Chapter Text
Peter's day started like any other.
He was awoken with a cheerful wake-up call from FRIDAY— he was insanely jealous of the AI's ability to be so cheerful in the mornings— and stumbled out of bed, greeting Tony with a grunt as Steve handed him a plate of pancakes.
He'd slowly re-entered the land of the living, making his way down to the garage so Happy could drive him.
From there, he had met Ned at the doors and walked to class, chatting about his—well, Spider-man's— latest drug bust.
The majority of his day had passed like any other; Peter sat in the back of the class either working on homework or the latest water filtration system Tony and him and come up with (except for in APUSH, he needed all the help he could get during that class. It was not his strongest subject).
However, once he arrived at AcaDec, things took a turn for the worse. Mr. Harrington was out sick, so they technically weren't supposed to be able to meet up, but MJ had done… something, and they had practice again. That wasn't the bad part, no, the worst was… well, what came next.
Betty stared at him from across the room, her eyes narrowed. Peter was caught in her gaze, feeling like she was sorting through his secrets as MJ laid out the rules for their practice round.
MJ cleared her throat and Peter spun back around to face her, caught.
"Were you listening, Parker?" She asked with a raised eyebrow.
Thor, she was terrifying.
He quickly nodded— he had been paying attention, his focus had just been diverted by Betty's all-knowing stare.
Really, it was obvious why she was an investigative journalist.
MJ gave him a skeptical look. "Good. Let's get started."
They split into teams; Peter with Charles, Sally, and Flash (who had been much less antagonistic towards Peter after the whole kidnapping debacle), with Ned, Betty, Abe, and Cindy on the opposing team and MJ doing the questions.
She picked up the deck of questions, making sure each team was ready before she started the round.
Peter was soon caught up in the flow of answering questions, his thoughts zoning in on the round.
"A light ray is entirely reflected back into the medium when the angle of incidence is…"
Oh, he had just been working on something like this with Dr. Cho, trying to help her make a nanotech endoscope that would work for— well, he was getting off topic.
"Greater than—" Peter started.
He abruptly cut himself off when his Spidey-sense started going off in the back of his mind.
Shit.
It was bad.
He froze, straightening up and trying to find the source of the danger. Nothing… nothing… nothing… there! A few floors above them, two—no, three— sets of heavy footfalls. The stomping was accompanied by shouting, loud and hostile. Peter couldn't quite make out the words. Maybe if he stretched his hearing a little more…
A voice— much closer, in the same room as him— broke his concentration.
"Parker?" MJ questioned.
He distantly realized that he probably made a very strange picture— he was sitting ramrod straight with his eyes squeezed shut and eyebrows furrowed in a look of concentration— but he couldn't bring himself to care.
"Shh!"
Thankfully, she stopped talking, and everyone else seemed too confused to question him.
Good.
Returning his focus to the commotion a few floors above, he stretched his hearing further. Usually, he didn't like opening up his senses— the noises were far too loud— but desperate times…
The voices slowly came into focus.
"…...где мальчик?" Where is the boy? One of them asked.
"Босс сказал, что он будет здесь. Продолжай искать." The boss said he would be here. Keep looking.
Wow. Of course it was the stereotypical Russian mobsters. Honestly. Couldn't the criminal organizations try to, you know, diversify a little? Peter was getting bored of dealing with slightly different flavors of the same criminal underworld.
They fell silent for a few moments, the sounds of stomping and slamming doors once again reaching Peter's ears.
Well, there was goon 1 and goon 2, but where was the third set of footsteps? He couldn't hear it. Maybe they were just watching? Yeah, that must be it. Peter couldn't hear— wait, that was a different voice.
"Ищите быстрее. У нас мало времени." Search faster. We are on a timeline.
The third goon was very clearly in charge. At his orders, the slamming and stomping intensified, the goons muttering to each other about—
Ah, webs.
They were looking for him.
"Маленький Старк не может быть далеко." The little Stark can't be too far.
Oh, come on. He wasn't even Tony's son! Well— officially, at least.
The goons cleared the floor, stomping down the stairs.
There was a clicking sound, and—
Oh.
Oh, shit.
They had guns. Military-grade assault rifles, from the sound of it. What were they, SIG MCX? No, that sounded like AR-15s, but those were banned in New York. These weren't your run-of-the-mill bounty hunters, then.
Damn it.
They were now on the level above Peter and the rest of the team, getting closer and closer.
Peter opened his eyes, standing up.
The rest of the team was staring at him in various levels of confusion— except for MJ, who looked just as unflappable as ever, and Ned, who looked properly alarmed.
Peter started to speak, talking as quietly as he could where they could still hear him clearly. "Okay. I need you guys to trust me, just for a little bit. Can you do that?"
They still seemed bemused, but nodded anyways.
"Okay. Good. As quietly as you can, I need you to go sit by the wall along the door. Be clear of the door's path, but try to squish in as much as possible. Get behind the desks."
The stomping was getting closer— shit, they were on the same floor as them.
The team slowly started making their way over, mumbling among themselves. Ned was the first one to comply, obviously— he knew something was wrong.
"Faster!" Peter hissed.
The slamming doors and shouting was getting closer and closer, the goons making their way down the hall.
The rest of the team had made it to the wall, crouching down behind the desks.
"What—" Flash started questioning.
Peter cut him off.
They were six doors down, now.
Peter could feel his pulse getting faster and faster.
Four doors.
He moved so that he would be directly in the line of sight when the door swung open. If they were looking for him, they would get him.
Three doors.
The team had finally caught onto the sounds, pressing closer to the wall in fear.
Two doors…
His watch let out a sudden spark, circuits fried.
Shit. There went any hope of contacting Tony. They must have some kind of comms blocker— and a high quality, well engineered one at that. Not much could get to his tech.
He lifted up his wrists, checking his webshooters. Good. The nanotech bracelets were still fine.
They would be getting out of this.
The door flung open with a bang, revealing the three goons. They grinned at the sight of Peter and stepped in, readjusting their guns.
"Well, if it isn't your lucky day." Boss goon was grinning at him, his teeth bared.
Peter stayed where he was, keeping his expression a mask of nonchalance. He had handled worse. He could take care of this, easily.
He probably (hopefully) wouldn't even have to use his suit.
Boss goon gestured for them to— ah, shit— spread out and scan the room.
"Only three goons? Whoever hired you clearly isn't that smart," he said, trying to get their attention back on him.
His efforts were for naught, however when the boss goon sneered at him, stepping even closer and putting his gun— only a handgun, they must have run out of the big fancy guns— under Peter's chin and tilting his head up.
His Spidey-sense blared and he flinched minutely— the warning wasn't too strong, thankfully; the safety was still engaged.
"Cocky, aren't we, little Stark? But don't worry, me and my 'goons' will be more than enough to take you—" he glanced at the wall where the rest of the team was hiding "—and your little friends."
Oh, shit.
The other goons had surrounded his teammates, their guns aimed at the group. They gestured for them to stand up with their hands raised and his teammates quickly complied, the fear clear on their faces.
Ned was giving him a meaningful look, and he nodded slightly.
He wasn't about to risk the lives of his teammates. It wasn't worth keeping his secret identity.
Thankfully, due to boss goon's overconfidence, he was able to arm his webshooters without any of the goons noticing.
Since the safety was still off, he should be able to…
In one fluid motion, Peter pulled away and shot two webs at the other goons' guns, pulling them away and sticking them to the ceiling.
His Spidey-sense blared at him and he ducked, dodging the bullet from boss goon who had finally taken the safety off.
"Get down!" He shouted at the team, sparing a quick glance at them as his suit enveloped his body.
They all quickly complied, seemingly in too much shock to question that he was Spider-man.
He quickly dispatched the goons, yanking the boss's gun away from him and adding it to the collection on the ceiling before webbing the goons themselves to the wall.
It was all over in about thirty seconds— really, the assholes who come after his friends and his family needed to stop underestimating what he could— and would— do to save them.
His suit retreated back into his bracelets and he readjusted his clothes, walking over to where the team had stood back up, staring at him.
"Are you guys all right?" he asked, concerned.
Ned and MJ gave him a nod, but the rest of the team was still just staring.
Peter was about to ask again when Betty spoke.
"This explains so much."
What the fuck is up with Peter
Nancy Jones added "Nedward" and "Boss Lady".
Sonic the hedgehog renamed the group chat to "Spidey protection squad".