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When Peter felt the infusion of confidence that came with Spider-man in Midtown of all places, he knew his worlds were coming way too close.
“Dude,” Ned said. “Dude. Is this the best day of my life?”
All around the school cafeteria, students screamed and sobbed in huddled groups. Men in head-to-toe black operative gear patrolled the exits, and the leaders of the operation had set up camp on the center lunch table. By contrast, MJ, Peter, and Ned huddled on the most remote lunch bench.
“Time and place,” MJ hissed. She had her phone out, trying and failing to connect to the internet. It was one of Mr. Stark’s prototypes (a gift after Peter had brought MJ to the lab and accidentally blew up her phone) but it still couldn’t overcome whatever was blocking communication.
“The Avengers are going to have to come,” Ned said. “We’re going to meet the Avengers. I mean, they have to, right? Right, Peter?”
“Dude,” Peter said. “How am I supposed to know?”
“Oh, yeah.” Ned exaggeratedly winked. “You wouldn’t know.”
“No, for real. I don't know.”
Disappointment brought Ned’s face down. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
Now, Peter just needed to find a way to sneak away and turn into Spider-man. Unfortunately, there was literally no exit without the armed guards. At all.
“If the Avengers come, we're going to have media teams parked out front each and every day after school and it's already hard to get out of the parking lot in a timely manner,” MJ said, finally giving up on procuring internet and stuffing her phone in her pocket. “Be grateful that they don't come.”
“See, I feel like we’re really skipping ahead and not dealing with the issue at hand—terrorists at our school,” Peter said. “The Avengers might not even come.”
“Of course they will! Terrorists at a school! This is like their whole schtick,” Ned said.
“You're going to be so disappointed when it's only SWAT.” MJ hunched lower as one of the men patrolled closer.
The plastic edge of the lunch table cut into Peter’s side as he followed her lead. Now, all he needed to do was just get away. He just needed to get away. But, how? Come on, Peter. He tried to tap into his geniusness that everyone assured him he had.
Unfortunately, he may have connected to the not genius part of his brain considering the plan he came up with and immediately enacted.
“Sir?” Peter sat up and the patrolling man’s eyes snapped to him. They were blue, and his eyebrows were blonde, but the rest of him was swathed in black metallic material. “Can I go to the bathroom?”
The blue eyes narrowed and the man stepped closer, shoving Peter in the shoulder with the butt of his gun. Peter slid into MJ, who felt tense as a bowstring. Also soft and pretty. But there were other things to think about. “Trying to be funny?”
Peter shook his head vigorously. “No, sir. But, I just—I got to—”
The man hoisted him from his seat with his free hand and shook him. Well, that was unnecessary. The man called to the leader, sitting in the middle. “I got a volunteer!”
“Woah, who said anything about volunteering?” Peter asked as the man dragged him away.
He could feel Ned and MJ’s concerned stares burn holes into him as the entire cafeteria hushed and watched Peter walk to his execution.
Well, at least, that was what Peter imagined was going to happen.
When Tony Stark rolled into the tower today, he didn't expect a busy day. No, no, not at all. In fact, this was his only day off this week. After retiring as CEO, he thought he’d get more free time. But, Pepper Potts was a force to be reckoned with especially when she didn't have to abide by labor regulations because he was technically not employed anymore.
But, anyway, today was Friday and he entered his private penthouse (not the pigpen with the Avengers), kicked off his shoes, and collapsed onto his couch with a sigh of relief. He could practically feel the million dollar value as the couch ballooned around him and initiated the massage. Ah, yes. He could get used to this.
Unfortunately, as soon as he started to even slightly drift off, an incredibly annoying, loud blaring sound—that he himself designed for that exact purpose—jolted him awake.
“Alert. Avengers assemble. Alert. Boarding Quinjet. Leave in 3 minutes. Alert. Avengers assemble. Boarding Quinjet. Leave in 3 minutes. Alert—”
“Thank you, Friday!” He snapped.
Three minutes later, there he was on the Quinjet, as Cap droned on about some terrorist cell called the something or other and their big bad plan, and honestly Tony was about to doze off until…
“Now, they've infiltrated Midtown School of Science and Technology—”
“Oh shit,” Tony said.
Cap raised an eyebrow. The others shifted to him as well.
“Got something to say to the class?” Natasha asked, her eternal smirk evident in her tone.
Tony narrowed his eyes at her. Despite his attempts to insulate Peter from the Avengers, he knew she had met him. Friday had snitched.
Natasha had cornered the poor intern one day and had probably said something devious like hello. Inside her freaky memory had to be his age, weight, school, teachers, and every other freaky factoid she must have gathered in her spying.
Tony kissed his teeth. “Nope.”
“Back to the mission, then,” Cap said.
“Aye, aye.”
Tony even made it through the rest of the debriefing until Friday interrupted the group, and projected a screen into the middle of their two little benches.
Live from the steps of Midtown, some blonde, grinning man held a gun to Peter’s head. Terror pulled Peter into taut muscles and Tony could see his eyes darting every which way. The TV droned on… “Until Mayor Rianku steps down and instates me as mayor of New York, this school full of your precious children will stay under our hand. If anyone dares to break in and subvert us—talking to you, Avengers—the whole school blows!”
The entire time the crazy man talked, Tony trained his eyes on Peter. He caught his flinches, his terror, but also Peter’s lips moving—twice. “Friday, play back the two times Peter moves his mouth and zoom in.”
Tony ignored the exclamations of “You know this kid?” And “Peter?” from the crew and leaned in. The first clip played. The crazy man mentions the precious children and Peter locks eyes with the camera. “What did he say, Barton?”
Clint asked for it to be repeated before looking at Tony. “Cafeteria. I think.”
“You think he's trying to tell us something?” Cap asked Tony.
“I know it. Peter’s one of my interns at Stark Industries. He's a genius.” Tony scrubbed a hand over his face. “If he said ‘cafeteria’ immediately after that crazy said ‘children—’”
“Roman Branko, but yes,” Cap interjected.
“Well, then the children are in the cafeteria.” Tony bit at his fingernails. But, Peter is not. Why? He rubbed at his chest despite the hard metal suit. What was this feeling? It was anxiety but not for himself… “Play the next one.”
This time it was right at the end. Peter mouthed “wait.” Even Tony could see that one.
“That is less helpful,” Clint said.
“Could he be asking for us to wait before entering?” Bruce sat at the pilot’s seat of the Quinjet and tapped the ETA sign. “Two minutes out.”
“We need to disable the bomb before going in,” Cap said. “So maybe he was reinforcing that.”
Tony had a different idea. And it wasn't pleasant. It must've shown on his face because Natasha elbowed him. He sighed. Time to lie to his team. “Spider-man is in that school, and Peter knows that. He helps make his suit and everything on some of his lab days. He wants us to let Spider-man handle it alone.”
None of that was technically a lie. Gold star. He’d deal with the fall-out later.
“Absolutely not,” Cap said. “We need a team.”
“It could be helpful to have someone on the inside,” Clint said.
Natasha spoke over both of them. “Stark, is Spider-man a student at the school?”
“He must be a teacher or something because otherwise…” Clint trailed off as he took in Tony’s grimace. “No fucking way, Tony.”
He looked away from the disapproving stares of the Earth’s mightiest heroes. This was going to be a long day.
Peter knew they were pretty much on their own. After all, that man had spoken on the front steps of Midtown all about some bomb. But this was okay. See, Spider-man would save the day.
The man held him by the scruff of his neck like a dog as they retreated back inside Midtown. The silence gave him time to blink the camera flashes out of his eyes.
Peter had seen all those long-lens news cameras flash over and over, and he hoped they had caught his little whispered words. Mr. Stark had to be watching. Like, he had to. Iron Man and all?
“Can I go to the bathroom now?” Peter asked. “Like, I really have to go. I'll be two seconds.”
The man laughed and shook him again by the collar of his shirt. Peter was really starting to hate that. “As a reward for your performance? Go ahead.”
“Jeez,” Peter muttered as he slunk into the boys’ bathroom. It looked just like every other one in the school—washed out green stalls and semi-broken sinks. But what Peter needed was up top.
He climbed up the wall to the ceiling and mentally prayed that the man would not decide to walk in. With his sticky fingers, Peter screwed off the vent grate as quickly as possible.
It came off with a slight creak and Peter shimmed into the tunnel. The only problem was that he still had this grate in his hand. If he had his web-shooters, he could have stuck the grate to the ceiling, but those were with his suit which was in his backpack that was sitting in his locker. Not here.
Peter sighed. The grate was bigger than the hole in the ceiling. There was only one option. With a wince, he dropped the grate. It banged to the floor and he crawled as quickly as he could into the tunnel as bullet holes pierced the ceiling, letting both light and the man’s angry yelling into the vent.
Peter wanted to get to his locker and snag his suit, but unfortunately, he only got so far into the vents before he ran into Hawkeye. Like seriously, Hawkeye. Master assassin, archer, blonde menace. Complete package.
“Peter?” Hawkeye’s eyebrows shot up.
“Holy shit, you know my name?” Peter jerked upward and banged against the vent. “Um, there's a crazy man trying to shoot me by the way. I don't know if that's important.”
“Branko?”
“He didn't introduce himself.”
“The guy that held a gun to your head?”
“Oh, yeah, him.”
“Branko.”
“Then, yes.
“Is he near?”
“I haven’t heard him yelling recently so, I guess not.”
“Well, let’s move on then. Do you know where the bomb is?” Hawkeye asked.
“No clue. But, all the kids are in the cafeteria.”
“Can you point me in that direction?”
“I can lead you there.”
Hawkeye shook his head. “You need to get out.”
Peter paused. “It’s the same way. Here, go left.”
It most certainly was not. But, Hawkeye didn’t offer any more protest as they traversed the aluminum vents of Midtown, so he presumably hadn’t had time to review a map. See, Peter figured he could be helpful even if he couldn’t get to his suit. To be completely honest, leaving would simply be extremely embarrassing considering he was Spider-man and Mr. Stark knew that.
Other superheroes would never run from a hostage situation even if they didn't have their suit. Peter wouldn't either.
Tony rubbed his face in anticipation. They had sent Hawkeye in several minutes ago, but as soon as he had crossed into the school, all his comms fell dead. It was incredibly surprising that some terrorist cell’s communication blocker could overcome Stark technology, but it made sense there was some sort of shield considering Peter hadn’t contacted him at all yet.
He closed his eyes as he remembered Peter. It was almost inevitable the kid would do something stupid in this situation. Teenage boy plus superpowers plus terrorists at his school equaled an absolute disaster. With his annoying sense of duty, the kid physically couldn’t sit anything out.
Further adding to the aggravation, considering the severity of the situation and the involvement of child hostages, the Avengers were severely limited in their independence. The FBI’s hostage rescue team had the largest pull, and they had only just convinced them to approve sending Clint in as a reconnaissance agent. Unfortunately, with no comms, Clint was now trapped inside with no purpose.
Because of this new debacle, Special Agent Farrah, the lead hostage expert, had asked Tony to be Tony Stark and not Iron-man. Basically, he wanted a technology to overcome the communication blocker.
Tony knew the most sophisticated technology in that school was the Spidey suit, but he had no way of knowing if Peter had access to it. Furthermore, it was extremely hard to think with this overwhelming chest-hurting feeling that arrived wherever Peter came up.
Steve sat down in the seat next to Tony and offered him a coffee. “It’s decaf.”
“No, thanks.” Tony scrunched his face in disgust. “Why would you offer me that in a crisis?”
Cap sighed in the most paternalistic, condescending fashion that told Tony to brace himself for some mushy talk. He then put his hand on Tony’s shoulder which clearly had to cross some boundary between them. “Is this about your intern?”
“No, it’s about the inherent evilness of decaf,” Tony said.
Steve remained silent. “It’s okay to be concerned.”
“Alright, Cap,” Tony said. He shrugged off his hand and stared intently at the evil cup of decaf. He was running out of time. He needed to figure out some form of communication.
Now, the terrorists had to be communicating in some way. Radios, maybe. Walkie-talkies. Could he tap into their channels and hijack the frequency? Possibly. He had been instituting a security feature similar to that in the new Stark phone prototypes but those hadn’t been distributed yet. All the prototypes were back at the lab anyway.
Some opposition rose in Tony’s brain. No. He was wrong. There was one prototype outside of the lab. He wracked his brain.
Who had it? Why was it separated?
The memory came back in a flash. Letting Peter bring his little girlfriend to impress her with the lab stuff and immediately having it blow up in his face (literally).
Tony stood up quickly, almost knocking over Cap’s condescending cup of decaf.
“Tony?”
Nothing much had happened since Peter had left the cafeteria, except that he still hadn’t come back, and that worried MJ. He might be a superhero (even if he thought that she only thought he was an intern) but he could still get hurt pretty badly.
Thankfully, her phone vibrated in her pocket and broke off her train of thought. But, that was weird. No one should be able to contact her right now.
Her eyebrows knit together as she pulled her phone out. Shielding it from the view of the terrorists, she turned it on and found a dark green screen had overtaken the normal screensaver.
“Ned,” she hissed.
He turned to look at it, his eyebrows jumping up. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
Ned tried to grab it, but MJ swatted his hand.
He pouted. “I'm the computer guy.”
She raised her eyebrow. “And is this your phone?”
The audacity.
On the screen, black line blinked in and out like a cursor, and then text appeared letter by letter. MJ, this is Tony Stark.
Ned squealed.
MJ hid her phone in her pocket as the men in black turned to them with their guns raised. “Sorry, he's just hysterical.”
Ned froze. He had to do better than that.
“Cry,” MJ whispered.
Ned shook his head imperceptibly. MJ rolled her eyes. He would never survive the zombie apocalypse if he was this bad at a terrorist hostage situation. They had to move his Walking Dead survivability rating another point down as soon as this was over.
“Just keep it down,” the man said before turning away.
Once enough time had passed, MJ pulled her phone back out. A new sentence awaited them, and a text box below. Are you in the cafeteria?
She clicked on the text box and typed out: yes.
With Peter?
no, MJ typed back. no clue where he is.
“This is so cool,” Ned said.
MJ raised an eyebrow. “You have a horrible definition of cool.”
Is the rest of the school there?
i think so, MJ typed.
Do you see a bomb?
MJ almost dropped her phone in shock, and she looked to Ned to see it mirrored. They both looked around the cafeteria. There was nothing, but MJ felt cool adrenaline flood her veins and drip down her spine.
?!??!??!?!? No.
MJ figured there were enough exclamation points to convey her thoughts.
The phone stayed blank for a long minute. She hit the top of it to see if anything happened but alas it did not.
“Holy shit,” Ned said.
Fear infiltrated every sect of her brain. The word “bomb” bounced around incessantly. She tapped her foot against the floor and cocked her head at Ned. “Not cool anymore?”
“We cannot use a child to deliver a communication device. It will endanger her to the terrorists,” Special Agent Ferrah said as he stood stoically in front of Tony. A myriad of screens behind them laid dark and technicians click clacked on keyboards that did nothing.
“You asked me to establish a line of communication,” Tony said. “I established a line of communication. What, that's not good enough?”
“It cannot go through one of the hostages, Mr. Stark,” he said.
Tony ran his hands over his face. “What do you want me to do?”
“Can you send something through to the phone that would disable the communication blocking?”
Tony kissed his teeth. No. No, he couldn't. If he had the prototype in his hands, maybe he could do something but alas…
“Give me the keyboard.”
The agent handed him the keyboard, and he typed out a message. Is Peter’s other friend there? The hacker?
Ned? Right next to me.
“You know two other children in this school?” Steve asked. He stood behind the control center, his feet shoulder width apart and his arms crossed over his chest like a good soldier in a ready position.
“Of course he does. They're Peter’s friends.” Natasha smiled. “Isn't that what an employer does? Meet your intern’s friends?”
Tony glared at both of them. He didn't know how much Ned would understand, but he sent over all the details of the prototypes’s software and hoped if the kid was smart enough to jailbreak a state of the art superhero suit, he could jailbreak a phone. Then, he would just need to set up a new signal broadcast for all the communication devices to adhere to.
“Are you sure this kid can do this?” Bruce asked. He picked at his fingernails.
Tony shrugged. “He's hacked into my technology before.”
“A kid hacked into your technology?” Steve asked, disbelief seeping through every word.
Tony rolled his eyes. “He goes to Midtown. They're all genius freaks of nature.”
“That’s not very nice,” Bruce mumbled.
“Boss, the block lifted. The comms are back online,” an agent swiveled to say. A cheer went up around the mission control room. Considering this achievement, he might have to consider employing Nate as an intern too. Or was it Noah? Oh, well. Who cared?
Tony smirked at Steve. “What did I say?”
The earpiece sparked with interference before Natasha’s voice came clear through. “Clint, Clint, can you hear me?”
He adjusted the volume in his earpiece and lowered it after Peter’s eyes locked onto his ear. It must have been too loud. “Copy,” he whispered. “I’ve located the cafeteria. All the Midtown students seem to be here and so are the hostiles. I don't have eyes on a bomb. Also, I’m in the vents with Peter Parker.”
“What?” Tony’s flabber-gasted voice mirrored the exclamations of Steve and Natasha. “Tell him to get the hell out of there.”
“He only led me here. He said he was going to continue to an exit,” Clint said.
Peter winced.
Clint raised an eyebrow. “Right, Peter?”
“Oh God,” Tony lamented. “You won't be able to get that punk out of there.”
“Tell him to forget about me,” Peter whispered.
Oh no. Clint did not want to babysit a teenager during a mission. But, did anyone ever take his feelings into consideration on their little escapade? No. They didn’t. He rubbed his forehead in exasperation. “He says to forget about him.”
“Did he just? No, he did not. Because there is no way he told me to forget about him being on top of a terrorist cell. Put him on speaker phone.”
“We're in the middle of a hostage situation,” Natasha interjected. “Cool it.”
As always she was very right. Unfortunately, as Clint looked around at his situation (teenage leech, limited mobility, no back-up), he felt a little downtrodden.
“Yeah, so, our options aren't looking too great,” Clint summarized.
Unfortunately, as he said that, the vents creaked beneath him, then the metal band in the vents fractured, and Clint had one second to meet Peter’s wide eyes before the ceiling gave way and they began free-falling onto a lunch table.
Talk about prophetic timing.
MJ thought things were going pretty well, all things considered. Sure, there was an armed terrorist group who presumably had a bomb and was holding her entire school hostage. Sure, Peter was missing.
But, they got internet as of one minute ago! So, really, it was going okay. Nobody panic—Flash could still scroll on Instagram Reels without interruption.
Of course, everything was great, until it got even better.
With a loud crash, the ceiling split open and two bodies—one suspiciously Peter-shaped—crashed onto and split the lunch table in the middle of the cafeteria. In a chain reaction, the classic, inch-thick panels covering the cafeteria toppled like dominos to the ground. Each one broke into a powdery, opaque dust that rose to cover the ground and obscure everyone’s vision.
As chunks of fiberglass rained down, MJ had a single second of panic, and then a realization: this was an opportunity.
“Get out!” She pulled Ned to his feet and pushed him to the door, forming a mass of kids streaming out the double doors as the armed men pulled off their dusted masks and tried to blink through the smoke. “Go!”
As MJ reached the cafeteria doors, she looked back.
In the center, the blonde crazy man lifted Peter to his feet, and Hawkeye—yes, the Hawkeye had his hands up in surrender, surrounded by the armed men.
They needed help severely, but MJ couldn't help them. Fortunately, she knew who could—future media vans be damned.
Rough hands gripped Peter’s arms as the cool metal of a gun bit into his temple. All his classmates had cleared out in the confusion (so, yay, falling through a ceiling had been a good idea), but now the entire militia focused their ammunition on the two who had fallen through the roof—Peter and Hawkeye. Unfortunately.
Hawkeye raised his hands in surrender. “Let the kid go.”
“Now, where did you find an Avenger?” Branko shook the collar of his shirt, and Peter fought the urge to roll his eyes.
“Well, since your other guy just let me go, I wandered around and bumped into him,” Peter said with a shrug. “Isn't that crazy?”
“Take me as a hostage,” Hawkeye said. “I'm sure the Avengers will care more about me than they would about some random schoolchild.”
The familiar sound of repulsors filled the cafeteria as an Iron Man fist broke open the cafeteria doors. Mr. Stark—well, really Iron Man—walked into the cafeteria with the Black Widow and Captain America behind him. Peter felt like he could faint. Half of Branko’s men trained their guns on the newcomers instead.
The mask vacated Mr. Stark’s face, and he raised an eyebrow. “Like hell I would.”
The familiar voice brought so much relief to Peter. But at the same time, fear. Because, oh God, he really screwed the pooch on this one. And even worse, Mr. Stark’s old-man phrases were starting to grow on him.
“If you move one more inch…” Branko’s hand shook as he pressed the gun further into Peter’s temple. The pressure produced the most powerful headache Peter had ever had. He bit his cheek.
“Easy,” Black Widow said. “Just let the kid go.”
Captain America narrowed his eyes. “Where's the bomb, Branko?”
Mr. Stark laughed. “Who cares? This guy doesn't have a bomb. He would have used it already.”
Indignation lit up Branko’s face and he sneered. “I can kill the boy right now.”
“Mr. Stark, I'm so sorry,” Peter said. He winced in anticipation of the later lecture. “You know, I really tried to not get in trouble today.”
“I'm sure you tried.”
“I know you don't like it when I become a hostage of a terrorist group.”
“Yeah, it kind of ruins my day.”
“But, I'll make it up to you tomorrow because I have this super cool idea for—”
Branko whipped his pistol across Peter’s head. Pain spiked and then pulsed from the nexus, a warm river of blood matting his hair. “Shut up!” Branko placed the gun back to Peter’s temple. “There won't be a tomorrow for you if the Avengers don’t put down their weapons.”
Captain America’s shield clattered to the ground, Black Widow’s guns followed, Clint dropped his bow, and Mr. Stark stepped out of the suit.
Peter wrinkled his nose. Even with the throbbing in his head, he knew he could break out of the hold very easily if he could be Spider-Man. But, unfortunately, he couldn’t be right now. Peter knew that was why the Avengers had acquiesced to the man’s demand. But, why had Mr. Stark? He knew Peter was totally fine.
Mr. Stark’s eyes surveyed the situation, and then like a marionette with his strings cut, he sighed. “I'm going to regret this.”
“Tony?” Captain America asked questioningly.
“Pete, do your thing.”
“Like,” Peter began. His heart leapt to his throat. He had permission? But, in front of all these people? The Avengers? “The thing—thing?”
Branko shook him by the collar. “Shut up.”
“Yes,” Tony said, exasperated.
It would be his identity gone. But, the Avengers needed his help. He was the only solution to the situation, and heroes didn’t just sit out.
Peter nodded. Then, in a move too fast for Branko to react, Peter grabbed the gun and crumpled it. He pulled the man's hands off him, and spun around to restrain him in a chokehold. Peter looked at the armed men around him. “Lower your weapons or he gets it.”
They did, but just to be safe, Peter used Branko as a human shield as he walked back to where the rest of the Avengers were.
The Black Widow looked him up and down. “It's nice to meet you, Spider-man.”
Peter blushed. “Um, no?”
Before he could consider what to say to that, his spider-sense flared and his eyes widened. Peter’s eyes snapped to Branko’s wandering fingers into his coat (DANGER!), but he wasn’t quick enough to stop Branko from hitting a button on the inside of his coat.
There was a single second for Peter to remember the bomb, before a thunder-clap rattled the cafeteria and darkness took over.
After the Avengers settles the whole terrorist situation in Midtown, Tony had two major problems.
First off, he had an unconscious, but stable teenage vigilante in the MedBay, and after “getting in the way like an overbearing elephant” (Dr. Cho’s words), he was banned from the MedBay. Fortunately, Aunt May arrived, and after a speech berating and then thanking him, she took over vigil.
Second, there were some concerns among the Avenger populace.
“You wouldn't make him an Avenger, though, correct?” Clint took an apple from the pink bowl on the kitchen island, and sat down in one of the barstools.
Tony kissed his teeth.
“Correct?” Clint raised his eyebrow.
Tony slumped onto the couch. “I offered; he turned me down.”
“Tony.” Natasha crossed her legs on the arm chair across from him. He pegged her tone at a level eight on the Romanov disappointment scale. “Even for you, this is pretty egregious.”
“Look,” Tony said. He spread his hand placatingly. “He's enhanced. He was doing this vigilante shit before me, I just gave him an upgrade.”
Steve raised an eyebrow. “You enabled and encouraged a teenager to put himself in dangerous situations.”
“You know what? That's fair.” Tony steepled his hands. “I thought that too, for a moment—took away all my gadgets. See, what happened is the kid didn't stop doing his freaky stuff, but then when a building collapsed on him, he was in pajamas and not a high tech safety suit. I'm saving his life here.”
Clint shook his head. “I don't know. I just know I wouldn't want my kids doing this stuff in high school.”
Boss, Friday said. Peter Parker has been awake for fifteen minutes in the MedBay. Dr. Cho has granted you access again.
Tony stood up, slapped his knees, and crossed to the elevator. “Talk later, okay?”
Aunt May was very angry with Peter after she got over her relief, because apparently Mr. Stark stressed the fact that he had tried to get Peter out of the situation but Peter had put himself in that situation nonetheless.
Which, wow. Not cool. Talk about throwing someone under the bus.
But! Other than that, Peter felt pretty good. Was it cool to get knocked out in front of the Avengers? No…but the part before that where he manhandled a terrorist had been a pretty cool reveal if Peter did say so himself.
Mr. Stark, unfortunately, did not agree.
Mr. Stark stole Peter’s hospital yogurt and sat in the chair across from his bed. “First off, you should have absolutely left when you could have.”
Peter played with the IV lines. “But, you guys needed my help with the whole hostage situation.”
“We wouldn’t have even had a hostage situation! Peter,” Mr. Stark sighed and rubbed his temples, “just promise me you’re going to listen next time.”
Peter shrugged. “I promise.”
Mr. Stark swirled the yogurt and pointed the spoon at him. “Just so we’re on the same page, you’re lying, correct?”
“Oh, yeah, absolutely.”
Mr. Stark nodded. “That’s what I thought.”
Peter smiled. His phone lit up next to him.
Mr. Stark slapped his knee and stood up. “I’ll let you talk to your weird friends.”
“Bye, Mr. Stark. Thank you,” Peter said. He really did mean it. Who else could say they got their safety lectures from Iron Man?
“Don’t sweat it, kid.” Mr. Stark waved him off before dipping behind the curtain and exiting the room.
Peter grabbed his phone. There was a single text from Ned, to their group chat with MJ.
Soooooo…was I right or was I right about the Avengers?
Peter snorted.
Some things never changed.