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“If Tony Stark’s little intern hands himself over to us, everyone else can leave untouched. Our business is with Peter Benjamin Parker, and only Peter Benjamin Parker.”
The man says his full name both times, like there’s a deeper meaning to it, like he’s saying, I know who you are. I know everything about you.
Peter doesn’t know if that’s true (is he here for Spider-Man or just for the kid who’s connected to Tony Stark?), but the words settle low in his chest and make it hard to breathe all the same. Whatever this is about, there’s only one way this can go down, and that’s with Peter doing as told.
He has to.
He’s Spider-Man. And Spider-Man protects the little guy, puts everyone else above himself. Spider-Man makes any and all sacrifices necessary to keep other people out of danger.
If that means walking himself right into a room of bad guys, likely with guns, as Peter Parker - scrawny, geeky, vulnerable Peter Parker - then so be it.
He flips the top on his watch and presses the button on the inside, holds until the blinking light appears to tell him that his panic button has worked.
Then, almost in a trance, Peter stands. He hears voices around him, kids hissing his name or frantically asking what the hell is happening or just swearing up and down. The words don’t really register in his head, and Peter doesn’t bother trying to focus his hearing because, well. He has better things to worry about, after all.
His feet move automatically. A step away from the wall he’d been sitting against, a step toward the door, a step toward his own potential demise. A step toward Midtown High’s potential salvation.
He gets halfway through the room before a hand encircles his wrist.
He doesn’t turn. Knows exactly who is holding him back, but can’t turn to look at him because he can’t afford any cracks in his resolve.
“Peter,” Ned says, and his tone is sharp. Imploring. Desperate. His grip is tight on Peter’s arm, fingers pressing firm against his pulse point, right where his webshooters would be if he were in any way prepared for this.
(Code Red. This is not a drill - the school is now on lockdown. Repeat: Code Red. Engage lockdown protocol.
Webshooters in his gym bag. Gym bag in his locker. Wrists glaringly bare.)
“Peter, please. Please think this through, Peter, you can’t just -”
“I have to,” Peter says softly. The words, which come out much steadier than anticipated, are for Ned and no one else. “Ned, you know I have to.”
Someone murmurs under their breath, “Oh my fucking God.” Ned visibly flinches.
(A part of Peter wishes the lockdown had happened, say, an hour earlier, when he and Ned were in separate classes. It would’ve been so much easier to leave if his best friend wasn’t there to beg him to stay.
But another part is more than grateful that Ned is here now. That if this goes south, at least he’ll have gotten to say goodbye to one of the people he loves.)
He can hear the unshed tears in Ned’s voice as he chokes out, “I know. God, I - I k-know, but - Peter -”
The awful hitch in his breath when Ned says his name forces him to turn. To face the boy he loves more than any other and say to his face, instead of the air, that this is just the way his life works. That this is the way his life will always work, and Ned might as well get used to it because maybe then it’ll hurt less.
If you’re always scared, you eventually stop noticing.
Right?
Peter steps into Ned’s space, close enough to still be heard if he whispered, and moves his hand to clutch Ned’s. “I’ll come back. I will, okay, you know I will. I’ll come back, Ned, I promise.”
The look on his best friend’s face says, How the hell could you know? When he opens his mouth, what comes out is, “Peter Parker, I swear to God, if you die out there, I will fucking kill you.”
A surprised laugh tumbles out of Peter. “I know. I’ll be back, Ned, don’t worry about me.”
“I always worry about you, Peter.”
Peter squeezes his hand, unsure if he’s trying to comfort Ned or himself. The whole room is silent around them, even the teacher who hasn’t once tried to make him stay (it’s a substitute, Peter almost feels sorry for him), and Peter feels like he and Ned are in their own world, their own little bubble of safety.
He has to go.
“I have to go, Ned,” Peter whispers. “I’m sorry, okay? I love you.”
Three words, so many layers.
You’re my best friend, I love you.
You’re my best friend, I’m in love with you.
Somehow, both versions sound the same.
“I - I love you too, Peter.”
Letting go of Ned’s hand is one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do. Peter scans the room, takes in all the small, terrified faces of kids he barely even knows, and then he says, “I need a couple of you to help me move the desk from in front of the door,” because even in a crisis, secret identities have to be kept secret.
The chairs stacked on top of the desk are lifted, the desk is slid back across the room. Peter looks back at Ned once more, tries his damndest to ignore the tears sliding down Ned’s cheeks, and tells him, “Text Mr. Stark. He should be on his way already, just - explain what’s going on. I’ll be fine, alright?”
A shaky nod.
Peter turns one last time.
All he can think as his hand touches the doorknob is, I should’ve kissed him. This could be my last chance. I should’ve kissed him.
(Theoretically, these guys don’t want to kill him. Theoretically, they’re just using him to get to Tony Stark. Theoretically, he’ll come out of this at least relatively unscathed.)
(Or maybe they’re here to kill Spider-Man, and he’s heading right to his own death.)
(But no, they said Tony Stark’s intern. Not Spider-Man.)
(Still.)
I should kiss him before I go, he thinks.
And then a hand on his wrist yanks him back around again and Ned is kissing him.
For a split second, Peter automatically stiffens, but then he melts. One hand comes up to cup Ned’s cheek and the other to clutch at Ned’s shirt sleeve, fingers twisting into the fabric like it’s a lifeline.
This isn’t exactly how he’d hoped their first kiss would go. And yet, the press of Ned’s lips, which taste of salt and peanut butter and everything Peter loves, against his is the best thing he’s felt in his life.
Peter thinks he might be okay if this is the last thing he ever feels.
All too soon, Ned pulls away. He says, “I’ll see you soon, Peter,” and the words sound much sweeter than they should.
The panic alert comes in at 2:26 PM, while Tony is in a board meeting.
The first text comes in at 2:32 PM, while Tony is flying toward Midtown High as fast as his suit will let him.
[Ted Leeds, 2:32 PM] theres bad guys at school
[Ted Leeds, 2:32 PM] they took peter. said theyd leave everyone else alone if he went to them
[Ted Leeds, 2:33 PM] they called him your intern and didnt say anything about spiderman so im pretty sure its about you not him
[Ted Leeds, 2:33 PM] they should be in the principals office and he doesnt have his suit or his webshooters hurry please
Tony tells F.R.I.D.A.Y. to text Peter’s friend back (I’m five minutes out, kid, don’t worry) and then snaps at her to go fucking faster, goddammit.
Of fucking course Peter would get taken hostage. Of fucking course if would be about him and not Peter. Spider-Man.
It’s typical, really. That someone he cares about is in danger because of him. After all, the people around tend to get hurt, one way or another.
He’d hoped Peter would be left out of it. The kid has enough problems of his own, what with being not only a superhero but also just a damn teenager, and he doesn’t need Tony Stark’s high school intern as another target on his head.
And yet, that’s what he got.
And now he could be…
No.
“FRI, pull up Peter’s vitals,” Tony says breathlessly, chest clenching in nervous anticipation.
Peter’s vitals pop up on the suit’s interface without a word from F.R.I.D.A.Y.. Tony’s hands shake as he gives it a quick once-over and finds that…
The kid’s fine.
His heart rate is elevated, but overall he’s fine. Afraid, but not panicking. Just goes to show how damn strong he is. Especially seeing as Tony is almost 100% sure that his heart rate is higher than Peter’s right now.
Glancing at the other side of his interface tells him that yes, his heart rate is 10 BPMs higher than Peter’s. Damn.
Tony touches down outside of Midtown High, in the midst of a shit-ton of police and frantic parents, and every set of eyes lands on him.
He ignores it all. Lets his mask retract and turns to the nearest officer.
“I don’t give a shit what the lockdown protocol is,” he says, before anyone else can even speak. Even with his pounding heart and shaking fingers, he musters up every ounce of fuck you, I’m Tony Stark that he possibly can and stares down the officer in front of him. “I don’t care what speech you’re giving all the parents, I don’t give a flying fuck what you’re supposed to tell me. This isn’t a normal school shooting - the fact that I just said normal school shooting is a whole other story. This is targeted. My - my kid is in there, he’s the one these fuckers took hostage, and I’m going to go find him.”
And with that, the mask comes back down and he marches into the school with more determination than he’s ever felt for anything else.
(As he goes, he swears he hears May Parker shout, seemingly through tears, “Find our kid, Tony! You’d better find our damn kid!”
He’ll be damned if he lets May Parker down.)
The tracker leads him through three different hallways, past countless classroom doors behind which he’s sure there’s countless petrified teenagers.
God, teenagers.
He tries so fucking hard, but no matter what he does he always seems to be putting people in harm’s way. Directly or indirectly.
But that doesn’t matter right now. It can’t matter right now.
Nothing matters but Peter.
Peter.
And there he is, in the principal’s office just like Ned said he’d be. Tony hears the kid before he sees him - he can’t make out exactly what’s being said, but he’d bet his whole damn company that it’s some sort of witty joke.
Jesus Christ, kid. Is it really witty if it gets you killed?
The nanotech on his feet retracts to quiet his steps. He moves to stand next to the door, peering through the little square glass window to find his kid.
Peter sits, legs criss-cross underneath him, with zip ties around his wrists and a gun against the side of his head.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
The man holding the gun isn’t even looking at Peter (or at the window, thank God). That, plus the zip ties, proves without a doubt that these guys don’t even know who they’re holding hostage. Peter’s fingers tap against his knee, almost compulsively, but other than that, there’s no visible indication of fear. Not in his eyes, not in his expression, not in his posture.
That’s okay. Tony’s scared enough for the both of them.
What’s the best way to play this?
If the gun against Peter’s head wasn’t involved, he’d just bust down the door and go in shooting. But as is, if he does that, there’s a possibility that he’ll take down the one with the gun before he can shoot, but there’s a likelier possibility that, either by this guy or by another one that Tony can’t see, Peter will get shot.
Not an option. Peter getting shot in the head on the floor of his high school principal’s office is definitely not an option.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y., scan the room,” Tony whispers. “Check how many heat signatures there are.”
A beat, then, “Four, Boss.”
He swears under his breath. That’s Peter and three criminals who, for all he knows, took Peter solely because they knew he’d call for Tony and their only goal is to get them together so they can shoot both of them.
Tony, of course, has a bulletproof suit on.
Peter, on the other hand, despite all the other DNA enhancements, is very much not bulletproof.
He is, however, looking at Tony.
Their eyes lock through the window, and Peter’s face visibly brightens, the corners of his mouth quirking up and the lines in his forehead smoothing out. The fear may not have shown, but the relief does. Along with the blind faith that Peter always seems to have in him.
No matter how much Tony doubts himself, Peter always trusts him.
It’s ridiculous, because Tony has done nothing to earn such unwavering trust. But he’s glad for it, now, because he needs Peter to be as confident in his odds for survival as possible.
The kid mouths something.
Tony furrows his brow at him, makes a vague gesture through the window that he hopes says, Repeat.
Peter complies. Tony still doesn’t catch it.
Within seconds, Peter has reevaluated (his kid’s a genius, he’ll tell anyone who’ll listen). He glances down at his hands, then up at Tony, then down again, pointedly.
T-H-R-E-E, he taps out on his knee. Morse Code. A fucking genius.
Tony nods even though he already knows. Peter keeps tapping and the men holding him hostage keep ignoring him.
A-L-L H-A-V-E G-U-N-S.
Figures.
R-E-A-D-Y W-H-E-N Y-O-U A-R-E.
You always are, kid, Tony thinks. Then he holds up three fingers in front of the window.
Counts down: Three, two, one.
Peter swings his hands up, smacking the gun out of his captor’s hands just as Tony kicks down the door and aims a repulsor blast at the first bad guy he sees (low energy, because as homicidal as he feels, he’s not trying to murder a man in front of his kid). Tony doesn’t see Peter take down his guy, too busy aiming a punch at the last criminal’s head, but he hears a body hit the floor and grins.
If this were Rhodey, he’d be saying, Too easy. You’d think these guys would try a little harder.
But it’s not. It’s Peter.
As soon as he’s certain that all the bad guys are unconscious, Tony steps out of the armor and pulls Peter into the tightest hug he thinks he’s ever had.
The kid fits into his arms like he was meant to be there.
“Thanks for coming, Mr. Stark.”
“Of course. I’ll always come when you call, kid.”
Tony feels Peter’s smile against his collarbone and never wants to feel anything else.
He walks Peter out of the school with an arm around his shoulders once everyone else has been safely evacuated.
The moment they step outside, there’s yelling. He feels Peter wince at his side and squeezes Peter’s shoulder as if to say, it’s okay, I’m right here.
May is the first one to reach them. Peter pulls away from Tony, gently, and lets his aunt fret over him until she’s satisfied that he’s unharmed, then throw her arms around him and hold him as close as she possibly can.
She catches Tony’s eye over Peter’s shoulder and mouths, “Thank you.”
Tony nods, smiles. Feels a level of solidarity with May that he never really thought they’d reach.
Neither of the Parkers break the hug until someone shouts Peter’s name and Peter’s head shoots up. Tony scans the crowd, already knowing exactly who he’s looking for, and then watches as Peter runs to his best friend and practically vaults into his arms.
Ned catches him with ease (Peter’s so fucking light, it’s a goddamn wonder), smile bright and eyes wet.
When they kiss, standing in the middle of the Midtown lot in front of the whole school, Tony shoots a look at May, who just shrugs.
“I saw that one coming,” she says. Moves to join Tony, fingers of her right hand slipping between Tony’s left.
Tony snorts. “Me too. I think they’re the only ones who didn’t.”
May gives a watery laugh and leans her head against Tony’s shoulder. They watch, together, as MJ joins Peter and Ned, hugging them both tight and yet still calling them losers in the same second.
They watch their kid rejoice with his friends, happy about nothing other than just being alive, and it feels like Tony’s come home.