out of a horror movie. Even Flash has looked too afraid to make any comments at you, as if he thinks you'd blow up or something”

Peter hesitated. He glanced around, making sure no one was listening, and then leaned in.

“I saw him last night,” Peter whispered.

Ned blinked. “Saw who?”

“Iron Man.”

Ned’s mouth dropped open. “No way. No way. Did he—did he figure it out?”

Peter shook his head, his voice hushed and panicked. “No. I don’t think so. But he’s close. Too close. He found me on patrol. Cornered me on a rooftop. Said my name’s been popping up too much. Said that I'm starting to become an issue.”

Ned’s eyes widened. “What? Man, that sounds like some serious stuff.”

Peter nodded. “He started asking questions. Wanted to know who I was under the mask. I panicked. I just bolted. I barely shook him off.”

“Dude…” Ned let out a low whistle. “That’s—okay. That’s bad. But also kinda cool? Like… Iron Man is personally tracking your moves. That’s, like, terrifying and flattering at the same time.”

"Ned," Peter didn’t smile. “That’s not the worst part.”

Ned leaned in even closer. “How is there a worse part in this?”

Peter swallowed. “He came to my apartment yesterday. As Tony Stark. He… he talked to May. Came to offer me the internship. Then later on in the same day, he confronted me as Iron Man. He’s circling me, Ned. Like… as Peter and as Spider-Man. What if he’s starting to put the pieces together?”

Ned’s eyes flickered with sudden realization. “Ohhh…”

Peter ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I told May I was gonna take the internship. She was so proud. I can’t take it now. I don’t know how to be around him, knowing he’s on my tail like this. What if he sees something? What if I slip up? What if—”

“Okay, whoa.” Ned raised a hand. “Breathe.”

Peter did, shakily.

Ned gave him a thoughtful look. “Look, man. I get why you're freaked out. This is big. But maybe… maybe you’re looking at it all wrong.”

Peter frowned. “How?”

“You’re thinking like Spider-Man,” Ned said. “You’re thinking about escape plans and lies and cover stories. But right now? Maybe you need to think like Peter. Just Peter. You’re allowed to want something for yourself.”

Peter hesitated.

“I mean,” Ned went on, “you’re a kid. You’ve literally almost died multiple times saving people who don’t even know your name. You deserve this internship. You’ve earned it. And if anyone finds out who you are… well, maybe it’s better it’s someone like Stark than, I dunno, S.H.I.E.L.D. or someone with actual handcuffs.”

Peter huffed a half-laugh. “You make it sound simple.”

“It’s not. But that’s why I’m saying, just… think about you. You as you. Not the mask. Not the patrols. You’re important too.”

Peter didn’t respond right away. He stared down at his tray, barely touched, then slowly nodded. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll think about it.”

Ned smiled. “That’s all I’m saying.”

Before Peter could respond, the bench creaked under added weight. A few kids from their chem class sat down at the end of the table, talking loudly about some assignment due next week.

The quiet bubble between Peter and Ned popped instantly. But the words stuck.

You’re important too.

Peter would be insane not to take the internship. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Every science obsessed high school kid would be over the moon if they were offered this, they'd think it would be a no brainer. If anything, it would cause more suspicion if he turned it down.

Later that night, the familiar itch beneath Peter’s skin—the one that usually pulled him toward rooftops and alleyways—buzzed quietly. However, his suit stayed where it was, folded neatly inside his closet, untouched. The city would have to take care of itself for a night.

He knew what was out there. Knew what—or who—might be waiting for him if he stepped into the skyline. He didn’t doubt for a second that Stark was tracking patterns, anticipating movements. And Peter’s routine was nothing if not predictable.

But tonight wasn’t about Spider-Man. He decided to listen to Ned and to put Peter first for once.

He sat at the kitchen table, papers spread out in front of him, the quiet hum of the overhead light buzzing softly. May sat across from him, glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, scanning over the last page of the internship form like it was a top-secret government file.

“I still can’t believe this,” she said for the third time that night, shaking her head in amazement. “Tony Stark, Peter. Do you understand how huge this is? I've never been a huge fan of the man but this can open some serious doors for you in the future.”

Peter offered her a sheepish smile, nerves and guilt bubbling just beneath the surface. “Yeah… yeah, it’s crazy.”

May reached out, smoothing a wrinkle in the application with her hand, then looked up at him. “You deserve this. You’ve worked so hard. And I’m so proud of you.”

That part—that was the hardest.

He felt like he was lying, even when he wasn’t. She didn’t know about the late nights. About the bruises. About the weight of responsibility that clung to him like a second skin.

But right now, she was just proud. Just happy.

So Peter chose to hold on to that. To sit with it for a while.

By 10 p.m., everything was in place. Forms were filled, cross-checked, signed. It had taken them nearly two hours of rereading, hesitating, and going back to correct spelling errors in May’s cursive signature.

Peter sat with his laptop in front of him, the cursor hovering over the submit button. His finger trembled slightly above the trackpad.

“You okay?” May asked, watching him carefully.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and gave a nod. “Yeah. It's just starting the sync in that this is actually real.”

And before he could second-guess himself, before he could let the fear or the doubt claw their way back up, he clicked it.

Submitted.

The screen blinked for a moment, then confirmed the application had gone through. That was it. Sent off. Out of his hands.

May leaned over and gave him a hug from the side, her arm warm and grounding around his shoulders. “I’m so proud of you, Pete.”

He smiled softly, allowing himself to rest against her just for a moment.

But as she moved away and started cleaning up the papers, Peter couldn’t help the flicker of worry deep in his chest.

He couldn’t turn back now.

He had no idea what he’d just signed himself up for.

But for once, he’d done something just for Peter.

It had been over a week since Peter hit send on the internship application, and every second after felt like waiting for a ticking bomb—or worse, a judgmental email. But instead, he got a neatly formatted acceptance letter three days later, stamped with the Stark Industries logo and signed (of course) with a casual, digital scribble from Tony himself: "Try not to set anything on fire. Or do. Just let me know first."

Since then, Peter had done everything he could to stay off Stark’s radar—at least, the one aimed at Spider-Man. He switched up his patrol routes, shifted his timings to less predictable hours, and kept things low-key. No web-slinging near the tower, no flashy rooftop takedowns. Queens at 3 a.m. became the new prime time. Tiring? Yeah. Safer? Definitely.

Now, standing just inside the towering glass lobby of Stark Industries, Peter felt like the secret was heavier than ever.

The place was a sleek, humming labyrinth of metal, light, and quiet power. The kind of building where even the coffee machines probably had AI and laser defence systems. Peter tugged at the sleeves of his too-large button-up, the one May insisted made him look “mature but approachable.”

His heart thudded as a sharply dressed woman approached. “Peter Parker?”

“Uh, yeah—hi. That’s me.” He cleared his throat.

She didn’t smile, but nodded briskly. “I’m Leila. Mr. Stark is in meetings most of the morning. I’ll be giving you your orientation. Follow me.”

Peter nearly tripped over his own feet trying to keep up as she led him past glowing touchscreens and glass-walled labs. They passed a group of college-aged interns—he clocked that he was easily the youngest in the building by at least four years.

Cool. No pressure.

“Your clearance is limited to these floors,” Leila continued. “The pass on your lanyard will alert you if you get too close to a restricted area. Please don’t test it.”

Peter gave a tight-lipped smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They arrived at a small workbench area in one of the less trafficked labs. There was a sleek monitor already logged into a limited-access server, and a small toolbox with Peter’s name labeled on a sticker that looked suspiciously handwritten in red Sharpie.

Beneath it, a sticky note read:
“Training wheels. Don’t take offense.” – T.S.

Peter snorted under his breath.

Leila gave a rare smirk. “You’re the first high school intern we've had here. Try not to freak out the engineers.”

“Sure. Right.” He watched her walk off, feeling very aware of how much he didn’t belong… and yet, how much he wanted to.

He eased down onto the stool and examined the simple project prompt loaded on the screen: an optimization challenge for micro servo feedback systems. Basic stuff—for Stark Industries, anyway.

For Peter, it was practically a playground.

Within minutes, he had ideas. His fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up code libraries, simulating changes, tweaking functions. His brain found a rhythm that felt familiar—the same rhythm he used to rework web-shooter formulas or optimize his suit's power flow. But here, he was just Peter Parker. No mask. No webbing. Just his mind.

He barely noticed time passing until a familiar voice cut through the quiet.

“Well, look at that. You haven’t even electrocuted yourself yet.”

Peter froze. Oh no.

He turned, slowly, and saw Tony Stark strolling into the lab like it was his living room. No suit this time—just a dark tee, worn jeans, and a cup of coffee that probably cost more than Peter’s rent.

Peter scrambled to his feet. “Mr. Stark! Uh—hi!”

Tony sipped his coffee. “Ease up, kid. It’s just me. It's not like you're in trouble or anything.”

“Easy to say when you're the one who owns the building,” Peter blurted before he could stop himself.

Tony blinked, then let out a small laugh. “Okay. Fair point.”

He stepped closer, peering at the screen. “Huh. That’s an elegant solution for someone still dealing with geometry homework.”

“I, uh—yeah, I’ve been… messing around with this stuff on my own for a while.”

Tony nodded. “I can see that. You’ve got a good instinct. Controlled, but not rigid. Not many people your age have that. Or any age, really.”

Peter’s throat went dry. Compliments from Tony Stark hit different. Like, avengers-level different.

“You been settling in okay?”

Peter nodded quickly. “Yeah. Everyone’s been… really welcoming.”

Tony gave him a look. “That’s code for ‘they’re ignoring the kid,’ huh?”

Peter laughed nervously. “Maybe a little. But I focus better like this.”

Tony leaned a hip against the table. “Give it time. Some of them just haven’t figured out how to deal with someone who might be smarter than them.” He pushed off the desk, coffee in hand. “I’ve got a few more meetings to bore myself through, but I’ll check back later. If you finish that simulation, try running the second scenario with a lower latency margin—it’ll fight you, but I’m curious to see if you can wrestle it into submission.”

Peter nodded, his chest fluttering somewhere between panic and pride. “Uh, yeah, I'll try- I mean, will do.”

Tony turned at the door. “Oh—and no making suits in the labs. I mean the superhero kind. Just putting that out there. I'm sure the idea has passed every employee's mind at some point.”

Peter blinked, his heart stuttering in his chest. But Tony gave no hint that it was anything more than a joke. Just a throwaway line.

Or was it?

Peter chuckled awkwardly, masking his fear. “Guess I’ll cancel my cape fitting.”

Tony raised a brow. “You wear a cape? Now we’re going to have a problem.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Peter sat back down, his hands gripping the edge of the desk. A week of dodging Iron Man, and here he was, shaking hands with the man himself—completely unmasked.

He stared at the screen again, the code blinking patiently.

Okay, he thought, steadying his breath. You got through the first hour. Just gotta get through the rest without blowing your cover.

Or your circuit.

Or both.

Chapter Text

It had been a little while since Tony's first and only Spider-Man interaction and it did not go the way he had planned.

He wanted to have a civil chat with the vigilante, to try and work out his deal. Find out why he was doing this. He wanted to make it clear to the vigilante that for now, he was on his side, but he needed more than just a code name. He needed his identity.

He hadn't expected to end up chasing after the vigilante. He certainly didn't expect to lose him so easily either.

Spider-Man had outsmarted him.

“FRIDAY,” Tony muttered, voice low and sharp as he leaned back in the chair of his lab. His fingers tapped restlessly on the metal armrest while a 3D model of a new arc reactor spun lazily in the air in front of him. “Anything on our friendly neighborhood mystery man tonight?”

A pause. Then FRIDAY’s voice, calm as ever:
“We had a ping in Astoria fifteen minutes ago, sir. Thermal signature matches previous activity. But he’s already gone.”

Tony sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Again?”

“Again. The subject appears to have adapted to the tracking methods we’ve been using. His movement patterns have changed—he’s using irregular patrol schedules and avoiding predictable hotspots.”

“So he’s playing me.”

“It would appear so.”

Tony sat up straighter, folding his arms as he stared through the lab's reinforced windows at the New York skyline, glittering beneath the fading dusk. It had been over a week since his rooftop conversation with Spider-Man—if you could even call it that. The kid—or guy, or whoever he was under that mask—had bolted the second things got even a little bit real.

Tony had been hoping for a civil chat. A basic breakdown of who this vigilante was, where he came from, and why he was climbing walls and throwing cars around without an ID badge or a license. He didn’t want to bring him in… not yet. He wanted to understand.

But instead?

Ghosted. Hard.

He ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight. “Kid doesn’t trust me. Can’t really blame him.”

But that didn’t mean he could ignore it. Spider-Man was gaining attention. Not just in the news—but in S.H.I.E.L.D. circles. In UN briefings. His name was starting to show up on radar systems he didn’t even have access to anymore.

If they catch wind before I figure this out, it won’t be a conversation next time. It’ll be a lockup.

But Spider-Man wasn’t making it easy. In fact, he was making it personal now. Tony had designed algorithms to predict his behaviour, and this vigilante had once again outsmarted, he'd taken every pattern FRIDAY had found and shattered them. FRIDAY could barely hold a lock on his location for more than a few seconds before he was gone again—over rooftops, into shadows, gone without a trace.

It was annoying.

And, honestly? Kind of impressive.

“Put him on the back burner for now,” Tony said finally, waving away the digital interface. “Let’s focus on the kid.”

“Peter Parker?”

“Yeah. The one I do know how to find.”

FRIDAY gave a slight chirp of acknowledgment, and Peter’s Stark internship profile opened on the screen. 

Next time Tony opened Peter's file was while he sat bored out of his mind in a meeting Pepper insisted he needed to attend with his name being the identity of the company. Tony had dragged up the live feed that he had arranged for Parker's workstation to help his monitoring of the kid, as Pepper insisted he needed to do.

Tony leaned forward, watching a muted video clip of Peter hunched over a workstation, eyebrows furrowed, fingers flying across the keyboard like it owed him money. It was only the kid’s first full day, but he was already knee-deep in micro servo simulations, tweaking them in ways even some of the junior engineers might have missed.

Not bad, Tony thought. A little sloppy around the edges, but focused. Smart. The good kind of obsessive.

He didn’t know exactly why Peter had stuck in his head so hard. Maybe it was the science fair project. Maybe it was the way the kid didn’t try to impress him when they met—too nervous to fake it, too genuine to try. Or maybe it was the fact that Peter reminded him, uncomfortably, of himself at that age. Only with more restraint. Less alcohol. More responsibility.

Tony had made a deal with Pepper when this whole thing started. No passing Peter off to the intern director. No keeping him on as some novelty mascot in the labs. If he wanted to bring a high schooler into the fold—into his world—he had to be the one checking in, mentoring, making sure the kid didn’t crash and burn. Pepper even made him pinky swear.

So he set FRIDAY to ping him if Peter triggered any red flags. Failed simulations. Conflicts with other interns. Skipping assignments. Nothing had gone off yet.

So far so good.

Tony sat back and let out a slow breath. “Alright. I’ll check in on him again later.”

He reached for his coffee—lukewarm now, but still strong—when a soft alert flashed in the corner of his screen.

[Incoming Notice: AVENGERS PRIORITY BRIEFING – Scheduled for 10:00 AM Tomorrow | Location: Secure Room Delta-2]

Tony’s face hardened just slightly.

“Of course,” he muttered.

He tapped the screen, pulling up the details. No specifics, just the usual vague phrasing: Strategic Global Update. Review of Extralegal Operatives. Identity-Unknown Parties Active.

Spider-Man.

He didn’t have to read between the lines. He wrote lines like those.

He sighed, rubbing his jaw. “Great. Everyone’s looking at the spider now.”

Part of him wanted to skip the meeting entirely. To keep the vigilantes name out of anyone else’s mouth, even if nobody else had found it to put it there yet. But that wasn’t how this worked.

Tony killed the feed and stood up, stretching out his shoulders. “One thing at a time. First we keep the kid on track. Then we figure out how to unmask the guy who's been dodging me like a roach in the dark.”

Pushing the Spider guy back out of his head, he decided to take himself to go see the other priority in his head.

He stepped into the smaller lab room just off the east wing of the R&D floor, the one they'd repurposed for the internship kids. It wasn’t some high-stakes, pressure-cooker environment—he’d specifically told the team to make sure it was collaborative, a little messy, and full of room to fail and succeed.

Peter Parker was exactly where Tony figured he’d be.

Hunched over a display screen, lips slightly parted in concentration, one hand adjusting a miniature actuator while the other scribbled on a notepad like he was working through a dozen thoughts at once. The others had cleared out already. Peter, unsurprisingly, was still working.

Tony lingered just inside the doorway for a moment, watching in silence.

He wasn’t sure when he’d stopped expecting the kid to fumble.

Not that he’d been rooting for it—but it would’ve made sense. Nervous high schooler, plucked out of nowhere, thrown into a lab where half the interns had master's degrees already. But Peter never flinched. He hesitated, yeah. Got shy, sure. But once he was in the zone, it was like watching someone tune into their own frequency. The tech spoke to him. And the kid talked back in fluent engineer.

Tony cleared his throat just enough to be heard.

Peter jolted a little, the notepad nearly slipping from his lap before he caught it.

“Oh—uh—Mr. Stark. Hi.”

Tony smirked, crossing the room. “You know, you don’t have to look like you’ve been caught committing a felony every time I walk into a room.”

Peter let out a weak laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. Just wasn’t expecting... you. Sir.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

Tony leaned down to glance over the project on the desk—an upgraded servo-driven armature that adjusted sensitivity based on feedback response. It was clean. Clever. A little over-engineered, maybe, but Tony liked seeing the ambition.

“You built the feedback loop from scratch?”

Peter nodded. “Uh, yeah. I tried integrating an adaptive control function so it recalibrates when it detects user strain. It still lags a bit when switching modes, though—I’m working on minimizing that delay.”

Tony made a small noise of approval. “Smart. A little messy in the output translation, but solid logic. And you’re not just throwing buzzwords at the wall to see what sticks.”

Peter grinned faintly, clearly trying to hold back how much that compliment meant.

Tony straightened and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve done good work, kid.”

Peter blinked. “Really?”

“I don’t say things I don’t mean—well, unless there’s a press conference involved. But no, I’m not disappointed. You came in green, sure, but you didn’t sit around waiting for instructions. You got your hands dirty. You figured stuff out.”

Peter was clearly still processing that when Tony added, “Keep it up, and we’ll start loosening the leash a bit. Get you access to some deeper tech. Not all the toys—baby steps. But we’ll tackle that down the line.”

Peter’s expression flickered—hope, excitement, and maybe just a little fear.

Tony saw it all.

He didn’t press.

“Anyway,” Tony said, turning toward the door, “wrap it up for the day. Go be a teenager or whatever it is you guys do. Ruin your sleep schedule. Play video games. Panic over calculus.”

Peter gave a little salute. “Yes, sir.”

Tony paused at the door and glanced back. “Seriously though. Good work today.”

Then he left, letting the door hiss shut behind him, already pulling up the next set of reports on his holographic interface. But as he walked, a small thought hung quietly in the back of his mind.

He couldn’t quite explain why, but he was starting to feel a real sense of pride watching the kid work.

Maybe there’s more to this Parker kid than even I expected.

The Avengers meeting arrived quicker than Tony liked. He had travelled back to the compound early in the morning to try and avoid as much interactions with his teammates as possible.

The conference room had a different air when it was an Avengers meeting. Not that anyone wore their full suits or armor—unless you counted the egos—but the energy changed. Even the silence felt heavier.

Ever since the original proposed accords, there had been a shift in the dynamic. They weren't all still at each other's throats, nor was Tony wanting to punch Rogers any time he spoke. But they were nowhere near being back to the team they were before. However they still needed to stick together, if there was another moment the world needed saving, they couldn't risk the Avengers not being there to save it.

But with the fallout, it came with repercussions. 

Tony stepped in last, as usual, coffee in one hand, sarcasm locked and loaded. He was already tired of meetings and the day wasn’t even half done.

Natasha sat near the center of the table, arms crossed, sharp eyes already scanning the room. Sam leaned back in his chair across from her, looking vaguely amused. Rhodes was focused, reading something on the display tablet in front of him. Vision, looked like he was mentally somewhere else, probably trying to calculate the mass of the tension in the air.

Fury stood at the head of the room. That was when Tony knew this wasn’t going to be just a routine debrief.

“Stark,” Fury greeted, voice flat.

“Director Cyclops,” Tony returned, sliding into his seat.

Without missing a beat, Fury hit a button and the lights dimmed. A hologram of a red-and-blue figure shimmered into view mid-air—Spider-Man, mid-swing, paused in a frozen frame above Queens.

Tony leaned back. “You know, if this is just a fan meeting, I should’ve brought merch.”

“This isn’t a joke,” Fury said sharply. “Your friendly neighborhood vigilante is causing ripples.”

“Ripples?” Tony frowned. “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think? He’s just a kid—”

He caught himself. A kid? Why had he said that?

“You know who he is?” Sam asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

“No,” Tony said, sitting forward. “Slip of the tongue. Just… kid-sized, from what I’ve seen. But he definitely seems on the younger side.”

Fury clicked the remote again. The image changed to security footage—grainy, distant shots of Spider-Man intervening in multiple incidents: muggings, carjackings, a collapsing scaffold. In each, he was quick, efficient, and gone before police could even respond.

“I don’t think anyone’s arguing that he’s doing harm,” Rhodey added. “But he’s operating outside of jurisdiction. No identity, no oversight.”

“He’s not hurting anyone,” Tony said, calmer now. “I’ve had eyes on him. He’s not some rogue element. He’s trying to help.”

“And that’s exactly why we need to get ahead of this,” Natasha chimed in. “Because if we don’t, someone else will. The UN is already whispering about street-level supers. This kid is going to end up on their radar sooner or later.”

Tony glanced at the still frame again. Spider-Man was frozen mid-swing, body tense but graceful, like he belonged in the air more than he ever would on the ground.

“Has he done anything to warrant being brought in?” he asked finally.

Fury gave him a look. “That’s not the point. It’s about precedent. Identity. Accountability. You know that better than anyone.”

Tony hated how much he did know. The Sokovia Accords may have faded into the background, but the tension between freedom and regulation never left. And Spider-Man? He was the gray area. And with no doubt be the reason that they'd bring back the Sokovia Accords.

“We’re not looking to arrest him,” Fury continued. “Just ask questions. Learn more. If he’s what you say he is—just a good guy trying to do the right thing—then he should have nothing to hide.”

Tony tapped a finger against his coffee mug, quietly.

He remembered the rooftop conversation. Spider-Man had bolted the second things got too close. Nervous. Guarded. Scared. Not reckless.

“He’s playing hard to get,” Tony admitted aloud. “FRIDAY barely catches a glimpse before he’s gone. He’s smart. He’s watching us back.”

“Which means he has something to hide,” Natasha pointed out.

“Or maybe he’s just not an idiot,” Tony countered. “He knows what happens when people like us get involved.”

The room fell quiet.

Fury finally said, “Find him. Talk to him. Make it easy, Stark. Otherwise we’ll be sending someone else who won’t ask so nicely. We don't want this to end with us needing to lock him up.”

Tony stared at the hologram. Spider-Man hovered there, weightless in the air, suspended between suspicion and salvation.

He nodded slowly. “Alright. I’ll find him.”

And this time, he knew, it wouldn’t be to interrogate the kid.

It would be to protect him.

Whoever he was.

Chapter Text

The weekend passed quickly following Peter's first day at the internship. He still had trouble believing that it was actually real. He had been at a loss for words when Ned texted him to ask about it and promised to tell him everything in person.

“So?” Ned asked, practically vibrating with anticipation as they sat tucked into their usual corner of the cafeteria. “Tell me everything. Don’t leave out any details. Did you meet an Avenger? Did you touch any of the suits? Did you trip and fall into a secret lab and accidentally invent time travel?”

Peter grinned around a bite of his sandwich, shaking his head. “Okay, no time travel. Yet. But, dude... it was insane. Like, I don't think my brain's stopped buzzing since I walked through the doors of the building.”

Ned leaned in closer like they were conspiring. “So? What was it like?”

Peter’s eyes lit up. “First of all, everything smells like fresh metal and... I don’t know, genius? We got a full tour to start with—labs, testing rooms, tech development floors. There’s a whole section just for AI research. Like, actual artificial intelligence. One of the bots even waved at me, no joke.”

Ned gasped. “Shut up. Did it have eyes?”

“Yes! Creepy glowing ones! But like, in a friendly way.” Peter shook his head, still grinning. “And the tech, Ned—some of the stuff they’re working on is next-level. I saw this multi-spectral drone prototype that can scan, analyze, and report on environmental changes in under five seconds. Five! Seconds!”

Ned’s jaw dropped. “You were this close to becoming Iron Man 2.0. Well- if you weren't already... you know who.”

Peter laughed softly, his voice lowering just in case. “Trust me, no one’s replacing Mr Stark anytime soon. But actually being there? And even just seeing all the stuff up close—it kinda makes me feel like... maybe I could do something like that. For real.”

Ned elbowed him. “Dude, you already do amazing stuff. But now you just have access to everything to make it legit. Like, stamped and approved by Stark Industries.”

Peter leaned back, still soaking it all in. “I was seriously close to turning it down,” he admitted. “But walking through that place? Getting chance to make more stuff? I’m really glad I didn’t.”

Ned smiled. “I told you.”

Peter nodded slowly, but the smile faltered just a little. “I've still got to be careful, though.”

“Because of Iron Man?”

Peter gave a half shrug, lowering his voice even further. “Yeah. I mean, Mr. Stark has these scheduled check-ins. He just... shows up sometimes. Goes over my work. He asks me questions. It’s not like, bad—he’s actually been kind of cool—but still.”

“You think he’s suspicious?”

“No.” Peter hesitated. “I don’t think so. Not yet. But that’s why I’ve got to keep my guard up. No web shooters. No weird tech in my bag. Last thing I need is the tower's AI pinging him because I walked in with half of my suit on by accident.”

“Right,” Ned whispered. “And then boom. Unmasked. Exposed. Stark meltdown. The works.”

Peter sighed, playing with the wrapper on his sandwich. “I’ve been mixing up the patrol times too. Just in case he’s still tracking Spider-Man. He hasn’t caught me again, so that’s a win.”

“That’s because you’re like, a stealthy spider ninja, or something” Ned said proudly, giving him a fist bump under the table.

Peter grinned, but there was a hint of worry behind it. “Dude, it's like I’m walking a tightrope right now. If I make one wrong move, this whole thing can fall. The internship, May finding out, the Avengers finding out...”

“You won’t slip,” Ned said, his tone more serious now. “You’ve got this.”

Peter nodded slowly, but even with Ned’s reassurance, the tightrope still felt very, very real.

But for now? He had one foot in each world, and somehow, he was managing to stay balanced.

And that had to count for something.

Tonight felt... off.

His Spider-Sense had been humming softly ever since he left the apartment. Not urgent, just... persistent. Like static buzzing in the back of his brain.

It was the first time Peter had been out since his internship. Finding it hard to find a moment to sneak out amongst all the madness without triggering a pattern for someone to catch on.

He tried to shake off the warning as he swung low between buildings, skimming rooftops like a shadow in motion. He hadn't been out since before the internship started, finding it difficult to find a moment to sneak out without triggering a pattern. But this, being back in the suit, it felt like a reset—a return to normal. He just needed something simple. A mugging, a carjacker, a stolen bike.

Instead, he heard the gunshots.

He landed hard on the edge of a liquor store rooftop just as the second round rang out. Below, two guys in ski masks were waving handguns at a terrified shop owner while a third shoved cash and bottles into a duffel.

“Okay,” Peter whispered, crouching low. “Classic robbery. In. Out. Done.”

He flung two quick webs—one to yank the guns away, the other to pin the guy with the duffel to the wall. He dropped down into the chaos feet-first, cracking one of the remaining guys with a kick that sent him sprawling.

But as Peter turned to web up the last guy, something shifted. He heard footsteps. Loud. Too many of them.

From the alley beside the shop, more men spilled out—five, six, maybe more, all armed with bats, chains, knives, and at least one more gun.

Peter’s stomach dropped.

“Okay, not classic. Not simple,” He mumbled to himself.

The thugs didn’t hesitate. They swarmed him like they’d been waiting for this.

Peter dodged a swing from a lead pipe and twisted under a chain, firing off webs as fast as he could. One guy went down. Then another. But for every one he took out, two more took their place.

A fist caught him in the ribs. Another guy slammed a trash can lid into his back. He stumbled, breath catching as he flung himself up and over their heads to land behind the group.

“Seriously?” he muttered. “Do you guys not get tired?”

One of them lunged with a knife—Peter turned just in time to avoid a direct stab, but the blade grazed his side, sharp and fast.

He yelped, backing off, hand instinctively going to the gash. Blood warmed his suit.

“Awesome,” he hissed.

This was getting bad. His movements were slowing. His swings less precise. He managed to snag a few more with quick bursts of webbing—tying one guy’s legs, pinning another to a mailbox—but he could feel the energy draining from him.

He needed to end this.

Grimacing, Peter launched himself up and over the building, using the last of his strength to web the last guy’s arm to a dumpster as he went. He didn’t wait to see if it held.

The moment his feet touched a rooftop three blocks away, he collapsed to his knees, panting.

“Okay,” he gasped. “Okay, not... ideal.”

His suit was ripped at the side, the fabric darkened with blood. His fingers trembled slightly as he pulled up the edge of his suit. The cut was shallow, but long—his side was already sticky with blood, and the stinging had started to settle in. It wasn't deep—but it hurt. He hissed quietly as he placed the material back over it to cover it. At least the pain was manageable.

He winced, pressing down gently with his glove. “Note to self—maybe avoid knife guys next time.”

The adrenaline had started to wear off, and now the pain came full force. But worse than that was the creeping thought in the back of his mind. 

Peter leaned his head back against the chimney behind him and took a deep breath. He couldn't afford to be reckless—not anymore. Not now that he was walking two lives, balancing them like glass plates.

Peter was beginning to relax when suddenly he heard a sharp whir echoing in the air.

Peter froze.

It was subtle, but unmistakable—the low, mechanical hum of a repulsor-powered flight system. The Iron Man suit.

No no no...

He mentally cursed himself. He’d been too distracted. Too tired. His Spider-Sense had been buzzing on and off all night, and he’d written it off as residual panic. He should’ve known. He should’ve known.

He barely had time to move before the red-and-gold suit descended from the shadows, landing with a soft metallic thud just a few feet away. Peter couldn't be more glad he had kept his mask on.

Peter stayed still, tense and silent as Tony’s modulated voice cut through the quiet night air.

“Funny thing,” Iron Man said, his glowing eyes focused on Peter. “You’ve been unusually hard to track lately.”

Peter narrowed his eyes behind the mask. “Yeah, I figured that you would get the hint.”

“I got the message loud and clear, thanks,” Tony replied. “But I don’t quit that easy. Especially not when someone keeps showing up on my radar and now... bleeding.”

Peter instinctively put a hand over the wound, trying to stand a little straighter.

“I’m fine.”

Tony tilted his helmet. “You sure? Because from here, it looks like you lost a wrestling match with a kitchen knife.”

“It was a gang,” Peter muttered. “I had it under control.”

Tony stepped closer. “You’re bleeding, limping, and dodging me at every turn. That’s not control. That’s you burning yourself out and the next thing you know, the only thing left to find is your body in a back alley.”

Peter bristled. “I can look after myself.”

“Clearly not well enough,” Tony snapped. “This—this is exactly why you need someone watching your six. You're not invincible. You’re just a person in spandex with a martyr complex.”

Peter’s fists clenched at his sides. “I thought we already had this conversation.”

Tony didn’t flinch. “Well, things have changed. You’re on the radar now—our radar. As in, the Avengers'. Officially. And I promise, you do not want to be the kind of problem that gets brought into those meetings.”

Peter’s chest tightened. His voice was cold. “So what, you’re here to threaten me?”

“I’m here to warn you,” Tony said, quieter now. “Keep being reckless, and someone less understanding than me is going to show up. You think you’re helping people, but you’re flying too close to the sun.”

"It sounds like you've already made your mind up about me," Peter mumbled, just about loud enough for Tony to hear.

"Don't make this more difficult than it has to be," Tony's voice lost all its calmness. "Look, if you could just take off the mask—"

Peter’s fingers twitched toward his web-shooters. “I thought I made it clear enough last time.”

“Yeah? And I thought we were past the dramatic escapes.”

Peter fired.

A quick flick of the wrist, and a stream of web fluid shot toward the helmet—splattering across the eyes of the Iron Man suit just as Peter leapt back into motion. He grunted through the pain in his side, using the distraction to vault off the roof, grabbing a higher ledge with a fresh web and swinging out into the night before Tony could react.

FRIDAY’s voice echoed from behind him as he darted into the skyline.

“Visuals impaired. Attempting to reacquire target.”

But Peter was already gone—ducking between buildings, vanishing into the maze of Queens, heart pounding louder than his thudding footsteps.

He didn’t slow until he was miles away, curled up in a shadowed rooftop nook, breathing heavy, blood sticking the torn edge of his suit to his ribs.

He’d bought himself some time.

But now?

Now the Avengers were watching.

He reached into the small, web-secured pocket on his suit and pulled out his phone. His fingers, still trembling from the pain and adrenaline, typed out a message with barely any thought.

[Emergency. You up?]

He hit send. The screen pulsed gently in the dark as he waited, legs curled tight to his chest, trying to keep the warmth in. His eyes stayed fixed on the sky, scanning for the unmistakable glow of a red-and-gold suit.

His phone buzzed.

[Window’s open. Get here quick.]

Peter didn't hesitate.

He moved carefully — not swinging full speed like usual. The knife wound made every motion feel like his ribs were grinding glass. It was slow, a few awkward web-zips and rooftop hops, but eventually he reached Ned’s place.

He tapped twice on the glass, then eased it open and slipped inside, wincing as he pulled a leg through the frame.

Ned was already there, waiting in a hoodie and pajama pants, wide-eyed and awake.

“Dude, what happened to you?” he whispered harshly, quickly shutting the window behind Peter.

Peter collapsed onto the bean bag in the corner of Ned’s room, groaning. “Tony found me.”

Ned blinked. “Wait—Tony Stark?”

Peter nodded, clutching his side. “As Spider-Man.”

Ned immediately dropped to his knees next to him. “Holy crap. What did he say?”

“That I’m on the Avengers’ radar,” Peter muttered, pressing his hand harder into his side. “That I’m a danger. That I’m gonna get myself killed if I keep doing what I’m doing. I—I shot a web in his face to get away.”

“You what?!” Ned whisper-yelled. “You webbed Iron Man?!”

“I panicked, okay! I wasn’t just gonna sit there and let him unmask me or drag me off or whatever.”

Ned raked his fingers through his hair, staring at Peter like he was trying to process ten things at once. “Okay. Okay. That’s... bad. But you got away?”

“Yeah. For now. But it was way too close, Ned. I was injured, I didn’t even hear him coming. If I hadn’t reacted fast enough…”

He trailed off, staring at the floor. His mask was still pulled halfway up, stuck to his chin with sweat. The edge of the cut was just barely visible under his lifted suit — red, raw, already bruising.

“Jesus, man,” Ned whispered. “You can’t go back out like this.”

“I’m not planning to,” Peter muttered.

The room fell quiet for a second.

“You wanna crash here?” Ned asked gently. “Might feel better than going home with, like, Avengers paranoia and a bleeding side.”

Peter didn’t answer immediately. He looked around Ned’s familiar room — the posters, the half-built LEGO Death Star, the glow of the lava lamp in the corner. Safe. Quiet. Normal.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “Yeah, if that’s okay.”

“Dude,” Ned said, pulling the blanket off his bed and tossing it toward him, “it’s always okay.”

Peter managed a small smile as he pulled the blanket around himself and leaned back into the bean bag. His ribs still throbbed. His head was still spinning. He couldn’t shake the image of that glowing chest arc, or the calm way Tony had said he was “on the radar.”

But for now, he had four walls, a closed window, and his best friend within arm’s reach.

Tomorrow could be chaos.

But tonight… he wasn’t alone.

Chapter Text

The morning after his run-in with Iron Man, Peter slipped out of Ned’s apartment before the sun was fully up. The streets of Queens still felt heavy with fog, thick with the quiet that came before the city roared awake. He moved fast, staying in the shadows, hoodie pulled tight, his suit tucked under it. He couldn't risk May finding out he hadn’t slept at home. If she walked into his room and found an empty bed, she would freak, then ask him a bunch of questions he wouldn't be able to answer.

He made it home with just enough time to crawl through his window, toss his Spider-Man suit out of sight, and pull the covers up over himself before he heard her knock on the door.

“Morning, sweetheart! Up and at ’em.”

Peter groaned dramatically and rubbed his eyes, as if he’d just woken up. “Ugh. Five more minutes?”

“Fine. But five minutes means five, mister.”

That day was rough. Peter ran mostly on caffeine and adrenaline, his body still sore and the cut at his side stiff whenever he moved too quickly. Every bump in the hallway, every jostle in class, sent a bolt of discomfort through him. He flinched more than once, drawing the attention of his teachers, but managed to brush it off as just poor posture or tired muscles.

He couldn’t risk letting anyone see.

Not Flash. Not his teachers. Definitely not May.

He had to keep things normal. Routine.

And somehow, he did.

He managed to stay out of trouble, kept his grades steady, and even resisted swinging around too recklessly at night. Instead of high-speed chases and swinging through midtown, he kept close to the rooftops of Queens, only stepping in when there was no other choice — like stopping a mugging, or quietly disarming a car thief. He avoided confrontation whenever possible. No more rooftop brawls with guys holding knives.

His wound was healing, slowly, and he didn’t want to risk opening it up again.

The fear lingered, though.

Every shadow made him glance over his shoulder. Every metallic sound — a car revving too hard, a drone flying overhead — set his nerves on edge. His spider-sense, though mostly quiet, stayed humming softly in the background like a warning he couldn’t fully shake.

But by day three, he started to breathe easier.

When the day of his next internship session rolled around, Peter was practically buzzing with nerves. Not because of the workload, or the idea of working alongside tech he’d only ever seen in magazines — no, it was the fear that someone or something at Stark Tower would notice something off. A wince. A limp. Maybe a security scan that flagged his elevated heart rate or the way he avoided lifting his left arm too high.

He hadn’t dared look at himself shirtless in the mirror that morning — the bruise around the cut was still vivid, though the wound had scabbed over neatly thanks to his accelerated healing.

Still, when he passed through security and entered the sleek, high-ceilinged workspace, no one stopped him. No one pulled him aside. No red alerts. No sirens. No Iron Man dropping through the ceiling demanding answers.

Peter practically collapsed with relief.

To his even greater surprise, Tony didn’t show up.

At all.

Part of him had been sure Mr. Stark would be waiting for him in the elevator or watching him from a glass-paneled balcony. He kept expecting a sarcastic comment, a knowing smirk, something. But Tony never came. Whether that meant he was off-world, on a mission, or simply avoiding Peter, he didn’t know. And right now? He didn’t care.

The session went smoothly.

Peter kept his head down, focusing hard on the project he’d pitched — a miniaturized kinetic energy capacitor designed to recycle wasted motion energy into small portable devices. He knew he couldn’t match the scale or experience of the older interns — many of whom were already in college, some even grad school — but he poured everything he had into making his work speak for itself.

That didn’t mean it was easy.

Most of the other interns barely glanced at him, too wrapped up in their own projects or just dismissive of the “high school kid” in their ranks. A few offered curt nods or answered when he asked questions, but no one invited him to lunch or bothered to learn his name.

It stung a little.

But Peter was used to being the outsider. He let it roll off his back and let his work speak for him. By the time the session wrapped, he’d made serious progress. His prototype was nearly finished. If all went well, by the next session he’d be ready to present its first test.

And that… that was cool.

He’d walked out of the Tower with a quiet sense of accomplishment bubbling under his hoodie. The ache in his side had dulled. His hands were smudged with graphite and solder. He was exhausted in a way that made him feel proud, like he’d actually done something good — something his, outside of the mask and the chaos.

The rest of the week kept the momentum going.

Spider-Man patrols were back on, though Peter kept things smart. Strategic. He varied his routes and switched up his timing — sometimes going out early in the morning before school, sometimes later at night than usual. It was all part of the plan to stay off Tony Stark’s radar.

And it seemed to be working.

Iron Man hadn’t shown. No glowing repulsors, no hovering threats. Whether Tony was busy, out of the city, or just finally taking the hint that Spider-Man didn’t want to be found, Peter didn’t know.

But the peace was nice.

It gave him room to breathe again.

He found himself smiling more. Laughing with Ned at lunch. Actually sleeping through the night, instead of jumping awake every time a car door slammed too hard outside his window.

Everything — for the first time in a long while — felt like it was going up.

The wound on his side had scabbed, then faded into a shallow pink scar. His muscles ached less each morning. He even caught a few of the older interns glancing at his work station with raised brows during the last session.

May had commented that he seemed lighter lately. Happier.

“Must be the internship,” she said, handing him a bowl of cereal. “See? I told you this would be good for you.”

Peter just smiled and spooned cereal into his mouth, not trusting himself to speak without giving something away.

He’d lived through chaos. He’d webbed up muggers and ducked missiles and fought grown men with assault rifles. He’d faced off with Iron Man and walked away — twice.

He deserved a few days of quiet.

And as the fifth day came to a close, Peter stood at the edge of a rooftop, overlooking the glowing skyline. The city shimmered in orange and gold, the last traces of sun dipping below the buildings.

He took a deep breath.

No alarms. No sirens.

No Tony.

Just Spider-Man. Just Peter.

Tony Stark hated losing. Especially to some fast-talking, hoodie-wearing vigilante with a habit of slinging insults as easily as he did webs.

He stood on that rooftop a moment too long after Spider-Man disappeared, the glowing arc reactor in his chest humming quietly, casting a faint blue light against the concrete. The kid — and Tony was almost sure it was a kid now — had hit him with a web and vanished into the night like smoke in a wind tunnel.

Flight over fight. Pure survival.

That caught Tony off guard.

He’d expected resistance. A few smart-ass remarks, maybe even a swing or two. But he hadn’t expected the sheer panic in the vigilante’s eyes. That look had stuck with him — the rapid breathing, the tensing shoulders, the twitch of muscles preparing for escape. A far cry from the confident, quippy Spider-Man who'd tangled with bank robbers and car thieves like it was just another Tuesday night hobby.

He thought back to the way the kid had clutched his side. The way he was favoring that wound.

Too stubborn to quit, too scared to stay.

Damn it.

Back at the Tower, Tony barely spoke to anyone. He headed straight for his lab, ignoring the pinging of incoming calls, the buzz of meeting reminders, and even a message from Pepper asking if he was okay. He dove into his work like it could drown out the growing frustration in his chest — the frustration of losing the trail again.

He should’ve been faster.

He should’ve said something different. Handled it better.

Maybe if he hadn’t come at the kid so hard with the whole “you’re on the Avengers radar now” spiel, Spider-Man wouldn’t have run. Maybe he would’ve stayed long enough to talk. To listen.

Instead, Tony ended the night yelling at a spot in the sky and welding a circuit board that didn’t even need fixing.

By the following morning, word had spread. Because of course it had.

He walked into the conference room back at the compound to find most of the active Avengers waiting for him — Steve, Natasha, Sam, even Wanda, who’d been off the radar for a while. The mood was tense. The kind of tension that brewed only when someone had something to say and wasn’t sure how loud they wanted to say it.

Steve spoke first.

“You had contact with Spider-Man and didn’t tell us?”

Tony didn’t sit. Just crossed his arms and leaned against the table. “Didn’t know I was on a schedule for sharing.”

Steve’s jaw clenched. “We agreed he was becoming a concern. If he’s hurt, volatile—”

“He’s not volatile,” Tony cut in. “He’s just someone who got in too deep.”

“You don’t know that,” Steve shot back. “You had the chance to learn more and you let him slip through your fingers.”

That one stung more than Tony let on.

He didn’t like being reminded that he failed. Especially not by Rogers, of all people.

“I’m handling it,” Tony said through gritted teeth.

Steve scoffed. “Doesn’t look like it from where we’re standing.”

The room buzzed with silent agreement.

Tony wanted to roll his eyes. This was rich, coming from a guy who’d kept secrets of his own. But this wasn’t the time to rehash ancient history. Not when every set of eyes in the room was waiting for him to give them the green light to mobilize.

That’s when Sam leaned in. “So what now? Do we send someone else in? Natasha’s tracked enhanced vigilantes before—”

“No,” Tony said, sharp and final.

Wanda raised an eyebrow. “You sure that’s the right call?”

Tony looked around the room, gaze steady. “You send in the cavalry, you’ll spook him worse. He’s already on edge. He’s expecting to be hunted. You want him to snap? That’s how you do it.”

Steve crossed his arms. “And what’s your brilliant plan? Hope he strolls back up to you and gives you a hug?”

“No,” Tony snapped, “I wait. I let him think we’ve backed off. Give him space to breathe. If he’s not as much of a threat as we think, he’ll let his guard down. If he is — well, then we catch him when he’s not bouncing off walls like a caffeinated ping pong ball.”

There was silence.

Steve’s frown deepened, but he didn’t argue.

He didn’t like it, but even he had to admit it wasn’t the worst strategy.

Tony pressed on. “Look, I’ve got eyes on him — tech watching hotspots, alert systems tuned to his activity. He doesn’t take a swing in this city without FRIDAY hearing about it.”

He left out the part where Spider-Man had somehow still managed to duck every trace and signature for the last few nights.

And he definitely didn’t mention how it felt watching that kid flinch like a kicked dog, bleeding and limping and still ready to throw himself into danger.

Tony hadn’t forgotten what it was like to be young, full of ideas and rage and guilt. He saw too much of his younger self in Spider-Man — too many nights spent fixing things that weren’t his fault, too many bruises covered with snark.

And, maybe — just maybe — some part of him wasn’t ready to bring the hammer down yet. Not before he could figure out who the kid was. Not before he knew why he fought like someone with something to prove.

“If we want cooperation,” Tony said, quieter now, “we don’t go in guns blazing. We don’t corner him like an animal.”

More silence.

Natasha finally spoke. “Fine. But if he escalates again, this doesn’t stay your call.”

Tony nodded once. “Understood.”

The meeting broke soon after, the Avengers filtering out with varying levels of scepticism on their faces. Steve lingered the longest, gaze hard but not unkind.

“Don’t make us regret this.”

Tony didn’t reply. Just turned away.

Back in his lab, he stared at the holographic display of the city skyline, dots marking previous Spider-Man sightings.

Empty. No new hits. The kid was lying low.

Good. Smart.

Tony just hoped it wasn’t because he was still bleeding under that stupid mask. Or worse — that next time they crossed paths, it wouldn’t be as allies.

By the time Peter's next internship day came around, Tony was faced with more infortunes. 

Tony didn’t like being told what to do. Never had. Probably never would. So when Steve Rogers showed up on the main floor of Stark Tower, arms folded like some all-American drill sergeant out of a recruitment poster, Tony already knew the conversation was going to annoy him.

“Avengers training rotation,” Steve said, like Tony hadn’t already read the itinerary FRIDAY flashed on his display an hour ago. “Your name’s on the schedule. And you’ve already missed the last two.”

Tony didn’t bother looking up from his tablet. “Tell you what — put my name on a third one and call it a streak.”

Steve didn’t blink. “That’s not how this works.”

Tony sighed, set the tablet down with an exaggerated thud, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you know how many things I’m balancing right now? I've got tech prototypes that need calibrating, a board meeting I already skipped, and—” his voice dipped slightly, “—I’ve got eyes on a very important intern who I promised Pepper I’d check in on.”

Steve raised a brow. “And you think she’ll be more annoyed if you flake on training again or if you don’t babysit your intern for one afternoon?”

Tony muttered something under his breath that sounded vaguely like “I hate you and your logic”, but eventually stood up. The truth was, he couldn’t really get out of this one. Steve had pulled the team together and put in the effort to keep them organized, and blowing him off again would just fuel another round of “Tony doesn’t play well with others” behind closed doors.

Still, as he suited up and headed out to the training facility at the Avenger Compound. On his way, he shot off a command to FRIDAY.

“Keep tabs on the kid. Quietly. Let me know if anything blows up, literally or figuratively.”

“Of course, Boss,” FRIDAY replied. “Shall I provide a running update during your training session?”

Tony shook his head. “Not unless he spontaneously combusts.”

Training was about as thrilling as he expected — dodging repulsor blasts from Vision, trading snarky quips with Sam while Steve barked out formations. He went through the motions, hit all his marks, but his focus wasn’t really there. His mind kept drifting back to the kid.

Peter Parker.

The intern who wasn’t just surviving but somehow thriving in a building full of geniuses. And if Tony hadn’t seen the progress reports with his own eyes, he would’ve assumed someone was covering for him. But no — the kid’s work was legit. Smart ideas, clean wiring, efficient coding. It wasn’t just “good for a high schooler.” It was good, period.

By the time Tony got back to his quarters, suited down and towel still slung around his neck, he finally asked FRIDAY for an update.

“Report,” he said, dragging his fingers through his damp hair.

A soft chime filled the room as a glowing display bloomed in front of him, filled with stats and notes from the internship session.

“Parker completed the next phase of the prototype,” FRIDAY began. “Initiated testing on structural integrity, logged an issue with resistance levels, and offered three alternate solutions before the session ended.”

Tony stared at the screen, mildly impressed despite himself.

“Anything else?”

“No behavior irregularities. Social interaction was minimal — he attempted to engage with two other interns during break but conversation was brief. However, his engagement with the assignment was sustained and efficient. No red flags.”

Tony hummed under his breath, reading over the session log again. The kid had gone from sketches to workable prototype stages in under three sessions. And that was with limited access to higher-end tools. He was quick. Methodical. A little shy, sure, but there was fire under the surface.

Maybe even something... familiar.

He wouldn’t say it aloud, but Peter reminded him a little of himself at that age — only less obnoxious and with more empathy.

Tony leaned back in his chair, lips pursed.

“Keep watching him,” he told FRIDAY. “I want to know if he’s still this impressive next week.”

“Of course, Boss.”

Tony stared at the screen for another few seconds, then flicked it away with a wave of his fingers. He glanced out the window where the skyline burned with the fading blush of sunset. He wanted nothing more than to ask FRIDAY for updates on Spider-Man but he was aware of his own impulsive behavior, if FRIDAY had managed to find him, he would go out there after him.

But he couldn't do that. He needed to stick to the plan. He couldn't risk letting the Avengers get involved with Spider-Man so soon.

Instead, he kept his attention on Peter Parker.

Chapter Text

A full week had passed since his last run-in with Iron Man, and with each day that Tony Stark didn’t drop in to dramatically reveal he’d figured out who was behind the Spider-Man mask, Peter let himself relax just a little more. He’d even stopped flinching every time he heard metal doors slide open.

Tuesday had crept up on him quickly, meaning it was internship day.

He walked through security, nodded at the receptionist who had finally stopped double-checking his ID, and headed to the elevators. As he ascended, he glanced at his reflection in the polished walls—clean hoodie, slightly wrinkled khakis, hair flattened from his mask-free bike ride there.

He left the web shooters, the suit, everything at home, Tony's warning from his first day at the internship still sitting in his head.

Today, he was just Peter Parker.

No crime-fighting. No rooftop showdowns. No near-death injuries. Just a kid at an internship trying to prove he wasn’t a complete fraud.

When the elevator doors opened, Peter stepped out onto the intern floor and was met with the familiar hum of machines, the faint smell of solder and synthetic polymer, and the quiet tapping of keyboards. Most of the other interns barely glanced up. They were older—college kids, a few grad students—people who didn’t see Peter as a peer. At least not yet.

But that was okay. He didn’t need their approval. He had his desk, his project, and a fully functional prototype that he’d been dreaming about finishing for weeks. Today was the day.

He slipped into his seat, dropped his bag, and powered up his terminal. His fingers were already moving before the boot screen had finished loading. Music on low. Hood off. Head down. Focus in.

The prototype sat beside him like a tiny promise. Peter adjusted a few components, tightened a coupling, and double-checked the power lines. It was simple in theory, but he knew it had the potential to do a lot more with the right enhancements. He just had to make sure the basic function was solid first.

After nearly an hour of fine-tuning and prepping, Peter sat back and exhaled.

This is it.

He leaned forward, fingers hovering over the launch key, just about to run the very first soft simulation, when—

Buzz.

His Spider-sense flared—not alarm, not danger, just a low pulse at the base of his skull. A warning.

Peter froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up on end. He slowly pulled out his earbuds and turned, heart thudding.

And there he was.

Tony Stark walked through the lab door like he owned the place—which, well, he did. He wasn’t wearing the suit, but his presence still felt like armor. Button-down shirt half rolled at the sleeves, sunglasses in one hand, tablet in the other.

“Morning, Parker,” Tony said casually.

Peter’s throat felt dry. “Hey, Mr. Stark.”

His voice was steady, somehow. He forced his shoulders to relax. It’s fine. You’re fine. He doesn’t know.

Tony strolled over, eyes flicking to the prototype on the desk. “FRIDAY tells me you’ve been busy.”

Peter nodded quickly. “Yeah, uh—I was just about to run a first test on the prototype. It’s not finished, but the simulation should give me a sense of how stable the system is.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Mind if I watch?”

Mind? I’d rather melt through the floorboards.

“Sure,” Peter said, praying his voice didn’t crack. “Of course.”

Tony leaned on the workbench like it was nothing, arms folded, studying the device like he was already three steps ahead of it. Peter turned back to the console, palms slightly damp now.

The memory of their rooftop confrontation flashed through his mind. The glow of the Arc Reactor. The voice that had sounded more disappointed than angry. You’re going to get yourself killed, kid.

But that wasn’t today. Today, Peter was just Peter.

And even as just Peter, he found a new fear towards Tony. What if the prototype failed and Tony looked at him disappointed. He was now afraid of failing in front of the man.

He keyed in the final line of code and hit the execute command.

The prototype buzzed softly to life, inner components shifting. The power level climbed, and Peter watched the stability curve hold steady across the display.

No sparks. No overheating. No melt-downs. Just smooth, clean operation.

Peter glanced back. Tony’s expression didn’t change, but he didn’t look unimpressed either.

“What’re you using to reinforce the flow regulators?” Tony asked, stepping forward.

“I swapped out the standard input for a layered mesh from the cooling fans we scrapped last week. Figured it’d better manage the energy surge and reduce the drop-off.”

Tony gave a slow nod. “That’s… actually pretty good.”

Peter blinked. “It is?”

“You’ve got a decent mind for field mechanics,” Tony said, eyes still scanning the readings. “If this holds during physical testing, we might start talking about giving you a bit more freedom in here. More tools. Bigger projects.”

Peter’s jaw nearly dropped.

He went to say something but no words came out. Tony wasn't aware though, still focused on Peter's project.

“You know,” Tony said, tapping a knuckle against the desk as he leaned over to look at the data, “if you rewrote your data pipeline here—” he pointed to a section of the code displayed on Peter’s monitor, “—you’d tighten the response time and shave a few milliseconds off the lag.”

Peter leaned forward to look. “Oh, uh, yeah. That makes sense.”

Tony quirked a brow at him. “You sound unconvinced.”

“No, I mean—yeah, it’s a good idea. I can do that,” Peter said, already dragging the cursor over the relevant lines. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then… stopped.

He frowned at the screen.

Tony tilted his head slightly. “Problem?”

Peter stayed still for a moment longer, silently running through code sequences in his head, mentally backtracking… but it wasn’t clicking.

He let out a quiet, defeated breath and sat back in his chair.

“If Ned were here, he’d be screaming at me right now,” Peter muttered under his breath.

Tony raised an eyebrow again. “Ned?”

Peter sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “My best friend. He’s the kind of guy who memorizes syntax for fun. I’m, uh… I usually don’t blank like this. I just can’t remember the right way to reroute the buffer. It’s dumb, I know, it’s basic—”

He was rambling. Over-explaining. His inner voice was already chewing him out for forgetting something so simple, especially with Tony Stark standing over his shoulder. He felt his cheeks heat up.

But to his surprise, Tony didn’t look disappointed. Didn’t roll his eyes. Didn’t launch into a lecture about wasting potential.

Instead, he just shrugged and said, “You’re an intern. Not a machine. You’re here to learn, not to have all the answers.”

Peter blinked.

Tony stepped a bit closer to the display, waving Peter aside gently, and began typing. “Here—this is what I was talking about.” His fingers danced over the keys, rhythm steady, explaining as he went. “Redirect the cache here. Add a short-circuit check to prevent overflow. You can plug this into the dummy handler—”

Peter watched closely, nodding slowly, trying to keep up. “Wait, why the dummy handler?”

“So you don’t blow a hole in the wall if you mess it up. And also because it’ll isolate the error for easier cleanup.”

“Oh. That’s… smart.”

Tony smirked slightly without looking over. “I have my moments.”

As he stepped back to let Peter take the controls again, something inside Peter shifted. Just for a second, the tension in his chest eased.

Because for that brief moment — standing side by side, walking through the code, cracking a subtle joke — Tony Stark didn’t feel like the relentless billionaire Avenger chasing down Spider-Man. He wasn’t the armored man who’d cornered him on a rooftop or nearly discovered the truth that Peter had been guarding with everything he had.

Right now, he was just a mentor. A really smart, maybe too observant, but kind of cool mentor.

Peter smiled a little. “Thanks.”

Tony nodded, arms folding again. “Don’t make a habit of forgetting basic syntax, though. I can’t have FRIDAY starting a betting pool on how often I need to rescue you from your own code.”

Peter laughed under his breath. “No promises.”

Tony rested a hand on the back of Peter’s chair, eyes scanning the now-updated code on the screen. “Alright. Not bad, kid. You’ve got the foundation down.”

Peter let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and offered a small, grateful grin. “Thanks—seriously. That could’ve gone way worse.”

Tony gave a short nod and turned slightly, like he was about to head out—but then he hesitated, glancing back.

“Tell you what,” he said casually, “if you can get the next stage of your prototype running by the end of today’s session, I’ll let you take a look at a few of my side projects.”

Peter blinked. “Wait—your projects? Like, actual Stark stuff?”

Tony tilted his head. “No, the fake ones I keep in a drawer just to impress high schoolers. Yes, my actual work.”

Peter stared at him, clearly trying to determine if this was some sort of sarcastic joke.

“You’re… being serious?”

“Dead serious. I was going to get your input on one of them anyway,” Tony said, leaning against the edge of a nearby worktable. “But I want to make sure the lab is a bit more… high school intern-proof before I let you in.”

Peter sat back slightly, still caught off guard. “That’s… really cool.”

Tony gave a lopsided grin. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. It’s a one-time deal until you prove you won’t trip over a quantum core and cause a blackout.”

Peter laughed nervously. “Noted.”

“Good. You finish that next phase—clean, testable—and we’ll talk.”

“Deal.” Peter nodded, already turning his focus back to the prototype setup. “I’ll get it done.”

Tony pushed off the table with a light tap of his fingers. “Alright. I’ll check in later. Don’t blow anything up.”

“I won't,” Peter called after him, already deep in thought.

Tony smirked as he left, shaking his head slightly.

Back at the desk, Peter leaned in toward his work, excitement starting to bubble up beneath the nerves. The pressure was still there, sure—but there was something energizing about it now. The kind of pressure that came from having someone like Tony Stark take you seriously.

Peter and Ned made their way down the familiar sidewalk, their backpacks slung over one shoulder, half-eaten bagels in hand.

“So?” Ned asked, eyebrows practically bouncing with anticipation. “How was it? What happened? Did your prototype explode? Did Tony Stark say anything cool? Did you breathe the same air as him?”

Peter grinned as he adjusted the strap on his shoulder. “Actually… it went kind of amazing.”

Ned stopped mid-step. “What?”

Peter chuckled, nodding. “Yeah. I mean, I was nervous as hell at first—he walked in right as I was about to test the prototype. I almost messed everything up.”

“No way,” Ned breathed, picking up pace again. “What did he say? What did he do?”

Peter’s eyes lit up, the excitement from yesterday still fresh. “Well, I blanked on a bit of the code. Totally froze. You would've screamed at me if you saw it.”

“Classic,” Ned smirked. “What’d you do?”

“I panicked,” Peter said with a shrug. “Kinda blurted out that you’d be yelling at me—”

“Wait wait wait,” Ned interrupted, his eyes widening. “You mentioned me? To Tony Stark?!”

Peter winced. “Yeah… sorry, it just slipped out.”

“Dude,” Ned said, voice raising a pitch. “TONY STARK KNOWS I EXIST.”

Peter laughed, nearly choking on his bite of bagel. “You were with me when I first met him, don't you remember the science fair?”

Ned ignored him and puffed his chest dramatically. “I can’t wait to update my bio: Best friend of Peter Parker. Once mentioned to Tony Stark. May or may not be a tech genius.”

Peter snorted. “May not.”

They both laughed, the energy light and easy. For the first time in a while, Peter felt like things were… okay.

They turned the corner toward school when Ned bumped Peter’s shoulder lightly. “So… did he say anything else?”

Peter nodded. “He told me if I finish the next phase of the prototype by the end of the next session, he’s going to let me check out some of his personal projects.”

Ned’s mouth dropped open again. “That’s insane. Did you faint? I would’ve fainted.”

“Came close,” Peter admitted. “It was surreal, man. Just him and me in the lab. He wasn’t intimidating, either. Not like—Iron Man intimidating—he was actually kinda… chill.”

“Wow,” Ned muttered, then hesitated. “Do you think he’s, like… starting to suspect something?”

Peter’s smile faltered for a second.

“You know,” Ned continued, “about the whole you being Spider-Man thing?”

Peter shook his head quickly. “No. If Mr. Stark had any idea, any at all, I wouldn’t have been in that lab yesterday tweaking code, he wouldn't have sat with me and corrected my code. He would’ve had me hauled into some secure section of the Tower, locked away before I could even blink.”

Ned gave a slow nod. “Yeah, true. He doesn’t really play when it comes to stuff like that.”

“And if he was pretending to be cool while secretly planning something?” Peter added, tapping his temple, “my Spider-sense would've picked up on it. I would've known something was off.”

Ned seemed to relax a little. “Okay. Okay, yeah. That’s true.”

Peter gave him a reassuring smile. “For now, it’s fine. He sees me as Peter Parker: high school intern. That’s all.”

They walked in comfortable silence for a moment before Ned grinned again. “You know what that means, though?”

“What?”

“You might be the first person in history to have an Avenger unknowingly mentor their alter ego.”

Peter groaned. “Please don’t say it like that.”

Ned let out a laugh. Before putting the rest of their conversation on hold as they got towards the entrance to the school.

Chapter Text

Between everything that had been going on, Peter felt like he had being spending less and less in the apartment. When school finished, Peter decided to leave to get back home as soon as possible, sending a quick apology to Ned for not being able to stick around to do their usual after school chat. He wanted to make sure he would be back before May today.

Peter glanced over his shoulder just in time to see May walk through the front door, dropping her keys into the bowl by instinct. Her face stretched into a small, tired smile when she saw him.

"Hey, kiddo," she said, toeing off her shoes.

"Hey, May," Peter greeted. "Dinner’s almost ready."

She lifted a brow, pleasantly surprised. "You cooked?"

Peter gestured toward the pasta pot with a smirk. "I cooked some pasta, added sauce, and threw garlic bread in the oven. So… assembled dinner."

May laughed, and the sound filled the kitchen like sunlight through a window. "Well, it smells great. I’d take this over takeout any day."

They sat down at the tiny kitchen table, the plates steaming with marinara and stringy cheese. For a while, it was quiet—just the normal clatter of forks and glasses, the kind of peace Peter didn’t realize he missed.

Halfway through her second bite, May broke the silence. “Y’know… I feel like I barely see you these days.”

Peter paused, fork halfway to his mouth. “What do you mean? We’re here right now.”

May gave him a look. “Yeah, now. But between your internship, school, and me working the late shifts, we’ve barely sat down like this in… what? A week?”

Peter swallowed, feeling a pang of guilt sit heavy in his chest. “Yeah… I guess it has been a while.”

He didn’t mention the third thing—the real reason why most of his nights ended with sore muscles and half-healed scrapes. He didn’t tell her about chasing down muggers or outnumbered fights in alleyways, or how Iron Man had nearly caught him again just a week ago. Instead, he just nodded and let the silence settle.

May’s tone was light, but there was something behind it, something Peter could see now that he was really looking. Her eyes looked a little duller than usual, a faint shadow beneath them, her shoulders carrying a quiet weight she wasn’t letting drop.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked gently. “You look… tired.”

May waved him off with a tight smile. “Just a long week. Nothing to worry about, honey.”

Peter frowned. “Are you sure? Because—”

“I’m fine, Pete.” Her voice didn’t snap, but it closed the subject, stopping Peter from pushing any further. “Really. You don’t have to worry about me.”

He didn’t argue, but the concern didn’t go away. He took another bite, chewing slower this time, watching her poke at her food more than eat it.

It had just been the two of them for months now, since Ben… and Peter could feel it, that quiet shift between them. May had held strong for so long, carrying both of their grief without ever asking for help. Now, Peter could see the strain hiding behind her tired eyes, the forced smiles.

And yet, he had barely been around. Out late. Sneaking in through windows. Collapsing into bed before she got home. And she never once called him out for it. Never questioned why he was always tired or why he kept his door closed so much, especially when it was typically covered in webbing residue or blood-stained fabric.

Peter suddenly felt like the worst nephew in the world.

“I’ll try to be around more,” he said quietly, the words slipping out before he could think them through.

May looked up, surprised. “You don’t have to do that. You’ve got a lot going on. And you're a teenager, you need to live your life.”

“Still. I want to.” Peter insisted.

She reached across the table, giving his hand a quick squeeze. “You’re a good kid, Peter. I’m proud of you. And I know Ben would be, too.”

His throat tightened at that, and he only nodded, blinking down at his plate.

After dinner, May shuffled off to shower, and Peter found himself lingering at the table, staring at the remnants of dinner. There was a lot going on—too much. The internship, school, Spider-Man… and now this weight creeping in about May. It was all getting harder to balance.

But he reminded himself of what Ned said—Spider-Man’s important, but so are you.

And maybe it was time Peter started remembering that the people who knew Peter—who loved Peter—needed him just as much as the city did.

Peter eventually dragged himself up from the table, finally making a move to clear up so May wouldn't have to when she got out the shower.

Friday lunch came about slower than Peter would've liked. Peter and Ned had claimed their usual spot at the far corner of the cafeteria—close enough to be in the action, far enough to be out of it.

Peter jabbed his fork into a pasta salad he didn’t really want. His mind was already halfway at Stark Tower, thinking about his prototype, wondering if today would be the day Tony actually showed him one of those secret projects he'd hinted at earlier in the week.

Ned, however, was laser-focused on something else.

“We seriously need to do another Star Wars marathon,” Ned said through a mouthful of sandwich. “It’s been months, dude.”

Peter cracked a small grin. “We literally just did one last semester.”

“That was just the original trilogy. I’m talking full saga. Prequels, sequels, Rogue One, everything. Even Solo.”

Peter gave him a look. “Even Solo? Are we that far gone?”

Before Ned could argue the cinematic merits of the most controversial side film in the franchise, a voice cut in from the next table over.

“Are you two nerds talking about Star Wars again?” MJ asked, not even looking up from the sketchbook she was idly doodling in.

She didn’t usually sit with them. But she’d taken to occupying nearby on the end of their table these past couple of weeks. It started subtly—offhanded comments here and there, often just a sarcastic jab tossed over her shoulder. But lately, her sarcasm had taken on a weirdly familiar tone, like it was part of the rhythm now.

Peter looked over at her, amused. “What gave it away? The animated lightsaber noises or the nerd-aura radiating from Ned?”

She finally looked up, eyes flicking between them. “It’s not hard to tell. You’re both losers. That kind of energy’s easy to track.”

Ned, instead of being offended, actually smiled. “You say that like it’s an insult.”

MJ shrugged. “I'm just saying it as it is. I mean, embrace your brand.”

Peter smirked, trading a look with Ned. It had become sort of a game at this point—her calling them losers in a way that didn’t really sting. In fact, over time, it had started to sound more like a nickname than an insult.

When Flash sauntered past their table a minute later. The moment his gaze landed on Peter, they knew it wasn't going to be the kind of day he'd leave them alone. “What’s up Penis Parker."

MJ didn’t miss a beat.

She looked up lazily and said, “Flash, aren’t you late for your daily ego trip?”

Flash blinked at her, scoffed, and kept walking.

Ned leaned toward her. “You know, you don’t have to keep saving us.”

“I’m not saving you,” she replied, eyes back on her page. “I'm just bored.”

Peter chuckled. “And this is the entertainment you choose?”

“It’s either you guys or watching Flash try to flirt with the vending machine again.”

There was a beat of silence before Ned said, “Wait… you’ve seen Star Wars?”

MJ’s gaze didn’t lift. “Yes, Ned. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t spend all of my time in a library tower with a candle reading gothic novels in Latin.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Okay, but like… how much Star Wars are we talking?”

She finally glanced up again, lips twitching. “Let’s just say if you quiz me on the Clone Wars timeline, I could probably hold my own.”

Peter looked genuinely surprised. “Wait, really?”

She gave him a small, almost-smirk. “I contain multitudes, Parker.”

Ned, absolutely delighted, jumped on the opening. “You have to join us next time we rewatch. I mean, it’s practically a rite of passage.”

MJ pretended to think it over. “I don’t know… I’ll have to check my very full schedule of not caring.”

Peter chuckled. “That’s not a no.”

“Mm,” she hummed, already returning to her sketchbook. “I’ll get back to you. Maybe.”

The bell rang a moment later, and Peter stood, collecting his tray and slinging his bag over his shoulder. He was due at Stark Tower in less than an hour, and his nerves were already building.

MJ glanced up as he passed. “Don’t forget to pack your lightsaber, loser.”

Peter grinned, throwing her a salute. “Always.”

As he and Ned headed out, Ned nudged him with his elbow. “Dude, MJ totally wants to be part of the group.”

Peter laughed. “Yeah. Although, I think she already is.”

By now, Peter had built a rhythm to his internship days.

Security. Intern floor. Unpack. Headphones in. Focus on the prototype.

It was a pattern that helped him stay grounded, helped him forget—if only for a few hours—everything else. Stark Tower, as big and overwhelming as it could be, had started to feel almost familiar.

Almost.

Peter had just settled in at his station, laptop open and prototype cradled gently in his hands when someone unexpected approached—Mr. Davies, the internship director. The man was known for being hands-off with Peter. He mostly focused on the college students, and while polite, he always treated Peter like he’d accidentally been added to the roster.

“Mr. Parker,” Davies said, clearing his throat.

Peter looked up, surprised. “Uh—yeah?”

“I've been instructed to send you over to the elevator for something that I don't even have high enough clearance to know about,” Davies said, gesturing behind him.

Peter turned to look in that direction, not seeing the elevator he typically used. He turned back to the man and blinked. “Wait. You mean the… other elevator?”

The one no one ever used. The one that looked sleek and high-security. The one Peter had only ever seen Tony Stark himself step into. It was practically an urban legend among the interns.

Davies gave a short nod. “You’ve been requested.”

Peter blinked again. “Uh, I don’t think I have clearance for that.”

Davies didn’t look amused. “This building is run by Mr. Stark’s AI. If someone with clearance wants you somewhere, the system will know. If that elevator opens for you, you’re cleared.”

Peter swallowed thickly. His brain buzzed. Was this it? The moment Tony finally called him up? Had he really finished enough of the prototype to get attention like this?

With a quick nod, Peter stood, grabbed his notebook just in case, and made his way across the floor. The eyes of a few other interns followed him—not in a mean way, just curious. The intern who barely got spoken to by the director was suddenly being ushered to the executive elevator.

As Peter neared the door, the sleek metal slid open automatically, like it had been waiting for him.

His heart stammered against his ribs. He stepped inside slowly.

The elevator doors whispered shut behind him, and the car began to move on its own—no buttons pressed.

Peter exhaled, running a hand through his curls, trying to steady his nerves.

This is a good thing, he told himself.

Still, anxiety churned in his stomach. It was one thing to work under the umbrella of Stark Industries, to occasionally see the man pop in and out of the intern floor with a snarky comment or casual piece of advice. It was another thing entirely to be called up.

Called in.

And by the looks of it… possibly into Stark’s inner sanctum.

The elevator hummed softly as it ascended, and Peter could feel the shift in atmosphere the higher it climbed. The floor numbers blinked past—intern level, research, design labs, executive offices. Then past that.

Higher.

Peter adjusted his collar nervously. For once, he’d remembered to wear the shirt May insisted made him “look sharp.” He just hadn’t thought today would be the day Stark would personally notice.

Then, with a soft ding, the elevator came to a smooth stop.

The doors slid open.

Peter stepped out into a minimalist corridor of white and steel, sleek and quiet. The windows were floor-to-ceiling, flooding the hallway with natural light. At the far end, a pair of glass doors opened into what could only be described as Tony Stark’s lab.

It was even more impressive up close.

The space was massive, a blend of cutting-edge tech and artistic chaos. Holographic projections flickered in midair, robotic arms sat frozen mid-motion, and prototypes of all kinds lined the walls and tables. Half of it looked decades ahead of anything he’d ever seen before.

And in the center of it all, standing over a wide glass display, was Tony Stark himself.

He looked up as Peter approached, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Hey Kid,” he greeted, as casually as if this was just another hallway meetup.

Peter gave a small, awkward wave. “Hey, Mr. Stark.”

Tony gestured him over. “FRIDAY said you were ahead of schedule on your little gadget downstairs. Figured I’d steal you away for a bit. You’ve earned the upgrade.”

Peter felt his jaw go slack for a moment before catching himself. “Oh—uh, thanks. I wasn’t expecting… this.”

“Yeah, most people don’t.” Tony turned back to the display, flicking through some schematics with a wave of his hand. “But you’ve been showing a lot of potential, Parker. Figured it was time you saw what the real lab looked like.”

Peter wandered closer, his eyes wide as he tried to take in all the details at once. “This place is insane,” he muttered.

“Yeah, it’s a bit of a fixer-upper,” Tony said dryly. “But it gets the job done.”

Peter couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. He didn’t even try to hide it.

Tony glanced over at him again. “So, you ready to show me what you’ve got? Let’s see if this thing of yours actually works before I start carving out space for your statue in the Hall of Intern Fame.”

Peter laughed nervously. “Uh, yeah, sure. Just, uh—fair warning, I’ve only tested the base functionality. There’s still a lot I want to add.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “It either works or it doesn’t, kid. Let’s see which.”

Peter pulled out his notebook, flipping it open and launching the software from his phone while he spoke. “Okay, so the prototype’s meant to be a compact, retractable adhesive applicator. It’s small, but it can be modified for industrial use if the design holds. I tried to keep it modular so the formula can be swapped out depending on surface type or material bond strength.”

Tony gave a low whistle. “Not bad, Kid. Definitely above and beyond for high school level.”

Peter flushed a little at that. “Thanks.”

Tony gave a half-smile, then turned away from the console. “Come on, I’ll show you around a bit. Might as well give you the bonus tour that you'd never have got in you Stark Industries Welcome Tour.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “Seriously?”

Tony shrugged like it was no big deal, already heading toward the other end of the lab. “You’ve earned it. And besides, I’m tired of talking to myself in here.”

Peter hurried after him, trying not to look too eager. The deeper into the lab they went, the more incredible everything became—rows of tech he didn’t recognize, tables scattered with half-built prototypes, and more than one suit of armor in various stages of assembly.

Tony casually pointed things out as they walked. “That’s a modular arc reactor prototype. Still working out the kinks—gets hot enough to grill steak, which is great for dinner, not so great for staying alive. Over there’s the drone cluster I’m redesigning after the last batch got shredded in a wind tunnel test. And this—” he stopped at a bench covered in sleek parts and holographic blueprints “—this is what I wanted your eyes on.”

Peter stepped closer, already captivated. “What is it?”

“Smart deployment platform,” Tony explained. “It’s supposed to be adaptable tech that can mount to nearly any environment or surface—walls, ceilings, vehicles—you name it. Think: portable tech hub meets spider nest.” He paused, then shot a look at Peter. “No pun intended.”

Peter was already halfway tuned out, eyes scanning the blueprints in awe. “This is insane. I mean, the processing capacity alone—how did you even fit it into that frame? And those mounting claws—they look great, but wouldn’t they jam under temperature pressure shifts?”

Tony looked surprised. “Ah, you see— that’s exactly the problem I’ve been running into.”

Peter’s brain kicked into high gear. “What if you rework the inner joint structure to include a rotating stabilizer, like a mini gyroscope? It could absorb the stress and keep it from locking up, and it wouldn’t add much weight.”

Tony blinked at him for a second, then gave a low, impressed whistle. “Huh. Not bad, intern. That’s actually not a terrible idea.”

Peter smiled, trying to play it cool even as his heart raced. “I mean… just a thought.”

Tony was already pulling up a model to adjust. “Keep those kinds of thoughts coming and you might just earn a permanent seat in here.”

Peter stared at him, stunned. “Wait—really?”

Tony glanced at him, a smirk playing on his face. “Don’t push your luck, kid.”

Peter felt a flicker of disappointment at Tony’s response—half a joke, half a deflection. For a split second, he’d let himself imagine what it would be like to actually belong here, in this space, not just as an intern but as someone Tony Stark genuinely valued. But he shook it off quickly. He couldn’t get too comfortable.

Tony Stark might’ve been teaching him how to debug code or showing him cool prototypes, but he was still Iron Man. He was still the man who’d tracked Spider-Man across the city, still the guy Peter had barely escaped from just a couple weeks ago. His brain, unfortunately, had a tendency to forget that lately—especially when Tony wasn’t in the suit and was just… being Tony. Talking tech. Sharing ideas. Treating Peter like he belonged.

But Peter couldn’t let himself forget. He couldn’t afford to.

He started to gather his things, figuring that was the end of his time in the lab for now. But just as he was about to step away from the bench, Tony glanced at him over his shoulder.

“Hey—stick around for a bit, will you?”

Peter froze, surprised. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

He tried to sound casual, but his stomach was already doing flips.

Tony waved him over to another table, this one a little messier, with different parts scattered across it—some mechanical, some unfamiliar even to Peter. There was a different kind of blueprint hovering above it, something less refined, clearly still in development.

“I’ve been bouncing between ideas for this one, but none of it’s really clicking. I figured another set of eyes might help. Fresh perspective and all that.”

Peter hesitated for a second before stepping closer. “You want my perspective?”

Tony didn’t even look up. “Kid, you just pointed out a flaw in a mechanism I’ve been stuck on for three days. I’m not saying you’re a genius—but if the shoe fits...”

Peter couldn’t stop the small smile that crept across his face. “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.”

As they stood side by side, running through ideas and tossing thoughts back and forth, Peter could almost pretend that things were normal—that there wasn’t a version of this same man who once warned Spider-Man that the Avengers were watching, that the walls of this building weren’t crawling with tech that could expose him if he slipped up even once.

But for now, Tony Stark was just a mentor. A brilliant, sarcastic, infuriatingly cool mentor.

And Peter, despite himself, was kind of enjoying it.

Chapter Text

The air was heavy with the lingering heat of the day, but Peter barely noticed it as he zipped through the sky, Spider-Man suit clinging to his skin like a second layer of sweat. He was finally starting to get back into a rhythm—no Stark sightings for weeks, no close calls. It felt almost normal again.

That is, until a sharp, electric crackle shot through the air below him.

Peter paused mid-swing, landing lightly on the edge of a brick rooftop. Down on the street, two vans were parked suspiciously in an alleyway. A group of men surrounded a device that definitely didn’t belong in their hands—glowing blue, crackling with unstable energy, and unmistakably something alien-like.

“Of course,” Peter muttered to himself. “Because why wouldn't alien tech show up on my chill night out?”

He dropped down silently, staying low. He’d dealt with this kind of tech before—it was volatile, unpredictable. One wrong move and it could level a building. The last thing he needed was a repeat of the warehouse situation from last month.

But these guys weren’t your average thugs. The moment Peter launched a web to disarm the one holding the weapon, chaos broke out. Another pulled out a blaster that fired way faster than anything he’d seen before. He only just about managed to twist his body out the way in time to avoid it. And that was with his Spider-Sense warning him.

The fight spiralled out of control fast after that.

One blast caught him in the side and sent him skidding across the pavement, suit tearing open along his ribs. He grit his teeth and forced himself back to his feet, adrenaline carrying him through as he webbed up the last two guys. One escaped—again—but he was too out of it to care.

Peter staggered his way up a fire escape, gripping his side, every step heavier than the last.

Peter barely remembered how he got home. Just that at some point, the mask had come off, and his vision had gone blurry, the world tilting beneath him as he collapsed face-first onto his bed.

When he woke up, the sun was streaming in through the blinds. Every muscle in his body throbbed. It felt like he’d been hit by a truck. Twice.

He groaned, sitting up slowly. His torso was a mess—deep bruises blooming across his ribs, one still bleeding faintly where the blast had grazed him. “Great,” he muttered, dragging himself to the edge of the bed. “Just peachy.”

With a lot of force, he managed to convince himself to get up and change. He needed to rid himself of the suit and all the grime and dried blood that came along with it. Peter sighed to himself, and stumbled to the bathroom to clean up.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror and barely recognised himself. He looked like he had been dragged through hell. He cleaned his face, wincing as he touched the bruise that had formed around his eye. He cleared off the blood on his forehead, looking at the tiny mark that was left beneath. At least some of his healing had kicked in already.

He managed to shower and get changed into some clean clothes when his stomach alerted him, growling violently.

Food. He needed food. Healing took energy. He staggered to his feet, dragging on a hoodie and limping toward the kitchen. He was so caught up in his own haze that he didn’t register the sound of someone humming softly until he rounded the corner.

May.

She was standing by the counter, stirring a cup of tea, robe tied loosely at her waist.

Peter froze.

She turned at the sound of his shuffle, eyes landing immediately on the limp in his step, the stiffness in his movements, the very clear bruise on his face.

Her voice was full of concern. “Peter?”

He swallowed. “Hey, May. Didn’t, uh—didn’t think you were home.”

“I switched shifts last night.” She told him. Her brow furrowed as her eyes drifted downward. “What happened to you?”

He froze again.

Think. Lie. “It’s nothing. I got into a… a fight. At the internship.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You got into a fight at Stark Tower?”

“I mean—not like, a real fight,” Peter backtracked quickly. “Just… some jerk got pushy in the lab and it turned into a shoving thing and I fell. You know, nothing major.”

May looked at him for a long time. “You’re limping. Your face is pale and blue. And I can see through your act Peter, you're hurt. You should've come to me straight after it happened.” May disagreed, her voice filled with worry.

Peter looked down and cursed under his breath.

“I'm sorry, I just...I didn’t want to worry you,” he said softly.

May sighed, putting her tea down. “That’s the thing, Pete. I’m always going to worry. You’re my responsibility. Whether you’re fifteen or forty. That’s the deal.”

He nodded, guilt gnawing at his chest. It was hard, pretending everything was fine, always balancing the mask.

There was a moment—just a flicker—where he almost told her. He could’ve just said it. “I’m Spider-Man.” But the words stayed locked behind his teeth.

Instead, he just looked away, feeling too guilty to meet her gaze. "I'll be more careful, May. I promise."

"Good. It's just me and you now, Peter. It hurts me to even think about you getting hurt, let alone seeing it." May smiled at him, although Peter could still see the sadness behind it.

He forced a smile back. “I’m okay. I mean it. It just looks worse than it is.”

May gave him a skeptical look but let it go, just for now. “Go sit down. I’ll make you something. You need food, clearly.”

Peter obeyed, sinking into the kitchen chair as she moved around the kitchen.

He stared at the floor, thinking not just about the pain or the tech he’d seen, but the lie he’d just fed her.

How many more times would he have to?

Peter had spent the rest of his Saturday with May, now that her shift swap had given her the day off. It was nice to have a full day with just the two of them, and it gave Peter more of a chance to actually convince her that he was actually okay.

The following day, Peter leaned back against his pillow, his phone still in hand, eyes fixed on the soft morning light seeping in through the blinds. His room was quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the occasional creak from the pipes behind the wall.

He exhaled slowly.

The fading bruise should’ve been a relief. In any normal situation, it would be. But May had seen it just yesterday—clear as day, right across his cheekbone. And if she came home and saw it nearly gone now, she was going to have a lot of questions and might possibly start connecting dots he wasn’t ready for her to connect.

He sat up, stretching carefully. His ribs still ached with every movement, reminding him that despite the accelerated healing, he wasn’t totally in the clear. The memory of the weapon sparking to life, the blast throwing him against the side of that dumpster—it lingered.

He rubbed the side of his face and grabbed his hoodie off the floor, tugging it over his head as he walked into the living room. The apartment was quiet. No signs of May.

He glanced at the clock.

9:47 AM.

Early shift, he remembered. Probably left before the sun was up. He was thankful for it now, even if the guilt twisted in his stomach.

He flopped onto the couch, pulled a blanket over his legs, and opened his messages. He didn’t hesitate this time.

hey, can u come over?

Ned’s reply came almost instantly.

always. u okay?

yeah. I'll explain when u get here. nothing crazy

give me an hour. bringing snacks

Peter let out a soft laugh and set the phone on the coffee table. That was Ned—always down for emotional support and equipped with snacks. No questions asked.

Ned arrived exactly when he said he would—hoodie up, backpack on, and a plastic bag swinging from one wrist. He shut the apartment door behind him with his foot and made his way to the living room without even waiting for an invite.

“Alright,” he said, dropping the bag on the coffee table and pulling out a mix of snacks—chips, gummy worms, and a suspiciously crushed-looking packet of cookies. “I brought sustenance. Now spill.”

Peter let out a tired breath and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Friday night was a mess.”

“Spider-Man mess?”

Peter gave him a look. Ned nodded in understanding and sat beside him.

“There was a robbery, and there was a lot of them,” Peter explained, keeping his voice low even though they were alone. “I ran into a guy with some kind of modified weapon. It threw me into a wall. It was insane.”

Ned blinked. “Dude.”

“I know,” Peter groaned, rubbing his side. “I made it out, mostly. Got back home in time to pass out, so that was fun.”

Ned leaned closer. “You look fine now.”

“Exactly the problem,” Peter said, gesturing to his face. “May saw me yesterday with bruises. Big ones. Now they’re gone.”

“Ohhh.”

“Yeah.”

"What are you going to do?" Ned asked.

Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know. But I can't let her find out like this."

Ned thought for a second. “Well, you could always recreate them?”

Peter gave him a look. "I'm not a big fan of having to beat myself up. Besides, they'll probably have healed by the time she gets back."

Ned shook his head. "I didn't mean that. I meant like fake bruises. They do it in TV and movies all the time."

“With what? I don’t know how to fake a bruise.”

“Neither do I,” Ned said, clearly unbothered by the detail. “But we can try.”

Peter gave him a deadpan look. “This isn’t like building a LEGO Death Star, Ned.”

“I’m just saying—we got brains, we got Google. Worst case, we make you look like a bad abstract painting.”

Peter groaned again and flopped backward into the couch. “May’s definitely going to know something’s up.”

There was a short pause.

“...Or,” Ned said slowly, grinning now, “we ask someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”

Peter narrowed his eyes. “No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m gonna say.”

“Yes, I do.”

Ned tilted his head, smug. “MJ.”

Peter sat up. “No way. Absolutely not.”

“She reads weird books and knows about theater makeup. I saw her do it for drama club once. She made Brad look like he’d been mauled by a bear. It was disturbingly realistic.”

“She’ll ask too many questions.”

“She already thinks we’re weird. She’s not gonna ask more than usual.”

Peter looked conflicted. “We can’t just drag her into this.”

“We don’t have to tell her the truth,” Ned said with a shrug. “Just say you’re trying to prank Flash. Or that you need it for a costume. People make stuff up for MJ all the time and she never believes them anyway.”

Peter didn’t look convinced, but he also didn’t immediately say no.

“You got a better plan?” Ned asked.

Peter slumped forward again, running a hand through his hair. “Not really.”

Ned grinned. “So… want me to text her?”

Peter groaned dramatically. “God, fine. But if this blows up, you’re taking the fall.”

“Deal.”

Ned was already pulling out his phone.

Ned fired off the text with the excitement of someone detonating a bomb—smirking, fingers tapping furiously, and muttering, “Don't worry. She’s gonna say yes, she’s gonna say yes…”

Peter hovered behind him, pacing a little. “What exactly did you tell her?”

“That we have a very urgent and very specific make-up-related emergency. Also that it’s for a project. Vague enough to not be suspicious, specific enough to pique her curiosity.”

Peter groaned. “She’s definitely going to ask questions.”

Before Ned could respond, his phone buzzed. He looked down.

“She says, ‘...Fine. I’ll bite. But if this is something stupid, I’m leaving.’”

Peter blinked. “She’s coming here?”

“Yup. Said she’s grabbing her makeup kit and will be here in twenty minutes.”

Peter paled. “We are so dead.”

Twenty-three minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Ned opened it and MJ stepped in, a small black bag slung over her shoulder and her usual unimpressed expression firmly in place.

She looked from Ned to Peter, taking in the odd energy between them.

“All right, losers,” she said, closing the door behind her. “Who’s dying and needs a makeover?”

Peter awkwardly raised a hand. “That would be me.”

MJ arched a brow. “Okay. I need context. What am I covering up, and why?”

Ned opened his mouth, but Peter quickly jumped in. “It’s for… uh… a school thing.”

“A school thing.”

“Yeah. Like… acting. Theater. You know. For English class.”

MJ looked between them, clearly not buying a word of it. “Right. It's not like I'm in your English class and know we're doing nothing that will explain this." MJ pointed out. "Ned says you need me to make you look like someone beat the crap out of you.”

“Preferably just a bit banged up,” Peter said. “Black eye. Well, a couple of days old, black eye kind of thing.”

She stared at him for a long beat, her head tilted slightly like she was trying to decide whether this was worth the effort. Then she shrugged.

“Okay.”

Peter blinked. “Wait—really?”

MJ shrugged, already moving toward the couch. “Yeah. Why not? It’s not like I had anything better to do.” She dropped her bag down onto the coffee table and unzipped it with a dramatic flourish. “Sit down, Parker. I’m not doing this while you’re standing there like a lost puppy.”

Peter obeyed, dropping onto the edge of the couch.

MJ snapped on a pair of gloves with a theatrical snap. “Just your face. I’m not doing full-body theater makeup, even if it is a fake school project.”

Peter let out a relieved breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. “Right. Yeah. Just my face. Cool.”

Ned snickered under his breath.

MJ pulled out a small palette of colors and a few brushes, studying Peter’s face like she was surveying a blank canvas. “Okay, you said black eye, a  bit of a busted lip—anything else?”

“Uh... no. That should be enough.”

“Good. Less work for me.”

She got to work, leaning in with surprising focus. Peter stayed as still as he could, feeling the brush glide across his skin in light, careful strokes. MJ was weirdly good at this—maybe from all the art classes she took, he thought.

“Stop scrunching your face,” she muttered. “You’re making my job harder.”

“Sorry,” Peter mumbled, trying not to blink as she dabbed something purple near his eye.

Ned leaned over to watch, absolutely fascinated. “Dude, you look like you actually got punched in the face.”

“That’s the idea, genius,” MJ said dryly, not missing a beat.

Peter resisted the urge to twitch as she switched colors, adding layers of faint green and red along his cheekbone.

Within about twenty minutes, she pulled back, inspecting her work critically.

“Done,” she said, tossing her brush back into the bag.

Peter stood and turned to look in the mirror.

He winced. “Holy crap.”

His right eye was darkened and swollen-looking, the corner of his mouth sported a nasty-looking split, and there were just enough tiny details—discoloration, faint swelling—that made it look incredibly real.

MJ crossed her arms. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Ned nodded enthusiastically. “You’re like… a makeup wizard.”

“Don’t cheapen it,” MJ deadpanned.

Peter turned back to her, genuinely impressed. “Thanks, MJ. Seriously.”

She shrugged again like it was no big deal. “Don’t mention it. Seriously. Don’t mention it.” She slung her bag over her shoulder, her mouth twitching with a small, knowing smirk.

“And Parker?” she said, pausing at the door.

Peter looked over at her.

“If you get caught in a lie, it’s not my fault you’re terrible at acting.”

Peter blinked, caught off guard. “I—uh, I don’t know what you mean,” he said quickly, his voice a little too high.

MJ raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Relax,” she said. “You’re a terrible liar, but... your secret’s safe with me.”

Peter felt his stomach lurch. His mouth opened, but nothing came out for a second. “Secret? What secret?” he tried, but even to his own ears, it sounded weak.

MJ leaned against the doorframe casually. “You should really be more careful about how loud you and Ned talk in class,” she said, her voice low and even. “Some of us actually pay attention.”

Panic flared in Peter's chest, and he practically stumbled over his words. “You know?! D-Did anyone else hear?!”

MJ’s expression softened, and she shook her head. “No. If they had, you’d know by now. Trust me, the whole school would be buzzing if someone else picked up on it.”

Peter let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His heart was still hammering in his chest.

MJ gave him a pointed look. “I'm just very observant.” She straightened up and shot him a small, almost genuine smile. “Seriously. You’re fine. I’m not going to say anything.”

Peter let out a sigh of relief. "Thanks MJ, seriously."

MJ just shrugged. "I'll bring all this back with me to school tomorrow if you need me to redo it. I'll catch you later, losers."

She pushed open the door and left without another word, leaving a stunned Peter and an equally stunned Ned behind.

For a long second, neither of them moved.

Then Ned whispered, “Dude... we are so screwed.”

Peter buried his face in his hands. “We are so screwed.”

Chapter Text

Peter had started adjusting to the idea that MJ was now the second person to know about his secret identity. As nervous as he was about someone else being in on it, a small part of him also felt... relieved. It was exhausting sometimes — having to lie, to pretend, to constantly keep up the act.

But MJ didn't treat him any differently.

Following her admission, nothing about her behavior changed. She didn't start asking him a million questions about what it was like to swing through the city or what the Avengers were like up close. She didn't corner him between classes demanding to see his web-shooters or some ridiculous stunt. She was just... MJ.

She still made sarcastic comments under her breath, still called him and Ned "losers" with that same dry fondness, and still pretended like she wasn't paying attention even when Peter knew she was clocking everything happening in the room.

And for that, Peter couldn't be more thankful.

He found himself relaxing a little bit around her, not having to constantly monitor everything he said. It was a small shift, but one Peter was starting to appreciate more than he ever thought he would.

After school on the Monday, Peter found himself lingering outside the usual classroom where their decathlon team met. Most of the others had already filtered out, heading home or off to whatever clubs they had lined up. Only MJ stayed back, sitting cross-legged on top of one of the desks, flipping through a worn paperback while she waited for him.

Peter slipped inside quietly, shutting the door behind him. MJ glanced up from her book, giving him a small nod like she had been expecting him all along.

"Come on, Parker," she said, tossing her bag onto a nearby chair and pulling out a small makeup kit she must've grabbed from her locker. "Let's get this over with before someone starts to come around checking the rooms."

Peter chuckled under his breath and dropped his bag at his feet, stepping closer. "Thanks again for doing this. Seriously."

MJ just shrugged, motioning for him to sit on the chair in front of her. "It's not charity. I'm doing this for the art. And because you're hopeless."

Peter smiled awkwardly, settling down as she started dabbing lightly at his cheekbone, recreating the fading edges of the old bruise she had designed over the weekend.

"Could you, uh... make it look like it's healing?" Peter asked, tapping his fingers nervously against his knee. "That way I won't have to keep this up for too much longer. May's gonna catch on if it magically resets or something."

MJ nodded, reaching for a different shade of concealer. "Yeah, I figured. Healing bruises look different — more gross yellow-green tones, less punch-in-the-face purple." She smirked. "You're lucky you have me."

Peter laughed lightly, feeling a bit more at ease, though a nervous energy still buzzed under his skin. It was strange, letting someone else in on his secret world, even if MJ hadn't exactly demanded it.

They sat in a comfortable quiet for a few minutes as MJ worked. She was careful and focused, her touch surprisingly gentle.

Then, after a moment, she leaned back, examining her handiwork. "There. You look like someone who lost a fight but is too stubborn to admit it."

Peter smiled. "Accurate."

He stood and glanced at himself in the cracked mirror on the classroom wall. It did look natural — faded and splotchy in a way that healed bruises usually were.

"Thanks, MJ. Really," Peter said sincerely, turning back to her.

She packed away the makeup slowly, not looking at him right away. "Don't mention it."

There was a pause, heavier than the easy silence they'd had before.

Peter shifted awkwardly, then finally broke it. "So... you're really not gonna ask about any of it? The whole... Spider-Man thing?"

MJ closed the kit with a soft snap. "Would it make you feel better if I did?"

Peter blinked. "I don't know. Maybe? It's just weird. Everyone else would probably freak out."

MJ finally met his gaze, her expression softening slightly. "Look, Peter. I'm not gonna make it harder for you. I know you already carry enough on your own. You don't need someone else grilling you about it."

Peter swallowed thickly, a lump forming in his throat at how casually she said it, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You're... you're kinda amazing, you know that?" he said before he could stop himself.

MJ raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Yeah, well. Tell me something I don't know."

Peter laughed, the tension breaking between them.

As they grabbed their bags and started heading out into the fading afternoon light, Peter felt lighter somehow. Maybe it was just the fact that his fake bruise looked convincing enough to fool May... or maybe it was the quiet knowledge that he didn't have to keep carrying everything alone anymore.

Either way, he was grateful.

The next morning, Peter barely managed to scarf down a piece of toast before grabbing his backpack and dashing for the door.

"Peter, wait—" May called after him, a worried frown on her face as she was greeted by her nephew rushing straight past her.

"I'm late! Love you, bye!" Peter shouted over his shoulder, not daring to slow down. He could feel her gaze burning into the back of his head as he flew down the stairs.

Tuesday meant two things: school and his internship at Stark Industries. And thankfully, it also meant he wouldn't need to worry about MJ topping up his fake bruises today — he didn't exactly want to stroll into Stark Tower looking like he got into a brawl inside the building he claimed gave him the black eye in the first place.

After dragging himself through the school day, Peter headed straight for his internship, not even bothering to stop home to change. His clothes were still neat enough — a smart casual look with a plain blue shirt and dark jeans.

By now, his pattern was automatic: check in with security, swipe his ID, ride up the intern floor elevator. It was almost comforting how familiar it all felt.

But today, something new was waiting for him.

When Peter got to his desk, he spotted a sleek black folder sitting neatly in the center, standing out against the clutter of his usual workstation.

Pinned to the top of the folder was a small sticky note written in Tony's unmistakable, half-rushed scrawl:

"Your next project for when you've finished. If you need any assistance, ask FRIDAY - she is everywhere in the building – TS"

Peter grinned despite himself, a little bubble of excitement growing in his chest. Mr. Stark had left him a new project. Something personally assigned.

Even on top of that, he's got access to Tony Stark's AI. He was aware that the entire building was run by the AI, but he was told on the first day that interns weren't able to access it.

He carefully peeled off the note and flipped open the folder, scanning through the blueprints and technical outlines tucked inside.

It was a blueprint for a piece of tech he didn't recognize — some sort of modular propulsion system that looked way too advanced to be something Stark would just hand over lightly.

Peter's mind raced with ideas as he traced the diagrams with his eyes. Was this for one of Stark's new suits? A new drone model? Maybe a piece of tech for the Avengers?

FRIDAY's soft voice chimed in from a nearby speaker, startling him slightly.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Parker. Let me know if you require assistance in interpreting Mr. Stark's assignment."

Peter blinked, remembering the note. He smiled sheepishly up at the ceiling. "Thanks, FRIDAY. I'll let you know."

Peter was buzzing with excitement, itching to dive straight into the new project. But he forced himself to slow down. He still had some minor adjustments to finish on his current prototype before he could properly mark it complete for assessment.

Reluctantly, he slid the black folder aside with a gentle thud and grabbed his scattered notes back off the desk. Focus first, reward later — that's what he kept telling himself.

He knuckled down, fine-tuning the final few tweaks. He was so close now he could almost taste it. His hand moved quickly across the keyboard, adjusting the code, double-checking the calibration settings, when suddenly —

His Spider-sense gave a quiet hum in the back of his mind. Not an alarm, just a soft ripple. Familiar.

Tony.

It always flared when Tony Stark was nearby, but Peter had noticed something strange — it was becoming less sharp, less urgent each time. It should have been comforting, a sign that he was starting to trust the man more.

But instead, it concerned him.

He was getting used to Tony Stark. He was getting used to the way Tony just casually showed up, offered advice, or cracked a joke. It made Peter's walls lower without him realizing. And while Tony Stark — the mentor, the engineer — might not be a threat, Iron Man — the Avenger who had once hunted Spider-Man — definitely could be.

No matter how much Peter tried to separate the two in his head, deep down, he knew he couldn't afford to get too comfortable.

So he did what he always did lately when Tony was around: he pretended he didn't notice him. He kept working, adjusting a setting, as he heard the soft sound of footsteps approach.

Peter only looked up once Tony was standing beside his desk, casting a casual glance at his screen.

"Hey, Mr. Stark," Peter greeted, keeping his voice as level as he could.

Tony raised a brow, that usual half-smirk on his face. "Hey, kid. Didn't mean to sneak up on you," he said, clearly amused. "FRIDAY said you might be close to wrapping up your project."

Peter gave a small, almost sheepish grin. "Yeah, just putting the last few touches on it now. Then I was gonna start looking into the new stuff you left." He nodded toward the black folder.

Tony crossed his arms, glancing between Peter's screen and the folder. "No rush," he said. "Finish strong first. Always better to leave one project clean before you go tearing into another."

Peter nodded, taking the advice seriously. He found himself wanting to prove himself even more now, eager to show Tony he deserved the opportunities he was being handed.

Peter finished tightening the adjustment he was making, setting down the tool carefully before turning back toward Tony.

"So... what brings you down here today?" Peter asked, trying to sound casual even though he still wasn't used to Tony Stark choosing to check in on him.

By now, Peter had put the pieces together — Tony's regular visits weren't some random habit. Peter wasn't really under the intern director's care like the other students were. The director barely even looked at him most days. It was clear that Peter was more of a personal project for Tony. Still, he asked the question anyway.

Tony shrugged easily, hands slipping into the pockets of his jeans. "Just wanted to see for myself where you were up to. FRIDAY gives good reports, but, you know — nothing beats the human eye," he said, before glancing toward the folder on Peter's desk. "And to see if you'd had a chance to look at your next project yet."

Peter gave a sheepish smile. "I had a quick glance at it, but I haven't read through it properly yet. It looked insane though — I seriously can't wait to dive into it."

The excitement in his voice must have been obvious because Tony's face pulled into a genuine, amused smile.

"Good," Tony said, a glint in his eye. "Because you might be getting a bit of an upgrade."

Peter blinked at him, confused. "Upgrade?"

Tony nodded. "Thinking about moving your workstation up a few floors. Closer to where I work."

Peter's brain short-circuited for a second. "Wait... seriously?" he blurted out, unable to hide the disbelief in his voice.

"Dead serious," Tony said, a small smirk pulling at his mouth. "You've earned it. You're past the basic intern phase now. You deserve some proper mentoring. Plus, having you closer means if you screw something up, I'll be right there to stop you from blowing the floor up."

Peter let out a startled laugh, still trying to process that Tony Stark — THE Tony Stark — was offering to personally mentor him.

"I— are you sure?" Peter asked, feeling completely out of his depth. "I mean... not that I'm saying no or anything! Just— wow. Yeah. Okay. Yeah."

Tony chuckled. "Yeah, I'm sure, Kid. Look," he added, pointing at him, "your space down here will stay. You'll still have it if I'm out of the building or you need a place to hide. But when I'm in? You'll be upstairs. Close enough to ask questions but far enough to not drive me insane."

Peter gave a huff of a laugh. "And, uh... rules?"

"Yeah," Tony said, dead serious now. "Rule number one: don't touch anything that looks explosive, or anything that we haven't already agreed on."

Peter nodded solemnly. "Got it. No touching anything without authorisation."

Tony grinned, clearly amused. "See? Fast learner. You're gonna fit in just fine, kid."

Peter felt a grin creep onto his face too — this time, not one he had to fake.

Tony glanced around Peter's desk, nodding approvingly at the neat layout and the nearly finished project.

"Alright, here's the deal," Tony said, clapping his hands together once. "You finish up what you're working on — properly — and I'll finish setting up your new workspace upstairs. Once you're ready to move onto the next project, that's when you make the move."

Peter nodded quickly, heart still racing a little with excitement. "Yeah, of course! I'll get this wrapped up as soon as I can. Promise."

Tony smirked. "Again, no rush, kid. Rather you finish it right than rush it and blow the ceiling off. Again — the no exploding things rule still applies here and even when you're excited."

Peter flushed slightly, but smiled. "Got it. Finish first, then move upstairs. No explosions."

"Exactly," Tony said, already backing toward the door. "FRIDAY will keep an eye on you until then. And once you're ready... welcome to the big leagues, kid."

With a casual two-fingered salute, Tony turned and left, leaving Peter buzzing with nervous energy.

Peter sat back in his chair for a second, just to breathe.

New workspace. Closer to Tony Stark. Actual mentoring.

He had to fight the goofy grin threatening to take over his face.

But first — finish this project. Properly.
He rolled his shoulders, refocused, and got back to work.

Time passed quickly for Peter, his pen scratched against the notebook as he cross-checked his notes with the final tweaks he needed to make. The last few steps required a steady hand and a sharper mind — two things that were slightly harder to maintain when Tony Stark had just casually upgraded his internship.

He gritted his teeth and locked in, finishing the recalibration on the prototype he'd spent the last few weeks developing. Every wire was double-checked, every setting carefully tuned. He ran one last diagnostics test through the computer connected to his project.

The results came back clear — finally.

Peter leaned back with a small, exhausted grin, dragging a hand through his hair. He packed away his notes neatly, tucking the project carefully back into its casing for review. The clock on the wall told him he'd finished just 10 minutes before the end of his internship session.

Perfect timing, he thought with a relieved sigh.

Before he even had a chance to properly stand up and stretch, he heard the soft ding of the elevator — the one only Tony Stark ever used. His Spider-sense didn't even bother warning him this time. Some part of him had known it was coming.

Sure enough, Tony strolled casually into the intern workspace, dressed down a little in a fitted navy Henley and jeans, but still somehow looking like he owned the world.

Tony's gaze scanned the room before landing on Peter with a small, satisfied nod. "Finished?"

Peter straightened immediately. "Yes, sir! Just completed the final diagnostics."

Tony smirked at the formalness. "Good. You ready to move up in the world, Mr. Parker?"

Peter fought the urge to laugh nervously. "Yeah, totally! Uh — I mean, yes."

Tony chuckled, waving him over. "Grab your stuff, let's go."

Peter hurriedly scooped up his bag and his folder, tossing one last look at his old workstation. It felt weirdly sentimental leaving it behind after the few weeks of afternoons spent there, but that thought quickly vanished as he jogged to catch up with Tony, who was already halfway down the hall.

They stepped into the private elevator together. Tony didn't say much, which somehow only made Peter more jittery.

As the elevator hummed to life, Peter sneaked a glance up at him. Tony looked relaxed, hands casually in his pockets, but Peter noticed the slight glint of something new in his eyes — like he was genuinely excited about this next step.

The elevator stopped a few floors above, and the doors slid open with a smooth whoosh.

Peter stepped out onto a floor that looked nothing like the intern floor. This place was sleek, almost futuristic, with large glass walls, holographic displays flickering in corners, and several workbenches covered with the beginnings of various prototypes.

"Welcome to the playground," Tony said, leading the way down the hall.

Peter's mouth dropped slightly open as he tried to take it all in without tripping over his own feet. Everything here screamed next level.

Tony stopped at a workstation near the large windows overlooking the city. "This one's yours."

Peter stared. It wasn't massive, but it was his. Clean white surfaces, a brand-new touchscreen interface built into the desk, drawers for equipment, a mounted adjustable screen for coding and diagnostics, even a mini tool rack installed nearby.

"You serious?" Peter blurted without thinking.

Tony grinned. "Nah, I just brought you up here to tease you. Yeah, I'm serious, kid. Told you — you earned it. You'll have access to a more advanced toolset up here. And FRIDAY's even quicker if you need something."

Peter ran his fingers lightly along the desk, practically vibrating with excitement.

"When you get here on Friday, you'll be coming straight here and you'll be working on the new project at your new workstation," Tony continued, tossing a casual glance at the folder Peter clutched tightly. "It'll require a bit more... creativity. Figured you'd appreciate that."

"I — I don't even know what to say," Peter stammered.

"Good. Don't say anything. Just keep doing what you're doing," Tony said, clapping him lightly on the back.

Peter laughed under his breath, feeling the last remnants of nervousness melt away into excitement.

Tony shifted his stance slightly, eyeing Peter. "Look, I don't usually make a habit of playing mentor, but... you've got something, Parker. I'm not gonna waste that by sticking you in a corner."

Peter blinked, absorbing the words like they were precious oxygen. Coming from Tony Stark, it meant everything.

Tony pointed a finger at him, mock-stern. "Just remember, you're here because you can handle it. That means staying focused. And it means asking for help when you need it."

Peter nodded so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. "Got it. Definitely."

"Good." Tony smirked. "Now, go home before I have to explain to your aunt why you're sleeping under your new desk."

Peter snorted, gathering his things again as he headed for the elevator. As the doors closed, he couldn't stop himself from grinning like an idiot at his reflection in the shiny wall.

Working closer with Tony Stark. An upgraded workspace. A new project that needed creativity.

This was the chance of a lifetime, and he wasn't going to waste it.

Chapter Text

Tony scrubbed a hand down his face as he leaned back in the chair inside his private lab, the soft hum of equipment and muted clicks from screens filling the silence. His day had been unusually quiet today — other than having Peter Parker up for a while to see the lab. Even after then, the Kid had been too busy tinkering with his prototype to cause any kind of chaos.

He'd had no meetings to attend. No new briefings or training sessions with the Avengers. Pepper was out on a conference which Tony would've accompanied her for if it wasn't for the kid being in the building.

For once, everything was running smoothly.
Which, obviously, meant it was about to go straight to hell.

"Boss," FRIDAY's voice chimed gently through the room. "I have a Spider-Man-related alert you should see."

Tony’s eyebrows pinched together. "Didn’t we go over this, FRIDAY? No Spider-Man alerts unless you find out who he is or if something happens that compromises his safety."

"There’s been an incident," FRIDAY said calmly. "It meets your previously stated criteria."

Tony straightened in his chair, immediately sharper. "Show me."

The largest screen in the room flickered, pulling up security camera footage — shaky, grainy street-level angles from Queens. Tony leaned in, scanning the scene.

It was chaos.
Bright flashes of light, small craters in the sidewalk, a few civilians screaming as they scrambled for cover.
And right in the middle of it — Spider-Man, dodging blasts that were coming from unfamiliar weapons.

Weapons Tony recognized instantly.

His mouth tightened into a hard line.
Chitauri tech.

Illegally scavenged and retrofitted by someone who clearly had no idea how much damage they could unleash.

The footage wasn’t great, but it was enough to make Tony’s stomach twist. Spider-Man was moving quickly, trying to contain the situation without hurting anyone, but even through the blur of motion, Tony could see the limp in his left leg. He was fast, but he wasn’t at full strength — not even close.

Tony’s hands clenched into fists against the edge of the desk. "How old is this footage?"

"Five minutes," FRIDAY answered.

Five minutes ago.

Meaning Spider-Man was probably still limping home right now, bleeding under that stupid hoodie-and-sweats excuse for a suit.

Tony sat frozen for a moment, his mind racing. He could go after him. The armor was only a minute away, tucked just a few doors down.

He could find the kid — make sure he was okay. He wouldn't be in any state to be able to escape from Tony either if he used the opportunity to confront him again. It might give him the perfect chance to find out his identity.

But then came the other voice in his head.

The team is already on edge about you keeping tabs on Spider-Man.

They’ll be even worse if they find out you’ve been personally babysitting him.

He let out a sharp breath through his nose, trying to force down the instinct to jump into action. Instead, he leaned back and asked, "How bad are the injuries, FRIDAY?"

FRIDAY hesitated for half a second — a delay most people wouldn’t notice, but Tony did. "Based on the data available, there’s no indication the injuries are life-threatening. However, there is a high likelihood of multiple soft tissue injuries, heavy bruising, and potential fractures. Recovery will likely take one to two weeks without enhanced medical treatment."

Tony scrubbed a hand over his mouth. "And you’re sure he’s still breathing?"

"Vitals were stable at last check," FRIDAY confirmed.

He nodded stiffly.
Not life-threatening. That was… something.

Still didn’t mean he liked it.

Tony sat back in his chair, tapping one finger restlessly against the armrest. Every instinct told him to go after the kid, to make sure Spider-Man didn’t crawl into some alley and bleed out alone. But his rational mind — the one that had been lectured one too many times by Rhodey and Pepper lately — reminded him that he couldn’t be Iron Man and the neighborhood watch at the same time.

He needed to stay smart about this. Strategic.

"Alright," Tony said finally, voice rough. "Don’t push this to any public feeds. Scrub the footage from any NYPD servers if you have to. No one else needs to know."

"Understood, Boss," FRIDAY said. "I am already taking measures to quarantine the footage."

Tony nodded absently, his mind still stuck back on the image of Spider-Man collapsing behind a dumpster or dragging himself up a fire escape.

He blew out a breath, trying to focus.

Fine. If he couldn’t run after the kid himself, he could at least do something else.

"Start pulling anything you can find on those weapons," Tony ordered. "Where they’re coming from, who’s moving them, how widespread it is. Top priority."

"Already compiling a report," FRIDAY said smoothly.

"And FRIDAY, add this into the file on Spider-Man. Monitor him to make sure his injuries don't get worse."

Tony leaned forward, grabbing a nearby tablet and starting to flip through schematics, his brain switching gears into problem-solving mode.

He could deal with this.
He would deal with this.

And Spider-Man…

Tony’s hands tightened slightly on the tablet.
Spider-Man just couldn't seem to keep himself off the radar.

A couple days later, Tony found himself in the middle of a rare quiet moment with Pepper in one of the executive lounges at Stark Industries. She sat opposite him, a tablet in hand, heels kicked off under the table. Tony nursed a coffee he didn’t even remember making, tapping the side of the mug while she scrolled through updates.

"You know," Pepper said after a beat, looking up at him, "there’s still nothing in Peter’s file."

Tony lifted a brow, halfway paying attention. "Yeah? So?"

"So," Pepper said, giving him a look that was all patient exasperation, "it means I can’t track his progress."

Tony shrugged. "You know I don’t really do the whole paperwork thing."

Pepper set the tablet down with a soft clack. "It’s not about you. It’s about him. No paperwork means no official evaluations, no updates, nothing. He's basically a ghost in the system. He's been here 3 weeks now Tony."

Tony frowned, sitting up a little straighter. "I mean, he’s fine. I’ve been checking in."

"Have you?" she asked lightly.

He opened his mouth — then hesitated.

Pepper leaned back in her seat, arms folding loosely across her chest. "I spoke to the internship director. I asked him about Peter."

Tony blinked. "You what?"

"He said Peter was never assigned to him," Pepper continued, unbothered by his alarm. "Said he didn’t even know what to do with him because, as far as he was concerned, he wasn’t one of his interns."

Tony grimaced, guilt sliding into his chest like a slow, heavy weight. He thought when he'd added Peter into the Intern database that he'd automatically be assigned. Instead, the kid had been down there all this time, stuck between floors, no mentor to guide him, no real peers to connect with.

Left to fend for himself.

Tony ran a hand through his hair, annoyed — mostly at himself. "Alright, alright. What paperwork do I need to fill out?"

Pepper smiled — that particular smile she reserved for moments when Tony finally admitted he needed to do something the right way. "I’ll send the forms to your tablet."

Tony sighed dramatically but nodded. "Fine. Forms. Got it."

"But," she added, pointing a finger at him, "paperwork isn't the solution here. He needs mentoring, Tony. Not just a five-minute fly-by every couple of days. He needs someone who’s invested. Someone he can go to when he’s stuck, someone who gives feedback, not just...vague encouragement."

Tony leaned back in his chair, thinking it over. After a few moments, he said, "Fine. Settled. I’ll keep him in the lab upstairs. That way if he needs anything, he’s right there. Problem solved."

Pepper gave him a look. "Tony."

"What?" he asked, genuinely confused.

She shook her head slightly, amused but firm. "You’re supposed to think rationally about this."

"I am thinking rationally," Tony protested, baffled. "Isn’t that literally what you’re telling me to do? Help the kid?"

"I was suggesting you assign an additional person to Peter, someone appropriate to mentor him," Pepper said, voice light but pointed. "Not that you take it all on yourself."

Tony frowned. "Why not?"

Pepper smiled, tilting her head. "Because you’re the one who says he’s 'allergic' to teenagers, remember? And if you change your mind halfway through, it’s going to hurt him if he suddenly gets kicked back down to the intern floor. Especially after getting a taste of working directly with you."

Tony sat there, processing that.
He hated it — mostly because she was right.
But also because the idea of disappointing Peter Parker made his chest ache in a way he hadn’t expected.

"I won’t," Tony said finally. His voice was a little quieter, more sure. "He’s different, Pep. He’s...he’s something special. Every time I think he’s hit a limit, he blows right past it. And if I ever need a break from him, I’ll just tell him I’m not in the building and he can work downstairs that day."

Pepper raised an eyebrow. "Deceptive."

Tony grinned. "Efficient."

She laughed softly, standing and gathering her tablet. As she slipped her heels back on, she glanced back at him. "It’s a lot of responsibility, Tony."

He met her eyes without flinching. "Aren't you the one who's always telling me to be more responsible. Might as well start with someone who actually deserves it."

Pepper’s expression softened just slightly, the corner of her mouth twitching up. "Just don’t screw it up."

Tony saluted her lazily with two fingers. "I’m a genius, remember? Screwing up isn’t in my vocabulary."

Pepper just rolled her eyes as she headed toward the elevator. "Sure, Tony. Keep telling yourself that."

As she disappeared down the hallway, Tony leaned back again, staring at the ceiling.

-

Tuesday morning dragged Tony back into hell — another Avengers meeting he couldn't worm his way out of.

As he maneuvered the Audi toward the Compound, sunglasses in place, he kept one hand loosely on the steering wheel. The city scrolled past in a blur, but his mind was elsewhere. On the thing that without a doubt would be brought up in this meeting.

He tapped his fingers against the leather.

"FRIDAY," he called, "what's the latest on Spider-Man? Has our reckless little vigilante been out swinging around since Friday night?"

"Yes, Boss," FRIDAY replied smoothly. "There have been multiple sightings in Queens and Brooklyn. No major incidents reported. None requiring immediate intervention."

Tony grunted. "Any sign he's still banged up?"

There was a short pause. "No, Boss. Spider-Man is exhibiting full range of motion with no outward signs of distress."

That got Tony’s attention.

"Pull something up," he said.

A holographic feed popped into his windshield — a clear, timestamped shot from a traffic cam. Spider-Man launched himself high above the street, swinging effortlessly between two rooftops. No hesitation. No stiffness. No grimacing.

Tony frowned, leaning closer.

"Enhance around his shoulders and ribs," he said.

The video zoomed in, showing Spider-Man flexing and pulling himself into a crouch. Not a single flinch. Not even a wince when he used his torso to absorb the impact.

Huh.

Five days ago, the kid had been visibly hurting, barely able to stay upright by the end of that fight. Friday's earlier scan had even flagged internal bruising and a possible hairline rib fracture.

Now? Here he was, swinging about like it never happened.

Tony drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, thoughts clicking into place.

"So, either your scans were wrong," Tony said aloud, "and those injuries weren't as bad as we thought... or Spider-Kid’s healing factor is something we seriously underestimated."

"It is more likely the latter, Boss," FRIDAY confirmed. "Based on all previously recorded incidents, Spider-Man’s recovery times have consistently been above baseline for a human."

He thought back to the knife wound he'd seen on Spider-Man on one of their interactions. The blood. The way he still managed to swing away after taking that kind of hit. It had nagged at Tony ever since, but he hadn't had enough hard evidence to start drawing conclusions.

Tony whistled low under his breath. That kind of resilience could be dangerous — not just for him, but for whoever Spider-Man crossed paths with. 

"Update his profile," Tony said. "Add 'enhanced healing' to the Spider-Man file. Tentatively categorize it as comparable to—no, better than—Cap’s unless we find something to the contrary."

"Updating file now," FRIDAY said.

Tony nodded absently, still chewing it over.
If Spider-Man healed that quickly, it explained a lot — why the kid kept bouncing back, why he seemed to shrug off things that would put normal people in a hospital bed for weeks. It also meant Spider-Man could be pushing himself even harder than Tony realized, simply because his body allowed it. He’d known Spider-Man was talented — scrappy, quick, stubborn — but the more he learned, the more complicated the vigilante became.

Dangerous, Tony thought grimly. The kid probably doesn’t even know his limits yet.

"Keep tracking him, but don’t interfere unless it’s urgent," Tony added. "I don't need another PR nightmare on my plate."

"Understood."

The meeting was still waiting for him — and with it, a full hour of Rogers’ righteous lecturing and Wilson's smart remarks. But Tony had already decided: the second it was over, he'd head back to the Tower.

He had another kid to check on, after all — one who, thank God, wasn’t hurling himself off rooftops at night.

Or at least, he hoped not.

The Avengers Compound hadn’t changed much since Tony’s last forced march through it: cold glass, polished floors, and the slight smell of overworked air conditioning. He barely dropped into his seat before Steve started up, Mr. Punctual as always.

"We’ve got a situation," Steve said, standing at the head of the table with his arms crossed.

Tony slumped into his chair, draping one ankle over his knee. "Of course we do. Otherwise I'd be in bed right now."

"Chitauri tech," Steve said flatly.

That got a ripple around the table. Even Rhodey, lounging a few seats down, straightened.

"Wait," Sam said, frowning. "As in, alien death toys Chitauri?"

"Yup," Tony said, popping the ‘p.’ "The very same. Leftovers from our little welcome-to-Earth party."

There was a heavy pause.

"How the hell is that just now showing up?" Natasha asked, eyes narrowing.

Tony ran a hand over his jaw, tapping a finger against his temple like he was trying to will away a headache. "I assigned clean-up crews after the battle. Specialized retrieval teams. It wasn’t a free-for-all. We cataloged everything. Or at least, I thought we did."

"And now?" Bruce asked, voice tight.

Tony shrugged, but it didn’t carry his usual confidence. "Now FRIDAY’s combing through the old lists. Cross-referencing personnel, inventories, shipments — anything that stands out." He drummed his fingers against the table. "We’re gonna find out who dropped the ball."

The team exchanged looks. Old wounds, re-opening.

"And where exactly has this tech popped up?" Sam asked.

Tony hesitated a second too long.

Steve caught it instantly. "Tony."

"There was..." Tony waved a vague hand, "a minor incident. In Queens."

Natasha's head snapped around. Her gaze sharpened like a hawk spotting prey.

"Queens?" she repeated slowly.

Tony cursed himself internally. Should’ve known better than to name-drop that borough around Romanoff.

"Spider-Man's territory," she said, voice light but razor-edged.

The temperature around the table shifted. All eyes were on him now.

He wanted to curse at Fury for telling Steve about the tech. He had given Fury that information as another way to keep him off his back but now it seems to be coming back to cause more problems for him.

Tony shrugged, aiming for casual. "So Spider-Man may have been slightly aware of it, but he wasn’t involved enough to be in real danger."

The lie slipped out so easily it startled even him.
A little deflection, a little underplaying. Nothing unusual. Not like anyone else had seen the footage — just him and FRIDAY. If anyone was try try and catch Tony out, all they'd find are videos where Spider-Man is in tact, no major injuries to see.

However, Natasha didn't look convinced.

"You sure about that?" she asked.

Tony flashed his most obnoxious smile. "What, you think I’d let the neighborhood Spider-Menace get vaporized by some alien pop gun on my watch?"

Sam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Steve just set his jaw tighter.

Tony leaned forward, tapping the table once with his finger. "Point is, the situation’s contained. But it means somebody’s been sitting on this tech for years. Waiting. Upgrading it. That’s the bigger concern."

The table lapsed into a heavy, uneasy silence.

"Could it be linked to anyone we’ve crossed paths with before?" Bruce asked.

"FRIDAY’s looking into it," Tony said. "But right now, it’s low-level criminals with high-level toys. So far, nothing organized. No signs of HYDRA or anyone on that level. Yet."

"Yet," Natasha repeated quietly.

Tony met her gaze without blinking. He knew she smelled blood in the water, but he wasn’t about to hand over Spider-Man to the Avengers’ scrutiny — not when the vigilante had barely managed to walk away last time.

Steve finally spoke again, voice cool and measured. "Keep us updated. If it escalates—"

"You’ll be the first to know, Cap," Tony said, pushing to his feet. "Scout’s honor."

The meeting officially adjourned, but Tony was already halfway to the door, mind racing ahead.

Spider-Man had survived this round. But if the tech was still out there, still mutating in the wrong hands, he wouldn't stay lucky forever.

And Tony Stark had no intention of letting some underqualified youngster— no matter how many cool flips he could do — end up as another name carved into a memorial wall.

Not on his watch.

For now, he needed a distraction. Something to keep him from hovering over FRIDAY every five minutes while she did her job.

The kid’s new workspace still needed a few finishing touches, Tony reminded himself. He could spend a few hours fine-tuning the setup — tweaking the equipment, organizing the tools, making sure everything was perfect for when Peter moved in. It wasn't urgent work. Wasn't something he would normally put too much work into.

But right now, it was exactly what he needed: a quiet project he could throw himself into while the bigger problems spun out in the background. 

Tony slid into one of his cars, pulling the door shut with a sharp thunk. As he peeled out of the Compound garage, he set his course straight for the Tower, already planning out upgrades in his head. New tools, upgraded scanners, maybe even a few toys to make the kid's life easier.

Anything to keep his hands busy — and his mind off the things he couldn't quite control.

Chapter Text

The city was restless tonight. Peter could feel it buzzing through his veins, amplified by the crisp evening air that cut through Queens.

He swung low over the rooftops, letting the sounds of the neighborhood guide him — the steady hum of traffic, the occasional burst of laughter, the distant siren wails blending into the background like a song he knew by heart.

After the mess on that Friday night, Peter had promised himself he would be more careful. The alien tech that had cropped up on the streets had been no joke. His ribs still ached faintly when he twisted a certain way, a sharp reminder that he wasn't invincible no matter how fast he could heal.

He was just about to call it a night when the familiar prickle of danger danced up the back of his neck. His Spider-sense. Sharp, sudden, and pulling him east.

Peter altered his course without thinking, just following where the tug was taking him, zipping between two buildings and perching on the edge of a fire escape to get a better look.

Below him, a shady deal was going down — a van parked awkwardly on the curb, a group of guys huddled around the open back doors. At first glance, it could've been any old street-level exchange. But then he caught the glint of something unnatural in the van's interior.

Peter squinted. That was definitely the same kind of tech as what he came across before. A sleek, smoking piece of weaponry, far too advanced for anyone down here to be messing with.

He felt his stomach twist.

Not again.

He hesitated, remembering how badly things had gone last time. He could try and call it in. He could stay back, track them, and get evidence. Be smart. Be careful.

But then one of the guys hoisted up the weapon — something that looked half like a cannon, half like a living creature — and fired it across the empty street. The blast carved a jagged line through the brick wall opposite, sending rubble raining onto the sidewalk.

Pedestrians screamed and scattered.

Peter's choice was made for him.

He launched himself off the fire escape, webbing down in a clean arc. "Hey! You guys forget about the city-wide 'No Supervillain Arms Fair' memo?" he called, landing neatly between the gang and their van.

The group spun to face him.

"Get him!" one of them barked.

Peter ducked the first blast, feeling the heat of it skim past his shoulder. He webbed the cannon out of the guy's hands with a quick flick of his wrist, yanking it up onto a nearby lamppost where it dangled uselessly.

The others charged.

Peter moved fast, weaving between them, webbing one guy's feet to the pavement and flipping another over his shoulder. He took a punch to the side — a good one, hard enough to sting — but nothing he couldn't handle.

The fight was messy, but it was over within minutes.

Panting slightly, Peter yanked the last guy's arms behind his back and webbed him to the side of the van, right under the "No Parking" sign.

"Maybe next time, read the fine print," Peter muttered.

Sirens were already growing louder in the distance. Time to disappear.

Peter hovered over the scene a moment longer, glancing down at the webbed-up cannon still dangling awkwardly from the lamppost. He chewed the inside of his cheek, thinking quickly.

Leaving it here for the cops didn't sit right with him. Even webbed up, someone could grab it and do serious damage before backup arrived.

Decision made, Peter swooped back down, grabbed the weapon — heavy, even for him — and shot a quick web to the lamppost to steady himself. He landed with a grunt, adjusting his grip on the sleek, humming metal.

"You're coming with me, buddy," he muttered under his breath.

Moving fast, Peter swung away from the flashing sirens, careful to keep the weapon tucked against his side. He made a beeline for a spot he'd come across a few weeks ago: an old, abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Queens. He'd scoped it out on one of his late-night patrols — no squatters, no security, just a forgotten skeleton of a building that no one seemed to care about.

Perfect temporary storage.

Peter landed lightly on the cracked pavement outside the warehouse and glanced around. No one. Good.

He pushed open the rusted side door with a squeal of hinges and slipped inside. The place smelled of dust and old metal. Moonlight filtered through shattered windows, casting jagged patterns across the broken floor.

Peter moved quickly, crossing to one of the high vents he remembered spotting. He sprang upward, clinging to the wall like a shadow, the weapon still tight in his arms.

Once he reached the vent, he yanked it open with a creak. It was tight, but there was enough space to shove the alien tech inside.

Before sliding it all the way in, he took a moment to web it down securely — twice, just to be sure. He knew the webbing would dissolve eventually, but by then, he'd have figured out what to do with it.

"Stay put," he muttered, patting the vent lightly like it could hear him.

With a soft thud, he sealed the vent shut again, making sure it didn't look disturbed from below.

Peter dropped back down to the ground, flexing his fingers. His arm ached faintly from carrying the weapon all the way here, but it was worth it. It wasn't the perfect solution, but it was the best he could manage for now.

Feeling the adrenaline slowly ebb from his veins, Peter slipped out the warehouse door, shutting it behind him. He shot a line to the nearest rooftop, cutting through the cold air like a knife.

He was tired. Sore. Definitely looking forward to collapsing onto his bed for a few precious hours of sleep before he had to do it all over again tomorrow.

As he soared above the rooftops, he did a quick self-check. A few scrapes on his knuckles, a sore elbow, and he was pretty sure he'd bruised his thigh during one of the scuffles.

But no deep cuts. No broken ribs. No half-collapsing onto his bed like last time.

Definitely an improvement.

Still, he knew he was going to feel it tomorrow.

Peter sighed as he changed course toward home, already bracing himself for the tricky balance of acting normal around May without giving away how sore he really was.

The following afternoon, Peter and Ned holed up at their usual table tucked away in the back corner of the school library. Books and half-finished homework were scattered across the table to keep up appearances, but neither of them had any real intention of working.

"So," Ned whispered, dropping his bag onto the floor with a soft thud. "What's the deal? Any more alien bazooka sightings?"

Peter kept his voice low and leaned in, glancing around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear. "Yeah. Last night. I found another one."

Ned's eyes widened so much it was almost comical. "Another one?!" His voice came out too loud, earning a sharp shush from the librarian. He winced and dropped his voice. "Dude, what the heck?!"

Peter scrubbed a hand over his face, the memory of the fight still fresh — the way the weapon had lit up, the sheer destructive force it had unleashed. He couldn't just leave it behind for someone worse to find. "I... might've panicked a little," Peter admitted. "I took it with me."

Ned stared at him like he'd grown another head. "You what?!"

"I know, I know!" Peter hissed, holding his hands up in defense. "It was stupid, okay? I wasn't thinking. I just... it felt wrong to leave it there."

Ned leaned in closer, dropping his voice to an urgent whisper. "Okay, but seriously, Pete — you can't just keep a death ray or whatever it is hidden away! What if it explodes? What if it melts through the building?!"

Peter groaned, slumping forward and resting his forehead on his arms. "I wasn't thinking about it blowing up at the time, I just... I didn't want anyone else to get hurt."

The weight of the decision sat heavy on him. It was one thing to make a split-second call in the field, but now, in the cold clarity of day, he could see just how reckless it had been. If anything went wrong, it wouldn't just be on Spider-Man — it would be on Peter Parker.

Ned tapped his fingers nervously against the table. "Okay, okay... you're not planning to, like, open it or anything, right?"

Peter hesitated just long enough to make Ned's eyes go wide again. "I thought about it," Peter said carefully. "But I figured... it's probably better if I don't." He frowned. "I mean, it's not like I even understand what it is. It's alien tech. One wrong move and—boom."

Ned nodded frantically. "Yeah. Yeah, no boom, please." He rubbed his hands over his face. "You gotta get rid of it, dude. You can't just stash it in an old vent forever!"

Peter exhaled slowly, staring down at the table. "I know."

And he did know. But knowing didn't make the decision any easier. Bringing it to someone meant explaining how he got it. It meant opening doors he wasn't sure he could close again.

"Maybe..." Ned said slowly, carefully, "you could give it to Iron Man?"

Peter sat up, immediately shaking his head. "No way."

"Why not? He's like, the guy for this kind of thing!" Ned insisted.

Peter pressed his lips into a tight line, feeling that familiar ball of anxiety coil in his chest. "Because he already thinks Spider-Man's sketchy. If I show up with stolen alien tech? That's it. I'm toast."

Ned frowned, thinking hard. "Okay... but what if you don't go as Spider-Man? What if you go as you? Like, Peter Parker? You could say you saw a video online. Or that you heard rumors. Something casual."

Peter hesitated, chewing the inside of his cheek. The idea wasn't terrible... but it still felt dangerous.

"What if he figures it out?" Peter muttered, more to himself than Ned. "What if he realizes I'm Spider-Man? He could—he could take away my internship. Or... or lock me up. Or tell May. Or the police." His stomach twisted at the thought.

Ned rolled his eyes. "Dude, he's not gonna lock you up."

"You don't know that," Peter shot back, voice tight. "I'm not taking that risk."

He sat back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling like it could somehow give him the answers he needed. Everything felt tangled. Every option felt wrong.

But letting the weapon sit there, gathering dust and danger, wasn't an option either.

"I'll bring it up tomorrow," Peter finally said, voice grim. "As Peter. I'll just... casually mention it. Ask if the Avengers are doing anything about it."

Ned gave a low whistle. "You're insane, you know that, right?"

Peter cracked a tired smile. "Yeah. But at least I'm a responsible insane."

Ned grinned. "Don't worry, dude. I'll coach you. You just gotta be, like, super casual. Like, 'Hey Mr. Stark, crazy thing, saw a death laser online, you guys got that covered?'"

Peter chuckled weakly, the laughter fading quickly as nerves took back over.
Tomorrow was going to be terrifying.

But it had to be done.
If he wanted to keep Queens safe — if he wanted to keep himself safe — he had to be smart about this.

One conversation. That's all it would take.

Peter just had to survive it without giving away everything he was working so hard to protect.

Peter's nerves started brewing before he even left for his internship that day. Every scenario played out in his head like a hundred different movie scripts — most of them ended badly. A few ended with Tony Stark personally flying him back to Queens and handing him over to the NYPD. One ended with Tony just coldly saying, "You're fired," before vanishing into a cloud of rejection and disappointment.

By the time he got to the Tower, his stomach was tying itself in knots.

He swiped in, barely aware of his feet moving beneath him, and went through the motions of his routine. Elevator. Hallway. ID scan. His familiar workstation. His new one upstairs wasn't ready yet — Tony said he'd let Peter know when it was — but Peter was grateful for the delay. Fewer eyes on him meant fewer chances of cracking under pressure.

He set his bag down and tried to get into the zone, fiddling with some diagnostic coding on his last project, but his mind wasn't in it. He kept glancing at the time, mentally rehearsing what he'd say, then immediately discarding the idea.

How do you tell Tony Stark you found a weapon made of alien material without also telling him you were there as a masked vigilante?

You didn't. That was the problem.

He had to ease into it. Plant the idea without giving anything away. Be casual. Chill. Just a concerned citizen asking totally normal questions.

Totally normal questions about weapons of mass destruction.

Peter groaned quietly and rubbed his face with both hands. This was going to be a disaster.

"Kid."

Peter flinched at the sound of Tony's voice behind him.

He turned a little too fast. "Mr. Stark! Hey! Didn't see you there."

Tony raised a brow and gave him that half-smirk that was always impossible to read. "That's ironic, considering you've been checking the clock every thirty seconds for the last ten minutes."

"I—uh—I was just... really eager to get to work?"

Tony gave him a once-over but didn't press. Instead, he walked up beside him, looking over the progress on his screen.

"You're almost done with this one," Tony observed. "Nice. Once you finish, we'll move you upstairs. Your new desk's ready — I even left a fancy chair. You'll feel like a real engineer instead of a glorified IT guy."

Peter forced a smile. "Thanks. That's—yeah, that's really cool."

"Something on your mind, Parker?" Tony asked, still scrolling through Peter's data logs. "You're twitchier than usual. And that's saying something."

Peter's throat dried. This was it — the moment to bring it up. To test the waters.

"I, uh..." he started, already regretting it. "I saw something online the other day. A video, actually. From Queens."

Tony's head lifted slightly. "Oh?"

"Yeah. It was this... uh, kind of a street fight. Looked like someone had a weapon. Not, like, a gun or a knife — it looked, I dunno, weird. Glowy. Purple, kind of? Maybe blue?"

He was rambling. He needed to sound curious, not guilty. Peter cleared his throat.

"Anyway, it got me wondering," he continued, more cautiously this time. "Is that something the Avengers are... looking into? Or is it, like, already handled?"

Tony looked at him, expression unreadable.

Peter resisted the urge to squirm. His fingers drummed anxiously against the edge of his desk.

"Where'd you say this video was from?" Tony asked slowly.

"Queens," Peter replied, too quickly.

Tony frowned, thoughtful now. "Yeah, we've had reports of some... unusual weapons surfacing. Not just in Queens, but it's one of the hotspots. You're not wrong to be curious."

Peter relaxed a little, sensing he hadn't crossed a line — not yet, anyway.

"Where'd you see this video?" Tony asked.

Peter hesitated. "Uh... YouTube? One of those weird side channels that always get taken down after a few hours."

Tony narrowed his eyes, clearly skeptical, but he didn't push. "You got a link?"

"No, sorry. It was already gone when I checked again."

Another beat of silence. Peter held his breath.

"Huh," Tony muttered, finally turning away. "Well, good instincts, I guess. Something's definitely going on with that tech. We're still trying to track the source."

"Do you, like... know what it is?" Peter asked, testing the waters.

Tony glanced at him. "Old Chitauri junk, we think. Leftover from New York. Should've been cleaned up years ago, but someone must've held onto a few pieces and started reverse-engineering them."

Peter nodded slowly, his stomach churning. He couldn't imagine how dangerous that tech could be in the wrong hands — and now he was technically one of the people hiding it. Although, he could say that it was still better that he didn't leave it behind, especially now knowing it is related to the battle that brought the Avengers together in the first place.

Tony studied him for a moment, then gave a dismissive wave. "Thanks for the heads-up, though. Even if it's just from a video, it helps to know what's out there. Keep an eye out for anything else, okay? I want you to save it and bring it straight to me."

Peter nodded. "Yeah. Sure."

He wanted to say more. He wanted to tell him about the warehouse, about the weapon still tucked away in the vent, webbed down like that would keep it contained forever. But the words caught in his throat.

Because how would Peter Parker know about a hidden weapon in an abandoned warehouse?

He wouldn't. Not unless he was Spider-Man.

And no matter how much Peter wanted help — no matter how badly he wanted someone else to handle the tech, to take the danger off his shoulders — he couldn't risk that truth getting out.

Tony Stark couldn't know. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Tony checked his watch. "I've got a thing in twenty, but if you need anything before I bounce, now's the time."

Peter forced another smile. "I'm good. Thanks."

Tony gave him a mock-salute before turning to leave. "Don't blow anything up while I'm gone. Seriously."

"No promises," Peter muttered under his breath.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Peter slumped in his chair, heart racing.

He'd gotten through it — barely. The truth had danced on the tip of his tongue the entire time, but he hadn't let it slip. He'd walked a tightrope between confession and collapse, and somehow, he hadn't fallen.

But it didn't feel like a victory. Not really.

The weapon was still out there — his responsibility now. And the clock was ticking. If the people who'd used it once came looking for it again, Peter knew they wouldn't stop until they got it back.

And next time, they might not leave him in one piece.

Chapter Text

Peter sat cross-legged on Ned's bed, a circuit board balanced on one thigh and a soldering pen clutched in one gloved hand. The faint smell of melted plastic lingered in the air, and the warm hum of Ned's overworked laptop filled the room. Beside them, half a dozen small mechanical components were scattered across the mattress like spare LEGO pieces from a complicated kit. Ned was leaning over, peering at Peter's sketchbook full of messy notes and half-formed blueprints.

"You know," Ned said, tapping one of the pages, "this thing with the adjustable web-shot pressure control is genius. Like, not just smart — like, smart-smart."

Peter blinked and gave a sheepish shrug. "Yeah, well... it was just an idea. I saw a few pressure calibrators while working on some of the containment modules last week. Thought I could use a similar mechanism for more precision."

Ned looked up at him, his eyes wide. "Dude, this is seriously cool. You've got, like, ten different new gadget ideas in here."

Peter's cheeks burned a little at the compliment, but he kept his focus on reattaching a wire. "Not all of it's doable, though," he admitted. "Some of it would need stuff I can't get outside of the Tower. Like vibranium-thread capacitors, microfield stabilizers... y'know, tech that's only legal in the Avengers' toy box."

"Okay, so... why don't you just ask Mr. Stark?" Ned said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Tell him you want to take something home for a personal project. Isn't that what an internship is about? Learning stuff?"

Peter laughed dryly, setting the soldering pen aside and sitting back. "Yeah, sure. 'Hey Mr. Stark, can I borrow some bleeding-edge military-grade components for my totally unsuspicious side hustle?' I'm sure that'll go down great."

Ned smirked. "Okay, okay. But seriously, he likes you. He keeps you separate from the other interns, gives you one-on-one projects. You're, like, Stark's guy."

Peter shook his head, the weight of the previous day's conversation creeping back over his shoulders. "That's the problem. I think he knows something's up."

Ned raised an eyebrow. "You didn't say anything to him... did you?"

"Not really," Peter said, pulling at a loose thread on his sleeve. "I told him I saw a video online about the weapon. Gave him just enough that he'd think I was just curious — like a civilian who happened to scroll too far on YouTube."

"But?"

"But," Peter continued, "he started asking where I saw it, if I had a link, stuff like that. It wasn't suspicious-sounding until I realized no one else would've known what that thing was. I think I played it off well, but he's too smart. If I push even an inch further, he's going to put it all together."

Ned leaned back on his elbows. "Okay, so plan B?"

Peter hesitated, then finally admitted, "I checked on the weapon. It's still there. No one's touched it."

"Dude, you're insane."

"I know," Peter said quickly. "But I didn't know what else to do. If I bring it to the Tower, they're going to ask how I got it. If I show up as Spider-Man and just... drop it off, Mr. Stark might connect the dots."

"So what are you going to do?"

Peter sighed, staring up at the ceiling. "I was thinking... maybe I could lead him to it."

Ned blinked. "What, like—walk into Stark Tower and say, 'Hey, I think Spider-Man went that way?'"

"More like, if I go out as Spider-Man again, maybe I can bait him. Do something near the area, draw attention to that spot. Make enough noise that Iron Man comes flying in. And then... maybe he finds it."

Ned squinted. "That's a lot of maybes, man."

"I know," Peter muttered. "But it's better than nothing."

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken risk. Ned reached for a granola bar on his nightstand, unwrapped it, and took a thoughtful bite.

"So... let's say this actually works. Iron Man shows up, finds the weapon, everyone's happy. Then what? You just pretend you had nothing to do with it?"

Peter nodded slowly. "That's the hope."

"And if it doesn't work? If he doesn't take the bait, or worse, figures it out?"

Peter paused. "Then I'm screwed."

He sat up again, rubbing the back of his neck. The memory of the way Tony had looked at him — not accusing, but definitely wary — made his stomach twist. There was no denying that Tony Stark was getting closer to the truth. Peter had dodged the reveal once, but how long could he keep it up?

He didn't want to lie to the man. Not really. Especially not someone who clearly believed in him, who had vouched for him and offered him more than anyone else ever had. But how do you tell Iron Man that you're the vigilante who's been sneaking around Queens — the one he's been trying to track and protect from afar?

Ned reached for the sketchbook again, flipping through more of Peter's notes. "You know, even if you don't get caught, you really should get some backup on this. That weapon is dangerous. What if it activates? Or someone finds it before he does?"

"I've been thinking about that too," Peter admitted. "I webbed it down in the vent, but the web's probably already dissolved by now. I don't think anyone's been in the warehouse, but still..."

"Then we need a better plan," Ned said firmly. "Something that gets it into the right hands without risking your whole secret identity."

Peter sighed. "I'll keep thinking."

"You always do."

Peter gave him a faint smile, grateful for Ned's steady support. He packed away the loose circuitry and closed the sketchbook, shoving it back into his backpack. The weight of it felt symbolic somehow — like a reminder of everything he was carrying now. Secrets. Lies. Alien tech. Not to mention his algebra homework.

As the sun dipped lower through the blinds, Peter stood and slung the bag over his shoulder. "Thanks, man. I'll let you know what happens."

"Just... don't get vaporized," Ned said, dead serious. "Or explode. Or arrested."

Peter saluted with a mock grin. "No promises."

He stepped out of Ned's room and into the cooling evening air, the flicker of streetlights just beginning to glow through the windows. Somewhere out there, the weapon sat in the dark — waiting.

And so was he.

The wind bit through the thin weave of his suit as Peter leapt across the skyline, the sound of his web shooters clicking with rhythmic precision. Queens buzzed below, like a restless hive — people moving, lights flickering, sirens in the distance. He could feel it in the air tonight. Something was off.

He wasn't sure if it was his spider-sense or just his nerves, but either way, it was pushing him harder. Faster.

He hadn't gone out last night. Between school, the internship, and the growing weight of the alien weapon he had hidden away, Peter had needed a night to recharge. But now that he was back out, everything felt sharper. More alive. He wasn't just patrolling aimlessly tonight. He had a goal.

If he was going to get Tony Stark's attention, or more particularly — Iron Man's attention — it wasn't going to be from a purse snatcher or an attempted car theft. He needed something bigger. Something visible. Something that would make FRIDAY raise the red flag and force Tony to come investigate.

Peter wanted to laugh to himself at the turn of events. Just a month ago,  he was doing everything he could possibly do to avoid the man, especially when he was as his alter ego. Now, he was spending his internship sessions alongside the man and is now trying to gain his attention while in the suit. A month ago he never would've believed this.

And as if the universe had been eavesdropping on his thoughts, he heard it: a series of rapid pops that didn't sound like firecrackers, followed by the unmistakable rumble of a car engine revving hard. Then screaming.

Peter landed on the side of a brick apartment building, clinging to the wall as he scanned the street below.

There it was — a black SUV tearing down a residential road, tires screeching, two motorcycles flanking it like vultures. One of the bikers leaned out, wielding something Peter recognized instantly. It wasn't a gun. It wasn't even a standard Earth-made weapon. It glowed blue along its sides, crackling with energy in a way that sent a chill down Peter's spine.

"Chitauri tech," he muttered, launching off the building and firing a web. "Bingo."

He wasn't sure if it was the same group as before — the ones he'd tangled with and barely walked away from — but it didn't matter. This was it. His big, flashy opportunity.

Peter hit the nearest rooftop at full speed and started tailing the chase. The SUV was weaving in and out of traffic, barrelling toward a crowded intersection near Roosevelt Avenue. Civilians screamed and scrambled, cars honked frantically as they tried to get out of the way.

The biker with the alien weapon leaned out and fired.

A streak of pulsing blue energy shot forward, crashing into a parked car and sending it flipping sideways into the street like a toy. Peter's stomach dropped.

Okay. Yep. This is bad.

He shot two webs and slingshotted himself forward, shooting high over the chaos below before landing directly on the roof of the SUV. His arrival caused the whole car to swerve slightly. Through the windshield, he could see the driver's eyes go wide.

"Hey guys," Peter called, tapping on the roof. It never took him long to slip back into his spider-persona. "I think you missed your turn at 'Don't commit felonies' Boulevard."

The bikers flanked in closer, trying to box him in. Peter ducked low just as one fired the weapon again, the blast narrowly missing the roof where his head had been seconds before.

"Okay! So we're just shooting wildly now!" he shouted, launching a web toward the attacker's weapon and yanking hard. The bike skidded out and slammed into a lamppost, the weapon skittering across the road. One down.

The SUV jolted violently as someone inside tried to shake him. Peter webbed the windshield in blind spots to throw the driver off, then launched himself off the roof and landed on the hood. "You guys ever consider public transit?"

The driver swerved again — this time right into oncoming traffic. Peter shot a webline to a nearby pole and used it to swing around just in time to see the SUV crash through a row of newspaper stands and stop cold after crashing into a concrete barrier. The second biker bailed as sirens wailed in the distance. Good — that meant someone had already called it in.

But what Peter really hoped was that someone — or more specifically, someone in a red and gold suit — was already on his way.

Peter chased after the fleeing biker, webbing a trash bin and flinging it forward with a satisfying thud as it knocked the guy clean off his motorcycle. The alien weapon he had been holding slid across the pavement, coming to a sparking, dangerous stop near a bus stop shelter. Civilians scattered, yelling. Peter zipped forward, scooping the weapon up in both hands and webbing it down before anyone could get close.

His heart pounded. That had definitely been seen. There were street cams everywhere around here — no way FRIDAY hadn't caught that. No way Stark wouldn't see that.

Peter's breath came in ragged gasps as he checked on the few people who'd gotten caught in the mess. Everyone seemed shaken but safe. A couple of bystanders were already filming. Of course they were. He could only hope they got his better side.

He perched on the edge of a nearby fire escape, trying to keep an eye on the weapon until the authorities arrived. He didn't want anyone walking off with it. It wasn't as strong as the one he had stashed — smaller, less advanced-looking — but it was still powered by tech from another planet.

He sat there for another few minutes, but Iron Man didn't show.

Peter's nerves began to prickle. Come on. That was flashy enough. That had to do it.

But still, nothing. No red and gold streak through the sky. No thudding metal boots. Just NYPD sirens, flashing lights, and the inevitable crowd of curious onlookers.

He knew he couldn't be responsible for another alien weapon. Eventually, he webbed the weapon up, attaching a bright note to it: "NOT SAFE. SERIOUSLY. DO NOT TOUCH. YOU'RE WELCOME. — S-M"

He vanished before anyone could ask questions or try to corner him for a selfie.

As he swung his way back toward his apartment building, the wind cool against his overheated skin, Peter felt a twinge of doubt. He'd done everything right. That had to have been enough.

Right?

Unless...

Unless Stark already knew what he needed to know.

Unless he'd seen Peter's face in a reflection. Or noticed a voice pattern. Or—

Peter shut down the spiral. No. He didn't.

He would've said something by now. Or he would've pulled the internship. Or shown up at his window with handcuffs and a lecture.

But that hadn't happened. At least not Yet.

Peter landed quietly in an alley near his building, stripped off his mask, and tucked it into his backpack. The sky above was dark now, dotted with stars barely visible over the city's light glow. He didn't feel like a hero. Not really. Just tired.

If Tony Stark had seen what happened tonight, he was going to have more questions.

And Peter? He didn't know if he had the answers anymore.

Peter barely slept that night.

He kept replaying the chase over and over again in his mind—the weapon, the explosion, the cars swerving, the civilians running—and Tony not showing up. It gnawed at him like an itch he couldn't scratch.

The plan had been simple. Reckless? Sure. Dangerous? Definitely. But it was supposed to be effective. Cause enough of a scene as Spider-Man, one that would get flagged up by FRIDAY, and Tony Stark would have to pay attention.

Except he didn't.

Peter stared at his bedroom ceiling, arms crossed tightly over his chest, blanket twisted somewhere around his legs like a loose trap. His room was dark except for the faint blue glow of his phone, which he kept checking despite knowing full well that Tony Stark wasn't going to text him. Why would he? For one, Peter had never had contact with the man outside of the internship, and secondly, It's not like he'd know that Peter had anything to do with what happened tonight.

Unless he did.

That thought settled over Peter like a lead blanket.

What if Tony hadn't come because he didn't need to investigate? What if he already knew what he was dealing with? What if the reason he stayed away wasn't apathy—but strategy?

Peter rolled onto his side, heart thudding in his ears. He thought back to their awkward conversation from earlier that week, when he tried and failed to bring up the alien tech as "just some kid who saw something on YouTube." Tony had stared at him like he was trying to crack a puzzle. He'd seemed relaxed, but there was something behind his eyes.

What if he'd put it together?

What if Tony had been waiting to gather evidence before making a move?

Peter sat up in bed and raked a hand through his hair. He wouldn't just drop it. Not if he thought Spider-Man was a threat.

Not if he knew that his own intern was lying to his face.

The worst part was Peter had lied. Not just by omission—but outright, directly. About the weapon. About how he knew about it. About how involved he actually was in all of this.

You should've just told him.

But Peter couldn't. Not without blowing everything. If Tony connected the dots, then Peter was finished. The internship? Gone. Any trust he'd built with Mr. Stark? Destroyed. And worse—what if Tony went public? What if he decided that Peter Parker, sixteen-year-old high school student from Queens, wasn't responsible enough to be Spider-Man?

He could take it all away.

Or worse—lock him up somewhere "for his own good." Tony had the resources. The reach. Maybe not a cell in a tower, but some kind of forced retirement. Peter couldn't risk that.

But then again... why hadn't he shown up?

Peter tried to convince himself that maybe Tony was just... busy. Maybe he didn't see the footage. Maybe he was off-planet. Or dealing with something worse. But the excuses rang hollow in his own ears.

He pulled his phone off the nightstand and opened a private browser window.

"Spider-Man Roosevelt Avenue incident," he muttered, typing fast. The headlines popped up immediately:

'Spider-Man Takes Down Alien-Tech Armed Robbers in Queens'

'Is Spider-Man the City's Most Important First Responder?'

'Chitauri Tech Back on NYC Streets – Should We Be Worried?'

Peter clicked through a couple, watching shaky footage captured from a phone. He winced as he saw himself diving in front of the SUV. Another clip showed the weapon discharging, the car flipping.

One frame showed him webbing the weapon to the bus stop with his note stuck to it. Peter grimaced.

Not subtle.

It wasn't just a "notice me" stunt anymore. It was a full-blown headline. The kind of attention that definitely would've hit Stark's radar. No way he hadn't seen this.

So why had he stayed away?

Peter swallowed hard.

Maybe he was planning something bigger. Maybe he needed to stay quiet because he was working behind the scenes—contacting authorities, checking security footage, pulling strings at the tower to confirm his suspicions.

Or maybe he was waiting for Peter to show up again... so he could confront him.

A knock at the bedroom door jolted him out of his thoughts.

"Peter?" May's voice, quiet. "Everything okay?"

Peter cleared his throat. "Yeah, all good. Just... finishing homework."

"You've been up since like six."

"I've got a lot of homework."

A pause. "You sure you're not sick?"

"No, I'm—" he forced some levity into his voice "—just being a good student for once. You should be proud."

May chuckled. "I always am."

Peter waited until her footsteps faded before collapsing back into bed, exhaling shakily. His limbs felt heavy. His head buzzed.

He couldn't keep this up.

Sneaking around. Hiding the truth. Dodging questions. It was a balancing act he was losing his grip on.

He pulled his knees to his chest and rested his forehead on them.

If Tony was really preparing to make a move against him, Peter needed to stay ahead of it. He needed to think clearly. Strategize. But his mind wouldn't stop racing.

He had school tomorrow.

And an internship shift afterward.

He'd have to look Tony Stark in the eye again, pretend like nothing was wrong, while constantly wondering if this was the moment everything crashed down.

What if he tells me to pack up? What if he says it's over?

What if he takes one look at me and just knows?

Peter swallowed the lump in his throat and laid back down, eyes wide open in the dark.

You've made it this far. Just keep your head down. Pretend nothing's wrong. Act like the internship kid and not the vigilante.

He closed his eyes and lied to himself:

Everything's fine.

Chapter Text

The lab was quieter without the kid.

It seemed to feel like that a lot recently.

Tony stood alone now, arms crossed, staring down at the workstation Peter had just vacated a little while ago. The project Peter had been working on was still splayed across the desk, like he'd left in a rush—or more likely, with that teenager confidence that no one would dare touch his mess.

Tony gave it a beat, then stepped closer. He didn't usually dig into the kid's work uninvited—well, not more than a glance or two, he never needed to as the kid always told him what he needed to know about it—but tonight, something tugged at him. A little curiosity, a little gut instinct.

He pulled a stool over and sat down, fingers brushing over the pages.

Notes. Equations. Schematics. Peter's handwriting was a bit messy, sharp and fast, like he thought too quickly to bother keeping it clean. There were lines and lines of calculations, margin comments, occasional underlines where he must've circled back to improve something.

And then Tony saw them. He moved the top page out the way further to get a better look.

Little doodles were scattered across the pages. Webs, mostly. A few rough stick figures in exaggerated mid-air poses. One of them was hanging upside down by a thread. Another one had a cartoon speech bubble that just said, "thwip."

Tony raised an eyebrow, flipping to the next page.

It was mainly just more calculations, but there, half-hidden in the corner like an afterthought, was a sketch of a spider emblem—rough but unmistakable. Not just a spider. That spider. The one printed smack in the centre of Spider-Man's chest.

Tony exhaled slowly through his nose, a half-smile curling at the edge of his lips.

"Big fan, huh?" he murmured.

It didn't surprise him too much. Peter had brought up Spider-Man the other day. Talked about "seeing videos" and asking if the Avengers were looking into things. At the time, it'd felt like nervous energy—an intern trying to show interest, maybe hoping to seem relevant.

Now it looked a little different.

He considered the sketch again. It was accurate in a way that casual viewers rarely got right. The lines were balanced, proportions tight.

Tony let the page fall flat and tapped it thoughtfully with one finger.

"FRIDAY," he called, eyes still locked on the sketch.

"Yes, boss?" The voice returned.

"Make a note. Next time the kid's in, I want to bring up the Spiderling again. See what else he knows. Maybe he caught something in one of those videos he's obsessed with."

"Noted."

Tony stood and stretched, taking another moment to glance over the desk. Peter had definitely made progress on the project he'd get him—he'd cleaned up some of the inconsistencies from the earlier versions, tightened his energy efficiency equations, even added a failsafe protocol that Tony himself hadn't considered. 

The kid was sharp. Sharp enough to make Tony pause every so often and wonder how he got this lucky with one intern.

Tony shook his head and muttered under his breath, "Fury would lose his mind if he knew I was mentoring a kid who might be idolizing a vigilante."

Still, he didn't close the folder.

Didn't file the project away just yet.

Instead, he cleared the area around the desk, grabbing a spare tray to organize the papers more neatly. As he worked, his eyes kept drifting back to the little spider sketch. He couldn't help but wonder to himself if Peter was a fan of any other heroes, possibly Iron Man.

His mind wondered back to what he'd already told Pepper: Peter didn't socialize much with the other interns, didn't brag about being at Stark Industries, didn't even ask for selfies or autographs. He kept his head down, worked hard, and clearly... kept a lot to himself.

Tony respected that. But he also knew that sometimes people can be quiet when they've got secrets. And he knew what secrets could do when you let them sit too long.

He glanced at the folded schematic in his hand again. This one had more than doodles. It had notes in the margin that referenced stress tolerances for materials with flexibility and recoil—almost like someone trying to reverse-engineer a particular web shooter design.

Tony frowned slightly.

"FRIDAY, flag this page," he said. "Keep it in a private subfolder. Just want to cross-reference it later."

"Done."

Tony rubbed the back of his neck, sighing.

He wasn't jumping to conclusions. He wasn't accusing the kid of anything.

For now, he set the folder down carefully, stood up, and headed over to the other side of the lab where he'd been setting up Peter's new workstation. Something to keep his hands busy while FRIDAY continued sorting through Chitauri tech sightings and Spider-Man video clips.

He had enough on his plate as it was—alien weapons on the streets, Avengers breathing down his neck, a vigilante constantly outsmarting him and now the intern who seemed to have a bit too much interest said vigilante.

Tony wasn't supposed to be at the Compound.

Well, technically he was—but only in the way you're "supposed to" visit your relatives once in a while because they'll nag you until you do.

The team had been on his back for weeks now. "You're ignoring us," Sam had said. "We haven't had a debrief in a month," Rhodey had pointed out, taking their side. "You can't keep ghosting your own team," Steve had grumbled, as if the irony of that coming from him didn't smack Tony right in the face.

So, here he was. Back at the Compound. Physically present, emotionally detached, hiding in one of the private quarters he'd customized long ago with a minibar, blackout windows, and a door code that only he was supposed to know.

Apparently, supposed to meant very little to Natasha Romanoff.

Tony didn't even look up when the door hissed open.

"I need to start changing those access codes more often."

"You did say that two months ago," Natasha replied, strolling in like she'd been invited.

Tony sighed and leaned back against the armrest of the couch. He had a drink in one hand, tablet in the other. He didn't offer her a seat, which of course didn't matter—she took one anyway.

"Didn't realize the whole team was holding an intervention," he muttered.

"We're not," Natasha said. "This is just me."

That earned her a brief glance.

She was wearing that calm, measured look she always did when she was circling a topic before pouncing. Tony recognized the signs. He'd seen them in briefing rooms, late-night strategy sessions, and, more recently, in every hallway since the fallout from the Civil War had left them all fractured and wary.

"Let me guess," Tony said. "You're worried."

"I am," she replied easily.

He tried to laugh it off. "Look, I'm not brooding. No rooftop monologues, no staring out windows dramatically while it rains. I've just been—"

"Distant."

Tony set the tablet down.

"Busy."

Natasha tilted her head, voice soft. "Tony... you've been hiding away in the tower like a ghost. You come to meetings late, leave early, and pretend to be asleep when people knock. You've got half the team wondering if you're avoiding them because you're angry or because you've given up."

He flinched at that—just a tiny shift—but Natasha caught it.

"I haven't given up," he said, quieter this time. "I've just had... other things on my plate."

"Like?"

Tony hesitated.

He could feel the line forming in his throat—the one he always had ready. Something sarcastic. Deflective. But the truth was already bubbling close enough that it slipped out before he could contain it.

"I've been focusing more on the company."

Natasha blinked. That wasn't what she'd expected.

"Stark Industries?"

He nodded. "Yeah. Thought I'd try putting some of my genius back into actual innovation, not just world-saving. You know, change it up."

Natasha narrowed her eyes slightly. "This have anything to do with Spider-Man?"

Tony froze—not visibly, but he could feel it. His heartbeat jumped, just once.

"What makes you say that?"

"Because," she said slowly, "you've been obsessed with finding him ever since you were handed that assignment. But you stopped looking... right around the time you started pulling away from us. And now you're 'taking an interest in the company' again? That doesn't sound like you."

Tony looked away. "People change."

"Sure. But not overnight."

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "It's not about Spider-Man. Not really. I just... I'm giving the intern program a shot. Trying something different. Got this kid—brilliant mind, annoying habit of getting tense when I walk in a room—but he reminds me of... something."

He stopped himself before finishing that thought.

Natasha leaned forward slightly. "Something?"

Tony shrugged, forcing a smirk. "Someone. A version of myself before everything went to hell."

Natasha studied him for a moment. "You're not mentoring this kid to fill a void, are you?"

Tony stood up, suddenly restless. "I'm giving him a shot. That's all."

"And you're sure it's not about Spider-Man?"

"I'm not hunting him," Tony said firmly. "I told FRIDAY to stand down unless it's life-threatening. And this kid, my intern—he's completely separate to all of this. He's just... around. Which is more than I can say for half the other interns who come in hoping for free coffee and a selfie with the Iron Man suit."

Natasha didn't press. She sat back, folding her arms.

Tony turned to the window—not open, not even clear, but it helped him to feel like he was facing out.

"I'm not falling apart, Nat," he said after a long silence. "I'm not wallowing or spiralling or whatever label they've slapped on me this time. I just wanted something I could work on quietly. Without suits, without protocols, without Steve throwing me a pity look."

Her voice was softer now. "We're not throwing pity, Tony. We're just worried. You don't let people in easily. And this whole thing with Spider-Man—"

"—isn't a thing."

"—feels like a thing."

Tony turned back to her.

He could've told her everything. That he was this close to figuring out something about the masked hero. That the Spider-Man videos weren't adding up. That there were inconsistencies in his healing, in his movement, even in the tech he used. He could've admitted that he suspected the vigilante might be hiding something more than just his identity. Something big.

But instead, he offered her a tired smile.

"I'm fine," he said again. "And the team doesn't need to worry. I'm not alone. I've got... projects."

Natasha gave him a knowing look. "You mean the intern."

Tony didn't confirm or deny.

She stood, brushing off imaginary dust from her sleeve. "Just don't screw it up. If you're finally letting someone in, Tony... try not to burn the bridge halfway through."

He looked away again. "No promises."

And with that, she left, the door closing behind her with a whisper.

Tony stood in silence for a moment, then looked back at the tablet on the couch—

He crossed the room and picked up the device, thumb brushing over the image, then tapped the screen and switched back to the feed FRIDAY had been compiling from the city.

Spider-Man hadn't been spotted again tonight so far.

But Tony had a feeling that wouldn't last long.

Not with how fast things were starting to converge.

Tony didn't say anything after Natasha left. The door hissed shut behind her like a soft exhale, and for a moment, he just stood in place—still, blank, arms at his sides.

The stillness didn't suit him. It never had.

He turned on his heel and headed straight for the lab at the Compound. Not the ones the team used for mission debriefs or diagnostics. His lab. The quiet one in the far wing. The one nobody else really went into anymore, not since he started spending more time at the Tower. It was colder, emptier—filled with half-assembled tech and abandoned prototypes, a museum of his distractions.

Exactly what he needed.

"FRIDAY," he said, voice tight. "Mute all incoming communications unless it's tagged as life-or-death. No team updates. No security pings. Nothing."

"Yes, boss," the AI replied smoothly. "Going dark."

The lights in the lab dimmed slightly, accommodating his mood. The hum of old power cores and idling machinery filled the silence. It was comforting in its own way. No opinions. No judgment. Just static and steel.

Tony grabbed the first project in reach—a drone shell he'd redesigned a dozen times before abandoning it halfway through assembly—and started working. Not because he wanted to. Not because he cared. But because his hands needed to move. Because his thoughts were clawing at the walls of his mind and needed something to bleed out through.

The process was methodical. Mechanical. Screw here. Solder that. Adjust the wiring. Scrap the part and start over when it didn't fit. Hours bled together. The ache in his shoulders and wrists built slowly, a dull throb that kept him grounded.

He didn't think about Natasha's words. Not directly. But they lingered. Like smoke in a room after the fire's out.

She was right. He was hiding. He'd been avoiding the team, avoiding everything. But the alternative—the mess of pretending everything was fine, smiling in rooms full of people who barely trusted him anymore—was worse. So he stayed in his corner. Quiet. Controlled.

The kid was the only part of his day that didn't feel entirely hollow.

He didn't know why Peter had gotten under his skin so quickly. Maybe it was the way he worked. The way his brain moved too fast for his hands. Or the way he tried not to stand out but still managed to impress every time. Maybe it was those stupid spider doodles in the margins of his notes. The admiration hidden in them.

Maybe she was right about him too. He had found it quite frustrating that he had been monitoring the vigilante and wasn't able to find out much about him. Then he found Peter at the fair. He turned up at the perfect time to give Tony something else to focus on.

She was right. Peter was the distraction. Yet somehow he became something more,  someone who he wanted to spend time helping.

Or maybe it was that Tony had seen the same look in his eyes that he'd once seen in the mirror—too young to carry the weight he did, but already trying to carry it anyway.

After several hours, the tension began to ebb. His shoulders lowered. His mind quieted. He looked at the now-assembled drone, blinking at it like it had appeared on its own.

Good. He felt... better. Not good, but better.

He powered down the tools and made his way out of the lab, stretching his neck side to side, every muscle aching with exhaustion. Once back in his private quarters, he sat on the edge of the bed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"FRIDAY," he said wearily. "Give me an update on what I missed."

A pause. Then:

"There was one notable event while you were offline, sir. A Spider-Man protocol was triggered approximately fifty-seven minutes ago."

Tony's head jerked up. "What kind of protocol?"

"Combat escalation. The vigilante engaged in a fight involving advanced weaponry. Alien in origin."

Tony's stomach sank. "Show me."

The screen across the room blinked to life. Footage began to play, a security feed stitched together from various traffic cams and surveillance devices. The resolution wasn't perfect, but Tony didn't need clarity to see what mattered.

There he was. The kid in red and blue. Spider-Man.

He was mid-fight with a group of criminals wielding Chitauri tech—again. The bursts of violet energy, the unstable charge signatures, all too familiar. Tony watched as Spider-Man darted in and out of danger, using cars and lampposts to launch himself through the air, webbing up weapons mid-attack, his movements smoother than they had been in earlier clips.

Better timing. Tighter technique. Like he was learning.

The kid still took a few hits. One blast grazed his leg, and another caught him in the ribs, sending him tumbling into a parked car. But he bounced back up, limping slightly.

And then something shifted.

As the last of the criminals fled, Spider-Man approached one of the weapons—partially webbed, sparking erratically.

And he paused.

He looked around, almost like he was waiting for something. Or someone.

Tony narrowed his eyes, leaning forward.

The kid stood still for a solid ten seconds. Long enough that it didn't look like just caution. He didn't move like someone expecting danger. He moved like someone expecting company.

Was he...?

No.

"FRIDAY," Tony said, eyes still on the screen. "How old is this footage?"

"Fifty-nine minutes and twenty-two seconds."

Too late.

Tony ran a hand through his hair, frustration simmering in his chest. "Damn it."

Why didn't he override the mute?

Because he was being selfish. Because he wanted the world to leave him alone for five minutes. Because he didn't want to deal with Spider-Man. Because he was scared of what he might find.

He watched the rest of the video in silence.

The kid eventually webbed up the weapon, almost like he was reluctant to do it. Like he wanted it to stay where it was. Like he was hoping someone else would come pick it up.

Tony rubbed at his temple.

This wasn't just another reckless masked vigilante. This kid was practically flagging him down.

And still—he was too late.

Again.

He stood up, pacing, mind already spinning faster.

"FRIDAY, update protocols. If Spider-Man engages with alien tech again—anything remotely dangerous—it overrides all mute settings, no matter what mode I'm in. Got it?"

"Understood, boss. Should I retroactively scan all recent Spider-Man footage for hesitation patterns matching this one?"

"Yes. And check for any new patterns, too. Anything that looks like he's trying to send a message. I want to know what I'm not seeing."

"Running analysis."

Tony stopped pacing and stared at the screen one last time, now frozen on Spider-Man mid-swing as he vanished into the night sky.

What the hell are you doing, kid?

And more importantly...

Why do I get the feeling you're not just trying to be seen—you're trying to be found?

Chapter Text

Peter walked through the Stark Tower doors on autopilot, the familiar security scans sweeping over him with a mechanical hum. He felt hollow.

He felt like the suit was still under his clothes. He felt stiff from where the last fight had left it scuffed and stretched. He had to keep messing with his collar to remind himself that the suit was definitely not there. His ribs were sore, and he'd been wincing every time he raised his arm too fast. But none of that hurt half as much as the twisting knot in his chest.

He didn't know what he'd expected. For Tony to swoop in like some red-and-gold guardian angel right at the last second? Maybe. Maybe part of him still believed that Iron Man would show up when it really mattered.

But he hadn't. Not this time.

And Peter had almost waited for him. He'd hesitated. Just long enough to remind himself how stupid that was. How alone he really was out there.

Now here he was, back at his internship. Back with the man he couldn't even look in the eye.

Peter stepped into the lab and greeted Tony with a mumbled, "Hey Mr. Stark," barely above a whisper.

Tony looked up from his desk, eyeing him like he'd already caught onto something. "Hey, kid."

Peter gave a weak smile and nodded. He went to his usual workspace, setting his bag down with a little more force than he needed to. Tony's gaze followed him.

They worked in silence for a while. Peter tried to focus on the equations and circuit sketches he'd left unfinished the week before, but everything just...blurred. The same thoughts kept looping in his head: Why didn't he come? Was he ignoring me? Or just too busy? Was it stupid to think he'd care?

"You okay, kid?"

Peter looked up quickly, eyes wide. "Huh?"

Tony raised an eyebrow. "You've been chewing on that pencil for five straight minutes, and unless it's a new method of data input, I'm pretty sure it's not productive."

Peter blinked, realising his hand had been absentmindedly gnawing on the end of the pencil. He dropped it. "Oh. Uh. Sorry. I'm just... tired. Stressed," He lied.

Tony leaned back in his chair, expression softening just slightly. "School stuff?"

Peter nodded quickly, almost too quickly. "Yeah. Just, y'know, a lot going on with classes. Tests. Projects. It's nothing major."

Tony didn't look convinced. "Look, if school's slipping, you've gotta let me know. This internship is flexible for a reason, and your grades should still come first. I mean it. No flunking out of high school on my watch."

Peter shook his head. "It's not that. My grades are fine, I swear." He hesitated, then added, "It's more... extracurricular stuff. There's this decathlon coming up, and I'm on the team, and— I don't know, I guess I'm just worried about letting them down."

It wasn't a lie. Not technically. But it wasn't the whole truth either.

He didn't mention how he'd already decided he wasn't going. How with the Chitauri tech surfacing again, and every night on patrol feeling more dangerous than the last, the idea of leaving Queens—even for a weekend—made his stomach twist.

Tony gave a small nod. "Well, you've got the kind of brain that makes me think you could win that thing in your sleep. But if you're stressing about it, bring your study materials here. We'll make time. Whatever helps."

Peter looked down at the table, biting the inside of his cheek. "Thanks," he mumbled.

A stillness fell over the lab again. The soft hum of equipment, the occasional clack of a keyboard. Peter could usually lose himself in the peace of it, but not today.

Then FRIDAY's voice broke the quiet: "Apologies, Mr. Stark, but you have a message marked urgent. It concerns Spider-Man."

Peter stiffened.

He didn't look up, didn't move, but every nerve in his body went electric. Please ignore it. Please—

Tony sighed. "Tell them I'm busy. Stark Industries business. They can wait."

Peter glanced up from beneath his lashes, catching the moment Tony looked in his direction.

Crap.

Their eyes met for a second. Peter quickly looked away, heart hammering in his chest. Don't act weird. Just stay calm. Pretend you didn't hear anything. Don't give him a reason to—

"So," Tony said casually, "what's your take on this Spider-Man, anyway?"

Peter froze.

"Uh..." he said intelligently.

Tony was still watching him, expression unreadable. "You mentioned those videos, right? The vigilante in Queens. You see the one from the other night? The fight with the alien tech?"

Peter swallowed hard. "Yeah, I, uh— I saw it." He forced his voice to stay even, careful not to crack.

Tony raised an eyebrow. "What'd you think?"

Peter hesitated. This felt like a trap. But at the same time, he couldn't not answer. "I think... I think he helps. He keeps people safe. I mean, sure, he's not, like, officially part of anything, but I don't think he's a bad guy."

Tony didn't respond immediately. He was watching Peter too closely, like he was reading between the lines. Peter hated how his palms were sweating.

Finally, Tony gave a small nod. "He's a bold one, I'll give him that."

Peter nodded, eyes back on his sketches, pretending to focus. "Yeah. Guess someone's gotta do it."

Tony made a quiet noise. "He's lucky he hasn't gotten himself killed."

That landed like a brick in Peter's stomach.

"But he makes Queens safer," Peter mumbled, just about loud enough for Tony to hear.

"I mean," Tony continued, "jumping into fights with tech he doesn't understand, chasing down weapons-grade alien gear? That kind of thing can spiral fast."

Peter stayed silent.

"He ever reaches out to anyone? The cops, maybe? Or does he just swing in and swing out?"

Another trap. Peter shrugged, trying to look indifferent. "He seems more like the solo type. I dunno. Maybe he doesn't know who to trust."

Tony hummed but didn't press further. "Yeah. Maybe."

Peter wished he could disappear through the floor.

Eventually, Tony moved back to his own work, and Peter let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. But something still sat heavy in his chest.

That conversation had felt too close. Too dangerous.

He wasn't sure if Tony suspected anything—or if he was just doing the adult thing of poking around out of concern. Either way, Peter couldn't afford to screw up again. One wrong word, one misstep, and the guy would put the pieces together.

And then what?

Would he get mad? Would he pull the internship? Lock Peter out of the tower? Call Aunt May?

He didn't want to find out.

Peter had barely made it halfway down the block from Stark Tower before Tony's words started looping in his head again.

"He's lucky he hasn't gotten himself killed."

The sentence clung to him like cold air in winter, seeping under his skin and weighing him down. He tried brushing it off. He tried focusing on other things— but none of it stuck. Not when that sentence echoed like it had been spoken straight to Spider-Man's face.

Tony was right.

Peter hated how much he was.

He had jumped into fights with tech he didn't fully understand. Twice now. First, he got himself flung into a car. Then nearly impaled by a jagged energy blast that came out of nowhere. And what did he really know about it? That it glowed and hummed and looked like something from Halo?

He walked faster.

When he'd taken that weapon—dragged it through alleyways and across rooftops, hidden it in an abandoned warehouse like some radioactive squirrel hoarding alien acorns—he hadn't thought past the moment. He just hadn't wanted someone else to get hurt. Not again.

But it wasn't safe just sitting there.

And waiting for Tony to find it? Yeah, that plan clearly didn't work.

If you want something done right...

Peter checked over his shoulder. The street was empty. No one followed him as he ducked into the alley two blocks from the warehouse. The shadows here were familiar. He'd memorized the cracks in the pavement, the rusted fire escape above. This was where Spider-Man became Peter again. And vice versa.

Slipping inside the warehouse was easy. The lock had long since rusted, and no one had bothered replacing it. The place smelled like damp wood and dust, with faint traces of something metallic underneath—old copper, maybe. It was quiet except for the occasional groan of the wind through shattered windows.

Peter climbed the scaffolding to the vent he'd used before, heart racing a little as he reached it. It was still sealed. His webbing had mostly dissolved, but the cap stayed in place. Carefully, he peeled it open.

The weapon was still there. Untouched. Lying right where he'd left it, its edges catching dim light and throwing strange, almost otherworldly glints onto the metal inside of the vent.

He stared at it for a long time.

And then he reached in and picked it up.

Back home, Peter locked his bedroom door and triple-checked that Aunt May was out. She'd texted him earlier that she was grabbing dinner with a friend. He had at least a few hours.

He cleared his desk and laid down a thick towel, placing the weapon carefully in the centre. Then he pulled on his gloves—the reinforced ones he'd made himself after burning his fingers on an old web-shooter capacitor—and took a breath.

"Okay," he whispered to no one. "Let's see what you're made of."

The device was heavy and warm in his hands, its power core still faintly glowing. Peter didn't dare try to turn it on again. Not until he understood how. Instead, he went for the screws first—tiny, almost seamless things embedded into the side like the tech didn't want to be opened.

He worked slowly, methodically. Every move calculated. Every part documented in his notebook.

The tech inside was insane.

He saw layers of alien metal laced into human-made circuitry. Hi-tech interface chips grafted onto something clearly not from Earth. It was like someone had Frankenstein-ed a laser cannon out of parts from three different galaxies.

Peter's brain buzzed with ideas and red flags.

This was way more advanced than anything he'd expected. Some of the circuitry looked reactive, almost like it learned how to stabilize the energy pulses over time. The energy signature itself? Completely foreign. He ran it through a portable sensor he'd cobbled together last year, and it didn't even register properly—it just gave him a mess of unreadable data.

Whatever this thing was, someone had built it with knowledge far beyond your average arms dealer.

Peter stared at it, hands resting on either side of the open casing.

"He doesn't know what he's dealing with."

That was what Tony had said. And he was right.

But now Peter was trying to change that.

Because maybe—just maybe—if he understood this tech, he could track it. He could find out who was making it, who was selling it. He could stop it before someone else got hurt.

Or worse.

And if he could show Tony- no, if Iron Man saw that someone was actually trying to handle this, trying to be responsible, then maybe he'd take Spider-Man seriously.

Peter sat back in his chair, the weight of the weapon like a pulse against his desk.

This was dangerous. He knew that. But he also knew something else now.

Waiting wasn't going to save anyone.

So he'd act. Quietly. Carefully. And maybe, just maybe, when the time came, he'd finally earn the trust of the man behind the mask.

He just had to stay one step ahead of him first.

Peter knew it was a bad idea.

He'd known the moment he pulled the black hoodie over his head, stuffed his gear into his backpack, and told Aunt May he was going to Ned's again. He'd barely looked up from his phone as she told him to be back by dinner.

He wasn't going to be.

Peter made his way to the warehouse with a knot in his stomach. The weapon was hidden back under the vent, tucked away beneath a folded tarp and a heavy grate. No one had touched it—of course no one had. No one knew it was there.

That was the whole point.

He slipped through the warehouse entrance quietly. The air inside was colder today. Still. Waiting.

He told himself this was going to be quick.

He just needed a second round of testing—see how the power core interacted with different input voltages. He'd brought spare parts, a few small power sources, and a remote breaker switch he'd rigged out of old RC car components. Nothing that could do real damage.

Or so he thought.

He worked in silence. No music, no FRIDAY. Just the distant creak of rusted metal and the occasional flutter of pigeons roosting in the rafters. Every sound echoed too loud.

The weapon lay on a piece of plywood now, parts of its casing gently pried open. The exposed core pulsed faintly like a heartbeat.

Peter took a breath, connected his first wire, then the second, easing voltage into it bit by bit. His hands were steady.

Until suddenly—they weren't.

There was a sound. Click. Whine. Pulse.

Then a glow—hot and sharp, blinding violet light searing out of the core.

Peter's eyes widened. He lunged for the breaker.

Too slow.

A sharp BZZZAP burst through the device, loud and angry. Then silence. And then— Then the core began humming.

Deep. Low. Vibrating.

And then it started to rise.

Peter backed away, stomach dropping. He knew that sound. He'd heard it in the videos FRIDAY showed Tony. He'd heard it the night he found the first weapon in Queens.

The core wasn't humming. It was charging.

"No no no—" Peter grabbed his web-shooters and fired rapidly, cocooning the device in layer after layer of reinforced webbing, hoping—praying—that it would hold.

He didn't run.

He turned, lifted his arm, and fired one last web line toward the ceiling—

BOOM.

The explosion cracked through the air like thunder, slamming into Peter with enough force to throw him halfway across the warehouse. He hit the wall hard, the impact knocking the breath from his lungs and sending pain lancing through his ribs, shoulder, and knee.

He crumpled to the floor in a heap of groaning fabric and coughing breath.

The entire world rang. His ears buzzed with static. His head throbbed. He could barely feel his hands.

Smoke filled the warehouse.

And at the centre of it all was a scorch mark, black and smoking where the weapon had gone off. The webbing had contained some of it. That was the only reason the place was still standing.

But not all of it.

Peter tried to push himself up and collapsed with a grunt. His ribs flared white-hot. He hissed through clenched teeth and rolled to his side, finally managing to sit up.

His leg shook beneath him. He could already feel the swelling.

Something was bleeding—his shoulder maybe. Or his side. He didn't want to check.

He stared at the smoking ruin of the floor, heart still hammering.

He'd been trying to prove himself.

Prove he was capable. Prove he could handle it. Prove he didn't need help.

And he'd almost just died.

Alone.

In a place no one knew he was in. Surrounded by tech no one could identify. With no one to call for help.

Peter let his head fall back against the wall.

He'd messed up.

Big time.

And now, all he could think about was Tony's voice again.

"He doesn't know what he's dealing with."

"He's lucky he hasn't gotten himself killed."

Tony had been right about all of it.

Every word.

Peter clenched his jaw, angry tears burning at the corners of his eyes. Not from the pain—though there was plenty of that—but from the shame. The guilt. The realization that he'd let his ego, his fear, and his stubbornness drive him into a trap he set himself.

He didn't even know why he hadn't told anyone. Maybe because he was scared. Scared that if Tony found out the truth, he'd be disappointed. Or worse—he'd shut Peter out.

He didn't want to be treated like a kid. He wanted to be someone who mattered. Someone who could make a difference. But how could he do that if he kept screwing up like this?

The answer was simple.

He couldn't.

Peter looked down at his trembling, scraped hands.

He had to make a choice.

Either keep going like this- secretive, alone, reckless- or finally admit that maybe he did need help. That maybe Tony Stark wasn't just overreacting. Maybe he actually cared. Maybe Peter was pushing away the one person who could really help him stop this mess before it got worse.

He exhaled shakily and pulled out his phone with stiff fingers. The screen blurred a little, but he found the text thread with Ned and typed a message:

"Made a mistake. I'm okay. Mostly. Might need help later. Don't tell May."

Then, he pocketed the phone and gritted his teeth. He lay there for a few moments, just thinking about how he'd have to start crawling toward the exit.

Peter didn't sleep much.

Every time he moved, pain flared up somewhere new. His ribs throbbed like a drumbeat, his shoulder was swollen and stiff, and he was pretty sure one of his knees was going to be a problem for a while. The burns along his arm stung like hell, even with the ointment he'd managed to apply without crying out and drawing May's attention.

It was Sunday morning, at least. No school. No need for excuses- yet.

But when Ned showed up, Peter knew he wasn't going to get away with the same luxury.

The knock at the door came just after nine. Peter pulled himself to the edge of the bed, biting down hard to stop the groan that threatened to escape. He shuffled out of his room to the front door and cracked it open just enough for Ned to slip through.

Ned paused mid-climb the second he saw Peter.

"Dude, what the hell happened to you?"

Peter offered a half-hearted shrug and wince. "Hi to you too."

Ned shut the window behind him, eyebrows furrowed as he took in the bruises on Peter's jaw, the bandages around his arm, and the way he was very clearly favoring one side.

"Peter." Ned's voice dropped. "What. Happened."

Peter didn't answer right away. He limped back to the bed and sat down slowly, bracing himself with both hands.

"I went back for the weapon," he said finally, not meeting Ned's eyes.

There was a long beat of silence.

Then- "You what?"

Peter kept his voice low. "I wanted to figure out what I was dealing with. I thought if I could understand it, I'd—"

"You'd what?" Ned's voice rose, and he threw his hands up. "Peter, are you crazy?! The whole reason you hid it was because it was too dangerous. You didn't want it falling into the wrong hands- that includes your own!"

Peter flinched. "I was careful."

"You look like you got hit by a truck!"

"I didn't think it would explode—"

"Of course it exploded! It's alien! You don't know what you're messing with!"

Peter's jaw clenched. Remembering the familiarity to Tony's words "I had to try, okay?"

"No, you didn't!"

"I did!" Peter snapped, finally looking at him. "You didn't hear what Mr. Stark said about Spider-Man. He thinks I'm just some reckless kid playing dress-up in a dangerous world."

Ned was breathing hard now. "And this proves him right! Peter, this is exactly what a reckless kid would do- sneak off to play with a bomb from space by himself! Are you hearing yourself?"

Peter looked away, jaw tight. "You don't understand."

Ned didn't get how much fell onto Peter's shoulders from the moment that Spider bit him. The moment he watched Ben die, knowing he could've done something to stop it. He couldn't let more people die, he had to keep everyone safe.

Ned sat down beside him, voice quieter now. "You're right. I don't understand why you would do something so stupid."

Peter's shoulders slumped. His voice came out small. "Because no one else is doing anything."

Ned looked at him.

"The Avengers... they're too busy trying to figure out who Spider-Man is to care about the weapons on the street. And Mr. Stark—he didn't even show up last time so it's clear he's not bothered about this. I thought if I could just figure out more, maybe I could help. Maybe I could stop it before it gets worse." Peter's hands curled into fists. "I just... I didn't want to wait around anymore. I wanted to do something."

"You could've died, Pete."

Peter didn't answer.

"I don't—" Ned shook his head, frustrated. "I don't want to watch you get killed. This thing you're doing, it's already dangerous enough. Now you're dragging in alien bombs and trying to reverse-engineer them in abandoned warehouses? What if you didn't walk away this time? What am I supposed to tell May? She doesn't even know what you do when you sneak out."

Peter swallowed hard. The guilt hit like a fresh wave.

"I'll be more careful now," he said, quietly. "I didn't know the core was that sensitive. But I do now. I won't mess with it again."

Ned stared at him for a long moment.

"I'm serious," Peter said. "I get it. You were right. I'm lucky it didn't kill me."

Ned sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "You're lucky you're not in the hospital. Or, like, on the news."

"That's why I made sure there was nobody about," Peter mumbled. "No cameras either."

"That's not the point."

"I know."

Silence settled between them for a moment.

Peter leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "I didn't do it just to prove a point."

Ned raised an eyebrow. "Sure felt like you did."

"I just wanted to help. I thought if I could lead Mr. Stark to the weapon, maybe he'd take it seriously. But he didn't show up. And then I just... thought maybe I was on my own again."

Ned was quiet for a moment before he sat down beside him.

"You're not," he said finally. "Even when you act like an idiot, I'm still here. You have MJ too. But I need you to stop making me imagine your funeral every other week."

Peter huffed a soft, sheepish laugh. "Deal."

They sat like that in silence for a while, the weight of the previous night still lingering in the air.

Eventually, Ned asked, "So what now?"

Peter sighed. "I guess... now I focus on staying alive."

"And not messing with any more alien tech."

Peter nodded. "Yeah. That too."

Chapter Text

Peter didn’t like lying to May.

He never had. Not before the spider. Not after.

But lately… it felt like all he was doing.

It wasn’t just the lies—it was the silence, too. The avoiding. The half-hearted “I’m fine”s and weak smiles he used to deflect her worry. He was getting good at dodging her questions, at slipping out early or locking his door when the pain got too much to hide. And every time she looked at him a little too long, he felt that weight pressing heavier against his ribs than any injury ever could.

After the explosion in the warehouse, it got worse. He was sore and slow, and even the hoodie he wore around the house couldn’t hide the way he winced when he moved. May had asked once or twice if he was sick. He brushed her off with a nod and a fake cough.

She hadn’t bought it. She just hadn’t pressed. Not yet.

That changed by Sunday night.

He had managed to avoid her most of the day—claimed homework, claimed he wasn’t hungry, even claimed to be asleep at one point. But May had known him far too long. And grief or no grief, Aunt May was not the kind of person who let something fester without at least trying to clean it out.

So when he came out of the bathroom that night, hoodie half-zipped and shoulders tense, she was already waiting for him at the kitchen table. A mug of chamomile tea sat untouched beside her.

Peter froze when he saw her.

“Sit,” she said, not unkindly.

He thought about pretending to be on his way to bed. Thought about saying he had a headache. But there was a look in her eyes—quiet, calm, determined—that told him he wouldn’t get out of this one.

So he sat.

The silence stretched for a moment, heavy with things unsaid.

Then she spoke. “I’ve been trying not to hover,” she began softly. “Trying not to smother you, or check in on every little thing. I figured maybe it was a teenage thing. Growing pains. Distance. I get that.”

Peter said nothing.

She watched him, eyes searching. “But it’s been a while now. And it’s not just you being quiet, Peter. You’ve been hurting. You flinch when you think I’m not looking. You’ve been skipping meals. You’re never home anymore, and when you are, you’re exhausted or locked away. You’re not okay, honey. And I’m worried.”

Peter’s heart thudded painfully in his chest.

She went on, quieter now. “I don’t know if this started with the internship or with--” She stopped herself, eyes lowering. “Or with Ben.”

That name still carved into him like glass.

“I don’t want to make assumptions,” she said. “But you’ve been different since then. And I don’t know if it’s just the grief or if something else is going on. But I need to know, Peter. Because I feel like I’m losing you, and I’ve already lost too much.”

The silence that followed nearly suffocated him.

He couldn’t tell her the truth. Not really.

The image of her face if she ever found out—found out that her sweet, quiet, well-meaning nephew was out there fighting criminals, getting stabbed and blown up and crawling back home like nothing had happened—it was unbearable.

She’d never look at him the same. And worse… she’d worry every single second of every day.

So he didn’t tell her about the suit. Or the fights. Or Tony Stark.

But he couldn’t lie. Not completely. Not to her.

He swallowed hard. “It’s not… it’s not what you think.”

May waited.

Peter looked down at his hands. “I’ve just… been feeling like I’m not doing enough.”

May frowned gently. “Not enough for what?”

“For Ben,” Peter said quietly.

Her breath caught, but she didn’t interrupt.

Peter kept his eyes down. “He was always helping people. He believed in doing the right thing, even if it was hard. Even if no one else did. And I—I let him down.”

“No, Peter--”

“I wasn’t there,” he said, voice cracking. “I should’ve been. I could’ve—I could’ve done something.”

May reached for his hand, but he kept going.

“I’ve been trying to make it right. That’s why I throw myself into the internship. That’s why I stay out. It’s not just school or the future or whatever. It’s me trying to make a difference. Because I have to. Because otherwise I’m just…”

He shook his head.

“I’m just the kid who let him die.”

May was quiet for a long time.

Then she stood and came to his side, and without a word, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him into her chest.

Peter let himself be held, just for a second. He let the weight ease off his shoulders, let the tension in his chest loosen.

“You didn’t let him die,” she whispered. “You loved him. And he knew that. He’d be so proud of you, Peter.”

Peter closed his eyes.

“I miss him,” he whispered.

“Me too.”

They stayed like that for a while.

Eventually, she pulled back, brushing his hair from his forehead like she used to when he was little. “You’re allowed to grieve. You’re allowed to take time. But you don’t have to carry this alone, okay?”

Peter nodded, throat tight.

“I know you want to make a difference,” she added, smiling sadly. “You always have. That’s why you care so much. But promise me you won’t forget to take care of yourself too.”

“I promise,” Peter said, voice barely a whisper.

It was only half a lie this time.

But it was better than before.

Peter spent most of Monday in bed, hiding behind a mix of blankets and excuses. May had finally stopped hovering, satisfied with the half-truth he’d given her, though her eyes still lingered longer than usual whenever she passed his door. He could feel the weight of her concern even through the silence.

But that conversation-- however painful it was-- had helped. He’d gotten something out and off his chest. Not everything. Not the part about the alien tech. Not the part where he could’ve died. But something.

He felt lighter. Not by much. But enough to breathe again.

Still, every time he moved wrong and pain flared through his side, he remembered just how close he’d come. If his aim had been off by even a little bit… if the web hadn’t taken some of the brunt…

He wouldn’t have walked out of that warehouse.

Ned had been right. He just didn't want to here it.

Tony had been right.

That thought kept circling in his head. Over and over again. Tony was right. He was reckless. He didn’t know enough about what he was dealing with. That explosion had proved it.

And worse—he hadn’t told Tony. Not when he should’ve.

He had tried to prove he was more than some stupid kid with a mask. And all he’d done was remind himself of exactly what he was: a sixteen-year-old with too much guilt and not enough foresight.

Peter sighed, turning over onto his side with a wince. His laptop sat open on his desk, some random YouTube video playing in the background—white noise more than anything else. He wasn’t watching. He was thinking.

He needed to be smarter.

If he was going to keep doing this—if he had to keep doing this—then he needed to stop running into things blind. No more panicked reactions. No more desperate improvising. That wasn’t going to cut it anymore.

He needed a plan.

More than that, he needed knowledge.

Peter reached for the notebook he’d been using for tech sketches and flipped through it. His handwriting was messier than usual—likely from the overuse of pain meds that were still floating in his system—but the ideas were still there. He’d been compiling notes from what he’d seen at the Tower, things he could maybe try if he ever got access to the right materials.

And then there were the pages with the Chitauri weapon.

He had sketched out everything he could remember about the components, from the outer casing to the core. Most of it was guesswork based on what little time he’d had with it before it exploded. He still didn’t understand what had triggered it—whether it was motion, pressure, or maybe just time—but the instability was clear.

The tech wasn’t just dangerous.

It was unpredictable.

Which meant someone with real knowledge needed to take a look at it. Someone with access to alien tech records. Someone who had experience dealing with this stuff on a global scale. Someone like—

Peter hesitated, eyes drifting to the corner of the page, where he’d drawn a little Iron Man arc reactor beside a list of “Questions I’d Ask If I Had the Guts.”

He clenched his jaw.

Tony Stark.

It always came back to him.

Peter knew he should tell him. He knew it. The man had been tasked with tracking down this tech. He had resources. He had FRIDAY. He had teams. Telling him could fix everything. Could stop someone else from getting their hands on another piece of it. Could stop another warehouse from going up in flames.

But he couldn’t do it.

Not yet.

He'd messed up too many times as Spider-Man to be able to have the hero trust him. Which left him with approaching the topic as Peter.

Peter still remembered the look Tony gave him last time he brushed off the Spider-Man topic. Like he was suspicious. Like the math was starting to add up in his head.

If Peter went to him now—if he said he knew where one of the weapons was, or worse, that he had one—it would be the final puzzle piece. No regular intern just stumbles on alien tech in Queens. Not unless they were the one wearing red and blue spandex at night.

He couldn’t risk it. Not with May. Not with everything.

He had to find another way.

A knock at the door jolted him out of his thoughts.

“Hey, Pete?” Ned’s voice, muffled through the door. “You up?”

Peter cleared his throat. “Yeah, come in.”

Ned pushed the door open carefully, already holding two sodas in one hand and a bag of chips in the other. “Thought you might want to be bribed with junk food.”

Peter managed a tired smile. “Best bribe I’ve had all week.”

Ned shut the door behind him and crossed the room. “You look… like you got hit by a truck.”

“Feels like one too,” Peter admitted, sitting up slowly. “Any sign of alien conspiracies online?”

“Just the usual,” Ned replied, handing him a soda. “Someone posted a blurry video of you from the last fight. Title was: ‘Spider-Man working with government to steal alien tech?’ So… normal internet things.”

Peter groaned. “Great.”

They sat in silence for a bit, the kind that only best friends could manage without it feeling awkward. Ned finally glanced over. “So, what’s the plan now? Please tell me it involves not poking explosive alien tech with a screwdriver.”

Peter gave a weak laugh. “No more poking. I swear.”

“That’s not a plan,” Ned said, opening the chips. “That’s bare minimum damage control.”

“I know,” Peter muttered.

Peter's mind drifted back to their last conversation. He remembered how disappointed Ned was at his recklessness. Ned was quick to forgive and forget and had moved on but Peter knew that he wouldn't be so forgiving next time.

He took a long sip of his soda, trying to organize the thoughts swirling in his head. “I think… I need to start learning. Really learning. About the tech. About how it works. Maybe not from handling it, but from what’s already out there. Research, blueprints, Stark files—whatever I can access without setting off alarms.”

“You’re still gonna try and figure it out yourself?” Ned asked, raising an eyebrow.

Peter nodded. “If I can understand it, I can stop it. And if I can stop it, maybe Tony won’t feel like he has to get involved.”

“Or maybe he’ll just see you’re serious and want to help you,” Ned pointed out.

Peter shook his head. “You didn’t see how he looked at me. He already thinks Spider-Man is a bit careless. If he finds out everything I’ve done, that I’ve been hiding this from him…”

He didn’t finish the sentence.

Ned didn’t push.

Eventually, Peter grabbed his notebook again. “I need to get ahead of this. Figure out where the tech’s coming from. It’s not just random. Someone’s moving it. Someone smart enough to rework Chitauri weapons into portable, unpredictable bombs.”

“And dumb enough to leave a trail,” Ned added.

“Hopefully.”

Ned leaned back against Peter’s wall, frowning. “You’re not gonna go hunting them down alone, are you?”

Peter hesitated. “I’ll be careful.”

“That’s not a no.”

Peter just offered a tired shrug. “It’s what I can do.”

Ned exhaled, frustrated but resigned. “Fine. But if you die, I’m telling Tony.”

Peter smiled faintly. “Deal.”

Peter crouched on the edge of a rooftop, his hood up, mask lenses narrowed as he watched the figure below. The guy fit the exact profile of what he was looking for—too bulky for a casual night stroll, duffel bag slung low over one shoulder, hands twitching like he was always expecting trouble.

Peter had done his homework.

After hours of cross-referencing small-time news reports, police dispatch leaks, and some very shady internet forums (one of which had given his laptop a mild virus), he’d mapped out five locations in the area that lined up with strange tech sightings—none officially reported, of course. But videos didn’t lie. Blurry, shaky, vertical-shot iPhone footage caught in the chaos of bad neighbourhoods and late-night back alley deals. Glimpses of glowing tech, electric pulses, warped energy fields.

Tonight, he’d staked out two of those locations. Nothing at the first. But this guy? This guy felt like something.

Peter followed from above, silent and unseen, swinging low and then sticking to the shadowed side of a brick apartment wall. The man below checked over his shoulder once, twice. Peter didn’t move.

Eventually, the guy ducked through a narrow alley and came out into a vacant lot behind an old car repair shop. One of the garages was still open, faint fluorescent light spilling out across the cracked pavement.

Peter landed on the edge of the roof above it, flattening himself out to avoid the light.

Then he saw them.

Three more men inside the garage, one leaning against a rusted-out pickup, another sitting on a crate, and the last pacing in slow circles, holding something in his gloved hands. The something was small but unmistakable.

It pulsed violet every few seconds, with that familiar, eerie glow Peter knew all too well now. One Peter has been a bit too close to.

Another Chitauri core.

Peter clenched his jaw, staying low, adjusting the zoom on his mask’s lenses to get a clearer view. The audio filters kicked in, isolating their voices from the muffled city noise beyond.

“…said the last one blew a hole in the wall,” one of the men muttered, shaking his head. “Boss ain’t gonna be happy if we fry another customer.”

“Customer shoulda been clearer about what he wanted,” the pacing one snapped. “This stuff ain’t plug-and-play, man. It’s alien. We’re lucky it hasn’t cooked us yet.”

“I thought your guy was supposed to know how to handle it,” another said, throwing a look toward the newest arrival.

Peter tracked the exchange carefully, heart racing. This wasn’t just one shady dealer passing stuff around. This was organized. They were testing the tech. Selling it. Modifying it.

“I bring the parts,” the man with the duffel grunted, dropping it heavily on the ground. “You figure out how to make ‘em work. That was the deal.”

The guy with the core held it up slightly. “We’re getting there. Next test is tomorrow night. Warehouse in Brooklyn. Less heat, more space. Should be able to get the range we’re lookin’ for.”

Range?

Peter’s stomach twisted. Whatever they were building—it wasn’t just a bomb. They were planning to use it. In a populated area.

“What about Spider-Man?” someone asked suddenly.

Peter’s muscles tensed.

“He’s been sniffing around lately. Two guys bailed on a run last week ‘cause they thought they saw him.”

The pacing man scoffed. “Let him come. He’s just some youngster in a suit.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know he’s not bulletproof.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t flinch, but inside, his blood chilled.

They were planning for him. Talking about how to deal with him. These weren’t low-level thugs tripping over themselves in an alley. These were guys who knew what they had, what it could do—and they were ready to kill for it.

Peter shifted slightly, trying to get a better angle on the contents of the bag that had just been dropped. From what he could make out, it looked like more parts—metallic pieces with sharp edges, a few small glowing vials, and what looked like a shattered power cell rigged with wires.

The pacing man knelt down beside it and started sorting through the contents. “We’ll test the pulse driver first. Short bursts. No more blowing holes in concrete unless we mean to.”

“And after that?” another guy asked.

The pacing one smiled. It was cold.

“Then we sell it to people who do want to blow holes in concrete.”

Peter’s fingers curled into the roof edge.

He wanted to act. Swing down, disarm them, web up the core and haul them all in. But… no. Not yet. He was still hurt. Still not at a hundred percent. And worse—he didn’t know how many of these guys had weapons that could go off if they panicked.

Another explosion could level this whole block.

He’d already made one huge mistake. He couldn’t afford another.

Tomorrow, he could track them further. Follow the truck. Monitor the Brooklyn warehouse. Maybe tip off Stark without tipping off who he really was. Maybe—

“Shh.” One of the men straightened suddenly. “You hear that?”

Peter froze.

Another step, another footfall, and he could give himself away. He pressed flat to the roof again, blending into the shadows as best he could. A dog barked two blocks away.

“Just a stray,” the pacing man muttered after a moment, but his eyes still scanned the ceiling. “Still. We pack it up soon. Move location. We don’t need surprises.”

Peter didn’t wait around to see them leave.

He was gone within seconds, swinging silently across the rooftops, heart hammering.

The city blurred below him as he moved. But his mind was already racing ahead.

Brooklyn. Tomorrow night. Another test. Possibly larger scale.

He needed a plan. One that didn’t involve rushing in blind.

One that didn’t get anyone killed. Him Included.

Without another thought, he got up and swung away.

Peter didn’t know how long he’d been swinging.

There was no direction, no real plan. Just motion. Forward. Away. His limbs burned, each movement tugging at the scabs and bruises still healing beneath his suit. The wind roared past him, loud and punishing, but it couldn't drown out the thoughts crashing in his head.

You’re not bulletproof.
Let him come. He won’t walk away again.

He couldn’t stop hearing it.

Eventually, the city began to quiet. He’d swung far—farther than he intended. Queens was long behind him now. The skyline had shifted, growing hazier in the distance as he reached a quieter neighborhood near the edge of Brooklyn. The lights thinned out, and the rooftop he landed on wasn’t much to look at—a worn old apartment complex, high enough to see the glow of the city but low enough to feel removed from it all.

Peter sat at the ledge, his legs dangling. He pulled his mask halfway up, just enough to breathe in the cold air. It stung against the shallow cuts on his cheek, grounding him in the moment.

He didn’t know what his next move was. He had the footage, the evidence… but what was he supposed to do with it? Who could he even trust? Tony Stark hadn’t shown up until it was too late last time. And even now, Peter still didn’t know if the man believed in him or was just trying to shut him down.

Peter closed his eyes, pulling his mask back over his face.

Then his senses stirred—faint, but distinct. A subtle shift in the air. The low whir of repulsors, steady and deliberate.

He didn’t move.

Not even when the Iron Man suit hovered quietly into view, landing a few feet behind him with a soft mechanical hiss.

Peter kept his gaze fixed on the skyline.

“You found me,” he said quietly.

Tony’s voice came through the suit’s modulator. “Wasn’t that hard. You’re kind of predictable, Kid.”

Peter didn’t respond.

There was a pause, the wind the only thing between them for a moment.

“We need to talk,” Tony said.

Peter sighed, still not looking back. “Yeah. We do.”

Tony didn’t approach, didn’t move closer. He stayed just where he was, behind him, the arc reactor a soft glow in the dark.

“This isn’t an ambush,” he said after a moment. “No tracking darts, no unmasking, no flying you back to the Tower. Just talking.”

Peter finally turned his head slightly—not enough to face him completely, but enough to show he was listening.

Tony took that as permission to continue.

“That tech you’ve been running into—it’s not street trash. It’s alien war-grade. Leftover from a battle that almost wiped out the city. People like you don’t get to handle that stuff without ending up in pieces.”

Peter gave a hollow laugh, eyes still on the city lights. “Yeah. I know. Trust me, I know how dangerous it is. I got up close and personal with it.”

“That’s exactly why you need to stay away from it.”

“I can’t.”

Tony was silent for a second. “Kid—”

“I know I don’t understand it,” Peter cut in. He turned, finally meeting the glowing eyes of the Iron Man suit. His own expression was tense, jaw set. “That tech… It’s not from Earth. It’s not something people like me should be messing with. You’re right about that.”

Tony folded his arms, watching him closely.

“But,” Peter continued, “I’m not just some kid off the street. I’m stronger than most people. I heal faster. I’ve taken hits that would knock someone else out for days. So maybe I don’t get what I’m dealing with, but if someone has to deal with it—shouldn’t it be me?”

Tony didn’t speak. His head tilted slightly.

Peter pressed on, his voice quieter now. “You weren’t there the last few times. People were going to get hurt. They did get hurt. And yeah, maybe it’s not my job. Maybe I’m not trained or qualified or whatever. But I was there. And they needed someone.”

Tony let out a long, tired breath.

“You’re right,” he said finally. “You’ve been out there, and you’ve kept people safe. But that kind of work—it paints a target on your back.”

Peter’s mouth twitched. “I already have a target.”

“I mean a real one. The second they see you as a threat, they’ll come for you. And they won’t hold back.”

“I know,” Peter said softly.

Tony’s voice dropped. “Then you need to let the higher ups handle it.”

Peter shook his head. “Like you? And what happens when you’re not around again? What happens if I sit it out, like you want, and someone dies?” Peter pointed out. "Because then that's on me."

Tony looked like he wanted to argue. But he didn’t. Peter sighed under the mask.

“They’re testing something tomorrow night,” he said. “Brooklyn warehouse. I don’t know what exactly, but it’s big. And it’s not just parts anymore. They’ve got plans.”

With a flick of his wrist, a web line shot out, latching to a nearby building.

Peter vaulted off the rooftop and disappeared into the night.

Tony didn’t follow.

Keeping to his word, he just stood there, the city gleaming in the distance, as Spider-Man vanished into the dark.

“Who the hell are you, kid…” he muttered under his breath.

And the rooftop fell silent again.

Chapter Text

Tony rubbed his temple as the quinjet descended toward the Tower's landing pad. He’d only been gone two days, but D.C. had felt like a month. Between the congressional hearings, press conferences, and a tech summit filled with people who couldn’t tell a microreactor from a microwave, Tony was running on fumes—and caffeine. Mostly caffeine.

He stepped off the jet and made a beeline for the lab, peeling off his jacket as he walked. The last thing he wanted was another briefing or another meeting. He was about three minutes into re-centering himself when FRIDAY’s voice gently broke the quiet.

“Boss, Spider-Man has been flagged again. Recent activity just lit up four city cams. Brooklyn. Same signature pattern as before.”

Tony stilled.

“Show me.”

The lab lights dimmed as holograms blinked to life around him—city surveillance feeds, traffic cams, heat maps. Spider-Man’s silhouette danced across rooftops in a blur, his movements sharper than they had been the last time Tony had eyes on him. More urgent. There was no confrontation this time. Just motion. Just... retreat.

Tony exhaled through his nose and leaned on the workbench. So the kid’s back in the field.

After the last time—the explosion, the hesitation, the webbed-up weapon—it was obvious the situation had escalated past petty thugs. Tony should’ve followed up then. Should’ve made it a priority. But D.C. had called, and he’d told himself Spider-Man would stay out of it for now.

Stupid.

He knew better.

The last time he let a kid make decisions like this on their own, it hadn’t ended well.

Tony turned to FRIDAY. “Get the suit ready. The light version, non-aggressive stance. No weapons deployed unless I say so.”

“Understood. Engaging Friendly Mode.”

This time had to be different. Every time he tried to approach the kid, the guy ran. It wasn’t paranoia—that suit wasn’t just for show; Spider-Man was sharp, quick, and used to being hunted. If Tony wanted a real conversation, he couldn’t play the heavy.

By now he was sure that the kid truly was young. He'd managed to pin him down to being in his teens- although Tony really hoped that it was towards the later end of the teens.

So when he found the kid, parked on the edge of a rooftop like the weight of the world was pressing down on him, Tony landed soft. Made sure the metal steps didn’t sound like a warning.

He half-expected Spider-Man to bolt again.

But he didn’t.

Tony didn’t even have to speak first this time. The kid just muttered, “You found me.”

Something in his tone gave Tony pause. There was no posturing. No fake bravado. Just... acceptance.

And that got his attention.

Tony kept his voice calm, level. He reminded himself that he still needed to approach with caution. “This isn’t an ambush. No tracking darts, no unmasking, no flying you back to the Tower. Just talking.”

He watched the vigilante’s posture relax—slightly. Still guarded. Still tense. But not aggressive. Not defensive. It was progress.

The conversation wasn’t easy. It never was with people like him—young, desperate to prove themselves, always taking the world on their shoulders. Tony had been that guy. Hell, some days he still was.

But what caught him off guard this time wasn’t the anger. It was the vulnerability.

You weren’t there when it mattered.

I was the one protecting them.

The words hit harder than Tony expected.

He knew he wasn’t always there. He knew he didn’t show up for the last few tech incidents in time. The whole reason he’d ramped up FRIDAY’s monitoring protocols was because the footage from that last blow-up had scared the hell out of him.

But hearing the resentment? The hurt? That twisted the knife.

Still, what stuck with him most was what Spider-Man said next.

They’re planning something. Big. Brooklyn. Tomorrow night.

The kid wasn’t just lashing out. He was reaching out.

For someone as independent—and as stubborn—as Spider-Man, this was him waving the white flag. Not of surrender, but of warning.

That meant something.

Tony stood on that rooftop long after the web-slinger disappeared into the skyline. He didn’t try to follow. For once, he didn’t need to. Spider-Man had already given him what he needed.

But that didn’t mean things were simple.

He headed back to the Tower and told FRIDAY to start running the intel.

“Also, remind me to increase the monitoring range around that Brooklyn sector. Infrared, audio, any relevant chatter. I want a full sweep, real-time.”

“Already compiling, boss.”

He leaned back in the chair and stared at the swirling holograms.

The Avengers were already talking. Banner had brought it up first, curious about the uptick in alien residue signatures popping up around New York. Steve had followed up with questions. Natasha had already narrowed down some active networks moving black-market goods.

They were circling in, closer than the kid realized.

Tony didn’t want that to happen yet.

If they crossed paths with the spider-kid now, while he was still running solo, still clinging to the mask and secrecy, it’d go sideways fast. The Avengers weren’t exactly subtle when it came to new players in the field.

And if they found out a teenager was at the center of this?

Tony scrubbed his face with both hands.

This wasn’t sustainable.

He needed to find a way to steer this without driving the kid away completely.

He’d hoped that Spider-Man would just show up one day, ready to talk, ready to trust him. That maybe the kid would realize Tony wasn’t just another suit trying to leash him.

But after today, he knew that was a fantasy.

He doesn’t trust you yet.

But he warned you anyway.

Tony could work with that.

He leaned forward again, pulling up blueprints, weapon data, and surveillance patterns. If the kid was right, and Tony had no doubt he was, then tomorrow night was going to be a mess.

And this time?

He’d be there first.

Tony was halfway through his second cup of coffee when the weight settled in his chest.

Today was Peter's internship day.

It hit him like a delayed punch, right in the gut. He stared at the calendar projected above the lab bench. The date blinked at him mockingly, with the little reminder set underneath it.

Damn it.

The plan with the Avengers was already set. After last night’s intel drop from Spider-Man, Tony had briefed the team as soon as he was back at the Tower. Steve, Natasha, and Sam had been quiet through most of it, listening closely. The moment he mentioned Chitauri tech being passed around in Brooklyn, Natasha had gone stone-cold. Steve clenched his jaw. Sam simply nodded and said, “What time?”

The four of them had agreed to head out tonight, quietly. No big scenes, no fanfare. Recon first. Interfere just before it gets messy. It was the kind of tactical restraint they rarely managed to pull off, but tonight it mattered.

Tony had agreed. He had to agree.

But now, staring at Peter’s name on the calendar, his stomach churned.

He didn’t want to skip it. Not just because of the lab work or mentorship or whatever excuse he'd normally make. It was because he liked the kid. The kid who wandered around the Tower like he was trying to memorize it, who left little math scribbles all over the lab pages, who asked about energy convergence like other kids asked about movie release dates.

Tony ran a hand down his face, groaning. He wanted to tell the team he couldn’t go. That something came up. That maybe the kid needed him more.

But how could he justify that?

Spider-Man had reached out to him last night. Voluntarily. For the first time. Tony didn’t need to know his name or what he looked like—he could read enough in that voice to know the kid was overwhelmed, out of his depth, and still trying to do the right thing. Tony had to show him that trusting someone wouldn’t blow up in his face. That when he passed the torch—even just a flicker—someone would carry it.

So he’d go to Brooklyn. He’d keep the kid’s intel safe. He’d make sure no one else got hurt.

Just as he opened the comm to let the team know he’d be ready early, FRIDAY chimed in.

“Sir, you’ve received a message from Peter Parker.”

Tony’s brows drew together. “Play it.”

Peter’s voice crackled through the lab, thin and hoarse.

“Hi, Mr. Stark. Just wanted to say I’m, uh... not gonna make it in today. I’m kinda sick. Headache. Sore throat. Y’know—gross stuff. I’ll catch up next time. Thanks, and... yeah, sorry.”

There was a short pause at the end of the message, like Peter debated adding something else. But it ended with a soft click.

Tony leaned back in his chair, letting out a slow exhale.

The guilt in his chest lifted—slightly.

“FRIDAY,” he said, standing and reaching for the portable HUD module, “log the Parker cancellation and reschedule him for an additional session week. Give him an open slot. Whenever he wants.”

“Done, boss.”

Tony hesitated for a second, then added, “And... send him a care package. One of the Stark Wellness Packs. The kind with the good tea. And those stupid honey lozenges Pepper likes.”

“Of course.”

He tapped his comms. “You all in position for tonight?”

“Locked and loaded,” came Sam’s voice through the channel.

“Just say when,” Natasha added, cool and sharp as always.

Steve chimed in last. “We’ll follow your lead. You got the tip-off. You sure about the source?”

Tony stared at the city through the lab windows.

He didn’t say yes. Not immediately. He thought about the voice on the rooftop. The hesitation. The conviction.

He thought about how Spider-Man had turned to him, even without a name, and said “They’re planning something.”

Tony nodded, mostly to himself.

“I’m sure,” he said. “From what I've observed, that kid’s got better instincts than most of us. Let’s just hope we’re not too late.”

He shut the comms and turned toward the elevator.

Tonight was going to be a long one.

And somewhere out there, a certain spider themed vigilante was probably planning to show up too.

Tony just hoped he’d still be breathing by the end of it.

--

The warehouse in Brooklyn was quiet—but it was the wrong kind of quiet.

Tony hovered just above the rooftops in the Iron Man suit, scanning the heat signatures scattered around the area. The tech dealers were already here, and based on the movement patterns FRIDAY had flagged, they were armed and anxious. Not a good combination.

Down below, Natasha and Steve were in position, hidden in the shadows across from the warehouse’s side entrance. Sam circled above in low flight, wings tucked in tight against the skyline. They were ready to strike when the moment was right.

“Movement at the west entrance. Two guards posted,” FRIDAY’s voice reported in his comms. “Weapons match previous Chitauri hybrid signatures. Watch your six.”

Tony scanned again. Definitely an active site. He was just about to mark targets for the team when FRIDAY’s voice shifted.

“Sir. I’m also detecting a familiar bio-signature.”

His stomach tensed.

“Spider-Man?”

“Affirmative. On a nearby rooftop, southeast corner. He’s observing but hasn’t engaged.”

Tony didn’t say anything for a beat. He stared toward the building FRIDAY indicated. No movement, just shadow. Still, he knew the kid was there. Watching. Waiting.

He sighed. “Keep tabs on him. If he moves, I want to know.”

“Of course.”

Down below, shouting erupted.

A deal had gone south. One of the buyers had jumped the gun—literally—and now Chitauri energy blasts were lighting up the block. Tony heard the distant hum of Natasha’s Widow’s Bite firing off as she dropped into the fray. Steve followed, shield up, leading the charge through the warehouse’s side wall like it was paper. Sam was already cutting down the rear flank.

“Let’s move,” Tony muttered, shooting down into the chaos.

The first blast barely missed him, but Tony wasn’t focused on that. His attention darted to the perimeter—civilians, startled by the noise, beginning to peer out windows and spill onto the street.

That’s when Spider-Man made his move.

From the shadows, a red-and-blue blur shot forward. Spider-Man, swung in low and fast, shooting web after web to corral a group of frightened bystanders trying to cross the street into cover.

One of the tech weapons exploded near a car, sending it tumbling toward the crowd. Tony started to angle that way—but the kid was already there, webbing the front grill and anchoring it to a nearby streetlamp. The vehicle jerked to a stop just feet from a small child clinging to her mother.

Tony blinked. That had been fast.

Spider-Man didn’t even pause. He vaulted off the hood of the car and launched himself toward another family huddled by a storefront. A blast cracked the sidewalk behind him, but he dodged mid-air, landing in a somersault that sent two attackers flying as he web-yanked their weapons clean from their hands.

Tony kept his distance, hovering just above. The kid never once looked up at him.

He wasn’t here for glory. He was here to help.

Once the civilians were safe and the remaining hostile tech was neutralized, the kid vanished.

One moment he was securing the last weapon to a fire hydrant. The next, he was gone—back into the shadows, slipping into the city the way only someone small, fast, and desperate could.

Natasha regrouped with Sam near the warehouse entrance. Steve jogged toward Tony, wiping soot from his forehead as he watched the last of the fire trucks roll in.

“Where’d he go?” Steve asked.

Tony didn’t answer right away. His HUD was still scanning the rooftops, but FRIDAY confirmed what he already suspected.

“Spider-Man has exited the perimeter, sir. No longer in visual range.”

Steve crossed his arms. “We need to find him. That’s an Avengers-involved mission he interfered in. Under the revised accords—”

Tony cut him off, sharply. “He didn’t interfere. He saved people. People we couldn’t reach in time.”

“He still got involved in a restricted operation. He’s not registered, and—”

“I’ll deal with it.”

Steve’s jaw clenched. “Tony—”

“I said I’ll handle it,” Tony repeated, firmer this time. “The kid doesn’t need to be dragged into a government debrief for trying to stop civilians from getting blown to pieces.”

After what happened with the accords the first time, he knew Steve was more stricter on himself now. They had more freedom away from the government but there was still the risk of them losing that if they didn't follow the few new rules. Tony knew that. They all did. But he knew he will be able to find a loophole that keeps him out of it this time, he just needed Steve to drop it.

Natasha, who had rejoined them, exchanged a glance with Steve but didn’t weigh in. Sam said nothing either. The three of them knew Tony well enough by now to recognize when he was laying down a line.

Steve, of course, pushed anyway. “This is bigger than you.”

Tony turned, the glare in his eyes dimmed only slightly by the helmet’s tint. “Yeah. It is. Which is exactly why I’m not pulling some half-trained kid into a conference room to be questioned by people who don’t care why he did what he did. He gave me a lead. I followed it. That’s enough.”

Without waiting for a response, Tony launched into the air. He didn’t want to argue. Not about this. Not when the kid had done exactly what Tony used to do—take the risk, put himself on the line, do whatever it took to make sure no one else had to suffer.

He could deal with the fallout later.

Right now, he had one thought looping through his mind:

You’re playing a dangerous game, kid.

But so was Tony. And in a strange way, that made him feel closer to the web-slinger than ever

Tony found himself heading in a direction that was not his direct course back to the tower. He didn’t have to think long about where to go, his repulsors carried him across Brooklyn’s rooftops with a purpose already in mind.

The building from the night before wasn’t far, he could see it in no time, tucked between two taller towers. It looked like the perfect place that would have just enough quiet for someone to think. Tony angled his descent and slowed, hovering just above the rooftop ledge.

And there he was.

Spider-Man sat almost exactly where Tony had left him the night before, like he’d been sitting there the entire time. Tony knew better than to think this was coincidence. Same city. Same rooftop.

The kid had waited for him.

Tony landed softly, the whir of the suit barely audible over the wind. He didn’t move closer. He didn’t need to. The vigilante didn’t so much as flinch, his posture relaxed but alert.

“I guess you already have a feeling of what I’m about to say,” Tony said, folding his arms across the chestplate.

Spider-Man didn’t turn. “I'm sorry... I couldn’t just sit back and watch while lives were at risk.”

Tony exhaled through his nose, voice even. “Yeah. I know.”

There was a beat of silence between them, carried by the rustling wind and the distant sirens still echoing in the streets below.

“But, you know-” Tony added, “you have caused me a little trouble now.”

Spider-Man finally shifted, glancing toward him, the expression unreadable behind the lenses of his mask. “I’m sorry.”

Tony waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t be. You did what we didn’t have the bandwidth to do. But that doesn't mean that everyone is going to take so nice to it. So here’s how this is going to go…”

He waited until he saw the kid tilt his head slightly—listening carefully.

“I’m going to tell the others that we had a deal. That you were cleared to get involved if civilians were in immediate danger, especially since you were the one who tipped us off in the first place.”

Spider-Man visibly tensed. “…Is that going to keep them off my back?”

“It’ll keep them from dragging you into a debrief, yes,” Tony replied. “Steve’s still not thrilled about all this, but I’ll handle it. For now.”

The kid let out a small breath. “Thank you.”

Tony’s voice shifted, just slightly—firmer now. “I’m doing this because I believe you’re trying to help. You’re reckless at times, yeah, but your heart’s in the right place. That means something to me.”

He let the words sit there for a second. He wasn’t finished.

“But let’s be clear,” he added, stepping forward once, the suit’s hum rising with the movement. “The moment you give me a reason to think otherwise—if you cross the line, start putting people in danger, or acting like this is a game—I will come for you. I will be the one to take you in.”

Spider-Man didn’t move. But Tony saw the shift in his posture—a quiet, serious acceptance.

“I understand.”

Tony studied him for another few seconds. The kid might not have given up his name, but he’d given him something more important tonight: trust. Not all of it, not yet—but enough.

“Alright,” Tony said at last, turning his gaze back toward the skyline. “Then let’s both try not to make each other regret this.”

With that, he activated his repulsors and lifted off the ground.

The kid didn’t stop him.

And for the first time in a while, Tony wasn’t sure who he’d just protected more—Spider-Man from the Avengers, or the Avengers from Spider-Man.

If there was anything he'd learned about Spider-Man, is that he was certainly capable of being dangerous. He'd seen it up close. But so far Spider-Man hadn't tried to hurt anymore-- that meant that he hadn't shown the full extent of what he's capable of. Tony wanted to believe that they'd never have to see it but without a name. Tony couldn't be sure that the person behind the mask isn't just a great actor.

For now, he was choosing to have faith in the kid.

But he will find out who is underneath that mask.

Chapter Text

The halls of Midtown High was filled with its usual chaos, but to Peter, everything felt just a bit louder than usual. The voices, the footsteps, the squeak of whiteboard markers in nearby classrooms—it all merged into a headache he didn't have the energy for.

He adjusted his backpack over his shoulder, trying not to wince as it pulled against the still-healing bruises beneath his shirt. The aftermath of Brooklyn was still fresh on his body... and even fresher on the news.

"Spider-Man seen fighting alongside the Avengers?"
"Who is this masked hero working with Earth's Mightiest Heros?"
"Public safety or public menace?"

The headlines were everywhere. Someone had captured shaky footage of the fight, and now Spider-Man's face—or mask—was plastered across social media, sandwiched between grainy shots of Iron Man and Captain America.

Peter slipped into his classroom, trying to ignore the stares. Ned and MJ weren't as subtle.

"Dude," Ned whispered the second Peter sat down. "What the hell happened yesterday?"

MJ leaned closer, eyes narrowed in that way that said she already knew something. "That was you, wasn't it?"

Peter glanced around the classroom. "Later. After acadec. Not here."

They didn't protest, but their looks said enough. The second the school bell rang and the last club meeting wrapped up, they dragged Peter into a quiet corner of the now-empty classroom.

Ned didn't wait.

"So you're an Avenger now? I thought you were keeping your distance! What were you doing there? And why weren't you in school? You don't get sick, remember?! Did you—"

"Ned," MJ cut in. "Oxygen."

Ned immediately fell quiet, breathing heavy but attentive.

Peter sighed, slumping against the desk behind him. "I'm not an Avenger," he said. "And I am still keeping my distance... mostly. But that meet-up yesterday? That was real. I told Iron Man about it. He said he'd handle it, and I thought that would be it."

"Then why weren't you at the internship?" MJ asked, one eyebrow raised.

"I couldn't be in two places at once. I couldn't go to the internship knowing what was going down. I called in sick to school and the internship to keep up the cover so he wouldn't suspect anything," Peter explained.

"So... what happened after?" Ned asked. "Did you talk to him again?"

Peter nodded slowly. "Yeah. Last night. Same rooftop."

He paused for a second, pulling at the frayed strap of his backpack. "He covered for me. Told the Avengers I had permission to be there since I gave them the tip-off. Said it'd keep them from dragging me in for some official debrief."

Ned blinked. "Wait, he... protected you?"

Peter nodded. "Yeah. But he also reminded me he doesn't trust me—not really. Said the second I give him a reason not to believe I'm doing good, he won't hesitate to bring me in."

There was a pause. The mood shifted.

Ned's phone buzzed, cutting through the silence. He looked down at it and frowned. "It's my mom. She's outside." He slung his bag on, shooting Peter a worried look. "Try not to do anything else insanely dangerous before tomorrow, okay?"

Peter gave a tired smile. "I'll try."

Once Ned was gone, MJ stayed where she was. Her gaze softened, more curious than suspicious now.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly.

Peter hesitated before answering. "I'm fine."

"You always say that," she said, unconvinced.

Peter leaned back, letting out a long breath. "It's just... hard. Living two lives like this. One minute I'm Peter Parker with Tony Stark, pretending to be a kid trying to learn the ropes. The next I'm Spider-Man being warned by Iron Man that he's watching my every move."

MJ sat on the desk across from him, legs swinging slightly.

"I get that it's complicated," she said. "But... maybe one day you'll trust him enough that you won't have to pretend."

Peter met her eyes, something tight in his chest. "I do trust him. That's the problem. I'm scared that if he finds out it's me... that his intern is the same guy he's been chasing? He won't just be disappointed. He'll try to stop me. Or worse, he'll feel like I betrayed him."

MJ was quiet for a moment. Then, she spoke gently, "Then maybe it's not about trusting him. Maybe it's about you not trusting what he'll think of you."

Peter looked away. Maybe she was right. But he didn't know how to change that yet.

MJ didn't say anything either. She just watched him, arms crossed, her brow furrowed in that quiet, thoughtful way she had. Peter could tell her mind was moving faster than she was letting on.

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "I know it sounds stupid. Hiding from the one guy who's actually tried to help me."

"It's not stupid," MJ said. "It's difficult."

Peter let out a humorless laugh. "Everything is difficult lately. I feel like I can't breathe half the time. It's like... I'm always one mistake away from all of this falling apart. From someone figuring it out. From May figuring it out. From Tony figuring it out. And when that happens..."

MJ tilted her head. "You think they'll stop seeing Peter Parker and just see Spider-Man?"

"Exactly," Peter said. "Or worse... maybe they won't like either of them."

MJ shifted slightly on the desk. "You know, for a guy who literally crawls up walls and fights alien weapon dealers, you're really afraid of what people think."

Peter looked up at her, lips twitching in a reluctant smile. "I guess I just don't want to lose the people I care about."

"Then why not let them in?"

"Because what if letting them in makes me lose them faster?"

MJ hopped off the desk and walked to stand in front of him. "You've already let me in," she said gently. "And Ned. And we're still here."

"That's different."

"Why?"

"Because you guys aren't... you're not him." Peter gestured vaguely in the air. "Stark's got this whole world watching him. A world that already thinks Spider-Man's either a menace or a recruit. If he knew it was me, he'd-- I don't know. Shut it down. Pull me out. Maybe worse."

MJ's eyes didn't leave his. "Or maybe he'd finally understand why you're doing this the way you are. Why you're scared. Why you care so much."

Peter bit his lip. "You think so?"

"I think you need to stop trying to carry this whole secret like it's a bomb waiting to go off. You're not a liability, Peter. You're a kid who's trying to do the right thing in a really messed up situation."

Peter stayed quiet for a second, the weight of her words sinking in.

"Sometimes I wish I could just be either Spider-Man or Peter Parker," he admitted. "Not both. Not at the same time. Just... one or the other."

MJ gave a soft smile, the kind she rarely showed anyone. "I think you'd hate that. You'd get bored as just Peter now you've had a taste of the superhero life. And Spider-Man? Without Peter, he'd lose what makes him care so much."

Peter blinked. "You're kind of scarily good at this."

"I know," she said with a shrug. "But seriously, if you're gonna keep doing this, you need to find a way to stop dividing yourself into two different people. Eventually, you're gonna get caught in the middle."

Peter looked down, picking at a thread on his sleeve. "What if I already am?"

"Then maybe it's time to stop running and start figuring out who you are when no one's looking."

There was a pause.

Then MJ nudged his foot with hers. "And for what it's worth, I like the guy you are. Both versions."

Peter looked up, surprised. "Thanks, MJ."

She smirked. "Don't let it go to your head."

Peter pushed the door open to the apartment and stepped inside, greeted by the warm, familiar scent of garlic and tomatoes simmering on the stove. His shoulders sagged just slightly. For a brief moment, he could almost pretend things were normal.

"Hey, honey!" May's voice floated in from the kitchen. "Hope you're hungry! I think I've finally cracked the stuffed shells recipe. The sauce is perfect this time."

Peter managed a tired smile as he dropped his backpack by the door. "Yeah? That's awesome, May."

She poked her head around the corner, her cheeks pink from the heat and her apron speckled with sauce. "You okay? You look like you got hit by a truck."

Peter shrugged, careful not to flinch. "Just tired. School was long."

She nodded with a sympathetic hum and turned back to the stove, humming a soft tune under her breath. But Peter barely heard her. His eyes drifted to the TV, which was still on low volume in the living room. News footage from the night before was on loop — shaky cell phone video of Spider-Man swinging through the air, civilians running for cover, energy blasts lighting up the Brooklyn skyline.

His gut twisted.

May glanced over her shoulder. "Wild stuff, huh? All that going on just a couple boroughs away." She stirred the sauce slowly. "Nice to see the Avengers working together again, though. That Captain America guy — he's something."

Peter said nothing.

"And Spider-Man," she added, a thoughtful edge to her voice. "Didn't know he was one of them now."

Peter blinked. "He's not. I mean... I don't think he is. He probably just showed up because people were in danger."

May nodded. "Yeah. That sounds more like him."

A pause settled between them. The bubbling of the sauce, the quiet drone of the TV, the low buzz of the city outside. It all seemed very far away.

"What do you think of him?" Peter asked suddenly, voice quiet.

May turned slightly. "Spider-Man?"

He nodded.

May turned off the burner and set the spoon down. She leaned against the counter, arms folding across her chest. "I guess I'm still not sure," she admitted. "I mean, I've never met him. But I hear things. Especially at the hospital. There was this one guy — EMT — who said he saw Spider-Man lift a car off a kid during a wreck. Another woman said he webbed up a thief and disappeared before the cops even showed." She smiled faintly. "People who talk about him... they talk like he's a good thing. Like he shows up when no one else can."

Peter swallowed hard. He looked down at the floor, voice low. "He's just trying to help."

"He's lucky," She continues. "To have the Avengers looking out for him now."

Peter went still. "You think they've got his back?"

May shrugs. "I hope they do," She admits. "Because by the sounds of it, he's always seemed to be on his own."

"Well I'm not so sure they do," Peter mumbled, the words escaping before he can think.

May studied him. Her eyes softened, but there was something sharper behind them too. She pushed away from the counter and walked over slowly.

"Peter," she said gently, "is there something I should know?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

She took another step closer. "I've tried not to push," she said. "Ever since Ben... I know things changed. I thought maybe giving you space was the right thing. But lately, you've been... off. You're not sleeping. You flinch when I go to hug you. You come home covered in bruises sometime and always have some excuse."

She wasn't angry. Not really. She sounded tired. Sad.

"I'm not stupid, Peter," she said softly. "I know when you're keeping something from me."

He couldn't meet her eyes. His throat felt tight.

"Do you know who Spider-Man is?" she asked quietly.

Peter's breath caught in his throat. He stayed silent.

"You don't have to lie to me. You never did." Her voice cracked at the edges. "I just want to know you're okay. And that whoever it is that you're protecting right now is not going through something alone."

The words came out before he could stop them.

"It's me," Peter whispered.

May blinked. "What?"

Peter lifted his head. "It's me. I'm Spider-Man."

The room felt like it tilted. May stared at him, unmoving. Peter didn't breathe. Didn't move.

"You're joking," she said finally. Her voice was small. Weak. Like she already knew he wasn't.

Peter shook his head. "I'm not."

She laughed once, short and disbelieving. "No. That's... that's not funny, Peter."

"I'm not joking. I swear May"

He reached into his bag slowly and pulled out the mask. He held it in both hands, not putting it on. Just showing it.

May stared at the red fabric, her lips parting. "Oh my God."

"I got bit by a spider," he said. "Last year. It gave me... these powers. At first, I didn't know what to do with them. I just thought it was a weird accident. But then, I mean, after Ben--"

His voice cracked, and he looked away. "I couldn't stop thinking that if I had done something... he'd still be here. That maybe I could've stopped it."

May's face was pale. She sank slowly onto the couch like her knees had given out. "You're just a kid..."

"I know."

"You're my kid."

Peter knelt in front of her. "I'm sorry, May. I wanted to tell you. So many times. I almost did, I swear. But I didn't want you to worry. When you panic, I panic..."

May didn't answer at first. She just looked at him like she was seeing a stranger — and yet, not. Her Peter. Her boy. The pieces falling together behind her eyes.

"All those bruises," she said quietly. "The nights you didn't come home on time. The fake stories. That stupid, stupid Stark internship—"

"It wasn't fake," Peter said. "He doesn't know. The internship is real, I am working with Tony Stark. Just...as me-- as Peter Parker."

She let out a shaky breath. Her hand came up, trembling, and she rested it on his cheek.

"You've been doing this all this time?"

Peter nodded.

"You could've been killed."

"I've been careful."

She gave him a look — one he knew meant you and I both know that's a lie — and he had no choice but to look down, guilty.

"I just wanted to help," he said. "I didn't want anyone else to get hurt like Ben did."

May pulled him into a tight hug. One hand clutched the back of his shirt like she thought he might vanish if she let go.

"I'm always going to worry," she whispered. "But I'm always going to love you. Mask or no mask."

Peter closed his eyes and let himself sink into the hug. For the first time in what felt like years, the weight pressing on his chest lightened.

They stayed like that for a while, in silence, the evening drifting on outside their windows.

Finally, May pulled back and looked at him with fierce eyes.

"If you're doing this," she said, "We're going to have some rules. Got it?"

Peter nodded, eyes stinging. "Got it."

Peter had always imagined the moment May found out his secret as a worst-case scenario — sirens in the background, screaming, tears, maybe even her demanding that he stop being Spider-Man altogether. But the way it had actually gone... it felt surreal. Calm. Emotional, sure — intense even — but not the catastrophe he'd been bracing for since the beginning.

Now that it was out in the open, he felt lighter. The crushing weight of secrecy that had followed him like a shadow was finally gone. No more elaborate lies, no more awkward cover stories about "school fights" or "internship late nights" when he stumbled in with bruises and cuts. It was like he could finally breathe in his own home again.

But relief didn't come without consequence. For the first time, Peter had to confront what it truly meant for someone he loved to know the truth. He could already see it in May's eyes, even as she tried to stay composed — the worry. The barely veiled fear she now carried, masked behind her support. Now, every time he stepped out in the suit, she would be thinking about whether or not he'd come home in one piece. Whether that healing he'd told her about would be enough.

He hadn't wanted to lie anymore — not to her — but when she asked about how much pain he felt, he had hesitated. So he told her that the healing factor dulled most of it. Technically not a complete lie... but it wasn't the full truth either. It didn't erase the agony of dislocated joints, cracked ribs, or a stab wound through the side. But she had relaxed a little when he said it, so he let it stand. Maybe that one lie was okay — if it made her sleep a little easier.

They'd spent the rest of the evening sitting together in the living room, their dinner mostly forgotten on the stove. He showed her the wall-crawling, the enhanced reflexes, even a little web-slinging demonstration across the hallway. She watched it all in awe, like she was seeing her nephew for the first time, a puzzle clicking into place piece by piece. When he told her about the healing, she didn't act surprised. In fact, she told him she'd always suspected something wasn't normal about the way his injuries seemed to vanish within days.

Still, the part that stuck with Peter most was how she never once told him to stop. She knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't stop even if he'd bolted his windows shut.

Although, he'd been so sure she would try. That she'd try to shut it all down, call Stark, or try to get him out of New York altogether. But she hadn't. She hadn't yelled, hadn't cried. She'd listened. She told him she was scared — of course she was scared — but she also told him that she trusted him. And that was more than Peter ever thought he'd get. 

She had gently encouraged him to talk to Mr. Stark. Said that if Tony really cared about him, he deserved to know the truth. Peter had nodded, told her he would when the time was right. But deep down, he still wasn't sure what that even meant. He trusted Tony more than he wanted to admit... but he also knew the moment he pulled back the mask in front of him, everything would change. He didn't know if he was ready for that yet.

May didn't push him. She just gave him a hug before bed and told him that she was proud of him, even if he was a reckless, stubborn, too-smart-for-his-own-good idiot. And somehow, that meant more to Peter than anything else.

Chapter Text

Peter moved through the halls of Midtown just about half-aware of his surroundings, his backpack was slung over one shoulder and his eyes scanning the floor more than anything else. His thoughts had been on overdrive since last night, and not even the chaotic noise of Midtown High could drown them out.

Just as he rounded the corner toward his next class, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out quickly and saw MJ's name flash across the screen.

MJ: Turn around.

Peter turned, eyebrows raised, just in time to see her walking up the hall toward him with her usual mix of tired disinterest and quiet sharpness. She fell into step beside him like it was a routine they'd rehearsed, although it had become common more recently.

"You looked like you were about to walk into a wall," she said without a hint of judgment, just her usual deadpan. "Had to intervene."

Peter smiled, a little sheepish. "Thanks for the save."

MJ glanced around briefly. "Where's Ned? It's weird not to see you two together, you guys are basically a matching set."

"He's got a dentist appointment," Peter said. "He texted me this morning saying he'll be in later."

"Wow. I forgot you're even allowed to be seen in public without him," she teased.

Peter chuckled, but MJ's eyes lingered on him for a second longer. Her tone shifted slightly, quieting just enough to not carry past them.

"You okay?" she asked. "You've got that 'overthinking everything' look again."

Peter opened his mouth to say I'm fine, but closed it almost immediately. Instead, he gave a small shrug. "Yeah, kind of. Just... thinking a lot lately."

"About what we talked about? You know, after decathlon?"

Peter gave a small nod, then glanced around the hallway quickly to make sure no one was close enough to overhear. He stepped a little closer to MJ, lowering his voice.

"I told May," he said.

MJ blinked. "You told her?"

He nodded again.

"You told your aunt about your... after school activities?"

"Yeah. I didn't really plan it or anything," Peter said, his voice still quiet, eyes shifting around just in case. "It just kind of... happened. It felt like the right moment, I guess. Especially after what you said."

MJ raised her brows. "You actually listened to me?"

Peter looked at her, half-smiling. "Why are you so surprised?"

"Because you've got a very strong track record of doing the opposite of what people tell you. Do you need reminding of why I had to bandage you up last time?" MJ teased.

Peter let out a light laugh but then hesitated, considering it. "I'm not that bad," MJ didn't respond, just continued to walk. Peter sighed, knowing she was partially right. "Okay, yeah... fair."

"But I'm glad you did," MJ added, more sincerely this time. "That you told her. It means you've got one more person looking out for you now. And I'm guessing it went well since you don't look like you're expecting the sky to fall."

Peter smiled, relief flickering across his face. "It actually went... really well. Like, way better than I expected. She didn't freak out. She was shocked, obviously, but she wants to support me. Just asked that I tell her when I go out and when I've been hurt. No more sneaking."

MJ tilted her head slightly. "That sounds more than fair."

"Yeah," Peter said softly, a bit of guilt still sitting in the back of his mind for all the times he'd lied before. "She's always been there for me. I guess I should've told her sooner."

MJ nudged his arm gently. "You told her when you were ready. And now you don't have to keep carrying it all by yourself."

Peter nodded, more grateful than he could really express. He hadn't realized just how heavy the secret had been until he finally said it out loud.

They reached the stairwell, and just before heading down, MJ glanced back at him. "Oh, by the way, Mr. Harrington called an emergency decathlon meeting after school. Something about 'team morale' or whatever. You better be on time or he'll start crying again."

Peter groaned. "I was late one time."

"You were late three times," MJ corrected, smirking. "Just be there."

Peter gave her a mock salute as she turned to head to her next class. "Yes, ma'am."

She threw a look over her shoulder, eyes twinkling just a little. "And Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm proud of you."

The words were simple, but they landed harder than she probably meant them to. Peter stood in the hallway for a second longer after she disappeared around the corner, letting the words settle.

He didn't say it out loud, but the truth was — her opinion meant more than she probably realized.

Peter and Ned got through the classroom door with a minute to spare. MJ was already in her seat, arms crossed and eyebrows raised like she'd expected nothing less from the both of them. She didn't say anything, but the silent judgment in her glance said enough. Peter mouthed a quick "Sorry", and Ned gave her a thumbs-up before they slid into their seats.

Mr. Harrington clapped his hands together at the front of the room, visibly buzzing with what he clearly thought was big news. "Okay, people, settle in. This meeting is... well, long overdue."

Everyone quieted down as he adjusted his glasses and looked around at the group.

"I know some of you have been wondering about Liz," he began, a shadow of discomfort settling into his voice. "It's true... she's been away longer than we initially expected. And... I regret to inform you that she won't be returning to Midtown."

The room rippled with noise— murmurs, questions, and confused glances passed between teammates. Even Peter and Ned exchanged a look of surprise.

"Now, I can't go into the details," Harrington said quickly, raising a hand to silence the chatter. "It's a... private matter. But with the regional competition fast approaching, it's only fair that we appoint a new team captain. We can't go forward without one."

Peter sat up straighter, glancing toward MJ who looked perfectly composed, like she'd been expecting this. H e looked back at Ned who seemed to have also noticed.

Mr. Harrington smiled and continued, "After reviewing team contributions and overall commitment, I've decided that Michelle will be our new captain."

The group clapped. Ned gave an enthusiastic whoop, and Peter joined in the clapping quickly. MJ didn't react immediately, but finally nodded and corrected, "It's MJ. Just MJ."

Mr. Harrington nodded sheepishly. "Of course, MJ. She's stepped up a lot these past few weeks, taken on responsibilities that weren't hers to begin with, and honestly, without her, I don't think we'd still be functioning as a team. So this feels right."

There was a round of applause, this time more genuine, as MJ looked around with her usual mix of indifference and appreciation, though Peter caught the small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Well," Mr. Harrington concluded, "that's all I wanted to say. Keep studying, and let's show the rest of the schools what Midtown's made of."

The team slowly filed out of the room, buzzing with speculation about Liz and the upcoming tournament. Peter and Ned hung back, waiting for MJ as she packed up her things.

"Congrats, MJ," Peter said, stepping up beside her. "Captain suits you."

"Yeah," Ned grinned. "Finally, someone who can scare Harrington more than he scares us."

MJ zipped up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. "I intend to abuse the power immediately."

Peter laughed, but MJ's gaze narrowed slightly, playful but firm. "Which means, Peter, no skipping the next competition."

Peter blinked, realising he hadn't even had that conversation with either her or Ned. "How did you—?"

"I have my ways," she cut in smoothly, shooting him a knowing look.

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I was gonna say—"

"Nope," MJ interrupted again. "No excuses. Queens can survive without you for a day. But the team needs you. We're strongest when we're all there. That includes you."

Peter hesitated. He had already been planning to miss the next meet — it landed on his internship day — and balancing everything lately became increasingly difficult.

"I mean... I was going to be at Stark Industries that day," he said slowly, hoping she'd understand.

Ned chimed in, "Dude, you literally told me Mr. Stark offered to reschedule after you missed the last one. I doubt he's going to fire you for not showing up for one session, especially since it's school related."

Peter gave him a glare. "Whose side are you on?"

"The side where we don't lose the regional tournament because you bailed again," MJ replied, crossing her arms. 

Peter sighed dramatically, but the smile tugging at his lips gave him away. "Alright, alright. I'll be there."

"Good," MJ said, voice lighter now. "Because if you weren't, I'd have had to make an actual itinerary of guilt trips."

"Terrifying," Peter said. "Truly."

The three of them walked out of the room together, the hallway emptying around them.

Peter's next internship day felt like an eternity away. After faking being sick and missing the previous session, Peter was more than ready to get back — to some sense of normal, whatever that even meant anymore. The lab had become a kind of second home, though Peter was starting to wonder if it was dangerous how quickly he'd gotten comfortable there. Maybe too comfortable.

When he arrived, the lab was quiet — eerily so. The gentle hum of the lights and the soft whir of machinery were the only signs of life. Tony wasn't there. Normally, that wouldn't have worried him. He'd been in the lab alone before — usually early mornings or when Tony was tied up in meetings — but after their last interaction as Spider-Man and Iron Man, the empty space suddenly felt more loaded. Tense.

Peter swallowed the nerves and moved to his workstation, pulling out the notes he'd left behind. It felt like ages since he'd last looked at them, even though it had barely been a week. The scribbles and diagrams stared back at him, oddly familiar yet distant, like a version of himself before the Brooklyn incident. He tried to focus, flipping through the pages to catch up.

The door slid open a few minutes later, and Peter nearly jumped out of his seat. Tony walked in, coffee in hand, casually scrolling through something on a tablet. He looked up with a grin.

"Hey, look who didn't die. Feeling better now?" he asked, setting the coffee on the counter.

Peter nodded quickly. "Yeah, much better. Must've just been a 24-hour bug or something."

Tony made a face. "Good. Last thing I need is my favorite intern patient-zero-ing my entire lab."

Peter laughed, easing into the moment. "No way. I could never risk infecting the great Tony Stark. Pretty sure that's, like, a federal offense or something."

Tony gave him a playful eye-roll and turned his attention to a screen across the room. "Smart kid."

Peter hesitated for a second, then leaned back in his chair. "I saw you on the news," he said carefully, watching Tony for a reaction. "The whole Avengers thing in Brooklyn... kind of a big deal."

Peter wanted to see if Tony would offer up any thoughts on the whole Spider-Man situation, it was slim but there was hope. Even if he didn't bring up Spider-Man, he was still hopeful to hear the man's side of the story.

Tony glanced over his shoulder, expression unreadable. "Yeah, figured it was time to put in a little overtime at the other job."

There was a pause. Peter nodded slowly. "Everyone at school's been talking about it. Saying it's nice to see the Avengers working together again."

Tony's fingers tapped at the screen. "Well, the Avengers are still a team," he said without looking at Peter. "Just because we're not all living in the same place holding hands doesn't mean we don't show up when it matters. The whole 'team dynamic' thing looks different these days, but we're still in it together."

Peter nodded and took a breath. "Can I ask a personal question?" he asked cautiously. He spent quite a bit of time with Tony but he didn't know if he'd reached the point of being able to ask things on a personal level without getting kicked out.

Tony finally looked over, one eyebrow raised. "You can ask. Doesn't mean I'll answer it."

Peter hesitated again, then pushed forward, trying not to overthink it. "Are you mad at Captain America?" The question hung in the air longer than Peter expected, causing Peter to rush to explain. "It's just that there were rumours online that you guys got into a fight." 

Tony stared at him for a moment, eyes sharper now, before looking away and walking toward one of the tool benches.

"We didn't get into a fight," he said after a beat. "Not the kind people think. Not physically, anyway."

Peter didn't say anything. He could tell this wasn't something Tony talked about often.

Tony kept his hands busy, adjusting a tool, not meeting Peter's gaze. "None of us are proud of how things went down. Things... escalated. We got close. Too close. But Barnes, he managed to talk some sense into Rogers. Got him to stop, to think, to talk instead of taking everything on himself. So instead of punching each other's faces in, we talked."

Peter nodded slowly, still not entirely sure where the lines were between truth and public narrative. "Then... why do you seem so angry at him?"

Tony finally set the tool down. This time he looked at Peter fully. "It's not how the accords went down. It's because Steve kept something from me. Something that mattered. The kind of thing that breaks trust. And when you break that, even if you make peace later, it doesn't go back to how it was. Not right away."

Peter felt the weight of those words. He didn't know the full story — only bits and pieces from the media and what little Tony had ever let slip. But he understood the feeling. Secrets ruining something important.

It hit Peter a bit harder than it should've. After all, he was another person keeping a secret from him.

The silence between them stretched just a little too long. Peter fidgeted with a pen on the desk before trying to shift the mood.

"For what it's worth," he said with a small, crooked smile, "I always preferred Iron Man to Captain America."

Tony barked a laugh, more genuine than Peter expected. "You're just saying that because I sign your internship forms."

Peter grinned, playing along. "Maybe. But still, shiny suit, genius brain-- kind of hard to compete with that."

Tony pointed at him. "Flattery won't get you a raise."

Peter chuckled, but even as the moment lightened, he could still feel the tension lingering just under the surface — not just about Steve or the past, but about everything that had changed since the first night Spider-Man and Iron Man talked on that rooftop.

Peter tried to stay focused on the notes in front of him, but the words blurred together on the page. He wasn't reading anymore — just pretending to, trying to look busy while his thoughts drifted somewhere else entirely.

Tony's words from earlier replayed in his head like a haunting echo:

"The kind of thing that breaks trust. And when you break that, even if you make peace later, it doesn't go back to how it was."

It hit Peter harder than he expected. Not just because it came from Tony, who always wrapped serious things in sarcasm or smirks, but because he knew that, in this case, Tony didn't even realize how close to the truth he was.

Peter was sitting on something — something huge. Something that could absolutely break the careful trust they'd built over the last few months. And no matter how many good things he did or how much he wanted to believe his heart was in the right place, the reality was that he was still lying to him. Every smile, every joke, every project they worked on together — it was built on borrowed time.

So he tried to think of something else — anything else — and, like it had so many times recently, his mind drifted to MJ. She had this strange calming effect, even when she was brutally honest or annoyingly observant. Talking to her after May found out about Spider-Man had grounded him. Somehow, MJ always knew how to make things a little less heavy.

He thought of her sarcasm. Her sharp eyes. The way she noticed him even when he wasn't saying anything. Especially when he wasn't saying anything. She'd become his safe place in a weird way — someone he didn't have to pretend with, even if he wasn't ready to give her everything.

"You're doing that distant thinking thing again."

Peter blinked, startled. Tony was leaning against one of the tables across the room, arms crossed and eyebrow raised.

"What?" Peter asked, his voice a little too high. "No I'm not."

Tony tilted his head. "Kid, I could practically hear the gears grinding. You've got that 'existential crisis face' going on. Come on, spill. What's going on in that head of yours."

Peter laughed awkwardly and shook his head. "It's nothing. Just... school stuff."

Tony didn't buy it, and they both knew it. He pushed off the table and took a few steps closer. "Alright. Let's narrow it down. School stuff like homework, classes or... possibly a person?"

Peter hesitated, which was enough of an answer.

Tony smirked. "Bingo. Okay, what kind of person are we talking about here? Crush?"

Peter turned bright red. "I—what? No! I mean—maybe. I don't know."

Tony raised a hand. "You don't have to explain. I've been there. Actually, I've been there more times than I probably should admit," Tony admitted. "How long have you been crushing for?"

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, feeling heat crawl up his ears. "I don't know, it just kind of... happened. I didn't even realize it at first. One minute we were just friends, and then I looked at her one day and it was like... something shifted."

"That's usually how it goes," Tony said with a knowing nod. "You don't see it coming until it's already hit you."

Peter offered a sheepish smile. "Yeah."

"So when are you going to tell her?" Tony asked casually.

Peter's face fell. "I can't."

Tony raised a brow. "Why not?"

"Because I don't think she feels the same," Peter muttered. "And if I tell her and I'm wrong... it could ruin everything. She's one of my closest friends. I don't want to screw that up."

Tony was quiet for a moment, then let out a short breath. "You know, you kids are so dramatic."

Peter looked up, mildly offended. "I'm being serious."

"So am I," Tony replied. "Look, I get it. It's scary. But you're already miserable sitting on it. You think not knowing is going to feel better six months from now?"

Peter didn't answer. He wanted to. But the truth was, he didn't know what would feel better — or worse.

Tony leaned back against the edge of the table. "Here's the thing, Pete. You don't get to control how people feel about you. You can't force her to like you, and yeah, you might lose something if she doesn't. But if you're going to let fear make your decisions, then you'll never take the shot."

Peter frowned, still unconvinced. "And if it ruins our friendship?"

Tony shrugged gently. "Then maybe it wasn't as solid as you thought. But maybe... just maybe... she feels the same way and she's waiting for you to say something first. You won't know unless you do."

Peter looked down again, tracing a finger along the edge of his notebook. "It just... it feels like too much. Everything lately does. School, home, this internship. I feel like I'm juggling five different lives."

Tony smiled faintly, more understanding now. "Welcome to the club. Life doesn't slow down just because you want it to. But the people who matter, they're the ones who stick around through all of it."

That struck Peter in a different way. Because MJ had stuck around. So had Ned. And Tony... Tony had, too.

Peter finally let out a long breath. "I'll think about it."

"That's all I ask," Tony said with a smile. "Just don't let the moment pass because you're too scared to step into it."

Peter nodded slowly, and for the first time in a while, the weight in his chest felt just a little bit lighter.

It was the first time he had admitted his feelings out loud. He hadn't told Ned. He hadn't told May. He didn't know why he told Tony, but finally talking out loud, he realised he did care about MJ. Somewhere along the way he had developed a crush on her.

Chapter Text

The tower was quiet, unnervingly so, the kind of silence that usually preceded a sleepless night or a bad decision. Tony stood at one of the lab’s workbenches, fingers rhythmically tapping against the metal surface, eyes narrowed on the tablet in front of him. FRIDAY dimmed the overhead lights slightly, as she always did when he wasn’t speaking or moving for too long.

He was supposed to be calibrating a new scanner for the satellite systems. Something efficient. Something practical. Something important.

Instead, he’d pulled up Peter Parker’s internship notes again. Not the official ones, or the sanitized Stark Industries progress reports, but the private log — his own thoughts, scattered observations, mental footnotes that weren’t fit for a database.

“Fast learner. Smarter than he lets on. Humble. Weirdly cagey. Hyperaware. Almost too aware. Definitely hiding something — not in a dangerous way. Just... guarded.”

Tony sighed, tossing the tablet aside with a clatter. He leaned back against the edge of the bench, arms crossed, gaze drifting upward.

He liked the kid. More than he’d meant to.

Peter was different. Not just because he was bright — god, half the kids at MIT were bright — but because he carried that brightness with some stubborn moral compass, something rigid and fragile all at once. Like he was trying too hard to be good, as if being good meant constantly holding your breath.

Tony knew that feeling. Too well.

And maybe that’s why he hadn’t brought it up yet, he'd wanted to question him - pick apart his brain until he figured out why the kid would constantly go from relaxed to guarded so quicky. But he didn’t want to corner Peter. And more importantly... he didn’t want Peter to stop trusting him.

But there was something he could do. Something useful.

He opened a new holo-projection on the interface. A slim bracelet, sleek enough to pass for an accessory, popped up in mid-air. The foundation for something safe.

“FRIDAY, pull up environmental readings from the last alien-tech flag in Queens. Overlay with the civilian proximity index.”

A soft chime rang as the projections shifted, blotches of red and orange spreading across the map like burns.

Peter’s neighborhood lit up like a Christmas tree.

“Figures,” Tony muttered. “Right in the middle of it.”

He swiped through Peter’s file again — the official version this time — pausing at a note from his last internship check-in. "Frequently discusses interest in Spider-Man. Strong moral reasoning in ethical hypotheticals. Asked multiple questions about risk protocols in civilian scenarios."

Of course he did.

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, already regretting what he was thinking of doing next. “Let’s assume,” he said aloud, “for no particular reason, that a certain intern lives in the crosshairs of some leftover extra-terrestrial junk. Let’s also assume that he’s a little too eager to be where the action is.”

FRIDAY chimed, “Would you like me to create a protective gear profile for Mr. Parker?”

He paused. “No. Nothing too obvious. Not a suit. I’m not putting a reactor in his chest and a target on his back.”

A beat.

“But maybe... something reactive. Proximity-triggered. Lightweight. Portable.”

He expanded the design projection. The bracelet began to shift — a layered weave of nano-fiber threads over an armored filament base. Discreet, but capable of deploying a short-range repulsor shield if triggered. Enough to absorb a blast, deflect a collapse. Maybe even a tracking module, just in case.

“I cant believe I'm really doing this,” he thought to himself.

He looked down at the blueprints and almost laughed. The design was coming together faster than he expected. Of course it was. He’d built things for a lot of people, but the ideas always came quicker when he gave a damn.

And he did. Against his better judgment.

“I just want the kid to be able to walk home without getting vaporized,” he muttered.

He leaned forward again, tweaking the energy draw. It was overkill, probably. Peter would likely never use it — just stash it in a drawer next to his Midtown ID and his permanently overdue library books.

But it would be there. Just in case.

Because even if Peter wasn’t in the thick of things — even if he was just a smart, kind kid with a penchant for idolizing Spider-Man and getting too close to trouble — Tony couldn’t ignore the gut feeling anymore. That nagging echo in the back of his mind.

The world doesn’t warn you before it gets dangerous.

And if Peter ever found himself in a situation where that line between safe and not-safe vanished in an instant... he’d have something.

He exhaled, sitting back on the stool and rubbing a hand over his jaw. The holo-bracelet rotated slowly above the table, glowing faint blue in the lab light.

“Maybe I should've gone for a watch,” Tony murmured. "FRIDAY, lets look at redesigning it to be a Stark watch."

Sunday morning had never felt so tense.

After missing one of his previous internship session because of that whole mess in Brooklyn, Peter had initially been convinced Tony Stark was going to drop him from the program entirely. But instead, Mr. Stark had given him the opportunity of a reschedule. Peter had no idea what to do with that, when to rearrange it for. Luckily Mr. Stark had sent him a follow-up, a short, surprisingly casual message:

"You’ve got a weekend slot if you want it. Sunday, 10AM. You'll still get your two days this week."

Peter couldn't believe it.

He was on time, early, actually. He was dressed like it was his first day all over again, backpack slung over his shoulder, nerves bundled up in his chest. As the elevator climbed toward the lab, Peter gave a small wave toward the camera in the corner, addressing the AI that always seemed one step ahead of him.

"Morning, FRIDAY."

"Good morning, Peter," the familiar voice responded. "Boss has been called to handle an unexpected situation, so he’ll be running late today. He’s given you access to the lab. You’re permitted to conduct small tests or continue planning work. He’s trusting you not to do anything... reckless."

"Yeah, that's fine," Peter said, stepping out as the doors opened. "No explosions. No chaos. Just some harmless nerd stuff. Got it."

He stepped into the lab, quiet, humming, almost too big when it was empty. It was the first time he’d been allowed in here without Mr. Stark somewhere in the building. Something about it felt like a test. A silent evaluation.

He sat down at his desk, pulling out his notebook and flipping through his project sketches. He tried to focus. He really did. He even started organizing his notes on micro actuator response timing. But his fingers kept twitching toward the edge of the paper, toward sketches that weren’t part of his internship work.

His personal designs.

Peter glanced at the clock. Still no Tony. He chewed his bottom lip.

Just thinking about it made his brain buzz: how he could increase his web fluid capacity, how the compression chambers in his shooters could be fine-tuned, how Stark’s leftover composite polymers could reinforce the threading on his new suit.

He’d been working on it back in his room. Initially stitching slowly by hand, then he'd began learning to use a sewing machine via YouTube tutorials, repurposing parts from old blueprints he’d memorized. But here, with real materials at his fingertips...

"Just a few tweaks," Peter muttered to himself. "I mean, I’m technically still doing science."

He moved quickly. He opened his bag and pulled out his partially upgraded web-shooter that he'd forgotten to take out of his bag the previous day, placing it on the workbench next to the components he’d carefully taken from the storage shelves earlier. Nothing dangerous, just compact tubing, wiring, pressure regulators. He’d even made sure to sign them out using the student log tablet.

Okay, maybe not under his name, but it was still signed out.

The new design came together faster than he expected. The miniaturized fluid tank clipped in with a satisfying click, and Peter grinned at the way the casing snapped into place. All he needed now was to do a small output test—

Ding.

The elevator.

Panic surged through him like electricity. He snapped his web-shooter off the table and scrambled to shove it and the related pages of notes into his bag. He flattened out his official internship project blueprints, spread them casually across the desk, and was just pretending to study them intently when Tony walked in.

"Morning, Kid," Tony said, already walking toward the bench like he’d been there the whole time. "How’s your quiet Sunday of pure, responsible science?"

Peter tried not to look like he’d just committed a felony. "It’s been... good! Productive. Very low on explosions."

Tony raised a brow at him, amused. "No explosions? I’m honestly a little disappointed."

Peter chuckled awkwardly, shifting in his seat. "I mean, I could arrange one-"

"Please don’t." Tony grabbed a tablet from the side counter, tapping through some diagnostics. "Alright. Now that you’ve got supervision, we can move on to the fun stuff."

Peter nodded, his nerves still buzzing. He could still feel the weight of his bag at his feet. Too heavy with secrets. But for now, he was in the clear.

And somehow... trusted.

That part scared him more than anything else.

Because being trusted by Tony Stark- really trusted, meant one thing: He couldn’t afford to mess this up.

A little while later, once they’d finished reviewing the updated energy dispersion module they’d been working on, Peter hesitated. He wasn’t sure if he should ask, but the idea had been gnawing at the edge of his thoughts ever since Tony walked in.

"Hey, uh, Mr. Stark? Would it be okay if I took a few small components home with me? Just, you know, for a school project?"

Tony gave him a slow look, eyebrow raised. "What kind of project are we talking about? Any chance it involves a laser drill or nuclear fission?"

"No! No way. I was thinking, like... uh... tensile strength testing on polymers?" Peter forced a smile that probably looked more like a grimace. "Totally safe. Totally boring."

Tony paused a moment, eyes narrowing, not in a threatening way, more like he was reading Peter like an open book.

"I’ll allow it," he said at last. "But if I find out you’ve used those parts to build a mechanical octopus or anything that could land me on the front page, we’re going to have a very serious chat."

Peter laughed. "No octopi. I promise."

Tony smirked and leaned back against the table. "Good. I’d hate to have to send Happy to do a surprise inspection. The man’s got no patience for teenagers."

Peter nodded, his heart slowing down a bit as the conversation moved on. The lab became more comfortable again, the tension evaporating under the hum of equipment and the familiar, low chatter of Tony muttering equations under his breath.

But Peter couldn’t help glancing at his bag every few minutes.

Because inside it was something that if Tony Stark was to find, he'd be in huge trouble.

Luckily for him, the genius didn't even spare a glance in it's direction.

The next morning, Peter found Ned waiting by their lockers, already halfway through a granola bar and rambling about something he’d seen in a tech forum. Peter greeted him with a lopsided smile and a tired wave.

“You good?” Ned asked, squinting at him. “You look like you’ve been up all night.”

Peter grinned. “Kinda. I was working on the webshooters last night. Got to test out the mods I made at SI.”

Ned’s eyes widened. “You did what? You modified them at Stark Industries?”

Peter nodded, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Yeah, I had the lab to myself for a while. FRIDAY said Tony had to run out, so I figured it was the best chance I’d get. I worked fast, packed everything up before he came back.”

Ned looked mildly horrified. “Dude. I know you think you’re stealthy and all, but you do realize that building is run by an AI, right? What if she told him?”

Peter froze mid-step. “Oh.”

Ned gave him a look. “You think she’s not going to casually mention that the intern started tinkering with advanced tech that could possibly linked to Spider-Man while the boss was out?”

Peter winced. “I… didn’t really think about that.”

There was a pause as the implications sank in. Peter’s shoulders drooped slightly, his confidence faltering.

Ned noticed and clapped him on the back. “Don't worry, I'm sure you would've already had Tony Stark knocking your door down if he knew. Besides, I’m still excited to see the new shooters tonight. You finally added that extended cartridge capacity?”

Peter perked up again. “Yeah, and I think I figured out how to compress the fluid more without sacrificing firing pressure. It’s not perfect yet, but—yeah. Getting there.”

As they rounded the corner, Peter’s pace slowed slightly, his gaze drifting across the hallway. MJ was standing near her locker, talking with Betty. She had her arms crossed, eyebrows raised in a way that made it look like she was simultaneously listening and judging whatever Betty was saying.

Ned followed Peter’s gaze, then smirked knowingly. “Wow. You’ve got it bad.”

Peter blinked, snapping out of it. “What? uh, what are you talking about?”

“Oh, please.” Ned rolled his eyes. “You’ve had this look on your face whenever she's about. It’s like your brain hits pause every time you see her.”

“I do not have a look.”

“You totally do. It’s like this dazed, heart-eyes, lovesick puppy thing.”

Peter sighed. “Even if I did—which I’m not saying I do—it’s not the right time.”

Ned raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

Peter shrugged. “She’s focused on decathlon stuff. I don’t want to mess with that or distract her. She’s been doing a great job since Liz left. Being team captain’s a lot.”

Ned tilted his head. “That’s... weirdly noble of you.”

Peter glanced down, shifting the strap of his backpack. “It’s not about that. I just… I respect her, you know? She deserves to feel like her work matters more than some awkward high school confession.”

Ned looked at him for a moment, then gave a small nod. “Okay, yeah. That’s fair.”

They kept walking, Peter throwing one last glance over his shoulder. MJ must have felt it because she looked over, catching his eye briefly before going back to her conversation. Peter quickly looked away, cheeks burning.

Ned tried not to laugh. “You’re so obvious, dude.”

Peter groaned. “Don’t start.”

Ned just grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll save it for when I meet your future spider-in-laws.”

Peter groaned louder.

Chapter Text

Peter had barely stepped out into the hallway when his phone started buzzing in his pocket. He fished it out, expecting a message from Ned or MJ, but paused when he saw May’s name on the screen. That was… unusual. May never called him during school hours unless something was wrong.

He ducked into the nearest empty classroom, the door clicking shut behind him. With a quick glance around to make sure he was alone, he swiped to answer.

“Hey, May? Everything okay?”

“Oh, sweetheart, yeah—I’m sorry to call you in the middle of the day,” she said, her voice soft but tinged with a hint of nerves.

Peter’s stomach dropped slightly. May wasn’t usually this hesitant. “No, it’s totally fine. Are you alright?”

“I’m okay, I promise. I just wanted to let you know that I won’t be home when you get back tonight. I’ve got to go into work for a meeting with my boss. It came up kind of last minute.”

Peter nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “That’s okay. I’ll let myself in.”

“Well… your keys are still on the table,” May reminded him gently. “I was going to ask if you could maybe stay at Ned’s until I get back?”

Peter glanced down at his bag. “I could ask, but—” he dropped his voice slightly, “—I kinda left the window unlocked. I was just going to, y’know… Spider-Man my way in.”

There was a short silence on the other end of the line.

“Peter,” she said, in that mom-tone that immediately made him feel ten years old. “Someone could see you.”

“I’ll be careful,” he promised quickly. “I packed my suit today anyway—I was going to swing around a bit after school. I won’t go in through the front like a weirdo. I’ll be fast.”

May sighed, not entirely thrilled but not entirely surprised either. “I know I said you could tell me these things now, but I still don’t love hearing them.”

“I get it. But I promise, I’ll be careful. No rooftop flips in broad daylight,” he added, trying to make her smile.

“You’d better not,” she warned, though he could hear the amused exhale. “And please—don’t climb up the fire escape if there are people around.”

“I won’t. Cross my heart.”

There was a pause, and then Peter tilted his head. “Wait, what’s this meeting about anyway? Why’s your boss calling you in last minute?”

“Oh,” May said, suddenly sounding lighter, “I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure, but… I’m in the running for a promotion. I think this meeting is to tell me if I got it.”

Peter’s eyes lit up. “Wait, seriously? That’s amazing! Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I didn’t want to jinx it,” she admitted, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “It’s been a rough couple of months at the clinic. I figured if it wasn’t going to happen, I’d rather not get your hopes up too.”

Peter grinned. “Well, now I am hoping, so you’d better get it.”

“I’ll do my best,” she chuckled.

“I mean, they’d be stupid not to give it to you,” he said. “You’re like… the nicest, hardest-working person I know.”

“Oh, Peter…”

“I’m serious. They should promote you to running the whole hospital. Actually, you should own the hospital. That’s how good you are.”

May laughed, clearly flustered but pleased. “Okay, that’s enough flattery for one phone call. Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”

“I was on my way to lunch,” he said. “You caught me in the hallway. I just ducked into an empty room.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t locked out tonight.”

“I’ll be fine,” Peter assured her. “And hey—text me after the meeting, okay? I want to know what happens.”

“I will. Thanks, sweetheart. Love you.”

Peter smiled, glancing out the narrow window of the classroom door and seeing students filter past. “Love you too. Bye.”

He ended the call, tucking his phone into his pocket as he exhaled. Even now that May knew his secret, it still caught him off guard—the way she worried, the way she cared, the way she was already balancing his superhero life in her head without panic or judgment. He knew it wasn’t easy for her. He hadn’t really considered how hard it might be to have to live with that kind of knowledge every day.

But somehow, she’d taken it in stride. Of course she had. She was May.

Peter slung his backpack over his shoulder again and stepped out into the hall, joining the flow of students heading toward the cafeteria.

Peter and Ned decided to hang out for a bit before going their separate ways that evening. They'd been sitting on the curb outside for a while, talking about everything and nothing, their conversation drifting easily the way it always did.

“I’ve been thinking,” Ned said, finishing the last sip of his soda. “We should build an intercom for your suit.”

Peter blinked. “An intercom?”

“Yeah,” Ned said, eyes lighting up with the kind of energy he always got when an idea took hold. “That way I can talk to you when you’re out patrolling. I’ll listen in on the police radio and then direct you to wherever the trouble is. Boom—team-up.”

Peter grinned, nudging his shoulder. “So I’m Spider-Man and you’re my guy in the chair… but now with actual voice access.”

“Exactly!” Ned said, practically vibrating with excitement. “I could route it through a secured line—maybe encrypted Bluetooth or something. Low range, but good enough if you’re not too far out. It’d make us way more efficient.”

Peter nodded slowly. “I mean… that’d actually be super helpful. Especially for the after-school patrols. Could save me a ton of time just chasing chatter.”

“Exactly!” Ned repeated, tossing his empty cup into a nearby bin. “Only thing is, you can’t expect me to stay up till 2am when you sneak out on a random Tuesday. I do need sleep.”

Peter laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah. You’re right. If I’m saying it’s too late for you to be awake, maybe I shouldn’t be swinging around half-conscious, huh?”

“Bingo,” Ned said. “Even spiders need sleep.”

Peter rolled his eyes fondly. “You know I'm still more human than Spider, right?”

“Well I don't know another human with spider DNA.” He shrugged

They lingered for another minute, the streetlights flickering on one by one around them. Ned finally stepped back. “I’m gonna get started on a prototype tonight. You better swing by when I’ve got it ready so we can install it.”

“I will. Thanks, man,” Peter said, sincerely.

“Anytime, dude,” Ned said, grinning as he turned to head home. “Be safe.”

Peter watched him go for a second before ducking into a nearby alleyway, slipping behind a dumpster where the shadows ran deep. He opened his backpack and quickly pulled out his suit, changing with practiced ease. A few minutes later, he zipped the mask over his face and climbed the fire escape like a whisper, reaching the rooftop with a quiet thud of his boots.

The city opened up in front of him.

Brooklyn was settling into night time, the streets glowing gold under streetlights and neon. The air smelled faintly of rain and exhaust. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the hum of music from an open window and the occasional bark of a dog.

Peter exhaled, then launched himself forward, firing a web across the street and swinging into the warm summer air.

The wind cut past him as he moved from rooftop to rooftop, his mind clearing with every swing. He didn’t have a route tonight—just a few hours to spare and a city that never really slept. He kept his senses sharp, scanning the streets below for anything that felt off.

About twenty minutes in, he heard it—a short scream echoing from a side street near Flatbush.

Peter adjusted his swing and zeroed in, landing on the side of a brick building just above the alley. Below, a woman was backing away from a man who was holding her bag tightly in one hand.

“Hey!” Peter shouted, flipping down with ease. The mugger turned to run, but he barely made it five steps before Peter webbed his legs together and yanked him off balance.

The guy hit the pavement with a thud and a groan.

Peter jogged over to help the woman up. “You okay, ma’am?”

She looked a little stunned but nodded. “Yeah—yeah, I think so. Thank you.”

Peter handed her back the purse and gave a polite nod. “Be safe, okay? And maybe avoid side streets alone at night.”

“I’ll try,” she said with a breathless laugh. “Thank you, Spider-Man!”

He gave her a wave and shot up the side of the building again, heart still racing. That never got old.

The rest of the patrol was quieter. He stopped a group of kids from climbing a construction site fence, redirected traffic around a stalled bus, and helped a guy jumpstart his car with a little web-powered battery trick he wasn’t totally sure was legal. But it felt good. It felt… right.

As the night wore on, he perched on top of an apartment building, legs dangling over the edge as he caught his breath. The city buzzed beneath him. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear faint sirens—but nothing urgent. Not tonight.

He thought about Ned’s intercom idea, about May’s promotion, about MJ and how she smiled when she was explaining something she really cared about. Then he shook himself out of it, stood up, and fired another web toward home.

One more swing across the rooftops.

Peter wasn’t far from home when the sharp wail of sirens.

He paused mid-swing, landing lightly on a nearby rooftop to get a better view. Red and blue lights blinked a few blocks over, painting the street below in harsh color. From up high, he could make out the twisted wreckage of several cars—one of them smashed nearly in half. Skid marks carved into the asphalt, glass scattered like ice across the road.

His chest tightened.

Without hesitation, Peter swung down, landing near the edge of the crash zone. People were crying, groaning, stumbling out of their vehicles. He moved quickly, checking the outermost cars first—both drivers alert, shaken, but okay. He told them not to move, not to push it. “Paramedics are on the way,” he reassured them.

Then he heard someone shout—“There’s still someone in the taxi!”

Peter’s stomach dropped.

The cab was a crumpled mess, crushed between the other two vehicles. The driver, blood on his forehead, stood nearby, pointing frantically at the back seat. “I tried! I couldn’t get the door open—she’s still in there!”

Peter rushed over, grabbing the crumpled rear door and ripping it clean off the hinges with a grunt. Metal groaned under his hands as he pulled it free. He crouched low and climbed in—

And froze.

His whole world stopped.

“May?”

His voice cracked like ice beneath weight. She was slumped sideways in the back seat, head resting unnaturally against the window, blood pooling at her temple, her chest barely rising—if it was rising at all.

“May?” he said again, softer now, desperately hopeful. He reached forward with shaking hands and gently brushed her hair away from her face, his mask pulled halfway up.

He touched her cheek. Cold.

“No, no no no—May, come on,” he whispered, panic creeping into his voice. “You gotta stay with me, okay? Just hang on. Help’s almost here. You’re not alone. I’m here.”

He kept talking to her, voice trembling but constant—pleading, comforting, promising. Somewhere behind him, he heard the sirens finally pull up. He barely registered it.

“She's in here!” he shouted, mask back over his face as he jumped out of the wreck. “She needs help! Now!”

The paramedics rushed forward, pushing past him. Peter stepped back, fists clenched so tight he felt his nails cutting into his palms through the gloves.

He watched as they opened up their kits, called out vital signs, did everything they could. He listened for her heartbeat—but something told him before they even confirmed it.

He heard the silence.

Then nothing.

Peter’s breath caught. His heart thudded once-- twice-- then crashed against his ribs as his brain caught up with what just happened.

He stumbled backward a step.

No.

No. That wasn’t—

This wasn’t supposed to—

He couldn’t stay. He couldn’t watch this. Couldn’t bear the realization setting in on their faces. Couldn’t hear them say it.

Couldn’t watch them close the doors.

So he ran.

He bolted down the alley and launched himself into the air, swinging hard and fast, ignoring the ache in his arms, the burning in his lungs, the tears that blurred the city lights around him. He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t care. He just needed to be away, far from the street, from the sirens, from the wreckage.

From her.

He pushed himself harder, faster, the wind slicing at his face. The city blurred beneath him; neon signs, blinking crosswalks, traffic, everything smeared into a whirl of light and noise he couldn’t focus on.

His mind was too full.

He replayed her voice. Her laughter. The call earlier. Her teasing reminder to be careful. The warmth of her hug that morning. The way she always waited up, just in case. The dinner she never got to eat. The smile she gave him when she told him good luck.

And now—gone.

Torn from him in seconds.

He landed hard on a rooftop, knees hitting concrete. He let the momentum carry him into a roll, but even that didn’t stop the scream building in his throat. He ripped the mask off and let it out, raw and broken, face buried in his hands as the night closed in around him.

The city didn’t stop. It never did.

But for Peter, the world had shattered.

And nothing—not his powers, not the suit, not even Spider-Man—could put it back together again.

Peter lay still on the rooftop, his limbs heavy, heart hollow. He didn’t know how long he’d been there—minutes, hours maybe. The sky was already starting to darken, the city below continuing on like nothing had happened. People went home, lights turned on, sirens faded into the distance.

The pain in his chest throbbed in time with the wind.

He didn’t even feel his Spidey sense until it was almost too late.

The thrum at the base of his skull hit just as a gust of air stirred above him—and then someone landed on the roof with a mechanical whirr. His head snapped up.

It wasn’t who he feared… but it also wasn’t who he wanted to see.

The Falcon.

Peter scrambled to his feet, legs shaky, heart slamming against his ribs. His brain screamed for him to bolt, vanish, get out before things got worse—but before he could even move, the fire exit door behind him swung open.

Captain America stepped out.

Peter backed up, eyes wide behind the mask. Not again. Not them. Not now.

His breath caught. Every instinct told him to run, but his legs wouldn’t obey. Not this time. He didn’t have it in him.

Steve held a hand up. “We need to talk.”

Peter shook his head. “Now’s really not a good time.”

His voice cracked halfway through, and he turned away slightly so they wouldn’t hear the grief buried in it. He tried to put more distance between them, moving toward the ledge, trying not to look as shaken as he felt.

Sam stepped forward. “We’re not here to fight you, kid. Just talk.”

Peter flinched. The word kid hit harder than it should have. He didn’t feel like a kid. Not right now. Not with everything that had just happened. Not with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“I’m not a kid,” he bit out, sharper than he meant to.

Steve raised his hands slightly in a calming gesture. “Sam didn’t mean it like that. We just know you're on the younger side. And when you're young… you're more likely to make mistakes. Big ones.”

Peter’s jaw tightened. “You don’t know what you're talking about.”

“We know you’ve been in over your head lately,” Steve said evenly, keeping his voice low and measured. “The Brooklyn incident, the salvage yard theft, even tonight. These aren’t small-time crimes anymore. They're escalating.”

Peter opened his mouth, but Sam stepped forward and cut in before he could.

“All we mean is... it’s dangerous, being young and gifted without backup. But we can help you. We want to help you.”

Steve nodded, folding his arms. “All we need is one thing: tell us who you are under the mask. Help us help you.”

Peter froze, breath catching.

There it was.

He took a step back, shoulders squaring, eyes narrowing behind the lenses of his mask. “You really didn’t get the message from Stark, huh? I’m not giving up my identity. Not to anyone.”

Steve exhaled through his nose, disappointed but not surprised. “It was clear Tony’s approach wasn’t working. So we had to intervene.”

“Well, it still won’t work,” Peter snapped. “Nothing’s changed. I’m not telling you. And you can’t make me.”

Sam exchanged a glance with Steve. “If you don’t want to tell us… then we’ll have to find out another way.”

The words landed like a weight in Peter’s gut.

His entire posture shifted. Tense. Alert. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You haven’t,” Steve agreed, his tone almost gentle. “But you’re still enhanced. And that makes people nervous. With the Accords reinstated, we can protect you, shield you from registration and enforcement, but only if we know who you are.”

Peter’s voice dropped, quiet and firm. “I’m not risking more people finding out. That’s not protection. That’s a target.”

Sam stepped closer. “It’s not a choice anymore.”

Peter’s Spider-Sense flared.

He turned, reacting on pure instinct, his hand snapping up just in time to catch a sleek arrow mid-flight, inches from his face. The impact jolted through his arm.

His eyes widened.

No. Not another one.

The sudden distraction was all Steve needed. In a split-second, he lunged forward, tackling Peter around the waist and driving him backward.

Peter hit the roof hard but managed to kick upward, his heel slamming into Steve’s chest, forcing him off. As Steve stumbled back, Peter twisted, shot a web directly at Sam’s face, blinding him for just a second.

Then he moved—scrambling up, leaping off the edge of the rooftop, and dropping into the alley below.

He hit the pavement, rolled, and broke into a sprint.

No more rooftops.

No more high ground.

He stuck to the streets now, dodging pedestrians, ducking through narrow alleyways, vaulting fences. Blending into the city.

His city.

His heart pounded, not just from the chase—but from the rising fear that everything was starting to unravel.

They weren’t going to stop.

And this time, they weren’t asking.

Tony stepped out of the elevator onto the residential floor, rubbing a hand over his face, already calculating how many hours of sleep he’d be skipping tonight. The prototype suit had thrown more errors than he had patience for, and all he wanted was a cup of coffee before diving back into the chaos.

He’d barely reached the kitchen when FRIDAY’s voice chimed in.

“Sir, you have two new alerts. One from Captain Rogers, and another flagged under Peter Parker.”

Tony froze mid-step.

“Skip Rogers,” he said quickly. “What’s going on with Peter?”

“Peter Parker has just entered the building. It is currently 11:42 p.m., which is not in Peter's listed regular hours.”

Tony didn’t even wait for her to finish. “What the hell is he doing here?” He spun around, coffee forgotten, and started toward the elevator. “Where is he now?”

“Currently still in the entrance. He has made no move to scan in.”

He jammed the elevator button impatiently, trying not to let the flood of thoughts spiral. It wasn’t like Peter to arrive when not expected. At this hour? And after the week he’d had, this was the last thing he needed.

The elevator dinged open and he strode down the hall, bootsteps echoing.

What was going on with the kid?