Chapter Text
Peter had been having an incredible week. In fact, thinking about it now, that was probably why he should have known something bad was going to happen. That was just how Parker Luck worked.
There were only two weeks left until classes ended, kicking off winter break. That meant classes were much more relaxed and there was more time for other, far more important things. Like, for instance, building the Millennium Falcon Lego set for the tenth time with Ned.
He loved spending time with Ned. He was his best friend, and even after finding out about Spider-Man, their relationship hadn't changed. If anything, it solidified even more. Apparently, Ned adored his title of ‘guy in the chair’ almost as much as Peter adored having Ned by his side, whether during boring trigonometry classes or on a phone call during a night patrol.
So, with lighter schoolwork, Peter could spend more time with Ned, building Legos or taking computers apart. Even MJ had spent more time with them that week, something she didn't usually do given her responsibilities as decathlon captain.
And as if that weren't enough, he had also been informed that his internship days at Stark Industries were increasing from two days a week to three! Peter still wasn't entirely sure what had prompted the change, but he was too happy to even think about asking.
After the ferry incident, the situation with Toomes and the plane, and May subsequently finding out in dramatic fashion that her beloved nephew was the very same Spider-Man fighting criminals every afternoon and night, his aunt had demanded to have a word with Tony Stark.
Clearly, that meant sitting both her nephew and the billionaire down on her sofa and yelling at them for half an hour straight about how they could possibly do something like that, alongside various other grievances regarding Peter's safety.
Peter had felt shame burning the tips of his ears, thinking Mr. Stark would never want to see him again after such a spectacle. But to his surprise, that wasn't the case. The man listened patiently to May's shouts and fears, even having the consideration to look a little remorseful for worrying her, only to then assure her that he intended to do things right.
That meant offering Peter a real internship. Furthermore, he committed to being something like a mentor regarding the Spider-Man situation. Because it was clear that with or without Tony Stark, Peter was going to continue his patrols. And keeping Tony Stark (and by extension, Iron Man) close to Spider-Man was always the best option.
That was how the first few weeks had gone. The internship turned out to be an exciting challenge for Peter. Not that he spent much time interacting with the other college interns, though, since after barely two sessions, Tony brought him into his private lab and he hadn't left since.
Peter sometimes wondered if normal internships also included looking at the inner workings of a previous Mark model's system, eating inhuman amounts of pizza, and then having a movie marathon.
Probably not.
But he wouldn't trade it for anything. As chaotic as it might sound, he always learned something new with Mr. Stark, something useful, both for his life as Peter Parker and as Spider-Man. Peter still didn't know what he had done to deserve something so incredible. Sometimes, he still felt he didn't deserve it.
So, the news that those internship days were adding one more day to the week made Peter jump for joy (alone in his room, where no one could see him, of course).
Everything was going wonderfully, and not just for him; this good streak extended to May as well. His aunt had been in talks about a potential promotion, as the hospital board was finally recognizing May's effort and hard work. She was thrilled, especially since they had also given her a few extra days off, which she spent with Peter or at that cooking workshop she had abandoned due to that same lack of time.
So yes, it had been two spectacular weeks in every aspect of his life, and Peter was finding it hard to remember how he had gone from enjoying that feeling of fulfillment to… leaning against a trailer, in the middle of a dock at midnight, with a bruise on his arm, maybe a broken rib, and very likely poisoned.
Well… actually, he did remember. The voice of his conscience, sounding dangerously like a duet between Aunt May and Mr. Stark, kept reminding him.
A few days ago, while on patrol, he had overheard a group of criminals in a dark alley behind a McDonald's talking about a shipment scheduled for around this time. It was probably his spider-sense, but Peter felt this went beyond drugs or even alien weapons.
They spoke between drags of cigarettes, like colleagues sentenced to pull off a job much bigger than they had bargained for. It was something about classified contents and higher-caliber weapons. Peter even heard the names of high-profile businessmen; the same names he'd heard during meetings at Mr. Stark's.
He hadn't wanted to interfere, but a girl leaving her shift at McDonald's stumbled upon them. The group of criminals, likely high and already stressed by the job ahead, panicked and pointed their guns at the poor girl.
Peter didn't think twice: he leaped from the roof where he had stayed hidden, placing himself between the girl and the weapons. He yelled at her to run and call the police while he fired webs to disarm and immobilize the angry criminals. A few minutes later, four of the five criminals were webbed to the walls, while the fifth was sprawled on the ground, unconscious.
It had been a relatively easy fight, but Peter's breathing was still rapid, his head throbbed, and his ribs hurt a bit. He had wanted to go straight to sleep, but Karen (his fallen angel from heaven and his executioner all at once) had already alerted Mr. Stark to the altercation. He was a few minutes past his curfew, and besides, the hit to his ribs had damaged his suit slightly.
In the end, he had to stop by the Tower, where Mr. Stark was already waiting for him with everything needed to treat his injuries. A bit dramatic, Peter thought, but he wisely kept it to himself. He mentioned the whole issue regarding the classified shipment and God knows what else, to which Mr. Stark only nodded thoughtfully, saying he would inform the relevant SHIELD agents and perhaps a few Avengers, depending on the threat level. Which, apparently, was far too high for Spider-Man, because Mr. Stark forbade him from getting any closer or involving himself further.
"Good job, kid. But from here on out, this is in the hands of specialized agents, alright? Don't get involved anymore; your ribs will thank you. Come on, bedtime, spider-ling."
And that was it. Mr. Stark didn't speak of the matter again, and whenever Peter asked, he told him not to worry, that people were handling it. Then he would ruffle his hair to tease him and turn back to whichever electromagnetic circuit they happened to be studying at the moment.
Peter had let it go—he really had. But he was the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man, after all, and if something threatened the neighborhood, he had to be there.
So that very morning, when he heard on an early patrol that the classified shipment was actually happening that exact night, Peter couldn't resist. Truth be told, he shouldn't resist. Spider-Man was a superhero; he shouldn't be limited by what Peter Parker was told.
Still, he took precautions. He told Ned during lunch break, making his best friend's eyes go comically wide.
"Dude, isn't that the exact same gang Mr. Stark—the Iron Man himself, I'll remind you—explicitly forbade you from coming within, like, five kilometers of?"
"Ned! Keep your voice down! And well, technically he told me not to get involved… and I don't plan to. I'd just… observe from a distance and give a heads-up if I see anything weird..."
"You know perfectly well that technicalities don't exist when you're talking about freaking Iron Ma—"
The clatter of a tray, MJ's tray, echoed as it dropped onto the table beside them. The expression on her face was one of absolute boredom.
"What are you losers talking about?"
They immediately changed the subject, filling her in on other aspects of their lives. Peter trusted MJ, like, a lot. She was his only friend besides Ned, but he simply wasn't ready to tell her about Spider-Man yet. He had never really chosen to tell anyone; everyone who knew had found out against his will. And if Peter was ever going to tell someone, it would be MJ. Just… not yet. He didn't want to mess it up and preferred to postpone it.
Still, he always tried to include MJ in all his other conversations with Ned. Even if the girl seemed bored by everything and pretended not to care, he knew she wasn't made of stone; if Peter could prevent her from feeling left out of their little group of friends, he was going to do everything possible to avoid it.
They finished lunch in peace, with Peter deliberately ignoring Ned's accusatory glares. During the remaining classes, he barely paid attention, and by the time the bell rang signaling the end of the school day, Peter was practically vibrating with excitement.
He agreed to meet Ned at his house under the pretense of building another Lego set, probably Star Wars themed. They even invited MJ, who declined, saying she had to discuss some decathlon matters with Mr. Harrington and a few other students. Naturally, she didn't forget to add that she had no interest in their nerd plans, though Peter knew she only said it to maintain her emotionless, tough-girl facade.
They agreed the three of them would go see a movie together in the coming days, said their goodbyes, and walked off in different directions.
Peter called May, telling her about his Lego plans with Ned and mentioning that he would probably sleep over there as well. May had no issue with it, as it was very common for Peter to sleep over at Ned's house or for Ned to crash at Peter's.
Upon arriving at Ned's house, greeting his parents, and heading up to his room, Ned began talking about how excited he was to assemble the Lego set. Peter just gave him a look while fiddling with the straps of his backpack, prompting Ned to roll his eyes, sigh, and drop dramatically onto the small couch in the corner of his room.
"I want to state for the record that I still completely disagree with this madness—because it is madness—that you're about to pull."
"You can disagree all you want while you help me install Karen onto this device."
Ned let out a noise of disgust as Peter sat beside him, pulling out what looked like a tiny earpiece. He already had a whole plan laid out; he had worked it out during the classes where paying attention had proved impossible.
He was going to go to the dock where the dropoff was happening, but he'd go undercover. Peter knew Mr. Stark would be monitoring anything Spider-Man did, so Spider-Man had to stay home. Peter, on the other hand, would go out in thick, dark clothes. Sure, he wouldn't have the suit's protection, but Peter wasn't going there to get into a fistfight. He was only going to observe, analyze, and, if necessary, help.
What he did need was Karen. Her ability to analyze situations, explain correlations, and suggest courses of action was crucial. It had nothing to do with Peter needing someone to talk to during the mission to stave off the overwhelming anxiety threatening to eat him alive… of course not.
And while he could take his mask with him and cover it with the black hoodie and a facemask, Karen could still scan his vital signs and, worst of all, contact Mr. Stark at any second. Peter had zero interest in spending ten minutes getting chewed out by an annoyed, exhausted Mr. Stark.
"Come on, Ned. You know my coding skills are basic at best; it's nothing compared to what you can do..."
"Peter, I love you, and you know I'd give you a kidney and half my liver without a second thought. But… what happens if Iron Man finds out I helped his mentee-protege-son leap headfirst into an unknown, dangerous situation?"
Peter couldn't help but roll his eyes, flushing slightly at the last nickname. All of Ned's moral lecturing had nothing to do with doing the right thing. No, his best friend's real problem with all this was how utterly terrified he was of Mr. Stark; whether as Tony Stark or Iron Man.
He couldn't really blame him; Mr. Stark's presence was naturally intimidating. Not to mention he was a superhero in combat armor and an undisputed genius. However, it was easy for Peter to forget how the rest of the world saw him when he spent two (now three) days a week with the man, dressed in casual clothes, covered in grease, surrounded by engine parts, and ending the night eating inhuman amounts of pizza while watching movies that Peter almost always picked.
"There's a very low chance Mr. Stark will find out about this, Ned. Besides, I'm sure he has better things to do than watch me through a magnifying glass."
"Forgive me if I press X to doubt..."
"Fine. If he finds out, I'll tell him you begged me to stay and play Legos with you, but I ignored you and left."
"...Deal."
It took Ned far less time than Peter had anticipated to reprogram Karen into the tiny ear device, leaving them a few hours to build part of the Lego set.
When night fell and it was time to leave, Peter packed his suit neatly into the bottom of his backpack at the foot of Ned's bed. He threw on black sweatpants and a matching hoodie over his normal clothes. They were a couple of sizes too big, which was perfect. He also put on a black facemask, and Ned insisted on dark sunglasses. Peter thought it was a bit ridiculous, but agreed anyway. He placed the small device into his ear and confirmed it was working perfectly.
The only piece of Spider-Man gear he kept on him was his web-shooters.
"Hey, Peter… Be careful, okay? I also installed a comm link with me; you can ask Karen to trigger it, and it'll work like a phone call. You have to initiate contact, though, I won't do it from my end in case I distract you or something..."
Leaning on the window frame and ready to jump, Peter pulled down his mask for a second to give him a reassuring smile.
"Got it. Thanks, Ned, I owe you a big one."
"You owe me like a thousand."
"Fair point. See you in a few hours, bro."
They did their special handshake, Peter shot a web to the nearest building, and set off.
Half an hour later, Peter was slipping silently through the steel rafters of the Brooklyn docks.
The river wind carried a sharp scent of fuel and salt air. Below, alongside a row of rusted shipping containers, a group of armed men was unloading metal crates bearing seals Peter had never seen in standard databases.
"Peter, I am detecting unstable chemical signatures inside the sealed containers,” Karen warned in a low voice in his ear. “I recommend pulling back to a safe distance.”
"Just one more photo to send anonymously to the police, Karen. Just one..."
Peter leaned over the metal ledge. But before he could focus the built-in lens, a sharp crack echoed behind him. The rotted metal of the beam gave out under his weight, and in a split second, Peter went into a freefall toward the center of the open container, just as one of the pressurized valves burst into a dense cloud of purple smoke.
He had managed to shoot a web by a miracle, but the blast hit him instantly. He was thrown several meters outside the structure by the sheer force of the explosion. By the time he could think of anything other than the sudden pain tearing through his body and the discomfort in his throat and nose, he dragged himself far enough to hide behind an old trailer. He could still hear gunshots and arriving vehicles in the distance.
He peeked out just enough to behold the terrifying, towering blaze now engulfing the entire warehouse. It was burning in multiple colors; among them a radioactive green, a blinding blue, and an intense magenta. In his exhaustion and pain, Peter thought none of those colors belonged to a normal fire. He saw that the gunshots and incoming cars belonged to SHIELD.
Apparently, they really did have everything under control after all. Who would've guessed?
So here he was now, with a bruise on his arm from the rough landing, a rib protesting in pain probably from the same thing, leaning against the cold wall of an abandoned container while a tickle in his throat triggered an unstoppable coughing fit.
He slid down until he was sitting on the ground, his back pressed tight against the metal wall. He felt suddenly exhausted, as if the simple act of staying upright and breathing required a monumental amount of energy. In his ear, Karen's muted voice kept suggesting emergency protocols (the vast majority of which involved alerting Mr. Stark immediately) but Peter deliberately ignored her.
He was fine... He just... just needed to close his eyes for a second. Then he could get up and get out of there.
Yeah... just a quick rest.