Chapter Text
“Oh goodness me, it’s the bug again,” Tony groaned, annoyance already stirring as he zoomed around twenty trashcans—genuinely what sane person would even pick trashcans as their preferred weapon?—and straight to the source, delivering five swift blasts to the guy’s armor. You guessed it: his shields were made out of heavy dumpster plates.
Could this day get any fucking worse?
His stash of sugared peach rings had run out that morning, too. (He was going to kill Natasha and her greedy little thief fingers one of these days.)
“Aw, that’s nice of him to join just after Stinky’s shit-bombs have run out.” The sarcasm in Clint’s voice was clear, and Tony smirked as he glanced at the archer. His dark suit had turned into a mix of dreary brown and green after their charming villain had used him as target practice for his sewer grenades.
Tony called dibs on not being on washing duty this week.
“Spider-Man is useful for civilian duty. Let’s not judge so soon, alright team? We need him,” Steve said diplomatically—asshole.
“Like a hole in the head,” Tony muttered, watching a projectile explode after he’d shot it out of the air. The smell of rotten eggs filtered through his mask. “Golly, FRIDAY, do your job will you?” he complained, after which the stench lessened gradually.
A high-pitched screech sounded briefly through their communication system. Tony cursed, having learned long ago what that sound meant.
“Heya, all! Mr. Barton, is that a new cologne?” Spider-Man’s young voice was familiar by now, to Tony’s dismay. In his periphery, he could see the vigilante web multiple heavy dumpsters to the side of a building to prevent them hitting the bystanders beneath. At least he was doing something useful besides hacking into the team’s frequency.
“Someone shut him up or I’m going to make my smelly situation everyone’s problem,” Clint retorted.
“Gladly,” Sam piped up.
Natasha ignored all the banter, which was obviously beneath her. “Spider, get down to the bakery. A mom and two kids can’t get to safety because of the debris.”
“Aye aye, scent-ing support now! Get it?”
“God, it keeps getting worse,” Sam sounded horrified.
A red and blue figure blurred past, impossibly fast and agile. Tony intercepted a trashcan heading for the bug’s back with a clean blast, then continued to try and make a dent in the villain’s armor. If you could truly call this amateur a villain, anyway.
This was so below his paygrade.
He upped the power on his blasters and finally managed to power down Trash-Man’s suit, at least temporarily. This gave Steve and Sam the chance to rip the dumpster suit apart, revealing a thin, oddly hairy man underneath. He lowered his arms in defeat, fell back onto his butt and began to cry.
“Fuck my life,” Tony said, hovering above the rooftop on which the whole thing was taking place. Sam nodded as Steve hauled the guy up to his feet, ensured the suit wouldn’t power up anymore, and cuffed his wrists behind his back. “Let’s get you to the police station, young man.”
“And to a bath, deary me.” Tony waved a hand in front of his masked face.
Through his tears, Trash-Man looked up at the Ironman suit. “You’re my idol, Ironman. You inspired me to—”
“No, no, no,” he interrupted, pressing his hands against the place where his ears would be, if his suit had a pair. “Don’t tell me anything more, I don’t want to hear it. I don’t even want to remember you.”
“Your attitude stinks, Mr. Stark!” Spider-Man popped up over the roof’s ledge, landing gracefully and bouncing on his feet.
Tony granted him a quick glance. “Oh great, he has even more jokes.”
“I’ve got a nose for ‘em,” the kid replied, clearly satisfied with himself.
The comms crackled. “Hey, do you have the bastard or not?” Clint asked, disgruntled. “I want to go to the Tower and drown in a long, hot bath.”
“You’re getting slow, Barton,” Natasha said coyly over the comms. Something that sounded suspiciously like a bath running could be heard in the background of her audio feed. How in the hell had she gotten back so quickly, Tony had no idea. It was a spy thing, he was sure, just like how she kept emptying his jar of peach rings while somehow bypassing FRIDAY.
“We have the target in custody,” Steve reported, ever the professional one. Clint shot them a lousy thumbs up from his position a few rooftops over. “Great, good job and all that. Bye guys.”
“Smell ya later, Mr. Barton!”
Clint’s comm shut off with a definitive click.
Steve turned to Tony. “I’ll take him down to the station. Tony, you—”
Spider-Man interrupted without hesitation, leaping forward to grab Trash-Man by the arm. “I can swing him down, Mr. Rogers. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. Be done in a whiff. Common scents. No sweat.”
“Genuinely what is wrong with you,” Sam said, shooting the kid a revolted glance. “I never want to be in your vicinity again.”
“I second that.” Tony nodded, suit whirring quietly at the movement. “But alright, let the bug get the sewer rat out of the way, we’ll be home sooner.”
Steve looked hesitant, but Spider-Man was already looping his arm around the villain, ready to swing off into the proverbial (stinky) sunset together.
“I’m leaving before your grumpiness starts to smell up my day, tin can. Bye!” The vigilante’s white eyes winked. That was new, Tony noted with a hint of curiosity. Since when did the eyes move? Freaky.
He was gone in the blink of an eye.
-
Why had no one ever told Tony that women didn’t appreciate expensive jewelry as an apology for missing the dinner date they had been supposed to have?
Or was it just Pepper?
Yeah, probably, he mused as he spread the deep red silky cloth out evenly over the table. He set out two elegant deep blue candles, placed a long-necked vase in between them and plopped a wildflower bouquet into it. He’d picked the colorful bunch up at the bodega next to the shop where he used to buy peach rings. The store had gone bankrupt before he’d been able to donate an outrageous anonymous check to keep them upright. He had never gotten peach rings as good as those ever since, and he mourned them every day.
The roof was still warm from the summer day, but the sun was slowly disappearing behind the horizon. Pepper would love the vibrant tones of pink and orange above as they enjoyed their romantic dinner date. Which was apparently the only acceptable apology. What was wrong with a bracelet adorned with yellow gemstones (her favorite color, no less) Tony would never understand.
“Gosh, Romeo, you didn’t have to!” An obnoxious voice piped up from behind him, causing Tony to nearly jump out of his skin. He had set up the dinner on the roof of the tower, sure they’d be peaceful and alone, but had not quite considered this.
He turned, not surprised to see Spider-Man crouched on the ledge. He was supposed to be a genius, yet had not taken the roof-loving vigilante into account.
“Shoo, bug.” He waved his hands, but the kid only tilted his head.
“Arachnid,” he corrected, stepping off the ledge and closer. “Who’s the lucky lady? Or gentleman, of course.”
“That’s none of your—”
“Ah ah ah,” Spider-Man held up a finger, mechanical lenses closing as he pretended to think. “Don’t tell me it’s Mr. Rogers? Because if it is, my best friend owes me ten bucks.” Tony could hear the smile in his voice and rolled his eyes.
“I’m sure you need it. However, I’m not sure Stevie even knows what a date is. Pretty sure he’s never left the nest, if you know what I mean.”
“Looks like you never have either, Mr. Stark.” He held the dark tablecloth in between his red-gloved fingers. He tutted, disapproving. “This is too… business. And it doesn’t suit the wildflowers, which you picked out well, by the way. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure Ms. Potts will know you tried. I can swing downtown and get you like an orange cloth. That fits the candles too! Orange and blue are opposites on the color wheel, did ya know? The contrast will be pretty. Oh, and—”
“I’m sorry, kiddo, I don’t remember asking dating advice from a toddler,” Tony interrupted the frankly tiring ramble, deadpan. “How do you even know this is for Pepper?” He narrowed his eyes.
Spider-Man held up his hands as though he was trying to calm him and backed away. “I mean, you talk about her sometimes, and everyone pretty much knows, you know? She’s the only woman you were ever with that’s still in your life. And that one time in December when you—”
“Alright, alright. That’s enough out of you, Flik.”
“Flik?” The vigilante scratched his head.
“It’s from A Bug’s Life?” Tony raised an eyebrow, but got no response, only a mild-mannered shrug. He threw up his arms in exasperation. “It’s a kids movie; right up your alley!”
“If it’s for children, why do you know it?”
“Okay, you’re done. Get off my roof or I’ll send my robot army after you. Don’t you have something better to do, anyway? Like, save a homeless kid from a lost cat and eat sticky churros after or something? Isn’t that your shtick?”
Spider-Man laughed, but leapt towards the ledge again. “No kids, cats and churros this evening. Just an old man on a roof refusing to accept some much needed help.” Tony glared at him.
“Yeah yeah, alright, I’ll leave you to it. But hey, if you need an orange tablecloth, just give a shout! Buh-bye, Mr. Flea!” He vanished into the night smoothly.
Tony’s mouth fell open, indignant. The little bastard—of course he had seen A Bug’s Life. And to compare him to P.T. Flea? The utter disrespect.
He looked back at the table, pictured an orange fabric draped over the wood and shook his head. Who really cared? Pepper would appreciate his efforts, he was sure.
He didn’t tell Pepper about Spider-Man’s little visit.
She liked the dinner.
But eyed the tablecloth critically and said it did not fit well with the flowers.
-
Two weeks later, and he was back at the same bodega where he’d bought the flowers. At 3 AM, sleep-deprived and armed with a pounding headache. Mostly, though, he was eager for an unhealthy snack and too many shots of espresso.
The cramped, neon-lit store was only minutes away from the Tower, and so he’d taken a little walk in his grease-stained sweatpants and MIT sweatshirt. Also, with sunglasses. At 3 AM.
He walked through the door, took the glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose. Why had he taken sunglasses with him? It was more conspicuous than anything, really. No one would be recognizing him at this time anyway.
He made his way over to the candy aisle, stared at a cheap packet of peach rings with a distant disappointment, and wished the other store had never gone bankrupt.
“Excusez-moi!” Someone with a horrible (truly, truly horrible) French accent chirped from behind him, and Tony stepped back. A suspiciously red-clad arm snaked past him, ripping two packets of peach rings and two bags of gummy strawberries off the shelves.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Tony turned around, staring blankly into Spider-Man’s white lenses, unamused. The kid’s eyes widened, and he visibly perked up—shoulders straightening, chin lifting.
“Mr. Stark!” he called out, voice overly loud, and Tony’s jaw clenched, eyes rolling up to the ceiling. “Quiet down, kid. See this?” He shoved the sunglasses back on his nose and gestured at his face. “On the downlow, here. So shut it, s'il vous plaît.” The ridiculous red and blue circus suit was already a scream for attention, he didn’t need Spider-Man shouting his name from the rooftops on top of that.
The vigilante crossed his lithe arms. “Damn, sorry Mr. Stick-up-his-ass.” He immediately slapped a hand over his mouth. “Oops. Apologies, I haven’t slept in a while. Too long, really. May’s gonna murder me if she finds out.” He shot Tony a wide-eyed look. “Don’t tell her,” he whispered.
Tony studied him for a moment, feeling oddly concerned. It was nothing like Spider-Man to share personal information like this, let alone an actual name from his private life. (The name May was filed away carefully in Tony’s mind.) In the four months since Tony had first met him on a little trip into the city as Ironman, he’d only ever discovered one thing: the bug despised eggs.
Who the fuck didn’t like eggs?
Any other questions, he’d dodged like a pro. A dodgeball pro. Did those exist? Either way, the fact that he was sharing something voluntarily now was odd, to say the least.
But then again, Spider-Man was likely a student running on energy drinks and too many assignments—it was only natural for him to be getting too little sleep and living a bit unhealthily (case in point, the four bags of insanely sweet candy in his hands).
(Thinking back to his own diet of coffee and peach rings and his late night projects in the lab, Tony wondered vaguely if he was just as immature as Spider-Man.)
“Get some sleep, Flik,” he decided on saying, raising an eyebrow and grabbing a packet of peach rings for himself.
“Flik? Oh! Right. Mr. Flea.” Spider-Man let out a delirious sounding laugh and pressed a hand to his temple. He groaned. “Ugh. I don’t feel so good.” He blinked a few times.
Then—with no warning, absolutely none—promptly collapsed to the ground. His bags of candy fell from his grasp, landing next to his crumbled form.
Tony let out a (manly) shriek.
He let his own peach rings go and knelt next to Spider-Man’s body, which seemed oddly frail now that he wasn’t standing upright. He lifted one shoulder to roll the kid onto his side and study his back, but he didn’t see any blood. Laying the body down again, he shook Spider-Man’s shoulders firmly to try and wake him up.
“Hey, Spidey. Wakey wakey.”
No reaction.
He gently tapped his fingers against Spider-Man’s masked cheeks a few times. “This isn’t funny, kid. I was hoping for a relaxing night. So, with like, zero dead kids. Ideally.” He frowned down at the unconscious vigilante, worry crawling in his gut. Which was weird. Because Spider-Man was an annoying nuisance with too many puns for the good of anyone’s sanity.
And a nuisance who ate too much candy, Tony mentally added as he eyed the packets strewn on the floor.
“Kid?” He tried one more time, and just as he was about to get his phone to call 911, the lenses began to open with stilted movements. The mechanics weren’t all that smooth yet, clearly. Tony could do better, he was certain.
“Uhh,” Spider-Man said eloquently, staring at Tony dumbly with those comical white eyes. “Sleep nice?” Tony asked sarcastically.
The kid shook his head. “Frick!” He jumped up to his feet, agile like a cat. “Sorry, Mr. Stark. Thanks, but I have like, so many people to apologize to, probably. My gosh, it’s 3 AM. Yeah, I’m forked. Bye!”
And he was gone. Just like that.
His gummy peaches and strawberries lay forgotten on the grimy bodega floor.
Tony felt oddly relieved.
And exasperated.
-
He ran into Spider-Man again three days later. The kid was standing on a street corner, his back to the sidewalk. Everyone walked past him with not much more than a glance, as if the clown outfit was a regular sight in Queens. (It probably was.)
Tony himself was on his merry way to meet up with Natasha and Clint and get a supposedly awesome bagel. Sam had claimed to have found the perfect bagel last week. Naturally, this statement called for a bagel-tasting contest. Tony, having stated that the perfect bagel was impossible to find, didn’t want to bring in his own contestant. Thus, he was the jury.
Yes, life as an Avenger was quite tough. Responsibilities, the whole world on his shoulders, yap yap yap.
However, he reckoned he could leave Nat and Legolas waiting just a little longer to have a chat with his favorite vigilante. Perhaps question the whole ‘passing out in the middle of a bodega that would fail a health inspection ten times over at 3 AM on a Tuesday’ thing.
He approached and saw that Spider-Man was reading something. Needless to say, Tony peered over his shoulder, into a purple (???) newspaper.
The Telaraña
OSTRICHES STRIKE AGAIN: FEATHER FOUND IN GRUESOME POOL OF BLOOD
Hombre la Silla 07/06/25
Conspiracy theorists all around the world are throwing the party of a lifetime. Birds are fake, people! And ostriches are the leaders, the masterminds behind it all. Before you disregard this article, just think about it!
Multiple feathers, discovered at murder sites, all linked back to one species. You guessed it: the ostrich. Every three weeks, a woman is found murdered in her kitchen, throat slit open. The same MO, the same clues left behind every time. I connected the dots. I, and only I! It wasn’t hard, mind you, but it took willpower. And mindpower.
When discovering this terrible fact, I knew I had to warn the fine ladies of NYC. And thus I came as fast as I could!
As Jake Peralta would say: title of your sextape.
Also, a parakeet escaped from my niece’s home just yesterday. Coincidence? I think not!
“Figures you’re a conspiracy theorist, Spidey.” Tony smirked when the kid startled, swiveling around. His shoulders loosened as he saw who had spoken.
“Figures you don’t know what a conspiracy theory is,” he replied brightly, none of the deliriousness from the other night apparent. He waved the thin, purple paper in his face. “This is journalism. Did you know ostriches can run up to 45 miles per hour? They’re like—” he floundered for the perfect word. “Bird demons!”
Tony’s eyebrows raised. “Ostriches aren’t even native to North-America. Just a heads up.”
Spider-Man looked at him, humorless.
“Pun intended,” he couldn’t help but add.
“I know. That made it all the more disappointing,” the bug snarked. He pocketed the paper, and Tony had to do a double take. That thing had pockets? Spider-Man never failed to surprise him, that was for sure.
“Okay, your quirky dislike for the avians aside—wait, hold up.” Tony lifted a finger, narrowing his eyes at the kid. “Is this why you don’t like eggs?”
He had the decency to seem lightly embarrassed. “Uhm, no! I don’t blame a child for the sin of their parents. Eggs are icky all on their own.” He made a gesture that distantly resembled a shrug.
“I don’t like you,” Tony stated simply. “It’s—eggs. That’s like saying you don’t like water.”
“Actually…” Spider-Man shuffled his feet. Cleared his throat.
Tony stared at him, speechless. He was talking to an actual baby.
“I just prefer other drinks!” the baby defended himself.
He resisted the urge to laugh hysterically. Why was Spider-Man like this? “Well maybe you should start taking a liking to water if you don’t want to continue passing out in bodegas,” he countered.
“Wow, that was unwarranted.” He laid a dramatic hand over his heart. “Maybe you should cut back on the sugared peaches and switch to actual ones, if your heartbeat is anything to go by.”
“Funny you should say that, because—” Tony paused his retort abruptly, gaze shrinking down on Spider-Man. “How the hell do you know what my heartbeat sounds like?”
The vigilante froze. “Fudge,” he sighed, then lifted an arm and pulled himself up up and away on a web.
“Unfair,” Tony muttered, watching his red-blue figure disappear around the corner, but felt a feeling of accomplishment unfurl in his chest. Another piece of information about the mystery that was Spider-Man uncovered.
He smiled, then went on to meet Natasha and Clint.
Their bagel place sucked.
-
He found a new place to buy peach rings from a week later. It was a bookshop, one of those second-hand low-budget ones that Pepper adored. He passed it after testing out Steve’s bagel shop—which had been mouth-watering, but don’t tell the prick that—and was immediately intrigued by the comically large poster plastered on the window.
It consisted of six A4 sheets taped together to form one big picture of a single sugared peach ring.
NOW ONE FREE PEACH RING WITH EACH PURCHASE
Safe to say, he entered immediately. Greeted by one rude-as-hell teenage girl and the smell of dust and must, he felt at home instantly. Pepper would love it here, he knew that for sure.
The girl, who was apparently the owner’s niece, introduced herself as None Of Your Business, but her nametag read Michelle. He smiled at her frowning face.
“Any chance you have A Bug’s Life?”
She didn’t even blink, disappearing into a mess of boxes next to the counter and pulling out book after book. After passing Pride and Prejudice, Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief and The LOLcat Bible, a bunch of thin, hard-cover books emerged. Multiple parts—incredible.
“How much?” He asked, taking the books and flipping them over idly.
“3 bucks a piece.”
He handed her a fifty dollar bill for five of the seven books. Some jolly children could get the remaining two. See, he was a philanthropist. Take that, Rogers.
She didn’t ask if he wanted his change, instead giving him a baggie containing exactly five peach rings. “Bon appetit, Stark,” she said drily.
“Pleasure doing business, Michelle.”
She made a face.
-
“That was awful,” MJ complained. “He’s even worse in real life. Why does he stick with that god awful goatee?”
“It was funny!” Peter insisted. “He did exactly what we thought he would. Like a dog. With a goatee…” He thought for a moment. Then, his eyes lit up. “Airedale Terrier.”
“How do you know these random things? What the fuck is an Airedale Terrier?”
“Not my fault you’re uneducated.”
“That’s not my fault, either. It’s the patriarchy, so really that brings us back to you.”
“Ha!”
-
The Telaraña
PEACH CULT IN WESTERN CULTURE: THE RICH SUCCUMB TO ADDICTION
Hombre la Silla 07/11/25
A billionaire was seen devouring five peach rings at once earlier this week! After spending an atrocious amount of money on securing the devious goods, he couldn’t help giving in to his addiction immediately. Sources confirm he has been stacking up on all sorts of sugared peach rings.
Who knows how many more of our honorable CEOs and millionaires are part of this organisation? There must be something in these sugared candies to ensure the rich keep eating them. They’re taking over the world, it’s a cult I tell ya! For that is what this is, people: a cult. A dirty word for many, I know. But to escape fear, we have to go through it, not around it.
(BTW, not saying you all should join a cult right now!)
Anyway.
A PEACH RING CULT IS ON THE MOTHERFLIPPING RISE!