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“Mr. Stark?” Peter peaked his head through the window, sneaking around the entrance to the floor. His voice had a twinge of worry to it, and his face had been varying levels of distress as he had made his way over to the tower.
Getting a text on a random Saturday in the middle of hanging out with your best friend and soon-to-be-girlfriend-if-he-plays-his-cards-right-shut-up-Ned-it-will-happen from The Tony Stark saying ‘Mission’ and then a following text saying ‘come’, with no context might he add– is quite worrying. Coming up with a quick excuse to bail on MJ did absolutely nothing to bolster his chances with her, but Ned understood. Probably.
His brain was running a mile a minute trying to understand Tony Stark’s cryptic messages, was it important? Well, probably, considering the texts were so short and direct. Probably important because it was a mission, too.
All that culminating to where he was now, in front of Tony Stark in the new Stark Industries not Avengers tower, and wow he should really stop full naming him in his head, If he could hear him he’d be all like ‘Roos, I can’t get you to stop calling me ‘Mr. Stark’ an’ now you’re acting like I’m just some random celebrity?’, and he really did not want Mr. Stark thinking that.
“Kid,” Mr. Stark gave him a warm smile, well, as warm as Mr. Stark could get, and wow he did not seem worried in the slightest, why was that? “You got here faster than normal, you took a different train or something?”
Peter decided to ignore the question, in favor of not explaining how fast he sprinted to catch the most readily available subway to Midtown, Manhattan. He took the M-Train and almost got his arm chopped off in the subway doors in the process, and while yes, swinging would have been quicker; he was fully in his civilian outfit and didn’t even think of changing out.
All for a man that didn’t even look like he was about to shit his pants. (Not that Peter was. And Especially not when he got that damn text.)
“Well, the text was a bit,” He paused, trying to figure out a way to not seem rude as he spoke to his new mentor-slash-pseudo-father-figure that he only really admits to himself is his pseudo-father-figure because of his glaringly obvious lack of a paternal figure in his life, “Uninformative.”
“Sorry about that, hope you weren’t doing anything too important.”
Peter stares at him for a few seconds, very tempted to come back with some witty quip along the lines of, ‘No, just trying to impress a girl that I’ve liked for months and bailing out on her mid-lunch with Ned isn’t the way to really do it.’ but ultimately deciding against it. Being rude to Mr. Stark is not the way to get invited on more missions, though all the other avengers seemed to have no problem with it before the whole… accords mess.
In the end he just shook his head, responding with a simple “It was nothing, really,” While flashing him a small slightly guilty, slightly embarrassed smile.
Mr. Stark sighed, a common reaction out of him it seemed, “Right, well, I’m going to pretend you’re not lying right through your teeth and make it up to you later,”
“Make it up–?” he gasped, shaking his head furiously, “Mr. Stark you don’t have too–” He was cut off by Mr. Stark relentlessly shushing him, and his face looked tired, and wow Peter felt really bad about cutting him off in the first place now.
“Kid, please, it’s the least I can do for you.” Mr. Stark hesitated before continuing, “Especially after what I need to ask out of you,” There were unspoken words there, words that Peter knew was along the lines of ‘Especially after Toomes, After the suit, after the goddamn whole ass fucking building dropped right on your head just a few months ago’. Maybe not exactly that wording, but close.
He only knows because Mr. Stark has implied something similar just like this at different times. He really thinks he’s being smart by not referring to it, but he keeps forgetting that Peter’s also a smart kid. Not the kid part. No, Mr. Stark cannot possibly forget he’s a kid with all those damn baby protocols on the suit.
“Wait, what do you have for me?” Peter asked, his curiosity now overtaking any sense of bitterness or anger.
Tony snorted at Peter’s excitability, immediately projecting a hologram out in front of them. “Remember Toomes?” Mr. Stark pointed to the hologram, which now displayed a number of weapons the aforementioned man produced.
“How could I not?” Peter shook his head, yeah, it wasn’t very fun.
“Well, we’ve done some digging after you took him down,” Even the slightest mention of Peter doing that was as close as he was going to get to a thanks, he learned. Mr. Stark isn’t very fond of telling other people how he feels, and that includes apologies and thanks. He figured the shiney new intern plaque and the two days a week at Stark Tower was his form of one.
The days that followed the plane crash was a hell of a lot of self reflecting, for Mr. Stark specifically. Considering how he got a text from him right after he ‘passed’ the test, saying how the Superhero got a flurry of angry calls and messages from his aunt. Which led to the real-life internship at Stark Tower.
“He’s been operating for eight years.” Peter’s eyes widened at the revelation, his lips slightly parted.
“Holy, wow,” He trailed off, unsure what to say. The vulture was a scar in his memory, something he’d rather not talk about. It was worrying to hear that he might have to deal with him again.
“Which means,” The hologram projected multiple pictures and sightings of alien tech, all at different times of day and night. Peter hissed, looking at the damage caused in the pictures. How had he not heard of this?
“Different sightings, all over New York,” Peter mumbled to himself, immediately taking control of the hologram and zooming around the screen. “Why haven’t we seen this before?”
“Probably something to do with the fact he’s been operating under our noses for eight years,” Mr. Stark grumbled. Peter nodded his head slowly, eyeing the man and then the screen again. “They’re getting ballsy–”
“After the whole Vulture thing, yeah, I could put that together.” Peter retorted, and Mr. Stark snorted.
“Smartass,” Replied Mr. Stark, with a weird fondness to his voice Peter still wasn’t used to after a couple days a week for three months straight.
“As for the mission,” Mr. Stark didn’t bother finishing the sentence, just looking at the boy whose eyes were practically stars at that point. He was nodding his head frantically, his bright smile itching to open and let out something to say.
“I won’t let you down sir–” Peter saluted, mostly as a joke. Mr. Stark looked disgusted. “That tech will be off the streets pronto.”
“Call me sir again and you’ll be banned for life, kid.”
–
‘Pronto’ turned out to be almost weeks of patrol, steak outs, anonymous tips, and paths crossed with people he decidedly did not want to cross paths with.
It was getting annoying, really. It was like background work on top of the occasional robbery or mugging. Although, his vigilance led to stopping a good amount of murderers he wouldn’t have stumbled across otherwise. The perks of superb hearing and tuning in to those around him, he should really try that more.
Speaking of things he should try more, this local Mexican place with hella good burritos. A masterpiece, really. A beacon of light on a cold, rainy day. The taste of heaven itself.
It was a really good fucking burrito.
A nice dinner for a Saturday night, especially on weekends when May took more hours. Which meant less time to cook. Originally she wanted to stay home more since finding out, but Peter practically forced her to go to work and to stop worrying.
Back onto burritos. It was really fucking good, not to far from his house either.
“Karen?” He called out to his AI, swinging his legs on the roof’s ledge gleefully.
“Yes, Peter?”
“Save my location to the ‘Dinner on the Go’ folder?” He said through a mouthful of chicken, beans, guac, and rice.
“Done.”
Despite just how much of a godsent the burrito was, he knew he’d have to get some more food later. His hunger was just like that, never enough to satisfy him. As he finished taking another bite, he felt a hum of paranoia vibrate through him, his Spider-Sense, and he immediately took another bite cautiously. He was not about to let someone steal this burrito. He was just absolutely delighted when a sudden explosion pierced his eardrums. He jumped, the burrito fumbling in his hands and he watched it plummet towards the concrete below the building and splatter across the floor.
He could hear the splat from the roof he was sitting on.
His burrito.
He looked towards the explosion, and well, maybe explosion was an exaggeration. His heightened senses made him slightly misscalculate it. The ground didn’t shake, there wasn’t a bang of light.
Then it happened again, and something shot right in front of him.
Okay if he was looking for a light, then he found it.
“Karen!” He shouted, scrambling to get himself together and pulling his mask fully down over his face.
“It seems to be power sourced from a Chitari energy core.”
Alien tech. “Great, thanks Karen.”
He jumped down, landing on his feet in a graceful crouch. He turned his head to find out where the beam came from, only the silhouette of a man retreating could be seen.
Well, where every trouble goes, Spider-Man follows.
Shooting his web as he followed the man on the ground, he was sure to get there before the man could slip away. He was fast, but the webs were faster.
“Hey–!” He shouted as he shot one, it latched onto the building and he made a show by flipping to the next web, “You with the very dangerous and very deadly alien weapon!”
The man whipped his head around to look at him, then started going even faster. Peter tutted, shaking his head disapprovingly.
“C’mon man, what would your mama think?” Peter grumbled, dropping down to the floor once he thought he could catch up to him.
Before he had the chance to stick him to a wall with a web or do literally anything, he grabbed onto the back of a bus, effectively hitchhiking his way away from Peter. The man then shot the very deadly weapon into the window of the bus and climbed in. Peter watched in shock as he ran next to the bus, and couldn’t do much as the man started hijacking it.
“Hey, wait, no, stop!” Peter shouted, but the driver obviously had no respect for the civilians he was now kidnapping or road safety laws! How many laws did he just break, now? It had to be at least ten.
Peter, caught up in his head like usual, lost the goddamn bus.
How the fuck did he loose a whole fucking bus? It was right there! It was speeding! People were screaming!
Fuck. That's all he can think to say, speechless other than the word fuck.
Repeatedly.
Multiple times.
Rapidly.
Sometimes it even fell out of his mouth too as he shot a web and started swinging through the city, he was lightning compared to the storm of cars below him.
But still no sign of the bus.
“Karen? C-call Mr. Stark!” He said, struggling to speak as started to run out of breath. As the call rang throughout his ears, making sure he had extra tinnitus when he woke up in the morning, he saw the picture he had for Mr. Stark flashes across the screen before moving to the side of his vision.
It was a sleeping Tony, a picture taken from his close up at an awkward angle as he fell asleep on his workbench. He remembers the day like yesterday, mostly because it was pretty recent. He changes the pictures he has of everyone almost daily, so he should try and snipe a new–
He’s not paying attention, and ‘not paying attention is what got you into this whole mess in the first place, Parker!’ God, he can hear Mr. Stark's voice in his head.
“What's wrong, Underoos?” Speak of the devil.
Peter laughed nervously, his eyes darting around his vision rapidly.
“So, good news,”
“That implies there’s bad news kid,”
“I’m aware,” Peter grumbled under his breath, the wind around him got stronger, maybe from the altitude, was he getting higher up? Seemed like he was. It was making him feel light headed. That's not good, is it?
“Good news is, found some alien tech,” He paused, even so just for the dramatic effect. He could hear Tony’s baited breath, which was not a hyperbole or exaggeration or whatever. The phone picked it up and even so low, Peter heard how much stress he was causing the older man.
“Bad is, I’m currently chasing him, and he might’ve made a grand ol’ exit.”
There was a long, drawn out sigh. Undoubtedly caused by him. “How?” was his final response, a simple one word choice. Yet, it still held so much disappointment.
His answer was small and reluctant, embarrassed almost, “He made it on to a bus, and he took control of it. I let ‘em get away.” He said as quietly as he could with the wind rushing past his ears and everything.
“Pete…” Mr. Stark's voice wasn’t angry, exasperated, or even disappointed. It was a strange mix between the options. Most likely a secret third thing.
Just as he was about to give in, apologize and go home, he saw a certain bus going awful fast. The only problem?
“holy fuck is that the Queensboro Bridge?”
“What!” Tony shouted, and Peter flinched ever-so-slightly at the change in volume. “Peter, I swear on all that is holy if you dare as so think to leave Queens I will get your aunt to lower whatever curfew she has for you, including weekends–”
“Sorry! Connections getting bad, might be the bridge I’m running across! I’ll see you later, Mr. Stark! With the tech, promise, bye!” Bad connection his ass, it wasn’t true nor did Mr. Stark have a chance of believing it because it doesn’t work like that. They both know it. Stupid geniuses.
“Peter!” He could hear the shouts from Mr. Stark before he cut off the call, choosing to focus on finding the hijacked bus over the angry mentor-slash-pseudo-father-figure that he’d have to deal with sooner or later anyway.
Unfortunately, he was actually just running across the bridge. He attempted to latch onto the top of the bridge's roof… thing, but the webs didn’t have much of a force going directly up like that. On taller buildings he’d shoot vertically the climb up them until he was in web slinging distance, but he did not have a way of making it on top of the bridge.
Unless, he climbed up the support beams. The bus was already really far down the bridge, and rapidly at that. It was causing a huge scene. Did he really have the time?
Looking forward, then at the support beams again, he jumped at one. He climbed himself up the beam, only slightly comforted by the fact that he had water under him.
Once able to get up high enough, he shot at the top the bridge, laughing triumphantly as it actually successfully made it to the bar and stuck. Holding both hands onto the web, he swung. Using the bridge as really, humongously large monkey bars turned out to be pretty fun.
No matter what he did though, by the end he still found himself at the entrance to Manhattan at a loss. Noticeably without a hijacked bus or its hijacker in his possession.
What a bust. Seriously, he’s got no weapons, no arrest, no bus–
“Peter,” Karen chimed, her voice a certain kind of monotone but still somehow worried tone only an AI like her could achieve. “Your web cartridges are starting to lower, a refill is highly suggested.”
And apparently no web fluid.
“How much I got left, Karen?”
“An estimated hour and thirty-six minutes at the rate you are going at.”
“Right.”
Stupid Parker luck. Seems like he only had an hour and thirty-six minutes to catch this guy, and he’ll find a way home a different way. Subways are always an option.
He laughed at the image of himself in full Spider-Man regalia, standing in a train car holding onto a bar above his head while either broke college students sit around him or some guy holding a boom-box break dances in front of him.
Maybe he’d be someone’s Subway Story™, who knows?
“Karen, could you pull up any recent sightings of a speeding or hijacked bus? Or a use of alien tech?”
“Automatically summarizing thirteen results, please hold,” She responded with ease, and Peter was content to rest against a wall as she calculated and did whatever she did inside the suit. “ Wild car chase between a hijacked MTA public transport bus and Spider-Man breaks out in Forest Hills, Queens, bus last spotted between Midtown and Hell’s Kitchen between W. Fifty-Fourth Street and Ninth Avenue.”
“Thanks, Karen!” He smiled, raising his hand out to shoot a web, before pausing. “Shit, I don’t really know a thing about Manhattan,” He mumbled.
“Plotting course…”
He breathed out a sigh of relief as instructions flooded his view, “You’re the best!” Peter sang out as he finally got to work, swinging from building to building.
–
“You have arrived at your destination,” Karen’s smooth voice flowed throughout his ears, and sure enough he was left on the corner of West Fifty-Fourth Street and Ninth Avenue, just like she had said.
He can’t say he’s been outside of queens that much, even if he lived in the city. The buildings were always so much taller, and they always made him feel a claustrophobic type of feeling that only swinging through the buildings like a monkey in the trees could relax.
He cracked his knuckles, then shot into the sky with the help of his webs. He’d be able to find the bus in no time. It didn’t matter if the sun dipped below the horizon, darkening the streets of New York, he was sure he was able to find a bus.
Zipping through the skies, he was ignoring the small red symbol that resembled a battery in the corner of his vision, his cartridge alert. He thought about his next meal instead, wondering how far away Restaurant Row was. If he is done early, then he might as well get some good food.
He was in Manhattan, he might as well enjoy it. Then after his second dinner he’d drag the confiscated weapons to The Stark Tower and impress Mr. Stark!
He could also take some stuff home for May, she’d probably want Thai or Italian. Though, he heard a good dumpling spot should be around. Oh maybe Chinese would be a good change of pace, or Sushi?
Before he even got to finish planning his second dinner a flash of white and blue jumped from the corner of his eye. The bus.
Okay, so, he did find the bus. Turns out he found it abandoned and discarded just a couple blocks away.
“Holy shit,” He took an exasperated breath, sliding down a web as he covered his mouth with a hand. It crashed into a building’s wall, although no one was left in the building or the bus sufficient damage was dealt.
“Peter, It seems that more reports of a hijacked MTA bus have popped up, would you like me to summarize?”
Well no shit. Peter groaned as he shook his head, “No, I can piece together what happened just fine,” He ran a hand down his face, shaking his head disappointedly. “Why wasn’t I notified this happened?”
“You never told me to.”
AIs do not have common sense, they can’t connect the dots. He should have been more specific, his bad.
“Alright, we’ll just have to keep searching for him.”
“Peter, your web fluid will only last approximately forty-five more minutes.”
“Then I’ll give up then,” He said, if only just to appease the AI. He was most certainly not going to stop any time soon, he’ll prove that he can handle this job. He won’t focus on anything else.
He closed his eyes, leaning against a wall to focus on his surroundings. He tried to hone in on his sense of hearing, listening to the dripping of water falling from its petals or the hum of an AC unit three blocks away.
He listened intently for the distinct sound of footsteps, the rattling of carefully crafted machinery, or the hum of radiation from Chitari core.
He had his location. The sound was small, barely audible. It meant he was just out of his range. Seven or so blocks away from him, and rapidly moving. What was even weirder were a pair of lighter, more concentrated steps behind the criminal. Potentially following him.
Peter had to get there first.
Ignoring even more warnings from Karen in his attempt to pour all his focus into the footsteps, he swung away to follow the noise.
As he made it past block by block, the footsteps got louder. Fifty-First Street, Fiftieth, Forty-Ninth. Passing by apartment lights on or off, like a rave with flashing lights.
There he saw Gun-Guy (that's it, that's his name now, he’s decided) on the run. But there was no sign of the second pair of footsteps, so carefully parading around obviously still running, but nowhere to be seen.
Peter drops in front of the criminal’s face, aiming to catch him by surprise. “Hey, I think I saw you earlier!” He said gleefully, forcing the Gun-Guy to a stop right in front of him.
“Spider-Man!” Gun-Guy exclaimed, aiming the very deadly alien tech right at his own face.
“Sorry, I don’t do autographs for felons!” He laughed, aiming his web shooter at him in a standoff. They stared at each other, both un-moving and still. Whoever shot first was most definitely getting shot at, but Peter had little to no worry. His Spidey-Sense would be able to detect any potential shots-fired at him and web him up before anything happened.
Which is exactly what happened.
His anxiety levels suddenly shot up to one-hundred, paranoia shooting daggers in the back of his brain.
“Think fast!” He called out before shooting his webs at Gun-Guy. They reached across, latching onto the gun securely, then Peter tugged at them. Gun-Guy had a good grip, despite being caught off guard.
In the most intense battle of Tug-of-War in his life, Peter pulled with his super-strength. It was something he didn’t expect to need right now, but if you have the cards he’d better play them.
Throughout all this, while snatching the gun away from Gun-Guy-Who-No-Longer-Had-A-Gun, when he promptly fell over from the force Peter instilled, and when Peter finally had the gun in his possession, his Spidey-Sense was still raging like a tornado through his mind.
“Hey, this thing got a safety?” He inspected the gun. The core inside it glowed a bright purple, and it was much bigger now that he had it in his hands. It was almost as tall as he was. “How’d you manage to hold on to something like this for so long?”
He never got an answer because right there and then a red-clad figure came diving out in front of them, tackling the Gun-No-Longer-Guy to the ground and effectively hitting his head so hard he screamed in agony. Simultaneously, the humming he’d put to the back of his mind shut up.
Peter ran forward, dropping the gun and webbing it to the ground so no one got any bright ideas to snatch it under his nose. Upon closer look it seemed the two men were in a fist fight, and one of them was The Fucking Daredevil of Hell’s Kitchen.
Reaching out his hand to help web the Not-Gun-Guy, only a sliver of what he expected came out of the shooters and hit him.
Shit. Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit.
He reached out his other hand, only to be met with the same thing, if not just a smidge more webbing then the last.
Holy fucking shit. Mr. Stark’s going to murder him.
“Peter, your web shooters have run out of web fluid. I suggest refilling for your convenience.”
If Mr. Stark gave him any mercy, he was going to kill Karen.
He kept trying, trying and trying and trying, but nothing came out. Without his webs he could only let Daredevil keep the Gunless-Guy still and pinned to the floor, hopefully, eventually knocking him out in the process.
This was embarrassing. First impressions are the worst.
He abandoned the two, In favor of retreating back to the weapon and removing the webs. He changed the settings on his web shooters, shooting out his mix of acetone and other various components to dissolve the webs quickly.
Once he picked it up, he dusted off some of the remaining webs. He had to make sure it was in pristine condition for Mr. Stark. There was some knicks and scratches on it, but nothing too bad. Some of the metal outside was popping off, which he assumed came from the force of crashing the bus against the wall.
He wondered if he could just leave Daredevil here with Not-So-Gunful-Gun-Guy and just take the weapon to Mr. Stark. How would he get there, though? Oh shit, he didn’t think this through. Security at the metro would not let him pass with a fucking lazer gun.
He has a sneaking suspicion that the “I’m Spider-Man!” excuses wouldn’t work on that. Especially because the NYPD doesn’t look too favorable upon vigilantes, and definitely not Spider-Man. Thanks, Daily Bugle.
There wasn’t any time to run anymore, because he could hear the footsteps of Daredevil walking up behind him. The Not-A-Gun-Guy-Gun-Guy was thoroughly beaten up and passed out on the side-walk a few feet over.
“Spider-Man,” Daredevil greeted, giving him a small nod.
Peter waved pathetically at him, laughing nervously. That’s when he realized that fuck, he was in Hell’s Kitchen. Not Queens. Boundaries and territories were respected for a reason, the only ones that really break it are the heroes themselves. Respect wasn’t the word for it, more like understanding.
Daredevil was going to kill him, then Mr. Stark would get his turn. They would take turns.
“Hey, Mr. Daredevil sir!” He said excitedly, hiding the weapon behind his back like a child caught with something he shouldn’t have.
“You brought him here, yes?” The man had a deadly stare, and he gestured to the body of the No-Gun-Guy.
Peter gulped, turning away from him. “Bring isn’t the right word for it, I’d say.”
“And you couldn’t help because,” Daredevil wondered, which Peter didn’t really think he was actually wondering. His voice was all flat, and his face straight. Nothing about him said he didn’t have a clue what was going on. Not at all.
“Web shooters–!” He responded quickly, holding out his arms for proof. As if Daredevil could see them. He pointed one at him and clicked, nothing coming out except a pathetic attempt of a web shot into the air. “Out.”
“And the tech?” Daredevil crossed his arms.
Peter brought that in front of him too, holding it out. His grip was still firm, he couldn’t risk Daredevil confiscating it.
“I’m sorry, man, I really would love to stick around,” He jumped up onto one of the lamp posts, creating an absolutely hilarious pun and an escape route at the same time, “Like, you’re cool an’ all, awesome actually, but I gotta go. People to save, presents to deliver,” Peter rambled, holding out the gun and shaking it when referring to the ‘presents’.
“Spidey, this ain’t your territory, you shoulda’ let me handle it, kid.” Daredevil said gruffly, and wow, Peter wished he had the scary confidence that the older vigilante had. It was something he admired.
Wait, kid? How the hell could Daredevil know that? Despite the nickname being common among people who are younger than, say, people in their thirties, Peter still panicked.
“Yeah, well, I gotta’ duty to return all the tech back to Mr. Stark, so,” He shrugged, holding his arm out and clicking his web shooters before remembering that he had no fluid in them.
“Did you just try to web away?”
“No–.”
“And did you say this all belongs to Tony Stark?”
“No! Not really anyway–,” Peter sighed, swinging his legs on the edge of the lamp post. “Listen– Remember that whole vulture guy? Yeah, well, I need to recover all that stolen tech. Have it returned and discarded properly.”
“Any method of transportation?”
“Walking count?”
–
Peter dropped the large gun on the floor, right in front of Tony Stark himself. The window was open, by the older man in front of him. He knows Daredevil down there, on the ground outside Stark Tower, listening to their conversation. He knows because on their way here Daredevil and Peter both semi-bonded over their powers. Specifically the annoying super-hearing. Brought up by the whining siren of police cars caused by the arrest of the Used-To-Have-A-Gun-guy.
Peter crawled up the tower, banging on the windows of the lab he knew Mr. Stark was in until he relented and opened the door for the Spider-Kid.
“Peter.” Mr. Stark said through gritted teeth.
Peter gulped, taking off his mask and hanging his head in shame, “Mr. Stark.”
“You left Queens.”
“That I did.”
“What’d I tell you to do?”
“To not to,” He said dejectedly, crossing his arms and pouting. Here it comes, the part where he dies. Everyones invited to the funeral. Here lies Peter Parker, AKA The Amazing, Spectacular, Ultimate, Friendly Neighborhood, Web-Slinging, Vigilante, Spider-Man. And Maybe Mr. Stark will plan it and purposely forget the Hyphen.
“And you didn’t have any web fluid left.”
“Nope.”
“Every day that passes is a year that’s taken off my life, you know?” Mr. Stark sighed, grabbing the gun to inspect it. Peter watched helplessly as he let the master do his work.
“‘M sorry.”
“I know you are. Now come help me.”