Chapter Text
The feeling of rain pelting against the mask has always been one of Peter’s favorite, and least favorite, parts of the job.
There was the good - the fact that he gets to feel the cool touch of the sky while going as fast as he is. The sensation of refreshing coolness on his skin without the sting. All of that is relaxing down to his soul.
Contrarily, attempting to breath through the soaked fabric, especially back when the mask had been cheap spandex, or peeling the cold, wet glob of cloth off when he got back to his and Aunt May’s apartment has always been pretty awful.
Back when his powers were new, he can remember the excitement of swinging through the soaked neighborhoods underneath a grey sky, the puddles below reflecting the colors of people's clothes and umbrellas back up to him, and smiling like an idiot underneath his first, incredibly crude mask.
In those days, Peter had been new to the whole “super powers” shtick, but he was in no way new to helping people. Ever since he was a kid, he had had the idea stuck in his stubborn little mind that the world is and has the potential to be amazing, just that sometimes people need a little push in the right direction. He had been committed, from the ripe age of four, to taking care of and protecting the good that he found around him. Back then, that had translated into helping the community around him, getting to know people and their lives, and helping people by utilizing his natural chatty personality. Or, if worst came to worst, occasionally attempting to utilize his noodle arms for physical protection.
Of course, that part of his personality didn’t change, only got more accessible after he was bitten by the spider.
Joining the superhero community? That was, predictably, exciting. But also… informative.
When he was a child he had idolized the Avengers, of course, especially considering how much he loved seeing them help people in ways he one day hoped to. However, as Peter got older and began to understand more of the intricacies of the battles they were fighting, he ended up seeing the big-time heroes in a completely different light.
Around him, stuck on the ground before he had his powers and perched between apartments once he did, Peter saw people’s suffering on a small scale, the comparatively tiny but uniquely monumental struggles that belonged to each of them. Up in the sky, he saw suits made with millions of dollars, lazers, and magic, meant to deal with big Everybody Threats. They were fighting a different enemy than he was, and while he still valued them for the protection they provided for the people he cared about, he also saw what defending the World did in contrast to caring for the Neighborhood.
Soon enough, the gold and red suit that was occasionally seen and heard ripping through the air above Queens had lost its luster. Which is why, even with the Avengers tower only a few swings away, Peter had spent his two years of vigilante superheroing so far staying under the radar, helping his Neighborhood and Queens as a whole against the small (and occasionally more large) scale problems that crop up in a big city full of weird and wonderful people.
Honestly, the whole ‘flying under the radar’ thing has gone surprisingly well so far, considering that he swings through the Neighborhood with a bright red-and-blue suit on, and has shown up on the news at least a few times now.
Peter assumes that the Avengers probably have much better things to do than keep tabs on some small-time hero who really only threatens injury on really bad people.
The only time he actually worries is when the occasional Slightly More Large-Scale Bad Dudes, although not quite Avengers Big, decide to crop up.
He’d be lying if he said that a certain amount of fear doesn’t factor into making those beat-em-ups speedier(and quieter) than usual.
Peter’s been lucky enough to not get anyone too high-class. The one or two times they have been more serious he’s been able to get out of the way before the Avengers arrive to neutralize.
He has to imagine that they’ve probably noticed his avoidant actions by now, but again, they don’t seem to have the time to confront him about it.
It helps that the general populace in any area Spider-Man regularly patrols loves him and don’t see the need to slander his name (unlike some newspapers), which helps with his public image. He’s also incredibly lucky that no one really listens to the people who dislike him, and that when Big Baddies hit, the actual reputable news sources talk more about the people saved than the amount of damage done in the fight.
Peter’s also lucky that, after nearly a year of super-heroing, when he stumbled into May’s and his apartment, still dressed in full Spidery garb, having forgotten that she was home, she didn’t literally smite him on the spot for lying about one of the biggest parts of his life for over 11 months.
She was, of course, dismayed and full of anxiety for a few days, which caused the apartment to stew in her and Peter’s stress. But after not talking for three days, and two weeks without Spider-Man's presence (he had to admit that the headline “Has Queen’s Favorite Protector Gone Missing?” had warmed his heart a bit), they finally talked it out. It was an incredibly emotional ordeal and let them both get a lot of thoughts and concerns out onto the table. This all culminated in a hug and, impossibly, an even healthier relationship than they’d had before.
May wasn’t the biggest fan of his “extracurricular activity”, but she saw his need to protect and care for the people around him. Peter understood why it was difficult, especially after losing Ben. He also knew that not even she would be able to stop him and his dumb-stubborn personality.
Now, after another year of more super-heroing, more adaption of the web serum, and the creation of multiple iterations of the suit and mask between him and May, they have a great amount of trust and understanding with the whole Spider-man thing.
It helped that, despite fighting some slightly higher-class villains since telling May the truth, he still didn’t get too injured. He was lucky that he was never too hurt to tell her what had happened after crawling back home.
It was amazing to have May know the full truth after going so long without. Having a person that he knew he could call if he got too hurt, to have someone to bounce costume ideas off of, to have someone to cry with when he lost someone in his city of friends, to have such a big person in his life supporting such a big part of his life, it was an incredible relief.
Not to say that it was all butterflies and rainbows, or even easy at the start, no way. They argued back and forth on whether or not Peter should have a curfew in the first few weeks, and ultimately came to a compromise of calling if he planned on being late.
Unfortunately, he forgot a lot in that first month, and only really committed to it when he saw how much sleep May had been missing. They got the hang of it eventually. Nowadays he had a little more freedom, closer to 17 than 16 and with the only real restriction on his activities being that if he was going to patrol every night, that he had to keep his grades up (which, let’s be honest, he found way too much joy in school for that to be a problem).
At this point in his life, he was doing pretty well, familiar with the people of his city, feeling love from May and strangers alike, and dressed in his best suit yet.
So, today, the rain was decidedly more enjoyable than not. The wind whips past his ears as he drops down and then swings upward into his arc in the dark grey, downy textured sky. He revels at the feeling of the cool water as it seeps into the skin of his flushed face. He watches as the shine of the afternoon light on the wet buildings, streets, and cars creates dazzling illusions of tiny crystals decorating a gloomy world.
Peter has just now gotten done with school for the day and already he’s excited for the patrol ahead of him. It's a Monday, and he knows that Mr. Roberts walks his very sweet and fluffy dogs today, so he hopes, despite the downpour, that they’ll be at their usual park and he’ll get to chat and snuggle with the cloud-like dogs.
The rain’s pretty heavy at the moment but it still isn't causing him much trouble, despite having soaked through his suit. His warm skin fights off the cold as he vaults quickly through the Neighborhood.
He spots the park between two apartment buildings in front of him and shoots a web at the corner of the furthest one before he enters the downward arc of his vault. A second later he starts to arc up, speeds past the apartment buildings and into the opening, and jerks his wrist to disconnect the anchor right before he hits the apex.
For a brief moment he’s in that lovely space between rise and fall, and scans the park to find his landing space. He plops down onto the top of a streetlight at the edge of the park and drops his hands down next to his feet to balance him, the thunk of his landing lost in the droning of the rain. There’s only two or three people hurrying around the park with their dogs, hoods up or colorful umbrellas propped against their shoulders, and none of them turn to look up at him as he perches on the currently deactivated streetlamp, minds obviously occupied with escaping the rain as quickly as possible.
Peter waits a moment there, and leans back on his heels to gaze around the muddy turf and off into the trees at the other end while the rain soaks further into his suit.
He’s exchanged his original (dorky) goggles for sewn-in lenses that make it easier for him to not be overwhelmed by visuals while still allowing him to use his advanced sight when he needs to, and he’s thankful for the advantage. As he starts to cool down from the lack of activity he frowns to himself and finally acknowledges that Mr. Roberts probably isn’t coming out and about today. He shrugs after a short sulk, already having known it was kind of a crap shoot, and instead contemplates where he should start his patrol for the evening. He decides it’s probably good to keep it brief so he doesn’t get sick or anything like that from the cold and wet.
Peter tilts his head as he gazes at the rooftops nearby, trying to find the best vantage point and quickly decides on a tall apartment complex nearby with a stairwell entrance protruding from the side.
Peter shoots an anchoring web onto the brick of the rooftop access shed, quickly pulls himself to the top, perches on the riveted steel roof of the stairwell, and stares out at the rain soaked city around him. The droplets make sideways sheets of the rain that are a bit difficult to see through. He stares out to the west away from the building he sits on for awhile, letting his mind drift. The sound of the pelting rain on the steel roof beneath his feet is relaxing and he just listens for a moment. Even the sound of the cars below is drowned out by the rhythmic pattering.
His skin once again quickly cools under the rain and wind and a shiver drives him out of his thoughts, but another feeling suddenly chills him more than the rain or cold ever could.
At the back of his neck, his hairs rise rapidly and his Spidey Sense screams ‘HIDE’ so loudly that he scrambles into the covered open-air stairwell before he can even try to put a thought to why.
Stomach pressed against the grimy floor of the damp concrete stairs, he feels stunned for a moment before he begins to process that his body has sensed a threat. He lifts his head tentatively and gazes through the gaps in the railing to the dim, rain-curtained world outside. After a tense moment of waiting, he spots the threat just a moment before he hears it. Suddenly burning through the sky, much lower than usual and coming from the direction that Peter’s back would have been facing if he was still on the roof, comes Iron Man himself.
Iron Man’s repulsors are online, but seem to be set to the lowest setting. The faint amber color of them still stands out against the dark grey background of the sky, and the shine of the Arc Reactor on his chest refracts blue off the water droplets falling around him. The repulsors are still loud this close, even underneath the steel roof and despite the roar of the rain. Peter is idly surprised that he didn’t hear him coming. The suit is going slow enough and low enough that Peter can even see the blue-white glint of the eye slits as they appear to scan the city below.
Peter feels a chill completely unrelated to the rain crawl up his spine. He isn’t usually afraid of Iron Man, or Tony Stark; he even feels gratitude for his work with the Avengers to keep the world as a whole safe, even if he doesn’t want that same role for himself. That said, his Spidey Sense doesn’t usually go off in the presence of Iron Man either. And especially not as intensely as that.
Peter watches from his position laying on his front on the ground for a few more minutes until the glow of the repulsors is out of sight, before he readjusts to sit up against one of the concrete pillars in the stairwell. He decides idly that he’d rather plan his patrol route from under cover if it's going to be so hard to hear the repulsors until they’re right up on him. He considers his body’s reaction for a minute as sweat and rainwater cool on his skin under the suit.
Typically, his Spidey Sense will pick up everything from the shift of someone in the apartment next to him to the loss of a football team, if he lets it. He’s trained himself to only really acknowledge the sorts of feelings that mean danger, which is endlessly helpful in both fights and everyday life. So, that could mean that because of the rain his Spidey Sense had overcompensated to let him know that Iron Man was coming, but that didn’t really make sense when compared to his clear weather reactions to Iron Man.
In clear weather, his Spidey Sense rarely alerts him to Iron Man’s presence. Instead, when Stark decides to do his usual higher altitude flyovers, Peter lets his ears alert him to his presence and never really feels the need to do anymore ‘hiding’ then getting down off his web slingers for a little bit until the man passes. However, Peter had noticed something else about his Spidey Sense that could be the explanation.
Sometimes, when Peter accidentally pisses someone off or captures a particularly angry criminal, his Spidey Sense can be triggered by what he assumes is their ill-intentions toward him, even when they have no way to actually hurt him. And that… That’s a much more alarming reason for his Sense to go off, if it's trying to warn him that Iron Man has some sort of ill-intent towards him.
Peter casts his gaze over his shoulder once more, in the direction he had last seen that strange glow, and spends only another 45 fruitless minutes patrolling in the pouring rain that evening before he figures that the criminals probably stayed home, and heads home himself.
The rest of the week and into the next goes from overcast and rainy, to clouds with glimpses of bright blue sky, and Peter nearly forgets about the encounter. He even has a normal Spidey Sense reaction to the Avenger when Iron Man takes another sky-splitting flyover of the area Spider-Man is on patrol on that day. He tells May about it, vaguely, comments on how weird it was but plays down the fear that had shot through him and forced him to almost literally flip upside down. Besides that, he can only theorize the cause, which makes him quickly lose interest. Two weeks later, he gets to pet Mr. Roberts giant white beasts and then he really does mostly forget about the encounter.
Two days of miserable drizzle pass after that, a small sprinkling of rain without even the relaxing qualities of a real downpour. On an overcast Thursday evening after a pretty easy week of school and patrols, the city is slow and damp, but the sky refuses to split. Peter quickly tosses on his Spidey suit and flips, hollering excitedly, into the rain-scented air, before he swings like someone's chasing him from building to building in a child-like game of tag with himself. The city is dim and grayscale from down on the ground, but once you get high enough to see the starry shine of lights the whole mood shifts. The glitter of Peter’s favorite grimy city leaks a feeling of life and activity into Peter’s previously dull day.
Perched in a hands-and-feet crouch on a gargoyle that decorates the edge of someone’s higher-than-usual roofline, Peter grins joyously beneath his mask and looks out at the warm light of the city. He watches the car and foot traffic move at a hurried pace between the buildings below and wishes, wholeheartedly, to protect and know every single one of those people. He tilts his masked face up to the darkened sky and whoops giddily before he pushes himself off of his precarious perch and into a freefall for a heart-racing moment, before his quick eyes spot a good place to anchor and he’s off again, swinging like some strangely colored trapeze artist on a rampage.
It isn’t until about an hour and two foiled muggings later that he gets another chance to stop for a minute. He sports a fresh gnarly purple bruise across his ribs for his trouble and he sits down for a moment on a gravel roof and props his back up against the edge to check himself over.
Despite the dull pain across his abdomen, Peter’s still in good spirits after taking down the muggers and getting to talk with the victims until they calmed down, and after he makes sure his ribs aren’t broken or dislocated or anything he sits back for a second and relishes in that good mood and the refreshing coolness of the air through his suit.
After a few minutes of staring up at the sky and spacing out, letting his healing factor do its job, he adjusts himself a little so that he’s laying down on his back and stares straight up without needing to lean his head back in that uncomfortable position.
Another few minutes later, he is struck suddenly out of his good mood by an unfortunately familiar feeling of startling fear from his Spidey Sense.
Without anywhere to hide, Peter goes torpor where he lays, trying to figure out the source and how long he has until it becomes a problem.
Then he realizes: there’s a low hum nearby, much much too close for comfort. The repulsors are on low. Which, in addition to meaning that Iron Man has gotten close enough that any attempt to disappear into the streets below will most likely be seen, it also means that Iron Man is doing another one of those low-sweeps that had (and has again) set off his Spidey Sense for “ill intentions.”
Peter suppresses a groan, and rolls over onto his stomach as quietly as possible, then holds himself up just slightly on his elbows to avoid crushing his injured ribs. With his advanced hearing he can tell that Stark is still a block or two away, coming from the direction beyond the small wall Peter now hides behind.
He can also, faintly, hear the buzz of a comm and the AI that flows through Iron Man’s armor. Peter certainly doesn’t plan on fighting the Avenger, but again, something about the way his Spidey Sense blares at him tells him that Stark may have something that he plans on confronting Spider-Man about. That buzzing comm means if he decides to open fire on Peter, he may also have backup.
Peter frantically tries to imagine what he possibly could have done to make the billionaire have some sort of grudge against him. He can't think of anything besides his often avoidant attitude towards anything “big-hero”. Peter vibrates with nervous energy and indecision for a moment, and doesn’t dare to raise his head above the edge of the small divider.
Suddenly, another shock of Spidey Sense based fear shoots up his spine, accompanied by the sound of the repulsors kicking up a notch to lift the Iron Man suit higher into the air. The feeling cuts through his indecision and forces him to lift his body up into a squatting position, muscles coiled with tension.
As soon as Peter can see above the ledge, he spots the Iron Man armor right where he heard it, about two blocks away as it slowly makes its way over the rooftops just a bit higher than his current position. As soon as his head gets above the divider, the armor spots him. Obviously attracted by the sudden movement, the faceplate whips in his direction, that same strange, white-blue light spilling out through the eye-holes and shining against the suit’s bright color scheme in the dim evening light.
There’s a moment of tense stillness as they stare unmovingly at each other before suddenly Peter hears Stark’s comm (or possibly the AI?) buzzing and he whips around and starts to run in the other direction. His extra grippy feet catch bits of gravel on the roof and what doesn’t help him in his frantic rush to get off the rooftop is flung backwards in a shower of stones that he can hear in the back of his adrenaline flooded brain scattering noisily behind him.
Peter quickly shoots a web and hops off the edge of the roof before he even hears the repulsors kick into gear, Stark yelling something that even May would gawk at behind him.
Panic leads him to stay on the rooftops, craving the open space. Although he knows logically that going down into the streets would be much worse for the Avenger’s bulky armor, he also knows, in the back of his brain, that whether or not Iron Man was a good guy, that people, Peter’s people, might get hurt if this insane chase gets taken to somewhere heavily populated.
Behind him, Peter hears the roar of the propulsors growing closer as he vaults into the arc of his swing. He thinks fast, and right as the shock of Spidey Fear travels up his spine and he hits the lull in his forward momentum where he would usually need a new anchor to pull forward, he doesn’t shoot the next web. Instead, as he hears that roar draw close, he tucks his limbs in tight against his body and drops like a rock towards the alley below him.
The armor passes right through where he just was as it continues its forward momentum, and Peter hears the man inside call more curses as he plummets. Peter twists his body to be parallel with the wall of the alley, and catches himself jarringly on the brick with his grippy hands and a spattering of webs, fumbling to get a grip with his toes through his suit. He blearily notes that he should bring that up to May during their next suit edit. He can already feel the sore pull of his muscles from the rough landing but it’s accomplished what he needed.
Peter immediately scrambles back up towards the rooftops, and he can hear that Stark is almost a block and a half away again, having obviously struggled to stop at the speed he had been going. As he pulls himself over the edge of the building, Peter starts off again and hopes desperately that he can get out of sight before the other man recovers.
Peter speeds off over the rooftops, vaults over gaps and occasionally stops to hide behind something to see if he’s lost the Avenger, which unfortunately is never quite the case. The man is still on his tail, although slower, and now unsure of where Spider-Man has gone most of the time. It almost seems like Peter’s about to hit a stroke of luck, as the gaps between him and the Avenger get larger and the pace of the suit gets slower and slower, until his Parker luck comes to bite him in the ass.
As Peter stands and presses his back against the rooftop pigeon-coop he had chosen to hide behind, breathing a little more heavy than usual, his phone starts to buzz in his sewn-in pocket. Startled, Peter stares bemusedly up into the darkening sky, the sun no longer just blocked by clouds but now fully set behind the horizon. He realizes with dread that he's been running and hiding for probably over an hour. He hurriedly withdraws his phone, skittishly makes sure he isn’t about to get ambushed, and accepts the call as he turns the volume down as low as possible.
“Peter! Where are you honey?” asks May’s voice, distorted by the tinny phone speaker. Peter hadn’t realized how much she was able to calm him down in these sorts of situations, but her voice is like balm to his frayed nerves.
“Sorry May,” he starts, voice low to almost a whisper, “I’m caught up at the moment. I’m probably gonna be home later than I thought.”
She easily senses how genuinely apologetic he is from his tone, knows from his lowered voice that he's really in some sort of situation, and immediately makes her decision.
“Alright, honey, I'll hold off on dinner for now. Let me know if you really won’t be able to make it.” she says, comforting and kind, voice lowered to match his.
Peter says thanks, sorry again, and bids May farewell, before he tucks the phone back into the secure pocket and lays a hand over it for comfort. For a moment he’s lost in that brief little bit of relief before he realizes with dread and a shock from his Spidey Sense that of course, of course, Stark has chosen to be clever while Spider-Man was unaware.
The propulsors roar from just behind the building in front of him. Iron man has circled around. The armor in all of its blood-and-sun glory whips around the corner of the building only a moment later, directly in front of and at the same level as Peter.
His Spidey Sense yowls. Rather than providing an escape route, it instead throws him into another torpor and he has to fight his racing thoughts to try to make a plan, which of course comes to a grinding halt as Iron man hovers over the concrete of the roof less than 10 feet away from him.
The armor’s repulsors shut off abruptly, and the suit drops with a final sounding clunk to the rooftop in front of him. Knees bent, back stooped, Peter’s muscles coil and he frantically looks from side to side for some sort of escape route. Tony Stark speaks up before he can hop off the edge of the roof and inevitably be cornered again.
“No. No. Absolutely not. Stay right there, you slippery little brat.” Stark says, firmly, but for all the frustration radiating through his slightly electronic voice from behind the mask, he’s not even slightly winded. Peter’s own chest heaves with his breath and he can’t help but feel slightly jealous.
Luckily, Stark doesn’t raise his gauntlets, even in a threat to get him to stay where he is, and this feels strangely reassuring. Despite the screaming shocks of his Spidey Sense that still run up the back of Peter’s neck, he stares straight ahead at Stark rather than darting away. He’s already been cornered, he reasons, what’s the worst that can happen, especially if Iron Man isn’t acting aggressive? Suddenly thrown out of his stupor, his big mouth starts running as if fueled by the realization.
“I wasn’t going to go anywhere. I was just enjoying this lovely game of tag-slash-hide-and-seek we had going, why stop now, y’know?” Peter rushes out, motor mouth ready for everything that the billionaire could throw at him, except maybe an actual physical attack. He's about to continue, as his hair stands on end at the sight of the stock-still Iron Man armor, and he needs to do something with that nervous energy, but Stark raises a gauntlet, palm out. Peter’s first instinct, of course, is to cringe downwards in a duck.
Halfway through the motion, he realizes that the Avenger isn't about to open fire, but is instead making a ‘stop’ gesture with his hand.
Stark seems slightly startled by the duck but it's hard to tell when his face is covered by a metal mask, and he forges on like he hasn’t even noticed the skittish action, “Alright, I'm gonna stop you right there, Webhead. We need to talk, but less with the you talking thing and more with the me talking thing,” says Tony Stark through the slight voice filter, still not having lifted the faceplate.
The suit follows all the slight motions that Stark makes as he talks, and Peter can handle that much, but when Stark takes a step towards him on the small roof, Peter presses his back against the pigeon-coop as hard as he can. This time, Stark is visibly startled by the action.
Peter, of course, barely listens to a thing he says, “But I have so many questions, mister Avenger,” he rambles, and he can tell his voice is shaking but his brain is a little too fuzzy to care, “How about a little Q and A? How’s your life? What’s the weather like in Tony Stark land? What sort of world saving have you been up to lately?” he tries for a shaky smile underneath his mask that Iron Man definitely can’t see and manages to not flinch quite as violently when he takes another step forward.
“No. Shush,” grinds out Stark, making a zipping gesture in front of where his mouth would be with one of his gauntlets, “Shut up. My turn.” The Iron Man suit looks a bit odd with the hands on the hips, but the position is intimidating enough to Peter, who now has to look up slightly since the suit is close enough. He waits a moment, like he expects Peter to interrupt again, before he continues with his voice drenched in irritation. “Time to answer my questions. I’ve chased you around Queens for more than an hour, and I don’t know if you know how busy of a man I am but that’s some valuable time you’ve just wasted, Onesie.”
“Hey, it’s not a-!” Peter blurts, hands digging into the coop behind him.
“No. Shut it,” Stark snaps, “See, Onesie, the only reason I’m jetting around in this frankly depressing weather is you. Your ‘vigilante heroism’ has gone on unchecked for just a little while too long and now the big guys are on my ass about some gymnast with awful color taste who has apparently been swinging around the city solving crime for something like two years without a single check-in. And though I’m usually not one to assume - well, yeah I am - your little game of tag there isn’t painting a particularly pretty picture of your innocence to me.”
Peter can’t help a grimace underneath the mask, still pasted against the wall. This is exactly what he had been hoping to avoid. He huffs out a frustrated breath and peels his extra sticky hand off the wall of the coop, taking a few splinters of wood with it. He tries to act like he hadn't, but he can tell that Stark’s eyes are drawn to the dust particles that shower off his hand as he gestures with it.
He’s not quite able to hide the exasperation that coats his voice when he says, “If you’re really trying to prove my innocence, you could just ask anyone in these neighborhoods we just flew over. I have literally hundreds of references. I would never- I will never hurt these people, or-or let them get hurt. My record is clean.”
Iron Man looks about as irritated as a man in a suit of armor can look, but Peter sees the hesitation in the fact that he doesn’t take another step forward to try to intimidate him further. He’s gotten pretty god damn good at reading body language, even when that body is encased in a miracle of science.
“That’s not enough, Webhead. Not yet at least. And I realize you're attached to this secret identity thing, although I never understood the point myself, but we're gonna need to know who you are underneath that garish mask in order to really give you the bill of clean health,” Stark says, and his tone brokers no room for argument.
A shock of cold, deep, slow dread clings to Peter's bones as he processes the statement and he feels himself dropping into hopelessness. This is the exact thing he had been dreading for so long, and now it was finally coming to fruition. A sort of full-body tenseness creeps through his muscles as his brain finally starts to actually work to give him the escape plans he had been looking for. Peter can’t help the pained scowl that screws up his face under his mask as his Spidey Sense ascends into an all out screech.
“I- I just can’t do that. You really can ask around, anyone in Queens will tell you how much work I do to - to keep the neighborhood safe. But. I can’t give you my identity. That’s just not happening,” Peter says, voice a little desperate, to try to make the high and mighty Avenger understand how important it is, as a regular citizen, as a minor, as a superhero with family to protect, to be able to have a separate identity behind the mask.
However, he can tell, as soon as the words come out of his mouth, that Tony Stark isn’t going to back down on this. Peter barely resists the urge to groan.
The Iron Armor seems to almost tense up as well, and Peter knows what comes next.
“Well, that’s just not gonna work, Onesie. We need to know you, even if you really are just some acrobatic do-gooder with all the best intentions,” His tone is scathing, but somewhere underneath there’s a hint that he believes in Spider-man’s innocence. This is only encouraging until he finishes talking, “I have to warn you, if you don't come easy, I’m gonna have to detain you.”
The iron armor casually lowers into an offensive position, gauntlets still not raised but instead aimed back in the event that he needs the propulsion. However, Peter has already seen this coming, and the threat of arrest is the nail in the coffin. It’s no wonder his Spidey Sense had been giving him warnings for bad intentions.
“That’s a crying shame, I was hoping we could really get to know each other! I was so loving this comfortable locale, the ambiance,” Peter rambles, as he watches the suit get into position.
Right before Stark draws his leg back to act as a brace, however, in that tenuous moment where the Iron Armor is still slightly off balance, Peter shoots two strands of web fluid with one solid thwip: one on the leg that’s still holding most of Stark’s weight, and the other on the opposite shoulder of the suit.
He doesn’t wait to see how Stark reacts. Bracing his sticky feet on the concrete of the rooftop, he pulls with a fair portion of his strength, slightly overestimating the weight of the suit, first on the web connected to his leg. As Stark’s feet easily slip out from underneath him with a startled ‘whoop’, Peter pulls hard on the second web attached to Stark’s shoulder, flipping the suit horizontally.
In a flash, Iron Man is on his stomach, head facing away from Peter. Double tapping his wrist-shooter to disconnect the web, Peter can’t help the startled nervous laugh that barks from his mouth as he stands still in shock for merely a second, dumbfounded at the fact that his stupid idea worked. Then, before he can ruin his chances for a getaway, he rapidly climbs to the top of the pigeon coop, shoots a web to another building and is off like a shot before Iron Man can even get past his surprise.
Feeling numb in the head, he rushes off and tries to remember where his nearest civilian clothes cache is. Peter races from building to building, to try to keep out of sight in case Stark manages to get up, but as he drops into an alley, grabbing his webbed backpack clothing cache on the way down to ground, he hears the first bit of noise that he’s heard from the rooftop: Iron Man curses harshly, and the slight whirr of the suit’s joints indicates him pushing himself up off his stomach.
Peter hurriedly checks to see that no one is around and hops out of his suit and into his street clothes in a rush behind a dumpster, but the biggest part of his escape is already over. Right as he puts his backpack over his shoulder, stuffed haphazardly full with his suit, he hears the roar of the propulsors firing up from a few rooftops away. He quickly rushes out to the connecting street and slows his paces to match the lazy pace of the foot traffic around him, heading the opposite direction of his appartment just in case.
A breath later, the Iron Man armor flies by, low, eyes scanning the street below. A few other pedestrians around Peter look up at the sound of the propulsors and he allows himself too as well, hoping he doesn’t look too suspicious. The glowing eye holes pass right over him. As the sound fades into the distance, Peter turns around and walks back towards his block, heart still racing rapidly.
When he gets home the sky has broken open and his heart is still pounding, but he’s made it in time for dinner. When May sees him, slightly drenched and pretty pale in the face, the hug she gives him makes Peter melt away in her arms as the stress of the whole situation finally hits him full on.
He doesn’t have to tell her what happened right away. She comforts him with a dinner of average-tasting mac and cheese and understands when he finally brings it up. She seems a little upset at his choices, but after listening to his whole story she nods solemnly and posits the fact that, while what he did probably didn’t get him in the good graces of the Avengers, she can understand why he acted the way he did.
Peter sniffles in response, and she says that next time Iron Man approaches him, he might have had a good idea with the ‘talk until threat of detention’ thing. She, unlike Iron Man, understands the need for a secret identity.
May doesn’t have much advice, and she purses her lips in thought, understanding how complicated the situation is. Idly, she offers that maybe a week or so off from Spider-Man duties could help. Peter feels the drop of dread in his gut, but knows as soon as the words are out of her mouth that that’s the right thing to do. He groans idly and she smiles at him, all fond amusement, and sends him off to bed, telling him to sleep on it with a comforting hug. He does.
It isn’t any easier of a decision the next day, and he finds himself distracted in his classes because of it. When the end of the day rolls around, he can’t even vault through the skies to forget about his problems and wanders home on foot in the dreary rain. He’s sure of his decision by the time he makes it home, but that doesn’t make it any easier. He shoots a longing look up at the overcast skyline, unlocks the door to his and May’s apartment, and shuts himself inside.
The next week goes by slowly at first, and then a little faster as Ned and May comfort him. The whole time is spent in a sort of jittery antsy-ness as he struggles to resist the pull of his Spidey Sense, but May and Ned seem to have made some sort of pact and they both keep him occupied as much as they can. He’s endlessly thankful for them.
Peter ends up taking down a few bad guys, despite the time-out, when he’s too close to ignore them without his conscience eating at him, but he makes sure to remain out of sight for most of them and stays to the ground. The occasional roar of the repulsors sets his nerves on end, but the patrols still seem few and far between despite their increased frequency from before.
Sooner than he imagined it would, Peter’s time-out week comes to an end, and he’s faced with the decision to extend it a few days or go back out and about again. He spends another day at school distracted by it, but this time Ned wheedles it out of him. After listening to his lament in hushed voices during a group project work time in one of their classes, Ned nods sagely and recommends, with gravitas, that Peter take Friday and the weekend off and head back out on Monday evening. Peter groans again, earning a chuckle from his friend and a pat on the back.
By the end of the weekend, Peter hasn’t seen a single Iron Armor patrolling the area and feels incredibly restless. His classes are easy to get through, but mostly because of the excitement of the prospect of finally going out and about again. Ned smiles knowingly at him when he notices.
The final bell rings and Peter frantically shoves his notebooks in his backpack, waves rapidly at Ned with a stupid grin on his face and rushes to the front of the school. He jogs down the sidewalk when he finally escapes the crowd of high schoolers, and presses subtly at the familiar weight of the web shooters on his wrists.
He turns down the first private alleyway on an empty street and changes amid the grimey puddles of the day’s earlier rain. Jittery, nervous and excited, Spider-Man lifts himself into the cloudy blue sky just a minute later, hopping onto the nearest rooftop. He does a quick scan, head down, and when he’s assured that the Iron Suit isn’t hiding somewhere on the horizon, vaults himself away, barely able to suppress a holler of joy.
The patrol goes swimmingly, surprisingly. There’s barely a twinge of his Spidey sense, except of course during the inevitable crime-fighting. Other than those initial bursts of nervous energy provided by his spidery instincts, the rest of the patrol goes by easily and he only ends up with a few bruises.
He feels giddy by the end of the evening, having lost his nervousness to the joy of finally being back into his beloved role as his Neighborhood’s protector. He still stays low, choosing to use his Webs only when absolutely needed. He does launch himself a few times into the nearly clear sky, and enjoys the barest feel of sunshine upon his suited skin before he’s back into the shade of the streets and buildings below.
Clouds pass by rapidly, casting silhouettes of beautiful sun beamed shapes down onto the asphalt. The city looks more beautiful than he’s seen it in a while. He’s missed this. Soon enough, the golden evening light fades away into the dank damp glow of the city at night and he decides it’s probably around time for him to head back home.
Peter stops for a moment on one of the shorter rooftops to scan around to see if the Iron Man suit is anywhere nearby. Nothing is forthcoming and through the sound of the city moving around him he can’t hear even the distant roar of repulsors as they burn through the sky.
Suddenly, the lack of the Iron Man armor starts to send a nervous current up the hair at the back of his neck, but he chalks it up to paranoia. Shrugging it off, he shoots a web to a rooftop nearby and when he feels the satisfying pull of the web stuck taut, he adjusts his hand and pulls himself forward in a rush. He listens joyfully to the sound of the wind as it speeds past his ears.
He makes his way slowly back home like this, swings and tethers between buildings and small hops from roof to roof, making it back a little slower than his usual wild vaulting technique. Nonetheless, he soon makes it home, and lands clumsily on the roof of May and his apartment. He makes sure that no one is around to see him before he drops down to the fire escape outside his bedroom and opens his window to crawl inside.
As soon as he gets his upper body through the opening, his Spidey Sense buzzes faintly. Trusting his gut, Peter stops halfway through and casts a glance over his shoulder to make sure that the coast is clear, assuming a passerby is the cause of the reaction. As the only real sense of self-preservation in his dumb-stubborn body, his Spidey Sense dulls as he looks over his shoulder and he immediately realizes what that means: the threat is inside.
The only upside, Peter realizes, after the dread has sunk fully into his bones and he almost aches with fear for May, is that the window hasn’t creaked at all while he opened it. So unless the threat is enhanced like he is, he still has the upper hand in stealth. He finds himself hyperventilating quietly as he climbs carefully in through the window, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He cringes underneath the mask as he touches down onto his hardwood floors, and manages not to make a sound.
He’s jittery with nerves, and it only occurs to him at that second to use his super hearing to try and get a scope of what’s going on beyond his closed bedroom door. There’s only the slightest scattering of sounds - the sound of someone in the kitchen as they wander about, and the subtle sounds of someone else as they shift on the couch.
Neither person is talking, and Peter buzzes with anxiety as he tracks their breaths, and is confused to find both people’s breathing even and untaxed. He itches to do something, and presses his ear against the door as he tries to figure out who’s the stranger and who’s May. He assumes that she’s in the kitchen, but assumptions could be very dangerous right now.
Distantly, he remembers the costume and clutches at his suited chest momentarily as he anxiously contemplates whether or not he should change into civilian clothes before entering the main part of the apartment. His mind races, flipping through thoughts like a Rolodex.
Suddenly, the shifting noise in the kitchen is joined by a discontented hum: May’s discontented hum.
Without any further hesitation, Peter throws his door open, still fully costumed, and levels his wrist at whoever’s on the couch, desperately craving to launch across the room and put a barrier between the intruder and May, but knowing how risky that could be for both of them.
A ball of anxious energy, Peter barely registers any details about the stranger for a few seconds, busy cataloguing May in his peripheral, until he realizes, with a start, that the man who was sitting on his couch, who had stood up from the couch and whipped around to face him, is Mister Stark himself.
There’s a moment of shocked silence as Peter’s fear for May transforms into a different kind of fear, and both previous members of the room process what’s just happened. After a moment, Stark visibly gathers himself behind a pair of orangey-red sunglasses and grins in that overconfident billionaire/playboy way of his.
“Spider-Man,” he starts, and he somehow manages to sound completely nonchalant, “Just the spider I wanted to see.”
Breaking the tense staring contest he’s been having with Stark, Peter shoots an anxious glance over to May, sees that she’s alright and knows the Avenger won’t hurt her, and jerks his un-raised wrist in a subtle question. With a serious look and a comforting amount of confidence, she gives an almost imperceptible nod. Peter jerks his gaze back to Tony Frickin’ Stark.
“Nice seeing you again Mister Stark, gotta go now, have a good rest of your evening, Bye!” Peter spouts out as one long word. Before Stark has a chance to get a word in edgewise, he shoots a web back at his bedroom window sill with his unraised wrist, and barely catches Stark’s sudden astonished expression as he pulls himself back into his room like a bolt.
Turning to hit the sill hands first, Peter leapfrogs over it with a pounding heart as he hears Stark beginning to scramble in the other room.
As soon as he’s propelled himself through the open window, Peter raises his arms in preparation. He snatches one of the crossbars of the fire escape in both hands, continues his forward momentum into a gymnastic swing, and drops feet first towards the alley below, just as he catches the sound of Stark’s shoes hitting the hardwood floors behind him.
As he drops towards the darkened alleyway below, Peter shoots two webs at the edge of the rooftop of the building in front of him. Propelled like a slingshot past the roof and into the air, he shoots another anchor on the side of a higher building ahead and rushes through the air and away from his home into the dim city light.
He’s not completely sure where to go from there. His Spidey Sense fades slightly as he furthers himself from the immediate threat, but he doesn’t slow. He slings rapidly from roof to roof, staying low, but the movements are almost instinctual as he goes, blood rushing in his ears and breathing shallow despite barely having started his escape. His brain is absolute mush, and as soon as he comes back into himself for a moment, he has to make a conscious effort to regain control of his functions.
Peter recognizes the symptoms of a panic attack and lets his body take over the daredevil-ish leaps. He examines his brain for a minute. Forcing his jaw to relax as he sails over an alleyway, he finds a mantra to repeat as he goes. May is okay, they won’t hurt her. May is okay, I saw her with my own eyes. As soon as it sinks in, he’s able to breathe normally again, and realizes abruptly that he hasn’t done a very good job to execute any sort of evasive tactics: he’s been swinging in a relatively straight line across open roof tops.
And then, of course, as soon as that thought hits him, there was a deafening roar of burning repulsor fuel.
His Spidey Sense screeches anew, and Peter scrambles to find a way out of the sight of the Iron Armor, casting his eyes about frantically. As soon as he spots the lip of a roof that could provide some temporary reprieve, however, there is a sudden snap of something being released behind him followed by a weight that knocks him flat to the surface of the rooftop.
He lands hard and closes his eyes against the impact, feeling a sting on his shoulder as whatever had pinned him stops his tumble in its tracks.
Groaning and opening his eyes, Peter presses his hands against the material that now holds him, flat on his side, against the concrete of the building. The strands are woven together like some sort of finger-width rope, but the off-white material sparkles slightly, metallically, with threads of shiny wire. The whole thing is criss-crossed into squares which he can barely fit his hand through, creating a thick, heavy netting.
Peter presses his hands frantically against the net, trying desperately to get it off of him. In his stress, a quiet, guttural, frustrated noise sneaks out of his mouth, right before he begins to see Iron Man descend out of the sky above him.
Forcefully, his brain suddenly much more focused than during any of his other interactions with the Genius Billionaire, Peter shoves his gloved hand through the net and attempts to aim the web-shooter in Stark’s direction.
Touching down at the same moment that Peter manages to get his hand and part of his wrist through one of the holes, Iron Man agilely reaches forward with one of the gauntlets and traps his hand entirely in its steely grip.
Startled into a slight shock of terror at the feeling of the impenetrable armor clamped around his wrist and hand, Spider-Man freezes before Iron Man even starts speaking.
“Ah-ah-ah, none of that! Calm down, kid, seriously. This shit’s getting old, fast.” The Philanthropist’s voice is nonchalant in its usual way, but steely irritation lurks just beneath the surface.
Peter’s voice gets momentarily lost in the depths of his brain. Starry-eyed wonder and pure terror fight in his brain for a moment at the fact that he’s touching this technology, even through his suit. After a moment he recovers slightly, his mouth on autopilot as usual. He tries to ignore the delayed shock of fear at the word “kid”. He doesn’t have a ton of hope that his secret identity remains intact, but the almost-confirmation is still terrifying. “Really? I was sure this kinda ‘shit’ would be right up your alley,” he snarks.
Iron Man mostly ignores him, “Slow your roll. I just wanna talk, Scrawny.” He obviously feels Peter’s incredulous look, even through the mask, “I mean it. See? No threatening this time, just a calm talk” to make his point, Stark takes his hand off of Peter’s wrist slowly and warily, and raises both gauntlets in a gesture of peace.
Peter barely resists the immediate urge to fire a web at the suit’s face plate and instead just studies him through the netting, trying to gauge how honest the Billionaire is being. He doesn’t feel very threatened, especially now that his Spidey Sense seems to have calmed just a bit. He also had to admit, now that his head has cleared a bit, that Stark obviously meant no harm to May at least.
However, the fact that he knows who May is, and who May is in relation to Spider-Man specifically, does not bode well.
There was also something to be said for the enhanced netting still holding him to the ground.
Peter would be the first to admit that he wasn’t very good at sticking around in Iron Man’s presence, but the netting felt a little overkill. Despite all that, his Spidey Sense is only a low hum, and it alleviates even further when the man raises his hands in surrender. He hesitates for a moment longer, and then tugs his wrist and hand forcefully back through the netting, trying to convey a wary glare through his mask, despite being sprawled out on the cold concrete of a rooftop.
Iron Man observes the motion for a moment, thoughtfully, and then raises the faceplate of the helmet, revealing a carefully nonchalant expression underneath.
Startled by the sight of him, and by the sudden and complete quiet from his Spidey Sense, Peter hops right back into doing what he does best: running his mouth.
“Talk about what, exactly? Because so far talking hasn’t seemed to work very well on my end of things.” Case in point, he cringes, inwardly, at the shakiness of his voice.
With the faceplate raised, Peter can see the full force of Tony Stark’s eye roll as the armour squats down in front of him, an unnervingly casual motion, “Maybe try talking less, that’s usually what I get in trouble for,” He’s obviously trying to be friendly, but Peter just feels.. unsettled. When he doesn’t respond, Stark clarifies, grumpily, “Talk, talk. Let’s start with your secret identity.”
Peter chokes on a shock of panic and presses his fingers frantically against the net once more. Stark lifts a hand in a motion to stop, pressing the fingers of the other gauntlet to his forehead, as if to alleviate an oncoming headache.
“Not. Like that.” Stark grinds out, looking frustrated, “I could’ve sworn I was better at this sort of thing,” he mutters, obviously trying to speak below Peter’s level of hearing, before he raises his voice back to a normal volume, “I genuinely just want to talk, kid. I realize I kind of fu- er, screwed up last time, but you need to know how important it is that the powers-that-be are aware of your identity under the mask.”
Peter’s body buzzes with unease and he grips at his sore shoulder as he listens, and winds up digging his fingers in involuntarily at the reappearance of the word “kid”. With a sudden rush of completely unearned confidence, he levels a look at the billionaire, “But you already know who I am, don’t you? Can’t you just, I don’t know, leave me and my family alone now?” He says, trying and failing to hide the edge of desperation in his voice.
Stark gets an intense look in his eye and it makes Peter want to sink into the ground.
“Sure, I know who you are now. Good news is, you were right, sorry I didn’t believe you,” He says, without a hint of genuine apology, “Yada yada. Your records clean as a whistle. But I don’t have the best evidence to convince the powers-that-be of anything much. Yet. At least not without telling them your identity.”
Peter feels a wave of surprise roll over him. “Wait, you haven’t told anyone about-about,” he gestures to his masked face, the motion awkward due to his smushed position, as one hand still grips his injured shoulder.
“Nope.” Stark says immediately, popping the p. “Despite what they’d like, I work my own way, and don’t mindlessly follow orders just cause they say so.”
Peter can’t deny the relief that that brings, but he still feels apprehensive that even Iron Man knows. He opens his mouth, and finds he (surprisingly) can’t think of how to express his… gratitude? Surprise? After a slightly uncomfortable look passes over his face, Tony Stark forges on, obviously not the best with silences.
“Here’s the thing. You’re a kid, Webhead. And that’s not a bad thing,” he rushes to drive the point home, sensing Peter’s panic, “Well, it kind of is, for other reasons, but what I mean is while I’m not gonna stop you doing what is obviously a good thing because of it, there’s no way that other people aren’t gonna have a fit about it, if I have to tell them your identity. You’re a minor, and you have no one looking after your super-teenager ass except maybe your Aunt, who although obviously a powerful lady, probably isn’t super experienced in going through mutant puberty. Unless this shit is genetic or something.” Tony frowns thoughtfully before he shakes his head to clear the thought. He’s about to start talking again, Peter can tell, but he has to cut in, feeling slightly petulant.
“I know what I’m doing, Mister Stark. I’ve been doing this for two years, like you said. I think I’ve got it handled.” He says, trying to ignore the shake that still persists in his voice. This was going better than he could have ever imagined it going, but he’s still wary and unnerved.
Tony Stark winces and Peter buffers for a moment as he tries to figure out why, “God, since you were what… 14? Jesus…” He rubs the tension out of his forehead with a still gauntleted hand, and sighs heavily. “But alright. So you’ve got it handled. Sure. The thing is, unless you’re fine with the whole of SHIELD and the Avengers knowing your identity as a nerdy high schooler with a death wish, you need to give me some evidence of your innocence, in the suit. Or more data, or something. As much as I wish I could just say ‘drop it’ and have them listen, I don’t think that it’s gonna work out like that.”
“Alright,” Peter has to concede, reluctantly, that Stark has a point. He shifts slightly under the net and sits up as much as he can. “So what do I need to do? I think I’ve done as much good as I can for these past few years, and if that wasn’t enough for them, I’m not entirely sure what would be.”
Stark considers him, lips pursed slightly. “Well that past do-goodery will be helpful, but I’m going to need to compile it. Plus, I think it would be worth it, for both you and I, to catalog what sort of crazy powers you’ve got rattling around in there. From there I should be able to set up a pretty good profile report, and then we can see what we need from there, if anything.” He fiddles with something on his wrist for a minute before swiping a hand through the air over where one might wear a watch, were one not wrapped in a titanium-alloy supersuit, causing a small blue hologram to emerge from the armor. “How ‘bout this. FRIDAY, what’s my schedule like this week.”
The graphic display on the hologram shifts in response, but Peter is more intrigued by the voice he can hear filtering into Tony’s earpiece inside the suit. He’s heard, second hand, of the Machine Intelligence, but to hear it working was a different boat altogether. He catches a few words about calendar dates, as well as stuff about Tony’s partner, Pepper. Tony swipes the hologram away again before he turns his attention back to Peter.
“I’ve got Thursday free this week. How ‘bout you head down to the tower after nerd school, and you can give me the full rundown on your powers. I’ll give the higher-ups a prelim on your frankly sickeningly-sweet hero habits, and then after I’ve compiled something at least somewhat professional looking we’ll try to get off your back. Sound like a plan?” Tony Stark asks, although it sounds more rhetorical than anything.
“…Sure,” Peter agrees, hesitantly, still trying to puzzle out Stark’s motivations, “But, not to seem unappreciative or anything but...Why? You seemed perfectly willing to drag me by my ankles back to an interrogation room last time we talked, and, well, I’ll be the first to admit, I’ve been pretty unwilling to interact with you in general. What changed?”
Tony Stark gets that uncomfortable look on his face again, looking like he wishes he still had his face plate down, draping his hands over his bent knees where he squats by the net. He brings one gauntlet up to his face to scratch at his goatee. “I don’t do the emotions thing very well, so I’m just gonna make this as blunt as possible. Being a teen sucks sometimes. Being a super hero sucks sometimes. It seems like you’ve got some good resources to help you out, but Supers need someone looking after them who gets it, y’know? I’m just having a little bit of a guilt complex that I didn’t come to check you out earlier, I guess. Can’t believe you’ve gotten away with two years of this shit without anyone coming to bother you. Whatever. I’m just. Trying to help out now, make up for lost time or whatever. Keeping an eye out for you,” Here he taps the bags under his eye awkwardly, restlessly, before dropping his hand back down to his knee.
Peter nods in acknowledgement and then decides to give the poor man a break, feeling appreciative of his offer to help out, but still wary of him in a sort of off-hand way, “So. What’s this net made of?”
It isn’t the most subtle change of topic ever, but Stark looks grateful anyway. A prideful sparkle takes up residence in his eyes. He grabs a strand loosely in his hand. “This baby here’s a high modulus polyethylene and stainless steel blend, designed specifically for all you enhanced folks. The thing holding the net down is a little super-electromagnet of my own design,” Stark pushes himself up from his squatting position with a grunt, despite having the assistance of the suit, “It works here ‘cause of the rebar in the concrete roof, but I still need to work out how to make it useful if there’s no metal around. Here, sorry, give me a sec-” Stark fiddles with the wrist of his suit again and after a second, the tension of the net goes slack.
Peter marvels a moment at the material, sitting up and grabbing a few strands in his hands as it falls loosely around him. It’s surprisingly light, most of the weight coming from the small metallic orbs at the net’s edge - the now deactivated magnets - and incredibly flexible for how thick it is. It looks expensive in the way that all Stark Industry inventions do, and as he studies the metallic strands interwoven into the filament braid he can’t help but spout, “I’m surprised you didn’t plate the steel gold.”
Stark visibly struggles to hide a smile and almost succeeds. If Peter’s hackles weren’t lowered already, they certainly are now. He isn’t sure he can completely trust the Billionaire yet, but it was something. “Ha, ha,” Stark says, trying to sound annoyed.
Peter grins behind the mask and pushes himself to his feet, letting the net fall to his feet.
Tony fiddles with his wrist for another moment before the net twitches itself into a ball of netting and tucks itself back into a capsule that had been scattered to either side of the roof when it had been released. Stark leans down and grabs it when it rolls back to his feet, while Peter looks on with barely suppressed awe.
Peter touches the sore spot in his shoulder tentatively, determines that it should definitely be a quick and easy healing process and drops his hand back to his side, watching Tony fit the capsule into some sort of receptacle on the back of the armor.
“I meant that whole thing about getting your powers checked out, if that wasn’t clear,” Tony Stark reiterates, voice serious, “I expect you at the tower on Thursday, Underoos. I’ll have someone come and grab you up from nerd school, so it’s probably best to stay in your civvies. Bring your suit with you though, you’re due for an upgrade or ten. If I don’t see any garish red or blue muddling up my tower I’ll be forced to come over and eat more of your Aunt’s frankly awful cooking.”
Peter nods in understanding, but a bit of unease roils in his stomach at the mention of his Aunt. He toys with the hem of his gloves for a moment before he draws himself up to his full, far from intimidating height and locks eyes with the Genius Billionaire. “You’re not going to hurt her, are you?” As soon as it comes out of his mouth, it feels like a supremely stupid question. However, he needs to ask it, for his own sanity, and resists the urge to take back his words.
A look of surprise ghosts over Stark’s face, before it’s replaced with determined honesty. “Of course not. I don’t think that woman could do a thing wrong, except maybe burn spaghetti.” Stark pauses for a moment, face considering, “She’s a lovely lady. She knows, doesn’t she?” He gestures to his own uncovered face vaguely, an eyebrow raised.
Drenched in relief once more, Peter nods. “Yeah. She saw me in the suit about a year ago. If I would have known how much better it was, she would have known from day one.”
Peter can hear the mechanisms in the Iron Man suit as they begin to fire up, and he watches with interest as the gauntlets start to glow warmly before the palms are turned downward and out of his view. “Huh, go figure, sometimes the secret identity thing doesn’t work!” Tony Stark says, voice full of sarcastic fake cheer as he brings his feet together. “Well, I gotta head out, kid. See you Thursday.” He throws a jaunty salute with one of the lightly humming gauntlets, the faceplate drops down over his smug face, and then he’s off in a roar of sound, quickly getting smaller against the skyline.
Peter watches the flaming beacon until it passes behind a taller building and out of view, and then stands, still slightly shaken and disbelieving, for a few more minutes on the dark rooftop.
Taking a deep breath of the chilly night air, he heads back towards home - and if he gives May a tighter hug than usual, and if she gives him one just as tight back, well, that was just between them.